Autumn Sun

Today I met up with Green Car man and went to Greenwich. It was beautiful, the sun had decided to come out in one of those few days which autumn allows. It was as though to say a final goodbye for winter is imminent. Sunlight is a source of vitamin E, I think? So it's important to get it while it's here. Before the depression of long nights descend. The day was so clear looking down from Greenwich over the City of London. Even St Pauls Cathedral could be discerned. The City had spouted forth the first tall building developed by Olympia and Yorke who had gone bust, because of finance, it reaches 44 floors. Nothing in comparison to the sky scrapers of New York, but for London it is a travesty. The sky line is now changing dramatically. The beauty of old London becomes gradually dominated by what Prince Charles would call Carbuncles. However, looking down on the Maritine Museum and the old Naval college is wonderful.

We chilled out walking around Greenwich Market, and I bought some baklava, hmmmm delicious. Coffee and a small red change wallet, which I am sure will later be appropriated next time I see Sparkling Eyes. But I really wont mind. There was too many people about, but they all had the same idea of getting out to enjoy the day. I wanted to check out for some more American car number plates but couldn't find any on the stalls. Regardless, I'd rather be out on the last blessed days of autumn then stuck indoors.

I've got a thing for the Autumn Sun and the effect it has on trees, or rather I mean the light. It's the way it backlights the greens, browns and yellows. Not forgetting leisurely walking through fallen leaves. Crumpling below foot, and being tossed up and to the side with each step, they make a fluttering light sound. If only I had a camera in my head and could take these photographs and download them. Then maybe they could clutter out all the things I don't need. I could sit at a desk and work while simultaneously having my very own slide show. Autumn, I thank you.

Pumpkin Jack

In the run up towards Halloween children become excited. Further adults become excited to, they prepare the ground work for children. Making Witches hats, scary costumes and often carving pumpkins. Personally I like a little pumpkin pie once in a while and for me this is probably the best time to eat it. Or is it the idea of telling ghost stories, with a lamp light, a torch, a candle, a puppy dog's tail and a cat nearby. Because of course cats are said to have magical powers, others may think it's not true. But it is. And they do. Not magic as in the spooky uncanny kind. Perhaps in long inherent blood line, or their patience. Just as it is known to those in the know, pumpkins are not of this natural world.

Rubbish. If so, how come there is no other squash like a pumpkin? None as large or as orange in colour, non which grows in quite the same way. Fact pumpkins grow in 6 out of 7 continents, and one other continent kept out of the fact books. In the last 3000 years pumpkins were eaten to celebrate the ending of the summer, and the beginning of the winter. Or rather season of the night of the dead. It seems odd a pumpkin should be the victim of human hunger. When previously it was humans who were the victims of pumpkin hunger.

For it is said pumpkins were never orange in colour to start with, they were albino, but through thousands of years of growing in the fields of the dead their roots sapped the rotting seeped soil from bodies on top. In the time when sacrifice was common to appease the Nights of the dead. Ironic, such tribes of people would chose an innocent from amongst them and give this person up to the dead. Families did it willingly, because they didn't want to anger the Night. In choosing it would be a member who had caused them the most trouble, a sarcastic child, one who was stubborn or talked back. This in turn would keep all the other children of the tribe quite for the winter months. Before Father Christmas was invented, and the notion of blackmailing kids to be good had caught on. They used the reality of the Night of the Dead. So to return Pumpkins are orange because of the stained bloodied soil from which they came and had drunk. So it's a shame in some sense many people don't eat them as a kind of divine retribution.

I heard of 2 young girls once in a house not so far from a major river up North who considered a pumpkin as a light things to joke about. It had a candle in it and was christened Jack. Unfortunately, a combination of events can do something quite bizarre to pumpkins even in the 20th century where beliefs are few between. One even recently was the movement of the earth through the residual tail of Hailey's comet. This happened only 2 days ago. Shooting stars appear in the atmosphere, these are very tiny minuscule particles, when they burn up they look bright and awesome. However, being of extra terrestrial origin they have content which can awaken the most dormant of genes. One speckle has only to touch the skin of a man and he will never be the same again. More than one and he may never be seen again, being transformed, and pulled through interdimensional time to when the night of the dead was very real. Because these speckles of space dust, are thousands of years old. Their qualities excite and change ordinary everyday objects into what they really were like, those thousands of years ago.

