Clown Shoes

Sparkling Eyes said she's not talking to me. This is because I cut short a conversation on msn as i had to go somewhere quick. I rang her and her voice was defiant. "I'm not talking to you" it was emphatic. She would not be drawn into a conversation. The phone call lasted 2 minutes and was over with. Then for some reason I felt guilty. The blame had been shifted defiantly onto my shoulders. Such is the will of a woman.

When the conversation began we had both acknowledged being tired. Then by default it would be short. However, Sparkling Eyes had things to say. I wanted to sit and listen but I had to disappear. So I did listen and type for a little while, but because I was the one who closed the conversation even though it was acknowledged we were both knackered, I am the one who is in trouble. I sneeze I am in trouble. I blow my nose I'm in trouble. I look at the wall and guess what I'm yes, in trouble. I can't help it I feel guilty now. Someone shoot me. Put me out of my misery. Such is the power of a woman. Even when hundreds of miles away.

The 3 cats don't like me. Angel has now showed a liking towards Long Haired Boy. He said last night she was all over him wanting to be stroked, and dribbling. She dribbles because she has no teeth. Long Haired Boy has pulled a cat. I drink a glass of wine left over from last night and am asked if I have been drinking all afternoon. I feed Angel coz she is meowing outside the window but she don't want me to stroke her. Maybe it's the female sex. Maybe, I have some kind of disease which makes them dislike me. Maybe, I tread on toes too easily.

OK finished me delicious glass or rose wine, now have to decide if I am going down the street for another bottle. Which is a good 40 minute return walk. Oh yes, better take these clown shoes off, don't know who elses toes I'm going to tread on.

Gardening done me in

The Talkatives haven't done their garden in the last century, so I dicided to tackle it and spent maybe 3 hours, cutting grass, pulling up pieces of concrete imbedded in the turf and digging about. My back is killing me. Long haired boy didn't help out but I didn't ask him. He'd put the pizza's in the oven which is probably enough for someone who has nil cooking expeience. They tasted good, but still the garden beat me. Am whacked.

The cats are still playing their ellusive game. Angel walked up to the back door for something to eat, she seemed to be walking slowly. I think she's probably letting her fear of me take over her need to eat. So she slowly starves herself. When all I want to do is pet her and tell her the Talkatives will be home by the end of the week. She'd understand and perhaps realise I'm not an ogre. Well not yet.

I rang up Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick picked up the phone. She was distressed and crying her words were "it's a long story." Sparkling Eyes filled me in on the details and I later offered to beat someone up if Rock Chick wanted. But I'm sure she thought i'd be more funny to watch than actually cause any physical harm. My physical prowess is deamed impotent by a teenager.
Sparkling Eyes told me the good news about her hospital tests. They will keep a check on her but no need to worry. What a relief.

The boy from next door called me Mr Bean again in conversation. He also insited his side kick call me Mr Bean. He asked if I had a girlfriend. Then later asked if I had sex. Hmmmm I think he was really trying to stereotype me into the Mr Bean personality. I acted half insulted to his question and told him "you shouldn't ask me a question like that, you don't even know me," I said it in a nice way. However he disappeared behind the fence again and I no longer saw him or his side kick Cool Hand any more.

Am whacked. Beaten by the garden? Thank heaven's for the cold taste of a well chilled beer. The top of which, I managed to take off with out any problem.

Audacious, proud, loud Terrifying Tigger

He turned up this morning. The cat I thought was scared. The scaredy cat. In the back of my mind. But he was now on a mission. He'd had enough of avoiding. He'd got his courage together, or some other cat sense and decided to sort me out. Don't make assumptions about the one who runs away. Coz you never know if he's going to turn up again. Tigger did.

For some reason I awoke early. Went downstairs had brekky and listened to the Today program. Angel was doing her, I'm-not-sure-I-like-him routine. Being obstinate, not coming in unless she could do it by a window where I couldn't see her. Buffy doesn't have this problem, she just comes in eats and enjoys a stroke. However, as if from nowhere Tigger turns up. He's at the back door. Tail standing erect, proud, tall and he's meowing to come in. My, this is a surprise. Maybe he'd had enough of the rain. Maybe now he wanted some food. He walked past me with disdain like a member of the royal family coming to tea and hating every second. He walked into the kitchen and meowed. He walked into the front room and meowed. He walked round and round meowing and ignoring the food. His fur was partly up. He looked bigger. Tigger was telling me something and it was along the lines of "how-dare-you-be-here-ass-wipe, where's my owners?"

I'd locked the door after he came in. My assumption was he would be harmless and now needed sustenance. I assumed wrong. He was as much as a cat can be, actually a little scary. I'd put the keys to the door down. Tigger went to the back door after his disappointed nose around. He meowed "let-me-out-idiot" in so many meows. Sodding ell. Where did i put the key down. I hastily looked around. Tigger made his way to the window sill and meowed "so-you-going-to-let-me-out-or-do-I-get-rough?" I wanted to reach to the window's handle but he was in the way. And looking mean. In a moment I spied the key. Opened the back door and Tigger walked proudly scarily out the back door. Shite. And I thought he was just shy.

There really is no reason for a human being to be scared of a cat. After all they are quite a bit smaller. But for a few short moments I actually wondered if he was going to attack me. And had he hissed I'm sure I might of been a little more panicked. But I held it together. Not only that his meow was a little pathetic in decibel level. Although he had the John Wayne walk he just didn't have the voice to go with it. It was a little like the early interviews with David Beckham, where you think what a squeaky poofed voice he has and how the hell can a thicko like him be so famous? But like Beckeham who's intelligence was in his feet, Tigger's was in his attitude.

Maybe I should of gone for a pint today.

Day 4, a small adventure forget the cats

Last night I locked 2 of the cats in the house. A black and white moggy called "Angel" who is very timid, needed the usual persuading. I saw her dart for an open window got there first and closed it. She lets me stroke her and tickle her chin, but she is not going to purrrrr for me. And she walks round me like she's on rice paper, scared I might get my skinning knifes out and make a lovely winter coat. The second cat who has a wonderful smokey grey coat and a white necklace don't care if I stroke her, she's Buffy. She stays out comes in when she wants and then just does her own thing. Lastly Tigger has a very inherent fear of me. She/he, will run and run and run on seeing me. Shit, I really didn't realise I was so ugly (or Fugly, for those in the know). Having enough of the cats and the prospect of yet another day of solitary confinement I decided to see Momma, which was a small adventure in itself. I tried to feed the cats then left.

Mrs Talkative has put me on her car insurance so for 2 weeks I can drive. Except it has been at least 20 years since i drove a car alone. A couple of years ago I re-took driving lessons just to get my confidence back. Although I had a driving license I was then incompetent at driving, taking the lessons over again was like starting from scratch. But I must admit I enjoyed them, the conversation I had with the instructor and getting the hang of a manual gear shift again.

I left mid morning, planing to miss the rush hour traffic, I had a pretty good idea of how to get to the train station. Then overshot a turning and nearly ended up in another town. But being quick of mind or perhaps it was the coffee, I turned the car round and backtracked. At the train station my dilemma was parking the car in the car park. Oh normally an easy task for most people. Except it seemed mostly full up, I found a space. Parked it once. Got out. Bought a ticket. Came back. Re parked the car cos it wasn't straight. Got out. Walked away, looked back to check the car and spied yellow writing on the ground. "Permit holders only" Bollocks. Went back to the car. Found another space even further away. Passed a red car which had a man sitting in it. Perhaps he was spying on me. FBI for neglect to cats no doubt. Except I saw the word "Parking" on the side. Yes, the official was spying on me. He wanted to "book him Dano" a nice fine ticket under the wiper no doubt. Nope, didn't work coz the grey cells were firing on all cylinders. Ok it took 3 attempts but I got there. Afterwards I had a sense of achievement. I was nervous to begin with, and had played with the idea of getting cabs. But I'm not made of money. Funny it was a red car. Perhaps he considered himself a sexy parking-ticket-fine-man.

I saw Momma, and chatted briefly to Sparkling Eyes online. Had a kip and then began my journey back. Being over cautious and running on all cylinders. Yes, I do on occasion. I had earlier printed off 4 pages of maps, and a set of instructions from an Internet site on how to get back from the station to my temporary house. I went over them several times trying to visual the reverse of the roads I had been along and a previous journey along the route back. Except this time I was driving. And although the lighting was dimming, I did it. Another achievement. Amazing, silly little things. My driving alone for the first time in 20 plus years. But I enjoyed it. Even the weird idiosyncrasies of an automatic car, which actually begins to move as soon as it is put in Drive, without having any pressure on the accelerator. And driving with one foot. Which must mean automatics are pretty useful for people with one leg. But I'm not going to get one leg chopped off just to drive about.

