football

I’ve done it again – fleshly tried to give an opinion about football in the pub! Time and time again I do this – am I ever going to learn?

I just don’t watch football enough and never have. I played it a little as a kid and also I played a little in the navy as well as a small amount of 5 a side since leaving. However I’ve never had the passion. I’ve never truly believed. I was not really all that good as a kid and didn’t care enough to put the effort in to improve and so this situation never changed.

Add all this together and you get to where I am. I like football, I quite like playing it and I quite like watching it, but I know absolutely nothing about it whatsoever. I only really like watching the England games and even then only if I can be bothered. It’s the lack of effort, of putting the time into caring about a sport that blocks my knowledge.

My friends are all different. They have followed clubs since childhood and played at various levels too. Their attachment to a team has meant that they have accrued years of experience with which to make opinions and judgements with; whereas I just quite like watching the big games.

The thing is though that with me being like I am, I still don’t see why this should exclude me from having an opinion. Why should I sit quietly all night whilst people discuss sport just because I don’t follow a club? It never works though; Mick always winds up shaking his head at me and smirking. It happened again tonight as we discussed the match against Belarus on Wednesday. I simply said that I though a young lad that had been on in the first half (first clue here is that I still don’t know his name) had played really well and probably had deserved the man of the match. After spending 5 minutes trying to describe who he was to the table I was immediately given the head shake. Apparently he did OK but still has a lot to learn and definitely won’t be in the World cup squad! He certainly wasn’t man of the match material. It was worth a try.

It’s always the same, on so many occasions I’ve made a fool of myself when watching a game in the pub. I will say something like “I know we aren’t winning but the defence is really good I think!” seconds before the commentator will slam the England Defence for making so many mistakes. If I say that Lennon is playing really well you can guarantee that within 5 minutes he will be substituted. I just have no idea what’s going on and I really need to try and remember it.

The only compensation I have is that none of that matters. The reason why I’m never scared to offer an opinion no matter how obvious it is to me that I’m bound to be wrong is because I like to see people pulling together and cheering up. On any table in any pub in the country where football is being discussed there may only be three or four moments across the whole evening where everyone is in agreement. This is fact. No one ever agrees with other people’s opinions, these people that have spent their whole lives loving and understanding football still cannot have a discussion about their sport for more than 5 minutes without disagreeing about it. This is the beauty of the sport, everyone’s view is different but everyone’s view is important. And so for those few moments where everyone shakes their head at me and as one agree that I’m wrong I feel the warmth of having brought them together! Joined rival supporters with opposing loyalties into one common agreement – that it’s my round!

Talking of which I’d better get these back to the table before the 2nd half – I’m hoping they will play Keegan because I miss his perm.

back at rugby

I watched Jamie at Rugby this week, I can’t believe how much he is changing – how fast he has grown up.

My youngest is 5 and has always been a little young for his age. I suppose it’s unfair to say that because I can only compare him to Daniel and Dan has always been very forward and confident. This confidence has meant that Daniel always seemed older than he was and the lack of which has caused us to see Jamie as much younger than he is. Jamie only just has his birthday before the School year starts and so he is about the youngest in his class and these things show up at that age.

His immaturity made us quite nervous at the start of the year; we worried quite a lot about how he would get on. As with most kids he coped just fine. In fact he has absolutely blossomed in such a short few weeks. Thanks to the all the work we have done and that his nursery did that we held him back at instead of pushing him into School before he was ready, Jamie’s confidence has rocketed. All that preparation to get Jamie to this stage has worked and now – luckily, he has a good teacher who clearly knows how to get the best of him because he absolutely loves it.

All of a sudden Jamie will run into new places ahead of us, instead of clinging onto a hand and hiding behind us. Suddenly I can tell him that his friends are ‘over there’ and Jamie will run over to join them. This is great to see, I love seeing this new confident boy running about making friends.

One place where this confidence is most prevalent is at the rugby. If you remember I talked about his first week playing rugby before about how I really wasn’t sure that he was going to be able to cope. Jamie certainly has coped and then some! When we arrive now he is looking up the pitch to find his team and as soon as he spots them he is off. Jamie runs straight over and joins in long before I get there to help. This may seem ordinary to you, nothing special at all, but to me it is and I love it. His head goes down and he just runs about joining in with the bigger kids that are playing.

The only thing that has not changed is that Jamie still has no clue whatsoever what he is doing. My boy’s comedic timing is amazing. I can count 2 seconds in my head between the rest of the team runs by with the ball and Jamie running past laughing and holding his tags out to his sides like they are a skirt. If I see the team running to the left I know that Jamie will run to the right smiling at the sight of a bit of mud on his knees. As the boys run past him I can see his look of delight when he nearly gets their tag and especially if he gets knocked over, he just comes up laughing at the thought of doing a bit of wrestling and grabs their feet as they try and get away.

My son has a long way to go before he even grasps the first concept of how to play this crazy game; who cares? I couldn’t care less if he is any good at it because what I do know is that he loves it. The smiling the laughing the giggling and the skipping all tell me that my son is happy, and that will do nicely.

Rumbled

Oh dear – rumbled. I just had a text from Jo asking if I could fetch some tea tonight. My wife has been busy until late and in no mood for cooking.

Normally getting the nod to fetch a take away is a good thing. A little treat that goes down well, you can’t beat a bit of Sweet and Sour chicken. The problem is that Jo wants me to fetch it. After all that is the point isn’t it? This should not be a problem, fetching the tea should be easy.

Sadly what my half packet of Wrigley’s Spearmint Gum is attempting to hide is the fact that I got away from work a little earlier than my arrival time home suggests. Due to various reasons I have had a minor visit by Mr. Fosters. Not a major night out or anything but enough to mean that I can’t drive.

So now I’ve wasted that chewing gum. I’ve had to come clean and admit that I can’t drive. I cannot fetch the food after all and so I am well and truly caught out. There’s no point me suggesting that I’ll walk and fetch it as this would stand out a mile. Jo knows full well my opinion of people that have diet Coke with their McDonalds, and walking to fetch a take away is the same thing as far as I’m concerned. Jo knows how I feel on these things.

I can try saying I prefer Pizza and get it delivered but the text was quite specifically pointing to the fact that my wife fancies Chinese. As every one who is any one knows Chinese takes 45 minutes to be delivered but only 10 minutes to collect so this is out too. I have no choice but to come clean. This is not going to be pretty.

Wish me luck…

Telephone call synchronisation

The battle of the phones has just begun. Since getting on the train this morning I’ve been honoured with being allowed to listen in to one half of the dullest telephone calls ever. I can’t even write about what he is talking about – it’s that dull. What he lacks in content however, my man has decided to make up with longevity and volume.

Mr. Mobile is sat a couple of seats away but is easily managing to impress me with his impressive use of a wonderful piece of modern technology. His clever understanding of the millions of hours of work and investment that has been carried out, in order to carry his voice across the world is putting the whole carriage in awe. The little microphone hidden within that amazing gadget in his hand will amplify his voice, and convert it into a special magic wobbly signal that will fly through the ether on his behalf. There is no need to shout!

The question is – what is going to happen next? We have just stopped and one of those beautiful moments in life has just occurred.

From the moment she stepped into the carriage we knew she was on the phone. The whole carriage tuned into her conversation about last night’s disastrous meal. We sat in wonder at her shiny phone as it flashed past and then I for one smiled like a 10 year old in Hamleys as she chose the empty seat next to Mr. Mobile.

I am now watching an interesting phenomenon known as sub-conscious telephone call synchronisation. Are they actually talking to each other? They could be because they have somehow settled into a rhythm that appears to suggest they are. Mr. Mobile shouts out that he has to finish his report on the apparent improvement in shine quality that can, in 67.3% of all left handed shoe wearers, be noted on the right hand shoe. Almost as soon as he stops talking Miss. Nokia rallies by saying that She’s surprised to hear about that and wonders where to buy them. What is she trying to buy – left handed shoes that automatically adjust to compensate for poor polish application?

Time and time again their conversation seems to not only match in timing but also in topic.

“He couldn’t have found it with a guide book, torch and a Sat Nav!”

“Yes it is true that 88.54% of male albinos are incapable of reproduction…”

I wonder if they are married to each other and this is the only way that they can communicate. Perhaps this is a new thing that I can try with my own wife? If Jo starts dishing out a constant stream of female trivia; or if the list of jobs that I’ve either still got left to do or have done wrong starts to drag on I can just claim that my credit is running low and stop the call. I can then sit at home with the phone switched off in peace. I like this idea and can see no possible flaws whatsoever!

Ah nice one – Mr. & Mrs. Mobile have finished their calls and are now sat scowling and facing away from each other. In my opinion that has entirely confirmed my suspicion as they now even look married!

Commuting on Crutches

Where do you buy crutches? I’ve never seen them in Argos or Currys and they are the only two shops I go in so I accept that I’m no expert in this area. Can you get them online?

