Talentless America

I had began writing this blog with something else in mind.  But as it so unfortunately happens I'm sitting in a room with the TV on and watching America's Got Talent.  Only to think the programme should really be called Talentless America.  It would certainly be a more appropriate title.  A man has just flown a kite indoors, the crowd erupted.  Granted he appears to have some kind of learning difficulty, his mother said it was epilepsy.  But hey America, it's nothing more than a bloody kite.  Which also begs the question, whether it is right or wrong for talent shows to allow contests to with sob stories to perform.  Talent doesn't need any kind of depressive, sad emotion drawing excuse to be talent.  OK, I'll admit there these stories are sad, they do pull on your heart, but if facts are facts it really doesn't matter if someones partner died.  Which led to their inspiration to shoot tiddly winks through a hoop.  First the stories should be killed, let them do their thing and then vote whether it has any meaning.  In the end the truth will come through.  As later episodes go on these talentless persons are voted off.  For now their stories have already been heard and we're all immune to in order to pull votes.  Get over it, you got one leg, so what hop on the other one and give us a tune which actually hits the right notes. 

Rock Chick has just pointed out, the panel of three judges has two British members.  Piers, has a histrionic vent.  I just can't help feeling there are times when he follows the crowd, even when the crowd is clearly wrong.  This is America folks.  Sharon, well maybe she's had too much plastic surgery and its effected the bitchy bent she can have.  I never know what direction she swings, but there is something she does when the act is crap.  Like jumping on some cussing bandwagon.  She would definitely be the lead fish wife in any group of fish wives.  The panel, is missing probably the greatest opinionated British judge of all, Mr Cowel.  How, I am sure Mr Cowell, the man with the false titties and whose girlfriends have a shelf life of six months and his ego always has problems being in the same room as him, so much so he has to make sure the mirrors are covered.  At least his caustic judgement always cuts through any group of spectators and smacks them down like a professional wrestler.  Without him there is no sanity.  It's prime insane stuff. 

Unfortunately I don't have the TV controls.  Next week I'm going to book an appointment for a lobotomy, no I'm not, after enduring this I'll not need one. 

Putting an iron in the fridge

There I was in the garden.  Cutting grass, trimming plants, cleaning the outdoor chairs and table when I wondered where Sparkling had gone.  She'd taken the car to get some potatoes and brockley, the tatties were going to be turned into jackets and the brockley steamed because it's good for you.  I wondered where Sparkling was.  It must of been over an hour.  I kept making myself busy.  Popped in and turned the chicken down, it was more than roasted by this time.  Put the mower away and came in the house to sit down.  Two minutes later I here Sparkling's car come into the drive.  The door opened and she dropped off three bags of shopping to return to the boot.  I'm glad I didn't take my boots off or put my feet up at this point, good thinking, because if it looked like I had done nothing then I'd of had a boot up my arse.  We bought the shopping in and Sparkles told me how she had just seen her mum.  I unpacked the bags, putting tins, plants, vegetables on the side.  Sparkling grabbed hold of the iron went over to the fridge, reached down began to open the door and realised she had an iron in her hand.  Not the 2 litre bottle of milk.  Poor thing she's been distracted today.

The car needed a repair in order to pass it's MOT, because it had just failed.  A little wielding needed to be done.  Unfortunately it meant an early start to the day.  The car had to be dropped off at the welders, we then had to go into town, get prezzies for Rock Chick because it's soon to be her birthday and then another prezzy for University girl who has just finished University and is about to graduate.   During this time Sparkling had to face a bus ride.  Or rather two bus rides because I said it was cheaper than getting cabs all over the place.  She gave me the stare.  This one said "I am not going on a bus" being a sweet talker she reluctantly got on a bus.  Then got a bus back.  The bus back wasn't as comfortable as the bus into town.  On account there were a lot more people on it.  Sparkling chose to sit at the very back just above the engine and nobody had opened a window.  I could not believe how hot and stuffy it was,  this is bloody Scotland, these people love the cold.  The heat to them is like the crucifix to a vampire.  Yet they all sat there baking away.  I could barely breath.  Sparkling was not happy I could tell.  Then she told me she would never sit on a bus again.  The two people sat next to her stank of body odour.  Well if one of the passengers had bothered to open a window it would of been a lot more pleasant.  I just couldn't believe it.  Anyway, this means Sparkling is now traumatised and will not get on a public bus again.  Who can bloody well blame her?

