Greeeeeely...One Nil

OK, looks like the 14th is salvageable, the missus has kindly offered, after I badgered her witless, to “take a sickie” that evening and allow me go get hammered and spend loads of money. It’s toally against her principles, but luckily it isn’t against mine, but there’s a nagging feeling somewhere that something’s just not quite right about all of this, but I’ll be damned if I get see it. Any-hoo, 14th’s back on, no venue yet mind you..

I dunno what possessed me yesterday, boredom mebbe?…some free time on my hands perhaps, no, surely not, must’ve been when I was taking my lunch break, yeah, that’s it, anyway I decided to see if I could find me old mucker-mate on the internet, a friend from me Uni days and through all of the 1990’s when we were struggling artists, drunken dole spongers, perverts and miscreants…well, he was…I was working for my Post Grad, but visited him often and immersed myself in his world for the weekends.

Suddenly, about 2 years ago, he just stopped emailing/calling me, just like that! Fine I thought, time to move on anyway, leave him to it all in Bristol, see if I care… The upshot of it all was that, I found him, or a website he had set up sometime ago, offering some sort of “web solution” to educational institutions in the Bristol area, site untouched, by the way, since April this year (javascript:alert(document.lastModified) (put this in your browser address window and hit return on any website to see when it was last updated), so I knew it was dead in the water. The contact part was still active, so I thought, why not, and I mailed him…

This morning he mailed back..”bla bla, wanted a clean break, bla bla now doing teacher training, bla bla can now drive…bla bla let’s meet up for a beer!”..So I mailed back, OK, let’s meet, let’s pretend the last 2 years hasn’t happened, or rather let’s start again, not from where we left off, but afresh. The issues he must’ve had with me, I hope, have now passed..Christ knows I’ve got few enough friends as it is without losing any at this stage of my life.

We have a problem

So, we have a problem yes?…tomorrow will be a big day and there are plans afoot to drink till we drop, the thing is, I cannae get a babysitter for love nor money. The missus will be at work, her parents are “busy”, so is my sister and me “so-called” mates cannae be arsed. Nice one. I will have a half a pint then catch my train home tomorrow then….

Also, plans for a beer on November 14th, when me mate Dave can squeeze us in between his holidays and weird work shifts, fine, no problem Dave, count me in…But, wait…What’s this?…No fecker can babysit the 14th either!?…What the hell’s going on?!!…Txted Dave last night with the bad news, can we make it another day? The 13th or even, horror of horrors, Saturday 15th?…well, why not a weekend?…Dave?…anyone….anyone?…I’m free the Saturday..



Just found out, tomorrow nights pissup is off now anyway…...phew….!

I am sick in mind and body

Recently I’ve been treating myself to some new Industrial music, from the likes of Apoptygma Berzerk, naturally, and VNV Nation and others. I hate Geeeee-tar music...hate it... .....It’s almost compulsory, it seems, to add samples from films to Industrial tunes, probably because when they can be bothered to write their own lyrics, they’re usually dire schoolboy bollox anyway. I’m not moaning, I’m into the music, the sounds of the synths rather than the apocalyptic droning/shouting of the lead singer(s).

The thing that’s been eating away at me though, are these samples, where do they come from? What film or event recording have been lifted? Some are Obvious, The Moon landings, NASA stuff, but others seem very obscure to me…Luckily the Internet has all the answers, and it seems these samples aren’t obscure after all, no; they’re used time and time again by Industrial bands.

Most Sampled film….anyone..anyone…Bueller?…anyone…Blade…anyone?…Blade Runner…Next film, anyone?…no?…anyone…Star Trek…and the Band who samples most?…Front Line Assembly, sampling 189 from 67 sources, the lazy feckers..With Apoptygma coming in at a respectable 69 sampling 16 from 8 sources, which could explain why I like them, they obviously put more time into creating tunes with melodies and lyrics than they do swiping bits from Star Wars and Star Trek…By the way, the headline today is from…anyone?…anyone?

