Are we over reliant on IT?

This is a simple but very important question to ask. There is not a single facet of every day life which involves some form of high technology. I would say 99.99 percent of people do not actually know anything about the inside workings of IT, particularly how to program.  We take it for granted. We are users and abusers of IT, it is used and abused to our very needs and desires every single day. Be it by multiple caresses of a smart phone to ordering all your Chrimbo presents online.  We wait and then hey presto, the phone throws out all the information desired or within a day or two all those Chrimbo presents are bought straight to the front door. IT has made us lazy and each day my arse gets fatter from it.  I am whooping this IT thing and it takes it. It bends to my will, it gives me everything I want, and then on occasion, every once in a while IT fights back by not acting as it should.  Or by getting ill, catching a virus, or just finding it is incompatible with some other piece of IT equipment just like a jealous child seeing another child play with a toy and so doing everything it can to get the toy back or show it's annoyance. IT takes on a quite human like action.  It fails.

At the Fish Factory, IT has suddenly become the bane of every user.  It is slow, but not only is it slow it is more like at a full stop. If the IT at the Fish Factory were a snail, it would be going up hill on a reverentially rainy day.  Slipping and sliding backwards at every chance. As an IT user this has not just become frustrating it has become intolerable. There is not a moment which passes when I could just stand up and scream expletives until I was expleted out completely. The people who run the IT are not running it efficiently, they have taken assumptions which are completely wrong. As a result the entire Fish Factory is having days go past where little to no work is actually being done. Thousands upon thousands of pounds is being spent on people just looking at monitors and wondering what they will cook for their evening meal when they get home. As the monitors stand still a small revolving blue like donought is fixed in the centre.  More and more piles of Widgets come in every day and are not put through the normal processes of the machine. They stand still waiting and nothing is done. At a time when all the fishes are about who should be about as well. With few going on holiday, money is wasted on their sitting watching blue revolving circles.  They ring me up and tell me how frustrated they are, I tell them how frustrated I am, we sigh and moan together on the verge of tears as even more Widgets pile up and the thought we are now fighting a losing battle.

I just do my best to keep calm, but at times it is difficult. So I wonder and ask have we really put too much reliance in IT systems?  Because I'm beginning to think so. They have put people out of jobs and they have supposedly made us more efficient in what we do. We do things faster, but not necessarily better. There is no love in the work which is done, it is as someone said to me, box shifting. A thing which idiots do. Then when all things wonderful and IT decides to break down, we really do look like idiots.  Idiots with fat arses and piles of donoughts.

Food is expensive

Yesterday i took Monster Boy to the Science Museum in London. To begin with he was not much company. I think it's probably a matter of spending too much time on his laptop and not getting enough sleep. For an eleven year old sleep is important. He tells me he gets up at six a.m. I don't know why but he does. It took half a day before he began to come around. The Science Museum was OK but I'm starting to think it's a bit on the boring side. It's the second time I've been there in about five years and there has been very little change to it. The exhibits look great but old, they need to inject some kind of newness back into it. Have different themed exhibitions during the year. Perhaps change them according to the season. We found the cafe downstairs and I saw the price of a cup of tea had been set at £2.30. I was desperate for a cup but there was no way I would succumb to this extortionate rate.public rip off.  There happened to be a free drinking fountain, thank flying pigs water is sometimes free. Although not when it is boiled has a tea bag waved over it and then a splash of milk.

After a round of the Museum we headed outside. Monster became more chatty and it was off to lunch at a Chinese in Wardour Street called the Wong Kei. A place I can barely believe is still in existence and it looked like the waiters hadn't changed since the last twenty years ago I was there.  Monster loved his chicken noodles while I ate beef ho fun. The ho fun had been put on a plate and then the beef and vegetables put on top of it as a second thought. It didn't bring me delight but it filled me up and magically the meal was cheap. Which was what mattered.  In London most restaurants are expensive even the ones which pose as cheap restaurants and have a cafe like appearance. It's as though their cheap look and cozy feel is a red herring just to hook you in and then open up your wallet to find the cashier has just helped themselves to every note there. I don't know if it is me or just a sign of the times. The price of food has gone up, and if it keeps on like this I'll end up losing weight and no longer have the hash tag of fat boy.

