So, where'd you get those from?

Last Friday was our work Christmas party. You know that it's been one of those sorts of nights when 2 days later someone emails you from work saying "Ok, next time we all go out, we're gonna have that dance off. Get ready", and your thinking "Dance off? What dance off? Was there some sort of West Side Story moment at this party? Am I a Jet?"

I won't bore you with the details of how I went through the usual malaise of the "what the fuck am I going to wear? Why does everything I try on in the shops look like shite?", but suficite to say I knew it's bad when I get sent a care package of clothes thanks to Li, with all her lovely party frocks in it. Unfortunately for me, I don't have the breasts to carry off any of her tops (chicken fillets wouldn't have filled been enough for my puppies. In fact, whole chickens stuffed down my top would not have helped at all). Surprisingly, help came in the form of a dress that my mother had bought for me when I saw her earlier this year.

Now I love my mum, honestly I do. And her clothes are fantastic. On her. Unfortunately her dress sense, when extended to me, is not a winning combination that's going to get me in on the cover of Vogue anytime this century. So you can imagine my shock when she told me she had bought me a dress and the smile I had prepared myself to wear when she showed it to me was genuine and not a hard, plastered on grimace. It's a green patterned maxi empire cut dress, with a sort of plunging neck line, that I had planned to keep covered behind a pashmina, a bolero, and whatever pillars happened to be at the venue. 3 glasses of champagne later and that plan flew out the window. So after the whole chicken fillet/borrowed clothes debacle, I was shocked to find out that my breasts were in fact topics of conversation with my bosses wife. I practically chocked on one of my never ending glasses of champgane when she asked me where I got my cleavage from? (No, they were not a christmas present, I've had these my whole life).

So relatively sucessful Christmas party? So-so. No raging hangover the next day (thanks to The Ex-Flatmate and a friend of ours going off to Tesco's at 3am to buy pizzas (yum)). Bruises all over my legs from being flung around the dance floor (oh wait.. I remember this "Dance Off" thing now... The massive bruise on my knee is proof that I am, in fact a Jet, from my first cigarette to my last dying day), and a hole in the top of my foot where someone has decided to try to crucify one of my feet by smashing their stilleto heel into it. This is Christmas people, not Easter. And I'm not the massiah, I'm a very drunken girl. Now with added boobs.

On the way to and from work

This is why I love cycling to work.


On the way to work in the morning:

and back again at night:

Lovely

Never say "and get yourself something nice" to me

Last week Dr D asked me to get him his lunch, and with his best "East End" geezer, I'm a cockney lad I am, voice, the threw me a tenner and said "er' you go luv treat yourself to something nice".

So I did. I bought myself some £99.50 per kilo, still on the bone, hand carved in front of me, Jamon. Aka ultra expensive, cured, beautiful, would eat this every day if I could afford it, ham from Brindisa.

And it was dead tasty. I love how it says on the label "Eat Within 3 days". I scoffed my 5 paper thin slices within 3 minutes. Flat.

Proof I eat things other than nutella and white bread!

It's nasty but I love it

On Monday, a very stressful day forced me to go the local shops near work so I could get my chocolate fix. In the store, whilst meandering around, trying to take as long as I possibly could, I noticed the holy grail of sugar fixes: a jar of nutella. Oh god how I love nutella. But it's the sort of thing I try to steer well away from, because it's a dirty, bad, nasty, in motel rooms kind of love, not a wholesome, meet your parents, sing you sonnets from afar sort of affair. Unfortunately, this day was bad, and like a junkie I found myself unable to walk away. I threw my £1.98 on the counter, before scurrying quickly away back.

Now, a jar of nutella at my work would not go down so well.. Why? Because everyone at work eats responsibly like an adult. I'm the one who owns the Kellogs Crunchy Nut. Everyone else has organic muesli, shredded wheat, cardboard cut into little squares with added fiber. It's all salads and bags of fruit, wholemeal, locally sourced, organic, with added nuts, ultra low fat. Naughty things like nutella have no right to an existent in our work kitchen.

Worse still, I only like my nutella, thickly spread, to the very edges, and folded in half, on nutrionally neglibable white bread. Oh yes - no wholemeal, whole wheat, whole boring brown bread with my ultra high in sugar, low in anything else, nutella. Like a criminal I have to sneak off to the kitchen, get my jar of sugar and cocoa out from the back of the top shelf of the cabinet (where I've hidden it behind all the jars of green tea that no one drinks), sneak my white bread out of the fridge (out from behind the salads and couscous). And I'm off: quickly and silently make myself up a sandwich that only 5 years old these days are eating. Once it's all put together, I only have to try to avoid any disaproving stares, appologise for the lack of fibre in the bread, and pass it off as an ultra thickly spread, zero fat marmite. Hurah! Am practically a resistence fighter. Though resistence to responsible eating doesn't quite have the same tone as covertly fighting an invading regime from taking over your country...

