Cheery bastard, aren't I?

Sorry about yesterday. I hadn’t had enough caffeine, I think. That, and after a great couple of weeks of family reunions (and snot), I’ve been back at work doing a job that could be managed by a newt with a limp, and I was feeling slightly unfulfilled. And down.
Plus, the after effects of the flu bug are still lingering. Every night at work this week I was shattered by 2 or 3am, and as soon as I got home I was sleeping like a baby that had just crawled the New York Marathon. I’ve had some shitey illnesses in my time, but this one is a real doozey, as our American friends might say. Hopefully next time my immune system is run down I’ll just pick up something simple like Ebola.

Tomorrow night it’s the Super Bowl. I’m excited, as I’m one of those rare English people that actually likes American Football. I think it’s because I took the time and effort to learn the rules, study the history and come to understand it, rather than just calling it ‘rugby for poofs.’ I admire the intellectual, tactical battle that goes on between the coaches. As far as I can tell, they plan their moves towards victory and send out their troops with complete disregard for their health, safety or happiness. It’s like chess with violence.
My sister Hannah says I like it because it gives me a chance to indulge my American-esque delight for binge eating and beer.
And I thought she didn’t know me..

RC 31-1-09
2052 GMT

Depressed thoughts

I don’t know where all this has come from, but don’t we live in the worst time in history to be human? And I’m not talking about the credit crunch and all that old bollocks, I just mean it’s an awful time for our species. I’m ashamed to be human at the moment. I wish I’d had corrupted DNA and come out as a shrimp or something. We’re just awful. We stride this planet like a bully in a playground, we destroy what we should appreciate, we’ve pushed an extraordinary number of plants and creatures to the point of extinction and beyond, and we do it all while moaning that none of us has what we need. What a bunch of arseholes.
Sometimes I want to just take myself off to an island and apologise to every grain of sand on the beach. Sometimes I want to go for a long walk and punch every human being I see in the face while shouting “How could you be so careless, you bastard?” But mostly I just sit in bed feeling worthless, or type out my feelings in a daily blog. I don’t try to change us, or strive for solutions to the crisis, I just sit, and I dwell, and I moan. Because that is what we humans do.. We do all the damage without a second thought for the future, then hide beneath the covers when the time comes to sort it all out. We’re all part of the cause, but it’s someone else’s problem.
Horrible, horrible, horrible..

RC 30-1-09
2137 GMT

Ton up

Can you believe we’ve been together through a century of postings??
I looked back over a few of the old ones last night, and it’s scary but satisfying to see where we’ve been. On day one I had an unscrupulous girlfriend in America, an alcoholic mother wreaking havoc round the home, and a tendency to sit in my bedroom pretending to be eleven. Now, at least, I’m facing up to the world and trying to improve it. Or my little part of it, anyway.
In a strange way, I’m looking forward to work tonight. Now I’ve decided I’ll be leaving as soon as possible, it makes it easier to think about being there. I had a real shock when I dug my uniform out of the cupboard this morning. Once I’d ironed the creases out and sponged down the patchy sweat stains, I realised the trousers seemed a lot larger than the last time we met. So I ventured into the bathroom and popped onto the scales Hannah bought herself on eBay to find I’ve lost OVER A STONE since New Year. Who says illness is always a bad thing?
I have to decide now whether to keep the ‘diet’ mentality going and shed some more weight, or try to make up for lost time and get back to bingeing. To be lighter or not to be lighter, that is the question… and I’ll bet you ten pounds now that cheese will win out over cherries..

RC 26-1-09
1454 GMT

Synchronicity?

I checked my facebook account today for the first time in ages, and bugger my bones if one of my old tutors from uni hadn’t sent me a message.. Funny how life works, eh?
His ten-year-old grand-daughter was teaching him to use the laptop and he thought he’d see how some of his ex-students were getting on. I replied telling him I’d won the Nobel Prize for chemistry, but I doubt he’ll believe me. I’ll definitely keep in touch with him though. He may have some useful contacts, or advice on how I can use my degree beyond working in a food store stacking shelves after midnight.
I doubt I’m the only member of our group wasting their education. Jonathan Evans used to be permanently stoned, and fell asleep during our finals after a week-long ‘revision’ binge in Brighton. I can’t imagine he’s now earning a hundred grand a year at Bayer.. We had several characters like him, though. Casey Wheeler was an American student whose dad owned a publishing company, and was only in the UK “for anal sex and soccer.” I tended not to socialise with him much. Then there was Michael Demastrious. He was trying to study chemistry, physics and applied mathematics alongside each other, and ended up dressing in cardboard convinced the Dean of his college was a vampire. Too much study and too little food, the psychiatrists said.
Sometimes I think I’m saner than I realise..

