Sean's Stories

Posted by sean on August 18, 2019 at 7:55 pm in Life In Bath, Weather with No Comments

My weekend didn’t get off to the best of starts. When I left work, the rain was incredibly heavy. It was a scenario where I just knew, that no matter what I did, I was going to get very wet. God had his Super Soaker water gun out, and was determined to get me drenched. Was this penance for cursing to myself, after dealing with a rude and frustrating caller?

Donald Trump would no doubt tell me that I have angered the spirit in the sky, by placing a rainbow arc, in support of LGBT, on my Twitter handle.

Either way, if I was getting wet, everyone else was too, which makes me think the rain was simply a result of the hydrologic cycle and not a vengeful higher being.

A nasty event which did happen solely to me, was to occur when I arrived home. My lovely wife had spotted me, riding my scooter up the path to out house. By this point I was predictably soaked. A drowned rat, as some might say.

As I approached the front door, disaster struck. Driving up the ramp, towards the house, my scooter veered uncontrollably to the right. Part of the scooter was hanging off one end of the ramp. Had I been riding at speed, I would have gone straight off the edge, resulting in damage to the scooter and worse still, another stay in hospital for me.

Despite being shaken by the ordeal, I reversed back off the ramp and back onto solid ground. Maybe I hadn’t been concentrating and had driven up the incline at an angle. I rode my scooter back up towards the house. Yet again, I somehow ended up almost riding straight off the edge.

By this point, I had forgotten all about the rain, despite it continuing to pour from the sky. I was just a few feet away from the sanctuary of home, but being unable to climb the ramp, I may as well have been in Dover. So near, yet so far.

After much panicking, I calmed down enough to climb the ramp, with Claire at my side, supporting the scooter to prevent me from losing control again.

Slowly, we made our way towards the house. Garden snails, out in numbers due to the sodden conditions, looked on, no doubt bemused at my speed and how I could be overtaken in my ascension to the front door.

I made it home, safe and well, if not a little shaken and dripping with rain water. I went upstairs, changed into pyjamas, before returning downstairs, to sit on the sofa and feel sorry for myself.

Home sweet home

I stayed there pretty much for the rest of the evening. So, if you ever wondered how your favourite blogger spends his Friday nights, now you know. Ozzy Osbourne is green with envy at how rock and roll I am!


Posted by sean on March 31, 2019 at 11:52 pm in Have I Got News For You, Life In Bath with No Comments

When it comes to the whole ‘America v Canada’ thing, I always thought the Canadians were the clever ones. After all, the Yanks voted for Donald Trump – and, yes, I am more than aware that 51% of my fellow-Brits voted to leave the European Union.

I may have to reconsider whether Canadians really are clever, having read this story online today.

According to the report, Canadians are contracting salmonella and falling ill, after… get this… cooking frozen chicken nuggets in the microwave.

Just to clarify – for fans of ‘TOWIE’ and the 51%ers – you CANNOT cook frozen, raw chicken in the microwave – however tasty the breadcrumb batter looks frozen solid. It even states on the packaging, to heat the nuggets in an OVEN.

See, by comparison, the Trump thing doesn’t seem so daft now, does it?

If he’s being “cooked” in the microwave, the uncle will be having the last laugh!

Poor Foghorn Leghorn – he never stood a chance

The whole chicken in microwave story reminded me of a time in my early-twenties. I was still living at home. I must have been writing my blog, under its original name – Heaven knows why I didn’t blog about this…

Anyway, I’m still a young whipper-snapper. My brother is an even younger teenage whipper-snapper.

As far as teenagers go, he was relatively ok. Not as goody-two-shoes as me, but there’s very little trouble you can get into, if you spend the majority of your teenage years, locked in your bedroom, playing Donkey Kong Country and Crash Bandicoot.

The only problem I had with my brother, was the behaviour of some of his friends.

Now, I am sure they have all grown into very kind, caring, respectable young men. However, at the time, they had a habit of winding me up…

I would be in the kitchen, making a sandwich or perhaps just getting a packet of crisps – maybe even preparing a crisp sandwich, if I was feeling adventurous.

While in the kitchen, my brother’s friends would march in from outside, before proceeding to search the cupboards, fridge and freezer, like the police carrying out a drugs raid.

Luckily for my mum, they were not searching for drugs. Unluckily for me, they were searching for food. Food, which I would have probably wanted to eat.

My brother’s associates would perform this search, without permission from my mum, or even acknowledging me, despite the fact I was stood, staring flabbergasted, in the middle of the kitchen. Why, oh why, didn’t someone buy my brother a PlayStation and a lock for his bedroom back then…

This blatant food theft would get to me, as it happened frequently over many months – I would like to say years, but fear that I would be exaggerating.

One particularly bad day, one of the food thieves – let’s just call him “Friend A” – was raiding the fridge, when he pulled out a large chicken drumstick, covered in barbacue sauce. I was horrified. Not at the cheek of the food theft – I had sadly become used to that – but the fact the chicken was raw!

