This morning in an effort to reduce my carbs intake, I had fish for breakfast. No toast, when bread stuffs are a normal staple this was an effort, but afterwards I felt better, I'd eaten pretty healthily. I then had it in mind I would later hit a supermarket and get a salad for lunch, today was to be the day when things changed. After doing two and a half hours of gardening so as to burn up calories I was on track. Big moma had told me we were expecting visitors for lunch as well. She was cooking a large chicken and lots of carbs. Roast tatties, tatties, Yorkshire puds. But something told me to stay at home and not go to the supermarket. So I did. Our visitors did not turn up, Big Moma had got her wires mixed up and it meant the additional three extra meals on the table were not going to be eaten. If I had bothered to get a salad then there she would of had six dinners all to herself. So there was no choice but to get stuck in. To eat as much as possible, because food is expensive and can not be wasted, even though most of it was. The start day of my diet was over, I feel demoralised as though everybody doesn't give a shit any more and I am going to get fatter and fatter and there is nothing I can do about it. It's easy to say you have a choice not to eat, but do you? Big moma had spent hours cooking that dinner. There wasn't really a choice at all. Packets of crisps littered the sideboard.
So when it comes to dieting it's not an easy thing to do. When it comes to trying to live a healthy life, again it is not an easy thing to do. There is temptation purposely put in the way, there is obligation to stuff your face put so close to you that to go against it is sacrilege. No wonder the West is getting fatter and fatter. No wonder I am getting fatter and fatter. No matter what exercise you do, eating as much as this isn't going to burn off the calories, definitely not in this century. I sat and did an hour of typing this morning, but hell how many calories are burn in an hour sitting on your arse pushing keys? Not enough, that's for sure.
I relayed to Sparkling the awful day of not fasting. She listened and laughed. I'm on a no brainer to a place six feet under or a clay pot and weighing so little a small child could lift me up. I want to cry over it. I've had enough of it but can't stop myself at the same time. It is like I have now become a complete prisoner to the habit of eating junk food. Every little step I take to be good and healthy is hit back by a big giant step to being fat and unhealthy. Trapped, no where to go, no guidance, no support, stuck in a rut. A unhealthy food rut. With no one understanding the consequences of shit food and over indulgence. If I kick the bucket next week don't say I didn't warn the world. For I have. Only remember me. Sit down at a table and have a great big jacket (carb ridden) potato then say cheers Crazy, I knew him well.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Stress at work...it's all about crap
Stress in the work place is an awful thing. Dealing with it is about realising there is nothing which can be done about the amount of crap hitting the fan. It will just keep hitting the fan. Wearing a helmet may help, ducking under a desk, speaking to a colleague and having a good bitch, getting hypertension, running to the toilet (the only place there is for peace quiet) for a five minute break; working all the hours under the sun, escaping on holiday and then coming back to an even bigger pile of steaming crap which is screaming out for urgent, immediate, deliberate, dependency of attention are all things to think about. Ultimately it doesn't change the situation. It will continues to be like this, feeling unable to cope because of too many environmental demands doesn't help or change the situation. Stuff will inevitably not be dealt with but can be guaranteed to rise like crap to the surface.
Then there are the people, in particular two groups. Those who look up to their boss for guidance but to the point they are so needy they are more like little children than they are adults. Always wanting a bit of attention or help on a problem for which they should be able to work the answer out. They've done the job for years and get paid a handsome salary, yet don't appreciate these salient important features. The unemployed figures are exceedingly high, it's an employers market something else they don't take into account, just as their abilities most certainly should be. The second group are those above. The ones who make the big decisions and get paid the big bucks. They have expectations of how things would run but don't want to get engaged in the finer details, along the lines of snapping fingers and expecting high jumps. There is between these two groups a massive disparity of reality. Being stuck in the middle is like Bob Dylan's song, with cowboys to the left and Indians to the right. If you are stuck in the middle expect your hat to have multiple arrows and bullet holes in it. Trying to talk of reason to either group about the expectations is like backing a snail in a horse raise, with little chance of it every making the finishing line let alone winning. The situation will not change no matter what happens. Cowboys will always want to shoot their guns and Indians ride bare back and shoot arrows.
It's a matter of accepting your own limitations, and fobbing the rest of them off in a diplomatic way. The working like a slave bit just doesn't seem to change the situation. More than anything else it is about understanding your own stress and your own stress reactions. Then knowing how to handle them, how to change behaviours and recognise how to prevent the stress habit from sinking you lower than a world war two sub just hit by a depth charge. There's a line from a poem called Desiderata it is:
This can be taken in many ways, gentle with emotions, thoughts and importantly feelings. Such as the feeling of being unable to cope. The most difficult thing in the world though is to act on this ideal. Not to take on the opposite view, e.g. you are able to cope but rather accept, you will do your best and if there is just too much crap; accept you can not cope but why the hell should you let it harm yourself? It's also about expectations, your own and other people's, even if they demand you do things all the time and there are only so many demands which can be met. Time for human beings is finite. Sometimes it is not even about doing the most urgent pressing things, sometimes it is about giving some of that precious time to the not so urgent or pressing things but are important to other human beings.
It's about looking outside of the moment you are in. Outside of the moment which has become a critical stress crap situation, as these don't last forever. In the middle of my day I like to speak to Sparkling, she is like a rudder and steers me back to the important things in life. Which are usually her and Rock Chick. So thinking about family, and outside of the current situation can bring it to insignificance. Coping is about looking after yourself, changing bad habits, such as eating junk and waiting for a heart attack, it includes exercise, time for self meditation, esoteric and aesthetic things. Listening to music you love and crying with happiness at a fond memory from and old photograph. These are things I have to personally take on a lot more and so hope I can for the sake of my own being.
With a little luck this two day headache will shortly lift. Even a headache goes away, eventually.
Then there are the people, in particular two groups. Those who look up to their boss for guidance but to the point they are so needy they are more like little children than they are adults. Always wanting a bit of attention or help on a problem for which they should be able to work the answer out. They've done the job for years and get paid a handsome salary, yet don't appreciate these salient important features. The unemployed figures are exceedingly high, it's an employers market something else they don't take into account, just as their abilities most certainly should be. The second group are those above. The ones who make the big decisions and get paid the big bucks. They have expectations of how things would run but don't want to get engaged in the finer details, along the lines of snapping fingers and expecting high jumps. There is between these two groups a massive disparity of reality. Being stuck in the middle is like Bob Dylan's song, with cowboys to the left and Indians to the right. If you are stuck in the middle expect your hat to have multiple arrows and bullet holes in it. Trying to talk of reason to either group about the expectations is like backing a snail in a horse raise, with little chance of it every making the finishing line let alone winning. The situation will not change no matter what happens. Cowboys will always want to shoot their guns and Indians ride bare back and shoot arrows.
It's a matter of accepting your own limitations, and fobbing the rest of them off in a diplomatic way. The working like a slave bit just doesn't seem to change the situation. More than anything else it is about understanding your own stress and your own stress reactions. Then knowing how to handle them, how to change behaviours and recognise how to prevent the stress habit from sinking you lower than a world war two sub just hit by a depth charge. There's a line from a poem called Desiderata it is:
"Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself"
This can be taken in many ways, gentle with emotions, thoughts and importantly feelings. Such as the feeling of being unable to cope. The most difficult thing in the world though is to act on this ideal. Not to take on the opposite view, e.g. you are able to cope but rather accept, you will do your best and if there is just too much crap; accept you can not cope but why the hell should you let it harm yourself? It's also about expectations, your own and other people's, even if they demand you do things all the time and there are only so many demands which can be met. Time for human beings is finite. Sometimes it is not even about doing the most urgent pressing things, sometimes it is about giving some of that precious time to the not so urgent or pressing things but are important to other human beings.
