Bank Holiday Monday £2 for the loo

It's been a bank holiday, all I've done is eat, watch Season 2 of 24 hours and pine about returning to the normal boring grind of the Fish Factory. No friends. No family. The Notting Hill Carnival was on and I managed to catch a little of it on the TV news. I saw people sitting on the steps of their houses with cardboard placards. One man who was smoking a cigarette, held his placard up and it read "toilet £2," blimey lucky it was a hot day, hopefully many of the sightseers wouldn't of needed the loo. At £2 a shake it could get pretty expensive, especially if you got a urinary infection.

Scary movie? No thanks, a cup of tea would do nicely

I just finished watching a horror movie. This is unusual for me because I find they scare the crap out of me, even though I get a really good night's sleep afterwards. So I finished watching it in the morning this way I might not be so on edge. But still it succeeded in making me shudder, you know the parasympathetic response, where it feels someone is walking over your grave. It happened. Up and down the spine. I know this is just a physical reaction to what my mind says is spooky, and I even know it's all down to wonderful special effects and editing. Still I can't do anything about it. It's like my rational mind has been stamped on and something is happening which I have no control over because it's a supernatural force. When in fact it's not supernatural but just pictures and music on a TV. So it's a matter of watch and put up, but it must be a good movie if I have this reaction. Though have you ever noticed how when you watch the same scary movie a second time it no longer has the same effect and is even funny. Then you wonder why you didn't laugh at it first time round, exactly, know what I mean.

The remarkable thing about horror movies is how the main characters so fall into accepting what is happening. Especially as some paranormal force begins to take it's pound of flesh from them. Like the very nature of these forces is to feed of the victim's fear first then to slowly and hideously kill them, or just to drag them kicking and screaming into the underworld of nasty, ghoolie things. Where no doubt they will be invited for a nice cup of Ovaltine and a Bourbon biscuit just before being tucked into bed. Because at this point the story usually ends, unless there happens to be other victims about. You can tell by the music. Which must be creepy, usually it starts of slow, and then there are sudden big sounds you just don't expect. At the moment it all goes quiet then KABOOM, big giant nasty monster thing turns up spewing ectoplasm and speaking in tongues. I expect though if you watch a horror movie a day then these things really would have no effect at all. But I don't intend to, not at this moment.

Usually it's the remit of Sparkling and Rock Chick to use me as unsuspectingly guinea pig. Just when I'm about to enjoy a cup of tea Rock Chill will pull out the scary DVD. I'd like to say I'm never scared, of course. Not if they let me sit with them. But it's no fun when they kick me off the sofa and I don't. They then cuddle up to each other leaving me ALONE, like an unwanted rag doll tossed onto a vacant chair. Unfair. What is it with females? They just have to play with your paranoid emotions to see if they can make you squeal like a distressed animal. I don't though, on account of being a man. Or rather I try not to, as best I can. Speaking in a low voice and clearing my throat at those very emotional points, doing anything to dampen those scary moments helps to break the suspense. Going to the toilet or putting the kettle on for another cup of tea is a good distraction. Anything so the flow of the evil spirits who want to come and get me find I'm not sitting there waiting for them. I'm not going to be a willing toy for your evil misbehavour. Fortunately, after an hour or so they all go away, because every film has an ending regardless of its nature.

Going back to the content of said scary movies. Sometimes the characters find some inner resolve to fight back. They overcome their fears. It's not like they have just acquired a back bone, because you always have to be scared to a degree otherwise what is the use of facing the undead, horned beasts or vampires if you are not scared in the first place. Mind it's always girls who do the most screaming and get scared the most. They have piercingly loud screams. Just by hearing a girl scream it makes you want to clasp your ears and pack them with wax or something. Their screams are infectious as well, especially if you get a group of girls, one screams and then the other has to join in then before you know it there's a hysterical bunch dancing about like puppets on strings, heads doing 360 degree turns and hair standing up on end in the worst ever hair day, ever, ever. Not forgetting running makeup, because weeping tracks of mascara for some reason add a bit more to the scary atmosphere. I'm sure glad I don't have to put such stuff on my face. As for the men in these movies. Rather than being hysterical they are usually shown to be morons. They just blithely walk into the cooking pot just as it is about to come to the boil, yep, lizards tails, eyes popping up and down as witches cackle over their cauldron and the fella walks in and jumps straight into the bloody thing. We look like complete idiots. When the girls are picking up all the scary clues, like seeing things, we're too busy eating, being distracted by porn or playing about and then we've had it. Yes, bloody victims because the girls said "I told you so" and we being idiots didn't listen. Men, if you are in a scary move and a girl says she saw something bloody well believe her.

