LET ME HELP YOU (whether you like it or not…)

I know this is the digital age and that our daily interactions are meant to be faster and more streamlined but, retail and public service outlets – FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I BESEECH THEE – will you please stop pushing other unwanted information upon us !!

Yesterday, I headed to the Post Office. I just wanted to buy a stamp (for those of a youthful disposition, that’s a small sticky square thing that pays for the delivery of a letter…oh, hang on…a letter is a written document that people fold into an envolope…an envolo…oh for feck’s sake…google it.)

Anyhoo, before I’d even finished uttering my request, the woman on the counter butted in…

‘Who is your broadband provider ? Whoever it is, I bet the post office have a much better deal you know‘ she forcefully declared before shoving a pamphlet into my hands.

This was just the overture…

‘And if you don’t mind me asking…’

(I DO, not that it would have stopped her)

‘How much do you pay for your mobile and line rental? We do a much better deal than everyone else right here at the Post Office.’ Another leaflet was thrust upon me.

‘I JUST WANT TO BUY A FIRST CLASS STAMP !!!’ I wailed, desperately hoping that this Stepford salewoman would take the hint.

She didn’t.

‘And what about your house insurance? We do a lovely little deal here at the Post Off…’

‘NO! NO! NO!’ I yelled, forced to be abrupt as she failed to notice me curled up in a ball rocking and crying by this point. The lengthening queue weren’t impressed either though it was obvious from their glares they didn’t realise that it wasn’t me causing their delay.

The counter woman looked a little crestfallen but how else could I get the message across how ridiculous this all was? ‘I’m a little peckish – do you do cheese & ham toasties here at the Post Office? How about podiatry? I’ve got an ingrowing toenail that’s giving me jip…’

I decided to wave the white flag and retreat, slid my letter back into my pocket and sloped off, drained and defeated even though she was STILL pushing unwanted information at me. Let the next person in line have a go at getting her to give them the ACTUAL thing they came in for.

On my way out I was accosted by another staff member asking if I needed any services that the automated system could help with. Despite noticing that the queue for this was even longer I let out a freeble, babbling whimper ‘I just wanted to buy a stamp’ …

‘Well, we have lots of options for that here at the Post Office’s automated service…you can have first class, second class, recorded delivery, then there are all the weight options…’

I actually ran out of the place, headed into the nearest newsagents and was charged £27.50 for my stamp though, by this point, I didn’t care.

Sometimes less is more. I don’t always need or want MORE options that don’t help. I want simple, uncomplicated, straight forward. Remember how easy that used to be?

Go into any clothing store and you have the same problem trying to navigate through a formerly simple transaction.

You just want to buy a pair of pants and leave before anyone notices that you’re no longer a 32 waist but is this possible? Nope because you get held up by someone trying to force feed you the dreaded store card.

The staff clearly loathe and feel uncomfortable doing it but obviously have no choice so they pretend to wrap it up as a great deal even though, at it’s heart, it’s just putting the public further into debt so people higher up the organisational chain can get a bonus.

For the hapless few that do go along with it, they’re stuck for half an hour giving intimate details of their financial and personal life not always understanding exactly what they’re signing up for. For all they know, they may have just promised to name their first born after the store manager.

If you don’t go for the debt and destitution option, there’s usually some other card or add on they have to inform you about, oblivious to the fact that your eyes glazed over ten minutes earlier and that you’ve actually outgrown the garment you tried to buy during the time it’s taken just to purchase the damn thing!

So I have come up with an easy yet effective method of cutting the crap in order to get your task completed quickly so that you are free to get on with the rest of your day. A system so simple you’ll wonder why you hadn’t thought of it yourself…

Fart & Go.

You have to put a little bit of preparation into it beforehand – downing some green, cruciferous vegetables perhaps or scoffing something overly eggy, whatever it is that makes your insides churn and flatulate.

You are then ready to head out into the wide world, fully prepared to unleash the beast whenever you anticipate that a load of customer service babble is coming your way.

