Discomfiting discomfort

Why does the pain from wasp stings have to last for three days?
It feels as if someone’s held a lit match on the underside of my penis; and I know some people like that sensation and even pay for it, but it ain’t my bag baby.
Thanks to Philippa’s love of social networking sites, half the population of Europe now knows what happened. I’ve been told my nickname at work will now be ‘Sting’ and that whenever I walk through the store everyone is going to sing “Fields Of Gold.”
I like to leave Nature alone to thrive and do it’s thing, but I swear the next time I see a wasp I’m going to crush it with the nearest heavy object.

RC 31-7-11

Pain-inspired poetry

Three bits of haiku resulting from this week’s wasp encounter. I’d be interested to know which you think is best:

Insects are bastards
Especially ones with stings
That aim for my dick

Stretching in the sun
Nature waited in ambush
To ruin my ride

Flying assassin
Suited in black and yellow
Stung my old fellow

RC 30-7-11

The pain of summer exercise

I had a rather unfortunate incident yesterday. There’s no easy way of saying this, so I’m just going to say it:

I got stung on the cock by a wasp.

I had worked an early shift, so I was home just after 2pm. The sun had broken through the Norfolk Summer cloud for the first time in a fortnight so I thought I’d go cycling. It was so hot, and I’ve got so used to it not being hot, that when I stopped for a break I decided to strip off and sit naked for a while. I’d gone off-road and biked about two miles down a bridleway so there was no risk of anyone seeing me. It felt great, exposing my sweatiness to the glorious country air. But while I was getting the sun on my taut, muscular body, the bastard wasp must have crawled inside my discarded cycling shorts.
As soon as I put them on, I knew something was wrong. I felt a little lump near my bum, but I just thought it was the edge of the padding in the shorts, so climbed on the bike anyway. Then I felt it vibrate as if trying to escape or take flight, and I realised it was some kind of insect, and panicked. I could feel it making its way over my scrotum and scurrying slowly up the length of my manhood. Scared by visions of it crawling down inside me and laying eggs in my bladder, I leapt off the bike, and that was when it stung me.
I won’t go into details, but the ride home was eye-watering to say the least.
I put ice on it, but that just made everything else shrink, so the swelling from the sting now looks bigger than my actual thingy, and I’ve got freezer burn as well.
I got the usual sympathy from my beloved Philippa. I told her yesterday at 5pm, and she stopped laughing about a minute ago.

RC 29-7-11

Drumming and driving

I might start learning to play the drums. There’s an advert offering tuition on the notice board at work, and I need something to do while Philippa is out playing racquet sports. Hannah says it wouldn’t be fair to the neighbours, but I disagree. The neighbours used to put up with mums drunken shenanigans, and I imagine that once you’ve heard Barbara Streisand at full blast from 3 to 5am, hearing a practising drummer at two in the afternoon should be a doddle.

I’m still looking at cars. There are some perfectly reasonable cheap ones around, but my heart won’t let me look beyond a new-style Mini Cooper. I took one for a test drive recently. It was purple with a black roof, and I have never felt sexier. Hannah says the insurance would be astronomical and that it would ‘eat petrol for breakfast.’
She seems determined to spoil my fun today.

RC 27-7-11

Who the Hell is Hannah?

Man, has my sister changed..
It’s been a gradual process, so I haven’t noticed it going on, but when I look back at the person she was a year ago, it’s like I’m now living with a stranger.
It’s all positive stuff, as well.
After working at the same place for six years, she’s going part-time soon and starting her Performing Arts course. Next week she’s appearing in an amateur production of ‘My Fair Lady’ and then she’s volunteering at a Christian summer camp for children in Lincolnshire. She’s polite, she’s caring, she takes proper care of herself and she no longer spends half her time angry or bitching about her friends or workmates. For a while there, it was like living with a miniature, non-alcoholic version of my mother, but now it’s like living with the ideal houseguest.
I get quite uncomfortable when I’m talking about feelings, so I’ve decided to write a haiku about her, and leave it at that:

Hannah is polite
My sister is a delight
I think she’s alright

RC 26-7-11

You think you know someone..

Ted may have got me interested in another sport.
We sat together and watched a British Heavyweight Boxing title bout featuring the beautifully named TYSON FURY (look it up if you don’t believe me)
After the fight, I jokingly said “Maybe we should take up boxing as one of our sporting challenges.” Ten minutes later he had a photo album out. Turns out he was British Army Middleweight Champion three years running in his twenties.
That man never ceases to amaze me. Someone should get his life story down as a book. I’d do it myself if I wasn’t lazy and a crap writer.

