Now I am officially an old git. How do I know? Because at one stage during my 50th birthday I performed the famous "rowing" dance to Oops Upside Your Head ... on a chair!
Now there was a time, back in the late 70s and early 80s, when I was a champion rower. I would spreadeagle myself on the floor in between whichever thighs were on offer and perform a passable impression of Steve Redgrave. Regularly this would happen late at night on the grossly filthy floor of the Bristol Bierkeller after three or four steins of lager.
I even won an award for being "best rower" there once. I think it was a 7 inch single of Brick House by the Commodores.
Anyway, thanks to everyone who attended the coming of old age ceremony at Racks Wine Bar in Clifton. Along with the usual suspects there were a few I hadn't seen for 30 years in a social capacity. Dan 'the man' Norris (now a Bristol MP who had to turn up because we know where all the bodies are buried! - seriously, great to see you, Dan), Martin Dowling, who looks a shadow of his former rather substantial self and very good on it (he came all the way from Harrogate) and Rich Burden, who doesn't look a lot different and, unlike most of my old school pals, still has a substantial head of hair. Brilliant for them.
And brilliant for Mrs R for both organising and putting up with me, the Fat Kid and mate Carly for being seriously drunk and causing mayhem in the early hours of the morning. FYI the Fat Kid managed to fall out with her Bezzie (I am told that stands for best friend) and decided to sock her in the gob. In the morning neither of them knew what had caused it. Mrs R did, though, because she had to calm things down.
We are all blaming a nasty little shot called Bob Marley, of which we had four each, along with the Fugitive. Don't remember much else but must say there was a great turnout and it was worth every bit of the £400 it cost. Can only remember about £100 worth to be truthful, but that's probably old age, not booze.
Meanwhile, back to the Rat in Mi Kitchen. It is definitely a rat. How do I know? Because there was a blood curdling shriek from Mrs R the other night when she went to the kitchen in her ultra soft socks. Obviously Ratman didn't hear her, decided to make an appearance, then disappeared under the cupboards hey presto when Mrs R pierced the night with her high-pitched wail.
It happened on the same day that the council turned up but, unfortunately, too late for them to hear the evidence. Regardless, they have put some rather evil poison down under the cupboards to surprise our little long-tailed adversary.
I've bought a book about giving up smoking, the first big step. I was encouraged to purchase it when one of the selling points was you can actually read it while having a fag. Can't go wrong.