A Teenager is making me grey, bald and in need of a face lift

It is notorious the world over the effects teenagers have on their parents. Every parent was once a teenager, but it doesn't make the situation any more easier to deal with. At this moment in time Rock Chick has learnt the secret and dangerous art of how to make me and Sparkling Eyes grow old. I check my hair in the morning to see if it is all there, to see how much of it has migrated, to see how much has turned grey. If the light is dim enough I get away with the thoughts maybe there has been no change. But then, Sparkling says something I hadn't even considered was happening. She tells me I'm losing hair from the back of my head. An acute sigh is released from my lungs, because I can't see the back of my head it must be OK. But how wrong it appears I am. Unless Sparkling is just saying this to make me worry and make a bad situation even worse, folliclely speaking.

Rock Chick has a boyfriend. He's a little bit older, not much but a little and in teenage years a little can be a lot. Although Rock feels she has "control of the situation" I get that feeling which says when someone says they have control, it means they don't. They say it because they need to hear it for themselves, it's not for the benefit of other's. This makes me worry. So another hair goes grey or another wrinkle appears. Those crows feet are beginning to look like eagles feet now. I don't know what it is like to be a teenager in today's world. But I do know what is on the mind of boys. I do know there is actually nothing on a boys/teenager/young male's mind other than one thing. The one thing I don't want to mention. So I will not. But my own want is for Rock to get on with her education and understand her choices of today and the next 3 or 4 years could effect the rest of her life. I want the best for her in every respect. If I could put her into a biological suspended animation so she could concentrate on studies, getting exams and then concentrating on University I'd get to the Doc as quickly as possible. At the same time if she is to make mistakes in her life then she has to learn and will only learn from her own mistakes. Even if I can see her walk into one, as though a blind man were about to walk over a cliff. I can't do anything, if I did then I would seem like the bad guy. The big bad man who would not let Rock Chick do what she wanted. Then she would go out and do whatever she wanted to do and spite would be the reason. God how teenage girls are so ruled by hormones.

When I got drunk. I spoke to L & B man about it. I told him my concerns and I also wandered how he had managed to come through those same concerns with his own daughter. I then noticed his grey whisps are more pronounced than usual and thought of University Girl. In the meantime Sparkling is taking drugs to calm her blood pressure. I'm having sleepless nights, nose bleeds, bloating, farts and an over liking towards alcohol. Though I'm sure it's not all down to Rock Chick, the grey hair, eagles feet and balding or thinning spots may well be. Personally, I'd love to get a cattle prod, the type which has high voltage electric shocks running through them, and with every horny teenage boy who looks at Rock Chick I'd like to see how high pitched they scream when a few spare volts goes through their nether regions. OK I know you can't protect them all their life, but hey the mains electricity supply has been quite stable for many years.

This morning I was Tortured

Last night was great. I got drunk, well and truly drunk, but it was only this morning I realised how drunk I was, a night of Guinness followed by Baileys mixed with Jack Daniels. Sparkling of course has reminded me not to mix my drinks, although a little late. I must of understood how drunk I was because I began to drink water and even had a cup of coffee, but it was not enough. Not enough to save me. So I woke up, not quiet in this world, but in some other place between a ship in a raging sea and the horizontal position of bed.

I believe it was all L & B man's fault, he being the perfect host would appear with one drink after the other. Guinness first, two pints, then maybe 2 or 4 glasses of JD and Baileys. I was badly intoxicated. Sparkling wanted to continue listening to music TV, eventually I managed to persuade her to leave. I didn't really. She just decided it was OK and it was then about 3 a.m. This is a long story to get to the point of how I was tortured. But I'm getting there. I think I should never drink again, but I know I will, if only there was some way around it. Maybe gene therapy against the morning after.

Some time at about 8:00 a.m a shadow of consciousness crept upon me. This was not the only shadow, for an even bigger one was present. The ghost of hang-over present. It was very present in the room, very. It was dark, not because the days are shorter and mornings are darker anyway but because of too much alcohol. It felt worse than flu, which seems to be knocking people out all over the place at this time. By comparison the 24 hour flu bug would of been a walk over. Now the torture began.

Sparkling asked me to tickle her back. But she was talking and the sound of her voice although usually very nice was like a gong in Big Ben. After some time i lay quietly, in that place where you just don't know when or if you have to puke. I was hanging on. Hoping desperately I'd not have to run to the toilet and take a closer look at the enamel. The room span round and round. I thought if I stayed still, stayed silent long enough it would pass. Sparkling asked me how I felt? And I told her about a raging sea her response was to rock me gently and asked if I felt I was on the waves. I did then. Even worse than the hang-over by itself. Sparkling carried on, she chatted about how there was extra bacon in the fridge, just for me. She talked about chocolate and Turkish Delight. I don't know how I kept it together.

Later on, some time after mid day. When all was quite. There was a little creeping outside the bedroom door. I didn't pay any attention to it, except think it was considerate not to wake me up. The next moment the door burst open. Sparkling followed Rock Chick. Then "flash" and again "flash" there were several flashes. I was caught on camera, blinded. Rock Chick was laughing. I raised my hands in defence trying to shield my eyes from the flash. Rock Chick told Sparkling to hold my arms down. I then let them take the pictures, ones which now incriminate what Crazyman looks like when hang-over. My retinas are still burning from the flashes.

About 6 hours later I got my own back, talking through TV programs, Sparkling said I was better with a hang-over. I don't believe that. I'm better now and have been able to chronicle this event, until next time that is.

Merry Chrimbo one and all

Turkey's in the oven

Well the Turkey is in the oven, the duck is in the oven, my head is not in the oven, fortunately. Though I'll not say a word about dropping a tea bag. In fact where did I put my cup? Not inside the turkey I hope. No I found it hidden behind a chrimbo card.

I am spending Chrimbo with the wonderful Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. Rock is growing up into a beautiful young lady. Taking a picture of Rock and Sparkling together was a wonderful it places me in time and place, Chrimbo 2008.

Sparkling is fluffing about wondering about timing of the turkey. Last night we sat watching a little TV and Sparkling had a tear as she watched the children of a third world country. I thought about it as well and was nearly in tears myself. We are so lucky with our lives and don't have any concept of the struggles other people have. So at this time we should think about them and not groan at our own lot. At this moment I decided one of my new year resolutions would be to sign up to a charity and make donations. Well it's something and one item more to help charity in the world. Be there a god or no god, humanity needs to look after itself.

The turkey is smelling great. It must of been the Georgio Armani perfume I added earlier. Hey even turkeys like to smell good. My belly is grumbling, I want food. Rock Chick says she wants food as well, but we have to wait another hour. We considered it should be brought forward, come round now coz we're hungry.

If no one is in the forrest when the tree falls does it make a sound?

Sparkling misread my last blog and thought I had been trying to electrocute myself. It's what happens when you speed read over something. I don't mean electrocution. I mean misread.

Today Mr and Mrs Talkative came over with the not so talkative children. They were given their Christmas presents early and proceeded to open them with the zest a child usually has. Something an adult can never really do. Unless they still have a little child deep within their personality, or are suffering from some mental illness. Though I'd hope the two are quite different.

I needed a walk so took along Princess T with me. She is only 6 years old but has taken on a growing spurt. So much so, her ankles are now showing in her tracky bottoms. Her hand was small in my own as we walked around the lake, and her fingers got cold. I kept holding her hand in both of mine to help warm it up. She was a little concerned about the route we took worrying a little, but I persisted and we walked all the way round the lake and back home. As she had shoes on I picked her up and carried her under my arm whenever there was a puddle. She is such a sensitive little soul. Last time they visited I played draughts and when I took 3 pieces in one go she began to cry. It was stupid of me. So I put her pieces back on the board and learnt the lesson it was me who was supposed to cry (pretend) while she whooped me. It was only fair because little princesses are supposed to win.

As the house was full, the leaning tree decided to fall over. It did so and took with it some decorations. Big momma said "oh noooo" but it can't be helped when the uninitiated in instruction reading are allowed to put up Christmas trees. We quickly put it back up again and it leaned a different direction as though it was fed up with leaning one way and needed a change.

I spoke to Sparkling who told me of her night out. She had taken off her boots and when she did her feet swelled up to the point she could not put her boots back on. So in her intoxicated state decided to borrow L & B man's trainers. These are a whopping size 11, big foot trainers. On the way back home with this clown like footwear Sparkling fell over and landed on her arse. OUCH. Next time she goes out for a social and alcohol I advised she take her own trainers. I'm sure though if I said this to her in person I'd be getting one of them thrown at me. For having a big mouth.

Note, I have not and do not ever intend to electrocute myself. If I am found one day suffering from such a shock you are free to suspect foul play.

Elephants, Dad's army and action man.

