Plumbing don't mix with books

OK, got the Fish Factory tomorrow and am wondering whether I should wear a suit, or if a plane shirt tie and set of boxers is enough.  It's because I'll be going to represent the Fish Factory at a Fish Court.  Thing is will the judge like my boxer's?  I mean some just don't go for it.  But I'm not going to know because this is my first time.  It will be interesting.  What do I do? What do I say?  Should I buy some gum before I start the day?  You know.  Just in case a bad case of crap-breath turns arises.  I'm sure I can cope.  It's the others I should be worried about.  Well it's a new experience and part of being a middle fishy now.  It will be fine.  I'm sure.  Though I'd of liked a few minutes chat with Sparkling just to get her view on things.  Then maybe it would be a bad idea, she might get me to doubt myself, play a little of her funny magic.  The kind which confuses me and makes me wonder what day of the week it is.  What a fine mess I'd be in then. 

Sparkling, Sparkling where are you?  Again it's been a few days since we had a chat.  The evening I thought I was going to have a chat on there was no response.  Hey Sparkles, are you avoiding me?  I know your not.  It's just they got you running around so much at your Fish Factory there's not enough time in the day for you to get sleep.  Sleep takes greater precedence than chit chatting with Crazyfirdayman honey.  I understand.  But I wonder even if you do get back late maybe one night we could have a brief chat.  OK I know you will want me to rub your feet but I can't because I'm not there.  But I could rub mine.  I got this mango body butter, it smells really nice and once in a while just rub it in my hands if they get too dry.  It's nice.  But not as nice as seeing you honey.  Which will be soon.  Once I book the blooming ticket, then you can get me to do the gardening, rub your feet and fix the fog horn sounding toilet.  Damn, this reminds me to watch the DIY plumbing DVD i bought the other day.  Just in case there is some tips.  If only there were evening classes on basic manning up.  Doing man things.  My forte is more of reading books, thinking, and drinking coffee.  So yes honey, wherever you are at this moment, am missing you and can't wait to see you.  Mwah.  I think Sparkles will get the message.

I hear Dangerous Sports Lad has returned from his sojourn.  Rock and Dangerous were so overwhelmed when they saw each other after six weeks, Sparkles said they had tears in their eyes. Awwwe, wonderful young love.  Every time I see Sparkles I want to smile and tell her she looks beautiful.  I then hear after a day the two of them had an argument.  Blimey I thought, even me and Sparkles don't argue after one day, well usually two or three, by then I've done something which deserves a slapping into place.  I mean a verbal slapping though usually I deserve it, I'm sure.  Well to tell the truth I'm not sure.  Which is all part of the Sparkles magic.  It must be those eyes.  It's because Rock Chick hasn't quite got Dangerous round her little finger, it takes a little work.  Once he's been in her company for a week or more, he'll be throwing his coat in puddles for her and doing back flips at Rock's command.  After all if there's anything, Sparkles is the best teacher Rock can have, look at me.  No please don't.  Hundreds of miles away and just can't stop thinking about Sparkles.   Well, just to say, the days will start counting down as soon as I book my ticket, which will probably be on Wednesday.  Tomorrow I got gym.  Hey a man's gotta try and man up even if he's better with books than with taps, washers and spanners.

Running in a quiet mind - not possible

Well I did get out and have a run this morning.  I said I would, and I did.  Running an extra circuit round a field and getting up earlier than last week.  It is cooler and even windier as well.  I noticed more than usual how I just kept thinking about stuff.  How thoughts about all kinds of things would just pop into my head.  Some were as strong as horses others were like fleeting butterflies, dropping into consciousness and back out again.  It seemed to happen more in the earlier stages of the run.  When I was getting my wind.  This takes about twenty minutes of hard panting and suddenly breathing finds a comfortable place.  My legs felt as heavy as lead but the breathing was a lot easier.  So the normal circuit of just two laps ended up 3 laps of a field.   There were also fewer people about.  With no over friendly dogs.  I think people who walk dogs are friendlier than most other people around, they usually say hello to each other.  Except their dogs don't say a great deal, they rather just shit or chase things.  Hence my chicken legs giving them a wide path.

When I was thinking, I thought about trying to not think as I ran.  Then I thought, well how about trying to think when I ran and for about two seconds this achieved silence.  I thought about the pigeons on the roof of what would be a good method to get rid of them.  Spikes came to mind, as did getting a ferret and letting it loose under the tiles.  However, how to get the thing back became problematic.  As I ran I thought what about making a tape recording of my thoughts while I run.  Then I'd have a diatribe of rubbish.  But even amongst the rubbish there would be an odd gemstone worth keeping.   I thought about reminding myself to wear a suit to the Fish Factory on Tuesday. I've only got the one suit, so then thought whether I should get another.  I had been asked to attend a court hearing to remove a fish from a fish pond.  However, it all could be postponed or I might not be needed.  I wondered on how many calories this running would use up.  I wondered if thinking about nothing and trying to achieve a silent mind would actually do something at all.  Whether I'd gain from it or not.  The book I'm reading is fleetingly having an influence on me.  Paradox, change and comedy all the necessary elements of accepting life, finding some sane quiet place. Never letting things become bothersome because of your very attitude.  The paradox of never being harmed by anything, it only being your own attitude which creates the distress.  So you can see.  Having a run and trying to keep a quite mind is one hell of a challenge.

Eventually I did find some kind of peace.  It must of been when I was soaking in hot water having a bath afterwards.  Or maybe it was when I just sat down and found I had to keep my back straight.  Exercise does this, for some reason you just can't help but want to correct your own posture.  I still feel fat, but at least my back is a little straighter.

