A Festival a Funeral, a glass of port and at last some sleep

After spending three days at the Rewind Festival, (see previous BLOG) we returned back to Sparkling's house. It has now been five days and it feels sleep has been more along the lines of grab-it-when-you-can. The fourth night was the night before Mr K's funeral and Sparkling was not able to catch up. She tossed and turned and had a lot of things on her mind. Maybe we managed four or five hours at most each night. But remarkably you can still function. Or just about function with very little. Yesterday was the fifth night, again there was little sleep to be had as Rock Chick had been to the family gathering after the funeral and got back late. She and Babyfro, who is very much a baby-baby rather than a Fro, slept over.  Except in her need to debrief Sparkling and discuss all the events it wasn't until after two in the morning or nearly three a.m. we all hit the hay.  I am reeling backwards now from the lack of shut-eye. So this morning I began the return trip to London and am ready to close my eyes.

The Festival was the highlight, it's almost been like an out of control train and a matter of just seeing what happened and enjoying the ride. There was talk of doing the Festival again next year and if we do prepared will be the main word.  A new tent might be of use and certainly warmer sleeping bags. Rock Chick has even shown some interest.

The funeral of Mr K came next. It was a Humanist funeral and his wish was for no one to buy flowers. He considered them a waste of money. It is the first time I have been to a humanist funeral and it was actually pretty considerate to the nature of the attendees. I recall my grandmother's funeral and grandfather's both of which were Christian funerals. The attendees didn't know what was expected of them, they felt awkward and very few were able to bring their selves to sing the hymns. To tell the truth it is somewhat hypocritical to have religious funerals when most people don't go to church or practice religion.  Therefore Mr K's passing in this fashion was wonderful. I learnt more about him and wished I had known him a lot more as a person. My wish would also be to have a humanist funeral as I've got to believe religion is no more than hocus pocus and the likelihood of there actually being any kind of supreme creator is non existent. As Christopher Hitchens would say "God does not exist" and as L & B man would say "get over it." After the funeral a number of attendees went to a club for some refreshments.  I spoke to a couple of people to try and learn more about Mr K. One person described him as a pain-in-the-arse and immediately I heard this phrase I warmed even more to the late Mr K. People who are a pain in the arse are always characters worth getting to know. Mr K was noted to carefully take of his glasses and delicately put them into the case before he head-butted someone who had crossed the line. I had two pints of Guinness and in a gesture of personal goodbye a glass of port, which was Mr K's favourite tipple. I felt emotional and know it was a combination of alcohol and death, which always does it to me. As do little baby grand daughters and happy, contented parents.

So now is the sixth night, and I know there should be no disturbances from revellers outside my tent, there will be no talking till two a.m. or disturbed sleep.  I'm going to be missing Sparkling and the gang in Scotland until the next time I get to see them. As I love them all very much. Sleep is calling, I can hear it singing in my ear like a mermaid capturing the hearts of sailors as the drift closer to the rocks.  Except this mermaid is a bed all soft warm and inviting.

Camping at 80s Rewind Festival and a Shit Kit

The last three days I've had an experience, camping at the 1980s Rewind Festival in Perth (Scotland), which is a stone throw away from Perth racecourse.  It's situated in the grounds of Scone Palace (this is pronounced Scoon). What an event it has been, myself, Sparkling Eyes, L & B man and The Revenues Lady have endured a lot of time with nature, to the point a little too much a nature.  A day without a shower is bad enough but now it has been three days, I'm minging as the Scots would say.  After we got in the house, unloaded most of the bags, a long hug with Sparkling, I then began hoovering. Sparkles had a long shower, she came back down refreshed and I asked her for another hug, to which she said an emphatic no because I smelled of "shite and pishh."  There I was thinking love went beyond the smells of nature and it obviously doesn't.

