Internet dating?? Oh yes... OK, but just because I'd been nagged into internet dating, didn't mean that all standards were going to be dropped.  Just because Ange from the office said I should do something, didn't mean I should do anything, so to speak. 

And because I didn't have hours to spend on this nonsense I came up with a very efficient filtering system: behold. The following were vetoed outright

  • Any candidate without a photo.  Because, call me cynical, but there must be a reason for that..... and  a pig in a poke doesn't appeal
  • Anyone without witty banter.  
  • Any candidate who posted pictures of himself doing yoga poses (oh yes... this man is out there.  And for those interested the photos change regularly)
  • Anyone who is currently "separated"  Because my guess is that you're not - at least mentally - yet.
  • Perversely anyone who is single with no kids  Because what would it say about anyone if they got to their fifth decade without one single meaningful human relationship? This is going to change now?
  • Any adult using text speak.  Just coz.  lols
  • Any man wanting to meet at "lady".  For this bepeaks a quiant atittude methinks. Hey.  It's my rules.
  • Anyone who is teetotal.  Because I'm not.  And the idea of sitting through evenings where I'm "allowed" to drink has zero appeal.
  • Anyone who smokes.  Because, I'm sorry I just can't anymore.
  • Anyone who can't string more than three sentences together to describe himself.
  • Anyone who is looking for "loyalty" in a woman.  I sense control issues a mile off here.
  • Anyone who isn't solvent enough to buy a round
  • Very importantly, anyone I couldn't imagine wanting to sit next to.  For I am superficial and looks matter. Not my looks obviously...
The results of this filtering were unsurprising. There was no suitable candidate within 300 miles of Cheesetown.

The second bit of bad news was that the Only Candidate was living just outside Manchester and didn't want a long distance relationship.

Lesser women would have given up.

I know, I know, I know, I've been slow, and there you are wanting ANSWERS.  What can I say?

Er, well, the answers?   Here goes.. (new readers better start here)

Question 1.  
Question 1
Correct answer = B Not Accrington
Although the world agreed that I wasn't going to Accrington (why?? what does everyone know about Accrington that I don't??), 28% of you fell into the trap of thinking it must be Helmithdale.

Tsk. As if I'd be that obvious.

I was going to another wee suburb of Manchester, that was not Accrington.

Question 2. 
Question 2

Correct answer = C An inexplicable interest in fell running -
*sorry there was a typo.  This should have read an inexplicable interest in a fell runner
Tricky one this. And, I know,  if I'd typed "fell runner" in the first place, all might have been clearer.

No. I didn't have plans.  I had hopes. That's different
No I didn't have a great singing voice, or at least not till the drive home.
And yes, Miss Pat "Marples", did suss I was having a blog meet with Mr Musgrove, but Mr Musgrove, lovely, and northern and all as he is, doesn't do fell running.
And yes I know that was tricksy.  But I don't care because, see Q3

Question 3. 
Question 3

Correct answer = D Keep up this cryptic schtick for some time yet
Yes answer D is the only answer possible, because IF I TALK ABOUT THIS MUCH I WILL JINX IT
And it is currently much too much fun to jinx.  Which is why the answer to question 4 is...

Question 4. 
Question 4
Correct answer = No photos
Aw c'mon.  This was a gift!  A gift! When do I ever post photos on this blog??? And with this fringe???
So congratulations to those who chose no photos/ normal service.
And shame on you, those who wished tears before bedtime on me.

And, erm, sorry, but there are no refunds given on these quizes ever.

It's a DIY Blog Innit

Posted on 19:22
That's right.  I'm Not Here.  I'm off for the weekend. Braving snow and freezing winds to head south.

South of Cheesetown!

For this weekend only The View is a self service blog, a blog-ateria  if you like.
I know... radical.

Just, you know, pick your answers from the options below.
Have fun
Play nice

There is nothing (nothing!!) that can be done in the face of this unmitigated disaster.

Look!  No on second thoughts, don't look! Take my word for it instead why don't you.  Learn from my mistakes.
When a hairdresser is in mid story about his trip round Nashville, and how he's got engaged and all. Don't listen to a word.
Do not take your eyes off the mirror
Do not ever on any account forget to tell him that the fringe must be past eyebrows.
Do not smile encouragingly and nod your head at the same time.


Because otherwise you will end up with a runty fringe that makes you look like wee Jimmy Krankie

You heard it here first

The Book Cull

Posted on 11:36
Shakespeare is out. Because, I mean, why?? why would you keep books of the plays?
Accountancy textbooks are out.  Because I've been doing this stuff for years.  By now I could write better ones myself.
Unused cookery books are out (Hugh Fearnley Whittingsall, it's not me, it's you),
Travel books are out.  Because most travel books are out of date before you even leave the airport.
Books in translation are out.  Zola, Gorky, Dostoevsky.  Sorry guys, it was good at the time....but you are so heavy
Anything pre 19th century seems to be also doomed if it isn't in the Penguin Metaphysical Poets collection. Especially if it is Scottish. Yep Burns, and  Sir David Lindsay.  I'm looking at you. You should have gone years ago, along with Spenser, and Milton and Dryden.
Anything modern that is I was glad to get to the end of.  Sorry Amis. It will be no consolation to you guys that McEwan and Barnes are staying I know....

Hey how's this for a definition of irony?   I've finally got a bigger house with more room for the book collection, and then decided the books need culled.

