Testing, testing, and tempting

I have a date for my driving test. I’m feeling deeply disturbed by the thought already, so I’m not gonna tell you when it is. I’ll just tell you when it’s over, if that’s ok. Ted has once again offered to give me extra tuition, and I have once again declined his kind advances. I think he’s just looking for an excuse to get out of the house, as Beryl is still getting on at him to change his habits and avoid any future heart attacks. I can sympathise with them both. If you’ve had a health scare it must be tempting to have a few binges and get the most out of life; but if your partner has almost died and refuses to change their ways in reaction to it, it must be incredibly frustrating, and scary. I’ve started calling them Itchy and Scratchy. Thankfully, the reference is lost on them. I’ve never known people in their seventies to divorce, so this may turn out to be a year of firsts after all.

The young temptette popped into the supermarket again last night. (Yes, I am aware that I’ve just invented a word. You have my permission to use it. Share the wealth, I always say..) I still don’t know what her name is, but I now know her favourite breakfast cereal, what denier of tights she likes to wear, and the fact that she has an uncle who is 50 on Friday, so our relationship is advancing nicely.

RC 30-5-09
1334 BST

Room for improvement?

I’ve been asked to move in with two guys from work. They’re both on the nightshift with me, and they’re looking for a third person to take over their recently-vacated spare room, and share the bills. They think it will be good if all three co-habitants work the same hours, and they’ve approached me. I’m uncertain. It would be great to get away from this house and its memories, but I enjoy living with Hannah, and at the moment we get everything paid for. That would change pronto if I club up with Chas and Dave. We can’t keep scamming the dole office forever though, and maybe a fresh start before Summer is just what I need. I’ll have to talk it through with Hannah and see what she thinks. Maybe she’ll be as excited as I am. I’ve got to have a look at the place yet anyway. They wouldn’t tell me why the last guy moved out, so it may be in a rancid state or full of dodgy stains. Or both. It’s a big step to take, if I take it. The sudden change may facilitate some kind of breakdown that will leave me a nervous wreck, on the way to full-blown alcoholism. Or my housemates may turn out to be habitual rapists who’ll force me to sample amyl nitrate before taking advantage of me in various painful orifices.
I do have a habit of imagining the worst though…. I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve taken a look.

RC 29-5-09
2129 BST

Potential

I think I have an admirer.
This pretty blonde thing keeps speaking to me at the supermarket. She works nights at an old peoples home nearby and pops in for fags and Sanatogen before her shift starts. We first spoke when she asked where the Tena Lady were and I directed her to Feminine Hygiene. Now she finds a reason to see me every day. Jared claims he had her at a Christmas disco last year. “She’s got flaps like an elephant’s ears and more piercings than a gypsy village” he says. Mind you, he claims to have had every female shopper in the building, from the bipolar teenager who buys loads of jeans when she’s manic, to the 88-year-old spinster who comes in every Wednesday for her Cointreau. I’m still a bit sceptical about romance. Since the whole Donna thing I’ve been trying to avoid women like swine flu, but I have to admit this girl is tempting. I must find out if she’s single. I’ll be so subtle she won’t even realise she’s been questioned.
“The pile cream is over by the pharmacy,” I’ll say, “and how do you like your eggs in the morning?” If she falls for that old barrel of shit she’s probably not the sort of girl I’m after anyway, but who knows? Maybe its time to get back on the horse.. Not that she looks like a horse, you understand, she’s a very attractive girl. And I didn’t get to ride my last horse anyway, it was purely a kiss and a cuddle, so that whole statement is nonsense really.
Pretty much in keeping with the rest of today’s blog…