I've been partaking in a little experiment, it didn't involve taking drugs or being locked in a room to see how I react to electric shocks. I had to do very little. I just let the stubble on my face grow. This morning it was the fourth day, and unlike the perception a bearded man is better than a bearded lady, my facial hair was pretty soft. But obviously not as pretty as a bearded lady, though I think for some reason there are very few of them about. Unfortunately my newly acquired action man look was looking even more rugged and so it had to be removed. However, it was removed while listening to an old radio special of Dad's Army. It's amazing how serendipity acts in this way. The shave took longer than usual and the play seemed to drag on, but I must admit it was pretty funny.

Sparkling has not peaked at the elephant I am told. Well she's the one who told me. It is under the bed. I expect I'll have to do some wrapping up when I get up to see her. Now how do you wrap an elephant? Carefully. Sparkling is pretty excited over Chrimbo, because the family will be at her house. It will be fun, busy, crowded and a turkey festival. She asked me last night whether I knew how to cook a turkey. I'm not much experienced at turkey cooking I must admit. I once saw Mr Bean with a turkey on his head, but cooking, seems a whole new universe away. I am sure it will be fun. I actually like cooking with Sparkling, it's usually accompanied by a glass of wine a radio playing music and discussion. Once when cooking a languistine I pretended the languistine was alive and shoved it in her direction. I don't think I've ever seen Sparkling react so quickly in her life, a hand shot out and whacked me accross the face so hard my glasses ended up hanging off one ear. She apologised, but just couldn't help reacting like it. My face stung red hot but it was so funny. I couldn't stop laughing even with a red cheek.

Talking of an elephant reminds me of one of my favourite ditties. How do you eat an elephant? The answer is simply a little bit at a time. I was told this by a fellow student when I began doing tertiary studies many years ago. She was in turn had it passed on from her father who was a doctor. Though I don't know if he was an elephant doctor. This saying helped when I was revising. I'd break down each subject area and spend a period on it, have a rest and then get back to studying again. It was hard work. Took a lot of perseverance and self motivation. It's odd how I had forgotten this and is something I should not hide too far in the recessed cupboards of memory.

I think this year's turkey could very well be an elephant, especially to feed all the mouths at the Chrimbo lunch. I suppose a little alcohol will help it go down regardless of what the end product turns out like. I wonder if there is a recipie for turkey flavoured with some kind of alcohol. Better get checking the web.

An elephant in my room

This morning UPS delivered a parcel to Sparkling Eyes. It was a little thing I'd ordered using the wonderful Internet. As a Chrimbo prezzy for Sparkling. The best thing I did though was to tell Sparkling it was going to come and make her promise not to open it. What a stroke of genius on my part. Shortly after UPS dropped the parcel off I had a text message from Sparkling. She said the parcel had arrived and it was enormous. It was like having an elephant in the room. Oh how wonderful I thought. And she wasn't allowed to open it up, yet I could tell how curious she is, I can see her now eyeing the parcel, and so wanting to open it. Touch it, feel it, shake it, smell it, anything which might give her a clue as to what it was. Mind she's got a pretty good idea it's an elephant, on account of it being so big. But the thing is she doesn't know what kind of elephant it is, whether it's Indian or African, whether it is yellow with pink spots or just plain purple with golden tinsel. Nope. Her curiosity is in overdrive right now. If I didn't know any better I could see Sparkling dancing from toe to toe just starring at it, the cogs in her head going round and round, the wondering, the curiosity. All of which is mounting up minute by minute as she guesses what is inside.

Poor Rock Chick has also been subject to the third degree. But the Rock is strong, she knows how to cope, fingers go straight in ears and she starts humming. Saying no matter what Sparkling does she will not crack under torture. Not for egg mayonnaise or Belgian chocolate the secret will not pass her lips. Awwe how brave of Rock Chick. I can only guess what she has to put up with this moment. But true to her word I know she will be.

Because it is so large Sparkling has requested Rock Chick open it up and then wrap it up in paper. I said OK, but can't help feeling a little dubious at this dastardly request. Sparkling noted it didn't matter whether I agreed or not she was going to tell Rock Chick to do this. Which may mean in the next day or few hours the secret doesn't last so long. The anonymous parcel may be uncloaked, awwwe. I sure hope Rock Chick is able to do this without Sparkling's interference, then I wonder, if the parcel is wrapped it makes it easier for Sparkling to tear just a small bit and get a peak at what is inside. Oh well, secrets of such elephantine proportions sometimes are found out before their time. But let me say this Sparkling, if you do get to peak I will be disappointed. With a little luck she may feel a pang of guilt and decide she wont look. Trunks crossed we'll just have to wait and see.

Aliens stole my hair

There are some pretty big conspiracy theories out there, when I say out there I mean out there, as I gesture with one hand and wave in the general direction of a void. Any void will do. Such as the moon landing. The one where NASA didn't actually land on the moon but on some studio set in the Nevada desert, or was it with the Nevada desert as a prop? I can't recall but you get the general gist of what it is all about.

However has anyone considered the smaller and much lesser alien controversies. Well not controversies as such because this would mean a lot of people know about them. I'll elaborate. What about the alien influences which happen on a smaller scale than NASA's invasion of the desert? Who speaks of these? The abductions which involve smaller objects, or things. This is because I'd like to step forward. I am an alien abductee. Yes, I am. OK now just get over the shock of this, but I must warn it has happened at a personal level. I wasn't in my car driving along the motorway. Which is stupid. Firstly because I don't have a car and secondly if anyone knows what the motorways are like in the UK no self respecting alien would ever attempt to do any abduction because they'd be on BBC news 24 within minutes of it taking place. Going back to the personal level. I believe my hair has been abducted.

It's not like me to seek public recognition or even go to the newspapers and become wealthy with my story. This is just not my style. Even if I mentioned George Takei was driving the space craft at the time I'd be laughed out as some kind of maker-upper of tales. I know it wasn't George because he's been staring in "I'm a celebrity get me out of here" no, it was just someone who looked a little like him. But an alien. And it's not like this event has happened just the once. A major story will give the ins and outs of what happened one night when Mr Smith drove home and then his engine failed to start. No mine is one which has happened over a number of years. Should I say more recent years. Hair has been removed from my head. There. I feel a great relief now I have let this information out to the world. What a burden it has been. Aliens have been stealing my hair follicles. Here and there over the years. The result has been the gradual thinning of a once proud mane of hair I used to have.

This morning as I looked at my face in the mirror, I noticed there was less than the normal fluffy stuff on top and wondered how can you make your hair look more than what it is? So I gave it a good washing and watched as it dried off and began to fluff out. The realisation dawned on me, and I understood. I've been a long term subject for alien studies, except they don't want my body because Sparkling and Rock Chick have already sold it to medical research. No these aliens are now taking away from me the only thing I have left. Except for my eyebrows. Yes, the hair on my head. One hair at a time, like a dripping tap and now I see it's effect.

It might seem strange but the reality is hair is pretty important. Because your hair holds a record of your dietary habit. Well depending how long it is. I had a few months of my dietary habit chopped off during the week by the hair dresser. The thinning can only be due to reduced hair follicles because they have been abducted. It is the only logical and reasoned conclusion I can come to. As the years wear on I may become bald. But it's something I'll get used to, no thanks to the little green men who visit me. Which has got to be on a frequent basis, although maybe not so frequently now. I'm prone to sleeping with one eye open, it scares them off I'm sure.

Anyway, I wonder if I can throw them off the track, perhaps get them to abduct somebody elses hair, or use another ploy. Web sites for hair pieces anyone?

An extra arm please - why thank you

I woke up this morning and to my surprise I had grown a third arm. I thought to myself "that's handy Harry stick it in the oven" but seeing as it was already attached and I didn't feel overly peckish I decided not to chop it off and roast it. Not this morning. But it has come in very useful. Especially after getting over the initial phase of wondering how I was going to hide this additional appendage from the sight of other people. Being a trend setter I'm sure I would of been mugged with requests of "how can I get one of those?" a secret I was not going to give away, because my fairy god mother would be in overtime mode and she's got too much to do this time of year. So in a way the additional arm was there to help me and her. Given some adhesive take I was able to strap it to my body so it looked like I'd put more weight on round my belly than usual. My excuse would be too many mince pies at this time of year, people would empathise and take no further notice. So I did the usual day of graft and got home to unwrap my extra bit and begin the second job.

