Wedding Day

Daughter Michaela got married on Saturday. Stunningly attractive, intelligent, gifted....but enough about me. She scrubbed up well enough....

With one daughter turning 30 years old and the other getting married in the same week, it's little wonder I'm feeling my age...

Happy Birthday, Max

This little fella is 2 years old today. He's a wee smasher - and his mother scrubs up not too badly either...

Halfway Through a Momentous Year

The first half of 2015 is nearly complete. The next six months promises much but it's already been a momentous year for the Auld Reekie Ranter.

My wedding to Marion on Valentine's Day was one of the happiest days of my life. Marion has transformed my life and made me happy once again and for that I shall always be grateful. Although I jest about how lucky she is to have me as her husband (I'm sure she gives thanks every day...) I know that I am the lucky one to have such a wonderful, beautiful and talented lady as her - she is the rock in my life.

At the beginning of this year I made the decision to quit my job with a housing association, a job I had held for more than seven years. With echoes of a similar life-changing decision I made in 1990, I didn't have another job to go to. However, I am training to become a Hypnotherapist and Counsellor. It's a three year course and the first year is concentrating on hypnotherapy. It's a subject which fascinates me and I am thoroughly enjoying the course. If all goes to plan, I should qualify as a hypnotherapist by the end of this year and I'm already planning to set up my own hypnotherapy practice in early 2016 (book now to avoid disappointment!)

I was no longer enjoying my work and the continuous high pressure and the demands of the job were beginning to affect my health to the extent I was off work this time last year. At that time I underwent counselling and found it beneficial, not only at the time, but as something I thought I could make a career out of. Hence my decision to undertake my training. I left my job in April and the break from the daily grind has benefited me hugely.

Of course, bills still need paying and I have now secured a position with Napier University in the Human Resources Team for a year which will take me to next summer. I start this job on 6 July and, for the first time in years, I'm genuinely looking forward to it. The year's contract will give me more than enough time to set up my own business next year and I'm grateful for the opportunity.

Daughters Laura and Michaela continue to make me proud. Laura has just been offered a managerial post and is mulling it over against the backdrop of family commitments. I always knew she was managerial material. Michaela is already a manager and she gave a presentation to senior managers yesterday, who have already been impressed by her managerial skills and aptitude. Michaela is getting married next May and this will be another momentous occasion. She is marrying a fella of the Hibernian persuasion but, despite this, he seems a decent chap...

My four grandchildren continue to bring unbridled joy to my life. Their unconditional love brings a tear to my eye. I love being with them and I want them to stay as children for ever. Sadly, of course, they will become adults before long - Jack is now 10 years old and Ava starts school in August - but I hope they retain their kind, loving nature which does them and mum Laura huge credit.

At the other end of the family, my mother is always there to provide support and it was great to see her looking so happy at our wedding. She thinks the world of Marion and sees her as the daughter she never had. Of course, I am her only child - understandable, as how can you top perfection?!

2015 has already been a great year. In recent years, I have been in the depths of depression and didn't know what lay ahead. Now the future is clearer and infinitely brighter. A new career. A new business. Loving wife (that's you, Marion). Maturing daughters. Wonderful grandchildren. And I can't let the feel-good factor pass without mentioning my football team. Hearts are now back in the top flight of Scottish football. I'll be taking Jack to Tynecastle this season as a season ticket holder. While I'll no longer be contributing to the Hearts matchday programme, my musings on Hearts  - and other ramblings on life in general - will still be posted on The Edinburgh Reporter.

Self-hypnosis has helped me to evaluate my life. I am more confident, more positive and happier than I've been for many years. Sure, there will be setbacks - everyone has setbacks - but I'm now able to overcome these with the knowledge that my life is moving onwards and upwards.