It's about looking outside of the moment you are in. Outside of the moment which has become a critical stress crap situation, as these don't last forever. In the middle of my day I like to speak to Sparkling, she is like a rudder and steers me back to the important things in life. Which are usually her and Rock Chick. So thinking about family, and outside of the current situation can bring it to insignificance. Coping is about looking after yourself, changing bad habits, such as eating junk and waiting for a heart attack, it includes exercise, time for self meditation, esoteric and aesthetic things. Listening to music you love and crying with happiness at a fond memory from and old photograph. These are things I have to personally take on a lot more and so hope I can for the sake of my own being.
With a little luck this two day headache will shortly lift. Even a headache goes away, eventually.
Friday, September 28, 2012
A Disconcerting Day
There have been a number of items I have found disconcerting today, because they just have without or with good reason. Firstly in speaking very briefly to Sparkling she advised me how a task I failed to do had actually been done by Dangerous Sports Lad. It was taking down a blind. I wasn't sure at the time how much muscle I should use to get the thing down and advised Sparkling. I was careful because I didn't want to break it, then if I did break it I would be responsible for replacing the thing. In desperation I sort advice from Sparkling at the time, but of course this was just as good as making a cup of tea in a chocolate tea cup. It's not because Sparkling's advise was unhelpful but more likely due to an inability to follow vague instruction and being a man. Then another realisation come about me while I was speaking to Sparkling, for she had her speaker phone on and the conversation was then overheard by both Dangerous and Rock Chick. I pang of minor embarrassment and stupidity was consequently magnified.
It probably all relates to the old chestnut of men thinking differently and seeing things in a different way than a woman. Especially when it comes to DIY, this is a field usually left to men to supremely fail in, quite simply women don't engage in DIY and so they don't fail, but they do expect their men to do it. The ability to do anything DIY related puts a man in his right place on the food chain. Even if they haven't been born with a screwdriver in their hand men should know how to repair a hoover, fridge, dishwasher and car just by using a single cross thread screwdriver and nothing else. As mentioned. Our brains just work differently. Except on this occasion Dangerous was able to succeed where I failed. So he gets a brownie point and I get egg on my face. Of course it also means this man is not so manly as well and is an affront to masculinity. Hell, I'll put on on the stilettos and start checking out handbags next. So quite reasonably this was disconcerting.
While at the Fish Factory I had to attend a training course on the new weights and measures health and safety Act introduced by the present esteemed government who lack more ideas and ability than many of the earlier governments we've ever had. The bottom line has dawned, the UK will become a very difficult place for all the fish. It will become impossible. The new procedures of these Acts will ensure rioting in the streets. Many ordinary human beings who live here will find extreme fish poverty will take place. The other repercussions were along the lines of losing my job which has taken twenty years to get. Not long then. But with promotion which only takes place after someone dies it really is no wonder. People are never given careers in relation to their ability, it's more down to endurance. in fact the word career is a misnomer and should be replaced with something more apt. Of which I can not think of at this moment. Yes, disconcerting item number two.
Lastly my third disconcerting item is to do with the number of hits I have received on this blog. Yesterday it was 190 and today it has so far been 238. It is as though a relatively unknown, not very popular blog has become known. Known by somebody. So I am wondering if it is a blog stalker. Who hasn't told me about it. There have been no comments left at all. As far as I know they could be stealing everything I have written, this is because the page views indicate it is someone, or persons in the Netherlands who has this curiosity to read my dribble. They could be translating the page through their browser or improving their English. Providing they don't steal my words it's OK. Request a commission for an article and I'll give it a bash. All currency accepted. If on the other hand it is some lost granny who is trying to use the internet for the first time, then I'd say keep trying love, because this is not the knitting section and it's may not translate very well either. I will now console myself on these disconcerting events and try to get a good night's sleep. Probably with one eye open.
Leave a comment whoever you are, at least I wont feel so lonely, and in English. Thanks.
It probably all relates to the old chestnut of men thinking differently and seeing things in a different way than a woman. Especially when it comes to DIY, this is a field usually left to men to supremely fail in, quite simply women don't engage in DIY and so they don't fail, but they do expect their men to do it. The ability to do anything DIY related puts a man in his right place on the food chain. Even if they haven't been born with a screwdriver in their hand men should know how to repair a hoover, fridge, dishwasher and car just by using a single cross thread screwdriver and nothing else. As mentioned. Our brains just work differently. Except on this occasion Dangerous was able to succeed where I failed. So he gets a brownie point and I get egg on my face. Of course it also means this man is not so manly as well and is an affront to masculinity. Hell, I'll put on on the stilettos and start checking out handbags next. So quite reasonably this was disconcerting.
While at the Fish Factory I had to attend a training course on the new weights and measures health and safety Act introduced by the present esteemed government who lack more ideas and ability than many of the earlier governments we've ever had. The bottom line has dawned, the UK will become a very difficult place for all the fish. It will become impossible. The new procedures of these Acts will ensure rioting in the streets. Many ordinary human beings who live here will find extreme fish poverty will take place. The other repercussions were along the lines of losing my job which has taken twenty years to get. Not long then. But with promotion which only takes place after someone dies it really is no wonder. People are never given careers in relation to their ability, it's more down to endurance. in fact the word career is a misnomer and should be replaced with something more apt. Of which I can not think of at this moment. Yes, disconcerting item number two.
Lastly my third disconcerting item is to do with the number of hits I have received on this blog. Yesterday it was 190 and today it has so far been 238. It is as though a relatively unknown, not very popular blog has become known. Known by somebody. So I am wondering if it is a blog stalker. Who hasn't told me about it. There have been no comments left at all. As far as I know they could be stealing everything I have written, this is because the page views indicate it is someone, or persons in the Netherlands who has this curiosity to read my dribble. They could be translating the page through their browser or improving their English. Providing they don't steal my words it's OK. Request a commission for an article and I'll give it a bash. All currency accepted. If on the other hand it is some lost granny who is trying to use the internet for the first time, then I'd say keep trying love, because this is not the knitting section and it's may not translate very well either. I will now console myself on these disconcerting events and try to get a good night's sleep. Probably with one eye open.
Leave a comment whoever you are, at least I wont feel so lonely, and in English. Thanks.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Return the Chicken....it's foul
When I first landed in Sparkling's door we caught up on the events we had each been through since my last visit. This is a common thing. Followed by wine for Sparkling and beers for me. Then it is usually into food. We both love food, which is to blame for my increasing waist line, and the fact I barely exercise nowadays. As we chatted away Rock Chick turned up and it was wonderful to see her again so early. I let it known since I'd been on the train I hadn't eaten much, just a chocolate bar and a coffee over the last 7 hours. So was looking forward to food. I was half way through my first beer and feeling quite happy when Sparkling battered her eyes at me and asked me to do her a favour. Being I was so happy to see Sparkling I was completely amenable to doing anything for her. Which is natural. I don't mind doing most things for Sparkling, but I have to be aware for sometimes a request from Sparkling can have consequences, those are for me, but provide enormous entertainment for her. I am as it were, a walking entertainment centre when there is little else about to entertain.
So it was, Sparkling went into a short conversation of how she had bought some chicken portions from the local supermarket then, when she had opened part of the packaging on one of them, an awful waft, came from it. It was clearly off even though it was still in date and it should not of been off. I asked why she didn't take it back to the shop and Sparkling said she had rang up the supermarket and they had requested instead she provide them with details of the receipt. There were numbers on it. She could then claim a refund from them and they would probably give her extra because selling foul smelling foul is not a thing any self respecting supermarket wants to be known for. I listened to Sparkling and it was then she said the receipt was still in the bag. The plastic carrier bag and chicken portions were sitting on the patio. She asked if I would open up the back and then call out the numbers on the receipt to her. She did not want the actual piece of paper because it would probably be stinky as well. I asked the stupid question, "do you know what gone off chicken smells like?" Followed by "Of all the things which make me want to heave, gone off chicken does it." There was no thought in my mind over this little favour, other than it had been asked of me and I'd do my best to help.
