If there is one guaranteed way to look smooth, suave and sophisticated, it is drinking water from a glass bottle with a posh lid on it. You know the kind of water I mean. You get it in up-market restaurants. The bottle’s already on the table, waiting for you to open it, but you never do, because you know you’ll be charged £5,000, or something equally ridiculous like a kidney, for doing so.
This water was therefore only reserved for the super-rich or politicians dining out and putting everything down as “expenses”. That is until now. I recently discovered a new brand of bottled water called Voss. It comes in a very fancy looking glass bottle and is an affordable price! Just under £1.50 from Tesco. Needless to say I bought a bottle immediately after discovering it!
The water tastes like… well, water. Apparently it’s from Norway. Where in Norway, I don’t know. I would expect it to be from an ancient spring, which contains loads of healing benefits. But for all I know, it could come from a Norwegian bathroom tap.
Anyway, I drank the water. Since then, I have used the bottle twice – refilling it with Bath water. Not dirty bath water leftover after you have had a wash. Bath water, as in water from a kitchen tap, in the City of Bath. To me, it tasted like the Norwegian stuff. You may scoff at me for wasting my money, but I didn’t buy the water for the water, I bought it for the bottle.
Hopefully all this cheap posh stuff is a sign of things to come and I will soon be able to buy an Aston Martin for a tenner and a Rolex Watch in Poundland.
I must remember to be careful when doing the online shop. While searching for a nice rice dish for my lunch, I stumbled across this
Turns out it is dog food.
Honestly… dogs nowadays don’t know they’ve been born. They eat better than most people.
Just look at the dog on the packet. He looks happy. I’d be happy too, if I was dining on rice and chicken everyday.
Be very careful when choosing salami from Tesco. I nearly bought this for the office Christmas Eve buffet.
I’m still undecided if this is a treat made for dogs, or a treat made from dogs.
Yesterday afternoon, while I was at work, Claire text me. She was annoyed. Tesco had delivered our online shop and had cocked up. A huge bottle of milk had arrived broken and was dripping milk all over the house. Claire’s favourite weekly television listings magazine, TV Easy, was also wrong. It was an old issue. What is the point in that? I suppose Claire and I could snuggle together on the sofa, both reading the outdated magazine, and look at TV programs we could have watched last weekend.
Perhaps the biggest mistake of all by Tesco involved my Toffee Bon Bons. They were out of stock. While I can just about believe that these were all sold out (after all, they are delicious), what did madden me was their failure to provide any suitable substitution. Are they telling me were no suitable sweets they could provide instead? Whoever picked our shopping this week was very lazy, or stupid, or blind, or all of these things.
I’ll stop moaning about Tesco. Until next week, at least, when we’ll get another delivery, which will no doubt involve exploding tins of baked beans, spiders in the bananas and substituting a tube of toothpaste for a bag of toenails.
After her ordeal with Tesco, I gave Claire the night off, and cooked all the tea myself; because I am such a good husband-to-be, and also because Claire cleaned the entire house, while I was at work, with our brand-spanking new vacuum cleaner. Her brother’s girlfriend, Jess, also visited, so I felt like Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen. In fact, I was more like Captain Birdseye, considering I was only cooking breaded chicken, vegetable burgers, chips and a pre-prepared salad.
While I cooked, Claire and Jess discussed hen parties. I am still to plan my stag weekend, although have my heart set on a weekend to York, the place of my birth. Of course, when going up north, it would be rude not to make a trip to the northern home of football, Elland Road, and catch a Leeds United game. This could end badly, considering some members of my stag party don’t like football. Also, Leeds are rubbish at football, so will probably lose and ruin my entire weekend.
After eating a meal fit for school dinners, we ate Claire’s offering – chocolate and cornflake cakes. Jess then painted Claire’s face with makeup. I make it sound like they were playing games. There was a purpose behind the makeup application. It was in preparation for our wedding, less than 11 months away. While Claire will be having makeup, I have been told I won’t. If she wanted to marry a man with makeup, she would have to choose Boy George, The Joker or Ronald McDonald.
Yesterday, I made one of my rare trips into Bath city centre. One of the reasons I try to avoid town is because it is big, busy and full of annoying people. The first part of our visit involved going to the post office. Outside a group of Special Brew-drinking tramps had a fight over a cigarette. I hadn’t been in Bath ten minutes, but I was scared already.
A photo-booth was inside the post office. My passport has expired and I am going away on holiday with Claire for our honeymoon next summer. Given the recent delays travellers have experienced in obtaining passports, I thought it would be a good idea to get things going now, even though it is a year away! Therefore, to get a photo for the new passport and to hide from the brawling hobos, I jumped into the booth and closed the curtain. Minutes later, passport photos in hand and five pound coins lighter, I left the post office, making sure to avoid the angry tramps.
The next stop was H Samuel. I instantly fell in love with a china meerkat dressed as James Bond and dropped an endless of supply of hints to Claire, regarding Christmas presents for me. The purpose of the trip to the jewellers wasn’t to look at model animals. More importantly, Claire and I were after wedding rings. We saw a delightful collection of white gold rings, which can be engraved. No rings were purchased yesterday. Not just because they were considerably more expensive than the price of a passport photo, but because our wedding isn’t until next year and fingers change in size and fall off.
This would look very nice next to the television. Hint, hint, hint!
It was then all off to Holland and Barrett. A health freak shop that sells tree hugging hippy tea. I am not a health freak, nor am I a tree hugging hippy. I do, however, like herbal teas. One reason for this is I have found in the past, when I drank coffee all day long, I went a bit mad. I don’t really like bouncing off the wall, so limit myself to just one or two cups of coffee a day. The second reason is I don’t like normal tea, whether it be Tetleys, Typhoo or the stuff the monkeys drink. The third and final reason – I like these strange herbal teas. I noticed there was a special offer on the tea. Therefore I went a bit crazy and bought six boxes of hippy tea.
My tree hugger tea collection
I then made my way to Vodafone to collect a mobile phone and take out a new contract. I knew exactly what I wanted and was prepared to say “No! No! No” to any pushy sales assistants, trying to sell me extras I don’t need. In fairness to Vodafone, they didn’t. I told them what I wanted, they performed a credit check, a signed a contract, and walked away with a brand-spanking new Samsung Galaxy S5, which I am still learning how to use – I’ve been an iPhone user for over half a decade. Steve Jobs will be turning in his grave.
We did pop into a few other shops afterwards, including Iceland and Marks & Spencer, but these are not as blogworthy as the other visits, and given how boring I no doubt managed to make them sound, I won’t inflict more pain upon your eyes and brain. Blog over… for today.
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.
