Not a goatee

I thought I would toy with growing a goatee. Not because I have any real urge for facial hair but as I hadn't shaved the day before (I know, declining standards, we'll not be dressing for dinner next), and wanting to see the disapproval on Mrs Alf's face I decided to give it a try.

Well, let's just say it took Mrs Alf a couple of hours before she even noticed. Remarkably, she would tolerate a full beard but not the goatee. Deep down, I know I'm not going to compete with Goaty Steve; I neither look like David Baddiel nor play the guitar. It was never going to look cool.

Whilst I was goatee-enabled I ensured that the kitchen/bathroom/utility waste water drain, which was showing signs of blockage, was now fully inoperative. It's an open drain being an older property and must have some sort of bizarre U-bend where all the gunk has lodged. After an increasingly smelly and futile hour of probing and rodding (please, no puns) I had to admit defeat. So the washing machine, dishwasher and bath are all on hold until a Polish plumber arrives later this afternoon.

Korfballman managed to cheer me up. It seems like his weekends are a lot more wild than mine. Which I know isn't difficult:

"I got completely rat-@rsed on Saturday night, at a home-brew fest for our korfball club. On my way home, during my usual kebab run (which was taking a bit longer than usual due to me being physically unable to ride my bike), I decided, quite understandably, to sleep a bit of it off under a tree at the side of the road.

At 2am I was woken by a paramedic. He asked me if I was ok, etc., and after a short conversation offered me a lift home. He stuck my bike in the back of the ambulance, and drove me back! Result! No kebab, though. I asked if they'd stop, but apparently it was too late for any of the vans to be open."