27 January 2013


Great fun. Nostalgic, even. Sad, definitely.

Sorting thru stuff, came across the old bugging gear that I'd first acquired to record phone calls with Barclays in 2007 as I wrestled to retrieve the £6000 they'd allowed by spent by pickpockets who nicked my mother's wallet on her Xmas visit to UK and Waitrose.

They were passing me to so many people and the lines kept cutting out, I simply needed some records and proofs. It got the job done.

Then the theft happened - the Piece of Work - and I was being out-paced and wrong-footed by my mother/brother team (not just on the filch but my medical treatment and pretty much everything else) as well as certain of the simperer gardenry brigade.

Once I got used to it and had the routine set up it was almost fun:

  • Phone call to or from. Hand phone over and retire to start the digital recording, which had no limit.
  • Play back after, note salient point and adjust strategy accordingly.
  • Oh the manoeuvring and thwarting, not to mention the games over those torturous meals of gab gab fah blucking fah dementia drones ~ using actual words used by both parties, spelling out tactics and moans I'd picked up on ... setting out my plans for ongoing caregivery just to hear the reaction, knowing what had been decided behind my ear.

What could I not have got up to if I'd had my new webcam, purchased for my Skype confabs with my girls.

For my birthday, les girls made up an album of photos going way back. 

Once I've got the hang of the cam, I'll plonk a page or two en blogue.

Very moving and emotional: the girls said they got teary as they put it together and I shed tears this end as I went thru it. 

So happy and young and hopeful - many shots of the family here in Corfu. Sniff.

The ones I took, holding the album up to camera were outta focus but I'll get the hang. 

Damn'd good microphone, so there'll be some songs, too. 

Et voila! Me holding up one of the loose photos, me poolside with Anna.

Another trick: look into the camera and not at the screen.

Stomach turning: 30 Jan  2013: Gazing sadly on the buggery equipment I'm reminded of an incident when I played a passage back to a guest just to check a minor detail I knew had been captured - a date or a name, can't remember.

Suddenly the dinner guest said 'I say, this is a bit stomach turning, should I be hearing all this?' I was so used to the conniving banter that I wasn't actually hearing the incidental 'noise' but it was probably my mum rearranging the distribution of her jewels in contradiction to previous allocations. Anyway ... it reminded me of an hilarious incident during my Amazon days. 

You won't believe it, go 'there goes Holmes again, the varlet, thinks he can peddle any old lie to us.' Don't care, it's soo funny and you should see me tell it.

Manager's birthday   - Loipon, the lovely manager of my QA dept had a birthday coming up and we wanted to surprise her with a party, and her hubby needed to be there. All we knew was that he worked for a 'net provider and we 
knew one of the clients was a porn site.

 I was deputed to trace his number so naturally I surfed up the porn site to search for any contact number to call and trace Il Suo Marito. Could I find one?  Zilch. Drove me crazy and Amie's cubicle was just over the fence from me so I had to be extrah discreet.

Drove me crazy ~ boobs and crevices and foreskins and front bottoms galore, but a phone number? Zilch.

My cubicle edged on the passage way so everyone who passed could see my flick flicking thru the site, getting angrier by the minute that I couldnt find a number. Bloody amateurs!

And of course everyone who passed by thought "Ooh, he's a cheeky one, in full view n all" but my body language was guiltless because all I was hunting was a fronking number, unaware of what I was surfing thru - just one twat with a number, know what I mean?, so I could call the dude and book him for the party. Not too much to ask, is it?

V-P Customer Service  - my cubicle was en route from the boss of bosses office and of course he passed by and saw one of his minions shamelessly skiving from the Queues to flit filth. Bill was ex-navy, fit crisp and not shockable, prolly thought "Whoa, I'll give him nerve, that's fer sure" since I'd not made any effort to hide what I was up to. 

Bill probably thought to humour me so he commented along the lines of "I see, (naming the site), 'Privates on Parade' (or whatever the site was called0.

Of course, as soon as Amie heard the name of one of her old man's clients she'd be round in a trice, so I gave M'sieur Price a filthy look and like 'Will you shut up, Amie might hear'.  

So Bill walked on and continued my fruitless search. Never did find that number, but I thought later What could he have thought, not fazed that his ultimo directeur catches him horning and porning, just so his line manager doesn't catch him.

I still laff about that. I must send this to my adorèd Cass, who was dept head and two seats down from me. 

Porn shui - all this reminded me of the wonderful coining years later by Diablo Cody, clever author of Juno. I see the foto has gone; must replace. Foxy lady, as I recall.

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