Apr. 3rd, 2007

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The teller who served me in the bank today didn't want to be there. She had one elbow on the desk so she could prop her chin up and conducted all our discussion in obviously bored voice. She all but sighed when I said I wanted a bank cheque, which meant she had to do difficult things like get off her chair to go and find someone to authorise it. I'm a patient, peaceful person, but, goodness me, I wanted to slap a bit of life into her.

On the plus side, she was too bored to bother giving me the patented sales spiel, so I didn't have to fend off enthusiastic offers of a home loan or a full financial review or whatever they're currently bothering people with. Small mercy, I suppose.

I was down the street shopping with my mother, who was there to achieve one of her lifelong dreams, that of owning a friand tray. (Her other lifelong dreams are (1) to own a tagine and (2) to own a pair of running spikes and thus become an Olympic sprint champion. I feel one of these is more likely than the other at this stage.) So she bought the tray and announced that she was going home to make some friands and she would serve them for afternoon tea. "After all, that's what friands are for!" She snorted at her little witticism all the way across the road to the bank and probably all the while I was talking to the aforementioned teller.

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todayiamadaisy

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