A bungalow no more

There is a bungalow I walk past most mornings.  There lived an elderly woman, grey come white hair, she used a walking stick and always had a beret on her head, with thick rimmed NHS glasses.  Growing up I'd see her every once in a while when walking past.  She was a bit odd, loud in voice and I knew her to also be a catholic.  That however is the extent of my knowledge.  The beret suggested there was some kind of french connection, she was frail and a few years back disappeared.  I thought at the time she probably went into a nursing home.  The bungalow is a beautiful house and takes up quite a bit of land, this old woman and this bungalow were in my mind like cheese and toast.  They belonged.  Now as I walk past the bungalow I see it being torn down brick by brick by a couple of workmen and can't help feeling a little sad.  Sad because it was a beautiful house and needed to be lived in, and a memory of the old girl who lived there also gone

I bumped into someone I know who lives opposite the bungalow and he went on to say how awful it was the building was being pulled down.  At one point a petition had even been got by residents of the road and had somehow managed to stop it from being demolished.  He had tried again but this time some years later the residents were different.  Of different cultures and didn't want to sign their name to a petition.  He told me the garden had foundations for chains which were used on barrage balloons during the second world war.  In his mind the bungalow was also a historic site.  It was now going to come down and three houses built in it's place.  I then asked him about the old girl who lived there.

He agreed with my first impressions.  She was loud.  I'm not sure I may have spoken to her once now I think about it.  He said she had been a second world war heroine.  I could hardly believe this and asked for her name.  It was Yvonne Halsey.  She died in 2006 at the age of 90.  She had been a telephone operator in France when the war began.  Then escaped on the last ship sailing.  Unfortunately for her the ship was torpedoed but she survived and was picked up by another boat heading to England.  Yvonne had been bought up in England but her parents who also spoke french sent her to Europe as she was growing up.  Her french was fluent and as well she had learning several other languages.  When she returned to London she was approached by Charles de Gaule and asked to become a spy.  She would drop in by parachute into France and gather information on and from the french resistance.  She went back to France on 7 occasions.  The last of which she was caught by the Nazi's and tortured.  Her legs badly harmed.  Somehow she was rescued by the resistance and escaped back to England.  And this was a woman who I did not know, who lived a couple of roads away from me. 

So now I can't help feeling a little sad, for not knowing her a little better.

The dentists prognosis

Unfortunately the toothache turned out to be one of those pains you wish never had happened.  I sat in the dentist chair, he had a look.  Poked about an instrument and then made an announcement "I can't see anything wrong with the filling. It must be that you have a fissure.  Each time you eat something the pressure on the tooth opens it up.  Then when you stop, the fissure closes up."  I understood what he meant, but I didn't know what it would result in.  It was then I found there were only two options he had under consideration.  First to pull the tooth and second to put an inlay, which was at my suggestion.  Except of course the price of an inlay is a hell of a lot more than a mere extraction.  But I'm attached to my teeth.  I'd like to keep them as long as possible before they day they call me Gummy.  Before the day I have to reach over and see my teeth starring back at me in a disembodied smile from the bottom of a glass.  Yes, like anyone else I am afraid of the downhill struggle against age and being toothless.  Thanks to a not so kind bloody tooth fairy.  The cost in financial terms was going to be slightly over £200.  A lot.  Before he did any further prognosis he had to "chaff" away at my tooth to see how far the fissure went.  The reason was, if it actually wasn't a deep fissure then it would be easier to correct.  Just my undeniable luck, he had to stop as he was now approaching the nerve.  Great.  In a short while he re packed the tooth with some temporary filling and said I'd better book a longer appointment for next week so an impression could be taken.  I think being on first name terms with my dentist may not be a good thing.

A half hour after seeing my butcher, I mean dentist.  Who is as I've said before a very nice butcher, I mean dentist.  I then had to hit the Fish Factory.  Where I was to take a meeting and chair.  There were 8 people present.  My face had turned into a numbed pin cushion.  My tongue felt it had swollen up on one side.  Then I was unable to talk normally.  It was slow and slurred.  So went the following two  hours.  My next appointment is the same time next week.  Unfortunately, you guessed it.  I got another meeting booked.  I hope I can feel my face then.

