Non speaking Sparkling and too much Guinness

Sparkling has lost her voice, so after a few pints I tried to ring her up.  The phone was put down on me.  I cried.  she didn't want to hear me.  I wasn't expecting much, a whisper would of done.  Then I get a text reply, in which she uses a number of profanities.  It's like the world wants to hear her, when it is the worst thing in the world to talk.  I can feel my own throat going a bit funny as well.  Poor thing.  I love her and said so in at least three text replies.  There were responses from Sparkling again they had language I can not repeat, in fear of harming the innocent.  Poor thing.  I said in response, if love could heal you would be perfectly well now.  I'm sure at this point she was probably pushed to the brink of madness and would of rung my neck.  I'd of deserved it, except for the fact I'd had too much Guinness in the pub so it was the Guinness speaking.  I still love her anyway.

I needed to hit the loo just before I returned back to the ranch.  Walked up three flights of stairs which is really a big drag when you have difficulty putting on foot in front of the other.  Staggered from side to side.  Looked up at the CCTV camera and gave it a big smile and a wave, although no one was around.  It's a message just to say I know you are watching.  Then pushed open the swing door and headed for the urinals.  It was then I realised how another version of hell can hit an inebriated man.  As I reached down for my zip, I couldn't find it.  It had somehow got stuck.  I fumbled and thought shit, if this carries on I will be pissing myself.  Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite me in the arse for trying to text Sparkling.  If so it was in advance because it wasn't till later tried to ring her.  It seemed like hours.  I could of sworn I was wearing mittens.  Where is the bloody zip I thought.  Somehow one of my finger nails caught it.  With a little more effort I was free.  A torrent of relief followed.

Darlink I love you.  Even when I'm pissed, see my face I'm smiling right now.  Yep he's definitely had one too many.

Cat on demand, tickle on demand, feet rub on demand and now speak double dutch

Chrimbo has been spent in the wonderful company of Sparkling, Rock Chick, L & B man and the rest of the family.  It has gone very quickly and tomorrow I'm due to head south to the Big Smokey as L & B man calls it.  However, the demands on my waist line have pushed my belt to the last buckle hole.   In one evening session my jeans must of looked particularly tight because in his inimitable way L & B man had to bring it to attention.  He said I had a man-gina, my jeans looked like I'd got a camel toe.  Bloody great.  I suppose this was him getting me back for making a comment about his torn styled jeans when out shopping.  Just as Sparkling always says Karma is a bitch.  Well it probably more than got me back last night, foot rub demands were the start of it, then going to bed it took on another side.

Olly the cat decided to show his power.  During the night this was done three times.  His meow screamed out such comments as "I am hungry go and feed me now" and "don't forget to stroke me and give me attention"  or there was the "check out my litter tray and clean it, I want to use it again," of course being only a biped I have an issue with understanding exactly what he is saying.  In any case it does mean I have to get up, go downstairs, see what task he has now set and get to work to his exacting demands. I'm now well and truly trained.  Being winter and all, it's cold getting up for the cat.  It's OK for him, with his nice black and white fur coat, he just makes assumptions we are all he same, we're not!  Which is what he banks on.  In the meantime also during the night Sparkling needed her back tickled.  Twice I was called upon to do this when she had woken up because of coughing (residue flu bug) and I had also ran downstairs to get some cough linctus.  There were then at least five calls during the night I had to make.  The next morning Sparkles said it was the best night's sleep she'd had. 

This evening Sparkles has lost her voice.  At first it was quite nice not having the light of Sparkle's opinion over anything, but then it became annoying.  I like to hear what Sparkles has to say, even if I don't agree with it, or even if it is to tell me to "shut up."  I feel lost without it.  I like to listen to her.  Unless it's to do with chores I should of done and hadn't.  So the evening has been quite, except for the odd remark from Rock, who will not wash up anything she dirties, and Dangerous Sports Lad just hasn't been trained enough to do Rock's washing up for her.  Karma is what I say to you Rock Chick, watch out because you can never tell what form it will be in.

Meow, bloody cat.  What's he saying now?  "hey biped, come and put some more water in my bowl." I wonder if he's ever been shown a fur hat before?

Overhead power lines and a Monkey's Shoulder

I got into the pub late from the Fish Factory.  Sat down amongst a number of alcoholics and ordered my single pint.  I know I should stop going to the pub, but it's one of those easier said things than done.  It took a while to get into the habit so it will likely take a while to get out of it.  Besides the difficult part is trying to stop myself from going but I like the company and the winding down process alcohol gives.

I sat there and said hello to Mr Che Guevara Bag man as he sipped at a glass of red wine.  This is usually an indication of how long he has been in the pub, his regular tipple is Stella, then it's the red wine and lastly, absolute getting completely pissed state is indicated by a shot of whisky, Monkey's Shoulder to be precise.  Yes, it's a real spirit not made up.  A member of our chilled intoxicated group commented to Che his red wine was leaving a mark on his upper lip, an almost demonic kind of upper red fang look.  For me, this led to a moment of hilarity as he began to lick his lips in an effort to try and removed the marks being left.  It was like he had just devoured the most wonderful roast beef and was trying to find if any minute morsel had left it's trace on his lips.  It was like my cat Stinky licking the very last drops of cream stuck to his whiskers.  Unfortunately, my laughter just led to Che getting annoyed at me and spouting off some four letter words.  I didn't take it to heart and called him baby face.  It's the alcohol it makes people say things they wouldn't normally say.  Otherwise Che is very much a pussy cat who doesn't swear too often, and has to put up with the ignorance of uncultivated, uncouth Joe Public in his ordinary work. And they have been known to occasionally shout abuse at him.  Witticism can so often be lost on idiots, especially when it takes them three weeks to work out the punch line of a joke.  Well you had to be there.

Tomorrow I'm due to head up North.  I hear the train service East Coast stopped running today because some train which uses the overhead power lines broke down.  The thing is not all trains use the overhead lines.  The one I would get on is diesel run and doesn't, so a simple solution would be not to run those ones dependent on, you guessed it, overhead power.  Is it me or does it take a moron to actually not understand this concept.  I'm to harsh to judge.  After all the train line is rented by train companies, and different companies run the line.  The worst thing which happened to this country was nationalisation of the train services.  Oh well gone are the olden days.  Think I'll see if I can get a monkey's shoulder, maybe I'll take two for tomorrow, better make a sandwich, find extra clothes and even possibly contemplate leaving earlier than normal.  Snow, snow, go away come back on another day.  Preferably one when the idiots have laid in and are not running trains requiring overhead power.

Lessons in being a cat

What do you do when your cat refuses to act like a cat and do what you expect him to do?  Stinky isn't going out in the garden, maybe it's something to do with the snow, the cold or his plain misunderstanding of his own job description.  The one which begins with, "You are a cat."  I've gotten to the point of talking to him and trying to explain what his role is in the household.  My personal endeavours to go running out in the garden when the pigeons drop down to scare them away just isn't cutting it.  I hear a great flock of them on the roof, run out, find a stick and toss it up towards them.  The stick appears to float upwards through the air in desperate slow motion and the pigeons fly away no harm done.  I'm just scaring them, but they keep returning.  If I scare them away enough then maybe they will not perch on the roof and get under the roof because the big-bad-man who resides there is a monster.  The type they would talk to their chicks about as they grow up in the nest.  The reality is I should be made redundant from this role because stinky should be doing it not me.  So what is wrong with him, how come he is not up to the job?  He should be prowling around the house, looking upwards longingly.  The pigeons in the meantime would warily wonder if their perching places is the best to be and just maybe, they'd fly away to someone elses house.  The situation is getting so desperate I have even considered dressing up as a cat and taking Stinky out in the garden then he could watch me chase the pigeons.  He might learn something from it.  Mind the image of a fat man in a cat costume doing this might scare him for the rest of life and give him a phobia.  If they talked to me the neighbours would think I had  cracked up.  And maybe the pigeons would fall of their perches in laughter and fly away.  The pros and cons are too complex to weigh up.  So I can't be sure whether there will be an effect on Stinky at all.

As there is an abundance of snow around I've now taken to lobbing snow balls at the pigeons.  I sit in my room and see the blighters as the come into land.  A bit like 744 squadron.  "OK lads, approaching roosting site, undercarriage down and ready yourself for another warm night in fat man's roof."  Shortly after this I run downstairs, find boots, do up laces, zip up cardy, put on hat, rush to back door, unlock, close grab bend down for ammunition, snow ball complete and lob.  Not quiet as quickly as 744 squadron but it seems effective.  I went out for the second time today and they must of recognised me because they flew off before I had a chance to make my snow ball.  It's a pity those icicles which are beginning to hang down didn't form in reverse then they'd get a cold sharp pain up their arses before they had a chance to land on my roof.  Bloody things.

Mind Sparkling Eye's cat also has a fear of going out in the garden in the snow.  The purchase of a litter tray has stopped him from pissing round the house.  He feels much more at ease.  It's like cats just don't like the inconvenience of being cold, fur coat or not, they just don't like it.  Now were cats Polar Bears they'd have no problem with it.  Of course the living arrangements for cats is a lot easier than Polar bears, just thinking of their shear size.  But saying this, having a Polar bear who chases pigeons would be a plus.  Providing it doesn't get stuck on the roof and be scared of getting down.   Oh dear, if it's not one thing it's another you have to think about. 

Snow today and Sparkles next week

Well the snow has come for a second time.  Sparkles had texted me yesterday to say she was worried about my being able to travel up North.  I assured her at the time there was no problem as the roads were clear and the train was a diesel so would plough through anything.  Then watching the weather report this morning as well as listening to the radio and finding three airports around London had closed I began to think this could be a sign of something.  The weatherman said it would snow at 10:00 a.m. but it didn't really start until an hour later. With all their technological advancements it seems the snow comes when it's ready to and not when anyone else tells it to.

