The latest reason why I'm not a successful poet

April has now passed away
Tomorrow sees the birth of May
A month in which I'll change my house
and move in with my future spouse
Will it rain or will it shine?
What might be coming down the line?
Will I stand tall, or fall on my arse?
We'll find out as the May days pass
And if the house-sit all goes wrong?
Who cares? - the owner's in Hong Kong


RC 30-4-12

Buried beneath a blanket of rainclouds

The title of this blog could be my name if I was a native american. That, or “Works With An Attitude”

It’s starting to sink in that I’ll actually be leaving this house soon. 
I’ve left it before (when I went to uni) but this is different. That time, in my heart, I knew I’d be back. This time I’m almost certain that I won’t be. One way or another I’m determined to fly this coop forever.

Nearly the end of April and the weather has been as un-Springlike as a straight piece of metal… (think about it..)
I asked David if the crappy weather is the reason he’s leaving the UK for Hong Kong.  He said “Yeah, partly. But also because I’m going to earn LUDICROUS sums of money.” Swine. 
If he wasn’t letting us live in his house for a year I’d have called him something much stronger.

RC 29-4-12

An April Assortment

My blog postings might be looking slightly different at the moment as the company that runs this blogsite have insisted on changing things again and I can’t get the hang of the new settings. I can’t say much more at the moment in case they’re monitoring this - they might send some cyber-heavies round to delete me…


We have a date for our move. David and Becky are flying out to Hong Kong on Friday May 18th, so we’ll be moving in on the Saturday and Sunday. Philippa and I have both booked that weekend off and we’ve hired a small van, although exactly what we need to take into a fully-furnished house is beyond me.
I’m not sure how I feel about it all really, but Hannah has been dancing round the kitchen like a three-year-old since I told her, so I guess she’s looking forward to having the place to herself and her friends. I’m already looking forward to moving back in next year and ruining it all for her..


I’m getting a bit bored with Ted’s attitude towards me. He’s been giving me the cold shoulder so long that it’s frozen solid. I might send him some flowers to try and break the ice. Or maybe I’ll just leave him stewing in his own pool of grumpiness. I haven’t actually done anything wrong, after all.


I have more evidence that God hates me. I’ve fallen in love with our supermarket’s cheap own-brand of crisps. They do 12 bags in a multipack for under a quid, so with my discount card they’re only 80p, and if I drop them accidentally and damage the bag I can normally get them out for free. The trouble is, my favourites are the Cheese and Onion, but whichever end of the multipack bag I decide to open, God has deemed it so that the C&O bags are at the other end of the bag, so I either have to fish around inside for ages until I find what I want, or eat a different flavour. Philippa says I’m an idiot and I should just tip them all out and pick up what I want, but she doesn’t understand that there is an etiquette involved with consumption of a savoury snack multipack. She also fails to realise that this is a battle between me and the Almighty, and I have to win.

RC 25-4-12

haiku inspired by drinking cheap rioja

The British weather:
Rain falls down from cloudy skies
Like tears from God’s eyes

By the way - if you’re ever a bit tipsy and get a bit peckish, and you make yourself two rounds of toast, and on one of them you put peanut butter, and on the other one you put marmite, and you suddenly get the urge to put them together to make it into a sandwich because you think it would be an interesting combination and it would taste nice, don’t do it. It tastes horrible.


RC 24-4-12

A Sunday of Strangled Emotions

Ted was very off with me today. Beryl says he’s still punishing me for telling them we’re moving away. I had kind of guessed that when he said “Who the **** am I suppose to call on when I have another heart attack? I’m not crawling all the way to your new house, you b*****d”
Beryl told me to ignore him. 
Despite his contempt and hatred towards me we still had a pleasant afternoon. Their son Alan was over for a while but then went home to watch football. We played cards for a couple of hours but it got a bit boring when Beryl and Philippa started talking about ailments. Beryl has various ‘lady problems’ that I’m not comfortable hearing about, and I’ve had enough of Philippa’s ankle-related whinges for a lifetime, so Ted and I went into the other room to play chess. He gave me another couple of clues that I’m not his favourite neighbour at the moment: we played in total silence and he beat me in twelve moves. I’m not sure how long he intends to keep giving me the cold shoulder but I guess I’ll just have to ride it out. I would say he’s too old to hold grudges but it’s up to him. I’m used to people being horrible to me to make themselves feel better, so I’m sure I’ll survive.
I’m going to have a go at some origami now. I haven’t got a drum kit at home and I want a new hobby so I decided to go to the library and grab the first book in the ‘hobbies’ section and give it a go. I thought I’d get Archery or Algorithms or something but some lazy librarian has shoved the books back in the wrong order, so Japanese paper-folding it is… I might see if I can fold Ted a better mood. 


