The Story So Far

It seems to me that my destiny is to be the ‘eternal sufferer’.

No matter what I do; what precautions I take, things are just meant to go wrong.

There was the long saga with my rust-bucket car (deceased), the fence (twice), the guttering on the house (I haven’t told you about that, have I?), the laptop (throws tantrums like a petulant teenagers) and my desktop PC (oldoldoldoldold!) and now the garage wall.

Let me tell you about that wall…

It is an old … very old ,,, crack in the brickwork that dates back more than fifteen years, which is as long as my wife has lived here.

It was never repaired properly (according to the surveyor) but was masterly disguised by someone with an artistic bent.  When the missus bought this place it had been made to look just like any other wall.

Now, after all this time a rather large leak in the garage roof has revealed this wall to be, in fact, a forgery!

Ok. It’s too late to run to the previous owner (long dead,I’m afraid) and punch him in the face, so we braced ourselves for the worst.

Our  garage has an outer and an inner roof. The inner is just a number of one inch boards sealed together and fixed above the joists supporting the whole roof.  Above that is the outer roof. This one is also made up of one inch boards but water proofed, leaded and tarred. It has a life span (so I’m told) of up to fifteen years.

Sadly, it would appear that that fifteen years has long since passed and our waterproofed roof has gone to ‘garage roof heaven’ allowing all of the roof boards to slowly soak up water.  It has taken a long time but now the water, seeking an escape route, has begun to destroy the previous owners artwork allowing us to see the damaged wall.

Quotes fro the repair work are coming in thick and fast!

The work the are specifying ranges from stripping the roof down to the rafters and totally re-roofing to simply applying a heavy duty one-piece rubber sheet.

The rubber sheet seems to be favourite price-wise but, on the other hand, for £1900 we could have a new roof.

What do you think?

To other news now …

You may have heard that snowflakes have been seen in Britain!

The ensuing chaos has been widely reported and once again made us (Brits) look like bunch of idiots.

        Snowflakes here,
        Snowflakes there,
        A Country in chaos,
        Every-f***ing-where!

'm 'ld You Deaf Ba$ta%d!

Every married man has been through this at some stage.

It happens every winter in millions of homes across the world and is, or could be, the reason for many a divorce.

It is a short exchange that takes place in the bedroom on a winters night after the lights go out it goes something like this:

Wife:          'm 'ld!

Husband:   What?

Wife:          'm 'ld!

 Husband:   What? What'd you say?

 Wife:         'm 'old!

 Husband:   You're old?

 Wife:         I'M COLD! You deaf bastard! Need a c'dle!

 Husband:   You need a what?

 Wife:         FOR F&%KS SAKE! I need a cuddle!

At this point a dutiful husband will sacrifice his own warmth and slide across the bed. He will endeavour to wrap himself around his wife and valiantly attempt to emulate the effects of an electric blanket, knowing full well that very soon his efforts will be rejected thus:


Wife:          'm 't!

Husband:   What?

Wife:          'm 't!

 Husband:   What the hell are you on about?

 Wife:         'm 'ot!

 Husband:   You're not what?

 Wife:         I'M HOT! Are you deliberately trying to wind me up? 'sh 'ff!

 Husband:   What?

 Wife:         PUSH OFF! Leave me alone! You grumpy git!


It takes a strong minded man to brush this off, roll over and go to sleep!

I know!

I do this almost every night!

Clover

This is the little lady I now take to the park on her own.

She still looks for Sym.

When she doesn't find him, she falls in behind me
and follows me around the park.

I think maybe she needs doggy company so I shall soon begin to 

whine and wheedle until my wife gives in and lets me have another pup!

Just Another Day

I thought my day of gloom and despondency was behind me.  I really did.

Then I turned the TV on and was confronted with Jack Black having a crack at being Gulliver (he of the Travels).

Ok, so he's made the odd film or two that were worth watching but, I mean Gulliver's Travels?  Come on!

I managed eighteen minutes, give or take, and most of that was spent eating a hearty bowl of Sugar Puffs and reading yesterday's newspaper. I just had to change channels.

A few minutes spent channel zapping revealed (once again) that, despite the number of available channel being in excess of two hundred, there was nothing worthwhile watching.

I therefore entertained myself for an hour or so by racing through a book of Sudoku puzzles.

Yes, I know.  I have very exciting days off, don't I!

By 11am my brain was in overdrive and, being fully awake and ready for action, I decided to tackle something that was of far more importance than watching TV or completing puzzles.

I opened the cupboard and pulled out the vacuum cleaner.

Yes,  yes!  Vacuuming is woman's work but, hey!  If I want to maintain a fully functional body ... no breaks, no black eyes ... then it's best to do as 'she who must be obeyed' has ordained, right?

I'm sure that if I look hard enough there will be a list of other jobs that need doing.

I'm not going to look!

Not today.

I'll just hide when she get's home!

Oh, God!

I'm so bored!

Where's that list?

How To Dump Yourself Into A Whole Heap Of Trouble

It's simple!

You ask a question.

There was a note on the table when I eventually dragged my backside downstairs.  I read it as I tried to wake myself up with a strong coffee.

The Mrs. had gone to work and, as I was having an unexpected day off, she had left a note.  A short one which was, in actual fact, just a list of things that I was meant to have finished by the time she got home.

• Vacuum.
• Tidy away all the Christmas presents that I'd received and left lying on any flat surface.
• Put away the spare chairs that we had to pull out to seat everyone around the table on Christmas day (which I said I would do after the Christmas meal and conveniently forgot).
• and a few other little things

Not much really.  But there was also the regular stuff that I do as a matter of course.

