Screaming commando

You know those painful long haul flights where there is a family with a screaming kid? How annoying is it! I just want to shout, "Shut that kid up! There are people here who want to sleep!". Yes, our flight had the screaming kid. This kid was in a class of his own, not only could he scream but he could scream consistantly... for nearly 10 hours! He wriggled, kicked the seats in front, threw anything he could get his hands on and pretty much pissed everyone off, including me, his dad. Owen was a total nightmare! He didnt just cry, he screamed. Loud and piercing screams. I must admit, I was proud that he could keep on going. Good lungs equals good genes, that's my theory.

On arrival I was expecting our luggage to have gone missing but everything was as it should be.

Anyway, we arrived in Mexico and got to our resort. Started to unpack and then realised I hadnt packed any underwear. I now have the choice of either "going commando" for two weeks or getting the shonky mexican bus into the nearest town and trying to find some. I may try it tomorrow but for now, it's commando-city.

Holiday, hip hip hooray!

Hooray! Tomorrow we go on holiday. Mags, me and little O are hopping on a plane. Okay, so the in-laws are coming too and also Mag's sister. Mags wanted to invite Johann because "he would be left all on his own". No way! Boo hoo, poor Johann, no way!

Anyway, Owen has got his new water wings and his some new shorts, a bucket and spade and some beach toys. I've dug out my shorts and my nasty Hawaiian shirt that Mags hates so much (ha ha). We are flying to Mexico. I'm dreading the flight. 10 hours with Owen screaming. Nightmare. I always hate it when there is a family on the plane with a screaming kid. This time its going to be us.

I'll let you know how we get on, upon our return!

Wait and see

I'm scared. I'm litrally shitting myself. I really don't know what to do, my life is in a complete state of turmoil. Why? Okay, brace yourself for this. Mags is being really really nice to me. In fact, I'd go so far as to say she is being "luvvy-duvvy"!
Okay, so you might not understand my reaction but the only other times she has been like this before have before she has made some pretty big requests. The first time was just before she announced that she wanted to have a child and the second time was when she told me that I needed to ask her to marry me. I found out what happens when these types of requests are deflected or even refused too. It isn't pretty and the effects last for weeks. I can't guess what she is sweetening me up for. She can't want another baby, not yet. She is always complaining about how difficult it is with just the one. I love my little boy but I don't fancy getting woken up 5 times a night to sterilise bottles again. What could it be? I guess I'm going to have to wait and see. Fingers crossed its just a blip and she'll be back to normal soon. I never thought I'd ever miss her constant nagging.

Sugar

Owen went to a party with his God father Ben, yesterday. His cousins kid was having a birthday party and so O was invited. All sounds good so far. Mags and me had an evening to ourselves (which was great - as she still isn't speaking to me). Then Owen is brought home and he is going mental. He is running around, bouncing off the walls, rolling on the floor, alternately giggling and then screaming. Mags went to pick him up but he just bit her and then slapped her. I must admit, it was hard to supress a laugh. She was distraught and ran out the room. I asked Ben what had happened to O and he went quiet.
"Ben man, come on, what happened? He's not like this normally", I said.
"Erm, well, it was like this, erm..."
"Come on! Out with it!"
"It's nothing bad, well not really, but...", he said.
"but, what?", I asked
"Chocolate cake", he finally responded.
"What about chocolate cake?", I quizzed.
"He ate one."
"Right, and?", I said.
"No, he ate all of one", he said.
"Okay. He has had chocolate cake before", I said. It's true, Owen has had a bit of cake now and then, when his mum isn't looking. Mags doesnt believe that children should be exposed to sugary foods and drinks because she says that it affects their palette and makes them into fussy eaters. Fair enough, but I don't think a bit now and then hurts, so if she isn't looking and one happens to be there...
"You don't understand. He ate a whole chocolate cake.", he said.
"Right...", I said, waiting for the punchline. He gestured with his hands. He drew a head sized "O" in the air.
"He ate a full, big, proper chocolate cake. All of it. I took my eyes off him, just for a moment and when I found him...", he started.
"You lost my son?", I said.
"No, I didn't lose him exactly, just temporarily misplaced him a bit", he tried to explain.
"Ben! You were looking after my son! You don't misplace someones son!", I was getting angry now.
"He's fine, just a bit excited"
"He's off his nut!", I cried.
"I only turned my back for a minute and he got into the kitchen and set at the birthday cake. When I walked in, he had two handfuls left. It's not so bad, most of it was round his face. Looked like he had a beard."
I told Ben that we'd discuss it later and he left with his head bowed. Owen in the meantime was trying to force Pete the cat into the washing machine. Pete wasn't too happy about this and was making quite a noise. I rescued him, much to Owens displeasure. Owen ran at me, head down like a bull charging. I caught him and lifted him up. He lunged at my face, his hands, like crawls, pawing at my face. My God, this boy had turned ferral! Luckily it didnt last long. A few minutes later he crashed and fell asleep on the floor with his bum up in the air. I put him to bed and checked on Mags. She was in bed, pretending to be asleep.
Owen was back to his normal self in the morning and I thought all was well. Later this morning we got a phone call from a couple of the other mothers of kids at the party complaining about Owen. One of them, a prissy, sour faced old bag, accused us of raising a savage. She said that Owen had assaulted her little Maisie. Maisie is 4 and about 6 stone! By lunchtime the complaints had been fended off by a combination of apology, grovelling and persuasion. Two potential court cases were averted and Owen was no longer due to receive a summons! I was quite proud of my skillful diplomacy. Mags is speaking to me again but says that Ben is no longer welcome in our house. A bit of a bind as he was meant to be coming round to help lay our new wood flooring in the lounge.

