Guess who had time to kill?

Bored at work today so spent ages practising drum beats using two pencils and the supermarket shelves.
Then I sat down and wrote this:

TEN TOTALLY FABRICATED FACTS ABOUT ANIMALS

1. All Border terriers bark with a German accent
2. Slugs are poisonous if you eat them raw, but are actually good for your heart if you deep fry them and eat them on a skewer
3. Polar bears are all Methodists
4. If you feed them oranges in a vacuum, ants can be taught how to juggle
5. The 3-toed sloth has 77 fingers
6. All male starfish experiment with homosexuality at least once
7. Licking a sparrows feather is an effective cure for baldness
8. Winston Churchill owned a peacock called ‘Ulcer’
9. If you paint a zebra purple it becomes invisible to Frenchmen
10. Leopards feet will explode if you blow a whistle behind them

RC 31-7-13

990 down... 10 more to go?

I met with Ross today and I drummed while he strummed!!
It was all a bit awkward and bowel-tickling at first. My hands were shaking so much I could hardly hold a drumstick.  We were obviously as nervous as each other, and when we started playing we were obviously as shit as each other as well!
But once we’d broken through the boundary of being strangers and being scared it became quite a good session. We’re both at a very similar stage in our musical development and it feels quite nice to have met up with someone on my level, rather than having to feel inadequate and overwhelmed every time I see someone else at the studio.
We’re going to do it again next week, and maybe come up with a couple of songs that we can both go off and practice for the week after.
I was buzzing when I got home. Philippa says she hasn’t heard me talking so enthusiastically about something for months. It was a bit of a ‘Rory Verbal Diarrhoea’ scenario, but I was just so proud of myself for having gone through with it, and so glad that Ross and I seemed to hit it off so well.
This could be the beginning of a beautiful something-or-other.

RC 30-7-13

Three things

Philippa is training for a sponsored swim. One of the ladies who run the badminton club has got breast cancer, so all the girls are teaming up for the distance equivalent of a Round Norfolk Relay or something-or-other. I don’t know all the details, but it means I get to see her in a swimsuit more often so it’s fine by me. 

We’ve got to start thinking about packing soon.  I know it sounds ridiculous, but we’re going to have to put some of our stuff in storage somewhere so we don’t have to try and empty this place in one go when David and Becky get back. 

I’m having a morning music session at the studio tomorrow with Ross, the guitarist who called me last week. We were going to meet up on Friday but I bottled it, to be honest. I phoned him and pretended my work hours had been changed so asked if we could postpone. Then I felt guilty and cowardly for a couple of days, so I phoned him today and said “Why don’t we forget the getting-to-know-you coffee and just get together with our instruments?” So that’s what we’re doing tomorrow. I still have a bit of a cold and a temperature though, so there’s a ready-made excuse if I want to bottle it again….

RC 29-7-13

Rory on the Pity Pot

I called in sick and stayed at home today. I know that’s not unusual for me, but this time it was genuine. This Summer cold is an absolute bastard. I kept waking up last night soaked in sweat and feeling dizzy. Then this morning I felt exhausted and dopey. I got up for a cup of tea, then fell asleep in an armchair. Then I had some bran flakes, then I fell asleep on the sofa. Then I had a quick shower, then I fell asleep on the bed. At ten o’clock I gave up and called work to tell them I wasn’t going in. Since then I’ve spent the day shivering, then sweating, then sleeping, then having weird vivid dreams involving skydiving and mopeds, then waking up shivering, then sweating, etc, etc. And I swear I’ve never been thirstier in my life. This may be the first day ever that I’ve drunk the eight glasses of water the so-called scientists tell us we should drink. I feel bloody awful. It’s the first decent run of weather we’ve had in this county in a decade; the first opportunity to get out and enjoy the world and milk all it has to offer; and I’m stuck indoors fighting off some cold bug that I probably picked up from a fat sneezing pensioner at work.
I’m off to bed now, pausing only at the kettle for a Lemsip.

