The big move

What to do? What to do? We're thinking of moving from our palatial one bedroom flat in sunny North London and move to the East Midlands where my family now reside. The reasoning being we can buy a bigger pad for our doting child and life will be simpler. The upsides are exactly that. Our wee man will get the green space he craves and we can get help with childcare from my folks.. The downside is that we're moving to the East Midlands. We've spent a little time up there to suss it out and it was a brave new world. Unfortunately I fear I am a coward. I believe it tests the validity of Darwin's theory with barely a knuckle not being scraped along the floor and those that can speak uttering 'duck' to anyone willing to listen. I thought it was a reference to avian flu but it's a term of endearment. I felt truly beautiful amongst my new neighbours. A word not usually associated with myself I know, but it may be worth moving there just to bolster my waning self image.

My Job and I

I need to leave my job. I realised this approximately 2 years ago as I signed my contract, yet I've applied for approximately zero jobs in that time. I live in London with my wife and child and have aspirations to be a professional surfer, although my stomach now hampers my view of my feet like a partial eclipse as toes burst from my belly like the corona that fills it. I currently work as a senior manager in the health service and cannot abide it. Perhaps I'm in a minority but I think not. What a load of crap. I don't know whether you're familiar with the NHS but it's going through a few local difficulties. We as a group of senior managers were impelled to toe the hospital line and reassure all and sundry that everything will be fine whilst they plan the cuts. Watch this space...


My boss repeats the same phrase 'great stuff' like some sort of mantra and now several of my colleagues repeat ad nauseam. They're morphing into her but at least they're more relaxed now. Repeat after me and all shall be fine. I must admit, in times gone by, to laughing at little 'funnies' she's said that contained not a single grain of humour and for that I hate myself just that little bit more. I've lost the will to follow my leader and my favourite part of every day now consists of looking at the ever burgeoning graffiti in the lift relating to all us 'twunts and Spozzfeckers' that reside in our institution.

the pain begins

Rushed to hospital last night from work as my 6 month old son was taken there because he was blue. He's had diarrhea and vomiting for 6 days so the little bleeder's obviously feeling off colour. Arrived at the hospital and went into A&E to find my wife and son. Saw a doctor and she was fab, reassuring us about my sons health to such an extent that we relaxed and the conversation moved onto fashion and my sons trousers in particular. These were a gift from friends that had not seen the light of day until diarrhea ravaged his normally passable wardrobe. Basically they are scally pants, a chavs delight, with 'Trouble' emblazoned on the backside in large red letters (in this instance it was true). Her boss entered the scene and was equally forthright and helpful with his advice and reassured us that such a 'stocky' child would be fine, even though he was blue. By the end of the session we were told that our son would survive, but we left with an obese child with shit clothes and a bundle of new found esteem issues.

As I write this my wife is talking to me and I am trying to play the diligent husband and appear that I'm listening and yet persuade her to stop talking through the subtle use of the odd grunt and shrug but without causing offence which could lead to an argument.

I have now admitted that I wasn't listening after all and a row bubbles near the surface. I attempt reconcilliation and her open palm held out in front of her face cuts me dead. One swish of her tongue can dislocate my ego as I have found to my cost in the past. I am going to quit while I'm losing.

join me in my world of pain