An observational thought

I was walking along on my way to see the Little Monster Boy when I started thinking about how we do not see things. You can walk past something everyday and never really look at it. Certainly I considered, not until you take a seat and maybe begin to draw it. Then patterns emerge, shapes take on a different meaning and reality. Of course it depends on how skilled you are with a pencil and a piece of paper. But spending those few minutes just observing is an eye openner. However, watching paint dry would be taking the exercise a little too far. So I'll not be letting myself be overcome with the smell of paint fumes if i can help it. Contemplating this issue as I walked along I then took out my phone and saved my odd notions in a recording. Maybe one day in the future some aliens will find it and think these humans were a funny lot.

Leg wrestler attack in Chinese eatery

It was lunch so I headed towards the eat-as-much-as-you-like-Chinese.  I go there because the food is already prepared, it takes no time to find a seat, then it’s a matter of sitting down and getting a plate full of grub.  Generally it’s not too busy.  Then someone recognised me from the fish factory.  It was a fishy who had come in with her small children and cousin.  She chatted away and introduced me to the little ones.  They were so cute.  A boy she carried because he was tired out and had enough, he could have been no more than one year old at most, and a little girl who was perhaps four or five.  The little girl however loved to talk.  She told me her name and then she would not stop chatting.  An expression came to mind “can talk the hind legs off a donkey” which I was told she often would do.  Then on leaving the Chinese I said my good-byes and the little girl ran after me.  I patted her on the head and said she should go back to her mummy.  Then horror of horror’s it looked like she was about to cling to my leg.  I’ve seen this before with some young children.  They become like some growth just stuck to your shin.  Wrapping their arms and legs around it.  I was a little disconcerted.  Fortunately for me the cousin came running after the little princess and managed to intercept her before she began leg wrestling.  In my state of confusion and bewilderment and fear, I found myself about to go out of the door without paying.  Fortunately the cashier got my attention while I made the excuse of being attacked by a leg hugger.  She smiled.

I have now had two weeks at the fish factory as a middle size fishy.  Taking one day off work this week I returned to 14 emails.  It then took me the next two days to catch up with myself.  I am just running around after my own tail, constantly trying to catch up and wishing I knew how to do the swimming a bit better.  In the meantime the fish even bigger than me, pulls me into the office to have copious chats.  About this and about that and about everything else.  The thing now, is I have made the move.  Further there is no going back.  If I decided I was not up to it then I am basically without a pond to swim in. 

Things could be worse though.  I could be in a plane flying over Europe only to find the engines get clogged up with ash from an erupting volcano in Iceland.  When Iceland got blamed for a financial collapse to a lot of European organizations we asked for our cash back, but she gave us ash instead.  Great.  Ms Iceland obviously has a hearing problem.  Now the news programs advise us to be cautous of breathing in volcanic ash because it could be bad for you lungs.  If it doesn’t rain it sure does poor.

Sparrows pecking my head.

I was chatting to Sparkling earlier tonight and mentioned how my worries were like being pecked by a thousand sparrows on my head.  Then she somewhere during the conversation she mentioned how Rock Chick and Dangerous Sports lad were getting serious.  My response was now I had an emu pecking at my head as well.  A bloody big one.  For the thought of a young lady still in teenage years being in a serious relationship is like the Devil being caught in a shower of holy rain, in short one bummer of a soaking.  Sparkling is philosophical over it.  Maybe it's me who worries too much.  Especially with the other sparrows each having a go at my scalp, no wonder my hair is thinning out.  As Micheal Winner says in the advert on TV, "calm down, it's only a commercial."  Ultimately we are all allowed to make our own errors.  Sometimes even twice.  Occasionally more. Then again things could be worse which is another way of looking at it. 

Tooth ache versus migraine fat boy

The Talkatives came round today for a short stay. Mrs Talkative would not shut up and her consistent droning on and on was really doing my head in. I dropped a couple of hints like "you don't have to talk so loud" and "just eat your breakfast don't talk." They fell on deft ears. So it ended up with me having to leave the house on two occasions just to get away from the droning. It was about her tooth and how she was on antibiotics. Although her tooth was bad there was nothing wrong with her jaw. I could of droned on about what it's like when I get a migraine. As if she would want to know. All what mattered was her own tooth and pain. Maybe the incessant talking is why the little ones don't say much. On one short walk out I took Princess Talkative and did my best to get some kind of conversation out of her. Her common answer to my questions was a simple "yes" or "no" but her favourite reply when asked her opinion about something was "I don't know." How can a nearly 8 year old girl have such a pitiful answer. She smiled and laughed and giggled at me as I tried so desperately to get her to chat. Little Princess Talkative was however, not going to get sucked in. Maybe I should of taken off my scary mask and put on a funny face one. Alternatively perhaps being avuncular is not one of my personal skill sets.

