Fact, it takes more than 30 days to learn the Ukulele

There are web sites and tutorials claiming it is possible to learn the ukulele in 30 days, of course proving participants are naive enough to believe this and then fish deep into their pockets for the cost of these on line lessons.  Here is a fact, unless you have prior experience with another string instrument, it is not possible to learn at an accelerated pace how to place the ukulele in 30 days.  Just as a little man I met in Gdansk said to me. It is generally agreed in music terms you only start to get any good once you have dedicated 10,000 hours of doing something.  The little fella I'm speak about is a professional opera singer and a musician, and Sparkling thinks he looks like Johnny Depp and insisted on calling him Johnny Depp as well. He didn't seem to mind at all. I must admit he appeared a little eccentric, but he also seemed to be a nice enough man. 

I began teaching myself, with the help of Youtube how to play the ukulele on the 25.12.12., it was this Christmas Day when Sparkling finally got me the instrument after a lot of pretty heavy hints.  I'd wanted to play it for months and months prior.  There have been days when I have failed to pick it up, but those days are pretty few. My passion for playing and learning the ukulele just continues without fail.  It is therefore 14 months of playing.  Yet every time I pick it up and look at a video I will learn something new, just as I am still learning the chords because it really does take a lot of practice to switch from one chord to the next. At the moment I'm in a phase of learning and transitioning from various different chords to the E chord.  It's a barre chord and requires a bit of finger gymnastics to get right.  The fact I am still learning and I will continue to learn to play this instrument and continue to learn more and more about music as I go along doesn't perturb me, it is exciting.  I don't want to learn to play the ukulele in 30 days, I know it will take years to be what I'd think is proficient but I don't care. However, if there are people out there thinking they can just pick up this beautiful little instrument and learn it in a few days then they are completely mistaken.  It doesn't just take a little bit of talent, it takes a whole lot of practice. Especially if you are coming from a place of zero music background other than listening to songs through the media.

However, all this said, of all the instruments in the world, if you want to pick one up and be able to play a tune in a short period of time then the ukulele is your instrument.  You'll feel immediately good because there will be something you will recognise, something which does actually sound like the music you wanted to mimic. Be aware though, this is mostly a method of rote learning it will not mean you'll know how to read music. It will not mean you actually understand what 4/4 time is or 3/4 times is either. To be truthful these things only come with practice.  It is possible to play a tune within an extremely short period of time when you have this little instrument in your hands, but it doesn't mean you can do much else with it.

So if someone hasn't said it before, give the little jumping flea a little respect and don't kid yourself you're Elvis Presley after 30 days because the King will come back and give you an arse whipping for sure.

Sometimes you just have to cry

I don't know why it is but out of nowhere I am suddenly entrenched in emotions.  Not particularly happy ones either, it's listening to sad songs which does it.  Yet, I like those songs, they are good.  Funny though the other day as I was walking from the station to the Fish Factory I kept having a song go round and round in my head and I was enjoying it as well. It was from the Sound of Music. Bloody ell. What is happening to me?  The normal reaction of most men to songs from musicals is to vomit, I did say most. It is a cardinal rule unspoken amongst men, but it goes like this.  If there is a musical on TV, turn it over, if you can't walk out of the room and do something more interesting, such as playing with an electric drill, a saw, a wrench, or immerse yourself in hard man literature.  Some would say this includes sport, most would gravitate to football, but personally I don't find either of these options stimulating and on a similar par to listening to a musical.  Yet, there I was walking up the road, bloody tune going around in my head and on the point of singing it. Which would of been possible as there wasn't many people around and it was very windy.  The wind has a noise to it which would cover any vocals.  Where the hell did this music come from? I sure don't know, it was almost like it had been implanted into my head and it included an attitude of liking it as well. I really don't know what is happening to me.

So this evening catching up on some Youtube music videos, and venturing to listen to an artist I hadn't come across before I enjoyed the songs and felt weepy.  Could this be symptomatic of something else I ask myself. I know it is a fact, no matter man or woman sometimes you just have to cry.  Because crying is the only thing which will release all those chemicals in your blood stream which have to come out through the tear ducts, this I am sure is a scientific fact.  I read it somewhere, though if pushed to quote the source I wouldn't be able to say. It then become a matter of literally going with the flow, letting it all out, although probably not in a loud sobbing like manner because this would draw way too much attention. A man crying is bad enough but to do it with people taking concern or paying attention isn't the done thing. Not when there isn't any particular reason, just the old tear ducts getting a bit over full and needing an empty. It's a physical need, just like going to the toilet.  Yes, once in a while it is good for you.  Let the floods flow forth from your eyes because you need it. At this point it is good to disguise the crying urge by watching some soppy film and pretending it was on TV and you couldn't be half arsed to turn the channel over.  There must be men who have done this before but obviously don't stick the hand up and shout it out. The thing is having a good weep is not a thing the average man likes to draw attention to if they can help it.  Being a Fanny as they say in Scotland is one good reason for not doing it. It's OK to be called a Fanny for something else, but not because you been shedding a tear to a track you like on the radio.  Which is another reason why men always prefer to show they like rock music or stuff which is heavy.  You can't cry if your doing a bit of head banging, because the two just don't go together, not at the same time anyway.

It's been a couple of hours now and it is all out of my system.  When I think about why it is I understand the reasons. It's because I wanted to skype Rock Chick and see Princess J, but the bloody thing wasn't working so I just gave up on it. There is something about the Skype software I haven't liked ever since I loaded the program on my laptop.  Lets just say it's a piece of crap in my opinion and msn messenger was better.  Anyway back to the action packed movie I was about to watch, and hopefully a few testosterone hormones to come with it.

Cabin Fever is a good moan

There is no doubt about it, the impact of doing the 1000 word a day challenge is effecting my BLOGs. I can only do one thing at a time, although in the Fish Factory I'm expected to do about thirty things at once. Walking sideways with multiple brooms up my arse is a common sight and not a pretty one. The only reason I am writing now is because I've been stuck in the house all day long and am getting my own version of Cabin Fever.

