A talk cushion and catch up

Well in order to get some sleep I have been out twice today, once for a short walk and once for a bicycle ride.  On the walk I was accompanied by Princess Talkative who doesn't talk a great deal.  For the bike ride some hours later it was Little Monster Boy, who is starting not to be so little.  He made up for what Princess Talkative didn't do, he talked and talked all the time.  As per usual I asked him whether he had spoken to anyone today and he said no.  At which my reply was I am a talk cushion, a bit like a pin cushion but instead you just talk to me.  He still didn't stop talking.  There are few people in this world who have a propensity to continuous jabbering but he is one of them for sure.  It didn't matter because I love is company and I hope he enjoys mine just as much. Not only this, he has loaned me a copy of a Star Trek film so I can re watch it.  One of his greatest passions at 11 years of age is Star Trek. To the extent he has repeatedly watched episodes and knows more about it than any other subject.  If there were an A' level in Star Trek I am sure he would pass it right now.  In fact there should be an A' level in it.  There is a lot one can learn from science fiction TV, live the universe, everything.

Princess Talkative is getting taller.  It's surprising how quickly children grow up, but what they remember most is how they were treated by adults and then they will carry this around with them all of their life.  Further they will remember how they treated other adults.  Which reminds me of Rock Chick who for several years while growing up absolutely hated me.  I know it was a matter of childhood jealousy and was just the ways she was, she'd get over it.  She realises now.  The thing is she is at a point where she values me like a father.  The other night she wanted a blether, so I rang her up and we had a chat which lasted an  hour and half.  It was just so good catching up with her and hearing how happy she is with Dangerous Sports Lad.  They are both happy, young and in love, awwe what a wonderful place to be in life.  With a little prawn on the way, first trimester only a couple of weeks away.  How Dangerous will be changing into a more responsible man is likely to be on the books.  If only he didn't act like his hormones were changing more than Rock's hormones.  She's got a good reason to be vomiting and moody.  He's just a plain drama queen in need of being put into place.  Which Rock does freely and often.  In time though, I hope he gets to understand being a drama queen should be left to those who have a thing for amateur dramatics, not to young men about to become fathers.  I've been told I will be a pops.  I'm so happy to be pops, because granddad seems so very old fashioned and makes me out to be old as well.  OK, I might be a little over the hill but I don't feel it, even if Sparkling keeps saying she has to trade me in for a younger model. Sometimes getting older is about find a comfort zone and staying in it, comfortably.  I can't be having all those shocks and crisis, it puts me on edge.  Be relaxed, it's the best way to take on the world.  If shit happens it's best to be chilled about it, because worry or fraught nerves don't help in any situation.  Then I am a hypocrite and can't always keep to this ideal, but at least I try.  Unless I'm being tried by someone else of course.

It feels like a long time since I have seen Sparkling.  It's the sense of touching her I miss, even rubbing her feet with cream to help her relax.  It gives me meaning.  Having someone you love right next to you, just so you can touch them or talk to them about how their day has been is a mutual comfort.  I reach out with telephone conversations and text messages and then can't wait until the next time I get to see Sparkles.  Her beautiful smile and shinning eyes, it warms me up inside. Also when in bed it's much easier to get to sleep with someone next to you, it helps the insomnia, I think so.  Maybe I should get a teddy bear.  There is something to be said about teddy bears.  Monster Boy has one, or did have one.  When I was a growing up boy I'm sure I had one as well.  I don't know at what stage it disappeared.  I expect it got tatty and was thrown in the bin.  The is no doubt, the tattyiest teddies or the most loved ones there are, just as the oldest people in a family are the most loved as well.  Even the potty ones.

An insomniacal posting

Well it's been one of those nights so far.  The kind where it is difficult to sleep.  I went to bed just after 12 o'clock and after a while thought it was about six a.m. and time to get up.  My feet were cold, for some reason they would not warm up, and I haven't had a wink of sleep.  I check my clock and it was half past two.  No where as late as my mind had led me to believe.  So just after three a.m. I've now had enough of laying still in bed and doing my best to will myself to sleep because it plain is not working.  I have either a weak will, or am going psychotic.  I get up, go downstairs and make a cup of tea.  I need something to do.  The alternative is to get dressed and go out for a walk at three a.m.!! I wonder what the likelihood is of getting picked up by the police as suspiciously doing nothing.  Were I a copper doing a late night shift I'd certainly pick myself up for questioning. Maybe I'd get some sleep in a police cell, because my bed bloody well isn't working.  Drinking the tea I know this will not work either.  A three a.m. shot of caffeine probably isn't the answer either.  It's not like I have one thing on my mind and I can blame this one thing.  It's just because I'm awake.  I could of had lime juice squeezed in my eyes and wouldn't of been any more awake than I am now.  This head just isn't dropping off to sleep.  It lays there and nothing happens.

I'm supposed to be doing overtime in the morning.  Getting up and going to the Fish Factory.  If there is anything which is on my mind it would be work.  How it is all piled up and how the pile just gets higher.  I've been neglecting my tray lately thinking other stuff is more important.  There is never enough time.  Only if I could stop time and then do the work and then restart time would the work get done.  I have now become a workplace donkey.  Carrying the load and not getting anywhere fast.   It's one of those things I have to accept and just wait for the big pile of crap which is due to hit the fan soon, to actually hit the fan and scatter itself all over me, head to toe.  I can imagine it splattered across my face as well.  It's not a nice feeling. It don't matter how hard I work I can't keep up with it.  Hell, thinking about it now makes me tired.  My eyes are actually starting to feel heavy.

Time to hit the hay again.  Round two, lets see if I can get into double figure blinks.

Catching up with an old friend and new music

I have few friends, it's just the way I am, some people have lots of them, but probably a lot of people just have a few or certainly a handful at most.  It all depends on what you call a friend, the extent of the friendship.  It's possible there are various categories.  This evening I ran up an old friend.  I've known him for 38 years and seen him less as the years have passed.  But he's someone I love.  Next birthday he will be 80, so this old friendship is more than just old in years.  My ex English teacher.  It was great having a discussion with  him on the phone.  Like me he likes to talk politics and put the world to rights.  We discussed the plight of the economy, Europe, the decline and change of our culture, Greece, Spain, the Euro, a Prime Minister and cabinet full of millionaires and impending financial breakdown.  Before I knew it we had been chatting for an hour and twenty minutes.  There's a kind of realisation when a conversation has been going for a long time it should come to an end.  When he hits his next birthday it will be a significant day.  I can't help feel sad because as each year now passes it is more likely he will not be around, when he has been a stable influence, confidant and help to me.  I then get choked up and sad.  We all have to go some day, it's a fact.  But it will mean my available friends have now diminished to the point they are generally in some way related to me rather than direct friends.

How the hell, do you make new friends and keep them again I wonder.  For to have a friend means a commitment to catching up with them at some time.  Usually the start of friendships begin with seeing each other on a regular basis.  Friendships can build up in the workplace, however if they are purely in the workplace they are more of a colleague rather than friend. Sometimes there are fleeting moments when I have met someone and hit it off with them.  Had a laugh and enjoyed their company, but those moments would just be the once and mean little more.  Again this is a little sad.  Yet a friend is someone you generally know quite well.  Their likes, their habits, their peculiarities, and regardless these aspects of personality are accepted.  Unless of course there is the significant event which breaks up the relationship. Which happens; or you just drift apart through time or distance.  Friendship, is more than just company, although being in someone's company can be fulfilling, being a friend has a level of involvement and is a two way street. Sometimes it comes to an end, that's life, sad but true.

I may have revealed my inability to learn songs before, well I'm just restating this point.  However, unlike a lot of people I know who seem to be stuck in a musical era, I do have a curiosity to listen to contemporary music and new bands and the recent hits.  It's an urge which jumps up on me every so often.  Sometimes a couple of times a year sometimes a couple of times a month.  It just does.  So my appreciation of music also becomes contemporary.  Odd how I can name band (when I remember them) that some people around me have never heard of and pull out of the hat groups where are three or more decades old.  Well, this evening I've come across a band called Metronomy.  They have an electric sound, which takes me back to what used to be called New Age Romantics.  And the great thing is discovering something by yourself, you like, by accident, and you can't get enough of it.  So I've say here the last hour or so searching through YouTube and finding every song I could by Metronomy and playing it.  I don't know if this is the same for everyone else.  It's not like people purposefully go out of their way to listen to old music, but they do to new music.  Old music is something you might hear as part of a film, and think the track was good and wonder who it was who did it, only to find it was years ago and the artist or group were no more than a one hit wonder.  Something I personally dislike are the groups or artists who are one album or one hit wonders.  I like artists to stay around for as long as possible, the more albums the better.  It shows they were special because they persevered and left a mark.  Metronomy are going to be around for a little while, I hope.  Like a friend.  Except with this one all I got to do is select the tray and play the music to be transported to a different place.  For 3 minutes or so anyway.   Then it ends, as does a lot of things.

