We're ready!!

I brought home all our Xmas groceries in the Love Machine. Bearing in mind there aren’t many of us, we’re spending most of our time out of the house, and the shop re-opens Boxing Day anyway, I’ve gone a bit mad. But sod it- it’s Christmas, and isn’t ‘going a bit mad’ the whole point??
In case I don’t blog in the next few days:

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

RC 23-12-11

Rory's Xmas Haiku 2011

Christmas is coming
I’m as happy as a child
and drunk as a skunk

Philippa and I
Cooking Christmas lunch for two
I really can’t wait!

Midnight Mass in church:
Religious people line up
to eat their saviour

Turkey and stuffing
Make a gorgeous gravy meal
But a crap sandwich

My challenge this year:
Eat enough mince pies to kill
a pride of lions

RC 22-12-11

a little list

TEN UNTRUTHS ABOUT CHRISTMAS:
(and I made these up all by myself)

Father Christmas no longer lives in Lapland. In 1997 he decided he was ‘too old for the cold’ and now lives in a thatched cottage in Warwickshire.

The smallest decoration ever made is a bauble the size of an atom.

For Christmas lunch on Christmas Island, they always have roast reindeer

If you take the number of Christmas number ones achieved by Cliff Richard, and multiply it by the number of inns that turned away Joseph and Mary, you get the total number of drug addicts my mum has had Christmas Eve sex with

There are 10 different ways to say MERRY CHRISTMAS in Finnish, one of which is ‘Buttelly Lopski’

Dr Who actor Patrick Troughton played the Harrod’s in-store Santa for a total of 71 years

In the year 2237, Christmas Day will fall on April the 23rd

It’s a tradition at Buckingham Palace that the toilet roll in the Queen’s private bathroom is red throughout the month of December

The record TV audience for a programme shown on Christmas day was achieved in 1977. It was a yuletide special of ‘The Morecambe and Wise Show’ hosted by Noel Edmonds, and starred a young Margaret Thatcher blacked-up in a sketch as a stripper.
It was watched, in the UK alone, by 117 million people.

There is a National Union Of Elf-Baiters

RC 21-12-11

5 days left on the advent calendar

Got my shoppin done! Or at least planned. I’m going to buy everyone a selection of things I know they’ll like, rather than go for something big and risk them not even liking it. And I’ll do it all at work, so I can get a 10% discount. And I shall call it being economical and efficient, even though others might call it stingy and lazy.

I’m getting really excited now. Philippa and I are both working Christmas Eve, but then we’re both off work til the 30th. Hannah is with Nathan’s family on Christmas Day, so Philippa and I will have lunch together then all meet up at Ted and Beryls later. Boxing Day we’re with Philippa’s folks, then Sophie and Tamara arrive on the 27th. The more I type about it, the more I think about it, and the more I think about it the more excited I get!

I’ve just watched some clips of Hannah’s drama show on her college website. I missed it on Friday because I was working, and I missed it on Saturday because I was nursing Philippa. She was really, really good! I’m so sorry I missed it and I’ve vowed to myself, and to her, that I will never miss another performance.
Now I have to buy a panto ticket for January…

RC 20-12-11

Panic on the streets of Chesville

At 4.55 this afternoon, I suddenly realised that I haven’t yet bought any Christmas presents.
How the hell did this happen?
I was making plans and writing lists back in October, how have I ended up so disorganised? In the past it wouldn’t bother me, but I’m in love now, and I care about my sisters, and I want to get them all something meaningful, instead of just my usual “that’ll do” presents.

Tomorrow’s my last day off until Sunday, and the rest of the week at work will be busier than a Liverpool A&E department, so I’d better get as much done as I can.
If you can help me with any suggestions for the following, I’d be eternally grateful if you contact me:
Present for my girlfriend (she’s sporty and gorgeous)
Present for my older sister (she’s tall and a nurse)
Present for my older sister’s girlfriend (she’s also a nurse, and has beautiful eyes)
Present for my younger sister (she’s dramatic and emotional)
A card for each of the above
A week’s worth of food for each of the above
Presents for Ted & Beryl
Presents for Ted & Beryl’s family

Should I buy my pets a present? I never have before, but I’m getting increasingly sentimental in my dotage. What do you buy for a cat and some goldfish? I could just give Gerald the fish to eat, then I wouldn’t have to buy them anything beyond a headstone.
God, I’m losing it. I’m gonna have a coffee and spend all night shopping online.

RC 19-12-11

chesty

Philippa is still hacking, coughing and hawking. (yes, I’m aware that sounds like a lawyers firm)
Most people in Norfolk seem to have flu, a cold or a chest infection. The pharmacy aisle at work has almost sold out of Lemsip, and every other person I know is on some kind of antibiotic. We may be in the grips of a global recession, but anyone owning a drugs company must be raking in millions every second.
She looks so cute with her crimson nose. I’ve been keeping her warm and medicated, and I’ve bought enough soft tissues to last a lifetime. She keeps saying she’ll show her appreciation when she’s better, but I can honestly say that making her feel less miserable is all the reward I need.

RC 18-12-11

excuses for not writing

I’ve been ridiculously busy at work, and nursing Philippa at home. She picked up some horrible flu bug thing and hasn’t been out of bed much. I hate seeing her poorly, but I’m enjoying being her nursemaid. I even offered to dress up in a uniform for her but she just mumbled ‘maybe when I feel better.’
This is my first time dealing with a supermarket Christmas rush while being part of the management team. It’s bloody stressful. Trying to judge just how much extra Elmlea we’ll need in December has been keeping me awake for nights on end. Then I have to deal with confused old women asking me where the Sainsbury’s sherry is, to which I have to reply ‘Probably in Sainsbury’s love. Maybe you should try there.’
Every night I come in exhausted.
I want to feel more Christmassy, so tonight I’m going to cuddle up with Philippa and watch ‘The Polar Express.’ I can’t afford to turn the heating up, so I’ll take advantage of her temperature to keep myself warm.

RC 16-12-11

haiku, then philosophy

Busy, busy me
Christmas time is nearly here
and the worlds gone mad

People lose control of themselves when they're Christmas shopping. I swear I've seen old women elbowing each other aside in the aisles because they think the clotted cream mince pies are running out. Chaos. I thought Christmas was a time of good cheer and love and friendship? Not in my shop, it isn't. I think we should go back to the old Victorian ways - give each other token presents and concentrate on a good lash-up instead of bowing to commercialism. Actually, the way the economy is dangling by a thread and clinging on by its fingertips, we may have no choice. By this time next year, so they say, we'll all be unemployed, living below the poverty line and asking the EU banks for a bail-out.
I say close the curtains, shut out the news and the weather, and cuddle up close to the one you love.

There. I have spoken.

RC 12-12-11

apologetic haiku

I've not been blogging.
I have no excuse at all;
I've just been lazy

RC 11-12-11

Frosty atmos..

One of Philippa’s friends invited us over for a ‘dinner party’ last night. There were eight of us (four couples) and most of us hadn’t met before, so we played some ice-breaking games and drank some wine before sitting down for a nice meal. It’s one of those events that I would have repelled from in the past, but I find myself enjoying them with Philippa. All in all it was a very nice evening.
Until..
After Irish coffees, we played a game where everyone had to write down 5 words which best describe their partner. You also, on another piece of paper, had to describe yourself in 5 words. Then we all read them out and if one of your words for your partner matched what they’d written themselves you got a point. The couple with the most points would win a bottle of champagne.
The words I put down for Philippa were BEAUTIFUL, SEXY, KIND, TALENTED, SPORTY. The words she put for me were CARING, MOODY, LAZY, LOVELY, LOVABLE.
One of the other couples were a bank manager called Tim and his stay-at-home wife Samantha. When she had to read out her 5 words to describe him, she’d written “He’s a big fat c**t”
I don’t think she’d quite grasped the concept of the game, do you?
Philippa and I came second, by the way.

RC 3-12-11

Most wonderful time, etc..

