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I haven’t done this for a while….
I have a little notebook at work and every time I hear a bizarre, interesting, isolated snippet of conversation out of context I write it down to share with you.
Here are a few of my recent favourites:
“Every time I piss it’s like passing acid through a pain receptor”
“Glastonbury wasn’t too bad for crime the year I went. There was only one rape that I know of”
“If you keep waiting for life to happen to you you’re going to run out of time”
“We’ll still be having sex at eighty, that’s what she said the night we got engaged. Now it happens less often than an English win at football. I haven’t even seen her tits since I was forty”
“Butter - that’s the answer. Cheaper than the cream from the chemist and does the job just as well. Smells like shit if you don’t wash it off though”
RC 30-6-17
Been a bit distracted by the 48-hour piss-down we’ve had since Tuesday night, but here, finally, I give you:
Best acts seen last weekend during BBC Glastonbury coverage:
(in reverse order of preference (so the first mentioned is the fifth favourite))
THE FEDZ
RUN THE JEWELS
ROYAL BLOOD
LORDE - (only watched her coz Philippa likes her and I thought she was amazing)
RAG ‘n’ BONE MAN - stole the whole thing for me. Humble; versatile; supreme talent.
Obviously Foo Fighters sounded amazing, but it I find their songs a bit samey. And I would have enjoyed Ed Sheeran more if I hadn’t heard his songs played continuously over the past year by every commercial radio station and every pub singer and every busker and every 13-year-old girl with an iPhone.
RC 29-6-17
I have a new Life President of Rory’s Most Hated People On Earth Club.
There was a programme on Radio 4 today all about ‘The Dunkirk Spirit.’ They were discussing what the phrase means and how often it gets applied to different situations, and of course they looked back at what happened at Dunkirk in 1940 and why that time has come to encapsulate a certain kind of heroism and determination.
One of the guests - a woman who sounded like she would be more at home on one of those wanky self-indulgent arts shows that makes me want to boil my own blood and pour it in my ears so I don’t have to listen - was asked about ‘The Dunkirk Spirit’ and what it might have meant to different generations. This woman; this repulsive, self-absorbed, lower-than-puddle-dwelling-scum-bugs daughter-of-darkness; actually compared the plight of soldiers in France in World War Two to the fame-chasing, self-serving efforts made by the pop group One Direction, and she said it with pitiful conviction.
The host of the programme even gave her a chance to backtrack and talk her way out of the stupid position she had put herself in, and she turned him down flat. Her voice got louder and even more self-assured as she said “Yes…. I am making that comparison.”
I didn’t get the lady’s name, which is probably just as well because I think I would have looked her up and located her by now and found a way of locking her in a confined space somewhere so no-one would ever again have to suffer her misguided, ill-informed, ego-driven, narcissistic, mock-Millennial bullshit spoutings.
What a ****.
RC 27-6-17
It’s a curious thing, not being able to sleep
Feeling your eyelids pop open, every time you settle down in bed
Waiting for slumber to overcome you
While hearing the available hours of rest ticking away
Marked by the metronomic melody of the bedside clock
If I could mime myself a lullaby
I would hum the wicked beats of the weary
Forcing myself to achieve a self-hypnotic trance
Disappearing into a blissful aura of night-beach
Where I could dream of being awake
RC 26-6-17
I convinced Philippa to come to the beach with me again last night. I did this by saying “It’s the shortest night so we should celebrate it by watching the sunset over the sea.” I suggested a champagne supper but she wants us both to stay off alcohol while we’re trying to get pregnant, so it was a healthy tea at home and then a gentle walk on the sand.
We were cuddling in absolute bliss, both holding a glass of sparkling water, when she broke the silence by saying “Hang on, you devious bastard, the shortest night was Wednesday.”
If I may quote many an evil wrongdoer from many a modern movie - “Mwah-ha-ha…”
My blogging has been intermittent this weekend as I’ve been fitting it in between BBC Glastonbury broadcasts.
RC 25-6-17
Hardly slept last night.
So stuffy in our bedroom.
Ended up laying naked on a blanket on the floor downstairs.
Slept for a few minutes then got awoken by a bastard fly buzzing around me.
Gave up and had a chat about babies instead.
