desperate sales pitches

What is it about being in the sales end of any business that makes people all the same? There’s something about the job that demands a certain type of person to do it in order to succeed

The lady at the Clinique counter in Boots today was classic example (can’t say what I was doing there as it’s a secret). I stood there with some products in my hand trying to remember what I bought last year when from my right flank came the attack.

“Hello, can I hep you sir? Are you looking for yourself or someone else?” were the slow deliberate words that floated into my ears on a cushion of velvet. I looked up into the face of whatever it was that was asking the question. It’s difficult to be absolutely certain what she was due to the 8 inch thick layer of makeup that covered her face. The overpoweringly familiar scent of someone that works next to the perfume tester bottles forced its way into my head.

Slowly I tried my ‘uncertain if I want to pay that much’ act in order to try and induce a sweetener to the deal. I am the world’s worst haggler and it’s not uncommon for me to walk away without being offered the standard freebie that might usually come with an item; still I continue to try it on in the eternal search of a bargain Eventually I’m fobbed off with a ridiculously gaudy empty bag that is identical to the never used one from last year and I proceed to the checkout.

She is literally about to press the key that would complete the transaction when she decides to go for broke. “Oh I’ve just realised that there’s a really good package we have that has these items in that might suit you better!” “?” I replied knowledgeably, “Yes it has these two tubs in it as well as this endless list of other magical items that a lady’s skin simply must have to survive; things that you will never be able to comprehend in that uneducated man head of yours, things with names that I am telling you right now but you are neither interested nor listening!”

“Does it? What is that then?” I offer and am led to a shelf where a large box containing an impressive array of lotions and potions sits with a ribbon around it. I agree that it does indeed seem a much more pleasant present to receive than a simple jar or two and think to myself that I maybe ought to go with this reasonable suggestion. My eyes eventually settle on the price tag. Then my eyes wander off for a bit before returning to the tag. I ask the lady if there has been a mistake but no, I’ve read it right.

Yet again a sales person has spotted my inability to shop with confidence and tried to smack me in the privates with it. This glorious package of Clinique’s finest skin care products which I was being offered as an aside cost more than three times the amount of the items I was trying to buy! Three times!

I mean, if you are trying to up-sell to an unconfident buyer then maybe show him a package that is 20% more or maybe even double if you want to try it on but she blew it. Greed for an easy commission drove her to go for a prize way out of reach and so I held firm and bought only what I went in for and not a penny more was spent.

Mind you she never got round to giving me the free bag, presumably as revenge for the fierce “Do I look like a complete Banker to you?” comment I’d given her at the shelf.

Dad's know the answer!

Daniel had a barrage of questions for me again this morning. I know that I should know some of the answers being an adult but sometimes you just don’t.

“Why’s it called a Cello dad? Why do you pronounce it CH instead of CEE? What language is that? Is It Italian? Is it Latin? Why is it Latin if it’s Italian? Why is Orange Jam called Marmalade?” All within the space of 20 seconds.

I stood there waiting for him to take a breath before launching into my response, “It’s what the inventor called it, because it’s a foreign word, I don’t know what country it’s from, I don’t know, I don’t know, it’s an old language that the Romans used to speak, I’m not sure – wasn’t Queen Victoria involved?” As you would expect my answers only created a hundred more questions instead of resolving anything.

It is a lovely thing how kids want to know everything and assume their parents know the answer if a little tiring at times. I was told off by Jo the other day at tea when Daniel had yet again let fly with 4 different questions in the same sentence and my answer had been “Why do you ask so many questions?” Jo immediately pointed to the merit certificate that Daniel had so recently brought home with his held proudly aloft (quite rightly). The certificate reads “For asking thoughtful and probing questions in science”.

Thoroughly reprimanded for trying to quash my son’s natural inquisitiveness I quietly mumbled the answers as best that I could.

I know where he get’s it from though. Last month when I was at Death’s door with Swine / Man Flu Jo came in one night in a huff. “The outside light is not coming on anymore when I walk up the drive…” Which was news to me as I’d not been out at night for well over a week but within a single heartbeat she continued “…what’s wrong with it? Is it broken? Or is it the bulb? Why isn’t it working?” I flopped back into my sofa duvet den and ignored it as my head was in no place for riddles like that.

I suppose I should be flattered that my wife is so impressed by my Manly prowess at DIY that I can diagnose a duff bulb in a security light 20 milliseconds after being informed of an issue and without so much as taking the cover off and shaking my head whilst scratching my chin.

So I live in a house full of people that think I am a font of knowledge which is very nice but a lot of pressure especially as I get a special table on my own and don’t have to pay if I try and enter the pub quiz locally. They even give me a special big pencil to use so I must be intellygente intallerg clever.

Reality Sit-Coms

I shared a classic sit-com moment today. When I say ’classic’ I really mean it because I think Harold Lloyd was the first person to fall for it in one of his earliest silent movies. Since Harold it has been repeated in endless copies and from Sid James to Lenny Henry it never fails to raise a smirk.

Even when you are the actual stooge in the gag, as I was today, it has still made me giggle all the way to the laptop.

She was pretty, with long blonde hair and a cheeky smile. We shared a knowing smirk as a very tired lady struggled to cope with the packed tube. The doors were open and there was a wall of commuters between her and the doors that she was going to have to get past. This being London she was left with a problem, how to get by a load of people with there backs to you without saying anything. Our friend silently swayed from side to side looking for a gap and stood on tip toes to try and see a possible route. What made me smile was the way that she went directly from complete silence to utter outrage so fast. Why could she not have taken a moment to give saying “excuse me” a try? Even “Can I get by?” would have helped, but nothing at all was said as this would have constituted a conversation.

Suddenly this quiet lady erupted and with a massive scream of “Oh for Heaven’s sake!” she roughly pushed an unsuspecting man sideward’s and forced her way through.