And that, my fine friends, is 100 blogs and counting!

RC 25-1-09
2032 GMT

Getting better

I almost feel normal again today. I had a good nights sleep last night, followed by the heartiest of hearty breakfasts, and I actually feel like I have some energy for a change. I may even venture outside later, for the first time in nearly two weeks! I’ve forgotten what fresh air smells like.. While being ill, I’ve mostly been smelling Lemsip, smelling salts, and the dirty sweat that collected in the folds of my fatness.
Hannah is still poorly, but improving. She fell ill a couple of days behind me, so hopefully she’ll be up-and-at-‘em by Monday. I’ve decided to postpone the birthday ‘party’ again until next weekend – to give us both time to recover fully. Sophie told us that flu can linger for a while, and if you over-do it, you set yourself back a few days. So we’ll have a quiet, relaxed, indulgent weekend at home and hope for better things anon.
I dug out some of my old uni textbooks this morning. Having got the idea in my head about making more use of my studies, I suddenly realised I’ve forgotten most of the things I studied anyway.. It’s amazing how quickly things go out of your head when you’re dealing with life instead of sitting in a lecture theatre, or being forced to write an essay by Friday.
Ideally, I think I’d like to get some lab work somewhere, conducting important experiments for the furtherment of mankinds knowledge, hopefully in the field of medical advancement.
That and blowing shit up, obviously.

RC 24-1-09
2129 GMT

Feeling down, but looking upwards..

There’s an air of depression in our house today. Sophie being here was incredible, and now she’s gone we’ve had a big fall emotionally. Physically things have improved somewhat. Hannah is feeling a bit better this morning, and I finally seem to be losing the aches in my shoulders and knees, so maybe I’ll get to have a belated birthday bash at the weekend after all. I hope so. It just didn’t feel right spending my birthday sober, especially when that birthday was coupled with a family reunion. Ah, well – now we’re back in touch we’ll have plenty of opportunities for get-togethers and piss-ups, and you cannot possibly imagine how wonderful it feels to know that.
I called the supermarket to tell them I’d definitely be back on Monday night. It’ll be hard because this bug has seen me sleep 14 hours a day, mostly while it’s dark, so I’ll have to train myself to stay awake all night again. I’ll have to spend Sunday evening with a take-away, some coffee, and a DVD or three, then I’ll be nicely prepared by Monday.
I may start looking for a proper job soon. The money is nice, but having heard how happy Sophie is now she’s doing the job she dreamed of has provoked me to think about what my career goal should be. I don’t want to be one of those 55-year-old postmen with a chemistry degree, who bummed around after Uni and then ended in a dead-end job. (No offence, posties – I only thought of you as an example because our postman has just walked past the window. He still can’t look me in the eye since the incident with the nudity…)

RC 23-1-09
1320 GMT

What a week

I’m twenty-five now then. Do I feel different to last week? Not really – a bit healthier and less sleepy, but apart from that..
Sophie went back yesterday. There were lots of hugs and tears and promises of daily phone calls. It’s nice to have a female member of our family leave the house without us being glad she’s gone.
My birthday was great, thanks for asking, despite the flu. I was feeling a bit better so Sophie and I were able to chat lots and plan some stuff for later this year. Hannah stayed in bed with a portable DVD and a temperature over a hundred but I still had a good day, considering.
Work called this morning saying I have to drop in a doctors note as I’ve been off sick for a week now. I pointed out the paradoxical nature of a situation in which I’ve been ordered to stay away until I’m better, and then ordered to turn up with a medical slip. They welcomed my comments with the enthusiasm of someone that’s just been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma on their birthday. I told them I’d be back at work Monday night, and please stop bothering me with phone calls when I’m poorly. They said something like ‘rules is rules and you’d better…’ but I’d put the phone down by then. My enthusiasm for the place is waning somewhat, which doesn’t bode well considering I only started working there a week ago..

