fill your boots

i went to a party yesterday in a house that cost £50 million. it's true what they say about money not buying taste but it does mean you can be vulgar without worrying about claustrophobia. the chandeliers looked like they came from Argos on steroids. my entire house would have fitted twice over in the living room the party was held in (one of five). mikel gorbachov was the guest speaker - which explained the spy-film like security on the door. he spoke (not in English, which he never learnt - bigger fish to fry, but in Russian, which was brilliantly translated by his interpreter) about his humble beginnings and rise to power.
i'd never been so close (3 ft approx) to such an important figure before and i have to say he had a real presence about him. he was imposing in the nicest possible way and seemed very warm. i liked him (i'm sure he'd sleep more soundly if he knew).
my party date had booked herself into a local hotel for the night - quite a comedown from the party venue, it must be said - her room would have fitted into my wardrobe!
when we checked her in the woman at reception went through the normal hotel stuff (and looked at me like i was a punter after an hourly rate!) before declaring 'it's an eat as much as you can' breakfast.
she meant a serve-yourself buffet but i loved the idea of an early morning challenge. as if they'd arranged some kind of pre-work competition to stuff as many croissants and cold bits of toast down you as you could that would get guests rushing downstairs to compete in.
then i had a cross-group (i work for a multinational) conference about the internet and thought about how best to get noticed in anonymous meetings and decided that in future, the first time i looked around the table at my fellow meeters i'd go boss eyed so that everyone would be left wondering who the person with the really bad squint was and who i was looking at.
you get your thrills where you can in January

yes, i know they do Mr Larkin

not only does my father have a facebook profile (and he doesn't even put crap posts on my wall) but my mum has now taken to sending my crude and lewd jokes by text! her last one was about a woman shitting herself over the price of a diamond!
what is the world coming too.

city slickers

when a man is tired of london, they say, he is tired of life. what, i wonder, would they say about a man who was bored of Berlin. ok, i put my hands up – that man is me. i've just come back from a weekend in the German capital and all i can say is booooooooooooooooooooring. no offence meant, you understand. had a lovely afternoon wandering around looking at some nice edgy/interesting boutiques and homewares shops, and had a brilliant 5-star hotel experience (including a great blackhead busting facial) but saturday and sunday were total washouts. ok, so no city is particularly great in the rain but i just didn't get it. sometimes you go to a city and get the feeling there are great things going on, if only you knew where to look for them. in Berlin i felt like everyone had gone on holiday without telling us where!
i did like the currywurst, though.

tree's company

the bad news is that my cleaner has had a little mishap and broken a stone bird i lugged all the way back from New Zealand. i only noticed it was chipped because she had cannily hidden it behind a box, drawing a damn sight more attention to it than if she'd left it in its normal place.
the good news is that the huge tree that a friend gave me, which, despite friend's estimate that the tree was about my height turned out to be 11 ft tall (either i have the height version of body dysmorphia or she needs a new pair of glasses), and which languished in the back garden for a week before i got a chance to plant it, has started to flower, in January, as promised.
my little heart gave a little skip yesterday when i noticed.

beak this!

when i was seven we 'upgraded', as estate agents would have it. basically we moved from a three bedroom house to a four bedroom semi (which, incidentally cost a staggering £11,000!). as a moving in present my dad gave my mum Susuku. an African grey parrot. he was slightly scary at first but we soon came to love him. he was soon talking – saying things like Suku (which is apparently Swahili for parrot), silly bird and come on Jan (my mum's name).
he also learned the name of Cecil (one of our hundreds of cats) and Daddy Mick (our grandad) and would scream them whenever they appeared.
and he developed the infuriating habit of hanging upside down from the roof of his cage and yanking his wing out, causing him enough pain to scream in the most hideously ear-piercing manner whenever he wanted to be let out. Thirty three years later he still hasn't realised that he could perhaps make the same noise without actually hanging upside down.
anyway, about seven years ago, Suku started behaving a bit oddly: he got a bit stroppy and quiet and wouldn't shxt in his cage, saving mega 'whoopsies' (that's my mum's expression, not mine) for the second he was let out.
Then one day mum came down from bed in the morning to find that Suku had laid an egg! Yep, after 25 years we found out that he was a she – we only thought he was male because the vet told us.
anyway, he (I can't bring myself to change his gender) has laid three eggs since. well, now four, actually because yesterday my mum rang me. 'Oh Steve, I'm so excited. Suku laid and egg. Oh, and I've won an iPod touch!'.
The egg will be stored with the other 'emissions' (in a pot next to the spare bed), the iPod touch is being delivered tomorrow.
'It was from a raffle for the local paper. I won first page,' explained Mum. 'I'm so excited. They are bringing it tomorrow and want to take a picture of me with it!'
That's great, I say. The conversation carries on in this manner for a bit before Mum asks: 'Steve, what is an iPod touch?'
Bless

porn to be alive

we're very 'teched up' here in my workplace. computers, email, faxes, photocopiers. you name it, we've got it. we've also got this great email firewall thing that traps naughty emails before they get a chance to sully my inbox and make me feel dirty!
once every couple of days i have to log on and delete all the ones that are caught.
i've just done Christmas's lot and i must say, a pretty sorry bunch they were. now, i like a bit of porn as much as the next man (we all do, there's no point denying it), but i do wish these spammers would be a little more discerning in what they send me. do i want to see two hot blondes get it on? erm, not unless it's heath ledger and paul bettany. and only then if there's nothing better on. am i interested in a bored housewife and a plumber? only if it will help me plumb in my own washing machine next time i move! you would think that in this 'bespoke, tailored to you' world we live in, the spam squad could do a little harder. and learn proper English while they are about it. ok, i understand the need to write c0ck, rather than cock, in order to get it over the firewall, but there is no excuse for 'is you're c0ck to small?'
and, no, thank you very much for asking. it isn't!
but that's a whole other entry…