10 days in May (a retrospective)

We were broken into and robbed. Or to be exact, my love-struck sister forgot to check the door was closed properly, and some opportunist bastards from the neighbourhood walked in and helped themselves to our possessions. Bastards took the Wii and my laptop, and Hannah’s camera, which was full of photos of stuff she wants to sell on eBay and Nathan looking pious in the countryside.
I’ve been dealing with feelings of anger and insecurity, as well as dealing with the police, the insurance company and my sister, so I couldn’t be bothered to sit in the library and access the internet, so I’ve been unable to keep the blog going.
Bastards.
If I catch them I’m gonna carve out their kidneys and eat them.
I had to spend my holiday savings on a £220 netbook. Admittedly it only cost 75 quid from Dodgy Dave at The Feathers, but that doesn’t lessen the blow, financially or emotionally.
I may discuss the break-in at length in the future, but it’s still a bit raw at the moment, and a bit hard to put into words exactly how horrible, violated and exposed I feel, so I’ll leave it there for now.

Elsewhere during our break, one of the customers at work praised my telephone manner and asked if I’d like a job working in the call centre for his insurance brokers. I told him call centre staff were the spawn of Satan, and that insurance is basically a sham where you charge people an extortionate rate for protection against things that will almost certainly never happen, and then if they do happen, you find a way not to pay out anyway.
He said “Right. You could have just said ‘no, thanks.’”

RC 31-5-10

Can you get a hangover from films?

I’m still recovering from my movie marathon madness. I made it through the full 24hours, but not without incident. Buttock cramp set in midway and kept coming back intermittently. It’s hard to enjoy the remake of ‘Psycho’ when you feel like someone’s been kicking you in the arse for a fortnight. I got really tired early evening so I decided to ramp up my coffee intake, completely ignoring the fact that I’ve always been very sensitive to caffeine. From then on, my toilet breaks ended up about 10minutes apart, and I started hallucinating at about 8pm.
Oh well, it’s done now.

I’m under pressure from work to shave. I explained that I was trying to grow a beard for the first time, and that these things can’t be rushed, and that the best kinds of foliage are the ones that are left un-trimmed and allowed to grow naturally. I also pointed out that I don’t have face-to-face contact with customers so it doesn’t really matter what I look like, but they don’t share my opinion. Tom’s strange beliefs probably include a hatred of beards on sanitary grounds, so I may have to give in. To be honest, it has started to get incredibly itchy, and my stubble keeps getting caught on my zip, so I’ll be glad to be shot of it. But I’m reminded of a pearl of wisdom from my uncle – “Once you’ve had a beard, clean-shaven feels weird.”
Actually, it may have been my aunt.

RC 21-5-10

An odd thought

My number of blog postings is now 333.
That’s exactly half The Number Of The Beast.
Does that make me the half-son of the Devil?

RC 20-5-10

Home Alone

Hannah and Nathan are out again tonight. They’ve gone on a church-organised nature walk on the North Norfolk coast. I think they get to wonder at the marvels of nature and then have a guy in a collar tell them it was all made by God.
I’ve never understood why loving someone should mean you have to do things that are totally against your instincts? Hannah is about as interested in nature as I am in Belgian pottery, but she was getting ready with a level of excitement normally only seen in Catholic priests before choir practise. It’s sweet that she’s doing things he likes because she’s enamoured, but if they’re still together in three years time, and she’s still doing things just because he likes them, then she’ll be hating him for it. I may not have a history of long-term relationships, but I’m a good observer, and that one’s obvious.

RC 19-5-10

Monday Movie Marathon

As the Gods of Wet Weather seem fit to cause a postponement of my cycling regime, I’ve decided to set myself a challenge that doesn’t rely on clear skies and warmth. Starting at midnight, I am going to spend 24 hours watching non-stop films. I’m allowed to go off to use the toilet, but only for the briefest time possible. Apart from that I have to stay sitting on the sofa, and there has to be a film on or I’ve failed. There are a couple of other rules and regulations: I’m allowed to make myself a hot drink, but only once every four hours; I can make myself a hot meal at 8am and 1pm, but it has to be something from the freezer that I can put in the microwave, so that I only have to leave the sofa for two two-minute bursts ( 1 – to put the meal on to heat, and 2- to get the meal and cutlery from the kitchen) Otherwise, I am only allowed to use the contents of a picnic coolbox from Argos, which has to be in position beside the sofa by 11.55pm tonight. So far I’ve placed inside it a six-pack of Lucozade, a 2-litre bottle of water, a multipack of Sainsburys cereal bars and a Wagon Wheel. Later I shall make myself some peanut butter sandwiches and steal some of Hannah’s apples from the fridge. The coffee is on, my pile of 13 DVDs is ready, and I’m actually excited already. I’m going to start with ‘Batman Begins’ and end with ‘The Last Starfighter.’ (It’s relevant because the first one contains the word ‘begins’ and the final one contains the word ‘last.’ Aren’t I clever??) In between those films our train shall be visiting some old favourites like ‘Ghostbusters’ as well as pulling into some previously unvisited stations like ‘No Country For Old Men’
If I’m not insane or dead by 0001 Tues I’ll let you know how I got on...