I shared an amused eyebrow raise with the girl next to me and the pair of us added a wry grin for good measure. Commuters were getting on so I moved away over to the side and went back to thinking about bacon. This had been more than the acceptable level of communication with a fellow passenger anyway so I thought no more about it; the moment had passed. But the moment had not passed!

My new admirer was looking right at me and smiling still. Confused I looked up to see if she was OK and as I did so she broke out into a laugh. WOOAH crazy alert bells were sounding off in the carriage as people desperately tried to edge away though no room was available. I smiled back thinking that it was best to be polite, the encounter had been mildly amusing but no way funny enough to merit laughter so I wasn’t really sure what to do next.

Laughter stopped but she kept on looking over and smiling and occasionally trying the amused eyebrow thing again! I considered my options and decided that if I tried to leave the train in order to get back on it further along I might not be able to get a place so I gave up on that idea and decided to stick it out. There were plenty of witnesses about if she got a bit over excited after all.

I repeatedly looked about to see if there was anyone behind me but all those that were behind me were facing the other way. Not one person in her eye line was acknowledging her existence. It was definitely me she was after! I cursed my Beckham like pheromones and wished I had not but an extra squirt of Right Guard on this morning. How was I going to get out of this one?

At Edgware Road some space opened up and she came straight over. With a very stern look (the eyebrow stayed firmly down) I opened my mouth to speak, I’d lined up a good opener about how it’s such a nightmare how long it takes to get home to see my lovely wife and how much I’d missed her that day just as she squeezed right past me to the massive gentleman stood directly behind me. His head was bent over as he loomed right up to the roof of the train.

Every time I’d looked around I’d failed to do the one thing that would have saved the situation – look up. I’d noticed that she kept bobbing her head up and down when she was looking at me but had just assumed that this was to do with her mental illness and so had let it go.

And so I got off at Paddington to the sounds of giggling and phrases like “In your dreams Shorty!” Ah well, never mind – Harold would be proud that his legend lives on.

The Christmas Show - Costumes

Christmas show time at school and we have had a letter back saying what costume our child needs to be wearing. Every year this brings on the same problems, I had decided last year to start collecting costumes through the year so that we would be ready but completely forgot.

What I think should happen is that the school should decide in June who will be playing what so that you have some time to get the sequins box out. As it is you have to try and be ready for anything. This year it’s my 5 year olds first ever school play and we are very excited as you can imagine. I’ve not planned well, I’ve prepared all the wrong outfits. I was ready with a really convincing Joseph costume complete with sparkly tea towel and sandals that light up with fairy lights every time he takes a step. I have a brilliant Angel Gabriel sheet sewn up with tinsel halo. I was even stood by with an accurately recreated copy of a traditional inn keepers outfit from 200 years ago that I researched at the National History Museum and then adjusted at Hawkins Bazzarr. I made a gold bar out of wrapping paper and a brick which added to the Joseph costume (plus crown instead of tea towel) made a brilliant King and the Joseph costume again but with the sandal lights turned off and a walking stick made for a great number one shepherd outfit.

So I was ready; I’d thought it through and all of the lead parts were covered. I Could not believe that any teacher worth keeping wouldn’t have noticed the star quality of my child and so he should definitely get one of those roles and most probably Joseph so I’d spent the most time on that one getting the sandal lights working. I remember a few years back being outraged when Daniel came home to say he going to be Myrh – I mean Myrrh? Myrrh always stands at the back of the three kings and only gets one line, “I have brought you Myrrh – No I don’t know what it is but My Missus gets through loads of it!” I was so cross with the teacher that I refused to sign Daniel’s reading diary for 2 months.

Last night I got home to find that the fateful letter had arrived detailing costume requirements and I shook with excitement as Jo stood and read out the letter in the style of Dermot O’Leary reading the results on X-Factor. Jamie needs white trousers. What does he need white trousers for? Hang on, Angel Gabriel wears white, they must just be updating the angels a bit to make them more modern – fair enough that can be sorted easy enough.

A SNOWFLAKE! A snowflake? How can he be a snowflake? Snowflakes don’t talk they just mill about and dance a little and then sit down out of the way whilst the serious actors get down to work don’t they? How can this have happened, clearly there has been an administrative error on this, Jamie must have brought the wrong letter home.

I’ve made an appointment to see his teacher tomorrow and should be able to get this cleared up quite quickly I think. I won’t stick the other costumes in the loft just yet, as I’m sure once she thinks about it his teacher will realise her mistake. I reckon he is good for at least Herod who is the last of the big roles but the least glamorous due to his evil so this role may not have been allocated yet.

I’d have thought that word would have spread, if not it certainly will this year. Last year Daniel finally made it to Joseph and I was the proudest Dad in the room telling the crowd to shush just as he was about to speak a line. I’d spent a quite a bit of time rehearsing with him so I knew when they were coming. Joseph delivered his lines perfectly and the reviews were fantastic, I think the Times called him the next Russell Crowe and the telegraph hailed him the hero of the day for rescuing an otherwise lacklustre and poorly acted piece of work Needless to say his teacher got a very nice bottle of wine, some of Sainsbury’s finest hand soap and Ferrero Rocher as a present at the end of term.

This year I shall be heading down the 99p shop for Jamie’s teacher’s Christmas present and hope to come home with some change in my pocket, so hopefully the message will be received and understood for next year!

A snowflake? I’m going to have to take a few days off work I think. First I need to get the sewing machine out and see what I can do to adapt Gabriel’s costume, perhaps some silver glitter and turn the tinsel halo into a scarf or something? Then I need to set to work with Jamie’s coaching, Somehow I’ve got to get him into character, I need some snow; how can we be expected to ‘understand’ what goes through the mind of a snowflake without snow?

Christmas shopping for a 'Wife'!

It’s that time of year again and I’m losing hair trying to think of what to get Jo for Christmas, which would be fine if I had a little more spare to lose! It’s not like the hair I’m losing is falling out of my nose or off my back is it?

