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Evening all

It snowed in Norfolk over the weekend. I’ll say that again – it SNOWED.
At Christmas we had rain, Valentine’s Day brought a heatwave, and now at Easter it snows. Either global warming is here – despite the protestations of various oil-powered nay-sayers and sceptics – or God is screwing with us for his own sick amusement.
My nana used to say “If March comes in like a lamb, it’ll go out like a lion” which I never understood to be honest. Short of sprouting a blonde mane and chasing a gazelle through the Masai Mara I find it hard to see how a month can resemble a lion in anyway, but maybe I’m taking things too literally.
My nana had several such sayings that she’d throw out at family gatherings, usually on the back of two prawn vol-au-vents and a bottle of single malt. Most were taken with a pinch of salt the size of an atoll, but many are worth repeating here now, for your perusal..

From the mind of Nana Angie (Angela Olivia Chesworth 1924 – 1998)

“The taller the cook, the better the taste”
“Don’t throw out the baby with the bandwagon”
“Open your heart, and your lungs will follow”
“Beat the drum and spare the wolf”
“All that flutters is not bad milk”
“Only a wise man knows a fool is a shepherd”
“Don’t change tampons in mid-stream”
and my personal favourite:
“Never trust a man with a penis”

I do miss her.

RC 27-3-08
2245 GMT

Spring

I don't dance.
My body isn't build for dancing, or for any form of physical exercise if I'm honest.
I'm five feet eleven, and I am apparently overweight for my age and height. My mum says I am 'cutely chubby'. My doctor says I am 'touching obesity'
He outlined a new diet plan, and gave me a series of simple exercises that I should do each day. I said "But Dr Kozhliak, surely if The Good Lord had meant me to touch my toes he would have put them on my bedside table?"
He told me to change my attitude or die in my forties.
I may just change my doctor instead.

Dr Kozhliak is a 36-year-old Polish man whose father survived the camps in World War II, but then fell off a cliff on a unicycle. With that behind him, it’s hard not to cut him some slack, even when his English fails him dangerously. Last year my Uncle Jack was prescribed 'Vitamins' but Dr K read it as 'Vicadin' and Jack was unconscious for the next three days, and is still in-and-out of rehab.
But back to my original point - I don't really exercise; because I'm fat, and I sweat. Ten star jumps and sweat will cascade down my back like a torrent before collecting snugly in the cleft of my anus. So I don't exercise. I don't run, skip, jump, walk fast, trampoline, swim or aerobicate.
And I don't dance.

Or I didn't, until 1145GMT last night, when my cyber-girlfriend Melissa dedicated a song to me on Internet-only radio station 'WaveLength USA.' So overwhelmed was I by her show of love that I felt an uncontrollable urge to jump on my bed and dance like a cheap Nebraska pole-dancer. The body was willing, but the bed was weak, and as I attempted something akin to a double-axled inverse pirouetting spiral back-drop (with added flange) one of the main springs caved in on itself before shooting up through the mattress with the force of a champagne cork from a bottle.
I am now scouring the internet for a new mattress, and sporting a bruise on my arse the size of a Galia.
(You see, Dr K - I can name at least one fruit..)

Good Friday?

Hi, and Hello

I live in Norfolk, and it’s a Bank Holiday weekend, so we can play our usual game of ‘Count The Caravans’
It’s a beautiful concept that people who live in large cities have – on their weekends off they decide to tow an extended portaloo up to our coastline to show us what crowded living feels like.
One day I’ll pass a driving test, and when I do, my annual Easter pilgrimage will be to drive the length of the A11 from Hertfordshire up to Norfolk going VERY, VERY slowly all the way. It’ll be a crap weekend for me, but if I can stop some caravanners from completing their journey North, I’ll be Patron Saint Of Norfolk by April…

Melissa Rhyke (27) of Florida – my ‘cyber-girlfriend’ - has some curious thoughts on the Easter tradition. She is foregoing family festivities in favour of a double shift at the lab. The only Easter Bunny she’ll be seeing this year, she says, is the one she’ll be dissecting for research.
You gotta love her.
Even if she is 4500 miles away. And torturing God’s creatures in the name of genetic advancement.
I sometimes wonder if we will ever meet and, if we do, will we even like each other? We’ve never discussed height, so my fear is that she’ll turn out to be an eight foot giant with hands that could crush me like a Pringle, or a four foot six dwarf with disproportionately small genitalia, rendering any long-term sexual relationship difficult, if not painful.
I do worry about strange things..

