Turner at the Thames

Looking out of the Fish Factory window I can see the Thames. Facing up towards the Thames Barrier. For the last few days cold air and thick fog has hit London, and the Thames, it's buildings either side and the snuffled hues of the sun have looked like a Turner painting. One where the mixes of colours are pastel in shade. Where there are no real defining features because the fog ensures a wedding viel effect. It is in short a beautiful sight to see. I advised my fellow fish gutters about it but they really didn't understand what they were looking at. Yes, fog, yes the light looks different, but it didn't sink in. I said it may be many years again before this sight is ever seen again. It fell on deft ears.

I got thinking, how many sunsets, how many days, how many nights, how many stars are seen in a life time? No matter how big the number, they are finite. Just as the people we know, the time we spend with them and the love we feel. I think of Sparkling Eyes and miss her.

Chinese New Year 2008 and yellow hair

Not having much to do and nearly waking up at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday is a bad combination. Even contemplating the notion of Gym from which I've established an endorphin high is a sign of having to get a life. But today in London Chinese New Year celebrations were on. The year of the rat. What it means I don't know. Just as with other years it's going to be a good year. I'm sure it will be. Being born in the rabbit year myself I think I'm suppose to get on ok with rat years. It sure is lucky they don't have vegetables, because I'd hate to be a cabbage. Though some might say if the hat fits wear it, no i'm no vegetable, a rabbit will do nicely.

I set off from home with big Moma and Little Monster boy. I was hoping it would be a wonderful experience for the Little Monster, but after finding he had set the ground rules I was just basically around to ensure I had a good time and he did whatever he wanted. Which was not much as the crowds were pretty thick. Monster enjoyed his snapping noise making packets of paper. Just dropping them on the ground they would then make a little bang. He is after all 7 years old and will be 8 this year. Moma was a bit apprehensive of the crowds but even she showed a bit of spirit and managed to push herself quite close to one of the dancing lions. I snapped a way with my camera. Moma spent money on little toys while I bought 3 very nice egg custard tarts. One for each of us. I ate mine first to find it was hot, it must of just come out of the oven and was delicious. But extortionately expensive at £1.50 per tart. Way too many tourists were about and all the stalls were making a killing. If I had slanted eyes and a bent for business I'd of had a stall as well.

I got home and made roast beef. The first time we'd had it in a few years, a real beef joint. I remember growing up and nearly having it each Sunday. So I now expect to get mad cows disease. It can take 30 or 40 years to gestate. The beef was good, done well with a very small hint of red in the middle. Nothing to notice. A little mustard and I was in heaven. I reached for my phone after lunch to check for messages.

Yep, Rock Chick's hair colour had changed again. Now it is yellow rather than orange or the very much desired blond. I sure hope Sparkling Eyes is ok. I'm sure Rock Chick has been having a bad couple of days and she would of gone crazy. Never mind. Could be worse though for a teenage girl I can't think how much worse.

Hair disaster is not a thing to make fun of

I messaged Sparkling Eyes on MSN. Her reply was brief and to the point. Rock Chick had a minor hair disaster. In reality a major hair disaster. It had turned orange. I requested Sparkling take a picture because it would make great blackmail material. However, I got chastised not to make fun, the situation was serious. Personally I've never had orange hair, not ever dying it has helped. A little grey coming through here and there, but no orange. I messaged a laugh, and got chastised again. Wondering how her hair got orange and whether she had read the instructions I went on and asked had Rock Chick put it on herself? The reply was no Sparkling had done the deed. Ooops. Now I can see why it was a disaster movie in one evening, teenage girl goes mad at parent. Police called. "Yes sir, it was a mess" said a bystander "her eyebrows just didn't match." It's not the end of the world. A new hair colour is only a bottle away.

I chuckled to myself as imagination took off. Orangutan's, ginger nuts, satsuma's and Tango. Then got sworn at, I was having way too much fun. Even a few hundred miles away I can get into trouble. But I'll keep my hair on, until I got bald though not too quickly I hope.

The never ending ten minute delay

I got to the train station this evening and watching the indicator board my train would be due in twelve minutes. In exasperation I wondered whether to get a bus. It was dark. I wanted to get home quick, not have a slow trundle. Even though the snail like speed of a bus may have got me there faster, just like the fable of the hare and tortoise. Waiting on the platform I then checked out the indicator a good two or three minutes had passed. Except now my train was equally delayed by three minutes.

