Strange old day

Within a couple of hours earlier today, I two hugely different messages regarding friends with cancer.

The first, from an old friend who had battled it and won, he was overjoyed at having just being given the all clear.

A few hours later, another old friend letting me know that his mother had finally passed away after losing her battle.

There but for the grace etc, etc

I know man should always be in charge of his dog and all that, but sometimes life ain't perfect, and this video is what it sometimes can be like having a leisurely stroll in the company of the fuckwit spaniel

Bizarrely, this scenario actually happened last week when Amanda was walking said fuckwit spaniel with a few of their respective human and canine chums.

There were a few key differences. The deer were proper roughty toughty country types, not those indolent, latte sipping London ponces, and the language was considerably more agricultural than 'Jesus Christ.'

Although the sight of this fool both squealing and running like a girl is bloody funny, my favourite bit is the smug, Muttleyesque giggle by whoever filmed it, right at the end of the clip.

Fags and charity

I know it's about as socially acceptable as admitting that you like hanging out the back of pigs whilst wearing a pink thong, but, I'm a smoker. I shouldn't be, because it kills you and stuff, but at times I enjoy it, and it's somewhat of an addiction.

I can't stand the smell of fag smoke. Pubs are much nicer places to be since they stopped being submerged in a blue fug. I don't smoke in the house,I don't smoke around my kids. I smoke in the car when I'm on my own. I would never dream of having a fag with the kids in the car, and never use the ashtray. Quite often, I'll pull over and get out of the car for a fag, even when on my own. I'm not particularly comfortable smoking around non smokers.

I can understand today's news of a drive to ban smoking in cars, because people are idiots, and smoke in their cars whilst their children are with them.As an example, the road up to the village school is a narrow lane, one cars width. The school ask time and time again for parents not to drive up to the school entrance. The pub around the corner allows parents to use it's car park, and it takes less than a minute to walk up from there. Every day, the same Land Rover Discovery drives up the narrow lane with the mother puffing away on a fag and discharges her kids, reeking of smoke, directly outside the school. Both actions speak volumes of the mindset of the individual.  But, the same people will inevitably smoke in their homes when their children are around. How do you legislate for crass thickness? It's basically a common sense thing, although you could argue that no smoker has any common sense, but could the accusers then step forward and confess to their own flaws?

It's Children in need tomorrow, and it's obviously a worthwhile cause, and as usual, we'll probably send the donation text. I couldn't give a gibbon's hairy hoop if people don't give to charity, it's fucking tough out there. As I type Five live announces the new jobless totals, a seventeen year high. The last two mornings, I've listened to Chris Evans charity auction for CIN, the stuff you can't buy kind of thing. A round of golf with Clark and Westwood, driving rare Ferraris. Despite the obvious fact that it's going to a good cause,  I found the amounts bid for these items obscene. It seemed to me to be a crass flaunting of wealth when some people are making choices between heating their homes or putting fuel in their car. I am turning into a proper leftie.

Parenting

When one is doing the enjoyable jiggy bit that actually creates an infant, unsurprisingly, you're not that preoccupied with thoughts of what the coming years may bring.

There's no user manual either.

Duw, it's hard sometimes.

Middle aged motoring

Is forty three middle aged? Probably.

Anyway, unless you come from a different planet (or Norfolk, much the same thing) you will know that putting fuel in your car now costs roughly the same as the car itself. Public transport isn't an option, as it never goes where you want to go go, it's usually broken, and generally stinks of piss.

So, when it was obvious that Amanda's car was due a few quid spending on it, we bit the bullet, and have a shiny brand new one of these jobbies turning up on Monday.

It's pretty dull (to be honest, it's duller than your average Tory backbencher), but is does 75 to the gallon, produces virtually no C02s (so the government doesn't charge you gazzillions to tax it) and it's going to be the Gumpher family mode of transport from now on.

Unless of course, we have to take off fully loaded with the fuckwit spaniel and other assorted paraphernalia, in which case we'll take this, which is mine.

It doesn't do 75 to the gallon, it does however produce more C02s than all the cows in Wales, and as a consequence does cost gazzillions to tax. It has the redeeming qualities of having a flappy paddle gearbox and going like greased weasel shit, which is fab for humbling spotty chavs revving up their burberry infested vauxhall novas, and by the same effect, making one not feel quite so middle aged. I also, ahem, need it for work.

And before you ask, I am not sploffing cash I don't have in these austere times. I stuck it through the business on contract hire. They can have the cocking thing back in two year's time, I'm sick of losing small fortunes on cars.

More excited than a toddler full of sherbert

It's World Cup quarter final weekend! And we're still in it!

Unlike four years ago when we went out in the group stages and I had already booked my trip to Marseilles for the quarter final. More of that here Rugby and oysters and here  Rugby and oysters 2

I am going to struggle to sleep tonight, 6 AM kick off here we go.

Because I'm worth it

I am not a particularly hirsute man, but nonetheless, I do like to be clean shaven. I appreciate that stubble looks rather fetching on some blokes, the laydeez tell me that some chap by the name of Clooney carries it off rather well. I don't.

If I don't shave for a few days, I don't end up with a even layer of stubble of my face. Oh no. I end up with some strange appendage on my upper lip more reminiscent of a certain seventies style of film where some German chap in tradesmans overalls turns up and knocks on a frauleins door and announces "I am comming to be fixing your pipes, ja?" before lobbing out his purple veined bratwurst, much to the delight of the said fraulein as it makes all of her clothes fall off.

I digress, but it's not a good look.

Anyway, over the years, I've lined the pockets of Gillette and Wilkinson trying out all of their wares with every increasing blades and technology, and do you know what ? They're all shite, and replacing the blades costs about the same as small cottage in Devon. So I went on the interweb thingy, and got myself one of these bad boys.

It's luverrley, beautifully engineered and comfortably heavy. It does take me rather longer to get ready every morning. I no longer shave in the shower. Try that with one of these babies and you'll end up with bits of your face all over the tiling. I now lather up in front of the mirror and ponce around, gurning like a loon as I manfully stroke the flashing blade over my fizzog.

It's really rather enjoyable, and my wife is very impressed by the results, even though this morning she told me that "You look like a cock when you're doing that" which I thought was a tad uncalled for.