And you know what: my dirty, nasty love is even tastier knowing that everyone would shun me like a scarlet woman and disapprove.

Impulse

We've released our software! It's all done, and this is how we celebrated:


Yup: Bollinger. 5 bottles of Bollinger. And sweet lord was it delicious. I'm a pretty big fan of champagne, but this champagne is possibly the best I've ever tasted. It could have something to do with the fact it was mixed with the sweet taste of knowing 2 years of work was finally finished. It could have something to do with the fact it cost £52 a bottle. Who knows? All I know is that between about 4 of us we had almost 5 bottles of the stuff, and I did not have a hangover the next day. Not sure if I can keep sticking to the expensive stuff but for that one night it sure was worth ti.

Saturday a bunch of us trundled off to Oxford for the weekend for the Great British Cheese Festival, where we ate lots of free cheese (yum), drank lots of cider (yum!) and sat around on the grass having a good natter. The wierdest thing there was a guy in the cider tent on stage singing in his purple one piece jump suit. I think he might have been singing to the wrong demographic since everyone just sat there trying not to make any eye contact with him whilst he wailed about how much he missed Sebastian, his perfect guy. Then he sang about how much he hated cheese. Then he wafted on about some guy on the telly and how he wanted to go out with him, but he was on the telly. It was really, really, really random..

Speaking of random, everyone here is taking a few days off post release. Dr D is at home today and tomorrow, I presume sitting on his couch, replaying Halo 3. I on the other hand, am off to Manila tonight! My mum, who is a travel agent, has won an award with Phillipine Airlines, so has got an awards ceremony on Friday night. I've managed to wangle my way along as well, so I'm having an incredibly short holiday in the Phillipines, staring from today! Hurrah!! Warm weather! Hurrah! 5 star hotel! Hurrah! Flying 13 hours to get there! CRAP DAMNIT!

Unfortunately, the ceremony dress code is "formal", so I've had to go and find my New Years Eve dress. Which naturally doesn't quite fit me anymore (that's an exageration. It really doesn't fit me anymore. WAAHHH!). So when she called me last night to ask how my packing is coming along I casually quizzed her on what I should wear on Friday night "oh you know, nothing fancy" (Phew) "just a cocktail dress or something" (Crap. Cause I have loads of those lying about. In fact, I mopped the floors in one just last weekend) "Oh I know, the one you wore to new years eve!" (Ah. Fuck). So C and I spent about an hour going through all my clothes, many of which were inappropriate, and some which didn't fit. Damn it. Stupid body getting fat. I have to learn to STOP EATING (she says tucking into her turkey bagel).

So I probably won't be around for the next week. This holiday will either be loads of fun or just painful, with me and mum trying not to annoy each other, and me feeling like a massive heffer in Manila. Hmmm.. not sure now..

I'm helping like a good un'

We're trying to cut a release of our software tonight. Well, to be fair, we've been trying to cut a release all day, and we're just trying to get CVS to stop fucking about.

Whilst everyone has gone to the pub for our celebratory "we've not quite released, but we're getting pissed anyway, even though this was supposed to be a proper release party" drinks, P & Dr D are trying to sort all our problems. I'm here for moral support and my occasional unix skills. So whilst waiting to be useful I'm reading every page in my new Jamie Oliver "Jamie At Home" cookbook, and serenading my team with Maria Mckee's "Show Me Heaven" (If you know what it's like, to dream a dream. Baby hold me tight and let this beeeeee ooooooohhhhh). THIS I know is helpful, and not at all annoying!

At this point in time, we might not be making our "Not releasing today" Release drinks.

Tomorrow though, we're all off to Oxford to go to the Great British Cheese Festival. Not because we all love cheese or anything but because they are supposed to have a massive cider tent, and nothing tastes better with cider from plastic milk bottles than free, smelly cheese. Yum.

Alpacas and cello strings

Argh. It’s been a bit insane at the moment. So where the bloody hell have I been for the last 10 days?

Let me start with saying that for the last 2 years we’ve been writing the new version of our software, which we'd code named "Alpaca". Why? Well, unlike Java, which codenames all it's latest versions cool sounding names like "Kestral", "Tiger", "Mustang" and other fast and interesting things, we decided that, not being anywhere near that cool, should start with the letter A, and name it the stupidest looking animal we could think of. Look at this thing:

Frankly, it's fucking pathetic.

So right this very minute, we’re now on the hairy edge of releasing Alpaca, and have got a code freeze in place for this Wednesday. So we’ve been frantically trying to bug fix for the last few months, which means I've not really been around to blog. Despite having done cool things like stay at the Hotel Li, for a fun weekend of re-aquainting myself with booze (yes, at the dinner table at a very lovely restaurant, whilst Li and C were chatting, I actually turned to the bottle of wine, looked at it sitting in it's silver wine bucked, chilling in icy water, stroked it lovingly over it's white napkin and whispered "oh Alcohol, you crazy thing. I've mised you too. You know I couldn't stay mad at you for too long"), getting my arse slightly kicked at the Sex and the City board game... (which turned from a proper game to a quiz show style affair, with C being the quiz master, and Li and I having to slam the table in lieu of a buzzer everytime we knew the answer. By this stage we'd had a few cosmos, so it was all loud, blustery, and painful for my poor hands), lots of shopping, and saving babies from death.

