A nasty bit of software

Last night, there I sat just minding my own business watching an episode of 24, when out of the blue a message popped up on my monitor about needing some antivirus software. It then wanted to scan my PC, so I let it. However there was something not quite right, something different about this software. It told me I had loads of files infected and then it wanted me to download the full version and pay a subscription. At this time I was becoming annoyed. I tried to forget it and re booted. Then the nightmare began. For now the majority of the programs I used would not work. A little window popped up said each file was infected and just refused to run it. For your interest the nasty little fella is called:

Antivirus Suite or Antivirus Soft

By some great fortune I was able to use Mozilla explorer and then search for a solution. So yesterday my evening finished with the thought "what am I going to do?" Today, this evening I spent over an hour plus some, finding the solution and stamping up and down with both feet on the nasty little bug who decided to throw a spanner in the works. The worse thing about it was I had not even consciously downloaded this thing. It just seems to get onto your PC and then you end up going nuts. Whoever these people are which own the company who created this infection they need to be sued. Sued by every person who got infected. Taken to the cleaners. Then I'll wonder if they will do it again. In fact this is a pretty good idea. If the origin of any virus can be chased back to its source then every one ever let out to roam the net and their creators should be sued. Sued till they could no longer own a keyboard and had to think about where their next penny was coming from, then we'd see their creativity put to use.

So be aware, be afraid and if you have a second pc use it to find the solution on Google. I'm off to see my lawyer, pounds signs are just flicking up.

Some thoughts, some not thoughts and a bigger fish

This was my first day at the Fish Factoryas a slightly bigger fish. It seemed to begin slow, but ended up as one of those days where it felt I was getting nowhere. Nothing was being achieved. Information was coming and going, being passed on, then there were two separate meetings one a introduction to another middle fish who I knew anyway and in the afternoon a short training session. Which was exhausting. All "mind" work on how to use an implement. Then before I knew it the day had flashed passed. I had done a 9 hour day, quite a lot for me and the maximum allowed. Somehow I managed to send a text to Sparkling, which was probably as I left the Fish Factory. In reviewing the things I did, which seemed few, the one I so wanted to do but could not, was to attach a tie pin to my tie. Sparkling sent it to me, and for some unfathomable reason this seemed so very important. I tried at least three or four times and they were at different times but it would not attach itself. So I put it in my pocket and felt it there. I wanted it so much to be on my tie because for me it represented Sparkling being there. When it refused to stay in place I was a little sad.

Then life goes on. Fortunately the day was relatively uneventful and no overly big trials were forced upon me.

I'm reading a new book and have just finished at a page where the author quotes a line from Shakespeare's Hamlet Act 2 Scene 2, it is "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." When I think about things, I then merge into feelings of those things, of their importance to me. I was sad about the tie pin, because Sparkling is the most important person in the world to me, and I want so much to hug her and tell her I love her. Her absence from my everyday life does not mean she is not in my everyday life for she is part of many of my thoughts. Unless I am really busy, then there is no time for any reflection. So my thoughts of her were associated to the tie pin and the fact I have not seen her for a long time. However, the quote relates no all thoughts regardless of their outcome. It says in other words, I can not be harmed by something unless I give way to the worry and vexations of whatever it is. Then it's not the actual object which really harms me, it is my own thoughts. My own feelings. It's complicated to tell the truth. For sometimes it is not so easy to stop thinking about something, then the mind just goes off like an untamed horse running down the street and it can not be caught or stopped, it just goes into it's own panic. Heavy stuff.

