Sadly, this time is doesn't involve a semi-naked beautiful woman, but nevertheless it still helps to define me as a fully fledged idiot.
I'm not a bad cook. I never claim to be the next Gary Rhodes or Anthony Whorrel-Thompson but I can make a decent Sunday dinner, follow a receipe successfully and don't mind experimenting with herbs and spices. (Actually, at the moment I have hair like Gary and a waist-line like Anthony but it still doesn't make me cordon-bleu!) My cooking on Sunday night/Monday morning this week however makes me look like an idiot.
I'll stress now, it's actually nothing to do with the food itself. The meal came out beautifully and tasted devine (even if I do say so myself) It's the process of how the meal came together that I am about to tell you all.
Picture the scene. It's Sunday night. I've just returned from work and I decide to make a casserole in my slow cooker. The plan is to leave it cooking over night, turn the oven off in the morning and then I can warm it up when I come back from work on Monday evening. Simple. It was the most straightforward of meals - roughly chop some potatoes, carrots, leeks, red onions, peppers and mix in the pot. Put the pot in the slow cooker, add a thick vegetable stock and some diced pork. put on the lid, set to 'low' and leave for 8 hours. The whole process took less than 10 minutes to do. With me so far?
I woke up several times during the night, (as usual) and on one occasion went to check the casserole was ok. There it was, simmering away to itself, looking extremely tasty already. At 6am when my alarm went off, I went back to the kitchen to turn off the slow cooker. But what was this? The red light was already off....
...Now any sensible person would have assumed the cooker had broken, or the fuse in the plug or socket had blown. What did I assume? "Oh wow, my slow cooker has an automatic shut-off system. Isn't that clever" The fact that the instruction manual for the cooker was less than 6 inches from my left hand didn't matter, as far as I was concerned, the cooker turned itself off.
Despite my idiotic assumption, I did switch the cooker off at the plug and left the casserole whilst I went to work. 13 hours later I returned, and it was still there. (Well obviously. Where is a large casserole going to go on it's own?)
I plugged the cooker back in, and turned the dial to 'warm'. Nothing. No red light, no gentle humming noise, zilch.
Ok, NOW I assume a fuse has gone in the plug or socket. (it's only taken me half a day to realise that) Firstly I tried plugging the cooker into the socket next to the first one. Still no red light. (The 'idiot' is beginning to surface. If the fuse has gone in either the socket or plug, it's not going to work if I put it in the socket right next to the first one is it?!). I also did that strange action of flicking the socket switches on and off. Why do people do that? When a light bulb blows, why do we always flick the light on and off as though it's going to magically come back to life?
...and here's where 'idiot' reaches a whole new level. The sensible thing to do would be to go and check the fuse box for a tripped switch. What do I do? I carry the slow cooker, including the casserole, into my bedroom. I balance it on the end of my bed and reach across to the socket I plug my bedside lamp into!! Not only had I passed three seperate sockets in the lounge to get to that one, but I didn't take the casserole pot out of the cooker first!!
Anyway, the red light came on, so I knew the fuse in the plug must be ok. So, it must be the socket fuse that had blown. Carrying the casserole back to the kitchen I passed the airing cupboard with the fusebox. Now balancing the cooker and casserole on one arm I can see a switch HAS tripped. Flipping it back up, the socket now works and I can now warm my casserole - a casserole which has now done a full tour of the flat and on two occasions been in danger of being dropped!
Half an hour later I was tucking into a lovely casserole, first healthy meal I've had in a while.
....but there's still more.
Although I've 'fixed' the socket in the kitchen, it completely escapes my attention that one of the switches I had been flicking on and off before was a seperate fuse switch. There were two of them actually, right next to the sockets themselves. One of them I had left in the 'on' position, hence being able to warm my dinner. The other fuse switch I had left in the 'off' position. No real problem I suppose, I'm not using anything in the kitchen right now......
.....bearing in mind the socket has been out of action for a full 13 hours, it's only when I went to get a can of Sprite from the fridge and found it to be a bit warm did it dawn on me what I had done. That 7ft tall silver fridge freezer that lurks behind the door also shares the same bank of sockets. It must have been off all day AND it was still off because I hadn't turned the fuse switch back on. Thankfully the freezer section was still frozen (I know because the ice-cube tray wasn't swimming in water) but I had had a lucky escape. If I hadn't gone for that can of Sprite the freezer would have been fully defrosted and taken a multitude of pizzas, sausages and giant Yorkshire Puddings with it!
