A bad day…

3/365So, let me recap a day that happened to me very recently.

Woke up at 03:50..and when I say woke up what I really mean is that I got out of bed and put the kettle on, lit a cigarette and started checking my email.

At 04:10 I realise that it is 04:10 and try to head to bed and notice that my “Furniture Finder” is working perfectly (my shin connects with almost everything on the way back to bed).

04:14, getting into bed I realise that I have left the light on.

04:15, Getting back out of bad, I catch the back of my leg on the corner of the bed and gouge a huge cut.

04:15 – 04:20, cleaning my near fatal fleshwound.

04:22, gingerly climb back into bed…screw the light, it can stay on and stop me amputating something on the way back to bed.

04:25, heading into blissful slumber

04:35, cats decide to fight each other….on my bed.

04:45, give up and get out of bed.   Finish making the coffee I started at 03:50

05:00, watch Top Gear from Sunday night

06:00, start getting ready for work, shower, shave, iron clothes..more coffee etc

07:00, head to work

07:05, get to tram stop..realise that wallet is at home, head home

07:12, get back to tram stop, just in time to watch tram leaving

07:20, get on next tram

07:30, see tube pulling away and prepare for short wait on platform for the next tube

07:32, new train arriving (I love Germany)…spot worlds most boring individual heading my way

07:37 (feels like 17:37 though), depart tube and try and get away from boring individual and head into office

07:40, pour coffee all over my tie and a little bit on my shirt…head to bathroom to try and clean before it dries

07:45, complete with wet marks all over shirt and tie….check emails.

08:00, head down for smoke and coffee…drop coffee, burn hand with cigarette

08:30, back to office – Start work

08:45, check to confirm I have no meetings…discover I am late for one and am in them all day

12:15, late for lunch, manage to grab something before heading to office for next meeting

17:15, finish meetings for the day

17:30, leave and head home.

17:45, car splashes huge mud puddle all over me

18:00, home to discover cats have ripped open the bin bag I forgot to take downstairs this morning

18:10, internet is not working, reset all boxes, router doesn’t switch back on

18:11-18:15, weep a little

18:16, router springs back to life, stop weeping

18:20, pour coffee

18:22, throw away coffee made from ice cold water…boil kettle..realise I have no cigarettes…go out to shop

Not the best day I have ever had….I must have been a complete arsehole in a previous life to deserve that one.

Karma is a bastard

Still, it could only have been worse if I couldn’t sleep that night….


What if…

live a different lifeLet’s face it, we all dream from time to time…and even at 35 I still find myself wandering off into my imagination for how things could have been, would be if certain things happen and generally imagining a different life for myself.   In the main, we dream of making our lives easier I think, but not always in big ways…there are the obvious big ones and then some others that are maybe not so big.

What if you had a million euros?
This one is probably the easiest..first of all, I would be writing this from Rio or the Bahamas and wouldn’t be worrying about my career.   I would put money in trust funds for the kids and help my family pay off any debt they had

What if you were famous?
This one is more difficult, I mean what would you prefer to be famous for?   I think I would have liked to continue playing football and wonder if I could have ever made it.   Alternatively I would have loved to be a famous writer…but as you all know by now…that could never happen ;-)

What if you had a superpower?
This one has plagued boys and men alike for many years, and will probably continue to do so.   Would you want to fly?   Maybe, but it has limited uses unless you are going on holiday alone or don’t have money for the cab fair home.   Invisibility?   Most guys have had the fantasy of being able to go into places that you shouldn’t be…either for looking at lovely ladies or getting into bank safes etc.   Super strength?   Could be more useful I suppose, you could win plenty of competitions, be an actual hero…plenty of opportunity to make money.

What if you could speak every language in the world fluently?
This is one I have had from time to time…probably not one that a lot of people have, but I would love the ability to talk to anyone in their native language.   I speak a tiny amount of German and barely passable English…so it would be nice to never have to be confused or misunderstood which, let’s face it, is a perpetual state of being for me.

Then there are the little things, decisions that may have led to a different life.   Normal everyday decisions….none of them you regret, but occasionally you wonder about which way things could have gone.   Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change a thing…my decisions have led me to where I am.   Great kids, good relationship with my family, amazing friends, living in Germany and generally enjoying who I am.

It could be anything…what if I took this job, what if I placed that bet….what if I didn’t have another beer.   What if I had stayed with her, studied harder at school, not eaten that burger, driven slower, ran faster, concentrated more.

