Sales

My Ex is re-marrying. I should be happy, she'll be out of my life forever but I feel like I've been kicked in the teeth. Doesn't help thats she is getting wed to an old mate of mine. On a lighter note I went sale shopping with Meryl today. Thankfully with her help I refrained from making the same ill advised sale purchases that I seem to make every year. Badly fitting trousers that are usually too short in the leg but I can't help but buy as they're a snip at ten pounds. Then I spend the rest of the year trying to match my socks to my trousers to give the illusion of a proper fit. Or I wear wellies. Nope no trousers were purchased this year. I got an opportunity to browse my favourite local camping shop as Meryl went for a make-over in a posh chemist. I am quite perplexed as to why the ladies who work behind the make up counters wear lab coats. I asked one if she was scientifically trained and she told me to stop being cheeky. So I left Meryl to it. She came to find me twenty minutes later looking like she'd taken a tumble with Barbara Cartland's make up bag. I tried to stifle my laughter with a pair of thick woollen walking socks but it was no use. Luckily meryl saw the funny side too but said she liked the look and kept it on all day. maybe she doesn't want me to kiss her after all?

Lazy day

Christmas Day passed by without note. Meryl was spending the day with her mother and my daughter was at her boyfriend's. I spent most of the day sunk in the sofa avoiding Ray's drunken phone calls occasionally waking from my sherry induced coma to injest more chocolate before falling back asleep. My daughter brought me round for the Queen's Speech with a plated Christmas dinner, a well received gift from her boyfriend's family. I thanked her, ate it and duly fell back asleep. Bliss.

Lap Tray

I met Meryl on Christmas Eve and we got rather tipsy in a secluded corner of a pub close to where I work. Things were becoming rather intimate, well she had her hand resting on my knee, and before I could take it any further some old fella recognised her from the 'Comfy Wear' catalogue and our romantic interlude was interrupted with chat about foot warmers and lap trays. We were about to re-engage, and I was hoping for our first kiss, when another chap of advancing years butted in with a request for a rain hat for his wife. I handed him my old black hat and we made off into the night. Life has become a little less private since I started dating a model. I can't wait to tell the Team when I go back to work!

Back on the Sauce

Something tells me my good friend Ray is back on the sauce after a fourteen month stint sober. Did he show up at 3am last night dressed for summer and stinking of whiskey? No. Did he come round to the flat, let himself in and preceed to wreck the place? No, not yet. Has his behaviour become somewhat strange and a little erratic? Well, I can see the beginnings. I received two frantic calls at work on Monday, both times from his mobile and both cutting out before he got to the crux of his problem. He sounded worried and fraught so I did what any friend would do and went to his hostel to check up on him. A fellow resident said Ray hadn't been seen for a week and the management were considering serving a notice on him, i.e. asking him to leave. I spent all evening worrying about him, only for him to call back just after newsnight to inform me he was okay but just stranded in Blackpool. My daughter's boyfriend kindly went out to pick Ray up and took him home. This morning we received an early Christmas gift on our doorstep, wrapped in festive paper were three self help books, all two months late back to the library. Thanks Ray!

Contentment

I once read that true contentment can only be achieved when one has somewhere to live, enough food to eat and someone to love. 'Well two out of three isn't bad', I thought this morning as I munched on a bowl full of muesli by the radiator. My Ex told me the last time she felt truly contented was when she commisioned the twisted sister of stitch, Mrs Nesbitt, to sew sardines into the hem of my all weather anorak. Thankfully those dark days are over and I have a new light in my life. Meryl. I wouldn't say it was love yet but I am working on it and she seems rather keen. She called me three times yesterday. Life is looking up.

Success

My lunch date with Meryl was thoroughly entertaining. She was already seated by the window of the cafe when I arrived and welcomed me in with a large smile and a hug. A lovely warm woman, she spent the whole two hours we were together regaling me with tales from her career as a model. As it turns out she spent much of it modelling clothing in Sunday newspaper supplements. And before you suggest, no she wasn't half naked, she showed me some rather entertaining photos of her sporting stretchy trousers and comfy shoes. The best modelling shot was of her reclining in a false living room set up whilst clad in a blanket with sleeves. It seems she found her niche in the 'comfort market' and she was quite happy with that. She was keen to hear about my hobbies and interests and even suggested joining me for a show on hospital radio. Everything was so easy, it flowed without any effort and she complemented me on my choice of casual wear. We have agreed to meet again, it's as friends I'm sure, although I wouldn't say 'no' to something more.

Glaring Error

Spent a majority of the day synching up the team's computer calenders for next year when eager beaver volunteer Mandy pointed out a glaring error. I'd spent three hours working on calenders for 2010. I am positive she is hankering after my job, every step I take she is behind me suggesting more efficient ways of doing things and highlighting my mistakes. She may as well come into work with a six foot post it note with the words 'Sack him' written on it and stick it to my back. My team leader thinks I'm just being sensitive, she told me to relax and that there is space for everyone in the office. I hope she's right!

The morning before Meryl

After a slippy start to the morning I trudged my way into work, skating across the pavements and sludging through the snow. Had I not had a lunch-date I'd have swapped my smart attire for waterproof pants and wellies. There was no need for thick soled footwear as the thought of lunch with Meryl the model kept me upright for the rest of the morning. Not even the frantic demands of the team could keep the spring from my step as I floated from one administrative task to another. I felt as light as a feather, nothing weighing me down, as I took a tea break I mused on the giddy feeling in my belly and thought 'this is what love must feel like'. It was so bizarre, falling for a woman I had not yet met. As the clock struck twelve I swept out of the door in a cloud of cologne. I wanted to make an entrance, to be the best that I could be. I had a positive feeling about this one.

Meryl

I met my second date yesterday lunch-time and I was rather nervous beforehand. We chatted for an hour on the telephone on Sunday when she told me all about her career as a model in the 80's, 90's through to today. 'Rest assured Moonlove,' I thought. 'At least she will be well turned out.' So last night I carefully prepared my outfit for today, a lemon coloured shirt complemented by a sweater in a biscuit shade, beige slacks and my best shoes - a light loafer with leather soles. I spent the evening beard trimming and pruning myself. This morning I arose early to shower and shape my unruly locks. I checked myself in the mirror before I left the flat. A vision in brown looked back. With confidence I stepped into the dark, snowy morning and slipped flat onto my backside, leaving an imprint of my bottom in the snow. I knew I should have worn my wellies.

Susanna

In terms of quantity of dates I suppose you could say my Lonely Hearts ad has been a success. In terms of quality, well there is a lot to be desired. I met Susanna on Monday, perfectly nice woman but I am surprised she managed to leave the house let alone organise a lunch date in our local vegan cafe. It took me a good hour on the bus to get there and when I did I received a text to say she would be another forty five minutes. There was nothing to explain her late arrival other than a particularly lethargic demeanour. Judging my the state of her hair and her attire she hadn't been spending three quarters of an hour getting dressed up. Not that a woman should, but a bit of powder and lipstick doesn't go amiss. I imagine she used that time to psyche herself up to leave the house as she preceded to talk in length about her numerous allergies and phobias which would put Dr Gillian McKeith to shame. She ordered a strange smelling brown rice dish and I had a leathery bean burger, strange as it was the texture of over cooked meat. As she lurched from one downbeat topic to another I decided to draw a close to the evening with a self sent text and a white lie. As I sat on the bus home I justified my action with the thought that somewhere out there is another sad sack in organic cotton and tie dye just waiting to meet Susanna. But I can happily say that person is not me.

Jacob's Join

A friend recently told me about a new lunch time ritual which has been introduced at his workplace. It's called a Jacob's Join, whereby everyone in the office brings in an item of food to share at lunchtime. Why people can't just eat their tuna sarnies in peace I don't know, but anyway it's becoming popular in many offices up and down the country. It could be with the recession nipping at our ankles we're all feeling a bit more caring, a bit more sharing. Or it could be that everyone's a bit short of cash and can't afford anything to go with a large tub of discounted potato salad. Whatever the reason it looks like we'll be following suit in the office tomorrow. I was dreading it until our new manager announced that we can bring in meat as well as veggie dishes, the whole of my team are veggie and I had visions of me having to choose between mung bean fritters or sweet potato curry for lunch. I shall keep the harridans from my team at bay by taking my favourite party food - cheese and ham quiche and a selection of sausage rolls. Unlike at last year's 'Vegetarian Lunch to Share' I shan't be hiding the meat content in my offerings. Last year I was hiding in the men's toilet picking lardons out of a pasta dish I'd brought, half expecting my team leader to come screaming down the stairs and launch a frenzied verbal attack for daring to cross her desk with meat. How was I to know lardons were made of bacon? Fingers crossed tomorrow I can tuck into my grub without being surrounded by office scavengers. You never know I might just get the whole quiche to myself. Yum!

