No More Sore Ankles and Elbows

I’m not sure about the rest of you out there in blog land, but I decided to join the annual horde of people in the sales. However, this year I failed to get my ankles bashed by manic women with prams containing screaming children nor were my elbows bruised by the sheer weight of my (mostly) pointless purchases.

I even managed to avoid the stress of finding a car park space, sweating it out in an overly long queue and packed to the rafters shopping centres. I also joined in the annual buying frenzy in nothing but my pyjama bottoms, a cup of hot tea, a glazed donut and a smug smile – and all without being arrested.

Yeap, this year I made all of my sales purchases by pointing-and-clicking on the good old Internet.

People may complain that it’s destroying the high street, but my purchases were all from major high street chains with an Internet presence – and the foresight to run their sales on-line too.

Also, by doing my sales shop in the virtual world I even managed to avoid that impulse purchase of the usual piece of crap for a few pounds near the tills. You know the stuff I mean, talking key rings, garish belts with massive buckles and lime green bobble hats that you wouldn’t be seen dead in – but heck, it’s 90% off so must be a worthy bargain (after all, why else would they be giving them away!?)

So I’m now smugly sat with my freshly delivered DVDs with £100 savings and two fantastic designer shirts with combined savings of around £75. The only downside is that I was unable to get my designer jeans – some other Internet nerd beat me to those. Still, I’m sure I’ll get my chance in the post-Christmas-pre-Easter clearout coming to an Internet connection near you soon...

Just What I Always Wanted!

So, Christmas day is pretty much out of the way and the turkey is looking a little thinner than it was this morning. I’m feeling rather full and my stomach is currently in "simmer" mode for the next few hours – that is before I resume shovelling in mince pies and alcohol sat in front of the television watching the Doctor Who and Doc Martin Christmas specials.

Presents wise, I did quite well this year. I got four rather nice new shirts off various family folk plus some new aftershave (people must think my wardrobe is in need of renewing and that I smell). I also got the usual collection of bits-and-bobs plus, in the much sought after "lack of presents" department, there were no socks, ties or underpants (a first for heaven knows how many years!)

Anyway, you must excuse me, I have a mince pie with my name on it…

Leaving it to Fate

Well tomorrow is the big day. The booze will be flowing, the bird will be undercooked and there’s bound to be some “interesting” presents to be opened that you’ll either (a) never wear or (b) never use.

Never the less, I’ve played it safe this year and resorted to either things people have actually asked for, books, DVDs, CDs or vouchers. And since it’s a well know fact that men hate to shop - the majority of these presents were purchased via the good old Internet. Hopefully, all presents will be gratefully received without too many returns or surreptitious askings for the receipt.

But it’s yet another year without a gift to buy for that special person in my life. I had high hopes for 2006, but I guess you can’t have it all – especially since I did manage to achieve one objective out of two for the year (that being my new super-whizzy job). So when the family disperse tomorrow, they’ll head off to visit their girlfriends or head home to spend a cosy night together. As for me, I’ll get to wash up the mountain of pots and endure having my lack of love life being the main topic of conversation.

Still, that doesn’t mean there’s no activity in that department. My current Match.com friend could still be an interesting possibility as, just when I’m about to give up on her, she always seems to pop up with a phone call, text message or MSN message.

She talks a lot about always being busy at Christmas, seeing friends, looking after her family and going to various parties, but I always get the feeling that she’s going with “someone else”. But then again, if she was, why would she bother contacting me and showing me pictures of her party dress? Guilt perhaps, or I’m I just being paranoid – as you can become when attempting this Internet dating lark?

I know she's been hurt in the past, so perhaps she's just taking her time - or wanting to get Christmas out of the way first. Perhaps once the silly season is out of the way I’ll get a better picture of where things might be going. Anyway, I’ve decided to stop my endless nights of worry as to whether she’s really interested in me and just leave it down to fate. That way, if it’s meant to be, it will be.

Finally, Happy Christmas to all of you out there in Blog land.

Bah Humbug!

Christmas is that the time of year where people go temporality insane and buy the most ridiculous presents that will either get used once, not at all, or quietly returned for something more appropriate when the gift giver is not looking.

So after much consideration I have come up with the top five most useless Christmas presents in the known universe:

1. The Chocolate Fondue Fountain

Is this some sort of Swiss led attempt for world domination? Just what the bloody hell do you need one of these for? If there was ever a “use once and shove in a cupboard” gift then this is well and truly it. Listen, we’ve tried it before with the cheese fondue - and we hated it then - and replacing the cheese with chocolate still isn’t going to work.

2. The Smoothie Maker

Right. Let me get this right. You place some fruit and ice cream in the top, switch it on, mash the contents up in to a fine paste, pour and then enjoy. Er, excuse me for being a bit slow on the uptake here, but isn’t this just a blender with a tap?

3. The Juicer

See above. Except replace fruit with a carrot. Vomiting after drinking resulting mush is optional.

4. Jamie Oliver Flavour Shaker

The packaging happily informs you that it’s a "fun, quirky and highly original food preparation item" No it isn't. It’s an expensive salt and pepper pot!

5. Home Karaoke Machine

I thought the whole idea of Karaoke was to stand up in public and, usually after much quaffing of alcohol, blast out in your best drunken voice some of the words to Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”. Now where’s the fun in doing that in your front room?

She’s Certainly Got The X-Factor

So call me an old cynic if you like, but I loathe any television show where Z-List celebrities come out of the woodwork to sing, eat bugs or dance around a television studio in their tuxedo. After all, once the show is over, both the winners and losers get some much need publicity – and hopefully work – from their efforts. And there's me thinking it was all for our entertainment.

So, as with the X-Factor, I always suspected that the only people that made any money from the show were the three judges - Simon Cowell, Sharon Osbourne and Louis Walsh. Year on year winners have come and gone (I couldn’t even tell you who the previous winners were) but this year one person in particular caught my ear. I just happened to be passing through a room whilst the show was on and thought “Oooh, that Leona person can’t half sing”. As a result, and for the first time ever, I started to sit down each week and watch the X-factor to how she progressed.

So, last Saturday (17th December) was the nail biting finale with 21-year-old Leona Lewis and 18-year-old Liverpudlian Ray Quinn, who looks remarkably like Eddie Munster, battling it out for the ultimate prize. In another first for me, I just had to give my hard earned money to a television series by voting.

Leona may have been accused of lacking in the confidence that little Eddie oozed, but her singing was so pitch-perfect and versatile I had to vote three times just to make sure Ray didn’t win (although, to be fair to the lad, he did sing pretty well too).

So, unlike the previous winners who have disappeared into obscurity, appearing in trashy gossip magazines and quite possibly a future series of I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, I think I witnessed history being made.

Leona romped home with 60% of the vote and a wonderful new star was born with the voice and talent to conqueror the music industry in the United Kingdom and, that finicky of places to an outside singer, the Holy Grail that is America.

Please download video MPEG video plug-in for your browser
Watch the BBC report above by pressing "Play"
And before the evening was out the records begun to tumble. Her Christmas single, a cover of Kelly Clarkson's hit single A Moment Like This, has already broken the world record of having 50,000 downloads in the 30 minutes after the show had ended.

Needless to say, it’s a pretty much forgone conclusion that the much coveted Christmas No. 1 is in the bag. And, as sad as it may well be too, I’ll be dashing down to my local store on Wednesday to pick up a copy or two of the CD single.

It’s not every day a singer can make me sit up and take notice, but if Leona can do that to the likes of me, she’s got a very bright future indeed.

How to be the Perfect Girlfriend...

Ladies, it's time to put that "girlie" magazine down - you know, the one with that drunken "Z list" celebrity falling out of a taxi and showing her knickers on the cover - because it's time to pay attention.

Yeap, I’ve got some very important information that every girlfriend needs to know about us blokes. Watch it and learn...

VideoJug: How to be the Perfect Girlfriend


Thank you for watching. If you need us, we'll be hiding in the shed...

Men Make 'Smalls' Talk Buying Lingerie

According to a report on Yahoo news, an army of macho men will be patrolling the smalls section of Marks and Spencer to help prevent the blushes and blunders of blokes picking up sexy undies for their wives, girlfriends or secret lovers for Christmas.

Apparently, the scheme was launched in twelve branches of M&S last Christmas on a trial basis and it's now been extended to cover the lingerie departments of fifty stores.

Now, don't get me wrong, whilst this is quite a good marketing idea by M&S, I'd probably be even less comfortable approaching a "macho man" than a woman and asking for help in picking out something sexy in the lingerie department.

If anything, I'd be far happier asking a female sales assistant - after all they are more likely to have a clue about these unmentionables - plus you could simply point at someone in the store when they ask you "what size are they?" and they'd actually have an idea of the size.

The Art of Seduction...

I have absolutely no idea what the heck this is all about, or even if it’s advertising something, but a little stuck for something to blog about I thought I’d follow Chaucer’s Bitch lead and have a go at the test too.

