Goodbye to all that

Mr Smith and the dog and I went to the sea for the very last time.  Everyone at the pub said lovely things to me which just made me think how much I will miss the place.  Removals men came and loaded up my worldly goods and I cast a hoover around leaving it full and used up the last bit of loo paper wiping away the tears.  Isn't that what you do when you sell a property?
I have my last day off tomorrow and I am determined to make the most of it .... staying in bed all day? Maybe I will go shopping .... for a new seaside pad.

Exchange and Mart

Oh goodness me this property selling thing is hard work. No we have not exchanged. The other party don't know how to party and this party has got boring. Well, that is to say nothing is happening and we are getting a bit tired of being kept waiting. At least we are going there tomorrow and it is still all mine and a bit Mr Smith's as I paid to register him, a bit like you might a puppy or sex offender. Work was tortuously hard today but, at long last, I have commanded the respect of my head honcho. It is quite hard being of sound mind and quite superior intelligence to find I am merely the cleaning lady. I am treated as the oily rag at all times but, at long last, my opinion has been sought and I may actually now be recognised as art co-ordinator with vast experience in my field ... Um er sweeping floors.

Cool box of delights

Good news: my fridge arrived. Bad news: it has a whacking great big dent in the front. They will bring me a new one sometime in the far future but I can use the maimed one for now. I dare say the ice won't be dented. I am suddenly ridiculously tired. I am not looking forward to work tomorrow. I would like to spend the day horizontal with Haagen Daz rather than up a ladder with Ronseal. It is very very hot in the warehouse and I have to finish varnishing a phone box for some idle git who can't be bothered to do it himself. But on a good note, I then get three days off, some of which will be spent at the seaside. I have a nasty feeling the weather will suddenly change .... something to do with Mr Smith accompanying me. Oh come on lawyers do your thing and exchange your bits; Mr Smith's floor pacing is getting me down.

I know nothing

I have decided to be completely honest from henceforth and if I do not know the answer to an inquiry at work simply reply with "I dunno." I try to say "I don't know but I will find out and let you know" but this invariably results in me getting the answer of "I dunno" further up the food chain so I am none the wiser. In a bid to be super helpful I then make something up. I am not going to be so informative any more. I might even have a list of FAQs pinned up: What date does my Artbox have to be finished? When's the show? When's the party? When's the auction? Have you got any masking tape? What shall I wear? I DON'T KNOW, I HAVE NEVER KNOWN AND I PROBABLY NEVER WILL KNOW. Do you think they don't want me to come to their party? Mmmm ... You probably don't know.

Movable feast

Once again the seaside was gorgeous. Beautiful weather, lovely sea, nice pub, great people all make it just so hard to leave. We were supposed to exchange contracts but absolutely nothing happened. Oh well, in the meantime I have arranged removals and final goodbyes for next Wednesday with Mr Smith gleefully rubbing his hands together and shouting Good Riddance. If we don't actually get the money I will sneak down and enjoy the sea for a little bit longer. By selling it furnished means there is still a bed to lie upon and a telly to watch. Then I will squat.

Burning the midnight sun

In a desperate attempt to see if the glow in the dark phone box actually glows, I ended up staying at work til the small hours. It did a bit, then it didn't. By the time it got dark the street lights came on so it didn't really ever get pitch black. Result: weedy useless non glowy in the darky phone box and one absolutely exhausted Mrs Smith. Off to the seaside to recover .... and pack up the last items.

What a Scorcher

Things are really hotting up at the Warehouse. Firstly there are loads of people all beavering away on their phone boxes and secondly it is so stiflingly hot with the sun beating through the glass roof we are dying. Never mind, we were too cold before. Check out Modern Toss on YouTube. Brilliantly funny. They are working on the phone box next to mine and I absolutely love them. They make me laugh and laugh. Mrs Smith's idea of fun.

Poo

The phone box is now not needed and will not be going to Harvey Nicholls as planned. I had the temerity to be slightly aggrieved - wouldn't you? But I moved heaven and earth to get that done on time AND nobody wants to pay me. Ended the day with several bottles on wine and lots of crap on YouTube. Feel a bit shit today.

