New Phone

Today's big event was the purchase of a new telephone. One of BT's own brand. It looks nice and fresh. Though it has a few functions on it I'll have to work out how to use. But it also has "handsfree" wonderful. I can sit and make expressions with my hands and not have to hold the thing. Or if it's going to be a long call just put in on and sit back. Or let others listen in.

It's odd though, the older I get the more I just like things designed just to do their own job and do it well and nothing else. I don't want a coffee making, picture snapping house phone. Just one which rings, doesn't crackle too much and will last. Pitty it needs batteries though. So much for the green environment.

The family of Talkatives are coming tomorrow, I figure it best to get as good a night's sleep as I can. Pull out the bullet proof vest, helmet, coffee and tazer. Just in case. I know one thing, I'll be exhausted when they have gone but happy to have seen them. Little Princess talkative could probably wind me round her little finger, it will be nice to see if I can now understand what she says. Bigger brother talkative I'm concerned about because he's not the sharpest tool in the box and likes to use his fists at school. He's only a little lad and his ignorance is such a sadness to what troubles he may get himself into as time goes on. Whereas smaller brother talkative is the brain box. Very bright, he certainly could be something quite different from his bigger brother. Then again who can tell what the future holds. Personally I still don't know what I'll be when I grow up and I'm in my ??, hey don't expect me to say how old I am.

Without knowing

This evening I found myself talking to little Tiger. He sat by the back door and let out a meow asking me if he could go out. It didn't matter about the rain or how he had been in and out more times than a ferret in a bag of nuts. No he had to go out now. I found myself doing something I don't do often. Talking to him as though he could understand. I said " no you can't go out mate, because it's raining and you'll get wet. You've already been out and come back in," he looked at me in disdain turned his head away and I saw the end of his tail flick like a serpent. He was not amused. So this time Tiger turn looked at me again and just a touch louder meowed again. My reply was "look I've already told you, it's raining, you'll only come back in. You're a cat not a duck." It didn't matter. So at this point I realised the sound of rain was no longer there and opened the door. It was without realisation/knowing I had spoken to Tiger. At this point the thought occurred this might be a sign of madness.

However, I don't think this is the case. There are things we do without realising them on an automatic level. And there are somethings which we don't do but would do if the little voice inside went away, the one which acts as a conscience. I might see someone walking down the street who I don't know and think they have a nice pair of shoes on, but I don't say it or ask them. I don't know who they are. The automatic don't go there sensor is turned on. While at other times it's not. Especially when inebriated where it emphatically gets turned off. It's not a matter then of not knowing but rather having a good excuse, it was the alcohol. Yes I did fart then but hoped the cigarette smoke would hide the odour. If I'm not drunk it will be a matter of holding a straight face and letting the thought of suspicion be caste on anyone else. A particularly good straight face when in a lift, preferably not passing wind if can helped. Unless it's empty. Which would be while knowing.

There's a guy at the fish factory who talks while he's gutting the fish, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. There's a woman who talks continuously say how bad some fish are, as though she's the only one in the world having to deal with a complex fish. Which is just as irritating. It's without knowing people forget those around them. I'd rather not know. If they spoke in a different language I couldn't understand then it wouldn't matter. Things done therefore without knowing are often automated. If only the conscious switch would be thrown again.

I suppose Tiger doesn't care, all he knows is I'm his automatic door opener and he'll go out when he wants to, lucky cat.

Telecoms and circuses

The last few weeks I've been having problems with broadband. Quite frankly it's been more like a slim band, thin band, intermittent band, disconnect you band and scratch head all night wondering what the band is up with the band. It happens primarily when I'm on MSN messenger. The connection just cuts off. As though some very fragile wire is hanging lose, then when the wind blows in a certain direction it cuts me off. This is not fun.