Some people thought I was crazy when I gave up my job, house and life in Aberdeen in 1990. But it was the right decision, as my life in Edinburgh has proved. And there have been some people, a quarter of  a century later, who questioned my sanity when I quit my job in April - although, it has to be said, there have been some who have given me huge encouragement and for this I am truly grateful.

My philosophy is that it doesn't matter if it's a job, relationship or lifestyle - if it doesn't make you happy, let it go. Let yourself move to the next chapter in your life when the time comes you feel are stuck on the same page. You will soon realise there is so much more to the book of life than the page you're stuck on.

The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time...

Summer Time And...

At last summer appears to have arrived. Edinburgh basked in warm temperatures today so the Ranter took to the sun. It doesn't happen too often...

Leith, looking down from Calton Hill, across the Firth of Forth to Fife (try saying that after a few Drambuies...)

Youngest grandson Max had his first visit to the beach - and his first ice cream cone. Do you want hundreds and thousands, sir? No thanks - just the one...

Doesn't seem five minutes since I took Michaela in her buggy to Portobello beach. Where does time go?

Small footsteps in the sand...

George Clooney wanders into shot (there's always one...)

Happy Birthday, Girls

A very happy birthday to two special ladies in my life who both have their birthday on Sunday.

The lovely Marion, to whom I am getting married early in 2015, with my grandson Jack:

And daughter Michaela who is now a quarter of a century old. Pictured here with George Clooney her auld father and her baby son Max

Father Dear Father (part 94)

The old adage that you never stop worrying about your children was proved correct again this morning. My two daughters Laura and Michaela may be grown up now (although I use the term loosely) and have their own lives to lead but I still worry about them much the same way I did twenty years ago when they were toddlers. My anxiety increased this morning when I saw Michaela.

Being a Sunday I had a longish lie-in this morning before the customary shave and shower and breakfast. I knew the washing up from last night still had to be done so I trudged, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen - only to discover the basin that had been overflowing with dishes when I retired to bed several hours previously was empty. Said dishes had been washed and were piled up on the drying tray. My suspicions were immediately aroused. Had I been burgled during the night? If so, they surely wouldn't have washed up afterwards? Had my neighbour from across the street had one pint of foaming ale too many and wandered into the wrong house? Possibly but, again, he's not exactly the most domesticated of fellas and would be hard pressed to know how to use a Fairy Liquid bottle. I soon had an explanation - as unlikely as this sounds, Michaela had washed the dishes...

My immediate reaction was of concern for her health. As far as I can recall, she last washed the dishes when she was nine years old in 1998 and that was only because some of her pals were coming to the house for a 'sleep-over' (there's a misnomer if ever there was one but I won't bore you with the details now...) Michaela is now 21 years old and I have to say I was somewhat alarmed by this sudden outbreak of unusual, nay, exceptional behaviour by my younger daughter.

I sought the advice of NHS24 who advised they suspected it was a case of 'Financialitis Embarrassmentis', a condition known to affect young women when they discover payday is still a week away and they have no money. A very nice NHS consultant told me that, as a father of a twenty year old, he had come across this condition before and warned me the symptoms might also include Michaela making cups of coffee, using the vacuum cleaner and extensive use of furniture polish. He added her speech may sound a little different, particularly when she believed she had earned enough Brownie points to ask me for financial assistance. I was told to look out for the emphasis on the word Dad in particularly whining way.

I was relieved to hear this is a temporary condition, almost certain to disappear as quick as it arrived i.e. when financial assistance is given.

The thing is, I could do with a lift to the office tomorrow from said daughter. Now, about that pile of ironing that needs doing....

Happy 21st Birthday Michaela

Today my darling daughter Michaela celebrates her 21st birthday. I can scarcely believe she has reached her 'coming of age' - it just seems like yesterday she arrived in my world bouncing in at 10lbs 2 ozs. Clearly, she inherits her stunning good looks, charm, personality, intelligence and, dare I say it, modesty from her father.

Happy birthday, darling. Now, about that £50 you borrowed from me last week...