Of the artists performing were: The Earth, Wind and Fire Experience (sounded just like the real Earth Wind and Fire), Tony Hadley, Mike and The Mechanics, Modern Romance, Rick Astley, Jason Donovan and Belinda Carlisle.  Others were there but I can't recall the entire line up. Which could also be something to do with only having 3 or 4 hours sleep each night. My eyelids are about to go on strike and close up altogether. The weather was at first fantastic, which probably added to the body odor situation, putting up a tent when the sun is bright, hard and the temperature is in the 80s is a trial in itself. I saw sweat drip down L & Bs forehead.  Sparkling sat on a chair inhaling her e-cigarette. The practice session we'd had earlier helped. But it didn't stop L & B calling me a "fanny" or how he was gonna batter my "puss" which means face and is nothing to do with a pet cat. Eventually our home for the next three times was up.  The air beds seemed to take up more space than they were worth and reduced sleeping compartment room.  Unfortunately overnight the weather changed, there was no cloud so it got very cold and we learnt the sleeping bags were not up to scratch. Getting used to my own body odor was a difficult thing at first. So I tried getting some kind of fresher clean feel by using wet-wipes. They are not great, but when the queue to the showers is a mile long and a couple of hours wait it wasn't worth it. There was more to do, get drunk, avoid people I thought were not normal. I'll not go into it but nowadays I choose me company to a greater degree.

Without doubt the most traumatic incident of this wonderful event was not being stinky, it was the toilets.  The festival only had 30,000 people attend, but at some time or other they would all need to use a toilet.  There must of been hundreds of porta-loos everywhere. When the main event was in play a set of about 60 loos was crowded, stinking something rotten, and had about ten deep of people wanting to use them. It must of been something the organizers had put in the alcohol, heavens knows what it would of been like were it pissing down every day.  There are videos on YouTube on how to use a porta-loo, it might be an obvious thing knowing how to use a toilet, but lets just say if you are into yoga and can hold your breath for six or seven minutes then you have a distinct advantage to using Festival toilets. The must have essential sets of items for the unfortunate event of using a portable toilet is called the "shit-kit" everyone should put this together, as a just-in-case absolute essential.  It will have, wet-wipes, hand sanitizing gel, spare knickers. Extra items would be a peg and some kind of perfumed spray. Ultimately if a toilet is particularly disgusting you have the choice not to use it, however there may also be the likelihood of having very little choice but to use it. Only hope in some way the flushing mechanism is working. Even a small flush is better than no flush at all, but be prepared the sight of some awful toilet dumps could await. As though they were some kind of personal art project left behind by an anonymous person. I was fortunate on a number of occasions to choose not to use certain toilets and then move onto another. But needs must and it may well be you could end up shitting yourself.  It's a nasty realisation, but it could happen as L & B man has told of his own experience, but then he is an unusual person and openly talks about is experiences. Though at times I'd wish he didn't, get in a compulsive don't-tell-me-but-I-can't-stop-listening things comes on.

Getting back to civilisation is wonderful. Having hot water run from a shower and the smell of perfumed shower gel is a luxury and so appreciated.  However, maybe best of all was having a cup of tea. I enjoyed the festival, the event of camping, the music, it is a love-hate thing overall, at times I loved it at times I hated it.  Meeting new people was also a good thing, it seems when you get up in the morning and see what an individual looks like when they are not at their best or they are suffering with the same problems builds up a comadre and breaks down barriers. Now, smelling better, being refreshed, visiting a real flushing toilet have made me very happy to, all I need now is some sleep.

Goodbye Mr K

Today just after 5 pm an elderly man I once knew passed away. He was the ex father-in-law to Sparkling Eyes and although Sparkling has been divorced some years, Mr K and his wife Mrs K have always considered Sparkling to be part of their family. He loved Sparkling and his grand daughter Rock Chick immensely. It is very sad he is no longer here, and I must admit to liking him and loving him as well. He always made me welcome. Except of course for the first time I met him and I was just a little bit afraid.