No way, any stray hair that shouldn’t be there is happily fixed on solid and is staying whilst gradually becoming grey. The hair that my fretting is killing off is of course from the minimal locks that have until now clung onto my head. The only consolation from this depilation is that it will all be their own fault, when it’s all gone and my wife is having to walk around town being seen married to a baldy and my kids are hiding their heads in shame at the school gates when my shiny bowling ball head homes into view. I shall revel in pointing out that I told them so, the boys will finally accept that perhaps they could have behaved a little better and not asked for so much; Jo will hang her head in regret at all the years of nagging and being damned hard to buy a Christmas present for!

In fact, Jo is not hard to buy a present for at all as I know exactly what she would like. The problem is that I bought her that last year, and the year before I think. I was determined that this year would be different, this year I would not be hitting the Clinique counter. Jo does love the body butter though and really appreciates a bit of moisturising cream. My wife can get excited about bubble bath in a way that absolutely baffles me. Put a whole set in front of Jo so she can match her smells (bubble bath, moisturizer, deodorant & perfume) and she will smile in a way that most normal people would if told they had won the lottery. The next hour would see her locked in the bathroom with the candles lit (what is all that about?) and when she comes out you still have another hour before she will even start getting dressed; no body knows what exactly it is a woman does after a bath that takes so long but I’ve successfully remained married for 11 years by not loitering about to find out and have no desire to start asking now.

I’ve tried other gifts of course; all failed and left the air cold. We all know about the Green Party’s policy about outlawing husbands from buying Lingerie. They want it made illegal for unescorted married men to enter a lingerie department unless they can prove that they are buying it for a mistress. Apparently 30% of the electricity used in China is used up making sexy bras and pants that will only ever see the back of a wife’s underwear drawer, the materials sourced to make these items are thankfully minimal due to the husband’s natural assumption that a woman prefers to have as little material as possible used on the pants. If the unwanted, never to be worn lingerie that was received by British wives on Christmas day were to be laid out end to end they would allegedly stretch from Lands End to John O’Groats and back three times and use up a whole squared meter of silk!

Once I tried getting her something that I thought was really good, I sourced her a top of the range (at the time) 1Gb USB flash drive; it was really fast and sleek looking and could read and write at about 6X faster speeds than it’s peers. I was really excited about this present but you should have seen her face, I thought I’d mistakenly asked her if she fancied trying swinging from the look of disgust on her face! I couldn’t understand it, I knew full well she was fed of having to take our laptop to work so that she could keep files up to date and I’d given her a fantastic solution to this issue – what was the problem?

Shoes, jumpers, tops and trousers – forget it! Over the years I’ve tried it all. In the early years I tried buying her things that I thought I’d like to see her in. MEN - NEVER EVER DO THIS! With experience I now try and watch careful while we are out at the things she looks at or tries on but even this doesn’t work because if she tried it on and liked it she would have bought it anyway! Then I try and listen to hints which is a sure fire way of cocking it up because there’s bound to be at least three different knee length black and white tops in next with a square neckline and only one of them is right. The Charity shop near us has benefitted quite well from clothing of one form or another that Jo has dutifully worn once whilst out with me in January before feeding it into to Clothing bank whilst I’m not looking. The rest have just gone straight back and been swapped for something that looks almost identical to me but is apparently correctly fitted and totally different colours.

So here I am again desperately trying to avoid the Clinique counter at Boots and instead determined to go it alone and get her something that is as good as she deserves but am failing badly. Apart from lotions, potions, make up brushes and candles what on Earth can you buy a woman and have at least a 1 in 5 shot at getting it right? I think I’ll have a browse on Amazon and think about it, they have some quality ‘all in one’ remote controls that work your T.V. DVD and anything else all from one control that I’m fairly certain she will like. Wait a minute what was that thing I saw in the Innovations catalogue? USB powered foot warmer? Now we are talking…

Claudia Winkleman

What is it about Claudia Winkleman that I like so much? I can’t work it out at all. In so many respects she is not my type as she is too skinny, manic, and overly reliant on make up and spray tans. None the less I melt a little whenever she is on the telly because she is just beautiful!

Why do we do this for celebrities? What is it about fame that turns someone you can’t explain fancying into a crush? I don’t know the answer by the way I’m just stating a fact. It’s not just Claudia though, how about Stacey from Gavin and Stacey? Yes please is the answer, though I suppose she would expect me to do the courtesy of at least Googling her real name, but what would be the point of that? I’d still want to call her Stacey anyway. For that matter here’s a better example, Ruth Jones who plays Nessa, in her case I’d happily call her Ruth but again what on Earth do I fancy about her? I can’t explain it but she is still very attractive when you see her as herself being interviewed.

Don’t be getting all uppity with me either, we all do it. My Wife fancies Phil from Location, Location, Location and Kevin McCloud from Grand designs.

I’m not talking about the straight forward obvious choices that we all like such as Kylie, Mylene Klass, all but one of Girls Aloud, George Clooney, David Beckham etc. I’m talking about the ones that you can’t defend such as that last one from Girls Aloud, Jane McDonald, Zoe Ball, Jason Mandford and Mr. Tumble. I do worry a little about my Wife’s choices sometimes.

It keeps you happy living in a little dream world I think. I’m heading towards a conclusion here. We happily fantasize about getting one of the really gorgeous A list celebrities like Beyoncé Knowles but know full well that we would stand a better chance with the horse faced C list ones such as Leona Lewis! Therefore the fantasy has a little more edge and excitement if you feel that it could actually come true! It’s the whole Playboy or Razzle debate all over again. Does a fantasy have more zing if there’s a degree of truth and possibility in it? I think it might!

We did once try making up one of those “Allowed” lists where you write down 10 Celebrities and then should the opportunity ever come up to spend the night with them you can do it with no marital risk or issue. It all went wrong though because the last 7 women on my list were Didcot girls who have quite well known reputations. I felt that because I’d seen their names written in toilets and in the telephone box they were bona fide celebrities but Jo did not agree and negotiations stalled. I also took umbrage at Jo’s attempt to add an ex boyfriend to her list because his Brother knows someone that appeared on Blue Peter in 1983.