So, I guess I really am the nice person I appear to be. Why not see if you can be any cringeworthily nicer?!

Whilst You Were Out

With our supreme leader announcing his intention to close all of our post offices and make us deliver our own mail by hand – but still having to first buy a stamp – it got me thinking about the wonders of home deliveries and the horror of a visit from the repair man to fix something that has broken down at the most inconvenient of moments.

Whilst it’s annoying at the best of times, not only have you had to take a day off work, but it’s the simple fact that you can never get an accurate arrival time that frustrates me the most. I mean, you speak to the nice girl on the phone to arrange a time and all she can suggest is “sometime between 8.30 in the morning and June”.

So, it’s your first day off work in months and you still end up getting up bright and early knowing that - if you don’t - they’ll be ringing the doorbell at 8am prompt. Still, you know it’s a totally pointless exercise because you also know that there’s no way in a month on Sundays that they will – but you just can’t afford take that chance.

The morning passes – still nothing – and you have to endure early morning television, endless cups of tea, lots of tutting and staring out of the window like an abandoned puppy. Lunchtime arrives and you manage to find something to eat from the fridge – after all you emptied it at the beginning of the week in order to make sandwiches at work - and still nothing.

Another hour – and cup of tea – passes with not an engineer in sight. Was that the front door bell?! You dash to the door, open it and find no one there. Still, it doesn’t stop you looking up and down the road just to make sure.

After all of that tea, and that slightly out of date food you had from the fridge for lunch, you really do need to go to the toilet. Unable to cross you legs any longer, and after first looking out of the window to make sure no one is outside, you head for the loo.

Naturally, you knew it would have to happen. It really had to – I mean it happened the last time you had to ring for an engineer. You’re sat on the throne with your trousers around your ankles and that fateful sound is heard. Yeap, it’s the front door bell (I’m not sure what you were thinking of!).

So, after desperately trying to pull up your trousers whilst heading to the door, in the mere twenty seconds it takes you to make it downstairs and to the door you hear a van driving up the road and you find a yellow card your doormat with those fateful words Whilst You Were Out written on it...

Waiting for God

There’s an old saying – there’s nothing more certain in life than death and taxes. Living in today’s overtaxed Britain you’re probably looking forward to the day when your lights finally go out – but even then you’re most likely to be taxed. Still, it’s not as if I sit around all day thinking about death, rather than the period before it – more commonly known as old age.

The other day I was sat in a traffic jam and, with not much to look at other than the brake lights in front, I decided to have a look around me. It’s then a spotted a retirement home and its occupants happily sat in a communal room no doubt discussing things from the past. It’s then that my mind fast forwarded another 30 years to a time when I’ll probably be a resident.

Thinking of my grandparents, now unfortunately all no longer around to enjoy their company and tales*, I remembered what sort of things they liked to eat, read, watch and listen to. There was always the good old tinned salmon sandwich, the Radio Times, Songs of Praise and Radio 4 – but it’s what we’ll be enjoying in our incontinent twilight years that made me laugh out loud.

Just think about what you eat, read, watch and listen to now and then fast forward 30 years where your Grandchildren and retirement home staff from latest EU member Mongolia puzzle over why we enjoy Chicken Tikka Masala, Harry Potter, Big Brother and Basement Jaxx so much.

*One tale that always fascinated me was from one of my Grandmothers. She remembered the reporting of the Wright Brothers first flight and then was witness to the space race, jet engines and Concorde.

Out of the Blue

Out of the blue I received a text message from my Match.com friend asking whether I’d like to meet up. Considering I wasn’t sure just what the heck was happening between us, not only was this quite a pleasant surprise, but it was the first time that she had taken the lead and asked me. Naturally, I agreed and we arranged a time and somewhere to meet for a bite to eat.

And it all appeared to go quite well. She was her usual chatty and attractive self and it wasn’t long before our time together was over . Naturally, with me being the gentleman, I paid the bill. However, interestingly enough, she offered to pay “next time”. So, a quick peck on the cheek later, we went our separate ways – after receiving instructions to send her a text message when I got home (and receiving a nice message back in the process).

So, the question is – is this blossoming into just a friendship or something else? Never the less, one thing is for sure – I’ve decided to give up trying to work out what goes on in a woman’s mind. It’s just too complicated!

Cappuccino and Convulsions

There’s nothing I like more than spending a Sunday morning in my local branch of Costa coffee, enjoying a nice hot Cappuccino and browsing through the Sunday newspapers. After a hectic hour or so down the gym it’s the perfect way to unwind (and pile back on the pounds with a chocolate muffin!).

However, for some odd reason, today was rather busy and the shop supplied newspapers were scattered over the place, with only the useless Sunday supplements left in the paper rack. So, I had no choice in the matter – it was either reading the Sunday Times property supplement, the Mail on Sunday “Live” supplement or stare blankly into my coffee or out of the window. Given the amount of happy couples frequenting the establishment, I played safe and opted for both supplements.

So after looking through the property supplement – which handily listed lots of compact, i.e. read “tiny”, one bedroom apartments in London for a quarter of a million pounds (extremely useful for all of those home hunters in Manchester) I finally moved on to the “Live” magazine. It was at this point that I ended up choking on my cappuccino.

You see, there was a page that contained some one-eighth scale models of cars, including such beauties as a Ferrari F430 and Porsche 356 Speedster. Ordinarily, it’s not much to make you choke – unless you’re a bit of a petrol head and someone who worships Jeremy Clarkson as a god - but after spraying coffee everywhere the Heimlich manoeuvre was urgently required after I spotted the price of said models. These things cost well over £1000 pounds – with the Ferrari model costing a whopping £2,750 pounds from Amalgam. You could buy a real car (albeit not a Ferrari, perhaps a Fiat Punto) for that sort of money!

Still, you do get a lot for your money. For example, for the Ferrari, the actual design team supplied the exact specifications so the model is accurate the smallest detail. You may also be glad to learn that you can also order a customised model tweaked to your own specifications. Perhaps you should opt for the model with the satellite navigation and climate control system.

Still, on the plus side, at least you'd have no trouble parking - although you'd have more worries in losing it. Also, I wonder whether it's congestion charge exempt?

Patience is a Virtue

Or is it a curse? I’m not really so sure these days.

With one date cancelled due to a bad cold, the rearranged date was also cancelled due to her still being a bit under the weather and not really up to it. Sure, we still have a regular natter on MSN and the phone – with her doing the contacting just as much as me – but I can’t help having this nagging feeling deep down within myself that I’m being taken for a ride on the friendship train, destination Dumpsville. I think I may even have a season ticket for that route.

I’m just finding it very difficult to read the situation, and I’m kind of worried that it will end in the usual scenario of “I’ve met someone” – after all, I’ve already been to that place once already with her.

Sorry, but I just can’t help feeling negative about it all, but I’d hope that from reading my blog you’d discover that I’m not your average shallow bloke who is only out looking for one thing. Well, I am, but probably not the thing you’re thinking of.

Perhaps it’s simply down to the far too many run arounds and excuses I’ve had with my previous Match.com experiences – after all, I’ve had them all - but I’m trying ever so hard not to give up and throw in the towel.

In Honour of the Sexes

Some of us blokes, well OK then – probably just me – are very grateful for the time and effort you ladies go to in order to make yourselves even more beautiful than you already are.

You may hog the bathroom for far too long, change your mind about what you’re going to wear at the last minute and, even worse than that, ask us what you think of your clothes and whether your bum looks too big, but we still love you all.

So in honour of your beauty let me reveal to you just how we men plan to satisfy:

Caress, praise, pamper, relish, savour, massage, fix things, empathise, serenade, compliment, support, feed, soothe, tantalise, humour, placate, stimulate, stroke, console, hug, ignore the fat bits (not that you have any), cuddle, excite, pacify, protect, phone, anticipate, smooch, nuzzle, forgive, accessorise, entertain, charm, carry for, oblige, fascinate, attend to, trust, defend, clothe, sanctify, acknowledge, spoil, embrace, die for, dream of, tease, gratify, squeeze, indulge, idolise, worship and, last but not least, wash up.

Conversely, how a woman can satisfy a man:

Arrive naked.

In The Hands of the Gods

I've got this strange feeling that I’m being toyed with by the Gods and, as with Jason and his hearty band of Argonauts, I’m on a chessboard being overlooked by Zeus and the rest of the Gods on mount Olympus in their attempts to thwart me at every possible move.

But, unlike Jason, I’m not sure if any of the Gods are on my side – even Aphrodite. Fortunately though, there doesn’t appear to be an army of skeletons that needs defeating – although if you give some of the old blokes down my local pub a sword and a shield then I might be in a spot of trouble.

But, call it fate, fortune or just straight good old fashioned luck, my Match.com friend who opted for another was recently stood up by said "other" for no apparent reason. No calls, e-mails or letters. Nothing. Naturally, she was a little upset by this, but after much chatting on the phone and MSN (and managing to hopefully overcome her distance concerns) we arranged to meet up again somewhere near – if only to prove that I could, and would, be able to manage to see to see her.

