The personality of Baby Princess J at 18 months

I returned from seeing Sparkling Eyes and spent lots of time with Little Princess J, who is so cheeky it is unbelievable. For Princess J, the world has been put here to she can adventure and have as much fun as possible. I so love the sound of her giggles when she laughs. It is an amazing thing to here an 18 month old little girl giggle with excitement. She is learning to mimic other people around her and this is noticeable when she does something, such as sneaking a drink of tea.  For an adult having a cup of tea when you are dying for one will lead to a customary "ahh" sound and a face of relief. It's not just the thought of caffine but probably having a hot drink when cold and being thirsty.  Princess J does not have her own cup of tea but this doesn't stop her from going up to Sparkling Eyes and reaching out for Sparkling's cup. Providing the tea is not too hot, Sparkling will then gently hand her the cup and mind as Princess J takes it in both hands and raises it to her mouth. The difficult thing she has nearly got the hang of is realising the degree to which a cup is tilted changes the rate at which the liquid flows into her mouth. However, she is right on the verge of understanding to gradually tip the cup up.  Then as Princess J sips away at the warm tea she lowers the cup and gives out a big old "ahhh" and a beautiful big smile as well. Just to say I-loved-that-as-well.  It is so funny how she is picking up the norms of how adults act and then applies them to her own world. It is not only tea she does this with as well.

It seems Princess J knows a telephone is meant for communicating with. Now she is no longer content with having a play telephone because she likes to have a go of talking on the real thing. When she sees her mum Rock Chick answer the phone Princess J thinks she should have a chat on the line as well. So first thing is first and Rock dutifully hands the phone over to Princess J.  Princess J has not got the hang of language yet but it doesn't stop her from trying so she engages in wonderful displays of baby babble. She can say some words and if counting she probably has about a 100 or so words but they are said in isolation.  Such as "outside" when she knows she is going out or the word "up" to raise something or indeed the word "again" when she wants to hear her favourite song or watch her favourite film (Frozen). She loves music and so likes to engage in a bit of babble with this as well in a beautiful little singing voice.  I have heard Sparkling ring up Rock Chick and in the background Princess J will be doing her best to get the phone off her mum. Rock passes it over, during this time, Rock says Princess walks about with the phone as if in deep conversation which requires all her concentration. Well it is conversation although her own language, and through this comes her excitement at chatting to her Ga Ga (Sparkling Eyes). Sparkling gives Princess J all the time in the world to say what she wants to say and makes a few comments of the like "is that so" and "then what did you do?" At which Princess J continues and tells the rest of her story.  She knows how to use a phone and what it's for this is for sure.

We believe Princess J may well be an explorer when she grows up, because she likes to lead the way when out on walks and she doesn't like to be chained down with reigns or too much hand holding unless she wants to hold hands. It's like her feet have been made for walking and she will walk and find adventure and wonder in this world in everything she sees. Whether it is a multi-bag packet of chrisps off a supermarket shelf or a packet of bird seed, if she likes the look of it she will pick it up and carry it and continue running around the shop, and then drop it on the floor when she's bored. In the park she loves to go on all of the attractions, slides, swings and rocking horses.  Where possible she will climb and hold on and then laugh her head off when she is pushed or swung because for her it is the most wonderful thing in the world.  And nearly every person she takes an interest in she then melts their heart with her curiosity and happiness. Sparkling takes Princess J for walks around a local aquarium and the Little Princess just runs around the shop loving every moment of it. She is picked up to look at the fishes and then put down again because she can not stay in any one place more than a few seconds. Because boredom is not on her agenda of things to do. She races from one thing to another and doesn't stop at all, especially if taken to a new place, then it's all cylinders firing no matter how tired she really is.

When I pretend to be a monster who catches and then tickles her she is the happiest little girl in the world. Usually running to her mum or to Sparkling to seek someone to save her from the tickle monster then to look back over her should just to see if the tickle monster is there so she can burst out into a good giggle.  She is a happy beautiful little girl and were she a prescription medicine all the ills of the world would fade away in an instance.

Meghan Trainor's All About That Bass - the real chords

It's funny how things can get changed in translation, one of which has got to be the various versions of Meghan Trainor's All About That Bass.  Where she belts out the song in YouTube vids and she has no ukulele it could be anyones best guess as to what chords the song is in. But, and it is a small but, you can actually see for yourself by watching another video of Meghan sing this with her own ukulele, and let me say this, 90% of the YouTube videos teaching how to play this song have got it wrong. 
It is a matter of checking out Meghan for yourself, freezing the frames and looking at how she is holding the chords.  Let me categorically state, there is no A chord in the song. So those who think there is, go and get on your bike and take a long ride of a short pier, then watch the video for yourself while drying off with a big fluffy towel. For you will need the towel.

So here are the screen captures of Meghan Trainor's hands as she forms the chords, the first one is clearly a G chord. However the placement of her thumb on the G String, suggests she alternates between using a good old G major and a G add 9.  It is difficult to tell but as a first chord this looks absolutely nothing like the predicted A chord on so many YouTube videos.  I checked out this configuration on a chord finder web site and took the assumption Meghan is playing in the normal G, C, E, A uke tuning.  What however is an even bigger puzzle is the second chord Meghan uses.

Here it is:

For some reason this chord does not come up on the chord finder, it actually is not a defined chord. Saying this, I guess if you know how to play music and it sounds good the music you play does not have to be dictated by text books.  Maybe it's what makes Meghan's song sound great. I blew up this picture just to show what I mean.

The last chord picture is here on the left.  After watching the video a few times I come to the conclusion this is a D7. Megan is using her thumb to seal of the second fret of the G string. I noticed as Megan played there were moments when she flicked her wrist down after holding chords as though they were uncomfortable and she was giving her wrist a momentary break. I might be wrong in this, it could be she is adding theatrical emphasis on the beat, but in my opinion it's a wrist break because of minor discomfort.

YouTube videos are interpretations by those who post the videos of what are the true chords and beats of a song.  I've got to understand this a lot more as I've checked more and more tutorials.  There would be a favourite youtuber for me who seems to get it right but then they will do a version of a song and it just doesn't hit the spot. In which case I choose to move onto another person or even try a variation on the their interpretation so as to bring the chords or strum pattern closer to what I think the song sounds like.

When it comes down to it there is no right or wrong, there is only the method which gives you the most fun.  Because it's all about the Bass, the Bass no Treble.

Rice the gassious of carbohydrates - the fart food for short

It is normal for me to take lunch at a Chinese, but a couple of weeks ago I realised more than usual I had a whiff about me.  A kind of pong was going on. I'm sure it was related to the ingredients in the chicken and black bean sauce on steamed rice.  There is also garlic and chilli in this dish, but the pong was probably generated by the rice.  I believe rice is the food of farts. Or it is for certain western people, or maybe as said earlier it's the combination of ingredients.  So this week I began an experiment, but it was not just centred on this major culprit, I did my very best to hit every white carbohydrate which normally passed my lips. To try and find an alternative, which ultimately came down to brown bread sandwiches or rather my favourite of brown breads being malted granary. It's got grains in it and has a nice slightly nutty chewy texture. Every breakfast would be some kind of toast from this bread.  Lunchtimes were also brown bread sandwiches, I must admit though I personally don't like eating sandwiches all the time, but this experiment meant I had no alternative. I had to keep to it as closely as possible.  Figuring it would take maybe two to three days for the old food and effects to go through the digestive process.  Fortunately it was closer to one to two days.

The results were amazing, I mean absolutely amazing. A significant decrease in the number of farts. My breath didn't have a garlic like whiff to it after lunch, because I wasn't eating garlic any more. At night time I am prone to a few blistering explosions in the bed. These had nearly stopped, I was changing, no longer the epitome advert of a middle aged man with the farts, grumpy, moaning and always best to keep a few yards from. Yet at the same time I am fighting an addiction and love of carbohydrates.  I love pastries, the occasional white bread bit of toast, cakes and biscuits (which I just about keep at bay) and many other carb foods. Yet being in love with these foods is not socially acceptable, particularly if ever enclosed in a small space and feeling the urge to flatulent behaviour; it's the old lift (elevator) scenario I'm thinking about - where we have all been.  Farting means those people who are the closest to you suffer.  Unless they have some kind of sinus problem. It also means if you spend a lot of time undisturbed in a room then walk out of it and return you notice an invisible pong sits there.  Effectively you have been stewing in your own farty smell and not just breathing it, it has seeped into your clothes.  Your odour is no longer a high class EDT product nice to smell and attractant to others or so the adverts say, but rather one fat old and loyal dogs have near the end of their life, or cats. I remember Tiggy, he was a beautiful affection cat, but if you squeezed him to hard or he just sat around you purring for too long soon you'd realise his silent farts were as bad as your own.  Hetty's dog Barney was another example, he'd just lay on the floor nearby, occasionally wag his tail and occasionally drop a stink bomb.  I loved them both very much, more than anything in the world yet sometimes loving a pet can mean having to put up with a lot.  So the evaporation or greatly reduced smell around me was noticeable, certainly to me so I expect it may have been of notice to others as well.

