Thursday, 17 May 2018

Countryfile: 3. Barbeque Banter

Now that we have the necessary space I felt I should get a proper barbeque. One that makes me feel manly and look cool while I burn my daughters sausages.

The only thing that worries me is weather I've missed this years window. We had that 3 day, 17 degrees heat wave a while back and so I might have to resign myself to barbequeing in the rain in my skiing gear.

I did a fair bit of research on what barbeque to get. Gas, coal, smoker, bunsen burner or flamethrower. In the end I went for a combination of all of them. My BBBBQ has a gas bit, a coal bit, an open flame hot plate and a smoke drum attached to the end. Boom! How f**king manly am I?!

I can now act like a proper barbeque know-it-all twat eventhough I know more about origami and flower arranging than I do about barbequeing a shoulder of lamb properly. But you see, that doesn't matter, it's all about having a big one. And I've got a big one.

Countryfile: 2. Lawn wars

Now that I’ve moved to the country and I have a garden larger than a London telephone box I have fully embraced the neighbourly battle of best lawn in show. The saying “the grass is always greener” has taken on a whole new meaning to me.

I took my lawnmower research just about as serious as I’ve taken anything over the past 10 years.  Ask me anything about lawnmowers. The Bosch Rotak electric mowers? Sure, a sexy brand, but a bitch to assemble! The Einhell GC-PM 46 S Self Propelled Petrol Lawnmower? Yeah it sounds good, but unless you want to send it back because the collection box keeps dropping off you’re going to want to steer clear of it.

My neighbour, who's a GP, has clearly taken his medical background and applied it to his lawn. It is immaculate. Not a disease (weed) in sight. A lovely, fluffy, healthy green strip of grass. The bastard. I'm convinced he trims the edges with toenail clippers in the dead of the night when no one can see him and make fun of him. I'm also not sure why he's so desperate for such a perfect lawn. He's about 80 years old and doesn't even use it for anything! That's like keeping a super expensive race bike in the garage, all oiled up and clean but never actually riding it. I on the other hand want a flawless evergreen lawn so I can practice my chipping and lag putting.

So my mission is to create the most perfect piece of grass ever seen but mainly just to annoy my neighbour. I have already sent an email to the green keeper of the Masters for some useful tips.

Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Countryfile: 1. Chopping Wood

Is there anything more manly than chopping wood? 

I chopped wood the other day.
Axe in hand. Lumberjack shirt unbuttoned. Serious look on my face. I had a beer after.

You could be a weedy little marketing twat but standing over that wood block you feel like a hairy Canadian logger who is about to chop some serious effing wood and then shag his wife not once but three times.

This is definitely a big part of why I moved to the country. I feel more man than I did in the city. In London I felt the progressive, social pressure of not being feminist enough. If I had stayed any longer I was in serious danger of becoming a transgender tree hugger that didn’t eat meat, commuted to work on a skateboard, grew a stupid beard, wore trousers 2 sizes too small and refused to use male toilets because they offended people who don’t understand biology.  

So basically I saved my manliness by moving to the country. Now I can chop wood and hang around my garage pretending to do manly shit, like moving my tools around and charging my drill.

I wonder if I should buy a chainsaw, it could come in handy...

Friday, 13 April 2018

I'd be a terrible medical guinea pig

I almost fainted at the doctor the other day.

I had some vaccination injections with the rest of the family for our holiday to Sri Lanka. I was the only one who cried. I don't know if it was the long build up and anticipation or just the needles on display before I was injected with a live virus but it clearly did for me! The mollycoddling by the doctor, my wife and my daughter that ensued was possibly even worse. But I did feel like I deserved at least a sticker if not a lollipop! I didn't get either.

All of this confirmed to me that I would make for a terrible human guinea pig for medical trials. Not only would I faint at the sight of a needle but I also wouldn't be able to provide any feedback as I'd be out cold.

I think medical trials should be reserved for celebrities like the Kardashians or Nicola Sturrrrgeon and the trials should be aired on TV in a big brother style scenario. They can slip new horse tranquilisers in their breakfast cereals and we can watch what happens. Or inject them with newly developed anticoagulants and then leave loads of kitchen knives around the big brother house. Makes total sense to me.

All I know is, rather them than me.