While the cat is away.....
Posted: Wed Jan 24, 2007 11:15 pm
I waved Au Revoir.....
(loosely based on some real events..... :(
*****
Oh my I thought, Dear Old Fiery Breath has to go away for a few days to do some course or something.
(I think it was Advanced Potion Making and she was presenting a paper on "Dire Charms - Why keeping your Cauldron Clean can cause more damage").
So on sunday lunchtime I waved her off in the car - I had suggested that she took her car so I would have some time to polish the scratches out of my car after the last time she drove it.... anyway, off she headed for a few days chatting with her coven mates that she was collecting on the way, leaving me all on my ownsome - along with a request to dust under all the beds in the house as it needed doing and i could do that while she was away.... never mind I thought - it is only a few hours work - then i can party a little
I waited for a small period of time before heading down to the local hostelry for a celebratory pint - like maybe 40 seconds....
I arrived in the local to be greeted with the normal grunts of acceptance. (Next time the BBC wants to do a series on early man, no need to employ actors - just wander into the Butcher's arms in Beccles when the footie is on.... primeval man complete with protruding lower lip and knotted eyebrows... though there did seem to be a problem with the water - it was all brown and came in pint glasses....)
I waited till half time to tell my drinking buddies that my situation had changed - and that for a few days at least I was back to being a carefree bachelor. Such devastating news immediately cost me a round of beers for being such a Lily Lightweight and not drinking enough to celebrate this great result. Then we settled back to watch the game and quaff - I was now on a mission.... (I had known about this course for a few weeks, so had arranged to take a few days off to enable me to relax).
The brown water flowed, and the football finished - before we could wonder what to do next, miracle of miracles, a young lady came into the pub on her own.
Now ladies, I know that you think you know everything, but there are some secrets that we still have - such a thing is the group Letch
The group Letch is a very male thing - take a group of chaps, preferably with a few beers inside them, and without the restraining leash of their partners ( did i say leash - i really meant that silent sodding stare that occurs when ever we let our hair down); add some young lady - preferably one who has grown a little since she bought her top so it is a little tight over her fun bags, preferably add a mini skirt and then it is game on - she knows that she has the total and utter undivided attention of every chap in the pub.... and boy does she flaunt it
It starts off with subtle eyebrow raising, smirks and then judicious repositioning of a chap's chair to get a better view.
Why move the chair for a better view - very simple - the current fashion in the uk is for baggy jeans hanging half way around the arse... and thongs are very popular in the young lady community at the moment. The downside is that occasionally we get a fashion conscious moose - and that sight is like looking at a Big Mac - complete with sesame seed bun..... see too many of them and you start dancing to George Michael records out of fear....
Now for all you anthropologists out there that think this is some kind of preliminary courting ritual, i am sorry it isn't.... the chaps will not do anything - partly because they are afraid of failure (ladies - when we summon up the guts to walk over to you and offer you a drink, have you any idea how hurt we are when you look us up and down - then say no.....), and partly because they know full well that if their own wives/partners find out they may as well start dancing to George Michael records as they are about to have their goolies ripped off....
After a really good letch, and a fair few ales - the thong was a slinky black number by the way - naturally enough we got a little peckish. Now blokes in the UK only want one of two types of food when you have had a couple of ales - either a kebab (free with the food poisoning of your choice), or a curry....
So off we went, down to the town for a curry. Now it is at least 15 minutes walk to the curry house. Unfortunately, there are two other pubs on the way, and it would be rude to walk right past them with out at least popping in and saying hello... and as by this time we were buying rounds of drinks, each of the five of us insisted on getting a round in.... so some two hours later we finally stagger in to the curry house.
Table for five we say to the waiter - the curry house learnt a long time ago not to employ waitresses - the compulsive male letches were causing problems with all the dribble on the carpet. Now the waiter is a good chap, fluent in both drunkenese and gibberish, so he led us to a table, brought 5 beers and a set of menus - we started the beer and discussed the curries to order.
Now for those that do not know, curry is a spice food - it ranges in heat from the mild - a korma (looks and tastes like baby food, sickly yellow and about as hot as an eskimo's willy), to the mighty Chilli Masala (chernobyl strength - your botty will spend tomorrow alternating between a freezer and the john).
All lads together - you could smell the testosterone and machismo
The waiter was used to pissed up brits - he took the order for 5 chilli masala's with out raising an eyebrow - then brought us 5 more beers while we waited for the curry. The curry arrived, along with a few more beers.