Dental appointment and slow eating

I have the dentist this morning.  Great.  Well it won't be too bad, because he is a nice man and gentle.  There is something about having a concerned attentive dentist, who does his best to make it easy.  Like letting you breath and stop by raising your hand.  Who is concerned about pain management.  I got a little mouth as well, so opening it for sustained periods gives my jaw an ache.  He is also good with the needle.  I barely get to see him plunge the thing into my gum for the anesthetic.  I like the guy, he's friendly.  He has been my dentist now for twenty plus years, a hell of a long time.  In the next ten years or so I'll have to find another one, which I know will be hell.  Finding one who cares rather than sees the patient and their dental chair as a conveyor belt.  It takes time to build up a relationship with a dentist.  Pain though is probably the worst bit, if only it were completely painless.

The good news will be, that later today I will be able to eat properly.  When going through a traumatic event I generally say to myself, this time tomorrow it will be all over.  Or this time next week.  To have something to look forward to.  It has been restricting eating on one side of my mouth.  But at the same time it has taught me to savour my food and be patient in eating slowly.  It has been a lesson of sorts.  Eating slowly and carefully.  If there were some behaviour I'd like to endure for the rest of my life, this would probably be one of them.  I just hope old habits don't come back too quickly.

A cheaper way to shop - stay at home

This morning when I left the house I slipped a hand in my trouser pocket.  It felt odd like the pocket was folded.  Then I pulled out 15 quid.  Blimey what a nice start to the day I thought.  A little richer than I had expected.  There are other days though where I wonder my money has gone.  It seemed to have evaporated.  This especially happens when going shopping.  If I never shopped then I'd be pretty wealthy.  On the other hand I'd probably be wearing rags and half starved to death.   Sometimes you just have to do a little shopping regardless.  Odd to how when shopping at a supermarket I'd expect there would be some bargains to be had.  Yet this is not true at all.  Just go to different shops and then you'll find certain items are more expensive in one and less expensive in another.  For instance razors.  The brand of disposable razors I buy in one shop is nearly fifty per cent less than a supermarket.  Another prime example of this is Caspian peppers.  In a market I can get 3 for a pound whilst in a supermarket they cost 70 pence each.  What a rip off.  It's about being shopping savvy. 

It will not be long before christmas is upon us.  It's strange how some christmas purchases are liked more than others and they may be the cheapest things bought.  Again, this is where I'd strongly say go to a market, you'd be surprising what unusual things can be found.  Not one of those poncy arty affairs, no, a good common outside market which has been established up and running for years.  Arty ones are to be avoided like the plague, unless you happen to be a tourist.  Tourists can expect to be ripped off.  Worst thing is the holiday probably cost an arm and a leg then the spending cost another arm and a leg.  Well at least they got their teeth.  Unless they happen to be made of gold, keep your gob shut tourists is all I can say.

Today has been an unexpectedly lucky day.  Unless that 15 quid was an advance payment from the tooth fairy.  Then it might not be.

Time to read a book

I have this urge to read a book. Not just any book it has to be a classic and I know which one.  It’s 1984, by Eric Blair (George Orwell).  Firstly there is something about established classics of literature.  It doesn’t matter from what country they are because every country has it’s own icons.  Someone who the world agrees was a great writer must of done something of significance.  People may or may not agree on the importance or the style of a writer, but the fact there may be controversy means this person gave the world a kicking.  They had something to say which was listened to and struck at the heart of society.  Certainly in the case of Mr Blair who had a thing about social injustice in the world.  He died at the age of 47 which by today’s standards is probably young.  So what this urge is, is a desire to have a moment of quality and time. 

It seems there is very little time lately to do anything.  I get on a train in the morning and head off to the Fish Factory.  It is a short ride, ten minutes and I am at my destination.  Followed by a further five minute walk.  This is hardly enough to turn one or two pages of a book, no sooner have I opened it than I am closing it.  I am one of those people who can read a book while walking.  But it still doesn’t help because I just don’t have enough of a reading moment.  It’s now a matter of making this space, finding it in some other way or context.  I’ve got a detective novel I had began reading a few months ago.  It’s on a table in my bedroom.  I indulge myself just before going to bed but this I don’t even do now.  Where have all the spaces in my day gone?  I have gotten into a habit of waking up early.  I can get by on six hours sleep a day, with the occasional nap.  Yet although I am awake for longer in a day there is less achieved.  I know what is happening, it’s an addiction to watching TV.  TV is the devil incarnate, square, hypnotising and brain dumbing. There’s the solution.  Stop watching so much TV and get on with life; simple.