I'm alarmed at my ever growing belly. It's getting out of control now, so the walking had a dual purpose, escape and exercise. I am so overcome by this ever growing waistline I even checked out Weight Watchers Web Site and wondered whether I should go. I do understand groups of people can combine to help each other with their social support or chastisement. Though part of me knows there is a formula to it, and it's a matter of working it out. Like there are three things, one eating, two exercise and three attitude. Combine them all and you have the recipe for weight loss. Some advertising may say eat jojo berries, or whatever they are called. However the reality is you just have to be more sensible. The human body is like a calculator, it adds up every calorie consumed and then every calorie burnt, if more is consumed than burnt you get fat, simple. I wonder if migraines burn up calories? If they did then I'd be a matchstick man right now. OK better not have a second alcoholic drink, a pint on the lips is an inch on the hips.

Coping as a Middle Fish, Consuming alcohol

Well I have now done a total of 5 days at the Fish Factory as a middle size fish, 3 days last week and 2 days this week. At this pace I'll be retired just after nuclear disarmament takes place. It's like a constant drip of water, or rather a constant flowing overhang from Niagara Falls. I'm sure I’ve made a few mistakes and am likely to make more mistakes. My time is not my own. I don't have the luxury of just sitting still and getting on with the gutting like I used to do. Now I just wait for the fish to come dropping out of the sky to keep me occupied. The thing is, it's not just dropping, it's a bloody downpour. I get into the Factory and don't know where to start or what I should do. I leave the Fish Factory and find I'm juggling twenty flaming daggers and with the feeling I've forgotten something and I'm not pulling my weight. My weight now days being a little more considerable than what it has been. I sent a text to Sparkling and said I was likely to have a nervous breakdown with it all. Other middle fishes I talk to tell me of similar stories when they first began swimming in this particular pond. Half of me wonders whether I have taken on more than I can chew. The other half says I will get it, I will understand it, just I'm not getting the gradual ease into middle pond swimming as you'd expect. I also wonder how the hell I got to be in this position. Even today I spoke to someone and said I should of turned up for the interview in a clowns costume, maybe they wouldn't of considered me appropriate as a middle fish. For the moment it is all moans and groans. I just have to see it through for the time being. I just have to keep persevering. I know I will get there. I will.

When I hit the homestead I'm generally half pissed nowadays. I don't know if going to the pub is the right strategy to use, in fact I probably know it is not the right strategy. I should definitely be doing a bit more meditation, but each bout of meditation is equal to about half a pint of drinking time. Though sometimes I even wonder why I got to the pub because there are hardly enough of the usual crowd to talk to.

I hear my mate Mr L & B is consuming alcohol in Poland. Where for some reason their beer is a massive 10 per cent proof. Although he has a stronger alcoholic constitution than I do, he is pissed by 9 p.m. Wow, imagine being pisse by 9 p.m. Well it's quite easy for me because of my lower tolerance. At this proportion of alcohol a pint of beer is like drinking a pint of wine, no body in their right mind could do many of them. Well he's probably not in his right mind, more of his left mind. If there's any mind to go by. Wow. If I drink my normal Guinness and he drinks this fancy Polish paint stripper, we'd probably be slightly closer in tolerance and timing than a normal session. No. I don't think so. He'd still drink me well under the table, then he'd be up doing his Britney Houston impression. Which reminds me of a moment in January when we were both in a room with nobody about and he was wearing a wig, stockings and false titties. It was a pretty big bra he had on. I don't know what it was filled with, but I'm sure his man boobs were not large enough to fill those cups up. Actually, the more I think about this moment the more I wish i could forget it. Who wants to have memory of being alone in a room with a drunk man dressed like a tranny. Mind, I think a tranny would definately of had better dress sense. Overall though it is one of those treasured moments I'll not forget. No matter how much I try.

So to end. I haven't come to a conclusion whether alcohol is the answer. It's just one of many answers and happens to be helping at the moment. Hic.

