Pork pies don’t drink, you can tell

Well I am pleased to say that despite BoJo’s best efforts to force me to be a normal human being nothing has changed. I am growing concerned that the remaining ‘essential’ stores are starting to think that I am a shoplifter. I must be the only person who, faced with no substantive food in the house, can make a plan and head to the store only to return empty handed. The genius of this is that when I return I am angry with myself for the situation but equally, somehow, smug in the knowledge that I knew it would happen.

I genuinely have no idea where the rage comes from when I am shopping for food or, to be fair, where it is targeted. I stroll into the shop quite relaxed and by the end of the first aisle I am incandescent about nothing in particular. Then I get angry with myself for the fact that I am angry and don’t know why. I have no recollection of being assaulted by a tomato as a child, I have never been slighted by a pork pie so I am at a loss as to what my argument is.

If I make it all the way to the end of the first aisle then I am fuming with the quiche in that fridge or can’t believe that Scotch Eggs are so uniform. I am also, especially since we are only allowed out for essential shopping, obliged to buy something now. Storming out of the store empty handed is a dangerous card nowadays and should, in my opinion, only be played when you are at the front and can cover it as ‘forgetting your money’ or some such.

There are many things on my mental list that I could buy but since I have failed at the first hurdle I have already deleted the list. What is the point in buying the pickle if you didn’t pick up the cheese? Go back and get the cheese you say? Interesting idea but I am still fuming at the Cornish pasty so I won’t give it the satisfaction.

Since I am now going , quite frankly, bat shit crazy I can’t pick up something random because someone will be judging me. Even if there is nobody there, somewhere somebody is judging don’t you know. A frozen ready meal? great idea and then they can imagine me sat in my underwear with pasta sauce on my chest and just tut at the singleton who let himself go. Seriously this is how my mind works, god only knows why!

So the default option is milk. Try judging me on that eh, we all need milk and hell I drink a lot of tea so nothing wrong there, perfectly normal to buy milk we all do it. So if you see me in the queue with a bottle of milk and I seem distracted please rest assured it is not you, I am trying to counter a murderous rage and it is all down to those fishcakes in the fridge, bastards!

I decided that Saturday was a take away night and, as you will have come to realise, this is way more significant than it sounds. This is a decision made early with the rest of day spent reinforcing the plan somewhere in what passes for my mind. The plan was to order it around 7pm and everything was set for a chilled evening. Around ten to seven I was drinking my last brew of the day as I wandered over, locked the front door and placed the keys on the hook. The smug voice in my head murmured ‘you knew it wasn’t happening really’ and I had quite a delightful sandwich instead.

There in lies the issue, I think, years of ‘food is fuel’ have left me quite frankly incapable of food planning. To this end I remain eternally grateful for the services of my own personal shopper aka ‘CB’ for filling in the blanks that fill my shopping trips faster than inflatable boats fill Dover beach.

Work is carrying on apace at the Plough, all of the decking is up and the new front wall is taking shape. I would like to thank the nightmare that is parking in Shanklin for its role in preventing Island roads getting an opportunity to practice being a nuisance. By the time they got the opportunity to get a good look at the trenching works I was washing the pavement down, nothing to see here as they say.

The impending tightening of restrictions means we need a big push on materials this week, the project manager in me is incredibly uncomfortable not having all of the material on site. The extended lockdown in itself does not offer an extended window of works because the builder has other commitments and we all know how hard it is to start again. We need material on site to carry on the good progress.

In other news I see that the predicted ‘success’ of dry January was not to be. The pundits had predicted that the nation would embrace the unhinged idea of taking a month off of drinking alcohol. Lockdown excesses followed by Christmas were apparently going to empower the fun police and their lunatic ideas.

This dry January has followed in the miserable footsteps of its predecessors. Social media is awash with declarations from people shunning the booze despite the trauma of lockdown. Well done Sharon, you go out for friends birthdays and sometimes have a prosecco with dinner, go you with your whole month teetotal.

