Diary of a Grumpy Old Git Read online

  I need to go to the barber’s, but I can’t face it. I’d honestly rather go to the dentist during an anaesthetic shortage. Last time I tried to get my hair cut, I didn’t get any further than the moody black and white shots of male models in the window. Why are those preening himbos supposed to entice us in? And why do they always look so deep in concentration? Are they trying to count higher than ten?

  If I were a barber, I’d have no photos at all in the window. Just a sign that says, ‘We’ll give you exactly the same hairstyle as you’ve got now, only a couple of inches shorter, and you won’t have to describe what you want in any way. We won’t even ask where you’re going on holiday this year.’

  I suppose I should be grateful. Most men my age find themselves pulling clumps out of their bath plugholes as their hairlines retreat backwards. But at least they don’t have to go to the barber’s.

  No news on the brochure front yet. I keep expecting Trevor to call me into an emergency meeting where he’ll steal my lunch money and give me a wedgie, but I haven’t heard anything at all. Maybe he’s had his little revenge now, and I’ll never have to see him again.

  FRIDAY 1ST MARCH

  I snotted out my latte in surprise this morning. Even though she was sitting just a few feet away from me, Jo emailed to ask if I wanted to come for a drink. I said I’d be glad to, and asked what the secrecy was for. I was hoping she’d say she wanted some time alone with me, but no such luck. She was simply inviting everyone by email because she didn’t want Jen to come.

  I looked over at Jen, who was flicking through a woman’s magazine and repeating the words ‘That is so true’ to herself. I told Jo I thought it was a good idea.

  I have to admit I was getting my hopes up that everyone else would leave early, and I could finally ask Jo about the Valentine’s Day card.

  Then just before five, my phone went off. Like an idiot, I answered it.

  ‘Hi, it’s Trevor. I’ve just got a few comments on the brochure copy.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Can I give you a call back?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t give me call back, Chalky Balls. Remember what I said? Do what I say, or the account’s walking and several tons of shit are going to fall on your head. Now, my first change is to page one, paragraph one, sentence one, word one…’

  Jo was getting her bag ready. I put my hand over the receiver and said, ‘I’ll see you down there.’

  Jen’s head popped up from her desk. ‘Oh, are we going out for a drink? Cool bananas.’

  Jo tutted and shook her head.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whispered.

  I eventually finished the call at quarter past ten. Trevor had carefully gone through every word and explained why it was wrong and also why every other word would also be wrong. Then he told me he expected to see a revised version first thing on Monday.

  Everyone had gone from the pub by the time I’d arrived there, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like I could have got drunk anyway. I’ve got to be up at seven tomorrow to work on the brochure.

  SATURDAY 2ND MARCH

  The Great Escape is on TV today. There’s a sale at the local garden centre. And an old friend is in town and wants to know if I can meet up for a pint. But none of this is relevant to me because I’ve got to write this stupid brochure all weekend. Is this how it’s going to be now? Seven-day weeks with early mornings and late nights? Perhaps I should stop dividing time into weeks at all and get on with the mind-numbing, soul-destroying work that will fill all my time between now and death.

  SUNDAY 3RD MARCH

  Even sleep isn’t a respite any more. I had a dream about bins last night. It wasn’t even an interesting one. I was just walking through a yard full of bins and ticking a clipboard. I wonder if Josh will let me put the dream down on the time-logging website.

  I thought it was Monday when I woke up. Then I realized it was actually Sunday and for a couple of brief seconds my spirits lifted. But then I remembered it was a Sunday I’d have to spend working and my spirits plunged right back down again.

  Today was obviously determined to be utterly horrendous, so I admitted defeat right away and got on with the brochure. At lunchtime I cooked macaroni cheese and watched the shopping channel, as I knew that if I tried to do anything remotely pleasant, today would find a way to ruin it for me.

