My last post was back in late November so there is a lot that has happened since then that we need to catch up on. However I think it is only correct that I should start this blog by addressing the big news story that has hit the headlines in recent weeks. There had been rumours that it could happen for a while and an increasing inevitability that little could be done to prevent it. Nevertheless we all lived in vain hope that common sense would prevail but alas we are now faced with the reality of the devastating consequences that will affect numerous innocent people from all walks of life. I for one cannot believe that Tesco have increased the price of their Meal Deal up to £3.50! There was little more satisfying in life than picking out the 3 most expensive options on offer (often items you wouldn’t usually choose or in fact even like the taste of) and the accompanying adrenaline rush of mentally calculating how much you have saved from paying the full individual price for each of them.
Christmas Day came and went in a haze of Baileys, sprouts and abandoned Monopoly, bringing the twilight week between Boxing Day and New Year during which nobody knows (or particularly seems to care) what date or day of the week it is. The majority of this period was spent gorging on excess festive treats that had been purchased “Just in case anyone pops in to visit” despite the fact that;
- Nobody was invited to ‘pop in to visit’.
- Nobody ever ‘pops in to visit’.
- Even if the whole 1st Battalion Scots Guards had ‘popped in to visit’ feeling particular peckish there still would have been plenty of food left over.
This led to a particularly humiliating incident which involved Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, a tub of Cadburys Heroes (who the hell eats the Creme Egg ones as a first choice?), a sofa and a scarily accurate impersonation of Jabba the Hutt. As I lay oblivious to the blatant ongoing cross contamination that was occurring between vast vessels of twiglets and mini cheddars, a rattling of the letterbox (very) briefly took my attention. Despite suffering from severe jaw fatigue and being perilously close to succumbing to acute marmite poisoning, I somehow mustered all my remaining strength to investigate further.
On closer examination I immediately appreciated the irony that the delivery had been of a glossy promotional leaflet advertising the local ‘Slimming World’ meetings. Staring from the page were a cheerful gathering of (it has to be said not particularly overweight looking) friends laughing together around a table as they enjoyed a seemingly carefree night out in a restaurant (presumably before they all went home and made themselves sick and were humiliated by Barbara at the next weekly weigh in). To add insult to injury a few days (and a trifle and cheese board) later I made the additional discovery of four more identical leaflets jammed and hanging from the outside of my letterbox. This led me to the conclusion that the person making the delivery that night had either;
- Been keen to finish quickly so was cutting corners by delivering in multiple amounts.
- Spied the gluttonous scenes through the lounge window on their approach and made the calculated decision that a minimum of 5 leaflets were required to sufficiently get across what was clearly a much needed message.
New Year’s Eve was a fun night spent playing (increasingly competitive) games on my son’s new Nintendo Switch. I did however feel it necessary to draft a strongly worded letter of complaint to the manufacturers after my borderline professional execution of ‘Footloose’ on Just Dance 22 was inexplicably judged to be only a 2 out of 5 star performance. The end of a year is always a time for reflection and this one was no exception as I found myself once again pondering a number of life’s big unanswered questions which included;
- Why am I annually astonished at how big the lounge looks when the Christmas tree is taken down even though it’s not there for 49 weeks of the year?
- Why do I always pack double the amount of pants I need to go on holiday when I haven’t shit myself for years and am probably unlikely to ever do so on 7 consecutive days?
- Why does Tarzan never have a beard?
It is also a time for resolutions but my ‘New Year, New Me’ pledge was already in crumbled ruins by the first Saturday as I found myself elbow deep in a giant bag of Doritos whilst trying to identify which down on their luck celebrity was singing dressed as a giant traffic cone. I am though going to attempt to curtail the amount of time I spend on social media and in particular Facebook which has a tendency to really wind me up.
