Give me a shelf of Larynxs

I got into the Fish Factory this morning, with a bright and breezy feeling. Anticipating the day and thinking it's good to be here when the rest of the gang hadn't taken up residence. Made a coffee, sat down. Sneezed as usual. Pored the coffee into my cup then had a sip. Within two or three seconds I began coughing. No matter what I did, the cough would not stop. It sounded bad. Although I was feeling just a little run down with a pretty bad cold. Having no control over it was the clincher and meant I had to make the decision to go. Just leave the factory and spend a day indoors. To tell the truth though, I'd rather of been in the factory. I'm not sure what it is, but as my voice has got real croaky I'm guessing it's some kind of throat thing. Larynx problem. I sound horse or toad like. With one of those gruff sexy voices, not quite Barry White, but still gruff. When I speak it's like forcing words out of my mouth because my voice box just doesn't want to give them up, it wants to hold on to them. So I don't speak much. I can't. It's not my choice. Though I expect there might be some people who would think this good. It would be the time to pick an argument and know they were going to win it, I'd be at a complete and utter disadvantage. Yep. Some I'm sure do like the notion of having all the cards stacked in their favour. Generally though, I don't mind it, but when I don't have the option, well it's like being on a bus and finding someone has disengaged the bell so you just don't know if the driver is going to bother to slow down or even stop where you want him to.

It's a pity I couldn't just pick up a spare larynx at the paper shop. Like a box of matches. You only get one larynx, treat it with care. Love it tenderly, never strain it. Please come back larynx I'll never take advantage of you again and think you will always be there, because today you have given me a taste of life without you. I can't take it. I need my voice, I need to be heard.

It even seems Sparkling's not replying to my text messages. Mind this morning when I sent my text while on a train, I got an immediate reply. Only to find it was just a text Sparkling had sent to me at the same time. Precisely the same time. OK my larynx may not be working but there is some kind of second sense kicking in here. It's happened a couple of times over the last few weeks. I send a text and she sends at the same moment. Don't know if it's spooky, I don't see it such a way, rather comforting in especially knowing the one you love thinks of you just the same moment you think of them. Larynx, oh larynx where are you. Fingers can get tired of typing and texting, come back oh larynx. What about some ice cream, maybe a little tuti-fruiti? Where's the freezer?

Fighting a cold while watching TV

I have come down with a bad cold. I know it's a cold because someone stuck a needle in my arm and gave me a flu jab, I hope it was a flu jab anyway. So in an effort to revitalise my immune system I hit the shops this morning and got a carton of orange juice. Sleeping in late might of helped but sleeping in isn't something to do all the time. Not when you just feel the need to get up out of bed and be mobile. You don't have to be active, just mobile. The cold is blamed on getting my hair wet and not drying it thoroughly, it happens every now and again. Yet over the week this thing has decided to attack my bodily defences I have really been going down hill. On a slippery down hill as well. Copious sneezes, blocked up nose, waking up with a dry foul tasting mouth because I could only sleep with my mouth open, feeling an ache in my lower back. It's like I'm some kind of patch work Pinocchio where the nails just have not been rammed home hard enough, so each step I take could end up with a part of my body falling on the ground. A leg here, arm there and possibly even a nose over there. Bit by bit this relentless virus attacks me. It don't put on boxing gloves or pull up a chair and say "hey buddy lets arm wrestle" no, but it would be nice if it did.

I spent some of the afternoon watching a footy game. Which is a little unusual because I'm not really a great fan. It has always seemed to me those men who go out of their way to know the names of every player in their team, their managers, their opponents and what happened ten years ago when they were in a different league, are lacking something. So much energy put into football when surely real life things which are going on around them are more important. So I sat and watched the match Leeds United versus Kettering Town. It was a one, one draw by the way. However, some eons ago, Leeds were a team I liked to watch. Odd considering I come from London. But then there are those people who support two or three football teams and they are really odd if not infuriating, because it shows they have no loyalty. If you are a supporter then it's just one team. And it will be your team for life. So I shouted at the telly. The game was enjoyable, but I shouted. A short while afterwards I suddenly realised I'd lost my voice. Another side effect of taking vocal chords for advantage and this snotty nosed cold. Outside I could hear the rain. It hit the windows hard so sitting indoors and watching TV was made all the more comforting.

Lunch was a piri piri chicken. Or rather chicken drum sticks. They went down well after having a second period in the oven. Well the first time round they just didn't seem to be up to scratch. The roast potatoes were a little on the raw side. It happens when big moma does the cooking. How the hell I survived to today I don't know. Sparkling tells me my arteries are probably pretty furred up. I try not to think about it. I also thought of Sparkling when I got up this morning. Because she would of been on her way into work whilst I was on my second cup of tea. The one day I get off work she is in work. I sent her a text message because I was thinking of her and wanted her to know even though she'd probably have no time to text me back. Which is what happens when you work as hard as she does.

So I'm dosed up on drugs, anything legal I can get my hands on. With a little luck I might sleep right thought the night and wake up completely well. Otherwise I'll be dreaming about fighting germs and viruses. As long as my mouth doesn't end up like the Sahara desert it will be fine.