Vapour Rub

I have pes planus, more commonly known as flat feet. In the colder months it's not too bad, my arch supports sit quite nicely in winter shoes. In summer it can be hell, not only do I contend with chaffing of the thighs but my foot problem limits my footwear choices to expensive summer shoes or arch supports poking out of the sides of my trusty sandals. Fed up of my moaning my daughter dragged me to a specialist shop to have my feet measured and fitted with supportive sandals. So there I was on the hottest day of the year having my perspiration drenched feet handled by a delicate young woman with manicured hands and no obvious sense of smell. I suppose shoe sales people must become accustomed to smelly feet. Either that or they go to work with vapour rub smeared under their nostrils. After a good ten minutes of measuring and requests to cross and uncross my leg, the lady with the smell impairment disappeared to the stock room and returned with a pair of sturdy sandals which could see me to Lands End and back. As I considered the hefty price tag she gently reminded me the future consequences of wearing ill fitting shoes. No sooner than she could say crippling back pain she had made another sale to the gullible bloke with arch supports.

Clowns Convention

After a good whipping from the wind this morning I decided to pop into town on my lunch break to purchase a hat. Now I don't know about you but I find the style of today somewhat outlandish. Last week I saw a young woman strolling about the shops in pyjama bottoms, stack shoes and a jacket fashioned from Bacofoil. For this reason I tend to steer clear of all the high street stores and shop in a trusty hiking shop I've been frequenting for years. It took a good twenty minutes to weave my way through the town centre and despite the squally winds and lashing rain plenty of folk were out shopping. In fact I could go as far as saying the high street resembled a Clowns Convention, it was all mismatched clothing, bovver boots and heavily made up young ladies with rags in their hair. What young woman wants to go swanning about the shops with a face made up like Coco the Clown's? Many it would seem. One hip young thing had sickle shaped jet black eyebrows with bright blonde hair and her friend wore a red lipstick smile which wouldn't look out of place in the circus. After the impromptu fashion parade I finally made it to my favourite hiking shop only to find it closed down two months ago and I had to head back into town to search for suitable headgear. What a day!

Halloween

Sorry for the delay in posting, I have been somewhat incapacitated. After much deliberation I decided to go to the Halloween Singles Night as Dr Death and made a floor length cloak from some long black velour fabric I mysteriously located under the kitchen sink. I looked superb in my black shirt, matching black slacks and cloak. I was just about to paint my face a putrid green when the doorbell, it was my daughter's boyfriend. As I went for the door I trod on my cloak, falling forwards and landing on my wrist in a bone snapping manner. Gosh it hurt! After a few minutes writhing around on the floor I pulled myself up and let him in. After an hour hugging a bag of frozen peas the swelling still hadn't gone down, so we trundled off to A+E. After half an hour sat next to a pumkin with a twisted ankle a kindly nurse inspected my injury. It turned out to be a bad sprain. I was suitably bandaged, advised and sent home. I sat at the kitche table feeling maudlin, I had ripped my party outfit, my arm was in a sling and had nothing else to wear. Then my daughter's boyfriend had a superb idea. He rushed out to the shop for a box of chocolates, came back and we scoffed half the box. He told me to undo a few buttons on my shirt. My daughter applied a few plasters and some fake blood to my face. My daughter suggested I arrive at the party through the Emergency Exit, I did and all the alarms sounded, adding to the drama of my Halloween party character. A rather dishevelled looking Milk Tray Man! Who got the rest of the chocolates? Well that would be telling...

Hester

I got a little more than I bargained for when I popped into the bakers for an egg custard this morning. I was quietly shuffling around at the front of the queue when Hester, the rather loud and ample bakery owner ushered me to the till and gave me a sly wink as she handed me my desert.
'I hoped you would come in today,' she hissed as if under surveillance. I looked at her quizzically.
'I saw your ad,' she mouthed silently. She pulled a saucy face. I tried to look blank but slowly felt myself redden as the other customers looked onto this strange charade.
She pushed her soft fleshy frame from behind the counter.
'I thought you might want to join me,' she said thrusting a flyer into my palm. 'I'm going as Lady Lucifer. I'd love you to come.'
I did not dare look at the invite for fear of combusting. Instead I mumbled a thanks, said I'd let her know and made my way out of the shop, past a line of sniggering office workers.
I checked the invite back at the office. It was for Fright Night - a terribly named Halloween Singles Night in the function room of a hotel on the outskirts of town. It promised to be the 'Most Flirty Night of the Year' with a troupe of Saucy Devils on hand to introduce guests and add to the party atmosphere. The last time I went to a fancy dress party was a hospital radio fundraiser, I went as the Green Man and Ray went as the Red Man. We caused quite a stir, especially as Ray was on a drinking binge and knocked a tray of drinks onto me causing my green body paint to run. I looked more like a zombie on his way to the swimming baths than a character from the pedestrian crossing. So as you can imagine reading Hester's invite my head said no, but my heart said yes especially when I spotted Hester's phone number jotted on the bottom of the invite in red glitter pen. All I need to decide on is my outfit.

Fur

Returned home exhausted after a day lugging Dad's shopping about town to discover a lounge full of those fur lined boots young women seem to favour these days. Too tired to complain I flopped down amongst them and duly fell asleep. I woke up two hours later to the sound of my daughter's boyfriend lifting and thrutching heavy footwear laden boxes out of the room. As I he wobbled out of the room he tripped over an expensive looking handbag and thrust it into the box. Something strange is afoot.

Tandem of Life

After much deliberation and many mugs of milky cocoa my daughter's boyfriend and I decided I should write my personals ad in a comical manner. So instead of saying 'Friendly hospital radio DJ seeks funny lady with nice figure and a bob or two' we decided to put 'Penniless shock jock seeks lady of means to join me on the tandem of life. Let me dedicate the next one to you.' We handed our evening's work to my daughter, she furrowed her brow and said it doesn't make any sense. Her boyfriend has already placed the ad in the paper. I hope it's a success.

Geese

I came to my rebranding exercise this evening with a mug of warm milk, open mind and list of qualities I would like in a woman. I would like someone who surprises me with a cup of fennel tea and a sardine toastie. Someone who volunteers to massage my feet in an evening after I've spent a long day walking back and forth to the photocopy room. A lady who likes to be active and takes care of herself but doesn't go to extreme lengths. My Ex used to ration my sugar intake and regularly hide the biscuits in a bid to keep me trim, I always had a chocolate bar hidden in the seam of my rucksack for emergencies. I would like someone who likes to laugh but not too loudly, my Ex had a honking laugh akin to a gaggle of over excited geese that have cornered you on a canal tow path. As with these feathered fiends you were never sure when she'd turn aggressive. So I came to the kitchen table with my list of requirements and my daughter's boyfriend told me to tear it up and be happy if I met a female. And then he set about wording my personals ad. I have to say it's getting rather exciting!

Rebranding

Got talking to my daughter's new boyfriend yesterday evening and despite my initial reservations he is quite a nice chap. I did have a sneaky suspicion that he maybe of man of ill-gotton gains, considering the quantity of electrical equipment that has appeared in our flat lately. Anyway he enlightened me, he said he has a very well paid job in marketing. We got talking about his life, his work and the topic turned to love. Or the lack of love in my life. He suggested I market myself better, create a new, improved brand and he told me in no uncertain terms that I must stop advertising myself in newsagent windows. Only cleaners, dog walkers and people looking to offload faux leather sofas advertise in those sorts of places. So tonight we're creating a brand. The all new, irresistable Dr Moonlove. Fingers crossed he'll find me a new love by Christmas when he secretly plans to whisk my daughter away to sunnier climes. Hope so!