Happy Advent Day!
I have a Transformers calendar this year. I also have a Barbie one that I bought Philippa, only to be accused of sabotaging her pre-Christmas diet. So today I opened two doors, and got chocolate interpretations of ‘Bumblebee’ and a tiara.
I can’t decide what to get Philippa for Christmas. I’d like to get something from work so I can use my discount card, but that feels a bit unromantic. She tells me my present is ‘already bought, wrapped and hidden.’ Bloody women and their forward planning and their love of shopping. Maybe I’ll buy her a life. (If you’re reading this, darling, I’m kidding…)
I’m in charge of food shopping this year. I’m gradually ferreting away ‘damaged goods’ from the warehouse at work. So far I’ve brought home a 12-pack of Stella with only 10 cans in, a large box of broken chocolate biscuits, and a frozen ham that (in my opinion) was far too bruised to be sold.

I love December
But don’t want to write haiku
So I’m going now

RC 1-12-11

Oh, well..

I’ve miscounted, and misplanned, and now my number of blog entries for November will be the same as the number for August. So I won’t match last years achievement of a different number of blog entries posted each month. That’s disappointing, but my main aim for this year was 200 postings during the year, and I’m still on target to beat that. Especially if I keep my postings short and sweet and substance-less, like this one…..

RC 30-11-11

People are strange (and stupid)

We have a special offer on at work at the moment, that people are going nuts for. Brandy sauce, luxury mince pies and novelty Christmas puddings, all three for the price of two. Old couples and middle-aged housewives are buying them by the basket load thinking their getting a Yuletide bargain. Trouble is, when they get home and check more closely, the Use By dates are all next Friday, so they won’t be any good for Christmas anyway.
In the battle of Supermarket vs. Suckers there will only ever be one winner…

RC 29-11-11

The Joyful Results Of Ear-wigging

I overheard a wonderful story today. It was being told confidentially, but as I was eavesdropping, and therefore it wasn’t being told to me directly, I don’t feel bound by the contract of secrecy, and it’s fine for me to pass it on to you... right???
The story involves a couple that I will call Jack and Sandra. It was their tenth wedding anniversary last month, and they decided to have a big celebration at home. Sandra, a good old homely Norfolk gal, said that her parents always used to have indoor fireworks on her birthday, and she hadn’t seen them for years, and wouldn’t it be nice to have them on their special day?
“Say no more,” said Jack, “leave it to me. You take care of the food and drink, and I’ll take care of the fireworks.” And so, on the day before Hallowe’en, they sat down to a sumptuous meal and a bottle of champagne, and then moved on to the entertainment. Unfortunately, Jack didn’t realise ‘indoor fireworks’ isn’t the same thing as ‘using fireworks indoors…’ He set off a Catherine Wheel in the kitchen, and burnt the house down. Now, as a result, they’re living with her sister. Well, she is - he’s now living on his workmates sofa….

RC 28-11-11

List written after an evening of cider..

Some totally untrue facts about buildings:

The Taj Mahal is made of toothpicks.
Every public toilet in Western Australia is the property of Queen Elizabeth.
The interior shots in the series ‘Holby City’ are filmed in David Jason’s bathroom.
There’s a tunnel under Buckingham Palace that leads directly to Hell.
Bob Dylan Tower is the tallest building in Bedfordshire.
By law, every third door in a hospital has to open outwards.
Christopher Wren had a morbid fear of windows.
The cellar below Norwich Cathedral is ten times bigger than the building itself.
If you fart in the office of the White House Press Secretary an alarm goes off on the President’s desk.

RC 26-11-11

'Swollen Pigs' live at the Riverside Bar

We’re going out to a gig tonight. Some ‘hot new band’ I’ve never heard of. Should be fun, though. I like live music. There’s something inspiring about watching sweaty twenty-somethings bouncing around full of cheap drugs while terrible guitar music wails in the background. Maybe it makes me realise that my life isn’t as bad as it could be. Or maybe it makes me realise what I missed out on in my dark mid-twenties while cowering behind the curtains at home, and makes me glad that I turned my life around before it was too late to enjoy it.

RC 25-11-11

Offspringwatch

If you need another reason to join me in my hatred of Jamie Oliver, just look up the names he has given his children…

RC 24-11-11

Backwards, and forwards

I seem to be writing less and less in my postings. Maybe I should go back to the good old days of exactly 250 words per blog. Or maybe not. There’s enough insanity in the world without me going back to those habits.

Sorry to mention the ‘C’ word, but we’ve been talking about Christmas this evening. It’s going to be a lot more complicated this year, with visits to Philippa’s folks to fit in, and my work situation being different. One thing’s certain though - we’ll be at Ted and Beryl’s for Christmas evening. We’ve been invited already, and I wouldn’t miss it for all the cake in Cambridge. I did say to Ted “are you sure Beryl doesn’t fancy a year off?”
He said “don’t ever say that; especially to her. Beryl not cooking on Christmas Day would be like the Sun not rising in the morning. If I ever told her she couldn’t be the big hostess on the big day, it would kill her.”
We’re round there again on Sunday, so she can try out a new way of roasting potatoes. I don’t know where she keeps getting these ideas from, but I love being one of her guinea pigs. We’ll turn up with a cheesecake and an offer to wash up, and of course she’ll refuse both. What a woman.

RC 23-11-11

a recommendation

We have a wonderful new product at work.
A lattice-topped mince pie with custard in.
I’m having one now on my tea-break.
It’s like God has shot his load in my mouth….

RC 22-11-11

Monday haiku

November morning.
The fog lingers in Norfolk
like a widow’s veil

Robin in the hedge
His breast glowing with cold pride
Winter’s red symbol

Some songs lose impact
But “Driving Home For Christmas”
is shit all year round

My drumming lessons
Have expensively taught me
I’m shit at music

Fried egg sandwiches
Make me feel strangely sexy
I’m a food pervert

‘Strictly Come Dancing’
when it’s Googled, leads you to
a dirty website

I cycle a lot
I have thighs like a sportsman
and nuts like melons

It is my day off
I have been drinking since ten
Hence these shit poems

RC 21-11-11

I should have posted this at 8.11pm

It’s been a weird Autumn.
Normally by now I’m sliding into winter depression, but the weather has been so nice recently that it’s feeling like March already. All very confusing really. Daffodils are starting to spring up, birds that should have been in Africa weeks ago are still sitting happily in our hedges, and Old Bill (the perv from around the corner) is still hanging around the bus stop with his filthy summer shorts on.
It must be global warming.
My experiments on rainfall and temperature this year have shown unexpected results. Well, I say unexpected… in truth it’s the first year I’ve done them so I don’t have any other records to compare them to, but I’ve checked with other people online and they all agree it’s been a WEIRD year. The wettest ever August, the warmest ever October; a split-shift Summer that occurred in April/May and then September, and less November rainfall than we’ve seen in decades.
Taking my inspiration from Oscar-winning former-Vice-President Al Gore, I’ve put together a slideshow powerpoint presentation showing how I think Norfolk might look in the future if the weather continues changing as it has this year. Armed with enthusiasm, and my laptop, I showed my findings to Philippa and Ted this afternoon. I don’t think they took my concerns seriously. At one point, I was discussing how increased precipitation and warmth might affect the growth rates of our natural local vegetation. I concluded by saying “In 25 years, grass height in our back garden could reach as much as fifteen feet…”
“Buy a fricking lawn mower then” said Ted.
They can laugh if they wish (and believe me, they did) but they’ll soon come running to me when the water is above their ears and they haven’t got enough tinned food to survive on…
Heathens.

RC 20-11-2011 (cool date)

one of those weaks

It’s been an eventful, although uneventful, week. Lots of little things have happened, without really amounting to much. I thought I’d update you using a few verses of haiku:

Yet another cold
has invaded my body
and made me feel shite

Warm, spring-like weather
holds off the onset of SAD
and keeps me chirpy

I spoke to Sophie.
She is still looking for work
back here in Norfolk

In mid-November
It’s warm enough to cycle.
I love climate change!

Here’s a scary though:
Thirty-six days til Christmas!
(I hope we have snow)

More tomorrow…

RC 19-11-11

reflections on remembrance

We stand silently
To remember past lives lost
and to hope for peace.

We observed the 11am silence at work.
After about 87 seconds, some stupid old deaf bitch shuffled up to me and loudly said “Scuse me love - where do you keep the unsalted butter?”
Never have I so much wanted to grab a poppy - the symbol of commemoration and peace - and stab somebody in the eye with it.

