"Grey eggs?! - is that an Arab custom?"

..or alternatively, "Sell-by dates - part 2"

ok so for some bizarre reason, I took it into my head last night that I needed a bit of a tan. Having decided against using the old cancer-beds with the promise of skin as smooth as leather in later life, I opted to fake it. And me being me, of course had to use the supposed best - St Tropez.

Me being me, also decided all this at 11pm when it was too late to go out and get some but hurrah! what luck, I found a whole 3-step kit in a drawer in my bathroom. What I didn't realize until all my skin turned GREY, was just how long it had been in my bathroom drawer! So its been a few years since I last used said St Tropez Step3 tanning mousse. I couldn't see an expiry date on it. Perhaps when the first few pumps came out gritty, I should have been more self aware?.. and perhaps I just carried on smearing grey mousse all over my face and body.

I looked in the mirror to admire my streak-free handy work only to see the Spitting Image puppet of John Major looking back at me, well except he didn't have black hands. At this point, only mild panic set in.. I tried to scrub my hands.. no change... medium panic now... I tried with exfoliator to scrub my hands... no change.... now faced with the prospect of going to work looking like a Covent Garden mime artist posing as a statue, full-on max panic washed over me.. I leapt in a single bound into the shower with that "Noooooooooooo" noise that Oliver Hardy would made when a grand piano was hurtling downstairs heading directly for him!

I 'd guess I spent about 40-45 mins in the shower with the loofah........ then I decided to wash ;-) Another hour later, when I felt that seeing bone was perhaps an exfoliation too far, I dried off and faced the mirror again. Moderate success indeed. Now all I need is to cover my entire body in foundation for the next 10-12 days and I’ll be fine.

Note to self - throw away any bottle or tube in bathroom that still has price in old money on it!

A bag is for life...

..not just for shoving in a cupboard..

Ok, so I want to know if this "Bag for Life" that Waitrose and probably many other less salubrious supermarkets provide, really is for life - or... yes OR!... is it just another marketing gimmick to make you feel good but buy even more stuff which you can cram in because these babies can take 8 tones of shopping before the handles snap.. in fact there is more chance of your fingers needing amputated from loss of blood, that these bags breaking..

... anyway I digress...

I go to Waitrose, I load my basket, get in the queue behind the old lady that takes 48 minutes to buy the 2 staple items (hairnets and dog food), load my stuff into my BFL, walk home with that richeous feeling that the 10p I spent on the bag is doing my bit for recycling......... then I shove it in a drawer with the other 411 BFL!.. well I say drawer, they have now taken up residence in a cupboard that my original built-in freezer used to occupy (RIP).

Then I go back to the shop and do it all again...?!?!?!?!!?!?

Not cutting the mustard!

In the catalogue of things that annoy me (Volume 7), I have a particular gripe with restaurants who just “top up” the sauces, mustards and other condiments by that concise catering term “slopping a bit more on the top”

There is nothing more alarming, (well there is of course but humour me for a moment), than opening a jar of, lets say wholegrain mustard, eating half your delicious fillet steak, then noticing that the sell-by date on the jar is July 2003!

Ok, granted - when I opened the jar, it was full to the neck so what I used was probably brand new, but good lord, how old is the product at the bottom of the jar? Ewww!

This disgraceful practise is not confined to your average Old Compton St, “Back door Deirdre” restaurant either!... my own mother has been known to harbour jars of olives, sauces, pastes etc all with a dates that were millennium compliant for the wrong reasons!! – I have even been known to arrive home in Scotland, drag the Brabantia (well did you think I would visit, if she didn’t have one as well?) over to the cupboard and breathe new life into those shelves!. To this day, I’m convinced she hides things just before I arrive!..

So think on, next time you’re in your local eatery!.. Don’t be too cocky when you think you’re opening that “brand new” bottle of Ketchup… check that date!

How very rude!

My brain is empty today.. I think I must have Altzh……..