You've entered the grid 9-2 of subjunction 12. Proceed

Right, so, I went to the Laser place Friday afternoon and was told my eyes were perfect, a lovely shade of blue and a cheeky twinkle in there for the ladies to boot! which is nice to know. I get home just in time for the Smashers birthday tea party, chocolate cake, crisps, peanuts and biscuits…oh and some sarnies, salmon and sausage combo…nice.

Saturday was his actual birthday so we headed up to Gulliver’s Land. It was ok actually, less then half empty so he went on almost every ride available, no queuing, no pushing and he wasn’t afraid of anything, even Fred kept quiet and content for 5 hours in his buggy. But it was freezing cold and by 5:30 we were all knackered and had third degree frostbite.

Sunday was a lazy day, the boy played with all his new toys, the missus did some DIY and light shopping and I had lots of needed sleep…

If you're frightened of dying, and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth

MSN-ed me great mate Nig Friday afternoon, he mailed back, "shit, I'm in trouble, my Blog url is travelling all over the company!" I said, fuck! delete!! delete!!!
Saturday evening I get a txt from me great mate Dave telling me that Nig has been given the bullet!...Now whether this was because of the content of his work related Blog, or because of other reasons, incompetence springs to mind, I dunno but it's a sad end to a nice Blog and a real shame for me mate. Hope you get summat soon son.

And Penis is Russian for...?

Lots on today and over the weekend. This afternoon I go and have my three-month eye check-up; hard to believe it’s been three months since I had ‘em lasered. They feel ok to me, sometimes they’re a little sore still, especially after a long day and I still need to use Refresh eye drops on them occasionally, but otherwise I think they’ll be passed fit.


It means I get to leave early, but need to get home early too as we’re throwing a tea party for me eldest who’ll be 4 years old tomorrow. Where have the years gone? His gran gran and aunty have promised to turn up and the missus is baking a cake this afternoon. Bless him, he’s all excited, as they’ll no doubt be lots of pressies tomorrow plus a trip to Gulliver’s Land, up the M1. It’s a young persons Alton Towers, so should be ideal for him. Photo’s I’m sure, to follow.

Last night was dull, nothing to write home or here about.

Y.M.C.A

At long last and to the exasperation of my missus, my new leather “reefer” Ben Sherman jacket arrived yesterday! £200.00 and worth every penny we don’t have. It’s a little long on the sleeve but otherwise it’s great and I love it. I got home last night and put it on upstairs, away from the missus and her cutting sarcasm, checked myself out in the bedroom wall mirror, not the ceiling one, and made my way downstairs!

Me: Whaddya reckon then? (As I spun around, collar up, and cocked my loaded finger at her)
Missus: Bit long in the sleeve innit?..
Me: Yes, well, but..
Missus: Do you like it? Well, I suppose if you like it then it’s fine then isn’t it?…I’m off to work (sub-text = to help pay for your extravagant purchase)

Last night, to help break it in like, I wore it while watching the Bill and I felt like a twenty year old again, which was appropriate as that was the last time I’d bought a leather “biker” jacket. I’m still a little worried that I’m too old for a leather, I’m worried I’ll look like one of those old feckers on a £40k 2 million CC motor bike, with all the gear, grey hair and pony-tailed, blasting their way round Hertfordshire on a Sunday morning. Am I too old? Do I look completely re-dick?..ahfuggit, I’m too old to care…I’m off to strut my shit down the Hatfield aerodrome café…Hi guys! Coooo-weee!!…might even grow me a tash..

about this man I know...and his dog

I wasn’t in yesterday, had to see a man about a dog (wink)..….

Monday night was beer night, meeting me great mates for a shesh, but to be honest, it wasnae one of our better nights. I put it down, partly, to me of course, the life and sole usually but Monday night I still felt jaded from the weekend excesses so didn’t really fancy drinking much Added to that, I knew I had to drive the next day, to see that man…and his dog like, so had to stay away from my usual tipple of Kroni, instead I had to sup that waz-that-is-known-as-Fosters….yuuuuuk! (shudder).

