Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Panic on the second floor
I know a lot of you are pretty familiar with some quite intimate details about me - OCD sock-folding and the like - and I hesitate to provide a further insight into the murky depths of my life, not to mention further ammunition for certain people to extract the *ahem* compost accelerator. Oh well, whatever.
Those of you who were at the Annual Dinner of the association that employs me will have seen – and no doubt admired from a distance (that location seemingly being preferable to some philistines) – the new snazzy waistcoat. I confess I like snazzy waistcoats, but there was a special reason for its last minute purchase the day before I travelled to Blackpool.
It’s my practice to try on the suit (yes, the suit, weddings, funerals, Annual Dinner) well before the trip, but I let things slip a bit – including a chunk of midriff as it turned out – and I hurriedly acquired some trouser waist extenders. I tried one on and soon realised that, even with a belt to cover up the buttonhole flap (aptly named as, unfettered, that’s what it did), the whole mechanism was untidy at best and unruly at worst, not to mention the zip problem. What? No, I said not to mention it. So, I had the brainwave of the snazzy waistcoat to cover the whole sorry mess up. I think I might have got away with it – until now, of course.
Anyway, to those few who were rather rude about it (“does your Mum know you nicked one of her tablecloths?”, “has someone been sick down your shirt?”, “why are you wearing a deck-chair?”) I would say that, sadly, style is obviously a concept entirely unfamiliar to you. Oh yes, the panic. After stepping out of the shower about three quarters of an hour before going down to the wine reception, I realised I couldn’t find the very useful padded hinged box that I had brought as a convenient receptacle for a few small items. It took me thirty of those precious minutes to find it in the very safe place I had hidden it by which time I was very hot and bothered and my three-quarters-packed suitcase (forward planning - leaving the next morning) had reverted back to its empty state.
At first I thought the box had been stolen and I have to admit my fear was not for the loss of the solid gold matching cufflink and tie-clip set my Nan had given me for my 21st birthday, or the expensive gold neck chain Sheila had bought me for Christmas, but the trouser waist extender! Here's a little tip: if you’ve got a memo facility on your phone, add things to it like seekrit hiding places, Chinese takeaway order numbers (don’t ask), PINs (disguised and hidden inside other characters), and items of shopping your wife asks you to get in Sainsbo’s while you’re in town. I know I can rely on you to keep these revelations to yourselves!
Those of you who were at the Annual Dinner of the association that employs me will have seen – and no doubt admired from a distance (that location seemingly being preferable to some philistines) – the new snazzy waistcoat. I confess I like snazzy waistcoats, but there was a special reason for its last minute purchase the day before I travelled to Blackpool.
It’s my practice to try on the suit (yes, the suit, weddings, funerals, Annual Dinner) well before the trip, but I let things slip a bit – including a chunk of midriff as it turned out – and I hurriedly acquired some trouser waist extenders. I tried one on and soon realised that, even with a belt to cover up the buttonhole flap (aptly named as, unfettered, that’s what it did), the whole mechanism was untidy at best and unruly at worst, not to mention the zip problem. What? No, I said not to mention it. So, I had the brainwave of the snazzy waistcoat to cover the whole sorry mess up. I think I might have got away with it – until now, of course.
Anyway, to those few who were rather rude about it (“does your Mum know you nicked one of her tablecloths?”, “has someone been sick down your shirt?”, “why are you wearing a deck-chair?”) I would say that, sadly, style is obviously a concept entirely unfamiliar to you. Oh yes, the panic. After stepping out of the shower about three quarters of an hour before going down to the wine reception, I realised I couldn’t find the very useful padded hinged box that I had brought as a convenient receptacle for a few small items. It took me thirty of those precious minutes to find it in the very safe place I had hidden it by which time I was very hot and bothered and my three-quarters-packed suitcase (forward planning - leaving the next morning) had reverted back to its empty state.
At first I thought the box had been stolen and I have to admit my fear was not for the loss of the solid gold matching cufflink and tie-clip set my Nan had given me for my 21st birthday, or the expensive gold neck chain Sheila had bought me for Christmas, but the trouser waist extender! Here's a little tip: if you’ve got a memo facility on your phone, add things to it like seekrit hiding places, Chinese takeaway order numbers (don’t ask), PINs (disguised and hidden inside other characters), and items of shopping your wife asks you to get in Sainsbo’s while you’re in town. I know I can rely on you to keep these revelations to yourselves!
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