Ill Placed Rucksack

I have been loose of bowel over the weekend, so much so that I dare not venture out. It started on Friday evening on a packed commuter train on my way home from work. As to be expected I was seated by a beautifully attired woman when I felt a rumbling in my guts. I clenched myself hoping the bubbling sensation would subside, at least 'til the next stop when I would be able to alight. But no it continued, unlike our crowded train which was inching forth at the pace of a wounded snail. I weighed up my options; squeeze past lady lovely and through the standing passengers to the loo, thereby losing my seat or sit and wait 'til the next station and make a dash for the platform toilets. I covertly checked for directions to the train toilet. The train ground to a halt. I waited. I wanted to be discreet but my intestines were having none of it, emitting a low, thunderous sound but thankfully no accompanying smell. The driver announced we were stuck in a tunnel and would not be moving for the next five minutes, at least. A collective sigh from the passengers as they slumped down on their bags and briefcases. I was starting to sweat, I couldn't hold on much longer. That was it I had to go. With directions to the nearest toilet cubicle insight I gathered my belongings and edged my way past Miss Fancy Pants. All was going well as I made it to the aisle, the toilet door was in sight and it was unlocked. Result! I carried on my quest, politely squashing my way past men, women and a dog until I reached the cubicle door and tripped over an ill placed rucksack and expelled the most noxious of fumes. A young man came to my aid but was repelled by the odour - a smell so strong it could be used as a natural pest repellent. I felt so embarrassed I hid in the toilet for twenty minutes until my intestinal fireworks had finished and we reached my station. As I dashed through the door the crowd parted and it was then I realised that bad guts can have hidden benefits and broke wind all the way home.

Obsolete

As the colder months draw in I decided to sign up to one of those online DVD rental sites. Yes folks it's true, my trusty old Betamax player has had it's day and has now been relegated to the electrical scrap heap in the sky. I took all my old Betamax films to the car boot sale in the hope of selling a few to local traders but I was laughed off the market, apparently Betamax was phased out some time in the late 80's. News to me. Anyway my daughter's boyfriend brought round a brand new DVD player and wide screen TV. He has very kindly installed it in our lounge and gave me some recommendations of films to watch. I spent most of the evening ordering them online, retiring to bed at a very late hour. I slept fitfully and dreamt of films being delivered. I say dream it was more like a nightmare, I was locked in the flat unable to escape whilst the postman delivered Rom-Com after Rom-Com - incidentally my Ex's favourite film genre. The nightmare ended when I was forced to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral for the 49th time - not too far from the truth I have been subjected to it at least 25 times with my Ex. I woke up in a cold sweat with a bad taste in my mouth. Hurridly I rushed to the lounge and switched on my PC to check for any signs of Hugh Grant on my order list and thankfully there were none. What a relief!

Top Tip

I went to stay with my cousin this weekend. Nora is a real inspiration, she is a busy mum of three and runs a successful Life Coaching business. She shared this Top Tip for those of you who are time poor.
'Don't waste time shredding your bank statements, simply fold them inside a soiled nappy, bag and bin them. Anyone wishing to root around inside a dirty nappy is welcome to my money.'
What a scent-sible idea I thought and asked her if I could share it with you. I guess if you don't have a dirty nappy to hand you could always use a dog's pooh bag.

Tight

'Money Is Too Tight Too Mention', as Mr Simply Red might say. In a bid to cut our fuel bills I have implemented two new house rules, the heating should only be in operation between the hours of 5-8pm and at all other times we wear winter woolies when we feel a chill. The penalty for having the heating on outside these hours is a fiver. Should stop my daughter padding around in next to nothing with the radiator on full blast. I have also been turning off all the lights in rooms that aren't in use. Last night I didn't see my daughter's boyfriend in the kitchen and plunged him into darkness as he was fixing the pipe under the sink. Alarmed he jumped up and whacked his head on the cupboard under the sink. I have also been switching off the TV and have taken to reading the TV guide over breakfast instead. Rather good because you can catch up on all programmes simultaneously without the hassle of channel surfing.

Disintegrating Shopping Bags

Now the weather has turned a shade colder I have been rooting around in search of suitable attire. My red knitted bobble hat complete with pom pom has gone awol as has my much loved, cosy ski jumper. I've had both items for twenty years or more, they may have gone a little saggy and bobbly in the wash but they're comforting and most importantly warm. Unable to locate half of my winter wardrobe my daughter Louise suggested I buy some new winter clothes. I pleaded poverty and was about to head out to the local charity shop (where I had originally purchased my red hat and ski jumper) when Louise scampered about in her room, coming out seconds later with £50 in her hand. 'Buy a decent jumper dad', she said folding the notes into my palm. Thankfully her mobile rang and she darted off to her room, giving me chance to pop the money back in her purse and make it out of the door. I caught the bus into town and strided past the large chain stores, just then I caught sight of my Ex - she of the acid tongue - edging her way out of a well known discount retailer, loaded down with five full paper bags of cheap undergarments and the like. The heavens had opened and a deluge of rain drenched everyone shopping. I didn't want to help as my Ex's new knickers spilled forth from soggy shopping bags so I took refuge in the nearest charity shop, only to be confronted by my red bobble hat and ski jumper. I think someone has been up to some tricks.

The Holiday

It's been three weeks since I returned from my break away with Ray and memories of the hellish holiday are seared onto my brain, like a toddler's indelible crayon etchings on a freshly painted wall. During the last four days of the holiday I put 'Operation Special Brew' into action. The aim was to pull Ray out of his depression without the use of strong alcohol. I withdrew my savings and drew up an action plan. On the first day we went bowling. I was shocked at the steep price for each game. As the cost was coming out of my pocket I feigned a twisted ankle and hobbled to and from the alley in a slow and laborious manner, just to keep the game going for longer. Afterwards I bought a cheap loaf of white bread and a bag of chips to share. On day two we had enough cash to catch the bus to the next town, we spent the morning in a quirky little museum with dusty stuffed animals and skeletons and the afternoon in a greasy cafe playing dominoes. We saved all the excitement for day three, a trip to a local funfair complete with rickety rides and heavily tattooed men with missing teeth and gold jewellery. Embarrasingly Ray won a soft toy on hook a duck and squealed with delight, eliciting some unfriendly stares from the hard nuts standing around nearby. After three rides on the Mexican Wave and two bags of Candy Floss we felt suitably sick and returned back to the caravan. On our last day we set ourselves the task of buying unusual gifts from the local pound and charity shops, the person with the best array of booty for £10 won. Ray came back with a collection of peg dolls for his neice, a creepy looking picture of Pierrot for his sister, a cheap looking satin cushion for his mother and an earthenware jug from Paxos for his sponser. I spent a pound on a glittery purse for my daughter Louise and saved the rest. Ray went ballistic, said he couldn't take all the tat he had bought back it was all non-returnable. I ignored him, it was sweet revenge for such a shockingly awful holiday.

Festering

Five days into our holiday the sun came out, by this point we had exhausted all board and card games and had took to playing 'eye spy'. I noticed Ray's mood was sinking by the day, when the sun came out Ray was glum. He felt guilty for dragging me out to such a dismal place and he felt sorry for lying. You see Ray had told me the holiday was a treat paid for by himself for wrecking my flat in a fit of drunken behaviour, when infact the whole break away was booked and paid for by Ray's sponser on the condition a sober friend accompany Ray. Although I do enjoy the odd tipple Ray decided he would use the holiday as a way of apologising for his misdemeaners before he got clean and sober. As the day went on and the sun shone brighter Ray became more melancholy. I tried to jolly him along but it was to no avail. His depression turned to anger and it was at this point I decided to call his sponser, if he booked and paid for this sheer atrocity of a holiday he was sure as anything going to get us home. He must have known what was waiting for us some two hundred miles from our home town. But alas there was no signal. Out of desperation I came up with a plan, I dragged Ray across town to the nearest cashpoint and withdrew a large chunk of my savings. i bought us a brew in the bus station cafe and drew up an action plan of places to go and things to do. maybe I should have used the money to get out of there and leave Ray festering there for the next week or help. I decided to help.

