Once more, in 2017

Philippa has been quiet today, but seems incredibly relieved and content. Sometimes you don’t realise how unhappy something is making you until you get yourself away from it. There you go - a little bonus bit of homespun Rory bullshit philosophy as we reach the end of the year. 
To be less sentimental and more scientific - I’ve developed a theory that I think is worth investigating. I think humans have evolved to the point of producing a Christmas Eating Gene. I think the years of December indulgence have led our bodies to release hormones that increase our metabolism and expand our stomachs and therefore be able to cope with the thousand-or-so-percent increase in intake that we put ourselves through every Christmas. By my reckoning, it kicks in on about the 20th of the month, and works through until January 2nd or 3rd.  How else could we go from feeling full after soup or a salad in November, to shovelling half a roast turkey and at least three other kinds of meat and seventeen different veg down our gullets on Christmas Day without even a hint of indigestion? How else could we follow that up with enough savoury snacks to give fatal blood pressure to a rhino while sitting at the table playing Monopoly? How else could we consume half the annual output of chocolate from Cadburys in a three-hour spell on Boxing Day with a Harry Potter film on in the background? 
I’m telling you, it happens. And if you’d like to sponsor my research into this phenomenon (I reckon £700,000 for an in-depth two-year study should just about cover it) please get in contact forthwith. 

RC 31-12-17

A change is a-comin' (and not just on the calendar)

Philippa will be arriving home anytime in the next hour or so, and a new phase of her life will begin. Since we’ve been together she’s only ever had one job, and that ends today. I’m expecting her to be a conflicted contradiction of scared, excited, upset, sad, reflective, terrified and elated, and I expect that to go on for a while. Some of the people who work there wanted to take her out tonight for a meal and some drinks but she politely declined. She said she’d rather save that until later in January, so there was something to look forward to in the New Year. I suspect that was just a way of deflecting and getting out of it without offending anyone, and that it will never come to pass. It’s hard to say how her Uncle Tom will be. He might see her off with a huge bunch of flowers and a tearful hug, or he might ignore her completely and let her walk away without a word. You never can tell with him. He wasn’t exactly pleased when she handed in her resignation, but once she explained why she was leaving - the daily travelling, the urge to be a mum, etc - he melted and became her uncle rather than her boss and gave her a big hug. So it might be okay. Or he might be an ogre today because he read his horoscope and the moon is in Asparagus or something. Actually, thinking about it, he’s taken the family skiing for a week so he won’t even be there!
She doesn’t start the training for the new job until Monday 15th January so she’ll have a bit of time for a chill-down and an adjustment. I hope it goes well, bless her, she’s very nervous about it and she‘s highly-strung at the best of times. She’s arranged a couple of days out with friends, and a trip somewhere with both my sisters, so that’s good. Best for her to keep occupied rather than sit and fret about ’have I done the right thing?’ for a fortnight. As someone who has moved around the old job market a bit in my time I guess I’m well positioned to help her and advise her, but the truth is she’d rather have a naked jacuzzi with Jeffrey Archer than ever listen to my advice, so maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut and give her the occasional glass of wine. 
Speaking of which - I have a nice bottle of fizzy Pinot Noir that needs opening, ready for her return….

RC 30-12-17

Christmas re-cap

Hope you're having a truly wondrous Christmastime. If you're thinking "What's he talking about? It's all done and dusted now" then I pity you. You just haven't got the hang of this time of year at all. If I may quote the excellent 'Miracle on 34th Street' (from 1947) - "Christmas isn't a day; it's a state of mind."
Or to put it another, more Rory-esque way, 'It ain't a day, bitches, it's a fortnight, and more...'

It was strangely okay being at work on Boxing Day. It's just a shame that half the population of Suffolk seemed to be there as well. The newspeople reported yesterday that many major cities were surprisingly quiet, and the theory was that people were doing their sales shopping online from the comfort of their own home. That may be true for electronics stuff, but a hell of a lot of folk were pouring into the car park and pouring groceries into their boots. Maybe they were stocking up for the rest of the week and the New Year celebrations, I don't know, but precious few of them came our way for fuel so it was a quiet day really. Not surprising though - if I showed you our takings for the four days up to Christmas Eve you'd wonder why anyone would need a refill this side of Valentines Day.

I'd expected to be depressed and staring out of the window feeling sorry for myself, but actually the day flew by. I got to watch Dr Who and Mrs Browns Boys on iPlayer while pretending to work in my office and I ate a LOT of leftovers and snacks, so it was a happy little filling station mancave of my own making that I inhabited most of the day. And I get tomorrow and Friday off now so that makes it all worthwhile.

I've been drinking advocaat tonight. It's horrible and I only ever drink it at Christmas and I don't know why I do it, but it probably explains a lot of the content of this blog posting.

