ataleof2women

Diet update - Day 3

2009-07-15T09:22:55+02:00

Ahh stick it up ya bollix

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Now I'm a proper blogger

2009-07-13T07:45:35+02:00

I havn't truly felt truly part of the blogging community without a story of a diet to recount

So now we have booked our last minute Spanish dash I have precisely 6 days to get my beach body

As long as this pic starts with '14' in 6 days time I'll be ok so look forward to my daily postings on all things diet.

I'm off now to kick-start things with a good dump. Wish me luck

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No comment required

2009-06-12T12:22:01+02:00

From a recent trip to Winchelsea

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Will be trying this at Cinderella's on Saturday

2009-06-04T13:14:44+02:00

If only I had had the benefit of this when I was 18 I would have been beating the women off with a stick...especially if I had mastered the mong-moves being demonstrated from 3:14

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Freak your mind

2009-05-19T13:14:14+02:00

Just been sent this

If you continue to focus on the '+' sign in the centre of the image you will notice that the circle of violet circles will soon DISAPPEAR completely and you will see only the green spot (which is actually violet)

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A Logical Puzzle

2009-05-14T16:21:36+02:00

You are driving in a car at a constant speed. On your left hand side is a drop of about 10 feet to the ground. On your right side is a fire engine travelling at the same speed as you. In front of you is a galloping horse, and you cannot overtake it. You look behind, and see you are being chased by a galloping zebra.

What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

For the answer, click and drag your mouse from star to star.

* Get off the sodding merry-go-round. You're pissed and will injure a small child *

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The things I do for my kids.....

2009-04-27T00:31:14+02:00

The prospect of being cooped up in a room full of 20,000 screaming 11 yr old girls had been looming large on my horizon for several months as the days clicked past towards No1 daughters birthday treat.

And come last night the waiting was over, so with a car-full of barely contained excitement, I led the way to the O2 for the joys of Girls Aloud.

My tactic of 'heading in the general direction of the Canary Wharf Tower' and finding it from there nearly proved disastrous as the signage to the arena was virtually non existent when coming in from the East. It wasn't until one of the kids pointed out the small brown crown on the road signs wasnt actually directions to the Tower of London "Its a bloody crown I tell you!" but was instead a little brown dome that we found our way into the huge expanse of tarmac that is the O2 car park

"Have you booked online or on the telephone?" asked the car park attendant.

"Well I reserved online but had to pay over the phone as the security number on my credit card has rubbed off because it lives in my back pocket"

"So is it online, or on the telephone"

"Both"

"But I need to find you on my list"

"No you don't. I give you this receipt you sent me when I paid and you let me in to the car park."

"I can't let you in unless you're on my list"

"But I have a receipt"

"Is it an online receipt or a telephone receipt"

The range of responses from within the car varied from "Ask to talk to the supervisor" from Mrs Wife to "Just buy another ticket Dad" from No1 daughter who is a recent graduate of the Royal Horticultural School of Money Propogation.

Outside, the chap in the Range Rover behind us had begun to chew on his steering-wheel whilst the dog in his passenger seat slobbered away excitedly as though his owner had just said, "see that bloke in the blue rugby shirt over there.....". Why anyone would bring a dog to a pop concert I have no idea although after the first support act had left the stage I began to wonder if it was infact an understudy in case of late attacks of laryngitis.

By now highly irritated, I got out of the car to try and talk some sense into the barrier operative and watched the slump of a thousand shoulders in the queue behind me at the grim realisation that the bloke at the entrance barrier has now been forced out of his car. Several miles away a horn tooted but was wafted off towards the Greenwich eyot by the early evening breeze.

I looked down at the list on his clipboard

"Thats me there" I said as I took his pen and crossed my name off the list.

"All that fuss" I said to the rest of the car as we went through the barrier to find a place to park

"What was the problem" said Mrs Wife

"No idea - but keep your fingers crossed the guy in the Range Rover isnt a Mr Simpson or one of us is going to be a Ridgebacks supper in a few minutes"

Parked up, we unloaded the picnic and made our way towards the Thames footpath where we had been told there was a pleasant picnic area, well away from hungry pedigree hunting dogs

"Joanna went to American Bar and Grill when she came here" piped up one of No1 daughters less appreciative friends (the same one who had said "Eeeuegh its disguuuuuuusssting in here" on getting into our car. Ok so maybe I should have mucked it out before we left but I was winning an egg fight at the rugby club at their end of season BBQ so had other priorities)

"Oh well, you'll have to make do with a picnic. Have you ever seen the Thames Barrier before...?"

We found a perfectly nice spot by the river and gorged on the finest Mr Marks and Mrs Spencer could muster

"Eeeuegh I haaaaaatte chicken" and before our charming attendee became another Thames drowning statistic we scoffed, packed up and headed into the arena.

We had barely stepped through the secutiry checks when I got the first of many digs in the ribs from Mrs Wife.

"Well if she doesn't want people to look at her she shouldn't go out dressed like a porn star"

"Its the fashion these days" said No1 son who I thought was out of earshot.