Danger

Entering a pub with a sober alcoholic is dicey at the best of times. As you may already be aware Ray came out of rehab little over a year ago and at every opportunity renounces drink with extended lectures and discussions on the nature of addiction. It's interesting at first but can get a little wearing. In times of 'danger' Ray will often ramp up the volume on such discussions, to the point they became like sermons on the evils of drink. And he delivers them not only to the person he is with but to anyone who will listen. Simply walking within 50 metres of a pub is a 'danger zone' never mind stepping into a campsite 'fun pub' with more in common with the Wild West than Wales. I didn't want to go in there, after witnessing the trail of destruction left by Ray's last drinking binge I didn't fancy getting caught in the chaos again but Ray was adament it would be okay. We ordered two coffees and sat by the window watching the rain bucket down outside. Ray began a monologue on how good he felt now he is sober, I tried to steer him away from the topic especially as two tough looking men were within earshot but Ray rattled on. His speech became louder and louder until two women staggered away from the bar and into our table. Finally he stopped, I noticed his cup was empty and seized my moment. Claiming hunger I urged him to venture out into the rain and into town for a fish supper. Two bags of chips later we were on safe ground, nursing tea in a bus station cafe. Never have I been more pleased to be drinking from a polystyrene cup than a pint glass.

Cockerel

Residing in towns and cities most of my life I have never been woken up by the sound of a cockerel before. Until I took my two weeks away with Ray. At precisely three thirty every morning Mr Cockadoodledooh and his feathered friends took it upon themselves to alert all the unhappy campers that they were awake. Why oh why did the campsite owner, the rather disagreeable chap on reception, took to keeping poultry on a campsite is anyone's guess. What use are three cockerels without any hens? After three sleepless nights I took it to be a form of torture and bought earplugs, which had little effect. Indeed most of the people staying on the site resembled the walking dead in the daytime. Aside from the living hell of little sleep Ray and I were playing a losing battle with the weather and a caravan that could have doubled as a seive. The heavens opened as I nursed a hot sweet tea and a headache on my first morning and did not stop until the evening of our fifth night, if it wasn't torrential downpours it was showers or driving rain. Every type of rain cloud stopped by our campsite that week to say 'hi' and drop its watery load. We couldn't cook as our four pans were ringing to the sound of rain dripping in from every corner of the caravan. After twelve games of Guess Who and Rummikub we headed off to the site's 'fun pub' and that's when things turned sour.

Trouble and Strife

'Larger than life' is how many people describe my friend Ray, however I feel the phrase 'Trouble and Strife' is more fitting. This summer I took two weeks off work to join Ray on an all expenses paid luxury camping trip, it would have been better spent making paper airplanes from five pound notes and launching them out of the window. I'd be better off financially. I took three trains and two taxis to a remote campsite somewhere in Wales, after wrangling with an argumentative chap on reception I was finally admitted to the site. Trudging through the mud in the dark I located the caravan, a rust bucket from the 60's. I was horrified but Ray didn't seem to phased. He let me in and thrust a bundle of musty covers into my arms, suggesting I 'Get some kip before the cockerel starts up'. Left in the tiny lounge area I made my bed on a damp sofa and hoped I would wake somewhere else.

Arachnid Invasion

For the past week I have noticed a sudden influx of spiders into my flat. The eight legged critters are claiming asylum in my living room, bathroom and more worringly my bedroom. Just this morning I awoke to the sound of a blood curdling scream, I stumbled onto the landing to find my daughter's new boyfriend cowering in a corner as a spider the size of a toddlers hand made it's way across the floor, in the uncertain, crazy way spiders often do. Two years ago I would have seen it off with the sole of my Croc however I have since read that the male spider is really brave and has plucked up the courage to go out into the unknown to find a mate. He doesn't have long to live so he blindly fumbles about chatting up pieces of fluff, and hopefully a real life lady spider, until they succumb to his charms. As a single man myself I can empathise with the poor arachnids plight. Poor begger only has a week or two tops to find a lovely leggy lady, have his merry way with her and then carks it. In my mind it's more reason to give him all the help I can, even if it's with a glass and a piece of card and a shove into the garden where I'm sure he'll be better placed to find the spider of his dreams, without having to wade through the dust behind my settee. My daughter, the modern feminist that she is, says that is an extra reason to rid our home of eight legged fiends. Especially if they're men on the hunt females. She says who needs a man who has his wicked way and then walks out leaving you with hundreds of little ones to look after! I'd never looked at it from mother spider's perspective but then why would I? I'm not a spider.

Back home

Never have I been more pleased to see the stains on my hallway carpet than I have today. Coming back home after two hellish weeks away with Ray was emotional. I made myself a hot, sweet tea and marvelled at my humble flat. My beautiful palace. It maybe strewn with my daughter's laundry and dirty cups but it's my sanctuary away from the walking disaster that is Ray. I swear I will never, ever go on holiday with that man again!

Camping

The last time I ventured out of town for a holiday was seven years ago. My Ex and I took my daughter, then a raging bag of thirteen year old hormones, to a run down campsite in the middle of a sheep field somewhere in Sussex. It was the May bank holiday week and rained continuously. It was long before broadband or digital TV reached the nether regions of the UK, so we spent our days playing cards, watching a crackly portable TV and waiting for an hourly bus service to the nearest seaside resort, which comprised of a tiny pebble beach and the same chains of shops we had back home, only smaller. We considered leaving after three days, then my Ex pointed out we'd have to pay an extra £100 on the train as our tickets were advance purchase. So we stuck it out miserably. Since that dreary week I've rarely ventured out of town, other than to haul Dad back when he's got stranded on one of his million mile walks, so it came as quite a surprise to receive not one but two invites to go away this summer. One from Windy Posh Boy Piers, travelling the length of the States promoting his 'Tummy Cuddler' and the other joining my friend Ray on a camping excursion. Ray is adament that he wants to repay me for putting him up at my flat just prior to him going into rehab. I would prefer that he pays for some of the damage he caused to my flat rather than take me away on a luxury Motorhome trip but he has been begging me to go with him and promises everything will be taken care of - breakfast, lunch, dinner, alcohol free drinks and all snacks. He has even promised an evening out to the local observatory. I'd be daft to say no.

Austerity

Since Head Office announced cut backs last month a key challenge has been ensuring the team are made aware of any changes in stationary ordering. Last week I requested the team use the refillable biros which have been lurking in the bottom of the stationary cupboard for six months and seek out any discarded paper clips. Not an austerity measure as such but more of a test of how dedicated they are to making savings within the department. Head Office emailed all departmental administrators with the promise of restaurant vouchers for the department making the most savings. Today I flagged up to the team that I was ordering a lighter gram of copier paper. I sent three emails all outlining the move towards a cheaper paper and received no response. When I have those vouchers in hand I'm sure they'll come swarming around my desk, 'til then I shall soldier on making necessary tweaks to all stationary orders.

Tummy Cuddler

Just returned from my Stretch and Yoga class where I got talking to Windy Posh Boy Piers. Or rather the motor mouthed entrepeneur held me hostage with a barrage of words. Once he starts talking it's difficult to escape. Thankfully today he had a bus to catch so kept it, relatively, short. As I may have mentioned earlier Piers is a celebrated author in the field of digestive health, publishing a true life account of his quest to relieve himself of irritable bowl syndrome. He is regularly jetting off the the States to answer television phone in queries regarding spastic colons, excessive flatulence and loose motions. Over there they adore his English accent and no doubt they will love his latest invention, a revolutionary stomach massager to relax stressed bowels and provide relief. As he told me about it he pulled an ominous looking object from his bag. I thought it was some sort of torture device until I read the garish packaging, it said 'The Tummy Cuddler - give your gut a hug'. Piers is keen for me to join him on a tour of the States and the UK demonstrating 'The Tummy Cuddler' on live television. He told me to think about it and he'd get back to me in the week. Dad thinks its a great opportunity, I'm not so sure...

