The Pug That Couldn't Run

This video is of our little Pug Loca.  We love her to bits but she does make us laugh :-)  Please share if you like. 


I've told her she can have a whole roast chicken to herself if she gets a thousand hits..............

Valentine's Day

14 February 2012

Well its Valentines day. The day when Commerce hijacks romance and cons us all into spending a small fortune on showing the love we have for someone that we should show every day.

It’s the day garages sell out of flowers and roses triple in price.

The day restaurants are booked out with couples staring at each other, not because they are in love but because they are stuck on their own for 2 hours and can’t think of anything to say!

It’s the day men think they might just get lucky when they get home, if they can only avoid looking at the hottie at the next table which they usually can’t. 

And it’s the day that usually ends in tears when the actuality fails to live up to expectations and women, who dreamt of a gallant white knight carrying them home for some passionate love making, end up in the back of a taxi with a fat, drunken, farting, soon to be snoring partner who spends the whole journey reading “Whitney Houston jokes” to the taxi driver off his mobile and looking leeringly at their girlfriends while rubbing their crotch.

Well, Alena and I refuse to be suckered by all this falsehood and commercialism and we have, for a number of years, simply bought each other cards to mark the day and left it at that.

Today I awoke to my lovely card and a cup of coffee and was excited to see how Alena would react to my special treat.

As I opened it she asked “Where is mine darling”

I was silent for a moment as I prepared myself and then proudly announced “I have something even better”

“You forgot “she said disappointedly

“No, No” I replied “I have written and composed a special song for you. How good is that?”

Taking a moment to compose a song, I mean myself; I then sang my short but deep and meaningful special song and waited with baited breath for a tearful thank you.

“You forgot you asshole and that was crap! That makes us even for the time I forgot your birthday”

Why do I bother I ask myself.  She needn’t expect any special ‘Big Mal luvin’ later on either. No Siree!!

SPAIN………………… THE FINAL DAY - THE SPANISH ZOO

13 February 2012

SPAIN………………… THE FINAL DAY - THE SPANISH ZOO

We woke on Monday, after a refreshing nights sleep, ready for our last day in a sub zero Spain. We had refused to let the cold get to us and the plans for the day involved a trip to the shops (What kind of holiday would it be if Alena didn’t get shopping?) and then a trip to Alicante zoo/Safari park or whatever.

The shopping was less than memorable, at least for me, and we returned to the house to collect our bits and pieces as we were going straight to the airport after our tour of the animal Park.

We followed Charleen in our car, desperately trying to use up some fuel and, with Robyn on the Sat Nav, we took a rather elongated route which pleased me as it clocked up a few extra miles.

We arrived to an empty car park and approached the ticket desk with a young lady sitting inside. She looked around in a “Who’s next?” sort of way and, after checking over our shoulders to ensure that we were, indeed, the only people there, we suggested that would probably be us. She took a quite unbelievable amount of time, even for a Spaniard, to issue our tickets and explain when all the shows etc would be on. We could only thank God that there weren’t three people in the queue in front of us or we would not have gained entry before closing time!

Just around the corner from the ticket desk was a second girl who was watching the proceedings and, when we eventually approached her, she put her hand up to stop us in case we were trying to sneak in with the nonexistent crowd. She then waved us forward to take our turn in her nonexistent queue. She lined us up to take a family photo; constantly checking around her to be sure she didn’t miss any of the nonexistent people coming in behind us!

We were eventually allowed to proceed and, bag of peanuts in hand, off we went. Now to be fair, it wasn’t a bad zoo. Quite touchy feely and you could get up close to a lot of the animals and, if they were in the mood to let you, give them a stroke. The lions and tigers were cool and the chimp had the biggest reddest ass I have ever seen and soon we came upon the camel enclosure.

There were five or six of them and they came right over to the fence and allowed us to stroke them. They were too big for peanuts, so we all started taking handfuls of leaves off a hedge across the path and feeding them to the camels until we had the hedge half stripped. It was, only at this point, when we wondered if it was ok for camels to eat these leaves as they were normally out of their reach.  We suddenly had visions of five dead camels with their legs in the air after we left. As we seemed to be the only visitors it wouldn’t be hard to find the culprits, so we swiftly moved on.

After a while we came to an enclosure with Antelope and Emu’s and, as we walked along, we noticed a couple of large, green speckled, egg shaped objects lying near the fence. Those can’t be eggs, we all thought, as they are way too big and so we gathered around to discuss what they might be. One was very close to the fence, so I slipped my fingers through to feel it and it felt very hard and heavy. I rolled it closer to the fence and, only being able to get two fingers of each hand through, passed it up the inside of the fence, hand to hand, hoping to get it at the top and analyze it a bit further. Half way up I dropped it…………… “Oops. It was an egg!” We moved swiftly on.

We continued our tour and did the petting village and the crocodiles etc etc. We were wandering around when we finally saw some other visitors; 2 black girls and 2 black guys. Now, you may wonder why I mention colour because anyone who knows me knows I am no racist or bigot. One of my daughters is married to a black, Sri Lankan, Hindu, another to an off white, Brazilian tribesman and the third to very pale, English Catholic and I love them all (even the English man) so I am certainly tolerant.

The thing is, in Spain, black folk fall into 2 categories; the first “Looky Looky” men and these ones had no watches up and down their arms and, the second, pickpockets and we certainly had pockets! They were, quite obviously, the world’s worst pickpockets as operating in a large crowd is a prerequisite of that profession and we made up the entire paltry crowd in the zoo. But still, the girls clutched their handbags closer and, being in a zoo, I struck an Alpha male pose indicating I would protect my flock.