Dry January is just an opportunity for those who rarely drink to feel smug about the fact that they ‘can leave it alone for a month’. I worry about these sober people and I wonder why they feel the need to tell me that they are sober for a month, like I care. I will enjoy a bottle of wine and relax while you kick the dog and shout at the kids because you ‘don’t feel the need to drink’.

So to all those occasional drinkers, who we would normally see a couple of times a year in the pub. who are ‘doing’ dry January. Firstly let me assure you that you are morons, guided by some utter bullshit that you follow only because it is a very easy success in a very sad life. Secondly please remember anybody can ‘not drink’ but no good story starts with ‘ I was on my seventh orange juice when ‘.

Nobody needs to drink just like nobody needs to eat crisps we drink because we enjoy it. Once again I will ensure that I drink on every day of January to counter the sober sheep. But in tribute to your determination I am going to give up for February. No not drink of course, I am giving up going to the gym, all of February and despite lockdown I think I can do this. If anyone wants to support me in this valiant endeavour please drop a bottle of red at the door.

A speck and a duck huddle

So the last couple of days have not been the happiest of lock down. I am not sure why although the prospect of not reopening this year, as touted by some of the press today, obviously didn’t help.

I appreciate that the press and the government spend a lot of time briefing in opposite directions in order to deal with public expectations and to be honest I believe little, if anything, in the press. The one thing that we can take from the today is that we are in for the long haul but I think we kinda knew that.

I woke up this morning thoroughly motivated, the day has not progressed as it should have done though. To hear all day long that your business will stay closed longer than any other takes it toll and really makes you think about the seismic change this will have on the whole trade. I have long disagreed with the negativity espoused by many in the licensed trade and I blame that for the hard push back that we are seeing.

As I recall the last that I saw said that 40 pubs a week closed in the UK but, at last count 41 opened. So the aggregate growth in the pub estate was 1 a week, see how easy it is to use numbers to support whatever position you want? So if you shut the entire trade for 12 weeks 480 pubs will be struggling and 492 opportunities to open will not have happened. These pubs won’t all shut immediately because, despite the naysayers, the situation has thrown a lifeline to some who were about to leave the trade.

I heard the other day that we expect 10% of the over eighties to pass away each year and that is about where we we are with the pandemic. Both points are just statistical facts and the pandemic has done nothing but move the numbers around but this doesn’t make losing uncle Tom or your local pub any easier.

All this aside today has certainly been one of those days where the weight weighs heavier. There is still a lot going on but sometimes you are struck by the seeming futility of it all. This is not something that taps you on the shoulder and whispers, it hits you like a truck. We have a way of dealing with these days, it is tried and tested and has come into play more often lately.

A moment (could be minutes or hours) sat on the floor in the corner. It is important that its a corner, some would say this is defensive and some would say that it is about connecting, I would go with hiding but whatever. Just sitting there as a tiny person in this big pub and its massive history, a mere speck on its timeline but responsible for continuing that timeline is very grounding.

I am not sure that grounding is a good thing right now but the ducks are forming a huddle and I think they want help to drink that wine. I am going to wipe the paint off my hands (it can stay on my face) and go join the ducks for a large glass, honestly my work is never done.

 

Think you are clever eh?

Well today the ducks did well, Henry was not so lucky. So those of you have ever used a Henry hoover will know that they can be awkward, sometimes (always) they don’t follow our gentle hose guidance.

So I was in the porch today cleaning paintwork and my trusty little red and black mate was there for when I found a dust pocket. Said dust pocket appeared and Henry wasn’t interested so I cajoled him with a gentle tug and a muttered curse. Before you know it my foot is warm and wet, what is that about?

Let me tell you what that is about… that bastard Henry kicked my cleaning bucket over kicked it straight over and caused a mini flood. Well Henry how do you feel sat in the porch while me and the ducks are having a beer? maybe you will learn from this and we can work together to get through this.

In other news I have worked out that I am fully healthy and without pain as long as I don’t move, quite easy since we are closed.

So Henry is on the naughty stair and I am on the sofa sedating with wine all is good.

They stopped having names already?

