Bodge It Yourself.

My Dearly Beloved and I are decorating the kitchen, well, she is supervising and I'm doing all the work. She decided we needed some new worktops so we picked out some elegant and stylish black ones and had them delivered. I have always done this kind of work myself as I'm too tight to fork out for a proper tradesman to do something I can manage. It's not difficult if you apply a little thought and planning. 'Why don't you get someone in to do it?' said my youngest son. 'It's easy peasey' I said, 'just whip the old ones off and stick the new ones on'. It turned out to be a very good question.

Just as in true love, the course of DIY never runs smooth. I had some nerve racking moments cutting the worktop but it all went to plan. The problem began when I realised the new worktop was considerably thicker than the old one, clearly neither as thick as I am. This meant there was a 15mm gap between the taps and the feeder pipes, disaster. I had to rush down B&Q and buy up half the plumbing department trying to find something that would bridge the gap. Then I had to go back down again when I discovered I didn't have the correct washers to prevent the water from the newly connected taps flooding the floor. I bought every type of washer in the shop to ensure I had the correct ones. In the old days you only had two sizes to worry about, now there seems to be a whole range of washers and fitments of different types and sizes for all sorts of different reasons which is fine if you know what you are looking for. Unfortunately, I don't. What was that I said about thought and planning?

I was hoping to have it finished by 4PM; I finally finished it at 8:30PM. It was too late to cook so we went out for a pub dinner to appease the hungry family. With the cost of the dinner, extra plumbing supplies, the increased anxiety levels and factoring in a day lost, I could probably have paid for someone to fit the damn thing.

My previous DIY efforts have been generally successful. There have been some memorable moments like the time I put a screw through a gas pipe trying to re-route a TV cable and the time I had to remove all the tiles from a wall I had just put on. I spent the day of Lady Diana's funeral ripping out an illegal loft room only to put it back in after the surveyor had been; all with the consent of the buyer of course. My children have learnt most of their swearwords from my DIY antics.

 You will be pleased to know that the worktops are in place now and looking particularly fine but my son definitely has a point, it's questionable how much money I save. I don't need the aggravation these days and I don't do enough of it to keep up with the latest techniques and advances. However, there is a sense of pride in doing it yourself. It's possible to do a professional(ish) job without relying on some cowboy builder who could potentially mess it up or take forever to complete the job. The next project is tiling the kitchen floor and I will be obtaining some quotes for it. On the other hand...

Granny for Sale.

I was talking to one of my young colleagues the other day and she was telling me that she was creating a bucket list because, as she put it, you never know. Amongst the usual things such as sky-diving and travelling to exotic lands, she has a hankering to own a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes. She has a jar which she is intending to fill with two-pound coins, when it is full, she will have the necessary £500 to buy them. 'How much?' said I, choking on my coffee.

I wouldn't spend £100 on a pair of shoes, never mind £500, I couldn't justify it to myself. You can argue all day long about the benefits of buying expensively such as quality and longevity but for most people money is an issue. Just because you are relatively well healed doesn't necessarily mean you can afford a Lamborghini.

However, like my friend and her desire for fancy shoes, most of us have a material 'holy grail' for which we would possibly sell a granny to acquire. In my particular case I was extremely lucky. My wonderful children chipped in and bought me the guitar of my dreams for a significant birthday. I would never have been able to justify the cost as there is always something more pressing to spend my money on so I would probably have gone without. I don't need it but I'm unreasonably proud of it.

My Dearly Beloved has spent an eye-watering amount of her Christmas and birthday money on some top of the range make up, so eye-watering she won't disclose exactly how much. Now I have to walk the thin line of  commenting how nice she looks in her new slap without implying she looks less lovely without it. It's very tricky and fraught with danger. For her it's worth the expense, but I clearly can't agree.

So the question is, what unnecessary, materialistic and lavish self-indulgence would you sell your granny or break the bank for? £1000 on a golf club, £700 on a single camera lens? Not for me but I bet I know people who would.  

January Blues.

What a depressing month January is; five weeks of cold, wet weather in the aftermath of the Christmas festivities. The only advantage to the long, dark nights is that the grey, overcast days are short. Of the twelve months of the year it has the least to say for itself. If it was one of the twelve disciples it would be Judas, if it was one of the twelve days of Christmas it would be the 'lords a leaping'. Let's face it, who needs ten members of the aristocracy dancing about in their living room.