Rock Chick is working tonight, but a few minutes before she set off I asked if she would make me a cup of tea.  She gave me the "you must be joking" look.  I said she could put the kettle on while her response was she would be going in three minutes, no five minutes.  Enough time I said to put the kettle on.  She looked at me and said "just coz you got the man-o-pause." Then stared me down like Clint Eastwood in one of his Westerns where he knows he's going to come out the better.  A minute later up she got and left, there was an imaginary swirling whirl wind as she left.  I can tell she has inherited the drama queen gene from Sparkling. 

It seems the only sympathy I get nowadays comes from the cat.  Olly.  Like me he's male.  We have to stick together, especially in a house like this.  Like me he's getting fat as well.  Well at least I still got my balls.  For the time being anyway.

Rain and a lay in

Got up late today.  It's odd how easy it is just to lay in bed and sleep through the morning.  Each time waking up and hearing the sound of rain outside.  Heavy and persistent.  Sparkles had made up her mind and I was going to go along with it.  It was to sleep and enjoy the lay in.  I had no problem with it at all.  I dreamt of my yellow and navy socks, appropriated by Rock Chick.  Sparkles had a more dramatic dream, one where her jaw had dropped off and she had to be taken to hospital.  Well.  I mean.  If your jaw dropped off you'd want to be taken to hospital as well.  It's the sort of thing you'd notice.  Maybe it was the rain.  And today is the summer solstice.  Here's some news.  There was no sunshine in Scotland, but a lot of rain, buckets of it. 

I've been given my jobs to do.  With the help of L & B Man the immersion heater has been fixed.  It was my job really but he took it over and did the wiring.  I must learn a lot more about electricity and stuff.  A lot more.  These are the kind of things, plumbing and electric they should teach at school, but they don't.  It's about time someone lobbied parliament and said "we want to learn real practical things, not geography." Not that I have anything about Geography, but knowing what a caldera is hasn't helped me as much as knowing what colour wire is live and what is neutral.  There's not many volcanoes round here.

OK must hit the hay.  The cat is out and he still hasn't hassled me to let him in.  Which means I'll be up at 3 a.m. letting him in.  I'll wait for the elbow in my side and the word "cat" being spoken like a magic word which a genie has to comply with.  Except I'm the genie.  Less the magic. 

Making Ice Cream

I caught an episode of the wonderful Mr Jamie Oliver doing a 30 minute recipe, which was as always very informative and inspiring.  Then thought I'd have a go at making the ice cream.  It was one minute fruit ice cream, and so easy to do.  He advocated getting frozen summer fruit berries from the supermarket.  So I did.  Into which goes natural yogurt, runny honey and maybe a tad of mint.  This is all put in a food processor and of course Jamie being Jamie made it look so easy.  I had a little problem with the blender thing, because it had been in the cupboard for a long time and was Big Mommas.  I'd never used it before.  Oh, nearly forgot, I also bought plane chocolate which was melted in a Baine-Marie, which was the first time I used one.  It was not problem at all.   However, the summer fruits were more than a little tart, even with the honey and chocolate. 

The making it didn't take one minute maybe about ten.  Then it took an  hour to try and freeze the thing.  Then when I dished some up it was still half soft and not properly frozen enough, it was at this point I discovered how tart it tasted.  It could of been two hours and still tarty, but definitely frozen.  So it was summer berry ice cream with a tarty taste.  What I will say was, I went out of my way to get all of the basic cheap ingredients, the biggest cost was the runny honey.  Maybe it was the honey which wasn't sweet enough?  But as I had dribbled melted plain chocolate throughout the ice cream, kind of layering it. The taste was bearable.  But next time I'll think more along the lines of using sweeter fruit or even icing sugar.  Perhaps having a look for other recipes on ice cream making, for I am not completely convinced using natural yogurt is the way forward.  Could it have been missing some real cream I ask myself.  Probably.  Cycled four miles today so had partly balanced off the calorie intake.  Well you got to try.