RC 11-11-11

17 syllables; 57 varieties

Bored at work today - and with my mood lifted by last nights chat with Philippa - I turned my hand to some soup-inspired haiku:

Mulligatawny
Is a bloody stupid word,
but a lovely soup.

Creamy tomato
Does not occur in nature
But exists in tins

Cans of Heinz Big Soup
Are as important to me
as water and air

Leek and potato
Mixed with some stock and pepper
Is winter heaven

I love solid food
But nothing warms my cold heart
Like a bowl of broth.
　
RC 10-11-11

A wait is agreed; a weight is lifted

Philippa and I discussed ‘the proposal’ this evening. Well, to be honest, she decided we should talk about it, and I fought against my ‘run and hide’ mentality just enough to be able to listen to her.
She said it had been a lovely moment and had made her ‘feel all gooey’ but she hadn’t taken me seriously as I was ‘a bit pissed.’ I instantly felt better than I had done since Saturday night. It was wonderful to break the tension and share a joke, but also wonderful to be talking about our potential future marriage without feeling scared or embarrassed.
We both agreed it’s inevitable, but that neither of us are ready yet. We agreed that we don’t want to rush everything into our first few years together, that we’d like to enjoy things as they are before the stress of organising a wedding, and that it’s hard enough saving up for a house together without blowing several grand on one day of celebration. Philippa also said “I want to leave it as long as possible before I saddle myself with the surname Chesworth” Cheeky cow.
Later, as we sat in the kitchen and I cooked us some pasta, I said “But if I asked you seriously, you would say yes?”
She replied “Of course I would - it’s cheaper than getting the tattoo removed!”

RC 9-11-11

One little comment; no more career

Simon the Racist Manager has been sacked by the company. Head Office thanked my fellow managers and I for bringing the matter to their attention and apologised for ‘allowing someone with a wholly repulsive attitude not condusive to company beliefs to infiltrate our management structure and undermine our otherwise unblemished record with relation to multicultural diversity issues.’ Is there any situation they can’t turn into a corporate bullshit waffle-a-thon?
Apparently he was already on his final warning due to ‘inappropriate comments’ but he had thought that, being here ‘in the sticks’ for the day, his views might be more welcome. I find that very insulting.
Norfolk may be behind-the-times in many ways, but we’re not retarded bigots with attitudes that belong two centuries ago.
Well not all of us, anyway.

RC 8-11-11

Distracted by dinner; delighted by drink

No-one dared mention ‘the proposal’ yesterday. Philippa went jogging then spent longer in the shower than usual, and we got to Ted and Beryl’s an hour early for lunch.
Beryl, yet again, surpassed herself. She’s already warming up for Christmas, and was trying out a new way of roasting parsnips, with butter and rosemary I think. They were DELICIOUS!
Ted’s son Simon has brewed his own wine, so we had to do a taste-test after lunch.
Beryl stuck to the sherry, but the rest of us piled in like alcoholics at a beer festival. There was apple and ginger, blackberry and nettle, and something that tasted like peaches.
It was repulsive, but got me pissed quicker than an ethanol enema, so I think I’ll order a bottle for Christmas.

RC 7-11-11

Fractures and fireworks

Man I’ve been up a long time. A slightly troubled mind has led to a return of insomnia. Sleep deserted me at 3am, and doesn’t seem keen to come back again, so I thought I might as well blog!
It’s a rare weekend off for me so yesterday we took full advantage. The morning was spent in bed, then we went for a pub lunch and some lager. On the walk home, we passed a park where a football match was in progress, so we stood in the rain and spectated. Some poor sod fell awkwardly and broke his leg, and when the ambulance arrived to collect him, it got bogged down in the mud and just sat there. They had to wait half-an-hour for a farmer to tow it out with a tractor. The groundsman in charge of the playing field was there, and when he saw the mess they’d made of the pitch, he cried. I felt sorry for the patient but it was all very, very funny.
After a takeaway tea we got picked up by one of Philippa’s badminton mates, and went to a Bonfire Night display near the coast. This was a PROPER Bonfire Night do, by the way, where tradition, fun and extravagance have not given way to health and safety and silliness. There were hot dogs, and soup, and potatoes, and - most impressively - mugs full of tea with whiskey in!
The fireworks were amazing. One of the best displays I’ve ever seen. Later on, standing with my arms around my sweetheart, with the heat from the bonfire warming my cheeks, and the heat from the whiskey warming my belly, I looked around me at the happy families and the beaming children and I swear I could see our future. It was stretching out before us like a 60-year journey and it all felt so imminent and wonderful. I just knew that, whatever I may face in the decades to come, I would be facing it with someone special, and I would always have her strength and support.
I got lost in the romanticism of it all, and I think I asked Philippa to marry me.

Racist? Or just f***ing stupid?

We had a ‘relief manager’ working with us today. Ginger Graham was at Head Office, and the other senior manager is off sick, so they sent this bald tit over from another store to be in charge for the day. He had that look in his eyes that people get when they’ve had too many sleeping tablets; wandering around like a zombie and taking an extra second for their eyes to focus when they look at you. He had a tattoo of a hornet on his wrist and breath like a horse that’s been eating cowshit.
Considering he was only going to be here for a day, he seemed determined to make an impression. In our weekly lunchtime managers meeting he criticised the advent calendar display in the entrance, then tried to tell us all we should re-arrange the workforce.
He said “I like having black guys work in my warehouse, as they tend to be a lot stronger.” I didn’t know if he was just joking, or trying to get a reaction, so I decided to ignore him and carried on doodling boobs on my notepad. Sarah from the Customer Café picked up on it and started trying to question him and he said “This ain’t prejudice, it’s fact. Their DNA is different. That’s why white guys can never win at sprinting. Using blacks in the warehouse isn’t being prejudiced, it’s being efficient. It’s utilising the best tools at your disposal for the benefit of the whole store.”
By now I was the only person in the room not to have turned bright red with anger or got up and walked out, so I coughed loudly and said “I think this meeting is over.”
We didn’t see him much this afternoon.
And, on a management level, we didn’t get much store-work done either.
We were too busy composing our complaints to Head Office.

RC 4-11-11

Haikuween

Both of us off work…
Philippa dressed as a witch…
HORNY HALLOWE’EN!!!!!!!!

RC 31-10-11

Another night to dread..

Philippa wants me to go trick-or-treating with her and her nieces. I’m about as enthusiastic about doing it as I am about getting piles again. I DO NOT like Halloween. For me, it’s just an excuse for companies to churn out yet more branded shit that kids can pester their parents for. It also normally results in our house getting egged, or fire-bombed, or painted with obscene graffiti.
Philippa says it will be fun because we can dress up as well. I’ve told her I’ll only do it if she dresses up as a randy nurse, and I get to dress as a samurai.

RC 26-10-11

One of those weeks..

Work have been pushing me hard this week, the slave-driving bastards. Some stomach bug or other ripped through the staff in the bakery, so I’ve had to do extra hours in other departments to cover for the people who have been moved into the bakery to cover for the people who are pretending to be sick. They tell me it’ll do me good to experience a day or two in each area of the store. But then ‘they’ also told me that working for them as a manager would leave me feeling “professionally and financially rewarded.” Lying bastards.
In other news, Philippa has been talking about getting her ears pinned back. They look perfect to me, but apparently she got teased about them at school and she thinks it affected her and held back her educational growth. I’m not sure how - she has four A-levels and 11 GCSEs after all. Maybe this need for things like tattooing and cosmetic surgery is some kind of weird expensive self-harming-by-proxy. I’m not sure because I’m not a psychologist and because she’s female, and therefore inherently unfathomable. I told her each and every cell in her body is gorgeous to me, and proved it by kissing every single part of both her ears. She felt better, and I got myself really turned on, which was a shame as it was during her lunch break at work.
Thank God I had time for a shower before work.

RC 23-10-11

apology accepted

I took Barbara some flowers today. I genuinely felt bad about laughing at her troubles in the canteen. When I spoke to Ted about it he suggested I man up and tell her the truth, rather than leave it and give her a bad opinion of me. He is right more often than not. I have my workplace reputation to think of, you know…
I sat with her and apologised for my giggles on Saturday and explained that it’s a defence mechanism, and my way of dealing with bad news and bad emotions. She said it was a nice gesture and thanked me for explaining, as on Saturday I had ‘come across as a bit of a bastard.’ We have decided to give each other another chance.

