Late Night

It is nearly 3am and I am blogging. This is not a good sign. It was less than a great day and I have had real trouble switching off, even to the relaxing strains of my Zen CD. I've actually been blogging for half an hour already but the computer just decided to invoke Sod's Law and erase everything I had already written in the line of therapeutic ranting all my issues off my chest and out of my brain so I can sleep.

Sodding computers. I hate 'em.

I hate Post Offices too; the world over, it seems, they are dens of frustration and bureaucracy and they could all do with short visit from a short range missile. I was mid-rant about my trip to my local PO when the computer spat its dummy out and erased it all and now I'm all wound up again. Grrr. I'll have to be brief this time.

Long day at the office (ha!), urgent bills to pay, urgent tax return to post, where you gonna go? I first went to the local shopping centre which is open till 8pm. This is at 6.15pm. The PO shut at 6pm. I then found a place open until 7pm, thanked my stars, left the kids in the car while I popped in and promptly fell into a bureacratic twilight zone.

There were six people ahead of me in the queue. Four wanted to pay bills, in cash. One had three parcels to send. One wanted a lottery ticket. Now, children, how long to you reckon that should take to process? I'll tell you: 25 minutes. Holy crap on a cracker what a chuffing palaver. I would have walked out but the security guard locked the doors at quarter to seven as the two queues were both 7 people deep and he must have known that it would take a long time to clear them. Oh. My. Goodness. The woman with the parcels was still wrapping them in the queue, clearly she knew she'd have time, I wish I'd taken in a copy of War and Peace, I could have made a good start on it.

When it was finally my turn, however, that's when the real nightmare began - I was the last customer anyway but a non-Hungarian speaker was the last person the lady at the window ever wanted to see at any time of day, least of all when her dinner is beckoning. I'd written down in Hungarian that I needed to send my envelope 'Registered Mail'. She refused to understand. She sent for the security guard. He ran over with a Serbian dictionary. I wondered how many ways there are of sending an envelope that it was so hard to understand what I was getting at. Surely she's seen stuff for the tax office before?

My bills had mounted up somewhat, given that I have forgotten the password for my online banking otherwise I would have paid them from the comfort of this very armchair. They added up, with the registered mail envelope, to about 80p over my bank card limit. So, you guessed it, my card was refused. She gestured for cash. Hmmm, let me see if I have £350 here in my bag. Yes, I know I did have the other day after payday but that is now safely stashed somewhere safe. I just don't carry that kind of cash, but clearly everyone else does because she got up and stomped away in frustration as I waved my English bank card at her and tried to think of the translation for 'don't give up now, try this one!' (actually it was something much ruder than that but this is a family blog.)

By the time I got back to the car - remember I'd left the kids there? - Poppet was crying thinking I had been kidnapped and they were both chewing on the seats with hunger having completed both judo and cricket lessons after school, hence why we were so late in the first place. When we got in I automatically kicked into food mode and it was almost 8pm before I realised why I was tripping over the dog every time I turned round. Lying across most of the kitchen was her subtle way of telling me she hadn't been fed herself yet and by the way where've you been all day Mummy? Oops.

Yes, well, you couldn't wedge a cigarette paper into my schedule at the moment let alone a wee or a cup of coffee. The epic adventure in the post office was the last thing I needed after an hour and a half at the end of a teaching day talking to a prospective parent with separation anxiety. (She told me it's her daughter that has the anxiety... after an hour and a half going through my agenda with a toothpick and still thinking she should wait until after Christmas to sign up I think I know better.)

Nobby didn't have a blinder himself so we had a cheeky vod over dinner. And that may also help explain my current insomnia as I promptly fell asleep in Pickle's bed when I went to say goodnight: no lunch + crazy day + vodka = crash out. It's basic maths, I should have known better.

Anyway, I am off to try again, listening to Lucky the hamster trying to make it to Australia on his little wheel has worn me out. At least now I've taken my allergy meds my nose is less stuffed up and having ranted a bit on here my head is a bit clearer. Cheers for listening, cyberspace.