Sparkling was the one to diagnose it, all I'm doing is having a moan at other members of the family who I don't get on with and wish were not my family.  There should be a rule of fact relatives know.  It is, you might be family but we got nothing else in common and we will dislike each other in some cases our entire lives.  The thing is having a good moan once in a while is a uniquely human thing to do, for there will always be something which gets under your skin. Something which enrages and makes blood boil. It doesn't have to be a big thing either. As Sparkling would say with my habit of not putting a tea towel in exactly the right place it should be. Then when I spy the tea towel not where it should be and it wasn't me then I don't say a thing.  Because I know what is good for me, which includes keeping my trap shut. Whereas when I am the culprit I will be given a formal reprimand and possibly the dreaded finger point. It's like the finger point is women's Kung Fu. It can be jabbed through the heart, eye or kidneys of a man with accuracy, speed and effectiveness even Grasshopper would acknowledge.

Now it's time to go to bed and I'm awake and watching Political news videos, well then looks like I'm going to be shit in the morning as well.

Two habits, not quiet a third and the farts

The 1000 word a day challenge has now reached day 17, it's surprising how fast it goes, but it certainly is a challenge and leaves me with little energy to write a here.  Which is my excuse anyway.  I now have two regular things I do each evening. One write a 1000 words and two play on Harvey.  I should really fit in there a third which would be some kind of exercise to get fit, lose weight and be healthier.  However there just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day. However, the reminder comes and slaps me in the face every time I put on a particular shirt which used to fit me but doesn't now. Especially around the waist where I can feel a tight pull.  I'm hoping eating chilli with your food speeds up metabolism, being on account it is spicy and fire like.  So maybe my stomach kicks into overdrive.  However at the rate I eat it looks like my breakfast, lunch and dinner should be nothing but bowls of chilli vegetables.  I blame the chilli sauce in my chicken noodle soup today for the farts.  Sparkling will be glad I'm not near her. Mind her occasional sinus problem is useful and avoids me having to worry about being told off for farting. It's got to be an age thing, and a food thing.  I'll have to check out micro bacteria yoghurt things maybe they will help.

Challenges, a 1000 words, a baby, a neurotic cat and a hectic time of year

It has been 10 days of the 1000 word challenge and it has not been an easy task to set. On one of the days I didn't write any words at all so the next day decided to do double. It was tough going to say the least. But I do notice the times I write about things which are relevant to my own life or stuff I know about then the words flow quiet easily. It's not so difficult on such occasions.  It was said the author of Catch 22, Joseph Heller used to set himself the task of writing one page a day. I remember watching him give an interview a long time ago. Well it would of been a long time ago because he's dead now. Anyway, it was good to listen to what he had to say. It took him at least 7 years to write this first book, going backwards and forwards with his editor. In fact the original title of this book was to be Catch 18, but he decided to change this as "18" was used in another title of a book published a little earlier than his own. It's a ironic he should change the original title when his main character Yossarian of Catch 22 had many problems with bureaucracy, in effect, Catch 22 had become a Catch 22 of itself, because it couldn't be 18.

I caught up with Sparkling yesterday and she told me what life was like looking after Princess J. Who has a new freedom to move about now she can crawl. Her inquisitive nature means there is never a moment when Sparkling is able to sit down and rest. Princess J has to be entertained full time and if she can will refuse to take her afternoon nap. When returned to Rock Chick the little Princess shortly goes to bed and sleeps a full 12 hours or more. Revitalising her energy and getting ready to take on the next day. She has now learnt to pull herself up onto her feet and look around as well. She would like to walk but isn't developed enough so falls down on her backside when she stands up too long. She is also a very funny little girl, who laughs at things which have no meaning at all. Then when trying to make her laugh she will refuse and put on her neutral face. If not her afraid face, well certainly when there are strangers about. The cat Olly has learnt to avoid her. He doesn't like the heavy hands of a baby trying to pull his fir out and he gets upset by it. Probably thinking Princess J is a form of small animal getting all the attention he doesn't get. His revenge is to meow at 3 a.m. and make Sparkling cranky.  If I was around he'd be making me cranky because I'd be getting an elbow in the ribs to sort him out.

I still do my best to get an hour in on the ukulele and but sometimes it just doesn't happen. Still Harvey does make me happy. Playing him is relaxing because it is so different from everything else I do, I love it.  The coordination of strumming and singing is still hard to pull off but I'm sure to get it some day. It's been over a year now and progress has certainly been made. I also recommend to everyone whenever I get a chance to play the ukulele, but I don't think there have been any takers. As Princess J grows up I'll try and influence her, that would be great.

The Fish Factory is hectic because of backlogs of work and the end of a financial year approaching. I can't think of a more difficult and stressful time in the Factory's calendar. I don't know how long it will be before I get a chance to see Sparkling but it's likely to be at least another 4 to 5 weeks and will be time for me to book a room in a padded cell, where there is nothing but piped calming music coming through all the time. Suddenly being woken up by a cat at 3 a.m. or exhausted by a baby, or even spending hours writing word after word after word is much more appealing.

OK back to the laptop, and to think of tonight's 1000 word subject.

The 1000 word a day challenge.

I read an article on the internet. It was about a man who set himself the challenge of writing 1000 words a day. He is making a living from being a blogger with a difference. Looking at the way people follow their dreams, how they change their lives and move on.  He was unfulfilled by his life and decided every job he’d done he hated. There was only one thing to do and it meant finding or making his own job, his own career.  The web he runs has ongoing interviews with successful people. Just as he has become, he asks them about what made them change their lives, go for their dream.  I listened to about ten minutes of an interview with a woman who had changed career several times, she he just re-invented herself, time and again. The thing was she had been successful in her original career working for a credit card company. She was able to travel the world, see the sights and at some point she got fed up with it and moved on to do something else. I found it odd how he interviewed someone who was already a success and had just moved from one career to another. Why could he of not picked on someone who’d come from a more deprived background I thought.  It was like the converted talking to the converted. Nothing was gained from it. However, this is untrue, for she must have had some quality of character to be successful time after time. She knew what it was she was doing, and it seemed to be on self marketing and knowing the area she wanted to impress upon. Maybe there was an arrogance about her, maybe there was something which didn’t quiet sound right to me, but I couldn’t continue with listening to the interview so didn’t.  Whether it was my own discontent coming through, or whether there was something I picked up from the woman being interviewed I can’t say. What I do know though is the 1000 word challenge sounds appealing, it sounds difficult, it sounds like a challenge. One which would be challenging to anyone.