I spent the rest of the day dealing with comments from people who wondered why I’d presented some flowers to a woman thirty years older than me.. Some people really have nothing better to do than gossip and speculate.

Despite the childish reaction from the workforce, I feel better for having done it. I don’t like upsetting people, and for the sake of a small gesture with flowers I am now back on an even keel with Barbara, even if I’m not in her good books. Plus, I bought them from the supermarket garage using my discount card, so the bouquet only cost me three quid…

RC 17-10-11

Anusol is the answer

Cycling a lot in the recent good weather has given me piles again. I really should invest in some proper cycling shorts so I don’t have to suffer this agony on a monthly basis. I’ve been trying to think of the best way to describe the discomfort of haemorrhoids, and I’ve got it down to a choice of five. I can’t decide which is best so I’ll let you read them all and make your own conclusions:

“I feel like someone’s shoved a teepee up my arse”
“It’s like someone’s turned my arsehole inside out, attacked it with a cheese grater, then roughly tucked it back up again.”
“My arse is like a toilet roll tube full of blood-soaked tissue.”
“I feel like my spine is climbing out of my poo-hole”
“It’s like I’ve had an internal examination by a doctor wearing Freddie Kruegers gloves”

RC 16-10-11

I'm not as bad a person as this blog will make me sound..

I had yet another one of those ‘why are you telling me this?’ moments at work today. It was also one of those occasions where ‘always finding the humour in things’ is not necessarily the best policy.
I was in the canteen at lunchtime, sitting next to one of the more experienced till girls - a very nice lady in her fifties called Barbara, who decided to tell me all about her husbands ongoing battle with dementia.
“It gets worse by the day”, she explained, “Yesterday I went out to the car and found him sitting in the passenger seat in a rage. I asked him what the matter was and he said ‘some bastards moved the steering wheel’”
Now I see myself as a good listener, someone very sensitive to other people’s feelings, and quite empathic, but at this point I got an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. I couldn’t help picturing this poor confused man, whose mind is so addled by alzheimers that he can’t even remember which side of a car you get in to operate it, just sitting there in the drive getting angrier and angrier. The more I tried not to think about it, the more detail seemed to be added, and I really started to lose it. I picked up my cappucino to try to hide my mouth, but only succeeded in snorting into it and splashing the hot froth onto my lips. Now I was switching between yelps of discomfort from the scalding, and bursts of laughter caused by this image in my head. Tears of pain were mixing with tears of joy and I ended up apologising and rushing off to the toilet to compose myself.
It took a good ten minutes, and a lot of cold water from the tap, before I was able to calm myself down enough to emerge.
The rest of the day was spent in a bizarre meditation-like trance, as I desperately tried to shut the image out of my mind and just get through the day without collapsing again.

Barbara and I were on the same afternoon tea break as well. For some reason she chose not to sit with me.

RC 15-10-11

Too long now?

This is my six hundredth blog!

To celebrate, I’m going to try to smash my record for ‘longest blog entry’ by writing more than 600 words. I can’t guarantee it will be inspired or even interesting, but writing six hundred words feels like a nice way to celebrate writing six hundred blogs, so please stay with me.
Ready? Here we go….

Philippa wants us to have a ‘vegetarian day’ once a week. Increasingly, aspects of my life seem to be preceded by the phrase ‘Philippa wants us to..‘
I love her, but I don’t want to become one of ‘those men’ who simper in the background of life while their wives stroll around making all the decisions and speaking on his behalf by starting everything with “WE like this..“ or “WE don’t do that..“
I’d rather be lonely and bitter than dominated and passive.

I think I might have haemorrhoids again. I did a shit this morning that felt like it was made of barbed wire.

I’ve been looking at lots of clips of drummers on YouTube, to try and pick up some tips. It strikes me that drummers fall into one of two categories - they’re either insane drug addicts in their twenties, or long-haired drunks in their fifties. And whichever category they fall into, they are always very sweaty.

I’m already sick of TV adverts that mention Christmas. We haven’t even had Hallowe’en yet and already they’re trying to induce panic-buying. I’ve decided that, in protest, I will no longer purchase any products from any company that uses the ‘C-word’ in its advertising during October. So Argos, B&Q, Toys-R-Us, Disney Home Entertainment and Tesco - you can all go **** yourselves; I’m shopping elsewhere.

That MUST be 600 words, mustn’t it?
Give me a few seconds to check….
No, it isn’t.
On we go….

Beryl is trying to persuade Ted to re-new their wedding vows. She says they’re both getting on in years and they don’t know how long it will be before one of them suffers ill health, and it would be nice to have one more romantic day to celebrate their love before a stroke or dementia means they can’t even recognise each other any more. I think that’s how she put it. She’d been at the cooking sherry while baking in a hot kitchen so she was red-faced and slurring quite a bit. Ted replied with his usual verbosity and told her he’d rather ‘face the boche again than go through that effing marriage twaddle’
It’s a nice idea but I can’t see it happening.

What else can I tell you? October has been behaving like Spring. I’m still walking round in a short-sleeved shirt. Back in August I was wearing jumpers. Who says our climate is ridiculous?

The LoveMachine is running like a gem.
It eats petrol like a woman eats chocolate, but apart from that it’s perfect. Even Philippa has warmed to it a little (especially when she‘s too pissed to drive home and asks me for a lift.) She thinks it would look better with some sunflower stickers stuck to the bumpers, but she is very much mistaken. She tells me that ‘accessorising your car makes it more personal and much more fun to drive.’ When I disagree, she says I should try it before I discard the idea out-of-hand. I assure you this is one occasion where my love for her and my determination to please her is going to lose out to common sense.

And no celebratory blog of mine would be complete without a celebratory haiku:

Six hundred blogs done
I’ve changed, and will change again,
but the blog goes on..

I don’t care if that’s 600 words or not. I’m bored now, and I’m going for a drink.

RC 14-10-11

Taste of her own medicine?

Hannah has been walking around the house all evening doing singing exercises. Her end-of-term performance in December is songs from ‘My Fair Lady’ so she’s donning a mockney accent and doing her scales. She’s also signed up to be in a local amateur panto after Christmas. I’m glad it’s all going well for her, but if she doesn’t stop warbling in the kitchen soon I’ll have to hit her. She says her vocal cords are now a vital part of her anatomy and she has to exercise them daily or they’ll lose their resonance. I said if she keeps it up, I’m gonna buy myself a drum kit and practise at home.

RC 11-10-11

Tight skin

I had my first drumming lesson today.
It didn't go well. I seem to have the balance and co-ordination of a centipede with arthritis.
The first time I tried to hit a cymbal I fell off the stool.
My tutor says it was probably nerves, and it will probably take me a good six to eight lessons before I ‘feel like I'm getting it‘. But then, at thirty quid a lesson they would say that, wouldn't they?

I continue to be astounded by people letting me over-hear their conversations while they’re out shopping. This exchange took place today, between a couple in their fifties. Both of them, by the way, sporting facial hair.
HER: Shall we get some wine in for tonight?
HIM: Why would we do that?
HER: Well it IS our anniversary.
Pause
HER: You don’t want to celebrate our anniversary do you?
HIM: Not really, no.
HER: May I ask why not?
HIM: Because every second I spend with you makes me want to cut my own throat.

RC 10-10-11

(sic)

You can tell I was drunk Friday night. The title of the blog should have been “Why I hate physics (a drunken rant)” rather than the rather more baffling “(a drunken rate)” that I put when I posted it. I was thinking of changing it this morning, but I make a point of never going back and editing my blog entries, and it does look quite funny, so I’ll leave it as it is.
I’ve been drinking more because my Philippa is away for the weekend and I feel lost and lonely. The sports centre where she plays badminton have an annual ‘friendly fixture’ against a similar place in Suffolk. They play volleyball, five-a-side football, bowls, darts, snooker and a few other things that I’ve forgotten, and through some complicated, convoluted scoring system they end up deciding which is the best sports club. (This is the fifth year they‘ve done it, they tell me, and the Suffolk lot have won it three times.) So Philippa and about forty others have piled down to Diss in a big coach on Friday and they won’t be back until tonight.
She asked me to go along, but I’m working all day today and I’m on shop floor management duties so I couldn’t really wriggle out of it. I lack my darling’s competitive nature anyway so I wouldn’t have been bothered whether they won or lost, which wouldn’t really make me a good supporter, would it?
So instead of sitting on the sidelines watching sweaty men hit balls to each other while waiting for my sweetheart to hit a shuttlecock, I’ve been drinking lots of red wine, eating lots of French bread and watching lots of black-and-white sci-fi.
I must be missing Philippa though - “The 50-foot woman” looks incredibly sexy, even though I know she’s been dead for ten years.

