I steal a kiss from you, in the supermarket, I walk you down the isle, you fill my basket

Once again the Monday morning blues has its bony fingers around my neck and it is squeezing hard.

That’s the problem with having a good weekend; the feeling of bottomless despondency always precedes it, generally ensuring that those 8 or so hours I sit behind my desk feels like a stint in a hell hole. I have helpfully depicted a picture of Tony Hancock in the masterpiece ‘The Rebel’ as a way of visualising my utter contempt I harbour about this soul destroying job. …I'm only a few days away from his ‘red mist’scence. Should you have been unfortunate enough not to have seen this: Hancock plays an officer worker in the soulless world of the corporate state who dreams of being free to indulge his artistic creativity. Unfortunately he has no talent, but - refusing to let this stop him - he decides to abandon his life and run away to Paris in pursuit of his dream.

The weekend produced a most unexpected pleasure and firmly raised the bar on the domestic bliss front. After a flying visit to Lisa’s grandparents on Saturday afternoon for Lisa’s Grandma’s birthday, we suggested to one another that perhaps the rare opportunity of having the possession of a hire car we should put it to practical use and do a “big shop”

Usually we only pop into the local crappy Tesco and Sommerfield, but relying on Shank’s Pony to get about, it of course means the amount we can acquire is limited, so at 7.30pm on a Saturday night we proceeded to spend over an hour shopping in the monstrous-sized Asda supermarket, whereupon we spent a whopping £93.03 on food! I arrived back at the flat with a stinking headache but a vide variety of food. Exciting stuff eh?

As I am possibly the most un-decisive person in Christendom (“erm, I’m not too sure; okay I’ll have a marsbar, no wait a boost please. No sorry I’ll have a twix-I mean Mars bar, err just give a twirl instead…sorry”), it has not put up the restraints on what we can eat do to the crazy variety of grub we have piled in our cupboards and fridge, but it’s better that trying to concoct a meal using wheatabix, chorizo, rice and courgette that is ‘on the turn’. This with the winning combination of a new oven has made life pretty darned good.

On a culinary note: a superb-io lasagne-io made by my good self –io on Friday in honour for Sweet Jo-Nathan and Eve’s appearance. My own special recipe and homemade pasta-the first time since we’ve moved to the new abode and I’m happy to report that I’ve still got *it*.

So work eh? I have stepped up the search for new employment but don’t except to bother actually applying for any for a while as they make me feel ‘wrong’. I guess it’s the bare face lies that you have to tell that makes me feel ill at ease? “…yes I see myself in this job for the next twenty years as I have always dreamed about becoming a dog’s body in a shmucky little office surrounded by lazy gits and overpaid pen pushers who will get me to do every boring, little job they can’t be arsed to do..”

Only a slight digression- whist searching the net for pic of Tony Hancock I discovered a startling fact that he had an affair with John le Mesurier’s (Sergeant Wilson from Dad’s army) wife and later in his life and before TH committed suicide, John Le Mesurier had attempted to do himself in also.

Anyway, if you’re bored check this site out:

http://www.blackpeopleloveus.com/

Very funny.