Can showers be more dangerous than cars or buses?

Believe me people, I'm making a big confession here. In fact I don't even know that I should? Should I?
Oh, I suppose I'd better. Well here goes...............
I’m absolutely terrible in the morning! Definitely NOT a morning person.

Do you have in mind those people that whistle, sing, talk animatedly and loudly or crack jokes in the morning? I could cheerfully strangle all of them.

It is also impossible to make appointments with me for a future date at this time of day as I simply do not remember afterwards! My brain cells must be in a semi-shrivelled state after sleep I think.

I like to get up, switch the radio on, make some tea and eat something light, then coffee and then I can get in the shower without risking pulling the shower curtain down because I've lost my balance and fallen down, or have slipped on the soap because my eyes weren't wide enough open to see it! And that’s not all. I think my shower curtain has declared war on me. I also think it’s widespread and that a guide needs to be written for people out there in a similar position – now this could be you so pay attention if you please!

1) In order to avoid your shower curtain wrapping itself around you, it would help if the windows were closed.

2) The more powerful your shower jet is, the more artificial breeze is created, the more likelihood there is of your shower curtain wrapping itself around you.

3) If it just so happens to be a hot day and you have your windows closed you may experience the need to have a second shower after the first as hot days tend to make people sweaty.

So the right combination seems to be, have your windows closed and the shower hose working at just a trickle, preferably with cold water. In this way you may well be able to avoid :

a) getting sticky and needing a second shower
b) the shower curtain wrapping itself around you.

Of course, you may not feel very clean after such a shower and there may still be residues of soap attached to your body but hey, whoever said we lived in a perfect world?

Anyway, to get back to my daily ritual, once I emerge the victor following the "battle of shower curtain" I begin to become human by degrees. It's a bit like the beaming up process from Star Trek! Particle by particle I become a person! Once this happens I am capable of complicated manouevres such as remembering to remove my lunch for work from the fridge and put it in a bag to take with me! I even manage to say good morning when I get on the bus to the driver (which is more than most early commuters seem to be capable of doing believe me!) and by the time I reach work I almost manage to look like a person instead of a fuzzy monster!

Not that there's anything wrong with looking like a fuzzy monster. In fact, these days
it seems to be quite fashionable. Can I 'ave som'o'dat Rastafarian fuzzy 'air please?

Students do seem to love that look here and it must work because they always seem to
have tons of friends wherever they go. It seems impossible to find a Rastafarian hairstyle
sporting volonteer alone. In fact, the only place I have ever seen a person with dreadlocks
alone was at the hairdressing salon I go to for people with African hair. But then that makes
sense because when they first go for dreadlocks they don't have them and therefore have
not yet acquired an entourage. They only get the followers post-dreadlock!!

So the moral of the story today is; if you're a lonely or unpopular student, don't worry about
it. Just go get some dreadlocks!

And for those of you with showering dilemmas I have been told on good authority
(by a fisherman no less, and he should know) that the secret to shower curtains is to
buy weights for fishing rods (which are by the way made of lead) and sew them in the
hems of your shower curtains. That way they are so heavy they might just pull down
the whole support structure and the shower curtains and rails will come crashing down
on you before you get a chance to rinse the soap off, but then you can always look on
the bright side: if you are lucky and have sturdy shower rails (are these even manufactured
anywhere?), I am told the weights actually work! (Just a little suggestion you might
want to consider!)

How to mess up in Church in one easy lesson

Is it even possible to mess up in Church? I hear you asking. Er, yes. Especially if you’re me!

I’ll start at the beginning. It was Easter time so just about everybody had a day off work. (Don’t you just love holidays?) Feeling like I should make an effort and attempt to get some exercise I put on a pair of strawberry red jogging pants and a t-shirt, and headed for what looked like some open fields in the distance. In reality I am not much of a jogger (practising this sport does jar one’s knees rather terribly after all – yes I know, any excuse is good) but more of a “quick walker” so off I went with my aquamarine coloured IPod at least looking the part even if I wasn’t quite succeeding at playing it.