Got excited by the talk and wanted to try for one there and then.
Got rejected by my wife, who said “It’s too hot for all that. Leave me alone” before going back upstairs.
Slept - intermittently - til 5am, when the local birds decided to try and out-sing each other, thus rendering any more shuteye unfeasible.
And that was my night…..
RC 22-6-17
After a long-drawn out Winter and barely-above-freezing-for-more-than-two-days Spring, the last couple of weeks have been like a holiday in the Sun!
I am tanned, eating healthily and thoroughly enjoying the delights that the onset of a Summer spell can bring, not least of which is the phenomenon known as “Disappearing Clothing On Female Bodies.” My, but I have seen some truly awe-inspiring amounts of flesh in the past seven days. I’ve also seen some horror shows too. An overweight, tattooed housewife climbing out of a Fiesta with a miniskirt riding up round her hips is enough to turn any man celibate, but there we are - we must take the rough with the smooth; the shambolic with the sexy; the wine bar special edition rioja with the six pounds ninety nine merlot from the supermarket.
Philippa will be in soon and I’m hoping she’ll agree to head to the coast again. Might be a bit much twice in one week but who knows how long this nice spell will last? We might be buried under a river of rainfall in August and then we’ll wish we’d taken advantage of the good times when we had them, and that’s the point I shall make to her if she dares to question my suggestion!
RC 21-6-17
I have just been in the sea for the first time this year! I was preparing some food for tea, but as soon as Philippa came in she said “I’m hotter than a camel in a firepit. Let’s go to the Coast.” So we did! Drove way too fast along the B-roads to get to our favourite Suffolk beach, ran into the sea for a cooling dip, then enjoyed each others bodies in a secluded, shaded dunescape. Then we got some food outside a friendly, overpriced gastropub.
Could be a great Summer.
RC 19-6-17
2230 BST
Like many, I have been sweating, boiling and wilting in the energy-sapping heat of the past few days. The forecourt has been awash with burnt shoulders and sweaty faces, while the conversation near the tills has mostly been about how it’s “too damn hot to deal with” (mostly from the same people whom three weeks ago were saying “When’s Summer getting here then?”)
I have found lots of excuses to be locked away in my air-conditioned office, but one has to venture out occasionally for fear of being forgotten about, and when I do I find myself sweating like a fat man on a treadmill. Call me a typical Britishman, but I am finding it a little too much to bear. I enjoy cycling, surfing and sitting still outside. I can’t do any of those things at the moment because I’d probably die if I did!
Anyway - I digress - I haven’t been completely switched off over the weekend. I did just manage to raise enough energy to lift my hand and put pen to paper. Here’s a quick blast of INITIALOETRY:
Stuck under new sunshades.
How I need energy.
RC 19-6-17
About 10 days ago I had the conversation I’d been wanting to have but also dreading and I confessed to Philippa about wanting to be a dad. Her personality changed overnight. She became re-invigorated and overcome by a zest for life that had been missing from her for quite a while. She stood up straighter, got a wonderful glowing look in her eyes, and started dragging me into bed at every available opportunity. Seriously - I didn’t know it was possible to have sex as many times as we have in the past 10 days. I barely have time to acknowledge that she’s in the house after work before she’s ripped off at least three items of my clothing. She’s even taken to waking me up at bizarre times of night climb on top of me and take advantage of her ‘temperature to menstruation coincidence’ or whatever the hell she calls it. All I seem to be doing is working, blogging or shagging. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not complaining. It is Spring after all, and it’s only natural for living beings to be rutting away and enjoying The Procreation Game. But I do wish I’d got my fitness levels up a bit before I told her and set all this is motion.
RC 14-6-17
I once spent a drunken evening at uni being told, by a pot-smoking German philosophy student, what each of my past lives were and how they have influenced me in this existence.
Uni, huh?
His name was Gustav, I think. I remember him using that name but I’m not completely sure whether it was his real name or whether it was the alias he used when he was pretending to look into peoples pasts. Either way, he had an annoyingly full beard for a 19-year-old and stank permanently of a mixture of cannabis resin and Persil. He told me, from beneath a flat cap and from behind a cloud of Joss stick smoke, that I had been a beekeeper in a Saxon village, an anchoress in Medieval Lincoln, and a Victorian chambermaid, who may or may not have been raped by a blacksmith. All very serious stuff that made me laugh my drunken tits off, but he was rather insistent that he was correct and by four o’clock in the morning I was starting to be convinced.
