Strike on! so what do you do with your time?

Today a the Fish Factory Union decided all Fishes should go on strike over their future pensions.  Of course not every fish is a member of the union so a great deal of them didn't, but a lot of important ones did.  I to went on strike although I have my doubts about it's effectiveness, as the big fat cat fish on TV says, all these little fishes have got it good going anyway.  So it goes without saying, always be afraid of anything a fat cat fish says, you'd be stupid to agree with it.  The choices for me this morning were the usual, go and picket, go to a rally, and go to a demonstration or use the time for myself and do whatever it is I wanted to do, because I'll be losing a days peanuts out of it.  Not a gold lottery ticket as the fat cat fishes would have you believe.

I decided, to go with my own needs.  In all purposes it was a day away from the Fish Factory.  As my nephew Little Monster boy all of eleven years now was also effected by the strikes the choice was simple.  I would take the Monster out for a bicycle ride by the Thames, we would have something to eat and then we'd cycle back.  Although the day felt a little cold it wasn't bad at all.  The sun was out and the temperature rose.  We both enjoyed the cycle, except of course for the point where we have to pass a very stinky factory.  I held my nose with one hand and managed to endure it before collapsing and dying from the smell.  We looked over the Thames as we rode along and could see the tide was going out.  The mud banks could be clearly seen.  Rivulets of water carved craggy craters all the way back to the stream.  Sea gulls and the occasional duck wondered on the muds looking for food.  The exercise I sorely needed after eating late last night and I can say my little leggies worked hard we had probably done about two hours of cycling overall.  But it was enjoyable.

We stopped at a large supermarket where they also had a catering section.  It amazes me how many people use the supermarket cafe.  When only a few feet away is a plethora of foods just waiting to be picked up off the shelf, taken home and made into something quite sumptious. We had an excuse because we were hungry tired travellers, which was what I said to myself.  Little Monster boy agreed, he had a children's meal of cheese burger and fries, for monsters of course.  Followed by a very large piece of lump dumpy Christmas chocolate cake a couple of cups of luke warm tea drown it all down.  I was pretty surprised he managed to eat every scrap of food.  More so when he polished off a free ice lolly (rocket) which he said was his favourite.  Later on when we got back to the house for a rest I asked him if he liked the day and what he most enjoyed.  The food was his answer.  It didn't matter about the beautiful bicycle ride, the wonderful company or the time he had to chit chat, it was all down to the food.  I was happy he had a good time, if I hadn't popped round and told him to get dressed because he was going out he could of spent more than a few hours playing electronic games.  Afterwards I felt tired and nearly fell asleep while watching the news.  It was hard work cycling.   As for the food being the best bit for Little Monster, maybe this is a sign of his growing up and changing from a Little to a Medium.  I may soon have to find another name for him.  For my affection of his Little Monster status is probably about to be blown out of the water.  Well, everything changes.  Even Monsters grow up, given enough time.

Cycling against the wind

This morning I attempted to lay in bed and enjoy a rest, after breakfast I returned back to bed just so I could read a book and lay there a little longer.  If it were not for Stinky the cat meowing his head off I'm sure I would of got more sleep, he's lucky to be alive.  But something happened and I had to get up. It was about 10 a.m., so much for a long lay in.  So in order to carry on with a week of attempted health I went out for a cycle ride along the Thames.  Which can be quite pleasant especially when the sun is out.  It was half out, but even half is better than nothing.  Except the one thing I didn't account for as I cycled up river was the wind.

