Guinness

Just recently, I have taken a liking to Guinness, the black stuff with a creamy head. It's taken a while for me to really appreciate the taste. It's not one of those things which comes naturally, it is aquired. I used to think the best part of a pint was the second half, for some reason the top half just didn't taste so good. Then when I'd drunk the top half I'd get used to it and really enjoy the bottom half. Now I've got used to both the top and the bottom half of a glass is equally very nice. At first it just used to be on special occaisions like St Patricks day. Now I think I could drink it on any day.

I heard on the radio Guinness have now brewed a pint which rather than being black in colour is red. It's been brewed for the male pallet they said. Bitter at the front of the mouth and sweet at the back. If it gets a bit more popular wish some luck I'd give it a try. As a drink Guinness is said to be high in iron, but it's odd how it's not mentioned how it can help when you need to sit on the pan. I wont go into it too much. But a couple of pints in the evening will certainly make the difference in the morning.

Not to mention the unique nature of Guinness advertising, how they appear to break the mould. The racing snails, a man who dances to funny music, how man is frozen back to the neanderthal state when it's drunk and there's the advert where a town's aging swiming hero takes on all comers to still win his race. I hope I'm not getting the ads mixed up, but I think these ones are all from Guinness.

Well nearly over the effects of my pint and a half of the black stuff, which means I haven't got any excuse now to run naked, jump in the closest river and turn into a snail. Thing is snails don't swim. This could mean I should take it just a little lighter. Ok just the one pint next time, and I'll try and drink it slow.

Deep Bath

Drew a bath this morning, it was so deep I could of drowned in it. Then as i stepped in my toes were on fire. They were red hot but my hands told me the water was warm not hot. So I proceded to stick my bum in, and it wasn't so bad after all. Except for the water displacement. It rose even higher, nearly up to the overflow hole. Toes just about surfaced out of the water to cool them down a little. Not forgetting to throw in the 'made in China' bath salts which were part of a crimbo present. The instructions said not to get them in your eyes or on your face, but my bum was ok. If I am now hideously scared on the arse no one can see it. At least I'm no uglyier before the bath than after the bath. I laid there a long time. It was hot and relaxing, the problem is my mind is racing.

Quite a non eventful Sunday morning. I got a bow saw and am wondering about cutting some trees down on a small bit of waste land just behind the house. Because then perhaps it would be overtaken by blackberry bushes. They'd be a deterent to anyone who decided to wonder on the waste land and into the back garden. The trees are just killing off the wild plants, because they suck up so much water from the soil. Foxes use the waste ground as a meeting place. You can hear them at night, they cry out like a baby balling it's head off at times. There was once even a couple of hedgehogs who used to wonder into our garden from there. I think they died off. Someone probably laid slug pellets down. They're highly toxic to hedgehogs. At least if you got spikes there's no worries about being ugly. The trees were probably not so big then when the hedgehogs were running about. Hedgehogs eat slugs. Not little boys like the nursery rhyme. Yes so far quite unevenful.

My mind's racing because i'm thinking about having to represent a couple of fishes from the fish factory. In this case I become the ritz man. I suppose it'll only be off my mind once it's all over and done with. I know there's no one is going to lose their job this time round. It would be awful to have someone thrown out of the pond. It's just things encroach onto normal life from the Factory and then they play on my mind. I'm not sure what to do in one case, although I know the outcome has been informally agreed. The thing is I feel a little out of my depth, I shouldn't of been this far out of sea without having been here before on a trial run. It's a let down. Which is probably what's bothering me. It is and it's the big fishes I'm facing.

If only it were possible to draw a bath and wash away vexations thoughts. For some reason I don't think those Chinese bath salts did it. Well I probably smell a lot better. As for the scarred bum, I'll keep it under wraps. After all I don't want the hot baths of this world to feel they are being discriminated against.

Missing Sparkling Eyes

At the moment I'm missing Sparkling Eyes very much. It was her birthday when I stayed and I got her an Oxfam goat. I'm particularly missing Sparkling Eyes this moment. As I checked out her blog and I know she's about but not talking to me doing her girly thing. Sometimes it can just hurt too much, it's something I realised today when someone asked me how it went on my break. I had answered it was "ok" and later wondered. Why was it I had only said "ok?" Because it was more than "ok" it was a wonderful beautiful time I had. The answer was simple it hurt missing Sparkling Eyes and talking too much about i , telling people how I really feel would hurt more and after all they may not really want to know. Recalcitrant Rock Chick, DIY man and everyone else I miss very much so yes it is emotionally painful. I love them all, Sparkling Eyes very much so.

Yesterday I saw Little Monster Boy and gave him a big hug it helps. Monday night is usually a pub night but I really needed to see the little Monster. I managed to get him into his PJ's by bribery. But it wasn't the bribery which worked at first, it was because I said I had to leave. Then he put his PJ's on demanding I stay longer if he did. So I sat down for an extra 5 minutes after which he requested his original bribe. How could I refuse? On leaving I had another hug.

Things are happening at the Fish Factory to the extent today I did little work. One individual needed to see me because her manager had asked her to attend an informal meeting and said she could bring a rep. A second ongoing case I'm dealing with has received a management letter about her absences and is expected to see the biggest fishes in the factory for a grilling. The problem is it's very difficult actually getting her in for her grilling. Being sick an all. Poor thing, they will throw her out of the pond if they can, something I'll not let them do if I can help it.