RC 9-10-11

Why I hate physics (a drunken rate)

They just make it up as they go along, don’t they?
Dark matter… dark energy… dark flow… quarks… charms… higgs-bosons…
They invent infinitely more elaborate nonsense to explain things that are beyond understanding, and when they’re proved wrong they say ‘oh, that was the old theory, now we have a new theory that we’d like to try another, different experiment on. Please give us some more money.’
We’ve just spent BILLIONS on a Large Collider, supposedly to find a specific particle that the people running it are now telling us may not be something they will find anyway. They do say, though, that they may or may not now have discovered a different particle that may travel faster than the speed of light. If this is true, it completely disproves all the things that physicists have been telling us for CENTURIES, and yet these same physicists want us to give them more money to see if they’re right or wrong now, which will then prove whether they were right or wrong in the first place. And either way, THEIR MONEY’S IN THE BANK….

I have a theory of my own I’d like to explore. I think I know why leaves are falling off trees at this time of year and landing in my garden. I think there may be an invisible irritating blackbird living in my oak tree, which is flying around and pecking off the leaves and throwing them down to the ground. I’d like a billion-dollar grant to build a combination telescope and camera to photograph every single inch of the tree under different lighting conditions and with different lenses to see if I can catch a picture of this immature flying bastard to prove I’m right. In ten years time, if I haven’t been proved right, I’ll invent an equally illusive but slightly smaller bird hiding in a neighbouring tree which I’ll say is somehow masking the blackbird by oscillating its wings at a certain speed to cause interference, and I’ll ask for another billion-dollar grant (adjusted for inflation) so I can build a different, bigger, rounder, pinker telescope/camera so that I can prove I’m right in believing there is something that is causing me to be wrong about the original blackbird, which I may not have been right about in the first place.

It’s the worlds most expensive folly.
Physics is just fiction.

RC 7-10-11

Kitchen rage (again)

Philippa is showing off some new ‘Jamie At Home’ products. I don’t know what they’re called but they look like little plastic hairclips. I said ‘what are these for then?’
She said “You use them to keep food packets closed once you’ve opened them, so the food inside stays fresh.”
I said “Oh. We already had something in the house that could do that job. IT’S CALLED A PEG”
Well done, Jamie. You’ve put your name on something completely unnecessary, that will only sell because it’s got your name on it…
Kitchen genius? MY ARSE.
Money-grabbing bastard, more like.

RC 6-10-11

Words failed me..

You know those occasions when you’re having a conversation and you suddenly realise you’re dealing with one of life’s ****ing idiots?
In the canteen today, one of my fellow employees kept playing with his ear. Being a curious soul, and worried that he might be about to flick a ball of earwax into my salad, I asked what was wrong.
He said “the honey is drying up and it’s really starting to itch.”
I said “forgive me for prying, but why have you got honey in your ear?”
He said “I thought it would get rid of the wax. Turns out though that I should have used olive oil instead of honey. I got confused coz they look similar.”
I said “But why on earth would you think that honey would help with earwax?”
He looked at me with a stunned expression and said “Well, Winnie the Pooh ain’t deaf is he?”

By the way, I caught a bit of EastEnders this week for the first time in ages. When did Phil Mitchell become a bad Phil Collins lookalike act?

RC 5-10-11

death drives a daihatsu

I had some terrible news this morning. One of the truck drivers that used to bring stuff to the old supermarket I worked at has died, after a terrible accident.
He was driving on a dual carriageway at the weekend and got stuck in traffic. He leant right out of the window to see what was causing the hold-up, and some twat in a van trying to roar past everyone caved the back of his head in with his wing mirror.
I’ve spent most of today considering my own mortality, and thinking how fleeting and futile life is, and generally feeling awful and depressed.

However, just to prove there can be creative inspiration in even the most unpleasant circumstances:

R.I.P. driver.
You used to deliver stock;
now you are headless.

RC 4-9-11

Ring of truth

Philippa wants us to start boxing. It’s good for fitness apparently. There’s a gym nearby that you can train at without having to actually fight.
It’s a lovely idea, but I can’t forget that the last time she wanted us to do something together it was get tattoos done…. So following that form, if I say ‘yes’ it probably means I’ll end up getting my teeth knocked out.

RC 29-9-11

It could be you, but it WON'T

I know I've gone on about this before, but I really think the National Lottery is one of the worst things ever to happen in this country.
People have given up trying to improve themselves and aim for a better life. Now they just sit in front of the telly twice a week waiting for their numbers to come up, and their dreams to come true. They’re spending a huge percentage of their earnings on hope and all they have to show for it are slips of paper in their wallets and disappointment every Wednesday and Saturday. (or 5 times a week if they do EuroMillions)

In times past, pensioners with gambling problems were hidden away in bookies, now they’re in front of me in the queue everytime I pop to the corner shop.

Now I've got that off my chest I can hopefully sleep in peace.

RC 28-9-11

Dribbles

Ted is worried about his prostate. Every time he pisses, he tells me, it’s like trying to squeeze water out of a dry cloth. Beryl wants him to get it checked by a doctor but Ted says ‘I don’t want some Indian teenager ramming his fingers up my arse like a butcher’
I don’t get it either, but I decided not to ask.

RC 27-9-11

Some lists for late September

THE 3 BEST THINGS TO LICK OFF A NAKED FEMALE BODY:

Squirty cream
Cold custard
An entire melted bar of Jumbo Fruit and Nut (she was a big girl)

4 WORDS I’VE MADE UP THAT SOUND LIKE THEY MIGHT BE KINKY:

Pungwobbling
Whimquitter
Sutravising
Chennelling

5 OLYMPIC EVENTS THAT NORFOLK WOULD WIN GOLD AT:

Serving people really slowly
Driving really slowly
Voting Conservative
Taking three hours to relate an incident that only took three minutes in the first place.
Leaning on things

6 WORDS I LIKE THAT ALL RHYME, AND EACH OF WHICH HAS ONE LETTER MORE THAN THE PREVIOUS ONE:

Dawn
Shorn
Reborn
Forlorn
Bullhorn
Sweetcorn
　
RC 26-9-11

Conkers/bonkers

Hannah - that strange girl who used to be my annoying sister but is now a likeable human being - is studying hard. This week she is analysing Shakespeare, and keeps asking me for ‘examples of doomed love’ in films and plays that might have been inspired by Romeo and Juliet. I told her the same thing I used to tell her when she was thirteen and pestering me on a Sunday night - “do your own fecking homework”
Don’t tell her I’ve said this, but I’m really pleased the course is going well for her.

I nearly broke my foot this morning when I stood on a conker at the bottom of the stairs. ‘How did this happen?’ you may ask, ‘have you planted a horse chestnut tree in your hallway?‘ No we have not, and just listen to the twisted tale of logic and hearsay that led to this unfortunate, bruising event:
Philippa, it turns out, is terrified of spiders, and has been since she was five, when she had one placed on her face by a rather unpleasant classmate. Recent research has shown, apparently, that spiders in the wild keep away from conkers for some reason that is currently unknown. I believe scientists have tried to find out why, but the spiders are not telling (and who can blame them?) The theory has been put forth that spiders are so repulsed, that they will avoid entering any houses where conkers may be. Thus, arachnophobes country-wide are now picking up conkers and placing them in each room of their house.
Personally I think this story was invented by whoever has to clean up conkers in the wild… Since children have been banned from playing with them, there must be loads of them littering the streets, so rather than pick them up themselves, these lazy sods have made this story up so that people scared of spiders will pick them up instead, and then these lazy sods can put their feet up and relax.

