Look out Santa those deer are at the mince pies

Sure is chilly out again. The forecast for tomorrow is about 8 inches of snow in the South of England. We might just get it as well, or it could be one of those false readings, where the weatherman has been out doing his food shopping and got stuck in a freezer trying to fish out an extra nice looking frozen turkey. So his fingers are cold, completely cold, he's hit the studio and lost his meteorological notes, so what does he do? He makes up up like the rest of us and bull shits the weather. I hope, because it is just too cold and I'm eating more than usual. At this rate I will be Santa on Chrimbo day and the one thing every man tries to do, is not put Santa out of a job. Do I need to go on a diet or what?

I wonder if the man in red has some kind of malleable belly which elongates itself. He must have, otherwise he'd get stuck just trying to get into a chimney. Unless he greases himself up with goose fat before he goes down and lets gravity do the rest. But if he did then there would be tell tale signs on the Chrimbo presents, you know. Greasy smudges on the wrapping paper. No he's probably got it all sorted out after hundreds of years of practice and shrinks himself like Alice. Then gets big again by eating mince pies so he can deliver the presents, then shrinks yet again to escape back up the chimney. I wouldn't put it past him to take along all is reindeer as well. In their shrunken form of course. They wouldn't be a problem then. I mean no sane person would want full sized deer in the lounge while Santa drops off his parcels. They would get up to all sorts of mischief, at least small they could be controlled and if they decided to have a dump it would be so small no one would notice. They just blame it on old fat Santa. Their craps would be like specs of dust, I certainly couldn't see them being a problem. Unless they were inadvertently enlarged. Which means Santa must muzzle them, he doesn't need out of control normal size deers. Who does? Not me. They probably got more fleas than my cats. Which is saying something. Which would be the worse scenario, however I hear they don't have Unions in the reindeer world. Poor things. Just mark my words though. It only takes one to get to the mince pies and look out Santa.

It's cold said Tinkerbell then she helped herself to my ginger wine

The weather has taken a turn, it's maybe 2 to 4 degrees Celsius. Each exhale produces a fog. While I see from the weather forecast it's about 7 degrees in Scotland. They got it easy for once. This is odd because it seemed to me when I looked at the weatherman's map it was London which specifically was getting chilled. Like the Wicked Witch of the South had been casting a spell and sacrificed a few newts tails into the cauldron. It's working, we might even get snow tomorrow. Snow. Yes the white stuff. Dire weather calls for drastic actions, my NY baseball cap just isn't keeping me warm enough so I added the hood to my coat. If it snows tomorrow I'll think about the Ushanka hat. Even though Sparkling has warned me not to wear it. There is one thing I have learnt which is true when it comes to cold weather. You can get away with anything, because fashion goes out the window as fast as a fart in a fan factory. (I know, I just mixed my cliches).

Yesterday I had a headache or rather a migraine, I'd went to bed with it and woke up with it so therefore by this definition I call it a migraine. It lasted about 18 hours all told. But seeing as work in the Fish Factory is quite monotonous and most gutters were doing their own thing I just sat and rubbed my head, hopping I'd massage the thing away. It did eventually go. Sparkling sent me a text today and has told me she is ill and had to go to bed after drawing a bath. She said she caught it off me. I hope it wasn't the migraine, it probably wasn't. It's probably the flu or a cold, a woman cold. Which would be really bad. Because man colds are nothing according to women. Men colds are something we get because we men are weak and not as strong as a woman. It may well be true i think. Then I did read something a long time ago which said men do actually suffer more when they get a cold or flu. It was all down to hormones and apparently the woman hormone estrogen I think helps to alleviate symptoms. However, I can see a whole bunch of women saying this is absolute nonsense. I don't know, all I know is when I get sick it hurts.