I heard on the radio during the week some parents nowadays are missing out on their main meals so they could ensure their children are fed. In this day and age you'd of thought this was something which could not happen.  It must be though, for this is not the only time this story has come out over the last year. Charities are now being set up to distribute food to families who just can not afford to feed themselves. It's the cost of living.  Everything is going up. The recession bites down even harder than it has done before and it continues. And the recession is hungrier than the people. Someone's going to lose out for sure. Perhaps I'll just go and set up a stall oustide of the Science Museum and sell cups of tea for 50 pence. I'm sure there would be a lot more takers than those who use their cafe.  Then there are always idiots who have more money than brains. They probably think going to see scientific stuff will make them smarter, but it just doesn't work this way.  It only took about thirty minutes to get to the Chinese. Even hunger can be put on the waiting list, and I'm sure the Chinese Tea was just as good as the tea in the museum. A lot cheaper anyway.

Distracting into slumber

Well it's been a week in Sparkling's company and now I'm back in London again. Last night was difficult without Sparkling there to help me get off to sleep in the evening. It's a comfort kind of thing. Being able to reach out and touch, it's nice, warming and reassuring.  When I went to bed I knew if I wasn't careful it would be a sleepless night.  Brain working industriously away and not getting a wink at all.  Then I cast my mind back to the day before and thought of Sparkling.  Imagining I was in bed with her and she'd pushed me right to the edge of the precipice, the point where somehow I'd carefully perched my body so the danger of falling out of bed versus getting to sleep was satisfied. In this imagining my mind calmed itself and I was able to drop off into slumber without too many problems. Funny thing the head is. It gets a thought and it then has to be corralled into the right arena, so it does the right thing.  It's a little like having an arm wrestling match with your own hands.  Sometimes it works others it doesn't. Then today I hit the Fish Factory so I wouldn't have to think to much about missing Sparkles. It's about keeping occupied and distracting the mind from dwelling on sad things.  It just has to be nudged, cajoled, pushed, shoved, hoodwinked, into thinking about not thinking too much. It is an art form as such.

The method of self distraction can be used for all kinds of things I gather.  I've heard how people on diets would distract themselves they already had eaten or it certainly wasn't time to refuel. It's an art which magicians do on a regular basis, diverting attention from one place so the important slight of hand part can not be detected.  it is the thing which happens when something is forgotten.  Get involved in a puzzle then answer the telephone and you'll be lost in a distracting place where the answer to a certain clue has now completely gone from memory.

So it is, I distract my mind from being sad and thinking how much I miss the most beautiful woman in my life.  Sparkles, otherwise I'd have a problem getting to sleep.

Breaking depression

I have just seen a movie about a man who suffers from depression and as a way out of it uses a puppet. The puppet becomes his alter ego. He is obviously ill and this is the only way he can cope with his illness, but it is a constructive way. This makes me wonder about depression in society as a whole. How it is everywhere around us. There are a lot of people who have it in varying degrees during their life. The way the cope with it is admirable, but it is obviously there and difficult to overcome. To prescribe a pill such as prozac is not the solution to a big societal problem.  It is societal as well. For society does not allow people to be or do what they want.  At the same time this is putting the blame outside of the individual and taking away from them their own responsibility to cope with a situation. To be the best we can be is to climb a hill. It's tough going but it can be done.  It is to climb the hill against the expectations of others and to go with our own expectations.  Our own desires, to go into the unkown and face up to it.  A similarity would be man's first step on the moon. But this is individual.  To some extent getting to the moon was easier.  For it involved a team of people with one objective, there and back. Dealing with depression is to find it's underlying cause, to go there and come back from it.  Like staring into space. Throwing pebbles into a pond, observing, waiting and seeing what happens. The eureka moment is doing what has to be done. A frightening and exhilarating thing. it's there, right there, as clear as the nose on your face. It's not a pill or a puppet on a hand. The answer is in the unknown, the process.