It all sounds a load of old hokum to me, but it did inspire me to write this poem:

If my beloved saw a spider
It would raise a panic inside her
So I get to be her hero every day
By picking up arachnids and taking them away

Imagine being in a relationship where one of you hated spiders and the other was scared of conkers? Now that’s an example of doomed love.

RC 25-9-11

Service with a sniff

My cold has got worse. My head is hot and stuffy. It feels like someone's set fire to some cotton wool and forced it into my sinuses.
I tried to get in to see my doctor but if you’re not bleeding to death or in the throes of a seizure you have to wait three weeks for an appointment. So I decided to call NHS Direct for advice.
That was a mistake.
Someone called ‘Paula’ asked me some questions that seemed completely irrelevant to my medical condition, and then advised me to get plenty of vitamins. I was feeling pissed off and playful by now, so – remembering my last blog - I said “I’ve eaten 3,000 fruit gums today, does that count?” and she replied “Well, that’s better than nothing”
Unbelievable.

RC 24-9-11

Snot and sweets

I have another cold.
My immune system must be about as much use as a chihuahua puppy guard-dog.
Here’s a resultant haiku:

Here we go again
Red, dripping nose; sore pink eyes
And a throat on fire

Fantastic announcement in the papers this week.. Apparently if you eat 195 fruit gums, it counts as one of your recommended 5-a-day portions of fruit and veg. I wonder which confectionary company funded that research? And how exactly would you deal with the mouth ulcers that would come as a result? Not to mention the rotten teeth and diabetes?
And does that mean if I eat enough Wine Gums I’ll get pissed?
So many questions, so little enthusiasm….

RC 22-9-11

Autumn assortments

Well, I’m back.
There was some lovely weather while I was away but I didn’t get a chance to enjoy it. I was locked in a sweaty conference room with lots of management types who were obsessed with “maximising aisle revenue” and “prominent positioning of prime products”
Hellish.
I let my mind wander a lot, and I spent a lot of time thinking about films, and I noticed that a lot of my favourite films have quite short titles. So I present for you:
RORY’S LIST OF THE SIX BEST FILMS WITH SIX-LETTER TITLES:

ALIENS
ARTHUR
CONVOY
FLETCH
GREASE
HARVEY

I also wrote this:
RORY’S LIST OF NAMES THAT WOULD BE HILARIOUS IF THEY WERE GENUINE:

Sandy Flaps
Claire Skies
Bob Uppendown
John Flusher
Dusty Minge
Charlie Snorter
Rich Sauce
Jack Yercarrup
Jim Nasium
Belle Ringer

..and I wrote this haiku about my time away:

Boring hotel room.
Even more boring colleagues
What a wasted week.

It’s good to be back.

RC 19-9-11

All's well that something or other

I sent Philippa a text at 11 last night. She replied at ten past. We both apologised. I called her at midnight and we chatted til 2. Then she drove round and was here by 3am. So apart from those wasted few hours last night when the heat increased and the hormones started flying, it should be a good weekend. I hope so, because I’m going away again on Monday. Ginger Graham is speaking at some big industry event in London, and for some reason I’ve got to go with him. It’s a four-day conference where I can ‘meet other people from the company’ and ‘further my understandings of the corporate sale-and-efficiency model‘ and ‘enhance my future chances of inter-company advancement’ or something. I’d stopped listening properly when he got as far as ‘meet other people..’
God, it’s going to be awful.

RC 10-9-11

Compromise or combat?

It all kicked off about the kitchen stuff this evening. As a consequence, this is the first Friday night in ages that Philippa hasn’t stayed over.
We had a big confrontation about an hour ago. She accused me of being childish, I accused her of being selfish; she called me pathetic, I called her pedantic, etc, etc.
The products that caused the problems are from a range called “Jamie At Home.” I remarked “I wish Jamie did stay at pissing home. Then we wouldn’t see him on the frigging telly so much.”
It was her turn to cook, and she used as many Jamie Oliver utensils as possible, waving them towards me as she did so. All very tiring and horrible, really.
She says she doesn’t understand what the issue is, I said that’s because she doesn’t consider other people when she makes her decisions; I refused to eat anything cooked using ‘that mumbling gimboids saucepans’ and Philippa said fine and stormed out, pausing only to tip what would have been my tea into the bin.
Now I am alone in a messy kitchen, wondering whether to stamp my feet and stand my ground on principle, or to back down and shut up for the sake of peace.
Man, I am shit at relationships.

RC 9-9-11

What a difference a day makes

Something has happened that has made me doubt whether Philippa and I are right for each other after all. She has bought some Jamie Oliver kitchen products. She has done this, even though I have made it perfectly clear to her how I feel about him. This feels like a horrible act of betrayal. It feels as if she is totally disinterested in my thoughts and feelings and is just going to live her life however she pleases and I can go to Hell. She has tainted my kitchen with the over-priced merchandise of a man I have grown to hate, and she has lined his already bulging pockets in the process.
I honestly don’t know if we’ll get through this….

RC 8-9-11

Girls stuff

My girlfriends full name
‘Philippa Amy Southland’
Sounds like a theme park

I read that haiku to Philippa this morning. She said that she didn't laugh at jokes about her name when she was 11, she's certainly not going to laugh at them now. Ouch!
I cheered her up by saying “I would happily have your full name tattooed on my body, but the tattooist would probably spell Amy with an 'I' and Southland with a 'W'.”

Hannah is in one of those tearful/angry/female/menstrual moods again. She’s stomping around the house and snapping my head off because I’m not breathing properly or something. I think I'm approaching the point at which "you're my sister and I love you, and I will be supportive and sympathetic" becomes "If this goes on much longer I will kill you"

RC 7-9-11

Oh God, it's Autumn

Cold and darker days
Evenings that arrive too fast.
And far too long nights.

At this time of year
I wish I could hibernate
And wake up in Spring

RC 6-9-11

Best. Lyrics. Ever.

Chatting in the canteen today we were discussing our all-time favourite song lyrics. I think the songwords you like reveal a lot about your personality, so I thought I’d pass the information onto blogworld…
Here are a few of my favourites
with the song they came from in italics..

guys out huntin' and girls doin' likewise
honkin' at the honey in front of you with the light eyes
she turn around to see what you beepin' at
it's like the summer's a natural aphrodisiac
DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince - "Summertime"

I'm sorry
I can't afford a Ferrari
but that don't mean I can't get you there
I guess he's an Xbox
and I'm more an Atari
but you way you play your game ain't fair
Cee-Lo Green - "Forget You"

people tell me it's a sin
to know and feel too much within
still I believe she was my twin
but I lost the ring
she was born in Spring
and I was born too late
blame it all on a simple twist of fate
Bob Dylan - "Simple Twist Of Fate"

She took a moment just to recognise
the man she'd known so well before.
And as he started to apologise
lose any bitterness she bore
She gently put her finger on his lips
to let him know she understood
and with her suitcase standing on the floor
embraced him like a lover would
Human League - "Louise"

Looking out the door
I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations
as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe i'm too young
to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind
so you never know
Jeff Buckley - "Lover, You Should've Come Over"

RC 5-9-11

Scientific myths

While sitting outside with a can of beer in the sun today, I was thinking about the problem of misinformation on the internet. It’s the greatest learning tool ever invented, but if you use it for research you’re likely to come across a load of old guff written by people with no expertise or knowledge, but a lot of time on their hands and an urgent need to see their name on screen.
So, just for fun, I thought I’d add to the mountain of untruth by making up a few facts of my own:

If you shake a can of Heinz baked beans at just the right speed, for just the right amount of time, when you go to open it it’ll explode in your face.

90% of the fallout from the Hiroshima nuclear bomb landed on the Suffolk town of Ipswich.

Steven Spielberg died in a car crash in 1997. Because his name is worth so much money at the box office, the movie business continues to pretend he is alive and working. The worlds most powerful computer is used to generate his image for interviews, and since his death any film that features his name has actually been directed by Michael Winner.

If you lick the Queen’s face on a ten pound note she will magically grow a moustache.

The Large Hadron Collider is trying to find a more realistic flavour for Fruit Gums.

Jennifer Lopez has no kneecaps.

Any child given the middle name ‘Mitchell’ is almost guaranteed to vote Labour.

If you go without sleep for more than six days you will turn into Barry McGuigan.

Ok, it’s getting silly now. I’m off to cook a pizza.

