The Hardest-Working Man In Showbiz

I'm in a strange kind of netherworld at the moment. In fact, I'm not even completely sure what day it is. For indeed, you see, despite the fact that I have this niggly feeling that I'm really not being as useful and productive as I should be (home-tidying-wise,) I also find that I have brief, intense periods of entirely exhausting activity.

Yesterday I scanned some more old phone bills, shredding the originals thereafter so as to keep this classified intelligence out of the hands of enemy agents. I really ran up some record-breaking phone bills, back in the day. Who can forget August 1992 when a demand for £678 landed on the doormat? And it seems that I hadn't learned my lesson even by November 1995 when the BT bill weighed in at £762. I don't think I've ever topped that, mostly because phone calls today are cheaper than they've ever been - and who needs to spend hundreds of pounds dialling up the internet when modern living brings us a lovely broadband connection for a price that looks like a bit of a bargain in comparison.

I'm pleased to have these phone bills stored on my computer now. They're good memories, reminders of a time when things were different and apparently nothing mattered, least of all an £800 phone bill. What else explains such insane largesse?

This afternoon was also busy and useful, as the upcoming Christmas season reminded me that I really must get around to putting some more junk on eBay. Junk sells better when the season is pointing a gun to people's heads and making them buy presents OR ELSE. And isn't that depressing? Well, not always. My unique kind of junk is bound to make the perfect present on Christmas morning. Who wouldn't be delighted by a Max Headroom colouring book? Apparently this is now called "Retro", and thus is "in". As if it was ever 'out'.

Something like four or five hours passed this afternoon while I busily took photographs of things (or just slammed them in the scanner), carefully weighed them (to work out how much they'd cost to post), and wrote masterful descriptions so as to describe them to a buying public. ("This is a box of buttons. Some of the buttons are blue. Others are large. The proportion of the buttons which are both large AND blue is shown on the attached venn diagram. Buyer to pay £1 postage.")

So, as I speak, no less than 75 assorted items from my archives are now being gazed upon with curious eyes by a worldwide audience of eBayers. Only 6 days 22 hours and 29 minutes to go. Hurry hurry. Who will buy my sweet red roses?

OMG! Catz!

Oh my GOD! They're CATS.. and they're TALKING TO EACH OTHER!!!

Who knows what intelligence these creatures are sharing in this fashion? What great thoughts are they thinking, sharing, correlating with other members of their kittycat network? What plans could they be making to finally subjugate the human race to their indeterminate whims, allowing unrestricted use of any and all rooms in the house, the immediate opening of all locked doors, and a free right of access to all laundry baskets for the purposes of chillin' or sleepin' ?

Needless to say, I gave this quite some amount of thought. But then someone else was able to translate, and the world is at peace again:

So that's all right then.

OI!

"The Bank of England has cut interest rates to 5.5% from 5.75% amid signs that..."

WHAT?! They can't do that! Well, I guess they can, but they mustn't! They shouldn't! What is going to happen to my savings? Soon my pennies of savings will be earning even less pennies of interest. How am I to retire before I'm 40 at this rate?

Needless to say, those no-good heels and bums at the Nationwide and the Halifax announced that they would be cutting their savings rates immediately. Which is awfully nice of them. After all, when interest rates go up they usually think about it for a few months before passing on the increase.

This will never do. Although I see it made the FTSE go up, so maybe it's not all bad. No, who am I kidding, what an annoyance it all is. Bah! Humbug.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold

There's a news story today about someone who'd been missing for five years, and this weekend walked into a police station. Missing, presumed dead, his return has obviously come as a great relief to everyone.

A similar thing happened to me this afternoon. Because a long time ago, I used to work for the Government. Not the political parties, of course - not the Conservatives (who were in power for most of my time), nor even the Labour party (who swept to power just as I was leaving). No, I worked for the people who really run the country - the Civil Service.

But, ten years ago, I resigned. And shortly after, I moved. Hence, I became officially missing. A bit like Patrick McGoohan in The Prisoner, only without the kit cars or the village or the kidnapping.

