Rock Chick's 16th

I spent a wonderful week in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. It took me over 12 hours to eventually arrive, too many train delays courtesy of National Express. The week has flown by so fast, so very fast but I feel chilled. A reminder of Rock Chick greeted me when I returned and checked a pile of post. Yep the NHS had caught up me and informed me all of my organs have been donated. Rock chick laughed when I told her. However, my biggest concern on the letter was the bit which says "any of my organs and tissue" I hope they don't want parts while I'm perfectly alive and kicking. On expiry, but not otherwise thank you.

Sparkling Eyes had me running about helping to prepare for Rock Chick's 16th birthday. I was told off because I just didn't run quick enough. So I did actually ran about a bit and it seemed to calm Sparkling's irritation. It didn't matter whether I was just moving one object from one end of the garden to the other, as long as I looked busy. It's nice to make people happy.

The party was great, I eventually hit the hay at 3:30 a.m. Sparkling Eyes disappeared a half hour earlier, so I'd even out endured the veteran party goer. Mind I was half slumped on a couch eyes closed and spinning comatose on a Merry-go-round. I recall having a chat to an elderly man a retired lorry driver. He was funny. He recounted how it took him 14 months to get out of the army, he might of been conscripted I can't recall whether he said. But it was the headaches and seeing 2 psychiatrists. One of which said he was a malingerer. Retired Lorry Driver was straight he just didn't like being ordered about, and if there was any more fighting he wanted to be in a tank. For personal safety reasons. I don't blame him. When asked if he had a job to go to when he left. His reply was, yes, a good one as well, stealing tiles off roofs. It was a brief moment I'd spent in his company but a moment I'll not forget. Lorry Driver was unhappy he didn't get to drive a tank much, although he'd passed his test. The sum of his tank driving experiences he said was 2 minutes. Must of been something to do with the headaches.

Shadow of a Shrimp

While at lunch in the eat-as-much-as-you-like, which is a Chinese, I contemplated as it was the second Chinese meal I'd had this week a few genes must be infiltrating my body. If anyone could be Chinese from eating Chinese food, I'm sure to be at least half way there. After scooping some mixed rice I couldn't help noticing a shrimp. For some reason this immediately linked into a memory from the film Forest Gump. Who spent a little while shrimp fishing in memory of his lost friend.

Back to the shrimp. I looked at it and thought how small it appeared and wondered about size. Whether there is a difference in shrimps, because I'm sure the one's Forest caught were some what larger. Maybe it is to do with where they come from, a particular sea, an area or just a different type of shrimp. The reality was, it didn't just look small, it looked pathetically small and I deliberated whether it was the result of a genetic experiment gone wrong. An extra small breed of shrimp specifically made for the food industry. But then when I thought about it, generally all foods with shrimps in the UK have paltry pathetic pink things. I've even seen prawns from the UK so small they looked like shrimps as well. I'm sure there is a difference between shrimps and prawns and in the giant freezer cabinets in Chinese grocery stores there are some pretty big frozen prawns. It just happens most people in the UK, me included see shrimps as little pink curly things. They were I thought, not really shrimps. More shadows of a shrimp.

I've put in a order for some books from Amazon. One related to the Fish Factory the other a wonderful book I read once. It was loaned to me by a man who has since died some years ago. It was called Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The guy who lent the book worked a few desks away from mine, he was Bob Dylan's greatest fan. A really nice bloke. He'd swear like a trooper and oddly was a senior manager. I noticed if I swore while chatting to him, then he'd swear twice as much. If someone had told him twenty years before the effects of smoking I'm sure he would of given up. So in effect this man was a rebel, liking Bob Dylan was a clue. The book another. From what I recall it was about a man taking a motor cycle trip across America on a Harley. It is one of the great American novels. I probably have read more great American writers than British ones. Not to say British ones are few or not as great, but perhaps not as varied. With shame I say I've never read a Dickens. But at this time it don't matter. What matters are the rebels. The ones who stand out and do things, think things and say things which other people don't get. They may even be considered crazy. These people leave little waves even when gone. In a world full of humans they must be like a small shrimp in the sea. Their wave is a memory expanding and drifing outwards.

I'm looking forward to the books arriving. In the mean time I'll consider the shrimp now what can it tell me? I hope he speaks before he's eaten.

Phobia's for everything

It is said there is a phobia for everything. So many things to be afraid of although there's probably people walking about who have more or less phobias than others. If there were an average number of phobias I wonder how many it would be. Five, six maybe more. Of course there are all the common ones which easily can be accounted for. For instance, spiders, drowning, falling, heights, rabid dogs being beaten up by a giant marsh mellow intent on eating your liver. No, the last one there is something I made up. But then is it valid to have phobias about things which are not real? Are they then actually called a phobia? No body likes nightmares and would say if it were possible to have a phobia of nightmares we'd all have one. Yet it is something we have no choice over. Perhaps a phobia is something which can be avoided. As with Jack Nicholoson in the film As Good As it Gets. Walking on cracked pavements was something he tried to avoid. Whereas nightmares are unavoidable. Like Taxes, change, getting old, ill and dying. Yes, dying. My particular favourite.

Then I suppose everything has to be faced up to sometimes. Somethings you can only do once. Unless you happen to be Buddhist. If I stick a finger in each pie, I might scold them all, but then I can get to taste the tip of each one. Unfortunately with too many different tastes to discern things could get confusing. Taste buds mixed up, and I could end up puking. The answer. Quite simple. Stick to one pie at a time, keep it cool, and remember the cream. Food, well, I suppose there has to be a pleasure amongst all these fears.