The guy wrote writing every day was not just a discipline, it meant doing it even when he was not in the mood or could not even think of a thing to write. As if inspiration would come out of the air. Many times it just didn’t, but still he sat down in front of his computer and began hitting those keys. Putting in the graft. Before he knew it, it had become a habit.

I’m sure I could do it, and it would be difficult, especially when a certain level of concentration is required. There would be times when distraction could be a barrier and of course writers block. As if there is such a thing. I once read a cure for writers block was just to concentrate on the little thing, such as a brick in a wall and then write about it.  Then go on to the next brick in the wall, but it doesn’t take too long and before you know it there they are 1000 words. I sit here with a towel on my head waiting for the 15 year old wax conditioner I decided to put on to kick in and do something. I half expect when this towel is removed it will take half my scalp with it because it’s dried up.  Then the conditioner has really done it’s work. If you got no hair then you never have to worry about conditioning your scalp. Or going to the hairdressers.  I’m doing my best to continue with these words as they flow from somewhere, to hit this magic target then I can remove the towel.  Feck I sure hope I don’t get writers block now.

The man who set this challenge went on to describe it as being self revealing. How he had to be true to himself, reflect on things and open up.  He published his writings in his blog and then went on to start his own business. Again writing being involved in it but it didn’t mean he stopped his habit.  Now he had to fit in the 1000 words more than ever. There were times he noted when sitting down for the first part of his writing it would be a load of junk. But he just kept banging away at the keyboard and before he knew it there would be a gold nugget there. I wonder if this goes on a similar premise if you filled a room full of chimpanzees and keyboards they would eventually write the full bibliography of Shakespeare. Though personally I don’t think this is possible. Funny how from nowhere a saying pops up as if it should change the entire world, as if it is just common sense. Well, this saying isn’t. What he was getting across though was there are always barriers even those in yourself, which prevent you from doing something and you just have to jump over them.  Like a horse, or maybe a gazelle.  Or to take it to an extreme a hippopotamus, of course the hippo would have to be jumping over a fence in it’s own environment, the bottom of a river bed certainly not the same fence a horse would jump over. Which would be silly now.

Yesterday I began writing to this challenge, yet I cheated a bit and decided to count the words I’d already written while at work.  Emails and shit.  This attempt should really be discarded. For the juxt of this challenge is to write the 1000 words in a single sitting. No matter how long it takes. Just put them down in black and white, even if it means you sit there with a towel on your head while it begins to superglue to your scalp.  Then it could be called the challenge of a 1000 words versus the loss of 1000 hairs.  I sure hope this test will mean I’m bald tomorrow.  Yet there could be worse things to moan about, male pattern baldness is just another item to add to the list of an aging fat man.  Well the target has been hit. Better run to the sink and see what I’ve lost.

Sparkling's got a birthday

It's Sparkling's birthday today, and here I sit in London while she sits in Scotland, and I miss her because this is probably the first time in 16 years I've not been with her on this day.  I'll not say how old she is or even mention I could be considered as her toy boy in the circumstances, or only just in the circumstances.  Which she finds annoying and then in eight months time a loud reminder comes when she says I am old.  My birthday card which was sent by second class post arrived on time, which was great.  I put an effort into the card as well, using a few coloured pens to draw little things on it and make it stand out as personalised. Sad but I enjoyed pimping her card.  I had a little luck and managed to get a quick Skype call, during which Sparkles said I was looking old because there is grey in my beard.  She always points this out, it seems to give her some satisfaction. The camera does not lie, but there are times when it would be nice if it lied just a little bit.  Someone needs to invent software which automatically touches up the Skyped image, such as darkening grey beards, or hair and even taking away crows feet.  Such software would be more valuable than a session with a plastic surgeon. I don't know why cosmetic surgeons are called plastic as well, possibly on account of all those people who purchase their services and do so by credit card. Or even because of the stretched plastic look skin takes when it has been pinned back.  No such surgery for moi, I'm all natural and greying of course.  You gets what you see, like the software.

Amazon was used to place an order for Sparkling's birthday present and it has not turned up.  I should of realised it would take longer than expected these things always do.  The problem is there are three parts to this item and from different sellers. I'll request Sparkling not open any one of them until all three are there but this could fall on deaf ears. On account of Sparkles has a low patience threshold and likes things done right away. It goes more so with presents, it is curiosity. Way too much of it.

A subsequent Skype to Sparkling and I find she has opened one parcel of three so has a very good idea of what her prezzy is. darn. Next year it will be a donkey, lets see how she feels about that.

A fart and a mate

I'd love to have a famous friend, someone who might be an actor or just important and known to the world. We'd meet up maybe every six months for a drink and a chat, a general laugh and enjoy each other's company. Hopefully not like the friends you'd normally acquire like jewellery and then get discarded as they are out of fashion. Then on the other hand, maybe they don't have to be famous at all, just to have a connection which is meaningful and we both enjoy. Connecting with people is important, the thing is you never know when it is going to happen, who it is going to be or what the circumstances are when it comes about. Instantaneously, enlightening and mutually agreeable.

The other day when I went to the loo I sat down in the cubical. I'd been having a bit of a tummy upset. It plagued me the entire day.  Within a few seconds of getting seated out was let this enormously loud fart.  I mean it was explosive. Then there was a space of a second or so and a second very loud fart, followed by another short space in time and a third very loud fart.  The cubical next to mine was also occupied.  Someone else was sitting there and had heard these explosions. I don't know who it was but the was an eruption of laughter. It would of been an appropriate time for him to have shit himself with laughter I suppose, if it is possible. I know people can shite themselves when they drink to much and guess it may be true of laughter as well.  He said something along the lines of "blimey, that was loud". I replied, "well if you can't fart in a toilet where can you fart?" his response was, "you must work with a lot of women then." This is quiet true. I do, and it is difficult when it comes to farting around women.  It's like this is something they never do and certainly do no let on about because every woman in the world never farts in public.  They will do it in private but not a public or work place thing.  I don't know who the man was in the next cubical, but I liked him. I guess if we worked together then we'd both be able to fart without a care in the world.