The time for the elephant show came and, together with our 4 stalkers, we made our way around and attempted, as best we could, to fill the 500 seater stands with them sitting right behind us in the middle of the seating area. It was a bit surreal as the staff did the show as if the stands were full, waving at empty seats and getting the elephant to do tricks towards a nonexistent audience. They had a routine and they were gonna stick to it.  They didn’t acknowledge our little group individually in any way and I think they actually would have done the show if no one had been there at all, and probably wouldn’t have noticed.

There was a gap of about ½ hr before the Sea lion show so we went on the train ride around the zoo, accompanied by our faithful pickpockets, and were able to confirm we were, indeed, the only visitors. On the way around we noticed all the camels were now lying down sleepily and one of the Emu’s was giving an Antelope a good kicking, probably for breaking its egg. We said nothing and looked the other way.

The Sea lion stadium was even bigger than the elephant’s and would have held at least a thousand spectators. Yet again, our little group of nine sat in the middle, at the front, and hoped for a special show just for us. Again, in true Spanish style, they simply went through the motions of showing to a full house and ignored the fact there was only us. It was, to be fair, a brilliant show with some very clever animals but this inability to adapt to the lack of crowd situation was starting to piss me off. At one point the trainer wanted us all to clap in time to the music which we, of course, did. (Alena as always bringing her hands together as we take ours apart. The ‘lone clapper’) He then raised his hands and clapped towards the empty parts of the stands trying to get all the folk who weren’t there to join in. Open your eyes man!!!! 

Eventually, show over, we made our way toward the exit trailed, as always, by our new companions. I felt a bit sorry for them and actually thought of hanging a 20 Euro note out my back pocket for them to nick just to make their day worth while, but then thought, nah.

The photography girl then went through her standard routine to try and get us all to buy 7 Euro photographs of ourselves but we declined and the pickpockets nicked her camera; so up hers!

And so we left the zoo and made our way to the airport; our weekend in chilly Spain at an end. It was a laugh but need to get home for a rest………………………….

THE SPANISH CONCIERGE AND THE MORAL DILEMMA

12 February 2012

Ok, so normal service is resumed. Now where were we, oh yes…………

THE SPANISH CONCIERGE AND THE MORAL DILEMMA

Sunday was a quiet day; we shopped and relaxed and in the evening Antonio, Charlene’s boyfriend, was coming round to sample an Irish Sunday Roast, made by my Alena’s own fair hand.

Now the only problem was this guy only spoke Spanish and, while that was no hurdle for Charlene, Robyn, Chole and even Alena (who has a pretty good grip of the lingo), I being a monolingual Brit was in for a bit of a difficult time. To add to the problem we were the only two blokes so therefore should be talking about football, politics, sex and other manly preoccupations; this was not going to be easy!.

Anyhow, he eventually arrived and the 5 of us settled down for a chat. The girls acted as translators and, if there was a joke made, it was like a satellite link with a 5 second delay before the laugh. It was at the point when Antonio was describing his job that I suddenly realized it was the same as mine and I said ‘you are a concierge!’ He looked bewildered, so I asked one of the girls to translate but still it didn’t register.

Here was a man, with a job with a French name, and he didn’t even know it! To make it worse, as we delved deeper, we discovered that the Spanish had gone and made up their own word ‘Conserje’ to cover this occupation, so he couldn’t have job with a French name even if he wanted. Poor man! Ah well, serves him right for being Spanish!

As the afternoon progressed the girls slowly drifted off into the kitchen to indulge in woman’s work and, eventually, the dreaded moment came when Antonio and I were left on our own. Now, Alena had warned me that, should this situation occur, I was not to start speaking loudly in English and adding ‘O’ to the end of every word! She explained that that does not constitute speaking Spanish. Although, personally, I find it works very well!  Anyway, being a good husband and determined not to make a fool of the whole family, I didn’t attempt my pigeon lingo.  Instead, we smiled and nodded sagely at each other and it was clear that both of us were going through our very limited vocabularies trying to think of something to say. 

Each of us looked occasionally like we were about to speak, as we thought of a word we knew, but then returned to blank looks as we couldn’t think of any other words to go with it to make up a sentence. I trawled my brain for any Spanish phrases I knew but, “Will this cream fix piles” or “How much for a happy ending” (that’s if you ever get a Spanish massage) didn’t seem appropriate. 

Eventually, we solved the problem in the only way possible and turned on the tele. Sorted!

Our Sunday roast was soon ready and we sat down to enjoy a delicious meal and the craic was good. After dinner, we played a card game which involved saying numbers which was, fortunately, within my Spanish limits and a jolly fine time was had by all. Anyhow, Antonio left fairly early as he had to be up for his work as a Conserje (that’s a job with a Spanish name) and the rest of us settled down for a wee dram and a chat.

After a while the talk got around to moral dilemmas and, as the family had a rabbit and a dog, I asked who would eat them for £1 million. The kids were horrified and said ‘No!’ but Alena and I had to admit we probably would as we didn’t know the animals. As we dropped the asking price Alena and I dropped out at about 1/2million but Charleen, the owner of aforementioned animals, got down to around £5 and a pack of 10 regal. Those animals better hope she never gets hungry.

I then came out with my favourite dilemma and Lyndsay, my eldest, should remember this.

One evening, quite a few years back, my phone beeped to say there was a text message. As I went to read it the phone rang and it was my darling Lyndsay. 

Lyns : “Dad. Did you just get a text from me?”