Love is in the air

I spent this afternoon at Dad's, sleeping off one of Mrs Maithwaite's fat laden roast dinners. The woman loves lard, her potatoes are rolled in buckets of the stuff, how they every crisp up is anyone's guess. No doubt Dad will be waving a glum farewell to his thirty inch waist combats and muttering an unwelcome greeting to stretch top jeans once they're wed. They've announced a late summer wedding, so late it's practically an Indian summer wedding. The 7th September. Unusual date as its not special to either of them in any way. I think Dad hauled me back to school after the summer break whilst I cried into my balaclava on the 7th September many moons ago but I cannot think of any other significance. Anyway it's the date they've chosen and they're happy with it. Tuesday 7th September 2010. yes it falls on a Tuesday, another frankly bizarre decision. I know she doesn't like fuss but still a Tuesday. Not even Tuesday evening so I can book the next day off work to soothe my post wedding hangover. No the wedding is Tuesday morning, followed by a light lunch and reception at a cafe-bar in town. Dad even told Louise she needn't cancel her yoga class that evening as 'we should be done by three.' Dad is also adament I bring a female guest. Take a woman to my father's Tuesday morning wedding and reception where she'll have to remain sober whilst being quizzed by Dad's odd bod walking friends. What a strange affair it will be.

Herb tea

I am pleased to report I made a full recovery after twelve hours spent hugging the toilet and lost 6lbs in the process. To celebrate I took an extra days sick leave and skipped along to my Stretch & Yoga Class. There was no faffing this morning, our space-cake teacher had the community centre unlocked before our arrival and had even laid out the yoga mats in preparation. Surprisingly windy posh boy Piers stepped to it, eschewing his usual ten minute monologue and going straight into a series of sun salutations. Sixty five minutes later and I was strolling back home, listening to the birds in the trees and thinking of the playlist for tonight's show at Portland Hospital Radio. I felt at peace, no stress, no distractions just peaceful. I got home, made a cammomile tea, threw the junk mail in the recycling and sat down to a slice of quiche my daughter baked last night. I ate it slowly savouring every mouthful, being mindful of my fork scraping the plate, really tasting the peppery flavour of the pre-packed watercress I had to accompany my home made delight. I practised mindfulness for a full three minutes. And then I thought, so what now? I felt restless. I felt bored. I thought 'where is the excitement'? Then I dropped the scalding herb tea bag on my foot and the phone rang, it was work. It was a relief.

Meal for One

I'm sick. Properly poorly with vomiting, fever and the sweats. It's either a bug triggered by the high temperatures or my microwave malfunctioned last night and my prawn korma for one wasn't warmed through properly. I threw up on the train this morning, narrowly missing a woman on her way to work dressed in summer whites. Thankfully the contents of my stomach emptied out onto my sandals, not her expensive leather ones, and soaked right through my socks. I have to go, the ginger and lemon tea my daughter made me isn't settling my stomach and I can barely see the keyboard, ideally I'd like to keep it bile free. I'll update you when I can tear myself away from the Armitage Shanks again.

Butterflies

How is it when love comes calling your wardrobe resembles the aftermath of a jumble sale? Spent an hour debating what to wear for last night's broadcast, just in case the lovely lady from Urology stopped by with a request. In the end I plumped for a light cotton/polyester mix shirt in jazzy colours, my new sandals, lightweight cotton slacks and matching socks. When I arrived at Portland Hospital Radio I came over all a quiver, thinking about a possible encounter with my fantasy woman. I was trembling so much I couldn't operate the cross fader, my voice was shaky and I had butterflies in my stomach. I had to play an eight minute Dire Straits guitat solo and have a hot sweet tea before I could go back on air. I put out a call for requests and a few came in from the ante natal ward to mark the birth of a few babies and that was it. Nothing else. Post show I hung around the station for a while before I had to leave to get the last bus home. With all that preparation I felt like I had been stood up.

Stars

Just read my stars for tomorrow as predicted by the cuddly sweater fetishist astrologer in my local paper. He says 'You have issues this week, you work your way through the days with a furrowed brow and a glum face. A chance encounter with the colour red may leave you amazed. I hear the clicking of a high shoe on a tiled floor. Destiny sees a cracked mirror, fix it.' After reading it I cut my thumb on a half open can of baked beans. I think there could be some truth in the rotund soothsayer's words.

Rain or Shine

Difficult to gauge the weather at the moment so I am dressing for every eventuality, rain or shine I am determined not be caught out. This morning I went to work in a lightweight shirt, kagoule, three quarter length trousers and sandals. Glad I remembered my wellies as there was a light shower when I left the office at lunch time and there is nothing worse than wet socks with sandals. Feeling in the mood for music I stopped by Portland Hospital Radio on my way home from work to play a selection of weather related music, 'Rain or Shine' by Five Star, 'Its Raining Men' by the Weather Girls and Nik Kershaw's 'I Won't Let the Sun Go Down on Me'. I felt very pleased post show when a lady from the Urology Unit stopped by the studio to point out the last record wasn't strictly weather related, it was fantastic to receive feedback especially from someone of the opposite gender. Life is looking up!

Voting

Got absolutely drenched as I went to the polling station yesterday, so much so I left a puddle of water behind after casting my vote. I was worried the volume of water dripping off my 'stay dry' polythene mac would spoil my vote. I hope the rather well dressed lady who came in behind me didn't slip. Or worse still think I'd peed myself. Afterwards I made a sharp exit from the church hall only to come face to face with my local councillor who I voted against. I considered telling him but instead smiled, wished him 'good day' and went on my way. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Moobs

Despite my recent attempts at exercise I have been unable to shift any excess weight. My daughter has suggested I swap my creamy puddings for more healthy options such as yoghurt or fruit. So yesterday evening I had a can of tinned peaches in syrup with a light sprinking of sugar and a tub of single cream. Delicious! Still I am saddled with a bloggers bottom and a fine set of 'moobs'. I had never heard this term until I began my Stretch and Yoga Class. Whilst waiting to go into class last weekend I noticed my chest is more ample than some of the women's. I felt very self conscious and zipped up my fleecey jacket so they wouldn't notice. I was sweltering! After class I stripped down to my vest to walk home until a group of feral youths pointed out my size B's in a very forthright manner. The embarrassment makes me cringe now.

Beard

Shaved off my rather abundant beard this morning as my daughter said I looked like a hirsute potato. It took a brand new three pack of disposable razors and half a can of shaving foam to relieve my face of it's winter blanket. Thinking nothing of it I bundled my beard into the kitchen bin, complete with toe nail clippings and the remains of last night's fish supper. Some three hours later I was awoken from a mid afternoon nap to find Vera from the downstairs flat rapping on my door with gusto. She dragged me down to see her garden, a miniscule flower bed she has claimed as her own from the communal land which surrounds our block of flats. I sensed an air of unease as she cursed the sea gulls and unbolted the multitude of locks adorning her back door. And then it all became apparent as she pushed me outside, dustpan and brush in hand. It seems those wretched birds had tore open my bin bag, scattering fish bones and large tufts of my beard all over Vera's newly blossomed Hydrangeas. My heart fell as she looked on, I dropped to my knees and began clearing the mess. It took two hours to de-fuzz her flowers and clear up the rogue bits of toe nail nestled in her plants and she didn't once offer me a cup of tea! Next time I'll go to the barbers, at least I'll get a brew there.

Positive Energy

Received a rather unsettling card in the post. The front depicts a large bunch of tulips in a vase and inside it reads 'Friends are like flowers they brighten up your day', a nice sentiment although not wholly true. A majority of my friendships from the past ended in disaster. One good friend stole my wife and another took on the guise of an internet lover to fraudulently relieve me of my savings. He still hasn't been sentenced. The card was sent by Ray, you may remember him as the close friend who smashed up my flat in a drunken rampage. Since successfully completing rehab he is training for some sort of life coach qualification. These days I try to avoid him whenever possible as he spends the entire time dissecting his own life or furrowing his brow for answers about mine. What should be a light hearted chat over herb tea usually turns into a a two hour discussion on the 'barriers we build in life' or some other twaddle. Anyway the card is an invite to a seminar Ray is holding called 'Release Positive Energy into YOUR life', I am reluctant to attend but feel obliged as it's Ray's first seminar and I should support him. The card suggests I wear comfy clothes as we will be doing some 'light movement' and bring a ten pound donation. I am hoping Ray will waive the fee as he still owes me a few hundred pounds to replace my smashed furniture and light fittings he ripped from the wall. Somehow I think he won't.