The pumpkin played with and toyed with, giggle at and the but of many childish jokes, called Jack had been touched. Unbeknown by these unlucky and very unfortunate teenage girls. To them the world of soft cuddly toys, mums who made pasta and chocolate on tap would change over night. Pumpkin Jack was now in a state of change born again to his old self.

As the night wore on, Pumpkin Jack metamorphosed. It was not the little changes which matter, in his case it was the big changes. Ones which couldn't be missed no matter who you were. Long slender tentacles developed long enough to be legs. Slightly shorter ones as arms. With this came mobility. His arms and legs moved around as though they were quite natural. Because they were, 3000 years ago! When fresh red dark blood was drunk from the ground he grew in. He knew this, and as his genes had now awakened Pumpkin Jack, felt the hunger. Except no tribe was there to supply him with an obnoxious teenage child. This time he'd have to look for himself. And not so far away upstairs slept 2 such girls. He could tell, they had a kind of sweet smell to them. Nice and juicy, his roots would suck away their blood while they slept. He would become stronger and go on to find the rest of this night's menu.

Asleep in a dream world was Teenage Rock Chick and her friend Emily oblivious to their visitor. With ease Pumpkin Jack stealthily climbed the stairs. He pushed open the door and his head turned the corner. He still had his candle burning inside his head, and upon the walls caste a shadow of pointed teeth. He ran his tendril over the quilts as the girls slept. He reached up towards the face of one. And he could feel her breath over his slim rooted fingers. Slowly his string like hand reached down under and around her neck, it began to close. He knew if he constricted to slowly she would feel him. So quickly he tightened his grip. Rock Chick awoke and stared up. Fear in her eyes, trying to gasp and to shout but she could not. A whimper barely let lose. She fort with her hands pulling hard at his vines, struggling to tear him away. Emily began to stir, Jack was not quick enough and she let out a small scream before he had his second vined hand around her throat as well. His grip tightend, though weak because of his recent birth, he held on. The two girls struggled for their life as breath weeped away from their lungs. Their faces turning red, they struggled hard but it was not enough.

In the next room on a bed slept a black and white cat. His ears had popped up, alert. He let out a meow loud enough to wake the neighbours, but it wasn't for the sake of the neighbours for inbred within the make up of cats is a virus which kills rampant pumpkin carnivores. This lion with curiosity pounced into Rock Chick's room, behind him Beautiful Sparkling Eyes had awoken, she was alert and for some reason sensed all was not well. The small scream had penetrated her sleep, she began to hear the sound of thrashing arms as the girls fought. Sparkling eyes would take on anything in her way. The noise of two teenage girls fighting for their lives was clear, not shouting but clawing, punching and pounding at Pumpkin Jack. They hit with all their strength, but being weakened with breath they were become less and less effective.

The door sprang open. Fearlessly the cat clawed at a tendroned limb of Pumpkin Jack, cats enjoy such games. His claws stuck deep. Sparkling eyes jumped on the orange headed monster. It collapsed on the bed and as it did so his head turned around. Like a horror movie it turned to where it's back would be. The candle flickered at Sparkling Eyes. She took a breath and blew hard. The light went out. This cat like all cats, harboured in his make up a virus. Only known to exist 3000 years ago. Now it became active. The a cat's scratch infected green blooded Pumpkin Jack. He became weaker, as he had not had his chance to feed from the girls blood. Sparkling eyes threw a fist at the pumpkin head of Jack. It took flight and hit the wall rolling on the floor. It was heavy, but so is the might of a woman protecting her child. Jack’s body soon withered, becoming no more than a dusty green layer. In turn this layer disappeared and no evidence was left.

Just the hollowed out head of Jack. So next time girls you decide to make fun of a pumpkin think twice. You'll not be warned again.


Happy Halloweeennnnnnnnn

Pick the best bits and harvest them inside

Beautiful Sparkling Eyes sent me a text message, I've been reprimanded for not communicating so am in trouble. Sorry, been extraordinarily busy today.

