Fog In The Head

I am afflicted by a terrible fog in the head. I am thinking through
a woolly curtain. I can't hear at all well, my eyes are glassy and I
keep sniffing.

Also I have been on a training course for the last two days which is
designed to make me and numerous other people into Learning In The
Community Workers. The disturbing acronym for this new job is LIC
worker. When Parvin uses this term on the second afternoon I am
hysterical enough to roar with laughter. Hysteria comes from being
locked in a room for two days without any sustaining lunches. I decide
I like Parvin.

Hysteria also comes about by thinking through a woolly curtain for two
days as well as being subjected to enough words in air quote marks to
last me a "lifetime".

I am disgraceful on the second morning after having trouble getting up
and driving the van for ages through rush hour Leicester. I snort
loudly with mirth at the term AOP. It transpires that this means Anti
Oppressive Practise. Nobody else in the room finds this funny. I find
myself becoming increasingly truculent with the trainers even though
they are amenable old chaps called Paul and Bob. I ask too many
questions.

By the middle of the second day I have bonded with Dawn (LIC worker for
Lutterworth) who is a fabulously earthy woman in her early fifties. We
decide to bunk off the tasteless unhealthy lunch in true rebellious
style and nip off to the co-op. Dawn's car is reassuringly full of ash
and old dog ends and crisp bags. As we approach the co-op Dawn
screeches "MacDonald's!!!" The irony of this is not lost on us.

After going into the co-op pharmacy for some hay fever tablets (I have
self diagnosed) we joyously join the drive-thru queue and both plump
for the Chicken Premiere meal. In a moment of recklessness I announce
that I am going to Go Large. We both choose orange juice for our drink
option as it is healthy.

The training is far less gruesome than I expected it to be. In fact I
was dreading it. With years of local government enforced training
behind me I have learned to loathe the very word. I was revisited by
the image of a dizzy Customer Services Trainer who demonstrated
principles of customer care by pretending to be an alien who needed to
lace and tie a training shoe.

I am apparently the only person in the whole history of the course who
nearly failed. I think it was the way I stood up and shouted in highly
frustrated tones "Here! Give the bloody thing to ME ... I'll do it you
idiot!"

Astonishingly on the LIC training I manage to map myself on a sheet of
flip chart paper and even almost enjoy the process. It is amazing how
competitive these things become. I was gutted when the token man among
us did a wonderfully artistic map of himself. It put my jaunty graphic
representation of a caravan to shame. I am also really disappointed
that I didn't mention my van on my personal map or my pink front
door.

At the end of the day we are issued with our mobile phones. The mobile
phones are hideous and I complain loudly to the manager who only
laughs. I don't call that sensitive management procedure.

On the way home I stop in at one of the sweet marts on the Melton Road
and buy some indian sweets. I point at the ones I fancy and the man
behind the counter seems amused. Indian sweets are delicious things
made entirely of condensed milk and sugar. They are presented in a
lovely little box and remind me of fireworks.

When I get home the boys are cleaning up the kitchen in the nick of
time. They always leave things to the very last minute. Oldest's eyes
light up at sight of new mobile phone as I have told him he can use one
as nobody on this earth can really justify having two phones. He is
overjoyed when my nice little mobile phone wont accept the work sim
card. He summons his mates and they all point and jeer at my new
hideous phone. I pout.

My boyfriend takes me out for tea. I think this is because I instructed
him that he had to cook due to my hayfever making me need to lie down
most of the time. Or it could be the offputting nature of my house
which is always full of enormous lumbering teenagers drinking lager.
Youthclub for the Depraved I call it.

He becomes exasperated by me fiddling with the new mobile phone instead
of talking to him. In the end he takes it off me. I try to get him to
agree that it is hideous but he doesn't care one jot for things like
that. My pouting cuts no ice with him.

When we get back Boyfriend is delighted with little box of indian
sweets and as I have to lie down we eat them in bed. He warns me that I
shouldn't eat lying down as I might die. I am not sure this is true. He
doesn't seem convinced by the hayfever self diagnosis. I think he feels
more convinced it is exhaustion from actually getting up and going to
work for two days running.

I manage to whinge quite a lot about my hayfever. I tell him it is the
Highest Pollen Count for thirty years. Eventually I squeeze some
sympathy out of him so the day isn't entirely wasted.