House Husband

I'm at home for the next week or so, looking after Stan. I'm discovering that there's a whole weekday world I never usually experience. Oh, the joy of Tescos at 10.30am - full of pensioners and mentally ill people, all accompanied by grumpy care workers. The pleasures of daytime televison! I've never seen so many programmes about antiques, property and white trash infidelity. Whoever comes up with a series that combines all three is onto a winner, I tell you.

Does Anyone Else Do This? No. 4 in an Occasional Series

Stick with a Favourite Toilet

I realised this morning, whilst engaged in my usual morning constitutional (or ‘comfort break’ as I believe our colonial cousins call it), that I always use the same toilet at work. This suddenly struck me as an odd thing – that one could have preferences over such a mundane and utilitarian thing. It’s not like having a favourite café or bar, or even favouring an armchair in your living room. And all the toilets are basically the same. Therefore some form of psychology has to be at work here.

I notice, for instance, that I never choose a middle toilet cubicle, wherever I work. Is this because it is somehow too prominent? I suppose it’s natural not to want your bodily functions to be too conspicuous. Unless you’re a bit odd, like a girl I used to know in Leamington who had a fetish for weeing in phone boxes while I watched.

Aside from psychological nuances, I suppose that human beings are ruled by habit. Sometimes we like to break routine, but this merely confirms the patterns into which we’re normally locked. Therefore my morning constitutional is always performed after two coffees and the Guardian Concise Crossword is habitually attempted, so that I have a mental grapple as I engage in the physical struggle with last night’s curry.

Actually, thinking more deeply about it, in many ways, the morning constitutional is one of the most serene moments of my day. It’s hardly surprising that I have strong preferences as to the venue.

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall - a Fair and Balanced Critique

I notice that Steve, my friend and ‘nearly made it’ Best Man, has written a paean of praise for Gordon Ramsay on his blog. I actually dislike Ramsay’s bullying demeanour intensely, but he doesn’t get my goat half as much as Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. Christ, the more I see of that man, the more I want to burn his fucking cottage down and put him in concrete boots before throwing him in that fucking river.

Why do I hate Huge Gurning-Shittingstool? I’ll give you 5 good reasons:

1. It’s all a lie

I have it on good authority that Hulk Cunting-Fuckingpool actually spends most of his time tending to his burgeoning media empire in London, rather than his ‘small holding’. If he was really a drop-out who wanted a simpler life would he be writing books and cookery columns or appearing on Channel 4? No, he’d be happily pulling up turnips in his plot and fucking his goats. Just like any real farmer!

2. That braying, upper class voice

He sounds like a Dalek who went to Eton. His voiceovers drive me mad, as he honks on like a goose plagued by haemorrhoids. There’s no genuine feeling in any of his monologues. I strongly suspect he’s actually autistic. No, I lie. He’s just a twat.

3. The way patronises people

Part of Hung Frankly-Wanklyfool’s shtick is the way he apparently fits into his community, palling up to the locals. In fact, his manner is more that of the local lord who likes to think he’s matey with his serfs. The worst example of this was he met some black people to learn about Caribbean cookery. I’d liken his performance to David Attenborough interacting with Mountain Gorillas. I almost expected him to say “oh, so this is what you jolly negroes eat!”

And were there any black people at his ‘caribbean pirate feast’ when he ripped off their recipes? No, of course there weren’t! But at least he got to patronise some local lifeboat crewmembers. The racist cock.

4. The hippy props

The tepee, the Land Rover, the stupid pebble necklace and, especially, that leather jerkin. All no doubt sourced by a branding agency to connote the appropriate ‘alternative’ earthiness. I feel like stabbing him in his blinking piggy eye just thinking about them. Arrrgghhh!

5. He gratuitously kills animals in every programme

Now, I know animals have to die so we can eat meat. However, it’s like Hump Fuckly-Cuntyflap is intent on producing farmyard snuff movies. It’s all about context. When a pig died in the Godard film ‘Weekend’, that was art. When Hugh kills a chicken, it’s meant to be educational, but in fact it’s titillating entertainment for Guardian readers.

Hitched!

I’ve finally found some time to reflect on the wedding. It’s hard not to sound mawkish when discussing it, so – fuck it – I won’t try! My chief thought is how lucky Emily and I are to have such good friends and lovely family.

Being a rather insecure only child, I always regard myself as a loner. This means I appreciate it when friends come through for me more than most. My biggest anxiety about the wedding was that people just wouldn’t turn up. As it was, almost everyone did come and we had a great party (what I remember of the reception is vague after my first bottle of champagne!).

As for family, well, I’m always loved and respected my mum, but I’m also very lucky with my in-laws. Emily’s mum and dad have been wonderful throughout our relationship and especially so throughout the planning of the wedding.

The only thing that went a bit tits-up was that my Best Man, Steve, didn’t make it to the ceremony after getting stuck in a traffic jam. I feel bad for him, as I know he had the journey from hell (as the M11 is sometimes known). As it was, my friend Franco stepped in and made an able substitute!

Anyway, thank you to everyone who came – you really did make my day.

I'm Gettin' Married in the Mornin'!

This is my last day as an unmarried man, as I’ll be hitched to Emily tomorrow. It’s poignant (for me at least!) that this blog started as a record of a divorce and is now recording a marriage.

I’ve been doing all the last minute things – checking my suit still fits (yes, thank the heavens), writing my speech and sending out further directions to guests. It all feels very calm and sensible, but I know that serenity won’t last long tomorrow!

No doubt I’ll report back in after the wedding, but until then I’m signing off. Have a good weekend!