I left before everyone else and got my slow trains home, in at 11:00pm and straight to bed, only to find, half an hour later, younger Smasher wasn’t in the mood for sleeping. He, like the rest of us, has a cold, so was all blocked up, bless him, but by 1:30am or so he finally succumbed to exhaustion, as had I, and fell asleep. The next morning, or five hours later, I was up, feeling groggy and tired, but looking through me A to Z trying to work out the best route to see this man…and his dog. ….

Your mind is full of enemies

The good things about watching Rugby in a pub, alone, is that you don’t have to pretend to understand the rules, you don’t have to know who the players are; there’s no peer group pressure to show off any bogus knowledge to yir mates like. You can also drink at your own pace, none of this waiting in-a-round nonsense while yir mates sup their Milds, hold them up to the light etc. No.

These good things can happen when you’re alone, unfortunately I wasn’t, the missus insisted she came, to “watch the rugby” read watch me….
Another pint Steve? But it’s nearly the end of the game…what’s happening now, who’s that, what’s the score? How much have you spent? All this when she wasn’t talking about the bathroom, the bank account, the smashers up-and-coming birthday and a dozen other topics that had no place in a boozah while I was trying to watch me game like…sigh….after the game and 4 pints later I took myself to bed for the rest of the afternoon much to the missus annoyance..

Managed to watch Finding Nemo yesterday, was good if a little too long for a four year olds attention span, but he loved it nonetheless

Ruggah-Buggahs

Well, that’s nice isn’t it? My “so-called-mates” have let me down at the last minute and have decided NOT to meet up tomorrow for the Rugby. Charming! But it’s ok because I will walk alone! I tells yee.
Tomorrow I’ll find me a nice boozah in Ware and shuffle up to some rugga-buggahs, warm flat mild in hand and start talking about me favourite players, Carling, Tony Underwood, Rob Andrew and all the boys, out there in Oz, giving it their all like. I’m sure to be accepted…
Second thoughts, drastic times mean drastic actions. Time to see just how popular I am among my Wareite online buddies…Watch as I make a tit of myself..again

"Are you rich?" "Not very rich. Just reasonably rich."

I was reading yesterday about the “Trauma on our Trains” just how bad the trains are getting in terms of punctuality and over-crowding and it listed the 10 worst nightmare lines, none of which, I was surprised to see, were run by WAGN, my line, when yesterday’s debacle was, sadly, only too common for me..

So yesterday I get to Liverpool Street station for the 4:50pm to Cambridge; I take this train daily and change at Broxbourn in Herts for the 5:15pm to Herts East. Fine, usually works well enough. Last night there was a fire of some sort at Chushunt, which threw the entire Anglian Network into chaos.

I called the missus and told her I could get to Broxbourn, just, but that I needed picking up. Fine says she. But an hour later and I’m still on da damn train, usually takes 25 minutes. The missus has been and gone by then so that by the time I get to Broxbourn I’m well and truly lumbered. I call her. Where the feck are you! So she comes again, each time a 20-minute car journey, bless her, but damnit! I needed to get home and put me feet up!

The up-shot of it all was that there was no time for the missus to make me tea last night so had to have sausage and chips from the chippie and poor missus had to go to work on an empty stomach. Bless her. The smashers had to be fed, watered, washed and changed by yours truly and I didn’t get to relax and watch the Bill until well into the Story line, ooo Des Taviner, ya naughty scouser!

I did manage to watch the Michael Portillo-single parent role swap thing on BBC2 though, which was very interesting. How does an upper class twit, with no children of his own, no work experience of any kind and no idea about how to run a household on a measly budget, cope with for a week while the scouse mother puts her feet up? To be fair to him though, I think he managed quite well and came off looking like a decent sort of bloke. The timing of the programme with the Tory Party as it is, musta done Portillo the world of good for his forth-coming leadership contest.

