It's so hot today. I'm getting one of my tattoos added-to on friday and if it's this hot by the end of the week then I'll be boiled alive because it's always so hot in there. Great in the winter but not so good when it comes to summer :)
Today was a day I could have done without. Lugging around piles of paper that are far heavier than they look when they sit innocuously in envelopes wasn't part of my job description. Neither was doing this task for several hours in a row. By the time we finished I felt every bit as ill as I did after my train journey on monday. But, you know what? I'm really starting to enjoy my job now. I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to enjoy it even more as time goes on. I still miss working at the college though. That, I think, will always be the job I'll think of most fondly.
I've started to think about things a little differently since I've been there, too. Watching the counsellors, the great work they do, I've been thinking that at some point way off in the future it's something I'd really like to do myself. Particularly since there are so few gay and lesbian counsellors around and there's supposed to be some kind of recruitment drive at the moment to get them on board. I find the 'recruitment drive' idea a little condescending, but that's because the scheme was thought up by the same snooty-nosed brigade who believe that all counsellors are middle-aged, vicar's wives in cardigans and slippers who want to 'do their bit' :) But, yeah, I'm pencilling that in for five, ten years down the line as something I'd really like to do.
Now: My weekend. Oh boy, what an incredible weekend it was! It was a bit of a gigglefest, as you'd expect. Things got off to a strange start on the train there. I was the only person in the whole carriage. The only one. No one else. It was spookily quiet, except for the automatic door which was making 'I'm-gonna-blow!' noises and I feared was about to explode at any point! Ten minutes into my journey the ticket inspector came around and I made the comment that it was quiet. he checked my ticket, mumbled to himself and then seemed to wake up, as though he'd been having some sort of daydream.
"I'm sorry," he said, "did you ask me something?"
"Erm, no," I said, "I just said it was very qiet today."
Oh, big mistake, Miranda. Should have kept your mouth shut, Miranda. For the next ten minutes I was subjected to the ticket inspector's analysis of how busy the train usually is, at what times and on what days, concluding a long time later with, "So, yes - it IS extraordinarily quiet today!"
I felt like I'd just sat through one of those damn christmas 'lectures' they always show on channel four. i smiled politely and willed him to go away, which eventually he did. No one got on at the next stop, or the one after that, but finally an hour and a half into the journey the carriage started filling up and the door was still making spooky noises. However, since it hadn't attacked me yet I figured I was safe.
As time went by, more people got on, and the ticket inspector did manage to engage me in one more conversation about this fact as he came around. After that, I pretended to be asleep to avoid his coversation.
Eventually we were within an hour and a half from Manchester and I couldn't wait. However, suddenly things on the train got a little heated. It had been announced early on in the journey that we were not stopping at Stafford but someone got on the train believing we would be. He was not a happy chappy, believe me. He swore, he yelled - and then he went to the toilet. or at least he tried to, but someone was already in there. He was not pleased about this, thinking that needing to get to Stafford was some sort of get-in-the-loo-immediately card on some non-existant board game only he was playing.
he started to hammer on the door, shouting and screaming, and everyone in the coach turned to watch. I was right beside the door and got a bird's eye (and ear!) view and heard everything that happened. After a few moments the ticket inspector came rushing through the train.
"Alright," he demanded, "Who's been banging on the door?"
"Me," said the man.
"And what good's that going to do anyone?"
"Makes me feel better."
The ticket inspector and the argumentative gentleman had a very heated discussion for at least seven or eight minutes. I missed bits of it because the door was still humming a merry tune, but I caught the drift of it. The man wanted to get off at Stafford and didn't care to hear any excuses. he whole heartedly blamed the ticket inspector for this change of plan and wanted to know what he was going to fucking do about it. But alas, the argument was a stalemate and believing he had cooled the situation down, the inspector wandered away.
Thinking the coast was clear, the toilet door opened and the poor man inside it ventured out, only to be confronted by the angry gentleman. He tried to reason with him. he tried to explain that a call of nature could not be ignored. But in the end, when all else failed, he just thought - oh fuck it - let's have a fight.
So they did.
A fist-fight ensued between carriages. A few punches were thrown (but missed) and a bit of good old-fashioned wrestling took place. And then, almost as quickly as things had started, they stopped again and the two men walked through the carriage together, the best of friends, to discuss different ways to get to Stafford and how best to go about it. They talked right until Stoke-On-Trent where one of them left the train and they parted like old friends.
Bizarre.
Eventually we arrived at our destination, and I fell right into Y's arms, my collection of presents and bags and all. And that's where the weekend began - but more of that tomorrow :)
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