"Would you like a piece of Yorkie?" asks a casual acquaintance. I am not one to turn down chocolate, let alone free chocolate. And I never turn down Nestle chocolate. I haven't bought any Nestle products since I started the boycott back when I was a fresh faced student, thought I could change the world and cared about things. So since someone else has spent the money and killed the babies - it just seems rude to turn down the offer on principle.

"Yum, is this one of those Raisin and Biscuit ones?" I say as I bite down on this hard bit. I remember them, they were my favourites.

"No it isn't." He replies just as I realise that the crunchy bit in the chocolate is actually part of my tooth. I clear my mouth of Yorkie and expect to feel a new definition of pain and suffering similar to what I'd feel if I was slowly digested over a thousand years in The Sarlacc from Return of the Jedi.

Thankfully, there is no pain from the large hole in my tooth. I do not need to get an emergency dentist's appointment. Or any dentist's appointment - which sits perfectly with me.

I don't have a dentist. I haven't had one since I was 21 when I finally got fed up with my childhood Dentist calling me "Tiger". This co-incided with him retiring a couple of years later and me finally having to pay full price for dental treatment. So since then I haven't had one and haven't needed one. And since I'm not in pain, there's no reason to find one.

And getting an NHS Dentist is hard - we all know from the Daily Mail that you're better off emigrating to Georakistan and coming back here as an assylum seeker because us law abiding decent citizens don't stand any chance of getting one. So all the more reason to put it off.

In fact this all happened before Christmas and not only have I spent the time procrastinating about calling the dentist but I have also spent that time procrastinating about blogging about the detist. I like procrastinating on things because it's a nice way of saying I just plain don't want to do something.

I even asked for my two front teeth for Christmas or an NHS Dentist. But Satna didn't deliver. I've even got used to carrying around tooth picks so I could excavate the hole after each and every meal. And I have over a hundred of them - so it'd really be a waste of money if I got it sorted before I had used all of them.

But my procrastination list is now so full of the normal sorts of things - clean the inside of the car, clean both bathrooms, iron all my clothes, write book - I should really do it. And it feels like i've put it off so long that I may have been quicker digesting in The Sarlacc.

"You must let me pay for this!" says My Canadian Girlfriend as we're walking towards a swanky Manchester gastro-pub for our Sunday Lunch, "You pay for everything."

"You paid for lunch yesterday and even though this is going to be a fully cooked meal, it'll be just as expensive as coffee and a Sandwich at Starbucks. And you paid for the Family Guy DVDs for me to give to your sister for her Birthday - although I suppose technically, since we watched them before wrapping them up we're not exactly in a position to take any moral high ground on those."

"And", I chirp up helpfully "don't forget about that time you saw me make eye contact with another woman on the Tram - you said I'd pay for that too...."

The air turns cold and there's an icy silence.

Personally, I don't see the problem with it. Since I was born with a penis, I am automatically entitled to earn 16% more than her for the same job. I can see it now, God is stood with Adam and Eve - "Right I have a couple of things to give out - Which one of you wants to earn the most money? Adam's hand went up first - which means Eve, let's have a look at what you could've won.... Its a speed boat! I suppose the only consolation is that you can now have the next thing - multiple orgasms."

"Ok," I say reluctantly, "you can pay for this."

Now I'm going to let you into the deeper depths of the male psyche here. This is a regular heated discussion we have, either on the way to Sainsburys, in the car park of Sainsburys or while getting a trolley in Sainsburys, and I have a system to solve it that works every time. Normally, I'll simply agree to let her pay and then wait the 20 minutes or so it takes to get the shopping and then when we reach the checkout, I just get my card out and pay. I'm not saying it's a very clever system or a well thought through solution with graphs and a PowerPoint presentation. But it is effective.

"And don't think you're doing that stupid thing where you agree to let me pay then pay yourself!" she replies.

