I am sitting cross legged in earnest conversation. I am crossing my legs in the manly way with my right ankle on my left knee and not in a girly / I need to pee way of one leg over the other. I lean forward intently grabbing the bottom of my right calf with both my hands. But I am not doing this to show off some empathising body language. No, I am doing this because I have made my usual post Bank Holiday mistake and have worn my Monday socks on a Tuesday and I am trying to cover the tell-tale "Monday" rectangle.

I used to have two sets of day of the week socks, one from River Island and one from Next. However, due to the worm hole created when my washing machine goes above 30 spins per minute*, I now have one Monday pair, one Tuesday pair, two pairs for Wednesday, one pair for Thursday and one Friday sock.

The pair from Thursday are not a pair but one sock from set one and one sock from set two. They are coloured green and purple. I have no choice but to wear them together. My current predicament comes from the fact that my pair of Monday socks are from set one and the Tuesday socks are from set two. They are both red. This hightlights the need for all shops to standardise on the colour of their weekday socks. I feel a petition to Tony Blair coming on;

-------------------------------------------------
I, the undersigned, want the Government to adopt a standard national approach to day of the week underwear. We believe that the correct colour scheme is:
Monday = Red, Tuesday = Blue, Wednesday = Orange, Thursday = Purple, Friday = Green.

Signed: __________________________________
(Please print this, cut it out and send it to your local MP)

-------------------------------------------------

It is Next who are to blame.
That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

* - I am currently working on a theory that the island in Channel 4's Lost is where all Lost socks end up. I currently think that the inhabitants ended up there when they leaned into the washing machine to look for that Lost sock, thus being sucked into Never-NeverLand through a rip in the space time continuum - its always the continuum's fault!

As for that oversized creature that eats people and pulls down trees? I haven't seen Michelle McManus or Rik Waller in a long time - have you?

I have a bit of a problem making decisions. Take today for example. I was going to go to Blackpool to watch Lancashire, go on the Pleasure Beach and then visit my Friend. I was going to go shopping for un-needed things in the Big Shopping Centre that may or may not be near my home. I was gonna join every Wayne and Charlene Chav at Ikea. I thought about just walking round the corner to the little retail park. I was gonna go and watch United at my Mum and Dad's house.

But I procrastinated and ended up veging on the sofa. I am no good at making decisions. This was highlighted, yesterday, when I got my new mobile phone holder for my car. I had to decide where the little sticky pannel was going to stick to in my car.

I am hoping to keep my car for at least 3 more years so this is an important decision. What if I put it in the wrong place, my stupidity would haunt me every time I got into the car. I need to consider everything - On the one day I need to transport three people, put the seats down to carry my skis and have a midget sitting on the passenger's knee - will it get in the way? I position it in five different places before deciding on one. I pull back the plastic backing and stick it down.

Phew! Decision made!

And after my phone falls off for the fourth time on the way to Sainsbury's I start to realise that I really shouldn't have spent so much time worrying.

My un-retirement match of Badminton couldn't have started any better. Carl had forgotten his kit and was playing in jeans, severely restricting his movement and his Polish-bride-to-be-of-unknown-immigrational-status, or Ania as the rest of us call her, had never played before. I make a mental note to smash the shuttlecock very hard and directly at her in an attempt to gain a psychological edge.

It all began well. As Ania got to grips with having to hit the shuttlecock over the net and not into it, I bullied my way to superiority. And then the grudge match, with the playing field leveled by my aerodynamic skin tight sleevless shirt and Carl's limited ability to cover the court, we started to play. And I was right, the jeans did restrict his movement. He stood in the centre of the court hitting the shuttlecock back to me every time while I ran around covering every inch of the court.

We played "Winner stays on" until after 30 minutes, Carl became tired and Ania and I played again. During this time, she had mysteriously improved into some sort of badminton playing machine. In the final stretch, we combined our skills to jointly tackle the Evil Over-Lord of Badminton Darkness. Working together like a well oiled 1989 Moris Minor, we were toyed with until Carl ended each point with a shot which was ambiguously hit between us causing neither of us to try and hit it.

And then back to mine for Pizza. Maybe I took my humiliation on the badminton court too seriously but lacing their pizza with a laxative gave me the moral victory.

