The Mo goes

At last! We have reached the end of Movember.



I can’t even start to tell you how happy I am to get rid of the furry little critter that’s been living under my nose this last month. Personally I think I look A LOT better without it - what do you think?

Still, in its defence the itchy monster has raised £70 for Prostate Cancer (including some donations from you lovely lot – barking mad you may well be, but good mad, not bad mad).

However, with some genuine relief it is time to say…

“Goodbye Mo, don’t forget to write.”

                                   Going

                                      Going

                                    

                                     Gone.



http://www.examiner.com/celebrity-fitness-and-health-in-national/george-clooney-calls-robert-pattinson-mr-handsome-anna-kendrick-says



My story is printed - for real!

I’ve been banging on about how great I am for a few posts now and to be honest it’s got a little dull and naff, so I very much plan on stopping.


After this one.

I do just need to write this last post about my recent fantasticleness though, before things go back to normal. As mentioned before, I was elated to discover that I had won a short story writing competition in a local magazine, which provided me with some Champagne and my first ever genuine publication. For the first time ever a story written by me is to appear in print within a bone fide magazine. The rules of the competition were simple, 1000 words or less and the title had to be 'My Maddest Christmas'. That was all I needed, though it took me about six attempts to get it down to 1000 words.

The magazine in question is based in Oxfordshire but covers parts of Bucks and Berks too, so I was even more excited when I worked out that the magazine actually gets delivered to circa 170,000 homes!

That’s just unbelievable!

I can now reveal that I’m absolutely jaw droppingly, bounce-around-the-roomingly chuffed to bits to report that they have also printed the story on their website.

So everyone can read it!

Therefore, I would be more than a smidge happy if you were to pop over to Round&About magazine’s website, and see what you think to my first ever prize winning story.

Round&About’s homepage, click here.


Round&About’s web page containing the story, click here.


Direct to the PDF for easy reading, click here.

Thank you and I promise – tomorrow I shall be revealing the result of my month growing a Mo, and proving once and for all that I am, in fact, an arse.

p.s. Do you think the fact that they were able to have a runner up in the poems makes it look a little like mine was the only entry for the stories?

Questions for you

more awards and an apology

Well well – get me, I have another award. Hopefully this will be the last for a while because I’m starting to sound somewhat big headed and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it.


Have you ever been over to ‘Where’s my glow’? I’ve only recently discovered Glowless after she introduced herself here. I can tell you this… she is good! I was more than impressed enough to add her to my reading list and that makes it all the more exciting to get the award.

Mind you, personally I can’t help thinking that this award was just an excuse to test me out. Just checking to see if I’m too scared to add a little pink to my site eh? Well I’m not, so I now proudly display my “cherry on the top” award thank you very much.

So as usual there are rules about name checking and what not (done) also naming three things you like doing and then passing the award on. I shall do what I can…

Things I like doing…

1. Writing. No really – I do.

2. Eating – It is a curse, but I just love doing it too much.

3. Laughing with my family – they really are a daft bunch of wonderful people.


And so – to pass on the award – EASY.

As you may already know, I am a bit of a rebel so you can poke the “nominate 5 blogs” right where the sun doesn’t shine (no not Scotland – further South).

Here are my two well deserving winners of ‘The Cherry on the Top’ award for just doing that extra little something.

1. Any regular reader will guess this one already. Without a shadow of doubt it has to be Katie at No Missed Opportunities. I know you all know who she is, get over there and read more, follow more and laugh more. Katie is a proper lady and a proper funny one at that. Go read her now – I’ll wait.


2. My final nomination is for something a little different. I first encountered this blog a while back due to her membership of Real Bloggers United. I had a quick look at her blog and liked it, but then completely misplaced my mental note of what it was, so I forgot all about it. This week I found it again and spent some time there reading and reading and reading. I made sure I added it to my reading list before I forgot it again and so I’m more than happy to pass this award to JB at ‘It’s going to take more than a hamburger to make me happy’ (www.blackthoughts-jb.blogspot.com). Her charming and amusing tales of life working in a family run Italian restaurant will do me nicely thank you very much.


Well done guys, and thank you for your quality entertainment. Thank you Glowless for awarding me this medal, even if it was just to make my blog look a bit girly.

Oh DAMMIT!

I’ve just remembered that a little while back Avery from ‘When a Southern woman rambles’ and the ‘Magnolia blossom review’ as well as being my boss over at RBU, gave me an award too….

I was in the middle of quite a lot at the time and completely forgot about it – damn, damn. How to impress the boss in one easy move? Thanks for the award (oh and the review) Avery – you are the tops.

To make things worse, I later was given an almost identical award by Marla and rubbed the insult further into Avery’s face by making a big old deal about it here.

So firstly, I need to apologise to Avery and say that I originally got awarded a 'Versatile Blogger' award from an utterly charming author, for whom I do have the utmost respect. You do need to get comfy, because her weekly stories are somewhat longer than the average blog post (and that’s coming from me!), but they  are well worth the effort so please do pop over. Because of this faux pas I am going to add another blog to the list of winners. Consider any rules I was supposed to follow well and truly meshed into the answers above apart from the blog that I’m going to pass it onto.

The winner of this Versatile Blogger award, which is absolutely different from the other one is…

Somebody who I really want you all to go and check out because she truly does epitimise 'versatile'. I really don't think that Katie (a different one) over at Stress and Stars is getting anything like the following that she deserves so please go and give her a look and a follow. Katie provides a pretty mixed bag from writing to photo blogging to original artwork ( via her other blog The Giant's Eye). She even does recipies from time to time if that's your bag. When she opens up and writes from the heart she shows a skill at writing that is sometimes hidden, and I like that. when she gets her camera out she really shows who she is. Go and have a look and a follow, you know it makes sense.

Well done Katie and thank you for the glimpse into your mind.
Please – no more. I’ve already had to buy a bigger hat, and I also struggle to cover my head in hair – don’t make it any harder.

Not quite the end

Hi there – it’s me – Van Santo. I know what you are thinking, “Come on Breeze, we’ve been to the movies and we know how things work – you both said ‘I love you’, Boyzone sang, and the camera panned out to show the American saluting – the film is done, I’m putting my coat on while watching the credits. What’s going on?” Well I’m afraid this is not a Hollywood film, it’s a British film – probably directed by Guy Ritchie so it doesn’t necessarily follow the same rules. Besides, in all the excitement I think you might have missed something – where was the kiss?


Tick

Tick

Bang

I doubled over in pain as an ear splitting scream erupted from my mouth. Edward had managed to wriggle his way free of his baby carrier and was now firmly clamped on to my testicles by his ridiculously sharp teeth. In the heat of those amazing few seconds with Lulu, where the Earth had come to a complete standstill just for us, I had forgotten all about her new fiancé and how he might be feeling about things. Apparently he wasn’t very happy about it at all, in fact he was quite vexed. It seemed that Edward had decided that if he wasn’t going to have sex with Lulu, neither was I. I could feel his vice like jaw biting deeper and deeper into my conkers as his blood red eyes locked fiercely upwards directly into mine. I could see the hatred and pure determination in his gaze instantly; he was not going to stop until he had bitten them right off.

