Tag Archives: 2013

Day sixteen: what happened to fifteen?

Does everyone have a miracle cupboard? A cupboard of promise? A rogue tea-bag, a stale quarter packet of Brazil nuts and out of date pills? I fear mine is breeding, mutations of chewable Vitamin C & oversized Cod liver oil capsules, they have their own lock to the cupboard and the weak cannot enter, it is for immune systems who can cope only.
I was just sucking on an energy gel prior to my shattering in Tabata: round 2, which I had earlier discovered in such cupboard, after asking the Hobbit from next door to force the lock. I believe the gel was purchased stuck to the front of a glossy fitness magazine, a promotional hoodwink that drew me in-this time last year, when I made similar promises to bulk hulk up. It made the magazine feel like a quality purchase, a snip at £4.99 and so many advertisements to read! Thank you…but in 12 hours I would have a cover model physique, FACT.
The taste didn’t lead to any worry, the energy boosting gel tasted like what I imagine plastic surgery to taste like. The gold wrap, the fluorescent lies and list of energy performance substances were giving me the belief I would conquer Tabata (if you are wondering this is no Lance Armstrong confession)

The BB Date tattooed on the miniature sachet said 1st Jan 2012…so I spat it out and suffered another pounding of burpees, squats and planks. Even the brail magazines will refuse my cover audition. I puffed, I panted, I blew my lungs down. The cat likes my salty sweat though and licked my head upon a warm welcome home. Meow…you look ill. lick.

Forgive my lack of blog yesterday. I’ll simplify my excuse.
Football match (soccer) in freezing frost.
boring.
two pairs of socks.
forgot hat.
boring match.
forgot gloves.
Extra bloody time!
boring game.
We lost.

Tomorrow may be a struggle too, a late night teaching the staff room lot how to turn a computer on! They only come for the cakes.

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Day fourteen: ‘Cracking job Scribbler’

The flurry of snow didn’t quite cause the tizzy I had hoped for.  That tizzy being a day off work.  Instead the staff-room was the usual draining affair, menopause and diets (spat through biscuits) and gossip over who may be the female phantom 2pm pooer. I do most of the draining I am sure, the miserable bastard who doesn’t like hearing about labour pains or massive poos whilst he eats his sandwich…call me touchy!  The rest of the day involved a meeting in which, quite frankly, I wasn’t in, but I was, but wasn’t at the same time, it passed me by like a Big Issue Seller.  The remainder of the day consisted of talks about our moral compass: mine is pointing North West due to the Big Issue seller.

pg-28-wallace-and-grom-paI avoid the changing rooms these days, you only pick up influenza, athletes foot and a sight for sore eyes from Talc-Tackle-Ted & his scrotal spectacle…enough to scare you stiff. On editing that is a poor word choice. I’m talking of the gym, from whence I have come, which was done after my boring day and beans on toast.  Wallace & Gromit: The Wrong Trousers was on the gym television, a source of enormous motivation to all. Call me a Doubting Thomas, but that on its own is hardly a surge of adrenaline but the fact it had subtitles several seconds behind the plasticine animation hardly made me row quicker.  The Roly-Polys enjoyed it as they sat on the bikes, made a screening of it in fact, sausage roll crumbs and cheese & onion fingers washed down with an energy drink.  The peddles were glad of the rest I am sure.  I suppose they are easing themselves in, and I am sure they had to do that on entrance: greased the door frame and went in with the second class post and a good kick.

This moaning is all part of my crisis by the way: it defects from the arthritic pains and growing weakness that is catching me.  It creeps up on you like the hair on your bum, which as we know is tugged from your scalp.  In a sick turn of events I am booking myself back for a Tabata session, perhaps I didn’t make it clear to them first time I am actually this fragile.  I wonder, if I ask nicely, do you think they will put Wallace & Gromit on?

You have called me Touchy and a Doubting Thomas today, stop it.

I am the Scribbler.

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Day eight: Cats got a bite

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I was in a flap yesterday, not of the cat variety, how ironic that would have been. It was back to work ultramarine blues.  My full wrath of anger and bellyaching will come over the coming weeks, but not tonight: I am letting it swell into a mightier force, a tsunami of ill temper that I will unleash.  Remember this mid-life crisis comes early and it is planned.  No hasty decisions here.  Things on my agenda will include staffroom protocol… my blood boils.

I see the cat had a go yesterday instead of me, did a fair job too, perhaps we should form a coalition and scrawl together.  What do you think cat?… She’s not paying attention, she’s back on the hard stuff today. Biscuits that is, not heroine or smack but to her it’s probably just as good. Moments earlier the biscuits fell into her band-aid coloured bowl, it was a scene from a parachute drop in third world gratuity land – although with a cat and no helicopter, and due to personal preference as opposed to famine and desperation.

Snaffling and biting her way through the meaty atoms with aplomb she screams like a diva:

I-AMS a GO-CAT!

Yes you are.

***I had aspirations to blog everyday this year, but eight days in and already the cat is passing me a white flag purrrring for me to wave it aloft and have done with it.  The beers are doing exactly the same but so far I have been controlled.

I shall depart for the evening.  I am brewing a decaf tea for the other half, her new thing…

both cat and I will be on the look out for withdrawal symptoms.

What’s that cat? You’re passing her the white flag too?  Give her half a chance, she reads this.

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Day seven: The cat taketh over

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He made it then, my owner, made a big song & dance didn’t he?  Anyone would think it was him who had to lick his anus in the hope of jump-starting his bowel movements. He came in all a fluster not long ago, 6PM our time. Looked thoroughly pi hissed off, like someone had farted as he pulled up his socks, that sort of look.  I must admit it was nice to have the pair of them out of the house, they’ve been under my paws these past few weeks, three’s a crowd and when you’re ill you don’t want people encouraging you to take a shit every few minutes.  I can’t believe he’s been wasting time rambling writing scribbling about it on here to be honest, no wonder he was flipping-a-lid last night mumbling  ‘I’m not ready, I don’t wanna go back, I hate it, is it really Monday?  ARHHHHHHH!!! Where are my work pants?’ Pathetic really, I told him as much.

It’ll do them good to work, she went back too, earn honest money to pay for my dentures – which I presume I will receive in due course after having my chompers torn out last week.  I like licking my gums though, you know, where the holes are, kinda painful but kinda nice…you keep going back for more – like Pringles.

I thought about going outside to stretch the joints but just one look at the weather and my nipples went dense, as solid as brass buttons.   I ran a bath and had a long soak instead, thought, whilst the cats away this c…a…t      w…i…l…l    p…l…a……… that doesn’t make sense, must be the dope the vet has asked them to ‘hide’ in my food.  I didn’t even have a bath.

I did really.

I didn’t have bath.

Anyway, after my bath, he returned, looking thoroughly cream-crackered, I don’t know what it is he does but it does nothing for his sense of humour.  I begged for some biscuits, some crunch to work my jaw…
but he said I’m still not allowed.  bastard. I’ve sprayed all over his beer bottles as he lead me to believe he’s not drinking alcohol this month, so if he lapses, …..WHEN he lapses, justice will taste sweet (and the beer will taste of piss).

Considering I only have paws I think I may have done rather well here.  I’m going to log out as I have some hair to strategically place on the pillows and cushions and those trousers he is getting prepared for tomorrow.

Over and Me..owt.

P.S: I have attached a picture of me pre-op (not that sort of op!! har har) sat on the books that my owner was supposed to do something with but had ‘better’ things to do over his two weeks jollies,  like write to you lot.

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