I was discussing day three of the shutdown with someone today and we both came to the horrible realisation that we have no clue what day it is, it is simply day three. One thing that has made today significant is that, for those who still can, it has been the day they returned to work. Whilst we have things to do the work schedule no longer exists for hospitality, every hour of the day is pretty much the same all targets have been removed.

So today, because we still can, I had a couple of coffee breaks with actual humans which was nice. I spoke to our butcher who told me trade has boomed but he fears that he to will soon be joining the compulsory closure list. That was my total human contact which personally would seem more than adequate if it was not for the fact that I work in hospitality, a trade defined by interaction with people, now it seems weird.

I guess that I should point out that I wholeheartedly support the governments attempts to address the awful situation we find ourselves in. Please never take take my blogs as complaints or anger, this is something we will all get through and my writing is. as usual, as haphazard as my thinking and mostly cathartic.

I have read a number of articles by submariners on how they break up long periods of isolation and I think that I am adopting a sort of hybrid between that and the way that the old council workers worked. So I am scheduling tasks but also having multiple enforced brew breaks. Since I have an awful lot of time to fill I need to ensure that the tasks that I have are spaced out and fill my day rather than rushing through and hitting a void.

Today was day two of shutting down the post mix kit, a tedious task at the best of times but split over two days to ensure I got the most engagement. I have also shut down, cleaned, sterilised and protected a number of draught lines leaving only the ones that I am still consuming ‘live’. Some filling and some sanding to repair some interior walls filled an hour and, after a brew obviously, the clean up took some time as well.

It has been five years since I last turned a TV on for myself and last night was an experience. After shouting at it a number of times I conferred with my drinking buddies and we discovered the remote control was much better. Now having left TV alone for 5 years I had hoped that it would have improved, to say I was disappointed is an understatement to say the least! What a load of rubbish!

Last nights attempt to segway alcohol into successful sleep was also, I am afraid to say, a bit of a failure and more work is needed (I have plenty of time). Having consumed 6 or 7 pints of Guinness I rounded the evening with a glass of red and felt sufficiently tired to head up whereupon sleep came very easily (as it usually does). The failure was that at 5 am I was bright as a button and reading my news feed which presents a problem as it adds another 2 hours to my scheduled start of 7 am and therefore another 2 hours to an already pretty empty day. On the plus side (if there can be one) I have plenty of beer and plenty of time to tune the alcohol/sleep ratio.

Anyway day four looms…..

Early morning glamour and accidental windows

They say that it is not what you see that forms your opinions but how you perceive what you see. I would like to put the record straight for anybody that saw me take a dive just outside the station at half past five yesterday morning, I was not drunk. I did, as we all instinctively do, turn around and see if anybody had spotted my disagreement with gravity and think it was all clear but thought I would clarify in case I missed somebody.  This was, of course, a further episode in my ongoing battle with Ms Nature. I had arisen to some pain and, more critically as it transpired, a pervading weakness in my knee never one to give in to such frivolities I pushed through my morning walk.

My principle remains that if I don’t succumb to the restrictions that my knee tries to introduce then it will tire of the game. I ploughed through to the station with little more than wince but a misjudged kerb presented the opposition with a window of opportunity and it struck home. The sudden weakness and accompanying pain wasnt expected and I crumbled, albeit briefly. After a quick assessment I realised the error and recovered, never actually hitting the ground, limping off in the correct direction whilst mentally scolding my adversary.

You may think it odd that I feel the need to clarify my position, few people would have assumed that I was drunk surely? Well I would have agreed with you but as I struggled on I passed a seating area which was occupied a middle-aged couple who would not have had the same defence. They were sharing, swig for swig, a bottle of Lambrini, remember it was half past five in the morning. In fairness I only wrote this post after seeing an advertisement for said ‘wine’ on the television last night and pondering the difference between the glitzy party image and the chilly winter’s morning scene.

In other news I was passed over by our legal system once again so await an update in the New Yea, fingers remain crossed that it won’t be too much longer. The odd thing was that the walk to the grocery store (thank’s DVLA) on Monday was a real relief and made me realise what a stress the 4 pm phone calls generate. The concept of knowing that I was in the hotel until Friday and not playing everything day by day felt like a genuine pleasure.

