Deborah or Debbie: Why don’t you ever buy me a caravan?
Mitch: What for?
Deborah or Debbie: Holidaying in. A spare room for a guest at Christmas?
Mitch: Christmas was last year.
Deborah or Debbie: And again this year.
Mitch: Yeah. I suppose you’re right about that. But you never said you wanted a caravan – this is news to me right now.
Deborah or Debbie: I hinted at it in 2007.
Mitch: Oh! That was what that was (he says squeezing her arm)
Deborah or Debbie: Yes, I wasn’t sure myself – until now. I’ve been building up to it… pressurising you that is. It’s a big decision & I wanted to know that I wouldn’t regret asking you.
Mitch: Well that’s good – you’ve thought it through, and I appreciate that.
Deborah or Debbie: Thanks Mitch. That means a lot to me. (Minor dramatic pause) The thing is… you’re not the only breadwinner, well you are a bread winner but I also win bread as it were (she laughs with her eyebrows), well, you shouldn’t have to buy the whole thing a caravan in this case… listen to me twittering on…. (Beat) So what do you think?
Mitch: Well, it’s getting more the sound of reason to it. As an idea.
Voiceover: In the end Mitch stumped up the £7,955 for a lovely white and blue caravan (a Country Devon model). And Debbie or Deborah as she’s often known stumped up £3,000 herself.
They went on several caravan mini breaks in one year alone, so all in all Deborah was really pleased she:
- had the idea
- approached Mick with it
- went through with it
Mitch and her were not husband and wife beforehand, but due to the caravan fun, I think they soon might be, find out soon if this is true in the next installment….
I don’t get as many yoghurt advert castings as you might think, which is weird because I can imagine me advertising yoghurt, you know? Not to show off but I’m sure I would be a plucky candidate for this because I really believe in it as a product. I’ve certainly eaten my fair share in this lifetime, and God knows what I was up to in the other lifetimes, because in one of them, according to Psychic Terry, I was a farmer, so it certainly seems plausible I could have totally got behind the yoghurt lifestyle, even then.
So, I approached these companies to find out more. But as some of you will know, the thing about yoggie companies is – they are either lazy, or busy making yoghurts – depending on your belief system.
Also they’re not as creative as you might think. So I have designed the whole advert so it is easier for their milky little brains to imagine.
So here’s my advert slash pop song for yoggs. Think of it as an opera scaled down for obvious reasons; one being that opera is not as popular as yoghurt.
OK, here goes (you have to imagine a large scale musical production with a set and (fingers crossed) someone on the piano (but you don’t see much of them).
MAN: In a dramatic downbeat pose: ‘Sometimes my stomach’s so bloated I feel like giving up’
WOMAN: Coming in and walking backwards clicking her fingers: ‘Don’t give up, don’t ever give up. I know the thing for you…. wassup?’
MAN: ‘You don’t understand me – you’re in a different gender, age & socio-economic bracket to me for starters…’
WOMAN: ‘Oh yeah, well I knew a fellow just like you – he had bloating, candida and foot problems. He had a yoggi or two and everything sorted itself out (apart from the foot problems). But you can be pigheaded if you must – I’ll be on my way with my yoghurts.’ (She dangles the yoghurts away from him, in a taunting yet confident manner).
MAN: Big moment of realisation: WAIT A MINUTE, let. Me. Try. These. Yoghurts. You. Mention…
Sung as the narrator: And you know what his stomach got beeeetttter and his relationship with his wife improved. And all from this good bacteria, KEEP BELIEVING! He also now has the confidence to sort out his foot problems!
I called my Mum today which was lovely, because, as luck would have it, I really love my Mum.
She was telling me about this charity event in Cliftonville, drinks, nibbles – THE LOT!
But, what’s this coming from left field? The entertainment was provided by the attendees themselves. A sort of democratic – ‘yes, get up have a go’. “What’s that you got an emotional poem you wrote – yes, yes feel free. I’m sure people WILL be able to look you in the eye afterwards”.
Average age = 60
Average talent = debatable
But passion and commitment = admirable
What I really loved is when my Mum said:
“and Mick the postman got up and talked about Jazz clubs.”
Not got a song in you Mick? Rita’s done a dance here and Sally did her version of ‘Pennies From Heaven.’ And you’re just talking? About Jazz clubs? Come on mate – get it together.
All I’m saying is if Britain’s Got Talent has taught us anything it’s that singing always comes first, dancing second and talking about Jazz clubs doesn’t even make the preliminaries. That’s all. I mean I admire your bravery and your passion for the un-trodden ground – but mate, Sally did her OWN VERSION of ‘Pennies From Heaven.’
I am being sardonic but actually I think it’s lovely (in a totally non patronising way) that everyone’s joining in for the jamboree of entertainment slash showing off. Then again – communism‘s a great idea in theory. But there’s always someone coming in to ruin it – and then there’s Sally’s who’s done her own version of ‘Penny’s from Heaven…’ Mick mate – it’s not fair on you, its not fair on us, and its not fair on Sally.
Pauline: Oh they’re nice shoes
Pauline: Oh, no sorry I meant Melanie’s. But yours are nice too
Linda: Oh, no, Melanie’s are really nice, mine are just cheapos. Where did you get yours Melanie?