Unless she has just put the telly on, says come and do my feet for me, and you find her feet happen to be pretty cold, smelly and not as nice as they once were. At this moment you'll find it is just a little too late to butch up. And whatever you do, never look over your shoulder.

Kill the football or join Stupid Ville

Common sense really isn't as common as you might think it should be. Especially when other people do things which stand out so obviously as belonging to the realm of the stupid. The thing is, I'm beginning to think the realm of the stupid is either a pretty big country or it is one hell of a densely occupied place. They come from all over to go there. Some must permanently reside, whilst others go for the occasional visit, particularly if they have drunk or done drugs or just had a bad day. However, we all have bad days and it doesn't mean you get a one way ticket to Stupid Ville. No, just a temporary afternoon return ticket. I have been there myself, only momentarily I'll add, but it does happen. I try to make my visits as infrequently as possible. By using my head. The grey cells go into automatic drive and the most basic silly errors are as few as possible. It's like learning to walk as a child. If you have lace up shoes on then before learning to walk you learn to do the laces up, it's obvious. If you don't then after two steps you end up sitting on your face. I'd rather try walking and falling on my knees knowing it wasn't my laces which had tripped me up. But it can't be helped, I can't act for other people, they will just have to carry on making their mistakes, as long as they own them and hopefully effect as few other people as possible.

The silly season continues with the new football season. Another wondrous time especially for those men who like to watch, eat, drink and live football. It has been marked a number of times over the past week or so when I have heard conversations about the latest teams. Footballers, managers, relegation and every other aspect of football has peeped it's ugly head above the parapet. As if there is nothing more interesting in life and of course all the conversations were by from men. It is without doubt for many a fanatical passion. It's a shame, especially when family men are more interested in the latest results of their team than their children, or wife. It is an inadequacy and perhaps a surrogate for something else. I don't know what else, but it must be. Maybe communication, maybe because every man who watches football hasn't really understood passion for life is what they should be more interested in. So I feel sorry to an extent to all those partners who have lost their man to the leather balled sport played by thugs but originated for gentlemen.

It's enough to make a bystander become a moron and search for answers in Stupid Ville. Damn I can't go, my ticket's out of date.

How many ways can you beat someone sensless?

Last night I did a little bit of problem solving for Sparkling. She's been having some problems with a few characters she has to deal with in a group meeting. For a while it was touch and go, her instinct was to take a hatchet, boxing gloves and an attitude to the next meet. After listening for a while, in text speak, I was able to come up with 4 or 5 alternative ideas on how to deal with these persons. It was at this time I got concerned for Sparkling, because they were stressing her out and in turn this would have an effect on her health. I think the conversation went OK and haven't received any phone calls from the constabulary, but it may be a few days before the next meeting anyway.

Today though, I experienced the same sensation. The type where in a flash I felt like killing someone, my hands were round their neck, I was throttling them senseless. It might of been my imagination but there were some awful things going on in it. Awful, absolutely awful but I'm sure they would of given me momentary pleasure if at all possible. However, I then had an insight to the very excuse I'd given Sparkling. It does you no good getting stressed and angry at someone else, physically and mentally. The only person who gets hurt is yourself. I then tried very much to ignore what had made me turn crazy, because at this moment the idiot who helped create these feelings was winning out even more. The thought also occurred to me I should do some meditation and train my mind and emotions especially when it comes to frustration and anger. The negative emotions, for they really are a poison chalice of which I'd pored my own helping. This is not to say it is possible to always make these feelings redundant, just to be mindful of their secondary effects. Whether such feelings have to be talked over in an internal dialogue or put down in writing might be therapeutic, but there is no doubt acting on them would be dangerous, both to me and the person I'd throttle. There's consequences to think about.