I can't go on this way. 
I can't kid myself that I am ever, ever going to re-read this lot before I shuffle off into some Sunset Retirement Home. I can't keep buying more and more bookcases. I can't keep looking at yellowing books and thinking why

The book hoarding started way back.  My dad who was a reader, and a hoarder, encouraged me.  He regularly put up more and more bookshelves for all  my books. Which annoyed my mother no end. And the books became a Bone of Contention, until my dad died (this was unrelated to the Book Wars) and my mum sent all my books down to my flat in London.

When I moved from London to Edinburgh, the books, and several other  boxloads of books read in the interim, moved with me. And in every move, from the flat in Edinburgh to the house in Cheesetown, from Cheesetown to Glasgow, from Glasgow to Cheesetown ever increasing boxloads of books have moved with me.

And then last week that's right, one month after I  moved into the new house, I called a day on it.

If I couldn't see myself re-reading it, it went. How many retirement home residents do you see reading Ane Pleasant Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis.

Yeah.  Thought not..

Sorry, sorry, sorry.  I haven't finished the Saga of the Old House.  There's more to tell...
I know.  Downtown Abbey might run to fewer episodes yet.

To recap. The Old House had flooded as a result of burst pipes. Pipes that burst after I sold it (remember the mantra!). This is a house that no longer has ceilings or floors in the bedrooms. Or carpets or flooring on the ground floors for that matter. 
I had sold  it. 
But there was one problem;  I had left a £1,000 deposit with the builders to cover any snags they might find after they took over the property.

And I knew that there would be snags.  Even the most euphemistic of estate agents would have said the old house was quirky.  These quirks included a bathroom shower  so pathetic you had to dance in it to get wet.  Half the windows didn't open; and a couple didn't close properly either.  We were missing skirting boards in the hall way, and the shower in the en suite periodically stopped working until you put the shower head on the floor, turned off and turned on the shower.
Oh yes, and the gas fire in the living room had been condemned on an earlier gas inspection. The inspector had had to remove the connection between gas mains and my gas fire.

Mine was the only house in Scotland with a decorative fire.  Bless.

I didn't expect the full £1,000 back.  I was expecting some deductions for the dog damage to the windowsills, or the loose flooring upstairs, or the leaking radiator, or the hole in the cupboard door in the boy's bedroom.

But my new house has five bedrooms, and these bedrooms need curtains. 

And the time was up for them to confirm deductions or return my deposit.  Needs must. I phoned the property developer's office. I cleared my throat.  And I asked when they might be able to finish testing everything for snags.

Seeing's how everything downstairs is covered in soggy plaster and wood, and most stuff upstairs will be unreachable until they build floors,  this was a wee bit of a disingenuous question.

But the lady at the property company agreed that the flood wasn't a snag.
She said she'd get back to me.

And two days before Christmas I got my deposit returned in full.
No.  I did check.  The cheque was made out to me.
They haven't found any snags....

The Gym

Posted on 23:07 In:
Scene  4:05pm Outside The Gym
I've parked the car outside the gym, and now I'm doing that monologue thing again.  The monologue that runs something like;

I made it all the way out here so I may as well go in.

And yes it's DARK already and it's raining, but it was dark when I left the house and it'll be dark when I go to work tomorrow, so what's the dark got to do with it? And the car is only 10 yards from the front door.

I've still got legs.  I can walk ten yards.

And I know I'll feel better when I've done it. Ten minutes on the rowing machine, half an hour on the treadmill. Big deal.  Home by half five. No stairmaster, I won't do the stairmaster. Just a wee row, and a wee jog, and home smug.  Smug is good. If I do all this, I can do smug.

And because I haven't been in a fortnight it's all the more reason to go now.
And because I feel like a barrage balloon it's all the more reason to go now.
And because it's back to work tomorrow, it's all the more reason to go now.
And because there is still half a box of Green and Black's and an unopened box of florentines waiting at home alongside a bottle of Bailey's and a big bag of Tyrell's, it's all the more reason to go to the gym.

4:15 I know... I know.. I know... I'm on my way in.  I'm going to the gym.  Enough already.


Happy New Year

Posted on 11:59's all quiet again.

Uh huh.. We've survived had another New Year.  And if Saturday Night has to be the busiest bestest party night of the week, then NEW YEAR has to be the busiest bestest Saturday of the year.  And Scotland?  Well Scotland invented New Year!  So if you're around the CAPITAL of Scotland there will be pipers, and fireworks, and parties and auld lang syne.  And that's before anyone makes you eat Black Bun or cries on your shoulder, or swears undying love...

So let's enjoy the peace this morning.  It's 2013.  I know, I know, I know, it sounds like the kid nobody wanted - that 13 is unfortunate and all.  But hey. It's a New Year, and a lovely sunny clear day after weeks of rain and storms.  It's a lovely, shiny, new start. 

And here's to a lovely, shiny year to us all.


Welcome to the car crash...

I have a complicated bereavement. I was only reconciled with my ex, W, months before he died of cancer. Luckily (for him) I was made redundant and able to care for him while he died here at home - October 20th.
Currently getting through it with our son, aka the Cherub, dog Ned, and friends here in CHEESETOWN.

Who Needs a Booker Prize?

Who Needs a Booker Prize?
Sunny Thinks I'm Stylish

Wylye Hearted This Blog

Alive and Kicking

Not Forgotten