An idea came to me this morning after noticing something. A lady gets on the train at my station with a walking stick. It’s only a simple every day walking stick but she holds it in a way that suggests she really needs it. This lady is no rambler carrying her brand new Leki Wanderfreund Antishock Walking Pole freshly delivered from Blacks and unable to resist mentioning how much better it is that a normal stick every other mile.

Everything about this lady’s stance says “I need this stick as I clearly am in a bit of pain or have dodgy toes that stop me balancing”. The effect of this is immediate. A few times I’ve been stood in direct competition with her to get on the train first. We both know where the doors will open and so stand with steely determination. I’ve discussed both the art of trying to stand in the right place for the doors and also my inability to say no to Grannies etc. before so I won’t go into that here. None the less my train is pretty full and so getting on through the doors ahead of the pack is vital in seat acquisition. Time and time again there will be one person in front of me who will board the train and then pick the most covered up seat to sit in even though there are seats ahead of them where they could sit straight down. The person already sat down will take forever moving their stuff and only when they have finished doing all that will the new arrival start sorting themselves out. They wait and wait and wait before starting taking their coat off and fishing about in their bag.

Whilst my train boarding nemesis takes an hour to sit down all I can do is watch as the people who got on the train from the other end of the carriage fill up the seats, walking right up to the easily accessed empty seat in front of the one this idiot has insisted on sitting on because it was the first one he saw. The despair of seat loss, instantly demolishes any optimism for a great day at work that I may otherwise have held.

To get slowly back to the point, as I was saying, getting on the train first is fairly high on my agenda in the mornings. This lady, the one with the walking stick, has on a couple of occasions been in direct line with me on the starting blocks. Of course as the doors unlock she swiftly holds her stick theatrically in front of her and winces as she goes to step forward. Naturally I step aside and let her on, how could I not? Then she jumps on the train like a gazelle and heads off down the carriage faster than Paula Radcliffe. By the time I’ve boarded the train she is already sat down somewhere with a full spread of drink and sandwiches that she has somehow found time to get from the buffet and a beginners guide to parkour in her hand.

Having seen her successfully push three places in the line again this morning to another bunch of unsuspecting commuters by audibly groaning when she had to lean her weight on her leg to pick up her bag, the time is nigh for action. I clearly can’t copy her and buy a walking stick. A walking stick would just make her my equal but then she would pull the lady card out of the bag. I would have to let her on in a gentleman’s fashion. In order to beet this cunning commuting con artist I’m going to have to bring out the big guns. I need to have a full on crutch. It needs to declare in big bold letters that here stands a man clinging on to life by a thread. This man nearly dies snow boarding off-piste after the downdraft from the helicopter that dropped him caused an avalanche. I need one of those false foot plasters to complete the image.

Surely once I am stood there like this my foe will have to back off and let me on? She can’t possibly claim a gammy foot is more important than a fracture metatarsal gained whilst rescuing the lives of seven Swiss chalet maids and a Saint Bernard. It’s definitely worth a try.

Mind you she might just actually be in pain and genuinely need the stick.

leaving your kids alone for 5 minutes?

Is it really only my children who cannot be left alone for 5 minutes without a fight breaking out?

I feel like how I imagine it must be for a UN official sitting in a room alongside a handful of Soldiers and some Greenpeace members. Everything is absolutely fine but the UN guy is bursting for the loo. What does he do? Eventually he tells the Greenpeace people to quietly sit and do some drawing whilst advising the Soldiers to compare tattoos for a couple of minutes and then he runs up the stairs to the toilet. You can bet that before he’s managed to get his trousers down the shouting will have started.

As a parent you are constantly working out the ‘Fox, Chicken & Grain’ enigma. You know the one, take the fox and the grain over first, return with the fox then take the chicken over … no wait a minute, take the chicken and the fox over and return with the fox and then take the grain over… no hang on – got it! Take the chicken and the grain, return with the chicken and then take the fox over. Return with nothing and then take the chicken – phew. The point is that as long as the chicken isn’t left alone with the fox or the grain then all is well. Personally I always felt that as the chicken was clearly the trouble maker then just leave it behind. Actually why can’t you just take the fox and grain over and then go back for the chicken? Do Foxes eat grain? Never mind – you see the point.

