Tired and looking for oxygen

It has been a week of madness at the Fish Factory.  At times I answered the phone and even forgot who I was or whether it was morning or afternoon.  So today when it got quieter, I just seemed to shut down and go into a go-slow mode.  They'd had more than their pound of flesh.  They'd had a pound of flesh plus a quarter of chocolate covered raisins and peanuts, which by the way I haven't seen in shops for a long time.  Gone are those days.  Very far gone.  So after such a busy time there is a point where zombie mode takes over, this was the place I had gotten today.  Stretching out my arms and groaning.

My darling Sparkling Eyes sent me a Valentine's card the other week.  It arrived early. She apparently had bought it when she wasn't wearing her glasses and just liked the look, even though there was a pink written message on the front.  It was a little saucy.  So I decided it was probably best not to put it on display.  But right now I have taken it out of it's envelop again just to get another look.  Sparkling had written on the inside "never buy a card when you don't have your glasses on."  Like Sparkling I didn't fully read the text on the front and so it didn't register.  I had to close the card and re read what it said.  Yes she's right.  I'd probably add the rule "never buy a card until you have read every word on it" which goes quite well with her's.  Last night I rang Sparkles and she didn't want to chat to me because she thought her day had been boring.  This then became a game between the two of us.  She tries to get me off the phone while I desperately try and think of conversation to get her involved in.  It's not that Sparkling has had an uneventful day.  What matters is I am actually getting to talk to her and hear her voice.  Because I don't hear her voice every day, and no matter what it is she talks about I am interested in.  She then jests I am a stalker.  Whereas for me our conversation no matter how menial makes me happy.  Sparkles managed to shove me off the phone even after I told her I thought our chats were like oxygen.  She laughed and thought I was odd, but I know she liked it.  Indeed I can't help how I feel.  When you love someone and don't get to see them often then they are always on your mind.  Until you get told to do the dishes, or they put something brain dead on TV like X-Factor.  At this point the oxygen can be a bit soporific.

Not Type 1 but Type 2

Well there's a little bit of relief.  Big Momma went to the docs and was told it is Type 2 diabetes and not Type 1. She has some pills to take and has been advised to be aware of her sight deterioration.  Maybe in a few days time I'll get some undisturbed sleep.  With a bit less of the tinkle tinkle.  It's good news for everyone and a little bit of a relief.  Now we can all keep an eye on the biscuits and chcolates. 

Big Momma discovers she has Type 1 Diabetes

Today Big Momma found out she had Type 1 diabetes.  The doctors surgery had been chasing her up for a blood test for a few days, she kept putting it off because of the weather and not feeling too well.  Then the results came through and prompted today's phone call.  This she told me as I walked in the door.  So asked "which one is that, coz there's two types?" her response was "I don't know, but I got it.  The nurse was surprised."  To tell the truth it hasn't been a big surprise to me considering I hardly get a decent night's sleep unless I'm well and truly knocked out.  Big Momma is up about 5 times during the night to have a tinkle.  With a little luck this could mean my disturbed nights will come to an end as she no longer clumps out of bed, opens the world's loudest squeaky door and plants herself on the pan. 

The writing was on the wall.  I should be worried as well because I know it can be a hereditary thing.  Momma said I could eat the biscuits, I headed to the kitchen after taking my secret stash of chocolate covered biscuits upstairs.  Surprise, surprise.  There lay three different packets of cookies, chocolate, chocolate and hazelnut and I think a double chocolate.   I've concentrated on my own for the time being and now feel like I've overdosed, a little light headed, maybe even heart palpitations.  Thank heavens I go to the gym. I know I can endure the sudden strain on my metabolism.

I checked a couple of books on drugs and found a description of Type 1 diabetes.  Simply put it's the worse kind.  The one where you have to take an insulin injection for the rest of your life and monitor it on a constant basis.  I reprimanded Momma.  I know her afternoon pastime is a movie and a bar of chocolate.  She'll now have to attend a diabetes clinic and get lots of advise.  She didn't like the idea of giving up on her white bread. It's got a high GI index.  It's odd because she had to give a urine sample few months back, they said then she just had an infection.  How come the docs didn't notice anything else wrong is typical miss diagnosis.  I said she may make more friends, with those who have the same condition.  I intimated there was a diabetes stripa-gram.  It was a bloke who covered himself in sweet wrappers and would say to the girls "come on darling peel off a wrapper for something nice and sugary."  She laughed.  Considering Big Momma now lives for junk food this could mean the biggest change of her life is about to happen.  We'll see, but don't bet on it.  I can't see Cadbury's going bust any time soon.

Question Time is hit yet again by time wasting idiots

So there I am catching up on Question Time from the BBC iplayer, and as I'm watching the panel get questions from the audience.  I'm beginning to think there happens to be a number of morons amongst the overseers.  I look at the individuals asking questions, then spend a moment of my very personal time and attention listening.  My life ticks away like a clock. I wonder what they are trying to say and unfortunately come to one sad conclusion. Even on TV, a significant number of idiots slip through the vetting process.  If indeed there is a vetting process for audience members.  It is as though these sub normal participants have eventually got their heart's desire and noticed on prime time national TV.  If, it is said everyone is allowed 15 minutes of fame, it would seem this is the place to get it.  Put in an application to be part of the audience on a politically based TV show and talk a load of bollocks just because the camera is on you and they can't be impolite and tell you to feck off.  Which is the BBC for you.  There are no bouncers or apparent security personnel.  If there are they are very polite and stay in the shadows.  Why on earth can't the intellect sucking leaches be evicted?  Thrown out on their ears.  Given the boot.  Pulled of with a Shepard's crook.  Dropped in the muck.  Placed anywhere but certainly not in this time, place or event. 

Wow, got that off my chest and feel a lot better for it.

What do you do when you can't get to sleep?

I went to bed last night, physically tired and needing sleep.  Read a little bit of my book at bedtime, it's a thriller by Jo Nesbo where a policeman is trying to catch a bank robber, then let my head lay on the pillow in anticipation of slumber.  By this time it must of been getting close to midnight or even slightly after.  My eyes were tired, my body was saying in as far as it can talk "sleep, sleep" yet my expectation did not come about.  I thought well it is early yet and you can't really expect to get instantaneous sleep as soon as the pillow approaches.  Certainly this time round it was the case.  It was like I was on the edge of sleep but unable to go to sleep.  I would of liked to say I had drank too much coffee and it was the caffeine, but it wasn't the caffeine, I hadn't taken anything in the way of a stimulant.  Unlike other times when trying to sleep and it doesn't come I didn't think about sleeping, I just lay there.  At one point I wondered whether it was worth getting up out of bed and making a cup of tea.  Well at least then I would have an excuse.  I got pretty close to this, but again for some reason didn't.

It was odd, because I seemed to be in the mental zone.  You know the place.  Where if someone poses you a question or puzzle it is easier to concentrate.  Not to say the solution would be any quicker in coming.  It was being in the mentally alert zone.  I noticed everything as well.  The creaks and groans of the house, the wind blowing outside, Big Momma in the next room breathing deeply.  I was sensitised but not afraid.  Not afraid and alert as in Sparkling recently telling me she had gone to bed after watching the horror movie Paranormal Activity 1 then 2.  I didn't have the I-am-too-scared-to-sleep alertness.  No.  This was something very different.  This was the kind of alertness you absolutely desire when stuck on a very difficult Soduku and every body around you is making noise.  This was the kind of alertness where you can actually achieve things.  Great.  I wanted to achieve bliss in the land of sheep and fluffy dogs when the one thing I wanted wasn't going to happen.  It's all pretty paradoxical.  Just like a dream.  It might of been I was really asleep but dreaming I was awake.  Or it could be we are all asleep this very moment and our lives are just reality imaginings.  Blimey.  Sounds like I'm going into the world of Neo from the Matrix, if not some weird theoretical metaphysical argument.  The kind where I might say "A" exists where "A" is some random event.  Then state "B" exists as a time and place.  Then say all "As" will occur in a "B," which of course would be true.  However, my next statement is what if "C" existed outside of "A" and "B" and yet it was as real as anything else.  Yep.  This will get you thinking.  Unless you consider this is the ramblings of a crazy man, which could also be true and would mean "C" was a concept beyond the mind of sanity so could be disregarded.  Oh dear.  Whatever you do don't disregard my blue suede shoes, Elvis used to say.  If not it was something quite close to it.  So returning back to not being able to sleep.  I had some how entered a land of being completely relaxed but also completely alert.  Now if only there was a switch which could tap into such a state "on" or "off."  Which would be interesting.

So much thinking is making me feel tired.  Hopefully I'll sleep like a log tonight.  One which has not rolled over or wondered what it will be made into.  One which lays quite still and just "is" and nothing else.  Blimey sounds like another case of "C" to me.

Happy Valentine's - now what about a horror movie?

I managed to get a Valentines card to Sparkling in time, in fact she received it early and there I was thinking it might not get there at all.  Then today, the dozen roses turned up.  Awwwe.  Rock in the meantime had Dangerous Sports Lad turn up with a card wishing her happy valentines.  There were tears, lots of them I understand, a puffed up face and red eyes as well.  Even though he couldn't afford a gift this time round I made a promise.  Awwwe, he made her very happy.  And his making Rock happy makes me happy to.  Sparkling said the evening had been set.  The girlie's were all going round, she was going to get lots of snacks in for them and they were all going to sit there watching horror movies.  It's odd.  Valentine's day and they are choosing to spend the night with horror movies.  I really, honestly do not know what goes on in the female head.  It is a mystery beyond all mysteries.