Now I'm not going to get a puppet, but I will write a few lines. From the edge of darkness into a big bright light. Here comes the sun.

Avoiding the talk or not

I have barely heard from Sparkling over the last couple of days.  Just the odd text today, nothing yesterday.  Then I find out she was not working but decided to chill out the entire day.  I am happy Sparkles too this attitude because she works too hard a lot of the time and doesn't get paid enough.  This seems to be the nature of present day work, the country is in a recession and being in a job is pretty valuable in itself.  Sparkling actually gets paid less than some younger relatives.  Gladly I am in love with Sparkling not because of her pay but because I just am. It has no explanation.  Of course I'm sure she loves me for who I am as well.

Tonight Sparkles is helping Rock Chick with preparing for a house move.  Being canny Sparkles put away Rock's crockery except for a couple of plates, bowls and little dishes.  Which means once used for eating food they have to be washed up.  When I was told of this I laughed, for Rock has an aversion to washing up whenever she can get out of it. This is something she sees Dangerous Sports Lad useful for.  I think she will also throw this responsibility on Dangerous a lot more as her pregnancy means she has an aversion to going in the kitchen at times.  She says it will be the smell of the bin, but I actually know it's because there is a bowl of dishes waiting to be washed up and it is her turn to do them. Being pregnant has effected her ability to do household chores. Boy how Dangerous must be finding this out first hand. They are moving tomorrow.  Their new home is on the ground floor, their present is up three flights of stairs.  Rock likes her new home, so does Sparkles, it has double glazing and central heating. Which are two items the present one does not have.  With winter in Scotland, a baby on the way these are essentials.

Another person I hadn't seen for a few days has been Monster Boy. I took him out on my Sunday walk. We had a late morning breakfast in a cafe called the Giggling Sausage.  I said to Monster it was a funny name. He liked the pun but didn't laugh at it.  It must be my humour just doesn't quite crack it with 12 year old boys.  I enjoyed the walk because it gave us a lot of time to talk and Monster loves to talk. It was great fun.  I put my arm on his shoulder, ruffled up his hair and made him feel his Uncle cared a lot for him.  Unlike my recent communication with Sparkles, Monster can talk the hind legs off a donkey providing the donkey is conversant with Star Trek and Star Wars.

Next week, I will be up in Scotland so will at last have a chance to see Sparkling all over again. I can't wait, for she will find out I can talk a lot as well. Unfortunately she also tells me to shut up.

Thngs take longer than you think

If there was a statement about doing a task, it would be:

"it always takes longer to do than you think."

Especially if you have not done the task before.  I have been writing up a Health and Safety assessment and it has been months in the writing.  It's for the Fish Factory.  Yet were I to sit at my desk and spend the same kind of time writing it up there then no work would be done at all. It could be because I am inexperienced at it, it could be because there was no example assessment given to me, or because I've not had any training.  I have been given no expectation of how big such an assessment might be.  How many words, how much effort, or a time frame in which it should be done.  All of these things were absent.  Part of me didn't want to write the thing up and just kick it into the long grass.  Procrastinate.  However, I then found out via another source if anything happened and I had not written the thing out then I would be personally responsible.  So to some extent the pressure is on.  I could of course give a defence there was no time for me to write it.  Or my own work is so pressurise it should be me who is having an assessment.  But I haven't. I have to an extent the feeling I'm on my own.  The big fish above me hasn't asked or engaged with me to see how it is going. To an extent I prefer this because big fish seem to get in the way of a lot of things in my mind, on account of them being big fish anyway.  So this weekend I have been putting an extra concerted effort to do as much of this assessment as I can.  Unfortunately the need for food got in the way and stopped me.  Then there was the need for a laugh.  So once again procrastination has taken over.  I will get into it again, I just need a little bit of a push.