How would such a dilemma be overcome I then ask myself. Alcohol, drugs, meditation, ringing up the Samaritans and boring to tears some other poor soul on the end of the phone who has a do-gooder attitude. Oh yes. Say at 3 a.m. in the morning, which would pretty much teach them having a do-gooder attitude can result in an interrupted night's sleep. A little like those people who go on a course in how to Counsel think they have suddenly become qualified psychologists, but are more ignorant, than much else. No. Lets not be so nasty to someone who volunteers for "listening" duties and doesn't get paid for it. I'm sure there are some very good Counsellors out there, somewhere. For listening to another human being and empathising with them is a powerful tool to have in the old kit bag. The old kit bag of personal traits not related to a personal curiosity of other people's woes. I'm not so hot on the drugs side, but I must admit to a little bit of alcohol now and again, and even some meditation (don't confuse with medication=drugs). Thinking of nothing is a wonderful thing to do, I personally would say the whole world would get on with itself a lot better if it just took time to sit down and think of nothing. I tried this one day last week when walking to the Fish Factory, it was a great exercise and really got me to slow down.

So it is, the perception of time can pass very quickly, I miss Sparkling and need to get some time with her, otherwise I'll become just another cog in the Fish Factory. Needing a little oiling once in a while.

There's an eskimo in my head

The clocks went forward and it's there's a likelihood of snow this week. The weather system and seasons have now gone in crazy mode. It was only last week I took some photographs of beautiful flowering crocuses and some very large bumble bees diving inside them. I noticed as they tentatively extracted themselves and were covered in orange pollen. Then it seemed they literally jumped over to the next crocus to begin all over again. If it snows the crocuses may die and the bees will no doubt get pretty confused. Which reminds me, I had better get out a jumper, just in case. You have got to be prepared.

I woke up this morning with yesterday's migraine come headache still lingering. Sometimes I might go weeks without one and then other times I'll get two or three in the same week. Something odd though happened this morning. I washed my hair and briefly while washing it the migraine disappeared. Whether I'm imagining a brief moment normality I can not tell. As the intensity is less today than yesterday maybe it will completely go in a short while. Maybe it's all down to having a big brain and not a big enough head for it to be housed in. So it tries to break out and then realises its just got to make do with what space there is and live with it. My brain is revolting, and I'm not letting it get away. Or perhaps it's the little men inside who crank the cogs up. I know they are probably asking me to eat some fish because they are fed up with the amount of Chinese food I'm eating. I can see them jumping up and down causing the thudding. Yep, one of those little brain working chaps is shouting out "I'm not Chinese mate, give me some fish!" I expect I must of employed this particular fellow from some far of Eskimo land, on account of the amount of snow and cold weather there has been around this winter. Because little Eskimo brain workers aren't bothered by the cold.

I just finished reading a book called Bringing Down the House by Ben Mezrick. It's about some MIT students who count cards and take on the Blackjack tables of Las Vegas. I must admit to enjoying most of it, but I don't think it was as good a read as the film which came from it, called "21" with Kevin Spacey. So I will not be recommending it. The writing styles although clear isn't quite to my liking. Or maybe it's the little rich smart kids running around Vegas. Well the world has changed quite a bit since then so card counting is not what it used to be.

I'm still missing my cat Tigger. I think of him and have even pretended to give him a stroke. This morning I realised this is because I am at the "denial" stage of grieving. There being five stages each independent and overlapping and without and random. Kubler-Ross I think her name was, termed them as denial, depression, aggression, bargaining and acceptance. I know I need to accept poor Tigger has gone, but I don't want to because he was such a loving beautiful cat. Even now writing this wells up my eyes. Sometimes saying "get over it" doesn't work. I will it's just a matter of time. If only the brain worker in my head would stop jumping up and down it might be a little easier.

Hope you like the picture on top, it's my very own one of a kind and unique. If we get snow I'll take another and post it with my moans and groans. Come on now Crazyfirdayman, it's not the end of the world, things change, weather is unpredictable and life goes on. So get over it. Yep, the little brain worker is shouting out again. When I get the fish I'm going to slap him round the head with it.

