This morning at work, whilst making my morning coffee in our kitchen/break area, I was greeted by one of my colleagues.
“Good morning!” she said, as she strolled over to the collection of free fruit provided by the company.
“Good morning to you!”, I replied with the type of gusto I only reserve for Fridays, “And how are you this fine morning?”
“I’m great!”, she said innocently as she picked up a piece of fruit, “Just looking forward to my banana”.
Yeah she was.
Never say never.
This morning, as I was lacing my shoes for work, the song ‘Eye Of The Tiger’ came on the radio.
I won’t lie….In that moment I felt a rush of self confidence and awesomeness. I felt like I was in an 80’s ‘getting ready for the thing’ montage and actually tied those laces with more intensity and purpose than ever before.
It was a little bit like that scene from ‘Commando’.
let’s go to work
I should feel embarrassed that I actually did that, but I don’t. To be honest, we should all be able to do stuff with more vigor and intensity when that song comes on.
“Dun………dun, dun, dun………dun, dun, dun………dun dun DUUUUUUUUUN!”
Actually…..my shoes are a little bit too tight now.
This morning I had a poo.
When the performance was over I stood up, turned around to flush away the nastiness only to see the water was red with blood!
What the fuck?
I panicked. I was scared! Why am I bleeding out of my bum? Am I dying? Is this the end????
Oh, wait, I had Beetroot salad last night.
Never mind.
(flush)
I’m currently at work and I’ve just been to make myself a mug of coffee.
Here’s what happened.
I poured the coffee, added sweetener (I try and avoid sugar from a health point of view, despite the fact that sweetener is nothing but chemicals…but hey, less calories right?), and opened the fridge to get a carton of milk.
One of my colleagues was pouring herself a coffee, saw me add the milk to my coffee and said “How very British”.
I looked at my coffee confused for a moment, then at her, then back to my coffee. What’s very British? Coffee? Er, I think you’ll find that’s a very American thing.
Then she placed her cup under one of these bad boys…
…and starting pumping her beverage with Hazelnut…erm…’cream’? Is it cream?
(Shrugs) Who knows?
I smiled at her as she pumped 6 doses of this stuff into her coffee and said “I used to use that until I saw the calorie content. That’s why I went back to using milk”
She looked at me blankly for a moment. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to comprehend what I’d said or if she was recuperating from having to count all the way up to 6.
She eventually replied with “And you guys put milk in your tea, right?” as she curled up her nose in disgust.
“Yes we do. Actually it’s only you guys who don’t”, I said, a little defensively.
There was a pause.
“Yeah”.
She had clearly lost her way in this conversation and went back to stirring her mug of Hazelnut ‘cream’ with a bit of coffee in it.
As I walked away I turned back, smiled, and said, “Tea with milk is epic”.
She laughed.
I don’t know why.
I don’t think she knew either.
On the drive into work this morning I was behind this plumbing truck.
I couldn’t resist sharing these brilliant slogans.
This morning at the train station I saw a young guy with a tattoo on his forearm that read “Live Free”.
He was also on his way to work.
Some people make this too easy.
There was confusion in Starbucks this morning. The woman who was calling out the finished beverages at the collection area had the loosest grasp of English.
“Vebbi capparan cheeno fomackle?”
There was no response. Instead we were all looking at each other baffled as this small woman held up a large paper cup full of mystery.
“Vebbi capparan cheeno fomackle?”
Still nothing from us. It didn’t help that we were all in need of coffee, which may or may not have been ready.
The small woman looked at the name scrawled on the cup and carefully shouted, “Mackle?”
The man next to me said “Michael?”
“Yes, dis is faryoo”.
“Is that a cappuccino?” he enquired.
“Yes, vebbi capparan cheeno”.
And as Michael picked up his not-so-hot-anymore cup of coffee and left, I realised that ‘Vebbi capparan cheeno fomackle’ meant ‘Venti cappuccino for Michael’.
It didn’t stop there.
“Gradday hansel nub skinnle latty foserra?” (Grande hazelnut skinny latte for Sarah)
“Smor mericano wiz is press shotten exta hor mik fomerry?” (Small Americano with an espresso shot and extra hot milk for Mary)
“Lar feeter coff foffipp?” (Large filter coffee for Phillip)
“Tea fomanderlin”.
Actually, this was the easiest one to understand. After all, it was tea. It didn’t matter what words she murdered after saying ‘tea’, the owner (Madeline) knew it was for her.
There is always one who goes to an American coffee chain in England to have tea; the most English of hot drinks.
“Wozdee wul kuh mintoo?”
Some people have an inability to eat quietly.
I’m not an eating Hitler, but when you can hear the man open mouth chewing his apple from 3 seats away on a moving train…it does make you want to shove the fruit up his arse.
Or down the throat of the fat bloke who just won’t stop coughing loudly and with big heavy wheezes.
I’m loving my snooze on this train this morning, I really am.
This morning my journey into work started with a delayed bus that got me to the station later than I’d hoped. I still managed to catch my intended train, but I had to run…which in work attire first thing in the morning, when my limbs are creaky and cold, tends to resemble a newborn deer; gangly and awkward.
Having made my train and rewarding myself with a mental high five I settled down into an empty seat and looked forward to my nap. This morning’s nap would be exceptionally enjoyable as I was on an earlier train today and I knew I didn’t have a mentally insane power walk the other end.
Half way into the journey the driver announced, whilst sat at a station, that there was a technical difficulty with the doors and we wouldn’t be going anywhere for at least 20 minutes.
Great.
So I settled into a nice deep sleep, which resulted in snorting myself awake when the driver’s voice came over the tannoy again (see previous blog entry: ‘Wakey Wakey’)
I finally made it into London, 2 minutes before I need to be at work; 20 minutes away.
Time to be Bambi again.
And the delays didn’t stop there.
I got stopped by two people whose Oyster cards wouldn’t let them through the barrier, a woman who kept stopping with her suitcase without warning, a train that was held in the station for 3 minutes (which equates to 3hrs overground) due to a stop signal, a guy on the escalator who was more preoccupied with his kindle than walking up the escalator (he got a sharp jab in the ribs for his efforts), and an elevator that finally moved after the doors opened and closed 6 times.
What is it with doors today??
So all in all, quite a prolonged commute into work. Perfect for a Monday.
I can only hope that fate had a plan and, by delaying me, ensured I avoided being hit by a car, mugged, shot, blown up or (worst of all) being stopped by charity people with dreadlocks and clipboards.
Head In A Blender 