Wind, a birthday and horses for breakfast

The wind, the wind. The past few days it has been blooming windy, I mean blooming. The trees have nearly lost all their leaves, and if the temperature had dropped then it would be Arctic cold weather. Then there has been the rain. Blooming buckets full of the stuff. If you are unlucky enough to get caught in it without an umbrella then you're soaked. As the weather rages outside I just hope the windows will last another season and this old house can endure the elements. It could be something to do with the way houses were made 1970s. Where the designers wanted to give a modern look but in doing so they just made boxes which look sparse.

I went to see Silly Sophia because her son the Layabout had his 22nd birthday. I sat on the settee and she told me how she had the flu. I thought nothing of it, having recently got a flu jab. Then I'm told her friend has just had the flu. The swine flu. I'm thinking to myself this is wonderful, I've had a flu jab and now being told I might still get it from someone who is contagious sitting right next to me. It was nice to celebrate the Layabout's birthday. He told me of an interview he'd been on and how nervous he felt. It was all down to nerves his not being in a job. I spent time trying to boost his moral with the usual chat. The one which goes along the lines off there's a lot of arse holes out there in jobs, who really can't do them, but the thing is they manage to sit through and interview and get the job. I told him I knew he was no worse than anyone else and was certainly a lot brighter than quite a few as well. I wonder whether my words do actually help at all and am in part feeling a bit despondent. It seems to me he just doesn't seem to be trying hard enough. Several times I've thrown the suggestion he do voluntary work, because if he was being interviewed it would be something he could talk about. Which would put him in a different light from other candidates for a job. On deaf ears it has fallen, stone deaf. But he's a good kid, one who's environment has unfortunately contributed to where he is now. I'll keep on trying and keep on with the encouragement. However, I hardly ever see him nowadays and it's his choice what he does. Like the saying goes. You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink.

Not many horses round where I live. No I tell a lie, there are a few on some fields, tethered to stakes with big water buckets near them. At one time horses were known to roam the streets here. I am talking of about 30 -40 years ago. You would be woken up at night by the sound of hooves on the road. Loads of them, clip, clop, clip clop. Then take a look out the window into the dark night and there they would be grazing on peoples gardens. This was when the houses had just been built and did not have walls around their fronts. But the horses were considerate. They'd have a good crap so you could always throw the manure on the roses. I was scared of the horses when they were out. Being on account of how big they were and how many there were. But I can't think there can be many people in this world who have this same experience, horses on the front lawn. Sometime early morning, just visiting, not for the Kellogg's, but some fresh green grass. Am glad they didn't, they would of used up all the milk.

Yesteryear

Chrimbo is nearly coming. For some reason there isn't as many adverts on TV as there normally is trying to sell things we can't live without at Chrimbo. Childrens toys. A result of the recession no doubt. I must admit I've managed to live without childrens toys for some years. Then this happens when adulthood eventually arrived. Though for some it never does. Completely lost in the world of superheroes, comic book characters and Japanese manga. I'll admit to a little Sci Fi now and again, but this is allowable. We all have flaws. Most of mine nowadays tend to be grey ones. Grey hairs to be more precise. Or the lack of hairs. Or the over indulgence. Saying I remember when I used to be skinny is not a good thing. But I was. Skinny. Actually come to think of it I can understand being lost in a world of crazy different fantasy worlds. Like a second, third or forth childhood. Though why things which don't exist? Maybe it's just the feeling of being taken back to yesteryear when younger. When stronger and not as vulnerable, bald, grey or fat as today. Is it me or do I sound depressive I ask.

As the wonderful old song goes. Heck I had to say old. O.K. as the wonderful song goes, the one by Monty Python. "Always look on the bright side of life." The cat is scratching while I write. he's about to have a dump. Wonderful.

This is a good time to think of cherry blossom and gentle fragrances. The alternative is far stinkier.

Lapdog arrives, in Pink

Sparkling has received her lapdog, soon after it arrived a text message in big bold letters was sent to me. I could feel her excitement through the words. Rock Chick came in from school and there was a manic rush to find the scissors and open up the box. I'm just so glad and happy it has arrived. It's a pity I could not of got it sent earlier, but saying this I am amazed how fast DHL are, and how reasonable their rates. I'd recomend them to anyone. Now the new lapdog works so fast Sparkling can't keep up with it and she will have to learn how to use the operating system and familiarise herself with all it's whistles and lights. Of course lets not forget the colour. Pink. I'm sure it is the best part.

At least we can chat on MSN, whereas before it the old lapdog would take half an hour to boot up. Then when I sent a message I'd get this frustrated and angry reply from Sparkling saying she couldn't answer or talk to me because her email was trying to load itself and doing two things at once was too much. With minimal effort we did a little video conferencing. It was great to see Sparkling, she looked so much better than me. I know because Sparkling told me so and I agreed. I was Hippy looking, in my hippy jacket, which I got from one of those hippy like shops where they sell all kinds of paraphernalia. It was in a sale and cold at the time. In addition Sparkling told me I had ten bellys, my room was untidy and basically it was my privilege to talk to her on the new lapdog because I had apologised for making an insensitive remark yesterday. Finally, Sparkling said now she would be able to see me get on my knees and apologise properly in future. I think this video conferencing thing might not be such a good idea, my cam has started to play up. Something technical and I'm just not smart enough to deal with these technical things.