In the distance I did find a field or two, but I also found a Catholic Church and by the way, ding-dong the bells they were a-chiming. I decided I could use a rest and as I had not been to a Church in a while, this was my chance. I’m not Catholic myself but I decided God probably wouldn’t mind and most probably neither would the Pope. I was going in! When I got inside it was freezing and there was nobody there except me. After a minute or two about half-a-dozen people were beamed up from their space ship. I figure this must have been what happened otherwise how could they suddenly have materialized from behind a stone pillar in the nave of the church? They all strode purposefully past me and one person who in the meantime had come and sat near me, joined them too. I thought to myself, ‘they must all be going to the front because a) there’s hardly anybody here and b) they probably have better heating up there.’ So what did I do? I joined them of course. We all trooped off in formation and installed ourselves behind the altar in wooden seats. I assumed that the priest would be carrying out a service facing the other way due to the limited number of the congregation.

As I looked around I couldn’t help but notice that everyone was dressed rather conservatively except me. Grey seemed to be the predominant colour and they all wore leather shoes so shiny, you could see your face in them when you looked down. I of course stood out like a sore thumb in my bright red jogging pants, t-shirt and trainers. Shortly afterwards a priest appeared and sat directly opposite us. ‘Oh,’ I thought, ‘so this is how they do it in a modern Catholic Church. Well good for them!’ Only the priest didn’t say a word. He did however look in my direction with a twinkle in his eye. I felt quite flattered. Priest or not he did not deserve the label ‘fossil’ and in a distinguished kind of ‘keep your hands off ‘cos I’m holy’ way, he was even quite attractive. The other people on either side of me had nodded at first but hadn’t actually acknowledged me further than that. So we sat, and we sat, and we went on sitting and I was just thinking, ‘oh come on. Get on with it will you?’ when I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. When I fastened my gaze onto the polar (yes it was that cold) part of the church I had previously been in, to my surprise I noticed five lowly church goers. It was then that it dawned on me. I WAS SITTING WITH THE CHOIR!

No wonder they hadn’t started. They were waiting for me to take my rightful place and it certainly wasn’t with them as a singer!

Now this happened in, wait for it………… Belgium. In case you didn’t know Belgium is renowned for its beer and chocolate. And you probably aren’t aware of this, but it is also the home of fries or chips as they are called in the UK. French fries, contrary to belief, did not originate in France, but in Belgium. Of course the Frenchies do live next door so you could hardly blame them for not only copying, but claiming this delightful speciality as something of their own making! In short, if you want to upset a Belgian, just say, “I’m so glad the French invented fries, don’t you just love them?” When you do this two things can happen. Either the Belgian will give you a disgusted look, walk away and you will never see him or her again, or you are likely not only to receive an education on the history of the (Belgian) fry as all good Belgians know it, but be expected to correct anyone else you might ever come across who dares to mistakenly believe that the French actually came up with this idea!

Back to the situation where just for a change, I dutifully messed up. Now if that had happened in the UK, someone would have leaned toward me with a smile and asked, “Are you in the choir love?” which of course would have given me a chance to tiptoe away gracefully. If it had happened in Germany they would probably not have been quite so diplomatic and may well have said something along the lines of, “Was tun Sie hier?” which roughly translated means, “what do you think you’re doing here woman?” I’m imagining an American might say something like, “well hi! I haven’t seen you here before. Do you come to choir practice often?” My point being, all these nationalities would have given me the chance to figure out I had messed up at the appropriate time whereas instead I ended up delaying the service by 10 minutes. You see, the minute I joined the real congregation, the service started and the choir began to sing vespers. (No I’m not going to tell you what vespers is. Google it if you’re curious!)