An all day-er

Would you believe it, yesterday me moaning about her family, last night she says to me:

Missus: Now, just to warn you, before you go into one..My brother wants to come over this weekend and drop Arthur’s birthday present off. Now, we can either take him away from the house, take him for lunch somewhere…or you can disappear for the afternoon somewhere and I’ll tell him you’ve made arrangements, so you won’t have to be here when he comes
Well, the choice was simple no?
Me: OK I’m outya here then, think I’ll go watch the Rugby somewhere, me mates were asking if I’d be allowed out Saturday anyway, so I’ll go watch it with them..
Missus: Oh no, I don’t want this turning into an all-dayer, you coming home pissed
Me: As if! no love, just an afternoon, supping real ale, roaring at the telly somewhere, Rugga shirt (not the flaming new ones though!! Jeeeezus) collar whipped up in a kinda jaunty hello sailor fashion, and stroking my beard like..
Missus: Well, OK then. I’ll call me brother, tell him to come…

Nice one eh? Avoid he-who-must-at-all-times-be-avoided AND I get a free pass out for the day…I mean the afternoon

Big day today, should find out something big work related..

Rather dumb on the nose, don't you think?

Spent some time in my shed this weekend. I was sulking because I had been manipulated into spending more time, than is healthy, with her family by:
a) Agreeing to spend Xmas day, xmas-fucking-day mind you, at her Brothers in Northampton.
Missus: Think of it this way, we can do him AND my parents all in one day, one day and it’s all over…

(She has a point of course, it’s far better to get it over and done with than protracting the bugger out over a few days.)

b) Spending the 6 Dec with her family, wait, what’s that? Less than 3 weeks before Xmas? Oh yes, so it is….arrhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

The occasion will be her mothers 70th and her father has been busy planning a fun day (whole day) for her, which involves us all having our picture taken at a local portrait place, stand by for Adams family style prints (ooo lovely, but why isn’t Steve smiling…they’re ruined now) A small reception/party followed by fireworks, in our garden, ours is bigger see, and finished with fuck knows what other horrors back at theirs later.
Problem = they don’t drink. AND they’re all into their Christianity…

I’ve known this for years of course, and try my damnest to spend as little time as possible with them as I can. In the early days, when we were courting, I’d be invited round for Sunday lunch and they’d get in a coupla mini-cans of Carlsberg in for me

The Dad: Beer Steve? Grrr
Me: Ohh, er, yes please, lovely..

The missus and her mum smiling at me, look, we’re ok with Steve drinking, see, we’ll even tolerate him drinking in our house. Out would come a glass, and I mean glass, not a pint or half-pint, of warm beer that I would sip for an hour until I’d have to ask for more….

Her Mum: Er, more Steve?..Dad, do we have any more?…
Her Dad: Oooh, er, I dunno mum, let’s have a dig-a-bout…
Keeping it jovial all the while thinking wild thoughts about this yob drunkenly shagging his daughter later. And I did too.

Nowadays, it’s a little easier, a few years back out came some wine, at Sunday dinner, all of a sudden and it’s become a staple now. Her brother is something, if not everything, of a wine bore.

One bottle mind you, between 6 of us, but it’s a start, but don’t help yourself to another glass, did that once and the missus went into one:
Missus: Er, Steve, don’t just help yourself, have some manners, wait to be asked!
(As I was halfway to the sideboard for me top-up, everyone stops eating, mid-chew, and looks up at me. blinking. Me thinking, shall I carry onto the wine bottle, make a dash like and top-up? or shall I sit back down..er…umm)
Her dad: It’s OK, he can help himself, if we run out we can always go and buy another bottle…from somewhere…I suppose….

Xmas. Is. Gonna. Be. Fun. This. Year....ho-fucking-ho-fucking-ho

An action movie in print

We are who we are; sometimes we’d rather not be, so we try and change ourselves, we become Vegetarians, we try and eat less bread and more salad, we shun the Costa’s for Iceland or Peru, we take up golf or join a club or society, in short, I suppose, we’re constantly trying to change ourselves, trying to improve on what we’ve been given.

Take yesterdays Observer Review section, for example. Here we have the Reviews “Critical” top 100 books of all time we should read before we die. Great! Thinks me, this is what I need, this’ll help me become a better person, well, a better read one anyway and that’s a start. So, I start reading down the list, Don Quixote, crap, Pilgrim's Progress, Jesus more crap, Tom Jones, fuck me, what is this shit? And so the list went on, one crap 19Century or early 20th Century pile of poo after another.

