8th April 2017
Having a sneaky dig in the privacy of one’s car whilst sitting in traffic is one thing but extreme deep core drilling is quite another. With the sun due to make one of its rare appearances both today and tomorrow I decided to whip into Hailsham to purchase some coals for the BBQ. With said job done I made my way outside and into the traffic. So, there I was, sitting in a queue of cars waiting for the lights to change when I stupidly glanced over at the driver of the car next to me. Initial inspection revealed a respectable looking young lady of around twenty years; however, just as I was about to look back at the road she began to pick her nose. Well, I say ‘pick her nose’ but what I actually saw was more reminiscent of brain surgery. With her index finger inserted all the way up to the second knuckle I decided I’d seen enough and looked away.
I examined the traffic lights, the other cars around me, the pavement and all the signs but before long curiosity got the better of me and I glanced back over at the bogie monster. What I saw next will stay with me for the rest of my life.
I watched in horror she covered her right nostril with her finger and snorted out, what can only be described as, a large proportion of her Cerebral cortex. This didn’t just weep out but was fired out with such force that it shot out of her nose and onto the steering wheel. My stomach jumped but I found I was physically unable to look away. As I was battling with my stomach, Hailsham’s finest then leant forward and sucked the slimy substance off her steering wheel and into her mouth. At this sight my throat opened and I let out a huge involuntary retch burp and my foot slipped off the clutch. Luckily the cars in front of me had moved on. I think I’m going to need counselling.
2nd February 2017
On the whole I tend to think of myself as a reasonably intelligent person surrounded by idiots (it’s comforting okay); however, today has challenged that belief.
The fact that my beloved potato peeler broke last week meant that to cook a meal for my darling wife’s return later today, I’d have to use our old and crappy potato peeler. I’m left handed and the old one is designed for a right handed person.
With liver and bacon bubbling away in the pan I set about peeling the potatoes. I picked up the old, razor sharp potato peeler and started peeling the spuds. <slip>. After slicing my finger I made my way to the first aid box which for a reason I cannot fathom contained only a tampon, a condom and an aspirin. After failing to work out how any of the above could be of use to me I stuck my finger under the tap like a proper man and demonstrated my firm grasp of Anglo-Saxon.
The swearing seemed to stem the flow of blood so I resumed ‘the peeling of the potatoes’ ritual. <slip>.
After slicing through the same finger a second time I decided that perhaps it was time to look for another ingredient. So, the question was ‘what goes with liver and bacon?’ I rummaged through the cupboard. Not rice, not porridge and certainly not whisk and serve semolina. I had no choice but to continue peeling the potatoes.
<slip> After the third incision into my finger I decided that no further potatoes were necessary, I somehow convinced myself that Flowie would be ecstatic with liver and bacon with half a teaspoon of mashed potato so I placed the potato peeler (weapon) on the table and cooked the rest of my darling wife’s surprise.
So, here I sit awaiting the arrival of my darling wife. I’m hoping against hope that she can see passed the blood soaked handkerchief, I’m hoping against hope that she can see passed the micro helping of mashed potato. I’m hoping against hope that she can see what a wonderful husband she has and that she has the ability to appreciate me to the fullest.
Friends, wish me luck.
18th January 2017
Last night I had a dream that I had to choose between my wife and Claudia Winkleman.
17th October 2016
So, there I was about to go through the door of the Post Office when I noticed a young lady with her child heading for the exit, even though the rain was hammering down and I was fully loaded with twelve packages comprising large letters, small packets and a medium parcel, I took the time to open the door (with my head) to allow the young lady and her child to exit before me. She walked right through the open door without so much as a nod and avoided my eyes as she did. I ignored her complete lack of manners and remained in place as the little girl walked through.
“Thank you.” the little girl said with a big smile.
“It’s a pleasure” I said “You must have got your manners from your Dad”.
Then just as I thought the conversation was over the little girl made my day by saying
“Apparently, my Mum doesn’t have time for manners.”
And with that the little girl was grabbed by the arm and whisked away.
3rd September 2016
PART ONE: Two years ago, after realising that every man and his dog had a flat, wide screen super-mega television I decided to indulge myself and chuck my narrow screen, rounded front TV in my neighbours skip. A quick trip to Richer Sounds ended in a lurid credit card orgy of LCD panels, amplifiers, DAC’s and a cornucopia of bloody expensive, golden ended cables. All went according to plan until I got home. After a four hour manual reading frenzy I completed the set up.
PART TWO: What I didn’t realise back then was that the set up was actually the easy part. The hard part was switching the bloody thing on and watching a film. Ever since my ‘upgrade’ the process of watching a film has involved at least two hours of swearing, one hour of pacing and twenty minutes of borderline nervous breakdown. Take this evening as a prime example.
