Sven’s guide to…

Where to start, where to start? What a busy week I have had! Last week was one of those weeks where everything happens at once and before you know it you’re out every night and your monthly entertainment budget is gone by the weekend. But I shouldn’t complain: I’m sure that weeks like this are there to make up for the ones where nothing happens so when they close the book on my life I’ll net out at a nice average.

Monday then, started out with the best intentions for the week: took a packed lunch, spent £0 all day and went to the gym in the evening to do my new work-out programme. With the zeal of a convert I didn’t miss a single rep, used the full weights on everything and went to bed feeling energised and generally great; I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like a pensioner. All the muscles I had hurt, and it was a real effort to move anything so my day at the office was spent getting my arms used to being in the “typing position”, and trying not to breathe too hard. That night I spent a pleasant evening in a darkened room taking things easy: we went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at the cinema. For those of you who have not seen it yet, I recommend it. Although there are some schmaltzy bits and it goes somewhat off-piste towards the end, Johnny Depp is excellent and the humour is great: taking the piss out of little kids? What’s not to love?! (Also, permit me to mention the best birthday gift ever: I got Al a Magic Garden which I think is an inspired choice for a chap with an environmental science degree. Oh, wait and see what I have in store for you, Woodsy!!). So far then, so good.

Wednesday night and it started to go downhill. I was fooled into going on a date with this Canadian/Malaysian guy who has been pestering me for weeks; after mistakenly replying to a text from him I was then obliged to meet him, resulting in a total train-wreck of a date. I know that people often blame the other party if a date goes badly, but I would take responsibility if I thought I had been the dullard - as it is I think I’m quite good at first dates since those of you who you know me know I’ll talk to anyone about anything and don’t mind looking a pillock to boot.

Aaaaanyway, firstly, this guy had NOTHING to say for himself. He’s a chef and it turns out, has NO social life whatsoever (he says he works too hard, I say ‘whatever’). So no conversation about what he does for fun (though he likes “The Sims” on the PS2 - woo hoo, slow down fun boy!!) and he only really listens to Classical Music so after a few minutes discussing that he pretty much ran dry. Then he said to me “you look really really REALLY tired” (gee thanks), “or really drunk”! Well, I quickly pointed out that I was driving and only on coke but it didn’t stop there, oooooh no! After another 20 minutes of me blathering on about anything and everything (giving him ample time to ask any questions or make any kind of effort to talk at all - it wasn’t just me droning on) we finally reach a ‘pregnant pause’ and, after an awkward silence, he decides to tell me that “You’re really shy, find something to talk about”!!!!!! Well, the night ended pretty promptly after that and he’s going to Canada for six weeks after that and I hoped that my curt ending of the evening would be enough of a signal but no, it was not to be. The next day I got a text telling me that “I had a really good time last night; we should do it again.” Not likely, pal! What date was he on? If you’re at home alone at 10.15 after a date, I think you can safely say it’s been a wash-out. Suffice to say I did not respond.

Thursday day I spent at work, by this time all my good intentions from Monday had evaporated and I was buying my lunch every day and browsing in Waterstones (which is code for buying books and CDs). At five to five I got the e-mail I had waited for all day, declaring that yes, we would indeed be meeting in town for drinks with Greg, an old friend currently residing in Australia, and to be ready for eight. I planned a nice quiet evenings drinking before trotting home early-ish and being in bed at a reasonable hour: we actually clung on till after closing time and I was on the San Miguel so I was a little the worse for wear by the end of it. Still, much fun was had by all till the ravages of something I ate took hold in the middle of the night and kept me up for the rest of it through the medium of uncontrollable bowel movements, most of which struck just after I had climbed back into bed. Delightful! By the time Friday morning arrived I was sick as a dog and twice as tired, forcing me to take the day off and lie at home with my Qantas blindfold on (lifesaver, Kara - it’s been SO useful) trying to make up for the lack of sleep from the night before. Why is it that diarrhoea always comes at night and is gone by mid-morning so all you feel is tired and hungry?

Still, not to be put off, I was in attendance at Al’s birthday drinks which were thoroughly enjoyable, and spent a pleasant Saturday doing Su Doku and the crossword and generally not much else. I went to take the kite out but as soon as I did the wind dropped so I ended up spending a few hours at Kara’s watching Friends on DVD instead; time well spent if you ask me. Saturday evening’s fun was another night out in Bath with Greg and David, joined this time by Bonny and Nadine, both of whom I have not seen for AGES! I love catching up with old friends and what I had planned as a quiet and early night turned out to be a “stay out till everything shuts” night again. It was worth every minute though and there are photos to follow once Greg e-mails them to me (though I will look (a) tired and (b) pale in all of them: you have been warned).

So, as smashing as this all sounds, there is always a price to pay, and here it comes: firstly, on Saturday night I met a guy who had a spare ticket to the Red Bull Air Race (after we failed to get any for ourselves) and said I could come along. I was so excited as I thought that would be a great story to tell - “Day out with strangers at air event” - but I said I would have to give it a miss as I was planning on sailing with Al and looking forward to it very much. When Sunday morning finally showed it’s face after such a busy week though, I was so run down I had to give the sailing a miss too and lie in bed till 4pm recovering. I was crushed: had I stuck to my plan I could have been out on the sea in the beautiful sunshine having a whale of a time, or watching the death-defying aeronautics of stunt-pilots racing it out over Longleat with a bunch of (not unattractive) strangers. As it was, my inability to say ‘no’ left me at home with a dicky tummy watching Star Trek movies on DVD in my room, before turning in at a child’s bedtime in order to be fit for the office on Monday. A lesson learned the hard way: stick to the plan - the original ending is usually the best.