For example :-

Counter person ‘…and have you got one of our fantastic new…’

YouPARP !!!!!

Counter person (totally taken aback) ‘I err, was um…’

You (grabbing bag with purchase in and leaving) ‘Good day to you.’

Voila ! Job done (no pun intended, I don’t advocate following through unless it’s a particularly complex transaction)

So, consumers of the world, there you have it.

Just Fart & Go !

Good day to you 🙂



A few years ago, as another winter dragged on and the leaves continued to sky dive from the trees, I clung on tenaciously dreaming of sunshine and getting fresh air about my nether regions.

If we Brits holiday at home however, we have more need for an ark than shorts or bikinis so I decided to migrate south on a Caribbean cruise.

I took the bold step of holidaying alone and immediately encountered 2 things as a result of committing to a solo trip of this magnitude…

  1. The rip off that is the ‘single person supplement’ – OK, I’m single, rub it in why don’t you and charge me twice as much as the partnered people !

  2. Being socially unacceptable to fellow holidaymakers who did find a travelling companion (do we ‘singles’ remind them of unhappier times on their own?)

Sure I would have preferred to have gone with a friend but I still saw a lot of grim faced spouses looking as if they’d happily shove their other half overboard if they knew they could get away with it.

Romantic thoughts of meeting someone special on board were immediately dashed at Fort Lauderdale docks and finding myself surrounded by coach groups of elderly ladies and retired couples looking lost. It was like a touring version of ‘Cocoon’. Pleasant though it was for there to still be a room where I was the youngest, as I don’t play canasta and still have my own hips, I felt I wouldn’t have much common ground with my fellow sea farers.

Who are you travelling with?’ the insensitive check in clerk loudly enquired. This was a question I was asked a lot during the trip. It began with the stern immigration officer I encountered while dashing through Newark airport trying (and failing) to catch my connection to Florida. He couldn’t grasp the concept of a guy taking a cruise alone and he clearly thought I must be up to no good.

Hwever, the worst solo stigma presented itself as I walked up the gantry – the ‘souvenir photograph’. This happened throughout the cruise, always against my will and always resulting in shots of me looking awkward and vulnerable. The results were displayed along Deck 6 for all to gawp at – an ingenious ploy as you felt compelled to purchase the wretched pictures just to remove them from the gallery.

As we set off we had a compulsory life jacket demonstration – captured by our happy snapper of course. The sight of a bunch of hapless people putting toggles through holes they weren’t meant to go through was hilarious…though if the ship did hit the rocks, we really were sunk.

I was shocked to realise I was in the ‘I’m screwed’ category when it comes to evacuation protocol. The countless women on board would get their bony fingered grasp on all the best lifeboats and single people would be way down the pecking order – presumably because they thought there was no one to miss us! My only hope was that my life jacket light and whistle – obvious ’must have’ accessories in any emergency – had the ability to transform into a speedboat.

The motion of the ocean during the night took a bit of adjusting to. Sleeping in a windowless room with the sounds and movement of the ship pushed my imagination into overdrive. Had we cruised into a tropical storm? Were dozens of pensioners fumbling with their life jackets at this very moment, none bothering to let me know because they forgot I was there? I quickly got used to the vibrations though several others never managed to.

The gorgeous weather raised all our spirits and the ocean views were spectacular but couples everywhere did remind me of my solo status. They were rubbing lotion on each other’s tricky to reach areas, watching each other’s stuff while they went for a swim and could use the double umbrella sunbeds. I tried one on my own but it went all lop-sided so I gave up!

It’s amazing how obsessed people are about digitally capturing everything on holiday – they’re so busy recording the moment they never seem to actually look up and be IN the moment. Most of them experienced the trip through their view finder.

I decided to treat myself a massage. ‘Who are you travelling with?‘ my extremely young Balinese masseuse asked as I stripped off to reveal my brilliant white skin (I’m Scots – we’re blue). I didn’t bother to answer and just collapsed onto the bed to let her get on with it. I nodded off and half an hour later woke up to find an old woman kneading away at my shoulders – how long had I been asleep for? My aches and pains had been too tall an order for the girl and they’d brought in reinforcements to tackle the job. It must have been a change for her to have a young-ish model on the table though as pummelling the older guests must have been like massaging a xylophone.