Love you

RC 27-12-17

Xmas almost

I really don’t like doing short inconsequential blog entries, but I’m at work today, it’s my anniversary tomorrow, then it’s Christmas, then I’m back at work, so I won’t be online much. So I just wanted to take this opportunity to wish you A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS and I’ll speak to you next week.

xxx

RC 23-12-17

A Christmas Story

And so, on the 21st day of December, three things happened to Mr Rory Chesworth, esq. He found his excitement ramping up as it was getting so close to Christmas; he realised he had completed all work tasks that needed doing before the busy Yuletide and New Year period; and he awoke with the dreaded festive bug that had been knocking down his work colleagues like pins in a professional bowling alley. 
Actually, that’s a slight exaggeration. All I really have is a bit of a cold, but fiction is made more readable by being a bit extreme, so maybe we can all pretend I have flu? Then I can sound very heroic by coming into work today, when really all I had to do different this morning was take a couple of paracetamol and pick up a hankie.
It’s very misty here. Not exactly seasonal weather, but at least it’s warmed up a bit. The novelty of scraping ice off the car twice a day wore off very quickly, so it’s nice that we can just go about our daily business now without wearing three layers of thermals and a hip-mounted spray can of de-icer. 
I find a sore throat is often soothed by a curry, so I’m off to the staff canteen now for a £2.99 Masala. 

RC 21-12-17

kudos/respect

I don’t like to praise big business, but I guess if I’m going to criticise them online then I have to be prepared to give them credit.
I had a reply to my photo and e-mail re: the breakfast cereal unpleasantness and I have to say it was brilliant. An apology, an acceptable explanation of how rare incidents like this can occur despite stringent safety measures, and a nice voucher to be redeemed at a store of my choice. The voucher is a nice touch, but even putting the finances aside I got more than I hoped for or expected.
Good on ‘em. 

RC 20-12-17

Pre-Christmas cheer/craziness

So much for my month-long spell of not moaning! Sorry about yesterdays whinge. I just thought I’d share my pain with you, and having an online moan is strangely cathartic and liberating. I hate seeing other peoples comments on websites but obviously it’s different when I want to have my own say. Hypocrite, you say? Yeah - but that’s the least of my problems. I’m also an obsessive, hypochondriac, insomniac, misanthropic spendthrift. If Charles Dickens had invented a character like me he would have been criticised for over-exaggerating and slipping into impossible description. Yes, that’s right, I’m a narcissist too.

What the Hell was THAT all about???

RC 19-12-17

You get what you (over)pay for?

As it’s Christmas time, I decided to push the boat out and treat myself a little, so I bought some proper Weetabix instead of the supermarket own brand ones that cost a third of the price. I soon regretted my decision. This morning, I had that satisfying moment of cutting one of the biscuits in half with a spoon, only to notice while lifting it to my mouth that there was a long black hair nicely woven within it. It was literally hanging out of the centre of the ‘bix as I moved it up to my mouth. For those of you not familiar with my appearance, and who might be thinking that it came from me, let me tell you I have rapidly thinning BROWN hair. My wife’s hair is much, much darker but is also cut fairly short at the moment. It’s a bit longer at the back, but certainly isn’t ten inches long, like the bad boy that was dangling from my breakfast at five to eight this morning.
Suffice to say my appetite disappeared quicker than fans of Kevin Spacey’s acting have disappeared over the past couple of months, and a photo and accompanying e-mail is currently sitting in the complaints department of the customer services division at their Head Office. Or maybe it’s sitting in some minimum wage  cyber secretarys inbox somewhere on the Indian sub-continent. Either way if I don’t get a big Christmas hamper from them I’m never spending money on their products again. 

RC 18-12-17

Advent Adventurous

I think we’ve actually finished all our Christmas preparations! Admittedly we’ve gone low-key this year so there hasn’t been that much to purchase and plan, but it still feels good to know that everything that needs doing is pretty much done, when there’s still 10 days to play with!
House is decorated, tree is lovely, presents are wrapped, cards have been posted, Christmas food is ordered, meals are planned, freezer is stocked already. There really seems little else to think about. So I may as well indulge in a little festive haiku:

Rum-infused mince pies
Dollop of brandy butter
A bit much, perhaps?

Steamed Christmas pudding
Traditional turkey lunch
But sprouts or no sprouts?

In January
Will I be glad it’s all gone?
Or sad it’s over?

From mid-November
Christmas is rammed down your throats 
Aren’t you sick of it?

If I was an elf
I’d stow away on the sleigh
And go with Santa

RC 14-12-17

Emergency measures!