Autumn is coming so is sleeplessness

I'm getting an attack of the munchies.  It's been months of exercise and food deprivation, you know, those evening meals.  Cutting down.  Eating apples, so many apples I get the feeling my stomach is fermenting.  I try and blame it on the weather, because it's raining, the evenings are beginning to draw darker sooner.  The wind is picking up and September is nearly here.  The summer has officially come to an end and I'm beginning to ask myself if I should start taking the odd dose of echinacea to prevent cold and flu symptoms for the coming months.  How do you protect yourself from the depression of winter, even clowns seem to go into hibernation.

I hit the Fish Factory this morning.  It was very quiet, like the fishes had enough and decided not to bite any bait, no matter how juicy it was.  I didn't mind because it meant distractions down to a minimum and some good quality time to concentrate.  However, there is always those few about, who for some reason do like the sound of their own voice, or have penchant to bellowing.  What is it about vocally loud people?  It's like their ability to bellow is a marker of their own self, a way of imposing who they are on others, or perhaps worse some inferiority complex.  If only they'd get over it and speak in a gentler tone of voice where there's no need to wince.

I was hoping to speak to Sparkling Eyes tonight, but for some reason she's gone silent.  Maybe she has been called in for a session at her Fish Factory.  I know Dangerous Sports lad is probably back today from a six week course so Rock Chick will be ecstatic.  Where are you Sparkles? 

Tomorrow I must exercise.  I should of done some today, but with the Fish Factory and all, it was put on the back burner.  If it rains I'll hit the gym, if it's semi pleasant it will be the park and dog avoidance practice.  Now all I need is a fast metabolism.

Doing exercise didn't seem to help me sleep last night.  It was one of those restless nights when I wasn't sure if I did actually drop off at all, it felt like I was half away all night long.  Just laying there and turning every so often.  Perhaps I shouldn't be reading my bed time book.  It's called The Way of the Peaceful Warrior.  I saw the film and thought the book might be worth a try.  It's about some University gymnast who meets an old man at a late night petrol station.  They form a friendship and the old man teaches the kid inner peace.  I'm sure it's fashioned on Buddhist teachings.  The gymnast seems to be going through some kind of mental break down at the moment, just so he can be re-built as a calmer all knowing peaceful person.  Yep.  Maybe this is why I couldn't sleep.  I'm having a sympathetic mental sleep break down and wake up semi comatose in order to be at one with myself.  The alternative could be I just need an extra blanket.  Somethings are not as deep as you'd expect.  Now to sow up my mouth and stop shovelling in food.

Don't get distracted or your trousers could fall down

The power of distraction is an amazing thing.  There I was this morning, getting ready for work, putting the effort in to look smart, smell nice and straighten my tie when I sat down for just a moment to open a bill and look over it.  My concentration had temporarily been switched from one thing to another.  I looked at the figures, made some estimates, thought a bit then realised I had to get out of the door as time ticked by.  As it always does when it is in short supply and you have to be somewhere.  Coat on and out of the door, walking down the road, reached the stairs to a flyover and then realised I wasn't fully dressed.  I had forgotten to put on my belt.  Swift calculations went through my mind.  The complex calculus of whether it was worth going back to the house and threading a belt through my trousers, how long it would take.  This was then weighed up against the possibility of my trousers falling down.  Whether I would last the morning without something approaching embarrassing happening.  I took the gamble.  So throughout the morning my shirt kept riding up and needed tucking back in.  I tugged repeatedly at the loops of my trousers, just giving them an assured upward pull and support.  Fortunately nothing happened.  I was still fat enough to keep them suspended.  A shame to say, but yes the fat-man syndrome had a comforting practical purpose.  Lunchtime came and out I went, first thing before the eat-as-much-as-you-like-Chinese was a belt.  After the Chinese though, I really didn't need it.

I have to purchase a ticket to see the wonderful Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick.  The thought brings a smile to my face and a happy demenour.  I just can't wait to see her.  We had a chat on the phone the other night and before I knew it I had been tangled up in a web of confusion.  I was flabbergasted and puzzled, scratching my head and wondering how I'd gotten there.  Sparkling laughed whereas I couldn't think of what to say, except it didn't bother me because I was very happy anyway.  But I do wonder if she used the secret Ninja art of distraction as well, except I can't tell when it was she used it.  She must have several black belts.

Tomorrow is Saturday, of course.  I will be getting up early because I have been asked to open up the Fish Factory.  As there is a big pile of fish waiting for me to prepare I felt there was no real choice.  If I didn't get on with it the sell by date was going to come back and hit me with a big wiff.  Work is beginning to tire me, but at the same time I am happy and energized by it.  Five months have now passed since I moved from being a little fish to a middle sized fish.  It's amazing how quickly the time has passed, I am always kept busy, and get lots of distractions.  The problem with distractions are they always take you away from something which is very important and must be dealt with.  Which is very annoying, because of all the things you get to learn, if your attention is diverted the thing you only partially managed to do is going to come back and bite you in the backside harder than a bionic jawed Rottweiler.  It brings tears to the eyes just thinking about it.  Better not get distracted then.

Crumpets and pigeons

Well after a couple of days, the pigeons stopped coming out from the tiles at the front of the house.  I don't know why but they are still using the tiles at the back of the house.  It could be there are two separate flocks of them and those at the back have some alternative way of entering underneath the roof tiles.  Half the job done is better than none.  Yet I am still vexed by them.  I look up at the house and think my mate has taken back his ladder and now not am I impotent in checking where the pigeons get in or out, I can't paint a bedroom window which is in desperate need of it.  Not to mention autumn will well and truly be here in the next couple of weeks.  It wouldn't do me much good if I did have a ladder, there's been so much rain painting would be out of the question.

