I had an interesting night yesterday evening, managing to do two hours coaching with the Oakley Colts along with burning out a kettle and going to The Dove in Micheldever to watch a blues band with my friends Steve and Jilly. Not a bad effort that, even if I do say so myself.

I have had a dodgy on/off switch on my kettle for some time now, so I guess it was only a matter time before I turned it on and proceeded to go upstairs for a shower. The result was pretty spectacular, a large bang followed by the tripping of the power and me battling semi-naked through steam and smoke trying to work out what the fuck was going on. Laurel and Hardy have nothing on me when I am on the top of my game.

My body functions revolve around tea and coffee (and alcohol) so this left me with no choice but to go on emergency trip to Sainsbury’s to purchase a new kettle. It was here that it dawned on me what a sad case I have become over the years, as I spent the following half an hour debating whether to buy a red one, a chrome one, or indeed one with an internal filter, a 360 degree base, a hinged locking lid and a rapid boil function. Just under a hundred years ago, pressure for a man was the prospect of heading of to La Somme to fight some heavily armed Germans, in 2013; it is whether to choose a kettle with the ability to operate equally as well for left or right handers.

Fortunately, an abrupt decision was forced upon me as I suddenly remembered that I had been invited out by Steve. So with maverick haste and total disregard for the kettle purchasing rule book, I bought the Russell Hobbs Futura, a  brush chromed little beauty with a sleek and sexy figure featuring lots of buttons, filters and locking lids. After using it for the first time, I can give you confirmation that it boils water as well…It really is great piece of equipment and should be the envy of all of you who have not experienced the unbridled pleasure of purchasing a kettle in recent years.

Beauty: The Russell Hobbs Futura

So I pottered off down to the Dove to meet my friends and when I arrived at the bar, things, literally, got ugly. As I glanced across the pumps to see what beer was available, a woman aged about 60 and looking resplendent in a leopard-skin figure hugging dress that gave her figure the look of a sack of King Edward’s, stood directly in my way. I tried to move around her, but again, my path was blocked by her significant frame as she offered me her hand to shake. Now, I’m all for a firm handshake, but this one sent crunching shock waves up my arm as if though I had just clutched an electric pylon. I’m not afraid to admit that I was indeed, shitting myself.

“You’re quite nice you are”

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?  Now, as a man of 45, I am all up for a bit of ego massaging flattery, but the only redeeming feature about this woman was that she only had one head, albeit one that could remove the birds from the trees.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Err…nope”

“Well if you change your mind…”

 I somehow managed to get away and relayed my story to Jilly who found the whole thing highly amusing which I suppose, unless you were me, it was. I have never been able to decide what I think of Blues music; it is obviously very technical and accomplished but all the songs seem to be about unsavoury females. I kind of felt a bit sorry for the lead singer, as judging by the songs he was singing he had experienced a miserable love life that had included gut wrenching liaisons with a black devil woman, another with a cold, hard heart and one maniac who, if I’m not mistaken, carried a gun!! I’m not sure if I could gain any pleasure out of being sexually violated by a pistol toting, cold hearted Devil woman who would toss me out of her pick-up truck when she had finished with me. I think I’m too nice for that and that’s why I would make a shit Blues singer; my songs would be called something like ” How About a Little Cuddle and a Nice Cup of Tea.”

Blues singers only appear to like crazed women who treat them like utter shit…Maybe that is because they engage in sexual fantasies that are alien to me? If you videoed a lead guitarist of a Blues band and concentrated purely on his head, you would be convinced that he was partaking in an act of vigorous masturbation. There is something these chaps find exotic about the lead guitar, perhaps it doesn’t break their heart like the series of cruel women in their lives?  That apart, I certainly thought the band were very good at what they did, though I do remain unconvinced that Blues music is really my genre. However, my concentration wasn’t helped by the corner of my eye being on red alert for a leopard-skinned sack of spuds.

Still, not even she could stop me heartily laughing at a great one liner from the lead singer who said:

“We’ve had several requests tonight…But we’re going to keep playing anyway.”

I enjoyed that even more than my new kettle!