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Thursday, 31 May 2012

Disastrous Mistake

I'll be the first to admit that I'm getting old.

Aches, pains and sniffles take longer to throw off, and what little hair I've got left is almost all white.

I can't force my bladder to hold the waste products of the 8 litres of beer like I used to.

Actually I can barely force it to hold the products of a cup of tea most days.

But I accept all this.

It's part of life, and I do get some compensation.

I get offered seats in buses.  Little boys run screaming from my scarred and wrinkled visage.  Dogs cower.  Policemen (God, aren't they getting young) show a modicum of respect before breathalysing me.

There must be something about me.  I'm a careful driver, no accidents in over 15 years ,apart from the incident with the concrete bollard. 
I ask you, what idiot designs a bollard  that doesn't have high intensity blue flashing light attached.?

Anyone could have missed it. 

It was only 1.5 metres high. 

I tell you, I blame the designer.  However I digress.

I always get stopped by cops and asked for a breath sample.  I don't weave all over the road, I don't (really) break the speed limit, I don't throw empty bottles of whisky out of the windows, I don't drive naked with bits of my anatomy dangling from the window (apart from that one time in Germany) so I don't know why they stop me, but they do.

How did they know?
Of all the aspects of rapidly approaching ancientness, the one that really pisses me of are the memory lapses.

I used to have a good memory, and in most instances I still do.

I can vividly remember the incident of the collapsing bed in Singapore.

I can remember the first science fiction book I bought in Newquay, Cornwall over 50 years ago.

I can remember throwing up (after about 3 whiskies, 4 rum and blackcurrants, and a very large Jagermiester) over the roof of an ex-SS barracks in Germany, over 40 years ago.

I can remember a holiday in Crete with 2 mates, where our consumption of Ouzo and Moussaka is is spoken of in a hushed whisper, as of a legend of old, and that was over 30 years ago.

They did what?

I can remember vividly (even after the internal cranial application of a wire brush and Dettol) the tales told to me by a Lesbian social worker/student, of her desperate search for a man good enough to convert her back to heterosexuality.  This was especially vivid as she had just finished recounting the explanation of why she was wearing a neck brace.  The explanation involved a detailed and exceedingly graphic account of her evening encounter with another Lesbian social worker. 

Now you know.

It included words like: "Thigh muscles that could crack Walnuts", "Involuntary muscle spasm", "Labia the size of Pilchards" (I had to open a can to check this) "Contortions more suited to a double-jointed seal, following the teachings of the Marquis D' Sade"
That was over 20 years ago, and I still wake up screaming some nights.  My Beloved says I'm screaming "More, More" but I'll deny it with my last breath.

I can remember just 14 years ago, when, just before I flew out to Godzone (New Zealand), I attempted to teach a Religious Studies class I was temporarily asked to cover.  The horrified and terrified looks on the little kiddies faces when I began to recount the details of a Black Mass will stay with me forever.  And forever warm the cockles of my heart.

I can remember in exquisite detail the first time I arrived in NZ.  I flew into Wellington Airport.  I was so looking forward to working in this South Pacific Paradise.

So I was a little concerned to see the way the plane was being blown all over the place by some really nasty winds.  After we landed (sideways) and got through customs and biosecurity (HINT:  Never even try to smuggle a deadly orange into NZ.. I think they shoot you) we exited into the main concourse.  The first Kiwi I saw was standing barefoot. He was wearing a tatty black singlet and a pair of shorts even more disreputable than my trusty Army shorts currently residing in my suitcase.(How they ever got through biosecurity I'll never know).

Typical Kiwi dress code
 "I could get to like this place" I thought.  Then I saw out the windows my first sight of horizontal rain.  Not just the rain was going horizontal.  At least three airport baggage trolleys, a couple of wastebaskets, and I could have sworn , a bemused sheep, went flying past.

So how is it that if I can remember all these little details, I forget what the hell I'm supposed to be teaching my class.

Complete Blank © TSB
I can be standing at the board, about to go onto the next point, and...
And all is blank.  The facts and important features of Database I was about to explain had vanished form my mind like the way an offspring vanishes when anyone mentions "washing up"

But that is not the worst.

This morning I forgot it was my wife's our wedding anniversary.

Pray for me.

I'm f*cked.


  1. You are in SO much trouble mister... It might be easier to emigrate. Or did you cover your ass with some sad I would!

  2. Ah Tempo, I'm glad you're mind and mine works well together.

    OF COURSE I lied. And then I spent copious amounts on my credit card to get lovely prezzies delivered all through the day.