Especially irritating are the couples (let’s call them Pete & Janet) who regularly document their picture book perfect lifestyle (scenic brunch by the river followed by a hand in hand family walk through a leaf covered orchard with a sunset bonfire, champagne and marshmallows finale) via the posting of an unfeasibly large amount of photos (any more than 5 then put them in an album and I’ll do my best to pretend to be interested the next time you invite me round). Not only do Pete’s mates constantly take the piss, but in two years’ time when Janet’s run off with her fitness instructor, taken him to the cleaners and he finds himself up a crane dressed as Spiderman in an attempt to get access to his kids, he’ll also have the Timehop function to continually jog his memory of the happier times.
In reality Facebook ‘Friends’ ( I have 250, the majority of which I’ve not seen in over 20 years or in some instances never met at all) are about as much your real friends as your Mum’s mate Maureen, who she used to go to ‘Legs, Bums and Tums’ with on Tuesdays, was your real auntie. I also get infuriated by particular types of Facebook posts, the typical replies these particular posts tend to receive and the replies that I’d love to send to these particular posts that I think they deserve to receive.
Some examples of these are;
The Vague
POST: Trust is a virtue that can never be taken for granted!
REPLY: Is everything Ok hun? DM me if you need me.
MY REPLY: This is not a cryptic crossword or a clue from the gameshow ‘3,2,1’ with Dusty Bin. Please specify the exact nature of your problem and under no circumstances DM me.
The Casting of the Rod
POST: It’s Alex’s 10th birthday on Saturday and I haven’t bought anything yet. I am a terrible Mum.
REPLY: Don’t be silly Hun. Alex is lucky to have a brilliant Mum like you.
MY REPLY: Stop fishing for compliments and yes you are. You have prioritised attending the countless coffee morning ‘Catch Ups’ you post about over organising the happiness of your own flesh and blood.
The Lazy Bastard
POST: Is the Co-op open yet?
REPLY: Opens 7.30am every day.
MY REPLY: Don’t know, do you want me to jog round there now quickly in my dressing gown to check for you? Or maybe use the same phone on which you just typed this post to discover this beyond simplistic information for yourself.
The Unrecognisable
POST: Out out with the girls. Glam Squad!!
REPLY: Stunning picture Hun & the dress looks gorge!
MY REPLY: This photo has gone through more filters than a coffee percolator, I saw you in Asda last week and you looked nothing like this. P.S Why are you wearing my Nan’s curtains?
January 2022 duly began with the news of Novak Djokovic becoming the first sportsman to be banned for not taking drugs and the realisation that Prime Minister Boris Johnson had attended more parties than Mr Magic and Cheeky Monkey, the most highly sought after children’s birthday entertainment duo in the South East of England. It also saw my first introduction to the online spelling game ‘Wordle’, a challenge so addictive and competitive that its daily completion has now become a far higher priority than ensuring my children have eaten breakfast before they leave for school.
Love was in the air in February and when you hold a sought after eligible bachelor status such as I now do, I’m sure you can appreciate that Valentine’s Day is an extremely busy time. Tasks that I had to undertake in this period included;
- Organising a ‘Get Well Soon’ card for my postman who was rushed into hospital for an emergency back operation.
- Purchasing additional furniture for my house in order to have sufficient surface space to adequately display a ridiculously high volume of cards.
- Alerting the local council recycling depot of the necessity of extra staffing in advance of the next scheduled cardboard collection day.
Unfortunately while I was expecting to be inundated with perfume scented and lipstick embossed envelopes, the only thing to land on my doormat that morning was a menu from the Chinese takeaway advertising their new range of meals for one (ironic). On this occasion Cupid had decided not to draw back his bow, in fact he’d taken it one step further and left his bow, arrows, quiver and all other romantic related equipment at home and decided to take the day off. There’s plenty more fish in the sea as the old phrase says, unless of course they’ve all been illegally caught by the EU boats exceeding their agreed post Brexit (remember that?) fishing quotas.