There is only one solution and it is one which I don't like to ponder on too much. I have to give up on the high carbs.  Closely examine the glycemic index and fight my own addiction to food I have been brought up on.  Which at times is like trying to fight a sneeze. It's not easy, definitely not easy. I'm sure it is to do with the conversion of sugars during digestion and blood sugar levels, with this is the need to diet and exercise. Words which are like garlic and holly water to a vampire. I truly think controlling food intake and living a healthy life is probably the most difficult thing to do in the modern day.  Just looking at the bulletin boards of people affected by this phenomenon leads me to know I am not alone, if only I had a buddy I could talk to whenever the urge grabbed me, like an emergency service number.  But it seems with the number of fat farty people about these are rare individuals. The thing is you need someone who has been through the same experiences as you have, not one of those hypocritical skinny people who has never felt the cravings of a carb addition, not someone who has never experienced stuffing their face and still wanting more.  I need to stop this rant and get out for my Sunday walk, which is late now. At least outside I know there is a lot of fresh air. This room is starting to get a little stuffy.

Meghan Trainor and the ukulele

Ever since I began my love affair with the ukulele, I've kept an eye out for hit music where the ukulele plays a part and the most recent song which has a ukulele version is none other than Meghan Trainor's All About The Bass. She plays the ukulele and sings the song and it sounds bloody brilliant, but she does have a very good voice and this is without voice synthesisers.  She just has a very good voice. Although the version below is sung in a studio, Meghan has a number of versions on Youtube, one of which you will find is the first time she sang it in public, in Nashville which was on the 16.07.14. (UK date format).

 

It is great to see the continuing rise of the ukulele, going from strength to strength, this is a versatile and portable instrument which deserves a place in the heart of everyone interested in music.  Here is a list of other popular songs where the ukulele plays a part.

Hey Soul Sister - Train

You and I - Ingrid Michaelson

Somewhere over the Rainbow -Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole

Five years time - Noah and the Whale

Rise - Eddie Vedder

You belong to me - Stevie Martin (Film The Jerk) written also by Eddie Vedder

The above songs actually have the ukulele in them, but nearly every song which is out can be played with the ukulele and I would say some are certainly disposed to doing a pretty good rendition on the ukulele, for example: I'm Yours by Jason Mraz, Ho Hey by the Lumineers, I Will Wait by Mumford and Sons and lastly Hey there Delilah by the Plain White Ts.  (Nearly forgot Amanda Palmer who sings a lot of songs on the uke). All these are very hip songs, quite contemporary and not too difficult to learn. Even if the mixing of singing and ukulele playing can be difficult to begin with, it's fun to try and one thing I have enjoyed is laughing at my self when I do try.

When I discover new pop music it has now become a habit to check and see if there is a version of someone doing the song on a ukulele and most of the time there is one. There are some great, easy to follow tutorials as well. A number of Youtube teachers break songs down into the simplest versions and in getting started these are definitely the place to start.

So without a doubt this BLOG is an advertisement for the most beautiful and easiest of instruments to learn music and song on (in my opinion) the ukulele.  Mine is called Harvey, and I have another called Bertha, but not yet a third.  In the evenings you will find me, strumming away, watching youtube vids and even trying to sing along. A lone man and a uke, fun, funny and very satisfying.

Holding a fist up to the clouds and rain

Sometimes you can do the right things and it's still not possible to get sleep. This happened last night. Sunday I did the usual walk, this was three hours long, then it rained.  Wonderful. I got wet and carried on, fortunately not drenched but nearly drenched. It was the intermittent kind of rain, the kind which wasn't sure in the first place whether it would come down because it felt so comfortable up there in it's soft fluffy but rather grey looking cloud. Yet it had to rain just to show it was real and the cloud cover was not the kind which just wanted to have a joke, it needed to prove a point. An endearing point, fortunately not too enduring for me. My coat is not of the expensive type which repels all known germs or rain but rather an off the peg and temporarily does the job but doesn't like to be overworked, in short it is an indolent coat when it comes to rain and will give in after a period of time. Consequently there seemed to be a wet patch on my back, even though I had a ruck sack.  I could of easily held my fist up to the sky and damned it to high hell and back, just like a character from Forest Gump, however this act might of looked a little over dramatic. Well certainly to anyone who saw the crazy man with a ruck sack on his back shaking a fist to the sky. "Come on give it to me, give me all you got, you bastard little rain drops. I'm a man, I can take, damn you wet droplets to hell where you may become steam and evaporate, damn, damn and treble damn you." Well, perhaps a little over the to and possibly worthy of an ambulance and being sectioned under the Mental Health Act. All for the sake of a decent rain resistant coat.

Well never mind, it's a new day. Off to work I go, hi ho, hi ho followed by achoo. The revenge of the rain a never ending cold which has so far lasted about 4 weeks.

A need to read and brain food

There is this feeling which has come over me. Like I am spending too much time watching TV and as though TV really isn't doing anything for my brain. It's like my brain is now turning into mash potato probably without milk or butter added in or even a sprinkling of chives which would at least make the thing a little more exotic. The feeling is a need to read, to feed my brain rather than the passiveness of viewing a movie or TV program. It's a little like the feeling of having forgotten a lot of stuff, all the education stuff which was crammed inside has leaked out, a bit like a hole in a bucket. To the extent I'm getting to feel like I don't know a much about anything at all, just at some point I did know something and more than just a little bit. Statistics for example. I used to know lots about statistical tests and statistics but now it's like most of it has gone and I would like to brush up on it again, try and remember what it is I've forgotten. Hence the need for brain food, which is what the reading is all about. Something has got to go in and be thought about, not just anything, something the little cogs can grab hold of and start moving round in circles, in varying circles and speeds.  Watching TED lectures on Youtube helps, but it's passive, by the time I've watched one I've then forgotten what it was which was so important and it didn't seem so inspiring. It's the brain thing, the leaks could be more pronounced with the less effort it takes to take something in. Whereas reading is slow and there is more time for thought, more time to take it in and so the leaks are slower. I got a leaky brain it's all there is to it, what goes in eventually leaks out. I'm surprised I still remember my name.

As part of the regular trips I take on Eastcoast mainline I get points for every pound spent.  It's a kind of club, the more I spend the more points and then in exchange the points can be used for perks. For example for 100 points I get wifi for a day free. Although it's not really free because I had to spend money to get the points in the first place. There is a selection of other items I can get but there's not a whole boat load. So getting a lot of points doesn't mean I could go and get a weekly shop, which is a shame because I do like food. So I spent a few points a couple of months back and it was for a book. The book is: Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman.  I heard of Kahneman he was half of a duo of psychologists who developed models of decision making or thinking. I'd read a few of their papers and articles in books so going for Kahneman's book was right up my street. Except the think has been sat on my desk for a few weeks, dressed up with nowhere to go. It is a sexy little number however when it comes to brain food. I want to devour it and jump into it and to do so means picking the thing up and reading it. Hence the very real need to read, but it is more basic, I just need brain food and something is not hitting the spot. Like the sausage and chips I had this evening, the chips were of an awful quality and the sausage was too hot and greasy and not cooked properly in the middle. Damn I must be a walking heart attack.  Maybe the brain food will help and perhaps some fish, because I hear fish is good for the neurons of the brain as well.

So it is, today I began reading a few pages of Kahneman's book, his sidekick was Amos Tversky they were the ones who come up with the theory of heuristics.  Not all common sense is actual common sense and it is quite misleading. It's all about decision biases, or partly about decision biases, the rest is probably statistics. I should get a pen out, paper, calculator, old text book and see if I can do some of the basic stuff again. Or even program a spreadsheet which is very possible, with enough know how, at the  moment though with all the brain leaks I got it will be a struggle finding a pencil. I should get up early tomorrow morning say about 5 a.m. and just do some brain working and eat toast with fish on it, and a cup of tea. I got some mackerel fillets with cracked black pepper they might do the job all I have to do is find the calculator, eraser, oh, and a pencil. There I go. Inspiration at last all it has to do is wake me up at 5 a.m. in the morning, I'd rather it not keep me awake with insomnia which is altogether a completely different story.

Walking and thinking about happiness

It's Sunday and the clocks went back sometime very early this morning. So it will mean come 3 p.m. ish the sky gets darker.  But if this is anything to gauge autumn by then it will be pretty mild.  I went out for the usual Sunday morning walk, because I very much needed to get out and walk. On account of being fatter than I was a week ago.  Although the decision to go out might have turned the other way, I might very well of decided not to go out, on account of the clouds. Lots of cloud cover, not quite ominous but enough to possibly sway the feeble hearted and non committed. Today though I was committed and so about 9:30 a.m was out the front door and doing my Sunday thing. Walking. Air is such an important thing, especially if you need to breath. I needed to breath and it was great, I don't know why but there seemed to be more cars on the road this Sunday, generally they don't always hit the roads so quickly, but this Sunday there certainly was a lot more than normal. I guess the people in the cars needed to get out as well, except they were not doing the exercise and breathing part, it's much easier pressing peddles than taking steps.