When I met Mr K for the first time it was at a party and was in Sparkling's kitchen. I was a little scared because Sparkling said at first the family on her Ex's side may have seen me as taking Sparkling away from them. They understood though this was not the case at all. Even though Mr K was old then I wanted to be on his good side and show I wasn't going to make any obnoxious comments, of any kind at all. Mr K enjoyed his drink and told me all kinds of stories, he'd been a lorry driver and had to come down to London on a number of occasions. He knew parts of London and what it was like in the 60s. He had a dry sense of humour and when he told his stories there would be a little quip in the last few words which always raised a laugh. But on that first occasion he did say I could pop round any time, then he'd set the dog on me.  He laughed when he said this and I wasn't sure how to take it, but felt cautioned.  It was a few days later I learnt the joke was on me, for his dog was a little black loveable one, who later on saved Mr K's life.

The last and very happy time I saw Mr K was Christmas day 2012. Sparkling had promised we'd all pop around to see her father in law and so it was, myself, Sparkling, Rock Chick, Dangerous Sports Lad and Babyfro all turned up. The afternoon and even was a very happy event. Mr K kept us entertained, Mrs K told the story of how their pooch had alerted her and saved Mr K. Who'd managed to survive with part of his heart non functioning. Mr K then went out of his way to be the most hospitable host he could. His definition of this was to share with us his most favourite Christmas tipple, Port. After being already stuffed earlier in the day I must admit drinking port, even though it was very nice was difficult on a bloated belly. The thing was it didn't stop Mr K poring more port on my already undrunk port in the glass. He would cheekily nod and tell us all to drink up. There was something of a sparkle in his eye, a mischievous loveable sparkle.  I felt welcome and a part of the family.  I am sorry he has passed away and only wish I'd had more discussions with him, and my thoughts are he was a good man.  He will be so very missed, Goodbye Mr k.

London Sun, oh what fun

It seems like the first time in several years London has been as sunny as it is now, the last time I felt the heat like this must of been when I was a teenager. Which is saying something. It's been about 4 weeks of constant sun and there is little let up, it began just before Wimbledon.  In addition it is getting hotter and there have been a few days where it's 90 plus degrees Fahrenheit, hot, hot, hot. There is no need to wear a coat and the only reason I carry a denim jacket about is to carry wallet, keys, change, various passes, it's not been used as a coat for a few days now. In effect the sun in London is glorious and it is like food to people who have not eaten for a long time.  You should see how they all react to it.

There is a water feature not far from my work, it is a sloped pavement with a stream like flow, it's not a deep one, but does have an artificial stream like quality.  A small step downward from pavement level and you are standing in it while the water diverts around your feet.   On these hot days small children play on this feature,  rolling on the slope, paddling bare footed and chasing each other around. It is with happy excitement they do this and seeing them behave in this way is infectious to the spirit. They are carefree and very living in the moment.  The water is so appetising and refreshing I've wondered what it would be like to walk bare footed on as well. Everyone I see who does this is transformed, relaxed and relieved. Of the children playing in on the slope, some don't even have costumes and in their ordinary clothes roll about in it, Mum's just letting them have their fun. Their mischief is almost as bright as the light from the sun. I smile just seeing it now in my mind and wonder of the past memories when I was a child and must of done the same thing.

The sun in London now makes people walk slow or walk in the shade and a few even carry umbrellas using them like a parasol. There is a general rush to get to where you need to be as quickly as you can before it gets too hot. This would really mean leaving home by six a.m. though most don't leave so early. On trains windows are permanently open and a flow of air filters through.  However, in the afternoons this tends to be hot air and the trains are uncomfortable. There is a hustle and a bustle as commuters now slovenly bump into each other. But mostly they are so into slow motion they would rather just not bustle too much. Even early in the morning tiredness already has a hold. It's the hot nights for they make it difficult to sleep and leaving a window open means you are open to hearing the rest of the world.  Personally I stick to the most air conditioned places I can find stay in the shade and even try to avoid too much of the bright stuff. Yet even with a grumpy git like me, there is nothing quite as nice as a hot sunny day.

