Spring cleaning is good for the soul...

It's amazing sometimes how the simplest things can make such a difference. I've been stuck in a bit of a rut at work of late - of my own doing, mostly. My inbox is constantly full of red-flagged items and consequently I never seem to have the time to complete all those niggling little tasks I know I really should otherwise they'll build up. Hence the high towering piles of paper, newspapers and boxes of print that have taken over my desk and threaten to eat me. No joke. The towers were so high they swayed like an unstable jelly whenever anyone walked past. But no more! Oh no. There is a new me in the office. And it's all because the whole office is having a reshuffle and we've all been forced into a long-overdue clear out.

I now actually sit with people I work with, with a very tidy desk - both are firsts for me. With a window and everything. Amazing. The Other Half bought me a little purple-flowered plant to adorn the windowsill as I've harped on so much about having said window and being able to see daylight in the office for a change. And who'd have thought that moving desks could work such wonders for your productivity? I feel super-organised. (The extra added brilliantness of it all, is that I'm now nestled in the corner and have angled my computer screen in such a manner that nobody can see when I'm not feeling as hyper-efficient, and am actually cruising Digital Spy for gossip.)

The downside to this new-found tidiness is I've unleashed a stationery monster from within, and I didn't even know I had one. I had no idea that a whole world of matching files and storage boxes, neon post-its and coordinating kitsch desk items existed. Well, I did - but I've never had the space for them. Similarly, my sister has made me little odds and ends like Mome Raths out of pipe cleaners, little origami birds etc over the years which now have pride of place on my brand-spanking new workspace. However, I am now addicted to Pulpshop and Totally Funky. This must stop, I'm scaring myself.

Lazy person post alert...

OK, I've just got around to filling this in on Facebook after being tagged by several other people, and thought it might inspire me to write a post. It hasn't yet. So I've cut and pasted in the hope that it will...and if you've already read it, well - you don't need to again. Bonus!

25 Random Things About Me

1. I love all my family and friends. Even though most of them are complete lunatics.
2. I wish I could become characters in books and films. I’d love to live in Harry Potter’s world. Or be Marty McFly’s sidekick. Or be a Goonie.
3. As well as being a shameless blogger, I'm also a brand new Twitterer. Look me up on Twitter (although I have no idea exactly how it works and what I'm supposed to do with it, yet): http://twitter.com/WitteringByGem
4. The worst job I did was promotional work – on one job I had to dress up as a reindeer (antlers, red nose and all) in supermarkets and sing Christmas carols.
5. I have had two ghostly experiences in my life!
6. I was once in Byker Grove but all you could see of me on screen were my elbow and shoe.
7. I love crap 80s films and music and can often be found dancing in my pjs in the kitchen.
8. I once got a part as Medusa in a school play because I was the girl who could remember lines and scream the loudest.
9. I really want to go to San Francisco, Oz and New Zealand. My favourite places I’ve been to so far are the Rockies, New York and New England.
10. I love cooking and experimenting in the kitchen (even when it all goes hideously wrong). Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone to chef school instead of uni.
11. I am allergic to red peppers and hate mayonnaise, boiled eggs and batter.
12. I have danced on stage with Keith from Boyzone, had a piggy back from Frank Bruno, and almost been run over by Michael Winner (who, despite those Esure car insurance adverts, is not a good driver, I assure you).
13. I have an MA in Film, and can’t decide what my favourite film is. It’s a very long list.
14. I cry all the time at anything – books, films (even pathetic ones), songs…and have even been known to sob over adverts.
15. I broke my toe 3 weeks before having to squeeze into wedding shoes, whilst intoxicated in my house with lots of friends playing giant Jenga.
16. I’m really good at coming up with one-liners and witty retorts about an hour after I needed them.
17. My family tree is nuts – I have an opera singer, the guy who played Tub in SuperGran, a drug baron and a woman who spontaneously combusted all on there.
18. My tipple of choice is the oh-so-70s Tia Maria and coke.
19. I’d love to have a dog but would feel too cruel leaving him in the house all day while I went out to work. I have a crazy cat instead.
20. I carry a notebook with me to jot down odd things I find, funny turns of phrase I hear and (seldom) good ideas I might have. I’d love to be a published author.
21. I would love to have a kitchen big enough to house an island in the middle. Where I could pretend to present my own cooking show.
22. I would quite happily let Gene Hunt give me a slap.
23. I would really love to have children one day but am absolutely terrified of being pregnant.
24. If I won the lottery I would open my own café with a proper deli inside (i.e. not a sandwich shop!). I have a name worked out and everything.
25. I seem to have a knack for hoarding trivia. Often useful in pub quizzes, always good for boring people to tears with.