Simmering bunnies and glossy hair

This morning I bring you two items from the weekend. Having mentally reviewed them I have concluded that whilst the opposite sex are strange women are in fact stranger. You are, of course, welcome to draw a different conclusion.

The first is from a friend who recounted an overly friendly encounter. Apparently he succeeded in extracting himself from a social situation that became overly amorous only to be greeted some time later by a knock on the door. The young lady involved had sought out our polite male and tracked him home. The thing that astounded me in this story was the armoury with which she arrived. A bottle of wine is a common ‘just passing’ gift but clearly she considered this too feminine for the occasion. So it was that my friend was greeted by said young lady carrying a bottle of wine and a single can of lager.

I was taken aback by this story and couldn’t deduce what hidden meaning was in the gift. Clearly this wasn’t the result of a visit to the shop but was it a the result of searching a barren cupboard? I think it was a more calculated collection either because sufficient beer had to be left at home to sedate the partner or because too much beer risked sedating the conquest.

During this discussion I received an sms from an ex girlfriend saying that she was outside my flat. Obviously I replied that I wasn’t home, since I was in the pub. The volume in the pub was such that I didn’t hear my phone and so it was not until a toilet break that I discovered a raft of sms. For me, as a man, it is fairly logical that if you visit uninvited then you may find nobody at home. It would appear that logic is not a religion shared by all. Following some small debate said woman tipped somebody’s pint over my head and left. There are a number of things that I can draw from this experience although somehow I doubt they were intended.

The first is an absolute lack of logic or self control, there was no reason for this soggy assault it was simply an act of frustration. Given the opportunity I would have suggested a witty line or eloquent discourse a much better means of dealing with the experience. The second is that people watch too many soap operas. People don’t tip pints over heads in the real world, this is a theatrical device beloved of the television. Quite simply there is no benefit to be had from the action, the recipient shrugs it off and the deliverer exits stage left. I certainly found that I dried very quickly and it was all rather tiresome. My friend commented that when she picked up the glass the last thing he expected was the contents over my head, he was ready to deal with far more serious actions. This is confirmation of my decision to remain single, I am simply no good at relationshits and have no more bunnies to boil.
The final observation is that, in keeping with some advertising, beer is good for one’s hair. Whilst not a convenient shampoo due to its scent beer really does make your hair glossy.

For those that are questioning my reasoning I ask one question, have you ever seen a man tip a drink over a woman?

Gorgeous, ghosts and strange smells

I was lucky enough to spend some time woth the gorgeous Aleisha yesterday, thanks Helen for the tip. If you ever have a day when you doubt your fellow human beings then I suggest you spend some time with foster carers. I am always humbled by the love and attention that these guys lavish on their wards. I love babies but I don’t think I could find the level of selflessness that meant I could pass a child onto adoptive parents, even though I know it’s the best thing.

Aleisha has some lovely adoptive parents lined up and soon she will start her new life with them. I know I will miss her, as I miss her predecessor Harriet, and I only see them breifly. For foster parents that have full time care it must be a difficult time, to have such dedication is quite inspirational.

It has also been an interesting weekend for science. I have confirmed that the only reason for a human to eat doner kebab is alcohol. In fact I have proven that the link between drunkenness and the revolving spit of doom is common to us all. Not only do we believe that this is actually food when we are drunk but it calls to us like a siren song.

My evidence for this is Dell who, having consumed a glass or two of wine, left the pub to walk home on Saturday. Dell is a long time confirmed vegetarian but on Sunday awoke to a strange smell in the house.

Yes he answered the drunks calling, sitting in the kitchen was the kebab he had purchased on the way home. In this we can see that the kebab had called to that deep subconscious that can only be accessed when drunk. Being a non meat eater allowed Dell to answer the call and satisfy the yearning without consuming the thing. There is a lesson here for those that are carrying some weight, buy it and bin it in the morning it still makes you feel better.

I think more experiments will be needed to understand what it is in a vegetarian brain that rejects this Pseudo meat. I have to call Blossom Hill today to see if we can arrange a research grant. I think Dell will be happy to participate, in the interests of science of course.

