The Happiness Assassination

Grandpa the devil

Me and Grandpa, the assassinator.

I have suspected that Grandpa is out to get me for a while now. And today I can present to you irrefutable proof that he wants me to be miserable.

He’s turning 80 this coming November and it seems that perhaps 80 is the age at which one may decide to Take Matters Into One’s Own Hands. Because things have certainly escalated since his 79th birthday.

I started to notice it just after Christmas when I attempted to begin organising the 80th birthday bash. He retaliated by attempting to remove himself from this mortal coil by way of heart attack, presumably planning to retreat to an alternate universe (or coil?) where he is rich enough to live independently of his annoying granddaughter. And also (presumably) rich enough to hire a guy to assassinate said Granddaughter’s happiness for him, so that he doesn’t have to do it himself.

Of course, I immediately put all birthday party preparations on hold so as not to antagonise the old bugger. But this was not enough to quell his insatiable fury. He cleverly devised a plan to try and make me throw myself off this mortal coil, thus leaving him in peace to live out his days away from other people’s triathlon histrionics.

It started fairly halfheartedly, with cunning schemes to wear me down through incessant doctors appointments at a surgery he’d carefully selected for its waiting room that offered zero entertainment. This enabled Grandpa to begin to weaken me with stories that he started and then promptly forgot the ending of, half way through. Over and over again.  If you’ve ever wondered where the term ‘cliff-hanger’ comes from, it is a derivation of ‘hanging out around cliffs ready to throw oneself off a suitable edge when one’s Grandfather forgets the endings to stories he is telling’.

You learn something new every day on this blog.

He then ramped things up with a few unexpected hits, making me take him on a 2-hour shopping expedition to buy pyjama pants (yes, two hours, one pair of pyjama bottoms) and at one point attempting to pay for his groceries using his drivers licence.

That’s your drivers licence, Grandpa.

Sorry darling?

That is your drivers licence.

What do you mean?

That thing in your hand, Grandpa, it’s your driver’s licence.

(He stares at left hand, which is empty)

No! Your right hand! You are trying to pay with your drivers licence!

Oh I see. That won’t work will it darling (chuckles evilly knowing that he has almost won)

But I have his blood. Not literally, but I am made of the same bat-shit crazy as he is. So I would not be beaten. When he wasn’t looking I swapped his rye bread for wholemeal. Huh! Grandpa if you are reading this and plotting a cute comment to leave below (in what I KNOW is a blatant attempt to steal my blog readers away!) then I hope your eyes are watering at the thought of this deception. But they probably aren’t because I also nicked your eye drops.

With our incessant fighting at a stalemate, Grandpa has gone to England to visit a selection of his other family members. He may be sussing out whether he could live with one of them instead, I don’t know. Family, if you are reading this, he is not as cute and docile as he seems. You have been warned.

So anyway, I thought I would have a couple of months’ rest from him and his antics. But he is smarter than he makes out, I tell you.

The Note

I didn’t see him slip this into my bag

I dropped him at the airport and we made a big show of hugging and crying but in reality we both had knife-proof vests on under our Airport Farewell Gear just in case ‘someone’ tried to stab us in the back and then escape the country to a place without extradition laws. I can’t say which place in case I need to go in future, but you can email me directly if you are interested/desperate/also living with a nutcase Grandpa.

After our public display of pretend sadness, as soon as I could, I jumped back in my car and sped away home to freedom. It was not until some time later that I discovered The Note.

Inside The Note

Inside The Note.

In an incredibly obvious, blatant, disgusting attempt to destroy my happily data-less state that I have waxed lyrical about on this blog as little as four weeks ago, Grandpa had apparently bought me a bloody Garmin.

The cheek of it astounded me. He isn’t normally this see-through in his attempts to make me miserable. In the past he has cloaked it much better. But I am kind of glad that now all of you blog readers will be able to see first-hand the kind of sh*t I have to put up with.

SIDENOTE: If you missed the post on why I am perfectly happy without a Garmin watch, please catch up.

Of course, I spent the first few days after his departure reeling.  I was afraid, I was angry, I was upset.  I wasted countless hours trying to devise a plan to escape Grandpa’s unmistakable ploy to ruin my life.  But I knew that as soon as this watch he promised turned up on my doorstep, it would clamp itself to my poor wrist and seal my fate as a miserable triathlete forever.

Now, I know the note stated that this strategic battle in our war should remain between the two of us.  Which I suppose you may think is very admirable, not wanting to draw innocent people into this catastrophe.  But I ask you, dear reader, would you not have wanted to know the reason for my sudden onset of depression this week?  Would you not have asked about the monstrosity that has suddenly appeared on my wrist?  Of course I had to share this outrageous turn of events with you.

Personally I think the reason he may have wanted to keep this ‘hush-hush’ was to keep Interpol off his back.  This damned watch must have cost him a kidney, which he has probably sold on the black market while he is in the UK.  It would be so like him to sell his bloody kidney just to buy me something.  He is evil incarnate.



So anyway, the watch arrived and before I knew what was happening it was strapped to my unsuspecting wrist.  I immediately had to go for a swim to test out once and for all how painfully slow I am.  I cycled down to the pool and back so that I could check the bike stats as well, mainly just to prove I didn’t need a watch to tell me I am brilliant at cycling.  And after pacing around the house for a while after all that, I decided to go for a little run as well.  It was so depressing I can barely sit and write about it.

