Those of you that have been paying attention will be aware that it’s that time of year when I celebrate surviving to another year older… (and to those of you that might be new here – its my birthday soon)

Given the fact that I have to work for a living (Like you, I’m still playing the lottery in the vane hope) and given the fact I have a loving family in the shape of Mrs G, Daughter and Son and given the fact that I manage to maintain a social life in the form of the Wednesday/Thursday club – This particular Thursday, left me in a bit of a quandary.

Having spent the last two days “up that London” due to employment responsibilities, my initial thoughts on what to do when getting off a late train on a Thursday night revolved around having a quiet night in with Mrs G. The members of the WTC of course had other ideas and as such this is where I found myself sat squarely on the horns of a dilemma.

At this point I need to mention, one of the reasons I’m very happily married to Mrs G is her un-erring level of understanding when it comes to having a social life alongside a family life.

Having explained to her how the WTC had arranged a birthday drink with an excellent attendance, on an evening when I really should just be going home and putting my feet up, she was completely accepting of collecting me from the station and depositing me at a local hostilely so that I could have the urine royally extracted to the delight of all those present. This fact alone, is the definition of true love.

While, to most people, ritual abuse from your peers may seem like an ugly and unfortunate way to spend an evening, to me (and in fact to the other members of the WTC) there really is no greater form of flattery and thus acceptance, to be had. Furthermore, after a couple of days of slogging at the grindstone, I can’t recommend such frivolity highly enough.

In all honesty, I can’t put into words how thankful I am to be associated with such a bunch of gits who treat each other with such admiration tinged with contempt and with the levels of disrespect that we each deserve.

I thank them all – firstly Mrs G, for her selfless understanding and then the buffoons that are my “so-called” mates for making all the other bits of life, that much more bearable.

Given the conundrum as was voiced by one of our number this evening “would you rather continue as you are or be given £10million and never see any of these reprobates ever again” of course I would gladly take the 10 mill’ – but then I’d be lying and worse still, I’d have to try and find another bunch of reprobates that Mrs G and family would be equally a accepting of….

£10m can buy a lot of stuff (as my guessing skills often prove) but a life like the one I’m blessed with? No hope.

As the advert says – Priceless.

Take care
G


This post originally appeared here: Posterous
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