Today is the first day since I started this where I really can’t be arsed to write. I’m actually surprised it took this long, I had placed a bet on day two. Anyways essentially nothing of any interest or merit happened today. Work was a repeat of yesterday in an almost groundhog day fashion and home comprised of eating and watching TV.

I guess today is as good a day as any to elaborate a little more on my home life, not that any of you care. I mean it’s not like I’ve been on Big Brother or sucked off a kangaroo in the jungle while Ant & Dec berate me with gagging noises. To make it more interesting a fun way to read this blog would be to picture a different celebrity each day as if you’re reading their autobiography. For example maybe this next paragraph could be the musings of Sir Tom Jones or your favourite member of One Direction.

I had the worst diarrhoea last night. I should probably go to the doctors as it is becoming painfully frequent. What’s worrying is the almost clockwork regularity of my projectile arse explosions. It seems to be linked to eating beef, especially in burger form. Seriously if I eat a burger I have to plan my night around it, there’s the cooking process, eating, cleaning up and then the 1 – 2 hours I’ll spend gripping the edge of the toilet bowl until my fingertips go white while I pray to God that I don’t prolapse and shit out a kidney. It’s just not right, eating a Big Mac shouldn’t leave your ring in tatters burning like a hot iron has been pressed against it.

See it’s much more interesting if you picture those words coming from the pen of Halle Berry or Theresa May… It’s also true, as much as the paragraph was written for comic effect, I genuinely find I spend a gargantuan amount of time trying to turn off my ass tap. Hour long poops are becoming a part of my daily routine.

Now as much as I’d love to spend an entire day’s blog discussing my dodgy bowels, I already alluded to the topic of today’s nonsense. Home life. Currently I rent a nice 4 bedroom detached house in an almost posh area of Leicester that I share with my heavily pregnant wife, her little brother and her parents. Not a typical family dynamic but an interesting one. My wife and her family are South African, all here on a variety of expensive visas subject to the whims of a maniacal Tory government.

You’re probably thinking that living with one’s in-laws is a recipe for disaster, like a poorly written BBC Three sitcom. It has its ups and downs, but with a baby on the way there is the obvious perk of free babysitting on the horizon. The largest downside if I had to pick is that I now know for a fact I couldn’t live in a socialist state. I’ll elaborate, it’s not like I’ve never shared a house/flat before. I lived in London for a couple of years in my early twenties and my dad isn’t an oil barren, so sharing is pretty much your only option. Before that I rented a room from an absolute mental case ‘artist’ in Surrey who’s home schooled son used to practice playing the drums at 3am, but that’s a story for another time.

You see the problem is my wife and her mother both believe that food sharing is the best approach to shared living. We buy one week, they buy the next. The fridge stays packed, we all have the same meals and everyone’s happy. Now it turns out that I’m a food capitalist, this whole we all contribute, we all get an equal share nonsense has no place in western society! I want to like it, I really do. I mean I know I am earning the most in the household and the fact that the food cost is split 50 / 50 essentially means I am the one coming out on top, but I just cannot stop counting the food. I’ll buy a pack of 30 cans of Coke (knowing full well next week if there’s none left my mother-in-law will buy more), and if I don’t drink at least 10 of those cans then I will burn with passive aggressive fury! It’s a sickness, I can’t help it.

My brother-in-law is still in high school, year 9 I think, he is not old enough to work. It is absurd for me to assume he would be able to contribute, yet when I see him putting cheese on bread, regardless of who paid for it… Something inside me snaps and suddenly I understand why Americans don’t want universal healthcare. Of course a few seconds later sanity returns and I go back to being eternally grateful I live in a country with a national health service (however stretched it may be). I genuinely don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ll bitch at my wife in the supermarket because we can’t buy ready meals for 2 people without interfering with the 5 person supper agenda; instead I have to eat a delicious home cooked roast dinner. Well maybe I didn’t want roast dinner! Maybe I wanted Sainsbury’s basics toad in the hole where you can’t tell if you’re eating the sausage or the batter.

Of course living with my in-laws has downsides, there are fights, there are awkward conversations about who is using what heating, who left the toilet seat up and whose ridiculously large shit is gaining sentience in the bowl etc etc… But the food sharing really shouldn’t be as big of a deal to me as it is. It just seems soooo convenient that the coffee and washing liquid always seem to run out on my week! Oh, why am I putting twenty five boxes of Lindt into your trolley? No reason, I just feel snacky, is that a problem Ma! I always like chocolate after my sirloin and oysters.