New record!

This is my 22nd blog in one calendar month, something I have never achieved before in my countless years of blogging...
22 blogs in one month. And it's April, which is shorter than some of the other months. More than half of them, in fact.
Quite impressive, even if I do say so myself.

Shame I have nothing else to write about, really..

RC 30-4-11

Wedding? What wedding?

An ode to Kate and Wills:

The bride looked lovely
The groom looked like his father
with even less hair

Best I could do…..

RC 29-4-11

Pissed lists

To take my mind off the interview, and the job, and whether or not I’ll get it, and whether or not I want it, I’ve been doing two things - drinking lots of lager, and writing some new Rory Lists. Here we go:

6 books that wouldn’t be very long
‘The Katie Price Guide to Celibacy’
‘Avoiding Over-Exposure’ by David Mitchell
‘How to be Humble’ by Alastair Campbell
‘Straight and sober’ by Graham Norton
‘The Burden of Being Beautiful’ by Andrew Marr
‘How to Go One Week Without Appearing On TV Or Releasing A Book’ by Jamie Oliver

5 Phrases I haven’t heard since middle school
Jam-rag
Chin-rub
Homework
Detention
Shit-stabber

4 things I’d rather do than watch the Royal Wedding
Sleep
Eat
Cycle
Die

3 men who would be very good Kings
Tom Jones
Stephen Fry
Rupert Everett

..and 2 men who wouldn’t
Prince Charles
Jamie Oliver

1 Amusing Anagram of ‘Kate Middleton’
Monk Tea-tiddle

RC 28-4-11

Interview debrief/analysis

That was unexpected.
I went into the interview thinking they wanted me to stack shelves, and it turns out I’ve been put forward for a position in management.
Sandra - the woman I met briefly at the old job - said “You were very impressive on the nightshift. I had my eye on you for a while. I watched you very closely.”
I thought ‘Christ, I hope you weren’t watching me when I took two-hour toilet breaks, or when I ‘accidentally’ dropped stuff on the floor then ‘accidentally’ put it in my locker on the way to the damaged goods section.
The top man at the store is the same age as me. He is very tall, very thin, and with shocking ginger hair. He looks like the love child of Stephen Merchant and Anne Robinson. He had a habit of fiddling with his tie, and maintained eye contact constantly, and unsettlingly. He said “Can I just ask you how a person with a degree in chemistry ended up working nights in the dairy aisle?”
I ignored the voice in my head and the comments it was telling me to make, and said “I’ll be honest with you. When I came back to Norfolk after uni, I had some horrible things happen in my family. I ended up jobless and lacking confidence. Working nights in the dairy aisle got me used to working again, and gave me time to get my thinking straight. I’m pleased to say things are better now, and I’m ready for more responsibility.” I’m not sure where all that shit came from, but he seemed impressed.
The company like recruiting graduates, and they like hanging on to them once they have them, so the hours and money are much better than I expected them to be. In a country rife with rising unemployment and little job security, I may be about to get an offer I can’t refuse.
They’ll let me know by Tuesday.

RC 27-4-11

Once more into the something or other

My interview is tomorrow. I’ve ironed my shirt for the first time in months. I’ve also dug out the suit I bought after losing weight last year, and it doesn’t fit me. The jacket seems too small, while the trousers are too big. I can stuff an old cushion down the waistline to keep the trousers up, but I’m not sure what to do about the jacket, unless I try not to breathe in.
Why do I have to wear a suit anyway? Why can’t I turn up in a pair of cut off jeans and a vest? I’d be much more comfortable, and more likely to relax and do well, and it’s not as if I’d be wearing a suit while stacking tins of soup on the shelves, is it? So why do they need to see me in a suit at the interview? It’s just bloody conformity and bloody tradition and bloody annoying.
“Make a good impression” my mum used to say, normally while she was covered in her own vomit and stinking of gin.
I said to Philippa this morning “It’s quite nice to think I might be working again soon.”
She said “Yeah, when you start earning some money we can start saving for a house and start thinking about having a family.”
No pressure, then..

RC 26-4-11

thoughts at the end of Easter Monday..

Nathan and Hannah were sweet at the party. They were all over each other, but in a weird, Christian, non-sexual kind of way. Much nicer than the first time I went out with Hannah and her fella-of-the-time, when she was 15. She spent half the night with her hands on his trousers, and her tongue all the way down his throat to his anus.

