Not quite as noble

I was bored today at work, so I came up with this:

RORY’S ALTERNATIVE TO THE NOBEL PRIZE

Every year I will award a ‘RORY’ prize to people who have advanced our knowledge or given us pleasure in the following fields:

1. THE ENJOYMENT AND EXPOSURE OF THE FEMALE FORM
2. THE ENHANCEMENT AND EXPRESSION OF THE JOYS OF CHEESE
3. THE CELEBRATION OF STUPIDITY IN ALL ITS FORMS
4. LAZINESS

Nominations for the 2010 Awards are open now...

RC 31-3-10

Bumpkin

I’m knackered.
I decided to start my Springtime Footpath Challenge today so I got out the Patented Rory Wonderbike and took myself off for as cycle. I got a bit carried away and ended up doing 35 miles. I barely made it home alive, and my thighs are burning more than a pile of charcoal covered in acid.
I had another of my interesting encounters with local life. I stopped by a stream in a village I’ve never been to before, and found myself dozing after enjoying my packed lunch, only to be awakened by an overweight local f**kwit who thought I was trying to steal something. Apparently, somewhere in the UK recently, a gang of Portugese men were knocking down road signs and sending them back to their homeland to be melted down for profit. How the Hell I was supposed to be transporting eight-foot high road signs on a Raleigh seemed to be lost on him, but I think many things would be lost on him, bless him. He looked a bit like one of the hobbits from ‘Fellowship Of The Ring’ but with a handlebar moustache and a bad smell. He told me “If they try any of that thieving here, then this country boy will give ‘em a whooping” and then he waddled off back to his home, which I imagine is unlikely to ever feature in ‘Beautiful Homes And Gardens.’ Why do people always come over and disturb you when you’re trying to enjoy a few moment’s peace in the countryside? If I hadn’t been drowning in lactic acid I’d have followed him home and had a shit in his garden.

RC 30-3-10

Love is in the air

I went to the library today for the first time in months. I’ve avoided it since the whole ‘Donna’ incident from last year, but finally summoned up the courage to re-visit. I’m glad I did, I found a fascinating biography of Dmitri Mendeleev that I didn’t even know existed. And Donna, who stole my heart from my chest and held it high in the clouds, before dropping it down to the concrete and jumping on it, was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully she’s back in Nottingham or Hell with her super, special boyfriend and will never darken my vision again. Wherever she is, I wish her well of course, with the same level of good grace I reserve for the likes of Melissa Rhyke and Radovan Karadic.
The onset of Spring has brought the world of romance and reproduction into sharp focus. Flowers are awakening, hearts are a-fluttering, and animals are starting to rut each other to death in a bid to procreate before Summer. Everywhere I look, there are creatures climbing on top of each other, or young courting couples holding hands and kissing sweetly. It’s great if you’re part of it, but for those of us with as much love in our lives as a rhino has slippers, it’s torture.

RC 29-3-10

New moves

Hannah and I had a good chat today. We decided to join forces to cook Sunday lunch but it descended into farce and we ended up having jacket potatoes, and quorn from the freezer. Hannah’s on a real downer at the moment. She’s missing Nathan – big surprise there – but is also having trouble with one of the girls at work, which I didn’t know about. Personality clash, Hannah called it, which probably means she’s taller, prettier or more successful with men than Hannah is. My sister is, after all, an emotional creature who is normally dominated by her jealousy. She is, however, still wanting to change herself for the better, she says, and has been looking at info from some colleges with a view to starting a course in September. She says her ultimate aim at the moment is to train up and become a teacher. I’m not sure what she could teach beyond sluttishness and make-up, but maybe even that will change.
After our chat she went off to mope in her room and listen to Kate Nash songs, so I ventured over to Ted and Beryl’s for my ritual Sunday afternoon humiliation on the chess board. I had been trying to get better and beat him but I’ve lost interest now. I’ve suggested we try playing something else for a while so it’s more competitive, but Ted says he wants the practise as there’s a chess competition at his next Army reunion and he wants to “stuff Sergeant-Major Palmer into oblivion.” He beat me today using something he called ‘the Barnes Opening.’ I thought he was making it up, but when I looked in my book of chess references there is indeed a move called ‘the Barnes opening.’ There are also moves called ‘the Breyer Variation of the Ruy Lopez’ and ‘the Arkell-Khenkin Variation of the Caro-Kann Defense.’
The more I look into this game, the stupider it gets.