That’s how things are with my boys often. I spend so much time sat in a huddle with my Wife discussing tactics to solve a conundrum about some otherwise trivial job that needs doing. A lack of preparation could inevitably result in the boys being occasionally left in a room without one of us in it. If Jo is upstairs with Henry the Hoover can I be outside hanging out the washing? How long will it take to hang the washing – more than five minutes? What if Jo takes Jamie and gets him to count the pillows and I get Daniel to hold the peg box? Dishing out chores is a good idea but fraught with more issues than it can solve. They have to be asked separately to do these chores because if one finds out what the other is doing then he will want that job instead. Daniel will want the pillow job, Jamie will want the pegs. Ask them which they want to do and prepare for a long wait as each one holds out with steely determination to see who will break first and declare a preference. The instant one breaks (usually Daniel because he is determined to get his choice) and shouts up an answer the other one goes into meltdown trying to get that choice for themselves.

The answer is to take them separately to one side. I offer them a choice of job as discussed but it goes like this…

“Daniel, I need you two to help with some jobs; do you want to come and help me hang out the washing or do you want to tidy your room?”

“I’ll help with the washing!”

Then I’ll take Jamie over somewhere else…

“Jamie, I need you two to help with some jobs; do you want to help Mum upstairs with the vacuuming or do you want to tidy your room?”

All Jo or I have to do is wait until one of them pops to the toilet and spend the 1 minute that it would take to tidy their room up (compared to the hour of screaming and fuss that actually trying to get them to do it creates) and the rouse is complete! Both boys separate and help (ish) with the jobs and both feel really happy that they have won. They won’t actually say anything to each other afterwards but will just sit smirking smugly.

It so often does not work but it’s all I’ve got. There are only so many combinations you can try to keep them apart without one of us being in the same room. It only takes a moment’s lack of concentration and we have a WWF frenzy in the living room!

Phobias

Writing about my mild Claustrophobia got me thinking about all the different phobias that there are in the world. It’s crazy to think of all the different things that people are scared of and how specific they are. I had to do some research in order to find out what a fear of crowds is (Enochlophobia) and that led me to learn about some classics.

The first odd phobia that I noted is Macrophobia but I’m not going to say what that is right now – I’ll come back to it.

The phobia that most stuck out as being the most specific bizzarr and wonderful fear that man can possibly have is Arachibutyrophobia which is the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth. What world do you have to be living in where this is a real thing? Surely this is just something that you don’t much like not an actual syndrome? It must also be one of the easiest phobias to put up with and cure. It’s not as if every September we get herds of Peanut butter jars coming out from behind the bead head whilst you are asleep and climbing in your mouth. “No thanks love can I have cheese spread in my sandwhich instead?” is surely enough to pass a dangerous moment into safety. I personally don’t like raisins but love coronation chicken. As you can imagine this presents me with a bit of an enigma. That feeling when I realise I’m chewing a raisin leaves me quite disgusted. Do I have raisinsareranknophobia or do I simply dislike raisins?

I imagine the best thing about having Amnesiphobia is that if you are ever unlucky enough to get amnesia you will forget that you are scared of it and be instantly cured.

How on Earth can anyone possibly be Consecotaleophobic? How could the chopstick present such a danger to anyone? I may have to go into phsycotherapy, I think I’d be good at it. “Scared of what? Chopsticks? Don’t be so ridiculous, just use a knife and fork and you’ll be right as rain in a week – pay the lady on your way out!”

Like all men I do suffer with acute Menophobia. Menstruation is just not right, there is nothing even remotely OK about the whole process and it should be banned in my opinion. There is nothing fills any man with dread more than the sight of his beloved suddenly taking her handbag to the toilet with her. We know that when she comes back we will have done something wrong but don’t know what it will be yet and the anticipation fills us with horror.

Actually there is perhaps one thing worse than Menophobia. I myself am very definitely Pentheraphobic. I doubt that I am on my own in this but fear of mother-in-laws has to be a very real problem for the vast majority of married men. Having one turn up unexpected, when you haven’t had time to go through the full checklist of house chores that she will be coming to inspect; causes immediate panic. Will she notice that you have only hoovered downstairs?

I guess the most nervous people on the planet have to be the Phobophobics. How could you survive being scared of phobias? You haven’t even been able to think of anything to be scared of so you just go right ahead and be scared of being scared of things instead. How do you cope? Aren’t these people just a bit needy? Or maybe lazy as they can get out of doing anything at all by announcing that they are scared of being scared of it. This means that if people show them a spider they don’t have to do all the screaming and shouting. It’s far too much effort for the Phobophobics to do all that running about just because a spider sidles past, much better to just get someone to get rid of it by saying that you are scared of being aracnophobic.

