Happlessness, Happlessness the Greatest Gift that I possess... ============================================
As promised in my last review, I've finally finished the second part of my no holds barred guided tour into my near perpetual common-sense free existence.
I'd like to say it's been a struggle to dig out any further evidence of my ineptitude going into adult life, but frankly its much harder to know which ones to leave out. Fortunately I've already reviewed quite possibly my crowning moment of muppetry in Knees up Mother Frown, so hopefully I can cram a few more here.
Good people, brace yourself for "I'm hapless and I know it part II" - the really should know better years (ages 19 to 38).....
Its packed full of helpful hints and tips on how to be a complete plank! (he says rapidly trying to justify this category)
Case sera, sera... ============ As part of my Business and German degree I was lucky enough to spend a year studying in Mannheim, Germany, particularly from the point of view of only needing to attend minimal lectures and having plenty of freetime available to enjoy the delights of continental style drinking hours.
Naturally the run-up to Christmas (which included my 21st birthday in that period) was a particularly festive season, and in true student fashion, despite knowing full-well that I had an early flight in the morning I nonetheless succumbed to one more boozy send-off session. Luckily I'd got everything packed the night before and managed to make it, albeit bleary-eyed and fuzzy, onto my coach to Frankfurt with just enough to spare. I did have a minor panic about what to get my big sister for chrimbo, but in my hazy state quickly convinced myself she'd be more than happy with a lollipop with the German Flag on it (hmm that's never been forgotten either!)
Still a little "tired and emotional" on arrival in Manchester, I still managed a mini surge of pace getting off the plane so I could get to the baggage collections as quick as possible. Lo and behold within just a few minutes I could see my bright blue Wilson sports bag winging its way round, and bless my barnacles there was my black Delsey suitcase right behind it. All pleased with myself, I grabbed them both in one stumbling movement, chucked them on the trolley and headed for the door. My Dad had dutifully driven the 100 miles or so from Scunny to pick me up and there he was waiting just past the customs. After the hugs, he made some kind of quick comment that the suitcase looking a bit on the small side, but I quickly put him straight that this was Mum's mid-range Delsey, rather than the larger one that he used to use.
So off we toddled back across the Pennines, with my daydreaming thoughts firmly fixed on the forthcoming Christmas festivities. When we got back, I opened up the boot and as I dragged out the Delsey I spotted something I hadn't noticed before. There on the side was some kind of label sticking out...each letters sending shivers down my spine in an instant "FRAU SCHMIDT" -aaaaaghhh!!!
My heart sank. Understandably my Dad was less than impressed at the prospect of having to drive all the way back over to Manchester let alone to explain how his precious son had managed to escort someone else's luggage through customs, but he quickly got on the phone and sorted it out. Fortunately, my full-sized Delsey was sitting there unclaimed when we got back the next morning, poor old Mrs Schmidt had somehow managed to make it through the night without her travel essentials, and they reassured us that "you'd be surprised how often it happens with these standard cases".
My last minute Christmas present was a bright day-glo strap to affix to suitcase to make doubly sure I'd never be such a donut again, and by the time I'd finished all the Christmas holidays washing up, it had definitely sunk in, always check the labels (including those with the alcoholic strength of those heady German brews!)
The Wrong Trousers - oh Vicar!! ========================
Roll on a couple of years to the summer of 1995 and my beloved sisters dream wedding day. She'd had it all organised for months, all planned right down to the finest detail, everything from the wedding cake with a built-in fountain through to the 4 piece string quartet - perfect...
As one of the ushers, naturally I'd got my measurements done for the morning suit, but somehow had managed to get them mixed up with one of the other groomsmen's order, so the trousers I'd received were way too short and tight around the waist. The backup plan was invoked, the other usher had picked up the right ones from Sheffield and would bring them across to Scunthorpe on the morning of the Wedding.
But time was marching on, and with less than 40 minutes to go, there was no sign of him. Naturally my sister was going ballistic at this point, so while she discussed contingency plans over the phone with her husband to be, I headed down the road to the church in my top hat, suit jacket and jeans. I figured that was the safest place to be, and as an usher I'd need to be meeting and greeting soon enough.
Not that I'm in anyway doubting the eyesight of the top wedding snapper that my sister had hired, but when I arrived at the church he seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that I was actually wearing blue jeans as he frantically took pictures of me pacing about the place. It suddenly dawned on me that even if the trousers did arrive, in such a tiny old Saxon church there was nowhere handy I could get changed so I was really getting in a flap.