Oh well, back to my ‘recovery’
(and Series 5 of The West Wing)

RC 22-1-09
1125 GMT

Oh woe is me..

My last day as a 24-year-old, and I spent most of it in bed.
I don’t think I’ll be hitting 250 words today. I used all my energy getting out of bed and turning the computer on.
I’m not gonna get depressed if I’m ill on my birthday. I’ll just postpone celebrations for a few days and let rip like a good ‘un at the weekend. In between dozes today I’ve had some great chats with Sophie, and she’s invited me and Hannah up to visit her in Edinburgh next month, so that’ll give us both something to look forward to..
Sod this, I’m going back to bed.
No offence intended – “it’s not you, it’s me” as many a cheating bastard boyfriend has uttered in his time..

Sophie Sunday

Sophie arrived today and walked straight into a scene like the one she probably left at Edinburgh Hospital!! Poor girl.. I’ve been so out-of-it with a high temperature and lack of food that I’d lost track of what day it was. Hannah followed me into the sick camp yesterday and spent most of last night screaming at demons in her bedroom. (Yeah I know – that’s happened before with her sexual past, but this time round it was flu-based delirium)
Sophie says I need to ride it out with lots of hot drinks, lots of rest, and lots of Vitamin C. She also told me that the active ingredient in Lemsip is paracetamol, and that therefore it’s not a great idea to be taking Boots brand Paracetamol Plus, Tesco cheap paracetamol caplets and Flu Strength Blackcurrant Lemsip within two hours of each other, the way I have been since Friday. Maybe those hallucinations are starting to make sense a bit now.. Apparently it won’t take long for my liver to become damaged if I keep medicating the way I have been. Marvellous, eh? I haven’t seen my sister in over two years and she’s already lecturing me on my drug habits..
I’m trying not to be disappointed. I’ve been looking forward to this visit like an urchin looks forward to Christmas, and now Sophie will spend most of her time with us doing the job she’s just taken time off from in Edinburgh. Busman’s holiday, or what?
It’s bloody good to have her here, though..

RC 18-1-09
2050 GMT

Still ill..

I seem to be trying to set a record for the longest time surviving on nothing but soup and Lemsip.
I’ve even tried mixing the two together for some variety. Take it from me – Blackcurrant Lemsip and Golden Vegetable Cup-a-soup do not a tasty combo make.. They sit in the same cup about as happily as I’d sit next to my mother on a bus.
Hannah tells me that Supervisor Sue from work was ill for more than two weeks over Christmas with this flu bug. Thanks, bitch. By that time-scale I should be fully fit and fighting hard by Valentine’s Day. Why is it family are always there to bring you more bad news when you’re feeling shitty enough already? If you get dumped by the girl of your dreams, and your life is in tatters, and your heart is filled with unimaginable pain, and you feel you’re never going to recover ever, and all you want is comfort and support and hope, and you go to see your closest family rather than wallow on your own in your sadness; I guarantee one of them will say something like “Well, of course, she spent two months last year seeing you and Marvin the Chemist, so you’re better off without her. We didn’t want to say anything at the time. Ah, well, water under the bridge…”
What’s that saying? ‘You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family, or push them under a bus when they say things that piss you off’ Yes, that’s it..

RC 17-1-09
2120 GMT

A poem about illness

Last night as I lay in my hot, sweaty bed
I was thinking strange thoughts in my hot, sweaty head
It was very depressing, and very frustrating
Then suddenly I started hallucinating
The walls and the ceilings went backwards and out
The fear gripped my heart, and my throat tried to shout.
I was lifted and pulled on a pillow unseen
Like that boy in ‘The Snowman’ or a drunk on pocheen
I left my hot over-weight body behind
And trekked ‘cross the Heavens, my future to find
I swept ‘neath the stars and I flew with the night
I was naked and scared and yet somehow alright
From the Darkness I spotted a welcoming house
With a fire and some food and a bottle of Grouse
with companions a-plenty I sat by the hearth
And drank myself silly and made them all laugh
There was Einstein and Newton and Mother Teresa
And all thought that I was a number one geezer
They hung on my words and they smiled with glee
And agreed that the best of all people was ME!
Then a sight that could cause me fifteen heart attacks:
That c*** Jamie Oliver making the snacks!!
From a dream that was joyous, exciting and pleasant
To a meeting in Hell with that common, thick peasant.
Thank God, I remembered this all was a dream
So I beat him to death with a tub of whipped cream
And I shouted “Ha – ha!! I cannot be arrested!!
No matter how many I’ve killed or molested!
For this party’s a subconscious vision, not real;
I can be what I like, I can do what I feel
With no need for concern about recriminations
The best thing about illness? It’s Hallucinations!!