However, if you've ever seen the film "Throw momma from the train" which is an adaptation of a previous Hitchcock movie then things might be different. Unfortunately there would be very little motivation or pleasure in murdering someone you don't hold animosity towards. Although it would probably make the crime more thoughtful and therefore less chance of being caught. However, there are few true cold blooded people about. Then again accidents do happen.

One puff too many

I have been given 2 sets of inhalers, on account of feeling chesty lately. Probably due to the weather it's been hot and stuffy. Making it difficult to breath. One of the inhalers is to take when u feel the urge. It's an instant cure. So today I had a puff, like a druggy except I did it in public at the fish factory. I took 2 puffs because these were the instructions with the prescription. A moment passed and then I could feel my airways open up. They opened up so far they began to hurt, it was much too easy too breath and I could of ran out and done a marathon. But instead I just sat still and tried my best to calm down so as not to increase my heart rate. You know what it's like. You take one medicine and it has an effect on something else which you didn't realise until after you'd been taking it. Some have pretty bad side effects which the doc don't tell you about and then you get pissed off. Except with this inhaler maybe I should of only taken one puff. Because if it happens again I'll be running and running and there will be no one to stop me. Even now several hours late and having done gym already my lungs feel so clear. Incredible.

I sure hope these steroids don't do anything else to me, one side effect is bad enough, I sure don't wana grow tits bigger than the ones I already got. Now that would be embarrassing.

A mixed up confusion pie

I should of done something with myself today, but didn't. Some days end up this way. I think it's spending too much time in the Fish Factory, so I needed a break and its what I did. The world was not built in seven days. So it's important to rest. I been feeling sorry for myself as well, someone needs to hit me round the face with a wet fish it's bound to work. I'm just being pulled down into some place I don't want to be. Slurping down, down, down, like being on some long water tube while gravity has its effect, slipping and sliding, except I'm not shouting "whoopey." More like "oh shit" where is this going I ask myself. Someone once said to me during the week "you can only make yourself happy" I don't know if this is a statement or a truth. It's all a matter of mind and perception.

I think it's probably another mid life crisis. I usually get them once a year maybe even twice. They are wrapped up in a twine of confusion. Everything is confusing. Then I wonder if I'm getting a mental break down. Like it's something you can catch, a flu virus or something, except its all in the head. Maybe if I just sit on a rotating chair and spin it around a few times this snow globe of not knowing will right itself. Like an opposing current neutralising itself. Alternatively, maybe we are all confused but some are more confused than others, or they are completely lucid except this clarity is a denial of the Spanish omelette which really exists. Boy, it must be good to to be clear headed. I can understand why some people turn to alcohol at least when your are dizzy and happy nothing matters, unfortunately it's too short and over consumption leads to one hell of a headache. Mind at least the headache takes your mind of much else going on inside it. Everything has got a bright side.

Sleep is the other issue. I don't know whether I'm coming or going. It's a case of going to bed and the moment I put my head on the pillow I feel fully awake. But right up to this very point I've been yawning, blinking my eyes and suffering from a general all over lethargy. It might be down to my sudden liking for pork pies. Maybe I should lay off the carbohydrates. Eat lettuce instead. Hell I think I'd rather just be confused over stuff.

Writting drove me to drink and other habits

The past couple of days I been popping in and out of writing a great novel. Though, whether it will ever be written or not is another question. Knowing my luck at the very moment inspiration and clarity come to me my PC will decide to blow up. Given it suddenly feels it has been over used. All those keyboard tappings are just not good for it. But the thing is, it is taking ages to do. It's like I am forcing it. I mean only just coming into my 6th page and with difficulty. Going back over bits I've already done and fleshing them out some more and the editing again. The same pages get edited so may times they will thing it's a printing press. If I had a storyline then maybe it would be different rather than just winging it as I go along. Words which are so easy to come in a BLOG where I hardly edit them against a written piece where they are forced. Two different things altogether. It's like when you have someone look over your shoulder to see how you operate a computer and the moment you realise you are being watched you make mistakes. It happens all the time. I suppose it's what they call performance anxiety. No wonder people take tranquilizers. I could do with some myself.