All I need to do now is make friends with Tigger. Perhaps lock she/he in the car and take it for a little drive. hmmmm no perhaps not, a fur coat sounds much better. Damn must remember to take my Wanted Reward poster down I'm sure Tigger's seen it.

Day 2, Where'd the Cats Go?

Well it seems like I must smell real bad. To cats anyway. There's only one who ventures close enough for me to stroke her. And it has taken some gentle persuasion. The other 2 have probably packed their bags and decided they can't live in a house which isn't as loud and noisy as a zoo. The Talkatives would of had their first full day away. I hope they can cope. It's raining cats and dogs here, while in Spain somewhere the sun is frying eggs in their own shells. I suppose ready made fried eggs could be quite popular. Except for the cats. The other alternative is they have found another home, taken a hike, or stowed away on some other flight hoping to catch up with the rest of the family.

If anyone reading this has an idea of how I can make myself more approachable to these fury beasts. Comments are welcome. But note I am not going to put on a Cat outfit, grow whiskers or meow late at night.

Unsociable Cats

My self imposed seclusion is much to the amusement of Sparkling Eyes. Whilst Rock Chick has tried to spook me by saying the house I'm sitting is haunted. Quite clearly it is not, and trying to send me scarey pictures to put the wind up my sails isn't going to work. As an aside, I'm wondering if I should stock the fridge up with Stella, for some reason I got a thirst for one.

The cats are warey of me. It's not because I prounce about in a large Chicken costume trying to instill a phobia of birds in them. It's for some unknown cat reason. The weather is on the turn and pissing down. So if the cat's don't like me and don't come in when it rains they are going to get wet. Though one of the cats a black and white one is quite a scaredy cat. Very nervous. I play peek the cat round the door. Trying to spy on her to see if she will come in for her food. But when she gets wind of me, not that I have much wind at the moment, she gently and tactily reverse steps away. They are going to starve and it will be on my head. Probably. I'll see how things develop over the next few days. After all it could hail stone then we'll see how many lives they have remaining.

I need to get out and buy a large sunday paper. Keep myself occupied. Infact maybe I'll do it at lunch time I can then eat in the pub, have a pint and read the paper. Hopefully i'll not be kicked out because I'm the little insane man sitting in the corner talking to himself about abandoning 3 cats.

The Talkatives take a holiday

Being related to the talkatives means every once and a while having to go beyond the call of duty. The next two weeks is my beyond-the-call-of-duty turn. One man in his 40s sits 3 cats and a house. I'd alluded to this in an email to a colleague at work, saying I was cat sitting, stating I wasn't sure whether it meant on or with the cats, in either case it was the cats problem not mine. It would be especially if I sat on any of them and it was snuffed. Then I'd have to find a Taxidermist and explain in some fashion while their furry love-able member of the family seemed so inert. Probably i'd have to make a quick getaway, just as they returned from sunny land and plonked their cases in the hallway. I'll get a taxi number and write it down. Just in case.

I been doing a lot of tidying up. The smaller Talkatives Little Angel Talkative certainly doesn't know where the bin is, Middle boy talkative I can't really comment on except each time he passes by me I have this irresistible desire to ruffle his hair. At the age of 10 I suppose I can get away with it. Unfortunately I was witness to a Terrible Tantrum from Angel Talkative who at 6 years old showed her colours, and they are very bright varied and not as fluffy and nice as the Angel I genuinely thought she was. Big Boy Talkative is not at all talkative, it must be the teenage boy hormone thing. For when he does speak the odd word his sentences can be broken up by 2 extremes of cantor, either a man who has something quite gruff going on or as a boy making a squeak. I wonder if I spoke this way when a teeny?

Though of all things I do realise about myself as a teeny I was pretty moronic. So now I see the light. Age bestows intelligence, but not always, some people just refuse downright to be intelligent at all. Even with age. So there is not always hope, especially for the stupid ones. Let there be light. Nope. Unfortunately this magic phrase doesn't work, the last bulb used years ago or just not replaced, ever.

What am I going to do with myself over the next two weeks? I'll find something. At least I worked out where the closest pub is. Unfortunately I don't have any friends in this part of the Cat-House sitting world. Fingers crossed I can get on with my own company.

Discarded Flowers

I finished at the Fish Factory and walked through Town on the way to the pub, where a pint of Guinness sat with my name on it. A beautiful thought in it's own right. A colleage briefly walked with me then had to run off to a Quack appointment. On my short walk I passed a bunch of flowers, they looked like lillies. In a discarded plastic carrier bag. The cream and shocking cerise reds were like spilt blood on a newly laid table cloth, except these were worse the wear. And had probably been dropped, left in the Sun and in the process of wilting. Curled at the edges of the petals their youth hand uselessly passed away. On the pavement for all passers to glance cursorily in their direction.

The memory lingers on.

We are here but for a short while. So what I say is, love those you love with all your heart, piss off those you don't love with every wit in your repertoire and hold judgement on the one's your not sure about. Till further proof decides which side of the fence to lean. But above all never let your Guinness go to long without some attention.

Oops. Always give all and every bit of attention to the very special ones especially when their hugs are the warmest of all.

Smoking Grass

I've recently come back from a wonderful few days in the company of Sparkling Eyes. Rock Chick wasn't around as much as usual because she's earning a wage as a professional waitress and for her a taster of the working world and the reality of money is being had. She's having fun, but especially on pay day. Now don't that sound like a familiar story for most of us.

I went to B & Q with Sparkling Eyes and bought a box of lawn fertilizer and moss killer. It seemed quite a large box but the instructions said it was enough for a quarter of a tennis court. Sparkling Eye's lawn is about this size I thought. So with vigor I took hand fulls of this substance and cast it over the lawn like a farmer throwing out seed on a freshly ploughed field. With pride in my step I looked for each patch of grass where the weeds were particularly thick and scattered a little extra. Sounds like a Bank advertising commercial that bit. I'll admit at this point not knowing what to expect. My reading of the instructions was cursory. Because if I had read them closer and understood what the effects were going to be I'd of done just a small patch of grass rather than the whole lot.

Half a day later after a good soaking with the hose the lawn was not the same. It looked like it had been burnt in patches. Sparkling Eyes threw daggers at me. Not to mention a tongue lashing. Rock Chick piled on the guilt. Telling me it was Sparkling Eyes pride and joy going out into the garden. The little brat said what i had done was like killing Sparkling Eyes second child, the lawn. Yep. A little on the dramatic side i thought. But I had it. I was hung out, draw out and quartered in the smallest littlest chunks you could imagine. The Crows pecked out my eyes, but I clung onto life. And re-read the fertilizer box half a dozen times afterwards. No matter how many protestations I made, "in two to three weeks it will be fine" it was not good enough. Another poke to the eye. Rock chick giggled in delight at my castigation and nearly castration if I hadn't of been quick witted, off the mark and a fast fat-boy runner and hidden the knifes.

The days passed and I fetched my train home. Next time I hope to do things differently. Next time I'll get someone else to scatter the grass. And I'll be away, with an alibi. Some place where I can't be found and can't be blamed.

I'm sure the grass will look good shortly, but between now and the place it does look good I'd just better be afraid. Aware. And look over my shoulder.

Two right Flip-Flops

Got up this morning, and packed my kit for the gym. Went to work, earn a living and then swetted out a bucket or two on a cycling machine, because my knees are playing up and I've pulled a muscle running. Cycling is the easier option. Hit the changing room. Pulled out my towel, shower gel and shampoo and then dropped the flip-flops on the floor. Two right feet, one with England written on the other with palm trees. There was no choice. So i but them on and walked around in circles for 20 minutes eventually finding the showers.

Memo to self, always make sure i have one right foot and one left foot flippy-floppy.

Haven't had a chat with Sparkling Eyes for a few days, or so it seems. Some one pass it on the grape-vine I miss her and hope all is well.

Now to put my slippers on, one right foot, one left foot. How fortunate genetics gave us 2 different feet otherwise we'd always be chasing our tails.

Stuck in Utopia

I been playing an online game which has taken up the time i'd usually spend writing BLOGS. Silly of me really, coz in reality I get a lot more out of this online diary. But incase anyone is interested the link is above. It's a game about kingdoms and provinces in the 19th century. I have my own little province which is populated. Then i have to build things like Farms, Banks and Thieves Dens. I'm not alone. There's about 20 people in our kingdom, we then go to war or get into w war with other kingdoms. Boring and perhaps nerdy. Sparkling Eyes would see it as Nerdy, and i expect she's got a few other choices for it as well. Then again Sparkling Eyes watches Big Brother a reality TV program I'm sure everyone has heard about. But watching someone sleep or pluck their eye brows seems just as nerdy to me. Yet it can be addictive as well and I must admit to watching the odd episode myself.

