Calling all grumpy bastards ...I need a theroy?

WHEN IS GRUMPY GOOD?-CALLING ALL GRUMPY BASTARDS

Following some feedback from my last postings of rubbish on “bloody face book” and my “view from the edge blog” it’s been pointed out I am a Grumpy old man –good.

I like being grumpy, here is my theory….

Have the red hot curry, enjoy it, and enjoy being grumpy in the morning when your ring piece looks like a Japanese flag and stings like deep heat rubbed in an open wound.

It’s like shouting at the telly- some smart arse will always point out there is an “off button” or “don’t watch it if you don’t like it”-I like watching it. It makes me grumpy when I shout at the silly twats that that expose their “real lives”- slack jawed bum fluffed afternoon TV watchers, whinging about now they are charged for renting the spare room in their benefit paid London penthouse to Romanian hookers, and now they can only afford to feed the 4X4 kids (i.e. 4 kids 4 different fathers) Findus low grade crispy horsemeat pancakes (compared to Iceland pizzas)

So back to the point –sort of! When is grumpy good?

It was pointed out to me wouldn’t it be easier to take a 50mpg Golf on our forthcoming “Euro-shed tour”? Well that would be like having the mild curry or reaching for the off button…what’s the bloody point?

So hopefully this time next week Team Shed will be at the top of Stelvio pass in a 37 year old car – one that has spent the last 18 years slowly decaying in a shed, one that has taken a lot of Grumpiness to get almost ready, I’ve placed my order for the chefs special Madras and have no intention of backing out now.

(And if that grumpiness leads to raisingsome funds for Cancer Research, good that makes me grumpier Sponsor TEAM SHEDHERE!)

So the “Spanish bombs” holiday is drawing to a close, I am going to miss the “siesta” time, sangria and red wine fueled  card schools – all though the cards in the evening did worry me as” Uncle Bazza” pointed out  its only one step away from a caravanning holiday.

The 8 year old has honed his breast stroke in the hours spent in the pool and developed a very competitive streak playing the “grownups” at “Gin Rummy” which the six year old pronounces as “Gin Mummy?”

I’ve collected all the stick on tattoos given free in the local crisps packets  and plastered them randomly over my chest, arms and back trying to spell out the names of members of girl bands and birthdays in incorrect roman numerals so I blend in with the crowd permanently located at the pool side bar.

I’ve survived two weeks without a shed, enjoyed it and believe it or not am looking forward to getting back to bashing the house and finishing the first floor –with the exception of sodingbastardskirting boards