Sparkling Eyes told me to get it fixed. It's infuriating. There I'd be chatting away happily to Beautiful then my chat would be no chat. Like I'd been suddenly zapped into space. A moment later, it would reconnect. Sparkling Eyes was getting angry at me. Hey it's not my fault. Now it's my choice get it fixed or not get a chat with the one person in my life I can't stop chatting to. There was no choice. I had to make the call to my service provider.

I rang up British Telecoms on their magical number (151) for reporting faults and a machine spoke to me and tested my phone line. It told me there was a fault. Well does this mean BT prefer the word of a machine as against the word of a human being? It was nice to know I wasn't imagining getting cut off so frequently. Sparkling Eyes would be happy it would get fixed and we could chat. Happy to think I didn't have the broadband equivalent of Tourettes syndrome. The machine made an appointment and said it would be completed in 2 days.

So I waited 4 days and it still isn't fixed. I rang again. This time I got to spoke to a human being. Her accent was Indian, name Tina and she spoke very much like Margaret Thatcher had given her two dozen elocution lessons. Thatcher by the way is amongst the most hated prime minsters this country has ever had. The conversation proceeded and with each comment she made, I just couldn't help getting mad at her. At the end of the conversation I asked her where she was from. She was in India. In a call centre no doubt. I was also mad coz she said her name as Tina, yet another minor item I detest call centres for; giving obviously European names to Asian's who barely have the ability to talk the language. I opened my trap and told Tina she sounded upper class, and condescending when she spoke, I said it was obvious she wasn't from the UK. At this moment she dropped the put-on tone, and it was as though the stress had been relieved from her vocal chords she sounded natural. I know she was unhappy at what I said, which is sad because if she knew the despise working class ordinary people held for Thatcher, I'm sure she'd of understood. It's now 5 days and the line is still not fixed. I bet Tina's gone and lost the fault request slip.

Today I also went into the Fish Factory to do some overtime. Hoping it would be quite, but my big fish group leader was there and he enjoys talking. On the phone. In person. To anyone. So it ended up a circus. Ear plugs were sank deep in my ears, headphones on with music and most was drowned out. He wasn't the only one, but then I suppose most circuses have more than one attraction, but why do they have to be so loud I wonder. I am from a different world, I like to hear myself think. Peace and quite is a beautiful thing. It's lucky I have a long fuse. I wonder tho if it will stretch all the way to India, Tina could just make my intermittent broadband last a bit longer. I'll suppose then I'll be clapping like a seal and doing circus tricks next time I ring.

Fire alarm at the fish factory

Without warning the fire alarm went off. I sat in my chair in a state of disbelief. Just when I was about to increase my daily output by a 100% and do my second item of work. I wasn't entirely sure it was a test, because one of the fish who sits in a wheel chair was still there. Usually you can tell because he'd off dissappered ten minutes before. So with reluctance I put my jumper on. With slow couldn't care less motivation I tied my laces up and slipped my coat on. There was even the notion of just sitting there and getting on with my work. Except for the bell. Which was pretty loud. I had no choice. And removed myself from the building in a decidedly slow manner.

The stairwell was packed with people going down. Everyone trudging down slowly. What a joke. It must of taken 10 minutes to get out, or at least felt like it. However, I suppose it was nice to get out in the afternoon and get away from it all.

There were no firemen. No uniforms. No big red fire engines. Just a large squall of fishes congregating and keeping warm as best as possible. It took even longer to get back into the building. Next time, I'll just pop into the shops on the way to the meeting point, get a cuppa tea and a chocolate biscuit and thank the weatherman it's not raining. What's it matter, it's all water off a fishes fin?

Stressed Fish

Sometimes it don't matter what you do, you just can't help getting stressed. In the Fish Factory we're all getting stressed. It's like an infectious disease, or fire fighting in a drought. One flame bursts up and immediately another next to it. Stress dwells under the surface of the pond and all the fishes feel it, they flap around more and even the most chilled still get stressed. I think of one of Kiplin's poems which has a line about keeping your head when everyone else is going crazy. But it don't help all the time and I could be losing my head very shortly.