We’ve had a flu virus sweep through the supermarket staff like a road sweeper sweeping through leaves. It’s ridiculous how many people are off sick this week. Even allowing for some of them taking advantage of the situation and leaping on the bandwagon it’s still alarming. They’ve had to borrow staff from other locations, bring in a few people from agencies and ask the ones who are well to do some extra hours. Tonight they’re actually closing for a few hours so they can have an outside cleaning firm come in and do a top-to-bottom deep clean and try to stop the thing in its tracks. Its been carnage. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to have forced its way across the car park to pollute those of us in the filling station, but that might change yet. I keep getting dragged over to the store to help out the other managers so I’m probably riddled with whatever germ it is we’re dealing with. 

RC 13-12-17

Fat man in training

We had the annual trying-out-of-Christmas-cooking at Ted and Beryls yesterday. It’s got a bit more subdued in recent years due to their advancing age and increased frailty, but it’s still a welcome day on the calendar and an important part of our December traditions. The highlight this year was the punch - a curious mixture of advocaat, rum, mulled wine, lemonade and several weird spices that was incredibly sweet, incredibly potent, and went down better than a hot air balloon that has been spiked by a pterodactyl. There were also four different types of sausage roll, so I’ve eaten enough meat and pastry to last until Easter amd consequently woken up with indigestion. I can’t remember the exact details, but one of them was sage and onion sausagemeat, one was pork, apple and chutney, and another one had some kind of venison in it. Every one a winner, though, and Beryl insisted we kept eating them as nothing that she’d made would last until Christmas and she’d be doing a fresh batch of everything sometime around the 23rd. I waded in with enthusiasm and it all just blended into one wonderful taste in the end. I wouldn’t say it affected my innards, but at one point on the way home Philippa had to get out of the car and walk around because the smells I produced were so toxic.
I love Christmas. 

RC 11-12-17

A long update/look forward

There are a lot of things that go on in my life that I don’t mention in this blog. As I think I’ve said before, I don’t treat this thing as a journal where I can write down my innermost feelings and concerns like a troubled teenager. I use it as a place where I can vent my spleen occasionally, try and oil my creative cogs and share a few funny thoughts with you in an attempt to pass our shared time on this planet more enjoyably. So things happen that you don’t get to hear about as I’m too busy moaning about people I’ve encountered at work or boring you with whatever my latest obsession might be. But a change is coming soon and I thought it might be prudent to update you.  Philippa - for the first time in her adult life - is changing jobs! You may remember that when we first ventured over the border into Suffolk she was determined to find something closer to home, as the drive back up into deepest Norfolk every day was extending her work hours considerably. It didn’t happen quite as soon as planned, however, and she just kind of fell into the routine and got on with it. Then Tom (her boss) was talking about the possibility of her running a new shop for him, so it was worth hanging around for a bit just in case that materialised, and then we hit that point where we wanted to have children. Obviously, having worked there for a while, Philippa would be entitled to decent maternity rights and so it made sense for her to stay there until Junior was at school. Unfortunately, the conception thing hasn’t gone quite as well as we’d hoped. I know I haven’t mentioned it much here, but I assure you it hasn’t been for the want of trying, and it hasn’t been without its emotional difficulties and disappointments. Philippa hit a real low point in September time after yet another failed pregnancy test and was just about ready to give up on the patter of tiny Chesworths ever happening.  So we decided to take a break from it all and stop pressuring the whole thing and just get on with our lives for a while. And in a rare moment of husbandly support and caring I suggested she think about changing jobs. Being stuck in that same old family business rut wasn’t doing her any good, and if my own strange career path has taught me anything, it’s that it’s better to take a risk and take a jump rather than just languish in the same old spot. You never know where your bravery might lead you. She tearfully agreed and seemed mightily relieved to have heard me bring it up.
It’s funny how things can fall into place sometimes. At the end of that week she had an appointment with our GP, and as she sat in the waiting room, the practice manager put up a sign advertising a full-time position on the reception desk. To cut the story short, she got the job and starts in the New Year. It’s less money than she’s been on  for a while, but who cares? It also means less travel, more time off and a complete absence of weekend work! I didn’t mention it before as I know members of her family and people she works with read my blog sometimes (I know this because they have taken delight in the past in dropping me in it with Philippa for things they’ve seen that I’ve written) and we didn’t want them to know. But it’s all out in the open now - she’s working her notice and will finish on the 30th December. I pity the poor girl who takes over from her - just in time for the New Year sales - but that’s not our problem. All I know is that Philippa is completely changed since she took the plunge. She has more energy, she’s sleeping better, she smiles more often and she doesn’t snap at me so much. It’s all good. 