What if, what if, what if.

You can’t spend your life wondering, but sometimes you can’t help yourself.   My biggest wonder…what if I had the confidence to act on things when they might happen, instead of bottling out and spending the next months wondering.   It isn’t quite New Year yet, but I am going to resolve to try and act on my impulses, feelings and wonders.

Who knows, it might work…it will certainly be embarrassing from time to time, but fear of living is no reason not to try.

Woah…didn’t see that post coming when I thought of the original idea.

Ah well….

Scared of the dentist…me?

Uros Petrovic - RevengeThis post dedicated to MK, who had quite a substantial dental op yesterday and came through it with flying colours :-)

I have quite bad teeth, I will freely admit that and I am currently trying to pluck up the courage (and the money) to get them sorted out.   A brief checkup revealed that fixing them is not a huge job, but it will cost a bit.

That said, the main sticking point is not really the money…it’s the fear.   I have had a number of bad experiences with Dentists in my life, but one really sticks out.

Oh, did I mention that I seem to have an immunity to the numbing agent that they inject you with?   No…glad I cleared that up then.

A few years ago I woke up with toothache.   Nothing particularly unusual there really…lots of people get toothache.   Me being me, I choose to ignore it and hope it goes away.   It doesn’t.   Why does ignoring it rarely work…anyway.   Two days later and I wake up in ridiculous pain.   I head to the bathroom for some painkiller and catch glimpse of the Elephant Man in the mirror.   Essentially, I look like a cartoon version of myself…a cartoon version of myself that has stored a football in its cheek for the winter.   In short….not good.

I go into the bedroom and wake Sarah up with a pitiful “Help me, it hurts” and we head off to the dentist.   They agree to see my right away and tell me that it is an abcess.   I have since learned that with this type of dental issue, they must treat the infection with antibiotics before they can remove the affected tooth.   Enter Dr Australia.   I call him that not because he had won best doctor in Australia, but because he was Australian and frankly I can’t think of another suitable nickname without being abusive.

This guy takes one look and tells me that he has to extract the tooth immediately, abcess and all, as…and I quote… “If that thing bursts, you will be in serious trouble”.   He gives me two injections around the area and leaves me for a few minutes for them to take.   As he is prodding and I am still yelping, he gives me two more.   This goes on around 5 (I think) times.   So I have now had around 10 injections and can still feel everything…determined to work through the pain, Dr Australia gets to work (what a trooper).   The pain was unbelievable and I am shaking as a result.   He stops and informs me that I have to be still.   I lean under the chair, grab hold of the metal struts underneath and tense for all I am worth in an effort to stay motionless.   Dr Australia is still struggling to get the tooth out and after a few minutes (I am quite literally crying at this point), he stops and moves away.   Whereupon he chooses to basically shout at me to stop moving, telling me that I could die if it bursts etc etc.   I nod, defeated, and tense so much that I am practically breaking through the struts underneath the chair.   Eventually, he manages to get the tooth free.   It wasn’t alone, a golf-ball sized abcess (I shit you not) came out with it, and I practically pass out from the pain.   Free of the tooth pain and now only dealing with the aftermath, we stagger to my Nans house so that I can sleep it off.   I glance in the mirror and it looks like I just lost a fight in the UFC.   Bruises over my face where he was leaning and pushing and generally trying to get leverage, everything was swollen and my eyes were bloodshot.   It was a good look.

A few hours later we head home and I go to bed again.   Unfortunately, just as I get to the top of the stairs, I black out and tumble down them.   Sarah calls a doctor who checks me out and then informs Sarah that it would appear that the anasthetic had finally taken hold…which was enough to knock out a large waterbuffalo….and before you say anything, even my ample size only accounts for a small waterbuffalo…

Not all Dentists are bastards…just small Australian ones working in North Nottinghamshire

We apologise for the delay

Commercial airplane climbing after take off in the sunset.So, like I said, my Dad was here recently and as usual he was full of stories, some I have heard (but still enjoy hearing), others were new.   Like the story about my Dad coming to Germany for work last week.

My Dad does a lot of travelling and always has his eye on making life going through airports a little easier.   A while ago, he saw a new bag…unusual, one he had never seen before…interesting markings and colours.   It was also perfect in that it had the right number of pouches and pockets, was the right size for staying a week or even just for a night or two.   In short, the perfect bag…   It would be easy to spot and easy to grab from the luggage belt.   I am sure you already know where this is going, but nevertheless I will continue on to the bitter end.