Any way that’s about it for now – I’m sure I’ve missed some funnier ones but I’ve got a little Ergophobia and am therefore scared of work so I can’t be bothered to research any more phobias. I’ll leave you by saying that if you have been sweating and hating every minute of reading this post then you are either a Macrophobic and therefore afraid of long waits or just a pantsblogrophobe; who knows?

I did my reserch at www.phobialist.com

As cool as Screech

Claustrophobia is a funny old thing. It’s got me into a few scrapes over the years. I’m only mildly claustrophobic and it’s more a fear of crowds really – I’ll have to look up the proper word for it later. It’s definitely a mixture of the two phobias. I get quite stressed in crowds and confined spaces which for a London commuter is a right laugh I can tell you!

On my own when I know exactly where I’m going I’m ok. I can deal with that, I may not like it much but I’m used to it and can more or less relax. A soon as you throw something else into the mix though I start to panic. If there are issues on the line & I have to find a re route around it then I get worried. I’m not used to the route, I’m not sure where I am, I stress. Added to this worry is the fact that a lot of other people are having to make the same detour and so the route is double packed. My heart is racing by this point sweat pouring off me.

Worse still is when I’m with someone. Even if it’s just a friend who is more capable on the tubes than I am, it still throws the balance off for me. I feel pressured to stay with them and maybe even chat instead of just concentrating on relaxing and so the stress levels rise. If it’s someone I care about and feel protective of such as my Wife then I really start panicking. Jo is more than capable on the tubes, she lived in London long before I did but this is not important. I feel responsible for her safety and so immediately I slip into stress mode. The confined space and close proximity of people constantly on my mind. Don’t even consider how stressed I feel when the boys are with me – it’s really not pretty.

I think the first time I can really remember understanding that this illogical fear had the better of me was when I was 11 at School. I’d got really lucky. I’d managed to get a girlfriend. Oh yes and she was nice. She was also credited with being – let’s just say – friendly! VP as I’ll call her was nice and we had been seeing each other for a little while though I’d not yet been able to drum the nerve to kiss her! I was a little nervous but had pretty much got over that and was ready.

I had been out for the day round Newark one weekend with VP, my mate Stephen and another girl. We popped into the most romantic place we could think of – the multi-story car park. Ah yes we were quite classy. In the lift Stephen leapt into action and jabbed at the buttons until the lift jammed between floors. Once the lift was ‘stuck’ Stephen immediately set to work snogging his girl. VP stood and waited, smiling. I froze. I was stuck in a lift. The lift was small and there were ‘crowds’ of people in there taking the air! I couldn’t stand it, I could feel the sweat on my back and so I did the only thing any sensible young lover would do; I shouted for help! I shouted and shouted until someone came to our rescue.

Once out of the lift I turned to my friends and smiled in anticipation of some serious gratitude for saving their lives. I pursed my lips ready for that first kiss which was no doubt about to be given to me as a reward for being a hero. The three kids stood and stared at me. “Everyone OK?” I asked making sure they weren’t in shock from their ordeal. They shook there heads and walked on. I followed wondering how people could be so ungrateful.

Monday at School saw me dumped and wondering why so many people were laughing at me. I can understand where I went wrong now of course. With hindsight I must have been demonstrating as much cool as Screech from ‘Saved by the bell’. If that program had been invented back then I reckon I would have earned that nickname for life that day. Clearly what I should have done was coolly use the alarm bell and then sit myself down low in order to conserve energy and air, perhaps I could have started singing ‘behind the quartermaster’s stores’ in order to keep everyone’s morale up whilst we awaited rescue. Hindsight and experience are wonderful things.

Never mind - I’ll just keep on being cool and calm, as long as the train is not too crowded!

By the way -- Enochlophobia is the Fear of crowds apparently – just rolls off the tongue doesn’t it? Agoraphobia is a similar one.

feeling old

I’m feeling really old today. I don’t know why I just am, I feel a little more tired than I ought to. I’ve had a hard day with plenty to do but still all I’ve really done is sit at a desk. I got the train in and sat down. Then I got on the tube and got a seat. I sat at my desk all day and then I got the tube back (easy seat again) followed last of all by another seat on another train.

My backside should be tired but the rest of me? I guess it’s just lethargy making me feel so tired due to lack of activity. I’ve been far too busy this week to get to the gym and I think that creeps in and makes you feel worse. I do feel tired though – I just can’t justify it. My only real thought is that it must be age.