    I'm still alive.

    'Nuff said.

  3. I wondered what disaster you were leading up to! Stay strong, it will be OK.

    1. I'll try. It's only a bloody date. I'm sure she'll forgive me. If she ever starts talking to me again, I'll ask her.

  4. No No NO! Tattoo it on your inner thigh or forehead (in reverse so you can read it in the mirror) use it for every possible password etc. etc. Never, ever forget that date... when's mine again... Oh crikey only 2 months away!

    I'm now fearful that this will strike me down...

    1. Good idea, but no. I only alow tobacco and the occasional whisky to pollute the temple that is my body, so no tattoos. Anyway, I'd think it'd hurt too much.

      Good idea about the password, but what if I forget it again...that means I couldn't even logon.

      Don't worry too much. It must happen to each man at least once. Just accept the inevitable

  5. You are that!. Yes how can I remember all the words to Fred Dagg's songs but never ever the birth dates of my children

    1. Yep, life is not a box of fluffies at the moment. It's good to know that even ladies can show a slight imperfection, but I'm surprised by the birth dates. I always thought remembering birthdays was required of ladies by some kind of natural law.
      I've programed my kids' birthdays into my computer, so it always gives me a week's notice. Pity I didn't do the same with the anniversary date.

  6. No TSB Nooooooooooooooooo............


    1. Yep. Kind of like getting a kick in the goollies.

      Hope you never forget lady G's

  7. Our father who art in heaven (does art in heaven?)...
    and please make TSB's pain as swift as possible, poor old chap is getting on a bit. Anyway, isn't teacher only day and sitting through long lectures with First Man and others unable to resist the attention of asking pointless long questions enough punishment?

    1. If there's art in heaven it's probably being taught by a music teacher.
      Aaagghh, I forgot about his "asking pointless questions to appear important" syndrome.

      At least you'll be able to escape to Wellington. While you're sipping your Chardon, think of us.

  8. Happy Anniversary TSB. Mines in June too. Hey send her some flowers to the house in the meantime and take her out for a nice surprise dinner tonight (or maybetommorrow if you are too tired tonight). I'm afraid matey you'll jsut have to "suck it up". How can you forget this date after so manyyears. No excuse! Whats that?? I can hear her sharpenning her knives from my place. I shall pray for you.

    1. The recovery strategy is in place. I'll let you know how it worked if I'm still alive next week.

      Oh SHIT. I just realised. She's been collecting those new razor sharp knives from Countdown for the last month.

    2. Yes I told you I could hear the sharpening of knives earlier. However,its stopped now.
      Hello Hello??? TSB are you there??? Oh dear, I nervously await the news headlines tommorrow morning - Another crime has occurred this week in Silverstream. Middle aged man found knived to death in own home. A suspect has been apprehended and is in custody, until a court appearnace on Monday. (BTW was that you who robbed the local pub the other night in desperation to get more whisky?? - Oh no it could'nt have been you. The robbers took cash, not whisky...unless things are getting really desperate).

    3. Dear VG, please get a grip!

      Of course I'm here , but I've been dealing with NZQA moderation most of the week.

      You know the drill.
      Faking internal moderation cover sheets.
      Fixing kid's mistakes in their work.
      Forging signatures.
      Making uo marking schedules on the fly.

      And worst of all, Ringo is in charge.

      And no matter how much it hurts (and it really, really does) he's been quite fair about the whole thing.

      Pity he forgot to mention to anybody what the deadlines were, or what he wanted in the moderation.

      No, I didn't rob any pub.

      Mrs. TSB normally keeps me well supplied with whisky.
      Her motto is "A comatose man is a man who is easy to control"

    4. Good to know your are alive TSB. So you fake the internal moderatoin sheets too? Now did you teach me that or did I teach you that? Whatever. And whatever works. Anything to get the bastard off our backs.

    5. I'm not to keen on the word fake.

      Couldn't we just use the words "creatively enhanced?"

    6. Yes that sounds much better. Like creative accounting, which can be a lot of fun juggling those numbers aorund to one's advantage, until your'e caught of course.

  9. I am so looking forward to the next installment of a day in your life to hear how the reparations went. Are you positive your Beloved isn't just pretending to be a bit more upset than she actually is? So that she can milk it? We women can be devious sometimes.


    1. I'll post as soon as I can use my fingers again. Oh, YES, I can absolutely guarantee she's upset.

      Have you ever tried to eat meat that is 10 DAYS past sell buy date?