Irresponsible?

I'm back just from the accident and emergency with Owen. He is crying and exceedingly displeased and Mags is "disgusted" with my "lack of responsibility" and is not talking to me again. It's a big fuss over nothing. Owen is fine but Mags insisted that I take him to the hospital. Apparently Pixie nipped at him, stupid dog. It would have been okay, except Mags walked in at the exact moment. She saw me goading Owen on and went ballistic. I mean, if he had been bitten properly it would be different but Pixie is so rubbish and has such rotten teeth (from being fed on a diet of sweets, cake and chocolate buttons (its favourite, apparently)) that it couldn't hurt a soap bubble. Nope, Mags wasn't having it. "I had purposely put our son in life threatening danger", she said. What rubbish.

Pixie + Toddler with Hair Brush = Funny

Mags is at the gym again and I'm stuck in with Owen and Pixie. I love my little son but I was asked out for a beer by Sean at work and I've not had a beer for ages. Mags said that she had asked about going to the gym last week and I had said it was fine (I have no recollection of this). Anyway, so far it hasn't been too bad. Owen decided that Pixie was a naughty doggy and needed a got old fashioned smack with the hair brush (his current favourite toy!). Pixie is used to being treated like a prince and being chased around by a hair brush wielding toddler is foreign territory for him. It's great. Go on son, teach the little shit some manners!

Dog

We're dog sitting. If you insert an "h" into the last word of that last sentence then you get an idea of what the house smells of. I don't like dogs much. Nothing personal to the canine species, just that I've never got on with them. Since I was ten and a poodle bit me and everyone found it funny, I guess unconsciously I've always thought that dogs as a group were out to humiliate me. Anyway, Mags agreed that we would dog-sit for Johann whilst he is away. apparently it's a family emergency and when he came round to ask he was fanning himself with a flapping hand and rolling his eyes and in quite a panic. I must admit, I was loving it. Okay, so I'm mean, but I really can't stand the guy. Probably the fact that he once used my new Gilette sensor XL for men razor to shave his legs when he was out with Mags and co on a girlie night out. I mean, those blades don't stay sharp for long (don't get me started!) and they arn't cheap (but I do like them). So, this dog, although I think pooch is a more appropriate term for the spoilt little fluff bag. I may not like dogs but I respect them. The fact that they fought and survived through a tough evolving world, deserves respect. Johann's dog on the other hand is an evolutionary exception.It's name is Pixie. I say "it's" because I'm not sure if it is a boy or a girl or some strange mixture. So far it does two things: Whine and defacate. Very similar to Johann in fact. If I catch it in the bathroom using my razor then it's out the door!

