w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

Because of the much-overdue amount of time, effort and, yes, money we’ve been pouring into the house of late, there is little relief or respite at the weekend from the paid labour which comprises our working week. So there’s little to inspire for posting purposes. “All work and no play” never seemed a greater truism.

And I vowed not to post just for the sake of it. Let’s face it – when you start these blogs, you tell yourself it’s by you, for you. In reality though, without the interaction from and between your Commenters, there’s no buzz. As BW once said (before I sussed out how to add the function into the template) a blog without comments is just a website.

So I’m going to cheat a bit this week and re-cycle some postings I originally contributed to Mike’s Guest Week last year. Incidentally, if you’ve never read Troubled hyphen Diva, I thoroughly recommend a visit. His content and quality of output is excellent and he has an eye (and an ear) for detail which makes his blog a daily must-read for me. In fact, it was Mike who coined my Blogtitle, in a comment on one of my earliest postings on his site:
"God, now there's a word for me. You know, if I were ever to start a brand new weblog from scratch, I think that's the word I might choose. Aprosexic.com. Oh yes."

This one is a particular favourite personal anecdote and if it gives you a giggle, that’s good enough for me. Comments are neither sought nor necessary…

‘Mindlessly awaiting my turn in the barbers, I recalled a queue-related incident which this medium makes it somehow easier to share. You’ll understand. And your gender will determine your reaction…

Some years ago, Mrs.D. was temporarily between two regimes of contraception and I was advised to ‘take precautions’.

So, a nostalgic pilgrimage to the chemists then, where a plethora of old ladies had swarmed, to get prescriptions filled, each discussing several ailments with the very patient pharmacist etc. In MY lunch hour.

Nearing the head of the queue, I resolved to avoid future wastes of my valuable time by buying more than the usual ‘packet of 3’. Hell, I could’ve got through 2 of them in the 10 minutes I’d been there!

And so, eventually arriving at the counter, I manfully demanded a box of Durex.

“What size?” asked the harridan assistant.

“I. Er. Um. I. Um. (pre-empting Gareth Gates by some years).

She let me sweat. Hours passed. Someone behind me muttered “C’mon big boy, I’m on me lunch hour”.

“What size box?”. “25? 50?”. As if there could have been any other answer!

“Oh, 25 is fine” I gushed. “please, take all of this money, and keep the change”.

I legged it. I still redden thinking about it.