Drive Me Crazy...

The Boy is back from university for a few weeks and he has spent several days brushing up on his driving lessons.

So he is in the kitchen talking to the Missus and explaining how his instructor complimented him on not stalling the car and several other technical feats which washed straight over my non-driver head.

I decide to enter the conversation.
'So... you're an excellent driver?'

The Missus bursts out laughing and the boy immediately cottons onto the Rain Man reference.
'You're an idiot.'

It's good to have him home...

Lexicon News...

Fugly: An adjective meaning not particularly attractive. Ungendered so it can apply to both sexes.
Origin: A contraction of the two words 'fucking' and 'ugly'.
Example: 'I really wanted to have a little go on that but on closer inspection I realised it was fugly beyond belief.'

Solar...

There was much excitement at From Beer To Paternity Towers as my new play, Melt, neared completion of first draft stage.

It's about a cartography professor who was once a big noise in the environmental movement. Sadly his inability to keep his cock in his trousers saw him leave that sphere and end up lecturing on geology and cartography at a minor university – until a major corporation asks him to go on secondment to the Antarctic to help their mission to map the place for mineral reserves.

So I was delighted (irony warning – I actuallly mean really bollockingly fucked off) when reviews of Ian McEwan's new book, Solar, came out last week as it's also about a shagaholic professor who journeys to the Antarctic and it has an environmental theme too.

I'll obviously still finish the play but I sort of feel that my thunder has been stolen. I reckon I could have McEwan in a fight, though.

And fortunately I have an idea for a new play. I'm going to take the songs out of the musical My Fair Lady and turn it back into a drama for the stage...

50 Ways To Leave Your Lover...

It's a slow work day and myself and my work colleagues have noticed that the Simon and Garfunkle song 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover quite clearly doesn't have anywhere near 50 suggestions on how to terminate then walk out on a relationship.

So we decided to find 50 new ones that fit snugly into the metric pattern of the song. Our suggestions so far:

'Smash her back door through, Hugh.'
'Get a new girl, Earl.'
'Shoot her dead in the head, Fred.'
'Dump her by text, Rex.'
'Touch up her mother, brother.'

And here's some from several pool-playing colleagues:
'Tell her she's fat and she's got to go, Joe.'
'Treat her like John Terry, Jerry.'
'Flash her in a mac, Jack.'
'Tweek her on the tits, Fritz.'
'Smash her in the granny, Annie.'
'Cum in her eye, Kia.'
'Cum in her hair, Claire.'
'Touch her kid, Sid.'
'Go to bed with her sister, mister.'
'Burn her with the iron, Brian.'
'Say she looks like Shamu, Stu.'
'Tell him you're actually a man, Jan.'

And, just so we're not accused of sexism:
'Tell him he's rubbish in bed and he has a small willy, Millie.'

Make up your own. It's a great game...

Floored Genius...

Today my status as a DIY demi-god took a major tumble when the Missus realised there was a leak in the kitchen.

So when we got home I spent an hour checking the drains outside then examining the washing machine but everything looked OK. Then I realised the cold water pipe connection was partially out of sight and when I checked it was damp. I then pulled the false floor and the lino up and a large chunk of the kitchen floor was sodden.

I then fessed up that as I originally plumbed the washing machine in it was my fault. Probably...

The Missus stood in the kitchen with half the floor up and a huge wet patch soaked into the floor. I was expecting all manner of hellish taunts and instead I got the following.
'It's OK. It doesn't matter.'
'Sorry?'
'It's fine. We got to it in time and it'll dry then we'll just put the flooring back...'
'And that's it?'
'Yes.'
'The kitchen will just be a tip for a while...'

We have tea with half the kitchen covered in towels to soak up the water and half the floor leaning in a corner. Then the penny drops.
'I no longer have an argument not to get the new kitchen done, do I?'

The Missus smiles. We had been planning to gut it and redo it next year. I get the feeling next year may be happening sooner than I thought...

Down With The Kids...

The Boy was back from university for a few days and he brought his girlfriend with him.

He remained as sarcastic and opinionated and pedantic and belligerent as ever where I was concerned and it wasn't long before he and the Missus were tag-team belittling me. It was almost like he'd never been away.

But it was great to see him. And his girlfriend is utterly lovely and clearly very smart. I also got the impression she knows how to put him in his place should such an act be needed.

I also managed not to embarrass him. Sort of...

I had planned to buy a few posters of the Village People and put them up in his bedroom as a little joke for when he and his girlfriend got home. Sadly the Missus pooh-poohed the idea.

There was one moment when we were sat at dinner, though, and I asked him what he and his girlfriend were doing the following day.
'So what are you guys doing tomorrow then?'
'Not a lot...'
'Just chilling, eh?'

There was a sigh from the Boy. I realised I had broken a cardinal rule by trying to use a 'young person's' word. I tried to extricate myself.
'It could have been worse. I could have said "chill-axeing".'

The Boy just looked at me, looked at his girlfriend then shook his head and went back to eating his risotto. I am not down with the kids. And never will be...