I been wondering about running next year's London Marathon. It seems to be a thought playing on my mind. Although my belly would probably deny me the opportunity at the moment. My belly and my mouth, which enjoy food too much. So saying next year gives me a goal to aim for. To see if I can. I used to run some years ago and did half marathons. Then I was quite fit. I was asked many times if i'd ever run a full marathon and I said "no" because i thought those people were mad. Now though for some reason it doesn't seem so mad. What proportion of people in the world have ever run a marathon I wonder. If the numbers are small which i suspect they are then there must be some esteem in running the full distance. The only problem would be my IBS. But what an achievement. For the moment it appears as a light at the end of a tunnel. I can see it in the long distance and am in the process of making my mind up. It will get me fit, slimmer and it would raise money for charity. Something I always tried to do when I ran. Get sponsorship and donate it to a good cause. It's an additional factor which pushed me along.

London is hot. Scotland is wet and cooler. I'm a little blue coz Sparkling Eyes has not contacted me today, even though i sent a sorry text. Yep, as well as having a fat belly I got a big head. The two go together, big head, big belly. Now a marathon in London, yes that would be something. With 30,000 people I'd have to reduce my belly otherwise there'd be a few knocked over. I only hope Sparkling Eyes don't see me at the finishing line and whip the medal off from around my neck. I doubt if I'd be able to catch her after 26 miles, that is so unfair.

P.S. this is my 100th BLOG on "Making Sense"

I saw the Tour De France

About 40 minutes ago I saw the Tour De France. It is the first time since 1994 it has been in this country (UK). And I only just about got there in time to see them. Just up the road from where I live. It wasn't quite as close as I originally thought so it meant a quick march until I was on the route. With a little bit of a jog. During my short legwork towards the cycling route, there was something which struck me. It was silence. Few people few cars. It was like a scene out of one of those disaster movies. Erie. Scarce traffic, and of the cars on the road they were being diverted around the Tour De France route. Within 2 minutes of arriving at the road side it all started. Something I have never seen before. Something I was excited about seeing and although exceedingly brief it was an amazing sight. Amazing.

Though not quite what I expected. The first wave was motorcycles, closely behind were cars. It seemed there were hundreds. As the motorcade passed lights were flashing and horns blowing. People lining the road leaned and stepping into the road to try and get a better view. Straining their necks, squinting their eyes, desperately trying to make out the first cyclists which had to behind this frenzied stampede. Leaning in was dangerous because of the speed of the traffic. Which was fast. Maybe about 45 mph or more where normally the speed limit is 30 mph. In an instance it was almost quite again, but there they were. A massive grouping of cyclists. What struck me was their speed as well. I was on an incline and the cyclists must of been doing 35 mph or more going up it. I had my camera ready and snapped away as many pictures as I could get but, they were so fast I was lucky if I got 3 or 4 photos of them. The speed.

It was remarkable to see the size of the bicycles and their riders. The wheels and the way they athletically pumped their peddling legs. Heads down. Always taking the shortest route as the road bent round suddenly the cyclists bunched into the bend. Pounding away up the hill. And then it was over. A few breaths and they were gone. They will be cycling for another 4 hours and it will finish in Canterbury.

OK memo to self, hit gym next week, and cycle my little leggies off like a lunatic. I'm now inspired. I wonder if I should get a bike and cycle to work. Then I'd have to get the yellow jersey, well maybe not yellow, perhaps a shade of dark blue, am not quite up to the yellow jersey standard. Hey Sparkling Eyes do you think I'll look good in yellow?

Birthday Party

Being invited to an 18th birthday party on a Friday night is an unusual thing for me. It was full of various events, which would not happen in normal circumstances. Like Sparkling Eyes getting into a conversation with a pair of teenage Soprano's, they just had some kind of bent on killing, and suggested an underworld connection with a nefarious group. Well one of them did. Personally I think it was because they wanted to impress Sparkling Eyes. Seeing Rock Chick get so tipsy and even say things which could be held against her when she's sobre. Love is so free when it's been enticed from a bottle of alcopop. Screaming neighbours telling, not asking, there be no more fireworks, although they had all been let off. Asbo officials who wanted to issue a fine and an ASBO (Anti-social-behaviour-order), and of course police. One police woman with an attitude who wanted to arrest the hostess because the hostess dared to speak back and give an opinion. Problem is when the hostess was a little tipsy herself. Otherwise there would of been no excuse to lock her up and suit her in striped pajamas.


In my various stages of inebriation perceptions of events change. Knocking back each bottle of beer a different narrative occurs. The little voice in the back of my head gives a running commentary of what's going on. Sometimes it's so interesting I just sit and listen to it wishing I was writing everything down or even had a voice recorder. Problem is, the ramblings of a half drunk may very well be just ramblings of a half drunk to someone who is sobre. Unfortunately I never carry a pen and note pad either. Don't matter. But the routine is usually the same, beginning with 1. what do i say? 2. lets eat something. 3. I think I'll just sit here and 4. I am so pissed I love everyone. Such are the stages of inebriation. And of course a continuing annoyance at whoever is controlling the CD player because for some reason they keep skipping the tracks I like. BASTARDS!!!!

At just after 3 a.m. I escorted Sparkling Eyes back home. Rock Chick had walked ahead with her pal the hyper and probably drunk Effervescent Eva. We all slept in, Rock Chick had a hang over which lasted 2 days. Mine lasted a morning, Sparkling Eyes of course never gets one. Which must be something do with her constitution. As for Rock Chick even saying she loved me as a step-father, she later recanted this saying it was a comment she made so I'd get her lots of presents. Damn, an I believed it. Thing is when I'm drunk I can't help but speak garbage, truthful garbage. And then pass out my love to every Tom Dick and Henry about. Next time I'll take a tape recorder, not just for my benefit, I could blackmail other's later. Who knows what may come out. Personally, I hope they keep it tucked away and don't let it out unless it's on film, camera, or voicemail.

Making Gravy

Last weekend I did it, this week end i repeated it, Yes, I believe I am now a champion gravy maker. It was a matter of powdered Bisto not the granule kind which has hydrogenated fats in it but the flour kind. The real stuff. The technique is so simple, but so tasty.

So I wont tell and will keep it to myself. It's taken years. Years. Well no actually just a matter of reading the instructions and following them. Now this is unusual because sometimes reading instructions doesn't help, especially when they have been written in Japanese. Especially in furniture flat-pack construction. Nope. just read the instruction on a pack of Bisto and your gravy will (fingers-crossed) be perfect.

The day has been quite, not much done except for the gravy and now all of a sudden I'm thinking of all the things I could of done. It's like my brain's in second gear and going backwards. I suppose were I a woman I would of done a 100 different things. Lucky I'm not then.

From a 6 year old's perspective

Little Monster boy is growing taller, today he really does look like his full 6 years of age. I tried to tell him about my exercising and putting on weight. He was not bothered. He said he was not bothered. While he drew pictures of Cybermen.

If only I were 6 again. I am often accused of being imature, even child like. In all the reality of this world being child like is a welcome distraction. Now being fat might make it easier for Cybermen to catch me. So now I know where to get my inspiration. Treadmill tomorrow here I come.

Air conditioning in the house of pain

It is a gruelling confession to make when I say Sparkling Eyes gave me the additional elbow to get healthy again and go to the gym. She was concerned i might collapse doing the garden some time. So now I'm in my 4th week of accepting pain. It's hard going. The 21st century has refined the art of torture and legalised it. Instead of whips, chains, water, racks and burning hot irons I pay for it each month. Go on a voluntary basis and then kid myself it was fun. Nope, not for me. Not now when I'm now an old git who loves to sofa sit. Which is all the more reason to run my socks off when given the chance. The worse thing is over the last 2 weeks the air conditioning has been out. The swet box really is a swet box.

Things could be worse, I could be dead. Sparkling Eyes told me about a neighbour of her's who has recently passed away. I was sorry to hear the news (God rest the neighbour's soul). Then Sparkling went on to remind me how more stressful a life she has than I. I agree. Sparkling Eyes is a wonderful woman, not because she would tell me to say it but because she is and she hasn't told me to say it. She then advises I could kick the bucket because of any number things and because of the way I've led my life. Like eating food cooked with Lard when I was a kid. I suppose I should lay off the chips nowadays then. Hope is all I have, hope those earlier years of growing up on fried bacon sandwiches and other fatty stuffs doesn't get me before the tread mill, multi gym, Swiss ball, rowing machine or fixed cycle. For now I'll just do my best to stop the paranoia kicking in things could be worse.

