I saw Tarzan

Winter is beginning to descend upon us, although the weather forecaster said it is a wind blowing in from the Antarctic. Mind it is nice to have a cold October. It’s about time. Makes you feel the climatic changes of global warming aren’t quite so real.

Well back from my trip to Sparkling Eyes and feeling like the old ways are coming back. Two pints of beautiful dark nectar and I’m feeling a little wobbly on my feet. After the pub I decided to go for a curry, and managed to get a deal from the man behind the counter. Mainly because I had my hand on the door handle and was about to walk out after hearing his prices. Well I suppose businesses still have to make a profit regardless of credit crisis. Shared the curry with big mama who complained it was too hot. Hmmm madras. I know it was hot, but I also knew she wouldn’t turn up the offer of a free nosh up. Glad I shared it coz I shared the calories as well. After last night’s session in the gym I need to watch what I eat.

Ran on the treadmill and knackered myself. So much when I left my legs wobbled. It’s never happened before. Wobbly leg illness. It wasn’t like I’d over done it, but I suppose I had. I didn’t do any exercise when up at Sparkling’s, so it serves me right. Showered, changed walked out and nearly fell over. Bloody legs. Well at least I was able to breath. I was going to take on one of the beautiful people. I even got on a treadmill next to him. This young fella, big muscles looked a typical wanabe Tarzan, and he was running at quite a pace. So I punched in the machine his pace but a little more. Boy am I so glad the machine did not work. I can see it now in the local press. Little pot bellied man takes on Tarzan look alike in gym and has heart attack. I can’t help it. Even when in my mid forties I got the killer instinct. Look out would be Tarzan I’ll get you next week.

Overdose on Ben and Jerry's

Fine blue fingers of winter begin their slow shivering caress of Scotland. As usual, I realise when traveling 400 plus miles north the weather is cooler. And it's windy, but as ever the sun from Sparkling always keeps me warm.

Sparkling tells me she is my inspiration. "Yes" I said, "the pokes in my side are quite inspiring." It must be the power of her index finger. There's a lot of power in that little pinky. She goes on to say how much she has missed Rock Chick the past weeks. And then states I've missed her as well, it's true. I do enjoy winding up Rock Chick and then getting a reprimand and having to apologise. In the back ground Rock Chick sniggering away because her ma has come back to her rescue. So it should be with mum's and their loved daughter's.

Perhaps it's one of the reasons this evening I overdosed on Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream. Well it just so happens to be Rock's favourite. But it's also mine. Except when Rock Chick is around I never get to taste it. I just get to see it devoured. Hmmm. What an awful thing to do, eat chocolate ice cream in front of me.

I hit some balls at the range with Tall accountancy man. He's a nice fella, and pretty good with a golf club. I'm sure he must of had lessons when he barely began to walk. Nappy on botty club in hand, a dozen golf balls on the carpet. I played with toy cars, but up North kids play with golf clubs or jack up real cars and sell the wheels. No I'm joking they'd never do such a thing. Tall Accountancy man is hooked up with Effervescent Uni Girl she's bright, gregarious and enjoys a good night out. Much like Sparkling in a way.

Sparkling is going to be helping Effervescent Uni Girl next week as L & B man and family return from Florida. It will be a tidying up thing. Although I doubt there will be much to tidy up at all. They are all conscientious tidying up people. I'm not and so Sparkling tells me. Rock Chick is not a tidy person either. It's good to know this, because untidy people get chastised, sticking together in our obnoxious ways makes us we are not alone. It's a world binding big warm hug of untidiness's which unites us. This and Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream.

The problem of overdosing on Ben and Jerry's ice cream is the worry of having a high blood sugar level. Sparkling has advised me she knows CPR and she says chest pounding or pressing what matters, because there's already oxygen in the blood stream. It's a nice thought and probably another reason for me to get yet another phobia and not sleep. It's hot by the gas fire, but ice cream sure goes a long way to keeping it cooler. Hmmmm.

Tesco's ate me

I took a short walk today. Down to the local Tesco. Although local it is a pretty big place. Normally I don't like such over sized shops, with reputations of strangling their suppliers because of their buying power. But I needed the air, it was raining and overcast. Sparkling was suggesting I change profession to Bank Robber. I'm a little apprehensive about such a suggestion so the walk would give me some relief.

I arrived at Tesco after a twenty minute walk. Not overawed at this point because I enjoyed the walk. It's odd how just an innocent, innocuous thing like walking round a store can slowly creep up on you. A little like the Venus Fly Trap and an unsuspecting fly. Except with Tesco's this was a little slower fly traps are fast. I walked around the stationary area, having a penchant for paper, pens and such like items. They nearly send a shiver of excitement down my spine. Then moved away with a cursory glance at DVDs and mobile phones. A slow yawning crept its way from my lips. I could feel myself taking on a turn. Tiring. But I tried to keep focused. A list of items were to be obtained. The coconut milk was particularly difficult to locate. I had to ask a shelf-filler where they were. In about thirty different ailes the coconut milk took on the width of two tins. I wondered why it wasn't common to have a product finder. I was lost. Energy levels had now sapped away. I had to send a message of hope to the world. So did a quick text to Sparkling. By morning my face would be on milk cartons. Someone would be bound to report where they had seen me last. Perhaps even a blurred CCTV image shown on the late night news bulletin?