The revelation of a pint

I've been to the gym this evening and for some reason my belly hurts, it must of been the three sets of 20 sit ups.  Not many but for a little pot bellied man like myself but it was enough.  Again half an hour on the running machine which was pretty good, then only to find I had just about burnt off 350 calories.   A few weight machine exercises and I finished.  On the way to the train station I met Language man (on account he speaks 4 languages and is Belgian), but being a Belgian is nothing to do with his language skills.  I offered my hand and he gave me a hearty hand shake.  Then suggested the pub.  After a hand shake like that how could I refuse?  Just the one pint for me but the conversation was good.  Though sometimes I do wonder about conversing with people who have similar political and religious views as myself.  The reason is because you're always in agreement and the thing with a good discussion is there should always be a little bit of debate or even argument.  Language man is a nice bloke and very easy to get along with.

It was while talking to him I got thinking, and maybe it was the pint of Guinness as well.  For you never know, sometimes one of those lovely black glasses hits the spot.  I got thinking about general stuff.  It must of been after or during the conversation about the Universe and how insignificant we were, but how awe inspiring and humble it made us feel.  The stuff being along the lines of our fleeting lives.  Yes, this was the train track and the pint which got me thinking.  With all the stresses at present in the Fish Factory the conversation added a bit of perspective.  However, I didn't talk about the Fish Factory.  In the long, haul of existence, ours is but milliseconds of milliseconds in the grand universe.  Our likes and dislikes, our pain in the arses things are so insignificant they are hardly worth thinking about.  Although personally the biggest pains in the arse tend to be other people.  I'm sure some of them feel this way about me as well.  I know Sparkling and Big Momma can for sure.  I hope not all the time, because then my name would probably go on some hit list.  Yes.  All those things which cause distress can be overcome with the right frame of mind.  This is what I thought.  Only thing is finding, getting or becoming the appropriate right frame of mind.

I then at some point realised, after consuming my pint it had cost me the half hour run on the treadmill.  So now I was back to square one.  Zero.  For which there is something quite interesting about as well.

Google rescued the moon

Last night was supposed to have been one of the most wonderful lunar sights to view.  The moon being eclipsed. During this process it turns a magnificent blood red colour.  But one thing the moon could not of accounted for on such a wonderful occaision was the weather.  Big nosey clouds spanned the entire sky.  For they to were bustling to get a good view of what was going on.  Those poor mortals much lower down in the cloud's pecking order didn't get a whisker of a chance.  Nope.  Old big ed cloud stuck himself right in the mid of view.  Relatively speaking not even mid view but pretty close to our own noses.  Bloody things.  Fortunately for earthlings there was this little thing called Google.  As soon as the page was opened up a graphic of the moon hovered above the darkened title.  As the page loaded you could see the moon go through it's phases and then once loaded it was possible to pull a slider button accross and see it go through the same phases at whatever pace desired.  Yep.  Google rescued the moon. 

Three hips for Google.

Exercise makes you eat - the alternative...