Eventually talks were abandoned and the whole idea was scrapped so now if I accidentally pull Charlotte Church I could be putting my marriage at risk!

Anyway I’m going to get back to doing what I was doing before I started writing this, which was wondering what would happen if I bumped into Claudia at the buffet. Would we share a laugh about getting our free Bacon butties? Would we compare how many vouchers we have left to use and then just flow straight into a long and interesting chat about how rubbish Strictly is? I reckon I’d be on a winner there!

What I miss about the Navy

I’ve worked out what I miss most about the Navy. Well I say that I miss it most, clearly there are some things I miss more but they don’t count. For obvious reasons I miss being 20 and having hair, I miss being single and in the forces as they seem to go very well together. I miss (sometimes) having no responsibilities whatsoever and every penny of my salary being available for fun. The reason those don’t count is because everyone has to grow out of that no matter what job you do, it’s just about growing older.

What I miss most are good hot Dockyard Mouth-Organs at Stand-Easy. When you were based in Plymouth the Cornish pasty was the treat that told you that you were in your home port. Stand-Easy is the morning break at about 10 and you had to get to the Naafi queue promptly in order to get the best Janner Kebab on offer. Then with a pasty in one hand and a brown sauce sachet in the other you would head down to the mess. You would sit with your Plymouth Smile at your face surrounded by 30 lads all doing the same with Kilroy on the TV ( this was the early 90's). This is quality living, it might not be in the brochures you get from the Navy carears office but probably should be.

The small issue of the lack of a morning pasty is one of the reasons I never liked being based at Portsmouth as much even though I was based at Portsmouth far more than I was at Plymouth. In Portsmouth you could buy a Ginsters and stick it in the microwave but it wasn’t the same. In Plymouth the Oggies were made locally and delivered fresh and piping hot just before Stand-Easy. I’ve seen some nasty moments of near riot when they were delivered late I can tell you

Yes I know we have the Cornish whatever company these days so you could pop to almost any station and get one if you liked but you would never get that feeling of camaraderie that you used to get sat in a room with everyone whom you know eating the same thing. All you get now is sitting in a cold draughty station surrounded by strangers and even then there is no unity. Some of the strangers are eating Pork and Apple, others have Lamb and Mint. Far too much choice, the only choice you should have is if you want to pay the extra 5p for one that hasn’t been dropped on the Naafi floor or not.

Never mind, I’m sure as time goes on I’ll think of some other things that I miss about the Navy, I’m certain that there must be something.

I have to go now though because I’m suddenly feeling peckish and we are pulling into Paddington, what was that place again- West Cornwall Pasty Company?

Pantomime

Christmas is coming up fast and that brings one important question; shall we go to a Pantomime?

I love a Pantomime, the dafter and camper the better, I have no explanation for this other than the basic idea that you spend an hour or so away from the real world and all its problems. For a short time you are transported back to your childhood and nothing at all matters.

That’s the theory anyway. When one of your children screams in tears every time the comedy witch comes on and then gets hopelessly bored in the second half, you soon get shaken back to life.

So shall we try again this year – after all my youngest is a whole year older now and should be able to join in a bit even if my oldest will be more embarrassed my own whooping and shouting of “It’s behind you!”

I do have to say, though that my own children have never shown me up in quite the same way that I once showed my parents up!

It was 1976 probably (I was about 5 I think perhaps younger, perhaps older) and I was very excited. I had no idea what a Pantomime was but it was nearly Christmas and we were going to a special show. We went to see Aladdin at the Lincoln theatre where Jeffery Archer worked when he was supposed to be in prison.

The show was great; I was really enjoying it and didn’t even cry when that evil Jafar came on stage. I’m not sure how it happened as I had no idea what I was doing but I suddenly found myself on stage. I remember suddenly being ushered on from the sides but can’t remember how I got there.

People who know how Pantomimes work will know that the really young one on the end gets the special prize, rather than the bag of sweets and a colouring book that the others get. Sadly I had no idea of this and therefore cannot be held responsible for what happened. I stood and watched with glee as Aladdin gave out a small bag of Jelly Tots to the people in line before me. My eyes were wide open in anticipation of receiving my bag.

Here is where it all went wrong and where Aladdin learnt a very valuable lesson which I hope served him well through the years. Had the hero said to me “Well Glen you are very lucky because you are getting a special prize…” or “Glen I have something extra special for you…” things might have been OK but oh no, he had to play to the crowd.

“Oh dear…” Aladdin began in quite realistic dismay, “We have run out of sweets!” He even bought out an empty box to show me, “what can we do? I’m really sorry” What he didn’t realise at this point was that the look of despair on my face was being provided by thoughts that weren’t going away in a hurry. TYPICAL, I thought, why does this always happen to me – I really wanted those sweets.

With timing that on every other night would have been perfect the young actor reappeared from the wings and with a big wink to the audience announced, “Look what we have found, will this be OK instead?” At this point he produced a massive soft cuddly Panda Bear but maintained his look of sorrow at the embarrassing catering disaster that had taken place.

No way was I being fobbed off with that, if only he had used tones that let me know I’d won really but instead left me feeling like life had yet again dealt me a bad hand. I cried and cried. Why couldn’t there have been sweets left over? What on Earth would I do with a giant cuddly Panda that was nearly as big as I was? Nothing he could do could console me, oh if only there had been one small bag of Jelly Tots left over!

A miracle! Wishy Washy came running on stage; right there behind the sofa guess what they had found? Not one but two small bags of Jelly Tots! RESULT!

I remember getting back to my seat and trying to show everyone my prize, I’d got two bags of sweets and I was loving it. My Sister was absolutely furious with me, she could have had the Panda if I didn’t want it. My parents wouldn’t look at me in the eye but instead kept looking over at the adults sat on my left whilst tutting and shaking their heads in a really overt way so that anyone else around would follow suit. I absolutely couldn’t believe how no one was happy for me.

