Birthday Party

Being invited to an 18th birthday party on a Friday night is an unusual thing for me. It was full of various events, which would not happen in normal circumstances. Like Sparkling Eyes getting into a conversation with a pair of teenage Soprano's, they just had some kind of bent on killing, and suggested an underworld connection with a nefarious group. Well one of them did. Personally I think it was because they wanted to impress Sparkling Eyes. Seeing Rock Chick get so tipsy and even say things which could be held against her when she's sobre. Love is so free when it's been enticed from a bottle of alcopop. Screaming neighbours telling, not asking, there be no more fireworks, although they had all been let off. Asbo officials who wanted to issue a fine and an ASBO (Anti-social-behaviour-order), and of course police. One police woman with an attitude who wanted to arrest the hostess because the hostess dared to speak back and give an opinion. Problem is when the hostess was a little tipsy herself. Otherwise there would of been no excuse to lock her up and suit her in striped pajamas.


In my various stages of inebriation perceptions of events change. Knocking back each bottle of beer a different narrative occurs. The little voice in the back of my head gives a running commentary of what's going on. Sometimes it's so interesting I just sit and listen to it wishing I was writing everything down or even had a voice recorder. Problem is, the ramblings of a half drunk may very well be just ramblings of a half drunk to someone who is sobre. Unfortunately I never carry a pen and note pad either. Don't matter. But the routine is usually the same, beginning with 1. what do i say? 2. lets eat something. 3. I think I'll just sit here and 4. I am so pissed I love everyone. Such are the stages of inebriation. And of course a continuing annoyance at whoever is controlling the CD player because for some reason they keep skipping the tracks I like. BASTARDS!!!!

At just after 3 a.m. I escorted Sparkling Eyes back home. Rock Chick had walked ahead with her pal the hyper and probably drunk Effervescent Eva. We all slept in, Rock Chick had a hang over which lasted 2 days. Mine lasted a morning, Sparkling Eyes of course never gets one. Which must be something do with her constitution. As for Rock Chick even saying she loved me as a step-father, she later recanted this saying it was a comment she made so I'd get her lots of presents. Damn, an I believed it. Thing is when I'm drunk I can't help but speak garbage, truthful garbage. And then pass out my love to every Tom Dick and Henry about. Next time I'll take a tape recorder, not just for my benefit, I could blackmail other's later. Who knows what may come out. Personally, I hope they keep it tucked away and don't let it out unless it's on film, camera, or voicemail.

Making Gravy

Last weekend I did it, this week end i repeated it, Yes, I believe I am now a champion gravy maker. It was a matter of powdered Bisto not the granule kind which has hydrogenated fats in it but the flour kind. The real stuff. The technique is so simple, but so tasty.

So I wont tell and will keep it to myself. It's taken years. Years. Well no actually just a matter of reading the instructions and following them. Now this is unusual because sometimes reading instructions doesn't help, especially when they have been written in Japanese. Especially in furniture flat-pack construction. Nope. just read the instruction on a pack of Bisto and your gravy will (fingers-crossed) be perfect.

The day has been quite, not much done except for the gravy and now all of a sudden I'm thinking of all the things I could of done. It's like my brain's in second gear and going backwards. I suppose were I a woman I would of done a 100 different things. Lucky I'm not then.

From a 6 year old's perspective

Little Monster boy is growing taller, today he really does look like his full 6 years of age. I tried to tell him about my exercising and putting on weight. He was not bothered. He said he was not bothered. While he drew pictures of Cybermen.

If only I were 6 again. I am often accused of being imature, even child like. In all the reality of this world being child like is a welcome distraction. Now being fat might make it easier for Cybermen to catch me. So now I know where to get my inspiration. Treadmill tomorrow here I come.

Air conditioning in the house of pain

It is a gruelling confession to make when I say Sparkling Eyes gave me the additional elbow to get healthy again and go to the gym. She was concerned i might collapse doing the garden some time. So now I'm in my 4th week of accepting pain. It's hard going. The 21st century has refined the art of torture and legalised it. Instead of whips, chains, water, racks and burning hot irons I pay for it each month. Go on a voluntary basis and then kid myself it was fun. Nope, not for me. Not now when I'm now an old git who loves to sofa sit. Which is all the more reason to run my socks off when given the chance. The worse thing is over the last 2 weeks the air conditioning has been out. The swet box really is a swet box.

Things could be worse, I could be dead. Sparkling Eyes told me about a neighbour of her's who has recently passed away. I was sorry to hear the news (God rest the neighbour's soul). Then Sparkling went on to remind me how more stressful a life she has than I. I agree. Sparkling Eyes is a wonderful woman, not because she would tell me to say it but because she is and she hasn't told me to say it. She then advises I could kick the bucket because of any number things and because of the way I've led my life. Like eating food cooked with Lard when I was a kid. I suppose I should lay off the chips nowadays then. Hope is all I have, hope those earlier years of growing up on fried bacon sandwiches and other fatty stuffs doesn't get me before the tread mill, multi gym, Swiss ball, rowing machine or fixed cycle. For now I'll just do my best to stop the paranoia kicking in things could be worse.