Finding a calm sea

In a world where the sea rages it is necessary to find a quiet spot. For instance it would be no good sitting in a rubber dingy on top of the same raging sea. It will just get battered about, all over the place with you inside it. Wondering if it was such a bright idea to get in the dingy in the first place. Lets not forget, being bashed about by your supplies. It could be dangerous if there are in tins of food or a knife and fork. What I'm talking about is being able to find an inner place away from the trials of real life.

I have just sat down meditating to help calm my mind and calm my mood. The objective was to think of nothing and so I sat staring at a wall trying to count from one to ten. I imagined a ship on the ocean in the far distance, as though I possessed X-ray eyes and could see it through the wall. The ship was one I had been on before, when I went on a holiday to Portugal with Sparkling. It was a replica of the oldie type sailing ships, but it also had a motor and propeller. So it wasn't quite a true replica, but if you think of the oldie type ships with sails and ropes, you'll get an idea of what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, my head was a raging sea, swaying back and forth. Thoughts of events which had disappointed me, both at home and in the Fish Factory. My mind running in overdrive, trying to piece together what I should do. Yet the other part of it was saying take no action. It is very difficult to say the least when being vexed to just empty the head. Before I knew it half an hour had passed while I sat there. There was certainly some kind of relaxation going on. I sat on the edge of my seat, concentrating on posture and trying to do something with my back. The meditation wasn't succeeding, it was probably on a different sea from the one I was on. Fortunately I feel tired and maybe this tiredness will help me have a good night sleep. If it does it will mean the meditation has helped out a little and not let the worry monkeys play with my head, throwing peanuts or the skins from bananas at me.

Sometimes when I feel myself going into a moan, and then doing nothing but grown I get frustrated with myself I should not of allowed something to get to me. Finding a calm sea, a calm place to be is an art form, a martial art form of the mind. Imaginary or not, whatever place it is the art then comes in going to this place when in need. Hopefully everybody else doesn't have the same idea. It would hardly be much good if on this imaginary sea there are a billion other people. They have got to go find their own place. Someplace far away before I conjure up a great man eating whale, called Moby Dick the Second. On account of Moby Dick the First being on holiday.

So for tonight, peace evades me, I'll just have to not take any stimulants and let the monkeys go free.

One drug is just like the other even if its twelve times more expensive

I had a headache today. One of those splitters, the type where on occasion the pain was so much I felt I was going to lose my balance and fall over. Like a skittle, a human skittle. In search of rapid relief I thought the best thing to do was to go to a local store which has a pharmacy. I spoke to the counter assistant and asked her recommendation on some drugs I'd picked up off the shelf. She gave me some advice then went and fetched the pharmacist. The green packet I chose had the right wording on it consumer wise. It advertised how it worked fast and was good for both headaches and migraines. It contained paracetamol. The pharmacist asked me some questions and then explained this wonderful looking packet of pills I had chosen would be no different from any other packet of paracetamol. As there was already a 20 pence packet under my desk in the Fish Factory and the ones I had thought about were about twelve times more expensive, there was only one conclusion. They were returned back to the shelf. The pharmacist advised I should see my GP because it seems over the counter drugs would not be effective enough. Then I was informed to drink plenty of water, because being dehydrated is a big reason for headaches and to not take any stimulants, such as coffee or tea. This again is a little odd because you will find some manufacturers of paracetamol will do a version which has caffeine included. Oh yes, and further not to drink alcohol. Seeing as I was sobre and on the edge of falling over drinking a pint would very likely of made me lose balance.

The pharmacist had was good in her job. She had the qualities of someone who knew what they were talking about and was able to listen to me as a customer. She also did try and recommend another product if I was feeling feverish, but I could see this was a second thought and she was then working in her capacity as a big store pharmacist trying to sell something else. No not for me.

There is no doubt in my mind, unless I'm tipsy, I have got to see my GP. If I don't I could end up falling over all over the place without so much as a drop of alcohol pass my lips. Such a thing would border on catastrophe.