RC 4-9-11

Splendid start to September

We’ve had two days of glorious weather. Summer has decided to descend on North Norfolk and say “Ha, ha! This is what your days should have been like for the past two months! See you next year (maybe)”
I got to use the sexy little barbecue I bought from Argos. You can tell I’m new at this as it took me two hours to get the charcoal burning. In the end I had to pack the bottom with newspaper, nip to the shop for firelighters, and soak the charcoal in lighter fluid; and it still took me seven attempts to get it going. Then I burnt the sausages. Then I undercooked the chicken drumsticks. Apart from that it was a roaring success.

RC 3-9-11

(End of) August haiku

It's the time of year
when Norfolk people will say
"Nights are pulling in"

RC 31-8-11

Bank Holiday Selection Box

I had today as a bonus day off, as I’d worked both Saturday and Sunday of the bank holiday weekend. Yet another perk of management. Philippa, bless her, had to go back to work, so it was a lay-in for me followed by a day of happy pottering. Below are some little things I wrote down at different points during the day:

Football is like dust -
it’s always on the telly
and I don’t like it

I popped to our local shop for some milk. Because I get a reduction on all goods bought at the supermarket I haven’t been in there for ages but I’d run out of milk and fancied a coffee, so off I went. The guy who sorts the papers was on fine form. Bemoaning the fact that he had to work all weekend, he ranted “Bank holiday? Bank holiday? EVERY day is a ****ing holiday for the banks. They’re off on ****ing holiday with all the money they stole from us taxpayers.” As they say in the movies - classic frontier gibberish.

I had some Cornish Wafers left in the cupboard and decided to do a little taste test. I covered each of them in a different topping, and had to write a review of the experience using just three words for each one. Here they are:
SLICED MEDIUM CHEDDAR - crunchy and cheesy
MARMITE - a bit dull
PEANUT BUTTER - TASTE OF HEAVEN!!

I accidentally called Ted ‘Teddy’ today. He said if I ever called him that again, he would suddenly remember all the stuff he was taught in the Army, and show me how they used to deal with opponents in the trenches.
I’m not sure he ever actually fought in the trenches, but I certainly got the message.

Note to self - next time I buy a vehicle, I need to check how long the tax disc has to run..

RC 30-8-11

Bummer Holiday

We spent the afternoon with Ted and Beryl. They had an awful time on their holiday. The hotel (in Bournemouth) had taken in a late group booking from Gamblers Anonymous which filled their top three floors, so Ted and Beryl and two other couples got shunted to a smaller place further down the seafront. That place was run by a woman whose husband had recently left her for a pole-dancer, and she was struggling to cope and kept bursting into tears. On their second day there they went on a bus trip, and the bus broke down spectacularly, causing a huge blockage on a main road, and filling the bus itself with exhaust fumes. Later in the week, Ted fell into a bunker playing golf and twisted his ankle, and Beryl lost her glasses in a bingo hall. She is convinced she missed out on ten thousand pounds because “I thought I was waiting for a number 6, but then someone pointed out it was the number 8, and I’m sure that had been called already.“ All in all, a very disappointing way to spend your first holiday in over a decade.
Or so you would think…..
But in true Beryl style, she smiled through it all and told me “It was nice to be away. And it means so much that Teddy put the effort in to organise it.”
I’d never heard her call him Teddy before, and he actually blushed a bit when she said it.
They really are a lovely old couple. I look at them and I feel inspired about relationships. I look at them and I think “If me and Philippa can end up half as happy as those two, then we’re going to have a wonderful future together”.

RC 29-8-11

Sunshine, lollipops and...?

There’s been a lot of ‘creative blogging’ (as I like to call it) this week, and while I’m sure I have thrilled you with my poetic abilities, I have also neglected to keep you up-to-date with other things going on in my life.
Well that’s because there hasn’t been much really. Philippa and I have settled down into a nice sense of regularity and domestic happiness. She stays here three or four nights a week, and we’re looking forward to getting a place together, but we’re also realistic about the current financial climate and we’re not gonna saddle ourselves with a mortgage just so we can have a place to call ‘our own.’ Plus, Hannah and Nathan are making plans to co-habit, so if she moves out Philippa can move in and that’s the job done.
Work is, how can I put this… ok. As you may have noticed, I get to spend quite a bit of time on my own in the office. The hours change every week, but that’s more than compensated for by the fact that I’m earning more than ever before as I’m on Deputy Manager wages. I’ve already been spoken to about doing more courses and training up to be a Department Manager, then maybe a Shift Manager, than maybe - hold me while I shiver with excitement - a Store Manager. I’m not sure I’ve got those in the correct order, and I’m definitely not sure that’s a career path I want to chase anyway, but its nice to know they’re pleased with what I’ve done so far.
The LoveMachine is about as reliable as a drunk working in an off licence, but she’s mine, and I love her dearly. I’ve already been offered fifty quid more than I paid for her, but I’m keeping her now, unless someone wants to swap her for a brand new Mini Cooper? (isn’t it funny how quickly an inanimate object like a car becomes a ‘she’ rather than an ‘it’?)
Apart from that, life continues to tick along quite uneventfully, which believe me is better than the chaos I used to exist in.
I hope you are having a good week too, and I look forward to sharing more of my life with you tomorrow.

Yours faithfully

Rory

RC 27-8-11

My stupid cat (a poem)

Gerald today decided
to try and fulfill his wish.
He tried to get his feline teeth
into my pet goldfish.

He thought that he could break their tank,
without much fight or fussin’
He dived headfirst against the glass,
and now he has concussion.

RC 26-8-11

The things we do to pass time while bored...

Today, while ‘working in the office’ I decided to write a poem.
But obviously, being me, it couldn’t just be a simple poem.
There had to be a challenge.
And that challenge was this:
The first and last words of each line had to be the same, and each line had to start with a letter that was later in the alphabet than the one that started the line before it.
And it had to be about a random word that I got by dropping a dictionary on the floor and sticking my finger in it with my eyes closed.
And that word was SHRIMP.
This is what I came up with:

Blowing through the waves while above the wind is blowing.
Knowing things of mermaids that ourselves could not be knowing.
Love does not concern them, though there are things that they love.

Nothing is as tasty, though they really taste of nothing.
Often they’re forgotten, though most people eat them often.
Perfect packs of protein, like a prawn, and yet more perfect.

Sweet as honey, sugar; better for you than a sweet
Treat yourself and try them, they’re a sub-aquatic treat.
While others munch on mutton, I shall taste their wares a while.

If anyone from the Shrimp Marketing Board is reading this, and you’d like to use the poem for advertising purposes, then feel free to call me and negotiate…

RC 25-8-11

MASQUERADE

Ok, Philippa was right. When I wrote down everything I was thinking about, it made me look like a nutcase. But I think it would be that way with anyone who wrote down all their thoughts - try it for an hour and you’ll see what I mean.
So instead of the planned list of all my thoughts from one shift at work, here instead are 10 RANDOM THINGS I FOUND OUT ONLINE WHILE PRETENDING TO PUT THROUGH A DELIVERY ORDER: (not the snappiest title ever for one of my lists, I grant you..)

There is a place in India called MANGALAMPET. (It has instantly gone to the top of my ‘favourite place names in the world’ list.)

You can get your recommended daily allowance of Folic Acid by eating 10 spears of ASPARAGUS

The top speed hit by SPRINTER Usain Bolt in winning the 100m at the last Olympics was just under 28mph (which, coincidentally, is roughly the top speed my LoveMachine can reach)

The coloured squares on a standard Rubiks Cube can be arranged in approximately 43 QUINTILLION different permutations.

URTICARIA is the medical name for ‘hives’

The highest temperature EVER recorded in the UK is 38.5C, at Brogdale in Kent on 10th August 2003.

The dying words of American President Theodore ROOSEVELT were “Please put out the light”

The collective noun for a group of widows is an AMBUSH

The Rat Pack singer DEAN Martin died on Christmas Day (in 1995)

‘Mi amas vin’ is ‘I love you’ in ESPERANTO

…and as a bonus fact - if you take the first letter of each of the words in capitals above, it spells out the title of today’s blog.

Sleep well.
　
RC 24-8-11

Does this dress make me look mad?