So now I have to change a habit and restrict it or replace it.  Computers and the internet are not always a good thing.  They can control you as much as you control them.  It could be something to do with personality.  Some people are easily addictive to things.  Smoking for example, chocolate, alcohol, food.  A little bit of something can be satisfying and good.  Too much and it becomes dominant and without realisation it has become something else, part of your personality.  Well lucky I’m not an addict to bungee jumping, putting my head into lions mouths (if it could fit) or crocodile hunting.  If only.  Now that would be something to talk about and maybe I’d get more interest to the few readers who serendipitously visit this page.  What a thought, become a serendipitous crocodile hunter.  Yes.  A new pastime for 2012,  well, I do have a book to read first.

An expensive soft drink

Suffering from the sniffles I decided to hit the pub, but instead of having a Guinness a pint of orange juice was on the cards.  The idea being to boost up my vitamin C and help recover from this dastardly cold.  A cold when it's not even winter.  I was surprised to find the cost of my soft drink was more expensive than an alcoholic drink.  During the "Happy Hour" period as well.  Or rather not so much Happy for those who go non alcoholic.  The most annoying thing of all is the tax paid on alcoholic drinks has got to mean there is a lower profit margin than on soft drinks, but yet the soft drink is more expensive.  Well, I thought to myself, those buggers aren't going to take me for a ride this evening I will purposefully give them a miss.  My 3 quid can be kept in my own pocket rather than given to them.  So I went home instead.

It's a recession, come on publicans even soft drink consumers don't like being taken for a ride.

Toothache

I have this tooth where the filling has half fallen out.  It's now bothering me and so I should ring up the dentist for an appointment.  I have to be careful about eating on the right hand side, because on occasion a little bit of food gets trapped in the tooth then when my mouth closes (which it does) there is a sudden and undeniable pain come ache.    I'd prefer not to see the dentist, it's a tooth which has acted in this way before.  A recalcitrant little bugger with it's own mind.

When reading sci fi books and the latest discoveries in genetics, I'd cross my fingers and hope a new genetic treatment would come out.  One where the human body could have more than just one set of teeth.  Three or maybe four sets even.  When one lot falls out another just grows back in place.  It might mean more work for the dentists again, I mean.  If you just happened to be a little careless then it would result in having to get another set of teeth braces.  It might be though having more than 2 sets of teeth would make people a lot more careless.  Teeth are like natures way of saying, you only get one chance and learn it quick, milk teeth followed by adult teeth, regardless if you happen to be eleven years old when you have your second set and unappreciative of the effects of sweets and chocolate has in the long term.  It is so unfair how the human body matures faster than the intellect or emotional stability. 

Adolescence certainly does this, raging hormones, strong young fresh body and all stuck on top with the head of an idiot.  It would certainly be a better situation if we all lived life like Benjamin Button.  But then directors can make anything possible, real life does not work in the same way.  It's just hard.  Hard bloody luck.  Look after your teeth or you will be given the name of Gummy.  Then put on display at fares, where they will show you off to see how you suck an egg, or the pained expression you have when trying to tuck into a meal of roast beef, roast potatoes and Yorkshire puds.  Maybe all the Gummys of the world should be given free liquidisers on the NHS.   I'm surprised baby food manufacturers have not jumped on the band wagon and created slushy mushy food for the over sixties Gummies of the world.  What a fortune there would be in the making.  It's also odd how Dracula picks his girls young and doesn't go for the slightly older woman.  Mind a seventy year old vampire would no doubt have problems when it came to the attack.  Imagine going to the Police Station and reporting to a constable, "yes, officer, I was attacked by a very strong seventy year old woman.  She gummed my neck and dribbled down my back.  It was awful.  I didn't think she'd ever stop.  But she was a little slow.  The sun came up and she burst into fiery ashes."  Well, Bram Stoker must of been a bit of a lecherous old man.  Or he knew.  If a vampire woman was ever going to be at an advantage she had better have her own teeth.  You can quote me on that if you like.

The problem is, today I've not had much enthusiasm.  I got a cold, had lots of nose blowing and sniffing, but no enthusiasm.  If I did I would of rung the dentist.  I suppose though if I carry on like this it may help me control my diet.  Only thing is eating chocolate is fine, it's everything else which is a problem.  Where is there a vampire when you need one?