I've never made a mate while having a fart, and it seems to me an interesting situation. Unfortunately I guess this was a one off life experience which will never happen again.

Oh well, better find the cork

Putting a knot in a ukulele G string

Well the expression getting your knickers in a twist, isn't anything like getting your ukulele string knotted. But it seems close enough to me.  This evening I sat down for the usual session with Harvey and rattled out a couple of tunes, one of which I sang to.  Counting time and singing still is difficult by the way and it's been a year.  When I decided I'd had enough of a string buzz.  I know it's a string buzz and not tinnitus because they sound quite a lot different. Even though in conversation with Sparkling she tried to influence my feeble mind by suggesting I was hearing things, again.  I definitely do know the difference.  So I know what string it is, it's a low G string I'd specially bought a few months ago and it has got to be something to do with the knot at one end. Hence knickers in a twist, because of the buzzing noise and of course a G string is also in reference to a type of underwear.  Which by the way I do not wear, have never worn and never intend to wear.  My name is not Borat.

So off I whip the low G string, followed by twenty minutes of undoing the knot. Followed by a quick search on Google to find out what sort of knot should actually be used.  Finding a knot called the Ashley Stopper I thought this would be it. This would stop the rattling.  So I work out how to do the Ashley Stopper manage to tie it and just to make sure it is tight and secure use two pairs of pliers to pull it together.  I admired my work and learnt something new, I should be given a Scout badge now. Except for being 40 years too late I would have one.  Anyway the next thing to do is get this knot slotted into the bridge of my ukulele.  Being an idiot I didn't consider the knot may actually now be too large.  It was. Too bloody large by far and would not fit in position.  It is the design of Harvey, his bridge isn't like normal bridges, it's a bridge way too far.  Heck it's the way I tell them.  Now though, as this knot has been pulled tight with the help of pliers I'm stuck in trying to undo the bloody thing.  Shit.  An hour chat with Sparkling Eyes, because I love her and miss her and she's not much good at giving advise on knots but this doesn't matter.  I listened to her story of how she had been defrauded by some unscrupulous people and desperately tried to unknot the knot.  An hour has now passed by and my practice session lasted only about ten minutes, with a little bit of strumming and bashing out Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire.

The knot is still knotted, G what does a man do when he's got no knickers and his fingers just are not up to the job of pulling strings.  Another day another ukulele.

New year's resolution, just remember

It's the time of year when new year's resolutions are made. The trick is not to put these in stone but rather a malleable material which allows itself a bit of space.  It's easy to fall off the wagon, I've done it a lot of times especially in the case of chocolate and crisps.  One item which is always on the list is to get fit.  Or just to get healthier, this is an abstract term and can mean healthy in many different aspects, exercise is just one, eating healthy another could be finding mental and emotional space from those things which cause stress. Losing weight is another aspect of being healthier as well. The latest diet news seems to indicate a bit of self starvation for a few days is actually very good for the body.  Damn, this sounds pretty extreme, but the scientific results are pretty clear, not only is weight hit but blood pressure lowers as well. Looking over the last year to see what I have consistently kept up with, it's been playing the ukulele.  At first I played it every single day, but then there were days I could not play it and felt disappointed in myself when this happened. However, I got back on the wagon again and played as soon as I could.  So have now a whole year of ukulele playing under my belt.  It is most definitely improving and my singing is coming along as well, although apparently singing and playing an instrument is much more difficult than just playing the instrument by itself.  I ask myself what it has been which kept me going strong over the year, and it has been self motivation.  I wanted to play the ukulele at least a year before I had owned one, maybe the waiting helped and made me more determined to do it. So this could be the same element needed when making  a new year's resolution. Be completely committed to it, pursue it with a single mind and it will happen. Of course this is probably true of everything in life

There are lots of things I'd like to do, speak French, learn to code, be a comic, a writer, a plumber, a carpenter, a electrician, a rich man (like the song), a management consultant, clown, full head of hair heart throb etc. Then the year goes by as it always does in a steady and progressive way. I hit the pub after the Fish Factory to relax and before I've known it part of my life has gone. Another bad habit ingrained.  Less time spent doing the things I should be doing. To learn how to plumb means finding a place to study, doing a course, having a real plumber there who can guide me through one project after the other. It takes time and effort. Everything is about effort as well. Given there are actually very few talented people in the world, because talent to do anything can only be fulfilled if effort, by time and practice is also put into it. Things drift, things happen, it rains, snows, and vehicles skid on roads. It is not possible to work and live and do everything you would like to do, it is only possible to do select things and so efforts are probably best chosen with motivations. Something you want to do is something you're more likely to do as a new year's resolution and keep on doing the whole year.

Then all of a sudden, looking down at this paunch of a belly and thinking getting healthy as a new year's resolution might not be so bad at all, if it is the only thing I have to worry about. My hair can drop out, as it will continue to do so, the taps will leak, the floors creak, the lights forever flicker, my pockets will not be full and running off to the circus is not an option but I am in part a heart throb to at least one person, well I hope so, (Sparkling Eyes).  Though she does give me a not so loving look when I'm not doing what she expects and my mind reading ability is just not up to her standard. This is not to mention with age I'm losing my memory and this may be the thing which prevents any resolution from going the full course.  There I have it, this year's new year's resolution is to keep my marbles, hold onto them with both hands as tightly as possible and in this way I'll stop forgetting what I should be doing it and then know what I am not doing, unforgivable maybe.

Better throw the red nose and big shoes out, or just stick them under the desk for the time being.

