Month: December 2006

Blimey, where HAS this year gone? More specifically, what the hell happened to December? And more specifically still, why am I so busy over the next couple of weeks considering I finish work tomorrow!

A brief pause then whilst I consider what I need to get done… and what I should’ve done already.

First up the obvious stuff, Xmas wise, cards have been posted, presents are all bought and wrapped, cupboards are reasonably stocked with alcohol (to take to places and drink), biscuits and ‘stuff’ to have when people come to visit, and the Sky+ is programmed with.. well not much. It’s usually all dross at this time of year and I’d happily spend most of the coming weeks with the TV OFF. Or at the very least, watching nothing but old movies. And yes, It’s a Wonderful Life still makes me cry..

Once we get the festivities of the season out of the way I’ve got an old site to finish off, a new site to start, and this place is due for a spruce up as well. I’ve still got some questions to answer but they’re written up and ready to post and will be done by the end of the year, I promise. And, of course, there will be books and gadgets and stuff to play with as well.

Ohh and I’m trying to keep the running going too, with rumours of an early evening run on Christmas Eve and quite probably a few extra ones jammed into my days off. I doubt I’ll get much chance during the first couple of weeks in January though, but we’ll see how it goes.

Did you know that George (Asda clothing department) is selling suits for £50? I’m sorely tempted as my current suit, which wasn’t a cheap one, is now kinda hanging off me. A stop gap suit to get me through the next couple of months is all I need, and as it’ll not get more than a couple of outings I’m loathed to spend too much. I’d better get my finger out though, I need it for tomorrow night… more on that tomorrow.

I’m still considering posting my “Best of 2006” lists but, frankly, I’m not sure I can be bothered. We’ll see, it might end up being a “highlights of 2006” list instead… or it might not happen at all.

Right, stuff to do, people to see, etc etc.

In a desperate effort to gain some weird form of validation, I stole an idea for a blog post and begged my readers to ask me a question. And they did. The buggers. Now I have to answer them.

My mum sneaks in with a family favourite question of “To beard or not to beard”. Now, before I even start this one I’ll just make sure that everyone knows that I, Gordon McLean, blogger ordinaire, sport, a rather too ginger-esque, goatee. My Dad has, for as long as I can remember (bar a few disturbing moments during my childhood) sported a full beard. Once black, his is now ‘turning distinguished’ (going grey to you and I). So, why beard?

Why beard?
The obvious answer is because I can’t be arsed shaving. However it’s not THAT obvious because I have a… well I call it a goatee but I’ve heard it referred to as many different things, from “soul patch” through to “ginger bum fluff”. Basically the middle part of my chin.. ohh for goodness sake, there are plenty of photos of me kicking around, I don’t need to describe it.

Based on that, I can’t really claim that it’s because I can’t be bothered shaving, as I still have to shave every day or so… or three…

So why did I grow it in the first place? To be honest it was just for a change… I was between jobs, for a couple of weeks and took advantage of not HAVING to shave and, one night, I had a shower, thought I’d better have a shave and for some reason thought I’d see what I looked like with a goatee. The exact reason is lost in the murky depths of my memory but I THINK it was probably influenced by… well.. someone on TV or something (ok ok, it’s was probably, but not definitely, when Chandler appeared in Friends with a goatee).

Of course that’s not the only reason I grew it, and I think I still have my goatee for the reason my Dad has his beard. The McLean gene includes a fairly small chin, and so the beard helps balance the face by making the chin appear longer than it really is.. honest.

I guess the real question is why do I still have it?

That’s a tad trickier to explain, largely because I don’t fully understand the reasons myself. But, in no particular order, here are some factors:

• Part of me thinks it is slightly ‘unconventional’, making me stand out from the norm, possibly a little bit ‘rock’. I know it’s not but something in my head keeps coming back to that.
• It saves on the cost of razors.
• It reminds me of my Dad, especially as I now share his beard stroking habit – fellow bearders will know what I mean – of flattening the hairs whilst pondering something. It’s nice to have an absentminded habit, especially the same one as my Dad.
• I honestly do think I look better with it. Honestly.

Of course there are downsides:

• Sometimes you don’t realise you’ve, say, dribbled milk into it whilst having your morning cereal.
• It’s ginger ferchrissakes. Such is the downside of being a natural blonde.
• It’s going grey.

