I am sure you are wondering, with Christmas less than three weeks away, how I am going to cope with sourcing presents, given the fact that I am bedridden with two broken arms.
Thankfully, I am one of few men on this planet, who is actually organised with Christmas shopping. Each year, I try to get all of my Santa duties finished by the start of November.
Admittedly, performing my James Bond impression and leaping from a speeding mobility scooter, subsequently shattering 75% of my major limbs, did mean that a very small amount of the shopping had to wait until my hospital discharge. The most important thing is that everything has now been purchased.
Unlike many people, I actually enjoy Christmas shopping. I must be in the minority, who does not find it a stressful and terrifying experience. Buying every single gift online, as opposed to the hellish high street, certainly helped.
What I do find a harrowing ordeal, each year, is not the present buying, but the wrapping bit. I am hopeless at it. Not only because my handling of the wrapping paper and sticky tape is so bad, that any gift I do give looks like it is from a dog, but because I easily tire of the whole thing, far preferring to watch a bit of telly or make a cup of coffee.
I have managed to find one positive about my terrible injuries – getting out of doing the present wrapping! I am certainly going to ensure that I enjoy this shameful shirking of responsibility, as I know that I’ll be forced back into this mundane chore next December.
My wonderful wife, Claire, has volunteered to wrap all my presents! Compared to my usual efforts, all the gifts I give to loved ones this year, will be so beautifully presented, that nobody will believe that they’re from me.
I am sure that some of you have already thought of the flaw in my ingenious plan – if Claire is wrapping everyone’s gifts, who will be preparing hers? Well that’s simple – I haven’t got her anything. OK, clearly that’s a joke. I fully intend to shower my wonderful wife with all manner of presents.
Luckily, kindness must run in her family, as my mother and father-in-law have already offered to wrap everything I have bought for Claire.
I am clearly very grateful for this gesture, but also relieved that I haven’t bought my wife any saucy gifts. I would feel rather awkward asking them to wrap gifts for their daughter, which include props from Fifty Shades of Grey, edible knickers and pink fluffy handcuffs. Not that I would ever buy Claire such things for Christmas – I had already given them to her as birthday presents…
Meanwhile, here is a photo of a pressie bought for me. Looks like a great gift for a guy with one broken leg and two shattered arms…
I am not needle phobic. Many years ago, I was. However, after being injected more times than a junkie, I have been forced to get used to ‘assault by needle’. This kind of proves that exposure therapy works, but certainly doesn’t mean that I’ll be attending any spider handling classes, anytime soon.
Despite not running for the hills, whenever I spot a long, sharp metal object, I can’t admit to needles being one of my favourite things. I don’t recall Julie Andrews singing about them in a positive light either.
Following my operation three weeks ago, I was ordered to receive daily injections. I was given the same treatment after January’s surgery, but was able to stop the course, upon getting discharged home. The thought of coming off the things, allowed me to tolerate every stab, prod and “short, sharp scratch”, inflicted upon my stomach – yes, my STOMACH – throughout my most recent stay.
The jabs stung a tad.
You can therefore imagine my horror, when, upon being sent home, I was ordered to continue the things for 14 days!
Apparently, this is all necessary to prevent blood clots. That did make me wonder… I received very similar surgery at the start of the year. Considering that I was not told to keep injecting myself, was I at risk of turning into a giant clot of blood? If not, is the latest clinician, who I have named Dr Stabby – just a meanie, who likes inflicting pain?
I’m willing to say yes; which is why I hope he somehow ends up standing barefoot on a rusty nail.
The Roman Chalice changed hands again last night. Despite a valiant battle, Northampton Town were unable to avoid defeat to Portsmouth, and as such, the trophy heads to the south coast.
There was controversy around Pompey’s victory, however…
The fixture in which Northampton played Portsmouth and ended up losing the Chalice is a bit of a crap one. The EFL Trophy. Even the name screams dog poo.
Most of the lower league clubs who enter the competition don’t take it seriously – although, I’m sure had Northampton realised that they were defending the Roman Chalice, no doubt they would have tried harder.
The reason why associating the Roman Chalice with the EFL Trophy is controversial, is not because nobody seems to take the damn thing seriously, but because some Premier League sides are invited to play their reserve side in the competition.
Therefore, if the Liverpool kids were to take on Portsmouth and win, where should the Chalice go?
The Roman Chalice Committee – me – have come to a decision on what will happen, in order to prevent such a situation arising. Any fixture involving a reserve team, will be deemed null and void.
So there you go. Controversy solved. Simples. Put me in charge of FIFA – I can solve all those difficult problems.
With each weekly online shop, Claire and I treat ourselves to a scratch card each.
As you’ll know, the last few weeks I have been in hospital. Despite this little setback, we still had to get our gambling fix.
While lying in a hospital bed, I wasn’t really in the mood for trying to win money.
This meant that I returned home to two scratch cards. Add those to the one which arrived in today’s order, and that makes three!
The question was, from these three scratch cards, totalling £9, how much would I win? I say “I”, any winnings would be split equally with Claire.
So, how much did I… I mean “we” win?
Prepare the drum roll…
£6.00
Just the £3 loss.
For those wondering, two of the three cards were winners. Each paying £3 each. Basically a refund.
See, kids. Gambling doesn’t pay. Listen to Ray…
“When the fun stops, stop, motherfucker!”
… this bad boy went on sale in such, now deceased, retailers as Electronics Boutique, Our Price and Woolworths.
It would be another 18 months, until I was able to get my grubby little mits on one.
As anyone from the time will recall, there was always an agonising period of anxiety, at he “PS” logo, while you would pray for the game to launch and that the PlayStation would not fail. An all too frequent problem, especially as the old girl entered her twilight years.
Getting the machine chipped and burning games onto CDRs, probably didn’t help. Not that I ever partook in that kind of illegal activity…
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