Tonight, C and I went to the Magic's house to play beautiful music. Well, to play some music. ELLSO starts again this Saturday, and obviously I've not picked up the cello for the last 3 months. I've been the cricket that sung for the summer and has nothing to show for it in the winter, or something random like that. So tonight we decided it would be a good idea to get together, having a drink, and a good bash at our instruments. Would have been lovely if, whilst trying to tune my cello, I hadn't thought "Oh i'll just turn the peg a bit", causing the peg to slip, the string to never get back in tune, and eventually, after much fucking about with the peg, for my A string to SNAP. So much for the practise. Instead C and I alternated between playing cello and playing the piano, and Mag held the treble end up by playing violin. It definitely was a nice way to end my day, since it had all been a bit shite up to that point.

So that's really all i've been up to. An even faster, cliff notes special:

Book I'm currently reading: "The Colditz Story" by P. R. Reid. I've been up to the bit where they attempt to escape at the end for 2 days now. You'd think I'd have finished it, but I keep falling asleep. It really is a great book, but it just makes me sleepy.

Game Currently Playing: Halo 2 on my xbox. "Arbiter, you don't know who you're shooting at cause all the grunts look the same? Arbiter, stop shooting at our ship. It's supposed to have a hull you know. Arbiter, stop fucking about in general"

Last historical thing I toured: The Royal Albert Hall, where we did a private tour, going backstage and underground, for free grâce à the London Open House festival this weekend. Ok this was a bit of a brag, rather than a cliff notes special

Thing I'm most looking forward to right now: Hmm.. sleep? Pie and Mash for lunch tomorrow? Sleep right now? Tricky..

Thing I'm least looking forward to right now: Hmmm... not being able to sleep?

If you have a cliff notes special on your life, then please by all means, post it and let me know, or just leave me a comment. I'm especially interested in the last 2 categories. Whilst I clearly dodged the answers, please leave me proper ones!

So that's it really. A fair bit on, but when our software is out the door, there will hopefully be more imputus and time to blog. Busy, busy, busy.

The most productive thing I've been in years

I love this site from instructables.com! It gives you instructions for how to make your own ipod or mobile phone stand out of your business cards. With clear instructions and pictures, this site is cool! (Seriously it rocks)

Honestly, I really LOVE this. I've made a few loads of them now for peoples phones, ipods and business card holders. I've even worked out how to make one for an ipod with cable attached (since we all keep ours plugged in at work) using postcards from our local Benugos. I really do think it's the most productive thing I've done in months. Seeing as I'm a bit just fed up with everything at the moment, this has certainly soothed my savage need to create and build something useful.

Finally I've found a second use for all my business cards! The first use obviously being for those "win a free lunch" draws at pubs and restaurants.

So how did it go?

How did our summer party go?

I was well nervous on Friday afternoon. On the tube to the venue we were talking about how we thought it would end up in a big fight between our group and the group from downstairs (where the women are from). Not being a violent bunch though, instead of knives and guns, the whole fight would be played out in interpretative dance and song, like some sort of grand West Side Story production, with high kicks, singing and some chorus line work.... Obviously after laughing, joking and talking about people from our company for 30 mins, we only noticed another group of people from work on the same carraige as us as we were getting off the train....

If you're in London I'd definitely head up to the Roof Gardens for a night out! The gardens are on the top floor of the a large building in Kensington, and looked amazing. Our dining tables where under a big marquee with little lights dotted everywhere, and there was a classical guitarist playing for our pleasure. The food was really, really good too.. BBQ's sea bass, prawns, squid, chicken, lamb and ribs.. Grilled veges and proper, nice, salads. And some really yummy puds for afters (the boys apparently where trying to decide which desert was more manly: the cheesecake or tiramisu... I don't think there's a clear winner in any of those options). But I'll spare you the details of how cool the venue was and skip right on to the bitchy bits.

We were all standing in one of the gardens before dinner, drinking our extremely expensive beers and wine, and I nervously waited for the group in question to turn up. 1 1/2 hours later, and we were seated for dinner (because I told the Maitr'd that I wasn't their mother and if they couldn't turn up on time, that was just too bad, but the rest of us where eating now!). When they finally did turn up the two women made their grand entrance through the middle of everyone. Having never really seen them before but only hearing lots about them, I was not in the least bit surprised that they looked like Samantha wannabes from Sex and the City. Our entire table watched them walk in and sit down, and their entire table watched us walk past them to get food. Evil stares from the two blondes I was used to by the time desert came round!

