White Versus Blue, and Questionably Brown

So my new vocation is Painter/Decorator.

B&Q must be happy with the frequent visits. Well maybe not, as mostly visits are to return and refund colours provided by a rather expensive Dulux that doesn't quite happen to meet expectations.

So it's me and the Madre ready to take on the kitchen.

Fill the holes.

Sand the walls.

Mask the areas where paint need not reach, and then tackle the job at hand.

White for the ceiling, blue for the walls.

Madre decides to repaint the wooden window ledges. Advised her not to buy that ugly brown wood varnish. Ugly brown wood varnish drips over the recently painted lovely Dulux blue.

Madre apologises. I grin and wave a hand. Ain't nothing but a thing. (Grinning and waving is the new in thing don't you know? It waves away a mistake, and covers a multitude of exasperation).

Mask the botched wood paint job and repaint the blue back to it's original state.

One side of the kitchen wall is white. May look better in blue.

"No", says Madre.

"Yes" says I.

Two hours drying time later, Madre thinks it was better off white.

I stand back.

I look.

I grin and I wave.

I repaint over the blue with white, back to it's original state.

We stand back and reflect, stretch and yawn.

What a hard days work!

I peer. Madre peers.

OK. So nothing has actually been accomplished after 8 hours work. The kitchen looks exactly how it did before we decided to ambush. Like, hello?

Though weeping shall last for the night. Joy comes in the morning.

Hallelujah and Amen to that.

Before You Even Began

Riko sat at the bar.

She had ordered a hot drink.

She shouldn't have. She had no money to pay for it. But she desperately wanted something to warm her up after the many cold nights out on the street with no where to go.

Her hands, blackened with dirt cupped the mug from which she drank from. Her desire had over ridden her reality, but right now, the reality was comforting. She nervously tried to smooth out her dirt caked hair.

Two beautiful women sat looking. They sneered. One whispered something to her friend. They both huddled over and sniggered.

Riko blushed, embarrassed. She pulled her filthy torn coat tightly around her.

Someone came and sat beside her.

A man.

Riko looked at him.

He glowed.

He had warm eyes and a kind smile. She looked down at her worn out clothes.

He spoke to her. Riko was shocked. Many were often repulsed by her.

He seemed drawn to her, and she to him. He called her by her name. She wondered how he knew. She smiled shyly and looked down at the floor. He laughed. She sipped her hot drink.

They moved over to a table and talked and enjoyed an exquisite meal.

Riko liked that he was so kind. He didn't look at her for what was on the outside. He seemed to see more than that. He told her she was worth more than she thought. For Riko, the meal spoke for itself.

The man got a phone call, he got up said goodbye and left.

Riko was astounded.

She ran outside to look for the man with the warm eyes and kind smile.

The man had disappeared. He was no where to be seen.

Riko went back inside. At the bar she tried to explain. Her eyes were sad, her words spilling over one another.

She explained that she didn't have the money to pay for the meal, her companion had left her stranded. She offered to pay by washing all the dishes, working for a time to pay off all that had been eaten.

The waitress smiled back at Riko. She was taken by her earnest apologies.

'Ma'am, it's fine' the waitress explained. 'It's all been paid for. The gentleman already paid the bill before you even began to eat'.

Riko was stunned. She picked up her bags and turned to leave.

Oh, Ma'am' the waitress called after her. 'The gentleman left his name. Vation, Mr Vation', she read from a small piece of paper in her hand.

'First name Sal'.

In His Own Time

Have you ever thought to stop trying and just be?

We all struggle for a while, along the way we

Trip on the stones and debris of life

But because we are so focused on getting things right

We simply and so easily end up doing wrong

So... our focus was merely wrong

And never on right

Our focus became our own and not His own

So shall we define....what says wrong and what says right?

Wrong says you are bad...

Right says...

I love you in spite of you being bad, right?

So, therefore, I just let my own be

Then God will show me that my own was not His own

And that His own was for me to just be

His in His own

Time

Ghana Black Stars

My heart was racing, eyes bulging, weave askew, one leg off the sofa, other leg kicking my glass of water on the floor over - fastest fingers first trying to be the first on facebook for status updates, comments and likes for every and any status update that mentioned Ghana. I made a note to self. *At least try to be glamorous while watching football*.