The problem with doing exercise is it makes me want to eat.  Then usually the idea of doing the exercise in the first place is to reduce the extra pounds around my girth.  Not to mention the doughnuts either.  I just don't know what it is.  My appetite becomes even more voracious.  It's not like I'm eating good quality healthy food either.  Take yesterday for instance.  I got on my bike and had a 6 mile round drip ride, to a supermarket.  Got there, bought various items and ended up having a meal for one Indian, chicken madras, rice, nan bread etc followed by a couple of slices of battenburge cake (very nice to) and a few strawberries.  The Indian really wasn't up to much, which is the way it goes with ready made meals from supermarkets.  I looked at it before throwing the thing in the microwave and wondered how come the pieces of chicken looked so palid, like they hadn't even been cooked in the sauce?  It was obvious, they hadn't, the sauce and the chicken had just been dropped into the container, probably by a machine which didn't care a great deal about it.  Mind, I must say the sauce was OK, I've had controlled flatulence all day long.  Controlled meant running off away from people to have a good fart somewhere less populated.  That will teach me.  Big not to self.  When having an Indian make sure it is on a Friday or Saturday.  In fact any night where the next day I'm not going to need human contact.  So with the cake, Indian and strawberries I doubt if the 6 mile bike ride actually burnt off as much as I consumed. 

Alternatively it could be some reluctant part of my personality or brain which is subconsciously saying "you don't want to lose weight, be slim, fit, healthy or a stud muffin.  It's hard work.  Live with yourself.  Get over it."  It's not a loud voice which says this, it's like a whisper I can barely hear, well, if I heard it then I would be suffering from not just weight gain but some mental disorder as well.  Hell, one problem at a time is enough, I don't need two.  When I think back to the days when I used to run miles, maybe 4 or 5 times a week.  I was skinny.  Now I understand why.  Then I didn't eat much either.  On account of not having much money and a poorly paid job.  When you look at third world developing countries being fat is something they generally don't have any issues with, on account of not many of them being fat.  I could go and get my jaws wired up, or even stomach surgery, but I'm not as grossly fat as that.  Just enough to be disturbed by it.  Maybe I should start taking some of those berries they advertise.  The ones which cost an arm and a leg.  It makes sense, if you spend a lot of money on dried up health food berries you won't have so much to spend on food and then you will also want the berries to work, on account of their cost so in turn don't eat so much.  Hypnosis.  This is what I should consider.  I once saw a show where they hypnotist made his subject jump up out of the seat as though it was on fire whenever he heard a certain word.  There must be a suggestion which can be made to make me feel I don't have to eat so much.  I know "you're fat, stop eating that doughnut" I'm sure it will work.  Unless of course my subconscious mind decides to jump in there and negotiate.  It's enought to drive one crazy.

Well if it comes to it, I'll just have to give up exercising.  Put the bike on ebay, avoid the pub, all Chinese restaurants and find another highly addictive passtime.  But as I sit here, I can't think of anything I'd like to do.  Maybe I should have a cheese and pickle sandwich, it'll get the little grey cells working.

Have 2 wheels will travel

Well I collected my bicycle.  It felt weird riding a bike for the first time in years.  The balance was there, it just seemed the thing went faster than I thought bikes normally went.  Then there is the saddle.  Which feels more like sitting on an old wooden washing board, two minutes and my arse was killing me.  Which led me to using the standing technique of peddling.  As for suspension.  Well the model I chose doesn't have any, it was then I felt the holes in the road.  I'm glad I ordered mud guards for it.  At least they half worked.  Oh yes and it rained, I light drizzle and then stopped.  However as it had been like this all day long I found myself dodging puddles.  All this and finding I couldn't always keep the handle bars straight they wobbled a little as well, it all seemed just too well lubricated and easy riding.  When I timed myself it took 25 minutes to ride two and a half miles.  I was riding into the wind and taking lots of back streets so trying to avoid the main road.  Back streets are good, little traffic and they feel safer.  I almost have an impulse to ride it to the Fish Factory tomorrow.  It's just the security of it though.  I have a lock which would take a year to saw through but it wouldn't stop nefarious persons from damaging the thing.  They can do what they like with the seat, which would give me a good excuse to get another one.  I'll see.

In the next few months I could be losing the belly, I'm sure it may mean avoiding the butter biscuits I've just had with a cup of tea.  Well I did cycle 5 miles and I have got wobbly legs. 

Another moan about youth and beauty at the gym

Sometimes I wonder if I am losing it.  Other times I am so certain and sure.  Perhaps it is some stage in life which gets to this point, or an intolerance of other people.  Or even the GOM (Grumpy Old Man) syndrome thing.  I have been trying to get control of it and build up some kind of discipline.  Such as going to the gym.