My poor parents have put up with so much over the years!

The question remains about going to a Pantomime this year though – what could go wrong?

yet another train phonecall..

I was amused this morning by the lady sitting opposite me and also the great comic timing of the unknowing sidekick sat next to her.

From the moment I sat down she was on the phone. She is clearly a high powered sales type (not high powered enough for first class though) with a big deal to close and felt it quite proper that the whole carriage should support her on this.

For ages she droned on repeating herself endlessly to her clearly inferior colleague about what needed doing, what projector she will need and what are the key points to get across. The carriage slowly started to drift off as one by one the crowd fell asleep. Will she be picked up from the airport, will she get coffee. Who cares!

Next call was to home and now we all had to hear about how wonderful a Mum she is. Relax, it’s OK you have nothing to prove most people these days have switched on to the fact that Women are able to be successful and still love their kids haven’t they? Maybe I’m wrong but I don’t need to loudly have this amazing ability to work and still be a good parent shoved down my throat. The conversation changed as she started speaking to the husband. I don’t know if he usually looks after the kids or is having some time off for her trip away – doesn’t matter because either way she is a successful house keeper too. His list of job reminders went on and on, put stuff in the wash, take it out the wash. Don’t forget to get Joshua to School; don’t forget to pick him up. Women always do this, it’s not just her. If a man phones home from the train when he is going away, he simply tells her to record the Gadget Show and leaves it at that. Men simply assume that the woman at home will figure out for herself if anything else needs doing. Women assume the opposite and are not prepared to leave it to chance meaning that we not only get told to put washing in but also to separate colours and what programme to select.

Finally she finished just as we got to Reading. The man who had been sitting opposite her got off and soon someone who had just got on the train took the seat just as a man a couple of seats behind started up a similar conversation with his colleagues as her first call had been. Our new caller once again needed the whole carriage to hear of his success, perhaps he was threatened by the idea of a woman being more successful than he, perhaps not; either way we were going to hear all about his upcoming meeting like it or not.

Our new table friend leant over to Sales Woman of the year and joked, “That’s all we need a loud Tosser showing his phone off!” As one I caught eyes with all four of the people on the table to my right and all of us were fighting laughing out loud, a war which we all lost as she laughed “I know!” back at his witty observation without the slightest appearance of irony or shame. The looks of wonder she gave us all at our sniggering were a picture, no doubt trying to see how this man’s comment had been anything more than a short laugh, it couldn’t have been that funny – could it?

Coughing Etiquette

This is a quick note about something that happened last night. I had yet another reminder about why I only aspire to have a load of spare money hanging round to spend on holidays and gadgets but I’ve never aspired to go up a class.

As previously written I’m currently abusing a freebie upgrade to 1st Class on my journey home care of my Season ticket. I certainly would like to have the cash to afford this all the time as it is so very much nicer than my normal commute. Take now for example, it is morning and I’m crammed into a hot carriage and squeezed into a small uncomfortable seat with barely enough space for my laptop and stomach to occupy together. I had to stand from Didcot to Reading before I was able to get a seat. Tonight, however, I will stretch out in a large leather seat and place the laptop on the spacious table and relax. I’ll probably have a cup of tea and a biscuit from the free trolley and may pretend to read the free paper (it’s The Times and try as I might I can’t seem to get over the fact that it is drivel, last night’s copy had no mention of I’m A Celebrity at all!).

However, as plush as it may be in 1st Class and as nice as the seats may be it is marred by one small point. The upper class twits that actually pay to be in there!

Last night I was sat opposite this idiot whilst trying to write who had a cough. Now I would have to be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I were to complain about someone on the train with a cough and so I won’t. I’ve no complaint about him having a cough at all, in fact I have the deepest sympathy. What I am complaining about is how he was coughing; with his head held high! Slowly but surely I began to realise that when he was coughing he was simply holding his head away from his book and coughing. Not away from me however, just away from his book. A couple of times I felt the rush of air from his cough on my hand and this was the point where I started to lose it. I monitored him swiftly in order to be sure of my facts and clearly could see without doubt that there was no effort at all taking place to cover his mouth or turn away from me.

“No chance of you covering your mouth up when you cough is there?” I crossly asked after a minor “ucksake” I shot him my fiercest scowl and looked around to wait for anyone else in the carriage to back me up but failed to see a single chin so I gave up on that. Guess what his reply was – I bet you can’t. If you are reading this and you are any kind of normal straight forward person I bet you can’t guess what he said. Was it “Sorry” was it “OK” was it even “Shut it, I’ve got no hands since the war!” no – none of those.

“It’s OK I haven’t got Swine Flu!”

WHAT?

I was absolutely flummoxed by that one. Something in this utter fools mind thinks that you only have to cover your moth for the big diseases. Common courtesy is just that – common. What about straight forward politeness? I don’t want directly coughing on no matter how trivial the cold. I was so flabbergasted that I completely lost the use of vocabulary. Rhetoric failed me as I totally became unable to reply. I could have apologised and asked him if he’d like to spit on me as well I suppose. I could have pointed out how ridiculous his argument. I did none of those – in the face of extreme idiocy and arrogance I backed right off and mumbled that I’d had Swine Flu already very quietly. At this he smiled and said “there you go then I’m the least of your problems” really, he really said that! I hid behind my laptop and remembered my place. Who do I think I am trying to mix with these people? I was so stunned I could do nothing, although to be fair for the rest of the journey he did cover up so perhaps somewhere deep inside he knew he was wrong. I don’t doubt he will be laughing about it down the golf club though “…and this utter oik thought I had Swine Flu and was crying just because I had a cough Rupert!”

I have not considered the possibility that he is a free upgrade ticket holder too by the way; I’m too snobby to accept that.

UPDATE:- I had my free bacon buttie this morning and almost felt ripped off as the limp over microwaved, tasteless bap with scolding hot bread was presented to me. I can't imagine how depressing it must be to receive that particular insult to catering if you had paid the full £3.20 asking price!

