A Life in the Day – Gerald. An homage to The Sunday Times Supplements.

Gerald, 64, semi-retired entrepreneur, former school fag to Rural Spaceman, successful global blog writer.
Married to Lady Sarah, left wing anarchist aristocrat. They have 3 children, Micon Bicon, Lottypanther and H.

‘I’m the type of person who wakes up as soon as I feel the sun on my face, which in my case is around 11.00 am when Sarah comes into the bedroom and  rips open the blackout curtains. Dressed in khaki combat fatigues and black beret, she’s usually been up for hours practising her militant routines (tent erection, placard waving, sitting in the road). Lately she’s been keen on imitating FEMEN, the French feminist movement, who demonstrate topless and daub their bodies in slogans. The other day when she leaned over the bed to put my cup of tea on the bedside table she nearly had my eye out.
I like to take my time getting ready for the day ahead, so I put on my silk effect dressing gown and Turkish curly toe slippers and make my way to the bathroom where I like to read the daily papers whilst having a leisurely poo. I always make sure I have at least two full toilet rolls to hand.

By 12.15, I’m ready for a light ‘brunch’ : a couple of rounds of toast, four or five rashers of bacon, two poached eggs, a kipper, two fried eggs, some black pudding, white pudding, two or three prime pork sausages, fried bread, a tin of baked beans, spaghetti hoops, mushrooms, potato waffles, fried potato wedges, half a pack of fish fingers and some HP sauce with Guinness flavouring. To finish, I’ll have half a box of Special K with double cream, all washed down with a few mugs of steaming coffee. I’m half way through my meal by 1.30pm, which means it’s late enough in the day to have my first pint of Rebellion bitter. I like to keep an open keg on the dining table for easy access.

This is all prepared by our wonderful maid, Fallopian, who watches in wonder as I eat. I get the impression I’m a bit of a role model for her. Occasionally, we’ll have a chat; I like to treat the staff as equals and have real respect for people from all nations, whether they are maids, plumbers, car washers or bar staff. Obviously, Fallopian only talks to me when given permission.

After dining, I make my way back once more to the lavatory, where I combine my ablutions with a few squats over the toilet bowl to keep in shape, before making my way to the dressing room.

I like to dress fashionably but casually these days, but still like to wear designer labels: George, Tu, F&F. It all adds to my je ne sais croissant.

At school, I wore plus fours, a top hat and monocle. Actually, I attended an inner city comprehensive which didn‘t have a uniform code, but my father insisted on me dressing like this and I didn’t like to refuse him.

By 3.30pm, I’m ready to meet the rigours of the working day and make my way to my desk in the office. I like to really get stuck in, so I turn on my computer and have a quick look at any good holidays that may be available. As you can imagine, with such a hectic entrepreneurial lifestyle, I really appreciate my breaks. We have been known to work solidly for more than a week before I need to recharge my batteries.

Then it’s head down for my first phone call of the day. It could be anything from ordering paint to reserving a spa session, but inevitably they can take several minutes to complete. By the time I’ve ticked off both tasks on my ‘to do’ list, I’m completely exhausted and ready for my evening meal, usually a healthy green salad – with steak, chips, fried onion rings, garlic mushrooms, macaroni cheese, mushy peas, Yorkshire pudding, asparagus, four bread rolls with butter, a pot noodle,  four bread rolls with butter (again), seven pints of Rebellion and a double gin and tonic. Sometimes I’m so lacking in energy Fallopian has to feed me.

Sarah returns from the Black Flag Resistance Shelter for Persecuted Anarchist Lesbian Vegetarians around 8 o’clock to join me for the evening, kicking off her combat boots and slumping on the sofa. She’s officially Lady Sarah Leatherhead, but refuses to recognise her title. Her father was Lord Leatherhead, but several of his colleagues took great pleasure in pointing out it sounded like the name of a porn star actor. For a while he dabbled with Lord John, but decided this sounded like the name of a gentlemen’s outfitters and reverted back, ignoring the puerile jibes of his peers.

At certain times of the year, we may have one or all of the kids at home. They are always keen to make sure we’re comfortable and give us lots of hugs. It’s usually around this time I discover my wallet, credit cards and car keys have gone missing.

I like to finish the day chilling out, perhaps watching some TV or a DVD, something that stimulates my brain and makes me think a little. I’m particularly fond of world cinema. I watched an enthralling foreign language film the other evening about a dysfunctional family who lived in an extremely cold enviroment. There were no subtitles and I failed to recognise the language, but the main character was called Pingu, I think.

At 11pm, when Sarah is asleep on the sofa cuddled up in her duffle coat, I like to sneak out to the garage and drink a whole bottle of rum in one go. I find it takes the edge off the day.

After a large mug of hot, steaming single malt whiskey, I tend to black out before retiring to bed at 4am, ready to face the rigours of the following day. Tally Ho!