Tonight I am seeing my best mate, Carl. This will be the first time I have seen him in 6 months. He is very cosmopolitan and an international playboy. He has lived in many different countries, including South Africa, Poland, New Zealand, Yorkshire, Switzerland and Sri Lanka. He is currently back in the UK for four months before jetting off to Toronto to spend a few years dossing around as a bloody student. He is going to become a Doctor! Of Classics! Which is Ancient History, Greek and Latin! As degrees go this is probably one of the more useless. At least a film studies major can get a job selling popcorn at the local flea pit. Although that said, he is very clever and his intellectualness is second only to mine.

We have a checkered history.

Many years ago, we were supposed to go and see Outbreak - the Movie that starred that Monkey from Friends. (Note to David Schwimmer's Lawyers - If you look, he wasn't even in Outbreak. So there's no need to sue.) But Carl cancelled to spend more time with his new Girlfriend. They decided to spend that time watching a movie called Outbreak. I managed to forgive him for this treacherous act. However, he is still working off the debt he owes me for taking me to see Wishmaster.

I have also managed to forgive him for hitting me over the head with a Latin to English Dictionary. Its not had any lasting effects although for a while I did find it difficult to sentence string a together. Given the size of the book, it was way to harsh a punishment. I mean all I was doing was going through some of his intimate personal belongings. I also defended him during the Drugs Scandal of 95, in which he was accused by Stern Maurice, our School's Deputy Head, of taking illegal substances.

We are playing badminton tonight. I am playing for the first time in 14 years. I retired from playing after Big Jeff and I were beaten in three sets in the Semi Final of the School's inter-form tournament by Simon and David. My work will be cut out tonight because Carl and Dan T, went on to beat Simon and David in the final. So you could say it was a bit of grudge match tonight. Although since he's been playing pretty regularly since and I haven't, I think it will be slightly one sided.

Although have a trick up my sleeve - I'm planning on faking injury just before I lose.

Watching repeats of the Antiques Roadshow?
Looking at paint drying?
Reading painfully unfunny blogs?

No. Listening to someone else's holiday stories must be the most boring thing ever. Most people would be happy to get a ride home from the airport and would be grateful. Some people have a funny way of showing it.

My parents had only been in the car for two minutes before I was hearing about who had won the scrabble tournament and which 7 letter word had been put on the triple word score. I would have loved it there because there were two cats in and around the hotel - one of which, get this, had a very short neck - so they referred to it as Cat Chris, after my friend with no neck.

"My finger is better - look!" my dad said holding up his previously broken digit. "But my leg is still red and raw." he said sticking his foot on the dashboard. They even managed to make the fact that they saw two midgets un-interesting. "And your father was always pestering me for sex." Argh, the mental image. I want to reach into my brain and claw out my minds eye.

Surely no one would hold a grudge if I ploughed the car into the central reservation? No I must hold fire. There are worse things than hearing stories.

"We have some excellent photos to show you."
Screeeeeeeech! Crasssshhhhh!

I have a problem. Not one of those problems thankfully. The doctor has given me some cream and its working well. And i hope the swelling will go down soon. It is very uncomfortable at the moment.

I have a computer problem. Windows will not load and it keeps stopping at the file c:\windows\system32\drivers\mup.sys. Ok, bring it on! All those muppet jokes you're thinking of. Everyone I have mentioned to this has made some muppet related joke. But its not funny. I don't have computer.

I feel like Superman without his cape, Batman without Robin, Supernanny in a home of well behaved kids. Its just not right. I've been crying myself to sleep for the past week. And what makes this worse? It happens to co-incide with the longest period this year that I haven't been at my work PC.

Which is why my blog posting has been so erratic recently.
Not that I would write blog posts from work.
No.
Never.

So I am having to borrow my sisters computer. As always, when you sit down at a new computer the first thing you do is to look for the pornography. I used to hide mine in a folder in c:\Program Files\not a folder full of porn\. As I am looking, I think to myself, what would happen if I found some really sick stuff? That would be gross and I think it would scar me for life.

In fact finding any pornography on my sister's computer would be really bad.
I will stop looking.

Following the excellent practises of those wonderful Management Consultants; every year, I assess myself against one of their wonderfully concise and easy to understand models so that I can figure out stuff I already knew and what I need to do improve as a person. From this I come up with a list of SMART targets, which are simple, measurable, acheivable, realistic and time limited.