However, my plans were thwarted yet again – but this time not by another man – but a humble, but equally scheming, microbe. Yeap, when I spoke to her yesterday to confirm what we were doing she was coughing, sniffing and sneezing down the phone and sounding positively rotten. As a result, the meeting is off and she’s taken to her bed. I guess she’s not ready for the sympathetic brow dabbing yet.

So, my fate is yet again placed in the hands of the Gods and if I can only hold her hand or kiss her lips by fighting off an army of skeletons or beheading a Minotaur then so be it. Bring it on...

When is a Kiss not a Kiss?

There’s one thing that truly puzzles me about communicating via e-mail with a woman – and that is that it nearly always finishes with kisses of some sorts.

It doesn’t even have to be from any one you really know or even met as – in my case at least – some female business contacts I deal with finish their messages with a friendly “Thanks xxx” or just a “x”. Blokes certainly don’t do this – well, not the sort of blokes I know!

So after being told by my Match.com friend that she had “met someone” (as usual blog fans, I romp home in yet another race somewhere near the back of the pack) her e-mails and messages mysteriously stopped finishing with an “x” or three. Although her friendly messages continued (albeit no longer via SMS) there was a distinct lack of them.

But after deciding to dust myself down and fight for her, and in the process rolling out the welcome wagon in an attempt to win hearts and minds, they are back again and I’ve no idea how to react to them. Is she, like apparently half the women out there in e-mail land, just being friendly and polite, or is there something else meant from it?

I mean, should I respond in kind – is she expecting me to - or is it just something we blokes should never consider doing? I’ve not done it in the past – perhaps that’s where I’ve being going wrong - so should I start doing so now?

The Lady from Match.com, she says...

...No. Or maybe. Or perhaps. Or you never know...

Confused? Well I certainly know that I am.

Still, once the excruciating weekend wait was over it was pretty much textbook stuff – and as I’d expected really. This time it was the much underrated “I met someone at the weekend and we’re going to go out again this weekend”, plus she did mention that the (and in my honest opinion - not insurmountable) distance might be a problem too.

However, this is where things start to get interesting – and since we’re near to Halloween “spooky” too.

The usual “still want to be friends” was banded about which I always find interesting – especially since it usually only lasts a week before they disappear back into cyberspace – but I really did get the impression that she was unsure just what to do and which direction to take.

Things like “not saying I don’t like you”, “good looking”, “you never know” and “it’s very early days” left me even more confused than before. I’ve simply no idea what to make of it - even if I'm much happier that things are now "sort of" in the open.

So, do I do the gentlemanly thing and, with yet another heavy heart, simply give up and walk away, or do I get ready to dust down my pistols for a duel at dawn because I really do think that this lady is worth fighting for?

BTW. Thanks for the support Franje but I suggest you should uncross your fingers and toes before you start to get arthritic

The Waiting Game

I’ve been kept rather busy recently – chatting via MSN and the phone – to a rather pleasant lady that “Winked” at me on Match.com a few weeks back. It’s been great fun chatting late on into the evenings on MSN and text messaging about complete nonsense. So it was only natural after a conversation on the phone that we decided to meet.

Unfortunately, work gets in the way of most things – plus she lives about an hour away - but these are just small problems to overcome as we search for our soul mate. And they were, and we managed to meet up at a shopping centre near Manchester on one of her days off. As it was, she was there with her family and she arranged to slip away for an hour.

They say the camera never lies, but I’d care to disagree, because I only just managed to spot her at our meeting point – mainly because she looked like she was waiting for someone. She told me that her hair had grown a bit since her profile picture was taken, but nothing could prepare me for the utterly stunning woman stood in front of me. She then invited me to peck her on her perfect cheek.

In the lull in her shopping we sat down to chat over coffee and I started up my body language scanning mode to see what the signals were. There was a bit of hair playing, but no hand touching, and there were no breaks in the conversation. She has been hurt before, and I suspect she was being a little guarded, but she talked about her two kids and even showed me a picture of one of them. I’m not sure whether it was just general chit-chat, or if she was judging my response to them, but I’ve never been shown family photographs before.

But our lovely time together was soon up and she had to get back to her family. So after saying our goodbyes and, along with another peck on the cheek, she disappeared back into the late night shopping throng.

This is usually the point where I get some lame excuse and end up back on the Match.com scrap heap and questioning my subscription. So I made sure that I sent her a text message to thank her and to say how nice it was to meet up. I got one back saying the same things too. There was no MSN chat that night though.

So I’m now in my worrying stage. I don’t want to keep pestering her with phone calls or text messages but, because she is currently working weekends and she has her girlie nights out on a Friday and Saturday, I won’t now hear from her until Sunday evening. As a result, I’m now on pins wondering how – of even if – our MSN conversation will go.

I’ve already prepared myself for the worse, but did she like me? Would she want to meet again? Or will she simply go cold and uninterested? I’m hoping not because, hand on heart, I believe there’s something there this time, but these flipping butterflies in my stomach and the endless supply of scenarios playing over and over in my mind is really starting to bug me.

It’s the waiting game – and it’s the bit I hate the most.

Sweet Tooth

It’s all kind of new too me, and having been in a male only office environment for too many years, it’s great having three women sat next to me at work. Naturally, I stay well clear of their increasingly bizarre conversations about things I never thought ladies talked about and I can’t help noticing their synchronised trips to the ladies room.

But what surprises the most is their near continual consumption of crisps, chocolate and biscuits. Judging by this lot, it’s no wonder that there are shops stocked to the ceiling with magazines containing of stories about women and their diet struggles. However, what is all the more surprising is that they are all as thin as twigs. Just where are they stocking it? Have they a got tape worm or something?

As for me, even though I exercise regularly and watch what I eat, all I have to do is sniff a chocolate bar and I put on a pound!

List-o-Matic Part II

In a previous entry, I created a list of five famous women I’d most like to invite to a family party.

Naturally the chances of this ever happening are pretty much beyond the dreams of any red blooded man. Mind you, if I ever won the "big one" on the British or Euro lottery I may be in with a whisker of a chance. After all, you have to be in it to win it (the lottery that is...)

Anyway, in yet more flagrant use of a list to fill an uninspiring blog entry, I thought I’d come up with a list of five famous women I’d least like to invite to a family party. Obviously, these people are absolutely nothing like this in real life, but you never know...

1. Kate Moss. You’d probably never see her as she’d keep having to disappear to the bathroom to powder her nose. Would also have to keep a close eye on that icing sugar on the cake.
2. Jennifer Lopez. Just good old Jennie from the block? Yeah right. Probably won’t enter the house unless she got some sort of gift bag from Gucci. Would also need some expensive finger food from Selfridges.
3. Mariah Carey. Possibly a great date as she could do a bit of high pitched singing to keep both Auntie Alice happy and prevent her poodle from running away. Trouble is, before she arrived I’d first have to repaint the entire house, place candles all over the place and then drop rose petals in front of her. She probably wouldn’t be impressed with the mini pizzas either.
4. Charlotte Church. Voice of an angel who’d probably vomit in the salad bowl if given half the chance. Plus she’s Welsh – and you only need ask Anne Robinson about those people!
5. Madonna. Once she’d got her two hours of trantric yoga out of the way she’d probably try and adopt the neighbours children. Would also probably be a strict vegetarian that only ate dandelions – that is until the latest celebrity fad of eating raw meat came along an hour later.

Spider Central

It’s a good job I don’t mind spiders because at the moment my car appears look like an extra from an Indiana Jones movie. After the warm and humid summer, and lack of a real winter last year, they’ve all been breading like, er, spiders. There are cobwebs everywhere!

There must be at least four of them living on one wing mirror alone and the little blighters are trying to out do each other by building ever more intricate webs on a daily basis. Unfortunately, I then drive to work, leaving me feeling really sorry for them as they hang on for dear life.

Mind you, they are feisty little fellows because come the evening they’ve always rebuilt their webs – only for me to wreck them again on the journey home. They must be getting really cheesed off with it all by now – so much so that one of them has now decided to take up residence inside the car!

Now where's my hat and whip...?

Films That Move Men To Tears

Being a bloke and all, I thought that the recent MSN Films That Move Men To Tears feature was an interesting one to ponder.

The poll is a bit limited to say the least (their Entertainment Editor, Lorna Cooper, simply asked the blokes in her office) but you’ll probably have to agree with at least one or two of them (and I’ll own up to a few that managed to raise a sniffle - although I can't say I've seen all of them for it to be a true representation of my emotional state!)

