Thursday, December 23, 2010

It's the frickin, freakin, floopin, Christmas blog!!!!!

And here it is folks - the widely anticipated Christmas blog. I say widely, but even my parents don't read this. I say anticipated, but it's more like something uninvited which sneaks up on you, an eyelash on your cornea.

I realised today that Christmas was almost upon us, as I welcomed the familiar joys of returning home. First spotting someone I never wanted to see again in Morrisons, and towering behind a tower of Kleenex boxes, edging the trolley out like a semi-automatic. Hundreds of people with plastic buckets trying to wrestle the change from my pockets. My mother speaking to strangers about the contents of their baskets for no apparent reason. Running into your Uncle's, son's, friend's, grandmother's next door neighbour and having a long, awkward, sickly conversation about the weather:

"Isn't it cold?"
"It is cold."
"I was just thinking this morning, I don't believe I've ever been this cold."
"Exactly. I mean, can it actually get any colder?"
"No, I don't think it can. It's already too cold, impossibly cold."
"We're used to cold, but not this cold."
"It's like, my head is warm, but my face is always so cold."
"For me it's the feet. My toes are very cold."
"Anyway, I must dash. I'm getting cold standing here."

Well, yeah, thanks for that. Good to know. Just go inside, put on your central heating, and never leave your house again. No one will notice.

Also, all those films are on. Uncle Buck, Shrek, Narnia. I have to stop whatever important task I was about to launch myself upon, like making a sandwich, and watch them. From the beginning, to the end. Then I note it's on again tomorrow, and I think, yes, yes I shall watch it then as well. It's a vicious circle of pain.

Most importantly, my Samsung Galaxy S has arrived and is currently residing in an old ankle sock. Please stop whinging about the blank texts, and the repeated texts and the half finished texts. I no longer understand technology. I am old. Quite frankly the thing baffles me. I have decided to use it as a rather fetching doorstop and will buy a Nokia 3210.

Have a drunken Christmas all, and I will write to you, with equally fascinating stories in the New Year

WriterAtLunch xxxxxxx

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Always look on the bright side of death...

Only my father could be relied upon to instill Christmas cheer into this miserable world. I would like to invite you all into the delicate, mental deliberations of a legend. Dad, if you're reading, I am about to immortalise you in blog history, worry not. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing, the way you see life. To give this text message a little context, he is currently on a Carribean cruise.

(The content has not been manipulated for comical purposes, I swear on Ginger Beard's beard.)

"Hi Gem, weather great and the cruise ship is massive.
Unfortunately a man died on the second day. Last night a woman went over the ship into the sea. A rescue with ships and planes has not found the woman after two days.
However, we are enjoying the various islands we visit, and it is somewhat hotter than in the UK."

I love him so much, it hurts.

Monday, December 13, 2010

The life and times of Miss Ann Potts - Episode one

I'd like to introduce you all to a very special person in my life, the delectable, the delightful, the damn right desirable, Miss Ann Potts. The very Ann Potts who receives more mail, more heartfelt family letters and get well cards than I, to my address. For over six months her friends and relatives have loyally kept me filled in on their busy lives, and thanks to them, I already have five Christmas cards. It's so nice to finally be loved.

I've decided to share the life of Ann Potts, instead of selfishly hoarding it. My personal favourite which arrived over the weekend is 'The Varley Family Xmas Newsletter 2010.' Including these precious highlights:

'Matthew has finally returned to Gressenhall!"
I think you'll all be as relieved as me to hear this. We thought he'd never go back.
"Nick has had the least changes, although, he did buy a sports car."
 I feel very sorry for Nick. 2010 has raped him of joy.
"Jo is benefiting from the reduced travelling demands."
Praise the lord.
"Barbara has read lots of books." She sounds almost as depressed as Nick.
"We have spent several days "out" just enjoying ourselves."
What, pray tel, can these inverted commas be suggesting? Strip Club? Gay Bar? Morrisons?
"Perhaps we will visit you next year?" I really hope they do. I'd get the crisps in.

Now, what kind of pen pal would I be, if I didn't write back?

"It's been a very exciting year for myself and Ginger Beard. We're sorry to hear that Nick and Barbara are suicidal this close to Christmas. Luckily, your other children sound like they lead much more exciting lives. In what is becoming a rather predictable habit, we've been inhaling oxygen, purchasing train tickets, and even wearing shoes! Ginger Beard has consumed an array of pasta dishes. On a rather personal note, I've been calculating my correct tax deduction for the year. Please come and visit soon, and/or send further enthralling letters.

Best Wishes,

WriterAtLunch

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

A Royal let down....

Part of me is sick of falling over on the ice. Part of me is like, come on already, let's fracture something so I can put my feet up for a few weeks. I'm joking! I'm joking! I'm a little bit serious.

The whole thing is really starting to grate now. I mean sure, look at the beautiful winter wonderland, and it's nearly Christmas, and fun, and - now get over yourself and melt already.

In other news, I will be starting to hash through my much loved Nano project, after, well you know, I pass my driving test, and sort out a new job, and buy everyone presents and like, clean the bath. No! I will! I promised myself, and I have it forever stored on the internet - legally binding. It's just that December is one of those charming months where you never have enough time. It's always dark, and always cold, and you can just about muster the energy to drink a hot chocolate and settle under the duvet. Coincidently, exactly what I'm doing now.

I'm also in a bit of a sulk becuase Royal Mail have decided our car park is too trecherous. I can see them, arms laden with my many parcels on the street, looking across the white death trap which leads to my door. They clock the lack of path, and the fact that even the residents are parking on the street. They clock me, they mouth, 'Fuck it.' And they go home to Mrs Royal Mail. I need my stuff! Take the risk! What's more important, your spine or my Samsung Galaxy S?

Wednesday, December 01, 2010

The Rutter - 1 The Little Shits - 0

I did start writing this yesterday, but stopped and gave into the paracetemol driven, dehydrated hallucinations. I woke up feeling like cack, and forced myself around 9pm to produce the final 500 words of shocking cliche, probably inspired by the hours I spent watching Jeremy Kyle, and Come dine with me. And so hurrah! 50,000 words of iliterate, intolerable garble, which I will now have to wade through on my search for gold. I will also share with you some of the worst writing you will ever stumble across.

In other victorious news; Tuesday, whilst on my lovely morning walk to work, I turned a corner to find three charming boys waiting for me with a look-what-we-prepared-earlier pile of snow. The conversation which thus followed went a little like this.

Rutter: Please don't! I'm on my way to work.
Fat child: Tough!
Rutter: I'll remember this house number.
Fat child: We don't even live here!
Rutter: Yes, but they'll know who the little shits of the neighbourhood are.

Several things then happened dear reader. I realised that with my final sentence, I had officially made the transition into becoming my mother, spewing words commonly associated with the antagonised elderly. And also that I was now being chased, by the leader nonetheless, the fat one. With great cheer I announce that he could not catch me, and between the three of them, struck me once on the shoulder with a snowball. I even commentated on their effots. 'Nice one.' 'Wow, your talents astound me.'

I now realise that all my years of badminton, and my recent progress on the gym treadmil, had been preparing me for this moment. But there was only one sad thought in my mind, as I walked on in my woollen coat. And that was - How much my cag in a bag would've loved to accompany me on this adventure.