RC 8-12-17

Up it

To counteract my slight moan yesterday, here is a list of things I am really happy about, really optimistic about and really looking forward to:

People are cheering up a bit now it’s nearly Christmas.
The house we live in is slowly becoming ours.
Philippa is still with me, after two years of marriage!
My superiors at work have given us a glowing report for our efforts over this year (especially since going to 24-hour opening) so hopefully they’ll leave me alone to get on with it in 2018 instead of frequently coming down to stick their noses in.
We’re having a belated Christmas party in the New Year, when Sophie is off work and can come and stay.
There’s a Winter Olympics on the way.
There’s a FIFA World Cup next Summer, so I’ll be able to sell loads of patriotic tat to van drivers, and will sell a years worth of Carling every time there’s a match involving England.

RC 7-12-17

Flagging

I’ve hit a bit of a wall as far as Christmas plans go. Having been forced to think about it since September at work I’ve reached the stage now where I’m sick of the whole thing and I want it to be January…
I don’t like thinking too far ahead, that’s the trouble. I like to take each day as it comes and make the best of it and then move onto the next one, and that’s hard to do in December because everyone you talk to is talking about Christmas, and every advert you see and hear is all about gearing up for the 25th. I’ve fallen into the trap of buying into the crap and now I’m in a bit of a tired tizz. 
Work has affected our plans somewhat as well, as Philippa will be working Boxing Day. They’re doing an extra big super sale thing and she has to be there to help with all the credit agreements, or something. It’s a pain and it limits our time together, but we’ve had a good run of it in the past few years, so we’re not moaning. 
That’s something I’d like to underline in regards to this whole blog post actually - I’M NOT MOANING. I’m still being positive and I’m still looking forward to it all, I just think I’ve had it in my head for two months already and it just all goes on too long. I’d like to find a little island somewhere that I can sit on for 24 hours and have a bit of a break. But I can’t, so I have to get on with it.

RC 6-12-17

The weird fragility of the human eye

This is getting close to an epidemic. Hot on the heels of the man who snapped his arm doing washing, we have a female part-time till-jockey who damaged her eye falling over a domino run. 
Rosetta is a lovely lady in her sixties, of quite large girth, and she’s always been a bit clumsy. Apparently she popped in to see her daughter and grandson on the way home from work, strode into the kitchen and at the last second spotted the impressive on-the-floor construction little Jasper had spent the afternoon compiling. In trying not to break it she fell sideways, knocking her shoulder hard against the table and then - according to Raphael in the canteen who was relaying the story - “she felt a pop in her left eye and noticed she could only see cobwebs.“
Her daughter took her to the doctor, who sent her to A+E, and six hours or so later she learnt she’d managed to detach the retina in her eye! It’s not as uncommon as you might think, although it’s certainly not something I’ve heard of before. Once it’s happened, it can only be repaired surgically and if you don’t get it done you lose the sight in your eye! So now she’s sitting at home with an eye patch and waiting for an operation on Friday. Poor old love.
So that’s two members of staff I’ve heard about in two days. Either someone’s placed a curse on the supermarket or people are trying to get time off before Christmas. 

RC 5-12-17

Freak/accident

There’s a guy who works in the supermarket who broke his wrist getting stuff out of his tumble dryer. I’m not kidding. He was trying to be helpful around the house but isn’t used to dealing with laundry. He could only see one of his favourite socks fall into the basket, so he stuck his hand into the drum and gave it a spin to see if there was a lonely sock clinging to the side somewhere. As you may know, those things build up momentum and spin on their own, and as he gave it a good shove, he caught his fingers on one of the ridges that bring the ‘tumble’ effect to the ‘dryer.’ He didn’t move them out of the way in time so the drum took them with it and it bent his hand backwards and cracked a bone in his wrist. Bless him. 
He plays in goal for a local Sunday football team too. So he’s off work for a couple of weeks and can’t play sport for a couple of months just because he tried to dry his socks. Fate is a curious beast, is it not?
And I’m aware that I am recounting a possibly depressing story in the month when I promised to remain upbeat. So to end on a positive note - at least it didn’t happen to me!

RC 4-12-17

Too much too soon?

Welcome to the month containing Christmas!!
I have had a productive day full of decorating the walls at work, surfing the internet for presents and ‘test sampling’ various festive snacks and confectionery. Mince pie flavour peanuts may sound repulsive, but as far as merging Yuletide favourites together into an unpleasant blend goes, it could have been worse. There’s a new sparkling wine laced with infusions of cranberries and nutmeg that is so sweet it nearly makes your eyes fall out. It’s pricey and it tastes very false. Like a carbonated glass of aspartame. Still - we got a bottle as a freebie so no complaints from me.  
Call me over-Christmassed already, but three weeks from today will be Christmas Eve. So there…  

RC 3-12-17