Friday Fiasco, Farts & Flesh wounds

I was happily listening to Iain Lee on LBC when housemate asks if I'd like to go for a spin to IKEA. My immediate response was 'F**ck off. I'd rather stick my knob in a juice machine'. After a bit of grovelling I relented, as usual, and pulled on some combats and a beanie hat and headed off to the Croydon Twin Towers. We left the lovely Iain chatting to some manic depressive OAP with no self esteem.

HM had to get a refund for some bits of laminated chip board that were attempting to pass themselves off as kitchen cupboard doors. He'd bought them earlier for the kitchen area at his work and somehow managed to pick up the wrong doors and fittings. It's easy done in that breeze block warehouse when faced with a sea of cardboard boxes and bar codes.

Even as we approached the main entrance I could feel my chest tightening. By the time I stepped onto the escalators I was hyper-ventilating and my ankles swelled up like a pregnant rhino. The dizziness hit as we glided past a display of red, yellow and green plastic that was posing as a home office.

I sat down at the edge of the restaurant and composed myself whilst 2 fat women in leggins and flip flops, spoon-fed Swedish meatballs to their 2 equally rotund children. Breathing and heart rate stabilised we ventured off into the rainbow maze.

We tried to be clever and found what we thought was a shortcut through to Kitchens but landed up back at the restaurant, twice. In the end we gave up and just got in line and followed everyone else along the designated path as they scooped up colourful crap into their yellow plastic bags.

At last we got to Kitchens and a lovely IKEA chap with a small afro did something on the computer screen and handed HM a little ticket with the number 424 on it. We were ushered off to the Returns department. Afro man told us to 'give it half an hour'. That should have started alarms bells ringing but by now we were suckered into the whole IKEA 'experience' and wandered off to Market Place to while away 30 minutes amongst the candles, ice cube trays and fish slices.

I finally succumbed and picked up 2 packets of voile window drapes (that's net curtains for my straight readers). HM nearly became a serious casualty as he was diverted by a teak stained, pine steamer in garden furniture. I managed to prise him away eventually after reminding him that we'd been foraging for 25 minutes and had an appointment in Returns. I now have a thumping headache.

The tills were empty so I parted with my £6.98 very quickly. Left turn into Returns to be greeted by a sea of trolleys and a big digital display flashing the number 401!

40 minutes later and I'm started to get agitated again. My growing anxiety is made worse when a small child decides to whizz round the place on those stupid roller trainers. It was making really annoying sound effects every time it sped by and after about 10 minutes I was planning on hurling an empty tolley at him on his next circuit. I could feel my palms sweating as I gripped the handle and rocked gently on the bench. That kid would have been roadkill if HM hadn't interrupted my concentration with an ice cream.

This was only a temporary respite as said kid then decides to stop in front of us and stare while we struggle in vain to prevent the ice cream from dripping all over the floor. Foolishly my HM decides the best approach is to enter into a dialogue with the brat. The evil child just shrieks, laughs and speeds off after dropping a very smelly fart.

By the time we get to number 423 I've started chewing my nails and rolling my eyes so frequently I must have appeared to have some kind of nervous tick. Why do we keep looking at clocks and watches when we're waiting. It doesn't make the time go any quicker and just gets us more wound up.

Finally, after an hour, my HM is called to till number 5. I decide to stay put and fiddle with my voiles while he's being interrogated.

20 minutes later and I'm chewing the skin round my nails. He's now got 3 IKEA staff round his till and they're all fiddling with bits of paper and scowling at the PC screen. It took another half an hour for the 3 of them to work out what the correct order should have been and how much of a refund my HM was due.

I guess when you employ muppets whose primary skills are being able to swipe bar codes, you can't really expect them to be good at adding and subtracting too.

As I head for the exit I'm hit on my blind side by a overloaded trolley and it slices a chunk of flesh off my heel. It's the 2 fat meatball women and they glare at me as though I deliberately put my ankle in the way of their trolley. They look a bit fierce so I decide against a confrontation and limp off bleeding to the car.

Finally get home to hear the last 5 minutes of Iain's show, with my foot and fingers in tatters. Still no Agent Chris and Vinnie is taking calls straight to air. I feel normal again.

I have now taken a blood oath that I will never venture into that soul-sucking warehouse ever again. Al Quieda chose the wrong Twin Towers



*footnote*

The voile window drapes stayed up for approx 80 minutes and have spent the rest of the weekend on the bedroom floor.