Happy Easter

RC 21-3-08
1740 GMT

A gentleman caller

Hey

A ‘religious activist’ knocked on our door today and asked if we were interested in converting to Christianity. My mum, who was drunk (it was after 3pm) told him we only converted to PowerGen last September and would he kindly piss off.
He did.
You can’t blame him – the sight of a Marlboro-chugging 18-stone behemoth plunging down the hallway in slippers and a bath gown must have made him question the Work of God in a second. When mum’s in that mood – fuelled by Jim Beam and bouncing off the walls like a pinball – it’s a bit like watching Captain Caveman with more leg hair.

I’m confused by our celebration of Easter. Jesus was betrayed, and died in horrible agony nailed to a cross, so we buy each other chocolate and take the kids on a treasure hunt? Something, somewhere has gone terribly wrong.
I seem to be the only person in Norfolk who finds it galling that on the very anniversary of The Crucifixion, our local hardware store will have 10% off all timber.
As the good book says – “Let Not The Suffering Of My Son Get In The Way Of A Good Sales Opportunity” (Harrods, Ch8, V7)
I wrote an in-depth letter stating my disgust, quoting passages from the Bible I felt appropriate, and printed copies for the local newspaper, my local MP, the manager of the store, the Council and my Pastor. I went downstairs to post them, but mum had used the last spare envelope to roll a joint.
He Truly Does Move In Mysterious Ways..

Regards

RC 20-3-08
1620 GMT

"Ouch"

Hello

I’ve been hungover today.
I’m not Irish, nor do I feel the need to hijack their national holiday for the sake of a knees-up, so please don’t blame St Patrick.
Melissa Rhyke (27) of Florida and I finally got together to celebrate our six-month anniversary. I use the term ‘together’ lightly, as we were only ‘together’ by virtue of inhabiting the same small acreage of cyberspace, but let’s not dwell on that triviality too long lest I end up with a headache.
My afternoon was spent in three cumbersome but necessary tasks:
1- Taking all the books from my bookcase, and placing them on my new shelf
2 – Moving the empty bookcase from my room
3 – Clearing the half-dried pool of vomit which was hiding behind the bookcase.
I can remember most of last night, but how I managed to vomit an uncertain amount of Bacardi Breezer and undigested salmon cakes into a two-inch gap behind the bookcase is beyond me.
The Prowess Of The Drunken Man Knoweth No Bounds, I guess..

It brings back so many memories of my father – Albert Charles Chesworth - a raging alcoholic who met his end when he mistook a storm-damaged power cable for a urinal.
I don’t think I ever saw him sober, but I bear no ill feeling towards him. If you had to come home to my mother each evening, you’d avoid sobriety like a cancer. That woman is to ugliness what Cristiano Ronaldo is to wing-play, or the great R.B. Woodward was to organic synthesis.

RIP dad

RC 18-3-08
2045 GMT

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit

Monday 17th March

Hello, and Happy St Patrick’s Day

I became aware last night that it’s customary to put a photograph of oneself on one’s ‘blogspot’, and that I haven’t done it yet.
I don’t think I will, either.
When people see a photograph of me, they usually tell me I look like my mum, which is untrue, as I’m never smoking a cigar or ogling 18-year-old men.
Yesterday was, as I mentioned, six months to the day that Melissa Rhyke (27) of Florida and I became a “cyber-couple.” I celebrated by pouring a Watermelon Bacardi Breezer and sitting in front of the webcam in anticipation… she celebrated by pulling a double shift in the lab, and not getting home until well into Monday (even allowing for the time difference)
So much for celebration.
But she did get to dissect a pig’s eye unsupervised, which was a first, so it wasn’t all a lost cause.
It’s sometimes hard for me to find the happy mental ground wherein my love for her, and my hatred of animal experimentation, are both contented, but as she always tells me “God was the first vivisectionist; we’re just carrying on The Good Work”
I’m not sure how; and I have yet to find the courage to ask.
My only personal encounter with animal cruelty was boiling a spider in my mum’s kettle when I was 12.
That was the day I resolved to never harm any living creature again; and the day my mum banned me from making coffee for life.