This dieting lark has reached a plateau, last week I lost nothing and for some reason I feel nothing will be lost this week.  I am almost giving way to my cravings, you know the ones.  To eat crisps, chocolate, biscuits and cake.  I am giving in to carbohydrates and am pretty sure this is the reason why the last week has been abysmal.  Bollocks, shouldn't of eaten those two crumpets earlier, they're bound not to help.  When will the scientists create an alternative to flour which isn't a carb, there would be a lot of money in I'm sure.

It's not just the dieting which has hit a brick wall, I went to the gym tonight and didn't feel like doing much there either.  So only did half a work out.  I see some snotty nosed kid running fast on a treadmill but one away from me, like yeah,  you little shit, you can run faster than me I thought.  But after five minutes I saw him drop the pace down considerably.  His bursts of speed running were just to show the world that he can do it but he was showing off, he couldn't sustain the pace so has no real stamina.  Then after twenty minutes I hit the wall and had to walk.  God what a come down it was.  The real fat man walking side was showing up.  I couldn't even compare my walking pace with the little shit's slower jogging pace.  He'd well and truly beat me now.  If I were twenty pounds lighter I'd really show him what a fat or rather not so fat older bloke can do.  The little snot nosed bugger if I had a rottweiler and he was out running I'd see if he could run even faster.  Four legs are better than two.

I suppose the alternative is to feed the pigeons and get on good terms with them.  Then ask a favour.  If they see the little shit come out of the gym go and have a big flocking shit on him.  Sometimes the thought of being Doctor Doolittle can be quite appealing.

Now reached the 502nd blog, yippee

Well I've broken the 500 blog mark now.  Yes.  It's hard to believe.  Last year I went crazy and blogged a lot, this year I've been a little lax.  This blog is the 502 blog I have written, doesn't time fly when you're enjoying yourself.  Which sounds a bit perverse, lets not go along this track.  But you know what I mean. 

I had another text from my niece today.  It was her training day and she was told they definitely want her for the job as a sales assistant.  She is so happy I can sense it each time she sends a text.  She may not be the sharpest tool in the box (which I put this down to age) but she certainly is a tryer.  It's fantastic news.  And unbelievably she was only on the dole for one week.  I am happy as well.  It's amazing how a little bit of good news can go a long way in a day. 

I can't say the same for night.  I think I must of been abducted by aliens, at some point last night I went to bed, read a little then slept.  The rest is a complete blank.  I woke up later than usual at 7:00 a.m and it wasn't the pigeons.  I felt refreshed and couldn't believe I'd slept.  The funny thing was I think I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in.  Weird.  It's quite natural to toss and turn during sleep.  So it has got to be alien abduction.  Those pesky aliens are sticklers for putting everything exactly back in the same place they found it.  I hope next time they can do something about my teeth.  A fresh white set would be great, they can take the old ones out and experiment on them.  Oh yes, and as long as I wake up with no memory and completely happy with my sleep.

I was in the gym this evening and felt my usual fat self.  It was a drag, but I'm definitely getting fitter.  I don't think I should of gone to the Chinese eat-as-much-as-you-like because it probably defeats the two hours of exercise I did.  I'm wondering if I should start building my chest up, and my shoulders.  I am catching on to this theory about big muscles.  It goes along the line of, the bigger the muscles you have when they are resting the more calories they burn.  So you can basically do very little and know your body is going to sort itself out.  The only problem is getting the big muscles in the first place, which takes a little effort.  Of course the other asset would be a bigger chest could hide my man boobs or moobs as someone once said.  Then I can stop an idea of a training bra.  Age really does do things to you, things you couldn't even contemplate when you're young and life is so wonderful.  Where is the elixir of youth?  I don't know, but I wish I bloody did.

Pigeons are still squating with no intention of leaving

The roofer eventually came to look at the tiles and try and find any nooks and crevices where the pigeons accessed their roost.  It's been three or four days now and still I wake up to the clatter of tiles.  Mr Roofer, wasn't quite sure whether he was would be able to correct the problem to start of with.  He hasn't.  I now am wondering what the next step is.  The little buggers or rather big flying rat-buggers have got an entrance point and Mr Roofer can not find it.  Does this now mean I have to research about pigeons?  Does it mean I have to become an expert?  Does it mean I have to go to the most drastic decision of re-roofing which will require a loan from the bank and years of repayments till it is sorted out.  Mr Roofer suggested the blighters could be entering the tiles from another adjacent property.  I continually keep going outside and looking up at the roof to see if I can see any pigeons.  Just in case I might catch sight of them entering via their secret passage way.  Thing is this secret entrance point is so good I can't see it, the roofer can't see it I'm beginning to think they cast some invisibility spell to access it.

For the past two days Sparkling and Rock have been without phone, internet or TV.  Their media provider has a fault.  Rock Chick in her surprise said to Sparkling "mum, so does this mean we are officially poor?"  It fortunately wasn't to do with non payment of bills.  I'm sure Sparkling is getting to a stage of facebook withdrawal symptoms.  Rock Chick in the meantime has been going through DVDs like a fish drinks water so must also be reaching saturation point.  Then again not being able to do much with a post operative wort less foot probably means she square eyed at this time anyway.  Rock has also got confirmation of her University place and a list of things she has to purchase.  Knives being one of them.  Being she's going to be into the cooking thing.  I wonder if they will teach her how to wash up as well?  In fact it could be one of her first lessons, a sink with a thousand dishes and instructions on how to clean different types of food stuffs.  Just to get her to understand.  It's a fault I'm sure all teenagers have, not understanding when they cause a mess they should clean up after themselves.