I do this, so I can concentrate my efforts on making myself a better person and to make sure I don't try and do anything which is too impossible or far fetched. For example, back when I was 6 I always said that when I grew up, I wanted to be a Fire Engine. No not a fire fighter, the actual red engine. This is a bad target because the time limit is set as 'when I've grown up' and since I never plan to do that therein lies a problem.

So with a more mature brain I have sought out targets which will have a impact, not just on my life but on the rest of humanity. There have been varying levels of success. Examples of my targets from recent years include: "To get laid more", "To buy a house", "To get my name in the Guardian", "To be less tolerant of the intolerant", "To recycle everything apart from the box I use to store my recycling in" and "To start a humorous, yet badly spelt and punctuated blog".

So why am I telling you this when I could be describing the voluptuos N-Power Girls that were at the Test Match today? Well one of my fondest memories from childhood was listening to the great Brian Johnson on Test Match Special, while I was sitting with my dad in his car in Anglesey not wanting to get out and enjoy the beach and the sun in case something happened in the Test. One of Johners' favourite things was when people made him a fruit cake and presented it to him at the ground. It has always been a long term target of mine to bake a fruit cake for the team and get them to discuss it live on air.

Today that happened.

I can't look and I won't look. Well ok maybe a sneaky peak.

I am stood at a urinal at the Test Match. Since I know people who know people who have pictures of people going into a hotel room with a man who isn't their wife, I get to use one of the bathrooms in the executive box buildings. I follow normal male proceedure and with someone standing at the far left urinal, I choose the far right one leaving three spare ones between us.

And then in he walks, Mr David Gower. He also follows procedure and chooses the middle one of the three remaining urinals. He was one of my childhood heroes. He was the reason I tried to learn how to bat left handed. This was aborted very qucikly. I was there when he broke Boycott's long standing record and became England's leading batsman. I have so many things I want to ask him. But I stick the the procedure and remain silent. Damn these infernal rules.

However, I do notice that being a flamboyant left hander he was using the much touted back-hand over-the-top technique as opposed to the under-hand supportive hold. Which is exactly what I'd expect from his public school up bringing. When he is done, he shakes and pulls. Well la-de-da Mr Diamond Encrusted Loafers.

And then, he leaves without washing his hands.
Meeting your heros isn't all its cracked up to be.

I have seen a menagerie of freaks, wierdos and nut cases.

You only ever used to see such a huge amount of odd balls on a full moon but now they have another day. Its the culmination of years of planning and its the one day a year when big butch men wear a skirt... outside of the house. It is the Saturday of a test match.

So far I have seen:

• Freddie Mercury, Elivs Presley and Buddy Holly all sitting together in a heavenly reunion
  
• Seven Fred Flinstones, complete with wacky and hillarious inflatable clubs
  
• A man who could have passed as a woman
  
• A woman who could have passed as a man *
  
• A bunch of thieves, crooks and convicts
  
• Some Australians
  
• A gaggle of Grannies, who due to their facial hair, I think were middle aged men
  
• A group of coppers who had spent so much time getting their uniforms so perfect, they deserved a prize. They even had working radios and realistic looking hand cuffs.
  
• St George and a mini-me, looking for a dragon to slay. **
  
• Three girls doing PR for N-Power, freezing their asses off in outfits that were painted on and a skirt so short it would make The Girl blush. ***
  
• Old men with handlebar moustaches, old Etonian caps, stripey blazers and an MCC tie.
  

Sadly the last one was not done in a post ironic sort of way and was how they dress every day

* Please note: This may not have been due to fancy dress.
** Please note again: After the great dragon migration of 1976, Old Trafford has not had much of a dragon problem, the remaining dragons died off a few years ago, when there were no comely virgins for them to feast on.
*** Please note once more, final time I promise!: NSFW!****
**** Damn it: This stands for Not Safe for Work

I am happy. The smile on my face is so broad it would make the Cheshire Cat jealous, as long as he doesn't mind having wonky coffee stained teeth. I am more excited than when I get a comment. I am more excited than when I found out that two other people subscribe to this blog through bloglines.

