While there has been a growing acceptance of the LGBT community in the UK in recent years,...read more
Bad day yesterday. I had an okay night’s sleep and decided to venture onto public transport with the cough from hell and a bottle of water as I had a meeting to attend. I chose a deserted corner of the tube. Within 30 seconds of going on the tube, having not coughed all morning, I had a coughing fit. The water was useless. The lady at the end of the carriage glared at me as tears streamed down my face from trying to keep the cough in. After three stops I had had enough. If it was that bad above ground with virtually no-one on board, what would it be like in central London? It is not swine flu. It is a badly timed bad cough, but I fear no-one else will know the difference. So I got off and crawled back home to do the meeting on a teleconference. The minor problem was that, by then, I had drunk so much water that I spent much of the teleconference needing the toilet. What is the etiquette in a teleconference with regard to asking to be excused? Clearly, you can’t take the phone with you.
Anyway, as soon as I got off the tube, the cough got better. My mum was looking after the girls so I got a lot of work done and managed to be done in time to drop the dvd back to the library and do the tyre pressures. The new machine at the petrol station does them automatically. It beeps when they are full. Wonderful, I thought, and informed my partner that the car was now ready to go. “What a fantastic new machine,” I said. “It automatically knows what your tyre pressures are. No more searching about in the car handbook.” This was the point at which my partner informed me that I should have programmed in the car’s tyre pressures before I started. Oh dear.
Meanwhile, I was invited to take part in a focus group about new products. The only criteria are being creative and outgoing [but of course] and enjoying cleaning. I am considering whether there are any possible ways of interpreting my attitude to housework as “enjoying cleaning”…
Later, I sought out rebel daughter’s advice on what to call the features section on workingmums. She suggested “wonder workers”. I think I had better enjoy this period where I am treated as some kind of major heroine figure because I know I am headed for a big fall. It’s a bit like celebrities where the press builds them up and up and then delights in cutting them down to size.