RC 28-3-10

Girls and guys

I found out why Hannah’s been grumpier than a goat with an abscess – Nathan has a new girlfriend. Apparently Jenna who works with Hannah was out in Pixie’s nightclub for their 70s night on Tuesday and Nathan was there with his hands all over some strumpet on the dancefloor. I almost felt obliged to point out to Hannah that it was she who decided to end their relationship, so she can’t moan if he moves on, but I got the impression that if I said that my testicles would spend less time attached to my body than sushi spends in an oven so I kept schtum. She’ll work through the pain, rage, jealousy, confusion, anger, hatred and despair in her own time, I’m sure. I just hope she doesn’t fight back in that awful way that women have where they latch onto the nearest available drunk person with a penis just to show that they’re not on their own. We’ll see.

Ted’s son Simon is asking me about football again. One of his workmates is moving away so they’ll have a season ticket available next year and he wondered if I’d like to take it over? If I may quote from his e-mail: “..should be a grate (sic) season. Back in the Championship with a striker who can score, and a manager worth his salt. If we can hang on to Forster and get a solid big ‘un at the back we could do some damage and press for the Prem by Christmas.” I’ve re-read it three times and spent twenty minutes with a dictionary and I still have no idea what he’s talking about...

RC 26-3-10

On my own, and under the cosh..

Philippa called in sick today, so I ended up as busy as a cat with nine kittens. I don’t like work when it feels like you’re barely surviving, I prefer it when you’re on top of things and it all feels quite relaxed. I’m picky like that. Tom was out on deliveries for most of the day so he couldn’t help, and half the stuff that needed doing was stuff I never even knew we did anyway. It was hard, and I imagine things will be even worse tomorrow, so I’m going to say a few prayers and rub a few crystals and hope that Philippa is okay in the morning.
Hannah is stomping around tonight like a pregnant hippo wearing work boots, so I’m hiding. I haven’t dare ask what the problem is, I assume it’s something to do with men or shopping, as they’re the dominant forces in her life.
On a lighter note, we change the clocks on Saturday, so daylight hours will be extended even further. I’m setting myself a challenge to cycle every available path within a ten-mile radius this Summer, and I intend to get started on Sunday.
I’m still a bit unsure about the whole concept of changing the clocks. Only a personal opinion, but it just strikes me as one of those old ideas that we only hang onto through habit and nostalgia, even though it’s now pointless and outdated. A bit like The Conservative Party, really.
Thank you, I’m here all week........

RC 24-3-10

Snippets

Two Frenchmen have set up a restaurant in London that only serves meals based on cheese. I think they’ve called it “Rory’s Wet Dream.” Since changing my eating habits last year, cheese is the thing I miss most, and the thing most likely to lure me back to an unhealthy diet. I may have mentioned this at some point before but I love cheese. I LOVE CHEESE. Just typing the word CHEESE gets me salivating, excited and, let’s be honest, well on the way to an erection. I used to make my own version of Welsh Rarebit that used five different types of cheese. Hannah watched me prepare and eat it once and worked out that I’d used up my saturated fat allowance for the next six days. I love cheese, which apparently makes me a TUROPHILE, from the Greek tyros (cheese) and philos (beloved). I am that thing, and proud of it.

I’ve had an e-mail from an online dating company asking if I’d like to try their service free for six months. I guess they got my info from one of the many similar websites I have foolishly registered with before. I replied saying that I’ve had my fingers burnt this way before, and that “once one has suffered an injury from a particular form of behaviour, to repeat that form of behaviour would be akin to self-flagellation.” I also sent them a link to an online dictionary, just in case they need it.

Haiku about March:

It’s a lovely month
The flowers start to appear
and women wear less

RC 22-3-10

The Road

I’ve been looking around at some cheap cars. I’m not earning enough to buy one but it’s nice to dream. Three things I’ve noticed this week: Firstly, all those who work in the motor trade have a look in their eye that seems to say “I am a crook and I’m going to rip you off.”
Secondly, cars for sale online never look like their photos on the website. (They’re like people on dating sites in that respect) And thirdly, the amount it costs to buy and run a car is LUDICROUS. I’ve looked at tax, insurance, petrol, servicing, tyres, parking, cleaning and all the other crap you feel obliged to pay for, and with what I calculate to be my annual outgoings, I could be paying off a mortgage on a decent house.
Trouble is, no matter how decent that house was, I couldn’t use it to get to work, or to take girls out in. And therein lies the rub. What is a better use of my money? A small house that I can sit in on my own, or a small car that I can get out and start dating in? It doesn’t sound great if you ask a girl out and then say “I’ll pick you up at 8. Can you be at the nearest bus stop? I’ll be in the double decker.”
Philippa tells me her brother has a Mini One for sale. He’s advertised it for six grand but ‘might let it go for five-and-a-half’
Not to me, he won’t.

