Wow, it's been a while! If you need a catch up try this.
So there I was. At my parents house, with a car, computer and two suitcases. The first few days were an absolute blur, I recall spending much of the time in tears, tears of relief and dispair. I do know that I never once thought about going back.
My mum was convinced that I was having an affair and immediately took sides with Mr H. She cooked for him, would go to the house to wash and clean for him, would demand my dad buy him a drink if they saw him in the pub....... Of course I was the guilty party. I had somehow managed to ruin the perfect marriage. My dad, he knew there was more to it, but like the day of my wedding - he never asked the question. Probably because he knew what the answer would be.
My in-laws would not even look at me, never mind talk to me. They thought I was selfish, conceited and above my station. How wrong they were and it broke my heart.
Yet I wouldn't tell them why I had left. Any of them. I couldn't.
I never returned to my lovely little house, not once did I step foot back in it. I continued to pay the mortgage and the bills. Mr H sold my car and I bought a new one. Eventually I signed the house over to Mr H - nice of me eh? What choice did I have when he was threatening to burn down my parents' home, to hospitalise my dad, to tamper with my car brakes? Sounds extreme, but I never once doubted that he would follow through with his threats (years later I was to discover that he is a man of his word).
From the age of 14 to 24 I had been with this man. My one and only boyfriend.
So what did I get?
Two suitcases, a computer and a fear of ever telling anyone what had truly happened.
Oh, and I did have a fantastic friend at work. He was amazingly supportive and just the most genuine person I had ever met - Mr M.
I had my interview today - what a total and utter joke!
After spending the last couple of weeks preparing myself, doing lots of research into the post, the organisation etc. I am bemused to say that from start to finish the interview was a farce!
Firstly I had to give a ten minute presentation (as it was a clinical trainers post) the topic was not disclosed until the interview - but I expected it to be around learning styles, barriers to training, national directives etc. No - I shit you not ladies. For a middle management post within the dear old NHS I had to give a presentation on making a cup of tea! WTF???
So being me, I ditched learning theory and presentation styles. I avoided backward and forward chaining and I presented my own little version of making a cup of tea;-
1) Hob v electric kettle (electric kettles cut out just before boiling point so a hob kettle wins for me every time) 2) Tea pot or not? Depends on how many cups and how close to pay day - two bags in a pot will easily make 4 cups. However I prefer the cup method 3) square, round or pyramid tea bags? Biggest Dilemma 4)Mug or cup? China mug for me, a cups not enough and the china mug keeps the tea hot! 5) Milk in before or after? Got to be after! 6) How long to leave it brewing? Long enough to raid the biscuit tin! 7) Sugar or not? No way!
I don't think they appreciated my sense of humour!
It went down hill from there. They asked me if I had read the person spec for the job - HELLO? Of course I flaming had. They then asked if I were writing a person spec for the job what would I put as essential skill - How about exactly the same as you had put seeing as it was you who devised the role?
In total I was asked 6 very bland questions, nothing to do with my skills, my experience, my knowledge base - zip!
The best part - oh yes it gets better - was when I got to ask them questions. I had 5 prepared and was expecting to ask at least 3-4 of them. However as they failed to answer the first two (the tumble weed was out in full force) I didn't bother asking any more!
I laughed after coming out ( I was in a grand total of 30 minutes and 10 minutes of that was talking about making tea) Phoned Mr M and told him there was no way on earth I would accept the job - but this wouldn't be an issue as there was no way they would offer it to me!!
Needless to say - I didn't get the job!!
The feedback........ I am too focused on professional and organisational aspects and they just want someone to deliver a training programme!!! On a band 7 - really???
I am so not gutted, yes it was closer to home and more money - but so un stimulating that I would have been bored in the first month I think.
The only unfortunate thing is that I can't even use today as interview experience - I have asked more challenging questions and expected more when interviewing for Band 5 Nurses!!
Tomorrow is the big day, the day I get to sell myself and bag a new job - if I'm lucky!
