Bubble trouble

Delivery Man: Sorry mate, your parcel got damaged in transit and it came open. Looks like the contents are missing.

Me: Oh no, seriously?

DM: Yeah, look, there’s nothing in here but bubble wrap. Any idea what was supposed to be in here?

Me: I can’t remember. I’ve ordered a few things recently. How annoying.

DM: No worries mate, I’ll just take it back to the depot and report it damaged. They’ll send you a new one.

Me: Hang on…. It’s ok. Just remembered, I ordered a load of bubble wrap.

Return to Sender

Anyone else feel genuine fear when posting a letter in a post box?

Every time, as I drop a letter in, my brain goes “OH NO I DROPPED MY HOUSE KEYS IN AS WELL” (they were never in my hand in the first place)

“OH NO MY RING HAS FALLEN OFF MY HAND” (I don’t wear one)

“OH NO I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED MY BOSS A RESIGNATION LETTER” (Where did that come from?)

“OH NO IS THERE A DOBERMAN IN THIS POST BOX?” (no, obvs)

“OH NO I THINK I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED MY WALLET”

“OH NO I THINK MY FINGERS HAVE COME OFF” (etc).

Anyone else? Anyone?

SMALL CO-INCIDENCE THAT WILL NEVER BE MADE INTO A FILM BUT IS STILL QUITE CUTE NEVERTHELESS:

In 2012, it snowed.

Hard.

So hard, I was convinced I was going to die.

I was sitting in my friend’s lounge when the first snowflakes started falling. It was getting late, and it was a 60 mile drive home. Usually, I’d have crashed on their sofa, but I was working the next morning and needed to get home. Driving made sense.

It didn’t take long to regret that decision. The snow fell, heavier now. I struggled up hills, the wheels spinning. I was in the “Divorce Car”, the car I’d been left with when my marriage broke down; a car I hadn’t actually wanted, and couldn’t really afford to run as it was an ostentatious, petrol-guzzling monster of a thing. Plus, it was Rear-Wheel Drive, which I didn’t know is disastrous for snow.

I was now too far into the journey to turn back; at least I was near the motorway, which I assured myself would be gritted, and safer. I was wrong.

It was nearly midnight by the time I got onto the M25, the snow still falling so quickly and so heavily. The carriageway was icy, and I lost control of my car several times, the steering wheel jerking under my hands. I was crying as I drove, muttering an incantation that I hoped would save me (although I don’t know who I was offering it up to, given that I’m quite cheerfully atheist): “I can’t die. I’m a mum, I’m a daughter, I’m a sister, please don’t let me die.”

Then, I was catapulted across the carriageway.

The car spinning, in freefall, towards the central reservation.

Time slowed: “So, this is how it ends.” I thought. I apologised to my kids, that I wouldn’t be there to see them growing up. I thought of my mum and my sister. I wondered briefly if there was an afterlife, and if I was going to be reunited with my dad. I even took a moment to be sorry that I wouldn’t be going on a second date with a promising suitor*.

The car stopped, inches from the barrier, facing the wrong way into the traffic.

I exhaled, and burst into tears again.

I’d been driving for over 3 hours at this point. I gingerly turned the car around, kept driving, crying constantly now, and chanting my new mantra, “Please don’t let me die. Please don’t let me die.”

I eventually managed to wrestle the car off the motorway and, slowly, slowly, some of the way home.

At 4am, I admitted defeat. I couldn’t get the car up a hill, couldn’t turn round to go back down, couldn’t do anything other than abandon the car and walk the final 4 miles home.

As I walked, I fell into step with a man. We started chatting, as you do in weird situations; normal social conventions don’t apply. His name was Jamie and he was an interesting chap, ran an art gallery in town, lived over the other side of London but had got stuck visiting family. We chatted about this and that until we arrived at a house.

“I’m sorry I can’t walk you home”, he said, “but this is where I’m staying tonight.” He reached into his jacket, then handed me a business card, “Text me when you’re home so I know you got back safely”.

I got home some time after 5am. My Converse had frozen to my feet. I cried with relief for a while, and then collapsed into sleep.

Four years later, I was chatting with a lovely lady that I knew, a little. This time, we got onto the subject of art. She told me it’s her family’s passion, and that her son Jamie runs an art gallery in town.

“Oh”, I said, “I wonder if he remembers me? We met the last time it snowed”.

*************

*As it turns out, there was no second date, for reasons that will probably be explained in another post.

The Shed of Doom

Having a productive sort of day, I decided to assemble a shelving unit in the shed.

It was a pretty easy job, but as I triumphantly pushed the final cap into place, I shrieked. I’d managed to trap a chunk of my wrist skin in between the pole and the cap, thus painfully attaching the whole unit to my arm.

I was stuck fast, pinned in place, like a lo-budget version of 127 hours.
I had no tools to hand to take the shelving to pieces.
I couldn’t reach my phone to call for help.
I was royally stuffed.

Eventually I managed to drag the whole shelving unit, still attached to my arm, to the door of the shed where I started shouting. Thank goodness some kind soul came to my aid and freed me from the unit (and my own stupidity). He didn’t even laugh at me. What a gent.

Anyway, five years later, the shelving unit still looks ace, so it was totally worth it.

“Do One Thing A Day That Scares You”

OK, over-familiar shop window, I’m in!

So, I just snogged a shark and later I’m going to fly a helicopter while blindfolded. Tomorrow, who knows? Disguising myself as a seal and climbing into the polar bear enclosure at London Zoo? Figuring out if I’ll ever be able to afford to retire? Contemplating the bleakness and futility of existence?

A sincere and heartfelt bit of feedback to Facebook

Dear Facebook,
 
Could you kindly, in your “people you may know” section, stop suggesting that I add the following as friends:
 
a) That weird guy from Guardian Soulmates who I went on a terrible date with in 2012
b) That person from youth group I had nothing in common with when I was 14, and haven’t seen since I was 14
c) That ex-colleague that I hadn’t added as a friend already for a very good reason
d) That other weird guy from Guardian Soulmates who I went on a terrible date with in 2012
e) That nightmare ex that I haven’t spoken to in five years. Yes, that one.
f) Possibly an ex-parent from my daughter’s class? Don’t know
g) Person who will think I am a crazed stalker if I add them as a friend, as there is no reason to add them as a friend (e.g. my friend’s teenage daughter who I have never met)
h) That woman who lived in the downstairs flat in 1998 with the sodding fluffy dog that never stopped barking
i) Brother of person I have not spoken to since accepting friend request on Facebook. I have never met this brother.
j) I think that’s my osteopath but I’m not entirely sure what his actual surname is (he’s in my phone under Alex Osteopath)
k) A cat. An actual cat. In Fulham.
l) Builder who did some work for me in 2011.
m) A garage. An actual fucking garage. In Manchester.
n) Guy who bought my house in 2009.
o) “Captain Halitosis”
p) That awful friend-of-a-friend that said that awful thing that one time
q) That other other weird guy from Guardian Soulmates who was so weird I decided I didn’t even want to meet him for a first date
 
If you could sort this soon, that would be appreciated. Before the next time I accidentally click “Add Friend” instead of “Remove Suggestion”. Again.
 
Thanks!
xxx