Stagecoach have once again changed my local bus times/routes. And they’ve made a pigs ear of it. The following is a letter I wrote them, but with less detail and stronger wordage.
Dear Bus Company
You’ve changed the bus timetables/routes. This makes me very bluddy angry. Thanks a bunch.
Fooking Idiots.
*screams*
Yours sincerely,
I participated in a very angry conversation on the bus this evening. It was with my boss and took place entirely in my head.
My boss is an odd one. She doesn’t like people whom she perceives to be ‘weak’, partly because I don’t think she understands them. She’s the type of person who has far too much energy; she survives on about four hours sleep a night, which may be fine for her, but it’s a bit much that she doesn’t understand that most ordinary people can’t.
I have no idea what happened. I was absolutely fine. I had some issues with a couple of things, but it was nothing that a good whinge wouldn’t fix. But then Dotty came in and said we could go home early, and I just burst into tears.
*shrugs*
And then my boss got wind of it, and she came crashing into the room babbling on about stuff (pressure mainly) that didn’t actually have anything to do with why I was upset
(I don’t really know why I was upset, and the thing she thinks is upsetting me, isn’t)
and I couldn’t find the words to tell her nicely to ‘piss off’, so I just turned my back on her and grunted once or twice. Now she thinks I’m weak and rude (probably).
I need her to know that I wasn’t feeling pressured, I just want to be prepared. Why does she assume everything is about pressure and not having the ability to cope? Tsk.
Sometimes I just need a damn good uncontrollable sob and the weight lifts, the mist clears and everything is hunky-dory again …
In happier news, I’m partaking of a trip in a big scary metal bird in February (to Prague with Mumsy, to see my Big Brother and finally meet my littlest niece) … Will I cry with fear this time, or won’t I? Oh, of course I will … *grin*
I’m not a fan of New Year celebrations. Noises, crowds, good cheer … yikes! Give me a token amount of alcohol and something good to watch on the tellybox and I’ll gladly leave others to have fun on my behalf.
After all, next year is just going to be another lousy year …
Happy New Year!
My husband is fast asleep on the settee. I’m not sure if he’s suffering from restless leg syndrome or just letting his foot jig along to the music I’m subjecting his drooling state to.
(Robbie Williams, if you’re interested.)
I had no intention of writing a post on Christmas Day itself, but we’re being lazy (in preparation for two consecutive days of familial mayhem, which will begin with a visit to dialysis at 6.30 in the morning) and EastEnders doesn’t start for another twenty or so minutes.
I was a tad irked earlier in the week, but that simply serves me right for allowing myself to read the ridiculous views of ridiculous people on Have Your Say (which can be found on the BBC website, somewhere.) I love Christmas. I love buying and receiving presents. I love watching other people open presents. I love clapping my hands in excitement and giggling like a child. The anticipation and exhilaration that Christmas brings is a truly fabulous feeling, despite the fact that it doesn’t last long. I spend Christmas Eve wanting to desperately open my presents, and Christmas Day putting it off as long as possible.
And I hate (or maybe not quite, but pretty close) those people who spout forth with silly things about giving their money to charity to save the world by not buying cards, or who give vouchers or money, or who proclaim that some adults are childish for expecting presents when presents should only be for children.
Sheesh folks! Who took your sense of wonder and stamped on it?
I have nothing else to say. The Champagne is making me sleepy.
Merry Christmas!