The man who went into the cold - and dealt with it

Winter is well and truly here in Redhill. And yet I've always had a soft spot for this time of year. Not least (and I'm sure I'm not the only one here, readers!) because a change of season oh-so-often necessitates a change of wardrobe.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a fleece man. Always have been, I'm afraid. Guilty as charged. The cosy warmth provided by a high quality fleece is the selling point for me, and is the chief reason why I just can't seem to stop buying them.

So anyway, I was out and about the other day, getting some fresh air in the park and soforth, when I couldn't help noticing that my fleece just wasn't affording me enough protection from the low November temperatures. I'm a practical man, so when I got home I was soon flicking through some old catalogues to help me find a solution.

And it wasn't so long before I found it.

I snuck out of the house (avoiding one of Margaret's notorious attempts at a vegetarian Sunday lunch) and took the car into town. Before long, I'd found the item of my desire, and after a brief glance at myself in the changing room mirror, completed the purchase.

I returned home to find Margaret and the kids sitting at the dinner table, just finishing off the main course of a nut cutlet (!) and roast veg. I was still wearing my purchase as I sat at the table and poured myself a glass of Chablis.

"Why are you wearing that at the dinner table?"
"Oh, this?" I said, nonchalantly examining the lapel.

I bet you're wondering what it is, aren't you readers. Well I'll tell you.

North Face. Black. Sleeveless. Windcheater.

I know you're jealous, but what can you do? Sometimes you just have to let a man have his due. I'm stylish. End of story.

I'm proud of my labeling system

I was just doing a spot of tidying up the other day, when I reached that notorious mess of wires you get behind the television. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. What a mess! I can't even tell you.

When I was a boy, there were two leads round the back of the telly - one for the electricity and one for the aerial. These days, it's a noodle salad of SCART leads for the Freeview set-top box, power cables for the DVD, power cables for the surround sound system and what have you. This is all complicated in our house by the fact that all these appliances are fighting it out for a single four-way power adaptor round the back there.

So, I decided to take the problem into my own hands. After untangling the leads, I then proceeded to label each one with the name and brand of the appliance it belonged to. For example, the lead for the TV now reads "Sony Bravia Flatscreen TV". I now find it much easier to organise the leads, and ensuingly find myself much more at peace with myself and the world.

Anyway, I was "chilling out" with a cup of tea after inventing my cord organisation system, when Margaret got back from Tesco's with the shopping.

"You know how I prefer Waitrose," I sighed when I saw the bags. Margaret glared at me and said nothing. Must be a bad time, I thought to myself. I thought the menopause might put an end to those monthly bad moods, but if anything it's only made them worse. I didn't want to aggravate her while she was having an attack of the grumps, so I tried to keep as straight a face as possible.

Unfortunately, the memory of my labeling was still fresh in my mind, and I was still (justifiably, I think), more than a little pleased with myself.

"So what are you smiling about?" barked Margaret.

I proceeded to tell her about my achievement. Now, I wasn't expecting a woman to be interested in such things, but a little gratitude wouldn't have gone amiss.

Some chance. Apparently I'm "anal" with "too much time on my hands". I'm not too keen on being insulted, so I informed Margaret quietly but forcefully that if she continued to talk to me in this way, I'd just have to go ahead and have that affair with my secretary I've always been planning. That shut her up.

It's the little victories that make life special, but two in one day was a positive boon to this blogger. Casual Dad: 2; Margaret and the leads behind the television: zero.

The homeless problem hits Redhill

I was just outside the Harlequin cinema last night, waiting for my old pal from work David to show up. We'd planned to check out this new Simpsons Movie that everyone in the office seems to be raving about, just to finally set the record straight over whether it's really worth all the hype or not.

Well, David was late as usual, so old muggins here was left outside twiddling his thumbs. Typical. One thing you can always rely on David for is that he's going to be a bit late. I thought he might send a quick text to let me know where he was, but no. Not a peep. Tried calling him, but his bloody phone was switched off.

Anyway, I was standing there getting more and more impatient - which is my right in a situation like that, I think - when this old drunk chap approaches me and asks for some change. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't mind giving money to a registered charity like Oxfam or the RNLI. But I do believe that there's such a thing as killing with kindness. How do you know where the money's going? On a bowl of potato soup? Or is it - and I hope you'll allow me a wild conjecture here - going towards a six pack of Tennant's Super?

