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.

More Self Confidence? I'm not So Sure...........

Would you like to increase your self-confidence?

These are the words on a leaflet that greeted your bleary eyed blogger this morning as I grabbed the post from the floor. It was in under the letter from my bank informing me that I went overdrawn last month, and they wanted £65.00 for the privilege. £65.00!!!!!!

The robbing gits!

I know the banks are in need of a bailout at the moment, poor sods, but I wasn't aware of the fact that I was gonna be the only one bailing them out! Well, that wipes out the slight tax reduction I got from my new tax code in the same postal delivery.

Ahh well, easy come, easy go.

But I was intrigued by the leaflet. Would I like to increase my self-confidence? Those that knew me in the past would probably agree that, back then I needed a good kick in the groin and told to man the heck up a little encouragement to coax me out of my shell. Nowadays, it's a different story.

However, you can't have too much of a good thing, so I thought "Why not".

On opening the leaflet, I was slightly perturbed by the 200 questions they ask you to complete before you send the whole thing off. It's multiple choice. The answers are Yes, No or Maybe. The trouble is, I spotted a fatal flaw in their system.

Surely, if you answer yes or no, whatever the question, you don't need more self confidence! You are giving a confident, positive answer. Only 'maybe' answers suggest you possibly need a good kick in the groin and told to man the heck up the help and guidance from..................Oh no! You don't seriously think I'm gonna mention the name of the people, or organization who sent this thing do you?

There's already enough fuel from my past evil deeds to have me roasting on the open fires of hell for many a year. Naming and shaming one particular religious organization, and they're gonna need to get a rotisserie and spit roast me on gas mark 4 million for eternity!

Anyway, back to the questions. I decided that just answering, yes, no or maybe wasn't enough. So, I started to put proper, full written answers down. So they could REALLY get to know me.  Now, some of these questions beggar belief. What they hope to learn from some of them is anyone's guess.

Here are a random selection of the questions and my answers:-

Q - Do you browse through railway timetables, directories or dictionaries just for pleasure?
A - WHAT? Of course not! I browse through, Mayfair, Razzle and Leather Clad Babes Monthly to get my kicks. Weirdo.

Q - Are your actions considered unpredictable by other people?
A - I was once lent a car to go pick someone up from the airport, and I wrapped it around a lamp post. I don't THINK they predicted it, so I guess the answer is yes.

Q - Do you speak slowly?
A - Only to the very old, or the very young. And foreigners that don't speak English.

Q - Does an unexpected action cause your muscles to twitch?
A - I would consider myself dead if they didn't!

Q - Do your past failures worry you?
A - Not at all. I'm pleased as punch that I've failed to pick the winning lottery numbers every week for the last 8 years, and live on a hole in the ground with no money, rather than a million pound mansion and more money than Saudi Arabia.

Q - Is it normally hard for you to own up and take the blame?
A - I never have that problem. If Mrs B asks what the smell is, I blame the dog!

Q - Could you agree to `strict discipline'?
A - At one time, I would have said no, but since an encounter with Miss Whiplash, a leather clad brunette with high heels and a tazar gun, I've kinda come around to the idea.

Q - Do you find it easy to express your emotions?
A - I find it difficult NOT too when next doors dog craps on my lawn! Or spurs lose at home to Arsenal.

Q - Do you 'circulate around' at social gatherings?
A - Like a flippin' humming bird until the beer kicks in. Then I fall asleep.

Q - Do you take reasonable precaution to prevent accidents?
A - Yep! I believe they call it celibacy. You'll probably approve of that one!

Q - Do you tend to be careless?
A - So, the plastic cutlery and the fact there are no sharp objects in the house ARE a giveaway huh?

Q - Do you enjoy activities of your own choosing?
A - Only ones that involve tissues.

Q - Are you easily pleased?
A - If by 'easily pleased' you mean in less than 10 seconds, then yes.

Q - Do you get over enthusiastic about 'some simple little thing'?
A - See previous answer.

Q - Do you ever get disturbed by the noise of the wind, or a 'house settling down'?
A - Well, I was once trapped in a car when a bloke farted, and the windows didn't work, and what you call 'house settling down', we call 'subsidence' around here, so yes.