The other day my wonderful wife mentioned that she’d love to watch Thelma & Louise. So, being the perfect husband (shut it!) I bought the DVD from Amazon and this evening, after my wife came in from visiting her Mum, I ‘attempted’ to put the film on. I switched on the blue-ray player, switched on the amplifier, switched on the TV, switched on the DAC, switched the TV to AV2, put the DVD into the blue-ray player, switched the DAC to input 1, set the TV audio source to PCM (whatever the fuck that is) and sat back on the sofa with my wife to watch the film. Unfortunately, even though the TV was showing Thelma & Louise, the sound track was from the Antiques Roadshow (never before have I found the presence of Fiona Bruce frustrating but …)
The result was that Flowie and I ended up watching Thelma & Louise in Glorious mono. It was about the same quality as I used to get with my old TV but with a bank account about two grand down. I consider my cognitive ability to be at least average but, for the love of God, I can’t work out how to watch a bloody film. Am I alone in my frustrations?
9th July 2016
So, there I was showing Flowie some photographs of me when I was a toddler. I was expecting “Awww, so sweet, so lovely”. Instead I got “You haven’t changed much. You still do that stupid expression. Why have you got spastic shoes on?”. Feeling loved.
6th July 2016
I was incredibly excited to see my “One Man on a Bike” book taking the number one spot in the Kindle Free Books in the category non fiction >> travel >> Africa. When I checked the top 100 I found that it only contained 3 books. Almost famous.
9th June 2016 (wild camping by the Rhone in France)
Jesus Christ! This place is absolutely mental. The frogs are making a right royal row and jumping in the pond like their arses are on fire. There’s something roaming outside licking our plates and the river is alive with weird howls and squawking noises. Wicked!
13th May 2016
Our tomato plants are coming along nicely. Fucking cat!
18th February 2016
So, this morning I went to the supermarket and bought some Aptamil 1 First Milk baby food for a friend of mine. As I was standing there holding the tub in my hands a young woman smiled at me and said “Awww, how old?” I couldn’t help myself and said “I’m 43 but still act like a child.” The chap next to me laughed but she wasn’t impressed at all.
8th February 2016
I thought I’d give you all an update on my thumb “condition”. After the comments from Johnny D and Mitch on FaceBook I decided that it was probably best to visit a professional. As such I made my way down to the local Doctors for a ‘get the ball rolling’ examination. My first impressions were very good; a designer building with real oak slabs and ample glass work coated the exterior, a garden that most horticulturists would sell a kidney for surrounded the building and exuding from all this was a feeling of honesty and sincerity. I crunched over the fresh gravel into the ample reception and was immediately greeted by a cavernous space that would make most opera companies proud. I made my way to the reception and checked in.
“Errr, I hurt my thumb a few weeks ago and think I need it looked at.” I waved my poor attempt of a splinted thumb in the ladies direction. There was the slightest inkling of a smile but the rest of her simply said ‘idiot’. I ignored this and waited for her reply.
“I’ll ask the nurse to take a look” she said. I smiled and sat on a chair as far away from the coughing infestations as I could manage.
Over the following thirty-five minutes I watched as people came and went, and came and went. For some reason I didn’t do any of that, I just sat there. When I finally caught the eye of the receptionist her expression told me why, it read
“Shit! I forgot about you.” I watched as she spoke to the nurse gesturing towards me and smiling. The nurse was obviously very busy and very stressed.
Forty minutes after that the receptionist spoke to the nurse, again gesturing in my direction. I stood up as she approached, the gentleman in me over ruling the frustration.
“The nurse tells me that you’re going to need to see the Doctor. I’ll speak to the Doctor as soon as I can.”
I acknowledged the information with a smile and a slight nod and sat back down hoping it would be the right side an hour.
Half an hour later I watched as the receptionist spoke with the Doctor whilst gesturing in my direction. The Doctor disappeared back to his office, the receptionist looked flushed and took a deep breath. As she approached I stood up.
“I’ve just spoken to the Doctor. He recommends a Thumb Spica. Your best bet is to visit the A&E in Uckfield.” The gentleman in me smiled on the outside whilst the man in me hacked off my thumb on the inside. Her cheeks, flush with blood, told me everything.
“Don’t worry, I understand” I said “I’ll just run it under the tap.”
.. And that is how I came to have my thumb self-splinted with a 16MB memory stick and 3 metres of Selotape.
4th January 2016
“What if I told you that insane was working fifty hours a week in some office for fifty years at the end of which they tell you to piss off.” Garland Greene, Con Air.