After a mild panic attack in which my feet seemed to walk. I had to get past trolleys blocking up the ailse. I did it though. OUT and freedom. Then it was a matter of walking back, which was all uphill and with 3 bags of shopping. Fortunately Sparkling just so happened to pass in the car. What a wonderful sight it was to, unfortunately I then spent another twenty minutes walking round another store. To be regurgitated again.

Roast potatoes in Goose Fat

The lovely Sparkling Eyes cooked a pork dish with Goose fat roasted potatoes. The first time I have eaten this type of roasted tatties before, they are delicious. The remaining few left over dwindled down as the evening wore on. Sparkling confessed, she just couldn't help herself. I to found a peckish magnetism towards the odd lonely tatty. With a little salt on top. Hmmmm

A program about polygamous families in America is on the TV. Sparkling pokes me. I'm not sure if it's a finger or the edge of her mobile phone. We converse about writing. Ouch. Then my head is massaged with her wonderful fingers. Hmmmm. But from further discussion and her annoying tone those fingers curl up into a little fist which taps on my head. This is her motivation. With the words "come on write something, I'm giving you motivation" I wont go into the other words used or highlight her invigorating attempt at inspiration, just to say it's working.

Oh my how difficult it must be for those Mormon men with multiple wives? Especially when they get old and suffer from Alzheimer's, which would be pretty bad. Especially for the wife who is expecting her conjugal visit because it's her special day of the week. But the silly old sod gets confused and goes to the wrong one. Sparkling by the way likes the notion of polygamy. I'd asked her about it, "yes" she said. Then asked "how many husbands can I have?" I tried to explain it didn't work this way. Instead she indicated a desire to be the first woman in Scotland to be a polygamist. Great. I can see Sven the oil platform worker with his blond hair and Viking looks being popular with Sparkling. I sure hope she don't get Alzheimer's.

Well I'll always have the tatties in Goose fat.

Talentless talent

I'm up North keeping Sparkling company, in the meantime Rock Chick is on holiday in Florida. With L & B man and family. They are doing the usual Florida thing. Theme parks, rides, shopping and showing their support for Obama by purchasing as many T shirts as they can. Look out Walmart. For the time being I sit watching TV.

This morning I made breakfast, and remarkably it came out pretty well if I must say so. Sparkling complimented my chef skills. I should do more cooking it's good when a recipe comes together. Although there really wasn't much in the way of recipes, when talking about a fry up. But it is all in the timing. Everything coming together at the same time, hot and not too over cooked. The Cumberland sausages were tasty hmmm.

At the moment I am being tortured having to endure X factor. A shiver descends down my spine as talentless talent thinks it can become famous, without doing the work. I am dying. Someone shoot me. Yes the girl band has got to go. Too many missed notes. The preliminary clips shows how they grew up. Little girls on stages singing their hearts out because misguided parents who can't find their own fame and fortune. Instead from their own talentless talent hang all their hopes on their offspring. Each and every contestant tells their story, how they all love music, have all sang for years and years, and how they will do their best. Someone give me a puke bucket. Especially when the sob stories kick in. The girl banD is going out, I'm sure, they were awful.

But still the talentless shows go on and Joe public watch them. There's got to be more to life. Either writing a blog or throwing together a good dish of ingredients. I can't sing I know it, but worse still are those who think they can. Another good reason to detest Talentless shows or karaoke. Oh dear I've been bad, Sparkling hasn't liked my words, has thrown her foot in my direction and demand I massage it. Damn. I got a big mouth.

Dull Day

It's been a dull day over London, overcast the entire day. I don't think I saw a single ray of sunshine. Which made it dark indoors and dark especially when waking up in the morning.

There's been no communication from Sparkling the last couple of days. I'm not texting her, she's not texting me, so we're stuck in some no-mans-land. A misty fog of obscurity settles itself down. Nothing going or coming. Just damp dark and dull weather. If she can't be bothered to text me, why should I be bothered to text her? I'm sure I'll calm down at some point. The point when I'm missing her kicks in and a strange unaccountable magnetism draws me to the digits on my mobile phone.

I've managed to upset Lazy Ass-stuck-in-room boy. Who has permanently locked himself away in a room with either PlayStation games, his girlfriend, or loggin on and off the Internet. No job. No income. No aspiration of doing anything, except smoking, collecting rubbish from throw away take outs and unwashed clothes. I upset him along the lines of getting a job. I am fed up with his complete inactivity. Both barrels were let lose. I worked at 11 years of age, then got a job at 17 when I left school. He's now 21 I think? And has done nothing productive. If this were China and you didn't have a job or work, you'd die of starvation there's no free tickets there. To boot I had a dig and his sister Teeny ignorant girl, who has provided a wealth of intelligence in her inability to conquer GCSE's, and again show no motivation.

I'm fed up with people asking me for change, when quite clearly they are not destitute and are trying to fleece anyone they can. I'll add complete annoyance at litter louts, throwing the rubbish in the street and not carrying it to a bin. Which is very little effort. They have no respect for their country so I have no respect for them.