Glazer United open their season on Saturday against Everton. The tantalising trickery and infinite talents of Rooney and Ronaldo would usually have me salivating and counting down the days. But ever since "The Troubles" started, I have not been looking forward to it. My club now the evil blood running through its veins and until the occupying force leaves, I will only feel aprehension about the future. There's no excitment to be found there.

But we do sit on the cusp of the most important test match that this country has staged in 24 years. England's hero and the home town boy Andrew Flintoff has captured the hearts and minds of people just as Ian Botham did all those years ago. The adreneline is starting to pump through my gravy system and I doubt I'll be able to sleep tonight. The Aussies are on the back foot and Fred is spear heading the attack. The packed crowd, which will include me, will be buzzing and the atmosphere will be electric.

But that isn't what I am most excited about. I am excited because I have done something that no one else in the world has done. I am unique and from this moment I can confirm my long held belief that I am the centre of the universe. I have reached a Nirvana, a plateau of spiritual existence that only I and that guy who plays Father Jack exist on.

I've found a tram on Google Earth!

I cannot get to my prawns. I am hoping to make some paella and wanted to get the prawns out to defrost. One of the freezer's drawers has frozen shut. I grab the handle and pull the drawer with all my considerable strength. It doesn't budge. The other drawers move nicely in and out but Sod's law states that this must be the one I want to open that is frozen shut. I chip away at the ice on the bottom. I pull it again. No movement. Ah well, I turn the freezer off and decide to try again in a couple of hours. I can always defrost the prawns in the microwave.

Squelch! My socks are wet and cold. Ah yes, the defrosting freezer, I have walked through a puddle of defrosted water on my way to getting a cup of tea. I give the drawer another try. I brace myself and pull. It doesn't move. Ah well, patience is a virtue, they say. I will come back and try again later. The kettle boils. Hoping to catch the fridge off guard I make another snap attempt at opening the drawer. But the freezer is too quick for me as it tightens its frosty grip on the drawer.

Squelch! Damn it, I had forgotten that the floor was wet and I have to change into the third pair of socks today, I should've gone barefoot. I stretch my traps, lats, delts and triceps and tighten my weightlifting belt. I chalk my hands, brace my feet either side of the freezer, take a firm grip of the drawer and heave. I look like Geoff Capes trying to pull a car with his teeth during the World's strongest man competition. There's no movement. Looks like I'm going to have to 'force' myself to go to the chippy. I will have another go after some fish and chips.

Squelch! Another pair of socks temporarily ruined. I remove all the other drawers from the freezer and pull. Predictably, once I don't actually have to or want to open the drawer, it opens. I collapse to the ground and I sit there in a euphoric daze. Man vs Machine and Man won. I raise my hands above my head acknowledging the imaginary applause. I catch my breath and look down at the empty drawer which had been my nemesis all day.

Empty?!?! DO'H!!!! I used the prawns in a jambalaya three weeks ago.

"A home made lasagne, a half dozen of your brownies, a grande Americano and a muffin." I am bargaining with My Canadian Friend.
"My Chilli Tomato Pasta, some Garlic Bread, an Americano and half a cookie".
"Hmm, make that a whole cookie and add a guarantee you'll save me twenty quid and get me the Bluetooth iPod Headphones when you go home next month."
"Deal!!!" she replies.

That explains why I went out on Friday night with a group of people I barely knew. I am already at the secret location which may or may not be a bar in Central Manchester, when the group arrive. We sit down in some extremely large leather sofas. There is a girl with exceptionally large breasts, so big in fact that if she didn't have such a wide base, she would probably fall over in high winds. Just as I start to be hypnotised by her cavernous cleavage, she has an epileptic fit. Thankfully her friends know what to do and she recovers quickly and heads to the bar for a Red Bull and Vodka.

When she returns, My Canadian Friend puts her arm around this girl and asks if she is ok. She still seems a bit woosy. My friend remarks about how nice the tattoo is on this girls shoulder. As if a bolt of lightening struck her, she sits up, wide awake and says "Well you should see the one on my breast!"

She pulls down her halter top and shows off her right breast to the entire bar. It has "Manchester" written around it. There are worse ways to permanently scar your body. I wonder if she'll think that it is really cool and hip, when she's 80, in a nursing home and lying in a bed soaked with her own urine.

I know my Kermit the Frog will look fantastic.