……….no, I’ve forgotten

Things you don't need to see at 7am

I consider myself quite a fair person, someone with a relatively strong constitution, but even I was somewhat taken aback this morning when I walked out of a shower cubicle at the gym, headed towards my locker to be "cut up" by some middle aged man with a blamange arse, waddling towards the steam room. Now before the PC brigade fire up their "Mr Outraged of Doncaster" routine... THAT wasn't what made me gag...

It was the sight of this delightful little 5'6 man walking (thankfully) away from me with the most perfect impression of a toilet seat on his butt. SO perfect and red, it looked like he had either been sat there for 2 weeks, or someone had beaten him really hard with the loo seat.. Neither vision is something I ever want to focus on again.

Almost put me off my smoothie!... how rude!

Let me tell you about Louise..

I have inherited the name Louise... No that's not some pervy secret, nor is it how I like to be referred to at the weekend..

Indeed, the name Louise tends mostly to be used as an insult between myself and that sweet angelic lady Charlie, who was mentioned many posts ago.. but where did it come from I hear you ask?.. (oh you didn't ask?.. tough.. be quiet and pay attention)

In a prior working life there used to be a very pretty young woman called Louise. Despite the fact this is quite complimentary, I still think I should spare her the indignity of plastering her surname over the net - the idea of her walking down the street with people pointing and whispering "look, that her" may not go down well..

anyhoo.. Pretty and slim and fit and blonde and..and...and.. etc as Louise was, her diet ( and I used the word literally) was ....shall we say dull?... or shall we say it would make even the staunchest vegan sneer ?..

The truth of the matter, is that Louise actually ate quite normally. The REAL problem was that Charlie and I ate like it was prohibition, then put on weight, then needed a scapegoat so who could we pick?... who was the slimmest, prettiest, likeable girl in the office that we could bring down?..

Just at that moment Louise walked in and as I offered her something (can't remember - cake, toast, side of wildebeest) she politely declined as she was full.!

Charlie & I started at each other with that fixed look of "Did she just refuse food?".....followed by "She can't be right in the head".... followed by "I bet she gets full on a grape".... "bitch".....



From that moment on, poor Louise was doomed... as far as we were concerned she was boring... didn't eat, didn't drink, got full on a lettuce leaf... etc

But don't get me wrong, we didn't dislike her or anything.. we were just fiercely jealous of her willpower and healthy lifestyle... Or as it computed to us, "that t-total bitch who gets full on a grape"...

So hence forth, anyone on a diet, a detox, a purge, a health kick, even a "No I'm not in the mood for a drink today", is branded..... " A Louise"

I discovered this yesterday when I called Charlie to tell her how well I was doing on my new regime... I could tell she was overjoyed for me when she said "Shut up Louise, you're boring me, goodbye!"... HOW RUDE!

I feel pretty and witty and ...

...hey!

This last week has been odd. This dammed book has had mega changes rippling through the way I operate. It seem very weird but aside from the bad headaches of my body trying to cling on to any last trace of caffeine and alcohol in me, the rest is definitely a plus...

I find myself looking at people differently too... On the tube, a tall skinny mother was appeasing her gobshite brat with a bag of skittles. The child was barely 8 years old yet had a pot belly and a double chin. It certainly didn't add to the appearance of the already chubby face which looked like she'd been chasing parked cars. Then there was the toddler, and I mean push-chair age child with his little McDonalds Happy Meal balloon on the escalator..

Its really weird. Whereas before I would scan the thousands of people who walk past me in an almost automatic "nice face, tits too big, ooh nasty blouse, mmm nice goatee, wow he's blessed" sort of thing.. now I seem to focus on how they carry themselves, what they are eating, wondering "if they are they happy?" type thoughts.

So it would seem all along that the obvious culprits of fat, salt, sugar and the whole calorie debate, is not to blame for our ever expanding addictions, not to mention our waistlines.. the real culprit is Carbs. An no I'm not going to go all Atkins on your ass.... It's just an observation...