Today, I returned. I'm quite sure that far-off computers illuminated lights on a display screen somewhere, that telexes were sent and emails appeared on the Blackberries of Whitehall mandarins in offices both at home and abroad. Ant is back, just like Jack Bauer, only without the good looks and the ruggedness and all that unnecessary showing-off.

The reason for all this is that while tidying up this afternoon, I found some documents from my illustrious career in public service. And I remembered how I'd failed to tell them my new address when I moved, and how I'd failed to fill out their form asking me if I'd got married, as they needed to know all that stuff for my pension.

A pension! I forgot I had one of those.

I made the call.

Needless to say, the number had changed, but a little detective work revealed where duties had been transferred to.

I made the call.

"Civil Service Pensions", said the reassuringly smooth lady voice on the end of the phone. It was like being home again.

I said hello, explained my absence, gave my super-secret-squirrel codeword (which mere mortals might confuse with an ordinary National Insurance number, but we know better.) Within moments, my details were filling the screen of the distant operative.

"Mr  -redacted-  ?", she said. I confirmed my identity.

"It's good to have you back, Sir." I think she said that, at least, but I was momentarily distracted. We chatted amiably for a few moments, and I indicated that I was about to transmit my co-ordinates to her. Grateful for the update, she indicated that new goodies and access codes would be posted to me shortly. (And we know how good Government post is.)

I commented that it had been a while, and I should not have left them wondering where I was for so long. Her voice was reassuring. "People often forget about us for a while, but then as they get older they get in touch to put their affairs in order."

Affairs?! ... Oh, right, the pension. Of course. We chatted some more, at which point they said they'd post me a "valuation" as well. I'm sure that this will be a considerable sum for my many years of modestly-paid work.

It's very good to be back. Now that they know where I am, I'm sure that my country will be in touch if they need me to handle any more urgent filing and photocopying for them.

So Mayonnaisey

Oh baby,
you make my heart go crazy,
you are so mayonnaisey

Askew, they do, go all my words and phrasey,
I am in some new-found daze-y,
for you are so mayonnaisey

The other girls, they may be hollandaisey
sometimes even bolognesey,
but not like my mayonnaisey

That movie, not by M Scorsese,
But by the Mr Patrick Swayze,
For dirty dancing I am just too lazy,
so in closing, it is time to says-me,
that you are the sweetest daisy
and of course, so very mayonnaisey.

Dream Diary 1

5.15am. A strange dream. I found myself (in a train station, again) talking to someone I didn't know. Either they or I needed to go off to do something, but would come back. Worried that we might get separated, and also not knowing who this other person was, I thought I would offer them my business card. (After all, this might cause them to reciprocate and hand over their own card which would yield details of their identity.)

So I reached into my pocket full of business cards.. and every one I pulled out wasn't mine. Or it was mine but had been written all over (which is something I do).. but mostly, the cards weren't mine.

Of course, dreams are stupid and don't mean anything. Still interesting, though.

Inspired

I am inspired! I'm not sure if this is your average mid-life crisis, or whether I am reaching a great turning point in my life, but just recently, something has occured to me.

1) Nobody is going to give me my dream job. I'm going to have to make it for myself.

Inspired by the whole idea of (1), this evening I have listened to the audiobook version of "Anyone Can Do It", by noted Scottish Dragon, Mr Duncan Ballantyne. Having heard his inspirational tales of how he made millions by selling ice cream and building care homes, I have now progressed to a second realisation!

2) Working for a living is altogether far too much hassle.

From this, 1+2 leads on to the inevitability of my final conclusion:

3) I want to retire. Right now.

At last I have a life plan! "What do you want from your life?" is a question asked by all good self-help books. And several bad ones too. Up until now, I was not entirely sure. Now I am. I want to retire! So at least I now have a plan. How to get there is another matter entirely.

P.S. Also bought some more premium bonds.