I walked up through the woods and as I did so kicked up dried crispy brown paper like leaves. It's almost the same feeling you get when walking on fresh snow. Not the same but similar. At one point I wondered should a 50 something man be walking and kicking his feet through autumnal leaves? Nobody was about so it didn't matter and then if there were people about it still wouldn't matter. I wore my yellow t-shirt which has a big iconic smiley face on it. The simple text like smiley face but not text. I felt happy this morning, infectiously happy, how weird it might of been to have seen me, the happy fellow out on a walk. Sparkling said told me in a conversation this evening she found herself reading up on happiness and found it was to do with social contact and family.  Mind I think this can be true it can also be true family or social contact can make you unhappy. But having a walk, well, I can't think of having a Sunday walk not making me feel exhilarated and happy.  I love them. Except as winter grows on they may likely become colder, wetter or not at all if it's just too dreary outside.

I been catching up on some old youtube video's of a group called Shaft, one of the members I used to know but he passed away earlier this year.  He was called Trevor.  He was a really nice person to know and although in most of the videos he momentarily is seen there is more opportunity to see him in the song Kiki Riri Boom, he has a smile and it looks like was having a lot of fun in Miami where the vid was shot.  He is probably one of the most famous people I know, given I don't know that many people at all. I thought as I listened to the music and the happy dancing that what better a way can a person be remembered than bringing happiness and having a great smile.  This reminds me of a quote:

"Be the change that you wish to see in the world." - Mahatma Ghandi

I want to be more happy and I want people to be attracted to this same happiness and for it to infect them and make them happy as well. Unfortunately it is not something I currently get from most of the people around me, most of which seem to be depressives.  I think they could all do with an inoculation of the happiness drug.  Free of course. A smile and laughter can go a long way to lighting up stressful situations as well.  Although Ghandi probably had something else in mind when he said these words, possibly along the lines of forgiveness and love. The same measure you could attribute to have been preached successfully by Nelson Mandela. Who I might add also had a wonderful smile and attracted much warmth from many people.

If there is a secret to happiness it is probably all in the mind and attitude plays a big part.  Damn it is deep stuff but it always takes itself very lightly.

My maiden treasure hunt with a metal detector

Sparkling had got me a metal detector for my birthday, which may have been an insight on her behalf as I was going through a patch of watching metal detecting on vids on youtube. They are without doubt compulsive viewing, especially as one man likes to find German military paraphernalia in Germany, bombs included.  So about a month had passed and now Sparkling has a batch of batteries which will fit it as well and we head out to a local park which is based around a reservoir. The thing is when looking for treasure there is always the hope of coming across a big haul of gold and valuable stuff, even a really old coin would be good, it could be worth a few bob. It's this desire to become rich from doing relatively little, in the back of our minds I think most people have this thought.  Maybe it's why so many people still by lottery tickets.  The thing is though, what you want and the reality of what you get are complete opposites.  This happened to be the result of our maiden treasure hunt as well.

Firstly I had to work out how to use the detector and try to understand what was the difference between the two metal types known as ferrous and non-ferrous metals. For the little needle on the detector bounces along two different scales, depending if a metal is one of these types.  It was easy to find out that ferrous means something made from an iron. In my mind then a non ferrous metal meant finding riches.  I worked out how to set the detector at zero and the discrimination by tuning it, then with Wellington boots a two litre bottle of water and a small gardening fork we set off. Even Sparkling had her nice fur lined Wellies fished out of the cupboard.

The treasure hunt was on, I moved the detector backwards and forwards hovering it and scraping it over the soil.  With ear buds plugged in I listened and occasionally it would buzz or go silent.  The first item we found was a 2 pence coin, the second was a metal non-ferrous tent peg, the third a bit of old wire, the fourth another 2 pence coin, the fifth was an old decaying pot handle, the sixth a button the seventh a rusty bent and broken hand saw and the last two items were non ferrous crushed larger cans.  So in a matter of about two hours we'd made a grand profit of 4 pence.  So regardless of the very small treasure haul what I did find out was the detector actually worked. It could find stuff and I had been a successful detective in this respect although an unsuccessful treasure hunter. Now had we actually found something even if it was minor league valuable then it would of been interesting.

As it was I enjoyed the experience and it was nice for once to have got outside and done something with Sparkling, but one thing for sure, the well trodden paths of park land don't have much in the way of gold at all.

The weight of love

This morning I woke up at 4:40 a.m. and felt completely awake, my brain was in full awake mode and even though physically I was still needing additional rest it was not going to happen. So the day has began and I will have to run on 5 hours sleep only. It could of been worse and might of been 4 hours sleep.

Listening to the radio (which decided to actually work this morning) I ate a slice of toast with tomato on top and heard an interesting article.  It reminded me also of an event witnessed in Prague a couple of months ago. We had walked through the old town of Prague, over the Charles Bridge which is a beautiful medieval thing, and were heading up towards the Castle (Kafka wrote about) then passed a small bridge. The metal railings of the bridge were covered in padlocks. It was an odd thing to see. There were two gay men who had the body language of two people in love, they took a padlock and attached it to the railings, then threw the key into the waters below. It was a significant gesture for the two and I must admit to finding it quite touching. Sparkling said we should of done this, she was right we should of but how was I to know there would be a lovers bridge in Prague? None of us did. The radio presenter then spoke of such a bridge in Paris.  Again a remarkable thing when I think about it. It is almost like a phenomenon a local padlock seller has thought up in order to get a few tourist sales, the word has spread and now they are probably doing it all over the world. It's a craze, or fad, a bit like skateboarding which has never gone away. I should of persisted with my own wheeled board as well. This bridge in Paris had partly collapsed, the authorities had said the weight of padlocks and been too much.  As a consequence the local council has now banned padlocks from being attached to it. There was no mention of an alternative lovers fad which they could do, they quite rightly didn't want to spend all their well earned tourist profits on repairing bridges which tourists were getting a kick out of. Shame on you Paris for it seems this is not the most romantic capital of the world it's just a rumour and probably one started by a flower seller in the middle of winter.

My own love I keep in my heart and quietly express it to Sparkling Eyes. Which reminds me I need to research about how to handle angry people and calm them down, as trying to get out of a moving car while the love of your life gives you a dressing down could end up in personal injury.

It's my birthday

Well it's my birthday and you're not XX everyday.  I remember in them olden days when I was maybe 25 I was a fit healthy fit (said that twice) skinny running machine. Another quarter of a century later and I'm more of a pudding eater than any kind of healthy fit running athlete. Oh how things have changed. Fortunately Sparkling Eyes has a new regime for me to get this blubber in shape, it's called gardening. After about six hours of it I taken a sneaky sit down because she is out of the house. I'm hoping if she is out a little longer I'll get a chance to play with Harvey (ukulele) because I'm getting withdrawal symptoms. Of course there is also Princess J who by her constant state of movement demands constant attention and watching, I'm the surrogate keep-an-eye-on Princess person. When there is no one else about its Pops to the baby sitting. So on a shop I and Princess J went round the aisles and shelves one way, whilst Rock Chick and Sparkling went another, Princess J led the way whilst I followed and tidied up after her.   For dieting the idea is the more you move about the more calories are used up and little Princess is someone to keep you always on the move.

Even though I have told Sparkling since the last time I was up, I'd lost half a pound. She didn't believe this. The first words out of her mouth when I saw her yesterday was "Hello fatty" and this is the love of my life. I always keep my comments to myself when she has curlers in her hair, if I didn't then I'd be pushing up daisies and may I say a lot of daisies to.

Well it has been a great day, I saw Princess throw her food on the floor when she didn't like to eat it, well so much for salad and I can understand it. I witnessed Sparkling change my mind from going out for dinner to her cooking it, I saw L & B man turn into a very soppy smiley bloke just in the presences of Princess J, it has been a wonderful day for a fat lad who is XX years old.

An idea for a book

At some place, somewhere this week, I had an idea for a book. Or the storyline of a book should I say.  I'm not sure if it happened while walking past the supermarket, eating at the Chinese or reading a poster outside of a community hall. It goes like this. At a point in time an individual has to make a decision, this is an important decision which will have repercussion, possibly life or death. The suggestion here is a bit like the wings of a butterfly causing a hurricane in Texas notion. For ultimately I believe we get the things we deserve through the actions and decision we have made. This individual, could be male or female, of course it would be easier to write from a male perspective because I am a male than a female's, but at the same time changing gender type would also be an interesting challenge.  So the book would be about all the feelings, thoughts and experiences the main character has experienced which had an impact on making their decision. The scenario could be played out twice, once with the actions of a wrong decision being made and once with a right decision being made.  The consequences of both decisions could be multifaceted so even the right as it may appear to be at first could turn out to be the wrong choice, or the face value wrong choice turn out to be the right decision over a period of time.