On-board entertainments were a treat for the ears and eyes and included a tuneless lounge singer regularly murdering ‘Chanson D’Amour’ and ‘You Are The Sunshine of My Life’. There was also a wonderfully cheesy, multi-lingual theatre show featuring a 7 strong dance troupe who wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘syncopation’ whatever dialect you said it in. Hats off to the juggling team though as they only managed to concuss half the front row when their routine went belly up as we hit choppier waters. Thank God there wasn’t a knife throwing act.

Cruising however, is basically about one thing – food. 3 hour breakfasts, 2 hour lunches, 7 course dinners – not forgetting afternoon junk food on tap, tea and cakes at four, plus midnight snacks. What’s curious is that your appetite starts to increase accordingly and before too long if you saw anything on a plate, you ate it. It’s a curious concept – you start off on a ship and end up becoming the size of one.

I signed up for an excursion to the rain forest at Puerto Rico. Once up in the mountains and the soaking wet conditions I realised that I hadn’t thought this through. I come from the home of rain so what on earth was I doing spending part of my sunshine holiday in a rain forest? Compared to the monsoon summers we’ve had in Scotland, it just felt a bit damp. It’s also surreal to see the usual tourist rubbish sold even in places of such natural beauty. Same crap, different island !

A second excursion in St.Marteen was just bizarre. I’m not saying they padded the trip out a bit but the guide’s commentary included informing us that the Dutch and French parts of the island have different electricity voltages – hold the front page! The driver also wanted us to participate in that age old crowd pleaser ‘if you’re happy and you know it, stamp your feet’. Hadn’t he studied his audience? These were people whose feet could barely manage decent circulation, let alone stamp.

Some fellow holiday makers did have genuine insights into life on board though. One woman felt that we were all sailing away from something we wanted to forget for a while – heartache, bills, ailments (it was amazing how my aches and pains seemed to disperse as the trip progressed). She was one of several travellers who never even got off the boat and didn’t care where we were. So long as it was sunny and there was luxury on board that was all that mattered !

In St Lucia I paired up with another couple who haggled with a very patient taxi driver who took us everywhere for just a few dollars. I was amazed at how lost in our own little worlds Brits can be. We drove past a little shanty bar where three pig carcuses were being prepared for barbeque. Not a pretty sight but still my taxi share couple’s viewfinders were itching to take a picture – until the bar owner started waving his machete at them. Like me, he didn’t appreciate having his picture taken against his will. Did the couple get the message and return to the taxi? Nope, they just kept snapping merrily away, oblivious to the situation. What part of a man waving a giant knife at them didn’t they understand? It’s pretty self explanatory in any language.

The shanty towns in this area were very poor with everyone trying to make a dime. One toothless old guy (not quite on the planet) came up to my side of the cab and waved a bag at me. As we sped past I asked our driver what he’d been doing. ‘He wanted you to pay to see the snake he had in his sack’. A line that could get you in a lot of trouble back home but anything to make a living I guess.

Soon, the ship became like a second home. A routine was dutifully followed – early breakfast, morning trip around whatever island we’d arrived at (Antigua and Tortolla were especially beautiful), back on board for lunch, off again for another wander then setting sail by late afternoon ready for another 7 course dinner – plus cheesy snacks – and another even cheesier show.

There is also something incredibly liberating about looking out on deck and seeing nothing but blue all around you – sea, sky, passengers’ varicose veins. It soon felt like we’d always lived together on this boat and as we passed the halfway point of the trip it seemed impossible to contemplate living any other way! Quite a contrast to how I felt at the start.

The liner company had also managed to rent out a small island that we were ferried to on small boats for the day. Beach bars plied us with boozy cocktails in coconut shells, people flung beachballs about and scuba dived beneath the blue – it was like a private piece of paradise for a few hours.