Business

Not a lot happened today, so I thought I'd get the courage up to talk about the business I tried to set up. It was a bit of a catastrophe and I'm still smarting from it a bit, so this is intended as a bit of therapy.
About five years ago, I decided that the only way I was going to get to live the life I wanted was to set up a stunningly brilliant business and go for it. I came up with the idea of selling cards. Not normal boring card but a range of birthday, chrismas and occasional cards with a difference. Mine were all sick and I mean that literally. I don't know why I thought this idea would work but in my twisted brain it seemed to be a sure thing. Basically, each card would have the picture of sick or someone being sick and a suitably relevant comment, e.g. "Get well soon" (basic one) or "Happy Brithday, you sick freak" (a personal favourite of mine). Sadly, noone saw the potential and after going to see all the main card manufacturers and getting either politely declined or laughed at, I decided the only way that the world was going to benefit from my genius was to do it myself. I set up "Robo's Sick Cards" and started on my climb to glory. I couldn't get any bank to lend me money, despite a very optimistic business plan (which they said was unviable and based on financial fiction). I dug out my savings and persuaded an unimpressed Mags that I could do it. We agreed that I could give it three months and five grand and then I'd have to get a "proper job" (her term for it) or we'd all starve and she'd have to work the streets (my amusing counter idea, which she did not see as amusing).
I got my designs drawn up and the photos professionally taken (by my mate Jeff, who is a photography wizard, or rather was until he got caught taking photos of a voyeuristic nature and received a heavy fine) and got my first load of stock. I went on a sales blitz, I sent a card to each of the retail outlets in the area with my contact details inside and waited for the orders to come rolling in. They didn't. I got one reply. It was a one liner on company headed paper which read:

Dear Mr Wildman,

You must be joking.

Your etc etc.

Mags pulled the plug after that and I ended up spending the next two months trying to get a job anyway, so I guess it was for the best.

Beer Trolley

It's been a week in the new job and things are looking okay. Alright, most of them still tut when they pass me in the corridor but I can live with that. What really wound me up was the Friday beer trolley. Every Friday at 5.30 the trolley comes round, on it are some bottles of beer (near sell-by date, so they are cheaper) and wine. Apparently the new human resources director thought it might perk up flagging morale (good man!). It has been running for a couple of months (originally there were spirits too but a small riot kicked off between sales and operations when too much whisky was drunk and old differences came to the fore). The new finance director (miserable old crone) has put her own evil mark on it. She has tweaked the idea (which was fine in the first place) to only be available to employees of grade G and above. Okay, so that is 90% of the staff, but for us grade H-ers, it sucks. Here I was, looking forward to a cheeky beer before knocking off to go home to screaming wife and screaming kid but no. I lined up in the beer trolley queue, a big smile on my face. Picked a bottle that was suitably chilled, turned round, ready to walk back to my desk and enjoy it, when it is plucked out of my hand by the finance demon herself. I looked at her, confused and in a state of beer challenged shock.
"Grade G and above only, sorry, now move along", she squawked.
The rest of the office suppressed a snigger and the line continued shuffling forward. She scanned down her checklist of other potential grade H offenders and satisfied that all had been repelled, trudged off back to her pit.
When she was gone I wandered back over and attempted to regain my lost treasure. Dylan, the office facilities manager (odd job man and toilet unblocker) was guarding the trolley. He barred my way shaking his head.
"You heard the lady. Grade G and above.", he said.
"Ah, come on mate", I plead, "she won't know and anyway, it's only a beer"
"It starts with a beer, who knows where it'll end. If I let you take this, then I might as well leave the windows open and put a big sign out inviting burglars to help themselves.", he said.
"What? That makes no sense"
"It's all just different sides of the same different coin or coins", he said.
There was no more activity at the trolley, everyone had got their single approved beverage and the trolley went on to the next area.
I dropped down in my chair, dejected.
"here you go mate", said a voice. I looked up, it was Craig Jones, office wag and up until now someone I didn't care much for.
"I sneaked an extra one for you", he said and handed me a beer, "don't let them catch you with it. Probably best to nip outside."
I thanked him profusely, remembered to add him to my Christmas card list (as soon as I decide to have one) and zipped outside with my crock of liquid gold.
Bloody marvelous it was too. Good work Craig!

Toilet Rolls!