I swear blind as i took my first mouthful, I felt my anus pucker in fear... I wished I had a lip salve in the fridge - tomorrow I knew I was going to need it... being full of bullshit, bravado and testosterone, I finished it along with everyone else and we departed to head home
Having had such a nice welcome in the other pubs we decided to call in and have an ale or two, even though I was starting to think that one of the previous pints I had drunk may have been off as I was feeling a touch sick. We ended up back at the local pub, and then some bright spark decided that instead of more brown water we should just have a few short s.... belly full of beer and curry, then i start throwing flaming sambuca down my neck.... and yes it was still alight
(I admit to possibly being a little pissed at this stage).
I waved farewell to all and wandered home. (Wandered... more like lurched from hedge to fence, sidewalk to road). I got home and thought about having a little bedtime drink, but was really thinking by now that the last pint had definitely been off - the previous 17 or so had been fine, but that last one was definitely at the end of the barrel, therefore I sat in the chair in my lounge, delighting in the peace - I could see the telephone answering machine had the first nag from old fiery breath on it but decided to ignore that - words of advice from me chaps - do not ring your dearly beloved while pissed out of your brains having had a great time - you can guarantee that they will use it against you in a few months time.
With a lurch i realised that the chair had bucked me out on the floor, and that pint that was off - hand over mouth i lurched like some deformed break dancer to the toilet to have a long and noisy chat with hughie. (Chatting with hughie does not mean calling Hugh Grant up and discussing Liz Hurleys finer points, rather it is the noise you make while emptying your stomach).
After a while I headed back to lie down on the floor, even though i did feel like a roulette wheel, spinning round and round waiting for bets on the next chat with hughie.
Time for an old english proverb:
"If you wake up with a screaming headache, surrounded by empty beer cans, with a screaming headache and a mouthful of carpet - it's morning"
It was still early - no more that ten o clock so i headed off to bed to rest my eyes that felt like pissholes in the snow.
Now when a chap wakes up in the morning, there are certain things we all do. After we have scratched our balls, we fart.
I had a good scratch, and then cocked a leg - the delights of being alone again - and prepared to let rip.
I then remembered that I had been drinking real ale and had eaten a chilli masala... thinking fast I moved through to the bathroom and let rip
Words fail me. If Bush had of been there I would have been done for chemical weapons of mass destruction. The only downside to the pebble dashing my botty was performing was the sobering effect.
I had been sick last night..;..
In the Bathroom....
That old fiery breath had decorated a few weeks ago
My aim had not been good - not so much precision targeting as carpet bombing
Bugger
I had 2 days to get it looking normal again - or i had to get a shovel as I was going to be in deep shit
Like a frenzied thing I sobered up and started to plan how to do it - I knew from past experience I would not be doing much that day - lets just say my whimpering botty was not going far from the porcelain. While I sat there, thinking and sweating with pain, the cat arrived.
Now our cat is not what you would call friendly - she wants feeding at least twice a day so she has enough strength to sleep for 12 hours at a time, as she playfully informed me with her claws that she had not been fed for at least 6 hours by using her claws, I started to have a cunning plan.
Our cat loves playing with feathers... long feathers.. and as part of the decorating involved dusting everything in sight, I got crafty....
After several hours of sitting, (with a silent h in there), I felt comfortable enough to go grab a peacock feather that the cat had not played with. First I tested my theory by taking the cat into the bedroom, and as i lay on the bed, I dangled the feather over the side - having got the cat's attention, I rolled over to the other side - dangling the feather again, closely followed by the moggy who had to crawl under the bed ... I did this a few more times - perfect - that was under the bed dusted....
I played the same game with the cat in the other bedrooms, congratulating myself on a job well done. i led the cat to the bathroom - she looked at me like a Bhopal resident - she was not going into that chemical nightmare, sighing i helped the cat outside with the aid of a skillfully applied foot, and looked at the job in hand.
Working like a trojan, I painted the wood, emulsioned the walls - several coats that took, and even took the bathroom door off to do the job properly. With a sudden shock, i realised that time had passed and I was a mere two hours away from the return of old fiery breath... like a demon I ran around tidying everything - by the way chaps - no matter how much you tidy, you will only make her madder.... she will get more and more angry until she finds something to bollock you about - therefore, leave something out that is obviously wrong - and empty beer can on the floor works well. She will come in, see that, bollock you quickly, and then you can get on with life. This system works so well that you can leave a beer can out, and merely spray some furniture polish in the air and they will think you have been a good house slave - sorry husband.
Panting after this frantic burst of activity, I stripped off, planning on having a shower to wash the debris off - I sat on the john, admiring the view with out a door of our stairs, hallway and front door. The cat had not been fed for at least a few hours, and thinking that she had been duped earlier, decided that now was a good time to show daddy affection...
so there i sat, stark bollock naked, with the cat on my lap, arse in the air. with me tickling the cat's stomach when the front door opened.....
*****
I had never met Old Fiery Breath's boss before - and I guess it is a meeting that he will never forget. Either way he has agreed with old fiery breath that it may not be a good idea for her to go away for anymore courses for a while....