The crowd started to panic as I ran around asking them to pull him off. No one wanted to help. My desperate plea of “can’t somebody grab my little man and yank him off for me?” was not getting me anywhere. I swung around desperately making his legs swing out like a fairground ride, but no matter how many times I swung his grip only got firmer. My head was starting to feel light as the combination of dizziness from the spinning and lack of blood flow around the testicles kicked in.

I had to act fast, I had to think. How the hell could I get him of me? I ran towards a wall, the crowd parting in fear as a screaming madman in a high visibility jacket and with the World’s smallest man dangling from his privates, making him look like the most deformed and demented flasher that ever wore a mac, came tearing towards them.

The lights were starting to go out, the pain had stopped and I knew that was a bad sign, I was numb from the waste down but still he was dangling there. I spotted a lamppost and began to spin my way towards it. As I span the momentum built up like an Olympic Hammer thrower, Edward’s little legs came out at a full right angle to my body, but still his teeth dug in harder than ever. I reached the lamp post at full throttle smacking my attacker into it with a sickening thud. As he screamed with the pain and from the winding that it had caused I was free. We both fell to the floor, out of breath and in pain. I did a fast stock check – they were both still there, a little bruised, blooded and battered but still in their place. It might be a couple of weeks until I could test them out and it could possibly have been the most unusual vasectomy ever, but I could handle that, it would be a problem for another day. They were still attached and that was all that mattered right now.

My thoughts turned to Edward. It hadn’t been his fault after all, he had been used and spat out by Lulu and his reaction to me was understandable. Also I knew it wasn’t safe to let him out of my sight, I wasn’t safe yet. Edward was just sitting up again, his breath beginning to return to normal, his eyes were back to their normal colour now that the red of evil hatred had subsided. Then he began to cry.

I knew straight away that these were not the tears of a man physically hurt or in straight forward pain. This pain was much deeper; these were the tears of a broken heart. My shoulders sagged as the full force of his loss hit me. What had I done? This little guy had lived a pretty tough life so far and the fist chance he gets for some real happiness gets pulled from under his feet by me. What kind of a man am I? I had a notion that perhaps it should be me who is the World’s smallest man, rather than him. From where I was sat, Edward was a bigger man than I would ever be.

I looked over and said “Look Edward, I’m sorry – really. I hadn’t planned to say that, I just panicked when I saw that you were engaged. Everything happened so fast, I just, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“What’s left for me here now, Pantomime? Its okay for you with your long legs and ability to reach and operate the cupboard locks, what’s left for me? Do you have any idea how many years I’ve been waiting to get hold of a woman? Go on, guess how old I am? Now guess how many years it is since I was last in a woman? Yep, you guessed it, both answers are the same!”

I had no answers for him, nothing to say. I felt awful.

We sat for a while with me looking guilty and Edward sobbing, there was nothing else to do. Out of nowhere a vision appeared. A voluptuous blonde dressed in the sexy uniform of McDonalds (I’ve always said that a uniform is a uniform at the end of the day and I do love a woman in uniform, besides the occasional free burger is not to be sniffed at and her skin would soon clear up with the help of some Clinique), was knelt by Edward’s side.

“Well I hope you are happy with yourself!” she venomously asked me before turning to Edward, “You poor love – what must you think of the English after all that? I could never treat you like that. You deserve so much more so sexy little bugger!” At that Miranda (we later discovered her name) reached out and pulled him into her ample bosom. I worried a little because he went in face first and soon appeared to be struggling a little, as she firmly held him in her breasts. Was he suffocating? Should I try and free him? Eventually I realised that he wasn’t actually struggling at all, what he was actually trying to do was give me a double thumbs up sign. Edward was back, and he was in paradise.

I left them too it and headed away to find Lulu and assure her that everything was fully functional, or would be in a couple of weeks at least, but she was gone.

I frantically searched the crowd. I ran back and forth calling her name. Every nook, every cranny was probed, every stone was turned.

I’d lost her again. Lulu was gone.

I bet that American is feeling pretty damned stupid for saluting now, isn’t he?



Ciao.

The Christmas shop - again

Hello all – as you can clearly tell I am alive, this is a bigger deal than you may expect, because this weekend I faced a deadly and dark peril.


This weekend we went Christmas shopping.

Ah yes I can hear the collective sigh as you tut, “but it’s the middle of November Glen, what are you going on about?” Yes indeed it is, but my wife has learned well over the years. Jo knows exactly how to work me.

I’ve written a few posts since starting this blog about my shopping abilities and I don’t want to repeat myself too much, but I’ve nothing else to report today, so here goes… We men do have a completely different outlook on the whole shopping experience to those of the female persuasion.

Jo knows full well that if she wants my help and support when it comes to the Christmas shop, if she wants me there holding bags, making suggestions and decisions for her to overrule, then she has to think hard and use her most cunning tricks on me.

Firstly I absolutely refuse to go anywhere near a British Mall or High Street after 25th November. It just isn’t worth it. The crowds jostling for 5p off an Arran Jumper just get out of control and I can’t stand it. Therefore Jo has to accept that Christmas shopping happens early if I am to be present.

Next, Jo will arrange for the boys to be taken into care. It may sound harsh but it is for the best. Happily, in our case the care home chosen is where the boy’s Grandparents live, so it wasn’t too bad for them. With the boys taken care of for the night we were able to book a room and make a weekend of it. Jo knows full well that I can’t resist the idea of a romantic night away in a hotel, so she will hint and wink that that she will be packing her best underwear. I fall for it every time.

With a room booked and the boys in care, we headed off to Bath.

It wasn’t long at all before we arrived in Bristol.

It was a last minute change of plan forced on us by the appalling weather. At Bristol we could go to Cribbs Causeway, which is inside. When we got there, Jo told me that if I was good and stayed with her for two shops I could have a hot chocolate, and so we hit House of Fraser. I had been conned. House of Fraser may be technically one actual shop if you look at it objectively, but I always think that Department stores are a cheat and should count as at least five shops. We were in there for hours. Every now and again I’d get a knowing nod from another bedraggled husband as he was dragged along by his wife. I saw one man having a tantrum by the changing rooms, he refused to try a jumper on until he was told that if he didn’t try it on, he wouldn’t be allowed to stay up and watch Match of the Day that night.

Time stood still, literally. I asked Jo how long it would be until we could have hot chocolate every 5 minutes for an hour, and the answer was always 10 minutes. I had strayed into ‘Shopping Time’ which uses different rules and runs at different speeds depending on what sex you are. When we finished shopping I was 8 years 6 months, 4 weeks, 3 days, 2 hours, 7 minutes and 25 seconds older than before we started. Jo had only aged three hours.

Eventually, Jo released us form the store, only to dive straight into a shop that had absolutely NOTHING useful in it whatsoever. You have never seen anything like it. Every inch of every shelf was taken up by something utterly useless but pretty. I heard Jo mumbling about how this or that would look good in OUR kitchen, I figured I was supposed to be noting this down, but I couldn’t work out what it was that Jo was actually looking at. For sure it wasn’t a George Forman Grill, which I happen to think WOULD look good in our kitchen. Apparently it was something that you dangle from the door knob and look at from time to time, strictly on the grounds that it is the same colour as the walls – I really do not understand women.