I stopped off in the pub for a quick Guinness this evening and there was only one other person I knew there. He came over and said it felt like he had been there about 3 hours because there was none from the usual group to chat with. I enjoyed my pint and we got into a discussion about being drunk and merry. That it is a wonderfully relaxed feeling and depends on the individual. But generally we were happy when inebriated. He'd just given up smoking and told me it had been one week since his last ciggy. I think he must of been going through the pains of withdrawal. It's always the same with smokers just when they give up. For some reason they count not just every day but every minute. Odd because he said he didn't feel addicted to the nicotine but just wanted to kick the habit. When I saw my doc not long ago he asked me twice whether I smoked. Then he asked me about drinking, I wasn't completely convinced he believed my answers. Well he gave me a prescription for two sets of asthma pumps and told me to come back in a month's time. I booked the appointment straight away. Which was a miracle in itself. Getting the appointment in the first place felt like I had to jump a dozen hurdles, swim a shark invested lake and then dodge poison arrows. Just getting through on the phone is tough enough.
This probably gives me good reason to go to the pub on a more frequent basis. I'll think about it while I'm adding some more words to my 6 page novel. Now if I smoked, I'd really look the part of intellectual writer with a drink problem.

Don't moan it's only a hair cut

There are at least three absolute certainties in life. They are death, taxes and change. Today I found my hairdresser's had changed. I think they have been bought out. There were two assistants I did not recognise inside. Which may be better for me, when I consider the bloke who had a habit of shortening what hair I had so far back there were more bald spots showing than hair left. The other choice is to go somewhere else. It's at this point I began to notice in this time of recession there are more Barber shops cropping up all over the place than before. Even at the local village shops, suddenly where there was a green grocer there is now another Barbers. Perhaps with all the people out of work, the only thing to do is get your hair cut.

Maybe it's a new field ex bankers are going into. They enquire about what number razor guard you want then ask how your stocks have been doing today. With the odd bit of advice to stay away from anyone in a pin striped suit, talking like a cockney barrow boy and waving over bejewelled hands while they speaking on their mobile phones with loud brash accents. It's almost an oxymoron, not almost it is. In reality there a city bankers out there, who have barely passed any exams and can just about count their toes but are earning so much money they have become a new class of cockney. They probably include the mob known as Essex boys and Essex girls. Not to say the inhabitants of Essex have acquired a certain name for themselves, but they have and it's nothing to do with their eligibility to join Mensa, that's for sure. I say this because I know from first hand experience, two blokes who I would not of thought had the character or ability to play with millions of pounds. One of them unfortunately gave it up years ago and now works in a pizza delivery service. The other, I don't really know as a person on a one to one basis, but I know of him. This is because he grew up as a kid in the same road as me, but he was quite a bit younger. His mother told me he was a banker. It was then I hid my disbelief because he really was more suited to being a builder, or possibly even a plumber if he worked hard at it. It's a funny world. Whether this means everything stabilises out so the dumb smart scale of luck come into effect. Dumb people are just as statistically allowed to be in good earning, high responsibility jobs as the next. But we don't talk about their decision making process or how they get it wrong more, because it would be the thing not to do. I'd be moaning.

As I waited in the chair for the Barber to finish one of his clients, it was noticeable the client happened to be one of those people who was not content. He groaned about the hair cut. Talk about choosy, I seen women chose shoes quicker than this guy accept the style of his cut. As I waited there it was like this other customer knew there were people waiting and just wanted to take up more time. It made me feel a bit impatient. Knowing this I decided to pretend to be tired, closed my eyes and leaned on a chair next to me. He could take as long as he liked, I'm not going to feed into his self induced popularity. It means nothing to me. The disgruntled groany customer eventually left. It wasn't too long before I then took up a seat and was getting trimmed. One Barber then said to the other he had recognised the previous customer, and he made him do his hair at least five times until it was right in a shop full of people. He had said to the customer if he came into the shop again he would not be cutting his hair. He joked with the other barber, saying he knew the customer recognised him and purposely went to the second Barber. I got my eyebrows trimmed off as well while there, they feel a lot shorter now. I nearly asked for the flaming cotton bud on my lobes but thought if he isn't going to give them the flame then they must be OK. Thing is if I see some dark hairs sticking out of my ears in the morning it'll likely be me groaning away till the next time. It's always so difficult aiming a pair of tweezers at them and yanking them out when you're using a mirror. Damn, am I moaning? Hell, there are four things in life you can guarantee...