So I opened the back door, and there sitting lonely on the patio was a plastic carrier bag. It looked kind of swollen up. With the back door open, Sparkling and Rock Chick watched me. I knelt down and looked at the bag and then took a deep breath, this was not going to be pleasant. A knot had been tied in the top of the bad with the handles. The first difficulty was to undo this knot. Precious time passed by while I was eating away into my lungs full of air. I managed to open it up and then could see the chicken pieces, there was also a couple of large blue bottles. One was stuck to the meat dead. I couldn't see a receipt anywhere and looked up to Sparkling at which I asked "where's the receipt?" What a big mistake. For after muttering those words I had let out the remaining air supply and had to take another breath. But the breath I took was engulfing putrid smelling chicken. Like smelling salts there was an instantaneous reaction as I heaved. Yet as I'd had little to eat nothing was spewed. My eyes welled up and tears began to roll down my cheeks, I screwed up my nose as though to create some kind of nasal barrier. I gagged again. Sparkling looked at me and laughed but insisted the receipt was there. I moved the packaging to one side and saw the receipt. "Yes I found it." Sparkles asked
"Read out the receipt number, the till number and the date for me."
"How long has this been in the garden?" was followed by another heave and gag, hell, how was I going to get through reading the printed paper I thought. Rock Chick was behind Sparkling and with both laughter and empathy saw what I was going through.
"About a week" she replied. In both surprise and disgust now I had to find the information Sparkling wanted. I must admit to one thing, when I found the right part of the receipt with the number on it, I suddenly realised how bloody long some till receipt numbers are. This must of had about 15 digits in all. I read out carefully and clearly about 7, gagged, took another breath and tried not to breath in through my nose. If there was a time for having a heavy cold this was it. I read out a few more numbers and then finished. After which Sparkling said.
"Read them out again, I just need to be sure I have written them down properly." There was no room to delay a reply are indeed contemplate whether I would read them out again. I just thought, get on with it and get the bloody thing over with. So I went through the digits again and Sparkles checked and read them out with me as she'd written them down with a pen. Immediately finished, I rapidly tied the bag up and took the chicken to the dustbin. After which Sparkling said. "Oh, I'm not sure I've got them all."
"Yes you bloody have, I'll give you the money for the chicken there's no way I'm doing that again."
It was later revealed to me by Rock Chick, how Sparkling had purposefully put the bag out into the garden and was going to ask me to do this task. Rock Chick had been asked to come up to the house so she could be part of the audience. Rock thought I was hard core because I'd not used gloves or anything. I indicated there was unlikely to be any rubber gloves in the house anyway. The entire chicken incident had been a convenient set up, Sparkling was certainly going to claim a refund but, she thought it best to let Fat Boy do it because it would be more fun.
Next time I mess with a foul chicken it will be in a chemical warfare suit and industrial gas mask. And what did we have for dinner? Bloody chicken.
So it was, Sparkling went into a short conversation of how she had bought some chicken portions from the local supermarket then, when she had opened part of the packaging on one of them, an awful waft, came from it. It was clearly off even though it was still in date and it should not of been off. I asked why she didn't take it back to the shop and Sparkling said she had rang up the supermarket and they had requested instead she provide them with details of the receipt. There were numbers on it. She could then claim a refund from them and they would probably give her extra because selling foul smelling foul is not a thing any self respecting supermarket wants to be known for. I listened to Sparkling and it was then she said the receipt was still in the bag. The plastic carrier bag and chicken portions were sitting on the patio. She asked if I would open up the back and then call out the numbers on the receipt to her. She did not want the actual piece of paper because it would probably be stinky as well. I asked the stupid question, "do you know what gone off chicken smells like?" Followed by "Of all the things which make me want to heave, gone off chicken does it." There was no thought in my mind over this little favour, other than it had been asked of me and I'd do my best to help.
So I opened the back door, and there sitting lonely on the patio was a plastic carrier bag. It looked kind of swollen up. With the back door open, Sparkling and Rock Chick watched me. I knelt down and looked at the bag and then took a deep breath, this was not going to be pleasant. A knot had been tied in the top of the bad with the handles. The first difficulty was to undo this knot. Precious time passed by while I was eating away into my lungs full of air. I managed to open it up and then could see the chicken pieces, there was also a couple of large blue bottles. One was stuck to the meat dead. I couldn't see a receipt anywhere and looked up to Sparkling at which I asked "where's the receipt?" What a big mistake. For after muttering those words I had let out the remaining air supply and had to take another breath. But the breath I took was engulfing putrid smelling chicken. Like smelling salts there was an instantaneous reaction as I heaved. Yet as I'd had little to eat nothing was spewed. My eyes welled up and tears began to roll down my cheeks, I screwed up my nose as though to create some kind of nasal barrier. I gagged again. Sparkling looked at me and laughed but insisted the receipt was there. I moved the packaging to one side and saw the receipt. "Yes I found it." Sparkles asked
"Read out the receipt number, the till number and the date for me."
"How long has this been in the garden?" was followed by another heave and gag, hell, how was I going to get through reading the printed paper I thought. Rock Chick was behind Sparkling and with both laughter and empathy saw what I was going through.
"About a week" she replied. In both surprise and disgust now I had to find the information Sparkling wanted. I must admit to one thing, when I found the right part of the receipt with the number on it, I suddenly realised how bloody long some till receipt numbers are. This must of had about 15 digits in all. I read out carefully and clearly about 7, gagged, took another breath and tried not to breath in through my nose. If there was a time for having a heavy cold this was it. I read out a few more numbers and then finished. After which Sparkling said.
"Read them out again, I just need to be sure I have written them down properly." There was no room to delay a reply are indeed contemplate whether I would read them out again. I just thought, get on with it and get the bloody thing over with. So I went through the digits again and Sparkles checked and read them out with me as she'd written them down with a pen. Immediately finished, I rapidly tied the bag up and took the chicken to the dustbin. After which Sparkling said. "Oh, I'm not sure I've got them all."
"Yes you bloody have, I'll give you the money for the chicken there's no way I'm doing that again."
It was later revealed to me by Rock Chick, how Sparkling had purposefully put the bag out into the garden and was going to ask me to do this task. Rock Chick had been asked to come up to the house so she could be part of the audience. Rock thought I was hard core because I'd not used gloves or anything. I indicated there was unlikely to be any rubber gloves in the house anyway. The entire chicken incident had been a convenient set up, Sparkling was certainly going to claim a refund but, she thought it best to let Fat Boy do it because it would be more fun.
Next time I mess with a foul chicken it will be in a chemical warfare suit and industrial gas mask. And what did we have for dinner? Bloody chicken.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
International Peace Day...A table cloth, and taking the piss
Sparkling had an idea, she read in the paper there was going to be a peace rally down at the square. It would start at 6 p.m., she said to me "it's been a long time since I been on a demo. I need to get the fire back in my belly." She was referring to her adventures with the Scottish Socialists party, which is all but disbanded now. She had the memories of a G7 summit and demonstrating at Carnoustie, of low flying helicopters and running through fields. Of walking arm in arm with her comrades for world peace and chants of "stop the war!" then of running away from over zealous policing. So, it was, we were going to the world peace rally in the square. To see if Sparkling's first for excitement and fire was going to be reignited again. By virtue of being here at this time I was going as well. The schedule was simple, do the world peace rally then head over to see Rock Chick who is presently suffering from, morning, lunch time and afternoon pregnant-woman-sickness. Poor thing. Peace and a pregnant woman all in one evening.