I’m pretty sure you are wondering the same thing I used to before I got to know the Belgians, which is ‘Why didn’t anybody say anything?’ Well I’ll tell you. I’ve been living here a while now, and I’ve come up with this theory. You will never meet a more diplomatic race than the Belgians! If your hair was on fire they would politely ask, “Can I get you a fire extinguisher?” before acting. Yet being diplomatic does have its advantages. For example supposing you painted the lousiest picture imaginable and asked a Belgian for his or her opinion, the most likely answer you would get is, “hmmm. Interesting.” Unlike some of us who are rather more direct and would probably say, “it’s terrible, but can I take it home just to keep the dog away from the fire?”

So sorry all you Belgians out there. I’m afraid I’ve let the cat out of the bag here. From today on the rest of the world knows that if a Belgian says, “interesting,” in English we can actually substitute that with, “it’s absolutely awful! Don’t give up the day job!”

So my final closing comment is, if you’re looking for a husband or wife who won’t tell you how terribly inadequate your efforts are when you practice your favourite hobby, marry a Belgian!

Dating sites? Who needs them? Just catch a bus!

Sometimes when you’re waiting for a bus, you don’t need an IPod. Take this example:

There’s a man, and there’s me and we’ve been standing there waiting for the bus about two minutes when out of nowhere he begins talking to me. The first thing out of his mouth is, “They’re all dead you know!” I say, “Excuse me?” He looks at me slightly irritated as if to say, ‘how can you not get what I’m telling you about? It’s simple.’ He then goes on to say, “The people in that building opposite,” and points to a block of flats on the other side of the road. I raise one eyebrow enquiringly only to wish I hadn't because I am then honoured with the complete run-down. “The woman on the ground floor, she died of a stroke, and then the man in 2B he got run over. Run over,” he adds with a bit more emphasis. "One minute he was here, and the next whack, (he claps his hands for emphasis) that was him totalled!” I manage a polite, “Really?” which gives him a further cue to continue with his tirade. “Now the one on the 5th floor,” he shakes his head, moves a little closer to me and with a conspiratorial tone almost as low as a whisper, says, “did herself in, she did! Suicide! Never even made it to 30!”

Well I’m as friendly as the next person but what do you say to someone who talks to you in this way? To be perfectly honest I was rather stumped. I imagine some of that person’s “cheese had slid off their cracker,” (what a wonderful American expression that is! I love it!) or should I say, he might have been “a couple of pence short of a pound,” so in the end I just smiled indulgently and thankfully was rescued from hearing more hairy tales by the arrival of the bus. I was just praying that he wouldn’t come and sit near me and continue in the same vein. Luckily he seemed to snap into another mode and the task of showing his bus pass to the driver and finding a seat seemed to occupy his mind sufficiently for him to forget that he’d taken me into his confidence in the first place. With that, I heaved a sigh of relief and enjoyed a peaceful journey home.

There have of course been other times when strange things have happened to me on buses. Like the time I noticed a younger man watching me. I thought to myself, ‘Perhaps I remind him of someone. His mother maybe?’ When it was time for me to get off the bus, guess what? He got off too. He looked directly at me and I thought, oh no, here it comes, the 4 most commonly boring questions a girl gets asked by a guy (sorry guys but it you ask these questions when you meet a girl I’ll give you a tip. Please, please think of something a little more original will you? )
Ladies, we all know what they are don’t we? ‘What’s your name, where are you from, what do you do for a living and what are you doing tonight? Well, you could have knocked me sideways when I heard his question. It was none of the above.
The first thing to come out of his mouth was, “Are you ready to be saved by Jesus Christ our Lord?” So there I am standing in the middle of the street not being hit on as I had assumed but being thumped on, biblically that is! On second thoughts those 4 questions I just called unoriginal are beginning to sound attractive all of a sudden! Now I have nothing against someone practicing religion, just as I have nothing against those who don’t practice anything. We should all be free to make our own choices. Myself, I’m not afraid to admit I go to Church most Sunday’s. It’s not the fact that a person speaks to me about religion that bothers me, it's how they do it. In this case I perceived it as an invasion of my personal space and that I found annoying. I see absolutely no reason why I should have to tell a total stranger my religious beliefs nor can I accept that it’s any of his business. I believe that if a person wants to investigate religion they should be allowed to do so by following their own instincts and choosing where and with whom they want to explore it themselves. I hate people who try to force things on me and the more they do it the more rebellious I become. Sorry to say this was one of those times when I wished I had caught an earlier or later bus.

On a lighter note, probably the most unusual incident ever happened the day I received a marriage proposal. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but I actually did get a marriage proposal from a total stranger at two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon on a bus full of shoppers heading home with their purchases.

As it was a Saturday and there were very few spare seats I ended up sitting in one of those 4 seater arrangements where two seats face another two. Opposite me sat a man who vaguely reminded me of the Wild man of Borneo except his hair was grey, he was clothed and wearing glasses that resembled bottle bottoms. The lenses were those really thick ones. Have you ever noticed that people that wear those have really tiny eyes? I’m never quite sure, is it the lens that makes their eyes tiny or are they born like that? I’ve never actually had a friend who wears that kind of glasses so I’m still unsure. Let me know if you have the answer!

Anyway, back to the story.

So there I am, as usual, minding my own business when all of a sudden the man opposite leans toward me and asks, no shouts, judging by the reactions of the other passengers, “Are you married?” Well a lot of strangers have asked me questions in my time, like, “excuse me but do you know where the bathroom is?” and hey, I don’t have a problem with that, but to bluntly ask “Are you married?” that’s definitely a new one! I took a moment to think how to react to that question and felt the air charged with people’s bated breath as they all pretended to look out of windows but in reality, they couldn’t wait to hear what my answer would be. Finally I said, “What business is it of yours!” and immediately regretted it because I felt like I had been mean. It is somehow a kind of a bitchy answer isn’t it? Fortunately for me the man took it in his stride and continued as though I had never even commented. “I’ve got a house you know,” he told me. “A big house!” He stretched out the word big so it sounded like BIIIIG just so I could absorb the implications. (This man didn’t just have any house, no sir; he had a BIG house with lots of rooms if you please!)
“I’m looking for a woman just like you to come and live in it with me so I don’t have to rattle around in there on my own any more!” he continued. I was just staring at him with a ‘froggy’ expression, my eyes positively bulging out of their sockets. I’d heard the words but my brain hadn’t quite computed them. Meanwhile some of the passengers even had the audacity to stop looking out of the windows and start looking at us. I’m sure they were thinking to themselves, ‘this is better than Desperate Housewives only here we have a desperate would-be husband!’ Unperturbed the man continued and actually had the nerve to pose the question, “Can you cook?” I felt like saying, 'No (although that’s not true) but I am good with frying pans. It’s the thudding sound that’s so gratifying when it makes contact with someone’s skull.' But of course I kept that thought to myself. I was just wondering whether or not I should get off that bus and wait for the next one when a fresh wave of passengers got on. You have to ask yourself here, 'Just how unlucky can a woman be?' because another odd looking man not only sat next to the one who proposed marriage to me but actually dared to smile at me hoping for some encouragement on my part. I waited no longer. I jumped up like a scalded cat and positively ran to the door. For a moment I had visions of a hysterical woman (me) banging on the bus door and shouting “Stop, stop, this is a matter of life and death! I need to get off this bus right now!” but luckily I could contain myself till the next stop and guess what? Neither of them followed me. I do believe I heaved the greatest sigh of relief known to man throughout history.

In short I’m beginning to wonder. Are buses really safer than cars?

I’ll let you draw your own conclusions readers.