"I beg you pardon?"

"Its the fashion. Everyone knows that. Did you know a porn shops opening by the station soon?"

Suddenly I felt very very old and frankly quite depressed that this is the subject of 11 yr olds conversations these days

Still, at least I now know he's not gay, after he pointed out with a big grin on his face that you could see one girls pants her skirt was so short. I didn't give away I had already spotted her but let him think she was his catch. What a great Dad I am!

And so, with a pocket full of cotton wool balls, we took our seats

First up was "Girls Can't Catch" although I couldn't help wondering what a cruel twist of fate had led to the the last bit of their name (....a tune even if it whacked them in the face) being deleted from the promo literature.

"Girls can't sing", as keenly observed by No1 son, would have been more appropriate.

At one point in their particularly nasty set, a leap from our seats on the top tier of the O2, seemed the only way to escape the wailing banshees on stage.

But that would have spoiled the evening for No1 daughter and friends on her birthday treat, not to mention the several dozen people 150ft below who would have broken my fall.

So I did the honourable thing, kept my counsel, plugged my ears with cotton wool and waited for, in the words of No1 daughter, Cheryl, the fat one, the blonde one, the skinny one and the really really white one.

After being spared any further aural torture from the girls who couldn't sing we awaited the appearance of the main act (more girls who couldnt sing...as I'd told anyone who cared to listen for the past few weeks) as the pre-pubescent screaming built to a wall-paper tearing crescendo

In a dazzle of fireworks they appeared through a fog of dry ice and a really strange thing began to happen.

They started to perform.....and they were actually bloody good.

I know they are only 5 girls singing and the real talent lies in the songwriting, the choreography, the lighting etc etc but no-one ever held that against the Supremes.

And for the next 2 hours we were treated to one of the slickest, most upbeat, catchiest shows I'd seen in years.

I am now officially a fan of the really really white one because she seemed to have the biggest stage presence of them all - and anyway, I always have a soft spot for the underdog, if you pardon the expression

No1 daughter & friends danced and cheered and clapped and generally beamed solidly for nearly 2 hours and No1 son saw Cashley Cole sitting in the box just below us which made his night and by the end even his surly "god this is so embarrasing" pose had turned into full-on arm waving and dancing in strict accordance with the instructions emanating from the stage.

To cap it all we went from seat to front door in less than 50 minutes (god if there's one thing I really can't bear its queuing to get OUT of somewhere!).

All in all, despite the car park debacle, a huge success

And if I could be bothered to consider nominees for the title of Greatest Girl Band of all time, I think we might just have seen them last night.

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I'm an importer of carved wooden elephants...

2009-04-26T15:06:09+02:00

So the innocent few drinks with an old, but recently relationshiply traumatised, friend on Friday has now morphed into the biggest challenge I have faced in the past decade.

Yes, I think he should get back on the bike and start meeting people again after splitting with his partner of 6 years

No, I dont think that at 40 he has missed the chance to be the fantastic father I know he will be

Yes, I know it was a bad idea agreeing to go speed dating with him for moral support

And yes, it was a shockingly bad idea to let both our competitive natures get the better of us and put a monetary challenge together based on valid phone numbers harvested during said speed dating event.

So I think I will be an importer of carved wooden elephants for the night....should provoke some interesting coversations

And as long as it gets me one more phone number than him...then I'll be happy

Oh and also that he finds a nice girl.

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Tonights Tally

2009-04-02T00:30:59+02:00

Is a littel bit late and clouded by too much Pimms (frst of the summer dont you know) red wine and XCourvoisier. BNut heres what s come out of today

Lost count of the tinme but it was faster than yesterday
IDstance wqas trhe same
1 Get off the phone you pr*ck
1 graceful descent into the town
1 flowing dismount into the midsts of a throng of guests that had come for home-made curries and fun at our place

I learnt that a good friend was once handcuffed and thrown into a swiming pool by The Mob

I learnt that whilst my piano playing is masterful when played through the headphones in my own little world, infront of a group of eager onlookers it;s cock.

I elarnt that as far as Writing Competitions go, its not what you know but who you know

I learnt that I'm not double jointed despite procreating a daughter whose key joints are only held together by flaps of skin

I learnt that its better to know someone you can't have, than to have someone you dont know.

Although not even 14 miles, tomorrow mornings ride is looking an awqful long way.

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This Mornings Tally

2009-04-01T08:31:11+02:00

47 minutes
13.5 miles
Countless potholes avoided that weren't there at the end of last summer
1 f*cking c*nt (of a taxi driver)
1 stupid f*cking cow (of a school-run 4-by-fornicator)
0 potholes hit
0 cars kicked

Pleased to come in slightly faster than going home last night as the ride in is slightly more uphill than the ride home. Still nowhere near last summers times when I was zipping around like Lance Armstrongs bastard half-brother though - all I have now is a backside that feels like Stretch Armstrongs bastard half-brother

This morning reminded me why we are so lucky to live where we are. I wish I had the energy to have broken off the ride and snapped the vista. Maybe in a few weeks.