Dealing with these events all takes up a lot of time. The only way things can be really understood though is by speaking to people, hearing what they have to say, so I always get the little fishes to meet me and chat. As for the informal meeting sounds like a verbal reprimand is on the agenda, but again not if I have my way. Sure hope I can do the Ritz man justice and take as good a position as I have seen him take. Some of those big fish need their fins clipped because of the way they treat the little ones, one day someone may just throw a stick of dynamite into the factory rather than a hook.

Sparkling Eyes you're on my mind wish you'd talk to me, say hi and have a chit chat Right this moment Sparkling Eyes Goat is running around chasing other goats making friends and about to make an even bigger goat herd for her owner. All thanks to Sparkling Eyes generosity. I wonder if I can put in an order for some cheese.

Bermuda Triangle of BLOGS

Well I posted a BLOG yesterday and it has disappeared. I checked it today and it has gone? It's odd to say the least. My PC has been playing up every so often just disconnecting so maybe this is why yesterdays BLOG went AWOL. Shame because I had put so much effort into it. Some things are just transitory, so it must be with BLOGS.

I saw a film last night about aliens trying to invade the planet it was called Arrival and the main actor was Charlie Sheen. He's funny to watch. This film led me to download some software which uses your computer when it's not doing anything. Like computers do. Go and make dinner or pop down the shops as it were. Which they don't do much off at all. So I checked out the site and downloaded the software to SETI. So when my computer isn't working it's now going to be looking for aliens. Maybe I've been watching too much TV. Sparkling Eyes will tell me it's typical of me. Rock Chick would only think it was cool if I actually found an alien and the alien was a homicidal maniac. Of course then I'd probably be the unfortunate victim to this homicidal maniac and she could then with all confidence write to a lifer. Nice to know I have a potential roll in the Universe. Though not quite the roll I had in mind.

As for my lost BLOG, it's a shame, because I had written about some of the events which happened to me while staying with Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick, and how I miss them. But be assured girls, I am still here and have not dropped into the Bermuda Triangle just yet, or been at the hands/tentacles/appendages of a homicidal alien. Love ya.

Held Hostage

It's now been 3 days. I've been kidnapped, held ransom to my ability to hang wallpaper. Sparkling Eyes, demanded her room bed decorated. The task had to be done in 3 days because she said so. Not because it might take 3 days, but because it had to bed done in 3 day. It was an ultimatum. Short tempered, short patience and possibly at the end of a short vocal retort if I wasn't compliant. All of course with a big smile. The pressure was on. Fortunately help was at hand from Fat Boy. I became his bitch while he told me what to do. And I did it. Today the third day has reached and the task completed. My bacon has been saved.

I'm knackered. Sleep beckons me. I had a long hot bath Sparkling Eyes had drawn for me. It was wonderful, soaking up all the bubbles to the point of looking like a rapid animal. Put some clothes on with difficulty and slumped into the settee. Lets not forget the wonderful Thai Chicken Sparkling Eyes had cooked. Very, very, nice. I had two helpings. I couldn't help myself. Sparkling Eyes has just pointed out her birthday card to me, saying I look like the rotund panda. Large plack eyes, and very big white furry tummy, a bowler hat on it's head. This picture Sparkling Eyes declared looked like me. For now I'll accept it because I'm tired.

Now she's jealous because I touch type and so she's speaking nonsense while I try and type this BLOG. To put me off typing. I am held hostage. I just can't get away. Recalictrant Rock Chick wants tomorrow off, I am hostage. With luck sleep may come tonight but without it I'll be held hostage while Sparkling Eyes tells me about something and nothing. My attention being drawn into a strange and weird world. They argue with each other, the cat comes in and decideds to join in. HELP. Let slumber come to me, let it knock me out and may I snore loud and keep everyone else awake, while I go into the land of nod. After 3 days I need it. HELP.

Tomorrow is Sparkling Eyes Birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY. But please just one moment of quite so I can finish this. HELP HELD HOSTATE, 3 days of decorating and I'm going crazy.

A Different World

This week I am spending in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. In reality it is like being plucked and dropped into a very different world from which I have come. At the moment I am lucky Rock Chick doesn't feel like picking a fight with me, and she sings lines from Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang. She has a nice little voice, except when shouting out at me because I've done something uncool. Like give the wrong definition of "queer" because she knows it does not fit the context of what she has in mind. Sparkling eyes has been a little kinder, well a lot kinder, except maybe for telling me to kiss her feet while I was on my knees sanding down some skirting board. Making me buy her cigarettes when I didn't, because I forgot and then telling me I am a typical man. I thinks not. But Sparkling Eyes has kept me well fed and watered. So much, I'm being called "fat boy" quite often. No matter what happens to me or how I become a victim some prank I hold a smile on my face and am very happy to be in their company. However, I'll sure hope the lad who takes on Rock Chick has a bit of back bone, coz if he doesn't she'll tie his back bone into a bow and make him act like a bunny rabbit.

The major power tool in this household is the TV remote control. I have not had to endure so much channel chopping than when Rock Chick has possession of this control. Music rules the house, except for when scarey videos are put on. And when they are I'm often of the opinion they have been picked to scare me more than the girls. One music channel after the other is played, then switched, played, then switched again, again, and again. Something comes on I like, I hear two, words am about to say it's a good song and yes, switched again. I kind of got used used to it. Murder, death, kill comes to mind, but it slowly evaporates until the next switch. Perhaps I'll steal the batteries out of the control.

Sparkling Eyes puts another load of chocolates in the dish. I have moved the dish at least 3 times into the kitchen to keep it out of my sight. But it's back again. There's a thing about chocolate if it's lying about doing nothing, just minding it's own business, it can often find itself in my mouth. Eaten. Gone forever. A back hole. Stomach is nearly as big as my eyes now.