They then ask 2 open answer questions:-

Q - How can you increase your minds potential?
A - This is probably not the answer you want, but I'm gonna say beer.

Q - What is the cause of irrational behaviour?
A - Normally in my case, the kids.

Now all I need to do, is mail it in, and they will call me and set up an appointment for my confidential test analysis.

Actually, it's not very far away. I'll take it in person. They can analyze me there and then.

How much more self-confidence do I need to show them than that?

P.T.F.O.

A Word From One Of The More Intelligent Members Of The Household.

Hello.

I have been asked me to write this blog. It seems that Baldy there is too busy. I'm not sure what's going on but there seems to be a lot of excitement around the house at the moment.

But first let me introduce myself. In fact, I'll show you who I am.........

Cute ain't I? I'm Freddie. And Baldy there is part of my herd.

You see, he thinks he owns me. Not a chance. Sure he paid money for me. And he puts a lead on me and walks me around like he owns me.

But who is the one that feeds me. Who is the one who goes out to work to buy my food? Who is the one that clears up after me when I take a du.........erm...........have a bowel movement.

And what DOES he do with that stuff anyway? I'm just glad to be rid of it, but he collects it like it's a precious material or something! What's THAT all about! I've tried to help the poor bugger out by producing more. One day, I must've pooped about 10 times. And EVERY time, he just scooped straight it up. I had to give up in the end. There's only so often I can go without going cross eyed. And loosing vital organs.

Anyway, that's the gross part of this blog outta the way. A bit about me.

I'm a 5 year old border collie. I am part of a breed of dog that is widely regarded as the more intelligent variety. Between you and me though, I'm only just intelligent enough to be completely freakin' nuts. Well, so would you be if you'd had done to you what he's had done to me!

When I was about 6 months old, I was taken to see what I thought was I nice lady. She stroked me and talked to me nicely. I liked her.

Until she stuck a sodding great needle in my bum. Boy did I yelp! After a short while though, I began to feel a little tired. Then VERY tired. Not unlike baldy when he's had a few of those special bottles of that drink he likes.

I certainly went down as quick as he does after a few. I was out for the count. I wasn't asleep for very long. Maybe an hour or so. But when I woke up. Oh crap was I in pain!

When Baldy wakes up from his sleeps after drinking his beer and complains of a headache. And sometimes makes funny noises down the white porcelain thing in the 'smelly' room. The big wuss. He should have woken up with the pain I was in that day. And not only that, the 'bit's' that were hurting were no longer there! My entire 'boydog doggy bag area' was gone. GONE! What the hell was that all about! I was only licking it a couple of hours earlier! Of all the body parts they could have taken, they had to take them! They were my favourite bits. I know we don't live in a particularly good area, but blimey! They'll nick ANYTHING around here!

I heard Baldy explain to someone later that he had it done to calm me down. CALM ME DOWN? You try being calm when your knackers are in a seperate room to you! I was too frightened to sleep for weeks after that, wondering if I would wake up and find other parts of me missing.

I'm trying to convince Mrs B to have the same thing done to old Baldy there. Not that she needs any convincing at all. She agrees that it needs doing. The signs are there that it needs doing. Although I think in baldy's case, it's probably a case of 'you can't remove what ain't there'.

I have lived here with Baldy and Mrs B since I was 8 weeks old. It's actually not so bad. Sure, there are times when voices are raised. 'Get down' or 'Your dirty boy' or 'Stop sniffing the cat's butt'. All aimed at Baldy. I gave all that stuff up a while back. He just seemed better at it than me.

Now, I've heard people say that dogs look like there owners. Well, let me assure you that is definitely NOT the case here. As you can see, I am cute, fluffy and cuddly. He on the other hand, is a cows arse.

One of the big advantages I have over humans is my excellent sense of smell. But around here, living with him, that is a DISadvantage. Although he is a particularly ugly example of the human race, I can at least look away. There's nothing I can do to escape the smell though. It's everywhere.

And he craves attention. All the time. Always coming up to me for a stroke and a bit of rough and tumble. I spend half my life pretending to be asleep just to avoid being that close to him.

Anyway, that's enough for now. It's taken me ages to type this. Qwerty keyboards are not what you might call dog friendly you know. But hey, when you've got looks, who needs typing skills!