I take a sip from a small glass of ginger wine. Nice although just a little sweet and it could do with a bit more of a kick. Chrimbo is coming. Maybe it's why the weather has changed, Santa is checking on his reindeer, the elfs are busy. And the even bigger elves (parents) do the wrapping. I spend an hour wrapping earlier. In fact it was almost exactly one hour. It was like there was some kind of internal clock which said "time is up buddy." I was approaching brain dead, I'd nearly stuck my own mouth shut with sellotape. Then while folding out wrapping paper and using very sharp scissors I got a cat's whisker from cutting an item I was wrapping. It was the point I began to hear Tinkerbell shake her magic dust over an item I realised enough was enough. Alternatively it could of been tinnitus or some semi zombie state. No I'll go with the Tinkerbell explanation, because it's the right time of year. I can get away with it now, but any other time I wouldn't. It just could be poor old Tinkerbell felt the cold as well and came in to keep herself warm. Just maybe she'd like some ginger wine, well it could snow tomorrow. I see now, she's shaking her magic dust a bit haphazardly, she's already had half my glass. I hope she doesn't become an alcoholic.

With luck I might not get as fat as Santa this Chrimbo. I wonder if he has got high blood pressure or diabetes. Or whether he goes crazy and goes on a cabbage soup diet after Chrimbo. Which can't really be much good for him at all. Unless he's built differently and likes the taste of cabbage. Which reminds me I still have a jar of Sauerkraut in the fridge. Seriously though, he'd better watch it, in today's age, were Santa to see his GP he'd be termed morbidly obese. They'd check his cholesterol and maybe ask him not to march the dirt from his boots int the surgery. Well it is Chrimbo and he always gets left mince pies. Damn, I like mince pies to, don't eat too many Santa.

Roof pigeons taunted me - then I waved

When I left home this morning there was a fog in the air and a chill. I should of got up much earlier but it was one of those waking moments prolonged by the warm embrace of my bed. Something I might add Sparkling enjoys when she has the chance and hasn't been woken up too many times in the night by the cat. Which in less than a couple of weeks will be my duty. I closed the door behind me and by chance happened to look up towards the roof and there I was shocked. Standing to regimental attention was a squadron of pigeons. The looked down from their perch and I could tell were quite happy to be there. With contempt and their own hubris of knowing there was no way I could get to them. I heard a cooing. No doubt a whisper in pigeon, their Sargent had passed the word on I'd noticed them. With calm aplomb, they did nothing and stood there looking down. I could not be infuriated, because I was shocked. Then I took out my phone and took a photo. This would be evidence. It alarmed me for two reasons. Firstly because they might all be a product of prolific group sex under the tiles of my own roof and secondly it probably meant the roof insulation was so poor warmth was dispersing upwards to where they stood now. This demonstration of pigeons was a call for action, more than normal I thought. They had made themselves quite at home to my displeasure.

I didn't know what to do, then thought they must be comfortable so it was a matter of making thme feel uncomfortable, the little blighters. I walked towards the house a few steps. So they could clearly see I was approaching. Then I performed a one man Mexican wave. It was earlyish in the morning, and as I mentioned foggy so unlikely I'd be seen. At which they all took off. Flying in a big circle as co-ordinated flock, quite beautiful in some respects. Then it looked like they were about to come and land back on the roof. But I stood there, staring up at themgiving them the beady eye, watching and ready to do another wave just in case. On their second flying circle the squadron fanned out a losing their formation. Their Sargent will likely discipline them later. As they approached the roof I could tell they had lost their bottle and so didn't dare to land. At which point the flock completely dispersed into different directions. My work was done. Now I don't have to put on a scare crow's outfit, just get up tomorrow morning and give them another wave. Just have to make sure they don't decide to dive bomb me and crap at the same time.

Hair cut and rain

Today was my day for lounging about. Yes. For doing absolutely nothing if I so wished. For being relaxed and lazy. However, I did go out and get my hair cut. At the usual place. A Turkish ran barber shop, but the man who usually scalps me was not there. Which is good because he only has one style of hair cut and it's short, very short. My hair can't take it any more, it takes twice as long to grow after he's had his scissors on it and when I see Sparkling she inevitably points out how balding I now am. Fortunately it was another man who had his shears on my hair. I found he spoke softly and every time he asked me a question I had to ask him to repeat himself. He must of thought I was the weird one. With the telly on it didn't help. I got a little paranoid so will not going into the thoughts which went through my mind. And although he was pretty gentle with his hair cutting he failed to do my eye brows or get the flaming cotton bud out. The one which is twanged on ears. So I'm a little disappointed and have decided I need to find a new or different hair dresser. This will not be difficult because it seems opening a hairdressers is the latest trend in consumerism. It's just a matter of finding the right one. One who does a good job, I can hear, isn't depressive or liable to nicking a lobe by accident each time I get a trim. It will be a matter now of watch this space.