It had been raining. Sparkling could sense, I was tagging along for the experience, personally I had my own preconceptions of what it would be like. I was open to some feisty, crowd gathering and shouting at government. Something to really rile my spirit, something of a real demo, anything less than this would be disappointing. But it had been raining and perhaps rain dictates enthusiasm, or rather the lack of enthusiasm in crowds. Rather not crowds but groups of like minded peaceful individuals. We arrived and it was ten minutes to six. In the square there were two hire vans parked. I could see speakers on stands so somewhere in front there was likely to be a microphone. The one thing lacking at this moment was the crowd. There were two women and a man there but the speakers. One woman could of been an early version of Janet Street-Porter, with teeth which conjured up an image of Goofy's lesser known sister.
Each took a hold of the microphone in turn, they encourage the last shoppers to come up and be part of International Peace Day. Except the balding man in his thirties wasn't English, he might of been Norwegian or German pronounced it as International Piss Day. It was taking the piss, the piss out of all of us. Puddles around us and a slight autumnal chill was taking hold. I was told we were beautiful people. Hmmm, I was not happy of being told everybody was beautiful because not everybody is beautiful. Some people just lacking this attribute. About ten minutes after six, a piper sounded as he walked through the town, some yards behind him was a group of people, right in the middle was a man who thought he was a Buddha look alike. The yellow table cloth wrapped round his shoulders had just been unfolded. I could tell because there were tell-tale square folds. His eyes were not oriental either. OK this is Scotland, they couldn't afford the original some it was some bloke from the pub who had read a book and was suffering from Buddha delusion or should of been taking sessions with a psychiatrist.
We stood there, Sparking hummed along to a Buddhist meditation prayer. I texted Rock Chick and said I needed medication not meditation. She advised I just leave, my response was if I left Sparkling would kill me. All in the name of peace, no I mean piss. To take the biscuit there was a Japanese man who advocated the structure of water could be changed just by thinking about it. Bloody ell, I thought, what sort of planet was this man from. No one in their right mind could surely consider that thinking about water could change its structure. This had now become farcical. A travesty of what International Peace should be about. Piss. My goat was getting up, it would of been bad to have heckled such people who thought we were all beautiful. I bit my tongue, I so wanted to should out "so that's why it's stopped raining, coz you thought about it." It didn't take too long until Sparkling had considered she'd done enough. Her sentiment was that we had been here, it was the taking part which mattered.
It was a relief to get in the car and head towards Rock's pad. Enjoyable if you had an orange robe and a fetish for bald men. I respect them but on this occasion the table cloth should of been left on the table folded up from where it had come. There at least it could collect coffee stains and bread crumbs. This is blooming Scotland mate, don't they understand; Peace should take a back seat to taking the piss out of someone who nancies about wearing a table cloth. This is the land of the hot blooded, where patriotism is dancing in unison to Flower of Scotland or the Proclaimers song, I will walk ten thousand miles. Peace is about being in your face and then screaming your head off to get to an amicable disagreement. Peace, heck, I'd had the piss taken out of me for sure.
It had been raining. Sparkling could sense, I was tagging along for the experience, personally I had my own preconceptions of what it would be like. I was open to some feisty, crowd gathering and shouting at government. Something to really rile my spirit, something of a real demo, anything less than this would be disappointing. But it had been raining and perhaps rain dictates enthusiasm, or rather the lack of enthusiasm in crowds. Rather not crowds but groups of like minded peaceful individuals. We arrived and it was ten minutes to six. In the square there were two hire vans parked. I could see speakers on stands so somewhere in front there was likely to be a microphone. The one thing lacking at this moment was the crowd. There were two women and a man there but the speakers. One woman could of been an early version of Janet Street-Porter, with teeth which conjured up an image of Goofy's lesser known sister.
Each took a hold of the microphone in turn, they encourage the last shoppers to come up and be part of International Peace Day. Except the balding man in his thirties wasn't English, he might of been Norwegian or German pronounced it as International Piss Day. It was taking the piss, the piss out of all of us. Puddles around us and a slight autumnal chill was taking hold. I was told we were beautiful people. Hmmm, I was not happy of being told everybody was beautiful because not everybody is beautiful. Some people just lacking this attribute. About ten minutes after six, a piper sounded as he walked through the town, some yards behind him was a group of people, right in the middle was a man who thought he was a Buddha look alike. The yellow table cloth wrapped round his shoulders had just been unfolded. I could tell because there were tell-tale square folds. His eyes were not oriental either. OK this is Scotland, they couldn't afford the original some it was some bloke from the pub who had read a book and was suffering from Buddha delusion or should of been taking sessions with a psychiatrist.
We stood there, Sparking hummed along to a Buddhist meditation prayer. I texted Rock Chick and said I needed medication not meditation. She advised I just leave, my response was if I left Sparkling would kill me. All in the name of peace, no I mean piss. To take the biscuit there was a Japanese man who advocated the structure of water could be changed just by thinking about it. Bloody ell, I thought, what sort of planet was this man from. No one in their right mind could surely consider that thinking about water could change its structure. This had now become farcical. A travesty of what International Peace should be about. Piss. My goat was getting up, it would of been bad to have heckled such people who thought we were all beautiful. I bit my tongue, I so wanted to should out "so that's why it's stopped raining, coz you thought about it." It didn't take too long until Sparkling had considered she'd done enough. Her sentiment was that we had been here, it was the taking part which mattered.
It was a relief to get in the car and head towards Rock's pad. Enjoyable if you had an orange robe and a fetish for bald men. I respect them but on this occasion the table cloth should of been left on the table folded up from where it had come. There at least it could collect coffee stains and bread crumbs. This is blooming Scotland mate, don't they understand; Peace should take a back seat to taking the piss out of someone who nancies about wearing a table cloth. This is the land of the hot blooded, where patriotism is dancing in unison to Flower of Scotland or the Proclaimers song, I will walk ten thousand miles. Peace is about being in your face and then screaming your head off to get to an amicable disagreement. Peace, heck, I'd had the piss taken out of me for sure.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Get the Ice Cream vendor...in the open
This morning i had my usual Sunday walk, it was a little less time than last week's four hours, one and a half hours to be precise. I roamed some shops, picked up a few bits and pieces and headed home. After lunch coming over a little tired I decided to have forty winks. I see this as a privilege of age. Also its probably linked to the amount of Batternburg cake I ate, a big sin. I read somewhere when people do exercise they subconsciously give themselves a licence to eat junk. Well I'd say it's true. As I lay there counting sheep outside a diesel van pulled up. Suddenly and loudly blasted out "Popeye the Sailor Man" in a bell like jingle. It was an ice cream vendor, probably catching the beautiful weather and a few more sales in before autumn and winter kick in. After which his van will be locked in the garage for 6 months. Unless he has some dual use van and serves burgers on the side. Funny how kids will eat ice cream no matter what the weather is like or the prospect of pneumonia. So bloody Popeye jingled away and I woke up startled, wondering what the hell was going on. The first impulse was to kill the ice cream vendor and go back to sleep. The jingle didn't seem to stop. Eventually, after a while the van drove off. It's the distinctive diesel engine, pumping out those "p" particles as all diesel engines do. So small they have been found to be more damaging to the environment and humans than petrol once was. There was a moments silence as the vendor was no longer parked in our street, until it happened again. In another road, not so far away. Someone and the Ministry of Defence (MOD) could easily market guided ice cream vendor missiles, get two for the price of one. They'd make a fortune from disgruntled afternoon sleepers.