A jogger passed me as I took a moments breather to drink some orange squash.   I thought to myself, go on mate, I used to run, but with my cycle I'll catch up with you in no time it will be no effort.  Somehow I then contorted myself to drop the bottle of liquid into a pocket of my ruck sack and began my pursuit of the jogger.  Standing upright and cycling is a good way to get up speed quicker, it allows you to put more effort in especially if going uphill.  On this occasion though I was on a flat, but what I didn't account for was the strength of the wind.  It was full on and incessant.  I had a large surface area on account of my mountain bike forcing your to take a less aerodynamic cycling style.  I could see the jogger in front of me about two hundred yards.  However, it seemed I was going nowhere fast and using a hell of a lot of effort, I wasn't even sure if I was going any faster than the jogger.  My coat flapped open as I unzipped it, the effort was making me pretty hot.  I kept pounding rotations of the pedals, even trying to bend down a little so the full force of the wind wouldn't use my surface area as a break.  It seemed to be of little use because of my ruck sack on my back.  I kept changing gears hoping to find one which would be a little easier, but the easier gears meant I was dropping to a slightly faster than walking pace.  I kept pressing forward and the wind whipped tears from my eyes streaming down my face.  It must of taken about a mile before I was able to overtake the jogger.  It was one of the hardest cycles I have done and most of it was on flat ground.  The worse bit was being overtaken by a female cyclist or a road cycle.  I tried to consul myself road bikes are made to go faster, mine was more for rough ground.  I soon veered off and went to a cafe, in need of sustenance.  Sausage on toast and a cuppa tea, which went down so quickly.

It is day seven of my regime.  So it has been, no crisps, chocolate, biscuits, one sweet, and a little alcohol but less than normal.  Well going completely cold turkey is difficult.  Tomorrow I'll weigh myself, but I'm a little dubious whether I lost any weight, because nowadays it no longer drops off.  The fat on my body feels like it's attached stronger than a limpet mine.  I've done my best to reduce carbohydrates but I don't think it is enough so tomorrow morning could be a disappointment.  So losing weight is very much like cycling in the wind, difficult to say the least.

Day three and notch three

So far it has been a successful day on the food and exercise front.  I cycled to the Fish Factory and I cycled home.  But I will admit this morning it was cold with a little mist about, the cycling though soon warmed me up.  Each time I reached my destination I felt an exercise high and remembered why it was I used to exercise a lot before but now have become complacent. Odd but I'm even getting to feel my posture is a little better. Like I am standing up straight rather than hunched.  As though being hunched is some kind of disease which gets everybody in the end.  Well it doesn't.  Or maybe it's a belly thing, you know the bigger your belly is the more the body has to somehow balance itself out.  I'm not sure whether I'll cycle tomorrow, one day a week might be sufficient or I could give it a day's break.  Tomorrow is also going to be warmer and I don't want to sweat and stink more than the Fish in the Fish Factory.  The problem with being fat is persperation and normal deodorants just can't always cope when things get hot. They might be OK for the less gravity challenged person, but not for the higher impact gravity individual. 

Besides the exercise and the change in diet in the back of my mind is a little devil, he is waiting for me to give in, waiting for temptation to take a hold and as the notches are passing those temptations are all the more salient.  It is so difficult.  Especially mid morning and mid afternoon when I'd make a coffee and go for a healthy biscuit which isn't healthy at all, it's just packaged and masquerading as something one of the skinny people would eat.  The reality is skinny people don't eat much at all, which is why they are so skinny.  Day three and I haven't been in the pub either.  I'll be going cold turkey soon with all this clean living.  One thing I am beginning to realise is how I am ruled by my appetite and my belly.  Or rather the effect of different foods on it and I am feeling better for the abstinence.  How long it will go on for I don't know.  It could be just one of those little phases or it may be the beginnings of a completely new life style.  I know one thing, when I stop counting the days and the notches I'll have even more control, but that could be a little way off.  Especially with the season of festivity soon upon us.  Which reminds me I must purchase my next ticket to see Sparkling.

Chrimbo is a time to really pig out, but the end result isn't much good.  Being more stuffed than a turkey could ever be.  Farting, burping, sleeping and instead of walking, rolling everywhere.  Chrimbo should come with a health warning.  It is dangerous.  Odd how at a time when human kind should be thinking of other people that it suddenly digresses into an orgy of glutony.  A good example of which is the Chrimbo pudding, a grenade of intense over sweet flavours which has been designed to sink ships.  If unlukily enough you get a pud which has coins in, then it's only purpose is to break teeth.  It's hardly anything to be excited over.  A broken tooth on Chrimbo day and no dentists open.  It's almost as though the creator of the Chrimbo pud was a less than philanthropic dentist.  They should be banned.  I notice nobody has developed a cellery pudding, or a carrot pudding, both of which certainly sound a little healthier.  Of course things could be worse, at least I'm not a turkey.

