Its not like that on the TV...

The entire local cat population seem to have decided that my garden is a giant litter tray. And my goldfish seem to be much reduced in number. But when I heard that a woman in China was suing all the occupants of a tower block because a cat dropped on her head and knocked her unconcious I felt I was getting off fairly lightly. On the plus side the Chinese cat died. The buggers round my way just keep coming back.

During the war the powers that be experimented with Cats and bombs. Cats were tied to bombs that were then dropped on enemy ships. The idea being that the cats, being adverse to swimming, would help steer the bomb towards the relatively dry enemy ship. It didn't work & the experiment was abandoned.

Well, thats not my definition of failure. The cat population was reduced by one. A huge success in my book. A cat on every bomb. That would convince me to support the war in Iran.

{An anti cat rant, dedicated to Monkeys cat, Simon, who shuffled off to kitty heaven on Saturday}

and I saw her face...

I had to spend a day in Birmingham. Which is nice. Wearing a suit. Which is not. Some people look goods in a suit. Some people look like a sack of s*** wearing a suit. I'll let you guess where I fit in that particular curve.
So I had a crap day. Work is pretty much like underage sex, but without the underage sex. Just straight into the beatings from B wing.

Home time. Train ride back. Packed. And because I helped the girl with the child buggie down the stairs I miss the opportunity to frott against some 18 year old German students & spend the train ride in the armpit of an ex soviet weightlifter. We arrive at Telford. I Get off, and I'm next to the guard. Does this train stop at Oakengates? I ask. (which is a station close to my heart, and, more importantly, the Crown) 'Yes' he says. So I leap back on.
And they do. Its not meant to, but they stop the train at Oakengates for me. How fantastic is that?

Just call me Pant's

Last night a 12 year old girl on roller-skates asked me if I was a retard.
"hey Mr, are you a retard?" were her very words as she rollerskated backwards alongside me.
And my snappy response?
"possibly".

Today on the internet I learned that had I been born in the year 2893 my name would be Pant Cho and I would be a space explorer.
How much better would that have been.
"hey Mr, are you a retard?"
"No. my name is Pant Cho and I'm a space explorer".

24 hours too late. Or 885 years to early.

pretty woman

So I’m in a bar. Watching Virginian students get their 15 minutes of fame on sky news. And a rather pretty girl asks if she can sit in the chair next to me.
“Sure”, I say. “But I’m about to eat, and have not yet mastered my goatee beard so its pretty disgusting viewing”.
She fails to take the hint & joins me. I eat & watch TV.
“My names Amanda” she says. “Hello Amanda” I say.
I eat and watch another shooting rerun on TV.
“Don’t you think that this shooting in America is terrible?” ventures Amanda.
“Yes” I say. “but given that 200 people were blown apart in Bagdad today in as a direct result of possibly illegal and certainly unjustifiable US an British military action I think the TV coverage is a little disproportionate.”
“So you don’t care about these students then?”
“I care about 15% (can’t really do percentages in my head, but trust me, Mandy isn’t going to realise) as much as I care about the 200 Iraqis’. The difference is that whilst as a British citizen I feel degree of responsibility & guilt over the deaths in Iraq I think that if you make it a constitutional right for your psychopaths to bear arms you’ve got to expect the odd massacre now and then.”
We watch another shooting rerun.
“Aren’t the policemen fat” ventures Amanda. I have to agree. “No wonder they are armed. They sure aren’t going to chase down anything much faster than a donut.” I don’t think Amanda gets this.
We watch another shooting rerun.
“Do you want to take me to dinner?” ventures Amanda. (Bear in mind that I have just finished a large meal in front of her.) “No thank you Amanda. And before you ask, nor do I wish to pay to have sex with you”.
Amanda looks slightly miffed. Possibly I have misjudged her.
“ I don’t think you a very nice man” she tells me. I have to agree again. That’s twice now. Perhaps we should get engaged.
We watch another shooting rerun.
“So will you buy me a drink then?”. Priceless. I buy Amanda a drink.

Waste not...

In a witherspoons last night. Special offer: 10 oz steak + free drink just £5.99. So I went with one of those but decided not to have a free drink, I'd stick with beer.
"sorry sir, you have to have a free drink or I have to charge you the full price". "Really? You can't just not give me the drink?" "No sir, sorry."
So I gave a cheery wave to starving children everywhere & left a full bottle of orange juice on the bar.

the world is the same, in a relative way...

In my youth I never for a moment imagined that the day would come when there were more scotch eggs than I could eat.

Today that terrible milestone was reached.

Happy Chocolate Bunny egg fest thingy

So, a mixed bag this Easter. Although, I guess that if your not actually nailed to a cross by a bunch of angry Romans you should think of it as a win. I spent much of last week cleaning as my dad & his wife were coming to stay. Given that Anna spends most of the weekend cleaning you may wonder why I do this. However, many moons ago when they came to my flat in Worcester they actually refused to stay & booked into a B&B, such was its state. So now I clean before they clean.
It was wonderful weather. Ideal for gardening. So we decided to decorate. The fairy princess room was gutted. No more frills & frippery. My father is possibly the least patient man on the planet, so working with him is a nightmare. However, it does get things done. And because we work hard we feel no guilt about our calorie intake. Beer and food. Food and Beer. I put on half a stone in three days.
I also failed to retain my master baker title in the Crowns hot cross bun competition. There were only four entries & I was unplaced. By a long way. Even the birds snubbed my efforts. Ah well.
On Sunday they left. My joy at there arrival is only equalled by my joy at their departure. This feeling is entirely mutual. So I waved them off & went into work. Or rather I didn’t. For some reason the booking in system failed & my name was not in the book. The floor was locked. Security would not let me in. I had a choice. I could try and phone someone in authority. Who would authorise security to call out the bloke who can unlock the 9th floor. Or go home. It’s a sunny Easter Sunday. Guess what I did.
After a lazy Sunday I got up on Monday & got out the bike. I had arranged to meet Denis at a local horse race. It was only 10 ish miles so I decided I would cycle out there. Hmm. Now I expect a certain amount of pain on my first trip of the year. But my winter of indolence has told more than usual. After about four miles I realised that I was in a spot of bother. The knee was giving me hell and , more worryingly, I seemed unable to breath enough & felt like I was turning purple. Discretion being the better part of valour I gave up & headed for home. It was the right decision. I was very glad to get back to chez rich, where I collapsed onto the couch expecting a heart attack at any moment. Fortunately it did not happen. But I didn’t get to the pub. Indeed, I couldn’t even bring myself to change channels on the TV and actually sat through carry on up the jungle. I was not best pleased. So, tonight after work I shall do a couple of gentle miles, with a view to getting back into some sort of shape. Maybe.

Ring my bell

Much against my will I was provided with a mobile phone by work.
Not medically safe I said. Damages the brain, lowers the sperm count, & socially is a sort of electronic ghonorea. Bad luck, they said. Have a phone.

On the first day I got a call, fortunately it rang before I switched on the washing machine. It spent two days in the boot of my car. Which was fairly satisfactory. But on day 4 I had it with me. And work called. See, there's another good reason for not having a mobile phone. People call you. When I'm sitting in my greenhouse I really don't want to talk work. Since then I've not seen it. I was confident it would turn up. But at the weekend I cleaned the house & there was no sign. I have checked everywhere I can think. Zilch. zip. Nada. And I look at the shrubbery that I recently covered with barck chippings and I wonder...

ho hum.