First day at work!
Because the previous Editorial Assistant had left suddenly, I don’t get the luxury of any kind of handover this week – no useful bits of information in polypockets or handy Post-it notes left in key places. Instead, I got shown where the kettle was and asked to make five coffees, one white no sugar, one white two sugars, one white with soy milk and two black no sugar. I felt that I might as well have got a job in Costa.
Not exactly the best start, but when I was left alone in the kitchen I did discover a packet of Hobnobs, so I ate two while I waited for the kettle to boil.
Having distributed the drinks, I was handed a stack of paper by Leon. ‘These are all the sports and funeral reports from the end of last week and over the weekend,’ he said. ‘Here’s a copy of last week’s paper,’ he said, adding that to the pile, ‘so you can see how they are laid out. If you could get all these typed up this morning that would be a great start. Just Word docs in the relevant folders on the shared drive is perfect. And your desk is that one in the corner.’ He pointed to a table stacked high with yellowing editions of local papers.
I took my armful of papers and went and sat down. There was a note on my keyboard with my username and password. I logged in, opened Word and looked at the top sheet on the pile. It was results from the Wednesday night skittle league.
‘Match Results for Wednesday 12 September,’ it began. The handwriting was barely readable, as though they’d picked the oldest member of the team, cornered him at the end of the evening after eight pints of cider, and given him an ancient biro that someone had found on the bar behind the four-year-old jar of pickled eggs.
‘Division A,’ it continued, ‘Vikings 383 (Stuart Bird 52) Bird in Hand 431 (John Hockey 60), Ring O Bells 392, (Graham Trump 58) Bell Ends 372 (Nigel Wadham 55).’
It carried on like this for literally pages. There were about twenty teams in each division and five divisions in total.
Between 9 and 1, when I went for lunch, the only time anyone spoke was to either to say things like ‘Is anyone putting the kettle on?’ or to answer the phone to people who had accidentally come through to the newsroom when they wanted the advertising department.
It definitely was not the hotbed of intrigue that I’d imagined it might be.
I can’t take the stress of Flo’s imaginary boyfriend on top of a new job, so I decided to just ask her straight out.
‘Do I have a boyfriend?’ she said, looking aghast. ‘Mum, have you seen the boys in my school?’ I had, but I thought perhaps that greasy hair and skinny legs was the thing. ‘Honestly, they are all gross.’
‘You’ve just seemed to be on your phone quite a bit,’ I said, ‘and you’ve been laughing.’
She laughed at that. It did sound a bit pathetic when I said it out loud. ‘It’s the memes, Mum,’ she said. ‘Everyone loves a GCSE meme.’
‘Do they?’ I said doubtfully. ‘But what about the other night when you were on FaceTime in your room?’
‘That was Grandma and Grandad!’ she said. ‘They wanted to know what I wanted for my birthday. Honestly, Mum, if I had a boyfriend I’d tell you.’ Wow, really? She’d tell me? This seemed like a bit of a parenting win. Open communication, trust etc.
‘I’d ask for your advice so I’d know what not to do,’ she added. ‘No offence, Mum.’ Oh. Still, though, she’d tell me. That’s the important thing. And really, I am being very useful by experiencing life in all its forms so that she can learn from my mistakes.
Today I had the absolute thrill of writing captions for the property pages. How many ways actually are there to describe a standard three-bedroom semi? Phrases I have severely overused today:
I hate to say it, but I almost found myself longing for the challenge of a fundraising application.
Jess had a tantrum on the kitchen floor at teatime because I wouldn’t let her eat her pizza frozen. I think she’s finding the change in nursery hours a bit tiring. One of my neighbours came to the door mid-tantrum to say that he was having a few people round on Saturday night – just an ‘intimate gathering’ – and to let me know that it might be a little bit noisy.
I raised my eyebrows and cocked my head towards the kitchen. Jess’s screams of ‘I hate you! You’re a poo!’ were clearly audible. He listened for a few seconds and I could almost hear him mentally crossing me off the invite list.
Who am I kidding? I was never on the invite list.
I went back into the kitchen and consoled Jess by filling a Sylvanian Families wheelbarrow with frozen peas.
(I wonder if other people hear ‘intimate gathering’ and think ‘pubic lice’?)
Date night tonight with Kier. I’d been pretty excited about it as the WhatsApping had been going really well and we seemed to have a lot in common – two children, love of Jaffa Cakes, etc. I had a slight red-flag moment when he’d suggested we have dinner at Pizza Express. No offence, Pizza Express, I like a standard pizza chain as much as the next mum of a toddler, but if I’m driving all the way into Dorchester to eat on my own with another grown-up then I want to go somewhere that doesn’t offer colouring sheets and babyccinos.
His second suggestion was Prezzo, but I chose to brush over the weird Italian chain restaurant obsession and instead offered up Eat Japan, a little sushi restaurant in the town centre whose name someone had clearly spent a lot of time over. I thought sushi would be a good test for a first date. After cheese-sandwich Danny I need to filter out the fussy eaters right away.
I was waiting outside at five to seven, pretending to do doing something very important on my phone so as not to look sad and lonely, when I spotted Kier waving at me in the distance.
At least I thought it was in the distance.
But then there he was in front of me. All 5’ 3” of him. OK, so that’s a guess, but I’m 5’ 6” and he was a significant chunk smaller than me. I tried to look as if I’d not even noticed, but then I did an awkward crouch to kiss him hello and it felt like it had when I used to bend down to say goodbye to Flo at the primary school gates.