Bye Tigger (sad blog)

On the morning of 22 March 2010. Unknown to me Big Momma decided to have one of the cat's put down. Tigger. He was the most kind gentle and easy going cat I have ever known. I will no longer greet him in the morning with a fuss and the imitable words "who loves ya baby." The whole experience has been pretty sad. I had no say, or no last words, or no last cuddle or stroke of my four legged feline friend. So I was pretty pissed off. Especially as I went to hit the hay and begin the usual routine to ensure I kicked him out off my room (he was a resltess farty sleeper) and closed the door to make sure he couldn't disturb me. Except this time he was not there. Surprised and not sure why I went to look for him and could not spy him hiding anywhere. It was then I was told he was no longer alive.

The thing which gets me, was poor Old Man Tigger, still had a couple of more years of life in him. He was healthier than he had been in ages. OK he suffered from arthritis, had catarachs and needed an operation because of a liver problem and I'm informed had a weak heart. But he gave his love so freely, he demanded attention to be let out. He scoffed up one plate after another of biscuits and purred like a steam train while doing so. I don't know how but he even learnt to say a very close cat "hello" putting the right inflection just at the right moment in his "meow." He was healthier because momma had actually bothered to take him to the vet after he'd had a spell of illness. An infection I think, with some anti biotics he was on top of the world. Alright, he liked to have a good crap in the middle of the night, in exactly the same place. So there was always newspaper there. However, no matter how many times I advised his biscuits and food should be removed at 4 or 5 pm to stop this big momma would not listen. It was after his visit to the vet the concern about his heart and liver came out. Yet he was a happy cat, and as lively as you would expect. For an Old Man of about a score in human years, say 140 in cat years. The vet's were up for giving him the operation, they had done the preliminary work. Scans, blood samples and so on. But Big Momma could not be bothered. She'd had enough of clearing up his crap in the morning. Even though she has no sense of smell. She made the decision, said she was going to do it, but I didn't believe her and then I find out. Gone. No longer here.

I was so angry very angry. She said he had a weak heart, I said "well he bloody has now, it's not functioning at all." Then I said I didn't have a chance to say goodbye. No reply came. I was angry and in disbelief she could do such a thing. A pet of twenty years forms more attachments than most relatives in my case have with me.

The most remarkable memory I have of Tigger is how he thought the world belonged to him. On an incredibly hot days of the summer he had a discerning habit. He'd go into the front garden walking into the middle of the road and just lay down and stretch himself out. Although it was a quiet cul-de-sac road, cars and people still went up and down. Yet for Tigger there was some self oblivion he held. He was meaty, not fat, athletic meaty and could out run or climb any dog in the few short strides that would be needed. When he was a lot younger he had inflicted a cut on a dog and escaped. But as every day passed and age caught up, the little bravery he had, which wasn't really much at all disappeared even more. Other cats could use his garden to walk through and it didn't bother him, he'd just sleep on the grass or ignore them. If they then wanted to beat him up he would let out the loudest whines and we'd then run out to let him in or shoo away his opponent. For him a stroke, love and a bowl of biscuits was his pleasure.

OK it's only a cat. I[ll get over him in a few days, but just this minute I'm mad and sad. Miss you Tigg.

The cat who likes to sit down for a nap

This picture was taken today. It's Stinky one of two cats who board and lodge at the prestigious hotel known as Hotel Crazyfirdayman. He at times has a belief in being human and certainly doesn't mind sharing a seat. He got into this pose all on his own and needed no coaxing at all. Normally I'd of thought the chair was only big enough for one, but when you're a cat any little space to squeeze in will do. He was quite content and snoozed away part of the afternoon in this position.

From meeting a monkey to an explanation of ducks and ealges

I had a weird dream this morning. I was even concerned by it. The thing was afterwards there were two thoughts on my mind. First to go back to sleep and see if I could change the dream for a better ending and second was to instantly forget it. Which mostly happens any day of the week. As the dream was a reflection of some inner part of what my character could be like I'll not share it. I was disconcerted. Dreams can be another form of conscience, it's bad enough having a conscience follow you about like a monkey all day long and constantly ask for peanuts. But to have one when I should be dreaming of wonderful deserted beaches, coconuts and scantily clad women is too much. Mind, if there were any scantily clad women in my dream I can guarantee Sparkling would be coming around from under the nearest coconut tree then poking me in the eye. Which I would very much deserve. As I said, conscience is something you just can't get away from.

