It suddenly occurred to me that I haven’t posted anything to my blog in quite a while. Well, mainly around the time I realised that I could automatically feed this stuff onto my Facebook page. This is a bit pants on many levels including the fact that it was my New Year’s Resolution to actually update the site.

So, this weekend I was a little bit of a party animal. Pete & Michelle turned 29 and 31 respectively last week. As one of Pete’s close mates and Michelle’s favourite cousin (obviously) and the reason that they got together I couldn’t not turn up for drinks. Jo was originally going to be coming over as well, but we quickly realised that the train fare was going to be around £20 and it would be a four hour return journey for about an hour and a half of pub time. She sacrificed herself for my drinking time and so I was able to go along *sniff* and drink until it was time for my last train home. So off I went for an evening of drinking, laughter, plums, drinking, rude bar staff from Eastern Europe, impromptu Queen songs, drinking, being special and partaking in a floor show for the benefit of a mini-cab driver.

Many thanks to Katie, Becky, Hazel, Justin, Joanna, Leanne, Amos, Lauren, Ashley and of course Pete and Michelle for making sure I had a fab and brilliant night out. Cheers!

Just finished trimming my privets (not a euphemism for anything) and I am absolutely knackered! Still, on the plus side, next-door haven’t done theirs in yonks so our front looks fabulous compared to theirs.

So we’re all sitting there at work when new-boy John suddenly exclaims
Forty-five quid for a hair-cut! Can you believe it? I’ve been robbed!
To which we all replied Don’t have it done then!
John just looked at us all and said But I already have, this morning!
and so began the saga of the haircut that wasn’t.

John’s hair looked no different from before and so we all made comments (alright, mainly me) about the hairdresser just waving the scissors about his head, ruffling his hair and saying done. To be fair, the back of his neck looked like the hair had been cut as it was all squared off but that was about it and John didn’t think to say anything when they held up the mirror for him. Turns out that John was only in there for ten minutes and most of that time was spent with his eyes closed enjoying having his hair shampooed and his scalp massaged with the hairdressers long hair wafting in his face – until he realised it was a bloke.

After further discussion, we finally convinced John that he should go and ask for his money back, but it turns out he’s a little bit shy about doing so. Reema is as incensed as Scott and I that he paid over the odds so volunteers to be the fake girlfriend to go with him and we discuss the plan. John then decides that I should go with them as I know what to say and how to get my money back from shops (thanks Mum!)…..

How stupid is it going to look with three of us going in there to complain about your haircut? say I.
But you know what to say! says John, panic seeping into his voice. OK, how about instead of Reema, you come with me? You could be my gay lover or something!
Dude, I am not about to go to a hairdressers and pretend to be your gay lover in order for you to get your money back on a haircut where they just waved scissors at you! say I, Besides, I am well out of your league!

And so it was that Reema dragged John to the hairdressers where he looked like a suitably henpecked boyfriend/husband whilst Reema raged on at the hairdresser, who when she had finished, apologised for the upset and offered a free hair appointment, adding that they gave John exactly what he had asked for: a light trim with not much off as he likes it left long. Reema turned on John with a face of thunder and said (through gritted teeth)
You mean to tell me that you asked them to take not much off and when you realised that you had paid £45 for this that you thought you should complain?
*sheepishly*  Yes.
You idiot! Come on!
And with that she thanked the hairdresser and dragged him out of the shop and back to the office.

Yes, it’s been happening for a while, but I can finally tell you when I noticed that I was old. It was on Saturday 3rd March 2007 at approximately 2100.

Damon & Lydia held a St. David’s Day Party at their flat. The idea was for everyone to wear Welsh costume or similar. As I like to get into the spirit of these things, I duly purchased a nice polyester shirt made out of two copies of the Welsh flag and duly changed my name to Gildas (it means Servant of God and is the closest Welsh name to John which means Gift from God, Jehovah has given or God is forgiving. As is usually the case when I attend such parties, I was the only one who had made an effort. Lydia is Welsh, which is apparantly enough, Damon was wearing a small fabric leek badge on his shirt and Kevin had a whacking, great-big-circumcised leek on a string around his neck. Everyone else was dressed up in clubbing gear and so I looked like a numpty. Again. Tidy.

Anyway, music was playing and when nobody seemed to care very much, I changed the CD for the Minstry of Sound Funk-Soul Classics and put on Cameo’s Word Up as it’s a firm favourite with the lads. The reaction from one of Lydia’s friends?
Ooooo, how very retro!.
Retro? say I. This is classic. I remember when it came out!
When was that then?
1986.
I was two.
I was twelve. Pants.

That was just the beginning. Turns out I would also much rather go to a nice restaurant and have a meal and some wine with good friends than go to a party at a house with loud music, weird cocktail’s and sit around trying to hold a conversation. When did that happen? Apparantly when I got old. Oh, boy!