The Whine, the Bitch and the Wierdrobe

I have run out of cynical things to say about the current glorious weather, and have decided that I must enjoy it from now on... while it lasts -D'oh! There I go again!

The temperatures in Ballyfuck/ Department mean it is no longer possible for me to wear my shirty-type blouses at work / driving to work without melting. And nobody wants to step in a puddle that was once an EO.

So I've had to rummage around in the back of the wardrobe for more suitable stuff.

The criteria are:
1. That it must fit. Given that I've not worn some of these things since we last had sun in 2006, the chances are slim (ha!) to none.
2. It must not be stained. Curry / beer stains undermine my authority as a supervisor and just show me off to be the beer swigging, vindaloo munching person that I really am.
3. It must not reveal my cleavage in any way (i.e. no "pulling" tops. Even though they are perfect in terms of aeration, I still don't want the leery guy from the neighbouring section trying to get a look at my bra while I'm at the printer).
4. It must not be part of my typical weekend going-down-the-pub-for-pints wear: i.e. Father Jack/ Che Guevara/Guinness/ Munster RFC/ GAA are out.

Anyway, I managed to find some stuff that met all these criteria. Yes, even the first one... I am actually more svelte than in 2006, apparently.

Gleefully pulling a respectable, fitted garment over my head this morning I took some time to assess the look in the mirror. My top, though it fitted me, looked far from flattering...

What the hell... WHY DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE EXTRA NIPPLES? I look like a less well endowed cousin of the Triple Breasted Whore of Eroticon Six! (With apologies to Douglas Adams) Oh, wait, it's just the seam on my bra. Umm... that won't do. I don't want to draw Leery Guy's attention. Maybe if I get a top in a different fabric the seam won't show. Err... no, that won't work either. Maybe a different bra... (and so on. )

I finally leave the house satisfied that there are no lumps or bumps where they shouldn't be. Behind me I have left a trail of destruction. It looks like Bannockburn after the battle, except with clothes and differently seamed bras, not bodies and broken, bloody swords. To be tidied up when I get home. I'm late for work as it is.

I find my winter wardrobe far easier to cope with. You can hide everything under those layers.

By the way, this is the first time I've mentioned the word "Nipples" in a blog post. It's downhill from here, I'm afraid...

A Thought for a Sunny Day

Yes, it's warm, and nice, but I could have irrigated the Sahara today with all the moisture dripping from my face.

***Shudder***

Fun in the sun (or is it?)

I’ve been enjoying the weather for the past few days. I’ve managed to get rid of my usual deathly pallor and actually look healthy now. I’ve even managed to get loads of exercise. Outdoors. Usually I only do that in winter. My pineal gland was getting more sunlight than usual and so not even I could maintain my usual level of cynicism and rancour in order to maintain posting on the blog for the duration of the fine weather.

But – wait a minute! There has to be something for Govstooge to get fucked off about! For a civil servant who has made whingeing and moaning an art form it is inconceivable that the good humour should persist.

And yes, it’s true. I have found something new to mouth off about.

I have written previously about the summer fashions on display in the Department – fucking flip flops, fantastic for the beach but utterly annoying in an open-plan office (rhythmic whacking - making the entire place sound like a S&M festival), not to mention DANGEROUS!

Just to go further afield, I decided earlier in the week to avail myself of some flexible leave and visit my nearest urban centre to purchase some more suitable attire for this weather. I failed miserably. I returned home with €30 worth of books and some fancy naan breads and a new and interesting type of cheese.

Women’s summer fashions in high street shops make me despair. I look round at what other women are wearing and it’s either tight tops that accentuate all the wobbly bits or else it’s big tent-like kaftany things that hide all the wobbly bits yet leave you looking like a marquee. And then there are the ones that have no fabric whatsoever on the back. No thanks. I’m finding it absolutely impossible to find dignified summer wear this year.

I am not a large lady by any means. I’m a size 12 on my bottom half and slightly bigger on top. But I have some wobbly bits. I refuse to have my midriff on display. Anything tight is out, out, out, because I will be adjusting it all day. I wear full-length trousers or skirts, because I look like a knob in shorts with my knobbly knees. Pale, ghostly, knobbly knees. So, I’m stuck with cheap polo shirts from Penney’s, which usually shrink at the first wash. And their current ones have horizontal stripes, which make me look five feet wide. Where are all the bloody plain ones?

