Wednesday 29 October 2014

The Inescapable Conclusion

Yesterday, found myself at home in the afternoon. Attempted to watch the TV.

I lasted 10 minutes until the adverts, which were, in no particular order

Advert for a stairlift

This should be INSIDE, you twat


Advert for a denture fixative

Oh for God's sake Graham: you need a tooth pulled, go to the dentist like normal people


Advert for a home delivery meal service

OK who's next?
Mrs Abercrombie: one Chicken Chasseur with mash & gravy


and an advert for a funeral savings plan

This is great!  Paying in easy monthly instalments gives me complete peace of mind!!!


I came to the swift and inevitable conclusion that the majority of television watchers in the afternoon must be toothless, immovable, inedible, funeral fodder, whereas I was always led to believe that the majority of PM TV watchers were lazy unemployed oiks sitting in their urine-soaked underwear, drinking MacEwans Export and sucking at the remains of yesterdays Donor Kebab still stuck to the sofa.


Not another fecking Vet programme

So despite my best efforts and early optimism, it seems that doing nothing in retirement is practically impossible.

That's a good thing, right?

Thursday 23 October 2014

Speak Up!

What is this retirement malarky if not to enjoy a 30 minute piano recital on a weekday in St Brides' Church?


...and the winner is...

There's about 25 of us there. I sit in a side pew and most of the punters are seated in the aisle so I get a good look at them. Average age: 150. It's a stormy day outside. I think they're sheltering from the wind. Many appear asleep.

A sixty-something lady totters to the front. She's got a programme of the recital in her hand.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Today's recital features-"

"Speak up!" comes a trembling, querulous, feeble female voice from about 5 feet away.
The interrupted speaker suddenly looks as if someone's shat on her programme. She gives the clearly deaf-as-a-post complainer a filthy look and says in a stentorian voice. "I CANNOT SPEAK ANY LOUDER. I HAVE A COLD." 

She then stares at the rest of the audience, who visibly shrink into their chairs (including me), and shouts, "CAN EVERYONE ELSE HEAR ME?"


Several of the snoozing nonegenarians are startled awake and look round in dazed confusion
"yes" we all mumble, terrified.
"RIGHT, I'LL START AGAIN" she says, with the weight of several metric tonnes of chips pressing down on her shoulders, judging by the sound of her loud, laboured sighs.


Eventually, she gets to introduce the pianist, and she entertains the slumbering OAP's with an agreeable mix of Bach & Gershwin, accompanied by the sound of the elderly giftshop kiosk attendant slurping his potnoodle in the background.





Saturday 18 October 2014

Electra

Just seen Kristen Scott Thomas as Electra at The Old Vic


Dammit! We've run out of milk

Man Alive

That's some 100% grade A prize batcrap crazy Greek Bitch

Not as batcrap crazy as Medea though



O-KAYYY mum, I'll do the dishes.   Jeez - chill out!!!

Friday 17 October 2014

Archaeology

When I retired eight months ago the first thing I did was to make a long list of things I was going to do, such as

tidy the garden



my shed

Tidy my desk



Picture of me mending the computer. I'm under the third motherboard from the left

Repoint the outside brickwork
Vacuum the car
Vacuum the carpet


I think we're losing suction - perhaps the bag needs changing?


Write a novel
and solve the Reimann Hypothesis

Because of pressing important distractions, such as being unavoidably asleep, I have not started on any of the above but this afternoon I HAVE started to tidy my top desk drawer, and this is what I have found in it so far:

- Fourteen biro tops
- Ten pencils: four HB but all broken, 4 x 4H, 2 x 4B. How did these get here? I have never bought anything but an HB, and yet, there they are: Useless, unless you either want to perform an emergency tracheotomy with the 4H, or make a grey mush on paper with the 4B.
- Four empty blister packs. Why have I kept them?
- A huge padlock, no key
- Eleven keys, none of which fit the padlock, and I have no idea what they do fit
- Two staplers, with no staples
- Three packs of staples, none of which fit either stapler
- A four year old car tax disc
- A bottle opener
- A large spanner
- One of those tiny sewing kits you get in a cracker
- An oxo cube
- A Cat Action Trust Chrismas Prize Draw Raffle Ticket for 2002: first prize a hamper of Whiskas (I wonder if I won?)
- Some broken plastic bits off the back of a phone
- A huge bunch of assorted business cards, dating back to the thirteenth century
- Five cheese wires
- and a plastic joke pencil sharpener in the shape of a nose



Sunday 12 October 2014

Was I that ugly?