It's a bit like politics, when I see politicians make decisions on the fly there is a glimpse of grave errors and unforeseen consequences of those decision. It's because politicians who make decisions which effect others, do not see the repercussions of the individuals they are thinking for.  They don't go out and ask such people what will happen if I take this benefit away from you?  An examples has been the present government in demolishing the Sure Start Initiate as soon as they came into power.   You don't have to be a clairvoyant to predict the future and be in touch with the non existent spirit would.  I always put my hands on the table and concentrate waiting to see if there is a knock, but it never happens. 

The book could be nice and warm by giving the reader a taste of what might be wrong but then going on to show how the main character did actually take the correct road. Alternatively it may end philosophically and not give a commitment to the final outcome. The idea was just an idea, the difficult bit is putting it into action. Working on it, like any book would require commitment and time over at least two to three years. Unless of course it were a short story, which wouldn't take so long to do, between days and weeks.

OK now to put my hands on the table, close my eyes and see if an answer will come, though it's unlikely to be a knock. Certainly not on wood.

Make tourism illegal

Now this may seem like an odd thing to say, but if you happen to frequent an area where there are tourists, which is nearly any area of London come to think of it, a certain level of anxiety and frustration will be present.  It may even be harsh to make holidays illegal, but tourism is one for the books to think about. If you are set in a routine of where to have lunch, coffee and the chill out with the locals to suddenly find the establishments so fond to heart taken over by tourists just makes my blood boil. They sit there just lazing about and taking their time as if there is all the time in the world while workers running about them have to fit in their lunch during a limited break.  They cue up and when reaching the counter they don't know what it is they want, so even after waiting in line for ages they make the rest of the cue wait even longer while the amoeba like brains scan the goods and they decide what to eat, drink or to ask further questions about.

If you are local to a put then a set of tables of chairs should be set aside just for the locals, with a little sign on top which says "feck off time wasting tourists." Of course worse or less worse expressions might be used than this. I certainly can think of a good few.  Alternatively because tourists are so stupid then maybe there should be a special tourist set of prices, prices which are fifty percent higher. It makes sense, if they want to be part of the locals and they are visiting just for the one day they should stick a hand deep in their pocket and pay for the privilege.  There may be businesses which live of tourists more than locals, but in an area I visit if the locals didn't use those businesses they would be bankrupt and empty buildings. It may be nice for business people to make a little extra cash on the side, yet at what real cost is it. This lunch time I walked away from my local coffee shop after seeing the crowds, and although I will visit again it will not be immediately.  Possibly in a couple of weeks time, because to me they have sold me out. I was here first not these wondering about mumbling-not-knowing-what-they-are-doing penguins.  I feel like Miss Doolittle and want to shout at them "move your blooming arse!" Instead I walk on head down depressed and caffeine less. Maybe it will do me good to miss out on an americano today.

Really I should just relax, perhaps go on holiday, even ask one of these tourists where they come from, then turn up there and stand in front of them in the cue, taking my own sweet time to chose what I'll have from the menu, I bet it must be a very relaxing experience.

No Pain Migraine

It is an odd feeling but sometimes migraine does not have any pain. Most of the time there will be but once in a while there will be a no pain migraine. When this happens at first it is even difficult to recognise you have it. This happened to me yesterday. While at work I could feel the usual tension build up and accompanied by tinnitus but no physical aura of pain arrived. Instead there was a dizzyness, which can be nauseating depending if you are sitting down or walking about. A gentle walk to the photocopier suddenly feels a bit like being on the rolling seas on a little tub boat. Of course all of this is going on in your head and it's not necessary to grab hold of the nearest hand hold to make sure I don't fall over the edge of the carpet.  It's at this time I say to myself "this is not real, the floor is not swaying, you can walk straight."  Fortunately it was near the end of the day and hopefully would mean the rest of my colleagues wouldn't have enough time to establish whether I was drunk and disorderly.

So I have been to bed and got up again, had breakfast and sat down for a quick BLOG writing to non existent readers.  As I sat down I can feel the dizziness again. I didn't eat breakfast, it could be momentary starvation which is brining it on but I know it's the dizzy migraine thing happening again. I'll just walk in a slow lea surely fashion and keep calm, calm always helps. The good thing is being too busy with your own problems usually means the problems of work take on little significance. Now if only this damn boat would keep still!

The Reluctant Radio

There is something wrong with my radio. It's a DAB radio, which I'm not sure it it makes any difference, but possibly does. With the facility to search out and find radio stations this is pretty useful, however it's not so useful if the bloody thing is taking a tizzy fit and showing constant signs of petulance. It used to be each morning I would plug it in turn it on and there would be the World Service to listen to in pretty good clarity. However, this is not the case now. It sounds as though someone has walked in front of the aerial and is obstructing it. On and off they walk and sometimes this imaginary individual just stands there for the fun of it disturbing my morning ritual. It's not a nice thing to do.  I'd kill him if I could put my hands around his imaginary neck, but it is not a man at all it's the radio itself. Last time this happened I found the mains wire was not fully connected to the back and it didn't take any effort to fix it. Now though the irritating interference has become stubborn and an uninvited guest who just isn't getting the message to feck off.

So the morning ritual has changed. It's plug the radio in, turn it on, put on my toast and the kettle, return to the radio and begin the first round of diagnostics.  Set the auto retune on, for a moment or two there is now audio, it sets itself up again and then returns to the radio station, but it still has interference. What is the use of having an auto retune if it doesn't work I wonder. Toast gets buttered, tea gets made and I sit down with the radio and try moving it to a different place on the table. Eat my toast, drink my tea and see if there is any difference. A momentary laps of audible sound comes out and then it reverts again to squeaking, squelching audio diarrhoea with intermittent speech.  This morning in frustration I reverted to the age old give-it-a-thump repair method. This is used by many a man and helps rather to make one feel better than it does to cure the problem. It wasn't a hard thump and a kind of palm of hand juddering thud. I didn't want to make it any worse than it already was although the thought has procured to me just to throw the thing out, which would solve the problem, except I'd have to purchase another one. Till such a time it would be me and silence. With silence probably winning out and breaking me down in a strangle hold of broken ritual versus coping with my own company. Sometimes I find I don't want to be with me but I can't very well run away from myself and the radio is a distraction. What an arsehole I can be. It's true, I'm sure a lot of people have the same self reflections, just some don't listen to it.

Being a Sunday and a bank holiday tomorrow, there is no rush to do anything much. I made a second cup of tea and listened to the thing doing an impersonation of a radio.  Yet gradually the audio was becoming a little clearer. It wasn't like I had successfully found a position the radio liked to be in. The thing was actually sounding the way it should sound. The voices on the radio were clearer. I could make out conversations, amazing.  It now worked.  Probably about forty minutes had passed before it decided to warm up and be accommodating. Maybe I shouldn't of thumped the thing? Or maybe it was working because I did thump it and it was afraid not to fix itself.  The rest of the morning was even more relaxed as I did little else and merged into the day knowing my skills of radio repair had temporarily been successfully.  Well, we'll see if they work tomorrow, I'll not change job just yet.

Vertigo while at ground level

After spending part of my Saturday afternoon just doing shit, which means passing the time away to no particular purpose at all,  ventured onto newspaper site to catch up with the latest.  In true not-much-to-do fashion I meandered onto the videos. A shark was eaten by a very large fish and there is then a video from a free-runner at height.  He climbs a crane from the very bottom, step by step his feet are recorded as he goes from one part of the structure to another. He must of been wearing some kind of camera helmet because it is a first person perspective. Eventually he reaches the top. Now this has got to be an odd thing, but while I sat there at ground level watching this video I began to get vertigo, feeling dizzy and having a sense puzzlement because I wasn't holding on tight to anything and maybe I should be because after all this was pretty high up.  Another side of the brain kicked in, it tried to reassure the perceptual fooling which was going on.  Yes, my feet are on the ground, I am sat in a comfortable chair, I can feel the back of the chair as it warms my back. As the video progressed I switched from full screen to normal mini screen and then made sure the volume was completely turned off.  Not that it could be heard above the music playing in the pub. Come on, logic kick in, this is not real, it is a recording, I have not climbed up this crane and certainly not in the one and a half minute which has only passed. But it didn't matter what I thought, how much I tried to talk myself into being as logical as possible, I still felt dizzy.

Perhaps it is something to do with wearing glasses, because when you wear glasses you are more focused on what the immediately front view, than on the periphery.  Objects at the edge of view can be seen, but focus is definitely on those things which are in focus.  The free-runner now walked along the arm of the crane, as he looked down the tops of buildings and cars could be seen moving. They looked so small, they were far below.  Normally things don't look small unless they are actually small or a long way away.  He then did something utterly stupid in my book and had me reaching for an imaginary parachute, or white knuckle ride cage support.  Neither of which were there.  The video showed him hanging by his hands, looking down at his dangling body and feet. If I were completely fooled by this scene I would of been sick. I wasn't but it still didn't stop the dizzness going into overdrive. He now hung with one arm by his side, suspended by a single hand. Feck. This dude has got a suicide wish, and guess what? It would of all been caught on cam, well, providing the cam didn't disintegrate once he hit the road below.