I ride past this country church that is far too big for the village it sits in and the steeple was illuminated by the early morning sun and backed as it was by the most cloudless azure sky it showed up the intricate brickwork and masonry in all its Norman glory.

A little further on I came out of the shadow of the hedges and through a small wooded area where the sunbeams of pure warmed honey trickled through the branches and massaged my burning thighs made chilly by the early morning air.

On the final uphil run into work over the railway bridge, I struggled pathetically past a couple of surly schoolgirls ambling to their lessons which bought me down to earth again with an embarrasing thud. I was half tempted to get off and walk past feigning a puncture but instead struggled past manfully as though cycling through treacle.

At least I got another stroke of pleasure from the mp3 as Springsteen sang..

Now I know your mama she don't like me 'cause I play in a rock and roll band
And I know your daddy he don't dig me but he never did understand
Papa lowered the boom, he locked you in your room
I'm comin' to lend a hand

I'm comin' to liberate you, confiscate you, I want to be your man
Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny
But now you're sad, your mama's mad
And your papa says he knows that I don't have any money

Tell him this is last chance to get his daughter in a fine romance
Because a record company, Rosie, just gave me a big advance

So familiar yet after a half-year of not being listened to, oh so distant.

Time to do some work

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Tonights Tally

2009-03-31T18:41:25+02:00

48 minutes
13.5 miles
5 potholes avoided that weren't there at the end of last summer
2 potholes not avoided that weren't there at the end of last summer
2 f*cking arseholes
1 where the f*ck do you think you're going
1 badly aimed right footed swipe at the rear quarter panel of a blue Mondeo
1 ticking off from the police man travelling a few more cars behind
1 sore arse (from the bike seat if you puhleeese)

Fortunately as Plod finished reprimanding me he set off in pursuit of the Mondeo for what I hope was a much sterner ticking off as even by the policemans own admission the Mondeo had no right to squeeze through between me and the bus turning right. Although I do now accept that kicking out at passing cars who have p*ssed me off is not the wisest move as a defenceless cyclist. But if you don't ride aggressively....

On the positive side I didnt have too much trouble with the big long hill thats between work and home. Shame it can't be said of the mobile fish and chip van which was dragging me relentlessly into its orbit. By sheer willpower alone I carried on. Just the one pint at the Plough as well but heck, thats near as dammit home anyway so it was hardly an interruption. The first airing of the mp3 player since last summer also bought back some Fratelli-induced good memories so not all bad...

I wonder how long before I am back to last summers average times of 32/33 minutes.

Masochistic as it may seem, the sportsman in me tells me its good to feel my thighs burning again...a bit how I'd expect them to feel after swimming pool sex which gave me plenty to think about on the way home....

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Awareness test

2009-03-30T17:08:04+02:00

Just how observational are you???

See if you can pass this test.

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10 Rules

2009-03-27T18:05:39+01:00

1. BBQ's in March are ALWAYS a bad idea
2. BBQ's in March that have had the benefit of artificial accelerant to overcome 'the dampness in the air' are ALWAYS best left to burn themselves out.
3. Empty vessels make most noise. Except if you attempt to move a towering inferno of a BBQ away from parked cars which ALWAYS results in burnt fingers. As does using a burning log for an improvised karaoke microphone
4. 4 x bottles of 9% Belgium Blonde ALWAYS gets you more drunk that 9 x bottles of 4% Becks. Fact. It is I tell you.
5. Despite outward appearances of hipness and cooldom, ad agency staff are ALWAYS the most boring and self-centred organisms on the planet.
6. Familiarity breeds contempt. As do ad agency staff. Still, at least they ALWAYS pick up the bill to make you like them. For a few minutes.
7. Although a watched pot ALWAYS boils if you give it long enough, a watched Inbox doesn't always yield fruit.
8. He who fails to study the past is ALWAYS doomed to repeat it. The trick is to make it sumptuous beyond description.
9. Getting to 8 on a list and running out of inspiration ALWAYS leads to feelings of frustration. Like when all there is left to drink in the office is fizz.
10. Yellow photocopier paper is not luminous. But its ALWAYS better than nothing when you've left your bike lights at home. Time to hit the road

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The Picnic

2009-03-18T22:49:04+01:00

It was a beautifully warm late afternoon on the Catalan coast.

I was high up on a hillside, overlooking a picture-postcard bay, full of small pleasure boats and although in the distance I could see a crowded beach, I settled down to my own slice of splendid isolation for the next couple of hours.

I had just about finished a bottle of my favourite Marques de Caceres and lay down on my picnic rug and closed my eyes, letting the soothing rays of the sun wash over me and take me to places far away.

After a while, I suddenly became aware of the crunch of footsteps on the path that bought me down to this clearing on the hill and as I looked up I saw her standing before me. She looked almost angelic in a white cotton dress, made transparent by the low early evening sun giving outline and definition to her thighs, the gentle breeze pressing the crisp material firmly against her tanned body.

