A Free Umbrella and look at Celebrity BB

I woke up this morning as though I'd been drugged and then abused by a group of illuminati, it was tough.  I was walking about in a half coma like state wondering what the day was and the time was.  All because I didn't have Sparkling's cat to wake me up at some unearthly hour of the morning.  In a telephone call to Sparkling she revealed Olly (the cat) had been very good, slept at the end of the bed and didn't meow to be let out.  I wasn't there, the little bugger.  He does it on purpose, like I must have "cat bitch" tattooed on my forehead.  Only cats can see the tattoo of course.  I missed a long lay in bed and Sparkles being next to me.  It's amazing how easily you can get used to something, then how difficult it is to adjust when it is missing.  The Fish Factory was mad and I disagreed with a new initiative but it really didn't matter to a great extent what I said because the initiative would be bought into play.  I think I know what hell is, returning to work and feeling like you been kidnapped after a drink with knock out drops in it.  I didn't remember a blooming thing.  Bloody illuminati.

After the working day I headed to a watering hole for a pint of double chocolate stout.  The first one went down so easily, so I had to get a second, and then for some unknown reason it got stuck about half way.  Serves me right of trying to drink more than I can.  As I sat there reading an article about stress in the work place and how to do a stress assessment (boring) I glanced to the left of me.  There wedged between a poofe and a sofa was a very nice looking prim and proper umbrella.  There was nobody about.  Whoever had left it there had completely forgotten it.  The day had been humid and sunny.  So it could of been left there a long time.  The curved handle cried out to me it said "take me, I am yours."   I surreptitiously checked around the seated area to see if I could see any CCTV cameras.  If they were hidden then whoever installed them had done a good job.  I didn't immediately go over to the umbrella, on account someone might just turn up because they had left it alone and just remembered it.  Carrying on reading the article and swigging down a delicious pint, I then went to the bar for a second.  I knew what my plan was, return from the bar, pint in hand then casually pick up the umbrella and slot it down beside my own chair.  Tough titty to whoever lost it.  I drank all but half of the second pint, put my denim jacket over the umbrella handle and draped it along the full length, slid it under my elbow and walked out of the pub.  Thank you very much pub.  A quick glance on the internet and I found the manufacturer and model, it was priced at £25, wonderful.  More than I'd ever contemplate to waste.  I got home and then tried it out.  The button works wonderfully, it seems sturdy and was an unbelievable bargain as far as I'm concerned.  I'll just put it by for a rainy day.  Tomorrow the weather is forecaste at thirty degrees, there'll not be much use of it then.

Normal Big Brother has come to an end and now we have Celebrity BB.  The celebrities are a somewhat eclectic mix of people.  Not particularly big celebrities but all somewhere on the A to Z list, but I must say I doubt if any of them have ever been on the A listing end.  What is remarkably different is their age grouping in comparison to normal BB.  They are a hell of a lot older.  The youngest on normal BB was 19 years and a child, the oldest 31 years old.  Whilst on Celebrity BB, the youngest must be in their mid 20s and the oldest probably in her 70s, if not close to 80s.  They all have lead some kind of life where the public would know who they are, from soap star, to singer to wana be Prince in title only. Within minutes BB has got the first two contestants on a secret mission.  There's a mix of gay and lesbian stars, of course the gay star is droll and intellectual and when introduced to a US TV star said he would "try to use short words," a double entendre had already hit and he'd only just met the poor American idiot.  I mean, who in their right mind would call them selves an adjective rather than a noun which was nothing related to their actual name?  Only someone who needed to think they were important.  I noticed how the US TV star later moped about with a hoody over their head so as to achieve some kind of shield against their own insecurities.  Hell, yeah, throw a lemon at him I say.

The Celeb BB is expected to last three and a half weeks.  Providing nobody has a mental breakdown or there is a side to the quite independent large egos wanting to vie for attention which comes out and blasts them into the long grass of celebrity opportunities.  Why on earth I wonder were there not older people on normal BB.  I know why.  They were to busy in pubs running off with hot umbrellas.

The smell of London - puke and perfume

I got the train back to London today.  Sparkling had to be at her Fish Factory early, so I made my own way to the train station.  It was nice and cool in Scotland, even refreshing, which is probably due to the fact they have had so much rain.  It bucked down hard last night.  It may have even rained while I was snoring away and Sparkling had given me a thump to shut up.  I didn't feel a thing or remember a thing.  Typical, the only time Sparkles can legitimately use bodily force and I don't remember it.  Scotland had been cool the entire six days I was up there.  I caught the news as I waited for time to pass before leaving.  The forecast for tomorrow is relentlessly hot for London, at least ten degrees celcius hotter than Scotland.  I don't know how I will survive it.  I better lay of the chocolate and try to eat salad, being skinny makes the heat more bearable.   The taxi down to the train station ended up being quite entertaining as the driver discussed politics and how he hated working class people who voted Tory.  I agreed with him.  It wasn't long before I boarded the train for London with two bottles of water in my ruck sack.

A little over six hours passed and about 450 miles later the train stopped at Kings Cross.  Ticket in top shirt pocket I used it like a cowboy at the OK Corral, shooting it into gate machines and pulling it out as it popped up through the slot.  The gates opened and I'd walk through.  Almost in a subconscious state it seemed I followed the route I normally take and have done for many years.  Down the steps, down the escalator and then at the tube platform.  I must of just missed one train as there were few people waiting.  The little orange lights on the board rolled across, in two minutes there would be another.  I sat down and rested the stain of a ruck sack and a laptop back from my shoulders.  The platform soon got busy again with commuters.  It was after all a week day and typical.  A whoosh of air shot through the station as it indicated a train was on its way.  Half full I stepped on, and stood waiting for a seat to be free.  It didn't take long.  Closing my eyes for just a moment to relieve the weiryness.  I listened to the roar and squeak of the wheels on the track.  It stopped and I heard the announcement of the station.  It didn't concern me.  I could wait a few more stops with my eyes closed.  The train took off again and then I noticed the odd smell of London.  It was first of puke, faint puke, it could of been from a few hours ago, or on someone's clothes.  I could detect body odours, but again slight.  Windows were open on the train and a breeze ran through the carriage, otherwise it might of been intolerable with the heat.  Then there was the perfume.  Clearly there to mask all the other smells.  There I had it, the smell of London in a few simple words.  Puke and perfume.  What a wonderful sentence I thought.  It brings to mind immediately the oxymoron of odours which came together here.  Apparently whale puke was once used as an ingredient to perfumes.  But there were certainly no whales down here, two hundred feet under ground as the train rolled on to the next destination.

I got off at my stop, headed up towards the surface courtesy of the non stopping escalators.  Following the signs I headed towards a train platform, 15 minutes and it would be here.  There it was again.  Perfume.  Hundreds of people waited on the platform but someone had walked this way and sprayed a puff of perfume.  It was sweet and sickly, much too pungent.  The shard stood up only a few metres away.  I craned my neck to get a good look at it and must of pulled a muscle.  It was hot and getting to be uncomfortable.  No wonder people have the urge to vomit. 

I was missing Sparkling already.  A week had flown by way too fast and London welcomed me back in it's own inimitable way.  Reality here has a stink all of it's own.

The entertainer

I'm one of those people who dreams but forgets what they dream about.  Imagine all those wonderful crazy dreams and not having a clue your own entertainment centre has been in full swing, because it leaks away so quickly.  Sparkling will ask me what my dreams are about and I just honestly can not say.  After which she goes into a long monologue about her dreams.  This morning it was an alien invasion and the Illuminati.  Apparently both were united in destroying the earth.  Fatalistically Sparkling and close relatives, me included had accepted this was going to happen.  So we all headed into town together to get drunk and have a good time.  If it was going to happen there was to be nothing done about it.  I asked if she panicked at all at this thought and in her dream she did not, she was pretty calm about it.  World ending, equalled lets party and get drunk.  If there's a good reason to party then the end of the world certainly would be a good enough reason.

When I'm with Sparkles my role in the world changes in multiple ways. To begin with my internal waking up clock has to adjust, just as the internal going to bed changes.  Late night bed and late morning get up, cat interruptions, staying in dressing gown to mid day, the routine is entirely different.  No Fish Factory to attend, but pots of paint and painting which have to be done.  I must admit to not cooking much this time round, even though there is some flour in the cupboard with my name on it waiting to be made into bread, which I'm sure will be a disaster.  The week is nearly over and it feels to have gone so fast.  Very fast.  Another of my roles is the entertainment factor for Sparkling.  I was told I had a big nose and big ears, then an ear got pulled and twisted till I cried out and Sparkling laughed.  Ouch.  I was also accused of being a big girl and needing to grow some balls.  I am fat, it is me who has to lose weight.  I in turn am asked how Sparkling looks, she looks fantastic every time.  Then I am chastised because Sparkling thinks I am lying, but if I said anything other than Sparkling looked beautiful I'd be dragged through a thorn bush naked, tarred, feathered and then thrown to baying dogs with a sign on my back which read "fresh meat, take a bite."   At this moment Sparkling is reading a tabloid article about Kylie Minogue.  Apparently she'd just had a fling with Claude Van Dam, reading this piece is not a matter of news to Sparkling it is so she can now torture me with derogatory comments about Kylie.  Which you'd expect nothing less from the tabloid press.  Except Sparkles gets delight as she throws another insult and then looks in my direction and waits for the reaction.  How crewel she can be.  I drop a comment about Michael Buble, but it has no matching barb to it.  I'm on a loser here, I'll just sit patiently and hope it wears itself out.

