Cope with stress like a duck

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

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

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

A cricked neck

I don't know what happened.  It was like...one moment OK the next a twinge and gradual descent into pain.  My neck was cricked.  At first I could ignore it.  Then I was adapting to it, allowing for it, giving in to it, but the more I gave the more it took.   Neck and shoulder became stiffer, without realising it I could not turn my head at all.  Instead tending to turn my body to face people and talk to them.  The little twinge had become a fully blown  pain in the neck of the highest order.  I felt like I was doing a Robo Cop impersonation without the dramatic music.  Every movement became excruciating and only sitting as still as possible helped.  Each  minute made it worse.  Even when I had a couple of pints of Guinness it didn't seem to take my mind off it.  I was hoping a little intoxication would do the trick.  But, inside I was screaming to just lay down and try to sleep through the whole episode.  Then hopefully when I'd wake up it might feel better. At least in sleep you can momentarily forget most things, providing you're able to get to sleep in the first place.  Which I then found, sleeping with a cricked neck is difficult because then you have difficulty finding the perfect position to lay in.  The pose where it all goes away and I could close my eyes to forget.  I preyed on one thing, that as I slept I didn't move and make it worse.  What a pain.

The next day it seemed to mostly go away, except it is now a total of 3 days and there is still a twinge there.  I'll not even attempt any gym, I just don't want to exasperate the thing.   As though it has a mind of it's own and by being kind to it, it will be kind to me.  I've had encounters with people I thought were a pain in the neck but this real crick is worse than them.  We've had rain for the past 3 days as well, perhaps my body is now sending messages to me.  Like some people who have arthritis and know when the weather is changing.  Maybe my neck will have different pains with different meteorological conditions.  Rain means cricked.  Well I can take it easy for now and have a good reason to while away the day being a couch potato and watching the golf.  Imagine being there in Sandwich and trying to turn your head just after the ball's been hit.  What a pain that would be.

Suffering withdrawals from the News

BBC journalists are on strike this morning.  The first time in years.  It's killing me.  How I love a dose of cut throat politics and news, the smell of blood as one lie is told upon another, the back stabbing, the intrigue, the whole kit and caboodle of it.  I scanned like a mad man possessed through the radio stations and there was nothing.  Absolutely nothing to rival the Today program.  How am I going to get through the morning?  Not even listening to talk about football helped.  I suppose it might of were I a footy fan, but it didn't.  Damn.  Damn the cut backs to the World Service.  What is happening to us all.  I need my adrenaline junkie shot of the news and skulduggery.

No choice, might just have to pop to the shops and get a BEANO.  What's Desperate Dan doing nowadays?

Snotty nosed youth runs against fat man

I wonder if it is a testosterone thing.  When a man sees another man and then must try and outdo them.  Or it could be a competitive thing.  Who's better than who?  Except for Who on first base or was it second?  So I got on the running machine and started the belt.  About half way through the session some young upstart who didn't have a pimple on his face, or a fat belly and actually had hair on his head then got on the machine next to me.  The little shit.  It didn't bother me to start of with because all he did was walk a lot.  I was well out running him.  I looked over at the display and thought how could some little shit like this be so unhealthy in the good old days when I was his age the running belt wouldn't be able to keep up with my pace.  He then decided to up the ante.  Pressing his finger on the little upward pointing triangle.  So the belt begins to revolve faster and faster.   It now hits two or three kilometres an hour faster than my own.  I think to myself he is just trying to show off, I check the time on my own display and try to mark it in my head.  Noting how fast he is going and guess this kid isn't going to last more than one minute at most because he just hasn't shown the form with all his walking.  Pretty faced nice skinned little shit.  So I carry on jogging away and am feeling a little tired because I'm running at a faster than normal rate.  The shit still is going away from me on his machine.  The one minute mark passed.  The two minute mark passed.  Then it happened.  He gave way and could not sustain the pace much more than three minutes.  I knew it.  Just a flash in the pan little runt, he may have youth and beauty but he just don't have the legs and lungs.  My only annoying thing is I am presently unable to run at the fast rate he did for a three minute duration.  But I will.  The little shit.  I'll get there and I'll keep pace with him and rather than slowing down to a walk I'll just gently ease down to a jog then stick two fingers up to him.

What it cost to lose one pound in weight

Losing weight is bloody difficult.  It's difficult for a reason.  It was Oscar Wilde who said "I can resist everything except temptation" no truer word has been spoken when it comes to food.  Food which tastes good. But food with a taste may not actually be healthy.  For example, chips.  Chips with salt, vinegar and perhaps a little bit of tomato sauce.  They're hot, you've just bought them and the vinegar is steaming off, as you take a nicely coated chip the waft of vinegar stings your eyes just a little bit, you place the chip in your mouth and it explodes with salt, vinegar and steaming heat which sometimes may burn your mouth.  But it tastes very nice.  Especially after a pint or two, or particularly on a cold day.  When it's raining the difficulty then becomes keeping the rain off your chip bag so it doesn't get too soggy by the time you are half way down the bag.  You know what I mean, don't you?  And if anyone hasn't had a hot portion of chips from a chippy then they haven't lived.  Cholesterol thumping, zillion calories bad for you, but hell don't they taste goooooood!!!  Which is as good a reason as any why it is bloody difficult going on a diet and losing weight.

So to help I've tried to understand what it takes to lose weight by spending a few minutes looking at web sites and reading bits and pieces.  Only of course to then check out something infinitely more interesting.  But the facts are along the lines of, to lose a single pound in weight you have to burn 3400 calories.  I didn't add an extra nought this is the figure I got.  So, if you had to lose ten pounds in weight then you would have to somehow burn up or reduce food consumption to the value of 34,000 calories.  This is now becoming obscene.  But I haven't finished.  When I go to the gym and do my fat man running routine I get disappointed at seeing the number of calories which have dropped off in a half hour session.  After which I am pretty well shagged out and am not up to do much more aerobic exercise.  Half an hour burns approximately 350 calories, give or take a little.  The amount burnt off depends on how much you weigh, your gender and I guess how honest you are with the effort.  I notice some people will stand with their feet astride of the running belt while it spins round and they have a moment's rest, this is cheating, cheating, I so wish I could stand for an hour and lose weight and not break a sweat.  So losing weight, which nobody actually does, like how can you lose weight, and if you did where would you lose it?  So reducing your weight by one pound will take approximately five hours of continuous running.  If this is, my calculations are correct.  A single pint of Guinness is approximately 350 calories, and most other pints of beer will be more or less around this mark.  Again this magic number is the same as the effort to run for half an hour.  So I'm now feeling like I am not actually getting anywhere.  I also found a new fad in training techniques, it was to build up muscle and not just to spend half an hour running or rowing.  The reason behind this seems to be as your muscles get bigger they burn up more calories when they are doing nothing than a smaller set of muscles.  Weird.  Read it for yourself.  Of course when I tried to have a closer look at these web sites promoting this type of exercise I only got so far, because they then wanted to lighten my wallet.  This wasn't the kind of weight loss I had in mind.  Scientifically though, I don't know.  I just don't know if this is something someone has said or whether it has been justified.  Then to become a fat cat web site owner, I expect it might mean a few porkies have to be told now and again, although strictly speaking not entirely porkies but you know what I mean.

Fact, to lose weight you have to reduce your calorie intake.  This will mean either not eating so much or changing your eating habits.  So now when I have a portion of chips I no longer eat the whole portion.  I'll eat some of it and throw the rest away.  I wish I could say the same about chocolate, but I can't.  Changing eating habits is hard.  Bloody hard.  Saying this one easy method I came across and is quite common sense, is to masticate every mouth full of food for 30 chews.  This allows the saliva to do it's work and prepares it better for digestion.  Further it takes time.  This is an important factor.  For with any meal it is only after about twenty to thirty minutes the stomach actually starts to feel as though something has been eaten.  I mean.  Given you were in an eating competition you could absolutely stuff your face for thirty minutes before feeling the need for a good puke.  It's quite simple, just take your time while eating.  I sat with my plate of Chinese at lunch time and managed a unique feat.  Reading the news online via mobile phone and counting from one to thirty while eating.  I didn't think it was possible but I did it.  One side of my brain must of counted and the other read the day's news.  There's not a great deal more I can do on account of only have two sides to my brain so I probably maxed it out.

Lastly, it is a fact the brain gets pretty hot when it is working.  It has a unique system of keeping itself cool.  It's own radiator in a sense.  This is the Cerebral Spinal Fluid (CSF).  Now I'd of thought if the brain runs hot then it would be possible to use up a lot of calories just by thinking.  The CSF isn't pumped around the brain as far as I know, but it is there to provide temperature control.  So in one sense it's possible to say the brain can act like a muscle.  As muscles exercise they get hot and burn energy, as a brain exercises or thinks it too gets hot.  The only thing with a brain is it does not have muscles in it.  So I'm not entirely sure why it gets hot.  Maybe it's because of all the neurons firing.  Well better to be a neuron than a moron.  So I still have no idea of sitting here and thinking of exercise or thinking of food actually helps to reduce weight.  In any case it does keep me entertained.  And I haven't got up once in search of a chocolate biscuit.  So it must of worked.