Walked over to Muswell Hill this morning with the missus and bumped into a friend we had not seen for a long time.

"Hello!!" she gushed and planted a smacker on me before I could duck.

Not a great fan of this kissy kissy stuff but that's another story.

"Wow!!" she says to me, "you look great! Have you lost weight?"


Well I HAVE been working on my bingo wings

"Not really"

"But you look fantastic!"

"Thanks very much, but I'm just the same really"

"Well, you've got such a glow about you!!!"

I really didn't know what to say. I came to the disturbing conclusion that she must have had the following mental picture of me


Mmmm, yes, perhaps it's time for a bit of E45 cream

Saturday 4 October 2014

My optician, Dr Mengele

He scared the living bejesus out of me. My fault really.

I've had a strange shadow in my right eye after whacking myself on the bonce,


Doc, I've had this persistent slight headache

so thought I'd better get it checked out.

I'm in the chair, The lights are off. He's got this pokey thing with a light at the end, and he's slowly coming closer and closer to my left eye.

He's very mild mannered. "Now just relax", he breathes



I say shouldn't that be sterilized?

He’s about two inches away. I'm getting slightly nervous so I try to make light conversation.

"I'm...er...I'm off to see the football tomorrow. Do you like football?"

"Oh yes," he sighs. He's now about half an inch away, and he's got my top eyelid between his fingers. "Hmmm, yes been a big fan all my life."

I try to shrink back into the chair. "Yes, well, big Arsenal fan me."

He stiffens slightly. He has now got my top and bottom eyelids held right back, and he leans in,  I try to shrink back further, but his grip is steely.

“Er..yes. Arsenal season ticket holder”

“Interesting. I myself am a Spurs season ticket holder.”


Is it safe?

And my balls shrink to the size of raisins

Thursday 2 October 2014

How to shop online

OK this is how it is supposed to work.

THEORY:

"Now you're not working, let's order the basics online each week - very quick and easy - should only take a few minutes..."


Picture of me ordering online. It is so easy, I am literally pissing myself with delight

"...then you can go shopping each day for the specifics for supper. It'll be very continental: popping down to the market each day to get the freshest ingredients..."

I have to say I am excited. Fired up with visions of urine-soaked trousers of happiness and me skipping round the local markets with my trug basket as I fill up with mountains of the freshest locally-sourced ingredients.


Here is my shopping basket that I will fill with wonderful produce ably assisted by fairies and unicorns

PRACTICE 

(...after 90 FECKING MINUTES trying to set up the bastard account with Morrisons). The missus is inputting the order. I'm dictating to her:

"Toilet paper...no not Andrex - it always makes me think of dogshit

"Encona original hot pepper sauce - that reminds me - can you get some moist wetwipes too

"Onions - I want big ones. Not that packet, no not that one, no they're red ones. Not white ones for chrissake - I JUST WANT ORDINARY ONIONS. Where the hell are ordinary onions? Go back a page. Are they onions? What's that a picture of? Christ it could be goats' bollocks. Look just click on the thing. If it's goats' bollocks we'll invite the neighbours round for supper. That'll serve them right for trying to strike up conversations when we put out the recycling.

"Get some Ribena would you. No not blackcurrant juice: tastes of Harpic. Get the sugar free...no not Ribena lite, not low sugar, not full fat, not jumbo, not fun sized JESUS why don't they just do PLAIN????

"A cabbage - yes that one. I want a big one. How can I tell what size it is ffs. Can't they get a picture of it next to a...a...I don't know. A Saturn 5 rocket or something. Then I can judge the size. I DON'T KNOW WHY I SAID SATURN 5 ROCKET...just...just order the fecking thing"


OK get that kid out of the way: he's standing in front of the bastard cabbage

"Three packs of butter - don't get the poncey french one. Just get the bog standard one. No not that one - that's unsalted - tastes of soap

...and on and on

I could have crawled to the shop on my belly...


Oooh look there's Tesco

...and been back with a full load by the time we'd submitted the order

Never mind. I'm looking forward to my market shopping. UNNNfortunately the closest market is Wood Green. Here's what's in my mind as I set out


Oh this is going to be fantastic: fresh fish...seafood everyday...mmm

Here's what I find


"Getcha gravel, getcha lovely hot gravel..."