So Dad flys in to Hannover Airport, but gets caught up on the plane and is quite late getting off.   He gets to the luggage belt and spies his bag travelling around and around.   He heads straight for it and instantly recognises that there is something not quite right.   The bag seems a little travel weary and weather beaten for such a new and recent purchase.   Still, he is tired and thinks it could be his fatigued eyes playing tricks…that is, until he picks up the bag.   Straight away it is clear that this isn’t Dads bag, it is far too light and old…undeterred, he opens a couple of pockets to be 200% certain and then heads to the baggage department to explain the predicament.   Armed with a reference number and a sense of confusion about how someone could pick up a bag, so clearly brand new and weighing half a ton more than his own bag…but still, he heads to the hotel.   Of course, at this point he is in the clothes he travelled in, hasn’t shaved and has a meeting to attend.   It is reasonably fortunate that Dad was travelling with clients, so was in trousers and a shirt anyway, but still…he had planned on showering, changing and shaving before the meeting.   He attends meeting #1 feeling like crap, but gets through it..when an ad-hoc meeting #2 takes place.   Somehow he gets through this one too and heads to his room….fully aware that noone has called from the airline.   Still, he is tired and needs sleep.

Always an early riser, Dad is up from around 6am and there is no news on the bag…Dad decides to wait until a very respectable…and dare I say reserved…time of 8am before calling the airport.   Feeling quite chipper, he speaks to the airport, gives them the reference number and waits….when the woman comes back on the phone she tells Dad that the number he has given her doesn’t exist in the system.   This goes back and forth until the supervisor comes on the line.   She confirms that it isn’t in the system, and Dad begins to explode…on the verge of nuclear meltdown you might say.   Just at the point of explosion, the supervisor explains why that reference is not in the system anymore.   Apparently they delivered the case the night before and noone from the hotel had called to let him know.   Dad now has 30 minutes before a meeting, but can’t face putting the clothes on from yesterday…so he heads down in a hotel bathrobe, grabs the bag…heads to his room, phones the meeting and tells them they will have to wait.   My Dad…classy.

Dad being classy reminds me of an old story.   Before the tragic events known as 9/11 to most of the free world, security was always a concern.   My Dad was working at the British Embassy in Berlin and was working with the Air Attache.   When you take this position, you also agree to monitor security with anything to do with flying whenever possible.   It isn’t like he was on a mission to do this, but he had sworn an oath to be vigilant and aware when flying.   Dad is in Stansted Airport returning to Germany and it is a usual busy day at the airport.   Check-in is uneventful and Dad is heading through to the departure gate..waiting his turn in line to walk through the metal detectors.   The guy in front of him is holding a MacDonalds bag and drink.   As this guy is about to walk through the detectors, he leans to the side of the detector and places his bag and drink on top of the X-Ray machine….walks through the detector and gets frisked.   Once that finishes he leans around the detector again and grabs his stuff and wanders on his merry way.   Dad isn’t looking for a confrontation with Stansted security, but decides that he can’t let it go, so he calls the Air Attache and lets him know what happened.

The next day Stansted Airport undergoes a “routine security review” by the department of British transport.   Many flights were delayed, many people were inconvenienced and my Dad was back in Berlin inhaling fine German beer with a smile on his face.

See, classy.

You’re welcome :-)

Like a kid again…

Peek-a-BooJust a short, sentimental post today, as I am out for a birthday party later and will not be in any fit state to write anything tomorrow…unless something happens of course.   SP was out last night, rumour has it he may be out tonight too…rest assured I will be taking my notebook, just in case.

So my Dad visited for the last couple of days…and except for not going outside and playing catch, I was like a kid for the whole time.   Admittedly, I would be a kid drinking copious amounts of beer with his Dad…and he was never that kind of Dad. We even went to the cinema…to watch James Bond.   What am I?   12?

We had a some great chats and I managed to get a little bit of blog-fodder too.   Dad has some great stories and I can honestly say that I am very lucky to be able to chat with him like I can.   We take the piss out of each other…admittedly he is better at it than I am, seeing as he taught me my sarcastic ways (even though he refuses to claim it).   We can drink together, tell dodgy jokes and we share a love of sport (mainly football).

