A little entreprener

The Talkatives came round yesterday. Such days I consign to the tiring. As Mrs Talkative literally does my head in. But they gave an account of their son, the smaller Not So Talkative one and now I'll call him Indelible head boy. The story behind this name is because he has a scare on his head. At a school sports day while running he fell over, went to hospital and now is permanently marked. But it's mostly hidden by his hair so it don't matter much. Not at his age anyway. And as for the word "indelible," it is a word he came across while reading some pages of a book and I asked him what it meant. He didn't know but after checking through the dictionary he does now. Of course, the dictionary checking was something he had to be persuaded to take part in doing. He's an excellent little reader. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand anything he reads, but it sounds good.

Indelible head boy had taken to starting his own business. All of twelve years in age and he had become an entrepreneur. Except his stock wasn't something he was able to purchase himself. In fact he was taking it from a home supply. Mr Not so Talkative the father and Mrs Talkative mum were suddenly aware their stocks were going low every so often. Their stocks of cigarettes. Their white sticks of candy cancer death. But Little indelible head boy didn't let this bother him to much. Until he got caught, and reprimanded. I felt sorry for him. But the story was enlightening so gave him some funds for being so enterprising. I was told on one occasion he had managed to sell a cigarette for £2 approximately $4 or 1.64 euros. Smart boy I thought. Not being able to purchase his own supply his business had folded. Maybe he should of cut his mum and dad in on his deals.

Exam results have come in and it is with sadness I hear my niece Dancing Girl has pretty poor results. In one exam she achieved a grade "U" so low it could not be classified. On a number of occasions I had spoken to her and offered my help. But she just did not understand how much work she would really have to put in. It hurt me to hear of her results. It's been 2 weeks and I have not been able to bring myself to talk to her about them. When I hear others at the Fish Factory saying how well their children are doing I get annoyed. I even said once a lot can be learnt from failure. I'm sure Dancing girl is going to learn a lot over the next few years from her failure, she probably will not fully understand this for some time to come.

On a lighter note, Rock Chick did very well in her exams. She admitted to not studying much. And I was aware she's a little lazy. But she has brains, when she learns she has to put in the time doing independent study then there will be no height she can not attain. The duvetof cozy laziness is so tempting. I know, I wear it too often. Yes, Rock Chick can do anything if she wants. This makes me happy she's a good girl and Sparkling Eyes has done a great job bringing her up. I enjoy their company always.

A walk in the rain

I’d been stuck inside, doing nothing. Just taking it easy, rather too easy. But then what else are Sunday’s for if not to rest? After watching more than enough TV, taking an afternoon nap because I felt tired, and making a rhubarb crumble, which didn’t turn out so well, I went for a walk. I knew after the program was over I was going out. To extend my legs, breath different air. Anything to get out.

Thing was my timing. It was sunny in the morning, however this afternoon it had rained on and off. Looking out the back door the clouds threatened. They were bordering onto the deepest greys. However this was of no matter. Sometimes the sky holds an aura of fear, but never does anything about it. The waters don’t come down, the day threatens and brings any light happiness down. It’s like the weather is saying it will make everyone sad if it can. Unfortunately for the intentions of this dark duvet sun had intermittently scythed through. Like the sword of St Joan. In light of this I decided I would go out regardless. Take an umbrella, but chance it. A short walk would suffice from self enforced captivity.

It takes eight minutes to walk from my house to the shops. I was taking the circuitous route. Past the ruins. There was spitting rain, no more than nats piss. Nothing to worry about, until about four minutes into my walk. Then the clouds parted and decided to shrug off their burden. Were this a chapter in the bible this darkened deluge would have been frogs not rain. And it came down. Down and down and down. The wind whipped up a flurry making the rain actually sweep up and under the umbrella. I held on with both hands. My grip tight. The combination of rain and wind would have been at home in a sea storm. But rather than cower into a shelter, I continued. My jeans were soaked within seconds, right up from the ground to upper thighs. The gusts had become so strong I thought the umbrella would be ripped from my grasp. But in all this I smiled. I breathed in deep, and I laughed out loud. Yes, loudly. It was beautiful. Is this all you got I said? When these words came I didn’t know whether I had spoken them out or just thought them out loud. The wind whipped up major gusts. I could hear cars on the road I walked besides slow down. The high pitched ripple sound of tires aquaplaned through the macadam. I felt alive and smiled and enjoyed every short moment of it.