True to her word, I was allowed a hot chocolate, and Jo even produced a packet of wine gums from her pocket as an extra reward. I think that may have been a mistake though, because I soon wound up in trouble for running around Costa Coffee giggling with the sugar rush.

The day continued in little chunks of two shops followed by a treat. Two shops, treat, telling off. Two shops, no treat, punishment and then back to the start. Eventually we made it to the hotel absolutely knackered and frazzled and cold. It wasn’t very romantic. Jo’s best underwear, also turned out to be her most comfortable.

The next day we hit Bath. Bath is lovely. In Bath there are (I counted) exactly four million shops. As the day slowly wore on, my will to live evaporated. We even somehow wound up in a couple of shoe shops. I thought to myself that Jo was being particularly generous to her friends this year, and tried to work out which one of them had exactly the same size feet as my wife.

Eventually Jo took pity on me. My wife is not heartless after all, so she gave me a smile and said “come on”. I was led into Bath’s one and only ‘Man Creche’ cunningly called ‘The Sony Centre’. I was led into the centre of this glorious haven and told not to leave until Jo came back to get me. Jo picked up a ticket from the lady at the door and left a small bag behind containing some spare pants – just in case.

I browsed about in a daze, looking at the beautiful systems on display. I listened to the sounds coming from the crystal clear speakers and marvelled at the 44 inch Televisions. A few of the other men were huddled around a 48 incher showing Star Trek and I happily joined them. We all shared a nod and a smile.

Slowly all my new little friends were picked up by their wives and headed away back to shopping servitude. I was left all alone, Jo was nowhere to be seen. The man who sells the i-pods, noted my growing concern and came over with a beaker of Ribena and a biscuit. It was a beautiful moment.

At last Jo returned and with a hug took me across the road to Debenhams. Apparently there were some baubles I needed to see.

The shopping continued until at last, we were done. Before I knew it we were back home and the kids were excitedly telling us what they had done at Grandma’s.

Job done for another year.

Happy bloody Christmas.

No Mo!

Oh no, the Mo’s got to go!

Not just yet thank goodness, I can keep it for this month and see out the challenge, so that’s a relief.


My wife has spoken –

“No Mo” Said Jo, “The Mo goes, or I go” said Jo, “I’m a No Mo Ho and what I say goes you know?”

“I know, I know”, Said I to Jo, “I know the Mo must go Jo, I’ll be sad to shave it off though, I really will miss it Jo, why do you hate it so?”

“I hate that Mo, Village People Bro, YMCA’s all I can hear when I look at yo”

“Yo? – when did you start speaking like an American Jo? That’s a pretty lazy rhyme you know?”

Etc. etc.



I’ve ran out of Mo rhymes. Actually I think I ran out just after I started, and in fact I’m wincing a little as I just called my lovely wife a ‘no mo ho’, I can’t help thinking that only bad stuff can come from that!

Even though my Mo has seemingly brought me nothing but good luck and about a Brazilian new readers (love that old George Bush / Brazilian joke – I’m sure you can Google it if you’re the one person on the planet who doesn’t already know it).

Even though I’m currently feeling manlier than I have felt since the creation of my children turned me into a parent instead of a man.

Even though, even though, even though.

The Mo MUST go as soon as Movember finishes and December begins.

Now I know what you are thinking – come on Glen, stop being such a wimp, you have a Mo now, man up and tell your wife what’s what. Yes I intend to do just that – er, just not yet.

I did try arguing it out. The conversation went something like this…

“But Jo, have a look at the stats – the figures don’t lie; look at all the comments! The Internet says that I look fine!”

“Well the internet is talking out of its big fat arse then isn’t it?”

Actually, I am of course going to be shaving off the Mo for two very good reasons, neither of which is to do with me being scared of my wife, so stop giving me imaginary grief you lot!

Firstly: I have a mirror. I have looked in the mirror and I can clearly see that I look a complete arse.

Secondly: The woman who (after my Mum) I love most in the whole World, and who’s opinion I respect most in the whole World (sorry Mum, she’s got you there) has politely implied that the keeping of the Mo next month could see her pants getting metaphorically welded on (thankfully only metaphorically, otherwise things could get a bit whiffy).

Having carefully thought it through and weighed up the pros and cons of the situation, I have made up my mind. I have decided (completely my own manly decision, mind you) that I’ll just get rid of the Mo.

It’s for the best.

Quick question for you ladies ...    When it comes to YOUR man - are you a No Mo Ho or a Yo Mo Doe?

The surprising week

You know yesterday I said that this has been quite a surprising week in my blog life? First I won that writing competition and learned that my winning story would be published accross Oxfordshire and delivered into almost 200,000 homes! Then I realised I’d written over 10,000 words on the Breeze story (now 12,000 - ahem), then I was asked to go guest blogging at Lori’s. On the same day my £40 Magnum of Champagne prize from the competition arrived - loving that!

I really thought thought that would be it, but it wasn’t. Well I don’t know, one minute you are happily pottering along wondering where your next chocolate fix is coming from, and then suddenly – bang! Everything goes mental. Browsing casually through the Blogiverse, the other night I discovered over at the justifiably award winning Maxabella Loves. I’m not saying I was shocked, but let’s just say I had to get the Vanish out to clear up the stain on my sofa.


Now I knew she was up to something, because she had asked if she could borrow a photo, but I did not see coming.

I’d assumed she was writing a piece about how to recognise sex pests on the street, a warning about what you can wind up waking up with if you binge drink, or about what happens if you leave it so long searching for ‘Mr. Right’ that the only available men on the market are ‘Mr. Wrong’.

That wasn’t it though.

Not at all.

In fact young Maxabella, and indeed her readers, had a lot of nice things to say about me, which is positively fantastic. You may consider my ego well and truly boosted. Frankly at this point in time my ego is writing cheques my talent can’t cash, but never mind – I’m enjoying the moment.

To be fair it is a shame when young ladies let themselves go like this, clearly Maxabella’s drug dependency** will ruin her in the end. I have battled with my conscience a little, but eventually I decided that instead of getting help for her, I would simply take advantage and revel in her praise before she sobers up and realises what she has done. The mother of all hangovers is heading her way, during which she will get flashbacks of putting a photo of me on her blog WITHOUT a disclaimer offering people the chance to click away before seeing it. There may be tears.

Life will undoubtedly sink back to normal now, and I can go back to being my same old 'over-compensating-with-comedy-for-lack-of-self-belief' self,  but just for this moment in time - ahem – let’s hear it for me

I’M GRRRRRRREAT!

** You know that right now I’m crapping myself, in case it turns out that she does actually have a drug problem don’t you? It wouldn’t exactly be the first time I’ve put my foot in it – as this old post proves – Somehow I just know that I’ve gone and talked myself into trouble again!

