I don’t know what’s worse – seeing how much she spent when I check the bank balance tomorrow, or what I am currently enduring which is a detailed exhibition of EVERY SINGLE **** THING SHE BOUGHT.

😆

Hmm. At least you didn’t have to go with her!

I once spent a whole day dragging my very hungover wife round every shop in Glasgow as it was the one day we had to do Xmas shopping. It took till 4.30 before she could make any meaningful contribution to the process.

She is now banned from drinking Port.

At least she went herself. Any time I’m in a shop at the same time as Mrs IRC I get pelters for looking bored and not being enthusiastic enough about whichever garment she is looking at.

The damage to the bank balance is the lesser evil.

a detailed exhibition of EVERY SINGLE **** THING SHE BOUGHT.

Things might get better if she went to 213 Ingram St.

There’s still hope for you!

This was an overnighter with her friend and our daughter. I think part of the irritation is the sudden removal of the peace and quiet I have enjoyed.

I assume that’s a knickers and bras shop CFH, in which case I’d say the odds are low 🙁

Oh dear. In that case, may I recommend that sir finds the drinks cabinet. A decent slug of your preferred tipple, repeated at regular intervals, should sort it out.

I think it is finally finished. She has got the hump because I am ‘not engaging’ with the fascinating demonstration of which hideous garment belongs to which toddler relative. I explained that ‘I don’t really have anything to say’, which evidently was an unsatisfactory response. She has now gone out for a run 😕

Should have gone with her, I love a wee day shopping in Glasgow at Christmas, as long as there is a nice lunch and the odd beer or two along the way. Magic.

I think part of the irritation is the sudden removal of the peace and quiet I have enjoyed.

Mine went to her sisters this morning, back tomorrow. It’s heaven. Relaxed, eat when I want, dont have to talk, got the settee to myself, started to read a book I’ve had for ages.
But, in her mind, I’m drinking and looking at naked ladies on the web all day, then down the local to see if I can pull a woman!
The reality is a walk down to the shops to get crisps/sweets/cake and burger for tea, and a early bed time, with undisturbed sleep.
Heaven.
The single life does have its upsides.

Things might get better if she went to 213 Ingram St.

There’s still hope for you!

I don’t think they stock anything in his size

I don’t mind squeezing in to a tighter number.

‘I don’t really have anything to say

A strange phenomenon indeed.

Mrs Q telling me something about the houses in the village and which ones were rented out over Christmas. I didn’t respond, she got all stroppy about why I wasn’t interested – It’s me that signs off which ones can be rented out, I am sure she knows what my job is.

<rsQ is telling me an anecdote about something or other relating to the upcoming holidays, I don’t really have anything to say to this, it doesn’t feel that it requires a response other than a grunt of some sort acknowledging that I have listened – oh no, a strop again, because I haven’t engaged in the dialogue.

Mrs Q is asking me a question, I’m 99.999999999% sure it is rhetorical, I am sure it is, everything about this questions says rhetorical, I’m going to risk it and not answer anything. Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo it was meant to have some sort of response. here we go again.

Quite. You can’t just demand a chap start talking if he doesn’t have anything to say. Sometimes it’s just out of the blue…’talk to me then’…’er, what do you want to talk about?’…’anything, just talk to me’. I find ‘who do you think will win the rugby World Cup?’ or ‘do you think red bull will quit f1?’ soon nips that in the bud.

Dont know what I have done to deserve this,my wife suggested that I go out on my bike today and meet her in Glasgow later for drinks and dinner. Cathkin here I come

Sorry my friend she has bought something horrifically expensive, for herself, for Xmas. Enjoy the ride.

