Thoughts of a rambling Introvert

Today is supposed to be my day off at work. Its going to be a quiet one as Daughter is unwell. She has this awful bug which has been doing its rounds both at school and Other Half's workplace. Symptoms are dry sore throat, sneezing and feeling generally run down. Hopefully, it has almost run its course but I'm going to have to try and not let rip too much at home today with the music and drumming and hoovering. Perhaps I will go out later, I need to revamp my top hat as the ribbon is looking frayed and sew some more emblems onto my tailcoat. My drum is sounding terrible at the moment, even after its been tuned, it still sounds too high pitched,  V tells me its because the black tape stretched across in in an X needs to be removed and that I probably need a new drum skin. I'm very conscious it sounds tinny and this does nothing for my confidence with is pretty low on the Richter scale at the moment.

Its strange but whilst I feel reasonably confident at work and indeed I can be quite mad and extrovert at times, I  tend to be subdued when I'm at drum practice, although I am very passionate about drumming and I love the music, I do find it really hard to socialise with other members, although they are friendly enough. I don't know why but always feel very nervous on the inside. I think I have butterfly tendencies, I'll happily talk to people individually then flutter on to the next person but I can't hold my own in a small group, particularly if its small talk which to be truthful I really don't enjoy. I tend to think of  my Dad alot when I drum, he loved music, he was brilliant on the piano and accordion,  I think drumming sometimes evokes a sadness within me which manifests itself when I'm at practice and I find myself wanting to cry when really I should  be doing solos and going ballistic.

Still bonfire season is approaching and I am looking forward to marching with the Group. I love the excitement of it all, donning my top hat and tails, laced up boots, wig and face paint, rum in the hip flask, cans of cider in my drumstick bag. The camaraderie and atmosphere is incredible. We look and sound good and we are such a tight group when we march. Its only when we strike up and begin to march and play our drums I truly feel I belong to my Group. When I don my costume and makeup, i am no longer the girl from around the block but my alter ego, Sally Drumsticks a bewitching female of wizardry tantalizing crowds with her amazing drumming.

Charity Shop Update

My stint as Assistant Manager has flown by since I joined 18 months ago. Now promoted temporarily to Acting Manager, I not only find myself knee-deep in donations and endless paperwork from HQ but having to time-manage myself to the millionth of a micro-second to cope with staff sickness and holidays. Of course, it is paramount that the shop remains stacked with interesting and alluring stock to attract every type of customer and with donations hailing from textile banks and customers its always a lottery to what you actually end up with.

 Mr X, my lovely boss who has now moved on to pastures new, trained me to be highly displined when sorting through bric-a-brac. 'Only the best will do for the shop!', he used to boom at me. The first day I put bric a brac out, I received at lecture from him regarding saucepans with 'wobbly bottoms, how unsafe they were due to being cheaply made and as to emphasise the point he made me run my hand over the unfortunate milk saucepan's bottom and then examine it at eye-level, for effect he spun it around on its axel, 'this would not happen if this was flat' he announced loudly. Point taken.

 Mr X was also a stickler when it came to cleanliness of stock and missing artefacts. Positioning bric-a-brac also could affect sales he used to say, so think carefully where you position something. One day we were presented with a middle-sized version of 'The Thinker', basically a naked man, leaning over thinking. Anatomically there was no mistaking he was male, but where to place him? Bearing in mind, many of our customers are middle-class 50 something females, it was not a good idea to give him the centre stage of our genteel arranged bric-a- brac shelf. Also not a good idea to position him to close to where Mr X used to like to stand and think either. Eventually I settled upon the second to top shelf of the bric-a-brac amongst the antiques. Of course there were the envitable comments and occasions where customers would find it amusing to turn The Thinker around displaying his butt to all and sundry. Luckily within a couple of days he was purchased for the sum of £20.