Me : “Yes. I am just about to read it”

Lyns : “Well don’t. It was meant for ***** (her boyfriend at the time) and is not something you’ll want to read”

Me : “Oh that sounds interesting”

Lyns : almost pleading “Dad, don’t read it. Promise?”

Me : “Hmmm. OK, I’ll delete it”

Well, poor ole Lyns has, I am sure, been wondering to this day if I deleted it or read it and its time for the truth to be told…………………

I deleted it……………..How good am I?.

So ever since I have asked this question as a moral dilemma and unbelievably about 90% of people say they would have read it. Nosey bastards ….. How bad are they?

So which group do you fall into??

Tomorrow the final part ........ THE SPANISH ZOO

Due to a technical difficulty, “THE SPANISH CONCIERGE AND THE MORAL DILEMMA” will not be shown today

11 February 2012

Due to a technical difficulty, namely I can’t be bothered, the advertised entry “THE SPANISH CONCIERGE AND THE MORAL DILEMMA” will not be shown today.

In its place, is a short reply to a reply I received to yesterday’s entry, from my ole mate Stevie. I would like to apologise for any inconvenience caused by this change to the schedule and hope that tomorrows entry will be today’s expected entry and the world can once again continue to turn!.

Stevie said;

“Likin this Mal def ur best since the BW series. By the way my new job hasn't a french name but still sounds pretty cool I think. Assistant Premises Supervisor (means I lock up a school when the cleaners have finished smoking and I only do that when the actual premises supervisor is off). Good eh” [sic]

Nice job Stevie. Does it come with a pension? 

Now it’s becoming clear, more and more people are aspiring to have “jobs with a French name” but, while happy to see people reaching their ultimate goals, it is strictly controlled. Lyndsay, my eldest, was trying the other day with “Coordinateur” which certainly does sound French but that’s because she spelt it incorrectly.  It should be “CoordinatOR” which, of course, we all know is Latin. So, if my own No1 daughter (That’s No1 as in first, not as in best, as daddies can’t have favourites and Tracey, Faye and Ross are all No1’s to me too. When I say No1’s I don’t, of course, mean in the urinary way but in the best way. If I meant it in the urinary way they’d all be No2’s - Oh I do make myself laugh!) can’t get past the rule book, I can assure you it will be difficult for any of the rest of you.

That said, I always do my best to assist and I have looked at Stevie’s job description and think I may be able to help. 

He stands in for the other supervisor, therefore he is “Relief”
He is responsible for “Internal security”
His job involves locking doors and therefore requires some sort of “Technical ability”

With that in mind, his job description should actually be “Relief assistant premises internal security technician” or ‘RAPIST’ for short. That word does indeed derive from the Norman French and therefore he has a job with a French name. 

So Stevie you are now officially a RAPIST, Congratulations! Get out there and tell the world.

My work here is done!

SPAIN PART 3………………….THE TALKING WALL

10 February 2012

SPAIN PART 3………………….THE TALKING WALL

So, off we went from the airport and headed towards the place we were staying -  a friends house (Charlene, Robyn’s mum) in Campo Verde or something like that. She, in turn, didn’t own the house and it belonged to another friend.  Charleen was living there whilst organizing something more permanent.

We stopped at a Supermarket to get some booze and tit bits and Alena got her first taste of Spanish hospitality.  A checkout girl watched her load all her stuff onto the conveyor belt and then, unsmilingly and in that lazy Spanish droll, said “Checkout closed”. Poor Alena was fit to explode!.

Anyhow, made our way to the house and received a warm greeting, if not a warm house. Temperatures were at a record low and, as luck would have it, the heating was broken; when you’re in a fully tiled Spanish Villa that makes it damn cold!. I stepped in as the official Alpha male (as discovered with the car hire twit) of the party and attempted to remedy the problem but, much to my embarrassment, I was unsuccessful. 

We had a bite to eat and settled down for a good evening’s craic until tiredness overcame Robyn and her sister, Chloe, and they went off to bed. We adults decided the best way to keep warm was to get blocked and soon we were wrapped in the warm glow of an alcoholic haze.

Eventually even we realized it was time for bed and Charlene, who up to that point hadn’t seemed too bad, stood up to start tidying. She soon discovered that whilst her upper body was a little tipsy, her legs were paralytic and she hit the floor like the proverbial bag of shite. Her mind, however, was still sharp and immediately sent instructions out to her body to break her fall. The message, which was destined for her arms, somehow got diverted to her chin and it fulfilled its instructions taking the brunt of the fall more or less knocking her out!.

It’s at times like this when a disaster sobers you up, and so instantly Alena’s and my first aid training came to the fore, and we started gently kicking Charlene to see if she was alive. A few moans and mumbled “I’m Ok’s “ were enough to convince us she was, in fact, alive but we then had to work out how two drunks could get another, half conscious, drunk up a flight of winding stairs. This was eventually achieved with a lot of pulling and hauling; but it did include a number of fall overs and eventually a full face plant, by the two ladies, at the top step.

With some difficulty we managed to get Charlene into bed and I left Alena to share that bed and went off to sleep on the settee downstairs. The house was in darkness and the night was still and I slowly drifted off to sleep. 

Sometime later I was awakened by the sound of a woman with a Spanish accent coming from upstairs; 

Woman : “Is everything alright”

Silence

Woman : “Is everything alright”

Alena’s voice “Who’s there?”

Woman : “Security. Is everything alright”

Alena : Sounding very confused “Who is that?”