So there you go. For leaving a socket out of action for more than 13 hours (which had a fridge freezer plugged into it), for testing a plug by carrying a full casserole around the flat with me and for flicking a fuse switch on and off (and forgetting to put back 'on') I am once again a card-carrying, certifiable, dictionary defining idiot.
...shame about the lack of semi-naked women though :o)
February 27, 2008
February 22, 2008
Tattoo
As I've finally confessed to having a tattoo, I might as well share my thoughts on tattoos generally, and also try to explain my own choice of design.
I was brought up in a tattoo-free environment. No one I knew had a tattoo (well not a visible one anyway). Family, friends, neighbours no one had an inking that I could see. There's a possibility my friend's Dad (a policeman) had one on his arm but if he did, I only saw it on rare occasions, and not often enough to become curious about it.
At uni, I came across a few people with tattoos, but as most people I was surrounded by had just turned 18, it still wasn't a common sight. The fashion for women to get lower back images, or characters on the back of their shoulders was still a few years away.
As I moved to the Isle of Man, tattoos became much more common. I was mixing with different social backgrounds and fashions were also changing. The style of hipster trousers and crop tops came, revealing hips and bare midrifts. It was probably around this time that I consciously debated getting a tattoo, but it had to be 'right' if I did. Curiously, it was my wife who got one first, a chinese symbol on her shoulder. It looked really nice, and I'd definately describe it as sexy.
I'll take a step sideways to offer my own personal opinion on tattoos in general. On a man, I have no problems with tattoos at all. What interests me more is WHY they chose the image they did. I'd prefer that they were placed in a position that is easily covered. That's not me being a prude. I just think that a tattoo is a personal thing that can be exposed if required, but is not 'forced' upon people who don't like them. Tattoos on the neck, or knuckles just don't do anything for me because I don't have the choice of not looking at it.
For women, that sort of doesn't apply. A strategically placed tattoo is an extremely sexy thing, even if it's permenantly visible. A small image on the hips, or upper boob is fascinating. It's even more fascinating if it is only partially visible...gives the brain a thrill to imagine the rest of it. I'm not a HUGE fan of the lower back tattoos that seem to crop up now. It's lovely if the woman has a well toned body, but so many of them seem to be on ladies who should think about dressing a little bit more conservatively. I'd never judge someone for a tattoo though, male or female.
For both sexes there is one golden rule that I believe in.... the tattoo has to mean something. I could not imagine walking into a parlour and just picking a picture off the wall. It won't be unique and ultimately it's meaningless.
Anyway, back to me. So nearly ten years ago I thought about getting a tattoo, but my wife beat me to it. I still thought about it though, but what to get? If you knew me growing up, you'd know I had a love of 'icons' and striking imagery. My duvet covers had the playboy bunny on them (can't believe women have stolen that from us now!), my pin-ups were of Marilyn Monroe, one of the greatest icons of the 20th century. I adored Egyptian hieroglyphics, particularly King Tut's mask.... but these all seemed cliched as a tattoo.
The idea of a asian language symbol was also considered, but again it had already 'been done'.
My music tastes hadn't changed much over time, so I also thought about the imagery of Pink Floyd. Gerald Scarfe's spidery writing from 'The Wall', the robotic handshake from 'Wish You Were Here' and top of the list, the famous prism from 'Dark Side of the Moon' with the refraction of light, and that remained top of my list for quite a while....
...until I had a brainwave. What else had been with me throughout my life and wasn't likely to go away very soon? Maths.... and what does Maths use, more than any other academic subject? Symbols.
To cut a long story short (too late) I came up with the idea of 'Pi'. I discussed it with a friend, and before you can recite Pi to 20 decimal places she had designed a unique 'Pi' for me. About a month later it was there on my upper arm, and I love it. Not only is it an instantly recognizable 'symbol', it also represents one of the most powerful numbers in Mathematics.
I've followed my own rules: it's in a place that I can easily hid it, yet I can reveal it if someone wants to see it. It's uniquely designed, there isn't an identical 'Pi' anywhere in the world, and it's personal to me.
