Hell's Kitchen...

Both myself and the Missus work hard for our money and while I generally spend mine on stuff I want she tends to feel guilty about doing the same.

We are in town shopping and she is umm-ing and ahh-ing about treating herself so I give her a pep talk.

'Look. We work really hard for our money so we shouldn't feel guilty about spending it on stuff we want,' are the words of wisdom I offer.

A pensive look comes over her face then she smiles.
'Yes. You're right,' she says.

Three days later she shows me the quote for the new kitchen.
'How fucking much!?' This is my initial reaction.
'But you said we shouldn't feel guilty about spending money on stuff we want...'
'I thought you were going to buy a handbag or a dress. I didn't mean a designer kitchen that I'll also be paying for!'
'But it will be a lovely kitchen...'

She smiles again. I have already lost the argument. It's a good job she can do the sex stuff...

The Singing Detective...

My chances of turning into the Singing Detective (pre-medication and pre-stint-in-hospital) may be receding after a trip to see my new doctor.

My new doctor is lovely. Sadly she away when I last visited the surgery so I got a less attractive locum inserting a digit into an orifice. This is a shame as I wouldn't mind my proper new doctor sticking her finger up my arse at any time.

Sadly she only asked me to drop my trousers so she got a glimpse of my superhero underpants but I could tell she was impressed by my smalls fashion sense as she gave me a new prescription of anti-hystamine tablets, a tube of steroid cream and some other lotion to rub on the affected bits.

Applying the cream wasn't pleaseant and it wasn't pretty and if there are two unsexier words in the English language than 'steroid cream' I have yet to read them. And I have read a huge amount of filth.

Having a body plagued by unsightly rashes made training very interesting, though, and rather than opt for the explain-to-everyone-I'm-not-contagious line I decided to cover up by wearing a base layer under my do-bok.

This was great as it meant I had no more skin eruptions but it was really hot and I sweated buckets. So it was a week of steroid cream and sweat. Nice...

On the plus side I had a cracking birthday and I also came across this brilliant quote by Ancient Greek poet and soldier Archilochus:
'We do not rise to the level of our expectations. We fall to the level of our training.'

I reckon that's on the money.

PS. I also got the new iPod.

Happy Birthday...

I am 41 in a few days and I'm looking forward to having a quiet day at work then spending the evening with the Missus and the Boy.

But what do you get the 41-year-old who has everything? Simple. An eczema-like skin condition caused by a brand new allergy to something.

Great. What I really wanted was a new iPod...

Fashion News...

It is Bank Holiday Monday and me, the Boy and the Missus are heading into town to do some shopping.

I am about to head through the front door when the Boy stops me.
'You're not going out like that, are you?'
'I'm not shaving the 'tashe. We've had this discussion. The 'tache stays.'

The 'tache has been a constant source of amusement to the Boy ever since I grew it at the behest of the Missus, who claimed that growing a drooping Dirty Sanchez 'tache would soften my 'severe face'. I decided to give this a go as it meant the Missus was happy and it also meant I could pretend I was Chuck Liddel when I was sparring at martial arts.

Sadly I have recently realised that the 'tache combined with the sideburns make me look more Seth Armstrong (played by the late, great Stan Richards) from Emmerdale than hardened UFC warrior.

The 'tache, however, still stayed.

'I'm not worried about the tache,' adds the Boy.
'What is it then?'
'It's them...' says the Boy pointing to my jogging bottoms.
'And what's wrong with them?'
'You're about to go out in your pyjamas.'
'They're jogging bottoms...'
'They're pyjamas. I have a pair upstairs...'

I turn to the Missus for support.
'Are these pyjamas or jogging bottoms?'
'They're pyjamas...'
'But I've been going out in these for months!'

The Boy laughs, before adding:
'It's a good job that people have been too busy staring at your stupid facial hair to notice then, isn't it?'