Working woman

Mr Smith has Fridays at home. I have begun to regard this as the day the cleaner comes and I leave him little notes such as Don't forget to clean upstairs loo and water house plants. That is after I have given him an enormous shopping list, a pile of bills and a pile of laundry to deal with. Do you think the ironing would be pushing it a bit too far? Don't know why, after all I do all the housework normally but perhaps not all in one day.

The phone box is more or less finished. It needs another coat of varnish and the windows need tarting up a bit. Then on Monday the man is coming to inspect it and make it a hat and off it will go to make its debut in Harvey Nicholls.

I am absolutely exhausted. Most of me aches. It's a combination of standing up all day, whizzing up and down a ladder and lifting damned telephone boxes which my back actually cannot stand. I have strained my thumb somehow and it really hurts. I am glad I have nearly completed my task then I can sit back in my office and laud it over everyone once more. It ain't easy being the boss.

Seeing Red

Despite at least three coats the red phone box is mighty blotchy. Actually, it is getting flatter but definitely is a bit of a mess right now. So am I. Red everywhere. I have worked and worked and will probably do more tomorrow. Now I am going to have a large glass of wine and a bit of a kip. Oh no, tribespeople will soon be home demanding their dinner. I gave it to the dog.

Calling Red

Busiest day of life. Spent morning arsing about being all bossy managery then got call asking me to paint a red telephone box. OMG. I have now joined the ranks of the artists which feels like a mighty demotion. At least I can now know how tricky this phone box painting is. They are too high to paint. Even teetering on the top of the step ladder I can only just reach the roof, though I can't see it. Never mind, mine is having a hat attached and I am painting it for a lovely milliner who, coincidentally is a Mr Smith. Check out www.jsmithesq.com. So Mrs Smith is now super busy and has to get this mighty task finished by Monday. Miracles have happened before.

Moochy Day

Supposed to be painting but it's raining and the dog and I don't fancy the trip down to the end of the garden to the studio; our fur will get wet.  I'm sure there must be some chocolate somewhere in this house if I search hard enough.

Tweet or not to tweet

So now it's time to return to work in the land of telephone boxes and think hard about my Caribbean paintings. Of course I am woefully behind as I am still painting my April efforts half way through May. I will try to catch up by the end of the month. I can just see it piling up and up until I am painting 24 pics in December. Today I will waste more time preparing another silly timetable.

I have learnt to use Twitter. Isn't it rubbish? I think I am going to be a non-Tweeter, not because I can't use it but because I really have no desire to. God, honestly all these people documenting every movement they make and every thought that comes into their heads ... Personally I am out there doing it ... says she writing her blog!

New fav artist Gerry Judah ... Go look. Amazing.

Toast

I awoke this morning with a burning desire for toast and marmelade.  We are the sort of marmelade eaters who have one jar at the back of the cupboard housing something that looks like ancient ear wax inherited from Mr Smith's grandmother.  Actually, every now and again some worthy marmelade maker gives us a new jar which we start with enthusiasm until we get enticed by the sweetness of strawberry jam relegating the marmelade back to the dusty archives of preserve filing once more.  Actually, I don't know who made this particular pot but it was jolly good, not a hint of Golden Shred (known in our family as Garden Shed) but a good juicy dark brown with big bits of sevil............  Sorry, too boring I know.

I was eating marmelade to quell some bate or other.  Oh yes, Mr Smith won't let me go to the Caribbean for a little painting week as it would be counterproductive.  Actually, it would be very productive indeed but, yes, it would be a bit expensive and it might bite into the winter holiday budget a bit hard; especially as I am supposed to be earning that through sales of the paintings.  Well, excuse me Mr Golfypants.  How much did your last and next golfing holidays cost, hey?  And golf isn't even your job.  I suppose this should not become competitive vacation spending as this could very easily become very counterproductive indeed. 

