After a disgraceful delay, I can finally report that Paul D and Liz’s visit to Guildford last Friday went splendidly, taking in a film (althoughly sadly Lost in Translation lived up to its name for Paul and Michelle, despite my film-speak protestations that it was a “observationally clever piece”) and a nice meal at Old Orleans, where we observed several scantilly-clad 16-year-olds and a table (a brace?) of drunken men, hurling their food all over the place, before leaving without paying. I’ve heard of frying chips, but never flying chips…
The rest of the week has been fairly ho-hum – an early whim about changing car to an Audi was exciting until I worked out the sheer financial hell I would inflict on my poor bank manager. Still, Tony H as ever came up with the goods and produced a “spare” Audi A6, which I’ll go and look at next week.
Oh, and I’m expecting a VERY exciting delivery today…

A hearty congratulations should be fully extended to my girlfriend Michelle, who’s just got a promotion to management at Next! A splendid effort, plenty more money to spend on me now

After a good old drink with Nick and Michelle, I settled down in front of the television last night, eager to find some light entertainment. As I flicked through the channels, an informative programme about “Expresso Sex” came on. Now, I’m not familiar with the term (at 25 I’m plainly over the hill) and assumed it was some of of sexual activity indulged in over a strong coffee and a digestive biscuit. The programme kindly informed me it means a form of no-strings sex and, intrigued, I watched on. A bloke called Tristan was being interviewed. Hold on, I thought, he looks familiar… And the realisation spread that this was a bloke I was once at school with, usually shy and reserved, but now enthusiastically expressing his desire for expresso sex. I was shocked.
I was even more shocked when the tagline across the bottom of the screen appeared: “Tristan – enjoys expresso sex with other men.”

What do £2000, 3 hats and 366 emails have in common? The answer is Dublin.
Read on for the Wibbler Tour of Dublin 2003…

The Isle of Wight is very good, you know. Michelle and I have just spent 4 days on the island, staying right next to Shanklin beach. We timed it to perfection. Not only was the temperature never below 34 degrees, but Cowes Week was in full flow. Well done us.
We’d booked the outgoing ferry at 10am. Plenty of time to get up and ready, we thought. Then the tickets came through – we had to be at the port 45 minutes before sailing, which managed to hit the rush hour quite beautifully. Our plan of a hearty meal at a greasy spoon went straight out the window, and we arrived in the nick of time. After a short delay while an escaped dog was chased around the ferry, we set sail.
One of the reasons we chose the Isle of Wight was because Michelle’s brother runs a hotel over there. Very nice it is too – not that we got to stay in it, of course. It was full to the brim. So, we landed ourselves next door at The Lincoln Hotel, a family-run bed and breakfast. Lovely it was too – the owner’s wife was a little too chatty, and our room was a glorified shoebox, but otherwise very pleasant.
Isle of Wight is in a time warp. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. Everyone’s friendly, for a start. One night we decided we should turn in, and left the hotel bar. As we passed the rest of the guests, every single one of them turned round, smiled and said goodnight. You don’t get that around here.
The 3 days we spent there was a mix of beach, sleep and walking, with a nightly smattering of restaurant meals. We visited Cowes twice, firstly to marvel at the boats and buy some sunglasses, and the second time to take in the famed Cowes Fireworks. Very good they were too, although the local decided it wasn’t a patch of previous years. It’s all relative, I suppose.
We also took in a walk through Shanklin Chine, which is basically a walk through woods, down to the beach. The decription doesn’t do it justice though – it really was a beautiful walk, full of trees and rivers and wildlife.
For the final night we dined in splendour at restaurant up the road with Michelle’s brother Matt and his fiance Sarah, who we’d been badgering constantly for help since we’d arrived. It was a very enjoyable night.
So, that’s the Isle of Wight done then.

This weekend, I discovered I must be growing up. Annie had invited Michelle and I over for a barbeque, and for once I only brought a small smattering of alcohol. The last time I’d visited her house, a very cruel Jac placed a Daddy Long Legs in a tasty cheesecake, offered me a slice, and giggled enormously as the bloody thing rolled around in my very drunken mouth, legs and all.
Still, last Saturday was a very different affair, and the small group of us – Elli, Annie, Annie’s boyfriend, Michelle and I – managed to have an enormous amount of fun, without the need for carnage and debauchery at any stage.
I still got outrageously drunk, but it’s a start.

Dear Reader,
How are you? Hope you are ok. I thought i’d post you this, as I feel I haven’t been updating you as regularly as i should.
What I’ve been doing this week? Well, I’ve been working away as usual, trying to please the bank manager. I got a pay rise, which is nice, but cleverly just about covers the start of my graduate loan repayment, which is a little annoying. On Thursday, I was just settling down for an afternoon’s emailing in the office, when who should come and sit next to me but an old school friend! I hdn’t seen Nick since 1995, and he was in fine form, even managing to stay behind for a quiet beer after work.
When I’ve not been working, I’ve been unpacking boxes, unpacking more boxes, moving boxes around, and generally spooning myself into my new house, which is very nice, if a little smaller than the last one. My friend Jac should be arriving soon with a van to move the remaining bits and pieces.