  MONDAY 4TH MARCH

  I sent my brochure copy to Trevor this morning. A minute later I got a reply which read, ‘This is great. Thanks.’ Another minute later I got an email which read, ‘Actually, this is all wrong. I’ll arrange a meeting soon to discuss.’

  At least this is helping me get over my guilt about how we treated Trevor in school. All my life I’ve had this niggling sense of regret about the time we dipped his Kit Kat in the urinal. Now I wish I’d dipped his face in it.

  Jez saw that I was scowling and asked what the problem was. I didn’t want to go into the whole Trevor thing so I pretended I’d accidentally deleted a file.

  ‘Take a chill pill, buddy,’ he said. ‘It’s not that big of a deal. See the bigger picture.’

  Why are all the phrases about calming down so fundamentally annoying that they have the opposite effect? If Satan exists, I have no doubt that he spends his time concocting them. ‘Could you keep an eye on the lake of fire for me? I’m off to combine the words “chill” and “relax”.’

  TUESDAY 5TH MARCH

  I completed my coffee shop loyalty card this morning. Finally getting the tenth stamp made me feel like I’d really achieved something. But then I felt so revolted with myself that I ripped the card up and threw it in the bin. Is this what counts as achievement now? Never mind defeating fascism or putting a man on the moon. I got £33 worth of coffee for just £30. Big deal.

  I’ve had it with loyalty cards now. I’m not touching one again. With that dangerous distraction out the way, I’m sure my true purpose in life will become clear.

  Jez mentioned something about Jo’s party today. This was the first I’d heard about it. I wanted to ask Jo about it, but I thought it would be embarrassing if I wasn’t invited. And why should I be? She wants to hang out with people her own age. She doesn’t want an ancient git like me skulking in the corner and reminding everyone of their mortality.

  I can’t believe I’m fretting over whether I’ve been invited to a party or not. Whenever Sarah said we had to go to one, I used to pretend I had a headache so I could stay in and watch TV. She’d even sometimes trick me into going by asking how I felt before revealing that we were off to some horrendous social gathering or other.

  Well, now I can stay in and watch all the TV I want, and I find myself wanting to go out and speak to people. This would infuriate Sarah if she knew. I’ll be sure to mention it if I ever see her again.

  WEDNESDAY 6TH MARCH

  It turns out I was invited to Jo’s party after all. The invitation was sent on Facebook, which I hadn’t checked for a couple of days. I had a momentary stab of delight when I discovered this, but this was soon swamped by my usual self-loathing. I couldn’t believe I was happy because someone had invited me to their party. Am I fifteen years old? Gee, it looks like I will go to the prom after all. Pathetic.

  I accepted the invitation and went out to get my hair cut right away so I wouldn’t have time to dread it. I was about to pretend I had a doctor’s appointment when I realized there was no point. If you come back to work with shorter hair, it’s pretty obvious where you’ve been. Anyway, if Josh gets on my case I’ll tell him that I worked through the weekend.

  There was no queue in the barber’s on a Wednesday afternoon, so I plonked myself straight down in the chair, asked for a little off the back and sides and gritted my teeth. Whenever I get my hair done, I’m convinced that it looks so weird that strangers in the street will point and laugh, and then no one notices at all.

  That’s pretty much what happened today, except that someone did notice. Jo noticed. That’s a good sign, right?

  THURSDAY 7TH MARCH

&
nbsp; I tried to save a Word document today, but my laptop said there wasn’t enough memory. I turned it on and off again, deleted as much as I could from the hard drive and updated the operating system, but nothing worked. It looked as though I was going to take it to Graham the IT guy.

  I usually search online for help with computer problems, as I hate asking IT guys for help. It’s one of those things like going to bed before eleven or buying slacks that makes me feel like I’m crossing a line into old age. I used to see Steve calling Graham into his office to ask him how to underline words and attach files to emails, and I swore I’d never degenerate into such technological senility.

  But today I had no choice. There was something wrong with my computer, and it surely wasn’t too much to ask the person we employ full time to look after them to help.