I thank you..

RC 16-1-09
2255 GMT

Off-work, off-key and off-p***ed

Bloody hell, I’m off sick again.
I’ve only worked at the shop for a couple of months, and this is the third time I’ve had to take time off unwell. Maybe I’m allergic to work. This time, to be fair, it was their decision rather than mine. I felt rough as old beef when I got there, but bravely tried to struggle on through the pain of the impending flu.. But then my hands got so sweaty I dropped a boxful of Dark Soy Sauce onto the floor, and Manager Dave said something like “You look shit, Ches” (for some annoying reason, now I’m full-time, I’ve been given the imaginative nickname Ches) “We can’t have you putting food out when you’re riddled. Go home before you pollute all the produce with lurgy.”
Gotta love that line of sympathy, huh?

This bug is a bastard, to be fair.
I feel hotter than a fat bitch doing aerobics in a desert, my head is pounding like the hangover from Hell and I think my sinuses have been filled up with Play-Doh.
The mere thought of eating anything solid makes me feels sick, so the wonderful world of Heinz is keeping me going through the pain and despair.
I’ve decided to have a bash at some Illness Inspired Haiku:

My whole body aches
I’m fed up with feeling sick
I want to be well

Why am I unwell?
I’m not an evil person
My life should be joy

Ok, that’s shit. I blame the temperature, pain and fatigue. Back to the paracetamol…

RC 15-1-09
2146 GMT

Seven days and counting..

Just a week to go then, and I’m still not sure how to celebrate my birthday. Sophie arrives on Sunday, and will be staying until Wednesday, so maybe we’ll just all stay in and get drunk and start rebuilding ourselves as a family? I’m getting really nervous about seeing her now. It was wonderful to chat yesterday, and I was on a high for hours, but then it suddenly hit me at four o’clock this morning – what if we don’t like each other? We haven’t spoken for two years, in which time I’ve finished my degree and moved back to Norfolk, and she’s become a qualified nurse in Edinburgh. Before that we didn’t see each other much, and the time we did spend together was dominated by our mother. What if we don’t get on? What if this visit goes horribly awry and she buggers off back to Scotland vowing never to see us again? Am I destined to lose yet another member of my family? Will it just be me and Hannah and the cat against the world soon, until I foul up my relationships with them as well, and watch Gerald and Hannah depart in a huff leaving me all alone as a hermit? Will I end up a lonely alcoholic like my mother, chain-smoking Embassy and sleeping with strangers in a rat-infested bedsit close to Preston?? Will I die a lonely death with no one close by to call loved ones??
Funny the things that come into your mind when you’re date-sorting clotted cream in a supermarket.

RC 13-1-09
1945 GMT

Present perfect

Sophie called again today, and this time I spoke to her myself! She’s taken some extra holiday in January, so she’ll be staying with us during my birthday! This time, I let the tears fall freely, and told her she’d just made the best few weeks of my life even better.
I can’t believe I’ll be 25 soon. It sounds so grown-up. I also gave up celebrating my birthday a decade ago, when my present from my mother was a sock I already owned, which she gave me three weeks late. The Uni years were a bit better, but I tended to enjoy everyone else’s big day more than my own, and even then it was just a big piss-up, much like every other day of the semester. I may actually make it a big one this year. Why not? It’s not every year you reach your quarter-century after all. Wait a moment – quarter-century…. quarter-of-a-million…. Yes, YES, YES!!! It IS my destiny to be on Deal or No Deal and win the quarter-million! I am sure of it in my bones.