Going out for a run

I've been lacking in my blogging duties lately and I know it.  I'd get home after a day at the Fish Factory, or if not working doing the usual catch, chilling, maintenance things and have no idea of what I'd write.  As Elmore Lenard said in order to be a writer you should write everyday.  It's a lot easier said than done.  Ideas and events just don't grow on trees, get plucked off and then matured into some kind of wonderful bit of prose.  However, even if I've lacked motivation and somehow stuck a red hot poker up my arse to get me to write something I have tried at the time to make it as clear and readable as possible.  So this paragraph is just for me and no one else, but you're not going to know it until you've got to the end of it.  Tough titty.

I woke up this morning and saw my belly.  I thought back to the days when I was a kid.  Those were some dusty memories, lots of cobwebs, I blew the dust off and recall how I used to think.  As a kid I could never understand how people got fat.  Be it other fat kids and there were not many of them about those days, or adults.  I even thought the adults were greedy, fat people and looked on them in a derogatory way.  Nowadays, now I am fat it's an eye opener.  It creeps up and before you know it the clothes which used to fit you.  Which were quite nice ones just don't.  The size I have to shop for has gone up.  At one time it actually was size small.  Bloody hell.  Small.  Now I contemplate whether I should toy with the extra large just so there would be a little extra room in the clothes after they have been shrunk in the wash.  But I haven't yet.  So while staring at my belly and thinking all week long I had been desperately trying to fit some gym in and intended to go running, I made the decision I would go running this morning.  In fact straight away.  So I did.

There's a lot of difference from running on a treadmill to being able to run freely.  The treadmill is quite predictable, it's pace is guaranteed, whatever pace you program into it.  The belt doesn't deviate in this respect.  However, when outside running I don't run at a constant pace, it varies according to the surface and other obstacles in the way.   Road running is said to be the easiest running to do.  Pavements are uniform and they are hard.  Their hardness allows your feet to predictably bounce back and there is a shock factor as each step impacts on the pavement.  Something it is easy to get used to.  Running shoes are made so to help you run easier and either bounce back off pavement or to cushion the impact.  The predictable foot fall allows you to set a comfortable pace.   Running on any other softer surface is going to take more effort.  The most difficult to run on is sand, it absorbs every impact so it takes more energy to lift up your leg.  Sand, wet soggy grass and inclines sort the men from the boys.  Running in the park can be enjoyable, the birds the trees, fresh air they not only give you a lift they take you back to nature, they're destressors.  Except for dogs, dog shit, and youths who may want to harass you.  But then getting up early in the morning can help to avoid some of these factors.

After the run and a wash, there is a period of calmness which descends.  This is like hitting some kind of meditative state.  As the brain releases chemicals and a natural high kicks in.  It's very relaxing and probably one of the things which results in some people becoming addicts to exercise.  I can see that.  However, we are all human beings, animals really, but unlike any other animal we don't have to run about to avoid predators or work too hard at making a living.  Although it may not seem it at times.
 
With all the benefits exercise does bring with it, I've really got to get out there and be doing something.  Only thing is to avoid dogs who want to join me or leave little parcels of smelly stuff, kids who think it's fun to taunt a fat man running and the weather.  Which is always unpredictable.

Take the phone off the hook and get connected

Something is up with my Internet connection.  It has been on the point of exasperation.  On I'd switch my PC, wait because it takes a few minutes to have coffee and biscuits, then wait a little more as the modem connects and a Google search page comes up.  But recently it has decided to become worse than a vacillating rat in a scientific experiment, trying to decide whether it is worth going for the extra cheese and getting an electric shock or if it should just stay where it is.  One second it connects browser pops up and then immediately the next second it has disconnected and the browser gives the I-can't-find-it message.  Back and forth I would go.  This has happened since returning from my break up North. 

In some mild desperation I rang up BT, and listened to their recorded message on how to check your own house telephones.  Taking them all out of the sockets and then putting them in one at a time.  Well, this really wasn't much use, the message lasted four minutes.  At the same time I was listening to these next to useless instructions for some reason the browser window worked perfectly well.  Hmmm.  I listened to the message and thought this was some kind of lucky break, just coincidence.  A paranoid part of my mind might even say the PC and modem were taunting me.  Playing with me, letting me think it was perfectly OK while I was in the process of reporting a problem.  The problem with BT is if they have to check your house equipment they then charge for the privilege of coming out.  This is a little bit of a no brainer, because most people would say BT go and jump on your bike I'll just change provider and sod off.  Anyway, the PC showed it's feminine side, working perfectly well, pulling up pages quicker than a normal.  Bloody thing.  I put the phone down.  Maybe it was me.  Maybe it was working perfectly well, because now it certainly was.  Once the phone was put down blow me over the bloody thing disconnected itself again.  Maybe it was possessed?  No.  I don't think so.  But even though the phone call achieved nothing in its content the act of taking the phone off the receiver had.

So the next evening rather than pull what little hair I have out of my head, I took the phone off the hook.  Hey bloody presto I've got Internet.  So I still don't actually know what is wrong with the line.  The only thing I have to worry about now is, whoever is listening in on the other end of the receiver.  Perhaps some government agency?  Well it's more likely then PC possession.

Back to the grindstone

It's back to the Fish Factory after a two week break.  I wonder what beholds me?  It is only when I take a holiday I realise the importance of taking time off.  The importance of seeing Sparkling Eyes and getting to tell her I love her.  Time in the company of people you love can calm a tense nerve.  There will be circumstances when this doesn't happen, but overall having a break because the break was sorely needed is a wonderful thing.  I'm sure the day will be short for me, because I always find it difficult working longer hours after time off.  However, I have in my phone a picture of Sparkling with a relaxed smile on her face, and a glass of wine, she was looking at me.  It's a bright sunny and happy picture, so a quick check of this should help me get through the day by putting things in perspective and hopefully keep my head in the right place.

Bum ache after a cyle ride

It's Sunday.  Before I got up this morning I had contemplated hitting they gym.  I then got up.  Had breakfast and really didn't have much enthusiasm for the gym.  I hadn't got up early enough.  This was a mistake.  If I had gone to the gym then it would of been a couple of hours out of my day.  I would of known the ongoing fight against weight gain had been fought this day and been comfortable with myself.  Conscience at ease.  Instead, because the fight didn't get to round one my next step was to get the bicycle out and have a ride.  For it seems so much easier just having to sit on a saddle and turn my little leggies on a couple of peddles.  No real effort.  But knowing at the same time it is exercise and there is a mild amount of effort involved.  So to this extent it is the easier option than hitting the gym for a couple of hours and having to put up with people stinking of B.O. on the next machine to me.  I'm sure I have a degree of B.O. when I get sweaty, but hope it smells like spring flowers and  isn't particularly stinky.

So with a nice and leisurely cycle in mind I set off.  Some four and a half hours later I returned back home.  I sit here and my arse is killing me.  Like I could of just been the star guest at a swinging gay convention, someone must of slipped me a pretty large dose of rohipnal.  God, that seat is hard.   Shit do I need a soft goose down cushion to sit on or what.  My hands are blistered to from holding the grips.  I don't know how much I sweated but am sure as the wind was in my face, hair and going up into me pits it evaporated pretty well.  On one main road I got overtaken by a woman and she was riding a woman cycle.  Not like she had a sporty cycle, it was a woman cycle.  Great, my manliness is now in question.  The truth being, at this stage I really didn't care a great deal.  On the last leg of the way back home, I was using every short cut I possibly could, standing up on the peddles rather than sit on the razor blade arse killing seat.  I know why those Tour De France fellas are so skinny.  After sitting on those seats the pain takes away any thoughts of food.  I can feel myself walking like John Wayne.  Except without the bloody horse.  If it weren't the gay convention maybe it was the bloody horse that bent me over.  Maybe I should sit on some frozen peas.   

Must remember, get gym kit ready for tomorrow.  Stick lock on bicycle and forget the combination.  Steer clear of all male bars.

Dry cleaning a suit

I been to the pub, am adequately pissed and can't remember what I was going to write about.  It is so easy when intoxicated to think of many different things, they all have deep and wonderful meaning but then they all disappear from your mind like fairies.  But of course fairies do not exist even if your name happens to be Sir Conan Doyle and you are open to being hoodwinked.  Such are the meanderings of my mind.  For some reason Steive Nixs (if that is how you spell the name) is on them, but it will pass.  Anyway, yes, what I was thinking of was dry cleaning.  I don't know why they call it dry cleaning but, I'm sure it is not actually dry but rather the nature of the chemicals which are used.