Hmm more on this later me thinks...

Now where did I put that Bounty..

Its the times... and they're a changin

Ok, barely halfway through this new book (what do you mean "what book"? - read the whole blog you lazy bitch)... anyway... So something in my head has clicked and I am now a man on a mission. Which is a surprising thing to say because in the past, any life altering change to my diet or wellbeing was usually prefaced by some but usually all of the following...

1 - move large Brabantia in front of Fridge (if you don't know what a Brabantia is then please leave now, you sad pedal-bin person)

2) - get behind fridge

3) - tip fridge forward so that entire contents fall into Brabantia

4) - repeat with all free standing food cupboards

5) - repeat with all wall mounted cabinets (somewhat trickier I can tell you)

6) - Join a new* gym

7) - Make a huge song & dance about new regime to anyone who will listen

8) - When it fails after 3 days and you are caught by a work-mate tipping a whole bag of Toffee Crisp Clusters into your mouth at once, pretend everyone you know is speaking a foreign language when they ask you how your new diet is going


* joining a new gym is not enough, it must be a bigger and better gym with more facilities. I am now paying over £148 a month for the premiere suite in the largest gym Europe. You see I could possibly make it a full time job, just joining new health clubs. I could even lose weight just from all the applications and checking them out

.. in THIS instance, I’ve done none of that. I am almost on autopilot, buying healthy food, actually spending time preparing it and most horrifically, eating it without a side order of mini battenbergs (god bless ya Mr Kipling).

Time will tell. I can always delete this blog and pretend you speak a foreign language if it all goes tits up and you mention it. - How rude!

Life's not always a bowl of cherries

...or a Big Mac or a cheesecake, for that matter. But my life seems to consist of not much else..

Yeah, you may wanna skip this one. Its not my usually witty paragraph, or my scathing insight into the latest facet in my life that's bugged me, amused me, enraged me etc.. This is an unhappy BLOG for a change..

Tonight when I left work at 6:25pm, I got to Angel, descended the escalator to the northern line and my eye caught the picture of what can only be described as "a little bit of heaven". Ok so to the common eye it was a tube ad advertising a book, and there was a doughnut on the front cover of the book... ah but to the trained eye, that was not just a doughnut.. oh no-sir-ee, that was a Krispy Kreme... the king of them all.

The book was titled "The hungry years" by William Leith and being my ever spontaneous self I got to the bottom of the down escalator, went back up the next one and walked to Borders to buy it (along with Dr Gillian's "You are what you eat" - yes ok, gimme a break)...

It wasn't till I sat on the tube and started reading, that I realized just HOW unhappy I am. I wasn't even halfway down page 2, when a drop of water hit the page. It almost startled me I was so engrossed in the book already. Every word written between that page and a half rang a bell so loud in my ear that I'd not notice the droplets were my own tears.

I closed the book and continued the journey in expressionless silence.

I feel there will be more on this topic...

Are you an alcoholic when....

...you wash down hangover paracetamol with a can of pre-made Pimms & Lemonade???

Just a thought...

Things that really annoy me - Pt 1- "Its a crapper"

Feminist Toilet Seats!!!

what's that all about?.. As moany as some women can be about how a loo seat "should" always be in the down position, I take HUGE exception to discovering a loo that has a "seat with attitude".
You know the type - no matter what you do, how you position it, it almost stares at you ready to slam down and either break your flow, or worse still - cause you to react like a schizophrenic fireman on "k" who has just been told by all 8 voices in his head (at once) "no the fire is over here!... here!... here!...over here!"
Net result - slamming noise, people outside sniggering, wet floor, steam coming from ears.

SO I say NO! to feminist toilet seats!