The eye and the brain are amazing things, but it seems even they can be evaded by persons with no common sense. Then again I did hear common sense was in short supply nowadays.

24 hours without food

After a dicky tummy episode one morning I knew was something not right.  Having last eaten the previous evening I decided to continue with this abstinence.  So from 8 p.m. on one day to 8 p.m. the next I ate nothing hoping it would cure the shites.  My belief is intestinal acids build up and then incinerating the dirty little virus thing dwelling within the gut.  Just as it helps not to have a stomach of food which eventually would have to find it's way out.  However, I am not a biologist but it sounds reasonable enough to someone with their head screwed on.  Abstaining from food doesn't hurt either, some do it for religious reasons, others to diet. Whatever the reason it would have a multifaceted advantageous effect on me.  This belly could do without a few calories and the scales might even look on with happiness as well. I can hear them now, "get off ya fat bastard" if they could talk that is.
The other thought besides the need to stop running to the toilet, was this whole thing would be a test of my own determination.  Fasting for me is not something which comes naturally, whereas eating is, and starting in the evening meant all I had to do was endure a few hours before going to bed because there would be no desire to eat while asleep. Providing I didn't wake up in the middle of some erotic food related dream. Mind I don't remember my dreams much anyway. So it was, the day began.

I thought the morning would of been difficult, sitting in the kitchen and drinking a cup of tea listening to the radio. When normally it would of been toast, tea and radio. I did notice a feeling of just taking it easy and not needing to rush about. Probably this was the residual of a recent holiday and the post holiday euphoria kicking in again. I must admit the tea did have a better fuller taste to it than normal does. Perhaps this was linked to my expectation I was not to eat all day long and had to savour every drink from this moment onwards. Which reminds me I must learn how to make Indian Chai.  It wasn't until I was sat at my desk at work I could then feel my belly rumbling. It knew something was missing, but I just looked at the monitor in front of me and thought concentrate on work, do your job, if you do this then your mind will be taken off the need to eat.  It seemed to work, but waiting for lunch time to come took forever.  Again at lunch I know considered well I will not be spending money on food. If this is an exercise I can do on a more regular basis it could work out to save me some dosh. I do spend too much money on lunchtime food as I rarely make my own sandwiches.  Walking through the market at lunch time I could smell the open fast food stalls, one specialises in Nepalise the other in plane greasy burgers and there's a third does Caribbean food.  I could of gone over and bought something. But no, I carried on walking to the pub where I have my lunchtime coffee.  It's nice sitting in there. Getting my phone out I could spend more time catching up with the BBC news website and of course make a phone call to Sparkling Eyes.

While inside the pub someone had ordered a plate of fish and chips. The smell of the fish was pungent and I could feel my nostrils flare up. It was like if I could breath in deep enough I would be tasting this fish and chips, even if it was overly smelly.  The experience of being forced to smell it was awful. My belly was again having some weird stuff happen. It felt swollen on account of the undiagnosed self diagnosed IBS. It had become solid as a football. This is one of the things I hate about being overweight, having a belly which means I don't get to see my feet unless I'm sat down. It's not a pretty sight.  So with purpose, I managed to get through the afternoon, constantly trying to distract myself by getting on with my work. I had a similar temptation period after leaving work and popping in the pub for a pint of Guinness, some lads had ordered burgers and chips. Bastards. The smell of those chips almost made me break, but I wasn't going to now, only a couple of more hours and it would be a full 24 hours.

Later in the evening I did eat and managed a full 24 hours.  However, I should of gone through to the next morning again just to make sure the belly virus was burnt to hell.  Missing out on a day's food made me feel a little better about myself and it probably has helped a little in trying to lose weight as well.  A full pound in weight is 3500 calories and an hour's walk is about 450 calories. It sure is a lot of energy.  There are two parts however to a diet, one eating less and two exercising more.  Damn it's tough to, because exercise gives you an appetite just when you should not eat the desire is so much more. 

Dose of the shites

I got the shites, it's not very nice, it never is, but this is a particularly bad dose of the shites. I'm not permanently shitting, but get attacked by sudden spasms. This morning has been awful, I was attacked again and intestinal warfare is such a nasty business, it seemed I had my arse on the bog for about twenty minutes. A bit like the movies jaws, when you thought it was safe to return to the water the large sharp toothed fishy would hit again. As I sat there and relieved myself feeling relieved about to disengage like a spacecraft would undock with the space station, I'd then be hit again with another wave. It wasn't a pretty sound, sometimes even explosive, I thought about what I'd eaten and something suspicious came to mind.

Now this was probably the biggest beef in black bean sauce and steam rice they had ever given me at my Chinese.  It could of fed a family of four. Or one budding fat man who is now in the obese category. So I ate it, the lot. It didn't taste as good as it should of tasted. I was sure a piece of meat was not right, but it went down anyway. Maybe it shouldn't of, I haven't been back there since. On account of a recent reading from the kitchen scales. Although they don't talk the did creek and if they were able to talk they would of said "get of you fecking fat bastard" what language from a domestic appliance as well. Yes, it was the beef, there was something not right about it and I am paying for it now. The thing is whatever I eat has had a funny taste to it. Maybe it has been multiple sources which have given me the shites? Talk about having a bad day, or possibly a bad week in this case. It was so bad this morning I've in even wondered whether I should go into work. For the moment though it is calm. Mind there can't be much left in this fat belly which can be lost out my arse.

A look of the NHS website indicates there are three stomach problems which can cause the shites. Unfortunately the worse one can last several weeks, it's called Giardiasis. Having this might even be an advantage and help my weight loss.The other two causes last less than a week. This one is the hard nosed ebola of shites, it's a parasite which lives in the belly and can be treated with antibiotics. It's a bloody amazing what you'll look up on the internet when you're ill. I know I have a fragile belly but this form of the shites is news to me. I don't think I'll boast about it though, I'll just run off to the toilet when needed, but now I think about it a standby packet of tissues might be useful. Just in case someone else has the shites and uses the last one from the dispenser. When you get to my age it's all about safety and security. Or rather having a bloated painful belly, which is generally bloated anyway.

They say there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, my shite is getting to see a lot of that at the moment. For the time being there's a lull, yep, it's the lull before the next shite storm. A very real one at as well.

A morning lay in

I got the day off work, there's a need to get this long haired mop cut, so what better an excuse to have a day off work. I never get hair cuts at weekends when the hairdressers become factory chicken machines pumping out one customer after the other. Nope, a weekday is best and not too early or during their lunch break.

It was odd waking up this morning I'd had a good sleep. My phone read 6 a.m. but this is way to early to get up on a day off. So even though the bed was hot I got greedy and wanted more sheep counting. So I laid there and concentrated.  It didn't seem to come. I've had this before, when you think hours have passed but check the time and only a minute or two have crept by. It's like your internal time counting clock is on amphetamines and the world around you is slow. At some time I'd had enough and decided to actually get up, looking at my phone I then saw two hours had passed not ten minutes. It was like I had actually jumped forward in time, I had got the benefit of an extra sleep, but it didn't feel like it. It felt like my fingers had been snapped and magically I'd gone forward through the morning. If only being at work was like this, when two seconds could become two hours.

So ever late, still not up and washed I catch up on the latest Scottish referendum debate, but also know I need to get changed and washed. The things you have to do when waking up. Today I'm going to be a lazy arse, it's all there is to it.

Sunday Walk and feeling blue

I went for my usual Sunday walk today, it lasted about 3 hours and was enjoyable. I checked out the weather which was mild at 22 degrees C max.  I like taking a walk on Sundays, it is relaxing. I get to think and to exercise at the same time, however, stopping off at a shop I bought chocolate and crisps so had probably cancelled out any of the health benefits from the hours of pavement pounding. What a bloody shame. Of course it is the first Sunday without waking up with Sparkling Eyes next to me in bed and being able to get a hug.  As usual the sun was bright and acted like an alarm clock as it pierces through the curtains. Maybe the curtains are too thin, or the sun is too hard, I need thick heavy ones which block out light more effectively and to repaint the walls a dark colour so light does not reflect.

Rather than go into work this weekend I decided to take the weekend off as leave, returning last week to two days was depressing to say the least.  I'm in a belligerent mood as well, having seen a member of my family who hasn't worked for years and arguing they should get a job because my taxes are paying for their dole money.  I get to feel maybe I been watching too many of those TV programs about benefits scroungers, especially those living of a pittance and insisting they can not and will not work. When I was in Scotland I went to a cafe, it was an ordinary cafe, and there was surprised most of the staff were Polish. I couldn't understand why there were not Scottish, and wondered if Scots didn't like working in Cafes.

The walk helped clear my mind a little. When I got back I soon came over feeling tired so laid on bed for an hour. It was the heat.  I'm sure summer is now in it's decline the solstice must of passed by now so we are gradually moving towards winter.  Schools have also let their children out, they have 6 weeks off from school and don't know what to do with themselves.  Maybe they should be sent to work for a taster of what it is like.  It's bloody hard and their thinking life is nothing but play is a dream waiting to be shattered by reality.  I saw on one news web site how children as young as 4 or 5 were working in one developing country. It doesn't mean it is right, it's just a little work never harmed anyone especially if there is some pocket money involved in it.