Second job. This is wrapping presents. How wonderful this extra arm has been. It is a Chrimbo dream come true. I was able to both wrap and at the same time tear off a strip of adhesive tape to stick the paper down. In a job which normally takes hours I was able to shave off more than a minute. I can eat my sandwich, drink tea, stroke the cat, surf the web and pick up the next item to be dressed for Chrimbo, scratch my head, sing Dixie and play the banjo. This takes me back to the days when I used to sing "all I want for Chrimbo is my two front teeth" after they had been smacked out by a rebounding swing ball I'd set up in the front room and hit with just a little too much zeal. What a life changing situation to experience. I definitely recommend this to anyone. Particularly as genetic research is coming on with such bounds and leaps there's no reason why new born babies couldn't have the extra arm rather than grow it just before Chrimbo. It would save time on fashion and getting used to, because you have to balance yourself differently, especially when tight rope walking. Which I haven't done today by the way, but have on my diary penciled in for Tuesday.

Sometimes it is necessary to snap your fingers and realise it was all just a dream. What on earth is this extra arm doing here?

The lop-sided Chrimbo Tree

Big moma got her new friend the aged builder man to put up a recently acquired Chrimbo tree. I arrived home after a stint in the gym feeling quite knackered to say the least. The tree looked odd. It looked scruffy, disheveled, like it had been rejected and lost it's self esteem. And it leaned. Moma asked me to have a go at sorting it out. It's odd how innocent and unsuspecting traps can be sprung on the unwary. I at this point was the unwary. The notion of assembling such a thing seems at first quite simple, but when someone else has already had a go and you are then left to pick up the pieces and correct the error, it can take a little longer than if you had started it from the box in the first place. This was the case in this instance.

Sometimes people can be slotted into groups. It makes it easier to judge what they are like as an individual. One group are those who read instructions, the other group are those who don't read instructions, get stuck in because they believe they know better and are smarter than the item requiring assembly. It is in my opinion this group who cause headaches, especially for me. Builder man unfortunately was a member. It instinctively means something. Instruction are usually there for a reason and if you have already assembled something before then fine you know all there is to know. However, if things change, like Chrimbo trees and there is a set of instructions then in theory it would be easier to read the instructions first. Theory. What a wonderful word. However, the word theory is an abstract term to people who just jump in there all gung ho. They then commence to give gung ho a bad name.

I spent about an hour trying to correctly assemble the Chrimbo tree with the help of the instructions. Unfortunately because builder man had put a certain bracket item on a top section of the tree and I was unable to remove it the tree will forever be lop sided. It will lean more than the Tower of Pizza, more than a drunk walking uphill with stilts on and more than a large sailing yacht about to capsize. The picture I hope is quite clear now, crystal some might say. So for the next two or three years our Chrimbo tree will be a leaning one. All because someone didn't bother with reading the instructions. There is a name of such a person but for the sake of the innocent I'll not say it here.

How many idiots does it take to change a light bulb? Better sit in the dark and find out.

Electronic box of tricks - amazing

It's amazing what can be done with computers now days. When my school first had a computer it was locked up in a cupboard and had to be wheeled out on a trolley. At the time it cost thousands of pounds, which no doubt could of been more wisely spent on other amenities. But it was an object of awwe. The computer I now use is a good few years old but still works, just about. It does my needs. However, the amazing thing is how with a few key strokes it is possible to do online shopping for of my known associates. Fantastic. Wallet lighter, but of course it would be all thanks to this box here sitting quietly. Except for the fan humming away.

Regardless of the beauty of online shopping, the difficulty comes in searching, finding the right item to purchase. Not quite but fortunately it is nearly nailed for me and it's a good feeling. All with the help of a keyboard and a few electronic bits and pieces put together. What would I do without this box of tricks, I can only wonder. Sing the twelve days of Chrimbo no doubt.

These things get smarter all the time. Now all we need is a computer with artificial intelligence, then it can order Chrimbo presents for you and take the hassle out of demented Chrimbo anxiety attacks. Now if only it could cook a turkey as well, well I suppose us humans have got to do something for ourselves.

Pay for a Plastic Carrier Bag!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In the last few days I have almost become incensed by the issue of plastic carrier bags. When I go shopping it's usually spontaneous thing. I know I have to shop, get food and other items and make a half baked plan to do so in the evening. But with incredible ingratitude more and more shops expect I purchase a plastic carrier bag rather than give one away to me free. I was in W.H.Smith's hit the till with items coming to over £18 in value and then was advised I'd have to purchase a six pence carrier bag. A sharp pang of annoyance went through me, not quite enough to walk out and say "screw you" but it was there. I didn't argue and maybe I should of because after all the customer is always right. Fortunately I had a carrier bag which was holding a book and used it for my items. It advertised a different shop and so Smiths' lost out on free advertising. Even Marks and Spencers are getting in on this act. Now, if I am spending money on items from a shop the least they can do is provide me with a free bag so I can carry those items away. I don't think it's all down to the green lobby going crazy. It's nothing more than a rouse to skim off a few more pennies of profit for shops in a recession. Yep, it's all about screwing the customer even more.

So I nearly got screwed by Smiths. But am simmering away on how to get my own back. If people are now expected to bring their own carrier bags then it doesn't matter what those carrier bags have written on them. I was wondering about the logo "Smiths is too tight to give me a carrier bag so I bought my own."

I am a responsible person. I don't go throwing plastic bags out in the streets and littering the world, which other morons do. I usually keep my bag and use them to put rubbish in, they are handy rubbish bags. But the green lobby of this world has come to the conclusion plastic bags are killing the planet. I'm sure they are not, but rather it's the morons who dispose of them incorrectly who are killing the world. So because of some moron or rather many other morons in the world I now am forced to buy my own bag. Thing is, I'm not going to buy my own bag and I don't see why I should. So I've got to get into the routine of carrying a ruck sack or some other carrier with me permanently.

Aside from my annoying experience in Smiths. I went to a local shop and spent only a few pounds, to which they automatically gave me a bag to carry the few items I had bought. No questions were asked. So now to lead a revolt. It might be a one man revolt but it seems to me I can put my purchased items in any bag I so want. I really wonder who the shops would react if the masses of shoppers walked out with their own plastic bag castigating the mean fisted retailers who they'd just bought the items from. Sounds like a pretty good idea.

Conversation about Skinny dipping

I had a conversation with Sparkling, she said I should go Skinny Dipping. My reply was a no. For I know what she would of done. She wanted me to skinny dip for her pleasure while she drank wine on a beach. I saw in my mind a cold pebbled beach and icy water. As I entered the water and goose pimples began to infest my skin, I could detect without any doubt what Sparkling would be doing. Stealing my clothes. There would be no hesitation in this act. However, she then went on to say a fire would of been lit before I'd even hit the water. How awful of you Sparkling.

The ride back in the car would of seen me naked and covering my modesty with anything at hand. A newspaper if I was lucky, and although this was only a what-might-happen conversation I know better. Keep your wits about you specky boy.

Mixed all sorts

It's been a mixed day with a number of items appearing on the agenda. Sparkling Eyes has opened up the Community Centre and organised the official launch day. I sure hope she did not become the magician's assistant and have swords thrust through her while she sat in a box, or worse waited for the magician to use his guillotine. No, I don't think so, he was likely to have just pulled rabbits out of hats or bouquets of flowers. Sparkling has done so well with her efforts and I sure hope she gets some recognition from it. She's a wonderful woman indeed. I think Rock Chick may have been helping out as well, I hope she did and had fun as well. Just like her mum she's wonderful as well and deserves a break from friends who turn into not so good friends at all.

I had lunch at a carvery with Green Car man and Retired English Teacher. My English Teacher was on form and he was looking slightly more rotund than usual. It must be the winter weather I thought. Unfortunately the little Oriental man had a family bereavement so could not turn up. When he told me about it, I said I was here to help him in anyway I can. I haven't heard from him and suspect I will not at this time. The lunch was passable but the company better. The steak and ale pie just a little chewy for my liking.

Long haired boy had his birthday today, and is now 21 years old, how time so flies. I recall going to the hospital to see his mother, she was not having such a good time of the delivery. Staff had decided to segregate her into a private room because the other expectant mothers were being unsettled. It was the pain of her labour, and her screaming. To tell the truth she really wasn't up to the whole event. Mind I suppose like most pregnancies I'm sure it was not planned. Long haired boy was her first, followed by Banana girl and later on Monster Boy.

Tomorrow I am expecting the Talkatives to turn up. I've been informed it will be a short visit as the dogs are too big to put in the car with the rest of the family. Which makes sense an Alsatian and a cross breed Rottweiler are sure to take up space. I must wake up and take a deep breath tomorrow, I'll need it.

The man with an extra leg - not

I went to the gym this evening, although there's nothing unusual other than I was able to do a full work out rather than do a walk-out because of over eating at a Chinese-eat-as much-as-you-like. So was good in this respect. However, an unusual sight greeted me as I pushed the door open to the mens changing room and turned the corner. There were men getting changed of course but something stood out in a literal sense. My eyes were drawn to one particular person, they focused and I couldn't stop them.