So there you go. I didn't get it as an act of defience, I didn't get it because of peer pressure, I got it because I find tattoos fascinating and it was an opportunity to do something just for me. It does have one drawback though....
.....makes it easier to identify me in a police line-up! :o)
I was brought up in a tattoo-free environment. No one I knew had a tattoo (well not a visible one anyway). Family, friends, neighbours no one had an inking that I could see. There's a possibility my friend's Dad (a policeman) had one on his arm but if he did, I only saw it on rare occasions, and not often enough to become curious about it.
At uni, I came across a few people with tattoos, but as most people I was surrounded by had just turned 18, it still wasn't a common sight. The fashion for women to get lower back images, or characters on the back of their shoulders was still a few years away.
As I moved to the Isle of Man, tattoos became much more common. I was mixing with different social backgrounds and fashions were also changing. The style of hipster trousers and crop tops came, revealing hips and bare midrifts. It was probably around this time that I consciously debated getting a tattoo, but it had to be 'right' if I did. Curiously, it was my wife who got one first, a chinese symbol on her shoulder. It looked really nice, and I'd definately describe it as sexy.
I'll take a step sideways to offer my own personal opinion on tattoos in general. On a man, I have no problems with tattoos at all. What interests me more is WHY they chose the image they did. I'd prefer that they were placed in a position that is easily covered. That's not me being a prude. I just think that a tattoo is a personal thing that can be exposed if required, but is not 'forced' upon people who don't like them. Tattoos on the neck, or knuckles just don't do anything for me because I don't have the choice of not looking at it.
For women, that sort of doesn't apply. A strategically placed tattoo is an extremely sexy thing, even if it's permenantly visible. A small image on the hips, or upper boob is fascinating. It's even more fascinating if it is only partially visible...gives the brain a thrill to imagine the rest of it. I'm not a HUGE fan of the lower back tattoos that seem to crop up now. It's lovely if the woman has a well toned body, but so many of them seem to be on ladies who should think about dressing a little bit more conservatively. I'd never judge someone for a tattoo though, male or female.
For both sexes there is one golden rule that I believe in.... the tattoo has to mean something. I could not imagine walking into a parlour and just picking a picture off the wall. It won't be unique and ultimately it's meaningless.
Anyway, back to me. So nearly ten years ago I thought about getting a tattoo, but my wife beat me to it. I still thought about it though, but what to get? If you knew me growing up, you'd know I had a love of 'icons' and striking imagery. My duvet covers had the playboy bunny on them (can't believe women have stolen that from us now!), my pin-ups were of Marilyn Monroe, one of the greatest icons of the 20th century. I adored Egyptian hieroglyphics, particularly King Tut's mask.... but these all seemed cliched as a tattoo.
The idea of a asian language symbol was also considered, but again it had already 'been done'.
My music tastes hadn't changed much over time, so I also thought about the imagery of Pink Floyd. Gerald Scarfe's spidery writing from 'The Wall', the robotic handshake from 'Wish You Were Here' and top of the list, the famous prism from 'Dark Side of the Moon' with the refraction of light, and that remained top of my list for quite a while....
...until I had a brainwave. What else had been with me throughout my life and wasn't likely to go away very soon? Maths.... and what does Maths use, more than any other academic subject? Symbols.
To cut a long story short (too late) I came up with the idea of 'Pi'. I discussed it with a friend, and before you can recite Pi to 20 decimal places she had designed a unique 'Pi' for me. About a month later it was there on my upper arm, and I love it. Not only is it an instantly recognizable 'symbol', it also represents one of the most powerful numbers in Mathematics.
I've followed my own rules: it's in a place that I can easily hid it, yet I can reveal it if someone wants to see it. It's uniquely designed, there isn't an identical 'Pi' anywhere in the world, and it's personal to me.
So there you go. I didn't get it as an act of defience, I didn't get it because of peer pressure, I got it because I find tattoos fascinating and it was an opportunity to do something just for me. It does have one drawback though....
.....makes it easier to identify me in a police line-up! :o)
February 21, 2008
New Leaf Part II
The New Leaf (well dating agency) is going slow. I've e-mailed about 5 ladies, 'winked' at 10 but so far, only 3 e-mails back in return.
Before you get excited, all three were from the US, all from non-US citizens, and all talking about marriage in the first paragraph. One of them even uses the on-line nickname 'Your-future-wife'. Now I'm not saying I'm not desperate myself, but that is taking it to the extreme.