I walked to my Barbers which is about a mile and a bitty away. Then walked back. On the way back it rained. I don't think there has been a day go past for the last 4 or 5 weeks where we have not had rain. It is becoming predictable and boring. As I paced back I wondered about shouting out and waving my fist at the sky. Daring it to pour down on me, to give it the best bucket load of water it had. Because I was not going to let this wet stuff get the better. I imagined myself at the completely crazy point. Jumping up and down. It's OK imagining these things but doing them would mark me out as being a little insane. I know you can see it though. Close your eyes and you're there. There is only so much a man can take. Unless his name happens to be Noah. Then he can take a lot. Then he's probably excellent at his two times tables as well.

The moon, the moon

I have noticed how big the moon is. It might just be this time of year or even atmospheric conditions, but without doubt the moon is looking pretty massive. I tried to take a picture of it this morning as I was walking along with my phone. It was still dark so the moon looks like a blurred white dot in the sky. I know it's not a good idea to take a picture while walking, but it was one of those impulse pictures. The kind when you know it will not come out but you still have to have an image. It doesn't matter what it looks like, it is now stored in my phone so I can check it out later. Which is what I do sometimes while waiting. For trains, or something.

Continuing with the moon. If we consider literature on the moon it influences the tides and has a certain effect on people. We could go so far as to say it is funny season. Funny as in funny la la. When people just act wierd. Though I don't know if there is any scientific reasoning behind this, it seems to be a common stereotypical view of the moon when it's out in it's full glory. Mind... human beings are like 90 percent water so, if the moon moves tides there must be some connection to it influenceing how our bodies react. Sparkling has also been on the brunt of this overly large moon as well, and has had some run ins with odd balls. She told me so. I sympathised. Then thought how lucky I have been. For the moment anyway. Who knows what tomorrow brings? Not me. I'm just going to keep an eye on the moon though just to make sure. I know the cats are acting odd but then they are a bit odd anyway. Yet it makes sense, because all mamals are in most part water so they are probably all effected in some way.

I went into the Fish Factory today. There I found it was pleasant with no one around. I can't help but say I like the peace and quite, I like being able to concentrate. Then sometimes even walk backward and forward just so I can think over a puzzle. If there were other people about they might think this behaviour odd. I also found myself talking to myself as the day wore on. No one about. Just me, and me talking. As I was tending the fishes. Sometimes it is necessary to talk, even to ones self. It's the answering back you have to be afraid off, especially if it is in a Russian accent. You can never fully understand what a Russian is saying when they're drunk.

The weather predicts snow on hills and in BLOGs

Well it looks like the weather is changing, though I've probably already said this in an earlier BLOG. There is definitely the aura of a chill in the air. It's not frosty quite yet, nearly but not quite. And for some reason I still keep hearing forecasts of snow. Yes the lovely white stuff, not to be confused with the other white narcotic stuff which gets people high and kills them. No, though this cold snow can kill, especially if you slip in it and smack your head. Or indirectly slip in it break, a bone then get some blood disease, blood clot or other debilitating illness. Heck, at this rate maybe I should stop calling it lovely white stuff. Sound more like pretty dangerous white stuff. Anyway to make a short intro on the weather a little longer, lets just say it's getting cold.

I have been making some notes in the back of my diary. Just brief one line descriptions. These are subjects which could be used in writing a blog, but seeing as my diary is downstairs in my coat and I can't be bothered here is another winging it piece. Hopefully not flying through the air after slipping on snow and winging it. Generally when I go out of the door in the morning I try to remember something which might happen. I listen to the news and wonder if I can use a topic which comes up on the radio. During the day I hear conversations and contemplate whether they are interesting or not. Then in the evening I sit here and try to compose. Like a great composer. Or not so great. I wonder if I have writer's block, but then think well can I consider myself a writer at this point. I also contemplate just maybe I am uninteresting.