Roll for the lads

Just what us brawny boys need to wipe up our manly messes

p.s. I have survived the patio plunge and managed to put up the replacement blind all by myself with no one helping me. I'll be watching Soccer AM and setting light to me farts next!

Bedroom Bunjy Jumping

Today has been another one of those days when I wish I'd just stayed in bed and not allowed myself to get tangled in life's evil web.

This morning, around 7am, I was drifting off to sleep again after pressing the Snooze button for the third time when my mobile rang. I got such a fright that I let out a girly yelp and pulled the duvet over my head. Why on earth did I think that the theme from Psycho was a good idea for a ringtone?

By the time I'd composed myself and adjusted my eyes to the dim light in the bedroom the caller had rung off. I assumed it was a wrong number and snuggled back under the covers only to hear the main house phone ringing within seconds. I let it ring and waited to see if the person would leave a message. Just as the bloke started talking I remembered my new shed was being delivered today!

I stumbled through to the lounge only to hear this Argos oik telling me to get out of my bed! To be fair, he did have a point. I was still half asleep so wasn't really sharp enough to have a go at his interesting customer skills when I finally picked up the phone.

It was good to get that delivery out of the way early. I just hadn't expected it to be so early. Usually if I book a morning slot the doorbell rings at 11.59.

My Sainsburys shopping delivery arrived promptly too. Just after Loose Women and before a spiky phone call with a project manager who looks like Herman Munster and smells of Ritz crackers.

This evening I'd arranged to go to IKEA to get a new blind for my bedroom. I'd managed to break the mechanism for opening and closing the blinds during a Jacobs Creek tasting session. What little co-ordination and dexterity I possess vanishes completely after 2 glasses of Shiraz.

In preparation for the IKEA trip I drank 2 cups of camomile tea and popped a propanolol but I was still feeling flushed and anxious. The car trip was only 5 minutes but as the blue and yellow towers drew closer I had a twinges in my right arm and my ankles turned crimson and swelled up. Not a good look when you're wearing 3/4 length shorts.

I did some breathing exercises on the escalator and by the time we got to rugs I was feeling pretty chilled. We reached blinds and spent 20 minutes arguing about colours and drops. In the end we decided on the 120 x 155 in pale wood. I say wood but I swear it felt more like Wrigleys Spearmint chewing gum strips.

Half an hour later we find the tills and the exit and depart Swedish purgatory without purchasing anything that we didn't come for. Never EVER pick up the yellow bags in IKEA. If you do you're sure to arrive home with a useless fish slice, rubber ice cube tray and some apple & blackberry tea lights.

Got home and decided I'd have a go at putting up the blinds myself despite my famous lack of skills in the DIY department. The old blind came down really fast but I managed to break the fittings in the process. I'm not good up a ladder but I was being dead focused. Too focused really as the fittings snapped off.

No worries, I thought. I'll just unscrew the old fittings and put up the new ones. Unscrewing was a piece of piss. One by one the screws came out and fell on the floor as I teetered on the step ladders. Why is it that step ladders make such scary creaking noises the higher you go up?

Replacing the fittings shouldn't have been a problem but when I started I realised that the screw holes were in a different place. I'm sweating now and the step ladders are moving freely around my laminate flooring. I'm determined to do this and get the right side fitting fixed after a medium struggle.

The left hand side proves more difficult as I can't get a good twist on the screwdriver due to a wall cabinet being in the way. After dropping the screw 5 times I'm getting stressed again but despite the wet arm pits and neckline I persevered and decided I needed to apply more pressure on the screwdriver.

The screw fell out another 6 times and I'm getting angry and more heated. My head is throbbing and after counting to 10 I decide to have 1 last lunge at the screw. The shift of weight pushes the step ladders back and throws me forward......through the open window and I do a stuntman dive onto the patio, destroying a group of Jasmine clippings in small pots.

I think I've done something bad to my shoulder and my left ankle is feeling sore. I feel a bit shaken to be honest but I haven't got time to worry about my injuries because I now realise my trauma has been in vain because HM just told me that the window is more than 155cm deep so the blind is too fucking short!

I'm washing down more propanolol with Jacobs Creek so even Jodie Marsh couldn't wind me up now. I wonder if I need an X Ray? It hurts when I do this..............

Touch me Tahmoh

This isn't really a blog but I've been watching the Battlestar Galactica box set over the last couple of weeks and have become obsessed with Tahmoh Penikett. Sexy name too!

He looks great in and out of uniform.

He can dock his Raptor in my loading bay any time xxx

*sigh*

The Great North Grope!