We went inside and up the stairs to the restaurant, me walking behind him and trying to keep at least a stair behind at all times to even things out. All I could think about was what a good job it was that I’d gone for flats.
Once we were sitting down it was fine – from the waist up he was obviously a regular height and he didn’t have tiny hands like a child or anything like that. In fact, after the one glass of wine I was allowing myself because of the driving, I was warming up nicely to him. He even did this very sexy thing with the ordering where he asked if he could order for both of us. What he lacked in height he definitely made up for in confidence.
There was a bit of a sticky moment at one point where he seemed to want to address the elephant (small) in the room.
‘You looked a little surprised when you first saw me,’ he said. ‘Was I not what you were expecting?’
This was my chance to be the bigger woman (already a given) and confess that the fact that he was a little shorter than me had just caught me off guard. I mean, it can’t be like he doesn’t know he’s short, right? Instead I took the coward’s way out and totally blocked him.
‘I was just a bit nervous,’ I said. ‘I don’t go on many dates and it’s always a bit scary meeting someone new.’
‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘and that’s totally understandable. I hope you don’t feel nervous any more?’
‘Definitely not,’ I reassured him, ‘you’re very easy to talk to.’ And it was true, he was. If anything he was too easy to talk to. You know how sometimes you meet someone and within an hour or so you’re telling each other your whole life histories? It was like that. I never think that’s a great sign, though, with a potential partner as it clearly means you don’t give a toss about what they think of you already.
After we’d gone our separate ways and I was at home in bed, I lay awake for quite a long time, thinking about the evening. As much as I want to be open-minded about dating and find someone to love for who they are inside, I’d felt uncomfortable about him being shorter than me. Did that make me a bad person? We’d got on well, but there hadn’t been that spark – had I simply switched off from him when I’d seen how tall he was? Or was it just that we didn’t have a connection?
More importantly, what was I meant to do now? Should I tell him I didn’t want to see him again and, more importantly, should I tell him why?
Message from Kier this morning.
‘Hi, Frankie,’ it said, ‘thanks so much for meeting up with me last night, I had a lovely evening and found you very easy to chat to. Unfortunately, I don’t see it going any further – I think you’re probably a bit too old for me and generally I prefer women who are a little more styled? Best of luck with your search for love! X’
Well, that told me didn’t it?
That is the last time I try to do something with nature.
Jess slept until 8.30 this morning, which I’m not sure has ever happened before, so I woke up all full of energy and enthusiasm for life, otherwise known as ‘normal’ by people without small children. In my delirious state I decided it would be good fun to go for a walk up on the hills with a picnic. I’ve heard of other families who do go for walks, for fun.
Flo was about as excited as she was when she had to get the human papilloma virus vaccination (actually googled that, which is ridiculous, because who am I trying to impress? Myself?), but I promised that we could stop and get a Frappuccino on the way home and she relented. Jess was very keen indeed.
‘Can I bring home a pet?’ she asked.
‘A pet?’ I said. ‘No, we’re going for a walk, not to get a pet.’
‘But Maddie went out with her Mummy last week and they got a pet,’ she said.
‘Well, that doesn’t mean we are getting one,’ I said. ‘There won’t be any pets where we’re going. We’re going to go for a walk on the hills and into the woods.’
‘Will there be birds?’ she asked.
‘Probably,’ I said, and then quickly, realising where this was going, ‘but you aren’t allowed to catch wild birds and keep them as pets.’
‘How about an ant?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘A goose?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘What kind of pet then?’
‘No kind.’
I packed up a picnic, including a mini bottle of white wine, just for emergencies, because it’s the weekend, and off we went. It was actually pretty nice. A bit blowy, but Flo paid Jess a lot of attention once she realised she couldn’t get a phone signal and there was even a game of hide-and-seek. I’d just spread the towel out for lunch (my best attempt at a picnic blanket), when I noticed Jess wriggling.
‘Do you need a wee?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said, sitting down. ‘Can I have a muffin?’
She was squirming on the towel. ‘Not before your sandwich,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you don’t need a wee?’
‘I’m sure,’ she said. She took one bite of a ham sandwich. ‘Can I have a muffin now?’
‘Eat some more sandwich,’ I said.
‘I can’t,’ she said, ‘I need a wee.’
Leaving Flo in charge of the picnic towel I took Jess behind the nearest tree and helped her take off her pants. I gathered her skirt up around her waist.
‘I’m going to hold you up,’ I said, ‘so you don’t get it on your shoes.’ We assumed the position and Jess began her wee. Two seconds in and there was a loud screech from some kind of bird overhead. Startled, Jess twisted around to look behind her at where the noise had come from. The wee twisted with her.
‘Jess!’ I shouted, making it worse as she then twisted back towards me, showering me all over again. I looked down at my now decidedly pissy Matalan ‘could almost be Saltwater Sandals if you squint a bit’ sandals. My ankles were wet, too, and my trousers had splashes up to mid shin.
First the shit in the hand and now this?
Flo found it highly amusing, obviously, although not so funny when I took the picnic towel out from under her to dry my legs.
Spent an entire day playing Topsy and Tim.
As far as Jess’s made-up games go it was pretty low key – basically she called me Tim instead of Mummy and I had to remember to call her Topsy. Things went smoothly as long as I remembered, less smoothly when I didn’t.
‘Come and put your shoes on, Jess,’ I’d say.
Silence.
‘Shoes, please!’
Nothing.
‘Come on, Jess!’
‘I’m not called Jess! I am Topsy!’
‘Sorry, Topsy, please can you get your shoes on?’
Like that. But about 200 times.