It is a world most different from the sedentary life of a man in a fish factory, but it is so nice warm and challenging as well. Not that I have to say this because Sparkling Eyes will look over my words and refused to feed me if I didn't, no she'd just put yet more chocolates out and hope they magically disappear. Hope does not come into it, they will, of all things tempting the one thing I have problems with refusing is temptation itself. It's a different world and a warm loving one as well. Should of earnt myself a few extra chocolates now.

World of Ritz

I have ventured into the world of the Ritz. Going to the Ritz office for the first time and actually being there to do something. However, this ended up with a 3 hour conversation with the new Ritz woman who intends to take over the business. She kept talking and would not stop.

There are some things I can't agree with. Utilising my time to ring up perhaps a 1000 people just to see if they have changed address or not. Is I believe a pointless exercise. Ritz man had warned me about this previously. I agree with him, the clerical should be doing this work. I thought as she went on and on "the more someone talks, the more they need to justify themselves" it just popped in my head. I didn't challenge much, but I know she was missing the point a number of times. Seeing things from her own point of view. When she used the word "we" I'd mentally replace it with the word "I" which was the real perspective. At the bottom of it the real notion however is to build up and support the Ritz shop in a new beginning. I'm just personally saddened the old Ritz man and the new Ritz woman would never get on. They couldn't, it is clear from Ritz man's previous discussions. But with all hand's on deck, the shop would be stronger more representative and worthy. I don't think she should be there. Have I made a big mistake I wonder, should I have come forward first to lend support? I don't know. Should I have been the new Ritz Man when I know nothing of the business?

This evening I had a wonderful converstion with Sparkling Eyes, we laughed and I got told off for yawning. It was a pain because she could see me in the MSN window but Sparkling Eyes didn't have her cam on. It meant, I got told off whenever I yawned or didn't pay attention. I suppose I didn't really care. Because sometimes it is necessary to be told off when your attention wanes. Although, I was somewhat surprised when Sparkling Eyes revealed she had more than one proposal since setting up her BLOG page. Quite frankly I know she is poking me with a stick, and of course the old issue about how many views she gets with only 3 BLOG entries against my 40 odd. Or the number of comments she has against my one. As I say Sparkling Eyes, I'm writing because I like it. But not as much as I like you. I sure can't wait to see you and can feel myself smile, get warm inside and be quite happy.

If I don't like something in the world of the Ritz I must remind myself, I can just walk out.

I met with Long Haired boy today and got him whatever he wanted to eat for lunch. Poor thing was having a bad day. But the lunch I had decided would be a pleasant time. I listened to all he said, supported him in every way I could and then slipped him ten quid. He's a really good kid. I hope he can find himself some work. And get out of having to go to these Job Club places which really are no more than places to depress and devour those who don't have work.

I see so much of this country tending towards the same culture as the US, and I can only blame President Blair. We are not the US, we should never try to be them, and we should cut all ties. The NHS, Education, Crime, Unemployment and Taxes are indelible items of National concern. However, the UK should not treat US policy as good policy. Making people pay for a health service is anathema to me, blaming unemployment on the unemployed is a pointless exercise. The thing is Governments don't reap what they sow during the days of their governing, my belief is it takes about 5-10 years before those laws, budjets and decision really filter down to the people. Sodding ell, on my soap box. It happened before. I'll stop there.

As for the Ritz it will be a matter of watch this space. And don't stare vacantly at the paint drying on the wall. Because it stinks and I'll be overcome by the fumes. Or did those vapours come from some other place?

Liquish All sorts

A bag of Liquish All Sorts is a bag of mixed sweets. Today has been mixed, though perhaps not all sweets, more a case of lets-pass-the-headache-pills-round. It began with a bad dream. Not a nightmare, just a bad dream. I was in the Ritz Office and running about doing things like a fly on acid round a newly deposited turd. Then I woke up. Somewhat concerned I have put myself in the midst of something I should know better to avoid. A nice way to start the day.

In the Fish Factory, a new Fish machine had been put into the loop. Men from I.T. were running about establishing how dials should be set. But for the poor users, we sat, pulled out hair, then between all of us filled up a couple of divan mattresses. Which meant someone else had to volunteer to go down the market and get a job lot of hats. Seeing as most of us were bald at this time. We now have an improved system, but it takes longer for it to boot up while some programs don't work, this however, allows us to make a cup of coffee or tea while we wait. Slowly I can see the entire Factory becoming more caffine dependent than ever. If I smoked, my usage would go up. Unfortunately I eat and the pot may get pottier if I don't watch it.

To cap this off, Sparkling Eyes has told me she has had a million hits on her BLOG, which she has just started. I said it's nothing to do with the number of hits I write because I like it. She's also had a marriage proposal from a man in Morroco and has had a Pakistani send her an email asking why she didn't answer his previous email, because he thinks she beautiful. There is something to be said for writing a BLOG for the right reasons. For your own selfish reason, to know it might get looked at, but to express yourself. What do I need with men from Pakistan running after me I ask, nothing at all. Unless they happen to be on an I.T. helpdesk and I can understand what they are saying. Sparkling Eyes as also told me more or less I write too much. Anyway it doesn't bother me, I will write as much as I like and bore the hell out of anyone who can be bothered. As for those who can't, then it must be something to do with my hair colour. What is left.