On one seat there was a man who seemed to be buffing off a leg. It was a left leg and a full left leg, extending from foot to thigh. But the oddest thing which went through my mind was how odd. How odd a man should be buffing off a leg. And in a slow moment I had the following thought: he's got two legs and a leg he buffs off. He's got three legs. Yes, I actually thought for a moment this was a three legged man. So much for the maths classes when growing up. I wondered in this slow moment, what he wanted with the extra leg, how he walked with it, and what was it's function? I saw in my mind a man walking along with three legs. Yes, it was a particularly slow moment. How on earth could my imagination go on such a tangent in the matter of a short moment I just don't know. Then it occurred to me to count his legs. I'll not go into any logic now only the notion I had to count them. So I counted the leg being buffed as one, I saw a complete right leg. I guess it was complete because it was in a track suit with a trainer on the foot, and where the left leg was, I saw a stubbed thigh which was wrapped in some kind of stocking. Remarkably it was only at this point I realised he only had two legs. Two legs. Of course a false leg only two legs. Somehow the slow moment passed me and I'd learnt to count at least up to two if not three.

The surprise parcel

I know what Sparkling is really like when it comes to presents. She has to feel them, prod them, shake them and manipulate them in anyway she can to find out what is inside. This is when she hasn't already guessed and is right 9 times out of ten. So when she receives an unexpected parcel there is a fire of curiosity which soon takes hold.

A few weeks ago while in Sparkling's company we were perturbed about having no tin opener to open a tin. It had become a pain. Off to the shops we went, purchased a new one, and as soon as I get back home. I then learn the new opener has broken. I can't believe it. So with determination and a quest in mind I set about ordering a brand new tin opener. I checked the Internet sites, chose the one with a good review paid over the top and then waited. Nothing at first happened and I got an email back to say the supplier was out of stock. I thought no more of the matter and had not told Sparkling, because the item had not actually been sent to her. A couple of weeks pass and then I receive an email to say it has now been sent.

The supplier must of had a contract with a very efficient delivery company. Because before I had a chance to tell Sparkling it had arrived on her doorstep. For an instant I could see her face and expression. I could see the cogs in her brain spinning round in overdrive. Going crazy and asking the inevitable question "what is it?" Not to mention Rock Chick was home because she was feeling poorly so also would of been curious. I can only guess how long it took for the parcel to be opened up. If I say one minute it could be too generous, but it would of depended what Sparkling was up to at the time. No. It wouldn't. The parcel would of been first priority. I expect when she actually began tearing away at the package it was opened within 10 seconds, I'm guessing she would not of wanted to ruin her finger nails otherwise 5 seconds.

The text message must of come within a minute, no probably 5 minutes of opening. Because Sparkling and Rock found their mysterious parcel to be none other than a wonderful Tin opener sent with my love. Sparkling said in her text that romance is not dead. She and Rock Chick had been in fits of laughter. Several times during the day, I thought of the parcel being opened and laughed myself.

I wonder what I can send next time?

A view on maths from the girls point

This may be a obvious fact for some people, however a couple of mornings ago it was spouted like the first piece of news in the world, girls and boys differ. Thank heaven's there is a dissimilarity between girls and boys, otherwise the world would be so unexciting. However, this was in relation to the study of Maths. It seemed quite simple, to teach Math to girls a different method had to be used. Boys might have an affinity to numbers and a strange want to try and understand numbers in the purest form, but girls apparently need to know the wider context. For them, the reason why numbers should be studied in the first place has to be made. When I think about this, it sounds probably more logical than just studying them with no reason at all. It just goes to show how important maths is but more so how importantly girls ask this question. It is a more basic, and searching question, it is an obvious question, it is a question the boys should of thought about first, shame on them.

In further revelation the scientists noted boys and girls had different hard wiring in the brain. Though I must admit to a little bit of doubt in this point. I can understand there being some differences in the brain but I wouldn't of thought those differences were in order of the Grand Canyon. Girls think through their neo cortex whilst boys think about maths in terms of their hippo campus. When this particular explanation was given I thought "utter none sense" of course I could be wrong and thinking through my backside rather than my hippo campus, but I'd sure like to see the research which suggests this is the case. When you have studied a science it's the raw journal article you get to cross examine, show it to me and I'll make my own mind up. Or maybe not make my mind up, especially if someone is telling me I should. Because I rather don't like to be told how I think. I just think. Therefore I am. As one great philosopher said.

So although the news on the radio program was not as revealing as it proposed to be, I'm sure glad there is a difference in boys and girls. And more so the difference continues throughout life. All I can say is what about the poor hermaphrodites?

Can't take it with you

What an odd week it has been. Or perhaps it has been just like all other weeks. Sparkling will tell me how dull and boring my existence is and probably at the same time throw a custard pie at me.

This week for some reason when I passed the funeral directors on a little walk up the road, I wondered about making my own funeral arrangements. I wondered also about making a will. When I met my father for the first time, his pretense for the meeting was something to do with making a will. I thought about how my estate, and how little of it there is would be divided up. How someone I knew who seemed to be concerned with money for their children rather than presents at Christmas would view inheritance. For them as for others money appears to rule their world. Be this the lack of it or the need to spend it, it's not a nice place to be in. It is important and can not be ignored, but it is not everything. There are some things I never got to talk to my father about. My own pains of being brought up, issues I wanted to get off my chest and I never can. That opportunity is over. Sometimes all the money in the world is can not cure grief or the need to talk.

It is overcast outside and there is a threat of rain. But it is also very mild. Winter should be cold and frosty. Leaves are in the process of dropping off trees and in fact they are nearly bare, but the cold crisp bite of winter is more of a toothless gumming. It could even be a miserable summer day. The seasons are changing, it's sad. You're body can get partly used to the cold. It's something to moan about as well. A talking point. Cold also kills of vermin and insects, it acts as a controlling mechanism. If it stays mild all tropical diseases can become reality even in England. The Thames could be a festering lagoon for mosquitoes.

I'll be out shortly. In the company of a little Oriental fella and Green Car man. To walk around shops. Wow, great. interesting not. Maybe I should look for a casket maker, one who knows how to deal with expanding wast lines.

I saw a Grinch run off with Crimbo

I can not believe how quickly Crimbo has come, these are words which will be echoed throughout the country over the next few weeks. It is as though the very word itself has some warning attached to it. And it does. There is no hiding from it. It is coming. Coming like an express train whose wheels have been doused in grease. With serious momentum there is nothing able to stop it. Nothing except. I hesitate to say. The Grinch! With open arms I waved at him and wished him well as his large fat green bottom waddled down the street. He was laughing to, for he has taken away Crimbo. What a relief. The sigh is like a world shattering Mexican wave reverberating from coast to coast. It's infectious, it's happiness. Now the world is without commercialisation for this Crimbo. Without the need to purchase tedious over rated advertised crap. Which you know isn't going to work, and you're not sure is the right thing to buy in the first place. Yes. The Grinch has gone and now he is a speck on the horizon.

Now it means I can go to sleep without worrying about some overweight man dressed in red dropping down the chimney pot. Worse still considering nobody now days actually has a chimney. Does this mean the white bearded fella is ace with a lock pick set? Well I suppose modern times mean modern solutions. He's probably tendered out the delivery arm to the local Chinese delivery service, or Pizza for those who prefer Italian. Except for this year, he'll be taking a break on account of the Grinch having stolen it and the white beard can be trimmed. Something to do. Something to pass the time old fella. I'm sure he'll be thanking the Grinch as well.

I'm off. Got to do something about this sudden green complection I've aquired.

The Royal Ramily are dotty to

After managing to actually extract myself from the house this morning I went and bought a newspaper, I even tried to get a hair cut but too many people had the same idea. I certainly wasn't going to wait for an hour or more. Because, plainly speaking, queuing is a waste of life. Sometimes though it can not be avoided then I pay the price for impatience.

Returning back to the newspaper. It was in this paper I found a revealing article about the late Queen mother. For those who don't know, it's old one who always had a nice granny smiley face and the nation warmed to with such enthusiasm. Yes remember her. The article was about a book recently written by an interviewer and reporter on a prestigious serious radio program. So in all sense of the word, his word and reputation is by all means his bond. He had met the queen mother in the 1990's just after coming back from an international meeting involving many European leaders. He mentioned this to the Queen mother and was taken back by her reply. Which I'll not print in full because it would be pretty politically incorrect, just to say there were some colloquial terms she used to describe the Italians, Spanish and French in quite a derogatory fashion. The reporter was taken back by this and unable to reply at the time. But fortunately for us, and unfortunately for them, he put the episode in his book. Her comments were to all intent and purposes those of a bigot and racist. I thought the episode quite funny. I'll expect it will also do his book sales no harm either lol.