Philippa says my mind is weird and that I think of some really strange things at times.
This is only because we were cuddling in bed falling asleep and I asked her ‘can you think of another word that had three sets of repeated consonants like IMMUNOSUPPRESSIVE?’
She slowly and wearily got out of bed and questioned my sanity.
But what had happened was this - my mind wanders around a bit when I’m drifting off to sleep, and Philippa had cuddled up really close and I was resting my face on her hair. That reminded me of a time an ex-girlfriend dyed her hair blonde with peroxide and it stank. That made me think of an article I read recently about Ergosterol Peroxide, a steroid derivate from fungi that might be useful as an antiviral, antitumor and anti-inflammatory ingredient, as well as displaying immunosuppressive properties. And then I pictured the word IMMUNOSUPPRESSIVE in my head and I thought ‘wow - there’s a twin-set of Ms, and a twin-set of P’s and a twin-set of S’s in there’ and I wondered if there were any other English words like that and I couldn’t think of any, so I asked Philippa, and she went off to sleep on the sofa. To me, though, my thoughts displayed a logical progression, and I was fully justified to ask her the question I did.
This morning, at breakfast, she wondered just how much crap I think about in the course of a day, so tomorrow I’m going to write down everything I think about while at work and see what it’s like. I'm hoping it’ll make me look like a deep-thinking intellectual genius; Philippa thinks it’ll make me look like a lunatic.

RC 23-8-11

just a couple of things..

Everyone is jealous of the LoveMachine. Every time I park it somewhere, someone comes over to have a good look and ask questions, and all the time I’m driving people are pointing and talking as I pass. Which is a bit embarrassing really, as I’m still getting used to driving it, and frequently stall at junctions.
Apparently they’re highly saught-after. (or is it spelt ‘sought’?? either way..)
I’ve been called a ‘jammy bastard’ for spotting one on the side of the road before it was even advertised. I just smiled and said “It was meant to be.”

An elderly guy on my team at work has a brilliant claim to fame - he was once a contestant on BULLSEYE!! I am very, very impressed. I asked if he won a holiday or a speedboat and he said ‘No, we were shit. Went out in the first round. My mate couldn’t throw for toffee on the night and I was so nervous I answered every question with ‘Cher’”
Legend.

RC 19-8-11

on the box (a thought)

Is 'POINTLESS' the most appropriately named TV programme ever????????

My week in words (17 at a time)

Summer has been poo
And to make things even worse
Now I have a cold.

And just like last year
Summer can be summed up thus:
Absolute pig-shit

England is too wet.
I must move somewhere hotter
Or risk suicide.

Turgid clouds above.
Riots pollute our cities
And health deserts me.

My friendly GP
Says ‘it’s just a summer cold’
But I feel like Death

Antibiotics
Are no cure for ugliness
Or MRSA.

Sometimes my haiku
Fill me with a sense of shame
And embarrassment

Poetry is death
Hatred is a form of love
Life is just dreaming

I’m delirious
I have a temperature
And I’m writing shite

Time for me to sleep
The curtains of dark must draw
Upon my sore eyes….

RC 13-8-11

Looking forwards..

I’ve booked a holiday off work. In fact, I’ve booked two. I know I haven’t been there long enough to warrant a break yet, but I’m sick of being in a country where August looks the same as October and I want to guarantee myself some sunshine. So in February next year, as a Valentine’s Day treat for Philippa, we’ll be spending a week somewhere very hot and foreign, which for now will remain a secret. (And doesn’t it tell you a lot about our relationship, and how it’s changed me, that I am assuming we’ll still be together in 6 months time??)
The other holiday time I’ve booked is the week after Christmas. It’s so busy early in December that I doubt they’d let me have time off before the 25th. Plus, Philippa tends to have to work up to and including Christmas Eve anyway. Plus, Sophie and Tamara haven’t managed to find jobs in Norfolk, but they are able to have time off to visit together between Christmas and New Year, so they’re coming to stay with us and have some good family time. (And doesn’t it tell you everything about our Summer, and how shit it has been, that I am already looking forward to Christmas??)

RC 12-8-11

eavesdroppings

You know sometimes when you sit on your own in a crowded place, and you pick up odd bits of conversation from different tables? Have you ever wondered what it would look like if you wrote down all the little snippets that you heard? Well I have, and today I did it, while sitting in the café at work. Here you go:
..the vet said he shouldn’t suffer too much..
..but I can’t believe the price has gone up again..
..brie and cranberry?..
..it’s only 4 miles for Christ’s sake..
..over the bridge, but the next day - well I don’t know where to begin..
..ham and cheese mum..
..the wind’s got up again..
..see you soon Jack..
..next week I’m walking..
..FORTY-EIGHT???

RC 10-8-11

New day, almost the same title (again)

I had a day off today, so I took a trip out in the rusty-green-love-machine. What a fine girl she is. The wind nearly blew me off the cliff near West Runton, but that’s natures fault, not Volkswagens. Apart from that she handled like a dream. God, I’m enjoying this freedom of movement already. I can plan to go anywhere, anytime I like, or I can just do what I did today and take myself off on a whim. I used about forty quids worth of petrol, but I’ll worry about that at the end of the month when the credit card bill shows up.
On the way home, I perused some charity shops and got myself some cheap second hand golf clubs and a ‘Teach Yourself To Putt’ DVD. Retail therapy is a wonderful thing. (there was a DVD called ‘Teach Yourself To Swing’ as well, but I was worried it might be a guide to middle-aged dogging, so I left it)
Ted and I had a couple of hours together playing cards in their conservatory. He amazed me by saying he’s arranged a surprise holiday for Beryl’s birthday later this month. It’s their first trip away in 14 years because, as he told me, ‘I was spending all our money on piss and gambling.’
This evening I cooked Philippa tea, and we had a lovely evening together chatting about nothing.
Today was a good day.

RC 8-8-11

New day, new outlook..

Camper worked fine today, I called the bloke up to have a go at him, but his son answered. I calmly explained the problem and he said “Oh she was always doing that. Dad should have told you. Just pump the throttle twice before you turn the ignition and she’ll start fine. She’s a grumpy old bitch, but she’ll get you there if you treat her right.”
I tried it, it worked, and I am once again happy, and proud of my purchase.
Philippa still refuses to get in it though…
Maybe I should apply the advice I was given about the camper van to Philippa, right chaps?????

RC 7-8-11

New day, old story..

I got up full of excitement today, looking forward to be driving myself to work for the first time ever. I got ready in record time, eager to get out on the road and ready to laugh at the poor saps queuing up to get public transport. I picked up my keys, strolled proudly out to my little green love machine, and with excitedly shaking fingers I pushed the key into the ignition….. and the pissing thing wouldn’t start.
I’ve spent most of today angry and upset, but rather than pour it all out in a stream of emotion, I shall sum it all up with this haiku:

Why do I bother?
Whenever I buy new things
they kick my teeth in

RC 6-8-11

Midsummer madness

I’ve bought a camper van!!!
It’s a green volkswagen that’s done 147,000 miles and is covered in rust, but I don’t care. A man’s choice of vehicle should reflect his character, and the second I saw this one I knew I wanted it.
It was one of those moments in life when everything seems to fall into place. I was sitting on the bus, fed up with breathing in diesel fumes with a sweaty overweight pensioner beside me, and thought ‘that’s it - I’m buying a car.’ At that point I happened to glance out of the window, and there was the VW for sale on the side of the road.
I cycled there yesterday to take it for a test drive, and got the money out to buy it this morning. I got them to knock fifty quid off the asking price, but he still started laughing the second I handed the cash over.
I drove it straight to Philippa’s work, and rushed in to tell her the news. She came outside with an excited, expectant expression, took one look at it and said “you’re a f**king idiot.” Then she walked back into the office.
She’ll come round to love it, I know she will. Especially when I show her how the back converts into a double bed so we can take it to the beach and sleep in it.
And even if she doesn’t, and even if I paid too much for it, and even if other people think it’s a rusty pile of shit that needs condemning, I don’t care. I own my first car, and I’m thrilled to bits. I can drive myself to work, Philippa and I can take turns driving when we go out, and my life is no longer restricted to the generosity of others, or the awful timetables put together by local coach companies. I have freedom…. Freedom…. FREEDOM!!!!

RC 5-8-11