Chez nous

We spent the afternoon in Bilbao.  Can anyone tell us how to get from the Guggenheim to the airport?

By some miracle we eventually managed to find our way - Mr Smith is rather good at that sort of thing.  I began to feel tired and ill as my bruises were aching.  I threw up horribly on the aeroplane with Mr Smith keeping a vigil outside the loo door for about 20 minutes.  What a hero.  I thought I was going to die but actually I didn't.  I didn't even look particularly white as I am a lovely toasty colour after my sunny holiday and very very fat.

Flying high

Yesterday morning I went to the roof deck to sit by the pool in the sun gently digesting my enormous breakfast considering the idea of walking to the lighthouse. A conference arrived for their coffee break so I decided to move to a less conferency spot but I tripped most inelegantly and fell splat on the hard tiles. A nice lady helped me up and I assured her I was perfectly OK, it was just a little graze and I'd be fine. But I wasn't fine. I thought I had broken both my right arm, right knee, a rib and damaged other parts too. I sat very still for a long time until I thought the conference may have got over the floor show. I then very gently hobbled to the lift and made it back to the room where I looked in the minibar for something suitably cold to use as a compress on my shattered kneecap. In the absence of frozen peas I used two cans of Red Bull (to give me wings) that I wrapped in a towel. I then lay on the bed watching my knee turn bright blue/purple along with my arm and my ribs. I noticed we got charged for the red bull as apparently there is some sort of automatic alarm thing when you take something out of the minibar. Well I put them back - only one previous careful user.

So once again I did not make it to or up the lighthouse. Last night we went out for an expensive fish dinner at the fishermen's beach. The langoustines were arranged like synchronised swimmers dancing on an elegant dish of ice. It was stiflingly hot with hardly a breeze despite being right on the coast. There has been so little wind whilst we have been here and almost no waves which is a bit if a bummer for the surfers as Biarritz is the surfing capital of Europe.

Today is our last day; we fly back tonight. The Canadians have gone to golf then on to Spain to Rioja country. Oh no, I have just realised Mr Smith has gone with them. How will I get back to Britain? Actually, if it was left to me I would just take a taxi to the airport and fly back to Heathrow but Smith tours involve driving miles to another country then landing at an airport two hours away from where you live all to save 2p on the cost of transporting stupid golf clubs. In fact if you take into account the cost of car hire this was the most idiotic way of doing it. Oh good, Mr Smith never gets things like that wrong. Actually, we inherited this holiday from his brother who sadly couldn't make it, and with five of us and four lots of golf clubs it all makes better sense. However, next time I will fly to and from the places I wish to be and just pay for the golf clubs' first class seat.

And it really hurts

Madame la grande

la creme de la creme

Dilemma du jour - there usually is one. Mr Smith and the Canadians are rather good at eating. We go to super restaurants and eat vast quantities of delicious food washed down with gallons of gorgeous wine and I seem to have turned into a hippo whilst they have all stayed the same size. I suppose it's all that golf although I have been swimming enthusiastically and repeatedly. Now I am still pretty full from yesterday's huge meals but there is hotel breakfast waiting for me downstairs. I absolutely adore hotel breakfast with food spread to the end of the dining room and back. I do that fatal thing of having a little bit if everything until my plate is groaning. I have actually been quite frugal on breakfasts so far opting for tea only, passing on all the food, at least once. However, yesterday I then went back later and croissanted. Today I would like to try all the things I haven't yet managed but I might have a heart attack in the middle of the dining room or explode or just be unable to waddle back to my room and a crane would be required to haul me up. I don't know the french for crane. Oh well, I will go and swim and then see how I feel .... Fat I should imagine.

Sunny days

Last night it rained. It thundered and bucketted it down so we dined locally at an unpromising dive that turned out to be absolutely amazing with the yummiest foie gras followed by a cote de beouf the size of an ox. I left at least a calf on my plate. It was so tender and so wonderfully tasty but I just couldn't ram any more in. Today we shopped, all of us together as they had a golf free day. We bought baskets and shoes, chocolates and cheese and earrings and wine. Ooooh I love France.

