I hope you had an, amazing Christmas. I’m sure, like me, you are so glad to have been well and truly thrown back into the bosom of the rat race. For me, Insurance based stuff. What a relief it is to be back too. I mean, relaxing at home, taking your time, chilling out, watching films and spending quality time with Mrs Grump and other loved ones is okay, but it’s no comparison to being shouted at by angry Policyholders who have a mushroom growing out of their wall. Who insist that it has nothing to do with a gradual deterioration because of their complete lack of common sense, self respect, shirking of responsibility to simply maintain their home and look after it. Who expect their insurers and people like me to agree that yes, that mushroom growing out of their wall, which now blocks the TV and their daily viewing of the soaps, reality shows, other completely mind numbing, life wasting bollocks and ironically DIY SOS; was actually caused in a freak one-off isolated event!
In case you haven’t guessed, I’m being sarcastic. I’ve had back to work blues too!
Christmas is well and truly over. Gone for another 363 days to be precise. Perhaps you feel a sense of relief that you don’t have to see some relatives that you don’t actually like for another twelve months and of course don’t have to go to another crap Christmas party with people from work who you don’t like and feel obliged to actually spend some of your own precious unpaid time with.
Also, by now you have had ample time to get rid of any rubbish gifts you have been given by people who you would have hoped understood you better. It’s not being ungrateful. A gift after all is based on a thought. Perhaps a feeling of obligation, but still a thought. They thought of you. They didn’t think that you are in fact teetotal and that a small selection of ales from around the world (just England) wouldn’t be appropriate even if they are seen as a masculine thing to have. Still you grit you’re teeth, thank them through feigned smiles and start to rack your brain for ideas of who you could give them to. RE-GIFT!!!!!
Six boxes of chocolates Mrs Grump and I were given this year. SIX! We don’t even eat chocolate! Actually, we didn’t eat chocolate. Still plugging away, we are onto box number three!
So now a new year is upon us and as usual, it’s time to think about taking advantage of this new year as a chance to make a fresh start; to change something. A new years resolution. As I lay in bed yesterday morning, I pondered what my resolution could be and it was on the tip of my tongue. Quite literally on the tip of my tongue. I decided that I would try to find a cure for morning breath!
Can someone please explain to me what the biological use is for morning breath? Probably to keep predators away who would sneak up and feast on man first thing in the morning. Two sabre tooth tigers enter a cave, sneak up on a sleeping man, then one turns to the other and whispers, “Jeez, Graham, have you smelt his breath?” “No, why?” “God, it wreaks!” “John, what does that matter? Just bite his neck and be done with it. I’m starving!” “No! No way! If that’s the pungent wretched, eye watering, odour, coming out of his wide open, dribbling mouth, God knows what his insides must be like. I think it’s past it’s sell by date! It smells like it’s gone off!”
Perhaps I’m on to something there.
But morning breath is a bit of a passion killer isn’t it? Sometimes I wake up and want to cuddle up to Mrs Grump, whisper soppy stuff into her ear; thank her for not punching me in the back of the head or smothering me with a pillow for making that weird clicking noise in my sleep, but then I either catch her unawares and she suddenly turns green or I am faced with Mrs Grump using the duvet as a kind of makeshift SARS mask. The irony of this is that as a man, it’s normal to wake up ready for action, as it were. This is a dilemma. You’re anatomy would appear to say, I’m ready to go! Let’s hop on the good foot and do the bad thing! Your breath however is saying, come near me, you will lose oxygen to the brain and pass out, possibly vomiting in the process!
Hmm, Morning breath = natures Rohypnol?
I guess it could be useful if you were in a really shit version of The X Men. Could probably be called the Y Men. Instead of the ability to heal with adamantium claws that can protrude from your knuckles, you have the ability to strip paint with your breath first thing in the morning. Your team mates could include a man who can urinate like a horse and a man who can make fart noises with his hand in his armpit.
I’m pretty sure that if I discovered a cure, not only would I get billions of pounds but also, quite rightly too, I’d get the Nobel prize.
So that was how my New year started. With such pondering. The madness continued throughout the day as I put the Christmas tree back in the loft; did some vacuuming; went to Homebase to buy some sticky numbers for our new wheelie bin; having discovered that they didn’t have any in white, immediately, whilst still in Homebase, used the power of mobile internet and ordered some from Amazon; bought some organic meat and an ice scraper for my car and then returned home. It didn’t stop there. I’m not afraid of a little spontaneity damn it! That’s why I wasted no time seeing Mrs Grump, bent over in the freezer struggling, seized the opportunity, getting my large tool out which was no stranger to a long screw and hacked away at the ice that had built up over the past several months. Not only did the flat head screw driver prove useful in a kind of chiselling action, I looked outside the box and utilised Mrs Grumps hairdryer!
I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty sure that the smooth in and out gliding action of the freezer drawers would make many a house wife green with envy. Even more green than the onslaught of morning breath!
This led me to chose my second resolution! As I’m sure you have gathered by the highlights of my New Years day, I’m nothing short of a high speed, high octane, engine of mass adrenaline!! It seems only fitting that I should try to seek sponsorship from Red Bull!
Imagine the advert! We see Sebastian Vettel in his Red Bull Formula 1 car tearing up the track, cut to a Red Bull sponsored motocross bike doing a 360 degree spin, cut to someone sponsored by Red Bull, jumping out of a plane, cut to the Grumpy Young Bloke, ironing his work trousers, utilising a Red Bull sponsored heat reflective ironing board cover, really fast but getting creases in his trousers that would go through cheese like a knife through butter!
Right I’ve got to go. It’s late and I need to glue tic tacs to my teeth for when I wake up tomorrow morning.
Grumpy New Year everyone!