The reason I smiled, is if we all look at our own families we can see there are members who show racist, bigoted and cretin like tendencies. If it were not for the fact there existed a blood tie these persons we would not associate with in any form. I've wondered personally about the notion of an adoption agency where it's possible to adopt new relatives. One's better to your liking. I'm nearly certain I was mixed up at birth and have been brought up in the wrong family. The world has not caught on to this adoption idea, but if enough people read this BLOG then it just might be possible to make this real.

Maybe in some small country it could be a real law. What a new world it could then become. So in reality, those embarrassing members of our families could be adopted away.

Mind it is good to know royalty has it's own portion of embarrassing family members. We all make bloomers at times. I see in the same paper an article about Prince William when he took an RAF helicopter on an errand run, to pick up his girlfriend. It went on to say if the RAF had known what his intentions were at the time he would not of been allowed his little taxi service. Now what is the old saying. I recall now, "with power comes corruption, with absolute power comes absolute corruption" something along those lines.

I expect though when this wonderful idea is taken up by a small Island maybe in the Pacific, I'll emigrate there. Of course I'm sure the Island will not be run by a monarchy and so long as I don't need a donor liver, kidney or some other useful part all will be OK.

Scarey Dexter

Just seen an episode of Dexter series 3 and it ended making me feel a little scared. The reason being Dexter came out as what he really is, a cold hearted sociopath when it suits his needs. In consideration I don't think there will be another season's after this one. They will retire him in some way, if not from the script then I can't see Showtime continuing with the series. Dexter had the counter appeal of being an anti hero, but I don't know. For some reason he seemed exactly what he is and not enough of the dark comedy element was present. It got to me.

Christmas is very nearly here and it only seems an ever so short time ago, it was here before. It's time to go prezzy hunting. My worst pass time, I'd rather go fishing and hit trout over the head with a cosh then gut them in a sink. What will I get Sparkling or Rock Chick? I wonder if they life fresh fish, I'd kill two fishes with one stone.

I hear fireworks being let off into the night. It's been raining again. When you look up into the night sky the diminutive reality of things comes home. I think of the first animal into space. I think if I'm right it was the Russians who sent up an ape. How awful mankind can be. Mind I suppose the apes did get their revenge, especially from the film Planet of the Apes. After watching it I'm sure it serves us right for sending our furry relative up there.

Overtime tomorrow and I haven't spoken to Sparkling today. The day has just passed too quickly but it doesn't stop me thinking of her. I know for one thing, she would not of let the ape go up in a space capsule, if she saw that the ape would of been rescued and the scientist booted up the backside and in the capsule instead. Nope, can't hear any fireworks going off now, bet they thought twice.

Sparkling gave me a dizzy head

Life is never dull with the goings on I witness in Sparkling’s vicinity. For instance, yesterday Sparkling was undergoing two sets of phone calls one with a magician the other with fishes from the fish factory she works at. The magician had been booked to do an hour’s entertainment at the opening of a community centre. The little fish wanted a revolution against the big fishes and demonstrations. Sparkling asked the magician if he needed an assistant, because she would be free for that. I could only think there is a Debbie Magee in the making here. I then asked her if she might whether the tricks involved getting a finger cut off, or swords. At this point she remarked it was something she had not thought about and a little bit of trepidation crept in. I wondered in my mind what really happened in the afternoon or the following evening after Sparkling had spoken to these two fellows.

The little fish who had been off work for the last 6 months and had drunk maybe a bottle too many wanted the big fish to be brought to account. So he told Sparkling. Whilst the magician said this is something he could do. How asked the little fish? The bearded, top hatted purple coated, man mystically replied, he would sprinkle a bit of magic humility powder on the big fishes as they left the factory. Sparkling flashed her eyes in the wonderful way she does, when she needs someone to do a favour and charm becomes the flavour of the day. After which the magician and the little fish got fixed up in a lift on the 14th floor at midnight. It was the 14th because Sparkling held a belief the 13th would be unlucky, on account it held an apartment where chicken rustlers hid out. So, the little fish bought his bottle of Vodka the magician his wand and together they cast a spell, except some might say the little fish was a bit green at casting spells and it sounded more like he’d had an attack of tourettes syndrome, but it was in fact quite natural and nothing the medical profession should worry about. The magician eventually found his way home on the back of a turtle. Their meeting place was close to the sea you see. And next week we’ll find out what the result of this meeting was, apparently the spell begins to work as a half purple moon draws on a Thursday. So keep your eyes peeled.

Whilst today I received a text from Sparkling telling me she had sent an email to the KKK. A group of people with racist belief’s living in a country called America. Sparkling has taken a liking to Barak O Barmy the president elect. So have many more people. Unfortunately it’s rumoured the world will be watching to see if Mr Barmy lives long enough because a number of extremist groups are likely to see him as a new target. Well it stands to reason, there wouldn’t be much effect in taking a pot shot at Mr Bushy there would very likely be no effect. I hear turkey shooting is way better.

For some reason I think my chocolate sponge pudding I’ve just eaten has had too many additives, it sure tasted sweet. Maybe too sweet. I’m expecting a visit tomorrow. They didn’t leave a name. But apparently they have a thing for wearing white I am told. And there seems to be some odd sparkling debris on the top the porch. Where the visitors are coming. I’ll put some big fish soup on, I’m sure they will all like some.

In with the Large

Well the time has come and no matter how much I kid myself, hitting the gym, eating like a vegetarian-not; today I threw out the some medium briefs and loaded up on the large. They were just a little too tight at times. And there’s only so much testicular strangulation a man can take. The bin gratefully ate them and gave me some slack. What a relief.

However, in ever lasting hope things will change I’ll still continue with the gym, rather than singing out aloud in a alto tenor I’ll go bass. Though it’s not real singing as such, rather the odd grunt in between laboured breaths as I trudge along on the treadmill. I usually alter the speed so my little leggies can slow down. This way no one comes over to ask if I need resuscitation. With all the pretty people there I expect there wouldn’t be much chance of being resuscitated, they’d be checking out their profiles in the mirrors. Left side, right side and then checking their hair. Gyms are no longer the place of blood, swet and tears. Unless your shorts are too tight.

Choosing briefs was simple. It helped there being a special offer at the prestigious Hollywood store called Primark. With it’s recently imported brand. Good VFM, value for money. And they had plenty in size large, unfortunately they were all black. I’d of liked some patterned ones. Not flowered. Just different patterned ones but there was none there. Someone must of got in before me. Someone with as big an arse, or if they are unlucky a bigger appetite and tight large briefs because like me they are fooling themselves.

Unfortunately, people are getting bigger in the UK. Maybe it’s another American import caught on here. Except we don’t talk with the American accent. Mind in some countries, being large, or overly large is seen as a symbol of wealth. A Nigerian lady I know told me so. I don’t suppose they considered the effects of type 2 diabetes or the planet. For it stands to reason, heavier people will require more fuel or energy to move them about on the bus. There is no doubt we all need to go green, so my large briefs are probably a smack in the face of the green lobby. I expect it’s something the green lobby don’t want to think about. I wouldn’t blame them. There’s more important things. Like the disappearance of the whale. “What whale?” I hear you ask. Any whale. Hmm perhaps there is a connection there, maybe whales are being used to make large briefs. I understand, it explains the explosive farts. Not me of course. I mean the real big people with the missing whale briefs. Note to self, avoid walking behind big people, especially in closed spaces.

Dross and more dross

Went out today with Green Car man and the Little Chinese fella to Camden Market. Taking a Northern line tube from London Bridge. The weather has been awful all day. This morning it began overcast and if anyone had said to me this is the best it is going to get I would have been pretty disappointed to say the least. It was the best, things got worse afterwards. Darker more depressing and then constant rain, some of it heavy. Half cold. We did our usual walk around the market, I ate a Chinese dish of fried rice and chicken in black bean sauce. It was a little overdone with salt and not much spice. We noted how the same time last year we came here it was poor weather as well. Snow if I recall rightly. It was when I purchased a Russian style hat to wear in the winter. I’m wearing it now indoors, it’s my inspirational hat. Socialist, Russian, Hammer and scythe badge, can’t beat it for a head warmer.

Sparkling Eyes has gone incognito or offline. I know why. It’s the X Factor. Her winter warmer. My torture show, it should really be called the Cringe Factor but there would have been too many character spaces used. It’s particularly watch by teen girl fans and gay men I understand, or is it they are the groups who vote?. If you’re a young male contestant it’s possible to hit both these viewing groups and maximise votes. I would, except I’m no longer young and I was never able to move my hips in a particular way. The boredom factor so high, even Mr Cowell forgets the names of contestants, whilst Danni checks herself out in her powder puff after having a quick snort and wanders if she is quite her sister’s double yet. Nope Danni you just don’t have the Nah Nah Nah.