Tomorrow I'll be on a train back to London.  My life will be so much duller without waking up with Sparkles, even though I am a source of fun.  Oliver the cat will not have his companion to let him out the door or window when he likes.  Cloud hangs over Scotland and it's a shame I can't get out in the garden and give the grass another cut.  Or sit at the table with a cup of tea and Sparkles feeding the birds, other cats of the neighbourhood and myself.  Time passes by so quickly.  Especially when every moment is spent in the company of Sparkles, mad cat, crazy garden birds, pots of paint and Lemon Pie.

A second coat of Lemon Pie

Well the second coat of Lemon Pie has gone up in Sparkling's kitchen.  It only took about five hours taking into account tidy up time.  Sparkles said she'd had enough of listening to radio 4, it was making her feel depressed.  I tried to say it was interesting and could only be put down to the tone of voice the presenters had.  I changed radio channel and found the pop music equally did my head in.  Sparkles fortunately had been asked to start work early, her view was work would be more interesting with listening to the youngsters.  I clearly have a boredom factor I'm not aware of, or I am aware of but didn't understand to what extent it was effecting Sparkling.  After I finished L & B man turned up for a cuppa and a chat.  He seemed to be interested to see if there was any porn on TV because then he could tell Sparkling and get me into trouble.  I must remember not to watch documentaries on TV about nudists, which is what got me into trouble in the first place.  L & B comments the kitchen looks OK but it could look better.  Typical.  Sparkling eventually turned up after work and thought it looked good.

Sparkling likes to always challenge me about the things I do.  It is as though there is a constant test going on.  I have to pass it every time otherwise I am in trouble.  I'd spent a lot of time during the evening listening to audio's of David Allen's Getting Things Done.  Sparkles asks what it is all about.  Then has to interject and disagree with everything I've said.  Whatever it was I was reading she would have to disagree with the opinion and come up with her own.  I am then asked of all the things on my lists to do where did she come.  I advised her she was the biggest thing on my listing.  This seemed to make her happy and take the heat off.  She was glad about this because if she wasn't on the most important thing then it was over.  We would of been no more.  Bloody ell.  Which came from nowhere.  It's funny how a woman's mind works.  In a mysterious way for sure.

Next time I think I'll just stick to painting the walls and listening to music radio which I don't like.

Cat love begins at 3:40 in the morning

This morning the cat showed his affection towards me at 3:40 a.m.  he shouted it as loud and clearly as he could in my ear.  Oliver said good morning and he now wanted to be let out into the garden.  Sparkling has said when I'm here this is my duty, whatever happens Oliver becomes my early morning responsibility.  It's nice to know he loves me but I'd wish it was at a more appropriate time of day. It's both sleep deprivation and psychological warfare.  The greatest strategists of war could learn a lot by studying their pets, I'm sure even a gold fish would have some interesting point to make.

It's the weekend so Sparkling has been working and I've been left with painting the kitchen. In a colour called Lemon Pie.  I have never eaten a lemon pie before and it sounds a little sharp for my taste, but colour wise it is quite refreshing.  Only thing is a second coat is needed and my feet are so cream crackered (nackered) I just don't have the energy to hit the DIY store, walk back and again start painting.  Which is the thing with emulsion paint.  One coat is never enough, the same with chocolates, or biscuits.  There are things I could of done other than painting yet this seemed the best use of my time and I know Sparkles will be happy.  Even happier when the second layer has been added.

At last the Olympics is coming to an end.  The disasters of travelling in and around London have probably been averted by commuters themselves deciding to take this time off work and having extended holidays or better still working from the living room chair.  I've heard it said commuter numbers are down by twenty percent.  This seem about right, as I got on the tube I couldn't but notice there were actually free seats.  This is unheard of on the Northern line at peak travelling time.  No doubt central London businesses have suffered a blow from it all. 

Sparkling allowed me to tag along to an engagement party she had been invited to, lucky me.  But unfortunately I was given instructions to keep it low key.  It simply meant I was not allowed to get myself either too drunk or to dance, even if I felt like it.  At one point the rhythm nearly got me, as my legs tapped away to the beat of the music.  I got to meet Sparkling's work associates.  These were mostly young girls in their teens.  They all seemed to love Sparkling and at least two of them said Sparkling was like their second mum.  I saw her boss, a little man who I know had been obnoxious to Sparkling on occasion and refrained from talking to him about his behaviour.  It would not of done much good and I'm sure at some time he will get his karma come back to him.  It was good to put names to faces.  I'll get to see them in my mind next time Sparkles talks about them.  It was odd as I sat there, being half merry and enjoying the atmosphere how my internal voice kept yabbering away as though narrating a book.  It seemed to flow so easily, I thought if only I could remember all of this stuff going on in my head and then write it down.  Of course it doesn't work this way.  It's either a matter of get it written or recorded or it's instantly forgotten.  The eloquent thoughts have therefore flown away  on the wings of a butterfly.  Very gentle and very fragile.

It's just turned seven in the evening and Sparkles has still not turned up.  I know the cat's biscuit tin is empty and will need some more, he can moan if there's no food left.  Sparkling will likely want some food to eat.  What I should do then is think of making food.  Something light.  Something Sparkling will like as well.  Better go and find Oliver first though, wake him up tell him I love him in a loud cat way he'll appreciate.  As they say karma is a bitch.

It's not a snails life

It's Sunday and I don't know what to do with myself.  This morning it was hot and sunny, the birds living under the roof came clattering out and like clockwork woke me up.  Somewhere in my hazy mind I thought they were talking to each other and I could understand it.  The pigeons sounded child like in their discussions, and the more I tried to understand what they were saying the more I moved from somnambulance to consciousness.  It must of been the tone of their cooing, or just maybe I did understand their chatter.  They have infiltrated my head and are my natural alarm clock.  I wish they weren't but this is a facet of daily life.  I use them and my body clock kicked in to get up.  It wouldn't matter how long I stayed in bed awake is awake and there was no other explanation for it.  So this morning's agenda was a Sunday walk, it's happened over a number of weekends now.  They are quite enjoyable and the only real bit of physical exercise I've been getting for a long time.  Sad to say, Sunday mornings are exercise mornings.

It must of rained last night and I slept through it, because the grass was wet.  On pavements there were trails where snails and slugs had been.  I think snails should have their own compass because when they go for a sliding and slipping across paving stones they seem to get lost and meander all over the place.  A pavement is probably the size of the Sahara desert to them.  Inevitably there were crushed shells all over the place and skeletal remains, as much as a snail can have such all over the place.  At night time you can never tell what is on a pavement, they can't contemplate what it is like for humans, if they don't had lights it would be different.  I'm sure if getting crushed under foot was a serious thing for snails they'd develop some glow in the dark ability or even super diamond hard shells.  Except as they never survive such footfalls they can never pass on the gene for hard snail shell or glow in the dark survival mechanisms. 

The walk lasted about an hour.  I detoured into a newsagent and got a serious newspaper, one which didn't glorify in Murdock like scandal, salacious gossip, bitching or lascivious pictures of beautiful women.  I can't be having it.  I read an article about extremist British Muslims who were now in Syria fighting.  They had captured a British photographer and wanted to ransom or kill him.  It is sad, the very freedom which secular Britain has done it's best to give its inhabitants is used some to become non representative of the population.  I'm sure they are also non representative of their own culture and religion.  The government seems to have taken note so you can guarantee it will not be long before either the SAS are doing very secret missions in Syria or  MI5 will do their utmost to find out who these persons are their cards will be marked.  I think it's because young males don't get the challenges and attention they need.  They get sucked into something because they need to make their mark on the world.  I pity those snails, I'm sure they would of loved the opportunity to have been humans but just were unlucky in rolling the dice of life choice.  Now if Jhadists were snails, I doubt whether they'd be taking reporters and photographers as hostages or sharpening knives.  There's certainly a few who would of been stepped on by now.

Apparently today there was a free to view Olympic event.  I almost fall over at the thought of it.  Something being given away, blimey Locog made a mistake.  Perhaps it's because it was the women's marathon.  They could of had it inside the Stratford stadium but that would of been bloody boring and I'm sure the contestants might of got a little dizzy.  Imagine going round in circles for just over two hours.  One leg would get shorter than the other, depending on what direction they were going in.  It rained at some point this early afternoon, and not just simple normal rain, it was torrential again.  Sudden and hard.  I wonder if the marathon runners were out in it.  Probably.  Which was good enough reason not to go and watch a free event.  It's also been reported as Londoner's are so afraid of being stuck in the crush of crowds they have decided to stay away.  Normal commuters have dropped by 17 per cent.  So shops all over London are feeling it.  Even the Olympic tourists are not venturing into London to see the capital.  Mind if they were watching the marathon then they would get a glimpse.  I've not heard of their being any issues with traffic either, this is likely because people just have decided not to use their cars where possible. It's now two weeks past and is going fast, but it is a pain and not fast enough. 

Oh well life could be worse, I could be a snail, on a pavement looking for an oasis.  Heck no, a pigeon chattering on a roof and making a two legged human go crazy would be a lot better.  Bloody things.