For someone who has always been over-the-top, to the brink of OCD, when it comes to food hygiene, I was mortified. What made things worse, was Friend A started eating the chicken. The raw chicken.

He ate the rare poultry, as if he was an animal on a David Attenborough documentary, about life on the Serengeti. Except this wasn’t the plains of famine-stricken Africa. It was a kitchen in middle-class suburban England. Plus, I am yet to see a hyena, eating a gazelle, marinated in Heinz BBQ Sauce.

I allowed Friend A to eat the chicken. Maybe I should have said something, although it wouldn’t have made any difference.

My next worry was that Friend A might be sick on our carpet – or the stairs! I also had a vomit phobia and if he was sick on the stairs, I would be trapped – unable to pass the scene of the incident, until the entire area had been sterilised and cleaned using the acid of a Facehugger, from the film Alien.

Luckily, there was no puking in our house, and as Friend A returned for more of my food, across the days that followed, I can only assume he had an iron stomach and had not fallen foul of the fowl – sorry!

Wow. I can really digress when I get going. This was only meant to be a short post about stupid Canadians. It’s nearly 1am – I’ve been writing for an hour and a half!

Posted by sean on February 17, 2019 at 5:29 pm in Life In Bath with No Comments

Why is it that our council – BANES – send us binmen – or Waste Management and Disposal Technicians, as they are now known – who frequently leave behind large piles of our recycling?

Their latest ‘epic fail’ (as the kids would say) is to only take half of our cardboard recycling.

Imagine if other professions took this ‘half-arsed’ attitude…

BANES Hairdressers. A rip-off at half the price.

BANES Beer. The drinks will go to your head.

BANES Trains. Taking you all the way to Newcastle. Terminating at Birmingham.

AFC BANES. The most ‘rubbish’ team in the league. Only ever play 45 minutes of the allotted 90.

I was going to include BANES Heart Surgeons, but the accompanying image was too gruesome!

Posted by sean on December 31, 2018 at 9:46 pm in Life In Bath with No Comments

This year, I have blogged for you all 188 times – this will be the 189th. You’re welcome. Feel free to thank me with chocolate, sweets, PlayStation 4 games and money. I accept PayPal.

If you haven’t been following my blog this year, fear not – here is a summary of 2019…

Happy New Year.


  • Like everyone does every year and will be doing tomorrow, I made a New Year’s Resolution. Mine was to blog more. I blogged just 78 times in 2017, so, remarkably, I stuck to it!
  • I became far too excited – or X-cited – about the new season of X Files. Such a geek.
  • A former Bath City player scored against Leeds in the FA Cup. Who hasn’t?
  • We bought something amazing for our new house – a dishwasher!
  • I won the lottery. Kind of.
  • Leeds managed to humiliate their fans on a massive scale (again), with an appalling new badge.
  • I lost and eventually found my prized autographs.











Zero blogs this month – and with very good reason…

I was signed off sick from work in May. I had felt rotten for months and everything came to a head one day, when I decided I could no longer cope, physically or mentally. I initially thought that the stresses of moving, five months earlier, were a contributory factor, with rest and relaxation being the best cure.

It turns out that things were a lot more sinister than just being run down. As the weeks off work continued, my health worsened. Everyday tasks, some as simple as eating, became a huge effort. It was at that point, I was admitted to hospital…













  • My wife joined me in the 30’s Club.
  • We did some cooking, which didn’t involve a microwave.
  • Somehow I was persuaded to visit another supermarket.
  • The country went bonkers over Brexit.
  • I realised that I was taking Red Dead Redemption 2 a little too seriously.
  • Leeds United’s success started to worry me. Don’t worry – they’ve since lost.
  • I finally completed RDR2.
  • Roman dressed up for Christmas.
  • Those pesky spiders continued to terrorise us…
  • … and Roman got a new job.

Posted by sean on November 22, 2018 at 4:55 pm in Life In Bath, Me Vs. The World with No Comments

The pavement was still unavailable this morning, as Virgin Media were continuing to dig up the street.

I therefore had to take another detour to work. My journey to the office was a tad less stressful than my ride home the night before. Firstly, it was daylight. I also knew the route to take, so didn’t find myself lost in the backstreets of Weston.

The diversion did, however, add time to my journey – approximately 10 minutes extra each way.

This may not seem a lot, but considering I can normally make the trip in just 8 minutes, that is a 125% increase!I therefore feel that Sir Richard Branson should have to pay me for my wasted time – a grand total of 20 minutes…

A quick search on Google revealed that Richard earns an annual salary of $6,450,000. This can be broken down to roughly $736.30 an hour. For 20 minutes, he will earn $245.43. I feel I am entitled to this.

At the current rate of exchange, I am set to receive £190.53 – although I’ll just settle for a Hive webcam. I’ll even use Virgin Money to change the dollars into pounds.

If you are concerned that Rich will suffer financially and be unable to feed his family, as a result of my pay-out, consider this – all I am asking for is 0.0038051162790697676% of his annual summary. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be forced into visiting a food bank.

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