Another Thrilling Friday Night

2007-05-25, 10:56 p.m.
BFs gone to the cemetery. It�s the anniversary of his mum�s death today (Holy Hell! Can that really be a whole year ago?) so he�s gone with Chum to do�ummm�whatever it is he wants to do. He�s taken a rose from the garden. It�s the first one of the year and he did ask me if it was Ok to take it (WTF!). I took all the thorns off for him and wrapped the stem in a bit of kitchen towel. I cant imagine how much the burial site will have changed in a year � the last time he was there was Christmas Eve and he said it looked so different he wasn�t sure he could find the right place.

In case you weren�t around here last year, it�s a Woodland Burial Site so there are no headstones or other grave markers, you just have to kind of remember �just left of the path, before you get to the oak tree� type directions. There are staff there to help you during the day if you get lost but Im not sure there will be anyone there now as its 8ish.

So, Im sitting here on my lonesome waiting for him to come back � ideally armed with a Chinese takeaway, and preferably not too drunk, although I suspect he and Chum will stop at the George and Falcon on the way back. Its thirsty work, visiting the dead.

Went into work yesterday with the letter that my doctor wrote for me, saying that if I did not get an �urgent review� of my operating practices at work then it was likely that I would need to �take a considerable amount of time off� in order to recuperate from �serious neck and shoulder trauma�.

By four o clock yesterday I had my cordless headset which I have been asking for for six months.

Tried it out for the first time this morning and it does seem to be doing the trick. I can talk and type and write and work, all without having to twist my head into stupid positions to keep the phone on my shoulder while I do it. The only downsides are that I have incredibly small ears so the headset feels really wobbly and like its going to fall off (I wore it all days and it didn�t fall off at all so maybe that�s just cos Im not used to it yet) and I have had to suffer many and varied Lieutenant Uhura/Paula Abdul jibes from my assorted colleagues. There were some other jibes too but I think they were all based on characters in TV shows which I have never watched. If I could remember any of them I would ask you lot but rest assured, if there�s a TV show with any kind of small eared, sci-fi, droid, communicator type person in it�I got called it today. Most of the abuse was courtesy of NITG � serving the dual purpose of covering for Slavey as she�s on hol at the mo, and to doubtless get me back for all the Plunkett and McLean jokes Ive made about him, here and to his face!

He and I have had a mutual confessional and have swapped blog/diary addresses. He�s on blogspot. Fucking hell I hate blogspot. What kind of site is it that wont let you leave comments for people unless you have a blog with them? There�s no point in me having another blog � I like this one � but I have friends over there that Id like to comment on once in a while. Nope. Not allowed. I think LJ is the same, too, although my friend over there made a kind of �blank blog� for all her friends so they can check up on her while she�s locked. It just seems really short-sighted to be so exclusive. Although, to be fair to them, it might just be me being thick. If any of you know how to leave comments on blogspot without blogging there, do let me know, wont you!

I found out today that the neighbour who complained about our planning application also complained that he could �hear the questions� when the pub had a quiz night. As its difficult to hear the questions if you are sat more than five feet from the bar (and impossible if you are in the loo or have nipped out for a cig), then he must have bloody good hearing, the fucking spoilsport. Either that or he�s been stood at his back fence with an ear trumpet rammed in his ear hole going �Shah Marjorie, I think they just said something about the tributaries of the Limpopo�.

Jooj came home from school absolutely beside herself with grief that she hadn�t got the part she wanted in the school Leavers Play. She wanted some kind of glamour part and has been cast as a soldier. She cried and cried. Her father told her that it wasn�t important and if she didn�t stop crying he wouldn�t let her audition for anything else ever. God, he�s a fabulous parent.

After he�d gone home I set to work rebuilding her shattered ego. As any AckTorr knows, the reason she didn�t get the part is that the directors are all a bunch of useless know-nothings who couldn�t spot talent if it was smacking them round the head with a big Talent Bat. Of COURSE she should�ve got the lead, of COURSE she was the best actor there, blah blah blah til she stopped crying. Then we started with the serious stuff.

I have explained that there are no small parts, only small actors (utter bollocks, as we all know, but she fell for it, she�s only 11!). She has had an intensive �building one�s part� training course and we have roundly rubbished all the parts that her friends have been cast in, by dividing them neatly into �sappy�, �boring�, �worthy� and �too many lines to learn�. We have discussed the difference between a neat cameo role in which one may shine, albeit briefly, before retiring to the dressing room for a cake and a read of Cosmo Girl before the final curtain call and the parts which require one to go on and off at breakneck speed, wearing one costume on top of the other for quick changes and don�t even get a chance to take a piss in the interval as you�re being made up for your transition from pauper to princess or something.

We�ve had a look through the story and there�s a good chance of some stage fighting, too.

Its 20 to 11 now and BF still hasn�t come home. He just phoned to tell me he�s going to be a bit late (noooo, y�don�t say!) and that he�s been trying to get home for an hour and a half but Chum has kept him in the pub and wouldn�t bring him home. I have scrapped the idea of the Chinese (I had some toast at 8.30 as I knew this would happen) and told him to stop whining, to either go back in the pub and have another pint or to come home, whichever he wants to do more.

Why do men leave it until they�re already late to tell you that they�re going to be late? If I say I�ll meet you at 2 and realise at 1.30 that Im still an hour away, I will ring you then and let you know that you wont be seeing me much before 2.30. A man will wait till 2.30 and then ring you to tell you he�s been held up. Well, DUH! I could�ve worked that out for myself, Einstein.

Oh, and while we�re on the subject, telling me �I phoned you a couple of times but you were on the phone� (chatting to Smash, but that�s by the by) is a rubbish excuse as we have another phone line in the studio and I have a mobile. Call me on one of those, doofus.

Gah. I predict that we may not be having earth shattering sex tonight. Not because I will be �withholding my favours� or any of that bollocks � a Pyrrhic victory if ever there was one, girls! More that he will spend a couple of hours whining about how sorry he is that he didn�t come home sooner and how mean Chum is for making him stay in the pub until I am so bored that I nod off.

Do men really think we fall for that horseshit? Why not phone at 8.30 and say �I am in the pub with my friend. Im not getting a Chinese takeaway cos Im going to stay here and have a few more drinks.� At which point I would�ve said. �Fine, I�ll go and make myself some dinner before it gets too late and then go and have a nice bath and paint my toenails instead of wandering about the house trying to fill up time til you get back and then spending an hour gossiping with my friend and taking up valuable telephone usage time wherein you could�ve telephoned to tell me what I already know. You twat."

More tomorrow

S
x

PS He just phoned me. He is walking home (along about 2 miles of country lanes). Its 11.30. Chum is still in the pub, drinking with some of his mates. BF is a twat. But not as much of a twat as Chum is. Some friend, huh?



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