Making Sense

A Great Uncle, at last

2012-01-27T21:29:00.000Z

Well I knew I was good, and even considered myself a good uncle but now I can officially say I am a Great Uncle. Yes. I am great. My niece Bam Bam has had a little boy. This may well be one of those additional signs of getting old. Getting very old, or getting bloody old. I hope not though. I don't have my own children on account you can't give away your own children, because they kind of get attached to the hip. Except as honorary step father to Rock Chick. But I do have nephews and nieces and now a great nephew as well. Blimey. It is so good to be great rather than just good. I'm chuffed. All day long since I woke up this morning and checked my mobile phone to the message I have been in a happy mood. Though I'll not see the little one at the moment. Mum and babe will stay in hospital for a couple of days to recuperate. Bam Bam eventually had him by cesarean section and had gone three days and nights without sleep. Poor thing. I hope she now gets a chance to recover.

Now I have to work out what the duties are of a Great Uncle. Besides the usual bit of pocket money and feeding false information about my girl friend being Kylie Minogue. Which Bam Bam actually thought was true for a number of years. I tell little Monster Boy the same thing but also add in Lady Ga Ga. Well, you have to keep up to date with the latest pop scene and impress them. However, I get the feeling Monster has caught on to my little fibs because he can carry an air of witty sarcasm. He's too sharp for his own good at times. The he is a nephew and not a Great Nephew so he's probably holding a grudge, until the next time he goes out for a bicycle ride and the ice creams are on me. Well, I'll keep my hair on as long as I can, just so the new nephew can see his Great Uncle isn't a baldy. I might be a little fatty, but I'm not a baldy yet. Unless you happen to hear the comments from Sparkling. Who believes the hair line is in recession. Awwe. She's just jealous of Kylie and Lady Ga Ga. I certainly am not jealous of her fling with Michael Buble. He can sing but I'll let him have that for now anyway. But he definitely isn't great like moi.

A momentary Oompah Loompah

2012-01-26T23:22:00.000Z

A few days ago I was dressed as an Oompah Loompah, one of those little men from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory films. Comments were made, I fitted the costume well with my belly sticking out, the orange face make-up was good as well. I looked like the genuine article and completely mistaken for a real Oompah Loompah. Sparkling was similarly in fancy dress, her's was Princess Fiona from the film Shrek, but in her ogre state. She looked wonderful as the princess. From three days of partying and little sleep I then headed back to London and look back on a wonderful moment of mistaken identity, now I'm back in the world of the real. However, being an Oompah Loompah for a short time was satisfying.

It's a pity my princess is now a few hundred miles away. The next time I see Shrek though she's sure to come back to mind.

Am I forgetting things or is it dementia?

2012-01-18T23:00:00.000Z

Do I seriously ask myself if I am suffering from a mental illness? Well, not seriously, it's something I am more aware of each day. I'm forgetting things. All kinds of things. People's names, words, places, they go missing, it's like they are there but I can't put my finger on them. Very much the-tip-of-the-tongue phenomena. For example, today while sitting on the sofa Sparkling's next door neighbour came in to wish Sparkles a happy birthday, she sat on the other end of the sofa. The conversation between Sparkling and neighbour went on, in the meantime I had somehow forgotten the neighbour's name. I knew her husband's name but I'd forgotten her name. It was completely gone. I sat there racking my brains but it was not coming out of them. Where had I put the name? What room of my memory palace was not working? I don't know, but whatever room it was in the door was locked. I was trying to peek through the keyhole but it would not reveal itself. Another example is with words. When watching a film I two soldiers in an army decided to leave the army, they grabbed horses and rode off. They were 'vacting' the army, or was it 'absconding' from the army. Both of my alternative words were closeish approximations but were not the exact word I was looking for. I could describe the definition of the word, I even had an idea of what letter it began with but the missing word was missing. Which is errrm. I forgotten again. No, it's 'deserters' see I knew it but just could not put my finger on it again, even though I have heard the word a couple of times since. So, by imagining myself back into the forgotten state of mind, I really did get back into the same forgotten state. The words were there, I just couldn't pull them out. So I am wondering if I am a candidate of dementia, or not.

I discussed this with Sparkling. Her response was to nod her head and agree, then to go on and add some more to it. She seemed to think I was talking a lot of rubbish lately and so this must be one of the symptoms as well. My digressive discussions on subjects which mean little to Sparkling except for 'getting on her nerves' are confirmation to her that I am nuts. This is completely untrue by the way, I enjoy my right to freedom of speech and talking rubbish to Sparkling because when in her company which isn't everyday I have to make up for it. It's a way of keeping contact, trying to be on the same wave length, unfortunately whatever wave length I am on Sparkling doesn't quite appreciate it. It wouldn't of been so bad if this was the view of one person. Rock Chick made a similar comment in relation to this possible self diagnoses Alzheimer's. Rock said:

"maybe because you have got so much shit in your head, you have to forget some of that shit so more shit can go inside." This was like an Epiphany when she said it. I jumped up, a light had been switched on, yes you're right I said. It just seemed right. Then I wondered and answered,
"Hey, I don't have a lot of shit in my head, it's all useful stuff the lot of it, just some of it is being forgotten." Rock laughed she had managed to tongue tie me quite easily. I had been fooled. I have no doubt though, I am getting slower, the brain cells are not reacting in the way they should be. Sparkling thinks so. Being this is her last year of her forties, she has said she will have a mid-life crisis. Except she has some kind of crisis every year. They are lovely crisis. Sometimes they maybe about starting a new life in a field with cows and chickens and sheep. As well as wanting a younger man, Michael Buble is high on the listing. What man can compete with him? None, none in their right mind. Being I may not be in my right mind then maybe I can.

I don't know what is going on with my mind, I could start wearing a white handkerchief on my head with knots in each corner for the things I've forgotten. Except four knots wouldn't go very far and I'm sure then Mr Buble would look even better.

A dream about oyster soup

2012-01-16T08:02:00.000Z

OK got up this morning from a dream about oyster soup. There was a manic desperation because the soup had to be correctly flavoured. Vinegar was missing, I think there may have been single cream as well. I don't have the faintest idea where this dream comes from but then the unconscious mind works in mysterious ways. I was laying on my back and may of also had a snore. This is happening more often nowadays. In the background the cat was meowing and wanted to be let out. The only thing of matter though was my soup. I was making it, tasting it and desperately seeking seasoning.

It's cold out. I'm awake and about to leave. No oyster soup insight. However, a little Irish stew wouldn't go amiss.

A Quiet Sunday and a Ukulele Omen

2012-01-15T20:11:00.001Z

This morning I went for a cycle ride along the Thames. The sun was hard, bright, and on a mission. It was a cold morning, frost had settled on cars, grass, pavements, the wheels of my cycle picked up white crystals and as they turned their tread grew white as well. Revolving they crunched. .I wondered if I turned sharply or had to stop suddenly would I slide or skid. Along the Thames the walkway was shaded so the whole path was white. Out of the sun I felt even colder. The gloves with no fingers exposed skin so I could not hold onto the handles without a chill freezing my hands. I put them in my coat pockets to keep warm and rode no-hands style. Sitting up straight and balancing my weight to gently steer. The tide was half out and mud banks were exposed. Sea gulls and other birds waddled about with a Sunday morning saunter. The ear flaps on my hat were pulled down to protect me a little more. Dry, crisp and very cold air inhaled then exhaled as as though I had just smoked a cigarette, but without the fumes. The skin on my face began to numb and I was losing feeling. Yet I felt alive and privileged to cycle along on this morning, it felt better than laying late in bed, it was doing something. I was energised and enjoyed the ride.

An hour and a half later I got back to the house to make lunch for Big Momma. She had gone out to do some Sunday shopping. A text had at last arrived from Sparkling as she didn't text yesterday, so I knew she was OK. I put on the radio and blow me down, music came forth, it was George Formby on his Ukulele playing "when I'm cleaning windows" this I took for an omen. I listened in amazement. How could Formby be on the radio? It is a sign. You should follow the signs, especially if you are motivated to follow them. It's like the inclination I have been getting lately to begin looking for another career. Even to the extent of feeling motivated to make a move. I can no longer sit and let things stay as they are. It's a matter of taking control. Rather than allowing myself to be the victim of circumstances. Follow the signs. Ukulele man. No. However, it could mean I should be looking to play the Uke just as a pastime, something completely different from anything else I do. Play it and look for a career at the same time. Sometimes there are things which I know get in the way, things which I know are not helping me. No I don't have two left hands, I'd never get to play the Uke if I do. Follow the signs. When that internal motivation gets kicked in who knows where it will lead. Last time it happened I ended up with two degrees. It's the long game as well. Ukulele man. There may only be four strings but it's how you play them.

I know what I am capable of, I know even on a sunny day it can be cold. Listen carefully and what can be heard? Formby. No. The rotation of cycle wheels on ice crystals. The lap of the Thames, a cold intake of breath, even on a Sunday, inspiration and exhilaration can be found.

False happines is a give away

2012-01-14T20:39:00.000Z

In catching up with a radio news program I heard an article about people who work in the service industry. Those who smile to customers when they may not feel happy, but have to present the smile face. It was found they suffered from burnout. Otherwise known as high emotional exhaustion. When I worked in the service sector I used to think why should I try and put on a happy face when I was not happy. The research indicated, service sector employees would get jaded and cynical. Further their mental health would become an issue. As Shakespeare said "be true to yourself." If you feel sad be sad. If happy then be happy. It's OK, but if it goes on for too long then people can think you are strange. There is an individual who comes into the Fish Factory with a happy face. Says "good morning" and asks how other fishes are, however, when on the receiving end it does not feel genuine. It does not feel like a real "hello" with content. It consequently becomes difficult to reply to this person. I then don't want to say "hello" because in the back of my mind I want to say "for feck sake be miserable and show your true colours" or maybe a little sarcasm along the lines of "Yes, I am so happy I could take my clothes of and sing the national anthem while dancing to the Birdee song." I can see the puzzled look on their face now and most likely the startled look of all the other fishes in the organization. There might even be the odd one asking I do just what I said, then getting out their camera phone to video it. Fine think that would be. I'd be unemployable for the rest of my life, I'd have to change my name or go into an employee witness protection program. Perhaps get plastic surgery so nobody ever recognises me again. Hell, better take the sarcastic thoughts out of my mind, I could get into serious trouble.

Then I got to thinking why should someone believe they should come into a workplace and put on a happy face all the time. They certainly don't get away with it, because other people will think or know the same. Know there is something off about the individual. It's like they have not accepted today is going to be a crap day. Personally I accept crap days. I don't care what other people think and sit with my head down getting on with my job with as little communication as possible. Except for the fact of being a middle fish there is always someone who wants to talk to you. I stick in ear plugs and they still talk to me. I need to get a big sign made and hang it above my work station, "having a bad day nobody fecking talk to me, or I'll kill" it might just do it. It might just keep away those vexatious questions form fishes who already know the answer and just want other people to hear them out. Hell we could all bloody moan for hours on end, but the moaning doesn't help, just get on with it. I should shout this out, but I'd probably then become unpopular. Hell there are times when I wish I'd just speak my mind and be damned with being unpopular. Let them get both barrels of the double barrelled shot gun of discontent. I'm sure it would startle and perhaps shock a few. But they deserve it.

I once heard it said, some employers do not employ people they think are smarter than they are. There is probably some truth in it. Then the not so smart people can be taken advantage off, like being told they have to be happy when they are not. Put on a smiley face. That sort of thing. I was chatting to my hairdresser a couple of days ago. He lives in France and commutes to the UK. He said as a self employed person he is always motivated to do his job. The motivation comes from within he said. So his smile would be genuine, being his own employee he could work what hours he liked, it gave him freedom. Further it wasn't just about making a profit. For him it was about making a living. He just wanted to get on with life. Enjoy his family and pay the bills. In a way this is kind of inspiring. It was hard work from what he was saying, but he really didn't mind. He is the only person he is accountable to, the boss is the boss. I expect there's a lot of things to think about when self employed. In his view though work was a means to live his life but not everything.

Then some of us are born to be grumpy old gits. It's genetic, so get over it and stop pestering me before I bite your head off.

Block out chatter - be an astronaut

2012-01-12T16:52:00.000Z

Today my Amazon order arrived. I had a feeling it would and had taken the day off so I could receive it. The postman appreciated it because it was a small box taken out of his bag then and made it a little easier to carry. It is a pair of ear muffs. I said I'd get them, and I have. They snugly fit over my ears and pin my ears against my head, but my expectations of what they do are probably a little high. I can still hear stuff with them on. What they do achieve is a reduction in the level of external noises but I can still hear the keys depress on the keyboard as I type. However, I can barely hear the TV on downstairs. They are better than nothing. The idea is to help concentration a bit more. What I would really like is a set of ear muffs which give nearly full sound dampening. The sort which would equate to being profoundly deaf. But I don't think they exist. I am now wearing two sets of ear dampening items. Some soft inner ear foam plugs and these larger ear muffs. This gives a double auditory shield. Maybe I am hyper sensitive to sound, maybe there is a name for it as well? I'm special. Yep, I can hear Sparkling now calling me a Spesh, as Rock Chick already has. It's odd how people are judged. Mind we all do it.

In a quest to try and find out about dampening materials and sound I did a little search on the Internet, to understand the phenomenon a little more. If I can understand something then I can understand the ways to deal with it.

Firstly the human ear is very sensitive to sound, sound travels through the ear canal, then hits the outer ear and then is converted by the inner ear into electrical signals the brain can interpret. By plugging a piece of foam inside the canal this it will automatically interrupt the path sound has to take. But because the ear is a delicate thing you have to be pretty careful what you stuff down it. This goes without saying. Not just physical objects but also from sounds made outside. Ears apparently wear out over time, like shoe leather, even though most shoes nowadays have rubber soles. Essentially your greatest ability to hear is as a child and not so good the older you get, depending on noise exposure over a lifetime. Not just booms and bangs, even music will do it, loud music for instance. Every time I have been to a concert I've walked out with my ears ringing. The audience seem to take this as a natural event. But it isn't natural to have two days of ringing ears after a gig. Your ears have been damaged, as small hair like follicles in your inner ear have died. You might as well sit down and pay someone to explode fireworks next to your head. Hoping they don't ignite your and the furniture in the process. It makes me wonder how all those concert organisers have not been taken to court for the hearing damage they have inflicted on millions of people over time. Because you pay for a ticket it shouldn't mean you also sign up for auditory torture. Well, I certainly haven't been to many concerts in my life which is an advantage. Except for the occasional tinnitus which I can't explain at all. So the ear is sensitive and is one of our five senses, once lost it's gone forever, bloody daunting when you think about it. In my work environment the most annoying sound is of other people around me when they are talking and I need to concentrate. If they talked in a language I could not understand it may not be so bad. I'll have to try that, concentrating while Swedish is being spoken all around me. All I need is a dozen Swedes and I'm not talking about the vegetable.

Going on. Sound is measured in two ways noise and frequency (variety). Loudness is measured in decibels (dB). A whisper is 15 dB whilst the sound of a voice is 60 dB, and a rock concert in the region of 120 plus dB. The frequencies of sound or the different varieties of sound are measured in hertz (Hz). Simply sound is the air vibrating and the frequency of these vibrations is measured by Hz. The human voice has a range between 60 and 7000 Hz or 7 kHz whilst the human ear is able to detect the range of about 10 Hz to 20 kHz. This is pretty incredible. The sensitivity to sound is three times greater than which the vocal range can create it. Ear muffs are designed to reduce these levels. But as I said there is no 100 percent way to stop all sound. There are two ways to reduce sound. One is to dampen it the other is to reduce it at source. Dampening involves the use of materials which absorb sound and do not allow it to reflect. To reduce noise levels you have to turn the radio or TV down, to dampen you put as many layers as materials between the ear and the outside world. Or live in a vacuum. Which would be OK if an astronaut, but not so good at sea level. I certainly wouldn't be too happy being 100 miles up in the air, I mean vacuum, it's too far down. I'd get dizzy.

There is probably a third way, which is not so much mentioned. This is by psychologically changing your perception of sound. Which we all do, just go to sleep. I've done it in front of the TV and barely heard what was happening. However, in a workplace, snoring might be frowned upon.

Too much gassing? Wear ear muffs then

2012-01-09T23:13:00.000Z

Today at the Fish Factory I needed peace and quiet to concentrate, could I get it? No chance. It's like working in market place. With fish mongers gassing left right and centre, but one particular monger who had a particularly loud voice. So out came the ear plugs from my glasses case. I don't use them often, they are just needed every once in a while. These still didn't do the job, I then sat there and stuck my fingers in my ears while looking at a monitor and trying to work out the difference between one fish and another. I must of looked a right sight. However, it's hard operating machinery when you have fingers stuck in your ears, you have to take them out of your ears to do the operating bit. Then came to mind the man who sits on the other side of the factory floor. He had his own ear defenders or muffs, OK he may look odd wearing them but I wondered whether they did the job. So I went over and asked to borrow his. Walked over to my workstation and sat down again, putting them on. They clamped on my head like mini limpets over each ear. He warned me they could get uncomfortable and hot with prolonged use. There was then an even more noticeable reduction in noise, or rather extraneous chatter. They worked. I could see a couple of people looked in my direction, puzzled at what I had on my head. However, I took no notice and really couldn't care what people thought. This could be an aspect of getting older. Why care about the opinion of others, when what matters is I am satisfied myself.

Therefore, being impressed by these ear muffs I've gone and ordered a pair for myself. OK I may only be one of two people on a floor where 300 people do test out their fishing, OK as well I might look like a cyberman from Doctor Who as well, but if they give me a level of quietness then I'll be happy. In a busy noisy world a little bit of tranquillity now and again can go a long way.

Stinky the pissing cat and exercise.

2012-01-08T15:41:00.000Z

Stinky the cat is pissing all over the place. He's nothing like our old cat Tigger. When Tigger wanted a piss or crap he would meow at the door to be let out. Stinky just goes to the same places and pisses on the carpet. If he's already pissed there he goes to his second best place to piss. Not only that his piss stinks bad. I don't know what to do, but if he carries on then there will only be one place for him, an appointment with the vet and a one way ticket to another place. I love the cat but there is only so much piss you can keep mopping up. If anyone knows how to train a cat to meow at a door and then piss outside please tell me.

Last night I decided I would hit the gym today. I was hoping to get up early enough so I'd be there for 8 a.m., but I just couldn't do it, so made it for 9 a.m. instead. There were not many people about this morning so it was good. I like it when there's few people around. There's no cuing up for machines then, no arsehole pricks just standing about by machines or in front of mirrors seeing if they look any better than they did the last five minutes ago they looked at themselves. It seems with youth and body beautiful types there is a high narcissistic trait. I bet Eysenck didn't even know it existed when he constructed his views on personality types. On the treadmill I had to take it easy and begin with my usual slow fat man routine, this is alternate five minutes of walking then running for half an hour. During the walking periods I grasp hold of the bars and measure my heart rate through the sensors. This is interesting because one measurement of fitness is recovery rate. The faster you can recover from a strenuous exercise to a relaxed rate the better for the heart. Well I think so anyway. It was good to see after my first set of walking and running I'd managed to drop down by sixty heart beats in five minutes. So I might be a walking middle aged fat boy but there is something there still just waiting to burst out into a fine featured athlete. Unfortunately this middle aged fat boy probably has two athletes inside him waiting to burst out. I don't at this moment have much in the way of discipline to get on the scales and begin the hard slog back to fitness. The reason is it is a bloody hard slog, hard demanding and relentless. It is so much easier just to be middle aged and fat than middle aged an athletic. Even if there are certain advantages to being healthy. Like not losing brain efficiency for one. I could of course always run around after Stinky with a cloth and bucket, that might make me lose a few calories and slim down. With the rate he pisses it I could be on a winner here.

Dogs are much easier to train and get into the mind of. Cats are too girly like. Too emotional. Or it just might be Stinky is an exception and is psychologically damaged. Rather than the nice soft feel of grass he likes the soft feel of a carpet to put his arse on. Cats you certainly can't kick up the backside. If you did they'd go flying and probably lose a life. Hell they need everyone one of their lives and Stinky could well be running out of his lives at the rate he's going.

Better go and fill the bucket up. Lose a few more calories and make the house smell a little better.

Too many drinks and the yo yo effect

2012-01-07T11:55:00.000Z

Last night I had one too many to drink. Overstretching my usual number of pints. I'm not a big drinker but it just seemed to slip down so easily, the first was for my thirst, the second had to chase the first, the third had less of a run and more of a trot, the fourth had a dandy walk and the fifth had a snail as for mentor and zeal. I walked out of the gold fish bowl not so much with one foot in front of the other but like I wanted to ice skate on sold ground. At this point I was so chilled, so happy, so relaxed I would of easily told the entire pub I loved them all. I got home, had a cup of tea and went to bed. Woke up at four a.m. with the room spinning like a yo yo, no, my head spinning like a yo yo on psychedelic drugs and a couple of health drink stimulants. So went downstairs and got a large beaker of orange to help hydrate my system and climbed up the stairs again. I pondered with the idea of taking a headache pill as a precaution because this spinney head thing might mean I'll soon be a member of the walking dead society. I then woke up for breakfast late, fortunately without the worse hang over in the world. More of a third grade hangover which can be coped with. My bigger girth likely played a part of inoculation. There are instances where a pot belly can have it's advantages even if it is a sign of an ever increasingly bad lifestyle.

In recalling the evening I sent a text message to L & B man telling him I loved him. I also text messaged Sparkling, maybe three or four times in my inebriated state. Giving her updates as I counted the downed pints. She sees these messages with amusement, but has learnt not to answer the phone to me when I am pissed, because every drunk talks gibberish to someone who is sobre. It's not just a matter of interpreting speech their topics of discussion hold no attention even if the drunk thinks they are funny. Like a comedian who laughs at their own jokes. Not very funny..

I don't know why this keyboard is so unsteady, it's like my desk is on an ocean liner. I'll get over it and another cup of tea will help. It's just a matter of keeping my head as stationary as possible so as not to upset the balancing liquids in my inner ear. I have to keep my caffeine level up and intake of non alcoholic liquids, of course. Chilled fresh air from an open window seems to be helping. Things to do today: get hair cut, train ticket, and life jacket for this bloody liner.

A late but relaxing morning

2012-01-05T21:52:00.000Z

I couldn't help it but get up late this morning. Arriving in the Fish Factory five minutes before the limit of expectations. So what! When I woke up I could tell it was late, for there was a smidgen of light coming through the curtains. Worse still was the sound that greeted me. Wind and rain. Not just any rain or any wind, this was howling and the rain sounded like aspiring hail stones. It had been rejected from the hail stone select members club, it was in an angry mood and was going to show what it could do even if it wasn't as hard as a nail. Well it kept me in bed, in fact it probably helped me to get a heavier more relaxing sleep. I wasn't bothered the covers of my bed kept me lovely and warm. It was difficult getting up, this morning I liked my bed and enjoyed the lay in.

When I eventually left the house I was lucky enough to get one of those respite moments. There was a calm. Little wind and a fine rain of no bother at all. The train I could of got was waiting in the station. Yet with my not bothered attitude I didn't worry and let it disappear into the distance. Another one would turn up soon enough I thought. When at the platform I checked the electronic indicator and had to wait 14 minutes, a bit longer than normal. In addition it turned out the train was a couple of minutes late as well. No bother. The seats were relatively empty, so I took one and sat on the edge of it, relaxed but upright. I closed my eyes and meditated. It would be my practise for the day, between now and the next train turning up. I listened to the sounds around me and relaxed my breathing. In, then gently out, doing my best not to let my thoughts go off onto tangents, trying to think of nothing and be calm. My eyes were watering under their glasses. I don't know if this is a problem with the wind whipping up again or whether they are getting worse. They shouldn't water if closed. Strangely only 7 minutes passed and it felt like an eon, at which point I got up and walked along the platform and waited there for the train. When I then got off the train at my destination I realised at last a calmness had infused itself in me. I was in a mood which would let me just stare into space thinking of nothing at all.

Last night I saw an article on the news about meditation. It apparently is good for you. It helps the mind to cope with pain. Like being hit with hailstones, whipping rain and jostled by the wind. I always new it was useful for something.

The mystery of the missing Cat

2012-01-04T22:32:00.000Z

This is getting odder, yesterday it was my keys today it is the cat. I saw him this morning and let him out, Big Momma let him in and fed him. He has not been seen since. Momma thinks he has somehow got himself in the walls. Which although very unlikely is possible as they are cavity walls. But I don't think so. I'll refrain from putting up wanted posters at the moment. I've opened the back door and looked into the dark wind swept rain, I've even called out, "come on puss, where are you Stinky, come on in!" alas to no avail. He is not listening or has got a better offer somewhere else. Well he wasn't our cat to start of with, he adopted us and stayed in this house because we fed, watered and tickled him. There wasn't much choice about it. So Big Momma has been saying "oh the poor thing, he's stuck in the wall." Of course the horror of him being stuck in the cavity wall and not being able to get out is terrifying. I could see him now, clawing his way to some point between the walls and he is frozen in position, unable to move any part of his body because he is tired out. Not a nice thought. One of those little terrors you hope is not true because there is no way the wall is going to be knocked down or smashed open to try and find him. The house would fall down. In addition there's the notion of trying to sleep the next few nights. Well I just don't want to think about it any further. I'd rather go along the lines of him being abducted, by aliens. Of him going back to the home he used to live in, of being lost in the wilderness, or plainly just hiding under some kind of shelter outside which is out of the rain and keeping him dry.

Big Momma insisted she had heard the cat meow. We got into an argument.

"It's the wind and rain outside what you can hear. Or it's the neighbour's kids screaming, or even a fox outside. It's not the cat."
"No it's not outside. He's in the wall, I can hear him. I heard him earlier, loud and clear. The poor thing, he's stuck, he's in the wall. I'm not mad I don't hear things. You're the mad one. It takes one to judge one."
"Yes you are mad. He's not in the wall. He can't be. If he is there's no way he is going to get out. I'm not going to have the house knocked down to find him. I can't hear him. You're hearing things."
"I'm not. He's in the walls, he's not outside either I've looked"
"OK, I'll have a look outside myself."
"Go on then, I've already looked, he's not there."

I went outside, checked under the little old table in the garden, round the side of the house and then by the rubbish bins. He wasn't there. Not even a poor injured Stinky. Where the hell was he?

Back inddors, the telly was on. I listened and could not hear a thing. If the cat was meowing then it was infrequently. Big Momma must be hearing it, she's got to be going crazy. Unless he was tiredly meowing, and as she predicted stuck in the walls. About twenty minutes passed and I was wondering whether Big Momma had psychologically screwed up my head. A bit like Sparkling can when she wants to play about with my mind, telling me things are there when they are not. She has done this too a whole band of youngsters before with her ghost stories. Then I'd hear the cat and would be going bonkers. When he clearly wasn't there. Or of course the worse scenario was Big Momma was right. Then it came, and if I hadn't of actually been trying to listen for it I would of thought I was going completely loopy. It was a small "meow," I had to really think and question myself whether I had actually heard it. Was I mad? Was there some contagious mental illness which had just been zapped into my head. Next week I'll be out in the garden playing with the fairies. The faintness of the meow was disturbing thoughts of being mad or the cat was in the walls. Bloody great news on two counts.

I turned the telly off, took a torch and began looking in the most unlikely nooks and crannies I could think of. Behind the immersion heater, opening cupboard doors completely, checking every shelf in the cupboards. In closed boxes which he could fit only to find the boxes were full of stuff and there was no way he would get in them unless they had been opened and he was doing a sardine impression. I heard a "meow" again. It was louder tis time, definitely coming from upstairs. Big Momma commented.

