Heating Up.

It's nearly that time of year when Dearly Beloved and I begin our good natured but deadly serious war of attrition. It happens every year but I'm disappointed to note that it might be starting a little early this year which is not to my tactical advantage. I'm hoping there will be a change in the atmosphere which will play into my hands so I have a weather eye out. It's a well known fact that Sun Tzu dedicated a whole chapter to it in his ancient Chinese book on tactics. This game of strategy is known the world over as the battle of the central heating. 

The problem is that Dearly Beloved gets much colder than I do; perhaps it's my extra layer of blubber. I have suggested that she does the house work with a little more vigour to warm herself up but for some reason she took offence. Her view is that there is no point in being cold when you have central heating and of course she is correct but I'm too tight to pay for it. Thereby the battle lines are drawn. No doubt in some households the heating is put on without a word of complaint or all parties are in agreement and the heating kicks in on December 1st regardless of the weather. In our house the respective front lines are drawn and the artillery in place ready and waiting for the opening shot.  

The first salvo is always fired by Dearly Beloved and is usually something like 
'it's getting dark in the evenings isn't it?' My response would be something similar to ' yes but it's only September darling.' It carries on like this for a couple of weeks with her saying it's getting cold and dark and me countering with shorts and T shirt wearing and sitting in the garden. After a while she brings out her heavy artillery or rather her jumpers and dressing gown. Under this terrible onslaught I have no option but to make a tactical withdrawal and fight a rearguard action by turning on the gas fire in the evening. By this time I'm retreating and that's when she uses her cavalry to deliver to a fatal blow to which I have no defence. Dearly Beloved gets up at 5 AM and even I have to admit that it's cold at that time of the morning so I'm left running for the hills as the heating goes on. The only action left to me, akin to spiking my guns, is to turn the heating off again as soon as she goes to bed in the evening. 

It's not a matter of if the heating goes on but when so I am always doomed to fail. My aim is to delay the inevitable for as long as I can and thereby pay those thieving energy companies as little as possible. My spring strategy is much more guerrilla than trench warfare. As soon as it's warm enough I start to chip away at the timing and temperature settings until Dearly Beloved says
'have you turned the heating off?' There may be a little skirmish or two over adjustments but by this time I'm on the home straight with warm spring days
just around the corner. This year looks like it's going to be particularly bad for me. She's already started and it's only bloody August. 

A Comic Tragedy..

Dearly Beloved and I had a new bed delivered the other day and I think I upset the delivery man. He brought some parts in and asked where it should go, I pointed up the stairs, 'the first on the left' I said and quipped, 'the room without the bed in.' I thought I was being friendly and jovial. He gave a thin smile and carried the flat pack up the stairs. He then went back outside and returned with the mattress while his crew-mate shifted some stuff around in the back of the van. He asked if I would mind giving him a hand with it. 'Is your mate too ugly to get out of the van then' I jokingly enquired. I didn't mind assisting at all and thought I was being humorous. It wasn't until after they left that it occurred to me that I had probably come over as a sarcastic twat.

I can't help it, things come into my head that I think are funny or witty and I say them. I was making a round of tea and coffees at work when one of my female colleagues announced she had a new mug. As quick as a flash I said 'Congratulations, what's his name'.* I thought it was hysterical and laughed to myself about it for hours. She probably hates me now, especially since it transpires she prefers women.

Dearly Beloved says that I come across as rude sometimes although that's never my intention. My good friends Steve and Syd who read this blog can probably cast their minds back many years to when I went through a short phase of calling everyone 'Jed.' I thought it was really funny at the time but I expect it was extremely irritating and I'm lucky I didn't get punched.

I think I'm getting paranoid about it. The other day I went to a local charity depot to drop off some unwanted items. I introduced myself to the chappie in the warehouse who came out to help me unload. We were generally chatting away when about halfway through he gave up helping me and walked off into the warehouse without a comment or backward glance; no word of thanks or goodbye. I don't even remember cracking any jokes.

There comes a time when you are too old for wise cracks and witty one liners and the smiles turn to groans. I was at lunch with Dearly Beloved and our youngest when I cracked a joke with the waitress. It wasn't a good joke and made my son cringe with embarrassment so he told me off. Well, how was I to know he'd been at school with her. Good job it wasn't rude.

Old guys who attempt to share jokes with the younger generation unfortunately come over as a bit sad. Instead of a smile of genuine amusement, you receive a smile that says 'silly old duffer'. Do they engage in witty banter with you? No they just up the patronisation levels. Just watch '24 hours in A&E' for evidence. You're just putting another nail in the coffin of your own irrelevance in their eyes. Fortunately my own generation of friends and family still find me hysterically funny... Don't you?  