Dammit, it still hasn't inspired me to write anything constructive yet.

I have a bandage and I'm not afraid to use it...

Today, I'm feeling quite proud of myself. Small things. And I know anyone can do it, and it's not a big deal or anything, but I do feel like I've accomplished something of a personal goal. For as of this fine afternoon, I am a newly qualified first aider at work. Yes - be afraid, be very afraid. This week has been fun, actually. I wasn't expecting it to be quite so entertaining. There's the added bonus of being out of the office for almost a week (woohoo!), and the fact that you are learning a new skill...but it's been most amusing taking my blood and bandages homework home with me to practice slings on my bemused Other Half and swap horror stories with my fellow trainees and our teacher.

Here's hoping I never actually have an emergency to contend with, though. Blood I can cope with. Sticking my finger in my eye, no problem. Nailed the correct manner to dress a wound with a foreign body in it. Protruding bones through skin, however - well, you can keep those, thank you very much. My class have had to sit through some truly horrendous videos this week - burns, falls, chemical spills, spurting arteries, the works...but the only things to truly turn my stomach were the photos of footballers with snapped tibia bones jutting out their pointing-the-wrong-way legs. Hurltastic.

In true me-style, though, this week has not been free from catastrophe. Did you really expect it to be? Of course not. Monday morning, I left the house in a hurry. It was washing day and all my jeans were in the laundry basket, so I shoved on my denim skirt without thinking too much of it. Only to get into my course and realise with a jolt of horror that we'd all be role playing and practicing exactly what to do in various emergencies. Yep, you guessed it. There I was in the middle of a room full of strangers, demonstrating the recovery position and flashing my polka-dot kecks to all and sundry.

At least I was wearing tights, I suppose. And knickers. It would have been far worse if not.

Blades of Glory and the Crash Test Dummies...

Yesterday I wound the clock back ten years and became a giggly teenager once again. And it felt great! I haven't laughed as much in one sitting in ages. A group of old chums and I decided to go ice skating for my friend C's birthday. (And as a sort of anti-Valnetine's Day thing.) Even my rickety, never-been-on-skates-before Other Half was persuaded to give it a go on the proviso that we're all pretty much novices, and since it'd been about a decade since any of us last hit the ice we'd all be as bad as each other. Give him his dues, he did try. And lasted all of four minutes before he did a lap of honour (clinging to the edges for dear life) and went off for coffee and to stand and point at us instead.

None of us fell over, we got a bit of speed skating going on once we all found our balance, and one mate, dubbed Christopher frickin' Dean, even attempted some fancy turns and arabesques. Show off. Not bad for a bunch of fast-approaching 30 year olds, all in all. But we had earned a drink or several by the end of the session and headed off for what turned out to be a very funny, very drunken lunch...which lead to impromptu late afternoon drinks...which led to an en-masse gathering at a mate's house...which led to muchos singing and wine until the small hours. The unplanned things are always the best. My head did not agree with that statement this morning, however.

And as for Christopher Dean, well - he kept breaking out into song throughout the day (if you can call his repeated renditions of the Crash Test Dummies' 'Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm' song, that is). In the pub when the rugby was on (cleared the bar). In the taxi going to our mate's house (almost had to get out and walk, the driver was so harassed by the ongoing verses). By the 14th performance in our mate's house, we knew it was home time. And I can't for the life of me remember WHY it was so funny or what it was in aid of. But I do know I never want to hear it again for a very long time.

Adventures of the kamikaze kitteh...

