It’s often been said of my blog, and that which came before this, that I write honestly. I talk about my depression, my recent divorce, the ups and downs of being a parent and a SAHD, and many have praised this open approach.
It is with this in my mind that I continue to be honest with you all, my dear reader, and feel that there are some things I ought to confess about myself. Starting with this.
I have a Slanket.
I’m a man and I’m 40 and I have a Slanket and I’m recently divorced
While the divorce and the Slanket owning are not connected, this admission of owning a Slanket is pretty much going to guarantee me no sex, ever, until the rest of time. Or perhaps even less sex than that, for longer than that. However, no matter, for I doth love my Slanket. It’s warm, cosy and I sometimes drape it over my shoulders like a robe. Then I can pretend to be an emperor. A bloody nice emperor who’s given all his staff a day off and is totes prepared to make his own tea and toast.
My kids love my Slanket too. It’s big enough for us all to hide underneath, and my son used to use it to make tents with. Look, here are some pictures.
But I’ve found there are some who think Slankets are shite and should be banned, like those Croc shoes and X Factor. In fact, perhaps those pictures above are not my children looking cute with my slanket, but my son laughing in my face for owning one, and my daughter looking at me from with ‘Dad. You own a fucking slanket in her eyes, embarrassment written all over her face.
But I like mine. It’s a warm fleecy ting. The only problem I have is with the name. Dunno why they don’t market some slankets for blokes, and call them “Mankets” – then they’ll fly off the shelve like shit off a shovel. Stick Beckham under a Manket, with the “Best a man can get” tune in the background, while Brian Blesseddoes the voiceover saying how cool yet cosy they are and as you’ll use less household energy they are also good for the environment too. Fuck me, this idea just shits money.
And so there are few things I like more than settling down, under my slanket, to watch an episode of Downton Abbey.
Oh. There’s another one. Another confession which lays my soul bare to yo all. I bloody love Downton Abbey. If I was inclined to do so, I’d open a Chinese takeaway called Wonton Abbey, which does a special offer on Sunday nights for likeminded souls with themed dishes. “Carsons Spicy Sticky Ribs”. “Lady Edith’s Special Rice”. “Prawn Downton”. “Mr Pamook’s Pork in Special Sauce”.
Ohh, you know what? Since I’ve admitted to the slanket and Downton Abbey thing, here are a few more things about me which some other people might cringe at, gasp at, think ‘oh you sad bastard’ and decrease my appeal to the opposite sex even further.
I own a singalong DVD of The Sound of Music. I have watched it lots of times and always cry at Edelweiss.
I have a soft spot for the song Clouds Across The Moon by The Rah Band. Never heard of it? Here you go, if you want to take a look.
I hate the Compare The Market adverts. Fuck off you irritating meerkat cunt. Simples.
In fact I hate all price comparison adverts, most TV in general, apart from Downton obvs nobs, and I don’t own a TV. I watch stuff on catch-up, when I can. Which, in the case of Downton Abbey will be as soon as it comes online.
I really do like Downton Abbey. Oh, I’ve mentioned that one haven’t I? Moving on.
I’ve never eaten a pot noodle, but I have one in the cupboard and will vlog me losing my pot noodle cherry. Although I’ve been told I must eat it from the pot, Putting it in a bowl renders the experience null and void.
I’ve never seen Grease, Dirty Dancing or Ghost. But I have seen both Sex and The City movies, for some reason, and I hate myself for this.
I say “shizzle” and “ting” a lot in real life and not just on Twitter or on my blog. I should stop this as I’m getting on a bit. I once used the word shizzle at a messy church play session when talking to one of the helpers who looked at me in a state of utter shock. “Oh, you thought I said shit didn’t you?” I said. “No. I didn’t say shit, it was SHIZZLE” I explained, immediately making matters much worse.
I sometimes run a bath, sit in it and put the shower on. I then pretend I’m in a submarine that’s been hit by a torpedo. Try it. It’s fun.
When I got run over by a car when I was younger, I WAS wearing my most embarrassing underwear. A pair of orange pants with racing cars all over them and GRAND PRIX written across the front.
I’ll stop this now. If you’ve got anything slightly embarrassing to admit then please do so. Or, simply, let me know what you think about the above or your views on Slankets/Mankets or blankets in general.
Thanks for reading.