RC 28-7-13

Some Saturday haiku

Bloody Summer colds
Every year I sniffle
While it’s hot outside

RC 27-7-13

Medics and Moods

I went to see the doctor about my nutpieces. He said it’s nothing to worry about, but if it’s still there in a month I should go back and he’ll arrange a scan and a biopsy, so maybe it IS something to worry about….
Short-term, I’m not allowed to cycle for a couple of weeks; longer-term, he’s recommended I buy some padded cycling shorts and get my bike seat changed.
He asked ‘has it affected your libido?’
I said “Yeah, a bit. It’s hard to get aroused when your testicle feels like a squashed melon”
He smiled that bored smile that people use when they’re trying to look amused but really they’re just unimpressed and distracted, and said “Take it easy in the bedroom for a while”
I said “Ok. Just have sex in the garden, then..”
He didn’t even bother with the bored smile at that one. He just looked at me contemptuously and said “See you in a month if it‘s troubling you”

Philippa didn’t seem relieved when I got home and told her, but that might be because I hadn’t told her why I was going. I hadn’t mentioned my inter-scrotal discomfort to her at all. So I had to listen to the lecture about ‘being a team and not hiding things from each other’ and now I’m getting the silent treatment. Oh, well - I’m not allowed to have sex anyway so she can avoid me as long as she likes.
Unfortunately I’m not allowed to cycle either so I may as well sit in the dark and play on the Wii.

RC 25-7-13

This will be used in evidence..

WARNING - this blog posting contains NO punctuation or paragraphs

I’ve had one of those days where you just want to lock yourself in a dark room with nothing but a candle and a barrel full of wine or vodka and just get absolutely blotto and then kill yourself or maybe you’d like to steal a powerful sports car from some megalomaniac egotistical narcissistic businessman and scream down the A47 ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD with your eyes closed screaming your lungs out until you run out of breath or petrol or get taken out by a police marksman or maybe you’d like to sell all your belongings on eBay and use the money to have a few hours with a prostitute in a posh hotel somewhere and you’d amaze her by paying her double her usual rate and then you’d just sit on the bed saying ‘I just want you to hold me that’s all’ or maybe you’d like to pack a small bag with one shirt and some toothpaste and go to the airport and buy a ticket on the first available flight to anywhere and wherever you ended up you’d call yourself Pablo and go to work in the nearest shitty coffee shop where you’d befriend wealthy widows and young homosexuals and on a Friday night you’d pick up a second-hand acoustic guitar and sing Bob Dylan songs in French and smoke small cigars that you keep attached to your lip even when they’ve burnt themselves to nothingness because that’s how you feel inside

RC 23-7-13

The Wisdom Of Peanuts

I’ve got the same problem that I always get at this time of year: Days are rushing by too quickly. The hours themselves (especially at work) are moving along as they should do, but every so often I glance at a diary and three weeks have disappeared somewhere. It’s ridiculous. In February it feels like an age has passed between each weekend; in July it feels like a second.
If I may quote the great cartoonist Charles M. Schultz - the creator of the ever-apt characters Charlie Brown, Snoopy et al - “Summers fly, Winters walk”
Ain’t that the truth?

RC 22-7-13

Panic/Poultry/Poem

I had a phone call today from a guitarist who wants to meet up with me at the studio and talk about maybe doing some jamming together. I shat my pants immediately. When I put my name of the ‘solo amateurs’ list I honestly hoped I’d never hear from anybody. Or at the very best I hoped that I’d have time to get a lot better before anybody decided to use my number. They obviously weren’t kidding when they said that there’s a scarcity of drummers on the local music scene. I probably shouldn’t have put my name and number up until I felt confident enough to go through with it. Anyway I compounded my mistake by agreeing to meet him for coffee this week.

Sometimes, when I say and do things, I could swear there is someone else controlling me…

We had lunch with Ted and Beryl today. Ted seems to be drinking a lot of wine at the moment, and Beryl is worried. She also cooked the biggest roast chicken I have ever seen and stuffed us all to the point of explosion. I’m sitting here now on the sofa with the keyboard resting on my lap, feeling exhausted by the act of digesting.