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Watching UFOs

I don't know why but this evening must of been one of those "not-sure-what-I'm-doing-with-myself" and I ended up watching UFO programs on YouTube. It began with a put together set of UFOs in the sky from amateur footage. This was professionally presented by some American, because we all know American's have got Alien fixations, paranoia fixations and love eating food.  The videos all looked like balloons to me, how on earth the producers, can get away with such claptrap, is mind boggling.  No doubt a lot of people enjoyed watching it. Considering I watched most of it, with the help of skipping forward it kept me mildly entertained for a short while.  Trying not to shout at the box or laugh if anyone in their right mind considered those things to be spacecraft.  Or even aliens, however I could not help but write a voice of reason comment explaining most of the sightings were balloons, lanterns, aeroplanes and the lot were actually explainable phenomenon.  I'll check for hate mail and thumbs down votes over the next few days.  Especially being wary of things written by little green men.

Five minute later after this waste of life entertainment, a light catches my eye through the window.  In the night sky, behold there drifting by is a Chinese lantern; of the type which had just been put into the program I'd seen. In fact I could of got my own camera out and sent the footage in for a fee.  Now there's the real reason to be interested in UFO's, making money out of them.  I saw the lantern as it unenthusiastically went it's merry way.  It was a beautiful sight to see, and gave the illusion of an orange glowing flame.  Viewing this made me recall how  the biggest fire in England was said to have been started by a lantern.  They should be banned because they are a hidden danger, not because of the waste of YouTube space. Further, instead of being attacked with paranoid government rockets or lasers, lets just douse the blighters instead.

My train of thought set me off yet again on a juxtaposing subject, coincidences.  Twice coincidences of events have happened to me in the last few days. They were both small events by themselves but when these things happen together you do wonder.  Maybe this is why it is easy for people to turn to irrational explanations at a whim, e.g. ghosts, UFOs, aliens, mental illness.  We are simple creatures and sometimes thinking can be too hard. There might be UFOs out there, but I never seen one.  It must be I'm never in the wrong place at the right time. However what I do have is a torch and a spooky mask, tomorrow night there just might be sightings of an alien, in this vicinity of London, and I might happen to be out.  Now what a coincidence it would be, but it wouldn't mean I was the culprit of bogeyman sightings.  I met him last week in the pub and he was nowhere as handsome as me, he didn't buy a round either, the tight git.

Attention and Chinese food

I'm due to take lunch, the night before I think about salads and how hot it is, and how good a salad would be for me. I can even taste it the fresh leaves, the crunch of robust vegetables. Yet come lunch time there I am back at the Chinese ordering another not so healthy large plate of grub.  I think my desire for food has become so habitual I'm having a problem breaking it. I try to walk about as much as I can while at work.  Just to break hours of sitting at a desk and the hope constant getting up is burning calories, is doing something. No matter how small it is. Walking up a couple of flights of stairs, going to a photocopier, anything just to move about. Sometimes I even fool myself I could be losing weight as I tug my belt tight. Then after another lunch I head to the newsagents and get a large bar of chocolate. It's on a deal and only costs £1.  How can it be resisted? It can't.  Again, there is some habitual thing going on, after lunch pop into newsagent, pop into pub for a coffee and try to chat to Sparkling Eyes. A near impossible task but I do try.  Back to the factory and it's just over an hour.  To sit in front of a computer monitor where the blue doughnut of doom revolves round and more patience is lost.

I read somewhere we use attention in everything we do, and it is like a resource.  When this attention water level drops there is a need to eat glucose.  So people who sit in offices with frustrating jobs, or overly demanding jobs get fat. It's not just the sedentary part. It's the waiting for IT to do something. Or rather the weighting. It is boredom which saps away at this resource of attention.  This patience. It gets bitten like a church mouse takes bit after bite from a biscuit. Then there are peaks in this demand, peaks which result in a sudden high level of frustration. Where there is a desire to pick up the machine and throw it out of the window.  Everyone gets this at times, of course nobody does actually do it, if they did then they wouldn't have a job on account of probably killing someone as the machine is dropped from a height.  The thought gives some relief though.  In this instance the thought is not father to the deed.  Just father to the desire and a mighty desire as well.  As mighty as my desire to continue eating Chinese food. I have a belly to prove it. Long gone are the days when it was flat. Now I fantasise about been slim as well. It doesn't last too long. Not after putting socks on or tying laces.