Before going to the station I considered the pub. In the end I wanted to get home, I'd requested overtime and have to get up early tomorrow. Yet I could of been sociable and had a pint or a soda and lime seeing as I was coming back from the gym. Yep the second time in at least four months. It'll almost make my gym membership worth it.

In pensive mind I glanced up again the board, the seconds flipped, but the minutes were killing me. Now I've been here a full ten minutes the train is still delayed by another ten minutes. It's like I am getting no where fast. In fact I can see the second train due at the same time as the first. There it goes. Even the second train is delayed. Which is good because I sure don't know how they could of squeezed two trains on the same single stretch of track. I'm still waiting. Getting nowhere thinking of home. Also of how packed this stretched limosine which is not on time will be. Or not be. As the case will be.

It arrives. Only 25 minutes waiting. Another five mintues and I'll be at my own station stop. Altogether a round lovely 30 minutes. The bus? Yep, might of got there just a few minutes earlier had it come immediately.

A little older, a little wiser, a little bit understanding. You just can't lead a Ass anywhere if he don't want to go but at least his excrement makes good manure.

Dreams of being a Chef and a train watcher

This morning I woke up to a wierd dream, but then most dreams I remember are weird. This time I was a chef, being taught by a famous celebrity. Possibly Gordon Ramsey. Except I had to keep leaving the kitchen and returning to a hotel. There at the hotel I noticed either myself or one of the other chefs had a big tray of in their bed. It was the kinda tray you put bread into, I checked the bed and the tray was full of packages which looked like loafs. They were not. They were in fact tightly rapped bundles of money. Each loaf looking bundle of money was £17 million. I had a problem counting them, being as I was alseep and estimated in my mind there to be about 24 or so loafs. And wondered why the owner of them, whether it was me or someone else was doing a course on being a chef when they had so much money. Prominent to this dream though was the tray. Because each bundle was neat and tidy and just like loafs of bread. I got no idea what it means. However, yesterdays dream was again along the same lines.

Yesterday, I dreamed I was at some really big factory place museum. And I was following a mate round. The museum was full of old trains. Work men were in the process of digging pits which cradled the trains in them. They were all pretty orderly. My friend wanted to find a particular train by a well known old train engineer. Again one of the prominent points of this dream was the orderly manner in which the trains were placed.

Well I'll wonder what tonights dream will be about?

If anyone has an interpretation your welcome to leave a comment.

Aliens clone Teenage girls

Yes it is true. I completely and utterly believe a significant proportion of teenage girls are being cloned by aliens. Abducted and the clone returned to earth. It is the only logical explanation. For teenage girls in England are all beginning to sound the same. The thing about it is they look different from each other. Just by looking you'd think each of them would be unique. I suppose they can't really return them back to earth all looking the same. I mean, parents would get somewhat suspicious. The thing is though, as soon as they open their mouths and say something, anything, it becomes true. It's the words spoken and it's how they are spoken these all add up to Alien. It's not because these words are different, it's because they are the same. The tone of voice, the expressions used, they are all the same.

This afternoon after a long walk, about 3 and a bitty miles I decided to go for a Chinese. Sat down at a table, me, Mr No Mates Crazyfirdayman ordered a delicious seafood in black bean sauce on rice and waited. Within a few minutes two teenage girls entered. They sat somewhere behind me. I had barely noticed them as they came in. But then as they began to chat to each other I thought one of the voices sounded familiar. Yes it did, no doubt about it. The voice, the words, the expressions, the tone all were the same as my teenage niece. I didn't turn round because if it was her she might feel embarrassed. I listened and thought at some point she would talk about something or say a name which I knew. Then I'd be 100% sure. I sat, ate and waited. She didn't. Simple because it was not my niece. It was an alien clone facsimile of a teenage girl. Which sounded like my niece. So closely I was fooled. Well nearly, fortunately being of sound mind and Sherlock Holmes like powers of deduction I could tell. I was not being fooled.

The alternative could be present day teenage girls do come from a certain background, a mould, a cultural homogeneity which tends to make them all drift towards an average or norm of what they should be like. How incredibly boring this alternative would be to the world. Imagine they have no separate personalities, they all talk about the same things, in the same way and wear or look as similar as far as they can. They are therefore no longer individuals or different. Hell, I like the alien theory better. Because if these teenage girls happen to be undercover lizards like in the old TV series called "V" then we can treat them to a few rats or pigeons. Now where would I get the pigeons from. I know. Better give my niece a call and ask her round for lunch some time. I'll not worry about cutlery.