In the meantime last night I got involved in car crash, catch up TV on various media web sites.  There was the hour and a half of the 50 worst plastic surgeries, there was an episode of Being Human, a documentary on Nepalese widows who apparently are completely shunned by society.  I tell you it had me in tears when I heard their Hindu Holly man chastise widows as women who had done a very bad deed in an earlier life.   It made me want to beat the crap out of him.  Then I ended at some point by watching another documentary about a single girl living in a flat in London who was in danger of having her small son taken away because of a violent partner.  Any trace of horror films no.  None at all.  I think my hormones are on the brink, I'm needing more tissues than the girls on valentines day.  As for bloody horror movies, I think I'd need a three seater sofa to hide behind.

They all want a bit of me and then don't listen

How is it possible to foster independence in others?  While at the Fish Factory I am finding as a middle fish a lot of the smaller fishes asking me lots of questions.  It is like they do not have a brain for themselves to go and find the answer or to work it out.  I remember when I was a smaller fish, I would work out for myself the answer and very seldom seek help.  I saw myself as self sufficient.  I could read the bible of fishes decisions, I could read through all the literature and then I would decide on my own what to do given I'd worked it out.  Whereas now, they all seem to come to me.  It's almost as though there is a dependency or denial of seeking their own truths.  It's easier to ask the boss, I'll not work it out.  So goes their brains.  I'm therefore driven to complete distraction and unable to do my own fish gutting which is starting to mount up.  Of course as the pile gets higher it also becomes smelly as well.  So what do I do? What is the answer?  I'm sure having a tizzy fit will not cure the situation, instead it will likely make them scared of me and scared little fishes are hardly going to get on with their job very well.  Perhaps I am treating them too much with kid gloves. Whilst on the other hand there are few options I have.  The tool of giving a verbal reprimand has been taken away.  Again it's a negative thing so would likely do no good.

Unless I can find an answer to this precarious situation I'm going to start losing my hair, become a complete and utter alcoholic and likely a zombie as well.  As well I find there is only so far I can go with these fishes.  I can lead them to water but it's up to them if they drink it.  Right now this bunch get led to water, have a sniff, turn their nose up because it doesn't suit their particular tastes and go walking off into the wilderness.

Happiness in being drunk

It's always nice to be told you are getting fat.  Especially by another person who is fatter than yourself.  And although I really should not bother about it, it does effect me.  So this evening I went out and had a walk, because for this week it seems visiting the gym just isn't on the cards.  Whilst visiting the pub has been, and yesterday I got drunk on my mere 3 pints.  But hell.  I was happy and being happy is one of the golden secrets of life.  So in my happiness I made a couple of phone calls to the ones I like to share my merry demeanour with.  Sparkling and then L & B Man.

I rang Sparkles, she was at home.  Or rather she actually answered the phone because she's been known to ignore it..  Yes, a little surprising.  I told her how I missed her and could of done with a hug.  I don't know what it is, but I got the feeling she was then trying to fob me off because she told me to ring L & B man.  I suppose when you are lucid a drunk man on the end of the telephone can be a pain in the arse.  I don't know why, but there it's there.  I felt it.  She also said I was now winding her up, which must be one of my many talents which comes out after a pint or two.  So I told her I loved her again and would ring L & B, for at this point her power of persuasion had worked.  I immediately ran Mr L & B man.  I was on the train at the time and it had quite a few people on it, but I really didn't care who overheard me.  L & B must have some kind of clairvoyance because I only said a couple of words and he asked if I had been in the boozer again.  One of the London gay pubs, because he thinks whatever pub I go to has got to be gay.  He then asked if I had spoken to Sparkling.  I said I had, his response was Sparkling must of told me to feck-off then which was why I was now ringing him.  Why this attitude I pondered again, what on earth is it sobre people have against the inebriated?  I did my duty and spread a bit more love and jollity to L & B and as I was having a problem listening to him on account of his telly being on in the background and not because of difficulty understanding his accent, then I thought it was best to leave him to his own devices.  I didn't realise but he was doing a little preparation for an interview.  I wouldn't of rung him up had I known.  I wished him luck and said I'd employ him.

Getting home I had a couple of cups of tea, watched some TV and hit the hay, feeling pretty good.  Happy, merry and still slightly drunk.  For some reason I could only read a couple of pages of my night time read, don't matter I'll catch up some more the next day.  I woke up this morning feeling not quite as good as when I went to bed, but it wasn't too bad.  It was even earlier a start to the day than the last week or so.  But one thing is so very true, drunk or sobre, happiness is still a big secret to life.  Lets not forget, seeing the cat as I open the kitchen door in the morning and finding he hasn't had a crap in his dirt tray.  Now I think of it.  Today was probably a pretty good one.

Stalked by my dentist

I am beginning to think I might be getting stalked by my dentist.  He's a nice enough bloke, but I'm going to have to let him down gently.  Well he is always easy going when I have to see  him.  It was only last week I last saw him to have an inlay re cemented.  Then yesterday a letter arrived.  The kind in a white envelop where it's difficult to see or guess who sent it.  Then I opened, the top was headed on the dentist paper, I'm now due my next appointment.  Why on earth a good relationship is being broken up by frequent seeing of each other is beyond me.  So what do I do? 

Gather my thoughts.  Gather my strength and make an appointment, I'm sure it's all coincidental. Bloody teeth, what would we do without them?  Suck eggs probably.

Pros and cons of Facebook - hypocrite

A few days ago, actually it was a Sunday to be precise, when I was completely at my wits end as what to do with myself.  The usual stuff.  No mates.  Don't want to go out as it was too cold and windy, no prospect of a chat with Sparkling and only a deranged Big Momma for company and grumpy cat.  I decided to join Face book.  It would give me an avenue by which to chat to some people now and again as well as providing it's own little distractions.  Face book games such as FarmVille and Glory of Rome.  It seems both of which also require friends or communication with other people to increase game status.  Anyway.  I joined it.  So spent a few hours trying to work out what it was about.  What I could and could not do to correct my personal profile, because of course being concerned with personal I.D. theft I'm careful about putting real details of who I am.  Then I was encouraged by the odd person here and there to add them as friends.  So I did.  Then I found I had been tagged on photos, and then I found I started receiving emails.  I think the count must now be in excess of 50 over a couple of days.  Which makes me begin to think it should of be renamed Junk Email book instead.  It seems it don't matter what someone else does in respect of my profile I then receive a notification.  When I don't really give a toss what they are doing, because it's only bits of me on there, not the whole me.  If you know what I mean?  I'm sure you do.

So besides a temporary addiction to a couple of games I'm wondering whether it was a good idea joining it.  Sparkling at first seemed annoyed.  In fact she had a groan at me, telling me I was a hypocrite because I said I would never go on it.  But I had.  I asked her if I should come off Face book and she said "yes" so I'm still on it and I'll make up my own mind when I want to come off it thank you very much.  But, saying this.  What a load of old codswallop people write.  It's nearly as bad as sitting in the pub listening to the Old Witch who should of been burnt at the steak for the dribble she spouts.  In fact this is one reason why I now don't frequent the pub as much as I used to, not to mention a growing waste line.  So at the moment I can't say I am too impressed with it.  I'm trying to see what the attraction is but it is escaping me for the time being.  It's like seeing the trailers for a recently released film, one with a good actor, great special effects, rave reviews and then when I've gone out to see it myself, hopes all high it turns out to be a load of pisshy knickers.  A bit like the smell of Channel 5 by the way.  Which is also a typically hyped up marketing product but even after decades still perseveres.  All I can say is if Face book doesn't show me a side which suggests it's something adults can use rather than adolescent self indulgent teens I'll have to think a little more and decide whether I should become a double hypocrite and kill off my account.  But for now I am enjoying the games.  I can hear someone thinking at the back of the class, "little things for little minds" ha ha, no I say sarcastically, read the dribble on there and you'll know what I mean.

Lady Gaga, Madonna and Superman - who's the odd one out?

It is a fact, the more you feed into popular culture the more likely you will be to get hits on your web site.  So I am conducting a little experiment and adding something different.  I'm going to talk about Lady Gaga, who I know little about, Madonna who I know even more little about and Superman who I probably know a bit a great deal in comparison.  So the odd one out is actually not one but two. Which by the sound of it probably makes the title of this blog a little misleading.  OK, it is, get over it.

The odd two out are Lady Gaga and Madonna and Superman could never be odd.  On account he has been round more years than the other two, jumps buildings in a single bound and if he feels like it can even fly, in fact flying to him is like walking and singing to Lady Gaga and Madonna.  Probably more so for Madonna because she's the second oldest and Lady Gaga is the youngest and I'd say the hottest.  But if I were to think of something Rock Chick said to me then I'd be pretty careful about saying Lady Gaga is hot at all because Rock would say Lady Gaga has got a little extra bit.  Personally I don't think Lady Gaga does have any extra bits otherwise she would not be called Lady Gaga.  As for Madonna we all know she doesn't have any extra parts but she is pretty Gaga.  I mean gaga in real life.  It's remarkable how when you get to learn more about artists or famous people and the curtains are dropped on their real character you find either they are not people you would want to know or they are more than eccentric.  Eccentric to the point of asking yourself why on earth did you like their music in the first place.  Not that Superman is at all known for music, but if he was then he would be under the spotlight.  But the reality is we all know a lot more about Superman in real life than M or G. Except for one thing Superman isn't real, which is a shame a blooming big shame because that would also mean Lois Lane was real as well and she is someone every man would like to meet, but we'd never manage to deal with the competition.

Now Superman's alter ego is the mild mannered Clarke Kent.  A very nice chap if I may say so.  He wears glasses and is always in a suit.  Madonna's alter ego is:  Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone.  The Ciccone would suggest she has a Italian heritage.  In which case you have to admire Guy Richie who didn't end pushing up daisies in some remote field somewhere.  Whilst Lady Gagga's alternate self is: Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta.  Actually I quite like the name Stefani, but as some other pop heroine has this as a last name it would probably cause some confusion amongst all the teeny fans, who listen to such music.  You see hormones and pop music usually lead to some kind of brain malfunction in teens that they forget a lot of stuff.  Fortunately parents do try to keep them in the know by shouting their name at them as much as possible.  Unfortunately it doesn't seem to work.  You would of thought parents have learnt this lesson as well.  On account they were once teenagers and they ignored their own name being shouted to.