We talked for hours, never ran out of conversation.   I was able to admit to certain regrets I have about my behaviour as a teen..which, Dad being Dad, completely dismissed.   I think he quite likes the confident Son he saw before him, the group of friends I have and the life I am living.   He gave me some great advice about the future, words of encouragement and a frickin hangover.   I rarely get to just go out for a bevvy with my Dad, so this couple of days were superb.   Thanks Dad :-)

While I remember, a few things from last night:-

I managed to cockblock LM on a highly skilled walk-by cockblocking.   It’s amazing what a giant Uncle Fester clone, giving you a hug and stroking your face can do..I may also have called him bigboy….sorry LM

I beat Z in an arm wrestle (admittedly, he had just arm wrestled a monster like 5 minutes before…but still, I am totally claiming it)

I also beat PM immediately afterwards with my considerably more girly left arm.

My lasting memory though was from the lovely PS.   She gave a genius raise to what little kudos I have these days.   As she walks past, I say hello…she turns, looks at me dead in the eye, calls me a bastard and slaps me.   I am laughing now, but it was a proper slap.   She turns away, walks two paces…turns around and tells me that the sex was amazing though.   Some of the looks I got were well worth the pain…thanks PS :-)

More ramblings when I sober up enough to type…

Hot stuff


So I was begging for inspiration, when IP delivered a recount of a story where two people were snogging each others faces off and Z put his finger in the girls mouth.   She enthusiastically started sucking on his finger, realising a little too late that Z had dipped his finger in Tabasco sauce….

Now, I am not sure if she was speaking about herself or not, but it did remind me of a party I had many many years ago.   It was standard house party rules, too small a place, too many people, never enough booze….you know the type.   We had put on a spread of various chips and dips and a good time was being had by all.   Then there was Mark, he took a liking to a particular tomato dip, and was using tortilla chips like spoons to demolish it.   After going through 2 batches of this stuff, I decided to slow him down.   I took the now empty bowl and headed to the kitchen to refill once more.   Rummaging through the cupboards, I discover a bottle of “Dan-Ts Inferno – White Hot Cayenne Pepper Sauce”..now this isn’t as hot as the name suggests, however, it does make Tabasco taste like mayonnaise in comparison.   So I empty the bottle into the bowl and replace said bowl on the table.   Mark dutifully grabs some tortilla chips and starts spooning this stuff into his mouth.   I think it was the 4th scoop where his tastebuds caught up with what was happening, immediately shutdown and sent all sensory responses directly to his pain receptors.   First he went bright red and broke into a sweat, then his eyes became wide and a look of abject terror moved into the real estate of his face.   Mere microseconds after this took place, he bounded to the kitchen where he shoved his head under the cold tap and stayed there for around 10 mins.   You need a moral?   Never eat all of my fave dip at my party… :twisted:

A few years later and I am staying at my Aunts place for a weekend, she introduces me to her new fella (who would eventually become my Uncle).   He seems pretty cool, we go out for a few beers and generally have a good laugh.   At some point during the night, the subject of hot/spicy food comes up.   As I have said before, we like our food quite hot in our family so of course, when he suggested a curry eating competition I was well up for it.   We arrive at the Curry House, and decide that we will order 4 different Currys..each one hotter than the last.   I forget their names, but if I tell you that Vindaloo was the 2nd of the 4, you will possibly understand the level of heat we are getting to.   Now, the curry house made up our order and packaged it up to take away and we headed home.   We started to unpack the currys and noticed that they all came with plastic lids that had been heat sealed onto the container.   Good idea thinks I, no spillage.   Getting this frickin glued plastic monstrosity off each container though proved somewhat difficult, the plastic would split and you would end up with a load of the curry sauce on whichever finger fell through.   Still, no problem…lick sauce from finger and carry on.   We begin on the first of the 4 and I distinctly remember checking the container for the telltale number 3 written on it by the curry house…unfortunately this was most definitely number 1 and I realised I could be in trouble.   A casual glance towards my soon to be Uncle determines that it is barely registering as a curry…He even talked about giving some to his dog as it was weak….At this point I have already lost bodyweight through sweatloss.   Cue curry number 2…again I get some of the sauce on my finger and proceed to lick it off…at which point my tastebuds shut down…long enough for me to finish it.   Once again “Uncle Asbestos Mouth” is quite content.   I have a slight ringing in my ears and can’t see from the sweat pouring down my face.   Most people would have stopped at this point and conceded….most people….not me….I don’t do losing very well.   Bring on curry 3.   I had assumed, wrongly, that my tastebuds shutting down would last.   I didn’t anticipate them springing back to life just in time for the first mouthful of curry 3….excruciating pain…how the hell do people enjoy this shit!?!?   Still, I somehow get through it and may have spent the latter part of it sitting inside the freezer…but finish it I did…somehow.   Then came curry 4, it should be pointed out that Uncle “Thermonuclear” was merrily chatting away and seemingly unaffected by anything he had eaten thus far…for my part, I was talking like I had just had a stroke.   I open curry 4 and again, end up with sauce on my finger.   I take a lick…and my head exploded, seriously, pain the likes of which I can probably never fully explain.   I dish it up and Uncle Volcanoe tucks in….and I conceded.   I think I managed to get about halfway through before passing out…   I was just glad that we remembered to put the toilet paper in the freezer when I woke up the next morning…

