DO you remember the Krypton Factor. Back in the day it was quite a popular programme where contestants were put through a number of difficult challenges to test their physical and mental strengths.
And the first one was always a memory test in which they had to recall a set of pictures, numbers or patterns in the correct sequence they had been shown.
So what's that got to do with the price of bread? I hear you ask.
Well, it has now become abundantly clear to me that my girlfriend Wren would never have got through the first round on the Krypton Factor. Or, indeed, been able to compete in the world memory championships which were staged just a few weeks ago.
Why have I come to this conclusion? Simply because Wren never seems to have the slightest idea what her working rota is. In fact, I can probably recite it better.
On Monday an incident happened which makes me think she must start training her brain much more efficiently.
I was awoken early by a text, telling me she was feeling tired but up for the day. Then at 7am came a follow-up message containing rather a lot of expletives. "Hi, am so p*ssed off. Got my rota wrong and am not due in until 8.30. Could have had another hour in bed. *!@*@!"
Oh how I laughed!
Her mood later improved, though, with a trip to Starbucks and a muffin.
It's all left me a little bit worried, though. The last time I received a similar message about tardiness it was from that old fogey Bram, who had forgotten the clocks had gone back and waited an hour, cursing the bus that never arrived. The difference is that Bram's brain has been addled with pints of old Scroat and has gradually been wittled down to the size of an old, dry walnut.
Heed the signs, Wren.
We had a Boozeday Tuesday indoctrination ceremony for the new boy, and there was an exceptionally good turnout. He's a nice lad and brings a bit of class to the proceedings, being an Oxford graduate.
Somehow the classless Withers has taken to renaming him Andrew De La Busiay, for reasons I can't quite fathom. But it's catching so he already has a blog name.
I say classless, but Withers is still intent on upwardly mobility. His hobnobbing with the great and the good of Welsh politics has prompted him to buy a pair of startlingly bright, red socks. He explained that it was something all the big hitters in his field were wearing these days.
I must admit, though, that we all spluttered over our beer when he told us the price.
"£11! For a pair of socks!" I shouted, open-mouthed in shock. This, remember, is a man who needs a surgical operation to remove his wallet from his trouser pocket.
"Yeh well, I had a £10 voucher from House of Fraser for my birthday," he explained hastily.
Danny Boy (the poipes, the poipes) is on a particularly tight leash these days with his wife, the solicitor, turning up midway through the afternoon to escort him back for some painting and decorating. So much for his proud declaration that "she is going to have to get used to me being late home on Boozeday Tuesdays."
The Fab BB, the wonderful one and Smashy weren't so keen to call it a day, however. Long after I'd left the fray they were regailing tales of WoS daring-do to the Newbie in the City Arms. I'm surprised he turned up for work the next day.
I did a superb meal on Monday night, A French pork dish in white wine from my Anthony Bourdain cook book, but can't quite remember the recipe. I'll try to fill you in later in the week.
To accompany it, though, I tried sweet potato and butternut squash mash which proved to be a great discovery.
Peel and cut the sweet potato and butternut squash then put into a pan of boiling, salted water.
Wait until the potato is easily pierced by a knife then remove from heat and drain.
Add two tablespoons of spring onion and one red chilli, chopped up with seeds removed, together with a large dollop of butter, a small amount of salt and black pepper. mash up then serve.