Cobra

Back to work and been relegated to back office tasks such as filing, cupboard clearing and leaflet ordering. I've even been taken off telephone duties as my team leader wants to 'ease me back in'. I feel like a dog with one of those lampshade thingies on my head, everyone wants to pet me but they daren't come too close in case I snap. Either that or they are too busy to stop and chat. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself until I realised I could hole myself up in the downstairs filing room with the crackly stereo from the kitchen and a mug of milky tea. After an hours worth of filing I took a well deserved break and began some yoga moves amid the boxes of filing. Just as I was sliding into cobra from plank the door went. It was my team leader having a nose. When she saw me led on the floor she panicked and asked if I was okay. I could hardly come up into cobra so I carried on lying face down on the floor, claiming five minutes lying prostrate was beneficial to my condition. It must have seemed odd me addressing her calloused feet as she crouched down to my level and addressed me in soothing tones. Strange but frankly very reassuring.

Hot Air

Got chatting to windy posh boy Piers before this morning's Bend & Snap, I mean Stretch & Yoga Class. As it turns out he is a published author with three books under his belt. In fact they could be described as three books concerning the rumblings under his belt. His first publication was a non fictional account of his terrible digestive system entitled 'My Life With An Irritable Bowel' and the second was a similar tell-all account of his gut disorder called 'Live Again! Unleash The Grip of a Spastic Colon', sadly it was only available in the States where, he tells me, he promoted the book on talk shows similar to This Morning. Somehow I can imagine him waffling away on the couch with Holly and Phil, he was talking non-stop for a good fifteen minutes before he passed wind and everyone waiting for the class had to move to a less noxious spot. I suppose on live TV they'd just cut to the next item if he let rip on air. I couldn't make out what his most recent publication was about as everyone was scrabbling to find a place on the floor for downward dog but no doubt he'll fill me in next time. He loves to talk does Piers, in fact some might say 'he's full of hot air'! Not me of course...

Heathen

Returned to the doctor on Monday to collect my 'Fit Note'. He outlined that I am fit to do all administrative tasks except for heavy lifting or strenuous manual work. So with that I've taken this week as leave and will be back to the grindstone on Monday. My team leader suggested I drop by the office today to have an 'informal discussion' about working practices. Wanting to maintain an air of calm I bobbed along to my over fifties stretch and yoga class beforehand. Arriving early I was greeted by the only other chap in the group, an odd sort called Piers who purports to be posh but is simply a heathen. Last week he broke wind during an exercise involving a belt and a leg stretching exercise and started to laugh inappropriately. A lovely lady by the name of Magda was trying to engage me in a conversation about gluten free cooking, when he chipped in with a very strange aside. He started going on about a chap he knew who was on a gluten free diet after being diagnosed with a bowel disorder. Some months later he was rushed into hospital to have a cyst removed. The operation was pretty straight forward but had a rather unsavory outcome, the cyst was large and globular and actually had hair, nails and teeth. Piers said that his friend knew Piers would not believe him so presented it to him in a sealed plastic cup. As he recalled the story he began scrabbling around in his ancient sports holdall, saying that he always kept it on him as proof. Upon hearing this Magda's jaw dropped, I felt myself wretch and Piers began guffawing uncontrollably until Miss Zen our yoga teacher arrived to halt the bizarre proceedings. Thankfully Piers gruesome treasure was not revealed but it was then I had a mini epiphany. I wondered if I had been such hard work for Louise since I'd been languishing at home, with my own brand of insane cabin-fever humour. After half an hour of downward dogging I decided that yes I had been a handful at home and resolved to make amends with Louise and with my team leader during our afternoon chat.

Chocolate Nest

It's nearly been a month since I ventured out of the flat. For the most part its been due to crippling back pain, although I admit a little agrophobia has kicked in. The last time I feared leaving my front door was straight after the end of my marriage when I found myself in a poky bedsit at the wrong end of town. Not even an infestation of nocturnal slugs in the shared kitchen could prize me away from the four walls of my dreadful abode. It took my daughter, two friends and four large mugs of tea to persuade me to go forth and conquer the corner shop. Over time my life has been on the up, broadcasting on hospital radio and meeting a variety of interesting women, that was until I got this horrendous back injury at work. Thankfully the pain has eased but I still couldn't pluck up the courage to get out. Until today. I didn't make the exercise class but I did make it to the cake shop and back. I bought two Chorley Cakes, a wholemeal loaf and a chocolate cornflake nest decorated with tiny confectionary eggs. As I toddled home feeling rather chuffed with making social contact two school children gave me the middle finger salute from the back of the bus. I looked behind checking the insult was aimed at me when I promptly slipped in dog muck. Though I managed to stay upright the young ruffians were laughing their scruffy heads off. Any other day it would have been a disaster but today it felt great to be back!

How to leave the flat

My daughter is taking this good Samaritan lark a little too far. If she were not so wonderful I would be nudging her towards the property pages of the local paper. Just woken to discover a step-by-step list on 'How to Leave the Flat', she has laid a pair of loose fitting cotton pants out on the sofa with a matching t-shirt and sports jacket and prepared me a tupperware container stuffed with salad, tofu and beansprouts. The reason? Today is my first exercise and yoga class. Just tried the soft jersey ensemble on. I look like a modern day Oliver Hardy in cheap sports casuals. Not a good look.

Cabin Fever

Another Monday, another day sick leave. I fear I may have 'Cabin Fever' to add to my list of ailments. I looked it up on Wikipedia today and it describes my symptoms precisely. I am irritable, restless and forgetful. I also keep laughing at inopportune moments. Take yesterday for instance, I was doubled over in tears of laughter when Louise slipped on the bathroom floor stubbing her toe and spilling a bottle of bright pink nail varnish. However I became quickly irritated when her foul smelling nail varnish remover failed to clean the shocking pink stain from the bathroom lino. Louise thinks I need to 'get out more'. I'm sleeping most of the day and have gained weight. So much so my stretch top jeans are straining at my expanding girth. Louise says it's not helping my back and I need to get mobile. I tried to explain that not only did I have a bad back but also 'Cabin Fever' when I forgot what I was talking about and had to go back to daytime TV and a round of white bread cheese toasties. Louise has booked me on a gentle exercise and yoga class for the over 50's. She says she'll come with me. I hope I can get out of the house.

Spider

Dad has obviously spent most of the night emailing. Despite his advancing years he often appears less mature than my nineteen year old daughter. Last night’s batch of emails were all entertaining enough except one, he wrote to tell me to check inside the kettle before brewing up. Yesterday he found the remains of a rather large spider that had come to an untimely death in the boiling bowels of his stainless steel filter kettle. He only discovered it when he got to the bottom of his tea cup and saw a rogue leg floating around. During spring spiders can come out of hibernation a tad too early, when the cold night sets in they look for somewhere warm to cosy up and as they are practically blind they often mistake kettles for heating central heating systems and fall in. I forwarded the email to all friends and the team. Although I am off sick I feel everyone should be forewarned.

Top 10 places for love

Hauled myself off the couch and came across this list online...the Top 10 Places To Meet Women. Hmmf, that maybe so but what they don't detail is the encounters you may have, not always pleasant. Here's my experiences so far.

1. The School Reunion - Before it became fashionable to re-aquaint oneself with bullies and creeps from the classroom I ventured along to a reunion, half hoping Miss Shellsby, the short yet attractive PE teacher would be there and she would still be single. It being thirty years since I left school it was highly unlikely however I trundled along in my best clobber hoping to wow fellow graduates with my tales from the frontline of hospital radio and the like. The do was held in the function room of a cocktail lounge in town. Arriving early I perched upon a lofty chrome bar stool with a fancy drink oozing strawberries and alcohol fumes and waited. Three overpriced drinks later I saw tumbleweed blowing across the dancefloor, called it a night when I fell off my stool one drink later.

2. Work - Two words, the team. The closest I have got to an office romance is buying edible underwear for the temp upstairs and that was a Secret Santa gift, so it doesn't count. Okay?!

3. Fitness Club - I realise that my stretch top trousers are straining and I should start buying outsize garments at Atlas Man however it is no reason for me to join a gym, even if love resides behind a weights bench.