So far I've resisted the urge to reply to them. I don't want a random Egyptian woman turning up on my doorstep with a suitcase in one hand and a marriage license in the other.
The 5 I've e-mailed all seemed really interesting. 2 of them in fact I would REALLY like to get to know better. We seem to have a lot in common. All I can do though is play the waiting game.
It's probably a good thing that it's taking a while. Right now I'm not in a fit state to meet anyone. I've got a streaming cold and keep sniffing in an undignified and unattractive manner. I also haven't got a day off due for nearly a fortnight, so it'd be hard to meet up with anyone even if I wanted to....
...but as the Guinness man said "All good things come to those who wait"
p.s. Completely off subject, I have a confession: Mum, I've got a tattoo, and I've had it for about 9 months. I love it, and am very proud of it. Only reason I haven't mentioned it is that I know you and Dad don't approve of tattoos, so it was easier to keep it secret than cause a scene. You would have found out eventually, so better I tell you than you find out some other way.
Before you get excited, all three were from the US, all from non-US citizens, and all talking about marriage in the first paragraph. One of them even uses the on-line nickname 'Your-future-wife'. Now I'm not saying I'm not desperate myself, but that is taking it to the extreme.
So far I've resisted the urge to reply to them. I don't want a random Egyptian woman turning up on my doorstep with a suitcase in one hand and a marriage license in the other.
The 5 I've e-mailed all seemed really interesting. 2 of them in fact I would REALLY like to get to know better. We seem to have a lot in common. All I can do though is play the waiting game.
It's probably a good thing that it's taking a while. Right now I'm not in a fit state to meet anyone. I've got a streaming cold and keep sniffing in an undignified and unattractive manner. I also haven't got a day off due for nearly a fortnight, so it'd be hard to meet up with anyone even if I wanted to....
...but as the Guinness man said "All good things come to those who wait"
p.s. Completely off subject, I have a confession: Mum, I've got a tattoo, and I've had it for about 9 months. I love it, and am very proud of it. Only reason I haven't mentioned it is that I know you and Dad don't approve of tattoos, so it was easier to keep it secret than cause a scene. You would have found out eventually, so better I tell you than you find out some other way.
February 17, 2008
Sleepless Nights
It's getting out of hand. I really can't sleep anymore. I am tired to the bone, but if I lie in my bed and drift off, I know I'll be awake within 20 minutes.
I want to blame it on the noisy bed. In some ways, I suppose I can, because I've got this pre-conceived notion in my head that if I turn in my sleep I'll wake the entire apartment block....
....but that's bollocks (sorry for swearing Mum)
My brain just won't shut down. I haven't found my comfort zone here. Every night I lie awake thinking of a million different thoughts, ideas, people, problems, issues - you name it.
I thought having no sleep wouldn't matter - after all, I managed for nearly 12 months doing two full time jobs, but it's not true. I can't do it anymore. I turned up to work today at 7am, and I haven't woken up for the whole day. I've been on auto-pilot for the entire shift. It's now approaching 11pm but I've no idea what mistakes are going to emerge over the next few days that I created today.
I'm going home now, but all that is on my mind is the bad weekend my friend has had, and I don't know the details. I know it's not my issue, I know I shouldn't care, but I also know it's going to play on my mind tonight. I worry about people. I care about others far more than I worry about myself.
I can't take a pill to sleep, because I'll worry I'll go through my alarm and be late for work. I'm having those horrible feelings again that Southampton was the biggest mistake I ever made. My bridges are burnt, so there's no turning back, but it might keep me awake for a long, long time.
I need a reason to be here. I need a reason to wake up in the morning. Work isn't going to do that.
I have no reason to wake up.
....maybe that's why I'm afraid to go to sleep.
I want to blame it on the noisy bed. In some ways, I suppose I can, because I've got this pre-conceived notion in my head that if I turn in my sleep I'll wake the entire apartment block....
....but that's bollocks (sorry for swearing Mum)
My brain just won't shut down. I haven't found my comfort zone here. Every night I lie awake thinking of a million different thoughts, ideas, people, problems, issues - you name it.