My niece the Bam Bam girl begins her first day at work tomorrow.  She is doing a training course at a local hotel.  It may be shop work, but I spoke to her on the phone and she was so excited over the whole thing.  It just makes me so very happy for her.  Especially when seeing her mother who shys away from work like water sticks to Dracula.  If of course you have ever noticed from the Dracula films, he never gets wet.  Well this is the image of her mother and work, or to mix comparisons, oil and water.  It makes me sick of knowing a member of my own family just would rather scrounge of the welfare system than find her own way into work.  My tax money has been paying her welfare for years.  But the world is changing, watch this space.  Yes, Bam Bam girl is happy and excited and is taking the initiative and doing it for herself.  Something which has to be admired.

I managed to have a short chat with Sparkles this afternoon, which was very nice.  Is always very nice talking to her.  For a moment the subject of Sparkles working in my Fish Factory came up.  I shuddered the thought. Being I've now got on the middle rung of Fish.  Quite frankly my dear Sparkles would ensure I am held account to everything, no matter how small it was I did.  She thinks the power would go to my head.  Thing is I'm the least power wielding person I could know.  There's just too much work to be getting on with than being a megalomaniac.  Anyway, after getting up at four thirty in the morning because of the pigeons, it takes me most of the day to wake up.  Bloody things.  I wonder if i can get a double barrelled shot gun of eBay and a good recipie from Rock Chick?

The fear of being shafted

Well today should of been the day the Roofer came, to check out the tiles and serve an eviction notice on the flying rats who still clatter down them each morning.  No phone call, nothing.  Mind it did rain bad yesterday and he probably thought it wasn't worth breaking his neck falling from the roof today.  I don't blame him, I wouldn't either.  The thing is I still need the job done and am approaching desperation, but want someone who is competent and not a cowboy.  I don't know about anyone else but I always feel those people who maintain houses by working on them are out in some way to shaft me of my readies.  Builders, workmen, plumbers, fitters, joiners, roofers, brickies, glaziers, sparkies the whole bloody lot.  Maybe part of it is because a lot of their kind of jobs like changing washers on taps, mixing cement are the kind which don't strike me as particularly difficult.  When I say difficult, I mean they do involve a degree of skills, but once those skills have been learnt then there is not much in the way of learning a great deal more.  Whereas at my own Fish Factory job, there are so many technical changes in weights measures, legal requirements the mind can quite easily be blown away with it all.  To me, if you need to do general building work then there should be someone who lives in your own street who will pop in and help you out for the cost of a cup of tea and a chit chat.  This is a cuckoo land fairy tale, because this mental image is nothing like the reality.  Bloody cowboys, being shafted and just when the pain is too much to bear you get shafted again.  Maybe I been watching too many of those programs on TV about con men builders. Oh please sir don't use the pineapple my arse is too sore.

On a quite different note, poor Rock Chick fell over and hurt her foot while it was still in the process of recovering from the operation.  Sparkling has told me it will take another week of having the foot dressed.  Sparkling is doing so many hours in the her Fish Factory she is exhausted and sleeps like a log.  I expect the aliens wont even be bothering with abducting her then.

I've just this minute had a phone call from the roofer, excellent news.  He's gong to come tomorrow, with his mate.  Maybe my rant was a little premature.  Or maybe I'll experience a shafting when I get his expert opinion on how much work will be needed.  OK better get the lube out, hide the fruit, and do a couple of Hail Mary's on the rosary.  Shit just realised I don't believe in the faith thing.  Boy am I f.....d.

A Wet day in London

It's been a dreary, miserable and rainy day in London. Whilst in the Bahamas, it is hot, the coconuts swing high up in the branches of coconut trees, nice ripe juicy mangoes are swollen like a full termed pregnancy and are ready to drop any second and the locals are cooking their favourite fish dish with plenty of spices and herbs.  I know where I'd rather be.  So how come I'm here getting wet.  Dumped on by one of the Athenian Gods.  I must of done something bad in a previous life. 

I've had two text messages from Sparkling Eyes today and would of liked a few minutes of phone conversation just to see how she is.  Apparently last night when she came back from her Fish Factory she witnessed Rock Chick and University girl getting drunk on Champagne and Cider.  My thoughts were along the lines of were they mixing them and where'd the Champagne come from?  Sparkles indicated they were having a good time, putting the world to rights, with the main topic being boyfriends.  What a coincidence from yesterdays BLOG.  Whereas men put the world to rights with pints and shorts, then they usually don't put the world to rights at all because talking about painful things is something we just don't do.  Most blokes prefer football and if they do groan about their partner it will only be five minutes and then usually find another subject to talk about.  It might be because like the goldfish our memory only lasts for about five seconds or the awful thought if the partner found out they were talking about them then they'd get an even worse ear ache than they had before.  Seeing as I have no mates, it don't matter.  I just sit in a corner talking to myself waiting for someone to ring for an ambulance and cart me away to a nicely padded room.  No ones has done this either so I must look sadder than I thought chatting to myself.  I can feel a song coming on, but I'll let you guess what it is.

It all makes sense now why it's been raining.  If you got to be sad then it may as well piss down on you, a bit like the icing on the cake.  The reality is though, I don't feel sad at all. The Fish Factory has been very busy the last couple of days and I've been rising to the challenge.  All I need now is someone to talk to and mend the world, maybe over a pint.  

Rock's Man problems

Rock Chick is layed up with one foot in the air, or rather supported by a sofa and a cushion.  The nasty little bugger (wart) has been removed after surgery.  Now it will take about three to four weeks to heel up.  In the meantime her boyfriend, Dangerous Sports Lad is off away for six weeks in another part of the country doing things associated with his occupation.  So in these circumstances you would of thought he'd be talking to her every night saying how much he misses her and how he can't wait to get back.  But he is a man, a bloody man who needs to grow balls.