Winter and a first scan...Pops

Winter is well and truly on its way.  As I wake up in the morning my body is reluctant to get out of bed.  It is warm and relaxed and says in loud woolly words "leave me alone" but my head says in return "it's 6 a.m. time to get up sleepy."  OK this is an odd conversation to have with yourself but I wouldn't mind betting there's a few people who have the same internal conversation as the winter cloak of darkness smothers out the sun.  I do very much enjoy a lay in bed, but the lays in bed and the enjoyment of it are being more demanding.  Maybe I'm just about ready to hibernate, I'll go to bed and never wake up for another 6 months only to find all my fat stores have been eaten away by a good long sleep.  Then in spring 2013 I'll be the new me, two or three stone lighter and so looking a lot fitter and handsome than I am now.  Though probably sporting a bit of a beard at the same time.  I'd imagine I'd have to have a really good brush of my teeth if such an event took place.  Maybe three or four brushes and as many mouth washes.  The last thing I'd need is to wake up during hibernation and find it necessary to book an appointment with the dentist.  He to could be in hibernation and am sure would be upset by the phone call.  I could go on about teeth but will leave it there.  I wonder if it would be necessary to sleep in some suspended jelly like substance and have an oxygen mask strapped to my face.  The jelly providing essential vitamins and waters to the body as it dwells in slumber land. But at present a nice cosy bed seem to be doing it.  Awwe lovely.

I had some news today.  Rock Chick had been for her first pregnancy scan and is ten and a half weeks pregnant. She was told the prawn has a strong heart beat and she's got me a copy of the scan.  Dangerous Sports Lad will be going through a lot as well.  Rock has the impression his hormones are worse than hers.  She might be puking every five minutes but he's having hissy fits every two minutes.  What a big girl's blouse.  I'm going to be called Pops (thankfully not granddad) and the thought of it did make me emotional as well. But I'm not a big girl's blouse.  Sparkling is over the moon, she said it was one of the best days of her life.  I don't think she knits, but it won't stop her from going out and buying little booties I'm sure. Personally, I've become interested in pregnancy and have googled what it's about, learning terms such as trimester etc.  Intellectually i can cope with babies, but physically I'm a little scared of them.  It's the teeth, no the gums. I'm one of those blokes who likes to keep away from them. Even though I'm now a great uncle, it's my great nephew who cries every time I get too close to him.  Or he takes on an alarmed look, like I could be the big bad wolf.  For me, it's not so good knowing I'm I have a face which scares babies, or worse makes them shit their nappies. Let me get acquainted when they have grown up a little more and can even say a couple of words.  Much more fun, and it's at five or six years football becomes possible.  I was never made to be in this position, give me someone who can converse in English not babble and blubber, or worse scream.  Sparkling is somewhat exhausted from the events of the day and although she's working this evening, good news like this and the realisation of what it all means is wonderful and exhausting emotionally at the same time.  I know, I was nearly a blubbering idiot while drinking my lunchtime coffee in the pub.  Again I stress not a big girl's blouse. Fortunately the pub was quite, I sat with tears in my eyes and a big grin on my face.  I don't know why, I just did.  Even now if I think too much about it I get chuffed up. It's a matter of being cautiously happy and just seeing how things go, but it's blooming wonderful news anyway.

For some reason it has been foggy today.  I was only thinking about the fog last week when I saw a picture in my phone.  It's of a wet street and gentle fog at night time.  The lights reflecting off wet pavements and further objects being misted out.  The mist makes a halo like effect, light sources appear fuzzy and their colours spill out as though on a smudged painting.  Very romantic and artistic.  Then I wondered how many times you might actually see scenes like this.  It's been at least a year since I last did. Again it is a combination of winter and the wet damp conditions when it is seen.  Leaves are dropping off trees and they look still on foggy days, for there is never much wind about when there's fog about.  Funny thing it is too, maybe if there was a wind it would blow the fog away.  Yes, winter is coming and it has began with a pretty significant event.  Just call me Pops..

A moment of calm

It sat upon my shoulder; then cast a tune on my mind,
In and out of conscious thought it wondered,
impinging on my starting day.
Go slow my man, go slow. When life is rushed go slow.
I ambled to the station following this notion.
Accepting, seeing and viewing all around me
in a somewhat different sight. Of leisurely pace.
Of contemplation from the fall of disgrace.

A disgrace which most normal commuters hold.
As they moved from, home to train, always their minds in occupation.
Go slow and stop this deliberate demand of senses.
Take a moment to yourself. Take this time now.
Between one footstep and the next, then listen, quietly listen.
The sound will come through, from some unknown place..
Go slow, don't follow the sheep make this moment yours.
It is no disgrace to give yourself, your own time and space.

How the world is different when there is less speed in pace.
When a moment of contemplation or wonder is given weight.
Go slow, no forcing or fasting or fleeting, just a purposeful conscious,
mind releasing.  As though this time now is all there is to have.
Listening to breath and heart, seeing the breeze as it gently plays on
all things with or without heart. Take this moment and calm, go slow.
Before soon it will all be gone, but only in this now all else has no matter.
As it sits upon my shoulder and says this I now know it is true.

Do men go through the change of life?

I woke up several times during the night.  At first I could not sleep because I felt chilled, then it didn't matter what position I got into or how I arranged the covers I still felt cold.  So I couldn't sleep.  There was probably some fitful sleeps but then I awoke again and lay there just saying to myself I had to sleep otherwise it would be difficult to get through the day.  I resigned myself to getting up late because I would need every single extra minute I could get.  In the morning I had somehow moved from being chilled to being too hot.  Sparkling tells me how she is going through the change of life, how she has flushes, hot and cold all the time.  I think I'm having them now as well, but I don't want Sparkling to think it is another illness or condition I have caught from her.  This is male oriented, not female.  I'm a man.  All of me.  Well I was the last time I looked.

Yet I can only think it is hormone related.  I'm getting emotional more often and have a problem controlling it.  When at the Fish Factory I had a thought of Rock Chick being pregnant and how I would be an honorary grandfather.  I had a cold cup of tea in my hand and was walking to the kitchen area.  I had to psychologically grab hold of myself in an instance to stop welling up and getting soppy over the whole thing.  Surely it can only be hormones which do this.  Women make a big thing of it, men don't.  Women have menopause, but a man can't have womanopause.  It doesn't exist.  My hair is thinning out and dropping out every time I wash it.  I look at myself in the mirror in the morning and wonder what I will look like when I go bald. If it is a hormone imbalance then it could explain my moobs (man boobs).  The only good thing would be not having to shave so much.  But hell I'm supposed to be a man not a bloody woman.  What is happening?  A man can not change into a woman, I bloody well hope not.  Well, except for those Philippino men who want to be women, transvestite pre ops.  All because I have problems sleeping.  What I would do for a good eight hour sleep.  I've made a mental note to try and exercise more, but it's not happening.

I might not of got much sleep but when I did eventually wake up this morning it was from the lost dream.  I was in another country on holiday, took a boat trip then a bus ride and then couldn't find my way back to the hotel.  It bought on a lost feeling.  Maybe it's the loss of my male side, it's gone somewhere and I have to find it again.  Am feeling really tired now so will hit the hay, I just  hope I don't wake up with blond hair and a pair of stilettos on in the morning.  Blond just doesn't suit my complexion.

The Emotional Vampire...a garlic sauce solution

I have been in a grumpy mood lately.  It could just be something which happens to men as they age, probably thinking the world should listen to them.  Or maybe it's the chip-on-the-shoulder thing.  The voice which says "I could of been a contender" but nothing actually happened.  Wanting recognition, or just believing you are right, but still can see someone walking towards the edge of a cliff.  On the other hand it could be the plethora of emotional vampires around me.  In one instance they cry out for attention and help and then when it is offered take no notice.  I should take some of my own medicine as Sparkling tells me.  Don't let yourself get involved, don't say a thing because your opinion is not wanted and has no value, if someone wants to walk towards a cliff and commit emotional, financial or some other form of suicide, let them because whatever you have to say will not change them.  They are what they are and are doomed to continue.  We each have to find our own way, recognise our own misgivings and tackle those very same misgivings personally.  You can not change someone else's view of the world.  I know, I've tried it, and I've tried it with reason and logic in the cold light of day.  But reason has no place for the lemmings, they will do what they have got to do.  Jump.

These persons are generally termed as "The Victim Vampire," they are around me in my own family, I just can not get away from them.  They sap every bit of positive energy out of me, then I keep being drawn to the conclusion I should have nothing to do with them at all.  Own family. Yet it doesn't stop there either.  They are in the Fish Factory as well.  To tackle these persons it's advised you should give them little leeway to discuss the problems of their life, unless they want to change those problems, but you have to be warned, in discussing these problems they are then getting attention, your attention.  Further, after giving all your time and effort for solutions you may expect to see a change in the individual but don't.  At which you can become disappointed.  Effort has been expended and there has been no change.  This is exceedingly frustrating, I know.  There is solution is to give them the Samaritan's phone number not your own number.  The additional problem is when you become the advice giver, you also become an emotional vampire later on, because the victim failed to act it becomes easy to criticise their behaviour.  Which in turn perpetuates the Victim Vampire (VV).  You become another person added to the list of people who failed them and they in turn blame for their life being the way it is.  It's yet another negative cycle, the VV now has another birch to whip their own back with.  The closer you are to a VV the more difficult it is to slay them.  Whether this is emotionally or physically.  You have to protect yourself first, by making your own garlic sauce and bathing in it.

This garlic sauce can be in the form of detachment.  This may also mean getting to understand your own intentions.  It is difficult.  Because I am a social animal to a certain extent.  I like to listen and be heard, but if I am doing this for my own ends and the person I am listening to is a Vampire neither I or this person will achieve a thing.  Detachment is stepping away from the situation, and accepting they will not change and asking whether I should include these persons in my circle of influence.  It's probably better not to, and if they happen to be family.  Then there is no use in seeing them more than you have to, whether they like it or not.  Day to day these people can wear you away, till the person you once were has been sucked dry.  It's how I'm feeling with my disappointment in someone I know.  I have to let go and be detached.  If the garlic sauce is taking time to make another form garlic is humour.  Satire, irony or any other thing which can pop back in mind.  Learn to throw it about like the circus knife thrower.  It takes quick thinking, and the good thing with it is, it can raise a smile.  The bad side is the Vampire becomes offended, but may not be so bad after all, offending a vampire could mean they leave you alone.  Alternatively, getting into their bad books and they may pursue you even further.  Which is not fun at all.  However, if they are very much the VV type they will view your behaviour as another instance which can be sited as confirmation they are big Victim's of the world.  Oh poor me, what can I do, I am doomed, they could say.  No matter how much you might try to lift their constitution or negate these negative feelings, the blood drips out of your veins.  They will do whatever they are going to do.

