Stylish Discordant Hero

I was in the depths somewhat this morning. I’m trying to climb out. I have forced myself to do stuff. There was the daddy stuff and the domestic stuff. Now it’s evening and time for daft stuff.

I wanted to write a blog post that would balance up this morning’s darkness. I’ve decided to give you an insight into a different side of me. The sexy, stylish side. Brace yourself, readers, for a glimpse… just a teasing peek… of the Viper in the flesh.

(I should probably point out that I am both paranoid and filled with self-disgust, so I won’t show my face. Part of me fears that you’ll find me too beautiful and want to track me down so you can shower me with kisses. Part of me fears you will vomit the way I want to when I see myself. I’m a delightful paradox, ain’t I?)

Let’s begin with my watch. My watch means a lot to me because it belonged to my father. He died sixteen years ago and I miss him. He had this watch in his twenties and all through his life. It passed to me in my twenties and I hope to wear it all through my life. It’s an Omega Automatic Seamaster, according to the words on it. It winds itself! Clever eh? Notice my bristly wrists.


Control yourselves, readers, there’s more to come.

Next let’s look at my snuggly jumper. It was knitted by my dad’s mother. She’s dead too. I’ve realized that it might seem that I’m only interested in the gifts of dead relatives. I have items that come from the living too, you know. Just be patient, you eager creatures. Look at my jumper. Take a long look. That’s it. Imagine that. Unless you have a wool allergy, then don’t. The rabbit on my knee isn’t really there, you’re hallucinating.


Mmm. So warm, so cosy, so hygge. I want to point out that I’m not as chubby as the jumper makes me look. The fact I need to say that tells you just how much I struggle with body image. Why do I care about my physique? Why do I delude myself that you would care? I blame the media. Or possibly Trump. I blame someone.

I think next I’ll treat you to an orifice. My ear to be precise. This is my right ear. It is not my favourite ear and it knows that. It is slightly pointed, unlike it’s brother, left ear. Left ear is classically beautiful. I have shown righty because I want to be more body positive. Note my greying curly hair. It is wild and untamed, just like me. Grrr. I know. I’m like Heathcliff.


Do you want to see my badger cushion? That’s not a euphemism. It’s a cushion with a badger on it. Note my delicate surgeon’s hands. I may be a hulking brute, but I have the dainty hands of sophisticated villain. Imagine my hands as they hold a Faberge Egg while I say, “Ensure that our guests are made… comfortable.”


I think that it’s time for my ‘sac magique’ or ‘man bag’. I got this faux-vintage leather satchel to cart my knackered lap top around. I also use it to store necessities such as beard balm, Brylcreem and pants (only for overnight stays, mind you. I don’t carry these things habitually). I’m pretentious, but I love it.


Do you want to see my pipe, you naughty thing? Of course you do. It doesn’t get much action, but I’m very fond of it.


I’ve mentioned in the blog before that I like tea. It’s true, it’s not just a lie I tell to make friends. Here’s my favourite tea pot and my favourite mug. It’s called ‘fish mug’. Can you guess why?


Now for a little something to tease the shoe fetishists amongst my readership. I know you’re out there. Have my work boots. They’re a bit grubby, just like me. They cost twenty quid from Aldi. Totally worth it. Before you ask, yes… I DO have big feet. Eleven or twelve, dependent on the fit of the footwear.


Finally, I’ll give you a little glimpse of my personal grooming kit. This was a gift from a dear friend. He got it from a jumble sale, bless him. It makes me feel fancy.


Did you like that? I think you did.

You didn’t? Fine. FINE. No more pictures for YOU. I was going to show you my aprons, but no… you’ve blown it.

Take care, dear ones.


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