I thought having no sleep wouldn't matter - after all, I managed for nearly 12 months doing two full time jobs, but it's not true. I can't do it anymore. I turned up to work today at 7am, and I haven't woken up for the whole day. I've been on auto-pilot for the entire shift. It's now approaching 11pm but I've no idea what mistakes are going to emerge over the next few days that I created today.
I'm going home now, but all that is on my mind is the bad weekend my friend has had, and I don't know the details. I know it's not my issue, I know I shouldn't care, but I also know it's going to play on my mind tonight. I worry about people. I care about others far more than I worry about myself.
I can't take a pill to sleep, because I'll worry I'll go through my alarm and be late for work. I'm having those horrible feelings again that Southampton was the biggest mistake I ever made. My bridges are burnt, so there's no turning back, but it might keep me awake for a long, long time.
I need a reason to be here. I need a reason to wake up in the morning. Work isn't going to do that.
I have no reason to wake up.
....maybe that's why I'm afraid to go to sleep.
February 14, 2008
The New Leaf
Ok, I've gone and done it. I've gone and joined an online dating agency. The fact that it's Valentine's Day is actually an unhappy coincidence, I just needed something to motivate me to meet new people locally.
I can't keep my head stuck in the past. I can't keep relying on the ultra-slim chance I might meet some random girl in the Isle of Man when I'm there, especially now I can only visit every couple of months. I need to start meeting random females here instead.
So, I've registered, paid for a months subscription, and gone searching through the database. I decided honesty is the best policy on my own profile, so rather than lie and say I'm Brad Pitt's long-lost twin brother, I implied I look like a human teddy bear. (except I usually wear trousers)
For a profile photo, I decided against using the front cover of last months GQ magazine, and instead, used the arty, sepia style picture of me next to a model boat taken last year. Brown and white pics can be quite flattering really.
So far, I've e-mailed one person, and 'winked' at another (not sure quite what that does, but I think it's the dating version of Facebook poking). I wait with bated breath to see if either of them respond.
One woman has already 'looked' at my profile, but I think it might have been done in error. She was looking for a fit, army type guy to share training exercises with..... hmm, not quite me.
The lady I e-mailed seemed lovely. Our outlook on life were similar, and what we were ultimately seeking by joining the agency was the same too. Biggest downfall could be that she listed 'brainiacs' as a 'turn-off'. I might need to lose the Stephen Fry-esque attitude (well at least for the first date!)
So there you go, me turning over a new leaf. Next step is starting to write my novel. I think I'd be better suited to write a play or TV script, but we'll see what pans out. If anything does come of the dating agency, (or the novel) you know you'll read about it here in due course.
....don't hold your breath though.
I Love...
I use the word 'love' in it's proper sense. If it was a list of 'I like...' it would be a lot longer. These are the things that 'I love...'
I love my family, but I don't say it often enough.
I love my best friend, but I tell her too often.
I love to hug, but even moreso when I feel them hug back.
I love to kiss, but even moreso when I feel them kiss back.
I love The Norfolk Broads
I love Las Vegas
I loved 'J' in Widnes. I probably still do.
I love to act.
I love the theatre.
I love black and white movies.
I love snowfall.
I love thunderstorms.
I love secret coves.
I love to laugh.
I love my family, but I don't say it often enough.
I love my best friend, but I tell her too often.
I love to hug, but even moreso when I feel them hug back.
I love to kiss, but even moreso when I feel them kiss back.
I love The Norfolk Broads
I love Las Vegas
I loved 'J' in Widnes. I probably still do.
I love to act.
I love the theatre.
I love black and white movies.
I love snowfall.
I love thunderstorms.
I love secret coves.
I love to laugh.
February 13, 2008
I Fear...
I fear dying alone.
I fear no one will be at my funeral.
I fear dying in pain, but I don't fear death itself. I can't fear death, I don't know what it is.
I fear that (outside of my family), I have never been properly loved.
I fear that (outside of my family), I never will be truely loved.
I fear dementia, the day I start to forget more than I remember.
I fear clowns.
I fear being taken too seriously when I'm trying to have fun.
I fear being laughed at when I'm trying to be serious.
.....when I'm in a cheerier mode, I'll add an 'I love' blog.
I fear no one will be at my funeral.
I fear dying in pain, but I don't fear death itself. I can't fear death, I don't know what it is.
I fear that (outside of my family), I have never been properly loved.
I fear that (outside of my family), I never will be truely loved.
I fear dementia, the day I start to forget more than I remember.
I fear clowns.
I fear being taken too seriously when I'm trying to have fun.
I fear being laughed at when I'm trying to be serious.
.....when I'm in a cheerier mode, I'll add an 'I love' blog.
February 12, 2008
The Trip Back Home
drunkeness level 0/5
Well back to the Isle of Man anyway, but I suppose that is my 'home'. It's where I feel most comfortable and they do say 'home is where the heart is'. My heart isn't in Manchester or Southampton, so by a process of elimination that makes IOM the winner.
4 days and nights of drinking is not doing wonders for my head however. It's a full 24 hours since my last drink and I'm still suffering. I was doing ok whilst I was there, largely due to the fact I never sobered up, but now it's all coming back to haunt me.
Dancing til 3am in a crowded nightclub, singing Kareoke when I've already lost my voice, flirting with a woman who's 8 months pregnant, flicking pound coins into ashtrays for no visible reason, telling every girl I bump into that I've been missing them so much (even though in one case I couldn't even remember her name), inviting every man, child and dog to come and visit me in Southampton.... yup, a typical weekend away.
By the time I recover, it'll be time to organise the next trip over. At least the smoking ban will be in place by then, and my coat won't smell like the exhaust pipe of a double decker bus.
Don't know who'll read this, but a few thanks are in order. Thanks to the guys who gave me a bed, much appreciated. Thanks to the Outback just for being exactly as it was before i went away, and thanks to 'J' for giving up so much of her spare time to spend it with me. I love you all.
Well back to the Isle of Man anyway, but I suppose that is my 'home'. It's where I feel most comfortable and they do say 'home is where the heart is'. My heart isn't in Manchester or Southampton, so by a process of elimination that makes IOM the winner.
4 days and nights of drinking is not doing wonders for my head however. It's a full 24 hours since my last drink and I'm still suffering. I was doing ok whilst I was there, largely due to the fact I never sobered up, but now it's all coming back to haunt me.
Dancing til 3am in a crowded nightclub, singing Kareoke when I've already lost my voice, flirting with a woman who's 8 months pregnant, flicking pound coins into ashtrays for no visible reason, telling every girl I bump into that I've been missing them so much (even though in one case I couldn't even remember her name), inviting every man, child and dog to come and visit me in Southampton.... yup, a typical weekend away.
By the time I recover, it'll be time to organise the next trip over. At least the smoking ban will be in place by then, and my coat won't smell like the exhaust pipe of a double decker bus.
Don't know who'll read this, but a few thanks are in order. Thanks to the guys who gave me a bed, much appreciated. Thanks to the Outback just for being exactly as it was before i went away, and thanks to 'J' for giving up so much of her spare time to spend it with me. I love you all.
The Definition of Idiot.
drunkeness level 0/5
There is a reason why the title of this blog describes me as an idiot, it's because I am one. I have proof now, and I'd like to share it with you. I wasn't going to, because it's personal about someone else, but it's been making me smile for a couple of days now everytime I re-live the moment, so I hope it's taken in the same spirit. :o)
It's Saturday night. I've been giving it up on the dance floor and it's leaving time. The most beautiful woman in the nightclub has agreed to come home with me for a cuddle - largely I think to do with alcohol consuption and the outrageous taxi prices on The Isle of Man. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I'm getting into bed, and she is already there before me, semi-naked. Just to reiterate this is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, and she's lying in my bed.
Now, this part is NOT why I'm an idiot. If a bloke is reading this he will probably be calling me one because I didn't try 'anything'. I have to defend myself here, I had no intention of 'trying' anything. I should mention that this young lady is also my best friend, and no matter how much I care and love her, I'm never going to do anything to jeopardise our friendship. It's too strong. So no, that's not why I'm an idiot. I maybe a pervert most of the time, but I can be trusted to be a gentleman when the moment is right. This was one of those moments. Having her company for the night was more than I could have hoped for.
Anyway...I'm getting off track. I'm in bed, and I want a hug. Nothing sinster about that. We're both adults, we both care for each other, a simple hug to go to sleep. She's already on her side so all it needs is a friendly arm wrapped round her and all is well with the world....now we get to the idiot part.
