Bonkers at the Buffet!

I’ve just been on holiday to an all inclusive resort in Jamaica – yeah man! Anyway the location isn’t really the point. It’s the all inclusive part that releases the otherwise normal folk into crazy town!

Now I can understand the concept. You pay a lot for these holidays and, if your food and drink is included, then you want to make the most of it. I, like most people, ate a fair bit more than I would usually I won’t deny. I’m all for it. Eat as much as you like people. Try to get your money’s worth (although don’t be naive, there’s no way the hotel or tour operator is going to lose out on the deal no matter what you eat!). The issue for me comes with the insanity at the moment of self-service from said buffet.

I think breakfast time is perhaps the worst. I, for example, quite often had a bowl of cereal, then a cooked breakfast, then some fruit. Much more than I would usually have back home but why not eh!? But why oh why do most people think they need to pile as much as humanly possible on to one plate. I felt like explaining to them that all inclusive means you can go back as many times as you like. Were they afraid that the food would run out? Or that they would be viewed as greedy if they were seen to be returning to the buffet too many times?

However, my main issue wasn’t with the overflowing plates but the weird and wonderful mixtures of food. I could only presume that these people temporarily lose their minds due to the overwhelming choice. Does anyone out there think that pancakes, maple syrup, bacon, pineapple and scrambled egg go well together? Or how about a few Danish pastries on a bed of grated carrot!?

If you are someone that partakes in the more unusual buffet ensembles I would love to hear your point of view…

 

Wee Stops

I work as a Sales Rep and, as such, spend a lot of my time travelling in the car. Recently I’ve come across an abundance of these posters on the walls of the ladies’ toilets in service stations. Every time I see this advert I find myself saying “yes, yes I do wonder where I’ll find the next one”. Then I continue reading and realise it’s actually intended for people with bladder problems…

You would think you’d be able to train your bladder to be stronger by resisting the urge to relieve yourself but the opposite seems to be the case for me. The more time I spend on the road the more often I find myself stopping. I can’t drink tea first thing in the morning any more and have to actually plan wee-stops into my day.

The worst incident that happened to me took place about a year ago. I was driving up the A34 on my way to a meeting. At the time there were road works and the traffic was down to one lane, so slow at the best of times. On this particular day there had been an accident further up the road and the traffic had come to a standstill. It was a horribly bleak day and the rain was pouring out of the sky. I had been on the road for a few hours at this point in time and was planning to stop at the next service station. I tried to take my mind off the subject but the rain splashing on the windscreen really wasn’t helping matters.

Some time passed and I got to the point where I started thinking that I was actually going to do myself some damage if I didn’t have a wee. So, decision made, I started thinking of how to go about it. Here were my options:

1. Climb up the muddy hill to the left of my car, whilst wearing heels, and attempt an ODW (Out Door Wee) in the rain.
2. Get out of my car, open the passenger and back door and attempt to wee in between them.
3. Find a suitable receptacle and go in the car.

Now the option I chose wasn’t exactly my preferred choice. However, I decided that climbing up the hill was a bit risky bearing in mind I needed to look presentable for my meeting later that day. I would have gone in-between the doors of the car, which I thought was an inspired idea, until it occurred to me that I only have a 3 door car! So number 3 it was and I began to assess my options.

I ended up settling for a generously sized travel sweet tin. I figured that if the person in the car behind or in front of me attempted the same manoeuver I would be none the wiser so it seemed worth a shot, so to speak. So I lined myself up over the tin and had the most satisfying and potentially life saving wee ever. That was until I realised the tin was filling up a lot quicker than I had anticipated and I needed to stop mid flow. I luckily managed to do that, emptied the tin, refilled and finished. There was a small amount of overflow, disgusting I know, but all in all I was rather pleased with myself and extremely glad to no longer be in pain.

After the incident I decided to prepare myself in case the situation ever happened again. I bought what is basically a portable urinal with a ‘feminine adaptor’. I didn’t think this was something I’d ever own and certainly not whilst still in my 20s but needs must.

You’d be surprised about the amount of designs out there:

• Unisex Uriwell
• Shewee Extreme
• Whiz Freedom
• Boginabag

Oh to be a man!

A Trim Down South

I couldn’t help but chuckle when I drove past North and South Barbers in Cowfold this weekend. This is the scene that was unfolding in my mind…

Hairdresser: ‘Good morning. What can we do for you today?’
Client: ‘Down South please’
Hairdresser: ‘If you’d just like to hop up on to the table…’

I wonder if they blow dry?

Love Thy Neighbour

I live in the flat dwelling community which can often result in rising tensions between residents. Who hasn’t been irritated at some point by loud music, a crying child or a monotonous washing machine while trying to have a moment of peace at home?

For the past few months the gentleman who lives in the flat above me has been testing my tolerance levels. His TV has been creeping up in volume and now has reached a level at which I can hear it over my own TV and, if I don’t have the TV on, I can actually tell what he is watching.