RC 20-3-10

Happy Chappy

I’m loving March at the moment. It’s staying lighter later and I think it’s almost time to dust off The Rory Chesworth Velociped and get my cycling shorts on. I haven’t gone back to eating like a horse with a tapeworm this Winter, which is a first for me, but I am a bit out of shape again. Mainly because I’ve had less exercise than a beetle trapped in a matchbox. So it’ll be good to get back to some kind of fitness. Cycling is great for someone like me. It tones my legs and gets the heart pumping without the need for running like a nutter or killing myself in the gym. I get to scoot about the countryside enjoying the fresh air and scenery and can smile with the knowledge that it’s doing me good. Apart from the numbing sensation in my penis for three days afterwards, it’s perfect.

Work was a struggle today. It’s a bit strange really, doing three full days a week. I can’t get used to the concept of part-time hours where they’re all crammed into three days. It would make more sense if I worked five mornings or five afternoons. Except that wouldn’t work, as the whole point of me being there Weds, Thurs and Friday is that those are the days when my jobs need to be done. If I went in on Monday and Tuesday, I’d have very little work to do, and then on Weds, Thurs and Friday I wouldn’t have time to get everything done in the morning before I left at lunchtime, so some of the work would still be there when I came back after the weekend. Customers would be unhappy, Tom would be unhappy and we’d have to have a re-think and the conclusion would probably be that I should stop working every morning, and do all my hours in the three days at the end of the week. Which is where I am now anyway. I was hoping that writing this would help clear my head, but I’m now more confused than when I started.
Thanks for nothing.

RC 18-3-10

Wish I had a girlfriend

I’m drunk. And bored. It’s dark, so I can’t go cycling, and I haven’t been paid yet, and my bank account is empty, so I have no money, so I can’t go out anywhere, and we don’t have SkyTV, and there’s nothing on normal telly, and I don’t fancy watching any of my DVDs, and I’m bored. I would drink more, but I’ve drunk it all. What a crap day.

RC 15-3-10

Swings and roundabouts

Mother’s Day, then. A time for people to say ‘thank you’ to their mums and show how much they love, respect and enjoy them.

Occasionally I think about the things I missed out on by having a selfish old sot as a mother. Things like hugs, compassion, pocket money, holidays, support, clean clothes and edible food. But then I remember that there are things I had that other people missed out on – like pools of vomit on the carpets, regular night-time visits from the police, and an oft-changing adult male presence in the house, usually resulting in smacks around the head and stolen possessions.

No chess today as Ted and Beryl were taken out by one of their many children. I spent the afternoon on a long walk, listening to an audio version of Nelson Mandela’s autobiography while exploring a footpath I found near the bus stop. It was lovely, until the heavens opened and I came home soaked and coated in mud. As I came in the back door I slipped on the step and scraped my shin on the bottom of the door.
Some days are just determined to be painful.

RC 14-3-10

The Cabinet of Dr Caligari

The title has nothing to do with this blog, by the way. I just saw it on a poster at an Arts Centre in Norwich and thought it was a wonderful title. Later today I shall wander through the meadows of the internet and find out a few more details. My guess would be it’s a dark magic show, or the name of a futuristic thrash band, but I’m probably wrong.

Work today was a breakthrough. No panic, no confusion, and quite a relaxing day all round. I’m starting to realize that my workload is much smaller than I first feared, and is much less complicated than I was making it appear. Two weeks in, and it’s becoming a bit of a doddle. Maybe Tom’s wife never really worked very hard, and has been merrily taking wages from her hubby’s company for doing pretty much eff all. That’s fine with me – hopefully that’s exactly what I can do for the next few months or so.

I saw someone naked today, for the first time in months. It was on the way home tonight and she was getting changed by the window. She was terribly unattractive, but it’s the closest I’ve been to female nudity in a long time, so it's a start.

RC 12-3-10

My longest blog ever?