And he's getting those bags out again. He's looking to add to his collection. He's gonna be disappointed. I went out with Mrs B earlier and gave it to her instead.

Favoritism? Too right!

My Valentines Day Massacre.

February 14th.

The day that you're supposed to tell the one you love how much you love them. The day you're supposed to buy them chocolates, flowers & cards. The day you're supposed to take them out for a meal, and maybe a trip to the theatre, or cinema, and generally pamper your nearest & dearest.

It's not that the much beloved and long suffering Mrs B doesn't warrant or deserve such pampering. Because she truly does. I am what you might call a high maintenance husband. Of the two children we have, I am the third, most needy. And the one who is definitely a special needs case. And the following story will probably demonstrate this fact beautifully.

One previous Valentines day, whilst on my way home from work, I suddenly remember the date. Realizing that going home empty handed was not really a serious option, I stopped off at the only shop I could find.

A petrol filling station.

I was in the middle of nowhere, and I was desperate. The shop was very small. And pretty poorly stocked. First off, I went to the greetings cards.

All they had were three Christmas and one Get Well Soon card. Not good. Not good at all. There were no flowers at all.

At this point, I needed the loo and as I sat down, I contemplated my predicament. Yet again, I was in trouble. Owing to my lack of planning, I was in danger of going home to a pretty upset Mrs B.

I needed a plan. And some inspiration. I noticed the air freshener aerosol on the floor. I picked it up and gave it a spray.

"Well, it smells of flowers" I said to myself. I put the can in my jacket pocket, and returned to the shop.

"OK, they're bound to have some chocolates". They did. Smarties. In mild desperation, I grabbed a couple of tubes.

I then spotted a DVD selection. I made a beeline for it. It wasn't what you might call vast. The best they had was The Tweenies. And some very dodgy 'Oscar' contender, that had pictures of nearly naked women on the cover. And eels. I decide against the DVD.

"I know, I'll make her dinner".

 My idea of a romantic dinner for two however, was somewhat thwarted by the lack of selection of food on offer. A pasty. And a tin of peaches. In syrup.

I gather my bounty, throw it into a basket, and make my way to the counter.

I am by now a desperate man. Which may explain my next 'brainwave'. The very sad thing is I honestly believe it's a stroke of genius. And my thinking behind it just beggars belief.

"What hardworking woman, mother and wife doesn't want something that is going to make her life a little bit easier?" I remember thinking.

What I had in mind went way beyond that. This will actually REMOVE one job from her endless list of chores entirely!

As I put my pathetic desperate bounty tokens of love and admiration for my darling wife on the counter, the attendant scans it.

"Anything else?"

A wide grin appears across my face.

"A deluxe car wash please".

WOW!

Pure bloody inspired genius.

What could possibly spell romance, 'I love you, and I want to make life a bit easier for you' more than a pre wash, hot foam, wheel scrub, triple wax and blow dry car wash! With under body chassis wash too.

UNDER BODY CHASSIS WASH!!!!!!!

I pay and run to the car. As I pull away, I realise I have forgotten something. Candles. But it's OK. I remember that we have some birthday candles at home.

I arrive home to an empty house. Perfect. I can have everything ready for when Mrs B gets in.

But First, a little forward planning. I rush upstairs, dig out my bestest pulling pants, and put them on.

A male thong is not the most comfortable thing to wear, but hey, Mrs B is worth it. And when she sees the efforts that I've gone too, to woe her, the old bed springs will be putting in some overtime for sure!

I rush back downstairs, and into the kitchen to prepare the meal.

I pour some of the Smarties into a saucer, and scatter the rest around the table for artistic effect. I open the tin of peaches, and pour them into 2 pudding bowls. I remember that we have a tin of evaporated milk in the cupboard. I open this and pour some over the peaches.

With some effort, I eventually find the birthday cake candles. I struggle to get them  to stand up on their own. I have another brainwave. I grab a couple of slices of bread, and put the in the middle of the table, one on top of the other. I poke the candles into the bread in the shape of a heart.

I remove the packaging from the pasty and put it into the microwave, ready to start when Mrs B gets home. At that moment, I hear the keys in the door.

"Don't come in the kitchen honey, I have a little surprise for you". I say.

"Oooookaaaaaay" she calls back, with more than a hint of caution in her voice.