I have prepared a card and small present for my friend the Retired English Teacher, because he has been in hospital and is due out soon. It's odd how when as a growing up child you see teachers and think they know everything. How they can be such a big influence in your life. Even if it happens to be in ways of avoiding their homework. Which of course is a creative talent of sorts. My friend I see now through my eyes as an adult rather than a child. I know he isn't all knowing, I can see his shortfalls, his meanderings and his groans. I can now see the child in him as well. The sometimes apprehensive, wondering child. I have great affection for him but I also see him as a pain in the butt at times. Maybe it's to do with his inability to grasp New Technology. Now coming to think of it, seems like the entire Fish Factory fall into this group, then there's one thing, we're all in good company. So anyone fancy an All Sort?

Ritz Man

Spoke to the man in charge of Ritz. He's a really nice man and cares a lot about his roll, even though it's one of those jobs the Big Fish don't like, because Ritz Man keeps them in control. Or he used to as best as he could. The problem is he resigned as the Big Ritz so now the Ritz office is in disarray.

Sometimes doing a thing can be a good idea at the time. However, later on as more details emerge things begin to change. So it is with the details Ritz Man has been telling me. So I am in a situation where I'm doomed if I do and possible doomed if I don't. Something to think about. I want to learn about keeping the Ritz safe from the Fish but lots of politics abound.

So as time is short for this BLOG, think I'll hit the sack and not dream of Fish and Ritz coz otherwise i'll not dream at all. Where on earth did the cheese go?

Grey hair and rain

This morning I checked out my face while shaving and there waving it’s hands and doing summersaults was a grey hair. This recalcitrant little bugger had done this before. It always seems to happen when my hair needs a cut. For some reason this loan ranger sticks his bloody head up and wont blend in with the other hairs. No he has to wave the bloody Union Jack. So a date with the Barber was imminent.

The day has been awful nothing but rain. Hard rain, light rain and the very slight powdery kind of rain which just manages to get you wet when you think it is nothing at all, then you’re soaked to the skin. I endured the short journey to my Barber’s in this rain. And when I walked into the shop, hardly anyone was there. It was then I became enlightened. Always get your hair cut on a rainy day. There had been cues here before which had me waiting nearly an hour before I got a seat. But the rain had done something wonderful. It had washed away the general public. I will in future use every rainy day to my advantage and fill them with lots of things I need to do. Even the roads weren’t busy either. Rain, rain come and stay, cos the people go and stray. Or rather lay in bed all day with depression. Great, it only led to my happiness, I must be a misanthropist. Do I care? Rain I how about a big soppy kiss.

The Barber shop is a Turkish affair normally. I’ve seen a number of different hairdressers perhaps their Visa’s run out or they get a job somewhere else. Occasionally I get one who wants to talk to me all the time and try out his English. I don’t mind when this happens because I get to know a different person who I usually will never meet again in my life. You can have some interesting conversations. This time though there stood a woman, white not tanned and had dyed blond hair. As I walked in she had motioned me to sit in her chair. My heavy wet coat off, I then sat down. And casually told her exactly what I wanted. There was an assumption here I had made. I thought she was English. It turned out she was not, I think probably Polish. But she eventually got the gist of what it was I wanted. I didn’t say much at all. I closed my eyes concentrated on relaxing and meditated while she cut my hair. There is something about getting my hair cut which makes me do this. It was wonderful. Except she didn’t know how to burn the stubborn hairs growing out of my ears. Only one Turkish Barber I’ve had has ever done a good job of burning them and I think at the time he practically set my ears on fire, but was quick enough to fan them out. If I ever see him again I’ll be in his seat, unfortunately it was a one off. Shame all Barbers should learn how to burn hairy ears.

Today I learnt through another experience there are two things you can not avoid, growing old and getting hairy ears. No, I meant wet in the rain. Now if the Barber were to try and burn my ears in the rain, I don’t think it would work. Pity the rain would put my ears out. Otherwise I’d could run up and down the road like a crazy man ears on fire. Something else which would get rid of the cues no doubt.

Weird Morning Dreams

There's something about waking up in the morning in the middle of a dream. When I'm bound to recall what it is. Whereas if I wake up early morning have a weird dream then go back to sleep again i forget it. I can't help it, the dream just dissipates like a butterfly in a fart.

I'll begin with yesterday's dream. In this a man drove up onto the front lawn. It was the killer Monk from the film La Davinci Code. Except in my dream he didn't have his habit on. The car was one of those old style Morgan's and it was black. Now it's odd because the front lawn in reality is pretty small and could probably take one car and then be overcrowded. But this man got out of his Morgan got on his hands and knees and began to look for a small Evian water bottle. He had hidden it somewhere in the grass and I knew it wasn't there. Suddenly I notice a he searched the lawn, it seemed a lot bigger. He was frantic trying to find the bottle. I knew the reason why. For it held the water of eternal youth. Needless to say, the water bottle was not there. So he now wanted to get in the house. I was scared of him getting inside so went to a bedroom where this big muscle building younger bloke slept. I woke him up and he was dazed and didn't know what was going on. I felt a little guilty sending him downstairs to the mad crazed killer. But heck he'd have a better chance of defending himself than me. Especially with all those muscles. Again this is odd because I don't have a large muscle building bloke living here. I could barely send the cat after him. It was somewhere at this point, where I was scared of being murdered and looking for somewhere to hide or get away from this mad Monk but not-in-a-habit-killer consciousness had saved me.

Today's weird dream, was just as odd. I was up at the Embankment in London and really needed to have a pee, i was bursting. So to relieve myself I entered a pub and went to their loo. It had a pretty awful smell of urine, and it also had large square sink. One of the old types from the 1960s which are not used so much now days. In this sink sticking half out were a pair of legs. Legs!!! They had been cut off a small man. I could tell because mens legs are more muscly and they had some hairs on. Also they were definitely proportioned to be from a small man or midget. I then wondered where the rest of the body was. The notion had occurred to me the legs were put in the sink to keep them cool and they could then be sown back on the person they come off. The next thing I knew was being out of the pub looking for a midget with no legs. I knew who it was, again a midget actor I'd seen in some films. I awoke out of this dream in a kind of curious state of search. Whereas the previous dream was more of a nightmare and waking up out of it saved my life.

