New Year's Eve, and a pair of over-square trousers

We're just back home after a very long break in Finistere, Brittany. Plenty of tales from France in future blogs, but today's posting is about a pair of over-square trousers. As a younger man my trousers were 28 inch waist, and we used to laugh at our house-share pal, the stocky Phil, because he had square trousers, ie his waist measurement was the same as his inside leg.

The photo is a clock on the citadel at Concarneau, with various messages about the passage of time. And, over time, my waistband has expanded. Some of it's emotional eating, but mainly it's greed and gluttony, and less exercise. A few weeks in Brittany dairy central, testing local produce, has given me a single-pack barrel belly, made of Breton butter, beer, baguettes and frites. (I was, of course, slim and svelte before I left for France.)

I'm back at work next week, and last month I split two pairs of work trousers cycling home from the office. So today I popped into town and bought for work my largest ever trousers, 38 inch waist, and they fit a treat. And my project for 2010? To get into 30/30 square trousers again.

Nine blokes talking rubbish

Big Swifty (left) says to Alan (right) "this is probably the last time all of us will be in the same room together"
Alan says "what do you know then?"
BJ (centre) says "I like it when a plan comes together"
Meanwhile Peter (left) roars with laughter, as Brian (right) exclaims "chin see how", which is "lovely day" in a chinese language.

Chris (left) talks to Frank (right) about his underwater diving, and Frank says "I didn't know you had a daughter, Ivy"

John (left) tells us about his next big trip, and the state of geriatric care in Colchester Hospital, and David (right), chuckles with Big Swifty, that it has all come to this, after our shared working lives at Colchester Borough Council. Nine old blokes talking rubbish, in "The Foresters" pub, every first Tuesday in the month. And a newsletter from Rod in Scotland, the tenth man, as our absent friend.

A good turn out this week, and, as usual, there's several missing out of the potential crowd of about fifteen. There's some mileage still left in us, as we make the most of our lives after our main careers have finished. I don't suppose this particular group of nine will ever be together in The Foresters again; we've all got plenty of other places to be. Cheers, everyone, probably see you in January.

Big Swifty comes out at work

Big Swifty hasn't posted much about work. I don't think it's appropriate to use blogs to criticise one's colleagues or employers. Firstly, there's a proper process to air any grievances about work. Secondly, I don't have any grievances; I like my employers, as an organisation and as individuals, and I enjoy the company of my colleagues. Sorry, if you were hoping for some salacious gossip or nasty comments, but I like these people.

Having read various american facebook friends' tales of thanksgiving, and pumpkin pie, and yearning because we in the UK don't celebrate this festival, I was so pleased today to be offered home-made pumpkin pie by Laura, long based in Essex, but a native of Pasadena, Californ-eye-ay. Anxious to record the miniutiae and ephemera of life, I whipped out my camera, and created a minor commotion in our open plan office.

At this stage I was forced to come out about my blogging, admitting my shame, and hoping for understanding. So, colleagues, welcome to Big Swifty's pages. Feel free to comment, but remember, I know where you sit.