"Yes, he's climbed up inside the walls, he's in the wall at the up stairs level, we have to keep calling downstairs so he can make his way out. He has to come out by himself."
"Look.. Just shut up and listen! Be quite!"

There was indeed a slim possibility Stinky had climbed up into the cavity walls somehow from behind the kitchen fittings. This was not something I wanted to contemplate. Or I could expect men in white coats to come knocking on the door shortly.

The only way to get a bearing on the "meows" was to lay on my bed. Be still. Listen. I calmed myself after arguing with Big Momma relaxed and tried to heighten my sense of hearing. If Stinky was stuck in the walls then I had to know. If his meow was muffled or loud, whether I could sleep through it or not. Would it play on my conscience? I'm not going to get a builder in or have the house revamped. I lay there and there was no sound. Ten minutes passed. Then I heard it again. This time Stinky's meow was louder. There was no way that meow was coming from behind a cavity wall. It would of been a lot more dull. Like meowing through a sock. I took the torch and now moved in the direction of where I thought the sound was coming from. Even with the lights on they are not bright enough to see in those dark places a cat would seek comfort, solace, non disturbance from human beings. I heard it again, even louder this time. He moved as well. It was coming from the bed. Big Momma's bed. How on earth I wondered could he have gotten under it. The bed has a skirting down to the floor. I then noticed there were some large draws on the side of the bed. They looked like decoration and not real draws. So I pulled one open. There sitting amongst chrimbo decorations was one, content cat who really didn't mind at all whether he was found or not. He had been quite happy, and I'm sure wouldn't of really bothered meowing unless he was desperate for food. Knowing Big Momma's luck he'd of made up his mind at two a.m. in the morning.

Big Momma wasn't crazy and neither was I, thank my lucky stars. I took of my deerstalker hat, put my magnifying glass, torch and notepad away.

So it was another mystery solved in the life of Sherlock Holmes had passed. Are these walls really padded?

Lost Keys

2012-01-03T19:39:00.000Z

There are some things which are unforseen. Such as Big Momma fracturing her hand in three places on new year's day and only going to the hospital a couple of days later when she couldn't put up with the pain. Or there's the sudden anaphylaxis allergic reaction Sparkling took on Chrimbo day from a stuffing ball, one eppipen and three medics later she was given the OK. Today though not quite on the same level of either Big Momma or Sparkling, I lost my keys. I got to the door after a long day of work, put my hand in my pocket to search in the place they are always kept and they were not there. Gone. I'm not even sure where I have lost them. Maybe at the Fish Factory, maybe at the Chinese where I had lunch or maybe lost on a train as I commuted. I'm sure if they were tagged with GPS tracking then I'd have no problem in locating where they are, infact when you think about it all keys should be GPS tagged. There's a million dollar idea for sure, better do a quick search on Google to see if such a devise already exists. Yes it does, but is too expensive and is cheaper to get new keys cut. OK it was an idea, I'll not be made a millionaire over night. Another idea will come along. Regardless, I rack my brains and don't know where the keys are, my keys have departed, gone to a better place. Possibly even a warmer place than my pocket. Ungrateful things.

A moan at the world, government, injustice and my lot

2012-01-02T10:48:00.001Z

I had a lay in bed this morning getting up an hour later than I would were I at work. Breakfast and listened to the radio, the Today Program. I hear fares have increased by an average of six percent. With the cost of living and inflation higher than any workers wage increase this is yet another nail in the coffin of anyone who has to graft to get their dosh. It seems inevitable. A Tory government as usual means the working classes will suffer. What a wonderful start to the second day of 2012. I must remember now to write 2012 whenever I do the date, perhaps even have a little practise now so I don't make a mistake. But it doesn't matter too much, we all make mistakes. Like the idiots who voted the Tories in I wonder at what point they will realise it was a mistake. Regardless of this depressive news, I woke up wanting to do something. As though there is an event or goal missing from my life. This began last night.

Sometimes there is a period where I get fidgety; like sitting still and watching TV is no longer fulfilling in my life and there has to be something else. I think back on my achievement, the big marker. Coming out of school with no qualifications having failed six O'levels, four of which were "D" grades. Can you believe it? Ds. Where we were told the only difference between a D fail and a C pass was five per cent. Four bloody Ds. Was it luck, or being unlucky? One or the other. The amount of effort didn't relate to the grades. Growing up in poverty in a family where arguments and rows were the common battle ground of getting through a day. It was tough. Education was nothing more than a babysitting service, a convenient place where kids went to get them out of their parent's hair. Educational support at home was non existent. I was once told "I don't see why you are staying on at school doing O'levels, I didn't get any exams and you'll not get them either." Life for a working class family is inscribed in stone. Don't have any aspirations just accept your lot. Get on with it. Go out and put the bread on the table, if you can't then don't bother coming back. It was OK for those who passed their eleven plus and went on to grammar school, with a great educational system to support them. Any other child stuck in the comprehensive route was considered a write off. The grammar school snobs were the lucky ones, they passed their exams and they had families who supported them. I soon found out my failing at school meant I would not walk into a decent job. A job where the standard of four O'levels was required. At a time when there were good jobs going. I'd have to put up with as low paid as they come. So I did. It was only the desire to pull myself out of this quagmire which led me on to tertiary education. A way out. Or rather a temporary excuse from the normal tedium of a hard life.

So it was last night I had a fidgety motivation, unresolved issues needing to be addressed, there is an unspent energy, a desire to get on with something, the thing is I don't know what it is I want to get on with. It is not a clearly defined goal. This is not to say I don't have goals, I have some but those are long term ones which can't be achieved in a couple of years. More like ten or fifteen years. This motivation is a feeling of being unfulfilled but not knowing where I should be going of not being recognised there is more to me than meets the eye. Especially when I see other people around me and I wonder how such idiots were able to get to the places they are already in. Their paths of mistakes are open, they are so lucid, just like the politicians of today trying what they will to address the country's financial deficit. What I know is their path is the wrong one, one which will bring the UK down on its knees where a great depravity is about to bestow itself on millions of working class people. Something is so very wrong and unjust with our politics at this time.

Were I a politician this motivation would be directed to getting into power. To changing the country. I'm not, I follow politics and get frustrated by it, maddeningly frustrated by it. Anyone who doesn't have an interest in politics or how it effects their everyday life is ignorant. Of all things there certainly is too much ignorance in this world. Education is one of the keys, you have to look beyond the immediate. Short term goalism is another blindness of idiots. What is wrong with me today. This diarrhoea is spewing forth from my typing fingers.

I need to get on my bike, have a cycle, get out, do something. Sitting here I am stewing. It's OK if it's vegetables and meat in a pot, on a slow simmer. Nice, meat and veg stew, but I'm a human being. Now, where's the bike?

First dull day of 2012

2012-01-01T17:59:00.000Z

The first day of 2012 has meant being stuck indoors because of incessant rain outside. The moment it stops raining the sky has become dark and I don't feel like going out. I'm starting to stew, soon this could turn to Cabin Fever. I could commit murder just to keep myself busy for there seems little else to do. I think my eyes are on the blink again as one eye is having problems focusing. There is no reason to pick up a book and read because it is forced and not chosen. I heard by text this morning how Rock Chick had dipped her toes in the cold water of the sea in aid of charity as an event for the first day of the year. I congratulated her and then she replied next year it would be my turn. Yes, sure thing I thought, not. At this moment flu like symptoms came over me, a headache, dizziness and I wondered if I'd fall over any moment. Flu or pneumonia, or both. Dangerous and Rock were lucky there is no snow, next year could be worse. I'll promise to dip my toes in, providing I'm in a different hemisphere. One where even in winter you get to see a little bit of sun light. No sunlight equals doom and gloom. I'll be jumping under every light bulb I can find to try and top up those missing vitamins. Was it A or D, or even E? Though I'm not entirely sure artificial light is quite the same as real sun light. It might help. Fingers crossed.

A quick phone call to Sparkling, she is indoors as well, having got home just after seven in the morning. She rose at one in the afternoon. How can a person go so long without sleep? She is tired, I don't blame her, I'd be a complete zombie if I got home that time of the morning. I must admit to being a sleep whore today, waking up at eight, having breakfast and going back to bed for another couple of hours. Followed by a weird dream of being a body guard with a sub machine gun, protecting a client who was on someones hit list. You can guess it was an action dream and quite entertaining, better than being at the cinema. At least in your dream nobody can answer their mobile phone and talk through it. Unless you happen to dream it. Mind, with my sub machine gun I think they would of soon stopped chatting away. Oh well, must do something with myself. A short walk, anywhere, it don't matter where, just to break the cycle of boredom followed by car crash TV. Those American made for TV movies have made my head turn to mash potato. OK for lunch but not so good when you go out on a wet day.

A review of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and a Happy new year for 2012

2011-12-31T19:13:00.001Z

There is a quote I came across the other day it is:

"Learn from the past and look to the future"

So it should be with 2012. A time to look on what has gone before and hopefully a little wiser greet the new year with a glass in the air. Although personally I'm still catching up on my sleep after Scotland so I could well be asleep before the new year comes in. If I'm snoring away then nothing will disturb me. If it's anything like last year there will be fewer people opening their doors and windows than before as the old goes out and the new comes in.

This afternoon I took Layabout lad out to watch a movie. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I'd read the book so already knew what the film was about however, if anyone went to see the film without knowing the story I'm sure they could easily get lost. Truth be told the English version of Sieg Larson's book is quite accurate, unfortunately it is a little boring. I doubt if it will break the box office and if it does it will be because of the hype from earlier sales of the book. Were there no book success no way would movie of attracted so much attention. Watch this space though, my prediction is it will be a flop, a big flip flop. Somethings just sometimes don't convert to picture format. The written word while engrossing and exciting to read, except for the first sixty pages doesn't play so well. It's one of those things which should really of been done in a series. In this way more depth in the characters and sub stories could of been interwoven. Perhaps a set of six or even twelve episodes might of suited it. Then it should of been sold to the rest of the world. It would of only been something the BBC could have done justice in making, lets face it they are amongst the best two or three TV series makers in the world. As for Daniel Craig playing one of the main characters, Mikael Blomvkvist he really was too young and not fat enough for the image I drew from the book. Where Blomkvist is portrayed as a middle aged, bit more worldly, slightly overweight investigative journalist. Craig doesn't pull this off because he doesn't physically hit this portrait but also because he has already been James Bond and Bond is still too fresh an image in the public eye. Lisbeth Salander is played by Rooney Mara. Someone I have not seen act before. Although Mara may have the physical characteristics of Salander, I am unfortunately not entirely convinced in her portrayal she does not come across as hard enough of psycho enough. This could in part be down to the directing and editing of the movie, which leaves out little linking snippets which would give the film more sense. Her performance was a little on the flat side, like coke without the sparkle, you endure it but it's just not satisfying. To sum up, my advice is: don't see the film unless you have seen the book and really want to complete the loop because it will not leave you wanting more and will leave to many questions on your mind. It demands attention and concentration, so don't see it if you are drunk as well, unless you need to sleep.

So with this as my last BLOG for 2011, happy new year to all.

Thanks for reading.

Last return to London for 2011

2011-12-29T20:18:00.000Z

Well I am back in London after an uneventful journey. In part this is a shame as I have now got used to the routine of claiming back fares when the operator is late. The later they are the more I can reclaim, but there is always next time, and I'm sure there will be. Already I am missing Sparkling Eyes, Rock Chick and Dangerous Sports Lad. I managed to eventually get used to being woken up early in the morning as Dangerous got in from work, the cat Olly behaved himself mostly and didn't get me up at 2 a.m. in the morning wanting feeding and a run. While Sparkling kept me fed and watered and will claim it is my own fault if I put on more weight, because I should learn to keep my mouth shut. Of course. The thing with Chrimbo it's a time of over indulgence and a lot of pounds in weight have been put on in the Western hemisphere I'm sure. I was also pleasantly surprised to find a Kylie calendar Chrimbo present unopened. What an artist. She's on my wall now, I'd like to say looking down on me but being as she's struck in a pose with her eyes closed she's not really looking anywhere. Further, she is a bit of a short arse. However, the reality for me was my Chrimbo ending last night when Rock Chick beat me at Scrabble. I used every excuse I could think of, but she did it fair and square. Although it was funny catching her lean over and look at my letters when I had walked out of the room. Naughty Rock Chick. Never mind, I will be able to see Sparkles and Rock again in a couple of weeks time when I next go up North. Between now and then I'll try and get in a few pages or dictionary reading.

Tomorrow I'm back at the Fish Factory. Just the one day then off again as new year hits. Next year if I am lucky, I may even do more BLOGs than I did this year. Which would be something. Life goes on. Presently my eyes are closing of their own accord, telling me I need to hit the hay early. There is only so much partying one tired fat man can do then it hits. Merry Chrimbo one and all. I'll write tomorrow.

Chrimbo day stuffing, a late Chinese and an anaphylactic shock

2011-12-27T14:12:00.001Z

Strange how Chrimbo days are times of special events. If it's not a psychological war of the between relatives there's something else going on. Which is probably one reason why I have spent more years in Scotland than in London at Chrimbo. It's a little more calming to be in the presence of Sparkling for me. I just happen to feel more relaxed around her. Even when things are not going well at the Fish Factory, which unfortunately has been on my mind quite a bit lately as well as nose bleeds from high blood pressure and bouts of mad-man-anger. Just to say there are a few things I need to get off my chest in the Factory. Fortunately, Sparkling is understanding and together we have done our best not to allow the steamed up crazy-red-popping-anger head to get a hold. Although I will say it does get more difficult bringing it down over a period of time. Enough of that. So as I was saying. Besides the times of psychological permanent scarring, which in this wonderful man-made-christian event, other things tend to happen. Things which can not be anticipated. Like they have been pulled out of a magician's bag, and instead of a white rabbit there's a bloody pink elephant. Like someone has been drinking too many martinis. The magician's bag obviously belongs to Doctor Who. There can be no other explanation. So it was as this Chrimbo day came to be other things decided to take place as well.

As a change from the norm of dried up turkey, we decided to have a dried Chinese instead. However, Chinese isn't dried up and tastes a lot better. So the order was put in for a Chinese, it was due to arrive at 5 p.m., in the mean time Sparkling decided to put a few items in the oven, little snack things needing to be cooked off. Mini sausages, stuffing balls, prawn sesame slice things, the usual little snacks. It was some time between 4 p.m. and 5 p.m. when Sparkles had taken these out of the oven and took a fancy to trying one of the stuffing balls. These were sticking to the silver foil and ended up being a disaster in more than one way. She pulled one off the foil and thought no more of taking a couple of bites. The rest of the bits and pieces were put on plates ready for the evening's party. The Chinese pre ordered would be on it's way, and Rock Chick with Dangerous Sports lad in tow had done a little bit of Chrimbo visiting. This left just me and Sparkles in the house. I went into the kitchen to see how things were going and Sparkles looked at me. It was a worried look, a frightened kind of stare she had in her eyes. Followed by the words "I'm taking a reaction. To the stuffing balls." Sparkles pulled up her sleeves and there I could see the tell tale sign of hives. Big blooming blotchy skin welts all over her forearms. Oh my gaud, I thought. It's real, it's a anaphalatic shock. Sparkling was nervous and shaking. She drank water and there was a problem with swallowing. I wanted to call the ambulance, Sparkling kept shaking her head. Saying "no, I'm trying to get it under control." I wanted to ring immediately but Sparkles was doing her best to keep control. I felt myself welling up inside, a bubbling kind of panic. Heck, I didn't know what to do. Sparkling gave way and I rang the emergency services.

It seemed to take forever to get through to the ambulance service, while inside me I was thinking every second counts. Sparkles was blotchy and red, she said she was having a problem drinking water. She had gave a gagging motion when she tried a sip or two. The operator came through, I gave details of address, Sparklings age and then answered some simple questions. Like "is she conscious?" fortunately for me she was I don't know how I'd of held it together were she not. The ambulance was on its way. The operator asked

"Has she used her eppipen?"
"No."
"Then tell her she has to use her pen."
"Darling, you have to use your pen." Sparkles was sat on the arm of a chair, half panting and kind of nodding her head to say yes she knew she had to use it. The voice returned on the end of the phone.
"Has she used her pen?"
"No, not yet."
"You have to use your pen Sparkling." She looked at me once, looked at the pen and plunged it hard into the side of her thigh. It was dull. She looked at the pen again, pulled the top off and again stabbed it at her thigh.
"Has she used the pen?"
"Yes, she has now used the pen."
"OK, tell her the ambulance is on the way, keep her calm they will be there soon. I will stay on the phone to they arrive. How is she?"

Somewhere in between this conversation I managed to make another phone call to Rock Chick to get and tell her about the situation. The conversation went on with the lady on the end of the phone, I managed to keep it together and not turn into a screwed up panicking mess. Even though I was feeling like this on the inside. An emergency medic turned up, he attached a machine to Sparkling which monitored her vitals. Pulse rate was 67, blooming Aida I thought, Sparkles is an athlete. Blood pressure was high, which apparently was a good sign in this situation. It's when the blood pressure drops a full anaphalaticChrimbo after all. Rock and Dangerous walked in to be greeted by three emergency personnel.

In the back of my mind I kept wondering where the blooming Chinese was, and if it turned up now whether there would be enough to share amongst everyone. We'd find a way I thought. But it didn't come to it. The machine was disconnected and little sticky pads were left on Sparkling's arms. We were all relieved. Sparkles had an adrenaline high over the next couple of hours and the stuffing balls went in the bin.

Long live the dry turkey.

Chrimbo humbug

2011-12-23T17:53:00.000Z

For some reason it does not feel like Chrimbo. There is no snow, it is not cold enough and we're in a recession. Personally I am a humbug man so weather or recession wouldn't matter, I'd still be a humbug man. I wasn't always like this, and used to be one of those people who had a funny feeling around Chrimbo time. Get overly emotional for peace to mankind, or should I say allkind, as saying mankind excludes women, Sparkling would kill me, so it's allkind, include women and soft cuddly animals as well. Ok lets re-phrase and say every living animal because even crocodiles have feelings. I think. Except crocks like to hide their feelings under their cool rugged skinned exterior. Personally I don't get close to crocks to find out what their opinions are on the matter. Except I believe they also have taken a humbug stance on Chrimbo.

Things are different though depending on how old you are. Christmas is the highlight day for all children and as adults our highlight is seeing them happy. It's like when I see Monster Boy, he brings me happiness as his personality shines through. I told him a couple of weeks ago he had to get home quickly before it got dark because of the vampires and ghosts who like to eat up little boys. I then forgot about this. A few days ago he repeated what I'd said to him, and my response was along the lines of "what idiot said that to you?" I deserved it when he reflected it back on me and said those wise words had come from my mouth. Not much I could do there. Just accepted it, I'd been outwitted by an eleven year old. Which in a funny way made me happy as well. Monster Boy is definitely looking forward to Chrimbo, I'm sure it's the presents bit which he likes most of all. There is a big enthusiasm to open up presents, there's not much of enthusiasm to tidy up afterwards, but that don't matter, as long as he is happy. Odd how seeing others happiness reflects back.

I'm sitting in Sparkling's house, having wrapped up a couple of presents for her. I was kicked out of bed this morning when the man from Amazon turned up with a parcel. I've been told this is mine. I asked whether Sparkling wanted me to wrap it as well. She was OK with this, but I decided not. It just seemed odd I should wrap up my own present, a little like Mr Bean writing his own birthday card and then pretending to be surprised when he opens it. However, Sparkles is working today and will be working a twelve hour shift on Chrimbo eve. She is a hard worker and enjoys her job, but there is only so far she will go when one of her customers asked she work fourteen hours. Which she will not. I'll hardly get a chance to see her tomorrow, but at least I'll be here and I'll be able to wish her a happy Chrimbo on Chrimbo day, humbug or no humbug this is something which will make me very happy.

Merry Chrimbo to everybody.

Music and seat dancing

2011-12-19T22:32:00.000Z

It's been a while since I listened to music on my MP3 player. It has been misplaced in a pocket somewhere and it's a matter of finding it. So once in a while in the evenings I find myself venturing onto YouTube to listen to music videos. Yesterday it was songs with the Ukelele, which I am sure is an incredibly underrated instrument, maybe I say this because I got my eye on buying one for myself and learning. This evening I popped on YouTube again and caught up with a little more of Steph Stephenson, a young lady with loads of talent just waiting to be given a break. Well she had written a comment on one of my BLOGs so I felt obliged to go and listen to some more of her work. She's a passionate in her music and it comes through in her songs. It's odd though how missing out on something like an MP3 player can make you want to stop, pause, and seek out that something which has been missing. Until that is I get my Uke, then I'll be able to make my own music. OK learning how to play the thing has got to come first, but it does only have four strings so it has got to be less complicated than any other stringed instrument. I mean four strings. How hard can it be? I'll find out if this notion doesn't fly away on a wing and a prayer, hopefully not before I've composed my first song, or learnt someone elses song and played it. Taking it for granted I can even remember the words. I'll probably start of with something simple like Ten Green Bottles. I mean, four strings.

It's getting cold outside and Chrimbo is on the way. The two just happen this year to be related, usually it doesn't get to be cold until late January and then into February, but we may well have a white Chrimbo. Watch this space.

I've now hopped into YouTube again with a song by Adele, an awsome artist, original music, her own words, written when she was sad and lonely and expressing herself "someone like you" a brilliant song. I then find myself singing even though I don't know the words and I to am singing with passion, with my heart hoping I'm a little bit in tune. A little bit is good enough. I'm tired though because I didn't sleep again last night. Damn, I think I got a good voice, heck when nobody listens the voice is excellent, it's what other people think. Shame. Ok now dropped in to hear a Maroon 5, "moves like Jagger," OK am dancing in my seat. It's called seat dancing, yep we've all done it. It's the beat I can't help it my body has taken over. Well that's over with, now for some Amy Winehouse and "monkeyman." Well who'd of believed the best way to keep warm on a cold night was to do some seat dancing.

Finding the murderer

2011-12-18T20:19:00.000Z

I have been watching a TV series called "Death in Paradise," by the BBC. It's a who-done-it type of series set on one of the islands in the Caribbean and I highly recommend it. The main detective is an Englishman through and through, the stereotype of what the rest of the world thing an Englishman should be. No matter how hot it is he is always wearing suit, he enjoys a cup of tea and is emotionally withdrawn. Not prone outbursts. So there is a comedic element which makes it good viewing. The actor is Ben Miller playing Detective Inspector Richard Poole. Poole's counterpart who is emotional and opinionated is Camille Bordey played by french actor Sara Martins, she is Poole's thorn, but she also adds a little feminine sex appeal as does Bordey's mother. Again you could say there is a bit of stereotyping here because the BBC have chosen a sexy French woman to play the part. The program is delightful, however as I've now watched seven episodes, even I am beginning to work out who the murderer is. Unlike the Piorot series where it is always difficult to work out who the killer is. Then Agatha Christie did go out of her way to make characters like cardboard and weave so many superficial red herrings so as to make it impossible to guess who the murderer would be. Cerebraly challenging to an extent but also in the confusion of clues I'd say unsatisfying.

So on the latest episode of Death in Paradise, I guessed who the murderer was within two minutes. However, I didn't know the reason why. To find a murderer there are three commandments to establish: motive, opportunity and means. The most important usually is motive. Money is always a good reason, but there are multiple motives all of which are the failings of the human condition. Anger, avarice, jealousy, blackmail, dishonour but to name a few. With the advent of multiple CSI based other TV series it goes without even saying forensics are vitally important. However, these can be limited. It was really Sherlock Holmes who first used forensics, and his great mental powers of deduction to establish events no other human could, hence came his famous saying

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

There have been times when I have used this line of reasoning to come to a conclusion, however it is long winded and is based on the notion you can think up enough probably and weird events which are possible but become improbably as they are disregarded. The thing being, you never actually know whether you have come up with the actual reason of something happening. There is a little bit of crossing your fingers and hoping to die. For instance, one permanent probability would be little green men from a spaceship did it. Except most of the time this becomes improbably unless you happen to be viewing an episode of the X files in which case anything would be possible. Note, Fox doesn't always get it right. So what have we got then? The murderer is usually someone who is known to the victim. The murderer will usually have a reason of vital importance, it is to their advantage the victim is no longer around. However, when watching a TV program this is usually hidden as much as possible and only comes out fully at the end of the script. Or if it is known there is a couple of other red herrings with just as much justification for having the victim dead. The murderer usually makes a mistake. Well, lets face it. They have to make a mistake, because if they don't then they are not going to get caught. I'm sure it wouldn't be much excitement to have a TV series called "How to Get Away with Murder," it certainly wouldn't do the world much good if there was one. Crimes would be happening left right and centre otherwise. The one thing no TV producer wants to do is encourage breaking the law. Lastly, the detective is always out of the ordinary. They have some quirk of personality which makes you attached to them. The ones who don't and I can think of a particular detective with no endearing quirks, is completely boring. For a viewer, you don't want boring, otherwise the channel will be hopped. Or worse a book is picked up, a BLOG written, or a phone call made to someone you just need to talk to.

Well, where am I? No one to talk to, bored of reading, already seen a detective program, ahh dear Watson it must be BLOG time. The murderer is....

Awake at two thirty : racing thoughts and elusive butterflys

2011-12-14T07:21:00.000Z

I woke up at two thirty this morning. It wasn't like my sleep was disturbed because there was silence. Or anything to do with a bad dream, neither did I feel uncomfortable. I just woke up. Fully woke up. It had only been three hours since I went to bed, by all sense and logic I should of been crying out to sleep. This wasn't the case. I felt awake and alert. Yet knowing I should be asleep kept me in bed. For a while I tossed and turned. Hoping my mind would not continue to race along. Somehow just by laying there I thought sleep would catch me again, like a butterfly in a net. Except this fluttering need was quite out of reach for my net. I jumped up but it was way too high to be retrieved again. So I got up out of bed and made a cup of tea. Threw the cat out and decided he'd have to fend for himself for a few hours and accept the chill, it would be his own fault. He should learn to tell the time. Going to the kitchen to make tea helped, but I didn't have my radio with me, so it wasn't like I could relax in a chair and listen to some talk show for a moment. I drank up and returned to bed. Again I lay there for a few moments and decided it was best to try a little reading. I picked up a book and read about the origins of the phrase Pyrrhic Victory. It was interesting. My eyes tired just a little bit. Not a lot, so I again laid down and tried. It was still no use. I lay there and let my mind do it's crazy chasing thoughts. I was thinking of the earlier day at the Fish Factory. Too much stuff going on. Big Momma and her crazy ways. For a sane person in a crazy world life can be difficult, enough to make talk to the birds in the hope they will actually listen. A reality is, crazy people are difficult.

I head off to the Fish Factory now. It will be an early start, a lot earlier than normal. With a little luck it may give me time and space to do things before other fishes turn up. I try my best to take note from a Latin phrase Festina Lente, briefly translated it means make haste slowly. Mind it's not so much the haste I need, more of the sleep.