Toilet rolls! How can you have a full on arguement about toilet rolls? Well, I don't know but I just did.
Everybody knows that the correct way to place a toilet roll on the bathroom toilet roll holder is with the paper away from the wall. It stands to reason, makes sense, the paper should be nearest the reaching hand. Mags differs in her opinion (of course). She puts the roll on with the paper near the wall. It drives me mad. If I see it like that I change it and when I next go (a healthy bowel moves at least three times a day, so my dear old pappy used to say), she has changed it back again. Grrr!
I asked her a dinner if she would kindly mind not putting the toilet roll on the wrong way round and she went mad. She accused me of a whole variety of sins, crimes and evil doings, mostly household related. I mean, how important can it be to fold a towel in half and place it on the left hand side of the radiator when you hang it up? I always hang it up, so it's job done, but no, its got to be folded and on the left. Totally insane. I defended my corner as you would expect but she kept on and on and on. In the end I said that if she would just put the toilet roll on the right way round then I'd fold the towel in half. Seemed like a fair compromise. Nope. She said she wasn't hungry anymore and was going to bed. She picked up her plate took it to the kitchen, dumped it in the bin and ran up the stairs in tears! I have no idea why she did that. I mean, if she didn't want to eat it, I would have. There is no understanding them, they are a different breed.

"I stink of shit!"

I stink of shit! That was the opening line of a God awful play I was forced to watch this evening. Mags has joined a local amateur dramatics group and this is their current production. Now as it's Mags, you know that this won't just be a "normal" theatre group, nope, it's a SLaG group (Straight, Lesbian and Gay). Now, call me strange but doesn't that pretty much cover everyone? Anyway, she's joined because Johann was going on and on and on and on and on about it. He said that their latest product dove so deeply into the essential divide that separates present day neo-neanderthal man from cro-magnificent woman. Magic, can't wait to see it. I tried the usual excuses but she just got really stroppy and stormed around the house slamming and banging things until I gave in.
Imagine the horror of being stuck, sat in the middle of the middle row, surrounded on all sides with no means of escape, forced to sit there and waste precious minutes of your life whilst some jumped up wooden actors prance and pronce about the stage.

The interval came and I was hoping we could just slope sneakily away. Surely no one in their right mind could have found THAT entertaining. I looked forward to getting home and having a cheeky beer and see what I've missed on TV. I put the perfectly valid proposition to her ladyship but she just looks at me in horror, shakes her head slowly, tuts a couple of times and sends me to the bar. Okay, it's not all bad, I can see how many beers I can down before curtain up, perhaps that will dull the pain!
I was heading back through the crowd with the drinks when I heard Mags and her cronies discussing the play. I hung back and listened.
"So you think the central underlying message is one of women being held accountable for men's aggression?", said a rotund bespectacled cardigan wearing crone called Gwen.
"Men are so stupid!", exclaimed Johann. Still, he should know. Then Mags piped up and this was worth listening to.
"You'd think evolution would have solved this problem for us girls by now. Why is it that they can't hang up a god damned towel on the bathroom radiator?", they all agreed. Anyway, I always hang up the towel correctly, cheeky cow.
" How is it that as soon as you move in together they revert back to child and you end up clearing up after them as if they are a dribbling 4 year old?", said Gwen. Now, here it comes. Mags' contribution to human knowledge and universal understanding.
"I blame robots!", she said. I'm not lying, she said it, "You may laugh but just think about it for a minute......" They stood pondering and nodding. Johann was making an annoying Mmmm noise.
"Robots! They make men feel uncomfortable, worry even - if a robot can crash test a car then what else can it do?", said continued.
"Men are increasingly finding themselves compared to women in the work place, perhaps they also wonder how things would be if a robot took their place?", added Gwen.
"It's so true, Gwen", said Johann.
"Would their girlfriends, or boyfriends, notice - or would they just be pleased that the towel is hung correctly that morning?", said Mags.
I couldn't stand the philosphising any more and came back with the drinks. They looked at me as if I had just bitten the head off a chimp. They snatched their drinks, which I had foolishly bought them and without so much as a nod of the head in thanks.
"So, what meanings did act one evoke in you Robert?", asked Gwen. Wow, she's speaking to me! I felt honoured.
"To be honest, I didn't get it.", I replied.
"I told you he wouldn't", said Mags.
"Men like him so often don't. No offence Robert", said Gwen.
"Perhaps you could explain a couple of things for me then?", I asked.
"Of Course"
"Well, firstly what was the symbolic meaning of the bald man who kept saying 'Prompt' and 'Line, whats my line'?", I asked.
She scowled at me.
"I wasn't sure if he was drawing our attention to the way men forget where towels go", I said.
Mags gave me a dig with her elbow and was about to attempt a high volume discussion when we were called in for the much awaited act two.
I did well. I endured the second act and even shouted "Encore" and whistled loudly at the end. Again, I confess that the only thing that got me through the second act was the occasional glance at the clevage of the woman in row c. Absolutely fabulous.

