2019 GOING TOO FAST !!

Please don’t be August tomorrow. I’m not ready and it’s not fair. I swear that 4 days ago it was only July 9^th. Where does Summer run off to? Why is it in such a rush to do its job and then emigrate?

Our back garden on Sunday was 21 Celsius cooler than it was three days before. What kind of climate does that to people? Is there anywhere else on Earth with weather swings that ridiculous?

I had amassed a large collection of empty cardboard boxes and some hedge clippings, so tonight I had a celebratory/commiseratory end-of-month burn-up in the garden, and I am now going to look at lots of images from the Curiosity rover on Mars.

And that’s another month on Planet Ches survived.

RC 31-7-19

Bodysnatched?

Been a very strange week, all told. My life gets so weird that I sometimes think I’ve been replaced by an alien and I’m the only person who hasn’t been told. Conversations seem very hard to participate in and everyone else around me seems to be following a guidance manual that I simply haven’t been given. At times like these, I thank God I have Philippa. She may not understand me or have a clue what goes on in my head, but she puts up with it and with me, even when I’m tired and irritable and floating around directionless like a confused cloud.

I seem to have been able to keep on top of my work duties, although I honestly can’t remember anything I’ve done in the past five days or so. Days drift by without consequence, and evenings are spent watching my child gurgle and grasp, then concentrating on a film to stop myself thinking too much, or too little. Since the weekend I’ve watched ‘The Last Witch-hunter’ and ‘The Nice Guys’ and bizarrely I can recall more about both plots than I can about the 45 hours or so I’ve spent working on stuff for my employers. Strange how the mind can latch onto necessary distractions when it’s overwhelmed by the reality of what it’s trying to sort through. Tonight I may watch ‘Furious 7’ or I might just have an early night.

If I’ve got to the stage where I’m seriously considering ‘Furious 7’ as an option then maybe it’s time to get help…

RC 30-7-19

Melting scrotum

I genuinely cannot remember ever being hotter than I have today. I’ve had three showers, changed my underwear twice, and consumed about 16 litres of cold water and I STILL don’t feel refreshed. We are not designed to cope with these temperatures in Britain. And the real pisser is – now we’ve had a couple of days to get used to it, it’ll stop. We’ll be back in the early twenties Celsius, at best, by the end of the weekend.

RC 25-7-19

Loaded Question

A quick highlight of a conversation that took place in our house at the weekend, when we were watching the Women’s Netball World Cup:

PHILIPPA: “Do you think these netball players are sexy?”

ME: “These six-foot-plus, athletic, toned, beautiful-skinned, sculpted Goddesses? No. Not at all.”

RC 24-7-19

Tired, thrilled, talked out, tired

Today has been, possibly, the best day I’ve had all year. No specific moments rendered it close to perfection, it was just the general scope of the whole day that has led me to feel altogether gorgeous and a little bit – dare I say it – happy. Strange now to think that there was a time when I would feel uncomfortable, inadequate and unwelcome around Philippa’s more sporty friends. It was nothing to do with them, I’ve come to realise, more about my own insecurities and my ability to assume that everyone else thinks about me the same way I do. So I would turn up expecting them to hate me, then keep them at arms-length when they tried to engage, then feel sorry for myself because no-one was talking to me. Thankfully, none of them gave up on me and now I enjoy their company as much as I enjoy the company of anyone. More so, in many cases.

Highlights of the day included seeing Philippa in a swimsuit (obviously), managing to bodysurf my way well up the beach while others around me got stuck on the shingle, and out-quoting everyone else when we indulged in a light-headed game of ‘Appropriate Lines from Jaws’

Most of that won’t make much sense to most of you, and I’m too frazzled to explain it, but if I ever read these blog postings back later in life I’m hopeful I’ll know what I meant, and then smile.

RC 21-7-19

Lunar see

On the anniversary of Mankind’s greatest ever achievement, I was thinking of writing a long post debunking all the silly conspiracy theories that certain people seem to enjoy and believe, regarding the Moon landings and whether or not they happened. Quite frankly though, I have better things to do with my time than waste it connecting with people who even consider it worthy of doubt. So I’ll hold in my intellect and scientific arguments and ridiculous amount of available evidence and just say this - If you’re one of ‘those people’ who say things like ‘but, of course, we never really got there’ then please don’t ever read my blog again.