4. Wine Tasting Night - My Ex once hosted an 'Evening of Sparkling Perries and Wines from Across the Globe'. It was the start of the 80's, we'd just moved into a semi detached in a relatively affluent area, she wanted to show off her new patio, I ended up vomiting in the flower beds all night. She had a drunken fumble with an accountant from across the road, I caught them at it in the downstairs loo. He moved away soon after, we stayed together for the kids.

5. Park - not sure about this one. I think they mean one may encounter love with a fellow dog walker when out walking. I've never owned a pet but overly familiar chap did try to entice me into the men's toilets with the offer of a 'two for one'. I love a bargain at the best of times but his giddy demeanour made me uneasy. I politely declined and the toilets were closed the week later. Strange one that.

6. Supermarket/DIY store - See I've heard of singles nights in supermarkets but I think they must only happen in places where one can cruise the aisles for an hour or two, wondering which bottle of organic wine would accompany the gourmet celariac mash. Not in a place where you hump around a cardboard box full of groceries, grabbing at the bargain fishcakes and milk before sweating it out at the till as the cashier runs everything through at lightening speed before demanding payment and that you move on PROMPTLY!

7. Book or record shop - Last time I met someone in a book shop was in the self help section. I reached forward for a copy of 'Unleash your Inner Super-Hero', she smiled and recommended it. We got chatting, she bought me coffee, I bought her a bagel. We arranged to meet the following week, same time, same place. I gave her twenty pounds for her train home (she lived in the next city). She didn't show the next week. My daughter told me I'd 'been had'. At the time I thought she was jealous as I'd just split from her mum, looking back she was probably right. These days I go to the library.

8. Dance or yoga class - Don't even go there. I once went to a salsa class, all was going swimmingly until I broke a woman's toe and she accused me of dancing like an uncontrollable tennis ball. Never been back.

9. Party - Chances of me being invited to a proper party these days are similar to me being marooned on a desert island with Sian Williams and a bumper pack of Cream Eggs for company. Highly unlikely but a nice thought anyway. Especially if Bill Turnbull isn't there, or Andrew Castle for that matter. Oops he's the other side isn't he?

10. Through friends - My ex-best friend is now sleeping with my ex-wife. My other best friend smashed up my home, now he is sober he is so fit and toned I can't bear to be seen with him. And my father is marrying a woman half his age.

So there you go, no mention of meeting the love of your life whilst laid up on the sofa with a bad back. So unless I can regain better mobility I am doomed to a life of bachelorhood on the sofa with just the TV remote and the BBC newsreaders for company.

Free Gift

It's been a week since I last posted and for good reason, on Monday I put my back out shifting an excess order of copier paper at work. I was busy fixing a printer jam when my team leader flagged up the arrival of a delivery driver in reception. Knowing her dislike for matters of the administrative variety I hotfooted it back to my desk to be met by a scowling driver and thirty hefty boxes of paper. I exclaimed at the quantity, the driver shrugged and gruffly proclaimed to be parked on 'double yellas'. He urged me to sign the docket and told me to call their office, which I did and was told it was a 'free gift' for loyal custom. I would rather they have sent a fuzzy pom pom with googley eyes to stick on my PC monitor than ten extra boxes of paper. With a reception full of clients, young, old and inebriated I had no choice but to shift the whole lot to an upstairs store room. As my team leader looked on I began loading the trolley, slowly and taking every precaution I could. I saw her look of anxiety as reception got busier still but there was little I could do, other than pile one extra box on the trolley and carefully manouver it on. She commented that I should pick up my speed, so I hurried on but no sooner than you could say 'risk assessment' I was whimpering with pain and clutching at my back. The trolley came crashing down, narrowly missing my toe and reams of paper spilled across the floor. I was sent home in a taxi. My doctor says I have to rest but I'm finding it a struggle.

All Brown

My daughter is a whizz at desserts, she can whip up a bowl of jam roly poly topped with steaming hot custard quicker than I can proclaim to be on a diet. She created a leaning tower of profiteroles for her Italian friend's wedding and won first prize at school for her prized Baked Alaska. She really is the Queen of Puddings. But whilst she is more than capable with 'afters' she completely lacks in 'befores', in fact I could go as far as saying she is a culinary disaster where main courses are concerned. Her steamed mince puddings are flabby, she burns steaks to a cinder and last time we had fish it resembled the sole of my right slipper. Understandably I did not jump for joy when she suggested cooking for us both last night. However it being the first sign of brightness in my daughter since the demise of her international love affair I agreed to her making tea and off she skipped to buy some ingrediants. Now I maybe partially to blame for the concoction she rustled up, my cupboards aren't stocked with chef's basics and neither do I have the time to read cookery books. In fact I imagine Louise gleaned the recipe for tonight's dish from the back of a cereal packet. A high fibre cereal packet at that. As I found out this morning she loaded the lasagne with bran. Aside from the burnt cheese crust it was tasty enough and she served it with a refreshing garden salad. Continuing on a theme dessert was a bran based Apple Crumble. Now this was delicious, melt in the mouth molton apples with a crunchy topping. It was so tasty I had thirds and Louise was smiling from ear to ear. She loves to cook and it melted my heart to see her smile. Indeed I thought of her happy face as I sat in agony on the toilet today, clutching my spasmodic bowel. I am still sure she cooked the meal for love and not for my Ex, who I am hoping didn't suggest the secret high fibre ingrediant.

Valentine's Day

Spent the morning washing my clothes and clearing away chocolate wrappers from behind the sofa. A woman in mouring is certainly a hungry one. How Louise keeps managing to snaffle so many sweet things into the flat is beyond me, especially as she seems to be feigning agrophobia every time I'm around. Perhaps the secret sweet smuggler pops round when I'm out at work, either that or it's the Newsagent's son. Hmmm could be onto something there. Feeling much better than I thought I would on Valentine's Day. Although annoying Louise's mess keeps my mind off my lacklustre love life. It being a Sunday helps too...no chance of the postman not stopping by or my colleagues penning fake cards and laughing into their naturally dyed hemp sweaters. Yes it's a good day for Valentine's.

Impending Doom

Little to report back on this week other than a horrible sense of impending doom as my Ex is due to drop by any moment now. I'm hiding in my bedroom with the laptop and a family pack of supermarket brand biscuits hoping she doesn't come creeping. When she discovered Louise had arrived back in the UK she insisted on coming over. I initially resisted, insisting that Louise meet her on more neutral territory but when it became apparent that Louise could barely make it to the corner shop without breaking down I relinquished and allowed one visit from the Queen of Venom. I think that's the door now, over and out.

Foul Mood

Since returning Louise has done little else but mope around my flat, drinking cold coffee and crying. For the first few days of her stay I offered tea, sympathy and a generous supply of chocolate and gossip magazines but I'm becoming tired of coming home every day to her sullen face and foul mood. It's like she is a teenager again but without the slamming of doors and my ex wife going through 'the change'. Whoever timed my daughter's teenage years to co-incide with my ex's menopause needs to be struck off the creation register. Surely nothing can be more testing than living with two women at their least rational time of life. For two or three years my life lurched from crisis to drama, I returned every night from work to a houseful of hormones, a sink of unwashed pots and broken crockery. At one point I thought they were holding Greek plate smashing parties in my absence, only to be reminded of the force of their wrath one particularly turbulent Sunday dinner. With hindsight I think my Ex was secretly jealous of Louise's emerging beauty and the number of possible suitors clamouring for her attention. Thankfully I fell into hospital radio around this time so could escape once or twice a week to the safe environment of the studio. I know I should be more sympathetic to Louise's predicament. I can imagine it is hard splitting from someone you adore but there is little I can say, other than ask her to tidy up and water the plants. Perhaps that's what she needs, maybe she needs me to be the strict authoritarian dad. I always let the Ex do the discipline but perhaps I should call on my inner Super-nanny and get her to tow the line, well at least help out a little bit. She could at least wash up.

