Sloth 3 - This time it's ... oh forget it.

I think the worst thing about not being at work is sitting around the house all day doing nothing but filling your pie hole. I think I must have put on about twenty stone in the last week. Time to get up and do something about it I think ... then again, I'm also thinking "meh". I do have some concern that my trousers won't fit me next Monday morning, though. My God! I think I have body dismorphia. Bugger it, I'm off for another bag of crisps.

Humbug

Why doesn't it feel like Christmas? It's just not happening for me. Maybe it's because I don't have a Blue Peter advent crown. Am I finally too old?

Wait a minute, Elvis is singing Blue Christmas on the telly ... no, not doing it. Where's my guardian angel when I need him. Clarence? You there?

Maybe three spirits will visit me tomorrow night. One can only hope.

Jingle Bell Shlock

With Christmas fast approaching, here's my top 5 most disappointing pressies from yesteryear:

5. Talking Action Man: He talked for about three hours then one of my monstrously ugly cousins turned him into Plain Old Action Man by snapping the draw string that operated his voice. F*cking bitch.

4. Compendium of Games: A good idea in principle, the execution in our house was fatally flawed given the poor quality paper-thin cardboard pieces in the set purchased. You could have made a sturdier set from a Corn Flake packet. Nine Men's Morris just isn't the same when the least exhalation of breath will see the "men" caught in a force nine gale.

3. Mastermind: Sweet FA to do with the program of the same name other than the picture of a black chair on the box. A simple process of elimination, this game was deeply, deeply boring.

2. Kerplunk: A jar, some marbles, and a million cocktail stick. F*cking genius. Literally seconds of fun.

1. Pocket calculator: Now in fairness this one was my own fault. My best pal at the time had just got a digital watch for his birthday (this was an LED watch, so that gives you an inkling of how long ago it was) and I thought - in the best tradition of oneupmanship between friends - it would be cool to get a calculator for Chrimbo. Now in those days these things cost the GDP of a medium size African nation (and were about the same size too) , so this was all I got that year. What was I thinking? Never mind that; what were my parents thinking? Parents are supposed to protect their children from bad decisions like this! It's tantamount to neglect!!!

And just to balance up all that disappointment here's the best pressy I was destined never to receive (which is still a disappointment now that I think about it):

Super Flight Deck: This looked pant wettingly exciting in the advert. My desire for SFD was palpable but it never did turned up under my tree. Long since out of production, you can still get them on eBay, but I've suppressed my desire to own one as I have a nagging suspicion it might actually be crap. In life it is sometimes better to worship from afar and maintain that little flutter of excitement you get from unrequited love, rather than declare your feelings and expose yourself to the everyday drudge of cheap plastic reality.

Walk, don't run (out)

Saturday morning. I'm in Glasgow and running low on fuel, but it's okay cos I know where a petrol station is. The fuel light's been on for a while and I've probably only got about 4 miles left in the tank, but it's okay 'cos I know where I'm going and as long as I go straight there everything will be fine. Then WHAM! What's the least expected mid-winter obstacle you could possibly imagine?

A f*cking Orange Walk. WTF??? In December??? What are the odds? Now I'm stuck idling, burning precious fuel.

This isn't the first time I've been ambushed like this. Seems like every time I'm really in a hurry a Walk will descend on me from nowhere, like an over-elaborate trap sprung by Dastardly and Mutley; I could practically hear the flea bitten pooch snickering. And on that subject ...

Why did DD bother with all those traps and diversions. Each race sees him clear of the field by a country mile only to stop dead in his tracks so he can implement whatever Machiavellian scheme he has in mind. Why Dick, why? You would have won easily if you'd only just kept driving.

Anyhow, I'd normally have taken a detour, but that would inevitably entailed me getting hopelessly lost and winding up dead (in a mobility sense) by the roadside. I chose to park in town and wait instead. At least it gave me a chance to go buy that James Galway CD I'd been thinking about ... but not really :-)

Big!

Just tried on my Xmas Kilt and guess what! It's too big. Looks like a job for Holland & Barratt's Massive Weight Gain. :-(

The Man With The Golden Armaldo

Having spent the last 6 weeks or so feeding my lad's habit for Match Attax, I was rather disturbed by the latest escalation in his trading card addiction.

One of the many little pushers at his school now has him hooked on Pokemon cards. I, of course, have to get my hands on the stuff for him, but I wasn't prepared for the hike in price. From 40p for a baggie of Premier League footballers I'm now lashing out £2.99 for a Pokemon hit. WTF!?!

I look forward to a post-Christmas craving for Faberge Eggs. :(

To B or not to B ... that's the bloody question

As I sit here freezing my arse off (yes, we're still at war with the gas company) I'm mulling over breaking yet another B string on my axe. Do I ever break an E? No. What about a G? Never; only Bs. And can I buy just a B string? Of course not.

I'm beginning to think there's a fecking global conspiracy to ensure that guitarist drawers are full of string sets with a missing B. Of course, if only I didn't live in a flaming cultural wasteland (due to all the bloody windae lickers here) I might be able to stroll down to the old music shop and buy just that one string I need ... but no! My search for an Internet site that sells "singles" continues.