After the shop

I survived! I’m standing here alive and well and with my marriage intact. I have successfully managed to get through the annual Christmas shopping spree without any permanent damage.

Perhaps saying no damage is a little optimistic as the mental damage incurred is immeasurable, my wallet is no longer talking to me and there is a person somewhere in the heart of the VISA building doing a little dance right now thinking about his bonus this year. I will revise the rating to limited permanent damage.

We had a scary start as the cunning parking plan very nearly went disastrously wrong.

We had a very early start as Jo takes shopping very seriously. We arrived at Milton Keynes at 0800 and laughed out loud as we parked right outside the doors of John Lewis in the free parking area. A quick look around to double check the signs that the car park was indeed free and we patted each other on the back and smugly set off to find some breakfast. We were on target to swiftly get some energy inside ready for attack at 0830 when the shops started to open. My head was troubled though. Breakfast did not go down easily as memories flooded back in. I’d seen on t’Internet that parking was not fee 0830 – 0900 there hadn’t I? Why were so many people out of the few who were already parked up still sat in their cars with engines running?

After breakfast – which had taken a little longer to organise than planned as BHS did not open until 0830, I decided to go back and check again, relieve my growing tension. This time I used a different door coming out on the other side of the car park. There up high at the very entrance to the car park was the small discrete, barely visible sign of the private clampers. No parking until 0900 on Saturdays and a £50 release fee from the clamp! My day was already ruined, we might as well have paid the ridiculous costs of the multi story after all – it would still have been cheaper (just). With my heart pumping through the roof of my mouth I made my way to the car. No clamp! We had completely got away with it, I confirmed this by individually checking each wheel three times! I was ecstatic and this feeling of elation was boosted still further as I looked about the car park – it was now 0901 so we were safe for the day parked right by the doors and the car park was now already full. Moreover I suddenly realised that right next to me were two cars both of whom had seen me at exactly the same time and were desperately trying to nudge each other out of the way whilst waiting for the first sign of me to unlock the car. The first with his indicator on would get the prize so they hovered. The red car cracked and his window came down, “You going mate?” the hope in his voice making me nearly want to say yes, I shook my head and in despair he left. At this point the silver car’s window came down, its driver clearly believing that the red car had just given up and that he had won, “you going mate?” In order to teach him a lesson for not paying attention I deliberately thought about it for a bit, appeared undecided to give just that fraction of hope before I quashed it with the truth.

The day went on like this as I found more an more ways to amuse myself at parkers expense. Every time Jo sent me back to the car with another armful of bags to stash in the boot I found different ways to crush the hopes of those people who could not be bothered to get up early enough to get a free park. Slowly taking my coat off and then going in the glove box to ‘get something’ was a good one. Then I decided that the car was not quite straight enough in the car park space so I decided to sort that out, I was nearly in tears laughing at that one. Then I found that it was fun enough just walking round the car park. So I’d find an excuse to leave Jo alone and go back to the car park. I’d slowly prance round the whole of the car park with my bags like the Pied Piper with three or four cars slowly trailing behind me waiting to see where I’m parked. When I decided I’d got a big enough following I’d casually stroll back into John Lewis giggling.

I needed the car park relief though because the actual shopping part was exactly as I’d imagined. Millions of people all crammed into the same place trying to stand in the exact spot that I was stood in. shop after shop after shop looking at make up, hand bags and boots before I managed to remind Jo that we were supposed to be buying for other people. We must have walked a marathon in distance as we trailed round and round. Every now and again a couple would be going past with the man looking harassed and complaining about the cost of parking when he would just stop and stare menacingly at me, I have no idea why this kept happening.

The Christmas area in Middleton Hall was there with the Helter Skelter that we had battled our way through the crowds to get the boys on a couple of years earlier. As yet it’s not as crowded as it will be by December so I dared Jo to go on. I wanted to get a picture on the phone to text to her Mum who was looking after the boys, but Jo declined.

I sat at 1700 weary and aching as Jo declared that we had finished. The moment lifted me high up and the tension drifted away. Smiling I gave Jo a hug and said, “Come on then let’s get out of here!” Jo smiled back and said…

“Yes, if we go now we can spend some time at IKEA before heading back home!”

IKEA!

It was a long, long time later when I finally crawled into my house, curled up and went to sleep in the hallway crying.

The Christmas shop

I have the joy of Christmas shopping to look forward to this weekend! The Christmas shop is one of those jobs that I truly hate.

Don’t get me wrong I’m no humbug or Scrooge; I love Christmas. I love the festive feeling that you get with the lights and the music and a bit of mulled wine etc. I’m not specifically tight so I enjoy giving presents and quite enjoy getting them too. All the other aspects of the Season you can count me in for too.

The actual shopping part though is so not my bag that I cannot describe how much I loathe it. Hot overly dry shops packed with people desperate to find a bargain present and then back out into the cold. Or you stay in a Mall and keep a constant dry hot temperature going. Either way the shops are rammed and generally deplete of anything that is grabbing your attention. As I’ve mentioned before I don’t do crowds and following Jo around in shops is not exactly fun either.

This is mainly the reason why we are going this early. Jo knows that if she is expecting me to join her in a town centre on a Saturday for the big shop then it needs to be well before December. I don’t do town centres in December. I realise I’m missing some of the spirit by avoiding December, the lights and the sounds of Jona Lewie playing in WH Smiths. People walking around in amusing Santa hats add a lot to really uplift your mood but if I can’t fly my arms around me in a full circle without hitting someone I don’t know then I really don’t need to be there I always say; Jo really dislikes this particular test.