  I was worried Graham might see how long I’d spent googling Scrabble hints, so I deleted my history before walking down the corridor to his foul-smelling room. There was a poster on the door that read, ‘Keep Calm and Turn it Off and On Again’. I knocked, and braced myself to be patronized.

  Graham was playing a game where he had to shoot terrorists in an airport. He paused it, and I handed him the laptop.

  He bashed the keys, using shortcuts instead of dropdown menus.

  ‘I see you’ve deleted your history, you dirty old sod,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I was ashamed of how long I’ve been spending on Scrabble websites.’

  ‘Course you were,’ said Graham. He did a crude wanking mime and said, ‘Ooh, I got a triple word score.’

  I smiled in a shameful effort to stay on the right side of him until he’d fixed the laptop.

  After a few more minutes of clattering around, Graham said, ‘The hard drive’s screwed’ and handed me a new laptop.

  I walked back to my desk in astonishment. Could it be possible there was someone even lazier than me in the office? And that all you have to do to survive as an IT guy is adopt a sarcastic tone that scares everyone off and then dish out a new computer if they ever go to see you? I’m in the wrong line of work.

  Not that I’m complaining. This new computer runs Scrabble about four times faster.

  I started fretting about my wardrobe today. The only clothes I own are the white shirts and black jeans I wear to work, and the blue jeans I wear as a treat on weekends. I wondered if something more exciting might be required for a party, so I stopped off at one of those clothes shops that plays loud music.

  As soon as I stepped into the shop, a man wearing a baseball cap at a strange angle asked me if I was looking for anything in particular. I told him I was just browsing, but he insisted on following me round and saying, ‘That would look really good on you, I’ve got one just like it at home’ every time I went near something. At least those electrical store guys piss off when you tell them to.

  I found myself buying a red hooded top with Japanese writing on it just to shut him up. I don’t even know what the Japanese characters mean, but I’m guessing they translate as ‘gullible twat’.

  I tried on the hoodie when I got home and I looked like the dwarf from Don’t Look Now. Then I stuck it in the back of my wardrobe, next to the skinny jeans I bought in 2003 and the trainers I bought in 1998. I’m thinking of starting a charity shop with that stuff. All the profits will go to ‘Help the Middle Aged’, a foundation that will raise awareness of vain, deluded, mid-life crisis men who think they have any business whatsoever in a trendy clothes shop.

  FRIDAY 8TH MARCH

  I went out at lunchtime to try and find a suitably ironic birthday present for Jo. At first I went to a shop that sold things like Ghostbusters T-shirts and A-Team pencil cases. I was about to buy her a Hello Kitty purse when I realized that all that stuff was deliberately ironic, so it wouldn’t be impressive enough. I wonder if all those children in the Third World who work eighteen-hour shifts to make this stuff know it exists only to be sneered at by emotionally constipated hipsters with no capacity for genuine enjoyment?

  I was making my way back to the office when I noticed a charity shop. I held my nose and went inside. I found it right away. The irony mother lode. A porcelain Princess Diana figurine that plays a wonky electronic version of ‘Candle in the Wind’. It was the most horrendous thing I’ve seen in my life. I knew Jo was going to love it.

  SATURDAY 9TH MARCH

  I know this sounds unsettlingly positive, but I’m really looking forward to the party tonight. I honestly can’t remember how long it’s been since I went to a proper party. I wonder if you’re still supposed to turn up with a vinyl copy of Dare by The Human League and a tin of Twiglets?

  I suffered through more than my share of dinner parties and barbecues when I was with Sarah, of course. But this isn’t the same thing. It’s a proper party where you turn up with a bag full of cheap lager rather than a fancy cheesecake. And you roll a spliff and talk about the cosmos rather than sip a cheeky Beaujolais and talk about house prices.