Liverpool Airport

Arrived at Liverpool airport a couple of hours early so as not to miss Louise. Thankfully found a public internet terminal, excuse any typos, I'm sat on a spindley bar stool looking like an overweight budgie balancing on a tiny perch. I've already wobbled off once! Just had my lunch in one of the many fast food eateries in the airport, with so much time to spare I wanted to take time over my food - not eat fast! As I sat there munching away on my sauce drenched burger a trio of business types swung in, all smart designer overcoats, slick back hair and pierced ears. It was clearly not the kind of place they regularly frequented but with such a limited choice of eateries on offer they could do little else but be seated and enjoy a taste of poor man's cuisine. Dashing down their laptops and oversized leather holdalls they placed their orders in loud, brusque voices and chummily clinked their beer bottles with one another whilst eyeing up a gaggle of girls waiting for their flight. I watched intently as they flirted with the attractive woman behind the counter, each one of them clearly twenty years her senior but with the staggering confidence of a twenty year old. I made some mental notes and sloped off, vowing to swap my welly boots for cowboy boots.

My daughter

Received an urgent email from my daughter Louise this morning. All is not well, she and her boyfriend Pierre have split and she flies into Liverpool tomorrow. Judging by the tone of the message she is quite distraught and eager to be home as soon as possible. She said Pierre has already left the apartment they were renting and she feels incredibly lonely. Of course I will be at the airport to meet her but I am not sure how to be. I have never comforted a woman following a relationship breakdown. After my wife and I parted ways, well after she publically dumped me in a fast food restaurant, I went out and bought her a king size chocolate bar as a peace offering. Actually it was so I could gain access to my home to retrieve my belongings but the chocolate seemed to bring her some comfort for five greedy minutes, stopped her wailing like a banshee at least. So perhaps I'll take some chocolate tomorrow or one of Louise's favourite magazines. Yes I'll take a small gift and enough money for two hot meals. I hope she's okay.

Bowling

Deferred my payment to the office biscuit kitty as the team have refused my request for Bourbons. My anger has now subsided, it's probably a good idea as I need to lose a bit of weight. I was scrabbling around for a good twenty minutes on Sunday morning, searching for a pair of stretch waist trousers that fit! Thankfully I remembered the stretch cotton chinos Dad bought me for Christmas and duly unwrapped them before leaving the house in a flurry in order to meet Lena at the designated time. I needn't have bothered rushing as she arrived half an hour late without so much as an apology. I put it down to nerves and we sallied on to the bowling alley. I wondered, as we walked down the street if I should cloak my jacket around her shoulders. It was a particularly nippy day and she only had a lightweight mac on for warmth. As we walked in silence to the bowling alley I though better of it and thankfully so as no sooner had we turned the corner the wind ripped right through us and I was glad of the warmth of my padded snow coat. We played the game of bowls in near silence, communicating through smiles and gesticulations only. Even when I nearly put my back out with a 16 pound bowling ball she said little to comfort me as I sat crippled with pain, clutching my back in agony unable to waddle to the bar. Reluctantly she bought me a sweet tea and sat with a face like thunder for five minutes. When it became apparent my discomfort would prevent me taking her out for a pub lunch she gathered her belongings and disappeared into a cloud of White Musk, still wearing the grotty bowling shoes she had borrowed from the alley. I was going to shout after her but then thought twice. She wasn't worth the energy.

Ton of Bricks

It seems I am to have an action packed weekend, today Dad phoned up with an impromptu invite to Blackpool's ice rink for 'quality time together', followed by a hearty chortle. Dad is big on physical activity so this plan was either hatched with one of two things in mind. Either a) for me to tear my lardy behind away from the computer or b) so he could publically humiliate me infront of his wife to be. My polite refusal fell on deaf ears and he was round at my flat in ten minutes flat, urging me to jump into 'that pair of grubby slacks' on the radiator. I felt like I was five years old all over again as he shoe horned me into the back of his car and hurtled off in the direction of the M55. I really wished my daughter Louise had been present to calm my nerves and steady me on the set of precarious blades I was loaned by Dad's fiance, one size too small they hurt like hell. However my beautiful daughter isn't back from Europe until next week, so I had to make do with clutching at Dad's oversized man bag as he deftly skated around the rink with me in tow. After thirty minutes of warm up he tore off across the ice like Robin Cousins after one cappucino too many and twizzed his lady love from one side to the other. She, like me, was a little less confident than Dad and kept asking him 'put the brakes on' when suddenly there was an almighty crash and all thirteen stone of her came down like a ton of bricks ontop of an unsuspecting chap in lycra. Thanking my lucky stars it wasn't me, I confidently skated over to find the poor figure skater nestled deep inside Dad's fiance's busom, his arms flailing like the panicked wings of a fly caught in a venus fly trap. A highly unsavory yet somewhat memorable end to the day.

Lucious Lena (part two)

Certainly getting my groove back as today I managed to twist the proverbial arm of the Lucious Lena from my French class and persuade her to come out with me. With that great oaf Shaun out of the way, the heffalump shattered his ankle roller blading (don't ask), it left me in charge of the seating arrangements at the back of class. No sooner had Lena entered the class I made space to allow her to shuffle in next to me. She was positively glowing, recently returned from her Christmas break at home in Greece she looked gorgeous. After a quick fire refresher of the imperfect tense our tutor set us to work in pairs which is when I made my move. Lena explained, in broken French, that she was missing home and her family. Seizing the moment I suggested she come bowling with me on Sunday and sample some traditional Lancashire hospitality. She was a little hesitant but at the end of the class agreed to meet me outside the bowling alley on Sunday. I would like to think my charm and intellect won her over, however it may have been the promise of a free meal in a country pub after bowling that swung it.

Bourbon Biscuits

I have developed a severe case of Blogger's Bottom. I have self diagnosed the problem after trying on three pairs of pants this morning and finding myself unable to get all but one pair past my ample behind. Symptoms include a cushioning of the bottom, similar to having a small pillow shoved down the rear of your trousers, only it's wobbly and unable to be removed as easily. The causes are numerable, sitting at one's computer for hours at a time whilst quaffing large mugs of drinking chocolate and eating packets of biscuits. Taking the bus three stops from the train station to work and a general relaxed nature when it comes to any sort of physical exercise. I could also blame my lack of love life but my new years resolution is too stay positive on that front so I won't go down that route. No I blame Bourbon biscuits, they've been on special offer since Christmas and I cannot resist.

Heart Shaped Box

Popped into town today to pick up a birthday card for dad and there at the front of the shop was a scarlett siren alerting me to my glaring status as a single man. Valentine's cards. Not just cards either there were glittery heart mobiles, kitsch heart shaped snow globes, fluffy teddies cuddling squashy hearts, heart shaped cardboard boxes, in fact the whole shop was one big ode to that hollow muscular organ that maintains the circulation of blood about the body, oh yeah and love. Well I have a heart I thought, a big strong one which has taken a few knocks but is still fully functional and with that positive thought I took to another card shop which had yet to display a sickly sweet display of fake fur and crimson. I maybe single again this year but refuse to let a few heart shaped helium balloons give me nightmares!

Skating on thin ice

When I was a child and about to get in trouble Dad always used to say 'You're skating on thin ice son'. I could hear those same words today as I negotiated the pavements on the way to the supermarket. Indeed I was in real difficulty at a pedestrian crossing, sliding towards the road when the signal was still on a red man. As my life flashed before my eyes out of nowhere came an elderly dog walker, fully equipped with sturdy thick tread walking boots and a hiking stick. She kindly saved me from near death and saw me to the bus stop where a bus waited, packed with gawping passengers watching my predicament unfold. As I paid my fare a small group of passengers cheered.
The horrendous journey to the station didn't stop there. Upon alighting the bus I was faced with yet more thick ice. Slowly I shuffled across, my arms outstretched for balance and my eyes on the dangerous surface beneath my feet. Out of nowhere a car whizzed past, pomping its horn loudly, I looked up suddenly and the momentary lapse of concentration caused me to land flat on my backside in full view of a nearby restaurant. The patrons were in stitches as I squirmed around on the freezing floor. I was just able to make out the make of the car to realise it belonged to fiendish wife thief Tony McNamara and in the passenger seat at my Ex, laughing her head off.

Arnie

Woke this morning to a blanket of snow and an icicle in my bedroom. Managed to negotiate a packed train and make it into work on time. The team mocked my padded, knee length snow boots - likening me to Arnie in Terminator and equally laughed at the lightweight slipper like footwear I subsequently changed into before commencing work. They may make fun of my footwear but at least I'll be back (at work tomorrow and not bearing the wrath of my team leader!).