Am I paranoid?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm paranoid? Someone will say something and I'll go over it in my mind. I'll ask questions like "what did they mean?" and was it the words of the comment or the inflection of the voice. Because the "HOW" of something being said is more important than what is said at times. That's why when you hear an interpreter speak you never really know what is going on between the lines. Sometimes my paranoia leads me to ask if other people are like me.

Is my shirt too loud today? Did I forget to say hello to them? And of course the 'OK you bastard be like that but in the outside world beyond the factory you have no respect.' Then I wonder if I am not a likable person, if there is something about me people don't like. Or why on earth should it matter? Rather what matters is I'm not being fake but being myself. As the in Shakespeare's play Hamlet "Be true to yourself."

Now did old Shakespeare have paranoia, or was he too busy writing about mixed up people, or more of mixed up paranoid people. If any King Lear certainly was one not forgetting Hamlet again, I mean who really sees ghosts? Which reminds me next time I wake up at 2 a.m. I'll ask Fred if he'll stop rattling his chains, I got work in the morning.

On the stairs

I had an odd understanding today, sometime in the morning, either on the way to the loo or returning from the loo. I was on the stairs at the time. I realised there were a number of people in the Factory I just did not like. Even to the extent quietly harbouring my own animosity towards them. The girl who beat me in an interview for a managerial post, the stout woman who was a manager and I just know is incredibly insincere in personality. She says "Good Morning" to everyone when she happens to pass them in the morning, but it isn't a natural polite enquiry it's as though it is forced. I'd also heard how she had ganged up with another manager and questioned a very nice hard working employee who had some misgiving about the way a new proposal was to be implimented. It is as though there are people in life who you just don't really need to know a great deal about, but immediately can put them into a category. They are the not so nice persons. My epithany was I disliked far too many coworkers and should give up on those silent thoughts and voodoo curses I'd projected in their directions. They can't really help being complete twats, or having something defective in their character. In the meantime it was a waste of energy for me, even the whisp of a thought is a waste of energy. Perhaps equating to a fraction of a granual of sugar, but sometimes thoughts run away so quickly or automatically they are difficult to control. But very fortunately mouths are, because with all these thoughts if I didn't have control of my gob I'd of been sacked quite a time ago.

Desperately Seeking Flu

In the background the TV runs, constantly streaming forth auditory puke, worse than a Friday night session and an involuntary spasm after 15 pints of beer, but it was the last beer with the funny taste wot did it. Spurt. Just like a scene from The Exorist, the TV spews forth yet more fowl smelling bile. No wonder I hate being sick.

What is it with never ending repeats of Madonna in her starring debut role in Desperately Seeking Susan. It seems only 2 or 3 days ago it was on the box and again it rears its self like a decayed crap rising to the surface of the world's ocean. Even the ocean can not put up with it and tries desperately to throw it forth hoping some alien craft will whisk this unwanted phenomenon into the deepest hottest part of the Sun. Oh I hate being sick!!!

There should be some reward for persons who come threw bouts of sickness, not a medal, becuase it would be too corny, perhaps a hot chocolate pudding with whipped creme freche, and maybe a touch of sour apricot sauce to offset it. What are the pleasures of life? Sex, food, and what others? Getting well would seem to be one.

Just done 4 days back at the Factory, after a week off. Now what a dangerous combination it can be. When time off from work makes you realise how much you enjoy the time off and why you don't like the work. Even if for some reason you have convinced yourself you really do enjoy your work, take a holiday and then the pleasure of late morning rising, slowly eaten food, and chilling really do have. Lets not forget the happiness of being in the company of family and friends just long enough to know you love them but not to know you love them enough you want to stick your hands round their throats or give them a one way ticket to Bombay's outer reaches. As for depressive relatives, stick them on a boat, take the rudder off and wave with a happy tear in your eye. They can jump off and swim back when they've learnt to cheer up. Otherwise asta lav vista for longer than you'd expect.

No the factory isn't everything, neither is the Flu, I'd just wish Susan would Fuck Off, there's only so much Maddona anyone can take.

Artic? NO!!!! Inarticulate Monkeys

I was listening to the radio this morning, BBC Radio 4, the Today program, when for the first time ever they announced an interview with the band Artic Monkeys. Because Artic Monkeys had just won the Mercury award.