When concerns are cowering overhead think of happy things. Ice cream, chocolate a good hot madras with poppadoms, nan and dips hmmm. A cold glass of Rose wine and a good movie. Such delightful thoughts are the side effect of exercise and belly-neglect. If only exercise brought as much happiness as a cold pint in the pub or my rubbing Sparkling Eyes feet. Well better add another 5 minutes next session and owe a foot rub or two for someone who deserves them more then I the madras.

Won Ton Noodle and the British Museum

Friday night Green Car man texted me and asked if I'd like to go out and do something, so on Saturday the musketeers went into London. The Agenda was to visit the British Museum and peruse the Egyptian collection. Check out some mummies, coz all the daddies had absconded. Look at old written text on bits of wall and view loads of statues. Except from the start of this exhibition I had a hankering for one thing, it was Won Ton noodle. I could see the steam coming up from the bowl. The noodles nice and fresh seated there and around the edges of the noodles sank in the soup those wonderful dumplings. The image appeared to be haunting me, Green Car man mentioned I has referred to this dish a few times during the day. Yes, my stomach was thinking for me. So what. Yep another inch on my belly.
.

The museum was wonderful. They have put an massive atrium to cover an area which used to be in the open. It's called the Great Court Yard. The floor is marble-like and the room is vast. It is wonderful piece of architecture. This is the first time I have seen this piece of modernisation. And the word which came out of my mouth when I walked in there was WOW. I was amazed by it. The natural lighting was superb. I bought my friends a book mark each. It was odd because I went in the museum shop and thought that looks nice, it was cheap and represented Egypt. Then the musketeers each picked one up. So at the counter I found myself purchasing 3 book marks where I had intended only to get the one. When we finished our tiring amble of the museum we went outside for a rest lay down and it wasn't long before I heard the snores of my compatriots. We are getting old I thought

In the museum I was struck by two groups going round on tour. One was of Muslim boys the other of Muslim girls. It was obvious because they each had traditional Muslim clothing on. The girls I felt so sorry for. Nearly every single one was covered from head to toe in black apparel. They must of been so uncomfortable on such a hot day. And again my personal view of women becoming second class citizens because of man's interpretation of religious text and writing of religious text came to mind. But more than this, part of me sees this as a disrespect to my own British culture. An unwillingness to be accepted as British. And I know for some this can be offensive. But it's religion. Sad as it is, in the name of religion the worse acts of humanity are found. Some one's religion has certainly got to be up the creek. Or rather someone's interpretation of it is.

The day finished with, you can guess, hmmmmm Won Ton noodle, which was as equally superb as sight seeing the British Museum. It's not served up by mummys fortunately but then if it was it could be just a little dusty. I'd hate to have an embalmed Won Ton I like mine in soup thank-you-very-much.

Back to the Slammer Paris

Sparkling Eyes sent me a text message about how annoyed she was when Paris Hilton girl-born-with-a-platinum-spoon-in-her-mouth, had been allowed out of Jail. The Sheriff had put her under house arrest after only serving 3 days of her sentence. Paris was distraught, she just doesn't have the mental savvy when it comes to wearing stripes. Perhaps they don't match her blond hair. Or maybe it's the having to mix with common people. Alternatively there may of been some big butch lesbian who has made a claim on Paris and is going to make Paris her very own bitch. I certainly could see Paris getting edgy over it. Then to the world's surprise to be let out. Sparkling Eyes was quaking in anger. Talk of back-handers was dropped between lines. Personally I think the Sheriff had a soft spot for Paris, her being one of the beautiful people and he decided to oil the jail door just so she could leave.

However, lets not forget why Paris was incarcerated. She had been caught a number of times intoxicated while driving. The judge had passed what is a very apt sentence. After all isn't it through drunk drivers other innocent people die? Isn't it usually unthinking incompetent stupid actions of drunk drivers which result in the life time of family misery. Where beloved relatives are never given the chance to be seen again, suddenly snatched from existence. No goodbyes, gone. If the judge decided Paris should go to jail then surely her sentence and the lesson she gains from it could save the life of someone. For what would happen if on the 4th occasion drunk while under the influence someone is slaughtered?

So it is with a hop in my step and an inner happiness I heard in the news Paris has been ordered back to jail to finish her sentence. What wonderful news. I do realise there is a little bit of malevolence in this, because although Paris is pretty distressed over being deprived of her liberty, I don't care. Even better still she just happens to be one of the rich elite and of course beautiful people. The type who don't know how tough the real world is. Such other's coming under this grouping would be Royalty and Old Money.

Yes, I'd say stick them all in jail for a short refresher of the hard stuff. Lets just hope there are enough butch lesbians and hairy Lifers to go round.

PJs at lunch time

The day is beautiful, the is sun out and it's nice and hot. I whereas find there are no muskateers to do a thing and sit in my PJs. I'd of normally rang up Sparkling Eyes but for now I am not inclined to do so. So instead, I drink a cold, cold alcoholic beverage and the gentle swathes of happy mild intoxication decend. Lovely.

Such a light weight, but I don't care. It's my day to chill, sit back speak to not a soul and recharge. So yes, lunch time and still in PJs need a shave and missed the post man and a delivery from Amazon. Oh well have to wait to next week now.

IBS in Cambridge

Green car man rang me up. As the bank holiday was approaching the three musketeers decided to do something. A brief morning of negotiations and we were to hit Cambridge. I'd never been to Cambridge and was looking forward to it, however my belly had other ideas. The morning was filled with belly belly illness. Irritable Bowel Syndrome(undiagnosed as Sparkling Eyes would remind me) I'd been to the loo 5 times before 11 a.m. and eventually went to the chemist for some pills. Perhaps this was an omen of the day. Cloud has been gathering over London and the Weather reports were equally ominous. Yep, another bank holiday and we were likely to have rain. Just maybe my belly belly was tied into it.

We got to Cambridge after an hour and half of driving, and following the directions on Tom Tom (GPS/Road navigation system)speaking out when it felt the need. Cambridge is a small city, mostly populated with incredibly grand old buildings, but it's got some very nice modern shops as well. I think because it is a pretty much established Towny kind of place it was never meant for cars, or certainly any overly heavy traffic. We got a Park and Ride bus into Cambridge which only took ten minutes. There are 31 different colleges in Cambridge all with their own Coat of Arms and some with Latin type of name (e.g. Corpus Christi, Darwin College, Magdalene College, Trinity Hall ect). The population appeared to be majorly white and young. I must admit a slight dizzy feeling seeing this population make up. My own area is very, very multicultural. I could go into long ramblings about the educated white society and the poor working class background of most people, but I'll not. Cambridge has a smallish river on it's outskirts, this is called the Carn. It's a pleasant Towny place, one which has a calmness about it and you'd like to live in. One away from the Urban problems places like London, Birmingham, Liverpool might have. Should I say this was my impression for I know little about Cambridge other than this afternoon visit.

One of the must do things when in Cambridge is to go on a boat and be punted around along the river. Then back again. But we didn't get to do this. I was to blame. For at this point my 7 month pregnancy which had been staring me in the gym mirror 3 times this week became a 9 month rock hard soccer ball. If I weren't a man (which Sparkling Eyes would say I was more of a woose) I would of been in contractions and screaming. The belly belly was kicking in. What discomfort it was as well. I disappeared off to try and find a toilet. While my 2 musketeer companions stood around the Punt station and were accosted several times by men who wanted their custom (for a ride on a Punt that is, nothing else). The cost of a ride reduced as each man gave them a slip of paper with a quote for 3 persons. It began at £10 each then eventually dropped to £6 each. They must of looked like bait by the Carn, each fishy wanting a bite. Business was slow for the old chaps today. I'm sorry we didn't get to do the punt. I hate my belly, but I got to live with it.


Later that evening I got drunk on wine and the IBS had subsided. If it were a little homunculus I'd of killed him several times over. Throttled the life out of the little bugger. And he's gotta be resident in my belly the little shit. Whatever you do, whoever you are don't ever get IBS. Mind the getting drunk bit was good. I'll now debate the rest of the morning whether to hit the gym again. Or just go an have my baby.

This last picture is what a homonculus looks like, except in my case I got my hands round his neck.

The Unusual Mannequin

On passing a clothes shop I had to look twice. It’s not something I’d usually do, but it was one of those I-can’t-believe-it moments. A male dummy stood in the window, wearing a hat, T-shirt and jeans and it looked really quite fashionable, at first glance. Except on second glance there was an appreciable difference to other male dummys. In particular because of two things pointing out. This male mannequin had tits.