A twitching eye and a ukelele

2011-12-11T20:25:00.004Z

My eye has been twitching, or rather the eyelid. I don't know why, it just does. I'm putting it down to stress, it's happened before at various times in my existence and it's started up again. I've been watching American Beauty. Still the eye has intermittent twitches. No matter how cool Kevin Spacey is, how he confronts his life and decides to leave the rat race, my eye still twitches. Maybe it's eye strain as well. Spacey's character wants to feel alive again and he goes through a second childhood, blackmailing his boss as he leaves, smoking dope and then taking up weights to impress a teenage girl, a friend of his daughter. His relationship with his wife played by Annette Bening deteriorates a little more each day. At one point in a scene where he is on a couch and trying to reconcile things with her she then tells him not to spill his beer. It's another pivotal point of break down. He's fighting against the machine of normality, breaking free and wanting to be different. To feel how he used to as a growing up teenager. We can never go back. For the moment my eye has stopped twitching. What is it all about Spacey? The need to live, to feel alive and not dulled like an overused instrument. Every now and again we need tuning and only then can we get on the dull drudgery and tedium of routine. It's routine which pays the bills, a necessary, unavoidable reality of reality.

I asked a colleague at the Fish Factory who is a serious musician, what's the easiest stringed instrument is to learn. He says it's the ukulele, it only has four strings, is small so can be easily carried about and it don't cost a great deal to get a reasonably good one. Once you learn how to use it, it's then a stepping stone onto something else. The uke doesn't seem particularly exciting though. It's not as if a lot of people carry them about. There's no famous uke players which come to mind. It has no reputation at all as far as I know. But easy to learn does have it's advantages, and it wouldn't be such a commitment. Hell, learning something from scratch no matter what it is, is a commitment. Truth is, beginning anything it will sound like crap to start with, just like an old clarinet I have hidden away, I once tried to play it but it was frustratingly slow and I didn't have the commitment. What makes me think it would be any different with a uke. Besides the fact with a clarinet you need good teeth, once I'm old and mine have fallen out playing it wont be an option. A uke doesn't need good teeth to be played. Maybe I'm just looking for a change. Something different. Something to rock the boat. The uke is small, it will hardly rock the boat, but, if I were up the river in a canoe without a paddle but did have a uke, it might be of some usefulness.

The film must of done something, because my eye's stopped twitching, either that or the thought of life with a uke.

Idiots and histrionics

2011-12-10T20:14:00.001Z

Getting slowly drunk on diet Pepsi and JD's. I chose the diet Pepsi because it was 40 pence cheaper than real Coke Cola, and the diet because I'm fat and have to watch every calorie, though it hasn't stopped me from going to the kitchen to pick up a biscuit, a small and not very good biscuit either. I mean if you have to blow your diet you really should go for a proper chocolate biscuit Crazy. I'm happy. I don't think it is the JD and coke which is doing it, but it's the random hormone displacement of a late 40s male. It happens. Even us grumpy old men are happy at times. This wasn't the case earlier. When I did indeed feel angry. I was on the bus coming back from the local DIY store and as the bus passed a group of teens, one of them, the taller teen boy, with an American cool baseball hat, to make him pretend he is something more important than he really is stuck his fingers up at the bus. In a kind of Gangsta rap, dissing way. I got off at the next stop and was angry. I thought to myself I could easily turn round face off this teenage shit and hit him really hard. An upper cut. I could see it. Fortunately for me and for the teenage wana-be; little tosser. I instead dwelled on why I was feeling angry. In psychology this kind of anger is displacement. It relates to something else, something unrelated and the teenager though a complete tosser wasn't deserving of a broken jaw, even if it would of taught him a lesson. Tempting, yes? I can see you now nodding your head, whoever you are. Maybe I should rename this BLOG Angry Old Man, or Grumpy Old Man. So I deleved into what it was which was making me feel this way. Feel the red devil, so to say. It was related to two individuals. Dopey Sophia and Mrs Talkative, both my sisters.

I am expecting the Talkatives to turn up tomorrow. It's been about six months since I've seen them. The kids are great, well nearly, but then we have to accept what we are dealt with as family. Whether you happen to be speaking to them or not. Even though there are suspicions of mental illness, which I now have come to understand is most people have a degree of some kind of illness, it's just a matter of whether they can function in a relatively normal way or not. The truth being we just all get by. Mrs Talkative, shouts at her children and it makes what would be a relatively quite Sunday into a battle ground as when one child screams at another then she jumps in and tells them to shut up. Loudly. It is another instance of a quite Sunday gone to waste. Like last weekend when Stupid Sophia turned up just as I was trying to cook the Sunday meal. I had even sliced up and prepared an aubergine. I was really looking forward to it. I had it all planned out. There she suddenly was with Big Momma and a ton of washing to be done. She was then poking about and nosing about at what I was cooking. I had to vacate the kitchen, I just felt I could not be in the same room as her. I was cringing in her presence. Her whole demeanour is so self centred and sapping of life it is not normal. So I removed myself from the situation and sat in the front room. Watching TV, just hoping she would come into the front room so I could move back into the kitchen and finish the lunch. She didn't. I went out after half an hour and ate at a Chinese, where it so happens I seem to be spending nearly all of my lunch times. I didn't get to taste the meal. I got angry because my Sunday had been irretrievably invaded and disturbed. The washing could of been done at any tme. Sunday was my chill down time. So again, this week it is similar, unlike last Sunday which was unplanned, this Sunday I've had warning and it was planned. A different reason, but still the anger. So I realised after some contemplation, although the teenager deserved his head beaten in, it wasn't by me, with my displaced anger. Then of course there is always the reality of how I feel and what I actually do. I'm sure if people saw the withheld angry man they would think I was psycho, they'd probably be right, but the thing is I don't behave it. This is rationality winning out against irrational emotionalism. Just as it is so easy when witnessing this histrionic outburst in other people to judge them as unstable. So stability is keeping control, oh what a waxing and waining war that really is.

I realised, I was putting too much coke in my drink because rather than getting merry and pissed, I just tend to frequent the bathroom and get slightly pissed. Now with a reduced Pepsi Cola level, the JDs is really working properly. Strange how the drink looks really foamed up, like it has a tad of washing up liquid in it. I'm sure it hasn't, it just looks like it has. I'm happy because I have sat and thought of Sparkling and how happy she makes me feel. Our holiday to Malta wasn't so long ago, and the memories of it make me smile as well. It will be good seeing the nephews and nieces, I'll try not to make too much of a judgement of the one who is an idiot, after all, there seems to be lots of them about and now days you have to be as PC as possible.

The Old Witch is funnier than you think

2011-12-09T20:47:00.000Z

I popped into my local for my one pint of Guinness, or rather two tonight. Then found myself at the end of a seat next to the Old Witch. I can tolerate her company but it's difficult. Especially not being able to get a word in edge ways when she is on a role. She's like this with other people and a lot of just can't stomach her opinions. Overbearing can be a word which comes to mind. But after my first pint and then realising I shouldn't try to get into a conversation with her because a conversation is a two way thing I sat and listened. She said when she was a girl (a pretty long time ago that was as well) she used to make Dundee cake. "You know what it's like" she said. "It had to have all those peels and then the blanched nuts. We used to start in January." I nodded my head. "It took forever." Then "that's why I go to Marks and Spencer's now." I don't know why but this made me laugh. It could be because in the last hour or so at the fish factory things had got real manic, moaning fish left right and centre. I should of got out of there earlier. So the pub was an absolute must.

There happened to be a group of people in the back having a Chrimbo meal. A few ladies walked through the front of the pub to the back. One of them had a paper hat on, the kind which comes out of a cracker. The Old Witch said, "look at her. Or is it a him, what does she look like?" Of course I didn't answer this as maybe the start of the second pint was starting to hit me and you really shouldn't encourage comments about the way people look. I should know I'm scarred by Sparkling saying I dance like a spazz. Anyway the Witch went on "I can't tell if it's a woman or a man." It was a woman but perhaps a little on the larger side. I She looked through the pub to the back and began again. "There's a few of them there, what do they look like? Where on earth do they get those clothes from? Look, look, at the one with the red hat." This was a red cowboy type of hat with white tinsel around it, obviously Chrimbo related. "You should see them later in the night. They come in here looking like tarts... mutton tarts." I don't know what the Witch had been drinking but she certainly was on form.

At some point in the evening a young lad came in and sat opposite the Witch. I was introduced to him, Cambridge lad who had just got a pretty easy job doing very little. She had known his mother and he saw her like a second mother. Their banter was funny as well. Unlike me he, told her she was not listening to him or giving him a chance to answer her questions. Then somewhere out of the blue he slipped in a remark the Old Witch was paranoid and bi-polar. In a humorous way. But he had certainly hit a point most others would not speak allowed. She was not offended by him. They got on well and he left after a soft drink. What an interesting short stop in the pub I thought. After this I braved the weather and stepped out into the chilly air. Calmed and happy to head home, it must of been the effects of the Guinness and a laugh..

This evening I found even those with mental health problems can have a sense of humour and even be company.

Go tell your service provider to shove it where the sun don't shine

2011-12-07T21:15:00.000Z

This evening I have made the first real effort towards towards getting a different Internet connection. However, before doing this I have to request a MAC code (Migration Authorisation Code) from my provider. This motivation has come out of being shafted for an overpriced broadband line and not being given a discount because I had been a loyal customer. So I thought to myself they can stuff their broadband where the sun doesn't shine. Sod em. Though they did give me a phone call about six months ago saying they would reduce the costs of my broadband for a few months if I agreed to a further 18 month contract. Then they shafted me with an additional cost because now I was going to get a paper bill. All because my original service provider had been eaten up by a bigger fish, may I add a bigger fish I just did not want to be with anyway. May I also say the phone call originated from a person who lives in a developing country and not the UK either, I'm sure I wrote an earlier blog on it, where I took great delight in keeping them talking on the phone for at least twenty to thirty minutes. I'm not saying they were in another country because they had a foreign accent, which she did, I'm saying it because I simply asked her and she said yes she was talking from India. I considered I had done a great job for humankind in keeping someone chatting for longer than necessary and equally wasting their life. It's normally OK for them to waste my life, so on that occasion I got some payback. Oh how payback is sweet. Except for now. When my quest was to ask for a MAC code, because I felt like a dentist about to extract a wisdom tooth from the mouth of someone who had locked their jaw tight shut.

In this instance the service provider was someone in the UK, well I'm guessing they were because they spoke English without any accent at all. Which was the only pleasant factor. After jumping through a hundred hurdles navigating the automated telephone system I got to talk to a female called Becky somewhere in this country.. I wondered to myself, how convenient the service provider had used a caller centre based here, where as previously it was India. It obviously takes into account it's best to be understood when someone wants to break of a long term relationship and so they wanted the message to be clear. Or rather lets say they wanted to not give out the MAC code and by using a sales representative who could understand or purposefully not understand what you say they might, just might be able to persuade me not to get this code. In doing so they could linger on our relationship, in bliss while they made more and more money out of the poor unsuspecting sap. Unfortunately for them I am not unsuspecting or a sap. Becky, clearly was more interested in giving me a different broadband package, she said they had the cheapest service. I said they don't. She said it was because of the paper billing and I'd opted out of receiving telephone sales from them. I'm bloody glad I did. I replied sharp but politely I just wanted a MAC code. She then went on and advised it would take 5 working days to get a MAC code to me and it would be posted out and emailed. I then asked what address it would be emailed to and she gave me the original service provider one I got when first joining and have never used. I then gave her the correct email address. After which she digressed back into selling mode and tried her beset to get me hooked again. I cut her off and repeated again I just wanted my MAC code and could I have it please. She said there was some legal jargon she had to read out first but then before she started with the legal crap she again tried to sell me a new package. Eventually I heard the legal jargon, realised she was not going to give me the code over the phone, abruptly thanked her in my stern-don't-mess-with-me voice and ended the call. So now I sit twiddling my thumbs waiting.

I guess I will get a similar drawn out discussion when I next leave a provider. What is it with Service Providers? It's like they don't like to hear the word "no" and think they are smarter than your wallet. Let me tell you something Service Providers of the world, wallets have got a hell of a lot more teeth on them so bloody watch it. Of course you will notice I have not indicated who the Service Provider is on here. I do not want to give them additional publicity, and after all they are really all the same. They want one thing "your money!!!!" That's what they want, your money. So again I'll sit here waiting and in these five days I'll stew something bad, because when I eventually receive the MAC code I'll change provider double quick and cancel the direct debit. As I'm no longer under any contract with them they certainly know what they can do then with their service. Yes, shove it where the sun don't shine.

Its cold out and the cat's pissing in the loo

2011-12-05T23:05:00.001Z

It's starting to get cold out. Winter has popped it's head around the corner and blown into the air. I can feel it, luckily this morning I put on a thermal vest and have felt shielded. In Scotland there has even been snow and ice, there it's minus one. Here in London it's been five degrees. This is a far cry from Malta's 17 degree winter chill I was feeling just a few weeks ago. I can understand why people go to hot countries in the winter and come back to the UK in the summer. It makes sense, six months here and six months there. Keep out of the cold and in the warm, suffer not the burn of chilblains.

Our cat Stinky is pissing on the floor of the loo. I wonder if he's feeling the chill? There's no doubt about it. He's a dirty little bugger, if his bollocks weren't already detached they'd be removed. In fact, I might attache a pair of bollocks to him just to get the pleasure of cutting them off. The toilet now has a cat piss smell about it. The door doesn't close properly when it's closed, so it's easy for him to push it open with his paw. He's now got into the habit. For a week we'd been pulling the door closed so it clicked in place and he couldn't get in there. Then Big Mama forgets to do it and he pisses there. It's no good for the chip board floor which appears to have the surface start of rot. He'll get more than imaginary bollocks cut off if he keeps it up. I tried searching on the Internet to find out a little about cats. It seems chastising them doesn't work. But hell it helps me when I shout at him or stick his nose to the carpet. It helps me because he keeps away from the toilet if I'm around. The cat's mind appears not so much a mind as one running on histrionics according to the literature. I ask, who the hell can get into the mind of a cat? Surely only a cat can. Next time he does it I'll get angry again. I'm pissed off with the smell of cat piss while I shave in the morning, it's not anything like the fragrance of Armani. One source indicated cats dislike the smell of citrus. Personally I think he'd dislike the smell of dog. One big butch Rottweiler please, just to guard the loo. I'm sure it would keep him out of there. Only thing is what do you do with a Rotty when that begins to shit in the loo? Well, I suppose dogs can always be trained, cats are too high strung and need a 24/7 psychiatrist to unfold the workings of their brains. I'm so fed up now I don't want to stroke him, because if I stroke him he may in some weird cat way believe I am giving him approval. Which is something I don't want to give him for making me wince from the stink of his piss in the morning. It's not like he is a useful cat, he's never caught any of the pigeons who think our garden is a playground and dance on the roof at four a.m. when they wake up. In summer that is. For sale, one screwed up pissy cat. I wonder what I'd get for him on ebay? Or whether some group of cat lovers will want to beat the shit out of me for even thinking about it. Hell, they can have Stinky for free, no charge of any kind. Just add comments to this post, I'll eagerly check it in the next ten minutes to see if there's any replies.

If it's not the pissing it's the morning meows. They will begin anytime from two a.m. onwards. He sure can't blame it on the pigeons because he sleeps in the kitchen. But it doesn't stop him crying out for a couple of hours just waiting for someone to get up and let him out. I'll let the bugger out alright, but I'll not let him in. Letting him piss in the cold will certainly not effect the toilet. God now I got to think about a rotting floor, a plumber and a carpenter will cost a fortune to fix it if the bloody thing gets real bad. Big Momma doesn't understand these things, no matter how much I tell her. The reality of this pissy floor could be hundreds of pounds.

OK for sale, One pissy cat, otherwise quite affectionate and lazy to boot. What will you offer me on this cold chilly day?

Will the e-reader be the demise of the printed book?

2011-12-04T18:00:00.000Z

I been looking at a new device just developed. It's the e-reader. There are two common ones on the market, one is a Kindle and the other is Kobo. They are very flat screens which display books, but rather than pages to turn all you do is brush the screen or press a button. At first investigation these may be pretty wonderful devices, they can hold thousands of books, depending on what specification purchased. Their batteries last a long time as well and they can be read in sunlight. Also unlike a newspaper there is no danger of getting news print on hands. However, there has got to be draw backs.

All objects we use are prone to wear and tear, whether a cheap paperback or an expensive e-reader. Every paperback book I read will begin to get bent over pages and start to appear a little tatty. But regardless I love them no matter how tatty they get. They don't require any batteries to be charged to let me read them, and unlike an electronic device I have books quite a few years old. Electronic objects become outdated, a book by it's very nature can not, particularly if it is any good. They are put on a shelf and wait there patiently until their next reading or ad hoc referral.. They get lost, are loaned out and when other people read them they to gain knowledge from them. Libraries are great sources of knowledge. I used to love taking a book out of the library and seeing a list of date stamps on the inside page. A sure indicator of how popular the book is. Knowledge allowed to spread free of charge to multiple enquiring minds. In my own books I will highlight pages or write comments in the margin or the back. I will put post it notes in them so I can refer immediately to a page again which held interest. The act of writing down is in itself a fete of memorising, it is an additional effort, to write something down is to make it more salient and more easily recalled. I doubt whether it is possible to write in an e-book and if you were able to type a comment it wouldn't be the same. The paper book becomes a personal item an affinity grows with it. The size and the thickness of books varies as well, their covers are different. It's always interesting to see what other people are reading by the cover of their book. Just in case it's something you have read yourself and you just might like to strike up a conversation. With a plastic tablet e-reader this would not happen. I am not a prolific reader so why would I want to carry around a thousand books I ask. I simply would not. The printed word is education, whilst the e-reader is a non social self centred educator, you'll not see it left on a seat and discarded because it is out of date. You'll not pick up at a charity shop a thriller someone else has read if it's on an e-reader. Because it will be put away and hidden in some electronic memory, discarded until the battery runs out. At which a thousand books then become nothing. Of absolutely no value at all.

Of all the insidious devices to be invented, to be the most dangerous to humankind, the e-reader may well be it. We could now be stepping backwards to a dark time where book reading no longer becomes a pastime and is no longer available as an educational tool to the masses. Long live the printed page, long save the printed page, clutch it tight and never let it prised from your fingers.

A disappointing Irish Coffee

2011-12-03T23:08:00.000Z

I was out with Layabout Lad and directed him to an Irish pub I had been in a couple of nights before. There the food looked reasonably priced, but what attracted me more than anything else was a bar mat with a picture of an Irish Coffee. The coffee looked so dark and the cream on top beautiful and white. A little like my favourite drink. I cast my mind back to one of the first times I tasted an Irish Coffee in a pub in central London, just off Wardour Street. That to was an Irish pub if I recall rightly. It was warm, alcoholic, creamy and silky. I enjoyed it because it was well made and outside cold. I don't think I have tasted an Irish Coffee of the same calibre since, even when trying to make it myself. Although I researched it, there was always a problem of the cream sinking in the glass and never quite hitting the spot. The pictures had drawn me there and knowing it was an Irish Pub added a kind of authenticity to it. If there was going to be a place which could recreate the same glass I had long ago this would be it. My expectations were high.

The thing with having expectations is they can be quite easily dashed, which makes me careful and pessimistic at times. A pessimist can only be surprised and happy with a pleasant surprise, whilst an optimist will have their hopes depressed when expectations are not met. I ordered the Irish Coffees and went to my table where Layabout sat. About five minutes later the coffees arrived. Unfortunately I could immediately tell they were not up to scratch. The coffee was not black and the cream was clearly mixing into the coffee and not making it the classic black and white image of what it should be. I drank a couple of sips. Cream, yes, whisky, yes, but when it came to the coffee it tasted of watered down pishhh. I took it back and said I just couldn't taste the coffee. At which the bar tender offered to make a second one and would make the coffee stronger with two shots of espresso. Hmmmm, when he said espresso it was another factor which alarmed me. The espresso shots had been diluted with hot water, what a idiot. I also thought this kid either doesn't drink or hasn't had an Irish Coffee made for him because what he served was not an Irish Coffee. The whole meal had been quite nice only to be spoiled by the last item which should of been accepted as good being it was an Irish pub.

The moral of the story. Pictures might paint a thousand words, but they don't live up to the reality, only first hand experience can. Next time I'll go for a cup of tea in an English tea shop and see if they know what they are doing.

Balls on my shoulder

2011-12-01T21:33:00.000Z

Today I have felt happy, but I have also felt sharp, in a text to Sparkling I said I was Happy Snappy. It was like the little conscience on my shoulder which normally stops me from opening my mouth had grown balls. In fact these balls were so blooming big every time I got up from my seat I found myself walking in a little circle until I had compensated for their clacking and weighing one side of my torso down. Some monkey was obviously unhappy. It was a day where I spoke my mind. I felt like things were not going to be let under the radar. Anyway, I was different. Maybe it was because I was a little perturbed over having taken on the responsibilities of another member in the Fish Factory. There was a fish issue at hand, a very fishy fish issue at hand. The thing was I knew nothing about it until it was bought to my attention by a number of other Fish. Then came the perturbed feeling of having possibly been shat on from a height but the excrement hadn't yet reached me. They could see it but I couldn't. I'm sure it will reach me, it's just a matter of time now. Further, yesterday evening I actually got to chat to Sparkling and she was grumpy. It wasn't really a great chat, it felt like I was intruding on her doing the washing up with one hand while talking in the phone with the other. So on this occasion, I came second to washing up. Sparkling's grumpiness was then compounded by her in turn bending my ear. Great. There I was looking for, love, compassion, a friendly chit chat on life and instead I got bashed down the phone with a kipper. Therefore I was perturbed (there's that word again) for at least two different reasons. The balls on my shoulder were the product of being pissed off. Yet, it seems a bit of a contradiction, being happy and pissed off at the same time. It is, I know. I'm the contradicting kind. Yes, pissed off was it and my attitude now was one of not wanting to feel the falling shit hit me again. Sparkling texted I was a Happy Snappy Chappy.

I also came across something during the day which made me feel like I was being investigated. Judged on whether there was something I may have done which was wrong. Something which I know were I not justified would of resulted in an instant kick up the backside and out of the Fish Pond. A kick landing me in a room where the door has a key and I don't have a copy of it. I suppose such is the responsibilities of being a Middle Fish. As I think about it I get more pissed off. As though I could even be suspected of doing a wrong doing. Fortunately like all good law abiding bureaucratic fish I always cover my arse as often as possible. It can get cold if you don't. An appropriate term for my feeling then would be controlled outrage which made me ready for confrontation. On a reasoned, deliberate and sharp level which would rip to shreds the accusations of any arsehole who wanted to point a flipper in my direction. It ended up I didn't have to be outraged and am probably glad about it.

The only thing I can now do is try and get a good night's sleep. Just drift off into such a deep slumber it feels like I instantaneously wake up the next morning after only just going to bed. I sure hope those balls don't rest on the pillow as well because if they do I'm likely to bash my own brains in and not sleep at all.

Strike on! so what do you do with your time?

2011-11-30T19:27:00.000Z

Today a the Fish Factory Union decided all Fishes should go on strike over their future pensions. Of course not every fish is a member of the union so a great deal of them didn't, but a lot of important ones did. I to went on strike although I have my doubts about it's effectiveness, as the big fat cat fish on TV says, all these little fishes have got it good going anyway. So it goes without saying, always be afraid of anything a fat cat fish says, you'd be stupid to agree with it. The choices for me this morning were the usual, go and picket, go to a rally, and go to a demonstration or use the time for myself and do whatever it is I wanted to do, because I'll be losing a days peanuts out of it. Not a gold lottery ticket as the fat cat fishes would have you believe.

I decided, to go with my own needs. In all purposes it was a day away from the Fish Factory. As my nephew Little Monster boy all of eleven years now was also effected by the strikes the choice was simple. I would take the Monster out for a bicycle ride by the Thames, we would have something to eat and then we'd cycle back. Although the day felt a little cold it wasn't bad at all. The sun was out and the temperature rose. We both enjoyed the cycle, except of course for the point where we have to pass a very stinky factory. I held my nose with one hand and managed to endure it before collapsing and dying from the smell. We looked over the Thames as we rode along and could see the tide was going out. The mud banks could be clearly seen. Rivulets of water carved craggy craters all the way back to the stream. Sea gulls and the occasional duck wondered on the muds looking for food. The exercise I sorely needed after eating late last night and I can say my little leggies worked hard we had probably done about two hours of cycling overall. But it was enjoyable.

We stopped at a large supermarket where they also had a catering section. It amazes me how many people use the supermarket cafe. When only a few feet away is a plethora of foods just waiting to be picked up off the shelf, taken home and made into something quite sumptious. We had an excuse because we were hungry tired travellers, which was what I said to myself. Little Monster boy agreed, he had a children's meal of cheese burger and fries, for monsters of course. Followed by a very large piece of lump dumpy Christmas chocolate cake a couple of cups of luke warm tea drown it all down. I was pretty surprised he managed to eat every scrap of food. More so when he polished off a free ice lolly (rocket) which he said was his favourite. Later on when we got back to the house for a rest I asked him if he liked the day and what he most enjoyed. The food was his answer. It didn't matter about the beautiful bicycle ride, the wonderful company or the time he had to chit chat, it was all down to the food. I was happy he had a good time, if I hadn't popped round and told him to get dressed because he was going out he could of spent more than a few hours playing electronic games. Afterwards I felt tired and nearly fell asleep while watching the news. It was hard work cycling. As for the food being the best bit for Little Monster, maybe this is a sign of his growing up and changing from a Little to a Medium. I may soon have to find another name for him. For my affection of his Little Monster status is probably about to be blown out of the water. Well, everything changes. Even Monsters grow up, given enough time.

Cycling against the wind

2011-11-27T20:54:00.001Z

This morning I attempted to lay in bed and enjoy a rest, after breakfast I returned back to bed just so I could read a book and lay there a little longer. If it were not for Stinky the cat meowing his head off I'm sure I would of got more sleep, he's lucky to be alive. But something happened and I had to get up. It was about 10 a.m., so much for a long lay in. So in order to carry on with a week of attempted health I went out for a cycle ride along the Thames. Which can be quite pleasant especially when the sun is out. It was half out, but even half is better than nothing. Except the one thing I didn't account for as I cycled up river was the wind.

A jogger passed me as I took a moments breather to drink some orange squash. I thought to myself, go on mate, I used to run, but with my cycle I'll catch up with you in no time it will be no effort. Somehow I then contorted myself to drop the bottle of liquid into a pocket of my ruck sack and began my pursuit of the jogger. Standing upright and cycling is a good way to get up speed quicker, it allows you to put more effort in especially if going uphill. On this occasion though I was on a flat, but what I didn't account for was the strength of the wind. It was full on and incessant. I had a large surface area on account of my mountain bike forcing your to take a less aerodynamic cycling style. I could see the jogger in front of me about two hundred yards. However, it seemed I was going nowhere fast and using a hell of a lot of effort, I wasn't even sure if I was going any faster than the jogger. My coat flapped open as I unzipped it, the effort was making me pretty hot. I kept pounding rotations of the pedals, even trying to bend down a little so the full force of the wind wouldn't use my surface area as a break. It seemed to be of little use because of my ruck sack on my back. I kept changing gears hoping to find one which would be a little easier, but the easier gears meant I was dropping to a slightly faster than walking pace. I kept pressing forward and the wind whipped tears from my eyes streaming down my face. It must of taken about a mile before I was able to overtake the jogger. It was one of the hardest cycles I have done and most of it was on flat ground. The worse bit was being overtaken by a female cyclist or a road cycle. I tried to consul myself road bikes are made to go faster, mine was more for rough ground. I soon veered off and went to a cafe, in need of sustenance. Sausage on toast and a cuppa tea, which went down so quickly.