Not to be put off by her well placed and well practiced caution, I hit the nuke button on the microwave. I light the candles.

I then remember the half can of air freshener that I 'borrowed' in my jacket. I grab this and give the whole room a good spray.

This is when I discover that the warning on the side of all aerosol cans to 'keep away from naked flames' is there for a reason.

I am now holding in my hands a Glade flame thrower. And a pretty damn good one at that!

I quickly release the button on the can.

Not quite quick enough.

Border Collies are not bred for speed. But you try telling that to mine when his tail is on fire. He charges around the kitchen with an impressive turn of speed.**

I somehow manage to corner him, pick him up and douse his tail under the tap. I inspect the damage. Fortunately, apart from some singed fur, we've got away with it. No skin damage to speak of. But by now, the kitchen smells less of the potpourri, and more of burnt collie fur than was originally intended.

And on hearing the commotion, Mrs B's suspicions are aroused.

"Is everything OK in there?"

"Fine babe, absolutely fine". "I'm just putting the finishing touches to your suprise".

I go through a mental check list in my head.

Peaches. Smarties. Pasty. Candles. Wine.

Sod it! I forgot the wine!

I rummage around in the fridge. All I find is one can of lager. I get the champagne flutes out, crack open the lager, and am about to pour, and stop. I put down the champagne flute and lager, and grab the tea towel that's draped over the cooker, drying off. I carefully fold it, and drape it over my left forearm.

I pick up the lager and champagne flute, and stand poised, ready to pour.

"OK honey, come and see your surprise"

As she walks into the kitchen smiling, I begin to pour the lager into the champagne flute.

Mrs B surveys the scene. The birthday candles poked into the bread. The pudding bowls filled with peaches and evaporated milk. The Smarties scattered all over the table and in the saucer.

Then she looks at me. Her idiot husband. Is he really pouring lager into a champagne flute? With a used tea towel draped over his arm? And a big stupid grin on his face?

And my god! What is that awful smell? PLEASE don't say that's dinner!

The smile on Mrs B's face fades away. And is replaced by a look of utter bewilderment.

At that moment the microwave pings.

I put down the Champagne flute and lager, open the microwave door, and grab the pasty. Which is like grabbing a piece of hot coal. I throw it onto a plate and blow my fingers to cool them off. I grab a knife from the drawer and cut the pasty into two. I seperate the two halves, and stand back to admire my efforts.

"Mmmm, something not quite right".

A further flash of inspiration. I grab two candles from the bread, and pokw one into each pasty, spilling melted wax onto one half.

"Don't worry, I'll have that one" I say cheerily.

Mrs B just stands there, open mouthed, staring at the 'romantic' scene before her. She slowly walks forwards feeling for a chair with her hand, and on finding it she sits down.

"I've made us a nice romantic dinner so you don't have to cook tonight".

"I thought we could have this, and have an early night".

Mrs B continues to sit in stunned silence. Obviously so impressed with my 'efforts' that she's lost for words.

The sex I'm gonna get tonight after this, is gonna be mind blowing!

"Oh, and there's more", I say, pointing a finger in the air.

"Mmmmmmmore?" she stammers. Her head turns to look at me questioningly.

I fumble around in my pocket.

"I've also got you a car wash token, so you won't have to wash the car this weekend".

I place the token in front of her on the table.

"The deluxe wash" I announce. "With under body chassis wash".

Her gaze shifts to the token and then back to me. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

I start to realise that she may not be quite as appreciative as I first hoped.

I begin to babble.

"I'm sorry honey, but by the time I remembered what day it was, it was too late". "I tried everywhere to get you something special, but everything was sold out". "I just grabbed what I could, and did the best I could with it".

Still silence.

"I'm really sorry babe". Just give me a big hug and let's eat shall we?" "I'm starving".

I stretch my arms out towards her.

Mrs B gets up and turns towards me.

I don't see her pick up the car wash token.

But I feel it.

I feel it when she attempts to insert it in a place that just doesn't accept car wash tokens. She didn't even try to move the thong string aside when she did it.

As I run around the kitchen, being chased by a snarling, screaming Mrs B, closely followed by a vengeful looking border collie, I wonder at how Mrs B managed to shove the car wash token so far up.