Another sleepless night somewhere in London

Last night it was hot again. I got up this morning feeling worse than when I went to bed. I must of slept at some point but I don't feel it. There was a time when sleep came so easy. Now I wonder if it will be one of those nights which begins with the question "am I going to sleep?" Which occasionally is bought on by Sparkling tapping into my insecurities during a conversation before bed. A conversation which ends up with her laughter and me in the middle of a psychological trauma. It's fortunate I love her so much. Although there must be something odd if it involves making fun of my frailties. However, I am equally at fault and have enjoyed playing on Sparkling's own character traits as well. So at least it is equal. I smile. Except this morning I wasn't smiling. I just felt like shite. It must of been yesterday's entire belly episode and the renewed feeling of having a porky paunch. So I did the shortest day I could at the Fish Factory. Returned home and then went to bed. Three hours later I got up again. I feel a little better now, thank heavens. Only a little, but I got more sleep waiting I can tell. On account of the matchsticks holding up my eyelids, the three strips of sellotape, a second very strong cup of tea, and a kick of dark chocolate on top of a digestive. Hmm. Open, open, come open left eye and you to right eye. Don't drop off now.

I've developed this little cough as well. It's like a companion now. Fleeting considerations of whether this could be swine flu hit me in my delirious states. Stop nodding off, concentrate man.
I'm sure it's not the Flu, but you have to be cautious of these things. I'm just wilting it's all there is to it. Like the wicked witch of the East, except rather than Dorothy's house falling on top of me the summer of 2009 which has hit. I'm cursed. Maybe I should stand out in the back garden stark naked. Under a full moon of course, and then hold a peice of rhubarb above my head. On account of rhubarb's antioxidant properties. I don't think we have any Golden Eagles around so I'll have to miss out the part of this ceremony which involves a feather. Mind there is the odd pigeon, I know they are about because they are still nesting in the roof. If they did a little carpentry as well it would be nice. So I could do a watered down version of the banish-away-ailments ceremony. I'm sure there's another ingredient missing. Don't matter it will come to me when I'm outside, I just hope it doesn't rain. I'm sure it wont. I'll do a small version of the not-rain-tonight dance before I begin. Blimey. This is going to be an all nighter. No wonder I have problems sleeping, so many things to think about. Mind I just love the feel of grass under my bare feet. Unless I step into some animal's nightly ablution. That's when the dance-dance-faster-to-get-this-poo-off-my-foot move is used. Cats are considerate. It's the others who aren't. Blimey in today's age it's amazing what you have to go through just to shift the feeling of being a little under the weather. Well, better under the weather than ontop of it.

Sore belly

You know how it is when you eat something and the next day you suddenly find you're not the same. Today it happened. Even though I love food, I just couldn't do the Sunday eat as much as you like thing. I wouldn't mind there's enough fruit in the bowl to feed an army, but it's hardly the kind of thing a sensible person does when effected this way. So the fruit was off the menu. And about everything else was. So now after catching up with hydration and a few cream crackers I'm feeling a little better.

However, I have been a slob today. Only doing a little exercise when a prickly bush had to be cut back. It was about 9 a.m. and I very nearly put on the radio, but thought better of it on a Sunday morning. For some neighbours might not of appreciated the World Service. Instead I listened to LBC a London station and there was 2 hours of a talk show host. A very opinionated one, who seemed to do little more than slate Jordan/Katie and Ronnie Biggs. It seemed most of his callers were of the same notion about Biggs. Although given a sentence of 30 years in reality he only ever served 15 months of it. Then he spent his life in Brazil, living of the proceeds and his fame, until the money ran out. At this point the welfare system in Brazil must of had it's concerns on Biggs. He got one of our tabloid newspapers to fly him back to the UK. To which he then gave his story. In the meantime British Tax payers foot his medical bills and the few days of his life back in the UK. The entire tone of the radio show was one of very little sympathy. I can understand why. About as much sympathy as Mussolini meeting Beelzebubwould get, when being asked where he'd like a pineapple shoved. Of course old Beeb wouldn't even bother with asking the question. Hey Biggs how about it for some pay back?