Rock Chick tells me there are two sides to Dangerous, there's the side she had tamed which got named the New Dangerous and there's the side before she met him she terms the Old Dangerous.  The untamed Old Dangerous is even more self centred and petulant than the New Dangerous, which is a feat in itself.  The absence of Rock Chick's presence has now effected New Dangerous so he is reverting to the Old Dangerous.  Of course I want to kill him via a contract with my Sicilian friends.  I would if I had them, but I haven't been to Sicily so I don't.  I am particularly annoyed because poor Rock Chick has so far endured three weeks without Dangerous and it seems on a number of occasions he has been able to make her cry from a phone call.  I have said to Rock Chick this behaviour is unacceptable and she should just put the phone down on him.  Sparkling is also distraught with the situation and advised Rock the same.  Instead, I get a text of a phone call made yesterday and another crying session.  This again is outrageous to me; consequently I feel protective of Rock and angry at Dangerous.

Of course Dangerous can only hurt Rock Chick if she lets him.  To this extent Rock has to make her own decision whether the Dangerous he now is (Old), is someone she should still care about.  If she does and still has an affinity to this scrotum, I'll have no choice but to set the dogs on him when I next see him, stick his jaw together with superglue, find the biggest hob nailed boot I can and kick him up the arse, put a slow working laxative in his drink just before he is about to leave on a bus trip, take his skateboard and accidentally drive a car over it, stitch up the legs to his jeans, put his phone number in a Gents toilet frequented by other Gents who prefer Gent company than Ladies company, with of course an accompanying message about being free, single, available and up for anything, and lastly as he is sleeping one night, shave his head till he's bald and write in indelible ink "I am an idiot" on the back.  Only then might my satisfaction be quelled from the tears he has made Rock Chick endure.

It's certainly true, when someone you care about deeply is sad you can't help but want to take the sadness away and make them feel happier.  However, sometimes such sadness is a learning experience, and to learn something as important as how to deal with an idiot boyfriend for a girl like Rock is part of growing up.  Alternatively, if she reads this BLOG there might be some very useful hints.  Just say the word Rock and his arse will belong to a man called Shirley who's got a thing going for young bald men (idiots).

Look out for stinky landmines

I had another weekend run this morning. It was around the same piece of heath land as my last run.  Before getting there there is however a steep hill to climb, or reduce to a snails pace.  I did notice I could get up the hill easier than my last runs so it must mean something is happening. Dare I even use the word fitter?  Possibly, would be the answer.  As I'd left it just a little bit later than last time there were more dog walkers to contend with.  My head kicks into gear with dogs and their walkers.  For instance, never suddenly speed up, never make either a bee line for the walker or for the dog, even if it would be the usual line to run on, if necessary slow down or run around an obstacle to put something between the dog and my wonderful looking chicken legs, without the gravy.  And of course never, ever carry a packet of pork sausages in your pocket.  Which stands to reason. The next point to bare in mind is to consider what they leave behind.  Dog shit.

I remember once being on holiday in a hot country and how shit would dry up pretty quickly, it would lose it's stink and then wouldn't be any bother when it came to treading on it, being more like a dejected Farley's rusk.  But in the UK because of our wonderfully wet weather, dog shit stays active for a long time.  It must be the humidity.  Like miniature landmines it just hangs about for days on end, waiting for some unsuspecting person who just took their eye of the path for one moment to step right in it.  Although there are a lot of dog owners out there who may even bother to clear up their dog's shit, there's just as many who don't..  These are the one's you'd just like to post their own dog shit through their letter box and see how they feel about it then.  But of course it doesn't happen, and if you do see someone allow their dog to shit, what are you going to do, stand there and have an argument, which then antagonises the dog who wants to protect the owner so decides it's time to show some teeth.  Local Council's put up notices for on the spot fines, but I must say I have never seen anyone get fined for their dog's shit. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, it's just their shit I don't like.  I think they are wonderful animals, great companions and guards.  Responsible owners are fine, it's the irresponsible ones who need a lesson.  In my mind every dog should be chipped.  There'd be chip and shit fines then.  I don't know why I have deliberated so much on such a subject.  Especially as I didn't tread in any today.  Just to say, I did notice some large piles of it while out pounding the streets.  If I hadn't then my trainers would be stinking of it no doubt.

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Pigeons you are on notice

The pigeons are on notice.  Yes!!  The ones who reside under my roof tiles and then come clattering out every morning just as the sun rises.  The ones who like to have early morning parades, stumping about and then follow it up with incessant cooing, those ones.  Yes, their time is limited.  I've had a roofer come round and arranged for him to do a survey.  He didn't know where they were getting in either, but he will check out the whole roof and report back to me on what work needs to be done.  My fingers are crossed he can find their entrance point, and they will no longer have residence here.  He saw to how neighbours had thrown old break up on a garage roof.  If only I could do something about such habits as well, but I can't.  These flying rats are going to go, and the sooner the better.  I suggested a double barrelled shot gun, but he knew the tiles would get damaged, so it fell on equally deft ears when I pulled out an old RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) I had stacked next to a small set of ladders.  So it seems having a little fun while doing away with the things is out of the question.  I wouldn't mind even the cat seems to have no appetite for pigeon, the lazy little bugger, he sleeps all day wants nothing but affection and in return fails to rid me of these vermin.  Maybe I should put him on eBay and see if I get any offers.