Or indeed, how I'm going to perform an under body chassis wash!

**Please note - No border collies were actually harmed during the writing, or indeed the living of this scene.

And yes, my butt is almost completely healed now. Thanks for asking.

P.T.F.O.

A Short Wedding Message To The Happy Couple.

Sooooo, the big day is finally here. As I write this, 2 people I know are washing, scrubbing, making up, and generally preening themselves to within an inch of their lives. And I am sure that they will both look absolutely stunning when they present themselves to the world later on today.

However, also about now, one part of them, a part that is all too often ignored, will be playing a key role in today's events. And on big occasions, it takes great pleasure in letting you know that when all is said and done, it really does have the upper hand.

There is no real delicate way to put this, so I appologise if any of you are eating. Or thinking about eating. Or have eaten in the last 24 hours.

It is, of course the good old sphincter. The brown button. The 'Exit Only'. (Subject to status).

Ok then, the ARS****E!!!!!! (Censored by the much beloved Mrs B, bless her!). But seeing as by now, the alarm bells are probably ringing and you're thinking "Where's he going with this" (Heck, do ya honestly think I know?) We'll call it 'The Voldemort'. Why? 'Cos I don't know any one by the name of Voldemort.

I do, however, know plenty of 'Voldemorts'.

You see, whilst on these big occasions, everyone will be looking at the dress, the make up, the hair, the nails (enough about the groom already!) the old 'Voldemort' will be twitching away like an epileptic caterpillar.

Last nights' pizza, and indeed this mornings' corned flakes (No adverts here!) will be the non stop express service to the white porcelain bowl. And there will barely be time to take a seat, never mind get a ticket!

Honestly, on my big day, I didn't have the trots. Oh no. I had the full blown 'Get out of the bloody way, or things are gonna get pretty messy around here' gallops.

It was at this point that I realised how appropriate walking into the registry office to Johnny Cash's Ring Of Fire truly was.

By the time I'd got to the registry office, a good stone lighter than when I first got up that day, my stomach was more empty than my wallet the day after payday.

Apart from the gas.

I had therms of the stuff! They could have connected me up to the mains, and I would have solved the energy shortage crisis for weeks!

I know when we got married, it was the hottest day of the year, but I don't think the fans were there just for cooling. Of course, I did the manly thing. And blamed Mrs B.

Anyway, I started this intending to talk about the happy couple. And somehow, managed to turn into being all about me. I did say earlier that I didn't know where this was going!

So. To C and C. I know you guys will have a wonderful day. I wish you all the best for the future. May your lives together be filled with as much happiness and fulfillment as Mrs B's and mine. You'll make a great couple together. And yes. You will also be a Mrs B too. Without the 'long suffering' bit. Just think how bad it could have been!

And even though it's February, you'll now understand why I will be wafting a fan around in the church.

And trying to open all the stained glass windows.

Enjoy your day.

P.T.F.O.

How to Gaurantee a Table for One at a Wedding Dinner!

Well, it's been a long time, but this weekend I am attending a wedding. Not just the reception. The whole shebang. (Wow! shebang really is a word. No red line appeared underneath it!). Being invited to the whole wedding kinda raises my status in my opinion. It kinda says I'm thought of a bit more than someone who only makes it to the reception. Practically family to be honest. Either that, or they were desperate to fill the places. And when Auntie Thelma's poodle couldn't make it because it's having it's toe nails clipped, I was in!

It probably also means that I should get them a better present than the hardly used bottle of washing up liquid and 2 for 1 haircut voucher for the salon that closed 3 years ago but hey, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?

And that brings me nicely on to gift list. Who on earth invented THAT? It's kinda like saying 'look, we can't trust you to go and buy us a decent present, (spot on in my case!) so here is a helpful list of things you might like to consider'. Nobody ever says, 'just bring yourselves, that'll be gift enough for us'.

At least these guys haven't got a gift list. Oh no. They've decided they just want cash. Cold hard cash. Bloody good call. I wish I'd have flipping thought of that at our wedding. I actually think it's a bloody clever way to get us to pay for the wedding. In fact, I am gonna adopt the same philosophy at my daughters wedding. I'll work out the total cost and divide it by the number of guests. As well as sending an invite, I'll send a bill. That's a bloody brilliant idea! I'd even take card payments!