I feel blue still, it was returning from the holiday which did it.  But then you can't stay on a holiday all your life, not even if you're a scrounger.

Monster Boy, a holiday in Prague and catching up

It has been a while since my last BLOG, life can get in the way of doing things. Obstacles so to say.

A brief update.

Little Monster Boy is more of a teenager than he is a monster boy now. He is getting his own opinions and he disagrees with whatever is said in a belligerent manner. When asking for his opinion on something he spouts out conspiracy theories he's read on the internet, it is like he has become a babbling crazy man who is completely unconvincing.  But yet, when I say he must be hot with his long hair and it probably needs a cut, given it's in the mid 80s F and I can see beads of sweat on his neck he'll say "no it's not hot."  This of course makes me feel like he is treating me like an idiot and could easily result in an argument. I guess it is the natural progression of teenagers, they argue, they seek their nook and cranny and they are fed up with adults telling them what to do.  Not to mention being pain in the back sides.  When Monster Boy was young I used to seek out his company and enjoyed it because he was young and had that wonderful view of life. Where the only important thing was Doctor Who, now when we go out for a walk I even notice him glancing at girls.  Although he doesn't have a girlfriend yet, I wonder how long it will be. Unfortunately he is the geeky type and nice geeks don't get girlfriends early, they generally have to wait a few extra years. So now if I take him out for a walk I have to be prepared for either a discussion with someone who is off his head and wants to argue or a case of me doing all the talking and him just nodding  his head like a toy. Neither of which is much use to either of us, I like discussion, two ways, I can talk to a wall any time there's a lot of them about.

I got back a few days ago from seeing Sparkling Eyes, it was as usual wonderful. We also had a holiday in Prague.  I was a little disappointed by Prague because it appears to be exceptionally set up for tourists.  There may well be history there, great architecture, wonderful beer, but it is like every shop has a purpose of getting money out of tourists. They sell crappy little tourist trinkets for people to take back home, the sort of things which go on shelves and have no use, that cost more than they are worth and were made in China in a sweat factory workshop. Hell I can get those things anywhere. The most useful thing which Sparkling got on the entire holiday was a hand fan, again a toursity thing but she used it and it went everywhere with her, unfortunately it got torn.  The temperature in Prague was exceptionally high on some days.  We walked around a tourist market and at one point I came across some thermometers, they were in the shade and registering temperatures of either 34 or 36 degrees Celsius.  I walked slow, I just don't know what it was, I just could not pull myself together to walk fast.  It was at this time I realised the worst season you can visit a country is during the height of summer, for you are always tired and don't have the motivation to get up and see the sights. The fact is I may have liked Prague if it was not for the tourists. It was disappointing to be in an ex communist country as well to find how expensive it was, the prices should of been cheaper, but unfortunately the Czech Republic is running into the EU like yet another demented sheep following the herd.

When I returned to London from Scotland the next day I would be in the Fish Factory.  I just didn't want to go back. I hated the idea of returning to it.  I felt like I needed another 6 months off work and it was the realisation of work pressure which hit home.  I felt sad and fragile. Missing Sparkling, missing being woken up at 2:30 a.m. by Olly the cat who treats me like his constant bitch, missing my morning hug of Sparkling and someone to love and love back. Fed up with my immediate family who are set in their own psychic vicious circles and don't want to change.  To the extent I wonder if it is me who has the problem, maybe I should be talking to brick walls, I guess every brick wall has its own personality and although they are all similar you can guarantee never to get into an argument with one, it will always be silent and always non judgemental.  I can see a few traits there similar to good psycho analysts.

Maybe it's because I am angry at things. Angry at a lot of stuff and just have to let things go even though at times it feels like being shite on from a height. Holding on to anger doesn't help me, it's like holding onto the fat around my girth. Heck does this mean I am a screwed up individual. Probably, but probably no more screwed up than anyone else. Now what I need is a holiday but without the tourists.

Hooked on an online game.

I'm hooked on an on-line game, but know this relationship can not continue. At the moment it does because I am not bored, because it is exciting and spicy. Only the problem is it will have to come to an end at some time. I can't spend hours and hours waiting for my supply line to be reconstituted. Or even more hours being picked off by a bigger and tougher player, who sporadically has his eye on my area of the map. This happened to me once before, then I even joined in with a group of people. We were not very good. It's a basic beat them up strategy game which in normal circumstances you have to build alliances with other players. But I don't want to, do this, I'd rather play alone. All the victory is mine then. It's just the time it takes. I know what these things are like, the makers try and get you to purchase extra parts of the game, you could spend an awful lot of money on one of these things. Instead I've spent an awful lot of time and now it is getting irritating.  I want to get to the next level but it's going to take another day of waiting. Or possibly even longer if someone decides to raid me. In reality I should just delete it, which I know will happen at some time. However for the moment I'm living in cyberspace and standing around with my hands in my pocket waiting for something to happen.

Well, all things come to an end, I'll have to put in a break out strategy soon, it's just too much, I can't stand the waiting around.

Our Man In Havana

There on a book shelf had stood for years a slim volume of a book once read, then left waiting for it's turn of attention. Only for it to pass, then pass again. The pages yellow, it acquires a smell, the smell an old book gets, the smell given off from volumes of literature in an established library.  Musky like, dusty like and learned, waiting to be read.  So it was, I picked up this novel by Graham Greene, which has the category of "entertainment" and this week have been reading.

The funny thing about books is it is easy to read a book just once and then never pick it up again. To say to people oh yes I read that book, and describe parts of it or the storyline.  The truth though is one reading is never enough when the book you read is real literature and not the throw away kind, like a TV soap which will never fulfil the mind.  But after such a great gap I didn't realise how much I had forgotten of the story line, to the point I can hardly recognise any of the story at all. It is like picking the book up from new and starting all over again. Graham Greene however could never be described as an entertainer which belittles his great skill as a writer.  The book is entertaining however more than this it is funny.

A man in Havana eaks out a living and his business in vacuum cleaners seems to be hitting a declining trend.  His teenage daughter doesn't understand the value of money and starts to push him into financial ruin, however at this time an offer comes out of the blue.  To work as a secret agent for the British government and report on events which take place.  Except Havana is a boring location to live, it may be nice and hot, but nothing much happens in the way of Wormould's life.  He does what he does and gets by.  After an incident with a friend's apartment being ransacked he decides to feed a bucket load of lies to the secret service and claim all the expenses he needs.  The story line is wonderful and the writing is superb.  There are times of laughter, I can put it down easy and then pick it up and read it just as easily as well. 

Go out, buy it, read it and see for yourself.

Tuesday, it's an underrated day

It struck me this evening after, having two pints and feeling pissed.  The Guinness went down so easily, that a Tuesday is probably one of the most underrated days of the week. It is in fact a great day to get pissed if you are so inclined.  There would be no cuing up at the bar, the evening take-away shops are empty because everybody who wants to get pissed usually does a Friday or Saturday.  Tuesday is in many respects, a psychological non-entity. Unless you happen to have a birthday on a Tuesday. Which of course has a one in seven chance of happening. It's a day when you can go walking around the shops and not expect to be crushed by the crowds, it's a day when the majority of people are at work, children are at school and everyone is geared up to run from one place to another. All because the next day is a Wednesday. Yet another working day, however a Wednesday once completed, in the afternoon means everything else is downhill and an easy ride.  Whereas on a Tuesday you are still walking up hill against the floods.  Tuesday therefore has got to be the best day of the week to do special things. To get out and about, purchase those clothes, buy shoes, have a nice quite drink in a nice loud pub, because what would of been a busy pub is relatively serene. Tuesday is without doubt a totally underrated day of the week. So in this frame of mind I realise if I want to get out and about then Tuesday is the best time in which to do it. The problem is working and working on a Wednesday.

Well, I didn't say Tuesday was completely without it's problems, but certainly free of most of them.

Insomnia again

Well last night I was struck by insomnia again. Went to bed at 1:30 a.m. and still fully awake at 2:30 a.m. I could of gone to the kitchen made a cup of tea, made a cake, carved a spoon returned back to bed and it would of been like my eyes were glued open.  My head was in thinking mode and there was nothing to stop it. It kept on going and going.  It was a matter of persevering, so I just lay on the bed sometimes without my ear plugs in. At some point I got to sleep, but then didn't check the clock to see what time it was. It was morning time.  In consideration of poor sleep I got up early, 7:30 a.m. and was awake. Fully awake, now at 1:30 p.m. I find it difficult to keep my eyes open.  If I follow the temptation and rest my head for a short while the whole insomnia thing could return later tonight.  Again.  So it's catch 22, keep myself awake and not let the devilish insomnia take a grip.

