The Israeli Cardigan

Revelation #17: Forgetting Sarah Marshall has completely ruined Cheerios for me forever. I realise the severity of this allegation, and I don't take this standpoint against one of the world's best-loved breakfast foods lightly. However, today I decided I am doing NOTHING. It's almost 12pm and I've not even showered yet. I don't think this has happened since 2003. In the spirit of chilling out I decided to have two bowls of Cheerios. Yes, I know how to break out. Anyway, somehow the second bowl turned three (what the hell do they put in those bad boys?) and it brought to mind that scene where Jason Segel is slobbing on the couch, eating Cheerios out of a gigantic mixing bowl, and I had a vision of my future in which my beautiful girlfriend (played by someone less annoying than Kristen Bell) will leave me for Russell Brand. And I'll have to go to Honolulu and perform some mortifying dance in a grass skirt. All of a sudden, breakfast had taken an unexpected ugly turn.

Of course, there are several differences between my life and the movie. For one thing, I'm pretty sure that Jason Segel is significantly taller than me. And I don't have a girlfriend (played by Kristen Bell). Or, in fact, have lesbionic inclinations. A fact belied by my welcome each morning by The Gay Frog, "good morning my little lesbian friend!"

(sigh)

Whilst we are talking about The Office, let's chat about The Israeli Cardigan. Israeli Cardigan is a 7 foot giant of a man, with the waistline of Kate Moss. The other day he waltzed into the office in his knee length black shorts (about the length of my legs) and picked up a suspiciously feminine-looking grey cardigan. He draped it over himself - it almost grazed the top of his knees. I want to say that it also had frills, but that's probably just my little camp imagination getting ahead of itself. He paused, looked down at himself and pronounced, in a thick Israeli accent: " I think I should put some jeans on. I think I look homeless".

Or ready to be sectioned. You know, either-or.

I told The Physiotherapist that I have to come the conclusion that, in life, most people are kind but boring. He looked astounded and replied "you think most people are kind? I think most people are utterly wrapped up in themselves, bordering on being complete and utter sociopaths". Oh right. I have since revised my theory to conclude that most people are weird, but it's that weirdness that makes life worth living. They''re everywhere, these acts of irregularity. Like the member who didn't want to leave the gym at closing time, so he hid from the gym instructors and ended up being locked in. He would have still been there in the morning if it wasn't for the unassuming cleaner who heard the THUMP THUMP of his solitary footsteps on the treadmill at 3am. Then there's Anne - the mad Scottish 70-something year old, who washes her clothes in the gym shower at 945pm. I once walked through the circuit room to find her determinedly marching away on the cross trainer, completely alone, whilst Daft Punk's "I'm up all night to get lucky" incongrouslu cheered her on. And Mikey told me about one of his customers at the cafe, Patricia, who greets the staff each day with "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey Teeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaammmmmm" and, no matter how many times it occurs, is continuously delighted and surprised to discover that she can have her muffin toasted.

Overheard at The Mill

How to insult 2 employees in one easy sentence:

MANAGER: Hey Sarah, are you like (the Cheerleader), you don't have a life either?

It's not often I'm lost for words.

It's OK if you shout Surprise Sex

So last weekend ushered in a reminder of a key tool when it comes to Making Friends On Your GRIT Module: namely, know your audience. The worst part of participating in any course is 'Round the Room Reveal an Interesting Fact About Yourself'. It's always at this point that I realize: I'm not interesting. My life has been one long, utterly dull, Devoid Of Any Interesting Facts yawn. Really I should be dead. Anyway, I tried to warm up the crowd with a little New Zealand jokette - "Hi, I'm Sarah, I'm from Birmingham, I've been in Auckland 18 months which means I've just about got used to your vowel sounds".

Nobody laughed. It was not unlike the time at the BBC when I related the 'Rape is OK If....' story, assuming that we were all on the same Non-PC page. Turns out not everybody finds the hilarity in the suggestion "Rape is OK if you shout 'Surprise Sex' first".... You live and learn. Anyway, I came home after the course finished and embraced my English side. By which I mean I listened to Blur Live in Hyde Park and watched 'Straw Dogs' - all about English men gang raping and pillaging.

That's really all I want out of my visual entertainment.

In other news, I have lost my library book. I'm fairly devastated. And scared of the women in the library. I realise that this must happen with a reasonable degree of frequency and probably you just pay a fine and everybody moves on. But I have an alarming suspicion that there's some kind of Room 101 that you get sent to when you lose a library book. Where they torture you by saying "SHHHHHHHH!" and glare at you in a Miss Hardbroom manner. Even worse, the book was Dante's Inferno. That's right, I not only lost a book, I lost A CLASSIC. I decided, having not looked at anything vaguely Literary Canon since Paradise Lost in the second year of uni, that it was high time for a change. I don't mind telling you, I felt pretty smug. Naturally, I had to renew it after a month because I had only got to Canto 5 out of 34, but I felt confident that Dante and I would make it to the centre of Hell before it was time for Classic to be returned. Anyway. Somewhere in my journeys between office and flat, flat and gym, office and gym, Classic got misplaced.

Light reading for the weights room, perhaps.

There is only one thing that strikes more terror into my heart than The Library Women, and that is having to ask the receptionist which tray to use for New Zealand post. I had thought she was so friendly and helpful when I started, until the day I had to ask about postal trays.

"Sarah, have I given you a flow chart?"
"Er... no"
"OK, I'll give you a laminated one. So it'll last. Now just ask yourself, where is my post going? Is it in Auckland? Is it outside of New Zealand? And all you have to do it follow the flow chart".

I made the rookie mistake of asking her about the post a few weeks later - idiot that I am. She lowered her glasses... "Sarah, did I give you a flow chart?"
"Yes...."
"Well, if you refer to the flow chart, you will see where it needs to go". And back she went to her Pinterest page.

Obviously, I have now lost the laminated flow chart. And thus I will not be sending any post for the foreseeable future.

Overheard at The Mill

Little Show's Coaching Model for Twerking

Setup

• Lift hips and drop back
• Do not merely thrust forward and back - THIS IS NOT A TWERK
• Relax glutes
• Target - quads
• Push knees far too wide
• Relax abs and glutes

Intensity

• Sit as low as humanly possible
• Lift hips up and back - really push your butt back
• Again, relax glutes
• They are supposed to bounce and clap together
• Drop hips and lift again at speed

Motivation/ Connection

• Miley Cyrus