Talking of monkeys, I spent an hour watching YouTube videos by a management guru. Called the "one minute manage meets the monkey" and they are quite enlightening. The monkey is a responsibility, like a burden, it can be passed about so it hitches a ride on someone else's back. The one minute manager's goal was basically to be so good at supporting employees, they would be taken to a level of independence. The belief being, the employees should find out their own solutions and be their own experts, all the one minute manager does is give them support, guidance and confidence. Except this guy was saying if he had an employee who kept coming to him passing his monkeys on, he'd sack them. Ultimately though the goal was to be able to go on holiday or take a break and find everything had run smoothly without him being in the workplace. Which was how he saw management at it's highest level. Another guru I checked out had come up with a novel hierarchy. Where instead of a triangle with the point on the top, the point was on the bottom. Simply being, everybody at management level was there to support all those on the ground floor. It made sense the more he spoke about it. He then went on to talk about ducks and eagles. Not quite the same as monkeys I thought. But again pretty visual images which made it easier to understand.

I went on to check out some items about Ducks and Eagles and order a book. It was a compulsion purchase from Amazon. But I couldn't help it. To add to the 8 or 9 I already have unread and waiting. The whole thing just seemed so inspirational to me. This guy Wayne Dyer had divided people into two types at work, these he called the Ducks and the Eagles. Ducks were basically the complainers, and they really didn't change a great deal, they just quacked and complained with the other ducks on the ground. Whilst an eagle would soar. It might be difficult to see yourself as an Eagle, with those brown feathers and bright hooked beak, but Dyer is really talking about providing a service to the best of your abilities. With enthusiasm, with want, with an inner understanding of being the best you can. Then people wanted to come back to the Eagle, they wanted to be in the presence of an Eagle rather than a Duck. So the Eagle would win the day. I just read a great article about a Taxi driver who decided to be an Eagle. He made it his mission to provide the best service he could to his clients. By being well groomed, having the shiniest cab, providing reading material or refreshments if needed, altering the air conditioning. Nothing would be out of his way to help his client. It ended up he no longer had to tout for business because people would ring him up an he was making more money than he'd ever made before. It sounded inspirational, hence my impulse purchase. I'll read the book and maybe update you when it's finished. Or sooner.

So the motto is, don't let the monkeys get on your back and fly like an eagle. Mind, if you did have a monkey on your back it would be pretty difficult to fly like an eagle.

Ripples

A pebble dropped in a pond causes ripples. It don't have to be a big one either. It could be one of those little ones, but the ripples are felt right up to the edges of the pond. They then come back with less energy until the water is still again.

Such is the dynamics of social interactions in any group setting. Sometimes those who have nothing to talk about will chat about the little ripples caused. But if the ripples are small then they have no facts to go on. Their thoughts on the pebble are without any real knowledge or foundation, they can only surmise, guess. Then wonder if there is a threat, wonder if they should be taking action or not. Draw up their own conclusions and then by their own actions, others still make comment.

What a complicated world of social interactions it is. Give me a game of chess any day.

St Patrick's day and no company

It's St Patrick's Day, and in my dilemma of celebration I thought there might be a few familiar faces at the pub. There wasn't. It might be because it's a Wednesday and people just do not go out on a Wednesday to celebrate anything, except me. I had put off going to the gym and decided two pints of Guinness had my name on and were waiting. It only seemed justifiably right to celebrate. Even though I'm not Irish. Then from what I understand even some Irish people don't celebrate St Patrick's day either. How unloyal of them is all I can say. But then it could be because it's the middle of the week. Halfway through, tomorrow will be more than halfway through, and Friday would certainly have been better. I'd of guaranteed there would be substantially more people getting into the St Patrick's day mode. Oh well, sod the lot of them. My usual contingent of alcoholics were not even present. I could of very easily have gone past my limit and maybe hit three and a half pints. However, without any support two sufficed this evening.