I'm visiting Sydney

Well – here is something new, something very new in fact. Today I am guest blogging over on the outstanding ‘Random Ramblings of a Stay At Home Mum’. It’s been a bit of a surprising week in my blog life to be honest, but more about that tomorrow…
I was shocked, amazed and frankly chuffed to bits when Lori asked me if I could write a post on her blog, so I certainly couldn’t say no.
I think I may have got a bit distracted and overawed by all her followers and awards and muffed it, any chance you could pop over to Lori’s place and let me know how I got on?
Please click here to read it.


Thanks

The truth will out

Hey you – how’s it going? Breeze here, just relaxing in the spa at Center Parcs, I have a few days off and frankly I felt like spoiling myself. It has been a tough few weeks filming ‘Scrabble’, which is all about the goings on at the World Scrabble Championships in Mansfield. I don’t want to give too much of the predictable plot away, but with Ant and Dec playing against each other in the almost gripping finale, it has to be a moderate success.


Anyhoo, Lulu and her charge stared at me in stunned silence. The world was quiet. Too quiet. I could hear Lulu’s breath, I could hear her heart. My own heart was silent, it had stopped, everything had stopped. Time stood still Every man, woman, child, animal and plant had stopped what they were doing, turned and was now patiently waiting for Lulu to speak. It was clear that nothing at all was going to happen anywhere until she said something. The only sound was the drumbeat of Lulu’s heart. There was no movement, everything was still, even the wheel had stopped turning. I waited, we all waited.

Tick

Tick

Bang.

“I love you too”

Lulu had whispered those four words but they had come through louder than The Who could sing ‘My Generation’. My heart re started with a thunder clap as the universe resumed its day around us. Noise filtered through and time began its attempt to catch up on those lost seconds. Peace spread about us as this moment worked magic on the crowds. People smiled, people hugged, people cried. I didn’t see it but I’ve seen enough Hollywood movies to know that somewhere an American was saluting somebody.

Among all the commotion, Lulu and I still stood motionless. We had not managed to say anything more to each other at all, maybe we didn’t need to. Everything of worth had already been said, anything else would just be detail; trivia that could be worked out and forgotten. Lulu’s four words could fill a dictionary, what other words would I ever need? “I love you too”. I’d heard it; I’d seen her lips say it. My own personal JFK moment that would remain fixed in my memory for the rest of my life. I saw the moment play itself back and forth in my mind from every angle. Every time she said those words the moment would rewind itself and play again, only this time as seen from the grassy knoll. I devoured the moment, greedily indulging myself in its taste. It tasted good, it tasted fantastic! If love was a pudding then this was the finest pavlova ever made, we are talking Tesco Finest range – oh yes. The strawberries lovingly spread over the soft sweet cream would have been hand picked by naked lesbians, the eggs whipped by Prince Charles wearing a ‘born to BBQ’ apron. I’d never tasted anything like this before but I knew I needed more – much more.

I could still hear Lulu’s heart even among all the noise that now surrounded us, I hoped that I would never stop hearing the beat of her perfect rhythm. Lulu’s eyes shone as her wonderful curly hair blew in the breeze and her lips slowly closed to form a very slight smile. I felt my own mouth do the same. We had been stood for so long staring at each other, lost in the wonder of what had just happened, but we had still not managed to make the next move.

The impossibility of finding a sentence that could possibly follow the previous two struck both of us at the same time as the smile inched its way across our faces. Out of nowhere came a chuckle followed immediately by a laugh. Lulu’s eyes make the stars seem irrelevant at the best of times, when she laughs they tell the Sun to stop wasting its time and get a proper job. Not one tiny fraction of the Universe could fail to have been touched by the blindingly stunning light that was glinting from Lulu’s eyes as she laughed. Yet again I fell into a dream, the crowd disappeared leaving the two of us floating in mid air. Lulu was wearing Superman’s costume (no, I don’t know why she wasn’t wearing Supergirl’s costume either – maybe that’s a different dream) and she was flying me across the night sky. We couldn’t stop laughing as we looked down on all the people of Earth living their normal lives while we flew like gods above them. This is how I was starting to feel; like a god – the world was mine now. I ruled the Universe for as long as I was looking at that smile.

As the ruler of the Universe I had some big decisions to make, would I end famine, war, poverty or would I try and get an private flight on the London Eye for the two of us, so that we could have some romantic time alone and perhaps join the 135 meters high club. It was a tough choice.

Lulu broke the dream, “Breeze, this is… this is amazing, I mean…”

“I know – but it’s true Lulu, I love you”

“Yeah – me too – I think I always have. Breeze this is perfect isn’t it?”

“Yes, Lulu it’s perfect”

And it truly was, it truly was that perfect moment – at last. Once again the world took time out to let me take it all in and give this instant of my life the justice it deserved.

Tick

Tick

Bang.



Ciao.

The School duck

** I first posted this over at RBU a few months ago (possibly Writers Rising too). I eavesdropped in on a conversation on Facebook the other day and it reminded me of this, and I thought it was time I posted it here. Sorry to all those who have already read it, it’s a bit lazy of me, I agree but I just love this post.**

This weekend we were burdened by that most thoroughly unwanted of guests, the class teddy.

You know the kind of thing.

Most classes have them these days, a teddy of some description that travels around from home to home, spending quality time with their classmates! They always come with a diary that must be filled in, to detail the toy’s visit into your home. This diary lets your teacher, and all your child’s friend’s parents know what kind of a parent you are. This book is a complete assessment of each of the children in your child’s class, allowing the parents to decide which of these children are worthy of being a friend or potential future partner for their young charge.

Or at least that is what you think everyone is doing.

The pressure is on.

Last time Sydney Duck came to visit I wound up in trouble. It had been left to me to supervise my son, Daniel, as he wrote the diary. I had also been left in charge of the boys on the day of the visit, because my wife was out at a meeting or playing netball or drinking (I forgot to listen when being told what she was doing so cannot be accurate I’m afraid).

The result was this…

“Sydney’s Diary – Daniel’s house, 10th April 2010


We came home to Daniel’s house and were going to watch Doctor Who on TV, but Daniel’s dad had accidentally deleted the recording so we watched Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines. Daniel’s dad had missed the end off the recording so we watched Star Wars instead. Then we had Dominos Pizza for tea and watched Pulp Fiction while eating sweets for pudding.


At bed time Daniel and his brother kept getting into trouble for jumping around on their beds, hurting each other and saying rude words. Daniel’s dad kept saying his prayers. I think he was worried about something, because he kept saying ‘Oh God’ a lot and ‘She is going to kill me’. Eventually we got to sleep, but were woken up in the night by a lot of shouting, Daniel’s mum was upset about something but we couldn’t quite hear what – though I think she must have seen the film too, because she knew a lot of the words from it.”

Some of the other parents have been giving us some funny looks since that, and I notice Daniel has not been invited to many birthday parties this year.

My wife pointed out that we are supposed to be middle class and therefore we have to get the diary right – we must try harder next time! The rest of the class must see how wonderful we are at parenting!

And so this time when Sydney came to us for a whole weekend, I have taken no chances.

