Merry Christmas

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

A cautionary tale about drinking & driving this Christmas

I would like to share an experience with you all about drinking and driving.

As you well know, some of us have been known to have had brushes with the authorities on our way home from the odd social celebration over the years.

A couple of nights ago, I was out for a few drinks with some friends and had a few too many brandies and some rather nice champagne.

Knowing full well I may have been slightly over the limit, I did something I've never done before - I took a bus home.

I arrived home safely and without incident, which was a real surprise, as I have never driven a bus before and am not sure where I got this one!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

What the Devil's Happening to Me?

I've had some really good luck lately and I'm just not used to it. I'm normally the one who sits on the side lines applauding loudly when someone else gets their turn of good luck.

In terms of the way I live my life, I think I've been a good woman (so I deserve good luck). I try to create good Karma (so I deserve good luck), I spread happiness and I've prepared myself for what might be heaven when God comes his world (so I deserve good luck).

I regard myself as fairly balanced because I don't pressure myself to be ALL GOOD but good enough. Between me and you, being all good can sometimes produce a bit of a grey world and I love bright colours. Really vibrant, rainbow tainted, eye popping bright lights and that's putting it mildly. For example, when I hear the term "paint the town red", it makes my heart race with joy.

Anyway, I feel a digression coming on so let me get back on subject, I've had some good luck of late.

Let me explain it this way; I've been awarded a bonus from work. I didn't even realise I was performing over and above my normal level but I must have been doing something good to get a big fat pay cheque just before Christmas.

Also, yesterday, I pulled up to a nasty street which is known for strict parking regulations and the traffic warden informed me that the meters were not working in the area so parking was free. I took a picture of the female traffic warden who told me this information and I also noted down the number on her badge because you never know. So I saved myself a few coins where that was concerned.

I also managed to get a shopping trolley that already had a £1 coin in it this morning.

Oh... and on Monday, I got a tax return. That's paying for my holiday to Antigua next Spring so that's a weight off my mind.

I won a raffle at a church I've never attended. It's my mother's church and she got me the ticket and I won a bottle of Mark Jacobs perfume. I offered the perfume to mother but she said it stinks so that was the end of that offer.

And the last thing is my son just passed his driving test so no more Chauffeur Mum! In fact, I own him now. This boy is going to spend the rest of his life making up for sleepless nights, stretch marks and teenage drama's. So praise the Lord and Hallelujah!

So people, today I'm counting my blessings. I wonder if I can tempt Karma by dying my hair red this afternoon. I've got the kit, the rubber gloves and the instructions. I mean, this good luck thing has got me going. If I end up with orange or pink hair, I'm going to be as mad as a crack house rat, so fingers crossed for this good luck to last until my hair's Vermilion red.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Drunk Woman Falls Underneath Train

What's one of the worst things about drinking too much alcohol?

Falling down! Falling down stairs. Falling out of cars. Falling in the street. Falling on top of someone. Falling over your shoes and breaking your ankle. Falling in love with your b*stard ex all over again.

And then there's this:



Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

What a Christmas Fine Dining rip-off

I attended my work Christmas dinner yesterday and I had a lot of fun.

I'm very lucky that I work for a good team with a fab manager but unfortunately, our department has a small budget for social activities so some things are paid for and some social activities come out of our own pockets.

This year, our manager said he would pay for all of the Christmas alcohol but we would have to pay for the meal. Paying for a meal doesn't break the bank and I'd much prefer to pay for the meal than the drinks. Bottles of wine and spirits can cause an awful lot of financial damage.

The meal was £30 per head and we were given a great choice from a cosy French restaurant in the West End. I didn't order a traditional Christmas dinner because I'll be having one of those on the 25th and didn't fancy turkey and stuffing over-kill.

We all were seated and drank some more wine and chatted away... and then the food came! If you can call it food. It was the worst Christmas dinner I've ever experienced in my whole life. Even in primary school, we were given a meal to remember. I bet women in Holloway prison have a better Christmas dinner than the one we had in the swanky French restaurant.

What I ordered for my starter was deep fried crispy prawns covered in sesame seeds with green salad. For my main, I ordered the roast pork belly with apple and caramel sauce with seasonal vegetables and for dessert, I had a chocolate fondant dessert with toffee sauce and mango ice cream.

What I ended up with was stomach cramp because when I finished my mis-represented, unappetising portions, I was starving. Each course was served in a saucer no bigger than the type you feed your cat a saucer of milk. I had four cold prawns and what looked like supermarket packaged salad that weighed less than a cotton wool ball. The salad was splashed with vinaigrette and a few sesame seeds. The pork was the size of a SIM card with six cubes of potato, carrots and what may have been swede. The chocolate fondant was more like a chocolate biscuit and the ice cream was served on a warm saucer so by the time it came to eating it, I had to use a straw.

The McDonald's meal I had on the way home cost less than £5.00 and was delicious and it filled me up until the next afternoon! So if our Christmas dinner was fine dining, I'd rather eat a happy meal.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Playing me at my own game

I asked my dad, "what do you want for Christmas?" He said I know what I don't want.