I also fullfilled a long held ambition to swim with a dolphin. Neptuno was a fickle character who delighted in my life long inability to float let alone swim and although his Flipper-esque cackle reminded me of my old PE teacher mocking my pitiful attempts to master the breast stroke, I felt me and my aquatic chum bonded. In fact it was the nearest to flirting I’d had all trip…although the fickle beast hasn’t kept in touch.

Inevitably, the cruise drew to a close. Bags were packed with tacky souvenirs that had been haggled over and we were efficiently disembarked. They had another boatful of travellers coming on board in an hour and I would’ve happily been one of them, glad to have had another chance to appreciate other cultures.

Now where did I put that authentic, hand crafted, bouncing lobster fridge magnet from San Juan..?


A Beginner’s Guide To (sort of) Keeping Fit

A New Year is a time for change. People make all sorts of promises to themselves about self improvement. Always being ahead of the game, I had a crack at it in the lead up to the New Year.

Backache, tennis elbow (in my left arm that hardly does anything!), energy levels sapping…the list of ailments, aches and pains seemed to be increasing by the day so rather than drift through middle age (whatever THAT is) with mobility issues piling up I decided to do something constructive. I did what I swore I would never do. The thing I have scoffed at friends for succumbing to for years now…I joined a gym.

I signed up mainly for swimming – NOT pumping weights (I’m sluggish, not insane) which is best for all round flexibility although I may eventually to have a crack at those hideous machines that are favoured by body pumped, tight fit clothed loons ! If it’s supposed to make you feel good why do they always look so miserable? Probably through lack of cake.

So here dear reader are my GYM LIFE LESSONS to starting something healthy. I must warm you however, it is never without incident…

Visit 1

  • Pay attention to signage – dont go up to the gym in your swimmies when the pool is downstairs – they dont like it

  • On hearing ‘Rock The Boat’ over the tannoy whilst struggling with the breast stroke, dont start synchronised disco dancing in the pool – they dont like it

  • When entering the sauna only to be met with some loon doing lunges with his right knacker on view, dont say ‘Oh good God!’ – he didnt like it. (Why is he lunging at me? I’d ask him to stop but he might have a knife…)

  • When changing next to someone who has produced a tub of loony bulk building powder, dont get out a king size Twix from your Tescos bag – they dont like it

Now consoling myself with a giant slab of quiche – if that doesnt sum up the phrase ‘one step forwards two steps back’ I dunno what does

Visit 2

  • 3 words sum up today’s ‘experience’ – giant great wanger! I swear to God I had to fosberry flop over it to get to my locker. It took up the whole cubicle. What kind of weights is he pumping?

  • Was also despondent that an elderly lady was a faster swimmer than I was – and she had to be helped into the damn pool! She did however appreciate my dance efforts today when Supremes ‘Stoned Love’ came on (impossible not to move to – try it!) Twas like being a Rep doing poolside aerobics all over again.

  • Still, 2 swims in 2 days – at this rate I may well have a verucca by Bonfire night!

Today’s apres gym treat – a Crunchie (3 pack – which I decided to think of as just a very long Crunchie…) I’ll be unable to get into the sodding jacuzzi at this rate…

Visit 3

  • For the 3rd straight day the receptionist has eyed me with suspicion as I’ve swiped in as if to say ‘What the hell’s he doing here? Greggs is next door…’

  • Urgent memo to the guy jogging on the treadmill wearing a hoodie (hood up) – its a gym not an audition for ‘Rocky’

  • When in the jacuzzi (which is just a big plastic tub of human soup) dont wear trunks with a net lining as it billows up in the bubbles and when you exit it looks like you’re having a particularly difficult time of the month.