I wrote out his diary entry on the computer, printed it out and stuck it in the diary, pretending that Daniel had done it (middle class point number one – has access to an IT suite and can use it, check!)

As I believe that I am not the only parent that has suffered this kind of pressure, ensuring that your parenting skills are shown to their best potential within a school teddy diary, I have decided to copy the entry out here for you to use. You will need to change some of the names and details in order to make it personal, otherwise I think it should cut and paste into your life fairly easily.

Of course, it took me quite a while to write it, so the boys were downstairs watching TV for ages. I don’t know what they were watching but the smile was wiped from my face earlier; Daniel cut short the conversation on his play phone, slamming it down and saying “That was my HOE, giving me earache again Dad” I assume he must have been watching a gardening programme.

I can declare that it has worked; word has clearly spread even further than his own school friends. After only three days we have received an invite to Charles Rossiter-Smythe’s birthday party. I’m going to make him an Eton Mess pudding to take, that should cover it.

Any way – please use this if needed…

“Sydney’s Diary – Daniel’s house, 16th May 2010


This weekend I went to Daniel’s house. I was immediately impressed by the cleanliness of the house. The bathroom was particularly clean. The large Schuller kitchen shone beautifully, its contemporary design somehow complimenting the traditional look of the large Aga in the corner.


The boys immediately changed out of their uniform and went out in the garden to play. Daniel’s dad came out and we all played a game of ‘times tables catch’ where if you dropped the ball, you had to recite the times table for the number of bounces before you picked it up. It was such fun.


Later (as the organic, locally produced beef casserole was cooking in the Aga) Daniel’s Mum came out and sent us on a crazy garden hunt. We had to find an insect each, bring it back and then discuss the pros and cons of the creature. Did it help the garden in some way or harm it? Then we had to write about it in our garden hunt diaries before letting it go. It was such fun.


The casserole was delicious and the Kumquat and Lychee dessert was amazing.

Afterwards, we helped load the dishwasher, and I helped Daniel do his homework before playing chess.


At bedtime, Daniel’s dad read us some poems from a book about saving the whales (I had no idea that humans had been so terrible to these mighty mammals, it really made me think).


On Saturday, we all went for a long hike around the countryside, discussing the flora and fauna as well as the wildlife in the area. Occasionally, if someone said a new word, Daniel’s mum would shout “spell it” and we would all laugh as whoever it was had to try and spell the word. We went up one hill and could see that on one side the land was beautiful and covered in trees, but on the other side the terrible decay of commercialism and greed had ruined the view with power stations spewing smoke into our atmosphere. The harm this was doing was all too apparent, as the roads and houses spread evermore towards the countryside on the other side of the hill. The sight of this really made me think.


On Sunday, after church, we went to help clear up litter on the council estate. We all walked along with bags and filled them up with rubbish. The poor people on that estate don’t have bins like normal people do so they have to throw their food wrappings out of their windows I think. I don’t think they noticed us doing this because their 50” plasma TV’s had the football on; Daniel pointed out that if they didn’t spend all their money on TV, cigarettes and beer, they would be able to afford to come on school trips and pay for their own school dinners without using the vouchers. This really made me think.


In the evening (after a delicious Ratatouille and fair trade chocolate soufflé) we played historical charades. You had to pretend to be someone from history. Daniel was Neil Armstrong, and his dad was Oliver Cromwell. We all really laughed when Daniel’s mum pretended to be Emily Wilding Davison, throwing herself under the King’s horse. It was such fun, but it also really made me think.


At bedtime Daniel’s mum did some fun maths flash cards with us instead of a story, we really laughed as we did the sums.


Later, when Daniel and I got up in the night to go to the toilet we heard Daniel’s mum preying again, but unlike at church, she was really shouting “God” and “Jesus” with passion. She must be very devout.


I really enjoyed my stay with Daniel; and, as we sat in the four wheel drive for the half mile distance back to school, I hoped that I would be back soon, because it took ages to stop itching after I went to Wayne’s house that time, not to mention the boredom of just watching that big TV all weekend!”

Movember

Just a quick note to say that this month I am growing a moustache.


Not just because I happen to think that it would add to my Devilish charm, and make me look ‘a bit of a rogue’ oh no – it’s deeper than that
.
I am taking part in MOVEMBER an annual awareness and fundraising device for Prostrate Cancer.
This is one of those cancers that no one likes to talk about. Oh we can talk about breast cancer until we are fed up to the teeth of breasts (never happens), but as soon as it involves poking about up our own bums it becomes off limits

I have sported a Mo once before, I’d actually attempted (unsuccessfully) to grow a beard and took a small break out of my shaving for a photo. Here is the result.

Yes I know.

It didn’t stay on my face long.

Any way, I shall be sporting my new look throughout the month of November to help raise awareness of this killer disease.

I’ve added a link to my Mo space below, if you feel like checking it out (It is nearly Christmas and there are a million appeals on the Internet so I don’t expect you to sponsor me at all, you probably actually know someone who is doing it anyway – sponsor them). However PLEASE take some time to read about Prostate Cancer, what to look for, how to protect yourself and to find out what The Prostate Cancer Charity are trying to do about it.

Please raise your awareness and if nothing else leave me some comment support, because I look a complete arse!

My Mo space - http://uk.movember.com/mospace/1229322/
Movember main site - http://uk.movember.com/?home
Prostate Cancer charity - http://www.prostate-cancer.org.uk/
Prostate Cancer information - http://www.prostate-cancer.org.uk/info/prostate_cancer/cancer_what.asp

Ten thousand words

Hello there, I thought I’d have a quick chat about a couple of things that I’m quite excited about today.


Please read on, because the second one is really amazing.

I am pretty pleased with myself, make that very pleased.

Firstly.

As I’m sure you know, my Breeze posts are in fact a story, one story. Breeze is my experiment at learning how to write book length stories. I wanted to see how I would get on at expanding past the limited length that you can use for a blog post. I didn’t know how far it would go, or how I would feel about it.

As it is, including the post that you have not yet seen, Breeze and Lulu have racked up nearly 11,000 words!

Can I say that again?

Nearly 11,000 words!

If you remove the preamble paragraph I reckon we are looking at a safe 10,000 words for the actual story. Now I know a lot of the people here have written far more than that and might not see it as much of an accomplishment – but I bet you can remember the first time you did it!

I’ve never written anything even approaching that length. Earlier this year I declared that I had ‘found my book’ that I had come up with an idea for a book and was excitedly trying it out. Well I only stretched that idea out to 4000 words before realising that I had absolutely no idea how to take it any further. I haven’t given up on it, but until I have gained some more experience at proper story writing it will have to wait, I just don’t have the skills yet to follow the idea through. I’m learning fast though!

I really don’t know how much further this story will go, at the moment next week’s post is kind of the end, perhaps I’ll have a flash of inspiration and keep going, perhaps not.