Heavy cold but great rendition of Johnny Cash

Yesterday I headed back from Scotland and got back to London. Winter and the constant rain just seems to add to the depression of this place. Even on the North East coast of Scotland there were days a good few days over the last two weeks when the sun didn't come out at all. Heavy clouds in the sky made it very dreary.  Not to mention the gale force winds we've had.  This could be why on the last few days of my visit I caught a cold come flu like virus. Probably handed to me from Sparkling who in turn had caught it from Princess J or Rock Chick. Runny nose, sore throat, coughing, up and down temperature, constant sneezing and my voice has dropped an octave. Like being woken up from a deep sleep, startled and wondering who the hell is waking you up. Usually some drunkard on the phone who loves you or wants you to join the party they are having for one at 4 a.m., possible 5 a.m. of course all depending when you hit the hay yourself.  Well, this is the kind of low pitched croaky voice I've been inflicted with at the moment. It even pains to speak suggesting a spot of laryngitis to add in this as well. I popped into the Fish Factory to do a couple of hours of work sniffed myself through 50 disposable handkerchiefs and then ran out with the runny nose in tow.

There is an advantage to having a gravel like voice and throat. Especially  when it comes to singing. Those low notes are much easier to drop down to, in fact it is like my voice is a complete octave lower, possibly more. It's hard to say, but it definitely is lower.  So I got Harvey out to give him a little strum as usual, even in a sneezing delirium he still sounds great and banged out a rendition of Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire. Damn, it sounded so good I thought I was sitting in the room and the real Johnny Cash had taken over my body and was singing through my throat.  The pain of 200 cigarettes a day and depression of Flotsam Prison and the law came through.  The song might of been about the passion of dangerous head-over-heals love, but it also had the associated deep sorrowful tones of Cash's own experiences. Damn it was good, I wish I'd recorded it but don't have the facilities. Another day maybe.  Which got me to thinking, if it is possible to sing this low while sick (let me add physically sick) then surely it must be possible to reach those same low notes when healthy, sobre, kicked the drug habit and out of prison. I'll give it a go and try with a bit more effort to see if  the performance can be repeated it when healthier than now.

Happy 2014

I wish everyone a very happy 2014, and happiness is next to love one of the most important things in any persons life.

My 2014 was seen in at a pub in Scotland, they had a live band playing, mind it is difficult to classify two men on stage as a band. More like a couple of blokes who like to play a tune. One played an electric guitar the other sang along. I've never heard a contemporary song in the voice of Barry Manilow until last night, it was odd because I said to L & B man he sounded like Barry and behold the choice afterwards was a Barry song.  I went to the dance floor and had a few silky steps with the girls it was great fun.  However, noted to myself not to mix too many tins of diet cola and Guinness. Pint after pint of Guinness was going to make me pissed so throwing in six tins of diet cola in between seemed to have an effect on my belly. At which point I slowed down the consumption.  One thing for sure is cola companies don't put a warning about it on the tin when perhaps they very well should do. It wasn't actually six tins anyway, it was three or perhaps four.  There is still a spare one in my coat pocket which I refused to leave in the pub, seeing as I'd already bought it.

Sparkling Eyes was working all night.  She says this is the worse time of year for bar staff, all them men suddenly take goggle eyes and at midnight wanted to kiss her. They all tell her how beautiful she is, it's a pity they don't pay her more money to prove how much they think of her. It's very difficult living of minimum wage. She did make some tips though and it was a good crowd. Even if the bar help which consisted of a pair of teenage twin girls were on a go slow.  The other barmaids happened to be a arthritic manager and a pregnant admin staff.  No wonder Sparkling's legs were killing her.

L & B man was able to drink and then support himself in a semi sleep posture while standing up and leaning on a kitchen counter. He stood there kind of wobbling. I and Sparkling managed to get him to sit down. He is a party animal and must of woken up at some point to find everyone had left.  We got home at four in the morning and then had a phone call from him at seven in the morning saying he was going to buy tickets to see Depeche Mode on new years day, somewhere in Europe, possibly Germany and wanted to know if we were going as well. Sparkling was up for it but I didn't have my passport so was going to be left behind tending the cat.  When the phone rang it woke me up from a coma.  Someone should hide the phones from L & B man when he's been pished.  I wonder how many other phone calls he made.  I do remember him saying to me in the kitchen he liked me, even though at times I could be a prick.  Great. My self image for 2014 has taken a battering already.

Poor Rock Chick, Princess J and Dangerous Sports lad are all suffering from a heavy cold or flu like thing. Rock has Dangerous running about while she has hit the hay.  Awwe poor thing. Sparkling tells me when she saw Princess J a day ago she lit up with this enormous big smile, while her nose ran snotty. I'm sure Rock has whipped up Dangerous to go running out to get supplies of lemsip, walk Princess J and generally make himself useful.  Apparently Dangerous gets told off quite a lot for being a man in general.  It's like we are genetically predispositions to be unable to read a woman's mind and when we fail badly she ends up telling us where we fail.  There's a new year's resolution for all us men, learn to read a woman's mind.  I'm sure there is an evening course on it.  If not there should be, I'd teach it myself, however would probably make a poor example.  Awwe I hope they all get over the cold soon and cheer up a little when they do.

So for the time being I sit upstairs with Harvey ready to play a couple of tunes, and of course doing my best to avoid watching "the sound of music" on TV, which Sparkling tells me she likes because it is a musical and I should know she likes musicals.  She does.  Except for the music I play on Harvey which for Sparkling seems to be more of a comedy thing than a musical.  Second resolution, learn to sing better, maybe like Julie Andrews.  Hell now that would be fecking weird.

Candy Crush avoid it at your leisure and talk to a baby

Over the past few days Candy Crush has been a living hell.  It just will not work on this laptop. It is continuously stuck at 56 per cent loading. In the meantime Sparkling Eyes sits on her laptop completing yet another level.  So she has gone from 40 to 50 levels in front of me. It's not a matter of being pissed off, it's a matter of being very pissed off with the program.  To the point I have to consider when to play the thing at all.  Game manufacturers should not make games which have so many bugs in them.  And Candy Crush certainly doesn't work on many levels, there are moaning posts all over the internet, this is another one.  So I tried to cure it, cleared the casche files, cleared the cookies, cleared the temp files, uninstalled flash player, re-installed the flash player and still it does. Searched and then searched again and there is nothing more to help.  The makers of this game King were sent an email.  Their reply was to post a link to the help forums. Where can be found continuous gripes about it.  Sparkling says she would help me on CCS however as my laptop is not working she can't. I think she said this on purpose, and got a little kick out of it. It's not like I'm hooked on CCS because there is little chance I can get hooked because the bloody thing will not work. But it does feel like I'm going cold turkey at Chrimbo.  Yes, this is it. Cold bloody turkey because CCS does not work at all.