The rate I am going at the final result will be in the region of 15 to 30 pages long.  I've probably overdone it.  I've spent way too much of my own time on the thing and want it to be out of the way. Touch typing helps but as my thoughts are not as fast as my fingers there can and often is a delay between what I think and what is written down. Consequently, it is taking longer than anticipated.  Everything takes longer than anticipated when it is done for the first time.  When the action is also a learning experience.  When there is poor guidance. My belly however, knows when something has taken too long because it cries out to be fed, like my mouth has been cemented.  Inevitably there are interruptions which stretches the time out even longer.  But the interruptions are necessary because it is very difficult to concentrate on one thing for hours on end and not move from one position.  Unless you're a couch potato and enjoy TV.  I do, but this is passive compared to actually doing something.  Thinking and writing involves more than sitting on your backside eating biscuits and drinking tea.  It's a shame because, eating biscuits and drinking tea sound like a good use of time.  Except when you should be doing something and everything stops.

OK so for the moment I'm not getting anywhere.  But the report is on my mind, in my eyesight and is popping up constantly to be done.  It is wasting effort by not being done.  However, even not doing it is useful because they say the mind can think of things unconsciously.  When I go back to doing some more writing it will be with a bit more vigour.  I hope so, or the biscuits will be out and the tea put on. No wonder things take so much longer to do.

A late night music prescription

Here I sit, past my bed time and awake because I want to. listen to music.  It's strange how this urge just takes over. Contemporary, pop, soul, R & B, folk, electric, heavy, anything, heck it don't matter what it is, just it has to be listened to.  I could even get up and dance to it, being completely sobre as well. If there's swearing in it, even better, like it's the untouchable, the kind decent folk don't like, or the kind Aunty (BBC) would blank out. Yet Aunty would play because it is too popular not to play. Just as long as it isn't old. Old music which has already been heard.  Old music which was OK at one time but now is too old.  But, old music unheard of before, which has a novelty to it missed at the time but acceptable now.  It don't matter I gotta hear it.  A beat also makes it good, a toe tapping beat which can't be avoided. They type you don't realise is taking you over until unconsciously your foot is tapping out to the rhythm. Then you wonder where the hell it came from and can't recall what it is called. But it's there, floating about in your head. The words forgotten in most part.  Except the catchy ones. The ones which seemed to rhyme at the right time and in the right place. It's refreshing.  I'm awake and not through insomnia but through choice and the music. It's in my bones.

The Verve - Bittersweet
Coldplay - The Scientist
The kooks - Naive
Wheatus - Teenage Dirt Bag
Vanessa Carlton - A thousand miles
The Fray - How to save a life
Mumford and Sons - Littleman
Metronomy - The look
The Black Keys - Next Girl
Kamin - Pumped up kicks
Neuton Faulkner - Write it on your skin
Alex Clare - Too Close
Carly Rae Jepson - Call me maybe
Train - Drive by
Ed Sheeran - You need me, I don't need you
The Script - The man who can't be moved

Ok, eyes tiring. I wrote them down because I wanted to try and remember, who sang what and possibly in this rattling old brain which has a lot of things fall out of it, just maybe keep a couple of these items. Off to bed, sweet dreams.

Keep the lid on it

Being human is a funny disposition. If you're reading this then it is likely you are human as well, very, unless it is long after I am dead, we've wiped each other out and some alien species has managed to get hold of all this digital data to find out what the long lost species called humans were about.  I just hope they have a good laugh, given they know what humour is and don't confuse it with human. Human humour rather.  It is funny being human, especially in understanding yourself.  a funny thing getting a hold of yourself and understand who you are, what makes you tick, what makes you  annoyed and then trying to take control of those things when they do you no good.  For example, stumping your toe on a table while at  home with a lot of people around you and your instant reaction is to jump up and swear blue murder you will throw the table out and chop it into little bits as well as the cat, dog or anyone else who gets in your way.  To observe human behaviour and to be part of this wonderful experiment of life has it's very funny moments.  Especially those which start of as an absolute pain, the ones where you catch yourself in the middle of  a sigh.  The sigh which says "Oh no, go away and bother someone else."  There is then the mental tussle as to how to react.