It just so happened I noticed a window has been broken as well.  It's a single glazed upstairs bathroom one.  I can't work out how it happened.  Maybe a bird flew into it, but if a bird had flown into it at such force it would of tumbled down to the ground and I'd see it.  Unless the lazy cat then went and ate it up.  Which would be typical.  I looked for any stones which is inconclusive as a stone would of bounced back off the window, cracked it and could of ended up anywhere else in the garden.  I wondered if it might be a pellet from an air rifle.  But again had this happened then it would easily of been lost on the ground.  Therefore I don't know what cracked and broke the window and I don't have a clue when it happened. I'll blame it on the pigeons, well we all need something to heap blame on, and they're are just as good as anything else.

I hit the gym yesterday as a method of getting away from it all.  Then went on the running machine and did a good forty minutes without stopping.  I held a slow pace, didn't push it and just kept going, taking the occasional swig of water from a plastic bottle.  Which reminds me I read an article in the news about some chemical in plastic bottles which isn't good for men's sperm.  So it's plastic bottles which will lead to the demise of mankind.  Shame because it will give women kind something less to moan about.  It's funny the thoughts which go through your head when trotting away.  But running in a gym is nothing like a run in the park.  The park is better, tougher, it demands attention and the skill of a strategist.  Taking the right route to avoid dogs, ensuring when running down a hill it's done at a controlled pace other wise it will be face down if not on your arse.  Oh yes and always take a water bottle.  Damn back to the plastic issue again.  Well at least I can breath a little easier, exercising is good for combating asthma.  But not so good for the little fishes.  Well everything has some kind of risk.  At least the pigeons haven't had a good shit on me, wait to they find out they been evicted.  Memo look out for a hat for next week's run.

An odd pair of shorts, or an odd pair of legs

Rock Chick went to the hospital today to have an operation on her feet, or foot.  I think it was just one of them. The quacks had to remove a nasty little bugger of a wart, which had refused all manner of treatment.  Even in this hi tech age they had hit it with a laser, and it was no sufficient enough to remove the unwanted friend.  So for some reason I have been a little preoccupied.  Wondering what was going on, I'd been texting Sparkling Eyes and had no response from her.  The operation was to be at lunch time and Rock Chick was to be out mid afternoon ish.  However there was a delay so she didn't get out till a little later. I'd text messaged both Rock and Sparkling in the morning to say I would be thinking of them and loved them.   Rock replied and said she basically wasn't bothered about the surgery.  She is a brave girl I thought, and I recalled how she had been to the dentist and refused to have an anaesthetic.  Without doubt Rock Chick is made of very strong stuff.  Later in the afternoon I rang up Sparkling and my call was disconnected.  Or rather answered but Sparkling must of dropped the phone back in her bag.  I could hear a faint conversation and noise, so wasn't able to make out what was being said.  It mean there was nothing to worry about, and my suspicion over the noise was of Rock being wheeled out of the hospital, it proved to be right.  I didn't worry too much and went off to the gym.

I was tired as I entered the gym and felt an urge to sleep.  Usually when I feel so tired it's a good sign and it means relaxed and having a work out it brings good results.  I got dressed and something strange happened. Sleepy or distracted, I put on my shorts they felt odd, tho not too odd, which I put down to it being a pair of shorts I'd not worn in a couple of weeks and the Fatman syndrome. Next was  socks and then trainers.   I picked up my empty water bottle and put it in a pocket..  This was the strangest thing of all.it was now the pockets seemed odd.  Very odd.  I sat for just one moment reflecting on this odd thing, and then realised I had put my shorts on back to front.  I laughed and must of looked an odd sight as I dropped my shorts, turned them around and put the back on the correct way, but still had my trainers on.  What a Wholly I thought. 

Distraction is the master method used by magicians to do their tricks.  So it seems is tiredness and thinking of other things.  Well at least I put on my coat the right way, if I didn't I'd be wearing another coat which might seem back to front but would be the correct fitting.for the place I'd be going.

Batman was not a Fatman

Sometimes timing is everything.  Or rather, all times, timing is everything.  To reach a specific point in time and be able to approach a task in the right way requires a certain attitude, a mind-set.  It's now been three weeks in which I have managed to do some form or physical exercise every second day.  Usually going to the gym, but at weekends going for a run in the park.  It is hard work being a fatman and running.  Batman wasn't called Fatman because he was overweight.  Then, he wasn't overweight.  He couldn't be, especially if he was climbing up the sides of buildings and taking on the baddies.  Although the Penguin now he was rotund, but it didn't stop him from being a baddy.  So, part of me asks how come Batman wasn't fat either?  It's strange how you see things differently when in a different situation.  As I was saying.  Timing and the right time to do something and sustain it only comes about from having all the other things in place and wearing the right head.  Like a children's character scarecrow who would put a different head on depending what he wanted to do. I had to put the right head on, and have it at this moment. I have lost a couple of pounds and have found it a lot easier breathing, so it's got to be worth it. 

I saw little Monster Boy yesterday, we went for a walk and played his version of football.  This often involves him kicking me in the ankles rather than tackling me.  We make one goal post with my jacket being one of the  a stick or boulder.  He then counts goals to his advantage in accordance to his rules, which means he must win every time.  It was great fun.  We both laughed a lot and I got pretty tired even with my exercise regime.  As the TV series Misfits is being filmed locally we had hoped to see some of the trailers or the actors from the series, however they must of just stopped filming.  They had been parked in a large car park for quite a few weeks.  So it was my own fault I should of had an earlier look.  Misfits is probably the most exciting thing which has happened locally for many years.  I expect it will probably be the most exciting thing for years to come.  But the actors kept themselves to themselves, and stayed hidden away in their trailers.  So although the series in part reflects what it is like living in the area, you can't help feel a little disappointed in the people, they could of been maybe a little community active and done something significant.

Oh well, there's nothing to it, I'll just have to go and put my cape, mask and stockings on and have a run.  I'm sure it will cheer someone up.