Today I had so much planned:-
6.30 - take the girls to nursery 7.30 - Go to the gym, do a 10K 9.00 - Hair cut & colour Lunch - return home & select interview outfit (which consists of trying on every suit, trouser, skirt, jacket & shirt combination I own. Some time later - tackle the shoe decision Some time before 5.30 - go through all the research I've done for the job & practice some answers 5.30 - Pick the girls up 6.30 - girls in the bath, supper & bed 7.30 - Crack open the wine Sometime before midnight - crawl into bed & pray the girls sleep through!
Unfortunately we failed at the first hurdle - both girls are running a fever, Dora has a viral rash & has been puking for England. All bets are off, all plans are cancelled.
Farting, pumping, passing wind, blowing off, bottom burps - call it what you will - I have a huge problem with people (me) doing it in public.
Now I'm not so highly strung that I don't find fart stories funny, I even got asked to leave my Yoga class as I couldn't stop laughing at the old ladies creaking from their backsides every time they changed position - honestly, how anyone kept a straight face I'll never know! My problem is that I have a huge problem with it - I don't do it within earshot or smelling distance of any other person. I just can't do it - end of story really!
Yesterday I had lunch with a friend - Ruth -who I've not been in contact with for years. We used to work together, but sadly lost touch after I went off to University and her marriage ended. We 'found' each other again through *facebook*.
So after we'd done the talking at 100mph trying to cram 10 years into 10 minutes, we started to talk about the good old days, the really funny times we'd had working together at an exclusive holiday village - where most of the guests earned more in 1 day than we did in 1 month - but I digress... - We laughed so hard about the 'How many cream cakes can you eat at once?' competition we used to have after the shops had closed. We laughed even harder when we talked about a mutual friend Dawn, who was so funny she should have been on the stage.
Then, to my horror, Ruth remembered the time that we were both working in the really expensive gift shop, the time that I FARTED. I have tried to block this memory, but I've got to admit that even I found it funny when Ruth was recounting it.
So here it is, I stare with you my most embarrassing memory....
Fridays were checkout days at the holiday village, Ruth and I were stood at the tills in the expensive gift shop. We had a queue of people waiting to pay for their ridiculously overpriced gifts. Whilst serving a very handsome, if somewhat older chap, I bent under the till to get some tissue paper to wrap his vase. At the point of bending down I sneezed, which was quickly followed by the loudest fart I have ever produced.
I was mortified.
I maintained my half crouched, half bent over position. My face was so red I could have cooked a full English Breakfast on it.
Ruth was laughing so hard that she was snorting, but she eventually managed to regain her composure. Thankfully she accepted the tissue paper I was thrusting at her and she skillfully wrapped the vase and accepted the chaps money. She also worked through the queue of people with only a few sniggers escaping from her forced shut mouth.
I remained under the till until the queue of people had gone. Then we both laughed so hard that we were crying.
From that day on I have been scarred for life. I fear the creak that may sneak out when I least expect it. I'd rather suffer the achy stomach, the bloated feeling and the stinking car on my way home from work!!
This morning I took the girls to nursery for 7.30 and came home expecting a day at home - alone - to get caught up with some chores and some 'me' time. I don't have to pick the girls up until 5.30 so I figured a good day would be in store for me.
With the radio on, I was merrily mopping the kitchen floor when I heard the door bell go. I wasn't expecting anyone so thought it would be the post lady with a parcel - although 9.30 is way too early for our post.
Before I'd even made it to the front door, the door was open and there she stood - My toxic friend - in her full glory shouting "yoo-hoo, anybody home?"
I didn't have time to hide behind the sofa, or pretend to be out (although the car on the drive would have been a giveaway) - she'd walked right into my freaking house, what a cheek!
So my lovely chilled day at home has turned into a day of me entertaining her child, feeding them both and listening to her going on and on and on and on some more about her screwed up love life.
By 2.30 I could take no more and put my shoes on stating I had to go fetch the girls - she offered to stay at mine until I got back - WTF? It's going to be a 2hr round trip. I politely told her to sling her hook!
Am I so terrible for feeling like this towards someone who I once classed as a good friend?
I will be on guard from now on, the front door will be locked and the radio on low - next time I will take up my position behind the sofa!