I couldn't just drape my arm over her and fall asleep could I? oh no, My active brain is now into overdrive. I know I'm being a gentleman, I know my conscience is perfectly clear..... but does she know that? (in reality she's probably already dead to the world and oblivious to the dilemma I'm putting myself through!)
So, first attempt at hugging her and not making myself look like I'm being naughty. My right arm over her up at shoulder height. Her arm is outstretched, so now mine is lying along hers. Quite comfy, I'm probably not putting too much of my weight on her so it's all good. Gently stroking her arm I could easily drop off like this.......but wait......Because of where her arms are, she might think I'm trying to move them out of the way to get to her boobies! Oh shit!
Ok, second attempt. Further down her body and waist height. A natural place to hug someone, so that's good. Arm goes RIGHT round her. No matter, it's a natural position, still comfy, even less weight pressing on her, so all is good. A gentle kiss on the back of her neck (because that's where my face is placed)........but wait.......Because of the top she's wearing my arm is half on cloth and half on her bare flesh. She might think I'm trying to get under her shirt! Oh shit!
Third attempt, can't really go any lower, body wise, so I'll back away a few inches and rest my hand on her hip. Not too bad. Not a natural sleeping position , but it's still comfy and I'm less intrusive on her personal space now. All is good......but wait...... now my hand is half on her bare flesh, and half on her knickers. This probably looks worse that it did before. Instead of going for her boobies, she now might think I'm after something else instead. Oh shit!
Final attempt, Arm down her leg. (I'm getting desperate now). Almost immedately that felt wrong. It was lovely for me, but it looked like I was trying to get her to move her legs apart! Big 'Oh Shit!' for that one.
So now what do I do? Well I went back to the first attempt, gave her another kiss on the back of the neck, whispered a soft 'goodnight' to her and tried to fall asleep. I know I woke up about an hour later with my back to her, so I must have turned over anyway.
So, for being a gentleman and not trying it on, I am not an idiot. If anyone thinks I am, then so be it. But for turning a simple hug into the biggest melodrama since 'I Claudius' then I am a 100%, 24 carat, bone fide idiot, and probably always will be
Next time (if there is a next time) I'll make sure I get into bed first and she can do all the work! Being a gentleman can be a stressful experience.
....All the joking aside, it meant so much. Probably a lot more than I can ever express in words.
There is a reason why the title of this blog describes me as an idiot, it's because I am one. I have proof now, and I'd like to share it with you. I wasn't going to, because it's personal about someone else, but it's been making me smile for a couple of days now everytime I re-live the moment, so I hope it's taken in the same spirit. :o)
It's Saturday night. I've been giving it up on the dance floor and it's leaving time. The most beautiful woman in the nightclub has agreed to come home with me for a cuddle - largely I think to do with alcohol consuption and the outrageous taxi prices on The Isle of Man. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I'm getting into bed, and she is already there before me, semi-naked. Just to reiterate this is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, and she's lying in my bed.
Now, this part is NOT why I'm an idiot. If a bloke is reading this he will probably be calling me one because I didn't try 'anything'. I have to defend myself here, I had no intention of 'trying' anything. I should mention that this young lady is also my best friend, and no matter how much I care and love her, I'm never going to do anything to jeopardise our friendship. It's too strong. So no, that's not why I'm an idiot. I maybe a pervert most of the time, but I can be trusted to be a gentleman when the moment is right. This was one of those moments. Having her company for the night was more than I could have hoped for.
Anyway...I'm getting off track. I'm in bed, and I want a hug. Nothing sinster about that. We're both adults, we both care for each other, a simple hug to go to sleep. She's already on her side so all it needs is a friendly arm wrapped round her and all is well with the world....now we get to the idiot part.
I couldn't just drape my arm over her and fall asleep could I? oh no, My active brain is now into overdrive. I know I'm being a gentleman, I know my conscience is perfectly clear..... but does she know that? (in reality she's probably already dead to the world and oblivious to the dilemma I'm putting myself through!)
So, first attempt at hugging her and not making myself look like I'm being naughty. My right arm over her up at shoulder height. Her arm is outstretched, so now mine is lying along hers. Quite comfy, I'm probably not putting too much of my weight on her so it's all good. Gently stroking her arm I could easily drop off like this.......but wait......Because of where her arms are, she might think I'm trying to move them out of the way to get to her boobies! Oh shit!