I rang up a help line set up for us poor fishes by the Big Fish of the pond. It was all in confidence. I was offered 4 free councelling sessions or advice on how I as a little fish could take out a grievance against the Big Fish. But being a Ritz man on the block I think I can work out how to write my own grievance. They listened. I asked if they reported anything back to the Big Fish. Their reply was they only kept statistics unless it was something to do with self harm or harming another person. I did mention I had considered getting a large fishing rod to catch the big fish and then smack them over their heads but I didn't have access to one or the skill to use it. I said I tried to use a little humour. One of the things I was advised was maybe changing myself. Great, so I'll just go out to the shops and buy a new me, make myself different. My conclusion was this help line was a load of rubbish. If they couldn't tell the Big Fish about the plight of the Little Fishes what you were they to me?

Maybe I should take up football, coz then if I lose my head I always got the ability to do something with it. Or maybe look for a good fishing rod. Hmm now wouldn't that be an idea?

News

Warning this is a heavy blog - sorry no humour here.

Watching the News can be a bad thing. Mostly because all it reports is depressive and abhorrent events. Wars, murders and the break down of society. It is not a sobering thing but rather one which draws blood from the psyche. Whatever you are doing, wherever it is, just put on the News and become despondent.

I was thinking it's because the News is shallow. News is centred on recent events for their immediate impact, it gives the raw facts, or rather the facts that can be reported in 3 minutes tops. What it also does is mislead because it leaves out a great deal of information. Sometimes just giving a single fact is like telling a lie. Because the additional information needed for an informed notion of a News event sets context. Every event of the world is set in a context.

In the last few weeks there have been several murders of teenagers in London. By gun and knife. They have been reported as demonising youth and gang culture, what they have not done is try to understand the event. What were the sequence of conditions which led up to the death of this or that person? How then can we as a society learn from them and prevent a repeat? The News therefore is shallow. It gets more viewers by sensationalising. Providing the full facts takes too long. There could be a moral question here in whether this is how News should be presented.

I normally try to add humour into my blogs, but this time I apologize. Our media coverage and our willingness as recipients of information is a contributing factor. I can accept or refuse what I read and watch, but if I accepted without my own questioning then I'd be no more than just another sheep. I cry for each young life taken in the recent violence on the streets of London, and especially in pity for those who don't understand in real terms what they have done when they've held the knife or pulled the trigger.

Well it will soon be Easter, now I wonder when today's children grow up whether they will associate Easter with chocolate eggs or perhaps consider it had another reason?

Double helping of lasagne, forget the Kate Bush

Been spending a week in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. I've helped myself to a 2nd helping of lasagne, and 20 minutes later my belly is stretched, full, bloated. I'll have to change my eating next week. But it was delicious and the garlic bread tastie. Very, very tastie. In the background I hear yet again the repeat of a Kate Bush track driving me completely out of my mind. The screeching screaming banshie is not from this world. But Rock Chick insists Kate Bush is the best and doesn't understand why I don't like Katie. Katie was from my era, and I'd rather leave her back in a time I'd rather forget, a time when screaming banshies was thought pop. Where did I hide myself when this music cam on the scene? Where ever it was it wasn't in a deep enough dark enough hole, coz Katie is still rining in my ears.

I've pampered Sparkling Eyes all week with back rubs, tickles and feet massages. She tells me I have to do it, because she deserves it and it's my job. Nice to know I have a use. It makes me feel good. Sparkling Eyes feels chilled, and the world is a better place if only for a short time.

Whenever I am here I have a learning experience. Things are different for me in my home town. Here I'm put well and truely in my place. Often called a girlie amongst other things which can not be repeated for the sake of the innocent, i.e. me. But I'm sure I leave my mark. Especially when that mark costs me 40 squids teaching Rock Chick how to do her home work. I must be a little slow. I'd of thought it was me who should of got the renumeration.