Another week gone with no blog postings, then. Do forgive me, I’m still getting used to my new routine and I’ve been neglecting you. The job is taking a while to get used to and I’m only just starting to feel competent, rather than confused. Tom’s wife has now left so there’s more room in the office and I’ve finally been given access to the computers. I’m on my own at the moment as Philippa is at the dentists, so I’m using my time constructively by ignoring work and catching up on blogs and e-mails.
The football match on Saturday was an experience. Hopefully one I won’t be repeating anytime soon. As far as I could tell, the team from Norwich just kept battering the team from Yeovil until the ball ended up in ‘the net’ at which point 25,000 people jumped around like they’d won the lottery and at least three men picked me up and kissed me. I imagine that sense of camaraderie and tribalism is appealing to some, but I found it very claustrophobic. After the game (which I think resulted in a 3-0 win for Norwich City) Simon said “That’s the best they’ve played for a while – you’ll have to come again, you’re obviously a lucky charm.” I think I may have groaned a bit louder than I meant to, but he didn’t seem to notice. We met up with some ‘fellow supporters’ for a drink and I just felt lost in their conversations, which seemed to flit between an analysis of what the referee did wrong, a nostalgic look back to previous victories, and planning what the club should do five years hence when they’re playing in the Champions League. All fuelled by lots of lager. Not my scene at all, really, and I was relieved to get back on the bus and head home. Simon is nice enough, but I’m still suspicious of his sudden interest in me. My paranoid side is now telling me he’s jealous of the time I spend with his dad, and he’s worried I might be muscling in on his inheritance, so he’s trying to get close enough to suss me out and force me from his parents lives. Actually, with the way Ted keeps destroying me on the chess board that might not be such a bad thing.
Hannah has been a moody cow again. She just can’t cope with life when she’s not in a relationship. She keeps pressuring me to buy a car. She says it will give me ‘freedom and options’ but it’s really so I can give her and her mates lifts everywhere and pick them up from clubs, when it's too late for buses and taxis are expensive. I told her I didn’t put myself through the hell of driving lessons just so I could be a Taxi For Tarts. I think we may not be speaking for a while...
Hang on – Philippa’s car has just pulled into the car park. I’d better get back to my spreadsheet.

RC 11-3-10

What can I do?

Hannah has decided to ditch the bus driver. His name, it turns out, was Graham. He was 48, almost bald and incredibly boring, although generous. Hannah tells me she never even kissed him, but has had free bus travel for a fortnight. I told her she was a prostitute in all but name and she smiled, for the first time in weeks. Hopefully now she’ll consider getting in contact with Nathan and we can get back to some kind of happy normality.
Work was a pain in the hole today. I got there to find a pre-menstrual Philippa on the verge of a breakdown, and instantly forgot how to do everything she taught me last week. Thankfully Tom’s wife was still on hand to go over stuff with me and I think it may have sunk in a bit more this time. She’s enormous, by the way. If she’s not having twins, or a hippo, I’ll be amazed.
Ted’s son Simon seems to have taken some kind of surreal shine to me. He’s sending me e-mails daily, has added all sorts of comments on my Facebook page, and keeps suggesting other fun things we can do together after the football game. Maybe he’s just lonely. Or maybe he’s in love with me. Or maybe he’s just another of those socially inept web-obsessed loonies that seem to latch themselves onto me with frightening regularity. I think I might have to be feeling ill tomorrow (the day of the game) and cancel, rather than open myself up to months of unwelcome pestering.
And people wonder why I have no friends.

RC 5-3-10

Playful

Yesterdays blog got me thinking about some of the other experiments we carried out at uni, normally when anyone who might have known better was safely away from the lab. Messing about with Flourine was fun and could produce some spectacular results. Then we went through a stage of setting up little tests that we knew would have delayed reactions. That way we could hide them on a shelf and calmly walk away, waiting for the explosion, smoke or fire alarm, or Mr Weddell the chemistry master to race from the lab coughing and threatening to castrate everyone in his next lecture. My personal favourite involved mixing equal amounts of iodine powder and aluminium powder in a small can and just leaving it on the bench while we all went out for lunch. I think the results can still be seen on YouTube. They can certainly still be seen on the workbench in the lab.

RC 2-3-10

New Month!!

I went for a walk today to see if I could spot any Spring flowers breaking through on the hedgerows. It was bloody freezing, with a bitter wind and almost constant rain. I was forgetting that March in Norfolk does tend to be the tail-end of Winter, rather than the early onset of Spring. I hate it when it’s wet and windy. We’ve had some real wintry weather in the past few months, which I don’t mind so much. What gets on my tits is when it’s grey, overcast and wet, especially when it stays that way for weeks on end, which is can do quite often in the UK. But enough of this gloom – with my new-found determination to stay always cheerful I am predicting warmer, drier weather ahead, and a chance to dig my bike back out before the weekend.
Ted’s son Simon has contacted me by e-mail and asked if I’d like to go to a football match with him. Apparently Norwich City are doing very well at the moment and he has a spare ticket for the next home match, and apparently at Christmas I told him I’d love to go along sometime. I know that sounds unlikely for me, a man with the same level of interest in football as a prawn has in Marie Rose sauce, but it was Christmas Day, and much imbibing of vino had occurred. I didn’t like to sound ungrateful, so I replied with an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’
Rory mixing with soccer fans? The result could be the same as that time I mixed potassium with water in the lab at uni.

RC 1-3-10