(loosely based on some real events..... :(
*****
Oh my I thought, Dear Old Fiery Breath has to go away for a few days to do some course or something.
(I think it was Advanced Potion Making and she was presenting a paper on "Dire Charms - Why keeping your Cauldron Clean can cause more damage").
So on sunday lunchtime I waved her off in the car - I had suggested that she took her car so I would have some time to polish the scratches out of my car after the last time she drove it.... anyway, off she headed for a few days chatting with her coven mates that she was collecting on the way, leaving me all on my ownsome - along with a request to dust under all the beds in the house as it needed doing and i could do that while she was away.... never mind I thought - it is only a few hours work - then i can party a little
I waited for a small period of time before heading down to the local hostelry for a celebratory pint - like maybe 40 seconds....
I arrived in the local to be greeted with the normal grunts of acceptance. (Next time the BBC wants to do a series on early man, no need to employ actors - just wander into the Butcher's arms in Beccles when the footie is on.... primeval man complete with protruding lower lip and knotted eyebrows... though there did seem to be a problem with the water - it was all brown and came in pint glasses....)
I waited till half time to tell my drinking buddies that my situation had changed - and that for a few days at least I was back to being a carefree bachelor. Such devastating news immediately cost me a round of beers for being such a Lily Lightweight and not drinking enough to celebrate this great result. Then we settled back to watch the game and quaff - I was now on a mission.... (I had known about this course for a few weeks, so had arranged to take a few days off to enable me to relax).
The brown water flowed, and the football finished - before we could wonder what to do next, miracle of miracles, a young lady came into the pub on her own.
Now ladies, I know that you think you know everything, but there are some secrets that we still have - such a thing is the group Letch
The group Letch is a very male thing - take a group of chaps, preferably with a few beers inside them, and without the restraining leash of their partners ( did i say leash - i really meant that silent sodding stare that occurs when ever we let our hair down); add some young lady - preferably one who has grown a little since she bought her top so it is a little tight over her fun bags, preferably add a mini skirt and then it is game on - she knows that she has the total and utter undivided attention of every chap in the pub.... and boy does she flaunt it
It starts off with subtle eyebrow raising, smirks and then judicious repositioning of a chap's chair to get a better view.
Why move the chair for a better view - very simple - the current fashion in the uk is for baggy jeans hanging half way around the arse... and thongs are very popular in the young lady community at the moment. The downside is that occasionally we get a fashion conscious moose - and that sight is like looking at a Big Mac - complete with sesame seed bun..... see too many of them and you start dancing to George Michael records out of fear....
Now for all you anthropologists out there that think this is some kind of preliminary courting ritual, i am sorry it isn't.... the chaps will not do anything - partly because they are afraid of failure (ladies - when we summon up the guts to walk over to you and offer you a drink, have you any idea how hurt we are when you look us up and down - then say no.....), and partly because they know full well that if their own wives/partners find out they may as well start dancing to George Michael records as they are about to have their goolies ripped off....
After a really good letch, and a fair few ales - the thong was a slinky black number by the way - naturally enough we got a little peckish. Now blokes in the UK only want one of two types of food when you have had a couple of ales - either a kebab (free with the food poisoning of your choice), or a curry....
So off we went, down to the town for a curry. Now it is at least 15 minutes walk to the curry house. Unfortunately, there are two other pubs on the way, and it would be rude to walk right past them with out at least popping in and saying hello... and as by this time we were buying rounds of drinks, each of the five of us insisted on getting a round in.... so some two hours later we finally stagger in to the curry house.
Table for five we say to the waiter - the curry house learnt a long time ago not to employ waitresses - the compulsive male letches were causing problems with all the dribble on the carpet. Now the waiter is a good chap, fluent in both drunkenese and gibberish, so he led us to a table, brought 5 beers and a set of menus - we started the beer and discussed the curries to order.
Now for those that do not know, curry is a spice food - it ranges in heat from the mild - a korma (looks and tastes like baby food, sickly yellow and about as hot as an eskimo's willy), to the mighty Chilli Masala (chernobyl strength - your botty will spend tomorrow alternating between a freezer and the john).
All lads together - you could smell the testosterone and machismo
The waiter was used to pissed up brits - he took the order for 5 chilli masala's with out raising an eyebrow - then brought us 5 more beers while we waited for the curry. The curry arrived, along with a few more beers.
I swear blind as i took my first mouthful, I felt my anus pucker in fear... I wished I had a lip salve in the fridge - tomorrow I knew I was going to need it... being full of bullshit, bravado and testosterone, I finished it along with everyone else and we departed to head home
Having had such a nice welcome in the other pubs we decided to call in and have an ale or two, even though I was starting to think that one of the previous pints I had drunk may have been off as I was feeling a touch sick. We ended up back at the local pub, and then some bright spark decided that instead of more brown water we should just have a few short s.... belly full of beer and curry, then i start throwing flaming sambuca down my neck.... and yes it was still alight
(I admit to possibly being a little pissed at this stage).