Two days and two notches

In an effort to try and lose a pound or two of weight, this week I have decided to walk more than usual and to do my best and keep an eye on my eating habits.  So gone out of the window are those little snacks I used to have between meals.  Those wonderfully tasting high calorie posing as healthy food supplements.  The ones who are guilt of unhealthily contributing to my waist size.  You know them.  In addition to cut out all the usual junk I would eat.  Thus far after two days there have been no biscuits, crisps, sweets, chocolate, cakes and even alcohol.  For a pint of Guinness is approximately 350 calories.  If I have 7 or 8 in a week it soon mounts up.  I've also been getting off the train one stop earlier and walking an additional fifteen minutes each way.  Day two and all is just about working OK. I've even temporarily reduced my caffeine intake, as it seemed a cup of coffee or two or three cups which were only being partly drunk in the mornings was not making me feel well.  Lets not forget I stood on a set of scales.  No wonder Sparkling laughs more at me when she sees how much rounder my girth has got.  If being content means putting on weight, well, I'd better learn to be discontent all over again.

It's just I'm in one of those phases.  Where being overweight is making me fed up with myself.  Fed up with finding I pant when walking up two flights of stairs, fed up of belts straining and needing yet another hole in so they can expand a little further.  Not to mention the many other changes which happen to the body when it gets heavier.  They are just not nice little things, perspiring more easily being one of them.  Although I must admit there is a kind of bearing one has when one is larger which does make other people get out of the way.  Or could it be you're more likely to push other people out of the way without realising it because of size.  I know having a pot belly isn't good for a man.  It is one of the symptoms of heart attacks later on.  Yep, pot bellied men will tend to grab their chest, or arm and suddenly get taken to hospital.  There is no doubt about it, I have to up my exercise routine, hence the walking. 

I don't know how much longer this dedication can last, but I'm now at the point of wondering whether I should find something to carve notches in.  Like a walking stick but if I had a walking stick then I would really have health issues.  For the time being I should be glad.  Better not count my doughnuts before they to stale though.

An interesting Canadian in Malta

While in Malta on holiday, I met a nice Canadian man, who I liked.  He had a sense of humour on par with Sparkling.  On one particular day, it so happened the President of Malta's wife was visiting the hotel.  We didn't know it at the time but there was a little give away.  Especially when all the staff, chefs, chamber maids, waiters etc all began to assemble around the reception desk.  It was clearly a group photo opportunity, as a photographer was there, however the occasion was a mystery.  Then a black limousine parked itself outside the hotel and the first lady popped in.  Sparkling and the Canadian, then loitered about waiting and watching what was happening.  Someone said it was the president's wife (who actually looked like a pretty plain looking woman to tell the truth) had come to visit.  Sparkling and Canadian of course had to then somehow get a picture with them standing by the President's wife.  They did this when she sat down to sign the guest book.  First Canadian sneaked up in the vicinity of the desk, behind the President's wife, while sparkling too a photograph.  Then Sparkling did the same, gesturing with both thumbs up and a big smile.  The both of them then had photographs of themselves next to the equivalent of Maltese royalty.  I did my best to ignore the entire situation, on account of having the belief such people are not important to me.  I then was told what they had done, like little school children.  I shook my head, but thought it rather funny and good luck to them.  I by the way, don't have such a picture and now think it's a shame.  I suppose it could of been a little bit towards my 15 minutes of fame.  Or infamy or no fame at all.