The big bloomer of the week has been Jonathon Dross and Russell Bland. Going on radio and making a typical pubescent juvenile phone call to the respected Manuel from Faulty Towers. Manuel is now 73 years old. I wonder how he felt when he replayed his answer phone to find these brainless overpaid plumb in mouth tossers sounding off. Especially the rather intimate news one had laid his grand-daughter. I heard part of their apology on the radio. It wasn’t an apology at all. More like a little brat boy pretending to be sorry but not really caring what he did. I’m sure the main culprit is Mr Dross. Bland has done the noble thing, resigned from his post. Dross hasn’t. Perhaps it’s worse because no one I know actually likes Dross. Maybe I know the wrong people. Yep, I really don’t know many juvenile upper class overpaid tossers on six million pounds a year just for the radio slot. So much for my social circle.

Damn legs are killing me after gym yesterday, gut as well. It was the big ball thing. Even though I took an extra long hot bath they still refuse to be normal and ache. So goes the process of old age, someone shoot me. Maybe in the morning they will be better. I’ll be able to walk down the stairs without an internal yelp. Perhaps I’ll have a renewed hip movement and toned up vocal cords. Then I could go on the Cringe Factor. No, maybe not because it would be something to wince at while passing the puke bucket.

Slow fast food

This morning I woke up, as I do in the morning, had breakfast listened to the radio then did the bathroom thing. Whilst staring through a face of shaving foam, I couldn't but help notice my man boobs. They just looked a bit saggy to tell the truth. The further realisation is going to the gym was not having the fully desired effect I so hoped. It would seem 3 times a week isn't enough for men with extra bits.

So after work I got stuck into the gym, which is always a little slow going after I've seen Sparkling. I just get too lazy when up North. Even though I took my shorts along I never got out and ran during this visit. I tried my best on the treadmill recognising I've lost some fitness by going slower and having to cut the time down. I then hit the big round ball thing. Like a giant balloon but with a thick rubber skin so even fat men can sit on it. Not used to this odd looking device I placed myself in front of a mirror so I could see how I was doing. It's different from the normal sit up because the thing wobbles so you have to balance at the same time. The sit ups are easier to do I think than just lying on my back. However, with the big ball thing, as I reclined back the rotund shape of my belly stuck out. I could see it in the mirror. Perhaps my T-shirt had shrunk? It seemed a tighter fit than normal. So I did a few extra sit ups with the thought my boobs needed the exercise. I hoped to see the difference immediately, but it just don't work like that when it comes to exercising.

Having left the gym I felt peckish. At this point I realised I hadn't eaten much all day. A bag of crisps out of the machine after gym didn't stave off this empty feeling either. So I checked out a local kebab shop. Made my order for kebab, chips and a tin of Coke, took a seat and waited. And waited, and waited. I sat and watched them prepare orders. Someone had been ringing in. One man wearing a black leather jacket, pop in then out. Another sat at a table and ate a pizza. After a period of 20 minutes I was now a little annoyed. Each order they made I thought would be mine, "it must be the next one" I thought. It wasn't. So I asked for my money back and the man who seemed to be doing all the work became apologetic and promptly made my order. Giving me an extra large portion of frys and kebab. Perhaps i should of insisted on my money back and I did ask for it back 3 times. But the guy just asked what it was I ordered and made it pronto. I left and ate the meal as I went home.

I thought to myself this was a lesson. A very important lesson. Not to use this shop again. I could of easily had a can of soup at home, and less expensive as well. Further the food was going to add more to my waste line than I needed and finally tomorrow morning I'll probably wake up with 44DD's. Great, someones bound to fancy me then.

I saw Tarzan

Winter is beginning to descend upon us, although the weather forecaster said it is a wind blowing in from the Antarctic. Mind it is nice to have a cold October. It’s about time. Makes you feel the climatic changes of global warming aren’t quite so real.

Well back from my trip to Sparkling Eyes and feeling like the old ways are coming back. Two pints of beautiful dark nectar and I’m feeling a little wobbly on my feet. After the pub I decided to go for a curry, and managed to get a deal from the man behind the counter. Mainly because I had my hand on the door handle and was about to walk out after hearing his prices. Well I suppose businesses still have to make a profit regardless of credit crisis. Shared the curry with big mama who complained it was too hot. Hmmm madras. I know it was hot, but I also knew she wouldn’t turn up the offer of a free nosh up. Glad I shared it coz I shared the calories as well. After last night’s session in the gym I need to watch what I eat.

Ran on the treadmill and knackered myself. So much when I left my legs wobbled. It’s never happened before. Wobbly leg illness. It wasn’t like I’d over done it, but I suppose I had. I didn’t do any exercise when up at Sparkling’s, so it serves me right. Showered, changed walked out and nearly fell over. Bloody legs. Well at least I was able to breath. I was going to take on one of the beautiful people. I even got on a treadmill next to him. This young fella, big muscles looked a typical wanabe Tarzan, and he was running at quite a pace. So I punched in the machine his pace but a little more. Boy am I so glad the machine did not work. I can see it now in the local press. Little pot bellied man takes on Tarzan look alike in gym and has heart attack. I can’t help it. Even when in my mid forties I got the killer instinct. Look out would be Tarzan I’ll get you next week.

Overdose on Ben and Jerry's

Fine blue fingers of winter begin their slow shivering caress of Scotland. As usual, I realise when traveling 400 plus miles north the weather is cooler. And it's windy, but as ever the sun from Sparkling always keeps me warm.

Sparkling tells me she is my inspiration. "Yes" I said, "the pokes in my side are quite inspiring." It must be the power of her index finger. There's a lot of power in that little pinky. She goes on to say how much she has missed Rock Chick the past weeks. And then states I've missed her as well, it's true. I do enjoy winding up Rock Chick and then getting a reprimand and having to apologise. In the back ground Rock Chick sniggering away because her ma has come back to her rescue. So it should be with mum's and their loved daughter's.

Perhaps it's one of the reasons this evening I overdosed on Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream. Well it just so happens to be Rock's favourite. But it's also mine. Except when Rock Chick is around I never get to taste it. I just get to see it devoured. Hmmm. What an awful thing to do, eat chocolate ice cream in front of me.

I hit some balls at the range with Tall accountancy man. He's a nice fella, and pretty good with a golf club. I'm sure he must of had lessons when he barely began to walk. Nappy on botty club in hand, a dozen golf balls on the carpet. I played with toy cars, but up North kids play with golf clubs or jack up real cars and sell the wheels. No I'm joking they'd never do such a thing. Tall Accountancy man is hooked up with Effervescent Uni Girl she's bright, gregarious and enjoys a good night out. Much like Sparkling in a way.

Sparkling is going to be helping Effervescent Uni Girl next week as L & B man and family return from Florida. It will be a tidying up thing. Although I doubt there will be much to tidy up at all. They are all conscientious tidying up people. I'm not and so Sparkling tells me. Rock Chick is not a tidy person either. It's good to know this, because untidy people get chastised, sticking together in our obnoxious ways makes us we are not alone. It's a world binding big warm hug of untidiness's which unites us. This and Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream.

The problem of overdosing on Ben and Jerry's ice cream is the worry of having a high blood sugar level. Sparkling has advised me she knows CPR and she says chest pounding or pressing what matters, because there's already oxygen in the blood stream. It's a nice thought and probably another reason for me to get yet another phobia and not sleep. It's hot by the gas fire, but ice cream sure goes a long way to keeping it cooler. Hmmmm.

Tesco's ate me

I took a short walk today. Down to the local Tesco. Although local it is a pretty big place. Normally I don't like such over sized shops, with reputations of strangling their suppliers because of their buying power. But I needed the air, it was raining and overcast. Sparkling was suggesting I change profession to Bank Robber. I'm a little apprehensive about such a suggestion so the walk would give me some relief.

I arrived at Tesco after a twenty minute walk. Not overawed at this point because I enjoyed the walk. It's odd how just an innocent, innocuous thing like walking round a store can slowly creep up on you. A little like the Venus Fly Trap and an unsuspecting fly. Except with Tesco's this was a little slower fly traps are fast. I walked around the stationary area, having a penchant for paper, pens and such like items. They nearly send a shiver of excitement down my spine. Then moved away with a cursory glance at DVDs and mobile phones. A slow yawning crept its way from my lips. I could feel myself taking on a turn. Tiring. But I tried to keep focused. A list of items were to be obtained. The coconut milk was particularly difficult to locate. I had to ask a shelf-filler where they were. In about thirty different ailes the coconut milk took on the width of two tins. I wondered why it wasn't common to have a product finder. I was lost. Energy levels had now sapped away. I had to send a message of hope to the world. So did a quick text to Sparkling. By morning my face would be on milk cartons. Someone would be bound to report where they had seen me last. Perhaps even a blurred CCTV image shown on the late night news bulletin?

