A Valentine's Day Massacre

Dear Reader,

So, it's that time of year again. If you don't have the time to be romantic with your dear lady love for the rest of the year why not be forced into it by greeting cards manufacturers, rose sellers and desperate restaurant owners. Notable mentions should also go out to jewellers and numerous other retailers for whom this day is a bit of a goldmine (pun intended). Valentine's Day is here.

Some flowers.

I was curious, what came first, the day or the greetings card? It would appear that Valentine's Day came much earlier, initially honoring a number of martyrs named Valentinus, first recognised in 469AD. However we have Geoffrey Chaucer to blame for the association between the date and the romance. What is clear, is that Chaucer's court was not short of romance. Roses abounded, confectionery and greetings cards were presented (no doubt on bended knee). All that was missing was a mass-market postal service and a whole card-board based industry would be born.

A truly lovely Valentine's Day Card.

Which brings us, after the consumption of much nice food, wine and chocolate to where we are today. Valentine's Day is an event, during which any couple, married or otherwise is obliged, nay, compelled to book into over-booked restaurants, purchase roses, presents, champagne, cards and all manner of other things just because some people died in unfortunate circumstances 1,600 years ago. The more astute amongt you may have picked up on the words "obliged" and "compelled" in the previous paragraph, as a result you may be sensing negativity to the fine and established event that is Valentine's Day. If you did, well spotted. I do have some problems with this occasion and I am not alone.

The following statement may sound like anti-romantic blasphemy to some, but to myself and the Dear Lady Wife it makes perfect sense; we choose not to celebrate Valentine's Day. To us it is just a normal day, cards are not purchased, roses are not purchased, restaurants are not booked, gifts are not exchanged, etc etc. There is a reason for this. Romance, surely, should be spontaneous, not prescribed by a date in a calendar. If I follow this logic to it's end when else would I be able to be romantic? Birthdays, Christmas? How about whenever I feel like it? What could be wrong with that?

Consequently Valentine's Day is a little bit different for me. It is actually a little surreal. The normal ebb and flow of people through my local supermarket is wrong. This year Valentine's Day fell on a Tuesday. I have previously noted that Tuesday is a quiet day because a local Pizza vendor has special offers on that day. This has been coined the Domino's effect. This Tuesday is different. Our local supermarket is busier than it should be. Men are exiting from the shop with nothing but flowers. Men are hovering around the greetings card section of the shop. Men are clustered around the Rom-Com section of the DVD shelf. I need to get out, this is freaky, my Tuesday shopping experience has been sullied by some weird religious cult, or maybe an alien invasion.

I get home and all is normal. Dear Lady Wife is on a conference call and our cats (all boys) just want food, not flowers, thank God. Later I am sent on an errand, to procure the evil cigarette. Wine has been consumed, so I walk to the garage. The garage is in the middle of being restocked with petrol, which for some inexplicable reason means that nothing can be sold. So I go to my local pub, this being the next nearest potential supplier of the evil tobacco. Being a polite soul I procure an alcoholic beverage and ask for change for the cigarette machine. This gives me a few minutes to survey the demographic of the pub on this y strange day. Things are not as they should be. The pub is full of men. There is not a female to be found, except for behind the bar. Scientific analysis is required. These men are either:

• Single / Divorced.
• In so much trouble for not fulfilling their Valentine's Day obligations they have been thrown out, which means they are heading towards Single / Divorced at high speed.
• Like me, which means being in a pub on your own is perfectly acceptable.

I was tempted to ask these men which bucket they fell into but some of them looked grumpy so in the interest of science I guessed instead...

• Single / Divorced .- 70%
• In so much trouble for not fulfilling their Valentine's Day obligations they have been thrown out, which means they are heading towards Single / Divorced at high speed. - 23%
• Like me, which means being in a pub on your own is perfectly acceptable. - 7%

So, single girls listen up. On Valentines's Day go to the pub. You have a 70-93% of pulling if you are in the mood. Science has proved this. 

More Soon Dear Reader.

xx

Blogging From A to Z

Dear Reader,

Foolishly, I have embarked on a blogging challenge. The challenge revolves around the alphabet and the month of April. During the 30 days of April this year I will post 26 times, one for each letter of the alphabet. To find out more about this check out the A to Z Challenge website.