I've added a picture of the sky to this blog, it's one of the set I took from last Sunday. It looks beautiful to me. The sky is there everyday, we look up once in a while, and bemoan how gloomy it is, but at other times we just don't bother standing there and looking up and doing nothing much else. It would probably be odd if a lot of people did this, all at once. Then it might not to them when they stood there, just marvelling. Unless they happen to have hippy jackets on, which would be very odd.

Autumn pics

Sunday gone was amazing. It was actually sunny and a day when there was no need to graft at the Fish Factory. I took myself out for a walk down to the man hormone replacement centre. It's a large DIY store and only something other men would appreciate. Bought a couple of items and then walked back. I pass a park on the way and had taken a compact camera along. Then spent maybe an hour maybe less just taking lots of pictures of trees, the sky, leaves and anything I liked. To begin with maybe it would only be a few pictures then when the memory card was plugged in and they were pulled up there was loads. So I have put one on my desktop background and added a couple on here, just to show. Anyone can take a picture, although knowing a little bit about the nature of photography and cameras helps.

I have ordered a lapdog for Sparkling and after some waiting and re-ordering parcel delivery have now shipped it off to her. It is pink. Regardless about anything else the most important thing is it is pink. The size of it, speed of the CPU, the hardisk size, number of USB ports and other things don't matter as much as the colour. Pink. This is clearly a demonstration of how men see things and how women see things. Pink was all what mattered. Pink engendered excitement. Pink. I wouldn't mind I'm still walking about with one boot half painted in pink from decorating. Yes. Decorating Sparkling's hallway. I got a pink boot. I suppose it could be worse, i could of had a tattoo put on my arm of a tree in blossom. Now who would do such a thing. Not me I'm suffering from pink boot syndrome at the moment.

Too much silence makes you go mad

There is one thing necessary for concentrating on anything at all. It is simply peace and quite. And although there are people out there in this world who believe they can multi task, the reality is any job which requires some attention can not be done through multitasking. Not conscientiously to any degree. Lets also add, there is no such thing as multi-tasking, because the brain just switches resources from one thing to another. This is why it is dangerous to drive a car and to talk on a phone at the same time. Even though it is illegal in the UK, I see this happen every day. So it means our laws are not strong enough. Or the consequences not considerable enough. I heard it said in one country if a motorist has an accident and a pedestrian is involved, the law immediately forms an opinion of guilt and maximum sentencing. It is then for the motorist to prove otherwise. What a remarkable notion. It might be Germany, but I really don't know.

Today I did a few hours in the Fish Factory and without the humdrum of gibberish being spoken around me, or various attention stealers it has been pleasant. Particularly as I was stuck on a problem trying to deal with an Excel Fish sheet. No matter how I thought about this problem of entering a fish cake, I didn't know if there was a particular fish recipe I needed but didn't know about or whether I already knew it but just didn't know how to mix it together in the right proportions. With concentration and some meandering around I found the answer. An answer which has taken a fraction of the time to construct a Fish sheet where others have taken weeks. Concentration did it and peace helped. I kept thinking about all the years of education I'd had in evening classes and wished I'd paid more attention. However, I got to the solution, partly from being bloody minded, but also because I knew there was a solution and if I could of gone back in time a few years ago I'd of realised the answer in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Mind I don't know how long it does take to shake a lamb's tail. The thing was the answer came to me, or rather I found it and the solitude helped enormously. This is efficiency and cost effectiveness.

Sparkling has just told me how she needed some space and vanquished off Rock Chick and Dangerous Sports boy into the belfries. I don't blame her. A hard day at work can make you crave for alone time. Except in my case I've spent the day alone and working with Fish. It can only be because I'm nuts. At one point I did wonder about talking out aloud while I was chopping off heads and tails. Then a crazier thought entered my mind. It was what would happen if I heard a reply especially when there was no one around. Then I would truly be hallucinating. Not being a taker of drugs, unless I got a hangover or migraine it could mean madness had eventually caught up with me. Yes. And there I was thinking I had out ran it. Well maybe I was pretty fleet of foot for a fat man. Yes I can be. So I get to live another day without being banged up in an asylum. Well, one can be thankful for small mercy's, as long as they don't talk back to you.

Cherry raisins on a path to the goal

I had today off from the Fish Factory. With some small plans in mind and I achieved most of them, tidying up a room which took a few hours and still needs some more work done on it, making an expensive purchase on Amazon and then going out to a shop to buy a coat for winter. The coat probably isn't water proof, but it is to some degree padded and should keep me warm, especially if I layer clothes. I also thought about writing a diary of notes just in case some day I do get round to becoming a great author, because then my notes would act as a source material. Sometimes it's pretty difficult just thinking things up when no thoughts come to mind. When for some reason the brain is in Zen mode, but you don't want it thinking of nothing because it has to think of something. I had a chat with L & B man with a bunch of minutes subscribed from a mobile phone company and which will otherwise be used up in a few days time. Lastly I wondered about the future, picking up a book by an alleged inspirational speaker. It was a book I bought cheap and I must of also been in dumb mode, with the hope it would tell me something. When the reality is, I already know the answers and any individual who picks up such a book might eventually come to the same conclusion. Our lives are our own and we know when the right frame of mind comes along, when we are ready to make the change, do something. I noticed a few words in the book about "goal setting" and thought how coincidental the words were. The concept had been swimming in and out of my senses. I nearly put the book in a bin but have decided to put it to one side and visit it. Just in case. You never know.

