Well, it has been a busy social past month highlighted by the fact that Valentines Day came and went in a sort of blur, mainly due to a black eye. Had I not been in a hurry….or had my glasses….the enemy, the good lady wife, would have got a stunning card dedicating my love and life to her for all eternity and not…To My Girl Girlfriend! What the hell was wrong with that? It had a picture of a puppy on it or a badger or a sofa cushion by a bowl of milk, I really must check my glasses prescription! What is she complaining about? It’s the thought that counts! She has never really forgiven me for the ‘So You’re 40!’ card which arrived three years early about four years ago….or was it five? The problem is I can never remember how old she is. Mind you, here is a bit of advice to the blokes out there, never round things up with women. That goes for age and dress sizes. In fact never try buying the good lady clothes full stop. Standing in the frock shop and pulling one as wide as it goes and saying ‘That should do!’ does not go down well with the female assistants. Also saying, ‘a size 20 should cover everything, she can always let out the ‘back bit’ is also frowned upon for some reason. Also..never…and I mean never….. chose the one draped over the rail. Chances are that is the dust cover for the entire rack and it may look like it would fit but DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!
Valentines night she also pointed out fairly forcefully that she didn’t get any red roses this year or some heart warming gift. That was sorted in one call when I ordered a Chicken Korma and Tandoori Mixed Grill from Nandons in Ivybridge High Street and Jamal very kindly popped a red rose in beside the poppadoms. I had spotted the advert in their window, good marketing and one to remember next year.
Still, she has been taken out since then and spoiled. I was asked to host The Lord Mayors dinner at a swanky hotel in Plymouth. It was the usual chicken dinner with terrified potatoes, rubber carrots and green beans from the Tudor period. I may have blotted my copy book when the waitress asked me if I would like a doggy bag. I said a sick bag was more appropriate and she stormed off. What is it with me and women?
Anyway, I must be off now, down the A38 to marvel in the wonder that is spring. Fantastic patches of colour on the banks where the trees used to stand, great swathes of plastic, lorry tyres, black bags and builders rubble, creatively discarded on the verges. It is always nice to see a tree
these days but please don’t tell the authorities, they seem to be getting in the way of fly tippers.
I will leave you with another classic from Ratboy, the son and heir. He asked me what a nucleus was and I said it was to do with atoms. ‘Oh yea,’ he said. It those proton and crouton things!’ I can’t criticise, I failed fizics as well.
Fitz