Last year was my busiest year of posting, amassing a spectacular sum of 33 posts for the entire year. On that evidence attempting to prepare 26 for just one month sounds a little ambitious.

Of course a challenge such as this appeals to the Idiot in me. Within my psyche there is a generally ignored piece of my character that pretty much stays quiet but occasionally causes me an inordinate amount of irritation. The Idiot in me changes my life, but because of the nature of the Idiot, these changes come as a result of significant effort. 

An example... 

When I was 17 one of my colleagues suggested I should take part in the local half-marathon. There was only about  four weeks to go to the event, I was unfit, unprepared and spent most of my evenings drinking and smoking. What I should have said to my much fitter and better prepared friend at this point was "No. As much as this sounds like a jolly jape, for me running 13 and a half miles through the city of my birth holds about as much appeal as smashing my head repeatedly with a lemon wrapped round a house brick." What I actually said was "Yes, why not, sounds like a giggle. I will buy some shorts or something." This was the Idiot talking, who was incidentally, not the easiest to dissuade. Because of the Idiot I ran three half-marathons, all of which were long painful experiences that I have tried to suppress from my memory. My much fitter and better prepared friend always finished  in front of me, a long way in front of me. That being said, I did get slightly quicker over time. If the Idiot had not spoken I would never have completed a half-marathon.

The Idiot has made me do many things in my life and this blogging challenge is just the latest in a catalog of endeavors that I must now complete because the Idiot in me said "Yes." 

At the end of April, when 26 posts are done I might say something along the lines of "Viva La Idiot!" Currently, however, it is early February and I have been fighting a chest infection for over two weeks. I don't feel like saying "Viva" anything. 

I spoke to the Dear Lady Wife who thought that the challenge was a little bit like revising for exams. When pressed further it becomes clear that revising (and by extension any other sizeable project) cannot begin without the ingredients listed below.

• Graph Paper
• Highlighter Pens
• Acetate Pens
• Biros
• Pens
• Pencils
• Pencil Sharpener
• Tape Measure
• Saw
• Screw Driver
• Tin Of Tuna
• Torch

Armed with all of the above you are ready to embark on a "project", and a project this will certainly be. I have been to the stationary shop, the DIY shop and the supermarket and I am prepared. I've actually bought several tins of tuna, some for the cats and some for me. I hope I have enough, the cats suffer rapid sense of humor failure when tuna supplies are threatened.

The real purpose of this whole endeavour is to do something for the wider blogging community and to support this a new tab will appear on the blog shortly after this post. It will list all of the blogs that are taking part in this years' challenge. Click on some and take a look, you may find something you like.

More soon  Dear Reader.

xx

The Post That Wasn't

Dear Reader, 

I have spent most of this month wrestling over a post on the subject of global warming. Having spent some time on it I now understand the following:

• I am not qualified to write it
• It is too complicated
• It is not funny

I am annoyed as this post had a great punch line but I had no idea of how I could possibly get to it. I am even more annoyed that as a result I have deprived my largely snoring readership of any activity since the beginning of the month. 

I have let go of an idea and parked it. I may never return to it. I am not used to this. An old saying sprang to mind: "No matter how far you have traveled down a certain road it is never too late to turn back."  

There are some practical considerations that mean the above statement does not fit all individuals or situations. If you have traveled too far down a one-way street for instance.

Indiana Jones constantly found himself in situations where it was far too late to turn back. Running headlong down the chosen path often seemed to be the only option.

Indy, running.

Dr Who, who has made a career out of defeating aliens by running away from them would also disagree with the above.

Dr Who, running.

Having read the above back it sounds like a speech that some preacher might trot out in a sermon, using popular media characters to validate his point. Let me demonstrate: 

[Mid Sermon]

Preacher:  Indiana Jones constantly found himself in situations where it was far too late to turn back. Then you have to ask yourself, what would [insert deity] have done?

Me (in imaginary congregation): Given Indy's propensity for peril, I would suggest keep on running and kill any bad guys who got in the way.

Preacher: That was not the point I was trying to make and I am in the middle of my sermon.

Me (in imaginary congregation): This is a theological heckle.

Preacher: Well shut up then.