 Which brings me to the conclusion what is there in a name after all?  And how come there isn't any just ordinary named people who are famous and looked upon with great respect.  You know.  Like Fred Blogs.  Now if Fred Bloggs was actually called Lady Gagga it would be quite interesting if he'd be as famous as she is.  On the other hand, I can hear Rock saying Fred Bloggs is Lady Gaga.  Great.  Maybe I should change my pop icon to someone different.  Someone where there can be no gender question or ambivalence, yes.  Like Boy George maybe.

Watching Scotland lose at Rugby and avoiding food poisoning

It's Saturday and feels quiet, like I don't have anything in particular to do, but were I to put my mind to it I'm sure I would find something. It's a little bit like the feeling you get when you know you should be studying for an exam but can't be bothered, because study just doesn't excite, and no matter  how much you try it either doesn't go in or you can't remember it.  This unfortunately was probably why I failed all my exams at school.  Then to be marked with the curse of an underachiever and worthy of nothing.  What a poor world it is to judge someone as a failure because they just don't pass an exam, which used to be how I felt.

So I console myself as I watch the rugby action, it's Scotland versus France.  I've sent a couple of text messages to L & B man, on account he's Scottish and probably going to be interested in Scotland losing.  The game is fast paced, I'm watching it now.  So far France is in the lead 17 to 7, the Scots are used to losing so it won't be too bad if they don't win.  If they win they will get pissed.  If they lose they'll get pissed.  I used to think I should support Scotland because of Sparkling an all.  But then when I found the Scots would even support Germany if they were playing England I changed my views. It maybe an archaic and stereotypical set of biases held by both nations and unfortunately one which seems to be perpetuated, but if someone is willing to challenge and break that view then surely the other side should do the same.  They didn't for me, so if Scotland lose, touch haggis.  The first half is over and there is no change in the score.  Yep, looks like there's some work to do if they want to come back.  I know if Sparkling isn't at work she will be watching the rugby.  She's got a thing about rugby players.  I think it might be the big thighs.  I'm sure it's not the cauliflower ears.

Big momma made lunch today.  It was toad in the hole.  Normally something I like.  Yet there was something wrong with the batter, it was half cooked.  I tried a bit of sausage, which had an odd taste to it.  There was something again not quite right about the taste, I asked if it was in date.  "Yes" I was told.  I didn't eat any more, went to the fridge found the packet and found it was 5 days out of date.  If the fridge was having one of it's freezing everything phases it might of been alright, but it doesn't feel particularly cold.  So I went without and did what I normally do when I can't trust a thing cooked by momma.  Go to a cafe and eat there.  I've had more cafe food in my life than momma has cooked hot dinners.  Otherwise I'd be in the hospital every couple of weeks and knowing the docs by their first name.

I pop in and out of the rugby window, listening while typing.  Oh dear.  France have scored again it's now 24 to 7, another bad day for Scotland. I'm caught in the action of the game and before I know it Scotland have scored a try.  I hear the bag pipes from somewhere in the crowd of supporters and yes although I am English I'm shouting for Scotland.   The score is now 24 to 14.  It must of been the bag pipes.  The sound of a dead cat puffed up with air and being squeezed under someones arm pit.  How comes so many of the French players have names which sound like toilets?  It must be the language.  The ref is having his say.   Oh shame, another missed kick from the French, and they were the ones who invented the Exocet missile.  There's another try by the French.  Nice play 31 to 14.  Maybe Scotland could loan a couple of English players, just for this game.  No, don't think it will happen.  I must say though.  Rugby is a team game, much more than footy and I was once told there's a position for every type of body shape.  Even fat men.  Well it's all over now 34 to 21, looks like someone hasn't been eating their greens.

Two seater sofa versus three seater sofa - three please

Sparkling has been on the look out for a suite and has seen a possible candidate.  A two seater and a three seater, there may even be a single but I can't remember what she said.  So much for building up a great memory this year.  It's a fabric one and in pretty good nick.  The only problem with the suite is whether it will fit through the door so she is going to measure it up and get L & B man to have a look to see what he thinks. 

The thought of a three seater settee almost made my heart jump, I smiled.  Thinking of the time when I'd been relegated to the sofa, which is presently only two a seater and is just no good at all for laying on.  With only two choices of position, curled up in a ball, which after a while makes you feel a bit cramped, or the other position which is hanging your legs over the arm at one end and head laying on the arm at the other end.  My legs then end up with cramp, or my feet cold because there's nothing covering them.  The number of hours sleep is reduced by half.  Not forgetting the cat who then with tail in the air and superiority goes up to stairs to take up the vacant space on the bed and lick himself, purring all along. But there are times when Sparkling has fallen asleep on the sofa when she's tired or inebriated and I'm sure she's woken up cramped and aching as well. Yes, so the idea of stretching out at a reasonable length on a three seater is so welcoming.  Then being in Sparkles bad books wont actually mean losing additional hours of rest.  It might even be comfy.  I hope so, I'm thinking of it now, bloody weird. 

I managed to get my inlay cemented back on the tooth today.  It's a good feeling, there was a space left behind big enough to put a sofa in.  I worried if I carried on with it then the thing would crack, which might have meant losing the tooth.  Eating on the left side of my mouth has been a pain as well.  It felt like eating slowly I was becoming a conscientious girl on a sparrows knee cap diet.  Now I can really tuck into my food.  Which will likely mean I can get fatter if I'm not careful.  Then I'm sure a three seater sofa would be pretty useful.

Exercise - do eyebrows count?

I sat on the exercise carpet, pulled the soles of my feet together and willed my knees down.  Then I caught myself in the mirror, and for five minutes exercised my eyebrows up and down.  Listening to the music I tried to make them synchronise to it, I thought of doing an eyebrow Mexican wave.  Tried it a couple of times and just couldn't pull it off.  Nearly but not quite.  Next was to try and create a Uni-brow by frowning hard but nope, those thick caterpillars didn't meet up.  By the end of the track I then realised eyebrow exercise doesn't count in the gym and wouldn't result in a sweat. However, I'm sure there must of been the odd calorie burnt.

Don't let the tooth get cold and watch out for the extra set

On Saturday one of my gold inlays fell out.  Thanks to Layabout Lad offering me a chewing gum, so once where there was a nicely fitted filling there is bare tooth.  I should of rang up the dentist, however the notion of being set an appointment with Miss Ph.D-dentist-but-inexperienced has held me back.  If I don't hurry up the tooth could get chipped or cracked.  Which means the pressure is on.  The good thing about having a dodgy tooth is it forces you to eat carefully and slowly.  So now I only eat on the left hand side.  Sounds a bit like an old song called Pass the Dutchy to the Left Hand Side, by Musical Youth, which will give you an indication of how old I am.  Feck.  The restricted eating means I have a chance to look at my food intake.  So I can maybe eat less than I used to eat.  It might be the idea but it's not working.  It really must be something to do with the weather, because it's still bloody freezing.  This evening coming back from the train station I could really feel the chill, I'm sure it is at least minus four if not more.  Which is another point, if the chill gets in my tooth I'll know it then.  Why on earth couldn't human beings be given several sets of teeth rather than the two.  Mark my words, one day in the future we will  be genetically modified so we could grow more than two sets.  As long as they are oral teeth, because if they grew out of another orifice we'd whistle when we fart.  Can't be having that now.

My mobile phone company, who shall remain nameless because I don't want to give them any more publicity than they already get.  Have been a problem.  I've not been able to send text messages.  I thought it was me, or rather my phone.  It's a couple of years old now so my thought was there must be something wrong with it.  However, even after switching on the off a number of times, standing on the top floor of the Fish Factory and deleting messages it still didn't work.  At lunch I went to the phone company shop.  They confirmed it wasn't me but one of the company's technical things had gone wrong in my area.  Their advise was to switch on then off again and it should work.  I didn't tell them I had already done this.  So went to lunch and tried it again.  The third time of pressing the on/off button it actually worked.  Yep, I feel like Alexander the Great in modern day somehow thinking it would of probably been easier taking an elephant over mountains. 

When I was up in Scotland on the party weekend the batteries for my camera ran out.  I recall now I borrowed Sparkling and Rock's camera's and took some pictures with them as well.  Note to self, think about buying a third back up battery.  Anyway.  When I now check out my pictures I realised some of them were missing.  Of course they were, because they are on either Sparkling's or Rock's.  They were good pictures as well.  Cos of all things I know how to do it's take a decent picture and whistle when I fart.

Held back by the other hand

I am missing Sparkling, it can't be helped I just am.  This happens immediately after seeing her over the Chrimbo and January big party.  I go to bed now and hope to reach such a deep sleep so when I wake up it is like time has collapsed itself into a few seconds.  This way the night goes quicker, and I don't have to miss Sparkles so much, but I still wake up with the lost feeling you get.  When something has been misplaced.  I then hope the day will go quick and it's not so long when I next see Sparkling again. 

The gym was on my itinerary this morning.  It was an easy work out, rather than using a rowing machine as a warm up exercise I used a reclining cycle machine.  Maybe it was less effort this way, it felt it.  The session went quickly as I listened to my MP3 and caught a bit of the Andy Murry match in Australia. Murray played crap, this is the truth.  He could of won it, but I could tell from his body language he just didn't have the killer want.  Or was it he actually had the fear of winning hat on.  The one where you just get so far and can't believe it and then all your anxieties bubble up to the top.  He didn't win to a better player, Murray lost it in his head and he then made one mistake after the other.  He didn't know how to change his frame of mind set.  It's not tennis coaching he needs, it's a good sound sports psychologist who can get him to understand how his own mentality works.  It just wasn't there.  I could of made a bet in full confidence knowing this as soon as I saw  him walk on the court.  I know because I been in exactly the same place, the fear of winning when you got the ability but are held back by no one else but yourself.  Shaking it off is a big thing.  Very big.