It reminded me of a couple of events. How as a slowly increasing pot bellied man I’ve began to acquire my own mammaries much to my own embarrassment. It’s a weight thing, and of the time when I went in the men’s changing room to change for gym, I was slimmer then. I saw a body builder put on his T-shirt, replete with his very own size A’s. It was like seeing something you didn’t want to see but at the same time couldn’t help watching. Kind of macabre. The worse thing was they were actually saggy. It’s also at times like this you can’t but question your own sexuality. I wondered, did I stare because it was weird or was it because of some underlying sexual fantasy of wanting my own boobs to play with? I hope it was the first.

If anyone was into steroids this was the kind of incident would likely send a chilling message. But still with weight gain I’ve noticed men gain a little extra where they’d rather shouldn’t, not if they’re a man.

I passed the shop and couldn’t help laugh. Fortunately I’ve been to the gym twice this week. That’s twice in 5 months. Maybe next time I’ll do an extra 5 minutes on the tread mill. And not too energetically, I don’t want my little boobs bobbing about and people getting to ogle at them.

The bells, the cat, the pidgeons

This morning I woke up at 2 a.m. it was the phone. I could hear it and it must of rang through my subconscious state. But as I stirred and I'm not talking about stirring the milk in my tea. Stirring and flickered into consciousness it struck me I had pulled the phone socket out. But being not quite sure, and thinking maybe I hadn't I trampsed downstairs. Checked the phone and it was dead. Checked the socket and I had indeed pulled it out. I endeavoured to get back to sleep and did so without to many problems, except at first my heart was pumping faster.

I woke up again. This time I wasn't sure what the time was because I couldn't be bothered to rouse enough out of my half sleeping state. I could hear the cat meowing so purposefully chose to ignore the racket and drifted off again. Heart not going so erratically.

Again I woke and now the early morning light was beginning to come through. But I considered it to still be too early to be worth getting up. With no idea of what the time was I closed my eyes. A little while later, I heard wood pigeons and managed to push them out of my mind drifting back into slumber.

I got up and it was just after 6 a.m. an early start but I'd of rather it had been 7 a.m or even 7:30 a.m ish. The radio on I heard the news, the main part being about the Cutty Sark catching on fire. I wondered why I had heard the phone ring when I knew I had pulled it out. When I thought I had heard the cat, but it was way too early for the cat to stir, he's lazy and doesn't get up till he hears your up. I wondered about the pigeons something I could not predict had really made any noise. If the other two events weren't real did the pigeons exist either?

And the day went on.

Snow storm

I was listening to the radio this morning and a phrase struck me. The words were "a snow storm of speculation" it just kind of brought an image to mind describing a political event. Playing with words and using them in such an inventive and unusual way is something which can only enrich the language we use each day. Though at the moment there's actually more rain here than snow.

There was also some words in Latin. Just casually dropped in the conversation. It seems at times English is inadequate to describe a theme. I'm going to make a list of a number of Latin phrases I've come across and their meaning. Useful ones, or just one's which can be dropped in any conversation. So although Latin is described as a dead language, it's not entirely true. Further it seems an injustice such words are only spoken by persons considered more knowledgeable than others. If Latin were a subject at school we'd all know what it was and not let this cloud of pomposity effect vision. No it might be a dead language but the thing is you don't have to be idiot by not using it. In fact I am sure we all do to some extent but in ignorance.

Watch this space for some Latin words.

Return to Fish

I returned back to the Fish Factory today, and had to do my bit at a small convention of Ritz Keepers. A short interval in the morning and I'd got the gist of what was going on. The fishes could all get gutted without proper representation in one big swoop of fish factory changes. Well life goes on.

Sparkling Eyes is off seeing Travis tonight in tow with Rock Chick and her energetic pal Hyper girl. I'm not. I'll stick a CD on and remind myself what they sound like. I know they will have fun. Back to the grind stone after a week in the company of Sparkling Eyes. Things wont quite be the same. But if I'm really luck it wont rain on me every day. So I will not be either blue and particularly yellow, I'll just Sing, everything will be alright.

Night all.

Not a woose

Some one I know has a little problem, or maybe not. He'll watch a movie or listen to music he likes and for some reason just cries. This leaves the poor old sod open to jibes of "woosey" and "you got more hormones than a woman" but he can't help it, he's just sensitive to things. And a nice bloke as well. Or maybe it's just better to let it out than keep it in. Crying I hear is actually good for you, the tears we release also take away chemicals or so 'they' say, which are built up through the stress of everyday living. Although I'm not entirely sure of who "they" happen to be, I'm sure it's true though.

I've spent a wonderful week away in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. I got told off for being untidy. For being lazy, for being a woose for enticing Rock Chick into arguments. But regardless there were a few laughs along the way. I found as I was leaving Rock Chick actually smiled rather than bite my head off. She has a very nice smile although this seems to be matched by a liking for the macabre, such as TV shows about killers or even books about them. That's not to mention horror movies. Sparkling Eyes as usual is an unusual and beautiful woman challenging me whenever she so felt the need. I expect I deserved every bit of it, but regardless I come back for more, it must be something to do with loving her. Funny thing love. It sure makes into a different person, unless you happen to be a woose already.

I tried the advice of Bonner man, a gentle giant who looks more like a don't-mess-with-me-giant cos he'll eat you alive. I tried to develop the stare. It's the special stare you give when a man has to give it. One which warns others, you mean business. I spent all of 3 seconds looking in the mirror to perfect it. And am afraid it didn't work. Rock Chick saw through me. In a turn of events she then gave me her version of the stare. It worked. Bloody woose. That will be the last time I take Bonner man's advice.

Tony its about time

Wonderful news hit the headlines yesterday. Tony Blair will resign his post on the 27th June 2007, and the nation is sighing in relief. He nearly but not quite apologised for being a poodle to Bush. Unfortunately there is only one contender for the next Presidency of the UK. Gordon holds-the-purse-strings Brown. And today it was Gordon who made it known he was the major contender. Except, he's going to be shadow boxing for the benefit of a farcical contest of one. No one will dare to stand in the ring against him. No character Gordon is holding all the cards, but not only this he has bunged the referee a few quid, stuck a horse shoe in his glove, and taken a concoction of amphetamines. He's now buzzing.

I'm not a Tory supporter and maybe this is why I have come to get a cold shiver with old Tony. Because Tony has been more Tory than many Tories have been. Yet at the same time Gordon doesn't actually instill confidence. I get the feeling he is a control freak. It is with this feeling I'd go so far as to make a prediction. within the next 2 to 3 years, Labour will be plagued with in-fighting. At this stage parliament will take on a different appearance.

In contrast Scotland have elected a new party to run the business, it's the Scottish Nationalist Party SNP. I feel happiness for Scotland, they are a brave proud people who deserve their own governance. Best of all they don't have a queen or royal family. Perhaps they might like to take on a little bit of England's royalty. We could ship a couple up there, just so they don't feel out of place. However, for some reason I don't think they'd get through the border. I don't blame the Scots.

Tony's out YES. Hey anyone got a job for an ex prime minster. Well trained and pretty good poodle impersonator.

Too much of a good thing

Yesterday was one of those days where I'd had too much of a good thing. Food. It seems when I was a growing up kid and teenager there never was enough of it about. Especially with siblings being just as voracious. But now I'm somewhat grown up, there's shed loads of it. The problem is I'm eating shed loads of it as well. So slowly each year my girth expands. Now I feel bloated. I can just about see my toes over my belly and am possibly on the cusp of turning. Turning into something quite large. Of all the things to lose, weight has got to be the hardest. I don't exercise like I did some years ago, and in reality to maintain myself all I probably need to do is eat like a sparrow. Which might be OK for sparrows but human beings it's harder to do. Humans need substance to eat, the more the merrier, well to a point.

Anyway, this morning I'm on a train to see Sparkling Eyes. I doubt whether I'll get much exercise stuck in a seat for over 8 hours. Now if exercising my brain burnt of the calories it would be a little easier. I could sit and deliberate. But no. I have to be made out of a skeleton, and muscles and everything else. I am organic. An animal. I need my exercise. It's just a shame thinking about it don't count. Oh well better get off. Am sure Sparkling Eyes can find some jobs for me to do. OK it might be mowing the lawn or painting or some other house related odd job thing, but at least I'll be doing something. In the meantime Rock Chick will likely poke me with something sharp. Lucky they don't have cattle prods where I'm off to, I'd hate to be welcomed by "moooooooooo" and "here's something I prepared earlier." I've never thought electric shock therapy worked, thank heavens it's a vacation.