Oh well a Guinness and a glass of wine should make the medicine go down a little better. Though I can't help wishing Kate Bush would be turned off.

Relax, Chill, Calm

I have written a post-it note, stuck it on my Fish Factory monitor and have to see it all the time. Well until it drops off. It says "Relax, Chill, Calm" because things are getting stinky at the Fish Factory. Some fish have been waiting ages to be gutted so they are now stincking a bit. I wear a peg. On my nose. But it doesn't stop me from getting stressed. I'm sleeping shorter hours, having heart palpitations and wondering if I don't chill whether I'll have a heart attack. Not to mention the occaisional spout of frustration and finding I can feel agressive when agression I know is a very bad thing. Fortunately, I got something to help chill me out. A visit soon, to see Sparkling Eyes.

I need an anodyne. Sparkling Eyes provides it. Whereas Rock Chick test's the anodyne to see if it is working, but in a nice way. I then learn with all this contradiction of fire and water collapsing and chilling is the must way. I recall reading something about attitudes. No matter what the situation put in, the attitude taken is your own choice. Worry and have a heart attack. Accept and try to be constructive is another. Inbetween I keep blowing the inflatable raft.

At the moment I'm somewhere between ringing the Fire Brigade and lighting the tinder box myself. Hey if you don't add some of your own fire then you'd just be a damp squib. Whatever a squib is. No offence to them. They just sound damp.

Big fish talking to little fish

I had to do my Ritz man act today, the matter wasn't serious but it was something which had to be tackled. A little fish needed to communicate with a big fish. But the big fishes were just writing notes of what they expected the little fish to do without talking. So I arranged the meeting with the view it was something that could be sorted out and we did sort it out. The little fish seemed a bit happier, so to a certain extent I had done my job in her representation although. There could of been more.

Communication is such an important thing. There's one bloke I speak to and it don't matter if I like the guy or not, but I do kinda like him, he still don't listen to a thing said. It's like he's on a different bus. I've seen this happen before with two people just chatting to each other, and the both of them talking about completely different things. Talking over and at but neither really showing they were listening to the other. At the end I'd wonder if anything was gained. I suppose talking to another person is better than not talking to anyone. Better than talking to a wall. But it is important to talk, it's a sign of something dwelling inside. In the book 'The Prophet' by Kahilil Gibran there's a line which comes to mind: "you talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts." This line pops into my head on occaision when someone is needlessly prevaricating and then I wonder what is behind their words, what it is they need to say which makes them talk so much.

All day long people around me natter. They natter about everything so I end up putting ear plugs in to help concentrate on my work. Which demands attention. The work not putting the ear plugs in. In a quite atmosphere I can think, concentrate and understand. I'll admit someone may think I'm going slow, but it's the process which is important. Then I end up knowing more than other people and they talk to me even more asking me what to do. It's a Catch 22 situation.

Perhaps, I should improve my prevarications interrupt everyone else and give up. Alternatively I may have to get better ear plugs. Or even a helmet to put on my head with a little window to peer out of, it would have to be sound proofed of course. And I'd have to take it off when I went to the pub afterall how could I drink my guinness?

Unconscious mind

Freudian Theory is based largely on the unconscious mind as well as sex. As though sex is the tenement of each and every person, knowingly and unknowingly in the subconscious. However another way to find out what is going on in the unconscious mind is to ask it associative questions. Like if someone said to me "pub" I'd likely reply "Guinness," the one and the other going together implicitly. So when I sat down while watching TV just pressing buttons on my mobile phone I didn't think much of it at all. A few moments passed and I picked up my phone again then saw I'd keyed in a telephone number. Except it had a number 9 on the end, but for the 9 it was a perfect match. Something was working on a subconscious level because I know I didn't do it consciously.

A message had come through. It may have been a spiritualist meeting and the table had been knocked twice. Either that or it had a wobbly leg and was about to tip over. So I followed my unconscious mind to find out where it would lead.