Back to work again tonight, and this time as a PROPER, BONA FIDE, FULL-TIME, ACTUAL EMPLOYEE. It’s almost embarrassing to say this, but I’m 25 next week and this is my first ever stab at permanent employment. I earnt a few quid at uni - donating sperm and being a guinea pig for drugs companies - but apart from that I’ve always been a student, or a layabout. Well – stick to what you’re good at, isn’t that what they say?

Have a good Monday

RC 12-1-09
1952 GMT

Can't think of a title..

I was looking at Channel 4’s website today and may have inadvertently applied to be on Deal Or No Deal.. I was searching the TV listings and clicked on the wrong link by mistake and it brought up a beaming Noel Edmonds and a submission form. Next thing I knew I was pressing ‘Send’ having written a load of absolute bullshit about my life, and why I deserved to be considered. I despise people with a need to be on telly, and yet somehow the thought of three weeks in a hotel with a chance to win a quarter-of-a-million at the end of it is persuasive. I doubt they’ll get back to me anyway – I put my full name down as Rory Horatio Chesworth-Kuntz, and put my date of birth as last Tuesday… The dangers of internet browsing after half a bottle of sherry I’m afraid. I think I may also have ordered a lorry-load of mouthwash for my neighbour, but I guess we’ll wait and see on that one…
After a sobering kip this afternoon, I’m settling down with a microwaved roast to watch the ‘Mission: Impossible’ trilogy on Widescreen. Tomorrow I’m taking Hannah out for lunch before going off to earn decent money as an over-qualified under-professional shelf-filler. If you had told me in the Spring that life would be this good by January I’d have laughed in your face, or punched you.
My life is getting better by the day.

RC 11-1-09
1815 GMT

new year, new start

My daily musings seem to have taken on epic status.. I’ve decided to get back to my original plan – no more than 250 words daily, and try not to let it sound like the diary of a teenage schoolgirl. With that in mind – I present for your delight a list I wrote to amuse myself between 4.16 and 5.57am this morning.. I call it..

People I would like to see exiled…

Jamie Oliver
Anyone who calls Macbeth “the Scottish play”
All employees of companies who use the word BESPOKE in their advertising
Journalists
My neighbour
My mother (the further away the better)
Victoria Coren
Victoria Beckham (preferably to another planet)
Vanessa Feltz
Richard Bacon
Women who drive 4x4s in Norfolk (badly)
Farmers
Pharmacists
Pharmaceutical chemists
That bastard dentist who filled the wrong tooth when I was eleven
Mr Blobby
Mr Barry, my PE teacher from High School
All bullies everywhere
People who cheat on internet poker sites
Bill Gates
My ex-cyber girlfriend Melissa and her bunny-abusing wanky scientist boyfriend
Madonna
Guy Richie
Anyone who ever appeared in a Guy Richie film
..or went to see one
..or started talking in a mock-Cockney accent after ‘Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels’ was released
Jasper Carrott
Michael Jackson
Kerry Katona
Ulrika Jonsson
..and the other talentless, vacuous bints who sell their tampons to the papers, and have sex with the wrong people just to get themselves a headline.

And that, by fair means or foul, makes this blog entry 250 words EXACTLY..

RC 10-1-08
2120 GMT

thoughts on re-reading yesterdays blog

Have you ever played Strip Scrabble, by the way??
You just need a normal common-or-garden Scrabble set, a locked room, a willing and like-minded accomplice (preferably of the opposite sex) and some alcohol. You then play the game of Scrabble as God intended, but with a few Rory-inspired changes to the rules:

Rule 1 – every word placed on the board has to be sexual
Rule 2 – any word that isn’t obviously sexual has to be justified by being used by the player in a sexual context
Rule 3 – if you cannot go, or if your word is ruled invalid, you have to remove an item of clothing.
Rule 4 – when you have no clothing left to remove, you start being given forfeits by the other player.
Continue playing until things reach an obvious conclusion.

The best game I ever played was with a fresher called Samantha at uni. Her vocabulary disappeared after a second shot of Campari, and she was down to her sexy undies in an instant. We ended up having sex on a table, which she told me was her sexiest encounter ever (always a nice thing to hear as a 19-year-old overweight male) Then she sobered up and told me the truth (never a nice thing to hear at any time) But the memory of that game will stay with me forever.
The worst ever game was with Jana, a Polish cleaning lady that got me drunk at a party and tried to get my cock out at a bus stop. I found her about as attractive as a slugs arse, so bought myself some time by telling her ‘wait til we get back to my room, then we’ll play Strip Scrabble, and by the end of it we’ll both be so horny we’ll have the best sex ever had by an Englishman and a Polish girl in History’ We didn’t; but the memory of that game will stay with me forever. As will the smell from her underparts….