I'm fed up of junkies all over the place and skanky looking teenager's who think they are big because they have a gang culture look about them. Wear jeans nearly falling off their asses like they are putting out their backside for any batty boy in the area. It's fashion I know. But when it looks like you've crapped your jeans coz the crutch hangs so low seems to me they've lost a brain cell. Not to mention the odd-ones-out, lads trying to fit into a cultural stereotype when they plainly are and never will. They are the wrong race, the wrong colour, the wrong body type, but they want to look like idiots they can, it is after all a free world.

I detest the lunatic car drivers who talk on their mobile phone and drive their car even though it is against the law. One handed, as if they have been given some royal decree which says the law does not apply. They should be deprived of their wheels, fined a hefty amount of readies and made to walk the plank. Personally I'd super glue their phones to the palm of their hand then give them a strong dose of laxative.

I am also completely fed up with cafes and their poor excuse of food they sell to the accepting public. If chips were off the menu by command of the law what other substitute of inadequate nutrition would they come up with? Our diet is so poor, we have no appreciation or understanding of what this degenerate garbage consumed each day is actually doing to us. As each and everyone of us dies through too high salt consumption, oil, grease, trans fats, various degrees of malnutrition and of course obesity. Lets all join the high cholesterol club, go on Statins for life and let our teeth rot away from Cola drinks. Thank Cadbury's for chocolate, where would we be without it?

Yes, it's been a dull day. I'll saturate myself in boredom and indulge in some strong caffeine in the morning, not forgetting a doughnut. I'm sure to feel better then, I sure hope the sun comes out.

A trip to the Dentist

Yesterday, I went to the dentist. It was a morning check-up, but ended up in my having a filling and costing all of £45. I'm now OK for a year before returning. Heaven's knows how much it would of been to take a tooth out? Regardless I find the whole dental thing a nerve jangling experience and always have done. So have built up over the years a good relationship with my dentist because he's just good at dealing with nervous wrecks like me.

There are a number of strategies I employ when having a check up. Firstly, mouth opening. Now for some people who have big mouths this is easy. Theirs may retract and dislocate to open like a snake devouring it's latest victim. My mouth however just has a problem when opening. It's not that big. I find it difficult. Maybe it's something to do with not being a great talker like some. I don't know. But I do know I have to open my mouth as wide as I can for short periods, it's practice. Not to say my dentist wants to get his entire arm down there, as well as the pneumatic drill. No. All he wants to do is his dental thing. So a little jaw loosening is always a must. The next strategy is to relax. Relax as much as I can. Mr Dentist man usually tells me to breath through my nose. Well not having perfected the art of breathing through my arse this is pretty good advice. The problem can be when he's drilling away the smell of smoking charred enable is inhaled. Which can lead to a state of not-relaxed. Short breaths and my raising a hand or suddenly gagging and chocking. It's not panic just the necessity to breath. The next strategy is used by my dentist. He simply waits for very short moments to allow me to recover, then taps my shoulder and I open my mouth again. I continue breathing, this time through my nose and even try counting. Slowly with each exhale, 1, 2, 3....oops breath through nose 4, 5, 6.... and so on. Having a good dental nurse helps, as the careful placement of the sucking device ensures excess liquids are vacuumed up, rather than my chocking because it's been poorly positioned.

Then after a few words, and a thanks I see the receptions and pay the bill. Teeth, what can you do without them? Suck eggs I suppose.

A Curve Ball

To take an American expression, unfortunately, some days the unexpected happens. In effect a Curve Ball is thrown. This is a thing, anything which might not of been predicted but causes an inconvenience, or discomfort. This morning I walked a slightly longer route to the train station because I thought I needed the exercise. As I approached the station, rather than see people enter they were leaving. I knew immediately something was up. This knowing didn't stop me from continuing to walk into the Station. I needed verification for my self. It came in the form of a Curve Ball. Yes, there had been a power cut on this line into London. It happens on a monthly basis. The consequence meant queing up for a bus. Then a bus came within a very short while. Unluckily it continued to travel past the stop, packed full of Sardines, they had emigrated from Sardine in Train to Sardine on Bus. Must of been something to do with the Olive Oil. I walked a mile to a different bus stop and got more than the exercise anticipated.

On another morning not long after returning from a wonderful visit to see Sparkling Eyes I suffered from an attack of Dandruff. It was bad. Big blooming flakes which wanted desperately to be part of an early Christmas. I had contemplated writing an entire blog about this experience, however, the response when I told Sparkling Eyes was one of "Yuk!" This discouraged me from putting it into writing. At the time. I coped with the dandruff attack by having yet another hair washing, running round a tree half naked, and singing a verse from the Sound of Music. I had it on good report this was the in Vogue method of fighting dandruff. Either this or bath in Asp milk. As there are few Asps about now days I ran round the tree instead and added a verse or two castigating Cleopatra.

It's nice to have a problem free day, but they don't happen. As Sparkling constantly reminds me I don't have problems she has problems, and she then goes on to trade me what her problems are, putting them in the context of my lunch time Salsa. As if I am in an entirely different world when I am not.

My next Curve Ball I now sit and wait for. Tomorrow morning I have a dental appointment. It came at short notice. I say this because usually it takes about 2 weeks to get an appointment set up. Instead it took only 2 days and has meant I really haven't had much time practicing opening my mouth for long periods. So I expect after the dentist I'll not be able to move my jaw the rest of the day. Let alone something be found which needs fixing. Like the hole in my head.

