Munters and Grunters

Now that the sideshow/circus of the World Cup isn’t dominating proceedings, I’ve started being distracted by the tennis. A year since the last Wimbledon Championships, and I had forgotten the joy that a ladies tennis match can bring…
They all go on about the traditions of Wimbledon, and I have to admit I’ve noticed a few things that are guaranteed to happen every year at SW19. I present for you Rory’s List Of Annual Wimbledon Occurences:

• Rafael Nadal always looks like he's just smelt the World's Smelliest Fart.
• Sue Barker always looks like the proud mum at a school concert
• Roger Federer always crys
• Australian fans always get on everyone’s nerves
• If John Isner and Nicholas Mahut get drawn together in the first round, they’ll still be playing in August
• Serena Williams increasingly takes on the appearance of a racehorse
• In an all-womens match between two East Europeans, I can never make it through the first set without disappearing into the bathroom.
• The BBC will continually ask whoever wins “Isn’t this the Greatest Tournament in the World? I mean - isn’t it?? It is, isn’t it?? It’s the best, coz it’s British, and we’re fab, aren’t we??? Aren’t we, Roger?”
• People who spend 50 weeks a year not even remotely interested in tennis will suddenly bemoan the fact that we don’t have any decent players.
• I’ll use the tournament as the basis for a blog entry, even though I spend 50 weeks a year not even remotely interested in tennis

RC 30-6-10　

Doctors and sphincters

I have a meeting with Dr Kozhliak later this week. He wants to see me ‘after surgery hours’ to discuss my ‘encounter’ with the luddite locum Dr Sinclair. I get the feeling I’m not the only person who had problems with him.
While I’m there I might ask him about bowel movements, as my arse has been behaving very strangely this week. I don’t know if it’s the stress of more work, or the constant dietary abuse of beer and crisps while the footballs on, or a combination of both, but my poo has been like toffee yoghurt with croutons in.
And on that note, I shall leave you and wish you a pleasant week..

RC 29-6-10

Germany 4 England 1 - a brief retrospective

There was the usual big crowd to watch the football at Ted and Beryl’s yesterday. It was England against Germany, so the atmosphere was charged with what The Sun would call ‘patriotism’ but which I would call jingoistic, racist, misplaced, neanderthal hatred. I decided not to drink any alcohol, and it made it a very different spectacle. Because I didn’t get caught up in the drunken excited camaraderie I realised how little interest this sport really holds for me, and that was borne out by how unbothered I am that England lost.
As I left to come home for tea, Beryl said “It was a shame we didn’t see your lady friend again today.” We’d be so busy at work last week I’d forgotten to ask Philippa where she was watching it. I’m sure it’s not just coincidence that the matches I have enjoyed watching are the ones that I’ve watched with Philippa…

RC 28-6-10

Boost for the troops?

The little café near work are selling home-made chocolate bars to raise money for ‘Help The Heroes.’ There’s a big sign up saying ‘Show Your Support For Our Soldiers’ and the bars are 75p each. I can’t help thinking I could show my support better by sending them some tanks, or maybe petitioning the government to try and get them home. But at least the café are doing their bit, aren’t they? I have to say though, their fundraising might go better if the chocolate didn’t taste like shit.

RC 26-6-10

Balls

The office today is a bit quieter than this time yesterday. We had most of the warehouse staff piling in with beer and crisps to watch the football live on the telly. Tom isn’t much of a sports fan, so normally when there’s a tournament on people are calling in sick or sneakily watching it online, but with him at home changing nappies and warming milk bottles Philippa decided to make it a party. Someone called ‘Riggsy’ set up a 32-inch Panasonic TV, we tuned it to BBC1, and threw open the doors to the masses. I’m slowly warming to football, but I didn’t ‘get into it’ with the gusto of the others, most of whom seemed on the brink of emotional collapse for 90 minutes.
At 5pm we turned the phones back on, happy about England’s glorious win, but facing the wrath of 17 customers who had been trying to get through and complain coz their delivery drivers were late….
I imagine lots of wallpaper trucks were parked in lots of laybys and tuned to lots of sports stations this afternoon…

I saw Ted last night to discuss the match. He is happier than a pig in poo and can’t wait to ‘stuff the Germans’ on Sunday. Together we watched The Most Ridiculous Tennis Match In History - John Isner and Nicholas Mahut locked at 59-59 in the last set when bad light stopped play. Ted says it’s the equivalent of a World Cup football match where the penalty shoot-out goes on for longer than the match itself. I don’t know enough about either sport to comment really. I just wish it was Caroline Wozniacki and Daniela Hantuchova slogging it out and sweating for 10 hours. That would put even me on the brink of emotional collapse.