I am truly enjoying writing Mr. Van Santo, and that has to be the most important part of all this – doesn’t it? Maybe he will get re vamped, re styled and re written, or maybe he will stay the same but just in a new adventure – I have no idea, but what ever happens – let me just say it one more time…

TEN THOUSAND WORDS



Even more excitingly than that…

I am jaw-droppingly over-the-mooningly excited to announce that I am getting published. I won a short story competition in a local magazine and they are publishing it next month. I also won some Champagne, so that has to count as being paid for the work doesn’t it?

Way back in March I decreed that before I am 40 I intend to get myself published somewhere – to pluck up the courage to try, and to succeed. Well I did it. I have forced myself to be confident enough to send articles off and to enter competitions – a huge step!

All the articles I have posted off to editors have been ignored, but finally persistence has paid off.

Yes it is a local magazine, yes it was a small competition, but dammit IT COUNTS! And it is a start – a big start. I’m really proud of myself.

If the story is published on their website I shall post a link next month.

So there you are, I still have nearly 5 months until I am 40 but I have already achieved my target – I suppose I will have to raise the goal now? It is official, I’m soon to be a published writer (yes, dammit, I said I’m a writer) and I am capable of writing 10,000 word stories as well. Somebody pass me an Asprin, because when I come down from this high it is going to hurt!

Have a great weekend.

On the naughty step

Note to self…


Never.

Ever.

No matter how amusing you think it might be.

No matter how fresh in your mind the experience might be.

NEVER post a story about your wife’s period before she has finished it.

Especially if it involves confessing that the flowers were not your own idea.

Really, don’t.

It isn’t worth it.

Glen on the naughty step - 39 minutes!

It's time for some fudge

Hi there, Breeze here – Breeze Van Santo. I’m currently standing in for Tommy Lee in the Hollywood remake of the 90’s independent film about his honeymoon with Pamela Anderson. It’s a very glamorous looking film set on a yacht in the sun and depicts the many highs and lows of a newly married celebrity couple, just trying to find themselves some privacy, dignity and self respect, within the crazy, mixed up, paparazzi driven world in which they have found themselves. The conflict between their media personas and their true identities is simply stunning, and with Whoopi Goldberg playing Pamela’s part this is sure to be the biggest hit of the decade.


Anyhoo, I spent a few days walking around in a daze, thinking about the way things had gone with Lulu, what I did wrong, what I did right and what I could have done. Even a Viagra tasting weekend back in Germany at the S.A.A couldn’t get her off my mind. It seemed that Lulu was with me everywhere I went.

Then suddenly I saw her on TV presenting a ‘welcome to the UK’ box of Devon fudge to Edward Hernandez, who was touring thanks to his notoriety for being the World’s smallest man. Alarm bells rang in my head as I saw the tiny skirt she had chosen to wear and the look of wonder in his eyes as he looked up at her. I knew exactly what had caught his attention. This did not look good at all; Lulu was back having a 2nd try at her dastardly master plan, this time going direct to the source and cutting out the middle man – ME!

As I watched Lulu fawning all over this bewildered, and ill prepared for such attention, little man trapped in the headlights of her body, I knew I had to do something. The little guy didn’t stand a chance, when Lulu bent forward to present the award her over exposed breasts, each one bigger than his head, heaved before him. Edward almost had a heart attack when she bent over the other way in front of him to pick up her ‘dropped’ phone. I knew how he felt, I wanted some of that too – I had to stop this before it was too late. The report said that Mr. Hernandez here to visit London and listed a few of the things he intended doing, and when, to allow fans to come and see him. I swiftly made some notes and hit the Internet; I had some planning to do.

The rain was pouring through dark skies as the entourage walked towards the London Eye. I searched the crowd until I spotted her, only then did I fully understand how difficult my task was going to be. Lulu was huddled under a large golfing umbrella carrying Edward in a baby carrier with his head happily laid back into her cleavage. The smallest man in the World was also the happiest. I could already be too late. The smile on his face as he was tossed casually about in her breasts as she walked would not be wiped off easily. I was going to have to get this right, first time, and I was going to have to go in hard.

Comfortably wearing a high visibility jacket and a peaked cap I marched straight towards them maliciously brandishing a clipboard. Everyone knows that this is the international uniform of someone in charge, someone with authority, someone who is fundamentally excited by his chance to use the minimal amount of power he has actually been given. My lack of height only increased the illusion that I was absolutely not going to listen to anyone. British people love to know where they stand, so knowing exactly what they were going to get from someone like me, put them at ease immediately. The crowds parted and I easily made my way towards the unsuspecting couple.

“Lulu Grigio?” I demanded as I finally reached her.

“Erm yes, er…?” Lulu’s confusion was perfect. I had to move fast before her brain caught up and worked out what I was up to.

“Miss. Grigio, I have a court order here preventing you from being within 2 miles of anyone below 5 foot tall. I need you to handover the gentleman immediately. Sir, I apologise for this but you are in grave danger of being misused most unnaturally by Miss. Grigio!”

“Ooh I know it, she’s amazing isn’t she, and will she be wearing leather during the misuse?”

I was momentarily stumped by Edward’s answer but swiftly recovered.

“No sir, I don’t think you understand, Miss. Grigio has a record a mile long for her mini fetish. The Society for the protection of persons of diminished stature have successfully got this court order taken out to protect you. I’m afraid the abuse is a little more unnatural than you are expecting – did you ever see the Crying Game at all?”

“No I haven’t yet, why?”

“Hmm well I’d better not spoil the twist for you then, anyway look, it’s about Miss. Grigio – well you see, she isn’t exactly ‘Miss’ Grigio – there’s slightly more to her than you might be expecting.”

“You are right there, Have you seen the way she eats bananas?” Oh God, I could well imagine, “And you are right about her not being a Miss as well, at least not for much longer, isn’t that right love?”

What? Had I just understood that correctly? I was getting nowhere fast and then I caught Lulu’s eye and I fell into the abyss one more time. Lulu’s brain had caught up and she had played a trump card.

“Yes, darling that is right – and I can’t wait. How do you like this Breeze?”

I looked and then I looked again. The last grip of hope slipped from my fingertips as a rock bigger than the fists of the man who had bought it, glinted and shone on Lulu’s finger. Lulu’s hard grin smirked ruthlessly in my direction as part of me died inside.

I gasped “But I love you”

“WHAT?” Lulu’s smile had gone, as had her little fiancé’s.

Oops – sorry I have to go as we are about to film the scene where they go for a drive in the country. I’m really not sure how it will turn out but it certainly looks interesting in the script.

Ciao



P.S. Edward Nino Hernandez may or may not be the World’s smallest man – this is fiction.

The monthly shop

This weekend my wife asked me to do something that crossed all lines of decency. Jo wanted just too much. The result has been pretty tense, I can’t lie.


I’ve said before how we husbands have to put up with quite a lot, and mostly we ‘Man-up’ and get on with it, it’s not like we get a choice is it? However, on occasion you ladies cross the line.

I was tasked to go and do the weekly grocery shop.

That’s not the issue.

Due to my apparent lack of ability to buy the right things and spend within 20% of the actual budget I was given, Jo provided me with a list. I said in that same post highlighted above, about the pressure of being sent out without a list to do the shopping, how difficult it is to use male initiative to correctly work out what a female thinks you need, well this was not a problem on Sunday. On Sunday I was given a list.