I also read, the most difficult thing to do is to give something up and then be hit with anther task which drains your resource of attention.  If I was determined to give up Chinese food but then had to cue in a shop to get my salad I just wouldn't be able to do it.  By the end of the day I'd be a complete wreck. Considering I'm a wreck at the end of most days already then I'd be a double wreck.  Laying on the rocks without a life raft in sight. But if my belly was full then I'd be satisfied, well, until next meal time anyway.  I'm in a moral, physical and psychological dilemma, where each thing is mutually reliant on the other thing. How on earth did I get here?

The doughnut of doom

This afternoon I chose to leave the Fish Factory early. I could of stayed but purposefully decided not to. My life is overly dominated by failing computer systems. Systems which just do not work at all. Brand new systems, brand new software, state of the art, nearly. So fish sit at their desks and then as they process the next batch of sprats they stand and watch a little blue revolving doughnut. It is the doughnut of doom, of gloom, the doughnut which tests the ultimate threshold of human patience. There are times when industrious fish sit there and wonder how to react. Do they a) throw the computer out of the window, b) cry c) huff, puff, rant, swear, groan, moan, anything which is an expel of breath and frustration or d) make up a poem and rename the Fish Factory the Frozen Fish Factory because everything is going nowhere fast. One of my favourite expressions is to say it is "like walking uphill through treacle." The extent of how thick this treacle is depends on the day.

In this day and age, going forward has become a matter of going backwards. The computer system of 5 years ago though more basic was faster, it didn't have as many whistles as this one has but it definitely worked.  In principles of LEAN management, you do not invest in new technology if the new technology is no better or advantageous than the old technology.  Personally I am wary about buying anything which has just been developed. It's always best to get the older model, because everybody else can tell you the faults. If there are too many faults then skip it and wait for a few more models to come out. I still do not own a smart phone and am proud I don't. But when I upgrade you can bet I'll work out how to use the smart phone and what all the pros and cons are in a short time.  For I'll just look at the reviews of others, they would of done all the hard work.  Not to mention the immediate expense of a new object.

Today's temporary reprieve is an escape from the doughnut of doom, but no doubt it will be there again tomorrow.

Note: here the doughnut of doom is used to fondly describe, the rotating blue icon which pops up when IT systems go slow.

So when do I get to talk to my sweetheart?

Talking to Sparkling has become a nightmare. Today I got to talk to her for a grand total of eight minutes before the conversation came to an end. She is busy, so busy the love of her life isn't able to communicate. At this moment I feel like having a complete and utter hissy fit over it. Each lunchtime I try to chat but she gets L & B man turn up. Each evening I try to chat but can not guarantee because either she is out seeing Rock Chick and Babyfro or she's at work.  The times I am available she's not. The times I can get to talk to her someone else is. The only method of talking to my love is phone and if someone else is on the scene this is cut short or just doesn't happen. I'm now feeling neglected. I wouldn't mind if I was a garden weed, because garden weeds thrive on neglect, in fact they love neglect, but I'm not. I'm me. So I don't know what to do.  The time I spend with Sparkling on the phone is the most precious part of my day, every single second talking to her is wonderful. It helps to balance my mind and pull me on course to understand the important thing in my life, which is of course Sparkling. So I'm bloody pissed off.  I've lost my rudder, it's been broken off and non incommunicado. I now got a mind now not to even bother texting and let he text me when she feels the need, when she feels she is missing me, because I've had it. It is like nobody else who actually gets to see Sparkling understands how valuable my phone time is with her, that or they don't give a shit. And if Sparkling doesn't give a shit then it's worse. I need my rudder, I need my chats, I need to hear you Sparkling, where are you?

Andy Murry first British champion of Wimbledon in 77 years

Watching Murray play Wimbledon today has been an incredible highlight. He has strived and strived, again and again, come close and lost, gone through emotional and psychological turmoil and now eventually done it. He is the mark of perseverance, someone who has proven if you want something bad enough you'll do anything to get it.