I urgently leapt to my feet, sending my half-full wine glass crashing over the blanket and into my remaining pistachios. I wiped the dribble from my mouth that had appeared in the few minutes of peaceful slumber, scratched the sleep from my eyes, straightened my hair and rubbed my cheek to remove the red scar left by the blades of grass pressing into my comatose face. Frankly, I looked a bit of a sight.

I squinted through the dappled sunlight and, seeing who was standing before me, realised I was still dreaming and thought "fuck it - rewind", lets do that bit again, minus the 'acting like a cock' bit.

Once more, I suddenly became aware of the crunch of footsteps on the path that bought me down to this clearing on the hill and as I looked up I saw her standing before me. She looked almost angelic in a white cotton dress, made transparent by the low early evening sun giving outline and definition to her thighs, the gentle breeze pressing the crisp material firmly against her tanned body. I urgently leapt to my feet, my pink cotton shirt billowed by the hillside breeze, hung loosely around my tanned torso and my shorts gripped tightly around my thighs.

I motioned for her to come closer and reached out to her hands, our fingers entwining to create that single being once more. Silently, I pulled her towards me and breathed-in the soft aroma of her freshly washed hair. A loose strand tickled my nose and I thought I was about to sneeze but with a couple of violent shakes of my head I managed to supress it. She looked slightly startled but I calmed her by leaning across and slowly tracing a line with my tongue along her sensuous shoulders and up the side of her neck. I could see her soft downy neck-hair laying flat from my saliva as my tongue traced its line along her olive skin although I found that I icked a few times as she had just applied a fresh coating of Factor 15 and I tried in vain to dislodge the metallic taste spreading across my mouth.

Her hands and their slender graceful fingers traced down my forearms and slipped around my waist whilst her legs parted slightly allowing one of my thighs to press gently against her warm mound, causing gentle ripples of exctiement to flow upwards from her stomach. She let her head fall gently backwards until our gazes met and she smiled - that seismic smile that set those fireworks off above her head again which burn brightly then fall gently as goosebumps on my arms.

As I leaned my head closer to hers I could feel the soft caresses of her quickening breath on my lips. I tried not to reel too much from the sickly odour of the garlic prawns she had eaten for lunch. I blinked rather too often to be incongruous, subduing my desire to heave slightly, and allowed my bottom lip to gently caress the gap between her plump buds. With no apparent resistance, her mouth parted and my tongue felt its way inside onto her own moist tongue, picking out tiny specks of flavoursome prawn as it went.

Our mouths locked together, tongues intertwined like two sea-lions mating in the surf. Twenty years of un-bidden passion came bubbling to the surface along with a touch of reflux from the Marques de Caceres. My throat burned as I swallowed it down quickly and rasped once or twice to clear it once and for all.

I pulled her tighter still towards me so she could feel the first beginnings of the excitement between my legs. I kissed her again, overcome with the passion in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, as I forgot my duties and responsibilites for just a few glorious minutes. I heard the distant sound of castanets wafting across the breeze but the winced look of pain on her face told me I had mistaken them for her back protesting to my squeeze. I released my grip slightly and her spine straightened back into its natural position once more. The numb tingling sensation in her left hand subsided as rapidly as it had arrived.

I reached down to the hem of her dress and began to trace a line up the outside of her leg with the index finger of my right hand, making small circular motions as it went. With my left hand, I cupped her head as I kissed her long and passionately. As I reached up as far as her underwear I slipped my thumb under the waistband, suprised at the tighness to her skin. Through age, the elastic had worn through the material at the top and the act of sliding my thumb underneath, caused a rather nasty burn across the inside of the joint. With my thumb inside I reached further across with my entire hand, and to no protests, felt across to grip the flesh of her arse-cheek tightly. I squeezed and massaged gently, all the time rocking her hips suggestively backwards and forwards.

She burped slightly causing me to withdraw my tongue from her mouth and my left hand reached slowly down to the other hem of her dress. My intentions were clear and as I looked deep into her eyes I saw no protest. I lifted the hem of her dress and slowly lifted it over her head, exposing her body to the evening sun and allowing me to revel in the full glory of her beauty and the singularly unique combination of purple bra and grey knickers she now displayed.

I turned her to face away from me and kissed her gently on the nape of her neck, taking care to avoid ingesting any more suncream. I reached through the small gap between her elbows and her body and ran my hands slowly down the front of her body, over her perfectly sized breasts and back behind her, across her slightly clammy armpits, still sticky from the early morning deoderant. I could see her chest heaving as my hands brushed across her expectant nipples and down underneath the roundness and fullness of her breasts.

With an expert hand I undid her bra and with the flick of my wrist attempted to discard it in one movement, although it did not come at first. I tried again. And a third time. My frustration mounting, I planted my knee in the small of her back as I struggled and strained with the bastard clip. The castanets started up over the hillside once more and she threw her head back in pain. With her hair now firmly entangled in the reluctant clasp, I had no option but to bite through her locks, made golden by the Spanish sun and a bottle of Garnier's best. I spat several times trying to clear the hair from my mouth and throat.