The list was the problem.

Or rather what was on it.

I had been in the store for approximately two hours and had thus far managed to navigate my way through the fruit and the vegetables. I was on target to beat my record of six hours for the whole shop, so I was feeling quite good. After slowly working my way along a couple of aisles, smiling at myself for thinking of a few things that Jo had forgotten to put on the list, such as crisps, bacon, eggs, burgers, Formula 1 magazine and chilli sauce, I glanced at the list and everything came to a crashing stop.

There it was, clear as day, the most heinous request a wife can demand of her man. The music in the store stopped and the other shoppers came to a standstill as my scream echoed around the shelves. An old gentleman looked over my shoulder at the list, patted me on the shoulder, shook his head in disgust and muttered, “We should have never given them the bloody vote…”

Jo wanted some equipment. Some special equipment. Every now and again Jo gets a bit of a fancy on for these things. She will go crazy for them and have them all over the bathroom and crammed into her handbag for about a week. Suddenly, as fast as the craving had started, it will be over and she will completely stop using them for a few weeks. I dread this particular craving because something about using them makes her a little cranky. For some reason she can be pretty unreasonable during her addiction. It’s only when she gets back in control and gets herself clean that her mood will return to normal, right up until she falls off the wagon the following month and it all starts again. I really do think that doctors and the government should be looking into this further. They openly sell these things in all the major supermarkets – no warnings or anything. No control on how many you are allowed to buy at a time either. Something should be done about this because it clearly isn’t just Jo that suffers from this hideous addiction.

There it was on the list. Right there taunting me. Not only was I going to have to go and stand surrounded by the miserable, unreasonable women that you always find in that particular section of the store, but I had to actually work out EXACTLY which ones Jo wanted, because she had been quite generic with her request, giving only their brand name and men be warned – there are different types, many different types. I knew straight away by the sheer fact that they had been requested, that trouble was brewing at home, I was going to be shouted at when I got home for something. I realised I would have to pick up my pace a bit and get the shopping done really fast.

So I did the dance that all men in my position do, the “I’m not buying Tampax” dance. It basically consists of walking back and forth by the ‘periods, incontinence and post natal’ section of the aisle (clearly labelled as such to make things easier), pretending not to be buying anything. I studied the tissues near by while slyly trying to look through the corner of my eye at the unmentionables. It is imperative that no one sees you buying these things, it doesn’t matter if bystanders are male or female, the damned things need to go in the trolley unobserved – these are not my rules, they are THE rules. At one point I realised that the tissue box I was pretending to look at, was in fact a box of breast pads and in my panic to put them back I managed to knock over a breast pump and Tena Lady display case. I ran. You have never seen a trolley move so fast. As I motored away my arm came out and grabbed a box that vaguely looked like it contained the right things.

The rest of the shop was done in a blur, I felt slightly ill at the thought of the period monster that could be sitting at home waiting for me. I checked and double checked that I had everything that was on the list. I carefully removed any extra additions that I had recklessly added through my own initiative and re counted. Yes, everything was as per the list – EXACTLY.

Then something amazing happened, one of those wonderful moments of humanity that reminds you how kind people can be. At the till, everything was going through and I was frantically packing as usual, but maybe with a slightly more frightened look on my face. The lady at the till swiped the offending box and stopped. This amazingly perceptive woman looked at me, winked, pointed to the ‘special offer’ flowers in front of her till, “trust me” she said, as she lent forward, picked up a bunch and put them on the conveyor belt. Every little helps – as they say, good old Tesco.

I got home and before the boot of the car was empty I had learned that I had taken too long, forgotten to use the ‘bags-for-life’, and forgotten the eggs that Jo had mentioned to me as I got into the car but weren’t on the list. Apparently these three things together proved that I didn’t love or respect her. I had, it seems, done it on purpose in order to prove something.

I sighed.

I produced the flowers.

Something incredible happened.

Jo shut up.

“Thanks” she said and disappeared to put them in a vase. The house went quiet. It was a miracle. I unpacked the shopping without any further comments. A smile spread over my face – thank you Tesco lady, your uncanny understanding of the hostile conditions that I face every month saved the day; I am in your debt. Shortly after finishing the unpacking, Jo came over and gave me a hug of gratitude and shared a moment of warmth with me. I was her hero – this felt amazing.

Half an hour later, as Jo headed upstairs carrying the last ‘special’ unopened bag…

“WHAT THE F**K ARE THESE SUPPOSED TO BE?”

Oh shit.

Versatile Blogger award

Hello – well there’s a thing… This weekend I was given The Versatile Blogger award from one of my favourite blogs – Butts and Ashes. I love Marla’s view on her world and never miss it so it was quite an honour to get that.


I’m quite pleased about it.

Make that very pleased.

So I now have the Versatile Blogger award – get in!

As ever, nothing is free and it appears I have some chores to attend too as part of the award receiving deal.

I think I’m supposed to name 10 things I like and pass on the award to 10 more blogs. Tough. I’m a rebel without a clue so I’m going to alter that a smidge. I’m narrowing things down to two.

Yes two.

That’s the way the eggs roll in this house people – get used to it.

Things I like.

My family – all of them; not just the ones who live in my house, but the whole daft lot of them. Crazy, frustrating and distant though they may well be, I wouldn’t be me without them.

Dominos Pizza – yes I know it’s an extravagance, a truly expensive luxury, but what would life be like without the occasional Texan BBQ? Would it be worth living? I know I probably should have said sex on this list but to be honest, forced to choose between the two I’ve a feeling I know which I’d pick. After all, I can’t make a Dominos by myself on the Internet…

Blogs who deserve an award.

On the whole you should know that if I have your blog on my ‘reading list’ that I really do come and read you, and often comment, not because I have to but because I want too. My point is that I could easily give this award to any and all of the blogs listed over on the right hand side there, happily knowing that they deserved them. I’ve made no secret of my enjoyment of Butts and Ashes, No Missed Opportunities, and Vienna for Dummies in the past so I’m not going to go on about them now. I do want to point out that I have been getting quite hooked on Christina’s little world, which reminds me about being young. Christina is 21, I have absolutely nothing in common with this girl’s life at all but I find her youthful outlook on life refreshing and it takes me back a few years, which is nice (she isn’t exactly rough on the eye either). Also I’m rather partial to a bit of Pampers and Pinot because Kristy has a pretty sharp eye for the way that stuff is, and doesn’t hold back on letting on.

However, I have digressed.

To the awards.

I want to give a special mention and pass on the Versatile Blogger award to …

Maxabela Loves…Because she scares the hell out of me. This blog is so deep into women’s territory I need a Man’s survival pack to read it (consisting of a Hayne’s motor manual, TV remote control, copy of Razzle and a bottle of Old Spice). The other day I dropped by and landed slap bang in the middle of a discussion about the areas of hair that women shave, wax or grow. In my panic to escape, I nearly crashed my PC. I had to do three virus scans and history deletions before I felt safe enough to leave the room. On the other hand they say you should always keep the enemy near, and on the whole Maxabella Loves… should be required reading for any man needing to keep a check on the latest crap that women are thinking women’s points of view. It is actually pretty good.