I don’t know how anyone else would see this same experience. Possibly just complain, of the whole day it was the part which woke me up, the part I remember.

Salsa with the Munsters

Well Sparkling Eyes is still giving me jip over taking up Salsa, telling me it will "end in tears" no matter what I say at this point she and everyone else she knows seems to think anyone who goes to Salsa is a gigolo just waiting to put it about. Truth be said this is far from it. And as always so disappointing those she knows have this view point and haven't actually tried it. I was even dismayed when I heard Rock Chick had put tuppence worth of opinion in as well. One guy on youtube dances all the time. He says it's good for your health. Though I don't think I'll be as fanatical as he is, going to the gym is tough enough. Doing the little fat man on running machine is the extent of any strenuous exercise I can maintain.

So it happens this week I hit my third Salsa lesson. I did have some doubts about going, but because of all the external pressure I purposely made sure I went. Not to mention the laughter my Fish Factory colleagues were gaining from my tails and demonstrations of nifty foot work. Yes, they laughed but were encouraging as they laughed. More than some I know. The real problem though is I am a slow learner. It's very difficult for me learning how to co-ordinate in a dance pattern. This foot work is hard work and others just don't appreciate how much effort it takes to learn.

Unfortunately this time I have to say the lesson was not up to standard. The class had increased from just me to seven people, another man and four ladies. They had all been auditioning for the Munsters earlier in the morning so having some spare time this lunch period they decided to drop in and try their footsies at a bit of Salsa. I wish they had continued down the road and taken the bus, even better the train, better still a plane, to anywhere.

There was tall Munster lady maybe a foot taller than myself who seemed to dance as though she was on a pogo stick. Just jumping up and down. I needed two dozen spare yellow pages to stand on and they still didn't help. Not to mention the toff accent she had acquired from somewhere. If there is something so grating, it's the pretentiousness of a toff accent. Then there was short wide Munster lady who had the girth of a hundred year old Oak tree. Though surprisingly nimble on her feet I had some trepidation about squashed toes and she wasn't too keen on bothering with the subtle hand movements which signal the next set of steps. Those by the way are things the male instigates such as lifting the left hand to signal time for a twirl, or moving to the left or right to signal a side step, Cha Cha Cha I think. Then there was the little 100 year old Indian Munster lady who was scared to have her hands held and it was impossible to dance with, like she was afraid I had some kind of disease. I checked and the leprosy has definitely cleared up. Lastly there was Munster Leading lady who did her own thing, I was a mere accessory. Again another woman who believes she should take and dictate the steps. In fact it didn't matter whether I was there or not. It nearly led to an all out battle. I threatened her with my crossbow and shield but she didn't take the hint, pulling the little fat man around like he was a rag doll. So all in all, I learnt little from this dance lesson. A note to all those ladies THE MAN IS SUPPOSED TO LEAD. It's not a matter of women's lib, it's a matter of how the Salsa is supposed to be done.

My dreams of dancing with Sparkling Eyes are beginning to disintegrate like the making of a rhubarb crumble, when you rub the topping through your fingers and it's particles drop into the bowl. I really, really want to dance with Sparkling. To show we can do something together in unison and have fun. But knowing my luck she will bloody WANT To LEAD as well. It is with this I realise the Salsa is about Men's lib. We males actually get to dictate the dance when it's done properly. I want to learn the dance properly, but with the Munsters there will be very little progress. Unless of course I catch leprosy, like flattened feet and being led by a WOMAN. This is a disaster. The whole thing is a disaster.

So I am now close to giving up. A stigma seems to be attached to the Salsa and because of this and other's notions I'm despondent and sad.

Next week I'll take along, a chain saw to cut the bounding Tall Munster lady down to size, a book tittled "I'm cured of leprosy" and another book on crash dieting for the wider Salsa learner. As for the the one who wants to lead I'll just attach cactus spikes to my hands. See who wants to lead then!!