The first Saturday of November should work out ok. The shops have already stocked up with goodies but hopefully the main bulk of shoppers aren’t yet out in earnest. With a bit of luck the shops will only be normal Saturday packed rather than Christmas packed; giving me ample space to spend the majority of the day failing not to buy my Dad a bottle of Whiskey again! Roll on Sunday – once they are bought or at least fully planned I really start to enjoy it, I can really begin to look forward to Christmas. It’s just that bit before Sunday that I don’t like, stumbling round the shops surrounded by a thousand other miserable looking husbands being tormented to their very limits by ecstatic looking women! There had better be at least a McDonalds in this for me!

Fireworks night failure

Another firework night passes with yet another completely wasted attempt at taking the boys to see them. This is absolutely is the last year we will be trying.

I think that it’s time to accept the truth, it’s nothing to do with his age Daniel is just terrified of fireworks. Year after year we have tried to take him to a show, and then year after year we have told ourselves that he is still too young.

About 3 years ago we took him to a good show and he was really excited about it. He had been talking about it all the time saying how much he was looking forward to it. Then we got to the park. Straight away he began to flap and try and find something else to do, eventually he decided that he needed the toilet. There were some public toilets so off he ran; I swiftly followed knowing full well that the firework show was imminent. That year Daniel and I listened to the whole of the firework display from within a public toilet. Daniel sat there pretending to have a bit of a blockage for the whole show.

2 years ago we simply walked out of the rented house we were in to watch a display from a distance. Straight away we were not allowed to enjoy it as Daniel employed every naughty child tactic in the book to be made to go back home. Eventually he took to smacking Jamie and won so we all trekked back home.

Last year seemed to be a bit better, he stopped with the naughty behaviour but still made it impossible to enjoy the fireworks as he pulled and tugged and moaned and hid.

That brings us up to date and one last chance. Daniel is 8 now and much more mature. Daniel was genuinely excited about going to the display. Daniel was all of those things, right up until about ½ an hour before we set off. Suddenly the questions start, “what happens if a firework hits you?” “We won’t be too close will we?” Next Daniel starts quoting from School. Teachers have been doing their bit enforcing the firework code to their pupils and every last word has sunk into my boy’s head.

Once at the display we pay the entrance fee and go in. Immediately the tone changes, we have to stay well back from the bonfire, we can see from here can’t we? The second the display starts Daniel is clearly in distress. Yet again pulling and pushing and shouting. At one point he nearly topples over a light in order to get away. Jamie meanwhile has picked up on this and has started to feel scared too. Seeing your elder brother so scared of something is bound to make you feel it too. Once again we leave a firework display just as it has started. After queuing for ten minutes to get in and then paying (charity display so I don’t feel too bad) we literally leave 1 minute into the show.

The thing is I’m kind of relieved that we will no longer try taking Daniel (jury is out on if we will try with Jamie again). We finally know that it’s not because he is naughty or rude or selfish or just too young; he simply is terrified of the fireworks. Having a fear of something cannot be helped, he genuinely was in distress and you can’t blame him for that, it’s my fault for putting him through it surely? So next year will be much easier, I’ll stay in the house and play Action Man with him instead, bless him. Maybe I’ll call one of the toys Guy, but then again – maybe not.

getting 'me' back

I’m definitely not right yet; I’m certainly not fully back on form. I think I’ve just discovered the worst symptom of this whole Flu; by far the most troubling and worrying aspect of the whole illness.

I’m back at work now commuting into London and it’s not easy. The commute may not be easy but none the less I suppose it’s doable. The amount that sitting on a couple of trains is tiring me out is surprising but at the end of the day not crippling; I’m just a little more tired than usual.

What is an issue though; the thing that is really filling me with concern is the thing that I’ve just realised.

After renewing my season ticket recently I received some freebies through the post. FGW sent me some free tickets to use anywhere on their line – nice. Also they have sent an of peak upgrade to 1st Class; this is great, I tend to travel home off peak every night so I am now relaxing in the posh section with free tea and biscuits every night. I shall miss that in February when it runs out.

All of these freebies are nice but they are not the issue. Right now I’m sat on the train in the morning after a small, quick bowl of cereal for breakfast and in my pocket is a little book of vouchers. The vouchers are for the train buffet, and right now I could be tucking into a free bacon sandwich or a free cake. I could be tucking into a few different free things, but I’m not. I just don’t fancy it! I can’t stress enough how unlike me this is. The phrase “I don’t fancy a bacon sandwich” is just not something I would ever say! That is the kind of thing perverts and skinny women say – not me.

I’m really troubled about what is happening to me, a free cake or slab of bacon is on offer and I’m sat here thinking that a bowl of Cheerios was more than sufficient. It can’t be healthy.

I’m not sure if I need to see a doctor or a shrink but something needs to happen. Somehow I need to get back the old Glen; somehow I need to get back in the buffet!

X Factor

People are funny. Yet again there is a massive uproar about X-Factor. This is a major point of contention for the country. Never mind the state of the Nation’s finances or job availability. Don’t worry about the crippling conditions that our forces are trying to work in fighting a war with far too few people, equipment and budget. Ignore the lack of money for our Schools and our Hospitals. None of these things are important.

The most important thing in the world is who gets voted off the talent contest. This week, knowing full well that he was in a lose-lose situation as far as the public were concerned but a win-win situation as far as ratings go Mr. Cowell sat back and left it to the public to decide the fate of the last two contestants.

And that is it, the person who had the least votes left. I watch the show because my Wife insists on it and I know enough to confidently say that the girl Lucy Jones, is talented but boring and the boys Jedward or whatever are talentless but funny. So Simon had a bit of an enigma to solve, keep on someone who can certainly sing but is never going to make any difference to the show, or keep on a pair of talentless kids that everyone is tuning in to see how rubbish they are this week? I have no doubt that he knew full well what the telephone vote result was before he made his decision and that is why he did the right thing.

If Simon Cowell had kept Lucy he would have lost half his audience. As it was he just made it deadlock. This meant that the actual votes came in to play. There is the point; the person with the least votes went out – full stop. All these people in uproar on the internet seem to have missed this. The person that they did not vote for went out, end of story. You can’t get so excited about that, you can’t demonise Cowell. If you wanted Lucy to win – vote for her! People did not vote for her and she went out.