RC 28-5-09
0808 BST

PC MOT

Sorry for the brief but infuriating sabbatical. My rather aged laptop decided to grind to a halt and smell bad so I had to send it off to my man to be overhauled. Something about stress fractures on the mother board I believe. It seems anything with the word ‘mother’ in it is destined to cause me problems.
I spent the last week working extra hours, walking countless miles and thinking about a career change. I like the fact that I can travel without any hold-ups, but the people you encounter in a supermarket between midnight and four a.m are not always the most appealing of persons, and I’d quite like some intellectual conversation once in a while.
The diet continues apace. I had to go on a shopping spree for clothing on Friday, and it was the first time in 25 years that I’ve gone down a size! I got myself some rather trendy jeans, a pair of brown cords and a tracksuit. All for under a tenner. I pray to the God of Primark..
Charity shops are a new chum of mine. I’d never realised the bargains that can be had. I got a beautiful evening suit for £25, because some rich toff twat had worn it once and decided to discard it. It doesn’t fit me, but there we are, you can’t have everything in life. It’ll make a nice present when I finally make a friend to give birthday gifts to.
It’s good to be back…

RC 27-5-09
0900 BST

Food for thought

Will this diet never end? They had a special breakfast on in the staff cafe this morning – any item you wanted for only 19p. So I could have had two fried eggs, four sausages, six rashers of bacon, some fried tomatoes, half a tin of beans, lots of greasy mushrooms and some rounds of fried bread for under a fiver. Instead I had a bowl of Rice Krispies and an apple, neither of which were included in the offer. It’s a bloody conspiracy.
After work I took a bus up to Sheringham, on the North Norfolk coast. We used to go there on summer Sundays in my early teens, in the years when mum still cared more for her children than she did for the bottle. It was nice, and reminded me that there are still a few happy memories in amongst the trauma and maternal blackouts. Something really struck me as I made my way back to the bus stop in the early afternoon. I had been walking up and down the beach for a couple of hours, and even climbed the many steps above the lifeboat station so I could look out from the cliff, and the amazing thing was that I wasn’t out of breath, and I wasn’t soaked in sweat. I’m only halfway through my dieting, and I already feel healthier, and better within my own person. This may seem a strange thing to say, but I may be changing the thoughts of a lifetime and realising there are benefits in a decent lifestyle.
Please God, I hope it doesn’t last…

RC 15-5-09
2025 BST

It never runs smooth

Beryl has threatened Ted with divorce. She caught him in the garden with a cigarette and a pot of coffee, both of which he’s been told to avoid since the heart attack. We could hear the rant and screaming in our kitchen. Hannah thought I’d left the TV on or something. “Effing woman won’t even let me breathe..” Ted complained to me later. I didn’t bother pointing out that breathing was the very thing she was hoping he’d keep doing. He’s convinced there’s a conspiracy going on to stop him having fun, involving Beryl, his GP, his heart surgeon, two specialists, and the entire modern Western medical profession. He doesn’t seem to realise that the ‘respiratory error’ he suffered this year was a warning about his lifestyle and fitness, and he wants to go on living life the way he did in his twenties. Which is unfortunate, because he spent most of his twenties fighting abroad and suffering from malnutrition.
Hannah, by the way, is on the brink of another separation. Her latest beau spends most of his money on drugs and most of his time on a PlayStation, so she’s feeling rather neglected at the moment. He also has a curious smell that leaves the house about three days after he does, and hair that hasn’t been washed for millennia. My sister seems to pick partners the way I pick shoes – cheap, mildly attractive, and likely to fall apart and smell toxic within a fortnight. Will she never learn??

RC 13-5-09
1133 BST

I can almost see my toes again..

I had my latest fear-inducing weigh-in at Slimmers World on Friday. Cathy, a former Norfolk Slimmer Of The Year who seems to have replaced chip-induced fat with steroid-induced muscle, called me onto the scales behind Bouncing Barbara (a mouthy Northerner with ‘gland problems’) I stood in stunned disbelief as she told me that I was bang on target for my three-month goal! I’m not gonna tell you what I’ve lost, as I’d like to save it for the big reveal at work next month, but it’s impressive! Suddenly the days of abject misery and humourless hunger didn’t seem like such a hardship after all, and in a truly rare moment for me, I actually felt quite good about myself!! The other ladies in the room all clapped and congratulated me, but their eyes betrayed a burning jealousy and a dismay that I can lose it while they can’t. A little tip ladies – STOP EATING MARS BARS AND GO FOR A WALK, YOU FAT BITCHES…
Blimey – listen to me with my new-found anti-fatty wisdom.