I have to change my own perception of the world and learn to put my fists up against the vampires around me.  Lesson one in any situation has to be self-protection, tomorrow I'm going to put a clove of garlic in my pocket and carry it with me all day.  Then if it is needed, I'll just give it a squeeze. 

Nepalise chicken fried rice and Humbug

Today rather than go to a Chinese lunch I tried a Nepalese inspired lunch.  The cafè is ran by Nepalese who haven't quite got the hang of spelling English.  Bacon was spelt as Beckon, and Chow Mein as Choumean.  At first it was confusing as I saw the menu and the words and had a problem reading them.  I mean it's not what it says but rather what it sounds like. Thankfully the pictures were a good clue and the taste of the chicken fried rice did not reflect the same errors as the misspelt words.  None of it was mean in any sense of the word, wicked might be used but not mean. It was fresh, the plate of food wasn't as large as I usually get but these Nepalese people are somewhat shorter and smaller in stature so their portions probably reflect this. Big fat Europeans like big fat portions of food, we are following the transatlantic trend in food size, and related illnesses as well. It wont be long before we are called the Big Bums of the World.  No mean feet for such a small country, but ever growing faster country (UK).

So meal finished and I sit in a nice pub, which normally isn't as busy as it is today.  Where have all these people come from I ask myself?  It must be the sun, a little sun and every Tom, Dick and Harriet have to get out to enjoy it, I wish they didn't have to enjoy it in my pub though. It's too busy.  People make noise.  Adults bring children, and children are even more noisy.  Humbug. A baby crawls about the floor while it's mother stands guard watching where it goes.  One arm in front of the other, it marches in goose step fashion, corduroy dungarees shine the lacquered floor.  Another woman comes in with a pram.  For the toffs a baby is another fashion accessory.  Humbug.  All this disturbance and the constant din of voices around me is bad enough, but it's been rounded off by a new member of staff giving me a coffee like nats piss. Therefore the coffee last longer than any normal coffee should last.  It may even go a little cold. The pub will lose out giving me nat's piss coffee, for it has the power to make my wallet tight, tighter than a hundred year old clam.  Humbug.  I dislike pretentious clientèle as much as people who esteem their working class as though it is a badge wrapped up in a blanket of ignorance.  I can never understand why many working class people don't strive for self education. It is a breath of fresh air to hear a voice of intelligence and reason in any situation, it cuts through toffs and the highly ignorant working class.  But unfortunately is despised by both classes. Education doesn't just level a field it rises above it, so does the ability to voice an opinion in the face of perceived authority. When in reality nobody has authority, it's all perceived.

During one conversation this week, chatting to Sparkling while in a Humbug mood, which I couldn't shake off, she started to sing Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," a half smile erupted on my face.  Then Sparkles began the whistling bit, the singing was funny the whistling not. The conversion of high frequency sound waves over two mobiles led to an awful screech which went through my head and echoed on the way out. I nearly fell over by the impact.  It could of been a grenade exploding right next to my ear, it bowled me over. It hurt. I didn't get out of the blues; but sometimes you can only remove such feelings by re-viewing the world, the experience of it and by stop being an idiot. Yet the idiot hat can get super glued to your head and be difficult to remove. A little like a Humbug attitude, they're one and the same really.

The coffee lasted an hour, half a pint later and I'm feeling quite a bit chilled. Yep, my view of the world has changed.  People who had invaded my hideaway retreat from the stresses and strains of life have gone as well.  Eaten their overpriced lunches and ran back off to their overpriced homes.  Even the taste of Humbug is going. What was that line again?  Always look on the bright side of life...

What day is it?

I don't know why but at lest three times today I have asked different people "what day is it?"  As though a day has been lost.  Or even something strange has happened with time.  There are days when the demands are high, where meetings, phone calls, conversations, items of work don't stop.  Where even the day before was heavy and it is still waiting to be swept under the carpet, because for now there it sits on top of a desk, spilling over with little room for pens, pencil, phone or diary.  Yesterday is waiting even with today being here now and also needing to be dealt with.  As today progresses there are then demands of it's very own, demands which come right up to your face and slap you in the face, they say "give me attention now, I don't care what you were doing, I am now, deal with me."  This could be the reason why "what is today?" Has to be asked.  It is like looking at a map and establishing where you are in order to get to your destination.  However, in today's case I couldn't place today on the map yet knew it had to be somewhere, some place and importantly at some time.  It isn't Tuesday, it isn't Thursday.  Today is Wednesday, it is mid-week, but more so it is the slope downwards to the weekend, to two days of rest. Hopefully.  And today is nearly over as well.  It's odd, but I have also spoken to Sparkling and she has been in the same dilemma as I have, also asking the same question.

Sparkling however has not been sleeping well the last couple of nights.  She had to be at the docs to get a sample of blood taken from a vampire for analysis.  It meant having to rise early and be prepared.  Which could of been on her mind and prevented her from sleeping as soundly.  I asked if she knew what time she woke up, but Sparkles told me it was an all night kind of restlessness.  I woke up at 3 a.m., I know because I checked my alarm and wondered when I woke up whether I still had more time to sleep until 6 a.m., there was plenty but again I felt cheated of sleep on the second wakening.  So this is the second factor which has played a role.  A role in orientation.

Now as the day finishes, I hang up my gun slinger's belt, take off my spurs and at last can relax.  Sparkling is making soup, lentil, she says it relaxes her, and Rock will be given a portion.  Rock is pregnant and has the boke, but may find the soup does the trick.  It's like ginger nut biscuits which apparently are also a good thing to eat if you're pregnant and tending to heave an at the slightest thing.  It's Wednesday today and shortly it will be Thursday, all is well, this ship is sailing through a mist, a fuzzy mist, but the gentle glow of a light, and an intermittent bell ring tells me.  All is well, all is clear, tomorrow is another day and will not need to be caught up with.  Not yet anyway.

Blistered feet scream...and noise

My feet are taking a right bashing at the moment.  It began when I put on a new pair of boots which had been kept in their box for about a year.  There was a little rubbing on a heal.  I thought nothing of it at first, it was just a little irritation, however the more footsteps taken the more accumulated this rubbing had become.  The pain didn't come straight away, not while the boots were being worn, it happened afterwards.  A few hours into my normal shoes and I realised my right heal hurt, like it was being pinched.  Later in the day when I took those shoes off to put the same boots on I noticed blood through the sock.  They had rubbed too much.  Now my heal will be in pain whenever I wear anything on this foot.  Saturday I didn't go anywhere and vegged out.  Today I went for a Sunday walk and thought I'd put on my old boots, ones which are well and truly worn in.  Just to imagine I was on the brink of throwing them away.  I had previously taken out a pair of leather innner-soles and put them in the new boots.  Today I then walked for just over two hours.  I got home took my boots off and now have at least three very large blisters on the soles.  It's been like walking on glass, pretty painful. So now its a matter of putting up with self inflicted pain and where the hell are the plasters?  Feet, the one thing you can not live without.  They are used every day and if you abuse them they shout out loud like a small child who has just had it's ice cream nicked on a hot sunny day.  High pitched and screaming, which is exactly what these feet are doing now.  But just to think in a week's time they will be so touch I'll be able to break bricks with them like a karate expert.  If not at least walk a few hours and not get more blisters.

During the walk I stopped off at a supermarket where there was a coffee house franchise.  I sat inside and drank an Americano listening to the radio on my phone.  For some reason supermarkets are noisy places.  But it's not just supermarkets, it's any building where there is a lack of soft furnishings.  Any place which does not account for the human hear, how important it is to have peace.  It could be old age but noise has a great effect on me nowadays. I have difficulty in hearing what people say when they do not speak loud enough in a noisy place.  I get distracted by external noise when trying to concentrate.  Work can not be done in an environment where there is too much noise, especially when the work is cognitive, it seems employers do not understand this.  Large buildings are put up, they resemble aircraft hangers or multi-story car parks, vast big and with hard surfaces which reflect sound.  Walking into a room with no furnishing and sound echoes, it has no where to be absorbed, it is the worst place to be.  Like my screaming feet walls scream loudly as well.  Poor human beings are soft things, we then are left to absorb the noise.  Right through the ear canal and straight into the brain.  Sometimes i wonder if it would be an advantage to suffer from a little bit of deafness.  Were I able to turn down a hearing aid and not be confused by the sounds around me then I'd be able to really concentrate.  I got tinnitus now but this doesn't help when in conjunction with migraines.  So my feet scream the walls scream and my brain screams as well.  One day my head will explode with it all.  I just will not be able to take it in.  It'll be like an exploding mellon as it's hit by a dum-dum bullet.  Brains spattered all over the place.  The good side will be at least my feet will stop hurting.  Memo to self, if brain explodes make sure it is while out on a long Sunday walk.