I am messing with my hair while avoiding work at the place which if I named I would have to kill you. For some reason, too much of it was dressing to the left. I guess I must have had my head tilted when I waxed it this morning. So I am rectifing that when I find a small twig or leaf in my hair, I pull it out and place it on my desk. THAT IS NOT A TWIG THAT IS A WASP!!!!

I shriek in a very manly way and roll my chair as far backwards as it can go. The wasp is obviously scared and intimidated by my high pitched yelp and it flies out of the window. I regain my composure and sit back down and realise that the bugger has stung me. I use my mother's miracle cure for everything and run it under a tap. Wasp sting? Cut your knee? Appendicitis? Period Pains? Run it under the tap.

Just so you, my dear readers, know how important both of you are to me, as the water was soothing the pain and even before I started thinking of going to Tesco for some cream, I thought "Great my blog readers can get a cheap laugh from my pain - must write this down". Hmm, the area around the sting is swelling up. I visit NHS Direct and suddenly get scared about the possibility of Anaphylatic shock and possibly death!

No mustn't go into shock and die.
Must finish blog post.
Must make people laugh.

I am walking through Tesco car park eating a nectarine. I have to eat as many nectarines as possible over the next few weeks as you never know when 'the man' at Sainsbury's will stop putting them at buy one pack get one free. There's nothing finer in the morning than a nectarine - apart from maybe waking up to find out you've won the lottery and pulled Kate Lawler.

As I walk, I notice a trolley on its own in the car park. It is in the middle of one of the roads. I carry on walking, thinking how inconsiderate someone is leaving their trolley there and then the trolley moves. And not in a cute advert, voiced by David Jason, type way either. It was on a rampage. Now I see exactly what "The Sun" means about us living in a lawless society. This is why parliament should be recalled, to tackle people who do not return their trolley to a designated area.

It picked up speed as it shot down the road. The old gentleman with the humped back who collects the trolleys is trying to catch it. He is not moving fast enough. The trolley is heading towards parked cars. I decide to join the chase. A white van man puts down his sweet tea and a hard working tax paying law abiding father both join in.

We are chasing the trolley down, running behind it like extras in the Benny Hill show. Except we have smaller breasts, apart from the white van man who has some DD cup Man-boobs. Then in a predictable turn of affairs, the trolley's wonky wheels kick in. It turns off at a right angle and heads towards a Ford Ka. The teacher who drives it will be very upset if there's a collision.

The wonky wheel causes another deviation towards a Rover 75. We give up the chase allowing the trolley to strike the car, which falls apart. British engineering at its best.

I got up at 6:00AM my usual work-waking-up-time. I showered, ate my Bran Flakes and drank my tea. I waxed my hair. I styled my hair. I laid my suit out on the bed. I re-styled my hair. I put my shirt, my tie and my suit on and sat by my computer. I got up and checked my hair again.

This morning I am working from home as I wait for my phone to be delivered. Unlike most people who see this as an excuse to have a lie in, paint the garage door, wash the car, shoot rabbits or write that novel they've been meaning to start, I actually intend to do some work. No really I do. However, rather than working flat out, I am only going to replicate the hour of meaningful work I'd have done in the office.

Hmm, that Scottish bird on GMTV is nice looking. She used to do the same Uni course as a friend of mine. I wonder if he has her phone number. No! Must work.

An hour passes and I call the major logistics company. The package will be delivered before 1 PM today - Yipee! I suddenly realise what I have done. I have just broken the key rule of a Customer facing organisation. You never chase something up. To prosper; don't pester. I can see it now, the driver is in the lay-by round the corner and is using my phone as a football and there's no chance I'll see the phone before 12:55.

I've been very good, apart from a few personal emails, which I'd have sent at work anyway, I've been working non-stop for the past 2 hours. I decide to have a brew and watch the Homes under the Hammer for my ten minute VDU break. There's no way that Newsagents was worth that!

I go back to working, staring out the window watching for the van and occasionally looking at eBay. And then my package arrives. I really should apologise to the major logistics company. I was wrong to doubt their integrity, it did arrive in one piece and earlier than I expected. It arrived at 12:53.

I feel like a father at the end of paternity leave, as I leave my baby, head to work and try and not spend all the time thinking about getting home and playing with it. Although I don't think father's usually stick a Nokia phone charger in their baby's bottom.