Grumpy old bastards

The picture has no relation to anything.

Thsi is one I sent to Linda for Guest in Jest.  Please head over to her site and take a look.

I am not sure that we ever truly feel our age, I know I certainly don’t though I am fast approaching fifty.  I am perhaps a little slower, broader and less inclined to carrying unfeasibly heavy things unaided than I once was but mostly still feel somewhere in my early thirties.  My eldest was just born and energy was in abundance and I was perhaps a touch more excitable than I am now.

I did however feel my age somewhat on Friday evening.  For 12 years now the same half a dozen chaps from work have been coming over each month (with some periods of inactivity) to play poker.  We all worked together once but have since moved on so it is great to eat, drink and be merry.

It was much to my horror though that a few of the lads seem to be exhibiting classic old man syndrome (which I will refer to as OMS for the remainder of this piece).  One chap, I shall call him Paul, because that is his name, expressed the sort of fear of gadgetry that only someone with OMS can display.  As we discussed the merits of the commected home he was covinced that the risk of wifi enabled light bulbs far outweighed any benefit they might offer.

Apparenly they can be hacked and people can then take over your computer and your life and all manner of beastly things can happen.  I am pretty certain that he was convinced that my Roomba (you know those automated vacuum cleaner things) was eying him up and that should he perhaps trip and fall and bang his head he would come to only to find that the Roomba had taken off his trousers and was rubbing itself against his exposed anus in a most sexual manner.

Simon was next to exhibit symptoms.  Simon is a bright lad, a great coder and hardly someone that should be fearful of technology.  I have seen him impliment some quite fantastic data solutions over the years but when it came to my Amazon Alexa it was beyond him.  He could not simply shout across the room for her to play a selection of songs from the nineties.  No.  He had to leave the table, wander across in the nervous way one might approach an attractive woman in a pub, and with all of the confidence of that man who knows full wel that she is out of league mumbled something about Oasis.

Alexa ignored him.

To complicate matters the Alexa is connected to a Sonos speaker…

I eventually had to step in when he was shouting at the top of his voice insisting that Alexa was a dick head with ‘Dont look back in anger’ blaring out of the Sonos and the Alexa playing ‘Wonder Wall’ equally loud.  Apparently he also managed to  play ‘Champagne Supernova’ in my youngest’s bedroom at full volume which nearly made him shit the bed.

Oh and two of them were drinking Becks Blue non alcoholic beer because they had to be up to play golf in the morning.

Next stop the nursing home and pissing myself as I watch Diagnosis Murder reruns.


I think we all wish we were just a bit like him…


I saw that number plate on the way home today and it got me to thinking as to just what sort of person must they be that they are so confident in their fun factor they that he would demonstrate its apparent stellar quality in such a manner.  To have BIG FUN as your number plate you must surely be special.

Now I am going to suppose it is a man as I doubt a woman would ever boast of her ability to have fun in such a way.  Maybe it is just me and the way I was brought up but were it a woman driving such a car with that number plate I would imagine she was prone to sexual dalliances and enjoys a jolly good seeing to with anyone who was kind enough to buy her a whisky sour.  I know that is awful of me, and you know what – I blame society and my parents.  She might just actually be great fun and enjoy practical jokes and paintballing.

To be clear, those aren’t the opposite ends of some fun scale I have when assessing the funness of a woman.

So I am sat there in traffic imagining him and I did feel somewhat intimidated.  I like to think I am good fun when I am out, especially after a couple of whisky sours but he is probably the sort that makes me feel inferior and withdraw somewhat.

It was a bit like that time I saw a chap at the swimming baths with the largest penis I have ever seen.  He had a carer with him as he had some rather apparent learning difficulties but what he lacked in one regard nature had certainly compensated him for in the underpants department.  He strutted around the open change room like a Grecian god swinging care free and repeatedly bashing into the lockers.  He was having a fabulous time of it, blissfully happy and beaming from ear to ear and it left me feeling wholly inadequate.

But back to our fun time Freddie.  What must he be like I wondered?  Great hair for one – fun people are prone to fabulous hair I find, probably quite a thick head of it or maybe even a rather lovely curly to it.  It goes without saying that he is probably a fabulous dresser too.  He was driving a Mercedes so I am putting him in to the funny, charming and the life of the party type of fun rather than the whacky, silly voice office buffoon type of fun.