Buses, Apple and my own little conspiracy theory

Well you know about cars. I covered that last time. Now you get to hear about buses. Now it's quite possible that you might think I'm mad but honestly, I believe there's a conspiracy going on between public transport and Apple, particularly Ipod. Now why would I make a wild claim like that? I hear you ask. Well in my eyes it's simple. You have to see it this way.

Supposing you finish at your job on the hour and your bus comes at 6 minutes past. You know it will take you approximately 4 minutes to get out of the building and get to the bus stop which gives you just 2 minutes to spare. Now if by any chance that bus is early you'll miss it which means you have another 22 minutes to wait until the next one is due. Who wants to go there? NOBODY. And then let's not forget all the times the bus is late. It can turn up as many as 15 minutes after it should. Now when that happens I ask myself, is this a conspiracy? Supposing the bus that was supposed to be on time is running late? What's to stop the driver phoning the depot and saying, "hey I'm running late here, if you can contact Larry and get him to run late too we can actually pretend we're giving a service of three buses per hour when in reality we'll only be two because you can tell Mark to take the day off! " Now you might think this is far-fetched and that I'm paranoid but I can assure you that I have been standing in the main bus station and by the way, that's that flashy place with overhead protection against the rain and a huge billboard with all the due buses and the times that flash up in fancy neon lights. So what would you say if I told you that more than once I've been standing there thinking, "wow, I'm just in time, there's a bus in 3 minutes! Aren't I lucky!" and what happens then? Well I'll tell you. 4 minutes pass, then 5, then 6 and the bus doesn't make an appearance and surprisingly enough, when I next glance at the glamorous neon board my bus has done a disappearing act! That's right. It's just vanished from the table and it never appeared. Now this is where Ipod's come in. If you ask me people are just so bored with waiting for buses that they need a little distraction. In the days of the Walkman you might have thought twice about carrying a brick round with you because that's what it felt like, and oh how annoying to have to turn the tape around (no doubt any young things reading this never experienced that but I can assure you it wasn't a lot of fun). Now take the Ipod. It's slim, it manages to look really hip and cheerful, it weighs next to nothing, takes up no space at all and you can listen to songs on it till your ears drop off! It's also the best excuse you can ever have for "not noticing" other passengers might need a seat more than you do. It's like, "hey dude, sorry, I was wrapped up in my music, you get my drift?" The question is do Apple pay airlines, trains and buses? Let's face it, a significant number of people use their products as escape mechanisms in all these settings.

Are you starting to wonder if there's a link between the public transport industry and Apple too?

Love to hear your comments on this.....

More on public transport tomorrow but less of the theories and more about people!

The reason I don't drive a car right now

Did I mention what a klutz I am? There is one reason I don't drive a car right now.
Believe it or not I had 13 car accidents in 13 years. Yes, you read right. Of course out of those 13 just three and a half were my fault. Where does the half come in? I hear you ask. Well half of it was my fault and half was the other driver's fault of course!

Luckily there have been no fatalities in any of the car accidents. In fact the only person to ever suffer any type of physical damage as a result has been me. But I'm all better now!

Now two of these accidents were so ridiculous that they are even funny and decidedly clumsy.

The most interesting one happened without me even being in the car and believe it or not there was no-one in the other vehicle either!

This is what happened:

Some time ago I used to live in Spain. One night I went out to the local blues club. A band of talented mainly southern individuals from the US played Soul there. They were regular crooners, American and decidedly popular with the local female population. In short, it was a cool place to hang and the music wasn't half bad.

Having parked in a prime position, in I went and began sipping wine in company whilst relaxing to the grooves.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the group asking people something.
He appeared to have turned white (and I know just how hard that is when your skin's naturally bronzed because mine is too!) and I was just about to ask him if he was alright when he said, "I'm looking for someone with this licence plate number." Well knock me down with a feather if that licence plate number wasn't mine!

I asked, "What's going on?" to which he replied, "you'd better come with me," complete with downcast gaze. At that point there wasn't much I could do other than follow him, so off we went.