The first reaction isn't the best. This is the one where you would just love to let rip.  Stand up if you're sitting down, look the idiot in the face who has annoyed you and then blast them with the full double barrels of wrath.  The ugly thing which is kept held down under a big stone.  The one which somehow starts to get dislodged. Especially in times of stress.  Where you have contained yourself too much as it is throughout the entire day and this minute now you can't contain it any longer. The thing is though, once the genie is let out of the bottle there is no turning back, you get a bad name for yourself.  If you're a boss it might not matter too much but it's the little fishes who get upset.  They can't take seeing the boss lose it. You could get reported.  And of course it does take a truly crazy person to let the fog horn of WRATH out. Even if the individual you are talking to is a complete idiot. So it was today when I had an email sent to me which jumped up and down inside me, I wanted to walk over to the person who sent it and say in a loud emphatic voice "you're sacked."  Of course I didn't.  Instead, I did the best next thing and went to lunch.  Pretended I had not seen the email and thought I can not tackle this now, it will have to wait until those little festering things called emotions have calmed down.  I'll tackle it later and I'll reason it and then I'll be calm and collected in it. Temporarily ignoring the event was the best way to deal with it.

So it was in the afternoon, after lunch, a not very hot pasty followed by coffee, I took the object of my not to be desired passion and dealt with it. Keeping a cool calm head like James Bond in the middle of a very sticky wicket. The bady has got the upper hand, but Bond's cool exterior doesn't let anything away. In a much calmer frame of mind I chatted to the individual who had sent the email, I tackled the subject of the email and what their concerns were. I didn't mention anything about how I felt because it was nothing to do with me, but I did put it in as neutral a term as possible it was their job and they had to get on with what they had been asked to do. Like a slippery fish the individual I conversed with changed subject, ducked and dived, hid behind a rock, threw a stone and again tried to joust with the hidden devil of WRATH inside.  What they didn't know was even a cold pasty is able to put a good tight lid ontop of this sneaky bad tempered old man.  It worked wonders.  Afterwards I laughed to myself, the whole thing was really just a mole hill aspiring to be a mountain.  It was then at this point I thought of the burn you get from exercise.  The point at which every effort is pushed and tried until practical physical exhaustion, then it is done again on another day.  But this time the level at which the burn happens is higher.  I'd now tested Mr WRATH to a level he has been and knows it doesn't work. Push me further again and I'll be able to deal with it.  In the end it was actually funny, as I said, it's funny being a human being.

A mid week tiple

After being stressed at the Fish Factory, where I spent an entire day not being able to actually get on with any work, I decided the next day (today) would not be the same.  That I'd get up late, go into work late, take a long lunch and leave work early  Being at the end of one's tether leads to taking half drastic actions.  So I have barely worked six hours.  This was followed by a visit to the pub and 4 pints of some very nice tasting cider.  Pears cider to be exact.  I enjoyed it.  Had a conversation with a fellow middle fish who is liable to giving more away in the direction of inside knowledge in a pub than in the Fish Factory and eventually making a nuisance of myself with unwanted text messages to Sparkling, Rock Chick and L & B Man.  All of whom I had indicated in earlier text messages not to answer the phone if I rang because I was drunk.  They all took me up on my word and none of them answered the phone when I rang.  I was half inebriated but could of had some kind of partially sensible discussion.  Well if you are drunk any kind of discussion is actually viewed as being sensible. It was probably good they didn't answer the phone, but in the off chance they would hear messages I left two sets of messages.  Or maybe three.  It's hard to count after the cider had gone down so easily.  I must try and not be an idiot after a drink.  But hell everyone else gets drunk and makes an idiot of themselves so I am entitled to as well.  It might be mid week, but I don't play by the rules, and certainly not after 4 pints of Pears cider.  At which point any kind of rule book is thrown out of the window just as the bath is thrown out with the water.

So after half a packet of biscuits, an three cups of tea I am beginning to approach some form of sobre.  Not enough however to do some real Fish Factory homework.  Enough to talk sensibly on a phone, but I can't because no one will answer my phone calls. Sod it. The motto is, don't drink and expect anyone sobre to answer the phone, not mid week anyway.