Anyway, here's that list in full :-

1. E.T. The Extra Terrestrial
2. The Shawshank Redemption*
3. American History X
4. The Champ
5. Dead Poets Society
6. Field Of Dreams
7. Forrest Gump*
8. Gladiator*
9. Glory
10. The Green Mile*
11. Kramer vs Kramer
12. My Life
13. Hotel Rwanda
14. Saving Private Ryan
15. Schindler's List
16. Seabiscuit
17. Stand By Me
18. United 93
19. Watership Down
20. It's A Wonderful Life

* Got me sniffing. Should I be ashamed? You decide...

List-o-Matic

No blog would be complete without the ubiquitous, and easy to produce, list. So today I decided to create a list of my own. After much head scratching and deliberation, I proudly present my list of the top five ladies I’d like to date (I would have chosen ten - but I was too lazy to think of any more - plus it's not as easy as it first sounds).

I guess most blokes would try and turn my list onto its head and make it somewhat more shallow, but in my case at least, they are all simply someone I'd like to take home to show off to the family. Sure, by only picking film stars, I guess I'm being a bit shallow too. But, heck, a guy can have dreams.

Still. You do hear so many things about famous people and their two faced personalities and, although I suspect none of you are single – or looking for a “commoner” like me, I just hope the personality you project in public is just as nice as the real you.

So here’s my list of five ladies I’d like to bring and introduce at a family party:

1. Scarlett Johansson. You had me from the moment I saw you in Lost in Translation. Although your acting hasn’t really been top draw stuff so far, you seem like a really outgoing and chatty person and, let’s face facts, you’re a bit of a stunner too. Would be happy with a natter with my mother over the Nachos and dip.
2. Justine Waddell. Who? I first saw Justine in the film The One and Only and I’ve been hooked ever since. She has the looks, and the personality to go with it, plus she appears to be finally getting the recognition she deserves. Would probably go for the vol-a-vents to try and look posh.
3. Anna Faris. Famous for her dippy role in the Scary Movie franchise, there’s something too cute about her to ignore. Sure, she’s probably typecast by now, but behind the camera I’m sure she is a smart cookie with lots of interesting stories to tell over the potato salad.
4. Keira Knightley. I dare say that meeting her father would be a little scary, but since she comes across as a bit of a laugh and someone who’d be prepared to muck in, I think I’d risk it. She’d probably head straight for the wine and then help with the washing up.
5. Thandie Newton. Another girl with her feet on the ground, out shining that midget Cruise in MI:2 and stretching the laws of clothing physics in The Chronicles of Riddick, the sizzling Thandie is my wildcard entry. I also suspect that she’d be the one who would have my brother giggling like a girl with her, no doubt, crude sense of humour and love of quiche.

You Are a Tease!

There appears be some sort of epidemic of faulty mice going around the country at the moment – and they appear to be mainly in the possession of women. Perhaps I can put it down to the global warming phenomena, but it looks like I've become the target of a cruel group of women teasers and their sticky left mouse buttons.

Confused? Well, after having a bit of a minor face lift on my profile – which most likely moved me up the pecking order display wise - I’ve had about five or six of these Match.com “winks” over the past week, plus my profile viewing count is advancing at a fair rate too.

For those of you not in the know, these "winks" are essentially little teasers that people can send to you to indicate that they might be interested. However, when you reply to said winker (hmmm, my spellchecker wanted to change that…) with a carefully crafted message I’ve being getting nothing but static in return.

Still, they’ve not all been nasty teasers, because one person did finally reply to one of my messages and we’re now in the process of having a bit of a chat. She seems very nice, plus we appear to be looking for the same things in life, so we’ll have to see how things go. The only downside is that she probably lives just that little bit too far away. Never the less, worse problems have been overcome.

Giddy Up

Just what is the point of watching and taking part in horse racing, and why does the jockey get all of the credit for the efforts of another?

I mean, where is the skill in sitting on the back of a horse? All you have to do is strap a midget with a silly coloured pair of pyjamas and an eating disorder to the back of a horse and then slap it silly with a whip as it gallops around the track.

If you are then fortunate enough to pass the winning post ahead of the other horses the jockey and trainer are crowned heroes whilst the horse huffs and puffs in the corner. The owner is then rewarded with a fat cheque whilst all the horse gets is a bail of hay and a sugar lump – or if it fails to win enough a one way trip to the glue factory.

However, it would be far more interesting if the jockey was made to run around the one mile track with a horse, dressed in silly pyjamas, strapped to his back. Now, I’d pay to watch that!

What’s an Inch Between Friends?

People create a profile on Match.com for a reason – and that reason is to advertise themselves to other Match.com members in the hope of being a suitable match. Likewise, they also define desirable attributes in the person they are searching for – such as age, hair and eye colour along with interests and a level of education. However, there is one contentious issue that I’m not really sure about when it comes to either ignoring or contacting a Match.com member. And that issue is height.

I just wonder that, out of all of the other characteristics people search for, whether this is a top of the list requirement and if, women in particular, will not waver from a set height criteria. Naturally, if someone is tall they tend to only look for someone with a similar height, but there appears to be an awful lot of women in Match.com land looking for tall blokes.

So what is it with tall blokes that make the ladies go all wobbly at the knees? What do they bring to the party that average height and shorties don’t? After all, it’s much harder to buy clothes for tall people and you only have to look in the various clothes sales to see that the majority of shirts and trousers are for types that come with their own weather systems.

So being a bit of a short arse myself, at a mere 5 foot 7, I just wonder whether I’d be wasting my time contacting someone who is looking for a bloke who is 5 foot 8 or 9. I mean, what’s an inch between friends and is it really that important? Answers on a postcard please...

End of Week Report

So my first week at my new job is complete. Everyone is nice and it went along pretty much as I’d expected it to - with two days of total boredom reading endless manuals, company procedures and finding my way around the open plan offices, meeting people and trying to remember their names. Also, previously use to an all male office environment, there are two women sat across from me - and chatty ones too!!

I only managed to get the "have I really done the right thing?" thought twice – once on the Monday afternoon and then again on the Tuesday afternoon whilst struggling to increase my caffeine intake in order up to keep me awake for a few more hours before clocking off. Still, I kept telling myself that this was to be expected and things would get better.

Thankfully, Wednesday proved this, and I finally got my hands dirty by digging into the real meat of things, resulting in a far more stimulating end to the week. Never the less, I’ve got three days worth of in-house training next week on their various products. I just hope it’s going to be interesting - otherwise I may need an intravenous line of super strength coffee!

So with my first week out of the way I can now switch my attentions back to Match.com. However, judging by the lack of response to my previous ten messages, I think the recent positive change to my life isn't as wide as I'd first hoped. Still, there's still plenty left in that glass yet.

A Postcard from Dublin

You can’t help not liking the Irish. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that they are my most favourite people on the planet - especially for their wonderful hospitality, friendliness and their reluctance to rush anything. It’s all a far cry from my fellow British citizens.

You only have to wait for a Guinness to know that it takes a few minutes before you can finally get your hands on that pint of delicious black gold. But it’s not only the stout that won’t be rushed, as even the DART commuter train seemed to shrug its shoulders as it happily ambled its way from one side of Dublin bay to the other. It’s all so relaxing and it makes such a change to other manic European cities such as London and Paris.

It was my first visit to that melting pot of a city known as Dublin and although I’m no Ireland virgin – with my work taking me to Cork on numerous occasions – I was quite surprised by the number of Polish people there – even more than I’ve noticed in the UK. Heck, there’s even a separate section in the Evening Herald newspaper dedicated to all things Polish every Friday.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I admire their willing and they all work extremely hard, but it was a great shame to hear more Polish accents than a rich Irish one. Even one of stewardesses on the plane was Polish to the degree that I couldn’t understand a single word she was saying over the tannoy. For all that I understood she may well have being speaking in her native Polish, or even Gaelic.

Another thing that surprised me was the amount of building work in and around Dublin. After seeing many of the tiger economies of Asia with my own eyes, it’s no wonder that Ireland is known as the Celtic Tiger economy of Europe. Mind you, this comes with its problems as house prices in Dublin are more expensive than London or even New York. It’s no wonder that people are complaining they can’t afford to buy a house, plus there appears to be a worrying number of empty apartment and office blocks – and they still continue to build more. Dublin will be really nice once they finish building it!

The Last Supper

So it’s all done and dusted. The various goodbye drinks and pub lunches are over, and after over ten years of service I’ve finally finished working with my current employer.

Since it was always me who organised the signing of cards, the whip rounds and the buying of presents, I was genuinely surprised to receive a leaving card and present. I was also quite surprised to hear my main boss say that he was regretting giving me the leaving card and that he was extremely sorry to see me go – something I’d never heard him say to anyone else leaving over the years. Another boss even said that I’d be welcome back anytime - which was so out of character for him.

It was quite a strange feeling leaving really – but rather oddly nothing emotional - because it was my first job since leaving college all those many years ago. I’d been there so long I could almost count my bosses and work colleagues as family. I mean, I’d been there long enough to see my work colleagues children grow from mere toddlers to rebellious teenagers and onto university students.