After going to a graduate tea party for University Girl, who will now need a new pseudonym, I decided my suit needed to be cleaned and pressed.  I'm ashamed to say I only possess the one.  I got lots of nice dress trousers, but only the one suit.  Well, the thing was due for a clean and press.  A professional one.  I learnt it was professional when they asked me for £9.90, bloody ell I thought, dry cleaning prices have gone up.  Today I had to collect it.  The time was 5 p.m., which wasn't so good because I wanted to go to the pub and meet some drinking buddies.  It would mean turning up a little late.  Which would mean I might have a problem getting a seat, unless it was next to the Old Witch who suffers from mental illness.  Pubs will let anyone in.  Well I did get there and stood at the bar for a good while watching Andy Murray do his usual losing display.  Back to the suit.  I picked it up at 5, yep the time didn't change from the earlier sentence.  As I'd forgotten my ticket, I then had to sign in a book to say I'd received it.  The woman at the cleaners said it was the "naughty book."  OK I got over being naughty.  Took the suite home and the next thing I thought about was I needed to have a quick look and a sniff of it.  Look to see if it was any different and a sniff to see whether it had a chemical smell to it.  On account of the dry cleaning liquids they use.  How can a bloody liquid be called dry.  Talk about oxymoron.  It was then I realised why it had been years since I'd used this local dry cleaners.  I noticed there was a cat hair on the suite which hadn't been removed.  I sniffed it and the chemical smell was very faint.  So faint I wondered whether there was a problem with my nose.  I also wondered if they had actually cleaned and pressed the thing.  I checked the back of the knees, which would of been creased and they were nicely pressed.  So the suit had been through some kind of process.  But I wasn't entirely happy, on account of the cat hair.  I knew there were some hairs on the suit and thought they would all be removed in the dry cleaning process, but apparently they are not.  The smell wasn't particularly impressive and this resulted in a long distant memory saying to me this was the reason why I stopped using the local dry cleaners,  I wasn't entirely convinced they were doing their job.  Maybe my suit got the last batch of chemicals.  Maybe, it wasn't cleaned at all and some little old lady had just gone over it with an iron but couldn't be bothered with picking the cat hair off.  Well it worked, I'll not use them again and need to find somewhere they do a good job.

Damn, there's another item to add to the list, find a good dry cleaner.  One who doesn't use a little lady in the back with a hot iron.  Now if only I could kill two birds with one and find a dry cleaning roofer.

Life sapping cue waiting

It seems nowadays it is difficult to get a full happy long sleep.  Happy being one where there is no nightmares, or waking up in the middle of the night, or being disturbed, and without having to resort to counting sheep or some other strategy to drop off.  Again at about 4:30 a.m. I could hear the pigeons waking up and leaving the roof.  As they scrape their beaks, chit chat and then fly off they steal my sleep.  In little kit bags under their wings there goes another hour.  Sometimes two. Where is there a good roofer when you want one?  This could be the day's task.  Establish contact with a roofer and get an estimate.  Or is it, go to the DIY store and get some ladders?  Possibly, I'll have to think about this one.

Ever since coming back from Scotland I've set myself little objectives each day.  Well I don't have Sparkling to guide me and make demands.  Sometimes I would fulfill them all, other times just one from the list.  Oh yes, a list is a very important thing.  I don't know if I've said this before, but I should of unless I'm going a bit senile, which I sure I am.  A list is an important thing.  Very important.  It sets focus and gives you something to direct your energy to.  A list is undeniable, it is writing something down and planning, it's also psychological because there is an element of commitment one you've written it down.  Not that items on a list have to be done, it's just every time I look at the list the ones not crossed off represent some kind of failure as well as a reminder they are still pending.  Crossing off items becomes an achievement.  I did it.  Like for instance yesterday I decided one of the items was to get a passport application form.  I went into two different Post Offices on four occasions before I could be bothered to wait in a short enough cue.  I can't understand why they don't just put the applications on the wall with the other applications they have easily in reach.  Except maybe because making you wait they can actually drain away part of your life blood.  This is what cuing does.  It saps it away.  Like there are better things to do.  Memo to self, yet again, always go out with a good book it is a tool against the life sappers.  Being able to read anywhere is another useful talent to be given.  I did get the application, it took a half hour wait, but could of taken longer if I didn't walk out of the Post Offices refusing to be sucked into their life sapping, stifling demands.

Saying that, I once went for a job at the Post Office, on their counter services.  I was young at the time, either late teens or early twenties.  I had to go to London and sit an exam.  I think it was some general ability test, a Level A test in psychometric terms.  Things like add this up, find the odd one out etc.  The marking I was told was pretty strict.  Unfortunately, I failed to hit the pass mark by only three points.  Three bloody points and I would of had a job for life.  A job where I could of been the life sapper.  Thank goodness I failed.  Think I'll hit the pub tonight.  See a few mates, have a laugh, miss Sparkles.  I'll refrain from giving her a phone call if I'm pissed.  I know what it's like talking to piss heads on the phone.  The same as waiting in a cue at the Post Office.

Talentless America

I had began writing this blog with something else in mind.  But as it so unfortunately happens I'm sitting in a room with the TV on and watching America's Got Talent.  Only to think the programme should really be called Talentless America.  It would certainly be a more appropriate title.  A man has just flown a kite indoors, the crowd erupted.  Granted he appears to have some kind of learning difficulty, his mother said it was epilepsy.  But hey America, it's nothing more than a bloody kite.  Which also begs the question, whether it is right or wrong for talent shows to allow contests to with sob stories to perform.  Talent doesn't need any kind of depressive, sad emotion drawing excuse to be talent.  OK, I'll admit there these stories are sad, they do pull on your heart, but if facts are facts it really doesn't matter if someones partner died.  Which led to their inspiration to shoot tiddly winks through a hoop.  First the stories should be killed, let them do their thing and then vote whether it has any meaning.  In the end the truth will come through.  As later episodes go on these talentless persons are voted off.  For now their stories have already been heard and we're all immune to in order to pull votes.  Get over it, you got one leg, so what hop on the other one and give us a tune which actually hits the right notes. 

Rock Chick has just pointed out, the panel of three judges has two British members.  Piers, has a histrionic vent.  I just can't help feeling there are times when he follows the crowd, even when the crowd is clearly wrong.  This is America folks.  Sharon, well maybe she's had too much plastic surgery and its effected the bitchy bent she can have.  I never know what direction she swings, but there is something she does when the act is crap.  Like jumping on some cussing bandwagon.  She would definitely be the lead fish wife in any group of fish wives.  The panel, is missing probably the greatest opinionated British judge of all, Mr Cowel.  How, I am sure Mr Cowell, the man with the false titties and whose girlfriends have a shelf life of six months and his ego always has problems being in the same room as him, so much so he has to make sure the mirrors are covered.  At least his caustic judgement always cuts through any group of spectators and smacks them down like a professional wrestler.  Without him there is no sanity.  It's prime insane stuff. 

Unfortunately I don't have the TV controls.  Next week I'm going to book an appointment for a lobotomy, no I'm not, after enduring this I'll not need one. 

Putting an iron in the fridge

There I was in the garden.  Cutting grass, trimming plants, cleaning the outdoor chairs and table when I wondered where Sparkling had gone.  She'd taken the car to get some potatoes and brockley, the tatties were going to be turned into jackets and the brockley steamed because it's good for you.  I wondered where Sparkling was.  It must of been over an hour.  I kept making myself busy.  Popped in and turned the chicken down, it was more than roasted by this time.  Put the mower away and came in the house to sit down.  Two minutes later I here Sparkling's car come into the drive.  The door opened and she dropped off three bags of shopping to return to the boot.  I'm glad I didn't take my boots off or put my feet up at this point, good thinking, because if it looked like I had done nothing then I'd of had a boot up my arse.  We bought the shopping in and Sparkles told me how she had just seen her mum.  I unpacked the bags, putting tins, plants, vegetables on the side.  Sparkling grabbed hold of the iron went over to the fridge, reached down began to open the door and realised she had an iron in her hand.  Not the 2 litre bottle of milk.  Poor thing she's been distracted today.

The car needed a repair in order to pass it's MOT, because it had just failed.  A little wielding needed to be done.  Unfortunately it meant an early start to the day.  The car had to be dropped off at the welders, we then had to go into town, get prezzies for Rock Chick because it's soon to be her birthday and then another prezzy for University girl who has just finished University and is about to graduate.   During this time Sparkling had to face a bus ride.  Or rather two bus rides because I said it was cheaper than getting cabs all over the place.  She gave me the stare.  This one said "I am not going on a bus" being a sweet talker she reluctantly got on a bus.  Then got a bus back.  The bus back wasn't as comfortable as the bus into town.  On account there were a lot more people on it.  Sparkling chose to sit at the very back just above the engine and nobody had opened a window.  I could not believe how hot and stuffy it was,  this is bloody Scotland, these people love the cold.  The heat to them is like the crucifix to a vampire.  Yet they all sat there baking away.  I could barely breath.  Sparkling was not happy I could tell.  Then she told me she would never sit on a bus again.  The two people sat next to her stank of body odour.  Well if one of the passengers had bothered to open a window it would of been a lot more pleasant.  I just couldn't believe it.  Anyway, this means Sparkling is now traumatised and will not get on a public bus again.  Who can bloody well blame her?

Rock Chick is working tonight, but a few minutes before she set off I asked if she would make me a cup of tea.  She gave me the "you must be joking" look.  I said she could put the kettle on while her response was she would be going in three minutes, no five minutes.  Enough time I said to put the kettle on.  She looked at me and said "just coz you got the man-o-pause." Then stared me down like Clint Eastwood in one of his Westerns where he knows he's going to come out the better.  A minute later up she got and left, there was an imaginary swirling whirl wind as she left.  I can tell she has inherited the drama queen gene from Sparkling. 