Ted won the golf competition on the Wii. His putting was much better than it is in real life, which was a relief because I was worried Beryl might end up losing her crockery. He kept his cool, and his temper in check, and won about fifty quid in prize money from his children, (and me).
He also won the late-afternoon drunken competition to name the most boring thing you can do on Earth. I felt confident when I said “Watch Graeme Dott play Peter Ebdon at snooker” but Ted stole it with the late entry “Watch the House of Lords on television”

There may have been other competitions but I’m a bit too drunk to remember.

RC 25-4-11

song for whoever

Philippa and I exchanged little Easter gifts today. I gave her a necklace with a heart and our initials on it. Soppy and clichéd, I know, but women do seem to like these things, and she was very touched. My present from her was a little mp3 player that clips on your shirt sleeve and stores 500 songs. I told her I would wear it while cycling, and got a 30-minute lecture on road safety.
She had put one song on it, which she said was special and would tell me how she felt about me. I wasn’t allowed to listen to it until she left, but she did tell me that it was by Kate Nash. I ruined the moment slightly by saying “Isn’t she that skinny shit with the whiney voice who sounds like Lily Allen’s talentless younger sister?”
Anyway, I’ve just listened to it, and it made me cry.
The lyrics go:

“Birds can fly so high, and they can shit on your head.
They can almost fly into your eye, and make you feel so scared.
But when you look at them, and you see that they’re beautiful;
that’s how I feel about you.”

If that really does sum up her feelings, then we may have something very, very special.

RC 24-4-11

Barmy, balmy

Ted and Beryl had another argument this morning. Not a gentle one either, but one of those where the windows shake and the rafters rattle. Even we, in a separate house, could hear some of the choice words being spoken. I kept Philippa out of the way so her innocent ears could be untarnished.
Ted came over later to officially invite us to the party, and he was smiling and free of bruises, so I guess they sorted it out somehow. He’s asked if we can take our Wii over, so the men can have a golf competition in the lounge while the party’s on. Maybe that was the compromise they reached that stopped Beryl from killing him, or storming off to her sisters.

It should be a fun party, especially if the weather continues as it has been this week. The coldest temperature in our garden has been 17Celsius, and that was last night after tea. Is it really April in England????? I’ve drawn myself a big wall chart so I can record temperature and rainfall and see if I can spot a pattern of localised global warming. Philippa says it looks like the work of a tortured madman.
She has no understanding of the scientific mind.

RC 23-4-11

Hot, cross..

Beryl is furious.
Alan and Ted have planned a boys day playing golf on Monday, but she wants everyone round for a party in the garden. They were screaming at each other like a couple off ‘Jeremy Kyle’. It seems a bit quieter now, but the air around the house is more toxic than a Japanese power plant, so I don’t think they’ve kissed and made up yet.

RC 22-4-11

Stinky inky thinking

Philippa thinks we should get tattoos. She says neither of us place any importance on engagement rings, but it doesn’t feel accurate enough to call ourselves ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ as we’re more than that, so we should show our dedication and commitment and depth of feeling by getting each others names permanently inked on our skin.
I’m not sure. Sentimentally and romantically, I agree, but in honest terms I just don’t like the idea. I’m not confident putting the fate of any part of my body in the hands of someone else, no matter how trained and experienced they are. I have enough trouble putting trust in the dentist, and he isn’t armed with a 7-inch needle and a paint sprayer.

RC 21-4-11

very little yelps

This has come from nowhere, but I’ve got an interview for a job next week!
Someone I worked with briefly at the supermarket has now got a job at a rival store, and has made a good impression, by all accounts. The store have been using an employment agency, but they’ve ended up with layabouts and loafers who steal stuff and don’t do their job properly, so they only want to use people they know are ‘reliable.’ They asked her for recommendations, and for some bizarre reason my name came up.
Like I’ve always said - “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know..”
Actually I’ve never said that before, but it does seem apt.

RC 20-4-11

Simpatico

Philippa and I have been invited to a ‘Royal Wedding Party’ on Friday. Thankfully, Philippa has no interest in going, which suits me fine. She said “There are lots of things I’d rather do than watch an attractive, talented young woman throw her life away by marrying a balding, middle-aged, ugly leech” Man, I love her.
We happily seem to have similar views on marriage and weddings, which is great. I don’t see the point of spending five grand on one day of boredom when you could be spending it on a decent holiday or putting it away towards a house. Philippa says ‘why put all that effort into something when there’s an 80% chance it won’t last?’ She likens people on their wedding days to people who buy extra lottery tickets when there’s a rollover - full of hope, thinking their life is about to change, but doomed to disappointment and failure. I don’t know where this cynicism has come from, but I love it!