My last day certainly made me stop and think about how the years have simply flown by and how much older, and hopefully wiser, I’ve become. Still, that was my main reasons for leaving – the chance to push my career in a direction my previous employer unfortunately couldn’t offer me, and with a much improved salary too.

So, my new job awaits. But rather than rushing from one job to another, I’ve decided to take a well earned break. As a result, I’m off to Ireland for a week of relaxation, lots of Guinness drinking and a spot of sightseeing. Heck, I may even manage to bump into a nice Irish lass…

Chrikey!

I’m not a violent man, but not since Paul Hogan and Crocodile Dundee have I wanted to punch an Australian person as much as Steve “Crocodile Hunter” Irwin. His perpetually cheerful and enthusiastic personality was enough to drive you to drink as he bounced about your television screen, dodging deadly snakes and wrestling crocodiles. The bloke was a complete nutter.

However, his unconventional approach to wildlife and conservation was a welcome breath of much needed fresh air – and what’s more the kids loved him, his antics and the varied wildlife of Australia that he was trying so hard to protect.

He even managed to make the less furry and cute animals interesting and was a permanent, and much loved, fixture of Australia Zoo. Sure, he was no David Attenborough, but his television programmes were just as awe inspiring.

So I was shocked and saddened to learn today that the great Steve Irwin died whilst filming on the Great Barrier Reef. My first thought was that a crocodile had finally got its revenge, but he actually died after being struck in the chest by a stingray's barb while he was filming for a new documentary.

He may now be gone, but his work will definitely carry on. With legions of young children the world over transfixed by his antics, and his tireless and passionate efforts to inform and save countless species of wildlife, he will never be forgotten. Rest in peace mate, rest in peace.

Stupid Bankers

In 1943 Thomas Watson, the then chairman of IBM, said "I think there is a world market for maybe five computers." With hindsight, this was a bit of an understatement to say the least, and the idea of the transistor, let alone the silicon chip, were still fantasy. Were it not for the microchip, the world we live in today would simply not exist.

Still, never let it be said that IBM sat around twiddling their thumbs. Rather than manufacturing punch card readers, cash tills and computers for the US military, they had the foresight to make something far bigger – something that would change the face of the world as we know it. Quite simply, if it wasn’t for the IBM 5150 Personal Computer I wouldn’t have written this blog entry on my own home PC or published it on the Internet for you to be reading now.

Anyway, you may well be asking where I’m going with this.

Well, we live in the age of the computer where there’s a microchip in everything from a birthday card to a wheelie-bin. It even helped to supposedly put a man on the moon. The world is simply ruled by the computer and banks in particular would simply not function without them. They have rooms stuffed full of massive mainframe computers that handle customer accounts, cash point transactions, Internet banking and automatically sending out statements and nasty letters telling you that you’re over drawn – and all in the blink of an eye.

So with all of this wonderful technology, why does it take three days for your bank to move money from one account to another? Why does it take so long for an electronic transfer (no human hands or eyes are required) to remove money from one account (which is always instant I might add) and then wing its way from one computer (which is quite possibly sat on the other side of the room) to another?

Perhaps computers aren’t as advanced as I first thought. Either that, or it’s a shameless money making scheme by the banking industry that makes billions of dollars a year on the international money market and yet sends you a stinging letter, and charging you for the privilege, whenever you go overdrawn by a few pence.

Oh, and just don't get me started on their junk mail...

A Swarm of Butterflies

Recently, I’ve being doing a lot of tooth tapping with my pencil and sorting out my sock drawer once too often. As a result, I’ve decided to once again risk my sanity and dip my finger back into the world of Match.com. But before I do so I thought I’d share with you a time when I had my first major crush on someone.

My crush wasn’t based on some scantily clad poster girl, although Samantha Fox did feature as a fixture on my bedroom wall, but it was a girl I met at college way back in 1988 during my second and final year on a computer course. It was a dizzy time of music from the likes of Bananarama, INXS, Bros and Morris Minor and the Majors. And a girl we’ll simply call ‘L’.

I’d just returned from a two week holiday and, as a person who tans by simply looking at the sun, I was rather tanned. And when I mean tanned, I mean tanned. Need less to say, my reappearance at college caused a bit of a stir amongst the ladies. Unfortunately, when I mean ladies, it was the dinner ladies in the canteen. They fussed over me like I was their child and, much to my embarrassment, insisted on examining my bronzed chest and stomach at every opportunity. It wasn’t quite the result I’d been hoping for - although 'L' nudged my friend and started to ask about me.

‘L’ was the friend of one my friends on my college course and she’d just started her first year. He'd known her from school so, not yet knowing any one, she tagged along with our group. She soon became part of the group and as ‘L’ and I chatted I came to realise that there was this rather strange feeling in my stomach. And it wasn't the pasta I'd had for lunch. I’d had butterflies before, but this was something completely different – this was a swarm of butterflies - and I felt sick and dizzy in her presence. Was it more than just a simple crush?

So, one evening, I got a surprise phone call from ‘L’ – which was a little odd as I’d never knowingly given her my phone number (yes, yes, I know these things now…) so she must have asked someone for it. It all sounded promising and I sensed that this would be the ideal opportunity to see if she wanted to meet up - so I asked.

She said “Yes”, and that it would be a good idea. But there was a major, major snag. She needed my help to get someone she quite fancied to notice her and see if he’d like to go out. I was simply going to be a ruse in an elaborate sting operation. That funny feeling in my stomach stopped instantly and I’m sure my heart stopped beating before a thundering beat rattled my ribcage and brought me back to life. It was almost as if time stood still for a moment before everything faded back in again.

So, with me being the dumbest person on the planet, I agreed to help. Naturally, he quite fancied her too and that was the end of that and as far as I know they were still together when I finished college. I'm not even sure if they got married.

I often wonder whether she really knew how I felt about her – and I still kick myself for not asking her out sooner (although she obviously had serious eyes for someone else). It was also an event I vowed would never happen to me again. I also said that the second time it happened to me – but that’s story for another day...

Inanimate Emotions

Having managed to get myself a new job – a job I’m still in shock about getting – and giving Match.com a bit of a rest, I’ve had very little to blog about. Even so, it’s not stopped me thinking about things or reading other peoples blogs.

And in one such blog, Alwaysd bemoaned the fact that men don’t show their emotions or explain their feelings enough. Now that got me thinking about the last time I showed emotion – after all, it’s not the manly thing to do and goes against the grain of the great British stiff upper lip. I then remembered what it was, and it wasn’t being dumped by a girlfriend (I’m too well hardened for this) or the death of a much loved pet, but something far more inanimate than that.

Having worked in London for a few years I use to see, and more appropriately – hear, the daily departure of Concorde on its way to New York. And, boy, what a sight it was to behold. On one occasion she banked over Windsor Castle and, although I didn’t have a camera on me at the time, it is an image that is permanently engraved in my mind. It was also a sight that stopped numerous American and Japanese tourists in their tracks as they excitedly pointed at the magnificent sight.

So it was on the 24th October 2003, as I watched Concorde taxi around Heathrow airport before being finally retired from service, that a tear rolled down my face. Not only was I proud of the British (and French) technology that let her fly, but I also realised that my ambition of flying on Concorde would never be attained. The only place I’d see her now would be in a museum.

So call me what you like, but I guess I’m just your typical male with emotions in all the wrong places – that is until a future girlfriend announces that she’s pregnant or my resultant offspring calls me “daddy”...

Pandora's Box

Never let it be said I don't share my discoveries with you, but I've found a totally wonderful music service called Pandora.

It's a web based Internet music station with a difference - a music discovery service designed to help you find and enjoy music that you'll love. Type in an artist and it will not only play their tracks, but it will also tempt you with similar styled music. Try it, you may find it interesting - and what's more - it's free!!

However, to get the full benefit of the service you need to live in the USA. Their subscription service looks a bit of a bargain too - although you can pretty much guarantee that if it ever makes across the pond to the UK (which I hope it does) that the fees will be a factor of ten more expensive.

VxIAGRA

E-mail SPAM. Don’t you just hate it? I mean, just what the hell is the point of it all? And what's more - does anybody actually read the daily crap that arrives in their in-box?

The Internet is literally awash with the annoying stuff and it makes up nearly 90% of all e-mail traffic. And that’s a lot of e-mails. How many people actually receive this crap and then think “Ooooh, yes, I’ve run out of my little blue pills so I’ll order some more from this mysterious overseas company that can’t even spell their product name correctly”.

And when you’re not being inundated with e-mail for medicines to assist in your apparently troublesome erection problems, you’re being bombarded with crap about “hot stock tips”. Again, you’re naturally going to take the risk and spend thousands of pounds on shares from a hot e-mail tip with a subject line of “Re: Your Trousers”.

It’s at times like these I actually believe that charging people 1 pence (or cent) per e-mail will kill off this tide of crap overnight – and make some money for the ISP from genuine e-mail traffic too. The Internet may even manage run a little faster than an asthmatic steam engine.