Thinking like this has got me working on the numbers. I’m 38 and I’ve been working now for 22 years! I sit now and remember the feeling on the day of my last School exam. I walked out of there so excited and ready to take the world on. I was 16 years old and on top of the world. School had finished – I was a man!

I knew that my career was sorted as I’d already been accepted into the Navy. I had an interim job organised too stacking shelves at the supermarket so I had absolutely nothing to worry about. The world was my oyster and I was never going to be like those crusty olds that I could see all about me. The only problem I had was convincing bar staff that I was 18. Everything else was easy.

I had so much energy and time. I had nothing to worry about and nothing to care about. It was a great feeling and I remember that I could not have cared less about the results of the exams I had taken; that was a problem for another day – another person.

So much has happened since then to make me cynical and less optimistic about life. Only 6 months after walking out of that exam I was just one week away from finishing my Navy basic training when I wound up in hospital with a kidney infection caused by sceptic blisters on my feet! The recovery was slow causing me to lose touch with most of the mates that I’d made in those tough 7 weeks. Eventually I recovered and made it into the Navy but the infection left me with high blood pressure that still requires medication today.

How many rough duties and bad doses of luck have passed my way since then? How often have dreams been shattered or lost? I can’t count them, can’t even start too.

Do you know what though? I am a little cynical but I’m not completely pessimistic. In fact I say I’m optimistic. Whenever I think all is bad I just do one simple thing – I look at my family. I’ve done alright, the look of hope and wonder and excitement in my boys eyes easily makes up for all the hardship that being a parent brings. How can I think things are so bad when every morning I get two little monsters climb in bed and give me a cuddle and then one big monster leans over and gives me one as well.

Life may well be winning the battle on my energy levels but it hasn’t killed me yet!

Netball

I’m very proud of Jo. Finally after so many years she has really made me proud!

Jo has been playing netball for about 4 years now (as an adult anyway). Every week I wish my Wife good luck and keep my fingers crossed for her that she will get a ‘goal’. Every week she comes home and tells me that she plays on the wing.

I admit I don’t know much about netball, or any sport for that matter, but it can’t be that different to basketball and I have played that. Admittedly when I played basketball they had to lower the net and I was mainly there to hold the players coats but it still counts. I know that you have your positions to play in as you do in football but none the less, when a scoring opportunity comes up you take it – don’t you?

Year after year Jo has told me that Wing Attack does not score goals and year after year I’ve held my fingers crossed and hoped that there would be an opportunity. Surely there must be the odd occasion when the goal Shooters and the Goal Hangers or whatever they are distracted, maybe they’ve tripped over or something leaving the net wide open? Surely one day a gap would open up an Jo could just do a last second Hollywood style half-way line lob straight in the goal just before the final whistle blows? There had to be a possibility that my Wife could come out from the hidden rubbish position in the background and get some glory?

Last night Jo came home quite excited. My Wife was jumping up and down with excitement. Apparently there had been an Earthquake or some Swine Flu Pandemic that had wiped out every single tall woman in Oxfordshire. The team were desperate, the team phoned round every school, Brownie & guide hut and every hospital (physical and mental) but had not been able to find anyone. Jo was asked to be Goal Shooter! My Jo!

She jumped at the chance (well with the net being so high she would have to). I think they may have found some steps for her or something to make it fairer. The point that I’m slowly ambling my way towards is that she did it! Jo had scored a goal! A brilliant, fantastic goal, how class is that? Jo finally scored a goal – I’m so proud.

Moments like this really make you think.

That moment when she walked towards me down the Aisle looking so beautiful or the moment when she told me she was pregnant. I remember the moment our two boys were born and when Jo was being such a good Mum for them. I remember when Jo told me she had got her job and the way that she can just mix in and get to know people when we have moved so much better than I can. All of those things make me proud of her, but scoring a goal at netball – well, now we are talking!

toilets

I noted another aspect of manhood that can sometimes be frustrating today. A fault in men that sadly lets us down is the toilet; it is an area where men and women differ hugely. We just aren’t any good in them.

I’ve discussed before that a women will never win the waiting game on cleaning the toilet because we just don’t see that it needs doing, so I’m not talking about cleanliness.

Today I got into work early and headed off to the toilet. Once in there I saw that someone had put the bin under the urinal. This is nothing in itself – my head quickly worked out that the urinal is probably leaking a bit and so someone has saved the day. However I very quickly made the following guess based on evidence I could see. It was definitely a man that had done it.