Though other than that, nothing really happened. No fisty cuffs, not arguments, nothing. The only real incident with them happened when one of the women were in the toilets and apparently asked her friend for some lipstick. One of the girls I knew was in the toilets as well, and she told me she said to her "yeah, you look like you need it"..

After dinner our group just sat around the table chatting. We then went and danced to the live band in the gardens, and finally made it to the dance floor where at one stage I found myself half moshing to Jump Around by House Of Pain. In high heels. My feet were well and truly fucked by the end of the night (I'm a flats girl myself).

The only other incident occured when we were all leaving, and one of the girls we were with was calling for a cab home. Not realising this, we hailed her a black cab and told her we had a cab for her. Only after hanging up on the cab firm did she notice it was a black cab, and she then yelled at me "YOU KNOW I CAN'T AFFORD ONE OF THOSE, NOW YOU'VE MADE ME HANG UP ON THE CAB FIRM. THANKS A LOT". To which I got really pissed off at (come on by this stage I was well quite soused) so on the way home I got myself more and more angry about it, so when I got home I called her to give her a piece of my mind... when she didn't answer I thought "oh well that's mature", so I called again... No answer. So I thought "I'll text her what I think", but thought better of it.. then called again... and again.. and again.. no answer, no answer, no answer. So I left her this text "can you call me or I'm calling the cops". No reply. No call.

I woke up on Saturday morning with a horrendous hangover. Still no call back. So I called her again. No answer. (You're getting the general gist of this at this stage right?). Eventually I get through a recorded message: "This number is not connected". So then my over active imagination starts to work quick smart, double time: What if we put her in the wrong car? What if it wasn't a mini cab at all? What if the mini cab was one of those dodgy ones with a serial killer or rapist driving it? What if she's in hospital, or worse: lying dead, naked in a ditch? What would I say to her cousins? What would I wear at her funeral? Do people still hats for a funeral these days? Hmm.. where would I get one of those from? I imagined her family crying and accusing me "why didn't she just get in the black cab? Why didn't you make sure she was ok?", and me sitting there saying "If only we'd given her money so she wouldn't have had to get into that cab of death."

In the end, like a pyscho bitch stalker, I'm ashamed to say I called her 21 times in the space of 16 hours.
When someone suggested we call another friend of ours who might know, again, I still got no answer. After he didn't return my call for 2 hours I thought "oh my god. He's at the morgue identifying the body isn't he??". When he did eventually call me back, he said all casually, whilst I was on the other end of the line all frantic on the inside, trying not to let people see the crazy come out: "Oh her? Oh yeah, she lost her phone in that cab we put her in last night". Oh.


In the end, like a pyscho bitch stalker, I'm ashamed to say I called her 21 times in the space of 16 hours. And let me tell you something: when people hear you've called somone 21 times like that, no matter, how good your intentions are, people just sees you as a crazy freak. A stupid, stalkering, overly paranoid, dotty, crazy freak.

To draw to a close this saga of woe that has been our company's Summer Party from hell, the only thing that is left to retell is this: what happened to the two wicked witches? Did they get their comupance?

Our head of HR dragged one of them into this office on Monday and gave her a bit of a 'talk'. He called me up to tell me what had happened, and what he'd said and he told me "she was extremely contrite about the whole situation". I would have given him the sort of response he was looking for, but I was desperately trying to find out the meaning of the word 'contrite' on the internet (I did do 2 unit related English at school... it is my first language,... you'd think my vocabulary would be a bit better wouldn't you?). When I found out it was "remorseful" I became all benevolant. However, when she called me to appologise, and say how she didn't mean to make me feel so bad, instead of feeling victorious, I just felt, well, embarrased. I couldn't wait for the phone call to be over quick enough. When she asked me if there was anything I'd like to say to her, so I could make myself feel better, my mouth dried up and I just said I wanted the whole thing to be done now, and just start again. I'm not sure if that's what she was hoping for, but I guess it was what I was hoping for. And the second woman? The one who called me up all those times, and yelled and bitched? I've not heard from her at all. Not that I'm going to hold my breath on that either.

So there you are. Hopefully another drama finished and done. I'll probably keep organising events for our company. But I'll be damned if I organise a nice one any time soon. All parties from now on will be upstairs in the crappy pub down the road, with beer nuts, sausage rolls and deep fried everything. No glam parties, no celebrities, no dressing up, nada. Lager and crisps only. You know, I'm not half sure if that isn't what people really want anyway...

10 mins and countdown

10 mins before we leave for our summer party. I have a dress on (which I'm not sure I like), as well as 2 pairs of shoes (1 pair of high heals, 1 pair of sparkly flats in case I can't walk anymore in high heals) plus a pair of black trousers to go under the dress (it looks alot better than it sounds...)

C said I should go and meet a celebrity and make the women who have been bitchy to me jealous. I said he would have to be a blind one for me to have any chance.... Is Stevie Wonder in London tonight??

