Clocks go forward

Tonight the clocks head forward an hour. Morning will peap through the curtains earlier, and heading home from work it will be lighter. In my bedroom I have a digital clock unchanged from the last time alteration, so it will be correct in the morning. Laziness probably stopped me from touching it. Or it was the thought it wouldn't be so long before it would be returned back to normal. It was. Now I think of it, not long at all. However, in the last few weeks I had contemplated moving the time back because winter just seemed to be lasting an eon. Maybe it would of been worth it, but someone said to me when he described a time management course he'd been on, if you leave something long enough it doesn't have to be done. I always wondered what time management was about. A kind of cheating. The reality is, as I say, there are only so many working hours in a day. When there's a lot of fish needing attention, and there isn't enough time then a few of them will just not get seen to, or they all get seen to but in such a bad way you know they are not up to scratch. Which I expect happens in a lot of places. So tomorrow morning, if I can get up early enough an extra hour would of passed way too quickly.

Sparkling Eyes has been quite today. Maybe I'll get a chat tomorrow. Maybe it's the thought of losing an hour. She does like a sleep. Better hit the hay myself. Nite Sparkling.

Sad news and a Night out

Yesterday morning at the fish factory I heard some sad news. One of my colleagues had died. It was a result of a struggle against Cancer. The news had a numbing effect on me, he was a nice bloke, who I'd sat next to on the bus a couple of times and had the odd chat. Though not having worked with him, I knew him and couldn't help feel down. Which accounted for my morose mood when later in the pub. Conversation tended onto things like God, and belief or not belief. It's only in contact with death I thought we learn about life. They should both be inextricably entwined so we're always prepared.

This makes me think of the film Forest Gump, when a disabled ex army veteran sits on the mast of a prawn fishing boat as it goes into a raging sea, he holds his fist up and laughs, he cajoles and rants out his grievances against god or not god, as the case may be. But it was an enlightened moment for the character. So although each minute or each second of every day can not be contemplated on the notion of death (partly because it would be too exhausting and would make a normal person verge on insanity) the hand of Thanatos is always around and it's good to know. Perhaps though, acknowledging it more often, embracing it, and respecting it gives greater reason to life. To not let things become overly heavy and stressful. To love and express this love. The odd point some religions got right. Love, a very powerful thing as are each of the persons we meet in life, because they to are this journey.

I got drunk last night after leaving the pub and going onto another venue. It doesn't take much. Just a guinness followed by 4 or maybe 5 pints of shandy. All for a reason, it was the leaving do of a member of the fish factory, who is a hard working, very-knowledgeable-in-his-field nice guy. It's a little sad, but he will be earning more and acknowledged more for his abilities. I was pretty happy being drunk. I enjoy being drunk. Especially drunk and happy. I sat in my chair with a funny smile on my face. And, loved everyone. It's nice to be a happy drunk. This morning I woke up and the room seemed to be spinning but not so bad as to throw me off the edge. Like one of those playground toys. I think I was still slightly drunk, but didn't have a headache. And it's having a hang over which is the killer. Yes Thanatos I know you're there, but this must of been the effect of Lady Inebriation herself. It is wonderful not to have a hangover, I just drunk lots of liquids. Thought about how many calories I must of downed and had some toast for breakfast. Then recalled I had rang up Sparkling Eyes and left two sets of messages on her answer phone. Damn.

I know, I was talking a load of rubbish because when I rang I wanted to talk to Sparkling Eyes in person so just blabbered stuff so as not to get cut off by the answering machine. Which does seem to cut in just when I'm getting to a good part of my message. I must make a very mental note and not leave answerphone messages when I'm drunk. They are recordings when your mind is a scrambled egg. Fortunately, in an earlier incident there was no signal on a colleagues phone to ring up Tweedledum who sits next to me. Because I was going to tell him I loved him to. I couldn't help laughing to myself. I laughed waiting for the train. On the train, and then going to bed. I probably even laughed in my sleep. A happy drunk indeed.

