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...