Now, if said couple to be knew of my 'previous' at weddings, they would almost certainly uninvite me. Mmmm, (Yep, red line under THAT!) I wonder how that would work? I guess I'm gonna find out soon enough!



You see, it's only at times like these that the much beloved Mrs B really gets to remember what a true catch I am.

Which is precisely why she has requested to be seated at another table.

I fail to see her problem. I almost never heckle anymore. And the football kicks off well after the wedding bouquet has been thrown at me with a little TOO much force to be friendly. Although the rugby may well be on around the same time. Thanks goodness for headphones! (Note to self, shouting 'get in there my son' and 'tackle him you 'effing moron' in the house of god is probably not conducive to a happy afterlife).

And I now know that proper protocol is a short peck on the cheek when standing in line to congratulate the happy couple. NOT a full on snog. Well, not for the groom apparently. Who knew?

The bride by now is probably having kittens. Well, I'm the LEAST of her worries. I've seen the tie that S.H. is wearing (initials NOT changed to expose the guilty) and believe me, even if he does make it into the church wearing it, he'll be a smoldering ember by the 'I now pronounce you' bit.

But my biggest issues are at the dinner. I don't get out much, especially when it comes to eating in public. You see, cutlery confuses the life out of me. It's bad enough with just a knife, fork and spoon. Which is why I do virtually all of my eating with just a spoon when I'm at home.

But when faced with a myriad of Sheffield's finest, I'm totally beat. And at these big occasions, there's normally acres of the flipping stuff. Apparently, you are supposed to start from the outside and work your way in. That's fine, but I was at a dinner once where the seating arrangements were a little cozy. Well, we were all squashed together like my 'gentleman goodies' when my underwear was inadvertently tumble dried on gas mark 8 for 3 hours. And I ended up 'borrowing' the knife from the person sitting 4 places to my right.

Does anyone have a least favourite piece of cutlery? I do. The damn soup spoon. Bloody things. How DO you use one? I've tried the 'sip from the edge of it' approach. Except it's less of a sip, and more of a 'last bit of bathwater draining from the bath' sort of noise. And have you tried to put the whole thing in your mouth? Honestly, it would be more comfortable putting a wire brush connected to the mains in there. (Kids, please don't try this at home!)

And then there's the plates. Normally piled so flipping high, you have to look round them to talk to the person sitting opposite. Or hide behind them with embarrassment in poor Mrs B's case. One for each course? one for each food item more like!

Then there's the wine glasses. In this it seems, I am not alone. Which one is yours? Left, or right? I'm sure that gallons of wine is wasted at these gatherings because no bugger knows which wine glass is theirs. So rather than commit the ultimate social fop-ah and get it wrong, none of it gets drunk. And that's despite everyone looking at everyone else to see who drinks from what first.

But I have another issue when it comes to eating in the close proximity of others.

My elbows. The buggers stick out when I'm eating. How do people manage to tuck them in when sitting so close together? I have the wingspan of a flipping jumbo jet when I'm eating. Air traffic control have to arrange a no fly zone around me. I've got home from these social gatherings in the past to find wigs, spectacles and even false teeth hanging off my elbows!

And I know that despite my best efforts, I will spill something down me. Or the person sitting next to me. And the looks you get when you try to be helpful and wipe red wine from the pretty young lady's blouse. I probably should have used a napkin rather than my..............ahem, never mind!

Still, at least in the custody suite, nobody cares how you eat.


P.T.F.O.

See? It's Not ALWAYS About Me! Oh, Hang On, It Is Actually!

Tonight, I have the rage.

All round, it's not been a good day.

It's a rare thing to get any good news in the post these days. It could be argued that it's a rare thing indeed to get ANY post. Needless to say that the post that DOES get delivered to my house, is generally bad news.

But today, it was really bad.

I got 3 letters. The first are from   1 - My gas supplier.
                                                2 - My electricity supplier.

I knew straight away it was bad news. The buggers know that there's a financial squeeze on everyone at the moment. So, being the caring, customer focused, environmentally friendly, and generally all round great bunch of guys that they are, they've decided to put the price of my gas and electric up.

BLOODY FANTASTIC!!!!!!