When in a large supermarket I picked up four bags of raisins. However, each bag is different. The raisins have been infused with the flavours of other fruits, cherry, lemon, orange and pineapple. Opening the cherry bag first I put the raisins in my hand and first smelled them. The smell was strong, very strong. They smelled just like a rich cherry brandy. So popping a few in my mouth I ate. They didn't taste like raisins although they had raisin texture and shape, no. they tasted like sweet, almost sickly cherries. If there were a warm feeling in my throat I'd of also said they could of been drenched in real cherry brandy. These raisins were a case of the eye being fooled by the taste and the brain getting a little mythed by it all. Nice all the same. Very nice.

Setting goals. The easiest way is to lay a whole punch of raisins down each one just a little step in front of the other. Even a little brandy, now we're talking.

Speaking Numbers

I've taken to learning a software program for the Fish Factory. It's called Excel and deals with something called spreadsheets. Lots of numbers, which can be organized in a plethora of ways, then they can be shuffled to tell things they wouldn't normal tell. In reality it is amazing what Excel is capable of doing. For in the right hands it can do highly complex statistical tests, I used to know a lot about statistics so take it as true, although I've forgotten a lot as well. Too much. But the process of learning something you haven't used before is stimulating. What does amaze me as well is how I now read of beginners and intermediate lessons in using Excel and these lessons seem exceptionally basic. Like trying to teach children the alphabet. Perhaps it's because I've spent too much time reading about Excel and trying to put it to some use. Or maybe it's because people who use Excel don't have to really use it, they just input and don't think about much else.

Like playing Chess. Someone who doesn't know how to play the game, or only ever learnt the basics and never got interested would just appreciate the beauty of the pieces. While another person who knew how the game was played if they looked at a board of pieces would begin calculating what the next move is and see how a route might be taken to get checkmated. With even a little light popping up in their head when the problem was solved. At this point the pieces would be singing and telling a beautiful story. This is very much the same with Excel and the way data can be sorted or made into something other than just the blandness of being data. At this point the numbers beginning to talk and their meaning is revealed.

This is not to say, I've heard any numbers talking. It would be silly to suggest they do. But I did hear the number six was scared. Apparently seven ate nine.

Thanks for the margarine

It's nearly the end of a week with Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. Tomorrow I head back to London. Which all seems a little apt with the wettest day of the year so far, with non stop rain since earlier this morning. At least the cat didn't wake me up 4 times during the night, for food, attention or to be let out. He conveniently decided to stay out before bed. Then wouldn't come in when it was time to hit the hay. Fine I thought. With only having to get up to let him in once and nothing else. Maybe he knew I'd be off shortly and thought it just wasn't going to do him much good relying on me running about like his little slave. Bloody cat. Like recalcitrant children they can't be controlled, you just love them and let them get on with it. Though I must admit to it being difficult, very difficult. As usual though I stand by a mantra "give them enough rope and they'll strangle themselves with it." Except for cats as they don't understand the concept a little bit of help is needed. So I just woke him up as often as I could whenever I saw him sneaking off for forty winks.

There seems to be a recurring theme in my life at the moment. But I'll not go into great detail. It's a bit like having a funny taste in your mouth which doesn't go away. I had this as well. My taste was margarine. Don't know why or where from, it just kept turning up. From no where there it would be, margarine. Sitting there watching TV minding my own business and kapow, margarine. There was no toast, muffins or fairy cakes just melted, mouth coated margarine. It stayed a little while then somehow just disappeared. It was a matter of endurance, but sometimes endurance of a calm exterior from a frustrating niggling annoyance is a Herculean task. Strong will is required. Thank heaven's for margarine is all I can say.

Fallen backward for winter

Well as British Summer Time has officially ended the clocks have fallen backward an hour for winter. It's certainly getting windier outside and leaves are falling off trees but so far we have been lucky not to have much in the way of cold, crisp, mornings. They are on their way, but not yet here.

Although it is winter if feels more like autumn because there still are leaves on trees and it's just a matter of time before one big storm rapes them of their final golden flora. I love the sun light at this time of year as well. It has this beautiful orange or golden caste. Any true photographer will understand what I mean by this, it's all to do with the light temperature. But you don't have to be a photographer to see the beauty at this time of year. To inhale the wind as it starts to flex it's muscles and see how it can bash your skin. Flexing it will throw gale and gust at you, it will try and blow you over, but most of the time it's just can't get there. In a couple of months though, when the chill does really set in, the wind will enjoy inflicting a chilling torture. A time when you come indoors from outside and your face is blushed as blood eventually gets to run to the surface of your face. Lips get chapped, finger tips chilled and it becomes difficult to find a memory of what it was like while the weather was mild. People huddle round their gas fires or radiators, cuddle up to hot water bottles and wonder how many more layers of clothes it will take to fend off the icy feeling. So for the moment, this moment now I enjoy the beautiful low glowing light, the back lighting effect it has on dangling crisp leaves and I'm brave enough to endure whatever autumn or early winter breeze blows.