After have a conversation with the chair of a the butchers he told me how, the boss had been pocketting monies which should of gone on the shop. Monies which meant the shop was a bit dilapidated. The butchers had also been losing customers as well. Because the boss had been spending his time in the papershop. Although he was paid by the butchers for his own reason the boss preferred the papershop.

However, a man from the independent butchers association is looking into things and the boss is probably committing something close to fraud, except there were no formal rules on what the boss should be doing with the monies. Except some kind of unspoken agreement half he could pocket and the rest were meant for the shop. This boss however was greedy, it all went in his pocket. To top it off, he'd decided to go off on long term butcher's leave. Perhaps not to come back again. Unfortunately the gravy boat is still running and he's probably financially a very happy man.

A day in the factory was like a day climbing a sand dune, each step I moved upwards my foot, ankle and leg sank in, I then found myself slipping backwards and down. Very literally nothing got done.

Lunch turned out a fiasco, I walked into 3 seperate cafes and walked out again. The first was a Chinese, I sat down began to look through the menu then a lady came up to me and said she had been sitting there. She'd given her order and had popped back from the loo. In the second cafe, I sat down and looked through the menu, no waitress about. Five minutes later she turns up, walks past me and goes and serves someone else when I'd sat right at the front as well. Lastly in the third shop, I entered, no body was behind the counter. A TV was on with Bargain Hunt. I waited no one turned up, I walked out. Unfortunately lunch was pie and chips, though I expect the pie and chips didn't mind as much as me.

It's been a busy day, but I did see something wonderful. As I began the morning, I could see autumn descend. Tree leaves were falling and those on the trees were multiple shades between green and yellow, a beautiful cascade of colours to the eye. In a short while the trees will be bare. But for this one captured image throughout the whole day, it may have been uneventful and busy. But then it couldn't really be so uneventful if I'd been chastised by beautiful Sparkling Eyes, I smile inside. Indeed another wonder to my day.

Finding Time

Odd how time goes by, or rather how it's used and then passes. For instance staying indoors on a Sunday, watching the box for hours on end, playing internet games and all the while saying to myself I will fit gym in later. Later comes, but gym or that little walk, or cutting the overgrown prickly bush at the front of the house do not happen. The day passes with a wisp of sadness as procrastination and the can't-be-bothered effect kick in.

The alternative is having lots of things arranged at a time and something very important comes along, but because it's short notice it can't be fitted in. Things like this can tear me up. Especially when it's one of the highest things on my list of important things. Very high. If I'd of had enough notice I might of been able to shuffle about, make arrangements, fit the most important in, but I can't. No time to put plan B into action, plan A has too many people relying on me and saying "hey Buddy you're already committed to slicing the bread!" The breads waiting and the knife is ready, I got to turn up, like it or not.

So I get torn up inside, hurt even, on the verge of tears because I can't see Beautiful Sparkling Eyes and I need to. It's a bit like worrying over something you can't stop yourself worrying about even though you know it's no good. I know Sparkling eyes will be disappointed, and knowing this hurts me again. So now I have 2 lots of hurting. I want to shrug it off like it's a layer of rain clinging to my coat, but it don't roll of so easily. The beautiful smile on her face, and the look of those so wonderful eyes, I'm not going to see just yet. Not in person. But if I think really hard enough I can see it now. First contact after a long time opening the car door, and looking over to the smiling, warm, happy and mischievous Sparkling Eyes. I just want to tell her how beautiful she looks. Kiss her on the cheek and tell her I love her. I calm while Teenage Rock Chick throws a verbal joust my direction. Keeping as best I can my tongue still, bite it hard though I do like the odd joust but in a car with Sparkling Eyes at the wheel I get told off. It's all playful fun a missing each other hello. Light, cheery and significant because right now my tears tell me so.

The thing with time is making sure it doesn't pass without memories. And what better than memories of important people. Saying hello, being happy in their company even if I happen at time to be the butt their jokes, it's all in fun. I care with fondness, as I step back and recall; for instance being made to laugh so hard in the kitchen while swallowing a drink it shot out of my nose; being duped into eating half a dozen anchovies when I thought it was just one and even told once I'd got man boobs. Though I really am trying to get rid of them, hopefully I'll lose the training bra next week.

Rushing about

Had to hit the factory this morning, a Saturday of all days, but if they want to pay extra for putting sardines in tins, who am I to argue, though some of those little nippers can get a bit slippery.