With the way this guy's breath smelled, I had pretty good reason to believe the latter. And so I took the liberty of politely refusing his request for some money. And would you believe, the poor old fellow took it personally! He reacted not just by swearing in my face, but by brandishing a fist, no less! "I hope you'll be homeless one day," he said, as though it was some kind of grim prophecy. "Not much chance of that mate," I said to myself as I found my car keys in my pocket, and then took the opportunity to find a place where I could wait for David without being hassled. Namely, locked inside the car.

The problem as I see it, is that if he wasn't such an unpleasant man, he probably wouldn't be on the streets in the first place, right? Most people who find themselves without a home can usually find a friend who'll offer them a couch until they get back on their feet. It's only the arseholes who can't find anyone to help them. I'm not saying they deserve to be on the streets. I'm just...

Let me rephrase that.

They deserve to be on the streets.

Sorry if this offends any liberals out there, but I just had to get these feelings off my chest.

Goodnight all!

The results of Googling myself

I discovered this while researching the Casual Dad brand. Pretty amusing, don't you think? While I'm here, why not a quick "hats off" to the people at Google for creating the world's number one search engine. The competition doesn't even come close.

AA batteries: What's it all about?

Life can be a tricky business for the modern consumer. So many brands to choose from, and no possible way of figuring out which gives you the best value for money. I try to keep up to date by checking out the latest consumer news on the internet, but there's only so much an ordinary Joe like me can really know. And besides, who can you trust? Who can you turn to in a time of need?

Take a simple example: AA batteries. The choice on offer is truly staggering. Every electronics manufacturer you can name seems to sell their own line of batteries - Panasonic, Sony, Maxell. Not to mention every supermarket, chemist or Swedish flatpack furniture store selling their own brand when you come to peruse the invariably mind-boggling selection on offer.

Now, I'm not naive enough to believe that these batteries are all going to provide the same duration of energy output. I know you can't believe those oh-so-familiar claims like "Extra Longlife", "Stamina Plus" and so on. But there has to be some difference between the value packs you buy off a gypsy at your local car boot sale, and the kind of batteries you can buy at a well-known retailer like Boots or Maplins.

The question I'm asking is: what exactly is that difference? Allow me to personalise this story for you.

I'm on a quest. A quest to find a brand of AA battery that allows me to take more than ten pictures on my digital camera before the bloody thing loses power and stops functioning completely. Usually with the lens perilously exposed and no way to retreat the lens back into the camera for the essential security and peace of mind that I crave and simply can't have while I know the lens is unprotected.

I've tried Maxell. They lasted for about ten pictures. I've tried Duracell Plus. They didn't even provide enough power to switch the camera on. Today I looked at the Duracell M3 range, but they were almost dizzyingly overpriced. £5.99 for a four-pack? I think not. So I went for the Sony Stamina Platinums. I'll keep you posted as to the results, but I can't say I'm holding out much hope.

Sigh. Life's complicated enough without these sorts of issues bringing you down. So if anyone comes across some reliable information on the internet about which is the "Best Buy" AA battery, I'd be happy to hear from you. What I'm looking for, ideally, is some kind of graph that plots duration against cost.

Thanks readers. And I hope you're having a better time than I am at the moment. I really am a bit down in the dumps about all this battery business.

The joy of personal MP3 players

"He's a smooth operator," sang Sade through the earphones of my iPod Nano. I sauntered round the supermarket section of my local Marks and Spencer with a spring in my step. And I couldn't help but agree with her. There I was, a man in the prime of his life, making firm decisions about this week's grocery purchases. A smooth operator indeed.

"Coast to coast, L.A. to Chicago," went the refrain. The perfect soundtrack to a six-pack of Southern style chicken pieces going bish-bash-bosh into the old handbasket.

There's probably nothing I like better than grooving around town with my little iPod pumping out a pre-arranged selection of my favourite tunes. I've been spotted in the office recently, usually with a playful jostle from "Bossman" Clive, tapping my fingers on the desk to the latest Keane release. I've indulged in a moment of sincere reflection in the Carphone Warehouse as Coldplay soothe my ears with their delicate melodies and philosophical lyrics.

They advertise personal MP3 players for their ability to provide your life with a soundtrack. But above all, I find their greatest asset is something else. It's their ability to cut you off from other people! Block out all the bloody noise. For example, I got home from work yesterday and young William was asking me something or other - can't remember what. Anyway, he clearly didn't realise that his old man had just been through a long day at the office and simply wanted a bit of peace to himself. Then I came up with the ideal solution. Rather than tell Andrew to go away (and thus risk rumours being spread round St James' Primary School of my shoddy parenting) I simply popped my white earphones into my ears and cranked up the volume. Then I could recline with my eyes shut into my own little world. Pure magic.

dinner party banter