Yesterday I felt extra energetic, which must of been on account of having a couple of days breaks since my last visit.  I managed to run 24 minutes out of 30.  Which is something for a little fat man.  I so love watching the youngsters or beautiful people on treadmills.  Especially when they try out the machine next to me.  Only to find they are even more unhealthy than the fat man.  I'm more unhealthy than I have been for a long time, but these other people are a hell of a lot younger.  After ten minutes of exertion they usually stab at the stop button and get off the machine.  Doing their best not to pant too much or appear to have broken a sweat.  The men who like to see their muscles in the mirrors are the funniest of all.  Sometimes I wonder if they come to the gym just to see physics at work.  As light bounces off their bodies and reflects back at them.  They even carry out this behaviour in the changing room where there are a lot fewer mirrors.  If they could carry around a picture of themselves in their own wallets they couldn't be any happier.  Here is evidence of muscles and brawn not mixing.  The big men do tend to sweat though.  Maybe it adds something.  Besides the smell I don't know what it could be. I wonder, what has happened to youth?  Then try to forget it and think of better things so as to pass by more minutes as my little leggies bound the rotating belt.

Beauty they say is wasted on the young.  Or if "they" don't then someone wise did.  Some of them have a way of walking and talking.  It is like they need to mark themselves in this world, and by talking in a certain way or pretending they have a recovering crippling injury, limping and wearing an over large rimmed baseball cap they achieve it.  To me and probably to most other GOMs they look and sound ridiculous.  Their perception of the reality of the world is nothing short of a belief in Father Christmas.  Which probably makes a lot of sense because it wasn't so long ago they found out he didn't exist.  Oops hope I haven't let it out of the bag.  No, I'm sure not.  One of those very people I see could be the world's next greatest inventor.  Except not at their present age, state of mind and odd looking behaviour.  Then again as a GOM this does sound a tad over generous.

Is a woman ever wrong?

I was in a situation where I lost my head.  It fell off.  It didn't really fall off.  Rather it exploded.  Being a bloke these things happen.  For men unlike women don't have a propensity to continuous griping, they let so many discomforts pass and then when they have mounted up they blow up like Vesuvius or even one of the Icelandic volcanoes (whose names are so long and complex only someone who speaks Icelandic can pronounce them).  Get the idea, just think exploding volcano.  When a man reaches this point they have usually put up with a great deal.   In an ideal world the best thing which can happen is another person asks them what is up and then listens to them.  However, this is not an ideal world.  If it happens to be a woman in the vicinity they would rather not listen.  Their response may be to trivialise or compound the situation making the fella feel even worse.  The reason is they have an inability to listen.  OK girls I can see you now rolling up your sleeves and about to beat the crap out of me.  

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. -- Winston Churchill

OK, this is a broad statement and it can not be directed at all women.  Therefore it is a generalization and probably applies to most of them.  In the region of nearly 100 percent.  Personally I have found more men with better listening skills  than women.  But then I am a man and I am not talking about gay men either.  I expect a woman would say it is men who can't listen. Well I must admit certain things a woman can talk about do not have much weight.  Which is certainly something a man learns never to mention to a woman.  No matter how fat her backside looks you will always say it looks beautiful.  It's like me saying my shirts make me look fat, not that "I look fat in this shirt because I am fat" such a comment would be preposterous.  I can't say whether this generalization goes for lesbians either.  On account I really don't know any lesbians at all.  Although I the encounters I have had with them they have acted towards me as though I had leprosy and ignored my presence.  So I basically ignored them.  There must be a hell of a lot of lesbians with their knickers in a twist, which probably gives them a little smile every now and again.  But lets not distract from the discussion.  Women don't listen because were they to actually listen they may have to admit something which would be a complete shake of their woman worldly perception.  They may then have to admit at some point they are wrong.