So rushed to the train station, thinking of Sparkling Eyes and hoping she was feeling better. But found my self short of time because the train was due in. Went to the ticket machine and some woman had just walked in front of me to get there first. Went to the counter service and some silly arse was taking their time with the teller. At this moment I hear the train come rumbling in. Now what do I do? If I don't get on it, the next will be 30 minutes and I'll be late. A guard at the barrier lets me through without a ticket, good. On the train now, no ticket thinking I could get caught fare dodging, fined and held up. An idea comes to me. Get off the next station and walk. I know the next station is hardly ever manned, should be no problem because my stop is after and it's a shortish walk. The train rumbles through the station. Great! Now am thinking how can I dodge this fare or get past without getting nicked? It shouldn't be a problem I tell myself, because there's been building work at the station and the side gate has been open for builders. Well, get off the train, the side gate is closed. Oh dear, not looking good. Last possibility I consider. The barriers might be open after all it's early Saturday morning and a number of mornings I've had a ticket and they have been open and wasted paying for a ticket in my mind. Climb up the stairs to the barrier and it's closed. Bollocks!! The quick thought of jumping over the barrier occurred to me, but I need to be a bit fitter and could of been caught on CCTV. I go to the gate and call over to the inspector. Tell him my plight and with a relief he just told me to buy a ticket from the teller there, which I did and handed directly back to him.

This probably means I am not cut out for a criminal background, with a guilty conscience and perhaps plans doomed to failure. Alternatively, being of nefarious mind I might consider this an opportunity rather than a problem and think of a better way to get past when I don't get the chance to pay for a ticket.

Yes got it. Simple put on a Burkha wear all black jump over the barrier and mingle with the nearest group of Burkha wearers. Pretend I'm nuts, ask the inspector the way to San Jose, and tell him about the thoughts in my head to kill every free running chicken I happen to see. No maybe not. Got it. If it's a bloke tell him there's a woman on the platform acting funny, maybe this will distract him. Nope. Get the next train back down the line and walk. Wait to see if the builders will open the gate. Tell the inspector I have a genetic disposition which makes me look like I am 40 years old but I'm really only 4 years old so don't have to pay the fare. Oh yes the solution. Buy a ticket, I'm sure it will work every time.

Que for a Sub

I decided on a sub for lunch. This is a kind of long roll 6 or 12 inches, which is then filled with lovely fresh salad and/or meats etc. While in the que a girl in front began to sing along to a song being played over the speakers. I didn't know the song, and part of me was thinking how dare she do that. Because why on earth should the world be inflicted with the talentless vocal chords of people who thought they were pop stars.

It always occurs to me, where can you run or hide if someone is singing? Simply you can't. There is no strategy of avoiding a fake pop star, or should I say pop start. Eventually the song stopped and this person could no longer sing along to a song she obviously liked, and didn't know or perhaps like the next one.

However, (big smile) the following song was one by Lilly Allen, who at this time I'm fond of, so I begin to sing in my own way, humming, mumbling along, as I do. Oh yes, I was noticed, the girl turned to see who brought forth such beautiful eloquent NOISE, because I don't know the words and can only just about chip in with some of the chorus, but it was retribution. If you out there fancy-yourself-talentless-pop-stars and think you can sing, I'm going to think I can sing to, and I tell you what, my vocal chords are even worse!

So it's about time every Tom, Dick and Harry who walks down the street and has to put up with the noise from teenage wanabees, or religeous freeks who believe Jesus walks with them while they hold the bible, step forward. Yes, throw your head up high, breath deep, and belt it out, loud, proud and for fuck sake make them wish they had ear plugs.

An Exciting adventure for Sparkling Eyes

I have been told by Sparkling Eyes not to refer to her as Cake. Also I have been told my life is boring and hers is not. To demonstrate I was sent a text along the lines of Tony Blair going to St Andrews tomorrow, the Anti war movement has got a demonstration up and I'm going. Further Sparkling Eyes, told me she might get arrested. And again her life was more interesting than mine and she should do her own BLOG. Of course the first words of greeting I had were not "hello, how are you?" but "hello you dirty bastard," of course she had reason which I will not go into. I asked if Sparkling Eyes would be taking Rock Chick Teenage Girl, no she wouldn't.

