A walk round the Asda

I had a walk around the Asda supermarket last night. Rather I was in tow, the last one in line. Sparkling led first position, pushing one of those big trolleys, in a close second was Rock Chick hot on her trail, but not dearing to overtake or make any suggestions. I'd been warned when Sparkling got out of the car. Rock said Sparkles was in a mood, which meant don't mess with me in any way. There had been an event in work, which meant Sparkles got drenched in a beverage. Bother her hair and clothes had been covered, so at this moment she didn't want to be running around the supermarket. Feeling in need of a shower. Don't step on her toes was the message. For me though, being brave as I am, I took no further thoughts on the matter. So there I was running round in last place, Rock Chick cautions not to make any waves.

The dash was to stock up for a 3 day event of fun away in a log cabin. Sparkling knew what she had to do, there was a list in her hand and one thought only, get in, get out, just like the film 'In like Flint. Her eyes shot over the shelves as she made mental calculations. The list had magical words, like: bread, cuppa soup, bacon and the likes. (Rock Chick and her gang had put in some funds and Sparkling was doing their food shop). Then as we walked round I began to make suggestion beginning with the words "what about getting...?" Sparkles looked at the list then threw a stare at me, it was a quizzical look she had. Well this was how I took it. She carried on. Her eyes darting over the list, items went off the shelves and into the trolley like they had been mentally dropped there by telekinesis. I asked if I could push the trolley. She said "no." I made some more suggestions. The stare returned. I saw an image of me being hung upside down by my big toes. It was the mental thought transference thing again. Sparkles had enough she asked me and Rock Chick to go do some shopping in another part of the supermarket. It ended up with Rock Chick asking me to hold thirty tins of drink. Big tins not little ones. I walked backwards through the ails to find Sparkling. Alas the trolley was practically full and it had only been a matter of ten minutes. My arms stretched. I kept my gob shut. I needed to, to get my breath. The shop finished.

Back at the house, Rock Chick revealed if it wasn't for me taking the heat then she would of got it instead. Her face flickered a smile, one which held knowledge, one which knew the head to head wrath of Sparkles. Well it was over with. I survived. It wasn't so bad. Maybe it was because I dropped a couple of "darlings" such words have a soothing effect I find. Or maybe it's something to do with me hanging upside down this very moment. I never realised how much blood rushes to your head in times of great distress.

Top models, get over it

The greater part of a bottle of red wine has found itself slooshed down my throat. This could be a pattern. Sparkling tells me if I don't get myself a fancy dress costume I'll be a pirate girl. Something I do not want to be. It's either a bunch of grapes or a scare crow. Both are cheap, the price of straw or the price of purple balloons, and it took ages to find these suggestions on the web. Rock Chick gets annoyed at me, while I am sitting quite chilled and happy. All because the girl wants some nail varnished passed to her on a table next to me. I intentionally take my time picking up various objects, crisp packet, biscuits, hand moisturiser, anything but the nail varnish. It is so good winding up a teenager. Rock said she will get me while I'm sleeping. I'm scared. Be afraid. Be very afraid. I laugh from the side of my mouth not having so much fun in such a long time. The red wine is definitely affecting my brain cells. Last night Rock told Sparkling if you whack someone across the head you are supposed to say "500" because each time you do it 500 brain cells are killed. I think, Sparkling knocked off about 20,000 off my brain cells. It's had no effect. I'm still as intelligent as I have ever been.

Except for this very moment I have to endure America's top model on TV. I must of lost about a million cells already. But it's no thinking TV. You can watch it and talk, fart or do anything you want to do. I'm inhaling the odour of drying nail varnish, heavens knows how many brain cells I've lost now. This is trash TV if I have ever seen it. Fortunately celebrity Big Brother has finished. Why is it there are so many nutters saying they are Christians, and they then go off into verbal diatribes about God and shit. Poor little lambs, looking for something and so lost, speaking about it is a way to try and state they are at peace, in reality you don't need to talk about something at all if you're at peace. Your just scared. Rock has corrected me saying we are now waiting for some mind numbing Big Brother to come back on the telly. I think, I'll just go and cut my toes of then fry them in butter and garlic. I'm sure it'll be more interesting. Except for the pain, maybe I'll handle.

Tomorrow it will be me and Rock Chick. Her foot is still healing. She's preparing for her theory part of the driving test. Ouch. the last top model said she castrated cows but I thought cows were female and bulls male. She could castrate 100 in a day. Poor things. How come all these top models look so anorexic, they could be extras for some second world ward death camp scene, and they are so shallow. Someone find me one of those castrated bulls to kick me in the head. Rock says she's not spoilt, just well taken care of. I hope she never goes on top model. It would kill me.

Well I'll never be a male top model. I'm too short, too fat and too ugly. Hell lets have a new model agency for those who don't quite fit the bill. Yeah, The too fat ordinary models. Then the rest of us can refuse to purchase any product where skinny skeletons have fashioned them. Together we can do it. Come on everybody. Join now. All fat people gather around, lets hold hands and say "we are beautiful" hell we are. Get out the burgers baby, a glass of red wine we do nicely as well.

A special day at Sparkling's

I can never predict what will happen in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. All I know is I have to keep my wits about me. The thing is, even me wits aren't working fast enough. It's like when the pair of them are together sitting on the couch and their laser beam focus strays on the only man in the room (me) then I have to be very afraid. One plays off the other and together they become cats toying with a mouse who just doesn't know where to go. Me, I'm the mouse. But I'd probably not have it any other way. When I'm not around and washing up dishes or making myself generally useful it has now become Dangerous Sports lad's occupation to be the subject of these two. Sparkling has said she has him trained to the point all she has to do is say "cat" to make him get up and let the cat in the house or "dishes" to make him drift into the kitchen to wash up. We have been trained. Dangerous has now been trained early, which is great news for Rock. Oh yes just a catch up on Rock, she's doing a lot better with her foot bandaged up, and is walking about on one foot and the heel of the bandaged one.

It's Sparkling's special day. I gave her a couple of wrapped up items, at which she just felt or looked at them and told me what would be inside. Mind my choice was a little predictable, i.e. perfume and a scarf. But there is another item on the way which I told Sparkling will be received by post. Unfortunately it will not arrive today, however the good part is her curiosity will now be engaged, because she can not see the packaging of this item so can not accurately guess what it will be. So we shall wait in interest.

Rock Chick was chastised by the motherly wrath of Sparkling because she had failed to get a card. I felt sorry for Rock Chick and said it wasn't fair putting the screws on her because she could hardly get a chance to get out and buy a card. Sparkling was going to have nothing of the sort. Ten minutes later Rock Chick appeared with a card and a little prezzy, awwwe. She had used her ingenuity and taken a Chrimbo card, scored out the words not relevant and replaced them with "Birthday," awwwe. When Rock passed me the card and prezzy I felt for her because I could see the effects of guilt. Sparkling was chuffed she now had a card and laughed at the improvisation. She said it wasn't a matter about a present, it was the card which mattered. Although Sparkling had bought the prezzy for herself some time earlier, Rock Chick had found it and then decided to give it back to Sparkling. I think this is what you'd call the ultimate in recycling.

Rock likes the scarf thing I got Sparkling and it seems they will both be sharing the prezzies. Awwe. I been told Dangerous Sports lad is happy I am around because it will mean he doesn't have to do any more "dishes" for a while. L& B man sent me a picture text of himself sticking two fingers up at me, just to say he missed me and loved me in his own way. Rock Chick thinks there is something going on with him and I. I must admit to finding his sense of humour pretty funny at times, even if I'm the brunt of it on occasion. He also sent me a pick of his boots and said he was going to kick me up the backside with them lol.

Must go for now, Sparkling is off doing a Taxi run for Rock and Moma K.

Get thee in line fat man

Tomorrow I hit Scotland. So look out up there, the fat man from London is going to be arriving. Unfortunately the train I get is later than usual, arriving some time in the evening, which is a little sad. What matters is, I will be there I'll be happy and excited, and Sparkling might as well. Actually she will as another birthday is about to come. Then the time goes all too fast and she will wonder how soon it is before I can be kicked out of a moving car. While she revs the engine to get away and I run for the train.

Earlier we were chatting on MSN, then the advertising for a mate discussion kicked in. Before I knew it we were trading blows over who is the more lonesome. I asked Sparkling whether we were arguing and she said no. Because she preferred to argue with me in person and I wasn't so brave then. My response was surely it's unfair if you are winning all the arguments, so it was about time maybe I won some. She agreed it was unfair, but when I asked if I'd win any the answer was an emphatic NO. So fast thinking I said well maybe next time we have an argument she can use her laptop and I'll use the PC. I thought now my advantage would kick in. Sparkling knows this because in the land of typing I'm faster than she is, and it actually means I do get to say something. But Sparkles says to me yes it was OK, to argue this way, but if she felt I was getting the better of the argument she could always batter me. Of course, I have to re learn the same lesson over again, whatever the discussion or argument, Sparkling is always right. I am wrong.

It's nice to know where one's place is. Mine is clearly some where after the cat.

Looking for a mate, vegetarian please

I was thinking earlier. Which is a dangerous thing, thinking. For you never know where it is going to take you, and then when some subject is given serious consideration all weird answers come up. Which although they have come about by mental effort and agility they non the less are pretty bizarre. I wouldn't use the term stupid. Just weird. It's a bit like the old Sherlock Holmes quote which goes along the lines of:

"...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth..."

Well my deductive thoughts were along the lines of, I needed a new friend. A mate. Someone I could talk to, have a pint with, confide and just do what friends do. The answer is difficult to come by for this kind of friend is the kind you might have over a number of years or most of your life. In my case as I've probably gone past the half way stage there's not so much time left for me to find such a person. If at all possible. Then my meandering thoughts came up with a possible solution. How about advertising for a friend? I chewed this over in my mind for a while. Then whether it is possible, and if I had to interview people how would I do it? What sort of questions would I ask? Or indeed would they need to see whether I pass the competency tests of being a mate? I even told Sparkling of this idea. She wondered if my situation is desperate, if things are really bad with me. I replied things were not bad with me at all. Actually I'm quite OK. Quite content in my lot. Having a friend would be nice though.

From some periphery there then came a comment. It was Rock Chick (whose foot is healing quite nicely for those concerned); Rock Chick's response was along the lines of: If I were to advertise for a friend, I'd probably get someone who would want to cut me up. Yes this was her input into my serious matter. She then went on to say, knowing my luck (that's me not her) my friend, I mean weirdo friend would then want my organs to eat. This was something my self reflection had not chanced upon. I mean, I was hoping my friend would be a Guinness drinking chit chat person and listener who wasn't too mad on football. Not someone who watched Jamie Oliver and wondered what his latest recipe would be like with some liver. My liver. It's funny how in a short time the solution to my problem had turned into another problem, an even worse problem. I'm sure Sparkling would have something to say if someone wanted my liver. I'd hope so. And not along the lines of it belonged to her so she should have a portion as well. I don't know where Rock Chick gets these things from. How on earth would such a thing be considered by her? There I was in la la land getting all nice and settled into the prospect of a mate and she comes along with a murderer. It's like I'm being stalked by someone who plays with ghosts and ghoolies, then tells them to go and get lost because she's got to wash her hair tonight. Sparkling though might of taken me with a little more decorum in my quest. She suggested we talk about it next time I see her.

But I will tell you something, for nothing, I'm not going to advertise for any bloody meat eating carnivores if this is the case. Blimey, do vegetarians have friends?

No, not the feet

I got a text message and photo from Rock Chick today, this was about five seconds before I was about to tuck into my lunch. A very nice looking baguette with pork, Vietnamese salad and chili. I was so ready to munch away, like I had been starved. Rock's message was a picture of her foot. The one which had been lazered. The one healing up. A nurse had started to clean it up and extracted a blood clot in the process. So there I saw the sole of Rock Chick's foot, with a streak of blood trickling down and I was looking at my baguette. So no wonder the pork didn't quite taste the same as it normally does.

Later in the evening when chatting online to Sparkling, I advised her of the Tulsa police departments podcasts and how good they were. Especially the Street Stories part. She in turn went on to say one of the cops was dead. I didn't know what she was talking about. But Sparkling went on to say he had left 6 kids behind and then she directed me to his picture. I wasn't sure about this. So spent ten minutes on google trying to find the information. I then told her I couldn't find any information and she told me it was made up. I had just been played like a violin. With Sparkling as the virtuoso.

I am being haunted. I sure need a good nights sleep. Let there be no thoughts of feet and baguettes though, I don't think I can take it.

Chicken soup might help

Poor Rock Chick is having to put up with the healing process. Dangerous Sports lad is doing his part and being a great help. Sparkling is keeping her chin up, and relaying messages to me from what the district nurses have said to her. It's just gone day one of the getting well process. It also makes me wonder why the feet issue hadn't been picked up earlier, when Rock was younger even though treatments they gave didn't seem to work. It's like the NHS are on some kind of ultimate go slow. Rather than sort something out as soon as poss, they just let it carry on.

My fingers are crossed and I caste a spell of healing quick to Rock Chick. I'm not much of a Wizard, I'm sure it will help, and I have been forced to watch Harry Potter a couple of times, so who knows. These things can rub off on you. I wonder if Sparkling has got lots of ice cream and Chicken soup in. Which are the twentieth century elixirs to getting better no matter what is wrong. Either food or if not drugs, as many as possible which numb the pain. I just hope Rock isn't in too much discomfort. When you think about how much you rely on your feet, being unable to use them for a while is a big inconvenience. Even if it means hobbling around on crutches. Anyway if you get to read this, get well quick and I'll I'll have a go at making Chicken soup from fresh next time I'm up north. Anyone with recipes please post them in the comment box because getting a chicken in a soup bowl is going to be a nightmare. Having poor feet is bad enough I don't want to add poisoning so again I ask please do give recipes.

I checked the news on the web regarding the weather, only to find it is colder in London than in Scotland at the moment. It certainly has chilled up some more, even though most of the snow has melted there's still quite a lot around on the side streets. Tomorrow we may even get snow again. I could tell because the picture on the web site was of a grey cloud and little stars dropping from it. Unless it's grey star like rain, which I have never seen in my life. So it has got to be snow. Everyone is getting pretty much fed up with it, we all want to get on with our lives without the cold and the snow. I also noted from the web site Australia had the hottest night in 108 years. It reached 34 degrees Celsius. Blimey, if someone says we are not having some kind of global warming or chilling then they must be bonkers. There is no getting away from it. The only surviving human beings could be those who live on hills and have a water supply. Sparkling and Rock live on a hill. I live in a valley. Things don't look good. Mind it could all be some big conspiracy, maybe it will not snow tomorrow, maybe it's a figment of someone's imagination, it's just a matter of finding out who's. Oh well if all else fails get out a tin of chicken soup.

Feet and lazers

Rock Chick had her feet zapped today by a lazer, from my understanding they need to do some more work because the lazer was not up to scratch. I hope she heals fast and is back on her feet in no time. However, I'll be finding out shortly as I'm due to be in Scotland in the next few days, the end of the week to be more precise. Sparkling texted me before the lazer treatment and said if she could of had it instead of Rock Chick she would of put her tootsies up straight away. She didn't want Rock Chick to have to face the after effects of lazers. Although I feel there could be a quip here about meterorites and space ships or even James Bond, I'll just keep my thoughts to myself. I'm sure it will not be long before I'm running about getting juice and macaroni cheese to help with the healing process. I sure hope Dangerous Sports Lad is around, this is certainly a time to show how considerate he could be, it will go a long way. When I say long way I also mean the dual process of taking the heat off me. I could imagine Rock Chick getting Cabin Fever as well. Be aware, don't go into the water.

Talking of feet: memo to self, when next see Sparkling my major duty is to do her feet as often as possible and get them all supple and soft. I'll need to flex my hands and prepare myself to need but not pulverise those plates of meat (feet).

It will be Sparkling's birthday shortly. This can be a concern because I can never figure out what to buy and then once I have something whether it is good enough. What a delema!! Had I now volunteered my feet to be zapped in place of Rock Chick then I might of had an excuse. Damn, there's never a lazer around when you want one.

Guess what I'm on about before the second paragraph

I don't know if you have this problem, but I have at the moment. It could be to do with the brand. Then I've used this brand quite some time, but the same thing happens every morning. It's without fail. It takes some effort. Or the alternative is as I age I am becoming weaker, my muscles atrophying; well possibly I hear someone agree. Were I to decide not to bother then it wouldn't be too long before I'd be without a very useful asst. However, after several days I did find out what was causing it so know how to tackle the issue and it's nothing to do with being weak either. Although I sure know Sparkling would give me a run for my money in any arm wrestling competition. Without even cheating. Has your appetite been wetted? Have you got an idea what I am going on about? Probably not and your curiosity has been pricked. The clues are there

The answer is... are you really sure you want to know? I mean really? OK I'll let you off the hook. The answer is... I mean really? OK, don't want you to walk backwards out of the room trying to get away from the ramblings of some lunatic. The answer is toothpaste. Every morning when I brush my teeth and squeeze the tube not much happens. I then had resorted to leaning on the tube as I grip it against the sink, forcing the paste up the spout and sometimes it would reluctantly stay till I poked the bristles of my tooth brush into it. The paste is getting stuck. Almost like it has been glued in place. You'd of thought a twelve plus stone man could move it. Not always though.

Now this might be a good trick to do on April fools day but in January it would seem a little early. After a few mornings of this I eventually caught on. It was all to do with the weather. The prolonged chill is resulting in my toothpaste becoming more viscous. It might be a chemical reaction which takes place as the temperature drops, either this or a gremlin is coming out of the wood work just to play with my tube. Amongst other things this has delayed my morning awakening. But being occasionally smart, I found the answer, which I should of stumbled on earlier. I must of been having a slow week is all I can think. The solution, was to stick the tube, with cap on, under the hot water tap. A moment or two later and the white grout looking material would gently ease out and I could put it on my brush. I was a little concerned with all the wrestling I had been doing the tube might burst, but so far so good. I don't have tooth paste on my hands. My only other worry now is with the constant hot water I put on the tube it is going to effect the integrity of the plastic tube and again it will burst. Of course it doesn't happen in the evenings because by then the bathroom has been warmed up and so has the tube. What I ideally need is anti freeze.

However, with anti freeze I'd probably lose all my teeth a lot quicker than with frozen toothpaste. Not to mention some of my marbles.

Put some light on it Ear Wax Man

Again another night passes and I feel I've missed out on sleep due to Stinky. He must of sat at the kitchen door meowing for a couple of hours wanting to be let out. I could hear him moan so it took me ages to slumber. Maybe it was the residual of his plastic bag phobia and he didn't want to dream of being chased by the orange thing as it clung to his body. I tried to remedy my plight by asking Big Moma to not let Stinky sleep during the day too much, just wake him up a little if he nods off. This way he'll be more inclined to fall into a land of free fishes and plenty of feline company. Hopefully without the carrier bag ghouls waiting for him. I'd hate to be Stinky.

Sparkling managed to message me today, saying how she would be working tonight and was taking one of the torches I bought with her. There has been several torches I've left at Sparkling's house. She thanks I have some kind of torch fetish. Whenever I got to the local DIY store it's one of the sections I regularly check out. I personally think torches are probably one of the most useful things a person can possess. The only problem is with Sparkling whenever I leave a torch there some other bugger leaves it turned on and drains the batteries out. Once I got those expensive Lithium batteries which cost and arm and a leg. Hell I walk around lop sided now, or rather I should say hop around. Then after I returned to London some unknown felon left the torch on and drained them. It could be me or it might not be, but this is irritating, very irritating, I say through clenched teeth. However, I expect the torch Sparkling decided to take was the one which cost very little and was in the sale last time I was there. It's one of those no battery ones, you just give it a shake and it generates it's own charge.

Dangerous Sports lad tried to explain how this worked, but it sounded like someone who really didn't know what they were talking about. I listened and didn't know myself but I did know the explanation wasn't what I was hearing. Someone shoot me, but they didn't. I don't mean it out of disrespect, but I know when I hear bull shit. Hell, we all do. In fact Sparkling has a special Bull Shit button just for me, I unfortunately bought it for her. It's used frequently when I'm in her company and she doesn't like what I am saying. Odd how I very seldom press it. Perhaps it's my ability to control my urge to kill when I hear bull shit, so it looks like I am interested. When I'm highly uninterested and then wish I was known by another name. Yes another name. The respected Ear Wax man. A man who could secrete great amounts of ear wax in a very short time and not hear a word anyone said, but look interested. What a talent this would be, I'd go to my local GP if it was possible to become such a person. In fact if there was an illness which turned me into Ear Wax man I'd be trying to find who had it so I could stand right next to them, I'd even pay them for a snog. Except of course if it was another man, or they had cold sores, yewwk.

Mind though, now I think about it, if Sparkling uses the B.S. button so much it might be in her favour to seek out the Ear Wax illness as well. No, lets be realistic here. She'd prefer I was more interesting. OK there I have it, my new year's resolution, be more interesting. Maybe even be the Ear Wax Man.

Cat possessed or bag of SWAG?

Sparkling told me the other night she had not slept well, so our conversation was pretty short. I hope she slept better last night, an uninterrupted sleep, a deep sleep and one from which she woke up feeling refreshed. However last night my sleep was interrupted and it led to me waking up and being kinda slow as I did the zombie walk while making breakfast.

Sometimes when sleeping there are outside disturbances, and if these disturbances are brief, even though loud I'll sleep through them. But if they recur then it's likely I'll be woken up. Or if I am on special guard duty then I'll wake up to anything. This morning it happened at 2 a.m. There was a sound from downstairs, the kitchen. It was loud enough to pierce through my dream world, where again I think I was getting lost in some foreign city. I opened my eyes, I had even heard a door slide open and close. Bed was so nice and warm, I just wanted to sleep some more. Yet knew I had to stay conscious, I had to listen out, just in case the noise occurred again, then I'd have no choice, it would have to be investigated. In reality at the back of my mind I could see someone running off with a bag with "SWAG" written over it. I didn't mind, because being warm in bed and relaxed was more important. The silent moment passed and again I heard the banging and knocking about. It was definitely coming from the kitchen. The "no-alternative" option kicked in, bollocks I got to check it out. I crept downstairs quite calmly. I didn't want to disturb the intruder although it was quite OK for them to wake me up. I got to the kitchen door which was closed, gently placed my left hand on the handle and as an image of a balaclava'd hoodlum flashed into my conscious mind I then screwed up the fist of my right hand. The plan was simple. Whoever it is was going to get busted in the chops. I pulled the kitchen door open, fast and then reached round the door frame with my left hand to switch the light on. Instantly bright I then saw nothing. Nothing at all. Yet some things looked out of place, I couldn't put a finger on it. The next moment I saw the cat "stinky" he was crouched down and running like a ground hugging torpedo out of the kitchen, passed my feet and up the stairs. Attached somehow to him was a plastic bag and the panic stricken moggy just didn't know how to get the thing off.

I went and found him cowering in the airing cupboard and a torn disheveled plastic bag on the floor. I tried to move him but he wouldn't go, even flicking some water on him. He just tucked himself into a corner, looking quite pathetic. He was psychologically traumatised. I don't know how long he had been running about like an demon possessed, but he had. Poor thing. The silly sod now would need some counselling. Maybe the supermarket I got the bag from would subsidise it I thought.

In a few minutes I had re closed the kitchen door, put Tigger the old boy cat into the kitchen, because the two of them don't get on, and then I went to bed. About two hours later I probably dropped off again. But when I did get up in the morning I bloody ran round after Stinky with an empty plastic bag to get him to go downstairs rather than stay up stairs. For even when you are upstairs the plastic bag demons can still get you. I hope he learnt the lesson.

Be a Russian in the snow

Last night before going to bed I looked out of the window. It was snowing and a continuous unceasing flurry. As it rested all was quiet. The only witness was orange glowing street lighting. It settled like a soft feathered duvet, about two inches thick. I could see the edge of the curb as the only point which defined the road from the pavement. It was a little funny how a twinge of excitement came over as I wondered whether getting to the Fish Factory in the morning would be a problem. But this question was pretty much stumped before it had a chance to get anywhere. The men from the Council had put grit and salt on the pavements earlier in the evening. When the snow was just a weather forecast away, or a dandruff speckle on a big mop of brunette hair. On this occasion the weatherman was right.

In the morning as I got ready to leave I listened intently to the radio. A hypocritical talk show host began blethering his usual tripe. Especially on how nobody does anything to help anyone nowadays and how you could find yourself on the end of a solicitors claim if you cleared the snow at the front of your house and someone slipped. This was the kind of guy who would go out of his way looking for something to slip on. The kind who festers on depression and fish wife tittle tattle. But I still listened, hoping maybe he would get his own comeuppance as the forces of Karma would work themselves into some random statistical event. Something like watching one of those horror movies where the incarnation of "death" is out to get the pretty teen actors.

The white stuff didn't gain much more momentum, so I made my way into the Fish Factory via my local train station. Half running with care and half walking, because I didn't want to fall on my face. The radio presenter might of caste his own reverse spell on me. I wore my fashionable Russian hat, which everyone should wear. It did the trick because although the chilled air placidly parted, there was little effect on my ears as the flaps kept them warm. It was zero degrees but I felt quite hot. Later I even sent a picture of me in my hat to Sparkling, she sent a one word reply, "Noooooooo." For some reason Sparkling doesn't care much for my sense of flare. So what? I am a vanguard icon, tuh. This weather was nothing like what I had endured a week earlier up in Scotland where in the night it had dropped to minus 15 Celsius in some places. I had put my camera in a coat pocket and took a quick picture of a foot print in the snow. My boot and the cat. Tigger had been here before me.

(Just a note to those who may not know, when taking a picture in the snow you have to over expose the image by up to two stops otherwise the camera will try and average out the white and so give you a grayish looking image. Vary the over exposure it till you have what you want.)

When I reached the train station I found there were going to be delays. The platform was starting to get crowded and I thought to myself, if this station was crowded the stops prior would of been just as packed. There would be no seats, but worse still it was going to resemble a human sardine can. When the train slid into the station the doors silently opened and a bottle neck of commuters crammed themselves through the space onto the carriage. We were standing close to each other, pretty much cramped. No one had eaten garlic this morning, or had a curry breakfast, fortunately. Although I like sardines once in a while at breakfast I didn't realise life was going to imitate tinned food so aptly. I had to keep my head and realised the situation just had to be accepted. Then to relax and above all not panic. Having a panic attack this moment would be the worse possible thing to happen. With a bit of cognitive shuffling I pushed the thought under a carpet then extracted myself after one stop. I had successfully made it in. Faced the elements and was not held back.

Now if I come into the Fish Factory tomorrow, will I get a medal?

The start to a wonderful 2010

It's the last day of the seasonal holiday, well the weekend anyway. I sent a text to Sparkling this morning and there's been no reply, she's probably been busy with work. If I hassle her I'm sure she will bite my head off, chew on it and then spit it out. So I'll leave it for now. I'm too fond of my head on it's shoulders. Or perhaps it was something to do with the content of the text. It was about a bad dream of getting lost in London and then being having money extorted from me by various groups of people, so they'd lead me to somewhere I recognised. I think this dream has occurred before. Maybe it was my fault for not getting up at 6 a.m. when the cat decided to crap. But then it was a Sunday morning and I felt it was best to lay in. The next 4 hours I didn't expect to spend in sleep gang-land though. It would be so good if it were possible to control the outcome, maybe have Superman come down and rescue me, funny how even in dream land some fantasies just don't happen. Or if not Superman maybe Wonder woman, which would of been a whole lot more preferable when I think about it. I suppose there is a message somewhere I should be taking note of, one which has slipped my conscious awareness. I'll just sleep on it and see if I get a repeat episode.

I'm glad it's the end of Chrimbo, because I'm itching to get back to the Fish Factory and be doing something active. It may only be a few days since I came back from Scotland but I have no structure in my day. With Sparkling my day is dictated by Oli, Sparkling and taunted by Rock Chick when Dangerous Sports lad is not around. What a saviour it has been her having her own play thing. In Scotland there is no chance to get bored or to do anything else. Even when I take books with me to read, notes to write, a radio, I just don't get any time. Unless it's to massage Sparkling's feet, for which I was a little negligent. I'll make up for it next time. Today I even spent a moment doing a little tidying up and getting myself organized, contemplating life's variables. Preparing for the possibility of a job vacancy coming up in the Fish Factory. Not least of all I took a note of my weight, standing on a set of scales I figure to have put on about 5 pounds in weight over Chrimbo. Which isn't so bad really. Not really. Just there is more of me now than there ever has been. I heard somewhere green tea is good and can help you shed a few pounds over time, but it means drinking two or more cups a day. Hmmm better get out tomorrow and buy some.

To overcome boredom in the house I got myself out and about. I went to Greenwich, but now I think about it one of the things I meant to do I didn't. It was to check out the market. I'll have to save it for another day. I ate something from a Thai food stall and then popped into the pub for a pint of Guinness. There I happened to see the last twenty minutes of a football match. I wish I'd known it was on before. It was Man United versus Leeds United being played at Old Trafford. Now I don't really watch footy, it's not my game, but Leeds used to be a team I half supported when I half followed footy. You'd of thought considering the status of Man United the game was theirs, the writing on the cards. Their own stadium and they had two of the top players in the country on their side. Rooney and Owen. Therefore with some delight, no more than some, with great delight I can say they lost to Leeds, not even scoring a goal. It was 1 nil. If this is how the start of the year is going to be then it's pretty fantastic. If I were with Sparkling I would of got drunk there and then.

I'm sure 20210 is going to be a great year, if we forget about the recession, price of oil, cost of food, electricity, falling on the ice and snow and breaking a bone or two, then yes, this looks like it's set to be a wonderful year.

The 2010 London Parade and horse dung

There is something which happens whenever I return from Sparkling's, I usually get a little sad and have to be keep busy to get over it. Whether this means returning to the Fish Factory or just getting out and about. It doesn't matter. Then there is the coping with Big Moma, which can be difficult as silly questions are asked and I have a Bear's head on. So on the 1st January 2010 rather than kill Big Moma or throw her from the train, I had to get out of the house. So went to see the London Parade, which was in London of course, all on my own.

I found a slightly less crowded point in the sun because the shade was way too cold and watch the parade pass. Somewhere down Whitehall I stood. It was mildly amusing and my cynical bear head was now in place. When I saw an American band or two walk pass I thought they looked just like ordinary people, nothing special there. Although for some reason most of the young people had braces on their teeth. Which actually says nobody in this world is born with straight teeth, they are all crooked to some extent. Except the penchant of Americans to use this minor point to take the mickey out of the British. I have seen lots of British kids with braces on, it's almost a rite of passage through youth to adulthood. Had a fag, got braces put on, drunk alcohol till I puked, yep I can see the list being ticked off by contemporary teenagers. Although I must say the wiser ones don't have the fag. Fag in this case being a reference to a cigarette not a homosexual, unless of course such a thing takes your fancy and the fag is consenting.

I don't know why but I felt a bit colder in London than in Scotland. It could be something to do with standing around for a couple of hours and just waiting for the parade to pass through. Second note, when I say pass through I am referring to walking pass where I stood and not to the parade having a bout of diarrhoea, which would be terrible. Though there was a horse drawn open carriage for the Lord Major of London, it was some bloke with his wife and a kid. Dressed up kind of fancy like. One of their horses had a crap, so about twenty yards from my spectator position was the strategic placing of a horse dump for the rest of the parade to walk through. I didn't stay to the end but I'm sure if I had the constant procession of flotillas, bands, donkeys, dogs, more bands etc would of gradually cleaned up the horse crap. Imagine all those people with stinky shoes or lorries with horse manure in the tread of their tires. Once in a while it was a whiff of the stuff managed to reach where I stood. Typical of the dignitaries to leave crap behind for the rest of us to put up with.

I played with the notion of waving my hand at them. The dignitary types I'm referring to and not the ugly dog who sat in the passenger seat of a people mover. Yes a real dog, not a human being. However I thought it inappropriate to do so because I just don't know how I would of stopped myself from waving an obscene gesture. It played on my mind, I chuckled to myself and then it became an evil intent. Fortunately I refrained, kept my hands in my pockets and stayed as warm as I possibly could. It wouldn't make sense wasting time and effort and hand gestures at toffee-nosed icons of society and lose body heat at the same time. Not this time anyway. I'll save the action for another day. Anyway I didn't want to be the one who created an new craze which the world took on.

To thaw myself out I had a Chinese meal at the Won Kei in Wardour Street. They do food cheap and tasty. I ate too much, but such is my fate over Chrimbo, eating and getting fatter. I'll try and start the diet today. Try will be the catch word here. The Won Ton went down very well.

Anyway I'll be returning again shortly to see Sparkling. Maybe this time the cat will not walk over my head like it's his personal cushion. But it will not matter because I'll be happy and learn to get used to it. After all it might be worse, I could of been in a parade and marching in horse manure on a cold Friday afternoon.

Do as the cat says and la femme demands

I've been away over Chrimbo with the company of Sparkling. To be more precise, Rock Chick, Dangerous Sports lad and the cat. For the duration I became the cat's property. He stamped it on me and reminded me every moment he could. Every door or window which needed opening was my duty to do it. He'd just stand there and let out a meow. Then if I showed insolence and he would meow again, and again, until either I woke up, moved or Sparkling shoved me with the sharp end of her elbow, followed by a demanding statement "the cat" or "Crazyfirdayman!" Meaning it was my duty. Sparkling laughed, she said I was the cat's bitch now.

Oli (Oliver) played with me. He treated me like a biology experiment, seeing how quickly I'd react, any time, day or night. I vaguely remember in a half sleep state, when Oli decided he needed to get onto the window sill behind the bed, he decided to just walk over me. In comatose state I could do nothing, no resistance would be given and he knew it. He used my head as a stepping stone to reach up and spring onto the sill. This is the extent to which Oli became my ruler. Sparkling didn't mind at all. For her it was keep it in the family. The man slave will do whatever Oli requires. I wasn't really a slave though. OK I might of spent my Chrimbo washing up dishes, cups, cutlery and the likes but. Even running in and out with juice drinks because her highness Princess Rock Chick asked. No I was not a slave. I did it all for love. Then at some point I noticed how this love thing and being tamed by the female species was working it's way on Dangerous Sports lad.

I witnessed how with training Rock Chick was spinning her tapestry of influence over the boy. How her influence was definitely marked on him. Oh how us simple men think we are independent and able bodied and brave. We are not. Not in the face of a woman's charm, not in the face of her subtle suggestions. A hypnotist could not do any better. Dangerous was changing, without doubt he was being moulded. Yet I could see him still struggling to exert his own influence, his own independence, even try and grasps control back. I know he will carry on the struggle, it's just a matter of time. Time will make him just a ball of putty in Rock Chick's hands. Mark my words. Enhance these words, underline them, put them in bold and italics. Yes, he may not even know it has happened but it will. For Sparkling's genetics are there, and Sparkling has taught Rock Chick well. The force is strong with this one Obi One Ken obi.