When we got home Mags was in a strop and wouldn't speak to me. So, all's well that ends well.

Hated by all

Everyone in the office hates me and it's not my fault! No, I'm not being paranoid this time, they really do.
What happened?
Okay, well I got to my desk (which I share with a printer and a fax machine) and the rest of the office was empty. No one else was around. Also, there was a twenty pount note sat on my desk. It seemed a fair swap to me. Anyway, about half an hour later a man walks in. He was probably about 50 but looked like he had lived a pretty hard life. He was dragging a bush in a pot, well more like a small tree. It was stuck in the doorway and he was struggling to heave it through using brute force. He paused, scratched his head then started bending and yanking some of the branches off. When he had made a sizeable pile he tried again. Nope, no joy. He walked one side of the semi naked shrub and then to the other, pausing and staring. He shook his head, reached into his overalls and pulled out a small silver flask, which he opened and took a huge glug from. Suitably "refreshed" he bent, twisted and coerced the unruly shrub through the too small doorway. I suppose I could have helped him, but this was far too entertaining. He caught my eye and grunted, I spun my chair back round and looked back at the confusing jibberish on my screen. I sat there, doing my best to ignore him but could hear him rustling closer. I felt a big ugly hand slap me on the shoulder.
"You Rob Winkman?", he uttered.
"No, Rob Wildman", I corrected.
"Whatever. Sign here"
He thrust a clipboard into my face, its nasty old plastic pen swinging on a brown piece of chewed up string.
"What am I meant to be signing for?", I asked.
"The Eiffel tower", he attempted to quip.
I gave him my best BA Barracus "I-aint-gettin-on-no-plane" look and he grudgingly gestured towards the badly battered ex-tree. I raised an eyebrow in query.
"Look, I'm just told to deliver them and it says here that it goes there", he pointed next to my desk. Great, welcome tree, come and join the gang. This is Mr. Noisy-printer and annoying Mr. Fax-machine-that-goes-ping-every-five-minutes, make yourself at home.

Another hour later and the office is still empty but yet another bloke arrives. This one is wear lycra. Lots of lycra. He marches military style into the office, stands in the centre of the room and announces in true sergeant major fashion, "Sun Vatch!".
I look at him. He stands still, almost at attention and not acknowledging me or anything else.
"Can I help you?", I ask.
Without moving he quickly glances at me and then looks forward again.
"Sun Vatch!", he says again. I'm getting really confused now but he is starting to get a little agitated. He relaxes his stance slightly and looks around, noticing, I think for the first time, that I am the only person in the office. He adjusts himself and then walks over.
"Sun Vatch?", he enquires.
I look at my watch.
"11.30 mate", I say. He shakes his head and leaves.
Everyone ambled back in half an hour later. They all looked miserable. Apparently they had been to a meeting to discuss the bonueses that none of them were going to be getting. They came back hungry and unhappy.
"Where are the sandwiches", a usually quirpy but now crestfallen secretary asked. Everyone turned to look at me.
"I don't know", I answered.
"But we left you the money for them, didn't the Sun-Vatch man come?".
"I didnt know I was meant to get sandwiches", I said.
"Didnt you see the note?"
"No", I said.
She walked over and picked a piece of paper from the top of my in-box and handed it to me. It was a note with a sandwich order and instructions. Oops. Never noticied it.
"Sorry, I didn't see it".
I don't think anyone believed me.

