Corporate Blawg UK

Call it mid-life crises, call it what you will

Love makes you fat. Corporate Blawg loves his wife, but not his chub, so Corporate Blawg is trying to lose a little of his extra girth before it appears like he's about to give birth. 

This new momentim was prompted by Corporate Blawg registering with his local GP surgery last week, not because anything is wrong, but in case he has an uncontrollable burst of shits or giggles.  Part of the process/problem with registering with your GP is that your blood pressure, weight and height must all be measured.  Corporate Blawg was told by the pretty asian nurse that he was 99kg, and the ideal for his height was 80kg, hence he was, ahem, overweight.

Corporate Blawg was thrown by this (but not very far because he is too heavy).  The realisation of being 1kg away from a tenth of a ton, or a 30th of an average sized elephant, was enough to make him start counting the calories.  Corporate Blawg doesn't look overweight because he is 188cm tall and has well-made shirts.  However, for piece of mind, and to avoid an overbearing overhang, Corporate Blawg is now all over healthy food and exercise.

Accordingly, most of Saturday was spent in York Hall swimming pool.  One of the deepest, bluest, most Art Deco swimming pools in East London.  There he swam back and forth like a horizontal yo-yo until he was almost sick.  Conscious of the faux pas of throwing up in a swimming pool, Corporate Blawg exited and went to buy dinner at a fatty supermarket.

In the cornicopia to capaciousness, Corporate Blawg began reading the fat content of his favourite foods.  Falaffel was 28% fat! But Lamb Kofte was only 16%!  The apparently healthy alternative to a kebab was a lie!  For dinner that evening, as his wife was away and he had 2 action films to get through and a playstation game, Corporate Blawg purchased a healthy-eating ready-made Chicken Tikka Masala meal (and a healthy-eating ready-made Shepherds Pie in case he got peckish later on).

Sunday followed Saturday, as is usual, and Corporate Blawg went to extraordinary lengths to do press ups whilst playing poker on the playstation.  This was followed by a sprint to Dixons, and the realisation that he would have to sprint back as he did not want to stop in Whitechapel with a bag full of expensive electrical goods.

Since meat tends to be more fatty than vegetables, on Sunday evening Corporate Blawg treated his wife to his famous Chilli Con Quorny.  Corporate Blawg's wife was most impressed and has been gassing off about how good it was for the last two days.  Corporate Blawg long ago got wind of how good his Chilli Con Quorny was.

Having two "Completions" in the next two weeks has meant that Corporate Blawg has had to work late, but this evening, Corporate Blawg did the unthinkable.  He ran home from work, kind off.  He ran for 200 yards then walked 50 yards, wheezing like a broken kettle.  Then he would run 180 yards, and walk for 60, panting like a dog with asthma.  Then he would run 160 yards, and walk for 80m, coughing and spluttering like an underwater volcanic vent with benthic fauna clambering at his neck.

Now Corporate Blawg still weighs 99kg, but his lunchtime peri peri chicken and chips that were a second on the lips, won't be adding to his hips.  So this is the future, and if you see a 188cm, 99kg corporate guru miserably sipping gin and slim-line tonic in a City pub over the next five months, take a chance and ask him "are you Corporate Blawg?".

Sensible is as sensible does

Like a bee collecting nectar, or a KFC carton underfoot, so the natural process of life continues, driven forward by necessity and love of dirty chicken.   Likewise the less than wise but immensely likeable Corporate Blawg is propelled through space in a rapidly-aging time machine made of flesh, bone, a speck of grit, and the severed head of a lego man who died in 1982.  It is the summer solstace on Thursday, when the year turns and starts to age like a tasty Romanee Conti.  So also Corporate Blawg, that undiscovered element, that benign but ridiculous fuse of a muse of nature and techology, that weapon of gas and suction, yes, so Corporate Blawg is contemplating growing older, growing up, and growing man-breasts.

Wherefrom did this motion strike him?  It was a flash of realisation, a bolt from the heavens when in response to a plan to meet in a bar Corporate Blawg found himself uttering those now immortal words: "Yes - that seems sensible".

Take a moment.  Pause.  Reflect.  "Yes - that seems sensible".  What Corporate Blawg should have said was "Cool", "Mega" or "Great" (at least imaginative).  But no, "sensible" had become a word for good, and cool was off the radar. 

Following that second at a distance, like suited men in a 4x4, Corporate Blawg looked to his feet in moribund horror of his inherent change.  Injury compounded insult as Corporate Blawg noted after three months of wearing them, that he had on sensible shoes.  Not trainers to look mega in, not trainers to ride skateboards or sprint from sweetshops, but mountain walking sports trainers for sensible walking to work on concrete floors and cemented walkways. 

