I've just had over 2 weeks off work and look like some disheveled hobo with TB. The stress rash I developed on my scalp has started bleeding so I now have red dandruff.
Things didn't start well. 2 days before my holiday we were all told that our department was being restructured. That's business speak for cutting back on staff but not the volume of work.
OK I should have made a decision then to postpone my holiday but I'd already agreed to house sit for friends so my hands were tied. So started the weirdest vacation ever.
I hung around at home over the weekend. No point travelling South for a couple of days to come home and then venture to the North for the interview. Hanging around just made me more anxious, so by the time I got to the office my breathing sounded like a camel having an orgasm. I covered myself in Garnier Shine Control moisturiser and Sure Extreme Protection but still sweated up like a Turkish wrestler.
The interviews were behind schedule and in the end I landed up with the after lunch slot with a woman from Human Resources. She was having problems keeping her eyes open. Was I boring her to death or had she had a couple of pints and a carvery roast down the pub?
30 minutes later it was all over and I was dispatched back to London to continue my anxious wait/holiday. A quick change of suitcase and I was off to the seaside.
Arrived in Brighton and headed off to the chemist to get a prescription. As luck would have it the local chemist closes early on a Wednesday so now I can feel a panic attack coming on.
17.15 I have no idea where the next chemist is. I start walking East. Not sure why but it seemed to make sense at the time.
17.26 I find another chemist in the nick of time. A small, surly Scandinavian woman is getting ready to shut up shop as I bluster through the door, knocking over a display of cheap reading glasses. The troll gives me daggers as the pharmacist takes pity on me and agrees to make up my prescription. I buy a purple nail clipper set out of gratitude.
17.36 I wave goodbye to the pharmacist and her grumpy troll and head back.
17.37 A monsoon hits Brighton and t shirt/shorts and flip flops suddenly seem inappropriate. 3 blocks later and I'm drenched. I've stuffed my drugs down my shorts to keep them dry but I'm soaked through to my Calvins.
17.48 I eventually make it home and collapse with my drugs and a bottle of Jacobs Creek.
Things can only get better.......................right?
After 4 days I trek back home as I'm being summoned to work for another interview.
The dog's developed a nasty cough/retch combo in my absence, so my first day back and I'm off to line the vets pockets again. £78 for some pills and a bottle of ear cleaner. If any parents are reading this crap, my advice would be to encourage your children to become vets. It's like a license to print money and no one ever complains because their little precious babies are worth every penny. It's simply not the done thing to whinge about being robbed blind by the bloke in the green coat with bad hair who just stuck a thermometer up Fifi's arse.
Got myself in a right 2 n 8 over my pending interview. Woke up with hives and the scalp scabs were itching something rotten. As the morning wore on I couldn't settle and just walked around the house picking up stuff for no reason and putting it down again in between several toilet visits. If I'd been auditioning for a remake of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest the part would have been mine.
As this was a final interview and I'm supposed to be on holiday they decided to do it by phone rather than make me travel up North again. By the time the phone rang my t-shirt was wringing wet and I was having trouble walking. My behind was red raw and felt like a blob of mince and drawing pins.
Actually the interview went really well until the dog had a cough/retching fit and I made a dash for the door so they didn't hear her. I tripped over a toothbrush charger and fell into the huge banana plant that I'm babysitting for a friend while she's on holiday. It was snapped in two but I got the job so it's not all bad news. I've got a few days left to think up a good story about the death of her beloved plant. I've got rid of the evidence. It's currently in small bits in our wheelie bin and should be land-fill by the weekend.
Without an ounce of remorse I was back off to the coast to continue my holiday. The rain started almost immediately.
Had a great night out with mates for a birthday celebration. We had a magnificent Thai feast served up by what looked like the chorus line of a fat ladyboy cabaret. Staggered back home and fell asleep on the sofa squinting at the SKY+ planner with one eye and swearing at the remote control. Every channel seemed to be showing Charlotte Church murdering Hey Jude but I can't be sure if I was still awake.
Next day went shopping in Brighton with Mr T. We got soaked again darting through The Brighton Lanes and spent most of the afternoon in clammy charity shops as he was searching for Scally footwear. He tells everyone he buys these shoes to re-sell on EBay. We all believed him until his Mum's loft collapsed and she was buried under a pile of Doc Martins and Adidas trainers.
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