Seven Days

Monday morning, the birth of a new week and a time to formulate this weeks itinerary. I’m struggling to think of what I have on the agenda for the next seven days. Even checking my pocket diary to jog my memory has failed to bear fruit….. Although the fact I never remember to jot anything in my diary doesn’t ease the task.

My tardiness at populating the date entries of this small book I bought to aid memory, renders it about as much use as Swedish footballer Tomas Brolin was to Leeds United during his short time at the club in the mid 1990’s…… Thankfully, though, I didn’t pay £4 million for the diary like the West Yorkshire outfit did for the portly under-achieving Scandinavian.

Actually writing about Brolin has just reminded me I need to trek into Cross Gates to buy meat pies for tea. I best add that thought to my diary before it disappears into the ether. Forgetting would result in this evenings dinner plates bereft of the pastry covered meat and a disgruntled family unit.

So my first diary entry for Monday 24th October 2016 is ‘Buy some pies from Wilson’s the Butcher’.

Another thing to remember is my wife Karen is due to return home from her parents in the north east of England, where she has spent the last couple of days.

Like the contents of an old man’s scrotum, her mum and dad are warm, wrinkly and very close. Despite the fact they have been co-habiting side by side for 60 glorious years in a confined space, their bond remains firm.

I turned down the opportunity to join my spouse at the Bates motel as her mum gets overly giddy this close to Halloween. I’d only have ended up with a crap chore, like having to wax her broomstick or blacken the cauldron.

Halloween night in their area has a bit of a twist. Last year when her mum answered the door to ‘trick or treaters’ she was so frightening they gave her sweets! And that was before she donned her witches cape and hat!

It is my loss though as I will miss their warm welcome, intellectual chatter and lack of teeth.

There is a saying that “You can beat an egg but you can’t beat Mike Tyson at Scrabble”. Apparently, the ex-Heavyweight boxer wins every Scrabble game he plays. His poor vocabulary means his words are never right, but if you don’t let him win he threatens to beat the crap out of you!

The paragraph above bears no relevance to the topic of the blog, however, I thought I’d share it in the event you get to play Tyson at Scrabble and you didn’t know that it’s best to let him win.

Actually, I’m not even sure what the topic of this narrative is! I started off talking about an empty diary apart from the requirement to purchase meat pies for tea, then I went on to my wife’s visit to her parents, Halloween and then Mike Tyson’s Scrabble successes!

Chuffing hell this is random even by my standards!

I best leave myself a note of “Stick to the point. Write less randomly” in the diary entry for Tuesday 25th October 2016.

Ah, I’ve just remembered I’m having my haircut on Wednesday morning. When I say haircut it’s more a case of my long-suffering hairdresser using the skill of a forensic scientist to cover my bald patch with my ever thinning locks.

So Monday I’m buying meat pies, Tuesday attempting to write less randomly and Wednesday having my haircut…… It’s going to be quite a week!

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