It seems the only sympathy I get nowadays comes from the cat.  Olly.  Like me he's male.  We have to stick together, especially in a house like this.  Like me he's getting fat as well.  Well at least I still got my balls.  For the time being anyway.

Rain and a lay in

Got up late today.  It's odd how easy it is just to lay in bed and sleep through the morning.  Each time waking up and hearing the sound of rain outside.  Heavy and persistent.  Sparkles had made up her mind and I was going to go along with it.  It was to sleep and enjoy the lay in.  I had no problem with it at all.  I dreamt of my yellow and navy socks, appropriated by Rock Chick.  Sparkles had a more dramatic dream, one where her jaw had dropped off and she had to be taken to hospital.  Well.  I mean.  If your jaw dropped off you'd want to be taken to hospital as well.  It's the sort of thing you'd notice.  Maybe it was the rain.  And today is the summer solstice.  Here's some news.  There was no sunshine in Scotland, but a lot of rain, buckets of it. 

I've been given my jobs to do.  With the help of L & B Man the immersion heater has been fixed.  It was my job really but he took it over and did the wiring.  I must learn a lot more about electricity and stuff.  A lot more.  These are the kind of things, plumbing and electric they should teach at school, but they don't.  It's about time someone lobbied parliament and said "we want to learn real practical things, not geography." Not that I have anything about Geography, but knowing what a caldera is hasn't helped me as much as knowing what colour wire is live and what is neutral.  There's not many volcanoes round here.

OK must hit the hay.  The cat is out and he still hasn't hassled me to let him in.  Which means I'll be up at 3 a.m. letting him in.  I'll wait for the elbow in my side and the word "cat" being spoken like a magic word which a genie has to comply with.  Except I'm the genie.  Less the magic. 

Making Ice Cream

I caught an episode of the wonderful Mr Jamie Oliver doing a 30 minute recipe, which was as always very informative and inspiring.  Then thought I'd have a go at making the ice cream.  It was one minute fruit ice cream, and so easy to do.  He advocated getting frozen summer fruit berries from the supermarket.  So I did.  Into which goes natural yogurt, runny honey and maybe a tad of mint.  This is all put in a food processor and of course Jamie being Jamie made it look so easy.  I had a little problem with the blender thing, because it had been in the cupboard for a long time and was Big Mommas.  I'd never used it before.  Oh, nearly forgot, I also bought plane chocolate which was melted in a Baine-Marie, which was the first time I used one.  It was not problem at all.   However, the summer fruits were more than a little tart, even with the honey and chocolate. 

The making it didn't take one minute maybe about ten.  Then it took an  hour to try and freeze the thing.  Then when I dished some up it was still half soft and not properly frozen enough, it was at this point I discovered how tart it tasted.  It could of been two hours and still tarty, but definitely frozen.  So it was summer berry ice cream with a tarty taste.  What I will say was, I went out of my way to get all of the basic cheap ingredients, the biggest cost was the runny honey.  Maybe it was the honey which wasn't sweet enough?  But as I had dribbled melted plain chocolate throughout the ice cream, kind of layering it. The taste was bearable.  But next time I'll think more along the lines of using sweeter fruit or even icing sugar.  Perhaps having a look for other recipes on ice cream making, for I am not completely convinced using natural yogurt is the way forward.  Could it have been missing some real cream I ask myself.  Probably.  Cycled four miles today so had partly balanced off the calorie intake.  Well you got to try.

The revelation of a pint

I've been to the gym this evening and for some reason my belly hurts, it must of been the three sets of 20 sit ups.  Not many but for a little pot bellied man like myself but it was enough.  Again half an hour on the running machine which was pretty good, then only to find I had just about burnt off 350 calories.   A few weight machine exercises and I finished.  On the way to the train station I met Language man (on account he speaks 4 languages and is Belgian), but being a Belgian is nothing to do with his language skills.  I offered my hand and he gave me a hearty hand shake.  Then suggested the pub.  After a hand shake like that how could I refuse?  Just the one pint for me but the conversation was good.  Though sometimes I do wonder about conversing with people who have similar political and religious views as myself.  The reason is because you're always in agreement and the thing with a good discussion is there should always be a little bit of debate or even argument.  Language man is a nice bloke and very easy to get along with.

It was while talking to him I got thinking, and maybe it was the pint of Guinness as well.  For you never know, sometimes one of those lovely black glasses hits the spot.  I got thinking about general stuff.  It must of been after or during the conversation about the Universe and how insignificant we were, but how awe inspiring and humble it made us feel.  The stuff being along the lines of our fleeting lives.  Yes, this was the train track and the pint which got me thinking.  With all the stresses at present in the Fish Factory the conversation added a bit of perspective.  However, I didn't talk about the Fish Factory.  In the long, haul of existence, ours is but milliseconds of milliseconds in the grand universe.  Our likes and dislikes, our pain in the arses things are so insignificant they are hardly worth thinking about.  Although personally the biggest pains in the arse tend to be other people.  I'm sure some of them feel this way about me as well.  I know Sparkling and Big Momma can for sure.  I hope not all the time, because then my name would probably go on some hit list.  Yes.  All those things which cause distress can be overcome with the right frame of mind.  This is what I thought.  Only thing is finding, getting or becoming the appropriate right frame of mind.

I then at some point realised, after consuming my pint it had cost me the half hour run on the treadmill.  So now I was back to square one.  Zero.  For which there is something quite interesting about as well.

Google rescued the moon

Last night was supposed to have been one of the most wonderful lunar sights to view.  The moon being eclipsed. During this process it turns a magnificent blood red colour.  But one thing the moon could not of accounted for on such a wonderful occaision was the weather.  Big nosey clouds spanned the entire sky.  For they to were bustling to get a good view of what was going on.  Those poor mortals much lower down in the cloud's pecking order didn't get a whisker of a chance.  Nope.  Old big ed cloud stuck himself right in the mid of view.  Relatively speaking not even mid view but pretty close to our own noses.  Bloody things.  Fortunately for earthlings there was this little thing called Google.  As soon as the page was opened up a graphic of the moon hovered above the darkened title.  As the page loaded you could see the moon go through it's phases and then once loaded it was possible to pull a slider button accross and see it go through the same phases at whatever pace desired.  Yep.  Google rescued the moon. 

Three hips for Google.

Exercise makes you eat - the alternative...

The problem with doing exercise is it makes me want to eat.  Then usually the idea of doing the exercise in the first place is to reduce the extra pounds around my girth.  Not to mention the doughnuts either.  I just don't know what it is.  My appetite becomes even more voracious.  It's not like I'm eating good quality healthy food either.  Take yesterday for instance.  I got on my bike and had a 6 mile round drip ride, to a supermarket.  Got there, bought various items and ended up having a meal for one Indian, chicken madras, rice, nan bread etc followed by a couple of slices of battenburge cake (very nice to) and a few strawberries.  The Indian really wasn't up to much, which is the way it goes with ready made meals from supermarkets.  I looked at it before throwing the thing in the microwave and wondered how come the pieces of chicken looked so palid, like they hadn't even been cooked in the sauce?  It was obvious, they hadn't, the sauce and the chicken had just been dropped into the container, probably by a machine which didn't care a great deal about it.  Mind, I must say the sauce was OK, I've had controlled flatulence all day long.  Controlled meant running off away from people to have a good fart somewhere less populated.  That will teach me.  Big not to self.  When having an Indian make sure it is on a Friday or Saturday.  In fact any night where the next day I'm not going to need human contact.  So with the cake, Indian and strawberries I doubt if the 6 mile bike ride actually burnt off as much as I consumed. 

Alternatively it could be some reluctant part of my personality or brain which is subconsciously saying "you don't want to lose weight, be slim, fit, healthy or a stud muffin.  It's hard work.  Live with yourself.  Get over it."  It's not a loud voice which says this, it's like a whisper I can barely hear, well, if I heard it then I would be suffering from not just weight gain but some mental disorder as well.  Hell, one problem at a time is enough, I don't need two.  When I think back to the days when I used to run miles, maybe 4 or 5 times a week.  I was skinny.  Now I understand why.  Then I didn't eat much either.  On account of not having much money and a poorly paid job.  When you look at third world developing countries being fat is something they generally don't have any issues with, on account of not many of them being fat.  I could go and get my jaws wired up, or even stomach surgery, but I'm not as grossly fat as that.  Just enough to be disturbed by it.  Maybe I should start taking some of those berries they advertise.  The ones which cost an arm and a leg.  It makes sense, if you spend a lot of money on dried up health food berries you won't have so much to spend on food and then you will also want the berries to work, on account of their cost so in turn don't eat so much.  Hypnosis.  This is what I should consider.  I once saw a show where they hypnotist made his subject jump up out of the seat as though it was on fire whenever he heard a certain word.  There must be a suggestion which can be made to make me feel I don't have to eat so much.  I know "you're fat, stop eating that doughnut" I'm sure it will work.  Unless of course my subconscious mind decides to jump in there and negotiate.  It's enought to drive one crazy.

Well if it comes to it, I'll just have to give up exercising.  Put the bike on ebay, avoid the pub, all Chinese restaurants and find another highly addictive passtime.  But as I sit here, I can't think of anything I'd like to do.  Maybe I should have a cheese and pickle sandwich, it'll get the little grey cells working.