Homo for the holidays

Ok, I had a bit of a scare the other night whilst at home in Scotland. I'm pretty sure its all my own fault but it still needs to be exorcised. Dreams... yes that vast array of incredible brain activity that's going on in the inside, when usually on the outside, ones face resembles that of a bells palsy sufferer (complete with dribble)..

I am known only for ever having nightmares. Anything from a short one that just involves little mild sadness to full on 6 hour bloody hunting with monsters - wake up screaming types. I've become used to it. I even sometimes know that after the combination of lack of sleep, a truckle of cheese & a vat of port that a really good one will be brewing, but nothing, and I mean nothing prepared me for the random horror that was my dream 3 nights ago.

It was very short and very very real.

The only point I remember is that Tania Turner was having sex with me. I should also point out this stage that not only do I have nothing against Zöe Lucker - she's very sexy!, !. or indeed any other cast member from Footballer's Wives. I have even as yet only ever met women called Tanya who were very very beautiful, be it Tania Brier, Tania Yelland etc etc so I have no idea where this came from. i really am a man's man and i can't see that changing, no matter how stunning (or how fabulous their nails are)

Perhaps its time I cut down on the cheese before bed.?

The hills are alive, with the sound of...

...teenage mother's screaming obscenities to their equally pre-pubescent "partners", right across from my windows. Indeed I work in a charming area, known as Islington, specifically Angel and I can assure you now that if I didn't risk being gagged and beaten by the "right-on" police, I'd have a few choice statements to make which would include the words "bomb" and "Angel"


Yes, across the street from me is a unit where teenage couples can go and live in a prime EC1 location at taxpayer's expense to be "cared for". So far in the few weeks I have been here, I see men (well I assume if they have a gun and a knife they must be 18?) in wifebeater tops screaming language at their girlfriends that would even make Mr Tourette blush (see http://memyselfmrtourette.blogspot.com/). No one is usually spared from this tirade, not the infant screaming next to them, not the passer by, not the man who has just returned to his car to find it approx 3-4kg lighter because some spotty 12 year old has smashed the window and helped themselves to the laptop.

I guess this is what's called "Community"

Time to come home...

The following day was a bit hazy but overall it was positive. Sure, I woke up with a mouth like Ghandi's flip flop and despite the first mirror I looked in reflecting back the classic black & white mug-shot of Myra Hindley, I was able to tame the hair, brush the pearlys, get some moisture into my gasping dehydrated pores and stumble into the kitchen of Cam's mum's house.

2 Lorne sausage in rolls later and a mug of tea, radiance once more beamed from me and I was ready for the day ahead.. Charlie materialized looking exactly the same as she did when she'd gone to bed - cow!, and we were soon on our way to Fraserburgh to collect my grandmother who had been mercilessly dumped there by my parents the previous Thursday - something about a staff reunion for all the women who had worked in this Rolls Royce engine factory during the war... I whisked her into the car and after a small pit-stop for the best tasting ice cream in the world bar none, we headed back the A98 for something a little short of 2 hours

After dinner in a local hotel and yet more alcohol, we crashed for the night... a short but busy day..

A significant conversation occurred between Charlie and my mother concerning me and my sexuality and this, I have to say, needs further investigation (!)

Thought for the day: I really do need to get my jaw wired!

At first I was afraid.....I was petrified

...then I realized my singing was likely to leave ALL the other people, infinitely more afraid.. but all that is later...

After my good sleep in which Cirque du Soleil cast trampolining on my bed, would not have arisen me from my slumber, I awoke very refreshed..

SO what else is one to do in the north of Scotland on a Saturday, but of course go to Inverness and buy clothes? Dur!. I am quite possibly the best and certainly the most traveled customer of a gent's clothes shop in Inverness called Poshaac. I think it means "sharp dressed man" in a particular Asian language and believe me, when you look like a small elephant, all that rubbish about "clothes do not maketh the man" is a load of old bollox. some of us need all the help we can get!

