Day 269: Foldy Roll

fol de rol

I am a fuckwit. It's for definite. This morning, giddy with my phone recuperation antics of the previous day, I got to St Pancras early and bought my train ticket. Then I went to Pret, but found I needed cash, so went to the cashpoint. It wasn't until I was putting my card away that I noticed that I HADN'T PICKED UP MY BLOODY TICKETS, like a twat, so I rushed back to the machines (which I'd had to queue for) to find them sitting there all untouched, looking like they hadn't even been gently ignored, but more that nobody had yet used that machine. That was nearly 5 minutes' worth of dithering and there they still were. I'm very lucky indeed, which is terribly useful, given - as previously mentioned - what a fuckwit I am. Grateful for all of that. 

foldy roll

This morning was 'long' as the people in my group would have said. Our Queen Bee was in a bad mood and refused to do anything. It was hot. The fan only just worked. They had loads to do and none of them wanted to. I decided to stop a game because they were SO not up for it. I called lunch early, just to stop the morning being true any more. That, and a couple of chats, seemed to make some difference, if not much. The stuff the groups came up with was brilliant and at some point all of them got over their bored/hot/annoyed faces and did brilliantly with the kids we were visiting.  They'll do brilliantly tomorrow, I believe, though possibly not without some sulky arseness first. 


Then a trundle around hot London, walking from Kings Cross to Covent Garden (via Tottenham Court Road, for no particularly good reason) and a show with air conditioning, lovely people and no major hiccups. It was ok. I was flying the flag for panicky odd shit coming out of my mouth, but that is just a sign that I need to play more, I think, and get my stage feet back on. It's all good. I am currently learning teenage feet, among other types, so let's get more used to that. I'm also getting some really excellent trainer/facilitator hours under my belt. That's great news. And I have free reign.


Thanks to Malcolm, the bus driver. He's covered in tattoos. He's very friendly. He told me about his granddaughter, born at 25 weeks, a year old this week and almost walking. He also saved me half his can of pop, and dropped me off right at Chatham station, saving me at least an hour and twenty whole pence on the journey home. Nice one, Malcolm. Hope I see you again. 

foldy roll

I noticed an old trigger getting pushed today. Well, I noticed it yesterday too. More so today. A very statussy Programme Manager who seems to work on the basis of how important people are (especially him), but not to be very experienced, so not really to have things that much in hand. 


I feel cross, often, but I also feel a bit sorry. All that would be made easier if he wasn't pulling rank. Maybe he's not. Maybe it's my trigger that's telling me he is. I'm not that good with big authority figures, especially male ones, and especially where it seems to me that it's not backed up with respectful behaviour. Maybe I can work on that. I'm grateful that I got to ask for what I wanted (that if he or the other leader need to come into the group with something, they first ask if it's a good moment rather than talking over whatever's happening) and that, after a bit of explanation from someone else, he understood and accepted that. 

I'm grateful for the fact that I THINK that I didn't wake Ruth when I turned on the computer, and that I got through to Australia easily about my pre-work. And that, although it's late, good things await me in the morning. Very good things. I hope to be lain in wait for by friends. That made me think of the 'I'm a troll' song - before today's internet nasties connotations. Google imaging that, I found it written as 'I'm a troll, foldy roll'. I LOVE it. Who would have thought of a foldy roll? Not me, but now it's there, it's the only kind of roll that will do. Good. Times.