Now, it turns out that some 15 to 20 minutes earlier Alena had accidentally pushed a panic button near the bed whilst getting undressed. The Spanish security company, being typically on the ball, had waited a full 15 minutes before coming back through an intercom on the wall to ask if all was well.  A rather bewildered Alena was now sitting up, in the dark, talking to the aforementioned wall.

Woman./Wall : “You push panic button”

Alena : Now a bit more relaxed with chatting to the wall said defensively, “No”

Woman/Wall : “Yes you push. You have password”

Alena : Sounding a little less confident “No. I am just visiting and staying with a friend”

Woman/Wall : “Does your friend have password”

Now we have a problem, because telling the wall the householder is unconscious in bed was not going to make things look any better, and I could here a silence while Alena was obviously thinking of her next move. The deadlock was broken by Robyn, who came to the rescue and took sober control of the situation.

Robyn : “Hello, all is well it was just an accident”

Woman/Wall : “Ok, but I still need password”

I could hear thumping and grunting noises as they tried to wake Charlene and, on finally doing so, she came out with a list of garbled potential passwords and the wall appeared to be satisfied with one of them. Alena spent the next 10 minutes denying responsibility even though her clothes were piled up beside the big red button. But we had a bit of a giggle about the whole episode and returned to bed. 

No sooner had we got to sleep than the phone rang and it was the, rather irritated, owner of the house who had been woken at home by the security company, to be told there was a bunch of idiots in her house who didn’t know the password. She was not a happy bear and it took, a very diplomatic, Robyn to gain forgiveness and smooth things over.

I hate Spanish talking walls!

Tomorrow or maybe the next day………………… THE SPANISH CONCIERGE & THE MORAL DILEMMA

SPAIN PART 2 ………………………CAR HIRE

9 February 2012

SPAIN PART 2 ………………………CAR HIRE

So, after a reasonably uneventful start to our trip, we finally arrived in Spain and, as is normal in that country, everything went into slow motion. Slow motion customs, slow motion police, even the moving walkway was in slow motion and people were passing us on foot!

Anyhow, we went to our car hire kiosk and were greeted by a bored looking employee who obviously had better things to do than hire out cars - our arrival was clearly an unwanted interruption in his ‘Siesta’ practice. 

Now, believe it or not, we had hired a car on the internet for £22 all in for 4 days which is pretty good but I suspected somewhere there would be a catch. Going on the principle “that if something is too good to be true then it usually isn’t” I was on my guard for how they planned to rip us off.

This guy had the personality of a tree slug and went through the process robotically, rhyming off the usual stuff, “Cars a Ford Focus, Petrol, Ticket for car park, Leave back anytime, Tank is full bring back empty” etc etc. He got my passport, license and credit card and was just about to get me to sign when he stopped, and suddenly developing a great interest in my wellbeing, produced a laminated sheet entitled “Insurance”.

Here it comes I thought, the great insurance rip off.   I didn’t realise at that point that the rip off had already occurred and I’d missed it. I’ll explain later.

I can’t type in a Spanish accent so do it yourself, his and my thoughts are in [ ]

Him : [OK you Irish twat, this is where I make a shit load of commission out of you]        “You want to up grade your Insurance Sir. At the moment you are only covered for this (he indicates one thing on his sheet which just about makes me street legal) but if you upgrade you will be covered for this (he indicates another list which covers nearly everything under the sun)."

Me : [Ok you Spanish twat you ain’t making any commission out of me] “No”

Him : Thinking sale was a forgone conclusion and about to write it up on the form [Did that dick just say No?] “Sorry sir. The Insurance you have is not very good but this covers everything and is only 7 Euro a day”

Me : [That’s more than I’m paying for the car asshole] “No”

Him : [Playing hard to get huh. How about this then] “You realize that if someone breaks your window you will lose the 400 Euro deposit?”

Me : “Yes, and still No”

Him : “If someone crashes into you in a car park you must pay to fix”

Me : “Ok, but still No”

Him : Starting to get more desperate “If you hit kerb and damage wheel you must pay”

Me : Noticing Alena starting to look worried as she’d have bought it at the start “I’ll be careful. Still No”

Him : “If a group of topless pole dancers attack your car and drag you out and gang rape you . You will not be covered”

Me : “I’d actually pay you for that to happen but as its unlikely, still No”

(OK I made that one up but you get the drift)

Anyhow, he finally accepted the answer was “No” and mumbling away about broken windows and busted wheels handed over the keys. I smiled my best “Up yours” smile and headed for the car park. 

On finding our car we realized why it was only £22 as it was dented and banged, the aerial was missing and the boot wouldn’t open. I marched over to the guy in the car park rental booth and discovered he had as much interest as his partner in the airport.

Me : “This cars a piece of crap and the boot won’t open”

Him : [Idiot. I hate you English] “Yes it will, I opened it to clean it”

Me : [Idiot. I hate you Spanish] “Well it won’t open now”

Him : Sighing and shaking his head in as patronizing a way as he could “I will show you”

Me : Smiling pleasantly and wanting to punch him in the face “Thank you”

We walked over to the car and I stood on the passenger side as he went to the driver’s door. He looked over the roof at me as he inserted the key and continued to stare directly at me as he turned it. There was an unlocking noise, and a slight smirk came on his face, as he kind of wiggled his eye brows in my direction. He walked around to the back of the car, still watching me, and took hold of the handle. Time stood still for a second and we looked at each other as if this was about to decide which of us was the ‘Alpha’ male. He pulled………………………… It didn’t fucking open!! I couldn’t believe it. It didn’t fucking open. The smug, little diego, twat was beaten. There is a god!!! I felt like dancing a jig and running around the car park singing ‘we are the champions’. 

