Wine and Women.

Not one to stereotype but why oh why in soaps do they always have women hitting the vino after a disasterous moment with a man? What's that all about? What no beer? Are we all to believe that this is representative of women everywhere in that situation? What about getting hammered on Scrumpy Jack or moonshine whiskey? Special Brew? Methys?

What's kicked this off? A crap day and Hollyoaks.

Have you ever seen a bloke drowning his sorrows with a glass of Pinot Grigio? No way! Whiskey! A bottle of non-descript spirits. Hardcore to the max. What does this say about the media? Birds drink wine and blokes drink hardcore industrial strength spirits. Come on now......

Summary of the week

Nothing is quite as disturbing as a mate of mine showing me his sexual conquest on his mobile phone. Video evidence if you get my drift.

Yet another colleague and friend is leaving work for another job paying more. His excuse is like any other. Need more money for a family. It is worrying when so many good people are leaving at once. It makes me wonder if they know something that I do not. The company I work for is haemoraging employees at the moment. Normally this kind of thing doesn't bother me, but at the same time as people are leaving they seem to be lessening the opportunity for promotion by simply putting people who have been there for sometime in promotional opportunities by default. Bad practice indeed and will likely to upset a lot of apple carts.

I met a very attractive lady with some of the biggest hands on the planet. Wow! I would've taken a picture if I could taken one without being slapped with one of those jumbo sized paws.

Another week has past and much like the one before women have come and gone. Don't get me wrong, women aplenty to talk to, but not single ones. I must attract the wrong kind clearly. Apparently the trick to attracting a women is not to be nice. I just don't get it. Be a bastard and supposedly some kind of miracle occurs. I don't think so. That little bit of advice came from a lady friend of mine. All the more worrying if it were true. The modern woman likes to be treated mean?

My arm still hurts as a consequence of attempting to drunkenly arm wrestle the kebab shop man. Oh and yes, I broke my vow of a healthier lifestyle on Wednesday.

Mr Jinx (my cat) has been trying to speak to me in catlish. I'm sure that he really does try and talk in english but due to his vocal chords can only muster something like a muffled miaow.

Getting sound advice from a friend of mine who treats his body like a temple. An ex-marine no less and one part of a party of single blokes who go out on the pull a couple of times a month. I arm wrestled him too compounding the pain in my arm.

Its amazing how after several days off the booze and fags how it is incredibly easy to get hammered on just a couple of pints. I vaguely remember Wednesday night collecting my kebab, catching the bus and attempting to follow an imaginary straight line only to realise I'm not and suddenly spotting the lady I see every morning walking a little way behind me no doubt having a laugh at my expense.

Good deed for the week? Last night after declining an offer to fill my nose with colombian marching powder, I alighted a train home early'ish. Whilst struggling to stop myself from pissing myself laughing at the conversation two young teenage chavvy girls were having, I noticed this poor woman, very pretty, and very pissed, falling asleep. There is nothing more unfortunate than such a picture of a lady who is about to fall off her chair. So as quick as lightening, I reached in front of me and caught her shoulder before she fell off. With that she thanked me, checked for drool, checked that she hadn't missed her stop and started to nod off. Just a couple of stops before mine I gently tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the station sign as a gentle reminder to her not to nod off otherwise she'd miss her stop. Not a thing to do when pissed. I think she appreciated the gesture and busied herself with her mobile phone and then make up.

On the point of missing a stop. There is no place worse for me than having to get off at West Norwood station. It is for me the biggest pain in the arse for a few of reasons. It is a shit hole of a place during the day let alone at night in a drunken haze. There are no handy cab firms anywhere near the station let alone any licenced cabs waiting there for the commuter. West Norwood happens to be far enough to contemplate not to walk home but teasingly to do so if one is brave enough. It is however very much an uphill climb home. I've done it. It took an hour of fast walking.

So it was one evening that I ended up at this crap hole of a place. Pissed off again that I had nodded off and pissed off that I knew I could walk home but I wouldn't as the area is of the most unsavory variety at that time of night. Pissed off that that was the last train. Pissed off that there were no cab firms around. A moment of genius occurred when I spotted an Indian Restaurant. With hope and faith that this place would be a sanctuary for me and a place to call a cab off I headed. Upon entering the rather plush place I was greeted with some very polite waiters to kindly told me the restaurant was shut. It didn't matter to me as all I wanted was a cab. It was then that one of the guys asked where I was headed. So I told him to which he said that he was going in that direction. Saved! As we set off he asked me how much I would normally have paid for the journey so I truthfully told him and he accepted my offer. As stopped outside my flat, and I handed over the money I asked him if he was going back to the restaurant, he gleefully told me that he lived only a couple of streets away and he was off home! Talk about making money out of someones misery! At least I got home safe. (Penny pinching bastard!).

Pubs

Whilst on the road to recovery from a particularly nasty cold I pondered the meaning of "The Local". This is in reference to ones local drinking establishment. The pub. In my case, quite reluctantly is the Sports and Social. For many years it has courted controversy, you know the kind I mean, sex, drugs and rock and roll. Heavy boozing until the early hours once upon a time was common. Besides all of that, not a bad place to drink. Not great for the singletons amongst us until Thursday/Friday night where some of parliament's finest female researchers and pals congregate in what most describe as an old man's pub. In fact for most of the week it is very much that. An old mans pub.





This got me thinking. What constitutes a local pub. What are the ingredients to make a pub a local. So recalling some of the conversations I've had over the past few years with everyone from my Dad to friends who have established themselves in certain pubs for a number of years I came up with a list of what makes a local, a local.

