A hard day's work

Yesterday the long-dreaded shopping trip actually took place, and it was every bit as much fun as I knew it would be. The whole thing wasn’t helped by Grendel (AKA Miss Kitty-Poo-Cat) having the same kind of time on Friday night as I’d had all Thursday. She was feeling very sorry for herself, so we let her through to the bedroom with us all night, nice, but daft parents that we are. This meant getting up to clean up frothy-white cat sick every hour on the half hour, mostly while She Who Must snored it up. And as you may or may not know (depending on how long you’ve been lurking here), I have a real difficulty getting to sleep, back to sleep, or staying asleep at the best of time. Trapped with a retching cat, it was pretty much impossible. So it was with bleary eyes and a heavy heart I set out round the Aberdeen shops with Fiona, looking for clothes that would make me look less like a tramp on a bad day and more like someone who’s actually written a book. After all, I wouldn’t want to turn up at a signing and be asked to move along as I’m making the place look untidy.

So we have purchased: fingertip-length black leather jacket – one, pair of black Levis – one, sock – none, pants – none, clunky huge black boot things - two… Hunting for a shirt that doesn’t look like shite with buttons was pretty much impossible. Everything in the shops at the moment is either ugly as hell, or uglier. Candy-stripe monstrosities in pink and brown, or nasty patterns and oh bugger off with the crappy shirts! Whatever happened to simple, plain coloured shirts?

Back at casa MacBride we then proceeded to play ‘dress up Stuart’, only to discover that I’ve inadvertently bought a David Hasselhoff look-alike outfit. OK, so I look like a younger, prettier, bearded David Hasselhoff (and no curly-wurly perm), but David Hasselhoff nonetheless. Hopefully I’ll be able to get away with saying I’m dressing ‘ironically’. So for God’s sake don’t tell anyone!

David Hasselhoff: Saint, or Sinner?