I sent Sparkling a text and asked her if there was a St Scotland day. There was no reply so I can take it there is no such thing, but I'm sure there is. St Andrews day perhaps? During which Guinness isn't probably drunk as much as Scotch. Then Scotch is a lot stronger. I'd be under the table in no time were I to start on it. Shame they didn't have Guinness as well.

I had even taken my gym kit into the Fish Factory so I was going to hit the treadmill rather than the pub. For some reason the desire to sweat didn't appeal as much as a pint. I think I am now getting into some bad habits. I'm drinking too much and eating too many chips. At this rate I should be thinking about a Will. Hmmm.

Now there's a good reason to have another pint.

Drawing up a CV and getting sentimental

I spoke to Sparkling briefly on the phone. Her day had been a nightmare and she was in the process of going out. So the voice I got was irritated, to mildly put it. The conversation was kept short and I stayed calm, and told her I love her. A text arrived not long after and an explanation of her dire day. I wished we could of chatted for longer, and I was able to help her relax with a foot massage.

This evening I've been trying to find my CV. There should of been a copy of one somewhere on the computer, but it has been so long since I wrote it, the computer may have been an old one thrown out some time ago. The notion to update my CV had come because of earlier interview successes. I thought it would be good to try and make something which said here is my life. It was a mistake. A mistake because it meant finding the information from previously completed application forms and from old examination certificates. I started listing with education first and employers next. As the time went on, maybe a couple of hours I began to get sad. Wondering about my achievements. How it is you can go to college or University, get qualified and never see a job worthy of your qualifications. Then whatever job you eventually end up getting, it doesn't use what you got. Especially if you know more than the big fish. The whales and even sharks have no conception of what knowledge some of the goldfish hold. As I looked at those certificates, some quite a few years old melancholy began to descend. I could barely remember the times I was at school. It was through evening classes my education really took off. I wrote down the months and years on the CV for each course I had done. The grades weren't much to talk about. My best being a "B" in English. I don't know why I felt sad, I just did. I just felt I needed a hug and some company as tears began to well in my eyes. No, it might not be a good idea to update your CV.

It was the places, the people, and the names which had evaporated from my memory. For now, quite some years later I felt alone. I so could do with such a very big hug. The sort you might get from Mr Blobby. The sort which would make you happy and warm, then laugh and laugh until the tears where nothing but joy. Where is Mr Blobby when you need him? Mind with my extending girth I'll be getting there myself some day.

Sausages are not a slimming pill

I had a little walk today, in a hope it would help move the sausages I ate for breakfast. But there doesn't seem to be much of a difference. I am reconciled to now becoming fat. There just is not an inclination in me to stop eating things which really are no good for the human body. Something has to be done, however the doing part is the most difficult bit. Sparkling's joined weight watchers, and after she found no weight loss last week her solution was to eat the better part of a packet of hobnobs. Nice to. Is it just an age thing? Maybe. Maybe if we both blame it on age then there is nothing which can be done and it's just a matter of settling down and getting on with it. Mind Sparkling is looking slimmer than me. Where is the instant slim quick pill when you want one?

How to become an instant millionaire

It's quite easy really, there are no secrets either and anyone can do it. Although possibly a little more difficult for a man than a woman. The answer is not long winded either, but I'll give you a few extra answers just in case any one of them isn't enough in itself.

Marry one.

Move to Turkey.

Move to Zimbabwe.

Win the lottery.

Find out whether you are a long lost relative to Bill Gates, the Queen, the Sultan of Brunei

Take note of today's winning events, e.g. footy, horses, dogs, get in a time machine, go back to yesterday and bet an accumulator

Find a very rare mineral, liquid or artifact which somone else desperately wants.

