At lunch time, if I am lucky, I get a chance to speak to Sparkling Eyes. It is a moment out of what can be a hectic and stressful day at the Fish Factory. A moment away from all the issues which vex my mind. The madness which is around me, the incessant questioning from Fishes who should know how to do their work but fail on little things. It's as though they have a dependency and they are unable to realise they should be using that thing between their ears. It's painful, very painful. Those who can think for themselves are like gold dust and are too few. Talking to Sparkling removes all of these things and for a few moments, she has me thinking about other things, and questions me in only the way someone can who is not a boss or a worker.
Sparkling challenges me, and it's good to challenged in that way. Even if it is related to what she is saying on a phone which cuts in and out all the time. Sparkling told me how she had bought a fish, then went on to describe how someone she knew from school caught her eye and then chatted with her. The phone cut out and I thought she was saying the fish's eye was looking at her and she then couldn't decide whether she could eat it, but was whether she knew this person. She then had a conversation with the fish, which spoke back to her, but wasn't the fish it was the person who had stared at her and she'd known from years ago. This intermittent phone cutting in and out resulted in my hearing a conversation which did not exist. Sparkling may have conversations with the birds which flock to her garden, the cat, or even the postman so having a conversation with a fish she was about to eat or not eat because she felt guilty about looking it in the eye was all a figment of my own imagination. It's strange how things turn out. Even over a cup of coffee.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The perception of time, going, going, gone...
The Fish Factory was busy today, very busy. I could of been standing under a waterfall of fishes dropping down on my head. At one point in the morning I completely lost 2 hours. It was as though five minutes had passed. It was also good to see these hours had gone by so quickly, so fleetingly. It is all perceptual, but there is a lesson to be learnt from it. Keeping busy passes the time quickly, whilst being bored and not doing much at all slows the perception of time down. In a Catch 22 like situation. It is also weird how when on busy days, I feel more productive than on non busy days, such as the weekend. If I have a laid back weekend and intend to do little and achieve little, it is boring. If I set certain tasks such as the Sunday walk and make sure I do those tasks then the weekend goes quicker. I've got to a point of pretty much enjoying Sunday walks, not just because they are exercise, but they are a thing which gets me out of the house and is being productive. Sometimes they seem to go slow, but if I have headphones on and try to listen to the news or various radio channels again time goes quicker. Last Sunday two hours passed by quite well. The last 40 minutes were harder on my feet, but the exercise set me up well to get a good night's sleep. Again, the perception of time during a night had sped up because I was physically tired and needed to rest. Out like a light. Which reminds me of a saying I came across the other day.
This was:
I interpreted this in a couple of different ways. Rather than doing a specific thing, by procrastinating the thing would not get done. It would still be outstanding and be waiting there again to be actioned. Making the thing last out longer than normal, the perception of time is stretched. Alternatively, the time avoiding doing a thing or things means there is little time left when those things are eventually done. Little time as in you have actually aged. This is true to an extent. I have projects outstanding which have been outstanding for years. I will put barriers in the way. For example, bloody birds under the roof tiles. They come clattering down through the tiles of a morning. In summer when the mornings dawn very early they birds come out at unearthly hours. I get woken up. I'm not a roofer, I don't have the skills to sort it out. I do get up on a ladder and try to do what I can, I run out in the garden whenever I see pigeons fly on the roof to try and get an idea of where they are getting in. But never see them. The alternative is to get professional help. I've had a roofer go up and do what he can, but he didn't complete the job. He couldn't find their entry point. So I'm back at square one. I'll have to get another roofer but this time be prepared it will cost a lot more money which I don't have, so to this extent the procrastination has a degree of justification. In the mean time I just put up with the birds as much as I can and contemplate what the next move should be. Years have now passed, I definitely am not getting any younger. There are other times where procrastination is not justified. Such as cleaning up my study room. Which needs me to be brutal with some of the objects in it and just throw them away. Yet the hoarder in me wants to hang on to them. Specialist magazines I'll probably never get time to catch up with and when I do the information they hold will be out of date. A simple realisation, a reality, and yet difficult to act on. So procrastination can be justified or unjustified.
Which raises the question of how should time be marked? Should it be marked by the things which are achieved in the available time or not. Our time on this earth is finite. OK, big things can be done in short time but usually this is in co-operation with other people. There are some individuals I know who appear to get a lot done in a short period of time. They also then get praised for what they have done. Yet when I see the quality of their work I know it is awful, they are effectively great box shifters and nothing more. The work they do then has to be cleared up later on by some unsuspecting person who has to put in even more time and effort to correct it. Which makes me think and believe there is:
This is not a famous quote, because it is my own quote and conclusion. The same would go for exercise. You can not cheat on the benefits of exercise by pretending not to commit to it. In the same way, skimping on time by not doing something properly and conscientiously does not actually save time or money. Although it may drive the perception both have been saved, the reality is they have not. Unless you don't mind leaving a mess behind for others. Which is going to guarantee bickering of the masses.
In the end, it could be the reality is there is no reality. If there was no perception of time, or anything else then we'd of reached oneness with the universe. Though sometimes oneness can just be about getting the job done and not letting the perceived pressures of time bear down like a fallen ox. Heavy man, heavy.
This was:
Procrastination is the thief of time
I interpreted this in a couple of different ways. Rather than doing a specific thing, by procrastinating the thing would not get done. It would still be outstanding and be waiting there again to be actioned. Making the thing last out longer than normal, the perception of time is stretched. Alternatively, the time avoiding doing a thing or things means there is little time left when those things are eventually done. Little time as in you have actually aged. This is true to an extent. I have projects outstanding which have been outstanding for years. I will put barriers in the way. For example, bloody birds under the roof tiles. They come clattering down through the tiles of a morning. In summer when the mornings dawn very early they birds come out at unearthly hours. I get woken up. I'm not a roofer, I don't have the skills to sort it out. I do get up on a ladder and try to do what I can, I run out in the garden whenever I see pigeons fly on the roof to try and get an idea of where they are getting in. But never see them. The alternative is to get professional help. I've had a roofer go up and do what he can, but he didn't complete the job. He couldn't find their entry point. So I'm back at square one. I'll have to get another roofer but this time be prepared it will cost a lot more money which I don't have, so to this extent the procrastination has a degree of justification. In the mean time I just put up with the birds as much as I can and contemplate what the next move should be. Years have now passed, I definitely am not getting any younger. There are other times where procrastination is not justified. Such as cleaning up my study room. Which needs me to be brutal with some of the objects in it and just throw them away. Yet the hoarder in me wants to hang on to them. Specialist magazines I'll probably never get time to catch up with and when I do the information they hold will be out of date. A simple realisation, a reality, and yet difficult to act on. So procrastination can be justified or unjustified.
Which raises the question of how should time be marked? Should it be marked by the things which are achieved in the available time or not. Our time on this earth is finite. OK, big things can be done in short time but usually this is in co-operation with other people. There are some individuals I know who appear to get a lot done in a short period of time. They also then get praised for what they have done. Yet when I see the quality of their work I know it is awful, they are effectively great box shifters and nothing more. The work they do then has to be cleared up later on by some unsuspecting person who has to put in even more time and effort to correct it. Which makes me think and believe there is:
You can not cheat time
This is not a famous quote, because it is my own quote and conclusion. The same would go for exercise. You can not cheat on the benefits of exercise by pretending not to commit to it. In the same way, skimping on time by not doing something properly and conscientiously does not actually save time or money. Although it may drive the perception both have been saved, the reality is they have not. Unless you don't mind leaving a mess behind for others. Which is going to guarantee bickering of the masses.
In the end, it could be the reality is there is no reality. If there was no perception of time, or anything else then we'd of reached oneness with the universe. Though sometimes oneness can just be about getting the job done and not letting the perceived pressures of time bear down like a fallen ox. Heavy man, heavy.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Typing the most imporant skill of the century.
I'm still typing away and using various programs and web sites. The way I see it is my WPM is variable depending on how I feel at the time. I may be getting faster but it is bloody hard work. My fingers hurt, my eyes begin to stream and I'm getting both back and neck ache at different times. There was I thinking typing was a girl's thing. It's hard work, no doubt about it. When I was growing up some few years back, typing was not an option boys were allowed to take up. Only girls did it. The machines were big things, and it wasn't until computing began to take off that it began to be evident how important typing skills are. Amazingly there are still many people who type poorly. Even though all the girls took up typing lessons as I see them type in the Fish Factory quiet a large number are not actually touch typing. They will say they learnt how to touch type, but they don't. Eyes check out the keyboard every few seconds or they are constantly looking at their keyboards as the type. They are cheating. I so wish I had been given to opportunity to learn how to type at an earlier age. Then made to do it. it's twice as difficult now I am a few years older.
So it is in my mind the most important skill of the century, typing. Especially touch typing. Knowing where the home row is and exactly every key, how to shift from lower to upper case and hardest of all how to get those symbol keys. Which may also involve the use of a shift. Today it is more common to have typing speeds in excess of 60 wpm, and a good typing speed would be about 90 wpm. The average Joe should be hitting at least 40 wpm if they are using a keyboard all the time. If not then they should be given free lessons until they do. Compulsory lessons. Every ten words faster you become is adding an additional year of real work time till the day you retire. Children should even be taught.
In one day I can use up to three different keyboards, and each one has it's own feel to it. Sometimes it may be more. There is always variations in how responsive keys are, how srpingy they are or if there are certain ones which stick. But of all things the keys are all in the same place. This is the one constant factor, unless your name happens to be Dvorak, then they might not.
So it is in my mind the most important skill of the century, typing. Especially touch typing. Knowing where the home row is and exactly every key, how to shift from lower to upper case and hardest of all how to get those symbol keys. Which may also involve the use of a shift. Today it is more common to have typing speeds in excess of 60 wpm, and a good typing speed would be about 90 wpm. The average Joe should be hitting at least 40 wpm if they are using a keyboard all the time. If not then they should be given free lessons until they do. Compulsory lessons. Every ten words faster you become is adding an additional year of real work time till the day you retire. Children should even be taught.
In one day I can use up to three different keyboards, and each one has it's own feel to it. Sometimes it may be more. There is always variations in how responsive keys are, how srpingy they are or if there are certain ones which stick. But of all things the keys are all in the same place. This is the one constant factor, unless your name happens to be Dvorak, then they might not.