The 9 Day Whirlwind

I've got nine whole days to myself before I'm "back at work". OK, I'm probably going to be checking my email every so often during that time, but the point is I still have a week off work (plus two weekends at either side) - and I can't help but think that I should use the time well.

I'm not sure how my tidying project measures up, I seem to have come to a bit of a standstill on that at the moment. I'm trying to gee myself up to throw out a few hundred videotapes that are really perfectly OK but aren't any use to me (or, seemingly, anyone else). That'll make a small amount of space which I can tidy other things into. Plus I've got two storage boxes full of things that I really need to take photos of and put on eBay.

I'd really quite like to find ten million pounds from somewhere. Not just because having ten million pounds is probably quite nice, but I want to make great art, and stuff, and that kind of thing tends to be quite expensive. Ten million is probably what I'd need. In any case, while I'm sure that I still have plenty of bits and pieces that I could sell on eBay, I'm not sure that it's quite THAT valuable. But every little helps, I'm sure.

Nine days. I have been somewhat inactive these past few weeks. I really should do something. How to get in the mood... I wonder. It would be a shame not to spend the time productively...

Jolly Holidays

I wasn't at work today. I am having a four-day weekend, the first of many leave days which I will be taking off this month and next month.

Today I did no work at all. Well, not much, anyway. A little. I kind of made the mistake of reading my email first thing in the morning, with the best of intentions, just to let my colleagues know what to be getting on with while I was out. Unfortunately while doing so I caught sight of someone in another department trying to cause a huge stink about what a crisis it would be if I was out of the office and could not do anything that they might need me to do.

So I kind of felt the need to respond to that, with some robustness. And then another one. And then another one as someone else from another department (but managed by the same person who looks after the first troublemaker's department) also got in on the act, having heard that I was on holiday and therefore taking their chance to cause a stink as well. How on earth can the business survive if Ant is not here to do these crucial things? (They ignore that even on holiday I'm always contactable and can sort stuff out quite easily.) Apparently it only strengthens their case (already stated in the past) that they need a "more reliable" solution "which does not rely on Ant". So I had to respond fairly robustly to that one, too.

I only really check my email when I'm out of the office just to make sure that no fires have broken out - so I don't really appreciate witnessing such obvious attempts at arson. It's not paranoia when everyone really is out to get you. :-)

The head of both troublemaker's departments is very disappointed that I cannot attend a face-to-face meeting next Thursday, which apparently is so important that they cannot take advantage of my considerable availability to do it via a conference call. Again I have had to be forceful. I am - or am intending to be - on holiday next Thursday as well, and I do not wish to have it portrayed as some kind of selfish act that I am taking an entitlement of my employment at a time which is otherwise the most convenient for the company as a whole.

Great people I seem to work with these days.

But all that aside, I did almost no work and instead did much relaxing, watching a few DVDs (including Die Hard 4.0, which is reasonably watchable) and not much else. And on Monday I shall try even harder still not to check my email at all.

Back January 7th

I realise today that I still have lots of holiday which I have not taken. If I don't take it before the end of the year, I lose it all - and this year, I'm determined to take it all. It'll be the first of (thinks.. nine.. ten.. eleven...) twelve years where I've taken all my leave - not bad considering that for the first nine years or so, I didn't take any at all.

So it looks like I'm going to have quite a lot of spare time during November and almost all of December. This might be what getting fired feels like, except with email.

So, the plan. There is no time to lose. I must immediately take leave next Friday, and also the Monday following, to return on the Tuesday, working a blissful four day week until I take one whole entire week off - yes, that's five whole days, ladies and gentlemen - before returning for another four days, and off again on the Friday.

December kicks off with an all-day lie-in on Monday, then a three day week before a four day weekend. Three more days at work, then I'm taking the Friday, and the next week, and the next week, and the next week! By the time I'm back, it'll be the new year.

What on earth am I going to do with myself? Of course I guess I could just not take all those days off and work just for the sheer gosh-darned pleasure of it all. Ha ha. Maybe once. But not this year.

Expect hourly blogging over the Christmas period if I get too bored!