I could give the story of the time Sparkling Eyes hosed down the remains from an overflowing broken sewage pipe, with a high pressure hose. Or How Sparkling Eyes went to the Glen Eagles conference and saw first hand the clashes of protesters against police and how she is helping the community with the building of a community centre in the neighborhood. But perhaps one of the stories I heard and liked was when she walked into a pub with her friend and a band was on stage, one of the members made a derogagory remark over the mike as they walked in. It may have taken a couple of hours but Sparkling Eyes manourvered herself to a close enough point she could kick the man in the ankle and not be noticed. Though I am sure he would of felt it, and if Sparkling Eyes was feeling unkind he'd of probably been unable to walk for a week or two.

Perhaps in comparison my BLOGS are a little bland. But sometimes a little calm is a good thing, like the old saying goes "still waters run deep" which is more aliking to my own disposition. So the moto is, be passionate about life but be very careful with high pressure hoses.

Little Monster Tears

This evening I left Little Monster Boy in tears, I am ashamed of myself. It was all a matter of going to bed. Silly Sophia was trying to get him into a routine, but try was the word. 'He was persistent in finding his way back downstairs from his bedroom' she'd say, or he'd stay up all night and end up falling to sleep in school. This was not a good situation to be in for a growing monster. Though with family life unsettled this behaviour may even be considered normal in the circumstances. So tonight I had a go at putting Little Monster Boy to bed and learnt the meaning of bedtime battles.

I asked him at least a thousand times to put his PJs on, I rationalized the importance of getting a good nights sleep, it was necessary to grow I stated. I even argued when Little Monster Boy goes to school he needs to be fresh and bright to learn things. At which point his reply was "I know one add one is two," it wasn't quite what I had in mind. He deviated the conversation, told me he wasn't listening, avoided eye contact whenever I spoke of bed or PJs, continued playing with his toys, spoke out loud about nonsense things, and re wrote the entire book for nearly 6 years olds on how to procrastinate going to bed.

This led to action. I took him upstairs on 4 occasions, carrying him on two and gently dropped Little Monster on bed. Unfortunately it was also time for me to go, but I'd already given him a kiss and said "Good night." Just as I was leaving Silly Sophia told me the Monster would be up in 5 minutes after I left. I thought ok, I'll go out side and then count to ten and knock on the door again. At which point she would say to Monster Boy, Crazyfridayman was here. The door closed. I stood there counting, and heard speaking behind the door. It opened. Little Monster Boy had opened it and he had tears in his eyes and on his cheeks rolling down. He was so very sad about having to go to bed. But he also wanted to say goodnight and hug me. I held him, told him I loved him and it was very important to get sleep. With one finger I touched a tear on his cheek then smeared it away. He played with the arm of my glasses. Then I left.

The emotion of children is there for all to see, they are in this sense an open book and have difficulty in hiding both happiness and sadness, but that's one of the most wonderful things to love them for. Now if only we were all open books perhaps the world would be better. However, mostly speaking Little Monsters are open books, but were all Big Monsters there wouldn't be much space in the world to house us, being that there is so little land and so much sea. It was then it occurred to me. The seas were so big, because many people had shed tears throughout their life.

Hey I got a life vest with my name on it, and have the name of a man who can get them whole sale, ring me on ............

Smarties

Sometimes nothing happens, other days lots of things happen, so many it could be called a smarty day. Each different colour an item, each little chocolate something to dwell on. Other days the smarty box is empty and the day seems a complete and utter bore, it somehow passes by, bed followed by sleep and a new day.

In democratic society we have the freedom to chose whatever smarty we want, we can talk about them, eat them and even think about them. We may share those thoughts with others or keep them to ourselves. But of all things, the thoughts which go through your mind are your own. Further which can be an ass is they may even be difficult to control. For example someone says "don't think of the colour red" and you think of it. But it doesn't mean you want to be red, live life in red, taste red, throw a party in red or swim in the red sea with your mouth open. Thinking about something is not the same as doing it. Nor is writing about it. But it is your freedom to do this. When someone says "I didn't like it because you thought of red" what can you say? There is no answer because how can you stop your thoughts? They are not censored, held at ransom or stood up before a wall to be shot at dawn. Democratic society allows freedom to think as well. To the extent it even allows extremists or moderates or indifference to think of any colour they like. To tell someone they should stop is not going to happen. Because thoughts are free things. Like the random fluttering of a butterfly on a hot day, being tumbled around by gentle breezes. The thoughts don't matter it's the realities which do. So perhaps it's sad some people chastise us for our thoughts, yet if we were to say what are your inner thoughts, tell me. They may not say a thing, it's their privilege.