Boredom leads to a little devli's delight

The problem with boredom is it makes you do things you shouldn't do.  The little devil which jumps up on your shoulder every now and again has a bit more fire in his belly.  He has a little more influence.  Then without realising it you have done something and couldn't help your actions.  It takes willpower beyond anything to stop from following the red, shoulder sitting midget.  So it has just happened to me a few minutes ago.  I've been on blooming Amazon again and got some items I could do without.  One of which is a book and it will likely sit in a space somewhere waiting to be read or getting half read with all the other half read books or not started books.  It's a little bit of a fetish book collecting, I love it and can't help it.  I do my best never to bin them, and rather just drop them into a charity shop so some other book lover can enjoy.  But it wasn't just a book on order, there was also a mechanical pencil, damn another more up to date fetish as well.  There is something I love about writing with mechanical pencils, the lead doesn't need to be sharpened, it writes a smooth and depending on the lead purchased can be pretty consistent.  Further there is no effort in the writing.  Lastly, pencil can be rubbed out, and time and again this feature has proved itself to also be useful.  There is nothing quite as messy looking as indelible ink which has been striked through to show it was a mistake.  At least erased pencil is usually pretty faint or invisible.  The last item purchased was a small wireless mouse to go with a recent laptop purchase.  The mouse has a nice pattern on it, a blue, black and purple kind of paisly pattern.  The design is a year old but it had a number of high ratings and looked good.  It was a bargain.  The little devil was telling me it was a bargain and seeing as my willpower from boredom and a single pint in the pub had ebbed the little devil won.  And just to think I had been so good with my finances all week long, just to get blown away in a few clicks of a mouse and five minutes on Amazon.

This drop in willpower was probably because due to sitting straight all week long.  It is a natural thing to slump in a chair while, to get in a relaxed position while at the Fish Factory.  Physically it is good to keep a straight back. Even trying to walk with a straight posture has been a continual test of willpower.  Sometimes it slips but it's been the week's flavour.  The thing is what works in one area can also rub off in other areas.  Until of course temptation gets a little too much.  OK the spine may be just a little straighter, but a raid on the packet of chocolate biscuits probably hasn't helped the belly.  It must of been the little red fellow again, he must of given me a poke with his mini trident, it could of been a stab in the eye even, just so my gaze would happen to sit on an open packet.  The top chocolate bikky revealing itself in an almost sexy and provocative way.  It was speaking directly to my sub conscious or unconscious mind, then definitely loudly in my very awake mind.  Hand shot out took the bikky and just as automatically it was being crunched.  I remember it now.  Very nice.  At this time there was another bout of boredom as well.  Between tea brewing and the already eaten slice of toast, the bikky hit the spot.

So next time I feel an urge to buy or eat something there is only one thing which will likely combat it.  Being busy.  It's plain and simple, the little devil man thing, lives on the wings or a boredom episode and then strikes.  He's camouflaged.  It only takes a little whisper and before you know it the waistline is bigger and the wallet is lighter.  Pity it wasn't the other way round.

Inconvenience of the Big O

Due to the Olympics every second train  through my normal station prematurely terminates, it is then sent back up the railway track to London.  The whole thing seems a little absurd when today I hear there are less tourists and commuters in central London than there have been during any other normal working day.  People are just not going to work.  It probably helps the School holidays are here, however, even commuters who'd normally work in London are staying home in their droves.  A consequence is many London stores are having an even worse trading period than before the big O.  When it rains it poors, big O poors.  It could even mean some businesses go under.  I heard on the radio in one incident, Dutch Olympic games spectators had been advised not to head into central London because of the crowds.  So all they did was living in their tents in East London, attend big O events they had tickets for and then enjoy the rest of their time locally in East London again.  They had been given a fearful story of over crowding and poor public transport.  So why the bloomiing hell is my train screwed up I wonder.  It's all down to Locog.

i must admit now to getting somewhat pissed off with the big O volunteers.  They are all over the place.  They have different coloured apparel, which must represent their roles.  Whether they are the lucky ones who are going to be at the actual big O venue or the unlucky ones sitting beside a bus stop directing people to the correct shuttle bus.  Which would be a real travesty, volunteering your time and effort to something and then finding out you'll not even get to view an event, part of an event or anything related to any of the O events.  Poor things.  Perhaps this was why at slightly before 8 a.m. in the morning some want to be self important upshot of a volunteer advised me not to cross the road when the red man was showing.  What a complete twat.  I know when to cross the road, when it is safe or not safe regardless of red man lights.  It is my undeniable right as a citizen of the UK to J-walk when I want, especially when there is absolutely no traffic on the road anyway.  It is little antagonising things like this which can really get on ones wick.  I thought in personal comfort the twat didn't know what part of London he was in, because if he thought he could continue to act like a twat he'd soon be smacked about.  He might then learn.  I held it all in.  The anger of the big O event and the diabolical cost to this country.  Another white elephant just like the millennium dome, which cost a billion as well. 

You could ask what is the cost of a moral booster.  For the nation it's 9.4 billion, but it's not a guaranteed booster, it's a cost with no guarantees at all.  Unless of course the entire GB team were given illicit drugs which enhanced their performances and conveniently could not be traced by a doping agency of the same country.  Which is the kind of thing I might do were I the dictator of a small country.  But I'm not, so I can't.  Could something less expensive be of use to boosting the nation's moral then?  Of course.  It's called tea and biscuits, or even cake.  Everyone feels a lot better after a cup and something sweet to accompany it.  At least then all you have to worry about is sticky fingers rather than having your hamstring pulled because you've over strained it.  A couple of free cups of tea and cakes for the nation I'm sure would of been a lot cheaper.  Particularly because they would have to be produced local in the UK.  See the economy boost then.  Sugar?  One lump or two?

Don't give me your specs i want my own thanks

When someone in a position of authority says something, it is usually taken what they say is true or factual.  At which point they then give an explanation and expect an answer to what they have already said.  Yet, the more I think about it, nobody should give an answer to a question which has long term effects.  Further it is necessary to do your own diagnosis.  Imagine going to the opticians, you tell the optician what the problem is, they listen for a moment then offer you their own glasses.  Saying these glasses have worked wonders for them over the last ten years, they are great, and it's OK because they have a spare pair, they like you as a customer and think these will sort out all your problems.  So, you then put those glasses on, well, you don't know for sure although there is a little doubt creeping into the back of your mind.  Peering at the chart you realise they are even worse than the glasses you had taken off in the first place.  You say this to the optician and the optician replies you have got to have faith put them on they will do the job.  Again, you put them on stare at the chart and with all the faith in the world do your best to will the glasses to work.  Nothing happens, they are still just as bad.  You say so to the optician and he feels insulted as he has given you his own glasses and feels you are throwing a gift back at  him.  The moral of the story is, you can not have a treatment or prognosis until you have done a full diagnosis of the situation.

There I was in a meeting of middle fishes and a couple of bigger fish.  The big fish were saying we are not up to date with our quotas.  Things have to change, has anyone got any ideas otherwise they suggested we would do things differently.  The big fish did not present any data, the situation was relayed verbally.  I could not believe what I was hearing.  I looked at my own data and it didn't add up.  The group went into discussion about the Olympics and didn't consider the further consequences of what had been said.  This evening I then went onto the official Fish web site, where the statistics should of come from.  The ones these big fishes were talking about and slapping us middle fish around the face with.  I found after delving down layer upon layer what I wanted.  The data published was 4 months out of date.  I am now seriously wondering if these big fishes have been to the wrong opticians. 

I'll not go into how annoyed I got when the bunch of big and middle fishes rather talk about the Olympics than discuss how in ten minutes they had completely reformatted the Factory on faulty information.  The problem is I hate making decisions fast.  They are usually bad decisions and this had become a bad decision.  In my eyes very bad. 

Tomorrow I will head into the Fish Factory with some Mr Magoo spectacles, in my pocket and ask each of the fishes if they would like to try them out.  Well.  Who knows, it might work.

What did the Athenian Gods think of emply Olympic seats?

Again this Sunday I got up and had a walk, it was good to pound the grass and feel I had enough stamina for another circuit of the heath.  Just maybe I am getting a little bit fitter?  A woman was jogging round in the opposite direction.  Jogging slowly and it seemed odd to me, because it takes more effort out of you to jog and takes longer to recover.  Why not walk I thought.  She was struggling, I could tell being an ex jogger.  Afterwards I headed for home and a little grass cutting.  The sun was out and it was so pleasant.  Should I view the Olympics after doing the grass?  Nah, why break a habit at this time of the morning.  The news indicated it would rain in the afternoon, and commented many seats at Olympic events which were empty.  A complete travesty for Locog, when considering how many people would of walked through fire to sit in them.  This is such a poor show.  I vacillated about whether to go out for a long cycle ride but with the prospect of rain I decided not to, I know the weatherman gets it wrong a lot, but for some reason I seemed to trust his choice.  After my walk I could see the clouds and had a feel he was right.  Were it to rain I'll go and sit through an earlier episode of BB I had not seen.

Within ten minutes of planting my backside on a seat, the rain came down, harder and with each passing moment harder still, so hard I thought it was hail.  The sky was punishing the ground, pounding it into submission.  This wasn't rain with soft relaxing drops which help you to relax, it was heavy, it did not want to blend into some sublime music, it did not want to be ignored.  No one was going to ignore it now.  This was vengeful, a pounding made to tenderise.  The sky got dark and then there were thunder claps, beautiful loud hard bangs.  Flashes of lightening lit up the room.  As if to say I am imposing myself on you mortals, each and everyone of you, take note, hear and feel my wrath.  The tears of gods fell and shattered on all hard surfaces.  Tears which could of been interpreted as saying this is an Olympic day and you dare not fill up seats to see the best athletes in the world compete.  Shame is now coming down upon you, be contrite, show your respect.   All thoughts of going out again for a bike ride were off.  Some other omnipotent beings had other ideas.

