Since I was young I’ve kept diaries but, once they’re written I have rarely ever looked back at them. The demise of my old blog due to a hacking incident and the task of going through old posts to see what was worth salvaging has been an interesting exercise. It’s brought back vivid memories, made me laugh (often at my own stupidity) and occasionaly made me cry. The following post from the depths of winner 2013 did a little of all three and made me realise how much I loved and now miss my old job. 23 January 2013
The Maltesers proved irresistible in the end. I lasted all of five minutes before I caved. Still at least they’re all gone now so temptation over, for the time being. All I have to do is not buy any more which is easier said than done, those little balls of chocolate covered honeycomb biscuit are so seductive. Why is all the really nice stuff so bad?
It seems to me this fight against weight is not a quick skirmish, fisticuffs in the playground soon to be over and forgotten, neither is it an epic war with huge bombs or weapons of mass destruction. It’s a series of little battles fought every day, some you win, some you lose. Success is about the little things you do daily, repeated over and over again. The short walk instead of taking the bus, the piece of fruit instead of the chocolate bar. One bad day or one bad choice doesn’t mean you’ve lost the war, it just means you’re human. After the defeat of Maltesergate it was time to regroup and strategise. My strategy will be to avoid the Co-op, or at least the sweetie aisle and remember my healthy snacks when I next go for a walk. Easier said than done I know.
It turned out to be quite an odd day. This morning started off with a walk, one of those little things I’ve just been banging on about. It’s hardly an epic hike, just over two miles, a bit hilly in places, but it means a few calories in the bank (even if I’m not counting them these days) and it starts the day off well. I’d had another restless night and I felt a bit headachy this morning so it was tempting to get the bus. I might have done it too but Gigi texted to ask if I was walking in and, if so, could she walk with me?
Good job too! If I hadn’t walked, if we hadn’t decided to take the Big Bridge because Peartree Avenue was still a bit icy yesterday, or gone round the front of the stadium because the traffic at the junction was terrible, we might not have seen a very rare sight. As we approached the level crossing the red lights were flashing and there was a queue of people and cars standing at the edge of the track. There was a train coming!
How many times have I walked across there, feeling nervous because there are no gates, sure a train was going to appear from nowhere and run me down? No one else ever seems worried by it, they just walk across without even looking while I am like a frightened rabbit, staring up and down the track and dashing across with my heart pounding. In fact people look at me like I’m strange because I stop and look. Well, maybe that’s why they’re looking at me like that or it could be the flappy eared hat, the little leather rucksack or the tatty old parka, maybe I’m just plain weird.
Even Gigi thought I was odd to worry because no one had ever seen a train. Whenever I walk that way with Commando he waits until we’re half way across and shouts “Train!” because it makes him laugh to see me frightened half to death. According to him there are trains but only about four a year. This morning I was vindicated. There was a train, a real one. A very, very long one. The track goes down to the docks so it was a goods train, full of goodness knows what. We stood and waited while a series of windowless blue carriages sped past. Actually sped is not quite the word, crawled more like. What I learned from this experience is that there are sometimes trains, the red flashing lights do work, and the trains are long and SLOW. Even if one was coming and I didn’t notice the lights I’d be pretty unlikely to be hit. Not that I’m going to stop looking both ways and dashing across. You never know after all.
So that was the highlight of my morning really. Am I sad or what? After that it was more, website checking until my eyes almost popped out of my head. At lunchtime I went for a walk and decided to have a quick peek at the Debenhams Sale. I didn’t intend to actually buy anything but I came out with a carrier bag all the same. At least today it was a proper carrier bag not a self destructing paper one. It wasn’t much, just a jumper dress, half price.
This afternoon, for a change of pace, I decided to try to get to the bottom of a rather strange request. A man had emailed our customer services department asking for any information we could give him on a cruise he went on back in the 1970’s. All he knew was it was before 1975, the city he flew in to, a couple of places he visited and part of one of the entertainers names, although he wasn’t sure of that.
It ended up on my desk because the customer services manager thought Arabella might remember something as she has worked for Silver Helm for ever. Obviously I didn’t want to bother her with it right now so I did a bit of research. Talk about a needle in a haystack! I knew we had some old brochures archived so that was my starting point. Not that I was all that hopeful but at least I’d be able to email back and say I’d tried. The first thing I found out was that brochures have changed a lot over the years. Back then they were more like flimsy magazines, no glossy covers, just a few pages and only a handful of cruises each year. The programme seemed to be more or less the same year on year, no catchy cruise names like ‘Classical Odessey,’ or ‘Mysteries of the Pharaohs,’ just numbers and very basic descriptions. The ship looked fairly basic in the photos too, nineteen seventies decor at its worst and no flashy gyms or pools.
Every year there was a cruise flying into the city mentioned at the same time with roughly the itinery mentioned in the email. There was a list of entertainers at the beginning of each brochure, no photos, no biographies, just a couple of lines about who they were and what they did. Although I did find the entertainer from the email he was in every single brochure. It didn’t look promising. Eventually, after lots of cross referencing and some careful handling of precious archive brochures, I discovered there was only one cruise it could have been, back in 1973. It had the right itinerary, the right starting city and it was the only time that entertainer had been on that particular cruise. Bingo! I scanned the relevant pages, the map of the ship, the entertainers page, the itinerary and emailed if off. I hope I have a satisfied customer. I also sent some information about current cruises, who knows, maybe he’ll book one! I do love my job.
Gigi and I walked home over the New Bridge, banishing the Malteser calories once and for all. It had been raining on and off during the day and the temperature had risen so we were pretty confident the ice would have melted. It was a bit muddy walking over the green so that part was heavy going. We also had cars honking at us on three separate occasions. Once someone yelled, “give us your phone number,” and twice we got woof whistles. What is that all about? For a moment I thought I might have had my coat tucked into my knickers or something but I checked and I didn’t. It has to be Gigi because no one ever whistles at me when I’m walking on my own. Maybe there was a convention of weirdos going somewhere local who have a thing about short women in ski jackets and boots (Gigi, not me, although I’m short too) it’s not as if either of us were showing the slightest bit of flesh apart from round our eyes. Strange!