Tuesday 29 March 2011

Eating, Drinking And Ironing:- All In A Days' Blog.

What do you mean 'Where the hell have you been!' What's it to you anyway!

Yeah, I know it's been a while. I could lie, and say that I've been really busy what with work and the family and all.

And that's exactly what I'm gonna do. Lie. What! You don't think any of this crap I write is true, do you?

Anyway, I've had a few days off work. So, it's given me the opportunity to catch up on all the little jobs around the house that I keep meaning to get done, and never get the time.

The fact that I have taken that opportunity, and done everything. That is everything EXCEPT the outstanding chores, is a sore subject. And the reason why once again, I find myself sleeping on the couch at the moment.

Anyway, the highlight of my time off, was to be today. The kids are at school. Mrs B is at work.

I have to house to myself!

I was planning to lie in until about 4pm, get up, NOT shower, NOT get dressed and just sit on the sofa, watching crap television, drinking beer, eating crap food, and generally be a bit of a couch potato.

In other words, no different to any other day. Only today, I don't traumatize the wife and kids doing it.

So, to say that I was a little surprised when the alarm went off at the normal weekday time this morning would be like calling a tornado 'a bit of a stiff breeze'.

"Never mind" I thought to myself,  "I'll just go back off to sleep again".

Yeah. Right.

Mrs B and the kids then proceeded to make more noise than Guy Fawkes wanted to make when he had the idea to make things a little more 'exciting' at the Houses of Parliament.


And as if that wasn't bad enough, Mrs B's parting shot as she left for work this morning put an end to my planned day of sloth. A subtle hint.


"There's a BIIIIIIIIIIG pile of ironing in the cupboard".

Oh CRAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPP!!!!!!!


That's all she said. No threats of what will happen if I don't do it. The truth is, she doesn't need to threaten me. I know the consequences of not doing the ironing. She'll do it herself. Tonight. Right in front of the tele. When I'm watching the football.

And she won't do it quietly either.

Every item of clothing will be ripped from the basket and wrenched into shape on the ironing board. She will grab the iron, slam it onto the board, and proceed to iron, huff, puff and tut at every pass of the iron. There will be steam going in all directions.

None of it from the iron.

I made the mistake of letting it happen once. Just once.

And like a bloody idiot, I had to go and ask the question, didn't I. Guys, you know the question. The one you've ALL asked you're wife. Once.

"Is there something wrong honey?"

Do you know what it's like to be branded on the butt by a Tefal 2000 Super Steamer on max setting?

My butt looked like it belonged in a pork scratchings packet for months afterward.

So, after I finish this you know what I'll be doing. Yep, 'fixing' the iron.

Anyway, just lately, there seems to have been just about every excuse you can think of to have some sort of complete and utter lash up involving way too much easting, drinking and merriment,falling drunkenly into the corner of the kitchen, and wake up the following morning covered in every type of condiment in the house formal social gathering to enjoy the company of good friends and sip fine wine and have intelligent, witty conversation about current affairs.

The trouble is, that all this good living is starting to take it's toll on the fine figure of a man that I've made myself into over recent years.

*Waits patiently for the stupid sniggering to stop*

You've got to love auto corrections on this thing. A red, squiggly line appeared under the word 'sniggering'. The four options it gave me for the word this damn thing thought I meant to type were 'staggering', 'leering', 'sneering' or 'fingering'.

I'll let you decide which one may apply to you. If you're doing more than one of them at the same time, Bravo. And if you're doing all 4, congratulations. I'd like you to apply to star in my next internet porn movie. I'm gonna call it 'Four Reasons Why Laptop Keyboards Should Be Splash Proof'.

Anyway, I digress. As I was saying, I've managed to put on a few pounds in recent weeks, and I've decided to take steps to prevent this 'slight expansion' around the waist line becoming a full blown ballooning on a scale that even the Goodyear Blimp would struggle to keep up with.

One of those steps was to buy myself a home brewing kit.

Yep, I figured that by having 40 pints of Norfolk's finest ale on tap to chug at anytime of my choosing, I would be down to my fighting weight in about 2 to 3 months.

That is, if my choice of combat was Sumo Wrestling.

I've also decided to cut down on the running. Before, I was running 4 - 5 times a week, averaging 30 - 35 miles in a week. Now it's 3 times a week. Average weekly mileage. 15 - 20. And yet despite these dramatic lifestyle changes, my waistline continues to grow to the point that I now need the combined efforts of the much loved Mrs B and a shoehorn to get myself into my jeans.

I knew things were getting out of hand when I took the car in to have a new tyre fitted the other day. The tyre fitter pointed at my gut, told me it was over inflated, and my tread was below the legal limit.

The git.

And Mrs B has started to notice. Like when she goes 'on top'.

"I'll have to duck to keep my head from hitting the ceiling".

"I'm gonna need an oxygen mask if I have to climb much higher".

"Not tonight dear, I've still got altitude sickness from last time".

I thought she was complementing me at first. You know. On how big my 'Joy Division' is. She kindly and delicately pointed out that this was not the case.

"No dear". She said. "I'm not saying these things because your gnats todger belongs between the legs of a stallion". "I'm saying them because you're becoming a fat git".

Bless her. Never backwards in coming forwards is Mrs B.

But, she is right. Not about the gnats todger of course. I mean, of course I'm hung like a horse...........fly.

So, I'm gonna cut down on the beer, the food and general good living, increase the exercise, and generally become a boring git for a while.

That is, right after I finish the beer. There are about 25 pints left I guess.

If I start now, I reckon I'll have it all done by the time Mrs B and the kids get home.

The ironing, that is. You don't seriously think I'm THAT freaking nuts, do you?

P.T.F.O.

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