I gently wiped the Nutella from Lexi's face.
"Remember, you don't get a second chance to give a good
I looked down at the blank expression on my four year old
daughters face. Why had I told her that? It meant nothing to a four year old.
I'd clearly been on too many customer care courses, the mantras of how to be
liked coming back far too easily. Four
year olds need honesty and to be told that it's all going to be okay.
"Be nice to people, and kind to other children who are
playing on their own, let them join in. It's going to be fun at school, this is
the start of a big adventure."
Okay that bit was a lie.
To me school had not been an adventure,
more of an endurance. And the first
impressions thing? At my first day of senior school I had gone to school with
my naturally very curly hair slightly longer than it should have been and was
called 'poodle' for the next six years.
First impressions matter.
With the Nutell…
The most dangerous season of the year is approaching far faster thanot you realise, ando with it comes a great fear and danger. There are a lot of people who do not like Christmas
for a number of reasons, the worry of affording presents for their families and
the debt that it may incur. For others a lonely time and a sad time to reflect
on the people they've lost. But for me it's the irritation of glitter on bloody
everything. It’s not the actual glitter that irritates me, but the fact that it doesn’t every stay
on the object it’s been placed on. And although I try to avoid it at all costs, I always end up with some of it stuck on my face. I never know it’s on my face until I have that
moment when I’m talking to someone, and become aware they are looking at me,
but focusing on one particular place on my face, and I think "That's odd, why are they
looking at me like that?" And then I go to a mirror and look, and there is, glitter all over my face, and I look like a…
I was in the toilets at work.
I had enough time for a quick wee before my
lunch break, after all I didn't want to go to the toilet in my own time, that
would just be wrong.
I went to the downstairs toilets in the basement, There are
no offices in the basement, so as a result they were not used as much as the
ones on the second floor.
As I entered the toilet downstairs all was quiet, I looked
at both cubicle doors, both were showing the green flash on the lock meaning
I breathed a sigh of relief, there would be no need for small talk
whilst washing my hands. I felt I always had to say something if I saw a work colleague
there, although I never really knew what to say in this situation, and I couldn't hear them over the incredibly loud air-blade hand dryer.
Better to bump into a client, or someone from the other
offices at the top of the building, that way I could do a manly nod at them,
without the need for making conversation.
I opened the door on toilet one, and wa…
I stood up and announced to my work colleagues with confidence,"Did you know a moment is
actually a realmeasurement of time?" I paused for a moment to add impact, and the office fell silent. I was enjoying my moment of
attention, and the fact that I, and I alone knew the information I was about to deliver. “A 'moment' is actually three minutes." I sat back down in my office
chair, happy to have passed on my wisdom.
Information that I had no doubt would be passed on by the people present to
their friends, they would enjoy their moment also, and would
remember me for having shared this with them originally. "No it's not." said Patrick "What?" I was taken aback, I was not expecting to be challenged. "It's not three minutes. It’s one and a half minutes
actually." He continued. "It definitely is three minutes." I replied. I was standing up again, I did not expect to be standing up again
this quickly. I expected to still be si…
The cupboard of doom. I know what you're thinking, it sounds like a really disappointing Harry Potter story. But is not. It's actually the place I most fear in our flat. Although perhaps fear is too strong a word. Annoyed by. Irked. Irritated by. It's like that thing you forget exists, and then you remember and it really irritates you all over again. It's bloody Piers Morgan. Some people don't like their spooky attic or cobweb filed loft, for me it's the narrow cupboard just to the right of the cupboard under the sink. That's where the food containers and plastic boxes live, and the leftover containers from the Chinese takeaway, waiting patiently for me to open the cupboard door so they can all jump out at me, like a toppling Tupperware tower of terror. It happens every time. I forget until the very moment the door swings open, but then it's already too late, a plastic tsunami engulfs my feet, and I have to spend the next five minutes trying to match up the…
Boris is a bear. My son Oscar's bear. He’s had him since he was one, I can’t remember who bought him for
him, but he has been a constant companion since that day. I can’t even remember
why he is called Boris – I don’t know if Oscar himself named him, or it was
chosen for him as a tribute to the Mayor of London, or the Russian President
from the early nineties. There is no real resemblance to either, although
the London Mayor Boris has the reputation of being as woolly headed as the bear
Boris, I’m sure the naming of the bear wasn’t Oscar’s first attempt at satire though. When Oscar was around three he suddenly gave Boris a voice (The bear,
not the Mayor or Ex Russian President), the only way I can explain Boris’ voice
is a high pitched but growly, which I suppose is exactly how you would expect a
small bear to talk, if small bears could indeed talk. “Would you like any ice cream Oscar?” “Yes please.” “Me too.” said ‘Boris’ from behind me as I reached into the
freezer. I turned to Oscar…
I never expected the night to turn out like this.
It's not something you expect when you start off going out for a 'quiet drink' before a big day. You don't think you'll end up arm wrestling anyone, and certainly not someone who you don't actually know.
But this is how I found myself at the end of the night, arm to arm, locked in combat, with a student. A large student at that.
And I'm really not the arm-wrestling type.
I was in Brighton, I was on the planning team of the works summer away day, and I went with the event organiser, another man named Chris.
We agreed on a quiet drink before going back to our rooms to prepare for the next day.
But the plan had changed. Drinks had been drunk, and shots had been consumed.
I stepped out of the toilets and heard Chris, the other Chris, say "He'll do it!" pointing my way.
I looked over and Chris, who was sitting down, looking far too unaffected by the levels of drinks that had been consumed.