One Year On

It's a year today since my daughter Michaela's fiance Billy passed away so suddenly and unexpectedly. He was 21 years old.

Her devastation was obvious and feelings are still raw a year later. She has got on with her life admirably and I am immensely proud of her. No one at such a young age should have to go through what she has  - although life does deal some people a terrible hand.

My thoughts are always with her - today even more so.

A Tough Year

It's almost upon us. The time of year when people get together, exchange gifts, eat too much, drink too much and try to forget about work and the stresses and strains of everyday life. For some, however, Christmas can be a difficult time, particularly for those who have lost loved ones during the year.

My youngest daughter Michaela lost her fiance in tragic circumstances last April and this has been well-documented in this blog. She's a bit like her Dad in that she'll put on a front and not want people to fuss over her. 'I'm fine and I can cope' is her forthright message to anyone who shows concern. This doesn't stop me worrying about her. She'll be feeling her loss acutely as Christmas Day approaches. It'll be the little things like not having to look for a present for Billy; not sharing Christmas Day with him; not wondering what he's bought her as a present. She'll see other couples radiate happiness and simply be with each other at a time of the year when being with one another means everything. Michaela won't want me saying this but I'll be giving her an extra hug this Christmas Day - I can only try to imagine how tough it will be for her but she knows her mother and I will be there for her.

I know some readers of this blog have also suffered personal loss this year and my thoughts are with them too. To everyone who has read my ramblings this year, thank you for doing so. I wish each and every one of you a wonderful Christmas and hope 2010 is everything you want it to be.

Happy Birthday Michaela

Being in your late forties is a curious time. Some way from thinking about retiring and what do to with your twilight years but not as far away - in the opposite direction - from when you were a youth and thinking you had the world at your feet.

On Monday my youngest daughter Michaela celebrates her 20th birthday. She has always been - and always will be - my wee girl and while she was still a teenager this was my metaphor for clinging on to the wreckage of my younger days. 'Yes, I have a teenage daughter' intimated I wasn't yet ready to be put out to grass. Admittedly, this was trumped more than four years ago with the 'yes, I am a grandad' thanks to my older daughter Laura...

When Michaela herself tells me she is feeling her age any last vestige of hope I have of clinging on to my youth disappears. This has been a difficult year for her, as has been documented elsewhere in this blog. I know she will be wishing Billy was still here to share her birthday with her. But throughout these last few difficult months she has demonstrated integrity and a maturity far beyond her still tender years - something that makes my heart swell with pride.

Happy birthday, darling. A new decade begins. I know at the end of it you'll be making your auld faither even prouder.

When There Are Clouds in the Sky

I know I shouldn't really do this but I feel the need to confess something today. Last night, at tea-time, I joined the thronging hordes of people heading for Glasgow. But while around fifty thousand of them were heading for Hampden Park to witness Scotland's latest failed attempt to join the world's elite, I remained in the city centre and headed for the Royal Concert Halls in Buchanan Street. To see Engelbert Humperdink.

At one time I would have qualified a confession like this with the reason that I was accompanying my mother who has been a life-long fan of the Leicester crooner who now spends much of his time in Beverley Hills. And, as a passing pedestrian remarked as we spilled out on to the pleasant September evening after the show, the majority of the audience were of 'the blue-rinse variety'. But, I have to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the show. Engelbert is now 73 years old but the old-timer hasn't lost his knack of putting on a show. He has always known how to wow his audience who were there to hear his classic hits such as The Last Waltz, Am I That Easy to Forget and, of course, Please Release Me. And he gave his adoring fans a special treat with his rendition of I Belong to Glasgow which damn near took the roof off the Concert Hall. But, given the events of this year in the Smith family, his version of an old classic, the music composed by the star of the silent films Charlie Chaplin, was sublime. I must admit to feeling a lump in the old throat when I heard these words and thought of my daughter Michaela:

Smile tho' your heart is aching,

Smile even tho' it's breaking,

When there are clouds in the sky

You'll get by,
If you smile thro' your fear and sorrow,

Smile and maybe tomorrow,

You'll see the sun come shin-ing thro' for you
Light up your face with gladness,

Hide ev-'ry trace of sadness,

Al -'tho a tear may be ever so near,

That's the time,You must keep on trying,

Smile, what's the use of crying,

You'll find that life is still worth-while,
If you just smile...