NEVER in a million did I ever think I'd feel this passionate about football – never in a million did I ever think I'd like football. My curiosity was stirred during the World Cup, but after England's somewhat dare I even mention challenging skills, (but we're still there for you ye old England) I was put off. But then everywhere I looked, turned, bumped into - people were raving about my home country being the first African country to possibly enter into the World Cup semi-finals ever. That caught my attention. I was like whaaaa? Ghana be the first whaaaa? I'm there man! I’ll be hot for Ghana for sure!

Well, I got more then I bargained for. From the above statement, you can see I got a little excited, and brought on a self induced head ache. I have only myself to blame for this unwanted niggling pain above my left eye. What with all the screaming, shouting and hollering - 'Mum, if you must pray to the good Lord above for Ghana's victory - and I'm so pro you doing that - must you do so on your knees right in front of the TV? A-ah!'.

But oh, how it was worth it. To be honest, I was getting restless as we entered into extra time. After a long game, the players were tired and so were we who were watching. My blood sugar was low, and I needed an orange Lucozade - which I didn't have at hand - to keep me happy after all the screaming kicking and texting activity on the mobile phone.

Sulley Muntari took the honour of securing a one-nil lead for Ghana just before half-time. Uruguays striker - whatever his name is - balanced this out in the second half. The score was 1-1 after 120 long and tiring minutes of football.

Free kick to Ghana just before extra time was over meant this could have been their moment of victory - best known Ghanaian striker Gyan assumed the position. Close up to Gyan. He was nervous, so were we. He wiped a sweat bead of his forehead, many others replicated that. This could be it - this could actually be it! Ghana's victory to the World Cup semi-finals!! He took the shot. My leg kicked out. He missed the goal as the ball hit the crossbar. Man, water all over the floor again for me. Queue the roar of disappointment world wide (apart from Uruguay). I closed my eyes and remembered a movie I had once seen but I forget the title. A man traveled into the past to try and change some things that would transpire in the future. I imagined back tracking into the past just before Ghana's free kick, freeze framing the game and whispering to Gyan - ‘whatever you do – shoot low bro – just shoot low. Not so high, just shoot low’.

Then after the Ghana Victory, Gyan calls and says ‘Hey, Mama' with his hand to his heart (Wow, he knows my nickname??!!) 'I just wanna thank you so much oh. I was wondering, do you, maybe, um, like, wanna go and get something to eat? I just wanna thank you – ya know, you played a big part in Ghana's win’. I gush and blush and accept and...Say what now? I'm dreaming?? OK, so my imagination invaded the blog. Lets just continue. Father Lord forgive me, thank You for Your small mercies oh.

Ahem… we continue.

Penalty time was intense - nail bitingly on the edge of your seat popcorn popping intense. Get the 3D glasses out, lets make the experience whole man. They almost made it. Ghana almost made it. But Uruguay got a lucky hit. LUCKY….This time….

Uruguay celebrated their Semi Final entry for the World Cup 2010, as Gyan wept soberly. As the other players consoled him, my heart was stirred with compassion. I guess that free kick goal that he missed must have finally hit him. If its any consolation Gyan – we’ve all hit and missed in life. Made terrible misjudgments and mistakes. Yours was on a bigger scale then most, seeing as the whole world was watching, but mate – we’re behind you still.

I think Ghana played absolutely marvelously. You gave it all you had, and it was football at its best. All the way up to and during penalties – although penalties was the heart attack inducing more prayers than you’ve prayed in a week highlight – you gave it good and made a name for yourselves. 2014 can only prove to see you come forth better, with more game and hot on defense, attack and striking.

Proud to be a part of You Mama Africa.

:)x

Say What?

'Uh hmm, yeah, off course', I nod in agreement.

A colleague makes a comment and all laugh.

'Yes, yes, oh, ha ha ha'. I guffaw. A few upraised eyebrows turn my way.

Girl, keep it real girl, keep it real.

More jokes, jovial laughter.

'Oh, tee hee hee' Giggle I.