With the sweat beginning to form as little beads on my forehead, I wrenched with all my might at the clasp and finally it succumbed to my advances, although the hasps were now bent beyond all usefullness. As I casually discarded the bra, I caught the hasps in the quick of one of my fingers and it bled profusely for several minutes. I shook my hand in pain, only to scatter a few drops of blood onto the gleaming white cotton of her dress. I apologised and tried to rub it off, only to smudge it further across the fabric.

As she knelt fussing over her ruined dress, I stood over her and marvelled at her voluptuous hips and the sensual curve in her spine as she arched her back, pushing her arse up into the warm evening air. I knelt behind her and her fingers dug into the dusty soil and her shoulders clenched with the anticipation of what was to come. My loins brushed lightly against the whiteness of her arse-cheeks which contrasted sharply with the dull greyness of her pants.

I gingerly peeled them to her knees, not daring to look what might remain inside, and I slowly found my way to the target and needed no more than a gentle press to part her expertly and find my way deep inside her, making her shoulders rock as she pushed back to get properly impaled. Her breath was now more urgent as she leaned forward and then rammed back onto it, the force making her cheeks slap into my thighs. Her face and hair ground into the earth while a gluttural moaning emanated from deep inside her as she built up the rhythm to a faster more aggressive tempo. I reached down and laid my hands around her waist, gripping her tightly, and held her still whilst I teased at the opening of her bearded clam, now only barely inside her.

Gripping her even tighter I piled into her with as much force as was polite causing her to slip slightly across the grassed bank. She gulped an urgent breath and waited for the next thrust. I delayed and delayed, holding myself once again barely inside her before forcing my whole self violently inside her. Her body tensed from the strength of the thrusting and the mounting waves of pleasure that grew inside her and flowed out to the extremities of her body.

"Do it hard, as hard as you can" she said, the sudden explicitness shocking my heightened sense into new states of desire. "Jesus, I feel so alive" she added before pulling me into her once more and rocking from side to side to reach every pleasure receptor inside her. I looked back down at her.

God, she was alive alright - thousands of tiny red ants had invaded her hair bringing it alive with an urgent scurrying around its new host. I brushed the back of her head a couple of times but this just served to agitate them to the point of biting so I panicked and began to beat her around the head with my palms which only served to push her excitement over the edge and the more I reached over to get to her head, the more she pushed back onto me, stopping me from getting good swipes in on her hair. I aimed a forceful blow through the back of her locks but she rocked her head back in pleasure once more and I caught her clean on the rear of the skull with the side of my hand, temorarily knocking her flat. Quickly, she regained her position on all fours and began to buck furiously as I swatted at the red enemy and all of a sudden breathed all manner of expletives into the Catalan soil as I felt her constrict around me and the waves of pleasure sweep through her body.

To be continued........

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A bit cheeky - picture of me in the bath!

2009-03-18T16:05:41+01:00

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Whats funnier...

2009-03-14T10:07:50+01:00

1. Writing posts when in the foggy hinterland between drunk and hungover
2. Going to get your car from the pub on your sleek racing bike in the clothes you fell asleep in last night
3. The proper WTF looks on the faces of a couple of lycra'd cyclos you pass going up a steep incline (always been good at hills)
4. Misjudging your dismount upon arrival at car, forgetting you are wearing brogues and not cycling clips, and collapsing into a lampost, still firmly attached to the pedals
5. Cycling the 3 miles home again after leaving car keys on the worktop.

You decide

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Someone else

2009-03-14T09:10:18+01:00

Feel like death this morning
School open day in 2 hours
Have to support No1 daughters first public flute performance
But I wish it was someone else

Feel like death this morning
Dinner at mad friends tonight
Have to join the party and make our contribution
But I wish it was someone else

Feel like death this morning
Arms ache from keeping limpet snogee at bay
I should feel flattered really
But I wish it was someone else

Feel like death this morning
Another day in the balmy Barmy Arms looms tomorrow
Ought to go and sing with the French
But I wish it was someone else

Feel like death this morning
But Monday I'll smile again
At fleeting glimpses of what might have been
But I wish it was someone else

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A lucky escape

2009-02-21T15:32:42+01:00

It was the gently rhythmical sobbing coming from the bathroom that woke him.

It wasn't a child, nor did it convey danger or injury, so there was no impulse to jump out of bed but all the same, it woke him.

The clock on the TV said it wasn't even 6pm, so when he opened his eyes there was none of the usual 6am de-blurring and in an instant, he was wide awake.

Without moving his head, he scanned for a familiar comfort but nothing checked out. From the view through the window over the lake to the framed street scene on the wall, onto the strange set of car keys resting on the room-service menu and the bleakness of the limp duvet - nothing welcomed him.

Hell, as his arm flopped over the edge of the bed to fumble for his watch, he realised this wasn't even his side of the bed.