Belly is gonna get ya

I recall seeing an advert on TV, where a large pink belly bounced along as it chased people out for a run. The slogan was along the line of "belly gonna get ya" and the running was a way to get away from it. This was probably just about the time when running trainers had suddenly moved from being a specialist footware to avant gaude fashion. Worn by every Tom, Dick and Harry because they looked good and no matter what they were really meant for. I suppose the advertising was a major success. But in my mind it belittled the importance and significance of running shoes. As they are really meant for people who try to keep fit. I hope it's not being snobbery. Needless to say I have never bought a pair of trainers from the company who did this advertising. For when these trainers became a fashion accessory their research and design as a running tool had to be dropped for their eye candy value.

It's unfortunate you have to put on a few years in age to understand how advertisers and fashion trends are just ploys to help you depart from hard earned cash. Once beyond this point, functionality become all important. Like wearing a shirt. The patterns look good, but does it cover up my belly I ask. If the answer is yes it's doing it's job. If no, then I'm a fat git who needs to diet and exercise more. But the thing is I like food, I just love it. Especially eating it, and this is the most difficult thing to overcome. As Anne Widicombe (an overweight British politician) said when she was asked to write a book on dieting but refused because she just didn't have the time. Her words were along the lines of, it would be a short book and "eat less, exercise more." She had lost quite a few pounds in weight at this time after a TV series.

My niece today passed a compliment. As I sat on the settee, she said she was going to have a jibe at my belly but looked at it and realised it wasn't as big as normal. Saying she could see the difference. I didn't tell her how I'd pulled in my belt a bit tighter, but did mention I'd given her my Easter egg instead of eating it myself. So I am a little happier than normal, and just maybe if I can carry on getting fit I can do something really good with it. Raise money for a charity by perhaps running a race of some kind. I'll not mention the M word. Not yet, not while the belly is listening anyway. Now where did I put my biscuits?

Head all over the place

I know I've been neglecting my BLOG, it could be not having many people comment, or the low count on the page counter. But sometimes it's a matter of weighing out time writing against some other outlet. Such as spent with feet up reading a book, or better listening to one. Nope I should be a bit more active. As Sparkling Eyes will all ways say, after she's given me a full and complete opinion.

Easter is over. The talkatives came over for a visit. It was cold out and had even snowed but didn't settle. Can you believe it, in March of all times? I took Little Princess, and her two brother's talkative out for a walk to the woods. Also not forgetting the mad, absolutely mad dog. Being as the first ten minutes of the walk I found I was the only one talking, I then advised the boys they had to talk to me in turn. About anything they could think of. Yes, I'd put them under pressure. But then they are my nephews and I'm not really going to know much about them unless they tell me. After all Mrs Talkative talks far too much for anyone else to get a word in. It worked half way. There was difficulty in their conversation, yet at least they made the effort and I actually learnt something about them. It is like they are unwilling passengers whenever I take them out, but I always give them the free choice to come or stay in doors. I hope they like me, and if they don't I'd love to hear them tell me and their reasons why. It would be better than non participation.

On another day I went to see sister number 2 and her gang. She cooked leftover turkey and pasta. It didn't excite my taste buds. They were craving. But it was lunch. I'd even turned down a mate of mine who had offered lunch. The thought of refusing a good curry in a restaurant played a melody of regret in my belly. Well where family is concerned, you just have to do what you have to do. It's either this, or move to a foreign country. For some people this may be a reality, but I've always thought family should be close in vicinity. Unfortunately some families doesn't get on. For good reasons, petty reasons or bad reasons. They just don't. I only once heard a woman say she had a good childhood. Personally I thought she was a bit funny in the head. Families are dysfunctional, it's the way they are. Little House on the Prairie just don't exist in real life. Must get rid of the chip on my shoulder about the Dingle family, was that their name?