Shock and Awe

I generally try to avoid the use of profanities in my blog so you’ll need to cover your ears for a just a small moment whilst I get something off my chest….

Shit, shit, shit and, what’s more, fuck, fuck and fuck – I’ve only been bloody offered the job! I got a phone call from the agency bloke this morning who was all excited about the feedback from my interview and wanted to know whether he should push “our corner”. Naturally, I agreed and within about ten minutes he’d rung me back to say that the job was mine. I think my first words to him were “Bloody hell!” I’m just glad I was sat down at the time, otherwise I’m sure I would have keeled over.

But since nice things never happen to me, I then spent the rest of the day wandering around in total bewilderment and waiting for a phone call to tell me it was all a big mistake or having a mate laughing down the phone shouting “April Fool!” But then I realised that it was August, so I then thought that it could all be some sort of crank radio call or television programme set up. It was only once I’d received an e-mail with a document for me to sign and return that it finally started to sink in.

It will be really hard to leave my work mates but, since others have already moved on to bigger and brighter things, I don’t see why I should be denied what is most likely to be my last big career push too. Still, I’m going to make damn sure I keep in touch with them.

So, I’ve finally got a blog entry with some good news for a change. It’s only taken me about three years to get this far. I just wonder how long it will take me to find my soul mate too?

The Analysis

Well it was my interview today. I didn’t struggle to answer any questions and there were three guys there instead of two (and no HR manager either). The bizarre thing is though, I can’t decide whether it went really well or just plain OK. It’s really hard to judge – even if they did repeat that they were impressed with my CV and test results.

I know for a fact from the agency that the company in question is very picky about who they employ. As a result, I was rather surprised to discover that there was no HR representative in the interview (as I’d been told to expect) or was there the usual tour of the facilities. Puzzling indeed.

I was also the second of the two interviewees – and the first one was running a little late which resulted in me waiting for a while. Did the lack of tour and HR person mean that they’d already made their decision – especially since I’m certain I saw the other candidate having a tour? But there’s a twist too – upon saying my goodbyes, one of the interviewers said “See you again”. Was he being polite, or did he know something I didn’t?

So I’ll just have to wait now – I usually wait seven days before abandoning hope. I’ve given my feed back to the agency and, as is usual for a job agency, I’ve not heard anything back about my interview. Still, they could be still making their minds up or, as tends to be the case with the agencies, you’re soon dumped if you’re not their man.

Never the less, keep those toes crossed!

The Trouble With Cushions

You can always tell when a bloke has become settled into a relationship.

I guess the little kiddie causing chaos is a fair sign of such things, but whilst staying with my best friend who likes nothing more than buying DVDs and then watching them at high volume through his A/V system, I was struck with the number of cushions in his house. However, rather oddly, I actually think they are invisible to him and he’s totally unaware of their existence.

They were breeding like Tribbles and could be found all over his house – even morphing into strange cuddly creatures that looked remarkably like furry animals – seals in particular.

Their focal breeding point appeared to be the guest bedroom where it took me a full ten minutes to remove the said furry mass from the bed before I then spent an uncomfortable nights sleep surrounded by various creatures peering at me from out of the darkness. Oh, that and a cat which proceeded to take up half the bed, purr loudly and then leave half me with half of its hair on the duvet cover.

Any ideas as to where these breeding blighters came from would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and I'm assuming it's not the cat.

Shiny Shoes

Yikes! My interview is tomorrow!

I’ve been reading up on the company, making sure my suit still fits (not worn it for a while – and it’s now a little tight!) and I’ve spoken to the agency guy about what’s happening. I just need to give my shoes a bit of a spit-n-polish.

All I’ve got to do is remain calm and positive and treat it like just another design meeting. Still, it doesn’t help that I’ve learnt that there’s only one other candidate whilst ten other people didn’t even get as far as the interview! Oh, and there’s more tests to come (how wrong I was about no more tests!)

Next up are some test scenarios in a number of programming languages to see what I’d do next. Hopefully, it is just to test my analytical skills, but the worse part of it all is that the HR manager will also be in the interview and asking questions such as "What's your favourite colour?" and "Can you please pee into this cup".

She'll also be on the look out for any sign of weaknesses - such as beads of sweat on my brow or the evidence of facial tics. I just wonder whether they’ll be holding the interview in Room 101. Ah, there's nothing like putting my mind at rest!

Still, it’s got to be there for the taking and it’s all or nothing. I just hope it’s one and not the other...

Keeping Those Toes Crossed

Well, the recruitment agency rang me back today – and with good news too! The guy at the company was extremely impressed (his words, not mine) with both my CV and on-line results and I’m currently way out in front of the other prospective candidates. As a result, I’ve been asked in for an interview next week. In fact, the guy wanted to see me ASAP in order to give me a tour of the office and explain more about what they do.

I’ve always hated tests, but I feel that the technical part of things has now been dealt with and this interview will be more of a personality test. Still, there’s absolutely no way I’m going to be complacent here – nor even start to believe that this one is in the bag. Never the less, the vibes do feel good this time, and I’m going to try and use the many valuable lessons learnt from previous interviews to good effect.

Even if I fail to get the job it’s still been a real confidence boost and helped replenish my glass somewhat. With the lack of success with my job hunting and attempts on Match.com over the past six months I’ve been really struggling to stay positive. With this, and along with additional stresses at both work and home, it’s fair to say that my health has been suffering somewhat too. This is just the tonic I need.

Anyway, thanks for all your good luck wishes (they honestly really do help) and I’ll let you know how I get on next week. In the meantime, I’m sure I’ll have something to rant about over the weekend.

Someone May Have Turned the Lights Back On

Given that I’ve recently been applying for jobs left, right and centre without success, I was beginning to think that the light at the end of my job searching tunnel may well have been turned off.

However, right out of the blue, a job agency rang me today to see if I was interested in a job programming in the e-commerce sector. It all sounded interesting, the salary is good, and the guy praised both the company and it’s employees. I almost asked him whether he’d actually called the right number. After all, these sort of things never happen to me.

But as is usually case with me, there was a catch. Never the less, it wasn’t really that unexpected as, if I was interested in the role, I had to do an on-line technical test. They are getting more and more common these days and it’s only to check if you actually know what you're talking about and you’re not actually a burger flipper at McDonalds (no insult intended there for those valuable guys).

So I did the test, and then I surprised myself with the on-line results. Rather oddly, I actually appear to know what I’m taking about. In fact, I appear to know a lot more than I originally thought – although there was one area that I wasn’t too happy with my score. Still, I can’t complain too much as one of my test scores was the highest amongst similar test takers. Blimey.

All I now need to do is wait for a call back from the agency tomorrow to see whether they think it’s worth while forwarding my CV to the prospective company. So fingers crossed, it will be, and toes crossed, if an interview is forthcoming, I don’t go and screw it up!

Mother Nature is Flawed

Everything around us in nature seems to serve a purpose in the big thing known as the circle of life. The rain falls, the sun shines, the lush green grass grows (when there’s not a hose pipe ban), the cows eat the grass, man eats the cow and man then screws up the planet. However, would somebody please tell me what part the bloody wasp has to do with anything? I mean, apart from harassing and stinging people, just what do they actually do?

You can be happily sat in your garden sipping on a cool beer or, in my case, in the park having a picnic with my best friend, his girlfriend and their little nipper who is happily poking sticks into a pond when along comes a wasp to spoil it all. It starts buzzing around your sandwiches and showing an interest in your glass of wine and then, in a blink of an eye, it happens. Yup, it’s that world famous Benny Hill chase routine. But without the scantily clad ladies. Or the music for that matter.

In an instant, your mate leaps up off the ground, legs it about the park like a girl, arms flaying all over the place and shouting expletives about the parenting skills of a wasp in an attempt to out run it. And no sooner has he managed to avoid his little yellow and black foe it starts a chain reaction of break dancing parents as the now fed up, and possibly rather annoyed, wasp goes off and pesters another happily picnicking family.

Laughing Away the Pain

Given yesterdays all new and original put down (well to me anyway) I thought I’d share with you a collection of other put downs and their true translation that you may well have faced during your various dating dilemmas.

Unfortunately, my dating dilemma appears to be continuing without so much as a breather, plus I decided to leave my usual “Why don’t you just f*ck off” put down off the list because, well, it’s all rather self explanatory really.