I went out yesterday with Layabout Lad.  His girlfriend has left him after four years.  She had done this before but this time it seems like real.  I hope so.  She sent him a text saying she wanted a boyfriend who was more motivated.  The thing was if she understood he needed motivation then she should of helped him get it.  I thought she was immature for Layabout.  But it is true, I don't think he is ever going to get a full time job at this rate.  He's now 23 and hasn't held one down for any period of time.  He's a nice enough kid, he just needs a big rocket up his backside.  Or motivation, his own motivation, his own genuine want and desire, then things will no doubt change.  We had two drinks in two different pubs.  He got to feel chilled out and happy, I listened to his groans and wished he would change his attitude.  Just like Murray's inability to believe in himself Layabout has this same mind set. It's like he has a hand on his shoulder and rather than it sitting there being of comfort it pulls him back.  There just a little pressure, it's not supportive at all.  It makes me also think of a scene from a film where a psychotic monk whipped himself.  This is what people do to their selves, not so much with a real whip but with their own apprehensions and fears. It don't seam matter what I say to Layabout it has no effect in picking him up.  Maybe I'm not any good as a motivator but I can definitely see it when someone is their own worse enemy.  Rather than play tennis against one opponent it becomes two. Feck.  Someone stick a rocket up my arse maybe I'll then learn how to motivate and get the best out everyone else.

The tone of this is all down heartening.  But how do you lead a camel to water and get it to drink the water?  No bloody idea.  Unless you make the camel think it has led itself because it is thirsty and needs a drink, while you just sit there getting frazzled by the mid day sun.  Come on summertime, then I'll get my parasol out, by which time the rocket up my arse as probably fizzled out as well, I hope so otherwise I'll have a odd looking walk.

Thursday not such a great day then came Friday

Thursday, was not been a great day.  One where work at the Fish Factory was one bucket of cod's liver after another.  Not to say I have an aversion to cod, but there are only so many buckets of the stuff I can stomach.  Then just as the day was coming to an end I get a chat with a bigger fish who tells me I will get a pay cut.  It was nice icing on top of the ten or twelve buckets of cod liver.  Well one thing is for sure, I'm not going to creek much over the next few weeks.  I'm not quite sure how to feel over the whole affair.  I knew at time there might of been a mistake, but took it for granted the bosses at the Fish Factory knew the circumstances of each person.  This way when there is any change they can be appropriately made, relevant to tenure and status.  They had given me something they shouldn't and then even put it in writing to say I'd get it.  It was their mistake not mine.  Part of me is resigned to doing nothing about the whole thing.  Contesting will cost me time money and effort.  Even going to see an employment lawyer.  I need to make my mind up, or maybe just do nothing.  Which I understand is sometimes the best way of dealing with things, as Lao Tzu preferred

Friday (yesterday) then popped up as if from nowhere.  Again my life became completely embroiled in the Fish Factory. Where I hardly found time to do a text to Sparkling.  Especially how much I miss her.  My sleeping I have noticed is not without disturbance.  Seems although I'm no longer waking up courtesy of a cat's meow at 1 a.m, I wake up anyway.  This could be the noble art of cat training fat man at work.  I wonder if Sparkling is being disturbed by Olly now, and whether she bothers to cater to his early morning attention seeking which is all it really was.  I mean.  Why should a cat suddenly think at 2 a.m. he needs feeding, stroking and escorting down the stairs to the kitchen.  Doesn't he know he can see in the dark and he is now big enough and ugly enough to eat his own biscuits without need human presents.  With the face of Fish Factory Friday even thoughts of waking up all times of the morning were comforting. 

When at the pub yesterday I met Mr Language Man I hadn't seen him for a long time, (he's a linguist).  He complained I had not answered his text message for a Saturday afternoon drink.  Which is something I used to do just after a shop.  One quick pint or rather one chilled and relaxed pint.  It was then I realised I had lost his number in my phone.  The bloody thing had to be reformatted with new firmware.  It was then I had lost everything on it.  Even the odd game which I had paid for.  My retrospective lesson is, always make a note of the phone numbers you have in your phone, because no matter how wonderful new technology is sometimes a pen and piece of paper beats it. I felt I had let Language down, but it wasn't down to me and I could see he had been offended.  As he left I asked him for his number again but he was unable to retrieve it from his phone.  Either on account of his being tipsy or not wanting to put me back on his radar.  Well there's only so far you can go.

Three days in a lodge

Well we're back from three days of alcohol, food and fun, and it was bloody marvelous.  Except for the electric deciding to trip out.  Which was down to over enthusiastic energy from all hot tub participants, or was it the three bottles of shower gel and mixed shampoo.  I mean who puts shower gel in the hot tub?  I thank the stars the electric decided to kill itself.  For a while the jacuzzi had become a horizontal washing machine, with people rather than clothes.  White foam was everywhere

A few days before the weekend began L & B man made a comment.  He intended to stay awake the full three days and nights.  Coming up with another motto "you sleep when you die" great I thought.  Friday night after an evening of merriment, L & B was still being merry after everyone else had already hit the hay.  Friday had since disappeared.  He was listening to music from an MP3 play and still managing to keep his eyes open.  Alright they may have been half closed, but they were also half open, which was all what mattered.  I ventured out of the room to see what was happening.  Sat beside L & B and together we listened to 80s music sometimes singing along.  A little more Guinness and L & B told me how much he loved me.  Bloody tart.  He'd been keeping his eye on me a long time.   We sang along each calling the other gay, a body moved up the stairs and entered the room.  Advising we'd be shit the next day.  It had just passed five a.m. I had to hit they hay.  Sparkles was somewhere semi comatose, a murmur rose up from her, I collapsed somewhere on the bed.

The log cabin has one failing.  Noise echo's, it conducts through the whole building, especially footsteps on the boards.  It must be something to do with the wood.  Blame it on the Norwegians they came up with the idea.  The should of used cotton wool, but then I spose it would never of been called a log cabin.

The second day was greeted early, with HMRC woman getting up to clean and tidy.  I must admit the place probably looked like a bomb had hit it.  There were close on to 50 people meeting up and partying.  Her feet tramped back and forth my eyes had barely had a chance to see the back of their lids.  Cups clattered, glasses chinked, cutlery tingled, voices echoed and chatted of the evening before.  I may of had only about three  hours sleep but flatly refused to get out of bed.  This was the way it would be every morning.  If someone else insisted on getting up early then I insisted on staying in bed regardless of whether I was going to get further sleep or not.  Generally not, on the weekend I'm sure there is a rule which states thou shalt never raise up to early to clean.  I must of seen it on the pack of coco pops.

The evening was fun.  All wore costumes.  I was Robin Hood, Sparkles was Maid Marrion and Rock Chick decided to be one of two Bunny girls.  The evening flew by, I wish I had taken notes, or videoed it for at least four hours.  There in attendance was Batman, Robin, a Banana, a police woman, the rag doll from Toy Story, beetleguesse, Ironman, a caveman, a character from Thunderbirds, a clown, Hugh Heffner, Freddie Mercury and many others. I just know it was great.  Except for maybe the first hour where I was stuck up at the cabin trying to lock the door while everyone else had already headed down to the pub.  Fortunately a convict came back and helped me with the key.  He was from Glasgow and it seemed to be people from Glasgow are good at locks.  I also remember at some point Rock Chick bought me a drink.  A shot it's called.  Made with the sweetest cherry.  I knocked it back in one.  Rock knocked her's back in one.  I gagged.  Rock didn't.  My tongue stuck out as I hoped the air would drag the sickly cherry tang away from my taste buds.  It didn't.  Rock grabbed my camera and shamelessly took photo's.  Beaware of the cherry shots, be very aware.

Don't ask me what happened to day three, it evaporated.  But somewhere during the event I had managed to hit some balls on the range.  Sleep, well when you have to it is possible to go without much.  Just the odd hour here and there.  Sparkling is now wilting right next to me.  Awwwe.  She can hardly keep her eyes open and has announced she will put her head down for five minutes.  Awwwe.  I been told I have been irritating.  I can't help it, some of the sleep I got must of worked and energized me back to life.  I can do that now, just put my head back while sat in a chair and descend into deep relaxed half coma state. 

I can't think of a better way to start the new year, than a few days away with a great bunch of people.  Next  week I begin my diet.  OK weight watchers look out fat boy's going to be taking you on.  All of you.

Happiness in a bowl of washing up

The Sparky didn't turn up.  No surprise there.  It's now early morning, very early and I'm waiting on the cat, Olly to come in.  Sparkling and Rock have gone up to bed, whilst I do my duty.  I also made a passable Chinese spicy chicken and pork.  It surprised me because it didn't seem to be working when I'd tasted it earlier.  Some things turn out differently than expected and are quite a pleasant surprise.  When is this cat coming in, is it true I am his bitch?  Saying this I've done more washing up in the past few days than I've done in my entire life.  All because the lady loves Black Magic.  Or all because I love the lady, shit I need some moisturiser for my hands.  Rock made a comment earlier, saying how happy I looked.  Yep, happiness is everything, no matter who you are, or who does it for you, being happy is the secret.  It should be inscribed into stone as the golden secret of life.  You can also be miserable and happy, providing the miserable is outweighed by the happy.  Bloody Sparky.  Now there's one person who could make my life miserable and probably not even be aware of it.