It was Sparkling Eyes phone number. It was about time I spoke to her because we'd had a no talking period. I picked up the phone and rang. It was on answer phone. Well it can only mean to me she still doesn't want to talk to me. I've taken the hint and so it will be.

My other concern is Ex English Teacher, he was due to have a hick line put in to begin his chemotherapy. I'd rang him up at the weekend and he seemed odd; because phone conversations with him can last a long time. This conversation lasted only 5 minutes or so. It was like he didn't want to talk to me. That's his choice. Maybe he wanted his phone line free because he was expecting someone else to ring or he had some other matter to attend. Yet it seemed impolite, if this were the case I'd of thought he'd say. It's the unspoken messages which speak the most. So I tackled it explicitly and said it seemed we both didn't have much to say, there was no reply. I am of the mind to consider let it be. There's only so many kicks I'll take. Although it does bother me to a degree, I'll not dwell on it, life is not worth getting yourself worried over things.

I do try my best not to jump to conclusions about most things. It's because I think too much and can then be prone to prevarication. It's also a facet of working at the Fish Factory. Which requires a conscientious fish sorter to know legislation and question things which don't add up. It's the information I am not being given I wonder about. What it would tell me. Like the information hidden in Freud's concept of the Unconscious mind. It will not tap me on my shoulder and then whisper into my ear what it's thinking. I have to piece it together.

Ambiguous events are a bit like trying to remember a dream. Very much grasping at clouds and watching the mist dissipate between fingers.

So when given something to read I'll read it then make sense of it, or hope I make sense of it. Then ask questions and answer questions in my meandering thoughts until I'm satisfied. Further in the quest for understanding this is best done with a clear mind. So I expect I'd better put down this Guinness, for the moment anyway.

Listening

I sit listening to Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. Listening. Haunting, lingering and arousing to the point of cheeky the clarinet plays. Then just at the cusp of cheek and the edge of spice, it slows down back into a touchy mellow and playful friend. Listen. Then you will hear.

The second movement is accompanied with the pronounced aid of strings. Like the clarinet but more rythmic and so complimentary like apple pie and custard. One fills in where the other is left and together they are a wonderful melding of tastes but still quite distinct. Cheeky. Haunting again. Slow. Then popping up yet again the Clarinet raises it's head.

Is it so? The soul moves in music, the heart in emotion and the mind lost in thought.

I think I'll just sit and enjoy somewhere restful between sleep and consciousness.

Antipidean seat

I stayed in the Fish Factory till late, this meant when I turned up at the pub there was already a large group sitting at the usual table. So I took a seat on the edge. No one acknowledged I had come in and sat down. Then I suppose I should of said hello, but one guy was talking. Taking up attention. I put my paper on the table and looked at the giant sized Soduku I been trying to do for the past 6 days. Then sipped my Guinness. It's what happens on a Friday if I get in the pub late.

The bloke who was doing the talking must of liked the sound of his own voice. He's got an opinion on everything. He just gasses and gasses. It's like as long as he is chatting away and people are listening nothing matters. He sits there pouring out his verbal diarrhea in a mildly intoxicated fashion. The drink must of been getting to him. But what a load of bollocks. Utter and complete tripe. I was quite. There are important things to say but he likes the sound of his own voice. I wouldn't mind betting he has it on tape. Gets home and when the wifey isn't listening to him he turns his tape on and discusses crap with himself. The man who talks bollocks has walked into the room, all bow, put up your glasses and listen to this complete tosser. For although the alcohol will diminish the words he says, he'll still be a tosser in the morning.

I drank my pint and left, saying little. Feeling I could be a little bitter. But Guinness isn't is for chilling. I'll wake up in the morning and with all my faculties about me will hopefully not resemble a tosser. Hopefully, well it depends how many I drink the night before.