Chicken is good

When it tastes like it should

If it ain’t cooked enough

Then your guts will be rough

If this poem ain’t fine

Then I’ve drunk too much wine

RC 21-7-13

The worst thing about my job (today)

We’ve recently lived through a 9-month Winter that dragged into June and all I kept hearing from customers was:
“I’m sick of this cold…. Will it never warm up?… So much for climate change” etc
Then last week we finally had some sunshine. In fact we had the best 10 days of weather I can remember for years, and all I kept hearing was:
“Isn’t it hot?… This is too hot for me…. My garden could do with some rain” etc
Then today it was a bit cooler and a bit drizzly and all I’ve heard is:
“So much for Summer then….”
I don’t know how much longer I can deal with the English public without punching someone in the face.

RC 20-7-13

Ballfear

I’ve been cycling a lot recently, and now I have a slight swelling in one of my testicles. It doesn’t hurt, and it feels squishy rather than solid so I’m hoping it’s just a bit of fluid or something, but it’s a bit of a worry and I know it might need looking at. So I’m going to be a real man about it… and ignore it and hope it goes away.

RC 16-7-13

Rory's week (in short descriptive bursts)

TheLoveMachine has gone and I’m driving a Vauxhall Astra Diesel. I’ve gone from sexy to family man in one easy exchange of vehicles….
…and I’m heartbroken.

I beat the shit out of some drums on Tuesday evening again and surprised myself with how good I sounded. I was so adrenalised and confidence-laden that I put my name on the ‘solo amateurs’ list at the studio before I left. Now I’m having daily panic attacks at the thought of someone phoning me and asking me to jam with them..

I think too much cycling may be causing me problems with my prostate. I’m pissing more often than a weasel and when I climb on my bike it feels like there’s half a grapefruit in my pants. 

I got into a bit of trouble at work. At least - I think I have. I mean, I haven’t yet, but I’m thoroughly expecting to. You know that little filter you have in your head that intercepts thoughts before you get a chance to vocalise them? And you know those times when you’re tired or stressed or just don’t care anymore, and those filters stop working? I was spending a morning with someone from a company that is a new supplier for us. He was here to be shown around and to see where his products would be positioned and to get a good impression of the store and someone somewhere decided it would be a good idea if they left him with me. He had a slightly camp, slightly American accent and I was getting bored and distracted when he asked me how I would react if one of my staff members had set a display stand in a way I thought was unsuitable. I replied “I’d probably save myself time and energy by re-doing the bloody thing myself.” He then said “Oh, lovely. I like a man who rolls his sleeves up and gets stuck in himself” and for some bizarre reason that I don’t think I’ll ever understand I said - in a slightly camp, slightly American accent - “Really? I like a man who takes it in the ass”

That last one wasn’t really a ‘short descriptive burst’ was it?  Ah, well - this blog is nothing if not an adaptive, ever-changing beast.

RC 12-7-13

Summer at last... 2

Thank God for hangover medication (and my staff discount card) because Philippa’s mates decided to have one of their spontaneous Days On The Beach. The call went round at midday, and by 2pm there were forty or so of us sitting on the sand preparing to fire up the barbecues.  Some people brought beer, others brought cook-able meat products. Simon from Sheringham had a chuffing great volleyball net and we were all set fair for a good ‘un.
It’s amazing how quickly you can start to feel better once you’re sat by the shore in the sun. After a paddle and a play and a bit of grub I’d forgotten my hangover to the extent that I started drinking again!
The beach was packed, and beautiful. The sea was refreshing and calm and the Sun was so warm that it almost made up for the 9 months of Winter we’ve just struggled through. Three more months of days like this and I might even say we had a good Summer!
If it wasn’t for the fact that I have to start work at 6am we’d probably have stayed a lot longer. As it was, we got home 10 minutes ago.
I am feeling sunburnt, a bit drunk and incredibly sexy, so I’m going to try and join Philippa in the shower now… 

RC 7-7-13

Summer at last

It was absolutely bakingly beautiful yesterday. So two things happened - I started the day in the best mood I’ve been in all year; then we had our busiest day at work since Christmas. 90% of Norfolk’s population seemed to be out buying barbecues, shorts and sunglasses. Like well-trained sheep, they were spending their hard-earned pennies on seasonal shite and preparing for a day on the beach. And I had to do a 10-hour shift in a supermarket while they were all out enjoying it. So I drank lots of wine when I got home, so now I have a headache.