  Speaking of which, I really hope they aren’t expecting me to bring any drugs. I don’t think I’d be very good at buying them. I’ve still got a few antibiotics left in the bathroom cabinet. Maybe I’ll bring those.

  SUNDAY 10TH MARCH

  How can I be hungover? I wasn’t even remotely drunk last night. I know I turned up with twelve cans of lager, but they disappeared as soon as I put them in the fridge. I can’t have had more than four in total. Is that all it takes for a hangover now? If I’m going to put up with this throbbing headache I at least want a few hours of release from crippling self-awareness.

  On the positive side, Jo loved the Princess Diana statue. She asked me where I got it, and I told her I saw it advertised in the Daily Express and paid in monthly instalments. Then she gave me a hug and peck on the cheek. Thank you, Princess of Hearts!

  On the negative side, I did feel a little too old to be there. All right then, a lot too old. I didn’t really know anyone, but it didn’t matter because the music was so loud I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying anyway. I tried to strike up a conversation with some of Jo’s friends but all they did was nod and look around the room for someone more interesting to talk to. After a while I started saying things like ‘I’ve killed and I’ll do it again unless someone stops me’ and I got the same response.

  Jo’s friends soon abandoned me by the snack table so I tried every mathematically possible combination of crisps, vegetable shavings, nachos, salsa and sour cream to make myself look busy. After a while, Jez took pity on me and came over to chat. He soon brought the topic round to his gap year, but I didn’t mind. I was actually grateful to hear about his spiritual awakening in the Far East. That’s how bad things were.

  An hour later ‘Hey Ya!’ by OutKast came on and everyone started dancing so I turned my attention back to the dips. I hate dancing. I didn’t mind it when I was younger, but things were different then. Nobody could dance. These days they teach them how to grind to hip hop in infant school. If I tried to so much as nod my head in time with the beat everyone in the room would have vomited and the party would have been abandoned.

  Jo saw me on my own and tried to drag me into the middle of the room. I shook my head and let go of her hand. Five minutes later I went home. When I’m in a nursing home in a few years’ time, I’ll probably look back on that as the moment I threw away my last chance of happiness.

  MONDAY 11TH MARCH

  Jo thanked me for coming to her party when I got in this morning. She didn’t seem angry about my refusal to dance, if she remembered it at all. Jez said he was sorry he didn’t make any sense, but he’d just smoked a massive joint when he spoke to me. I felt like telling him he was exactly the same as usual and his dealer is clearly selling him Oxo cubes.

  Jen looked up from her screen and narrowed her eyes whenever anyone mentioned the party, so maybe it was worth going after all. That’s right, Jen. I’m in the cool gang and you’re not. Get over it.

  Also, I was tagged in a few Facebook photos that made me
look like I was actually enjoying myself. I hope Sarah sees them. She was always going on about how I didn’t know how to enjoy myself. Well, here’s the proof, Sarah. All it took was the removal of a particular person from my life for the party to start.

  TUESDAY 12TH MARCH

  Trevor has invited me to another meeting tomorrow. I got the email first thing this morning and I spent all day worrying about it. It didn’t help that Jez had a really annoying sniffle that I couldn’t force myself to complain about.

  I could feel myself getting tenser with every sniff, but I didn’t say anything. If you complain to sniffers, you look neurotic and they get to feel like they’re doing you a massive favour by blowing their noses rather than letting the same bit of snot travel up and down their nasal passage all day.

  Sniffers are like terrorists. If you let them know they’ve got to you, they’ve won. You just have to ignore them and get on with your life. And dispatch a unit of Navy SEALs to assassinate them when they drop their guard.

  WEDNESDAY 13TH MARCH

  Trevor kept me waiting for half an hour this morning before calling me into his office. He kept his eyes fixed on his computer screen, so I took a chair and waited for him to speak.

  ‘Morning,’ I said after a while.

  Trevor held his hand up to silence me.

  After a couple of minutes I asked, ‘So, where are we at on the brochure?’