Earlier I discovered the Mercury award was somthing to be given to those musicians who had produced good music but really didnt get the recongnition they deserved. (This was yesterday while i was at the gym on the treadmill). The broadcaster went on to say although Artic Monkeys were a candidate, it didn't make much sense they should win because they held the record for most sold debut album. In the circumstances it would be silly to give them yet another award. It was further elaborated the Mercury Award was something judged on the night and after an hour or so of deliberation from the selected judges. To this extent the judgement and novelty of the award seemed to have something going for it other awards just couldn't. For instance being influenced by the politics of a situation.

So it was a surprise to hear Artic Monkeys had won. A small clip was given of some of their music and then the interview which was exceptionally short, i'd of thought in the region of 10 to 15 seconds took place. Previously Artic Monkeys had always refused to give interviews, in this very very short space of time I so understood why. Because the wonderful imaginative name of Artic Monkeys was in fact a big blundering misnomer, the real name which must of been scribbled out because they couldn't spell it, popped to mind. A flashbulb moment errupted. Yes in reality the Artic Monkeys are really The Inarticulate Monkeys. It was as though i was listening to a group of boys who had just left secondary school with no GCSE's between them having failed in favour of going to music classes and playing with their spoons. Somehow their true name The Inarticulate Monkeys had been misslaid with their text books.

The talent of their music had suddenly without doubt been overshadowed by their vocabulary, (rather lack of it) attitude and perhaps even geneticly challenged intelligence. They talked in a derisory fashion of how it was selling of CDs that made them famous, even though the interviewer interjected it was their internet success that begot the financial wealth of their CD sales. In this extent there was no recognition of the fans who listened to them. There was no thanks to the wonder of the internet and what it had done for them. Apparently the interview was so short because so much of it entailed editing out of swearing it could not be aired. So I have christened in my own mind and will state whenever i hear their name spoken. "Oh Artic Monkeys you say, hmmm don't you really mean The Inarticulate Monkeys?"

Therefore it goes here is one person who will never purchase any music from The Inarticulate Monkeys. However if for some reason i'm given it free by a friend i'll listen to it accidentally of course, I wouln't want to break any copyright laws. I wonder if The Inarticulate Monkeys actually ever paid for any of their music before they were famous. OOps now a fan may probably think the answer is "no" and oh yes where can i get it for free?

Not enough hours in the day

When returning to the factory after a break it's always predicatably the same. Piles of work, an in tray so big it looks like it's reaching the ceiling. So today i became a battery chicken, doing my work without so much as a 5 minute skiving session. And when i left after much more than a 74 hour day, i hadn't finished laying all the eggs, fluffing up all the straw or clucking all the clucks required to straighten out my coop. Well there's always tomorrow.

Full Week Off

Had a full week off the factory, i didn't even get tempted to go in and do weekend overtime. I said "no" to myself and persued a week of relaxation. It was great Little monster boy was the best relaxation medicine i could take. I liked to have a little arguement with him, it goes along the lines off:

Me: "A bus is bigger than an elephant," to which Monster Boy laughs as if to say i am silly and replies
"No. An elephant is bigger than a bus." As if to put me right, because i should know better, i bait him some more and repeat the statement, he repeats his reply. Then i ask:
"So how may elephants have you seen?"
He laughs still and says " I haven't seen any elephants, but i still know an elephant is bigger than a bus."

I wish I had taken him to see the mechanical elephant that went through London, if he'd of seen it he would of known he was right. And i would of completely agreed with him and laughed in exactly the same way.

Tantalising Shiela made a pleasant remark, she'd missed having the piss taken out of her at work. It made me smile inside, though i didn't say anything to her, she just threw in my face a comment about being pissed at the get fat quick club dinner. And being outrageous. Odd how although I'd like something to be, i know it never will, but in the meantime there's nothing wrong with a bit of humour, life must go on so why not with a smile or two.

I've just began to read "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest by Ken Kelsey, I must admit after just a dozen pages it's different from both the film and play. I had a front row seat a few weeks ago at the Garrick and Christian Slater was playing the main character, McMurphy. He is definately a good actor to watch he was very much into his role, but one thing i noticed, he didnt appear to look at the audience the entire time. Maybe he just acts that way.

Decent of the Talkative

It happens once in a while Mrs Talkative and Mr not so Talkaive and their wonderful little brats, Princess not so talkative and, Boy Ignorant not so talkative and Boy Smarty pants not so talkative decend upon me and Big Mama. At this point live stops. It happened yesterday. From 4 p.m. through to 9:20 p.m. every minute i counted.

At times I just can not endure Mrs Talkative, I can't believe she is my blood, in fact when i think of it i can't believe it. Blood is thicker than water, but how much i ask? Perhaps not a lot. The little ones were great Princess not so talkative enjoyed going to the park and made sure she had a go on most of the play ground toys. However, she is a little scaredy cat and some of the obstacles she wasn't so sure about, if she was too high up or if she felt she had no control over something then she'd want to get off it. But it was ok to swing hanging on for all she's worth up and down and me chasing behind her has she dangled down, on some funny apparatus i can't even begin to describe.

They bought along their mad dog who i am sure had caught one of our cat's fleas. Princess told me they must be dog fleas. Of course she's right.

They were all kept watered and fed for the entire time they stayed and with a wonderful relief eventually, oh so eventually left. It is always wonderful to see the kids but it is equally always as wonderful to wave them off. This may mean i could never be a father, which is likely to be true now, being i've hit my early 40s.

How odd it is having a grand scheme of things, a notion such as when i grow up i will be an electrician have kids a house a car and a beautiful wife. No house, no car, no kids, no wife, hmmmm ok lets roll the dice again i must of gone right somewhere. Oh yes as the poem goes "if you compare yourself to others you will become vain and bitter" I'm not either i hope ok maybe a little bit bitter at times. Perhaps i just haven't matured yet, i'm sure i'll grow up soon.

Not what was expected

I sat on the backdoor step, my wonderful 5 year old nephew little monster boy had a seat, he ate his ice cream and chocolate sauce quite happily. I thought for a moment and said to him.

"You know what I can't think of a better time than now, just sitting here eating ice cream with you, it makes me very happy." His reply wasn't quite what i expected, along the same lines he said
"you know what would make me happy?"
I replied "No."
"If Doctor Who were on TV every day. But he's not real. It would make me happy if he was real and the Cybermen..."

Little Monster Boy has a fixation with Doctor Who. But even to the immediate effect of sitting with his favourite uncle and eating beautiful ice cream on a very hot day. Maybe next time i'll stick gravy on his ice cream and see what he thinks then.

Lunch yesterday again wasn't what i'd expected. Tantalising Shiela, Big woman and Tattoed girl sat outside in a very nice pub on a very hot day. I got merrily happy with my beverages, chit chat passed by. Tattoed girl seemed to have something on her mind, she wasn't at all perky, Big woman as though she'd had her arm twisted, and Tantalising Shiela not on form either as though held back. It was nice being outside eating a good meal and enjoying the sun but the whole experience was somewhat turned down. Not enough laughs.

It had been a planned event, odd how something which should of been a laugh turned out more of a wet squib. Athough i'd managed to have them all chuckle at my slight inebriation the funny side didn't go any further. Later as i thought of the conversations at lunch i felt a little sad, chances of Shiela and anything possible was not on. Her new man was going to be her new man and likely her old man. Expectations are not always a good thing to have, because they are open to being dissolved and leaving a lost aftertaste, not unpleasant just fading away.

Debrief for factory job

I had a debrief today for the role as a factory manager. i didn't get the job and now wanted to find out where i'd gone wrong. As though it wasn't apparent, because I had completely failed on one of the questions i should of sailed through. Just goes to show even when you think you are prepared, there is a possibility you have left something out. As the saying goes luck is opportunity meets preparation.

Of 7 questions which i could of scored a maximum of 5 out of 5, i had scored 4 on 5 of the questions, a 3 1/2 and a 2. I hadn't scored a 5 on any of them. Though I was told i was appointable, which is not a great concilation prize in reality. As for the question i scored 2 on, it was an obvious one to come up, i should of known it. Unfortunately factory manager jobs dont come up a great deal because, everyone shuffles around in dead-mans-shoes. Yes the factory culture is old, needing a kick up the backside. But it don't matter what i do or say i'm still a little nut on a bolt at the bottom of the machine. Even if i fell off the machine would still carry on working. But then again, nobody is indispencible although they like to think they are, and may even manourver themself's into possitions where they appear to be. Be it the little nut or the cream on top.

I wonder if Lazy long haired man turned up for his interview in the Army, that was today. Did he get out of bed in time or was he counting sheep and playing on his Playstation?

Tomorrow will be interesting, lunch with members of the get fat quick club.

Wanted to go on a weekend break to York, unfortunately Dundee Cake couldnt do it. Never mind i'll soon have a few days off from the factory. I'm sure i can find something to do with myself. Take up snail racing perhaps.

Day of Golf

What a chilling (relaxing) day, short run in the morning followed by practically a day of watching the British Open which was good viewing Except for a period where I'd had one too many glasses of wine and fell asleep.

Tiger Woods took it in a very emotional finish. I couldn't help feeling compassion towards him since it was his first big win since his father had died. Though I hadn't seen his wife before and the inevitable meandering thought of trophy wife infiltrated my mind. Also Tiger looked older without his hat on. Possibly with a receeding hair line. The runner up was equally emotional - Chris (something) his mother had died a few days earlier. Els was a dissappointment, especailly yesterday having drawn Tigger as his partner. I don't think Els was able to take the pressure of playing with Tiger, perhaps it's something Tiger does when he plays anyone. His serious attitude and no nonsense way about him. Or his brilliant golfing skills. It worked whatever it was.

Watching the golf

Met lazy long hair man for lunch in the pub. It gave me the opportunity to peak a look at the golf. Woods showing his tiger instinct and leading all the way. Poor old Els just seemed to be lacking a very small edge that he needs to catch or beat Tiger. Els missed a couple of shots which would of put him equal or infront of Tiger. I hope he can pull it off tomorrow - the final day.

Lazy long hair man has thought about joining the Army. I can't see him actually really joining the army because that would mean getting up in the morning earlier than 11:30 a.m. and mean some kind of work. But he explained over lunch he'd rather go in the army than be unemployed for so long. I asked if it was because of his situation at home. He nodded his head and said it was a factor he'd taken into account. A way of getting away from an alcoholic father and a depressive mother. I told long hair he could talk to me any time he wanted, because i'm here for him. He couldn't talk to his mum or his nan in the same way and was glad to have me, it's good i know just to chat and get things of your chest with someone who isn't going to intervene or ball you out. I said i wouldn't want his mum or dad wished on anyone but i'd want me as his uncle for everyone, Long hair laughed. I'd bunged him 20 quid as well, I hope it wasn't because of the bribe.

I glanced up at the TV and saw a fantastic hole shot from Garcia, he could be another possiblity for tomorrow.

When i asked long hair about getting his hair cut, he said he was going to go with his friend but his friend couldn't make it. Long hair admitted he didn't like going places on his own. The thought he might have some mild form of agraphobia whinced through my mind. Though i'm sure he doesn't really. I spoke of a bloke i could put long hair in contact with who was in the army and who'd tell him what the life was like. Long hair's only concern is he'd do his basic training and then be shipped out to Iraq. This is all of our concern at the moment. But the plus side is a multitude of different careers.

Well we'll see if long hair makes his interview with the army advisor on Monday what happens. Personally i still can't see him waking up in time to get there. He's a good kid, i can't think of anyone who long hair couldn't get on with, i make him laugh as much as i can. I'm sure he'd look better in green than his occaisional girly preference for pink. Now pink on the battle field, that would be a fashion statement for anyone.

Last Day of training at the factory

It took an entire week to reach this point, well 4 other days. It has ended, training that is, not the world, because if that were the case no one would be here to read my blog. Indeed if i have anyone at all out there?

I sit here thinking about what went on in training whilst at the same time listening to Macy Gray she's incredible, I sure hope she brings out another album.

Loony Mary sat next to me again. Odd isn't it how people will take a seat and a position in a classroom and then when the same class reconvenes everyone goes back to the same seat. Even if they didn't like their seat, place or the person sitting next to them. It don't make much sense, to realise it's possible to sit somewhere else. But i suppose when all the seats are taken up and there's really no where else it would kinda give the wrong message. Pretty loudly.

Day 4 training at the factory

This is my second blog, and i realised very early this morning, a lot of things can happen in a day and it would be impossible to write about them all. So perhaps i just have to pick out those things I think i should write about. Sorry this blog may be depressing, but inside for some reason I'm not blue just thoughtful.

The factory was as unproductive as ever, yet another day wasted learning a computer system which is really supposed to be windows based, but in reality is not. The interface is a shell posing as a windows system. The world of factories is so out of tune with the real world of things that really work.

I listened to good old Radio 4 this morning, and Thought for the Day was on. It was about children being the victims of violence in the Lebanon. I bought an Independent news paper and again after turning a couple of pages saw the picture of a small girl, perhpas 5 years old. Dead by a roadside. A result of an Israeli fighter plane bombing a convoy of 20 vehicles all trying to escape to a less hostile place. They didn't know who she was because her parents were killed as well. When innocents are the victims of crimes it is all the more tragic. The Independent reporter said it was a war crime, I can't help but agree. However, the crisis is two sided between Israel and Lebanon, and it will escalate if Syria become crony Bush's next target. The deepening mire gets deeper still.

Closer to home: Silly Sophia says she is going to drop the charges with the police against her husband beating her up. I feel almost useless because she doesn't seem to want to change her life, and can only see herself as the victim. She wants to be as low as she can get, and even lower. She would allow herself to become an alcoholic like her Rambunctious Rotter ex. All I can do is support her as much as i can. I know she is under pressure from the old goat to go through with her prosecution, but Sophia is at the complete whim of her feelings, her thoughts have not yet had a real chance to understand and accept she can both do something and survive beyond Rotter. Life does go on. And little Monster boy is the most wonderful kid in the world, I'm sure she knows he is, but Sophia can not understood his feelings when he sees his dad beat up his mum. Through the eyes of innocents, violence is witnessed again, if only i could put him in a bubble and play music when these things kicked off. But for now, i'll be there as best i can, she has to make her own decisions perhaps a broken nose may do it next time.

Hot day in the factory

It was hot in the factory today, regardless of how many windows were open or fans switched on there was no escape. I went out at lunch time and passed a wall on the shady side, I touched it and it was warm. Not a good sign.

Meanwhile factory work was the third day of training on a new machine. How on earth do people learn to do new things? At times I've thought perhaps i have a little intelligence, but this machine was to prove me wrong. I looked hard at the screen in front of me, wasn't sure where to place the cursor. So gave up. The trainer went over it all again with everyone else in class, except me, she'd missed my consternations. It was too hot to be bothered, in the end the little bead of swet won out and dribbled down my back, taking more concentration and effort than the training.

It was my luck to have Loony Mary sitting next to me. Memo to self, when going on any kind of training course arrive early that way I can choose my own seat. Preferably near a window, or better a door for quick exit. However, Mary was good to me, she said she had bought some cornets and put them in the fridge, it had been her birthday. Awwwe. I was invited to have one. Cornet of course. I'd keep myself pleasant while i sat next to her, and desperately hope she didn't think I fancied her.

Tantalising Shiela came out of her office when I got back from training. I threw some insults at her and compliments in equal doses. She fortunately likes a laugh, and I'm on friendly terms with her. Especially over the last few months when Shiela has found her funny happy side. Must be the new boyfriend, he keeps her happy she in turn is happy at work. Women an hormones, the two inextricably linked.

Shiela told me about her black trousers because I'd commented she'd had a nice piece of jewellery where the belt button was. Though I could of said something else, less complimentary, but that would of been stretching it. Pun - get it. The buckle turned out to be a broach not a buckle. It was because her trousers had a "V" shape join at the top, it looked like she hadn't done them up properly. I'd asked if it was to stop her belly coming out. Shiela fainted kicking me. I was in one of those wierd funny moods when I couldn't help what my mouth said. A bit like being drunk, but in my case sobre. Shiela though could take it - on this occaision, until her own paranoia set in. Or is that hormones, and every man was a bastard.