Tomorrow I'm off to see Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick, now they live where it is quite a few degrees cooler than London. Which means I'll probably have to fish out a jumper, even gloves. Wonder if I should look for my Russian hat as well? No better not. Sparkling says I look like a mentally ill person when I put it on. But at least a bloody warm mentally ill person.

Return of the ghosts

It's been a few weeks since my last blog, and I'll apologise. I have to get back to the drawing board and start all over again. Well, not entirely all over, just re-start. Things get in the way and before you know it, days become weeks.

On a different note, I'm off to see Sparkling next week and really can't wait to see her. She says she has some plans for me. Her plan is to scare the shit out of me, by making me walking along a deserted road to a club house. She gave me the image of, dark woods, being alone and then having to wait for her to buzz me through a door. She'd see me on the camera. The other thing was it would be Halloween. I'm not scared. I'm a man. As long as I got a torch there will be no problem. Come rain, snow, ghosts or anything else. Nope. I'm afraid of no ghost. Wonder where Bill Murray is when you need him?

A pang for Sparkling

Sometimes I get a pang. I can't help what it is, but I know it is a strong urge to see Sparkling Eyes. To see her smile and rub her feet and listen to any concerns she has. In return...In return. . . . I know it will come to me shortly, hold on. . . . She will tell me to shut up if I talk too much while there is a TV program on she likes, ensure I have lots of little jobs to do, importantly keep me fed and quite often tell me off for putting the t-towel where it should not be. I've taken this as an OCD thing and do my best to comply, but it is difficult. This is because my normal nature is to be untidy which I can't help and it is a continuous fight against. I must also add, it becomes my job to feed the cat or let him out at 4:30 a.m. when he has decided to start meowing. If I am asleep, or if I have woken up and am pretending to be asleep at the time, I am then nudged by Sparkling to get up and do the business. After all it is the least I can do. Hopefully, I'm not still drunk and don't hit my toe on something because I'm blind as a bat at such an unearthly hour of the morning. The cat carries on meowing as he leads the way down the stairs and I am clutching onto a banister. If I talk to him he answers me back. This is the nature of cats. After waiting for him to eat any food I must give him my next task is to open a door or window so he can go out. Ten minutes or so later I get the chance to return to bed. Sparkling then has pulled the duvet tight around her leaving just about enough for me to cover one arm. I don't want to wake her up so somehow then have to tug on the duvet and try to get it back on my shivering body. But regardless of all the trials I go through, not to mention the mischievous Rock Chick who loves to put me into hot water, by twisting things I've said. Yes, so regardless of the hardships I endure with the strength only a man can have, I still pang and look forward to every moment I can spend in Sparkling's company.

Saying this though doesn't mean I can am able to do a 24/7 stint in her wonderful presence. Naturally I'd go crazy and she would probably want to kill me, which is usually a signal to get out and have a run, or a walk to the local Tesco. Then maybe a couple of hours later, I am sufficient tired as not to cause any more problems for Sparkling. If Sparkling is up to it she will come and collect me in the car when I have worn myself out. If she is feeling I need more time then I'm told to get a sack of potatoes and walk back, because the exercise will do me good. When I think of it Sparkling sure knows how to keep me on her fishing line. But I don't want to go anywhere, I am quite happy where I am. And can't wait to see her again.

Con artists don't cut hair they make phone calls instead

There is a question I'd like to ask my hair dresser but am a little warey. It is: is there any other style of hair cut you can give me? This is because every time I see him, I ask for a number 3, which is the length of the trimmer thingy and by the time he has finished and I walk out it ends up as a number 1, almost bald hair cut. I've asked him for a number 2, and it's exactly the same. I am quite sure he either never attended any maths classes when growing up or does not undestand my English. He's not english himself, possibly from an eastern european country and this could be the reason. Yet, when I think about it, it has been a long time since I have been scalped by an English hair dresser. Hairdressing shops are also popping up all over the place, just like 30 years ago it would of been shoe shops, or ten years ago phone shops, or even 5 years ago pound shops. Now the in thing is hair dressers. Maybe they are in reality laundry shops. Money laundering shops. For all the dodgy dealings which are going on in this country.