• Taking the dogs to the park
• Prepare the evening meal 
• Walk the dogs in the evening

I'm sure there's other stuff  too, but I'll be blowed if I can remember what they are, but I'm sure they're very important jobs.

Anyway, she came home and that's where the question comes in.

Any man feeling hard done by would probably ask the same question.

I met her when she came through the front door I immediately reeled  off the list of jobs, each item punctuated with a sharp "Done"!

As she removed her coat and hung it on the hook behind the door she said "Well done"!

Then I asked it!

"So" I said.  "Remind me. What is it you actually do around here"?

The silence was deafening, the room suddenly frosty.

Her stare nailed me firmly to the wall and held me there. She uttered no sound, she just slowly turned and walked passed me and up the hallway towards the kitchen.

We haven't talked for over an hour, but I think she's softening.  

Well, she's stopped throwing plates, cups and saucers at me anyway.

I'm pretty sure that I'll be able to apologise in another hour or two without sustaining any life threatening injuries.

Pray for me!




* This is all made up because I would never have the nerve to ask her that question in the first place, but now you know what  would happen if I ever did.

There Is Always Something ...

The less work I have, the less time I seem to be able to find in order to blog.

When I find myself with time on my hands because of cancelled calls, etc., my wife always ... always ... finds a multitude of jobs around the house that need doing.

That doesn't mean to say that I actually do them! Not all of them ... well, one or two don't get ... Yes dear! I'll do 'em all!!!

{sigh}

Just recently there was the patio; it has been cleaned!  However, in doing so, it was decided that it also needs re-pointing as the jet wash dislodged quite a lot of the concrete between slabs.  I haven't done it yet, but it's on my to-do list, I swear.

And always there is the grass! It seems that every three days I have to march back and forwards pushing a lawnmower around the garden ... after scooping up all the doggy do-do first. When I think of that 70's or 80's movie "The Never Ending Story", not that I would ever admit publicly to doing it,  I always think about cutting the grass.

There is the kick-plate (a board that runs along the bottom of the kitchen units) that still needs replacing (after I ripped the old one out) and there is also the small matter of replacing all the window locks.
They need replacing as some of the keys have gone missing ... unfortunately we need a key to unlock the locks in order to replace them, which, if we had them, would mean we wouldn't have to change them in the first place.  Catch 22!  Joseph Heller I hate you!

The carpet also needs it's quarterly spruce-up with the Vax carpet cleaner.  That is at the top of my list.  With three dogs and two cats in the house (even though they are all house trained) you can't be too careful.

I don't want to bore you with all of the jobs that await me over the next fortnight (two weeks off). Neither do I want to depress you by reminding you of your very own to-do lists or over-keen other halves.  I merely wanted to point out that you are not alone!  There are fellow sufferers out there that understand and share your plight.

So onwards and upwards, as the saying goes.

Now where can I hide my toolbox before she gets home?

When In Doubt ...

... post a funny picture!

Which is what I did.

I have been tardy ... lazy really ... and I have avoided most things blog related for a short time so that I could give a little more of my free time to my wife.  Not that she was complaining you understand ... she never uttered a word about my face being glued to my laptop screen ... but I recognised that look which was occasionally flashed in my direction.

As a married man, you get to recognised that look.

It's a look that is passed from mother to daughter, generation after generation, and it can cut through a man's thick-skinned defences like a hot knife through butter.

It sears!  It frazzles!  It turns a hard man into a "lemme do that for ya hun"-wimp.

And I was flashed that look.

Several times!

I was a soldier, for God's sake!  A roughie-toughie, hard-nosed-couldn't-give-a-damn kinda guy and I buckled under that look!

All those women out there must be wearing a "Oh yeah, I know how to do that too"-smug grin on their faces right now.

I wish I knew how to master that look!

Anyway, that is why I haven't been indulging in my ... hmmm!  Addiction?  Is that the right word?

Today, my intention was to tell you of my dog (Sym) and the progress he's making with his treatment for Lymphoma.
I have already mentioned some time ago that although he's still receiving treatment, he is doing very well and remains in remission (or in recession as my step daughter, Gabriele, insists on calling it - a little worrying for a trainee veterinary nurse, wouldn't you say?).

As I type this, he is receiving his penultimate treatment in a Bristol veterinary clinic.  At this moment he is reclining (he was sedated this time) on a nice cushioned bed whilst his medication is dripped into his vein.
In a few hours he'll be awake and after a brief recovery period and a check-up, we'll be taking him home.

If the rain holds off and he shows no ill effects from the treatment, he'll be romping around the park sometime after 8pm this evening.

He now only has four more treatments to go.

Wish him luck!

No Refund! No Return!

Charlie was driving home late one afternoon - he was driving well over the speed limit. 


When he looked in his rear view mirror he noticed a police car with its lights and sirens blaring. 
He thinks, "I can get away! My car's fast enough!", so he puts his foot down. 

The cars are racing down the motorway - 80, 90, 100 miles an hour. 


Finally, as his speedometer passes 110 mph, Charlie realizes that he can't outrun the police car so he gives up and pulls over onto the hard shoulder. The policeman follows and parks behind him. He gets out, leans down to Charlie's window and says "Listen mate, I've had a really lousy day, and I just want to go home, all right? Give me a good excuse and I'll let you go." 

Charlie thought hard then said "Three weeks ago my wife ran off with a policeman ...".


"Not good enough" the policeman started to say.


"...  and when I saw you chasing me, I thought you were him and you were trying to give her back!"