Pick N Mix

My anonymity has been totally destroyed by this business of being the Ego letters editor (God help me). Not only am I now known in the corner shop, the laundrette and the local pub but on Thursday night I spent 40 minutes outside my house conversing with the taxi driver who had given me a lift home. He recognised my picture from the paper (thanks Orson) and wanted to tell me about the raw deal the drivers are getting from the council.
As it happens I totally agree with him over the seemingly random distribution of licences and the fact that they are finding it harder and harder to make a living. I am well acquainted with many of the old stagers, having stumbled many a time into a cab having found my legs unable to tolerate the weight of my body after a few lively evenings out on the town.
The trouble was that on this occasion I had to be up at 5.30 in the morning to edit the evening rag, sorry, paper and could have done with the extra 40 minutes to cook some supper and prepare myself for an early night.
The truth is I never volunteered to do the letters so it came as a huge surprise to me that Orson, our Head of Production, managed to find an old and, it must be said, very unflattering, picture of me in the system and next minute, hey presto, I was appearing right there at the bottom of the page. I will NEVER hear the last of it and chances of blending into the background are now slim to nil.

The Fat Kid and Big Boy came to visit me at the weekend, and Wren was over, too, to discuss bridesmaid dresses and the like. It felt like an ambush.
The weather was rubbish so despite all the talk of going to parks, we ended up having one quick whiz around Roath Park before heading into town for some shopping (outnumbered 2-1 again, I would have rather watched the footie results unfolding, but never mind).
The Big Boy has still got a huge appetite on him but having said that the two ladies in my life aren't far behind in the gnoshing stakes.
At one stage we came across a big pick'n'mix presentation in the St David's Centre and their eyes lit up at once. The next thing I knew they were filling a big yellow bag up with everything you could imagine from toffees to jelly babies, things that looked like pebbles and sugar-coated multi-coloured things.
Then I was handed the bag to give to the man on the scales. Total cost? £8.10! Pick n fix, if you ask me.

Later that afternoon we watched a good New York Cop/Russian Gangster DVD called We Own The Night with Mark Wahlberg, Joaquin Phoenix and the great Robert Duvall. Excellent.
Later I rustled up a carbonara and by the time that was done it was time for bed.

Next morning I took the Fat Kid and Big Boy over to see my Dad and Stepmum. My stepmum Jean got on famously with the Big Boy and he was soon admiring her antiques.
He reminds me a bit of the bloke in the Monty Python sketch who offers people arguments. Having picked up speaking only recently, he now knows how to disagree like an old timer.
Remember the sketch when the bloke walks in and pays to have an argument?
My afternoon went something like this:
Me: That's nice isn't it?
BB: No it isn't
Me: Yes, it is
BB: No it isn't.
I felt like saying: "This isn't an argument, you're just contradicting me."
But I know the answer would have been: "No, I'm not!"
After all that energy used up it was back to Cardiff to watch Manchester United draw their first Premiership game of the season at home to Newcastle and then rest up for the night on the couch.