RC 24-6-10

The Name (and the shame)

We found out today what Tom’s new son is to be called….. They brought him into work to ‘introduce’ him to everyone, and of course we had to hear the story of his conception…. Apparently, it was the hot August weather that ‘got them in the mood’ and then a CD of Van Morrison songs that provided ‘the soundtrack to our lovemaking’ Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, his full name is SUMMER GEORGE IVAN SCOTT.
God help him…

RC 22-6-10

Am I The Wallpaper Prince Of North Norfolk?

I’m working six full days this week. Tom is off on paternity leave, bonding with and brainwashing the latest member of The Scott Wallpaper Empire, so Philippa asked if I could go in for ‘extra duties.’ That almost sounds like a scenario from a cheap porn film, except it turns out my ‘extra duties’ involve processing orders on the computer and organising delivery times with customers.
There is a rumour that Judith doesn’t want to return to work again, even when the latest edition has stopped breastfeeding, so that may open the door to full-time permanency for me. Trouble is, there are a long line of other Scott children who may be waiting for a chance to join the family business. Maybe I should get to know them better and find out which (if any) of them plan to be The Heir Apparent. Then, if necessary, I can plot to get them out of the picture.
My God, this blog is turning into an Agatha Christie novel.

RC 21-6-10

3 days, 399 words

Even by my standards, it’s been a strange weekend.
Ted’s house was packed on Friday. Members of his family that I never knew existed turned up with alcohol and England flags and the party was in such good swing that most of us missed the first half of the football.
Philippa wore a nostalgic England shirt that must have been designed for a six-year-old boy. It was small, tight and attractive and she had at least eight male eyes on her at any given moment.
In the course of the evening, at least six people told me how great she was, and that I was a very lucky man. I didn’t have the heart to correct them and say we were just workmates.
I can’t remember getting home, but as I wandered through the house on Saturday morning with a screaming hangover and just a pair of pants on, I realised that Philippa was asleep on the sofa. It was a scary moment. Had I been kind and invited her to stay so she could drink and not drive? Had I brought her back in the hope of something happening, only to be rejected and humiliated and sent off to bed alone?
Thankfully, she was so wrecked she couldn’t remember either, so we assumed that it was just a friendly act of kindness and sat around watching kids television.
For lunch we ate cheese on toast and Pringles, and then she drove home hoping she wasn’t still over the limit.
I spent most of the afternoon looking at football information websites in the vain attempt to learn enough about the sport to sound more knowledgeable, but my head was still hurting and my mind kept wandering and wondering what Philippa might be up to.
In the end I drank lots of orange juice and went to bed early to recover.
At five o’clock this morning I got up to go for a pee, and found one of Beryl’s prize spider plants in my bathtub. I had obviously decided in my drunken stupor to liberate it from her kitchen.
This evening I popped over to take it home, and to apologise for getting drunk round their house again, and to thank them for letting me invite Philippa. Beryl squeezed my hand softly and said “that’s the girl you’re going to marry.”
Even by my standards, it’s been a strange weekend.

RC 20-6-10

Names and games

Philippa and I are trying to guess what ludicrous name Tom’s new son will be given. Bearing in mind the info contained in my blog on June 12th, we’ve calculated that the conception took place sometime during August last year, so we’ve scoured our memories and the internet for any relevant occurences that may have sparked a stirring in Tom’s loins, and persuaded his wife to grant his wish.
Philippa says that they had the office redecorated then so he may end up being called Dulux. Tom and his brother did a sponsored cycle ride, but I know from experience that long bike rides and an urge for sexual intercourse don’t follow on from each other very closely. So that’s out, unless he ends up being called ‘Saddlesore’ or ‘Vaseline’
Let’s be honest, it could be anything, and the chances of us actually guessing the right name are very slim, but it’s fun to guess and helps pass the time in the office.