'Fats - you actually got anything to say'? a friend asks.

Silence. I peer over a half empty glass of juice.

'errr... you know what? No. Actually. I don't'.

You know how it is, when you have writers block - singers block, talkers block - whatever block. Well.. right now..I'm all blocked out!

Stranger In The Dark

‘Get out of the car’! He screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘Get out of the car!’ The stranger's face was contorted as he shook the car with force. His speech was muffled as if he wasn’t able to speak properly. He had a hood pulled down low over his face and everything about him was angry and invasive He was a stranger that had come lumbering toward her. It was dark outside and Jada’s car had just broken down. She was stuck in the middle of weeds and bushes on a dark deserted road.

Locked inside the car, she was shaking. ‘Leave me alone!’ she cried, ‘leave me alone!’. Jada was frantically searching for her phone to call emergency. Her hands shook uncontrollably in her search, her fingers unable to pick up any object she lunged for steadily. Her blood ran cold through her body, it seemed she was no longer a part of herself. She couldn’t find her phone.

The man was full of menace and fury as he banged his fists on her car window. ‘Get out!’

‘I don’t have any money!’ Jada screamed, ‘Please just go’. Her car had broken down and she was forced to wait for someone to pass by and help. She threw out the contents of her bag onto the floor of the car and scattered things around until she found her phone. Battery dead. ‘No!’ Jada cried, ‘No!’ She could taste a strange metallic intoxicating taste in her mouth. The taste of death.

The man was rocking the car back and forth with immense strength. The car seemed ready to topple over. Jada was beyond fear. Adrenaline was coursing all the way through her body. This man had an intent to kill her.

He growled and punched the window of her car with his fist and the glass cracked. Jada screamed and cowered back into her seat.

The man seemed to give up.

He stopped his attack and limped slowly away.

Jada was trying to catch her breath. All was silent.

Suddenly he appeared again, his face close to the window he had just cracked. In his hand he had a huge rock. With major force he pulled back and threw the stone at the car window. Glass shattered all over the passenger seat of the car and all over Jada as the rock missed her head as she ducked, and exited the driver window. More glass shattered and fell to the floor.

She screamed and backed into her car door. she was unable to control her whole body shaking now. A cold chill ran threw her body. ‘Please somebody help me!!!’ she screamed at the top of her voice. ‘Please! Somebody!!!’.

The man reached his hand in through the broken glass and unlocked the car door. He pulled the door open and grabbed at Jada’s leg. Jada felt the cold night air against her as the wind howled and whistled.

‘Get out’ The man screamed furiously lunging towards her. ‘Get out! Get out, get out!’.

Jada kicked and screamed trying to get this monster off her, as the man grabbed both her legs and pulled her out of the car. He dragged her to the floor and pulled her with him as they struggled on the dirt floor, just as a train came careening by. Lights flashing and horn blowing smoke, the train smashed into Jada’s car.

She had been parked on a railway line that was covered up by the weeds and bushes.

The man had just saved her life.

Welcome to Chicago!

‘Ladies and gentleman - welcome to Chicago’ the pilot spoke into the intercom. ‘The weather here in Chicago is 4 degrees Celsius, and local time is 6.30pm. Please be sure to take all your belongings with you, and we thank you once again for flying American Airlines. Enjoy your stay’.

I was well excited. I had been looking forward to this trip for so long, and I was pretty impressed that I managed to get to the big old US of A in one piece seeing it was the first time I had ever traveled such distances alone. Welcome to America! Woo hoo! This was going to be a lovely week, a short stay of 7 days but I anticipated it would be memorable.

My good friend was getting married and she had asked me to be a bridesmaid and sing at her wedding. What a pleasure and pure delight. I knew it was going to be a hectic week getting things organised, making sure the nuptials to be had everything ready as well as trying on the bridesmaid dresses and hoping there wouldn't be a need for much alterations.