Science is also responsible for the fact that lefty has been giving me a lot more pain. Obviously science is being controlled by the evil Ms Nature but even she has to respect science. I cannot work out what I have done but my best guess is that I have forced the rotation into a new and uncharted area. Essentially all of the moving parts are gunged up with blood and debris from the accident and I have to work through these. I think that lefty has reached a blockage and we are now wearing it down. One thing I’ve never worked out is where all this rubbish goes? I understand why it’s there and that I have to wear it away but does it not just collect somewhere else?

In a final medical update I awoke this morning with a sore leg. Apparently I chose to answer the phantom itching on the donor site by scratching it. I say phantom itching because

Different pages

I watched the spectacle of ‘hopeful man’ last night, always entertaining. I don’t know what it is that makes men so optimistic especially in the face of such adversity.

So last night we had a man who was a number of years older than me. This man carried significantly more mass and less hair than me. His partner for the evening was mid twenties and very good looking. What is it that makes me say that he was optimistic? Could he not simply have been sharing a bottle of wine with a colleague?

The give away came when the young lady took a toilet break. Her partner leapt to the bar to procure a further bottle of wine, as quickly as possible. By the time his partner had returned he was explaining how ‘they just served me without me asking’.

The look on his young partner’s face said it all. I don’t know what facet of her career justified the evening but it was certainly a task. I am sure that the young lady returned to her room and called her partner bemoaning the long evening. I am equally sure that her partner collapsed on the bed convinced he was a step closer to company.

Point of note: when they say that power is an aphrodisiac they don’t mean area manager type power.

In other news, I walked into a meeting today and from the minute introductions were made I realised nothing would be achieved. The reason wasn’t conflicting ideas or team dynamics it was something much harder to overcome. There were two separate consultancy firms represented and there are no known cases where this has resulted in progress.

It is quite amazing to watch the carefully coreographed interaction between these people. The consultant’s language makes the discourse seem so energetic and vigorous whilst actually going in circles. The battle of the buzz words ensures that everybody feels that they have achieved, added value and been a team player. The reality, of course, is that the consultant’s have taken another days money in exchange for platitudes.

If you think my view of consultant’s is jaded then let me just say that I have overhead their planning sessions. If you truly want to know how to beat cancer I would suggest that you wouldn’t go far wrong starting with consultants. Brought in by organisations to change and improve the business they quickly expand their scope and become entrenched. No sooner than they are established they start calling in reinforcements, almost breeding.

Part of the skill set of a consultant is to always be busy. They find things to do and are most obliging in taking on more work. Invaribly consultants will be funded centrally so there is no visibility of true cost. Having invaded the host business they become an intrinsic part and people are scared to remove them. When the host realises the cost and moves to remove the consultants they quickly morph into smaller offshoots, rebranding themselves to grow another day.

The lesson for today? Human error prevention, with such gems as ‘tiredness moves you into the error making region’. The big sell, as always, is that other industries already do this. You are behind the times of course but the consultant can help you change your ways. Like small children the business leaders salvitate over the magic bullets that have helped other companies or industries. The truth is that we have different processes because we have different priorities and risks. I guess consultants are just expensive fairytales.

Anyone know a good hospital?

So far I have seen about 5 readings, they are only shown briefly, and the best (lowest) was 254/142 now I have no idea what that means so I consulted Dr Google! Oh I see it now Dr Google is no longer my friend, oh how he has turned with his graphs and statistics, none of which I appear on! Apparently they are not good numbers, well between friends they are actually quite bad.

Well I’ve considered the prospect of twice an hour ‘obs’ and how that fits my sleep pattern and have concluded a bottle of wine is well deserved. Investigation of the unit, its an engineer’s trait, reveals that it was due calibration in May 2012 so I’m thinking its out of date and the readings are not accurate but I think my test was flawed….. I wrapped it round the wine bottle for one test and the result was several error codes and no reading, its ok I won’t keep doing it and one miss read is to be expected!

My guess is it will, somehow, average ok and I won’t have the hassle of binning another set of drugs, high blood pressure indeed.