OK, I guess it’s obvious by now that I can’t really explain WHY I “beard”. Just as I can’t explain why I still “beard” after.. what.. 8 or 9 years. Right now I can’t imagine NOT having it, so it ain’t going anywhere… unless.

You see, I took the opportunity whilst between jobs to grow it. It was during the switch back to Scotland that the moustache was lost, so maybe the new job in January will see me bare chinned again?

Nah.

In a desperate effort to gain some weird form of validation, I stole an idea for a blog post and begged my readers to ask me a question. And they did. The buggers. Now I have to answer them.

Adrian asks “Why I’m glad I’m not single”. I’ll presume he’s wanting ME to explain why I’M glad I’m not single, not point out all his flaws and weird mannerisms that make girls run screaming the second he enters a room.. I’m guessing..

Why I’m glad I’m not single
OK, buckets at the ready. This is gonna be kinda love-dovey. Look, I’ve even coloured it all romantic like. Awwwww.

OK, maybe that’s enough of the pink…

So to answer the question I think I need to start with some kind of definition of what it’s like to be head over heels, still gazing adoringly, ‘she lights up the room when she enters’ in love. And the trouble with trying to do that, is that it’s simply impossible to put into words.

Let’s try an action instead.

Take your index finger and your thumb (they should be attached to your hand already, hence the phrase ‘handy’), pinch them together. Tighter. TIGHTER. And relax. Bonus points if you actually did it…

That gap is how much Louise and I love each other. Hmmm, that doesn’t make much sense… let me try to explain.

The premise behind this action is that, instead of competing with the “spread your arms wide and hold out your hands ‘I love you this much!!!’ ” gesture — you know, like you would if you’d just caught a fish, “it was THIS big” — we quickly escalated things beyond what we could reach with our arms and, pretty soon, we realised our love for each other stretches all the way around the world and back to the start. For a reason which now escapes me, we pinch our fingers together to show this…

We really must get out more.

Anyway, falling in love is great, being with the one person you can’t imagine NOT being with is wonderful, and I certainly don’t think I’d choose to go back to being single. I enjoy having someone to come home to, someone to snuggle with whilst watching crap movies on a Saturday afternoon, or just someone who knows when to listen and when to open the alcohol.

Of course you don’t have to be in love to live with someone, but I’d imagine the early days of any kind of co-habiting relationship are similar.

At first, everything is new and you are both a little on edge, being careful what you do and say, checking and double-checking that it’s OK to leave the mugs to dry on the draining board, rather than hanging them up on that nifty mug rack you got as a moving in present (does anyone still use one of those?).

Soon you learn each other habits, and over time you adapt or adjust your views accordingly. You know that when he gets up he always, ALWAYS farts, and that she always, ALWAYS leaves her jacket and bag in a different place when she comes home at night. The list is endless and unique.

How this develops depends largely on the relationship the two people build (or don’t build). If you remain “just flatmates”, the cautious note remains, always tempering your desire to just bloody well LEAVE the glass on the table without a coaster. If you are “friends that are flatmates” things are generally more relaxed, you are more comfortable with each other and you don’t object too much when she asks you to clean the toilet as she’s got friends coming round. OK, bad example. You know what I mean.

But when partners live together it’s different. Completely. As you share a unique bond, a closeness that, from your viewpoint, few others can match, you start to develop a love/hate relationship with each others habits and foibles (ahh what a great word, foibles.. say it with New Jersey accent, foyybulllsss.. wonderful).

For example, she may always almost choke when brushing her teeth. It’s loud and annoying yet at the same time it’s weirdly endearing that she hasn’t yet figured out how to brush her teeth without jamming the brush halfway down her throat. Weird but it belongs to the partnership (until one of them blurts it out on the internet, but who the hell would do that?).

Or perhaps he never EVER puts his dirty washing in the basket. It’s hugely annoying, but also has a familiarity that is welcoming and… what was that dear? Ohhh right. Apparently there is no upside to this one. Right you are.

This list goes on and on and ariston. But I’m beginning to ramble (imagine that dear reader) and, most importantly, I’ve not really offered you much of an answer.

To summarise, and attempt to draw this nonsense to an end (yeah yeah, I know, why couldn’t I have done that 8 paragraphs ago!), quite simply I’m glad I’m not single because I almost lost her once, and since then every day with her is another day of happiness.

See, I TOLD you to get the buckets ready…