Have 2 wheels will travel

Well I collected my bicycle.  It felt weird riding a bike for the first time in years.  The balance was there, it just seemed the thing went faster than I thought bikes normally went.  Then there is the saddle.  Which feels more like sitting on an old wooden washing board, two minutes and my arse was killing me.  Which led me to using the standing technique of peddling.  As for suspension.  Well the model I chose doesn't have any, it was then I felt the holes in the road.  I'm glad I ordered mud guards for it.  At least they half worked.  Oh yes and it rained, I light drizzle and then stopped.  However as it had been like this all day long I found myself dodging puddles.  All this and finding I couldn't always keep the handle bars straight they wobbled a little as well, it all seemed just too well lubricated and easy riding.  When I timed myself it took 25 minutes to ride two and a half miles.  I was riding into the wind and taking lots of back streets so trying to avoid the main road.  Back streets are good, little traffic and they feel safer.  I almost have an impulse to ride it to the Fish Factory tomorrow.  It's just the security of it though.  I have a lock which would take a year to saw through but it wouldn't stop nefarious persons from damaging the thing.  They can do what they like with the seat, which would give me a good excuse to get another one.  I'll see.

In the next few months I could be losing the belly, I'm sure it may mean avoiding the butter biscuits I've just had with a cup of tea.  Well I did cycle 5 miles and I have got wobbly legs. 

Another moan about youth and beauty at the gym

Sometimes I wonder if I am losing it.  Other times I am so certain and sure.  Perhaps it is some stage in life which gets to this point, or an intolerance of other people.  Or even the GOM (Grumpy Old Man) syndrome thing.  I have been trying to get control of it and build up some kind of discipline.  Such as going to the gym.

Yesterday I felt extra energetic, which must of been on account of having a couple of days breaks since my last visit.  I managed to run 24 minutes out of 30.  Which is something for a little fat man.  I so love watching the youngsters or beautiful people on treadmills.  Especially when they try out the machine next to me.  Only to find they are even more unhealthy than the fat man.  I'm more unhealthy than I have been for a long time, but these other people are a hell of a lot younger.  After ten minutes of exertion they usually stab at the stop button and get off the machine.  Doing their best not to pant too much or appear to have broken a sweat.  The men who like to see their muscles in the mirrors are the funniest of all.  Sometimes I wonder if they come to the gym just to see physics at work.  As light bounces off their bodies and reflects back at them.  They even carry out this behaviour in the changing room where there are a lot fewer mirrors.  If they could carry around a picture of themselves in their own wallets they couldn't be any happier.  Here is evidence of muscles and brawn not mixing.  The big men do tend to sweat though.  Maybe it adds something.  Besides the smell I don't know what it could be. I wonder, what has happened to youth?  Then try to forget it and think of better things so as to pass by more minutes as my little leggies bound the rotating belt.

Beauty they say is wasted on the young.  Or if "they" don't then someone wise did.  Some of them have a way of walking and talking.  It is like they need to mark themselves in this world, and by talking in a certain way or pretending they have a recovering crippling injury, limping and wearing an over large rimmed baseball cap they achieve it.  To me and probably to most other GOMs they look and sound ridiculous.  Their perception of the reality of the world is nothing short of a belief in Father Christmas.  Which probably makes a lot of sense because it wasn't so long ago they found out he didn't exist.  Oops hope I haven't let it out of the bag.  No, I'm sure not.  One of those very people I see could be the world's next greatest inventor.  Except not at their present age, state of mind and odd looking behaviour.  Then again as a GOM this does sound a tad over generous.

Is a woman ever wrong?

I was in a situation where I lost my head.  It fell off.  It didn't really fall off.  Rather it exploded.  Being a bloke these things happen.  For men unlike women don't have a propensity to continuous griping, they let so many discomforts pass and then when they have mounted up they blow up like Vesuvius or even one of the Icelandic volcanoes (whose names are so long and complex only someone who speaks Icelandic can pronounce them).  Get the idea, just think exploding volcano.  When a man reaches this point they have usually put up with a great deal.   In an ideal world the best thing which can happen is another person asks them what is up and then listens to them.  However, this is not an ideal world.  If it happens to be a woman in the vicinity they would rather not listen.  Their response may be to trivialise or compound the situation making the fella feel even worse.  The reason is they have an inability to listen.  OK girls I can see you now rolling up your sleeves and about to beat the crap out of me.  

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. -- Winston Churchill

OK, this is a broad statement and it can not be directed at all women.  Therefore it is a generalization and probably applies to most of them.  In the region of nearly 100 percent.  Personally I have found more men with better listening skills  than women.  But then I am a man and I am not talking about gay men either.  I expect a woman would say it is men who can't listen. Well I must admit certain things a woman can talk about do not have much weight.  Which is certainly something a man learns never to mention to a woman.  No matter how fat her backside looks you will always say it looks beautiful.  It's like me saying my shirts make me look fat, not that "I look fat in this shirt because I am fat" such a comment would be preposterous.  I can't say whether this generalization goes for lesbians either.  On account I really don't know any lesbians at all.  Although I the encounters I have had with them they have acted towards me as though I had leprosy and ignored my presence.  So I basically ignored them.  There must be a hell of a lot of lesbians with their knickers in a twist, which probably gives them a little smile every now and again.  But lets not distract from the discussion.  Women don't listen because were they to actually listen they may have to admit something which would be a complete shake of their woman worldly perception.  They may then have to admit at some point they are wrong.

Women get the last word in every argument.  Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.  ~Author Unknown

In defence, women state men are never right about anything, and secondly men should be listening to them not expecting they listen back.  I'd really like to say it is a two way street but in is not.  It is an asymmetric street.  Only a man would know what an asymmtope is as well.  In my experience men generally are more laid back than women, they just go along with things.  Agree most of the time, do as they are told like little puppy dogs.  Learn to sit and roll over according to their mistresses requirements.  They are pulled along by their lead. But once in a while when something gets too much for them they will blow up.  As I did.  At this point they have had it up to their eyeballs in horse manure, the straw breaks their back.  It's a big time blow out.  While for a woman their blow outs tend to be along the lines of constant niggles and drones.  They have little sense of when to stop and just go on and on.  As though stating their point once is not enough so they have to state it repeatedly.  The other side of the coin is when a woman has an opinion and has not stated it at all.  It's odd but these two extremes of constant reminding and niggling against not mention at all exist.  They are present because there is no middle road.  When they have not said something there exists a temporary no mans land.  No mans seems an apt phrase to use as well.  For no man in his right mind really wants to be in this place of limbo.  Which can be difficult to detect, but the clues are there and get pieced together after the event.  A man is not told something because he should already know it and he should of used his wonderful power of ESP (Extra Sensory Perception) or maybe even mind reading to understand and comment or act in the way he should of commented or acted but didn't know about.  Even the great Agatha Christie detective Poirot would have a problem.  Maybe it's why in the TV series he never has a female friend other than his house keeper.  If he did he certainly wouldn't of had any time to do his detecting.

Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.  ~William Shakespeare

A woman will defend herself rather than admit being wrong.  It becomes a game.  A tit for tat, of "you did this" and "you said this" not forgetting their elephant memory where things are dragged out from years earlier in which you as a man hadn't even given a second thought and can't believe at this very moment they suddenly have such great salience.  What is really needed is a moment of listening.  Because whoever at that point is the calmest of the two should sit back and ask themselves a question.  What happened to get to this point where this man has blown his top?  Personally I am of the opinion that women although believing themselves to be softly, softly brilliant communicators are actually not very good at communicating at all.  For communication does mean listening then speaking.  Listening with ears, listening with heart, listening with mind.  Real listening means walking a mile in someones shoes.  And the person who can show this skill can calm the worst bear in the forest.  But no, a woman has no tolerance of calming a big old grizzly bear.  She will make a quick and instant woman logic appraisal of a situation and take no other view.  It will be along the lines of "you are acting like a child just because your shoes were thrown away."  All the other things which raised up to the final straw are if no consequence.  A woman is right and a woman is always right as far as a man is completely concerned.  It is only when the man has eventually broken down and thought this is a silly situation and starts to admit fault to part the event begins to calm.  However, try and get an equally mature and adult response from a woman for an admittance of their own blame and you may as well stand in the Sahara desert with a rain coat, umbrella and Wellington boots.  It's just not going to happen.  Reason, they have just been vindicated because you were wrong and now they can add this one to their little black book and pull it out in five years time.

Despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, I have not yet been able to answer the great question that has never been answered: What does a woman want?
Sigmund Freud

Perhaps I am asking too much.  As Freud said.  A woman's mind is infathonable, especially when she doesn't know it.  But what she will know is she is always right and never the opposite to right, which would be adding a new word to her dictionary.  In the end, as a man all you can do is love them, accept them, and accept you're the one who will always have gracefully bail out.  After all you don't want to end up waking up in the morning with an eyebrow shaved, coloured nail varnish on your fingers or one trouser leg sown up.

Or should I be saying, I hope I live to see tomorrow.