Melanie: Oh God, I can’t remember now, probably in the sale knowing me
Linda: Oh well they’re really nice. How was the first aid course?
Melanie: Well, it was fine, but I wouldn’t ever use CPD to save someone
Melanie: Not worth it is it –they might sue you – not worth the bother.
Linda: Yes, they’ll sue anyone these days. Did you hear about that American?
Linda: Oh, I can’t remember now, but they sued someone for something, hot coffee too hot or something. How’s your diet Pauline?
Pauline: Well, I had a cream hornet yesterday. Cos it was my other half’s birthday, and then I went hell for leather, chose the pizza at dinner and thought, well, Pauline – you might as well have the hot fudge Sunday.
One of them: Well I personally don’t think you need to lose any weight.
I have developed an allergy to alcohol which is a bit of a damp dog.
I can sometimes have 2 drinks, but any more and I get queasy. I had sort of stopped drinking after a few ‘incidents’ anyway. I can’t really be trusted not to turn in to a total moron. So I knocked it on the bonce after Edinburgh 2008. That was after I did a free fringe show every night in the pub called “Look How Twatted I Can Get.” Very much a live installation art piece.
But now I am older and wiser, it would be nice to have more than 3 drinks on special occasions without getting a hangover WHILE I am drinking.
Allergic to alcohol – what a turn up – couldn’t I just be allergic to penicillin? Or a certain brand of washing powder?
I’m holding a meeting with my body in case we can compromise;
“Look body – let’s just both get what we need out of this. I would like to be able to have 4 to 5 drinks. OK? That’s all – once a week – I promise I won’t act like an idiot and do anything like I did before”.
“Yeah but you said that last time.”
“But that was ages ago – years ago. I’ve changed; I eat in Fresh and Wild now and take supplements. I read more now.”
“What about when you broke my finger.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t drunk then?”
“Yes but it still hurt”.
“OK, fair enough. Do you like elderflower water”
“Well, I’ll drink to that. Now, lets get you out of those wet clothes.”
The sky man was coming round – so I put some clothes on – well I was already dressed but not in anything I wanted anyone to see me in, yes you guessed it- I had my naughty vicar outfit on again- tsk tsk what am I like? No, actually it was a shirt with inappropriate content on. This content was yoghurt. It had no place on my shirt.
I let the man in, you have to you see. Next thing I knew, I heard myself saying; “do you want a cup of tea” – because they like that and I like pleasing people. And he said “yes”.
Well, I was a bit taken aback cos they usually say no, last time someone said yes, I made the coffee, it was coffee that time and they had finished the job before the coffee was drunk. And we both didn’t know what to do because the job was clearly done. Time to go home what-ever-your-name-is.
But no, he couldn’t because of this sodding coffee – this stupid mug of hot liquid, seemed harmless before didn’t it? Well, not now… he wanted to go – I wanted him to go – but there was half a mug of hot coffee here – steaming away taunting us.If he went and left the coffee it would draw attention to the fact that he was rushing to get away. I might think that he didn’t even want the coffee – that he just got me to make it because he was a sexist. But more likely is that I would think that he thinks we have nothing in common and we can’t even make small talk over half a mug of coffee for 2 minutes.
So he drinks a sip – a big sip and he visibly burns himself. I ask if he wants more milk. He says no. He means yes, but it’s too obvious if he says yes that he’s desperate to go. Men huh?
God, it’s too painful. Not his lip, although I imagine that is a bit sore too – but this; watching him drink his coffee and having nothing to say to each other – it’s too painful. So I go to yawn and I strike the cup; I delicately smash it right on to the floor. It was premeditated that’s for sure. Don’t worry it was the mug I got free with a flake Easter egg. No biggie. I never liked it anyway. Good riddance to the mug and the man. That saw him on his way.
So, this new chap, he said yes, he said yes to a tea. He did not get a tea though. He got a small cup of Ribena. He looked disappointed, but I thought Rick (that was his name. Allegedly) I thought Rick, it’s for your own good.
‘Susan Brown’ someone said, naturally I turned around. Well, my jaw was on the floor when I realised that they weren’t speaking to me at all… but another Susan Brown entirely – what are the chances of that?
At first I thought someone was pulling my leg; a few of the guys like to wind people up and I thought this was another of their legendary pranks! But no, Pamela in HR confirmed that they had hired someone with exactly the same name as me!
Disaster ensued – I was getting up to 3 messages a day for the attention of the other Susan. I hate to think what would have happened if one of them was confidential. And then there was the Tupperware fiasco! One day I nearly ate her bolognaise. It was labelled… you guessed it, ‘Susan Brown’ and I thought I’d made it and forgotten about it. What a lovely surprise I said to myself, fork at the ready.
Luckily I realised just in the nick of time – otherwise we would have had a very angry Susan on our hands. And no doubt a very shame faced one too! I’ve never stolen office bolognaise before and I don’t intend to start now! What a month!
The stress was starting to affect my health – I had all sorts of concerns… what if our payslips got mixed up? What if she went home with my jacket on? Well, they were my main two concerns.