RC 20-7-19

Footers

I’ve become a bit obsessed with finding the perfect line to end my postings with. I’m not looking for some kind of awful regular sign-off, I’m just finding myself staring at everything I write after I’ve written it and wondering if the last bit is okay. Yesterday is a case in point. The rambling weirdness of the ‘uncoordinated’ paragraph seemed to come to an abrupt end, so I tried to come up with something witty that would tie a nice little bow on the end of the story without it looking as if I’d just run out of steam and stopped typing. But I couldn’t think of anything apt so ended up putting ‘What a world…’ What a dickhead.

I’m going to try and break the habit today, and just finish writing what I’m writing when I’ve finished writing it, and then leave it wherever it is. Seemed to work okay for the first 2000 or so blogs so why should it stop working now?

RC 19-7-19

fun on the horizon

A tired Thursday, rendered slightly less irritating and long by the text from my wife saying we’d been invited to a big beach party on Sunday.  Not always something that would fill me with uncontrollable excitement, but it’s organised by a lovely couple that I’m fond of, who happen to own a ridiculously expensive beach hut at a rather delightful beach, where the sand is flat and therefore easy to navigate, and where the waves roll such that even an uncoordinated office boy like myself can look graceful riding a bodyboard.

The close proximity of the beach hut means easy access to both cold drinks (from the fridge) or hot drinks (from the kettle) and provides shelter for littler ones like Mathew who might need shelter from the elements.  Everyone will bring their own picnic, and there’s ample parking on the field next to their house, from which a short footpath takes you over the dunes to the beach hut. All in all, a recipe for a truly fine upcoming Sunday.

On a slightly different note (but one still relevant to something written above) ‘uncoordinated’ is one of those words that never looks right after I’ve written or typed it. It always looks like it should have a hyphen in there somewhere, but I’m never sure where, so I always check it, only to find it doesn’t need one. So I leave it, but it still bothers me, because it still doesn’t look right.

What a world….

RC 18-7-19

A framed conspiracy

I need to get some new glasses. I had a feeling that my eyesight was getting gradually worse, and the lovely Natalie at the opticians confirmed it today after blasting cold air at my eyeballs and then making me read a list of letters. I’m sure it’s not just a coincidence that they do things that way round. It would make sense for you to have the non-physical, non-invasive reading test done first, and then go out and have the unpleasant blood pressure checks performed. That way, you’re being tested while yours eyes are feeling fresh and focused. By doing it the way they do it – where they first fire air at your pupils with the velocity of a jet liner – they send you into the examining room with tears streaming down your cheeks and your retinas still reverberating from the shockwaves, thereby minimising the chances of you being able to read properly, and thereby maximising their chances of charging you for new spectacles.

Either they’re money-grabbing bastards or I’m a cynical, middle-aged misanthrope.

I’m about to spunk £300 on some prescription sunglasses regardless, so I don’t suppose I’m learning….

RC 17-7-19

A quick thought (from a slow mind)

I can’t make out if this is offensive, or just surreal nonsense, but earlier today I heard what I think must be the most bizarre phrase I’ve ever heard:

“I’m getting through money quicker than a lesbian gets through fish paste”

RC 16-7-19

The Bad & Good of the BBC

I do enjoy watching tennis, and despite the difficulty of covering it on radio (because it’s too damn fast to describe) I do enjoy listening to it too, but BBC Radio 5Live have turned me off completely with their efforts this year. Their complete obsession, and therefore ill-disguised bias, towards ‘The Big Three’ (their words) of Djokovic, Federer and Nadal has reached embarrassing levels. I was listening to the first Men’s semi-final at work yesterday and there was a 12-minute spell where they didn’t even mention the name of Novak Djokovic’s opponent. TWELVE MINUTES. And that’s not me exaggerating for effect, I actually timed it. When they weren’t talking about whether Novak is the Best Player Ever they were stroking their anticipatory erections by talking about the upcoming match between Roger and Rafa. And it wasn’t just a reaction to yesterday’s circumstances, it’s happened every day of the tournament. They lose themselves into a collective orgasm of superlatives and seem to forget that they’re supposed to be commentating on a match. Yes, I know these guys have raised tennis to another level, and we’re blessed to live in a time when we get to see them all battling each other, but it doesn’t need to be the only topic of conversation every time I turn the pissing radio on. (excuse my language.)

There are a few of us around who are actually finding this continued dominance of the same few guys in their thirties a bit boring now. I’d dance a naked jig around Suffolk if a Grand Slam final ended up as Zverev vs Kyrgios, but I think that if that line-up happened, the entire BBC broadcasting team would collapse into incoherent grief and have NOTHING to talk about.