Rain, rain and a good umbrella

It's been raining today, what more can I say.  Except not just simple showers, these were exceptional showers, buckets of rain, hard and relentless.  When I was in bed this morning I heard it outside.  Bed felt warm and comfortable, whereas outside was wet and cold.  It didn't faze me though, because I knew I was going to get out and have a walk no matter what the weather was like.  I was going to take my expensive umbrella.  The one which cost me nothing because I found it in a pub but I'd never pay the kind of money it would of cost had it come out of a shop. This umbrella is grey, not my choice in colour, but when there's a gift horse you don't worry about colour.  It is not one of those very large ones which can keep two people dry, but it is neither so small it only covers your head and shoulders.  It is a nice size, but it was also torrential outside and this would certainly be a good test to see if the thing was worth the money I didn't pay for it. Heavy.  The walk was a must, a desire an undisputed thing which was going to happen no matter how wet it would be.  I momentarily considered waiting just in case there was a pause, but only entertained the thought for a short moment, I needed to be outside walking.  Exercising.  It is Sunday after all, my designated exercise day.

So I headed out after breakfast and rather than do a two hour jaunt this one was to be just one hour.  Then think about it, one hour in torrential rain is some achievement.  I was putting some faith in this umbrella. Yesterday I had prepared an old pair of boots with a water repelling spray which I know works well.  There is no way my feet would of stayed dry without it.  It's not the materials it's the chemicals the materials are treated with which determines whether they are any good in wet conditions.  I knew the bottom of my jeans would get wet, but as long as they lasted out and the water didn't travel all the way up my legs.  Out the door I marched off.  Headphones in my phone to listen to the radio, nice umbrella, and treated boots.  The necessary accoutrements for an unseasonable Sunday walk.

It rained and it rained.  I listened to talk radio, the discussion was about how the present government were treating the police.  I heard how police officers generally retired in their early fifties, how hard they worked, how much they earned, normal time and overtime.  The radio broadcaster had little sympathy with them.  As the facts rolled out I could not help but feel aggrieved by the conditions they had against the may other ordinary working class citizens of the UK who would have to work into their late 60s to get a pension which would be no where as high as a policeman's or woman's.  I don't feel sorry for the police, they are yet another group of people on the gravy train of government workers who in their own way screw the system.  To retire at 52, the thought is anathema.  Who do they think they are?  It must be something to do with the blue uniform, or the notion they have authority and every Tom, Dick and Henrietta has to answer to them.  Especially when it always appears police stop and question the law abiding citizens.  Hell, they sure don't want to run into any criminals, there's good reason for always turning up late to an incident.  Collect the money and run, run hard at 52, that's for sure.  The government are gradually removing the same working conditions earlier generations of police officers use to enjoy.  It would seem quite rightly as well. Blue helmets, they must effect the brain in some way.  It gives them the untouchable sense.  Well they are not being untouched now.

The radio discussion gave me extra motivation to continue walking through the rain.  I walked up a hill and it was hard going.  My breath got heavy, I undid my coat a little even in the rain because I was getting so hot. Although cold and wet when moving about energetically a sweat can soon build up.  Fingers crossed this was going to burn a few calories and I was going to feel a little healthier for it. At one point a van passed me, it was a dark blue one with hire stickers all over it.  The driver didn't seem to care about aqua-plaining on a wet road as he put his foot down.  There was a mist spray all around the van, back and sides, but there was little traffic on the road in general. It wouldn't of taken much for the man in the van to have skidded and crashed or flipped it.  His speed and the road surface would of made the accident all the worse.  Maybe it is something which relates to blue.  Blue van, blue uniforms.  I'm putting two and two together when they don't go. On the way down another hill as I headed home the rain water caused torrents and ran fast and hard. Autumnal leaves were pushed to the edges of the flow.  It was a sight to behold as the rivers of rain flowed down.  It could of easily been videoed and put on YouTube, I'm sure people would of watched it.  Relaxing and amazing to see all at the same time.  I was seeing a thing of beauty where someone else would of just seen a stream of water and nothing else.  My conclusion was the exercise did it.  Endorphins were flooding my brain and making me happy, or it could of been the umbrella was working well and keeping me dry.  There is nothing like a good expensive umbrella, which is twice as good when it's free.