RC 7-7-13

Les

I watched the TV special about Les Dawson last week and fell in love with his humour all over again. I’ve just spent 12 hours online watching every single clip of him on YouTube. The rest of this blog posting will be a collection of one-liners I’ve tried writing in his honour…

“I wouldn’t say my mother-in-law is fat but when she walks in a bathroom the toilet cries”
“I watched a Justin Beiber concert last night. I wouldn‘t say his audience were young but I’ve seen more pubic hair in a creche.”
“I had to sit in a managers meeting at work today. I haven’t seen that many arseholes together in one place since I stopped cleaning the windows at the haemorrhoid clinic.”
“I’m so unlucky. I worked as a mechanic for the RAC and my van broke down”
“I wouldn’t say my mother-in-law is ugly…. but everybody else would”

RC 5-7-13

Sport list

7 THINGS I’M THOROUGHLY SICK OF AFTER 10 DAYS OF WIMBLEDON:

10-minute montages being used to begin and end every highlights programme.
5-minute montages being shown before every player is introduced.
Close-ups of Andy Murray’s expressionless Barbie-doll girlfriend after every shot.
Close-ups of Andy Murray’s cadaverous turtle-necked mother after every other shot.
Hearing “This is the one tournament that every player wants to win” when it’s quite obvious that some of them don’t.
Seeing shots of people on ‘Henman Hill’ and watching them cheer and wave at the camera.
Being told which mega-rich celebrities are sitting in the Royal Box for free when they’re some of the only people in the country who could actually afford a bloody Centre Court ticket.

RC 4-7-13

Deadline approaching?

I realised today that if I’m going to stick to my pledge to kill off this blog after 1000 postings, then I only have 25 more to write before I leave you…….
(make that 24 now…..)

RC 3-7-13

Do I dare to Beat The Peach?

I was feeling a bit stressed and violent today, so I treated myself to a couple of hours in a rehearsal studio in Norwich. Just me and a full drum kit in a soundproofed room with no windows. It’s fair to say that I came out of that room feeling a damn sight better than I did when I went in. Having not played the drums for a while (and having given up on lessons months ago) I thought it would be a bit of a car crash, but I got into it and drifted off and thrashed away and thought there were bits that even sounded quite good! I spoke to one of the guys that runs the studio and he said if I take some CDs or MP3s in next time he’ll play them into the rehearsal room so I can drum along to them. He also pointed out that 80% of the ‘Musicians Needed’ requests on their notice board are asking for drummers. I said “Yeah, I’m not sure I’m good enough to play along with anyone” He smiled a stoned smile and said “You’ll never know until you try, mate” He said they have a list of ‘solo amateurs’ that are keen to meet up with other people, just in the studio, and have a play-along and try to get better together. No pressure to perform well, just a chance to see how you get on in a group session without having to aim for a big gig or something.
I said I’d think about it and maybe put my name down next time I’m there; which will be next Tuesday night, coz I’ve booked myself another slot already.

RC 2-6-13

And so, Part 2 of 2013 begins...

Where the Hell did those six months go then?
Feels like we’ve been waiting for nice weather for so long that Spring has f**ked off into the rearview mirror and over the faraway hills like some kind of seasonal hobbit on a mission.
July, July, July….
What can we say about July?
Not much really, as it’s only just started. But memories of July past include waiting for the school holidays to start (aren’t those last two weeks of term the longest two weeks of your life?), being paid to pick strawberries by a local farmer, and getting the shit kicked out of me by a holidaymaker for ‘accidentally’ tipping sand into his lager. All happy stories which I shall share with you another time perhaps. 
This blog is just rambling nonsense thus far, so I’m going to bale out now and go for a gentle bike ride.

RC 1-7-13