Hospitality here I come

Turns out the University wanted a short plump brunette with a few greys threaded through.  Bugger.

Attended the interview and, although it's not quite the role I was expecting, they have offered me the job and I have accepted.  Sounds like quite a challenge, working in the 'hospitality' department of one of Birmingham's larger Universitites, and trying to turn it around somewhat due to its current floundering status.  Those of you who know me may be aware that I am quite the interregator and managed to glean from the interviewer that half the department hates the other half and it's borderline civil war.   So in addition to providing financial advice and improving customer relations I will also be official Peace- Keeper.  Shall also involve a bit of hob knobbing with the big boys (bosses I mean) so who knows, could be a platform to another, more appropriate opportunity (mistress, dominatrix...).

Did I mention that a few weeks ago I ran my husband over???  I know I am hopping completely off tangent here but it is relevant I promise.

Towards the start of January, during Britain's attempt at mimicking the Swiss Alps,  I had been for a walk up the Wrekin (the day of the blog title picture infact) .  Anyway before I started the drive back home I called Christopher to remind him that Charlotte, our eldest daughter, soon needed collecting from primary school.  Thirty minutes later I was turning in to our Close when I saw a suited figure running across the road.....a suited figure wearing a pair of trainers nonetheless, looking ever so slightly wild and scary.  I am not sure whether the sight of Chris distracted me a tad, after all not only did he look bizarre but he was also very late for collecting our child hence his running, or maybe it was simply the icy state of the road. Whatever it was, as I tried to turn left to mount the drive the wheels locked and I skidded forwards.  It really is incredible how time slows right down in those circumstances.  I could feel the car gliding gently towards the neighbours house, straight ahead, and a few feet away my nutty husband running, only slowly now, towards the same spot.  In my mind I remember thinking "why is he still heading in this direction" and then the realisation hit me -  he was going to try to do something radical and brave.  Clearly having watched too many episodes of the Hulk in his formative years he figured any moment he'd sprout muscles, turn green and be able to save the world.  Instead the car hit him, knocked him to the ground, totalled a lamp post in the process, then came to a stop. 

For a second or two I couldn't see where he had gone.  Fearing the worst I anticipated getting out to find that his legs had been amputated to match his half missing brain.   Instead I opened the door of the vehicle to hear him screaming "why are you trying to kill me?" in a genuinely distressed voice.  No dear I assured him, if and when I am going to kill you there'll be no trying about it.   I gave him the once over, but other than an almighty bump on his forehead and looking a little concussed he seemed relatively ok; and absolutely not too out of it to realise that we needed to hide the evidence ASAP before an onlooker reported us to the Council.  Quickly we gathered the eleven pieces of plastic formerly known as the bumper and legged it down the road to our house.  It never ceases to amaze me that Chris is unable to think straight on most subjects, but when money enters the equation his brain is immediately razor sharp.

Upon examination we found that although the bumper/skirt was destroyed there was no structural damage, so Chris spent the next five days manually gluing it all back together, and I have to say did a pretty good job, or at least I thought so until today.  Got to my interview to find that half the front of the car was hanging off and the other half was being held on by a single screw.  Ended up ripping as much away as I could and putting it in the boot, then spent the afternoon feeling dreadful about having to tell Chris his handiwork was crap.

After the interview went straight to pick youngest daughter up from pre-school.  Parked the car in a sensible spot, collected my child, began walking back towards it then heard an almighty crunch as a mini bus clocked said vehicle right on the side.  How ironic.  After all that time spent fixing it, seems the car may very well  now be a write off.  Wouldn't have minded so much but the driver, seeing it was empty, made no attempt to stop.   Naturally I chased him to his destination and beat him to a pulp.  Joking of course, but I did catch up with him and took his details. Naughty boy.  So now it has a knackered, smashed up front bumper, a broken rear light, a dent in the side and electric blue break calipers (can't blame those on anyone but Chris).  Being a sports car it's not a good look.

Which brings me around to looks and why I think I may just have cracked this entire physicality lark.  I was musing about my latest endeavour, to get fit & lose weight etc, and questioning myself as to why I feel it is going to be different this time.   I really hope that others of you talk to yourselves and I am not actually suffering from multiple personalities. (Please tell me so I can reassure my other self).  I concluded that the reason it feels so positive right now is because my motivation is more spiritual/emotional, rather than simple vanity.  When I am in one of my "must look better" modes I want instant weight loss/quick results and fall in to the pattern of becoming deluded.  I starve my body, lose half a stone begin to feel like Twiggy then (and this is when the delusion sets in - probably due to lack of food) begin to think I actually look like her.  It's so easy to convince yourself you look better than you do.....all you have to do is stop looking.  The amount of times I have walked past a shop window thinking "gosh that woman is a bit of a porker" only to realise it's not a window but a mirror and the fat bird is me.  Just as in my head I am five foot eight until I see a photograph revealing the truth, then want to curse my sister who obviously pinched all the height allotted to both of us.   However feeling good is something you can't fake.  You know what's inside and whether or not it's genuine.  I have never found anything yet to beat that feeling just after exercise when you've made yourself do it, despite how difficult it was.  You literally are so pumped with endorphins it's like you could handle anything. 

Seriously, if only sex were the same!

You must all think I hate sex.  I should probably clear this up as I don't want my husband who is an avid reader of the blog to feel I am undermining his expertise in the bedroom.    I actually do love it, genuinely, especially that bit at the end..... when it's over and you can go to sleep. 

Funny girl. x