Beckham is thick

It has been with some amusement I read the prime minister of New Zealand, John Key said David Beckham is thick.  Being skilled at football does not include being intelligent, and in the UK there are few footy fans who would disagree with John Key's words.  The truth of the matter is Beckham is not the sharpest knife on the butcher's shelf, the brightest light bulb, shiniest coin in a pocket or the brightest star.  What he is however, is incredibly skilled at football and has pinpoint accuracy in his long ball.  The public support of hero status for footballers makes Beckham a star but he'll never score high on a Mensa test, unless he has some additional help form a personality who knows quite a little more.  Even if it happens to be Micky Mouse.  Then if you look at the Beckham stable in his choice of life partner, Victoria, then it is no surprise, because again she does not strike a light in a dim room..  She's known for her anorexia and being a member of the Spice Girls.  Her solo singing career has proved to be disastrous, because she can't sing.  Vick, does have a certain glamour about her, but wherever she goes and particularly whenever she is on TV she has an aura of stupid which hangs around like a fog in the big smoky of a 1950s industrial town.  Together they have made beautiful children with again disastrously chosen names.  This family will continue to be in the lime light for the foreseeable future in one capacity or another.  Be it as fund raisers for charity or as ambassadors for the UK, but don't ask them to open their mouths and talk, for it will be unimpressive.

Some footy fans may come to Becks defence, saying things like footy is a form of intelligence, it's a highly selected skill not a form of the smarts.  To get them confused is being a little optimistic, or even defensive of a very British celebrity.  David may be the nicest person in the world as well, but I doubt very much if has read many classic books or whether he could hold a decent conversation on politics.  I see him as coming from a Labour family background, self made rich man and then voting Tory just because he is rich, not because he could argue or debate.  You're unlikely to ever see him on Question Time or being interviewed on the Today programme. I'd put a ten pound note on it.  Then if you did hear him on TV or on the radio ask yourself which David Beckham voice you are listening to.  For he has since had voice coaching to try and removed the high pitched annoying tone he once had.  OK too looks glamorous but like any model you see who has the look, when they are given an opportunity to speak Thick is a term which would be used in many cases.  John Key is right because he has actually met Beckham and spent some time in his presence, his opinion is based on actual experience.  So lets face it, it probably counts more than the opinions of those who haven't met Becks, including me.

I'd like to say football was a wonderful sport, but there is an old adage which never seems to die and will continue to live for the rest of eternity.  Football is a gentleman's game played by thugs, and Rugby is a thugs game played by gentlemen.  Don't let this though shade your opinion, for every person has to find a thing which holds passion in their life.  If your passion is footy and it makes you happy the world does not matter.  If your passion is to look good, but not know a word beyond three syllables hell what should it matter either? 

Addictions defined

It has come to dawn on me, there are certain habits I have, which are probably addictions.  The thing is, an addiction is usually considered to be something associated with drugs. In reality this would be a somewhat narrow definition.  For habits are a kind of addiction, and a habit which continues for a long period of time could partly be termed an addiction.  Using the term addiction comes down to the negative intonations of the word.  Some addictions are no doubt good, it's the ones which are bad the word is commonly used with.  For example, smoking as opposed to watching TV or reading books.  So the word addiction has to be defined.  It is a habit which is repeated over a sustained period of time and creates a dependency.  Whether this is physiologically, psychologically, sociologically or behaviourally.  Furthermore all all addictions have a behavioural element to them.