RC 16-5-10

On screen soon?

I think I might start my own TV production company. As far as I can see, you only need a few vital ingredients if you want to get a programme on telly on a Saturday night:
1. Three people sitting behind a table to be ‘judges’, one of whom must be pretty, cheap, desperate and untalented.
2. Someone with a regional UK accent to be the ‘host’
3. Members of the public willing to be humiliated.
And then you need two sound effects:
1. Lots of people going ‘Hurray!! Yay!! Yeah!! Wooo!!”
2. Lots of people going “Booooooooooo!”
And that’s it.

Primetime here I come.....

RC 16-5-10

The Last Supper?

Hannah is having a meal with Nathan’s family this evening. She bought a new dress, which I have to admit was a bit short and tight. It was more suited to a night on the razz at The Roxy, than for a meeting with people so religious they could be evangelists. She asked me how she looked, so I said ‘You actually look like one of the women from the Bible.’
She beamed, as if I’d made her day. “Which one?” she foolishly asked.
I said “Who was that whore who turned her back on Jesus?”
Apparently I’m unsupportive.

RC 15-5-10

Same old..

I had a drink with my old colleague Jared tonight after work. Well, it was 'after work' for me, for him it was two hours before he clocked on at the supermarket. That didn’t stop him drinking four pints of Stella though. He was full of stories from the shelf-stackers. Nothing seems to have changed. My replacement is apparently an 18-year-old amateur wrestler, who tends to turn up late at least once a week and has fallen asleep in the beer aisle twice. Jared tells me there is to be a ‘night-time stock replenishment workforce restructuring’ soon, as the overnight takings are down, so they may make cutbacks, and some of them may have to switch to daytimes. He also told me that all women are prostitutes, they just have different ways of charging you, and that he thinks he is developing a boil on his bollocks, so it was like we’d never parted.
I’m so glad to be out of that place. Mind-numbing, depressing and bad for the soul. I hate to sound callous, but I am about to watch ‘The Wire’ on DVD and fall asleep on the sofa, while he is pulling an eight-hour overtime shift stacking cat food. I think I know where I would rather be... and it ain’t somewhere in amongst the Kit-e-Kat.

RC 14-5-10

M+Ms

Today’s blog is a poem that only contains words beginning with the letter ‘M’

May maybe my most monumental month.
Much more money means much more music.
My muse may make mighty machinations.
Military mayhem mutes.
Meandering makes me mentally mighty.
My mother made me melancholy; madness might make me morose.
Mmmmm.

RC 13-5-10

An embarrassment to democracy?

I know I said wouldn’t mention it again, but the election happened 5 days ago and we still don’t know who the Prime Minister is.
There’s been, in the words of Paul Simon, ‘negotiations and love songs’ but they’re still no nearer compiling a new government than they were at midnight on Thursday.
As the whips, backbenchers, ex-PMs and ministers have all failed to reach an agreement on a coalition, I’ve thought of a few other ways they might decide which way to move forward:
1. The wives of the party leaders all appear on Page 3 of The Sun. The one with the nicest baps wins the General Election for her husband.
2. The 3 leaders get locked in a prison cell naked with an angle grinder and a bandsaw between them. The one left standing alive is Prime Minister.
3. Use a computer to randomly select a ten-year-old boy and put him in charge. He probably wouldn’t do any worse.
4. Execute all MPs and start again from scratch. (I call this The Extreme Democracy Option)
5. Let me take over and run everything.

RC (dictator in waiting) 11-5-10

Afterthought from yesterday's blog..

And doesn’t it just highlight how loveless, lonely and pathetic is my own existence?

Yes it does

RC 10-5-10
(from my lonely room...)

Loved-up

Nathan and Hannah are behaving like a fairy-tale. They’ve only been back together a week, but there’s an air of eternal togetherness about them already. I actually think I may have to find somewhere else to live soon, as their co-habitation seems inevitable. Every time I look at them I’m reminded of Daphne and Niles from the last two series of ‘Frasier.’ It’s sickening, and yet sickeningly wonderful as well.