• Dimly lit atmosphere


• Smoke hovering permanently at approximately five feet above the ground


• Juke box with the most modern music around the late eighties


• A knarly old bloke with no teeth who is already in the pub before opening time


• Ornaments on the walls of things that nobody can squarely identify but look old


• Worn out carpet usually a patterned red, but can't really make out as it is too dirty


• Mens toilet on the ground floor and womens toilet upstairs


• Pub food


• Foreign student working behind the bar hardened by regular abuse from the mid afternoon drunkard


• The mid afternoon drunkard


• Ales served that you've never heard of before and nor have the regulars


• Toilet door that doesn't lock properly


• Worn out darts board


• Bunch of mates you only ever see in the pub
• Musty, damp smell of cigarettes and spilt beer

These are some of the things that make a local pub. Perhaps what I've listed desccribes a fantasy local pub. No actually a stereo-typical local pub.

Is there such a bad thing as a local pub when some of the more modern outfits seem more like hospital wards or hotel foyers? Don't know. All I know, is if you feel welcomed, happy to spend a night in one place without getting hassled, get pissed that night and no-one bats an eye lid the next morning about your shameful antics the night before, then its good enough for me. Rock and Roll!!

Internet dating

As someone who never says no to new ideas, (although there as somethings I just won't do) I took a couple of days off to just chill out. Two hours into my well deserved freedom I realised that boredom does not have any positive effect. So whilst surfing the web I came across ITV's Dating site. Curiousity got the better of me so I decided to enter my (false) details and got cracking with finding a fine looking laydee. Pause for a moment. I'm increasingly seeing examples of urbanite spelling such as the one demonstrated earlier. Is the english language evolving? Are we beginning to see the dawn of a new way of spellin? Yeah man, iz like iz really hip ya kno...Perhaps not. Although there are examples of exam answers where the yoof, sorry, youth of today are writing in Textlish. U Know wot I mean. Un-pause. So Putting in my criteria of the kind of lady I would like to meet (19-99) - (I am joking), along with a few other attributes, the search sprang quite a few lovely single ladies. It was only really after reading a few examples that I discovered that along with describing ones self, that there is an attribute describing what kind of person you are. You know, easy going, independent, low maintenance and high maintenance. Who on earth would describe themselves as high maintenance? Really? Sounds like a highly desirable quality. If your a footballer. Initially I thought high maintenance was someone who'd be very expensive to take out for a night or even to live with. But for the right lady, I would spent money on her lavishly. No. High maintenance sounded a little more like needy, clingy, an emotional wreck. Those words strike fear into most single people looking for "fun, friendship.....and possibly more". Does that sound cliched? It was supposed to. For some reason, everytime I read that line in a dating ad, I keep thinking that there is a silent nudge, nudge, wink, wink to add to the last two words. Clearly I watched too much Benny Hill as a kid.

Oh finally, the classic for internet dating. Whilst sifting through more ladies, I came across a picture of a woman who lived just around the corner from me, had all the attributes that I was looking for in a lady, and looked a spitting image of Helena Christensen. Wow. Too good to be true? Yep. It was a picture of H.C. Probably the reality of it? A moose. Not just any moose, probably a dungeree wearing, feminist, border line lesbian, bi-curious, hardline communist just waiting for someone stupid enough to arrange a date, for her to then shout and scream at the poor soul for being so shallow and that beauty is only skin deep. Yeah. Yeah. Come on love, face it, it helps to look a little attractive. Just a second, is there a copyright liability for using someone elses face ? Mis-leading? Could I get my money back if she wasn't the real deal? Defamation of character? This dating stuff is way too complicated sometimes.

Old Age - (re-edited for the slightly sensitive person)

It must be a sign of maturing. I'm lying in bed nursing a hangover. Not a headache. I never get one even after having been on a massive bender. Nope, just the wasted feeling. Now I know what older people feel like when the old vino becomes more potent than it was several years back.

Actually while I'm on the subject of boozing. Last night seemed a very odd night. Oh hell, the whole week has been colourful to say the least. Lets start with the training course. I got in late, spent the first half an hour pissing about trying to get my head together. The course went well and I took the course trainer for a beerski. I should have left when he did, but of course me being me, I stayed for more. Then I spotted this really fit babe that I'd met some weeks back with her flat mate who's a top bloke. I sat with them for a considerable time. Two extremely pleasant people to indeed.

Some time later <> walks in with barely a hello to begin with and Foxy followed shortly after looking as glamorous as ever. The two seemed to have some kind of comedy act going on. Both blonde and a little dizzy that evening. I continued talking to my new chums until the fit babe had to leave. I sat for a while longer until I realised I hadn't spoken to the other two. So with that I brought along new chum and Joe the Sparky who I mentioned to them earlier that sexy babes Foxy and <> were at the other side of the bar. It kept the girls entertained or should I say the other way around while I played darts.

The next thing I know, another lady friend of mine pulled me to one of the poshest dinner party events I been to for a long while. Not only that but I was waited on hand and foot. Christmas dinner was brought to me along with free booze and a pudding. I stepped out to visit the loo and found myself a little lost. When I eventually found my way back Foxy and <> called out to me. Somehow they had managed to blag their way into the event too. I've missed a little detail. All three women are friends with each other. The only problem was that my lady friend had fallen out with the other two, or should I say the other way around. Note to ones self. Never, ever get involved with a bunch of squabbling women. Terrible. Not only that but I had every intention of going to a friends party that evening. But the ladies were not so keen to release their pawn (me) in their battle.

So to summarise the week. I nearly ruined a wedding, I've been stalked, and I've been used and abused. How low can a bloke feel eh?

Actually the wedding bit turned out really welll for my mate Sweetie. Seems a good heart to heart with Big Nut about his seeming upsetting antics has got them back on track. So there must have been method in my accidental madness. I glad they are happy again. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself too well if it got cancelled. I'm not so sure about attending the wedding though.