Michaela's fiance Billy would have celebrated his 22nd birthday on Monday had he not been taken away so tragically five months ago. Now I've teased my mother about her adoration of Engelbert for many a year and the ribbing I've had from work colleagues and friends about going to the concert last night has been incessant.

But those lyrics and the powerful style with which old Bert delivered them sent a tingle down my spine.

Either that or the old dear sitting behind me dropped her dentures down the back of my shirt...

Auld Reekie Ranter 1 Scottish Power 0 (after extra time)

Regular visitors to this blog may have read about my daughter Michaela and the tragic loss of her fiance barely three weeks ago. Her life has been turned upside down and everyone who loves her is rallying round at her time of need. So what she didn't need was a snippy letter from those bastions of tact and diplomacy, Scottish Power.

Just days after Billy's passing, Michaela received a final demand from Scottish Power for over £260 as payment due for when she and Billy shared a rented flat in the centre of Edinburgh. In obvious distress, Michaela told me she couldn't understand this as she had made sure all her bills - rent, council tax, phone and electric - were settled when she left and moved back home. As if she hadn't enough to do with funeral arrangements and coming to terms with her grief, she was at her wits end. 'Don't worry about this, dear' I said, 'Give the bill to me'

I e-mailed the customer services section of Scottish Power and explained there must be some mistake and that my daughter really didn't need this right now. A Customer Services Advisor replied yesterday that, while they were sorry to hear of Michaela's loss, the outstanding amount was for the period September 2006 until February 2008 - AND IT NEEDED PAYING. Just one not so minor flaw in their argument - Michaela left said property in March 2007...

Cue another e-mail from me late last night threatening legal action if this matter was not resolved. Lo and behold, at 7.00pm tonight Michaela received an e-mail from a Customer Services Representative - I'm assuming this is a supervisor - advising that, indeed, Scottish Power had made an error (although they are trying to blame the letting agent) and all money due for electricity during her time in the flat had, in fact, been paid.

As John Cleese says 'you've got to complain until you're blue in the face to get anything done in this country'. The bureaucrats at Scottish Power have cocked up and thought, 'she's only a teenager, she'll cough up the money. And we don't really care if she's suffered a personal tragedy very recently'.

But Michaela and I refused to be beaten by the bureaucrats. We've taken on Scottish Power, despite the difficult month we've had - and won. It may be a small victory for a small consumer.

But it's a victory nonetheless...

Faith Restored

Today my daughter Michaela helped to bury the man she was due to marry two years from now. Billy was found dead ten days ago. He was just 21. At his funeral in Danderhall this afternoon, Michaela went through an ordeal today that no teenager should have to go through.

Today has been long and painful - but it has, strangely, restored my faith in society. I got back from the wake around 7.30pm. Michaela has been a brave soul all day. What is clear is she is a very popular young girl. Billy's family all spoke about her in glowing terms, about how she had made Billy's life so much better and how she had made a difference even to their lives. Billy's devastated mum told me how much Michaela means to her - and how much she meant to her son. I can only try to imagine the pain she is feeling - there can surely be nothing worse than to lose a child. My heart goes out to her, Billy's two sisters and the rest of his family.

Michaela's friends - and she has many - were there to support her and many of them took the time to come and speak to me. They told me not to worry, they would help her through this difficult period. One of them told me Michaela told her she was really a Daddy's girl - but not to breath a word to me! Yes, alcohol was playing its part but the sentiments were clear. As I left, Michaela came over and gave me a huge hug and told me she loved me. I returned her love with a trembling voice.