With exorbitant financial cost to the nation the organisers still wont allow the ordinary people to support and give it the respect it should have.  The Gods have it right.  Zeus was pretty displeased at this moment.  i sat there and thrust my fist into the air in agreement.  Yes, old man you got every reason to be pissed off.  I would if I were you.  How about raining some frogs, or even fish, a couple of large ones, big enough to fill up an empty seat or two, you'd get a bit more attention then my friend.  He sits down, shrugs and his brow is full of sorrow.  Have a sponsors Olympic drink or snack maybe you'll feel better I say.  Ooops, I think he's now marched off in a strop.  I know how you feel mate, I know how you feel.

The Olympics ate my brains help me BB

I finish at the Fish Factory early, hit a local cafe for lunch, with a Chinese theme.  Then head to a pub which costs a little more than normal to frequent.  I pull out my laptop for the second time ever in this pub, negotiate a connection to the Internet, which is the real reason i came in here in the first place and enjoy.  I'm sitting with my back to the flat screen TV because there is Olympics stuff showing and then from nowhere I am on a TV web site watching the Olympics opening ceremony, yes the Olympics at my brains.  Fortunately it was only a small part of it, both brains and ceremony I watched and had eaten, I survived, just about and am intact to tell the tale.  In the meantime on catch up TV I see BB in action.  It is a little bit of sanity which ran the same time as the big O.  In fact the eviction night was termed an Olympic eviction.  There being 8 possible evictees. But we all know before the program began the most likely candidate is a girl who is a bitch big style.  A silly girl who represents all the worse aspects of the upper classes, a typical stereotype who has typical stereotypical behaviour in every sense.  She'd win the bitch gold medal any day.  I could bitch about this contestant forever. It would not change her or me so I'm going to let it go, just like an Olympic javelin, or discus or some other Olympic object which is hurtled through the air at great speed for as far as possible.

As I said.  The Olympics has eaten my brain and I can't help having to repeat the word as frequently as possible.  I'll get over it once my brain starts to regenerate.  Which could be an Olympic effort.  I hope not.  Going back to Caroline.  I just can't help myself.  If she does get kicked out of the BB household then it will be a little boring.  Her bitchy nature is evil but something you enjoy watching.  She has spent the entire next week's shopping budget on chocolate goods.  With the strong impression she will get voted out.  And how right she was, because there is no way she'd be able to endure a full week with a house full of irate people who hate her selfishness.  At first it seems like a wonderful idea, especially to Caroline, and the initial laughter of being naughty on such a scale is infectious to viewers.  Luckily we are viewers because otherwise we'd all have a lot to say about her, to her, living off chocolate for a week is not a fun task.  It is an awful thing to do.  The result is anger, stewing anger by the majority of the house.  BB surely can not allow such a shopping budget to be endured for the week ahead.  Teeth will decay, weight put on, and malnutrition begin to set in.  I'd seriously consider taking a starvation protest against it.  I got a few extra pounds on my belly, so not eating will make me a little lighter.  Whether i'd be able to endure it I don't know, but the intention most certainly would be there.  But again just think of how much fun it would be if she was not kicked out and then had to endure the consequences of her actions.  We all know this didn't happen.  One thing she is not and that's an Olympic endurance athlete.

The count down takes place the doors open and Caroline leaves the household.  She is shouting with the crowd "get Caroline out, get Caroline out" it sounds like a weird defiance to the world.  Or the voice of a crazed woman who is doing and saying anything so as not to face her own guilt trip.  She's putting on a façade one which looks quite similar to mental illness and barely can watch.  She appears to have no insight into her own personality and the effects of her own choices.  She just doesn't get it.  I can see it was a favour to have kicked Caroline out of the BB house, I now have no doubt she should of been kept in there.  After all BB has an Olympic deviousness to get the most out of it's contestants.  A lot more could of been milked from giving Caroline ever worse tasks than she'd had before.  She is interviewed and shows no remorse, because she has Olympian selfishness, Olympian arrogance and Olympian denial.  How can such a person go through life in this manner?  I don't fully know, except not to give her the pleasure by being nonplussed by it all.  Then confessing to loving chocolate more than anyone else.

Olympics nightmare, another moan - go away

This morning was a nightmare when I put the radio on.  I love serious news items in the morning, I live for them, they are the food which helps kick start my cerebral day. So I plug in the radio, let it select the normal channel and it's a discussion about the Olympics.  Not so good.  A bit unlucky but I suppose expected, I select another channel, and again it's about the Olympics, being broadcast from the Olympic venue.  I selected channel after channel in need of talk radio programs but each blooming one was some version of news and discussion about the Olympics.  The weather forecast said it would rain this morning so I took an umbrella out with me and didn't need it.  But no matter what I did, getting away from anything about the Olympics was like trying to escape from Colditz which should be an Olympic sport.  It wasn't a great start to the day.  Considering I have to walk past a large screen public TV on the way to the Fish Factory.  A TV whose purpose is to follow every Olympic event there is for the general population.  Of all things I will not see the opening ceremony, I just could not care less about it.  Stop the whole thing and build some state of the art hospitals in place of it, then you will have my attention.  Don't get me wrong in thinking I am an anti-Olympic moany old git, I am not.  I love the Olympics.  My love is enormous for the Olympics, providing it is in a different country.  It should be in Mongolia, which sounds like the perfect country for the Olympics to me.  Far away but still watchable on TV, absolutely perfect.

I found out only the other day even cyclists will get a fine if they cycle in an Olympic lane.  I wonder how they will police it for cyclists?  London's taxi drivers also wanted to demonstrate against the Olympics because they have been excluded from using the lanes.  However, under some obscure act they banned the demonstration to a lesser part of London so it would have no effect.  The true fact of the matter is Londoners feel pretty unhappy about the whole thing.  Bile boils when it is discussed.  The amount of disruption it is going to cause for commuters is enough to ensure both the government and the mayor get voted out of office come their next elections.  Reason has not been allowed to be used.  Sensible suggestions have been swept aside as though they have no meaning to the great high and mighty command and control organization called LOCOG (London Olympics Organizing Committee).  If there is ever a group of people who have cotton wool in their ears it is this group.  If people get fined for using the Olympic routes and can not put up with the traffic chaos caused then they will find a way around it.  You don't have to be Einstein to consider the things disgruntled and annoyed people can do, and certainly to miles and miles of road which has special Olympic status.  There's over a 100 miles of it in all, and there are extra special lanes where no authorised persons can go.  It's all the brain child of a certain ex Olympian runner who has his roots in the wrong political party. 

Hell I just can't stop myself from moaning about the whole thing.  It's like one big moan festival.  There should be a help group for Londoners who don't want the Olympics to disrupt their lives, who want the old normal very busy and nearly but not quite chaotic London back.  For with the big "O" event it will not be the old London it will be a London which will be bought to it's knees.  London can not sustain road closures and special treatment for the very few.  Unless of course it happens the whole thing gets moved.  To Mongolia.  Then London and Londoners will be quite happy.  Bring back Genghis Khan I say, I sure bet he would have a thing or two to say.  I wonder if he likes self-help groups.

A little bit of Big Brother

Since being trapped at Sparkling's house and forced to watch Big Brother or BB to those in the know, I have gone from hater to complete addict.  Each evening I watch catch-up and see the episode from the day before.  Although this year's BB has been slated as one of the most bitchy, i have found it one of the most entertaining. There are two distinct groups, the larger in-group and a somewhat smaller out-group. Contestants slate each other off to their respective group or to BB in the diary room.  The dynamics between these are real life and a wonderful demonstration of what people are like.  There are also a few household contestants who are not completely in the in-group, they play on the edges of the in-group but don't fully commit to it.  The good guys are the out-group, they are good because their self assurance and identity comes from inside of them.  They support and have in depth discussions with each other.  While the out-group baddies just enjoy bickering and shallowness, they also dabble in bullying at times.  From a psychological viewpoint it is possible to see entire personality and group theories in play in this single show.  Which ordinarily would not get sanctioned were it put up as a piece of psychological research.  I could see an ethics committee blast it out of the water and sink it to the bottom of the ocean, even before the last word was read on the proposal.  Maybe this is why it is so good.  It's not sound research in any way, it is sound entertainment value, but in another sense it is also real life actual interpersonal dynamics and has a degree of validity.

There is the obligatory gay man who in this case is intelligent, sarcastic but true to himself (Scott) he has a reasonable chance of winning the whole thin by default rather than on full wonderful personality.  The super-bitch is a 19 year old girl who has come from a well-to-do background and is the most immature 19 year old I have ever seen.  Fortunately she (Caroline) is at last one of the contestants up for eviction this week.  At which I would not be surprised if she suffers from a mental break down when she gets evicted, plain an simple nobody in the country likes her.  Mind she is great entertainment when made to do nasty tasks which frighten her and make her scream.  You just can not help but laugh.  I gagged when she forced herself to eat a large fish eye, raw.  She hated every minute of it, but because she is such a despised individual it was karma coming back to bite her, if not keeping it's beady eye on her,  Should I say in her.  At one point she did have a moment of self insight and broke down in tears while in the diary room.  However, the self knowledge didn't change her.  Perhaps learning something revealing about yourself and changing how you act takes time and effort.  It will be a disaster when she is booed out of the house, mark my words, watch this space, I'll bet you a pint on it.  The last remaining black person is a man called Adam.  He is American, overweight and has a mellow bordering on deep voice.  He shows respect to others and thinks what he wants to think, he also doesn't like to hurt other people in his actions or words, he's considerate in this way.  If he doesn't get put up for eviction and lasts the show he could be a likely winner.  The pretend Alpha male of the out-group is a man called Conor.  But he just doesn't have it to be a real Alpha male.  He had a fellow male house mate and together they terrorised the house in various degrees fortunately his mate got kicked out.  Luke A, used to be a woman and decided he should be a man and had the full operation.  His story of how he managed this personal change hangs around his neck like an Olympic medal.  He's nice enough but to tell the truth a little boring.  There are other contestants in the house but I'll finish with Deana, a composed Indian girl who is independent minded although at times slightly edgy.  She's in the out-group and has suffered various degrees of bullying and racism, she has come through repeated nominations for eviction because the public keep saving her.  Otherwise she too would be boring to watch.  I've ran out of steam so will not bother with the rest.

