Grumpyitis

HARD TO BE GRUMPY WITH CHARLOTTE ABOUT, BUT I MANAGE IT

God, I've been busy!
Doing what?
Well, that's what I've been trying to figure out. I'm not entirely sure.
I know that I've been busy with Charlotte. She was two a week or so ago. And I've been very busy picking up all the toys she got for her birthday.
There are some toys she likes less than others. Likes them less, that is, until you try to pick them up to stash them in the attic or somewhere else that isn't the kitchen floor. Then she loves them.
She's growing up really fast. She's even losing interest in Iggle Piggle and the others in the Night Garden. Moved on to Tom and Jerry if you don't mind.


How long before it's Girls Aloud?
So Charlotte has had me busy at least some of the time.
I've been busy working too. Have to earn a crust. And so I'm doing whatever is asked, and what with work and Charlotte, my day seems too short.
That is to say that it's too short for what I really want to do, what I am, apparently, very good at and what, I am often told, is my full time job.
Grumbling. Giving out. Moaning. Whinging. Complaining.
Victor Meldrew, he of One Foot in the Grave is, compared to me, something of a comedian.
I have noticed myself that I am now complaining about just about everything.
I complain about people with no manners.
I complain about litterbugs.
I complain about the people who rip us off.
I complain about politicians.
I complain about reality television.
I complain about football players.
I complain about shop assistants who chat to each other while you're waiting to be served.
I complain about rude waiters.
I complain about lousy food in restaurants.
But then, so do most people.
The problem with me, is that I complain incessantly about other drivers. How dare they park where I wished to. How dare they pass me out even if I am driving slowly. How dare they have bigger, newer cars. In fact, how dare they use to road.
I complain about shop assistants. How dare they serve other people.
I complain, not just about reality television. I essentially complain about all television.
I complain about young people.
But I also complain about old people, middle aged people - all people.
I complain so much that I think it's become a complaint, a medical complaint.
Grumpyitis.
Most men my age seem to have it.
But mine, I fear, is probably incurable.