I bet you a fiver he had a really nice watch too.  And that he was a great lover, and kind to animals and would probably clear your drive of snow and salt it from that store of salt he keeps just in case.  In fact I bet he did all the neighbours drives.  Before they got up.

And oh what fun he is.  No party is the same without him, he lights up a room with his very presense and when it comes to charitable giving he…

Ok I think I have perhaps gone too far.  I just accidentally wrote more than five hundred words about a man I have never met and my wife will probably read this …

Love you wife x

A quite accidental beard.

A piece on beard growing and there is also a reference to a 3 way with the Clintons.

it seems that I have, quite by accident, grown a beard.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe it miraculously sprung up overnight, that would be silly, but I think it might have been sneaking up on me slowly over the last week or two whilst I have languished and enjoyed a fortnight’s holiday.

Alas though it is not a bear of much note.  It is not a magnificent shag of a thing – full and glistening and well oiled.  It is not styled or quaffed to accentuate my jawline nor is it the type that one might wear accompanied by the type of shirt a lumberjack may prefer.

No, it is none of these things and it does not in any way make me look trendy, sophisticated, well travelled or likely to be found sipping a rather pleasant coffee somewhere with free wi-fi.

It is instead a scratch homeless person affair which serves only to make me look like an ageing alcoholic with an aversion to bathing.

Year round, I am smooth cheeked and shaven headed for the most part and in fact I am usually rather thuggish looking in my appearance given the combination of the skin head and my tattoos.  If I was to characterise my looks as a political party, then I would most certainly be Donald Trump’s right leaning Republicans.

It worsens though, because in addition to the accidental beard I also seem to have somehow acquired a ludicrous unintentional mop of hair curly hair to accompany it.  So much of a surprise is it that I do not recall how I styled my hair when I was last in possession of any.

If my previous self was to be imagined as a statue-protecting-bed-sheet-wearing Republican then my current self is more likely to be caught in a very dirty pot fuelled three way with Bill and Hilary Clinton.

So what to do?  I think I shall ponder my accidental beard and the accompanying unintentional hair and let you know what i decide to do, because the wife says she rather likes it.

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

Photo courtesy of Pexals @ pixabau

The hidden depths of men.  Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto

“All I really wanted to do was spend a bit more time down the pub and read a bit, but you should see my foxtrot, I’m not bad you know”

“If you ask me” Gerald insisted, “feelings are wholly overrated!”  He took a long slug from his beer and stared into the flames. “Jane is always wanting me to share things and open up, but that’s just not me you know” he continued.

“I always try and explain that to my wife” Thomas answered, placing more wood on the fire, “I tell her that I am just not that deep but she seems desperate for me to share some inner most thoughts.  I don’t really have any though.”.

Gerald nodded in agreement.  “You know, once I actually made some stuff up about me having some hidden pain in my past that I didn’t want to talk about”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“We were young, she was hot and I thought it might make me more interesting.”  He finished the beer and reached into the cool box for another.  “She always loved poetry and those arty films and stuff and I figured I might stand more of a chance if I pretended to have some inner demons.”

“Many things you are mate, but deep you are not.  Unless of course you count the love of beer and football and pies as something that makes you whimsical or brooding or whatever the hell it is she wants” Thomas laughed.

“I know, and now she’s forever wanting me to talk about stuff.  She even suggested I see somebody because she thinks I’m repressed.” Gerald said, scratching his head.  “Turns out I’m just not that interesting but 20 years into a marriage I’m not really sure what I can do.”

“So what’s set her off then, has she always been like this, you’ve not mentioned it before.”

Gerald waited before replying, he wasn’t really sure.  “Maybe with the kids being gone we have less things to distract us.  We had Elsie so quickly and the twins followed not long after.  I think she might be bored too.”

“Mate, that happened to us” Thomas said “I ended up taking dance classes with her and writing a travel blog because she thought we needed to enrich our lives more and enjoy the time we had together.”

“Did it work?”

“All I really wanted to do was spend a bit more time down the pub and read a bit, but you should see my foxtrot, I’m not bad you know”

The door to the house opened and Jane’s head popping through “Come on you two, I know you’re probably deep in conversation but dinner is ready.  You can come tell us what you’ve been talking about”



Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto