So the painter came to...well...paint this week and he seemed to look a bit different. He's really friendly and has a great sense of humour. He came, started his work, and we left him to it. Then I thought I'd go and have a bit of a natter and I noticed what was different. Last week when he came, he had a gold tooth, and this week it wasn't there. There was nothing, it was missing! I didn't say anything, I mean, you can't ask someone what happened to his tooth and where it's gone! That would make me and him feel uncomfortable! But obviously you can, because when I spoke to my dad, it turned out he'd already asked.

Mum didn't believe us, and thought we must be seeing things, until he said "I can't come tomorrow, I have a dentist appointment but I'm scared of the dentist. It'll take me the whole day to recover, so it's better if I don't come."

And then she asked, "what happened to your tooth?"
Painter: "My misses accidentally elbowed me in the face and it fell out!!"
Mum: "What?"
Painter: "We were fooling around. It's nothing serious and it's not the first time it's fallen out, it's happened a few times!"

Luckily he found it just as funny as we did!

This is a shudder inducing post, so if you are a bit squeamish, look away!

I was helping a guy at work, and it was all going really well. I was able to do what he asked and he seemed happy enough, so I left him to it.

And then I turned around and saw this:

He wiped his nose with his hand, and then licked that hand.

It was horrific! #shudder# I was truly traumatised.

Anyway, now that I've shared this I interesting piece of information with you, I'd just like to say, welcome to the trauma club!

#shudder#

I remember after I got offered my job, I had to go to a training day/morning. It would be fine I thought, so I went. I turned up, wearing smart-ish clothes, smiled and tried to look ready to learn. The day itself was ok, we learnt about procedures, how to use the systems properly, and I met some genuinely nice people.

All was well, until we stopped for a tea break.

Everyone was asked if they wanted tea or coffee, and there were about eight or so people. A lady came and took the list of tea/coffees, and when she came back, they were on a trolley, sort of like ones you'd see in the aeroplane, silver and shiny, with tea on the top and coffee at the bottom. We were told to help ourselves, and so I grabbed a mug and put it in front of me, gave it a stir and waited for it to cool a bit. I didn't want to gulp down hot liquid and burn my throat!

After a while, about a minute later, someone announced that they couldn't find their tea, because there was only a coffee left, and I thought hmm, how weird, maybe they took the orders wrong. Plus, really, I wouldn't complain, at least we were getting tea and coffee offered AND made for us. And then I went to take a sip, mixing it again, and realising that it was in fact a tea, and I may have ordered coffee.....

Being naive and totally stupid, I sort of said, "oh, I think I may have picked up the wrong mug". And EVERYONE stared. That was it, I was, officially, the stupidest person in the room. Man, I felt stupid! Why couldn't I have just silently sipped the other lady's tea? But no, instead I had to be honest, and blurt out that I had taken the wrong mug.

Luckily, the lady in charge was quite nice, and she quickly said, "oh not worry, we can make another one." I was going to say that I hadn't actually drank the tea yet, only mixed it, but gladly, I kept my mouth shut.

Awkward! Where is that delete button when you need it?

So there was this funny smell in the house a few weeks ago, and it was really really bad. It was a fishy, compost like smell, seriously strong! Disgusting!

I spent about an hour trying to figure out where the smell was coming from, because every room smelt, but it was strongest in the kitchen, and then mum and dad told me their theories. They had decided that it was the dried Bombay Duck that my gran recently acquired. Then, after doing some more investigating, dad also thought it could have been the plant pot in the kitchen, as my gran often used it as a compost bin, as well as a plant pot.

So we all carried on, wondering and looking for the actual cause of the smell, and managed to get on with our day. It was only later when I saw my grandad, and he said; ' it really does smell doesn't it. I didn't think the compost I put out would smell that bad'.

Ping! There it was. After a good few hours of blaming the Bombay Duck, it turns out that the conservatory/green house like thing next to the kitchen had some brand spanking new compost! And boy did it reek!

You know when you are trying to do something, but there are too many distractions? On the right, there is someone trying to talk to you, and then across the room, some guy has sat on the floor, deciding to dismantle shelves (I did see that really happen). People keep talking too loudly, coming to ask you questions, and all you can think is, ‘I have to remember this, I have to remember this, I have to remember this’. After ten minutes of telling yourself you have to remember, you forget exactly what you have to remember, but you do remember that you have to remember something! It’s one of the worst feelings in the world, knowing you should know something, but just not remembering what!

It’s like one of those movie moments, where a character will just stand still and look around, and then you see what’s happening, with some upbeat, or not upbeat music, - depending on the whatever mood that’s trying to be set. Sometimes, its hope, or fear, realisation, love, but mostly for me, it’s a feeling of....dropping my sholders, and a feeling of ‘ugggghhh! Why can't I remember?'