Adjusting To The Role Of A Middle Fish, looking to alcohol

Well I have now done a total of 5 days at the Fish Factory as a middle size fish, 3 days last week and 2 days this week. At this pace I'll be retired just after nuclear disarmament takes place. It's like a constant drip of water, or rather a constant flowing overhang from Niagara Falls. I'm sure I’ve made a few mistakes and am likely to make more mistakes. My time is not my own. I don't have the luxury of just sitting still and getting on with the gutting like I used to do. Now I just wait for the fish to come dropping out of the sky to keep me occupied. The thing is, it's not just dropping, it's a bloody downpour. I get into the Fish Factor and don't know where to start or what I should do. I leave the Fish Factory and find I'm juggling twenty flaming daggers and with the feeling I've forgotten something and I'm not pulling my weight. My weight now days being a little more considerable than what it has been. I sent a text to Sparkling and said I was likely to have a nervous breakdown with it all. Other middle fishes I talk to tell me of similar stories when they first began swimming in this particular pond. Half of me wonders whether I have taken on more than I can chew. The other half says I will get it, I will understand it, just I'm not getting the gradual ease into middle pond swimming as you'd expect. I also wonder how the hell I got to be in this position. Even today I spoke to someone and said I should of turned up for the interview in a clowns costume, maybe they wouldn't of considered me appropriate as a middle fish. For the moment it is all moans and groans. I just have to see it through for the time being. I just have to keep persevering. I know I will get there. I will.

When I hit the homestead I'm generally half pissed nowadays. I don't know if going to the pub is the right strategy to use, in fact I probably know it is not the right strategy. I should definitely be doing a bit more meditation, but each bout of meditation is equal to about half a pint of drinking time. Though sometimes I even wonder why I got to the pub because there are hardly enough of the usual crowd to talk to.

I hear my mate Mr L & B is consuming alcohol in Poland. Where for some reason their beer is a massive 10 per cent proof. Although he has a stronger alcoholic constitution than I do, he is pissed by 9 p.m. Wow, imagine being pisse by 9 p.m. Well it's quite easy for me because of my lower tolerance. At this proportion of alcohol a pint of beer is like drinking a pint of wine, no body in their right mind could do many of them. Well he's probably not in his right mind, more of his left mind. If there's any mind to go by. Wow. If I drink my normal Guinness and he drinks this fancy Polish paint stripper, we'd probably be slightly closer in tolerance and timing than a normal session. No. I don't think so. He'd still drink me well under the table, then he'd be up doing his Britney Houston impression. Which reminds me of a moment in January when we were both in a room with nobody about and he was wearing a wig, stockings and false titties. It was a pretty big bra he had on. I don't know what it was filled with, but I'm sure his man boobs were not large enough to fill those cups up. Actually, the more I think about this moment the more I wish i could forget it. Who wants to have memory of being alone in a room with a drunk man dressed like a tranny. Mind, I think a tranny would definately of had better dress sense. Overall though it is one of those treasured moments I'll not forget. No matter how much I try.

So to end. I haven't come to a conclusion whether alcohol is the answer. It's just one of many answers and happens to be helping at the moment. Hic.

Retired English Teacher roastsing a chicken

I don't know what it is but there is a growing intolerance I have with people I have normally tolerated for many years. A constant thought comes to my head and it is "they really don't get it," this is because they only see something from their own point of view. Take for instance a long time friend of mine, probably the only one I have left now. The retired English Teacher. I love him and respect him but why is it I get irritated when he goes into diatribes about things he does not understand as though he is giving some precious information away. An example is when I spoke to him about Sparkling searching for a job. I then had to endure about forty minutes of his advice on how to search for a job, what places to try and what methods to use, even though he has been retired for the last ten plus some years. I didn't interrupt him because he is the type who just doesn't know when to stop. On and on and on he went. I felt like shouting out "do you think she is stupid!" So I delved deep into my inner resource of patience and tolerance, to accept he would say what he had to say because it was a conversation which gave him meaning to life, at this particular moment. Even though I knew his advice was rubbish and was really falling on deaf ears. I tried to think about other things and listen to the radio in the background as it counted down the top classic tunes for the Easter weekend. Well it was either this or let my inner Devil take over and commit homicide. It is a generic phenomenon this talk-at-you. Everyone wants to say something, everyone wants their view point heard and there are few enough people around who actually have the skills to listen. It might be when I reach the retired English teacher's age I'll be the same. Then again maybe not, because for me it is difficult to tolerate many people, I just think there are loads of undiagnosed mentally ill people walking about. Of which I would include anyone with a over zealous belief systems, those who have a pride in ignorance and others who like eating too many polo's.