He rolled over and embraced the pile of pillows that had earlier done so well to muffle the verses of passion that were being sung with such intent. Catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door he recalled the previous reflection he had seen and marvelled at how big his hands had seemed when spread across her back.

Through the half-open door of the bathroom, he could see the legs that had grasped him with such frenzy barely two hours ago were now drawn in tight to her chest, her knees no longer supporting two bodies but simply a resting place for her tear-stained cheeks.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he began to pick through the discarded clothes looking for his shirt like the council men at the tip until the zzzip zzzip of his mobile told him supper would be ready at 8 before asking him if he had won.

The room around him was as bleak as death itself, with the smell of stale wine mixed with sweat and shampoo, tainted by the slowly dawning realisation that some things are best left unsaid, even if it was already too late to leave them undone.

Collecting his wallet and making a half-hearted attempt to tuck in his shirt he walked out of the room, pausing only to close the door gently behind him before sprinting down the maze of corridors and out to the fresh air of the car park.

The discarded sweet wrappers in the footwell, the High School Musical CD on the seat, the colouring books in the pouches and the dog leads in the boot all welcomed him back to his world and after texting back 'a bit sticky on the A1 - home at 8.30' he headed South once more.

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Better than sex? Naah

2009-02-17T00:32:12+01:00

I am fortunate to have a couple of friends who are a similar age but very well off thanks to a couple of successful businesses and no kids.

So when they buy me a birthday present it is normally only small but quite simply the best 'whatever it is' money can buy.

This year they gave me a whole award winning Stilton. Like complete. Like, no room to sit, here pull up the stilton and park your arse on there, its comfier than the pouffe.

I also got from them walnuts soaked in Cointreau after having been cracked on the inner thighs of a team of brazilian virgins and extra virgin honey from some elite squadron of Hoiney bees.

Not a combination I had considered before - but maybe I have led a sheltered life.

Anyway, after an impromptu knock on the door from Mr Divorcee and a hastily knocked up Thai Green Chicken Curry and 2 bottles of red wine later I tried the stilton,walnut and honey concotion.

How can i have lived 40 years and not tried it. It was almost as good as bad sex. But not quite.

Anyhow, it was the most delicious combination I had ever tasted and I ate the equivalent portions of 4 grown men. Who had been harvesting in the fields. For a fortnight. Uphill. With a little Indian man on their backs.

I will regret it in the morning but hey - tomorrows another day.

Love you loads

Chin chin

Jumbo

Arrivederci

Bonjour....

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Christ, what a day!

2009-02-13T19:13:21+01:00

No, hang that.

Christ, what a week!!

No, hang that.

Christ, what a year!!

My arm-wrestling opponent for the past few months, Monsieur Crunch (or Credit to his friends) has started to get the upper hand and I am in the eyeball-popping, sinew-straining phase of our little contest. But somehow I am going to win - even if it involves me pointing to a ficitious object over his shoulder then kicking him in the Cojones when he's not looking.

It doesnt help when I'm not only fightin Monsieur Crunch but also my business partner but even if he doesn't care about our staff then I do and frankly after today I hope he dies a horrible slow death this weekend.

I am going to punch something soft for a bit now, then I am going to row the channel. I have dusted off the old Concept II this week in an attempt to lose 3 stone in 8 days and managed 15,000 metres in an hour last night

Therefore, 33,000 metres should be 2 1/4 hours or so but in the mood I am in at the moment I reckon I will knock it off in less than 2.

Works wonders for the thighs...

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Wot she sed

2009-01-23T23:26:23+01:00

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Lazy

2009-01-01T13:48:10+01:00

New Years Day - laziness allowed so just wanted to share this...

...and this...

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You really owned that song tonight Fantine...

2008-12-31T23:19:42+01:00

Well after all the excitment in our house over the X-Factor it was a pure delight to be given the chance (courtesy of Mother-in-law's Xmas pressie to all of us) to see The Miserables up in town yesterday and sit and listen to people who actually have talent.

Now I'm the X-factors greatest fan - but purely for its comedic value and the rare gift it has for giving our house something we can all talk about. But to suggest that Alexandra 'overkill' Burke has anything other than a modicum of talent was surely put to bed emphatically following her duet with that other one trick pony Beyonce. And as for the rest of them well gawd 'elp us all!

Anyway, our day started with all 7 of us travelling up to Victoria on the train and simultaneously pissing ourselves silently at the kerfuffle carrying on in the seats behind us.

"SSSSkkKKkkKKkkrrrRRREEEEEEEEECccccchhh" went the folding seat-back table as the little boy pulled it down.

"SSSSkkKKkkKKkkrrrRRREEEEEEEEECccccchhhh" went the folding seat-back table as the little boy pushed it back up again.

After about 5 minutes of this his dad (who seemed to be marshalling 3 other kids at the same time - so frankly, good luck to him) finally flipped and told him..