So be it, for now.  Zzzzzzzzzz

Cat rescues boy from dog attack

Catching up on the latest news today I saw the story of a cat rescuing his young master from a dog attack.  It had all been caught on CCTV from a house.  The child was a small boy of 4 years, he ambled along on his little bicycle at the front of the house.  When from around a car the dog looking like a taupe coloured Jack Russell breed trots up to the boy, shows interest in the boy's left leg and then immediately bites it and swings his head rapidly from side to side.  Then from the front of the house a cat similar in size to the dog bounds at speed and jumps at the dog. Although difficult to tell from the video I would think the cat (a tabby called Tara) had pounced with all claws out on the head or neck of the dog.  The dog released the boy and ran off, at which the cat also ran after the dog to see him off as well.  The boys mother ran out of the house and is seen on the video.  It is remarkable to watch the video, but it is also a reminder that even small dogs may attack children.  To the point you would be wary of being with any dog and child in close contact.  I grew up with dogs as a child and can think of one occasion where a over exuberant dog decided to bite my arse while running about in a garden. It was a sharp nip and hurt, my arse recovered from it, but it is a painful place to be bitten.  In this more serious case the boy had puncture wounds on his leg and had to receive stitches.  Both cat and boy are very brave. If you happen to be in California keep your eyes open for a tabby cat on the watch out and who is best friends to a boy.

I think there is something about tabby cats which makes them more loveable than other cats.  I think of Tigger my own cat who was the friendliest cat ever.  He was friendly to everyone and didn't mind just going up to strangers or children with his tail held high and then rubbing himself against them looking to be stroked.  He wasn't quite so keen on very small children but those who had grown up a little bit he treated just like anyone else.  Every morning when I had breakfast and opened the kitchen door there he would be and he would meow in a perfect cat hello sound. I'd say he really was trying to say hello exactly the way he heard it.  I have no doubt, cats are just as much friends to their owners as dogs can be and may even be a little smarter. Than both dogs or owners.

Don't jump out the window, become a broom stick maker

So taking a crafty break from the bedlam of the Fish Factory I sneaked a phone call to Sparkling Eyes, not just to tell her I love her and miss her, but to have a good moan about work in the Fish Factory. It is getting out of hand especially when you go to a meeting and enter the room then a little man jumps out with a tape measure to check the size of your anus.  This is always a bad sign for it means the last set of brooms they shoved up there are about to be renewed with another set.  All you can hope is the handles are not as wide as they were last time.  And of course it gives a chance to audition for a high pitched tenor vocal range at an Oprah House.  So I says to Sparkling I think I could just jump out the window with the amount of crap they are now piling on.  To which she replies "no you can't you have to get your Will sorted out first." Wonderful I would be better thought of as a rich dead dude than a poor overworked, stressed out alive dude. Of course she didn't mean anything by this comment, well, I hope not. I know she would rather be a full time GaGa to Princess J rather than be a hard working undervalued, underpaid stressed barmaid.  The two of us being stressed isn't a good combination, yet finding humour in it is.  For it seems every employer now days is out to get a few ounces over their pound of flesh?  Yes, is the answer.

Mind, there would be quite a mess if anyone fell out of the window, it's 4 stories or more from the ground, and the landing is on hard concrete.  No walking away, maybe this thought I have shows the need to mentally escape.  I sit there and wait to see if any of the other middle management fish are about to have a mental breakdown, the only person I think is close to it is me.  Then I carefully consider, these people don't give a shite about the broom sticks, in fact they stand around the corner making phone calls to Stationary asking if they need to get more broom sticks on order. Currently the world's supply of broom sticks is a booming industry.  A growth industry with lots of broom stick makers popping up all over the place. They are now more frequent than Pound shops in the high street.  Except these companies do their business behind closed doors and direct to employers.

It's odd, I mean, organizations have stress policies and they have Employee Assistance Programs (EAP) but this means nothing if those policies are not acted on.  Someone who may be on the edge of a breakdown is just left to see how they get on. They are left to see if they do actually break down. To see how much stress they can take. There are few if any Stress assessments, because being stressed out is like having  a mental illness and it is a marker of someone not being able to cope.  Employees don't like to admit they are having problems.  They don't want their cards marked. Then employers throw another spanner in the works and up the ante by bringing in more stringent sickness policies, or if they don't like to use the word sick they call them Attendance policies.  Gone are the days of saying exactly what you mean because this is a taboo subject.  Employees have got to show blood sweat and tears and be pushed and worn out like a part to an engine.  And then ultimately they say it is the employees own fault, because it is they way they view the world.

I wonder if broom stick makers have the same problems as these organizations which run a common practice of over working employees and getting as much unpaid overtime out of them as possible. If only we all got bonuses equal to the degree of stress we felt. I don't though whether these would be much good to those individuals who have been to hell and back. The ones who have stepped on a precipice and fallen. Only to land in a large dung heap, left appropriately under every open window.  Get up, shake yourself off and don't let the broom sticks change the way you walk down the road.  Just sweep your troubles under the carpet, and while your sweeping there could you just....

The end of one week and start of another

Ever since I started to read a book about improving memory, there has been a few times where I've  forgotten things and also how difficult it is to improve memory.  See my other blog on this topic http://whatsmemory.blogspot.co.uk/  but it doesn't stop me from trying. This afternoon I spent an hour and a half on the doorstep as I'd forgotten my front door keys.  Typical.  I rang up Sparkling Eyes to tell her about my predicament and she thought it funny.  It seems any inconvenient predicament I get myself into the funnier it is.  If only I could get this brain to work a bit faster and be more efficient. Hence reading a book on memory.  Years ago when I used to do a lot of running I considered myself an athlete, and now I am becoming a brain athlete, which fortunately doesn't mean spending so much time on the streets pounding the pavements. But I'm still pounding the pavements and fortunately now it is at a slower pace.

It's been good taking an extra day off from the Fish Factory.  Except I've actually done a seven day week so this is the eighth day and it's my day off.  This evening has been  a catch up session on the week's politics programs, my last post said I was going cold turkey, but it got broken after 16 hours.  Not too bad, but I got to try harder.  I really have no doubt in my mind I'm a TV addict, I need therapy, but where to they give you therapy for watching too much TV?  Tomorrow is Tuesday, which inevitably comes after Monday unless it was the end of the world. Take my word though the world will not end on Tuesday. Wednesday I can't be so sure about unless I'm in rehab with the other TV addict junkies.  They say humans use only a fraction of their brain, it's like the human brain has been made for some future event or circumstance I'm sure TV isn't it. If only I could remember my keys and keep the memory in some other part of my brain a bit where it obviously doesn't leak. 

Oh well, back to sitting on the steps.

TV addiction, what about a day of cold turkey

Too much of a good thing is bad, sometimes it might be what you want but not what you need. Too much of a good thing is an addiction, I'm an addict, a TV and internet addict. I can't get enough of it, I spend hours of my life watching TV series after TV series, it's usually Sci Fi based, but it doesn't have to be. It can be drama anything as long as there is amusement and fixation. I know it's not good but I can't help myself.  Episode after episode is watched and I could be doing something else with my time. Sometimes I will get captured by a book and then the book becomes my addiction. I can't put it down and just continuously read it at every opportunity, especially if it's good.  I joke to myself if it is a book then it is fine, a book includes some form of education.  At this moment though my TV habit is approaching out of control. I don't know what to do about it.  At the same time it is like it is not a recognised addiction. There is more to life than watching TV, being on a laptop, viewing video after video there is more to life than passively viewing.

So I plan to go cold turkey for a day starting from midnight tonight. The compulsion to switch on this computer will begin sometime in the middle of the day. However, if I take a nice long walk tomorrow then I shall not be in the house and have access to the box.  I don't know even if it will work, but I got to try. Perhaps even try again if it fails tomorrow.  A day without TV might be a day without air. But I've had so much air lately I got enough to last me a couple of months and not worry about it.  Lets see what happens.

The day will begin shortly.

It's only possible to pay attention to one thing at a time

I've been spending more time on mnemonics than I have with Harvey (Ukulele) recently, although he did get a strum earlier. When I talk to Sparkling about how I'm trying to remember things she then reminds me I've forgotten what shift she is working, or of some other matter.  The first rule though of remembering anything is attention. By focusing on something it is easier to understand and to retain it. It must be because I need to get my own story out when I'm chatting to Sparkling and in turn it just slips my mind I should equally pay attention to everything she says. But I don't think this is entirely my own doing, in general we are all guilty of this and I know at the same time I've spoken to Sparkling about subjects and she's just not paid any attention to me either. It could be because I can be boring, or it could be because she has other things on her mind at the time.  It is only possible to really focus on one thing at a time regardless of gender.

So tomorrow is a day off and I'll spend time possibly getting some exercise and also a little time with Harvey. In between these activities the mnemonic exercises will come out again. Maybe I should combine the two a little bit of rhythm and a little bit of good old country, I mean brain athleticism in training. Which is not physically tiring but sure is mentally.