It shows you just how over-weight I am when I can shed a load of poundage without it really showing on my body. Cathy did give some explanation about fat stores and which ones disappear first, and why you don’t immediately notice improvements, but I’d switched off by then and I was fantasising about Supernanny Jo Frost. I don’t know what it is, but that woman makes me racier than a Porsche 944. Maybe dieting can improve your sex drive after all.

RC 10-5-09
1312 BST

Bin Men Blues

I made a complete arse of myself again this morning. Our household rubbish was due to be collected and I’d forgotten to empty the bin in the kitchen. Hannah and her latest squeeze had been indulging in pizza and cheap wine all week, so the bag was full of half-cooked pepperoni and half-ingested garlic crusts. I was sitting in my dressing gown and slippers watching ‘Frasier’ when I heard the truck arrive, so I grabbed the bag from the bin and ran outside to catch them. They were already reversing out of our road, so I stupidly decided to run after them, failing to notice that the edge of the bag had caught on the kitchen door as I left and it had ripped in half as I shuffled down the path.
So picture the scene – a fat, unfit 25-year-old running down the road in an old mans slippers and a dressing gown that hasn’t been washed for a year, shouting ‘Stop! Please!’ like some kind of deranged imbecile while last weeks bean tins and various used prophylactics are falling on the pavement behind me. I hoped beyond hope that no-one would have noticed, but there was Ted at his window, laughing so hard he was risking another heart attack, while Mad Mrs Delbert at no. 32 was standing by her gate with her can and her shopping bag, and her sharp, aged wit.
“Training for the Olympics?” she said with a grin.
Emptying the bins is now Hannah’s job.

RC 8-5-09
1932 BST

Crapoem - May 2009

I’m feeling very tired
I’m sick of working nights
I’ve lost a lot of weight
Yet still my trousers are too tight.
I wake up feeling breathless
and I wobble when I walk
People tend to stare down at my cleavage when we talk

I’d really like some Edam, melted on a scrambled egg
Or half a can of squirty cream, licked off a hookers leg
I’d like to eat marshmallows til they come out of my eyes
and follow up by feasting on some cheese and mushroom pies

My skin may be unblemished
but I miss my curried chips
That minute on the mouth is worth the kilo on the hips

I used to chomp and chew on cheese; I was the chocolate chief
But now it’s just a salad or a lousy lettuce leaf

Dieting is awful, it makes you feel unwell
I’ve lost a stone in weight but man, I’ve lost my joy as well
I used to stuff myself with shish kebabs and sit and smile
But now I suck on spinach and I’m solemn all the while

My sister says I’m gloomy
My workmates say I frown
My neighbour thinks I’m moody
And my doctor says I’m down
The internet search engine
says I may have S.A.D.
and that maybe cock enlargements
are the remedy for me

Everyone I meet
they seem to know just what I need
The busman offered Prozac
my postman offered speed
The fat chick in the corner shop says ‘take a holiday’
her son says I’m unhappy coz I’m still a closet gay

I sit and starve and ponder
and I wonder ‘which is right?’
or maybe they’re all full of shit,
and everythings all right.
And maybe all I need to do is eat to make me happy?
throw the diet off a bridge just like a soiled nappy.
Gorge myself on KFC and Burger King and ale
Go back to being red and fat, instead of tired and pale.