"Do that again Jacob and we're going straight home"

"No we're not. We're going to the zoo"

"I don't care - do that again and we are getting off and going straight home"

"No we're not. We wouldn't come all the way here and then go all the way home. That would be a waste of time"

"SSSSkkKKkkKKkkrrrRRREEEEEEEEECccccchhh" went the folding seat-back table as the little boy pulled it down.

I'm sure the whole carriage must have joined in the mirth but certainly our seven sets of shoulders heaved in silent unison.

"JACOB!!"

"Anyway, we're meeting Mummy and she will be really cross if we aren't there"

"SSSSkkKKkkKKkkrrrRRREEEEEEEEECccccchhh" went the folding seat-back table as the little boy pushed it back up again.

At this point I had to make up an excuse to stand up and look over the seats at the mini dictator behind us so reaching up to the overhead rack for my imaginary coat I was staggered to see a little boy, 6 years old tops. Go for it son, you have a bright future ahead of you!

Soon we were getting off at Charing Cross and as we had planned to arrive in town a good hour earlier that needed (to avoid any more St Pauls carol service cock-ups) I had used the brilliant walkit.com to plan a walking route to The Queens Theatre. My brilliantly conceived route had but one slight flaw in that it was a route from Victoria but a points issue at Clapham meant we had now alighted at Charing Cross.

I suppose I could always have asked someone.

Hell no, I'm a bloke and I'll find the way. Eventually. With about 4 minutes to spare. Still, at least we were warm. Well, sweaty actually. And exhausted. After our 15 minute jog along Piccadilly.

I pointed out that despite arriving just as Fantine was clearing her throat, we were still able to order our interval G&T's and take our seats before curtain up. In other words - perfect timing.

Now I'm no muso so will happily be corrected on this by anyone claiming to be one but by 'eck Les Mis is good isn't it? That was the 5th time I've seen it and it just gets better every time. And I would happily go and see it tomorrow night as well without a seconds thought.

It was very special, after Fantines first solo, when No1 daughter turned to me and said,

"Dad, Alexandra's actually not that good is she. I mean, she couldn't have sung that could she?"

No she blimin well couldn't. Well at least not without inserting an extra 40,000 unneccessary pitch variations "..cos Whitney used to do it and now every focker does"

I nearly had some pitch variations of my own to deal with when I looked across to her during Valjeans death and saw her angelic little face transfixed to the stage and a single solitary tear slowly trickled its way down her rosy cheek.

8 years old and 3 hours in, I was amazed it had held her in such thrall for so long.

She turned to me, her unblemished cheeks shining in the reflected stage lights, and made to whisper into my ear. I waited for her thoughts on the tragedy of death being conquered by the forever hopefullness of the human spirit...

"Daddy. If we go to Rainforest Cafe, can I have some of those jelly snakes again. They were my favourite."

Frankly, in that brief moment in time I would have given her absolutely anything.

Earlier in the piece I got a similar occurrence with No1 son.

Valjean spares Javaert's life and makes to shoot him in the back although actually fires into the air.

A dig in the ribs from No1 son and I was expecting to have to explain how Valjean could have made such a noble sacrifice as to spare his life-long pursuer certain death.

"Dad. I want a gun like that."

Hmmmm. Boys

For most of the performance I was the personification of cool calm and collected but sadly blubbed like a baby when Eponine sang of her unrequited love for Marius.

In a trice, I was up on my windy common walking the dog,

"Sometimes I walk alone at night
When everybody else is sleeping
I think of him (her) and then I'm happy
With the company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head."

Anyway, everyone agreed it was the best show they had ever seen and after living proof that the credit crunch is yet to hit the West End (2hrs wait for TGI's - get stuffed sunshine) we feasted on bowls of noodles of indeterminate origin in Chinatown and enjoyed a more peaceful train journey home than the one earlier in the day

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2008 in Quotes

2008-12-21T15:13:14+01:00

January
"Look. I know its New Years Eve guys, but its now nearly 4 o'clock so will you lot just fuck off home!"

February
"You may be a 47yr old mother of 3 but there is no way on this earth you are going to convince me to ski down there with you. Point me in the direction of the bar, on the smoothest shallowest descent you know of, and I'll see you there for lunch with the rest of them."

March
"Wales looked dead and buried at half time didn't they. I'm still pinching myself that we got to watch it all from this box with all this free booze and food!! More Guiness vicar?"

April
"Of course we're allowed to be in this field kids. Listen, if the cows come any closer just all get on your toboggans and we'll all meet up again at the bottom. Hang on a sec. Quick! EVERYONE RUN!"

May
"Oh for Christs Sake, take your wellies off before you come into the bedroom. And mind the guy ropes, or I'll have to put this sodding thing up a third time. And no, I don't have anymore dry socks for you."

June
"Blimey. You still playing Rugger?"

July
"You remain the single most complicated frustrating talented frazzled dizzy adorable mental lunatic I have ever met"

August
"I'm just off for a walk up into the hills to lose myself in the Tamarind trees. I've got a bottle and a corkscrew so will be a couple of hours. Wave at me from the beach"

September
"YOU'VE BRO-GEN MY FUGGING DOSE, YOU'VE BRO-GEN IT YOU BARD-ARD"

October
"Are you sure they're meant to be that high. I can hardly see her. What do you mean they've caught a thermal. Where's she gone?"