When concerns are cowering overhead think of happy things. Ice cream, chocolate a good hot madras with poppadoms, nan and dips hmmm. A cold glass of Rose wine and a good movie. Such delightful thoughts are the side effect of exercise and belly-neglect. If only exercise brought as much happiness as a cold pint in the pub or my rubbing Sparkling Eyes feet. Well better add another 5 minutes next session and owe a foot rub or two for someone who deserves them more then I the madras.

Won Ton Noodle and the British Museum

Friday night Green Car man texted me and asked if I'd like to go out and do something, so on Saturday the musketeers went into London. The Agenda was to visit the British Museum and peruse the Egyptian collection. Check out some mummies, coz all the daddies had absconded. Look at old written text on bits of wall and view loads of statues. Except from the start of this exhibition I had a hankering for one thing, it was Won Ton noodle. I could see the steam coming up from the bowl. The noodles nice and fresh seated there and around the edges of the noodles sank in the soup those wonderful dumplings. The image appeared to be haunting me, Green Car man mentioned I has referred to this dish a few times during the day. Yes, my stomach was thinking for me. So what. Yep another inch on my belly.
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The museum was wonderful. They have put an massive atrium to cover an area which used to be in the open. It's called the Great Court Yard. The floor is marble-like and the room is vast. It is wonderful piece of architecture. This is the first time I have seen this piece of modernisation. And the word which came out of my mouth when I walked in there was WOW. I was amazed by it. The natural lighting was superb. I bought my friends a book mark each. It was odd because I went in the museum shop and thought that looks nice, it was cheap and represented Egypt. Then the musketeers each picked one up. So at the counter I found myself purchasing 3 book marks where I had intended only to get the one. When we finished our tiring amble of the museum we went outside for a rest lay down and it wasn't long before I heard the snores of my compatriots. We are getting old I thought

In the museum I was struck by two groups going round on tour. One was of Muslim boys the other of Muslim girls. It was obvious because they each had traditional Muslim clothing on. The girls I felt so sorry for. Nearly every single one was covered from head to toe in black apparel. They must of been so uncomfortable on such a hot day. And again my personal view of women becoming second class citizens because of man's interpretation of religious text and writing of religious text came to mind. But more than this, part of me sees this as a disrespect to my own British culture. An unwillingness to be accepted as British. And I know for some this can be offensive. But it's religion. Sad as it is, in the name of religion the worse acts of humanity are found. Some one's religion has certainly got to be up the creek. Or rather someone's interpretation of it is.

The day finished with, you can guess, hmmmmm Won Ton noodle, which was as equally superb as sight seeing the British Museum. It's not served up by mummys fortunately but then if it was it could be just a little dusty. I'd hate to have an embalmed Won Ton I like mine in soup thank-you-very-much.

Back to the Slammer Paris

Sparkling Eyes sent me a text message about how annoyed she was when Paris Hilton girl-born-with-a-platinum-spoon-in-her-mouth, had been allowed out of Jail. The Sheriff had put her under house arrest after only serving 3 days of her sentence. Paris was distraught, she just doesn't have the mental savvy when it comes to wearing stripes. Perhaps they don't match her blond hair. Or maybe it's the having to mix with common people. Alternatively there may of been some big butch lesbian who has made a claim on Paris and is going to make Paris her very own bitch. I certainly could see Paris getting edgy over it. Then to the world's surprise to be let out. Sparkling Eyes was quaking in anger. Talk of back-handers was dropped between lines. Personally I think the Sheriff had a soft spot for Paris, her being one of the beautiful people and he decided to oil the jail door just so she could leave.

However, lets not forget why Paris was incarcerated. She had been caught a number of times intoxicated while driving. The judge had passed what is a very apt sentence. After all isn't it through drunk drivers other innocent people die? Isn't it usually unthinking incompetent stupid actions of drunk drivers which result in the life time of family misery. Where beloved relatives are never given the chance to be seen again, suddenly snatched from existence. No goodbyes, gone. If the judge decided Paris should go to jail then surely her sentence and the lesson she gains from it could save the life of someone. For what would happen if on the 4th occasion drunk while under the influence someone is slaughtered?

So it is with a hop in my step and an inner happiness I heard in the news Paris has been ordered back to jail to finish her sentence. What wonderful news. I do realise there is a little bit of malevolence in this, because although Paris is pretty distressed over being deprived of her liberty, I don't care. Even better still she just happens to be one of the rich elite and of course beautiful people. The type who don't know how tough the real world is. Such other's coming under this grouping would be Royalty and Old Money.

Yes, I'd say stick them all in jail for a short refresher of the hard stuff. Lets just hope there are enough butch lesbians and hairy Lifers to go round.

PJs at lunch time

The day is beautiful, the is sun out and it's nice and hot. I whereas find there are no muskateers to do a thing and sit in my PJs. I'd of normally rang up Sparkling Eyes but for now I am not inclined to do so. So instead, I drink a cold, cold alcoholic beverage and the gentle swathes of happy mild intoxication decend. Lovely.

Such a light weight, but I don't care. It's my day to chill, sit back speak to not a soul and recharge. So yes, lunch time and still in PJs need a shave and missed the post man and a delivery from Amazon. Oh well have to wait to next week now.