Both feeling as we do, we had fun last night planning our own ‘alternative’ wedding. If we ever do ‘tie-the-knot’ I think we should do it on the top deck of a sight-seeing bus as it makes it’s way through the streets of Norwich. We could put an ad in the paper asking people to throw money over the side, which we can scoop up at the end and use to pay for our honeymoon. Philippa had the idea of hiring a fairground for the day, so we could get married on the ferris wheel, all eat the meal on the rollercoaster, and have the photos taken on the dodgems. Other ideas (after a bottle or wine) included ‘hanging upside down from a badminton net’, ‘naked and drunk in a shopping centre’ and ‘dressed in Victorian clothing and sitting in a pit full of vipers.’ Feel free to send in suggestions…….

RC 19-4-11

just a quick observation

There is nothing on Earth more boring than watching Peter Ebdon play snooker.

Barbie on the beach (addendum)

I forgot to mention ‘the skinny bint from the city’ that we saw on the beach. Now I know it’s been unseasonably warm, and it’s hard to believe it’s mid-April, but the fact is IT IS MID-APRIL, and it’s far too soon to be swimming in the sea. Well, that’s what us sensible local folk who know about these things realise. Yesterday, a group of day-trippers arrived on the sand, over-heated and drunk from the journey, and a little bit confused about the time of year. One of them - I would say a 21-year-old blonde Scorpio, but I may be wrong - stripped straight down to her underwear and sprinted into the sea like it was summer on Bondi beach, getting as far as her ankles before diving headlong into the water.
And she didn’t come back up again….
When they dragged her out, coughing and spluttering and crying, she said both her calf muscles had cramped up instantly and she didn’t have the strength to stand up.
Silly cow.
Someone wrapped her in a blanket and got her a hot drink from the café and she sat there embarrassed and said ‘I want to go home.’ To which her caring, understanding boyfriend replied ‘it took us three hours to drive here you stupid bitch, we’re not going home til it’s ****ing dark.’ I have a feeling their relationship won’t be a long one.

RC 18-4-11

Barbie on the beach

What a gorgeous day yesterday!
Philippa had stayed over on Saturday, so we went for one of my favourite walks, then took an early lunch at a pub. After a light rest ‘to digest and to let the wine wear off’ we were cuddling up on the sofa when one of Philippa’s mates called up to invite us out to a barbecue. Next thing you know, we’re on the beach playing badminton, with two acoustic guitars and some firewood and enough beer and food to last til Christmas. It was hard to count with everyone moving, but there must have been about thirty people. All very nice people, too. Apparently they do this quite often. The fixtures secretary of Philippa’s badminton league is also a cash-and-carry supervisor, so she picks up loads of cheap treats from the warehouse and the word goes out to assemble and mingle. No drugs, nothing silly, just a fun time amongst friends enjoying the weather and eating your fill. Everyone chucks a few quid in to cover the costs, and everyone helps clear up at the end. Amazing.

RC 18-4-11

Old junk, new skills

I’m not a fan of daytime telly, but I’ve discovered something wonderful. It’s a programme called ‘The Salvager’ and it must be the cheapest programme in the history of television. A guy who looks like Amos from Emmerdale Farm goes and buys junk from scrap yards, then takes it back to his shed, where he turns it into decent-looking furniture which he sells for a fair profit. It’s BRILLIANT. The guy is hairy, talented and enthusiastic to the point of insanity. It’s like watching your woodwork teacher from school on ‘Scrapheap Challenge’ It’s inspired me to think about building a kitchen table from stuff we’d normally throw out as recycling. I’ve got some toilet roll tubes, some cat food tins and a broken plate. All I need now is a lathe, a drill and thirty years experience as a craftsman, and I’m all set!

RC 13-4-11

Dreams and Screams

We had another dream-related episode this morning. I went for a pee at 5am ,and when I came back Philippa was sitting bolt upright in bed, gripping a pillow, but with her eyes closed. I put my hand on her shoulder to ease her back down and she screamed in my face like a banshee with it’s toe caught in a mousetrap. It went on for ages. When she ran out of breath, she collapsed back on the bed and carried on sleeping peacefully. I was so unsettled I couldn’t get back to sleep. I lay awake worrying that she had a brain tumour, or schizophrenia or something. (I tend to have extreme thinking when I’m tired and tense) Over breakfast, I casually mentioned it and she laughed and said “Oh, that happens quite often. Some kind of night terror thing. Thankfully, I can never remember them” and she carried on eating her toast. I may start sleeping on my own again.