It is day seven of my regime. So it has been, no crisps, chocolate, biscuits, one sweet, and a little alcohol but less than normal. Well going completely cold turkey is difficult. Tomorrow I'll weigh myself, but I'm a little dubious whether I lost any weight, because nowadays it no longer drops off. The fat on my body feels like it's attached stronger than a limpet mine. I've done my best to reduce carbohydrates but I don't think it is enough so tomorrow morning could be a disappointment. So losing weight is very much like cycling in the wind, difficult to say the least.

Day three and notch three

2011-11-23T20:13:00.000Z

So far it has been a successful day on the food and exercise front. I cycled to the Fish Factory and I cycled home. But I will admit this morning it was cold with a little mist about, the cycling though soon warmed me up. Each time I reached my destination I felt an exercise high and remembered why it was I used to exercise a lot before but now have become complacent. Odd but I'm even getting to feel my posture is a little better. Like I am standing up straight rather than hunched. As though being hunched is some kind of disease which gets everybody in the end. Well it doesn't. Or maybe it's a belly thing, you know the bigger your belly is the more the body has to somehow balance itself out. I'm not sure whether I'll cycle tomorrow, one day a week might be sufficient or I could give it a day's break. Tomorrow is also going to be warmer and I don't want to sweat and stink more than the Fish in the Fish Factory. The problem with being fat is persperation and normal deodorants just can't always cope when things get hot. They might be OK for the less gravity challenged person, but not for the higher impact gravity individual.

Besides the exercise and the change in diet in the back of my mind is a little devil, he is waiting for me to give in, waiting for temptation to take a hold and as the notches are passing those temptations are all the more salient. It is so difficult. Especially mid morning and mid afternoon when I'd make a coffee and go for a healthy biscuit which isn't healthy at all, it's just packaged and masquerading as something one of the skinny people would eat. The reality is skinny people don't eat much at all, which is why they are so skinny. Day three and I haven't been in the pub either. I'll be going cold turkey soon with all this clean living. One thing I am beginning to realise is how I am ruled by my appetite and my belly. Or rather the effect of different foods on it and I am feeling better for the abstinence. How long it will go on for I don't know. It could be just one of those little phases or it may be the beginnings of a completely new life style. I know one thing, when I stop counting the days and the notches I'll have even more control, but that could be a little way off. Especially with the season of festivity soon upon us. Which reminds me I must purchase my next ticket to see Sparkling.

Chrimbo is a time to really pig out, but the end result isn't much good. Being more stuffed than a turkey could ever be. Farting, burping, sleeping and instead of walking, rolling everywhere. Chrimbo should come with a health warning. It is dangerous. Odd how at a time when human kind should be thinking of other people that it suddenly digresses into an orgy of glutony. A good example of which is the Chrimbo pudding, a grenade of intense over sweet flavours which has been designed to sink ships. If unlukily enough you get a pud which has coins in, then it's only purpose is to break teeth. It's hardly anything to be excited over. A broken tooth on Chrimbo day and no dentists open. It's almost as though the creator of the Chrimbo pud was a less than philanthropic dentist. They should be banned. I notice nobody has developed a cellery pudding, or a carrot pudding, both of which certainly sound a little healthier. Of course things could be worse, at least I'm not a turkey.

Two days and two notches

2011-11-22T23:03:00.000Z

In an effort to try and lose a pound or two of weight, this week I have decided to walk more than usual and to do my best and keep an eye on my eating habits. So gone out of the window are those little snacks I used to have between meals. Those wonderfully tasting high calorie posing as healthy food supplements. The ones who are guilt of unhealthily contributing to my waist size. You know them. In addition to cut out all the usual junk I would eat. Thus far after two days there have been no biscuits, crisps, sweets, chocolate, cakes and even alcohol. For a pint of Guinness is approximately 350 calories. If I have 7 or 8 in a week it soon mounts up. I've also been getting off the train one stop earlier and walking an additional fifteen minutes each way. Day two and all is just about working OK. I've even temporarily reduced my caffeine intake, as it seemed a cup of coffee or two or three cups which were only being partly drunk in the mornings was not making me feel well. Lets not forget I stood on a set of scales. No wonder Sparkling laughs more at me when she sees how much rounder my girth has got. If being content means putting on weight, well, I'd better learn to be discontent all over again.

It's just I'm in one of those phases. Where being overweight is making me fed up with myself. Fed up with finding I pant when walking up two flights of stairs, fed up of belts straining and needing yet another hole in so they can expand a little further. Not to mention the many other changes which happen to the body when it gets heavier. They are just not nice little things, perspiring more easily being one of them. Although I must admit there is a kind of bearing one has when one is larger which does make other people get out of the way. Or could it be you're more likely to push other people out of the way without realising it because of size. I know having a pot belly isn't good for a man. It is one of the symptoms of heart attacks later on. Yep, pot bellied men will tend to grab their chest, or arm and suddenly get taken to hospital. There is no doubt about it, I have to up my exercise routine, hence the walking.

I don't know how much longer this dedication can last, but I'm now at the point of wondering whether I should find something to carve notches in. Like a walking stick but if I had a walking stick then I would really have health issues. For the time being I should be glad. Better not count my doughnuts before they to stale though.

An interesting Canadian in Malta

2011-11-21T22:15:00.000Z

While in Malta on holiday, I met a nice Canadian man, who I liked. He had a sense of humour on par with Sparkling. On one particular day, it so happened the President of Malta's wife was visiting the hotel. We didn't know it at the time but there was a little give away. Especially when all the staff, chefs, chamber maids, waiters etc all began to assemble around the reception desk. It was clearly a group photo opportunity, as a photographer was there, however the occasion was a mystery. Then a black limousine parked itself outside the hotel and the first lady popped in. Sparkling and the Canadian, then loitered about waiting and watching what was happening. Someone said it was the president's wife (who actually looked like a pretty plain looking woman to tell the truth) had come to visit. Sparkling and Canadian of course had to then somehow get a picture with them standing by the President's wife. They did this when she sat down to sign the guest book. First Canadian sneaked up in the vicinity of the desk, behind the President's wife, while sparkling too a photograph. Then Sparkling did the same, gesturing with both thumbs up and a big smile. The both of them then had photographs of themselves next to the equivalent of Maltese royalty. I did my best to ignore the entire situation, on account of having the belief such people are not important to me. I then was told what they had done, like little school children. I shook my head, but thought it rather funny and good luck to them. I by the way, don't have such a picture and now think it's a shame. I suppose it could of been a little bit towards my 15 minutes of fame. Or infamy or no fame at all.

Canadian was definitely an interesting person. He was advancing in years but didn't believe in letting this get in the way of life, he liked to get out there and do things. He was a little unusual as well, in doing what can only be described as a Bus Man's holiday accompanied by his mistress. Who happened to be a good 13 years younger and had in a previous life been a geriatric nurse. She certainly kept an eye on him and I'm sure watched what he ate and drunk with a sharp eye. I believe were she not there, he would of drunk and eaten as much as he liked and not given a damn about the consequences. Like me. Except I put on half a stone as a result of it and am surprised the air carrier didn't charge me extra when I returned on account there was a bit more of me. It was the mistress who had divulged their relationship. In fact she said they all got on quite well. The Canadian seemed to live with his wife and had is mistress living in a house next door. Personally I've found one woman quite enough, Sparkling deserves all of my attention all of the time, if I had to divide it not only would Sparkling be very unhappy and I'd be pushing up daisies, I'd probably go insane with wondering where I'd be on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc, etc. The thing with the Canadian I liked was he seemed overall happy with life. I liked him very much. I know I'll not see him again in my life, but I did like him because he was easy to get along with and good company. I know Sparkling felt the same.

We are already planning our next holiday and family of Sparkling have suggested a trip to Poland. Apparently there the zloty exchange rate is good. I also used to collect Polish stamps so now I will be visiting the place for myself. Look out Poland, and Englishman and a Scotswoman are about to pop over.

Fat and feeling the cold

2011-11-20T09:30:00.000Z

After a wonderful holiday with Sparkles in Malta, where they like cats by the way, I've come back feeling a little fatter than usual but also finding I can feel the cold more. Even though it is not particularly cold at all. In Malta in November I was walking about in a T-shirt. In London, in November, it's not going to happen. However, as I said for this time of year it is pretty warm here. Autumn hasn't fully got into gear as there are still leaves on trees, there has been no frost I can speak of, but it has been dreary and overcast. So, the Russian like depression of going days without actually seeing sunlight is here. Which for some reason I read was an inspiration to Russian writers such as Chekhov and Dostoevsky. What I do know is days or weeks or even months without sunlight can be depressing. Yes, months actually does happen. Further is the feeling of cold. In Malta their cold days are probably in the region of about 16 degrees Celsius. In London, a winter day can be minus 16 degrees Celsius and over night even less. Not all the time I'll add because it's certainly not as cold as other countries. But we are really never properly prepared for it, we still engage in cheap fashion clothes than practical functional clothes most times of the year.

When I wake up I am feeling the cold. It could be I am still shaking of a cold virus I got while in Malta, which I'd put first down to drinking the water, but maybe it was just a cold. Is it the weight thing I ask myself? Maybe a few extra pounds in weight means a few extra shivers. Or worse of all could it be related to getting old. The nastiest of all problems which only gets worse and never gets better. Unless you happen to be Benjamin Button. Or quite possibly it's because Malta was mild and warm and I quite liked the mild warm effect for a few days. Perhaps it really is a process the body has to acclimatise to, going into winter. They say it is possible to get used to practically anything at all. I mean, soldiers learn to sleep while bombs are exploding all around them. I once saw a documentary about a man who had an ability to endure the cold more and swam or ran while there was snow and ice about, wearing very little clothes. The body can acclimatise, it's just a matter of having the balls to acclimatise. Putting yourself out there. Just doing it. I know one thing, sitting still doesn't help. Sitting at a computer, typing away generates very little in the way of heat. Even an energetic key basher wouldn't create a great deal in the way of body heat, though they would be pretty noisy. If I sit still on the weekend and do nothing I will be unhappy all weekend, just waiting to get to the fish factory, where I can sit still and feel warmer than in the house. Perhaps it is the house. The house has not been engineered to suit adequately the climate lived in. It's just the basic bricks and mortar and that is the problem. I don't know. Just it's not good to feel cold toes when we don't even have snow on the ground. I'm going to have to get out there and do something. Move, generate heat, exercise, anything.

The morning mist looks like it is lifting. Sitting in it's place under the stairs in my bicycle, it is now crying out to me. It's saying "take me out, ride me, cycle those little leggies," and if it is not saying such a thing I must be having auditory hallucinations. Yes I am. It's gone quite again, but now my toes are getting unhappy. They are rebelling. Great. The little fat man is going to get some exercise. Well it was going to happen one day.

The Odd Balls of Interest

2011-11-18T21:00:00.000Z

I mate I see once in a while in the pub asked me if I had done any BLOGS recently, unfortunately I could only answer no. Lets call him the Gas Man, on account he knows a bit about fitting central heating. The Gas Man believes I am a pent up and angry individual, probably one of the most angry people he's met. He's said this to me before, but it makes me think he hasn't read my blogs. It don't matter. Gas man revealed to me how he had began to write a book on annoying things. It was going to contain 101 annoying things and be a kind of story. However, he soon reached 101 items and then lost interest in writing his book. It's a shame, I always find his opinions interesting to listen to, he thinks outside of the box and has this chip on his shoulder about badly run organizations, or rather their hierarchical systems of authority. Get my gist? lol. He's a nice enough bloke though and to an extent has helped me get re started again in the BLOG-osphere universe.

Also this evening I met another fellow who goes to the same pub, but not too often. It must of been a couple of years ago since I last saw him. Unfortunately some people do avoid this bloke, but again I don't know why I just find him interesting in his own way. It's like I have a thing maybe for the unconventional, the odd, they are always so much more interesting to talk to, don't you think? Well, I do. I remember this fellow because a few years ago he recommended to a colleague a book. It was called the Book Thief. I went ahead and read it myself and enjoyed it. So I'll call him Book Man although this is a temporary handle on his character because I just don't get to chat to him often. Anyway. The Book Man told me about how he to had been on holiday not long ago, and of all places had gone to Malta. Wow. What a coincidence I thought. He talked about Valletta being a beautiful place and I asked him if he had drank in the same pub Oliver Reed had been to before he died. Blow me down, he had as well. Blimey. Then Book Man described the pub and his little experience he'd had there. I like the Book Man. He's definitely odd, but definitely a nice enough fellow I'm sure he would never harm a fly, unless provoked in the righ circumstances of course.

Earlier as part of Gas Man's philosophy of life he had told me how he considered when young i.e. a teenager, the kind of people you hang about with are usually a good indicator of what you will turn out like later in life. Giving an example of teenagers nowadays hanging about with dubious fellow teenagers who cause trouble and are then more likely to get into trouble themselves. Perhaps, by association, perhaps because they feel the need to live up to the notions of what their peers expect. I thought of my own fellow teenage mates. None of which I am in contact with, and yes maybe, just maybe they were a little odd. They certainly were not troublesome because my name was more of "scaredy cat" than "teenage heartthrob hardnut-nutcase," oh yes, the girls always like the hard or rather "rough" lad. Until they grow up become adults and decide life is weary being battered by a Hasbeen with hang ups because although they were big fish in a little pond when it comes to the world, they become nothing more but little fish again. Awwe how sad, not. But if you have never been a Hasbeen as such, there is no difference in growing up, you remain the same little fish, you're comfortable with it. However, things change, they become better and even themselves out.as merit and hard work and motivation take over where Hasbeen left years ago.

Right now, I wouldn't say I'm angry, though it is probably a trait I do suppress at times, maybe I'm one of those odd balls now. If so it makes me more than happy. Yes, karma ensures things even out. It's all about the long game.

Return from Malta

2011-11-11T07:38:00.000Z

Well a few days ago I was in Malta, now I'm back in London. I and Sparkling had a great time. As always time is rushed and I can not do justice to a good thought out blog. But I'm back. When abroad I realised how important it is to remember your passwords to accounts. I couldn't get access to anything. Couldn't update a thing. I think I have the Maltese flu because my nose is blocked up. Maybe it was something I ate. Or even drunk because the water was suspect. Such a little thing so easily taken for granted, drinking water out of your own tap.

It was great to get away from everything for a short time though. Sparkles has more sparkle in her eyes. I have dominated a possible fear/anxiety of flying and I now know what a Malteser looks like.

5 Sleeps to Malta

2011-10-26T21:40:00.000Z

This was my last day at the Fish Factory, I just let myself chill more than ever. Bombs exploded around me but there was no disruption to the thought I would shortly be somewhere else. Some other place, away from it all. Nothing mattered. It's an odd perspective, a little like realising you are only human and everybody else is human. We are all in it together and nothing mattered. I must of been having some funny turn. I feel more human than I have felt for a long time, as if every second is precious and important. A very odd notion, but quite a nice one.

There are moments and these are the things which link us together. Finding our own breaths of fresh air. There was no way Sparkling would get away from her Fishes unless she was taken away from them and given this space. So in 5 sleeps she'll be completely removed, over a thousand miles away. The Fishes may call out for her to return to the pond and be on their demand, but they will get no response. Instead, we'll be sat at a table in the autumnal Mediterranean sun, sipping a drink, eating a snack which Sparkles will not be allergic to and soaking up the atmosphere of a different land altogether. To the north approximately 90 kilometres away will be the island of Sicily, whilst heading south over the sea is Tunisia and the now free country of Libya. Northern Africa. A far cry from Scotland, where the summer was pretty much non existent as far as Sparkling was concerned. Rain and overcast most of the time and now with winter on the doorstep Sparkles will be delighted. I can see her now pulling her pink suitcase, and smiling. Saying "I am so ready for this." My thoughts will echo the same.

Malta is a strong catholic country from reading the literature. I'm not sure if I will kiss the ground when I get off the plane, something the old pope used to do. I don't think the new one would it would be a blasphemy to his designer shoes. I might do though, just might. Come get me sunshine I'm waiting for you.

6 Sleeps till Malta

2011-10-25T22:41:00.001Z

It is now only six sleeps till Malta. Boarding tickets for the plane have just been printed off, I now have a luggage case which was a steal at fifteen quid, what a bargain, I just hope the wheels hold out for the trip there and back. Sparkling bless her cotton socks has been working like a slave in her Fish Factory. She is tired to the point of dropping, so has taken a little bit of a back seat while I get all the finer details sorted out. Tomorrow I start packing. I also have to buy a train ticket to see Sparkles. I'm thinking I'll be up there on the Friday and must not forget about how we'll be travelling to the airport. It will be pretty early in the morning when we head off, unfortunately it will be even earlier when we head back from Malta to Edinburgh. Malta has three pin plugs and the same power supply. Fantastic. They speak English, fantastic. Sparkles has been checking out the eating and partying places, she said to me "I'll do everything Rock Chick would disapprove of." This leads me to believe Sparkling is going to let her hair down and very much enjoy herself. It's great news. Sparkles also told me not to pressurise her into running around the Island, trips here or trips there. But it don't mean no adventuring, it just means measured adventuring and holidaying. I think I can do that part.

I believe Sparkles is already wanting to squeeze every moment of relaxation out of her holiday before she sets foot on a plane or tips her toes in the Mediterranean waters. I can tell from the excitement which comes through even though she is a walking zombie at the moment.

When we are away for the week, Rock will just have to fend for herself with Dangerous Sports lad. I'm sure there will be some dangerous discussions between them as they arm wrestle who will get the hoover out or who's turn it will be to do the washing up. We may find the cat has packed his bags and left. Or there has been an ASBO served because they have partied for 6 nights and slept on the 7th night. No. I'm sure Rock will be sensible. Except for the hoovering, which is more to do with an aversion than sensible.

Whatever happens, it will not matter, a week of escape is just what the doctor ordered.

7 Sleeps till Malta

2011-10-24T07:50:00.002Z

I am now on a count down to a vacation in Malta. It is 7 sleeps away. With each moment more excitement bubbles up in me. I really can't wait. It has been way too long since I and Sparkling were away from it all. It will be fantastic. But there is still so much to do. Such much preparation. Get a piece of luggage, make sure I have enough euros certainly to start of with, worry about the euro and whether it will go bankrupt while I'm on holiday, do an online booking of the plane tickets, have I got the right clothes and enough clothes to think about, do I need to get hold of a euro health card right away, can I get a train on time to get to the airport on time when leaving, how will I be when I am on the plane. So many thoughts and so much to do. But it is all in aid of a great time away, a small calendar of relaxation which both I and Sparkling have not had out of this country for a few years. Each of these small worries are exactly that, small in comparison to the need to get away and I know they will be overcome and really not things to worry about at all. In the end it will be fine. We will get away and we will be on holiday in seven sleeps from now.

Look out Malta Sparkling and Crazyfirdayman are coming to get you.

A smell which was not there

2011-10-22T06:23:00.000Z

Some time in the early hours of this morning I smelt something awful. It came to mind the cat had used his dirt tray and must of done a particularly big dump. A big stinky dump for it to have travelled through two doors, but drafts and dissipation of smells can act this way in a house. I did my best to ignore the smell. Thinking it wasn't really bad and it would go away. I had to sleep and was too lazy to go downstairs throw his present out and then go back to bed. In a sense I'm glad I took this decision. Then I had to get up. Being it was morning and made my way downstairs. Funny I thought, the smell had sort of gone. I opened the door saw the cat, saw his dirt tray and started to think something must be wrong with my brain. There was no package left. Just a piss he'd had but no dollop of smell. Yet I had definitely smelled something. So now I have a worry. When will my brain go kaput and I keel over? The signs seem to be there. I also heard a high pitched whistling sound. Tinnitus related I thought, which I'm sure I have also developed in the last five or six years. But this tinnitus was not continuous, it buzzed on and off. Almost like a Morse code message. It was probably saying something like "you are going nuts Fatboy."

As I piece together this puzzle I can't wait for my holiday. It will not do me much good to keel over in Malta or the UK but at least I'll be warmer there and possibly a bit more relaxed. Chilled. And maybe not so paranoid. I just hope I am not getting some mental illness. Meltdown I can cope with, being completely nuts will just tip me over the edge.

Farewell, and a shitty day

2011-10-21T19:59:00.000Z

I heard this evening that my mate interpreter (Belgian man) has decided to go and live in Spain. To be precise Valencia. He went out about 4 weeks ago, liked it and decided he'd had enough of London. It was going to be his new home. So in three days time he will hop on a plane and not return unless he has to back to Britain, although technically he is more British than Belgian. Not at all related to Tin Tin may I add. It is a little sad for me as now it means my circle of mates has got one person smaller. I enjoyed his company even though he liked to drink, it didn't matter, he is a nice bloke. He gave me a very hearty hand shake, as this is the macho thing to do when you are a man and not going to see another friend probably for the rest of your life. I'm sad for myself but also happy for him. He did say he was a little nervous about it, but had two jobs waiting for him, one in a language school teaching and the other in marketing. To me marketing sounds a little vague, so it could be anything to tell the truth. It's one of those words you use to be ambiguous even though he has no need to be. I don't care if he is feeding peanuts to elephants as a living, I like him. What am I going to do now? Find another friend I suppose. Which is something interpreter man was good at, making friends, just talking to people, no matter who they were or where they were from, he was good at it. Mind I think he put himself and made himself do it, rather than it being a natural thing. Because meeting people, getting into conversation and knowing people is an art. I sat in the pub with interpreter man on one side and the Old Witch on the other.

It is the Witch who has a habit of collaring people, of joining in conversations and giving her opinions on everything. She can be a little overbearing when you really don't want to listen to her crap. I'd had a shitty day at the Fish Factory and even walked to the back of the pub past my drinking companions for a pint before coming to the front of the pub and joining them again. So I sat between the Witch and Interpreter man. I really wanted to talk to my mate but he was engaged in conversation with other various drinking company. So I was then caught with the Witch. But the conversation was interesting as well. I learnt she had been bought up from a privileged background. Her father had apparently worked as a big cheese at B.P. She had herself gone to a convent school. She got engrossed in an eclectic set of self related stories. Of course everything for her is about herself. But it did get my attention as I listened with half attention hoping at some point I could jump into conversation with my Interpreter friend. She told me how her mum and dad got the last plane out of Iran, with gun fire around them. How her mother had come from South East London and was a down to earth worldly woman, not phased by much. She spoke of her conversation as her mum related to her how she got out of Iran. I couldn't quite determine the punch line or the end of the dialogue because it just seemed to stop somewhere, trailing off into a forgotten land. I suppose what we all want is to be heard and listened to. Even though I'd had a shitty day, I still managed to put up with other people's crap. I very nearly walked out the pub and considered strolling the two and a half miles home without the aid of a train or bus. But no, I enjoyed another pint and then went. Saying farewell to a man who for a short period was my friend. Enjoy Valencia my Interpreter friend.

Shortly I'll be off to Malta, with the most wonderful woman in the world. Even on shitty days some thoughts are life rafts in a turbulent sea.

Booking a trip to Malta

2011-10-20T21:15:00.001Z

I have been quietly celebrating the booking of a holiday. I and Sparkling Eyes will be going to Malta. We will be in each other's company for one week. No distractions. No phone calls from our Fish Factories, no meowing cats, no wondering what we're going to cook tonight, no thinking about whether another blanket will be needed for the bed as autumn throws it's tentacles and shivers up us. Of course there will be no getting away from Sparkling or for Sparkling to get away from me. It's not that we will be on best behaviour it's because when two animals are confined in a limited space they circle. But our space will not be limited. The hotel is big so if we wish to play hide and seek it will be quite an easy case of get away from each other. On the other hand I really am going to enjoy a week in Sparkling's company. The reason is, she will not be able to get away from me, I will be able to sit and talk with her without any problem. Normally just ringing her up can be a logistical nightmare with our different working hours. I will be able to sit and talk a complete load of codswallop and just enjoy chatting. On the other hand Sparkling may decide she's had enough of my incessant chit chat and throw me off the balcony. If there is a balcony, I hope so because it would make a change to see the see rather than the top of garage roofs.

In Malta the temperature is about 20 degrees Celsius, which is absolutely summer as far as Sparkles is concerned. For Scotland has had a wet dull summer period. Not much at all has gone on there in the way of sun shine and barbecues. It's been more of umbrellas and days in doors.

I had discussed this holiday with Sparkling and we had simultaneously surfed a web site where I was going to book the tickets. There stood out a particular hotel, because it just looked good and seemed to tick all the boxes. On call doctor if necessary, in case Sparkles has an allergy attack. Great big rooms, very modern looking, in a nice metropolitan area, perfect. We had both ogled and liked the look of the place. I said I would consider it and look at other places. I had a drink last night so was not going to book anything online when I had a slight dizziness going. You never know what you could end up with if you don't concentrate and have a clear head. Anyway. Tonight I booked it and rang Sparkles. She in turn already knew exactly how many miles it was from the airport to the hotel, 18. She had already put photographs of the hotel on her facebook account and she had done a little reading and told me about a nice little bar come cafe which has a dubious name but apparently is a great place to go. I was a little taken back at this preemptive research, because she knew more than me. But it really didn't matter, because once I'd booked it and then told Sparkling we were both ecstatic, both so very happy and bubbling over. For now the little discussion, the meanderings, the wants, the needs, the on the boiler dream had become real.

Yes. I am very happy indeed. Providing sparkling doesn't decide on cashing in on the insurance and bumping me off the balcony while I have just spent the last three hours talking a load of cobblers. No, I'm sure she wouldn't.... would she?

Lying scales - yes Fatboy

2011-10-17T07:19:00.000Z

Some really great news, the scales which measured my weight at the gym were indeed lying, they were out by a full stone. For a moment there I was in an almost happy place, but now I'm back to where I was, fatboy. Only for my hopes and aspirations to be dashed because of a set of scales. I should of known, it takes a hell of a lot to lose a pound in weight. It can't be done in an instance and certainly not in a few weeks, a stone is a mile away. A true mile, perhaps even more. Yes, much more than a mile. Oh help me someone. A little over dramatic perhaps but you have to keep it all in perspective. Yep, call me fatboy, I'll have to take the long view. Bit by bit climb my mountain and one blooming big mountain it is to. Give me strength, but don't give me a donut it will just tip me over. Pun intended.

Lying scales, a monster and a Great Uncle

2011-10-16T15:41:00.000Z

I don't know if the scales are lying, but when I stood on them at the gym they didn't groan like they usually do. I think there is a combination of factors all coming together at the same time. First there is the four weeks of having a dodgy tooth and only being able to effectively eat on one side of my mouth. Then there is the sudden and inexplicable desire to got to the gym and actually to exercise. I am now even able to run for thirty minutes on the treadmill again, which is an achievement. In addition rather than eat two slices of toast in the morning I now just settle for one, I could say "it was the toast that made me fat" if this is the case, but it probably goes hand in hand with everything else. There is the new premises the Fish Factory has moved to, which seems to make me walk about more often than I had done previously, partly because it really hasn't been designed well enough for people to work in. And lastly but not least there is the odd bicycle ride. All of these things must be having an effect. I just might be losing a pound here and there, but I can't tell fully because the scales could be lying. As we all know scales do lie. Ask any woman, and the odd bloke.