I don't believe I can fly. I've tried it. My arms don't work and I am not a bird. In colloquial London-English a "bird" can mean female. However, I'm talking about the feathered variety. I don't have feathers. However, if I did have feathers then I might very well be considered a bird. Hopefully not a chicken though, because they get eaten. Were I a bird, I'd probably be a member of the non flight variety, on account of my belly. Which shall I add the retired English teacher commented on. Saying I was fat. OK I been for a couple of long walks over this Easter period in the hope they would shed a few pounds, but these gave to be taken in context with fried breakfasts and eating Easter eggs. Therefore there is some pretty good reason why I can't fly, not being a bird, not having feathers and being fat can count as three of them.

It was at pretty short notice I went to see the retired English Teacher. I could of pulled out of my hat an excuse he uses. Something along the lines of needing two weeks notice because my social diary is so full. It's never full and it would of been slightly petty had I used his common excuse. He did however say I my help was to be required in cooking lunch. Lunch being a roast chicken. It was with dismay I saw him fish from his fridge decidedly dodgy looking broccoli which looked very limp to say the least. He had come up with the notion of sticking a lemon and satsuma inside the chicken as well. But the lemons were not a lemon colour any more, they had gone kind of darkish and their skins hard. We did find a clementine or satsuma, I can't say for sure which it was, just it was one of those small squashed up looking orange fruits. He cut it in half and down the chicken's bum it went, with some garlic and half an onion. I can honestly say they did not actually make much difference to the flavour. For some reason it must of taken us about three to four hours, including preparation and cooking time before we ate. Next time I thought, if I have sufficient notice, I'll bring my own vegetables. It didn't help he had little idea on how to work his oven. So the chicken had to have some extra time cooking, lets not forget so did the roast potatoes. However, the whole event was taken with humour, a bottle of Stella helped and a glass of red wine went someway towards this merriness as well.

And in this last respect, I notice how alcohol seemed to chill me out some more. It seems in this world there is most definately a purpose for the correct application of drugs.

Fallen tree, middle fish and how I need a holiday

Scotland has had some pretty bad winds over the last few days. So Sparkling told me. This was without the wind being generated from my own fat belly and butt. A small tree in Sparkling's back garden has toppled over. It had been there years and years. The blossom was a beautiful purple and now it will never flower again. It's sad. However, Sparkling being made of more gumption than the average man decided she would spend a day cutting, hacking and sawing to remove the now drooped wooden structure. Meanwhile I sit eating chocolate Easter egg. Sparkling did say it would of been a task she'd of expected me to do. Of course I would of done it. But as with most women when Sparkles gets this urge something must be done, she then sets her mind to it. I had advised her there was a reciprocating saw in the shed and it might help.

Some hours later. Having been morally supported by two little grandchildren to a neighbour the job was mostly completed. Her back aching, and the blade on the reciprocating saw broken, what once was a broken down tree is now just chunks of wooden remains in the garden waste bin. I warned such a long labour would end up with her being stiff the next day or two. She hasn't got back to me yet so I don't know if her back had taken the toll. Then I recal she had said there was some left. Some which the saw and her efforts could not penetrate. The roots. So waiting for me now will be the task of digging out the roots. It may take a day or two, or longer. But as Sparkles has done such a good job, I will be ever so willing to help.

It's odd. I have now been working as a middle fish in the factory, having completed three days and I have complained to Sparkles I need a holiday. Her response is, it was about time I had a challenge and I worked for my money. It seems there is a downside to having your desires fulfilled. I can't wait to get at those tree roots.

Also being a middle fish I will need to make myself more accessible to the other little fishes. The one's who will be looking towards me for answers. When I previously would keep my phone number completely confidential now I am on the verge of giving it away to all and sundry fish. Any time I could be rung up, but I'm not in the Fish Factory at any time. Sparkles is pushing me on this to be available, to take the mantle and rise to the challenge. All I want is a holiday. If the last three days are anything to go by, I'm going to be requesting a holiday every couple of weeks. Someone throw this middle fish a life belt, one big enough to go around my waist. Which is another sore point, because Sparkling has told me she has lost 13 pounds in weight. Nearly a whole stone!!!! I am now depressed. The belly has got me, I really do need a holiday.