I haven't got the faintest conception of what either of these dreams meant, just they were on my mind in the morning and getting up I also had to go to the loo for a pee, which could be why this was part of one dream. As for a midget's legs where on earth did they come from, he could hardly be running about when I went looking for him. Maybe it was the mad Monk who did it, if it were the case I better give the TV a rest and take up something a little less likely to invade my dreams. Lets just close my eyes and think about it.

Mad Enough to Kill

It's been one of those days, the one where just getting through the day is a triumph without killing someone. In a long tortuous way, in fact anyone who puts the next straw on my back. There's a saying I once heard "Don't wake the sleeping bear," which seems to me to be pretty important. Except today I was a bear in a cage with loads of visitors throwing sticks at me. Luckily the cage door was locked. I nearly committed murder.

Standing at the platform waiting for a train I get a text from Silly Sophia saying Long Haired boy has to leave. Little Monster Boy needs his room. Silly Sophia had been speak to someone who listens, and this time she was using someone else again to say what she has on her own mind. I didn't need the text it was the first wind-up. At lunch time I met Long Haired boy and we discussed Silly Sophia. I told him the reasons why Little Monster Boy had to have a room and the woman from Del Monte had Silly Sophia in a neck hold. She'd steal Little Monster Boy away. I felt sorry for Long Haired Boy, he's been through too much at such a young age. He said he felt unloved. I told him we all loved him, I loved him, his nan and even Silly Sophia did, although she didn't know how to show it. You could easily argue there's a good case for test-tube genetic babies rather than have families. Then you never know you could always get a bad batch of genetics, or just a load of loonies you weren't related to, but the good thing would be, you wouldn't have to see them again.

At the Fish Factory I could of killed. I could of killed the manager, because all he ever does each day is talk to people. And I could of killed Tatooed girl coz all she ever does all day is give a verbal diatribe of the next bit of fish gutting she is about to do. I could of killed the the man who is like an old girl sitting behind me, because he just likes chatting when other's chat, he thinks he's in some way a bit more prestigious than others as well. I could probably get enjoyment out of killing him twice, ok, maybe three times. I could of murdered the work man on the floor below our factory where they are constantly drilling. I would of got the drill and stuck it in his ear while he was laying on the floor then just flipped the switch. My paracetamol weren't working. I really needed to concentrate, with work coming out of my ears fish all over the place flapping about crying out for attention. And we have only one more day left of this old electric fish machine because a new one is going to be up and working in 5 weeks time. Given it is compatible because they really don't know. At times I sat at my desk and swivelled on my chair looking away over to a blank wall. All these people were making noise. I needed to concentrate and get on with my fishes. These people wouldn't let me. I wonder if i can cram them all into the lift and cut the wire? The problem is with all these murders it might be quite for a short while but then I'd be stuck in a jail with two fat geezers one called Shirley and the other Fred who fancied something fresh. Kill them, dispose of their bodies in the Thames and blame it one someone else. No, I think I'd really enjoy it. And it would send a message out there to all those people who just love opening their mouths and letting out a load of dribble. Yes. Sometimes there is only so much verbal diareah a person can take, and this may result in death. Yep, they could post up a message on the walls like it's done on cigarette packets. I better keep blunt heavy objects or sharp light objects out of sight. "Chill man, Chill." Yes. I even tried saying those words to myself. They didn't work. But fortunately I am not incarcerated so could write this BLOG.

I eventually got round to doing some Fish work. Then came across a case which took my attention. A youngish fishy mother had to flee her little rock pool. She had 3 sprats, 8, 6 and 3 years of age. Her rock pool had been plagued by her ex fishy partner. He'd broken her nose twice, humiliated her in public and generally been not a nice man. The poor fishy woman then had relatives knocking on her door harassing her. All because she decided she no longer wanted to wear his ring. She'd said to him their relationship had to be filleted. He was very annoyed, violently annoyed. For him, because he came from a hotter fishy climate this would bring dishonour to his family. He and his family kept threatening the poor fishy woman and then he said something which made me want to kill him. He had told her he was going to kill fishy woman and the little sprats and he told her how he'd do it. Poor fishy lady ran off to another rock pool. But it incited anger in me. I wanted to get load of blokes find this man and beat him into anchovy paste, pummel him and give him a warning. The day had been infuriating because of the noise but here had come a real reason to be violent. Luckily I'm not a violent person. I am sure I wouldn't do anything to him if I ever saw him, if I knew what he looked like. However, this incident is one which highlights how cultures from different rock pools don't always mix, especially if the other rock pool is in Pakistan and they think honour killing is acceptable.

I went shopping after work, and wondered if I should get drunk or write a BLOG. This part is done now I have a half bottle of Scotch, a carton of Double cream and a wondering if it's too late to try my hand at an Irish Coffee. Nah, it's probably easier to go sharpen the knives.

Custard Pies

While at a meeting several custard pies were thrown, some this way, some the other way, some on boomerangs. But all they did in the end was just make a mess and everyone who was not involved, who really saw them as tedious. So a vote took place stop the custard tart throwers continuing and they did stop. The meeting had ended at this point.

Anything involving people has a political edge to it. Which will at some time result in a Pie or two being thrown. Because as human beings we take offence, have dislikings and misunderstandings. Of course they can be avoided and so can the pie throwing. But it's very difficult because of human nature. In the end it comes down the the "HOW" of doing something, the manner and way. The protocol. If not written then it's about sensitivity, neutrality and politics. On the other hand sometimes a Pie just has got to be thrown, there's no beating about the bush, and someone is going to get hit fair and square in the face. We all make mistakes though, even an Uncle to his little nephew.

I saw Little Monster Boy this evening and bought him a sketch pad in which he could draw Doctor Who to his contentment. Being a silly Uncle I'd forgotten to get him one when I'd bought him some colouring pencils as part of his Crimbo presents. He told me off, throwing his custard pie right in my face. I was ashamed. My duty was clear - get him a sketch pad. Which he waded into with some zeal. I found though he prefers to use pens and felt tips to colour, probably because they are quicker and have more colour. His big sister wasn't feeling so well and had forgotten to go back to school today. I hope she can get up tomorrow.

This evening I sit wondering whether I should just easily do absolutely nothing or whether I should look at some very important Fish Factory documents, the thing is I begrudge doing this in my own time. And would prefer to listen to music. Or eating the odd pie. In the end we all have finite time, it's a matter of weighing the more important things against each other. Just to say listening to music won out. As for the Fish Factory documents, oh well it'll bite me in the arse at some other time, but hopefully while up to my armpits in fishes not in petals.

Return the Fish

After a wonderful break from the Fish Factory I found myself thrown into work, I wasn't quite sure if I should allow myself to be thrown, so ended up getting up late, then ringing up the Factory just to make sure I was due to come in. I was. No way out now. I was tossed back like a nipper the fisherman thought was too small to be worth eating. Unless you were a pigmy, on a diet in love with Gillian McKeith. Not many of them about I'm sure.

I spent the entire day doing a single piece of work, because of a phone call. Each time I looked at the item I noticed something was wrong. Incorrect and had to be solved before the next part could be completed. It was a struggle, uphill all the way, and as I walked up different sources of information were thrown at me and each contradicting the other. In a balance of probabilities and several grey hairs popping up, I did it. Exhausted. This little fish had just swam like a lunatic towards the boat and jumped high enough to get back on. Squelch, didn't think the fisherman would tread there. Maybe I should be paid more for what I do, I thought.

So what happens when we eat up all the fish? Consumed. Berry, belly. Then the fish have to find somewhere else to hide. All I can say is it's bloody lucky I'm not an elephant, because the fisherman would of had a pretty big surprise.

Happy 2007

Today has started with sunlight. It's amazing the effect of prolonged overcast weather and how it's so depressive. But with some sun, all looks different. I think 2007 will be a good year, although I personally saw it in by going to bed. I'll have a glass of Ginger Wine in a minute and celebrate some more.

For some unknown reason I feel happy. Lets try and work it out. Getting enough vitamins - yep. Sunlight - Yep, in love with a wonderful woman - yep, found a friend who had an emergency operation after Christmas was on the mend, sitting up in his hospital bed and even radiating a warmth and happiness himself - yep (made me very happy), long lazy lie in bed - yep, but still some other unexplained factor making me feel happy. Only had one biscuit so far today - yep. Good going.

Perhaps being happy is just difficult to analyse? It can happen for no reason at all, and maybe it's best not to question it but to go with it. Of course there are things I'll need to do or hope to get round to doing for the new year. Tidy up computer room, get fitter, lose weight, tell someone i love them more than I have before. Acquire a new friend. Yes, I'd like to do work on this last point. Learn a song, write a poem, laugh with every muscle in my body, take a long walk, cook a new exciting dish or a simple dish well, have a conversation with a child and marvel at their unknown wisdom. Learn and recite in full the poem Desiderata because it's about time, suck a sweet, clap my hands, dance because I like to, and be there for those who need me. Write more and become as fully as I can the person I am. Stand back when I need to, and not be over stretched.

I found something new today is called the Gestalt Prayer, by some psychologist, it basically says you become acceptant of who you are and be acceptant of people around you. While at the same time learn not to expect anything of them, it's a pretty nice little prayer. I checked it out from Google after a serendipitous find on a BLOG. It's nice to read other peoples writings as well. For just writing because I like it would be unfair if I didn't read what others wrote as well. I mean they have put their writings there for a reason, and as long as they are in English fine. At this time of life I can't see myself learning Chinese, I have problem enough with English people who can't speak English, let alone write it. So where was I? Oh yes, 2007 is going to be a happy year, and I know it because I can feel it right now. So happy new year to all who have cast an eye over my words. And I don't mean have plucked out an eye and thrown it at them, or have just cursory checked it out, I mean have actually bothered, lol oops seems I am bothered. Happy 2007!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Christmas

I had a wonderful Christmas with Sparkling Beautiful Eyes and Rock Chick. And for some reason I have been reminded on how my hormones effect me lately. Any silly soppy thing results in my eyes welling up, I choke and even tears come. It has to be hormonal, starting maybe a year ago or more, when a repeat of E.T. was on the box. What the hell is happening to me? I have difficulty in keeping these emotions in check, it’s like old father Crimbo came down and bestowed upon the freedom to cry at anything. At which I’ve become a whimpering wreck. Even worse than an old woman – not to be sexist in anyway. So, it can be said “men have tears to” except I probably have enough for an entire rugby team. Not to mention the subs, and perhaps even the national footy team. Maybe not, because they really are a load of Jessies.

Rock Chick had a drum set for her Crimbo and about a thousand smaller presents. Although the idea of any teenager having a drum set is distressing, she does have a sparkle of talent. Unless it becomes another little fad thing picked up and put back down as a minor interest, she could be a very budding drummer. I mean it. I can see bands in Dundee seeking her out. I’ll post up a couple of extra packets of paracetemal to Sparkling Eyes. With my love, sealed in a tear of relief. Rock Chick was good though, not one morning was I woken up by a burst on the drums. Very considerate. Must be something coinciding with her 2 a.m. bedtime routine.

There’s something wonderful in going to bed with Sparkling Eyes and just having a good long cuddle. Being able to reach over and just rest a hand on her and feel comfortable, warm and loved. It’s relaxing. Also to be on demand for feet rubs, back tickles and being prodded and made fun off like a voodoo doll. Bliss. It’s chilling. Having long conversations sometimes about nothing, sometimes about the most important things in the world – other people. When I need some comfort, I’ll just think back to this Crimbo with Sparkling Eyes and small moments will return to me like morsels of food to a very hungry man. What the hell do I do about the tears? Maybe get a drum kit. Some paracetmal, and a picture of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. What more could make me happier? Hankerchief.

Booking a Ticket

An act of desperation is booking a train ticket on the internet. Although easy enough, completing the screens and following instructions at the last moment I found something amiss.

Usually I prefer speaking to a human being. For some reason it’s nice, real people are different as opposed to automatic booking lines which work through speech recognition. Computers dehumanise the customer. They can’t answer questions either. Particularly simple questions, like “what are my earlier or later trains? What’s the cheapest ticket? And “tell me the way to San Jose?” You can’t joke with a computer. They are insensitive, autistic things. Cold, and likely to make humans hot, raging hot. How much joy it would give me to see a computer bungee jump without the rope. Microsoft have a lot to answer for.

I booked the ticket but only checked it the day before travel. Just to make sure I knew the coach and seat I would have to find. Alarm bells rang. I had “NO SEAT” reserved. It actually stated on the ticket “NO SEAT.” This could mean enduring a 6 hour plus journey standing up. Because London airports were fogged in over the last few days no internal flights were being allowed to run. This meant 100,000s of people were unable to board the plane so were taking the alternative rail and road. My liking for computers the internet

In addition the Home Secretary made an announcement the UK was now more likely to have a terrorist attack during this time than during the second World War. My comfort zone of security evaporated, a booked seat was banished. Paranoia had become a bed fellow. Unfortunately she has the habit of giving a pretty close hug as well. Sparkling Eyes was going to be more than unhappy if I was not there. I would be dead and the thing is I like my life. Especially with sparkling eyes. Alive or dead, terrorists, reserved seat and computer booking line, something had my cards marked.

Ringing up the help line I spoke to an Indian lady, whose name escaped me, not only did it escape me it flew away like an albatross on an ocean journey. Neither was it going to come back, the pronunciation was foreign to my own tongue. This could only be someone in a call centre half way around the world. A short and frustrated discussion took place, this person did not understand, I wanted a reserved seat, nor could she understand I needed to know what carriage to get on, her reply several times was “there are unreserved seats on all trains.” When I asked her about Heathrow and whether there would be more trains running, the sense I was speaking Swahili to her passed my mind. No this was the UK and I was born in a London Hospital.

The morning came and the train tested how fast I could run, it tested 200 people, we ran like crazed rabbits on LSD, seeing multiple greyhounds chase after our fluffy white tails. I got a seat. Learnt to dance, starved myself of lunch except for a packet of cashew nuts. Had a conversation with an elderly lady, learnt to speak Japanese and then woke up. The hours passed, I then got on a pc and wrote this BLOG. As for fantasies of bungee jumping pc’s now that would be a good way to put Microsoft out of action. But not just yet I’d settle for bungee-jumping-factory-hen-call-centre-not-good-english-speaker to go for a little long-high-drop no garantees of the bungee rope, of course also made in the same continent.

Westminster Abbey and Cathedral

Today I went with some friends to see Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral. One was built for protestants the other for Catholics. As a protestant Church of England not much of a goer, my view is obviously biased to Westminster Abbey. However, the Abbey is more expensive to get into, I was shafted for £10 quid before I'd even had a whiff of some incense. And to tell the truth there wasn't any incense burning either. However, I consoled myself the money I paid was going on the heating, it was blooming cold outside. The ceiling were incredibly high about 4 or 5 double decker buses high or maybe even higher. But it sure is a beautiful church. Except for all the kings and queens. Too many of them and they weren't burried in the floor so you didn't get the satisfaction of walking over them.

I found the story of poor old Oliver Cromwell interesting, and couldn't help wondering if he was one of the first real communists of this world. It saddened me to find he had been buried in the church for only 3 years and then they dug up his rotted carcass and hung it. It was a belated revenge for what he did. Personally, I'd just like the idea of getting rid of the monarchy so much, it's one of those things I will hold with me all my life, and I'm not a commy. If I could go back in time, I'd be fighting for Cromwell and I'd probably give him some advised to kill off all the remaining Kings and Queens and royal lineage. Make the country a republic. It's just obscene how royalty should own so much of the country, take so much of our taxes and not have the hard graft of life like the average Joe in the street. I'd see the queen go and collect her pension from the post office, then for her to pick up the crap from one of her own corgis and later balance her own bank account to see if she's got enough money to pay her winter gas bill. It's a chip on my shoulder, a big one. One so big sometimes I fall over, can't get through doorways or have to spew forth a torrent of abuse at any royal figure of speach. You'll never see a royal cued on an NHS waiting list that's for sure.

As for Catholics, I must admit I do have some catholic friends, but I've never liked the way the Catholic religion sees itself above other religions. To an extent the same thing is happening now in Iraq with the Muslim Sunni and Shia branches, each killing the other. If Jesus Christ ever conceived religion would be one of the causes of the worlds deaths, he'd of probably gone back to his old man and said, "dad I've had enough of that, give us a bit of wood, I think I'll stick to making cupboards." We all need a good carpenter, very useful, much more useful than a sitting on thrown useless piece of flesh called a monarch. The other side to it is monarchs can not be Catholics even today because of some Act in 1701. Now here's an idea lets abolish both at the same time. Ship them all over to America. It's about time we shipped some of our crap over there, because after all lets face it Blair does an overwhelmingly good Bitch to Bush Act. Whatever Bush says Blair does. He's jumped through so many hoops for Bush he's become pretty good at it. We all see it now. Anyone in the UK I mean. Blair will go out with nearly as much distaste as Evil Maggie Thatcher did. Except Blair's downfall was the big Con of the UK, suckeringg us into Bush's War. Bloody soap box, I'll fall through it if I keep going on.

So if you fancy somewhere warm in London during the cold weather, check out Westminster Abbey except for the cost. Now what I wonder is, if there's no God can I go back and get a refund?

Irish Coffee

It's said patience is a virtue, something quite necessary when trying to understand a teenager, understanding any minute facet of the universe and lastly in making an Irish Coffee.

I had this hankering like an itch on my back I haven't been able to scratch. I been reaching round, contorting my arm and hand in all sorts of positions but just have not been able to scratch it. This notion is making my own Irish Coffee. The weather is cold, Christmas is round the corner like a lynx cat about to pounce on it's prey and here I am standing in the snow, wind chill factor of minus 30 with a grocery bag full of ingredients to the perfect winter warmer. Besides of course a hot woman, for now it's an Irish Coffee. Except I hadn't bought real Irish Whiskey, but I thought well it's not really going to matter if it's really Irish or not. Oh and the cream was single, not the thicker double.

The attempt failed, but it didn't stop me from trying. I just could not get the cream to float on top. It was worse than the titanic. Immediately it touched the top it sank down like it had it's very own escalator to the bottom of the glass. But it tasted nice. Well nice ish. To the extent I don't have the real satisfaction of saying I have succeeded in making a true Irish Coffee. Just the second class version. So now I've done a little research and have a few tips to apply next time. Use whipped cream, or cream with a lot of fluffy texture to it, make sure the spoon is hot and of course there must be sugar in the coffee. Like Thomas Edision who believed every mistake he made brought him one step closer to success. So it will be with my Irish Coffee.

Even now I can see the coffee in my mind and what it should look like. Hot, sweet floading on top with cream, and a very nice taste. I wonder if it was the reason for the titanic sinking, the engineers just didn't factor in the Irish Coffee effect. Because all these attempts are going to have one guaranteed effect on me, an expansion of my girth. Memo to self, if this becomes an obsession I had better do some more clothes shopping.

Noise

One thing frustrates me when I am at work or trying to concentrate on something at all, is noise. People chattering inanely about subjects, as close as you can get to watching paint dry. In the meantime having no consideration to those around them who may not want to listen and get on with work. Namely me. Perhaps I have a sensitivity to it, just something I've been unfortunately cursed with, how can I lift the curse I ask myself.

I try everything possible to make it obvious, stick my fingers in ears while sitting at desk trying to read the monitor. But the talkers don't seem to notice this, it's like they not only don't give a damn about their verbal diarrhea but also they've gone blind, as well as autistic. I go to the shops and get a frequent supply of ear plugs. Bright orange foam things they are, and in the worse moments I get my ear plugs in, roll them up squeeze them and stuff them in my ears. As the foam expands they filter out some of the din. But it's like the human voice is processed too well by the brain, because I still hear them. I can't get the voices out of my head. They're not in my head, they're in the mouths and the heads of those around me who can't shut up. How they could all do with a Willy Wonker everlasting Gobbstopper methinks.

So people sitting around me dictate how much work I do. My in tray gets bigger. I get more stressed, and they carry on chatting. I could go absolutely crazy.

More and more I notice how noise impinges on my senses. Just getting up in the morning and going to work, the noise of cars, busses, trains, people talking loudly on their mobile phones, youths with music on the mobiles playing enough to be annoying because you just can't work out what the music is. Sometimes when they do this I may loudly hum along to their music, so they might feel uncool. And of course the banal conversation of people who have nothing better to do but moan about the price of bread. At times like this I could take out my mobile phone and talk loudly, swear, or talk as though I have something important they might be interested in, for example the price of flour makes the price of bread go up but I'm a chemical engineer and we've found substitute flour works just as well. But unfortunately let it out trials of the substitute flour tested on volunteers have made them run round naked and think they were DoDo birds. Just make up any story, as long as I'm talking loud and drown out their inane chatter. And of course I'm talking to no one, but they are not to know.

Noise pollution is something no one can get away from. It is forced upon us, there is no shutter like an eyelid to pull down and keep it out. The only time it goes away is when asleep or in a quiet place, preferably with few people.

So next week I am going to have a party for one. Sit at my desk, sing to myself, chat to myself quite loudly and openly and answer myself. Shout, cry, ball, laugh uncontrollably act in a strange and unormal fashion. And with a little luck, I just might make those people around think I am mad or possibly dangerous to the extent they shut up. Thing is, the men in white coats will come along and drag me off, not because I'm disturbing the peace because there never is any peace but most likely because whatever one sided conversation I'm having is more interesting than those 2 or more people have. Or just maybe they'll find a nice quite room for me.