Now before you all jump up and point out it was in the men’s toilet we do have female cleaners. I could see that it was a man because whoever had put the plastic bin under the urinal had used some very fast and impressive problem solving but had put no thought whatsoever into the clean up work that would later follow. The bin still had not only the current bin liner in place but a stack of spare ones in it. This means that the in bag was filling with water. The bin could no longer be simply cleaned out once no longer needed; someone was going to have to get dirty sorting the bin bags out. A Woman would have considered that.

Realising that the day had been saved by someone with this mentality I also guessed that he would have left it there – happy that his work was done. No effort would have been made to concern him with sorting it out. So I put in a note with the relevant team to get it sorted quickly. I added a note to warn them that they might want to get a move on because there are men working on our floor and I could guarantee that, although anyone could see this bin was in place with bin bags attached, men would still use the urinal. Men would still use the urinal because there was no sign telling them not to do so. When we go to the toilet we do not think, we have no need to think, we just get on with it. I knew full well that whilst there was no sign in there and some duct tape across the urinal then it would be used no mater how obvious it might be to not do. I was correct – I later discovered - in that I was the only person to actually report the problem.

Sure enough when I later went to the toilet I noted that the water in the bin was no longer clear in colour and to top that men had also still been continuing to use it as a bin. The bin was now full of soggy yellow hand towels. Not only was someone going to have to fix one of the nastiest bits of equipment known to man ( I know because I stripped and cleaned this very urinal about 8 years ago) but afterwards they were going to have to find a way of disposing of the contents of the bin. Men fix things, we make them work. In our heads we have people to clear up the mess afterwards.

Ironing

“You make a lovely Housewife!” Jo foolishly said to me this weekend, proving yet again that she simply has no understanding whatsoever about the male psyche. I slammed the iron down in disgust and told her what I thought.

However rubbish it may be, however wrong it maybe men just don’t feel manly doing housework. Without a doubt our modern man heads can accept that we should do it, that it’s only right that we do it. My wife & I both work so why on Earth should Jo do all of the housework at the weekend? Logically I can’t argue with that at all but still…

The fact is that modern enough to help out a bit I maybe, but modern enough to truly feel it I’m not. I still feel that all I am doing is helping Jo out; letting her off from some of her jobs. I take a couple of the easier jobs from her list and do them for her. In my heart these are really hers and so when I’ve done them I deserve to be thanked. It doesn’t occur to me to thank Jo every time she cleans the toilet or dusts or whatever it is that she gets up to around the house but if I pick up the iron then I’m expecting a bit of praise appreciation.

Now I know full well how rubbish all of that is. I’m intelligent enough to see how ridiculous that argument reads, but the simple fact of the matter is that doing housework does not make you feel manly at all. In the world of men on a Monday morning and the lads ask you what you got up to at the weekend you just can’t say “Oh spent most of Saturday putting washing round and hanging it out to dry and then last night I stood for two hours ironing it!” You just can’t say that so you have to lie and say that you were cutting the grass and putting some shelves up. Decent conversations by the kettle in the office don’t start with “How many clothes does your wife wear through the week? Mine’s a nightmare I spent hours ironing her trousers last night!”

And so there you are ladies here’s a tip about men. Logically we know full well that it’s right we join in a bit at the weekends, but we are never going to jump up and feel good about it. We are already feeling a little emasculated so don’t whatever you do make jokes about it. Don’t say what good Housewives we are or even a good Househusband because that does not work either, it sounds a little camp. Stick with “a good man!” that will do nicely, ticking the gratitude box without devaluing our masculinity. Sorted!

Birthday Party

I’m relieved. I think my son maybe normal after all. You always think that your own kids are different to everyone else. Either you are one of these “My Johnny would never have said that…” kind of parent that truly believes that their child is the only one on the planet that can be innocent 100% of the time; these parents will storm in to see the teacher every time their child is maliciously accused of any wrong doing. Their child is clearly being bullied and the teacher is to incompetent to see it. Alternatively you can be one of the kinds of parent who automatically say “What did you do this time?” and stare with dread at any letter your child brings home from School. The delight and pride you feel when it turns out to be notice of impending School photographs being akin to the letter having been about your child being voted ‘Best In Class’. Clearly the school must think something good about him if it is letting him have his photo taken in their School uniform this time?

At the Weekend we had some boys round for Dan’s birthday. Due to moving house and renting etc. we haven’t actually had a party for Daniel since he was very young and was happy to have a pizza making party with mostly girls turning up as his friends. In such a short space of time he has become a ‘boy’. There was no way any smelly girls were coming this time! A movie night was planned with party tea and all was good.