I took a mini talking video of Princess J talking, though at 7 months she doesn't say much, it's way too early. She lets out little shreeks at different pitch levels, but they are so cute. I sat there watching the short video and talking to little Princess J as though she was actually there. Sparkling reprimanded me because of my talking to a phone which would not answer back.  I couldn't help it and kept on smiling, she is such a beautiful little girl, and her character and development is growing every single day. She still has the "stranger danger" face, which pops up whenever anything new comes her way. Even if it happens to be a blue pony Chrimbo present. She doesn't know it is meant to be cuddly, warm and nice, she just sees something scarey. Hell there are really no real blue ponies in live.  A zebra might of been better. Black and white zebra's are a lot more natural than blue ponies, I've never seen a blue pony in real life. Wow suddenly there is a realisation this little girl is smart. Heck if I see a blue pony now I am going to shit myself. Well especially if it moves, and more so if it talks. Princess J has also recently discovered rooms have ceilings, she sits there, looks up at the ceiling and then leans back to the extend she the falls backwards onto a pillow.

Damn wish CCS was working.

Three free turkeys, Micheal Bublé again and an alien

Olly the cat kept us up all night, Sparkling says he knows his bitch is back, me. Wonderful.  The wind is blowing hard outside. There is no snow, just children wishing there was, personally I prefer it the way it is.  I've eaten late for the second night in a row and wonder if it will go straight to my belly. L & B man saw me and said I looked old. Great.  Fat and old as well. My shoulder hurts, Sparkling said it was a symptom of something I can't repeat in writing. I am old, I am fat.  One little girl approximately 7 months old recognizes my face as grandpa Pops and takes delight in trying to rip off my beard. It doesn't come off so easily.  Princess Baby J also seems to laugh when I pretend to be crying or in pain, she takes a delight. What on earth is going on in her mind? Who can tell, but seeing as she's got the genes of Sparkling and Rock Chick this baby will have every man round her little finger.

Eventually at some time this morning, I came downstairs following the meowing Olly and helped him out of the back door. he doesn't worry about me looking old. However he doesn't like the wind, mind I don't like being woken up several times at night, not knowing exactly what he wants. My cat thought reading skills are just not what they used to be. At which it was possible to get some sleep and up at 11:00 a.m. Poor Sparkling had been putting up with this for a few days, no wonder she was happy I turned up.

After time visiting Rock, Dangerous and Princess J we went over to the local cheapo superstore, at the back by the fridges there was a group of people. To tell the truth I'd seen them first but Sparkling who has an eye for deals got there first, and her mum.  By the time I'd got there they had been given a little Chrimbo present.  A free 14 pound turkey. It was big, bloody big. Normal price would of been 35 quid, they asked if there was any more turkeys for free, but it was the last one.  We hit the check out, I got there after Sparkling and Ma coz I was taking it easy.  Ten minutes later I met Ma at the end of the checkout. She said the young lad was going back to the store. He turned up with another two Turkeys (crowns) we'd just got three for free.  Recognizing we could not eat that much turkey between the two of us, Sparkling thought the next best thing to do was give it away to a charity.  Three phone calls later and we found a place who welcomed the turkey with open arms. It was going to a sheltered home, as Sparkling said, it felt good to give it away.

Returning back to the house we prepared dinner, steaks.  Sparkling did most of the cooking, I did most of the prepping and all the washing up. TV on and I pick up Harvey (ukulele) ready to get a little practice in. Then to my horror Micheal Buble is on, I know if this goes on any more I'll be wearing Harvey over my head.  So strategically stop. We watch a little and Sparkling proclaims she has seen it before. Except my time with Harvey is over, I can't practice now it will have to be another time. I think Sparkling is getting a bit annoyed with it. There's a time and place.  We swop channels and there is the comedy sci fi film called Paul. The near perfect Chrimbo eve, with Sparkling it is perfect.

What does Chrimbo mean? The gift verse the giver.

There was I sitting in the pub, ignoring my usual group of regulars because they sat at a small table and there was no way I was going to get a seat with them when the pub landlord thrusts a diary in my direction.  It was his present to the regulars. Though I don't drink a lot there so he probably doesn't make much money out of me, it was a nice thought. Opening up the pages there is a different saying at the start of every week.  One of the said the following:

"Love the giver more than the gift."

Brigham Young

I looked up Brigham Young to find he was some kind of religious (mormon) fella in America during the early 1800s, which shouldn't be held against him, as some very nice people are faulted with religious beliefs and some understand the sentiment and act the sentiment.  These are beautiful words. It stands to reason, except for an unfortunately quirk of society; in which it feels the materialistic nature of significant events has taken over.  Advertising has distorted what Chrimbo is about, human beings are so easily mislead and lose track of what is important. To believe owning an object makes a person a better person is what they sell.  No object can make a person better, only self understanding and compassion to all other human beings can do this. These are incredibly difficult traits to engender and not even a life time can fully change a person.

There are some gifts which are not wanted at all. Like the smell of a fart, the deadly silent but violent type.  However, the above quote reminds of another quote.  "It's the thought that counts."  You can not give thoughts away because we are not able to read minds, this is where gifts come in.  What is the perfect gift to someone as well?  The perfect gift is a thing that person actually wants. It doesn't have to be expensive either.  How do you know it is the perfect gift? This is difficult as it takes years and years of knowledge, you have to know the individual, know what they like, know what they really appreciate.  It doesn't have to be a yacht moored in the South of France, it could be as simple as a photograph in a frame. 

Sparkling Eyes is a socialist and a true believer in going against the advertising movement.  The most precious gift she's had is the title of nanny Ga Ga.  This isn't even a real gift, but Baby Princess J most certainly is.  When she laughs an infectious happy giggle changes the world, if only for a brief few moments, it is incredible.  I shall be seeing my family in Scotland shortly and certainly can not wait to spread the warmth. It helps when you have a big belly, gradually whitening beard and the words Ho ho come quiet naturally.

