November 2006 Archives

Company christmas party theme 2007: Circus.

Roundly derided as worst possible theme EVER. The organisers are going to love it - fire breathers and what not - but as for us actually dressing up, it's not the easiest theme to interpret into something witty and wearable.

Costume ideas already struck off the list:
- bearded lady
- strong man
- slutty monkey (don't ask)
- girl whom knives are thrown at
- clown

The idea is to be original but not a try hard (one girl is going as an animal right's activist - I suggest she take the Family Guy name 'Buzz Killington') and to go in something not too slutty but not frumpy.

Help!!!

Last night I attended an awards dinner with a supplier. The night turned out well?

First off, this is the same supplier I went to another awards dinner with about a month ago, so a new dress was definitely in order. Despite worries about potential chav mixture of black and light pink, I got some lovely compliments and felt great in it. I had considered a more expensive, more chic dress but actually felt more comfortable in one from River Island, go figure.

The dinner was cool, nice venue and décor and the host, Rob Brydon, was side-splittingly funny. I remember looking at a friend across the table with that ?oh no he didn?t!? look a good few times ? very funny set.

So the awards start, and my company had 8 magazines nominated in 10 categories. We swiftly picked up the first two awards in a row ? this was great, but also worried me because I thought we may have peaked too early, as my title was only nominated later on.

But, sure enough, we won, Most Effective Consumer Title (non-retail) for one of the titles I take care of. Now I haven?t been working on it for the whole year but the issue cover they put up on the screen was from my tenure and so I felt really, really chuffed!

I rode out the rest of the night on a comfy wave of champers and water (I?m a sensible girl!) and as we came to the end, we reached the big one, the award for Customer Magazine of the Year. The nominees for this are only revealed then, and as they read them off I counted four from my company, in a list of 9! And, mine was one of them! While mine didn?t win, another of my company?s did!

We won five awards in total out of 13!

Result!

Taking Back Sunday - You're So Last Summer

I love this song, and Flava Flav is always welcome.

Following on from Boing Boing's look at international faux pas, I decided to look at the entry for South Africa:

South Africa

* It is the custom to look someone in the eye whenever touching glasses for a toast. Varying superstitious results can follow should you not do so.
* Never interfere with another man's braai (barbeque). Don't even make recommendations on cooking method or style unless your are a close friend. (Even relatives may not comment.)

If you're a Saffa of my age group, you'll know that not making eye contact whilst clinking glasses can result in a very disappointing 7 years ahead.

Can you think of any more Saffer ones? How about:

* When a famous South African figure dies, immediately refrain from mentioning anything bad about that person, no matter how horrid they actually were (ref PW Botha, Hansie Cronje).
* As a Saffer living in London, lament loudly and incessantly how much nicer things are 'back home' and how 'if there's one thing I don't like about this country it's XXXX'. Make specific reference to things you never really cared for that much in SA, but you can't get here, eg Creme Soda, Wilson's Toffees.

I don't like being nasty about the NHS, really. I get that it's a big deal, the concept of free or very close to free medical help. But if, like me, you've been thrust into the situation where you need to sort out contraception, you'll understand why I slate them every so often.

When I hear the stories about 12 year old pregnant girls, or how the UK has the worst rate of teen pregnancy in Europe, and all that jazz, I wonder why. And I can't help but think that the freaking nightmare it is to get hold of the pill here must have something to do with it (awful parenting in some instances aside).

I am a responsible girl. The method of contraception I choose is deliberately chosen - I don't want the coil, I don't want the jab, I don't want to have to deal with freaky hormone levels. I might be convincing myself into feeling a sense of control over my un-pregnant-ness by taking a little pill every day but that's my choice to make. I've done this before - all you need to do, blase nurse woman, is let me tell you why the current pill isn't working for me and find out a hormone balance that will. I would think, as someone working in a Women's Health Walk-In Clinic, you'd be ready for a question as simple as that.

Well, I have had to try 2 centres now before giving up and booking an appointment with my GP (requiring me to take a half-day off work). The GP was actually very good, if a bit weak on the eye contact side of things. He was attentive, explained everything to me thoroughly, and I was well tempted to ask him to take a look at my hand to see if the cut needed stitches after all, but I decided to let that go. Even so, he's only given me a 3 month prescription of the new pill, but at least he explained why. Were it not for him, I'd so have been giving BUPA a call this afternoon.

And, apart from the pill palava, he confirmed my suspicion that I have a urinary tract infection (it's pretty advanced, I actually have pain reaching all the way up the tubes to my kidneys!). My only solace is that I share this problem with Dooce, and hey, if a blogger infinitely more famous than me can say she has it, why not jump on the bandwagon.

Okay, so the NHS came out glowing in the end - but that was due to one good doctor. I have encountered 2 nurses at Women's Health clinics who stare at me blankly when I start talking about estrogen/progesterone mixes.
I'm pretty sure I wrote this exact blog post before, when first arriving here in the UK and looking to go on the pill here. Seems not much has changed.

I currently have:
- one fully-functioning uterus, for the first time in 7 years, thanks to the need to change my method of contraception
- one red, hard, bruised bicep, thanks to a nurse vigorously flu-jabbing me
- one sore, bleeding palm thanks to my own dumb deep slashing of my hand (too impatient for the cheesecake to thaw properly, I deserve what I get).

Ian has been stellar in taking care of me and allowing me to feel sorry for myself. Yesterday, after inflicting the deepest cut I have ever given myself, he was calm, careful, authoritative ? although it may all have been an act, as later he went against his own advice of ?keep pressure on it for at least an hour!? by saying ?let?s see the cut?? about 20 minutes later. Then, when I fell asleep last night before securing my palm properly, woke to about half a pint of blood next to me, and had to wake him up to change the linen, he didn?t moan about the cold, or the interruption of sleep, and simply asked ?how?s the hand??, at a time when I needed sympathy but not so much that I would feel crowded.

I?m a lucky girl, that a year and a half on, he completely gets me, in these small significant ways.