Damn she's worked out the system. If the system is no longer sacred then what is? Next she'll figure out that I only read her Glamour to get practical relationship advice and not look at the models and celebs.

So we enjoy a nice lunch, she has the fish and chips, I have the curried chicken sandwich and fat-chips. We spend time putting the world to rights, discussing the week ahead and pondering why the skinny waitress is trying her hardest to make herself look as fat as possible.

And then the bill arrives. It takes all my will power not to get my Maestro card out. My Canadian Girlfriend furtles around in her bottomless handbag. She removes an umbrella, Lip Gloss, more pill bottles than Lloyds Pharmacy, a single unwrapped extra strong mint and a copy of the Treaty of Rome.

"Erm," she says looking up, "I think I've left my wallet in my coat. Is there any chance you could cover this?"

I am in work today and don't have my work shoes on. I realised that this would be the case as I stood in the shower at My Canadian Girlfriend's House. (I even stay over on school nights now because we're grown ups) After trying to make sense of my dream about us having dinner with JonnyB and Abby "The Girl" Lee at my parent's house, and why they were interested in getting slabs of chocolate with their faces on them, I suddenly had a mountain top moment when I dropped the soap.

There are many ways out of this. I can phone in sick - which I didn't even do when I was sick. I could drive home, pick the shoes up and get to work for a bit late but then I'd miss the water-cooler discussion about last night's edition of "Can Geri Halliwell save the NHS?". And then there's the lie. I can go in wearing my workout trainers, which are in the back of the car, and concoct some story about why I had to put these shoes on. But I'll need something believable....

• I sold my work shoes, along with a liver and my soul for an iPhone.


• They got soaked in Hurricane Margaret that is battering Manchester


• My shoes are off being re-laced because I have trouble doing that funny lacing they do in shops where you only use one end of the lace


• I dropped the remains of my dead hamster on it, which sit in an urn on the mantlepiece


• I clicked my heels together and, in an attempt to save on air fare and reduce pollution, only the shoes were transported to Kansas


• My shoes are working from home and have a dentist's appointment.


• I hurt my foot playing fooball - seems plausible. Especially as I actually did play football last night.

But of course telling the lie is just the first part of the deception. A good liar can take the lie and subtly interweave it with every part of their life and can tell the same concocted story to everybody who asks. So far, I have walked a lot slower and with a limp since I got in, although it's hard remembering which foot to favour and if you favour your right does that mean that it's that one that is injured. I have to remember then not to shake that leg uncontrollably under the desk while I'm thinking as that would cause me pain. I can't kick the office gimp today - however tempting it may be.

I was even asked, "And is that why you drove in?"
And the obvious reply I gave was, "Hmmmm, Yes sure why not - that sounds plausible."

But with this slovenly affair goes my shot at employee of the month. Now Jessica Simpson won't want to sleep with me.

Personally I can't wait till 5pm when I walk off into the sunset, stop limping, uncurl the kinks in my leg, flex my hand and get picked up by Pete Postlethwaite's Kobayashi.

I am Keyser Soze!

There was something in the air that said this was going to be a bad day. I don't know what first made me think that, maybe because it was 3am and I hadn't managed to get to sleep so far. Insomnia is a funny thing. I am lucky in that I do not suffer from it regularly but I have done enough research into it to know how to handle it (don't look at the clock, admit your powerless over it, accept there are things you cannot change, read Uncle John's Bathroom Reader).

I know how to handle this and I can tell other people how to handle this but if there's one thing I am not good at it is taking my own advice. Mainly because I don't like to hear the sound of my own voice. I don't really sound like that do I?

Finally, and with four hours to go till my alarm, I drift off with the thought of a cup of tea and my Bran Flakes for my breakfast. Of course, if I had remembered at that point that I had no Bran Flakes then I probably wouldn't have got to sleep. And I certainly wouldn't have slept if I had known that I didn't have any tea as well. And more importantly, I have no bananas, I have no bananas today.