Yet the whole, background of both Murray and Djokovic, in Wimbledon is an ironic setting in which both Andy Murray and Novac Djokovic fought their battle. Wimbledon is set in a wealthy suburb of west London. You'll not find many proletariat persons with properties there.  Djokovic came from a war torn Yugoslavia and was advised not to live there any more for fear of his life, his own country is now adopted Canada.  He left Yugoslavia when he was 12 years old, prior to this he would of witnessed or been part of the turmoil of civil war his country went through. Djokovic is a fighter, he is as tough as they come and everyone knows this. In a similar vein Murry attended a school in Dumblaine at the time a crazed gunman decided to shoot pupils.  Andy was 8 years old at this time. Murray is often referred to by Scots people as dour. Considering what he has been through in his early years of life he can be anything he wants to be.  Whether dour, depressive, dead pan or cantankerous he has a personal right not to give a shit.

There is a joke associated with Murry which is in some way cruel. It is, when he loses the press call him Scottish and when he wins he is called British. Whatever Murray chooses to be, there is no doubt he is a champion. A man who at times had the entire expectations of a nation on his shoulders to succeed. This to is a cruel thing to have, why should a nation act in such a way? Probably it's an inferiority complex, but what Murray has done is conquer even this. He is first Scottish, second British and now an historical figure in Tennis. First male champion for 77 years, his name will be inscribed in every sports alamac for a pretty long time. And we're proud because as a country it is tough to live here and come up from nothing, especially for the proletariat.

A walk and a ukulele help in stress busting

Sometimes peace and quiet is a necessity, especially when noise becomes and assault on the senses, and if it's not noise it's a place, other people, or a situation which is anathema. Like this evening.  I got back home after work and am greeted by the TV and some brain numbing, depressive, mind sapping soap was blaring out. An urge came over me to stick a foot through the telly, which meant I had to get out of the house. After a change as quick as Superman in a telephone box, coat was on, earphones plugged into phone and I was off. Like a greyhound, out of the trap and the bunny rabbit had just passed him. I needed badly to get away, and it felt bloody good. It's being in a stressful environment which does it. I believe the mind has to rest, the same happens when cooped up too long in a house and cabin fever gets to you. The need to get out of the house is as great as the need to escape a prison environment.  I got back to the house about an hour and twenty minutes later. Now I just feel tired. Walking is a good exercise, an underestimated exercise. It's exercise but at the same time it doesn't strain, but of course whatever route you take it has to be varied, up hills, down hills, over grass, it's got to give you something to see along the way and points which can mark milestones, without actually being real milestones. I guess it must of been just over two miles, taking into account the time, and the pace and some parts were slightly challenging.

As time is now late it means I've missed the opportunity to play Harvey (ukulele). Harvey also brings me relaxation even though I'm still learning to play him.  He rings out lovely sounds and I'm learning about music every time I pick him up. My teacher is You-tube, it's amazing what you can find on there. It's approaching 7 months since I've been practising and although I've missed out the odd day I do get to pick up Harvey for a few hours each week.  Presently I'm trying to get the hang of a few barre chords. These are chords where more than one string is held down by one finger. When using the finger tip to depress a single string it is as easy but even just doing two strings it can become more difficult. If not done just right plucking the string will make it sound dampened and it'll not ring out correctly. When a bunch of chords are played together in the right sequence you've suddenly got a little song going and it's marvellous. Singing and timing come next and they are a lot harder to do than I'd thought but I think there is a glimmer of hope even in this field. I'm sure there is.

In doing a search on you tube I came across a ukulele playing comedian. Listening to a couple of her songs I didn't particularly think they were that great, her playing the uke was OK but not great either and it has given me a thought about giving it a go. I don't think it can be too difficult throwing a few words together which would be funny, getting them to rhyme and sing along with a tune would be more difficult though.  So fifty percent is a good start. This may just be another outlet for me, one which brings together two things of interest.  I just hope they don't curdle. However if they do then I suppose Harvey could be useful in turning the TV off, even if he'd only get to do it once and with a little luck the TV might not make much sound afterwards as well.