However, I kept my cool and simply smiled and nodded sagely as he tried in vain with everything but a crowbar to open it. Eventually he admitted defeat and we went over to his office to get another car. It was at this point, when we were changing over the paper work, that I spotted the ‘Rip off’ I had, up to this point, missed.

Me : “Hey. How come we have paid 90Euro for this car it should be about 30 Euro”

Him : Seeing a chance to retrieve some dignity “We fill tank. You bring back empty”

Me : [I’m only going 40mins down the road I’ll never use a full tank] “Are there any refunds?”

Him : “No. You use - bring back empty”

Me : [I’ll empty your head smartarse. So I’m paying for petrol I won’t use] “No problem”

Him : Smiling “ I give you diesel car it not use much petrol” [Empty that you English bastard]

Me : [It’s diesel you dick, its doesn’t use any petrol and I’ll empty it if I have to drink it, you smarmy little shit] “Thanks. That’s very good of you.”

So off we went. I drove everywhere and I mean everywhere. If the rubbish needed put out in the bin - I drove it. I went everywhere in third gear, left it ticking over when parked, and even offered to siphon some into our hostesses car but sadly it was petrol. Eventually, when I left it back 4 days later it was still ¾ full.

Bastards!. I hate the Spanish!.

Tomorrow…………….. THE TALKING WALL

SPAIN PART 1 …………… THE JOURNEY

8 February 2012

Well we are back from our little soiree to Spain and a great time was had by all. Lots of stories so I might as well start at the beginning.

SPAIN PART 1 …………… THE JOURNEY

We were ready to leave the house early on Friday morning and, as any good daddy does,  I went through the checks with Alena and Robyn to ensure that they had everything.  You know what women are like …... Passports? – Yes. Make-up? – Yes. Money? - Yes etc etc and all appeared well. We left in good time and were on the M2 approaching the airport when I realised………….. I had forgotten my Driving Licence. 

“I’ve forgotten my Licence” I mumbled
“What?” asked Alena
“I’ve forgotten my Licence” I mumbled again
“You’re hot and dry since what ?????” she asked
“I’VE FORGOTTEN MY FLIPPING DRIVING LICENCE”

Short silence followed by lots of hee heeing from the ladies at me being the one that had forgotten something.

“Ah well, not to worry, you’ll just have to drive” I said, turning to Alena and enjoying the smile fading from her face.
“No way!. I can’t drive on this side of the road never mind the other” she replied.
“No choice. We haven’t time to go back and we really need a car, so it’s you I’m afraid” I said, feeling quite smug and enjoying the sight of Alena’s face draining of blood before my very eyes.

Another short silence followed as that news sank in, then a spark of light as she realised she could ring Ross, who was home in bed, and get him to bring my licence up. A quick phone call later, a somewhat reluctant, Ross was en-route and Alena was able to breathe again. 

In truth this was a close call for us all as Alena’s previous history of driving on the right is not good. She has only actually done it once when we were on holiday in Spain with friends. She and the other girl (Pauline) had headed off to the nearby shops and we watched as they disappeared down the road weaving from side to side and obviously gesticulating at each other as to where they should be on the road. It was only a short distance with one junction - a roundabout, which even with two of them working on it they managed to balls up and go around the wrong way. They returned later in one piece but sweating profusely and vowing never to try and get involved in, what should be, an exclusively male role again.

Anyhow, I digress. Ross met us at a restaurant near the airport and we made it just in time, which itself was a stroke of luck as it stopped the girls from doing any shopping as we had to rush to the gate. 

Being a Concierge, that’s a job with a French name, we had ‘Speedy boarder’ tickets and waved ‘queen like’ at the poor people as we sauntered up to the check-in. We had a clever plan to spread ourselves over 6 seats in an attempt to gain some extra room if the plane wasn’t full and we put this into action when we boarded. 

Robyn, unfortunately, chickened out and instead of sitting in the middle seat, sat at the aisle and consequently two ‘ole’ folk settled down beside her. She paid the price for her reluctance as the gentleman talked to her the entire way over and, no matter how much she tried to bury her head in her book, he kept coming up with new pearls of wisdom he felt imperative to share. She kept looking over at me with a ‘Save me’ look in her eyes, only to get a tap on her shoulder from her new best friend determined to continue a very one sided conversation.

How I laughed………………….

Tomorrow………………… THE CAR HIRE

Theatre Night

2 February 2012

My good lady and I attended (please read this bit in an upper class accent) ‘the theatre’ last night.

Most of you less classy folk will think that is somewhere one goes for an operation, but it is, in fact, a place where the artier among us go to enjoy some live entertainment. Again, to assist the more ignorant of my friends, ‘Live entertainment’ is where one is actually present during the performance and there is no pause or rewind button.

Obviously, if one has a job with a French name, such as Concierge, being involved in the arts is expected of one and our patronage is actively sought at these occasions. I took Alena along last night really just to make up the numbers and, as her job is only letters, ‘P.A.’, she was a bit in awe of the proceedings.

On entering the ‘Theatre’ she demanded I get her an extra large coke, popcorn and a family size bag of Maltesers. I explained that those types of refreshments were not available in an establishment such as this but she could have a glass of red wine if she wished and, of course, she asked for a large glass.

I attempted to make conversation with some fellow ‘Theatre goers’ and briefly became involved in a discussion regarding the dramatic depths and social aspirations displayed in the long running play ‘The Mousetrap’ until Alena pointed out she had that game when she was a child!