After a mild panic attack in which my feet seemed to walk. I had to get past trolleys blocking up the ailse. I did it though. OUT and freedom. Then it was a matter of walking back, which was all uphill and with 3 bags of shopping. Fortunately Sparkling just so happened to pass in the car. What a wonderful sight it was to, unfortunately I then spent another twenty minutes walking round another store. To be regurgitated again.

Roast potatoes in Goose Fat

The lovely Sparkling Eyes cooked a pork dish with Goose fat roasted potatoes. The first time I have eaten this type of roasted tatties before, they are delicious. The remaining few left over dwindled down as the evening wore on. Sparkling confessed, she just couldn't help herself. I to found a peckish magnetism towards the odd lonely tatty. With a little salt on top. Hmmmm

A program about polygamous families in America is on the TV. Sparkling pokes me. I'm not sure if it's a finger or the edge of her mobile phone. We converse about writing. Ouch. Then my head is massaged with her wonderful fingers. Hmmmm. But from further discussion and her annoying tone those fingers curl up into a little fist which taps on my head. This is her motivation. With the words "come on write something, I'm giving you motivation" I wont go into the other words used or highlight her invigorating attempt at inspiration, just to say it's working.

Oh my how difficult it must be for those Mormon men with multiple wives? Especially when they get old and suffer from Alzheimer's, which would be pretty bad. Especially for the wife who is expecting her conjugal visit because it's her special day of the week. But the silly old sod gets confused and goes to the wrong one. Sparkling by the way likes the notion of polygamy. I'd asked her about it, "yes" she said. Then asked "how many husbands can I have?" I tried to explain it didn't work this way. Instead she indicated a desire to be the first woman in Scotland to be a polygamist. Great. I can see Sven the oil platform worker with his blond hair and Viking looks being popular with Sparkling. I sure hope she don't get Alzheimer's.

Well I'll always have the tatties in Goose fat.

Talentless talent

I'm up North keeping Sparkling company, in the meantime Rock Chick is on holiday in Florida. With L & B man and family. They are doing the usual Florida thing. Theme parks, rides, shopping and showing their support for Obama by purchasing as many T shirts as they can. Look out Walmart. For the time being I sit watching TV.

This morning I made breakfast, and remarkably it came out pretty well if I must say so. Sparkling complimented my chef skills. I should do more cooking it's good when a recipe comes together. Although there really wasn't much in the way of recipes, when talking about a fry up. But it is all in the timing. Everything coming together at the same time, hot and not too over cooked. The Cumberland sausages were tasty hmmm.

At the moment I am being tortured having to endure X factor. A shiver descends down my spine as talentless talent thinks it can become famous, without doing the work. I am dying. Someone shoot me. Yes the girl band has got to go. Too many missed notes. The preliminary clips shows how they grew up. Little girls on stages singing their hearts out because misguided parents who can't find their own fame and fortune. Instead from their own talentless talent hang all their hopes on their offspring. Each and every contestant tells their story, how they all love music, have all sang for years and years, and how they will do their best. Someone give me a puke bucket. Especially when the sob stories kick in. The girl banD is going out, I'm sure, they were awful.

But still the talentless shows go on and Joe public watch them. There's got to be more to life. Either writing a blog or throwing together a good dish of ingredients. I can't sing I know it, but worse still are those who think they can. Another good reason to detest Talentless shows or karaoke. Oh dear I've been bad, Sparkling hasn't liked my words, has thrown her foot in my direction and demand I massage it. Damn. I got a big mouth.

Dull Day

It's been a dull day over London, overcast the entire day. I don't think I saw a single ray of sunshine. Which made it dark indoors and dark especially when waking up in the morning.

There's been no communication from Sparkling the last couple of days. I'm not texting her, she's not texting me, so we're stuck in some no-mans-land. A misty fog of obscurity settles itself down. Nothing going or coming. Just damp dark and dull weather. If she can't be bothered to text me, why should I be bothered to text her? I'm sure I'll calm down at some point. The point when I'm missing her kicks in and a strange unaccountable magnetism draws me to the digits on my mobile phone.

I've managed to upset Lazy Ass-stuck-in-room boy. Who has permanently locked himself away in a room with either PlayStation games, his girlfriend, or loggin on and off the Internet. No job. No income. No aspiration of doing anything, except smoking, collecting rubbish from throw away take outs and unwashed clothes. I upset him along the lines of getting a job. I am fed up with his complete inactivity. Both barrels were let lose. I worked at 11 years of age, then got a job at 17 when I left school. He's now 21 I think? And has done nothing productive. If this were China and you didn't have a job or work, you'd die of starvation there's no free tickets there. To boot I had a dig and his sister Teeny ignorant girl, who has provided a wealth of intelligence in her inability to conquer GCSE's, and again show no motivation.

I'm fed up with people asking me for change, when quite clearly they are not destitute and are trying to fleece anyone they can. I'll add complete annoyance at litter louts, throwing the rubbish in the street and not carrying it to a bin. Which is very little effort. They have no respect for their country so I have no respect for them.

I'm fed up of junkies all over the place and skanky looking teenager's who think they are big because they have a gang culture look about them. Wear jeans nearly falling off their asses like they are putting out their backside for any batty boy in the area. It's fashion I know. But when it looks like you've crapped your jeans coz the crutch hangs so low seems to me they've lost a brain cell. Not to mention the odd-ones-out, lads trying to fit into a cultural stereotype when they plainly are and never will. They are the wrong race, the wrong colour, the wrong body type, but they want to look like idiots they can, it is after all a free world.

I detest the lunatic car drivers who talk on their mobile phone and drive their car even though it is against the law. One handed, as if they have been given some royal decree which says the law does not apply. They should be deprived of their wheels, fined a hefty amount of readies and made to walk the plank. Personally I'd super glue their phones to the palm of their hand then give them a strong dose of laxative.

I am also completely fed up with cafes and their poor excuse of food they sell to the accepting public. If chips were off the menu by command of the law what other substitute of inadequate nutrition would they come up with? Our diet is so poor, we have no appreciation or understanding of what this degenerate garbage consumed each day is actually doing to us. As each and everyone of us dies through too high salt consumption, oil, grease, trans fats, various degrees of malnutrition and of course obesity. Lets all join the high cholesterol club, go on Statins for life and let our teeth rot away from Cola drinks. Thank Cadbury's for chocolate, where would we be without it?

Yes, it's been a dull day. I'll saturate myself in boredom and indulge in some strong caffeine in the morning, not forgetting a doughnut. I'm sure to feel better then, I sure hope the sun comes out.

A trip to the Dentist

Yesterday, I went to the dentist. It was a morning check-up, but ended up in my having a filling and costing all of £45. I'm now OK for a year before returning. Heaven's knows how much it would of been to take a tooth out? Regardless I find the whole dental thing a nerve jangling experience and always have done. So have built up over the years a good relationship with my dentist because he's just good at dealing with nervous wrecks like me.

There are a number of strategies I employ when having a check up. Firstly, mouth opening. Now for some people who have big mouths this is easy. Theirs may retract and dislocate to open like a snake devouring it's latest victim. My mouth however just has a problem when opening. It's not that big. I find it difficult. Maybe it's something to do with not being a great talker like some. I don't know. But I do know I have to open my mouth as wide as I can for short periods, it's practice. Not to say my dentist wants to get his entire arm down there, as well as the pneumatic drill. No. All he wants to do is his dental thing. So a little jaw loosening is always a must. The next strategy is to relax. Relax as much as I can. Mr Dentist man usually tells me to breath through my nose. Well not having perfected the art of breathing through my arse this is pretty good advice. The problem can be when he's drilling away the smell of smoking charred enable is inhaled. Which can lead to a state of not-relaxed. Short breaths and my raising a hand or suddenly gagging and chocking. It's not panic just the necessity to breath. The next strategy is used by my dentist. He simply waits for very short moments to allow me to recover, then taps my shoulder and I open my mouth again. I continue breathing, this time through my nose and even try counting. Slowly with each exhale, 1, 2, 3....oops breath through nose 4, 5, 6.... and so on. Having a good dental nurse helps, as the careful placement of the sucking device ensures excess liquids are vacuumed up, rather than my chocking because it's been poorly positioned.

Then after a few words, and a thanks I see the receptions and pay the bill. Teeth, what can you do without them? Suck eggs I suppose.