Oh dear, I’ve just realised that by writing a post about my despair at peoples reactions to the X-Factor results I’ve essentially joined in the debate – damn I’m shallow!

clearing out old toys from the boys!

We managed to get a big job done this weekend. On Saturday we finally managed to get in the boys room and sort it out. We spent about 3 hours piecing together toy sets and puzzles and games.

We managed this even with the boys presence. This is no easy task I have to say, in every nook and cranny in that room there were toys of some description hiding away. We had to work out the big three; loft, stay or chuck!

As you would expect the boys felt that everything should stay. Wrestling a 5 year old in order to throw away a broken McDonalds Happy meal toy is no easy task. Slowly though we managed to convince them that the really nice sets such as the castle and Brio trains that they have not played with for ages were not going anywhere. We would not sell or throw these sets but instead were putting them in the loft so they could come out again if they liked, and so slowly, reluctantly they got off the box and let me move it.

We had to bluff some items by overtly putting them in a loft box only to swiftly swap them into the rubbish bag whilst they weren’t looking – this is standard Parent behaviour. The boys were dispatched with sets of toys to go through them and ensure all the bits were together which kept them out of the way long enough to fill up another rubbish bag.

Daniel turned out to be the amazing memory boy. We could show him any obscure small plastic piece of non describable shape and Daniel would instantly say “That’s the destructor ray from the Transformers!” or “That’s the hinge from the middle left side of the Scooby Doo Van’s Scooby Snack box!” He was amazing, Daniel knew everything.

Hours later we stood and looked, the transformation in their room was complete. No longer were there boxes of toys taking up the middle of the room or the old un-played with castle. Every single shelf and cupboard was no longer overflowing with one part each of any set you might ever want to play with. Some shelves were empty and some boxes only half full. The floor space was empty, ready for playing on.

What has doing all that done though? The boys are loving it and playing better than they have for ages. Some of the sets that they haven’t been able to play with for so long as the bits were spread so far and wide through their room, are now easily found. Some older toys that they had forgotten about because they were so well hidden are now out for them to use. Their more current toys are easily grouped and best of all they have some real floor space in which to play with them all. Already forgotten are the things that went in the dreaded rubbish bags and the nicer sets that are in the loft. A complete success!

Now as long is it can stay that way for a while and nothing crazy happens such as Christmas we should be laughing! Oh dear…

Swine Flu

I’m back! I’m back on the laptop writing again – nice. Mind you I’ve not really been away anywhere just trying out that Swine Flu thing for a bit of a laugh.

I think that one of the first things you realise when you have it is that it’s not really all that funny. I for one have been smack bang on the Swine flu joke bandwagon since it started, keeping my out for people in Mexican hats or oinking when they sneeze. I’m not bothering to tell any Swine Flu gags here as we all know them well enough. And then you get it and suddenly it’s not funny at all, in fact it’s pants.

One of the most pants things about it is that at the end of the day it’s just a cold really. I certainly know people and know of others who have had to put up with so much worse in their lives. People with Cystic Fibrosis, Cancer and millions of similar illnesses, suffer in ways that I don’t even want to imagine. People have lost loved ones in horrifically nasty ways; all I’ve had is a cold. And so I can’t complain I can’t jump up and down demanding sympathy; all I can do is grumble a bit.

Worse still the stupid Flu can’t even play fair, people within the same family don’t get it as bad as each other. Mind you I can’t even start to say how genuinely happy I am about that really. The first to succumb in our family was my eldest Daniel and he was pretty ill, there’s nothing worse than seeing your little one’s poorly no matter how trivial the cold may be in reality you still hate it. He was quite ill though and it’s taken him a while to recover. Then I got it and oh my goodness did it knock me over. I know all the jokes about man flu and how rubbish we are at being ill but I can’t remember ever feeling quite like that. The temperature went up towards 40 and stayed there for more than a week. I couldn’t do anything; I couldn’t concentrate to make a decision about the stupidest of things. Even trying to phone into work would take over an hour trying to work out how? When I finally phoned in I didn’t have to put on the special ill voice reserved for talking to your boss, because I really was struggling to speak. I’m now in the third week and still keep thinking it’s great when I do something ‘special’. Today I walked into town and back and absolutely smiled my head off at the achievement! How stupid is that? I had a cold – nothing more!

We got my youngest on the Tamiflu as soon as he started getting ill and thankfully he suffered only a very minor cold – presumably as a result, you never know for sure.

Of course the worst part of this Flu was to come – Jo got it! Now I absolutely wouldn’t wish my wife to feel as rough as I have this last couple of weeks but still she could have at least had a day off work! Women – they just love rubbing our noses in it. No of course she doesn’t need Tamiflu – stuff and nonsense. My lovely wife coughs a bit and says things like – “I feel a bit rough”. And then goes back to work. Long gone is any sympathy that I had been getting, suddenly I’m expected to make my own tea! I haven’t even got to the stage where I can say I feel fully back yet and still I’m suddenly being given evil stares for time wasting. I’m sure she’s thinking that I’ve made it all up, surely she has the same Flu as me and so what’s all the fuss been about? Swine Flu couldn’t even have the decency to back up my story. Already I’ve been downgraded to Man Flu potentially still to be downgraded again to “a man with a cold”.

Any way I am of course recovering nicely from Swine Flu and all will be well. Yet again I have been reminded how lucky I am. Not only have some families been devastated by Swine Flu at its worst but so many families suffer daily by so many horrible things that carry on for years. I spent a week where I would sit for half an hour trying to work up the energy to go to the toilet, but that was just a week and now it’s finished and even at its worst I still managed to make it there in the end.

I’ve spent a lot of time in this last couple of weeks thinking about my lot and the one thing that I’ve definitely decided is that I’m a lucky man, I know this but surely there’s someone out there who will make me a cup of tea? I’ve been ill you know! No chance of a biscuit with that is there?