Crying man

Now men are not supposed to be touchy feelly like people, men stereotypically are rough, tough, enjoy man like things, such as building and breaking stuff  Except of course we're not always so good at the building things up at all. Just as women are suppose to be all feelings and demure, in a stereotypical fashion, but again a lot of them don't fit the stereotype. So I wonder why it was yesterday I just felt the need to cry, it came over me.  I can usually keep some kind of control over my emotions and may even appear a cold fish at times but underneath this poker like face there is a man who is in utter turmoil. Yes, utter turmoil, emotionally that is.  Not all the time let me add, just sometimes when things happen and they have a particular meaning to me. This could be an age related thing, but then thinking about it when those old Lassie movies were on they seemed to never fail to make me feel like a cry. I'd occupy myself building things with toys and then try to stop watching the telly.  I'm definitely not a girl, even though there tends nowadays to be a bit more of the man boob than there used to be. It happens.

This has now got to the extent Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick make wagers on when they think I will shed a tear or two. Whoever, chooses a time after I've had a couple of drinks is also more likely to win this bet, for it's more difficult to control sentiment when slightly intoxicated. At other times a couple of drinks will make me so merry as to laugh at anything, and to cause mischief. This is why sometimes nobody answers my phone when I ring them up on a Friday evening. Many a time has Sparkling put the phone down on me, getting too fed up and pissed off because I was either winding her up or she just didn't want to get involved in a silly discussion with a half drunk.

Today though I feel in a lot more control of myself, a lot more. Then Sparkling tells me how little Baby J is growing up and how she just wants to be nosey about everything around her.  She's not even crawling yet, but this feat is certainly on the cards soon.  Awwe, and then I can see her curiosity getting the better of any adult around her as she puts yet another item into her mouth seeing if it has got a taste or whether it will help her teeth to break through. She is such a beautiful little baby, I'm sure she will draw a tear or two when I next see her.

A crazy day of excessive exercise and music

It might be Sunday but it has been a crazy mad day for physical exercise.  As if all the days of continuous sitting on my arse has effected my head and body, I just had to get out and walk.  So did two and a half hours of walking. Got back, had a cup of tea, then went out again on a forty minute bus ride to do some shopping. I had in  mind a nice winter coat for Layabout Lad.  Even though he works now, he still is lazy so I'll stick with this name.  The coat looks good and I know from previous years he just doesn't wrap himself up warm enough, so this would hopefully keep him dry and warm.  I returned home, had lunch, went to sleep for an hour and then got up again to see Layabout and his girlfriend for a few drinks and a catch up.  He and she seem to be very happy and have been enjoying a week off work together.  They have another week and I'm sure this will be good for them as well. It was so good to see them both so happy.  I felt happy as well, like it was contagious.

This evening some other madness has overtaken me. It has been listening to music on Youtube.  The thing about youtube is it makes suggestions based on what I'd already listened to.  These are good because they are similar genres, but they are are bad when three hours later you suddenly realise it's gone midnight and your eyes are feeling distinctly heavy.  It's the exercise catching up with me.  How on earth have I packed so much into one day?  Well, I haven't because it's now Monday. Shite.

Shop at Bluewater, no thanks I'm not genetically engineered

I have been in desperate need of a pair of boots to see the next winter through.  Inexplicably we have been dealt the terror of the last two or three years of very cold winter weather. In Scotland the snow drifts are piled up by lorries or rather snow plow converted vehicles on gently curved corners and are about as high as a double decker bus.  For weeks on end you walk on compacted snow because it just doesn't melt, and driving becomes a bare knuckle affair as it becomes compulsory to keep an eye out the window for the next Council gritter to come along.  Some cars parked outside houses get stuck.  There they wait until the snow melts or a determined individual spends a lot of time digging them out. Then of course there is always the worry about where do you shovel the snow you have already moved from your own drive. The only place it can go is in the neighbour's.  So getting a pair of boots was for me paramount, in consideration of the amount of walking I try to do.

My first choice was to visit a shopping complex called Bluewater, it is a retail park which got developed in an enormous chalk quarry.  Visiting it you are reminded of this as the complex is based in the bottom of this quarry with chalk faces and vegetation all around it. It is easy enough to get to especially if you have a car. There is also access by buses but these will take longer. A hell of a lot longer. There are three retail giants who put in the largest amount of finance into Blusterer being developed. House of Fraser, Marks and Sparks and lastly yet significantly John Lewis.  Together these three practically own the place.  However going to this complex was probably the worst choice I could of made. As I walked around and saw the over inflated prices and designer labels everywhere I found myself getting angry. It is a place for the ponces, the toffs, the people who have money to spend. For example, I saw a coat in an outdoor shop, it looked ideal for winter, the type of coat which would keep you warm regardless, keep the heat in, the cold out, the snow off and the rain away.  I saw the price tag, which was beyond justification to purchase. It is incidents like this which make me angry, it is almost like there is a different set of human beings who live in a different universe and also have a different set of genes. People who are not effected by the recession.  I could not in any sense of my mental faculty justify the purchase, although I had the means to, I just didn't have the motivation or snobbery.  It makes me wonder if these wonderful individuals actually have smelly shit. It also makes me think when will the revolution come? When will we rid ourselves of the obnoxious genetic freaks, what have we done to deserve them.

I went home after wasting a few hours and as I left the place made a mental vow I will never go there again, of if I do it will be on the guarantee of a bargain. The place should of stayed a quarry in my mind at least people would of had jobs out of it still and aggregates help to build the country. I got the buses back home and feeling tired slept for a couple of hours. On waking I thought of another place I could shop, not so far away and definitely not as pretentious as Bluewater.  It was then in a shop called Sports Direct I got the perfect pair of boots I had in mind.  At the price I expected to pay in the first place, perhaps one or two pounds cheaper even.  I was verified in my purchase not to be a genetically engineered super rich human being, I'd got a bargain, I was real, am real, am alive and got a sensible head on these shoulders. Lastly, yes my shit stinks just like anyone elses.  Although I wish it didn't. But hell, it is good to be a normalish human being. They also had a great line in coats at very reasonable prices as well. I'll be going out to check these out at another time. Possibly tomorrow.  After all, if you have dry feet you need warm pits as well.