I don't want socks.

I don't want a tie.

I don't want aftershave.

I don't want a mug that says 'The World's Greatest Dad'.

I don't want a book.

I don't want novelty boxer shorts.

I don't want a wallet.

I don't want CDs.

I want a lie in, breakfast in bed, peace and quiet, a big fat lunch, a bottle of champagne, Christmas dinner - in peace and quiet and no gifts, just money.

The man that spoilt me and turned me into this bratty, selfish daddy's girl has now turned into a spoilt, bratty selfish daddy.

Go figure!!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Mouse Trap City

I was working late a couple of nights ago and the lighting system at work operates on a movement sensor basis.

During the night, the adjoining offices are dark and spooky and a little bit sinister. Even more sinister when I know that no one else is around. As much as I don't like the dark offices, I also don't enjoy the long walk to the vending machines. I know a shortcut through the building which cuts down the long walk along the corridor to about half the time.

As I was entering one of the large empty office spaces, I noticed something odd on the carpet. The item was a square tray with circles in the centre. As I got deeper into the empty office space, the light sensor came on and I could then see that there were several square trays on the floor. At this point, I'm already half way to the vending machine when I realise that the trays on the floor are sticky glue traps for mice. Initially, my brain was a bit slow in working out that I had a problem on my hands. Things started falling into place while I was still heading in the direction of the vending machine - my mind was thinking turn back now while my legs were moving forward. When the vending machine was in clear sight, to my horror, I saw a sea of glue traps and dead mice stuck to them.

Not only were the mice on the traps, but unfortunately some of them were not quite dead yet and jerking, squirming and squealing. I can't remember feeling this horrified in a long time but all I know is I ran for my life like the devil was on my tail.

My mind was racing as I was running because my over-active imagination started to think about me accidentally stepping on a glue trap with a mouse stuck to it and the trap being stuck to me.

I got out alive and ran back to my office. I switched off my PC, put on my coat, grabbed my bag, ran down the corridor, hit the lift button, ran through the car park, got in my car, locked the door, turned on the ignition and drove home like the clappers.

Then of course I couldn't switch off when I got home and when I finally did catch a wink of sleep, I had a nightmare that I was in my kitchen cooking and when I took the lid off the massive bubbling pot to stir the contents, there were red, raw mice with grey fur peeling off and sharp pointy fangs and they were leaping out of the boiling water... and then the screaming started all over again.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Just Jokes!

One afternoon a lawyer was riding in his limousine when he saw two men along the road-side eating grass.

Disturbed, he ordered his driver to stop and got out to investigate.

He asked one man, "Why are you eating grass?"

"We don't have any money for food," the poor man replied. "We have to eat grass."

"Well, then, you can come with me to my house and I'll feed you," the lawyer said.

"But sir, I have a wife and two children with me. They are over there, under that tree."

"Bring them along," the lawyer replied.

Turning to the other poor man he stated, "You may come with us too."

The second man, in a pitiful voice, then said, "But sir, I also have a wife and six children with me!"

"Bring them all as well," the lawyer answered.

They all entered the car, which was no easy task, even for a car as large as the limousine.

Once under way, one of the poor fellows turned to the lawyer and said,"Sir, you are too kind..

Thank you for taking all of us with you."

The lawyer replied, "Glad to do it. You'll really love my place. The grass is almost a foot high."

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Watch me struggle why don't you?

What kind of man can watch a small woman struggling with heavy shopping bags walk past his side and not think about offering to help her?

The builders on my road, that's who!

The hob-nailed booted sons of b*tches didn't move a muscle to help a woman in need.

What the devil has happened to chivalry? Is it really dead? Well yes, on my road it happens to be as dead as a turkey at Christmas.

These hefty men have been working on the house next door for ages. I hear from the Telecoms engineer who visited my house after attending to the house next door, who happens to turn into a gossip after a cup of tea and buttered toast with jam, that the neighbours next door are creating a cinema and adult playroom in the basement and the workmen are going to be a permanent fixture until next February. To date, they've been digging and drilling and moving and shaking at no. 19 forever.

They say hello. They offer a good morning and they even wave goodbye when they're about to leave but did anyone of them offer to help me with my shopping? Well the answer is a big fat NO!

What's a girl supposed to do to get help? Hitch up her skirt? Smear on bright red lipstick? Smash her cleavage together and un-button her blouse? Show the top of her hold-ups? Because if that's the case, then I'm never going to get the help I deserve!

All I wanted was for one of those hefty men, and there were four of them standing around doing nothing, I just wanted one of those construction workers to say "hi Miss, do you need help carrying your shopping?" But oh no. Instead, they just looked at me and watched me struggle like they didn't give a damn.

Well I'm disappointed. I wish more men would be like my dad. He's the type of man who opens doors, pulls out chairs, carries heavy bags and offers to help.

I'm so not made for this modern world of every man for him/herself!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

The Fly

Something horrible just happened.