Blimey, see how much I know. I wrote that paragraph with one breath.  The thing I can't help wondering as I'm sure most of the viewers as well wonder.  Is how well they would do were they put in such a house.  All the good and the bad of a person can come out.  The situation may be artificial and allegations of acting may crop up now and again, but no single person can maintain a perfect persona for 24 hours a day.  The mask always slips, even if it's just to have a good fart, which is a lot better than a good bitching session.  Memo to self, keep an eye on mixing starches and proteins, belly doesn't like them.

Looking good, or not?

I'm getting a little wary when someone says I am looking good and it's been a couple of months since I last saw them.  Then the time before they said exactly the same thing.  It's the cynical hat which gets dropped on my head.  Unfortunately sometimes when something is said you are not sure what to say or how to react to it.  I might of asked what was meant by it, the remark could of been innocent, or there could be an underlying barb.  If I were to look too deeply into it.  Heck I'd of preferred nothing said, then I would have no reason to get paranoid about my appearance.  Though I am desperately trying to get back my will power and self discipline.  Reading a book on willpower is helping me to understand it.  It can be exercised to make it stronger,  it can be used up because it is a limited resource and there are different kinds of willpower.  The willpower used for a short term goal of a few months or weeks is different from the willpower required for a life long effort.  Eating glucose when needed takes a roll as does making new good habits and breaking old ones.

Ok I'm feeling guilty because I need to lose weight, I should stop eating so much, simple, but difficult to put into practice.

Symptons of age, go away!

Sparkling has broken or chipped a tooth, it doesn't hurt too bad so she has an appointment with the dentist next week. She picks up the TV remote looks at it and wonders about making the phone call.  Something hasn't fallen into place.  It's a remote.  She realises and can't understand why she picked up the remote to make the phone call.  Although the remote and the phone are both black and similar to a degree it would be useless for phone calls.  I text Sparkles as I've been trying to ring her this evening but there is no reply.  Maybe she is out shopping or something I think.  I get a reply back from Sparkles, she is working and I should know this because I've already been told.  I can't remember.  Sparkles is worried if the dentist pulls the tooth all the others will then follow in a matter of time.  I'm worried my hair is falling out and going grey.  Sparkles has just had a new set of lenses put in her glasses frames.  I'm having trouble focusing properly with my own glasses on.  I have got to see the opticians, or rather make an appointment.  We are both starting to feel the effects of ageing.

However, there has to be a good side to getting older.  Besides waiting for entitlement to a free bus pass around town.  Then there is the ability fart at any time and without having control over it.  OK I'll own up to this one, and maybe it isn't an advantage of age at all.  But there is a certain perverse enjoyment which comes from a fart, except when you have to keep it quiet because there's people about.  Noisy traffic or other noises helps.  In polite society as you get a lot older people are kinder to you, but I'm beginning to think this does not exist in present society, for it seems a lot more of a rat race and all for oneself.  I've seen this become affirmed stereotypical behaviour with some groups.  Older should mean wiser, but this I disagree with because I've argued with older people who had weird opinions I could not agree with in any time space or universe.  Which is a quality of old age, being opinionated and not caring what other people think.  Old people are seen as slow and not with it at times intellectually.  The slow part is true and I'm the kind of person who would do things slow just to piss off other people, like putting shopping in a bag.  As for intellect, this is highly dependent on the individual.  Keeping a sharp mind is a personal thing, reading, writing and doing puzzles all help.  Watching too much TV and not caring about your own mind will effect this.  Then there is the ultimate race to the end of life.  In age the value of time and other people should be heightened even more.  I get to reflect on this even now and it does change me.  It helps me to let go of things which would normally wind me up. I let go because they should have no place in life.  Happiness does though, very much.

I am more prone to being content and finding contentment.  I admonish myself for being unhealthy and over weight then don't worry.  Or I'll make a conscious effort to try and change things, just as I am now.  By trying to sit up straight and not slouch.  I love the company of younger people and to listen to their opinions.  Mostly this will tend to be nephews and nieces.  If they talk rubbish I tell them it is rubbish and entice them to argue with me, I want them to develop, to not be afraid of an older person or with arguing with someone else regardless of their position.  I've seen low self esteem and fear of authority figures get in the way of rottweilers.  In the end I realise more often the biggest friend or enemy an individual can have is theirself and that other people will always let you down in some way, so always be careful of having too many expectations.  I can not tell what the future is for the UK or the world, the recession hits harder, but if I can use my age and understanding of things I might not lose my hair as quickly as I've seen others.  Hair today, gone tomorrow.

A Sunday exercise

I don't know what it is nowadays but each Sunday I find myself heading out for a walk. It is the most exercise I get all week long and I enjoy it.  Sometimes I see people who I have seen the week before also out on their exercise stint.  I walk up a hill through the woods, then cross a road and around a heath.  Twice round the heath and then head back home.  Last week the ground was still damp but today it has been sunny.  It wasn't too hot either, and as I walked through the wooded areas there was a nice cool chill from the shade.  I looked out for the elderly sikh man who raises his hand to say hello, but he wasn't out today.  There also seemed to be some kind of event happening at the heath as temporary steal fencing was erected cording off a large area.  Again this is a pet hate of mine, especially when people are allowed to restrict access to a normally public place.  Like, this is my zone, so don't you come in it, even though the area belongs to everyone, i'm going to build a wall and you can stay on the other side, so there.  I carried on walking around the monstrous obstruction wondering what was going on there and this group held something personal against me.  Yep the little paranoia head was speaking.  It wasn't just me who didn't have an invite to behind the steal cage most other people didn't either.  But you just can't help getting the you are not welcome feeling.  What is the world coming to?

I miss Sparkling Eyes and wished I could of given her a hug today.  She'll be at work all day and this is my day off.  It seems the only jobs nowadays are in the service sector and they are no good for private life.  Just as Layabout Lad has to work at the weekend as well.  People who attend the needs of other people give up a lot in their life.  Giving their opinion freely is one aspect of it.  Having to put up with bad manners and harassment is another.  I want to see her and don't know how long it will be before I get a chance again.  For the next two and a half months London will be ruled by the Olympics and this goes for anyone who works here as well.  If you want to get out of London, or go anywhere in London traffic is going to be worse than it has ever been before.  It will be a very difficult time.  It seems we are already being mocked by the French.  It's of no surprise to find the private security firm who were to provide all the Olympic security have been incompetent.  It's lucky we have an army on call, even if they have come back from doing a tour of some war torn country just to babysit an Olympic park.

The Olympics should of been scaled down, the whole thing.  We could of done it with dice, paper games boards and little counters to move around.  It would of been a lot cheaper, had little to no effect on traffic and could of been held in one large venue.  Like a local village hall.  The javelin could be throw the tooth pick, high jump replace with hop,skip and jump, swimming with who can splash the most in a bath?  With a little ingenuity most of the events could of be metamorphosed into their second cousin not quite the same but interesting.  The sponsors wouldn't of been able to control it either, and the board game could be sold on afterwards to make additional funds available to a country suffering from yet another recession.  It's not double dip but more of quadruple dip recession.  Every little bit of additional revenues stream could help.  They could of even reduced the Olympic flame to a special Olympic match box, then everyone could light up their little Olympic candles at home, just to get a bit more atmosphere.  The opening and closing ceremonies would be repeated millions of times all over the world and different each time.  The outcome of who won the most medals would also vary.  Unfortunately there could be no record of it.  The Olympics would be an unrecorded one but enjoyed in homes everywhere.  Shame we got the proper and original version and not a cut down paper one.

Come to think of it I should probably get out for another walk.  It's all a product of being stuck in the same position for a long time.  No wonder people are putting up fences all over the place.

The Olympic Flame, where's my bucket?

I saw the Olympic flame today.  The pomp and ceremony attached to it, the sponsors and not very large crowds who waved as it went by.  As an event I thought it mildly uneventful.  I wondered really was this an Olympic flame?  I thought in all reason it could not be, it was a flame which represents the Olympics, but not an Olympic flame.  It's fuelled by butane or some other gas.  Whatever it runs on is the substance of the flame.  A truly Olympic flame would be fuelled by a common material to Greece.  Olive wood, olive oil or some other substance.  I saw an imaginary discussion with people behind the scene and what they did when the flame went out just-like-that with no explanation.  In the Tower where King Henry's ex wives had stayed.  A beefeater on standby pulling out a lighter he had tucked in with a packet of ciggies from a hidden pocket, then lighted it up afresh for the next morning.  I suppressed my inner urge to get a bucket of water and throw it at the thing, the event and all the pomp.  All of which being part of the 9.3 billion pounds it cost.  Big Momma said to me in her own insight, "we have money for the Olympics but we can't buy a house for the homeless in London."  She's right as well.  Quite a few houses could of been built with this amount of money, quite a few people sheltered.  How difficult it was not to swing a bucket over it, full of water, but probably a fire hose would of been better.