Monday, August 27, 2012
The Inner Bitch....when it comes out to play
I expect most people have an inner bitch. It is something I keep under control as much as I can, because bitching doesn't solve anything and it is really another form of having a good moan about the world. The world is not equal, everyone is different and bitching just highlights this. It doesn't change things or make things better. However in the back of my mind the bitch kicks in every now and again, the little voice which sometimes whispers in my ear whispering more than it should. It does this especially when it feels someone is trying to hoodwink me, someone is being inconsistent in their behaviour, when I know quite differently things don't add up. In others it is publicly witnessed on TV, constantly present with high profile personalities, especially politicians, female celebrities (lets face it women do bitch more than men); comedians who make a complete career out of it; newspapers which again are obviously politically biased and perhaps worse of all when one group of people engenders notions of the world they want to impose on other people who don't share those notions. Religion comes to mind easily when extremist views conflict with cultural norms, e.g. covering your face or demeaning of women. It is however quite normal for everyone to have their own ideas and beliefs in the world. The world would be a pretty dull place if everyone believed, dressed and acted in exactly the same way. Then we'd be nothing but clones. Except this will never happen because individually we all have our own personalities and these will kick in again. Just as the bitch which belongs to those personalities will have it's say. Even if it does get suppressed. However, some people have a greater bitch than others, unless they are being hoodwinked, then my bitch comes out and thinks something is amiss. As has just happened watching a clip about a recent movie remake.
So there is Colin Farrell trying to give a reason why a recent remake was remade in the first place. The interviewer had asked a relatively genial question, which wasn't hostile or personally enquiring. Yet Farrell had began an answer as though he was arguing with himself. You got it. It's to do with the remake of Total Recall. What he is trying to do is justify the making of the film and no doubt his massive pay day. It's nothing to do with his Irish accent, it's just the way his mouth is shooting off in all directions. This man doesn't believe in what he is saying, he can not justify the making of the movie. What he says is perfectly true, it's not as though he is actually slating the movie, but it is the long winded, unconvincing manner in which his delivery comes across. He displays dissonance. Next there is an interview with the actress Jessica Biel. She is asked whether there was much training she had to do for the fight scenes. It is an action film after all. But again her comments are unconvincing. Yes, she did have to do training, they do things differently from film to film, which is obvious. Yet, she is really remarking. I did some training, I learned my parts both physically and mentally, but at the end of the day I got paid a lot of money for something I can not justify as an actor. They just do well editing all my bad bits out. I look great and got paid loads for being young and having nothing between my ears. See what I mean about the bitch coming out. Farrell on his interview commented in a near sarcastic way "It's not a $125 million exercise in nostalgia, so I think there's some people that made up their minds before a frame was shot." Well, he has stated the obvious. For $125 million almost any kind of sci-fi action movie could of been made, so why the hell do a remake of one already classic in itself? This can only be in anticipation for the slating the movie is going to get. Farrell knows inside himself, this movie will not break box office records. Biel sits happy on her pay day cheque and knows she will be in other films because this is the start of her career. The director and the producers however may find their skills less required once the reviews have come out. Their conscience should be getting a bit of a kicking at this moment. They'll work again, but maybe in something of a lower budget, something for Luxembourg TV. Yes the smallest country in Europe if you didn't know. Meow.
I'm being bitchy because they seemed like normal human beings. They are A class celebrities, I nearly put A class actors there, meow. They didn't seem to me as special or important in any way. They are not. It's just how society sees them. We pay the wrong people the wrong wages. Footballers don't deserve what they get, they do deserve a living wage but not a one which reaches the stratosphere. The argument is they have a skill which not many other people have, so they are worth a lot of money because of the skill they possess. I don't watch football, I don't rate the skill they have but the other millions of people who do watch will rate it. It would be more impressive to me if they all had doctorates at universities, if they were esteemed in some other manner other than kicking a ball about. I've heard about the secret footballer who writes for a newspaper, he is intelligent and world class at football, but he keeps his identity a secret from everyone. The reason being is if he came out in public as smart then all those lads who love footy because they see the men on the field as normal ball kicking idiots were to find one who was not, they'd think somewhat weird. He'd then be chastised because he was not common, and was not so much interested in his looks, girls, money, gambling and drinking. Here is a man who hides away because he breaks the mould and by breaking the mould he'd then be shitting where he eats. In my mind he is actually being bitchy to his own supporters. The ones who pay his wages. Even gay footballers are now coming out, that's an intended pun. Clearly though, some people are like to keep their real personalities out of the media for fear the media will disown them.
This could be true. If I were to find out my hero, who played the part of Superman, Batman or Spiderman and was a nasty bit of work, I'd not want to watch them. I think. Then I can be a hypocrite. Or if my hero was a famous writer and they were shown to be a not very nice person it would stop me from reading their books. There are exceptions, this is the hypocrite side. My opinion of Tom Cruise is of a person who may be four short of a six pack, who when I see being interviewed I cringe. Who as a scientologist is no doubt completely off this planet, pun intended, in many ways. I just have this feeling inside, which I can't help. I just don't like the man. Yet, I will watch the movies he stars in, they are usually action packed have great special effects and fast story lines. I'd never watch him for his acting ability, because I wouldn't rate it, but the movies have entertainment value. He's short. Meow. So am I, yet he gives Short Man Syndrome the reasons for being called Short Man Syndrome, just like Napoleon did. I'd not waste time watching him be interviewed, and when I see the actresses he has married, I can only think they to must be a few pieces missing from the Monopoly board. Otherwise they wouldn't of gone of with the short arse in the first place. Poor Nicole Kidman and Katie Holmes, I wonder if they have plaques on a wall somewhere which mark the unsuccessful days they had with Tommy. They are probably engraved with the signature of a top notch psychaiatrist which says "cured of the Tommy syndrome" I hope so. I used to like them as well. Until they got hitched to the Tom. Hell we all make mistakes, but some are bigger, even though they are shorter, than others.
I've gone on too much and nobody in their right mind will read this. If you do leave a comment and say what a waste of life it was, like your good bitch inside would. Thank you.
So there is Colin Farrell trying to give a reason why a recent remake was remade in the first place. The interviewer had asked a relatively genial question, which wasn't hostile or personally enquiring. Yet Farrell had began an answer as though he was arguing with himself. You got it. It's to do with the remake of Total Recall. What he is trying to do is justify the making of the film and no doubt his massive pay day. It's nothing to do with his Irish accent, it's just the way his mouth is shooting off in all directions. This man doesn't believe in what he is saying, he can not justify the making of the movie. What he says is perfectly true, it's not as though he is actually slating the movie, but it is the long winded, unconvincing manner in which his delivery comes across. He displays dissonance. Next there is an interview with the actress Jessica Biel. She is asked whether there was much training she had to do for the fight scenes. It is an action film after all. But again her comments are unconvincing. Yes, she did have to do training, they do things differently from film to film, which is obvious. Yet, she is really remarking. I did some training, I learned my parts both physically and mentally, but at the end of the day I got paid a lot of money for something I can not justify as an actor. They just do well editing all my bad bits out. I look great and got paid loads for being young and having nothing between my ears. See what I mean about the bitch coming out. Farrell on his interview commented in a near sarcastic way "It's not a $125 million exercise in nostalgia, so I think there's some people that made up their minds before a frame was shot." Well, he has stated the obvious. For $125 million almost any kind of sci-fi action movie could of been made, so why the hell do a remake of one already classic in itself? This can only be in anticipation for the slating the movie is going to get. Farrell knows inside himself, this movie will not break box office records. Biel sits happy on her pay day cheque and knows she will be in other films because this is the start of her career. The director and the producers however may find their skills less required once the reviews have come out. Their conscience should be getting a bit of a kicking at this moment. They'll work again, but maybe in something of a lower budget, something for Luxembourg TV. Yes the smallest country in Europe if you didn't know. Meow.
I'm being bitchy because they seemed like normal human beings. They are A class celebrities, I nearly put A class actors there, meow. They didn't seem to me as special or important in any way. They are not. It's just how society sees them. We pay the wrong people the wrong wages. Footballers don't deserve what they get, they do deserve a living wage but not a one which reaches the stratosphere. The argument is they have a skill which not many other people have, so they are worth a lot of money because of the skill they possess. I don't watch football, I don't rate the skill they have but the other millions of people who do watch will rate it. It would be more impressive to me if they all had doctorates at universities, if they were esteemed in some other manner other than kicking a ball about. I've heard about the secret footballer who writes for a newspaper, he is intelligent and world class at football, but he keeps his identity a secret from everyone. The reason being is if he came out in public as smart then all those lads who love footy because they see the men on the field as normal ball kicking idiots were to find one who was not, they'd think somewhat weird. He'd then be chastised because he was not common, and was not so much interested in his looks, girls, money, gambling and drinking. Here is a man who hides away because he breaks the mould and by breaking the mould he'd then be shitting where he eats. In my mind he is actually being bitchy to his own supporters. The ones who pay his wages. Even gay footballers are now coming out, that's an intended pun. Clearly though, some people are like to keep their real personalities out of the media for fear the media will disown them.
This could be true. If I were to find out my hero, who played the part of Superman, Batman or Spiderman and was a nasty bit of work, I'd not want to watch them. I think. Then I can be a hypocrite. Or if my hero was a famous writer and they were shown to be a not very nice person it would stop me from reading their books. There are exceptions, this is the hypocrite side. My opinion of Tom Cruise is of a person who may be four short of a six pack, who when I see being interviewed I cringe. Who as a scientologist is no doubt completely off this planet, pun intended, in many ways. I just have this feeling inside, which I can't help. I just don't like the man. Yet, I will watch the movies he stars in, they are usually action packed have great special effects and fast story lines. I'd never watch him for his acting ability, because I wouldn't rate it, but the movies have entertainment value. He's short. Meow. So am I, yet he gives Short Man Syndrome the reasons for being called Short Man Syndrome, just like Napoleon did. I'd not waste time watching him be interviewed, and when I see the actresses he has married, I can only think they to must be a few pieces missing from the Monopoly board. Otherwise they wouldn't of gone of with the short arse in the first place. Poor Nicole Kidman and Katie Holmes, I wonder if they have plaques on a wall somewhere which mark the unsuccessful days they had with Tommy. They are probably engraved with the signature of a top notch psychaiatrist which says "cured of the Tommy syndrome" I hope so. I used to like them as well. Until they got hitched to the Tom. Hell we all make mistakes, but some are bigger, even though they are shorter, than others.
I've gone on too much and nobody in their right mind will read this. If you do leave a comment and say what a waste of life it was, like your good bitch inside would. Thank you.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
If I were a millionaire...I'd
As I sat catching up with Celebrity Big Brother (CBB) I couldn't but wonder what it would be like being a millionaire. For some of the contestants are already financially rich. There is not a human being who doesn't have a million who has not considered the same thought. What would you do if you were a millionaire? If your ticket come up on the Euro millions or any other of the big lotteries. Made for life. The thing is though, would you want to be rich and famous or just rich in money terms. I'm not so sure I'd want the famous side to it. It wouldn't be so great walking down the street and being recognised by people you don't know who think they know something about you. Who think they can just come up to you like you are some public property and say whatever they like, or they are your friend/enemy but have no personal reason for being a friend/enemy. I'd definately not have the fame, give me the money though, I'd be happy with it, or hope I'd be happy with it.