OK slight exaggeration

This is actually what my local market looks like


But as you can see, only slight exaggeration. Hold on, here's a better picture, so you can really get the atmosphere



Can I interest you in some tartiflette?

Supper tonight:

Aperitif
Kir a la mode (fun-sized low fat starch-reduced Ribena triple-lite)

Entree
Cabbage enrobed with Encona chilli sauce

ensuite

 

Wednesday 1 October 2014

The Bloody Avenger

So the doc's peering up my nose with a long-handled instrument shoved up there.


I say doc, perhaps one size smaller?

"Mm-hmmm, hmmmmm,  mmmmyuuuurrsss. It does seem a little inflamed. Any trauma over the past few years?"

"Well, my grown up kids are still living at home."

"I mean in your nose."

"Oh, ah. Haha of course. No, can't think of any"

"Are you sure? Your septum looks a little wonky?"

(Wonky. That's a medical term is it? Do you actually have a license?)

Anyway, the doc gives me some cream and off I go, and halfway home, I stop dead and slap myself in the face, which I instantly regret, the nasal area still being a little tender, having had a torpedo from a Typhoon class nuclear submarine inserted up it recently.

And I am instantly back outside the Arsenal v Twente football match a few years ago. As usual, I left about 5 minutes before the end to beat the queue at the tube station, as any self-respecting insipid football fan worth his salt would do. I am, quite literally, a fair weather fan. I won't go to a match if it's cold. Or raining. Or later than 3.00pm on a Saturday. Or during the week. Or if it clashes with a Louise Borgeois retrospective at the Tate Modern. Or if I can't be bothered.


Hey this is for the Arsenal - Liverpool match this afternoon. Aren't you going?
No I couldn't possibly: my tailor is due any moment

Anyway, I'm nearing the station, head up, dodging through the crowds, almost running, determined to beat the station queue. Trip over a bloody crash barrier and my forward momentum takes me sailing into the tarmac, but fortunately my fall is broken by my face. The crowds very thoughtfully step over my prone body, and I try to get up. I can feel blood trickling down my face from somewhere and plopping on to the road in big dollops. A very nice lady Plod helps me to my feet. I am aware of her walkie talkie…”casualty outside Arsenal Tube, Male, 50, facial injuries…”

The ambulance arrives and because I’ve thumped my head, takes me to the hospital, where I am briefly examined by a doctor who seems extremely knowledgeable for a twelve year old.


Now this won't hurt a bit...

“Any nausea?”

“Only last Saturday, when we lost to Fulham”

“Vomiting?”

“No”

“Headache?”

“What do you think?”

“Hmm. OK. Are you on any medication?”

I reel off my huge list, although he seems to get a bit bored half way through.

“Well, we’ll just keep you in for a few hours, to check for any changes, so if you’d just like to wait in the A & E area…”

By now it’s 11.45. As I walk in to the casualty waiting area, there are about twenty people, including four youths, who are shouting, swearing, lounging across a whole row of seats. They are clearly annoying the crap out of everyone else, who are trying to ignore them, but it’s late, and the last thing people need is a bunch of thoughtless, belligerent youf making things worse.



I’ve had enough. I am going to have to sit here for about three hours, and I am in no mood for this treatment.

On the basis that this night cannot possibly get any worse, I decide to politely ask them to keep it down, I have a  bloody lump the size of a tennis ball above my left eyebrow. My left eye is bruised and bloodshot. I have taken the skin off my nose, and have a cut between my nose and my top lip that is still bleeding. Grazes up my right arm. I have blood drying on my chin, and down my neck. I am wearing a blood-spattered Arsenal shirt. As I approach them, they look up and start shrinking into the plastic seating, I suddenly realise that I am scaring the shit out of these oiks as they are approached by a bloodthirsty old-skool swivel-eyed crazed Arsenal fan.

So without really thinking, I just stand there, point to them, and say “Shut up!!”

And they do. Amazing. Everyone is looking at me open mouthed. I drop into a chair and enjoy the calm, as do the other people, although no one dares say a word, and all move discreetly away from me.

I have to just say that the illusion was shattered when my wife turned up with a pullover and a carton of ribena, but what the hell.

Vinnie Jones next.