First day blues

First day at new job today. Thrown totally in at the deep end. I aimed to get there nice and early but the trains were not playing. My first train was cancelled and the next one, when it finally arrived, was choc-a-bloc. I spent the next 45 minutes sandwiched between the fattest couple I have ever seen. Okay, that's fine, but one of them must have been using fried onions as a collogne or something. It wasn't nice. I finally got a seat and then endured the rest of the journey being continually smacked around the head by a scrawny youth with a gym bag almost as big as he was. I arrived at my new work, half way through the Monday morning meeting. I walked in, everyone turned round and stared at me. I waved a feeble wave and introduced myself. I was directed to a seat and when the random tuts and eye rolling finished the meeting continued. I was introduced as a new started and assigned to the customer support team. Ten minutes later I was marched unarmed to the front line and the wolves were released. I was on the customer complaints hotline and the natives were restless today.
"You people suck! Your product is the worst I have ever had the misfortune to use. It almost burnt my house down! What are you going to do to compensate me?", shouted angry caller number 25.
"I'm so sorry, sir..."
"My name is Regina, I am not a sir!"
"Sorry, I'm really sorry but this is my first day", I said.
"Oh typical!", they said and hung up. The rest of the day was pretty much the same. I left the office exhausted both physically and mentally, not to mention morally (having to deflect accusations and say the products in question were actually good).
I got home and Mags wasn't speaking to me. She said I'd promised to be home by 6 (which the trains decided to prevent) and that if I can't be relied on follow up on my promises then she shouldn't have to follow up on hers. I've no idea what she has ever promised me other than to nag me into an early grave. I now understand why the men usually go first and I bet the number of smiling male corpses the undertakers get to see would make for an outrageous statistic.

Squawking child

Its Sunday and Owen woke up at 5am screaming and refused to go back to sleep again. Perfect. Mags slept like a baby though, she missed the screaming and was totally unwakeable. In fact for a moment I thought she dead, her breathing was so shallow and slow, then she did a really mad twitch, sat bolt upright, shouted "Spinach you idiot!!", then lay down and dosed off and slept for the rest of the night. I let her sleep, she needed it. I sat with Owen trying to get him to once more enter the land of nod but as far as he was concerned the gates were firmly closed, locked and bolted.
I went into his room, he was stood up in his crib screaming like a banshee. I said hello and he reached out for me. I picked him up and he slapped me across the face and giggled. Most amusing son. I gave him a cuddle but he was more interested in trying to see if he could make my ear rovolve a full 360 degrees. For his age he has a pretty powerful grip and didn't want to relinquish his new toy. When I pried his vice like fingers off my now tender ear he unleashed a mighty squawk and went for another face slap but this time I was one step ahead of him and parried it away. Lovely child. He quietened down and I tried to lay him down but as soon as he touched the crib his eyes opened and his mouth quickly followed. If I lifted him up again he would snuggle back in and close his eyes. The same thing happened if I tried to move anywhere or change position. Basically, I had two choices: 1) Stand there for the rest of the night or 2) Just put him down and see how he goes. I went for option 1 then changed my mind after my arm started to go to sleep before Owen did. I layed him down and as if by magic he rolled over, said "Hiya" and then closed his eyes. I crept out and fell into my own bed.
The rest of the day was pretty quiet until lunchtime when an old frined of mine rung up, pretty much out the blue. We chatted for a bit and then he offered me a job! What are the chances of that? It's only a temporary thing and part time but it gives me a chance to get my own plans in action and I'll be bringing some money in. Mags was pleased and Owen seemed to be having a nice calm day too. Rich popped in during the afternoon. He had been out for a run and was just passing. I told him my news and even he was pleased. Seems like things may well be going my way finally. I've got to drive over tomorrow morning to find out some more info and to meet the rest of the team and then I start properly on wednesday. Really excited.