  Later we went further afield to Bayonne. This is our nearest big smoke as Biarritz is a small affair by the sea. We had an odd lunch then mooched around the Chocolate shops that are pretty amazing there. On the way back we stopped at a rather naked beach. Isn't everywhere nowadays? Diverting our eyes we then went to the lighthouse at the end of Biarritz. I still failed to climb the 250 ish stairs. Maybe tomorrow; it looks awfully high.

Happy shopper

Such a good tourist. I went to the market and spent all my holiday money on day one. I then went on the tourist train that trogs round the town and along the rugged coast. My good intentions of walking to and up the lighthouse were thwarted by some charming Irish people who did what Irish people always do ... Plied me with alcohol. After a couple of glasses of wine I wasn't going up any lighthouses. I went to the beach but then the tide came in. I carefully selected a Basque restaurant for dins. The only person dissatisfied with my choice was me. The place was a hive of activity with tourists and locals alike. It was very loud and my dinner was wholly disappointing. Tonight we will go to the least popular restaurant in town or at least somewhere a trifle less heaving. Now must dash to the Musee du Chocolat. This is one where I might not avoid the museum shop.

Tourist time

This morning the Canadian Smiths and Mr Smith are off to golf. Tempting though it is to stay in bed and read my book followed by a little plunge in the rooftop swimming pool and poolside snooze, I shall walk to the lighthouse, up the 248 steps and be too frightened to look out - I am not great with heights but always forget or feel I will get over it. Then I am to find us an eatery for ce soir. I will never please all the people so I am quite prepared for my choice to be poo pooed due to price or culinary speciality. But he/she doesn't like fish, Spanish, pizza, sausages, garlic ... Or whatever it is. I am pretty easy going as long as vast amounts of alcohol are involved. Oooooh I absolutely love holidays.

3 countries in a day

Mr Smith is a tricky air traveller who loses things then makes it my fault. He gets a bit headless chicken when we travel. I, on the other hand, am very calm. We started at some ungodly hour but luckily so had the Canadian Smiths so we went and breakfasted together at Stanstead. At Bilbao we had to find our car. The Canadians simply picked theirs up at the airport but Smith Cheapy Motor Hire involved a bus journey to find ours. Mr Smith was in quite a dither, even more so when he discovered he had lost all the return journey info. I assured him that with a quick press of an Internet button he would be able to return in Britain in a trice ... Well, that is, I would. We set off for Biarritz stopping at the charming town of St Sebastian on the way. We gazed over the Bay of Biscay enjoying a sunny afternoon in Spain. Then we got a bit stuck in a car park as Mr Smith hadn't paid due to some mistranslation of the word "libre" - it was the spaces that were free not the actual parking.  We wended our way to France and wiggled around Biarritz trying to find our hotel. We stopped at a much nicer hotel to ask directions. Why couldn't we stay there? oh apparently it is about £600 a night and golf is extra. But I don't play golf.

And now to explore something other than the internet connection.

Lunch in San Sebastian

Pre-Biarritz planning party

Yesterday I fell in love with a pop star. This charming not particularly good looking man came and chatted to me at work.  I liked him last time I met him and he was even more endearing yesterday, having got the wrong day for his press meeting so he chatted to me instead.  I didn't know he was famous/is famous.  He just looks a bit of an anoracky Jack Nicholson.  In 1980something he was the heartthrob of Britain and beyond.  I really must remember to Google everyone I meet.  Oh why bother, people are people.

Tomorrow we are off on our Spring holiday and in anticipation the Canadians and Smiths various all met up for a pre-holiday planning session. We had a great strawberry cheesecake thing and didn't plan any Biarritz at all.  Instead we relished in the fact that we didn't have to swap all our year's notes in one evening as we have a whole week ahead of us to catch up.  Oh fun.  We didn't even manage to agree a time to meet at the airport.  We will all pile onto Squeazy Jet and probably all sit separately due to their idiotic non seat allocation.  R&G have cleverly booked Speedy Boarding.  Mr Smith thinks that's too expensive so he and I have tortoise boarding.  One of our party has already dropped out as he has a hernia.  Actually, he's not the sort of chap who would help you with your suitcase so I am quite pleased.