I stood at the kitchen window looking out on the postage stamp garden.  Slowly the snow fell doing it's best to resist gravity, like gravity meant the inevitability of it's own sludgy death.  I'm sure all snow flakes feel this way, then they fall ontop of each other and bed up in their own company, probably telling stories of what it was like falling from their cloud, or how the wind bustled them about.  Or even the horror of almost becoming hail.  Yes hail! Snow's uncouth second cousin who just likes to throw it's weight about the more force the better, and didn't care about the fall from clouds because life for hail is about making as big a dent as possible.  I could see these conversations taking place, but in the midst of them the one other thing I noticed was how quite the world had become.  I could hear no birds tweeting.  The rail track isn't too far away and occasionally a train could be heard.  But not this morning.  There wasn't even much of a wind.  Just a stillness as the flakes gently fell.  Their tongues didn't scream either, they were now enjoying the last few feet of their ride down.  If only humans could fall from the sky so gracefully.  Then we wouldn't be humans, we'd be snow flakes instead.

So over the next few days I'll be checking out the weather forecast some more.  Paying closer attention to the train services.  Thinking about the warmest clothes I own and most importantly thinking how I can't wait to see Sparkles and the gang again.  Fingers crossed.  All I have to do now is be prepared. 

See you soon Sparkles.

Wine at lunch and finding ice grips

It may be an error to drink wine at lunch time before you've eaten.  This I learnt today.  A group of us arranged to have a bite in a Chinese.  Not a Chinese bite which I'm sure would be painful rather than anything else.  I sat down and seeing as it was a semi Chrimbo event ordered a glass of red wine.  This was before I'd even began to eat anything.  The food took time to be prepared and I had to wait for my dish last of all, so by this time I had now finished my glass of wine.  It is so nice to be slightly intoxicated, relaxing and for some reason with the relaxation a happiness descends.  So I then ordered a second glass.  I did think about this first, the thought was along the lines of I'm quite chilled so a second glass will make me even more chilled and more happy.  However, I had to return back to the Fish Factory to do a bit of chopping up things.  Well, when I eventually got back to the Factory, I was so happy and relaxed I found it very difficult to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon.  Papers were put in front of me which I had to sign off, which I did without a great deal of checking what I was signing.  I could of signed off my organs to a third world country and the surgeons would of been waiting for me to walk out the door so they could claim them.  This didn't happen, I'm still in one piece, unless they were poor map readers on where to go.  Needless to say, I got out of the Fish Factory early, it just all seemed like too much work.  Next time I'll try and take an afternoon off on such an event, but of course it is always better with company than on your Jack Jones.

Yesterday it was cold.  There was a thick layer of frost on cars and this morning when I left it didn't appear so cold.  Yet I feel it's one of those situations where appearances are deceiving.  We've been told by the weatherman or weatherwoman, whoever catches your fancy, it will get very chilly by Thursday.  So this is something else to look forward to.  In the meantime I keep checking out Amazon and various other sites for ice grips which attache to the bottom of your shoes.  They have either studs, springs or spikes and allow you to walk with more safety on ice.  They are in a variety of makes and a variety of prices.  I even found on one web site how to make your own with pieces of metal which were cut and shaped, then you had to find straps from somewhere to attach them to your shoes.  They look very useful and may even be life savers, depending how you fall and how big your arse is.  Mind, falling on your bum can be painful as well.  This is something snowmen just don't have to worry about, they just stand still with their funny looking carrot noses and silently laugh.  Until they melt of course.  I suppose if I can't get hold of some ice grips I could always get an ice pick, if there are no ice picks maybe a hammer.  Or never go out.

I expect though the worst situation to be in would be both drunk and without ice grips.  Well at least I'd have a smile on my face and not worry about a bruised bum.

The wrong seat, an inexperienced dentist and the wrong address

Yesterday wasn't a brilliant day for me.  Things which should of happened didn't happen so I got annoyed  even bordering on the annoyed plus some.  Firstly, was a meeting for the Fish Factory in London.  The meeting place was given to me weeks before hand.  There was a lovely little map as well.  I gave myself sufficient time to travel, followed the map and found the place.  It had an odd street number of 15 3/4 Street.  Rightly enough when I found the building above the door in big numbers was 15 3/4 Street.  O.K. I thought to myself and entered.  A pass key card was given to me at the reception and no door would open without this thing being waved at it first.  I found the room.  It was a long stretched one with about 30-40 seats at the long stretched table.  And I was nearly late with ten minutes to spare.  I didn't recognise any of the delegates, but squeezed myself past the seats and then noticed a spare seat next to an individual.  I then recognised the individual.  An old boss who would be like a dose of poison to dying Cleopatra, a venomous viper, an individual who I'd say shouldn't be the boss of a dog turd let alone a group of people.  So I sat down in the spare seat next to them.  I was good.  Very good.  The inner turmoil to recoil from this individual with garlic and cross was held in check, neither did I place my hands round their neck and begin squeezing, squeezing and chuckling with a crazy laugh, I know it would of been so much fun.  But I didn't.  Too many witnesses.  Spending the next 40 years in jail, although with today's sentencing guidelines I'd probably get away with 10 or less.  Not to mention a medal of honour.  Nope.  I kept my cool and stayed civil.  If I'd of known though, I would of eaten the worst curry I could the night before.  Vengeance by natural gases might of been a small recompense.  Another day oh evil one, thy cards will be marked, let this karma bestow itself on you.

I've got a niggling tooth somewhere.  I know it's the lower jaw and on the right hand side.  While eating toast with cracked black pepper a hard bit of pepper got in the recess.  It became uncomfortable.  Resulting in my now tending to eat on the left hand side.  A bit like pass the dutchy on the left hand side, tooth wise so to say.   I rang the dentist expecting to wait a full two weeks to see my man.  It ended up only being two days.  Further it wasn't my man it was an inexperienced little girl who had a bodged up badge attached to her lapel indicating she was a Dr.  Hmmm I wondered.  Young I thought as she removed her bib and put a Farleys rusk to one side.  I sat in the chair and she had a look in my mouth.  She couldn't see anything wrong as she poked about in an uncouth way.  She then said she would bang my teeth with an implement and I was to say if it hurt at all.  Out came a mallet and a chisel as she tapped away.  "Nope" I said while pieces of chipped tooth flew up in the air.  I pointed to the area of the offending molar.  She looked even closer.  An X-ray was taken, an old type one with film, they had tried this new digital one but the bit which goes in the mouth was too big for my pallet.  I just can't open as wide as some people.  Whereas Rock Chick can open really wide, she's got a big mouth in this sense, I seen it.  She showed me once how wide she could open it.  I nearly fell down the cavity.  Besides this she is a lovely princess.  Anyway the inexperienced dentist looked at the X-ray and advised nothing was unusual.  I left the dentist poking a finger in my mouth and now with the very real feeling come Chrimbo day as I tuck into turkey the nasty little thing is going to crack and I'll be in pain for the following two, three maybe four weeks.  Because I'll next book my appointment and ask not the girl who's just out of diapers please.

Later the same day I was due to go off to a Chrimbo party arranged by someone at the Fish Factory.  I looked at the card with the address and thought I knew where it was.  The word "thought" is important here.  I went along to a club like place.  The card said "This Place Sports and Social Club" so I went along to an area I thought I knew called "This Place" then I entered a building called "This Place Working Men's Club" and was told it was not This Place.  Hmmm.  I had to walk up a hill which was going to take twenty minutes.  I went to the hill and passed the "This Place" pub.  Half way up the hill I had another look at the card again.  There was no telephone number on it.  I noticed the post code was not for the "This Place" area.  It seemed odd to say the least.  I walked back down the hill got a bus home.  Logged onto the Internet and then did a Google search.  I found the "This Place Sports and Social Club" but the address of "This Place" happened not to be in the area of "This Place."  In addition checking at ground level as I went through the google images I could not see where the club was adequately or the road up to the club.  I now realised I had been wearing this set of trousers a long time and they had began to get uncomfortable chaffing my inner thighs.  I had a minor headache, I was now over two and a half hours late, even though I had started out late, and was now getting pissed off.  So I decided the venue "This Place Sports and Social Club" was some pain in the arse place to actually get to after I'd already made the effort, and even though it was semi local I was fed up.  I'd spent twelve quid on the ticket to.  The club was describing itself as being in "This Place" but by all standards it was not, it was as far as I was concerned a product worthy of being so poorly described as being against the Trade Descriptions Act.  Sod it.  So in a half mood, I didn't go.  Put on a DVD had three chocolate covered biscuits, a big mug of tea and munched away doing my best to enjoy the DVD and put out of my head all the annoyances which had bestowed their selves on me this day.

It's Saturday now, so I'm sure to find something else to piss me off.

Wool mix trousers are worth avoiding

In the Fish Factory the heating rises up from the floor.  When the building was constructed the fad was floor heating.  Electrical elements were built into the concrete.  A thermostat is adjusted on one side of the room, however in some parts of the room the elements have failed, in others they work perfectly.  The floor under my feet works too perfectly and it ends up with my feet being roasted if the temperature isn't set at just the right level.  Those people who sit near windows however can sometimes get cold as even the smallest of cracks lets in the chilly air.  Today this heating caused some irritation.  Irritation to my legs.

There reason for this was I had been out and bought a new pair of trousers, which have a wool mix blend in the fabric.  I had already thrown a pair of trousers away with a wool based fabric and today I re learnt why.  Saying this the trousers look very nice, except for one, thing they make me itch.  At first I tried to ignore how my legs felt.  There was no doubt in my mind it was a combination of floor heating and wool mixed trousers.  Then I just could not help myself, I began to scratch.  Awwwe, what a relief it was as well.  The thing was I just could not stop myself from scratching my legs and letting out the occasional happy sigh.  Using the end of a biro seemed to be quite effective as well.  I became aware I might of looked a bit odd.  Especially as I was scratching and rubbing my legs so much.  Itch, Itch, Itch, scratch, scratch, scratch, awwwwwwe.  I just hope nobody thought I was doing anything else. 