RC 25-7-11

Somethin' stupid (a list)

I was thinking about this while cycling yesterday:
“What’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done?”
Here are some of the answers I came up with…

..moving back to my mothers after leaving university.
..licking the top of a brand new 9V battery.
..testing how hot an in-car cigarette lighter was by holding it on the back of my hand.
..taking six months to realise how strongly I felt about Philippa.
..cycling blindfold after drinking crème de menthe.
..paying to watch ‘Pearl Harbor.’
..trying to shave with nail clippers.
..using a plastic sledge as a bobsleigh and going down a flight of stairs at uni (my room-mate broke his ankle on the way down)
and I’m sorry but I have to include this one:
..getting a tattoo done by a man who can’t spell.

RC 24-7-11

Wheels and meals

Weather was better yesterday, so I went for a long bike ride. And I mean LONG. By the time I got home I felt like Paula Radcliffe after a marathon (which is apt, as I’d stopped to have a poo in the hedge on the way round.)
Last night I ate non-stop for two hours then went to bed at 10. I slept right through til 8am when my alarm went off and I had to face a day at work. It took me 20minutes to get downstairs. My thighs felt like someone had poured concrete into them.
It was worth it though. Everything looked gorgeous yesterday and my bike sailed along like a swallow on the breeze.

Working all day today was horrible, but thankfully I was distracted by the pain and stiffness in my legs.

Philippa and I reached an agreement about tomorrow. She got to plan what we do all day, but I get to choose where we stop for tea. Relationships are all about compromise I suppose…

RC 23-7-11

Retail therapy, online style

I bought a barbecue this morning. Argos had an offer on (I think the bad weather has hit sales of summer equipment) and I couldn't resist.
It's a sexy little circular number that I should be able to fit in a car (when I buy one) and take to the beach (when the weather allows it)

I seem to be using brackets a lot today (or is it parentheses? I never can tell)

Anyway, you can expect the weather to piss down forever now I've blown sixty quid on a barbecue.

RC 21-7-11

Irregular/regular

Work is all over the place this week. Two days of earlies, then two days of lates, then a day off on Friday before I have to work all day Saturday. So today I’ve been up since five-thirty, and I don’t have to be at work tomorrow until nearly 2pm. It’s almost like having a day off, except it isn’t. It’s also almost like working three shifts in two days, except it isn’t that either.
Ok, this is one of those confused, rambling, stream-of-conscience postings now. Sometimes I wish I didn’t think about things so much.

Philippa wants to arrange to do something on Sunday. Why on earth we can’t just have a lie-in, then laze around, then decide what we want to do later in the day is beyond me. That girl is a perpetual planner. She has to have a plan for everything. I’m starting to think the rest of my life will be devoid of spontaneity. I’ll be married to a woman who will plan every little thing down to every little detail and events in our life will become as regular as the tides and then I’ll get bored and I’ll leave her. Then I’ll go mad drinking and have a few meaningless sexual encounters before realising I love her and can’t live without her, but by then she’ll have found a new love who will be more perfect for her than I ever was and then I’ll end up alone and rotting to death in a bus shelter.
I may have said this before, but sometimes I wish I didn’t think about things so much.

RC 19-7-11

Stereotypes on a Sunday

It rained all weekend. And I mean all weekend. It’s been bloody horrible. The only positive thing I can say about it is ‘at least we weren’t camping’
Philippa worked on Saturday, which meant I could sit with Ted watching the golf without having to feel guilty. It was nice to be sat indoors while the professionals battled the elements. Ted is pleased that Darren Clarke won The Open because, and I quote, “He’s been through a rough few years and deserves to win a Major. And because I stuck a tenner on him on Thursday when his odds were twenty-to-one.” I suggested he buy something nice for Beryl with his winnings. He replied “Don’t be so bloody stupid. If she knew I won it gambling she’d post my nuts to Albania.”
Beryl and Philippa spent some quality time together while ‘The Men’ watched golf. Philippa tells me she has now learnt the art of making Eccles cakes, and how to hide a bottle of ‘cooking sherry’ in every cupboard in the kitchen.