Sunday run

It’s been a quiet day. I had one thing in mind to actually do, which was have a run. The thought occurred to hit the road in the morning, but reluctantly getting up from bed to the sound of clattering roof tiles as pigeons greeted the day pushed any notion of physical exertion away. Yet, it has been about two weeks where every second day I’ve somehow managed to get to the gym. Except going to the gym today would of meant spending over an hour in bus ride time there and back, not to mention packing my kit bag and paying fare. So instead, I had an inkling of motivation and put on shorts, socks and t-shirt to go jogging. There was one rule, no rather two rules to obey on such an occasion. First to take it easy, allow myself to stop and walk where necessary and second was to spend longer running than I would at the gym. After a few stretching exercises I got some water and left by the front door.

Once I had closed the door I wondered if anyone I knew would see me. This was because a middle aged getting-fatter-man who one knows, is always worth a laugh. Fortunately I have few friends nowadays and only had to think about neighbours. As most of these are new and of multi cultural origin and still strangers to me, they wouldn’t be much of a problem unless they decided today was the day to talk to the fattish man who lives in the corner house. I was fortunate, none did. They were probably doing all day sessions at their respective religious establishments dancing, singing, and speaking in tongues. Although I must confess one tongue has been perfectly adequate for me.

The run, or rather fat-man-jog, walk, pant-like-about-to-have-a-asthma-attack event went as smoothly as it could. There was only one doggy threat, and he seemed quite happy chained to his steak although I hopped over his lead and flashed an enticing chicken-like-leg in his direction, he was having nothing of it. Maybe he thought there was too much fat on it and liked his meat a bit leaner. He was quite a nice dog as well, he was a young husky-like affair. Perhaps the heat of the day had taken a toll on him. But good as gold, he just sat and showed no interest. I was happy for him, just as I was happy for myself, not having to think about a tetanus injection. I saw families out walking, kids playing football and even another jogger, an older man who didn’t acknowledge me as we passed in opposite directions. Bastard, I panted quietly as I laboured an exhale. Obviously someone who doesn’t know the joggers rule, which is to always smile, wave or say “hi” to another jogger. Saying this, it did give me some impetus to move my little leggies a little faster, well, a little.

In getting home I then washed and sat down, to enjoy a quite moment as my brain chemistry kicks in with some of those buzzing chemicals which make you feel at peace. Oh running shoes, running shoes, bear my weight, last for another circuit, help me lift my knees when I need it most and never let your laces dangle so I fall over and land on my face, arse or nose. Yep, sometimes a little divine intervention is just what the personal trainer ordered.

A bit of mind reading

Sometimes it is like I don’t exist. I know I do exist, because each day I get up, eat breakfast go to the Fish Factory, hit the gym, interact with people, but it’s still like I am non existent. It comes down to Sparkling, because I try to communicate with her by MSN but to my chagrin she is shown as offline. Then when I do send a message I get a reply. She isn’t really offline, it’s just the way she signs in, always offline. Which leads me to wonder when she is truly offline but online and when offline does actually mean offline. It can get pretty confusing. I try to reason, but I’m out of my depth here because I’m using logic and logic really is not the logically thing to use. For a simple reason, it’s man logic and not woman logic.

Sparkling then tells me in a few words not to push any buttons because it is the time of the month when men become objects worth of decapitation by any means possible by women. If I say something without due care and attention I am then accused of being insensitive and being an arse hole. Which is of course the natural state of any man nearly 100 per cent of the time according to any woman. It’s like walking on rice paper. I then ask does this mean if I were in Sparkling’s presence I’d be dead, the answer is affirmative, several times over. Probably with a chop stick or a whisk, or worse still the woman glare. The very special look reserved when extreme irritation has now been reached. It can then be followed by the pointed finger. Or the stabbing pointing finger which darts through the air and hits you squarely in the chest. Like some mystic Chinese martial art this move is meant to immobilise a man. And it does. It’s the move which says “don’t carry on because the next thing you say will be written on your grave stone.” It really does mean now deadly force will be used.

Mostly being a coward, or wise I then shut up. However, as this came to me by telepathy in an MSN message, it took a moment to sink in. Yes, I was just reading the words and using my man-logic. Clearly my skin has been temporarily saved. I’m happy because I need it. I think I’ll just pretend not to be here and to be a figment of imagination.

Thing is, whose imagination?

Chat with a porker

While in the gym this evening, I got chatting to a porker. It turned out to be one of those situations when you get the feeling your fat only to find someone who is fatter. Well I did. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, we groaned about how hard it was getting to the gym, it's not easy at our age, though he might of been a couple of years older, I couldn't tell. Then he told me how a year and a half ago he had weighed 24 stone and now he was 16 stone. I could barely believe it. He had lost an entire person in body weight. But he still looked fat, but hell 18 months ago he looked real fat. He said he was stuck now at 16 stone and had been yoyoing up and down at this weight for a while. Considering it had taken me two weeks to lose four pound and I was groaning, this bloke was a walking miracle. He gave details of how arthritis in one of his knees had stopped him from coming at one point, but he now went three times a week. This individual had completely flabergasted me. I thought here was someone who had will power and more sustained determination than very many people I knew. Yet he was an ordinary bloke although a bit tubby. My only error was to ask him how much he thought I weighted, or rather he told me in a range of about two and a half stone. He got it right, but the worse thing was the top end of his guess was two and a half stone heavier than what I am. It didn't do much for my self esteem, but I'll try not to let it bother me.

Bloody porker.

Scales which tell the truth are redundant

I hit the gym this evening. It was a truely eventful moment, twice in three days. Again it hurt. I'm now a fat man who can't program his weight into the running machine because he's afraid of standing on scales to see what it is. Big Moma summed it up when she refused to stand on a set. I said there was nothing wrong with them they were new and function perfectly. Her reply was this was the reason she wouldn't stand on them.