I’ve always held the BBC up as the peak of television production, but I’d take ITV’s coverage of the French Open last month over the current Wimbledon programmes any day of the week.

On the flip side, I must say that 9 – 10.30pm on BBC2 on Wednesday night was up there with the best 90 minutes of television I have ever seen. If you didn’t see “8 Days – To The Moon & Back” you should go and find it on iPlayer and give it a damn good look. As a scientist colleague of mine tweeted after watching it yesterday – “Wow. Just wow.”

RC 13-7-19

Non-Nemesis Returns

Christian from The Cleaning Company came in today, and I have to say our conversation was a lot more pleasanterer than last time!

He wasn’t even due to visit our store today, but said he had a nearby appointment that finished early and he thought he’d take advantage of the spare time and come and see me. He ‘respected me immensely’ for e-mailing him after our little spat, and he wanted to have a clear-the-air-completely, face-to-face get-together to really draw a line under it and put a full stop behind it.

So I took him over to the canteen and we chatted for nearly two hours. Kathleen came out from the kitchen to say ‘I hope you two will behave yourselves this week’ but actually her warning was unnecessary. We got on like a house on fire.

RC 12-7-19

The pen is mightier than the something

I’ve got into a bit of trouble regarding my attitude during last week’s course. Nothing to do with the days in Slough; more to do with something I wrote afterwards. As is always the case with these things, the ‘course director’ handed out some Appraisal Forms at the end, asking us to rate the effectiveness of the whole thing and mark our satisfaction out of six, and all that pointless twaddle that justifies someone in a small office somewhere charging companies thousands to input the info and analyse the data.

Anyway - in the section marked ‘What could we have done to make this course better?’ I put ‘Hook me up to an alcohol drip, preferably one full of tequila.’

I assumed no-one would ever read it. How wrong could I be?

Now I have to consider e-mailing an apology to the course leader (even though he hasn’t even seen the form) and possibly going on a one-day course about Appropriate Attitudes….

God I love the modern world.

RC 11-7-19

A Day Of Day-After Exhaustion

Yesterday’s efforts and exertions caught up with me today. I feel like I’ve been running on empty. If just one of those things I faced yesterday cropped up today I think I’d have ended up crying. So did my employers give me a bit of a break from the day-to-day traumas and trials? Did they say ‘You were great yesterday, old stick, take it easy today, and know how much you’re appreciated’?

No – they put me on a conference call with nine other managers and asked me to talk about Christmas. They also insisted I finish the work that I missed out on last week by them making me spend three days in Berkshire. Gotta love ‘em.

RC 10-7-19

Whattaday!!

You know sometimes life can throw you sideways a bit? And sometimes life can throw you sideways a bit harder, to the extent that you have to correct your step so you don’t stumble and fall? And sometimes life throws you sideways so hard that your day gets interrupted for a bit while you pick yourself up, recover, and start over again?

Well today life knocked me sideways so hard I’m amazed I haven’t woken up in the middle of the Atlantic.

I hope that made sense.

What I’m trying to say is – today has been a real trial. A constant battle against the forces of bad luck that seemed determined to gang up on me, pausing only to rope in a few ancient Greek deities to add to my confusion and despair.

Without writing 17,000 words of details, let me just tell you that my car went spectacularly wrong, we had a motorcyclist hit by a car entering the forecourt, someone was arrested in the store and I had to go over to cover the floor while the Duty Manager dealt with the Police, and our cooker went kaput tonight while I was making Philippa an omelette.

At that point I was ready to cry, explode, have a breakdown, emigrate, commit suicide or spontaneously combust. But you know what? Everything got sorted. It was hard going, it was testing, terrifying and torturous, but it’s late at night now and I’m still alive, and so is everyone else. The lad on the bike was dealt with by paramedics (broken finger and collarbone), the van driver who hit him was dealt with by store security, I can pick up my car in the morning, and someone’s coming to look at the cooker tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, we can survive with the microwave, kettle and the contents of the fridge. It’s all good. Even at the moments today when I felt I couldn’t cope, I was coping. Even when I wanted to run off and hide and let someone else take care of stuff, I was staying where I was and taking care of stuff. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the bowels and then rolled through a spike-covered mangle, but I did it.

Amazing what you can do when you have to. If I knew in advance what today would involve, I would have resigned at dawn and kept myself safe in bed, but as incidents were piling up around me, I was able – somehow - to stay mentally afloat.