Talking about dodgy dealings. On the radio the other day I heard the Nigerian government had lodged a complaint about the film called "District 9" apparently it portrayed Nigerian's in a light they did not want to be seen in. Or rather a shady not so much light. Having sat through the film and thought it rather good I can tell you what they are talking about. The complaint was how Nigerian actors played underland gang bosses taking advantage of aliens by selling them cat food at exhorbitant prices. I'm glad I'm not an alien that's for sure. However, it's odd because today I was shown a letter which was sent to someone for an outstanding debt owing to Sky TV but through a third party debt collecting company. They had also received a phone call from this third party debt recovery company, on the end of the phone was an African sounding man requesting payment of the bill. They fobbed off the phone call and later contacted Sky directly. Sky advised they had not heard of the company and there was no outstanding debt with them. Also before writing this blog I picked up an email of a telephone scam. A person rings up asking for payment on behalf of British Telecom for a bill outstanding. Even if the individual does not use BT the caller says their phone company is renting the line from BT. Then if the caller thinks the con is not being bought they say they will cut the phone off as proof. Telling the recipient to put the phone down. If you then put the phone down and pick it up to make a call there is no tone at all. When the phone is replaced a second time the con artist rings up again. This is a simple trick. When the caller originally rang up they do not terminate the call as the receiver is put down on them, they stay on the line and press the mute button. Then the victim trys to make a phone call on a call which hasn't been terminated in the first place. The victim hears no dial tone and nothing happens when they dial out. Next they put the phone down. The con artist hears the phone put down a second time, terminates the call and rings up. With smug smile as they reel the unsuspecting sap. The the email also stated it was a man with an African sounding voice on the end of the phone. This is not to say either the same person is doing a scam with Sky is doing a scam with fake BT calls, it's probably someone quite different. Though you may pretty much wonder where they come from.

My head is itching. I know the hairdresser is quite a nice bloke, I always feel quite relaxed when I get my hair cut and just sit back sometimes even getting close to dozing off. The one think I'll not do though is answer my phone, which would be rude wouldn't it?

Vampire TV eats brains

Just watched the first 8 minutes of The Vampire Diaries season one episode one. The title says it all. What is wrong with me? Typical American teen actors who over act. Typical and predictable script, words written by adult script writers for teenagers to speak, which is always a let down when young people get adult words, because the reality is they just don't speak like adults, they have their own lingo and are incensed with the shallow nature of the world. Yes, it's shallow TV as well. No deep meaning or thought provoking events have come about. Don't forget the cardboard over acting. I know it's a made for TV production company thing, but surely they can do better? Make-up, overdone, the boys look like they have more foundation than the girls, and they probably have because of their pubescent pox marked faces, bubbling cauldrons of acne. Like a redcurrant porridge I bet. The girls are young and perfect to the point of making me want to vomit, however to make up for it they have very little brains. I'd rather have a cup of tea and biscuit than spend a minute in their company. (All because the tea lover enjoys a good Sudoku puzzle). There's obligatory special effects, which are thrown in within the first moments of watching, just to make sure if you didn't know otherwise, this is going to be a TV series about the super natural. Hey PEOPLE, THE SUPERNATURAL DOESN'T EXIST. But very gullible teenage TV watchers believe it does in any form it is presented to them. Were it to actually exist it sure don't relate to vampires. The beauty of galaxys seen through the Hubble telescope are the real supernatural. Alright I'm a little harsh on the Show at this point, because the title says it's going to be about vampires. I should of taken a clue, and any ordinary person wouldn't watch this TV unless they were expecting mind numbing tripe. I'm not ordinary, and was just hoping it would not be such tripe. Mind, I did once bump into a vampire friend and he was a very nice chappy. He'd gone off the traditional blood from humans. It was something to do with having too much fat, salt and sugar in our diets, it just kept giving him indigestion. I said I didn't believe him and he just looked me in the eyes crossed his heart and hoped to die, right there in front of me. So it has got to be true. How I wish I had just picked up another episode of 24, at least the super human Jack Bauer is partly believable, I know because like vampires he's come back from the dead as well. Maybe he should be in his own diary. Along the lines of "Jack Bauer, Vampire Diary" yep, it's got a certain ring to it, I might have heard it before somewhere, but hell, there's cliches all over the world and nothing is new. Hope. Hope is all you can have. Just maybe, just statistically something new will be written. Something unique, in which lobotomised TV watchers find their brain is engaged, even taxed. It's too much to ask for?

OK, after wasting 8 minutes of my life and wasting more time writing about the dribble I wish I hadn't watched, what else did I do today? Went to the Fish Factory. Saw no human beings for about 8 hours. Only had one 5 minute phone call to Sparkling, who had been out in the sun and didn't put on her sun screen, naughty girl. I very nearly went mad. I'm going to have to watch myself, even though I detest human company at times when slicing and gutting fish, I need it. I need someone to talk to, even if it is tripe. Back to tripe again. Maybe I am crazy? I better look at myself in the mirror and check the colour of my white's, just in case they gone a yellow shade. What am I saying, it's been several years since I seen my reflection. Better not go into the reasons why, I'd have to kill you. If not, ask you to cross your fingers, turn round 5 times so you are dizzy then vanish in a puff of smoke. It's my party piece. Tat taaaaa.

Socks, t-shirts and messages about lady GaGa

Like watching Car-Crash TV, last night I spent some time checking out useful videos on YouTube. Videos I found useful but other people might think them a little odd. These were the art of folding a t-shirt in two seconds and how to fold socks. Now it might be odd to some people to watch such things but I actually enjoyed these instructional videos. I can and have demonstrated how to fold a t-shirt in the pub, and did it in two seconds. I was offered socks as well but declined seeing as they were still being worn at the time. Though I can't understand why the company I had were interested in the t-shirt technique but not interested in the sock folding. To me they both seem like quite valuable skills to have and make use of. Only this morning when I got up, had breakfast and was about to wash I hit my sock draw and withing a few minutes had folded up half the socks. Most of these are the white sport sock type which were just taking up a lot of room. Now I've reduced the space they take up and the draw looks neat and tidy. I mean really tidy. I'm going to show everyone I meet how to do it. So I'd better start carrying around with me a spare pair of socks, I'll put them in my pocket and begin next week.