After a further large glass of wine, I finally persuaded Alena to follow me to our seats and I could see she was a bit put off by the lack of a large screen. I explained that real people would be standing in front of us performing and she simply giggled as the last time she had seen that was in an adult theatre in Amsterdam.

The play was called “Singing I’m no a Billy I’m a Tim” and was a satirical look at the sectarian and bigoted views of opposing football supporters in Glasgow. It involved two such supporters, one Celtic - one Rangers, locked in a police cell for a few hours together and the interactions between them.

It attempted to convey how we are all the same underneath and that it is merely an accident of birth that decides the bonds that we form and the people that we become. I’m not sure how true that is as I reckon it is genetics that influence whether you have two eyebrows or just one great big one, or if you can say the letter ‘H’ right or not. It was, however, very funny with such witticisms as “How can you tell ET is a Catholic”……………Answer “Just look at him”.

When the lights went up at the end of the play I discovered Alena had texted her way through the entire thing and was more interested in asking the lady beside us where she had bought her shoes than having an intellectual discussion regarding the plays message and the underlying social values it characterized.

Next time I’ll just take her to see “Jack and the Beanstalk”

Thank Yous

1 February 2012

 

Haven’t been on for a few days as I’ve been a very busy boy knocking down walls and digging up things and general man stuff like that. 

As a result I have a few belated thank yous to catch up on.

Firstly to Andrew and Lynn for a great night at Lynn’s birthday party. As always the gentleman I won’t mention what age she was but if you (((4x6)-(15-4)+8)x4-4)/2 then you’ll get the jist. 

A fun time was had by all and as it was another fancy dress do I went as Jeremy Kyle and Alena and Robyn went as two of my chavvie guests, so they didn’t have to do much prep at all. 

Paige, Lynn's daughter, dressed as the latest tech gadget, a flying iPod, and made her grand entrance by 'flying' head first down the stairs. There were some rather unkind suggestions that she had been indulging in some alcoholic beverages and that this influenced her choice of arrival mode but as she is still under-age these are obviously without foundation. Her later bouts of loud singing, falling over and telling everyone who would listen they were her best friend were apparently the result of concussion. 

A number of folk were very interested in my occupation (I'm a Concierge that’s a job with a French name) and what exactly it is I do.  However, I refused to divulge the secrets of my trade as to do so would contravene the rules as laid down by the Debonair International Concierging Klan Society, or D.I.C.K.S.

Also have to thank my little friend Reaper (Conor) from down ‘Sout’. He drove the whole way up from Dublin, or somewhere around there, for the party and back down the same night. Didn’t want to stay long, something to do with an arrest warrant I think. Wasn’t even my birthday but he presented me with a beautiful pen which he had made (yes, I said made) himself. He had hand carved it on a lathe and it is completely unique.  How cool is that?!

Made me feel a bit guilty actually as I usually refer to him as a ‘Leprechaun’ and a ‘gypsy’ on here. He is of course both of those things but I just felt guilty for saying it. I’ll get over it........oh........hang on............... yup, over it now. Actually he came to the party dressed as a gypsy which just proves my point (probably did a bit of tarmacing on the way up). Tried to claim he was a pirate but he didn't fool me.

He did however make a deeply moving speech, in Gaelic I think.....

"Der's a feckin pen fur ya, ya pace a Nordern shoite. Its fool a feckin doynamoite and when da toimer goes en a fortnoight it'll bloow yer feckin hand aff ya hignoorant pradestant coont"

I was deeply touched and will keep the pen in my breast pocket close to my heart.

My last thank you is to the great God, Obesity, who in her wisdom decided to allow me to lose...................wait for it...................... 4 1/2 lbs this week. After last week's gain this was a much needed moral booster and my chances of being the worlds sexiest man have been rekindled. Three more weeks like that and Bob's your uncle. Off to Spain for the weekend and since I don't like Spanish food (they don't do Heinz Beans. Freaks!) I should lose a bit more.

The Recycling Police

28 January 2012

Back to work today, and thank God, as I’ve spent all week clearing out my late Mother-in-Law's house and I’m knackered.

My good mate, Mo the builder, is joining me on Monday and we will start the work to get it back to scratch.  As his daughter Ashley is going to be renting it he is as keen as I am to do a good job as quickly as possible....so a few very busy weeks ahead.

The clearance part, which I did on my own, threw up the same problem I talked about back in November (I think) about the "recycling police" at my local dump.

Emptying a house is a big deal and I knew I would have a vast amount of stuff, from rubble to old TVs. The guys at the dump, trained by the Gestapo and known to indulge in the odd strip search, were going to have a field day with me.

“Oi mate. Is that a pair of black socks? ‘Left Hand Black Socks’ - Bin 63, far end of the dump, ‘Right Hand Black Socks’ - Bin 2, at the other end. Oh hang on, is that a hole in that left sock? That goes in ‘Faulty Left Hand Black Socks’ - Bin 15, Level 4, Aisle 23. As the right hand sock doesn’t have a partner, thus being 'pair-less', it should now go in ‘Single Black Right Hand Socks Because Left Hand Sock is Faulty Due to Hole’ in Bin 137678, Sub-basement Level 128, Shelf 43, Aisle 56712. No sorry, Aisle 56713.” 

Anyhow, I needed a plan. So I filled the car up with wood only for my first trip but also brought along a set of old golf clubs and bag I had found in the attic. On my arrival I was bounced on by the usual flock of attendants who demanded to know exactly what I had on board. I indicated my pile of wood and they scrutinised it with sniffer dogs and metal detectors and as planned found nothing amiss.