After meeting a friend I knew who lived in Chicago who had kindly offered to pick me up and drive me down to the Radisson O'Hare Hotel, my stop for the night, the streets reminded me of Africa. It had the same hue, a colour about it – and the wide roads were a replica of the Accra roads just as you came out of Kotoko Airport. After checking into the Radisson, spending some time jumping up and down on the Queensize bed that graced my room, I felt like a kid again. It was a little chilly, but I was prepared, my friend had warned me that the Chicago weather was as cold as I had heard about and it wasn’t called the windy city for nothing.

My chaperone for the week was such a great woman, all props to her willingness to drive miles upon miles here and there trying to get everything arranged for the wedding. The English accent drew some attention from the drawls as some Americans asked if I lived next to the Queen. I was tempted to say we were best friends and I lived in the floor above hers in Buckingham Palace.

Driving down into downtown at night to meet with the rest of the crew – my breath was taken away as I saw all the lights and sights of the famous American skyscrapers almost looming down on me. What I had seen in the movies and on postcards was actually a reality to me as I looked at the breathtaking sight of downtown Chicago. It was awesome. No words to describe the picturesque scene. I knew instantly that America had captured my heart, and I would certainly be stepping foot there again.

After checking into the very plush Allerton Hotel right on the Magnificent Mile I bid farewell to my newly made friend of the week ahead and proceeded to my room on the 22nd floor. I decided to venture out for a short walk before turning in for the night. I didn't know whether I'd be jaywalking if I crossed the road at red lights. After 3 minutes of stepping in and out of the road with caution because of cars turning in from the 'wrong side of the road'... I lopsidely walked, half hopped, half ran, fully stumbled un-glamourously across and hoped I wasn't breaking the law and wasn't quite so obviously giving my foreign status away. The 7-Eleven sported Kool Aid and Corn Dogs and friendly assistants taken by my accent which definitely exposed me as foreign. I could have stood there all night and just talked!

The next few days were a gem. After speaking to my good friend, the agenda for the next few days was getting our bridesmaids dresses altered and getting shoes for the day and getting nails and hair done if needed. My friends wedding dress wasn't even a joke, she went all out, it was fitting to call her princess - for the day at least. She was happy and beaming on her special day after getting ready in the presidential suite of the Fairmont Hotel - it was a truly spectacular day. We bridesmaids felt equally special in the beautifully beautiful bridesmaids dresses tailor made to fit.

The day after was a free day to take taxi rides and visit the 103rd floor of the Willis Tower and venture onto the glass ledge that brought out the vertigo in you that you never thought you had as you stared across at 3 different states in view. Walking along the sands of Lake Michigan, window shopping at Macy's on the Magnificent Mile, Saks 5th Avenue, a Starbucks double mocha chocolate with whipped cream and fudge stick, McDonald's Chicken Nuggets, more shopping at Forever 21, TJ Max on Michigan Avenue, I didn't want to leave. I had only got settled in after jet lag and now it was time to go again. Spending time with my friend and her new husband and family at the Fairmont on the night before departure was a lovely send off, and I felt saddened to have to go.

I felt a little down in spirits as I sat in the airport waiting for a delayed flight and the thought of my return to London after such a whirlwind experience - but this only gives me a better incentive to have to return!

God bless America!

Right Back Atcha

So I’m standing in the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea, and my colleague walks in and exclaims that my stomach seems to be getting bigger.

‘It wasn’t like that yesterday!’ He screeches, pointing a finger at the said swelled belly. ‘What happened?!’

Doing my best to emulate love and peace and joy, I smile, calmly stirring the sugar into my cup.

‘I’ve been feeling really dizzy and off balance lately’, he goes on to say.

Pause. Don’t say it girl. Don’t say a thing.

‘Is that literally or in your head?’ I retort. Ha! I couldn’t resist. Lips pursed and hands on hip, my colleague mutters ‘how rude’! as he sways and drops to the floor. For him, I guess he meant literally.

I release and feel the bloated feeling in my stomach disappear. For me, I guess too much fruit and veg happened.

Rise And Shine!

The sound was intrusive. A relentless, on going, intrusive sound. The loud beeping penetrated to the very core. Zara stuck out her arm and groped for the source to silence it. She knocked over a glass of water from the bedside table and swiped her glasses clean off in her mission to find the culprit. The alarm clock, at this moment in time, was not the most welcome.