Cats are very peculiar creatures. Not only do they power the internet (check out I Can Has Cheezburger if you don't believe me), but they are sneaky thieves. See below for my photographic evidence. Now, my cat looks quite proficient at this standing-on-my-bedside-cabinet-stealing-my-water-malarkey here, so I'm guessing she's been doing it for quite a while. On the sly. Which also means that I've been unknowingly sipping out of cat-tainted drinks in the middle of the night. Mmmm, delicious. I don't think.

The Cat Burglar caught in the act.
Note: the book on my bedside cabinet at the minute is utter rubbish. Just don't bother.

Anyway, yesterday I came home from work and our little mog wasn't mewing at the front door to greet me (and demand food) as usual. Instead, she was yelping on the landing and dragging herself about with limp hind legs. So, a trip to the vet was in order. Turned out she'd dislocated her hips and strained her ligaments. How, we can only guess - as nothing looked out of place in the house, like there'd been an almighty calamity. But I reckon she's tried to leap onto the cabinet (pictured) from the bed for a sneaky sup of my water, misjudged it completely and fallen down the gap.

She's on the mend. On a lot of drugs. And, I've had words with her. I think she understood that at 14, she should no longer be leaping about furniture in a kamikaze manner. Then she passed out on painkillers.

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow...

I feel cheated. Cheated, I tell you! I've been robbed of a day off, all because the weather men told lies. There we were on Sunday night, watching the weather reports which told us to brace ourselves for heavy snow fall (and thinking, yeah right - it never snows heavy here. Whilst secretly wishing for a snow day to get us out of work), and lo! Monday morning arrives. The whole country was apparently in the midst of a blizzard - everywhere except my region, that is. We had a slight 'dusting'. Lies, goddammit, lies! How dare it not snow here. I really wanted to go sledging.

Instead, I've had to read all about other people sledging on the BBC News website while I pretended to be working. Reading all about how London was at a standstill because all the transport networks were out of action. Smug friends in the capital were giving me updates as their offices called it a day one by one and sent everyone out to have snowball fights. Watching with scorn and jealousy as thousands of photos poured in online of happy people building snowmen and having good, clean winter fun. Well, I've got news for you - you self-righteous, would-be-at-work-if-it-wasn't-for-this-white-dust, Frosty-building idiots. Your snowmen were rubbish! Rubbish, I say!

Bored and bitter, now. Unless it snows here, that is. Then I'd show those snowmen builders how it's done. Grrr.

Our survey said...

Last night turned out to be a success in the end. No hitches with the Chinese food (thankfully, after the cooking week from hell), seven happy people and not an exploding spring roll in sight. Except, apparently my cocktails (Gatsbys) were a wee bit too lethal for some. My friend S texted me today to say she is never drinking them ever again. I can only hope she managed to keep her head out of the loo long enough to salvage some of her Sunday. (S: What was in those bloody cocktails? Me: Southern Comfort, ginger and lime. S: Southern Comfort? Southern Hell! Me: Oops.) Oh dear.

Actually, it was probably the fault of the toxic cocktails that we all started playing a very merry version of Family Fortunes (with buzzers, 'our survey said' sound effects and everything - it was most exciting for a bunch of sozzled individuals). It's always the way when you've had a drink - even innocent games become innuendo laden. This was no exception. The air was positively blue. Even more so since we were in the presence of The Man Who Can Make Anything Into a Double Entendre. My Other Half took up the role of game show host/Les Dennis for the evening and even he struggled to keep his composure as the answers just kept getting worse and worse. This was a very tame one before the second pitcher of Gatsbys made an appearance:

Les Dennis: "Name something you might find in a church."
Team A: "Love beads!"
Team B: "A threesome!"

And it got slowly worse.

Anyhoo. For no apparent reason, the night then progressed into what can only be described as a gurning competition. You can imagine those pictures, I'm sure. Our living room was taken over by a herd of insanely grinning, cross-eyed, elasticated-mouthed lunatics. And on almost every photo, my face is apparently made of rubber and I look like the second cousin of Jim Carrey on day release from a mental ward . I really must work on that.