I'm quite happy really. It's just these bloody jeans, I do so wish they weren't so tight.

De-stressing

In 18 more posts I'd of reached that 100 mark, bloody amazing. Even though it's not quite a year, with a little luck I'll reach it just as the year of BLOG writing is marked.

The Fish Factory has been exceptionally busy. So much my in bucket has about 200 assorted fishes thrashing about needing processing. Some of them make a bigger splash than others. And the odd one is having little fishes to exacerbate the problem. In addition there's another 100 plus hidden items in a backlog bucket which has been kicked under the counter so far I can't see it. It wasn't me who kicked it there. Fortunately. It was my immediate big fish, his idea was if we can't see it then we'll be able to do more work. Or something along those lines. So all in all mid week I'd reached pretty high levels of stress. Fantasies of murder were on my mind. The kind you have to help relief the situation.

Then it hit me. I think it was the Thursday it hit me. It hit me with the revelation I would soon be seeing Sparkling Eyes. Oh boy do I need some company with her. She'll put everything right, or she'll cause me to think so much about her I don't have time to think about anything else. Which is probably more of the case. Not to mention Rock Chick shooting arrows at me, sticking me with a cow prod and seeing what the highest voltage is I can take. OK, it may sound sadistic but it's all in the best possible repartee, with a lot of fun. Which reminds me, Rock Chick said something about getting her a present. And it's not even her birthday, it was just because she things I should. It's Sunday. The next 2 days are holidays. I suppose I could hatch one out of an egg, I'll just sit here concentrate hard and see if anything happens.

Morning creativity

It's odd what thoughts go through my head in the morning while on my way to work. There's this soliloquy commenting on various subjects which I think to myself are very interesting. It don't stop, it just carries on during the walk up the road. I like listening to it and wonder such thoughts should be written down. Trying to make a mental note to actually write them later. However, they inevitably fade away and I forget what was so interesting in the morning. It's at this point the notion of getting some kind of recording device comes to mind. Whether it just be a pen and paper or perhaps a digital recorder. Then later on they can be written up. The other notion also comes, because they are interesting to me at the time it doesn't mean they would be interesting to other people.

A similar creativity comes immediately when I sit down in the pub and I'm near the end of my first pint. The voice begins up again and the conversation and characters develop their depth. For instance balding man who has natural acerbic wit bordering on sarcasm, but very much a part of his personality. He's a softy at heart but a lot of people could easily dislike him. Think him a smarty pants and punch his lights out. I find balding man very funny, though I also believe he's probably an alcoholic. In fact the 3 or 4 regulars I sit with are probably all in varying degrees of alcoholism. From the completely pickled man who always sits in the same seat to the man who works at home and drinks to he pukes. He has these little gauges under his eye lids, they flip up and say FULL when he's had enough pints, then just walks out the pub without saying anything to anyone. As for fat man, I can't say i really see eye to eye with him but rather accept his company or have to accept his company. He has an arrogance about him in his own self important opinions so I've now developed an ability to just let it run off like water off a ducks back. And then state my own point because sometimes you just have no choice.

Then time passes and it's BLOG time, at which point I'm usually knackered and forgotten the day's events. Just when I should be putting them down in words for anyone to read. I wonder if people who read BLOGS are getting a free reading rather than buy a book. But then, BLOG authors are just opening up their lives for scrutiny at their own behest. Where did I put my microscope and how can I get royalties on what I put on a blog? No my name isn't Prince William.

Sewage in the Forth

Just outside of Edinburgh is the Firth of Forth, spanned by an incredible coppery orange painted bridge. Built in 1890 it was the major piece of civil engineering in Scotland at it's time. Going over this bridge on an East Coast train is wonderful. The Forth is an incredible tributary to the sea. Below the bridge spans are some small islands which at one time were inhabited. I don't know whether it was by people who worked there or they had little communities. But all the buildings are shells. One of which has a concrete cross on top of it. Large ships easily go underneath the bridge. People sail their dingys in the Forth or yachts if they are well to do. Off the shore there usually stand a number of tugs, showing this is a working River where people graft for a living. Each and every time I go over this bridge the view is different. Sometimes it can be breath taking as the train will take a couple of minutes to complete this stretch. It has to slow, because the bridge is old now and as always is being repaired or painted.

Thames water run a sewage treatment works on the Forth. On Friday it broke. They run the sewage works on behalf of Scottish water. Thames Water is now owned by a German company and have since the sell out been pretty prudent in it's spending. Making of course what all companies want, lots of money. An Archimedes pump broke at this sewage works. The radio reported approximately 6,000 litres of sewage per second was now spilling into the Forth. It's said by officials, though I don't know the providence of these officials, the sewage will likely dissipate with the tides and cause little in the way of environmental damage. Though the notion of a skinny dip on the edge of the Forth is probably something none of those same officials will sign themselves up for.

It is sad with such a casual demeanour an event like this can happen and be accepted all is well. All is not well. It shouldn't of been allowed to happen. Personally I'd like to see each and every high ranking owner, executive and self important suit at Thames Water personally be made responsible. Lets drop them in for a little swim just so they can test the water and tell us after they've been checked out for diseases, that all is well. No doubt the Firth of Forth will recover and I expect I'm being a little over dramatic. I just hope I don't have to put a peg on my nose the next time I go over the bridge.

The Grand National

I sat and watched the Grand National this afternoon, in the same pub I watched it last year. However, amongst the viewers was a particularly anoying young man, he just couldn't keep his trap shut. It was as though he needed to be the centre of attention. The worse part was he had walked in just two mintues before the race had began and merged with his mates. I think maybe he had some mental condition, or he wanted to get a mental condition. Because if he carries on the way he was during the National someone will give him a bruising, which I'm very much sure may silence him for a moment or two.

Besides the anus with a mouth the event was good to watch. I'd put a bet on 4 different horses each way. And with my bloody luck, not one of them came in. Although a couple seemed to stay quite a long distance, by the two thirds mark they somehow had dropped back into obscurity. So after chilling with my pint and the end of the race I left with my pocket lighter. But had to stop off at a betting shop because my friend Green Car man had actual won two places.

The moral of the story is, if you want to see an important event get a seat close to the box and hire a couple of bouncers to kick the living crap out of anyone who believes they are the side attraction.

Walked my legs off

Tonight I am tired. I feel tired because I've made sure during the whole day I did a bit of walking. A mile and half in the morning a good mile and a half in the evening and some little bits in the day. If I carry on like this, I'll end up 2 inches shorter by the end of the week. People wont recognise me. And worse still I might get more comments about the balding patch at the back of my head.

Memo for self. Get platform shoes, wig and superglue. The glue will keep it all in place on a windy day

Movie Saturation

There has been a point over the Easter holiday where I had reached complete movie saturation overdose. I just didn't want to view another film. No matter how good, who the actors were or who directed. Enough was enough. So to say. It's at this time I wondered what else I could do, besides leading a meaningless and non evocative existence. Passing hours in the monotony of a little square box was like having a leach suck out my brain. At saturation point I begin to take stock and ask what I have achieved. What meaningful thing I have done today which has made it worth waking up, having breakfast, and being a contribution to the world. I'd got my hair cut, well better than nothing.

I considered chatting to Sparkling Eyes. However, Sparkling Eyes wasn't having any of it either. She'd probably reached saturation point with me. Try as I might I was shunted off to the sidings like a defunct dejected railway carriage. Although I must admit in one communication Sparkling Eyes had a wonderful turn of phrase when she wrote "walking the boards of indecision" or something of a similar vein. Very eloquent I thought. Still I was punted nice turn of phrase or not. She had given me the big E for the time being. My anodyne to the human race had walked off.

I suppose when it comes to it, the only person you can't run away from is yourself. OK it maybe a bit narcissistic, but it depends for some just being in your own company could be a good thing. Then you can listen to the voices. In the walls. In your own head. Perhaps even in other peoples heads if you got mind reading abilities.

So after this holiday period, I will change myself and use my time to a better end. It doesn't matter what I do as long as I am doing something. Something constructive, something which does not involve going into a passive vegetative state. Something which may even be for the better of human kind. Of course that's it, put on my blue cape, tights and brush the lint from the big letter "S" standing out on my torso. Or maybe just one step at a time. I'll try the flying bit off a kitchen chair. Sure hope the cat doesn't think I've lost it.

Trip to Hastings

I went to Hastings with Green Car man and the little oriental fella. It was sunny and windy. But nice to get out of London. To have a long weekend away from the Fish Factory for a start.