Which is the next important point. People say money can not buy happiness. It may not, but it can purchase opportunities which would not be there. It can purchase freedom. If money were of little object it would not be a issue getting on a plane and flying off to some foreign city to catch the night life, sun or any special event which was about to happen and being part of it. You could eat in the best restaurants, not worry about impulse purchases and stay in any hotel with just your credit card as company and a small bag of essentials. There rest could be bought while on holiday. You could stay in a place as long as you liked, perhaps all winter long if you knew back in your own country it was too cold to endure. If you had an accident then you'd get private health care and immediate emergency treatment by the best surgeons. You'd get your teeth sorted out, a great hair cut, a complete physical a personal trainer or with all the time in the world on your hands go to a gym whenever you felt like it. You could help friends and relatives who needed it. It wouldn't have to be with real money but for instance by getting things done for them which they needed. A new kitchen here, a training course there for the teenagers trying to get a job. Things to help them on the ladder to being good citizens. Of all things maybe having the time to be there and spend with those people you love would be the best part. Time which normally is spent working and worrying. Worries would be different and not centred on finance.
Then what are things? Boats, cars, planes? They are objects. They do not bring happiness, they are short term items which wear out and decay just as our own bodies do. Therefore the happiness we get from them will be short lived. Interests change, objects of desire are just things. The value given to them is perceptive. A photograph of a friend or relative who has passed away will have greater value and consistent value than a Porche or Lamborgini. Food is a necessity, water is a necessity, shelter is a necessity other things are just fillers. People are important but they too are transitory, everything is momentary and will change. Our perceptions will change from moment to moment, but some stay for significantly longer. Money does not buy happiness, it is perception of things, people and events which brings happiness. But even saying all this, if I see a tenner on the ground and ownerless I'll not mind picking it up and becoming it's owner. We all have to live. I'd even bet a millionaire would pick it up. Because there's one thing for sure, I don't see any millionaires dropping their tenners on the ground and they can afford it as well.
What brings me happiness in life is Sparkling. Which is something I don't even have to perceive, she's worth an easy million, so I'm rich, very rich.
Which is the next important point. People say money can not buy happiness. It may not, but it can purchase opportunities which would not be there. It can purchase freedom. If money were of little object it would not be a issue getting on a plane and flying off to some foreign city to catch the night life, sun or any special event which was about to happen and being part of it. You could eat in the best restaurants, not worry about impulse purchases and stay in any hotel with just your credit card as company and a small bag of essentials. There rest could be bought while on holiday. You could stay in a place as long as you liked, perhaps all winter long if you knew back in your own country it was too cold to endure. If you had an accident then you'd get private health care and immediate emergency treatment by the best surgeons. You'd get your teeth sorted out, a great hair cut, a complete physical a personal trainer or with all the time in the world on your hands go to a gym whenever you felt like it. You could help friends and relatives who needed it. It wouldn't have to be with real money but for instance by getting things done for them which they needed. A new kitchen here, a training course there for the teenagers trying to get a job. Things to help them on the ladder to being good citizens. Of all things maybe having the time to be there and spend with those people you love would be the best part. Time which normally is spent working and worrying. Worries would be different and not centred on finance.
Then what are things? Boats, cars, planes? They are objects. They do not bring happiness, they are short term items which wear out and decay just as our own bodies do. Therefore the happiness we get from them will be short lived. Interests change, objects of desire are just things. The value given to them is perceptive. A photograph of a friend or relative who has passed away will have greater value and consistent value than a Porche or Lamborgini. Food is a necessity, water is a necessity, shelter is a necessity other things are just fillers. People are important but they too are transitory, everything is momentary and will change. Our perceptions will change from moment to moment, but some stay for significantly longer. Money does not buy happiness, it is perception of things, people and events which brings happiness. But even saying all this, if I see a tenner on the ground and ownerless I'll not mind picking it up and becoming it's owner. We all have to live. I'd even bet a millionaire would pick it up. Because there's one thing for sure, I don't see any millionaires dropping their tenners on the ground and they can afford it as well.
What brings me happiness in life is Sparkling. Which is something I don't even have to perceive, she's worth an easy million, so I'm rich, very rich.
Friday, August 24, 2012
CBB, rain, a pinched umbrella and a dream
Well last night, try as I might, and I blooming did try, I just could not get connected to Celebrity Big Brother (CBB). In frustration I left a message on the web site telling them they were under warning if this continued then I'd give up even bothering to view CBB. I'm now two episodes behind and am itching to actually see them. It must be the nosey Parker side of me kicking in. Reality TV with guinea pigs all for the convenience of the viewer. Lovely.
We are about to go into a bank holiday weekend, each bank holiday is usually marked by rain. So on que last night's weather report indicated was of torrential rain over the entire weekend. This will come in handy to test out my newly acquired (found/lifted) umbrella to see how well it works or not. The only issue I have is whoever it belongs to recognises it and then approaches me to say it is theirs. It's odd how I possess now two good umbrellas and both of them were picked up because someone else left them behind. The one I purchase tend to either get left behind by me or broken. Cheap umbrellas don't work. So don't do it, stay out of the rain rather than buy a cheapy, I know. There are knotches on my wallet where each one marks the loss of money to a cheap umbrella. Fortunately there's not many of them.
I woke up this morning coming out of a weird dream. Sparkling was in it. I had a feeling of loss. Some other man was in the process of taking her away from me. Like all dreams it was scrambled up. It's the feeling which was disturbing. I saw Sparkling working in a posh food place. It was open where you could see the chefs. There she stood making crepes, I saw her use an implement to spread the mixture on the crepe maker device. She wore her black cooks outfit. Her hair looked great and it seemed to me she was completely in her element and enjoying what she was doing. I was trying to somehow influence my dream because I had woken and dropped back into a dream state again. It didn't seem to work. However, that's life, conscious mind can not control unconscious mind. I got up late. Well, being a bank holiday weekend no matter how manic it is in the Fish Factory means you can take it easy. Unless of course you happen to be going out into the rain, with a half-inched umbrella. Like I could be.
We are about to go into a bank holiday weekend, each bank holiday is usually marked by rain. So on que last night's weather report indicated was of torrential rain over the entire weekend. This will come in handy to test out my newly acquired (found/lifted) umbrella to see how well it works or not. The only issue I have is whoever it belongs to recognises it and then approaches me to say it is theirs. It's odd how I possess now two good umbrellas and both of them were picked up because someone else left them behind. The one I purchase tend to either get left behind by me or broken. Cheap umbrellas don't work. So don't do it, stay out of the rain rather than buy a cheapy, I know. There are knotches on my wallet where each one marks the loss of money to a cheap umbrella. Fortunately there's not many of them.
I woke up this morning coming out of a weird dream. Sparkling was in it. I had a feeling of loss. Some other man was in the process of taking her away from me. Like all dreams it was scrambled up. It's the feeling which was disturbing. I saw Sparkling working in a posh food place. It was open where you could see the chefs. There she stood making crepes, I saw her use an implement to spread the mixture on the crepe maker device. She wore her black cooks outfit. Her hair looked great and it seemed to me she was completely in her element and enjoying what she was doing. I was trying to somehow influence my dream because I had woken and dropped back into a dream state again. It didn't seem to work. However, that's life, conscious mind can not control unconscious mind. I got up late. Well, being a bank holiday weekend no matter how manic it is in the Fish Factory means you can take it easy. Unless of course you happen to be going out into the rain, with a half-inched umbrella. Like I could be.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
The Big Kapow
I feel I can not live without the most important person to me always being in my life, Sparkling. So am progressing on a self inflicted bad health campaign via the help of little exercise and food. Yesterday it was a Singapore fried noodles and today it was steak and onion pie with chips. Both high cholesterol lunches, one day a week exercise is all I get. Sparkling isn't looking after her health and has high blood pressure, so I'm not going to bother looking after mine. Which leads me on to think I'm going to be up for the biggy heart attack at some point. It will be Kapow, I'll survive and be on drugs for the rest of my life or I'll be pushing up daises. Well we all come from nothing and all return to nothing and we can take nothing with us because there is no where to go anyway. It's all down to zero. We have moments in time and a sense of humour. So I'm going to put my head in the oven just to fill it up so Sparkling can't put her's in it. There'd be no room anyway.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
A note on Celebrity BB
I've been catching up with Celebrity Big Brother and again it is amazing to see the dynamics of human relations in a confined space, a great reality and psychological experiment. The odd thing though seems even amongst low ranking listed celebrities there is the odd one which comes across as mentally unstable (Jasmine). They are like children, as they have the same underlying emotional inabilities of a very young child. They can be histrionic and worse have a tendency towards bully like behaviours. Being famous or part famous is not a marker of mental stability. obviously. Regardless of how well kept and beautiful these people appear to be on the surface, they are just still people. If you take away the aura of fame and wealth there is no difference from any other person. I think this would go for any individual regardless of their status, when you get beyond things such as they way they talk, walk, clothes worn, hair style or bodies there's nothing outside of what can be experienced in ordinary every day land of the not so famous, rich, wana be popular etc. I'd even go so far to say some are boring and there is people in the real ordinary world who are much more interesting personality wise.
Further, forgive me if I am wrong on this, or indeed point out examples I am wrong, it appears to be worse in females than males. For bitchiness can only really come out well when a woman does it. Is this a gender divide in normal behaviour I ask myself, and probably can only come up with one answer, yes. But it is entertainment to watch. Young males (Ashley), lets say in their early 20s to mid thirties also act differently around each other. They act like boys or lads and in so doing when forming groups have a bully like feel to them. They can be loud and brash and swim in ignorance like sun block on a hot Greek beach. They are also very poor judges of girls. Big Brother should of provided them all with books on the politeness of behaviour with girls and got them to understand a little maturity can go a long way.
There is one actress (Julie) on celebrity BB who I thought I would never like as a person, but in the house she appears as quite a pleasant individual. Another female contestant (Coleen) pointed out she had heard rumours about this actress as being a bitch in person and believe a game is being played. But then being anything but yourself for 24-7 is difficult. Unless she is so very well disciplined and is able to disguise her true nature in other ways. It will only be as time goes on these things will be revealed. What this space fellow Celebrity BB watchers it's early days yet. What is noticeable though and shared also in the earlier for the common people BB is the heightened sense of paranoia individual's have with each other. There is nothing to occupy their selves other than discussion about each other. Or to impart experiences etc.. They are feeling the water, getting to know each other and clearly there are impressions gleaned. Sometimes it has to be taken as fact, one person (Rhian) will never get on with another (Jasmine) person they are just too different and their traits conflict, this is life. Even though individually they may be very nice people. In a small place though there is nowhere to go and hide and avoid each other. Maybe this is why they then get so paranoid. I suppose there would never be a BB with just a single person sitting a room. Mind I'm sure it's not out of bounds to consider some characters are so feisty they could have an argument with their own reflection (Jasmine), or so nuts (Jasmine) they have interpersonal issues with most of the other housemates (Lorenzo, Danica etc) unless they (Jasmine) is actually smarter than their anorexic waist size and are playing the game. How interesting it all is, or should I be saying how screwed up. And I thought families were bad.