Rejection lines given by women to men:

1. I think of you as a brother – You remind me of that inbred banjo geek in “Deliverance”


2. There’s a slight difference in our ages – I don’t want to do my Dad


3. I’m not attracted to you in ‘that’ way – You ugly dork


4. My life is too complicated right now – I don’t want you spending the entire evening hearing all the phones calls from the other guys I’m seeing


5. I’ve got a boyfriend – I prefer my male cat and half a gallon of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream


6. I don’t date men where I work – I wouldn’t date you if we were in the same solar system, much less the same office


7. It’s not you, it’s me – It’s you


8. I’m concentrating on my career – Even something as boring and unfulfilling as my job is better than dating you


9. I’m celibate – I’ve sworn off the likes of you


10. Let’s be friends – I want you to stay around so I can tell in you great detail about the other men I meet and have sex with

And just to be fair and equal amongst the sexes, some rejection lines given by men to women:

1. I think of you as a sister – You’re ugly


2. There’s a slight difference in our ages – You’re ugly


3. I’m not attracted to you in ‘that’ way – You’re ugly


4. My life is too complicated right now – You’re ugly


5. I’ve got a girlfriend – You’re ugly


6. I don’t date women where I work – You’re ugly


7. It’s not you, it’s me – You’re ugly


8. I’m concentrating on my career – You’re ugly


9. I’m celibate – You’re ugly


10. Let’s be friends – You’re ugly as sin

As a footnote, as a fairly regular reader of the Girl With a One Track Mind blog I went and bought myself a copy of Abby’s similarly named book Girl with a One-track Mind: Confessions of the Seductress Next Door from Amazon.co.uk. It’s a rather good, eye opening and rather funny read indeed.

However, the only trouble with buying the book is that it’s made me look like a right pervert in the eyes of Amazon.co.uk. Now every time I visit the Amazon.co.uk homepage it is helpfully recommending all sorts of books that, were I to wear glasses, would be enough to steam them up. Cheers for that Abby!

2 – 1 – 1 = A Big Fat Zero

So it had to happen really. After a jolly good natter on the phone, and the chance of a meeting later on in the week, my latest Match.com hopeful has bowed out and left me floundering around in the middle of dumpsville (yet again).

Still, I must admit that I had my suspicions that this was always going to be the case. For a start, she was pretty much out of my league in the career stakes (although I certainly wasn’t threatened by this) but after she attended a wedding over the weekend she bumped into an old friend, they hit it off and she’s going see how things go. Well, that’s certinaly the best and most original put down I’ve had in a long time.

Anyway, after she had such a wonderful time with her long lost friend, even managing a lunch date the following day, she decided that wasn’t right to ring me and arrange our little meet - although she was looking forward to it (obviously not that much then).

So my little band of merry blog fans, we're back to that big fat zero all over again. This glass is really starting to look a little under filled. Ho-hum.

Is Life So Really Mantastic ?

I’ve recently noticed that the word metrosexual has been banded around quite a lot. I originally thought that this was some sort of strange sexual attraction to underground trains, but it actually appears to be the arrival of a new brand of man – a male person who spends a lot of time and money on his appearance and lifestyle. Sounds more like a narcissist to me.

But why these sudden and dramatic lifestyle changes? Our skin can’t have suddenly changed overnight resulting in some sort of needy, and expensive, fixing. Well, I suspect that it’s all down to some clever marketing by the cosmetics companies. Just flip through any male magazine such as FHM and Maxim you’ll find pages upon pages of adverts and free samples for endless shampoos, skin conditioners and hair gel.

With the ladies maxed out with various potions and lotions containing everything from exotic fruit to rhino flem, the cosmetic companies and their massive advertising budgets have now decided that men need to be exfoliated, moisturised, pasteurised, deodorised and scrubbed with all manner of fancy soaps for our newly sensitive skin.

But please forgive me, but at what precise moment in time did men suddenly become so needy for these products? Would this be the same time that someone also noticed a gap in the bag market and decided that it would be cool for men to carry handbags too? So what’s next? A man-bra?

A Heated Debate

Unlike many fellow bloggers I’ve managed to refrain from commenting on the current hot weather. That is until now, because I’m far too hot and sticky and very fed up. I couldn’t be any hotter than if the devil had farted my face.

Having worked in South East Asia for a while I’d like to think I can cope with the extreme heat that is thrown to you – but no – this unexpected heatwave is a real energy zapper in a country where air conditioned offices are still a luxury commodity (in my office heating is a bit of a luxury too!).

You simply can’t be British and not complain about the weather. It’s either too cold, too hot or too wet – we’re simply never happy with whatever Mother Nature throws at us. I’ve even got into trouble off a fellow blogger by insinuating that she was a British person, however, the simple fact that the London based kirses complained about the weather made her an instant Brit.

In fact, I think the home office should seriously look at this matter when drawing up the immigration and nationality tests. At the moment we have a useless one that doesn’t appear to ask any questions and only explains the newly naturalised person how to claim benefits and which side of the road we drive on (with optional car insurance).

However, a revised test should include a question on the weather. A simple “Turned out nice again, hasn’t it?” question will be suffice. If the person then begins to rant and rave about how hot or cold they are (extras points for doing so in English) then there’ll be no need for a sham marriage ceremony because there’ll be a shiny new passport waiting for them at the next desk.

Parallel Lines

When I started with my dating attempts on Match.com I had also started to look for a new job. The pair went together like a railway line heading off into new and uncharted territory – and hopefully at the end of the line I would have achieved something wonderful.

And just like my dating attempts, my equally illusive job hunt is going just as well – i.e. not too well then. Still, at least to date I’ve had five interviews compared to my single date. And whilst I’ve gleamed a number of useful interview techniques, and purchased a rather dashing (and expensive) new suit, I have to say I’m pulling the big zero on the Internet dating technique front.

So in one last attempt on Match.com I did a bit of blanket message sending to a number of women with interesting profiles. Mind you, it wasn’t as if I simply sent a generic message or wink, but I literally sat down for a few hours reading hundreds of profiles and writing a number of individual messages - of which I got two replies. Both of these respondents didn’t have a profile picture but they were more than happy to send some.

It didn’t take long for one of these people to inexplicably disappear back into the ether without so much as a goodbye, but at least I’m still chatting to one (albeit still waiting on that allusive photograph – but she does have a valid reason for not having a profile picture). Never the less, we appear to be moving onto the next stage – talking on the phone. So, will we click or will those self doubts about not knowing what she looks like still bother me? Still, I do subscribe to the mantra that it is the inside that really counts - but I don't dismiss that there really does need to be that spark.

Never the less, as I continue to clickety-clack along the track, I just hope I don’t end up being shunted into a siding and left to rust.

Spade Work

Dating services, and in particular introduction agencies, have been getting a bad press recently. The papers of full of women complaining about various agencies and their inability to find them suitable dates, in fact some of them are actually suing their dating agency. Whist men are simply happy that the woman has turned up for a date (we’re simply pleased - and if you bring beer too we’ll be ready to marry) their women clients are becoming rather agitated by their raft of unsuitable dates.

Mind you, you do have to have some sympathy with them. Considering that some of these agencies charge thousands of pounds for their services you’d expect them to provide a half decent service. When a person asks for a home-owning, non-smoking, self-sufficient and rugged man you’d naturally be rather disappointed when the agency matches you with a smoker, marathon runner or a postman (no disrespect to postmen there).

But that is where my sympathy ends. What these people are doing is expecting another person to know exactly what they like. Sure, they do know some things, after all you’ve just ticked a pile of boxes and answered a questionnaire that wouldn’t be out of place on a tax return form, but where is their own leg work? Where is their effort to find out about someone, rather than them just turning up for a date and hoping for the best? After all, it’s not as if you’re ordering a pizza now is it?

At least with Match.com you have to do the searching, making contact, striking up a conversation and then deciding whether it’s worth pursuing. And yes, even that good old fashioned glance across a crowded bar at least gives you an idea of what to expect. So, litigating ladies, put your pens down, stop complaining and see if you can do any better.

They Think It’s All Over...

Congratulations to Italy on winning the World Cup!!

As an arm chair supporter I have to say that this years cup was the best I’ve ever seen – with the usual German efficiency making sure everything ran like clockwork. Heck, even the Germans looked like they were having a good time.

And with all the terrible things happening around the world it was wonderful to see fans from every country getting along so well. Even the legions of English fans appeared to make a few new friends along the way with their mad costumes and fanatical support. It’s just a pity that our politicians can’t learn something from all of this.

Highlights

1. English fans not shaming the nation
2. Joe Cole’s wonder goal
3. African nations giving a hint of just what they can do
4. BBC’s exemplary television coverage

Disappointments

1. Usual poor performance from England
2. Scotland’s lack of support (it won’t be forgotten!)
3. Cheats and those perpetual divers
4. ITV’s awful television coverage

At least normal service can now be resumed before the football season restarts and the qualifiers for the European championships start.

It’s All in the Voice

I’ve often wondered just what Match.com do with my subscription fee every month, after all they don’t actually do much to earn it. So rather than splashing out on new company BMWs all around, our friends at Match.com had spent my money wisely with a good old fashioned survey.

So in this latest survey, half of the women questioned said that they responded to a man based on his way of speaking. If there weren’t enough problems in the world already that warranted investigation, researches at Bath university found that women highlighted the importance of a man’s accent and many said that his voice revealed his personality. However, I’m not quite sure where that leaves the likes of Joe Pasquale or distinctive accents such as those from Scousers and Geordies, or the seven out of ten men who also admitted that they judged a woman on her looks.

