Hey Reader, sorry about the long blogging absence, I've been back from the tour since Sunday and as you can probably imagine it's been a bit of an adjustment period. In fact, I'm still adjusting. To the extent that I can't quite bring myself to go put my suitcase upstairs because I feel like I'm going to be on the train to East Anglia again tomorrow. But no, am officially a jobbing actor again. I should really go on holiday and have a rest or something, am so run down I look like a meth addict/hag who lives in a cave and eats eels but I'm really really poor at the mo, so that's not looking too likely. The Lad might be going on holiday with his friends, and thus will probably have to endure quite a massive sulk from me, given that we were supposed to be going away together but then he decided he wanted to go abroad for the summer and work (nope, that never happened, interviews for his PGCE had to take precedence, understandably). If it ends up with me being stuck in England and him prancing off somewhere balmy with his mates, I will be rather grumpy. I may be forced to spend some of my savings (for our future home together) and go off by myself on a cheapo last minute deal. Or (more likely, given my skintness) go and spend a while in my friend's house in eastbourne, having no heating but being able to go swimming in the sea at night after a few cocktails and eating chips out of greasy paper every day. Actually...that sounds like just the ticket...
Going back to work has been pretty weird too. On top of being so exhausted I can't hold a logical conversation, the whole of my floor is full of people I don't know, talking about how great and flexible the job is. Ok, so they're right. It is flexible. But I've been there on and off for a year now, and every time there's a new batch of workers, they say the same thing. Within a month it's all doom and gloom. And then a new batch come in, etc. I've slightly turned into a grumpy old biddy, crowing 'you'll learn!' at them in my head as I try and resist (and usually fail) the temptation of the vending machine.
I'll be back to my usual, irritatingly optimistic ways soon, after lots more chocolate and sleep. Till then, I apologise to anyone I snap at, I just have post-tour blues!
Before I go, I HAVE to tell you about the mad thing that just happened to me! I'd just jumped in the bath and dipped my head under when there was a positively FRIGHTFUL hammering at the door and ringing of the bell. Thinking my mum had forgotten her keys and had a work call to make, I leapt out of the bath, wrapped myself in a big old towel and legged it downstairs. Not my mother however. Nope, a massive Caribbean post man holding a parcel to be signed for. He sort of leered at me and went 'no school today then?' To be fair, the towel was hiding all my curvy bits and make up free, I look absurdly young, but still, I'm 24! 'Nope, bit old for that Mate' I said as I took the parcel and went to close the door to I could retire back to my bath 'Just my luck!' He letched 'Come for a drink with me tonight'. Reader, I've already told you I'm a moody cow at the moment. I just went 'NO, My bath is running, BYE.' and almost slammed the door in his face. But seriously! If I look so young that he thinks I should be in uniform then what on earth is he doing asking me out? The bloke was in his thirties! At the absolute oldest he must have assumed I was 18, but I have a sneaky suspicion he thought I was more like 15. Also, I'm in a towel, which makes me massively vulnerable, how dare he proposition me like that at my own door?! Where is his sense of professionalism? What a creep. Needless to say, double lock went on the door after that and I'll be ignoring the bell next time I'm in a towel, even if I'm SURE it's one of the family needing to be let in!
On that creepy note Reader, I'm off to dry my hair!