      I know that women can be devious. That's why we love you so much.

    2. Oh God, I think I love your wife. That is so funny - feeding you expired meat. That's so naughty and passive agressive. In fact, I can picture myself doing something like that! Okay, maybe 10 day old meat is stretching it a tiny bit. Once I gave my Beloved nothing but a tiny meat pie with a packet of chips (crisps still in unopened bag)on a plate for dinner, knowing he was starving and looking forward to a nice, hearty home-cooked meal. Suffice to say I was angry with him when I did this. I also pack him very little for work if he's upset me. There might just be sandwiches in his lunch box for work for a few days in a row....and those sandwiches might be made with bread that may be a wee bit stale. Mind you, I have to really upset/angry to do this type of thing. What makes me love him even more is that he eats his punishment and doesn't say a single word about it. It's almost like we have a language that says if you're really sorry, you'll eat what I give you and say thank you for it too.

      Just hope you didn't get sick. Did you act like you enjoyed the meat?


    3. I honestly think it was an error.

      M'son and I sat down to eat the steaks, but he (he works in catering) detected the aroma of rotteness quicker than me. My Beloved had a second set of steaks in the fridge which we then cooked, but they were off as well. All the meat was returned to Woolworths the next day, and a full refund was given.

      I really like your method of communicating with your Beloved, but I'm just glad I'm not him. Stale bread is a bit much.

      I suppose as a method of communication it's better than a rolling pin bounced off the bonce, but not by a huge order of magnitude.

  10. Your life has become a Proust novel!

  11. Ahh, but these things can be made up, yes?


    Yeah. You're fucked.



    p.s. Why did the car start on fire? Don't know, really. Started in the engine and kind of took over from there. To tell the truth, I walked away from that car, never looked back. Have no idea what was done with it or why My Fair City didn't send me a bill for its disposal, but there you have it.

    1. Yes, No, Maybe. We'll see.

      So it's the Clint Eastwood car.

      The car with no name.

  12. It must be catching. Despite signing my girls up for soccer online, paying for soccer, buying new soccer cleats, and digging out last year's soccer shin pads and socks, I was sitting peacefully in a chair in the living room this morning drinking a coffee and reading a book without even the smallest subconscious prodding to let me know that I had forgotten to take the girls to their soccer game.

    It's a good thing my daughter has a better memory than I do, we made it by a hair's breadth.

    Anniversaries are tricky. I think that regardless of the actual date, they should all be celebrated on the same day, say Valentine's Day, with lots of advertising during the run-up. That way we wouldn't forget.

    1. Ah, been there, got the T shirt and seen the film. Memory is tricky. I'm glad your daughter has the memory trick.

      Excellent idea about Valentine's day. Let's make every important event take place on the same day.

      We could call it Husband's F*ck Up Day.

      Take it from me. We'd still forget. Because basically, we just don't care. A date is just a bloody date.

  13. Great post etc etc, but really! When is the next one coming? Surely you realise that the soap opera that is NLHS has become an addiction for some of us, second only to Coronation Street. I need my fix - please give us the rundown on Friday's child-free day. Your loyal readers await ....

    1. Wow, now hold on. Jus' gie's us a break sunshine.
      Have you read the previous kid-free day report?
      see here

  14. I'm not "getting" old. I *am* old! Embrace it.

    I consider my dilapidated memory one of my defense mechanisms. It keeps me from remember all the sad stuff.

    In Ian Fleming's "Goldfinger," one of the plot points has Bond converting Pussy Galore to heterosexuality with his superior lovemaking powers. I thought these things only happened in fine literature.

    I have a fool-proof reminder of our wedding anniversary. We were married on 9/11. Not THAT 9/11. But a 9/11 nonetheless.

    1. I'm not trying to hide from the spectre of age, and I actually enjoy the cachet of grumpiness that comes with my wrinkles.
      I kid you not. The Lesbian social worker had been married before and had a baby before leaving her husband and running away with a lesbian fish-filleter and gutter. They had set up as a family in Dundee, but she was re-converted to the joys of heterosexuality by a mate of mine called Dean.

      I tell you, real life beats fiction every time.

      9/11? Yeah, that one would be difficult to forget. Bet I could do it though.

    2. Just wait till you really are old and have dementia. Then you will have an excuse maybe.
      Does'nt mean she'll be any kinder about it though, I bet, unless she has dementia also. Then she probably won't even remember you.
      Just like on the movie 50 First Dates. A sweet love story but a rather repetitive theme.


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