Stuck on Big Brother

Something has happened to me since being in Sparkling's company. It's called Big Brother.  A TV series where contestants spend every minute of the day in an artificial environment, their interactions constantly filmed and each week one is voted out by the public.  The winner takes away a pot of money.  Usually when BB season begins I do my best not to get excited or involved.  I purposefully go out of my way not to watch it.  Except when I happen to be with Sparkling.  Then I usually have no choice at all and must watch whatever she decides should be on TV.  Well, most of the time.  BB for me is dangerous, it is mind numbing rubbish, this I know for a fact.  The reason I know it, is because I become an addict to it.  I just vegetate and get so engrossed in BB life outside of the BB household is a distraction.  If BB were on Channel 5 all day long, I'd be watching it.  Fortunately my time is limited.  I'm tending to watch it on the Internet and catch up each evening with the evening before's events, which means I am two days out of sync.  However, I get to watch both shows and I then get to watch all the other little clips they decide to put up.  I am well and truly hooked and finding breaking away very difficult.  A bit like asking a woman to give up chocolate.  It's a no braier, it just will not happen.

The first eviction has taken place.  A lovely but slightly crazy girl called Tashie has been booted out.  The first week is always a difficult one as the public and contestants really don't know a great deal about one another.  In my view poor Tashie should not of gone.  She got kicked out because she simply managed to get on peoples nerves, if she had managed to restrain her proclamations of wisdom and listened a bit more to others she would not of got picked.  In the next week contestant Heaven is very likely to get nominated for one of the evictees.  She has a self centred streak which is more obvious than the other house mates.  Everyone has this to a certain extent but with the way Heaven is eating food which is limited in supply and her crazy like views of the world she is going to wind many people up.  I also think Maisy should be nominated.  I can't think of a more ignorant person.  The love birds Rebekah and Aden are also getting pretty annoying.  Not just because there is over ten years in age difference, but because Aden is in all sense of the word a complete "twat" who doesn't have the aptitude to understand that little puppy dogs are pathetic.  I'll keep glued to the TV over the next week to see what's happening and will not bore readers with a running commentary.

However, the one thing which every reader or watcher of BB thinks about at some time or other is how well they would do if they were in the BB household.  How their character would be portrayed, their own ups and downs, their personality being under intense scrutiny as well as personal habits, completely open to the nation.  There has to be a bit of self love in any such show for all of the contestants and ultimately the public then votes who they like.  Of course with a small charge being donated to Channel 5 TV.  BB is a time when the ultimate in non celebrity come celebrity status begins.  Where people who are unknown and complete no bodies have the chance to be famous for doing nothing and just being themselves.  From this they can carve new careers, make lots of money, become popular and consequently have their own self esteem stroked by a thousand followers.  This is the self degrading part of such an event I don't like.  It's the reason why I do my best not to watch it.  But as I said, I'm hooked.  For the time being anyway. 

As for a winner, I'll make a wild guess and say it may be Tom, I'll not put any money on it.  It will depend on how he flowers in the next few weeks.  I need to find some other interest in the evenings, any ideas?

It's my birthday and I'll take a bullet for you.

It's my birthday today.  Sparkles had tried to trick me I was actually a year older than I thought.  I'll admit to being taken in by her for just a moment then with a little quick calculation or rather not so quick at my age I realised I was one year younger.  So now for the next 6 months Sparkling and I are both the same age.  I stop being the toy boy.  Considering I'm not a boy and certainly not a toy it's probably an inaccurate statement to make.  Sparkling has said to me on numerous occasions she needs some one younger with a bit of oomf.  Then she'd put a dish of crisps and salsa dip on my lap and watch to see if I'd eat them.   On the quite she likes to test my will power.  Quite often she knows it is weak, but once in a while I hold back from the allure of junk food.  Last night we watched a program on Doris Day, it passed midnight and Sparkling wished me happy birthday and sang Que cera, cera.  It was lovely. I felt very happy, as I did this morning and opened presents, Rock Chick had actually listened to me when I said I liked the music of Ed Shearer, I am now the proud owner of his CD, which had come out on my birthday.  Wonderful.

