Just a quickie to let you know once more that my life is a guddle and that my multi tasking skills have not miraculously developed just when I need them most.
Louise, our manager, has been on holiday for a fortnight...and everything has descended into chaos. I suspect that she'll be quite glad to hear that she is indispensable, and I'll be very glad to have her back to work.
Being in charge is not all it's cracked up to be. I much prefer it when I can drift around being smiley and creative without the need to be in one place all the time.
Not only has Lou been on holiday but Chris has been in France, my lovely part time lady has been sick, Max came down for his first visit in 2 years, we've had our glamorous friend Dorothy and her boys to stay and it's the height of the new season's deliveries...argh!! And happily (although bemusingly) our customers have decided that, now the sun has come out, they all want to buy winter clothes.
It seems like such a long time since I've had the luxury of a bit of time to myself. Now I know that's the case for most people but I go a bit demented (okay - more demented) when I can't find a wee space for some peace. So much action seems to drive out the creativity and leave a whole lot of white noise in my head.
Now it's Friday night and Chris is sleeping soundly so here I am.
It seems as if I've been a bit serious lately and so I'm going to tell you a wee story that I recounted to Max when he was here:
About twelve years ago, when I was working as a menswear buyer for Jenners in Edinburgh, I was on a buying trip in London. As was the case with most of my buying trips, I made them alone - staying at The Berners Hotel off Oxford Street and visiting various showrooms by day, mostly in the Mayfair area.
On this particular occasion I had to take a trip farther afield to Lancaster Gate to buy Kenzo. (Oh what a delicious collection - all sharply tailored suits and amazing textures and colours - yummy.)
Now the location of this showroom was a bit out of the way for me and I was a little nervous about finding my way there. (I have no innate sense of direction, plus I never pay enough attention to where I'm going - poor Chris will vouch for this!)
Being Scottish (and tight - even with company expenses) I decided to take the Underground train. I planned my route and the changes I had to make and proceeded to the first platform.
When the train arrived I politely waited for all passengers to alight from the train, as instructed by the man on the Tannoy. In front of me was a young couple with a baby in a pushchair. Again, politely, I waited for them to board the train. I waited - and then they appeared to change their minds. Finally realising that they were not boarding, I stepped around them and started to enter the carriage.
Now, it turned out that there was a reason that they changed their minds. Unfortunately I didn't realise what that was until too late. No sooner had I put one foot into the carriage and leant forward to climb in, but the doors began to close. I had been concentrating so hard on the little family that I had failed to hear the warning beeps indicating that the train was about to depart.
Picture the scene: The doors close and I am trapped. Not my foot, or even my body - but my head. Only my head. My face is wedged between the train doors and I stare inwards, head immobile as the entire carriage stares back.
Well I was surprised, and stuck, and staring from side to side. After what seemed like an age the doors reopened and I was able to step back onto the platform while the doors closed and the train sped off without me.
A kind lady asked if I was alright (much to my mortification) and I waited for the next train, somewhat dazed and with a face that was starting to hurt. Now I'm trying to be cool here. I'm a professional working girl out and about in London and attempting to fit in with the capable crowds around me...not.
Oh boy did my face hurt! The doors had caught me right on my cheekbones and by the time I finally arrived at my appointment I had a thumping headache. To add insult to injury (literally), I'd never met the guy I had the appointment with.
I wanted to throw myself into a chair and go: "Oh my God, you'll never guess what's just happened to me!" Instead I discretely took a couple of Paracetamol and tried my best to look interested and knowledgeable as he presented me with swatch after swatch of fabrics. After three hours of selecting suits and shirts and ties I finally escaped to my friends' house for dinner.
With cheekbones still throbbing I at last threw myself into a friendly chair and wailed: "You'll never guess what happened to me!..."
Dear generous Scott looked suitably concerned and made all the right noises as I took them through the events of my day. Dorothy (yes, my glamorous friend D) made no such attempt. Rolling around on the kitchen floor she laughed until she cried. Bitch.
Oh dear, this is so typical of me. If I'd a meeting to go to I'd fall over, skin my knees and ruin my new tights. I used to think I should have grown out of such behaviour. Now I am resigned to being a pensioner who'll trip up crossing the road and show my knickers to the bus driver who's had to do an emergency stop to avoid me.
Ah, but this is not the end to my sorry tale. The following evening I took the plane back to Edinburgh. I was asked by a stewardess to swap seats with a family. (Was it the same family? Were they stalking me?)
I settled myself wearily into my new seat and the friendly man next to me struck up a conversation. You know, the usual stuff between two professional people - "What were you doing in London?" "What line of work are you in?"
It turned out that my neighbour worked for London Underground...in the Complaints Department!
I so wanted to ask him if he had many complaints from people who got their heads stuck in train doors.
But I didn't - I was too embarrassed.