Waiting on the Sparky

I got up early this morning whilst Sparkling lay in bed and enjoyed a little longer sleep.  The electrician has been called because there's something up with the electrics.  Yesterday the downstairs lights, TV and slow cooker all failed.  They just stopped.  It was something to do with something called an RCD switch on the consumer board.  What this means I have no idea.  Fortunately at the time L & B man was here.  He had exhausted his name calling, "tart, slag" and "poofta" to name but a few and was about to start his breakfast.   Putting his grey cells to work, which must of been quite taxing he worked out it was all to do with the slow cooker plug.  A quick call to the local medically retired electrician man and he would come down to sort it out.  Sparkling said it would be at 9:30 this morning so I was the one who had to get up, while she got an extra 40 winks.  It don't matter, I managed to catch up on some good old fashioned TV.  The Champions and now The Saint.  The only time I get to chose what to watch is when both Sparkles and Rock are out of the picture.  Sleeping.  Except of course at a cost to my own shut eye.

So here I am still waiting on the Sparky.  I can't even say for sure he will turn up and it's gone 11:00 a.m. maybe his electric clock has stopped, or he's had a chance to catch up on some TV, I wouldn't blame him.  Except he could of come and and kept me company if that was his intention, I'd of made him a bacon sandwich.  We could of chatted about the 1960s and great TV.   Or the best way to wire a plug, not forgetting what on earth does RCD mean?  Rock has now emerged breakfast is a Cadbury's cream egg and she's a student of the fine culinary arts as well.  With a little luck I'll be able to get myself all cleaned up feel human, feel alive.  Then Sparkles can do her stint on waiting for the Sparky.  Who I am sure will not turn up today, we'll probably receive a phone call from him making an arrangement for another day or time.  Sparkling will get annoyed at the Sparky and wave her fists, probably at me and say "it's your fault."  Just as she did earlier in the week and said it was my fault the trees had carried on growing.  It didn't much matter how much I tried to say I had no control over their being trees and growing.  It was my fault.  In such circumstances I've found it necessary to agree and accept "my fault."  Then be told I had to do something about it.

OK better go and roll up my sleeves, some waiting washing-up has my name on it.  Not to mention some trees being looked at.

Sparkles Birthday

Tomorrow is Sparkling's birthday.  It's important to be here so I can wish her a very happy birthday in person.  Reminder to self.  If Sparkles asks me to peel potatoes just do it, tomorrow. 

The trip from London was uneventful.  Except for the fact there was a bloke who sat next to me at Kings Cross, his seat was reserved to Edinburgh, I thought at some point it would be good to have a chat.  On account of six hours without talking to anyone can have a detrimental effect and make me a bit mental.  However, he seemed to have a different idea.  I console myself it was probably because we were travelling backwards, that is facing backwards to the direction of travel.  I got up and went to the buffet bar, came back and saw this fella had gone.  His seat was empty, then I knew he had got up and found another seat. Hell, I'd even put on deodorant and I know I wasn't farting particularly bad either.  So what.  It didn't matter. The trip went fast and I made up for it by talking non stop to Sparkles, who put up with me so well.

Sparkling has been telling me every day.  At least three times how ill she had been over the last two weeks.  She is slapping on the guilt like a thick layer of battered toast.  "I was so ill" she will say looking for sympathy.  Then she'll turn to Rock Chick and say "how ill was I?" to which Rock will answer, "she was very ill."  I will then look at her sympathetically and say "awwwe darling" very gently.  I think I'm going to be reminded every day.  Sparkling's voice is still horse but not so bad she can no longer talk. It is good to hear what she has to say.  When Sparkles is happy I am happy, and when I say this I mean it.  It's the same for Rock.  She is so happy with her man Dangerous it is like she has a glowing aura around her.  Rock is perfectly well, and I can tell because through her happiness there is a sharp and humorous personality.  She's had me flabbergasted a couple of times because I don't know how to respond to her.  Today she was at Uni and told me she had a chemistry lesson and hadn't studied chemistry since she was 13.  She admitted it went over her head.  It was all electrons and protons.  Funny I thought those things were related to physics.

I have been trying to impress Sparkles with a memory trick, unfortunately it didn't work.  I forgot what I was supposed to do.  When it works I can tell you anything about the days of the year for 2010, like what was the second Thursday of May?  Or what day was the 20th December?  Anyway, Sparkles threw me at least five questions and I got them wrong.  Which was to Sparkles amusement, because she could imitate me while I was pretending to do my intellectual feat.  It turned out to be more of a stinky feet rather than an intellectual one. 

Anyway, It's Sparkles birthday tomorrow.  Happy birthday Sparkles and lets not eat potatoes today.

I forgot how to tie a knot - a tie knot

This is something I have to do about five days in the week, it is done almost automatically, like breathing.  This morning I forgot how to knot my tie.  I was nearly all ready to leave the house, slipped the mauve tie around my shirt collar and began.  For some unknown reason I started counting.  It was the number of times I went up and round, it began "1, 2,....what's wrong here?"  OK then I took another attempt, counted one hesitated and continued.  The tie ended up way too long and I couldn't understand what happened.  So I untied the knot and tried again.  I would of been flabbergasted at my own inability to do this simple task had I thought about it, but I just couldn't think any more because I was thinking about doing up my tie.  Imagine reaching for you shoe lace and just somehow getting lost or bewildered your fingers haven't done the job.  Now I know in the notion of Zen there is something called beginners mind.  It's a tantalising grasp which comes in the early stages of meditation and gives you an incite into what you are trying to achieve.  However, once this has happened it disappears and then takes years to recapture the same moment.  Either that or a lot of head shaving and wearing a orange robe.  My tie knotting ability had gone. Like it had been sapped out of me by some insect instead of taking blood it had taken knowledge.  Knowledge the most valuable thing in the world.  More so when it's my own.  I just so hope I don't have mad cow's disease.  Better lay of the burgers.

Talking about burgers I had a lovely portion of garlic vegetables on rice today.  It was delicious.  Very nice.  I also went to the gym.  Then got home and found out all the biscuits had gone.  A bit like my tie experience, except these had actually vanished into thin air.  Which is the thing with exercising, it just makes you want to eat more.  It's a vicious circle.  I exercise to get fit and lose weight.  I get fitter eat more but lose no weight.  As the biscuits had been vanquished there was no other recourse but to try a bit of old Madeira cake.  It was dry and tough.  Well just maybe if I carry on like this, there will come a day when I forget my appetite and eat less rather than eat so much my tummy feels like it wants to burst.  It's unhealthy I know.  I'm doing my best to fight it.  But of all things temptation and losing ones marbles can't be helped.  Better do a knot in my handkerchief in order to remember.  here's hoping I remember how to do the knot.

Snow and feeling warm inside

In a few days time I will be seeing Sparkles and Rock.  Awwwe.  My seat will be kept warm for me and the water warmed so I can wash up as well.  Sparkling has told me it has been snowing again in Scotland further it is no longer a joke.  As if snow were ever a joke.  They are well and truly fed up with the white stuff, it's worse than my own dandruff, which fortunately I have been keeping under control lately.  Down in London it is getting warmer and as each day passes the temperature raises.  When I get on the train I'm going to have to gradually acclimatise myself to a temperature between five and ten degrees lower (Celsius). Internal body central heating is what is needed. Or the love of a good woman.

I saw Monster Boy this morning before he went to school and gave him a big hug.  He always appears stooped to me, he is only ten.  Yet his life causes him to take on such a form.  The world on his shoulders.  It makes me sad and so I always do my best to give him some comfort.  To try and make him laugh, or to feel loved.  Maybe it's age, but whatever it is, the happiness of others close to me is important, when they are happy I feel happy to.  This is how I also feel about Rock Chick, all the time Dangerous Sports lad makes her feel loved up then the world is a perpetual rainbow.  Sometimes its just good staring at the rainbow and enjoying it's colours.

I had a couple of pints earlier and the effects are only just wearing off.  I feel tired now, but am warm inside, and on Saturday I'll be warmer still.

Gunky eye and deodorant

Last night while watching episodes of Family Guy and laughing a lot I noticed my left eye was watering a lot.  So I kept cleaning my glasses, wiping my eye and wondering if this was another stage of old age effecting the one eye which would shortly result in my having to see the optician again.  For another set of glasses or even bifocals.  Such is the aging process.   However, when I woke up this morning I then had a problem opening up my left eye altogether.  It was like someone had come along and glued it together.  I had gunky eye.  At this point I now put it down to conjunctivitis, probably caught of Stinky the cat.  Checking out the Internet it seems this can dissipate all on it's own over a few days or it is possible to get various medicines.  So I hit the chemist and got some Golden Eye Ointment.  Within a short period of time I could feel it doing it's stuff.  I'll swear by it now.  It's only been a day and three applications of it with about four or five hours between each and I'm sure it's getting better.  It's still watering but not quite as bad.  So if anyone has Gunky Eye disease wash your hands a lot and get some of this stuff  The only difficult problem with it is the application, squirting some on the lower eye lid.  It's where a steady hand comes in useful.  And of course how much to use.  The instructions say half an inch, but I'm barely able to stomach putting in an eighth of an inch.  To those of you who measure things metrically tough shit.

I had the day off and went to the gym, attempting another easy going work out.  From research it seems as you get older a good way to burn off fat is to develop bigger muscles.  So next week I'm going to become Arny Swartzenegger and make myself puffed up and as big as a brick shit house.  People will turn their heads and say "hey fat boy, you're looking good" of course this will be the only way I'll know I look good because I don't spend an hour looking in the mirror.  Unlike nearly every beautiful person who goes to the gym then uses the changing room.  I always find it funny just watching the young blokes look at themselves in the mirror after their work out.  But I'll let you into a secret, many of them don't bother having a shower.  So although they may look good you really have to think about wearing a peg on your nose around them.  Their personal hygiene duty is to put some Lynx deodorant over their already sweaty stink.  Strange I never saw this part of the advert on TV.  Nope.  The bit which goes beautiful person checks themselves out in mirror for an eternity then stuffs a can of deodorant up their t-shirt for a quick spray.  Finished off with a quick flick of the hair and out the door.  Maybe there is no such thing as personal hygiene for the male room 101?  Perhaps their frequenting the gym is to make up for not having a girlfriend.  Then in turn stinking of body odour likely contributes to a vicious cycle of narcissism and work outs. 