It turns out that Philippa likes football, and she was saying she doesn’t know where to watch tomorrows England game. None of her friends are interested and her family are ‘too passive and non-sweary in their support’ and she doesn’t like the rowdy atmosphere of a pub. So I found myself inviting her over to watch it with me and Ted. Well he did say it was an open house while the Cup was on…

RC 17-6-10

Dropped

Tom’s wife has finally given birth. Seven pounds ten ounces apparently. A boy. Mother and baby both well. He’s their sixth, so I can’t imagine she had too much trouble squeezing him out. I mean, my understanding of female anatomy is limited, as any ex-girlfriend will tell you, but there must be a finite number of times the muscles in the vagina can be stretched before they become permanently loosened and flexible. It’s like shoe leather - it starts all tight and chafes your ankles but once you’ve stuffed your feet in and out a few times it tends to give a bit more. Or maybe it isn’t like that at all. I’m not comfortable talking about it as I’m squeamish and I don’t like babies. Philippa has warned me that Tom turns into something called a baby-bore when his kids are born, and he’s likely to spend all day going on about it when he comes back to work after paternity leave. He might even bring in pictures to celebrate ‘the miracle of natural childbirth’ and to let us all share in his joyful wonderment. If he sets up a PowerPoint presentation on placenta, I swear I will kill him with an ashtray.

RC 16-6-10

Misunderstood again, then..

I had a letter from the doctors today, that made me fall off my chair with shock and rage. That ****ing annoying ****stick of a ****ing student doctor has made a complaint about me. Apparently I used ‘vulgar and offensive language’, behaved in ‘a threatening manner’ and ‘questioned his professional capabilities.’ The surgery have a ‘zero tolerance policy’ when it comes to aggression, and I have to write to them justifying my actions, or kindly find another GP to register with. I mean, really, **** my itchy ringer.

RC 16-6-10

Please explain..

England drew their opening match at the football World Cup.
Why are the pundits, media and the public acting like the country’s been hit by a meteor?

RC 14-6-10

Football fancy

There was a weird moment during the World Cup game at Ted’s last night. His son Simon brought round a couple of his mates from work, and at one point one of them said, in response to nothing except his own drunkenness, ‘If I had a gun at my head, and I was forced to admit it, the one man that could tempt me into bed would be Steven Gerrard.’ It was weird, but it brought forth lots of funny comments about ‘coming late from midfield’ and ‘bursting into the box,’ which would probably be funnier if I knew more about football. It did inspire me to write this little poem:

I have a problem that I’m finding quite hard
I’ve fallen in love with Steven Gerrard
I’m not scared of my feelings, but it’s becoming a joke
Coz basically, I’ve fallen in love with a bloke
It started, I think, in two thousand and three
When he scored a good goal in the Champions League.
The way that he dribbles, and shimmies and jinks
Makes me think, in the dark, he’s a dirty young minx

My ‘one man that would tempt me’, by the way, would be Viggo Mortensen, or to be more accurate his character in the Lord Of The Rings films. He’s so dreamy. Strong, yet sensitive. Capable of acts of vengeance and power, but also capable of love and affection. And imagine running your fingers through that silky black hair……
I have to stop this now.

RC 13-6-10

You don't have to be sane, to be a parent

I found out this week what Tom’s children are called. Are you ready for this? Their names are, in order of age, Robson, Jameson, Storm, Tennyson and Rainbow.
I thought at first he was a bit of a hippy, but Philippa informs me that he names his children after the circumstances in which they were conceived. Firstly, why would you do that? And secondly, why would you share that information with others?
ROBSON (who is female, by the way) was conceived during England’s successful World Cup campaign of 1990. Her full name is something like Robson Beardsley Lineker Scott, but she’s always insisted on being called Bobby. I can’t think why. JAMESON was the result of a bottle of Irish Whiskey during a camping trip. STORM was created when the electrics went out during a thunderstorm and ‘they couldn’t think of anything else to do.’ TENNYSON obviously has a poetry connection: Tom was in the bad books at home, but got back in his wife’s favours by serenading her with some of her favourite poems. And that leaves RAINBOW. I thought she may have been named after a nice romantic moment where her parents lay in each others arms and a rainbow appeared overhead. But no. Tom got over-excited while driving so they stopped the car and had sex… on the car park at a Rainbow superstore.

RC 12-6-10

One of those dreams..

I woke up at 4am this morning with another new entry for Rory’s Book Of Bizarre And Worrying Dreams:
Eva Green, the girl from the Daniel Craig Bond film, was chasing me through a town centre on a moped. I was running really fast, but someone had tied my wrists together with a silk scarf so it was hard to keep my balance and I kept falling over on the pavement. No-one wanted to help me, they just looked at me with pity and slowly shook their heads. Eventually we ended up near a big fountain in a town square. It was just me and her, and the square had been completely fenced in with fifty-feet high barbed wire. I’m not sure why, but I’m pretty sure we were in Hull. After circling me a few times on her 50CC Honda, she kicked me over onto my back and ended up sitting on my stomach and slapping me repeatedly in the face while shouting “Tell me where it is…. Tell me where it is…. Tell me where it is…”

I haven’t had sex in a loooooooong time.