Women get the last word in every argument.  Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.  ~Author Unknown

In defence, women state men are never right about anything, and secondly men should be listening to them not expecting they listen back.  I'd really like to say it is a two way street but in is not.  It is an asymmetric street.  Only a man would know what an asymmtope is as well.  In my experience men generally are more laid back than women, they just go along with things.  Agree most of the time, do as they are told like little puppy dogs.  Learn to sit and roll over according to their mistresses requirements.  They are pulled along by their lead. But once in a while when something gets too much for them they will blow up.  As I did.  At this point they have had it up to their eyeballs in horse manure, the straw breaks their back.  It's a big time blow out.  While for a woman their blow outs tend to be along the lines of constant niggles and drones.  They have little sense of when to stop and just go on and on.  As though stating their point once is not enough so they have to state it repeatedly.  The other side of the coin is when a woman has an opinion and has not stated it at all.  It's odd but these two extremes of constant reminding and niggling against not mention at all exist.  They are present because there is no middle road.  When they have not said something there exists a temporary no mans land.  No mans seems an apt phrase to use as well.  For no man in his right mind really wants to be in this place of limbo.  Which can be difficult to detect, but the clues are there and get pieced together after the event.  A man is not told something because he should already know it and he should of used his wonderful power of ESP (Extra Sensory Perception) or maybe even mind reading to understand and comment or act in the way he should of commented or acted but didn't know about.  Even the great Agatha Christie detective Poirot would have a problem.  Maybe it's why in the TV series he never has a female friend other than his house keeper.  If he did he certainly wouldn't of had any time to do his detecting.

Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.  ~William Shakespeare

A woman will defend herself rather than admit being wrong.  It becomes a game.  A tit for tat, of "you did this" and "you said this" not forgetting their elephant memory where things are dragged out from years earlier in which you as a man hadn't even given a second thought and can't believe at this very moment they suddenly have such great salience.  What is really needed is a moment of listening.  Because whoever at that point is the calmest of the two should sit back and ask themselves a question.  What happened to get to this point where this man has blown his top?  Personally I am of the opinion that women although believing themselves to be softly, softly brilliant communicators are actually not very good at communicating at all.  For communication does mean listening then speaking.  Listening with ears, listening with heart, listening with mind.  Real listening means walking a mile in someones shoes.  And the person who can show this skill can calm the worst bear in the forest.  But no, a woman has no tolerance of calming a big old grizzly bear.  She will make a quick and instant woman logic appraisal of a situation and take no other view.  It will be along the lines of "you are acting like a child just because your shoes were thrown away."  All the other things which raised up to the final straw are if no consequence.  A woman is right and a woman is always right as far as a man is completely concerned.  It is only when the man has eventually broken down and thought this is a silly situation and starts to admit fault to part the event begins to calm.  However, try and get an equally mature and adult response from a woman for an admittance of their own blame and you may as well stand in the Sahara desert with a rain coat, umbrella and Wellington boots.  It's just not going to happen.  Reason, they have just been vindicated because you were wrong and now they can add this one to their little black book and pull it out in five years time.

Despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, I have not yet been able to answer the great question that has never been answered: What does a woman want?
Sigmund Freud

Perhaps I am asking too much.  As Freud said.  A woman's mind is infathonable, especially when she doesn't know it.  But what she will know is she is always right and never the opposite to right, which would be adding a new word to her dictionary.  In the end, as a man all you can do is love them, accept them, and accept you're the one who will always have gracefully bail out.  After all you don't want to end up waking up in the morning with an eyebrow shaved, coloured nail varnish on your fingers or one trouser leg sown up.

Or should I be saying, I hope I live to see tomorrow.