BB should consider calming medication. I'll take two with a cup of tea and a bit of toast thanks.
Further, forgive me if I am wrong on this, or indeed point out examples I am wrong, it appears to be worse in females than males. For bitchiness can only really come out well when a woman does it. Is this a gender divide in normal behaviour I ask myself, and probably can only come up with one answer, yes. But it is entertainment to watch. Young males (Ashley), lets say in their early 20s to mid thirties also act differently around each other. They act like boys or lads and in so doing when forming groups have a bully like feel to them. They can be loud and brash and swim in ignorance like sun block on a hot Greek beach. They are also very poor judges of girls. Big Brother should of provided them all with books on the politeness of behaviour with girls and got them to understand a little maturity can go a long way.
There is one actress (Julie) on celebrity BB who I thought I would never like as a person, but in the house she appears as quite a pleasant individual. Another female contestant (Coleen) pointed out she had heard rumours about this actress as being a bitch in person and believe a game is being played. But then being anything but yourself for 24-7 is difficult. Unless she is so very well disciplined and is able to disguise her true nature in other ways. It will only be as time goes on these things will be revealed. What this space fellow Celebrity BB watchers it's early days yet. What is noticeable though and shared also in the earlier for the common people BB is the heightened sense of paranoia individual's have with each other. There is nothing to occupy their selves other than discussion about each other. Or to impart experiences etc.. They are feeling the water, getting to know each other and clearly there are impressions gleaned. Sometimes it has to be taken as fact, one person (Rhian) will never get on with another (Jasmine) person they are just too different and their traits conflict, this is life. Even though individually they may be very nice people. In a small place though there is nowhere to go and hide and avoid each other. Maybe this is why they then get so paranoid. I suppose there would never be a BB with just a single person sitting a room. Mind I'm sure it's not out of bounds to consider some characters are so feisty they could have an argument with their own reflection (Jasmine), or so nuts (Jasmine) they have interpersonal issues with most of the other housemates (Lorenzo, Danica etc) unless they (Jasmine) is actually smarter than their anorexic waist size and are playing the game. How interesting it all is, or should I be saying how screwed up. And I thought families were bad.
BB should consider calming medication. I'll take two with a cup of tea and a bit of toast thanks.
Typing practice
I have decided this week to practice my typing and to improve the Words Per Minute WPM for those in the know. The last two days I've spent at least an hour if not more practicing. I heard if you are able to type an extra 10 words per minute then it increases your productivity by one year over a life time. Given I may have a few years left in the old engine yet this sounds quite a good thing to do. With a little luck I will get the name Fast Fingered Fat Boy. Or the Typing Kid. Or maybe not. But it does make sense. There is however a trade off as with anything else, speed versus accuracy. If I try to consciously as upposed to unconsciously type faster then the speed drops off. However, in doing so I don't have to go back all the time to correct those mistakes I keep making. It is amazing even when taking extra special effort how easy it is to make mistakes. This I guess then becomes a marker of what your true WPM is. Going backswards and correcting mistakes can take time in itself so it then defeats the notion of speed. There is only one additional conclusion I can come to, it's a nasty one. One which can not be avoided. To improve typing it is a matter of practice, practice and more practice. Great. It seems there are few short cuts for the wicked. Or the fast fingered Typing kids of the world. Fast fingered typing old fat men. The older I get the less time I have, so the faster I needed to get and the more practice I have to do. Sounds like another catch 22 situation. Oh well, off to the Fish Factory. To type or not to type, what is my type of question?
Practice.
Practice.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Heat and disturbed sleep
It's been another hot day and hot night, I can just about count on one hand plus an odd finger the amount of hours sleep I got last night. It was so hot I found the cup of water I bought to bed with me had dried up before I'd even had one sip. We are just not used to the heat when it does come. There are too many extremes in this country. Give me a stable environment and leave it at that, at least then there is no need to buy different types of clothes for different times of the year. The sun came out with a vengeance this morning just to say if we thought it was too hot last night it didn't relent. Seeing as sleep seems to be a dirty word over the next few days I'll just do my best to evade it, and then I'll be seeing things. It's said if you deprive yourself of sleep you do get to hallucinate. I know there is something which goes on with the brain chemistry when asleep, it gets a chance to reset itself so you are ready to be conscious and think about all sorts of stuff during the day. The process of thinking just knocks out the chemicals and they have to all come back again at night. Possibly dopamine or something.
Sparkles has told me how she woke up in the night seeing a white mist over her bed. It was about 2 a.m. she screamed. Got up out of bed, ran through the mist and turned the light on. Her neighbours didn't react and come knocking to see what had happened. I looked it up on the internet, and there are two schools of thought over the matter. One it could of been the spirit of an angel or some someone who is protecting the sleeper. This seems to also be based in religious historic text. Well, whatever it was it scared the shit out of Sparkles so did the opposite of what it was supposed to do. I told Sparkles so hopefully now she knows it is something with good intentions she'll hopefully not get to worked up about it. The other explanation is based in the real world. Being stressed out, too hot and not getting enough REM sleep (Rapid Eye Movement). This is the sleep you get when dreaming. Sparkling is suffering from hot flushes which is true, and she probably is not getting enough sleep because of the hot flushes. It's a catch 22 situation. You need sleep to get sleep but you can't because you can't get to sleep. It seems the white mist is a hallucination as a result of not enough dream sleep. Sparkling recalled the time when I sent the image of a giant red Indian to her. I used to have him stand on my lawn when I was having sleep issues. He was there to scare away all the negativity. She says he will not work a second time, I offered the red Indian's sister, but she wasn't sure about this image. Then asked if she would like an animal. At which Sparkles said a hedgehog. She has one which turns up at the back door every now and again and she puts dishes of cat food out for it. I could see the hedgehog straight away. A big blooming one. With all those spikes on in no negativity would dare venture around Sparkles. Hedgehogs are friendly as well. Well they certainly are to Sparkles. She takes care of them so I'm sure they or the image of a giant protective one will help Sparkles with a little sleep.
I keep drinking water. I can't help myself. I had a one and a half hour Sunday walk this morning and drank a bottle of water. I got home and drank more. I did the garden lawn and rested. So did about two to three hours of exercise overall. I feel productive having done it, it would of burnt up a lot of calories and now I'm trying to keep an eye on my food. Sitting up straight is the fist discipline, after which everything else falls into place. Discipline your mind on a small constant thing then it will follow with other stuff later. I should weigh myself and do it properly, set goals and know if the exercise and dieting actually is working. I'm borowing one of Sparkling's motto's, I wana be fab at fifty. Tomorrow is another day. So bring it on heat, I can take it, I eat curry madras, puts your mitts up baby. Look out here comes the giant hedgehog, awwwe, he sure is cool.
Sparkles has told me how she woke up in the night seeing a white mist over her bed. It was about 2 a.m. she screamed. Got up out of bed, ran through the mist and turned the light on. Her neighbours didn't react and come knocking to see what had happened. I looked it up on the internet, and there are two schools of thought over the matter. One it could of been the spirit of an angel or some someone who is protecting the sleeper. This seems to also be based in religious historic text. Well, whatever it was it scared the shit out of Sparkles so did the opposite of what it was supposed to do. I told Sparkles so hopefully now she knows it is something with good intentions she'll hopefully not get to worked up about it. The other explanation is based in the real world. Being stressed out, too hot and not getting enough REM sleep (Rapid Eye Movement). This is the sleep you get when dreaming. Sparkling is suffering from hot flushes which is true, and she probably is not getting enough sleep because of the hot flushes. It's a catch 22 situation. You need sleep to get sleep but you can't because you can't get to sleep. It seems the white mist is a hallucination as a result of not enough dream sleep. Sparkling recalled the time when I sent the image of a giant red Indian to her. I used to have him stand on my lawn when I was having sleep issues. He was there to scare away all the negativity. She says he will not work a second time, I offered the red Indian's sister, but she wasn't sure about this image. Then asked if she would like an animal. At which Sparkles said a hedgehog. She has one which turns up at the back door every now and again and she puts dishes of cat food out for it. I could see the hedgehog straight away. A big blooming one. With all those spikes on in no negativity would dare venture around Sparkles. Hedgehogs are friendly as well. Well they certainly are to Sparkles. She takes care of them so I'm sure they or the image of a giant protective one will help Sparkles with a little sleep.
I keep drinking water. I can't help myself. I had a one and a half hour Sunday walk this morning and drank a bottle of water. I got home and drank more. I did the garden lawn and rested. So did about two to three hours of exercise overall. I feel productive having done it, it would of burnt up a lot of calories and now I'm trying to keep an eye on my food. Sitting up straight is the fist discipline, after which everything else falls into place. Discipline your mind on a small constant thing then it will follow with other stuff later. I should weigh myself and do it properly, set goals and know if the exercise and dieting actually is working. I'm borowing one of Sparkling's motto's, I wana be fab at fifty. Tomorrow is another day. So bring it on heat, I can take it, I eat curry madras, puts your mitts up baby. Look out here comes the giant hedgehog, awwwe, he sure is cool.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Coping with the heat
It could be summer has come late and now is shining its torturing light upon us. It could be the God of bad weather has taken a temporary vacation and let the not so bothered God of good weather on the scene. In any case there has only been one noticeable event today. It's been hot, bloody hot, nearly as hot as a vindaloo curry being eaten in a hot house, the sands of the Sahara desert or at Beelzebub's dinning table. What the hell (a hot place - allegedly) do you do on a day like this to cope with it all? It's hard to say for sure but being crafty helps, the craftier you are the more likely you'll find respite from it. Someone close the bloody oven door! Wipe my brow with a clothe, invent self cooling clothes, buy me an ice cream, any of the above.
For me this began by taking time out at the Fish Factory. Here I killed two birds with one stone (crafty bit). Managing to do work and to keep cool at the same time. It only makes sense. If there is this big building which has air con and your house doesn't it's better to be in the building than to stay in your house. I'm not sure if I managed to get any sleep last night it was a miracle. My room was two degrees cooler this morning than it was when I went to bed, but it didn't help. I lay there like a pig on a stick, turning round and roasting away. Whilst in the Fish Factory it was nice. Cool. Restful, I didn't have to worry about tossing and turning in my sleep, about dreams which would not come my way because all the objects of my dreams had taken a hike to some other cooler fantasy land. If you don't sleep you don't dream. If this carries on for a few more days I'll be hallucinating the things in my dreams in my conscious world. Wow. Some natural drug that would be as well. I wonder if they'd notice at the Fish Factory. Mind it is so cool there, it would be the only place to actually get some sleep.