Yesterday was little Monster Boy's birthday. He became 11 years old. He's not so much of the little and more of the growing boy, but small for his age. I rushed to the shop and got him a book of 1000 scary horrible things and some colouring pens. He seemed to like them both, marveling at a face full of boils and staring in disbelief at heart surgery. Horrible thing interest little boys immensely. I did ring him up this morning and asked if he wanted to go for a bike ride but he wasn't up to it. It seems I am now being shrugged off by an 11 year old. What will I do with myself now on a Sunday I wonder. I saw Monster Boy's sister, Bam-bam this afternoon. She is 18 years old and pregnant. It is a young age to have a child, but she is positively happy and glowing with it. Unlike her mother, Bam-bam has said she wants to return back to work within a few months of having her baby. It's also remarkable to hear a young lady say this kind of thing, and certainly is admirable. The bump she has is low in her belly and she is now at 26 weeks. It makes me wonder if she will see the whole term. It is odd. I used to get bored senseless listening to women talk about babies and pregnancies in an earlier life, but hearing Bam-bam didn't bore me at all, she has an excited smile on her face and gives a commentary in delight. The bump did a lot of kicking apparently when she was on a hen-night, he either liked the music or it was interfering with his nap. I will be a Great Uncle. Not just a good one, a blooming Great one. Unfortunately it will take a few years before he can kick a football or go for a walk with me to the park, but I look forward to it. Especially as the Monster has now decided to become a recluse to a play station. Such are the whims of life.

In a short while, I shall be going to see Sparkling Eyes again. We are hoping to have a holiday, or something along those lines depending on what is available. My passport is ready and I'm waiting. We will just have to wait and see what happens, but whatever it is, whether a week away or just a few days it will good to be in Sparkling's company again.

I also need to get back into writing BLOGS, they seem to have stopped for the time being. But like anything else, it will happen. To date this is the most promising BLOG year against earlier ones. A new high number is sure to be reached by the end of it. I hope so anyway.

A white shirt

2011-10-12T07:02:00.000Z

This morning I have on a white short sleeved shirt. I try not to wear this one so much. I don't want to be confused with a waiter. But white shirts are cheap in comparison with other shirts. It must be because there are so many waiters out there. Then of course white is the ultimate in bureaucracy. Something I prefer to keep away from with various other colours. Even a pink shirt, or rather faded off red. Because pink is too girly a word to say or acknowledge when male. Unless of course you like your bread buttered on the other side. But I do like to wear faded red now an again, and I do like white on account it's nice and crisp. But I just don't wear it. I don't want to get lost. Amongst the white shirted people.

Well I'm off. No sir I'm not here to take your order, what was it?

Open wide then count your blessings

2011-10-05T21:12:00.000Z

I saw the dentist again. This time for an impression. Every time I use the word impression I see Tommy Cooper in my head saying "just like that" or someone else trying to do the same shoulder shrug as his Fez sits on top of his head. Unfortunate for me as I lay back and had an anaesthetic needle plunged into the saliva glands I then tasted something disgusting. It was the liquid being pushed out again. I could feel my heart pounding away this time. I told the dentist because otherwise it would mean excruciation pain and he had another go. It didn't seem as though he put so much Novocaine in this time. It worked but didn't seem to be as numbing as last week. Like my jaw had built up a bit of resistance to it. There then happened to be a period of drilling out the old temporary filling, cleaning it and throwing a moulding cast in my mouth. The plaster like material and a pungent smell, like lots of chemicals had been put into it. I wondered whether this would mean I'd glow in the dark later. I'll check my skin when I go to bed and find out. It'll save on electric if I do. I gagged and choked a little as the top impression was some kind of suffocating torture. The dentist said "breath through your nose." I was hardly going to breath through my arse. He had two fingers in my mouth at the time and was holding the mould in place. I kept trying to relax and open my mouth wider. Thinking to myself the image of walking through a park with my nephews. Chestnuts scattered on the ground and autumn leaves everywhere. It didn't work so much this time. I have to undertake some serious auto hypnotic suggestion practice if it is ever going to help. Maybe I should try carrying one of those pocket watches. Who knows? Anything to help. Importantly the impression of the lower jaw went smoothly and this was the jaw with the troublesome tooth.

I pondered as I endured the entire experience. Should I have asked for it to be pulled? Then it would of been the beginning of the rocky road to toothlessness. Then I'd be called the short, fat and gummy man. It has to start someplace, this might of been the place to start it. Lower right jaw a vacant space. But like anything else it's the fear of change, of old age and another sign of physical entropy. Bloody old age, you gotta fight it, stave it off and it's effects at every turn. Reminder get you belly down at the gym again. Going through the experience of drilling and impression taking is time consuming. Whereas, to of had it pulled may have been quicker. Except for the healing process and a hole in my jaw where there was once a tooth root would be present. I suppose we are all like this and don't want to admit to the change, it's daunting is all I can say. Then I'm not the only one.

I had a series of weird text messages from Sparkling this evening. There was a problem with communication. I couldn't understand what she was writing. Half of it was gobbledygook. Very odd. I got the just of it somehow, after a few minutes of concentration and head scratching. She wanted me to ring her. I tried but the signal could not of been good enough for a phone call. Sparkles had forgotten her glasses. The small text of her mobile was hardly readable from her point of view. Which makes me wonder how she managed to read my reply text messages. Sparkling confessed to not being able to do much without her glasses, like me she's been effected by the aging goblins. I have two sets of glasses, one to see normal things and another older prescription set which work better with close work. Their prescription is slightly weaker but they are perfect for close stuff. Falling apart. As they say, you should count your blessings. I still have my hearing, good looks, half of my hair, it would be worse if all my hair had gone, I have a full sense of smell possibly on account of my nose getting bigger each year so I can smell more. It's one of the few items which continues to grow regardless of age, and as of yet I have no artificial joints. I still have a number of people I love, nearly all family related and I get great enjoyment from food. While I have my own teeth that is. So counting my blessings I still have more going for me than not going for me. All I'd like now is for the Monkees to have a revival and for fat bellies to be found scientifically good.

Also on a good note, at it still takes more than two hands to count my teeth. Yes, I got something to smile about.

Up at 5:30 a.m.

2011-10-05T06:07:00.001Z

Got up at 5:30 a.m. followed by a long slow breakfast listening to the radio. This must mean I am getting old, only old people get up early and enjoy listening to the radio. So what. I'm young at heart..

Things to look forward to: dentist.

Too many interruptions

2011-10-03T21:10:00.001Z

I been watching TV and the provider is Sky. For some reason now I get to advert saturation point pretty quickly. A show which should last 40 minutes takes an hour with all the intermissions. Even though I enjoy the show there becomes a point where I just don't want to watch the TV anymore. I don't want to see the adverts or waste my life on them. It's a shame because I don't get to see shows I like to watch. The entire viewing experience is well and truly marred. Or maybe it is just me. Maybe I have got intolerant. Too intolerant. It does make me wonder why people subscribe to Sky if this is how they run their business. They make an awful lot of money, but if they carry on like this surely viewers will migrate? Or end up as vegetables as they sit in their chairs blubbering away. Being fed spoon after spoon of brain diarrhea. There is only one alternative turn over to the good old BBC and hope it's not soap night.

A few days ago for some unknown reason my tolerance hit another low. I did not even want to view a computer monitor to write a blog or catch up with a soldiers game on Face book. I had again an awful desire to pick up a book. The desire of brain needing a feeding. I also wanted quiet. Quiet with no auditory interruptions. Be it the sound of neighbours screaming children through paper thin walls or someone trying to talk to me. I went to bed and even then as I lay there unable to sleep (because the room was too hot), my mind raced away as though it were full of nothing but distractions. I couldn't even go into a dream world because as soon as I did another dream wanted to take over. This is in part a reflection of my time at the Fish Factory where there seem to be a hell of a lot piranhas about all wanting a nibble. Except their teeth make the nibbles feel like savage tears. Tonight I could probably stay up awake and fully alert now to 2 a.m. and reluctantly go to bed knowing I have to sleep but finding there are things out there to get me. Not things under the bed or little green men about to abduct me. More along the banal side of things. It's not a matter of being paranoid either, it's about cognitive interruptions and the need for a breather.

As someone once said to me, you're a long time dead, so get over it.

Exercise led to leg ache

2011-10-02T21:16:00.000Z

I went to the gym this morning, the first time in about three months. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Probably on account of my doing the odd cycle now and again. On the treadmill I even managed a reasonable on then off pace. After an hour I finished. Once showered I headed out and had to walk down some stairs. Suddenly my thighs hurt like someone had strangled them with hot pokers. Each stair was a pain, and under my breath I was repeatedly saying "ouch." I suppose this is what they call memory muscle. I remembered where they gym was and my muscles made me realise it. Why was I going to the gym after such a long time you might ask? Someone said I was looking fat and laughed at me with a snigger. I wouldn't mind they weren't looking too thin themselves. But the harm had been done and their words hit home.

So how do you motivate someone? Tell them they're looking a bit bigger than normal. Lucky I'm not an elephant.

A bungalow no more

2011-09-30T21:30:00.000Z

There is a bungalow I walk past most mornings. There lived an elderly woman, grey come white hair, she used a walking stick and always had a beret on her head, with thick rimmed NHS glasses. Growing up I'd see her every once in a while when walking past. She was a bit odd, loud in voice and I knew her to also be a catholic. That however is the extent of my knowledge. The beret suggested there was some kind of french connection, she was frail and a few years back disappeared. I thought at the time she probably went into a nursing home. The bungalow is a beautiful house and takes up quite a bit of land, this old woman and this bungalow were in my mind like cheese and toast. They belonged. Now as I walk past the bungalow I see it being torn down brick by brick by a couple of workmen and can't help feeling a little sad. Sad because it was a beautiful house and needed to be lived in, and a memory of the old girl who lived there also gone

I bumped into someone I know who lives opposite the bungalow and he went on to say how awful it was the building was being pulled down. At one point a petition had even been got by residents of the road and had somehow managed to stop it from being demolished. He had tried again but this time some years later the residents were different. Of different cultures and didn't want to sign their name to a petition. He told me the garden had foundations for chains which were used on barrage balloons during the second world war. In his mind the bungalow was also a historic site. It was now going to come down and three houses built in it's place. I then asked him about the old girl who lived there.

He agreed with my first impressions. She was loud. I'm not sure I may have spoken to her once now I think about it. He said she had been a second world war heroine. I could hardly believe this and asked for her name. It was Yvonne Halsey. She died in 2006 at the age of 90. She had been a telephone operator in France when the war began. Then escaped on the last ship sailing. Unfortunately for her the ship was torpedoed but she survived and was picked up by another boat heading to England. Yvonne had been bought up in England but her parents who also spoke french sent her to Europe as she was growing up. Her french was fluent and as well she had learning several other languages. When she returned to London she was approached by Charles de Gaule and asked to become a spy. She would drop in by parachute into France and gather information on and from the french resistance. She went back to France on 7 occasions. The last of which she was caught by the Nazi's and tortured. Her legs badly harmed. Somehow she was rescued by the resistance and escaped back to England. And this was a woman who I did not know, who lived a couple of roads away from me.

So now I can't help feeling a little sad, for not knowing her a little better.

The dentists prognosis

2011-09-30T06:55:00.000Z

Unfortunately the toothache turned out to be one of those pains you wish never had happened. I sat in the dentist chair, he had a look. Poked about an instrument and then made an announcement "I can't see anything wrong with the filling. It must be that you have a fissure. Each time you eat something the pressure on the tooth opens it up. Then when you stop, the fissure closes up." I understood what he meant, but I didn't know what it would result in. It was then I found there were only two options he had under consideration. First to pull the tooth and second to put an inlay, which was at my suggestion. Except of course the price of an inlay is a hell of a lot more than a mere extraction. But I'm attached to my teeth. I'd like to keep them as long as possible before they day they call me Gummy. Before the day I have to reach over and see my teeth starring back at me in a disembodied smile from the bottom of a glass. Yes, like anyone else I am afraid of the downhill struggle against age and being toothless. Thanks to a not so kind bloody tooth fairy. The cost in financial terms was going to be slightly over £200. A lot. Before he did any further prognosis he had to "chaff" away at my tooth to see how far the fissure went. The reason was, if it actually wasn't a deep fissure then it would be easier to correct. Just my undeniable luck, he had to stop as he was now approaching the nerve. Great. In a short while he re packed the tooth with some temporary filling and said I'd better book a longer appointment for next week so an impression could be taken. I think being on first name terms with my dentist may not be a good thing.

A half hour after seeing my butcher, I mean dentist. Who is as I've said before a very nice butcher, I mean dentist. I then had to hit the Fish Factory. Where I was to take a meeting and chair. There were 8 people present. My face had turned into a numbed pin cushion. My tongue felt it had swollen up on one side. Then I was unable to talk normally. It was slow and slurred. So went the following two hours. My next appointment is the same time next week. Unfortunately, you guessed it. I got another meeting booked. I hope I can feel my face then.

Dental appointment and slow eating

2011-09-28T06:46:00.000Z

I have the dentist this morning. Great. Well it won't be too bad, because he is a nice man and gentle. There is something about having a concerned attentive dentist, who does his best to make it easy. Like letting you breath and stop by raising your hand. Who is concerned about pain management. I got a little mouth as well, so opening it for sustained periods gives my jaw an ache. He is also good with the needle. I barely get to see him plunge the thing into my gum for the anesthetic. I like the guy, he's friendly. He has been my dentist now for twenty plus years, a hell of a long time. In the next ten years or so I'll have to find another one, which I know will be hell. Finding one who cares rather than sees the patient and their dental chair as a conveyor belt. It takes time to build up a relationship with a dentist. Pain though is probably the worst bit, if only it were completely painless.

The good news will be, that later today I will be able to eat properly. When going through a traumatic event I generally say to myself, this time tomorrow it will be all over. Or this time next week. To have something to look forward to. It has been restricting eating on one side of my mouth. But at the same time it has taught me to savour my food and be patient in eating slowly. It has been a lesson of sorts. Eating slowly and carefully. If there were some behaviour I'd like to endure for the rest of my life, this would probably be one of them. I just hope old habits don't come back too quickly.

A cheaper way to shop - stay at home

2011-09-26T19:06:00.002Z

This morning when I left the house I slipped a hand in my trouser pocket. It felt odd like the pocket was folded. Then I pulled out 15 quid. Blimey what a nice start to the day I thought. A little richer than I had expected. There are other days though where I wonder my money has gone. It seemed to have evaporated. This especially happens when going shopping. If I never shopped then I'd be pretty wealthy. On the other hand I'd probably be wearing rags and half starved to death. Sometimes you just have to do a little shopping regardless. Odd to how when shopping at a supermarket I'd expect there would be some bargains to be had. Yet this is not true at all. Just go to different shops and then you'll find certain items are more expensive in one and less expensive in another. For instance razors. The brand of disposable razors I buy in one shop is nearly fifty per cent less than a supermarket. Another prime example of this is Caspian peppers. In a market I can get 3 for a pound whilst in a supermarket they cost 70 pence each. What a rip off. It's about being shopping savvy.

It will not be long before christmas is upon us. It's strange how some christmas purchases are liked more than others and they may be the cheapest things bought. Again, this is where I'd strongly say go to a market, you'd be surprising what unusual things can be found. Not one of those poncy arty affairs, no, a good common outside market which has been established up and running for years. Arty ones are to be avoided like the plague, unless you happen to be a tourist. Tourists can expect to be ripped off. Worst thing is the holiday probably cost an arm and a leg then the spending cost another arm and a leg. Well at least they got their teeth. Unless they happen to be made of gold, keep your gob shut tourists is all I can say.

Today has been an unexpectedly lucky day. Unless that 15 quid was an advance payment from the tooth fairy. Then it might not be.

Time to read a book

2011-09-25T08:37:00.001Z

I have this urge to read a book. Not just any book it has to be a classic and I know which one. It’s 1984, by Eric Blair (George Orwell). Firstly there is something about established classics of literature. It doesn’t matter from what country they are because every country has it’s own icons. Someone who the world agrees was a great writer must of done something of significance. People may or may not agree on the importance or the style of a writer, but the fact there may be controversy means this person gave the world a kicking. They had something to say which was listened to and struck at the heart of society. Certainly in the case of Mr Blair who had a thing about social injustice in the world. He died at the age of 47 which by today’s standards is probably young. So what this urge is, is a desire to have a moment of quality and time.

It seems there is very little time lately to do anything. I get on a train in the morning and head off to the Fish Factory. It is a short ride, ten minutes and I am at my destination. Followed by a further five minute walk. This is hardly enough to turn one or two pages of a book, no sooner have I opened it than I am closing it. I am one of those people who can read a book while walking. But it still doesn’t help because I just don’t have enough of a reading moment. It’s now a matter of making this space, finding it in some other way or context. I’ve got a detective novel I had began reading a few months ago. It’s on a table in my bedroom. I indulge myself just before going to bed but this I don’t even do now. Where have all the spaces in my day gone? I have gotten into a habit of waking up early. I can get by on six hours sleep a day, with the occasional nap. Yet although I am awake for longer in a day there is less achieved. I know what is happening, it’s an addiction to watching TV. TV is the devil incarnate, square, hypnotising and brain dumbing. There’s the solution. Stop watching so much TV and get on with life; simple.

So now I have to change a habit and restrict it or replace it. Computers and the internet are not always a good thing. They can control you as much as you control them. It could be something to do with personality. Some people are easily addictive to things. Smoking for example, chocolate, alcohol, food. A little bit of something can be satisfying and good. Too much and it becomes dominant and without realisation it has become something else, part of your personality. Well lucky I’m not an addict to bungee jumping, putting my head into lions mouths (if it could fit) or crocodile hunting. If only. Now that would be something to talk about and maybe I’d get more interest to the few readers who serendipitously visit this page. What a thought, become a serendipitous crocodile hunter. Yes. A new pastime for 2012, well, I do have a book to read first.

An expensive soft drink

2011-09-20T19:51:00.001Z

Suffering from the sniffles I decided to hit the pub, but instead of having a Guinness a pint of orange juice was on the cards. The idea being to boost up my vitamin C and help recover from this dastardly cold. A cold when it's not even winter. I was surprised to find the cost of my soft drink was more expensive than an alcoholic drink. During the "Happy Hour" period as well. Or rather not so much Happy for those who go non alcoholic. The most annoying thing of all is the tax paid on alcoholic drinks has got to mean there is a lower profit margin than on soft drinks, but yet the soft drink is more expensive. Well, I thought to myself, those buggers aren't going to take me for a ride this evening I will purposefully give them a miss. My 3 quid can be kept in my own pocket rather than given to them. So I went home instead.

It's a recession, come on publicans even soft drink consumers don't like being taken for a ride.

Toothache

2011-09-19T19:02:00.002Z

I have this tooth where the filling has half fallen out. It's now bothering me and so I should ring up the dentist for an appointment. I have to be careful about eating on the right hand side, because on occasion a little bit of food gets trapped in the tooth then when my mouth closes (which it does) there is a sudden and undeniable pain come ache. I'd prefer not to see the dentist, it's a tooth which has acted in this way before. A recalcitrant little bugger with it's own mind.

When reading sci fi books and the latest discoveries in genetics, I'd cross my fingers and hope a new genetic treatment would come out. One where the human body could have more than just one set of teeth. Three or maybe four sets even. When one lot falls out another just grows back in place. It might mean more work for the dentists again, I mean. If you just happened to be a little careless then it would result in having to get another set of teeth braces. It might be though having more than 2 sets of teeth would make people a lot more careless. Teeth are like natures way of saying, you only get one chance and learn it quick, milk teeth followed by adult teeth, regardless if you happen to be eleven years old when you have your second set and unappreciative of the effects of sweets and chocolate has in the long term. It is so unfair how the human body matures faster than the intellect or emotional stability.

Adolescence certainly does this, raging hormones, strong young fresh body and all stuck on top with the head of an idiot. It would certainly be a better situation if we all lived life like Benjamin Button. But then directors can make anything possible, real life does not work in the same way. It's just hard. Hard bloody luck. Look after your teeth or you will be given the name of Gummy. Then put on display at fares, where they will show you off to see how you suck an egg, or the pained expression you have when trying to tuck into a meal of roast beef, roast potatoes and Yorkshire puds. Maybe all the Gummys of the world should be given free liquidisers on the NHS. I'm surprised baby food manufacturers have not jumped on the band wagon and created slushy mushy food for the over sixties Gummies of the world. What a fortune there would be in the making. It's also odd how Dracula picks his girls young and doesn't go for the slightly older woman. Mind a seventy year old vampire would no doubt have problems when it came to the attack. Imagine going to the Police Station and reporting to a constable, "yes, officer, I was attacked by a very strong seventy year old woman. She gummed my neck and dribbled down my back. It was awful. I didn't think she'd ever stop. But she was a little slow. The sun came up and she burst into fiery ashes." Well, Bram Stoker must of been a bit of a lecherous old man. Or he knew. If a vampire woman was ever going to be at an advantage she had better have her own teeth. You can quote me on that if you like.

The problem is, today I've not had much enthusiasm. I got a cold, had lots of nose blowing and sniffing, but no enthusiasm. If I did I would of rung the dentist. I suppose though if I carry on like this it may help me control my diet. Only thing is eating chocolate is fine, it's everything else which is a problem. Where is there a vampire when you need one?

Stuck on Big Brother

2011-09-18T10:42:00.000Z

Something has happened to me since being in Sparkling's company. It's called Big Brother. A TV series where contestants spend every minute of the day in an artificial environment, their interactions constantly filmed and each week one is voted out by the public. The winner takes away a pot of money. Usually when BB season begins I do my best not to get excited or involved. I purposefully go out of my way not to watch it. Except when I happen to be with Sparkling. Then I usually have no choice at all and must watch whatever she decides should be on TV. Well, most of the time. BB for me is dangerous, it is mind numbing rubbish, this I know for a fact. The reason I know it, is because I become an addict to it. I just vegetate and get so engrossed in BB life outside of the BB household is a distraction. If BB were on Channel 5 all day long, I'd be watching it. Fortunately my time is limited. I'm tending to watch it on the Internet and catch up each evening with the evening before's events, which means I am two days out of sync. However, I get to watch both shows and I then get to watch all the other little clips they decide to put up. I am well and truly hooked and finding breaking away very difficult. A bit like asking a woman to give up chocolate. It's a no braier, it just will not happen.

The first eviction has taken place. A lovely but slightly crazy girl called Tashie has been booted out. The first week is always a difficult one as the public and contestants really don't know a great deal about one another. In my view poor Tashie should not of gone. She got kicked out because she simply managed to get on peoples nerves, if she had managed to restrain her proclamations of wisdom and listened a bit more to others she would not of got picked. In the next week contestant Heaven is very likely to get nominated for one of the evictees. She has a self centred streak which is more obvious than the other house mates. Everyone has this to a certain extent but with the way Heaven is eating food which is limited in supply and her crazy like views of the world she is going to wind many people up. I also think Maisy should be nominated. I can't think of a more ignorant person. The love birds Rebekah and Aden are also getting pretty annoying. Not just because there is over ten years in age difference, but because Aden is in all sense of the word a complete "twat" who doesn't have the aptitude to understand that little puppy dogs are pathetic. I'll keep glued to the TV over the next week to see what's happening and will not bore readers with a running commentary.

However, the one thing which every reader or watcher of BB thinks about at some time or other is how well they would do if they were in the BB household. How their character would be portrayed, their own ups and downs, their personality being under intense scrutiny as well as personal habits, completely open to the nation. There has to be a bit of self love in any such show for all of the contestants and ultimately the public then votes who they like. Of course with a small charge being donated to Channel 5 TV. BB is a time when the ultimate in non celebrity come celebrity status begins. Where people who are unknown and complete no bodies have the chance to be famous for doing nothing and just being themselves. From this they can carve new careers, make lots of money, become popular and consequently have their own self esteem stroked by a thousand followers. This is the self degrading part of such an event I don't like. It's the reason why I do my best not to watch it. But as I said, I'm hooked. For the time being anyway.

As for a winner, I'll make a wild guess and say it may be Tom, I'll not put any money on it. It will depend on how he flowers in the next few weeks. I need to find some other interest in the evenings, any ideas?

It's my birthday and I'll take a bullet for you.

2011-09-12T13:22:00.000Z

It's my birthday today. Sparkles had tried to trick me I was actually a year older than I thought. I'll admit to being taken in by her for just a moment then with a little quick calculation or rather not so quick at my age I realised I was one year younger. So now for the next 6 months Sparkling and I are both the same age. I stop being the toy boy. Considering I'm not a boy and certainly not a toy it's probably an inaccurate statement to make. Sparkling has said to me on numerous occasions she needs some one younger with a bit of oomf. Then she'd put a dish of crisps and salsa dip on my lap and watch to see if I'd eat them. On the quite she likes to test my will power. Quite often she knows it is weak, but once in a while I hold back from the allure of junk food. Last night we watched a program on Doris Day, it passed midnight and Sparkling wished me happy birthday and sang Que cera, cera. It was lovely. I felt very happy, as I did this morning and opened presents, Rock Chick had actually listened to me when I said I liked the music of Ed Shearer, I am now the proud owner of his CD, which had come out on my birthday. Wonderful.

I have been having a discussion with Sparkling, it has carried over from last night, or maybe the night before. Anyway it began when we were watching the news. Egypt was on telly and there was violence and public disruption, riots, burning, fights with police. It began along these line when I stated:
"Now that would be a good place to go on holiday."
"Yes, we could get a cheap one there."
"Well, it would be good to get involved in it, carried along with the atmosphere of revolution."
"No, I don't think it would be a good idea to go."
"How come?"
"Well if some of the men got hold of us and said to you, 'we're going to kill either you or her' you'd push me forward and say take her."
"No I wouldn't." I needed a moment of thought on this matter. I had to say it, "Honey, I'd take a bullet for you."
"No you wouldn't."
"Yes, I would."
"No you wouldn't."
"Yes I would."
"No you wouldn't, you're a coward. I know what you're like."
"That's rubbish, I would, you know I would. Would you take a bullet for me?"
"No."

Again I have got to learn my place in the household. Olly had me running after him getting up 3 times this morning to his meow. Feeding him biscuits and letting him out. Then in, then out, then more food. Sparkling says he only does this when I am here. Dangerous Sport's Lad is a bit the same. I watched as Olly had jumped up on the window sill behind Dangerous. I said nothing. Then Rock Chick says "Dangerous, Cat!" he automatically stopped looking at the laptop opened the window behind him and let Olly in. I suppose you'd say we are now trained men. I am so trained now, my feeble protestations about painting rooms with off pink emulsion fall on very deft ears. I get "it's our house, we live here, get over it." It don't matter how much I say I feel effeminate, because there is way too much pink in the house. Even a walk around the local DIY superstore is barely returning my hormones back to normal. I deliberately did a detour of the power tools section, advising Sparkling and Rock. Hoping for a testosterone boost. I put in my ear phones listened to a little music. Kneelled down in interest trying to work out whether there was a mortar raking drill bit, then before I knew it I had been pushed over with a foot by Rock Chick. For a moment I was like a turtle on it's back. I was hoping I'd just be able to roll myself back onto my feet. But it didn't work. The bastion of power tools had been invaded, the one serene guaranteed man place to feel like a man again had been interrupted. Shortly afterwards I had a big pot of pink paint, and lamented how girly I was about to become applying this to the front room walls.

It's well into my birthday now. The emotions of opening presents is over, jeans and shirt I'm wearing now. I love them all, just being here with Sparkles makes me very happy. Only thing is she is still not convinced I will take a bullet for her. I had better watch myself, because I know with my luck, there's a pink bullet with my name on it and I better jump in front of it at first opportunity.