A Curve Ball

To take an American expression, unfortunately, some days the unexpected happens. In effect a Curve Ball is thrown. This is a thing, anything which might not of been predicted but causes an inconvenience, or discomfort. This morning I walked a slightly longer route to the train station because I thought I needed the exercise. As I approached the station, rather than see people enter they were leaving. I knew immediately something was up. This knowing didn't stop me from continuing to walk into the Station. I needed verification for my self. It came in the form of a Curve Ball. Yes, there had been a power cut on this line into London. It happens on a monthly basis. The consequence meant queing up for a bus. Then a bus came within a very short while. Unluckily it continued to travel past the stop, packed full of Sardines, they had emigrated from Sardine in Train to Sardine on Bus. Must of been something to do with the Olive Oil. I walked a mile to a different bus stop and got more than the exercise anticipated.

On another morning not long after returning from a wonderful visit to see Sparkling Eyes I suffered from an attack of Dandruff. It was bad. Big blooming flakes which wanted desperately to be part of an early Christmas. I had contemplated writing an entire blog about this experience, however, the response when I told Sparkling Eyes was one of "Yuk!" This discouraged me from putting it into writing. At the time. I coped with the dandruff attack by having yet another hair washing, running round a tree half naked, and singing a verse from the Sound of Music. I had it on good report this was the in Vogue method of fighting dandruff. Either this or bath in Asp milk. As there are few Asps about now days I ran round the tree instead and added a verse or two castigating Cleopatra.

It's nice to have a problem free day, but they don't happen. As Sparkling constantly reminds me I don't have problems she has problems, and she then goes on to trade me what her problems are, putting them in the context of my lunch time Salsa. As if I am in an entirely different world when I am not.

My next Curve Ball I now sit and wait for. Tomorrow morning I have a dental appointment. It came at short notice. I say this because usually it takes about 2 weeks to get an appointment set up. Instead it took only 2 days and has meant I really haven't had much time practicing opening my mouth for long periods. So I expect after the dentist I'll not be able to move my jaw the rest of the day. Let alone something be found which needs fixing. Like the hole in my head.

Another fine day

A Dull overcast sky dictated this morning. Today is the day before tomorrow. Tomorrow is a birthday anniversary. As per normal I get to feel depressed, it's to do with birthdays. And in part it's better if no one celebrates it. A bit like having a leg broken. It's not a thing to celebrate. But some people do like their special days celebrated, and other's like to remind me of mine, and if they are sincerely happy I get emotional. Blue, like time has stood still for a moment and I sit in the emotional sands of self pity. Someone kick me, hard in the butt. Maybe a little pain will wake me up. Then kick me again till I cry out and eat your head off. Then I'll feel better. Nothing like a little argument to get the arteries flowing.

Some pressies sit waiting to be opened. I'll attend them tomorrow. I could do with a hug from Sparkling to tell her how much I miss her.

Another thing I groan about is the Australian optometrist, because I'm sure his testing wasn't up to standard. There were certain tests he didn't do. So now I'm stewing in a mood. Feeling I need to see Australia lose some more at any athletic event on the cards. I wonder if they are any good at pork pie throwing. I doubt it. Pork pies probably go off down-under. On account of it being so hot. They probably have kangaroo pies instead.

Yep I can tell. I'll be in a downright ugly mood tomorrow morning. Crash helmet, ear plugs, bovver boots, flak jacket and some sour sweets. Then I'll be fine. It's only once a year. Once too often. Maybe even drug myself so I don't get up tomorrow. Just sleep through the entire day. At least it will stop me from murdering someone. Murdering anyone. I'm not fussy.

An Australian Optometrist and the Fiat Design

Having now actually done a little golf and found the ball gets easily lost when I took my eye off it, this signaled it was time to get an eye test. So this afternoon I had one, the last took place 8 years ago. There is always a dominant eye, mines the left. In long distances I use the left, however in very short distances I use the right. Today I found there had been a change, not a great deal but enough I'd notice. The optometrist thought little of the change and said my present specs were OK. Though they are old and give me a head ache once in a while. He was Australian, I could tell from the accent. He talked a little about sport, his wife and general chit chat. In fact he chatted perhaps too much. Like he was in need of stimulation or was telling me something about eyes which I didn't know about.

Sparkling has got the Flu and told me it's my fault. I asked her whether it was "woman's flu" she said yes, the real flu. I'm sure it is related to her having to fix her wiper blade when it rains, because it has now stopped working. Something to do with a nut and bolt. It seems to be a common failure on Fiat Uno's. In fact it's a nice little gimmick for Fiat to earn a continuous supply of income because it is a design fault. It does make you wonder if design faults are intentional by manufacturers. One thing for sure, if the Fiat designer was in Sparkling's vicinity she'd take great delight in breathing all over him. See how he'd cope with stopping the car in torrential rain to fiddle under the bonnet with his high heals and curly hair. Yes, what a sight it would be.

OUCH my head

Sometimes lessons repeat themselves. Like patience, waiting for a bus when impatience has the better of me. This morning I re learnt the power of the hangover. Spinning room, cold swet, shaking, the inevitable toilet rush and involuntary puke, and wonder whether I am dying. Sparkling Eyes was fine. I asked her several times if she was OK. She was. No problem for Sparkling. I lay there thinking I had pneumonia, in the meantime Sparkling was having fun. Poking fun at me. Remarking how I had a clammy cold swet, asking if the room was spinning and then telling me it was my own fault. It was. Memo to self, don't mix Murphys with Rose wine, they tend to curdle. I cough and spatter, what am I coming down with now? Possibly some illness passed on to me by Rock Chick when she breathed in my direction, a memento for helping with her maths homework. I hate hangovers.

Rock Chick is growing up. So I've hardly seen her this week, except for the maths. She goes around wearing cowboy shirts. I asked her if she has a stetson and boots. But for some reason I don't think she will go into Line Dancing. Unless it means she can breath germs over unsuspecting persons. Not seeing her also means I've not had a chance to wind her up. But I must of at some point at least twice she threatened to hit me or throw something at me. So my annoying charm works. When I go back to London I'll try it out on Monster Boy, he might be 7 but I'm sure it will work.

Storm warnings have swept the country. Morpeth one of the stations the train travels through. It's been hit bad by flood waters. I suppose it's a bit like a wave of involuntary puke hitting you. You can't help the weather or the effects of over intoxication, but they are sure to come if you carry on drinking or it carries on raining. Getting drunk can be your own fault, in the company of Sparkling Eyes it was bound to happen. Hell of a good night though. We danced in the kitchen. I tried to Salsa as best I could. And lets not forget the Isley Brothers and Harvest for the World. I heard it twice. Sparkling loves it and the moment it comes on the CD player is an important point. I smiled inside, Sparkling is a great dancer, a natural. She can't Salsa as good as me. Well, we all got to be good at something. Twenty hours later and my head is still killing me. Yes a lesson re learnt. Some one hit me. Yes they did, OUCH.

In Search of a Cooker

Today Sparkling Eyes got a new cooker on order. The old one a Zanussi which had the appliance of science, broke. To put it bluntly the door fell off. Mind it was a good few years old. Aliens will be coming Tuesday next week to pick up the Zanussi while the men from Kenwood will deliver the new one. Very nice it looks as well.

I over hear the radio while typing. A man had pulled out a weapon (gun) from his pocket and tried to rob the local bank. Well I hope they meant a gun and nothing else pulled from his pocket. Apparently he drove off in his dark coloured four by four. The description vaguely matches L&B man. The potential robber was described as being in his 40s and wearing a dark leather coat. It can't be L&B. Last time we chatted he was talking about putting up a bird table and mentioned nothing about doing over the bank. Unless he's been upset lately, well I know Scotland will be playing footy soon and their scoring record don't inspire much.

Poor Rock Chick has to go and work at the local fast food burger joint. I feel sorry for her. However, as she returned from school and sat on the pouffe she did swear at me, using the F-word a couple of times. Rock warned me it was the wrong time of the month she was PMSing. What is it about women wanting to throw shoes at me, batter me, or some how deprive me of my assets with nothing but a smile. I gave a short dialogue about what it was like when I was a kid, and what matters is money. She could of killed me. I retreated to a safe distance.

The world is so unfair when people find they have to do things they hate just to make a living. Early days yet for Rock Chick. Maybe I'll just hide her shoes away. Though fortunately for me I haven't driven Sparkling Eyes to the point of exasperation where she give me the Stare. The stare which says "one more word out of your and your dead" well only once. But it was a combined Stare and Finger point. The sacred index finger jab and stare. Passed down from generation to generation of female. Used at time of extreme male stupidity. But what would seem to any male as not being stupid. Best I not go into it. Our brains are different. We think about different things. I'd like to say more important things, but it would be very stupid to say such a thing.

Well off to sit in the company of L&B man and family. I wonder if he has a spare ski mask and any tips.