Saturday, 27 September 2014

Doing my head in

Lots of networking.
Not enough (paid) work.
Ridiculous email replies.
Feckin' cold callers.
Doorsteppers wanting 'donations'.
At eight o'clock in the evening.
While I am trying to get dinner.
And sort out homework.
And figure who needs what kit for which activity tomorrow.
The cost of shopping for food and basics.
Which is getting higher.
Despite inflation 'falling'.
Indicating therefore that no government minister ever uses a supermarket.
Or is indeed in touch with reality.
A bit like OH.
Who despite twenty-one years plus of marriage has still categorically failed to master the basics of Italian.
And therefore announced to all and sundry last night that we were having 'pene' with our dinner.
Instead of 'pane'.
Which means bread.
Not penis.

(c) Gary Larson


Friday, 12 September 2014

Kevin's new member(s)

It's been a long time since we inducted new members into Kevin.

We did have grand plans about questionnaires, committees, admittance panels and examinations, but they sort of fell by the wayside as we are a very serious book club. All that stuff is far too airy fairy for the likes of us.

We could only really use one surefire method to establish whether nominated individuals should be invited to join our mêlée: would they return?

Despite our penchant for a) senility, b) going off on tangents, c) scoffing the host's food and wine, and d) laughing at inappropriate comments, we have very high standards:
  1. read
  2. discuss
  3. eat
  4. drink
  5. eat more
  6. drink more (unless driving)
  7. discuss other things
  8. return to discussing book(s)
  9. ooh look more food
  10. top up? yes please
  11. what book?
  12. who?
  13. sorry what are we talking about now?
  14. bwahahahahahaha
  15. oh yum dessert too
  16. wassertime?
  17. who is hosting next
  18. can we have a short book please
  19. must go to the loo before heading home
You get the picture. It is exhausting stuff. And cerebral, that goes without saying.

So we issued invitations.
And waited with baited breath (well, not quite, but anyway) to see whether they would meet our exacting criteria.

*cue momentous pause*

I am delighted to announce that we have not one but two new Kevinettes: Tough Mudda and La Diplomat. Of course not their real names, but appropriate.
You have to be willing to be parodied to join our lot.

Of course, we haven't told them that yet.


Wednesday, 10 September 2014

Nothing in particular, aside from numbers

After being soundly beaten by Mr Man on Saturday morning by a margin of five minutes and twenty-eight seconds (and yes, I *was* trying my best) at our local Park Run, I started to look at some other numbers - randomly, of course - and began to compile a list of no particular importance (or relevance) which has been doing the rounds of my poor little brain.

  • Twitter followers - one day they are over eleven hundred, the next below, then up, then down, up, down, up, down, more than the proverbial whore's knickers. Why? Do other twitterati randomly decide to follow me, then are suddenly overcome with a notion of purity and god-fearing duty that requires them to exorcise any individual that swears in a public forum? No idea. Views welcome. (I am secretly hoping the ones dropping off are those infuriating mummy/baby-related accounts that should never be following me in the first place btw)
  • weight gain/loss and associated training - prior to the summer escapade, I was doing exercise of some sort approximately three to four times a week. My weight - according to the scales - went up, down, up, down, up, up, up, same, bit down, up. I return from doing close to bugger all over a fortnight's break (excluding kite surfing lessons, more below), eating whatever comes across my plate, drinking more beer/wine than is necessary, scoffing ice-cream like it is going out of fashion, and check the numbers. Hey ho, guess what? I weigh less than I did upon departure. Okay, only just, but anyway.
  • kite surfing lessons - you learn in stages:
Level one: launching, manoeuvring and landing the kite; walking with the kite, learning to change directions.
Level two: doing the same, but in the water; learning how to control the kite with one hand while you 'swim'. 
Level three: body dragging (your own, not some random individual you stumble across on the beach, although that happens as well); heading offshore, heading back onshore, trying not to a) drown, b) take out other kite surfers, or c) end up over the Gibraltar straits in Africa. 
Level four: doing all the above but with a 'small' surfboard which you somehow have to manipulate on to your totally uncooperative feet so that you can then manoeuvre the kite to gain power and - voilà - stand up and actually kite surf.
Level five: face plant, crash kite, relaunch, face plant, drink seawater, keep kite flying, have feet trailing somewhere behind you, grapple for board, lose board, crash kite, relaunch, body drag, drink more seawater, head for shore, exit like stunned mullet, hand kite to instructor so he can head out and locate lost board and return to you. Repeat.

Okay, I made the last level up, but you get the picture. Great fun btw.

  • pots, pans and general cooking utensils - my longstanding and erstwhile (and momentarily incapacitated) training partner BB was chez LCM for lunch with her entourage over the weekend. She marvelled at how tidy and clean the kitchen was given that our cleaner only comes once a week. "How do you do it?" she asked. I told her we have a 'golden rule', and the cherubs obligingly chorused for her, "Clean up as you go along, especially when cooking!" Shame, I added, that the only person who did not quite abide by this mantra is OH when dishing up meals. Why use one knife when you can use seven? Why present food in an oven-to-table dish when you can redistribute it and use one, nay three, different ones? Who needs to use the same tea mug when you are working from home and can express yourself liberally and line up five in a morning alone? Oh, and that strange thing called a 'dishwasher'? The plates magically walk themselves into it. Likewise cups, glasses, forks and spoons. Not to mention the six pots, three frying pans and two oven trays utilised for making fish and chips for dinner. Fascinating stuff.
But he does cook, and pretty well. 
Small mercies.

I will now go and find something more erstwhile to focus on.
Like work projects.
The numbers might be more productive there.

(c) Scott Adams


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