It's funny how fast the day has gone. Up late, breakfast, a walk back home, sleep, interruption, up again and then followed by some home work, which I'll not get paid for. Hell the Fish Factory has become worse than it has ever been. Maybe I should become an Ice Cream vendor. Maybe the man in the diesel van did work at the Fish Factory. Bastard, he got out of it. Escaped to a life of legitimate crime, robbing small children of their teeth by long term tooth decay. The Fish business stinks. It stinks of not enough fishes to run the business, no wage increases, over working and pressure. Last year I thought I was stressed, this year I realise last year was a walk in the park. All inside a brand new building, more like an open-planned car park than an open planned office. All they need is a ramp and the Ice Cream vendor will be able to drive up and hand out 99s or oysters for our mid morning snack rather than a cup of tea and a biscuit. With the many windows around it you could also argue it makes a good Fish bowl. If there's one thing I have now appreciated it's the normal office. With the advent of open plan offices actually doing work has become a premium. It just doesn't get done as well. Too much noise, too many distractions, loud voiced neighbours who you don't know but would like to throw out a window, whiffs of pungent perfumes which bring on asthma attacks, noise again, in fact so much noise you can't think, no self respecting knowledge worker can think in such a place. As for privacy, like making the phone call to a colleague you know is going to be difficult, becomes so much more difficult. The open planned office has become a regressive step and there is no stopping it. Except for Popeye the ice cream vendor, he might have the power to stop it, quite openly even. It's odd how the people who hold purse strings will say they have saved so much money by going open planned, but then after various studies begin to show there is lower productivity they are on the back foot making justifications for less work being done. The loss of orders, unless you sell ice cream.
I used to love the beginning credits of Popeye, it was one of those animations which marks growing up through childhood. Then I became and adult and now appreciate the sound of silence and time to think. It's about space for the mind. Where the mind runs, jumps and dances in cognitive aptitude. The ice cream vendor has gone for now, just so he can appear the next time I lay my head down in the afternoon. Between now and then there is a lot of time Popeye. A lot of time to think. Be afraid, be very afraid, the MOD is just a phone call away and I've got an idea which could help pull the country out of recession, we'd sell it to the rest of Europe. How to be rid of noisy ice cream vendors in one simple click of a button.
It's funny how fast the day has gone. Up late, breakfast, a walk back home, sleep, interruption, up again and then followed by some home work, which I'll not get paid for. Hell the Fish Factory has become worse than it has ever been. Maybe I should become an Ice Cream vendor. Maybe the man in the diesel van did work at the Fish Factory. Bastard, he got out of it. Escaped to a life of legitimate crime, robbing small children of their teeth by long term tooth decay. The Fish business stinks. It stinks of not enough fishes to run the business, no wage increases, over working and pressure. Last year I thought I was stressed, this year I realise last year was a walk in the park. All inside a brand new building, more like an open-planned car park than an open planned office. All they need is a ramp and the Ice Cream vendor will be able to drive up and hand out 99s or oysters for our mid morning snack rather than a cup of tea and a biscuit. With the many windows around it you could also argue it makes a good Fish bowl. If there's one thing I have now appreciated it's the normal office. With the advent of open plan offices actually doing work has become a premium. It just doesn't get done as well. Too much noise, too many distractions, loud voiced neighbours who you don't know but would like to throw out a window, whiffs of pungent perfumes which bring on asthma attacks, noise again, in fact so much noise you can't think, no self respecting knowledge worker can think in such a place. As for privacy, like making the phone call to a colleague you know is going to be difficult, becomes so much more difficult. The open planned office has become a regressive step and there is no stopping it. Except for Popeye the ice cream vendor, he might have the power to stop it, quite openly even. It's odd how the people who hold purse strings will say they have saved so much money by going open planned, but then after various studies begin to show there is lower productivity they are on the back foot making justifications for less work being done. The loss of orders, unless you sell ice cream.
I used to love the beginning credits of Popeye, it was one of those animations which marks growing up through childhood. Then I became and adult and now appreciate the sound of silence and time to think. It's about space for the mind. Where the mind runs, jumps and dances in cognitive aptitude. The ice cream vendor has gone for now, just so he can appear the next time I lay my head down in the afternoon. Between now and then there is a lot of time Popeye. A lot of time to think. Be afraid, be very afraid, the MOD is just a phone call away and I've got an idea which could help pull the country out of recession, we'd sell it to the rest of Europe. How to be rid of noisy ice cream vendors in one simple click of a button.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Take a dose of laughing medicine...
Things have been getting me down at the Fish Factory. I don't know whether I am going to go mental and kill one of the bigger fishes. Do it in a hideous way, like a thousand stink bombs crushed and thrown in the elevator just as they get in. Then it stops and is stuck between floors with no fecking escape. Oh what a fecking just deserves it would be. Of course I'd then hand out chemical masks to the cleaners, as for the Fire Brigade they usually carry their own breathing apparatus. In fact it would be sacrilege just to stop at one of the big fish, it would be best to catch a whole lot of them. Just say the tea trolley has broken down and they are giving away free cakes but only to the top brass. Yep, in for a pound in for a penny. Saying some people couldn't organize a piss up in a brewery can even appear a compliment.
I feel so much better after checking out comics on youtube. I just come across this American satirist called George Carlin. He was a short moany old git, but feck he is funny. His specialism was taking the piss out of American society and life. In the UK we have men like this, they are just called grumpy old men, and they don't get paid a fortune for standing on stage an hour mouthing off the groans. They are considered as moaners. George Carlin goes out on a stage, strings out a few more words than usual, and quite eloquently with a generous splattering of profundity, gets an entire audience laughing. As I watched him though I could tell he worked hard at this shit. There was a lot of thought gone into saying what he said. The audience laugh because his satire is true. It's things which everybody thinks in the back of their mind but dare not say. Like Colin Powell actually being white. Carlin passed away it was in 2008, but he's the kind of person who would argue at the gates of hell (if it existed) the heating wasn't hot enough. To say the least. Then he'd argue what the hell was a non existent concept existing at all. For he is open in announcing there is no contest with religion being the biggest load of bull-shit there is, full of false promises and exaggerated claims. Carling comes across with attitude, it's wonderful to watch and I can't help thinking part of it could be down to his inherent short many syndrome, which every short man has. I know I do. Watching him has made me laugh and I know this is fecking great medicine when life is so fecking stressful.
I think I'll take a joke book with me when I hit the Fish Factory tomorrow and wear a t-shirt which says "I don't give a flying feck, now piss off." It might turn a few heads, but who gives a shit? Tell it to the hand coz the ears are closed.
I feel so much better after checking out comics on youtube. I just come across this American satirist called George Carlin. He was a short moany old git, but feck he is funny. His specialism was taking the piss out of American society and life. In the UK we have men like this, they are just called grumpy old men, and they don't get paid a fortune for standing on stage an hour mouthing off the groans. They are considered as moaners. George Carlin goes out on a stage, strings out a few more words than usual, and quite eloquently with a generous splattering of profundity, gets an entire audience laughing. As I watched him though I could tell he worked hard at this shit. There was a lot of thought gone into saying what he said. The audience laugh because his satire is true. It's things which everybody thinks in the back of their mind but dare not say. Like Colin Powell actually being white. Carlin passed away it was in 2008, but he's the kind of person who would argue at the gates of hell (if it existed) the heating wasn't hot enough. To say the least. Then he'd argue what the hell was a non existent concept existing at all. For he is open in announcing there is no contest with religion being the biggest load of bull-shit there is, full of false promises and exaggerated claims. Carling comes across with attitude, it's wonderful to watch and I can't help thinking part of it could be down to his inherent short many syndrome, which every short man has. I know I do. Watching him has made me laugh and I know this is fecking great medicine when life is so fecking stressful.
