little awful annie

I was watching the film Orphan, in which a couple adopt a 12-year old Russian girl. Because they don't know they're in a horror film, it doesn't occur to them that she might be irredeemably evil. But she is. No sooner has she killed a full-grown nun with a hammer, than she is taking a knife to her new little brother. 'I will cut off your hairless little prick before you even know what to do with it', she snarls. There's a girl who'd really benefit from a spell in finishing school.

Is she, perhaps, the reincarnation of Stalin? Or some kind of genetically-modified Soviet super-weapon? I was fully prepared for either eventuality. The (SPOILER ALERT) truth is simpler - she's thirty-two! A thirty-two year old maniac Russian - well, actually Estonian - dwarf. The adoption agency have certainly taken their eye off the ball here.

Not that the couple went through an agency, which was perhaps the film's message. Even so, I felt that here was a suitable challenge for inclusion in my Customer Service qualification - you're allowed to invent examples. I mean, imagine having to make that call: 'Apologies, but unfortunately, due to an administrative error, you have been sent a homicidal dwarf instead of the little girl you were expecting. Sorry about this. Possible our medical checks should have been more thorough. Our strong advice to you is to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE NOW! SHE'S GOT A KNIFE! DON'T GO IN THE CONSERVATORY! RUN! Once again: sincere apologies.'

My assessor is going to be very impressed, I think.

Mystery of the Handbag

After years and years of trying to avoid the subject, I am now doing a Customer Service NVQ. Obviously I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing if I actually had to deal with customers face to face, but now that I only have to communicate with them on the phone or via e-mail it has taken on the character of a purely theoretical qualification, like a PhD in Ancient Greek Philosophy.

The qualification will enable us to speak in 'customer service language', which I like to imagine is an actual language, possibly consisting not of words but of soothing noises (perhaps resembling whale song) which can be used to lull the customer into a blissful state in which they will be happy to tolerate any outrage.

Before we could embark on this, however, we had to prove our worth by doing a literacy and a numeracy test. The workbooks confronted you every now and again with a page that asked you if you were 'happy to carry on' and advised you to tell the assessor if you weren't. Of course this was meant to be reassuring, but in fact the effect was alarming, like in a horror film - dare you continue into the haunted room? - and it made you feel like breaking the studious silence by wailing: 'I can't go on!'

In fact, the silence was maintained, and we all did very well. Although at one point a child's voice was heard issuing from a woman's handbag. 'It's my daughter', explained the woman, and reached into her handbag. Presently, the sound stopped.

Run Run Run

Last Saturday I went to the May Fete at my old primary school for the first time in years. All the old English traditions are still in evidence. Like the nail bar staffed by eight year old girls. The Egyptian dancing.

The Egyptian dancing was women of a certain age, colourfully-attired, wielding veils and rods, though not simultaneously. I saw no maypole, but there were those who claimed to have seen it, lurking on the sidelines like a sex criminal. Justin recalled a May Fete of his youth in which boys dressed as farmers pursued girls dressed as rabbits (bunny girls, you might almost say) with shotguns to the strains of Run Rabbit Run. Well, it was the 70's. I recall dressing up as an oil rig worker, possibly in some kind of variation on the Village People - to be frank, I've blotted most of it out.

This Saturday was given over to another tradition: Eurovision. The 'outsider music' element to this seems to be giving way increasingly to X Factor-style homogeneity - the only obvious eccentrics here were Moldavia, performing what could almost have been a Faith No More b-side, in very tall hats, while a unicyclist hovered nearby. And they did rather well. Azerbaijan won, with a perfectly serviceable ditty called Running Scared, in which they claimed to be 'scared of breathing'. Blimey, that is scared.

Perhaps it was a response to Russia's entry. They fielded some movie star heart-throb doing a song called Get You, but it didn't do well, possibly because the concept of Russia's spokesman vowing to 'come and get you' set off alarm bells in neighbouring countries. As did, perhaps, the song's somewhat ambiguous compliment: 'You look good on the floor'.

Current Events

So Obama was shot and killed. Sorry, I mean Osama, I always get them confused. I'm sure I'm not the only one - only the other week they had to produce Obama's birth certificate, because apparently most Americans don't know who he is even though he is the president of America. Well at least this should help resolve some of that confusion, which was perhaps the whole point of the exercise.

We then had to vote for AV, or against it, depending on what we felt like. The No campaign was very effective in its way. Having seen and/or heard Peter Stringfellow, David Cameron and the Daily Mail all assuring me that the entire fabric of civilization would collapse if I voted in AV, I couldn't wait to get down Bardswell Social Club and put my 'x' against 'YES'. (Or, alternatively, put my 1 against 'YES' and my 2 against 'NO'.)

Anyway it didn't work, perhaps because, as everyone kept saying, AV was 'too confusing'. Even though all the voter has to do is grasp the concept of ranking different choices according to how much they like them. As if you'd need a degree in Higher Mathematics to understand Top Of the Pops. Although maybe that's why they took it off air, because nobody does.

I went to London on May 29th, not to see the Royal Wedding - just to be in the margins. Obviously I waited until it was over. I saw a bit of it on TV, but missed the exchange of vows because I turned over to a film about sheep herding in Kazakhstan.

Very good it was too.

Really I was going to London to see Let's Scare Jessica To Death (1971) but I didn't make a point of mentioning it to people. It didn't seem to be especially in keeping with the national mood, even if a vampire did emerge from the lake in a wedding dress.

But what was the national mood? It was hard to tell. Apathy? Certainly it didn't seem especially hostile, although a rapper called Tyler (Wat Tyler?) was on the front of the NME saying that he 'didn't give a shit' about the Royal Wedding. OMG! Pass the smelling salts! You'd have thought that as a member of an LA 'alternative hip-hop collective' called Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All, he'd be down the front waving his little flag, wouldn't you?

bonerus

I was on my way to Sainsbury's and an elderly woman looked at me and said: 'Are you the librarian?' It was as though my secret identity had at last been revealed. 'Yes, Madam', I felt like saying, 'you have guessed correctly: I am The Librarian!' Then I could have thrown a couple of books at her and run away. Instead, I said no - 'But I did used to work in the bookshop on the High Street'.

She seemed satisfied with this.

Of course, I am now The Strategic Marketing Assistant, which confers few secret powers upon me... or does it? Having taken on some, ahem, extra duties recently, I am now in receipt of what is termed a 5% 'responsibility allowance'. Woo hoo! Of course they forgot to pay it to me. Then they forgot again. Then they remembered - and how.

I couldn't help but be struck by the fact that the deductions in my most recent pay packet were almost exactly equal to my usual take-home pay, while my pay itself had more than doubled. It transpires that, having calculated 5% of my yearly pay, they seem intent on paying that to me every month. Perhaps the responsibilities I am to take on are graver than I thought. Perhaps they are going to drop me into Libya.

The question was - should I mention it? Unfortunately I gave it away immediately by staring down at my wage slip in slack-jawed amazement. I may even have been drooling. When I told this to Ross later he maintained that I should have told curious colleagues that I had an erection. It's what he would have done. And it would have had the desired effect that their attention would then have passed hastily on to something else. Oh well, I'll save that line for the court case.