I expect I shall have to give up this humour lark; it's fraught with danger and just not funny anymore. I'll attempt to develop an air of stately gravitas instead. It's just not me though and I think I'm too short to pull it off.


* If I have to explain the joke it's not as funny as I thought it was.

PS. Regarding last week's post, I had no replies from any female readers so it's official; It's definitely better to be a bloke. 

Bad Hair Day.

Dearly Beloved and I went to Old Amersham last weekend. It had been sunny with rain showers all day and as we were walking down the street spots of rain started to appear. Just at that point a woman come out of the hairdressers, looked up at the sky with a worried frown and tottered of down the street in that mincing, pointless run that some girls do; lots of hands and feet waving in the air without producing much forward motion. I'm not a mind reader but I knew exactly what she was thinking. She was thinking ' If it rains, my hair is going to frizz up and I am going to spend the rest of the day walking round like a freak. As a bloke with minimal hair I have no such concerns and at that moment I was truly glad I wasn't born a woman.

There's nothing wrong with women, I love them but I think I would have made a rubbish girl. Given the choice between 20 minutes spent painting my nails or playing the guitar, the guitar would win every time. It takes me less than half an hour to get ready in the mornings including a cup of tea. I couldn't be bothered to mess around for an hour or more like most girls although I've no doubt some blokes do take as long. The irony being of course that they don't do it to attract a partner, they do it so other women don't look down their noses at them.

Women generally seem more sensible than fellows. You can't get away with being such a juvenile plonker when the mood takes you if you're a girl. People expect stupid behaviour from men but expect the voice of reason and restraint to come from the female. Perhaps it's the mothering instinct.

Society doesn't really expect much from men. As long as you go to work and don't pee in the street you are generally left alone. Unfortunately women are judged much more harshly. It's a fact that a pretty girl has advantages an ugly girl can only dream of; not so for blokes. It's women who are pressured into the messy business of children by their mothers and grandmothers. If it was left up to lads, the overpopulation problem would be solved in no time. It also seems to be women who are expected to look after their elderly relatives while the son pops in once a month to check on how his inheritance is doing.

The only advantage of being born a woman would be that you can wear a dress if you felt like it. Being as I never feel like it, it wouldn't be much of an advantage to me, although some males would disagree. I'm very glad that Dearly Beloved takes the time to look after herself and takes her 'girly' responsibilities seriously, but if I was her, I couldn't be bothered. I would be interested to hear from my female readers what advantages there are to being a girl because I can't see any. Bad hair days? I don't have them.

French Farce

Bonjour et bienvenue. Dearly Beloved and I are going to darken the shores of our old enemy France later this year for a week driving around the countryside. I went once before many years ago with some friends on a day trip to Calais. I remember drinking copious quantities of alcohol, ending up in the sea fully clothed and my girlfriend being violently sick on the ferry. I expect this trip will be more refined.

I have always liked the idea of learning another language. I'm easily impressed by anyone of who can waffle on in English and then switch to another lingo without pausing for breath. I remember my Dad trying to learn French with LP records called 'Learn French' where you were asked to repeat all the oohs and Ahhs of the French alphabet by a woman with a BBC accent. I don't know how far he got but perhaps that's where I got the desire from.

Several years ago I went to evening classes to have a serious stab at learning it. I bought all the books and tapes requested and worked quite hard. I attained the heady heights of 'Bucks Open College Level 1' which probably has all the kudos and academic standing of a 25 yard swimming certificate. I haven't been to France since so I haven't had the opportunity to test it out... till now.

Since those heady student days I've managed to lose the tapes but have recently been working through the book reminding myself of all the words and how to ask for slice of strawberry tart. I am currently on section seven explaining to Claudette that I do the washing and Ironing but my wife does the shopping and cooking. I am particularly looking forward to boring some poor French barman with that valuable nugget of information. 

The problem is that I can read the basics but, because I have lost the tapes, I have no idea how to pronounce it. I have tried listening to french language radio but I only recognise about one word in twenty. I could have listened to a whole program about household chores and not realised it. it's beginning to dawn on me that I'm wasting my time.

I have several friends who go to France regularly who posses varying degrees of French aptitude and they seem to survive without getting thrown in jail or causing an international incident so I expect we shall be all right. I have brought the required car accessories to prevent getting an immense fine and the ferry crossing is booked. I shall bring you all back some onions.