Make a bomb which would blow up the world and hold us all to hostage.

Invent something no one can live without and get it patented first.

Slim food - chips and battered sausage

I did a little shopping today and popped into a generic stationary/newspaper/book/DVD shop for a little nose about. There I spied a book on how to get a hot buff body in only 12 weeks of exercise. It mentioned on the front there were 100s of exercises. It looked interesting and I picked it up for a quick glance through the pages. One of the sections it had was about diet and foods to eat. The steak looked great and so did the fresh Caspian peppers. But no matter how hard I looked it just did not have a picture of last night's meal. A large portion of chips with a big sausage in batter. No matter how many pages I flicked over, I could not see them anywhere. Not forgetting the tomato sauce as well. There was only one conclusion I could come to, eating chips and battered sausage is not part of a healthy diet towards looking fit and hot. I was a little disappointed.

For it is about time someone out there came up with the eat as much crap as you like and still get slim fit and healthy book. The pictures would include chips, pies, cakes and chocolate bars. In addition the author would write a wonderful footnote at the beginning of the book which said you had to strictly abide by this diet otherwise he could not guarantee the same results as other bean pole followers. Well, it's the thought which counts.

Only thoughts don't make you slim either.

Facing up to the test

On the 21st Feb 2010, not long ago I wrote a blog about whether I should swim in the sea with the bigger fishes. This is my way of referring to industry and commerce in order to protect the innocent little fishes. I can happily say I was successful in acquiring a slightly bigger status on a temporary basis of between 3 and 6 months. Depending on how well I do. What I must admit was the odds were not too bad, given there were just a total of three fishes trying out for the new pond. Somehow I must of done something which impressed the two large clown fish who sat opposite me at the table. The interview was followed by a test. Which I felt so badly about I nearly just gave up and walked away, but as I was sitting next to one of the clown fish at the time I did the test, it made it a little more difficult to be so brash. I was happy when the news came to me and I succeeded. Not just for my own self confidence but another reason.

For one of the other two candidate little fishes was someone I am not getting along with. Someone who has got up my nose, given me an pain in the neck, vexed me, caused me to rage internally to the point I could of swam to the bottom of the pond got a pile of stones and then swam to the top of the pond to drop them on him. I now look upon this person with a little bit of pity. I know in the fish pond of industry I should do my best to get along with everyone, but sometimes it doesn't matter who you are there will always be some fish who has a particularly bad smell about them. In the way they talk, act or the manner they work. Then when you find out you're not the only person who has had the odd run in it's not your own sanity which is at issue. I have no doubt there are many fish ponds of life where a great deal of maladjusted fishes swim about and when you meet them the ubiquitous question comes to mind "how the hell did they get to be here?" Yes, it does. You just can't deny it. If fortune then spins her web and decides luck will not favour you gills you could then find yourself amongst an entire fish grouping of completely maladaptive fish personalities. Sharks, puffer fishes, little scared crapless minoes just not knowing where to turn, and the self absorbed "I am the best" twat fish. Who no matter how much you try to discus or logically deliberate a point they will always think they are right. Unfortunately, it's not an issue of argument or debate but one of their being the best and knowing more, or just thinking they know more. I personally learnt to hold my tongue and then no longer discuss any topic outside of the industrious fish pond we shared for a few hours of the day. Not even what was on last night's Fish Soaps. A saying came to mind along the lines of not feeding the fire with oxygen or something of this nature.