Rain Rain

It's raining.  It was raining yesterday and it's raining today.  I had a short walk yesterday to see Monster Boy and cats and dogs fell from the sky.  On an adjacent patch of green there was a horse tethered with a foal next to it.  The poor thing was soaked through.  I wonder do horses get the flu.  On the way back from seeing Monster Boy the foal had ran up the hill and out of sight of the other horse.  The big one neighed in concern calling the little one back.  Taking a slightly circuitous route I saw the foal at the top of the hill, just out of it's parent's eye sight.  It was standing in the cats and dogs getting soaked through and with a sorrowful look about it.  I walked past and it's ears pricked up.  The parent neighed beyond the brow of the hill and was running as far as it's tethered rein would allow it.  Miserable and wet the poor little thing.

Well, we're lucky it was only cats and dogs rain, if it were elephant rain I doubt if my umbrella could of coped with it.

What to look for in purchasing a bicycle

The search for a bicycle took on new bounds yesterday.  I hit the local store with the intention of not just looking but scrutinising what was available.  Trying to understand exactly what today's bicycles are all about in comparison to the old ones.  Generally they look more rugged but this could be one of those ploys to make you believe they will actually last longer.  It's not really the case.  Saying this, the most startling thing is the change in technology, in gears and brakes.  The old style cycles always had cantilever brakes.  These just pulled a cable which then applied brake pads to the rim of the wheels.  Wheels could lock if depressed hard enough and in poor conditions the breaks would less effective, or completely ineffective.  It is a lot more common nowadays to see bicycles with disk brakes.  I thought these were for cars.  Nope, not just for cars, very much for bicycles as well.  I have never ridden a bicycle with disk brakse, so I don't know how they feel, but there does seem to be some value in having them.  Especially hydraulic disk brakes which will have give a greater loading to the pads.  Very interesting.  The number of gears cycles have is also extraordinary.  My old racer used to have 5 or was it 10 gears, now gears range right up to 27.  I'm sure that doesn't include a reverse.  Well there are some things which don't change.  I was also amazed to see some bicycles had suspension built into the frames.  Which seems a bit needless I thought.  However, if you go mountain biking (MTB) then it may be useful.

I was reading the first mountain bikes were put together by blokes who just wanted to coast down a mountain track.  They got some heavy frame bike and would then bolt on Motorcycle wheels.   We're now talking big chunky things, to give them more grip.  The reality in the UK is there are very few mountains about.  Certainly in England, but I suppose if you want to do a little bike rambling through woods and parks it's a similar thing.  Not quite the same scale, but similar.  Of course it would also mean putting up with being chased by dogs as they had their walkies.  The MTB wheels although excellent for grip are actually slower for cycling on roads, whilst suspension on a bike would be advantageous for rough terrain or pot holes in roads it is an additional item which can go wrong.  This makes me think of the Volkswagen Beetle for some reason.  An odd lovable car where we all think of Herbie (I'm sure it's time they had a remake) which unlike other cars was air cooled.  Which probably contributed to the different sound the engine made.  However, by having air cooling it meant there was an additional item not to worry about.  The bloody radiator, because it didn't exist.  So I am pondering on a style of bike which is between both a road bike and a MTB, but looks like an MTB.  This is called the hybrid, most of which have little suspension on them.  This would be suitable for roads and as a possibility for cycling to the Fish Factory.  The only way it would pay for itslelf.

So as I walked round the store I took notes, wrote down what bikes caught my eye and some of their specs.  I was a little dismayed none of the store staff approached me to see if I needed any help.  Sod em I thought.  I also took photos of the bikes so as to prompt my memory when it comes to making a decision.  This stage is very much the fact finding.  I've been checking all the bikes I liked on Google to see if I could find reviews on them.  One of them made by a company called Voodoo is brand new to the market and has very few reviews.  It looks good but how far do you trust something which doesn't have any track record at all.  I want reliability as much as anything else.  The other most noticeable thing was to find nearly every bicycle didn't have the extra bits on it.  The bits which are equally important, no pump, no bike stand, no mud guards, no water bottle with cage,  no lights etc..  All these other items have to be purchased separately.  Some of which can be pretty expensive in themselves.  Mud guards for instance can cost nearly 30 quid.  A decent lock to keep the bike chained up could easily topple the same price and some going as high as 50 quid.  It seemed like some kind of madness as I looked at these things. It became really no surprise as I looked at further bicycles on the Internet to see they had broken the four figure level on price.  Wonderful, surely it would be better to go and by a Beetle I thought at least then you could put shopping in it.  Whoever is willing to part with such money were either very serious about bicycles, had more money than brains or has never worried about costs anyway.  Russian oligarchs come to mind, but I have never seen any of them pictured riding a bicycle to work if they work at all.  Although the odd politician has, mind they don't do much work either. 