Something Happened - a good read

2011-09-06T20:21:00.000Z

I have recently picked up a book which I had not fully read before. It's called "Something Happened" written by Joseph Heller. The same author of "Catch 22." I read somewhere this book, Something Happened was better than his earlier novel Catch 22. It's an old copy, but regardless of how old it is the words don't change. New impressions of the book may have better looking covers, their pages will be fresh and not as faded as my copy, but mine has more character. I bought it in a sale and the price sticker is still on the front, it only cost £1. A bargain. Having a look on Amazon I can buy this same book for about six times the value I originally bought it for. The cover of the latest impression hasn't changed at all from the impression I have, which was printed in 1995. Which makes my copy 16 years old. Blimey. This book is older than half of my nephews and a niece. I look at the book tenderly and know as I travel to Scotland tomorrow I will have at least 6 hours in which to put in a good reading session. Providing I don't get too bored with it. Is it an odd personality trait I ask when to me the thought of such a reading session is actually thrilling. I know it will be even better to see Sparkling tomorrow, but to get time to read it's like a massive luxury. An injection of adrenaline to an adrenaline starved junky. A bowl of rice to someone who has eaten nothing but potatoes for the last year or two. I am actually happy. Funny that, interesting, but funny.

Maybe it is a double excitement hit, reading then seeing Sparkling. If I don't get a chance to talk to anyone on the train I'll be able to talk the hind legs of a donkey when I get off and see Sparkles. Which is exactly when I get told to shut up because she has to concentrate on driving in the rush hour traffic. I'll be sitting there in the car, if Sparkles does pick me up, then I'll be sitting there in a bursting bubble of happiness. A champagne cocktail. I so can't wait to see Sparkles.

Unfortunately I have been advised Rock Chick has gone down with food poisoning. She had eaten some prawns which were out of date. Poor thing. And Rock being a University student of food hygiene and nutrition you would of thought she'd be the first person to know what not to eat. Oh well, maybe next time she wont listen to her mum when she tells her not to worry about the sell by date. Or use by date. I'm sure Rock will survive though. And if she doesn't and needs someone to talk to her tomorrow, who is rolling down a hill faster than a round cheese, then I'm going to be the one. Whether it is reading the book or hitting Scotland shortly I could talk now for a bloody long time about all sorts of nonsense and would probably need to be told to shut up by everyone who heard me. Must remember to take some ear plugs. And a book of course.

Adverts make TV not worth watching

2011-09-04T20:25:00.000Z

Sitting there watching an episode of NCIS didn't last long. Not because the program wasn't worth watching because it actually was and interesting as well. Which didn't stop me from changing channel and turning to a channel where there were less interruptions because there were no adverts. Thanks to the BBC. Maybe one day the advertising funded channels will just completely get rid off all programs. Have nothing but adverts as though these are the only things which matter. What they don't understand is the public will just turn the television off. Which may even be a good thing. Then there would be time to read, talk, listen and above all not get soft in the head from glossy selling every five minutes. I'm coming to the conclusion now it not even worth watching certain channels. If a program is good, I'll catch it later on in some other way, but I'll not watch it with 50 adverts scattered throughout it.

Day 2 of the challenge has worked out fine. I more than satisfied the quest. Doing an hour plus of walking in the morning and then doing an 8 mile cycle ride with Monster Boy. We rode along a stretch of the river Thames, where the flood defence has so kindly provided a pathway. Riding by the Thames always takes longer to reach a destination than going by the road. Except going by road is a dangerous thing at times, especially if you have a little monster in tow, then you have to be mindful of cars all the time. It was good to get out and about.

I got a text from Sparkling. She had been on a girls night out, unfortunately something broke out with one of the girls, Sparkling ended up pinning the girl to the floor to stop her from getting into fisticuffs with another. Women in Scotland are sure made out of tougher stuff than the ordinary woman. I wonder if they put up with adverts as much as Londoners do? Probably not.

Bamboo socks and the Sock Collecting Monkey

2011-09-04T06:46:00.000Z

The other day I bought some socks. I needed them but didn't need them so badly as to buy 7 pairs at once, this was mostly what the shops wanted to sell. Instead I bought a set of three pairs. They are grey and black with a nice pattern of magenta horizontal lines through them. Each pair is slightly different which kind of adds to the appeal. Part of me realises when I next go to Scotland they may decide to take a walk into Rock Chicks own sock collection, such is the nature of socks in Scotland. Looking at a pair as they hung up to air, I touched them again to feel their texture. The amazing thing is they feel so soft. They are beautiful. A pleasure to put on in the morning, just really nice. I read somewhere these socks are biodegradable and don't last any longer than three years. Which is a shame, but the truth is none of my socks last this long anyway. They kind of disappear. Possibly appropriated, possibly even worse.

Stolen by the Sock Collecting Monkey who attacks when you least expect it. The Sock Collecting monkey is silent, never ever caught and has a bizarre fetish for socks every man will know about. There are said to be many of these creatures around the world. They have conventions but you will not hear or see these conventions unless you are part of their inner circle. Their outer circle are the lesser known but equaly annoying Glove Collectors. The Sock Monkeys are good at their job. Not one has been seen or left a evidence of their existence. In physics there is an elusive particle called the Higgs boson particle. These monkeys pride theirselves on being as mysterious. More so to the physics experts, who you are likely to find wearing odd socks or socks with holes. Curtisy though they don't know it yet of the Sock Collecting monkey, otherwise known in short as the SCM. Everyman is at some time touched by the SCM. They may not know this at birth but their name is written down in a big bound leather book by the executive SCM. Date of birth, name and place of birth, current residence is a must. They keep tabs on us. Then at an appropriate or inappropriate time you will only find the marks of a visit by the absence of a sock. They are colour blind the SCM so really don't care what your socks look like, nothing is off limits. Long socks, short socks, beautiful socks and old tatty socks they all have a place once appropriated. They see themselves as being superheroes to their kind. But to me their nefarious antics are approaching the super villains league. Unfortunately they are so far off the radar not even Batman and Robin can save us. We are doomed to be plagued by them and have to face life accepting this one vexatious thought - socks will always go missing.

The only consolating thought I now have is, steal them if you must monkey, steal my bamboo ones if you must monkey, but their biodegradeable and you won't get to play with them forever. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Bad habits - the challenge

2011-09-03T21:06:00.000Z

From my previous BLOG there was one statement, it was the only thing which mattered to me. The only thing at this moment I needed to do more than any other. So shortly after writing the BLOG I got my arse down to the train station and bought tickets to see Sparkling and the gang. As soon as I wrote the word "Sparkling" a smile came over me, I just couldn't help it, and already I am feeling pretty damn happy. But there is something I so now have to get control of and it's my habits. The bad habits have to be either altered, removed or replaced. I came across the following quote:

“Men’s natures are alike; it is their habits that separate them.” - Confucius

At the Fish Factory, I feel like I am juggling more balls in the air than I can handle. Or it could be the case of China plates rather than balls. For balls will bounce when dropped but a China plate will smash into a thousand pieces. I sure bet Confucius didn't think of it this way. The thing is I really do like my job, too much probably. It's strange how we can be so defined by what we do. In work, in society, at home with family. When I wasn't being fulfilled in Fish Filleting I sort satisfaction in other areas. The weirdest thing of all is work is a temporary thing, it dominates the largest amount of waking hours but it's not as important as family. People who are close or should be considered the closest things we have in our lives. Work however does provide structure, the day is marked by when to wake up and when to hit the hay. There is a degree of compulsory social interaction, no matter how good or bad we feel it has to be there. Communicating with others. The other important thing work provides is finance to allow life outside of work to be lived. To allow the bills to be paid, holidays booked, trips made, so the list goes on. Then there is the work-life balance. Somewhere between one and the other we have to live, sleep, dream, eat, get into tiffs, get out of tiffs, breath air, smile and find happiness. If one thing dominates then the balance is all askew. At this point bad habits creep in. Going to the pub to relax instead of the gym. Eating the wrong convenience food, just because it is quick and satisfies hunger. Not listening when someone is trying to talk because there are too many things on your mind and if your own mind hasn't quietened down how can you really listen to others? With difficulty.

The first line of defence is therefore to do one thing, one task and set my mind on it. It will be the 30 day challenge. Something for 30 consecutive days in a row. All I now have to do is work out exactly what that thing will be. Which doesn't sound very committal. I know what it is, but I don't want to say it because I don't want to fail it and think I might. I want to do some form of exercise everyday. I've done some today which now means I have 29 days left. Which if my math is right means the challenge ends on 3rd October. Watch this space.

Some questions and a statement

2011-09-03T07:33:00.001Z

BLOG views have dropped. Could this be the start of a recession?

I can't seem to concentrate on anything more than a few moments, is this the sign of mental illness?

There is a smell of cat pee in the bathroom, has Stinky pissed in there or is it the Basil plant?

An outside set of windows needs a gloss paint, it's got the primer but no top coat, can it be left without the gloss?

Next week I go to see Sparkling, I will get my ticket today!

This room needs a tidy up, do I leave it or tidy it?

My bicycle needs a water bottle attachment, where and when?

If I lose my job because of government politics, will I be able to get another or am I now too old and on the scrap heap?

Will I ever lose weight and get fit again?

When you reach a goal what happens next?

What is the best way to get the most done with the least resources?

How do I get around the obstacles put in the way by other people?

Sparkling buys a present

2011-09-01T20:22:00.000Z

Sparkling has been to the shops to buy a birthday present for me. Awwwe. I left my mobile phone at home and she rang it. It was not answered. So there was the odd text message left. It was my fault if her present didn't fit me. She wasn't sure of my waist size. Fat or really fat. I rang her up and then it was my fault again for not answering the phone, so whatever it was Sparkling had bought for me it was because she liked it and so it didn't matter what I thought. I just have to wear it and if I didn't like it I could tell I was going to be in trouble. I had texted Sparkling during the day and said the only thing which mattered was seeing her, getting a hug and maybe a kiss, just being in Sparkling's company. Soppy I know but I really can't help it. Oh, I did ask maybe if she wanted to get me something a pair of socks would do nicely. When speaking on the phone she told me how difficult I was to buy presents for. I think she's got me some trousers, well asking for waist and leg sizing is a bit of a give away. It's odd because I have exactly the same problem when it's Sparkle's birthday. It is murder choosing. But I still go out and do it, otherwise I would be murdered for real.

Oh well better tuck into this box of fudge I got. Maybe the fatter size would be a better fit after tonight.

Phone call from Geraldine

2011-08-31T19:13:00.000Z

Well it has to happen every now and again. Yep, an unsolicited phone call from a service provider who states they can undercut the cost of the widgets you are presently getting from your current service provider. Now how do you react? Well put the phone down on them, deny you are the person they have asked for, say that person left weeks ago and you have never heard or seen of them, continue the phone call and string them along, because after all it has been quite a boring evening, there's not much on the telly and you have time to spare. Guess what I did? Yep, I took the last option. With the resolve I will change the service provider who has rang me on an unsolicited phone call as soon as I can get my apathetic arse out of my chair.

I spoke to a Geraldine, who was ringing from South Africa. I said firstly I didn't believe her name was Geraldine, she said she was originally from India but now as in South Africa. Geraldine went on to advise me I could save a lot on my telephone calls if I were to change to her service provider's package. I asked her how she knew this and she went on to quote how much it was I was being charged for my phone package. Which although a little disturbing it is probably quite easily available finding out what the standing charge line rental is for any phone company. I then asked her how she could possibly know I would save money in consideration of the phone calls I make and the present package I was on. I don't know if Geraldine was born on a different planet let alone call plan package but she persisted to talk about the standing charge. I said OK Geraldine, what if I find my phone bill with you is actually more expensive than the present phone bill I have, would you allow me to instantly change back to my previous provider? She was a little unsure of her answer her. I think I had her on the ropes for a moment. But there is no stopping a fast talking unsolicited caller. They have only one thing in mind and that is to get the sale. I had only one thing in mind, keep them talking and waste their precious time because all the time Geraldine is talking to me she can't persuade some other unsuspecting sap. So Geraldine continued quoting how much the provider she represented charged, she then went on to another tact as I was showing a little bitty bit of interest. Geraldine asked me if I would ask some security questions. Brilliant I thought. Why should you ask me security questions I asked Geraldine when you are the one who rang me up? She seemed to understand this, but again her fast moving jaw dropped a comment about the Data Protection Act. Great. So I asked what data protection act Geraldine was referring to, was this the 1984 Act or the 1998 Act? Geraldine hadn't a clue. I also asked being that she was in South Africa did these Acts actually apply to her? She said they did. Again I asked her what she knew about these acts. For a millisecond the fast talking phone rep had a pause. It was quite clear she didn't have a bloody clue. Her next tact was to get out of the conversation by stating if I was unable to answer the security questions then she would have to terminate the call. I had at last hit the bloody jackpot. The call didn't last much longer. I thanked Geraldine for her phone call, wondered whether I should get a stop watch for the next unsolicited call and see how long I could string them along. How long I could make their life hell for ringing me up when I didn't want, ask or need them to talk to me. The conversation still hadn't lasted long enough for my liking, I really have got to learn to keep them strung along a bit more.

I can only wonder if there is an Olympic medal for keeping unsolicited telephone reps on the phone for as long as possible. For the best delaying tactics. Hmm, I could of said I needed to take a pan of boiling milk off the stove and put down the phone for a moment, but then it would of given Geraldine a chance to close the call and let someone else take it as soon as I picked up the phone again. On the other hand I may have just talked myself out of saving a few pennies. What a bloody shame it would of been.

Geraldine, if you are reading this give me another call, you might of had a point or two, but I just need to clarify a couple of things, hold on, some one's at the door, don't go away now...

Passport in a jiff

2011-08-30T20:34:00.000Z

I had to pop home from the Fish Factory at lunch time. The postman had been and there was an envelope from the passport people. The ones who allow you to go on holiday only if your passport is valid. I'd hardly used my old passport and it seemed a shame but these things have to be renewed. So about a week ago I sent of the application form with a cheque payment. Looking at the little envelope there was only one thought in mind, it was too soon and what the hell had I done wrong on the application form?

The application form was a nightmare to complete. It was because of the little booklet which came with it, the instruction guide which was 24 pages long. Being a renewal and not a new passport appeared to be the easiest passport to apply for. However, it didn't stop me from reading through the 24 page booklet of gobbledygook. A booklet which is designed to cause the most confident person in the world to doubt their own abilities. The thing was it just simply had not been designed for someone to understand. It would probably of been easier to understand were it in a different language. Even on google now it is possible to get translation software. As I read through the pages of this guide they didn't seem to quite differentiate from one kind of passport to another. It was as though the applicant could just flick the pages over and then stab it, while blind folded with a drawing pin. Then to use the page and section the pin had pierced as guidance. I might of lost my marbles, but knew I was not going to let the bloody thing get the better of me. I would get through it. In addition I wasn't going to pay the bloody Post Office my hard earned spondulies just so they could check over the form to see if I had filled it in properly. For the Post Office it was the easiest £20 quid they could make. Hell, I could now stand outside a Post Office and check passport applications and charge them half the price they were charging. It's a way of shafting the public, especially as they make you have to cue up to get a passport application, just so they can then try the hard sell checking service.

At this point before I opened the letter I was regretting taking the decision to go DIY on my own passport application form. In fear the image of my old passport with a note saying the application was incorrect, no signature, wrong part completed, photo's not authorised and something wrong had happened, then I would have to re-apply. Tearing open the package a brand new passport stared me in the face, amazement and happiness all at once came over me. And the question of whether I could of had an even better picture taken. It had been done, yes! No problem. Right this moment I could strut my stuff around the front room doing a chicken dance and sticking two fingers up to the Post Office. No checking service for me because I don't fit in the thicko category, so stick it in your pipe and smoke it. Yes! I can now go around the world and see places, do things, and then write little post cards with wish you were here messages. All curtisy of the Post Office. Well they are good for something.

A sharp intake of shaving foam

2011-08-30T06:28:00.000Z

I didn't shave yesterday. It was the Bank Holiday Monday apathy thing. An extra day off nothing to do or plenty to do and no motivation. Which consequently led to not shaving. Why shave when you don't have to, once in a while it is good to miss the sharp end of a razor. The result being this morning there was twice as much stubble which needed removing. Not too long, but definitely a reminder why I do shave and maybe I should of shaved. Anyway. To help cope with this extra bit of shearing or scraping, I put a little more shaving foam on my face. Lathered it up into about a centimetre thick, way too much, got a nice bowl of hot water and began to take it away. For a moment I thought I had a cold. At this point I took a slightly sharper intake of breath than the usual calm morning intake. In just a moment shaving foam had reached the back of my nose and began to trickle down my throat. I could taste it. Being a cheap foam I think they must of been a bit frugal with the soap element as it really didn't taste too bad at all. I mean it didn't make me feel like I was going to vomit even though I had just eaten breakfast. By the way, before I ate brekky I had a glass of water, which apparently is one method of sating appetite. Unless of course it was the extra water which stopped a soap flavour from becoming overbearing. The moral of the story is. Don't breath in deeply when shaving, stay calm and collected.

As for those anonymous phone calls a good cure for that would be a face full of shaving foam, an expensive shaving foam at that.

An Extra Day

2011-08-29T18:43:00.000Z

It has been a long time since I saw Sparkling. I usually get to see her every 5 or so weeks. It's like I have to have a booster of Sparkling. Not seeing her makes me unhappy and I then wonder whether it is all worth it. In addition it seems I am going through some kind of hormonal thing. Being unable at time to control my feelings. Such as my earlier BLOG about listening to music, Steph Stevenson. Well right this minute I'm checking out some old reggae music, real old reggae music. OK had enough turned it off. Well I was listening to it but turned it off. Off. I don't get much of a chance to speak to Sparkles because of our working days. Mine starts when Sparkles is usually catching up with her sleep, if she's had the chance. Then just about the time I'm finishing work she is starting it. We pass each other and communicate mostly in text messages, then maybe one day or two if I'm lucky in the week I get to chat to her. As the saying goes. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it certainly does where loved ones are involved.

It's a bank holiday Monday. I got on my bike and had a good cycle today. It was for a purpose, for a little shopping. But as an extra day off from the Fish Factory it has felt like a welcome break, actually quite relaxing. I should of got outside and done a bit of painting as well. But that will have to wait a little bit more. I certainly have enjoyed the break from everything. What one day can do is remarkable. I bought two pairs of dress trousers for the Fish Factory and a shirt. There was also a cheap tie going. Being as I liked the look of it, I got that as well. This afternoon like clockwork, while the telly was on I laid back my head in the chair and dozed off. This has now become my new talent. I've even done it at lunchtimes before. I went to a nice bench ate my sandwiches, finished a bottle of juice, then let my head rest on my chest and closed my eyes. I had about 15 minutes of power napping in the sun. It was very relaxing actually. I wonder if other people have this talent besides me. I'm sure some do. The stronger the ability the more able you are to switch it on when and wherever you want. I hope it isn't some kind of sleep disorder. Maybe it's the age thing again. The thing you can not get away from. It's like a piece of recalcitrant chewing gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. No matter how much you scrape at the sole it still feels sticky when you walk. It's hanging around. Yep, that's what age is. Some stubborn old chewing gum.

Yes the extra day has been very nice. Wish I could of had a chat with Sparkles, oh well, we'll catch up soon, as I'll be heading up there again in the next few weeks. See you then Sparkles.

Going for a walk

2011-08-25T20:55:00.001Z

I think all the food and my unhealthy feeling got to me this evening. So much I had to go for a walk. It took about 40 minutes, but I strode with purpose. The light had just faded to say autumn is well on it's way. I texted Sparkling and asked if she'd like a chat. I couldn't remember if she was working or not. A few minutes later my phone rang while I was in mid stride. It was wonderful to hear Sparkling and to communicate with her. Then for some reason as I was walking and talking at the same time my breath shortened and I breathed heavier. I was a heavy breather in the real sense. It must be with the extra couple of stone I'm carrying around my waist. If only it would drop off, but that sort of thing never does. There wasn't a great deal of time to chat as Sparkles was waiting on Rock Chick coming out of her work. Rock Chick did and immediately demanded they get a move on. Well, Sparkles wasn't going to drive and chat at the same time. Rock had to get home, it didn't matter Sparkles and I hadn't really chatted for a few days, because of Rock's needed to get home and her personal chauffeur was to put the peddle to the metal. It was a shame. One reason why is because I had to walk past a chip shop and chatting to Sparkles would of been an additional distraction. Fortunately I was on the other side of the road and the aroma of salt and vinegar didn't waft in my direction. I had managed to save myself from about a thousand calories. Unfortunately eating a couple of chocolate biscuits earlier probably counter balanced the 40 minutes of exercise. I now have it in mind to try and do a little bit of exercise each day. Just something small but effective to know I've nearly built up a sweat.

So tomorrow I'll go for another exercise. Another walk, and maybe if I am lucky, just maybe not eat a chocolate biscuit before I do. Well as one of my favourite sayings goes. How do you eat an elephant? A little bit at a time. Not the whole bloody lot fatboy.

Not so bright today

2011-08-25T06:44:00.000Z

It seems I get fatter every day. I'm now getting really fed up with it. I am so missing Sparkling Eyes, I didn't get to chat to her yesterday and now I'm not a bright spark. Perhaps I should walk all the way to Scotland, then I'll lose weight and get to see Sparkling. Perhaps I'll then stop calling myself the little fat man. Oh food, food what am I going to do about you?

Stop eating Chinese, biscuits, donuts, crisps, sweets, carbohydrates then whistle a happy tune you wholly.

Touched by music - Steph Stephenson

2011-08-23T21:21:00.001Z

Every once in a while I find listening to music does something emotionally to me. If I really like the music even if it is the first time I have heard it, I am moved. I don't know what it is and there's no controlling it. My eyes can well up, the song may not be sad, I just know there is something special. So when I logged onto YouTube for no particular reason I had a pleasant surprise. YouTube's front page recommendations are things I normally skip, at least 99 per cent of the time. Yet not always. This was the not always 1 per cent occasion and I'm happy I didn't. I sat an listened to a short music video by a singer called Steph Stephenson. It looks like she had made the video herself, she performed it, sang it and I am sure wrote the music as well. It is unique and wonderful to hear. The song was The Girl Who Has Everything. I liked the lyrics, the tempo the guitar music, a touch rough but bloody good going. I couldn't help myself so and followed an impulse to listen to all her other songs. The more I listened the more I liked them. She has talent. She is not a big star, just someone who has done a bit here and a bit there, but the ingredients are all present. With all the wanabes out there who just want five minutes of fame, here is a girl who sings because she loves it. So I'm asking whoever you are who reads this BLOG go and check out Step Stephenson on YouTube, give her a thumbs up and if you like her a lot buy the tracks. I'd like to say her music should go viral, but it's not for me to dictate, except in my own way with the handful of people who read my BLOGs. What a voice she has, what more could you want. Like an advert on TV, It does what it says on the tin.

One song Steph sang was Tracey Chapman's Fast Car. I sat listening and in just a moment found my eyes welling up. It could be a hormonal thing kicking in. Age. Or maybe some latent emotional genes which are really kicking in and hitting me like a baseball bat. Bloody lucky I am a bloke and not a Shirley. Hell I'd be having some kind of emotional life crisis, being a grumpy old man though I can't. I just can't. GOMs don't have emotionally charged crazy rampant don't know anything and but love the world and everything in it turmoils. Bollocks. This one does. It is called being human. Hell, this is happening more frequently in my life than I would like to admit. Especially when I am in the vicinity of Sparkling Eyes, I just let rip. Maybe I'm just being moved a lot, maybe sometimes the secrets of life really are not secrets at all. They are there and open for the entire world to see, to feel, to hear but blinkers get in the way. Which has got to be it. I've left my blinkers on the side board, or keep forgetting them. There can't be any other reason. It's just the way it is. Bloody age again. Just keep me away from the padded cells and men in white.

A new passport picture

2011-08-23T06:42:00.001Z

I got a new passport picture yesterday. Rather than using one of the boxes, where you drop coins in and it then makes you look like a convict I went into a shop where a real person took a photograph, with a real camera. I noticed the lighting was a lot different. This time I kept my glasses on even though I was asked to remove them. The photo is definitely much better. The only problem is I have an odd looking set of lips. They are neither a smile nor are they a frown. I think it was my attempt at not looking like a grumpy old man when the picture was taken, but knowing I definitely would not be allowed to smile. The cruel thing is only recently I saw a passport where the individual had a big happy smile on their face. How on earth did they get away without it not being rejected I don't know. Maybe they only reject grump old men trying to look happy but not quite pulling it off. Hence the pedantry with rules. Maybe they were only made for my sort. Bollocks.

A Fox, whale tickling and a squirrel

2011-08-22T06:56:00.001Z

Yesterday I began the task of stripping a set of windows, three in all and painting them. It seemed to take forever. Even with the help of Layabout lad it took ages. He wasn't particularly efficient and he has worse breathing problems than I do. After each stint of being up the ladder he came down panting and exhausted, after which he had to have a fag. As if inhaling smoke would somehow help his breathing and make him any better. More than ironic. During the day I saw a fox. A bloody big fox, run through the garden. It was timid and looked about as if he was on camera and was doing his best not to be photographed. Obviously this fox had a run in with the paparazzi. It must of been when he was on a date with Lady Gaga. Lucky young fox.

In the evening I had a good long hot soak in a bath, but I don't know why my muscles are still killing me. A text came through from Sparkling Eyes she to had just finished work and was exhausted. Ten straight hours with only a cup of tea to keep her going. She just so happened to be watching TV, it was a BBC documentary about whales and other large sea mammals. On her advice I quickly went to the web site and began to watch it as well. They were such wonderful giant graceful creatures. A little dingy boat when out to the sea at one point with sightseers on it. They were able to touch the whales, and tickle them. Sparkling said to me she wanted to tickle a whale, and we should go on holiday where she could tickle a whale, but it should not be Iceland. For Iceland was too cold. It had to be somewhere hot. The she said it had to be in a bigger boat then the one the people were in. Because it looked too small and like it was going to tip at any minute as tourists all pressed to one side in order for some whale tickling. I tried t explain they probably didn't have any bigger boats. It didn't matter, because Sparkling wanted to tickle whales and we were now in the throws of a conversation about my getting a passport and again if I didn't get it she would go without me. I was being well and truly warned and it was all my fault.

This morning during breakfast I let the cat out, or rather kicked him out with a tea towel as he is a reluctant outdoor cat. Five minutes later he came scampering in like he had seen a ghost. I went out to have a look and there running across the garages was a squirrel. And I don't have a shot gun. Just when you need one you don't have one. Mind I'm sure I would get carted away if I did have one and started waving it, quite rightly at vermin. What do I do? I'm sure he has got into the roof. And with our brick walls it's easy for a squirrel to go anywhere. They are like the James Bond of the vermin world. They can go anywhere they like. No wonder I haven't heard the magpies in a while. They must of moved on. I know they are the only bird I have seen to attack squirrels and drive them away. I just don't know what to do. There's no such thing as a squirrel trap, or is there. I'll have to do some research on them. See if there is something I can find out, some way to dissuade them. I suppose I could always hide their nuts. Ouch. Well it was an attempt at humour. Could be worse, I could show them I am nuts.

Google goes to the Jungle

2011-08-20T07:17:00.002Z

At one time in history the world was an unknown place. Where early Victorian explorers could find money from fellow rich Victorians and sponsor their treks around the world. Such adventures were then documented in all the European newspapers, especially at the great and wonderful discoveries made. The Victorians then would pilfer the treasures of Africa or India for example, and put them into museums. This was a sign of their greatness how they saw themselves. But let this not blind people to the reality. These Victorians were a class of society separate from the normal working man. They were from the upper classes whereas the working classes could barely make ends meet. Which does kind of piss off most of the working class people when citizens of a plundered country generalise to the whole of Great Britain. Certainly non of my relatives have ever been on such trips. So we all get tarred with the same brush. As there was more and more learnt about the world it no longer became some big adventure, technology helped a lot in this respect as the invention of air travel in turn led to the package holiday. Europe is not a mystery and the mapping of streets from a Google car has made every road open to being viewed. Only the most enduring feral places which do not have long term human residence are unmapped. Until now.