Also, nine in ten respondents said that they decided on a partners suitability in just fifteen seconds, which kind of flies in the face of a previous survey mentioned in the Thirty Seconds to Impress blog entry. Never the less, if your voice fails to impress, there are still three other personality characteristics which stood out in helping to make that all important first impression.

Of those asked, fifty percent of respondents said that honesty, genuineness and earnestness also played a big part in their decisions. Sixty percent also said that confidence was an important factor in a prospective partner whilst forty percent highlighted how responsive and outgoing their personality was. Body language and posture was a high up on the list too.

So, not only do we need to look and smell nice and act all confident, we now need to think about how we are going to talk too. Now repeat after me. “The water in Majorca doesn’t quite taste how it ought to...”

Stubble Trouble

I really do look stupid with either a beard or moustache. Mind you, I’ve never grown a full one – only the beginnings of a moustache before deciding I looked like a right idiot. Nope, my face doesn’t suit such ticklesome facial growths.

However, one of my few bodily traits that does appear to show some form of interest from the ladies is my ability to grow good stubble. I discovered this one weekend whilst working in Australia when I couldn’t be bothered shaving. So imagine my surprise when I received the odd compliment or two, although two days growth appears to be the optimum level before that idiotic look sets in again.

And my current Match.com profile picture is living proof of this. My previous picture with the clean shaven face look was generating hardly any interest, whilst the all new stubble look has had plenty of viewers - but alas no takers so far.

So taking this level of interest into consideration I’m desperately trying to keep my stubble at a suitable length. But it’s not as easy as it first sounds as I only seem to be able to cut myself, form bald patches or end up with uneven lengths. Now I look like a right idiot. I think I sense a pattern developing.

It’s Official. Gyms Are Not Good For You

Right, that’s it. Cancel your membership as we’re taking our lives into our own hands every time we pay visit to the gym. And it’s not because that exercise is bad for us, or that we are doing too many weights, it’s because we’re all sweating too much and not cleaning up after ourselves.

Recent tests have shown that gyms have a bewildering collection of nasty bacteria which, in some instances, are capable of killing. A recent survey for a men’s fitness magazine produced some shocking results when swabs taken from various pieces of equipment and areas of a gym revealed dangerous levels of bacteria – so much so that it made eating your lunch off a public toilet seat a far less riskier exercise.

The mind boggling array of bacteria included the usual types, such as athletes foot, but also included some scary ones too – such as herpes and even a strain of MRSA. Things didn’t get any better when they moved pool side where both the spa and pool contained various forms of bacteria derived from faeces. And it doesn’t even matter that your eyes are stinging from the chlorine either – because the hotter the water, the less effective the chlorine is at killing the bacteria. It kind of makes you want to keep your mouth closed whilst swimming or relaxing in the Jacuzzi now doesn’t it?

So if you’re worried about straining or rupturing something, forget it. You should be more concerned about that sweaty bloke not wiping the equipment down after use, or that annoying person who simply dumps their wet towel on the floor of the changing room and expects someone else to pick it up for them.

But what about that shapely and tanned blonde working up a sweat on the running machine? Would you really want to risk picking up all sorts of nasty bacteria by cuddling up to her once she’s all hot and sweaty? Hmmmm. Bit of a tough call really - but I think I’d risk it!

Weather or Not

There appears to be one thing that the British are perceived to be totally obsessed with – and that’s the weather.

And when we’re not talking about it we’re having trouble dealing with it. Come the winter, and the first flake of snow, the country grinds to a halt, whilst after a couple of days of sunshine the country once again grinds to halt as the railway lines buckle and we’re suffering from a drought. So much for our weather forecasters. You would have thought we’d have all learnt by now.

We have supercomputers that are capable of processing billions of instructions per second, deciphering a DNA helix in a moment and keeping aircraft safely in the sky, and yet we still can’t get a computer to predict the weather. In fact, an abacus, a pine cone and a damp piece of seaweed would be a more accurate (and cheaper) alternative. After all, we managed well enough before the computer.

Instead, this immense computer power means that every fifteen minutes a weather update has to appear on one of the many news channels and programmes. A shapely blonde, or dully looking bloke with an awful looking tie, will then wander onto our screens and explain (just in case you’d forgotten) what all those sun and cloud symbols mean as we go on a 3D tour of the country.

And I suppose we do need an update every fifteen minutes. It gives the weather centre another chance of guessing the forecast as their supercomputers prediction of a butterfly in Staines triggering a hurricane in Cardiff was a little wide of the mark. Mind you, it did rain in Cardiff. But then again, that’s nothing new in Cardiff.

But what has the weather got to do with dating? Well, that God awful silence in a conversation with a member of the opposite sex can always be broken with the ever handy “Turned out nice again” or a “Isn’t it cold for this time of year?” It certainly makes a change to the "Do you come here often?" line*.

After all, the weather forecast is nothing to do with helping farmers know when to start the harvest or whether you need to take an umbrella, because it’s simply there to give hapless daters a hand in the conversations stakes. And put it this way. It’s got to be better than talking about the football.

* Not that I would ever dream of using it.

Closure

I hate it when I’m right. My intuition was correct as I’ve had a message from my Match.com friend informing me that she’s been on a date with someone and it all looks promising. There was the usual set of pleasantries and then she was gone, back into cyberspace from where she came.

In a weird way, I’m now a lot happier. Sure, my list of Match.com disappointments continues to grow at a shocking rate but, rather than being left in the lurch, she at least made the effort to contact me and be honest.

If anything, it was the perfect closure (if you can call it such) because I felt that her sudden disappearance was not something her personality was likely to do. It was so out of character that I was kind of worried something terrible had happened so, even though I didn't have to read the message to know what it contained, I was never the less relieved to receive it.

So yet another valuable Internet dating lesson has been learnt. Never leave anyone on your favourite list too long before contacting them, otherwise someone else will, and you’ll find yourself back onto the Match.com scrap heap.

Does the Camera Ever Lie?

I’ve recently started doing some IT contract work on a customers site and because I hadn’t been for a while I had to endure the site induction video and renew my contractors pass.

Because I knew my induction would involve that terrible task of having a new photograph taken, I made the effort to look a bit smarter than normal - wearing my very expensive silk tie and a freshly pressed crisp white shirt. I even went as far as trying to fool the camera lens by washing my hair in the morning and giving it a good comb beforehand. Heck, I even smiled for the camera.

So tell me, why does my picture always make me look like a fugitive off America’s Most Wanted, having more bags than Tesco under my eyes, suffering from a bad hair day along with having the contorted face of a man who looks like he really needs to break wind? And to top it all off, you then have to place your pass on the visitor board so everyone can have a jolly good laugh.

Trouble is, is this the true image that the mass ranks of women on Match.com see when they look at my profile? Even after all of my pre-photograph preening efforts I’m pretty sure I can’t look like this all the time. Never the less, the camera never lies. Right?

The Lady Vanishes

I’d not heard from my friend on Match.com for a couple of days so today I decided to login and see if anyone had recently looked at my profile and then drop my friend a line. Needless to say, I quickly solved this lack of contact conundrum because her profile has completely disappeared. Nice.

I guess she has found someone and is “going to give it a go”. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but it’s the fact that she simply disappeared without even so much as a “goodbye” that has really hit me hard. I think I actually felt my heart sink.

As far as I’m concerned, this is another nail in my Match.com coffin exploits. I hate to say it, but my heart is not in it at the moment and I’ve picked myself up and dusted myself off enough times already. I guess it does sound a little defeatist, but since I don’t want to loose any more from my glass I think the time is right to take that bit of a breather.

Don’t think that I’m waving a white flag and giving up to go sulk in a corner, it’s simply half time and I’m taking in fluids before resuming the battle. Still, I just wonder what the second half has in store. Will it be hugs all round or a dejected walk back to the dressing room? I guess only time will tell.

No More Mr. Nice Guy

I can’t help it. It was the way I was brought up. What’s wrong with saying please and thank you, holding doors open for people (both male and female), helping pregnant ladies with their shopping, young mothers with prams and letting drivers out of side roads? And no, this is not a list I’ve just made up, because I find myself doing these on a fairly regular basis.

So given that the ladies find being a nice guy repulsive, after all they do say nice guys always finish last*, I’ve decided to drop the nice guy image, get myself one of these suspiciously looking hoodies and start sneering at old ladies.

As part of my new bad boy image I had considered having kill the kittens tattooed on my knuckles, but then I realised that I didn’t have enough knuckles. So instead I’ve decided that I’m going to leave the top off the toothpaste, leave the toilet seat up and, what the hell, I may even forget to wash my hands after going to the toilet. Oh, yes, I’m a bad boy now…

* Although they could be talking about bedroom activities