Moto: avoid wool mix trousers at any cost.

Wrapping presents and thinking of yesterday

I was stood at the kitchen table doing yet another stint of Chrimbo present wrapping, when the start of a wonderful Chrimbo headache began.  You know it's a Chrimbo one because there's a taste of Turkey in the air and the feeling of when-will-this-ever-end.  I thought about my earlier years as a growing up child, yes quite a way back, then wondered how long it mus of taken for my mum and dad to wrap up the presents.  I can't actually remember any of the presents, though I'm sure clothes was a popular option amongst the toys.  I recall also waking up dead early in the morning and there was not only presents but there would be a sock at the end of the bed or somewhere.  It would be crammed full of fruit, nuts and sweets. It all added to the excitement.  Though one Chrimbo I really needed to get up and have a pee.  It was then I ran into Father Chrimbo, who looked remarkably like my annoyed Dad with a sack of gifts.  I had waited ages before going to the loo and it was unfortunate I bumped into him.  I got told off as I ran into the toilet to have a piss.  At the time though relieving myself seemed more important than the sack he was carrying.  It's amazing at the little memories which come back.  I ripped off some sellotape from the wheel and was nearly finished with the present only to forget what it was I was wrapping and who it was to.  Fortunately it wasn't completely sealed so didn't need to be unwrapped. 

For a short period today I had the company of Monster Boy, I have him some pocket money and we went up to the shops.  Where he bought two comics.  One was the Simpsons and it had a trick bubble gum toy attached.  You offered the gum and the taker would then have a plastic beetle flick out on a spring.  It was very ingenious.  He then went and offered his mum Silly Sophia and his nan Big Moma, they both let out surprised squeals and laughed, Monster Boy meanwhile laughed even louder in his infectious way.  Bart Simpson is definitely one of his heroes.  Not to mention any Marvel comic character.  It's funny how children through their actions of children can bring so much happiness.  Of course they grow up at some point and then it's a wonder how they managed to grow up so quickly.  Just as little Rock Chick grew up to beautiful young lady Rock Chick.  She still has certain character traits which were evident when little.  I suppose we all have these present at a young age and only those who see us grow up recognise them.  Holding onto laughter is in my mind one of the most important traits of all.  I considered the pretending I was a child again, trying to get back into the child like mind of yesteryear.  The notion was short lived unfortunately.  I hope Monster Boy doesn't have the same issue when he gets older.  Because then he can think of me and maybe just this thought will make him laugh.  Merry Chrimbo for tomorrow Monster Boy.

Sparkles snowed in

Sparkling has been, locked in her house for a week.  It's the white stuff.  The car has been welded to the road, icicles bigger than swords hang down from the guttering.  Some houses have had their guttering pulled down under the weight and strain it has taken.  She consequently rushes out of the front or back door in fear one might drop.  The cat is afraid to go out, of being lost in the snow and never being found, his little meow would be damped and he'd never be heard.  There has been no trace of birds.  They hid in the trees somewhere and have not even come down to have fried sausages specially made for them.  Sparkling tells me she has done nothing today, then on another day again I ring she has done nothing.  She is going crazy.  Cabin Fever is getting stronger.  The odd trek takes place to a local shop where the shelves are looking a lighter than normal and the barest essentials, alcohol and fags are getting very low.  I'm told she is getting feral.  I ask "feral?"  Yes it's her hair, it now is becoming wild.  After fourteen episodes of a TV series who's name I forget, I can tell Sparkling is having enough and needs to escape.  It doesn't matter where, she has to get out, the house has become a snow prison.  The Gay Rum has all been drunk, but Sparkling did manage a hot toddy out of it.  I wish I could make it easier, do something to whisk away the snow and ice.  Sparkles tells me if I were there she'd have me clearing up for the whole street as well as digging out the car.  Which has now been truly hemmed in by snow as Dangerous Sports Lad in his imitable way blocked in with more snow when trying to help. 

Rock Chick has gone out and for the evening and left Sparkles with the X Factor.  Rock will be chugging down wine with University girl, who will maybe tomorrow give Sparkles a lift to the Supermarket.  I can see Sparkles now if she gets there, it will be like heaven, just being out of the house, walking around the corridors of goods.  If she's lucky maybe even bumping into real human beings to talk to, to pass the time, to chit chat.  I could even see her spending some time with Santa if he isn't surrounded by kids asking for the latest toys.  Sparkles isn't on top of the weather at the moment.  Yes, it's a pun.  I go to bed and as I turn and toss searching for warmth I wrap my arms around me and wish Sparkles a good night, sweet dreams and know all is well.

Keep your spirits up honey.

Enticing the snow and a dream of bare feet

Before this white stuff began I found myself getting angry.  I just wanted something to happen rather than the wind, rain and not knowing what coat to wear.  The notion came over me to stand in the back garden late one evening, then look up to the black cold sky and shout out at the top of my voice "come on!  Bring it on!  Bloody well snow, hail, whatever you want to do, but do something!  Do your worst, I'm waiting for it!"  At this point I was going to dramatically bear my chest, ripping open my shirt in a symbolic manner, then see whether I got struck by lightening.  I didn't act on this desire, maybe it saved the neighbours from ringing up the NHS and having me carted away.  Providing in this crazy age they hadn't run out of straight jackets. I was annoyed at the weather without any doubt in my mind.  The next day it snowed.  If thoughts are powered by magic beware because this would indicate sometimes they happen.

I had a dream.  No not the same as a famous black activist.  A dream.  This must of been sometime one morning which is the usual time I have dreams and then remember them.  Though I'm sure I forget about 90 percent of most dreams.  I was looking down at my feet, it was my bare feet, no shoes or socks.  I noticed my toes and the spaces between them, there may have even been some obvious dark hairs sprouting out of them, but that didn't matter.  I was standing up and looking down.  The ground was covered in snow, not deep snow just snow, and I felt no chill.  This could just be the nature of dreams which are abstract, symbolic and so never representative of what they appear to be.  However, besides the lack of chill I had a feeling of astonishment, or wonder.  It was like this feeling was asking the question, why am I looking down at my bare feet in the snow?  I must of held this moment of wonder for a few minutes, in real life I would of been scratching my head or holding my chin, just like a great thinker normally does.  Shortly I woke up.  The question wasn't answered, I threw the bed covers to one side, crawled to the window and looked out to see snow and no change in the darkened sky and the reflected street light making everything seem brighter than it actually is.  Getting up in the cold is a pain, so my ancient body relented to the need of rising and I puzzled no more about my feet, as long as I can still see them it's all I have to worry about.


To date I have not fallen on my backside, although I have noticed how my teeth feel more sensitive. Which could be because of my old age and they are about to drop out or because the cold is effecting them.  The alternative simpler explanation is I've lost a filling.  Probably eaten it with some fried rice.  Which is another thing the cold weather does.  It just makes you want to eat hot food.  Sandwiches never hit the spot.  Neither do little jacket potatoes with barely enough content to fit on a fork.  I had one of those the other day as well.

A recent weather forecast has indicated this may continue throughout the next few weeks and respite from it all only come the start of next year.  Oh well now for some good news, only 28 days to go.

Snow man Pedro

Some time early this morning it actually began to snow in London.  However, it is not as severe as the snow in the east of Scotland.  Sparkling always tells me how the BBC fails to report the extent of the snow there, she sees it as discrimination.  There may be fewer people who live there but they do deserve a say on the news so come on BBC they always get it worse than us lets see some more news of it on the box.

In the meantime I go out in my ushanka hat.  After last year it seems everyone really doesn't care what it is you wear, there is only one thing which matters and it's keeping warm.  Besides I like my hat it looks good and keeps my head and ears warm.  On heading home this evening I thought of buying additional food for the fridge.  Nothing to do with the fridge's appetite, but just in case things get worse.  But I doubt they do, unless you happen to be living in Scotland then it can get worse.  Sparkles fortunately has kept her freezer stocked well, she's got enough lamb kebab sticks (they were going cheap) to last for another couple of weeks.  I'm sure it won't come to it though.  I overheard someone in the Fish Factory say how they had just bought a new coat and how really warm it was.  He showed it to anyone who would listen and when asked how much it was gave a rather higher price than I've ever paid for a coat, but if it keeps you warm it's probably worth, shame you have to be rich to keep warm as well.

Rock Chick and Dangerous Sports lad co-operated to make a snow man in the back garden.  They found one of my baseball hats and put it ontop.  It's supposed to be me.  Here's the pic.  It has a can of Guinness and for some reason a small cuddly penguin.  Sun glasses?  Well the reflection of light from the sun can be strong.  It's nice to know I am represented in a garden 400 miles away.  Unfortunately it has snowed for another two days since this picture was taken.  The hat can't be seen and only the sun glassess are visible.  Sparkling told me he'd put on another 15 stone since.  I sure hope it is not an omen for my own weight problems.  It does put a smile on my face seeing Pedro in the garden.  If I got the resolve I'll do one in my garden to, only thing is I need to find my gloves first.  I just don't fancy frost bite.

I bought a bottle of Morgan's spiced rum the other day and I must admit to drinking the odd glass of it in the evening.  It maybe slightly aromatic in flavour but there is nothing which quite matches the feeling as a little alcohol slips down the back of the throat and warms you up.  Perhaps when I next head north I'll take a min bottle of it for Snowman Pedro just so he don't feel left out. I wonder if he has hairs on his chest as well?  No he can't have, coz then he'd be a Yeti.  No.  Yeti's are usually 8 feet tall this one is a little small.  Then again with more snow on the way in Scotland he may very well be 8 feet tall by Chrimbo.  I wonder if the BBC will put him on show then?