I hope tonight goes well. I hope I don't end up fighting with anyone.. I hope my minders remember they are my minders....... I hope it doesn't rain...

God I'm nervous.

Another day, another party, another rant.

Here are my top 5 reasons why I am sick to the gut with this fucking summer party. If you're a bit sensitive to swearing you might want to look away. Oh fuck! I've already said 'fuck' haven't I? Sweet damnation.


1) Ticket Stress:
Having gone through trying to make sure that everyone who says they are coming is in fact coming, I had, over the last 4 days, 4 cancellations. You'd think that with a guest list of 20 odd people that wouldn't be a problem right? Wrong. I've spent the last 2 days emailing and emailing and emailing people. I give them deadlines for when they have to tell me if they want to come. They ignore me. Like some sort of self flagillating, 'just abuse me' idiot I extend those deadlines. I even call them up to find out if they want to come.. I get lots of "yes I'm coming" then "oh, um, sorry, no can't make it". You'd think after all the "why can't I get a ticket" bullshit I had, I wouldn't have had any problem shifting those ticket eh? 30 emails, tons of phone calls and 3 days of the run around and only at 5pm today did I finally manage to do it. Yes

2) Inevitable "I have nothing to wear" Stress:
Girl from work: "so what are you wearing Friday night?"
Me: "I'm not sure why? What are you wearing?"
Girl From Work: "Well... i bought a black pencil skirt, and I'm wearing a satin black top. E is wearing a black skirt with a fish tail, and sequined satin top too. We'll both probably wear stilletos I guess"
Me: "Oh. Bugger".

Now I have 36 hours to find something to wear. And because recently it's been raining heaps (hey, we've had floods here, full on "God want's to smite thee" floods), I've not been cycling to work as much cause I am truly a baby when it comes to skidding on slippery areterial roads in London and dying horribly by having my brains smashed in by a lorry. So I've obviously chubbed up a bit. And now I think nothing I own looks good enough to me. Fuck Fuck Fuck. I complained to Li, who, like some sort of fashionista fairy god mother sent me what seemed like hundreds of links to different clothes and shops I could go to. Fabulous. Problem solved? Well.... haven't managed to make it to any shops yet... Hey I've got 1 shopping night left.... How hard can it be to come up with the perfect "I look cool, but I'm not trying to hard" outfit?

Yeah I know. I'm screwed.


3) Body Stress:
Number 2 obviously leads me straight to number 3. So in the next 36 hours I have to make sure I've exfoliated, body brushed, plucked, pruned, conditioned, moisturised and done whatever sort of agricultural cultivation I need to do. Obviously I had big plans to do some serious exercise this week. Ok Ok, ok so that didn't quite materialise. Still, it's great eyebrows that you get remembered for. Not being a size 0 model lookalike with perfect hair, makeup, and skin, who looks amazing in the skin tight, Posh Spice type clothes, who can attract every man they see. At least that's what all those fashion magazines with their size 0 models splashed across them keep telling us. Of course I know it's not what you look like, it's who you are. But who I am would be greatly enhanced with gravity defying breasts, toned abs, killer legs, and the latest Dior whathaveyou outfit. Personlity. That's what I'm going to keep telling myself I have. And hopefully great eyebrows.... Who the fuck am I kidding?

4) Guest List Stress
Grrrr. I have said over and over and over again that this venue works on a guest list system. I give out tickets, but their nothing more than a piece of cardboard with the address and time on them. Guest list: simple concept: you're not on it, you don't go in. Do people listen to me? Fuck no! I've heard in round about ways loads of people who have swapped their tickets with other people. Have they told me? Hell no. If they can't follow simple, easy, a CHILD would get it, instructions, then to hell with them.

5) Bitch Stress
The killer. The reasons why it is all so bleak.

I had yet another phone call from the woman from downstairs saying she heard people on the waiting list are getting tickets, and where did they come from? When I pointed out that these were the ones that had been returned (see point 1), she came back with "why was I not asked if I wanted a ticket?" - well, that's because she'd already bought one from the venue (that I had to fucking organise it for her myself), and did I mention that organising her social life isn't actually my job, with java developer as a neat side line? When I said this she told me "well you know I wanted to go, and I would have cancelled my own ticket". When I said I was working through the waiting list, and she wasn't on it and I had specifically asked her friend if they wanted to go on, she said "well you still should have asked us first. I demand that I should have been asked first" WOAAAH there woman. You're not on the list. You already had a ticket. YOU WEREN'T ON THE LIST. I went through the people who patiently waited for a ticket. Was I supposed to jump all those people and ask her? Is she supposed to be the Messiah or something? After a 5 minute conversation where I told her I was flabergasted at what else I could possibly have done for her, and besides she couldn't have cancelled because she wouldn't have got her money back, she screamed at me like a child, and she hung up on me like an adult. Oh yes, this is what I have to contend with.