Once again, the Beverly Hillbillies crammed into my mother's merc convertible and off we went. I left my mum & Charlie to go shopping in "Emelda Marcos World" while I dragged my poor father to Poshaac with me and spent 87 hours trying on the entire store. I only went in to return a pair of jeans but managed to come out with a Paul Smith bag, John Richmond Jeans and an Etienne Ozeki shirt, not to mention a very warm Egg Card!

Met up with the girls. Charlie had managed to buy more than me so she got one of my looks!, then lunch in M&S before heading home. So far so good... oh how naive we were are we drove, how messy the evening would become.

Part of my main reason for coming up on this trip, was to see my dearest friend Dianne who is 6 months pregnant. Being the good friend i am, I needed to see her to (a) remind her she was now fat and (b) check out her husband-to-be - again (well I didn't get a good enough look the first time).. At the same time my friends Cameron & Nigel invited us to join a 40th birthday at a local hotel so we all agreed to meet there for a small glass of water and a dry ryvita (ahem) and having already wolfed down a slab of my mum's home made lasagne which could easily have stopped the Titanic from sinking, that's really all I was able for.

None the less, Charlie and I arrived, tipped a bucket of G&T's or in my case JD&C down our throats until the shock of the pineapple & cheese on sticks buffet was a distant blur. After a boogie or two, they announced karaoke was about to start.

Oh dear.. At this point I need to say I am one of those people who is terrified of singing, despite being told I actually have a decent voice. Alas I am also one of those people who once they have sung their first song, trying to remove the microphone from my hand is akin to removing a fillet steak from a starving rabbid dog, so after my one flaky start, I was extremely non-plussed to find the limelight being hogged by the guy who owned the karaoke kit. How rude!

So by 1am it was back to Cam's house for more drink where we put the world to wrongs and by 4:45am I fell into bed extremely content that i'd had the folloiwng plus points to the day

1) No horrid calls from my ex
2) No nasty texts from my ex
3) A nice text from "Kev, the guy I mentioned yesterday who after reflecting on the whole "my ex" thing, decided perhaps I wasn't the one to blame after all.
4) I have nice new purchases
5) I had drunk a quantity of Jack Daniels which would boost Mr Daniel's share price and had no hangover!

All in all.. a good day.

Time-check: 5am. Oh god, I've been wearing my DKNY underwear back to front all day. What a spacker!

and sleep zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

some people....

...really get on my tits!

Yesterday was a another mad dash.. get "fever-boy" ready for his interview, pack my bag for Scotland - another easier-said-than-done task. So as to avoid any hold-luggage, I use only a small cabin bag which as yet only seems to have "reverse tardis" qualities... ie after 2 socks and an iPod its bursting at the seams!.. ok so I leave the peach bridesmaids dress and all the tiaras - I doubt i'll get to wear them much up there anyway and my mother will only "tut"

So cab arrives (do you really think I was going to take luggage on a humid tube train? - I think not). My housemate comes with us and all 3 set off into the city, like The Beverly Hillbillies except in Hugo Boss

I'm the last drop (how rude!) and I get to work... easy day.... am so excited about getting on that plane that nothing will spoil it (yeah right).. Even meeting my ex (see the "Exit pursued by a bear" entry in this blog, way back at the very first entry - http://theblondandi.blogspot.com) isn't going to bring me down. he wants to see me to give me something - better be a letter of apology and not a bomb! - ok bad taste given recent events

The first delivery from my batch of new laptops arrives... mmm sexy.. I can see I will get no work done today now.. time to play - I mean set up.. cough ahem...

I have a quick coffee outside with Wayne from next door - he is SO cute, thats a story for another entry... I decide its best that Dusty (my ex) doesn't come to the office to drop off this "whatever it is" or he may make a scene and humiliate me.. NO WAY!. I text him and say we'll meet in Starbucks

{This is paragraph 6. Remember for later :) - We meet.. and to cut a long story short, more because I can feel my heckles rising, he blurts out what he has to say, a combination of "I think I still love you but you were to blame".. nice double whammy that. As usual, he manages to extract information from me that's best left alone and has subsequently managed to piss off more people I either care about or were a new friend that I was cultivating a relationship with. Fortunately for me, the friends know what he's like and its water off a ducks back. Perhaps the same may not be said for all, but right now, thats not my problem any more.