Now, one cure might be to pass on my gunky eye.  If their eyes are streaming then they won't have much chance to focus on how beautiful they look and then they might just think about using the shower than using the excuse "I am a child of Dracula."  Memo make a garlic necklace and wear it in the changing room.  Then the smell of garlic will keep both the sweaty beautiful people away and those who have sharpened teeth.

The Tiger, Goat and Rabbit - Sparkles, Rock an Crazy

I have just heard Sparkling Eyes speak and again her voice is pretty horse.  I mean rough sounding not as in a beautiful horse, I got nothing against good looking horses but as an expression of speech they don't equate to the symptoms of a very sore throat.  However, it is good to hear her again even though it felt a little odd. This is because I normally would converse every day or so, depending on whether Sparkles would let me chat, because sometimes I'm told not to ring.  What a pain.  I mean.  Love of her life and told not to ring up.  As well as occasionally being called a stalker.  Me of all people.  I wouldn't mind even Rock would join in.  You know sometimes the love of your life can hurt ones feelings.  Fortunately I'm a stalker with rhino skin.  Beginning to look like it as well with a rhino belly, but lets leave that discussion well and truly to the side.  Side of the road, side of a freight train, just as long as it's out of sight. Sight for sore eyes not side.  Yes it felt good hearing Sparkling and having a brief conversation.  I'll be up in Scotland on Saturday so we can either talk or she will be passing me little notes.  As long as there's not too many of them with the words "Feck Off" am sure all will be fine.

It will also be Sparkling's birthday so this makes the trip doubly special.  I have checked out Sparkles' sign under the Chinese zodiac and she is a Tiger.  She's on the cusp between Tiger and Rabbit.  Whereas I am a Rabbit.  Of all the animals it's odd how the Rabbit is squashed between a Tiger and a Dragon.  If I could of had a preference I would of been the Tiger and Sparkles the Rabbit, but unfortunately the day of your birth is something beyond control.  Unless the calendar is out of date by a year then I might be a Tiger or even a Dragon and not a softy hoppy bunny who could be put in a stew at any moment. 

Having a look at the Tiger profile it says they are rebels, well she is a socialist.  They enjoy being the centre of attention this seems to fit in with Sparkling's need to jump in front of a camera whenever she sees someone taking a picture.  When they are injured they require all out sympathy and anything logical will be disgruntling.  This makes sense as Sparkles said I didn't sound sympathetic enough on the phone.  Darling if I were there you know I would be waiting on you hand and foot.  Tigers are emotional and incredibly passionate about life.  They enjoy feeling emotions and savouring in full the flavour of life.  God yes.  Sparkles will have an emotion and then pull me into it, she will then cross examine me and test to see if I really understand what she is on about.  Even if it happens to be an idea about becoming a farmer, living off the land and tending sheep.  This can be pretty difficult when one of us is intoxicated. Lastly Tigers are full of energy and always bounce back from feeling low.  Sparkle's is so full of energy I am just whisked along at times and am challenged in my sedate views.  I am so lucky to be in love with such a vibrant, unpredictable, challenging and beautiful woman.  I so can't wait to see Sparkles soon.

Now looking at Rock Chick's Chinese Zodiac she would be a Sheep/Goat.  It seems this sign is used interchangeably between the two.  So I'm going to use goat because the image of a goat is someone who is head strong and I know Rock Chick can be head strong in her opinion, but then she is young and all young people think they know everything about the world. They have good taste, I know Rock does because when I give a nice item to Sparkling it will find itself in Rock's wardrobe.  They can be dreamers, over anxious and lazy.  Well I know lazy because I do get to do Rock's washing up and pick up her cups after her, but then again all teenagers are lazy.  I know I was and still am lazy and I'm not a teen or a goat either.  They always like to look their best.  Oh blimey this is so true, Rock will spend hours preening and pruning herself just to go into work.  It's like some kind of symbolic ritual which goes with her always looking beautiful and with great taste.  In an argument the goat will not say a thing, they will give you the silent treatment.  I know, I've had it, even when I knew I was right.  Blimey.  They are always good mannered and charming.  This is no doubt what Rock Chick is when she is not calling me a stalker.  Examining conflict, I found it interesting to find that Goats and Tigers don't particularly get on.  The suggestion is Goats will always give in to Tigers.  Saying this I know a Rabbit who does quite often as well.  Further, I found Goats and Rabbits do get on.  Especially when the Rabbit isn't tied to the sink washing up large mugs, which the Rabbit then hides away so they are never found again.  Yes, then they do get on pretty well.  As for Tigers and Rabbits the indications are they get on pretty well to.  Thank heavens they do because I sure didn't want to end up as stew but a farmer in some foreign land tending flocks of sheep would be fine.

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Exercise at the gym without turds and a some bargains

I got to the gym this morning, although quite a bit later than I thought. I Can't help it, as the bed had magnetised my body to the mattress.   The sun was out and as it streamed in through the windows of the house warming it up.  Once at the sweat shop an easy work out was on the cards, nothing to exhausting.  I find this is always the best way to get back into a routine.  Unfortunately I must of pushed it too hard as by the end of the session my puff had completely gone.  This is twice now I've been in 2011.  Apparently you are supposed to exercise for at least 30 minutes five times a week.  Which could include a good brisk walk.  It's not easy.  The exercise not the walking that is.  From looking at the people at the gym there seemed to  be a few with the same intentions.  I could tell because they were not members of the young-beautiful-Narcissus-mirror-lookers.  We all know beauty is wasted on the young and intelligence isn't because quite often it's no more than a dirty word.  Personally I've never been one to hog the mirror to see how beautiful I look, I have this innate notion mirror watching is in the realm of the vain who need only fall over and smack their faces in some dog turd to be bought back down to earth.  Which reminds me, going to the gym has got the advantage of not treading in dog turds which quite often happens when out running in the park.  I never seen any turds in there.  Ironically though with so many people about I'm sure it could be a breading ground for germs.  I mean, all it takes is one person who has the flu bug and doesn't quite know it to turn up and breath hard all over the place then for their germs to be circulated via the air conditioning and we've all got it.  Memo to self, this would be a good excuse not to go.

After gym I managed to hit the shops and got a reasonable bargain on a fashionable cardigan.  It's in the Large size.  At first I wasn't sure it would fit because it seemed big, so I put it on in the shop.  Funny I thought this feels tight.  I'm not even going to entertain the idea I could be extra large.  Bugger.  More reason to hit the gym.  There was a third off the price so I think I did OK, and Sparkling won't have so much reason to moan at me wearing an old jumper she doesn't like.  She's bound to like this one.  I also bought some shopping from the supermarket.  I've got a substitute for Won Ton wrappers and hope it will suffice.  It's fresh lasagna pasta.  All I will have to do is cut it to size.  Am now missing noodles, fresh ones are always best.  Memo to self check on my ingredients and see if there's anything else.  In the supermarket I found a great deal on their own brand shower gel, just 58 pence.  Weird.  I was checking out other gel quite dearer, but after having a sniff of this cheaper stuff I felt pretty happy with myself.  Maybe I am now a concerned shopper.  Not necessarily accepting what is put in my face.  There are always alternatives.  I wonder what nettle tea tastes like?  It would cost nothing and save on tea bags.  It would be natural and I could start a new fad.  Second day without a shave, damn, there are some things you just can't omit. 

Evasive sleep and an Atlas of the world for Monster

I didn't sleep to well last night.  It was my head racing away all over place.  I tried one position after the other, counting sheep didn't work either.  Rather than just have boring sheep jump over a fence, I try and colour mine, pink, yellow, blue or with dots and stripes. Then I might have them do somersaults or cartwheels.  My sleep helping sheep are energetic not lazy thats for sure.  I even laid still on my back for what seemed an eternity trying to think of nothing, which was no good either.   I tried reverse psychology as well.  It's where you go to bed and you try to stay awake rather than try to sleep, it's kind of tricking the brain, no good, it just wouldn't be tricked.  The matter was I knew I had to be up early for the Fish Factory to open up in the morning.  One of the few days of allowed overtime, all the time I wasn't sleeping it would be much harder to get up, I could end up a walking zombie. A literal waking nightmare.  Which is a bit of a pun.  When I did get up this morning it was in a half rush so I didn't bother with shaving.  Don't matter it is Saturday, they will have to take me as I am and human afterall.  Maybe it's because I need to exercise more and tire myself out; where the body is physically tired the mind may follow.  I did say 'may' I bloody well hope it does..  So tomorrow the plan of action is to get up, hit the gym and treat the day as it should be, slow and relaxing.  This afternoon I watched a little TV laid my head back and yep, the eyes began to flutter.  Not good news.  Bring it on gym.

I went to a stationary shop today and there they had a cheap Atlas book of the world.  It was reduced from £25 down to £4, I think I'll go back next week and get another one.  This one I plan to give to Monster Boy.  He has a collection of stamps, all sorts which he sometimes looks at.  It's unfortunate but he is really getting into football now and to my chagrin he could become a football fanatic.  On the other hand he is prone to having intense phases where he is all or nothing into a new subject.  A little like his love of Doctor Who or Spiderman.  But hell, football to me has made a lot of men sad, they hold more passion about a game of footy than they show about their wives or children, what has gone wrong with them?  Anyway, the idea of getting Monster Boy an atlas was he could appreciate the stamps had travelled from all over the world to get into his album and to see the world is a lot bigger than the small part he knows about.  It may even give him a little inspiration to see the world when he breaks free of the shackles of this part of London.  Then he can post me a card and I can admire the stamp on it from the country it came from.  Fingers crossed.