I waved farewell to all and wandered home. (Wandered... more like lurched from hedge to fence, sidewalk to road). I got home and thought about having a little bedtime drink, but was really thinking by now that the last pint had definitely been off - the previous 17 or so had been fine, but that last one was definitely at the end of the barrel, therefore I sat in the chair in my lounge, delighting in the peace - I could see the telephone answering machine had the first nag from old fiery breath on it but decided to ignore that - words of advice from me chaps - do not ring your dearly beloved while pissed out of your brains having had a great time - you can guarantee that they will use it against you in a few months time.
With a lurch i realised that the chair had bucked me out on the floor, and that pint that was off - hand over mouth i lurched like some deformed break dancer to the toilet to have a long and noisy chat with hughie. (Chatting with hughie does not mean calling Hugh Grant up and discussing Liz Hurleys finer points, rather it is the noise you make while emptying your stomach).
After a while I headed back to lie down on the floor, even though i did feel like a roulette wheel, spinning round and round waiting for bets on the next chat with hughie.
Time for an old english proverb:
"If you wake up with a screaming headache, surrounded by empty beer cans, with a screaming headache and a mouthful of carpet - it's morning"
It was still early - no more that ten o clock so i headed off to bed to rest my eyes that felt like pissholes in the snow.
Now when a chap wakes up in the morning, there are certain things we all do. After we have scratched our balls, we fart.
I had a good scratch, and then cocked a leg - the delights of being alone again - and prepared to let rip.
I then remembered that I had been drinking real ale and had eaten a chilli masala... thinking fast I moved through to the bathroom and let rip
Words fail me. If Bush had of been there I would have been done for chemical weapons of mass destruction. The only downside to the pebble dashing my botty was performing was the sobering effect.
I had been sick last night..;..
In the Bathroom....
That old fiery breath had decorated a few weeks ago
My aim had not been good - not so much precision targeting as carpet bombing
Bugger
I had 2 days to get it looking normal again - or i had to get a shovel as I was going to be in deep shit
Like a frenzied thing I sobered up and started to plan how to do it - I knew from past experience I would not be doing much that day - lets just say my whimpering botty was not going far from the porcelain. While I sat there, thinking and sweating with pain, the cat arrived.
Now our cat is not what you would call friendly - she wants feeding at least twice a day so she has enough strength to sleep for 12 hours at a time, as she playfully informed me with her claws that she had not been fed for at least 6 hours by using her claws, I started to have a cunning plan.
Our cat loves playing with feathers... long feathers.. and as part of the decorating involved dusting everything in sight, I got crafty....
After several hours of sitting, (with a silent h in there), I felt comfortable enough to go grab a peacock feather that the cat had not played with. First I tested my theory by taking the cat into the bedroom, and as i lay on the bed, I dangled the feather over the side - having got the cat's attention, I rolled over to the other side - dangling the feather again, closely followed by the moggy who had to crawl under the bed ... I did this a few more times - perfect - that was under the bed dusted....
I played the same game with the cat in the other bedrooms, congratulating myself on a job well done. i led the cat to the bathroom - she looked at me like a Bhopal resident - she was not going into that chemical nightmare, sighing i helped the cat outside with the aid of a skillfully applied foot, and looked at the job in hand.
Working like a trojan, I painted the wood, emulsioned the walls - several coats that took, and even took the bathroom door off to do the job properly. With a sudden shock, i realised that time had passed and I was a mere two hours away from the return of old fiery breath... like a demon I ran around tidying everything - by the way chaps - no matter how much you tidy, you will only make her madder.... she will get more and more angry until she finds something to bollock you about - therefore, leave something out that is obviously wrong - and empty beer can on the floor works well. She will come in, see that, bollock you quickly, and then you can get on with life. This system works so well that you can leave a beer can out, and merely spray some furniture polish in the air and they will think you have been a good house slave - sorry husband.
Panting after this frantic burst of activity, I stripped off, planning on having a shower to wash the debris off - I sat on the john, admiring the view with out a door of our stairs, hallway and front door. The cat had not been fed for at least a few hours, and thinking that she had been duped earlier, decided that now was a good time to show daddy affection...
so there i sat, stark bollock naked, with the cat on my lap, arse in the air. with me tickling the cat's stomach when the front door opened.....
*****
I had never met Old Fiery Breath's boss before - and I guess it is a meeting that he will never forget. Either way he has agreed with old fiery breath that it may not be a good idea for her to go away for anymore courses for a while....