The Cold is on its way

It's snowing heavy in Scotland.  Sparkling has told me they've had at least 8 inches of it, and still it drops from the sky.  She managed to travel down to her fish factory only to find one other person turned up.  Nobody else.  It means she will not get paid but the big fish gave her some compensation, two lovely steaks.  Hmmmm.  Whilst in London it is blooming freezing, there is no getting away from it.  I went out today and before leaving thought hard about whether I needed an extra layer of clothes.  So put one on and was glad I did.  The sun was out but fortunately no snow.  Frost was everywhere this morning as well.  It's the earliest on record such weather has hit us.  Sparkles decided it was best to just spend the rest of the day in doors.  Wrapped up and watching TV.  Dangerous Sports lad and Rock Chick were also inside, keeping warm, not daring to venture out.  I don't blame them.  Except after most of a day inside they decided to play in the garden.  Now in the of the back garden stands a snowman.  They have called it after me.  I noticed it had one of my hats on, and there in a hand was a can of Guinness.  Lovely. It will be nicely chilled by the time I get up there for Chrimbo.  Hopefully I'll even get my hat back.  Though it may be in need of a clean up.

So as the days and weeks wear on I look towards a change in the weather and finding the best thermal underwear I can.  It's a peculiarity to feel a need to be warm when it's cold outside.  It may even be an age thing, the older you get the more the cold is noticed.  If only we had our own fur coats, like polar bears.  Their fur is especially insulative.  They swim in icy seas so it has to be.  I don't know if walruses have fur, but penguins seem to surive the cold pretty well to, then they have a circulation thing going on.  Either circulatory or mini nuclear reactors in their bellies.  Best not to worry, just get to bed, curl up and then sleep deep and soundly.  Just as long as I don't dream of snowmen I'm sure it will all be O.K. in the end. 

Question Time hit by opinonated octagenarian - talking codswallop

There I am watching a very serious political programme "Question Time" which enjoys questions from the audience, when suddenly it descends into a spectacle of comedy. The question had began with whether next year's royal wedding will result in a minor economic upturn.  A member of the audience began nosily interrupting the panel as they discussed the wedding.  The individual didn't have a microphone within range of their voice, so their vocal interference sounded like a groaning mumble.  The chair of the panel David Dimbleby looked at the audience to spy who it was.  The camera turned towards the individual.  It was a elderly man, he looked like he was at least octogenarian.  He was saying the paparazzi should leave the royals alone to get on with the wedding.  It didn't seem to matter to this dithering old man a large part of the costs for a royal wedding would come from the public.  It didn't seem to matter, some the panel were laughing and some of the audience, he just continued gassing away.  At this point I felt they should of either kicked him out or changed the title of the programme, certainly to something less serious.  However, were he escorted out this would of been national news.  The programme was live at the time, and he would of had more news coverage given to his royal bigotry in the next couple of days than the content of the entire programme.  Fortunately, the annoyance was abated when there was a change in question and the over opinionated octogenarian had now shut up. 

In reality it must be exceptionally difficult for programme makers to vet the sanity of their audience especially when it is live, but this was someone who really didn't have a worthy thing to say, it was as though they were there just to interfere with the proceedings.  He hadn't been asked any question and took it upon himself to do exactly what he would of done in his own living room with the TV on.  i.e. to shout his opinion at it with or without other people present.  It would of been farcical at this point had another octogenarian from a different part of the audience shouted back at him "what a lot of old codswallop" because it bloody well was.

Everybody is entitled to an opinion on everything in life.  However, it is unnecessary for them to offload their viewpoints on the rest of us.  It's like walking down the high street and being accosted by various religious touts who want to save your soul.  Just because they believe their particular omnipotent imaginary friend is more powerful and real than the rabbit called Harvey, in the film called Harvey.  It doesn't mean you have to believe them or agree with them.  It's odd how I have never seen atheists accost people and espouse their views.  Perhaps they have got better things to do.  If they do, I'm sure to bet they are not interrupting Question Time.  Viva le Rabbit.

A day of training and motivation from a turd

The other day I went on a training course, it's what they do with middle fishes, put them on courses so they learn how to handle all the little fishes the right way.  With care usually. Gone are the days of KITA (Kick them In The Arse), as once written by a consultant Fish Monger.  On the course were all middle fishes and I happened to be the only male one there.  Which is always worrying, being in the company of too much estrogen just isn't good and you have to be careful with what you say.  Everything and anything can be picked up on and then you're in trouble.  Anyway.  The course was on coaching, trying to get the little fishes to do things and get the most out of them while doing it.  I thought it was a little bit like counselling and actually enjoyed it, the trainer seemed to think coaching was developed from a sports background.  Though I'm not sure if it did, I'll have to consult one of my books or do some searching on the Internet.  I got another day's training the end of next week.  Anyway some time during the day I received a text message from L & B man.  I thought it was a bit unusual getting a message from him and had been expecting some kind of contact from Sparkling Eyes.  So I sat there just as the next part of the lesson was to begin and opened up the message.

I had to wait a moment because it wasn't a text message as I thought, rather it was a picture text message so the picture had to be loaded.  Hmmm I watched as the image slowly refreshed from the top down, something white, ceramic looking.  It loaded.  To tell the truth I wasn't sure at first what I was looking at.  It's was a bit like one of those mystery pictures they publish in the newspaper of just part of an object and you have to guess what the object is.  Alternatively it might of been my brain just was refusing to process what I was looking at.  Then as the moment of realisation hit me I quickly covered up the image on my phone in shock, fear and amusement all at the same time.  The text underneath said "I felt a lot better after that."  The picture was a big turd in a toilet.  I could feel the tension in my chest, I had breathed in deep and held the inhale, bloody hell it was big, and had the girl sitting next to me glanced it.  Not only this, how would I reply to the text seeing one hand was grasped over the face of the phone.  Was it obvious to other people?  The paranoia and a cold swet was present.  Fortunately I had pressed the reply button in time and so didn't have to stare at the picture.  It was horrifying.  My reply involved the use of profuse language even in my silent laughter.  Fleeting the thought arose whether I should tell the group.  No.  Thank heavens my sensible gene kicked in I would of been marked forever as the man who had a picture of a turd on his phone.  I know what women are like it's one of those things they don't forget.  The next lesson would of been uncomfortable I'm sure.

Anyway, the training session went well.  We practiced something called the GROW model while coaching.  Goal, Reality, Options and Wrap up. I did actually enjoy the session.  It's like we all need a chance to chat once in a while and this was a great opportunity to get on with it.  Using this structured approach helps and guides you in the conversation which follows. To the point I began to approach a feeling of motivation.  Yes, the elusive concept of motivation, the will to do something.  But of course it must be sustained, effective, self generated and goal directed.

Only problem was the text message and picture haunted my day.  It's surprising how when you can just get settled in, something comes along and knocks you off stride.  Sparkling also text me she learnt what had happened and  L & B man had forwarded on my reply.  She was sympathetic, I'll not go into the details any more I'm trying my best to forget the picture, but I must admit I did laugh. Sometimes even shit can make you laugh. Now if you can find motivation in the picture of a turd, it's possible to find it anywhere.

A cold morning and adrenaline pens

This morning was cold, I left the house and was greeted by a mist, it stretched down the road becoming thicker in the distance and obscuring houses, lamp posts and dogs.  In fact the dogs had to check out the lampposts twice to make sure they were pissing in the right place.  It's important knowing where to piss.  I thought it was going to be cold when I got up out of bed.  I had the chilly feeling.  Fortunately I'd hit the local market and bought a couple of thermal vests just for such an occasion like this.  The only problem was, when I bought them I wasn't so sure about the size to get.  The young man who was selling them picked out a medium saying it was my size.  This morning when I put it on, I wasn't so sure.  It felt tight.  I thought to myself, blimey this must be what L & B man feels like when he puts one of his girly glamorous t-shirts on.  He's got a thing for t-shirts.  I felt like the Michellin Man and wondered if it was going to cut off the circulation to various parts of my body.  I could see my lower half withering away and becoming useless from the waist down.  When did I get so fat?  It just kind of crept up on me from nowhere.  Nevertheless the thermal vest did it's job, I was well layered when I went out and felt warm enough to get by.  The problem was once reaching the Fish Factory it had to come off.  There was no way I could endure the rest of the day chopping up fishes feeling this hot.  Another day maybe.

Sparkling has told me how she has now been given another medication to take the rest of her life.  She suffers from dry eyes.  Further the allergy quack seems to have given up on trying to diagnose what it is which makes her react.  On one occasion she had annaphalatic shock and had to be rushed to hospital.  She now has two epi pens.  These are adrenaline pens which you stab yourself with in the case of a severe allergic reaction.  If Sparkling doesn't get to use the pen on herself other people around her may have to, but if they don't use it properly and stab their own finger they could end up losing the finger.  Not losing as in lost and found, but having it amputated.

Now there's one prick you never want to experience.

Catching up with the week's politics

I have now got into a routine of catching up on the political programmes at the weekend.  Nearly finished, I'm on about hour three, or is it four?  (Newsnight, The Daily Politics, Question Time) I barely get to watch TV news during the weeks so this time is a must..  The BBC iplayer function is a political lifeline to the past week.  It's always good to see politicians bought to account, however they do practice the art of bullet dodging, bouncing off the ropes and are pretty good with smoke and mirrors.  This is not to say they are dishonest, which some may well think, they are after all human beings.  As humans we are just prone to making mistakes every once in a while.  Just as we are to the occasional insight and good judgement.  However, when it comes to running a country, which has surely got to be the most complex organizational thing in the world, it doesn't matter who you are, you're bound to get it wrong.  Especially if you fail to consult those in the know, those who work in specialised areas, like the Fish Factory. The future of fish is never going to be the same.  I'm going to have to roll up my shirt sleeves and do something different, maybe become a full time male lap dancer.  Unfortunate thing is I doubt whether I'll earn a living from it and I'd even doubt if Sparkling Eyes would give me a fiver for a dance.  How depressing.