Canadian was definitely an interesting person.  He was advancing in years but didn't believe in letting this get in the way of life, he liked to get out there and do things.  He was a little unusual as well, in doing what can only be described as a Bus Man's holiday accompanied by his mistress.  Who happened to be a good 13 years younger and had in a previous life been a geriatric nurse.  She certainly kept an eye on him and I'm sure watched what he ate and drunk with a sharp eye.  I believe were she not there, he would of drunk and eaten as much as he liked and not given a damn about the consequences.  Like me.  Except I put on half a stone as a result of it and am surprised the air carrier didn't charge me extra when I returned on account there was a bit more of me.  It was the mistress who had divulged their relationship.  In fact she said they all got on quite well.  The Canadian seemed to live with his wife and had is mistress living in a house next door.  Personally I've found one woman quite enough, Sparkling deserves all of my attention all of the time, if I had to divide it not only would Sparkling be very unhappy and I'd be pushing up daisies, I'd probably go insane with wondering where I'd be on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc, etc.  The thing with the Canadian I liked was he seemed overall happy with life.  I liked him very much.  I know I'll not see him again in my life, but I did like him because he was easy to get along with and good company.  I know Sparkling felt the same. 


We are already planning our next holiday and family of Sparkling have suggested a trip to Poland.  Apparently there the zloty exchange rate is good.  I also used to collect Polish stamps so now I will be visiting the place for myself.  Look out Poland, and Englishman and a Scotswoman are about to pop over.

Fat and feeling the cold

After a wonderful holiday with Sparkles in Malta, where they like cats by the way, I've come back feeling a little fatter than usual but also finding I can feel the cold more.  Even though it is not particularly cold at all.  In Malta in November I was walking about in a T-shirt.  In London, in November, it's not going to happen.  However, as I said for this time of year it is pretty warm here.  Autumn hasn't fully got into gear as there are still leaves on trees, there has been no frost I can speak of, but it has been dreary and overcast.  So, the Russian like depression of going days without actually seeing sunlight is here.  Which for some reason I read was an inspiration to Russian writers such as Chekhov and Dostoevsky.  What I do know is days or weeks or even months without sunlight can be depressing.  Yes, months actually does happen.  Further is the feeling of cold.  In Malta their cold days are probably in the region of about 16 degrees Celsius.  In London, a winter day can be minus 16 degrees Celsius and over night even less.  Not all the time I'll add because it's certainly not as cold as other countries.  But we are really never properly prepared for it, we still engage in cheap fashion clothes than practical functional clothes most times of the year.

When I wake up I am feeling the cold.  It could be I am still shaking of a cold virus I got while in Malta, which I'd put first down to drinking the water, but maybe it was just a cold.  Is it the weight thing I ask myself? Maybe a few extra pounds in weight means a few extra shivers.  Or worse of all could it be related to getting old.  The nastiest of all problems which only gets worse and never gets better.  Unless you happen to be Benjamin Button.  Or quite possibly it's because Malta was mild and warm and I quite liked the mild warm effect for a few days.  Perhaps it really is a process the body has to acclimatise to, going into winter.  They say it is possible to get used to practically anything at all.  I mean, soldiers learn to sleep while bombs are exploding all around them.  I once saw a documentary about a man who had an ability to endure the cold more and swam or ran while there was snow and ice about, wearing very little clothes.   The body can acclimatise, it's just a matter of having the balls to acclimatise.  Putting yourself out there.  Just doing it.  I know one thing, sitting still doesn't help.  Sitting at a computer, typing away generates very little in the way of heat.  Even an energetic key basher wouldn't create a great deal in the way of body heat, though they would be pretty noisy.  If I sit still on the weekend and do nothing I will be unhappy all weekend, just waiting to get to the fish factory, where I can sit still and feel warmer than in the house.  Perhaps it is the house.  The house has not been engineered to suit adequately the climate lived in.  It's just the basic bricks and mortar and that is the problem.  I don't know.  Just it's not good to feel cold toes when we don't even have snow on the ground.  I'm going to have to get out there and do something.  Move, generate heat, exercise, anything.

The morning mist looks like it is lifting.  Sitting in it's place under the stairs in my bicycle, it is now crying out to me.  It's saying "take me out, ride me, cycle those little leggies," and if it is not saying such a thing I must be having auditory hallucinations.  Yes I am.  It's gone quite again, but now my toes are getting unhappy.  They are rebelling.  Great.  The little fat man is going to get some exercise.  Well it was going to happen one day.

