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Going to Afflecks - and Manchester in general - was great, although Rob was a bit bored and I didn't find that many clothes. I will write about it when I can be arsed and am in a better mood.
I dreamed Tommy Scott committed suicide last night. He hanged himself, because he couldn't face the trauma of making another Space album. Aren't I lovely? This is when I wasn't being woken up by one of Jack's stupid friends phoning up at quarter to one in the morning. I bet it was Shitehouse. That's the kind of pathetic thing he would do.
I'm working as a receptionist in a letting agency, and it's the worst temp job I've ever done. It made Legal Marketing Services (the one I got sacked from over a certain email) look like heaven. The other jobs where I've done reception - Giffords and RSK in Helsby - were nice cos most of the time people were there to accept calls and in the case of RSK, I had a whole day of training. Here, the estate agents are always out on viewings and people keep asking me about grouting, gas bills, water rates, the market in Chester, keys, burglar alarms, extending tenancies...AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! The temptation to shout "I am just a temp, FUCK OFF" down the phone is great. I had a panic attack and lost it yesterday. I nearly had another one today. One of the agents started crying on Tuesday and today she came in yelling "I HATE THIS FUCKING JOB!" I am never going to work as a receptionist for a living. I'm sick of answering questions I don't know the answer to, endlessly taking messages, sounding nervous and panicky, having people get mad at me because I forgot to pass on a message or don't know something. Ah well...I'm only using them for the money, and anyway I finish tomorrow. Boo hoo. Not.
In other news: Rob got two Cs and a B, which means he's got into Northumbria (good); Jack got two Bs and an A, which surprised pretty much everyone, apart from me, being the only family member who didn't think he was going to fail all his A Levels (excellent); I'm seeing Mike in Loves tomorrow and then going to his 18th party on Saturday (good, I hope); Reading is a week off (good); Mrs Pleavin (my old English Language teacher, whose classes were so bad that everyone who was doing it, apart from Takesy, skived off them) has got the sack (good! HA HA HA! Mean, I know, but my idea of good teaching isn't suddenly shoving a textbook at the students without so much as a by-yr-leave and saying "Read chapters 1-3 and answer all the questions" before going off to hide in yr car); I have to do 8 hours at Oxfam again (bad, cos that means I can't have a post-Loves lie-in).
Must stop now, my eyelids are getting heavy...