Cynical and jaded, the differences and preferences

Is it better to be jaded or cynical, or is there no difference between the two.  The definition of "jaded" is more or less being bored of something you've experienced many times before. Which means it doesn't apply to a new experience. For example I'd of thought all American's would be tired of frys from a certain fast food chain, yet the same fast food chain continuously does good business.  So repeating the same experience when it comes to food doesn't mean something will be jaded. Not for American's unless they have a problem with short term memory but not a problem to obesity.  Whereas "cynical" means thinking people are only interested in themselves.  It was good searching for the two definitions for they are different things altogether, I thought they were the same but not. So eating frys is not a cynical thing, for the individual who eats the frys it is a self centred action which results in satisfaction. Unlike Mick Jagger who can't get no satisfaction, when he tries, which would make him jaded and not cynical.

There are people around me who make me cynical, their actions so obvious, they have patterns of behaviour which repeat and repeat therefore are jaded behaviours.  The results of the repetitions is cynicism.  Certainly on me it is.  I then find it difficult to endure their presence.  I should really just get over it.  Knowing how someone behaves is an advantage, for you always know what someone is going to do next, if they are so ingrained in their behaviour.  I expect there are those who know me and think the same.  I try to be calm as best I can, but I don't always get away with it. It depends on my mood, being cynical and jaded to behaviours helps me to keep calm. Yet there is always another reason as well and it is knowing some people like to see a reaction so I do my best not to react. Playing the cool poker player act.  Inside though I want to yell, shout and get into a fight. I don't. Sparkling has said she'd pay to see me get into a fight, because she thinks I'm a fud. In psychology what she terms as fud like behaviour is actually called the fundamental attribution error.  However, saying such a thing would make me seem even more fud like and possibly even nerdy.  Which is not cynical or jaded, yet it doesn't stop my own jaded and cynical views of the world creaping in continuously.  Doing the same things over and over again is making me jaded, witnessing them in others makes me cynical. Perhaps we are all both jaded in cynical in varying degrees, and there is a scale of measurement.

I don't often eat at fast food cafes, the term restaurant to these places is a misnomer, they are very much cafes and the word restaurant begins to lose it's authenticity and become jaded.  The customers who go to these places in turn will become cynical, their understanding of the word "restaurant" is false, they have been misled by the very establishments they visit and take it for granted. A restaurant does not have cooks, it has chefs, this is a little clue. Chefs usually take many years to hone their skills, they work hard to deliver a product which is the same every time. They are able to adapt to different products quickly and create master pieces from raw materials. Their limitations are the limits of their imagination. A cook in a fast food restaurant would not know what to do with raw materials, if they were not already pre frozen.  Their task is a matter of ensure food safety and hygiene, they are there to act like a production line, with speed and mass being all important. There's good reason to be jaded at fast food restaurants, and there's better reason not to visit them.

I am both cynical of the world and jaded by it but now I know these are two different terms.

Banksy is at it again

For some reason Banksy art pieces popping up all over London. Hidden in unremarkable doorways, standing there and waiting for a passerby to turn their head and then glance at something which raises a wyre smile. They have been put there as if just for the purpose of an unsupposing, non artist, they

are art for the common people.  In the same sense they have been hijacked by the art elite, walls ripped down and then sold at autions. They are appropriated by the owners of these buildings, but the images were put on without permission and one view is they could just as well be pieces of vandalism.  Except they are not, they are in the style and therefore most likely of a single person known as Banksy.  They're public viewing and obvious accessiblility suggests no piece belongs to a person, organization or establishment.  They are just there to be admired for the temporary basis, exposed to the elements and to decay.  This must be the artists intention. Yet in an act of counter vandalism they are whisked away and then no longer accessible, unless you happen to have an extortionate amount of money in your back pocket.

Mind, the thing is I often wonder how many of these Banksy pieces are really by Banksy, because there must be a lot of copy cats out there. The style of art isn't so difficult as to be uncopyable by any means. A little bit of practice and I think I could have a pretty good go at doing one. Pherhaps one of the stencil like pictures. Where it's just a matter of getting a few bits of cardboard and cutting them into the right shapes, painting it on a wall and then adjusting for highlights. In fact I have seen Banksy like art works which I knew were not Banksy pieces not far from where I live. They are still good pieces of art but as they are not bona fide Banksy the authorities usually paint over them some time afterwards.  But it is noticeable there's a theme in the subject matter, usually somethng ironic or humourous, such as the boy and girl here on the left. The boy gives flowers the girl has a club, when stereotypically it would be the other way round. It's a great idea.  You can't help but fall in love with images like these. Yet why is there such a value on Banksy works? He is a prolific artist. It's not like there are only a few of his pictures, they are all over the place. Even on the wall dividing Palestine and Israel. Of course here the message is political.

 Personally I like Banksy because he is British and in typical anti establishment. This is a bit like the Scots, who don't like the English but are also very anti establishment. They just don't like to conform to rules.  Most of all they don't hold any values for the royal family or royalty, the English royal family have no sway over the Scots. Lets also face it, no decent normal human being would also allow themselves to be subjugated to royalty and those who do are probably pretty misguided. They'd best go and work in Tea shops
serving cakes, but I'm sure they would be very nice cakes. And if I had a choice to do a copy cat style Banksy picture it would be something like the queen eating beans on toast while a corgi cocks it's leg up the sofa. It's the other side of royalty we don't get to see.  I do hear queeny was in the news for counting the sweets scattered around the palace and was upset when staff were helping themselves. Well, what does she expect, she's know as a notoriously cheap individual who pays her staff poorly. This whiffs very much of someone who is happy with their self importance. Like working for her was reward enough.  I wouldn't mind betting she does eat beans on toast, for real. Don't be fooled I say, I'm also quite sure I seen her in a que at the Post Office popping in to pick up her pension. The corgi's were tied to a railing outside.  Poor things.

The New Ugly is Skinny

There is a popularist view of beauty in the West, it's simply put, and simply in this context is a pun (i.e. also refering to borderline subnormal intelligence).  As beauty is youthful and is skinny. Being young and beautiful are two items which inherently go together and who is to deny youth it's own stupidity gene anyway. Yet not all youngsters fall into this category, just the ones who spend too much time in front of a mirror or following the latest fashion.  The Western generalization of skinny and beauty though is probably something held by people who are skinny, or who aspire to being skinny, have low self worth and really do not understand the truth of human nature.  Skinny does not mean beautiful and anyone believing this has lost the plot.  To exagerate in a big way: they've lost the plot in the biggest allotment the world has ever seen, they swim in the sea and ask where is the sea, they breath in fresh air and wonder what the pong is. The poor lost things. The frightening aspect of this body type or view of the rest of the world makes me think it is a stereotype close to racism, sexism and extremism.

A particular culprit of the skinny and beautiful is the fashion industry.  There's a dislike of the so skinny models which adorn pages of magazines, newspapers and websites, well for normal bodied people there is. They quite often look what they are, anorexic and a reminder of second world war concentration camps.  They must be verging on the malnourished.  The clothes they have on are always brand new and pressed, they do look nice but then most people if put into beautiful new clothes can look pretty good.  Depending on the on the fit, but it doesn't mean only skinny people should wear beautiful clothes.  I am lead to believe clothes designers do not like the curvy body type, it is the way cloth hangs on the human body. Yet, everyone has curves, except the skinny drab lookers. Curves are beautiful, the human body is beautiful.  Alternatively there is also the extreme of curvy which is obesity and it is quite understandable clothes on obese people will not look their best.  In many respects botht he obese and the skinny fall within the same category. Extreme skinny is anorexia and can result in death.  Obesity similarily leads to death.  Fortunately in the West most people fall somewhere betweeen, except this may not be entirely true as now I hear obesity is becoming an epidemic particularly in the USA. Gluttony is bad, think twice I say to myself as I devour a second Danish Pastry. Usually the second thought is after it's already eaten and then the guilt kicks in. If only guilt burnt off calories, but it fecking doesn't.

Whether skinny or obese, what is beautiful is in a smile, self belief, personal warmth, an internal calmness with the world, spontaniety and bringing joy to others.  In relation to body type, posture is probably more important for it shows self confidence and beauty.  Yet not in a stuck up posh way which again is something the modelling fraternity have highjacked.  Appearing beautiful in posture and aloof yet again falls into the stupid category.  Beautify can be so ethereal no words will describe it.   It can even be in the picture of a person who has a story to tell.  For example Adam Pearson a
man suffering from a condition disfiguring his body with tumours, fortunately non malignant (neurofibromatosis). Here is a picture of the man, and if I were to say who is the more beautiful of these two photos I'd have to vote Adam.  Doesn't he looks cheeky as well? Something I'm sure Scarlett Johansson would be able to talk about, seeing as they have both been doing a little acting together. In this I see beauty, I see someone who is an individual with character. Whereas the skinny beans above have a surface beauty, I'd be lying if I said otherwise, they look unhappy in a moody.  They need a good bowl of stew and a happiness injection and probably a few years of happiness psychotherapy.

Get over it skinny people, the new ugly is beautiful and I've got a hairy arse look at it and cry.