Rain Rain

It's raining.  It was raining yesterday and it's raining today.  I had a short walk yesterday to see Monster Boy and cats and dogs fell from the sky.  On an adjacent patch of green there was a horse tethered with a foal next to it.  The poor thing was soaked through.  I wonder do horses get the flu.  On the way back from seeing Monster Boy the foal had ran up the hill and out of sight of the other horse.  The big one neighed in concern calling the little one back.  Taking a slightly circuitous route I saw the foal at the top of the hill, just out of it's parent's eye sight.  It was standing in the cats and dogs getting soaked through and with a sorrowful look about it.  I walked past and it's ears pricked up.  The parent neighed beyond the brow of the hill and was running as far as it's tethered rein would allow it.  Miserable and wet the poor little thing.

Well, we're lucky it was only cats and dogs rain, if it were elephant rain I doubt if my umbrella could of coped with it.

What to look for in purchasing a bicycle

The search for a bicycle took on new bounds yesterday.  I hit the local store with the intention of not just looking but scrutinising what was available.  Trying to understand exactly what today's bicycles are all about in comparison to the old ones.  Generally they look more rugged but this could be one of those ploys to make you believe they will actually last longer.  It's not really the case.  Saying this, the most startling thing is the change in technology, in gears and brakes.  The old style cycles always had cantilever brakes.  These just pulled a cable which then applied brake pads to the rim of the wheels.  Wheels could lock if depressed hard enough and in poor conditions the breaks would less effective, or completely ineffective.  It is a lot more common nowadays to see bicycles with disk brakes.  I thought these were for cars.  Nope, not just for cars, very much for bicycles as well.  I have never ridden a bicycle with disk brakse, so I don't know how they feel, but there does seem to be some value in having them.  Especially hydraulic disk brakes which will have give a greater loading to the pads.  Very interesting.  The number of gears cycles have is also extraordinary.  My old racer used to have 5 or was it 10 gears, now gears range right up to 27.  I'm sure that doesn't include a reverse.  Well there are some things which don't change.  I was also amazed to see some bicycles had suspension built into the frames.  Which seems a bit needless I thought.  However, if you go mountain biking (MTB) then it may be useful.

I was reading the first mountain bikes were put together by blokes who just wanted to coast down a mountain track.  They got some heavy frame bike and would then bolt on Motorcycle wheels.   We're now talking big chunky things, to give them more grip.  The reality in the UK is there are very few mountains about.  Certainly in England, but I suppose if you want to do a little bike rambling through woods and parks it's a similar thing.  Not quite the same scale, but similar.  Of course it would also mean putting up with being chased by dogs as they had their walkies.  The MTB wheels although excellent for grip are actually slower for cycling on roads, whilst suspension on a bike would be advantageous for rough terrain or pot holes in roads it is an additional item which can go wrong.  This makes me think of the Volkswagen Beetle for some reason.  An odd lovable car where we all think of Herbie (I'm sure it's time they had a remake) which unlike other cars was air cooled.  Which probably contributed to the different sound the engine made.  However, by having air cooling it meant there was an additional item not to worry about.  The bloody radiator, because it didn't exist.  So I am pondering on a style of bike which is between both a road bike and a MTB, but looks like an MTB.  This is called the hybrid, most of which have little suspension on them.  This would be suitable for roads and as a possibility for cycling to the Fish Factory.  The only way it would pay for itslelf.

So as I walked round the store I took notes, wrote down what bikes caught my eye and some of their specs.  I was a little dismayed none of the store staff approached me to see if I needed any help.  Sod em I thought.  I also took photos of the bikes so as to prompt my memory when it comes to making a decision.  This stage is very much the fact finding.  I've been checking all the bikes I liked on Google to see if I could find reviews on them.  One of them made by a company called Voodoo is brand new to the market and has very few reviews.  It looks good but how far do you trust something which doesn't have any track record at all.  I want reliability as much as anything else.  The other most noticeable thing was to find nearly every bicycle didn't have the extra bits on it.  The bits which are equally important, no pump, no bike stand, no mud guards, no water bottle with cage,  no lights etc..  All these other items have to be purchased separately.  Some of which can be pretty expensive in themselves.  Mud guards for instance can cost nearly 30 quid.  A decent lock to keep the bike chained up could easily topple the same price and some going as high as 50 quid.  It seemed like some kind of madness as I looked at these things. It became really no surprise as I looked at further bicycles on the Internet to see they had broken the four figure level on price.  Wonderful, surely it would be better to go and by a Beetle I thought at least then you could put shopping in it.  Whoever is willing to part with such money were either very serious about bicycles, had more money than brains or has never worried about costs anyway.  Russian oligarchs come to mind, but I have never seen any of them pictured riding a bicycle to work if they work at all.  Although the odd politician has, mind they don't do much work either. 

So the thought process has began.  Do I or don't I?  Where's Lance Armstrong when you need him?

Today's agenda, Shakespearse's insight, listening and humour

Got up early this morning, the pigeons decided yet again they would act as alarm clocks.  Coming down through the tiles, clatter, clatter, then followed by a communal coo cooing.  I contemplated a double barrel shot gun, but don't have one and then thought of a blow pipe.  A long accurate blow pipe with needle like darts, they wouldn't know what hit them and I'm sure I would not have to registered with some authority for having a dangerous weapon.  Dragging myself out of bed now at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday after about 5 hours sleep I will probably go through some kind of coma state during the day.  Gym, shopping, (must make a list) DIY store, pressing trousers and bicycles again.  Should I take the plunge on a cycle?  It will definitely help me exercise and may even help get this belly down.  Though I would be loath to use it as transport to and from the Fish factory.  The idea of being sweaty and stinky all day long doesn't appeal.  Then I get hit with echoes of Aristotle's "you are what you repeatedly do...."  great.  If this means each time I go to the pub I am starting on the rocky road of fattism I'm in trouble.  I wouldn't mind when half the people who go there have certain personality quirks on the obscure.  Just to think, some time ago I never frequented the pub and preferred a gym addiction.  You are what you repeatedly do.  Maybe I'm going through some kind of change or the need and want for a change, or perhaps I'm reminiscing too much for something long ago which does not exist today.  Begin able to breath, being fit, having extra stamina and drive where others failed, and most certainly calming down a bit more.  So I'm still thinking what to do next.  Gym stuff is nearly packed so I'm half committed to it.  Better write a shopping list.

Shakespeare is always good for a quote, every play will have a score or more of sayings infiltrated in everyday English.  Most of us probably don't realise it.  I do like Hamlet, the Mel Gibson version it's been a few years since I've seen it so I might try and fish out the copy from somewhere.  I think it's on old video.  The quotes are important especially when they have personal meaning.  Which no doubt goes for any quote by any person at all.  Here's something I have been thinking of lately, it is where Plonius gives advise to his son before he goes away, the speech is actually a lot longer.

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!

It is the words "...to thine own self be true..." I'm thinking of.   I interpret this to say, if you are feeling happy then be happy, if you have been pushed to a point of anger and can not hold it in, it must come out.  For me it takes a lot to push my buttons and make me scream.  I usually hold it in, but when I am unable to walk away it explodes.  If this outburst happens it can be exacerbated, especially where the protagonist or third party fails to listen as I give account for my actions.  Communication has ceased and can only spiral into a worse situation.  Their non listening response is a barrage of shit making it worse, they are not understanding.  There is ignorance.  My resulting counter action is best to say nothing at all.  They have failed as a human being to me.  Two tense or angry people can never find a solution to the elephant in the room.  Each the individual's following actions will determine my next response as the elephant waves it's tail.

Humour however is the greatest releaser of tension, it can flip entirely bad situations into shared learning experiences.  But it takes certain sorts of people to use this ploy and know it, to know they should not get sucked into an aggravated situation.  Humour is the peacemaker of all strife.  Sometimes I receive joke text messages.  Once in a while I will pull out my phone and read them.  They can help combat a lot of negative feelings including blue sad feelings as well.  Most definitely, listening and humour are life rafts in a sea of sharks.

Funny.  If you had to see your local quack you'd never get prescribed a bucket of humour pills.  Something to think about.  To perhaps become an inventor of the humour pill and a rich happy millionaire.  Now listen here Doc I've got this idea...

Too much sugar and a little Nietzsche

Back at the Fish Factory, the world revolves again on another chaotic circuit of too many Fish and not enough sharpened utensils to deal with them.  We'll soon be up to our eyeballs in the little blighters.  As if this was the only thing I had to put up with, as it turned out to be another sleepless night with Big Momma up and down to the loo tinkle tinkle.  Her diabetes kicking in.  There was an empty jar of marmalade in the washing up bowl so this was a clue.  She doesn't understand sugar should now be off the menu and is acting like other diabetics I have encountered, this totals five.  It's like the illness of the millennium will be diabetes, who fashionably has it and who fashionably doesn't have it.  It's beyond ironic when on this morning's news I heard how there is just about enough food at this time to feed the population of the planet, with some groups of people spending up to 80% of their income on food and still suffering from starvation.  There has got to be something wrong.  I sure bet those unfortunate persons don't suffer from diabetes.   What they'd do for a sugar lump?  It would be funny if it weren't so tragic.

I got back early from the Fish Factory on account of feeling very much a zombie, in fact there were probably zombies out there who felt better than me, and lay down on my bed.  Two hours later I felt a little better.  The head feeling spaced out thing had in most part been satisfied.  But a wave does hit me now and again, then it washes over my brow, I shake off the foam and re open my eyes.  I sure hope I can get some sleep tonight.