Learning music and a healthy brain, but not for armchair sports fans

It has been thought exercising your brain somehow can make you brainier.  Some electronic games manufacturers also use this as a selling point. The more I think about it though the more I can't help but question how true it is.  I really don't believe people become brainier with age, they just learn more and relative to their age so their intelligence is steady.  However, I was intrigued to find an article about Mick Jagger starting up a new group called the Super Heavys on account all the musicians are famous, e.g. Joss Stone.  There's four of them, but the other musicians don't mean a thing to me,  I'm not good at knowing band members and their histories. Then in another on another tangent, curiosity led a search to find an article about life long musicians. It said they were more able to discern both music and voices in a crowded room, because a lifetime of experience had made their brain function to a point there was very little in the way of auditory perceptual degradation against much younger persons on similar tasks.  In a big jump the literature suggests studying and playing music prevent the ageing process, mentally of course.  I mean Micky looks what he is, 70th birthday this year. Old rich git, but a great musician.  One thing I am sure the research did not look at was the long term effect copious amounts of alcohol or recreational drugs had on the long term professional musicians.  They are not all like Sting, with pure bodies and into tantric sex yoga.  He's in better shape than me.  He'll be sure to live to 100, another old rich git for sure, but a great musician.

The thing is with all the cerebral challenges people can immerse themselves in you'd of thought our brains got bigger and we'd be a lot smarter, but it just is not the case. Not in any sense at all.

I'm presently learning the ukulele, it is my passion and my hobby.  Playing it takes up time each day and I love it.  In addition the research points out whatever you do it must be something which is participative.  Not like armchair football fanatics, who scream at TV sets and don't actually bother going outside of the front door to do any exercise. For some reason I don't think singing a footy song counts as music, but I'm sure it makes them happy.  It is a pet hate I have, football crazy men, who talk more passionately about the team they follow than their family, their wife, children or their pets.  Like football is everything and if you can't talk football then you are not a member of the club. You are not worth talking to.  I can't talk footy, I don't watch it unless it just happens to be on TV when I walk into the pub. But it means nothing to me.  In fact I can say I care more about my ukulele (Harvey) than I do any football game. Well unless it happens to be my country playing, but I'll sit down during the national anthem or better go to the toilet, which is always a good time to relieve oneself. 

Time, memory, a tune on the Uke and a rasp

Time is relative and it goes by very fast. I need to talk to my dentist about this as I'm well overdue a check up. However, with my mouth open and his arm down my throat it'll be difficult to discuss. It's been ages since my last blog, blooming ages. It feels like it. Outside of my window fireworks going off. Bright sparkles explode in the sky.  So what have I been doing with myself which keeps me from writing words?  Working. Simple as pie, and 1, 2, 3.  Working.  However, when I think about it I'm lazy to a large extent. On account of taking an  hour lunch break and actually using it for lunch rather than going to the shops to do things. Hell, I need new shoes and it would be productive to get some, but instead the heels and soles wear away because my belly says it wants food. However, my head has being saying I'm fed up with being fat and it is about time I felt more comfortable and lost some of it.  As usual it's always getting the motivation to do it. Not to mention the time as well.  It's bloody weird, I may have got to be a middle fish in the factory but there seems to be a hell of a lot of admin tasks I do.  It makes me think why on earth am I doing these things, there should be a clerical little fish to do them.  It's all bloody maintenance work.  Always on the go and always fire fighting. In one training session this week the trainer seemed to think private sector employees worked harder, I'm not so sure of that, and they soon found out this was not the case when the reflex response was voiced.  Have I ever said I hate accountants, on account of them only looking at finance and saying things like "we must get more done with less," for if they got paid less then the extra funds could be used to get extra fishes.  Something which I'm sure an accountant of any description would not even consider.  BANG. There goes another firework.

The last couple of weeks I have been completely infatuated with trying to learn and sing a song on my ukulele (Harvey).  It's by Asaf Avidan and is called "The Recogning Song." It is short and easy enough to sing, I like the rhythm and the notes they go well together.  It also kinds of strikes me how songs and music are sung to different melodies. Singing the words to a song is follows a different tune to the actual tune. This I think is probably true with a lot of songs.  Either that or I am completely stone deaf or is it tone deaf.  It's the age. When in fifties I didn't realise forgetting things would be as big a problem as it is.  I can walk from one room to anther and forget why I did it.  Go back to the original room, sit down, remember what I was about to do, then go into the second room again and forget.  You couldn't make a comedy out of it because people wouldn't believe it, but it is true, I'm losing my marbles.  They are just dropping out of my ear and going rolling down the street. Someone will be lucky enough to use them for something.  I just hope the new memory of Asaf's song stays in my head so I am able to sing it at some time, to someone.  It's odd but I'm even starting to get over the hysterical laughter as I play a tune on Harvey and sing the words. As Sparkling has told me before, it's a matter of getting both the tune and the words right and she's told me it's not working.  Well it's starting to get there now, even if I can't remember what is getting there, something bloody well is. I hope so anyway.

Little Baby J has given us her first raspberry.  I saw a video of it on Face-book.  It was wonderful, I must of watched it three or four times in a row and laughed so much, because she is really a very cheeky little girl. This stage of development isn't something I learnt about when I was studying psychology, which when I think of it could of been a bit more descriptive. But then the problem with psychologists is they are always trying to figure out what is going on in someone's head. Hell, it must be the hardest thing to think about when talking about a baby who can't talk, is teething and the best thing since sliced bread is being able to ween.  Baby J is so beautiful she has everyone around her little fingers.  She will never be short on love. Sparkling spent an entire day with her and told me how it tired her out in the end. But she really enjoyed every moment of it. Sparkling is the proudest Gaga there has ever been. She's also a naughty Gaga as Rock Chick has said she is not to feed Baby J chocolate, even if it happens to be a very small amount.  Awwe, poor Baby J.  I can't wait to see her again and see her smile and see if she will rasp at me.  Cheeky little monkey.