It’s 7:20 am. I couldn’t sleep and have been awake since 5:43 am. So, I have just come down to the kitchen and turned the espresso machine on. I bought it myself and I it’s the only thing with a plug in our kitchen that I truly know how to operate…….and truly love. I also bought one of those ludicrously big leather massage chairs. It’s a chair that massages you. I’m thinking of buying a hot tub next. There are a lot of things in my life that aren’t quite ’70s-porn enough and I’ve seen the way the neighbors look at me.

They’d definitely like to see more of my arse.
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This is the headline I woke up to this morning

Government to offer £5,000 to boost green cars

UK motorists are to be offered subsidies of up to £5,000 to purchase hybrid and electric cars under government plans to be unveiled today, as new figures suggest that scrappage incentive schemes are reversing the slump in car sales across Europe.
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Let’s start the day off with some food shall we. When I was on the Carnival Splendor recently I came across fast-moving line of lunchtime diners on the Lido deck. Behind the counter, I saw crew assemble burritos piling freshly made flat-bread tortillas with various fillings………made to order. Now, I will be honest here and say I have never been a big fan of Mexican food. No offense to Mexicans, but I can’t help feeling that theirs is a bit of a one-note cuisine. Varying degrees of chili heat; choice of chicken or beef; beans or refried beans. No need to waste time asking what’s for lunch or dinner, because the answer is always “tacos!”
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And suddenly………..there she was. Just sitting there……..looking at me………wanting me as much as I wanted her. I knew it was wrong but I had wanted nothing more than to be inside her ……to feel her soft skin and to experience her power and her glorious thrust. Yep………..she was an Aston Martin DBS …………..and she was parked right opposite me this morning…………and I dribbled all over my clean shirt. People have asked me what it is about this car that drives me crazy.

Well…………When looking for the perfect woman, men often say they would ideally have Pamela Anderson in the bedroom and Rachel Ray in the kitchen (she is huge over here in the UK by the way). When it comes to cars, we want one that’s comfortable for the freeway, and exciting for those long and empty roads. The Aston Martin DBS is, quite frankly, a gourmet slut – Rachael Ray with the moral compass of Pamela Andersen.
I got to drive an Aston Martin DB convertible just once. It was a beautiful day in the UK and for a while I even felt like Vincent Chase, the lead character in Entourage.
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Let’s start with the great news that the brilliant US Navy sent Long John Somali Slimeball and three of his fellow pirates to Davey Jones’ Locker and rescued Captain Richard Philips. Maybe now these retched pirates will get the message that people who work at sea are protected and that any one who is a pirate and isn’t Johnny Depp ….. will be getting a visit from a bunch of SEALS.

However…….Somalia is a broken country, awash with hunger, poverty and guns. Piracy is one of the few things that works. So while yesterday’s dramatic rescue is a victory for the world’s navies, it is likely to prove only a small setback for the thugs who think they rule the waves.
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Last night I went to see my local football team Southend United play a football match against a team called the MK Dons. I didn’t really want to go but in a moment of weakness I had told my mate Alan who loves nothing more than to watch 22 men running around a field in tight shorts that I would go with him. Now the problem was that the football stadium is about an hour from where I live……oh by the way……..when I say stadium it’s…. ummmm………..well………lets just say its like comparing the size of an NCL cabin to Texas.

So, as the pregnant Heidi didn’t want to stand in the freezing cold and watch some overpaid lads kick some pigskin around a field she decided to stay home. Living out in the countryside as we do I didn’t want to leave her without a car so I decided to take a taxi there and have Alan bring me back. So, I called the local Dumnow taxi service and booked a cab. So at 6 pm I was ready with my blue and white football scarf and right on time the cab pulled up. Now, when I say pulled up I should say screeched up. We have a lot of gravel on our drive or I should say we did have a lot of gravel on our drive because the driver had spread most of it across the county of Essex.
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You know, as I sit here in my underpants writing today’s blog I can’t but think my life would be a lot easier if I could just be an Italian. For example; as an Englishman, my tax return (which is due this month) is an annual trauma because I’ve been meticulous and honest with my finances and I believe in playing it straight. But if I were Italian I could dismiss the whole thing with a shrug and a “I owea youa orgatz” because all the money would be in used notes under Mama’s bed.

You think I’m making this up? Just before Italy switched to the euro there was a huge surge in domestic car sales, all because people needed a way to dispose of all their undeclared lira.

My experiences of the brilliant Italian shipbuilding industry are similar. The working day begins with a cappuccino, followed by some cannolis, then an argument and an espresso and then it’s lunchtime. Lunch is enormous, lasts for two hours, probably involves some grappa and is followed by a nap, by which time we can start thinking about going home.

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Unlike my good friend and blog guru Stephanie Leavitt I am not devoted to technology.

Yes, I know I am constantly in the head bowed position praying into my raspberry. However as far as my mobile phone is concerned I am not someone who enjoys using it which is why I don’t necessarily answer mine, especially if I can’t see who the caller is.
Having the day constantly interrupted by various people, none of whom has anything urgent to communicate, is a sort of madness: you can’t relax because you’re liable to be phoned at any time – halfway through lunch, while watching the basketball or bang in the middle of rumpy pumpy time.
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Last night I went to dinner with Heidi and some friends………..we seem to have been out every night since I have been home and when I mentioned this to Heidi she told me “we have to have a social life now because after the Thingy’s born our lives are over.” …… Well, she didn’t quite say that but you get my drift. Anyway, we went to meet some friends and before I talk about the meal I want to talk about the scenery.

Opposite the restaurant was a nightclub and outside that was a lengthy queue …………… sorry…………….line……..of people who, despite the chill in the air, appeared to be as-near-as-makes-no-difference naked.
It seemed odd lining up to get into a nightclub at 11pm when, obviously, it was full. And it was going to stay full, surely. Nobody leaves a nightclub at 11 pm.
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One of the most common things that people have said to me these past few weeks is “I hope you aren’t leaving Heidi and the Thingy at home and going back to work on a ship.” Every man should be home at 7pm to see his wife and thingy.

For the first few days this really got to me and I had begun to second guess myself on some choices we had already made. But then, I started to resent what these people were saying. I guess I am old fashioned and that’s why I don’t understand………I am not saying a wife should be at home taking care of the house, cooking, cleaning and feeding the Thingy, etc. while the man goes off to work to support them …………. well ………. actually…………hold on a moment ……………that’s exactly what I am saying.
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