I think I'll take a joke book with me when I hit the Fish Factory tomorrow and wear a t-shirt which says "I don't give a flying feck, now piss off." It might turn a few heads, but who gives a shit? Tell it to the hand coz the ears are closed.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
A Birthday and some feisty forces
It's my birthday today, and I have opened up two cards. Another year has passed and it is odd how opening up a card can incur sentiment, it just does. Unfortunately today I am not in the company of Sparkling and for about 15 years every birthday has usually been greeted by her. He big hug is wonderful, but I will be going to see her next week and I know she will give me a hug then. How much I love her can not be defined because there is no scale for it. It is good to wake up and be thinking about someone and during the day there will be thoughts of Sparkling. So I really do look forward to next week.
Rock Chick is pregnant. She says it feels different than before, already she has been put on lighter duties at work. I would think Dangerous Sports Lad will shortly have to acclimatise to his responsibilities as a father and provider. Another is to not spend all night playing on a games consul. I know they will get through their differences and tiffs, because they love each other very much. If Dangerous doesn't pull his socks up; Rock she will kick his arse around the flat (apartment) until he does. Rock likes to be in control of things, and he'll have little in the way of alternatives. I'm sure he has felt the wrath of Rock but the emotions of a pregnant woman run higher than a non pregnant one. Further, there is the spectre of being on Sparkling's dark side. Sparkling is a very feisty woman, and her passions as a mother to protect Rock Chick and kick Dangerous up the arse are highly versatile. She expressed these to me on the phone and as I listened my phone grew hot in my hand. It was either this or the bad night's sleep she got. He doesn't know it but there is a great force in movement, a force even Star Wars would be wary of encountering and Darth Vader would avoid.
So today my intentions are to take things easy. I'm going into the Fish Factory later than usual and the annoyances I have with other persons will be held in controlled abeyance. Until my very own passionate force has it's chance to kick some arse. There's obviously a common thread here.
As the saying goes, may the force be with you.
Rock Chick is pregnant. She says it feels different than before, already she has been put on lighter duties at work. I would think Dangerous Sports Lad will shortly have to acclimatise to his responsibilities as a father and provider. Another is to not spend all night playing on a games consul. I know they will get through their differences and tiffs, because they love each other very much. If Dangerous doesn't pull his socks up; Rock she will kick his arse around the flat (apartment) until he does. Rock likes to be in control of things, and he'll have little in the way of alternatives. I'm sure he has felt the wrath of Rock but the emotions of a pregnant woman run higher than a non pregnant one. Further, there is the spectre of being on Sparkling's dark side. Sparkling is a very feisty woman, and her passions as a mother to protect Rock Chick and kick Dangerous up the arse are highly versatile. She expressed these to me on the phone and as I listened my phone grew hot in my hand. It was either this or the bad night's sleep she got. He doesn't know it but there is a great force in movement, a force even Star Wars would be wary of encountering and Darth Vader would avoid.
So today my intentions are to take things easy. I'm going into the Fish Factory later than usual and the annoyances I have with other persons will be held in controlled abeyance. Until my very own passionate force has it's chance to kick some arse. There's obviously a common thread here.
As the saying goes, may the force be with you.
Saturday, September 08, 2012
Waiting for winter
There I am sitting down catching up on a move from the BBC web site and during the film two actors are outside talking. I can see their breath. It's a clear sign of the cold air and at this moment I get a hankering desire to breath in cold air myself. Now, I'm getting to think I can't wait for winter to get here. To have to breath of that crispy, chilly air, and feel the cold numb my face after having a close shave. How after a few days the skin on my hands dries up and they become sore. Which is part of the uncomfortable side. In a sense it is invigorating, When you have a warm coat on and have just eaten a good warming breakfast which acts like central heating for your body. A jumper and thermal underwear act as additional guards to the chill. It's like I've had enough of the sun and the heat. When I go to the pub an sit inside out of the sun the air is also cooler an even slightly chilled. I'm getting my body into gear and am now starting to prepare for the chill. People at the Fish Factory moan and grown when intermittent cold days hit. "Oh it's cold today" they will say, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to feel the cold and another season. It's not because I have a preference for one season above the other, it's a change, and as they say a change is as good as a rest. This goes for weather as well as anything else.
In Scotland there is always a difference in weather than some miles lower down in the UK, further south, and certainly the London area it is always warmer. When I take the train to Scotland which is a few hours, I get to feel the differences as it travels North. The halfway point is a mental marker of getting closer, this is Newcastle. The train goes over a bridge across the Tyne and then will wait in the station for a moment longer than a normal stop. It slows down when it crosses the bridge and as it goes into Newcastle station you get to see a little bit of Newcastle. It is here at the halfway point I know I am closer to seeing Sparkling than I am closer to being in London. At Edinburgh the train stops even longer as this seems to be a main termination point for travellers. The castle stands dauntingly high on a wonderful rock formation, the steep rocky incline is covered with netting to prevent loose rubble from cascading uncontrolled down. However, the cooler environment can be felt a little earlier than Edinburgh. As soon as the train crosses the border at Berwick. Edinburgh just stamps this awareness of a chill firmer on your awareness.. It then takes about four to five days to acclimatise or even sometimes more. It is always amazing how I find the Scots so hardy to cold weather, when I complain they tell me it isn't cold. Maybe the English have water in their veins.
When I am back in London it feels hotter, because it is. Then I get to see Londoners walking about chilled and complaining whilst I feel I have some invisible extra coat of warmth. It's all about relative perception. But it is nice, and I think these people in London don't know what it's like to be cold, they are a load of nancies. I can sit with a window open right next to me at the Fish Factory and not be bothered by the air, whereas everybody else is. It is the legacy of Scotland and I miss it and miss Sparkling as well. It happens Sparkling is the hottest thing going. She is like a water bottle, so the cold doesn't bother her as much. Except for ice cream, which she tends away from, preferring trifle instead. I hope to see Sparkling again soon and have to get my next ticket ordered.
Out of the sunshine and into the winter, out of the cold and into the warmth, or out in the cold but being quite warm. Come on winter, my arms are open to you, it's about time to.
In Scotland there is always a difference in weather than some miles lower down in the UK, further south, and certainly the London area it is always warmer. When I take the train to Scotland which is a few hours, I get to feel the differences as it travels North. The halfway point is a mental marker of getting closer, this is Newcastle. The train goes over a bridge across the Tyne and then will wait in the station for a moment longer than a normal stop. It slows down when it crosses the bridge and as it goes into Newcastle station you get to see a little bit of Newcastle. It is here at the halfway point I know I am closer to seeing Sparkling than I am closer to being in London. At Edinburgh the train stops even longer as this seems to be a main termination point for travellers. The castle stands dauntingly high on a wonderful rock formation, the steep rocky incline is covered with netting to prevent loose rubble from cascading uncontrolled down. However, the cooler environment can be felt a little earlier than Edinburgh. As soon as the train crosses the border at Berwick. Edinburgh just stamps this awareness of a chill firmer on your awareness.. It then takes about four to five days to acclimatise or even sometimes more. It is always amazing how I find the Scots so hardy to cold weather, when I complain they tell me it isn't cold. Maybe the English have water in their veins.
When I am back in London it feels hotter, because it is. Then I get to see Londoners walking about chilled and complaining whilst I feel I have some invisible extra coat of warmth. It's all about relative perception. But it is nice, and I think these people in London don't know what it's like to be cold, they are a load of nancies. I can sit with a window open right next to me at the Fish Factory and not be bothered by the air, whereas everybody else is. It is the legacy of Scotland and I miss it and miss Sparkling as well. It happens Sparkling is the hottest thing going. She is like a water bottle, so the cold doesn't bother her as much. Except for ice cream, which she tends away from, preferring trifle instead. I hope to see Sparkling again soon and have to get my next ticket ordered.
