I'd like to thank my beloved for allowing me to use "Your Bloody Electronic Mistress" between the hours of 5-6 am and 7-8 pm (except at weekends, when it's "sneaking in under the radar" when she's having a little post-lunch nap).
I'd like to thank Richard [of RBB] and the temporarily absent ManOfErrors, who introduced me to the world of blogging.
I'd like to thank The Curmudgeon for proving that there's someone out there who's as bitter, twisted and cynical as me.
I'd like to thank Second for continually disappearing. (Keep it up Second, you'll get it right one of these days, and disappear permanently)
I'd like to thank all of the weirder manifestations of disturbed psyches who keep appearing, leave inane comments and then bugger off.
I'd like to thank all of the little people who allowed this gentle and unassuming blog to reach over 20,000 views in just 9 short months.
|9 short months|
I thank you. I couldn't have done it on my own. [Ed. Well actually you could have. If you were willing to do nothing but click onto your own blog every spare second of the day, then it is possible to build up a huge number of hits. But only a sad and twisted person would stoop to such depths of iniquity]
However, I would like to get back to my topic, The Weather.
Last Tuesday (The Canterbury Earthquake Day), while my beloved was watching the news develop on TV, and I was doing the same on "My Bloody Electronic Mistress" (The time allowance having been extended due to the terrible events of the day), I heard my beloved mutter something about the weather.
Now we'd just had our sports day cancelled (see the last post - Weather) due to heavy rain, and I thought my beloved was referring to that, so I sort of grunted in agreement, then my sub-conscious and extremely suspicious (let's call a spade a spade; its not just suspicious, it's completely insanely paranoid) reptilian brain put up a flag that what she said did not coincide with what I thought she had said.
|The Reptilian brain is the oldest (and most suspicious) part of teh Brain|
This next part may come as a shock to any members of the gentler sex who peruse these pages.
Men don't really listen to your inane lists of things that have happened.
We don't care that cousin (twice removed and lives in Stoke-on-Trent) Gladwys has had surgery to those bits that guys don't want to talk/think about. (We don't mind looking, especially if there's two women and mud involved, but we don't want to talk about it.)
We don't care that butter has increased in price another 5 pence/cents.
We don't care about the plot of whatever cheap American-imported soap opera you've been watching during the day while we've been working like dogs, bringing in the money we need to survive.
We don't care about your opinion on politics/sports/industrial relations.
We don't care about what plans are boiling in your little cerebellum regarding future celebrations of birthdays, anniversaries, St. Valentine's Days, Mother's Days, Father's Days etc.
If any of the above are initiated while occupying the marital bed, then we're all attention until either:
We fall asleep (10 minutes max)
We get sex
We get sex, then fall asleep (5 minutes max)
Men have developed a defence mechanism called the anonymous grunt.
Anything stated by the partner can be responded to by using the grunt. It can sound affirmative or it can sound negative, or even non-committal. The beauty of the anonymous grunt is that it sounds like the expected response. If your beloved thinks she should be hearing a "YES", it sounds like you are agreeing, and vice versa. If she wishes to discuss the topic in more detail, she hears the anonymous grunt as a request for more information, which allows her to happily prattle on.
Please don't be upset, any lovely ladies who are reading this (Fflur, Nicola and Ax included) we don't mean to offend you, it's just a simple defence mechanism. Guys want to talk about nuts and bolts, We want to talk about problem solving. We would happily talk about the best method to fix/repair a damaged door for hours (especially over a few beers and the back of an envelope with a pencil in hand) but we don't like (read hate) to discuss feelings, or emotions or relationships. It's just not us.
Anyway, back to the weather.
Oh bugger, I've run out of time. Must head of to Nuova Lazio High School to get the relief set up. I'll tell you all about what my beloved said about the weather next time.
It was really odd.