Hastings I decided was a dive. All it seems to have is chip shops, pubs and amusement arcades. There's nothing in the way of night life, well certainly not on the sea front. Besides plenty of sea air. And a shale beach. Which is quite large as far as south coast beaches go. Certainly a lot larger than Margate which is another even deeper dive sea side resort. It must be something to do with their seasonal demand. We popped into a sweet shop which I thought was well overpriced. £1.50 for a 150 grams of lime an chocolate sweets. A rip off. A Woolworths would of put them to shame. We discussed how it must be a sorrowful plight for people who lived in the area and wanted work. There are times when a metropolis has it's advantages.

We played crazy golf. And although we may have been the odd bunch because most players seemed to be families the game was fun, we all had a laugh. I managed to get 3 holes in one while green car man, the expert golfer amongst us only got a single hole in one. We had fish n chips for supper. The fish was enormous and the chips small. Then it was time to head back, with the roads getting pretty dark where they didn't have lights.

While in Hastings I thought of Beautiful Eyes and her lost family tie. I breifly considered my own cousins and an aunt who lived here somewhere. I haven't seen them in years and am sure I wouldn't even recognise them.

The sea air was good for shaking out cobwebs. It was a pensive day overall.

Losing Hair

I'd stayed up late chatting to Beautiful Eyes via MSN, which was pretty good because the actual thing worked rather than booting me off every two minutes. She was merry and happy especially with the prospect of becoming an SSP councilor. I was warned I had to vote for her. Even though I live in in a different city, it don't matter. She'd get m vote anyway.

My plan was to wake up late. However the rest of the world had other plans for me. Dustbin men were out and about before the hour hand had passed eight. I got up about half past. Had ten minutes of my favourite radio station and got ready for the day.

One of the worse things I find about using the bathroom is finding someone else's hair. Usually long ones. Always from girls with long hair. Perhaps this is because I don't have long hair myself. But they get in the way. Though I suppose now this is becoming much less of a problem. With hair getting in the way. I washed mine and was surprised to see a fair proportion go down the sink. Surprised edged onto alarm. Wondering how many hairs on a head the average person has, and how long it would take before I go bald. Then if I don't watch it this hair thing could become an obsession. Thing is it is. I want to see other blokes go bald before me. It could be something to do with the patch on my crown Beautiful Eyes usually points out. Well not just the patch she points out everything. If there's a flaw she'll tell me about it and beat me with it laughing at my paranoia. If I don't accept it, I'd be in a right state. If your loved ones take the pee then it's a matter of getting on with it. Which reminds me how Little Monster Boy called me fat on two occasions yesterday. Which is another story.

Let me get fat but whatever you do, don't take my hair away.

New Phone

Today's big event was the purchase of a new telephone. One of BT's own brand. It looks nice and fresh. Though it has a few functions on it I'll have to work out how to use. But it also has "handsfree" wonderful. I can sit and make expressions with my hands and not have to hold the thing. Or if it's going to be a long call just put in on and sit back. Or let others listen in.

It's odd though, the older I get the more I just like things designed just to do their own job and do it well and nothing else. I don't want a coffee making, picture snapping house phone. Just one which rings, doesn't crackle too much and will last. Pitty it needs batteries though. So much for the green environment.

The family of Talkatives are coming tomorrow, I figure it best to get as good a night's sleep as I can. Pull out the bullet proof vest, helmet, coffee and tazer. Just in case. I know one thing, I'll be exhausted when they have gone but happy to have seen them. Little Princess talkative could probably wind me round her little finger, it will be nice to see if I can now understand what she says. Bigger brother talkative I'm concerned about because he's not the sharpest tool in the box and likes to use his fists at school. He's only a little lad and his ignorance is such a sadness to what troubles he may get himself into as time goes on. Whereas smaller brother talkative is the brain box. Very bright, he certainly could be something quite different from his bigger brother. Then again who can tell what the future holds. Personally I still don't know what I'll be when I grow up and I'm in my ??, hey don't expect me to say how old I am.

Without knowing

This evening I found myself talking to little Tiger. He sat by the back door and let out a meow asking me if he could go out. It didn't matter about the rain or how he had been in and out more times than a ferret in a bag of nuts. No he had to go out now. I found myself doing something I don't do often. Talking to him as though he could understand. I said " no you can't go out mate, because it's raining and you'll get wet. You've already been out and come back in," he looked at me in disdain turned his head away and I saw the end of his tail flick like a serpent. He was not amused. So this time Tiger turn looked at me again and just a touch louder meowed again. My reply was "look I've already told you, it's raining, you'll only come back in. You're a cat not a duck." It didn't matter. So at this point I realised the sound of rain was no longer there and opened the door. It was without realisation/knowing I had spoken to Tiger. At this point the thought occurred this might be a sign of madness.

However, I don't think this is the case. There are things we do without realising them on an automatic level. And there are somethings which we don't do but would do if the little voice inside went away, the one which acts as a conscience. I might see someone walking down the street who I don't know and think they have a nice pair of shoes on, but I don't say it or ask them. I don't know who they are. The automatic don't go there sensor is turned on. While at other times it's not. Especially when inebriated where it emphatically gets turned off. It's not a matter then of not knowing but rather having a good excuse, it was the alcohol. Yes I did fart then but hoped the cigarette smoke would hide the odour. If I'm not drunk it will be a matter of holding a straight face and letting the thought of suspicion be caste on anyone else. A particularly good straight face when in a lift, preferably not passing wind if can helped. Unless it's empty. Which would be while knowing.

There's a guy at the fish factory who talks while he's gutting the fish, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. There's a woman who talks continuously say how bad some fish are, as though she's the only one in the world having to deal with a complex fish. Which is just as irritating. It's without knowing people forget those around them. I'd rather not know. If they spoke in a different language I couldn't understand then it wouldn't matter. Things done therefore without knowing are often automated. If only the conscious switch would be thrown again.

I suppose Tiger doesn't care, all he knows is I'm his automatic door opener and he'll go out when he wants to, lucky cat.

Telecoms and circuses

The last few weeks I've been having problems with broadband. Quite frankly it's been more like a slim band, thin band, intermittent band, disconnect you band and scratch head all night wondering what the band is up with the band. It happens primarily when I'm on MSN messenger. The connection just cuts off. As though some very fragile wire is hanging lose, then when the wind blows in a certain direction it cuts me off. This is not fun.

Sparkling Eyes told me to get it fixed. It's infuriating. There I'd be chatting away happily to Beautiful then my chat would be no chat. Like I'd been suddenly zapped into space. A moment later, it would reconnect. Sparkling Eyes was getting angry at me. Hey it's not my fault. Now it's my choice get it fixed or not get a chat with the one person in my life I can't stop chatting to. There was no choice. I had to make the call to my service provider.

I rang up British Telecoms on their magical number (151) for reporting faults and a machine spoke to me and tested my phone line. It told me there was a fault. Well does this mean BT prefer the word of a machine as against the word of a human being? It was nice to know I wasn't imagining getting cut off so frequently. Sparkling Eyes would be happy it would get fixed and we could chat. Happy to think I didn't have the broadband equivalent of Tourettes syndrome. The machine made an appointment and said it would be completed in 2 days.

So I waited 4 days and it still isn't fixed. I rang again. This time I got to spoke to a human being. Her accent was Indian, name Tina and she spoke very much like Margaret Thatcher had given her two dozen elocution lessons. Thatcher by the way is amongst the most hated prime minsters this country has ever had. The conversation proceeded and with each comment she made, I just couldn't help getting mad at her. At the end of the conversation I asked her where she was from. She was in India. In a call centre no doubt. I was also mad coz she said her name as Tina, yet another minor item I detest call centres for; giving obviously European names to Asian's who barely have the ability to talk the language. I opened my trap and told Tina she sounded upper class, and condescending when she spoke, I said it was obvious she wasn't from the UK. At this moment she dropped the put-on tone, and it was as though the stress had been relieved from her vocal chords she sounded natural. I know she was unhappy at what I said, which is sad because if she knew the despise working class ordinary people held for Thatcher, I'm sure she'd of understood. It's now 5 days and the line is still not fixed. I bet Tina's gone and lost the fault request slip.

Today I also went into the Fish Factory to do some overtime. Hoping it would be quite, but my big fish group leader was there and he enjoys talking. On the phone. In person. To anyone. So it ended up a circus. Ear plugs were sank deep in my ears, headphones on with music and most was drowned out. He wasn't the only one, but then I suppose most circuses have more than one attraction, but why do they have to be so loud I wonder. I am from a different world, I like to hear myself think. Peace and quite is a beautiful thing. It's lucky I have a long fuse. I wonder tho if it will stretch all the way to India, Tina could just make my intermittent broadband last a bit longer. I'll suppose then I'll be clapping like a seal and doing circus tricks next time I ring.