It doesn't actually horrify me being uninteresting, because I like to lead an uninteresting steady existence with few problems. Except my pet hates or those problems thrown at me by others. I don't mean to say I hate pets at all. Just I have hates over little things which wind me up, but those things are not worth writing about. Actually they are, but not in this blog. Then at other times I get chastised by Sparkling because I am so boring and I don't have all the stresses and strains she has in her life. After which I spend time listen to her wind ups of the day and wonder how dare these people wind up Sparklig. I have different problems. However, maybe I just do my best not to let some stresses and strains get to me. Usually because I think when I do let then they have power, but if I say "NO" this thing isn't going to get to me I can forget it. Or tackle it as constructively as possible. Rationalise, plan, adapt, improvise, overcome. Just like Cling Eastwood in one of his marine army movies. Unless I begin to start moaning and groaning about it to others. Just like a soap opera character. Which I do sometimes, or worse still hear other people incessantly moan. This is when I find it wonderful just to sit in piece and quite, when there are no longer people around me who are moaning. Maybe I should of joined the circus and been a clown. Then I'd only groan about falling over my feet, making sure my nose was red enough and nobody pilfered my make up. The white make up stuff. The stuff as white as snow. A bit like the shade of a zombie. Whitish or pallid perhaps.

So what can I say nothing much comes to mind today. I'll just go out in the garden and wait for it to snow.

Underground religeon with no nut shells

I'm not really up to scratch for Chrimbo. It's coming and there's nothing to do except hold on tight, as the roller coaster ride begins. My larynx has returned from it's holiday abroad and feels so much better and appreciated. I thanked it. The dosing up of Echinacea has probably helped as well. Although it should be cold out, this morning wasn't as bad for this time of year, but the weather forecast did indicate snow around the country. Well it's not here in London. Not yet anyway. I couldn't have a proper lunch today so just had a pasty out of Greggs the bakers, one of those mass produced Cornish ones. The pastry was a little soggy so as I ate it I wondered if they used lard. A brief concern of furred up arteries entered my mind. I got into the Fish Factory and some bright eyed bushy tailed idiot had Christmas songs playing. I walked in on one of Cliff Richard's and felt like having a puke. I also requested no one put decorations up where I gutted my fish. And can't help but let my bloody mindedness kick in especially the more I understand how religion has played it's part in shaping this country. It's a fact the reason incense began to be burned in churches was not spiritual, but because the church goers stank. It's a fact in my entire life I have never seen a supernatural apparition. It's a fact having a belief is likely to help you live longer. But not if the belief involves jumping off a cliff because the head of you church tells you so. Religions start wars and in Britain there have been many religious wars. Personally I wonder when we are going to begin the Jam doughnut wars. I'm in the wings waiting, I'll be out there, fighting to the last grain of caster sugar. If you're going to have a war make it something worth while. Once said a famous Jam doughnut maker. I agree, completely.

I got accused from Sparkling of going soppy on her after sending her a text. I know I been using those three little words too much. So she's not going to get them out of me anymore, unless I'm drunk. I don't wana be thought of as a scissy. Sod it, I'll act like a real man. I'm going to go down the mines and dig coal for thirty years. Then get lung disease and die because I never had the right breathing apparatus. Unless a cave in gets me, then it will be instant. Thing is there aren't any mines around here and those which are still open are probably all automated. I'll better put my pick axe away then. Or perhaps I could leave it out, just for those recalcitrant nut shells the crackers can't penetrate on Chrimbo day. Oh, yes, because of the EU they now take the shells off. How can a man prove himself anymore? Damn.

A life around shit

When a child and growing up I had this notion I could be anything I wanted. I don't know how long I had it and pondered on the usual stuff. Astronaut or electrician but it didn't really matter because I just didn't know what it was I wanted to be. How this weird thought of my future came about I will never know. Perhaps is was from watching one of those Disney movies kids watch, or some TV program made for the young to inspire them. Plant thoughts into their heads about all things being possible. The TV being a major source not just of entertainment but in some part education as well. However, there was no direction or desire, no passion to be one thing against another. The belief of being able to be anything began to wither. I can't even point to a place and time reality started to leave a footprint. Just that it did. The place I was in, my upbringing and everything else were the real dictates of what I was going to do. The thing is it is not the "wanting" per se which actually achieves anything. Wanting is in fact a nasty little trait and is of no value, unless it is followed with even bigger doses of desire, passion and particularly commitment and perseverance. Only with these other traits could the thing I wanted to be come into fruition. Despondency gave way to real life, hard, cold real life. Something only people from working class backgrounds know about, those backgrounds where there is no golden spoon or egg, or society which looks after its own. So I did what I was going to do, and became an expert in manure shifting. I've shifted a hell of a lot of shit since.