RC 9-1-09
2147 GMT

Scrabbling

This week of leisure is beginning to get a bit boring. I think I spent so much time on my own, and in my own thoughts, over the past two years that sitting around now makes me worry about moving backwards. Not that you can actually move backwards when you’re sitting still, but I’m not talking about literal, physical movement anyway, so cut me some slack, Jack. Over Christmas, my sleep pattern started reverting back to ‘normal’ so I’ve decided to spend the rest of this week training myself back to overnight working mode. Last night I sat up with a pot of Colombian coffee and watched ‘Fight Club’ on DVD. Then I partook of some gentle masturbation before a 3am banana-and-cheese toastie and a solo game of Scrabble. It became an epic four-hour cut-and-thrust battle, with no holds barred and no quarter given (and all that other war-like speak they use when describing pointless sports events) and in the end I beat myself by 276 points to 211. A few of the words were a bit suspect towards the end, but isn’t that always the way with Scrabble?
Now I have a headache. Partly from the coffee; partly from the mental strain of playing a stupid board game in the middle of the night with myself as the opposition, and both sides wanting to win with the furious determination of Napoleon.
My life is becoming one of paid, intense insomnia. Which isn’t a bad thing, I suppose. At least I’m not a dustman or a choirboy or something.
Why do I always end up rambling when I haven’t slept?

RC 8-1-09
1701 GMT

Sirens, and sirens

I went to a pub re-opening today. It used to be The White Lion, but then the brewery found out the landlord had been using it for his ‘White Supremacists In Norfolk’ group and decided to give it a re-fit. It’s gone back to its old name of The Owl.
I went in to show my support, and to keep the ‘New Year, New Job’ celebrations going apace. I ended up chatting to a nice chap called Andrew, a carpet fitter whose business is called ‘Carpet Diem’… Bless him. He had a liking for Marlboro, and an interesting scar on his neck which I never quite got around to asking him about.
Towards 3.30, he spotted two attractive ladies hovering by the fruit machine. I’m a realist, and a fat bastard, so I would never have considered trying to talk to them, but my new colleague was determined to try. “My technique is to leave it until the last possible minute before approaching the prey” he told me. He left it so late he didn’t see them leave, and had to race outside in a hurry to try and catch them, slipping on the kerb as he did so and getting clattered by a passing taxi.
I called for an ambulance straight away, while the taxi driver got out to call him “a dithering, numb-witted ****-head.” Charming.
The wing mirror had broken a rib and he’d dislocated a finger when he fell, but the ambulancemen were more concerned with the state of his liver.

And I used to think Tuesdays were boring.

RC 6-1-09
2039 GMT

January sails

I’m still on a high from Christmas. On top of that, I’ve been taken on full-time at the supermarket. They were very impressed by my work ethic and attitude (and by the way I resisted the urge to sue them for the foot bruises) and have asked me to join their Permanent Overnight Workforce. Ok, it’s not exactly what I wanted to start the year doing, and it’s not the ideal use of a chemistry degree, but it’s easy, it’s fun, and I get a £1.80 an hour pay rise now I’m not being hired through an agency. It’s all gravy.
The store is undergoing a stockroom refit this week, so I get a few days to enjoy the leftover Christmas tree chocolates and catch up on the crap I recorded off telly before launching back into it next Monday.

Sister Sophie rang again today. I missed her because I was having a celebratory lunch with Kevin, the only other Christmas temp who’s been taken on full-time. He’s a 38-year-old father of two who had to quit a good job to care for his dying mother, then had a nervous breakdown when his missus pissed off with a policeman. This is the first job he’s got since therapy and he plans to stick it out so he can see more of his kids and maybe even challenge for custody. All this came out over two beef lasagnes and some Kronenbourg. Then I got home to find a message from Sophie on the telephone. I had a lump in my throat just hearing her voice. God knows how I’ll hold it together when I see her.. But I can’t wait to find out…

RC 5-1-09
2230 GMT