I am sorely missing Sparkling Eyes. It's been far too long since I last saw her. Amazing how it is the need of a hug, and having the Micky taken out of me is so good to have. Sparkling is doing so well giving up smoking. It must be 4 or 5 weeks now. Hmmm hope no ciggies doesn't mean she'll want to kill me next time I see her. Heck, she wants to throttle me smoking or not smoking, I can't win either way. But it's fun though. Yep, must make me crazy.

Signs of aging

It seems the signs of aging are making themselves a bit more explicit. Especially over the last few days. I look in the mirror in preparation for a shave and there's no denying it. Early in the morning I'm beginning to look ugly. Especially with the lines and shopping bags under my eyes. They just appear darker than normal. Must be the natural lighting from the morning sun, because it's getting brighter as well. Give me an electric light any day.

With aging comes worries of age related illnesses. So in another instance over the last few days I hear part of a radio program about Prostate Cancer. This is now moving me towards the hypochondria stage. Not only can I not escape eye bags, I got to think about whether my bladder is any different from what it was, in a more frequent way. Hell, I've always had a frequent bladder since whenever I can remember. Thing what made me think twice though was when an expert said 40% of men in their mid 40s have prostate cancer. Great, bloody great. So there's a high chance of anyone I know my age having it. Or perhaps even me. The only part positive thing the expert said was only 3% of those cases would be ones they'd have to look into. I know I shouldn't of checked out the web site they advised me of either. More food for the worry demons. If not the passing water demons.

Finally, for some completely unrelated reason I woke up at early this morning. It wasn't the bleary eyed wakefulness you get and go back to sleep kind. It was the, OK-it's-morning-lets-get-up kind. In a matter of moments I wondered about getting up. I knew it was early because it was still dark. I wondered well, if it was 5 a.m. then there would be no problem with having an early start and a long breakfast or listen to the radio. Just before I did this though I reached over and pulled the clock to my nose pressing the light button. Wonderful, it was 2:30 a.m., fortunately I managed to get back to sleep and woke up late.

I suppose it could of been worse. At least I did wake up, and at least I can moan and groan about my hopefully non existent health problems. So a big lunch and some chocolate and all was well again.

Moody week

It's been a moody week for me. It happened after a very short conversation I had with someone not to be named. Just to say, they way I was spoken to wasn't what I expected. But hell everyone has a bad day. But mine's lasted a week so far.

In my diary I generally write down the days I go to the gym. After finding I've been paying for my membership for a good few months and not using it I decided now was time to return. Get my monies worth. Or if not the full money, a few lose coins worth. So I counted the number of times I've done gym. It comes to 14 sessions. Not so much blood, but lots of gasping for air and sweat has been involved. I'm not entirely sure but I just might be losing a little bit of weight. A clue is in the need to keep pulling up my jeans. Not to say they are falling down. Just there happens to be a little more space in the girth. Not enough to go and buy a new wardrobe though.

My speciality is running. It's a funny thing is running. Because it's something you can't really cheat at. If the fitness is not there to run, then you're not going to be much good at it. The amazing thing is a lot of the poser types, or the young looking good types like to try and jog on the tread mill. The operative word here is try. I enjoy their company when they get a machine next to me. Especially, when they try, yes try, to actually run. They don't last long. They may look good, or look meaty with all those muscles, but their cardio vascular is ridiculous. I can't take on all comers. But, to date only one middle aged woman i've seen has the ability to run. She must be a freak of nature. Mind there is another very slim girl who can run very well, but hopefully by the time she turns up again, or ever returns to the gym, I might, just might be a little bit better than I am now. Unfortunately I'd probably have to lose a stone in weight, plus some. As for all the other young beautiful people, I can say they give me a wonderful feeling, yes wonderful. The 40+ fat man out runs them. What a blow it must be. I hope I am not gaining too much satisfaction from it, hell yes, a lot. At this moment it's been the funniest part of my week. I can see it now on the local tabloids. "Fat man beats body beautifuls on tread mill."

Go on Forest, run fat boy run!