Sparkling is finding her voice again and has promised in a roundabout way to talk to me tomorrow.  It could be her dulcet tones will do the trick and help me get a good night's sleep.  She texted me yesterday to say Scotland had received more snow.  The news had suggested another four inches, however as the temperature is generally rising above zero it should be melting.  I'll be up there soon and am going to wonder about what jumper to take with me.  It's probably a good idea to see if I can pick one up in the sales.  Mind, for some reason most of the clothes shops don't have good thick jumpers about.  I've seen some paper thin ones but in winter who in their right mind would want one of those?  I know.  Someone not in their right mind of course.  Yes it goes to say.  Consumers are stupid or so the shops think they are.  The news seems to indicate over the next few years prices of everything will be going up.  There is going to be a food crisis, cotton crisis, job crisis and local services crisis.  A year of such a nature would be called annus horribilis, it's Latin for horrible year. However, the phrase is normally used when the year has ended.  I'm being a little presumptuous, it must be the sleepless delirious state I'm in at the moment.  Yes it's the worry which is creating this non sleeping episode. Oh well, if it is a year of crisis, I'll lose weight, have baggy clothes and at least know where I am situated in the world.  Care of a good updated map.  I'm sure to get some sleep now. As the song goes 'don't worry, about a thing, coz every little things going to be alright.'  Bet it was an optimist who wrote that.

Humour and bull shit

I don't know if it is a mistake writing a BLOG when I am slightly intoxicated.  But a little alcohol does help to drop down the guard and helps me to talk more bull shit than usual.  The only thing is trying to remember what happened during the day so I can report it to all two of my lucky readers.  I say two, particularly in desperation after all who wants to read about the life of a middle aged fat man.  Have I told you I like rum?  Probably.  Anyway I'll just sit here and slap my head trying to think.  Oh yes here it comes.  The little grey cells are beginning to work, just as Agatha Christies Poirot might say.

There I was sitting in the pub with a few drinking companions when I thought to check in on my phone to see if Sparkling had been in contact.  On account of her tonsils going on strike.  To my surprise, shock and delight she had sent me a text message.  In it was asked when I next intended to come up.  Awwwe.  However, she also stated she had a double shift at her Fish Factory.  It must of been the Guinness hitting my brain.  For a moment a pain of annoyance hit me, but then within a split second enlightenment, I chuckled as I began to compose my response. This was to the effect, "Darling I am due up on the 15th, don't worry I'll bring up my blow up doll".  This must of bought a wry smile to Sparkles as she responded with "Cheeky Bugger."  I know she would of laughed.  But seriously I could see myself cuddling up to a blow up dolly for the company.  At least if I gave it a squeeze it would fart in reply, whereas Sparkles can hardly say anything. 

I am finding how much humour is a great destressor of situations.  Especially when those situations are tense as they are at the moment in the Fish Factory. Maybe I am being seen as too much the clown, however saying this I take my fish sorting very seriously and just love it as a job.  I can hardly believe it has taken twenty years of hard work to get where I am.  Blimey, talk about slow starter.  I am now finding after reaching this level of the pyramid, there will be times when it feels I am constantly having to deal with fires.  Stamping them out, pissing on them here and there.  A waft of steam rises upwards as each has been dampened down.  I try and keep as calm as I can, even when I feel about to lose it and go crazy.  It seems many people are reluctant to sort out their own problems.  Being calm though at least doesn't allow a situation to escalate, because the reactions of one person in turn dictate the actions of another.  It's a Catch 22, vicious cycle of stimulus response schedules of reinforcement.  I now have to refine my technique on how not to answer questions, or answer questions with questions and humour.

In any situation I am put in, there is one thing I can choose, this is how I respond.  And although my first response may be one of frustration this is of no use to anyone, so I try and throw it out the window sit back and deliberate.  Yep, you got it, talk bull shit.

Getting others to use their head's

I've now worked out a routine to stop the little fishes from asking me questions.  It seems whenever I say "I don't know" it has little effect.  When I ruminate over a problem given to me, which  is called 'passing the monkey,' yes it's an Americanism; I usually end up realising the fish who spoke to me could of worked it out for their selves had they wanted.  My solution is to penalise anyone who asks me a question in these circumstances.  The penalty is if it is if the answer was too obvious then they are not allowed to ask me a question the next day or afternoon or morning.  I will ponder on anything kind of question, go through the process sometimes aloud and then will try and steer them towards an answer.  Ultimately I really don't want to make any decisions at all.  This isn't laziness, no its not.  I've worked out as most of these fishes have been swimming about in this pond for years, their knowledge in some cases be beyond my own.  So it only makes sense they use their own brains rather than tax mine.  I can't do everything and it don't seem to matter to some people I have my own fish to fry, if I am on hand they will use me like a child in a just decorated room who has a crayon in it's hand.  It's an irresistible allure.  So I'm going to try and ween them off it by removing the crayon.

For some reason today I have been reminded about how fat I am.  One person said to me they had noticed I had been putting on weight lately.  They were trying to say I looked good with this weight.  But I know in between the lines they are saying "Oi Crazyfirdayman, you sure are looking fat."  Another person asked me what I had for lunch.  I told them it was a pizza from the eat-as-much-as-you-like buffet.  Actually it was a good move going to the pizza shop as I had a sealed leaflet thing they gave me last time I was there.  I was advised in December to give it to the shop manager in January 2011.   So I gave it to an assistant.  They in turn rang the manager to ask if they could open it.  Like a little present it was opened in front of me.  And I'd like to say a flock of black birds came flying out but they didn't.  No, it was a note which said I would get 40% off my bill.  Bloody marvelous.  This partly made up for the fact I had broken a bottle of rum yesterday.  I also thought had the thing not been sealed I would of invited more people along and we could of had our a bigger meal and a bigger discount.  Perhaps there is good reason why I have had at least three different conversations today about my weight with three different people.  I am paranoid.  And just when I thought I was able to tighten my belt another hole as well.

Sparkling has still got a croaky voice.  Now it has got deep and she still is careful about using it.  I try to see if she is ever online but she never is.  Unless she is now avoiding me.  Unless she has decided not to talk to me because I talk too much and demand too much of her when I am in her company.  Which sounds very much like what I do with the little fishes.  Sparkles text me to say the old Fishes in her Fish factory are getting frisky when they hear her talk.  She enjoys their company and their cheeky banter.  I also saw Monster Boy today and gave him his usual pocket money.  I tried him out with a memory technique on reciting the EEA (European Economic Area) countries in order.  Making it fun as I went along.  He enjoyed it and I hope to do it again with him on something else perhaps he finds interesting.  If he can learn to use his memory he could go far, but it's his decision.  After all it's taken me quite a few years just to remember my own phone number.  Finding my way home is easy, it's tattooed on the back of my hand.

Glass bottles break and then comes disappointment

Today I was given a half bottle of rum.  A colleague who had spent Christmas in St Lucia gave it to me.  I looked so admiringly at this bottle of rum.  I had fallen in love and couldn't wait to taste it, perhaps with some Cola.  So I put it in my ruck sack with gym kit.  Today was my first day back at the gym.  First day in about four months.  I took it easy and made sure I was out of breath a couple of times.  On the tread mill my lungs hurt and I was staggering between running and walking and jogging.  The fat man way.  I then pushed some weights, but didn't over do those either on account of hearing when you get older and over strain yourself it can end up in a hernia.  Better to take it easy and always make sure you breath.  After an hour in the gym I went to my locker, pulled out my ruck sack and it dropped to the floor.  I heard a glass thud and was immediately concerned.  Too late.  By the time I had got into the changing rooms my shirt had got soaked.  The bottom of my ruck sack was soaked and there was nothing else I could do.  Just lament and hope not too many people thought I was an alcoholic.  I threw the bottle in a bin.  Fortunately my trousers were OK.  Unfortunately my trousers are getting pretty tight and had they got soaked it wouldn't of bothered me to buy a new pair.  The only problem was getting back home and smelling of rum.  This bottle had managed to survive a trip across the Atlantic Ocean.  It had been carefully stowed away, thoughtfully given to me and me being a bloody plonker had broken it after only going a couple of hundred yards across the road.  Someone kick me.  Kick me so hard I cry, kick me so it is permanently imprinted on my arse.  I hate glass bottles.

It isn't like this was the first time this has happened to me.  When up in Scotland I sometimes walk from Sparkling's house to the local large supermarket which will not be named.  There I buy some goods and I do try to do at least one tasty meal for Sparkling, I enjoy cooking.  I enjoy having a glass of wine when cooking.  I enjoy looking for cooking videos on YouTube and then saying I am going to make the dish.  Well, on a walk back from the large supermarket I was carrying two bottles of rose wine for Sparkles.  One was medium in price the other a cheaper one.  The shop had given me plastic bags which I naively used.  Once in a while while walking back I would stop to rest my hands as the bags cut into my fingers.  Then on one occasion a bag half split on me.  It hit the ground only a few inches below where it was held and a bottle of wine cracked.  It was the more expensive one as well.  So now I come to the conclusion it is either glass bottles which are made to be broken, or the bags which carry glass bottles are not sufficiently protective.  There is only one solution.  The next bottle I buy will be wrapped up in bubble wrap.  I'll then carry fluffy towel and wrap it again, just to be sure nothing happens.  Feeding the drains is not in my view the best way to enjoy a good alcoholic drink.

On a lighter note.  Sparkling is still unable to talk and has now been to see her GP for some antibiotics.  I'm told she now communicates with Rock Chick by pointing at things and writing notes on paper.  Even Rock Chick is unhappy with the situation.  It's odd.  when someone's voice goes and they use their voice all the time  it gets frustrating.  I haven't spoken to Sparkles for ages now.  I'm getting withdrawal effects.  Text messaging just isn't the same.   Rock Chick can't wait for it to return as well.  I'm sure she'll find out, it will be followed by the words "tidy you room." 

