Had a good day out with the lads yesterday in London, enjoying a tour of the local pubs of Covent Garden before going to see From The Jam, a band made up of ex Jam members and others. Former Jam songwriter and front man Paul Weller’s warm comments (“They are just a fucking cabaret act”) would suggest he has no ambition to join in the fun, and you can’t blame him, but FTJ are a bit more than that, they put on a good nostalgia set, especially for those like myself who were marginally too young to see the original line up in action.

Today by contrast, was not as much of a hoot, as I finally galvanised myself to go Christmas shopping in Basingstoke. The town centre, as I have commented on this blog before, is an unforgiving, soul destroying place, which is right up there with a kick in the bollocks as one of my least favourite things. However, I decided to take off my unselfish hat, and tackle the task with gusto and enthusiasm, something I have never tried before.

I was doing okay until stupidly I rang Diane and asked for any ideas (buying for women is littered dangerous options) as she didn’t just want vouchers, as they lacked imagination (pity I had already bought some). One of her answers ran through me colder than the chilly North East wind. UNDERWEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALERT, ALERT, ALERT!!!!!

Underwear is just not an option you can take on. Firstly, on entering the dreaded lingerie department, you go from being a normal guy going about his business, in to a percieved raging pervert. This is because you are incredibly nervous, which make you look little bit shifty looking, and on edge about the whole dirty business. That in turn makes you sweat with anxiety, and everything just falls apart, with Assitants looking at you as if you are a single saddo who still lives with his Mum, and is just about to masturbate in to a frilly bra. It’s worse for me because I am relatively small and I shuffle a bit when I walk. If any of you are novices at this sort of thing. DO NOT ATTEMPT IT…..YOU CANNOT WIN!! This is what happens to most men:

1/ Something a bit Sexy= “I m not wearing that, who do you think I am a tuppenny bit whore”
2/Something a bit conservative= “Oh thanks for making me look like Nora Batty”

There is a middle ground somewhere, but I am yet to find the lucky bastard who has found it, can you imagine how joyful and triumphant a moment it would be to hear the words:

“Oooh that’s that quite sexy darling, but not too slutty either….well done you”

Anyway, I got most stuff, and I did everything thing I could to be thoughtful and creative, but I have kept all the receipts for when it all goes back, which is the most likely outcome. That doesn’t happen with vouchers. You simply go to your partners favourite shop, get the vouchers and they buy something nicer than any worthless piece of shit you could have come up with in a hundred years.

However, that would be far to straightforward wouldn’t it?

Snow tonight apparently, I will put pics on tomorrow if it happens.