Having a little time to spare I sent a message of greetings to Rock Chick on MSN messenger. She ignored me, which is not surprising but then replied. However, it was not the kind of nice civil reply of "hello, I'm fine and how are you?" It was a link to a video of Lady Gaga. I'm sure everybody knows Lady Gaga the sexy and talented female singer who makes you just want to get up and dance. Well, just like the last time I saw Rock Chick she had to spoil it for me. Get into my head, play with my mind, make me think otherwise of a very decent Artist. The video was titled:

Lady Gaga has a Penis? Lady Gaga is a man? Man Gaga? Mr.Gaga? Sir.Gaga? (NOT EDITED)"

What can I say. The same warped sense of humour which Sparkling has shown towards things which might disturb me came out. Cut from the same clothe, bloody typical. Well I thought I'm going to watch this video anyway, because there is no way Lady Gaga has got a penis. Just like the time Rock told me when she saw Lady Gaga the crowd began to chant "get your cock out." This like this are said by people to get to you, to make you doubt yourself, doubt even your own sexuality. I mean, I don't fancy men. I know what a woman looks like, I know the difference. Usually an Adams Apple gives it away. But a cock! If Lady Gaga had a cock we'd see the outline in her panties when she wore those close fitting little dresses. I'm now turning my head away (oops inappropriate use of words) and gagging (again inappropriate use of words) at the thought of such a thing. The video lasts just over five minutes. I sat there and watched expecting some kind of special effects or editing by some jealous and silly person who wanted to get to Lady Gaga fans. I can say there was nothing there which suggested anything to me. I messaged Rock back and told her. Her reply was to listen again adding "she has a wiener " at 1:14 it's actually a few seconds earlier where Lady Gaga gets off a motorcycle and is momentarily stuck. She's having a problem just lifting her leg up. She then mumbles quietly into the microphone something along the lines of "ooo I don't think I put panties on," but she does have panties on. So Rock was intimating if Lady Gaga doesn't have panties on then she must be wearing men's underpants instead. This is an awful, awful thought to put into any Lady Gaga fan's mind. I tried desperately not to go down this road, and forget what she had said or implied. But sometimes when somebody says something it just sticks there, and you can't do anything about it. Thanks again Rock Chick.

Think I'll go and visit my sock draw for five minutes, chill out and maybe the folding of socks will remove any further aberrant intrusions to my mind.

What is a grape by any other name

Heading out of the door this morning, I spied a grape vine overhanging the wall of a garden. To the extent is was no longer on the private side. Now grapes like any other plant don't have much of an idea about where they can grow, they just grow regardless of which property or public land they are on. The sun light lit the vine from behind and then quite a few bunches of grapes caught my eye. Are these grapes edible or not I wondered. Being the UK isn't really in the Mediterranean, you would think it impossible to grow grapes in first place. Yet again, the grape plant being ignorant of the Island it is growing on cares less and just does it's best. These grapes were definitely black, with a kind of dusted mottled look about them, like they were covered in a powder. I traversed the road plucked a grape and popped it in my mouth. One of the more cleaner looking ones. And although it was small it was nice and sweet with no pip. It went down lovely. So I picked another one just to try it out and went off to catch the train. The second, wasn't what I had expected. The pip must of been the same size of the grape, I had just been lucky the first time round.

Now if I had got a whole bunch of grapes stuck them in a pot, trod on them, fermented them for a period, filtered, and done whatever else was needed, right now I'd be blind drunk. What a thought.

The smell of eggs and bacon or a brain hemorrhage

This morning I woke up, it was early so I decided to just close my eyes and go back to sleep. Even though I hadn't seen my clock I just knew it was early. What woke me up was a strong smell of bacon and eggs. It was pretty odd. Then I have been aware of this problem of smelling things which are not there, or so I think because Sparkles has told me it's a bad sign, a sign of something going wrong in the head. So just to make sure it was not bacon and eggs I took a couple of really good inhalations and doing so I said to myself "there is no bacon and eggs it's all in my mind" because as far as I was concerned this was probably just another clue to the possibility I was having a brain hemorrhage. I hear smelling things which aren't there is a clue. So after a few deep breaths and then being convinced I was just going crazy even in my sleep, I fell back into a nice warm happy slumber.

On the second awakening I knew it was time to get up so had to make a move and drag myself out of a comfortable bed. When I did this I then went downstairs to make breakfast, but before I could even reach the middle stair I was struck by a pretty awful pong. I was absolutely sure this was real and not imagined. It was the cat who had caused it. The curtains were drawn and the morning is slightly darker the days shorten for winter. So with this dimmed light I then wondered about my footing. The thought of treading in a lovely pile of cat poo terrorised me. I turned the light on, with trepidation I stepped carefully and looked but could not see it. The next thing was to open the window and back door. This way there would be some fresh air flowing through the downstairs. Even though the weather was still and not even the lightest breeze existed my logic was sound. With curtains opened I turned off the light. Momentarily wondering if I was going nuts again and had another look. A little more carefully this time. Then I found it, like an unwanted runner's up bingo prize, right there behind the telly a nice big giant pile which I'd of thought was too big for a domestic cat. Lovely, where the hell had he stored it all? I let both cats out and so began my morning awakening.