I had a restless night last night as well. It has been so hot, the thermometer didn't drop below 24 Celsius. So dodgy food and a hot room played hell with sleep. I'm sure I had some weird dreams. I was woken up by the sound of a helicopter. It must of been someone from the local Mafia trying to outrun the cops. Or maybe there had been an all points bulletin telling any law enforcement persons not to be in a certain vicinity coz someone was about to have a jippy belly in the morning. But to tell them at 2 a.m. is not on. Well at least it got me out of cooking food. I need to take up some other hobby other than eating. Something which gets me out. Train spotting perhaps. Something Sparkling once told Rock Chick I did. Better get down the station then. I'll lay off the home made sarnies though, just in case.

Rain and a cat

It rained last night. All night. The entire night. Heavy, hard, loud rain. Saying it was bucketting down would of been an understatement. Still Tigger stayed out, he turned up again sometime during the day and seemed satisfied with himself. Old, flea bitten, nearly blind, arthritic and he still stayed out in the rain.

If I had genes like my cat I'd be superman.

Hit by ads in my hotmail account

This evening I accessed my hotmail account only to find slightly off to the right was a garish, dynamic ad. The type where objects move in it. In addition the colours were awful. In fact it was so distracting I couldn't concentrate on reading my mails. In these circumstances there is only one solution and this is to immediately do a google search and find a way out. With the millions of people who use msn and hotmail it will not be long before some bright spark comes along with a cure. One which shunts the ads out of play or reduces the effectiveness. I founds something useful within a few key strokes and am now able to reduce the effect it has on my reading emails. But it is wholly and completely despicable in my opinion. For I am being forced against my will to view ads on every email I read. It is now like SPAM has been taken to a new level, a much higher plane and rather than Microsoft being the good guys they have now become the dastardly villains of the peace. Any comments on how to get rid off them, please, please make them known.

Under the Human Rights Act there is an Article for privacy of home life. This I think should apply to every advertising company which decides to cold call, phone call or mail shot. In this Act if my privacy is invaded and this is exactly what advertising does, then the companies who instigate these actions should be taken to account and stopped. I feel the same way about this as when I find Jehova's Witnesses come knocking at the door, who are then invading my privacy, they have no right in law to minster to someone in their own property if they have been uninvited. If I receive adverting mail in the post I now return it to the sender writing Gone Away across it. I believe the post office then re charge the offending institution for returning their mail back to them. In addition it means this returned mail become waste, which takes up space and has to be handled by someone at their own organization. If I receive a phone call from and a tele sales department I have different tacts. This might be keeping them hanging on the line as long as possible, asking very silly questions, then even pretend I am interested in their product. To end the conversation I'll just suddenly change my mind and then hang up on them. All the time they have been bothering me they can't talk to anyone else. Another way of dealing with them is to go immediately on the attack. Ask them for their full name, ask them for their company's name and address, ask them why they are ringing and how they got my number. They usually just say it was on a data base. I then say it should not be because it is an X directory, I then if I have a choice will ask to speak to their supervisor or manager, and begin all over again. And to finalise my argument I'll ask them if they have considered what they are doing is illegal under the Human Rights Act. As unsolicited advertising and phoning my home they have breached my privacy to home life. A few times they have ended up putting the phone down on me, though I wonder why. But if I get someone who is obviously calling from a third world country and they give me their name only for it to be a traditional English one, I then know they are lieing. My tact now is, to find out where they are calling from and get them to admit this is not their name. Once this has been achieved there is no way I can accept anything they say to me because they have lied and I tell them so. Of course I never give my number out to anyone if I can help it, then I always tick the little box about not wanting advertising or research literature or phone calls. And I keep under the advertising radar as much as I can.

I consider myself green and lucky. Green because fewer trees are being cut down to send me rubbish in my post, and lucky because I very rarely now get any SPAM post, but I've worked at it, worked very hard to get to this place. As for Microsoft, if you carry on like this you'll just lose a customer. It's easy to find other free email accounts or to find temporary fixes around the ads. Now if everyone who reads this sends an email of complaint to Microsoft we might just start to jam up their email box with a variety of rubbish they will have to start wading through. Fingers to your keyboard lets here those keys get tapped.