She opened one eye and looked at the time. She sat up in bed and let out a loud cry. It was 8.30am! She was meant to be at work at 9.00am. Frantically disengaging herself from the covers which had strategically wrapped itself around her, Zara fell out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. Cold water tap full on, she splashed the offensive, cold liquid on her face clenching her teeth at the shock. Toothpaste and toothbrush doing its job she got out of her pyjamas and began to pull on anything she could find readily at hand. Making do with a pair of jeans and a jumper she had worn the day before, she hurriedly put them on.

Back in the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste, she rinsed her mouth out and ran back to her bedroom. She took of her skull cap, and brushed her fingers through her hair. Make up bag in hand, she dapped on some concealer, some foundation, slipped on her heels, put on her coat, grabbed her bag and ran out of the house.

“Not a good day, not a good day”, Zara repeated to herself. “Not a good day to be late for work. Lord I just want one day off!!" she cried. Her boss had sternly brought to her attention that her time keeping was becoming more than a ‘once in a while’ problem, and she would have to make efforts to see that she made it into the office for 9.00am. ‘The alarm didn’t go off’, or ‘I went to bed late’ just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. It was a race against time. She didn’t work too far from home, but the old age saying of the closer you work to home, the harder it is to get in on time was factual for her at this present moment.

Bus or train, bus or train? Zara mused as her heels made an off beat clicking sound on the ground as she walked rapidly. She looked at her phone - 8.43am. She decided to take the train, despite the fact that she would have to face the sweat and grime of the over crowded, over heated, less than comfortable rush hour. Normally, the bus or walking was her preferred mode of transport, but for Zara this was a moment of desperation, and desperate measures had to be called for.

She raced down the escalators to the Victoria Line just in time to see the train pulling out of the station. 8.47am. 5 minutes until the next train. Her jaw clicked as she clenched her teeth. This was so frustrating! She blew a loose strand of hair from her eye and smoothed out her jumper as she paced up and down the platform. Finally the train approached, and she got on. She was surprised how empty the carriage was, she would have thought for a week day it would be chock-a-block with commuters. She had been preparing to go shoulder to shoulder with the mass of people that would spill out of the train as well as those trying to fight to get on. She remained standing, tapping her foot impatiently on the hard plastic floor. First stop, second stop, third stop. Finally her stop arrived and Zara rushed out to make an exit.

Weaving in and out of the crowd she ran up the escalators and turned to apologise to the owner of a suitcase she had just pushed half way down the steps. Oyster card at the ready, and with crowds of people at the barriers, she attempted to squat and run through the suitcase barrier until a station ward very gently pointed to the correct exit barrier.

Out of the station she ran the last few steps it would take her to get to the office. Her boss would at his moment be checking the clock to check the time. 8.58am. “Sorry!” she called out to the carrier of a Starbucks coffee as it fell to the ground. Car horns beeped as she attempted to cross the road at a red light. Finally green, she ran across the road. Panting, wishing, hoping her boss wouldn’t even be in this day.

Reaching the office, Zara pulled out her staff pass to activate access. The light beeped red when she placed her card to the electronic reader. She tried again, and again a light beeped red. Why in the world, today of all days, was her pass choosing to act up? She looked at her watch. 8.59am. She attempted a third try. Beep. The light turned green. She pulled the doors open and ran past the Security Guard at the front desk as she made her way to the lift.

“Excuse me, Miss?” The Security Guard called out behind the desk. “Where are you going?”

“Um, let me think”. Zara put her finger on her chin contemplatively and cocked her head to one side. “Maybe...upstairs today...to the 2nd floor… where I work?” she retorted sarcastically as she repeatedly pressed the up button for the lift. The security guard came over to where she stood and pointed to a nearby sign. It read ‘Staff Access – Monday to Friday only’.

“Listen, I just need to get to work…” Zara's words trailed off as the guard squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

“Miss”, he whispered. “Today is Saturday. Looks like you get a day off.”