Every moment I think about the Olympics and the cost of it to the UK bile boils up.  I know I should just get on with life and let go.  Yet can't help this irrational mood.  Or it could be it is not at all irrational.  Not at all stupid to ask questions like why are so few people actually going to see the events live?  Why have sponsors been allowed to completely hijack the event and hold London to ransom?  Why will every Londoner continue to pay for this event over the coming years?  And certainly in a recession could this money of been spent better elsewhere?  Defo on this point, big defo. Even a shower in the strongest acid known to science would barely scrape the surface of Olympic question and discontent, which will never be answered because it can not be clearly justified.  Shut up!!!!!!

Otherwise the day has been fine.  Sun came out for a while and warmed everybody up.  Birds tweeted in happiness of the weather change.  Then I met Layabout Lad for lunch and he told me about his job working at a Cinema.  It's his first real job for which he gets paid real money.  At minimum wage of course.  He is enjoying the work but finds he is in an ethnic minority, he's a white male.  He tells me of his experiences and how some of them have been pretty challenging.  How he has dealt with them and grown.  It is pretty amazing to see him this happy.  It's not a job I can see him doing for longer than six months at most, he would of out grown it and hopefully will move on.  The cinema is hectic and it seems training and support for new starters is near non existent.  Yet he continues and I'm happy for him because he is happy.  If he saw the Olympic flame and thought like I have then he'd probably have something to moan about as well.  For now he'll just take a free drink from the sponsors, well sponsors are good for some things, but not a lot others.

What is "how are you?" in Nepalise

I had three pints of Amstel, and am feeling pissed because I usually drink Guinness and when I drink Guinness it lasts forever, whilst Amstel has to be drunk quickly while it is still fizzing away and cold.  It just seems to have turned out this way and I wish I'd drunk the Gunnesss but it is way too late now.  Heck, am dizzy and happy and missing all those people I really love.  Heck.  I shouldn't get drunk because I get so emotional and love everyone, I really do mean everyone.  I want to laugh and cry all at the same time.  It must be that alcohol brings out those emotions which are too often held back.  Or possibly it brings them out and allows them to be tapped into, much too quickly.  It's like going on a helter skelter ride, I'm all over the place.  Worst thing is I have to hit the Fish Factory tomorrow.  Don't matter.  At least by the time I enter the building I would of sobred up a little.  The cup of tea I'm drinking now might help out a little bit.  Thank heaven's for tea.

I popped into the chip shop on the way home and the man behind the counter recognized me.  The usual munch is a portion of chips.  I was pissed, but he must of been open seeing me as someone who had been the on and off frequently.  He anticipated what I was going to order.  Simple.  Just one portion of chips.  Nothing else.  He got it right.  My hoping is eating chips makes you more sober, when in reality alcohol makes  you feel peckish and needing something to soak up what you've drunk.  Even if it only happens to be three pints of Amstel.  The  chips were in the fryer.  Which isn't a surprise because everytime I go there it seems they have to actually cook the chips because they are not ready.  The man behind the counter engaged me in conversation.  Being I was pissed I was quite happy to converse.

I found out he was Nepalese.  I always thought so on account of his skin colour, size and eyes.  It seemed to make sense.  You can tell these things after a while.  He must of wanted the company or maybe it was my charm offensive.  People just love to talk in the right circumstances, everyone has their own story of life, each one is different and well worth listening to, I know.  This man told me he spoke four different languages and understood three more but could not speak them.  Blimey.  They were Nepalese, English, Norwegian and Russian.  What an odd mix I thought.  Very odd.  Only English was the European language.  It is wonderful to hear when someone speak a different language.  I noticed as I entered the shop the Nepalese man shouted out in his mother tongue a sentence to me.  I repeated it and he said I was good in my pronunciation.  It was simple "how are you?"  The problem with being drunk is although you're good at these things you forget them pretty quickly.  Don't ask me now what it was because, yes, I've forgotten it.  Anyway I like the people who run the chip shop.  Even though I know eating chips is no good for me.  The people are good people, they are warm.  Warmth is needed in a city like London where everyone has a hands off don't come near me or I will kill you mentallity.  I should learn Nepalise. 

I think I will.  Just got to finish these chips of first.

The belt that never arrived

For weeks now I have been waiting for a belt to arrive off Amazon.  It hadn't.  In desperation I contacted the vendor, the asked I check with the neighbours and the parcel office.  I did.  It was an effort to get to the parcel office and only five minutes in checking.  Nothing.  I email the vendor now because I've had enough.  Although given the option of having another belt sent to me I'm pissed off.  I had put too much effort into going to the parcel office, so requested a refund.  I was irate when I wrote the email so it was succinct.  Actually a nice piece of writing after I re-read it.  No emotion, just fact.  I'm now going to get a full refund.  My trousers will however endeavour to fall down.

Feeling better and a sandwich

It is with wonderful delight I find my cold of the last few days is subsiding.  No more do I sneeze every two minutes, no more do I need to run to the supermarket and purchase another box of tissues.  It's wonderful, almost like being able to breath fresh air when being locked up in a room.  Which is another thing, the sense of smell returning again, but oddly I find my appetite is not what it used to be.   I just don't feel inclined to eat as much as I used to eat.  I still eat, but it's the amounts.  Yesterday I left half a pint of Guinness, today I ate sandwiches from the shop rather than going into a cafe.  This is a big thing for me as my habitual requirement is to eat hot food.  A couple of more days with the echinacea capsules, vitamin C and liquids and all should be healed.

Talking about food.  My biggest personal dread when the Olympics comes along is being able to get to my local shops and get lunch.  The dread is based on there being millions of additional people about.  People who want to take my seat in my cafe or pub, people I'd call trespassers.  When it's all over I will still be here but these villains will be gone, never to be seen again.  I'll be lucky if I don't starve to death when the events begin.  Ironically it could be at the end of the Olympics I'll be at my physical peak, having lost a couple of stone and walked everywhere.  At which point I could even be a record breaker.  One thing is sure, a slimmer looking me would give even Hussain Bolt a run for his money, especially if there was a hot meal at the end of the track, and I'm not kidding.  Just when the scientists thought running was about putting one foot in front of the other faster than anyone else, it's not.  It's all to do with the right motivation. hmmmm, yum.

I took Monster Boy for a walk this evening around a local urban lake.  It's only a mile in circumference.  He wouldn't stop talking.  He just went on and on and on.  I don't know what he had been eating or in whose company he had been.  Whoever it was they hadn't listened to a word he said all day.  Or possibly for the last week.  It was like he had saved it up and waited till he could spill it all out.  Just having someone to talk to for him was wonderful.  I thought my ears were going to drop off.  I kept saying "yes" and "is that so" and occasionally when he said something which didn't make much sense I'd question it and he'd have to think about whether what he said was a load of rubbish or not.  In the end as we neared his home I said to him I thought he must be all talked out and probably didn't have any more words to say.  Because I knew if he did talk any more then there would be nothing but silence, his lips would move but there would be no voice.  He considered this for a moment or two, and this gave me a short sweet delicious 30 seconds of silence.  I couldn't take any more after that and decided to go.  A sandwich was waiting for me, cheese and pickle.  Guess what?  I got home pretty quickly as well.

Another day of sneezing

This is the second day of all out cold symptoms, I've been sneezing like a wood pecker on amphetamines.  Then rapidly running out of tissues, drinking lots of herbal teas, getting different advise from people on what to take, one suggestion was Dragon stout, put in a pan warmed up on the stove and black pepper added.  I've never heard of this before and then I forgot the name and called it Dragon's Breath.  Quickly to be reminded of the correct name.  Getting into the Fish Factory early meant leaving early was on the cards.  It's silly really to think anyone can get away with not strapping an umbrella to their back in this weather we've had.  So it can be pulled out like a Samuri would reach for his sword.  It's a pity human's don't have glands which give off a wax on call.  Then we'd never have to worry about the rain.  If I recall rightly Dracula doesn't get wet in the rain, what a funny trait for vampires.  The echinacea pills have been popped like sweeties, the sooner they kick in the better, but then reading the bottle it states to take two to three of them up to five times a day, blimey talk about echinacea overdose.  A couple of paracetamol helped out this morning, but you are not suppose to have these with caffeine, the combination I've heard is not good for the liver.  Your own, not someone else's. 

I got to see the Talkatives yesterday and little Princess Talkative although only ten years old has taken on a growing spurt.  I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw her.  It's amazing to see children grow up so quickly, it always seems when you don't see them for a while and then you do they have changed.  They were great company and were mostly well behaved.  Well to put it another way Mrs Talkative didn't shout at all at them.  Which is the one thing of great annoyance, shouting at kids.  There should be some kind of law against it, it don't work, they carry on doing what they want to do so it's not worth it. Parenting skills is probably what is needed, compulsory ones followed up by the parenting police watching to see if they can handle children.  I really don't know how human kind has managed to survive with all the hang ups parents give to their kids.  Some you might think should never be allowed to have children but they do.  Other's want them but never can.  They bring a moment of happiness while young, and worry and company and all of those things in between.  The good thing though is if you're an uncle then you can give them back at the end of the day and remain the best uncle in the world.  I'm a moody old git so fortunately they don't get to see me being a strop.  But I do my best to curb it.  It's not nice being moody.