Once outside I was puzzled to notice that my car was missing. All kinds of ideas were racing through my mind at this point. Perhaps some tough hit and run types had carried off a big stakes robbery, dumped their car and taken mine? But then no, my poor little Polo, a 7 year old model at the time could hardly give them the speed they needed, so no, that couldn't be it. I looked at Daniel, the singer in the band with an air of enquiry. "Where's my car?" I managed. "Now don't get upset," he answered.
"Take a deep breath. Are you ready?" By this time I felt like a contestant preparing to answer the last question on a game show. "Just tell me what happened," I said trying not to scream the question as oppose to asking it. Instead of speaking he put his arm round me (bless him), walked forward right to the edge of the car-park and pointed over the cliff. Did I mention that the car-park was built on a bluff? In Spain they call it a Barranco. I looked over the edge and about half a mile down I saw something that resembled a scrap yard remnant. It was white, frail looking and bent out of all recognition on one side. One of the wheels totally shredded and buckled did its best to maintain some semblance of dignity but failed miserably. It was then that it hit me. That poor thing down there all alone was my car! I looked at Daniel, he looked at me and then we both looked at the car. There was a moment of silence. Once I had accepted that my car was a total write off I asked, "what happened?" His answer was, "well you're not going to believe this but a bus hit it." I don't think I've ever pronounced the word, "what?" so shrilly in my life. "It was a bus bringing tourists in for the show." I nodded, "I hope they weren't in the bus at the time," I managed nobly. "Well actually," he added, "no-one was in the bus." I remember thinking, 'you've got to be kidding me,' but he was so serious I couldn't say it. Instead I substituted the thought with, "what, not even the driver?" He shook his head. "Nope, not even him. The bus just took off on its own. You see it was parked directly infront of your car. Apparently there were some problems with the brakes so it just took off and the first thing it ran into was your car. Seeing that it was so light it practically nudged it over the edge and that was that."
Now tell me readers, what are the odds of that happening?
He continued, "to be honest, the driver was quite pleased about it. If your car hadn't been there the bus would have gone over instead." Now what could I say to that except, "wow, what a great consolation prize!"
So basically I can't even go out for a drink in peace. My life played the ultimate joke on me! It took away my ride home.

So there you are readers. That's the sort of thing that happens to me.
You have to admit, that's clumsy!

Introduction to my clumsy diary

Well hi everybody. My name is Roz. Pleased to make your acquaintance! What have I got to share with you?

Well it occurred to me that I'm a little bit like an older version of Bridget Jones. I do clumsy things and get into the most ridiculous situations. It doesn't seem to be limited to me either. Those who 'hang' with me are also unfortunate enough to become affected by my propensity for clumsiness. So if you happen to know me,
unless you like a life that is shall we say rather unusual, DO keep your distance!

Although as I mentioned, I'm similar to Bridget Jones, there are two main differences between she and I.
First of all she's younger than me. I'm 50. Secondly, I'm half African which makes me of the 50/50 variety or if we want to use a fashionable term "mestiza." Or as one American lady once put it upon meeting me for the first time, "oh,  you must be one of those ex-colonials!" (I'm still trying to figure out what I did aside from
being European to receive that remark but then again, it's the kind of thing that happens in my world!)

My aim is to poke fun at myself (a person needs to lighten up at 50, especially when they're still single and in a job that bores them silly) and hopefully make a few other people in my age group realize that not only are they not alone but probably nowhere near as clumsy as me! At the same time I might be tempted to make the odd comment on how I see the world. Maybe you'll identify with me and maybe you'll think I'm not just clumsy but downright crazy too! My point being, I want to have fun and if possible I want others to have fun too by reading this blog.

Enough bla-bla for today. I know I haven't said anything yet....... I'm trying to build up some suspense. Reel you in. Am I succeeding?

Watch this space!