Who Will Buy My Sweet Red Roses, Only Two For A Penny

I just had a random flashback to my elementary days, when I was eight years old and was playing Nancy in the school play Oliver. As Oliver was on stage offering roses for sale, and singing his solo part so sweetly and serenely, I couldn't help but think 'I was supposed to be Oliver'. After all that's what my teacher had promised me when I didn't get to play the part of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

I was initially the understudy for Dorothy, and when the lead part fell ill, in stepped I to bask in the glory of singing sweet tunes with a dog called Toto, a tin man a scarecrow and a lion. dancing along a cardboard painted yellow brick road off to a city of green.

When the lead part suddenly got better about one week before the show, my hopes were blown when her mum, auntie and cousin came in to the school to not plead their case of why she should be given her part back, but to demand it back or else. Teacher did always strike me as the timid type, and I gathered he didn't want to cause any trouble or adopt a black eye, so I promptly found myself on props painting the Emerald city into the backdrop with his promise that I would be the lead in the next play.

So as the young hopefuls of the new year sat on the hard plastic seats, waiting to hear who had got which part in the upcoming play Oliver, I felt smug as I remembered teachers promise knowing that I would be clicking my heels, pinching pockets and jovially dancing along side whoever Fagan was meant to be.

Picture this - the pin on the decks has been lifted and dropped onto the vinyl and a sweet sounding melody is being played. I smooth out my skirt, uncross my ankles and get ready to stand to accept the part as Oliver, only to hear another name being called. The pin slides off the vinyl as the sound of scratching of the said sweet and melodic sounds leaves a barren emptiness sounding in the air.

I was trying to hold back the tears. Off course, I could take this like an eight year old should. I got a nudge from my friend who was sitting next to me, 'Go on, cry, you know you want to'. The actress in me came alive, and I immediately squeezed my eyes tightly together to try and conjure up some tears to show my disappointment. 'Don't be silly', Teacher intervened, 'she's a big girl, there's nothing to cry about'. I had been staring in one place without blinking for about a minute or so in the hope of making the crocodile tears appear, and at my teachers words, began to frantically search for some tissues in my school uniform to wipe away the trickle threatening to roll down my cheeks. I didn't want teacher thinking I was a big baby, nor did I want any future parts jeopardised because I was unable to take demotion.

Oliver played his part wonderfully as I think back on it. He was a boy after all, and the role as the waif like orphan begging for food and constantly dirty with filthy hair and clothes that didn't fit right suited the scene better than it would have had it been me playing the part. I rather enjoyed playing the larger than life Nancy with the big fancy skirts that I had the joy of swishing around as I took to the role more than I had expected.

I never did get to fulfill the promise of playing the role of Sandy in Grease either, after my teacher thought that the two chosen to play Sandy and Danny, who were real life boyfriend and girlfriend would capture the roles much better. Instead I was subjected to playing a Venus Fly Trap and dancer in The Little Shop Of Horrors thereafter, and one of the show girls in the 1954 musical There's No Business Like Show Business after that.

I guess it was just the way things worked out, but I had fun experiencing it all the while. And from that discovered my love for singing. I wonder what Dorothy, Oliver and Sandy are up to nowadays....

The Handsome Nigerian Doctor

So it’s another day at the office and me and my team mates are sitting at the little round table by my colleauges desk (you know the one who ate all the olives?).

We’re sitting there leisurely chit-chatting. One of the Seniors (lets call him Joe) has come over, so I suggest he read a short story that I have just written.

My colleague – The One Who Ate All The Olives, is happily chatting away about something or other. I'm silently hoping he would stay quiet so Joe can concentrate, I want some feedback.

Joe gets distracted.

Somehow the conversation switches to The Handsome Nigerian Doctor. I roll my eyes. Him again. The Handsome (so I am told) Nigerian Doctor attends Joe’s church. Joe has told me on numerous occasions that whenever he sees The Handsome Nigerian Doctor, he always thinks of how this Doctor and I would really get on.

I casually ask Joe if this Doctor is actually really handsome, as guys have a tendency to describe other guys as good-looking if the aim is to match make. I have seen some guys that have been referred to as ‘handsome’ and somehow the two did not match up. Joe looks offended. he says there is in fact many a young fair maidens who have been chasing him hoping to be the next potential Doctor’s Wife.