I was in the kitchen at work and about to put my brunch in the microwave. There are three bays of microwave ovens which are placed side by side. I reached out for the first oven, opened the door and then whoosh!! A fly flew in. My reflex-mechanism made me slam the door shut and then I quickly re-opened it again to let the fly out but it had disappeared.

I looked inside and then I waited for the said fly to make an exit but I waited in vain. It didn't want to reappear. I don't like insects and will gladly stomp a spider and beat a moth to death, but on this occasion, I wanted to save a life. I needed some good Karma in my life because I've been up to no good lately and feel that I owe the universe something good. Also, I didn't want to be responsible for:

(1) Cooking a fly (seriously... how sick is that?); and

(2) Someone else coming along and finding fly guts at the bottom of the microwave oven!

My impatient personality made me use the other available oven but I still kept the other microwave door open for the fly to find its way out but it didn't.

I then got my microwave meal out of the fly-less oven and shut the door of the oven with the fly and walked away. I mean, if it didn't want to come out, who am I to try to force the issue?

I walked away but something inside me felt guilty so I returned immediately and with pen and paper, I left a note on the microwave oven door that a fly was trapped inside.

I'm serious about this Karma situation, I just couldn't live with the death of a fly in a microwave oven on my conscience. So hopefully, whoever comes along to use the microwave oven with the fly inside will read my note and not eat their food with unexpected grains of what they imagine to be black pepper when what their food entails is fly fragments.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Just for Laughs

Don't pass bodily gases in Harrods!

A lady walks into Harrods. She looks around, spots a beautiful diamond bracelet and walks over to inspect it. As she bends over to look more closely, she unexpectedly passes wind. (Nasty... I know what you're thinking. She's positively taste-less and a little bit common - I never do that!)

Very embarrassed, she looks around nervously to see if anyone noticed her little whoops and prays that a sales person wasn't anywhere near by to hear her indiscretion.

As she turns around, her worst nightmare materialises in the form of a salesman standing right behind her - he was easy on the eyes too, much to her horror.

Cool as a cucumber, he displays all of the qualities one would expect of a professional in a store like Harrods.

He politely greets the lady with, "good day, Madam. How may we help you today"?

Blushing and uncomfortable, but still hoping that the salesman somehow missed her little 'incident', she asks, "what's the price of this lovely bracelet"?

He answers, "Madam - if you farted just looking at it - you're going to crap yourself when I tell you the price!"

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

40, Fine & Fabulous!

Wendy Williams interviews actress and comedienne Tasha Smith about her love, life and being a stripper back in the day!



Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Don't pull me into your dirty bath water

I have a friend who drinks. Who doesn't? In this case, I ought to emphasise the words "...drinks too much". But Stephen drinks too, too much and he'd be the first to tell you he drinks very little and it's not a problem. The truth is Stephen's been drinking excessive amounts of alcohol for about 20 years. So I guess he's probably an alcoholic in denial.

I say probably when I actually mean he's a fully fledged drunkard. But if you ask Stephen, he'll swear to you that he's only had a small shot while slurring his words and swaying from left to right and then back again.

I'm having a friendship relationship with him but he can't remember 90% of the conversations or times we've spent together. Stephen can't remember throwing up on my door step. He can't remember calling me the C word when I wouldn't lend him money. He can't remember how he broke his ankle just last month. In fact, he can't even remember the conversation I'm about to tell you further down a few paragraphs.

He's a belligerent drunk so sometimes his presence can be very unpleasant and sadly, when he's sober, he's a very nice man. A nice man who's lost his hair, his teeth, his looks, his flat, his car and his wife and his kids. But Lord, I'm tired. I'm tired of having a conversation with him when he's half cut. I'm tired of hearing that he's quitting the vodka when I know that he's nowhere near putting that tumbler down. I'm tired of arguing with someone who doesn't understand reason because he's off his trolley and I'm tired of watching my friend killing himself.

When I attempt to help him get off the drink, he hates my guts and then disappears for months leaving me fretting.

So, yesterday afternoon, he called me to say that if the police get in touch with me about his whereabouts last Thursday at 4pm, tell them that he was with me. Now I'll be there for a friend, I'm loyal like that, but I have no dealings with Officers of the Law and to have to lie to the Old Bill on his behalf makes me very vexed indeed.

I don't know what he's done. Often I don't know where he lives. He doesn't know what he's done himself most of the time and he hardly ever knows whether it's day or night or summer or winter so I can't imagine how I'm going to help with police questioning! And now the son-of-a-b*tch wants to pull me into his dirty bath-water to tell lies on a story I've never read and I just find that my loyalty card where Stephen is concerned is running out of credit.

Now I have to sit and worry that the police are going to come visiting and they're going to ask me questions I have no answer to. I have a good mind to tell them I don't know this man and I've never met him before, but of course he has evidence of our friendship all over the place. You don't have to be Colombo to deduce that we're acquainted.

I have a good mind to get him banged up.

I hate alcoholic friends! They're like being around fully grown toddlers.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries