A nice day for a white wedding

What I'm about to tell you is amazing.

As long term readers will recall, back in May my estranged girlfriend Gill managed to get herself pregnant. It was an startling development to say the least. Now, I know that people have been getting pregnant for years, so I suppose it wasn't that starlting really, but the startling part was that the baby was not mine, but was (is) in fact that of my good friend Dave the roofer.

Dave is a simple man with simple pleasures. Chelsea FC, booze, birds and roofing. Simple he may be, but he is the salt of the earth and when Gill announced her pregnancy Dave did the decent thing and offered to support Gill financially.

He'd just come into money, thanks to the death of his uncle Dave in Canada and had inheritated the family roofing business under the proviso that he would have to move out to Edmonton, Alberta!

Well readers, with Xmas fast approaching, Gill is now five months pregnant. It seems as though Dave the roofer's paternal instincts have come to the fore. He called me up last night after Chelsea had beaten Atletico Madrid 4-0.

"ear Baz," he said, "You know what? Tonight is the best night of my life."
"Easy Dave," I said, "you've not even made it to the knock-out stages yet."
"No Baz mate," he said, "Not for the first time, you misunderstand."

What Dave then went on to tell me, just about blew my socks off. It seems Dave and Gill have been spending quite a bit of time together of late, I suppose what with me starting my new job and contemplating turning gay like Dan, I hadn't really noticed how close Dave and Gill had become.

On Wednesday night, at Stamford Bridge, Dave the roofer proposed to Gill and she accepted! FUCKING HELL, Gill doesn't even like football.

It doesn't stop there readers, because Dave the roofer was calling me up to ask me to be his best man. Y'know, initially I did think it would be a bit weird being the best man at my best friend and ex-girlfriend's wedding, but then Dave told me he had booked us tickets to fly out to Las Vegas this weekend!

How cool is that? What a top geezer. Dave and Gill are only going to get married by an Elvis impersonator. I tell you what, only in America.

Dave told me that he just thought 'why not'. Well, you know, when I'm sitting on the sofa playing Pro Evo, I sometimes think to myself, 'shall I have another Cobra?' then I think 'why not?' Sometimes, when I'm having a nice cup of tea, I think 'should I have a Chocolate Hobnob?' then I think 'why not?'

What I don't do is get my best friend's ex up the duff, then secretly plan a wedding in Las Vegas. I dunno, maybe I should be more spontaneous, maybe I should live a bit more by the seat of my pants in the spur of the moment.

I really think maybe Dave should have been more thoughtful though, I mean, I've only got 24 hours or so to write a best man speech. Dave knows damn well I'm a perfectionist. So while him and Gill are enoying the movies and Dave's enjoying the free booze, I'll be fretting over my lines. I guess sitting here moaning about it isn't going to help!

Anyway, sorry to moan, I got a bit distracted there, the really amazing thing is, I saw Charlie Boorman today!!!!!!!!! He was trying to get hold of someone on the mobile while standing at a petrol station.

Arguably not as amazing as the story I saw on the news about an ice skating Russian circus bear that went postal and killed its trainer. I never knew bears could ice skate. But they can. As can Apes.

Actually, having watched the YouTube videos, linked above, of animals ice skating, my sympathies certainly go out to the bear. Although, the sympathy doesn't really count for much, since the Russian authorities shot the bear dead.

Speaking of shooting things dead, I'd like to shoot Nick Griffen, leader of the BNP, dead. He's on Question Time tonight. I know that he was elected and everything (by a million or so people apparently), but I can't help thinking he's an absolute cunt.

I dunno, maybe I'm being unfair, perhaps he's nice to grannies (white ones) and does a lot of work for charities (although probably not Oxfam). But even so, he's the leader of a political movement that should be outlawed.

I'm all for outlawing stuff that's bad. The G comes along and outlaws stuff willie-nillie. Talking on a mobile phone while driving a car has been outlawed, riding a bicycle whilst under the influence of alcohol has been outlawed, smoking canabis, outlawed, polygamy, outlawed, driving 35 mph in a built up area, outlawed, carrying a bottle of water through security at an airport, outlawed. The list goes on and on.

Surely it would make much more sense to repeal all of the above and outlaw the BNP?

Anyhoo, I guess I'd better make a start on that speech.

I'm off to Vegas tomorrow, see you next Tuesday.

Barry
x

Never again...

I've got a stonking hangover today. I don't know why I do it to be honest? Gill always said I was a borderline alcoholic, I certainly don't feel like a drink right now, so I guess that means I can't be an alkie, they don't just like a drink, they need a drink. Actually, now I've said that, I reckon a little one just to take the edge off things might help.

Gill's been at the forefront of my mind recently readers, I've not really had the time to be thinking of old friends, not since I started the new job, but she's nearly three months gone! Wow, how time flies eh?

I was really pleased then when my my old friend Dave, the roofer, texted me and asked me I fancied a drink up, "for old times sake", he'll never get the hang of apostrophes. God only knows what kind of father he'll make! I was so glad he got in touch, becasue I wanted to tell him all about how I've totally landed on my feet with the new job.

When I met up with him he wasn't wearing his beloved John Terry Chelsea shirt, he reckons Terry is going to do the off, some bloke he knows who works at Marcos restaurant told him. He called Terry a "fucking Judas", which is Dave's staple insult for an footballer who has moved clubs. Dave was wearing what looked like an American football shirt with Gretzky 99 on the back. Which I thought was weird, because Dave can't stand Americans.

The last time I'd spoken with Gill, just before I started my new job, she'd told me that Dave the roofer had presented her with £10k and promised £1k per month indefinitely for the upkeep of the child that she had decided to selfishly keep. Now, the way I figured it, Dave must have gotten himself into some murky roofing scams to come up with that sort of money, either that or it was an out and out lie by Gill just to belittle me. But it turns out that Dave's rich uncle Dave from Edmonton passed on a few months ago and left him with a bag of cash and one or two properties. It's easy to be generous when you're rich isn't it?

Dave, the roofer, had always talked about his rich uncle Dave from Edmonton. But I never even met him. Seems Dave's father and his brother (Dave - Dave's uncle) had set up a roofing business in the late 70s, then much like Adolf Dassler and Rudolph Dassler founders of the sporting goods giants Adidas and Puma, the two brothers had an almighty argument and went their separate ways.

Dave's father handed down the Chelsea roofing business to Dave, meanwhile Dave's uncle Dave moved to Edmonton and started afresh. Now, I thought that meant he'd moved to Edmonton, Enfield in North London, but actually he'd moved to Edmonton, Alberta in Canada!

That's quite the rift. Anyway, Dave told me all this over a pint or eight in the Imperial on the King's Road. Seems Dave has spent the last few weeks over in Canada. Dave reckons his uncle never married out there, and in his last will and testament he left Dave his entire estate, under the proviso that Dave moves out to Edmonton to run the business!!

Dave wasn't going to do it, out of loyalty to his father, but then when Gill came along and ruined everything, he thought it would make financial sense. Plus, Dave's dad said to him that it'd be all right, he'd take care of things in Chelsea and anyway Dave has had enough of living in London, "cos of all the immigrants". I pointed out that when Dave moves to Canada to take over the Edmonton roofing business, he'll be in immigrant himself. But I don't think he quite understood.

We had quite an emotional night, as you can well imagine, it will be terrible to see the back of Dave. We've had such a journey together. Get this though, he's asked me to be the Godfather of his unborn child! I said I wasn't sure that Gill would be keen, but he just winked at me and said he has certain ways of talking her around to his way of thinking, then he did this thing with his tongue in his cheek and said "she loves it Bazzler." Well, I felt a bit sick to be honest, but we'd had a few sherberts and so I let it wash over me.

The thing is readers, I'm not sure that I should accept Dave's invitation to be his child's Godfather. As regular readers will know, I've been taking in-depth looks at religion and it's made me appreciate the finer points of the need for spirituality, that said what if Gill and Dave decide the back the wrong horse at the font? I'm not sure if I could live with myself if I stood up in an anglican church and promised to God that I'd look after Dave and Gill's child, if God forbid, anything should happen to them, only to then discover at a later date that it's not the anglican God that I should have been making promises to, but the Catholic God or worse still the Jewish God, now I've done some reading around the subject and I can catagorically say that you wouldn't want to fuck with the God of the Old Testament, he'd rain down bad on yo ass.

Imagine, you're dead right, and then you find out that actually you should have paid attention to the Jehovah's Witnesses who knocked on your door the previous weekend and now you're doomed to wander the Earth in limbo like an unseen zombie in that film with Rickey Gervais. The thing is, at least you've made your choice, as it were, I might well have been rude the doorstepping God botherers, but it was my choice, and that's my right as a human being. It's called FREE WILL, duuuuuuuuh! But If I stand up at a font in the wrong type of church and make a load of promises, won't that just anger the correct God?! And then I've pretty much condemed Dave and Gill's child to a lifetime of blasphemy and an eternity in the fiery pit of the hell of whichever God I've gone and inadvertedly pissed off.

It would be hipocrisy, and no one could accuse me of being an hippocrates. Least of all Dave the bloody roofer, who, when all's said and done, decided to bang my recently ex'd girlfriend, bring a bastard child into the world and then bugger off to the other side of the world.

I might suggest that we work on signing Dave junior up to a selection of some of key religions right from the get go, just in case.

Anyway, I'm off to take a dump now.

Peace out

Barry
x

Good times, bad times

I'm going to deliver today's posting as a shit sandwich readers. Sounds horrid doesn't it? But it's actually a bone fide business technique used by middle managers carrying out appraisals. Anyone who is anyone that's worked in a busy office will be familiar with the shit sandwich.

Imagine you're a middle manager and one of your staff hasn't been performing as well as they should (or as well as you'd hope (or as well as your boss would hope)), it's appraisal time and you haven't really got the balls to tell them to buck their ideas up. You give them a shit sandwich. Sometimes literally.

It's a method of delivering something deeply unpalatable by sugar coating it between two pieces of relatively good news.

First up, some good news. I'd like to extend a warm and friendly Newsdesk welcome to my two latest followers. First up is Tennyson ee Hemingway. It's a funny name, steeped in literary reference, for a funny fella. His blog, Andy Warhol Goes Shopping, has nine followers at the time of writing. I'm sure that figure will sky-rocket if he keeps going around following other blogs and writing nice things about them (mine certainly did ;-)

Tennyson left a lovely comment on my last post: "Over here from Mr London Street and he's absolutely right. How you only have 18 follower is beyond me. Well, now you have 19."

I did when you left the comment Tennyson , but before I could post an anti-war piece heavily influenced by the musings of Paul Hardcastle, up popped my first Kiwi follower, Megan Rose, whose excellent blog, Frou Frou Frippery, has NNNNNNNN ,NNNNNN 19 followers (now that I've joined). Maybe Megan can post something about all the things war is good for!

Absolutely nothin', say it again. Absolutely nothin.

Yeah.

I'm riffing now readers, riffin like a mo fo. But it's time to bring things back down to earth. It's time for the SHIT brother.

I got a text this morning from my best friend Dave, the roofer, asking me to meet up for the England game. Now, Dave's a big man, but he's out of shape, that said I didn't fancy meeting after the last text exchange we'd had. I'm a pacifist and sometimes with Dave, especially when England are playing, he likes a drink and a bit of ruck. So I texted him back and said I was feeling a bit fluey, was it something important?

Now, I assumed that he had confronted Gill about the pregnancy and she's told him about her plans for a "ternimation" [sic]. I expected Dave, the roofer, wanted to drown his sorrows and, quite possibly, create some sorrows for yours truly.

I was wrong. Dave texted back and said he wanted to "wet the babies head".

Jesus, the man's grammar is abysmal and here he is about to bring a child into the world. A child with my ex! Seems Gill has had a change of heart. She's no spring chicken and when they reach a certain age, they sometimes loose all concept of reality, don't they? Anyway, she is now (rather selfishly in my opinion, having the kid). It really got me down, there I was expecting us to get back on the straight and narrow, I was even thinking of getting her to move in, I mean it would have really helped with the mortgage, and that was that, my plans are out of the window thanks to her lack of control and bloody hormones.

Women.

Right, well I knew it would get be down writing about it, so I thought I'd bring the mood back up with some good news - and in truth it's a really double whammy. I got a letter on the doorstep today from that publishing house that has the interview with, they've already decided that they want to bring me in for a second interview. Brilliant eh? I guess I've still got what it takes for sales. In a way it's a bit of a shame, becasue I've really started to get somewhere with Citizen Journalism, with all my cool new followers, but now Gill's not moving back in, I suppose I've got to face up to reality and start bringing home the bacon.

The really cool part, though, is that on my way to the paper shop this morning, I noticed that Blockbusters on the High Street has been shut down! Ha, so this is for you Richard, Leigh and Amber! UP YOURS, I didn't need your stupid job anyway!

'KK, think I might crack open a Cobra and get myself ready for the big England game.

I'm a little wary of making ppublic predictions, especially after my Champions League debacle, but I sense a 3-0 win for Capello's Lions.

U TW@!

Woke up to the sound of my phone alerting me to the fact that I'd received a text message. After yesterday's bombshell news that Gill's knocked up with another man's baby, I did what any man in my situation would have done. Well, not an Islam or a top sportsman on the eve of a big competition, or indeed a sensible taxi driver who was about to start his shift, or Roger (apparently - although I doubt that, he probably just stays off the booze so he can manipulate Mum (both emotionally and physically - GOD I NOW FEEL SICK)).

I had a can of Cobra.

Then another and another. Before not too long I'd guzzled through the mobile phone safety barrier of about six cans of Cobra. It was sitting on the table, looking up at me, taunting me. I swear readers, I was beyond help. I picked it and sent Dave a text.

"Wetting the baby's head?" I texted.
"WTF U talkin abt Baz?"
"Won't be showing people down the Imperial pictures of Gill naked now will you? More likely to be junior."
"Serious. WTF U talkin abt Baz?"
"In fact, there'll be no more Imperial for you. No more going to the Bridge. No more bunking up with barmaids. But you can bunk up with your best pal's ex-girl as much as you like."
"Been drinkin" he asked.
"I've had a few Dave. I'm celebrating not having to look after a baby."
"UR saying wot I think UR sayin?"
"Nice one DAD!"
"If UR lyin 2me, ur ded"
"In the words of Charles and Eddie, Would I lie to you?"
"TWIT*."
"Game over."
"TWIT*."
"I'm ending this, not you."
"TWIT*."
Enjoy the Cup Final."
"TWIT*."

I thought I'd leave it at that, sometimes you've got to be the bigger man. I'm not sure what the message was on my phone this morning. Wasn't from Dave though, it was from Gill. Think I'll open it later.

Yours in News

Barry - young, free and single (again!)

ps. Dave was actually calling me a twat, but I thought I'd better change it to twit in case any of my younger readers are easily influenced.

pps. even though Dave the roofer is die hard Chelsea, I really do hope they win today, because I know Mess will be watching!

The sins of the father

I have had a day of highs and lows readers, but mostly lows. There’s no easy way to explain this to you, so I’ll just come right out with it.

Gill has managed to get herself pregnant. Good, bloody Christ, she’s up the duff. I can’t believe it, readers. I just can’t believe it.

Suddenly it all clicks into place. The other day, when we met at the moon under water? She wasn’t late because she had to be somewhere else; she was “Late” with a capital ‘L’. Late as in her moontime had not been forthcoming. In the family way. Tubbed. Up the bloody stick. The text message she sent me? “Positive?” that was the test result, not some cryptic allusion to her mood.

Obviously I found out because I caved in and called her. I asked her if she had calmed down but before she could answer, I heard her retch and then be sick. So then I asked her if she’d had a big night the night before, out with some bloke or something and then she was very rude to me.

She said: “No you insufferable little twat of a man. I’m fucking pregnant!”

I guess it must be the hormones.

You can imagine my response, readers, because it was the response that any decent man of my circumstance would have come up with, I’m sure. That’s to say, I was thinking in no uncertain terms that I am in no way ready to assume the responsibilities of fatherhood. I was panicking. I mean, it’s not like we’re even in a relationship. We’ve split up, and just because we had some drunken tuppenny bloody bunk-up in the UK’s premier location for exceptional short break experiences in a forest location – I can’t even be certain she was awake for all of it, for Christ’s sake – doesn’t mean that we can skip hand in hand into the soft-focus sunset of parenthood. Shit.

So I played it cool. I said: “Wow, so how do you feel about that?”

And she said: “I feel fucking terrible you spindly, cosseted bloody cretin.”

I had visions of the church, the aisle, Mum sitting in the front row and Gill standing there, a life of sleepless nights and nappies stretching out before me. I was about to offer some trademark Newsdesk placatory words when she hit me with the sledgehammer blow.

“And before you ask, don’t worry,” she said. “I’m certain it can’t be yours.” She was sick again, and then she said. “I think it must be Dave’s”

I got this horrible feeling in my stomach, like it was looping the loop and then I started to feel sick myself. I felt sad and angry. So I had a bit of a shout.

“Dave the bloody roofer?” I said. “Jesus Christ, Dave the roofer and my sort-of girlfriend are having a baby together. I thought we were working things out. I thought after Center Parcs things were getting back together. And now you’re having a baby with Dave the bloody roofer? He can barely fucking well write. What kind of father’s he going to be, eh? He’s a borderline alcoholic, bigoted, sexist moron. He’s got every Clarkson DVD that’s been issued. Even the foreign imports, the ones from Australia. The last book he read was a novel based on the TV series Spender, and it was written by Jimmy Nail!! He’s my best friend, for crying out loud.”

And then she put the phone down.

Well, I can tell you, readers, I didn’t know where I was. I wanted to phone Mum, but I didn’t want to tell her about Gill and Dave. So I just did what Buddhists are supposed to do in these situations: I sat down and had a think. And do you know what? It didn’t seem that bad, after a while. I actually started to feel relieved.

I’m a young man in the prime of my life. I’m a creative guy. And you know what they say about the pram in the hallway being the enemy of creativity.

I started to feel sorry for them both. It’s silly in this day and age to have unprotected sex, and they should have been more responsible. Now they’re going to have to live with this problem. Certainly, I realised that I wouldn’t be able to be with Gill after this. I can’t bring up Dave’s child, I just can’t. And I think it takes strength to be that brutally honest about something like this.

Anyway, I think it’s high time I had a beer. Newsdesk out, people.

A faltering restart

Went to meet up with Gill last night in the Moon Under Water, it's a Weatherspoons pub, so not exactly a classy joint, but with my financials in the state they're in, I need to play it sensible. I got myself a pint of lager and settled down at a spare table. Gill was nowhere to be seen.

You've got to watch yourself in the Moon, if you're sitting alone for more than five minutes you'll almost certainly draw the attention of Seamus. He's in there all day, every day. God knows where he finds the money, but he pisses it all up the wall and won't stop talking about the 'old country'.

I was practically at the end of my pint when Gill walked in, "good timing," she said and went to the bar without even taking her coat off. Result. Actually, I really don't appreciate being kept waiting in the Moon, Gill knows this, but I managed to hide my anger.

"Sorry, I'm late," she said as she sat down with the drinks.

I told her it was OK and that luckily she'd arrived before Seamus had joined me. She laughed looking around, "just like old times eh!?"

I had to smile. It really was. I tried to make a bit of small talk, told her about my email from Kenny and a new charity thing that I've got in mind (women love charity) - I've always had a good head of hair, but over the last few years, it has been thinning a touch, so I thought I'd shave it all off and at the same time raise a bit of money for Tibet. I was thinking of booking out a pub and making a bit of party of it. I thought Gill would be all over the idea, prior to the breakup she'd been nagging me for ages to get a haircut and grow up. But she didn't even acknowledge what I'd said.

I raised the idea of renting out and moving back to Lincoln for a while (thought it might be too soon to suggest she move in...!). "Have you still not got a job?" she asked. But I'm better than Blockbusters, that was only ever a temporary measure anyway. I can't just take any old job, I need a challenge. Besides there's a global recession on, so finding work is easier said than done.

I'd rattled through my second drink fairlt sharpish and got up to go to the bar to get myself another pint, Gill had bearly touched her orange juice, "fancy a refll?" I said, "a bit of chardonney?" I didn't want to push it too much, but I figured the night wasn't exactly going as I'd planned, I'd probably need a bit of assistance from Cupid's Cup of Love. But Gill just asked for a glass of water "I'm late," she said.

I couldn't believe it, I'd kept this night totally free, had a shave, made all the conversation and now here she was turning up late and turning my drink offers down becasue she was late for something else. Two can play at this game, I thought, she clearly wasn't going to be coming back to my place for Round II, so figured I'd just see how long it was before she say anything. We sat there in stony silence for 15 minutes, I took a few sips. As predicted, she cracked eventually....it's a classic piece of negotiating that I learned while I was in sales.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked.
"What! I've been trying to talk to you all night," I said.

She just shooked her had, gulped back the remainder of her drink and stood up to leave, "I'm late," she said.
"Well, you'd better get yourself off to wherever it is your going," I said, and she stormed out.

WOMEN. I will never understand them.

BND

Wooly-minded Liberals

Once again I was rudely awoken at about 10:30 this morning by the sound of someone stuffing uninvited pamphlets through the letterbox. Rather than right-wing propaganda, I was met by the tell-tale yellow of the Liberal Democrats.

As you'd imagine the LDs had taken a slightly different tack from the UKIP and BNP. They'd decided to use actual party supporters on their leaflet. They've been at this game for long enough to know you cannot fool the electorate with phony ballonie nonsense.

As a Citizen Journalist, it is my responsibility to remain and report from a neutral standpoint. I have a Duty of Care to my readers Mr Coleman and Mess, not to mention the countless tens of others who sometimes drop by the blog by mistake....

....speaking of which (if I may digress?), if you look over to the left sidebar you'll see my blog counter. A blog widget supplied by Blogpatrol. It doesn't just let me see how many visitors I've had it lets me 'drill down' into the stats. I can see all sorts of relevant information about my followers. I can see how many I've had, when they visitied, the computer browser they're using, which country they come from, their IP address and even what search terms they might have used to stumble across the ole bloggeroonie.

It's this last factiod that I'd like to develop further, and it is a factiod that I hope will bring joy to my loyal French friend Mess. Last month I was approached by a firm called WuTravel.com offering me riches beyond my wildest comprehension, at the time my other excellent follower, former school master Mr David Coleman (not the commentator) warned me against it, but Mess went one step further and did some research then sent me a Facebook email explaining that WuTravel.com is definitely an Internet fraud scheme.

Anyway, using the Blogpatrol tool I've noticed that countless tens of people have been drawn to the Barry Newsdesk blog as a direct result of Googling questions about WuTravel.com. Clearly, these people had also been approached by WuTravel.com and clearly they'd done a bit of digging and they came to this very blog and would have read Mess's words of wisdom warning them away from WuTravel.com. That, my friends, it Citizen Journalism in action!!!

Anyway, back to the Liberals, the flyer they sent features a good number of pictures of actual Liberals. They're NOT assamed! Take that BNP and UKIP. There's even a picture of Vince Cable, who looks like my friend Dave's Dad. I've always had a bit of a softspot for the Liberal party, ever since Paddy Ashdown (aka Pantsdown lol), then there was Charles Kennedy, he liked a drink, there's nothing wrong with that, and more recently Sir Menzies Campbell (any relation to Kenny from the Metro I wonder?) - whose name, GET THIS, is actual pronounced Ming. As in Ming the Merciless (he was bald too.....funny, you never saw them in the same room together).

The Lib Dems greatest ally is also their greatest foe. They can pretty much promise what the hell they like because they'll never get into power. It's one of the political ironies of our time.

Anyway, I'm starting to sound like a party political broadcast. I should really be out looking for a job, but it's very difficult to get motivated. If it wasn't for the fact I'm meeting up with Gill later I'd still be in my jimjams.

My own personal Credit Crunch is starting to bite. I'll have to meet up with Gill in Weathersoons I think. I was thinking about asking Gill to move in, it could well get me out of sticky patch mortgage-wise. Then again, I was also thinking that I might be able to rent out the place and go and look after Mum in Lincoln. I called her up the other night and Roger answered. I don't like it. He's getting his feet under the table. If I rent out this place, then I can stay up north for a while until I get myself a new job when the recession stops next year.

Catch you later one and all, reckon I can fit in some Pro Evolution Soccer before I need to go out.

Barry
x

A little bit of politics

Life has just taken yet another cruel twist for yours truly. After a top weekend with Gill I returned to work re-energized. I was actually looking forward to walking into Blockbusters and being able to dismiss Amber for the common tart she really is.

BUT, when I walked in I saw not just Amber standing behind the counter but her so called boyfriend Leigh.

As regular readers (Mess and Mr Coleman) will know, I was personally responsible for Leigh's dismissal some time ago when the store's dickhead manager Richard entrusted me in the sensitive issue of funds being lifted from the till. Turns out it was Amber, not Leigh, and when I told Richard this, he dismissed the allegations with a laugh.

Anyway, I went into the backroom to get changed into my uniform (I never walk the streets dressed in the uniform, I've never been good with uniforms) and came face to face with Richard. He told me that I needn't bother getting changed tonight, because my services were not required.

I gussed that he must have had a change of heart over Leigh. Given the guy a second chance, and that since I'd been away he must have changed the rota. I said as mush to Richard. He just laughed and told me not to go home and not bother coming back, not to work and not even as a customer.

Suffice to say, I asked him what he was talking about. "I'm sacking you Barry," he said "for sexual discrimination."

At first I thought it was a joke, I even said "are you having a laugh?" But he wasn't smiling. "Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked, looking so self-satisfied I would have punched him, and I would have done too, except I'm pacifist.

SEXUAL DISCRIMINATION. I couldn't believe it.

After all that stuff with Sky when I first entered the world of Citizen Journalism, I know a thing about sexual discrimination. And Richard was going to have a fight on his hands for unfair dismissal. I'd already practically started spending the damages fee in my head, I'd get myself a car and maybe even take Gill away again. When it comes to sexual discrimination cases, you need actual proof before you can make those sorts of allegations. I'm no mug!

How could Richard possibly have proof that I'm a sexual deviant? For starters, I'm not and even if I was, I'd be smart enough to cover my tracks!

I told him I'd see him in court, but before I could leave, Richard went outside and then came back with Amber and Leigh. "Show him," said Richard. Amber took out her mobile phone.....

Flippin heck, she had all those messages that I'd sent her after my disasterous Internet date. I didn't bother arguing readers, even though I'm defintiely not a pervert, in black & white in a mobile phone inbox, it really did look like I'd been pestering Amber.

As I walked out of the room, Leigh barged me with his shoulder, "sleep wiv one eye open bruv," he said, just like what's her name did on Eastenders the other night. I'm not scared of bullies like him. But I didn't want GBH charges levelled against me as well, so I just walked out.

So, there you have it, I'm back on the old rock 'n' roll. Not that I've signed on yet, I've never been a benefit scrounger. Like my Mum says, there's plenty of work out there for those that want it. Only trouble it, I'm not sure what work I should get into.

When I walked in through the front door I noticed a couple of pamphlets lying on the floor, one for the BNP and the other for the UK Independence Party. It got me thinking, what with all that stuff in the papers recently about how much politicians can make by fidlling their expenses, it actually sounds like you can make a fair bit of money.

I've always been interested in politics, but never really considered becoming a professional MP. Maybe I should. I don't think I'll bother with BNP or UKIP (even though my Mum really loves Robert Kilroy Silk).

Having read both pamphlets I tend to agree with everything they've written, but I feel I have to say that I fundamentally disagree with all they stand for. Still, it's a free country and far be it from me to compare them both to the Nazi party. They're not racist they say, but then Hitler said that too and once he was elected into power he changed his tune pretty sharpish. I can well imagine Kilrory Silk and the game fencing off Golders Green and getting the locals to paint little stars of David on their front doors.

I'm not sure which political party to go for really. I might have to do a bit of research. Could well make for an interesting article for The Metro. I'll write them an email and see if they're interested in my 'pitch'. I need the cash after all, this f*cking mortgage won't pay for itself and what with all the migrant workers taking all the jobs, I could be looking for work for quite some time.

Your the honourable member for Newsdesk.
Barry

Going Dutch

People often say that we Brits have quite a lot in common with the Dutch. We’re both big footballing nations, both with a background of problems with violent and nationalistic football supporters. We both have a history of embarrassing colonialism, we both still have royal families, although they’re pointless (at least ours draws the tourists, though), and we’re both inherently conservative politically. The mistake is often made of viewing the Dutch as liberal hippies because they have a policy of tolerance to soft drugs and prostitution in Amsterdam, but actually that’s wrong.

The other thing we have in common with the Dutch is Center Parcs. You may not know it but Centre Parcs was actually invented in Holland, in the 1960s. It was a successful operation there for twenty years until it opened in Sherwood Forest in 1987. Today, according to the company literature, Center Parcs “has become synonymous with the provision of an exceptional short break experience in a forest location.” They’re nothing if not specific.

Anyway, let me tell you what I think Center Parcs is synonymous with, having now been there. Center Parcs is synonymous with one Barry Newsdesk getting BACK IN THE SADDLE. And I’m not talking about one of those cheap mountain bikes you see the smiley people riding in those adverts (the adverts lie about lots of stuff, by the way, readers), I’m talking about what my anagrammatic friend Mr Coleman might describe as “Hip enema? Ok. Ow!”

If you’re interested in the kind of leisure activities we got up to, then check out the center parcs website. It’s all on there. But if you’re interested in the kind of pleasure activities we got up to, well…

What can I tell you readers, after dinner on the final night me and Gill wondered back to our cabin. We’d got on really well during the meal, although she insisted on talking about what a great guy Roger is. But I was the bigger person and I didn’t let it bother me. Instead I did what you’re supposed to do when women are talking; I listened. I listened attentively and I asked pertinent questions at sympathetic intervals. These questions served two purposes. First, they allowed me to subtly prove that I was listening and second they enabled me to encourage her to further open up to me. In more ways than one.

It was brilliant. We shared a bottle of wine, and got them to give us another one to take back to the cabin. I didn’t try and hold hands with her on the way back to the cabin, but we were very close together. And the mood wasn’t spoiled by the big argument that was going on in the cabin opposite ours as we went in the door.

Back inside, I whipped out the new portable speakers that I’d bought for my iPod and enlisted the help of my trusty trio: Mr M. Gaye, and the brothers Ernest and Julio Gallo. Boy, do those three know how to get a girl in the mood!

At this point, readers, I will employ something that us writers like to call ‘Authorial Distance’. This is something that we use to pull back from a situation, as if a camera were panning away. It gives the subjects of the story their privacy, while leaving readers in no doubt as to what is happening. It was used by Jane Austen quite a lot, when she wasn’t wibbling on about men having “an fine countenance, some twenty thousand a year and an estate at Blitherington.” Amazing what you can remember when you’re in full romantic flight.

Anyway, this much I’ll tell you. When all was said and done (half way through What’s Goin’ On? But it’s been a while) and I politely enquired as to her enjoyment, she sighed and said “it was just like it always was.”

Check me out! I’ve still got the moves. I must have tired her out because she fell asleep straight away. So I put out the light. I even took her shoes off for her.

Gill was really quiet on the drive home, but I guess, like me, she had a lot of thinking to do. I’m sure I speak for us both when I say it kind of took us by surprise. Still, I feel really good, people.

Peace and love BN

Centre Parcs

You'll be lierally amazed when you read what I'm about to write.

This weeked I'm going to Centre Parcs!

I know what you're thinking, why is a cool, urbanite, influencer like Barry Newsdesk going to Centre Parcs.

Centre Parcs is basically Butlins for the middle class family man. Jeesh, I'm upper working class for starters and ain't in the family way yet! ;-) - well, not that I know about kk!

Thing is, Gill and I booked a trip to Centre Parcs just before Xmas. It was her idea to be honest, and in all fairness, she's paying for it. But the holiday is booked all the same, and it'd be a shame to waste it.

She said as much to me just last night. We went to the pub and had a very frank chat. We're definitely not 'dating', but well, I've not had much luck with the Internet dating schemes and I think we can safely say I'm totoally OVER Amber. It was infatuation, nothing more, there was no emotion. It was pure sex. Well, not actual sex, but certainly desire, or lust if you will.

Gill reckons we can go to Centre Parcs together, it's a twin room after all and there are plenty of activities for us to be getting on with, so we don't need to spend every waking moment together.

I tell you what though, it's been a while, if you know what I mean, and if we're louging by the pool and she's got that bikini on that goes see-thru when it gets wet, well, I'm only human aren't I?!

We'll have chicken & chips and a few glasses of chardonney, and those twin beds can soon be pushed together ;-)) nudge, nudge.

It doesn't mean we'll be back together, but maybe we can have an 'open' relationship? A lot of water has passed under the bridge when all's said and done.

I'm not telling Mum, she'll only get excited, and at her age she probably doesn't need her blood pressure rising. Besides, she's probably got something planned with Roger anyway. Smooth talking crook that he is will be swindling her out of my inheritance!

Anyway, gotta go and pack my snorkel - think I'll pack my lucky pants while I'm at it.

Who would have thought I'd be so excited about a trip to bloody Centre Parcs....next I'll be buying a Ford Mondeo.

Peace out, l8ers
x

Inspiration for da nation

I've just read an excellent blog post. It was written by none other than my favourite French follower Mess. On his new blog, Tangled Up. Mess is tangling with that age old dilemma, love. He's got a soft spot for Girls Aloud star Cheryl Cole.

To be honest though Mess, you shouldn't spend too much time waiting for the 'perfect' girl to turn up. I'm not sure that she'll be leaving Ashley any time soon and if she did, I dare say she'd probably be knocking on Christiano Ronaldo's door.

I've posted much about the subject of love. But, what can I say? If love wasn't so damn confusing, it wouldn't be so much fun! ;-)

Take me and Gill. Jeesh, first it's off then, well, I think it might on again readers. When I cast our relationship adrift, I thought Amber and I had a future. How wrong I was. OYG, how wrong I was. I should have seen the signs. Turns out she was dating Leigh all along and playing me for the fool.

She used me readers. I feel violated. I actually got Leigh sacked from Blockbusters, because I wanted to get sacked with Amber...jeesh, the irony. All along she was taking from the til and letting Leigh take the rap. Well, when I told Richard at Blockbusters that I thought it was Amber and not Leigh who was stealing, he told me shut and stop worrying about a few quid here and there - she's got him wrapped around her little finger, the weak willed cretin. There a word for girls like Amber.

Meanwhile, Gill's been up in Lincoln all this time looking after Mum. But Mum sent her home because Roger "can take care of things". ROGER!!! I saw Gill last night, she finally took me up on that Pizza Express offer. She told me about Dave, the roofer, it was a one-off she said. She started going on about how he made her feel "wanted". I felt a bit sick in the pit of my stomach. what a fool I've been.

Seeing Gill and just having a nice time made me think about my friend Steve's humdrum family life in Lincoln, maybe settling down isn't so bad after all.

I know, check me out, I'm having a life affirming moment.

I think I probably have this blog and trusty followers like Mess and Mr Coleman to thank for their support during the dark times.

I feel so proud that Mess suggests on his own blog that it was yours truly that inspired him to start blogging. Proud but at the same time I sense a tell-tale tingle of jealousy. I've got to admit, Mess's blog is excellent, a little too good! ;0)

It's a bit like the moment that a father realises his son can beat him in a fight. Maybe that's why Dad left us. Becasue he was jealous of me and Mum and scared that one day I'd be the one throwing my weight about.

Who's laughing now?

Newsdesk Out

Mixed messages

Hello readers. I’ll cut to the chase straight away, I’m not feeling very happy today.

Lots of things seem to have come together at the same time to make this the case. Mum’s got her voice back, which is great, but the first thing she used it for was to tell me about what a lovely time she’d had with Gill while she was up there.

Mum and Gill always got along really well but now I feel like it’s them against me. I mean, I know Gill’s mum’s dead, and that’s part of the reason why her and my Mum get along so well, but she is my Mum and I need her more than Gill does, really.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for Gill about her mum. But jeez, readers, accidents happen, right? And everyone knows that, statistically speaking, hang gliding is one of the most dangerous pastimes there is. And if you’re going to go hang gliding – and I’ve never been – but if you’re going to go, you want to avoid pylons, right? It’s not bloody rocket science.

But Mum said they went out for a night together and they ended up in bloody nightclub. My Mum, in a nightclub! She’s my Mum, she’s not some pikey old granny, the kind that Wayne Rooney has a thing for. Is it just me, or does anyone one else think that Wayne Rooney has the look of a simpleton about him? Like he’s always got his tongue out and he looks like he dribbles a lot. Next door to my gran there was a couple who had a simpleton boy and he lived with them until he was into his fifties. He loved listening to music on his headphones, and he loved the snooker.

Anyway, Mum told me that all the blokes in the club were trying it on with Gill and that they both had a really good time. Also, my Mum met a ‘gentleman’ earlier in the evening, while they were having dinner, called Roger, who offered to drive her out into the country for lunch one day next week. And she’s going to go!!!

Now I love my Mum, but if there’s one thing that worries me about her it’s that she’s a bit of an easy touch. It’s like people take advantage of her and I just can’t abide that. I’m sure ‘Roger’ came across nice as pie, I can well imagine it. But I bet he’s just after the money; shit I hope she didn’t tell him how much she’s got. She mustn’t tell people that. And the thing about Mum is that when she’s had a couple of sherries, well, she gets a bit suggestible.

That’s all. So I think I’m going to have to go up there and meet Roger for myself, because I don’t think he can be trusted. And then I was feeling funny about Gill getting all the attention that Mum was talking about. I have to say, she is looking great at the moment, the last time I saw her I did feel a few of the old stirrings that I used to get. She’s obviously been out and got a load of new clothese and stuff. Because when I saw her, she said: “Jesus, Barry, you’re not still wearing that bloody Ned’s Atomic Dustbin T-shirt are you?”

Also, I went on a date, you know I’m doing that online dating thing, right? Well I went on a date and, not to put too fine a point on it, it was an absolute bloody disaster. I had a bit of stubble on the go, because I think the ladies like that, and I did some press ups before I went out, although not many. And I put my black trousers on, although I think they’ve shrunk a bit in the wash.

Anyway we arranged to meet at a pub I know in town, which is great and it’s a Sam Smiths pub, which means you can get a pint for not much more than two quid. Gill and I used to meet there. So when this girl – Susie – turned up I thought, “easy Bazza old son, she’s a bit of a cracker”. But she didn’t like the pub. Wtf? She wanted to go for cocktails, so we went to this place and the doorman looked me up and down and glared at me but chatted to Susie. Apparently she’d been here before. She told me what she wanted and it was TEN QUID! For ONE DRINK!

I only had £40 with me, figuring that we probably wouldn’t have more than ten drinks each in the pub on a first date but now a quarter of it was done for. So I had a water. Then she spent 15 minutes chatting to the doorman, while I sat at the bar with my water. She came back and asked for another drink, which I got, and then she said she didn’t think we had much in common, so let’s just chalk it up to experience. So I asked her for the money to cover the drinks and she just laughed at me. So I asked her again, and then the doorman came over and grabbed me and threw me out. And everyone in there was laughing.

It was an awful place, the kind of place that Gill and I would never go into when we were together, because we thought it was up its own arse. Which it was. I thought I’d call Gill for old times sake, but when she answered it sounded like she was at a party and she said she couldn’t talk. So I went back to the pub and got a drink, and, well, that’s about all I remember. Woke up at home with all my clothes on.

Checked my phone and I had a text message from Amber. It said: “Please stop texting me.”

So I looked at my sent messages and I’d sent her seven texts saying about how I thought we’d be great together, and I really like her and she’s hot and all this nonsense.

I’d also sent Gill 15 text messages, all saying the same thing: “Baby, what went wrong. Still think about you all the time.”

She hadn’t replied at all.

Shit, things are a bit messed up.

Mum's the word

Jeesh, you wouldn't believe the week I've had readers.

Firstly, I want to say a big "THANK YOU" to Mr Coleman. He advised me against taking up Wu Travel's offer to sponsor this blog. I sent Alyssa an email indicating that I would be interested in finding out more, and as sure as eggs is eggs, she requested my bank details. I didn't respond, I just deleted the email and put that one down to experience.

Without Mr C's words of wisdom I would almost certainly have handed my bank details over. It seemed so convincing and such a brilliant offer. Apparently, this is a form of fraud known as phishing - like fishing - Internet fraudsters ask for the bank details of a lot of people, it only takes one or two people to bite and hand over the deets and then bingo, Bob's your uncle, they empty the bank accounts and that's that. Game over.

I haven't exactly got much cash anyway, so in a way I didn't have much to lose, but it's the principle.

Secondly, I want to apologize. I've been up in Lincoln all week looking after Mum and so have not been able to post. As regular readers will know, I love my Mum. She's always been there for me, we're more like friends than mother and son. She's like the big sister I never had.

Anyway, turns out she's ill. It's nothing serious though, so don't worry. She just turned up on my doorstep last Sunday, having driven down, with a note pad and pen. Apparently, she'd been trying to get hold of me on the phone, but every time she called I just put the phone down. She's lost her voice! Amazing really, I thought I was being targeted by those Indian call centres that have automatic ringing machines. OYG they're so flippin annoying aren't they?!

Mum scribbled down that she was pretty much incapacitated with muteness and could I go up to Lincoln and help her out? Naturally, I pointed out that I'd have to miss work, but she said she could cover my wages, so that was OK.

It wasn't too bad, I just needed to help out in the shop during the day. In a way it was quite nice, there weren't many customers and I'd take my sandwiches up to the cathedral at lunchtime. It's a beautiful part of the world readers, the pace of life is so much slower than London, you can really take a step back and appreciate life.

Mind you, it brought back some painful memories. I used to come up and sit in the cathedral grounds to get away from Mum and Dad's constant bickering when I was a nipper. I haven't really told you about Dad have I? Maybe one day I will.

It's a bit dull though, Lincoln. On Tuesday night I gave my old friend Steve a ring. He's settled down now with a wife (Linda), and daughter (Siobhan), with another on the way (sex unknown). He seems really happy with his life up there, with his semi-detached and company car. But that's not for me, I tried to tell him about my new life as a Citizen Journalist, but he was only really interested in his Sky Digital and telling me about kids, and schools and all that.

In the end I was glad to get out of there and really glad to get back down here. Back where the action is. I had fried chicken for dinner and then caught the bus back and I didn't hear a single English voice. I think the bloke in front of me might have been English, but he was listening to his Walkman so I didn't hear him speak. There was a French couple, who seemed to be having a pretty serious conversation (I think he was dans le maison du chien), then there were some Somali looking chaps who were in turns arguing and laughing raucously, a Chinese couple, or possibly Japanese, it's difficult to tell isn't it? And a drunk Irishman who stank of wee. You just don't get that rich cultural diversity in Lincoln.

Mum's voice still hasn't really come back properly, she's having a scan up at the hospital tomorrow, but I needed to get back really, I can't fob Richard at Blockbuster off indefinitely and I wanted to catch up with Amber, she had an audition for some production. I've already missed out on a couple of dates from the online dating service and I need to get some love action back in my life. I told Gill that I needed to come back down and she agreed to go up to Lincoln and help Mum out.

Don't worry though, I can probably rearrange the dates, so I haven't missed out or anything.

Big Love. BN x

Cancelled

I'm really sorry to disappoint you all. Today was suppposed to be the day of the Big 1K Party. My proudest moment in blogging. As I type these words though salty tears are dripping upon the keyboard, I haven't had a wink of sleep all night.

It's doubly disasterous, as today I have a new follower too, Mandy. She's my 13th. Unlucky for some eh. Sorry, Mandy, I'll give you a proper welcome when I'm feeling more cheerful.

I was feeling jubilent when I went to meet Dave yesterday, then he gave me the news.

"Awlright Bawwry," he said, "you never guess who I bumped into the ovver day?"

I said "who?". He didn't tell me straight away, Dave always makes you spend a few minutes trying to guess, it's always futile, although I did guess it right once, when he's met Ashley Cole in Crazy Larry's.

After a few minutes of guessing, he put put me out my misery. Although, ironically he put me deeper into misery than ever before, "Gill," he said, "Gill? What my Gill?"
"Only she's not your Gill is she Barwrry?" he said with a wink.

Dave, my so called friend, then went on to tell me in tawdry detail of his night with Gill. I was agog.

How could he does this to me? My friend, Dave the roofer!!?

I had to make my excuses and leave, I was feeling sick. I would have punched him too, but I'm a pacifist.

I left the pub and picked up eight cans of Cobra and some Monster Munch for the party today, but I can't go through with it readers, so particular appologies to Mess and Mr Coleman and I know you guys were looking forward to it, but I'm sure you understand?

I texted Amber when I got back, but she didn't respond.

Think I might see if Mum wants to come down from Lincoln later.

:-(

Where there's a Will...

Met up with Gill earlier today. I said I'd stand her a PizzaExpress, I thought things might get nasty, especially after reading her comments on the blog. I'm not a coward by the way Gill, I know you're a big fan of the Sloppy Giuseppe. Who isn't? Although, sometimes an American Hot can be quite tasty.

We didn't go in the end, she just wanted to meet up to give me back my Coldplay album and pick up the kettle that her mum gave us. Well, her, but she already has one. So we just met up at East Croydon train station. She'd had her hair done, and it might have been my imagination but I could swear she'd shed a few pounds. Not that she needed to, curves are always nice.

She barely spoke to me, even knocked back my offer of a Costa Coffee. Said she was meeting a 'friend' later for lunch. I ask who but she told me it was none of my business, that she could meet whoever she damn well liked. Then she did that smile, where only half her face goes up, I think it's supposed to say 'so there!' but actually is says 'I resemble a bell's palsy suffering spiteful bitch'.

Anyway, I won't lie to you readers, I was hurt. I'd told her all about Amber, I think if we're going to be grown up about the split, she could at least tell me who she's meeting for lunch!!

Earlier in the day I had planned to pen my invitation to a virtual web party, as suggested (on the comments section of the last post) by my excellent follower Mr Coleman the retired teacher. But I was in right funk. Well, I was until I logged on and had a closer look at the photo of my latest follower Cathy's blog (shown below), Booze, Shoes and Tattoos.

OMG readers!! Actually, no not OMG. I mean OYG - Oh YOUR God - because i'm being more inclusive as a result of all my religious studies.

Anyway, OYG readers!!!

I've only just noticed that Cathy, my new follower, fraternises with the rich and famous. Because, if I'm not very much mistaken, that fellow in the photo with her (see below) is international pop superstar Will Young!!

I'm not one of those people who thinks that Will Young is a talentless idiot with an unremarkable voice and a penchant for slaughtering perfectly good Doors songs. I think he's brilliant, and he seems like a nice bloke.

Anyway, check me out, readers. I have a follower who's friends with a pop star. Just imagine if Will started following my blog too. That would be awesome!!

I hope you enjoyed the sunshine today everybodypeeps!!

ND out.

A new leaf

What a beautiful day it’s been today, readers. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining brightly. You can see with such clarity on a day like today. Such perspective. The first leaves are on the trees on my road. God, spring is such an energetic time, don’t you think? All that life bursting through. And that’s kind of how I’m feeling today.

I’ve got so much life in me, I feel energised. I feel like shouting: "I AM ALIVE!!!"

Obviously I feel quite sad about the end of things with Gill. After all, we were together for quite a few years. And there was a time when we talked about marriage and kids and stuff. But these things happen. You can’t just settle for things in this life, because you only get one chance. Unless you’re a Hindu, I suppose, and you believe in reincarnation. Reincarnation is part of Buddhism as well but, to be honest, I don’t really buy it. I’m more into just the whole, you know, calmness of the whole thing.

Anyway, so this chapter of my life is drawing to a close and I suppose I do feel a certain, sweet pang of tristesse for the whole affair. Gill said some stuff when we spoke about how she waited all this time for me to grow up and that she doesn’t even know if she’s going to be able to have kids now, because she doesn’t feel she can get into another relationship in the next couple of years. Then she called me pathetic and made some comments about one of the branch managers at her estate agents who asked her out at the Christmas party a few years back and she should have gone because he was kind and he had a BMW.

I let her have her anger (thanks Buddha!). But then I told her she was being unduly negative. First off, sure she’s 38 but I read the other day about a woman in India who had her first child at 70-years old. So technically Gill could have another 32 years to meet Mr Right and start popping them out.

Second, who’s to say she’s not going to get into another relationship soon. What would be so wrong with that? There’s no set amount of time you’re supposed to wait in these situations. You’ve got to follow your heart. She’s not bad looking for her age, especially when she wears that purple dress – I told her all this and I’m pretty sure she found it helpful. I also told her that Dave, my roofer mate, has always had a bit of a thing for her and suggested – gently of course – that I could ask that he calls her.

She said Dave was a chauvinist. I got a bit cross with her about that. He does have some strong views and they’re not to everybody’s tastes. But it’s part of his background. And he’s always been a good friend to me.

We were on the phone for ages, almost 20 minutes, and I thought at this point that it would be a good idea to disengage. I mean she can’t keep relying on me as her sounding board any more. She has to move on, to learn to be independent. I told her this and she started laughing. She said I didn’t understand anything about her or about life. She was really laughing quite hard. So I told her it was alright to cry, she shouldn’t feel like she has to pretend.

She said she didn’t feel like crying, she felt like punching me in the face because I’m such a ridiculous little child. Then she said she was stupid herself for trying to base a relationship on pity and maternal instinct, that she shouldn’t have allowed herself to be forced into the role of surrogate mother.

I told her to lay off my Mum, going on about that stuff. She said my Mum was going round there later for dinner.

My Mum’s so kind to people, that’s what makes her special. But I felt a bit funny that she was going round to Gill’s. But I decided to enjoy my first new night of freedom by going to the pub to see if Amber might be there. I felt like a chat about my feelings, having listened to all of Gill’s and been there for her.

Amber wasn’t there, though, and her phone was going to voicemail. Hey ho, there’s always tomorrow; the SECOND day of the rest of my life!!!

It's not you, it's me

Oh Gill, Gill. I can't believe it's come to this. I didn't mean to hurt you. When I took a job at Blockbusters I didn't set out to break your heart. But the fickle hand of fate intervened and I met Amber.

Sometimes it takes a change of perspective to make you realise that you've changed.

I don't mean to say you've changed. I mean one has changed. My exciting career as a Citizen Journalist is in its infancy, I'm going off in new directions, I'm exploring myself.

You're an HR manager for a string of estate agents in South London.

We've grown apart.

A few days ago on this very blog, I turned to my loyal readership to decide whether or not we should be together. As I write these words, there are 12 hours left in the voting, and it would take a massive swing in your favour to persuade me that we have a future.

50% of voters said that we should split, 33 per cent suggested that I cheat on you, while the remainder said we should stay together. It's pretty conclusive.

I was going to wait until the voting had finished, however, having read your comments on my previous post, I know that you've been reading the blog!

So, I suppose it's over. I never wanted it to end this way, I probably would have called, or perhaps sent a private text. But since you've read the blog and know how I feel about Amber, then I suppose the best thing to do is terminate the relationship here on the blog.

It's not you, it's me. We've grown apart, I hope we can still be friends after all this?

I won't say goodbye, that's too final, I'll say bon voyage.

I love you as a friend, you're more like a sister.

Got to go now, I've got a Frey Bentos in the oven and I quite fancy finishing the latest season on Pro Evo.

Yours

Bazzler :-(

ps. if you could post me my Coldplay album sometime this week that would great.

pps. can I keep the kettle, I know your mum bought it us, but you've got one and to be honest, I don't really think you need two kettles

Decision time

Life is all about making tough decisions. Sometimes you have to be brave, sometimes you make the wrong decisions, but if you sit around never making decisions, you only have yourself to blame when things go wrong.

As regular readers will know, I've been getting quite close to a colleague of mine for some time. Amber. The thing is, I've already got a girlfriend.

It's an age old dilemma. When King Henry VIII was faced with the same problem he changed his religion and chopped the current incumbent's head off. I'm not proposing for a second that I do the same. As a practicing Buddhist I cannot condone violence. Particularly against the weaker sex. Even, and I want to make this perfectly clear, even if they have let themselves go a bit.

Last night at Blockbusters Amber admitted to me that she has been stealing out of the shop's til, even though she knows that I am store manager Rochard's eyes and ears on the ground, she feels wracked with guilt that Leigh got sacked, and is threatening to resign and tell Richard the truth.

The thing is, she needs the cash, there's a credit crunch and dance lessons don't come cheap. But more than that readers, in telling me, she's shown me that there's more to our relationship than a workmate crush. I think we've really got something.

I admitted to Amber that it was I, Barry Newsdesk, that informed Richard of Leigh's misbehaviour. We've formed a pact. "It'll be our little secret," she told me, and winked!!!

Well, I've not slept a wink all night because of it.

My mind is in turmoil. The reader poll has been such a success in measuring the weight of public opinion (incidentally, 60 per cent of voters voted in favour of free porn for London commuters, a statistic I shall build into The Oyster's media pack to take to prospective advertisers), I've decided to let you, the inhabitants of the blogosphere, decide whether or not I should leave Gill for Amber!

It's a world first, it's like Girlfriend Idol - only on my blog and featuring opportunity to be my girlfriend.

I already know the bookies' favourite, and I wouldn't want to swing opinion in either direction, but I'd say one of the contestants has got the X-Factor all right!!!

VOTE NOW....!

Women!

Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, apparently. I don't think I'll ever truly understand the fairer sex.

I told Gill about what Richard had said to me at Blockbusters, and about Leigh. She gave me a really hard time, I couldn't believe it. I'm just trying to put food on the table. I thought she'd be proud of the stand I'd taken, she knows that Leigh and I had become close, but I blew the whistle, and that takes real integrity!

Then after having a massive go, she wanted me to go out to the cinema, it's Orange Wednesday two for the price of one and she wanted to see some damn romcom, I wasn't really in the mood to be honest. Sometimes social obligations can be a little bit complex.

Then she kept going on about how I'd beomce distant, and commitment and moving in. I know it makes sense financially, but I can't be tied down, I seriously think that Amber and I have connected. I made the mistake of telling Gill that Amber reminded me of Mum.

Gill knows I love Mum, to be honest I think she's jealous (Gill, not Mum - Mum never gets jealous, despite what Dad used to say. I've not told you about Dad yet, readers, maybe I'll get around to it one of these days).

Anyway, Gill goes off on one completely about how I'm wasting my time with Blockbusters, and why can't I get back into media sales, and Citizen Journalism is a waste of time. I think it might be moon time :@ her emotions are so unpredictable. I shouldn't be blaming Mother Nature for her outbursts and criticism though, she's only got herself to blame.

In the end she went home in a huff. Didn't even finish her chardoney.

I called up Mum, and you won't believe this, she took Gill's side!!!

I told you that you wouldn't beleieve it, WOMEN!

Reality cheque

There comes a time in every man's life when he has to face up to his responsibilities. Well, there comes a time in every heterosexual man's life at any rate. The gays seem to get away with a lifetime of parties and promiscuity. Sometimes, I wish I was gay. I have a lot of friends that way inclined and they always seem so happy. I suppose that's why they were dubbed gay.

Sadly, I am one of the many men in this world who is not gay. So I must face up to the reality that my girlfriend will at some stage want to move in and 'settle down'.

Jeesh readers, I hate that expression. 'Settle down'. It's so middle aged, middle class and middle England. I'm so weary of conforming to society's norms. Even though I was a salesman at the time, I went on an anarchist rally a few years ago to protest against capitalism. Those guys seem to have it really nailed.

I've been reluctant to settle down. I love Gill, of course i do. But I look what happened to my dear old Mum when she settled down with Dad. Well, they had me and brought me up in Lincoln, so it wasn't all bad. But after that things went down hill. I love my Mum, and even though I'm not gay, I'm more than willing to express that love in tears. I've not told you about Dad have I? Maybe one day I will.

Maybe if they hadn't settled down then they'd still be together now. It's worth thinking about, as I said to Gill when we were talking about it the other day.

As I explained to her, I'm not interested in playing the field, of course I'm not. I believe in one man one woman - one vision, as it were (Freddy Mercury was gay, too. That's why the band were called Queen! But was he happy? Not if you listen to some of his lyrics. Although that one about the bicycles its pretty chirpy. Great band, though - and not in spite of Freddie being gay, but because of it!). No it's just I like my own space. I don't know, we'll have to talk about it some more.

I was going to see if Amber wanted to come around and watch The Passion by famous anti-semite Mel Gibson as part of my continuing research on religion. I'm not sure Gill would even bother watching such a film, she prefers romcoms. But Blockbusters is barely covering the mortgage, and I can't keep getting Mum to bail me out, she's not the Bank of England and I'm not RBS.

Gill pointed out that her moving in might help ease the burden financially. And I think she has a point. Maybe I should get a lodger. I wonder where Amber lives. We seem to get on really well, and would make great house share buddies. She's probably not even the type who'd worry about the fact there's no lock on the bathroom door.

Maybe I'll drop Mum a line and see what she thinks.