So I am contemplating tackling the gym part soon and am now searching for an adult to accompany me as I should not be allowed in there unsupervised… Any takers? Anyone..?
Post swim treat – Bombay Bad Boy (King Size) Pot Noodle…

Visit 4

  • So today I experienced what every athlete dreads – I hit the wall…literally, I hit a wall when I skidded on some wet tiles and slid into the side of the shower unit

  • 5 swims in 7 days (I took the weekend off so sue me) is also taking its toll. Today I opened my gym bag (aka : an Aldi plastic carrier) to discover 3 socks, no shampoo and a tin of sweetcorn…

  • So what if the others are thinner, more muscley and generally fitter than me?
    So what if they personify the image of the body beautiful more than I do?
    So what if they can do way more in there than I can? ……
    …… you’d think I’d be going somewhere with this wouldn’t you..?

Visit 5

  • When the fire alarm goes off while youre soaping yourself down in the locker room showers do you
    A: Slap a claggy towel round yourself and head up to reception as requested, dignity a distant memory?


B: Finish what you’re doing and take your chances in the inferno?

  • The answer for future reference is B:… ALWAYS choose B….

Visit 6

  • The toggle on my trunks is loose and swingy – what could possibly go wrong? Oh, yeah, THAT could…

  • A headline today read that the chlorene in swimming pools is supposed to lower testosterone levels. That explains the moobs in the changing room. Do I now have to wrap my bits ‘n’ bobs in cling film before I take a dip?

  • A guy in the changing room farted loudly and I tried so hard not to laugh I let one rip myself. Flatulant karma will get you every time. Even odder, neither of us acknowledged the other during this fart-in.

On the plus side, I did not have a slab of chocolate after today’s swim…I had a bag of Dorritos instead. That, my fellow athletes, is growth. I can also tell that the gym peeps realise i’m taking it more seriously now having swapped my Aldi bag for a Waitrose one…

Visit 7
The locker padlock I purchased from the gym got stuck…

The female receptionist’s solution was to send a random male punter downstairs with a large pair of bolt cutters to free my clothes (which took two big blokes in the changing rooms as my lenses (and therefore, sight) were also locked inside.

She then said I couldnt get a new padlock or a refund on the 2 week old purchase because I hadnt reported it had been a little sticky.This is irrelevant, the fact remains it totally jammed today and shouldn’t have so after protesting in my best Margo Leadbetter tone I was patronisingly given a new lock.

I was so wound up by this point though (surely the opposite effect of a gym visit?) I sought solace in Greggs as I was in urgent need of something hot wrapped in flaky pastry to recover from the trauma.

The gym owner better get a decent support system in place (and give it a lick of paint) or, in his own dragon-like words, ‘I’m Out !’

Visit 8

Just returned after a week of deep training (aka : over eating) in Scotland. I have also entered more into the spirit of gym life by ditching my Aldi carrier bag for a snazzy little duffle bag thing. The shoulder strap of which caught on the automatic entrance barrier causing me to practically twerk my way inside – this does not happen with plastic bags!!!

As I entered the pool for the first time in a fortnight the theme from Titanic was playing – did the bint on reception pre-arrange this after our heated debate over my buggered padlock?

I’m still being lapped by pensioners and almost lost a flip flop in the jaccuzi but come the New Year I’ll be like Tom Daley’s ‘slightly’ older brother (I already have a nose like Rebecca Addlington)

Note to self – don’t wear a Superman t-shirt again as it’s too much to live up to in the changing room…

Visit 9

The last visit before Christmas…

The pool water has suddenly become way colder than usual.

  • Downside – my meat and two veg disappeared back up and inwards

  • Upside – I can now sing the whole of ‘Walking In The Air’ in the key choirboys intended

(note to self – never forget to wear lenses in future after a blurry chat with someone in the locker rooms who clearly know who I was but I, in my sightlessness, hadn’t the faintest idea who he was)

In ConclusionFunny-Gym-and-Workout-05

  • Do I feel better? A little bit – scaling stairs is less daunting and wearing shirts feels less like trying to squeeze the toothpaste back into the tube

  • Will I keep it up? I absolutely and most definitely plan to hope to think about possibly doing so

  • Would I recommend it to others? Aside from dignity, the ability not to smell of chlorene and the joy of chips, you’ve got nothing to lose…

So Good Luck fellow self-improvers… Must go, got a Pop Tart simmering…