After helping me finish off two bottles of wine last night and staying up till a ridiculously early hour this morning, my beautiful and amazing partner Caz went out at 9.30am and passed her grading for her Tae-Kwondo red belt with flying colours - well done, girl, I'm really proud of ya. 12 months till black belt, woohoo! I really don't know how she does it. I've still got a sore head and have felt like crap all day, which has got to be a sign of growing old - I swear my resistance to alcohol is a fraction of what it used to be - while she, after qualifying for her red belt, went on to do a full training session followed by a Tae-Kwondo demo at a fete for the benefit of gaining new members to her club. What a gal! She has spent the whole week fretting over her grading and was really worried about her ability to remember her Korean words for all the moves and other Tae-Kwondo related stuff. So I've spent the last couple of nights testing her on it all, which is a bit of a tall order for a man who can barely string together a sentence in English. Or any other language for that matter.
We've known each other since she started working with me over a year ago, and we've talked and talked and talked to one another every single day since. We know everything there is to know about each other. Or so I thought. Then last night she casually mentions in passing that she can break blocks of wood with her fist and is the only female at her club (which has got about 500 members) who can do so! How cool is that? It's not for nothing that Caz is current Welsh champ in her division for the second time around, and a one-time British champion. Now, I'm a fairly big man, used to box and played rugby for my regiment, and there's no way I'd class myself as a wuss, but I'm still the only bloke I know whose missus can knock seven shades of brown stuff out of him. She's well 'ard. Or 'Hard as foook' as she says, being the good Yorkshire lass that she is. I reckon she could take that Chuck Norris any day. You bet I never forget her birthday. And I do the washing-up.
I've got my son Daniel staying with me till Sunday, so I won't be sculpting till he's gone back to his mum tomorrow. He's 8 years old and my best mate, and we have a wicked laugh together. He's well into Warhammer 40K even though he doesn't really understand the rules much beyond the basics, which means that dad gets to experience the joy of spending 2 hours every other Sunday morning at our local GW's Beginners Club inhaling the pungent odour of lots of over-excited little boys crammed into a very small space. Oh, and the even more pungent odour
of teenagers and other types who wouldn't know the meaning of 'personal hygiene' if it went over them in a truck. Driven by a Romanian. You gotta respect the GW staff and their Nostrils Of Iron.
Day seven without a cigarette! Go Chris, go! You da man.
Well, that's it for now. Time for a Nicorette break...
Take it easy y'all
We've known each other since she started working with me over a year ago, and we've talked and talked and talked to one another every single day since. We know everything there is to know about each other. Or so I thought. Then last night she casually mentions in passing that she can break blocks of wood with her fist and is the only female at her club (which has got about 500 members) who can do so! How cool is that? It's not for nothing that Caz is current Welsh champ in her division for the second time around, and a one-time British champion. Now, I'm a fairly big man, used to box and played rugby for my regiment, and there's no way I'd class myself as a wuss, but I'm still the only bloke I know whose missus can knock seven shades of brown stuff out of him. She's well 'ard. Or 'Hard as foook' as she says, being the good Yorkshire lass that she is. I reckon she could take that Chuck Norris any day. You bet I never forget her birthday. And I do the washing-up.
I've got my son Daniel staying with me till Sunday, so I won't be sculpting till he's gone back to his mum tomorrow. He's 8 years old and my best mate, and we have a wicked laugh together. He's well into Warhammer 40K even though he doesn't really understand the rules much beyond the basics, which means that dad gets to experience the joy of spending 2 hours every other Sunday morning at our local GW's Beginners Club inhaling the pungent odour of lots of over-excited little boys crammed into a very small space. Oh, and the even more pungent odour
of teenagers and other types who wouldn't know the meaning of 'personal hygiene' if it went over them in a truck. Driven by a Romanian. You gotta respect the GW staff and their Nostrils Of Iron.
Day seven without a cigarette! Go Chris, go! You da man.
Well, that's it for now. Time for a Nicorette break...
Take it easy y'all
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