The day of the big knickers.

 

This morning I am still in recovery from the thrills and spills of last night.

The evening started in the best way possible: my daughter Tracey and her boyfriend Mitch were out for the evening which left Wendy and I alone.  I recommended a little jaunt to “Bitz and Pizzas” our local Italian, but Wendy suggested we went to The Cross Keys instead for a quiet drink.

The pub was remarkably quiet and Wendy took a seat in the corner of the public bar and I ordered a Spritzer and a pint of Feltcher (a new local brew)  together with  two bags of Pork Scratchings.  I sat down and  looked and Wendy – she looked as lovely as she ever had – her new highlights reflecting the flickering lights from the “Who wants to be a Millionaire” machine.

We talked and we talked. Then we talked and we talked.  We talked about the good times and we talked about the difficult times.  We spoke about the past and we chatted about the future.  My eyes moistened as Wendy said she was happy living with me and that moving back was the best thing she had done. It was time for us to go home.

I’m not going to go into detail about what happened for the rest of the night, but let’s just say I awoke with the soft feeling of duck down feathers under my head rather than a cushion.  I woke with a smile.  The smile seemed etched on my face as I climbed out of bed, slightly aching, but with a warm feeling inside.

I glanced at Wendy sleeping peacefully, content with her world and then I glanced at the floor.  I saw what I thought was a small parachute; a tent perhaps, big enough for a small family ?  It was the “big knickers” – I had always wondered when the big knickers would move into Chez Templeton and they had arrived quietly and gently and without a huge statement. “They could stay”  I thought.

 

Sometimes you have to be honest . .

Yesterday afternoon I collected my Farah trousers from the dry cleaners. Some may recall that when I took them in recently, Molly Pope declared loudly “There’s rather a large stain on the front, Mr Templeton.”

Molly’s reasoning for this outburst was that she had not been selected to join Templetons Temptations – my new one to one dating consultancy. Applicants have to send in an up to date photo and if I think I can help them, they take me for a meal at a pre selected restaurant.  Here I help them with tips and advice on how to be more attractive to men.  I am an expert since I read the free bits from “Pandora’s Box”.

Molly clearly wanted, and needed help.  But I had to be honest and tell her there was nothing really anyone could do.  Now, my followers know I have a good heart and I had already decided that when I turn an application down, I still wanted to help if I could.  Therefore, unlucky applicants either get a voucher towards the cost of dental treatment or a free face mask.

I tried to be kind to Molly.

“You know what Molly,” I said as she looked towards me in a slightly menacing way.  “I usually only give ladies either the dental voucher or the face mask.  But in your case I want to make a generous exception as you need both.”

“F**k Off Derek.”  Molly shouted (I apologise for the language) “And try and not p*ss on your trousers in future.”

Wow! What a launch for Templeton’s Temptations

I wonder whether Dyson realised just how big his vacuum thing was when he invented it?  Well I think I have something just as exciting with Templeton’s Temptations, my new personal one to one coaching advice service for helping ladies understand their gentlemen friends better.

Already I have been swamped with requests about what clothes ladies should wear on a first date, or what questions they should ask.

I’ve even had ladies fighting over their membership numbers !

What a launch !!!

Speed Dating – a time I’d rather forget

The rain lashed onto the windscreen of my car as I drove into Beverley last Thursday. Each swish of the windscreen wipers removed the layer of water in the same way perhaps as I was trying to remove a layer from my life.

In recent weeks I had used Social Network sites like Facebook to meet new people, but when one of my new friends suddenly invented a pretend boyfriend, not only did my attempts to laugh off the hurt fail, but I realised I had to be bolder and braver and just maybe take myself into a situation where I felt uncomfortable.

A new shirt sat underneath an equally new tie and the effects of my liberal dousing of D.R Harris’ best Sandalwood aftershave resulted in  stinging tears falling  from my eyes, and I contemplated turning for home. Derek Templeton – No 9 (said my badge) – Speed dating at The Red Dragon, Beverley. I was a couple of minutes late as a braked somewhat sharply to the side of a road and sent a puddle of  water back into the air. It  soaked three ladies standing together on the pavement. Meet speed daters No 2, No 7 and No 11.

Perhaps I should tell you how speed dating works. Simply, there are equal numbers of women and men and after an introduction from your host for the evening, the couples dance their way through 10 minutes of ritual cliché chit-chat until its time to move on. At the end of the evening each date hands in a card with ticks against who they would like to see again and if there’s a match – contact details are provided.

We were taken into a room with tables spread evenly across a sticky floor; no doubt a cocktail of Bacardi Breezers and someone’s pint from the night before. The lights were dimmed and Lionel Richie was introduced through a slight cackle and hiss from the speakers. “All Night Long” seemed a threat rather than a promise to me, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t glance around the room of ladies looking for Wendy.

In my preparation for the evening I had asked my friends for advice. Susie Kelly said “Don’t Go” and Zoe Mumford (her with the pretend boyfriend) said “Wear a heavy disguise”.  I looked neat and  smart. I thought I’d taken more care than the other gentlemen who had come for this special evening “for the more distinguished and older single from East Yorkshire”. One chap came out of the toilets still doing up his zip. I immediately crossed him off my  competition list.

The whole event didn’t go well. Ladies No’s 2, 7 and 11 were not interested in my apologies for literally dampening their evening. I realised shortly into the first date that describing all of Wendy’s best qualities and asking if she had the same, was not the winning formula. Someone told me to make sure I asked open questions. “Open questions using What, Why, How, When and Who will always get a response.”

“So, what do you have to offer?” I asked.

Silence.

I remember asking another if she ate normally or was one of those strange Veggies.  I got no response and when the last lady stood up two minutes into our date, put on her coat and walked out, I realised too it was time for me to go. I didn’t put any ticks against any numbers when I handed my card in. I felt at least that way I would have a perfect match.

The rain was still pouring down outside. I turned on the car stereo and Radio Humberside did their best to entertain me on the way home. But as the windscreen wipers wiped away  the rain I too wanted them to wipe away this evening and the memory.

Attracting the celebrities – Please do not touch !

I have been perhaps too open about the state of my marriage to Wendy. It’s true that I was rather annoyed when she invited Tracey back home to live.

For the last couple of months I have been in the spare room. Late night returns from dominoes at The Cross Keys and a penchant for snoring (from which I am awoken by an elbow to the ribs) meant that a semi-permanent base in Tracey’s old room seemed best for all.

When Tracey returned a couple of weeks ago, I refused to move from her old room as she had vacated it in my eyes and I own the house anyway.

So, there are those who follow my ramblings who know the ins and outs of my life and it’s clear that if Derek from Mr and Mrs came knocking; Wendy and I would probably not trouble the scorers.But I appear to have attracted the unwanted attention of a certain individual recently who has taken a very close interest in me.

I first noticed the lady in question asking her friends about Wendy and what they felt about the state of my marriage. She then tried to test my patience a little – clearly testing my boundaries before making a move. And finally became over excited when wrongly believing I had asked her for a drink.

When rebuffed, the lady switched tactics and hinted at a celebrity status, which I found somewhat shameful.

I guess the point is that it’s nice to know that an independent hardware store owner can still attract the ladies, but at the moment this display says “Please do not touch”