After a short stint in the factory what other course I could put into action to get out of the mid day sun? Food, in a cafe, with no air con but pleasantly mild, then came to mind a pub, where inside the building it is cool because they just let the air con run all the time. Great. So here I have sat for the last 3 hours, barely anyone to keep me company because most customers have sat outside taking their pints under a canopy. OK for them, not for me. For if this is summer then there may be a few more days of unrelenting sun trying to catch up with the time when it was hidden by clouds. I'll just sit here in the cool, it's best, less effort. Considering only two days ago I was in Scotland where I acclimatised to a lot cooler weather it makes sense. Stay acclimatised to the cool, just in case this hot stuff is a flash in the pan. An ironic cliché. If the hot stuff isn't a flash in the pan then the cooler weather will have no effect on me. However, I am now actually starting to feel cold. The air con must of been turned up a notch or two. The brewery must have money to waste, well at the price of a pint here they probably do. Which is another point of note. Soft drinks, always cheaper and you don't get drunk.
Besides missing Sparkling as normal it's been a good day. Keep busy, keep cool and keep your hat on fat boy.
For me this began by taking time out at the Fish Factory. Here I killed two birds with one stone (crafty bit). Managing to do work and to keep cool at the same time. It only makes sense. If there is this big building which has air con and your house doesn't it's better to be in the building than to stay in your house. I'm not sure if I managed to get any sleep last night it was a miracle. My room was two degrees cooler this morning than it was when I went to bed, but it didn't help. I lay there like a pig on a stick, turning round and roasting away. Whilst in the Fish Factory it was nice. Cool. Restful, I didn't have to worry about tossing and turning in my sleep, about dreams which would not come my way because all the objects of my dreams had taken a hike to some other cooler fantasy land. If you don't sleep you don't dream. If this carries on for a few more days I'll be hallucinating the things in my dreams in my conscious world. Wow. Some natural drug that would be as well. I wonder if they'd notice at the Fish Factory. Mind it is so cool there, it would be the only place to actually get some sleep.
After a short stint in the factory what other course I could put into action to get out of the mid day sun? Food, in a cafe, with no air con but pleasantly mild, then came to mind a pub, where inside the building it is cool because they just let the air con run all the time. Great. So here I have sat for the last 3 hours, barely anyone to keep me company because most customers have sat outside taking their pints under a canopy. OK for them, not for me. For if this is summer then there may be a few more days of unrelenting sun trying to catch up with the time when it was hidden by clouds. I'll just sit here in the cool, it's best, less effort. Considering only two days ago I was in Scotland where I acclimatised to a lot cooler weather it makes sense. Stay acclimatised to the cool, just in case this hot stuff is a flash in the pan. An ironic cliché. If the hot stuff isn't a flash in the pan then the cooler weather will have no effect on me. However, I am now actually starting to feel cold. The air con must of been turned up a notch or two. The brewery must have money to waste, well at the price of a pint here they probably do. Which is another point of note. Soft drinks, always cheaper and you don't get drunk.
Besides missing Sparkling as normal it's been a good day. Keep busy, keep cool and keep your hat on fat boy.
Friday, August 17, 2012
A Free Umbrella and look at Celebrity BB
I woke up this morning as though I'd been drugged and then abused by a group of illuminati, it was tough. I was walking about in a half coma like state wondering what the day was and the time was. All because I didn't have Sparkling's cat to wake me up at some unearthly hour of the morning. In a telephone call to Sparkling she revealed Olly (the cat) had been very good, slept at the end of the bed and didn't meow to be let out. I wasn't there, the little bugger. He does it on purpose, like I must have "cat bitch" tattooed on my forehead. Only cats can see the tattoo of course. I missed a long lay in bed and Sparkles being next to me. It's amazing how easily you can get used to something, then how difficult it is to adjust when it is missing. The Fish Factory was mad and I disagreed with a new initiative but it really didn't matter to a great extent what I said because the initiative would be bought into play. I think I know what hell is, returning to work and feeling like you been kidnapped after a drink with knock out drops in it. I didn't remember a blooming thing. Bloody illuminati.
After the working day I headed to a watering hole for a pint of double chocolate stout. The first one went down so easily, so I had to get a second, and then for some unknown reason it got stuck about half way. Serves me right of trying to drink more than I can. As I sat there reading an article about stress in the work place and how to do a stress assessment (boring) I glanced to the left of me. There wedged between a poofe and a sofa was a very nice looking prim and proper umbrella. There was nobody about. Whoever had left it there had completely forgotten it. The day had been humid and sunny. So it could of been left there a long time. The curved handle cried out to me it said "take me, I am yours." I surreptitiously checked around the seated area to see if I could see any CCTV cameras. If they were hidden then whoever installed them had done a good job. I didn't immediately go over to the umbrella, on account someone might just turn up because they had left it alone and just remembered it. Carrying on reading the article and swigging down a delicious pint, I then went to the bar for a second. I knew what my plan was, return from the bar, pint in hand then casually pick up the umbrella and slot it down beside my own chair. Tough titty to whoever lost it. I drank all but half of the second pint, put my denim jacket over the umbrella handle and draped it along the full length, slid it under my elbow and walked out of the pub. Thank you very much pub. A quick glance on the internet and I found the manufacturer and model, it was priced at £25, wonderful. More than I'd ever contemplate to waste. I got home and then tried it out. The button works wonderfully, it seems sturdy and was an unbelievable bargain as far as I'm concerned. I'll just put it by for a rainy day. Tomorrow the weather is forecaste at thirty degrees, there'll not be much use of it then.
Normal Big Brother has come to an end and now we have Celebrity BB. The celebrities are a somewhat eclectic mix of people. Not particularly big celebrities but all somewhere on the A to Z list, but I must say I doubt if any of them have ever been on the A listing end. What is remarkably different is their age grouping in comparison to normal BB. They are a hell of a lot older. The youngest on normal BB was 19 years and a child, the oldest 31 years old. Whilst on Celebrity BB, the youngest must be in their mid 20s and the oldest probably in her 70s, if not close to 80s. They all have lead some kind of life where the public would know who they are, from soap star, to singer to wana be Prince in title only. Within minutes BB has got the first two contestants on a secret mission. There's a mix of gay and lesbian stars, of course the gay star is droll and intellectual and when introduced to a US TV star said he would "try to use short words," a double entendre had already hit and he'd only just met the poor American idiot. I mean, who in their right mind would call them selves an adjective rather than a noun which was nothing related to their actual name? Only someone who needed to think they were important. I noticed how the US TV star later moped about with a hoody over their head so as to achieve some kind of shield against their own insecurities. Hell, yeah, throw a lemon at him I say.
The Celeb BB is expected to last three and a half weeks. Providing nobody has a mental breakdown or there is a side to the quite independent large egos wanting to vie for attention which comes out and blasts them into the long grass of celebrity opportunities. Why on earth I wonder were there not older people on normal BB. I know why. They were to busy in pubs running off with hot umbrellas.
After the working day I headed to a watering hole for a pint of double chocolate stout. The first one went down so easily, so I had to get a second, and then for some unknown reason it got stuck about half way. Serves me right of trying to drink more than I can. As I sat there reading an article about stress in the work place and how to do a stress assessment (boring) I glanced to the left of me. There wedged between a poofe and a sofa was a very nice looking prim and proper umbrella. There was nobody about. Whoever had left it there had completely forgotten it. The day had been humid and sunny. So it could of been left there a long time. The curved handle cried out to me it said "take me, I am yours." I surreptitiously checked around the seated area to see if I could see any CCTV cameras. If they were hidden then whoever installed them had done a good job. I didn't immediately go over to the umbrella, on account someone might just turn up because they had left it alone and just remembered it. Carrying on reading the article and swigging down a delicious pint, I then went to the bar for a second. I knew what my plan was, return from the bar, pint in hand then casually pick up the umbrella and slot it down beside my own chair. Tough titty to whoever lost it. I drank all but half of the second pint, put my denim jacket over the umbrella handle and draped it along the full length, slid it under my elbow and walked out of the pub. Thank you very much pub. A quick glance on the internet and I found the manufacturer and model, it was priced at £25, wonderful. More than I'd ever contemplate to waste. I got home and then tried it out. The button works wonderfully, it seems sturdy and was an unbelievable bargain as far as I'm concerned. I'll just put it by for a rainy day. Tomorrow the weather is forecaste at thirty degrees, there'll not be much use of it then.
Normal Big Brother has come to an end and now we have Celebrity BB. The celebrities are a somewhat eclectic mix of people. Not particularly big celebrities but all somewhere on the A to Z list, but I must say I doubt if any of them have ever been on the A listing end. What is remarkably different is their age grouping in comparison to normal BB. They are a hell of a lot older. The youngest on normal BB was 19 years and a child, the oldest 31 years old. Whilst on Celebrity BB, the youngest must be in their mid 20s and the oldest probably in her 70s, if not close to 80s. They all have lead some kind of life where the public would know who they are, from soap star, to singer to wana be Prince in title only. Within minutes BB has got the first two contestants on a secret mission. There's a mix of gay and lesbian stars, of course the gay star is droll and intellectual and when introduced to a US TV star said he would "try to use short words," a double entendre had already hit and he'd only just met the poor American idiot. I mean, who in their right mind would call them selves an adjective rather than a noun which was nothing related to their actual name? Only someone who needed to think they were important. I noticed how the US TV star later moped about with a hoody over their head so as to achieve some kind of shield against their own insecurities. Hell, yeah, throw a lemon at him I say.
The Celeb BB is expected to last three and a half weeks. Providing nobody has a mental breakdown or there is a side to the quite independent large egos wanting to vie for attention which comes out and blasts them into the long grass of celebrity opportunities. Why on earth I wonder were there not older people on normal BB. I know why. They were to busy in pubs running off with hot umbrellas.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The smell of London - puke and perfume
I got the train back to London today. Sparkling had to be at her Fish Factory early, so I made my own way to the train station. It was nice and cool in Scotland, even refreshing, which is probably due to the fact they have had so much rain. It bucked down hard last night. It may have even rained while I was snoring away and Sparkling had given me a thump to shut up. I didn't feel a thing or remember a thing. Typical, the only time Sparkles can legitimately use bodily force and I don't remember it. Scotland had been cool the entire six days I was up there. I caught the news as I waited for time to pass before leaving. The forecast for tomorrow is relentlessly hot for London, at least ten degrees celcius hotter than Scotland. I don't know how I will survive it. I better lay of the chocolate and try to eat salad, being skinny makes the heat more bearable. The taxi down to the train station ended up being quite entertaining as the driver discussed politics and how he hated working class people who voted Tory. I agreed with him. It wasn't long before I boarded the train for London with two bottles of water in my ruck sack.