Off on my travels again. This time I'm at the mercy of GNER as I make my way to Newcastle for a business meeting and a big company do. Spent the whole previous evening emptying the contents of my wardrobe and trying to pair up tops and bottoms for the party. In the end I went for a Diesel/Primark combo of jeans and black t shirt adorned with various crucifixes. I think I'm turning into Madonna circa 1984.

Surprisingly the trip North was pretty uneventful apart from a toothless drunk across the aisle who kept emptying a carrier bag full of Celebrations and Quality Street onto his table and counting them. After he satisfied himself that they were all still there he would scoop them up and put them back for 20 minutes before starting all over again.

He caught me watching him outside Peterborough and waved a mini Mars bar in my face and laughed so much he nearly choked on his own phlegm, like a TB victim facing the last rites.

Jumped in a cab at Newcastle station and when I said where I was going I got what sounded like some mild form of Geordie abuse. 30 seconds later when we pulled up to the hotel I realised why the cabbie hadn't been best pleased. The hotel was just the other side of the traffic lights. I felt so sheepish and embarrassed I gave him a fiver and told him to keep the change.

After a curry I finished off some work in my room and had a glass of something passing as red wine before getting ready for bed. I was really tired and looking forward to hitting the pillows. I slid under the covers with a grin on my face and my specs perched on the end of my nose. It took about 5 seconds before I realised I was lying on something damp!

I threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. Well I didn't exactly leap. It was too late at night for leaping. Anyway I switched the lights on and gently patted the mattress. It was definitely damp. Should I sniff it? I sniffed it! No smell but it's damp. I sat on the sofa for a few minutes wondering what I should do. No choice but to call reception and think about packing up and moving rooms.

After about 5 minutes there was a knock at the door and Blakey from On the Buses walked in! I swear he was a dead ringer. He has a feel of the bed and ventures a sniff. We're both rubbing the sheets now and it's becoming clear that the dampness seems to have vanished! He's now looking at me like I'm some sort of mad person. He's quick though as he suggested that maybe it was the 'sea air' as I had the windows open. I found myself agreeing with his theory to get out of my predicament. He bid me goodnight as I rushed him out the door. I guess I'll never know where the dampness came from or where it went. Maybe it was some kind of paranormal wetting!

Next morning my guts were playing up after the curry. I'd already had 2 toilet sittings in the hotel before the cab arrived. Why don't hotels provide bog brushes. I'm sure it's so the maids can have a laugh at your skid marks.

I'd only been in the office for about half an hour when the curry made itself known again. Nothing worse that doing a poo in the office but I had no choice in the matter. I sneaked down the corridor and after checking to make sure I had no neighbours I landed in trap number 4. Just at the point of noisy release, the toilet door opens and in come a group of lads from the call centre. I think I've only ever taken a dump at work on 2 occasions and both times I ended up with a giggling audience outside. Having a shit can be really shit sometimes.

The main event was the party in the evening. I work with a great team of people and we always have fantastic nights out but this one was extra special as it marked a big change in our company. A change for the good I have to say. It's been a dead exciting time and we were all really up for a good time.

As usual Big Frank, the tea-total giant, got rat arsed after 2 pints of Carling and was swaying by the Ladies toilets offering Marlboro Lights to anything that walked past. We got him a cab at half nine as his eyes were rolling back into his head after someone gave him a Sambuca.

Soon it was the last record of the night and we were all on the floor linking arms and shouting along to The Proclaimers and 5000 miles. As we got to the 2nd verse I felt this hand down the back of my jeans. Inside my underpants! I turned to Diane who was on my right but realised her hand was on my shoulder. The hand down my pants belonged to Ian from Finance! What a f*ckin liberty!

We staggered across the bridge to Buffalo Joes for more of the same. I love Buffalo Joes. Especially the bar staff. Those sexy lads in chaps and leather waistcoats are very pleasant viewing. I was apparently quite easy on the eye to a young guy who followed me around like a puppy. I say puppy but I think he was more like a predator as he tried to get me away from the pack at every opportunity. I was flattered and it was fun but he wasn't my type.

After a quick snog and another grope I escaped back to the herd only to be thrown onto the bucking bull. Well I say thrown but actually I was getting boos from the crowd as they were getting bored waiting for me to take off my boots, jewelry and find a safe person to hold my mobile phone. I finally made my entrance and leapt onto the bouncy base around the bull. Misjudged the bounce and fell forward, bashing my nose on the saddle. I lasted 12 seconds on the bull and staggered off with a bloody nose only to be greeted by Ian from Finance with a tissue and a smile........