Here's a quote I cam across yesterday but didn't want to add it to the BLOG as Mr Aristotle got in the way and afterall there is too much of a good thing.  It's by a German bloke who a little like Aristotle did a lot of thinking, I was surprised when I did a google search to find he said some other familar things which can be found in everyday language. Here it's about opinion, the sentiment is thought provoking..


“You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.” - Friedrich Nietzsche.

I like this.  It speaks for itsel and suggests one individual has the forsight to understand it's not worth carrying on a discussion or arguement.when there are differences of opinion and neither party are going to convince one or the other of being right or wrong.  It's the kind of thing you might come out with when totally exhausted and rather than using the "I can't be bothered" ubiquitous moron phrase Nietzshe gives it some style.  Also it could suggest there has been a failing from one of the parties involved.  Or from both.  Especially if they felt they had not been heard.

I wonder if there were many fat people around in Nietzsche's day?  I'm sure there would of been quite a few people with their opinion on it.

Habits

Yesterday I went to the gym.  It being a Sunday and late morning meant there was hardly anyone about.   I like it this way.  When there's no queuing up to use the machines and no need to worry how fat I look if I happen to see myself in the mirror.  And I did, and I do, look fat.  But while there I hit the running machine and even managed to do a straight 15 minutes jog without stopping in between walking stints.  I observed my breathing wasn't too bad, which is a good sign.  Fat or not, being able to breath is important.  Catching your breath can limit the amount of time you can exercise.  Like being weak and unable to lift weights.  My knee began to twinge later on so I'll have to watch it.  Sometimes though it is just a matter of persistence and taking it easy.  Not overdoing anything.  Getting into the habit is important.  Which reminds me of a quote I come across the other day.  Attributed to Aristotle

"We are what we repeatedly do, excellence is therefore not an act, it's a habit."

Quite an interesting thing to say when you think about it.  About striving to do the best you can but more than this to make it the very best possible.  It obviously takes a lot of effort and attention to do.  At the moment I'm half way fat so, if I were to be excellent at it, I'd be really fat.  Though I don't think this is included in the measure of the quote.

I went and looked at bicycles this afternoon.  Again thinking about increasing the amount of exercise I do.  A little disappointed I walked out of the shop, just not being able to make up my mind or be inspired by anything I saw there.  On the way back home I had a pint in a pub and enjoyed the sunshine.  It chilled me and just the one pint seemed to have a mildly intoxicating effect.  Maybe it was yesterday's exercise.  I don't think I'll put too much weight on it.  After all there is too much weight which goes on the machine.

Now tomorrow to start an excellent habit.

What makes me happy and chilled

There really is never enough time in the day to do all the things which have to be done.  This I've learnt at the Fish Factory, it just don't stop.  But I do get a chance to breath every now and again. Otherwise I'd be turning blue, or fainting all over the place. Except for today.  Today I can categorically say I have not worried as much as I normally would.  This is because tomorrow I get to see Sparkling Eyes.  A sleep, followed by a short train ride, followed by a short underground hop, followed by a much longer train ride and then I'll be there, on the doorstep, moi.  Knowing I am just about to get away from it all and see Sparkling is like being given a dozen tranquilizes, I've had the feeling that nothing was actually going to bother me.  When one of the little fishes kept nipping at my heals, I just let it go coz there was nothing more I was going to do and certainly not by the end of the day.  It was almost like the little fish really just didn't get it.  What pond I wondered were they swimming in coz it certainly wasn't the one I was in, coz I'd know, this one was calm and easy going and not giving a second thought.  Yesterday there was a fire alarm at the Fish Factory and precious time was lost standing outside in the beautiful sunny weather.  Chatting rather than doing work.  This fortunate break in the afternoon was also very relaxing.  So when I returned back to the Factory I just didn't have any more zing left to get on with what had to be done.  It's like I had began calming down. 

This evening I checked out FaceBook and Sparkling had added a comment, it seemed she had a little tizzy.  Rock Chick had responded with a comment about tidying up the house.  Oh I thought.  I'm forewarned now, don't drop any crumbs, leave shoes around or be untidy otherwise I'll be in trouble.  But I don't think it would worry me too much if I did get into trouble, because it would mean I am in Sparkling's company and I am not in her company every day.  I could hear her curse at me, huff at me and blow my house down.  I'm sure it won't be as bad as that but she can definitely huff when she wants to, and let me say every huff is lovely.  lol.  OK I'm sucking up, just in case she gets to read this.  No. But, I'd be in a state of happiness which is what would matter more than anything.

Anyway talking about being chilled out and not letting things get under my skin.  I watched a vid on youtube last night as well.  It was a sketch from a man who was in an airplane crash.  It was the plane which crashed into the Hudson River.  Everyone survived it.  But at the time this man had three realisations which hit him and he now carried around with him every day of his life.  One was how short life is, and how he had kept putting off things.  It made him realise to do those things he had kept leaving and waiting.  Another was how he had wasted a lot of time and had been negative.  His his ego got in the way of things.  In the way of his relationships with people around him. Subsequenly he calmed down and said since the accident he hadn't had a single arguement with his wife, and just as importantly he became an even better father to his child.  Lastly, he said he had no longer became afraid of dying, it was as though everyday had been a preparation for it and it wasn't so bad after all.  I think what he learnt was actually how to live his life, his life, his experience and now how much more he treasured those around him.  I think this says, of all the things in our lives it is other people around us which make us happiest and he had found this out and also learnt the role he played.  In all it sounds like a self enlightening experience.

I wonder what thoughts I'd think if I had a near death experience.  Better make sure I tidy up after me then, hadn't I?

13 is a lucky number

There is superstition about the number 13.  People think it is unlucky, in some places it is considered so unlucky they do not have a 13th floor, row of seats on a plane or go into work on Friday 13th.  But what are the values of a 13 which make it lucky in an unfashionable way?  The big one which comes to mind is a "baker's dozen" which is 13.  I'd rather have a baker's dozen than just 12 any day and especially if this number were the winning last number on a lottery ticket. I mean, it makes sense, if everyone dislikes the number 13 and 13 is a number which comes up in a lottery then all those who didn't pick because of superstition would be pretty stupid.  The Friday just gone was Friday the 13th.  It did not stop me from going into the Fish Factory.  In fact I had a dental appointment in the morning of Friday the 13th.  Now if the opportunity of lady luck to abandon me was going to take place it would of been at the dentist of all places.  All was fine.  It went as smooth as any other check up I've had with no problems. The number 13 is considered lucky in by Sikhs as 13 in Punjabi means "yours" as in to give to their god.  Whilst in Judaism the age 13 represents the time of manhood and Bar Mitzah.  Whilst in Italy 13 again is considered lucky although I could not find the reason why.  Note in a pack of cards there are 13 to each suit, but it doesn't stop people playing with cards.

In a different example, what of all babies which are born on the 13th?  Does it mean these babies should have their entire lives blighted by the superstition of others?  That they should be branded?  Of course not.  For sense actually takes over and I am sure any expectant mother who had a baby on Friday the 13th would love that baby just as much as a mother who had one the day before.  In math, 13 is both and odd number and a prime number so it is rare and beautiful.

So the conjecture for today is: 13 were it not for superstition the number 13 would just be an integer, no different from any other integer.  On all accounts superstition in this case has no logical basis, for how many people who are seriously superstitious have had consistently bad luck ever Friday the 13th?  None.  It's not possible, unless they are stupid enough to go out and find it.  So 13 is just like any other number.  Therefore just as lucky as well.

What's Insomnia? - let me sleep on it

Recently I seem to be suffering from insomnia.  But I don't think it is entirely my own fault, it's with the help of outside forces.  And I'm not talking about anything supernatural.  There is of course the usual things, but then there is the unusual things.  The result though is the same, no matter what it is, what I do I end up waking up some time in the middle of the morning or night and staying awake.  It is getting irritating to say the least. Here's a little list.

Stress at work
Big Momma getting up 10 times a night to have a tinkle (she's diabetic).
Not exercising enough so not physically exhausted.
An over active mind - lay down and then find it runs faster than a cheetah after a deer.
Pigeons in the roof who like to get up at first light - 4 a.m. to 5 a.m. ish.
Morning sunshine so hard it bounces of the walls under the curtains and it feels like an electric arc light is on.
Foxes who like to scream in the middle of the morning - they sound like they are in pain.
Being too hot in bed - the weather has really warmed up and the house gets hot.
Cat or cats.
House being generally noise conductive rather than dampening i.e. Big Moma gets up and everything heard.
Having good hearing
Drinking coffee or tea too late at night so effectively having a cafine hit.
High blood pressure - I am sure I have tinitus it's like hearing an old TV starting up all the time but I am learning to treat it as a friend.
Not getting enough sleep, leading to trying too hard to sleep leading to not getting sleep.