A little over six hours passed and about 450 miles later the train stopped at Kings Cross. Ticket in top shirt pocket I used it like a cowboy at the OK Corral, shooting it into gate machines and pulling it out as it popped up through the slot. The gates opened and I'd walk through. Almost in a subconscious state it seemed I followed the route I normally take and have done for many years. Down the steps, down the escalator and then at the tube platform. I must of just missed one train as there were few people waiting. The little orange lights on the board rolled across, in two minutes there would be another. I sat down and rested the stain of a ruck sack and a laptop back from my shoulders. The platform soon got busy again with commuters. It was after all a week day and typical. A whoosh of air shot through the station as it indicated a train was on its way. Half full I stepped on, and stood waiting for a seat to be free. It didn't take long. Closing my eyes for just a moment to relieve the weiryness. I listened to the roar and squeak of the wheels on the track. It stopped and I heard the announcement of the station. It didn't concern me. I could wait a few more stops with my eyes closed. The train took off again and then I noticed the odd smell of London. It was first of puke, faint puke, it could of been from a few hours ago, or on someone's clothes. I could detect body odours, but again slight. Windows were open on the train and a breeze ran through the carriage, otherwise it might of been intolerable with the heat. Then there was the perfume. Clearly there to mask all the other smells. There I had it, the smell of London in a few simple words. Puke and perfume. What a wonderful sentence I thought. It brings to mind immediately the oxymoron of odours which came together here. Apparently whale puke was once used as an ingredient to perfumes. But there were certainly no whales down here, two hundred feet under ground as the train rolled on to the next destination.
I got off at my stop, headed up towards the surface courtesy of the non stopping escalators. Following the signs I headed towards a train platform, 15 minutes and it would be here. There it was again. Perfume. Hundreds of people waited on the platform but someone had walked this way and sprayed a puff of perfume. It was sweet and sickly, much too pungent. The shard stood up only a few metres away. I craned my neck to get a good look at it and must of pulled a muscle. It was hot and getting to be uncomfortable. No wonder people have the urge to vomit.
I was missing Sparkling already. A week had flown by way too fast and London welcomed me back in it's own inimitable way. Reality here has a stink all of it's own.
A little over six hours passed and about 450 miles later the train stopped at Kings Cross. Ticket in top shirt pocket I used it like a cowboy at the OK Corral, shooting it into gate machines and pulling it out as it popped up through the slot. The gates opened and I'd walk through. Almost in a subconscious state it seemed I followed the route I normally take and have done for many years. Down the steps, down the escalator and then at the tube platform. I must of just missed one train as there were few people waiting. The little orange lights on the board rolled across, in two minutes there would be another. I sat down and rested the stain of a ruck sack and a laptop back from my shoulders. The platform soon got busy again with commuters. It was after all a week day and typical. A whoosh of air shot through the station as it indicated a train was on its way. Half full I stepped on, and stood waiting for a seat to be free. It didn't take long. Closing my eyes for just a moment to relieve the weiryness. I listened to the roar and squeak of the wheels on the track. It stopped and I heard the announcement of the station. It didn't concern me. I could wait a few more stops with my eyes closed. The train took off again and then I noticed the odd smell of London. It was first of puke, faint puke, it could of been from a few hours ago, or on someone's clothes. I could detect body odours, but again slight. Windows were open on the train and a breeze ran through the carriage, otherwise it might of been intolerable with the heat. Then there was the perfume. Clearly there to mask all the other smells. There I had it, the smell of London in a few simple words. Puke and perfume. What a wonderful sentence I thought. It brings to mind immediately the oxymoron of odours which came together here. Apparently whale puke was once used as an ingredient to perfumes. But there were certainly no whales down here, two hundred feet under ground as the train rolled on to the next destination.
I got off at my stop, headed up towards the surface courtesy of the non stopping escalators. Following the signs I headed towards a train platform, 15 minutes and it would be here. There it was again. Perfume. Hundreds of people waited on the platform but someone had walked this way and sprayed a puff of perfume. It was sweet and sickly, much too pungent. The shard stood up only a few metres away. I craned my neck to get a good look at it and must of pulled a muscle. It was hot and getting to be uncomfortable. No wonder people have the urge to vomit.
I was missing Sparkling already. A week had flown by way too fast and London welcomed me back in it's own inimitable way. Reality here has a stink all of it's own.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The entertainer
I'm one of those people who dreams but forgets what they dream about. Imagine all those wonderful crazy dreams and not having a clue your own entertainment centre has been in full swing, because it leaks away so quickly. Sparkling will ask me what my dreams are about and I just honestly can not say. After which she goes into a long monologue about her dreams. This morning it was an alien invasion and the Illuminati. Apparently both were united in destroying the earth. Fatalistically Sparkling and close relatives, me included had accepted this was going to happen. So we all headed into town together to get drunk and have a good time. If it was going to happen there was to be nothing done about it. I asked if she panicked at all at this thought and in her dream she did not, she was pretty calm about it. World ending, equalled lets party and get drunk. If there's a good reason to party then the end of the world certainly would be a good enough reason.
When I'm with Sparkles my role in the world changes in multiple ways. To begin with my internal waking up clock has to adjust, just as the internal going to bed changes. Late night bed and late morning get up, cat interruptions, staying in dressing gown to mid day, the routine is entirely different. No Fish Factory to attend, but pots of paint and painting which have to be done. I must admit to not cooking much this time round, even though there is some flour in the cupboard with my name on it waiting to be made into bread, which I'm sure will be a disaster. The week is nearly over and it feels to have gone so fast. Very fast. Another of my roles is the entertainment factor for Sparkling. I was told I had a big nose and big ears, then an ear got pulled and twisted till I cried out and Sparkling laughed. Ouch. I was also accused of being a big girl and needing to grow some balls. I am fat, it is me who has to lose weight. I in turn am asked how Sparkling looks, she looks fantastic every time. Then I am chastised because Sparkling thinks I am lying, but if I said anything other than Sparkling looked beautiful I'd be dragged through a thorn bush naked, tarred, feathered and then thrown to baying dogs with a sign on my back which read "fresh meat, take a bite." At this moment Sparkling is reading a tabloid article about Kylie Minogue. Apparently she'd just had a fling with Claude Van Dam, reading this piece is not a matter of news to Sparkling it is so she can now torture me with derogatory comments about Kylie. Which you'd expect nothing less from the tabloid press. Except Sparkles gets delight as she throws another insult and then looks in my direction and waits for the reaction. How crewel she can be. I drop a comment about Michael Buble, but it has no matching barb to it. I'm on a loser here, I'll just sit patiently and hope it wears itself out.
Tomorrow I'll be on a train back to London. My life will be so much duller without waking up with Sparkles, even though I am a source of fun. Oliver the cat will not have his companion to let him out the door or window when he likes. Cloud hangs over Scotland and it's a shame I can't get out in the garden and give the grass another cut. Or sit at the table with a cup of tea and Sparkles feeding the birds, other cats of the neighbourhood and myself. Time passes by so quickly. Especially when every moment is spent in the company of Sparkles, mad cat, crazy garden birds, pots of paint and Lemon Pie.
When I'm with Sparkles my role in the world changes in multiple ways. To begin with my internal waking up clock has to adjust, just as the internal going to bed changes. Late night bed and late morning get up, cat interruptions, staying in dressing gown to mid day, the routine is entirely different. No Fish Factory to attend, but pots of paint and painting which have to be done. I must admit to not cooking much this time round, even though there is some flour in the cupboard with my name on it waiting to be made into bread, which I'm sure will be a disaster. The week is nearly over and it feels to have gone so fast. Very fast. Another of my roles is the entertainment factor for Sparkling. I was told I had a big nose and big ears, then an ear got pulled and twisted till I cried out and Sparkling laughed. Ouch. I was also accused of being a big girl and needing to grow some balls. I am fat, it is me who has to lose weight. I in turn am asked how Sparkling looks, she looks fantastic every time. Then I am chastised because Sparkling thinks I am lying, but if I said anything other than Sparkling looked beautiful I'd be dragged through a thorn bush naked, tarred, feathered and then thrown to baying dogs with a sign on my back which read "fresh meat, take a bite." At this moment Sparkling is reading a tabloid article about Kylie Minogue. Apparently she'd just had a fling with Claude Van Dam, reading this piece is not a matter of news to Sparkling it is so she can now torture me with derogatory comments about Kylie. Which you'd expect nothing less from the tabloid press. Except Sparkles gets delight as she throws another insult and then looks in my direction and waits for the reaction. How crewel she can be. I drop a comment about Michael Buble, but it has no matching barb to it. I'm on a loser here, I'll just sit patiently and hope it wears itself out.
Tomorrow I'll be on a train back to London. My life will be so much duller without waking up with Sparkles, even though I am a source of fun. Oliver the cat will not have his companion to let him out the door or window when he likes. Cloud hangs over Scotland and it's a shame I can't get out in the garden and give the grass another cut. Or sit at the table with a cup of tea and Sparkles feeding the birds, other cats of the neighbourhood and myself. Time passes by so quickly. Especially when every moment is spent in the company of Sparkles, mad cat, crazy garden birds, pots of paint and Lemon Pie.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
A second coat of Lemon Pie
Well the second coat of Lemon Pie has gone up in Sparkling's kitchen. It only took about five hours taking into account tidy up time. Sparkles said she'd had enough of listening to radio 4, it was making her feel depressed. I tried to say it was interesting and could only be put down to the tone of voice the presenters had. I changed radio channel and found the pop music equally did my head in. Sparkles fortunately had been asked to start work early, her view was work would be more interesting with listening to the youngsters. I clearly have a boredom factor I'm not aware of, or I am aware of but didn't understand to what extent it was effecting Sparkling. After I finished L & B man turned up for a cuppa and a chat. He seemed to be interested to see if there was any porn on TV because then he could tell Sparkling and get me into trouble. I must remember not to watch documentaries on TV about nudists, which is what got me into trouble in the first place. L & B comments the kitchen looks OK but it could look better. Typical. Sparkling eventually turned up after work and thought it looked good.
Sparkling likes to always challenge me about the things I do. It is as though there is a constant test going on. I have to pass it every time otherwise I am in trouble. I'd spent a lot of time during the evening listening to audio's of David Allen's Getting Things Done. Sparkles asks what it is all about. Then has to interject and disagree with everything I've said. Whatever it was I was reading she would have to disagree with the opinion and come up with her own. I am then asked of all the things on my lists to do where did she come. I advised her she was the biggest thing on my listing. This seemed to make her happy and take the heat off. She was glad about this because if she wasn't on the most important thing then it was over. We would of been no more. Bloody ell. Which came from nowhere. It's funny how a woman's mind works. In a mysterious way for sure.