Taxi arrives to pick me up at 4:45 (see above re traveling with luggage) and I head for Victoria. I'm there before Charlie (she is probably buying more shoes) and I have to remember not to run with a bag in case i'm shot at by the police. I seem to be stalked by a man dressed as a Cornish Pastie who is giving out leaflets (note to self, NEVER EVER complain about my job again)

Charlie finally arrives and we board the nearest 1st class carriage. Now, you don't know much about Charlie yet but you will in Blogs to come... She is a very English lady with very strong views somewhere to the right of Attila the hun. This combined with being the opposite of a shy retiring wall flower, makes her a bit of a force to behold. As a result, most straight men are terrified of her. SO anyway, we board the train, she sees a piece of luggage unattended and rightfully asks the entire carriage "whose bag is this"?.. Despite being Scottish, I become very very English, blush and try to shush her up. By now a man outside the train has banged on the window to indicate the bag is his. She then proceeds to lecture him (through the glass) on how stupid this is during the heightened security. I, of course am now 3 foot high and mortified with shame. I've already legged it through the connecting door to the other carriage, where I hide in a seat. Needless to say she follows through all smiley as ever, good deed done for the day and wiping the blood off her hands.

The journey is great. non stop train, non stop check-ng as I printed our boarding cards at home, through fast-track security and into the exec lounge. 4 large bloody marys and a mound of sandwiches later i'm ready for bed.

After a slight 30 min delay on the tarmac because Inverness is low priority on the take off slots as usual, we depart. What a cramped flight! it was so full!

at this point I need to stop my blog.. my mother is bellowing up the stairs that my breakfast is ready... ahh the home life!.. more later

ahh thats better.. so we land, get through to my home town, drop, unpack and have a drink thrust into our hands within 10 minutes - all is well....

UNTIL... the texts started arriving from one of the guys mentioned in the conversation way back in paragraph 6, we'll call him Kev for now. It intimated that i had been less than discreet about given conversations which simply wasn't true. As usual, a titbit was turned into a feast in true dramatic style. I am now angry. Net result, said guy thinks its best we no longer communicate. Normally at this point i would pester him till he fully understood the truth but you know what?.... bollocks. I have a lot of really close friends who love me. If someone chooses to believe the tat that can spew from someone else's mouth because it has more dramatic clout to it, then their issue.

It was now late and the combination of the mamoth, well not so much "Bloody Mary" as "Jesus Fucking Christ Mary!" (50/50 vodka/tomato juice) i'd had in the airport lounge, the G&T on the plane and the rather ample JD&C my dad had poured me, kicked off the slumber mode...

I slept like a baby on night-nurse (and by that i don't mean Baby Jane Hudson! - how rude)

The High Life...

...no its not that wonderful airline comedy featuring Alan Cummings, although sometimes my life does playout like a desperate pantomime but that's another story...

annnyhoo

so what a busy 24 hours... having left work yesterday to rush home, switch into full Bree VanDeKamp mode, get the dining room ready for a residents meeting AND wonderwoman spin into something presentable so as to gracefully drape over a chaise-long ready for a young man who was coming to visit me from Manchester.

well it didn't pan out exactly like that .. . I rushed out of here late..(quell frickin surprise), I board the mobile steam rooms, Northern an Jubilee and arrive home looking like the love child of Bernard Manning & Rose West... oh and for those of you under 35, that's NOT a good look.

So I meet little ... well lets call him Matt for the purposes of anonymity. He's cute despite him claiming that his friends say he looks like Eddie Izzard!.. we get to mine, order a takeaway as my fridge made Old Mother Hubbards cupboard look like a fully stocked european hypermarket - I swear there was an echo!

