Thank You

I have wrote this days before you are reading it, which should be sometime after the wedding which has yet to happen. Of course I can’t talk about what a great night it was, how much fun I had or how delighted I am with my new wife, but, I’m sure I will after the honeymoon.

For now, while I sit amongst the gifts and cards you all have given and sent, I simply want to say how privileged, proud , and fortunate I am to each of you in my life. You all have been telling me how much you are all looking forward to our day and you all have spent allot of time and money on our behalf and Michelle and I are truly grateful for all that you have done. I won’t thank anyone individually, not here, but you know who you are and if not I’ll make sure you know.

I’m not too sentimental, at least I pretend not to be, so I’m not the best at thank yous or at letting people know how much I care for them and how glad I am to know them so I’ll just say this: I don’t have a lot of time for most people but I have all the time in the world for each of you. I know you had a good night (because I’ll be making sure you do) and I hope your hangovers were not too bad.

I’ll be either be on a plane, in earths greatest city or on a white sand beach while you read this but, despite my incredible destinations, believe then I can’t wake to get back to you all.

‘Till Then

Staggered

Kudos all round and especially to Mr Wilson(right), for someone who did not want a Stag Night a really did enjoy myself. I admit I was nervous that my wishes may not have been taken seriously but I’m happy to say there were neither nasty surprises nor upsets throughout the night.

I was happy that my Dad, William and my brother Christopher were there. Props to Stoo for his bravery in choice of shirt and a big thanks to all the guys who came – it really meant a lot.

Two of the comedians were just all right at Jongleurs but the excellent Tom Stade (left) was alone worth the price of admission.

Forgive the shortness of the post and don’t think it a reflection on the night. It’s less than three days to go and my head is just too full for the words to form properly. ‘The Wedding’ post should be posted Thursday night time permitting.

‘Till then.

Shake Well

I’m partial to the odd milk shake, Frijj, being my favourite. Last Sunday when in Morrison’s my Mum, knowing how much her boy likes this brand of shake, very kindly took advantage of the twofur offer that was on at the time.

The same day, last Sunday, Michelle and I went round for dinner and, sure enough, when asked if we wanted a drink my mum offered her kind purchase, some sickly sweet smelling strawberry Frijj, which I eagerly accepted. Off she went to get the drinks while Michelle and I spoke with my dad. Half way through the idol banter of weddings and work and all the rest I was handed the familiar pink and white bottle and, as the label instructs, shook well. Unfortunately my mum, being naturally helpful, had loosened the lid for me, a fact I did not of course realise until my initial shock subsided and I realised that my parents couch, table floor and rug, myself my fiancée and indeed my father were covered by the sticky gelatinous bright pink liquid once contained in the bottle.

There was a mad dive for the kitchen roll and the furniture was salvaged, save for the odd sticky spot, Michelle was mostly okay, my dad had to change his trousers, but as I was at ground zero of the pink eruption I had to be driven home, throw my cloths under the shower and completely wash and dress myself. Even after washing myself off completely I still smelt like walking candyfloss.

Some of you may be wondering if this little accident was followed by my usual brand of seething rage and wall punching. Much the Michelle’s relief, who was watching me nervously while I surveyed the areas hit, I simply let out a short laugh of disbelief, brought on when my eyes finally reached my fathers shell shocked face, which I assume matched my own.

The Exciting Adventures of the Soon to be Married

I’ve not written in a while. I could blame the heat and the sweat and the fatigue it brings to the body and mind, but if I wanted to bitch about summer I wouldn’t have been stuck for the words to write. Truth is I’ve barely crossed the door but for work, supplies or cat food or litter.

The money’s not short, in fact it’s growing as we speak, but all my wealth might as well be smoke and air because the big day is coming and it’s time for the debts to be paid . Life’s been a non-stop rollercoaster of books, burned disks and getting to bed early for the lack of other choice. But like the summer, I could have been grousing about this for weeks, so I’ll drop the subject.

Five weeks to go and all the dominos are starting fall faster. The photographer will be paid in the next few days, the meals and hall in the next few weeks, and then the party starts. The stag and hen nights are sorted too; my best men have arranged a sixteen man limo to take us to Jongleurs on the 19th August while Michelle and Co will be learning to pole dance on a date I can never remember.

Well I guess that’s it for now, all I didn’t have to say is said and this typing wore me out. Besides I’m a busy man; books to read, TV to watch, litter trays to change and memories of life without debts to dwell on.

The Wisdom of Teeth

I had a pain in one of my teeth for a few weeks before I’d finally resigned to the fact that I’d be making my first trip in (at least) two years to the Dentist. It’s not that I’m afraid of the dentist, not at all, though; if I were it wouldn’t be without good cause. When I was knee high to, well, a persons knee I suppose, I had a tooth removed. The removal was done at Hairmyres Hospital and had required anaesthetic, and as I understand it went smoothly and without incident. It was only when I got home that my throat began to close, the ambulance was called and I spent the next few days at Monklands with an Air mask on.

But no, I am not afraid of the dentist. I am however cheap. And I grudge paying money to someone to drill inside my mouth.

Not long in the door at the White Moss Road surgery I found myself being X-Rayed by my freshly qualified and newly acquired dentist. Her name wasn’t even on the door yet she was so new you know. X-Ray done and films looked at the damage was assessed. Three fillings and (the eventual point of this post) the removal of my bottom left hand wisdom tooth was what was required.

***

To digress again slightly, Dentist Jr asked if I wanted White Fillings or the standard NHS issue. I wasn’t really sure of the difference so asked for a price comparison which was as follows: -

3x NHS Fillings
Removal
Scale and Polish
X- Ray

£68.00

OR

3x White Fillings

£235.00

I’ll leave you make up your mind as to the option I chose.

***

Having had the majority of the fillings and scale and polish attended to in an earlier appointment, I went on Friday at 9:40 for my last filling and the removal of my wisdom tooth. It’s important to note that I was completely unaware I even had wisdom teeth until I was told one was to be removed. So easy come easy go I figured. I wouldn’t miss it, it doesn’t even have a purpose; you can’t chew with them and they don’t make you Yoda or anything which the name may suggest. As far as I can tell there only function is to cause pain to some as they grow.

Easy come easy go, right? Wrong. When I had mentioned to my boss that I was getting the tooth removed he literally laughed in my face at the possibility of my coming to work after the procedure. Yeah, yeah. Wuss.

So here I go the last fillings done and out comes an instrument which seems vaguely familiar to me from my time working with my Dad, He a plumber. I shrug it off. No problem. Macho. Here we go.

Jesuschristthiscrazybitchistryingtoripmyjawoff!!!!!

***

My mum had offered me a lift on every day since I told her about having the tooth removed and I had declined each offer. I’d be just fine I’d tell her. I’m glad she ignored me. Still shaking I ask her to take me to work. As I reach Paul, my boss, he winces and tries not look directly at me. He offers me a tissue and I’m still numb so I mumble my thanks, though I’m not sure at this point why gives it to me. I wipe at my mouth and the hanky dyes red. Go home he tells me and I burble my agreement.

I look at myself in the mirror on the way back down the lift and the blood has began crusting on my numb lips and drying on my teeth. When I get home I do my best to remove it but its still flowing. When the door goes the postman has the terrified look of a man who’s about to be offered a nice Chianti. He looks away quickly enough to sleep soundly that night.

Pain. Pain is the wisdom of wisdom teeth. It is the only purpose I can fathom. Visit the dentist regularly. It’s worth the cost.