Next time I think I'll just stick to painting the walls and listening to music radio which I don't like.
Sparkling likes to always challenge me about the things I do. It is as though there is a constant test going on. I have to pass it every time otherwise I am in trouble. I'd spent a lot of time during the evening listening to audio's of David Allen's Getting Things Done. Sparkles asks what it is all about. Then has to interject and disagree with everything I've said. Whatever it was I was reading she would have to disagree with the opinion and come up with her own. I am then asked of all the things on my lists to do where did she come. I advised her she was the biggest thing on my listing. This seemed to make her happy and take the heat off. She was glad about this because if she wasn't on the most important thing then it was over. We would of been no more. Bloody ell. Which came from nowhere. It's funny how a woman's mind works. In a mysterious way for sure.
Next time I think I'll just stick to painting the walls and listening to music radio which I don't like.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Cat love begins at 3:40 in the morning
This morning the cat showed his affection towards me at 3:40 a.m. he shouted it as loud and clearly as he could in my ear. Oliver said good morning and he now wanted to be let out into the garden. Sparkling has said when I'm here this is my duty, whatever happens Oliver becomes my early morning responsibility. It's nice to know he loves me but I'd wish it was at a more appropriate time of day. It's both sleep deprivation and psychological warfare. The greatest strategists of war could learn a lot by studying their pets, I'm sure even a gold fish would have some interesting point to make.
It's the weekend so Sparkling has been working and I've been left with painting the kitchen. In a colour called Lemon Pie. I have never eaten a lemon pie before and it sounds a little sharp for my taste, but colour wise it is quite refreshing. Only thing is a second coat is needed and my feet are so cream crackered (nackered) I just don't have the energy to hit the DIY store, walk back and again start painting. Which is the thing with emulsion paint. One coat is never enough, the same with chocolates, or biscuits. There are things I could of done other than painting yet this seemed the best use of my time and I know Sparkles will be happy. Even happier when the second layer has been added.
At last the Olympics is coming to an end. The disasters of travelling in and around London have probably been averted by commuters themselves deciding to take this time off work and having extended holidays or better still working from the living room chair. I've heard it said commuter numbers are down by twenty percent. This seem about right, as I got on the tube I couldn't but notice there were actually free seats. This is unheard of on the Northern line at peak travelling time. No doubt central London businesses have suffered a blow from it all.
Sparkling allowed me to tag along to an engagement party she had been invited to, lucky me. But unfortunately I was given instructions to keep it low key. It simply meant I was not allowed to get myself either too drunk or to dance, even if I felt like it. At one point the rhythm nearly got me, as my legs tapped away to the beat of the music. I got to meet Sparkling's work associates. These were mostly young girls in their teens. They all seemed to love Sparkling and at least two of them said Sparkling was like their second mum. I saw her boss, a little man who I know had been obnoxious to Sparkling on occasion and refrained from talking to him about his behaviour. It would not of done much good and I'm sure at some time he will get his karma come back to him. It was good to put names to faces. I'll get to see them in my mind next time Sparkles talks about them. It was odd as I sat there, being half merry and enjoying the atmosphere how my internal voice kept yabbering away as though narrating a book. It seemed to flow so easily, I thought if only I could remember all of this stuff going on in my head and then write it down. Of course it doesn't work this way. It's either a matter of get it written or recorded or it's instantly forgotten. The eloquent thoughts have therefore flown away on the wings of a butterfly. Very gentle and very fragile.
It's just turned seven in the evening and Sparkles has still not turned up. I know the cat's biscuit tin is empty and will need some more, he can moan if there's no food left. Sparkling will likely want some food to eat. What I should do then is think of making food. Something light. Something Sparkling will like as well. Better go and find Oliver first though, wake him up tell him I love him in a loud cat way he'll appreciate. As they say karma is a bitch.
It's the weekend so Sparkling has been working and I've been left with painting the kitchen. In a colour called Lemon Pie. I have never eaten a lemon pie before and it sounds a little sharp for my taste, but colour wise it is quite refreshing. Only thing is a second coat is needed and my feet are so cream crackered (nackered) I just don't have the energy to hit the DIY store, walk back and again start painting. Which is the thing with emulsion paint. One coat is never enough, the same with chocolates, or biscuits. There are things I could of done other than painting yet this seemed the best use of my time and I know Sparkles will be happy. Even happier when the second layer has been added.
At last the Olympics is coming to an end. The disasters of travelling in and around London have probably been averted by commuters themselves deciding to take this time off work and having extended holidays or better still working from the living room chair. I've heard it said commuter numbers are down by twenty percent. This seem about right, as I got on the tube I couldn't but notice there were actually free seats. This is unheard of on the Northern line at peak travelling time. No doubt central London businesses have suffered a blow from it all.
Sparkling allowed me to tag along to an engagement party she had been invited to, lucky me. But unfortunately I was given instructions to keep it low key. It simply meant I was not allowed to get myself either too drunk or to dance, even if I felt like it. At one point the rhythm nearly got me, as my legs tapped away to the beat of the music. I got to meet Sparkling's work associates. These were mostly young girls in their teens. They all seemed to love Sparkling and at least two of them said Sparkling was like their second mum. I saw her boss, a little man who I know had been obnoxious to Sparkling on occasion and refrained from talking to him about his behaviour. It would not of done much good and I'm sure at some time he will get his karma come back to him. It was good to put names to faces. I'll get to see them in my mind next time Sparkles talks about them. It was odd as I sat there, being half merry and enjoying the atmosphere how my internal voice kept yabbering away as though narrating a book. It seemed to flow so easily, I thought if only I could remember all of this stuff going on in my head and then write it down. Of course it doesn't work this way. It's either a matter of get it written or recorded or it's instantly forgotten. The eloquent thoughts have therefore flown away on the wings of a butterfly. Very gentle and very fragile.
It's just turned seven in the evening and Sparkles has still not turned up. I know the cat's biscuit tin is empty and will need some more, he can moan if there's no food left. Sparkling will likely want some food to eat. What I should do then is think of making food. Something light. Something Sparkling will like as well. Better go and find Oliver first though, wake him up tell him I love him in a loud cat way he'll appreciate. As they say karma is a bitch.
Sunday, August 05, 2012
It's not a snails life
It's Sunday and I don't know what to do with myself. This morning it was hot and sunny, the birds living under the roof came clattering out and like clockwork woke me up. Somewhere in my hazy mind I thought they were talking to each other and I could understand it. The pigeons sounded child like in their discussions, and the more I tried to understand what they were saying the more I moved from somnambulance to consciousness. It must of been the tone of their cooing, or just maybe I did understand their chatter. They have infiltrated my head and are my natural alarm clock. I wish they weren't but this is a facet of daily life. I use them and my body clock kicked in to get up. It wouldn't matter how long I stayed in bed awake is awake and there was no other explanation for it. So this morning's agenda was a Sunday walk, it's happened over a number of weekends now. They are quite enjoyable and the only real bit of physical exercise I've been getting for a long time. Sad to say, Sunday mornings are exercise mornings.
It must of rained last night and I slept through it, because the grass was wet. On pavements there were trails where snails and slugs had been. I think snails should have their own compass because when they go for a sliding and slipping across paving stones they seem to get lost and meander all over the place. A pavement is probably the size of the Sahara desert to them. Inevitably there were crushed shells all over the place and skeletal remains, as much as a snail can have such all over the place. At night time you can never tell what is on a pavement, they can't contemplate what it is like for humans, if they don't had lights it would be different. I'm sure if getting crushed under foot was a serious thing for snails they'd develop some glow in the dark ability or even super diamond hard shells. Except as they never survive such footfalls they can never pass on the gene for hard snail shell or glow in the dark survival mechanisms.
The walk lasted about an hour. I detoured into a newsagent and got a serious newspaper, one which didn't glorify in Murdock like scandal, salacious gossip, bitching or lascivious pictures of beautiful women. I can't be having it. I read an article about extremist British Muslims who were now in Syria fighting. They had captured a British photographer and wanted to ransom or kill him. It is sad, the very freedom which secular Britain has done it's best to give its inhabitants is used some to become non representative of the population. I'm sure they are also non representative of their own culture and religion. The government seems to have taken note so you can guarantee it will not be long before either the SAS are doing very secret missions in Syria or MI5 will do their utmost to find out who these persons are their cards will be marked. I think it's because young males don't get the challenges and attention they need. They get sucked into something because they need to make their mark on the world. I pity those snails, I'm sure they would of loved the opportunity to have been humans but just were unlucky in rolling the dice of life choice. Now if Jhadists were snails, I doubt whether they'd be taking reporters and photographers as hostages or sharpening knives. There's certainly a few who would of been stepped on by now.
Apparently today there was a free to view Olympic event. I almost fall over at the thought of it. Something being given away, blimey Locog made a mistake. Perhaps it's because it was the women's marathon. They could of had it inside the Stratford stadium but that would of been bloody boring and I'm sure the contestants might of got a little dizzy. Imagine going round in circles for just over two hours. One leg would get shorter than the other, depending on what direction they were going in. It rained at some point this early afternoon, and not just simple normal rain, it was torrential again. Sudden and hard. I wonder if the marathon runners were out in it. Probably. Which was good enough reason not to go and watch a free event. It's also been reported as Londoner's are so afraid of being stuck in the crush of crowds they have decided to stay away. Normal commuters have dropped by 17 per cent. So shops all over London are feeling it. Even the Olympic tourists are not venturing into London to see the capital. Mind if they were watching the marathon then they would get a glimpse. I've not heard of their being any issues with traffic either, this is likely because people just have decided not to use their cars where possible. It's now two weeks past and is going fast, but it is a pain and not fast enough.
Oh well life could be worse, I could be a snail, on a pavement looking for an oasis. Heck no, a pigeon chattering on a roof and making a two legged human go crazy would be a lot better. Bloody things.
It must of rained last night and I slept through it, because the grass was wet. On pavements there were trails where snails and slugs had been. I think snails should have their own compass because when they go for a sliding and slipping across paving stones they seem to get lost and meander all over the place. A pavement is probably the size of the Sahara desert to them. Inevitably there were crushed shells all over the place and skeletal remains, as much as a snail can have such all over the place. At night time you can never tell what is on a pavement, they can't contemplate what it is like for humans, if they don't had lights it would be different. I'm sure if getting crushed under foot was a serious thing for snails they'd develop some glow in the dark ability or even super diamond hard shells. Except as they never survive such footfalls they can never pass on the gene for hard snail shell or glow in the dark survival mechanisms.
