Monday, March 08, 2010

Joys

On Friday the 26th of February, I had a lovely civil partnership ceremony with my beloved Tom (thank Jane Griffiths – your work towards civil partnerships in the UK mean I will always treasure being a cyber pal). We made it through the whole thing without bursting into tears whilst looking into each other’s eyes.

It was a close thing though. I love that grumpy old git of mine.

Then we had a gorgeous meal with a few friends and family at the Forburys Restaurant before heading off to the wonderful myhotel Brighton for the weekend. Brighton was apparently full of Conservatives at some pointless conference or another that may be less lovely for them in their memories come the election. I do not think any of them stayed in the hotel, shopped in the Lanes alongside us or were in the pubs we drank around for much of the weekend. If they were, I was too happy to notice and missed the opportunity of behaving like a twat towards them. Damn. Anyway, I hope they all had a good time. The husband and I bought presents for each other, went clothes shopping for ourselves, and spent money on clothing for a dog at the gayest pet shop in the world. It was magnificent.

We had to come back to bloody Reading on Sunday the 28th as I needed to be at work the next day, yet my spirits remained high in spite of such damned misfortune.

On Monday, I made it through the day thinking of the evening – namely, taking ownership of the most fantastic puppy in the world. Patch is a staffy, and a Pompey supporter (trust me on this – no scummer he, whatever the husband/wife/might-just-still-call-him-partner says). We could not have taken ownership of him before we had wed. I do not want people to think of our child substitute as being ours out of wedlock. This puppy will be wearing a smoking gown, puffing on a pipe and then discretely peeing on the legs of common people in no time. Excellent. I love it when a plan comes together.

Anyway, ever since, life has been a mix of depressing, hideous lows (work) and wonderful, heavenly highs (cleaning up puppy poop and trying to ease jaws off my wrists and ankles).

It is rare for me to be happy for the majority of my time. Approaching a second full week of it, I thought I would share. And soon, very soon indeed, I WILL BE A COMPLETE WHINGING GIT AGAIN.

Make the most of these moments. They make life worth living.

(PS) I started this message at lunch time. After a full Monday of work, I hate you all again. Didn’t take long, did it? Ah well. X

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Beautiful Day

This morning, we paid for the rings for our civil partnership and spent a small fortune on food and gifts so that we could be a sickeningly sweet couple tomorrow.

This afternoon, "my" football team beat "your" football team 4-1.  You shrugged, smiled anyway, kissed me, and disappeared to the bedroom "to read and have a quick kip" (in short, to sulk without wanting me to know).  Had the result been reversed, I suspect I would not have spoken to you before our civil partnership, and your face would quite probably have had something rude scribbled across in it permanent marker whilst you slept.  Or gotten stuck in the u-bend.

That's why I love you.  It is also why so many of my past lovers flew like the wind within a few hours or days, and why the football league will now have FA Cup placings to add to the list of reasons why they will have to try to help Pompey survive. 

These all matter (not equally, but that's football for you), and have made an old whinger like me feel all warm and content.  Look - I'm putting something on my blog and it isn't even hateful shit.

You mean more than I think I can ever let you know.

X

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Salter Balls

If you have not visited the feeblest blog at the “not thrilling” Politics section of The Telegraph website, I strongly encourage you to do so for a giggle.

http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/author/msalter/

The comments, as with the getreading website, are what provide most interest. Uhm, “hysterical abuse” (January 22nd comments)? Perhaps when suggesting someone has behaved like a lunatic for pointing out a tired level of distain towards Mr Salter, yes? The soon to be former MP is using the website seemingly because any criticism of his words brings about great defence by others. He cannot defend himself any more then, poor thing?

That aside, the blog needs defending by someone at the Telegraph. Otherwise, the number of comments would be noticeably fewer and the value would be more readily apparent. And I’m saying that as someone drawing no comments whatsoever. Which at least means I can relax and not run crying to others for help.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Pants On The Ground

General Larry Platt speaks for us all. Iconic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMwhl4IrPNc