I expect all this screaming is part of the modern age, it's one of those things which is unavoidable.  Like seeing people on trains constantly doing things, playing with their mobile phones, reading tablets.  Not much quite brain stuff goes on.  There just too many things happening and too many demands.  I wonder if in the future the brain will adapt and change to these constant demands put on it.  It can't all be left to just falling asleep.  A moment of quite each day is like an elastic band going from stretched to relaxed.  At the moment my feet are up resting, and will probably be resting as much as possible with these blisters.  The same should go for seeking a non noisy place.  A place where no thinking and no noise can distract.  Which doesn't mean waiting for a head explosion.  Where are those plasters?  And what is the biggest one there look like?

Falling off the wagon into a portion of chips...

Last night I fell of the wagon.  Yep.  Went to the pub had two pints, felt pissed but happy.  Then went to the chip shop for a portion of chips, the price £1.40 cheaper than in Scotland.  I asked for a squirt of ketchup, which cost nothing and in some places they charge for a small sachet.  Then I found myself asking the young man how he was, I was so mellowed out.  I found he worked a 12 hour day 6 days a week.  I'm sure he is only getting minimum pay as well.  He's not an English young man.  Which is not to mean young English men would not work such hours, this is just an observation.  Possibly an observation of the relative value and understanding of money.  Hard to get, easy to spend, this is my own very saying and I've not heard anyone else say it, unless they know me and they haven't so it might not be catching on.  Well, maybe after writing it here the world will know, but I'm sure they'll not attribute it to something they read.  When things are remembered and it can't be recalled where they come from this is called cryptomnesia. So last night it was as if I didn't know where my appetite had come from, it was there and it needed to satisfied.  So it was chips, drunken message phone calls left on answer phones, home, an Eccles cake, and half a packet of shortbread biscuits.  Damn.  All those fermentable carbs are now having their effect on me.  I had been reasonably good all week as well.  Oh, and I forgot to mention text messages sent to Sparkling.  Who would of realised I was merry, because I'd mentioned popping into the pub for a couple.  She's used to it now.  At least I ring people up who know me or either know to ignore my call on a Friday night.  Sometimes they do entertain a conversation and keep my company when I get on the train.  Full of dour faced commuters.  When you're happy and are met by a bunch of sad looking stressed people they are not open to funny or happy discussions.  They should drink more often, and eat chips.  The best cure in the world.  You can quote me on it as well.  Don't over drink, just a little to feel happy.

I've now discovered a piece of software which plays music for free.  Except for the intermittent advert being played after every two or three songs.  It's called Spotisfy.  I thought I'd get round the adverts by turning down the volume on the Spotisfy control, but this didn't work.  The advert just paused.  Bloody thing, however it could not avoid the more direct root of reducing the volume on the headphones.  Tough on the advertisers, shame, I'll cry in my sleep for them, not.  There are so many ad blockers, cookie stoppers, pop up killers and virus hunting things about nowadays they do a pretty good job of keeping the nasties away.  But even with these can't get away from the simple, manual off button.  Followed by a IT user who has a obstinate, persistent attitude.  Which is something gotten at the drop of a hat nowadays.  If only I could drop the had of desire to scoff my face as quickly as getting annoyed at IT things.  I don't know what it is, but I get this odd phase, where listening to music is the only thing which cures it.  Not old music either.  The hunger is for the most up to date music around.  Pop music, the top 40, the best selling albums.  When this happens I'm hunting down internet radio sites, Youtube any source at all to satisfy the chip-like hunger.  Unlike chips this desire lasts longer, in the region of an hour or two.  If only it was possible to remember every artists name and song after just one listening.  Unlike having to work off the fat from too many chips which takes a bit longer than it does eating them.  Reminder, look for an MP3 and radio thingy.

The hundreds of daily views from persons in the Netherlands has now stopped.  It's a shame because I had considered taking up language lessons.  In exchange there's been a slight increase in views from Spain.  You'll not find any Paella recipies here Spanish persons, just chit chat about chips.  Not fish and chips either, fish is expensive.  Only on the odd occasion does the fish get a look in.  Fish in batter, which must be a purely completely British invention, well I think so.  Totally unhealthy so it has to be.  A little like the deep fried Mars bar, fortunately there were none of them in the chip shop.  OK here comes another advert, I've had enough of listening now, better go and exercise off some of those chips.  Hell, the good things are always bad for you, as Sparkling once said to me, on this occasion she didn't call me fat boy but could of.

Day two of a healthy lifestyle and an old picture

Well it's been day 2 of a healthier life style, which has consisted of not eating as much as I would normally and then going to the supermarket to by lots of salad stuff.  The salad isn't going to last long because I've already eaten half of it.  It takes a lot of salad to feel full up, and it takes a long time of preparation.  Especially if you include the shopping for it in the first place.  Overall though, it's not been too bad.  Lunch consisted of a sandwich and a cup of coffee.  Prior to this breakfast consisted of one piece of toast.  I think I have got to learn to eat slower.  To savour food, because there's not much of it when you're dieting.  Exercise has not been on today's agenda.  Perhaps it's a matter of getting up early in the morning and taking a quick walk or run before delightful breakfast.  I could eat some more salad with my toast tomorrow, maybe it'll make all the difference.  If I'm exercising tomorrow then I also have to go to bed early to get up early.  Healthy life is hard work, it will be killing me.

It is surprising how deprivation of a big lunch time meal can effect the mind.  For after finishing work I nearly didn't go to the supermarket.  I saw the chip shop in the square and a thought flashed in my mind.  A temptational thought, to go and buy a portion and a pie.  I resisted, quickly turning and walking off in another direction.  I could consider making my own sandwiches tomorrow.  Thing is the carbs again.  It's the bread.  It makes me wonder what working class people used to do when there was not such a large supply of carbs.  Unless of course they were the main food source.  But in those olden days people were not fat, there was not a plentiful supply of food.  Food was a scarce thing, and even eating one meal a day considered good.  Hadn't they died of all kinds of diseases those people of them olden days would of lived a lot long than the fat people of today do.

I have a post card of a young girl from the 19th century.  I saw the original photograph at the National Portrait Gallery in London and just fell in love with it.  It's been pinned to a wall for years.  Here she is on the right.  The photo would of been taken with a plate camera. It is of Adelaide Passingham by Evelyn Myers and is a sepia platinotype.  The quality of these old black and white pictures is unbelievable.  Nothing colour wise can ever match up to them.  Not even today.  There are two reasons, firstly the range of tones in the print are richer as platinum is used rather than silver, the second is biological.  Light receptor cells in the human eye are outnumbered phenomenally by those which see black and white.  It's thought platinum pictures of this type can last thousands of years.  So Adelaide will be around a lot longer than most of us.  These pictures show how colour is really no more than a second thought no matter the general belief. This was taken in 1889, so Adelaidie, it would of been nice had the photographer asked Adelaide to open her eyes, head tilted and glance toward the camera. The down caste head posture although enticing gives Adelaide a simultaneous sultry and downtrodden appearance.  I wonder if her hair was full of mites, it's a tangled mess and no self respecting woman nowadays would allow her hair to look like this. Adelaide, is relatively clean looking but at this turn of the century who can say.  Historically, working class people washing and their personal hygiene may have been in doubt. There will be few pictures of this type ever done again.  Simply because of the cost.  Platinum was cheap when the Platinotype Company first produced the paper, but over a period of twenty odd years, the price increased 52 times.  So it was abandoned and other cheaper chemical methods used such as the palladiotype.  Whatever, this picture is certainly going to be around for a long time.

I do like the photo, even by today's standards it his a high quality image.  I also bet Adelaide never got fat as obesity was a rarity in them olden days.

Things to think about when living healthier

Today I half re-started a healthier life style, only one piece of toast for breakfast, only one plate full at the eat-as-much-as-you-like Chinese, and only one nectarine for supper.  This evening I have walked for one hour, I've weighed myself as well.  It isn't a good weight and just confirms what is already known, I'm fat.  It no doubt will take a long time to lose weight and there is a lot of effort which is going to be needed.  Maintenance decisions.  Like making my own lunch rather than buying from cafés. This all takes time, time to hit the supermarket, time to then chop up, combine, flavour and box up foodstuff.  Inconvenience of then carrying said foodstuff with me and storing it until lunch.  I thought about this while at lunch and wondered whether it was actually better to go without eating anything.  Have a coffee, then in the evening make something when at home.  The problem is, the longer you go without food, when it does come to eating you're more likely to gorge yourself.  Well I am, plus drinking alcohol tends to make me want to eat chips, so I've not been to the pub or eaten chips either.  So for one day, I have been relatively sensible.  Except losing weight takes a lot of time and a lot of effort and has to be persevered over months.  Just as we are coming into Chrimbo and the time of gluttony.  I can't think of a more perfect reason to be dieting and a more perfect trying period.

I've just tried to work out many calories a walk for one hour burns up.  Apparently this is related to the speed of the walk and how much you weigh.  For me it works out at about 5 calories a minute, and there I was thinking it to be in the region of 8 calories per minute.  Way less than estimated, no wonder it takes so bloody long to lose weight.  There is no doubt about it, I'm going to have to consider reducing food portion sizes as well.  I saw a TV program which announced we do not have to eat the size portions we do.  It's not necessary at all.  Whether I like my food or not, but I do, this is an important factor.  To be serious in this life choice I'm going to have to change my name to Rabbit Man, and eat lots of green vegetable things.  Then I wonder, if this is day one, how are the successive days going to pass.  The other thing I found out was for every ten years a person ages their metabolism slows down by 5 percent.  This is not a helpful factor in weight loss and old age.  If my metabolism slows down any further I'll be in suspended animation. But, I've heard green tea is good to increase metabolism, so have drank about 3 cups of it today.