OK ladies, please don't tell me that I am the only 32yr old that has never had her boobs measured! You can laugh, scream at the lap top - whatever, but I know your secret!
My name is Mrs M and I have never been fitted for a bra, ever. I have spent all of my boob years wearing bra's that I think fit. When I'm not pregnant or breastfeeding it's a 34B every time.
However as I've lost quite a bit of weight and after having my boobs destroyed by two hungry babies, things are not quite the same in that department. Yes, they pointing slight downward and look a little like balloons that have been over inflated then had a bit of air let out - but hey, they are my boobs. My boobs that no longer quite fill the 34B's which sit lovingly in my drawer.
Last week Mr M & I were out shopping. It was a cold day and I was wearing a polo neck and thick jumper. I was also wearing the biggest pair of Bridget Jones knickers and the worst fitting bra I owned. Deciding that that would be the day that my boobs got their first proper fitting, I confidently walked into the bra and knicker shop and requested a bra fitting...
I had no idea that I would have to share a cubicle with the fitting lady, or that I would have to strip to the waist to be measured, or that I would have to try on hundreds (OK 5) bras so she could determine my actual size. Go on, laugh and no I am not incredibly stupid, no I did not expect a bra fitting via telepathy. I just didn't think it through - I've told you before I am impulsive!
After getting my head around the stripping to the waist concept I suddenly remembered what underwear I'd put on that morning. You can imagine my horror when I revealed knickers that were almost a boob tube and a bra that could have doubled as a hammock for a couple of small animals. I swear the bra fitting lady was smirking or maybe it was total disgust I saw fleeting across her face?
Anyway, the long and short of it is this:
:- Have your boobs measured and your bra fitted properly, too big and your boobs will be swinging around like a ferret in a sack, too small and you will instantly have four boobs. :- If you are of an impulsive nature, go right to your underwear drawer and burn all of your old bra's and big knickers. Go - right now!!
Oh, and for the record, my boobs love their new surroundings. They are snug and pert in a very pretty 32A.
You know the drill, if you need a refresher check this out.
I stood there, in our small kitchen with my chin touching the floor and heart beating so fast it sounded like a drum roll. Mr H was doing his best goldfish impression.
I'd said it, I'd actually spoken those words - out loud, with Mr H in the same room. His reaction made it clear that he'd heard me. I'd made my decision, now I had to act on it. Yet I couldn't move, I don't know if it was fear or excitement that I was feeling, but boy were my feet glued to the spot. However, this changed the moment Mr H actually began to process what I had said - I calculated I had approximately 10 minutes to get the hell out of that house. Suddenly I had no problem moving or thinking!
Whilst Mr H did the little boy lost routine, I ran upstairs and threw my clothes into a suitcase. I packed another suitcase with books and personal items and disconnected my computer. I loaded it all into the car and drove the half mile to my parents' house. I parked the car and walked inside.
I sat there for 3 hours and said nothing about what had happened. I made small talk, chit chat, I talked an absolute load of crap, anything to avoid thinking or talking about what I had done. You see, I had failed and I couldn't bring myself to tell my parents. I couldn't summons the courage to admit what had been happening. As my dad was walking out of the front door (to go to the pub with Mr H) I called him back. I asked if I could stay the night, told him I'd left Mr H. I didn't offer any more information and he didn't ask any more questions. He took my car keys and emptied my car.
So there I was - a car, two suitcases and a computer. Back in my old bedroom, with my mum and dad. No-one asking difficult questions, no-one telling me to go back to Mr H.
I slept so well that night. I'd finally done it, I'd left Mr H. I was stronger than I had ever thought I could possibly be. I'd made my choice and there was no going back.
.... an email saying that I've been selected to attend for interview and that the letter with all the details and information will follow in the post.
I am so excited, the job is one that I would really like - great hours, closer to home, nursery on site and an extra £6000 a year.
Wish me luck!
Letter arrived this morning (Saturday) - my interview is on 17th April, there will be 4 on the panel and I will have to give a ten minute unseen presentation. Am I worried? you can bet your arse I will be!!