My large collection of t-shirts bought on holidays or received as gifts are my only recourse. Some of them are baggy and leave me with a lovely farmer’s tan which stops halfway up my upper arm. These, combined with baggy combat pants, make me look like I’m permanently a student or just back from a music festival. Timeless, yes, but boring. But it’ll have to do.

I needn’t have bothered trying to update my wardrobe. The weather’s to break today or tomorrow. In fact, as I write, the sun has disappeared and returned to its rightful home several hundred miles further south.

Certain dodgy items of clothing will hopefully be put away as the sun fades... I was horrified to see that every second young fella in town was wearing those “bloomers” or Bermuda short-type things. Often with floral patterns. Cool they may be to wear and obviously fashionable, but they are GAY. Especially when coupled with skinny white torsos and legs (or red peeling ones). Jesus, they’re rotten! How can they think they look good in them? Since when have pink floral patterns been in for guys anywhere other than San Francisco?

I did enjoy the sun while it lasted. But I missed my ranting. It’s good to be back.

Wellies at the ready

Don't know about you lot, but I'm really looking forward to winter this year.

Apparently there's a 20% chance of getting one hour of sun in January.

Hold onto that thought. We all need something to strive for.

A couple of things I've noticed in the last few days:

Wellies don't go well with my work clothes. And some people are STILL wearing bloody flip flops!

Here comes the summer...

Well, you could be forgiven for thinking that it is summer, rightly enough. I emerged from the bank holiday weekend burnt to a rather nice hue much reminiscent of a particular species of crustacean which is well known in gourmet circles. Thanks to genes inherited from the non-ginger side of the family, I have now begun to brown nicely. Just as the wind picks up in Ballyfuck bringing more inclement (and more typically Irish) weather in from the Atlantic.

Work was wonderful today. I finally managed to convince myself (and others) that I may be able to do my job correctly after all. The coming of summer brought with it a slew of TCOs - temporary clerical officers - to replace term-time leave taking mums - some of whom are reporting to me, and who have to receive training from me, may God have mercy on their souls.

The great thing about being a TCO is you get out at the end of ten or thirteen weeks or whatever length of time your contract is for. You get to go back to college, go travelling, go back on the dole or even get a real job. TCOs can glance smugly over their shoulders as they walk out of the sections for the last time in September knowing that THIS IS NOT IT - that they may actually make some use out of their MA unlike their boss who is swearing and getting upset about lost forms for a measly €36k a year.

Christ, what did I do wrong? I was a TCO once. The ad for the EO jobs in the national papers lured me in with the promise of actual decision making and various other opportunities for evil. But in reality, I spend most of my time doing review forms and signing annual leave applications for those under my care. No evil potential there, then - even signing my name backwards on the forms, making the "8" in "2008" into a pair of hairy testicles and drawing a devil's tail on the "y" in my name went unnoticed.

Just as the sunlight hits my pineal gland and I stop feeling depressed along comes another reason to kick me in the teeth. Where did I put that bottle of vodka?

Have we just had our summer?

The weather was fantastic today. The sun splitting the stones, windows flung open, people with ice cream, smiley faces all round. It was good to be alive. Even in the Department.

So, can anyone tell me why, ON THE RARE OCCASION THAT WE EXPERIENCE CONDITIONS LIKE THIS THAT SO MANY PEOPLE STILL FEEL THE NEED TO GO TO THE FUCKING SHOPPING CENTRES?

Jesus, go to the fucking beach or bring your kids for a walk in the park! DON'T FUCKING CLOG THE FUCKING ROAD UP TRYING TO GET INTO THE LOCAL DUNNES STORES! THERE ARE HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE WORKING IN THE AREA TRYING TO GET HOME!

You stupid bastards.

What the hell is this?

Those were my very words (barked, Father Jack-like at no-one in particular) as I wiped the goo from my eyes this morning and looked out the window before making the daily crawl to the Department.

Sun?
Sun...
SUN!

Fuck this, I said, and decided to call in the old flexi time. I've none left now, and have to go in tomorrow. Knowing my luck, it'll be even nicer tomorrow, and utterly shit at the weekend.