RC 18-7-11

The irony is sickening

I broke a tooth today.
Can you believe that?
On the day I pretended to need a dentist so I could skive off work to play pitch-and-putt, I ended up having an emergency appointment after breaking my tooth on a Drifter. Who says my life is too complicated?
I told Philippa the news, expecting sympathy but getting a firm “Ha… Ha….. HA!”
Bitch.

Today has reminded me why I try not to tell lies. Firstly, because I’m not very good at it, and secondly because it is incredibly hard to cover yourself if it all goes wrong, and you end up creating increasingly elaborate stories that you then have to remember later so it doesn’t become obvious that you invented it all in the first place.
I got to work just before one, with the smell of a golf club still lingering on my hands, and mumbled at everyone, trying to do a convincing portrayal of the effects of anaesthetic. Then at afternoon break I stupidly grabbed a chocolate bar from the fridge and on the second bite - crack!.
So then I had to pretend that the work I’d had done in the morning hadn’t been done properly, so that I could ask for time off to go back to the dentist to ‘get it fixed again.’ Then I had to stop everyone else calling the dentist on my behalf to have a go at them for shoddy workmanship, then I had to find a reason not to call them myself from the office because it would have given the game away when I asked for an emergency appointment rather than asking for a re-visit on work that had already been done. I had to tell my colleagues there was a special number for emergencies which I had in my mobile phone, so I could nip off on my own and call them from outside.
Dear God, it was horrible. The stress of it all. I ended up with my heart beating out of my chest, sweat pouring down my face and my hands shaking, which made one of the other managers say “You’re going into shock. Delayed reaction from the treatment. If you die, I promise I’ll sue them on your behalf.”
I am never, ever lying to work again.
Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I had to spend an hour in the waiting room at the dentist until he finished his afternoon appointments, only to then be told that he couldn’t do much to help me, and that I’d have to come back Monday to have a crown fitted.
In the meantime I have a ‘temporary filling’ which appears to be the end of a cotton bud attached to my molar by superglue. This country is falling apart, I tell you. Falling apart quicker than my teeth…

Pitch and putt was awful by the way. I took eight shots more than anyone else, and lost two balls in the wood on the 12th fairway.
What a day..

RC 15-7-11

On course for fun

The Open golf championship starts today. Ted tells me “I’m going to stock up on sandwiches with a coffee pot beside me, sit my arse on my favourite chair and stay there for four days.”
As you may now, most of his family are keen on golf, and between them they’ve managed to get me to like it as well. We’re all excited about the tournament starting today, so to celebrate, four of us are playing pitch-and-putt tomorrow morning. Officially I’m at work from 10 - 6, but I managed to switch with someone from the pet food department so I start at 1pm instead. Taking advantage of my management position already?? But of course…
I told work I need an emergency dentist appointment and they could only see me tomorrow morning. One of the guys I’m playing golf with is a dentist, so it’s not a complete lie.
Philippa is disgusted at my dishonesty and is worried that I’ll get caught out and lose my job. She also said “I bet you wouldn’t skive off work to spend time with me, would you?”
I replied. “Of course not - you don’t like playing golf.”
I don’t think we’ll be speaking again this evening.

RC 14-7-11

Shifts

I’m on the same work rota as all the other managers now, which I suppose means I am fully qualified and trusted, and responsible for what goes on in my department. It also means I have to work every other Saturday, and one full weekend a month, which is a pain. Unlike the other poor plebs below us though, when managers work a Sunday we get paid double and we get a day off in the week. Rotas are published four weeks in advance and are handed out every Friday, so at least I know my work hours a month in advance, so we can still plan to do things on my weekends off. Philippa has already suggested camping again at the end of the month. I’ll have to think about that one carefully. If she can guarantee me nice weather and a tent that erects itself at the flick of a switch I might say yes. If it’s going to be another case of spending one day putting the tent up, one day listening to thunder, and one day getting it down again, I might suggest we stay in a Travelodge.

RC 13-7-11

Something I learnt from the weekend..