All these years later, I have just about got the feeling back in my lips..but my tastebuds will probably never recover.

Ah well, Vindaloo anyone?


Oh dear..that old chestnut again

Tea for OneSo I have said before that I watch a considerable number of TV Shows at the moment.   One of my current faves has to be Bones.   I like it as it is easy to watch, quite interesting and the dynamic between the characters is incredibly good and more often than not, very funny.

I watched the first two episodes of the 4th series yesterday….based in Oxford, England.   Unbelievable, thinks I, not only is my fave show back on the air, but it is set in my home country…this should be good.

And it was, sort of.   The dynamic is unchanged, the comedy is there…the interesting forensic stuff is ok, but why did they feel the need to go where they did?   Not every English person in Oxford is two steps away from royalty.   They don’t all have loads of cash and an accent that Prince Harry would consider hoity toity.   I half expected Dick van Dyke to jump off a roof shouting for Mary Poppins.

All of this would have been possible to ignore, if it wasn’t for the one person that they tried to show as a “fairly” average Englishman.   Firstly, he was a member of Henley Boat Club (meaning that a posh bloke would have had meaning).   Secondly, he was clearly a very posh actor, trying to put on a not-so-posh accent.   It was ridiculous.   I know, I know, the Americans love what they think of as a typically English accent, but still.

I can only think that the writers have seen episodes of The Riches and decided that they needed to redress the balance created by Eddie Izzards crap American accent.   Eddie Izzard is a comedic genius, but he can’t do accents to save his bloody life.   In spite of this, The Riches is actually a bloody good program and has given me the perfect way to get out of meetings where difficult questions are being asked (The Sleeper).

Seriously though, what is it about the English accent that “does it” for you American ladies?   I mean, I have an English accent, and I am also blessed with the ability to mimic most of the accents available in England today (and a couple of others)…so I could adapt depending on your desired accent.   Is it just that it isn’t American?   I know that tends to be the case for English women.   Also, for the record…we do all live in castles and have butlers… Although, my butler is at the shop having a refit, and I have loaned my castle to the people at Disney so that they can see what a real one is.

Mind you, the accent thing seems to work for most people.   For example, IP (German) loves the Liverpool accent, LS (English) gets positively moist from the Northern Irish accent.   I myself am partial to certain American accents and in some cases the German accent.

What accent gets you all hot under the collar?

Oh, and could you possibly show me the whay to the gaaarden partay?   Thank you my good marn!

The First Kiss

LipsThe first kiss is quite important, we all know this.   It can determine if the chemistry is right, it can determine an element of compatibility of the physical kind.

If you are a hopeless romantic, you will want that first kiss to be memorable, and preferably perfect.   It may or may not involve fireworks (literal or imagined), flowers, a wonderful setting and a feeling that it is the right thing to do.

You will probably want it to begin softly, if the chemistry is right for both of you, your heart rates will increase…you may feel a little breathless and the passion and intensity may increase, leading to a stronger kiss.   Tongues will almost certainly be used, but they will be in the tender exploration of the other person and reactionary to each and every movement between you.   You will hold each other tighter and the shared body heat will move to another level.   Eventually, you will stop by returning to the gentle kiss, slower and slower until you break contact, at which point you will be looking directly at each other intensely.   Moments later, the world will begin to move again and you will become aware of sound, the sound of people passing you by and complaining about the world and wending their merry way through life.   In that moment, you will know…you will know that the cat food section of the local supermarket was not the wisest location choice :-P

You do not, however, try to eat the back of the other persons head through their mouth.   If you notice that this person has issues with their nasal cavity…trying to clear the blockage with your tongue is seldom considered sexy….and let’s face it, could lead to a discussion that nobody really wants to have.