RC 12-4-11

green jacket, red face

I had a very strange dream last night, possibly because I sat up til 1am watching golf with Ted, and ate an entire Sainsbury’s cheeseboard. In my dream, I was playing in the US Masters, and when it finished and everyone had gone home, I was having sex with a blonde waitress on the 18th green. Suddenly, Philippa came walking over from the clubhouse saying “What the hell are you doing? You told me you were popping out to watch golf. I’ve had to chase you all the way to Augusta and this is what I find when I get here? Is this any way to treat your fiancee?” I felt so guilty when I woke up that I told her all about it. Now she thinks I really have got something to confess to, and that I made up the dream as a way of bringing up the subject of infidelity. I swear relationships would be so much easier if women weren’t involved.

RC 11-4-11

3D (3 Days)

We’ve been watching the US Masters in 3D. It’s been bizarre. Ted called it ‘faddy’ and ‘nauseating.’ Alan called it ‘awesome’ and ‘enhanced.’ I’m not sure either way, but I have spent most of today with a pain in my right eye, and the balance of a two month old kid. Maybe there’s a connection… Ted is refusing to visit Alans’ tonight. He’s staying home to watch the regular old-fashioned BBC ‘2-D’ flat-screen version. “That’s the way God intended” said Ted. I don’t remember the passage in the Bible where it said “Thou Shalt Watch All Major Golf Tournaments On Analogue Telly” but I may have missed it as I never paid attention in R.E. I said I’d watch it with him. I want to show support, and it saves me having to travel ten miles to Alan’s house. It also helps me avoid hearing Alan’s constant commentary on the action. It’s nice to have input from those with knowledge, especially when I’m no afficionado myself, but it gets a bit tiresome when he barely pauses for breath. Every shot you get either “Why didn’t he use a six iron for Christ’s sake” or “That f**kers got a swing like a parrots dick” or a variation on those themes. Tonight it’ll just be me, Ted, and enough snacks prepared by Beryl to keep the Russian Army going for a decade. Can’t wait…

RC 10-4-11

It's all gone quiet over here..

I’ve been lacking inspiration this week. Every day seems to be the same at the moment - a meaningless combination of housework, job-hunting, time-killing, soul-searching and boredom until I get to see Philippa in the evening, and I cheer up a bit. ‘Operation Jobsearch’ seems to be dying on its arse. I’ve spoken to every employment agency and job centre in Norfolk and the only possible job that came up turns out to have been filled already. “Someone forgot to update the system” said the totally unhelpful job centre girl Rebecca. “Well maybe I should apply for their job” I said, “seeing as they’re hopelessly incompetent.” There was silence, so I went on: “How come there are swathes of people unemployed, and you’re still paying people who can’t even press a button on a computer?” She didn’t understand what ‘swathe’ meant and thought I was trying to be racist. No wonder people just give up. I’ve even started hoping Tom gets his wife pregnant again, so I can go back and work with Philippa for a while.

RC 7-4-11

Get in the hole!

We played pitch-and-putt again today. I took 98 shots to get round! Still very embarrassing but at least I needed less than a hundred. Ted, like last week, was good fun until the last few holes, and then frustration got the better of him and he started excavating the greens with his putter. Alan and I think we should just play 15 holes from now on, so we don’t risk Ted damaging the course and getting us all banned. We’re all keen on playing every week, but Philippa isn’t happy as Sunday is her day for being relaxed and indulging herself in our relationship, and she doesn’t want me to be out for a large chunk of the weekend. Are we married already? Actually, given the choice between wandering around the golf course and staying in bed with my beloved, the bed will beat the bunkers every time, but I’m sure there’s a compromise and we can do both. I don’t have many friends or hobbies, and a regular visit to the fairway with Ted and Alan would do me good, I think. Hopefully she’ll see it the same way. Next weekend it’s the US Masters live on telly, so we won’t be playing golf anyway. We’ll just be spending four days watching it round Alans...

RC 3-4-11

a little bit of clarification..

I’m a bit concerned I may have give you a bad impression of me last time. I don’t want you to think I hang around leisure centres watching people swim, so let me explain. Philippa plays badminton; to a good level, it turns out. I didn’t know that, so I’ve been going along to watch her train and practise, which she does twice a week. I’m enjoying it. Firstly because she is very good at it and I like to see her doing well at something she enjoys, but secondly (and mostly) because she looks FANTASTIC when she’s dancing round a badminton court…

RC 2-4-11