Solving the world’s problems over dinner

It has admittedly taken me a very long time to discover this, but going out for a nice meal does seem to be an excellent time to discuss all sorts of important stuff in an informal setting. With alcohol.

I should point out that this probably wouldn’t work out well for those dining alone, and you may need to temper what you talk about, depending on your dining companion.

For example, discussing how good you new partner is in bed when having lunch with your prospective mother-in-law is almost certainly not going to get you much past the bread and artistically sculpted pats of butter. It may be a handy opening gambit if you’re interested in sampling hospital food, though.

A scrumptious meal out with Mrs G, at a posh (by our standards – we consider Tesco’s “Finest” range pretty exotic) restaurant on holiday recently resulted in some interesting topics being covered, aided by a nice drop of wine and further enhanced by some additional dessert wine too. Is there a starters wine? Asking for a friend, honest.

Impending DIY was first up, with “Elephant’s Breath” as the paint colour of choice for our hallway being under scrutiny. It was probably the plonk, but I did start wondering what an elephant’s breath actually smelt of, before an in-depth analysis of men’s inability to distinguish varying subtle shades ensued, which went something like: Taupe? Brown. Tan? Brown. Fushia? Pink. Soft Rose? Pink. Elephant’s breath? Er... bananas?

The suggestion of a Ghostbusters poster to brighten the (possibly) grey hallway was briskly dismissed, and even my compromise plan of a roller system of interchangeable prints (based on the old hand-towel system you used to get in public loos) failed long before the streak of coloured stuff on the dessert plate was partially identified. I thought a Matisse print, achingly cool indie band, and picture of a kitten were good choices for different audiences, but seemingly not.

Somewhat randomly, children’s names were discussed, but Tarquil Finnegan Grenville and Gemma Emma Grenville will have to live with some other, duller, names. Or none at all, as they don’t exist.

Large cut-out letters (for you to decorate and substantially improve the accessorising of your home in one alphabetically-minded flourish) were next up, having been spotted in a gift shop nearby. Mrs G’s cunning plan to paint her letter a nice colour efficiently made my idea seem a bit Primary School Arts & Crafts-y. I still think covering it in pictures of Sheena Easton, F1 cars, cake and cappuccinos sounded pretty cool, but it was confirmed that I’m not 7 years old, unless you ignore the digit that normally comes in front.

Finally, whilst pondering coffee, we spoke at length of my love for the holiday cottage shower. So powerful was it’s steamy spray, that it took considerable effort to get back to the tap to turn it off.

And there we have it – important topics analysed and problems solved. Try it yourself.

Bill, please!

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 8th of May 2015. You can read the edited version published by the paper on their website here

There were a few minor trims, but the 10% reduction in words in their version omitted the whole of paragraph three, which you've got above, because I love and respect you and I like that top you're wearing today, unless you're reading this topless in which case I suspect you've come to the wrong place.

These were genuine conversations, by the way. Wine does that to me, although I do normally talk this sort of bollocks all the time... I just try hard not to do so in public.

This column was the 155th to be published by the paper and also marks the 3rd anniversary of my elevation from random blogging-type-person to random-columnist-thing. Amazing, isn't it? Stats-wise, this blog also had it's best month for a year, with over 1800 visits. Whoever you are (and a large amount of you are in the USA) thank you.

It does feel a bit like being inside a house at night with the lights on, knowing that hundreds of people are silently looking in, but you can't see them, but hey - if all online stalking was like this, the world would be a less scary place. Put that axe down.

(More CD singles! Currently listening to Marillion's "Sympathy" from '92.)

The Schaf Shuffle

The weather – source of endless fascination, conversation, irritation and (just recently) excess irrigation. And a fidgety weather presenter on the BBC... I’m endlessly fascinated with the weather, and will confess to making sure I catch the BBC’s updates whenever possible. Not the local ones, where half the presenters look like they got dressed in the dark, or ITV, where they seem to know very little about actual weather, but the national forecasts. Delivered by actual Met Office personnel, their job entails a tricky mix of waving your hands about a bit, explaining about warm fronts without smirking, and trying not to look too pleased whilst mentioning gales force winds and torrential rain. Or stand in front of Cornwall. Each has their own presenting style, but there is one who intrigues me above all the others. Step forward, Tomasz Schafernaker, the 37 year old man from the Met who breezed onto our screens in 2001, as the youngest male ever to point out that it was going to r...

Making an exhibition of yourself

Now and again, it’s good to reaffirm that you’re a (relatively) normal human being. One excellent way of doing this is to go to a business exhibition. Despite what you might have surmised from reading my previous columns, I am employable, and even capable of acting like a regular person most of the time, even joining in the Monday morning conversation about the weather over the weekend, and why (insert name of footyballs manager here) should be fired immediately. The mug! True, there are times, often involving a caffeine deficiency, where it is like having the distilled essence of ten moody teenagers in the room, but I try and get that out of the way when people I genuinely like aren’t around to see it. As part of my ongoing experiment with what others call ‘working’, my ‘job’ involves me occasionally needing to go and see what some of my colleagues get up to outside the office, and what our competitors do to try and make sure that they do whatever my colleagues do better than ...

RIP Jenwis Hamilbutton

We are gathered here in this... (looks round a bit) um... blog, to mourn the passing of Jenwis Hamilbutton. His life may have been short and largely irrelevant, but he touched the lives of so many people that... sorry? Oh. Apparently that was someone else... Jenwis Hamilbutton rose briefly to fame on twitter during 2010, when he was retweeted by BBC F1 presenter Jake Humphrey, having criticised his shirt. A similarly unspectacular claim to fame occurred when a tweet he crafted at 1am on a windy night appeared in F1 Racing magazine. An amalgam of bits of Formula 1 drivers Lewis Hamilton and Jenson Button (mostly the hopeless bits), he came into existence via 3 pints of cider, a Creme Egg and the Electric Light Orchestra’s mournful 1986 farewell album “Balance Of Power”, played loudly over headphones. In his short existence, he was followed on twitter by Paul Hardcastle of “19” fame, and a bunch of slightly odd but jolly nice people, whom he was never entirely sure actually exist...

grumpyf1

Search This Blog