RC 22-4-12

Rhetoric Schmetoric

Why do one-night stands always sleep in longer than normal people?
Why can’t fruit juice taste as nice as fruit pastilles?
Why is hair disappearing from my scalp, only to appear in my ears?
Why can’t work time pass as quickly as sleep time?
Why does my drumming sound like a dog knocking over a dustbin?
Why do I only step in dog shit when I’m wearing open-toed sandals?
Why do I find cold custard sexually arousing?
Why does doing exercise always make me feel like vomiting?
Why can’t rap singers speak in coherent sentences?
Why can’t my peaks in libido ever coincide with my girlfriends‘?

RC 21-4-12

Blog no.701

I had a real breakthrough at my drumming lesson this evening. I was finally able to do something that my tutor has been trying to get me to do for three months. Admittedly, it’s a pretty basic drum pattern that a ten-year-old can do after two lessons, but it still felt good to master something that has been tormenting me since Christmas.
I got a real sense of achievement and a massive surge of adrenaline and started convincing myself that I’m on my way to an album deal and sell-out gigs at Knebworth.
I said to my tutor “How often should I practice if I want to be a professional musician?”
She said “Every day”
I said “Every day?”
She said “Every day”
I said “For how long?”
She said “If you’re serious about music - at least 5 or 6 hours a day”
I said “Hmmmm”
Now I’m wondering whether the supermarket will let me put a drum kit in the warehouse, and if they’ll be prepared to pay me to use it…

RC 19-4-12

DCC FAX x7

In the Armenian calendar, 700AD was the year 149.

700 is the sum of four consecutive prime numbers (167, 173, 179, 181)

700 written in binary is 1010111100

‘The 700 Club’ is a television programme on the Christian Broadcasting Network in the USA. It is shown everyday and attracts nearly 1million viewers a day.

In 700 BC in Northern Italy, the Villanovan culture was ended and overtaken by the Etruscan civilization…

The Trent 700 is an aircraft engine made by Rolls-Royce. It is found on 57% of all A330 aircraft worldwide.

700 miles is equal to 1126.5408 kilometres

RC 17-4-12

The 3 worst things about my job..

No. 1
Energy drinks like RELENTLESS, and the kids who hang around outside the supermarket absolutely off their tits on them. We’re trying to run a professional store and we’re surrounding by 12-year-olds with enough caffeine in their system to kill a camel.
Most of them are downing three of four cans a day, and some of them even pop back in during their school lunch break for a top-up. I'm so glad I'm not a teacher.

No. 2
Management talking bollocks. The job is hard enough without people above you on the chain of command disguising their lack of intelligence by communicating using a combination of words that sounds impressive, but when analysed makes no coherent sense whatsoever.
This phrase arrived today in an e-mail from our Area Manager:
“Beneficial value stock re-branding should facilitate improved customer confidence exponentially thereby up-trending our ongoing market-share top-placement.”
Wanker.
　
No.3
Amy-Beth, the part-time girl who works weekend shifts with me. When I say ‘works’ that’s not a particularly accurate description of her role. What she does is get paid to be in the building, where she ignores the work she is supposed to be doing in favour of moaning about boys at her college. She also starts every sentence with the word ‘so’ and uses the word ‘like’ at least six times every time she speaks. A typical phrase from her is “So, my teacher, like, asked us to write an essay that was, like, ssssoooo boring, and I was like, ‘I can’t be bothered’ and he was, like, sssssooooo angry”
She does that every time she’s with me. And I, like, find it ssssooooooo annoying.

RC 16-4-12

Remember when I used to have good blog titles?

I’ve decided what to do for my 700th blog - a list of interesting facts about the number ‘700’
I enjoy research and I haven’t shared any boring trivia with you for a long time, so that’s my plan. It’ll give me something to do to stop me panicking about moving in with Philippa and house-sitting. I’ve already convinced myself that we’ll burn their house to the ground and ruin their lives and ours, so I could do with some distraction.

We told Ted and Beryl about the house thing today. Ted is devastated. He says it feels worse than when his children left home. Beryl, bless her, said “shut up, you soft shite. You celebrated for two weeks when the last kid left home.“ She also pointed out that we’re not exactly moving to the other side of the country and can still pop round to visit every week but he refused to climb out from under his black cloud. It’s just the way he gets some times. As we all do, I suppose.

Their son Alan was over, and was cock-a-hoop. He won a thousand pounds on the Grand National yesterday. I said “Oh, which horse did you back?”
He said “None really. I laid a bet with a guy online in Japan that at least two horses would die and he gave me 200-to-1”
I’m not sure if that’s sick or just silly, but it’s not illegal and it made him a few quid so good luck to him. It also means I got to use the phrase ’cock-a-hoop’ in a blog entry, so I’m almost as happy as he is..