Up the revlolution and talking bollocks

Back at the Ranch, all was going smoothly, until a very large wasp came out of nowhere.  It buzzed around in a menacing fashion while everyone at the Fish Factory did their best to swot it.  The wasp had a name, it was called 'work.'  A shiver ran down my back, the shiver was doing its best to avoid the wasp as well and was looking for somewhere warm to settle.  Such is life when returning back to the hum drum of it all. 

I got a train to work only to find my fair had increased by 10 per cent.  Wonderful, VAT rise and a rise in fair, well out of order I thought.  How can people afford to do their normal everyday stuff with increases left right and centre.  The only way I'd got a raise in the last few months was by getting an advancement..  It is so easy to moan and groan about such things.  Mark my words 2011 will be the year of the revolution.  I can see crowds now in the streets, marching on Parliament.   They would if they could get near it.  Sparkling will be part of it as well if she has a say so.  I could see her telling me to book her a ticket and hotel room just so she can join the revolt.  Out will come the Che Guevara hat and a home made placard.  It will say "Up the Revolution - down with fat cats, bureaucrats, bankers and anyone in the top tax bracket."  If not the top tax bracket anyone who classes themselves as posh and pretentious.  Mind posh and pretentious is a term which is usually bestowed on others and you can't class yourself as posh and pretentious.  Which should not be confused with eccentric, because eccentric could possibly wondering into the arena of pretentious.  Especially when wearing a bow tie or a cravat.  Neither of which I can personally say I have tried it out.  But were I to ever wonder anywhere near posh and pretentious I know Sparkling Eyes would batter it out of me after being wrestled into submission and I'd then massaged her feet.  On account of all the walking on Parliament, heaven help me if she wants to wear Dr Martins.

What a lot of trollop I'm talking.  Yep.  I'll admit it.  Only had two page views of my blogs today so now I talk bollocks.  In fact the other day I got accused of talking a load of bollocks.  Which by definition means more than just bollocks.  I was in the pub at the time and had got to the point of having a problem with my legs.  They had lost their co-ordination completely, either this or some kind of inner-ear infection had suddenly struck me.  I know, I'd bashed into three bar stalls and two walls on the way to the toilet.  But the thing is when you get inebriated it don't make your lips or mouth lose co-ordination.  Your gob just keeps going, it's what comes out of it, yep auditory bollocks.  Someone kick me up the arse. 

Better get back to the YouTube videos for making Won Ton, at least they're constructive.

An urge for Won Ton

At some time last night, I was overcome by an urge.  Not the one  you're thinking about.  No another urge.  It was very strong and very powerful.  No it wasn't a fart.  To get back on track.  It was the urge to eat a Won Ton Noodle.  I could taste the soup in my mouth, the texture of freshly made noodles and the delicious taste of pork and prawn Won Ton.  They haunted me.  I even considered catching a train and heading into London, but it was so cold I didn't move from my chair.  Rather I did a google search for the best Won Ton in London and thought I will either do one of two things.  Go to this place or make my own.  Today I got half way there.  Halfway being the decision to go out and buy the ingredients because I thought catching a train into London eating then returning was a luxury I could not afford.  It seemed a waste of time.  But then it might not of been had I bothered to have gotten up early enough.  Further, it's not so much fun having such an adventure on your own.  So I attempted to ring up Layabout Lad but he wasn't answering his phone.  It comes to something when even your laziest member of the family is unavailable.  What on earth could he of been doing, besides laying in bed and nothing much?

What now is on my  mind is how I am going to either purchase or make the Won Ton wrappers, and whether they will taste as good if I make them myself.  Which again after another google search seemed to indicate there's not much at all to making them.  The page is now kept and waiting for me to review it again before I get stuck in and start doing the biz.  Eventually I ended up at a local cheap Chinese and eating a Char Sui noodle soup instead.  I picked this because I know their Won Ton is way off track and I would not feed it to the cat, dog, or any other pet you favour.  Already made Char Sui though, well, there's not much which can go wrong with it.  Mind, I'd also like to have a go at making Char Sui pork as well.  I'm sure it has honey and five spices on it.  I'm going to obviously use a couple of cheats when I do get around to my version of the Won Ton.  I got these quick and easy make chicken soup bases for a start and the other is the instant dried noodle packets.  I'm not entirely happy with them because the taste of fresh noodle just can not be beaten.  It all depends very much on how motivated I am at the time and how much time I want to put into it.  Just getting the materials is often a big part of the the process.

I hear Sparkling is still having problems with her voice.  I received a text today, after sending her two text messages.  She is now laying back taking it easy catching up with the last season of Dexter.  Which I finished last week.  I'll not go into it but I don't think it is one of the best seasons, the one where he takes on his own brother is probably the best aired.  I like a little more of the comedy element when it is added.  It will be interesting to see whether Show Time will stretch it to a sixth season.  There is something we don't see Dexter doing now I come to think of it, because every time I use a sharp knife I always do this just before and just after to keep it sharp.  Use a sharpener.  With all the butchery he does  I would of thought it a very necessary piece of housework to do.  He sure has got his hands full now as a single parent.  I like him.  If he were ever free for lunch I'd love to invite him out for a Won Ton soup and a chit chat.  Then try and find out what motivates him to carry on what he does.  All the clearing up he has to do, it must take hours.  Yep there's another demotivator in my making home made Won Ton.  It's about time a cleaning up robot was made take take such hassle out of kitchen duties.  I know.  I take on this very role when I head north.  Well at least I am good for something.

Won Ton, Won Ton, wherefore art thou Won Ton.

The second day of 2011

It's been one of those nothing days'.  I fell asleep watching TV, I wouldn't mind it was 'House' at the time and it's a good programme to watch.  No text to Sparkles, no text from Sparkles.  I been stuck inside.  Except for a short stint when I went out into the garden to do some bad DIY on a gutter down pipe.  It meant pulling out a drill I got a few months ago.  What a hash I made of it.  Thing is, when you look at stuff you either know it's right or its wrong.  Especially when you see Cowboy work.  I think Cowboy builders of every kind should be put up against a wall and shot.  I mean for real.  Not just had the book thrown at them, but really put away for good so they never ever get to do any more Cowboy work again.  It makes me mad.  It even drives me to the point of spending hours checking out DIY books, learning more and realising there is so much stuff that goes on in the trade of house craft.  If I was a builder, plumber, carpenter person, I would be the best at it I could and not a Cowboy.  In my own Fish Factory I enjoy my work and enjoy gutting fishes and learning all about it and I been doing the job for ten years now.  It never stands still, it's a challenge to say the least.  No, it's about knowing what is not right.  What doesn't feel right.  Sometimes just sitting and looking at the way something has been done will either give me an appreciation because I know it's good work or it will leave me vexed because I know something isn't right.  It makes me ask the question if we can all be critics or whether I'm just being too analytical and I'm the pessimist, critic galore.  I can see a whole load of people nodding their head in agreement.  Things done well are marked by a quality, a fit.  A zen.  As in great design and great functionality.  Which has got to be the height of life, be it from laying a brick to designing clothes.  Hell what is going on in my head?  I been sat indoors too long.  Before I know it I'll be eating off my own arm off, talking to house spiders and chasing the cat round the house.

It's the second day of 2011, "something happen!!!!!"  Nope, still all quite in the captive room with a dodgy rain pipe at the side of the house.

Hey what's the light at the window, wow, it's bright.  I'll have a look.  Blimey little green men coming my way.  At last something to do.  I wonder if they know about guttering and plumbing?

An incling not a resolution - fat boy

The new year has come in.  I went to see my little friend Monster Boy and was told by his mum I looked fatter.  It's good to start off the new year with a compliment.  Truth being I am fatter and am now finding it harder to find a belt which will go all the way round my waist.  This is because I'm now on the last hole and the little bit of belt left at the end just looks  odd.  He says, drinking a black coffee dabbled with a drop of rum and eating a Amaretti biscuit. The rum was a mistake it makes the coffee taste bitter.  The biscuit was not, it tastes great, no wonder I'm so fat.

  I haven't realised it, until the last year or two.  But the perception of weight in other people is related to your own weight.  I recall when I was skinny, how everyone looked fat to me and I thought I was normal.  Now it seems more and more the other way round.  The look skinny, I look normal or just a little overweight - while another arametti biscuit finds its self travelling down my gullet.  Out of sight out of mind, so I now have stowed the tin of snacks under my desk and hope not to kick them.

Sparkling hasn't been too well the past couple of weeks which led to her losing her voice.  At her Fish Factory the old boys have been calling her the woman who can't say no.   They joke with her and she enjoys their banter and company.  It's so important to do a job you like.  At my Fish Factory I seem to be plagued by fishes who moan and groan at every moment they can.  Then now being a middle fish I get the same moan and groans at me eight or nine fold.  It can become wearing to say the least.

I haven't set myself a new year's resolution.  More of new year's incling than anything else.  Resolutions can get broken.  Inclings are not set in stone and if they were they wouldn't be big fat ones likely to sink to the bottom of a pond.  They'd float on top like little marsh mellows in a cup of hot chocolate.  Blimey, there it goes again, digressing to food.  But what I expect will happen is I will follow the signs.  The signs which crop up as though out of some serendipity, they mean something.  Like it's the subconscious mind talking, saying follow me, follow me, you know it's what you want to do.  The signs are subtle things and you have to be open to them.  A cursory look at a newspaper, an article read, something someone says, a TV programme or overhearing a conversation.  The sign is a message.  It can lead anywhere at all.

I just hope mine don't lead me to the 2011 fat man competition, something no one wants to win.  Fit, healthy, happy and in love.  Happy and in love I already got, and as long as the biscuits stay under the table the other two may come along as well.

Happy 2011.