Secondary 'misery'

Testing out a different pose for ‘misery’

To top it off, I am about to put a bloody photo of the thing on Instagram.  Yep.  Will I ever find happiness again?  I doubt it, I seriously doubt it.

Please leave your hate mail comments for Grandpa below.  Thank you for your support in this terrible time.

15 thoughts on “The Happiness Assassination

  1. Evil laughter all morning long resounding through theUK. My plan succeeded and I’m filled with pleasure at my foul display of grandpa naughtiness, you will be driven into furious bouts of energy trying to beat Old Garmin and by the time I get back to my castle in Burpengary you will be reduced to my Rindercella, no longer able to issue your edicts about loaves of bread, pyjamas, nor any other of your nefarious plans that you think go unnoticed by your poor old grandpa.He he he he he.

  2. Oh I love your Grandpa! He sounds positively delightful!
    Congrats on the new addition! Watch Instagram posts for life ?

    • Is it weird that I am getting really nervous about doing a proper training session with the watch on? I really don’t want my illusions of brilliance to be shattered! I am pretty sure I am about to discover that my ’14km run course’ is actually 2.8km long…
      And I suppose if annoying Grandpas who do nothing but make your life miserable is your thing, then yes he is delightful. Personally I’m putting him up for adoption as soon as he gets home.

      • Oh my gosh I will adopt him!
        I’ve noticed I push myself more with the watch on cos I’m so competitive with myself that I have to beat all previous times… So in that sense it is awesome! Oh and they look great on Instagram lol

        • Yes I can definitely see myself getting competitive with the watch! I am going to start with a proper swim in the morning I think.
          Shane has suggested that we sell Grandpa rather than adopt him out, so I will keep you updated on that ?

  3. You will never be the same now you have a Garmin Lauren!
    Best of luck continually competing against yourself; on the plus side it will make you more than ready to compete against everyone else in Noosa!
    Great post, even greater Grandpa 🙂

    • Thanks Zoe ☺ and yes it is just dawning on me that this watch changes everything! I think there might be a couple of wake-up calls in the next few weeks as I discover I am not as good at certain things as I thought I was ? but I can see myself coming up with a much more detailed training plan for Noosa as a result of it. I hope you are right and that I will be better prepared because of it! Trust Grandpa to up the ante.

  4. Great post and, yes, the Garmin is the gift of athletic improvement. He has definitely upped the ante, bad grandpa. And you forgot to mention how soul destroying it is that he is always so interested in everything we do and thinks we’re great. Unbearable really.

    • I knew you would sympathise! Thank you. It doesn’t really help with my misery though. I think what I might do is just refuse to get better at this crap. That will teach him for giving me ‘the gift of athletic improvement’ as you say. I will suck, forever. Just to spite him.

  5. Your Grandpa is awesome!!

    I am pleased to see he is continuing the age old tradition of “old man/ bad dad jokes” and associated shenanigans. Its a Grandad/ Dad’s duty to inflict much frustration on their daughters and grand daughters!

    Now hurry up and start posting some data already!! Remember I am just down the road so sing out if you want to catch up for some tri training.


    I think that was your watch going off telling you another sprint effort is due 😉

    • Are you suggesting that we commence a training session at the same time so that you can zoom off ahead of me and I will be left to eat your dust? I would rather you keep your triathlon excellence to yourself I think ?
      I have been a bit quiet on the watch, mainly because I forgot to take it with me to the pool on Friday (I wore the heart rate monitor but forgot the actual watch!) and yesterday I was resting up for my run today ? but I promise I will get better…

  6. I can’t believe I am so behind on your blog. Bloody working life. Too tired for anything other than working and sleeping and vaguely trying to tri.

    OMG. Your Grandpa is sooo awesome. I’m definitely joining the bidding war when he goes up for sale. (In my favour, I can make him feel like he’s back in the UK without leaving these shores).

    As for the Garmin, I have the opposite problem. I’m totally addicted to the damn things, but always seem to own the wrong model. So I acquired a 235 almost immediately before deciding on my grand triathlon scheme. And it a totally fabulous and expensive Garmin. (OK, expensive goes without saying when talking Garmins). But now I need a tri specific one. Which is not doing much to improve the cheeriness of the Grumpster.

    And as I can’t even manage to turn the thing on properly half the time, it really is a nonsense of an indulgence. But it isn’t stopping me sending “tax man be kind” vibes in the direction of a specific group of Govt officials…

    • Oh Jo you are so three weeks ago! ? congratulations on the new job and I hope you figure out the work/life/blog balance. It is a tough one.
      I will get you a bidder’s paddle for the auction – your Englishness may sweeten the deal if you go for England in the cricket? Such things are important to him.
      As far Garmins go, this 920xt is pretty amazing and I highly recommend it. But it is not the only option, maybe you could get a Garmin Swim? I have heard they are good for swimming and running. Then you just need a cheapie bike computer for your bike (mine was 69 bucks from 99Bikes)
      Otherwise, good luck with the tax return $$$$$

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