Another fine day

A Dull overcast sky dictated this morning. Today is the day before tomorrow. Tomorrow is a birthday anniversary. As per normal I get to feel depressed, it's to do with birthdays. And in part it's better if no one celebrates it. A bit like having a leg broken. It's not a thing to celebrate. But some people do like their special days celebrated, and other's like to remind me of mine, and if they are sincerely happy I get emotional. Blue, like time has stood still for a moment and I sit in the emotional sands of self pity. Someone kick me, hard in the butt. Maybe a little pain will wake me up. Then kick me again till I cry out and eat your head off. Then I'll feel better. Nothing like a little argument to get the arteries flowing.

Some pressies sit waiting to be opened. I'll attend them tomorrow. I could do with a hug from Sparkling to tell her how much I miss her.

Another thing I groan about is the Australian optometrist, because I'm sure his testing wasn't up to standard. There were certain tests he didn't do. So now I'm stewing in a mood. Feeling I need to see Australia lose some more at any athletic event on the cards. I wonder if they are any good at pork pie throwing. I doubt it. Pork pies probably go off down-under. On account of it being so hot. They probably have kangaroo pies instead.

Yep I can tell. I'll be in a downright ugly mood tomorrow morning. Crash helmet, ear plugs, bovver boots, flak jacket and some sour sweets. Then I'll be fine. It's only once a year. Once too often. Maybe even drug myself so I don't get up tomorrow. Just sleep through the entire day. At least it will stop me from murdering someone. Murdering anyone. I'm not fussy.

An Australian Optometrist and the Fiat Design

Having now actually done a little golf and found the ball gets easily lost when I took my eye off it, this signaled it was time to get an eye test. So this afternoon I had one, the last took place 8 years ago. There is always a dominant eye, mines the left. In long distances I use the left, however in very short distances I use the right. Today I found there had been a change, not a great deal but enough I'd notice. The optometrist thought little of the change and said my present specs were OK. Though they are old and give me a head ache once in a while. He was Australian, I could tell from the accent. He talked a little about sport, his wife and general chit chat. In fact he chatted perhaps too much. Like he was in need of stimulation or was telling me something about eyes which I didn't know about.

Sparkling has got the Flu and told me it's my fault. I asked her whether it was "woman's flu" she said yes, the real flu. I'm sure it is related to her having to fix her wiper blade when it rains, because it has now stopped working. Something to do with a nut and bolt. It seems to be a common failure on Fiat Uno's. In fact it's a nice little gimmick for Fiat to earn a continuous supply of income because it is a design fault. It does make you wonder if design faults are intentional by manufacturers. One thing for sure, if the Fiat designer was in Sparkling's vicinity she'd take great delight in breathing all over him. See how he'd cope with stopping the car in torrential rain to fiddle under the bonnet with his high heals and curly hair. Yes, what a sight it would be.

OUCH my head

Sometimes lessons repeat themselves. Like patience, waiting for a bus when impatience has the better of me. This morning I re learnt the power of the hangover. Spinning room, cold swet, shaking, the inevitable toilet rush and involuntary puke, and wonder whether I am dying. Sparkling Eyes was fine. I asked her several times if she was OK. She was. No problem for Sparkling. I lay there thinking I had pneumonia, in the meantime Sparkling was having fun. Poking fun at me. Remarking how I had a clammy cold swet, asking if the room was spinning and then telling me it was my own fault. It was. Memo to self, don't mix Murphys with Rose wine, they tend to curdle. I cough and spatter, what am I coming down with now? Possibly some illness passed on to me by Rock Chick when she breathed in my direction, a memento for helping with her maths homework. I hate hangovers.

Rock Chick is growing up. So I've hardly seen her this week, except for the maths. She goes around wearing cowboy shirts. I asked her if she has a stetson and boots. But for some reason I don't think she will go into Line Dancing. Unless it means she can breath germs over unsuspecting persons. Not seeing her also means I've not had a chance to wind her up. But I must of at some point at least twice she threatened to hit me or throw something at me. So my annoying charm works. When I go back to London I'll try it out on Monster Boy, he might be 7 but I'm sure it will work.

Storm warnings have swept the country. Morpeth one of the stations the train travels through. It's been hit bad by flood waters. I suppose it's a bit like a wave of involuntary puke hitting you. You can't help the weather or the effects of over intoxication, but they are sure to come if you carry on drinking or it carries on raining. Getting drunk can be your own fault, in the company of Sparkling Eyes it was bound to happen. Hell of a good night though. We danced in the kitchen. I tried to Salsa as best I could. And lets not forget the Isley Brothers and Harvest for the World. I heard it twice. Sparkling loves it and the moment it comes on the CD player is an important point. I smiled inside, Sparkling is a great dancer, a natural. She can't Salsa as good as me. Well, we all got to be good at something. Twenty hours later and my head is still killing me. Yes a lesson re learnt. Some one hit me. Yes they did, OUCH.

In Search of a Cooker

Today Sparkling Eyes got a new cooker on order. The old one a Zanussi which had the appliance of science, broke. To put it bluntly the door fell off. Mind it was a good few years old. Aliens will be coming Tuesday next week to pick up the Zanussi while the men from Kenwood will deliver the new one. Very nice it looks as well.

I over hear the radio while typing. A man had pulled out a weapon (gun) from his pocket and tried to rob the local bank. Well I hope they meant a gun and nothing else pulled from his pocket. Apparently he drove off in his dark coloured four by four. The description vaguely matches L&B man. The potential robber was described as being in his 40s and wearing a dark leather coat. It can't be L&B. Last time we chatted he was talking about putting up a bird table and mentioned nothing about doing over the bank. Unless he's been upset lately, well I know Scotland will be playing footy soon and their scoring record don't inspire much.

Poor Rock Chick has to go and work at the local fast food burger joint. I feel sorry for her. However, as she returned from school and sat on the pouffe she did swear at me, using the F-word a couple of times. Rock warned me it was the wrong time of the month she was PMSing. What is it about women wanting to throw shoes at me, batter me, or some how deprive me of my assets with nothing but a smile. I gave a short dialogue about what it was like when I was a kid, and what matters is money. She could of killed me. I retreated to a safe distance.

The world is so unfair when people find they have to do things they hate just to make a living. Early days yet for Rock Chick. Maybe I'll just hide her shoes away. Though fortunately for me I haven't driven Sparkling Eyes to the point of exasperation where she give me the Stare. The stare which says "one more word out of your and your dead" well only once. But it was a combined Stare and Finger point. The sacred index finger jab and stare. Passed down from generation to generation of female. Used at time of extreme male stupidity. But what would seem to any male as not being stupid. Best I not go into it. Our brains are different. We think about different things. I'd like to say more important things, but it would be very stupid to say such a thing.

Well off to sit in the company of L&B man and family. I wonder if he has a spare ski mask and any tips.

Golf at Piperdam and a reminder of Salsa

For the first time in my life I did a full round of golf, at the Piperdam course. And just in case anyone didn't know, GOLF stands for Gents Only Ladies Forbidden. Such a nice saying some might acknowledge. I was accompanied by Mr Tall Accountant Man or TAM for short. Though TAM had said he wasn't on form, being he'd not had the time to play over the last 6 months. He still was a pretty impressive hitter. At one time he used to play 3 times a week. Whilst 3 times a year would be a good thing for me.

We could not have chosen a better day. It began with a mild chill, but the sky was clear and within minutes sun beams warmed us up. The country side of Dundee is beautiful, fields of various colour spoke stories of different farming choices. To play golf in such countryside is wonderful. Walking 18 holes however is tough going. Fortunately I'd hired out a golf bag trolley to take the strain.

The first hole is over a lake. It's all or nothing. Needless to say I lost a ball in the water and walked around to where it might have landed had it gone on land. They asked for 3 and I did it in 5. This was good for me. I was surprised on one hole to find 4 little spectators at my heels. They were so quite as well and so supportive. A bit feathery, but heck when you got fans it don't matter what species they are. The ducks stood inches behind me as I watched TAM T-Off. Then I had to chase them away before my go. It's OK having fans but I didn't want stalkers. Unless these ones came with a nice orange sauce. By the tenth or was it twelfth hole I began to tire. Losing half a dozen balls to the wild. Never to be seen again. I became quite thankful just hitting the ball and seeing where it went. Except for a few holes most seemed to be on inclines. I also found hitting a ball while standing on a hill is a lot more difficult than hitting it while at the range. Three and a half hours later we had finished and I had nearly collapsed. It had taken 148 strokes, 6 lost balls and an entourage of 4 ducks to complete it.

Sparkling Eyes had toyed with me before the golf. Saying I would be required to help her post some community leaflets. She's out for the moment at a meeting. I hope she'll forget about the leafleting tonight, even if it means giving her an extra long foot massage. Though I could do with one myself. Last night Sparkling reminded me of my Salsa dancing. It was the tongue thing, going to the left then to the right. Mr L&B had apparently said "no wonder the old girls liked dancing with him, put that tongue back!" I shrugged trying desperately to shake of the comment off but it keeps hitting me back in the face. She thinks I should look at myself in a mirror because I'm just to stiff.

Rock Chick has hardly been around the last few days. She seems to be out most nights. Coming in late one night, Sparkling indicated Rock Chick would be grumpy in the morning before school. Rock Chick's reply was "well don't talk to me, I'll walk." I daren't say a thing to her at this time saying she was moody would be under estimating her demeanour. I wondered how parents are able to cope with teenagers. Drugs seem to be the ony answer I can come up with. It seems Rock Chick has got a memory problem also, because the next morning she asked for a lift to school and said Sparkling had promised to give her one. This promise was not made in my ear shot. I did suggest to Sparkling she put Rock Chick up for adoption after Rock Chick had left for school. Just maybe she could be temporarily swopped. Maybe even a different species, I know of 4 very nice ducks.

Suck my bunion.

As always in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick anything can happen. It usually does. This evening the oven door broke to Sparkling's cooker. Whilst last night I showered myself in mouth wash, courtesy of Rock Chick not screwing the top on. Later on I found Rock Chick had removed all the strawberry sweets from the Opal Fruits. Great. Not to mention this morning I got a reprimand from Sparkling Eyes. And last night while at a little party the best offer of the year came when I was asked to "suck my bunion" you had to be there. Unfortunately this did nothing to my senses and I had to refuse. It happens. I know I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but sometimes you just have to say No.

The last few days I've had the Micky taken out of me because of my Salsa dancing. Sparkling Eyes thinks I'm as stiff as a board and have no rhythm. Even though I say I'm black it has no noticeable effect. Whilst Mr L&B laughs and can't wait to drop a comment at any opportunity. Rock Chick has taken no interest at all. Unless it has something to do with hair. Dying hair, straightening hair, washing hair and boys. Boys. Boys. The hormones have kicked in, look out lads coz she's not going to take any prisoners. I learn life is complicated. I'm glad I was not born female, I expect females are also happy about that. Except maybe for the Salsa. To Salsa or not to Salsa that is the question. Give me a bunion any day.

A little entreprener

The Talkatives came round yesterday. Such days I consign to the tiring. As Mrs Talkative literally does my head in. But they gave an account of their son, the smaller Not So Talkative one and now I'll call him Indelible head boy. The story behind this name is because he has a scare on his head. At a school sports day while running he fell over, went to hospital and now is permanently marked. But it's mostly hidden by his hair so it don't matter much. Not at his age anyway. And as for the word "indelible," it is a word he came across while reading some pages of a book and I asked him what it meant. He didn't know but after checking through the dictionary he does now. Of course, the dictionary checking was something he had to be persuaded to take part in doing. He's an excellent little reader. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand anything he reads, but it sounds good.

Indelible head boy had taken to starting his own business. All of twelve years in age and he had become an entrepreneur. Except his stock wasn't something he was able to purchase himself. In fact he was taking it from a home supply. Mr Not so Talkative the father and Mrs Talkative mum were suddenly aware their stocks were going low every so often. Their stocks of cigarettes. Their white sticks of candy cancer death. But Little indelible head boy didn't let this bother him to much. Until he got caught, and reprimanded. I felt sorry for him. But the story was enlightening so gave him some funds for being so enterprising. I was told on one occasion he had managed to sell a cigarette for £2 approximately $4 or 1.64 euros. Smart boy I thought. Not being able to purchase his own supply his business had folded. Maybe he should of cut his mum and dad in on his deals.

Exam results have come in and it is with sadness I hear my niece Dancing Girl has pretty poor results. In one exam she achieved a grade "U" so low it could not be classified. On a number of occasions I had spoken to her and offered my help. But she just did not understand how much work she would really have to put in. It hurt me to hear of her results. It's been 2 weeks and I have not been able to bring myself to talk to her about them. When I hear others at the Fish Factory saying how well their children are doing I get annoyed. I even said once a lot can be learnt from failure. I'm sure Dancing girl is going to learn a lot over the next few years from her failure, she probably will not fully understand this for some time to come.

On a lighter note, Rock Chick did very well in her exams. She admitted to not studying much. And I was aware she's a little lazy. But she has brains, when she learns she has to put in the time doing independent study then there will be no height she can not attain. The duvetof cozy laziness is so tempting. I know, I wear it too often. Yes, Rock Chick can do anything if she wants. This makes me happy she's a good girl and Sparkling Eyes has done a great job bringing her up. I enjoy their company always.

A walk in the rain

I’d been stuck inside, doing nothing. Just taking it easy, rather too easy. But then what else are Sunday’s for if not to rest? After watching more than enough TV, taking an afternoon nap because I felt tired, and making a rhubarb crumble, which didn’t turn out so well, I went for a walk. I knew after the program was over I was going out. To extend my legs, breath different air. Anything to get out.

Thing was my timing. It was sunny in the morning, however this afternoon it had rained on and off. Looking out the back door the clouds threatened. They were bordering onto the deepest greys. However this was of no matter. Sometimes the sky holds an aura of fear, but never does anything about it. The waters don’t come down, the day threatens and brings any light happiness down. It’s like the weather is saying it will make everyone sad if it can. Unfortunately for the intentions of this dark duvet sun had intermittently scythed through. Like the sword of St Joan. In light of this I decided I would go out regardless. Take an umbrella, but chance it. A short walk would suffice from self enforced captivity.

It takes eight minutes to walk from my house to the shops. I was taking the circuitous route. Past the ruins. There was spitting rain, no more than nats piss. Nothing to worry about, until about four minutes into my walk. Then the clouds parted and decided to shrug off their burden. Were this a chapter in the bible this darkened deluge would have been frogs not rain. And it came down. Down and down and down. The wind whipped up a flurry making the rain actually sweep up and under the umbrella. I held on with both hands. My grip tight. The combination of rain and wind would have been at home in a sea storm. But rather than cower into a shelter, I continued. My jeans were soaked within seconds, right up from the ground to upper thighs. The gusts had become so strong I thought the umbrella would be ripped from my grasp. But in all this I smiled. I breathed in deep, and I laughed out loud. Yes, loudly. It was beautiful. Is this all you got I said? When these words came I didn’t know whether I had spoken them out or just thought them out loud. The wind whipped up major gusts. I could hear cars on the road I walked besides slow down. The high pitched ripple sound of tires aquaplaned through the macadam. I felt alive and smiled and enjoyed every short moment of it.

I don’t know how anyone else would see this same experience. Possibly just complain, of the whole day it was the part which woke me up, the part I remember.

Salsa with the Munsters

Well Sparkling Eyes is still giving me jip over taking up Salsa, telling me it will "end in tears" no matter what I say at this point she and everyone else she knows seems to think anyone who goes to Salsa is a gigolo just waiting to put it about. Truth be said this is far from it. And as always so disappointing those she knows have this view point and haven't actually tried it. I was even dismayed when I heard Rock Chick had put tuppence worth of opinion in as well. One guy on youtube dances all the time. He says it's good for your health. Though I don't think I'll be as fanatical as he is, going to the gym is tough enough. Doing the little fat man on running machine is the extent of any strenuous exercise I can maintain.

So it happens this week I hit my third Salsa lesson. I did have some doubts about going, but because of all the external pressure I purposely made sure I went. Not to mention the laughter my Fish Factory colleagues were gaining from my tails and demonstrations of nifty foot work. Yes, they laughed but were encouraging as they laughed. More than some I know. The real problem though is I am a slow learner. It's very difficult for me learning how to co-ordinate in a dance pattern. This foot work is hard work and others just don't appreciate how much effort it takes to learn.

Unfortunately this time I have to say the lesson was not up to standard. The class had increased from just me to seven people, another man and four ladies. They had all been auditioning for the Munsters earlier in the morning so having some spare time this lunch period they decided to drop in and try their footsies at a bit of Salsa. I wish they had continued down the road and taken the bus, even better the train, better still a plane, to anywhere.

There was tall Munster lady maybe a foot taller than myself who seemed to dance as though she was on a pogo stick. Just jumping up and down. I needed two dozen spare yellow pages to stand on and they still didn't help. Not to mention the toff accent she had acquired from somewhere. If there is something so grating, it's the pretentiousness of a toff accent. Then there was short wide Munster lady who had the girth of a hundred year old Oak tree. Though surprisingly nimble on her feet I had some trepidation about squashed toes and she wasn't too keen on bothering with the subtle hand movements which signal the next set of steps. Those by the way are things the male instigates such as lifting the left hand to signal time for a twirl, or moving to the left or right to signal a side step, Cha Cha Cha I think. Then there was the little 100 year old Indian Munster lady who was scared to have her hands held and it was impossible to dance with, like she was afraid I had some kind of disease. I checked and the leprosy has definitely cleared up. Lastly there was Munster Leading lady who did her own thing, I was a mere accessory. Again another woman who believes she should take and dictate the steps. In fact it didn't matter whether I was there or not. It nearly led to an all out battle. I threatened her with my crossbow and shield but she didn't take the hint, pulling the little fat man around like he was a rag doll. So all in all, I learnt little from this dance lesson. A note to all those ladies THE MAN IS SUPPOSED TO LEAD. It's not a matter of women's lib, it's a matter of how the Salsa is supposed to be done.

My dreams of dancing with Sparkling Eyes are beginning to disintegrate like the making of a rhubarb crumble, when you rub the topping through your fingers and it's particles drop into the bowl. I really, really want to dance with Sparkling. To show we can do something together in unison and have fun. But knowing my luck she will bloody WANT To LEAD as well. It is with this I realise the Salsa is about Men's lib. We males actually get to dictate the dance when it's done properly. I want to learn the dance properly, but with the Munsters there will be very little progress. Unless of course I catch leprosy, like flattened feet and being led by a WOMAN. This is a disaster. The whole thing is a disaster.

So I am now close to giving up. A stigma seems to be attached to the Salsa and because of this and other's notions I'm despondent and sad.

Next week I'll take along, a chain saw to cut the bounding Tall Munster lady down to size, a book tittled "I'm cured of leprosy" and another book on crash dieting for the wider Salsa learner. As for the the one who wants to lead I'll just attach cactus spikes to my hands. See who wants to lead then!!

A little Salsa in the morning

This morning I got up and before leaving practiced a few Salsa steps. I'd been checking them out on youtube and was amazed how rhythmic it can be, and even how one person can do it on their own. So it could be, my normal weird fat man tries to dance routine can become a not so weird and isn't he good fat man dancing routine. As Bruce Forsythe might of said. In one breath. Didn't he do well? YES he did Brucee.

I was a little perturbed by the reaction received from Sparkling Eyes. She intimated in pretty straight forward words I was going through a mid life crisis, then to get ready for the ride. Thing is I am over my mid life mark now so it can't be a mid life crisis. My response was along the lines of, great, I can't wait for next week because then it will be an open top car and a 22 year old girlfriend. Most everyone else I've spoken to have laughed at my attempt to Salsa but they have found it exciting or interesting or something along these lines. Especially the leaning over bit when I demonstrate the steps. Though I think I have managed to shake off the inadvertent lean after this morning's practice. It's nice to be encouraged.

Salsa is an up and coming dance in London, and as I talk to people around me I find a number who actually have tried it, done it, or are doing it. Amazing. All different ages, shapes, sizes. It must be in London such an activity is not associated with body snatching, vampirism and burning at the stake of heretics. Of course these other items I practice much later in the day and they are honestly nothing like Salsa at all. The steps are all different.

First Ever Salsa Lesson

For several months the ladies at the Fish Factory had been pestering me to join Salsa classes. They’re once a week during a lunch break. But I had on many occasions been able to avoid them. They said there was a lack of men, to tell the truth, me and the baldy carpenter man who sits next to me had been getting the thumb screws. But this was it. I had decided. After a conversation with Sparkling Eyes where she had suggested we could Salsa, I’d have to learn. Of course I don’t think Sparkling knows how to Salsa either, but she will learn I’m sure. And I could teach her if she don’t mind. But I have to be careful. Because if she thinks I’m getting bossy or know something she’d like to know then I’d be in trouble.

Promptly leaving the Fish factory at mid day I headed to the hall. It’s not a little hall. It’s a pretty big hall. With a tall ceiling. About thirty feet up. And the hall could probably hold a few hundred people, with room to spare I’m sure. As I entered there was a lady standing at a table arranging leaflets. All of them were about Salsa. Salsa gigs all over the country. I didn’t take much notice, but asked if she was teaching. She was. There was three of us in the hall. Me the teacher, and her mum. Both these ladies looked familiar, because they work in different parts of the Fish Factory. I introduced myself, wrote my name in a book. And waited. Texted Sparkling and waited a little more. I was the only student. Baldy Carpenter man had blown me out, he was yellow.

The next 40 or so minutes I learnt the 4 basic steps to Salsa. I danced with the teacher, and at one moment I was a bit horrified. Because, it was the moment when for some reason I make an odd face. Sticking tongue out without realising, as though about to lick ice cream from the sides of my mouth. It’s partly to do with the intense concentration. People with brains do this now and again. I caught myself, laughed and reeled it in. During the first ten minutes I nearly walked out of the hall from frustration. The steps and my brain just didn’t seem to be working together. Doing a kinda side step move, I found myself leaning over. Instead of the elegant swaying hip macho latin fellow, as required; I had become a mobile Leaning Tower of Pizza. I commanded my feet to move and at times they were glued to the floor. I was counting and losing count. Pulling when I should have been pushing, left footing when I should have been right footing and generally getting into a knot. There was one move I was a natural at, it’s a quarter turn. Otherwise the whole experience was equally annoying and enjoyable.

I can’t wait to show Sparkling my moves. Though I am sure she will be moving side ways or backwards to keep away from me, especially if the tongue thing gets lose. I’ll even show Rock Chick if she’s interested. However, I'm probably glad Baldy Carpenter man decided not to come, because he reminded me if he had come we'd of been the only students and may have found we were dancing with each other. Now blackmail matterial or what?

There's one small snag to Salsa. I don’t have dark latin skin or the features of Zorro. But I’m sure this is OK, I got the moves, better work on the rhythm though, the side step, the forward step, the back step, the hips, the leaning, couting from one to eight and missing out four, five and eight. Blimey, no wonder I got confused.

Severe Haircut

Sad it is, but I enjoy having my hair cut which I did yesterday. It is just relaxing, especially when the hairdresser isn’t from the local butcher shop. One particular girl who used to cut my hair always nicked my ear. I’d come out and for some reason one of them would be sore and bleeding. I tried desperately to avoid her. But the more I tried to avoid her cutting my hair, the more unlucky I got. So I just simply stopped going there and cast my net wider. Now about a mile down the road I’ve found another hairdresser. The barber’s in there change around and I can say it’s been years since I last had an English barber. This time I think he was from the former Yugoslavia, but was quite a nice bloke.

I tried several times telling him I wanted to keep as much hair on top as I could. Unfortunately the problem with someone who doesn’t speak English very well, is they don’t speak it very English very well or understand it. Somehow we communicated. I liked the fact he put a burning taper to my ears to singe out those recalcitrant straws. OK there was a moment when I felt the heat and nearly headed for the fire extinguisher, but overall I was happy. Sitting in the chair and seeing what he done. It looked smart and short, so I tipped him well.

A day passes. I get up early and head to the fish factory but not to work. My duty was on a picket line outside, though I don’t think we’ll be having further strikes, those who went in the factory defeat the efforts of those on strike. Then I had to hit the gym. So I did. It was here for the first time I was able to really see the effect of yesterday’s hair cut and I realised it was severe. Sparkling Eyes saw it on cam and told me I looked like a skin head. I was not amused so put my Russian hat on to hide it. She laughed and poked me several times and because she had been ill the past couple of days this all made her feel much better. In the meantime I begin to worry about the possibility I am becoming thin on top. Follicles beginning to migrate. Probably to my arse.

I went into the centre of London hoping to see the new Will Smith film, Hancock. But after seeing the price of a ticket and not having a real person to purchase a ticket from, just machines. I declined to enter the cinema. It is no wonder there are so many pirates about. The cinema’s and film makers have priced themselves out of the public's reach. For a day when I had lost money I was not going to pay an exorbitant rate for a ticket to watch a film, especially when it wasn’t even peak viewing time. Perhaps I should of collected my hair from the hair dressers and tried to do some kind of barter? For some reason I don’t think they would of accepted. Shame, they just don’t know a super hero when they see one. This disguise works wonders. The Fat balding middle aged man, who’d believe it, hairy ass and a fart to kill.