The relief was seeing Daniel at play with mates. First of all it was nice to see – It took him a long time to settle since we moved across the country and I know he found it really hard. No doubt he is getting along OK now though. Seeing him playing with a group of mates took away a lot of guilt about putting him through such stress so young.

The next relief was in realising that they are all just like him. The lads that came were all absolutely fine, polite decent lads and all completely barking mad! The chatter at the table was unbelievably inane. Each one trying to outdo each other with their armpit burping technique! I just laughed to hear how amazingly funny they found it to burp! These are boys – it’s what boys do.

There was no way they were going to watch the film and their ever increasing one-upmanship mixed with sweets and cake and chips was beginning to endanger the health of the lounge.

Step up my in-house teacher. Jo quickly took charge – dished out glow sticks and led them outside to play Sardines! Well I say play Sardines – she tried! I laughed as she attempted to tell them to be quiet and hide if they find the person they are looking for. Every single one of them looked at her as if she was talking in a foreign language. No mater how many times Jo shouted “No split up and be quiet” they continued to hunt in a pack – the instant any of them caught sight of their prey they shouted at the top of their voice so that every one knew it was them who had found them. This is ordinary Man training, it’s important to let everyone know that you are a mighty hunter.

The game was aborted and the boys did what they do best; the boys chased each other around and wrestled. What are you supposed to do?

Eventually we got them back in and settled for god old tried and tested Mr. Bean, fantastic.

Yep, it turns out that my boy is just as boisterous, as mad and as boyish as his mates are. He is also lovely – hard work – but lovely!

leaving do

I’m not going to write much tonight – my head is a little fragile. I’m afraid I have quite a nasty case of Wine Flu.

Last night we said goodbye to 2 cracking blokes from work. It wasn’t their decision to leave the company; sadly they are the latest victims of the credit crunch. These guys are two of the limited few of us that have been around for ages. Kevin was the longest standing member of the original company, having been there before all of us. Paul started not long after I did. So I’ve known these guys for about 11 years now and thus I’m now suffering a bit.

I think we did them proud – as well as current employees we had old faces from years back turn up and with money behind the bar all was good.

It is fun to see the different way people are at these things. Some people who have politely come but don’t really know the guys that well stand around politely saying how “the place won’t be the same!” Others who really know them laugh more – because they know that they can. Shouting bagsy on the good monitor or chair is standard fair as is complaining when the next round of drinks comes that “It’s alright for you – I’ve got to come to work tomorrow!”

I love how people come together so fluidly when you haven’t seen each other for so long. I think that is the measure of real friends, real genuine friendship. The ability to see someone you haven’t seen for 5 years and after maybe 5 seconds of warm niceties go straight into taking the P out of them for a mistake they had made 7 years before! For me the funniest part of the night was sitting with CJ Andy and Joe. Quality people that you can never ever have a serious conversation with. Andy & Jo work with Sky and so from nowhere CJ is ranting about the waiting list for SKY+ where he lives. There was no way he’d let it go either – they were going to have to either apologise on SKY’s behalf or get straight on the phone to fix it before it could be dropped; absolutely brilliant, the fact that the guys jobs have absolutely nothing to do with SKY+ is completely unimportant. The friendship these guys share easily allows for this kind of conversation.

I myself had a very good point (I think) to make to Andy later on. I started to make it my point but sadly the Carlsberg took control of the conversation. By the time I came to actually make the point I’d waffled so far away from it that I couldn’t remember what it was or even what we were actually talking about. I just burst out laughing (Carlsberg again), I still can’t remember where I was going.

My wife often despairs at me when I’ve been out because I have nothing much to tell her afterwards. I spent the night with these old mates so surely I should have plenty of news. What have they been doing? Where are they living now? The list of things that Jo will come back from a similar night out knowing is endless. However for men it’s different. We don’t ask stuff like that we just talk about which kind of crisp is best in a sandwich, our talent for talking about nothing is limitless. The reason we dread it when a women looks us in the eyes and asks “What are you thinking?” isn’t because we were deeply wondering where our life is going and if we really love this woman or wondering what kind of ring she might like as a surprise present. The reason we dread the question is because we were wondering how many pigeons it would take to fill the Albert Hall and if Konnie Huq would turn up in a bikini to count them.

As for Paul & Kevin, they did well knocking back the ale and sharing some laughs when they both are facing some hard days ahead. It’s not always easy to keep a sense of humour, and yet they both managed it well.

Good luck guys – see you at the next one!