Canadian Georgie brilliantly brought a guide to Biarritz with her that I took to bed with me when they had, eventually, all gone home.  I notice there is a Chocolate Museum .... oh how wonderful.  There is also a gym and swimming pool at our hotel.  The pool is outdoor but claims to be heated but I do know these french "heated" pools.  I will pack an extra warm swimsuit.

Well, what shall I pack?  Not much as Canadian Georgie needs to use half my suitcase as hers is overweight - something to do with different baggage allowances between transatlantic and cheap and nasty European flights.  I so hope she doesn't give me drugs to carry and I end up in a Thai jail.  She is actually a top business woman and Mr Smith's sensible sister, not a drug smuggler. 

Day On

I think I have given my final final No Way Jose to the Olympic Macsot project. No barge pole long enough. I had the intention of stringing them along then dropping them at the last minute since they need teaching a lesson but poor lovely middleman (middlewoman) would then have to sort it out and she seems to be the Cinderella in the project with the Control Freak and Horizontal Charlie behaving like a pair of ugly sisters. I really couldn't do that to her. Anyway, today I have to trog off to work ... Which is really nice actually... Then trog home which will be a nightmare in Friday traffic, straight into a dinner party held by me. I then have to pack for France. I realised I would never get everything done so I made a 6am start on the ironing followed by trouser alterings. Jobs done. Honestly, those trousers have sat there in a longish fashion for months and months. Now they are not only the right length but, due to a little effort on my part, go round the middle section too. I mustn't forget to finish making the pudding before I go - a strawberry cheesecake thing.

Day off

There is nothing like a day off when you have been chipping away at the coal face for what seems like ever. I relaxed with a bit of ironing, gardening, cooking, cleaning, sheet changing, dog walking and driving the Best Boy to a meeting. Oh no, I have today off as well. I carefully swapped one of my work days so I would work on Friday thus avoiding Mr Smith's day off. Mr Smith has now invited his entire family, Canadian contingents inc, to dinner on Friday. Oh well, he will have to do it. He can cook one thing: chicken and lentil stew. At least three of our guests do not like lentils. Maybe I had better cook the dinner today then he can just pop it in the oven before I get home.

You're not going to believe this I am still being chased by the Olympic mascot project. I think the spam folder is a good place to file those sort of messages.

Go poke it

On Sunday I received an email from Horizontal Charlie asking me to work on the Olympic mascots. They wanted me to paint a mascot and help with touching up and repairs. That sounds just the ticket thinks I. This does clash with my BT job but only for a week so it shoud be fine. S-J, the project manager, emailed and next thing I know is I am expected to recruit people, set up teams, manage cleaning and mending and follow a strategy plan. For some unknown reason I agreed to this. Then I got an email from head honcho "You don't want to do it like that." You are absolutely right, I don't want to do it at all. So I rang her and resigned on the spot. She somehow talked me round and sent me terrifying spread sheets. I nearly cried. Then I wrote my anti CV along the lines of "Totally hopeless, been fired from heaps of jobs, is about to be exterminated by her husband for not doing the ironing etc." I rang her side kick, the one who had set out the original plan, and explained that I am a fat mad woman who is quite handy with a paintbrush, the only person I have ever employed in my life is a cleaner and I certainly don't do strategy planning. And your boss is a control freak. And your other boss is so laid back he's horizontal. And the three of you need to organise yourselves before you go frightening unsuspecting artists into taking on ridiculously overwhelming tasks. I think that told them. "Do you have any friends who could take this on?". No I don't have any friends, I am woefully unpopular, everyone dislikes me intensely and I spend all day every day on my own. Time for a coven meeting; tea, cupcakes and besi mates all celebrating my ability to stand up for myself and shout NO. 

Mr Smith is quite proud of me.  He even offered to speak to them should I need support.  My hero!