The first of January is such a dismal way start to the new year. You make your New Year's resolutions in the positive, upbeat atmosphere of Christmas adamant the coming year is going to be the best ever. Then, you are plunged into the dark and cold of bleak mid-winter when all you want to do is lock yourself indoors and comfort yourself with indulgence. It's no wonder that those that still bother with New Year's resolutions fall at the first hurdle.

If New Year's Day was in March it would be much better. Most of the sombre, gloomy days would be behind you and spring would be on the horizon. Surely your resolutions would stand a much better chance if you could see spring just round the corner with the promise of summer in the air. You would be leading with your best foot forward rather than taking a step backwards.

The knock on effect is that it would put January and February at the end of the year so my revised new year would look like this. The first of March is New Year's Day leading into spring in April where BST begins and we get the longer days, then May and June where spring has sprung and the beginning of summer and warmer temperatures. Then the Holiday season kicks in which you only have to wait five months for instead of seven. In October and November you can enjoy the crisp, autumnal days when it's still bright. December will be taken up with Christmas preparations. Now January is at the end of the year you can use up all the holiday entitlement you forgot to take which you currently have to squeeze in before Christmas. With a bit of careful planning you could book off virtually the whole of January and stay at home indulging yourself as a reward for another successful year. After your tranquil January you would coast sleepy-eyed through February which has the benefit of being the shortest month before starting the whole thing again.

Our antipodean cousins down-under already have their New Year in the summer. Perhaps that's why they seem so bloody cheerful all the time.

The Enemy Within.

Do you feel like a second-class citizen in your own home? Is someone else getting the cream while you're getting the leftovers? Are you the king of your own particular castle or more like the handyman? If you feel that your loved one is pouring affection into another and leaving you out in the cold, I think I know what the problem is; your partner is a cat lover.

As you will be aware from my previous post 'War of Cat-trition' the furry fiend in our house is well aware of its lofty status and misses no opportunity to rub it in. I pay most of the bills and I feel it's time to redress the balance. I'm fed up going out to work every day to keep a roof over his bone-idle head while he dozes on my pillow soaking up my central heating. Enough is enough. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way so I'm proposing forming a self-help group to fight for the rights of cat lover's partner's everywhere. No longer shall we be downtrodden in our own homes.

At this time I feel we should engage in dialogue with our oppressors to voice our concerns and try and find some common ground. By displaying unity and resolve I think we can get the message across that we are not to be trifled with and our demands are serious. At this early stage I don't think it's necessary to engage in violent action or chain ourselves to railings but I'm not ruling anything out. However, if our members feel the need to dress up (as Batman or in drag for example) to display solidarity, that would be perfectly acceptable.

As yet, I have not devised a name for this group so I'll throw it open to the members to come up with some ideas. I am proposing that we organise a high profile march in the first instance to bring attention to our cause. The suggested route at this time is from my house to the pub. I appreciate it's only two minutes but I feel the impact of a 'short, sharp shock' approach will prove invaluable and generate considerable interest. I just need to check with the wife that it's okay and I'll get back to you with some dates.

Long live the revolution.

Blockbusters of Religion.

In the town where I grew up many of the local pubs in the area have closed. Conversely, a number of modern churches of all denominations have opened to the point where there are now more churches than pubs. The Church of England has been bemoaning falling attendances and lack of interest for years but clearly there are still many people wishing to have their souls saved. It seems the C of E is missing the boat.

A church survey from 2005 states that church-going in all categories has declined but the percentage of evangelical worshipers has risen. Now 40 percent of church attendees class themselves as evangelical as opposed to traditionalist Roman Catholic or Church of England. I have friends and family who are ardent churchgoers and I respect their views. I am not religious myself but if I were, I would go to somewhere uplifting and inspiring, not somewhere sombre and doom laden. It's not a problem of doctrine, it's one of marketing.

It seems to me that the old and dusty Church of England leaders are content to sit around arguing points of principle and trying to maintain the status quo while their congregations dwindle in favour of more energetic soul saving. It reminds me of the High Street chain Blockbusters who dominated the video and DVD Market for years but failed to take advantage of their position when streaming came along and consequently went bust. They could have been a market leader up there with Lovefilm and Netflix.   

