It’s difficult to know what to do with a week off when you’re not actually going away. My main aim was to sleep which sounds incredibly pathetic but I needed a few hours of shut eye as last week left me cream crackered, which I finally got on Saturday morning but promptly ruined it the following night. So what have I done with my holiday so far?
Saturday
I started in a vaguely healthy manner by having a yoghurt. I would have had some Weetabix but I have discovered, much to my chagrin, that Weetabix doesn’t agree with me any more. I have no idea when or why this development occurred but it’s sudden and I can only assume I have some sort of mild wheat intolerance. I am horrified to be intolerant of anything, but it’s especially disappointing when it’s something you like. If I ever get a peanut allergy I may have to end it all. I love peanuts.
I have to say that I don’t understand where peanut allergies even came from. When I was a kid they were a staple of buffets at children’s parties. When I went to Matthew Cook’s 7th birthday at his parent’s pub (The Kings Head in Yarmouth
Mind you I was only 7 myself, I’d ate much worse by this point, like dirt and cat food. Trust me, Whiskas in the late 70s didn’t contain anything nutritious and it certainly didn’t have vegetables, just ground up chicken meat, a bit like pate. My pet cat at the time, Yogi, was unimpressed with my taste test and swiped little Terry across the face with his paw. I complained to my mother that “Yogi hit me” but she concluded that I probably deserved it.
The rest of Saturday is a bit of a blur. I remember being planted in front of Soccer Saturday on Sky, booing and cheering as the results came in. Then I went for a run, which seemed more difficult than usual for some reason. I came to the conclusion that the benefit of daylight had the disadvantage of making me run faster which in turn caused me to become more puffed out sooner. This may not be the case, it may be my body telling me I’m having a mid-life crisis and to sit down with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit instead.
I got home and showered in preparedness for the evening. We were going out with some friends who come from the home of brewing. An evening out with them is always good but always ends in a sorry drunken mess. As you will know if you’ve read this before, I’m a man with a delicate palate who likes to taste new beers and on occasions, in the right company, fine wines. However it turns out that I can also knock back the Jager Bombs with the best of them, as a sort of chaser.
We ended the evening back at their house playing SingStar. I say evening but it was 2am when we actually left the pub. I have little memory of this part of the evening/morning aside from trying to sing Losing My Religion which, even to my untrained ear, sounded particularly dreadful. Worse still I would imagine for our friend’s neighbours who would have been awoken by my caterwauling in the middle of the night.
We left theirs (much to my disgust as I felt that I should just be left alone on their sofa to slip into a coma) and walked home. The birds for some reason decided to mock me by chirruping in the trees whilst I berated them staring the dawn chorus an hour early.
Sunday
Didn’t happen. Well, it did, in spurts. I got up at 12.30pm. I had a coffee. My stomach did a 360 degree rotation so I decided I’d arisen too early, made some vow to drink less in future and went back to bed. I got up again at 2pm, had a shower, and even managed to get to Tesco, buy a sandwich and some interesting crisps, and get back home in one piece. I ate them and washed them down with lemonade. Half an hour later my stomach made a bad gurgling sound and I realised things were not going well so I went back to bed. At 7pm I made another attempt at getting up. This was more successful and I even made it to Zorba, the local kebab shop, where I demanded they sell me greasy meat based food items and more chips than I could carry. This turned out well. I went back to bed around 11pm and slept like a log.
Alcohol is bad, kids.
Monday
I woke up and felt ten million times better, partly because the hangover had passed and partly as it was Monday and I wasn’t at work. I bimbled downstairs and put the TV on to catch a trailer for that morning’s 'Jeremy Kyle Show'. Someone had slept with someone else they probably shouldn’t have and there was lots of shouting. I turned over and got caught up in the more sedate pace of ‘Heir Hunters’.
Whilst I was embroiled in the whole story of these chaps in suits trying to locate the family of a German man who came to live in the UK
It seems immensely lazy to order the shopping when Tesco have kindly opened up a store on our doorstep. An eco-friendly store at that, all made of wood, so also quite flammable. If it burns down, don’t blame me, I’m just saying what I see.
The thing is that Mrs Hayward and I don’t do food shopping together. You see, there are usually only limited situations where we consistently have arguments; when I’m driving and when we go food shopping together. Don’t ask me why, these are just the facts. For marital harmony therefore we get the shopping delivered.
Today’s shopping was delivered by a chap wearing a very noticeable sparkly Superman buckle on his belt. It was difficult to take your eyes off it which was unfortunate really as it meant I kept inadvertently looking towards his crotch. It was a good job therefore that I hadn’t opened the door in my dressing gown or I’d end up being black listed or worse still, arrested.
So, once we had our kitchen cupboards full of food we decided to go to The Periwig in Stamford
Monday got away from me after that, we went home, I pottered about, had tea, watched TV, went to bed.
Tuesday
I got up with purpose on Tuesday morning. 'Heir Hunters' started at 9.15am and I didn’t want to miss that, they might have had an update on yesterday's episode. Mrs Hayward was already up and having an argument with the NatWest on the phone, something to do with their online banking she tells me, but I think she just rings them for an argument, like in that old Monty Python sketch.
I toasted some Hot Cross Buns (well, it’s nearly Easter and they were a bargain) and settled myself down with 'Homes Under the Hammer'. Seriously I can see why the unemployed aren’t desperate to go back to work. No wonder the Government would rather the BBC just showed the test card during the day. These shows are addictive.
To let out some tension Mrs Hayward decided to beat the virtual crap out of a punch bag on the Wii Fit Plus and I decided I needed some air and went for a run, but this time in the woods. I feel that the woods have a reputation for being a bit seedy these days. The car park of Bourne Woods in particular has lots of signs instructing visitors that it shuts at 4pm, to which my suspicious mind thought, 'that’ll be to keep out the doggers', as if they all start queuing up at the entrance just as the sun starts to set.
As it was there were only a few proper dog walkers around and the occasional squirrel as I panted my way around the woods in the hope that I didn’t get lost or meet a troll under the bridge. I decided that I must return as this was a thoroughly pleasant place to come and jog around and wasn’t full of ugly people doing unspeakable things with other ugly people in cheap motors, as the Daily Mail would have you believe.
After that I went home, had lunch, showered and the afternoon kind of got away from me again. I have to save myself though; it’s the next few days where we actually have plans. Tomorrow is the trip to the capital where I shall be whisked away through time and space. Oh, and I’m promised a trip to Cyber Candy so I can purchase rare foreign confectionary. Check out their website, it’s very cool. Who knows, I might even be able to face some beer again. I can’t wait.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about 'Heir Hunters' though. I guess I’ll have to record it.
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