And the next one goes like this:

[Mid Sermon]

Preacher: Dr Who, who has made a career out of defeating aliens by running away from them would also disagree with the phase "No matter how far you have traveled down a certain road it is never too late to turn back."  In these situations what would [insert deity] have done?

Me (in imaginary congregation): Depends on what was chasing him, also when. Take the Daleks for instance, until the revamp when the BBC got some money to spend on special effects they were not very good with stairs. If [insert deity] is running away prior to 2005 I would simply suggest finding some stairs,   climbing them and look down laughing from a balcony. After that, it would be a bit more tricky as...

Preacher: The question was rhetorical, please be quiet.

Me (in imaginary congregation): I've barely started.

Preacher: This is my party, bugger off.

I'm not sure what you are to make of this Dear Reader. It seems old adages don't always stand up to critical scrutiny and the word sermon should not be confused with the word debate. What seems to be clear is that running away is often a good idea, glad we sorted that out then.

On that note, I am going to take my own advice and run away. More soon.

x

New Year's Resolutions

Dear Reader,

We have recovered from the festivities over the Christmas and New Year period. This is a time for introspection and consideration of what we may do differently in the future, apparently. Personally, although I do not find my life perfect, I do not feel the need for New Year's resolutions. My only New Year's resolution  is to not make any New Year's resolutions; dammit, foiled again. 

Anyhoo, unlike me, the Dear Lady Wife needs to make a New Year's resolution for the sake of our family. For the future of our family. Or should I be more concise; to stop me reaching for sharp, blunt, loaded, furry, spiky or otherwise encumbered objects during a certain task that DLW finds a little bit challenging. If she does not do this small thing then I may need to apply for a shotgun license.

So, I hear you ask, what is this terrible crime that DLW commits; what habit does she have that warrants so much venom; what affectation drives me to the brink of murder?

A picture should be painted,  let me try to illustrate with some words. DLW is on iTunes and wants the latest thing from Lady YoYo or Katy Sherry and as a consequence would like to purchase said item.

Katy Sherry - Elmo Romance nothing to do with Rustle split.

Lady Yo Yo - Fillet dress? No Misteak.

This is not actually a sin, DLW should indulge in whatever she sees fit, just don't PLAY IT TO ME FIVE TIMES IN A ROW AFTER A COUPLE OF GLASSES OF WINE!!! Ooops, that damn CAPS LOCK! The playing is not the issue, no, the acquisition is the issue. 

A conversation may be required:

DLW: I quite like this new song from Shady LaLa.

Me: Shady LaLa?

DLW: Yep, she is artistic, a little bit mad and she wears shades.

Me: Oh, that Shady LaLa, I was getting mixed up with someone else.

DLW: How do I do this?

Me: Click buy.

DLW: It's asking me for a password.

Me: That would be the password you provided when you set-up the account.

DLW: What account?

Me: The same account that you used to buy the Katy Sherry thing the other day.

DLW: WHAT ACCOUNT!

Me: You must have used your email address and a password, have you tried these?

DLW: Yes, I have tried all of them, I have tried it with an upper case letter, a lower case letter, with a number on the end, with a number on the start, with a small fluffy animal in the middle. It's all your fault...

Me: (Ducking under wine bottles, expensive china and masonry): How would it be my fault my sweet? I am merely an onlooker in this rapidly expanding bout of rage and larger fonts. Have you tried to reset the password?

DLW: MAKE IT WORK NOW!


Me: I understand how important this request is to you. The use of a large font, CAPS LOCK, and a small fluffy animal have made your requirement for a password crystal clear. However my advice is the same, the only difference being that it is now delivered by a burly security guard who I hide behind the back of.

DLW: I have reset this password a million times. Every time I return to this site I have to reset the password. Why can they not remember the password I set last time?

Me: What was the password you set last time?

DLW: I don't know!

Me: Then maybe you need to reset it?

DLW: I shouldn't need to. The password is in a special place.

Me: And where might that place be?

DLW: If I knew that I wouldn't be talking to you. It is in my special book of things, which I have recently lost.

Me: Ah, I see the problem here. However I do not have an immediate solution. Would it be OK if I went to bed and did not have to get involved in the five year search for the book of special things?

DLW: You don't even care about how important the book of special things is. You used a small font.  Go choke on your small words. Let us hope that the pillow smothers you in scary dreams that grab you and hold you.