They have already sold of a number of churches which have turned into pubs and the like. As congregations drop, more churches will become financially unviable and there aren't enough clergy to cover them all anyway. What happens when they decide that the great cathedrals have become too expensive to maintain? Will the government step in and pay for them out of taxpayer's money as part of English Heritage or National Trust? The general trend is towards privatization for whatever the government can unload so they could end up being sold off. What companies would benefit most from huge buildings in the heart of the community? Retail outlets like supermarkets could be front runners.

Fortunately, the Church of England is far from broke so we don't have to worry about York Minster being run by ASDA just yet. A quick scan through the phone book for my local town still shows many more listings for pubs than it does for churches so the spirits of the imbibing kind still hold sway over the spirits of the redeeming kind.

To Bah, or Not to Bah.

'So this is Christmas' sang John Lennon and, sure enough, the great wheel of time has rolled round to the festive season once again. Christmas is as inevitable as death and taxes and every year there is an important dilemma to face' to bah humbug or not to bah humbug, that is the question?

My Dearly Beloved's birthday falls right on top of Christmas. She made it absolutely clear from the start of our relationship that she was having no truck with this joint birthday and Christmas present malarkey. Consequently, we celebrate both days separately which is great as it spreads the festivities over two days. There's no chance of bah humbugging in our Buckinghamshire hideout. 

There are advantages to bah humbugging. You can avoid the blatant commercialism designed to part you from your cash, you won't be disheartened when your goodwill gesture is not reciprocated. It's not going to be a disappointment when your family fall out and ruin the cosy atmosphere. Mostly, you won't be surprised when a Christmas miracle showing the world as a magical place and the essential goodness of human nature doesn't occur. You can enjoy being smug that your cynicism is proved accurate once again. There is a lot to be said for bah humbugging. 

The problem is that is comes around whether you like it or not. You can choose to play along and turn a blind eye to the hypocrisy, or, you can try and ignore the whole thing and hope it goes away as quickly as possible. Fate doesn't take time off during holidays. Nasty things happen at Christmas and some people's festivities are overshadowed by memories of loss and tragedy. Such people can be forgiven for bah humbugging but for most of us there is a choice whether to join in and party or, like the Grinch, go off and hide somewhere.

It seems to me that you get out what you put in. The more effort you make to engage with people the better time you'll have. Christmas is about people, not things. Personally, I think all the shops should be closed boxing day to allow people more time with families but unfortunately, money talks. For all its faults Christmas is fundamentally a good thing and personally, I am glad it comes round, life would be much duller without the brightness of Christmas to punctuate the years. 

Spot Blog.

A couple of days ago I got out of bed to get ready for work in the usual manner. It was a normal day in every respect, except one. I stumbled down the stairs to put the kettle on and then stumbled back up again to the bathroom. That's when I discovered the occurrence  which made this day different from every other; the event which was going to define the day and skew my interaction with my colleagues and general public alike. Overnight, I had grown a huge spot on the end of my nose.

It's okay for the fairer sex, they have all kinds of foundations and concealers to combat facial disfigurement. Whilst they may have a hissy fit for the first 10 minutes, it's not long before the potions and poultices of female alchemy come into play. Manly men have to wear their imperfections with pride so, with the fortitude of Ranulph Fiennes facing an arctic blizzard, I set off into the world with nose aglow. I knew people would be pretending not to notice my radiant schnozzle. These things just aren't spoken about.

People are very touchy about this kind of thing. I once mentioned to a colleague that he had a bit of lunch stuck to his chin. He reacted as if I had just caught him burying his mother in the back garden. First he tried to cover it up, then he became defensive edging towards belligerent before stomping off. The level of embarrassment far outweighed the event. Perhaps that's why people hedge round it with gestures and meaningful looks instead of mentioning it outright.

In one of my previous incarnations jobwise I used to deal with clients face to face. One elderly lady had a large purple growth about the size of a golf ball sprouting from her lip that was a wonder to behold. It didn't seem to bother her and we never discussed it although it had its own aura that pulled your eyes towards it. She must have known people would stare at it and I never understood why she didn't get it removed, but then again, I didn't ask.

Back in the 70s there was a blonde, singer songwriter called Lynsey de Paul. I can't remember any of her songs but I remember her 'beauty spot'. personally I'm not a fan and found it irritating but I expect some people love them. To save Lynsey's  blushes, I've transposed her facial embellishment on to a less well know phizog, What do you think, improvement or not?