I've never been so proud of my little girl as I am tonight. I was fighting back the tears as I left but now I'm at home and Jack Daniels has joined me I may shed a tear or two. My daughter, her friends and Billy's family have restored my faith in society. Decency is still among us, despite what we may read and hear in the media. That such a traumatic event can have such a positive impact makes me very humble.

As the events in my daughter's life these last ten days have proved, life is too short to be bitter.

Happy Birthday Michaela

19 years old today.

Despite everything - I'm proud you're my daughter. Have a good day.

More Money Than Sense

It is, apparently, another sign of my acceleration to grumpy old man status. My younger daughter Michaela greeted me today with 'look what I've got, Dad'. After a hard day's graft at the office and struggling with the re-heated remains of last night's macaroni cheese (delicious last night but stodge personified twenty four hours later) I looked up at her smiling face. Now Michaela is still a teenager, about to enter her 19th year in a couple of weeks, so when she smiles it usually means a) she wants money; b) she's done something she doesn't want me to know about or c) a combination of both which means serious trouble.

She proceeded to show me her new dress which she purchased from some boutique or other (she gave me a puzzled look when I mentioned the word boutique - another remnant from the 1970s) I say dress but it looked little more than a medium size handkerchief to me. It became a health hazard because I damn near choked on my stodgy macaroni when she told me she spent £60 on it. True, it's silk, Yes, it's a nice dark red colour (and anything close to maroon gets my approval) But sixty notes?

Therein lies one of the many differences between men and women. Given £60 to spend there's no way on Earth I would splash the dosh on one item of clothing. £60 would give me a good evening at the pub with some pals; pay to see Hearts play away from home, if you include the cost of a match ticket, travel, beer etc; a couple of tickets to see a decent gig (Ally Kerr is playing in Glasgow at the end of this month - this boy is a fantastic musical talent); or a fine afternoon's entertainment at the races (there's a meeting at Musselburgh a week today - the holiday Monday)

But my darling daughter doesn't see it this way. She spends three score on a flimsy dress that barely covers her ar...artic regions. Still, being a dutiful father, I'm prepared to put my ageing opinions to one side and tell her how wonderful she looks in it. After all, it's a father's duty to give his children as much praise, support and encouragement as possible.

And if you happen to read this, Michaela, I'll need a lift home from work tomorrow...

Addiction

My name is Mike. This isn't easy for me but I feel I have a duty to my family and friends to tell them openly about my problem. It's not something I'm proud of but, while I'm not a religious person, we all have our cross to bear. Perhaps by bringing this out in the open I may find the help I so urgently require.

My 'habit' has worsened considerably since last Christmas. At that time I received an IPod Touch as a gift. Until then I didn't have a real problem. But now it threatens to spiral out of control. Ladies and gentlemen, I have to confess to - downloading cheesy music from the internet....

Pre IPod days, I used to download albums via my laptop. I felt in control this way and would download things like the fabulous Red Hot Chilli Pipers and their Bagrock classics. But the IPod means I can download music without the need for switching on a computer. And now I feel I've reached the stage where I need help.

The warning signs were there a few weeks ago when I downloaded Phil Collins' Greatest Hits. No, that's not an oxymoron. That started a trend. From Collins it was the short next step to Genesis. Talk about a Land of Confusion...

But things have worsened considerably. I read a newspaper review of the film Mamma Mia which said you'd be better off not going to see the film but spending your money instead on ABBA's Greatest Hits. Which, I'm afraid to say, I did. My problem now seems to have reached its nadir. My daughter Michaela picked me up yesterday and drove me home. She had Radio 1 on in her car so I felt I was safe enough from cheesy music. But, lo and behold, some listener who clearly has a similar problem to mine e-mailed Fearne and Reggie's Request Show and asked for The Wurzel's Combine Harvester. I tried desperately to control my feet but they were soon tapping away to the line 'I've got 20 acres and you've got 43' and I was hooked. Later that evening despite strenuous efforts to resist temptation, I reached the the IPod and downloaded The Wurzels song.