Sparkling has advised me she is going through the life change and it is official.  Blood results indicate she's got the menopause.  It accounts for the hot and cold flushes, the aches and pains.  She checked out a web site for symptoms and of 34 she had all 34 of them.  Sparkling then went on to tell me there was a help line for men and special help groups to get them through it as well.  Blimey I thought.  Not only do women go through it but men have to go through it as well, no wonder we get more sensitive as we get older.  It's one of those other things to think about.  There's always something to be bothered about, or not.  I advised the Oldest Talkative lad on girls, because he is in a relationship with a girl who is pregnant.  It seems she has him under her little finger, and she is keeping an eye on him.  It's not his child.  I don't think he realises how brave he is taking on the responsibilities, he probably hasn't thought about them at all.  He's probably just enjoying being a young man and having a girlfriend.  But what a hell of a learning period he is in for.  I told Sparkling about this and she at first thought I was the wrong person to advise anyone about women.  After giving my side of events, I think she came round to understand what I was saying.  Anyway any man who has been in a relationship for a number of years would of learnt something from it.  I hope all goes well with Older Talkative lad, he is after all just a lad and still likes to do lad like things, but will be thrown into the grown up world of real adulthood very soon.  They don't live together and have only been going out for three or four months.  It will be very much of watch this space and see what happens.  Whatever it is, it's definitely an adventure.  Good luck mate you will learn a great deal in a very short time.

The cold is here to stay for a few days.  I'll be happy when it lifts.  The Olympics are going to start in 11 days and everyone in London is gearing up for it.  Particularly the expected travel chaos it's expected to create.  I personally couldn't give tuppence for it because what the Olympics should be and what it has become are two very different things.  It is now dominated by sponsorship and real people can not afford to see it.  Something is wrong in the world.  It's said Londoners will be paying for the Olympics legacy for years to come, and we can't get a free seat.  Shame on  you IOC, and an even bigger shame on the sponsors.  Short term gentrification will descend on the East London area, which probably ranks as one of the most poverty stricken areas of London you can get.  Damn I'm getting depressive.

It's the cold and the rain which is doing it.  I should pop another pill and start checking out help sites for partners of women going through the menopause, just as Sparkling says.  It looks like I'm going to be having a learning experience as well.  Not another one, blimey.

Got a cold achoo

My eyes are streaming, ears feel as though they have enough cotton wool in them to fill up the Grand Canyon but there's none there at all.  I'm sneezing, coughing and having problems focusing my eyes because they are so watery.  I've had two echinacea pills already and will finish the night with a third hoping their magic kicks in soon.  I got tissues at the ready like a gun slinger at the OK Coral.  My head feels thick and fuzzy, the tinnitus is coming in and out of perception and my head just can't work out whether I should have a headache or not.  It's just in some complaining nomansland. I want to sleep it off and wake up tomorrow completely healthy fit and fine but think it is with me for a couple of days.  I'm wheezing.  What a bag of contentment to be in.  But am happy.  Life is good even with a cold.

Monster Boy is learning to Blog

So yesterday I saw Monster Boy and told him about blogging.  How I enjoyed writing a blog and didn't care if anyone read it.  Which is a little cynical because we all like to be popular and there's a hope in the back of my mind that people do actually read what I write and they like it.  But I've only got three persons who follow my blog.  So It could be it's not actually working out at all.  So, i says to Monster Boy blogging is about writing for yourself and not caring.  It's a stream of thoughts the reason you do it is because you want to and enjoy doing it.  He got a little bit interested.  At which point I advised him about the use of pseudonyms and never talking about anyone by their real names, ever.  Also I told him about places, because he should not identify where he is but he can make up a fictional name about it.  Saying London is fine because there's six million plus people who live here.  Monster sat down and asked me to help him go through a few bits on how to find a site to blog and getting started up.  I had to leave abruptly at this point but I knew he is a smart kid and would be able to follow instructions on the web site he used.  It's not rocket science, just some people think it is and put up barriers, psychological barriers to suggest they are incapable because of the fear of failure or rather fear of success.  It's easier to be self deferential in a down beat way.  It's part of the UK national psych.  Except those not from the UK probably don't see it as such.  Today I saw Monster Boy for a brief moment to see what he had done.

He is crazy about Star Trek, Doctor Who and anything Sci Fi.  His life evolves around it and comic book characters.  He knows everything and loves to share this information with everyone to prove he knows it.  He even goes onto Wiki encyclopedia and there he updates facts when he find they are wrong and adds extra bits.  All of this for a kid who is only just 12 years old.  Monster pulled up his site for me to peruse.  It was very good.  He created a photo montage of scenes from Star Trek as his background.  Gave himself a Trek related name and posted one item on it.  He then showed me how many hits he had.  I was amazed that one just put up brand new site had 40 hits already.  I'm lucky to get 10 in a day but he had a multiple of this.  His blog was just a pre amble about how he wanted people to read it and enjoy.  There was on this occasion no real text about Star Trek.   But this is the start.  What a wonderful first effort it was.  I was amazed and told him it was good.  I'm hoping he will continue with it because it is not just about being a Sci Fi fan it is also about improving his spelling, writing skills and communication skills to the rest of the world.  Without realising it this could be a better teaching tool than sitting in a class listening to what a teacher has to say.  As they say, learning should be made fun which is something a lot of educators have forgotten about.  If only work was fun as well I say.

Monster would love to go to the American convention called comic-con, just as he is because he thinks he would be able to challenge a lot of Trekkies with his knowledge.  He thinks they would be impressed by him.  I advised he did know a lot but the Trekkies also knew a lot and what he needed to do was to start saving up for the ticket.  Unfortunately he wanted to go now to show his knowledge off and then got disheartened because by the time he had saved up he said he would of grown up into a bigger boy or man and they would not be so impressed with what he had to say.  Personally i am always impressed with what he has to say. Of all the things Monster Boy has, it is an opinion, and he has many of these opinion.  In an aside, during one of my beating up Monster Boy with a tickle I said as I had other nephews I could chop up Monster Boy and put him into pies.  It wouldn't matter because he was one of a few others.  However, I also said it would probably be a bad idea because as soon as someone went to bite into the pie it would argue with them.  Monster found this very funny and laughed at the thought of an argumentative pie.  If Monster had another pastime it would be debating and arguing, which he does with anyone, as though he is not 12 but rather 42 and knew everything there is to know in the world.  He certainly has a lot to learn, because the more you learn the more you realise you don't know so much after all.  I hope he enjoys going on to secondary school and then takes on the world.  Probably dressed up in a Trekkie uniform and a pair of pointed ears.

Aunty Insomnia

So there I was yesterday blogging about how difficult it was to get some peace and the evil of interruptions, and today I'm at the Fish Factory, with hardly anyone around me, in a quiet office and unable to get on with what I should be doing because I'm now procrastinating.  The old Devil Mr Procrastination had perched himself on my shoulder and kept whispering in my ear "do this, do that, not what you're supposed to do," the thing was he won out a few times.  it could be because after a week of madness I'm exhausted with it all and just want to do something else.  Besides work.  Or it could be because I woke up with less than four hours sleep and was unable to drop off again.  It was the madness of Aunty Insomnia who had visited me.  I lay in bed just hoping by some association laying in bed would give me something like sleep, which it did not.  So there's no surprise when i eventually got to the Fish Factory and did half a morning's work I was feeling tired.  I need exercise, which always does manage to help me drop off.  Even if it's just a little.  Exercise is like garlic to a vampire an Aunty Insomnia is a vampire of sorts, she's there to keep you vigilant, alert, in those wee hours of the morning when the monsters come out and want to steal you away.  But they can't because you're awake and ready for them.  In such circumstances Aunty Insomnia has her place.  She is a valuable tool against the horrors of the morn.  Except for the fact such horrors do not exist because they didn't stop me from getting up going to the toilet or doing anything else I wanted to do.  These horrors are the stay awake thoughts of an insomniac.  Thoughts about nothing in particular, thoughts which make the bed not quite comfortable enough.  Whatever gland there is in the brain which kicks out sleep hormones wasn't working.  Certainly not last night.

By some telepathic sympathy, Sparkling to did not have a decent night's sleep either.  It could be a combination of her hypertension and knowing she had to start work early.  She was on the 8 a.m. shift this morning, and then is to do an evening shift this minute.  Today may be part of the weekend for most people but for some it is the start of the working week.  For some who do not spend the weekend chillaxing.  I hope she has a good sleep tonight because she will otherwise be exhausted and she needs it. In the end we are all going mad in various degrees, but usually for different reasons.  Aunty Insomnia can be one of those reasons, it's the reason why you hit the workplace and feel tired out with no energy and could kill anyone who wants to get on your nerves.  I don't think Sparkles has killed anyone yet but she does have high blood pressure, this worries me.  I want Sparkles to be in the best of health and to not have insomnia more so than myself.  If it helps I'll volunteer myself to take on her insomnia just so she can sleep.  Which I have done at times when the cat has decided at 2:30 a.m. he wants to get up have a bite and go out for a bit of play time with the other cats.  If an animal can suffer from the attention of Aunty Insomnia Sparkling's Olly (cat) certainly has it.  Then Olly does spend all day sleeping on every soft cushion or surface in the house he can find.  No wonder he's nuts.

I know I am not getting enough exercise which is probably the main key to getting better sleep.  It has been raining every day for the last two months so it doesn't help the matter.  Yes I don't let the rain get me down and actually don't really mind it but it is another excuse I can throw in the bag and blame on old Aunty.  Further I am not getting any younger.  Now if there's a cliché that sentence is a cliché and is axiomatic.  Nobody is getting any younger if they were then they would of tripped over the fountain of youth and the world would know about it.  I don't think anyone in their right mental state would want to live forever, but they would certainly like a good night's sleep three or four times a week.  Damn.  I got to get out more.  The secret could be getting physically tired so as to evade Aunty Insomnia, because then no matter how much she bangs on your bedroom door, nothing can be heard, because counting sheep is in progress.  Yet it's not just physical tiredness which is important.  The head has to be switched off so it is not generating thoughts of any kind.  Mind exercise is also needed.  If I don't mind, neither will Aunty.