So I've spent a few hours going over a White Paper, not to be confused with a Blue Paper, which is what happens when you leave a white paper out in the cold. Bom Bom!  It's a document published by the Government about what they intend to do in the future.  There was so little detail and so wide implications as I read I couldn't help but shake my head.  I thought someone doesn't know the head of a fish from the tail of a fish here.  They had even proposed the next fleet of boats which go out fishing no longer bother using nets yet are expected to gain bigger catches than ever before.  Further, they had decided if the boats weren't up to scratch they would now use tractors.  I scratch my head in confusion wondering how the farmers would feel about it. 

It's a bit like some recent news about a couple who had been released from pirates who had hijacked their boat.  I sat watching the interviews with them and shout out the question, why in hell did you go sailing in waters known to have pirates?  The worse part was none of the interviers asked either.  I expect the pair had read too much Peter Pan and thought Captain Hook was only a comic character.  Well they certainly found out with the loss of their liberty for 13 months.  If I asked my ten year old nephew Monster Boy whether he'd like to sail a boat in an area where there are pirates, I'm sure he wouldn't mind.  It would capture his imagination, he'd go and start drawing pictures of pirates, get out his Star Wars light sabre and dress up announcing he'll join them and become the new Long John silver.  But to ask the same question to two adults, blimey.  Where did they get educated?   Well I got a name for them if they want to know, idiots would seem to fit, but a more imaginative person would probably come up with something better.

I've about reached my maximum now, it's on the hour and I'm actually catching up with the news.  Great, the kidnapped couple are on again, right I've had enough.  Switched off.  Peace and quite.  Now I wonder if those pirates do private jobs.  I know of a river which passes a seat of government where it might be worth kidnapping some more valuable people.  Where did I put my satellite phone?

Talking to a Gay Marxist in the pub - with male pattern baldness

I got mostly drunk this evening.  Knowing Sparkles was grafting away I had two possible people to chat to while waiting at the train station.  Five minutes to kill before it came trundling in.  It was 15 minutes but I'd used up ten of those going to the Chinese for a take-away.  I waited as it gently rained, and stood under a train monitor so not to get too wet.  Phone call one, to Rock Chick. Went along the lines of "hello Rock Chick how are you" she replied "fine" I then asked how she was getting on with Dangerous Sports Lad and she laughed asking if I had spoken to Sparkles.  "No" I said, but I did get a text message.  Rock considered this to be the same as talking.  She wasn't talking to Dangerous because he refused to call for a Taxi on a night out when they were both intoxicated.  So Rock was now giving him the silent treatment.  I'm sure it won't take him long to realise he was in the wrong, to apologise and get himself put back into the normal order of things.  As males have to be.  Rock however gave the excuse she had company and couldn't chat to me any longer.  Blimey.  Only one minute and a little had passed.  Second option L & B man.  So I gives him a ring he answers "Slaggggg!, what's up?"  My reply is "hiya Fatboy,"  his abuse is short lived and he tells me how the log cabin has just had some lights fitted.  But also he tells me how I was probably standing all on my own on the platform scared of being mugged so was ringing him.  As if my making a phone call to Fatboy in Scotland would protect me were I actually being mugged.  I doubt it.  The train came and the conversation finished.  The other 4 minutes successfully filled, me and a Chinese were now heading off closer towards home.  Stinky cat and crazy Big Momma.

I enjoyed the earlier part of the evening and found myself chatting to a Gay Marxist who I'd seen in the pub before.  He had a hang up about the Catholic religion and how it didn't like him because he was gay.  I stated it didn't matter if he was gay and debated my views on religion.  For a moment he seemed to get emotional.  I think this may of been down to drinking too much and being Gay.  It might be a preconception but he was a sensitive fellow and the notion of someone not giving a toss about his sexuality seemed to overcome him.  I kept my back to the wall and advised him I was not gay.  Lucky I didn't tell L & B man about it, because he would of then had more ammunition to hit me with.  I can imagine it.  Asking if I'd pulled in one of those Gay bars in London again.  I felt sorry for Marxist man, he cried but was discrete when wiping the tears away.  I enjoyed the evening very much getting drunk on my two and a half pints and chatting to a bunch of blokes for a moment other things were forgotten.  It was only the one who was gay just the Marxist, and he was just sad and in need of company. 

I thought of Sparkles and wondered how she would of loved to have been part of the conversations taking place.  I love her and although it has only been a few days since I last seen her, my face smiles every time I think of her.  Eventually I got home, had the Chinese and sat down at last to write a little BLOG on a little bit of news I had.  I don't know why but all the taboo subjects were the ones discussed, sex, politics and religion.  Have I now got old?  Maybe.  Another subject was male pattern baldness.  Blimey, I should of had another pint then I'd of forgotten about thinning hair altogether.

Watching ghostly TV with Sparkles

Am with Sparkling watching some TV, it's one of those ghost documentary type of things.  With a half famous girl band searching various ghostly places with a presenter.  I say half because I'd never heard of them before this week.  Then a psychologist, Professor Jeffrey Beattie gives his view on the proceedings as he interprets how the girls react.  I check out google to see who this jumped up darling of ghost TV actually is, tosser I think to myself.  I can't help it, he just is.  As he interprets why one of the girls raises her hands to her cheeks.  His interpretation is to manipulate the other girls so they are scared shitless. Only thing is the Dick neglects to mention it is pitch black and what we are viewing is from infra-red camera or the such like.  Which means the other band members would of seen this body language so how could it of been manipulative?  The girls are frightened, as they are put into one situation after the other in various supposedly haunted buildings.  They hug, the scream, they cry and they add to the TV experience, wonderful.  Sparkles looks at me, with her eyes Sparkling and she trys to gauge my behaviour, to see whether the hysteria of barely post pubescent girls and their fear is effecting me.  It's not.  Perhaps the rum and coke is helping. 

I recall reading an important book in psychological terms.  Called "The Crowd" by a bloke called Le Bon.  Yep you guessed it, he was French.  But lets not hold this against him.  In this he recognises a theme called Contagion.  It's where a group (crowd) pass a feeling or thought amongst them quickly.  Hence contagious or contagion in his terms.  They all feel or think the same thing.  Which reminds me of the comic attribute of timing where just the right amount of time is given to the audience to take in the punch line and laugh.  Anyway, putting it in simple and easy terms the fear of ghost hunting has already engaged the emotion and they don't even need leading suggestion from the presenter, because they are now being played. Played on their very own girlie fears.  Fears of some paranormal experience, and the parasympathetic (human) response kicks in (fight or flight).  There is at this point no logical mind working, it is all emotions, fed from one person to the next.  They rather show fear, hug, cry and jump, than try and wonder exactly what is going on.  The convenience of darkened rooms would ensure no other third party is seen throwing objects or touching shoulders.  Sparkles laughs as she watches.  The presenter screws up her face and flashes a laugh as she shoulds out questions to the girls.  Which they obediently ask the unknown ghostly apparition. A chill creeps up then down my spine.  Shit.  It's only TV.

Sparkles looks on transfixed as the program carrys on.  I see Dick Professor Nutty Beattie again.  What is it which makes me want to smack his interpretations in the face.  Who the hell is this prat?   He's definitely sold out to be on TV and increase his own bank balance.  The half famous girl band act in only the way a young girl band is going to act.  Fecking hysterically, get a grip folks. 

The rum and coke go down nicely.  I sent a picture of my rum bottle to L & B man.  I'm sure he'll get a kick out of it.  I must get up early tomorrow, the electrician is popping round.  Some wires will need to be sorted under the floor boards.  Great.  As long as he doesn't act like a girlie and talk about spirits vying for his attention.  As long as those spirits are 45 per cent proof I got no problem with it.

Jerk Chicken and deprived of Kylie

The day has been busy, even though Sparkles had to hit the Fish Factory.  I made a personal list of things to do.  These were clearing up leaves in the garden, rummaging back up in the attic preparing for the electrician's re wire and lastly an inspiration again from Jamie Oliver's 30 minute meals. I don't know what it is about Jamie but he does inspire me to actually get into the kitchen.  To do something, chop veggies, mix up concoctions of spices, fry, bake, and taste.  Of course it always goes a little more smoothly with a little drink.  Seeing as today's menu was Jerk Chicken involving a few table spoons of rum my tipple for the evening has been rum and coke.  I must admit, after the first one I started to get chilled.  I needed it.  On the walk back from the local over-large-chain-superstore one of the plastic bags broke and I lost a bottle of wine.  Then when I started cooking it arose I'd lost the honey and the garlic.  Great.  Sparkling was my saviour, she whisked me out in the car to search for more honey.  Unfortunately I only realised I'd lost the garlic on the next preparation run.  Sparkles went to the local shops and got a surrogate.  I wasn't happy but Sparkles said "get over it" so of course I got over it.  Otherwise I'd be in trouble.  I'll return to this point.  Sparkles also noted the rum I had used was had "Gay" in the title.  Bloody great.  I'm sure L & B man will be told and I'll get some kind of response from him. 

It was amazing.  I actually made something which tasted good and tasted like it wasn't me who made it.  Like a real chef had made it.  Although again the 30 minutes turned out to be more like 3 hours, especially with the excursions to get those important ingredients I'd somehow lost.  Like they had evaporated into some Bermuda Triangle of lost food.  I could of made little pictures of garlic or honey and written award of $5 underneath, but doubt if there had been any reply.  Yep the Jerk chicken was goooood.  So was the rum and coke.