This morning's news had an item about google in the jungle. The Amazon. They have now rigged up a large heavy camera which can be trekked through the jungle. However, being pretty heavy it does require a few strong men to help lift it off the boat when it lands off some inlet from the Amazon. The mobility issues is a real problem because it means they can not actually go everywhere. They will pick and chose special treks. Or rather available and well trodden treks. After all you really don't want to get your machete out every two or three yards to cut down jungle for a decent picture. This could also lead to places of the Amazon becoming open and available to ordinary holiday makers.

Acme inc (fictitious holiday company) already has a line up of several planners waiting to see the jungle camera view. They have proposals of riverside apartments on the Amazon. These will of course be on stilts or concrete pillars, they will also have to chop down a little bit of forest to allow for aeroplanes and helicopters. Not to mention the most useful method of travel which will be by boat. A contract is already being drawn up with a local pygmy tribe to man these boats and take the new owners of these apartments up or down stream. Except nobody has yet realised Pygmies are a small tribe and their boats are small as well. This may cause a little difficulty with some of the fatter Europeans. So presently they are looking for rich anorexic short Europeans. Their plans are still on the drawing board as Acme Inc has not yet had any enquiries through their web site. They haven't yet got round the issue of building a swimming pool. Health and safety wise there are murmurs of what would happen if a croc or some large snake were to take a dip at the same time as an appartment resident. So they are playing with high doses of chlorine to see if this will dissuade the local wildlife from adventuring into swimming pools. One likely suggestion is to have a local sit on a high chair with a blow pipe. This will provide much needed employment opportunities to the pygmy's who are only just realising there is more to life than just putting a bone through your nose. Mind there is caution they do not want barriatric sight seers being mistaken for hippopotamus and darted in error. In an earlier expedition the Pygmies had inadvertently captured one of the google expeditions (prior to the beads-can-buy-anything negotiations) and found out the use of the Apple Tablet after appropriating it. When it stopped glowing and giving of light images it made a wonderful chopping board. Google is investing more into jungle level street view as they believe the world could change and give pygmies greater opportunities. However, there is a suspicion this was because one of their chief executives had married 5 pygmy brides in the last two months. He is now being sort by several tribal members, because polygamy is seen as wise, not any man can put up with five wives.

Of course there have been some protestations. The international Wildlife Fund, believe crocks could be pushed to extinction. Acme Inc's biggest rival MicroMe Corp (not to be confused with MicroSoft) as MicroMewatch this space.

I suppose it has to be accepted the world is changing. Google seems to be leading the way on this. I have made enquiries in the background whether there are some upper class British aristocrats oiling the cogs. The reply has been no, they are an equal opportunities employer nowadays and as the cogs on their wheels are pretty low down, yes, you got it. Pygmies are now the preferred assistance.

Sleeping on my back and scarey spiders

2011-08-19T06:45:00.000Z

I noticed this morning, probably more than before, how I had slept on my back. This is something I never used to do. It has crept up in the last 10 years becoming more frequent. My breathing pattern has also changed. Breaths are shorter and inhaled into the lungs rather long drawn ones inhaled downwards towards the diaphragm. This probably come about through a more sedentary lifestyle. Less getting out there and running, cycling or hitting the gym. It's like getting hot sweaty and worn out just doesn't excite me as much as sitting in front of a TV and watching a film. It could of course all be a factor of aging, or it could be pure lazyitus. So sleeping on my back which used to once feel very alien and odd is more of a natural thing to do. Weird. Though possibly a fear I used to have also played it's little part. The thought if I let myself sleep on my back my tongue might slip back into my throat and block my airways then I'd die of suffocation. This may seem out of the ordinary but it is a very true conscientious fear I had. I'm sure there is probably a name for this phobia. So besides not doing enough exercise it could be I have overcome a fear and cured myself of it by getting older and fatter. Well there is something to be said for being a short fat man then. I have become fearless. Well lets not over exaggerate, just fearless with sleeping on my back, nothing else. Spiders and other creepy crawly things are still there. But rather than flinch from them I force myself not to be a scaredy cat. The thought has now occurred to me what would happen if a spider climbed on my face and into my mouth or over my nose while sleeping on my back. What if it then spun a web? I'd possibly suffocate again. I knew I shouldn't trust those things, those little creepy things. The crawlers. No. I'll get over it. I'll just build a moat around my bed and then nothing will get close to me, I'll be safe. Maybe stick one of those medical tubes down my throat which keeps my tongue out of the way and allows me to breath air. Now I feel a lot better. Who ever would of thought sleeping on your back can cause problems?

Which reminds me of spiders. This is something Rock Chick has a phobia about as well. I know it's cruel but when I hear her shout out "mum, there's a spider in my room!" or "mum, there's a spider in the bath!" I do have a little smile on my face. Yes it is perverse and cruel I'll admit it. Sparkling does her duty and quickly takes the culprit crawly thing and throws it in the garden. She then sadistically shows me and nearly pushes the thing in my face. At this point I usually hold my breath, do my best to hide any fear I have, not and say something non commitive. "oh yes, what a nice spider" or "isn't he a big one" and with fingers crossed Sparkles throws the thing out the door. Cold sweat is abated. Relief. But I'm not manically afraid of them, just enough to know they are scary, hairy, little creepy crawly things. Bloody hell, I hope I can get to sleep tonight.

Autumn and Cheese

2011-08-17T21:41:00.000Z

I think the first signs of autumn are in the air. It's noticeable from crab apples. A tree I pass on the way to the train station is just dropping them. They get squashed on the pavement and then become slippery under foot. So like a Wally I pretend to be practicing football and always kick a few into the road. It's OK for the cars, but for us two legged people slipping on a pavement hurts, or worse. There is more wind and the odd leaf is dropping as well. So without much ado, autumn is sending silent fingers out upon the world. In no time it will be appropriate to put on jumpers, bigger coats and boots. I must get out at the weekend and attack a flaking window, with a little luck I might get to it before autumn is fully blown. It needs complete sanding, and I have some wood preserve which kills of fungus and stuff. I'll give it a coat or two, wait a few more days and then get on with an undercoat. It may take a couple of weeks.

The chance of chatting to Sparkling didn't arise today, it looks like we'll have to catch up another time. I can't wait for a break from the Fish Factory. I made my own sandwiches at lunch time. Took myself out and away from the smell of fish then ate them on a bench. Newspaper in one hand. I even laid my head back for a moment and closed my eyes. Catching a very quick power nap. It was relaxing. The sandwiches were just about edible. Too much cheese and pickle though is sure to drive me crazy as well. Tomorrow I'll probably hit the Chinese again. Better lap up what time there is, in a few weeks it'll be all rain and blustery winds. Nothing to do with the cheese either.

Fare rises and opportunities

2011-08-16T20:53:00.000Z

It was really nice to have a five minute chat with Sparkling today. It was off the cuff, I sat in a Chinese and was waiting on my mains to turn up. A lovely dish of chicken in black bean sauce and very reasonably priced. I should of made my own sandwiches and have cheese and pickle on the ready, but just didn't get round to it. It must of been my rush to hit the Fish Factory and leaving early. Beginning the fish processing at 7:50 a.m., it's been a long day, but because I have been so busy it has gone past like the blink of an eye and I've enjoyed it. So the lunchtime chit chat with Sparkles was a lovely break in the middle of the day and so good to hear her voice. Hopefully I'll get a longer chat tomorrow.

I popped my complaint letter to East Coast in the post box on the way to the station. A news item on this morning stated train fairs are allowed to increase by 8 per cent this year, and the companies were even allowed to add another 5 per cent on top of this. If this carries on it will unviable for some people to catch the train to work. Car pooling will become very real, bicycles will be pulled out of their sheds and in some cases employees will consider changing job, retiring early, or just not working at all. If you were earning minimum wage and had to travel into London it would make sense to not even bother and go on the Brew. All because the price of a ticket has gone up. Something just doesn't seem right. Public transport has to be subsidised it can not make a profit, certainly not if it is truely public.

The old burnt out Weather spoons building has been boarded up after the riots. People have now taken to writing on the boarding their love for the area and their unhappiness it had been rioted. Some have been put out of work because of the actions of the rioters. It is a shame, I hope they can find other work. Talking about the unemployed I saw Layabout Lad this evening and told him about an article I'd read in the paper about volunteering. I said to him I don't know why I'm telling you this, it's like water of a ducks back. Twenty-three years old and never held down a proper job. The writing is on the wall. I love him but he just needs to pull his finger out, and I don't mean the fingers or thumbs stuck to his Playstation. I could so easily give him a good kick up the arse, hell I'd buy an industrial firework and stuff that up it as well, maybe then he would do something proactive than sapping benefits off the state.

I recall being unemployed for nearly a whole year when I was young. It was the most depressing period of my life. I used to despise seeing people go off to work and think to myself "I bet I could do their job." It was hard as hell to drag myself out of that situation. I was lucky, then got a low paid shop job to barely make ends meet. It was a life time ago. So it is. We all have our own lives, our own choices, and where we are now is both the sum of choices made, and opportunities created.

East Coast don't delay and pay

2011-08-15T21:37:00.000Z

This evening I received a second letter from East Coast Mainline train company. A month ago I had asked for a refund under their delay and pay scheme. On a return journey from Scotland which had been delayed by one hour and twenty two minutes. This would mean a part refund on the ticket I purchased. The first time requested for a refund was made on their a standard Delay and Pay form. Their reply was as my journey had been delayed by two minutes I was not entitled to a refund. In response I wrote back to them and clearly stated the journey details, the header number for the train, date, scheduled journey times and then actual journey times. To sum up the justification of the delayed journey I then gave a description of why the train was late. Thunder strikes in Welyn Garden City. This I thought would give my letter an air of authenticity.

My response letter was very diplomatic, I didn't rage and rant like some complainants might. I advised they had got it wrong and asked they properly check their records. So today when I received a second letter which again states I am not entitled to any refund again I am somewhat vexed. It seems clear personnel at East Coast customer services either have a problem with maths, the twenty-four hour clock, and very possibly the ability to read. None of the points raised in my letter were acknowledged or answered. There was no explanation of how East Coast had calculated I was delayed by two minutes. Add into this annoyance, this second letter was not signed, there was no contact phone number and only a printed name on the bottom. The printed name is of someone from a developing country for it is not an indigenous United Kingdom name, although I am pretty sure the letter was not sent from abroad. No international post marks, just a reply address in Plymouth if it was not received by the addressee.

The one thing in favour of East Coast mainline is they have given a free post address. So no matter how many rejection letters they send it will not cost me anything in postage to reply to them again. This is something I fully intend to do if they reject this letter. After of course I've researched on who the directors of the company are and who the regulator is, or even ombudsman, then they are all going to be included in a response. I'll give them waste my time. The gloves are off East Coast.

Gardening gives the aches

2011-08-14T20:26:00.000Z

I've spent a good part of the day gardening. Muscles have been used which didn't know they existed. They are crying out, screaming in pain and agony. A hot bath did calm them a little, but still they scream out they are saying "ouch, ouch, ouch." My body feels so heavy it is like a sack of potatoes. The phone rang while I was in the middle of it and retired English Teacher was on the line. The conversation lasted about an hour, maybe more. My muscles got stiff, they had been given a chance to rest and they then began to scream, "no more, no more, no more," but it has been a sunny day, the job had to be done. It was hard physical going. Shovelling dirty from one place to another. I will get a good night's sleep I'm sure. Perhaps even comatose. Good and long. Eyes feel heavy. For a moment I closed them when sitting down for some telly time. I dosed off, as I am now so prone to do and consider part of the aging process. If I were younger things would be different. Then it would be no problem at all. My hands are covered in grazes and I have a massive blister on one palm. It cries out. "soothe me, soothe me, sooth me." There are so many messages this aging body is giving I don't know where to start. At one point when I was so tired I felt like I had pushed myself to the limit and would collapse. I was going on fumes. Had lost my breath and my arms were refusing to work. My body very nearly went on strike.

A back rub would be nice. Where's Sparkling when I need her? Seems like a I'll just have to go to bed early and let these heavy limbs hold me down and fight off dreams of gardening, dirt, shovels and buckets.

Passport picture of a convict

2011-08-14T06:38:00.003Z

After a little motivation from Sparkling which went along the lines of "we have got to go on holiday. Am I going to have to go on my own?" and "I will have to go with someone else then" followed by "all because you don't have your passport!" I went out of my way spent a little more time trying to work out how to complete the passport application form. Rang up the help line. Got a bored stiff girl on the line who no doubt felt because she had fielded so many calls from idiots who can't complete the form she had either contemplated suicide or chemical induced coma. Well the booklet is about 30 pages long and most of it completely irrelevant. It's design is awful and you just can't find the information you need in an instance. Shame on you Identity and Passport Service. Getting back to the point. I completed the form and went off to get a photo done.

Now I am sure there is no Australian connection in my family genes. But maybe it is down to the genes, because 5 minutes after I've had a shave I look like I need another shave. So having a permanent dark shadow. Being it was a Saturday and there was no particular need to look beautiful, I tend to spend the minimum time shaving. A bit like the song What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor? The razor wasn't quite rusty but it was on it's last couple of shaves. Essentially the longest stubble had been cut back but there is always a little which persists. I headed of to the shops for a photo machine. Thinking to myself it will only be a couple of quid, in, then out, done and ready for posting. Well this was my first mistake, the photo machine cost £5!!! Bloody hell, I could of gone to a professional photographer and got it done for that. It's only a poxy photo machine. There's nothing special about it.

I got the right change sat in the machine and went throught the photo taking process. The voice of a woman told me what to do. She must of been sitting inside the machine because it sounded a bit mechanical come echo like. Not sitting on my seat but behind the lens. Mind I have never seen anyone open a door at the back and climb into it, but it would account for the extortionate price. Obviously she needed to head off to Mayfair for a cup of tea at some bistro. Hence conning passport photo seeking saps like myself. The machine flashed once. I sat dead straight, so still like it was an early 1900s camera. Bloody idiot. I wasn't too happy with the image it had taken, so pressed a button for it to take another shot. Maybe it would be better. I didn't have any make-up, not that make-up is something I carry around with myself, but I know if Sparkles was there she'd off chastised me until somehow the picture looked better. Oh yes, you are not allowed to smile either. This is what the instructions said. It flashed a second time. Hmm still not looking so good. Maybe it will print out different I thought. Wolly. I swished the curtain back stepped outside and waited patiently.

It must be the extra cost they have put on these photo-me machines, because it didn't take long at all. I'm sure I heard a printer working in the background. A light flashed red where the photos drop out so I collected them. Which was when I understood why the light was red. My face must of been similar to an escaped convict. This isn't good I thought to myself. Opened up my rucksack slid the picture in a book, closed up the ruck sack and walked out as calmly as possible. Just in case the red light was supposed to have a siren with it and the thing wasn't working. Maybe the £5 was a bribery charge. Giving me enough time to get out of there before the men in blue picked me up, handcuffed me and looked at any outstanding arrest warrants. Then put the thumb screws on and I'm sure someone would review the footage of the recent riots with my photo one side of the monitor.

Now I am set with a dilemma. The passport picture will be used for 10 years, so do I want to look like a convict for the next 10 years. May I add an older more mature, hardened looking convict. Probably one who had a string of petty crimes and loads of tattoos. Except I don't have any tattoos, but am lucky the photo machine didn't put some on just for good measure. I had also taken off my glasses so there wouldn't be a flash across the lenses which would of made the photos invalid. So perhaps I was squinting without realising it. My eyes look narrow and beady. Hell, if I saw myself walking down the street looking like that, I'd arrest me. I am going to have to think about this now. Shall I get another picture done? Or be a convict for the next 10 years? God, will I get stripped searched next time I go through customs? Pounced on by men in uniforms. Arrested for looking shifty, shady or related to some kingpin character? Or am I The Kingpin character? Ten years could seem like a long time. But they don't have anything on me, I'm innocent I tell you, innocent!!! God what will Sparkling say?

A wise man and some post it notes

2011-08-13T07:30:00.002Z

I'm missing Sparkling Eyes. It's been too long since I last saw her and with the rotas at the Fish Factory it may be a few more weeks before I can get the leave. This has been a long hard Fish preparation year. Leave owing to me is stacking up faster than airplanes over a strike affected airport. I'm chained to the gut table, where serrated knives are skillfully used to dissect those little sprats. But I sure don't know why we're gutting sprats of all fish, they haven't harmed anyone. I spoke to Sparkling and she told me how she needed a back rub and a hug and missed me. I too need a back rub, it just feels so tight. All those knots have to be eased out. I need to stop eating chips as well, both belly and heart are telling me this.

I think with the less time you have to calm down and chill out with the people you love the more likelihood of bad habits creeping in. And this is something they do actually do, creep in. Then again some of the culprits are family members and are equally liable to the causes of stress and strain, as they do things you can not understand. Things which defy logic and sensibility. This is the way of human nature. Or rather of other individual's human nature for it is just another thing which can not be controlled, they will do what they do. Even when the actions result in pain and discomfort which is so obvious. It's like some are on a trip to make their life even harder and more difficult and put themselves into awkward places. There's a kind of inevitability about it. Insome part I have become a misanthrope and so prefer my own company. I can rely on myself or not rely on myself. If I can't rely on myself then I know the reasons why. This is why as society there is the need of rules and law, of social norms to pull and tug us into line. Unfortunately sometimes those rules and laws can be a hindrance to some. What can you do? Nothing. To use the old overworked cliche "at the end of the day" we all have to make our own mistakes and then live with them.

This reminds me of a story I once heard. A wise man went to a village while he was on a long trip and sort shelter. There word soon got around the wise man was temporarily shacked up. The people of the village asked the wise man to help them, they pleaded with him. They all had problems, they all thought they could not deal with their problems and were unhappy and stressed out by it all. So the wise man led the villagers out of the village to a field where there was a large tree, with lots of branches. He said to the villagers to take all their worries and write them on post-it notes. Then to stick them on the tree. These post-it notes were weather proof and had exceptionally strong glue. He then said to the villagers to go away for the night and sleep, given they had lifted such a weight off their minds. The next day he said to the villagers then to go up to the tree and read the notes and take away a worry or problem. So they all went reading the notes and removing them till the tree was bare again. The wise man went off on his journey. A few days later the villagers discussed what had happened. It was then found each villager had removed their own post it notes again rather than someone elses. Which probably says a couple of things. People like their own post-it notes, or they prefer their own problems to anybody elses. They are comfortable with them. Problems are like friends, held close and then spoken about with affection or maybe not if they are not much of a friend. Well at lease for one night the villagers got a good night's sleep.

Yes, I'm missing Sparkling. When I speak to her I tell her I love her and when I text her I love her some more and when I sleep she is always the last thing on my mind as I wish I could hug her. As for post it notes I got lots of them, but rather than write problems on they hold reminders. Memo, stop eating chips.

Rioters cause a shortage of mayonnaise

2011-08-10T19:28:00.001Z

Where I live in London there have been riots. To tell the truth, not exactly where I live but in the immediate area of the Fish Factory and the area I was born in. It certainly has been a sad time when looking at the aftermath of what happened. But it is not a full reflection of society here, just the disaffected youth who are crying out for attention and more importantly their own self esteem, give them a job and I'll bet you'd not see them out on the roads doing the stuff they did. They certainly are not "sick" as David Cameron would label them. If we put labels on people then they become stigmatised. If I were a Christian then forgiveness would be the word of the day. Followed up by reflection. How could we have made them feel they do not need to demonstrate and cause criminal acts, where have we gone wrong in society? Questions politicians no matter how powerful they are do not know the answer to, there are just too many factors to consider. As Sparkling would say to Mr Cameron "walk a mile in my shoes." Of course being a millionaire this is something he could never do or understand. Shame on you Mr Cameron, big shame on you.

The riots personally hit me today as I left the pub and decided to go for a portion of chips for my tea. In normal circumstances I have got into the habit of popping into another pub part of the Wetherspoons chain, inside there I would pilfer a sachet of mayonnaise or two and some ketchup. I'd head to the chippy, order my chips, dose them with copious salt and vinegar then put the mayo on top and really enjoy them. There is something ultimately satisfying about having mayonnaise on chips. It always reminds me of the first time I tasted this combination, which was in Belgium, Brussels if I am not mistaken. There I went with the retired English teacher and a big group. English Teacher would organize it and as a group get us a good deal on a break lasting 5 or 6 days. Traveling usually to two different places, but really enjoying it. So without doubt chips and mayo have a marker in my memory, not just their great combined taste but also of Brussels. Not the sprouts, the real place. So today, I went to the chip shop, where there is not a man who thinks he is Elvis, but there were two blokes who looked Nepalese and ordered my chips. Salt then vinegar on top. Then as I walked out I could not put mayonnaise on top of them. Because the Wetherspoons pub was burnt out. There is nothing there but a blackened burnt shell. All because of the rioters. So I can no longer enjoy the taste of mayonnaise with my chips. I'll not hide it this makes me a little sad, even though it is probably good news for my waistline and the weighing scales.

So in trying to find the good side of something which was not pleasant, the rioters have saved me a few pounds in weight. But it didn't stop me for buying chips. Which is my own fault. Sparkling sent me a text as though to say the world was all doom and gloom and the government would be brought down. However, I don't think it will. The sun will raise and set each day. Birds will tweet, and pigeons will vex me, as will the pigeon man who still persists in feeding the flying rats. Help needed anyone with an idea of how to sort him out please get back to me. Read earlier blogs to get a jist of it. Oh well back to the chips.

The roof pigeons have invited a guest

2011-08-08T20:26:00.001Z

This morning I got up early, took my skipping rope to the garages and had a little hop. After only a couple of hundred skips I'd pulled a muscle in my calf, great. Saw the nefarious man who throws bread to the pigeons as he took his car out of the garage. I hold contempt for him and have been mindful of how angry he makes me feel. As I said to Sparkling the other day, if I lamp him one and get carted off to the cop shop, it's not going to look good at the Fish Factory. My running out to the garages at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m. is to catch the bastard, but he daren't feed the birds with me about. I went in after only 600 skips, I just couldn't do it with a pulled muscle and kept whipping myself with the rope. Not intentionally, it's made of leather and spins pretty quick. The rope. So heading in I put some toast on, and kept an eye on the roof. A few pigeons flew overhead. One went onto the roof and I sprayed him with water. Put the kettle on, buttered my toast, then had a look out the window, to see a bunch of the disease ridden flying rats come swooping down. The bastard had done it again. I went out in the garden and could just see a couple of pieces of rolls thrown up on a garage. He is sneaking into the garages again after I finished my skipping and then because I've been throwing his bread back into his garden he now throws it on the garage roofs. I can feel my anger welling up. I say to myself, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have a skip in the morning once in a while. It looks like the only way I'm going to sort him out is to sit out in the garages on a chair the entire morning the bollock him out if he tries a sneaky. I'm waiting for the cat to have a big crap in his dirt tray, because it's got the bastards name on it and is going to get bunged over into his garden.

So I went back in the kitchen after spraying some more water at the pigeons and the flew off leaving the bits of bread on the garage. I didn't think much. Just pissed off. Had a sip of fresh coffee, bite of my toast, walked out in the garden, looked over the wall into the garages. Turned round to head back in the kitchen, and there sitting on the wall was a big porky, hairy, fury flipping squirrel. My paranoia with pigeons has now moved to a new level. The last thing anyone wants in the roof is a squirrel. Shit. Picked up the hose, turned it on and sprayed the furry flea bitten pest, it bounded away and quite easily dodged the water. I turned off the hose. Went back into the kitchen for another sip of coffee and bite of my toast, added a little black pepper. Went out in the garden looked over at the garages. Blow me down, the squirrel had come back, got ontop of the garages and was eating the bread. Little fecking shit. I now have no doubt there is a time and place for the ownership of a double barrelled shot gun for pest control purposes. This is the time and the place. Unfortunately I'm not a person interested in fire arms or keeping them, just on mounting pigeon heads or even the odd squirrel head. After all the grey ones are not indigenous to this country and are classed as vermin here. Our native species is the red squirrel. I personally think we should capture all the grey ones and send the to America in one big bloody tanker.

If I am lucky I will get up early tomorrow. If I am really lucky I'll prevent the pigeons, squirrel and local bastard from getting their own way. If they are really unlucky I'll inherit a shot gun from a long lost deceased uncle and bloody use it. Then look up ways in which to cook both squirrel and pigeon while the. Anyone for some pie?

Tottenham riots, pigeons and flat screen TVs

2011-08-07T07:28:00.001Z

The roofer rang back only 36 hours late. I guess a workman's idea of punctuality is in a different time zone to the rest of us. The man who puts bread in the garages for the pigeons is still doing it. And if I get up early enough I just pick it up and bung it back over the garages into his garden. Riots are taking place in North London. Police cars on fire, buses on fire and shops being looted. I heard the radio and one bloke said "if I were walking down the street and a rioter come up to me and asked if I'd like a flat screen TV for ten quid, I'd buy it," If you ask me there'd be a cue of people and a riot to buy the flat screen off the rioter. Cheap at five or six times that price. I also heard of Innocent bystanders being mugged by gangs of youths. This quelled my notion of getting a bus to Tottenham, I don't want to add a little fat man to their statistics. Not only that if they burnt the bus leaving how'd the hell would I get home. By following the pigeons no doubt. There's a Yahoo video of a storm brewing in Canada, it appears as a cloud spreads outwards the head of a man appears. Blimey, I thought I recognise that bloke looks like the one who feeds the pigeons. I threw some bread at the monitor and watched it disperse. Wondering if I should shave and wash today or be stinky and unshaven, well if I were in Tottenham I wouldn't want to be recognised. I could put some clothes on which well make me look different so no one would recognise me. Because descriptions of people are really descriptions of clothes and general physical appearance. Perhaps some ballet shoes and a tutu. Fat hairy legged short arse gets mugged in Tottenham. He says to a reporter "the Tutu didn't do it's job, and I thought my body odour would ward them off." Ambulance stops and takes him away. The newscaster on the radio seemed to sympathise with him saying "he only wanted a flat screen TV and now he's been sectioned, poor bastard." Mind there are reports of rioters having a certain feeling, a feeling in the air (not like Phil Collins) one more of being hard up and angry at the government. Another caller on the radio said it was the police who started it, they made it worse by not talking to an earlier group of protesters. Can't say I've ever seen the police selling flat screen TVs cheaply. I'm sure with all that riot gear they'd have a problem sticking them in the van. The one which didn't get torched of course. Or maybe this was why they were ablaze in the first place? I'm sure it's a localised incident and will not spread. Better put these running shoes away then. Which reminds me of someone who once used plastic bottles for his Molotov cocktails. I think he was fifty pence short of a pound, if not more.

Oh well looks like a nice day. Better get on my bike, good thing about a Tutu is although it might ride up yours arse it never gets in the way of a bicycle chain.