Ok, second attempt. Further down her body and waist height. A natural place to hug someone, so that's good. Arm goes RIGHT round her. No matter, it's a natural position, still comfy, even less weight pressing on her, so all is good. A gentle kiss on the back of her neck (because that's where my face is placed)........but wait.......Because of the top she's wearing my arm is half on cloth and half on her bare flesh. She might think I'm trying to get under her shirt! Oh shit!
Third attempt, can't really go any lower, body wise, so I'll back away a few inches and rest my hand on her hip. Not too bad. Not a natural sleeping position , but it's still comfy and I'm less intrusive on her personal space now. All is good......but wait...... now my hand is half on her bare flesh, and half on her knickers. This probably looks worse that it did before. Instead of going for her boobies, she now might think I'm after something else instead. Oh shit!
Final attempt, Arm down her leg. (I'm getting desperate now). Almost immedately that felt wrong. It was lovely for me, but it looked like I was trying to get her to move her legs apart! Big 'Oh Shit!' for that one.
So now what do I do? Well I went back to the first attempt, gave her another kiss on the back of the neck, whispered a soft 'goodnight' to her and tried to fall asleep. I know I woke up about an hour later with my back to her, so I must have turned over anyway.
So, for being a gentleman and not trying it on, I am not an idiot. If anyone thinks I am, then so be it. But for turning a simple hug into the biggest melodrama since 'I Claudius' then I am a 100%, 24 carat, bone fide idiot, and probably always will be
Next time (if there is a next time) I'll make sure I get into bed first and she can do all the work! Being a gentleman can be a stressful experience.
....All the joking aside, it meant so much. Probably a lot more than I can ever express in words.
February 01, 2008
Valentine Day Massacre
drunkeness level 2/5 (I've been paid!)
The stupidest 'day' of the year rolls round again. Feb 14th. It should be renamed 'Clinton's Cards Day'. Any excuse to put pressure on ordinary people to buy plastic coated cardboard at extortionate prices. Jumping on the band-wagon is every restaurant, bistro and cafe in the western world. Suddenly their normal menu has red hearts drawn all over it and the prices have shot up 20%
Weird thing is, I've received genuine cards for the last 2 years. In 2006 I was dating 'J' from Widnes. in 2007 I was involved with 'K' the broom room girl and she sent me a card too. Considering I feel I've been single since I got divorced, that's quite impressive! In both cases I didn't have to fork out on a card for either of them. 'J' was worried her estranged husband would find it, and 'K' was worried her non-estranged husband would find it!!
It's unlikely I'll get a genuine card in 2008, bearing in mind I'm single, in a place where I don't know anyone and I'm not actively meeting new people. Then again, it'll be the third year in a row where I've not had to pander to the profiteering bastards at Clintons, so there's always a silver lining to every cloud.
Roll on Feb 15th when it's all over, the menu prices are back to normal and Clintons start putting cuddly Easter bunnies in their window instead.
...if you love someone, you show it everyday you are together. You don't need society to demand you do it on a specific day each year.
Rant over
The stupidest 'day' of the year rolls round again. Feb 14th. It should be renamed 'Clinton's Cards Day'. Any excuse to put pressure on ordinary people to buy plastic coated cardboard at extortionate prices. Jumping on the band-wagon is every restaurant, bistro and cafe in the western world. Suddenly their normal menu has red hearts drawn all over it and the prices have shot up 20%
Weird thing is, I've received genuine cards for the last 2 years. In 2006 I was dating 'J' from Widnes. in 2007 I was involved with 'K' the broom room girl and she sent me a card too. Considering I feel I've been single since I got divorced, that's quite impressive! In both cases I didn't have to fork out on a card for either of them. 'J' was worried her estranged husband would find it, and 'K' was worried her non-estranged husband would find it!!
It's unlikely I'll get a genuine card in 2008, bearing in mind I'm single, in a place where I don't know anyone and I'm not actively meeting new people. Then again, it'll be the third year in a row where I've not had to pander to the profiteering bastards at Clintons, so there's always a silver lining to every cloud.
Roll on Feb 15th when it's all over, the menu prices are back to normal and Clintons start putting cuddly Easter bunnies in their window instead.
...if you love someone, you show it everyday you are together. You don't need society to demand you do it on a specific day each year.
Rant over
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