Him: “'Assorted Wood' - Bin 25”, the guy said with a look of disappointment and a nod of his head.
Me: “Cheers mate”, I smiled. “Oh and do any of you guys play golf?”
Him: “I do”, he replied suspiciously.
Me: “Its just I have a set of clubs here which I don’t want and it would be a terrible waste to chuck them. You’re welcome to them if you want.”
Him: “Let’s have a look then”
Me: “There you go”, I said, lifting out the clubs from the front seat. “A bit old but a full set”
Him : “Hmmm. They're not bad. You giving them away?”
Me: “Sure. Why not? You guys have a thankless task here" (Yeah right, bastards). "Enjoy”
Him: “Cheers mate, you’re right. You wouldn’t believe the things people try to sneak into the wrong bins….yadda yadda yadda………. “ (5 mins of bad recycling stories).

I think he would have gone on for ever but he noticed his compatriots descending on a small van, the driver of which had turned pale and was dripping in sweat, and I suspect his claims of only having ‘non-recyclable stuff’ was about to be blown out of the water.

I dumped my wood and went back to the house and immediately loaded up with bin bags full of all kinds of things. I returned to the dump and the usual group approached but when my new chum saw me he waved his pals away and smiling (yes smiling!) asked me what I had. This was the moment of truth. I felt like I was trying to smuggle 20kgs of heroin into Thailand but I kept my cool and replied “Just a load of rubbish. Nothing of any use”.

He glanced in the back. Looked at me for a second and said “No problem. 'General Waste' - Bin 1”

Bin 1!!! I had made it to Bin 1!! I felt like I had won the lottery!! Everyone wants to get to Bin 1 'General Waste' but few make it and I was about to dump an entire car load in it. I parked beside the skip and got out of the car, unable to hide my smug look from the other poor folk running up and down the yard recycling away under watchful eyes. 

Then it happened. The equivalent of a dumping orgasm. My new best friend HELPED me empty the car. In the eyes of my fellow dumpers I was now at God status and I glanced around sopping up the silent adoration.

Over the next two days I made 14 runs to that dump and the only thing I ever recycled was a few bits of wood. I can die a happy man ………………….

 

Weigh In Day II

23 January 2012

Ok folks, to you it may just be another dreary Monday morning with nothing to look forward to but 5 days of laborious, unproductive work. To me, however, it’s the big day of the week. The day that all my efforts have been directed towards. The day that makes all other days worthwhile and reminds me that hard work and belief in yourself can reward you with a feeling of success and fulfilment.

Yes!!! Its ‘WEIGH-IN DAY’

I woke this morning excited but a little apprehensive and made my way down to the bathroom. It’s always good to weigh yourself first thing as for some reason you’re at your lightest. I did my number ones straining to force out that last gram weighing drop. I squeezed my head as hard as possible to try and muster a number two but to no avail.

I touched the scales to start them up as for some reason with modern scales they need to warm up. They went to zero and I gingerly stepped on. I waited a moment and looked down. Nothing. Oh, my belly’s in the way. I lean forward slightly and there is my new weight blinking before my now wide and startled eyes. This is why I have lived on celery and bananas for a week. This is why I have avoided biscuits (except for teacakes) and chocolate and eaten chicken and a portion of beans for lunch.

I have GAINED 1 ½ lbs. WTF. I’m right back to where I started 2 weeks ago. I step off and back on again. No change. I try stretching upwards to make myself lighter and even try standing on one leg but nothing changes. 

All that living in food denial, all that misery, all that battling not to eat the biscuits the tenants had left for me and my fellow Concierges (that’s a job with a French name).

I can’t f’ing believe it. I pass on my devastating news to Alena who sympathetically sniggers and tells me I must have been cheating. I feel a lot better, NOT!!!!!!!!!! 

I sit and have a cup of coffee and try and make sense of this disaster. I rationalise that this is just a minor setback, my efforts were not in vain, I must be heavy boned or maybe the problem is glandular. Will I allow this to deter me? Will I give up and let my body fall in to floppy disrepair?

Too dam right I will!! I am off down to B&Q car park where there is a mobile chippy that does a ginormous bacon & egg soda and I’m gonna stuff it down my gub and then lick the grease off the paper it came in.

I feel better already.

Somewhere out There is the Right Biscuit for Me

21 January 2012

Tooth is all better after 2 sleepless nights and a bucket full of antibiotics yyyaaayyy!!!

My period of pain has, however, served a purpose and I have had time to reassess my life and my priorities.  I have realised that my recent pursuit of love and happiness with a ‘Tunnocks Teacake' has been a mistake. 

I have finally concluded that my love for that soft sweet chocolate coating was shallow and sad and it’s what’s on the inside that counts. In this case that’s a delicate smooth white marshmallow which, whilst attractive, lacks substance and depth. I know now they are not the ones for me and I have been wasting my time in a fruitless attempt to build a solid relationship with a chocolate biscuit that is incapable of answering my needs.

Life is short and I feel I am worth more than that and so myself and the dogs ate the remaining 16 teacakes in a ‘Teacake fest’ to remove any further temptation. 

I think I should now spend a little time on my own and review where to go from here. What I need is a biscuit that can fill the gap in my stomach. One that will be there when I need it but not be on my mind all the time, demanding my attention. One that has substance and size but not thousands of calories and can satisfy my needs without leaving me crying out for more.

I know somewhere out there is the right biscuit for me and I will not stop until I find it……….

Walk Rage

19 January 2012

Its only 7.30am but already this day is going downhill.