The walk lasted about an hour. I detoured into a newsagent and got a serious newspaper, one which didn't glorify in Murdock like scandal, salacious gossip, bitching or lascivious pictures of beautiful women. I can't be having it. I read an article about extremist British Muslims who were now in Syria fighting. They had captured a British photographer and wanted to ransom or kill him. It is sad, the very freedom which secular Britain has done it's best to give its inhabitants is used some to become non representative of the population. I'm sure they are also non representative of their own culture and religion. The government seems to have taken note so you can guarantee it will not be long before either the SAS are doing very secret missions in Syria or MI5 will do their utmost to find out who these persons are their cards will be marked. I think it's because young males don't get the challenges and attention they need. They get sucked into something because they need to make their mark on the world. I pity those snails, I'm sure they would of loved the opportunity to have been humans but just were unlucky in rolling the dice of life choice. Now if Jhadists were snails, I doubt whether they'd be taking reporters and photographers as hostages or sharpening knives. There's certainly a few who would of been stepped on by now.
Apparently today there was a free to view Olympic event. I almost fall over at the thought of it. Something being given away, blimey Locog made a mistake. Perhaps it's because it was the women's marathon. They could of had it inside the Stratford stadium but that would of been bloody boring and I'm sure the contestants might of got a little dizzy. Imagine going round in circles for just over two hours. One leg would get shorter than the other, depending on what direction they were going in. It rained at some point this early afternoon, and not just simple normal rain, it was torrential again. Sudden and hard. I wonder if the marathon runners were out in it. Probably. Which was good enough reason not to go and watch a free event. It's also been reported as Londoner's are so afraid of being stuck in the crush of crowds they have decided to stay away. Normal commuters have dropped by 17 per cent. So shops all over London are feeling it. Even the Olympic tourists are not venturing into London to see the capital. Mind if they were watching the marathon then they would get a glimpse. I've not heard of their being any issues with traffic either, this is likely because people just have decided not to use their cars where possible. It's now two weeks past and is going fast, but it is a pain and not fast enough.
Oh well life could be worse, I could be a snail, on a pavement looking for an oasis. Heck no, a pigeon chattering on a roof and making a two legged human go crazy would be a lot better. Bloody things.
Friday, August 03, 2012
Boredom leads to a little devli's delight
The problem with boredom is it makes you do things you shouldn't do. The little devil which jumps up on your shoulder every now and again has a bit more fire in his belly. He has a little more influence. Then without realising it you have done something and couldn't help your actions. It takes willpower beyond anything to stop from following the red, shoulder sitting midget. So it has just happened to me a few minutes ago. I've been on blooming Amazon again and got some items I could do without. One of which is a book and it will likely sit in a space somewhere waiting to be read or getting half read with all the other half read books or not started books. It's a little bit of a fetish book collecting, I love it and can't help it. I do my best never to bin them, and rather just drop them into a charity shop so some other book lover can enjoy. But it wasn't just a book on order, there was also a mechanical pencil, damn another more up to date fetish as well. There is something I love about writing with mechanical pencils, the lead doesn't need to be sharpened, it writes a smooth and depending on the lead purchased can be pretty consistent. Further there is no effort in the writing. Lastly, pencil can be rubbed out, and time and again this feature has proved itself to also be useful. There is nothing quite as messy looking as indelible ink which has been striked through to show it was a mistake. At least erased pencil is usually pretty faint or invisible. The last item purchased was a small wireless mouse to go with a recent laptop purchase. The mouse has a nice pattern on it, a blue, black and purple kind of paisly pattern. The design is a year old but it had a number of high ratings and looked good. It was a bargain. The little devil was telling me it was a bargain and seeing as my willpower from boredom and a single pint in the pub had ebbed the little devil won. And just to think I had been so good with my finances all week long, just to get blown away in a few clicks of a mouse and five minutes on Amazon.
This drop in willpower was probably because due to sitting straight all week long. It is a natural thing to slump in a chair while, to get in a relaxed position while at the Fish Factory. Physically it is good to keep a straight back. Even trying to walk with a straight posture has been a continual test of willpower. Sometimes it slips but it's been the week's flavour. The thing is what works in one area can also rub off in other areas. Until of course temptation gets a little too much. OK the spine may be just a little straighter, but a raid on the packet of chocolate biscuits probably hasn't helped the belly. It must of been the little red fellow again, he must of given me a poke with his mini trident, it could of been a stab in the eye even, just so my gaze would happen to sit on an open packet. The top chocolate bikky revealing itself in an almost sexy and provocative way. It was speaking directly to my sub conscious or unconscious mind, then definitely loudly in my very awake mind. Hand shot out took the bikky and just as automatically it was being crunched. I remember it now. Very nice. At this time there was another bout of boredom as well. Between tea brewing and the already eaten slice of toast, the bikky hit the spot.
So next time I feel an urge to buy or eat something there is only one thing which will likely combat it. Being busy. It's plain and simple, the little devil man thing, lives on the wings or a boredom episode and then strikes. He's camouflaged. It only takes a little whisper and before you know it the waistline is bigger and the wallet is lighter. Pity it wasn't the other way round.
This drop in willpower was probably because due to sitting straight all week long. It is a natural thing to slump in a chair while, to get in a relaxed position while at the Fish Factory. Physically it is good to keep a straight back. Even trying to walk with a straight posture has been a continual test of willpower. Sometimes it slips but it's been the week's flavour. The thing is what works in one area can also rub off in other areas. Until of course temptation gets a little too much. OK the spine may be just a little straighter, but a raid on the packet of chocolate biscuits probably hasn't helped the belly. It must of been the little red fellow again, he must of given me a poke with his mini trident, it could of been a stab in the eye even, just so my gaze would happen to sit on an open packet. The top chocolate bikky revealing itself in an almost sexy and provocative way. It was speaking directly to my sub conscious or unconscious mind, then definitely loudly in my very awake mind. Hand shot out took the bikky and just as automatically it was being crunched. I remember it now. Very nice. At this time there was another bout of boredom as well. Between tea brewing and the already eaten slice of toast, the bikky hit the spot.
So next time I feel an urge to buy or eat something there is only one thing which will likely combat it. Being busy. It's plain and simple, the little devil man thing, lives on the wings or a boredom episode and then strikes. He's camouflaged. It only takes a little whisper and before you know it the waistline is bigger and the wallet is lighter. Pity it wasn't the other way round.
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Inconvenience of the Big O
Due to the Olympics every second train through my normal station prematurely terminates, it is then sent back up the railway track to London. The whole thing seems a little absurd when today I hear there are less tourists and commuters in central London than there have been during any other normal working day. People are just not going to work. It probably helps the School holidays are here, however, even commuters who'd normally work in London are staying home in their droves. A consequence is many London stores are having an even worse trading period than before the big O. When it rains it poors, big O poors. It could even mean some businesses go under. I heard on the radio in one incident, Dutch Olympic games spectators had been advised not to head into central London because of the crowds. So all they did was living in their tents in East London, attend big O events they had tickets for and then enjoy the rest of their time locally in East London again. They had been given a fearful story of over crowding and poor public transport. So why the bloomiing hell is my train screwed up I wonder. It's all down to Locog.
i must admit now to getting somewhat pissed off with the big O volunteers. They are all over the place. They have different coloured apparel, which must represent their roles. Whether they are the lucky ones who are going to be at the actual big O venue or the unlucky ones sitting beside a bus stop directing people to the correct shuttle bus. Which would be a real travesty, volunteering your time and effort to something and then finding out you'll not even get to view an event, part of an event or anything related to any of the O events. Poor things. Perhaps this was why at slightly before 8 a.m. in the morning some want to be self important upshot of a volunteer advised me not to cross the road when the red man was showing. What a complete twat. I know when to cross the road, when it is safe or not safe regardless of red man lights. It is my undeniable right as a citizen of the UK to J-walk when I want, especially when there is absolutely no traffic on the road anyway. It is little antagonising things like this which can really get on ones wick. I thought in personal comfort the twat didn't know what part of London he was in, because if he thought he could continue to act like a twat he'd soon be smacked about. He might then learn. I held it all in. The anger of the big O event and the diabolical cost to this country. Another white elephant just like the millennium dome, which cost a billion as well.
You could ask what is the cost of a moral booster. For the nation it's 9.4 billion, but it's not a guaranteed booster, it's a cost with no guarantees at all. Unless of course the entire GB team were given illicit drugs which enhanced their performances and conveniently could not be traced by a doping agency of the same country. Which is the kind of thing I might do were I the dictator of a small country. But I'm not, so I can't. Could something less expensive be of use to boosting the nation's moral then? Of course. It's called tea and biscuits, or even cake. Everyone feels a lot better after a cup and something sweet to accompany it. At least then all you have to worry about is sticky fingers rather than having your hamstring pulled because you've over strained it. A couple of free cups of tea and cakes for the nation I'm sure would of been a lot cheaper. Particularly because they would have to be produced local in the UK. See the economy boost then. Sugar? One lump or two?
i must admit now to getting somewhat pissed off with the big O volunteers. They are all over the place. They have different coloured apparel, which must represent their roles. Whether they are the lucky ones who are going to be at the actual big O venue or the unlucky ones sitting beside a bus stop directing people to the correct shuttle bus. Which would be a real travesty, volunteering your time and effort to something and then finding out you'll not even get to view an event, part of an event or anything related to any of the O events. Poor things. Perhaps this was why at slightly before 8 a.m. in the morning some want to be self important upshot of a volunteer advised me not to cross the road when the red man was showing. What a complete twat. I know when to cross the road, when it is safe or not safe regardless of red man lights. It is my undeniable right as a citizen of the UK to J-walk when I want, especially when there is absolutely no traffic on the road anyway. It is little antagonising things like this which can really get on ones wick. I thought in personal comfort the twat didn't know what part of London he was in, because if he thought he could continue to act like a twat he'd soon be smacked about. He might then learn. I held it all in. The anger of the big O event and the diabolical cost to this country. Another white elephant just like the millennium dome, which cost a billion as well.
You could ask what is the cost of a moral booster. For the nation it's 9.4 billion, but it's not a guaranteed booster, it's a cost with no guarantees at all. Unless of course the entire GB team were given illicit drugs which enhanced their performances and conveniently could not be traced by a doping agency of the same country. Which is the kind of thing I might do were I the dictator of a small country. But I'm not, so I can't. Could something less expensive be of use to boosting the nation's moral then? Of course. It's called tea and biscuits, or even cake. Everyone feels a lot better after a cup and something sweet to accompany it. At least then all you have to worry about is sticky fingers rather than having your hamstring pulled because you've over strained it. A couple of free cups of tea and cakes for the nation I'm sure would of been a lot cheaper. Particularly because they would have to be produced local in the UK. See the economy boost then. Sugar? One lump or two?
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