I watch Eastenders maybe 4 times a year.

Tonight had to be one of them, didn’t it?

In between the pallaver of the hire car, I was getting texts and phone calls from my sister.

I know my uncle was upset, but he has always been a complete pillock.

He asked my sister if she would take pictures at the service. How she managed to remain polite to him I do not know. I am not sure I would have managed it.

Why would he want pictures of the funeral? What is he going to do with them? Put them in a scrapbook? “Oh, and here is a picture of her niece, crying a little bit, she cried much more later on……”

My mom and dad were going in the funeral car, with my uncle, and my two cousins and their wives. Two of the grandchildren were also going in one of the cars (the other two being too young to go). I was originally planning to go to the service first, but with the car fiasco, I thought my sister would come pick me up (with her husband and niece and nephew) and take me to the service.

However, there was a bit of a change of plan after ‘words’ between my sister and my uncle. He had told her to go straight to the wake after the service. “No, I will follow the cars to the cemetary,” she said. “Nephew wants to come, but niece doesn’t, so husband will stay with her. I can bring Ann too.” “Oh no, the burial is for family only.”

My sister deserves a medal for not swearing at him. Apparently, me and her are not ‘family’.

There then ensued a short discussion. Ending with, “I am not asking if I can come, I *am* coming to see my aunt buried.”

The upshot was that my parents picked me up and took me to my uncles flat. I went to the service in the second funeral car, with the two grandkids, and some old friend of my aunt’s.

Well, it went as well as it ever could I suppose. The vicar gave a glowing talk about my aunt. I was astonished at how many people were there - they had to open up a side room for people to stand, there weren’t enough seats.

However, at one point both me and my sister, in unison, as if we had practiced it, turned out heads from looking at the vicar to gaze frontwards, both took deep breaths, and sighed.

That was at the point the vicar praised my aunt for her strength and patience during the years when my uncle had to spend a lot of time away on business. When he was travelling abroad.

That would be the time he was having an affair then. Not staying in a hotel while he was abroad, staying with his “fancy woman”.

When we got outside, and the coffin was loaded back into the car (because of the time of year, the service had been held at the crematorium - churches all being booked for nativities and carol concerts - and hence having to be loaded back into the car for heading off to the cemetary for burial). The grand-daughter, my nephew, my sister and me went in the second car.

My mom, who had been pretty upset most of the day, went to pieces at the burial. That was more upsetting than anything. She just looked so small. Mind you, my nephew was very upset too - all 6 foot 5 inches of him.

Oh, and there was someone taking pictures when we came out of the service.

Also, I hadn’t noticed (not having my lenses in, and taken my glasses off because I was crying) but inside the order of service there was a card. To be filled in. At the request of the family. With names, and how they knew my aunt.

Like some ghoulish “guest book”. I really think he is going to make a scrapbook of the funeral.

Been away on the course. It was actually pretty good, I feel like I have learned something useful for a change.

Yesterday was the funeral. Tuesday, ONB had emailed the hire car company to have my name added as a driver to the hire car, so I could drive to the funeral, then head back to the hotel afterwards.

At 11 yesterday morning, I decided to ring them, just to check it was okay for me to drive.

“Oh no, we have no record.”

“Damn. I really have to be added, I have to go to a funeral. Can you add me now?”

“Yes, that’s no problem, just pop into the office with your driving licence.”

!

“Erm, we have a hire car because we are travelling away from Cardiff. I am in Birmingham.”

“Oh, well if you go to one of our offices there with your licence….”

“My licence is in Cardiff too, so I’d have a job. I have had hire cars from you before, why do you need to see my licence this time?”

“We always have to see the licence before we pass on the keys to the car.”

“No you don’t, I have had cars from you 3 times now, and not once has anyone looked at my licence - even when I offered it, it has been waved away.”

“No it hasn’t, it is our company policy that every time we have to see the licence, so we would have seen yours.”

“No, you didn’t. And you didn’t ask to see ONB’s licence either, he has just informed me. Right, can you at least tell me what happened to the email that was sent? Why nothing was done with it?”

“It didn’t come here, we know nothing about it.”

“Right, I understand that, but can you tell me where it would have gone? He replied to the confirmation email he was sent.”

“You will have to ask him where he sent it.”

“I did, he sent it to the address which sent him the confirmation of the booking. Would that be your head office?”

“We never got that email.”

“Yes, I know you never got it, can you tell me where it might have been sent?”

“You will have to ask whoever sent the email.”

I am getting so fucking angry, what a fucking idiot.

“I have asked, and I just told you, they sent it to the address which sent the confirmation. Would that be the head office? Can I ring the head office?”

“We never received that email, so I don’t know where it went.”

“For god’s sake, are you telling me you can’t give me a number for your head office so I can find out where the email went?”

She is getting angry now. “I did not see that email. I can’t tell you where it went.”

Gritted teeth. “Will you just give me your head office number?”

Finally, I got it. I never rang it though - I will wait until I have a copy of the email ONB sent, then write to them.