RC 15-4-12

Terrific/Terrifying

This is insane.
Everything is happening too fast.
David and Becky have formally asked us to house-sit for them. They’re having their lawyer draw up a contract and they’re cooking us a meal on Monday so we can spend the evening with them and collect it (the contract that is, not the meal). They’ve advised us to have someone else look over it for us and if we’re all happy we can sign it next weekend.
Then we can start packing..
Hannah has already opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate. The rumour is that Nathan will desert his religious family and turn our house into a Nest Of Sin with Hannah, although to be fair that rumour is only being believed by me, and that’s only because I’m the one who started it. The more likely outcome is that two girls from Hannah’s course called Tina and Natalia are going to move in. I’ve never met them but I’ve seen them in a play and I remember one as having a good singing voice and the other one as being quite fat. Hannah is keen for me to meet them both properly so I can give my approval before she goes ahead and invites them to start paying rent.
Are these things supposed to happen this fast?
Isn’t there supposed to be a bit of downtime where everyone considers their options and we all think things through and make sure we’re completely happy within our own minds about the changes we’re instigating?
The only time I’ve felt this out of control before was when TheLoveMachine skidded on ice before Christmas.

RC 14-4-12

Closure?

Finally, we have some answers….
Philippa has a hospital appointment on May 2nd to see if they can sort out her ankle. I can’t wait. Today she kept telling me this is the longest she’s gone without badminton since she was 11. I said it’s a shame it isn’t the longest she’s gone without moaning.

And….. David and Becky have promised us a final decision on the house tomorrow. Apparently there were visa problems so he hasn’t been given a start date yet. But they should be in Hong Kong by the end of May. So we could be house-sitting in six weeks…..

RC 13-4-12

Lost on me.. (a drunken confession)

I admire the female form as much as anyone. I enjoy watching music videos featuring scantily clad singers, and I can normally find something attractive in everyone.
But.. having said that…
Anytime I see Lady Gaga I have to stop myself hurling my guts up.

RC 10-4-12

bank holiday haiku

Working hungover
Should not be made a habit
On Easter weekends

Terrible headaches
Sweaty, shaking arms and legs
And a gut like slugs

I worked all four days
So my thoughts about Easter?
Thank God it’s over

My dear fiancee
Has a sore, poorly ankle
and a grumpy mood

And as for the house?
We are STILL waiting to hear.
This is like torture….

And this isn’t really haiku but I feel it needs to be said:

Have people really got such shitty lives that the only way they can think of to spend a four-day Bank Holiday weekend is to go shopping???????

RC 9-4-12

Surely you're bored by now?

I’m approaching my 700th blog. I feel I should mark the occasion somehow. Something to do with the number 700 would seem appropriate. Should I shatter my record for ‘longest blog’ again and aim for 700 words? Maybe I should drink 700 units of alcohol by way of celebration, although that may well finish off any chance of me reaching blog number 701. I could consume 700 of something though… 700 wine gums? 700 peanuts? Leave it with me, I’ll have a good think about it and get back to you.

RC 7-4-12

Tenterhooks

We still don’t know what’s happening with the house-sitting. It’s all a bit nerve-wracking to be honest. It’s like waiting for a phone call after you’ve been for an interview for a job you really want, even though this isn’t really anything to do with a job. With the possibility of moving out dangling in front of me, I’ve realised just how much I hate this house and how many horrible memories I have associated with it. I’m not the only one who is getting carried away with the situation either. Hannah is so excited about house-sharing with her mates that she keeps trying to pack my stuff away for me. We had a massive row last night when I found her measuring up in my bedroom. I asked what the hell she was doing and she said ‘planning carpets and colour schemes’
I said ‘would you leap in my coffin so quickly?’
She said ‘yes, if it was bigger than mine’

RC 6-4-12

Legalised slavery

I’m working every day over the weekend. 10-6 tomorrow and Saturday, 8-4 Easter Sunday, noon-9pm on Monday.
Happy Easter, Rory…
They’ve given me Tuesday and Wednesday off and I get a few days in lieu, but I’m not allowed to take those until later in the year so that seems scant consolation.

Philippa has been back to the doctors about her ankle. He told her to rest it and take ibuprofen, she told him she’s tried that and it hasn’t been working, he told her to see a physiotherapist, she said she’d tried that and been sent her back to the doctor, he said ‘alright I’ll send you to a specialist.’ So now she’s waiting for a letter from the hospital, and moaning like hell about the NHS. I told her to be a bit more grateful - she may be sore and hobbling, but at least she’s not working Easter Sunday.

RC 5-4-12

April fuel

TheLoveMachine ran out of petrol yesterday.
The fuel indicator is a bit faulty, so I tend to fill ‘er up long before the gauge gets near the ‘E’ but at the end of last week the British public went insane and tried to buy up all the petrol in existence. So on the way home from work on Friday I went past three garages, two of which had run out of fuel and one which had cars queuing five hundred yards down the road. So I thought ‘Sod this’ and left it. Then on Saturday I forgot about it completely, then yesterday when Philippa and I decided to take a trip to the coast we got a mile up the road and ran out of fuel. Very inconvenient and very embarrassing. Luckily a passing farmer had a can of illegal petrol in the back of his Land Rover and topped us up for a tenner and we were fine.
There was only ever a mild threat that there might be a strike by tanker drivers in a week’s time, so I don’t know why people were queuing up at garages.
Oh yes, I do - because they’re ****ing idiots.

RC 2-4-12