Me: Good night honey

DLW: Fine!

This sort of dialogue happens quite regularly in our humble abode. Thankfully, the pillow hasn't smothered me as yet. So the New Year's resolution for DLW should be to set a password for all things and remember it, or write it down, or have it tattooed backwards on her forehead, whatever works.

In the interim I watch the pillow with suspicion.

Happy New Year dear reader.

xxx 

The Annual Christmas Tree Argument

Dear Reader, 

It's that time of year again. Carollers lurk menacingly outside supermarkets and stalk the streets, singing to their prey. There is anarchy in the shops where normally kind and gentle folk fight tooth and nail for the last precious gift for little Timmy. Turkeys the world over are preparing for their annual break in the West Indies. Yes, it's Christmas, time of extra holidays, over-indulgence, present swapping and arguments. That's right; arguments.

I could talk about shopping-related meltdowns, but in my household this is less of an issue since the inception of on-line shopping. Thank god. I do have to indulge in some retail torture but when sent I have instructions.

There is, however, a yearly argument that develops during the erection of the Christmas decorations. I am already in a bad mood, as retrieving the Christmas decorations from our garage would try the patience of someone far more patient than me. The problem here is that Christmas decorations only come out at Christmas. They then spend 350 days a year packed away in boxes and bin liners waiting to make another appearance. A lot has happened in the intervening time and my little brain has only got so much space for important information like "Where are the Christmas decorations stored exactly?" It is flushed down the cranial toilet by the middle of January. As a consequence, come December I find the Christmas tree box (handily illustrated with a picture of a Christmas tree, otherwise this too would be lost) along with any other boxes and bags in the near vicinity. I hope that this will be all the decorations. 


This proves not to be the case. I have found the main tree, a small tree which sits in the window, one piece of useful tinsel (which the cats immediately get friendly with), and the old set of baubles. The old set of baubles I hear you ask? Yes the old set, different colour scheme you see.

You may be wondering why we still have them, as opposed to having donated them to charity or something. To understand this you have to understand the house policy on parting with things, which is, never part with things ever. Store them, somewhere, forever. It is possible, that in the future, we may end up in a house where we need two dishwashers, three fridges and a second Christmas Tree with silver themed decorations. The justifications become so thin that they are almost see-through, but the result is always the same - things end up in the garage. The garage is full, and the garage is scary, especially in the dark.

So, having failed to procure all of the Christmas decorations at the first attempt, a deeper search of the aforementioned garage is required. This requires opening everything which could conceivably contain Christmas decorations. After some physical injury i.e. boxes falling on my head and the rediscovery of a Teasmaid, I find a box cleverly labelled X-MAS DECS. You can see how my patience has been tested. This, however,  is only the entree, the main course is yet to come. It comes in the form of the annual Christmas tree argument. I used to be the aggressor in this argument which went like this:

Me: I hate this Christmas tree.
DLW (Dear Lady Wife): It's fine, it has served us well for many years.
Me: It's small cheap and tacky. One day I am going to get rid of it and get a new one.
DLW: Yes dear.

Crap Old Christmas Tree - through my eyes.

Three Christmas's ago I snapped. Rather than put the Christmas tree away in the scary garage I threw the damn thing away. Next year I bought a new one, which is a tiny bit bigger.

As a result the annual Christmas tree argument has a new dynamic, the dear lady wife is now the aggressor, which is more like this:

FLW (Fuming Lady Wife): I hate this Christmas tree.
Me: It's lovely, so much nicer than the old one.
FLW: It's huge, it dominates the room, it's stupid.
Me: It's an aspiration tree, making us aspire to a bigger house with a room big enough to hold it.
FLW: It won't fit anywhere. It's bigger than the one outside the town hall. Where is the old tree?
Me: Errrmm .....

Lovely Christmas Tree - through DLW's eyes.

Interestingly both arguments subside once the tree has been assembled. The (new) baubles have been hung and the strange object which is not an angel (it's ART apparently) has been placed on the top and is almost straight. Maybe we just need to get the Christmas decoration thing out of our systems.

Enough from me, the DLW is sending me shopping again, on CHRISTMAS EVE! I don't have instructions. Must be revenge for the Christmas Tree.

Merry Christmas Dear Reader

xxx