She might think I'm some sort of push over that she can try to bully, who will just roll over and do what she wants because she seems to try to do this with everyone else, but that's going to hell change come Monday, when I put in a complaint about her behaviour. Oh yes my friends. Complaint. I am going to tattle on her to teacher like a kid in primary school whose being bullied by kids for lunch money. And I'm going to do this because I know on Friday night she's going to say something bitchy to me and you know what I say? "BRING IT ON". Come and fucking get me girl. Just. Do. It. I know it sounds childish, but one word, one wrong look, so much as a huff or sigh in my direction from these middle aged, high maitenance women and I am SO up for the fight come Monday.

Now my only problem is that I may need to get me some minders. Not to protect me from them, but to protect me from myself. A few drinks, and I am angry and upset enough (I was physically shaking this afternoon after that phone call), that I sincerly hope I do not say something stupid.

God I am sick of this fucking party. I do not want to go anymore. Staying at home, curled up on the couch with East Enders and a bucket of KFC sounds intensely more appealing right now. Fucking volunteering. Stupid people. Calv says he hates "people who blame everyone else for things that are their own fault" and with these people from work, I utterly agree.

My 4 Point Plan to Becoming the most despised woman in your company

Sick of being liked at work? Want completely bitchy people to bitch about you and abuse you on the phone for something that is entirely their own fault? Want to feel like shite about yourself? If you too want to feel like this, then follow my 4 point, guaranteed or your money back, plan. Trust me, unlike fad diet pills, this plan will get you results in 4 weeks or less!

1. Volunteer to help run social committee or club. A social club at work which takes every employees contribution of a WHOPPING £4 per month. For this £4 per month, the social club will organise events like theatre trips, quiz nights, nights at the races with dinner, a huge open bar and dinner Christmas party AND a summer party. Yup, for only £4 a month, they can go to ALL of these events if they say they want to go to them in time, because for only £4 a month, the budget is pretty tight, and if you're one of the organisers, you have to try to get the best deal possible for the tiny amount of cash you get to organise these events. Remember though: to make this plan work properly you have to VOLUNTEER to do this, so this isn't part of your job, you don't get paid extra and you do all the work, like finding venues, making tickets, creating posters on your own time.



2. Organise the summer party. Don't just organise it at a crappy bar. Try to do something really cool, like go to the Roof Gardens in west London. Know that, because this is an expensive venue, there is a limit to the number of people who can go. Also realise that you've broken the 3 cardinal rules of social events: having it on a Friday, having it far from the office, asking people to pay £10 to come. Realise that the number of people that can go to this year's party is only 6 less than last year's summer party. To make it fair, ask people months in advance if they prefer an expensive venue, with limited number of people, or a cheaper venue where everyone can go. When everyone says "EXPENSIVE VENUE EXPENSIVE VENUE!", go on ahead an organise it. Make everyone aware they have to get tickets early because not everyone can go. Everyone will say that's fine.
   Find out after you've started organising, that the venue is owned by Richard Branson, and is the haunt to many celebrates on Friday nights. Find out after you've organised it for some reason it's in loads of London papers and is getting brilliant reviews for it's multi million pound refurbishment.
   Careful: You'll be stressed because a) you hope people will come and you've not just spunked the limited resources on an event no one will go to because of the 3 broken cardinal rules. Allow guests to come because guests can always go to the summer party, and what if you don't sell enough tickets? Careful: You may also start to feel kinda good you're organising a really cool do for your company... hope fervently people will like it.



3. Run out of tickets. Oh yes. It's a popular event now. People request tickets thick and fast. Run out of tickets within 3 weeks. Reneg on your flatmate after she offers to give up her ticket and you say "no don't worry about it, guests can come, so you can be my guest", and ask her if she can give up her ticket for someone else. Feel bad you have to do that. Tell people who ask now they have to go on a waiting list. Scrimp and save and try to find money for extra tickets. Find only enough money for 3 more places.
   
   
4. Have people call you on the phone to yell at you. You're almost there! Answer calls from women on other floors who are livid there aren't any tickets for them. Have them scream that you should not have allowed guests. Have them yell and say "why are we subsidising other people?". Point out that even if all 10 guests don't come, they still couldn't go because they did ask for a ticket early enough, and all the people on the waiting list would have got those tickets first. Remember: they're now going to be irrational and say things like "well, I work on site 3 days a week so didn't see my email". Point out they've had 3 weeks to ask for tickets. Don't point out you yourself worked on site for 4 bloody years, one of which was overseas so you never went to social events that year, and that not being in the office doesn't mean you can't read your fucking emails, because you managed to do it. Don't point out they must be completely unprofessional if they don't check their emails on site. Don't point out they must be completely lazy for not getting in early enough. Don't point out the world doesn't revolve around their arses, so just because they want a ticket doesn't mean they can get one. Don't call them back when they slam the phone down on you mid conversation to ask them "I'm sorry, are you 6 years old? Grow up".