Thanks again

RC 17-3-08
1625 GMT

'Twas on this day...

Hello

Today is a day of anniversaries.
It’s six months to the day that Melissa Rhyke (27) of Miami, Florida became my ‘cyber-girlfriend’
We met through an internet dating agency, which is to say we were both charged US$35 for the privilege of being sent one e-mail address. Part of me still thinks she might turn out to be a 63-year-old fat man from Bournemouth, but even if she is, she still does a hell of a line in haiku poetry.
I wrote a new one this morning, by the way, but when I translate it into English, it scans wrong and the second line has 14 syllables, which is all wrong. So forgive me for keeping it from you.
Today is also the anniversary of me starting my fitness program. One year ago today, my treadmill was delivered from Stockport and I started running. I now run 10 miles every day before breakfast. It’s an important part of my schedule; a schedule which has been honed over years of obsessive/compulsive behaviour, and which now includes
“5.45pm. Write blog. (Finish by 6)”
Finally, it is 13 years ago today that I broke my ankle playing golf. I remember it, because it was the injury that forced me to re-think my choice of career as a sportsman, and to concentrate more on scientific studies.
A far less glamorous path, yes, but one I tread enthusiastically, albeit with a slight limp.

Thank you for your time

RC 16-3-08
1425 GMT

And So it Begins...

Hello

I had a strange dream last night.
Two lesbian ski-jumpers tied me in a phone box and forced me to watch them pole dance.
Talk about erotic.
It highlighted yet again the disparity between my fantasies and my sexual reality. I am, as they say, ‘experiencing problems’ with my current girlfriend.
The main problem being I’ve never met her.
Internet dating is all very well, but when your ‘perfect match’ is a full-time genetic researcher in Miami, problems can arise.
I should have stayed with Stephanie, really. She was older than me and blessed only with ordinary looks, but she had the advantage of being within touching distance.
The down side with Stephanie was she’d only ever talk about things she had done between the ages of 17 and 20, and when someone is that firmly rooted in their past, it’s difficult to have a relationship with them in the present, and impossible to make any plans for the future.
And Gerald didn’t like her, either.
So my romantic hopes remain with Melissa Rhyke (27) of Florida, USA, of whom more in later blogs.

How do I feel on my first full day as a blogger? I don’t know yet – part of me feels that, for the first time in my life, I am actually part of something, and something that could be universally revolutionary. But most of me thinks that ‘something’ could turn out to be an inconsequential nothing.
Time will tell, I guess.

Thanks for coming back

RC 11-3-08
1815 GMT

Opening Gambit

Hello
My name is Rory Chesworth, and this is my first attempt at blogging.
Am I about to uncover a wonderful form of communication that will revolutionise my life?
Or will my words remain unread, just as my letters to Princess Fergie asking for her used underwear remain unread?
Only time will tell.

Would you like to know a bit about me?

I'm a 24-year-old Capricorn living in Norfolk, England. I have two older sisters and a cat named Gerald and an obsessive/compulsive nature that makes me wear two pairs of socks at all times; even when making love.
I have a degree in chemistry, but spend most of my time collecting used stamps and composing haiku poetry. Proper haiku poetry, by the way - as my English teacher at college used to say "It's only truly haiku if you write it in Japanese"
Maybe I'll share some of them with you in a future blog.
Or maybe this will be the only blog entry I ever write.
Only time will tell.

I thank you for your time so far.

RC 10-3-08
1755 GMT