Overgrown trees, paint and a cat

Apparently with all the rain and sun we've had it's led to a lot of growth. A few weeks ago I tackled some pretty over grown conifers in Sparkling's front garden. I cut them back, stood on a folding ladder with a loaned reciprocating saw and hacked. Binned lots of cuttings and got a wonderful thank you from Sparkling. Actually I'm not sure if she was around, but I do recall I was doing the chopping and she came out and had a chat. But then found she was getting bored of me chatting and sawing so she left me to it. To my protestations might I add as well. Sometimes it's nice to have some company when you are spending a lot of time being a lumberjack. But not like the Monty Python song might I add. So Sparkling has now told me the conifers need another cutting, it's the weather she tells me. At least I am given a vocation. Wood chopper. Not quite the same as esteemed intellectual, but it will have to do for now. I suppose it's better to be wanted for something than for nothing.

This evening I spent two hours doing some painting. It was a gloss coat on the house's front fascia boarding. I realised while looking at my handy work, the preparation was awful. The truth being it's not up to scratch, I should of taken time out, maybe an entire day just preparing the surface for paining. Filling in all those little cracks and holes, taking off those stubborn little bits of paint rather than leave them there. The only real thing in my favour is the board is 30 feet up in the air so it's unlikely anyone will really know how badly it's been painted over. Unless they get on a ladder and have a closer look. But I've been told there are a lot of people out there who are afraid of climbing ladders. I must admit the first time I did it, there was a little bit of vertigo, but I'm over it now. I've had the opportunity to also check the roof to try and find the place our pigeons get in, but I just can't see it. It's been suggested I should just leave the cat on the roof he'll catch them. If I did though, I'm not sure I'll be a popular individual. Neither with the cat's owner or with the cat. It's just the pigeons I want to get rid off. Maybe they will like the paint work and not fuss over it. I expect they will, certainly much better than a handshake with the cat.

Things to moan about 1, 2, 3....

I am sure I repeat myself at times, even writing blogs the occaisional deja vu feeling comes over me and I wonder if I've written this before.   It's a symptom of getting old and having more to moan about. I'm without doubt in part a GOM (Grumpy Old Man) it happens to most of us, men that is. The group of potentials who during their lives feel they never reached their full potential because they never had the chance, or made the chances, or had enough silver spoons placed into their mouth when born. Or had the right parents, ones you could feel acted like real parents, had proper jobs and gave encouragement. Hell, lets face it, some of us have a lot of material with which to fill our days moaning. Then sometimes you have to stop, and think this is a waste of life lets just get on with something else. Something more productive, like painting. Or going to the gym. Or even wondering about getting on with writing the novel, yes, the novel which each of us has got inside. I got to four pages and got fed up. So much for best seller, it'll be the shortest best seller ever, mind it would be easy for the critics to read. And as they are professional GOM then the convenience of a short book would probably get a rave review. There's wishful thinking for you.

Subjects of moans are quite common and many of us share the same ones. Kids, education, the NHS, traffic on the road, manners, especially the lack of manners and bad manners, which is quite profuse when people do not understand the etiquette's of different cultures for instance. Change in your pocket, dodgy pound coins which seem to find their way into the change and then you don't know how to get rid off them. Politicians, oh yes, they deserve a lot of moans and wasted breath just think of the cash for questions scandals and MPs allowances. All persons who have some form of authority, because they never understand or know how the people below them feel when making a decision which effects everyone. For making decisions at a high level often is redundant of ground level reasoning and facts. The weather forecasters because they always get it wrong. And those people who parrot fashion repeat what the forecasters say and believe it is word of the holly grail. Royalty for sapping taxes and so life blood out of the rest of the country when they should be like the average family. People who take advantage of the system, or systems for their own means (politicians again) but also those who choose not to work, and become life time unemployables. Taxes. Change. Bad smells.

Then of course in the words of Monty Python "always look on the bright side of life...."

Get up your ladder

My colleague said to me if I am to carry on climbing ladders then painting and decorating, I'll get big muscles. Over the weekend I had spent six hours up a ladder and although I can't say I've noticed if my muscles have got bigger, which I could do with, I was utterly and completely knackered. What muscles I had in my shoulders and back had decided to go on strike. Even a night of sleep did nothing for me, I felt exactly the same when I got up in the morning as I did when I went to bed. Bloody knackered. It was at about this time I thought if someone were to ask me to paint their front fascia board like my own one I'd have to ask them for a couple of hundred pounds at least. Then I'd charge extra for the materials and if they didn't supply me with cups of tea, sandwiches and biscuits I think I'd stick another hundred on top as well. The fascia board still isn't complete and now two days later I'm feeling recovered.