Why does getting old mean getting fat, grumpy and unfit? Not to mention the necessity to purchase more clothes as you climb through the sizes like a mountaineer on speed. Tomorrow I think I'll go for a light meal and watch the calories. Or did I mean watch the cookies?

Three days of sausage aversion therapy

On leaving Sparkling Eyes and heading towards London I wasn't feeling on top of the world. I put this down to an over indulgence of alcohol over the last few days, no lets rephrase, the last two weeks and my body beginning to fight back. Though I wish it wouldn't and just accept the hundred sausage rolls or copious fried breakfasts I plied pass these lips. I could tell something was up because I felt a chill and my head was fuzzy. However, it's always difficult because I'm from England and it's always a little colder in Scotland, so I put it down to climatization. The train hit London and I felt a mild urge to use the loo. But thought seeing as I only had another hour it would pass and I'd be back at my London base.

From Kings Cross I got a tube to London Bridge. In the City the weather was quite different, it was hot perhaps in the mid 80s, communters were in shirts and no one had a coat, yet I felt my chill still. When on the tube it's usually even hotter than it is outside, maybe even the 90s on the carriage. So I sat in a crowded carriage with bodies swaying around me, they were hot and swetty some giving an odourous pong. The seat I sat on must of been near some mechanical engine part because there was extra heat eminating from it. Rather than be dismayed this was perfect, but it still didn't warm me up, the chill persisted. Things were not adding up, it was hot around me and I felt cold, maybe my moron head was put on when I woke up in the morning, because it really wasn't registering.

I got off the tube and then went to the barrier at London Bridge. As my ticket doesn't automatically work I have to show it to an attendant at this point, but being the peak of rush hour with thousands of people going throught the turnstyles this is not so easy, especially if the attendants are not standing in an accessible place for people who have issues getting through turnstyles. I showed him, he looked at the ticket. Great, I had chosen the novice attendant/learner who didn't know the different ticket types or understand with gate pass tickets you should always ask for the second rail ticket. I held up a second ticket quite clearly waiting for him to glance at it and began to get annoyed Except the idiot must of been wearing blinkers, he just looked at the one gate pass ticket. He then let me through and said "follow me". he went to another attnedant to show them my gate pass. Two seconds later he said it wasn't valid. I had an outburst and said "it is! look at this other one I got in my hand." He rapidly changed his mind and then let me through. I was going to show him my ugly side at this moment. I then found the expected platform form my final train. At this moment I felt a rumbling.

The earlier urge to hit the loo had now reoccured. It took me five minutes to establish on which platform the gents were located. I headed over to it. Got there and just as I was about to direct myself towards a cubical someone else got there instead. Now I felt like clutching my guts. I knew this could be an embarressing moment the shivers had caught up with me. I stood outside the gents and spied the cubical door hoping it would open. Eventually it did and then I rushed in. The toilet seat was up, there was toilet roll brilliant. I dropped the seat down only to find it was covered in piss all over it. WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH MEN WHO PISS ON TOILET SEATS? So gave it a good wipe down before I could use it. What a relief it was when I did. I had got to the point now where I didn't even care if there was no loo paper I was going to have a dumb and it was going to happen. I thought of an incident L & B man had told me he had when in Poland on a holiday. Now he really does have bowel problems. I sympathised now through my own experience.

Getting back home, I went to bed in early evening, with the occasional tremble, both hot and cold at the same time. A few hours later, when the sun had eventually decided to go down and the sky got a somewhat darker, my body lifted itself out of bed as though some mysterious alien force was levitating me. My reactions were instantaneous even to the extent of beautiful. I had now began my bid for the 2012 Olympic Games in a little know event called Projectile Vommitting. My cheeks blew out like the distorted jowls of a great jazz trumpeter as I tried to hold back the onrush. Clasping my hand daintily to my mouth like a shy teenager trying to suppress a giggle I then did a Linford Christie start from bedroom to toilet to hurl vomit at a greater quantity than water from a fire hose.

It's taken me now three days to recover, I'm sure the fuzzy head was a migraine as well. Somehow I managed to drag myself into the Fish Factory to do my time. I could not face food for two off those days and now I am so much the better. I have abstained from two things, alcohol and sausages since. Be they sausages in a roll or sausage rolls, anything related to a sausage has been off the menu. For the time being if I don't see another sausage for a year it will be too soon. I hope this aversion lasts. But I will be thankful for one very important thing, the inventor of the toilet roll. Maybe I'll have a drink on it tomorrow to.

An 18th and 21st, don't mind me said the little boy

At Rock Chick's 18th party I saw an event which was witnessed by about 100 people. It was something which caught the eye, it could of easily been overseen, but once one or two people began starring and pointing. There was an almost hush moment. Then turning my head I saw a little boy. On the dance floor during early evening with flashing disco lights, he dropped his trousers and had a pee. This moment was jaw dropping, spectators saw, they were amazed then they laughed. A little boy had done what little boys do, he had an urge and his call of nature was quite natural.

The event was a great success. University Girl was 21 as well so it was a combined party. I must admit although there were a lot of people I recognised by face I had forgotten their names. Not to mention how alcohol effects my ability to interpret the Scottish accent. Which was probably to my advantage being a sassenach. Sparkling has taught me a new phrase which I must remember "I'm gonna rap your pus" in English this means I am going to punch you in the face. I have to find a moment next week and say it to someone. I have also been considering doing some running, I could use the opportunity to rap a pus and run at the same time. In this way hitting two pigeons with one stone. Losing weight and using this new founded phrase. All I can think is it sure is a lot easier eating chocolate and being fat.