Out of the sunshine and into the winter, out of the cold and into the warmth, or out in the cold but being quite warm. Come on winter, my arms are open to you, it's about time to.
Friday, September 07, 2012
Autumn's defiant sun
It is such a beautiful time of the year, the first day of autumn has now passed, but as though in defiance the sun keeps coming out. Summer has been wet and disappointing, but in comparison this narrow interface between the cold and dark hours of winter is turning out pleasant and relaxing. When I leave the house in the morning I just cast my eyes down at the grass and there is a white due on each blade. It is wet. But the sun is out and low and hard. This defiance is strong, just like ringing out the very last drop of washing, for a moment it is so pleasant. Walking from house to train station I am relaxed and enjoy each step, even if there is a slight chill in the air I know it will warm up, because the weather report says so.
If these moments could be bottled up, they would sell for a fortune. Such a time comes to mind when I was on a beach in the Algarve enjoying a holiday. Regardless of the stresses and strains of everyday life and existence, a slow walk and an appreciation of the beautiful things in life can be used to rise above them.
Now where did I put that lovely looking doughnut?
If these moments could be bottled up, they would sell for a fortune. Such a time comes to mind when I was on a beach in the Algarve enjoying a holiday. Regardless of the stresses and strains of everyday life and existence, a slow walk and an appreciation of the beautiful things in life can be used to rise above them.
Now where did I put that lovely looking doughnut?
Wednesday, September 05, 2012
Two for one...because you're worth it
There's some words which come from an advert, they are "because I deserve it" and as I walked around the supermarket for some reason I heard myself saying this. It went along the lines of:
Oh there's a two for one offer on mini pork pies, now if I get one packet I'll get another free "cos I deserve it." i checked out the mince beef and onion pies and there it was, another offer, buy three pies for £1.50, hmm sounded quite appetising, I'll go for it "because I'm worth it." The pies fell into the shopping basket with the other 2 packets. I passed the cakes and there was an extra long Battenburg. It looked good because there was extra free, the same price as the smaller one but more of it. My eyes widened. I can't I thought and resisted the temptation. Next was shelves piled with different varieties of chocolate. The organic bars which had a variety of flavours were beckoning out to me, they had a special price deal as well buy two for £2.50 "because you deserve it" I double glanced and turned away. The resistance factor had worked again, "because I'm worth it."
Well there is now a lot of pies in the fridge, too many of them. All of these could be the items needed to build up to a self-fulfilling prophecy of the Biggy some time. Only last night I was thinking I gotta change my lifestyle, but it doesn't help it with a "because I'm worth it" catch phrase. Notions of being a healthy, fit bodied older man yet again go out the window. An image of Prince Lorenzo from BB forms in my head, but not quiet. Well at least someone loves me, regardless of what I grow into, which will probably be a tent at this rate.
On the platorm of the train station I met a colleague from the Fish Factory. She told me how her weekend was spent at the sea-sde, she and her husband watched people fishing crabs. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of them, if I got one" she said.
"I heard somewhere if you put a lobster in a cold pot of water then bring it to the boil it doesn't scream. I suppose you could do that with a crab as well." I replied, adding, "or you could use the other method of taking a knife and cutting the spinal cord." In a somewhat horrifed response.
"I don't think I'd do that. I think I'll stick to the prep-ackaged crab from the shop."
"Well you know all meat comes form animals."
"Yes, I know, but it's not the same, you don't have to kill it. It's not like it's a lamb." I took the thought further at this moment.
"like you could be out in the back garden and say to your husband, look over yonder hill there's a sheep, get your gun out, tell the neighbour there we'll have some chops for her and the family from 52 they can have a leg. As for the head, I got a suspicion the couple at number 10 are Satanists, they might have a use for it."
These comments bought laughter. I'm not sure if it was plain hysterical funny laughter or weird hysterical laughter, as if what I she didn't know how to respond to a stupid comment. Well at least I made someone laugh, pity it wasn't Sparkling.
So next time I got shopping, I'll try stick to the fruit and veg market, where there's no pies, chocolate or live crabs on the end of fishing lines. Well thank heavens for the half price salad I had for lunch and it was double the size, yep because I'm worth it.
Oh there's a two for one offer on mini pork pies, now if I get one packet I'll get another free "cos I deserve it." i checked out the mince beef and onion pies and there it was, another offer, buy three pies for £1.50, hmm sounded quite appetising, I'll go for it "because I'm worth it." The pies fell into the shopping basket with the other 2 packets. I passed the cakes and there was an extra long Battenburg. It looked good because there was extra free, the same price as the smaller one but more of it. My eyes widened. I can't I thought and resisted the temptation. Next was shelves piled with different varieties of chocolate. The organic bars which had a variety of flavours were beckoning out to me, they had a special price deal as well buy two for £2.50 "because you deserve it" I double glanced and turned away. The resistance factor had worked again, "because I'm worth it."
Well there is now a lot of pies in the fridge, too many of them. All of these could be the items needed to build up to a self-fulfilling prophecy of the Biggy some time. Only last night I was thinking I gotta change my lifestyle, but it doesn't help it with a "because I'm worth it" catch phrase. Notions of being a healthy, fit bodied older man yet again go out the window. An image of Prince Lorenzo from BB forms in my head, but not quiet. Well at least someone loves me, regardless of what I grow into, which will probably be a tent at this rate.
On the platorm of the train station I met a colleague from the Fish Factory. She told me how her weekend was spent at the sea-sde, she and her husband watched people fishing crabs. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of them, if I got one" she said.
"I heard somewhere if you put a lobster in a cold pot of water then bring it to the boil it doesn't scream. I suppose you could do that with a crab as well." I replied, adding, "or you could use the other method of taking a knife and cutting the spinal cord." In a somewhat horrifed response.
"I don't think I'd do that. I think I'll stick to the prep-ackaged crab from the shop."
"Well you know all meat comes form animals."
"Yes, I know, but it's not the same, you don't have to kill it. It's not like it's a lamb." I took the thought further at this moment.
"like you could be out in the back garden and say to your husband, look over yonder hill there's a sheep, get your gun out, tell the neighbour there we'll have some chops for her and the family from 52 they can have a leg. As for the head, I got a suspicion the couple at number 10 are Satanists, they might have a use for it."
These comments bought laughter. I'm not sure if it was plain hysterical funny laughter or weird hysterical laughter, as if what I she didn't know how to respond to a stupid comment. Well at least I made someone laugh, pity it wasn't Sparkling.
So next time I got shopping, I'll try stick to the fruit and veg market, where there's no pies, chocolate or live crabs on the end of fishing lines. Well thank heavens for the half price salad I had for lunch and it was double the size, yep because I'm worth it.
Monday, September 03, 2012
The slow process of learning to type
The headache finally lifted, it took about three days, maybe longer, I can't tell for sure, because when these things happen it's not until a day or more it's realised as having gone on for a long time. Especially as the hours tick by and it just isn't shaken off. So now I an get on with things I had difficulty doing previously, such as typing practice.
It has now been about two weeks during which I have tried to achieve one hour a day typing. I think it is starting to work, but I do notice a couple of things which effect typing statistics. Firstly it is how I feel at the time. A headache doesn't help or give motivation to type faster. It also depends on the keyboard i use. My PC keyboard is a an old Microsoft one and it is pretty springy, the one I use at the Fish Factory is made by Logitech and seems much more firmer, there's a definite resistance, whilst a laptop I use requires short sharp presses and clicks every time the key is depressed. It's supposed to be a top notch keyboard for a lap top but I'm starting to wonder if it is actually helping my keying style. The short quick snap doesn't require as much downward motion as the full size keyboards. Whatever keyboard is being used has a certain feel to it, and it effects speed and accuracy. Whether I am refreshed and relaxed has a part to play. So there are inconsistencies in stats. You should always be aware of how you sit at a keyboard, this is called the ergonomics. Keeping back straight arms parallel to the floor, feet on the ground, wrists not bent and so on. As I go through a sequence of lessons provided by a free program i become familiar with some of the lessons and this means I can generally type faster doing them. When i haven't a clue what is turning the Keys Per minute KPM drop as well as the Words Per Minute WPM. Using different programs will also give different results. Some test one aspect of the keyboard pretty well while another doesn't. The questions is though, has there been any change?