So the thought process has began.  Do I or don't I?  Where's Lance Armstrong when you need him?

Today's agenda, Shakespearse's insight, listening and humour

Got up early this morning, the pigeons decided yet again they would act as alarm clocks.  Coming down through the tiles, clatter, clatter, then followed by a communal coo cooing.  I contemplated a double barrel shot gun, but don't have one and then thought of a blow pipe.  A long accurate blow pipe with needle like darts, they wouldn't know what hit them and I'm sure I would not have to registered with some authority for having a dangerous weapon.  Dragging myself out of bed now at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday after about 5 hours sleep I will probably go through some kind of coma state during the day.  Gym, shopping, (must make a list) DIY store, pressing trousers and bicycles again.  Should I take the plunge on a cycle?  It will definitely help me exercise and may even help get this belly down.  Though I would be loath to use it as transport to and from the Fish factory.  The idea of being sweaty and stinky all day long doesn't appeal.  Then I get hit with echoes of Aristotle's "you are what you repeatedly do...."  great.  If this means each time I go to the pub I am starting on the rocky road of fattism I'm in trouble.  I wouldn't mind when half the people who go there have certain personality quirks on the obscure.  Just to think, some time ago I never frequented the pub and preferred a gym addiction.  You are what you repeatedly do.  Maybe I'm going through some kind of change or the need and want for a change, or perhaps I'm reminiscing too much for something long ago which does not exist today.  Begin able to breath, being fit, having extra stamina and drive where others failed, and most certainly calming down a bit more.  So I'm still thinking what to do next.  Gym stuff is nearly packed so I'm half committed to it.  Better write a shopping list.

Shakespeare is always good for a quote, every play will have a score or more of sayings infiltrated in everyday English.  Most of us probably don't realise it.  I do like Hamlet, the Mel Gibson version it's been a few years since I've seen it so I might try and fish out the copy from somewhere.  I think it's on old video.  The quotes are important especially when they have personal meaning.  Which no doubt goes for any quote by any person at all.  Here's something I have been thinking of lately, it is where Plonius gives advise to his son before he goes away, the speech is actually a lot longer.

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!

It is the words "...to thine own self be true..." I'm thinking of.   I interpret this to say, if you are feeling happy then be happy, if you have been pushed to a point of anger and can not hold it in, it must come out.  For me it takes a lot to push my buttons and make me scream.  I usually hold it in, but when I am unable to walk away it explodes.  If this outburst happens it can be exacerbated, especially where the protagonist or third party fails to listen as I give account for my actions.  Communication has ceased and can only spiral into a worse situation.  Their non listening response is a barrage of shit making it worse, they are not understanding.  There is ignorance.  My resulting counter action is best to say nothing at all.  They have failed as a human being to me.  Two tense or angry people can never find a solution to the elephant in the room.  Each the individual's following actions will determine my next response as the elephant waves it's tail.

Humour however is the greatest releaser of tension, it can flip entirely bad situations into shared learning experiences.  But it takes certain sorts of people to use this ploy and know it, to know they should not get sucked into an aggravated situation.  Humour is the peacemaker of all strife.  Sometimes I receive joke text messages.  Once in a while I will pull out my phone and read them.  They can help combat a lot of negative feelings including blue sad feelings as well.  Most definitely, listening and humour are life rafts in a sea of sharks.

Funny.  If you had to see your local quack you'd never get prescribed a bucket of humour pills.  Something to think about.  To perhaps become an inventor of the humour pill and a rich happy millionaire.  Now listen here Doc I've got this idea...