Then in his head he heard a voice, and remembered his Grandad's brown cardigans... It happens to us all, my son.  Resist for as long as possible, but when it hits you, embrace it.  Perhaps it is a side-effect of marriage.  Clothes are for comfort, and love makes you fat.  Ah well, happiness is where the heart is.

On that note Corporate Blawg is going to hand over to Corporate Papawg to write about something more sensible.

On Saturday night/Sunday morning Corporate Papawg stumbled home from his friend's 30th birthday party.  There he switched on the TV to see a movie about Bob Dylan (playing a rising folk singer), also starring Val Kilmer and Christian Slater.  Corporate Papawg only watched 15 minutes before another East Londer stuck his fingers in the mains and caused a power cut.  However, in those final 15 minutes of electricity Corporate Papawg read on subtitles a rant from Val Kilmer, clearly drafted by the great Bob himself.  The conclusion of this rant was that "the only thing that separates man from the animals is the knowledge of death". 

At the time Corporate Papawg thought this was f*cking genius. But, whilst getting himself a sensible haircut the next day, Corporate Papawg thought about it again and realised it was utter bollox.

Elephants mourn their dead.  Magpies only ever have one mate, even if one dies.  Dolphins push sick dolphins to the surface to help them breathe.  Of course animals know about death, because otherwise they would not learn from fear.  The instinct of fearing harm and death and seeing harm and death creates knowledge.  In fact, the knowledge that comes from instinct is one of the few sources of knowledge where we can be sure of its truth.

Ditfurth (1976) says that "our brain is a tool for thinking, but not its cause. Our brain has not invented thinking, the thinking invented the brain."

Still quite poetic but less pithy than Bob I'm sure you'll agree.

Similarly, Corporate Papawg recently watched Apocalypto, the Mel Gibson movie about Mayan people.  Good movie, but Corporate Papawg was disturbed by the violence.  Once upon a time in the East Corporate Papawg loved his horror films and action movies but not now...  Now the last thing Corporate Papawg wants is to see any sort of realism connected with mutilated limbs and spraying blood.    Anyway, Corporate Papawg should have known it was going to be an odd film.  Any movie that has a tag-line of "No one can outrun their destiny" is an absurd non-sequitur that causes Corporate Papawg to break the offending DVD with a hammer and chisel because he's watched too many violent movies and thinks that violence solves problems.

Corporate Blueg believes that navy blue is the best corporate colour.

Back from holiday...

Corporate Blawg is back and proud because he's brown.  Not because it was particularly sunny, but because in-between the rain Corporate Blawg didn't use any sun-cream lotion.  This careful planning is a bit like catching a train to a bus stop to speed up your journey, or adding flour to gravy to make it more filling.  Nevertheless the results are the same.

From the misty hills of the amazing Amalfi coast, to the sun-washed cliffs of capricious Capri, Corporate Blawg has danced and jumped and shouted "FACEBOOK" at the top of his voice to famous footballers and actors alike... 

The marriage of a Premiership goalkeeper to a Doctor of fashion in Ravello was a blinding 4 day party.  The 40 wedding guests consisted of legends, megadons, diamond-geezers, heros, models, funk-chicks, oldies and one or two uber-geeks like Corporate Blawg and his wife.  We fitted in by teaching the footballers how to smoke cigars, the actors how to drink, and the celebrity wags taught us that in order to get the right camera pout you didn't say "cheese" you said "prune". This reveleation in Ravello has ruined all subsequent holiday snaps.  You try it and see.

Then on from Ravello, Corporate Blawg and his wife went to Athens, to see his niece and her parents...

Corporate Papawg was much perturbed by how much he took to his 2-and-a-half year old niece.  This little bundle of loveliness completed melted his heart.  The highlight was when Corporate Papawg pretended to be Charlie Chaplin and made her laugh so much she wet herself.  But enough of that sentimental claptrap... Corporate Papawg does not want one of his own, yet.

FACEBOOK!  How good is facebook? We, the first generation to barely remember a world without email and the internet, even we have become saturated by Facebook, and it's great.  Corporate Blawg has got in contact with old schoolfriends, lots of holiday buddies, and an estranged tablecloth. FACEBOOK! yeah.

Corporate Blueg has recently learnt some very interesting things about LLPs, but since he's working quite hard at the moment, he doesn't want to talk about it.