Fire alarm at the fish factory

Without warning the fire alarm went off. I sat in my chair in a state of disbelief. Just when I was about to increase my daily output by a 100% and do my second item of work. I wasn't entirely sure it was a test, because one of the fish who sits in a wheel chair was still there. Usually you can tell because he'd off dissappered ten minutes before. So with reluctance I put my jumper on. With slow couldn't care less motivation I tied my laces up and slipped my coat on. There was even the notion of just sitting there and getting on with my work. Except for the bell. Which was pretty loud. I had no choice. And removed myself from the building in a decidedly slow manner.

The stairwell was packed with people going down. Everyone trudging down slowly. What a joke. It must of taken 10 minutes to get out, or at least felt like it. However, I suppose it was nice to get out in the afternoon and get away from it all.

There were no firemen. No uniforms. No big red fire engines. Just a large squall of fishes congregating and keeping warm as best as possible. It took even longer to get back into the building. Next time, I'll just pop into the shops on the way to the meeting point, get a cuppa tea and a chocolate biscuit and thank the weatherman it's not raining. What's it matter, it's all water off a fishes fin?

Stressed Fish

Sometimes it don't matter what you do, you just can't help getting stressed. In the Fish Factory we're all getting stressed. It's like an infectious disease, or fire fighting in a drought. One flame bursts up and immediately another next to it. Stress dwells under the surface of the pond and all the fishes feel it, they flap around more and even the most chilled still get stressed. I think of one of Kiplin's poems which has a line about keeping your head when everyone else is going crazy. But it don't help all the time and I could be losing my head very shortly.

I rang up a help line set up for us poor fishes by the Big Fish of the pond. It was all in confidence. I was offered 4 free councelling sessions or advice on how I as a little fish could take out a grievance against the Big Fish. But being a Ritz man on the block I think I can work out how to write my own grievance. They listened. I asked if they reported anything back to the Big Fish. Their reply was they only kept statistics unless it was something to do with self harm or harming another person. I did mention I had considered getting a large fishing rod to catch the big fish and then smack them over their heads but I didn't have access to one or the skill to use it. I said I tried to use a little humour. One of the things I was advised was maybe changing myself. Great, so I'll just go out to the shops and buy a new me, make myself different. My conclusion was this help line was a load of rubbish. If they couldn't tell the Big Fish about the plight of the Little Fishes what you were they to me?

Maybe I should take up football, coz then if I lose my head I always got the ability to do something with it. Or maybe look for a good fishing rod. Hmm now wouldn't that be an idea?

News

Warning this is a heavy blog - sorry no humour here.

Watching the News can be a bad thing. Mostly because all it reports is depressive and abhorrent events. Wars, murders and the break down of society. It is not a sobering thing but rather one which draws blood from the psyche. Whatever you are doing, wherever it is, just put on the News and become despondent.

I was thinking it's because the News is shallow. News is centred on recent events for their immediate impact, it gives the raw facts, or rather the facts that can be reported in 3 minutes tops. What it also does is mislead because it leaves out a great deal of information. Sometimes just giving a single fact is like telling a lie. Because the additional information needed for an informed notion of a News event sets context. Every event of the world is set in a context.

In the last few weeks there have been several murders of teenagers in London. By gun and knife. They have been reported as demonising youth and gang culture, what they have not done is try to understand the event. What were the sequence of conditions which led up to the death of this or that person? How then can we as a society learn from them and prevent a repeat? The News therefore is shallow. It gets more viewers by sensationalising. Providing the full facts takes too long. There could be a moral question here in whether this is how News should be presented.

I normally try to add humour into my blogs, but this time I apologize. Our media coverage and our willingness as recipients of information is a contributing factor. I can accept or refuse what I read and watch, but if I accepted without my own questioning then I'd be no more than just another sheep. I cry for each young life taken in the recent violence on the streets of London, and especially in pity for those who don't understand in real terms what they have done when they've held the knife or pulled the trigger.

Well it will soon be Easter, now I wonder when today's children grow up whether they will associate Easter with chocolate eggs or perhaps consider it had another reason?

Double helping of lasagne, forget the Kate Bush

Been spending a week in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. I've helped myself to a 2nd helping of lasagne, and 20 minutes later my belly is stretched, full, bloated. I'll have to change my eating next week. But it was delicious and the garlic bread tastie. Very, very tastie. In the background I hear yet again the repeat of a Kate Bush track driving me completely out of my mind. The screeching screaming banshie is not from this world. But Rock Chick insists Kate Bush is the best and doesn't understand why I don't like Katie. Katie was from my era, and I'd rather leave her back in a time I'd rather forget, a time when screaming banshies was thought pop. Where did I hide myself when this music cam on the scene? Where ever it was it wasn't in a deep enough dark enough hole, coz Katie is still rining in my ears.

I've pampered Sparkling Eyes all week with back rubs, tickles and feet massages. She tells me I have to do it, because she deserves it and it's my job. Nice to know I have a use. It makes me feel good. Sparkling Eyes feels chilled, and the world is a better place if only for a short time.

Whenever I am here I have a learning experience. Things are different for me in my home town. Here I'm put well and truely in my place. Often called a girlie amongst other things which can not be repeated for the sake of the innocent, i.e. me. But I'm sure I leave my mark. Especially when that mark costs me 40 squids teaching Rock Chick how to do her home work. I must be a little slow. I'd of thought it was me who should of got the renumeration.

Oh well a Guinness and a glass of wine should make the medicine go down a little better. Though I can't help wishing Kate Bush would be turned off.

Relax, Chill, Calm

I have written a post-it note, stuck it on my Fish Factory monitor and have to see it all the time. Well until it drops off. It says "Relax, Chill, Calm" because things are getting stinky at the Fish Factory. Some fish have been waiting ages to be gutted so they are now stincking a bit. I wear a peg. On my nose. But it doesn't stop me from getting stressed. I'm sleeping shorter hours, having heart palpitations and wondering if I don't chill whether I'll have a heart attack. Not to mention the occaisional spout of frustration and finding I can feel agressive when agression I know is a very bad thing. Fortunately, I got something to help chill me out. A visit soon, to see Sparkling Eyes.

I need an anodyne. Sparkling Eyes provides it. Whereas Rock Chick test's the anodyne to see if it is working, but in a nice way. I then learn with all this contradiction of fire and water collapsing and chilling is the must way. I recall reading something about attitudes. No matter what the situation put in, the attitude taken is your own choice. Worry and have a heart attack. Accept and try to be constructive is another. Inbetween I keep blowing the inflatable raft.

At the moment I'm somewhere between ringing the Fire Brigade and lighting the tinder box myself. Hey if you don't add some of your own fire then you'd just be a damp squib. Whatever a squib is. No offence to them. They just sound damp.

Big fish talking to little fish

I had to do my Ritz man act today, the matter wasn't serious but it was something which had to be tackled. A little fish needed to communicate with a big fish. But the big fishes were just writing notes of what they expected the little fish to do without talking. So I arranged the meeting with the view it was something that could be sorted out and we did sort it out. The little fish seemed a bit happier, so to a certain extent I had done my job in her representation although. There could of been more.

Communication is such an important thing. There's one bloke I speak to and it don't matter if I like the guy or not, but I do kinda like him, he still don't listen to a thing said. It's like he's on a different bus. I've seen this happen before with two people just chatting to each other, and the both of them talking about completely different things. Talking over and at but neither really showing they were listening to the other. At the end I'd wonder if anything was gained. I suppose talking to another person is better than not talking to anyone. Better than talking to a wall. But it is important to talk, it's a sign of something dwelling inside. In the book 'The Prophet' by Kahilil Gibran there's a line which comes to mind: "you talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts." This line pops into my head on occaision when someone is needlessly prevaricating and then I wonder what is behind their words, what it is they need to say which makes them talk so much.

All day long people around me natter. They natter about everything so I end up putting ear plugs in to help concentrate on my work. Which demands attention. The work not putting the ear plugs in. In a quite atmosphere I can think, concentrate and understand. I'll admit someone may think I'm going slow, but it's the process which is important. Then I end up knowing more than other people and they talk to me even more asking me what to do. It's a Catch 22 situation.

Perhaps, I should improve my prevarications interrupt everyone else and give up. Alternatively I may have to get better ear plugs. Or even a helmet to put on my head with a little window to peer out of, it would have to be sound proofed of course. And I'd have to take it off when I went to the pub afterall how could I drink my guinness?