See exhibit A:

Now, I have to concede that this is not their first kiss, although my understanding from MK and KH is that they had only known each other a few days according to the show.   Maybe this is enjoyable for the both of them, although it looks like she is under attack and just trying to survive.   Thinking about it, he is clearly forcing her to be compliant with some sort of Vulcan Nerve Grip thing on the back of her neck.   Alternatively, maybe what we can’t tell is that they are really underwater and lost their breathing apparatus…survival instincts kick in and that is the result.

All I know with any certainty, if someone ever films me kissing someone and it looks like that….kill me, you have my permission….you would be doing me (the victim woman) and quite possibly the world, a HUGE favour.   Noone needs to see that.

I am now going to arrange for a frontal lobotomy, to try and rid my mind of the video above.


Slow news day?

Turkey Fryer Injury UpdateNow, I am not about to jump on the Obama got elected bandwagon…not least of all as I am English, not American.

That said…. WTF! is this all about? Woof Journalism*

British Broadcasting Corporation, for shame.   I get that American politics has an important impact on the world, I get that…honestly I do.   I get that this makes it important enough for all of the worlds news to report on it, even the good old BBC.   But the first fucking dog!?!?!   Seriously, the first dog?

This cannot be a story that needs telling.   I mean, what’s next…the first hamster, first ant colony, first headlouse?   Will we be dedicating journalistic resource to investigating the first bathroom paint colour choice?   Don’t get me wrong, I am sure that there are as many people in America that feel the need for every little detail…there certainly would be in the UK for a new Prime Minister…but world news?

I don’t think so.   Fair enough if we were talking about his first major decision, policy or action….I could see that making world news.   I have to say though, the conspiracy theorists were out in force to say that he couldn’t possibly win and the vast majority of Americans decided that change was required.   I don’t pretend to know about his real policies or even if he will be a good president, but he definitely seems to be a different kind of leader to any previous one, and America took a chance.

At least he isn’t a Fundamentalist Christian, although it is only a matter of time until we discover he is a Scientologist or something….

Ah well

* Sorryseriously, I am quite ashamed of that one

Bambi Platter

BambiSo I went out last night for Hs birthday.   We went to an olde worlde German restaurant where a number of us were instantly of the opinion that we must eat Bambi.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not an emotionless vessel of hate (not right now anyway)….I can get upset at films, books, people on the street even.   I do find it difficult to get upset when an artist stops drawing something though, even if he does get overzealous with the eraser.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any Bambi available as we should have ordered it in advance.   It left me with visions of phoning up, asking for the Bambi Platter with the reservation and having the guy hang up the phone..and yell “We need more Bambi!”.   Whereupon the Chef sighs, gets a gun from the wall and, with an apologetic shrug to his children, walks outside…..fade to his children looking forlorn, tears streaming down their faces as they dry cry the words “why daddy why?”, over and over.

That left us with, basically, serious steak or Pumbaa…. Being the Disney hating real men that we are, we decided that Pumbaa was the choice for us.   A delicious bowl of…well it looked like a pot plant I gave to my grandmother a few years ago as a random gift…turned up.   Being as it obviously contained no Disney characters that I could discern of, and appeared far too healthy…I passed.   Plus, I had chowed down a seriously good muffin (fnarr) provided by KH and MK.   I am not sure if it was for me or for H, but I only stopped to consider that halfway through…. ah well.

Many starters were delivered, much old style German beer was brought to the table.   Then came the vegatables, spaetzle and … well … warm, soft sugar puffs, sans sugar.   I chose to pretty much ignore these things in view of the impending Pumbaa explosion.

Turns out that the rule that TV adds 10 pounds is a lie, either that or Pumbaa has been on a serious diet recently (or eaten too many healthy bugs/grubs, or whatever it was he ate in the Lion King).   A positively anorexic Pumbaa was brought to 5…count ’em (I know you won’t) 5 full grown men.   Some of these men were considerably more grown than others….ok 1 of these men…ok me…dagnabit.

Still, what there was of it was fantabulous.   Cue complaint from one of the other guys regarding the size zero Pumbaa and we get free pudding….Result!   I don’t know what it was, but it was nice.   Halfway through, it was established that the fruit on the plate were cherries, beyond that I am not so sure.

We then head back to my living room so that H may enjoy a birthday cigar (thank you German smoking laws) and I get home around 01:30 this morning.

The moral of this story?   There isn’t one….other than be careful which Disney character you try to eat, there may not be that much of it.

Karma is a bastard