And here at number 34 “The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde. The book I have been trying to get into for a month now. One of those “self improvement” moments, one of those books I thought would, not only improve myself through great literature, but make me more attractive to women, who’d spot what I was reading, on the train or wherever, right, and think, my god, what man, what a mind, I must have him…y’know? A book I’d sought after on Amazon. Paid for and gave up on half way though, early last week. Why? Because it was rubbish, that’s why; the plot was one dimensional, the dialogue poor and the premise, homosexual yearnings, I’ve no doubt unmentionable when it was first published, now really rather, “so what?”

The thing that’s kind of troubling me though, apart from looking at that list and thinking, Jesus, what a loada tripe, is that the other day I picked up Ice Station on my bookshelf, it’s been sitting there for months now, years maybe, and haven’t managed to put it down yet! It’s fab, it’s great, it’s pure trash and I fucking love it but it speak volumes about me, my tastes, my limited tastes I should say and it’s like a death knell to my aspirations or improving myself through literature and the Arts. Ah well, fuck it, pass the Stella and stick the Steven Seagal DVD in, I’m off for a dump.

Sausage Surprise....Not

Funny how things are isn’t it, yesterday I’m saying look at this for a routine! Last night I came home to 4 cooked sausages laid out ready for me to whisk up some tomato and garlic sauce while the pasta cooks. Lovely. One of me favourite meals that, but it wasn’t to be as we’d run out of tins of tomatoes The missus shops so precisely that come Thursday evening there’s next to nothing left in the kitchen to eat, ready for a cupboard and fridge re-fill Friday morning when she goes to Tescos.

Missus: Have an egg sandwich or something, or make an omelette!
Me: But, I’m a working man love, and I’ve had just some soup today and I’m sarvn’ Marvin innit…

(I’m always aware how like that fellah in Shirley Valentine I can sometimes be, you know, Shirley’s husband, who wants his steak on Thursday nights, and throws his rattle out of his pram when it’s given to next doors dog)

Nightmare, had to cook up some fattening chips and mechanically recovered fish fingers instead, thinking, I’ll use the sausages for me lunch tomorrow, in fact, while everything’s cooking, I’ll make up some sausage sarnies right now!…god, but, I’m so hungry, might have a sausage sarnie now….hmmm…might as well have another, no point taking one sarnie to work tomorrow, besides, nothing to carry it in, no bag…(no bag, ripped on drunken train journey home the other week)

So, 30 minutes later, I’m stuffed, eaten way too much, feel totally guilty for over-indulging and for kicking off over me pasta-and-sausage-surprise-Thursday-night-tea that wasn’t to be.

Quiet day at work today, only me and another fellah in, all directors are out for the day, well, most of the day, just to annoy me, they’re coming back for our weekly 4:00pm meeting…

And on the seventh day machine pressed stop

It happens, like it always does, like this
I get home usual time, 6:00pm and me dinner of pasta and tuna is waiting for me. We eat, on our laps, common I know, but wotcha gonna do? Watching something on the telly. The missus goes out to work before 7:00pm and I begin my night, telly flipping, once the smashers are safely tucked up in bed...

Corrie: You’re a Homo! You’re a Homophobe! Yir sacked! Yir Hired!! I dunno Todd. I luff you Sarah.

The Bill: Yir a bent copper and I’m a good ‘un and you’ve ruined me career. Innit. Bye Danny. I’ve been raped, you jock bastard. Bye Mickey.

Other Peoples Property/Grand Designs: Lovely. Use of the space. Juxtaposition of old and new. Horrible, it simply doesn’t work in this space. So light and airy. Light flooding in. too dark.

Bed by 10:30 after some rigorous press-ups and sit-ups. Tried to read some more Dorian Grey, but fell asleep. Missus comes in at 12:30 having watched the above that I’ve taped.
Wakes me up.