Painting a gate, looking at mortar, and lots to do

2011-08-05T22:05:00.001Z

Today I creosoted a garden gate. It was in desperate need before further decline takes place. Hopefully it will last another 10 years. I got in touch with a roofer who was going to ring me back and give an estimate on the pigeon situation. Alas I got no call back. It seems those pigeons have got someone looking over them. Well if they have they had better keep a close eye for there are now 6 different roofer phone numbers written on post-it notes in front of me. I'll choose another one and have another go. If they can't be bothered with calling me back I can't be bothered in chasing them up and the obviously don't need the money or my custom. Lastly I have been checking out pointing again. It seems the best tool to get is a mortar raker, however this would be bought in conjunction with an angle grinder. However, I am now stuck on one thing. It's getting black or very dark grey mortar to match the rest of the mortar. It seems DIY stores just have bog standard mortar and don't take into account people have different mortar needs. I don't know if it is a man thing but gathering all this information about how to point and understanding a good consistency of mortar I do actually find quite interesting. It is good to keep busy doing things. It's odd I also can't help feeling there is so much to do and so little time to do all the things I want to do. I suppose, what matters is doing some of them and at least making the attempt, because even with the creosote today, it had to be done, was a small but job even though it took some time and had a practical and useful purpose. A little bit of success is useful (I said that).

I have barely drunk any alcohol this week. Amazingly I can't believe how much extra money ended up in my wallet, but has got spent on tools. It has been weird seeing a wallet with notes in it. I don't drink a great deal mind a pint is expensive. Perhaps it was the substitute soda and lime which has helped. Or the really hot days which make me want to drink first quenching refreshing liquids.. Alternatively I could be going through some kind of phase changing from one habit to another. Not forgetting we are in a recession and every penny does count. The next money saving tip is to cancel gym membership. Even though Ive been a member for years and years. Like just being a member is enough to be fit and stave off obesity. When in fact it has to be used. My gym kit is under a desk somewhere getting dusty. Economically it makes sense, and anyway, my body isn't so much body beautiful but more of slobba body but trying not to be, but I've learnt, even short fat men can be productive. Now then angle grinders, yes, 115 mm is equal to 4 and a half inches. This is one fact amongst many I also learnt. OK feather in hat what's next? Should I get a safety hat incase the walls falls on top of me? Fingers crossed, if not trowels.

Moving building

2011-08-03T21:17:00.000Z

The Fish Factory is about to move. From a 1960s building into a 2011 brand spanking new building. I went and visited the new place today. Lets just say human nature is change, but at the same time it is a resistance to change. Especially when you have no control over it and someone else has imposed their god like will. In this case it would be the very big fishes who have such a will, whereas I'm just a lower down the pecking order just-about-middling fishy. So mine will is to be bended every which way both from above and from below. I digress as I wonder whether I should of taken the tactic of being arrogant and disliked. The scare the crap out of them all stance. Nope. The thought has gone, because I'm just not like that. So next week the big move takes place. It's not like it will take place in a single day either. It will take two days but has in actuality been longer to prepare, as I've thrown out reams of redundant paper work. The hoarder in me would normally say this is all important and should be kept. However, at the new building there will not be space. In fact there is so little space there is barely enough room on a work station to have a keyboard. Add into it the factor of a book or two and it becomes cramped. Very cramped. It's one of these so called paperless offices. I find it difficult using the term paperless and find it difficult when someone from above wants to tell me how I should work, when I already know the best way I do work. For me it's with a lot of paper, on a middle to large desk and being utterly untidy. Then I just get up from the chair when I am about to leave and don't give a monkey's fart how dishevelled my desk is. Because the next morning I'll sit down to it and know exactly where I am and where I should start. But the big fishes never asked the opinions of anyone else, they held the cheque book and thought it would be wonderful to control the working lives of thousands of little fish because it made them feel important. Hail big fish, hail big fish.

So you can probably tell there is a little discontent of having to adopt new working practices. Imposed practices. I can see it now, it will not take too many days before there have been some complaints put against me because I've left an untidy desk. Oh I nearly forgot. All because the Big Fish loves a hot desk. Hot desk! I'll give them hot bloody desking, matches and incendiary fluids come to mind. The reality is, it might be a new building but the working methods prescribed are no more than adopted fashion statements which may have worked in other businesses but those other businesses were a little bit different to the business of Fishy counting, gutting or filleting. See fashion comes and goes. It then comes back round again. Research I once read on clear desk workers stated those workers where the type who preferred to do monotonous tasks. The same thing repeatedly. Whereas the untidy desk people were generally categorised as thinkers, their level of working was not related to the mass production of widgets but rather the piecing together of the Titanic, where the rudder was big enough to turn it so it didn't crash into icebergs. Which is a case where statistics are not always everything. Especially if you don't know how to interpret them and very, very many people don't. What I will try and do is find a desk inside a fridge, take a light with me and some air ventilation and stay there. It will also prevent other people from finding me and be nice and quiet.

It looks nice, it looks new, and on my viewing I just happened to spill water from my disposable cup onto the lovely new carpet. It didn't notice too much, I kind of shuffled my feet over it so it soaked in. Fortunately there will be no eating at desks either. I'd hate to drop a few chunks of curry chicken onto the lovely carpet, especially if someone else saw. Memo to self: Stay inconspicuous.

One predicament after the other "I can't believe it!"

2011-08-02T21:59:00.001Z

My evening has been full. It began with opening a letter from East Coast Mainline. I had applied for a part refund because of the delay delay on a train coming back to London after seeing Sparkling Eyes. The letter stated as my journey had been delayed by 2 minutes they were going to give me vouchers to the value of "£." That is a pound sign with a full stop. It meant of course there were no vouchers to refund part of a trip which was actually delayed by 1 hour and 22 minutes. I looked at the letter and the words which come out of my mouth echoed those of Victor Meldew. Yes they were "I can not believe it," followed by a little bit of John McEnroe "You can not be serious!" My gaze was somewhat fixed on the letter in disbelief. For now it meant I would have to expend more effort and write back to them. As if life isn't short enough as it is, they want me to waste more of it because East Coast Mainline can't read or understand their own tickets and time tables. It was delayed you idiots, pay me back my part refund per your own Customer Charter. I would jump up and down and shout "NOW, NOW! I WANT MY MONEY BACK NOW!" However the whole excitable episode would be completely missed if there was no one to see it or sympathise with my predicament.

I did not get right onto the letter straight away. I had to hit the local DIY store jumping on my bike and cycling a mile and half down the road. My mind was still buzzing from yesterdays quote"do what you can do" see yesterday's blog for details. I was now in search of drill bits which would allow me to do some pointing work. Something I have never done in my entire life, but have seen on You Tube. Every DIY enthusiast must love YouTube. So I got on my bike pretty quick as time was ticking past and I'd lost about an hour of it when I hit the pub for a two non alcoholic drinks to quench my first after Fish Factory hours. Down at the store I did a military march to the power tools section, walked round, picked up a small trowel thinking I would need this. Then put the trowel down because I also thought it wouldn't be worth it if I couldn't buy the drill bit. I found the drill bits section. With the eyes of a kestrel I stood there scanning each displayed set of drill bits. Searching. Going from one section of the display to another. I had walked sideways and didn't even blink, because I couldn't miss these bits. I needed it. I must have it or I won't be able to do the pointing. It wasn't there. I didn't jump up and down again, although at this point it was justified and I would of been a bit better in my making a scene, on account of having had previous experience with East Coast Mainline and their astutely moronic letter. I shuffled sideways again, not blinking or taking my attention anywhere else, I was like a cat about to pounce. As if it would do me some good. What a waste of time. It definitely was not there. So I got back on my bike and went home and spent an hour writing a letter.

I rang up the retired English teacher, because it was about time I found out how he was getting on. He was still in the throws of a campaign stopping the local Council from building on some land next to where he lived. It is on the front facing the river Thames. He had successfully pulled together a community group and given them an acronym just for this purpose. They in turn recently had a full page spread in the local rag about how they were fighting the development process and were tidying up the river front with the help of local volunteers. He had also got a petition presented at parliament by the local MP. This retired chappy was building bonds in the community and showing the Dunkirk spirit. I can't imagine the number of hurdles he had to go through to get to this point. Whereas there I was, in one evening and unable to get a bit or my money back from East Coast Mainline. I'll also mention how he is about to have his 5 year check up to see if he is in full remission of a bowel cancer he had removed. I strongly expect retired English Teacher did not jump up and down, either when he organized a campaign or when he found out about his cancer. But I'll tell you what I'll do it for you mate, because someone deserves to shout out in anguish. By this time I would be on my third run and quite proficient.

The moral of the story, keep yourself busy and if you need to jump up and down, do it so no one else sees it because then you might of just lost it and the sound of sirens will hit you before the feel of a relatively tight little jacket. White is quite a nice colour, isn't it?

Ladders are for men

2011-08-01T19:46:00.000Z

Fantastic, I have now weaved through the process of purchasing a set of ladders. What a palaver. Especially getting payment details set up. But it's done. So in the next few days I can expect a phone call from the DIY people and a delivery date. So I can then get on with stripping and painting a window which desperately needs attention, then having a closer look at guttering and even the slate where the pigeons appear to be entering. Although this part may be limited as the entry point is a few feet away from the gutter. My arms wont quite stretch that far, unless I happened to be Mr Fantastic from the Fantastic 4. But were I Mr Fantastic there would of been no need for ladders in the first place. Being fantastic certainly has its advantages.

Understanding what is needed for a set of ladders is a bit of a process. There are so many kinds on the market. Three section and two section extension ladders come in various lengths. Not to mention the three way, five way, twelve way combination ladders. They can also be bought in different grades. Depending on how much weight they are to hold. If I were a hod carrier I'd need something a bit stronger, but I'm not and fortunately don't suffer from excessive overweight. In addition, no matter how long the ladder is, this length isn't the length it will be used for. The base has to stand away from the wall. It's always difficult to tell this, but the taller the ladder is the easier it is to give yourself more space between the ladder and the wall. It's convenient to have some length to play with. I opted out for a nice long two section ladder, with each section at 4.2 metres. Which was another minor issue. Bloody metres when I'm a foot and inches person. They never did metres when I was at school. A metre is just a little longer than three feet, I'm guessing about 3 feet and 4 inches, approximately. Which is enough to know. Too much more information and it will knock some other vital piece of data out of my memory. Something I may need one day and then will not know I need it because I've forgotten it. So when my ladder eventually turns up it should be about 8 inches high. No, it must be a bit higher. At 8.4 metres when at full length. Enough. Yep, enough and manly enough, I think as I nod my head. I should be able to do a great deal with it. Lots of man things. Ladders are for men hmmm.

Funny how doing something like ordering a set of ladders has now inspired me. To the extent I have now checked out the local DIY store to find it closes at 9 p.m. tonight. I'm almost of a mind to go there, but as it's only 25 minutes to closing time, I'll not fully savour the aroma of being a butch man in a butch man store. Amongst all those tools and things. Not to mention the weird fascination looking at screws can give me. When I check them out I wonder what they would be used for. Some are flat topped, some rounded, they may be cross or flat faced, sunken or not, and made in all different lengths and different materials, you name it and I'm sure there is a screw made from it which has a specific purpose. It must be absolutely wonderful to know exactly the type of screw you need for the job you are doing. Each with it's purpose. Not quite but nearly as exciting as looking and purchasing stationary. I honestly love buying blank notebooks. I don't know if it's an odd thing to admit, but a few hours in a big stationary shop or a DIY shop to me is relaxing. Maybe I should go to them more often.

For the time being I'll settle on the ladders. I just hope they will love me as much as I will love them. Damn better not let Sparkling know she has got some competition.

Ladders and their obstacles

2011-07-31T19:58:00.001Z

This morning was exhausted by checking out the DIY store for a set of ladders. I looked at the store's web site and found what I wanted. Then headed down towards the store, walked around it, found the ladders section, but the pair I'd seen online were not in the store. You can set your mind to doing something and find there is an obstacle in the way. This obstacle then stops you in your track then another decision has to be made. In searching for quotes about obstacles I came across this one:

"Don't let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do."

~ John Wooden

This is a great little side stepping method. There is a term called functional fixedness. When you look at an object in a certain way and can only see a certain use for it. When it becomes difficult to extrapolate a different us or different way of using the object. This is the being stuck or functional fixedness. Wooden's quote here says to me. OK, you can't climb up a ladder today and do the thing you needed to do, however I could of charged up the drill, purchased the appropriate items for another project and done some research for it in order to do the project. But I let myself get stuck in one frame of mind and one idea. There is always something you can do, if you can't do what you wanted to do. Simple as that.

This afternoon I had a bicycle ride, for need of exercise and to release my thoughts. I didn't know what to do with myself. You could say I was at a loose end. Indeed now I think about it there were other things I could of done, but I didn't, I rode my bike, stopped at a bench near the Thames and sat there. It has been a beautiful hot day, with little in the way of humidity. I sat watching the odd boat and tried to combat the distractions of my thoughts. Thoughts which have a way of creeping up on you and not really helping out. I noticed a large orange buoy in the water. On one side of it there appeared to be water resistance as an waves indicated. Taking into account the direction of the waves it became a simple solution, the Thames was in the process of having a tide and the water was coming in. I tried to sit up straight as I realised I was slumping. The warmth of the sun was relaxing. I felt a need to chat and a pang for Sparkles. It happens once in a while. And although the place and time was relaxing and nice, I watched those other distracting thoughts and wrestled control, gently otherwise I'd of surely looked like a wild crazy man. Wrestling yourself can be a noticeable thing in public places. Mind wrestling is much less observable.

So Wooden's quote in some other respects is about going with the flow. If a buoy happens to be in the way the water will push around it and just carry on doing what it has to do. Oh to be like water.

Being drunk

2011-07-30T19:02:00.000Z

Alcohol has a tendency to make me 1. soppy, 2. emotional 3. hungry 4. Happy, 5. in need of talking to those I love. When I ring up those I love they are usually sobre at this point. Sparkling Eyes doesn't want to hear me. But may I say when she rings me and I am sobre and she is drunk, I have to listen to her, even though my head gets in a right tizzy. I get hungry. I can't help it. I drink, get drunk and need a portion of chips. It's definitely not good for me, because of all those calories and my new found way of going into a Weatherspoons pub and stealing sachets of sauce to put on my chips. Emotional, dam I get so emotional and tuned into to all sorts of stuff it is almost as though everything which happens when someone talks to me that I feel it has happened to me. Lets not forget being happy. I'm a happy drunk. I get tired want to sleep and also have a silly smile on my face, which probably goes hand in hand with the desire to hug everyone. What the hell happens when I get drunk I don't know. Just it releases some inner person to a much greater extent. No matter what I do I can't get away from him, he's me but he's a different me. Awwe and lets just say I could do with a good hug from Sparkling on such occasions. Even if she has her sane head on and is avoiding me like the plague. Such is the demeanour of being drunk.

Shame on me.

Farewell to a fish

2011-07-29T20:00:00.001Z

Someone left at the Fish Factory today. He'd been made redundant, had worked for 24 years and now was off. Blimey 24 years just like that, all over with. People he'd known, friends made, chit chats had and all to end today. At least he didn't wear a suit and was cazh (casual dressed). A nice bloke. It made me think a bit of my own place in the pond. How the inevitable was soon to happen, soon in this case being the next three plus years. When my efforts to climb the ladder and actually get to do a fish chopping job I like; then big boss of the ocean has decided it will all go. So typical how some huge whale comes along and bosses about the other fishes, and doesn't really understand the roles they play. Doesn't understand the cogs in the wheels. But at some point will strut their gills forwards and say with emphatic and loud burps "I did this...I did that...had I not done the world would be a worse place..." What a load of old twaddle. There sure are too many whales out there in this world strutting their stuff and pulling their weight. Making themselves look good, when they are not doing anyone any favours. Just looking for their own little pot bellied egos to be stroked. "oh you are so good Mr Whale, the world is a changed and better place." When the reality is the world is not a better changed place at all. Whales I have learnt have little brains, so there's a lot they don't take into account. Little brains and big mouths.

Well there's only one choice left, become a turtle. Then I'll be able to pull my head into my shell and pretend nothing exists outside of my own comfy place.

Summer holidays and crazy kids

2011-07-28T20:14:00.000Z

You can always tell when it's the summer holidays. There are kids all over the place, like flys buzzing around a warm pile of dung. Having a kid and letting them loose in the world is the fashion statement of summer. You can't get away from them. Wherever you turn there are parents and sprogs. Every shop, every pavement, every doorway, every available seat, shop, bus stop, cafe, there they are. All shapes and sizes not to mention variety of volumes. Some are stuck on constant screaming loud and while others could of been mistaken for taking an ampetamine or two. Mums do their Linda Blair impression, bellowing the name of their offspring and breaking all fragile glasses as thier pitch out does any opera singer. I can see their heads turn on necks as they look around for the little angel of their life. Plastic lenses were developed to withstand such excrutiating screeches.

Summer becomes the time when the worst of child caring abilities is on show for the world to see. It is outlandish with absolutely no conscience. For the children, angish and psychological scars are developed to taunt them when they have grown into adults. "I can remember when my mum shouted at me..." Many a therapist could be kept in perpetual work with it all. This is how love is expressed for the sproggs. Love which comes from a hypercritical do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do attitude. It's obvious here learning by example has no meaning.

I do not know how we survive as a human race, or even how we progressed from an ape like form to standing upright. There must of been a genetic defect which allowed us to communicate by vocalising words and not grunting. It is the only rational explanation, especially when you see these little creatures full of energy and their in tow companions parental figures. Emotional maturity, sexual maturity and intellectual growth take three completely different routes. Were the human race to reach a form of emotional and intellectual equilibrium before hormones were allowed their rampant release, the world would be a different place.

Sprogs. You can't help but love them, it's just everything else attached.

Twighlight Zone Coincidence or not?

2011-07-28T07:58:00.001Z

Sometimes you can watch a movie or episode from a program and it will stick in your mind. It stays there hidden away but remembered. Not forgotten like other passively viewed material. Somehow it has had an impact. This for me is true of an episode I once saw of the Twilight Zone. A fantastic series of science fantasy weird stuff, I think made in the 60s or perhaps earlier, but great viewing. Funny thing is although I enjoyed watching the TZ there was only every one episode I could remember. About a man on a planet who was given a robot to keep him company. The robot was a woman. A real woman acting the part not some make believe set of metal cans stuck together. The man got to love his robot woman and then one day a spaceship landed and said he could go back home. He wanted to take his robot but they said it wasn't possible, maybe because of the extra weight. He refused to go back and they in turn broke or killed the robot woman. The program ended. But it had somehow left it's mark on my mind. The episode was old and in black and white. Of all the episodes I saw this one I remembered. Amazing.

By some very odd and mysterious chance, I then happen to come across an episode of TZ. Coincidence or not? It was the same one I had seen years before, the one which left an imprint on my psyche. From nowhere it had come, it's called The Lonely. I did think the one of the original actors was Spencer Tracy but I was wrong. It was Jack Warden, who had led an interesting life before he went into acting. Nightclub bouncer, was active during the second world war and broke his leg in a parachute jump and decided to become an actor. He was a juror No 7 in 12 Angry men as well. The robot was played by a British actress called Jean Marsh. I found this a little odd as the series was made in America, she would of been in the US at the time. Quite a feat for a young woman to travel there and pursue her career. Jean Marsh subsequently made her name in a British TV series called Upstairs Downstairs (Rose Buck). She was even married for a while to Joh Pertwee 1955-1960 which probably related to the fact she had also done a few episodes of Doctor Who and has continued her acting career since.

The Twilight Zone was a great TV series. Each episode lasting about half an hour and having some thought provoking moral question. The weird and wonderful mixed with the foibles of human nature. So I couldn't help wonder whether this coincidence was along the same lines. A clash of random possibilities all coming together to make a reality in a time and place which meant something. Something to me. In a world of statistical improbabilities there is certainty an improbably event can and will happen on occasion. Well I'm glad it was watching TZ and not being hit by a meteorite. Worse still would of be something unfortunate while at sea. It begs the question of whether someone can actually be unlucky. Especially when being unlucky is a statistical probability. Because some unlucky events events are highly stacked in happening. For example losing a bet on a horse race, not winning the national lottery, becoming a famous film star and having tea with Jean Marsh. In which case, crossing fingers, not walking under ladders or having a lucky rabbits foot are all pretty much irrelevant. If something will happen it either will or it will not and it will depend on the odds, but once in a while the odds aren't as unlikely as you'd think.

Big Momma has been swearing

2011-07-25T19:40:00.000Z

Big Momma has been having a bout of swearing. She has just been dropping a lot of those words which builders use. The F word and the C word. The worse thing is she has been doing this in front of her grandsons. They spoke to me in confidence saying, "I love Big Momma but she has been swearing a lot. I want the old Big Momma back. She's lovely." What can I say. She does what she does and is not a state hired granny but a full and propper granny. I am sure she will revert back to her ordinary knitting-clothes-for-babies-self in no time. But let this be said, sometimes a good swear is good. It acts like a release valve. I know, I've had the F word used on me a few times, come to think of it, even the C word. However, I don't let it get on my rag.

Just as I have realised, staying as calm as you can in any situation, will only be in your favour. They usually ride themselves out. Unless you happen to be talking about someone who is a 100 percent C word. Fortunately, there's not too many of them about.

Memos

2011-07-25T07:38:00.000Z

Memo to self, don't open the door to people you don't like, more so when they are drunk.

Memo to self, buy some ear plugs.

Memo to self, take up lessons in self defence.

Memo to self, stop writing memos.

Sparkles has the flu

2011-07-23T06:33:00.000Z

Sparkling hasn't been well. It's the flu. She has quite rightly said "who gets the flu in summer?" Well apparently Sparkling has. Mind Big Momma has said she's got the flu as well. It has been raining a lot. This is expected for the typical British weather and may have contributed. Summer and rain is like salt and vinegar on chips. It's going to happen. But you just got to ask yourself how can the flu virus still be about at this time of year? Like it has been hiding away under some kind of rock and then decided to come out at the most unfortunate time and claim a victim. There I was thinking as always the female species had extra resistance to this kind of bug. But, poor Sparkles has been knocked for six and spent most of the day in her bed. When I hear this a bit inside of me goes awwwe, and like I want to wait on Sparkles with Chicken soup and hot water bottles just to make sure she is OK. Of course hoping to be resilient against this strand of the virus.

All I can think is maybe this nasty little bug has been around for a long time and Sparkling is unlucky enough to have caught it when the rest of us normally get infected in the winter. Maybe this is it. I know there have been times in winter when I have gone down with a bug and it has lasted weeks if not months. Never quite shaking it off. If you had the choice to get the flu it certainly would be Summer. The chill of winter always makes it a lot worse. I do hope Sparkles takes on lots of liquids and is able to fight of lurgies.

Lemon, honey and a tot of whisky. These are the basic ingredients to help cope with the lurgies. Think I'll buy some today. Lemon anyway. Lemon is always good for something. Get well soon hon am missing you.

Custard pie for the billionaire

2011-07-20T06:20:00.002Z

It seems someone with a sense of humour tried to throw a custard pie (shaving foam) into the face of a billionaire media God. The wife lept to his defence like a tiger or is it dragon, but being half the age of the billionaire lets not call her an old dragon. Unfortunately after this event the public and press were no longer allowed to watch the spectacle as the eighty year old defended his omnipotent and limited actions of his own newspaper. It's a shame. We all know the reality is the media God and his aids should of been strapped into a style so the public could throw all kinds of detritus at them, because in reality they should be made to suffer humiliation. It's there in the back of everyone's mind. Personally I have decided not to purchase this man's newspapers. All I can hope is a large part of the public come to their senses and do the same. Unless of course they are each allowed a moment with a custard pie. Oh it would of been so good to see the episode re played time and again on YouTube. How the mighty should fall. Especially when they have been raised to billionaire status. Billionaire God like status. For all purposes incredibly rich people are latter day Gods. Well, mortal ones anyway, if they can escape a custard pie it doesn't mean they can avoid the grave. Although good diet, food, relaxing billionaire lifestyle probably go a long way to helping avoiding it, for a little while anyway.

I woke up this morning after two and a half pints last night. My head is a little bit sore but not full blown hangover. Sparkling as usual did not reply to my texts so I guessed she was working. A quick phone call to my mate L & B man who always entertains my slightly tipsy moments. Later Sparkles texts me to say she heard me on the phone, because L & B had been in her house I guess. She avoided me. How unfair. If you are drunk it should be law you are allowed to make nuisance of yourself for at least ten minutes to any sober person you want. Then the next day they have the right to hit you with a custard pie. Well, they should be allowed a little compensation.

It's so sad the days of Charlie Chaplin have gone. But mark my words, the custard pie will return. Long live the custard pie.

Cope with stress like a duck

2011-07-18T21:15:00.001Z

I must of been in some kind of zone today. Where the stresses of the Fish Factory were copeable. Mind I have been trying a little exercise each time I've felt the shadow of psychological angst drop down on my shoulders. It's simple. Just counting from 1 to 5, while saying to myself, "relax, on each count I will feel myself relaxing," of course I say this internally. Not so everyone can hear and think this bloke has lost the plot. Which would be awful. I'd then be really losing the plot and getting carted off to some secure unit. Mind its not just the counting which helps. The fact I felt tired this morning as well probably had a part to play. I woke up needing another couple of hours sleep and was thinking of Sparkling, she had rang me up the night before. I knew she would be sleeping in late. It helped being tired holding the notion of waking up and getting a cuddle from Sparkles, very calming. At times though being too alert from drinking over strong coffee, or not getting enough physical exercise doesn't help. Too much caffeine definitely accelerates the heart. High heart rate, and blood pressure are not things which help your internal coping mechanisms. One thing feeds into another in a vicious circle. Racing mind and a excited parasympathetic system. Breaking the circle comes from recognising it and doing something about it.

I came to the realisation some time ago that being stressed doesn't help any situation. Or being over emotional. Says he, the fat man who just can't help his emotions at times, even a soppy cartoon can make tears run. OK, if I'm happy or sad I can't help it unless I have to, but as for stress and it's insidious drip, drip effect that's a different thing. One method of coping with life's turmoil is to stand back from it, then to seriously think about it and instead of offering up doom and gloom settling down to real understanding. At the moment when I am reacting, I now do my best to calm and stop the reaction inside of me. This is where the coping with stress comes in. If being uptight about something is not actually going to help with the situation then it is a matter of getting rid of the uptight feeling. For instance, I know if I blow up like Vesuvius I'll be physically aroused, high blood pressure, elevated pulse, seeing red or green or blue, unable to see think straight, the flight or fight response kicking in. It is however, momentary, this flushed crazy episode. However, if it is allowed to vent then like a storm it has to wear itself out. The craziness has to be allowed to slowly subside. This is the way of emotions. It's not to say there isn't a time and a place for the appropriate emotions, just to take note, when they are not going to help they need to be coped with. This I believe is what Emotional Intelligence is all about. Over excitement takes away the rational clear mind, the mind where solutions come from, where creativity and thinking out of the box is situated. Self understanding is being able to adapt and know when to suppress the excited side of the emotional tyrant. A prime example would be in card playing. Where poker players observe their opponents for any facial or physical sign they have given away their hand. A player who could not stop themselves from smiling whenever they had a good hand would be a dead give away. You'd simply fold and not let the pot build up. Silly sod. He'll never win a big hand.

It could be emotional intelligence is about growing up and being mature. I've met grown up adults when I was s a child who were more childish than I was. Who even many years later still act in the same way. It's as though they have never learnt or understood. It can become of greater concern when such persons are in positions of authority. What happens though is these emotions now become part of their personality,of how they will react. Or you could say they just haven't learnt to control themselves. It's true they haven't. Were I a duck and afraid of water then it the phrase "water off a duck's back" would be anathema to me. But ducks somehow learn to cope with water pretty easily. It's not just the oils in their feathers. They to have to go through the initial anxiety driven moment of their first ever dip into the water as they follow a parent. It hardly takes any time before they get used to it. What a skill to have, then again I expect over excitement and water are two different things. But were I in the process of drowning and panicking, having the mind of a duck would probably save my life. Quack, quack, anyone got a bit of bread?