Thegreatape, you got off lightly, trust me. How about a shopping trip with MrsT and daughters? Losing the will to live standing outside the changing room in Jack Wilks where they’ll sell any old tat as long as it has pink and blue stripes. Standing like a spare part, holding MrsT’s handbag with a mildly outstretched arm in an “it’s obviously not my handbag” kind of way. Then off to John Lewis perfume dept to have perfume squirted on me when they’ve run out of wrists (you have to squirt it on the wrists, didn’t you know, but you can’t sniff it straight away – you have to waft your arm in the air in a figure of eight fashion for several minutes before passing it under everyone elses nose for judgement. Perfume “smells different on different people” didn’t you know? I apparently suit Mark Jacobs floral notes, which is no proud boast, trust me). Then back to Jack Wilks, where it’s even more busy than it was earlier to see what a £50 t shirt looks like and stand in a queue the length of the store watching frenzied WAGs rifle through pink & blue coloured baubles, diaries, creams and lotions (which the shopkeepers can’t replenish fast enough) with the occasional bloke with far too much interest in his appearance, dolled up and preening his hair in the mirror in a way that shouldn’t come naturally to people with testiculos. They’re off to Hotel Chocolate while muggins stands like a loser in the Jack Wilks queue for the till. Next stop Holister where they must have ecological considerations, because despite the air being thick with wheeze inducing cheap perfume, the lights and air conditioning are switched off, so you have to squint and choke your way in the dark through a series of clothes designed to fit only people weighing less than six stone. Next up, Superdry. Now I’ll admit to a passing interest here because MrsT junior mentioned that they sell wooly hats. But do they have a wooly hat dept? Oh no. The hats are sprinkled throughout the store with no logical layout and most of the woolly ones have a “bobble” (I kid you not) on top that shouts “how stupid am I to wear a hat with a bobble and pay £50 for it”? Do they have a T shirt dept? No. They scatter them randomly in piles amongst other garments. So you have to wander through narrow aisles (not easy when you’re carrying 20 bags and therefore 4ft wide trying to squeeze down 1ft aisles, mouthing the words “I am a loser” to passers by). So, thegreatape, I’d say you have it pretty dandy-o. You could be stood at the till, smelling of Marc Jacob’s “Apricot nuance” whilst balancing 29 bags with a combined weight of 3cwt, trying to extract a credit card in meltdown from your wallet whilst Mrsgreatape and Mrsgreatape junior stand outside munching £5 chocolate fancies while pondering the merits of £90 Jack Wilks jogging pants in blackberry peuce, or shoud it be the navy?

Should have gone with her, I love a wee day shopping in Glasgow at Christmas, as long as there is a nice lunch and the odd beer or two along the way. Magic.

Exactly. Our shopping trips to Newcastle involve pretty much that, the Mrs goes around the shops and I go to the bars for drinks and food.

Actually, it’s Jack Wills not Jack Wilks. Jack Wilks was a friend of my grandfather and nothing to do with a pink & blue merchandiser.

I can’t even be bothered to read that Tinners.

Tinners you have my sincere condolence, that does indeed put my grievance into perspective.

A few years back, I had a tantrum similar to a 3 year old in Primark, on either boxing day or the day after, when Mrs Q decided to return an item. I didn’t inquire with her initially as to what the item was, I just stood there with her, and stood there, and stood there, and stood there, and stood there, and stood there, and stood there and, you get the idea, at some point, a good 30 minutes or maybe 3 minutes into the torture, I asked what we were returning, a 3 quid top, 3 quid!!!!!!, she wanted to take it back, money was tighter then, but my sanity was worth 3 quid, would she back down, no. I lost it, just a little, but enough to get people looking at me, and for Mrs Q to start raising her voice at me. I had to skuttle off and hide outside.

I can’t even be bothered to read that Tinners.

Your loss, it’s glorious.

“do you have any riding to do on saturday?”

“i could do”

“great, you don’t mind if i go shopping then?”

happens all the time, not that I’m smug or owt

I can’t even be bothered to read that Tinners.

Your loss, it’s glorious.

I mean if Tinners has has a day of infinite tedium the least we can do is ignore him describing it. It seems fitting somehow.

youse lot should’ve married someone you like. then you wouldn’t have to whinge so much 🙂

Despite the various technical failings – random capitals and swearing etc – I think the sheer despair in tinners post could make it a late contender for rant of the year.

I mean if Tinners has has a day of infinite tedium the least we can do is ignore him describing it. It seems fitting somehow

The ultimate in ‘why are you even here?’. I like it.

I think the lack of random capitals and unnecessary swearing only adds to the sense of despair tinged with melancholy. Bravo Tinners, bravo.

Too despondent to even summon any indignation.

I can’t even be bothered to read that Tinners.
Your loss, it’s glorious.

+1 Rant of the year?

It’s not really a rant, more of a journey into despair and hopelessness that’ll give me nightmares for years to come!

Despite the various technical failings – random capitals and swearing etc – I think the sheer despair in tinners post could make it a late contender for rant of the year.

+1

Funnily enough I bought my wife’s Christmas present at the weekend – the “in-thing” to have this Christmas – Corduroy Pillows … they’re making headlines everywhere.

Corduroy Pillows

Great idea. Remind every middle-aged woman what it was like having to put their had on their dirty uncle’s lap!