Sparkles likes to glance her eye over my BLOGs she's probably me biggest fan, although she hasn't listed herself as a follower.  No I just get someone from some eastern block country who's checked me out said they follow me and probably in all intentions and purpose just wanted to change web page.  Well, Sparkles likes to watch X factor and as I had written a somewhat damning BLOG she wasn't happy with it.  Not happy at all.  So this evening as I sat watching X factor, forced because I didn't have the button for the TV and if I had it would of been wrestled off me.  It began.  I sat watching, then was told to "shut up" because I was talking too much.  So I did.  But from nowhere came Kylie Minogue, I couldn't believe it.  On X factor!!!  But I didn't have the TV control.  It was at this point Sparkles decided it was time to teach me a lesson.  So the channel changed.  Then no matter how much I begged for Kylie, Sparkles would not change the channel.  I gave up.  But to taunt me more she then went and switched to X factor.  Kylie!!!  Great.  I looked up, Sparkles saw me and changed the channel again.

Memo: Sparkles believes in Karma.  This evening my Karma come round and bit me in the arse.  Lost honey, garlic and deprived of Kylie. As for the cat well, he's another story.

A Day in the Attic

I have been set with a Herculean task further had I not made a start on it L & and B man was going to have a word with me.  The sort which begins with "Slaggg!!!!!!! Why haven't you got your arse up in that attic."  The Slagg bit is his term of endearment, it means in man-language he loves me.  But I don't interpret this for him because then he'll call me a shirt lifter.  So yep.  My task was in the attic.  Trying to find out where the wires are for an electrician who is doing a rewire for Sparkling.  The problem is, the attic had twenty years of black sacks full of things, baby clothes, shoes, defunct toys, electrical things, jigsaws you name it, it was there.  Although not a kitchen sink.  But it wouldn't of surprised me had it been.

For hours I took these sacks down from the attic, Sparkling then had the task of sifting through each one and declaring what could be thrown or kept.  As I returned with more sacks to the living room I'd hear an "arrrrrh, your baby coat" at which she would hold up the coat and wave it at Rock Chick, who in turn would also say "arrrrh."  I'd look at it and reply "it don't fit now" then Sparkling would decide the said item should be kept.  It was very difficult sifting through the sacks because each one held memories of different times and events.  Photographs of this or that, sparked a train of recollections.  Eventually after quite some time and daylight had disappeared it was all finished.  So with help from Dangerous Sports lad the lot was put back.  Sparkling was wavering on account of being out on the tiles the night before.  But I don't know where I had a third wind and hoovered up making sure everything looked relatively spick and span.  Very nice.

Problem is I still haven't had time to locate the wiring, but at least it is a little tidier.  I may have to hit the DIY store to see if I can get some of those face masks.  Not to frighten anyone, but to lift the insulation up while looking for cables.  Sparkles is off to her Fish Factory to do a shift so I'm on my lonesome.  Well except of Rock and Dangerous.  Mind I don't think I should stay around otherwise I'll be doing the washing up all day long. Blimey for a moment the attic seems like easy work.

It's not the journey it's the getting there

I am now in Sparkling's land.  Yep up North.  This morning while in bed I thought how other people take it for granted when the person you love is only an arm's length away.  So I felt more than happy, glowing at the reality.  However, getting here turned out to be more than a problem I could of anticipated.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. my stomach wasn't so good.  It was the beginning of some kind of cramp.  I lay there and just waited keeping warm and hoped it would just ease away.  It didn't.  The next two hours the pains were so bad I was folded up in two.  Running numerous time to the toilet, trying to make tea and eat toast, with the notion toast would calm me down.  Then after one more visit to the loo it was over.  The spasms, hot swets then shivers all disappeared.  However, now time was short.  I had not pre packed my ruck sack so just threw in some essentials, pants, socks, toothbrush those kinds of things.  It felt light.  I grabbed a  book to read which was stopped part way through.  The problem was now I was on a timer, I had to be out of the house before 8:00 a.m., because today of all days the London tube strike had began and my extra paid tube fare  on the ticket was going to be a waste.  There was no real choice.  I'd heard even on those lines which were working quite a few of the stations would be closed.  The radio advise my stop was closed. Bloody  Kings Cross.  Which meant the tube was not going to stop there, and my knowledge of London's roads and directions was a little shaky. 

I got on my first train with a good idea of how to get to Kings, opened up my diary which has a map of London and thought it didn't quite extend enough to show me Kings Cross.  What was my best choice in these circumstances I wondered.  All what was needed was confirmation I'd be walking in the right direction.  So I rang Sparkling.  She answered "hello"  it was a delayed sleepy hello, and now I felt guilty because I'd woken her up.  Sparkling loves her lay in bed and lately hasn't been getting many.  She would barely be stirring.  I asked her if she would help me and if I could ring in a half hour.  The train trudged on towards London.  Through a tunnel, and then my mobile was disconnected.  Out the other side and then  found there was a message.  Sparkling had tried  to ring me.  I rang her back.  Sparkles navigated through the excellent Google Map section, as I read out the streets from my own map.  She confirmed what I thought.  Great.  All I had to do now was a little walking.  I estimated an hour would do it.  Fortunately I'd had enough time.  Unfortunately I didn't make my own sandwiches or managed to pick up something from the fridge before I'd left.  About 8 hours later I was in Scotland and sitting in Sparkling's car while she chauffeured me back to the  ranch.

The train journey here was uneventful.  But the arrival was magnificent.  My belly, well what can I say, it's temperamental.  Overall I'm very happy and so I should be.  Sparkling told me about her deep dream she was having at the time I had woken her up.  We were in the middle of an argument and she was kicking me out of the house.  Blimey, I'm lucky she even picked up the phone to answer it, luckily she didn't dream me on the phone as well!

Butternut Squash - the illusive veggie

Last night while watching YouTube, I caught a half hour of Jamie Oliver in a program with the name half hour meals.  It was interspersed with commercials which although annoying weren't so bad because I'd put the mute on and do a minute or two of surfing then come back to the window to check out if the program had began again.  Anyway.  Jamie was cooking a vegetarian Rogan Josh curry.  I got interested.  So grabbed some paper and began taking notes, writing down the ingredients and what he was doing with them.  Today I decided to go and buy the various veggies and make it myself.  It seemed from his recipe there were two important elements in his style of Rogan Josh.  One was a butternut squash, which I've seen but not actually done much with.  The other was a jar of Rogan Josh paste, which he swore by.  Though, I must admit as I saw him making his rice I thought it odd he didn't even wash it, because everyone knows if you don't get the starch out it turns into a gloopy lump of porridge rather than rice.  Porridge might be fine for breakfast with some syrup, but it is not the right stuff for curry.  So transfixed I saw him do the curry.  The program then went onto another element, I think it was going to be the ten second lemon dippy stuff, but at this point the bloody thing froze on me, so sod the lemon stuff I'd have to go without it, and of course I didn't get to see the finished porrage article anyway.  So today list in hand off I went on a cooking adventure.

The thing with cooking programs which is always annoying is being able to purchase the same ingredients as the chefs use, or similar.  Also, the other thing with cooking programs is they might be made in a time of year when certain ingredients are quite easy to come by, say for instance butternut squash.  This I found out.  I checked supermarket after supermarket and could not track any down.  In the same supermarkets I intently looked for the Rogan Josh paste.  A paste which Jamie describes as wonderful because it's the basic stuff with loads of herbs in it, and on a thirty minute meal it would take too long to show and prepare the real thing. This is either his excuse or he's gotten lazy of late.  Maybe Jamie is getting a little jaded and would rather be on TV earning his millions by doing something quite different.  Perhaps he'd be a footballer, if not a barrow boy or if all those vacancies were filled he could try his hand at politics.  So I couldn't get the butternut squash and made do with normal potatoes.  Then I couldn't find the Rogan Josh paste so found something in an exclusive market called a Jalfrezi.  My dish had metamorphosed from one thing to something quite different.  I nearly forgot, I put minced beef in it as well so now it was no longer vegetarian, no longer a Rogan Josh or inclusive of the lovely but illusive butternut squash. One and a half hours later, it was ready to eat.  Yep, even the timing wasn't the same.

I learnt, sometimes it's good to set out on a journey with the hope of getting to some place, unfortunately circumstances prevailing this isn't always possible and other paths have to be taken, in this case it was a  meat Jaflrezi instead. Bom Bom.

Who Killed the Emperor? - Lets get him!

Imagine this, there you are, a big Stag, no letters removed the adjective, and say magnificent Stag all of 9 feet tall around and about is your hareem of deers.  One of them might be a descendant of Bambi's mum, so she's really hot.  You stick you head up high on alert, and exhale great big condensation clouds in the cool morning air, no other stag dares come on your territory and the darling girls are just queuing up waiting for a bit of attention.  It's rutting season and they love all male strutting and bashing of antlers, then suddenly in this calm and idyllic countryside of Exmoor National Park there is a loud "crack" sound.  You stumble, not knowing what has happened, it certainly wasn't anything you ate, but something is definitely very wrong.  Then there is a second "crack" her hareem scatter leaving you as now you have collapsed in a heap on the ground.  Gasping for breath, straining but the countdown is now nearly over.  The figure of a man walks through the terrain with a purposeful stride, he's accompanied by a few others behind.  You would normally panic, normally run, but nothing works legs wont move.  Finally, your head and beautiful antlers also drop down to the ground, a last signed breath and mixed exhalation of blood and internal pain.  Eyelids closed and darkness forevermore.

This was how the largest stag on Exmoor for many decades has now passed on.  A hunter paid for the privilege of killing the grand and beautiful beast which went by the name of the Emperor.  He must of strayed off public land and onto a farmer's.  As news crews hit the community, no one was saying a thing.  But they know who's land it was on.  The farmer has denied the Emperor even existed.  Except of course for a few thousand pounds extra he now has in his bank account.   His hands are red where he has been rubbing them together from an outward show of greed.  The nation is in shock.  The poor Emperor didn't even have time to service his waiting deers and so pass his genes on. 

Somewhere in a parallel universe, there sits on a bench a Green Peace activist, she pulls out of her pocket a ray gun.  Sights a farmer and then a hunter who vigorously chat about the thrill of a good kill.  She raises her gun and fires.  In one blow both the farmer and the hunter are evaporated.  Two days later she is asked about the disappearance of two men.  Scratching her head  pretending to recall she says "I don't know who you are talking about.  I've just been sitting here watching the beautiful wildlife of this wonderful country now what reason would I ever have for doing away with a farmer and a hunter.  After all, it's not like they are an endangered species."

The X Factor Fraud - your having a laugh

Well anyone who is stupid enough to think this is a BLOG about X Factor better go somewhere else, because it isn't.  The reason why I put this as a heading was because I'd put a heading some time ago on a BLOG about Sponge Bob and the gym and for some completely unknown reason to me it had more hits than any other BLOG.  So sorry to disappoint you - not.  If you like X factor go and see your GP for a brain transplant, because I hear nowadays there's a special NHS subsidy for people with poor taste.  And if you are actually bothered to read this because you like X Factor and are slowly getting wound up by my remarks.  Then shame on you sap, because I don't give a monkey's arse what you think, but leave a comment and I'll be sure to read it and publish it.  I'm making the assumption you know how to string a couple of words together and can write, because there certainly is no pictures to look at.  Personally I'm fed up with reading or hearing about Cheryl Dull, Loius Wash-out and Simon Cuckoo (surgically enhanced breasts self opinionated raving loon), these are not my words, just those I overheard in a pub, but nodded my head to in agreement.  Note in order to protect the innocent, the comments made in this BLOG are not necessarily the same made by any other brain dead viewers, they are solely the comments of a crazed lunatic who goes against the general consensus, someone who is not a fair weather marker of public opinion.  I wonder who?

Now on to something more interesting.  Yep, life in the Fish Factory is beginning to feel like life in a sausage factory, I think I am being salami sliced into non existence.  As more and more fishes try to take a bite out of me, or rather request a bite.  It can be like some are unable to wake up in the morning and decide what to have for breakfast but then decide to consult their almanac only to be unhappy of the result so they knock on their neighbour's door searching for the view which coincides with their own.  I am being invaded by time wasting fishes.  Some of which come from outside of the Fish Factory and want explanations to events which would overshadow an analysis of War and Peace.  I'm beginning to think I don't get paid enough.  In fact, I'm beginning to think someone has said to me they want to play stick the tail on the donkey, have asked me to bend over pull my trousers down and then randomly give tails and pins to every passerby they could find.  My arse is now littered with little red pin pricks, you got it.  Every one is a pain in my arse.

Thank heavens for my sanity, sense of humour and the ability to slag off X Factor.

Zombie abduction by way of PSP

Layabout Lad has a thing for Zombies, be it movies or books, he about knows everything there is on Zombies.  Personally it would not be my preference, but as the saying goes, each to their own.  However, sometimes things can happen right under your own nose and you're not totally aware of it.  This is what I think.  Layabout Lad's little brother Monster Boy has been abducted.  Yes. It is true.  In a real life Zombie attack, he has been sucked into Zombie land and can't even see it.  Well he is only 10 years old, so at this age sometimes you don't know when some big nasty staggering zombie wraps his arms around you and then takes a bite.  Yep.  Poor Monster Boy is no longer the energetic ever manic person he used to be.  The Zombies have got him.

I first began to notice this when I turned up at his house and he was engaged in playing PSP.  It's a portable games consul for those who don't know.  After about fifteen or twenty minutes of no movement, and his complete fixation on the LCD screen I wondered whether he was alive.  He barely was.  I put my hand over his eyes, tickled him and twisted his ears, one at a time.  The respose time was slow.  Whereas a normal fully com pus mentus Monster Boy would of come back at me immediately in retaliation this Zombie infected PSP Boy didn't.  I don't know whether I can rescue him from the brink of Zombie and human being transition and pull him back into the living.  It is going to be an extremely hard task. He also makes grunts and groans as he plays on his PSP, not all the time, which would be silly.  He makes these when I try to engage in conversation with him.  Nothing but monosyllabic responses come back to me.  I just don't know where the happy and excitable Monster Boy has gone.  He just lacks the engagement he used to have, the smile and cheeky demand he showed has been replaced by quiet, concentration.  The PSP is held in front of him like he were Zombie transfixed by it.  A long electrical cord can be seen trailing behind to the mains socket.  Occasionally full and complete disengagement from humanity happens when he has headphones plugged in.  Then whatever I say gets drowned out by the events of the PSP.  He is more than hypnotised, he is now becoming brain dead to the world.  The PSP is not a nanny, but it has become in effect a child minder and child abductor to Zombie land.

I hope this is not the ending of the world.  I quite like human contact.  Looks like I will have to head towards the closest DIY store around.  Now, where do I find instructions for making your own cattle-prod I'm sure I'll get some notice then.

Sore head morning

My head hurts.  I got drunk last night.  On account of it being POETS day (Piss Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday).  I was very happy.  I like the feeling of being chilled and enjoying conversation.  Debate, politics, music (which I know very little about) films, football (again something I know little about) and more politics.  After leaving the pub I then went and got a Chinese to eat.  What a pig.  I took the train back and then phoned Sparkling to have a chat while I walked the remaining distance from train to home.  The walk seemed to go on forever, on account of not being able to walk straight.  Walking in a sway from side to side. It was odd.  I was very happy chatting to Sparkles.  She seemed to find me funny as well, it must of been the dribble coming out of my mouth, a quite incoherent property intoxication gives.  So Now I am hung over.  With no paracetamol to help my sore head, sweaty feeling and need for liquid.  Non alcoholic.

Taylor Swift is not as talented as some think

Well I've just caught a bit of Taylor Swift on TV, it's the first time I've come across her and, I know talent when I see it.  Her tune is catchy, it hits the teeny market, but she don't have what it takes to be a great.  Nope, it is all hype and show.  What amazed me was when checking out YouTube every gig she was at looked very much like she was miming all the way through.  I don't know if it is me, maybe it is. because I don't think she has talent.  I have seen her give interviews and she puts on that semi shy nearly bashful appearance where she always thanks the host for their opinions.  To the extent I'm almost vomiting and wondering where on earth was this one picked up from.  Other people seem to think she is a great, but she's not.  She's popular, and popularity is a fickle finger of fate.  At any moment according to the zephyrs of public emotion it will swing towards another direction.  There was  a pretence in the interview I saw.  She is only twenty years old!  Do we expect more from such artists and project more on them than they really deserve?  Because I certainly think so, definitely in this case.  Taylor Swift sweetheart, you're not as talented as you think you are, the reason I say this is because your life as began and you are still crawling about in baby nappies and the rest of the world is saying how beautiful you are, I'm not.  So someone come and shoot me.  I definitely do not agree.  Give me Kylie any day.  Someone take this girl away, give her some real experience of life then see if she can write songs, see if she can come across with real talent and not the serendipity of good fortune she has at the moment.  Someone tell me if I am wrong, and let the someone who does tell me, say it from the bottom of their heart and be at least 30 years old, anyone below does not count.

Grow up, learn what life is, what it is not because Swift darling you are still a baby.

Pulling whale teeth is hard work

Time at the Fish Factory goes by fast.  Like a rocket.  Presently it is too noisy there and I'm on the verge of killing half a dozen people.  It's like I have work to do dissecting this whale and it takes all of my concentration but, other people chatting away invade and steal my concentration.  I get interrupted constantly with people asking me questions or opinions, I get phone calls just as I'm pulling a tooth and whale tooth's are pretty big.  Then there is the tap on the shoulder by another fellow, asking me whether this fish qualifies as a fish because it looks like a turtle.  I say to him "hey I don't know" they are all the same to me.  I turn back round and wonder what I was doing and have to revise and get back into the mood.  These people are stopping from doing my job.  One more interruption and they better watch out because the placid personality will become a beast, it will tear of their heads, not just the one, all of them.  At this point in my day it is then usually time to for lunch.  I run out of the door and consider the prospect of getting completely drunk because those fishes back at the factory just won't let me get on with my own job. 

The Layabout lad has broken up with his girlfriend.  He is mortified over it.  A few days before he told me this I saw him and his ex, they were sitting at opposite ends of a settee.  I spoke to him and said he didn't have a relationship.  He was in complete denial of this and couldn't see how his requests and guilt trips on her were the only thing which made her tolerate his presence.  So I've asked him if he'd like to go out for a pizza at a new restaurant I know.  I might get him drunk then see if he has heard of Monty Python and their song "Always look on the bright side of life" which although depressive is quite catchy and is meant in good humour.  I will find some comedy films and give them to him to watch, he desperately needs to take his mind off his ex and get on with life.  I told Sparkling about this.  Her response was a little less tolerant.  Seeing as she now has little in the way of finger prints from working at her own Fish Factory she advised if Layabout Lad didn't sort himself out she'd come and beat the living daylights out of him.  Which makes sense.  It would take his mind of his ex and he'd think more about the pain he was in.  I ask how come I love Sparkling so much, it must be because she speaks her mind and has very sparkling eyes.  Yep, Layabout Lad had better look out a visit could be pending.

Mr L & B is on holiday in America.  He sent me some pictures of an elephant, he told me the pub I was in was probably full of gays and he then went and spent five bucks squirting water at tourists in the resort he was at.  It was giving him the best kick of the day.  Sparkling has also heard from him.  He'd been grumpy because he wasn't getting updates on the completion of a loft conversion.  It sounded like his mind was elsewhere.  I think he wants to beat me up as well.  Then it wouldn't be normal if he didn't threaten me with some form of physical violence or deliberations on my sexual orientation.  I do the same with L & B as well.  It's a man thing.  A bonding thing.  Well not bonding, but you know manly thing.  But not too manly.  Just butch manly.  It sure beats trying to pull whale teeth that's for sure.