But shit has it's upside. It is the basis from which all plants can grow. They love the stuff. Now sprinkle some good shit around vegetables and before you know it, the most wonderful succulent veg spring up from the ground. Shit is a base, it is the beginning of everything, of course it has it's bad name. Especially dog shit. Everyone gets some of it on their shoes once in a while and then what is their response? Yep, it's good luck to have stepped in it in the first place. So dog shit maybe isn't so bad either. Then there's the Americanism BS or Bull Shit. Now I don't know why they have to make it masculine because I have walked through a field of cows, and they leave the biggest cow pats ever. And the stink, bloody awful. It was an experience I had as a kid and have not revisited. Which reminds me how Sparkling always carries around a peg, I know it's for her finger but it would come in handy for her nose if she ever got to walk through a field where cows have been. Back to Bull. The term bull shit to be precise. Well I don't know why they use it over the other side of the pond, but if you think about it it's like saying any male species have worse shit than any female species. But as it was human being who made up this phrase, it's next to stating every male American has real bad shit. It must be something to do with their diet. I'm sure they are not all incredibly obese energy hogging and loud as the rest of the world stereotypes them to be. A stereotype which is plain shit. But it can't be helped and it's what stereotypes are for. Quick references or what psychologists might call schemata. A box in which to slot things into, sounds a bit like compost.

The thing is I can now tell quite easily when some shit is about to hit the fan, I know what shit looks like when it is dressed up, how the smell still lingers no matter what someone says. I know how it is made, usually by the biggest looking bulls around, the ones which make the most noise, eat the most grass and trot around as if they are the masters of their world. Their world being the confines of a well fenced enclosure. But outside of this fence it's not more than a pile of shit. So in a life time I have acquired a nose for sniffing out shit. No matter how it is presented to me, damn I must be due a medal from the Queen.

Boredem monkees

I had enough of sitting inside and trying to negotiate to my larynx. Look I know you are ill, but this is killing me, I need to get out, to do something. Sitting watching old TV series is rotting my brain. Yes! I am suffering from brain rot. I can smell it, it's lingering around me, the glazed vacant look is becoming a permanent feature. And you just know how I do not like to do the glazed look. I gotta get out of here. There was the odd croak of a reply but what do you expect when your larynx has gone on strike and decided there are better things it would rather do. True perhaps but I had just been attacked by the boredom monkees. There must of been at least ten of them. They work in groups, and begin by tearing out your hair. One at a time. I wouldn't mind if it was the grey ones they targeted, but oh no, it has to be the brown ones. Being sick is going to make me bald. So I'm dosing up on the Echinacea, it helps, it always helps, it's my friend. Hell I got to have someone in my corner, even a natural food supplement. I can see the monkees playing about with a packet of chocolate covered digestive biscuits. They are plain chocolate as well. I know they are nice, but they are unopened. This makes it very tricky for the monkees. They want to put them in my mouth two or three at a time. This is bad, I'll end up fatter and balder at this rate. Some time during the preceding fight with the boredom monkees I managed to drag my senses into a single focal point, put on a coat and go out for a walk. It helped. It shook them off. They didn't like the cold as well so went scampering.

Taking it easy and slowly I had a walk and took my compact camera with me. Taking a few more pictures of trees, leaves and anything which took my attention. So I can add another odd one to this blog. There's nothing like saying "this is my blog, all of it, and so are the pictures," well the autumn ones anyway. Going out made me more determined to make sure I return to the Fish Factory tomorrow. I needed the distraction.

Sparkling has been busy as usual. I had a brief online chat. Her own Factory is being a pain. I was thinking maybe I could send the monkees up to her. They can play different roles if needed and become the pain in the ass monkees to her Factory. I can see them now, jumping about and pulling other peoples' hair out. As long as it's not mine it's fine. I'll give Sparkling a special charm, one which will ward them off. Then she can sit back and watch the show.