Oh I dropped my smarties on the table there for all to see, they are multicoloured and I'm sure some people don't like the red ones. If they tell me fine, but if get upset about it then consider this, "let your own thoughts be critiqued and how would you feel?"

Maybe I should take my smarties, eat them in a quite cupboard where no one can see me, hear me or have any notion of what my favourite colours are, of course I'm only going to know when I turn the light on, and then it's not a matter of thinking about them but rather eating them. Coz thinking about a smarty is definitely not the same as eating a smarty.

Battle for Cable Street

Had the day off. No factory, just me and an appointment with the hair dresser a little walk away, which I needed because of my lack of exercise. A youngish Turkish bloke, who even put a hot towel round my face. Perhaps he thought it would change my appearance, but when he removed it, I was the same. Seems like plastic surgery is still going to be on the wish list. However, to make up for it he gelled my hair. I was then a handsome hunk but looking decidedly thin on top. But with hair. Not bald, but maybe a little thinner, yet still nearly handsome. I enjoyed the experience to say the least for the end result. I'll just have to wear my hat the next week or so, even indoors.

I met a friend on my way to the hair dressers and found myself passing time chatting. It must of been all of an hour later I pealed myself off and managed a walk to the hair dressers. His mother had cancer. She was in hospital and now it was only a matter of time. She had seen specialists in Harley Street and done everything to no avail. It seemed genetic because her two sisters had died of it as well and they were younger. I felt sorry for my friend, especially his daughter who I know was practically bought up by his mum. He also complained about his knee and getting old. Fortunately at this moment my hair wasn't shorter so I looked ok otherwise I'd of made my hair complaint. At least we both had our life.

The news today had an item about Cable Street, it had been 70 years since Mosley and his fascist black shirts had been prevented from having demonstrating down this road. It's an area in the East End of London at the time had a significant Jewish population. Mosley wanted to walk with his followers down this street and through the Jewish areas after his crowd had heard support from Hitler. The authorities proved to be an ass. They allowed the demonstration to go ahead, even though a 100,000 petition had been presented to the Secretary of State. The people of the East End, Jews and Communists decided it was not going to happen. I saw an interview on TV take place and an old man who was there. He said they had a young medical student passing messages to the Communists from the authorities, telling them what the police intended to do. This insider knowledge was pretty valuable I suspect. So Mosley had 5,000 blackshirts begin to walk, they were minded by 10,000 police officers. But Cable Street residents and anti fascist supporters numbered 350,000 needless to say the event did not take place. The man interviewed said police offices just gave up trying to get through the baraccaded road. Residents were throwing the effects of their chamber pots out of windows down on them. It must of been awful. Not something to go home to the Mrs to and ask for a good snog and a hug because work had been stressful. Poor police officers. A bloody nose was given to the fascists in central London from which they would not recover. I can't understand why the Secretary of State would allow the march to take place, this was 1936, when fascism and Nazism was a real threat to Europe (Spanish civil war). Politicians can be such asses.



I realised one thing fascists no doubt dislike nearly as much as minority groups, had got to be ice cream. Because there is no such thing as a black ice cream and white ice cream on a black shirt just wouldn't have the same image as all in black does. Oh yes, not forgetting dandruft, snow, confetti and the contents of chamber pots. I'm glad I'll never be a fascist, I like ice cream too much amongst other things.

When deciding to have a long hot bath, don't forget to take a towel. Because otherwise this could lead to an embarassing moment, where I do the impression of a cat on a hot tin roof, dripping and bouncing from ball of foot to ball of foot trying not to get the carpet soaked and finding a towel. Although not one of those esential items which should be packed at birth, a towel has a useful place in society. So memo to self, don't under estimate the usefulness of a towel.