I rang the PA at work, and eventually I got agreement that work would cover a taxi for me to get from the funeral back to the hotel (which I didn’t need in the end, managed to get back to the office in time for a lift back to hotel).

Tomorrow I am off to the midlands, for a course for three days (with a break in the middle for my aunt’s funeral). There are seven of us going from here, in two hire cars.

I asked ONB today if he would be picking me up. “Oh no, you are going in A’s car, with LELI.” I pulled a face - not at being with LELI, but at A, who is a nightmare driver, plus his (very) thinly veiled attempts at getting in my knickers. “He was quite adamant,” says ONB. “There was no discusssion, he came over here the end of last week, told me who I was taking in my car, and who he was taking in his. I suggested I pick you up, but he was having none of it.” ONB finds this funny.

Thing is, LELI isn’t coming back with us, he is off back to the homeland for Christmas Firday night.

It was with relief that today I found out that ONB (bless him) had put his foot down on taking the ‘extra’ guy with him, since he doesn’t know him. So he will be in the car with me, A and LELI. And coming back with me and A. I will make sure of it!

The bloke who took this picture is the creepy bloke who is trying to get into my knickers.

The picture is totally unedited - I didn’t cut the faces off, he did.

Oh, and the other girl is Krazy K!

Now, I know I have done some daft things in the past. But I at least try and learn from doing stupid things, and when I do something stupid, it is usually a big, one off event.

Everyday stupidity really gets on my tits. And that takes some doing!

For instance - at work they run a little minibus from the carpark to the office. It is for very lazy people (like myself), and late people (also like myself). Actually, to be fair, I do only get it when I am late, I used to walk. When I get around to leaving the house at a reasonable time, I will walk again. But for now, I get the little minibus.

Lots of people get the minibus. Yet, for some reason, only half the people can actually shut the door behind them. It’s not hard. It doesn’t need muscles like Popeye to shut the door. Yet it amazes me how many people, every single day, manage to only half shut the door - and you can tell by the fact that it doesn’t ‘clunk’, and the bloody light stays on! So, why don’t they go back and give the door an extra little tug to make sure it’s shut?

Another thing - in the ladies toilet at work there are 4 sinks. Four normal looking sinks, with mixer taps, and the plug is put in and pulled out by a lever attached to the taps.

When you go in in the morning, the lever is always lifted, and the plug is in.

It astonishes me that sometimes, when I go in mid-morning, the plug is still in. And the sink is half full of dirty water.

So, at least one person has washed their hands and left the dirty water there.

But, and this is particularly irksome, there must have been loads of other people who have gone in and seen this, and yet not pulled the plug to let the dirty water out.

And yet another thing - the other day I went into the loo at work, and there was this girl stood in front of the sinks, doing something to her hair. She had the tap running, and was obviously wetting her hair and combing it or some such beautifying thing (all this stuff is a mystery to me - I can’t remember the last time I even combed my hair!).

I went into the loo, had my wee. Heard this girl leave. I flush the chain. I walk out of the cubicle.

The damn tap is still running!

I mean - how could she *forget* the tap was running? She was using the water to dampen her damn hair!

Stupid. Just stupid.

We were talking about the party on Friday night at work today. I told Z off for not making any attempt to save me from the slimey Frenchman who was accosting me while he was buying me a drink. “The short guy who was with you?” asks Z. “Yes, that’s the one.” “I thought he was your boyfriend, he was standing so close to you….” Peels of laughter from Sian.

Even more laughter around the office when I shared with them his *special* chat-up line.

“I do not speak ze Eenglish very well, but I speak ze language of lurve…..”

Plus the speculation that he’s probably not even French, he’s a Valley boy out on the pull!

Was back at work today after physically not being there Thursday and Friday last week, and mentally not being there since Tuesday. Not that I was totally there today, but luckily I had volunteered to help interview some sandwich students last week, and although I had been dropped, someone else dropped out at the last minute so I got called back in.

It was the first time I have ever done interviews, and I was totally thrown in at the deep end - didn’t even have anyone from HR with me, had to do them all on my own. And did six interviews in total. Luckily I took lots of notes.

They also had to do a group exercise, and a series of tests, so it was pretty grueling for them, especially considering that for most of them it was their first “real” interview.

Mind you, I now see what everyone says about the state of education nowadays. Every single person I saw today had gazillions of A’ levels, all at grade A. Yet some of them were pretty hopeless at the simple maths test they were given. On paper there was nothing to choose between the 15 people interviewed today, but in reality there was a huge difference in their capability.

Tomorrow I have to do some “real” work, but then I am off on a course Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. My Aunt’s funeral is Thursday, so I will miss part of the course.

A big thank you to all your wishes. It helps.

Hmm, I see now why I pulled!

Abd I pulled!

Well, I would have done, if I had been interrested. But he was a very slimey Frenchman. Who wouldn’t even biy me a drink. So I told him I had a boyfriend, and ran off to LELI.

Think it might have been the tits.