November
"Easy. They're built to last these pub tables. C'mon hop up. Well she was just 17, and you know what I mean, and the way she looked was way beyond.....whoa....waaa......aaaagh"

December
"Somehow it all felt a bit right and that in itself is wrong"

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A Decorators Tale

2008-12-19T18:20:47+01:00

The office got its annual lick of paint today.

Keeps it looking spick and span and makes a welcoming sight for our annual xmas breakfast we are hosting on Tuesday....well, the smell of sizzling bacon and black pudding will take away the smell of the paint!

I desperately tried to pull off the 'man from the coke-ad' look in my painting overalls but as one of the girls in the office so pointedly put it I looked more like Andy Pandy on an Acid Trip, wearing elbow length magnolia gloves.

Still, at least it gives us an excuse for a little festive tipple because how dull is decorating without the prospect of getting steadily hammered.

In true 'here's one I made earlier' style, a fully stocked 'make your own Pimms' package appeared from the boot of a car and we were away.

Some bright spark even decided to record us doing our stuff!

Well, maybe not quite true...but it wasn't a million miles away....and The Faces' Stay with Me is the perfect song to paint to.

Anyway, we are just leaving the office now for the pub, the bin in the kitchen a moving memorial to 2 sadly missed bottles of Pimms.

I may be gone for some time....

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A Man's Dictionary

2008-12-10T17:06:45+01:00

Fine
Used by women to end an argument when they are right and you, as the man, need to stfu.

Five Minutes
Half an hour (if she is getting dressed)
Two minutes (if you have been given the Five Minute warning to stop watching Aerobics Oz Style and do the washing up)

Nothing
The calm before the storm. This means 'something', and is a sign you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with Nothing usually end in Fine (see above).

Go Ahead
A dare, not an offer of permission. DON'T DO IT!

Loud Sigh
A non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. It means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about Nothing (see above)

That's Okay
The single most dangerous statement a woman can make to a man. It means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

Whatever
F-- YOU!

Thanks
It happens sometimes so do not question it, or faint. The appropriate response is a simple "You're welcome"

Thanks a lot
This is sarcasm in its purest form. Do not in any circumstances confuse with Thanks or respond with a "You're welcome". This will simply bring on a Whatever (see above).

Don't worry about it
The second most dangerous statement issued to a man. Usually refers to something that a woman has told you to do several times, but is now doing it herself. Should you wish to respond with a "What's wrong?" you can expect to receive a Nothing

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Thank me later

2008-12-04T15:47:58+01:00

Guys

How often do you find yourself quietly rubbing along with life, dealing with all its ups and downs, doing the best you can to be a good husband, boyfriend, father or son?

Then, out of nowhere, the bus to Crazy Town shows up, with the lady in your life sitting behind the driver, licking the windows with that loopy stare in her eyes.

Happens to me about once a month.

Well never fear - help is here.

Get yourself along to http://pmsbuddy.com/index.php and all your problems are solved.

Thank me later

(Dont forget: a friend will help you move but a good friend will help you get rid of the body)

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"It was one of the great moments of sporting theatre..."

2008-11-26T14:15:04+01:00

So it said in the paper today.

And if its in the papers, then it must be true.

My own top 5 moments of sporting theatre would read:

1. "They think its all over, it is now"
2. "And Wilkinson drops for World Cup glory"
3. "If anyone sees me get in a boat again, they have my permission to shoot me"
4. "And Ben Johnson got a brilliant start"
5. "Oh! Decker's down"

And now we have a new entry. I can't quite put it at No1. because, well, the game hadn't actually started, but it certainly slots in quite comfortably at No2

As the Telegraph said today:

"It was one of the great moments of sporting theatre: Ryan Jones and his Welsh team standing unmoveable in the face of the New Zealand haka on Saturday. In the BBC commentary box my colleague Brian Moore was moved to point out that anyone who advocates the banning of the procedure must be mad. He was right: there cannot have been a spine in the Millennium Stadium that was not tingling. And for the first half of the match, the Welsh played as if they had indeed got one over on their visitors. A pity, then, that having used up so much emotional energy in the pre-match fireworks, the Welsh were not able to sustain their play and lost."

Watching the replay again, the BBC had clearly been playing around with their sound levels to protect the nations Flat-Screens because it truly was a fingers-in-ears cacophany that built and built over a couple of minutes until the Kiwis blinked and the game could begin.

Heres what the BBC came up with

My little box brownie didn't really do it justice either - but I reckon it was closer to reality than the BBC!

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I really tried hard at work this afternoon....

2008-11-25T19:19:05+01:00

...but simply couldn't concentrate.

The power of email

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Another knee trembler

2008-11-23T23:18:18+01:00

Good job the roof was firmly fixed because 75,000 of us nearly took it off on Saturday

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