Ooooh Vicar!

Back by popular request - well bumping into The Waunch at The National Portrait Gallery yesterday and him saying "Do your blog again man. It kills that first five minutes at work every morning" - and full of the joys of January...well I just had a home-made banana smoothie in an effort to bring/ring the changes for a healthier more productive 2007.

It is actually a week of some sadness here at househusbandnot HQ, because one of my best friends is moving to Kenya for two years, leaving this Saturday. I have known him since the age of 12 and our first day at 'big school'. By chance we have also ended up living in the same street here in London, so we go way back and also see quite a lot of each other. So, he and his family will be missed, although it does give mrs househusbandnot and I am excuse to go and bum around Kenya some time later this year. But here's to Chaz and his family and a safe journey to Nairobi where they will be living for the next 24 months.

I had the most bizarre conversation with a vicar the other day about new year resolutions. He said his was to try and make what he did mean more, which I thought was odd for a man of the cloth. Actually, the fundamental was that I thought it was quite odd for a vicar to have new year resolutions at all. Aren't they supposed to be good all the time, and not be affected by the weaknesses us lesser mortals sucumb to? It's just a bit wrong. Like a group of nuns who once told a friend of mine that they were allowed to watch TV at the nunnery, but only when Boyz Own were on.

Predictably, I have a massive list of resolutions: less drinking, losing weight, more swimming, less dogging, more reading, more writing, more vigorous job hunting etc. etc. etc. Doing okay on them so far, although mrs househusbandnot did catch me stuffing half a salami into my gob just before bed time last night. I partly blame her, because bed time at the moment consists of her lying in bed laughing her face off at the Peter Kay biography while I plod through a brilliant - but quite depressing - novel about a man who wakes up to realise that he has nothing in common with anyone other that the mad woman in the vegetable section of his local supermarket. I am deeply envious of the giggling reader lying next to me. When she has finished a chapter, she sighs contentedly. My book has no chapters. It is just a long litany of self-analysis and self-realisation as a man comes to the end of his (pointless?) life. AND. AND, we have two copies of the Peter Kay book, so the whole bed time reading deal is becoming quite torturous. No wonder I needed salami sustenance.

I guess this week you workers proper are all back at your desks tucking back into your work and stuff. mrs househusbandnot did likewise yesterday. We had a good Xmas and New Year, which seemed to go on forever (in a good way), so I am kinda missing her this week, even if she is being a bit of a nazi about our dieting. Before the salami incident, I was informed that I was allowed two pickled onions OR half a glass of red wine to get me through the rest of our evening last night. 2007 could be a long long year.