Matt obediently watches TV, plays with his laptop, reads and generally takes up no room at all. I on the other hand am now just out of the shower, robe hanging off one shoulder, Phillis Diller Hair, a mouthful of shredded beef with chilli + chopsticks hanging out of my mouth, tripping over the guest cats, answering the door to the residents ready for the meeting and kinda NOT ready. Matt casually flicks the pages of my latest T3 and I curse his serenity

So, all that goes well, meeting meeting meeting, chat chat chat, ok now get out of my house so I can flirt with boy wonder on the couch.. thanks goodbye, ooh nasty blouse!, oops did I think that out loud?

Matt decides that from my MGM library of 40 million DVD's he would like to watch Clue. Yes Clue, the 80's comedy starring Tim Curry, Madeline Khan, Lesley Anne-Warren, Christop..... oh sorry, you don't give a rats ass do you?.. Now don't get me wrong, I've nothing against the film. The scene where "The Singin Telegram" girls get blown away just CANNOT pass without a belly-laugh, but it must be the 19th time I've seen it (inc ALL the endings).. SO we watch...

In the time it takes from "bang" to "whodunit" he has developed a fever and I spend the night in bed hugging a small human shaped blast furnace.. nice!

Time-check: 2am - phone call from my mate Dave.. drunk.. looking for a bar where he can put a credit card behind. "The number you require is.... and that will be 80p you git!"

snuggle up to blast furnace again, well, rather the only bit of him that seems tepid by comparison (schtumm - say no more) ;-)

Time check: 3am- phone receives picture video message... I'm too drowsy by this point to lift my arm and drift off..

Thursday 28th July 2005

a day like so many others.. Having decided last night i was going to try and "get back into that early morning gym thing" (yeah man), i of course overslept and woke up too late for a work out. Determined not to be a total failure i managed to get to the Torture Palace in time for a swim.

No time for a steam today (bum!), so with my Waitrose strawberry, banana & yougurt smoothie in my hand and a semi smug grin at having achieved something by 8:30am, i headed off to the DLR, then the tube (since when did Janette Krankie work on the Northern line btw?)

If i'm brutally honest, and i do promise to try to be, or whats the point, i have done absolutley bugger all today. I am not in the mood.. All i can think of is getting on that plane to Scotland tomorrow after work... home..family.... friends....(one of them 6 months pregnant), and lots of rest and alcohol.. ahh

Ok so its 1:48pm and i've eaten some M&S healthy salad with chicken strips and a balsamic dressing.. bloody buggery pumkin seeds and bollocky sunflower seeds sprinkled ont top...how lucky am i?.. jeeez i could murder a whopper (although the least said about that at lunch time, the better! ;-) - All i can say, this bloody new "me" better start showing results fast, and i don't mean i want to see the Beechgrove garden hanging out my hoop later with all this foliage i'm eating! -

Ahh..my very good friend Mr Tourette (well thats not his name of course, but with what i'll write about him over the coming months potentially at best pissing him off, and at worst landing him inside, i feel its best we'll just refer to him as that or MT for short), .. he'd be so proud of me. Little does he know, i'm still so hungry i may just put parmesan on my own arm & chew it off...

In the beginning...

Wow, what a title.. I knew I should have been a copywriter.

So what's a 'wrong side of 30' year old, Scottish bloke got to say about himself?

Well still not having limbered up to a state where I am ready to pour out my innermost feelings, I guess the first few entries will be pretty "safe". I've already told my friends they are likely to feature in this and if they want pseudonyms to supply them now before issuing me with libel writs after the event coz I know I won't be holding back once I get going....

Yes indeed the names will be change to protect the innocent, the guilty, and in some cases, the down-right filthy!

So... down to business...

The first one

This isn't really a blog entry

I just wanna play with the format and see how it looks


COme back later