Got the first half of a root canal treatment on Tuesday and had the nerve dug out but have to go back for next stage next week.  He warned me it might get sore but I was thinking I’d got away with it until 3am this morning when I woke with a pain that felt like someone had hit me on the side of the head with a sledgehammer. 

Now the left side of my face is swollen up like a football. Woe is me………..

Then when I got to work I was nipping around to the shop and got involved in a "walk rage" incident.

I was striding along and approaching a guy dandering in the same direction talking on his phone.  I went to go around him but as I did he sped up and was then walking along beside me at the same speed.  Don’t know why it is but there’s something a bit uncomfortable about a stranger walking close beside you, invasion of space or something, so I sped up.

The wee bastard, still on his phone, sped up as well.  This was now feeling a bit freaky and a problem was looming as I was on his right but wanted to turn left in about 20yds.  I realised if I slowed down and went behind him he would have won whatever game we were playing so I had to time a spurt of speed just right then cut across him without tripping both of us up. 

I waited until the optimum moment and went for it.  I caught him off guard and as soon as I was one stride ahead I swung across to the left. Believe it or not I think he actually was speeding up and he had to stop to avoid a collision.  I looked back and he was staring after me with a “What the fuck are you playing at” sort of look.  Yea right weirdo, I won………..

Last thing is almost too horrible to type so bear with me.  I had parked the car at work and got out.  As I walked to the door I dropped my Teacake.  Not the end of the world you may say, but I then stood on it.  I could see I was about to do it but was mid stride and my world went into slow motion as I watched my foot descend onto today’s love of my life.  I managed to salvage some of it and laid it to rest in my stomach but now I have nothing to look forward to.  Woe is me again…………….

New Year diet Day 5 and the Dreaded Weigh-in

13 January 2012

Diet day five and I’m starting to weaken.  It’s getting tough.

If I was a country I would be declared a famine zone.

My 2 sticks of celery and a banana breakfast isn’t looking as exciting as it did a few days ago and even today’s Teacake is mocking me, prancing about on the desk in front of me giving brief glimpses of its delicate chocolate coating.  It’s just a slut of course just like all chocolate biscuits and it won’t be so damn cocky when lunch time comes.  But it’s a long time until then and I'm not sure I’ll last.

Starting to wonder if it’s all worth it.  I’m a bit old now to worry about attracting women and I’m married to Alena already so she’s stuck with me………….

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

16 January 2012

Weigh-in day today and I have lost 1¼ lbs. WTF!!!  That’s pretty much a good poopie.  This is going to take forever.

Big meal out and a load of booze on Friday, another piss-up and eating so much I thought I was going to burst on Saturday and a massive fry and big roast dinner on Sunday may have contributed to my failure.  Back to celery and bananas and a little bit of teacake luvin' today.

Is this Dundonald mate?

12 January 2012

No talk of diets today as I have a BW story.

For those new to my Facebook, (namely Judith from work who thinks I download this crap I talk from the internet. Hi Judith) a BW is a ‘Bus wanker’ i.e. a person who uses the bus, this includes myself.  A more in depth description is given in my BW Trilogy sometime back in October I think.

Anyhow I boarded my homeward bus last night and found the downstairs full with some standing.  I went upstairs and saw that strangely the front two rows were empty apart from one guy in the front left but the rest of the top floor full. 

By good fortune the front right hand seat is my favourite so first checking no one had pooped, peed or puked on it I settled myself down.  It was at this point the smell of drink hit me and I glanced across at my travelling companion and saw that he was staring back.  He was quite obviously completely blocked and his wee head was rocking on his shoulders as he tried to get me in focus. 

I could tell a comment was forming in his head and eventually after some difficulty he shouted, and I do mean shouted “Fuck off”.  He had a portable CD player (Yes those do still exist) and earphones in and I could still clearly hear the music and immediately after shouting this he began to clap, in the same sort of way that seals do, in time with the music and sing tunelessly.

Now you have to understand there are various types of BW and at this time of the day we are Commuter BW’s.  I have explained the rules before, but talking of any kind, singing and certainly clapping like a moron are frowned upon and being drunk is an absolute no no.  I looked back at the other passengers and did a nod and raised eyebrows in the direction of ‘Michael Buble’ in a ‘what a plonker sort of way’ but received no response. 

He had now moved on to shouting ‘Fuck Off’ in time with the music and tapping his foot, as only a drunk can do, by lifting the whole leg up and down and I think the other passengers were in a mild state of shock.  BW’s are just like any other animal and we like life to have a consistency.  Any change from the norm is greeted with a mild case of panic as we desperately try to work out how to deal with an unexpected situation.  My fellow BW’s had in this instance chosen the ostrich option to completely ignore what was happening and hope it would just go away.

My drunken friend had, however, no intention of either going away or being sober and was now topping himself up with large mouthfuls of a particularly good vintage of ‘Buckfast’.  He then decided to change the CD in his player which was highly entertaining and he swore unceasingly at it when his hands wouldn't do what his brain instructed.  Eventually he got the music going and began giving us his own rendition of the well-known Take That song ‘Fuck Off’. 

This continued the whole way home punctuated by slugs of booze and loud snorting noises which were invariably followed by him spitting out some globular substance on the floor.  If at any time he caught my eye the ‘Fuck offs’ got louder and the clapping was done in my direction and I smiled and nodded my appreciation of this more personalized performance.

Eventually we neared the end of the journey and he suddenly shut up and started staring out the windows and looking a little confused.  Then as nice as you like and as if the last 25mins hadn’t happened he turned to me and asked “Is this Dundonald mate?”.  I like an idiot just replied “Yes” and will always regret not coming out with the more appropriate response of “Fuck Off".