The Odd Balls of Interest

I mate I see once in a while in the pub asked me if I had done any BLOGS recently, unfortunately I could only answer no.  Lets call him the Gas Man, on account he knows a bit about fitting central heating.  The Gas Man believes I am a pent up and angry individual, probably one of the most angry people he's met.  He's said this to me before, but it makes me think he hasn't read my blogs.  It don't matter.  Gas man revealed to me how he had began to write a book on annoying things.  It was going to contain 101 annoying things and be a kind of story.  However, he soon reached 101 items and then lost interest in writing his book.  It's a shame, I always find his opinions interesting to listen to, he thinks outside of the box and has this chip on his shoulder about badly run organizations, or rather their hierarchical systems of authority.  Get my gist? lol.  He's a nice enough bloke though and to an extent has helped me get re started again in the BLOG-osphere universe.

Also this evening I met another fellow who goes to the same pub, but not too often.  It must of been a couple of years ago since I last saw him.  Unfortunately some people do avoid this bloke, but again I don't know why I just find him interesting in his own way.  It's like I have a thing maybe for the unconventional, the odd, they are always so much more interesting to talk to, don't you think?  Well, I do.  I remember this fellow because a few years ago he recommended to a colleague a book.  It was called the Book Thief.  I went ahead and read it myself and enjoyed it.  So I'll call him Book Man although this is a temporary handle on his character because I just don't get to chat to him often.  Anyway.  The Book Man told me about how he to had been on holiday not long ago, and of all places had gone to Malta.  Wow.  What a coincidence I thought.  He talked about Valletta being a beautiful place and I asked him if he had drank in the same pub Oliver Reed had been to before he died.  Blow me down, he had as well.  Blimey.  Then Book Man described the pub and his little experience he'd had there.  I like the Book Man.  He's definitely odd, but definitely a nice enough fellow I'm sure he would never harm a fly, unless provoked in the righ circumstances of course.

Earlier as part of Gas Man's philosophy of life he had told me how he considered when young i.e. a teenager, the kind of people you hang about with are usually a good indicator of what you will turn out like later in life.  Giving an example of teenagers nowadays hanging about with dubious fellow teenagers who cause trouble and are then more likely to get into trouble themselves.  Perhaps, by association, perhaps because they feel the need to live up to the notions of what their peers expect.  I thought of my own fellow teenage mates.  None of which I am in contact with, and yes maybe, just maybe they were a little odd.  They certainly were not troublesome because my name was more of "scaredy cat" than "teenage heartthrob hardnut-nutcase," oh yes, the girls always like the hard or rather "rough" lad.  Until they grow up become adults and decide life is weary being battered by a Hasbeen with hang ups because although they were big fish in a little pond when it comes to the world, they become nothing more but little fish again.   Awwe how sad, not.  But if you have never been a Hasbeen as such, there is no difference in growing up, you remain the same little fish, you're comfortable with it.  However, things change, they become better and even themselves out.as merit and hard work and motivation take over where Hasbeen left years ago. 

Right now, I wouldn't say I'm angry, though it is probably a trait I do suppress at times, maybe I'm one of those odd balls now.  If so it makes me more than happy.  Yes, karma ensures things even out.  It's all about the long game.

Return from Malta

Well a few days ago I was in Malta, now I'm back in London.  I and Sparkling had a great time.  As always time is rushed and I can not do justice to a good thought out blog.  But I'm back.  When abroad I realised how important it is to remember your passwords to accounts.  I couldn't get access to anything.  Couldn't update a thing.  I think I have the Maltese flu because my nose is blocked up.  Maybe it was something I ate.  Or even drunk because the water was suspect.  Such a little thing so easily taken for granted, drinking water out of your own tap.

It was great to get away from everything for a short time though.  Sparkles has more sparkle in her eyes.  I have dominated a possible fear/anxiety of flying and I now know what a Malteser looks like.