I have been having a discussion with Sparkling, it has carried over from last night, or maybe the night before.  Anyway it began when we were watching the news.  Egypt was on telly and there was violence and public disruption, riots, burning, fights with police.  It began along these line when I stated:
"Now that would be a good place to go on holiday."
"Yes, we could get a cheap one there."
"Well, it would be good to get involved in it, carried along with the atmosphere of revolution."
"No, I don't think it would be a good idea to go."
"How come?"
"Well if some of the men got hold of us and said to you, 'we're going to kill either you or her' you'd push me forward and say take her."
"No I wouldn't."  I needed a moment of thought on this matter.  I had to say it, "Honey, I'd take a bullet for you."
"No you wouldn't."
"Yes, I would."
"No you wouldn't."
"Yes I would."
"No you wouldn't, you're a coward.  I know what you're like."
"That's rubbish, I would, you know I would.  Would you take a bullet for me?"
"No."

Again I have got to learn my place in the household.  Olly had me running after him getting up 3 times this morning to his meow.  Feeding him biscuits and letting him out.  Then in, then out, then more food.  Sparkling says he only does this when I am here.  Dangerous Sport's Lad is a bit the same.  I watched as Olly had jumped up on the window sill behind Dangerous.  I said nothing.  Then Rock Chick says "Dangerous, Cat!" he automatically stopped looking at the laptop opened the window behind him and let Olly in.  I suppose you'd say we are now trained men.  I am so trained now, my feeble protestations about painting rooms with off pink emulsion fall on very deft ears.  I get "it's our house, we live here, get over it."  It don't matter how much I say I feel effeminate, because there is way too much pink in the house.  Even a walk around the local DIY superstore is barely returning my hormones back to normal.  I deliberately did a detour of the power tools section, advising Sparkling and Rock.  Hoping for a testosterone boost.  I put in my ear phones listened to a little music.  Kneelled down in interest trying to work out whether there was a mortar raking drill bit, then before I knew it I had been pushed over with a foot by Rock Chick.  For a moment I was like a turtle on it's back.  I was hoping I'd just be able to roll myself back onto my feet.  But it didn't work.  The bastion of power tools had been invaded, the one serene guaranteed man place to feel like a man again had been interrupted.  Shortly afterwards I had a big pot of pink paint, and lamented how girly I was about to become applying this to the front room walls.

It's well into my birthday now.  The emotions of opening presents is over, jeans and shirt I'm wearing now.  I love them all, just being here with Sparkles makes me very happy.  Only thing is she is still not convinced I will take a bullet for her.  I had better watch myself, because I know with my luck, there's a pink bullet with my name on it and I better jump in front of it at first opportunity.

Something Happened - a good read

I have recently picked up a book which I had not fully read before.  It's called "Something Happened" written by Joseph Heller.  The same author of "Catch 22."  I read somewhere this book, Something Happened was better than his earlier novel Catch 22.  It's an old copy, but regardless of how old it is the words don't change.  New impressions of the book may have better looking covers, their pages will be fresh and not as faded as my copy, but mine has more character.  I bought it in a sale and the price sticker is still on the front, it only cost £1.  A bargain.  Having a look on Amazon I can buy this same book for about six times the value I originally bought it for.  The cover of the latest impression hasn't changed at all from the impression I have, which was printed in 1995.  Which makes my copy 16 years old.  Blimey.  This book is older than half of my nephews and a niece.  I look at the book tenderly and know as I travel to Scotland tomorrow I will have at least 6 hours in which to put in a good reading session.  Providing I don't get too bored with it.  Is it an odd personality trait I ask when to me the thought of such a reading session is actually thrilling.  I know it will be even better to see Sparkling tomorrow, but to get time to read it's like a massive luxury.  An injection of adrenaline to an adrenaline starved junky.  A bowl of rice to someone who has eaten nothing but potatoes for the last year or two.  I am actually happy.  Funny that, interesting, but funny. 

Maybe it is a double excitement hit, reading then seeing Sparkling.  If I don't get a chance to talk to anyone on the train I'll be able to talk the hind legs of a donkey when I get off and see Sparkles.  Which is exactly when I get told to shut up because she has to concentrate on driving in the rush hour traffic.  I'll be sitting there in the car, if Sparkles does pick me up, then I'll be sitting there in a bursting bubble of happiness.  A champagne cocktail.  I so can't wait to see Sparkles. 