So after a makeshift breakfast of an apple, two boiled egg and a glass of milk I head off to face the world. By now the day is pretty much lost and I've not even reached work. I have decided today is a gonner and it was obviously showing. After winking at me as I stood in the queue, I got two extra shots of coffee in my Americano from the Baritsa.

(Note to Canadian Girlfriend: He isn't my type and as you know I don't even like Graham Norton.)

Finally, I sit down at work. Five sneezes, eight kleenex and two Advil later, I have decided why this day is turning out so bad.

I am sick!!!

In a similar situation to the insomnia, I know exactly what I should do. I should go home, tuck myself up in bed and get better. I do not want to infect my colleagues, co-workers, casual acquaintences and people I nod at in the corridor with anything and "The Man" does not appreciate you enough when you are well and still come in to work - so you know they don't appreciate you coming in when you're sick.

But after looking at the weather outside and remembering the pile of ironing I have to do at home - I ignore my own advice again, take some Day Nurse and stay at work.

Ah January!

What a wonderful time of year. This is the time of year when all those cheap-ass cunts go out and buy next year's Christmas cards and wrapping paper. Yeah that's right, I dislike them so much I used 'cunt', which I never use, so you can tell my displeasure.

Although I should point out that I did use the same roll of wrapping paper this Christmas as I did last Christmas. And I used it for all Birthday presents in between. And then it ran out two presents from the end of the this years haul. So I have moved on to this year's wrapping paper for all Birthdays between now and when it runs out.

It is also a magical time of year. For the last month and a bit, I haven't been able to buy anything for myself. So now Christmas has passed it is now time to go out and buy all that stuff you were expecting for Christmas and didn't get. (A Pizza Cutter!!! My Canadian Girlfriend has seen me struggle to cut Pizzas. She has even commented on the uneven-ness of my slices and I have retorted with a comment about how good a Pizza Cutter would be. And the Christmas Day - nothing. Well nothing apart from all the thoughtful gifts.)

The January Sales are also a good thing to do at this time of year. I can never understand people who buy clothing before Christmas, especially if they're buying clothes for themselves - and even more so if they're just buying "some nice shoes". It's not like the Sales are a secret. I have concluded that there are many different ways to organise your sales:

• River Island - Organise everthing by type - jeans, sweaters, t-shirts, and suits seperately.


• USC - Organise everything by colour - pink stuff, brown stuff and yellow stuff.


• Next - Like a bomb's gone off - just throw everything everywhere and let the people find it.


• TopMan - Put one rack out front with nothing on it.

(I even pointed out a Simpson's Pizza Cutter!)

But then of course there is the downside. The "It's nearly Christmas" excuse cannot be used for another 11 months and the bottomless tin of Cadbury's Heros has disappeared. You also, by law, have to stop doing stuff you've been doing and start doing new stuff as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the date that King George declared in 1752 would be the change between one numbered year and the next after moving it from March 25th.

So here are my nominations for New Year's Resolutions:

• Begin Podcasting - Given the huge rise in video blogging and using YouTube for diaries, it's about time I got to the dulled edge of technology and begin using technology that's two years out of date. Hell even the BBC are doing it now.


• Go to Cloud 23 - The new bar that has opened in Manchester's Beetham Tower is the place to be. It's where all the hip dudes and cool cats are hanging out. And for that reason I should be there so that I can knock it down a peg or two! Although this should really be a "New Year's Reservation".


• Generally do better stuff and be a better person - I'm not sure I could improve my smugness quotient by much. I'm nice to people, I offer them lifts places and go out of my way to help. I recycle, get public transport and am generally a do-gooder.
  Although I don't like Dolphin Friendly Tuna because I like to think my Tuna can stick up for itself and I buy Battery eggs because I like to think my chicken has suffered.


• Write a book - They say everyone has a good novel in them. Apart from Dan Brown. Mine would be about trams or little people or little people on trams.


• Don't make any resolutions - Ah one I may be able to keep!