No – I must stick at it
the healthy way is best
Coz I’m sick of high blood pressure
and a 55D chest

RC 7-5-09
1919 BST

Sports thoughts

Since stepping back out of my self-imposed exile from the world, I’ve realised a few things about human behaviour that escaped me when I lived most of my life in my bedroom. Actually talking to people in a social setting instead of just swapping e-mails has brought forth all sorts of new observations, but I must admit I often feel slightly untrained and excluded. The problem I have is this.. I’m a man in my twenties, and I don’t like sport. I’ll sit and watch the Olympics with the best of them, but only because I enjoy watching lithe young women at the absolute peak of physical fitness locked in sweaty competition with each other. My knowledge of beach volleyball and the rhythmic gymnastics is unparalleled, bur don’t bother asking me how long Usain Bolt took to run 200metres because I wasn’t interested. In fact my lack of interest was such that I probably just spelt his name wrong.
So every day at work I have to drift in my own thoughts while butch young scamps discuss the comparative tackling power of people called Gerrard, Mascherano and Carlos something-or-other. It’s all lost on me. As lost as an alcoholic bus driver taking the no.57 Fakenham to Norwich bus through Cawston, Reepham and Sculthorpe.
So my question is this: Do I study hard and watch as much sport as possible to get enough knowledge to ‘hold my own’ in polite company and actually make some friends? Or do I stay true to my interests, intellect and beliefs and amuse myself in my own way while waiting to meet someone similar? Actually, that was two questions..
See how confused I am?

RC 5-4-09
0910 BST

250wds 150x

I’ve changed my driving instructor. Or, to be more accurate, she’s given up on me to the extent of suggesting someone else who could take over my lessons. It all happened on Wednesday. I was tired, I forgot to check the mirrors properly, and I knocked over someone’s mountain bike. I thought the fact that it wasn’t being ridden at the time might be in my favour, and I tried to hide the embarrassment by saying “Well that was a stupid ****ing place to leave a bike. What kind of ****wit would leave their bike there?” To which she replied, “My brother. It’s his bike.”
Oops.
The bike needs a bit of TLC, and there’s minimal damage to the back of the car. Our working relationship, however, is wrecked beyond repair. So Kathryn suggested I might like to try another instructor.
Bitch.

Another milestone passed, then. 150 postings on a blog I’d expected to die by the end of March last year. A lot of people tell me it’s outdated now. They turn their back on the beauty of blogs in favour of turgid Twittering, or whatever the new fad may be by the time you get to read this. ‘The latest thing’ only seems to last about 6 hours now before being superseded so who knows what you pesky kids are using to contact each other nowadays.
Me – I shall remain loyal and true. I blog, and so it shall stay. I’m going nowhere.
Here’s to the next 150..

RC 4-5-09
2033 BST

Diet dilemma

I haven’t even taken my driving test yet, and I’ve already knocked someone’s bike over… More on that later..

My body is crying out for a take-away. Physically it’s nice to feel healthy, but my mind is screaming “GET ME A CHICKEN JALFREZI YOU BASTARD. NOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!”
I’m finding it hard to resist. The actual following of a diet is relatively easy, it’s just the psychological torment that goes with it that causes grief. If I could switch off my memory so I couldn’t remember the joys of melted Emmenthal, and how good it tastes, and how the feeling of it dripping into your mouth from a sandwich is almost sexual, then life would be sweet. As sweet as the inside of a Crunchie when you stick your tongue in it. Sexual again, you see.. I miss crap food, but I have to confess that my work trousers fit better, and I can climb the stairs to the staff room now without breaking into a sweat.

Something weird has happened.. I could swear on my mothers life that I wrote and posted a blog on Tuesday, but it isn’t on the system, I can’t find it saved on my computer, and I can’t remember for the life of me what it might have been about. Am I insane? Was I dreaming? Is the reality that I think is my life actually a computer game on an astral child’s console, and he is just toying with my sanity for his own hyperspace amusement?

I’ll tell you about the bike tomorrow.

RC 1-5-09
2025 BST