Grumpy...

It's been a trying few weeks at From Beer To Paternity Towers and I was going to rename this blog Is It Just Me Or Are Some People Just Becoming Total Cunts These Days? Sadly it was a bit long for a title...

But cheery news is on the horizon with our eldest cat Buffy (pictured above) finally starting to move around a bit after her operation and trying to get her leg back in working order.

I am cheered by a cat. There is hope for my faith in humanity yet...

Getting To Grips...

My current fascination with the Ultimate Fighting Championship is showing no signs of abating and there is now the very real temptation that I may actually want to fight in something at some point.

I am putting this down to my impending 40th birthday in April and me undergoing some type of belated or early midlife crisis, but it's been an itch that I so far have not been able to scratch away despite my ongoing hapkido and boxing training.

Bearing this in mind I've decided it is a good idea to brush up on and extend my limited grappling skills so I've been reading the excellent No Holds Barred Fighting: The Ultimate Guide To Submission Wrestling by Mark Hatmaker and Doug Werner.

And on top of this I've also discovered a great website called Train, Fight, Win which has an idiot's guide to basic submission techniques which is so fool-proof that even I can learn from it.

This could be a great new adventure...

Pussy News...

Our eldest cat, Buffy, has snapped her cruciate ligament and one of her side ligaments too.

We have so far seen three vets and spent just under £400 but have yet to be advised on a suitable course of action to ensure she is soon well again.

Tomorrow we see a specialist in cat leg injuries (I don't think that is actually his proper title) and an operation to make her right again will probably cost about £1000.

It's a good job I love that cat more than I love most people...

Anger Management..

Me and the Missus are at the National Theatre waiting to go in and see the Pitmen Painters, a play about a group of miners in the 1930s who took up painting, and she is discussing a debate on Radio 5 Live.

'The topic was wives who abuse and bully their husbands and many of the men who were phoning in were explaining how the mental cruelty and constant hectoring and belittling was often much harder to bear than the physical stuff. Many even said that the scars from the mental abuse took much longer to heal than any physical marks. Anyway it got me thinking that maybe I am mentally damaging you in the long-term.'
'It's quite possible...'
'I mean it's obviously not going to change a damn thing but I thought I should let you know that at least now I'm aware of it... There... I feel better for getting that off my chest.'

Business as usual then...

Gaslight Anthem...

The Missus has a new fave band and she took me to see them on Sunday at Shepherd's Bush Empire.

They're called Gaslight Anthem and they hail from New Jersey in the US and they're a sort of indie guitar band who sound a bit like Green Day playing a rocky Bruce Springsteen.

They're well worth a listen and their curent single, Old White Lincoln, is a pretty good example of what lots of their stuff sounds like.

I think they're jolly good and they sound even better live as their music has a much rawer edge and energy.

Settling Down...

Me and the Missus are walking back from the pub. It is cold and snowy and quiet and she's holding onto my arm.

Normally this would appear to be a romantic gesture but I know full well she's doing it so she doesn't fall over and end up sitting on the pavement with a freezing arse swearing at me in the snow like some mad old women who smells of wee and has 50 cats.

I do, however, take the chance to be romantic and hope that she will respond in kind.
'We're still happy after 12 years together, aren't we? We even still quite like each other...'

The Missus ponders before replying.
'Yes we are... but that's because we've settled for each other.'

We walk on. I try not to delve too deeply into her comment but I can't help myself.

I'm a 'settled for' husband. That's probably like being a safe pair of hands. I am the marital equivalent of a safe pair of hands. The BHS of husbands. Not particularly classy or fantastic to look at but dependable and reasonably well-made.

I conclude I'm not trying to be romantic ever again.

Adventures In Pool Land...

The county pool season kicked off on Sunday with an away trip to Southampton and my good self moved back up to the A Team after helping the B Team win the regional title last year.

The pool match was engrossing although I struggled to win frames but I know decent form is not far away as I'm playing properly again so it's just a matter of keeping the faith.

The journey down and back again, though, was an absolute joy.

On the journey down I'd nicely settled in with my iPod and a decent book when several of my colleagues boarded the train and within five minutes I'd had the details of one friend's latest sexual encounter and a new friend's spell behind bars for ABH, as well as a very insistent offer of starting on a litre bottle of vodka. And it wasn't even 10am...

I'm used to such shenanigans but the Observer-reading thirtysomething couple sitting in the seats next door didn't quite know what to make of it.

Needless to say the journey back involved more lively debate and a stop off at a local watering hole. I did avoid the vodka, though, and it was mostly good, cleanish fun. Sort of...