My name is Mike. Please, someone, help me escape my addiction to cheesy pop music....

Those Wedding Bells

A bride and groom are celebrating their special day - without the worry of being thousands of pounds in debt. Odette Fenwick, 19, and 21-year-old Chris May spent a grand total of £480 on their wedding day in north Devon. Wearing a £52 dress bought on eBay, the radiant bride looked a million dollars and said she felt "like a princess". The groom hired a suit for £90. The Ilfracombe couple exchanged vows and rings, which cost £19, at a civil ceremony in Barnstaple.

From the BBC News website

Now, speaking as a father of a girl who plans to get married in two years, I have to say I like this story. In fact, I may well print it out - in font size 48 - and pin it on the wall of Michaela's bedroom. Younger daughter has set her sights on tying the knot to her beloved at Edinburgh Castle no less. Now while having the bridegroom stand in front of Mons Meg and having the wedding at one o'clock does contain a good deal of appeal, my alternative suggestion of holding the wedding at another castle - Tynecastle for example - hasn't gone down well. But, I plead to deaf ears, think of the cost of getting married (and I'm talking financially here - don't get me started about the human cost...)

When I got married in 1982, the wedding cost £1,500. My bride and I had to pay the cost of the wedding ourselves. In fact I was counting the cost soon after...It was a simple ceremony and a simple honeymoon. There's nothing wrong with Blackpool - and in an age before satellite television it meant I could still see the infamous Scotland-Soviet Union World Cup game (the one where Alan Hansen ran into Willie Miller and the Russians scored) The missus wasn't best pleased but then she was never one who was easy to please...

So I take my hat off to the couple from Ilfracombe. What a sensible pair they are. By a remarkable coincidence, I had also said to my bride in 1982 that she looked a million dollars - all green and crumpled. She wasn't best pleased (see above)

Who needs to spend a bloody fortune on what is little more than a big party for friends and relatives you never hear from anyway? With every chance the marriage may end up like the cake - in tiers....

Should Mothers Stay at Home?

A growing number of people are concerned about the impact working mothers have on family life, according to British research. Should mothers stay home and look after the family? A study by Cambridge University in the UK has found that support of mothers having a career is beginning to decline. In 1998, 51% of women and 45.9% of men believed that family life would not suffer if a woman went to work. This number decreased to 46% of women and 42% of men in 2002.

From the BBC News website

The inference from this research appears to be that working mums are to blame for declining standards of British society. If mothers stayed at home like the dutiful wives they're meant to be, to look after the children and cook and clean for the husband then life in Britain would be idyllic. Wouldn't it?

This may have been the way of things in this country fifty years ago. But life in
21st century Britain is far different. The economics of this country mean that most people simply have to work. When my gruesome twosome daughters Laura and Michaela were children, their mother had to work at the weekends in order that we could make ends meet. Which meant we seldom did things as a family and this increased the strain on our relationship. But if she hadn't gone out to work we wouldn't have been to afford the mortgage. Now, years later, daughter Laura struggles with part-time work and having to pay what are, quite frankly, outrageous nursery fees.

This is something that needs looking at. The cost of childcare in this country is ridiculous. If the government would spend less of the taxpayers money on futile wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and more on the people who really need it - the working people of this country - then perhaps society would improve. I'm not blaming the government for bad parenting. All parents have an obligation to bring up their children as best they can. However, for some, the financial struggle of raising their offspring is a real hardship. If real financial assistance was available for families, perhaps one of the parents may consider not working full-time and spending more time with their children.

To my mind, it shouldn't just be mothers who should be seen as the ones staying at home. Fathers should have the right to do this too - the term house husband should be looked in the same light as house wife.

