Snow man Pedro

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

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

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

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

The Cold is on its way

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

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

Question Time hit by opinonated octagenarian - talking codswallop

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

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

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

A day of training and motivation from a turd

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

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

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

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

A cold morning and adrenaline pens

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

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

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

Catching up with the week's politics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching ghostly TV with Sparkles

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

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

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

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

Jerk Chicken and deprived of Kylie

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

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

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

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

A Day in the Attic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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