The problem is, there are just too many temptations around me as well.  I have to put things out of sight, like biscuits.  For it's as though there is some automatic must each mechanism my body runs by.  Without realising it I can tuck into a few biscuits and dunk them in a cup of tea very easily.  Even if a second on the lips is an inch on the hips, it's this automatic response I have to be conscious of.  It has to be made non automatic.  Or should I be saying, hide from sight or you'll never fit in those tights.  I could go for this saying were I a Shakespearian actor, but I'm not.  So it will have to be some other more apt ditty.

Lastly, I could use the scare tactic like the government does on cartons of cigarettes.  You know the ones "smoking kills" and "smoking harms unborn babies."  The reality is putting weight on will lead to an early death, live healthy and live longer.  Feel better and then get to see more of the people you love, the young ones as they to grow up in the world.  This is a compelling thought.  OK Rabbit Man tomorrow, don't forget to purchase some celery!  Will do fat boy.

Death by food

This morning in an effort to reduce my carbs intake, I had fish for breakfast.  No toast, when bread stuffs are a normal staple this was an effort, but afterwards I felt better, I'd eaten pretty healthily.  I then had it in mind I would later hit a supermarket and get a salad for lunch, today was to be the day when things changed.  After doing two and a half hours of gardening so as to burn up calories I was on track.  Big moma had told me we were expecting visitors for lunch as well.  She was cooking a large chicken and lots of carbs.  Roast tatties, tatties, Yorkshire puds.  But something told me to stay at home and not go to the supermarket.  So I did.  Our visitors did not turn up, Big Moma had got her wires mixed up and it meant the additional three extra meals on the table were not going to be eaten.  If I had bothered to get a salad then there she would of had six dinners all to herself.  So there was no choice but to get stuck in.  To eat as much as possible, because food is expensive and can not be wasted, even though most of it was.  The start day of my diet was over, I feel demoralised as though everybody doesn't give a shit any more and I am going to get fatter and fatter and there is nothing I can do about it.  It's easy to say you have a choice not to eat, but do you?  Big moma had spent hours cooking that dinner.  There wasn't really a choice at all.  Packets of crisps littered the sideboard.

So when it comes to dieting it's not an easy thing to do.  When it comes to trying to live a healthy life, again it is not an easy thing to do.  There is temptation purposely put in the way, there is obligation to stuff your face put so close to you that to go against it is sacrilege.  No wonder the West is getting fatter and fatter.  No wonder I am getting fatter and fatter.  No matter what exercise you do, eating as much as this isn't going to burn off the calories, definitely not in this century.  I sat and did an hour of typing this morning, but hell how many calories are burn in an hour sitting on your arse pushing keys?  Not enough, that's for sure.

I relayed to Sparkling the awful day of not fasting.  She listened and laughed.  I'm on a no brainer to a place six feet under or a clay pot and weighing so little a small child could lift me up.  I want to cry over it.  I've had enough of it but can't stop myself at the same time.  It is like I have now become a complete prisoner to the habit of eating junk food.  Every little step I take to be good and healthy is hit back by a big giant step to being fat and unhealthy.  Trapped, no where to go, no guidance, no support, stuck in a rut.  A unhealthy food rut.  With no one understanding the consequences of shit food and over indulgence.  If I kick the bucket next week don't say I didn't warn the world.  For I have.  Only remember me.  Sit down at a table and have a great big jacket (carb ridden) potato then say cheers Crazy, I knew him well.

Stress at work...it's all about crap

Stress in the work place is an awful thing.  Dealing with it is about realising there is nothing which can be done about the amount of crap hitting the fan.  It will just keep hitting the fan.  Wearing a helmet may help, ducking under a desk, speaking to a colleague and having a good bitch, getting hypertension, running to the toilet (the only place there is for peace quiet) for a five minute break; working all the hours under the sun, escaping on holiday and then coming back to an even bigger pile of steaming crap which is screaming out for urgent, immediate, deliberate, dependency of attention are all things to think about.  Ultimately it doesn't change the situation.  It will continues to be like this, feeling unable to cope because of too many environmental demands doesn't help or change the situation.  Stuff will inevitably not be dealt with but can be guaranteed to rise like crap to the surface. 

Then there are the people, in particular two groups.  Those who look up to their boss for guidance but to the point they are so needy they are more like little children than they are adults.  Always wanting a bit of attention or help on a problem for which they should be able to work the answer out.  They've done the job for years and get paid a handsome salary, yet don't appreciate these salient important features.  The unemployed figures are exceedingly high, it's an employers market something else they don't take into account, just as their abilities most certainly should be.  The second group are those above.  The ones who make the big decisions and get paid the big bucks.  They have expectations of how things would run but don't want to get engaged in the finer details, along the lines of snapping fingers and expecting high jumps.  There is between these two groups a massive disparity of reality.  Being stuck in the middle is like Bob Dylan's song, with cowboys to the left and Indians to the right.  If you are stuck in the middle expect your hat to have multiple arrows and bullet holes in it.  Trying to talk of reason to either group about the expectations is like backing a snail in a horse raise, with little chance of it every making the finishing line let alone winning.  The situation will not change no matter what happens.  Cowboys will always want to shoot their guns and Indians ride bare back and shoot arrows.

It's a matter of accepting your own limitations, and fobbing the rest of them off in a diplomatic way.  The working like a slave bit just doesn't seem to change the situation.  More than anything else it is about understanding your own stress and your own stress reactions.  Then knowing how to handle them, how to change behaviours and recognise how to prevent the stress habit from sinking you lower than a world war two sub just hit by a depth charge.  There's a line from a poem called Desiderata it is:

 "Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself"

This can be taken in many ways, gentle with emotions, thoughts and importantly feelings.  Such as the feeling of being unable to cope.  The most difficult thing in the world though is to act on this ideal.  Not to take on the opposite view, e.g. you are able to cope but rather accept, you will do your best and if there is just too much crap; accept you can not cope but why the hell should you let it harm yourself?  It's also about expectations, your own and other people's, even if they demand you do things all the time and there are only so many demands which can be met.  Time for human beings is finite.  Sometimes it is not even about doing the most urgent pressing things, sometimes it is about giving some of that precious time to the not so urgent or pressing things but are important to other human beings. 

It's about looking outside of the moment you are in.  Outside of the moment which has become a critical stress crap situation, as these don't last forever.  In the middle of my day I like to speak to Sparkling, she is like a rudder and steers me back to the important things in life.  Which are usually her and Rock Chick.  So thinking about family, and outside of the current situation can bring it to insignificance.  Coping is about looking after yourself, changing bad habits, such as eating junk and waiting for a heart attack, it includes exercise, time for self meditation, esoteric and aesthetic things.  Listening to music you love and crying with happiness at a fond memory from and old photograph.  These are things I have to personally take on a lot more and so hope I can for the sake of my own being.  

With a little luck this two day headache will shortly lift.  Even a headache goes away, eventually.

A Disconcerting Day

There have been a number of items I have found disconcerting today, because they just have without or with good reason.  Firstly in speaking very briefly to Sparkling she advised me how a task I failed to do had actually been done by Dangerous Sports Lad.  It was taking down a blind.  I wasn't sure at the time how much muscle I should use to get the thing down and advised Sparkling.  I was careful because I didn't want to break it, then if I did break it I would be responsible for replacing the thing.  In desperation I sort advice from Sparkling at the time, but of course this was just as good as making a cup of tea in a chocolate tea cup.  It's not because Sparkling's advise was unhelpful but more likely due to an inability to follow vague instruction and being a man.  Then another realisation come about me while I was speaking to Sparkling, for she had her speaker phone on and the conversation was then overheard by both Dangerous and Rock Chick.  I pang of minor embarrassment and stupidity was consequently magnified.
 
It probably all relates to the old chestnut of men thinking differently and seeing things in a different way than a woman.  Especially when it comes to DIY, this is a field usually left to men to supremely fail in, quite simply women don't engage in DIY and so they don't fail, but they do expect their men to do it.  The ability to do anything DIY related puts a man in his right place on the food chain.  Even if they haven't been born with a screwdriver in their hand men should know how to repair a hoover, fridge, dishwasher and car just by using a single cross thread screwdriver and nothing else.  As mentioned.  Our brains just work differently.  Except on this occasion Dangerous was able to succeed where I failed.  So he gets a brownie point and I get egg on my face.  Of course it also means this man is not so manly as well and is an affront to masculinity.  Hell, I'll put on on the stilettos and start checking out handbags next.  So quite reasonably this was disconcerting.

While at the Fish Factory I had to attend a training course on the new weights and measures health and safety Act introduced by the present esteemed government who lack more ideas and ability than many of the earlier governments we've ever had.  The bottom line has dawned, the UK will become a very difficult place for all the fish.  It will become impossible.  The new procedures of these Acts will ensure rioting in the streets.  Many ordinary human beings who live here will find extreme fish poverty will take place.  The other repercussions were along the lines of losing my job which has taken twenty years to get.  Not long then.  But with promotion which only takes place after someone dies it really is no wonder.  People are never given careers in relation to their ability, it's more down to endurance.  in fact the word career is a misnomer and should be replaced with something more apt.  Of which I can not think of at this moment.  Yes, disconcerting item number two.

Lastly my third disconcerting item is to do with the number of hits I have received on this blog.  Yesterday it was 190 and today it has so far been 238.  It is as though a relatively unknown, not very popular blog has become known.  Known by somebody.  So I am wondering if it is a blog stalker.  Who hasn't told me about it.  There have been no comments left at all.  As far as I know they could be stealing everything I have written, this is because the page views indicate it is someone, or persons in the Netherlands who has this curiosity to read my dribble.  They could be translating the page through their browser or improving their English.  Providing they don't steal my words it's OK.  Request a commission for an article and I'll give it a bash.  All currency accepted.  If on the other hand it is some lost granny who is trying to use the internet for the first time, then I'd say keep trying love, because this is not the knitting section and it's may not translate very well either.  I will now console myself on these disconcerting events and try to get a good night's sleep.  Probably with one eye open.

Leave a comment whoever you are, at least I wont feel so lonely, and in English.  Thanks.

Return the Chicken....it's foul

When I first landed in Sparkling's door we caught up on the events we had each been through since my last visit.  This is a common thing.  Followed by wine for Sparkling and beers for me.  Then it is usually into food.  We both love food, which is to blame for my increasing waist line, and the fact I barely exercise nowadays.  As we chatted away Rock Chick turned up and it was wonderful to see her again so early.  I let it known since I'd been on the train I hadn't eaten much, just a chocolate bar and a coffee over the last 7 hours.  So was looking forward to food.  I was half way through my first beer and feeling quite happy when Sparkling battered her eyes at me and asked me to do her a favour.  Being I was so happy to see Sparkling I was completely amenable to doing anything for her.  Which is natural.  I don't mind doing most things for Sparkling, but I have to be aware for sometimes a request from Sparkling can have consequences, those are for me, but provide enormous entertainment for her.  I am as it were, a walking entertainment centre when there is little else about to entertain. 

So it was, Sparkling went into a short conversation of how she had bought some chicken portions from the local supermarket  then, when she had opened part of the packaging on one of them, an awful waft, came from it.  It was clearly off even though it was still in date and it should not of been off.  I asked why she didn't take it back to the shop and Sparkling said she had rang up the supermarket and they had requested instead she provide them with details of the receipt.  There were numbers on it.  She could then claim a refund from them and they would probably give her extra because selling foul smelling foul is not a thing any self respecting supermarket wants to be known for.  I listened to Sparkling and it was then she said the receipt was still in the bag.  The plastic carrier bag and chicken portions were sitting on the patio.  She asked if I would open up the back and then call out the numbers on the receipt to her.  She did not want the actual piece of paper because it would probably be stinky as well.  I asked the stupid question, "do you know what gone off chicken smells like?" Followed by "Of all the things which make me want to heave, gone off chicken does it."  There was no thought in my mind over this little favour, other than it had been asked of me and I'd do my best to help.

So I opened the back door, and there sitting lonely on the patio was a plastic carrier bag.  It looked kind of swollen up.  With the back door open, Sparkling and Rock Chick watched me.  I knelt down and looked at the bag and then took a deep breath, this was not going to be pleasant.  A knot had been tied in the top of the bad with the handles. The first difficulty was to undo this knot.  Precious time passed by while I was eating away into my lungs full of air.  I managed to open it up and then could see the chicken pieces, there was also a couple of large blue bottles.  One was stuck to the meat dead.  I couldn't see a receipt anywhere and looked up to Sparkling at which I asked "where's the receipt?" What a big mistake.  For after muttering those words I had let out the remaining air supply and had to take another breath.  But the breath I took was engulfing putrid smelling chicken.  Like smelling salts there was an instantaneous reaction as I heaved.  Yet as I'd had little to eat nothing was spewed.  My eyes welled up and tears began to roll down my cheeks, I screwed up my nose as though to create some kind of nasal barrier.   I gagged again.  Sparkling looked at me and laughed but insisted the receipt was there.  I moved the packaging to one side and saw the receipt.  "Yes I found it."  Sparkles asked

"Read out the receipt number, the till number and the date for me." 

"How long has this been in the garden?" was followed by another heave and gag, hell, how was I going to get through reading the printed paper I thought.  Rock Chick was behind Sparkling and with both laughter and empathy saw what I was going through. 

"About a week" she replied.  In both surprise and disgust now I had to find the information Sparkling wanted.  I must admit to one thing, when I found the right part of the receipt with the number on it, I suddenly realised how bloody long some till receipt numbers are.  This must of had about 15 digits in all.  I read out carefully and clearly about 7, gagged, took another breath and tried not to breath in through my nose.  If there was a time for having a heavy cold this was it.  I read out a few more numbers and then finished.  After which Sparkling said.

"Read them out again, I just need to be sure I have written them down properly."  There was no room to delay a reply are indeed contemplate whether I would read them out again.  I just thought, get on with it and get the bloody thing over with.  So I went through the digits again and Sparkles checked and read them out with me as she'd written them down with a pen.  Immediately finished, I rapidly tied the bag up and took the chicken to the dustbin.  After which Sparkling said.  "Oh, I'm not sure I've got them all."

"Yes you bloody have, I'll give you the money for the chicken there's no way I'm doing that again."

It was later revealed to me by Rock Chick, how Sparkling had purposefully put the bag out into the garden and was going to ask me to do this task.  Rock Chick had been asked to come up to the house so she could be part of the audience.  Rock thought I was hard core because I'd not used gloves or anything.  I indicated there was unlikely to be any rubber gloves in the house anyway.  The entire chicken incident had been a convenient set up, Sparkling was certainly going to claim a refund but, she thought it best to let Fat Boy do it because it would be more fun. 

Next time I mess with a foul chicken it will be in a chemical warfare suit and industrial gas mask.  And what did we have for dinner? Bloody chicken.

International Peace Day...A table cloth, and taking the piss

Sparkling had an idea, she read in the paper there was going to be a peace rally down at the square.  It would start at 6 p.m., she said to me "it's been a long time since I been on a demo.  I need to get the fire back in my belly."  She was referring to her adventures with the Scottish Socialists party, which is all but disbanded now.  She had the memories of a G7 summit and demonstrating at Carnoustie, of low flying helicopters and running through fields.  Of walking arm in arm with her comrades for world peace and chants of "stop the war!" then of running away from over zealous policing.  So, it was, we were going to the world peace rally in the square.  To see if Sparkling's first for excitement and fire was going to be reignited again.  By virtue of being here at this time I was going as well.  The schedule was simple, do the world peace rally then head over to see Rock Chick who is presently suffering from, morning, lunch time and afternoon pregnant-woman-sickness.  Poor thing.  Peace and a pregnant woman all in one evening.

It had been raining.  Sparkling could sense, I was tagging along for the experience, personally I had my own preconceptions of what it would be like.  I was open to some feisty, crowd gathering and shouting at government.  Something to really rile my spirit, something of a real demo, anything less than this would be disappointing. But it had been raining and perhaps rain dictates enthusiasm, or rather the lack of enthusiasm in crowds.  Rather not crowds but groups of like minded peaceful individuals.  We arrived and it was ten minutes to six.  In the square there were two hire vans parked.  I could see speakers on stands so somewhere in front there was likely to be a microphone.  The one thing lacking at this moment was the crowd.  There were two women and a man there but the speakers.  One woman could of been an early version of Janet Street-Porter, with teeth which conjured up an image of Goofy's lesser known sister.

Each took a hold of the microphone in turn, they encourage the last shoppers to come up and be part of International Peace Day.  Except the balding man in his thirties wasn't English, he might of been Norwegian or German pronounced it as International Piss Day.  It was taking the piss, the piss out of all of us.  Puddles around us and a slight autumnal chill was taking hold.  I was told we were beautiful people.  Hmmm, I was not happy of being told everybody was beautiful because not everybody is beautiful.  Some people just lacking this attribute.  About ten minutes after six, a piper sounded as he walked through the town, some yards behind him was a group of people, right in the middle was a man who thought he was a Buddha look alike.  The yellow table cloth wrapped round his shoulders had just been unfolded.  I could tell because there were tell-tale square folds.  His eyes were not oriental either.  OK this is Scotland, they couldn't afford the original some it was some bloke from the pub who had read a book and was suffering from Buddha delusion or should of been taking sessions with a psychiatrist.

We stood there, Sparking hummed along to a Buddhist meditation prayer.  I texted Rock Chick and said I needed medication not meditation.  She advised I just leave, my response was if I left Sparkling would kill me.  All in the name of peace, no I mean piss.  To take the biscuit there was a Japanese man who advocated the structure of water could be changed just by thinking about it.  Bloody ell, I thought, what sort of planet was this man from.  No one in their right mind could surely consider that thinking about water could change its structure.  This had now become farcical.  A travesty of what International Peace should be about.  Piss.  My goat was getting up, it would of been bad to have heckled such people who thought we were all beautiful.  I bit my tongue, I so wanted to should out "so that's why it's stopped raining, coz you thought about it."  It didn't take too long until Sparkling had considered she'd done enough. Her sentiment was that we had been here, it was the taking part which mattered.

It was a relief to get in the car and head towards Rock's pad.  Enjoyable if you had an orange robe and a fetish for bald men.  I respect them but on this occasion the table cloth should of been left on the table folded up from where it had come.  There at least it could collect coffee stains and bread crumbs.  This is blooming Scotland mate, don't they understand; Peace should take a back seat to taking the piss out of someone who nancies about wearing a table cloth.  This is the land of the hot blooded, where patriotism is dancing in unison to Flower of Scotland or the Proclaimers song, I will walk ten thousand miles.  Peace is about being in your face and then screaming your head off to get to an amicable disagreement.  Peace, heck, I'd had the piss taken out of me for sure. 

Get the Ice Cream vendor...in the open

This morning i had my usual Sunday walk, it was a little less time than last week's four hours, one and a half hours to be precise.  I roamed some shops, picked up a few bits and pieces and headed home.  After lunch coming over a little tired I decided to have forty winks.  I see this as a privilege of age.  Also its probably linked to the amount of Batternburg cake I ate, a big sin.  I read somewhere when people do exercise they subconsciously give themselves a licence to eat junk.  Well I'd say it's true.  As I lay there counting sheep outside a diesel van pulled up.  Suddenly and loudly blasted out "Popeye the Sailor Man" in a bell like jingle.  It was an ice cream vendor, probably catching the beautiful weather and a few more sales in before autumn and winter kick in.  After which his van will be locked in the garage for 6 months.  Unless he has some dual use van and serves burgers on the side.  Funny how kids will eat ice cream no matter what the weather is like or the prospect of pneumonia.  So bloody Popeye jingled away and I woke up startled, wondering what the hell was going on.  The first impulse was to kill the ice cream vendor and go back to sleep. The jingle didn't seem to stop.  Eventually, after a while the van drove off.  It's the distinctive diesel engine, pumping out those "p" particles as all diesel engines do.  So small they have been found to be more damaging to the environment and humans than petrol once was.  There was a moments silence as the vendor was no longer parked in our street, until it happened again.  In another road, not so far away.  Someone and the Ministry of Defence (MOD) could easily market guided ice cream vendor missiles, get two for the price of one.  They'd make a fortune from disgruntled afternoon sleepers.

It's funny how fast the day has gone.  Up late, breakfast, a walk back home, sleep, interruption, up again and then followed by some home work, which I'll not get paid for.  Hell the Fish Factory has become worse than it has ever been. Maybe I should become an Ice Cream vendor.  Maybe the man in the diesel van did work at the Fish Factory.  Bastard, he got out of it.  Escaped to a life of legitimate crime, robbing small children of their teeth by long term tooth decay.  The Fish business stinks.  It stinks of not enough fishes to run the business, no wage increases, over working and pressure.  Last year I thought I was stressed, this year I realise last year was a walk in the park. All inside a brand new building, more like an open-planned car park than an open planned office.  All they need is a ramp and the Ice Cream vendor will be able to drive up and hand out 99s or oysters for our mid morning snack rather than a cup of tea and a biscuit. With the many windows around it you could also argue it makes a good Fish bowl. If there's one thing I have now appreciated it's the normal office.  With the advent of open plan offices actually doing work has become a premium.  It just doesn't get done as well.  Too much noise, too many distractions, loud voiced neighbours who you don't know but would like to throw out a window, whiffs of pungent perfumes which bring on asthma attacks, noise again, in fact so much noise you can't think, no self respecting knowledge worker can think in such a place.  As for privacy, like making the phone call to a colleague you know is going to be difficult, becomes so much more difficult.  The open planned office has become a regressive step and there is no stopping it.  Except for Popeye the ice cream vendor, he might have the power to stop it, quite openly even.  It's odd how the people who hold purse strings will say they have saved so much money by going open planned, but then after various studies begin to show there is lower productivity they are on the back foot making justifications for less work being done.  The loss of orders, unless you sell ice cream.

I used to love the beginning credits of Popeye, it was one of those animations which marks growing up through childhood.  Then I became and adult and now appreciate the sound of silence and time to think.  It's about space for the mind.  Where the mind runs, jumps and dances in cognitive aptitude.  The ice cream vendor has gone for now, just so he can appear the next time I lay my head down in the afternoon.  Between now and then there is a lot of time Popeye.  A lot of time to think.  Be afraid, be very afraid, the MOD is just a phone call away and I've got an idea which could help pull the country out of recession, we'd sell it to the rest of Europe.  How to be rid of noisy ice cream vendors in one simple click of a button.

Take a dose of laughing medicine...

Things have been getting me down at the Fish Factory. I don't know whether I am going to go mental and kill one of the bigger fishes.  Do it in a hideous way, like a thousand stink bombs crushed and thrown in the elevator just as they get in.  Then it stops and is stuck between floors with no fecking escape.  Oh what a fecking just deserves it would be.  Of course I'd then hand out chemical masks to the cleaners, as for the Fire Brigade they usually carry their own breathing apparatus.  In fact it would be sacrilege just to stop at one of the big fish, it would be best to catch a whole lot of them.  Just say the tea trolley has broken down and they are giving away free cakes but only to the top brass.  Yep, in for a pound in for a penny.  Saying some people couldn't organize a piss up in a brewery can even appear a compliment. 

I feel so much better after checking out comics on youtube.  I just come across this American satirist called George Carlin.  He was a short moany old git, but feck he is funny.  His specialism was taking the piss out of American society and life.  In the UK we have men like this, they are just called grumpy old men, and they don't get paid a fortune for standing on stage an hour mouthing off the groans.  They are considered as moaners.  George Carlin goes out on a stage, strings out a few more words than usual, and quite eloquently with a generous splattering of profundity, gets an entire audience laughing.  As I watched him though I could tell he worked hard at this shit.  There was a lot of thought gone into saying what he said.  The audience laugh because his satire is true.  It's things which everybody thinks in the back of their mind but dare not say.  Like Colin Powell actually being white.  Carlin passed away it was in 2008, but he's the kind of person who would argue at the gates of hell (if it existed) the heating wasn't hot enough.  To say the least.  Then he'd argue what the hell was a non existent concept existing at all.  For he is open in announcing there is no contest with religion being the biggest load of bull-shit there is, full of false promises and exaggerated claims. Carling comes across with attitude, it's wonderful to watch and I can't help thinking part of it could be down to his inherent short many syndrome, which every short man has.  I know I do.  Watching him has made me laugh and I know this is fecking great medicine when life is so fecking stressful.

I think I'll take a joke book with me when I hit the Fish Factory tomorrow and wear a t-shirt which says "I don't give a flying feck, now piss off."  It might turn a few heads, but who gives a shit?  Tell it to the hand coz the ears are closed.

A Birthday and some feisty forces

It's my birthday today, and I have opened up two cards.  Another year has passed and it is odd how opening up a card can incur sentiment, it just does.  Unfortunately today I am not in the company of Sparkling and for about 15 years every birthday has usually been greeted by her.  He big hug is wonderful, but I will be going to see her next week and I know she will give me a hug then.  How much I love her can not be defined because there is no scale for it. It is good to wake up and be thinking about someone and during the day there will be thoughts of Sparkling.  So I really do look forward to next week.

Rock Chick is pregnant.  She says it feels different than before, already she has been put on lighter duties at work.  I would think Dangerous Sports Lad will shortly have to acclimatise to  his responsibilities as a father and provider.  Another is to not spend all night playing on a games consul.  I know they will get through their differences and tiffs, because they love each other very much. If Dangerous doesn't pull his socks up; Rock she will kick his arse around the flat (apartment) until he does.  Rock likes to be in control of things, and he'll have little in the way of alternatives.  I'm sure he has felt the wrath of Rock but the emotions of a pregnant woman run higher than a non pregnant one.  Further, there is the spectre of being on Sparkling's dark side.  Sparkling is a very feisty woman, and her passions as a mother to protect Rock Chick and kick Dangerous up the arse are highly versatile. She expressed these to me on the phone and as I listened my phone grew hot in my hand.  It was either this or the bad night's sleep she got.  He doesn't know it but there is a great force in movement, a force even Star Wars would be wary of encountering and Darth Vader would avoid.

So today my intentions are to take things easy.  I'm going into the Fish Factory later than usual and the annoyances I have with other persons will be held in controlled abeyance.  Until my very own passionate force has it's chance to kick some arse. There's obviously a common thread here.

As the saying goes, may the force be with you.

Waiting for winter

There I am sitting down catching up on a move from the BBC web site and during the film two actors are outside talking.  I can see their breath.  It's a clear sign of the cold air and at this moment I get a hankering desire to breath in cold air myself.  Now, I'm getting to think I can't wait for winter to get here.  To have to breath of that crispy, chilly air, and feel the cold numb my face after having a close shave.  How after a few days the skin on my hands dries up and they become sore.  Which is part of the uncomfortable side.  In a sense it is invigorating, When you have a warm coat on and have just eaten a good warming breakfast which acts like central heating for your body.  A jumper and thermal underwear act as additional guards to the chill.  It's like I've had enough of the sun and the heat.  When I go to the pub an sit inside out of the sun the air is also cooler an even slightly chilled.  I'm getting my body into gear and am now starting to prepare for the chill.  People at the Fish Factory moan and grown when intermittent cold days hit.  "Oh it's cold today" they will say, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to feel the cold and another season.  It's not because I have a preference for one season above the other, it's a change, and as they say a change is as good as a rest.  This goes for weather as well as anything else.

In Scotland there is always a difference in weather than some miles lower down in the UK, further south, and certainly the London area it is always warmer.  When I take the train to Scotland which is a few hours, I get to feel the differences as it travels North.  The halfway point is a mental marker of getting closer, this is Newcastle.  The train goes over a bridge across the Tyne and then will wait in the station for a moment longer than a normal stop.  It slows down when it crosses the bridge and as it goes into Newcastle station you get to see a little bit of Newcastle.  It is here at the halfway point I know I am closer to seeing Sparkling than I am closer to being in London.  At Edinburgh the train stops even longer as this seems to be a main termination point for travellers.  The castle stands dauntingly high on a wonderful rock formation, the steep rocky incline is covered with netting to prevent loose rubble from cascading uncontrolled down.  However, the cooler environment can be felt a little earlier than Edinburgh.  As soon as the train crosses the border at Berwick.  Edinburgh just stamps this awareness of a chill firmer on your awareness..  It then takes about four to five days to acclimatise or even sometimes more.  It is always amazing how I find the Scots so hardy to cold weather, when I complain they tell me it isn't cold.  Maybe the English have water in their veins.

When I am back in London it feels hotter, because it is.  Then I get to see Londoners walking about chilled and complaining whilst I feel I have some invisible extra coat of warmth.  It's all about relative perception.  But it is nice, and I think these people in London don't know what it's like to be cold, they are a load of nancies.  I can sit with a window open right next to me at the Fish Factory and not be bothered by the air, whereas everybody else is.  It is the legacy of Scotland and I miss it and miss Sparkling as well.  It happens Sparkling is the hottest thing going.  She is like a water bottle, so the cold doesn't bother her as much.  Except for ice cream, which she tends away from, preferring trifle instead. I hope to see Sparkling again soon and have to get my next ticket ordered.

Out of the sunshine and into the winter, out of the cold and into the warmth, or out in the cold but being quite warm.  Come on winter, my arms are open to you, it's about time to.

Autumn's defiant sun

It is such a beautiful time of the year, the first day of autumn has now passed, but as though in defiance the sun keeps coming out.  Summer has been wet and disappointing, but in comparison this narrow interface between the cold and dark hours of winter is turning out pleasant and relaxing.  When I leave the  house in the morning I just cast my eyes down at the grass and there is a white due on each blade.  It is wet.  But the sun is out and low and hard.  This defiance is strong, just like ringing out the very last drop of washing, for a moment it is so pleasant.  Walking from house to train station I am relaxed and enjoy each step, even if there is a slight chill in the air I know it will warm up, because the weather report says so.

If these moments could be bottled up, they would sell for a fortune.  Such a time comes to mind when I was on a beach in the Algarve enjoying a holiday.  Regardless of the stresses and strains of everyday life and existence, a slow walk and an appreciation of the beautiful things in life can be used to rise above them.

Now where did I put that lovely looking doughnut?

Two for one...because you're worth it

There's some words which come from an advert, they are "because I deserve it" and as I walked around the supermarket for some reason I heard myself saying this.  It went along the lines of:

Oh there's a two for one offer on mini pork pies, now if I get one packet I'll get another free "cos I deserve it." i checked out the mince beef and onion pies and there it was, another offer, buy three pies for £1.50, hmm sounded quite appetising, I'll go for it "because I'm worth it." The pies fell into the shopping basket with the other 2 packets. I passed the cakes and there was an extra long Battenburg.  It looked good because there was extra free, the same price as the smaller one but more of it.  My eyes widened.  I can't I thought and resisted the temptation.  Next was shelves piled with different varieties of chocolate.  The organic bars which had a variety of flavours were beckoning out to me, they had a special price deal as well buy two for £2.50 "because you deserve it" I double glanced and turned away.  The resistance factor had worked again, "because I'm worth it."

Well there is now a lot of pies in the fridge, too many of them.  All of these could be the items needed to build up to a self-fulfilling prophecy of the Biggy some time.  Only last night I was thinking I gotta change my lifestyle, but it doesn't help it with a "because I'm worth it" catch phrase.  Notions of being a healthy, fit bodied older man yet again go out the window.  An image of Prince Lorenzo from BB forms in my head, but not quiet.  Well at least someone loves me, regardless of what I grow into, which will probably be a tent at this rate.

On the platorm of the train station I met a colleague from the Fish Factory.  She told me how her weekend was spent at the sea-sde, she and her husband watched people fishing crabs.  "I wouldn't know what to do with one of them, if I got one" she said.
"I heard somewhere if you put a lobster in a cold pot of water then bring it to the boil it doesn't scream.  I suppose you could do that with a crab as well." I replied, adding, "or you could use the other method of taking a knife and cutting the spinal cord."  In a somewhat horrifed response.
"I don't think I'd do that.  I think I'll stick to the prep-ackaged crab from the shop."
"Well you know all meat comes form animals."
"Yes, I know, but it's not the same, you don't have to kill it.  It's not like it's a lamb."  I took the thought further at this moment.
"like you could be out in the back garden and say to your husband, look over yonder hill there's a sheep, get your gun out, tell the neighbour there we'll have some chops for her and the family from 52 they can have a leg.  As for the head, I got a suspicion the couple at number 10 are Satanists, they might have a use for it."
These comments bought laughter.  I'm not sure if it was plain hysterical funny laughter or weird hysterical laughter, as if what I she didn't know how to respond to a stupid comment.  Well at least I made someone laugh, pity it wasn't Sparkling.

So next time I got shopping, I'll try stick to the fruit and veg market, where there's no pies, chocolate or live crabs on the end of fishing lines.  Well thank heavens for the half price salad I had for lunch and it was double the size, yep because I'm worth it.

The slow process of learning to type

The headache finally lifted, it took about three days, maybe longer, I can't tell for sure, because when these things happen it's not until a day or more it's realised as having gone on for a long time.  Especially as the hours tick by and it just isn't shaken off.  So now I an get on with things I had difficulty doing previously, such as typing practice.

It has now been about two weeks during which I have tried to achieve one hour a day typing.  I think it is starting to work, but I do notice a couple of things which effect typing statistics.  Firstly it is how I feel at the time.  A headache doesn't help or give motivation to type faster.  It also depends on the keyboard i use.  My PC keyboard is a an old Microsoft one and it is pretty springy, the one I use at the Fish Factory is made by Logitech and seems much more firmer, there's a definite resistance, whilst a laptop I use requires short sharp presses and clicks every time the key is depressed.  It's supposed to be a top notch keyboard for a lap top but I'm starting to wonder if it is actually helping my keying style.  The short quick snap doesn't require as much downward motion as the full size keyboards. Whatever keyboard is being used has a certain feel to it, and it effects speed and accuracy.  Whether I am refreshed and relaxed has a part to play.  So there are inconsistencies in stats.  You should always be aware of how you sit at a keyboard, this is called the ergonomics.  Keeping back straight arms parallel to the floor, feet on the ground, wrists not bent and so on.  As I go through a sequence of lessons provided by a free program i become familiar with some of the lessons and this means I can generally type faster doing them.  When i haven't a clue what is turning the Keys Per minute KPM drop as well as the Words Per Minute WPM.  Using different programs will also give different results.  Some test one aspect of the keyboard pretty well while another doesn't.  The questions is though, has there been any change?

I think there has,  I am faster at keying.  But I can not say for sure how much faster.  It all depends.  What I can say is progress is slow going, very slow going.  Some times day after day it's as though there is very little improvement.  Then when the improvement comes it isn't in a leap, it's more of a snail's pace.  A very slow snail.  A secondary result from this is I know my spelling is improving ever so slightly.  I've got a few problem words which always come up on a spell check as an error and for some reason these seem to be improving.  The improvement is also down to a realisation that speed is also linked to accuracy.  For there are times when I practice and I do my best not to make any mistakes.  It's hard, mistakes are inevitable, but reducing them is important.  For it always takes longer to go back and correct an error.  Even if it is picked up by a spell checker, this is time wasted.  Some commonly used words are extremely easy now, those which are uncommon however are more difficult.  It reminds me of the two routes by which human beings used to learn to read, phonetic and orthographic.  I can copy type but it does mean spelling out a word one letter at a time, or I can let myself go into auto mode. This (orthographic) method automatically sees the whole word, and as it has been (usually) typed a number of times before it instantly is keyed in.  It's as though the muscles in my fingers know exactly what to do.  This method of typing is very fast, but again it is down to familiarity.  So the old saying comes into account.  Practice makes perfect because you build up a repertoire of previous actions and each time the practice session occurs the sequence of actions (schemata) are more easily done.  Hence a feeling of being automatic.  But conscious thought and typing doesn't always mean automatic fast typing.  As now.  Each work I type I think about what I am saying then put it down in keys.

If I can carry this on for another couple of weeks the improvement will be even greater.  I hope.  More life saved through faster typing skills.  Or more work done using those same skills as against other persons who don't have the same ability.

I don't know if I am as fast as a normal typist and doubt it very much at this moment.  The thing is there are no normal typists about nowadays anyway, because everyone should know how to type or how to use a keyboard, even if they peck at it like a pigeon.  For the time being I'll consider myself more of a ferret, with a desire to be a keyboard butterfly.  At that point then I would of achieved something.  I'd of got my wings to say the least.

Two day headache...and weird perceptions

For the last two days I've had a headache.  It's not quite a migraine, but is definitely a headache.  It don't seem to be budging.  A migraine always lifts after a period, and a headache can become a migraine, but a two day headache is not great.  If it is a migraine it's not as bad as ones I've had before, it isn't as debilitating as it could be, but it's bad enough.  It effects everything I do, anything involving concentration.  I'd feel better if I had a lobotomy.  Went asleep with a headache and woke up with a headache.  Sometimes when I look at things I get a strange kind of feeling like I am out of my head, on drugs, like the first time I sat down in an electronic store, sat down and put on some 3d glasses.  As a football was kicked towards me I actually moved to one side.  Instinctively even tho I knew it was just 3d TV and not real.  This is the similar feeling I'm getting now.  It's visual perception like 3d plus more and I don't need the extra set of glasses.  Maybe some part of my brain is being active which is normally kept quite.  They say we don't use our full brain potential.  To an extent no one knows what the full potential of the brain is.  I really do feel out of my head and not a single drug has passed my lips, I've not drank any alcohol either.  Just this numbing pain behind my eyes, the feeling of falling over and an experience of extra perception.  A different perception.  One you'd have to be a rabbit in a scientist's cage to experience.  I'm getting it for free.  No preservatives, or additives taken.

Well I keep my fingers crossed and hope it goes before I return to the Fish Factory tomorrow.  Otherwise I'll just be in a daze, thinking or seeing things which don't exist. At least I'll be happy, I got some headache pills there, they might help, or they might be the extra drug I need so the pink elephants become real.  At the moment they dance around and I can't feel the floor shake.  Who said headaches are a pain, not me.