So there you have it a few of the little things which contrive to prevent me from getting a good nights sleep.  Sometimes I'll end up with maybe 4 hours.  Then I am a walking zombie the rest of the day.  Then nobody can get an enthusiastic reaction out of me because how can you be enthusiastic when you're grumpy, tired and ready to kill at the drop of a hat?  It's not possible.  Certainly not when you have been fighting it for nights on end.  So it must all mount up somewhere.  All the lost sleep.  Someone is steeling it in the night.   I'm also afraid it may end up hallucinations, I'll see things floating about me which shouldn't be there.  Like bright green rabbits with fangs, or find I am walking awake and sleeping.  Where the dream world encroaches on the awake world and then the most difficult thing of all will be trying to work out which one is real and how to react correctly.  If I'm asked a question by a Pooka (large invisible white rabbit - as in the film Harvey) will I end up talking to it, replying and then have other people react around me as if I am going crazy.  Well they most likely will.  I'll then be carted off with a white jacket wrapped around me to a nicely padded room.  Where hopefully it will be quiet.  If it is quiet then I'll eventually get some sleep.

So it seems there is no choice for the insomniac.  You have to quitely start losing your marbles, bit by bit, then hopefully some carring sympathetic doctor can have you sectioned away where you get a couple of months being given back all the sleep you'd lost in the first place, curtisy of a relaxed, quiet, fox free, cat free, Big Momma free, non sound conductive and dimley lit environment.

Someone section me, please.

I just learnt to use a toaster

This may seem odd, but I think I have only just learnt how to use an electric toaster.  Not use it as in to turn in on, but to actually toast the whole slice of bread.  For years I have been dropping bread into the slot vertically.  Then I have though why was it the toast engineers never made a toaster big enough for the bread?  The only conclusion I came to was they were using small slices of bread, a bit like the small loafs available to people on a diet.  Which I haven't been on by the way.  Then about a week ago for some unknown reason I dropped the bread into the toaster horizontally, and to my amazement it still fitted the slot.  Pushed the handle down and waited for it to cook. So after a minute or two, hey presto.  Viola.  The entire slice, or rather slices of toast were toasted.  Being a little stupid it has taken me a long time to work out.  All those years I have been eating toast with the top part not quite browned.  Someitmes I'd turn the bread upside down half way through just so there would be more part toasted bread.  Other times I would resort to using the toaster on the gas stove, which takes a lot longer.  I always think they engineers of the gas stove purposesfully made it so the flame was so far away it would use more gas to do the toast than needed as well.  In these moments of impatience I'd resort to a little trick of holding the bread closer to the flame by lifting the pan up.  It may have shaved a minute or so of the time, but whatever it did the whole slice was uniformly toasted.  Unlike the electric toaster.  So now I have eventaully gained my black belt in toast making.  Well they say it does take years to get a black belt.  If you don't watch it though you can end up with black toast and that certainly isn't a nice thing to have.

Lists to do things

Sometimes there is a state of mind in which to be when about to do something.  I wrote a list.  Which is always a good place to start but it doesn't mean I'll get around to the things on the list.  One was to book a dental appointment which is very much a state of mind thing, where I need at least a week to prepare myself.  Practice opening my mouth as wide as I can and then leaving it open for as long as I can.  The other item was to get my hair cut.  Unfortunately this seems to have been more down to the availability of the hairdresser than being in the right frame of preparation.  The last two weeks has seen the Easter holidays so each hair dressers has been full of sprogs.  Sometimes mothers with sprogs in tow.  There may only be one of them getting a hair cut but for some reason the whole family has to sit there.  Then the siblings have to run amok.  They have energy and it needs to be used up, sitting in a shop just doesn't do it. So walking through the door of a hairdressers on days like this requires being prepared for a headache.  Ear plugs, paracetamol and any other over the counter drugs which help.  I do wonder whether I was as bad as those sprogs at their age. No can't be.  Seeing as it was so long ago I really can't tell.  I just hope I wasn't, because today's sprogs are a good reason not to propagate the human race. So my hair is getting longer not for lack of mental want to get it cut but out of personal sanity.  Although my list only has two items they are important items, well I don't want to overload myself.

This morning as I had just began my journey to the Fish Factory, I saw an odd sight.  There was a cat on a garage roof, crouched down as though it were about to pounce on something, but I couldn't see what it was.  And there was a magpie lunging in at the cat and screeching loud.  It made the typical magpie warning sound,  much little like a very creaky door.  This magpie was semi hovering and swooping on the cat, getting close but not too close.  Making enough noise so every other creature knew the cat was there.  I reached into my pocket and took out my phone.  Just about to start filming when the cat sat up having given up on it's ready to pounce pose.  It was completely ignoring the flapping noise making magpie, almost to the point it make me wonder if the cat had decided the bird didn't exist.  The cat saw me and maybe the magpie saw me because they both seemed to stop.  Their list of things to do was obviously a bit different from my own.  Magpie's, harass a cat even if it could kill you, cat's stalk and prey on some smaller unsuspecting animal.

There I was thinking my cat Stinky had mental health issues.

Stinky

I have a belief that Stinky our cat has some personality defect, or simply is just fruit and nuts.  He has a bad habit now of sitting his furry arse down and just pissing around the house.  There are little hot spots or rather wet spots where he does this.  So at every opportunity I get I throw him out in the garden.  Now the little bugger must be saving his piss up because 9 out of 10 times he will plonk his backside on some dirt and let rip.  So why he does this I don't know.  I do know he also has a phobia about going out of the house so it makes things worse.  He will not of his own accord meow at the door to go out.  He'll meow like a banshee to get in, but not to go out.  He is very particular about his dirt tray as well.  If it is even the smallest bit soiled he'll not use it a second time.  It is like a one use only throw away option. So it's not too difficult to come to the conclusion he has some kind of anxiety issues.  In the meantime if stroking, loving and caring for him doesn't help I'll have to ask him whether he would like to take up a different occupation other than that of cat.  Like fur coat.  No.  I jest.  I'd never do it.  But I can't help it if he pushes the buttons.  For now I'm sure he has pissed somewhere else and I'll not say where it is but it was in another room which wasn't the toilet.  So watch out Stinky, whether you are suffering from a mental illness or potty training you are now officially getting on my tits.

Afternoon naps

Over the last four days I have been getting in an afternoon doze.  Just laying down for an hour, closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.  It has done the world of good.  I'm beginning to feel sane, real, alive.  Sleep is a wonderful thing, when the body doesn't get enough it fights back and boy do you know it.  Thing is I'm back at the Fish Factory today.  I can hardly see dropping off to sleep for an hour while people around me carry on with their de scaling will be allowable.  Damn.  It'll hardly be an example as a middle fish to the little fish.  I'm going to need match sticks to prop open my eyelids and do the best I can not to let my eyes roll back.

Come on day, lets see what you got.

Symptoms of falling to pieces

The last few days I think I been falling to pieces.  An arm here, a foot there.  Just dropping off all over the place.  Its littered with bits of me.  I no longer look the whole man I used to be, on account of the bits which have fallen off.  I have just began to realise it this evening, but otherwise it was difficult to tell.  It's like standing in crap.  When trodden in there isn't an immediate smell, it takes a moment or two as you are walking along to realise there is something untoward following you.  A stink.  At this point you understand where it has come from.  Unless you just happen to have a bad case of the runs and didn't run quick enough to the closest loo.  I recall a story L & B man told me about when he got caught for speeding his car.  He desperately needed to relieve his bowels.  Not vowels, bowels.  He was lucky he didn't crap himself while he was being given a ticket.  Though I must admit the story was amusing, it was the way he told it.  I now recognise the signs.  I have not been completely on form.  On account of having fewer body parts, they're scattered about the house.  I don't know if it was the royal shedding, or whether it was the prospect of having a nice long weekend, which continues with tomorrow as well.  My body has just shut down.  There has been no get up and go but more rather of lets sit down not move or do a thing and slob out.  Stuffy nose, loss of motivation, sneezing.  Unless it's hay fever, which I have never had.  It might be.  Who knows.  I don't.  So I've been falling apart, my body has been fighting back and saying it has had enough and wants to rest.  Do nothing.  My mind probably joined in at some point as well, but as with the standing in crap it's taken a day or two to realise it.

Tomorrow I'll try and pick up some of the pieces, motivation prevailing I hope.  Check out the corner shop for some body superglue.  Then put myself back together, in one piece.  All will be fine then.  Unless I forget my left from my right, or what direction it is best to screw my head on.  It's clockwise, I'm sure it is. OK one more day of holiday left.  I can do it.  As the saying goes "pull yourself together man," damn, better hope all the bits are there otherwise that saying might have to be changed.

Not everyone is bothered about a Royal Shedding.

Apparently yesterday in Glasgow there was a big Face Book arranged party by the River Kelvin.  So many people turned up the riot police had to come along as well to join the fun. There's vids on YouTube.  If I had only known, I'm sure Sparkling would of considered turning up.  The people were there for one thing, to avoid the Shedding and enjoy life without blue blood.  Wonderful.  In Australia there was planned a comedy take off program to run simultaneously as the Shedding as well.  The Aussies were going to really take the piss out of the whole thing.  Sounds like a great idea.  But for some undisclosed reason it was cancelled at the last moment.  Odd I thought they had managed to escape the monarchy completely and could do their own thing.  Makes you wonder what it might of been like had your ancestors been shipped over there for some nasty deed, like stealing a loaf of bread.

It is good to know there is some sense in the world although stifled by unknown powers to be.  Shame.