Friday, 30 September 2011

The Allowed List

OK, so I know that The Allowed List (hereinafter referred to as TAL) is a pretty commonplace thing in long term relationships, I know a lot of (probably most) couples have them, but I have to be honest and say that I don't really like them.

I Just don't get the mechanics of it. I worry about the questions it throws up, the myriad of grey areas and poor original specification of what is admissible on your list.

Why is it OK to expect the person you share your life with to give you a cheery thumbs up when you rock up at home after a drunken night out, with Angelina Jolie* in tow and announce that you're just off upstairs to do the wild thing? It just wouldn't wash if it was Brenda from next-door-but-one, would it?

Is it the fame? At what point does a person become famous enough to qualify for a TAL? If Brenda decides to cycle across Guatemala to raise money for charidee and appears on page 7 of The Leicester Mercury as a result, does that count?

Is it wealth? If so is it a relative number? Could I be a reasonable candidate for an unemployed lady's TAL somewhere?

Anyhoo, the Future Mrs Adventures and I were discussing such lists this morning. She asked if Kylie was on my list I said no (although I'm sure she's a lovely person) and told her there was only one person on mine.

David Tennant.

The one and only reason I have him on my list is because he's on the FMA's and I know she wouldn't want my cast offs.

I don't think we'll ever meet him, but if we did, Dave would just have to take one for the team (so to speak), in order to safeguard our relationship. I'm sure he'll understand.


* - To be fair, I don't think it would matter if Angelina was on my allowed list or not. If she decided she was going to shag me I'd be too frightened to say no.

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

17 hours

A beautiful day today, and as of this moment I've seen all of it. Every single minute.

I saw the birth of the new day, wearing the inky blackness of midnight, stealing in on silent tides. I sat and listened to the nagging voices of the wee small hours pointing out my shortcomings*. I was happy to watch the sun rise, burning off the mist and the doubts, promising warmth in the day to come.

And then The Dad stirred. He wandered here and there hunting for clothes, muttering about missing socks and generally being bewildered, although mercifully not in pain. For my part I tried to shepherd him in the right direction, to treat him with respect, trying to talk to the man he was.

He has a range of drugs to take four times a day that would keep Jimi Hendrix, Pete Docherty and Kerry Katona happy for weeks. Every time I hand him the small pot full of pills he looks at them like they're a mixture of Strychnine, Cyanide and Chicken McNuggets. Eventually he satisfied himself that they were acceptable and chugged them all in one go.

After that we sat in his kitchen. I'd fixed up a bowl of Weetabix and a cup of tea for him and as we sat there I chatted to him about what my plans for the day were.

He put down his spoon.

He looked me square in the eye.

He told me to give it a fucking rest.

After that, he carried on drinking his tea. I wandered into the other room and laughed hysterically to myself for a few moments. I went back in to tell him I was leaving for work, he smiled and told me to be careful.

All valid points Dad, all valid points.


* - Which is always fun, but to be honest they could have spent a lot longer on it. I thought the brief prĂ©cis that they supplied was very fair.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011


Proof, should it be needed, that even Mary Poppins has to buy toilet rolls.

Although I was there to buy alcohol, I felt an overwhelming urge to buy sugar and a spoon. Hmmmm.


Thursday, 15 September 2011

If You Can Keep Your Head When All About Are Losing Theirs....

Apparently, planking is old news. The way that the future of our country keep themselves amused these days is by 'horsemanning'.

The principle is simple; one person lays down with their head out of sight, another hides behind something so that just their head is showing and pulls a suitable face. A third captures the scene for posterity.

I suppose at least this is a little more sociable, involving three people in comparison to the two required for planking, but honestly, who would waste their time with such inane nonsense?



Tuesday, 13 September 2011

Apochryphal Lyrics part I

Ronan Keating knows nothing.

Life isn't a rollercoaster.

Sure, they scare the bajeesus out of you with their plunging drops and their rapid turns, maybe even turn you upside down and empty the cash from your pockets occasionally, but here's the problem with the analogy: When you clamber into your seat, you know exactly what the destination is before you start, you know you'll be fine. Being on a rollercoaster is, at heart, a passive experience. You're just along for the ride.


Life is a 1964 AC Cobra 427 in blue with white racing stripes.

Life is a bright red Ducati 916 with track use only Temignonis and racing slicks.

Life is a 17HH chestnut thoroughbred with an attitude problem.*

In short, if you have the skill and strength of will to control it, life is exciting and unpredictable. The destination could be anywhere, each day could take you to new places, flood your system with adrenaline, make you feel as though you are king of the world.

Unfortunately it also means that if your attention wanders life will mercilessly spit you into a ditch, land on top of you and make things very very unpleasant, very quickly. And for all that, I'm still glad that I have hold of the steering wheel/handlebars/reigns.

Although just now I'd be quite happy with a Ford Focus for a while.


* - The more observant amongst you will know that this statement marks the absolute outer limit of my equine-knowledge envelope.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Meet my maker

My Dad

A man who did great things, who built homes, lives, families, people.

A man who showed me how to be, how to live life with thought for others.

A man who showed me what quiet dignity and respect looked like and what those two qualities could achieve.

A man that laughed a lot, that made others laugh in equal measure and always, always could laugh at himself.

A man who showed me that a sharp mind is more powerful than a strong arm.

A man so much greater than this prescribed end.

I was made by my Dad.

Thursday, 1 September 2011


Edited highlights of an overheard conversation between a group of blokes whilst waiting for a cup of coffee this morning. Text in yellow is what was going through my head.....

"Dave's swimming the Channel for charity in a few weeks."
Wow, that's some feat at any time, but given that it's now September and the weather is cooling down it's even more impressive. Nice one Dave, when I get my coffee I'm going to give you a few quid.

"Actually, we're going to be swimming the equivalent distance in a pool, but it sounds better if we just say we're swimming the Channel, doesn't it?"
Hmmm. Well OK, it's still quite an undertaking. I don't think I could swim 21 miles, even in a pool. Actually Dave, you don't look that fit to me......

"Yeah, there's ten of us doing it, we'll do a mile each, go and have a cuppa and then do another mile later. But we're not telling anyone that bit 'cos we won't get the money if we do, will we?"

I suppose if the swimming doesn't work out, Dave might try his hand at marketing.