I think there has, I am faster at keying. But I can not say for sure how much faster. It all depends. What I can say is progress is slow going, very slow going. Some times day after day it's as though there is very little improvement. Then when the improvement comes it isn't in a leap, it's more of a snail's pace. A very slow snail. A secondary result from this is I know my spelling is improving ever so slightly. I've got a few problem words which always come up on a spell check as an error and for some reason these seem to be improving. The improvement is also down to a realisation that speed is also linked to accuracy. For there are times when I practice and I do my best not to make any mistakes. It's hard, mistakes are inevitable, but reducing them is important. For it always takes longer to go back and correct an error. Even if it is picked up by a spell checker, this is time wasted. Some commonly used words are extremely easy now, those which are uncommon however are more difficult. It reminds me of the two routes by which human beings used to learn to read, phonetic and orthographic. I can copy type but it does mean spelling out a word one letter at a time, or I can let myself go into auto mode. This (orthographic) method automatically sees the whole word, and as it has been (usually) typed a number of times before it instantly is keyed in. It's as though the muscles in my fingers know exactly what to do. This method of typing is very fast, but again it is down to familiarity. So the old saying comes into account. Practice makes perfect because you build up a repertoire of previous actions and each time the practice session occurs the sequence of actions (schemata) are more easily done. Hence a feeling of being automatic. But conscious thought and typing doesn't always mean automatic fast typing. As now. Each work I type I think about what I am saying then put it down in keys.
If I can carry this on for another couple of weeks the improvement will be even greater. I hope. More life saved through faster typing skills. Or more work done using those same skills as against other persons who don't have the same ability.
I don't know if I am as fast as a normal typist and doubt it very much at this moment. The thing is there are no normal typists about nowadays anyway, because everyone should know how to type or how to use a keyboard, even if they peck at it like a pigeon. For the time being I'll consider myself more of a ferret, with a desire to be a keyboard butterfly. At that point then I would of achieved something. I'd of got my wings to say the least.
It has now been about two weeks during which I have tried to achieve one hour a day typing. I think it is starting to work, but I do notice a couple of things which effect typing statistics. Firstly it is how I feel at the time. A headache doesn't help or give motivation to type faster. It also depends on the keyboard i use. My PC keyboard is a an old Microsoft one and it is pretty springy, the one I use at the Fish Factory is made by Logitech and seems much more firmer, there's a definite resistance, whilst a laptop I use requires short sharp presses and clicks every time the key is depressed. It's supposed to be a top notch keyboard for a lap top but I'm starting to wonder if it is actually helping my keying style. The short quick snap doesn't require as much downward motion as the full size keyboards. Whatever keyboard is being used has a certain feel to it, and it effects speed and accuracy. Whether I am refreshed and relaxed has a part to play. So there are inconsistencies in stats. You should always be aware of how you sit at a keyboard, this is called the ergonomics. Keeping back straight arms parallel to the floor, feet on the ground, wrists not bent and so on. As I go through a sequence of lessons provided by a free program i become familiar with some of the lessons and this means I can generally type faster doing them. When i haven't a clue what is turning the Keys Per minute KPM drop as well as the Words Per Minute WPM. Using different programs will also give different results. Some test one aspect of the keyboard pretty well while another doesn't. The questions is though, has there been any change?
I think there has, I am faster at keying. But I can not say for sure how much faster. It all depends. What I can say is progress is slow going, very slow going. Some times day after day it's as though there is very little improvement. Then when the improvement comes it isn't in a leap, it's more of a snail's pace. A very slow snail. A secondary result from this is I know my spelling is improving ever so slightly. I've got a few problem words which always come up on a spell check as an error and for some reason these seem to be improving. The improvement is also down to a realisation that speed is also linked to accuracy. For there are times when I practice and I do my best not to make any mistakes. It's hard, mistakes are inevitable, but reducing them is important. For it always takes longer to go back and correct an error. Even if it is picked up by a spell checker, this is time wasted. Some commonly used words are extremely easy now, those which are uncommon however are more difficult. It reminds me of the two routes by which human beings used to learn to read, phonetic and orthographic. I can copy type but it does mean spelling out a word one letter at a time, or I can let myself go into auto mode. This (orthographic) method automatically sees the whole word, and as it has been (usually) typed a number of times before it instantly is keyed in. It's as though the muscles in my fingers know exactly what to do. This method of typing is very fast, but again it is down to familiarity. So the old saying comes into account. Practice makes perfect because you build up a repertoire of previous actions and each time the practice session occurs the sequence of actions (schemata) are more easily done. Hence a feeling of being automatic. But conscious thought and typing doesn't always mean automatic fast typing. As now. Each work I type I think about what I am saying then put it down in keys.
If I can carry this on for another couple of weeks the improvement will be even greater. I hope. More life saved through faster typing skills. Or more work done using those same skills as against other persons who don't have the same ability.
I don't know if I am as fast as a normal typist and doubt it very much at this moment. The thing is there are no normal typists about nowadays anyway, because everyone should know how to type or how to use a keyboard, even if they peck at it like a pigeon. For the time being I'll consider myself more of a ferret, with a desire to be a keyboard butterfly. At that point then I would of achieved something. I'd of got my wings to say the least.
Sunday, September 02, 2012
Two day headache...and weird perceptions
For the last two days I've had a headache. It's not quite a migraine, but is definitely a headache. It don't seem to be budging. A migraine always lifts after a period, and a headache can become a migraine, but a two day headache is not great. If it is a migraine it's not as bad as ones I've had before, it isn't as debilitating as it could be, but it's bad enough. It effects everything I do, anything involving concentration. I'd feel better if I had a lobotomy. Went asleep with a headache and woke up with a headache. Sometimes when I look at things I get a strange kind of feeling like I am out of my head, on drugs, like the first time I sat down in an electronic store, sat down and put on some 3d glasses. As a football was kicked towards me I actually moved to one side. Instinctively even tho I knew it was just 3d TV and not real. This is the similar feeling I'm getting now. It's visual perception like 3d plus more and I don't need the extra set of glasses. Maybe some part of my brain is being active which is normally kept quite. They say we don't use our full brain potential. To an extent no one knows what the full potential of the brain is. I really do feel out of my head and not a single drug has passed my lips, I've not drank any alcohol either. Just this numbing pain behind my eyes, the feeling of falling over and an experience of extra perception. A different perception. One you'd have to be a rabbit in a scientist's cage to experience. I'm getting it for free. No preservatives, or additives taken.
Well I keep my fingers crossed and hope it goes before I return to the Fish Factory tomorrow. Otherwise I'll just be in a daze, thinking or seeing things which don't exist. At least I'll be happy, I got some headache pills there, they might help, or they might be the extra drug I need so the pink elephants become real. At the moment they dance around and I can't feel the floor shake. Who said headaches are a pain, not me.
Well I keep my fingers crossed and hope it goes before I return to the Fish Factory tomorrow. Otherwise I'll just be in a daze, thinking or seeing things which don't exist. At least I'll be happy, I got some headache pills there, they might help, or they might be the extra drug I need so the pink elephants become real. At the moment they dance around and I can't feel the floor shake. Who said headaches are a pain, not me.
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