An Admission of Guilt

On Thursday night a couple of weeks ago I was shamed.

Lucy came back from her boxing class early and caught the Nurse and I in the cellar together.

Why we didn't lock the door I have no idea.

How we failed to hear her descending down the cellar steps I don't know.

We were deeply engrossed in our embarassing, self indulgent act.

We thought we were safe. We thought no-one would catch us.

As she burst in, surprising us - we were red faced. Downcast. Speechless.

There was nothing we could say.

Since that moment Lucy has told me that she is a little less in love with me. A little less attracted to me.

For on Thursday night a couple of weeks ago, Lucy came back from her boxing class and caught the Nurse (Paul) and I playing war games with our old citadel miniatures.

A Geeky Industry "In Joke"

A Fine Chap

This weekend just gone I played host and chef to Lucy's parents and my mum. It was a thoroughly pleasant affair. I once again proved my mastery of the kitchen in the eternal struggle for dominance in the Lucy and Sam cooking stakes (though Lucy will never admit defeat).

Then, a couple of days later, we were happily surprised by a little letter that came through the door. I don't as a rule open my post, as the only people that send posts in the modern world appear to be banks and catalogues - and I don't want to hear from either. But Lucy got there first this time.

The letter was from Lucy's elderly nan. It began:

"Dearest Lucy and Sam, 

I hope you're both ok and fit. Mum [Lucy's mum] said she'd enjoyed her w/e with you both. Also pleased to have seen Sam's mum and what a grand fellow he is to do the cooking for you all, he's a grand chap so helpful and thoughtful just the kind of husband anyone would be proud of, well mum forgot to ask you if you wanted a christmas tree? I have one in the loft with all the trimmings..."

So it looks like a glowing review from the jury I feared. And a free Christmas tree to boot (though I hope it is a fake one as I am not sure how a real one would have fared in the loft for a year).

However I am slightly concerned that Lucy's Nan for some unknown reason thinks that we are married! I am not sure if Lucy or her family have been spreading these allegations around. I wonder what she would think if she found out we are living in sin!

Afterthought: I hope she doesn't know how to use the internet.

The Most Powerful Jury of All

Some people may tell you that your bachelor life is well and truly over when you get a girlfriend and it becomes steady and you have to become a little more selfless in your actions. Or even when you become serious and do crazy things like move in together. Perhaps your bachelor life is over that first time your girlfriend tells you you can't go out and get drunk at the pub with your mates as she wants you to spend the evening with her watching X-Factor and eating ice-cream.

I guess technically your bachelor life is over when you get married.

I have been having some thoughts recently. I am starting to think that bachelorhood - that precious thing that we all hang onto - that small feeling that you are still (at least partially) in control of your life, is officially over when your parents first come into contact with those of your other half.

Beyond this point in life, you can no longer argue pointlessly with your significant other. You have to begin to accept defeat graciously from time to time. You have to agree to things like going to the cinema and watching 'House Bunny' and 'Mama Mia' even though you have to bury your head in your partners arm the whole way through to avoid excessive cringing / puking or both (as was recently discovered).

The chances of your relationship breaking up past this pivotal point significantly diminish. There is literally no escape. And for one reason ...

Shame.

For beyond this moment in your life you are subject to fear of shame. You have created a network in which you are ensnared.

A network of powerful women.

Beyond this moment should something happen, be it something so trivial as going out with your friends one too many times, be it something more important like blowing your life savings on hookers and cocaine and falling asleep in your own vomit - your actions are subject to judgement by that most powerful jury.

Your mother, your partner, your potential future mother-in-law. All working as one.

You can't fight that!

This weekend I take the step.

What is 'Cool' Anyway?

When I was car free living in Sydney, pedalling my merry way to work everyday in the sunshine, everything was simple, no car, no car tax, no tolls, no insurance, no MOTs, no breakdown cover. It was nice.

However, some small part of me whilst over there was really eager to come back to the UK knowing that I would have to run a car again (as my company contract demands) and I could buy whatever I liked.

At that point my visions of a late 90's Audi convertible were scuppered by the need to have something efficient and reliable. Equally eager hours spent exploring autotrader.com for my dream Alfa Romeo GT left me demoralised by lack of affordability and a bit of a desire not to get into debt in this slightly uncertain period of time we are in.

So, I am lucky as I can opt into my company car scheme and get a new (or nearly new) car without all of the risk of getting a huge loan. I am not complaining.

The company car list, however - since my company was consumed as a minnow, by a goliath of an organisation - has changed somewhat. Hatchbacks, small efficient diesels, and people carriers have been replaced with cars more traditionally viewed as company cars in the UK: Ford Mondeo's, Toyota Avensis', estates (stationwagons) and saloons.

My worry is that I can't help but think that an estate car is going to seriously affect my ability to pull 'bitches' of a weekend (obviously a pastime of which I am particularly fond). They will see me coming and straightaway assume that I am a middle manager or a salesman (which probably, if I thought about it, I am) and will instantly run a mile.

However, I have recently been trying to convince myself that a Ford Mondeo can be cool. That if I am young and hip and I say things like Awesome and Dude - that an estate car will become kind of ironically cool. A statement of my rebellion against the trappings of the modern day rat race. I will become the embodyment of everything that is anti middle class, anti middle of the road salesman.

I can't help but think ... that was what my dad tried to do...