Unfortunately I have been advised Rock Chick has gone down with food poisoning.  She had eaten some prawns which were out of date.  Poor thing.  And Rock being a University student of food hygiene and nutrition you would of thought she'd be the first person to know what not to eat.  Oh well, maybe next time she wont listen to her mum when she tells her not to worry about the sell by date.  Or use by date.  I'm sure Rock will survive though.  And if she doesn't and needs someone to talk to her tomorrow, who is rolling down a hill faster than a round cheese, then I'm going to be the one.  Whether it is reading the book or hitting Scotland shortly I could talk now for a bloody long time about all sorts of nonsense and would probably need to be told to shut up by everyone who heard me.  Must remember to take some ear plugs.  And a book of course.

Adverts make TV not worth watching

Sitting there watching an episode of NCIS didn't last long.  Not because the program wasn't worth watching because it actually was and interesting as well.  Which didn't stop me from changing channel and turning to a channel where there were less interruptions because there were no adverts.  Thanks to the BBC.  Maybe one day the advertising funded channels will just completely get rid off all programs.  Have nothing but adverts as though these are the only things which matter.  What they don't understand is the public will just turn the television off.  Which may even be a good thing.  Then there would be time to read, talk, listen and above all not get soft in the head from glossy selling every five minutes. I'm coming to the conclusion now it not even worth watching certain channels.  If a program is good, I'll catch it later on in some other way, but I'll not watch it with 50 adverts scattered throughout it.

Day 2 of the challenge has worked out fine.  I more than satisfied the quest.  Doing an hour plus of walking in the morning and then doing an 8 mile cycle ride with Monster Boy.  We rode along a stretch of the river Thames, where the flood defence has so kindly provided a pathway.  Riding by the Thames always takes longer to reach a destination than going by the road.  Except going by road is a dangerous thing at times, especially if you have a little monster in tow, then you have to be mindful of cars all the time.  It was good to get out and about.

I got a text from Sparkling.  She had been on a girls night out, unfortunately something broke out with one of the girls, Sparkling ended up pinning the girl to the floor to stop her from getting into fisticuffs with another.  Women in Scotland are sure made out of tougher stuff than the ordinary woman.  I wonder if they put up with adverts as much as Londoners do?  Probably not.

Bamboo socks and the Sock Collecting Monkey

The other day I bought some socks.  I needed them but didn't need them so badly as to buy 7 pairs at once, this was mostly what the shops wanted to sell.  Instead I bought a set of three pairs.  They are grey and black with a nice pattern of magenta horizontal lines through them.  Each pair is slightly different which kind of adds to the appeal.  Part of me realises when I next go to Scotland they may decide to take a walk into Rock Chicks own sock collection, such is the nature of socks in Scotland.  Looking at a pair as they hung up to air, I touched them again to feel their texture.  The amazing thing is they feel so soft.  They are beautiful.  A pleasure to put on in the morning, just really nice.  I read somewhere these socks are biodegradable and don't last any longer than three years.  Which is a shame, but the truth is none of my socks last this long anyway.  They kind of disappear.  Possibly appropriated, possibly even worse.

Stolen by the Sock Collecting Monkey who attacks when you least expect it.  The Sock Collecting monkey is silent, never ever caught and has a bizarre fetish for socks every man will know about.  There are said to be many of these creatures around the world.  They have conventions but you will not hear or see these conventions unless you are part of their inner circle.  Their outer circle are the lesser known but equaly annoying Glove Collectors.  The Sock Monkeys are good at their job.  Not one has been seen or left a evidence of their existence.  In physics there is an elusive particle called the Higgs boson particle.  These monkeys pride theirselves on being as mysterious.  More so to the physics experts, who you are likely to find wearing odd socks or socks with holes.  Curtisy though they don't know it yet of the Sock Collecting monkey, otherwise known in short as the SCM.  Everyman is at some time touched by the SCM.  They may not know this at birth but their name is written down in a big bound leather book by the executive SCM.  Date of birth, name and place of birth, current residence is a must.  They keep tabs on us.  Then at an appropriate or inappropriate time you will only find the marks of a visit by the absence of a sock.  They are colour blind the SCM so really don't care what your socks look like, nothing is off limits.  Long socks, short socks, beautiful socks and old tatty socks they all have a place once appropriated.  They see themselves as being superheroes to their kind.  But to me their nefarious antics are approaching the super villains league.  Unfortunately they are so far off the radar not even Batman and Robin can save us.  We are doomed to be plagued by them and have to face life accepting this one vexatious thought - socks will always go missing.