Talking of Jac, he’s had PC troubles. The poor thing finally gave up on him, which worryingly coincided with a piece of software I gave him. He took it to the the PC World Clinic, whose job, you’d think, is to repair broken computers. Not so. They refused it, presumably on the flimsy basis that it was a broken computer that needed repairing. Jac swore, and as a final flourish tried to storm out the store entrance, failing completely.

BT kindly offered to come round and install our phone line in our house last week. It was only after they finished that they found that, while everything inside the house was beautifully installed, they’d completely forgotten to get any form of cabling into our house from the exchange. So, a couple of days late, we now have internet at home, bringing my long-suffered internet drought to an end. No broadband, mind, as our neighbours have decreed we can’t dig the road up. They have, however, decided to present us with a lovely pot plant and welcome card, forming our unexpected moving-in present.
Of course there has been the usual social frolics. A small trip to Michelle’s brother’s house for a barbeque (nice house, that), an all expenses paid chinese meal with 8 others at Head Office, all sorts of things.
Anyway, I hope things are going well with you. I know that a few of you have sent in some complaints about the lack of posts – some of your kind words could bring a tear to a glass eye, they really could.
Speak to you soon,

Wibbler

I’ve been a little sparse (good word) on here of late, having been as busy as a blue-bummed fly. Between booking holidays to Dublin, tickets to Matchbox 20 and Bon Jovi concerts, rugby tickets to see England vs Italy in March, and running my work department on half the usual number of people, it’s been a little hectic. Still, a few things have happened to it would be rude not to mention. First was a free trip to Woking cinema with Michelle, her brother and his fiance (Michelle had won 6 tickets, the lucky tyke) to see City By The Sea. It was more of a private showing really – the first 20 minutes we were the only people in the cinema. Then there was the first visit of the New Year to The Drink nightclub, where we met Alex and Milly for the first time in ages. Alex seems to be still the man to know around town – Champagne flowed freely while he implied that he could get cheap deals for anything I wanted. I took full advantage, and decided to meet him again on Wednesday for a meal. Cracking.

It was the kind of weather that you really needed a jacket for.
As I rolled up – on time, remarkably – for my Work Christmas Do, I clutched my hastily drawn up “awards” to the other employees, plus a comedy speech that I hoped to make slightly before the alcohol rendered my bodily functions completely dead. I entered Bar Med in Guildford, went up to the second floor, and into the VIP section. One out of the twenty five people turning up was there: Andria, the Senior Call Handler at my company. I donned two hats, looked like I was having fun, and waited.
20 minutes later, we were still waiting, Andria rueing the 8 pints she had consumed the night before, and regretting that the only conversation i could think of was about the windows, and how I would be opening them later to yell drunkenly at people. Still, no-one turned up.
10 minutes later, everyone turned up at once, and the party got into full swing. Free buffet and free wine only hinted of the carnage to come as we danced, ate and acted like fools. It was a thoroughly good night, one we had all been waiting for for months. Michelle and Nick turned up to give me moral support, bless them, and my speech went better them I ever expected, even allowing for the odd slurred word or two. Then, at 12.30am, we were ushered downstairs for the final half an hour before closing time.
It was then that it all went a little downhill. I was winding down at the bar, talking to Michelle and Nick about absolute rubbish (stringing sentences together is not an easy task at work events, I’ve noticed). Then, mid-sentence, I noticed a few shouts, and Andria’s boyfriend being picked up and carted out of the door by three heavily-built bouncers. 5 seconds later, my brain groggily realised this may be a bad thing, and I rushed (or rather staggered) out after them.
What greeted me was pure carnage. In one corner, one entire work department was heavily arguing with some poor police officers that had merely wondered down the road. In another, Andria’s boyfriend was demonstrating with the bouncers. In yet another, Kerry was shouting rather loudly at the manager of Bar Med, telling him she was never coming here again (a fact that I imagine he was rather glad about). Nick, Michelle and I surveyed the scene with drunken amazement. Two police vans had turned up. I feigned ignorance, and walked down the road, wondering where on earth Andria was. Why wasn’t she defending her boyfriend?
It turned out that she was defending her boyfriend. A tad forcefully, as it goes. Seconds before being arrested and thrown in a police van.
And so ended a night out on the town with work colleagues. As we shivered outside the police station, a long way from any warm bed, waiting for the police to give in and hand Andria back, a final sickening realisation set in.

I’d lost my jacket.

Well, recovering from a night at the Cranleigh Hotel is never an easy job, but today was especially frightening. Simon H’s birthday turned into a fancy-dress free-for-all, with your wibblery host rolling up as Osama bin Laden, while erstwhile partner Jac tottered around as a very impressive giant set of male genitals. With a convenient flap in the front in case the bladder needed a good empty. Brilliant! Well done him. Elsewhere, there were a couple of surgeons (Michelle and Becki), Elvis, Cruella de Vil, and a whole host of fetching outfits. One especially chucklesome moment came in the men’s toilets, when Jac in his phallic costume was relieving himself after a succession of wet pints. Another man entered, unaware of the fancy dress party, and looked bemused at the set of genitals that stood before him. After a few seconds had passed, Jac turned to face him, and slowly uttered the immortal words, “Just … pretend … everything … is … normal“. With that, the man dissolved into giggles, couldn’t follow through, so to speak, and left. Believe me, it was a surreal moment that won’t leave my addled brain for a while…