Yesterday, after about 2 months of long term preparation I entered the arena again and sat opposite three bigger fishes as they decided to pit their questions at me. They had already got me to sit a test which meant sitting in a room for an hour and a bitty. Writing like mad. Like a dispossessed LSD taking agony aunt, to someones personal dilemma. As I seated myself to face these familiar fishes they began by asking me to do a short presentation on the test I had just completed then threw their six questions at me. It was nice to say I had to answer six questions however, in the moment they told me a big wave of dread came over. the dread was along the lines of "blooming Aida, I'm gonna be here forever." I kept a stoic fish face on, just like the one I would use if I were a poker player. Listened to the first question which I think I slightly misunderstood, but answered. It was a half shaky start for me and I felt I should of done better. The same went for the second question. After which I seemed to get into the swing and warmed up. It was easier. By the end of this jousting period I had began to get horse and lose my gills. But regardless of the not so good account I gave of two of the questions I really went on to enjoy the whole experience not caring anymore whether I got the slightly bigger fish opportunity or not. It no longer mattered. I know, I had tried the best I could in the circumstances even if I hadn't remembered everything. I was alive, I still had a position as a slightly bigger fish for a short while and it really wasn't the end of the world.

Sparkling bless her. Is always a wonderful support in everything I do, but I decided to keep to side her suggestions on how to overcome the interview nerves. Which came in two parts. First she advised me to walk into the room hunch my back up and do a muscle man pose, going "grrrrrr" then secondly, say with as big a smile as I possibly could, with my tongue on the roof of my mouth "HELLO." I will admit to practicing this technique in front of Sparkling while she drank wine and laughed. She kept telling me I hadn't quite got it and asked me to repeat it a couple of times. She laughed a lot and this gave me a little clue maybe she was pulling my leg. It didn't matter though, because her encouragement and love was more important to me than much else.

I'm now waiting a response to yesterday's grilling. Next time I will bring along the sea salt.

Who holds the knife an fork?

It is with a loquacious tongue I let it be known, there are things of this world beyond understanding of man. No. Not just man. All men. And of those things in particular, woman stands out as number one. So it is I re learn my lesson. As I sit watching TV with Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. I'll also mention how I have become the temporary slave to a black and white feline cat, who goes by the name of Oliver. But this one doesn't moan out for more food like Oliver in the play. This namesake meows and the house shakes.

I and Sparkling managed to walk around a large DIY store without breaking out into an argument. I'm sure it was because we were both tired out. A wave of fatigue pulled my eyelids down and beckoned me to just let them close. Sparkling was talking to me, trying to convince me over something, I can't remember what on account of having memory problems and not finishing a great memory book on account of forgetting where I put it. To continue. Sparkling carried on talking to me and I could not put up any fight, my fight had gone. My eyes did indeed close. I stood there and momentarily slept. I could feel myself waver and wondered if I would fall over. I agreed with Sparkling. At this moment she could of been selling my left kidney to a dodgy looking man standing at the entrance with a carving knife and fork in his hand. Fortunately she wasn't. I managed to walk out intact. We then went to have a coffee, I ate some biscuits, put three teaspoons of sugar in my coffee and swallowed it down like a life elixir. On the way out I noticed the odd looking man was missing.

Tonight I'll sleep with one eye open.

I was promised a new delight. Chicken livers, deep fried. I been looking forward to this dish for about 24 hours, unfortunately on our walk around the supermarket there was none in sight. Instead Sparkling did me dinner with a large pie, peas and roast tatties. My belly extended further while Sparkling ran off to Weight Watchers to see how much she lost this week. Were there a weight gainers club I'd of leisurely trotted along and asked what the latest fat fad was, no doubt Sparkling would of been there earlier taken notes and began to list my next day's meals before the germination of food came to my own mind. So I'm feeling fatter than usual, maybe there is some kind of inverse relationship between Sparkling's own weight loss and my weight gain? Lets cross out the "maybe" and replace it with a definite "yes." The feline fellow I run about after could be doing me a favour, he could just be giving me the exercise I need. Unfortunately it's not enough, I'd have to open up every door window and cupboard at least a thousand times in the day to burn off the pie. Heaven's knows what it would of been had there been chicken livers available. The only way I'm going to lose weight is if I cut something off. Where's the man with a knife and fork gone?