One day my husband said enough is enough, you have got to stop worrying about this – perhaps you could be friends with her? I thought about what he said and agreed to try.
The next day I brought her in a bit of blamange – just the thing to break the ice! She didn’t like blamange but appreciated the effort it took to buy it.
Slowly I began to see the funny side, and besides things were improving, IT had even set up a new account for her. She was now known as susan.brown2 on the system (instead of sue.brown). Which I think is only fair as I had been there longer.
After all the teething problems, we thought we’d burry the hatchet and try and get along, after all – we definitely had one thing in common! Now, we’ve actually become very close and people often say – “here come the two Sues – watch out its double trouble”.
Once we ate out at a cafe and went Dutch. Well, you should have seen the waiter’s face when we both produced credit cards baring the name Susan Brown. He was gobsmacked. He was probably thinking, “what’s this a Susan Brown Convention”?
Another Susan joined our office recently – but thank goodness, her name was Susan Carling, another Susan Brown would have been pandemonium!
I don’t like being negative about celebrities or adverts. Mainly because everyone knows both are nonsense.
But I am a paradox within, because I saw Katy Perry in an advert for ‘Fashion Against Aids’. This seems to be a new AIDS aware fashion line H&M are peddling. Well, the ad stank of the word ‘Funky’.
I don’t like this self conscious conscience. It’s like “hey, we’ve got a conscience…
and we’ve branded it”.
Maybe I’m being cynical – that has happened before. If I was a good journalist I would find out the amount given to ‘fight AIDS’ and the amount spent on Katy Perry and adverts. But my calculator’s gone missing anyway.
But it’s also a ridiculously named campaign
‘FASHION AGAINST AIDS’!
“Yeah, I brought this t-shit cos I am anti AIDS. Yep, can’t stand the AIDS. So….I’ve brought a trilby.
Yep, that’s me – so anti AIDS I’ve gone shopping.
Wesley. We called him Wesley one ear, he was a local Margate character. What’s with the one ear I said to him? I mean most people do have the two. It’s certainly not everyday you lose half an ear. A finger, yes – uncle Dickie lost a finger in a wood work accident. It happens. An eye, yes maybe, Gordon Brown is proof enough that yes, some people do loose an eye.
But half an ear? I mean where’s that got to? It actually looked to the untrained eye, like someone had chewed half the ear off.
And funny enough, that’s because they had!
Yes dear old Wezza he’d gotten in to a fight with a bouncer. One thing led to another and the bouncer thought – I’m going to have that ear off! I think I fancy to just bite that little ear right out of site. And he did. Fair enough – he stuck to his word. And off it came.
You have to at least respect a man who sticks to his word. Who sees the prize, and doesn’t let the law, morality or little Wesley’s protesting get in the way of a damn good chew-ear.
My mum had her 60th party on my actual birthday. Which was fine. Cos I’ve always wanted, on my Birthday, to go to a barn dance. No, it was actually a lovely thing to do. Her and Felicity (joint do) had a cake each. Yep you heard – a cake each. That’s the way we do things in Broadstairs.
So (because it was my birthday) my aunty Lynn was worried that I would feel left out. Yeah, I didn’t. But bless her she got me a massive, expensive, personalised cake. She hasn’t got a lot of money. Probably because she wastes it on fucking cake.
So I cart this cake back to London. I don’t like cake. But one thing I hate more is waste. So I thought, well, I’ll take it round the neighbours. Cos that’s what your mum used to do in the 80’s. cake was a treat. None of this 99p Iceland business. Cake was out of the wage packet. Friends round for tea – well, we’ll have cake. Cake? Yes. Brian – we’re having cake.
Now, I don’t know my neighbours. But nothing says hello like piece of cake.
The first one didn’t open the door. Because it’s London And you don’t know if someone’s going to be armed. With a Jammy Sponge. It’s dangerous out there – I’ve just seen a teenager with some figgy-rolls.
Anyway, so I took it round to no38. Chinese girl answered. She might be Thai. Anyway I said, and quite rightly so…. “Hi, I’ve brought you some cake.”
“erm, cake?” (I did it with a slight accent)
“oh”. Now she is clearly thinking, “I don’t know you, why would I want your cake?”. But – I battled on. It was the most awkward cake based conversation I’ve ever had. It went a bit like this;
(Me) loudly as if she’s stupid and pointing cartoon-esque to the cake;
“Some Cake for you” (pointing at the cake and then her). Quite an intimidating way to receive cake at 10am.
“Yes. But Why?
“Erm. Its nice”. (it wasn’t).
She was probably thinking “what you fink I cannot afford cake? You come round here with your big eye and big body and fink I never tasted cake is it”?
I’m not sure I would like it if someone came to my door with cake. Ohh, some cake (that you didn’t want)… does this mean I have to talk to you? Does this mean we have to be friends? What’s the cake etiquette? If it’s a bigger cake – do I have to invite you in cos I’m quite busy? And what is cake-appropriate? If someone comes with a big wedding cake – untouched. And they’re crying. This does not say party cake. If someone brings round party-cake. Why was I not invited to the party? These are all things to think about when confronted with cake.