Leaving do do

Well it was my leaving do last night. What a shambles. I've just got up. Mags is out shopping and Owen is crying. For once I wish he would just find something quiet to amuse himself with.
So, last night, how to sum it up? Well, only three people came out. Thanks everyone. I was sat in the pub on my own for an hour waiting for them and then my boss went home after fifteen minutes. Mags and her mate Catherine and their gay buddy Johann turned up around 10. They were all totally wasted. Mags and Catherine had a big row about something, never did find out what and Catherine stormed off with Johann mincing after her. Now, I've not got a problem with gay people but Johann really winds me up. He keeps pinching my arse and when I turn round he turns and stares ahead, making out it wasn't him. Then when I look away he giggles. What a tosser. Anyway, Mags and Catherine think the sun shines out of his arse.
I didnt get to go to a cash machine on the way to the pub so I tried to pay for a round using my card but the bar man said it had been reported stolen and he refused to give it back. I never reported it stolen and I need that card so obviously I argued. Mags saw the commotion and came to assist. Great! A drunken angry girl shouting at the bar man really didnt help much. okay, so I was pretty drunk too but seriously, she was frazzled and just started shouting at him. Before I knew what was going on two doormen had grabbed Mags and were dragging her outside. I followed and tried to persuade them to leave her alone, well, actually I started shouting and threatening them. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a violent man, in fact I'm usually the first to run away but I was incensed! I was in caveman mode and they had my woman! Grrr! They wouldnt listen to my reasonable demands and so I had one option, attack! I jumped on the biggest one, my intention to get Mags away from him. It didn't quite work as planned. I ended up hanging round his neck with my legs wrapped round him, to an onlooker it would have looked like he was giving me a piggy back. With one shovel sized hand he grabbed me and pulled me over his shoulder. I landed like a sack of shit and I earned myself a bruise the size of mount Rushmore. A few seconds later we were hurled out the doors, informed we were barred and that the police would be called if we didn't "piss right off". Charming. Mags, of course, had left her purse at home, as she thought I would be paying for her. Cheeky cow. My cash card was behind the bar of "the forbidden zone" and I had about 20p in my pocket. The others were nowhere to be seen. In fact I think I remember hearing Guy Berry, from accounts, pointing and laughing as I was swung around in the air like some sort of drunken rag doll. Yeah, they stayed in the pub and quickly forgot about us. Good job I had left the company otherwise I would be the victim of some serious piss-taking on Monday. So, we walked home. It took about 2 hours with Mags whinging every step of the way about her shoes and Catherine being a selfish bitch and Johann being a controlling queen (her words, not mine). What a lovely evening!

Drunk on duty

Just been for an early lunch with Steve, the network admin guy. I think I'm drunk. Steve bought me a pint and then a couple of the other IT lads turned up and they got me a couple of vodkas, which they insisted I down. I obliged. We then had a 30 minute bitching session and I put away another pint. Okay, call me a light weight but I don't get out very much. Mags is doing things most days, she's got her drama group, the gym, her women's studies course (whatever that's all about) and she also has a girlie night where her and Catherine go out. Come to think of it, she is out most of the time, leaving me in to look after Owen. I might have a word about that. Then again probably not, it'll only turn into a row and she is very good at rowing. Anyway, better get on. I've got my desk to empty. Never knew I had so much crap.

Last day, hooray!

Last day at work today! Yeah! I really hate this job and I think thats been getting me down recently. I woke up this morning and felt on top of the world. Okay, so I've got to endure the boss' speech at my leaving presentation (if he remembers I'm leaving of course) and smile sweetly at the usually caustic comments in the leaving card. All the nasty comments are jealousy based. I know, I used to write most of them! Oh, it's like the end of a prison sentence, not that I'd know what that's like but it can't be much different to this.
So, I'm top of the world this morning and Mags has a face on her like a fart at a nun's funeral. I asked her what's up (big mistake) and she growls "nothing, I'm fine". Now I may not be the most observant bloke but when it comes to women I know two things: 1) I'm fine means I'm NOT fine and 2) New shoes=happiness
Still, undaunted by my uplifted spirits (soon to be un-uplifted), I pressed on.
"Come on, give us a smile!", I said.
"Piss off!", was her curt and unnecessary reply.
With that Owen started screaming over the baby monitor.
"Argh! Won't that bloody child shut the f**k up", she practically screamed, tpulling the pillow over her head briefly before throwing it at the wall and then storming out the bed room.
Hmmm, somethings the matter, I thought. Better get to the bottom of it. So I followed her into Owen's room, just in time to hear the stream of expletives she was uttering.
"Not in front of the baby", I chasticed.
"You deal with it then", she said, turned on her heel and went and locked herself in the toilet.
I looked at Owen and then I saw what she was on about. He was covered in crap. Somehow he had managed to get his nappy off and then had a play with the contents. The room stank and everything was a subtle shade of brown. Owen's first dirty protest was an astounding success. He smiled at me and pointed.
"Dadda", he said.
"Thanks mate"