Shed

I’ve been spending an increasing amount of time in my shed lately; I went in there the other week, for some tool or other, spotted a deck chair, sat down and realised just how quiet, warm & cosy it is…or could be, with a few home touches, fridge, heater, some throw cushions mebbe, some jazz mags possibly. Nice.

The other day the missus was upstairs, in the baby’s room, & was watching me as I sneaked out the back door, across the lawn and into my sanctuary. I was quietly sitting in my deck chair, thinking about mebbe getting a heater in here for the winter and bringing a blanket in with me next time, when I saw, quite clearly, the missus coming up the garden with baby smasher in her arms. Caught! Nowhere to run, to hide..so I carried on sitting there while she laughed at me, and who can blame her. I felt like Sid James.

It’s funny because, for a while, I’ve been searching for, or at least feel the need for, something like this, a little calm, mebbe some solitude, but more than that, the need to be, I dunno…happy? And I tell ya, I’ve been looking in all the wrong places until now, it’s not at the bottom of a bottle, in a pub or club & it isn’t exotic travel either. No, all this time, the thing I’ve sought, is at the bottom of my garden.

Are you ready, are you ready for love?...yes I am...yes I am...Ye..ahfuggit!

Met an old FT mate Friday for a drink, Reg we call him because he looks a bit like Elton John. He was made redundant 2 years back and has since struggled to find work. He was telling us, tears almost brimming in his eyes, how he’s worked in a factory, a dispatcher for a food delivery company and is now currently a data imputer based up in Stanstead. He’s applied for sales assistant jobs and to be a postie. It’s a shame as he’s a bright bloke, used to working within the financial industry, but with no formal qualifications and at 40 years old, he believes he’ll never work in the City again.
To cheer him up then, we took him to The Sports Bar in Shorditch where, for the entrance fee of £3 British pounds you can watch laydeez, of every nationality, except British it seemed, strip off their clothes for you. It was every bit as seedy and grimy as you’d expect but had the reverse effect on poor Reg, who, seeing all these nakid women, had to come to terms with the fact that he ain’t getting much at home lately either.
Yesterday he mailed me and me mate, thanking us for the night out then asking us to keep an eye out for any jobs going, hoping his “contacts” in the City will somehow magic him a job. Fat chance Reg, it’s an uncertain Industry mate and jobs ain’t what and where they used to be.

Frankie say…..Relax!

1985
Which was pretty much what I was saying, eighteen years ago to the day, to my sister as she writhed around on the living room floor; neither of us knowing she was actually in labour! The baby arrived 3 months prematurely and it was touch and go for a while there, he didn’t come out of the hospital until the New Year but today he’s 18 years old! On Saturday a load of us went to wish him happy birthday in a local boozah in West Herts. Not a bad night, the local yobs were all in attendance and, bizarrely, a couple of local stripahs, off for the night but gave an impromptu strip for the lad, well, tits out anyway, which was nice. They had to be asked to leave after the boyfriends got their willies out too, no control some people.

Happy birthday Keiron

This weekend was also mine and the missus’ 12 year together…but the least said about that the better.

Fighting in the rain with wotshisname

You know when kids stretch their arms wide and say:
“…something something THIS MUCH!”?
It’s their way of articulating a difficult meaning or emotion, they don’t yet have the words to describe how they feel or think. Basic stuff I know, but the other night I turned it on it’s head when the smasher launched into what was, I have grown all too familiar with, a Thomas-the-tank-Engine story. Basically, as I looked down at the mess of rails, carriages and engines on my living room floor I wasn’t looking at a mess I was destined to clear up in an hour or two’s time, no, I was in fact looking at a complicated scenario of a major railway incident that involved James and Thomas with Sir Handle as bit player, that would soon involve the Breakdown train and assorted Airport and Pirate figures . And as I struggled along with him I thought:
jeeez I’m sick to death of Thomas, I really am, so, with my thumb and fore finger I created a tiny gap and said to Smasher:

“This much”
He stopped talking. Looked up at me and said, What Daddy?

