Thursday, December 03, 2009

A spoon full of sugar...

I'M beginning to think I have followed the wrong vocation. Judging by what has been going on for the last week I think I should be renamed Dr Rippers or, worse still, nurse.
While the delightful Mrs R has been feeling worse for wear following the shocking news of her pregnancy (I already feel extremely guilty for putting her through this experience) my incredible shrinking daughter is now just over eight stone and was laid low this week with a virus surprise, surprise.
You see, The Fat Kid is going to have to be renamed the extremely Skinny Kid before long.
The trouble is she tends to live off a bowl of cereal and a couple of slimming biscuits per day on the basis that she believes her nickname. I keep telling her it's rubbish but she won't listen to me. She goes to the gym three times a week but doesn't realise that she actually needs food to supply the energy to enable her to complete all these spinning classes.
Result: Her body gave in last week over sheer exhaustion.
Poor old fat, I mean Skinny, kid. You can even feel her ribs these days and where once she was just a smidgen smaller than me she now also seems to have shrunk so that she only comes up to my chin. Gonna have to fatten her up over christmas, I think.
Meanwhile, poor old Mrs R is really struggling. She can't stay up past 9pm and doesn't enjoy the fact that strange things seem to be happening to her body which are totally outside her control. I would like to help but don't know what to say - it's hormone hell, by the sound of things.
On a good note, I went to see the Gas play Exeter City at home on Tuesday. My fab football team managed to win 1-0 and move into the top six again. Never mind the fact that they were totally mullered, battered, outplayed for 89 minutes they somehow managed to hang on for their first clean sheet in 13 games.
Going up, going up, going up - lord save us.
Sadly, I missed the only goal of the game. I was standing freezing away in the Family Enclosure with my mate Haydn, whose son Liam plays for one of their junior teams and thus gets his dad free entry to the ground, when I decided that nothing was going to happen. Thirty three minutes in and the Gas had barely mustered a shot.
Sods law! As I am tinkling away an almighty roar goes up and Darryl Duffy has put the Boys in Blue ahead. Great.
I had to wait until shortly after nine the following morning to see the goal that had sent us soaring into the upper echelons of the division.

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