...And where are my white towels?

Those of you who've hung around long enough may remember that back in August, I won the chance to be Capital's Culture Vulture for a day. It's a daily prize for listeners, all you do is fill out a form on the website, point and click. Producers pick someone and that person makes a fool of themselves in two or three voxpops but gets a night out to something cool in return. Done deal.

The Culture Vulture that I won was slightly different in not only did I win tickets to Metro Weekender, in addition I won a list of other cool stuff too. That was two months ago. On Thursday, the final bits of a hastily cobbled together prize were finally sent over. Now, I know I may sound like a spoiled bitch but all is not quite as it should be with my prize. I humiliated myself to a drive time audience and I feel that somehow, I've been slightly robbed under the trade descriptions act - not to mention the fact that I had to chase them endlessly after being told that my prize would arrive within a week. I was meant to win a duplicate of The Streets rider:

-Bottle of Vodka
-Bottle of Jack Daniels
-Crate of Beer (presumably Carlsberg, who sponsored the event)
-Swatch watches (note plural)
-Video game
-Wrangler wear
-White towels

What I actually got:
-Bottle of Vodka
-Bottle of Jack Daniels
-12 cans of Fosters (now forgive me but I always assumed a crate is 24 cans, no? I personally didn't care but the boyfriend was a tad disappointed)
-Fifa 08 and some other game (both for XBox360, which I do not own, ergo useless and soon to be ebayed or the such like and put towards the Wii fund)
-Novelty gold Swatch watch (singular, truly hideous. Will also go the way of video games)
-Pair of Wrangler jeans (not a pair I would've picked but not bad)

I also personally delighted in the fact that they'd clearly asked the work experience to bag it up and hadn't bothered to take it out of the Tesco carrier bags. In all fairness, whilst it has been delayed and delayed, they threw in a bunch of Rumble Strips stuff which was blatantly in someone's desk pile but at least it's the thought that counts.

I'll even forgive the lack of white towels.

Tales from the fashpack

(EDIT: I started writing this post a week ago but due to extreme laziness, have only decided to finish and post. Apologies, I am rubbish.)

I think I have officially proved that I have little to no sticking power at blogging. Or at least no privacy in which to write furtive posts without someone reading over my shoulder or raising an eyebrow.

I promised you all Truck fest but a month seems to have whizzed past since then and in the meantime, far more interesting things such as the long anticipated holiday and woeful tale of the jacket have occurred. After a week's long search for a cheap holiday that wouldn't involve food poisoning or chavs, we booked a week in Cyprus on the morning of Friday 5th and left on Sunday 7th for a week of sun. I'll try not to brag but it was 30 celcius every day and sunny as hell. It was just what we'd both been looking forward to for so long - 15 months, to be precise.

Unfortunately, upon my arrival back at work on Monday afternoon, I was plunged into the week from hell and thus begins the tale of the jacket. Let me give you a little background first. In my job, every month I am delivered a new work experience to train and eventually mould into a returns fiend.

The job which they do is simple - I did it for two months before I got my job - collect samples, fill in a form, cross items off a list, bag and send out items. Most people are good at it - frankly, it's hard to be rubbish at it - but there are always some who manage to astound me with their sheer pig-headedness, such as Workie-from-hell, hereby refer to as WFH. WFH tested my patience to the limit.

From the moment she walked in, bearing more than a passing resemblance to Betty from Ugly Betty (but at least Betty makes an effort) I got a weird vibe from the girl and I could tell that month was going to be a bitch. I could list the things that she did that annoyed, tested and almost forced me into violent action but that would be petty and I would be here all night but the one thing that I will reveal is that the girl couldn't complete a return without somehow fucking it up unless I stood over her and watched her write every letter on the return form. Unfortunately for us both, I do not have time to play gangmaster and have my own job to do, so I did not witness the fateful moment where a particular one-of-a-kind sample was picked up by WFH and sent somewhere, ANYWHERE, bar the right place. I spent the first week post holiday leafing through old dockets desperately trying to figure out where in hell the bloody thing had got to, calling any and every lead I found and being flat out floored at every opportunity. The jacket had vanished. And I got in shit. While everyone around me told me that it wasn't my fault, I had a giant fashion albatross hanging round my neck. And of course, it wasn't just that. I also discovered in the midst of the jacket drama that three moderately expensive necklaces were sent back in my absence by a new workie. Thankfully, they did not go the same way of the jacket and the final one was returned to me today, unharmed. Needless to say, it was a relatively awful fortnight but now I can sleep easy and heal myself of the flu that everyone in London seems to be picking up or just getting over at the moment.

Plus, I have to be well for Monday, I have a new work experience coming in. God help my blood pressure.