It's odd but sometimes when you think you are going crazy but find out you are not crazy at all, you just wish you were, because things would be a lot easier. And crazy people just smell bacon and eggs all the time.

Testosterone comes free with power tools

I bought a cordless drill today. So I can drill holes into things, like wood, or maybe bricks, or something. It's a beautiful piece of machinery, I was wondering if I should take it to bed with me. To keep me company and then I can have dreams of DIY. All I have to do now is actually learn how to do some DIY. This is not to say the drill has no purpose. It's so I can attach a new window sill to one which is rotting away at the side of the house. And on very hot days I can add a fan and leave it running on my desk top to keep me cool. But from what I understand about doing any kind of work on the house. From experience with L & B man. It should be planned although this isn't the case with L & B man, he just makes a decision and then it has to be carried out. There's never much in the way of exactly working out what is needed. More of finding something which will fit and if it doesn't, which it most likely doesn't the said object has to be made to fit. By cutting, bending, shaping or any means possible. Indeed I need someone who can teach me a bit about DIY, about everything and I mean everything. The drill is nice to hold though. They call it balanced, and it's not too heavy either. It came with two batteries so I'm ready for anything which requires a hole of some kind. Now to think about a belt, one of those big ones with big baggy like hanging bits, to put stuff in. The stuff you need when doing DIY. To make you look good and feel like a man should feel. I can tell there's one thing Doctors forget to tell their male patients, it's easy, when you're hen pecked, just get yourself down to the local hardware store, amble around for hours looking at tools, gazing in awe, and if you can, pick one up and see what it feels like hmmmm. What an injection of testosterone.

Exreme solutions over a pint

I really enjoyed my evening in the pub today. It was prime pub chit chat and fun. This new bloke decided to air his concerns about his son and his wife. I shall call the new man the Interpreter because he interprets french to English and vice versa. His second wife he lives with is Japanese and his 16 year old son has been kicked out by his first wife and sent to stay with him. The young man found himself shoved onto a plane in Germany and ended up in London with his dad. The Interpreter's problem was his present wife was having an issue with talking to his son. The issue was over boundaries and as a Japanese woman she is somewhat tacit in what to say. To put it bluntly she just doesn't know how to talk to the kid. In turn the kid probably doesn't know quite what to say to her. Finding now he has been abandoned by his real mum who has just had enough of him, and although the Interpreter was saying his first wife was NUTs, all I can say is who can tell who is nuts nowadays? But going back to the 16 year old lad who speaks German, English and I expect probably French as well. Wow wish I could of spoken three languages at his age. Anyway the Interpreter finds he is now acting as a conduit between the two of them and he just doesn't know how to deal with it. The situation is becoming tiresome for him. In short he was looking for sympathy and answers. I tried my best to give him both in this situation, over a pint of Guinness of course. Actually it ended up being two pints and I was offered a third yet managed to refuse. Mind I must say my headache which I had at the start of the day isn't bothering me so much now. Which is good. As for the Interpreter his headache is still hanging around, I'm sure.

The situation sounded like one of language and of culture. The Interpreter confirmed there was a cultural aspect to his Japanese wife who was hot on cleaning up apparently. Sounds a bit like someone I know who has a thing about the t-towel being in the right place I thought. So being my half dizzy self I made a couple of suggestions and threw in some profound facts. Firstly I said they need to be forced to do something together. As they were not talking I wondered if it would be a good idea to gag them both and the put them in a life and death situation. Where they could not get out of it unless they worked together. The Interpreter confided in me he at first thought I was going to come out with some rational fact and I even sounded quite sane, but after this comment he wasn't so sure. But my notion was running on the concept both his Japanese wife and his German son had to speak to communicate with each other. Another witness to the conversation thought it was a bit extreme and I should write a book of extreme ideas on how to get out of situations. I didn't think this would be likely until I had at least two more pints and a pencil to write with. The Interpreter felt I wasn't being so helpful so I offered up another suggestion, because he obviously was not being taken in by this profound font of knowledge I possessed. The second idea was along the lines of throwing both his wife and son into a big tank full of water, one life belt and a shark. Of course to escalate the situation a little one of them would have to be cut. Just to add emphasis to the situation. Well what can I say. The Interpreter gave a loud half hysterical laugh and really didn't consider this as an option. Pity, I could see them thrashing about in the water and fighting over the life belt, which had been sprayed with a shark repellent substance. Perhaps my ideas were falling on deaf ears? At which moment I quoted to them something Thomas Edison had once said when trying to invent the light bulb. It was along the lines of "every time I fail, I get one step closer to success." At this point old Edison knew of one way which didn't work and so this was what I was trying to impart to the Interpreter. Though I really can't tell if he internalised exactly what I was getting at, as far as I was concerned although the examples might sounds extreme, the basic concept of conflict resolution was there, all he had to do was go and find a life belt.

I soon left the pub knowing my work had been done this day. I had succeeded in helping someone live their life a little easier. Of course, the Guinness sure did help.