I cannot leave out Barbara at JoBart; bonkers whirlwind of life that she is. A dab hand at capturing the moments on camera which most of us parents face, but can never get the camera out fast enough. I so often see moments that she has caught of her own kid’s day that instantly reminds me of my own. These moments have passed long before I can remember where my camera is, having Barbara capture them for me is a joy (even if it confuses my mother when I show her an album of photos and try and explain why one of her grandsons is now a girl). On top of that the snippets of detail about her constant battle with keeping her son away from nuts, and therefore alive, have truly helped me to understand just how big an issue this is, in a way that I had never before considered. It has also reminded me just how easy parenting my boys is in reality, no matter how hard it may sometimes appear to be.

So there you go – I have an award – Brilliant – yay!

I’ve passed it on to 2 great blogs – tick.

Discussed why pizza is more important than sex – tick.

Completely not mentioned how I panicked and probably gave exactly the wrong response to my six year old son, when he asked “It IS okay for boys to marry boys isn’t it Dad?” tick – oops – untick.

p.s. Eventually, after a small amount of coughing and crying, I did admit that it was okay, before making him watch an old episode of Baywatch. That should do the trick.

Everybody hurts... sometimes

Hi, it’s me – Breeze Van Santo again. I have a few spare minutes, so I thought I’d catch up with you guys. I’m currently in L.A. standing in for Danny DiVito for his part as the bad guy in the fifth instalment of the Die Hard franchise ‘Die Knackered’. A surprising plot to defraud the matron, at John McClane’s new nursing home, leads to some slick action and amusing incontinence from the aging Bruce Willis. It is early days but with Hilary Clinton taking her first acting role as the matron, it is sure to be a huge success.


Back at the penthouse I was slightly out of breath, as my heart played the drums at 60,000 beats per minute. The lift opened and once more the door stood before me. I breathed in and took charge of myself. I had to get back in control of my nerves, it’s not like I’d never had sex before, it’s not like I’d never kissed a beautiful woman before either. For some reason though, the thought of what was coming was driving me crazy. I realised something important, I realised I was in love. That was it, that was the problem, I’ve never really been in love before, certainly not sober anyway.

The door opened.

The world stopped.

Millennia passed in an instant as I stood frozen in time, transfixed and anchored to the moment by the beauty of Lulu’s eyes.

Tick

Tick

BANG!

The kick came from nowhere, and suddenly I was on the floor in agony. My head closed down, all attempts to make sense of what had just happened were abandoned in order to cope with the pain that I was in.

What had just happened was a lightening fast high heeled kick to my balls; how had she managed such an accurate shot with such power? I had no breath at all as I rolled in agony in the lobby of Lulu’s flat. I couldn’t ask what was going on and Lulu wasn’t offering any explanation, so all I could do was concentrate on trying to manoeuvre the lumps in my throat back down to where my testicles are usually kept.

Slowly the static noise that was filling my ears began to fade, and the sound of shouting replaced it.

“You absolute bastard, I can’t believe you have done this to me…”

Oh my God, if this is how she acts when she is overwhelmed with passion I’m in trouble. Somebody needs to have a talk with her about the birds and the bees. I realised she was frustrated and horny, but how the hell was I going to make love to her now? LB was out of action and I had no breath, so the best she could hope for was for me to get a bit handy but to be honest, I wasn’t really in the mood anymore. I’ve always prided myself on having an open mind and I don’t have anything specific against the whole S&M thing, but surely there are limits? I always thought it was supposed to be consensual; I hadn’t even had a chance to let her know my safe word. Clearly Lulu was new at this and didn’t know the rules, perhaps after a brandy and an ice pack we could start again with clearer boundaries?

“For crying out loud woman, back off! I can’t breathe! I’m just not into this you psycho!”

Silence filled my ears, followed by gentle sobbing. I looked around and slowly the blurring in my eyes began to subside and their focus returned. The door was open and Lulu was sitting on the sofa crying. It is funny how your mood can change so quickly, mine changed right then. Maybe I’d been too harsh just then, I shouldn’t have called her that and ruined her perfect moment. I felt rotten; I should have manned up and let her slap me about if that’s what she needed. I eased myself upright, checking all of my special parts over carefully, and manoeuvring it all back into their proper positions. I gave myself a quick check in the mirror and found that I only needed to brush back my hair and I’d be ready to go. I softly closed the door behind me as I headed over to console her on the sofa. Yet again I could see that a Dad hug was required.

It was only when I sat down that everything came fully into focus and my world was crushed once more.

There on the table was my jacket, and there, sticking out of the pocket were the photos.

Those photos.

That declaration.

Everything.

I closed my eyes, sat back, and cursed the world. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so selfish? I’d actually come over here thinking that she wanted me, that she needed me! What a fool! I’d broken her heart, that’s what I’d done. I had wanted it all hadn’t I? I’d wanted to scupper her evil plan AND take her love. Even Bond isn’t that cruel, oh he’d have slipped her some double oh heaven before blowing up her secret laboratory alright – but he wouldn’t have tried to steal her heart and soul at the same time.

I had convinced myself that it would work, that we could truly have it all. I should have known better. Lulu deserved better than me, that’s for sure. Somehow I had to let her know this, somehow I had to rescue the situation and at least walk away with my pride. If I could get an under the jumper boob rub as well then perfect, I couldn’t expect more than that.

“Look, Lulu I…”

“You bastard Breeze, do you have any idea how I feel? I drank that stuff in good faith, you promised me it was Warwick’s but instead it was … was… Oh my God!”

“They are all actors though…. Surely that counts? At the end of the day that has to be the same, I mean I’m pretty sure the Umpa Lumpa on the right was in Time Bandits!”

“What really? Which one? No never mind, that’s not the same and you know it! You stood there and acted so noble, so decent. What if it had worked? Oh my God I’d have the CSA chasing department stores trying to find Santa’s helper for half of his fricking pay, which would amount to about half a pack of bloody nappies! Where would the great Breeze Van Santo have been then I wonder? You’d be on some beach somewhere, frolicking about with some skinny blonde bimbo bitch no doubt.”

Jealousy? Had I just noted a frisson of envy when she had described my ex just then? I perked up as the tiniest crack of hope split the surface of despair.

There was going to be a lot of work for me to do, to get over this lack of trust. A mountain to climb, but I knew, I just knew – it was no longer impossible!

Anyhoo, I have to go now – They have re charged Bruce’s mobility scooter and we are ready to roll…

Ciao

today I am mostly thankful for ...

Hello there - please could you do me a huge favour and click onto Real Bloggers United to read today’s post (thinking about thanking you) where I absolutely do not get all sentimental and sloppy thanking people who matter to me.

No way.

If you could spare a mo to click here, read and (hey why not?) maybe leave a comment over there on the RBU site, I would be absolutely eckstatic extatic eggs static, over the moon.

Thanks Glen :-)