It seems to me the researchers at Cambridge University have too much time on their hands. I wonder if any of them have children?

The Best Days of Your Life?

It's another sign of getting older - counting the years that have passed since you left school. It's more than thirty years for me now but I can still recall it as if it were yesterday.

I've been thinking about my school day lately as I've been in touch recently with an old school friend. Like me, Colleen remembers some of the old school trips and some of the things we used to get up to. However, her view that school days are the happiest of your life is not something I share.

I didn't particularly enjoy school. In fact I detested primary school and the nightmare that was school dinners. Truly awful, quite inedible gunge that was passed as food was, at times, quite sickening. Literally so, as the Commandant who was the teacher in charge of the school meals hut forced every child to eat what was on their plate. It was so awful, some of us used to smuggle out items of food in handkerchiefs so we could show the old battle axe our plate was empty. For nine year old children, this was quite traumatic.

Secondary school was a bit better - but then the work was harder! I fell through, what I call, the fourteen year old trapdoor. The first two years at secondary school were fine. But then, at fourteen years of age, I discovered girls. At the same time, punk rock was coming to the fore. With both these major events in my life happening, my school work never stood a chance. From 1976 to 1978 I lost interest in working at school and concentrated my efforts on other things.

I left school on 31 May 1978 with just four 'O' levels. I started work, in a furniture store, four days later. A dead end job which I hated. But I soon got another job and learned more away from school than I ever did at it. I tried to warn my two daughters about the perils of falling through the fourteen year old trapdoor. Laura ignored me and fell into the same abyss which I suspect she regrets now, even though she has two wonderful children of her own and is busy working part-time. But at just twenty-two she could have had so much more career-wise. Michaela did listen and has done well for herself. She still left school at sixteen but she has a decent job, her own car and until last year her own flat. Her ambition, I'm delighted to say, still burns brightly.

Of course, school days three decades ago were much different. We had to wear school uniform for a start. And there was corporal punishment for those who misbehaved. Six of the best from the maths teacher was one way of teaching you how to add up! And there were no computers in schools in the 1970s - certainly not the one I attended.

The best days of your life? Sadly, not for me. School taught me nothing about what to expect in the big wide world. They say what you do at school can shape the rest of your life. But, for me, women, relationships, music and football were far greater influences.

If the lovely Colleen reads this, she may know exactly what I mean....

Not a Well Man

Now, I'm not one to complain. But despite my youngest daughter Michaela's assertion that I have a 'bit of a sniffle', I'm more inclined to think I've succumbed once again to Man flu. So as I'm not a well man, I thought rather than waste important energy on another rant, I would offer this story...

This fella, having split from his latest girlfriend, decided to take a holiday. He booked himself on a cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life, that is, until the ship sank.He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies,nothing, only bananas and coconuts.

After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore. In disbelief, he asks, 'Where did you come from? How did you get here?'

She replies, 'I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank.''

'Amazing,' he notes. 'You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you.'

'Oh, this thing?' explains the woman. 'I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree.

'But, where did you get the tools?'

'Oh, that was no problem,' replied the woman. 'On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware.'

The guy is stunned.

'Let's row over to my place,' she says. After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf. As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope,the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.

As they walk into the house, she says casually, 'It's not much but I call it home. Sit down, please. Would you like a drink?''

'No! No thank you,' he blurts out, still dazed.'I can't take another drop of coconut juice.'

'It's not coconut juice,' winks the woman. 'I have a still. How would you like a Pina Colada?'

Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk. After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, 'I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet.'

No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism.

'This woman is amazing,' he muses. 'What next?'When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines, strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckons for him to sit down next to her.

'Tell me,' she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, 'You've been out here for many months. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?' She stares into his eyes .

He swallows excitedly and tears start to form in his eyes.....





'Bloody hell, don't tell me you've got Sky Sports?'