5. Have same people bitch to everyone in company. Now you'll get other people coming and asking you the same questions. You'll get managing directors asking you "so, what's happening with the summer party? I hear things aren't going well?". Have people talk about you behind your back to other people on the social committee, who of course tell you what's being said. Have them get into heated arguments in pubs about how poorly organised it was, because they can't get a ticket. Have people call you up every single fucking day to talk about it. Start to feel worse and worse about yourself. Very quietly cry at desk.

Congratulations! You've achieved your goal! That's it! 4 simple steps. Guaranteed or your money back. Do these things, and you'll experience low self esteem and be the object of hate by pig dogs, who are too self important to think they need to follow rules, always bitch how they know how to do somethings better, and are too fucking lazy to get off their fat arses to join the social committee themselves and organise something. Well done you.

You're Friday Moment of Zen: Not More Than Meets The Eye

We're off to see the new Transformer's film tonight at Leicester Square. Why? Well, we have a bit of an affinity with Transformers thanks to our jobs (if only our jobs were in robotic programming or something cool like that rather than just dull, run of the mill programming of software used by organisations that can best be described as Satan's underlings - albeit lowly ones that fetch Satan's smokes from the corner shop or maybe drive him around in his Volvo to score girls, rather than do any thing really bad like arms trading or mass genocide. Hey - we're not completely evil.). Plus (thankfully!) we are all old enough to actually remember watching the show on tv and own the original toys (though I never owned any myself, but I was more of you playmobil girl... )

If you're seeing the film sometime, drop me a line and let me know what you think... I've decided to sneak in some snack food from China town, rather than pay exorbitant prices for some peanut M&M's (which I am currently using to perfect a magic tricks on Calv's desk. Along the line of "Here's the promise: a blue M&M and nothing else in my hand. Here's the turn: " (and it vanishes into my mouth). "And the prestige? Well, I'm still working on bringing it back... " if I was bulimic that'd be a whole lot easier I suspect...


Anyway, in preparations for tonight's big film, here are a couple of quite funny auditions for the new film. I particularly like Sgt Power. Enjoy!

The name's Girl. SuperNerd Girl

Look at my cape! Watch me soar through Nerdville!

I am a nerd today because in order to do some testing for a client, for code which we'd written about a year ago, I needed to have access to a private method. Which I didn't have. In order to do this, I was shown the hacker ways of reflection today, to make my test class get around Java's security. Hell yeah, for that brief 10 minutes of coding, I was just like Angelina Jolie in that flick Hackers.

Well, just like except, obviously I actually eat food, so I have more body flab than Ms Jolie. I also don't have really cool clothes, don't have collagen enhanced lips, and my handle isn't anything nearly dangerous sounding as "Acid Burn". Oh, and I haven't adopted any kids from random Asian countries, I'm not going out with Brad Pitt. And yes, yes, I know I wasn't trying to foil an evil computer genius, or hide from the Secret service, but I was trying to work out why there is a really random bug in my code, using a hacky technique.

Other than all those things, honestly, you couldn't tell her and me apart. We could have been the same person.

Plus, I was more hard core because we didn't have any crap graphics to get through the security settings in my code. All java baby. Mostly run through Linux. Oh yeah. Nerd me up.

Humph

People constantly bring goodies from their holidays into our kitchen at work, for everyone to enjoy, and to show off the fact they've been on holiday, and not in our damned office. Today, someone brought in nougat and biscuits.

When I went this afternoon to try my first bit of nougat, someone walked into the kitchen just as I was about to put a piece in my mouth, and said "You know the first place that's going to don't you? Straight to your hips".

Humph... I know I'm carrying a little bit of holiday weight, but honestly...

Snow in London

Today it snowed for the second time this year! As an Aussie girl, even after almost 6 years in London, I am still excited everytime I see the snow, even if it is only about 2 cm deep and has all melted by midday. At lunch today, I found all the swept clumps of snow, and jumped up and down in them like a 5 year old. I'm never going to grow tired of that!

Check out my slideshow here

Embarrassing Kareoke Flashbacks

I've just had the most embarrasing flashback of me standing in my living room, mic in hand, singing my guts out to Belinda Carlise's "Heaven is a place on earth":

"OOOH baby do you know what that's worth?
OOOH heaven is a place on earth
They say in heaven, love comes first
OOOH heaven is a place on earth
You make heaven a place on earth...."

Oh dear.... I thought it was a bit wierd that I seemed to know all the words.....

So here I sit at my desk, blushing slightly, starting off quietly singing, though gradually getting louder and louder, until people start throwing things at me to try and stop the music: "you know we're just beginning, to understand the miracle of living, I know I was scared before, but I'm not AFRAID ANYMORE!!! OOOH BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S WORTH? OOOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH!"

I know no shame.