He is, however, a strange creature. I’ve always been pleasant and have said hello to him whenever our paths have crossed but he hasn’t seemed capable of returning the pleasantries. Every time I speak he looks petrified as if the ground swallowing him up would be a better option than having to respond to me. He is obviously a very shy person and lacking in a few social graces. I have continued to be polite but each time I have been met with the same response, or lack there of.

Now, this has left me a bit unsure as to the best way to approach our ‘noise’ problem. My natural reaction would be to confront him face-to-face but if he can’t bring himself to say hello I somehow doubt his ability to hold an entire conversation. The other option is to put a friendly note under the door. I asked a few friends for their opinions and the general consensus seemed to be to go with the note.

So this was my plan and I fully intended to do so at the weekend but unfortunately another problem has been thrown in my path.

For my sins I’m on a few online dating sites and I logged in at the weekend to check if any gorgeous hunk of a man had been in touch. To my surprise I had been contacted by my neighbour upstairs! Now surely this is social networking gone mad? He wrote as if he didn’t know me and said that he would like to meet as he is looking initially to meet friends and potentially to date someone!

I’m not at all surprised that he would be on a dating site as he is obviously not over-brimming with confidence. However, I can’t for the life of me get my head around why he would contact me as there are lots of pictures of me on there and we have bumped into each other enough times for him to recognise me.

So, does he really expect me to reply so we can have a date in the hallway? Has the TV been up loud purposefully in the hope that I will go and knock on his door? Is it safe to knock on his door?

I really don’t want to give him the wrong idea. Just to clarify he is not someone I would ever date. So what should I do? Would it be wrong to ask him to turn his TV down via an online dating site?

To be continued…

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Wedding Crasher

It is the season for weddings and I’ve had the good fortune to be invited to a few this summer. The most recent of which being last weekend. As I remain in the world of singledom, and the questionable looks when I take a girl-friend as my plus 1 to these events has started taking its toll, I decided to go it alone.

It was a Sunday so a nice day to get up slowly and have a leisurely drive to Cambridge. I had booked a single room in a hotel I found online. I was quite impressed to find somewhere that had a single room as paying for space for two when you are one quite frankly adds insult to injury.

So I arrived at the hotel to find a distinct lack of parking spaces and proceeded to drive around in circles looking for a space to ditch the car. Finally I got some ‘parking luck’ and made my way back to the hotel. I thought that an hour would be plenty of time to get ready and get to the venue, a supposed 10 minute walk away.

I managed to get myself suited and booted, or should I say skirted and heeled, and left the hotel with about 10 minutes to get to the wedding. Off I trotted with my pre-prepared printed multi-map in hand. Now I was pretty damn sure I was heading in the right direction until I couldn’t see any of the road names on the map. Come to think of it I couldn’t see any road names anywhere…panic started to set in!

So I realised that I needed to move faster and picked up the pace into a jog. This was when I realised that my new dress, which I had bought recently for a bargain in the sales, was slightly too big for me and being strapless was making an exit towards my waistline. Meanwhile the wind decided to pick up as well taking the skirt of my dress with it. Needless to say running became somewhat of a challenge.

I asked for directions, picking every clueless tourist that crossed my path, and continued to jog on aimlessly in the hope of still getting there on time. Eventually I found someone who could actually give me directions and realised that I was no-where near the venue and a taxi would be my only option.

I finally got to the venue about 5 minutes after the time the ceremony was supposed to start. I figured that these things never start on time, what with the need for the bride to be fashionably late and all, and so thought I might just about make it.

I asked the hotel staff if I was in time but they weren’t the most helpful of people so I carried on, determined to get there after the disastrous journey. When I got to the door of the function room I saw the bride stood outside with her Dad. I didn’t want to bother her with my problems so sneaked past and then asked the other member of hotel staff at the door if I it was ok for me to go in. He was as useless as the other members of staff, obviously a pre-requisite for employment there, and just shrugged his shoulders.

So I decided to go in only to be met by a room full of flashing cameras as everyone took my picture in anticipation of getting a shot of the lovely bride. Oh dear me the embarrassment! I then ran to the side of one of the aisles, tried to catch my breath, and hoped that everyone didn’t hate me for stealing the bride’s moment.

Shortly afterwards the bride came in, the guests got the picture they actually wanted and the ceremony started. Then the congregation was told to ‘please be seated’. I, however, due to my tardy arrival, didn’t have a chair. So I spent the whole ceremony squatting on an imaginary chair. You would think that the member of staff stood behind me would have noticed my discomfort and brought a chair for me…not in this hotel!

When the ceremony was finally over, which was just as well as my legs were at breaking point, we all poured out into the gardens for a glass of bubbly. Did I need a drink! I still felt awful about what had happened and was relieved to finally speak to the bride to apologise. She said that she was feeling really nervous when I ran past her and that me making a complete fool of myself actually calmed her down. What a relief!