Chillax count from 1 to 10

The Fish Factory has been stressful.  Very stressful.  It is loud and difficult to work in because the work requires substantial cognitive functioning and it's too noisy to think.  In addition there are constant interruptions from people who should have the initiative to find out their own answers, who are paid more than enough for the local area and do

The entire workforce has been moved to a new building to work.  It's called the extra large, square boxed, chicken farm.  Officially it has been awarded various prizes for being an energy conserving building, however it is not a building made for people to work on.  The nature of a chicken farm is to get as many chickens inside roosting and producing eggs as possible.  Human being are not a great factor in this.  The building cost a mere one hundred million to construct, or so we were told.  It houses about between two and three thousand people. Because it was made for chickens there has been no real consideration of the environmental factors required for human beings to function.  There are two sinks on a floor of 300 plus people where they are expected to wash up their utensils.  If not those utensils can be put into a dish washer.  However, the dishwashers are not specially designed ones which can take repeated opening and closing, so of three dishwashers in one area two have already broken doors. 

Sound as mentioned has now become a torturous item.  The ceilings are concrete arches, there are few soft furnishings and there are no sound dampening devices anywhere.  So sound travels.  When groups of people are put together and some groups tend to talk a lot while others do not because talking would be detrimental to their working.  Personally I have taken to wearing ear plugs and ear muffs looking like an odd ball but having little choice in the matter.  It is difficult to keep a train of thought. Interruptions are not constant they are incessant.  I now find myself getting angry and unable to cope with this situation.  It is a nightmare.

While trying to get over this madness I spent a couple of hours in the pub.  There a man said to me there isn't a requirement to give an immediate answer on most things.  It is better to count from 1 to 10, to calm yourself first.  It was the best bit of advise I could of been given unfortunately about 12 hours too late. 

Relax chillax, 1, 2, 3, 4,....feel good warm thoughts and nice fluffy bunnies, 5, 6, 7, 8, ....who are those men over there with that nice white jacket they are holding?...9, and 10, that's it.  Just chillax.

Rain and BLOG views

As it rains more and more outside, it seems there is a greater frequency of BLOG views.  How the two can be connected I don't know.  Statisticians would call it a correlation, which means both are trending in the same direction but it doesn't mean they are causal.  What I do understand though if it keeps raining I'm going to get my arm bands out and put my keyboard away.  All I can say is this little fat man had better have some air in his lungs.

The World of Big Brother

I don't suppose George Orwell had any idea when he wrote his book "1984" the term Big Brother would be used commonly in a TV show.  Which reminds me I must put in an order on Amazon and re-read it again.  Georgie was a great writer.  The concept of the TV program is in part close to the notion of 1984 but on a minute scale.  Rather than an entire world it takes place in a house.  In real life today travelling through London you image will be recorded on multiple cameras, perhaps even in the hundreds.  This may sound at first to be an exaggeration, but it really is not.  In every form of public transport there will be multiple cameras.  Buses have three or four, trains now have cameras in every car and as for taking the tube there is not a single foot step from one tube to the next which is not recorded on a camera.  Walking in or past a shop may result in being recorded, and you can guarantee your mug is picked up at every ATM used.  London is said to have more security cameras than any other capital, so there's another set of images.  Then to consider your image would be recorded twice, once going through London and once coming back.  It's therefore unavoidable.  So it stands to reason every time you step foot outside make sure you combe your hair.

As I watch the contestants in the Big Brother game show, I get to know their faces and behaviours.  They become familiar.  While groups are created as small cliches prefer each other's company it's possible to see how they then perceive those who are not part of the in group.  Although it would be easy to say their perceptions are flawed they are not.  What they experience is real whether on camera or not.  You can not act up to a camera every minute of every day so the true you, whoever the you happens to be will leak out.  What we all like to see though for our own pleasure is the bitchiness, lets not beat about the bush.  Yet bitchiness is one person giving their honest perception of another person, or perhaps false perception because they are playing the game and want other's to see they are not as bad or are as bad as they are.  However, of all things I can't help think being in the Big Brother house is in many respects a trial of self understanding.  One which can be very hard to do.  For there is no escape, you can not always hide from people you don't like.  In the real world yes, in the fictional Big Brother no.  A true test of character is to see how each individual copes and particularly those individuals who had built up strong relationships with other persons only for that other person to be evicted from the household.  It teaches one thing, no matter how much friendships can be mutually supported there is always a time when they do not exist and at such a time personal strength will mark the individual.

George Orwell's book was written in 1948, he reversed the last two numbers for the title of his book.  But it was not submitted to the publishers until 1949.  All is never as it seems.  George Orwell is also a pseudonym, real name Eric Blair.  He wasn't a posh writer, one who lived in a nice house and sat in a room to write in comfort.  Eric dived into the world of poverty and wrote essays on what life was like for the working classes of Britain.   Funny even in his book 1984 there is poverty and cohesion of what keeps people together.  Whilst in a TV program life is someone laid back and certainly not poverty stricken.  Particularly when remembering the winner will walk away with £100,000 quite a nice sum.  Not including any TV endorsements they make, shows or other spin off from the celebrity-ism of sitting in a house and actually not doing anything productive to society.  A bit like the bankers of today in some respects.or the wives of footballers.  Which is what Big Brother does, it gives temporary stardom to people for not doing a thing.  Maybe it makes me just as bad as I sit glued to the box each evening watching how they interact, or it could just be I am an observer of human behaviour, or maybe I just like to be a fly on the wall to a good bitching session.  Lets just hope there's no sticky paper about. 

Is the rain so dreary? Me thinks not

I'm back from Scotland and in London again.  The one thing they both have in common is buckets and buckets of rain.  The latest news is this has been the wettest June on record.  I think there was one day of sunshine up North.  When it happened I sat out in the garden and had breakfast with the dickie birds cheeping all around me.  They wanted a bit of my toast but were not having any as far as I was concerned.  These rare occasions of sitting in Sparkling's garden are to moments of pure delight, I store them up in the back of my memory closet and pull them out every now and again.  Just like the time I was in Portugal with Sparkling, sitting on a beach, eating a just barbecued sardine, the waves lapped at my feet, and I stared out at the old style ship anchored just off shore.  Sparkling came up to me and gave me a hug, my eyes welled with emotion because it was so beautiful, sunny and a wonderful get away from everything.  It had been too long since our last holiday and that one reminded me of their value.  However, if it rains it's not the end of the world.  Why we treat it as though it is I don't know.  Frankly speaking, tagging your emotions on whether it rains or not in the UK could create a long bout of downcast blue feelings.  So get over it.

It is a good time to take note and to Get Things Done.  This is the title of a book I've began reading.  I really must read a lot faster or spend more time reading the thing.  It's a good book and I've only just read over 30 pages.  But I like to really have a good think about what it is that goes in my head.  Whether I agree with it or not.  Just as you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover, with it's content you should judge it this is perfectly allowable.  Unlike some people who pick up books just because they happen to be the best seller at the time and everyone is raving about it.  I tend to pick up books which have been a best seller 10, 20 or 30 years ago and so have been critically discussed since.  Good literature will always stand out.  Good literature is the kind of thing to put into your hands and read on a rainy day.  I have noticed something though.  When i am reading a book, there are usually thoughts, concepts and stories in the book and this gives me material to talk about them.  To people who may not have read the book so they have to listen to what I am saying.  Which doesn't mean when i talk to people they stop listening to me, except for Sparkling who at times will quite clearly yawn and cognitively poke me to change my attention to her.  Or I can chat as long as I'm doing something useful, like giving a foot massage and she can tune out to the TV or a glass of wine.  Again the perfect things to do on a rainy day, or rather evening.

If it wasn't for the amount of rain we have in the UK our grass would not look as lush and green as it does.  It doesn't take too long when we have a bout of drought the grass goes parched and brown.  Turf gets really hard under foot and everything becomes unbearably hot.  I'm sure the US would love some of the weather we are getting at the moment, because I hear it is hitting the 40s in some areas.  Constant rain does not kill people, OK it may make a few of us sad, but this is silly.  If you think about it a bit of rain is a good thing.  I'll accept flooding is no good and can be dangerous, I accept it can prevent you from doing a lot, but equally there are still a lot of things which can be done.  If it's raining and you're reading this BLOG you are using your time productively and defiantly.  Because some things can not be changed it doesn't mean they be allowed to dominate how I feel.  So I'll go against them.  I'll disagree, be argumentative, even if it is with my own self and pull my own socks up.  Which brings me to my next point.

While watching the ladies singles final at Wimbledon yesterday (Williams versus Radawanska), there was a period where Williams had lost it mentally.  Or so the commentators were saying.  She had allowed Radawanska a chance to get back which led to a thrilling second set and Radawanska drawing even.    Williams just kept making mistake after mistake, points were being given away and anyone will know of all people Radawanska is well known for making fewer forced or unforced errors than anyone else.  Then came the turn around.  The set had finished and Williams had a moment where she got her point and screamed victory.  The scream had a startling effect on Williams psychologically, she was kicking herself up the arse.  Williams became very determined and channelled her aggression actively, calming, making herself focused.  After which followed an exceeding quick third set which she one with a lot of big hitting serves to boot.  Radawanska, just could not contain or weaken Williams strength both physically and psychologically.  Williams won her fifth title.   She refused to allow herself to be overcome with negativity, she refused to allow herself to make errors, she had gone into a highly focused zone.  I think even if she had lost, the one thing she would of known, was she had lost to a better player rather than to her own mistakes.  This is probably the ultimate in any life event.  Knowing you have done your best and bought meaning to it rather than letting the situation overcome you.  It's not easy, but then it never is.