Later in February the UK was subject to severe weather warnings and was hit by a storm named after a man (Dudley) and then again the next day by one that was considerably more dangerous, vicious, terrifying and destructive that was named after a woman (Eunice). This I am sure was merely just a coincidence although some may put forward further evidence with a comparison between Hurricane Katrina (America’s strongest ever recorded storm that devastated New Orleans in 2005) and Typhoon Keith (that made a Cornwall fisherman’s wheelie bin wobble slightly in 2009).
The world was sickened by the devastation and unnecessary loss of life and livelihoods associated with Russia’s decision to invade Ukraine. The vast nightly news coverage provided an in depth insight into both political and geographical aspects of the conflict that I was previously unaware of. None more so though than the truly shocking revelation that for the whole of my life I have apparently been mispronouncing ‘chicken Kiev (Kyiv)’.
March brought with it the unbridled joy associated with an unexpected two day heatwave. In years gone by my first thoughts would have been to get to a beer garden as soon as possible but now my excitement centred solely around the possibility of cutting the lawn and putting washing on the line. In typical British fashion the slightest glimpse of sun would also inevitably lead to;
- The resplendent return of the hypnotic melodies of the local ice cream van outside the back of my house (think the Pied Piper with fewer rats and more flakes and hundreds and thousands).
- A rigorous high pressure hose down of all non-fixed exterior items (fake plastic rattan patio furniture from B&M as priority) in the unfounded belief that the remainder of the year would now be lived entirely in the garden.
- The purchase of a (“It’s definitely worth paying more for a better quality one because if we keep it clean it will last us for years”) paddling pool from Argos for the 5th year in a row.
- A frantic search of cupboards and wardrobes to locate my Daisy Duke jean shorts, Don Johnson Miami Vice espadrilles and the hilariously printed “I need a 6 month holiday twice a year’ luminous yellow singlet.
Less than a week later however, the barbeques, Ambre Solaire and inflatable beach balls were swiftly swapped for balaclavas, de-icer and hot water bottles as temperatures plummeted with the crazy contrast of a day that saw a brief falling of snow.
In other more personally related breaking news;
- My youngest son’s ‘Science Day’ at his school saw him return with some homemade slime which was moulded into various shapes to demonstrate its malleability before being left on a placemat on the kitchen table overnight. Little did I know, until this placemat was subsequently removed to reveal the full devastation beneath, that one of the slime’s main ingredients seems to have been the acid that flowed through the veins of the creatures battled by Sigourney Weaver in the 1979 Sci-Fi classic ‘Alien’.
- I’ve long since been ridiculed for adding please and thankyou to my requests to Alexa and since living alone have developed a worrying habit of having conversations with inanimate objects (berating jammed washing machine doors and telling cereal boxes to piss off when they fall out of cupboards). I managed to take this one step further recently however after having scanned, packed and paid for some shopping at a supermarket self-service checkout. With the transaction now complete, the computerised voice politely bellowed out “Thank you for shopping at Tesco”, to which I replied in an equally loud voice, “No worries.” I momentarily hoped that I might not have actually said it out loud until the peculiar looks I was getting from the customers either side of me provided sufficient confirmation.
- I took the first firm steps towards my next life chapter beyond middle age when on a particularly cold morning I contemplated and gave more than seriously consideration to tucking my t-shirt into my pants for the purposes of both insulation and added comfort.
After it was well received in the last blog I will finish once more with a joke, again not original but one that I think is funny.
A man has a car accident and wakes up it A&E to realise he now has nothing between his legs. Naturally concerned, he is soon reassured by a doctor who tells him, “You are lucky that you’ve been brought to a hospital that specialises in penis transplants and we currently have 3 on ice that we could offer to you. It would be a private procedure so we have a small one that costs £1000, a medium one that costs £2000 and a large one that costs £3000. Which one would you like?”
“Well”, replies the man, “I always discuss any financial matters with my wife. She’s in a waiting room outside so I’ll speak to her now and let you know.”
Twenty minutes later the doctor returns and asks the man, “Well then, what did you decide to have?”
To which the man replies, “A new kitchen!”
Thanks for reading, take care and keep smiling in these continually crazy times.
Baldyman 