Who spied a Space Station then?

Last night I had a short chat with Sparkling and she told me in an excited voice she saw the Space Station.  I must admit to being a little incredulous to this happening.  She then said if it is still there when I next go up I can see it to.  Of course this didn't make a great deal of sense to me, being a man.  Sparkles was so overcome by seeing the space station she then had to go and wake Rock Chick up so she to could look up into the night sky and see it. I must admit my doubting Thomas was really kicking in.  The reason is, if the thing up there was visible then surely there would of been some kind of TV announcement so everyone could rush outside and have a look.  In the back of my mind I stopped myself from saying it was more likely she had seen a flying doughnut with a cherry on top than the Space Station.  But I didn't, because maturity has led me to the most knowledgeable thing of all, which always be very careful when doubting a woman, if she happens to be right then you are in pretty big trouble.  So my doubt was unspoken.  Further, I also ran out the front door and looked up into the night sky.  But London unlike the East Coast of Scotland is positioned in a different place on the globe.  Also there was a scattering of clouds so if there was anything up there it would of been difficult to find.

My next option was to check on the Internet and see if there was a map tracking the International Space Station.  Which it so happened there was.  I checked it out and it indicated at that moment the ISS was above Spain.  Well about an hour had passed since Sparkles had seen it, and it was travelling a few thousand miles per hour which means it don't stand still for long, relatively speaking it don't stand still at all.  The NASA map showed a set of three wavey lined routes the ISS may have taken, but not one of them was near the UK.  So I wondered whether it may have been some other satellite and found another set of maps for various satellites again none of these were anywhere near Scotland.  My call finished with Sparkles and I puzzled over what had taken place.  Sparkles was going to have Rock Chick photograph it next time it just happened to be hanging about.  Like a Christmas light no doubt.

About another forty minutes or so passed and it was getting close to bedtime.  So yet again I checked the NASA web site.  I found a field where it was possible to put a post code in and see when the most likely night would be to see the ISS.  So I entered it.  Blow me down and stuff my arse with a pineapple.  Feck, the results showed that very evening had was the best time to see the ISS from Scotland.  I checked the map again and something must of happened to NASA because it now showed the direction of the ISS as just clipping Cornwall area of the UK.  This means, the map must of been wrong, the route had been re calculated and therefore it would quite probable Sparkling had actually seen the ISS and not a doughnut with a cherry on top.  I'm glad I didn't vocally disbelieve what Sparkles said and only thought it.  Except now she's likely to read this blog and will hold me to account next time she sees me. 

Then I sure hope she has no pineapples at hand.

Shorter up top than ever before

It was a day off from the Fish Factory so I decided to hit the hair dressers.  Yep.  The Afghanistan man who has only one real style of hair cut.  Short.  If this isn't your preference then there is always the Shorter.  Lastly there's the where's my hair gone cut.  I could of gone without a trim for another couple of weeks, but walking to the hair dressers gave me a chance to get out of the house.  Maybe I should of stayed in, then at least I wouldn't feel the draft as much as I do now. 

I got there and two grey haired gents were sitting in chairs being trimmed.  One of them seemed to of had quite a bit removed from behind his neck.  Which was the Afghan bloke who did it.  Then I was up.  The door remained open to the shop so traffic could be heard.  Mr Afghan seemed a little jittery today.  He was even singing to pop music piped from the TV.  However, he was also dancing, the kind of dance I see ravers do when they are high on something.  Which led me to the conclusion Afghan may well of been high.  The conversation I had with him served two purposes.  One so I could see if he accidentally loped one of my ears of and secondly to keep his attention on my head and less on his dancing.  We chatted a little about pop music and I found he was also a Lady Ga Ga fan.  He said she had produced 50 plus songs in only two years.  It may have been an exaggeration on his part.  However, he thought if she carried on like this she would be big, I mean very big in music.  He didn't think a great deal of Cheryl Cole and was up for giving her a good slagging off.  He remarked if Cheryl washed the make-up from her face she would look like a monkey.  I wasn't sure if I agreed with him.  But this was secondary to seeing what was going on up top.  Now lets just say there's very little left up top.  It's cold up there.  When I walked back home I thought my hat had got bigger, but it couldn't have, I'd just lost more hair than normal. 

Memo to self.  Don't get hair cut by someone who may be high on acid or some other fidgeting invoking substance.

Pressed buttons

My buttons are being pressed lately.  Usually I am the mild mannered, it's all O.K. with me type of bloke, but there are times when my buttons are well and truly pushed.  Family is usually a good direction to look in.  Especially if you have some family which could be considered on the verge of mentally ill, although not diagnosed.  If there is someone out there who disputes this fact then I'd say to them have a good look at yourself then pal.  The reason family can easily push these buttons is because I've had years and years and years of suffering their behaviour, it's as though my fountain of tolerance has run dry.  But not only family can achieve this, so can petty minded bigots, who can not be swayed in their opinion or can not argue with reason.  If an ordinary person uses reason it is somehow shredded up like the confidential paper waste machines.  Poor old reason just takes a battering.  For the ordinary this is where tolerance kicks in and it becomes a matter of ignoring them, walking away or getting in the first punch and making it a really good one, one they are not going to get up from.  So yes, for some reason my buttons are getting pressed lately and unfortunately my temper then begins to rise and physical violence dances in and out of my imagination.

Because of this heightened state of strain perhaps this is why when I meet someone for the fist time I don't like, I feel like beating the shit out of them. There are a list of subtle clues which kick into place, and no matter how hard I suppress this first impression an individual gives me, it don't go away. Some mental calculus starts to turn over in my mind, their dress sense, body language and the way they talk.  Then I just know it.  I suppress it with the strength of Superman, which must pay off because it is a very strong inner control which manages to pull down the shutters.  The shutters being those which keep the Bear/Gorilla/Monster at bay.  To protect both myself and the individual I am so and truly pissed off with. 

It's odd all of this button pressing, because there really are times when very little will phase me.  When I am at calm with the world and forgive every idiot I see.  Forgive mentally, when I make the judgement then whatever they did was not a fault of their own.  However, we are all responsible for our own actions, or rather also responsible for our inaction's, yes, the raging Hulk inside which so wants to tear another living human being limb from limb.  It is a waste of energy letting events get to oneself.  It's better to accept and let them roll over you like a wave in the ocean.  Calm, hummmmmmmmm like a master of meditation.  Hummmmm, bullocks, it don't always work.

Being the same

I hit the gym for a short while this evening, breaking a sweat, just about, but not overdoing it at all.  This may be some kind of wisdom with age thing going on.  Although not all older people are wise, mostly people don't change much, they have and keep the same personality traits.  It don't matter if they are high powered or just a Joe Blogs.  However, if someone is young and stupid what's the odds of them turning out to be older and wiser?  Me thinks, the odds are, stupidity is some kind of genetic thing and it will persist regardless of age.  Especially where it is related to a trait of personality.  I heard once some where, don't ask me where.  I heard "we are slaves to our habits" which is what our fundamental personality characteristics are all about.  However, there must also be examples of people in the world who have changed their personality and improved, just as there certainly are those who have got worse.  Maybe we're all relatively stable within a degree of variance.  Which goes back to the original assumption. 

An arsehole will always be an arsehole.

Fred or Fredericka not something else

The past week or so, it has been bucketing with rain.  Which probably explains why two nights ago when returning back to the ranch, there not so far from the front door, right in full view of the world, sat a toad or frog.  I'm not sure which creature it was, but what I can say is it was one of the biggest toad/frogs I have seen in quite a long time, in fact I probably haven't seen one as big as this.  It was the size of the palm of my hand.  The pavement was wet and a dull unenthusiastic rain descended.  The Toad/frog who I shall call Fred for short didn't take much notice.  It took so little notice I couldn't tell if it was interested in anything at all.  Certainly Fred wasn't up to reading the Times newspaper, on account it would of gotten too wet for him.  He was stationary.  I wondered how on earth Fred could got to this place.  At first walking along the street I thought Fred was a turd.  I didn't let him know this on account of not wanting to hurt his feelings and all.  Who knows, his brothers could of been hiding round the corner and they'd of come jumping out had I thrown an insult.  He was content there.  The night was warm and wet, what more could Fred want?  Safety I expect.  With cats, dogs, rats and foxes about Fred might easily appear as a tasty snack for any of them.  When I advised Big Moma, her curiosity got the better and she had to run out and have a look, then proceed to prod Fred, who I was told wasn't a very good jumper, towards a cul-de-sac set of garages.  I advised this wasn't a good idea, with cars going in and out, and the large pool of water which had collected there was likely to drain away, as it usually did.  So Moma somehow took Fred under her wing and into the back garden.  I've not seen or heard from him since.  Though I can't say the same for the cat, who has remained quite on the subject.

However, what if Fred was actually a Frog and was previously a beautiful princess.  O.K. what if Fred was actually Fredericka and a beautiful princess just waiting for the spell she was under to be broken.  Broken by a handsome man with a single kiss.  I hadn't thought of this at the time.  On account beauty and brains don't go together, odd.  But the truth be said I'm probably more brainy than I am handsome.  So at the moment I saw Fredericka I was likely more handsome than I had been for a while.  It was the street lighting which can hide all forms of facial deformities, the rain and thinking Fredericka was a turd.  Then to a turd any bloke walking around would be handsome.  I don't understand how this line of thinking has come about but I'm going to Vere away from it quickly.  So somewhere on the little bit of waste land behind the back garden, eating flys is a beautiful princess.  Unless of course she has been absconded by the fairies.  Pesky things. In all probability Fredericka was just a toad and fishing around to see if life was different on the other side of the street/hill/pond or what have you.

So the moral of the story is quite simple, watch where you step because a turd in poor lighting could actually be a Fred or Fredericka.