RC 10-6-10

Some new lists

5 films that seem like a good watch but are ultimately disappointing when you think about them properly…
Titanic
Cloverfield
Hulk
8 Mile
Casino Royale

8 things guaranteed to ruin your day, no matter how good you’ve been feeling..
Rain when you’re cycling
Bumping into an ex-partner and her attractive new boyfriend
Davina McCall on telly
Work
Cramp in the back of your leg that makes you feel like you’ve been stabbed with a broadsword and makes you roll around like a croc having a fit.
Norovirus
A power cut
Door-stepping cold-callers

4 TV Programmes on my list of All-Time Favourites..
Muppets Tonight
The West Wing
Wallander
Atom

The 3 TV scientists I would currently most like to work with:
Prof. Brian Cox
Jim al-Khalili
That Japanese-American guy who hosted the series on Time

The 5 best Childrens TV themes:
The Flintstones
Round The Twist
Johnny Briggs
Burke’s Backyard
The Box of Delights

6 books I read as a young teenager while hiding in my bedroom so I didn’t have to face my alcoholic mother and her collection of hangers-on:
Sink The Bismarck
The Manhattan Project: Cornerstones of Freedom
American Psycho
The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Bram Stoker’s Dracula
Long Walk To Freedom by Nelson Mandela
　
1 conclusion I can reach from looking at the list above:
I was a dark and troubled child…

RC 9-6-10

Growth gone

I finally shaved last night, after a month of itchy bristles, accusatory looks from the public, and pressure from employers and family. None of those factors influenced me, I just realised that Summer is simply Too Hot For Beards. It was like being out in temperatures above 25Celsius with a scarf wrapped round your face. So The Untrimmed New-Look-Rory Beard Face has gone, to be replaced by The chubby-chopped, chapped-lipped, razor-hacked, blood-spotted same-old-Rory-look teenage-tosser Face that we all know and recognise. (Or would, if I ever put my photo on this blogsite)
Rest assured however - Summer don’t last forever, and when Winter’s back, so will be my urge to be beardy.

RC 8-6-10

Chess and change

Ted kicked my arse at chess again today. I think we need to find a new reason to meet up on Sundays, as I think it’s obvious that neither of us enjoys the ritual humiliation that he meters out to me on a weekly basis. I don’t even bother trying to learn new moves anymore, I just sit there and shuffle bits around the board until he puts me out of my misery. Thankfully, the World Cup starts next week, so we’ll be watching a game I have no interest in, rather than playing one that I’m rubbish at.
Ted and his family love the World Cup. Well - Ted and two of his sons do, the others just get carried along with the excitement and like it as an excuse to meet up and drink a lot. Ted tells me he’ll be watching every game that’s on ‘even when there are three games a day.’ I have an open invitation to join him at any point, which is nice. There’ll be various friends and relatives there at different times, and Beryl is standing by to provide snacks and sustenance. I’ve been alive for a quarter of a century, and I finally seem to understand what it means to be part of a family.
Speaking of families, I think Nathan and Hannah might be starting one soon. They’ve done just about everything else together. Annoyingly and wonderfully enough, the more time they spend together, the closer they seem to be, and the better they seem to get. The change in my sister is incredible, and it’s all positive. I hate this phrase, but it’s almost as if she’s growing up. I hope so - it’ll be nice to have one member of the Chesworth family achieve emotional maturity.

RC 6-6-10

NHS F.O.

I went to the doctors today. I’ve been feeling rough as rope since last Tuesday, when I thought I was in for a cold. Everything has been hurting, my head feels like it’s full of sand and I’ve had less energy than a walrus after a long sprint in Summer.
Dr Kozhliak wasn’t available, so my appointment was with the locum, or lokum, or locom or however the hell you spell it. His name was Dr Sinclair, and he didn’t look old enough to have qualified from primary school, much less medical school. He listened, smiled and said, “Did you know lethargy and a stuffy head can be a sign of depression?”
I said “Yes, they can. They can also be a sign of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and a brain tumour, you don’t have to say it’s depression just because it’s in my case-notes.”
He smiled again, and said “Hmmmmmmmm”
He asked more questions, took my pulse, temperature and blood pressure, made me squeeze out a piss into a jar and then said “All fine. All good. I think this may be more to do with your mood, than your physical well-being.”
I said “No offence, mate, but have you got a backlog of antidepressants in the pharmacy you’re desperate to get rid of?”
We then had an exchange that got more heated and louder, until he said “Do you realise that irrational anger is often a side effect of depression?”
For the first time in my life, I told a doctor to **** off.

RC 4-6-10