The only consolating thought I now have is, steal them if you must monkey, steal my bamboo ones if you must monkey, but their biodegradeable and you won't get to play with them forever.  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Bad habits - the challenge

From my previous BLOG there was one statement, it was the only thing which mattered to me.  The only thing at this moment I needed to do more than any other. So shortly after writing the BLOG I got my arse down to the train station and bought tickets to see Sparkling and the gang.  As soon as I wrote the word "Sparkling" a smile came over me, I just couldn't help it, and already I am feeling pretty damn happy.  But there is something I so now have to get control of and it's my habits.  The bad habits have to be either altered, removed or replaced.  I came across the following quote:

“Men’s natures are alike; it is their habits that separate them.” - Confucius

At the Fish Factory, I feel like I am juggling more balls in the air than I can handle. Or it could be the case of China plates rather than balls.  For balls will bounce when dropped but a China plate will smash into a thousand pieces.  I sure bet Confucius didn't think of it this way.  The thing is I really do like my job, too much probably.  It's strange how we can be so defined by what we do.  In work, in society, at home with family.  When I wasn't being fulfilled in Fish Filleting I sort satisfaction in other areas.  The weirdest thing of all is work is a temporary thing, it dominates the largest amount of waking hours but it's not as important as family.  People who are close or should be considered the closest things we have in our lives.  Work however does provide structure, the day is marked by when to wake up and when to hit the hay.  There is a degree of compulsory social interaction, no matter how good or bad we feel it has to be there.  Communicating with others.  The other important thing work provides is finance to allow life outside of work to be lived.  To allow the bills to be paid, holidays booked, trips made, so the list goes on.  Then there is the work-life balance.  Somewhere between one and the other we have to live, sleep, dream, eat, get into tiffs, get out of tiffs, breath air, smile and find happiness.  If one thing dominates then the balance is all askew.  At this point bad habits creep in.  Going to the pub to relax instead of the gym.  Eating the wrong convenience food, just because it is quick and satisfies hunger.  Not listening when someone is trying to talk because there are too many things on your mind and if your own mind hasn't quietened down how can you really listen to others?  With difficulty.

The first line of defence is therefore to do one thing, one task and set my mind on it.  It will be the 30 day challenge.  Something for 30 consecutive days in a row.  All I now have to do is work out exactly what that thing will be.  Which doesn't sound very committal.  I know what it is, but I don't want to say it because I don't want to fail it and think I might.  I want to do some form of exercise everyday.  I've done some today which now means I have 29 days left.  Which if my math is right means the challenge ends on 3rd October.  Watch this space.

Some questions and a statement

BLOG views have dropped.  Could this be the start of a recession?

I can't seem to concentrate on anything more than a few moments, is this the sign of mental illness?

There is a smell of cat pee in the bathroom, has Stinky pissed in there or is it the Basil plant?

An outside set of windows needs a gloss paint, it's got the primer but no top coat, can it be left without the gloss?

Next week I go to see Sparkling, I will get my ticket today!

This room needs a tidy up, do I leave it or tidy it?

My bicycle needs a water bottle attachment, where and when?

If I lose my job because of government politics, will I be able to get another or am I now too old and on the scrap heap?

Will I ever lose weight and get fit again?

When you reach a goal what happens next?

What is the best way to get the most done with the least resources?

How do I get around the obstacles put in the way by other people?

Sparkling buys a present

Sparkling has been to the shops to buy a birthday present for me.  Awwwe.  I left my mobile phone at home and she rang it.  It was not answered.  So there was the odd text message left.  It was my fault if her present didn't fit me.  She wasn't sure of my waist size.  Fat or really fat.  I rang her up and then it was my fault again for not answering the phone, so whatever it was Sparkling had bought for me it was because she liked it and so it didn't matter what I thought.  I just have to wear it and if I didn't like it I could tell I was going to be in trouble.  I had texted Sparkling during the day and said the only thing which mattered was seeing her, getting a hug and maybe a kiss, just being in Sparkling's company.  Soppy I know but I really can't help it.  Oh, I did ask maybe if she wanted to get me something a pair of socks would do nicely.  When speaking on the phone she told me how difficult I was to buy presents for.  I think she's got me some trousers, well asking for waist and leg sizing is a bit of a give away.  It's odd because I have exactly the same problem when it's Sparkle's birthday.  It is murder choosing.  But I still go out and do it, otherwise I would be murdered for real. 

Oh well better tuck into this box of fudge I got.  Maybe the fatter size would be a better fit after tonight.