With the bridal car less than minutes away, finally a sheepish Dave screeches up and dashes over, gasping out his apologies for taking the wrong motorway exit. I grab the trousers, scramble out of the church yard desperately searching for inspiration. My only option, the final play is to duck down behind the driveway wall of the Vicarage and do a quick change. As I'm cowering in full boxer short transition mode, out pops Mrs Vicar on her way to sort out the flowers - Terry and June and all the finest of sitcom farcery - eat your heart out!!
Thankfully my sister did eventually see the funny side and happy to report that the rest of the day went without a hitch - well apart from it turning out to be a 3-piece quartet due to a last minute illness - but hey - flying by the seat of my pants - that's my motto!
Just to underline my unique incompetence in the wedding measurement stakes, a few years ago friends of ours had a wedding in a Scottish Castle on the outskirts of Edinburgh with Kilts required for all the male guests. We were told to take the knee measurements and send them off, and we'd then collect them from a place on the Royal Mile.
Alas, I entirely failed to consider the effects of bending when recording these, so when our custom measured Kilts arrived mine barely reached the knees. Worse still, after a full Haggis inclusive Wedding feast as my tummy went through its natural expansion processes, my proudly worn attire started to bear a remarkable resemblance to the kind of mini-skirt tartans more usually seen at a Bay City Rollers concert in the 70s! By the time I was twirling away to the traditional Scottish Dancing it was very much a case of Kayleigh it's too late to say I'm sorry!!
Lost and Found ============ Talking of Weddings, at our own Wedding in 1998 which mercifully (barring my knees up mother frown incident) went very well, one of the main themes of my speech was that in any relationship someone has to be the practical one - and I bet you can't guess who that is...
My wife has had to bail me out so many times when I've lost keys, phones, passes etc that she has almost developed it into an art form. One of my most memorable mishaps actually came on a routine trip to the skip one sunny afternoon back in early 2000. In my miniscule defence, it was at a time when I was suffering with panic attacks, so it did kind of exacerbate some of my more dramatic traits, but there is really no excusing this one.
There I was manfully hauling and hurling sack after sack of black bin linered finery and bits of old cupboard into the skip, hyper conscious of the big queues building up behind us. Then it a flash it dawned on me. Where are my car keys? Feverish fumblings into my pockets produced nothing - have I dropped them by the car - no... Gingerly I peered over the side of the skip below and there they were -in my agitated enthusiasm I'd managed to chuck them in with the first bag.
Instantly I went into melt-down mode - I turned to my good lady and mumbled my woes "I've d-ropped the keys" - as usual she wasn't yet able to comprehend my complete buffoonery so I cranked it up a notch in my bestest shoutiest wailing tone " THE KEYS ARE IN THE SKIP - WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO - PLEASE HELP ME - GET SOMEONE, PLEASE...!!!!"
She looked at me, calm as you like and simply said "What like you mean this bloke stood here" - In all my flappings I'd completely failed to spot one of the tip supervisors standing right next to me. In classic Northern man style, without the slightest flicker of acknowledgement, he jumped down, grabbed the keys and handed them to me with a curtly "There you go" and a big old wry smile right across his chops - I felt like jumping in that skip and hoping it'd swallow me up!!
My hapless heart will go on ====================
And so to the present day, surely the responsibilities of parenting will have helped put an end to my unenviable record of continual calamities. Well if you still have any doubts as to my special talents, here's my latest misadventure from a week or two back to put your mind at ease. As per usual our little man decided to wake around the 3am mark and so we took him into our bed. I had a bit of a heavy day in prospect, and with him restless and wriggly I decided the sensible thing to do would be to head to the spare room.
Wearily I got up, and thought I'd better bring my moby with me so that I could set the alarm ok. As nature was calling I nipped to the bathroom first, and flipped up the seat in preparation. Like some kind of Matrix manoeuvre as I tinkled away I suddenly spotted the lid was falling, rather than risk universal sprayage I made a grab for it with my free hand and then splash! Turns out that it wasn't entirely hands-free - I still had the mobile in it.....
I managed to rescue the SIM card but not much more, and after borrowing my wife's spare phone for a week or two my replacement finally arrived today - just hope they don't want me to send the original one back!!
I rest my case....
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