I’m not sure how any of his information may have helped or hindered me since, but I saw someone at work today who looked like him and it brought this memory flooding back so I thought I’d share it with you. It made me smile on an otherwise tedious day so hopefully it’s done the same for you.
I don’t know where he ended up. Probably dead by now, or possibly working as a forecaster for the news channels that covered the Election.
RC 13-6-17
Today I have decided, for one day only, to return to a previously enjoyable writing exercise that once was a highlight of this blog. Today’s posting will be exactly 250 words. Not “up to” 250 words, not “give or take” 250 words, but EXACTLY 250 words. The challenge has been set and accepted and my fingers and brain (and Microsoft’s ‘Word Count’ feature) are ready to achieve their aim.
So let me tell you about a dream I had last night. I was swimming, in a private pool, and going along great, until I suddenly noticed that I’d somehow drifted out to sea and was bobbing about in fair-sized waves in the middle of a busy shipping lane. None of the boats could see me and if I waved my arms about to get their attention I would sink below the surface. With dawning horror I realised that I was going to die and I had to choose from three options. I could wait for one or more of the ships to clatter into me and inflict a fatal head wound; I could wait to be torn apart by a propeller; or I could take charge of the situation and let myself drown. I agonised over it while continuing to keep myself afloat as best I could, and I eventually settled on the third option: dive beneath the waves and let my lungs fill with water. It would be horrible, but it would be on my terms.
And that’s 250.….
RC 12-6-17
I seem to be stuck in a repeating pattern of behaviour with regards to my exercise regime. I go for a bike ride, it makes me feel good, so the next day I go for a longer bike ride, then I over-do it and end up stiff and sore, then I have to have a few days of rest and recovery, then I start to feel better, then I get the urge to go cycling again but swear to myself I’ll take it easy this time and build up the distances gradually, then I go for a bike ride…..
I seem to struggle to achieve moderation. I’m either over-doing it, or not doing it. It’s either flat out (on the bike) or flat out (on the sofa).
So my question today (rather to me, than to you) is this: How can I re-train myself to stick to a sensible exercise program, instead of going round and round in circles and probably damaging my body rather than improving its fitness?
I’m sure Paul McKenna has written a book about it but I’d rather work it out for myself.
RC 11-6-17
So what’s changed this week?
Millions of votes were cast
And we’re still in shit
RC 10-6-17
There’s a town in mid-Norfolk called Dereham. Actually, to keep pedantry at bay I should say it’s officially called East Dereham.
It’s 15 miles from the City of Norwich, 25 miles from the port of Kings Lynn, and has a population of about 16,000. It was bombed by a Zeppelin during World War One, it’s twinned with towns in both France and Germany, and Stephen Fry got married there in January 2015. It was the site of a monastery in the 7th Century, it’s close to a Museum of Rural Life, and is the headquarters of the Mid-Norfolk Railway.
Anyway, to get to the point, I was there today for inexplicable work-related reasons, and I have to say that Dereham Memorial Hall has some of the finest toilets I’ve visited in my life.
RC 9-7-16
I am hiding in my office all day avoiding all the talk about the General Election. Put simply, my view is this: tomorrow it will all be over and there’ll be naff all anyone can do about the result. Promises will be broken, cuts will be made, the electorate will be disappointed, and this merry circle of political life will continue as it ever has. That’s how our ‘democratic system’ works. You put your little ‘x’ in your chosen little box, then you walk away for five years and get ignored. Put as many pithy comments on facebook as you like; it won’t make any difference. So why should I waste a couple of nice June days observing, speculating, commenting, arguing and hoping when, by Saturday morning, nothing that’s been said or done will mean anything?
I’d rather spend my time writing Point of Sale reports and searching for cheap holidays online.
Two weeks in Mexico for £800, leaving Friday? Tempting….. very tempting.
RC 8-6-17
Wet weather in June
Rainfall washes hope from heart
Self-pity ensues….
RC 6-6-17