RC 9-5-10

Growth

I’ve decided to grow a beard. I’ve never had one and I think now is the time. If you can’t experiment with facial hair when you’re single and in your twenties when can you? Plus I spend so much money on razors, foam, cream and lotion, it’s ridiculous, and I still end up bleeding and sore, so it’s about time my wallet and face had a break. I’m scouring the internet for interesting beard designs so I can give myself something to aim for. All I can find so far are pictures of Noel Edmonds, Tom Jones and Fidel Castro, none of whom I want to resemble. On my surfings though, I’ve noticed a few things of hirsute interest so I’ve decided to share them with you:

Rory’s Golden Rules About Beards:

1. No-one looks good in a goatee. No-one.
2. Moustache as part of a combo = good. Moustache on its own = bad.
3. Looking at a man with more than one weeks growth will automatically make your chin start to itch. Even if you’re a woman.
4. People who drink real ale do not believe in keeping beards tidy
5. Bits of your breakfast clinging to your beard is never, never attractive.
   

RC 6-4-10

Who are you?

I'm getting into 'The Who' in a big way this week. I was in a charity shop and found their Greatest Hits in a battered old CD case for a quid, and I've almost played it to death already. I had 'Baba O'Reilly' on repeat for about 12 hours yesterday. Then I drank a bottle of red wine and ended up dancing round the house singing "Out here in the fiiiiiieeeeeelllllds, I FIGHT for my meeeeeeeeaaaaaaallllls." Then I heard Hannah's dulcet tones from upstairs screaming 'SHUUUUUUUUUUT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKK UUUUUUUPP'
I can't blame her really. It was 2am this morning.

RC 5-4-10

RYGBBPB

I sat up with Ted to watch the final session of the snooker last night. He describes it as the most pulsating night of sport you can have in Spring. I can describe it in just three words:
Yawn
Yawn
Yawn
If this is the pinnacle of snooker combat then I hate to think how badly they play in the smaller tournaments. The highest break I can remember was a 57, which is roughly the number of hours that each frame was taking to complete. All they seemed interested in was leaving the white ball 'tight to the cushion' and they spent more time prancing around the table like male models on a catwalk than actually leaning over the sodding thing and playing. At one point I genuinely wanted to die rather than watch any more of it. In the end, I just fell asleep in the armchair, waking up at 4.15am to an empty room and a purring cat. I still don't know who won. I made my way home as quietly as I could to find the remains of Hannah and Nathan's wine on the table. It was a nice looking bottle of red so I finished it, as a way of rinsing the dust of boredom out of my mouth. I haven't seen her so I don't know yet how the lunch date went. I can't imagine her day was worse than mine, unless Nathan died at the table or told her he's marrying a fella or something. You never know....
One saving grace from the evening - Beryl introduced me to olives stuffed with pimento.
Yum
Yum
Yum

RC 4-5-10

loopy

I was looking forward to a Bank Holiday cycle-a-thon, but the weather is wetter than a squid's bathtub, so I'll be sitting with Ted, watching the snooker. It strikes me as a game that is designed with the sole intention of boring people to death. Ted loves it, and is trying to convince me to feel likewise. I swear that man spends all his time drinking tea and watching Sky Sports, especially since he gave up getting drunk and annoying his wife. Mind you, he raised several nice children and spent decades in the Army, so I guess he's entitled to do what he likes in retirement. So... the snooker... it's the World Championship Final, between Neil Robertson - an Australian who looks, sounds and acts like a ten-year-old boy - and Graeme Dott, a Scotsman with a voice like a dolphin on helium. I'm not enjoying it, but Hannah has invited Nathan round for the day so I'm making myself scarce. She wants to prove she'll be a good long-term partner, so she's downloaded a few Delia Smith recipes and is cooking him lunch. I'm not sure how poisoning him with an under-cooked lobster will help their relationship. Maybe she intends to nurse him through the inevitable sickness and diarrhoea and prove her love that way. She did a trial run of the meal on Friday and asked me to taste it, but I told her I'd rather eat my own socks than die of food poisoning while being her guinea pig, so it went untouched.
By the way - how come January never flies by as quickly as April?

RC 3-5-10

The Saviour returns

Nathan is back on the scene! Hannah says they are 'taking things slowly' but she has a smile on her face the size of a solar system and is skipping around the house like a nine-year-old. I'm chuffed to bits, as the saying goes. I may tease her and delight in her pain occasionally but deep down I do want her to be happy, and Nathan is the most likely way for that to happen. I still don't know yet how this happy re-union came about, which is surprising because Hannah has been talking about him incessantly this evening, but I'm sure the truth will out eventually and if it doesn't, who cares, as long as she doesn't end up in tears again.
In other news – Gerald the cat has been introduced to the fish. He found the tank by accident and then reacted as if he'd been electrocuted, heartbroken and exiled all in the same second. He'll get over it, I'm sure. And if he doesn't, who cares, he's fat and old and the fish are the future.
Happy days.

RC 1-5-10