It turns out that the door bits at the front of a tent are not officially known as ‘piss flaps’

RC 12-7-11

What a (wet) weekend

The weekend of camping was fun (if your definition of fun is sitting under a thin canvas sheet while the worst storm to hit Norfolk in years rages on outside)
The rain on Saturday evening was almost biblical. I kept expecting Noah’s Ark to come crashing through the front of the tent to cart us away to safety.
When we packed up yesterday there was so much water around I thought we were going to have to travel home by canoe.The tent we borrowed from Tom did at least keep us dry. It also gave us something to do for five hours on Friday night, because there are so many rods, poles, sheets, guide-ropes, groundsheets, flysheets, bed sheets, sub-compartments, room dividers and inflatable cushions that it could take you a fortnight just to put the pissing thing up. It’s a good tent to have if you and your partner don‘t like each other anymore, as you could both stay in it for a week without even seeing each other.
Having said all that, it was lovely to be away for a couple of days. The weather would have been awful at home as well, so at least we were ‘on holiday’ and treating it as an adventure, rather than sitting in my living room watching the rain pelt down against the window. We both spent a lot of time reading, and drank wine in the evenings while discussing what our house will look like when we eventually buy one.
And if you’ve never played ‘kiss chase’ in a family tent with only one other person while both drunk, then believe me you haven’t really lived.

RC 11-7-11

25 x 6

You know I like to set myself little writing challenges? Well, every sentence in this blog entry (even including this one) contains exactly 25 words:

I’m looking forward to camping now. We go tomorrow. I start working weekends soon, so it’s good to spend the time together while we can.

I still haven’t completed the Rubik’s cube yet. I’m starting to think it might be easier to learn Latin, or train for the London marathon.

The governments drug advisor wants ‘a blanket ban on all recreational drugs.’
I’m not sure how banning blankets is going to stop people getting high..

I once invited someone I didn’t like round to my house for a meal. Instead of water, I cooked his potatoes in my own piss.

That reminds me of Jared, who once told me “I like to use my arse like a toaster, then make people sandwiches with the bread.”
　
RC 7-7-11

Harsh

I may have gone a bit far in my criticism of someone at work today. We were running low on produce because the new delivery driver had got stuck down an alley somewhere when his SatNav took him the wrong way and he didn’t have the common sense to realise that ‘Baker’s Alley’ was unlikely to be the main road between the A140 and Norwich City Centre.
Anyway - long story short - he rolled up at 1pm (four hours late) with a cigarette on the go, casually bemoaning the fact that his cab was hot and smelly, and handed me a delivery sheet that looked like it had been soaked in horse pee and then left for three days in a thorny hedge.
I said ‘What the Hell is this?’
He said ‘Delivery sheet. Spilt a bit of coffee on it. And sat on it for most of the journey. But it’s all there. Any chance of a cup of tea?’
I made him help unload everything, and double-check the contents of the truck against the delivery sheet with me, before I even let him go for a piddle.
Later, when I had to e-mail head office about the ‘incidence of tardiness’ I filled in the section about ‘Driver’s Aptitude and Appearance’ by putting “Terry looked like he had just been plucked from the camp fields of Glastonbury after three days of parties and no washing. His writing on the paperwork was unreadable. It looked as if it had been written by a blind alcoholic with arthritis while in the throes of a spasm.”
I don’t like the person this job is turning me into…..

RC 6-7-11

Fresh canvas

We’re going camping next weekend. We’re borrowing a large tent from Philippa’s boss Tom and staying at a place that Philippa describes as ‘quiet and beautiful.’
I said ‘that sounds like a description of my perfect woman’ and got punched in the ribs.
I’m not sure about camping. I think that if God had meant us to sleep outside he would have fitted mattresses to our backs. I also have a large collection of horror stories from other people who have tried it, including my sister Hannah, who had a drunken man mistake her tent for his last year, and climb in with her while shouting ‘this ****ing sleeping bag is smaller than last night.” And this, don’t forget, was at a Christians-only campsite.
There is, however, something very appealing about squeezing into a small, confined space with Philippa and having to cuddle up close to keep warm. I’m hoping the nights will be chilly……

RC 5-7-11

Facing my fear

Philippa was ‘out with the girls’ tonight, so I spent the evening with Ted and Beryl. I’m not sure how she did it, but Beryl convinced me to show them my tattoo.
Ted was his usual self and said “Most people won’t know how to spell her pissing name anyway, so why worry?” He also said “We had real tattoos when I was in the Forces. This stuff nowadays just makes you look like a poof.”
Beryl was great though. She said “It looks fine Rory. If you don’t point out the mistake, I bet hardly anyone will notice.”
And I can’t help thinking - maybe she’s right.
Research says that as long as the first and last letters of a word are in the right place, it doesn’t matter what order the other letters are in, as the brain will recognise the word and interpret it as correct, without you noticing the difference. (Thank you, Wikipedia)
Psychologically, this feels like a bit of a breakthrough. Next time someone asks to see it, I’m going to show them and see what happens.

RC 1-7-11