Hmmm, I pause.

The Handsome Nigerian Doctor. Relatively young, popular, nice personality, oodles of women gracing him with their perfumed scented selves, and he isn’t interested in any of them? There has to be something wrong with him. Maybe he's an ex convict. I wonder if his legs are real? Maybe he has a wooden one and prefers to showcase it like those pirates of old, along with a patch over his eye and an actual real life hook for a hand. Axe murderer, Serial killer…. Joe cuts me off mid thought.

He says there is something about this Doctor that he thinks would make him and me a perfect match. Joe says I’m laid back and easy going – maybe he’s trying to say he thinks I wouldn't be one of those stress giving, ever complaining, always have a problem with one thing or another women? No comment.

We begin to get lively and animated as the team put in their two bits about the situation. One colleague shouts out to tell me its my decision, that I shouldn’t be pressured into anything. Another says it’s a good act of kindness, and I never know what could happen. The One Who Ate All The Olives told me that I’m not getting any younger, so I better get a move on.

I shake my head in disbelief, as I cannot believe we are actually having this conversation.

I find myself beginning to wonder about The Handsome Nigerian Doctor, my curiosity has been stirred. Joe is adamant that I should meet him, and as you read this, I am sure he is conducting some plan to try to arrange some kind of choice happening…

Watch this space.

Who Ate All The Olives?

Yesterday, I went over to my colleagues desk to see if he fancied going to the canteen, but he'd already been. He was raving on about how there was new management and to testify, he held up his salad pot freshly filled with olives.

This was the highlight of my day so far. How better can it get than olives at the salad bar in the staff canteen? I had missed the lunch time opening hours so was resigned to wait until the next day to try out the new additions.

So, understandably, I had been looking forward to this all day. Waiting for noon to hit so I could make my daily visit to the staff canteen and fill up. I loved the salad bar. There was such a variety to chose from. Curried chickpeas, beetroot, sweetcorn, mint cubed cucumbers and so much more - plus the new addition.

I looked at the time and it was fifteen minutes past noon. I rushed down to the canteen and looked eagerly for the olives I had heard much about. I was baffled when I couldn't see them anywhere. I glimpsed an empty bowl that left tell tale signs. An empty bowl save for a lone silver spoon. I picked up the spoon and scooped, only to retrieve some balsamic vinegar and two squashed olives. Clearly disappointed, I filled my container with the usual and returned back to my floor.

I went over to my colleague to express my disappointment. On his desk there two huge pots of salad filled with a few bits and bobs, and to my surprise what seemed to be the whole of the olives that had left the bowl empty.

'You greedy pig!' I screamed. 'You took all the olives! It was you!'

He was wide eyed and speechless and begrudgingly allowed me three black olives from one of his pots and three green ones from the other. I couldn't believe it! We had a laugh about it anyway, especially when he relayed how in his excitement to fill his salad pot, he had made quite a mess.

'There were olives everywhere!' He screeched, 'They were flying all over the place!'.

We both chuckled at the picture. I couldn't stay mad at him long anyway - when he had finished his lunch he relayed he was feeling rather ill. Holding his stomach he moaned 'I should have given you more than six, I think I ate too many olives'.....

Time to Catch some Zzzzz's

Well, it's way past my bed time. I've had some, I would say fun, but that's just cliche, rather I've had an interesting evening trying to get my blog set up. Am sure there will be some changes along the way to the general set up and site navigation, but for now, I am about ready to fly the coup and find a nice nest in a tree. OK, so my bed is more inviting right now than a nest in a tree, but you get what I mean...

Funny, I was talking to a work colleague today, and he was telling me about his latest best buy - an electric blanket. Man, he made it sound like heaven had arrived right here on earth in the form of heat transmitting wires encased in a soft quilt that, as Americans would say, keeps the 'tush' warm and puts a smile on your face before the sheep start jumping the fence.

Thinking about that electric blanket has me reaching for my hot water bottle just as I type, ready to fill my own simplified heat omitting transmitter with freshly boiled hot water.

Doesn't sound as glam as an electric blanket dah-ling, but beggars can't be choosers eh!

Have a good night!