My conclusions?

Ignorance is bliss; I can cope in a crisis; and I need a glass of rioja.

RC 9-7-19

Manic blurring

After three days of enforced brainwashing and comatose-inducing training, it was nice to spend a weekend watching tennis.

I’ve noticed something different about the Wimbledon grass this year – the old ‘up-and-down-with-the-ride-on-mower’ lines are a lot more defined that normally, and it’s buggering up my viewing enjoyment a bit. The strips are so distinct and such different colours that the automatic contrast on my telly keeps adjusting itself. Every time someone runs along the baseline my screen goes darker as if a huge cloud has passed in front of the Sun. It’s giving me motion sickness and making it impossible to watch and being a complete technotwat I have no idea how to switch the bloody automatic setting off.

So I’m enjoying the tennis, but not the nausea.  

Today will be better though, as I’m watching it on my laptop at work. It’s my favourite day of the tournament too – the second Monday, when all 16 fourth round matches get played. Obviously, I’ll be doing lots of work while I keep an eye on it in the background; it’s not as if I’ll be hooked into the coverage and ignoring everything to do with filling stations.

RC 8-7-19

Duller than a January evening

Three days of my life have disappeared into a file named ‘Boredom’ never to be retrieved. I think it was 1pm on Wednesday when everyone in the room realised the whole venture was a complete waste of time, but the course organiser insisted on ploughing on regardless and forcing his ill-written and ultimately irrelevant ideas upon us. The company he represents probably charged my employers at least £250 per person for this pointless waffle. God knows who they are, or why my company decided to use them. We live under a Conservative government these days, so obviously I’m assuming that nepotism was involved, or maybe our managing director once had a liaison with their managing director or something. Either way, I don’t think there was one thing of any value that I can take from the entire three-day stint. I had a notepad with me, just in case, but I notice this morning that it’s just full of doodles, and a few pages of ‘Dirty Hangman’ that I started playing with a District Manager from Lincolnshire.

I suppose THAT was one little positive – spending time with others on the same level as myself and being able to compare notes on how we all cope with the meanderings and mechanisms of four separate filling stations each.

Anyway – I’ve wasted enough time and words describing it to you. Time to move on from it and get on with my weekend.

RC 6-7-19

So far, so Hellish

Jesus, this course is dull.

RC 4-7-19

Off to Slough I go...

Travelling today, arriving tonight, with the first activity kicking off over breakfast at 8am tomorrow. Apparently, we’ll be supplied with croissants, pastries and coffee, and all we have to bring along is ‘enthusiasm to learn.’

Can you sense the excitement and anticipation oozing from every pore of my body?

I’ve packed lots of reading material and loaded Skype on my work laptop so I can get to see my child while I’m languishing in the Hotel Hellhole for three days solid. I imagine I’ll come back with absolutely no new knowledge of any worth, and a backlog of work to get on with at all 4 garages I manage.

It’s mad to think that it was this time last year I accepted the new position. Feels hard to remember the days when I only had one filling station and half-a-dozen employees under my command! And oh, how I yearn for those days to return. Everyone who works ‘for’ me is delightful, but there are days when I wish there were less of them, and therefore less problems and less awkwardness when it comes to rota writing. Maybe it’s a task I should delegate, but I like it as it gives me a feeling of control, and an excuse to spend an afternoon in the office.

Right – I can’t delay it any longer. Time to hit the good old A14.

RC 2-7-19

Pilton thoughts

I didn’t get to watch as much of Glastonbury as I might have hoped, but I did enjoy seeing “The Cure” closing things on the Pyramid Stage last night. Robert Smith may look like a goth Susan Boyle these days, but his voice sounds exactly the same as it did 35 years ago.

Very impressive.

Every year I’m tempted when the tickets go on sale, but the TV coverage is so good now I think I’d rather enjoy it from the comfort of my own sofa and plasma screen. Why traipse hundreds of miles to be surrounded by drug-addled twentysomethings and middle-aged hippies trying desperately to rediscover their youth, when I can see the acts in close up with a cold glass of wine in my hand?

Hard for me to do a list of my favourite acts this year, having seen so little, but for me there was clearly one stand-out performance that towered over all others. It can’t be easy making your Festival debut when you’re 93, appearing solo, with no notes or autocue, just you and a microphone and 50,000 people, but DAVID ATTENBOROUGH nailed it.

Next year he should headline.

RC 1-7-19