Wine is Evil.
And that is all I am going to say about that.
Showing posts with label wine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wine. Show all posts
Saturday, 20 December 2008
Monday, 26 November 2007
Age Concern
Waitrose for me is becoming like that mermaid on the rocks winking to sailors. I really shouldn’t, mustn’t, cannot go in there – the budget really doesn’t extend to sodding £4 on blackberries, however lovely and plump they appear to look. But there is something about the supermarket that lures me in every time, as it is just there, and so handy, and so clean, and so I ended up popping in to buy friend C a bottle of wine for cooking up a feast for everyone last night.
Now, the background to this story is that I used to get ID’d all the time for really silly things – I was told I needed my parents signature for an adult bus pass when I was 20, I was refused a lottery scratch card (16 and over) when I was 24. Needless to say when I smoked, buying cigarettes could be a trial, as was sometimes getting served in a bar. But the last time I had been ID’d for anything was a fair few years ago, and finally I was beginning to think my age had caught up with me. Fair do’s, I thought, it had been a good run.
So it was a surprise when the lady behind the till asked me how old I was. I laughed; feeling flattered, and said oh I’m 32. She gave me a quizzical look and asked if I had any ID, at which point I thought if I was 17 and trying to sneak a bottle of Rioja, surely it’s a bit of a stretch to say you are 32? Out loud I explained I only had my debit card, and she said she’d have to get her supervisor. I was like, o-kay… as the queue behind me shifted and murmured.
The worse thing was I was actually starting to feel a bit shifty, like I really was under-age and trying it on. I did that sort of wan smile you give to the queue when it is being held up due to your transaction. No one smiled back, I noticed.
The supervisor came over, asked my age, and again I said 32, thinking surely here be the voice of reason. But still she asked me for supporting ID, which I explained I had stopped carrying about ten years ago. We sort of looked at each other a bit and then she said it was ok to go ahead. She must have spied a wrinkle.
I was still packing up with a bit of a red face when the old boy behind me in the queue moved down the conveyor belt to pack his own purchases away. “I’d have served you,” he said with a smile, and I did an answering grin of thanks before getting out of the shop and thinking hang on a minute, that wasn’t exactly a compliment!
Now, the background to this story is that I used to get ID’d all the time for really silly things – I was told I needed my parents signature for an adult bus pass when I was 20, I was refused a lottery scratch card (16 and over) when I was 24. Needless to say when I smoked, buying cigarettes could be a trial, as was sometimes getting served in a bar. But the last time I had been ID’d for anything was a fair few years ago, and finally I was beginning to think my age had caught up with me. Fair do’s, I thought, it had been a good run.
So it was a surprise when the lady behind the till asked me how old I was. I laughed; feeling flattered, and said oh I’m 32. She gave me a quizzical look and asked if I had any ID, at which point I thought if I was 17 and trying to sneak a bottle of Rioja, surely it’s a bit of a stretch to say you are 32? Out loud I explained I only had my debit card, and she said she’d have to get her supervisor. I was like, o-kay… as the queue behind me shifted and murmured.
The worse thing was I was actually starting to feel a bit shifty, like I really was under-age and trying it on. I did that sort of wan smile you give to the queue when it is being held up due to your transaction. No one smiled back, I noticed.
The supervisor came over, asked my age, and again I said 32, thinking surely here be the voice of reason. But still she asked me for supporting ID, which I explained I had stopped carrying about ten years ago. We sort of looked at each other a bit and then she said it was ok to go ahead. She must have spied a wrinkle.
I was still packing up with a bit of a red face when the old boy behind me in the queue moved down the conveyor belt to pack his own purchases away. “I’d have served you,” he said with a smile, and I did an answering grin of thanks before getting out of the shop and thinking hang on a minute, that wasn’t exactly a compliment!
Friday, 10 August 2007
The Work Experience
Trips in flat, hugs the sofa and pats nice speedy computer.
I did it; I survived a whole week of work experience! I know how bad that sounds, but bear with me, I usually work from my little room via ‘you have mail’ and the bat-phone, so to be back in an office again is like, woah. I See Real People.
Being work experience, you do get given the dodgy computer (you know the sort of thing, you can make a cup of tea while waiting for I.E to open google), but they were a nice bunch of people from what I could see (team of eight, five talked to me, three blokes studiously avoided all eye contact).
I mainly subbed and edited freelancers work, and wrote a few reviews etc that may or may not make the grade in the October issue. And to my silent amusement, Chas and Dave and the Velvet Underground were part of two separate features I worked on, which if you read this post, might shed light on why I chuckled. All good stuff, and you never know what comes of it.
But now I am back, and itching to get on with the book. I made a surreptitious start inbetween subbing the world’s longest article, and am determined that I am going to get up at 7 every day and start working. No more lying in bed until 8.30, those bad old days are over. So I think the week really did wonders for my motivation.
And… (rubs chin thoughtfully), possibly renting space in an office might be an idea to consider in the future. I felt quite inspired today, managing to bang out the beginning pages of the novel when all last week I couldn’t even think of a good sentence to start it with. See, it is so important, that beginning. It can be the make or break. No one is going to care that there is a gorgeous twisty bit in chapter four if they never get beyond page one. But perhaps that can be a post for another day, as now I am going to have a much needed glass of wine and chill out!
I did it; I survived a whole week of work experience! I know how bad that sounds, but bear with me, I usually work from my little room via ‘you have mail’ and the bat-phone, so to be back in an office again is like, woah. I See Real People.
Being work experience, you do get given the dodgy computer (you know the sort of thing, you can make a cup of tea while waiting for I.E to open google), but they were a nice bunch of people from what I could see (team of eight, five talked to me, three blokes studiously avoided all eye contact).
I mainly subbed and edited freelancers work, and wrote a few reviews etc that may or may not make the grade in the October issue. And to my silent amusement, Chas and Dave and the Velvet Underground were part of two separate features I worked on, which if you read this post, might shed light on why I chuckled. All good stuff, and you never know what comes of it.
But now I am back, and itching to get on with the book. I made a surreptitious start inbetween subbing the world’s longest article, and am determined that I am going to get up at 7 every day and start working. No more lying in bed until 8.30, those bad old days are over. So I think the week really did wonders for my motivation.
And… (rubs chin thoughtfully), possibly renting space in an office might be an idea to consider in the future. I felt quite inspired today, managing to bang out the beginning pages of the novel when all last week I couldn’t even think of a good sentence to start it with. See, it is so important, that beginning. It can be the make or break. No one is going to care that there is a gorgeous twisty bit in chapter four if they never get beyond page one. But perhaps that can be a post for another day, as now I am going to have a much needed glass of wine and chill out!
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