It seems out of order when you think one of the most important things anybody can learn is not taught in school. House maintenance. Be it decorating, plumbing a bit of wood work or even roofing, this is likely to be a skill every individual will have to use at some time in their life. We have DIY stores all over the place and just to rub our amateur noses in the muck there's TV shows where the uninitiated home DIYer is taken to getting a good whipping. However, it's not their fault. This knowledge is not imparted, and it should be. Right from an early age. The earlier the better I'd say.Yes get babies in their nappies playing with paint brushes and blocks of wood. Oh yes, they already do. But you know what I mean! Especially when you can then get a professional come in and do a job which is fairly easy and charge an extortionate rate. There are definitely times when professionals are non optional, but when it comes to a little bit of paint and decorating most people can at least have a go. Except for the individual who has a fear of heights. Mind I did get stung by a wasp. Nearly fell into a rose bush and once the ladder did slip a little bit. But hey it's my life. At least I got food, I'm an expert in eating, definitely no help needed there.

Colourful emotions linked to diet

I was watching a romcom on TV and had this weird image of the actors. It was as though they had altered states, almost invisible. They were in my mind and not on the TV. But it was like seeing them with semi translucent angel like bodies, which changed colours depending on their emotion. It seemed sad was a blue, very sad was a deep blue, whereas sympathy to someone who was sad came across as a violet colour. There were other colours as well and it only seemed the main characters took on these colours or translucent persona's as well as their own. It was all perceptual, none of it real except in my own mind's eye. I noticed being a bit emotional, which seems to happen every now and again. Maybe it's a hormone thing or perhaps I just been eating the wrong food lately.

I must admit to feeling a bit more porky than usual, which has got to be down to missing gym this week. How the perception of colour and porkyness comes together I don't know. I think I'll just lay off the tomato ketchup, and the cola.

Papillon what's your waste size mate

I've began reading a great book it's called "Papillon" (Butterfly) by Henri Charrière and although I've read it before this time round it seems all the more better. Previously I had found some of the beginning chapters boring, yet now they are not. The book was made into a film and is some years old. The story is a magnificent one about a man who in the early 1930s is sent to a French Penal colony to rot away. He states he was framed for a murder and so has a bitter contempt for the legal system, which has incarcerate him. They may have seen him as one of those young underworld gangsters who was going to get worse and worse. By all accounts he knew how to look after himself and was good with a knife when needed. However, the one thing they could not break was his will. More than this, he knew what he was doing. His strong will and conviction for escape carries you along, it's like being on a roller coaster ride. In the preface of the book there is some suggestion he has made up some of this story. It is supposed to be largely autobiographical. Regardless, it is a book to read before you die.

We spend so much of our lives doing stuff, which is wasted. What Charrière says is time is life. This is true. There are times in life when events are stressful, definitely in this convict's life, but these stressful times make us appreciate and value more those quite peaceful moments. When the love and touch of a fellow human being jumps the hardships of living and puts meaning into living. This reminds me when Sparkling said she did not want any presents at Christmas and said she would rather have donations sent to charity. She felt overwhelmed when some fridge magnets arrived of a goat and other items from Oxfam. Perhaps we do not give enough as individuals back into society or the world? Especially when the stories of people living in developing countries arise. Some countries which are run by despots and whose gentle populace suffer the worse atrocities. For these people I can never know or understand their plight, I can sympathise with them, but as the saying goes, "walk a mile in my shoes," there are many miles a lot of us Westerners need to walk before our own bigotry can be tackled.

Odd I can't help sometimes how the words come out when I write a blog. I just sit down and write and mostly they have a humorous quip about them. So to lighten up a little.

Having an obstinate and strong conviction of one's own worth puts us in place in society, without the need to seek approval. So This probably means as I get older, and battle against an ever increasing belly, if I lose now and again it don't matter so much, because inside, I know even if my shoes stay dry for longer. I am worth more than the size of my girth and external appearances are surface issues. See beyond these, see the person inside, but preferably, there's only one person inside and not space for 3 or 4.