Party Games in the Office

Helpful tip: What they don't tell you in the "How-to"'s: if you're going to do party levitation in the office, don't scream when they lift you 2 cm off the floor.

We did this in the office this week, (why? honestly because we can) and since the only other girl in the office point blank refused to do this, I let myself be the levitatee (is that even a word?). The only thing was that the idea of having nerd boys (none of whom leave their boxers in the office) touch me under my knees and armpits made me squeemish, so we decided to just picked the chair up, with me obviously still sitting on it.

I was all up for it, until they decided that there should be a 5th person to stand behind the chair, just in case the whole thing tipped over, and I cracked my skull on the radiator behind me. Only then did I think "what the hell am I doing?". When they started to levitate me and I was literally about 2 cms off the floor, I screamed like the girl I am, they dropped me, and refused to do it again, in case one of our directors came running around the corner to see who'd been killed.

I really want to do it again, but I think I've missed my one and only non-drunk oppurtunity to try this.

Does anyone else do random things like this in their office?

Deadly Flannel

Me, walking past Calv's desk at work, spot a flannel shirt, very similar to one I loved when I was in high school (hey! I know what you're thinking, but in the early 90's flannel rocked. Just watch reruns of "Party of 5". That dude from Lost isn't so cool now is he).

Me: "Oh look, I used to own a flannel shirt just like this" (pick up "shirt")

Me: "OH MY GOD, IT'S NOT HIS SHIRT, IT'S HIS BOXERS!!! EEEEK"

Me: Run to the bathroom to wash of the boy germs of my hands, because those boxers have been under his desk for the last 4 years, and I don't want to catch cooties.

Farewell Sweet Ramen, And Thanks

The inventor of the instant ramen noodle, Momofuku Ando, passed away on the 5th of January 2007 from a heart attack. Faced with food shortages after WWII in Japan, Ando
developed his idea for a quick, convenient noodle product to help feed them masses. And feed them, and me, he most certainly has.

The 2 minute noodle, more commonly known as the "Pot Noodle" or the "Slag of Snacks" in Britain, has interwoven itself in my life as long as I can remember:

It was the 2 minute noodle that, as a 9 year old left at home during school holidays to fend for myself, was one of the first thing I remember trying to cook. I remember standing in the kitchen, with a bowl of noodles in cold tap water, trying to work out why they wouldn't soften. I'd prod them for ages, then give up, until my mum came home, and taught me how they were done. Then she started to cook me proper food to have for lunch, rather than "rubbish junk".

It was also the 2 minute noodle that got me through my final years in high school. Not because I couldn't afford to eat anything else, but because I was too lazy to find anything with more nutritonal value. It was directly due to eating a pack of these practially every day, that I got chunky, and developed a lovely stomach ulcer, which in turn led to the downfall of my guilty love affair for this most sinful of snacks.

So in memoriam of the Momofuku, whose fantastic invention has saved starving people in post war Asia, not to mention thousands of university students, I decided to lay aside the stigma that goes with having 2 minute noodles, and brazenly made one for lunch today, to the looks of disgust from my fellow co-workers. And here is my recipe for the best, most moreish, most delicious ways of 2 minute noodles. Try it once, and you'll be hooked.

• 1 pack, 2 minute beef flavoured noodles (don't get excited about any other flavour. BSE giving beef is the best, though if you must, then don't blame me if you don't like it).
  
• cheese, grated
• tabasco sauce
• 1/2 lemon (well, I like 1/2 a lemon, but that's probably a bit much)
  

1. Break noodles in half, place lovingly and delicately in a china bowl. No plastic cups here thank you very much.
2. Pour freshly boiled water over the noodles, and cover the bowl with plate, to keep as much heat in as possible.
3. Whilst waiting, grate some cheese. Extra mature cheddar is good, though if feeling guilty about having noodles in the first place, the low-fat pre-grated, feels-like-plastic, never -seen-a-cow-in-it's-life, stuff works fine too.
   
4. Fidget around until the 2 minutes is up. Don't be fooled, this is the most important step! Make sure that the noodles do not stand in the hot water too long, or else they'll turn into a soggy mush, which you might as well throw away, because then they are no good to man nor beast. You want nice, still slightly firm noodles.
5. Strain all the water from the bowl, and replace with freshly boiled water, until the noodles are just covered.
6. Stir in flavour sachet.
   
7. Liberally shake, like a British Nanny, the tabasco sauce over the noodles. When you think you've put too much, add another shake.
   
8. Squeeze liberally with lemon juice
9. Mix noodles
10. Add grated cheese to the noodles before each delicious mouthful, so that the cheese is just melting as you eat them.

Oh my god. This is soo good. It's not haute cuisine, but then again I'm not french. And everyone has to have a guilty secret snack, that they know is no good for them, but they can't resist anyway. This and pork scratchings are definitely mine. What's yours?

I'm hungry again just thinking about this, and it's almost 1am. Hmmm.. I wonder if we have any in the kitchen..