The first aspect of any addiction is realising it exists, the second is understanding whether it is bad or not.  There are insidious addictions when only moments of clarity bring knowledge they are real, for example, watching TV every evening.  Mine is getting addicted to soaps and hunting down films.  I'm also addicted to the news and politics but this addiction I believe is not as bad as the amount of time I spend on the others.  There was a time when I used to exercise several evenings during the week.  I was a member of a gym, but somewhere along the line doing exercise became a chore rather than fun or a necessity.  I got lazy and preferred the comfort of a seat, hot drink, and vegetating in front of the TV.  So, the third aspect of an addiction is whether it causes harm.  I like eating food which is not good for me.  Fried food, or food from cafes or restaurants. It's cholesterol packed and the chefs do not make it with love. Food made with love is expensive or rare nowadays and this effects everybody.  Looking around the high street there are more fatter unhealthier people than there ever has been.  It is a national crime.  A fourth, aspect of an addiction is it is usually difficult to stop.  There is an effort involved in stopping the addiction and at the same time there is a need, or internal motivation to continue the addiction which struggles against the notion to stop it.  The physiological needs are easily recognised as they are based on a chemical desire in the body.  Be this blood sugar levels or brain neurotransmitters screaming out to be satisfied, as in the satisfaction nicotine brings to a smoker.  This chemistry, creates a dependency, as in alcoholism and how the alcoholic copes in the world.  The obese person is just unable to stop themselves from devouring yet another slice of cake.  They may want to but the effort and conscious desire to not do so is exceedingly difficult.  Perhaps this is why when one addiction is actually stopped it is then replaced with another.  I wonder if the circus clown is addicted to making people laugh, or if bees are addicted to pollen.  Addiction to this extent becomes life.  It is something which defines the addicted.  I like colourful socks and try to wear a different pair every day, it is a harmless addiction and probably would not be difficult to stop.  But eating fried rice is even though I know I really have to stop it.

Knowing I have certain addictions then allows me choice in the matter.  I choose whether to continue doing them or not doing them.  Even if they are harmful, although I probably avoid learning the full extent of those harmful addictions because I am adverse to further eye opening.  This is the issue.  I have to throw myself my own life saver, it is all down to me.  There are of course conditions which I can employ to help myself through this, such as changing my environment as best I can.  But when other people put temptation in my way then my conscious mind has a fight to stop the habit from taking over again.  It is exhausting.  As Geothe said "everything is hard until it's easy."  Wise words but totally unhelpful.  What I need are practical tips and guidance.  Recognising something is no in itself going to change the situation.

So if I'm looking to give myself practical advice it will be, to start slowly with one particular thing.  One little thing which is achievable and likely to confirm my own will power in any situation exists.  Make it definitive.  I will stop eating biscuits.  This is the one thing I am now going to try and achieve over the next week.  I will also being a conscious effort to avoid sweets or reduce my sweet intake.  There.  Two things now to do, two things which are easily defined.  If one can be achieved then so can the other.   

A subdued, short, pleasant, train ride

I popped in the pub to get a quick pint after work but it seemed the bar staff were more interested in something else other than serving customers.  After standing there for five minutes and having a short chat with someone I left.  If they can't be bothered to serve me then I can't be bothered to drink there. I'm not going to wait.  Next stop was the train station.

The indicator board showed my train was about to arrive in four short minutes.  There was enough time to walk through the gates and along the platform.  It would be an eight carriage train which meant I could walk further down the platform.  As it came in I checked the carriages expecting them to be crammed with commuters and hoped to see a spare seat here or there.  To my surprise it wasn't nearly as sardine like as it should of been.  I got on and easily found a seat.  Only two stops, just a few minutes.  I sat there and picked up a discarded newspaper.  The train trundled off.  In a few minutes it stopped at the first station.  Before coming to a rest I noticed something, or rather the lack of something.  It was noise, conversation, discussion, chit chat, even a lone voice speaking into a mobile phone.  Half full and not a murmur from anyone.  This was odd.  I'd been in a busy and noisy office all day long and suddenly even with people around there was little sound.  The train moved off again. I sat back and enjoyed the ride, comfortable with only the sounds of a travelling train.  All these people and none of them talking.  It seemed odd to me.  They were likely tired from work, or fed up and were just thinking of getting home.  I listened to the sound of no real sound at all. The train trundled on and very shortly it would be at my stop.  Each second now was a mini heaven; if only they could all be perpetuated for a couple of hours rather than a few seconds.

The train stopped and I got off. A short sweet and pleasant hop.