Already I was feeling guilty of course but pressed on

That’s how interested I am in Thomas - Look, son, not everyone’s interested in Thomas, you have to learn to reign in some enthusiasm, learn to accept that everyone’s different and that some people have other interests that don’t include Thomas. I don’t go on and on to you about, oh I dunno…Star Trek or whatever do I?
Clearly confused but barely pausing for thought, he carried on telling me about the boy over the road and his train set…

Now though, I hold up my thumb and forefinger, make a teeny-weeny gap and he laughs and says:
“This much daddy?”…

It’ll take time, but I feel I’ve begun to wean him off Thomas. I dunt want my boy to grow up a train spotter and dullard, boring every fucker he comes into contact with. That’s my job.

downloads for everyone

You know how, when you say something, you know immediately that you shouldn’t have? My problem is, with the missus anyway; I know I shouldn’t say anything even before I’ve said it. Doesn’t stop me saying it though. Take the other night, for example, now I’m all in favour of women learning new skills, like using the computer for example, and I want to encourage my missus likewise, but she’s at a stage now, bless her, where she genuinely believes she knows how to use one.


This creates two problems:
1) The amount of time, telephone & electricity she invests into using it, so the bills get increasingly higher and the smashers have to do without their mother for inappropriate lengths of time during the day.
2) She won’t let me help her, despite above.

So, the other night, I’m settling down under the duvet and the missus is slapping on her face pack and putting in her curlers, right, and I can hear a buzzing noise coming from the computer, sure enough I look over and the monitor light is on. Again. So, without too much fuss, I get out of bed, go over to the computer, sigh loudly, and switch the bloody thing off! Get back into bed and think…shall I say something?

The missus meanwhile carries on as if nothing had happened, so I say fuck it, go for it Steve!

Me: Erm, look, you know when you “log off” (I think I actually did that quotes thing with my hands here) the PC?
Missus: Mmmm
Me: Well, look, it doesn’t actually switch off the monitor, so..
Missus: Yeah, I know, right, No..wait, the thing is yeah, what happened was..
Me: What happened was that, for the umpteenth time, I’ve had to switch off the damn thing after you’ve been on it…
Missus: No, wait, look, do you want to hear my excuse or what?
Me: Well, no, not really….(and I knew…just knew she’d turn it back on me. I just knew she would)
Missus: Well, what happened was that, after I logged off I heard the baby cry so rushed down to sort him out…and anyway…(here we go) You’ve leave it on sometimes, I know not many times, but…sometimes you do and I have had to switch it off properly after YOU…so..
Me: Yeah, mebbe but we ain’t talking about me, we talking about you and how you always seem to leave it on..

Actually the last bit was inside my head, I hadn’t managed to get away with it; she had turned it into an argument where I was as much to blame about things as she was, so I gave up. Sigh.

Now, The missus, if you’re reading this, when you’ve finished, yeah?, and “loged off” yeah?…SWITCH THE DAMN MONITOR OFF TOO!!!

Ware mums are hootches

Here’s promised pics from last Thursdays night out.

Had a long weekend off, told people at work I was, but did they remember?…hmmm, ah well, don’t mind the odd call from work now and again, makes me feel wanted, special all most, y’know?…
Spent Friday pretty much taking it easy, took the smasher down to his nursery after lunch. I was hoping to mix with some hot young single mothers at the gate. My god, one “women” came barrelling along, 4 jagged teeth in her head, hair greasy and streaked christ-knows-what colour, ‘effing and blinding her way to the gate, gob like a stevadore on a Friday night. She’s got 2 kids by different dads, one has a restraining order on him, another in the oven by another lad. How do I know all about this old hag? Simple, her brain doesnae give her gob a rest and we all learnt all about her in those few minutes waiting for the nursery doors to open...

I mean for god’s sake, her mongrels mixin’ it up with my smasher! Had a good mind to go in and have a word with the head mistress, but people in authority still make me nervous, so I left it. For Now.
Mind you, this old crone was the best of the bunch I tells ya!…Sloped off though before any of them hootches managed to get their mits on me, no offence to Laydee-kind but somethings rotten in Ware pre-school-young-mums-lookers department...