They go on to explain that, they've tried to hold their prices for as long as possible, but were unable to continue to do so, blah blah blah, blah blah blah. 

Yeah, right! Why can't they just be honest.

The shareholders want to upgrade to a 23 bedroom mansion, and, you know, running 15 Ferrari 455's isn't as cheap as you might think. And the company are thinking of making us shareholders pay for our own electric in future unless we turn in a profit of £50,000,000,000 in the next financial year.

I would honestly have more respect for them if they told the truth!

So, despite the fact that they have tried to keep their costs to an absolute minimum, they have no alternative but to put up my energy prices.

Well, I have one suggestion for them to get their costs down.

SEND ME ONE BLOODY LETTER INSTEAD OF 2!!!!!!!!!

You see, my gas supplier, and my electricity supplier are the same company. But they saw fit to send me 2 letters on the same day, in 2 envelopes worded identically, except one said gas, the other said electric. 

They were even thoughtful enough to suggest that if I was not happy with these 'changes' I could switch to another supplier.

Well, I might just do that, thank you very much.

Except what's the point!

Oh, I'm sure at first the new supplier will be all charming, very attentive and caring. I'll ring them on their 'new customer priority line'. They'll answer on the first ring. I won't have to go round the houses to speak to someone. And 5 minutes later, it'll all be over and done with.

However, once I'm 'on board', it'll be totally different. They won't answer my calls, I'll be given the runaround. The person I need to speak to will be busy. Or not in. Or not interested. They'll say they'll do it, and won't. And in the end, I'll feel very frustrated, and give up.

Sound familiar ladies? I can see Mrs B reading this and nodding her head vigorously through those last couple of paragraphs.

So, that was the first 2 letters. As you can imagine, by now, I'm not feeling very chuckly.

Then, I open the third.

It's from a company who have just been awarded the contract to look after the street lighting in my neighbourhood.

And they're 'delighted' to tell me that they will be replacing all the street lighting in the next 6 weeks.

DE- BLOODY-LIGHTED!!!!!

IT ONLY GOT REPLACED 6 MONTHS AGO! IT'S FINE. IN FACT, I'D GO SO FAR AS TOO SAY IT'S BLOODY MARVELOUS! WE DON'T HAVE MUCH TO SHOUT FOR JOY ABOUT AROUND HERE, BUT THE STREET LIGHTING IS ONE OF THEM. IT'S GREAT.

Sorry, give me a moment to calm myself. Deeeeeeep breaths.

They are even thoughtful enough to send a 10 page leaflet, explaining 'The benefits of Your New Street Lighting'. And answering some 'Frequently Asked Questions'.

It goes on to say that some lighting is more than 40 years old, is orange, and shines light in all directions.

Well, I don't know who's street lighting they're looking at, but it's certainly not ours!

They also mention that new, improved lighting will help reduce crime in the area. Well, I live in a part of the world that frequently gets set alight by the local 'darling children'. And the light that the fires give off doesn't exactly put the little buggers off being antisocial. Quite the opposite in fact.

Besides, I would prefer to see extra police on patrol in the area if they want to reduce crime. Not a sodding lamp post.

And then the FAQ's.

Will the project help save money? Will there be holes in the pavement or road? Will the bins still be collected?

Sorry? WILL THE BINS STILL BE COLLECTED? WHAT THE..........?!?!?!?!?!?

Surely, they made THAT one up!

Unless what they're trying to say is 'Good news, we're replacing your street lighting'.

'Bad news, we will no longer be emptying your bins, so lets hope they find a cure for bubonic plague soon!'

Oh, and in case you were wondering, don't worry, because the old lights will be recycled or reused.


We are not talking about trees here you know! We don't need to replace my one, then plant the old one elsewhere!


Actually, that's given me an idea. I'm gonna get the neighbours together, and we will form a chain around all the lamp posts on the 'day of reckoning'.


One neighbour per post should do it. I'd even supply the waterproof trousers and boots.


There are a lot of dogs around here you know!


And the final insult to the day. My bloody neighbour.


Whilst I'm out tonight, he texts my wife. Apparently, he's had a bad day, and he's run out of beer. Could he ponce a couple from me.


HE'S HAD A BAD DAY!


But that's not the final insult.


He works for my soon to be previous energy supplier.


THE GIT!




P.T.F.O.