Lighter mornings

Having gone to bed early last night it was easier to get up in the morning. Partly the reason was because of light. Just coming through the window. It's like the world is now saying "hey dude, you've had enough sleep time to get your ass up outa that bed." The world says it in such a way if you didn't take much notice you'd not hear it. But it's there "get up dude."

So my mind and body are now tricked. If I go to bed late and the world shouts at me to get up in the morning I then start to feel I have not had enough sleep, and in reality I haven't. "tough dude." There it goes again. I could even be mistaken for having some kind of mental illness "nah dude, it's just me, the world, waking you up." Who would of thought a personal communion could go on with Old Mother Nature. "Dude, not so much of the Old." As I thought a bit temperamental. Well persons of the female persuasion can be. I'm sure if she were a ship this world would sail into troubled waters just for the fun of it. To see how far I could puke over the side no doubt.

All in all, I suppose being woken up early isn't so bad. "So I been saying Dude, it's good to get up." Insistent isn't she?

Hair cut

I walked into the Barber's shop, there were already 2 customers but as there were 2 hairdressers and no Que the wait wouldn't be long. Glancing down at the table by my seat was a newspapers so I began to read the day's news. A moment passed and one of the customers started to complain. He was telling the hairdresser not to touch his neck. His hair looked odd. A bit like a Mohican's style, except it wasn't sticking up. He'd had a band of his hair each side of his head practically shaved off. The hairdresser picked up a mirror and showed the moaner what it looked like he said "it's OK boss." Another moment passed and then the customer moaned again. At this point the hairdresser had enough. He politely asked the moaner to leave there would be no charge. Though it sounded to me like the moaner was a bit of a nut case. He wasn't communicating what it was he wanted. Then I thought maybe it was the hairdressers not so brilliant English skills.

So I sat in the chair next. Asked for my usual and chilled out, closed my eyes and just relaxed. Wondering what it is about some people who are so conscientious about the latest hair style, that it is the most important thing in the world to them. I have never not paid for a hair cut. Even when I haven't liked them. In particular I used to go to one Barbers where the hairdresser a woman would always cut my ear. My head was something out of Punch and Judy as far as she was concerned. Perhaps she was a lesbian, or perhaps I reminded her of an ex and so my ear would be nicked. Then she'd carry on nicking my ear until one day I became a Van Gogh look alike. I had enough of her. And even when I tried to avoid her I'd some how end up in her chair. In the end I voted with my feet and went to a different Barber's. I'm more attached to my ears than an particular hair style so it was the wisest choice.

Silly Sophia saw my hair cut when I got home and she said it was perfect. Because she's learning about hair cutting at college. Thing is every time I get a hair cut I later start to get headaches. It's my glasses. They just pinch too much. Come to think of it if I lost an ear I might lose the headaches? Nah, think I'll just put up with them, take my glasses off and bump into lamp posts, OUCH. Somethings you just can't avoid.

What's wrong with me?

I went to the shops this morning and while there caught a group who were busking. But were actually practicing a bit of self promotion. While in a shop getting a newspaper an old man behind me said the group were good. He'd got their CD and they had been on TV. I wondered out of the shop and stood there listening to a song.

Then it hit me. In a few short moments I was getting quite emotional inside, I could feel myself wanting to cry. It wasn't as though the song was particularly soppy because it wasn't. The music was up beat. It was me. Something is happening to me and I don't know what it is. My emotions at times take control. I can't help it. I become more of a woman than a woman, and get the urge to choke up, well inside and shed a tear. But heaven's someone save me. Not in my own town while out shopping.

Maybe I'm an old woman at heart. I better keep an eye on this kind of thing, who knows where it could lead to, next week I'll be knitting, giving out recipes and reading Barbara Cartland books. Someone tell me, I need help! What's the answer?

Parcel arrives

Well Sparkling Eyes said she had sent something. All I knew was it was a parcel and should of come on Valentine's Day. I had asked her if it was something I could eat. The answer was yes. And although I had probed to see if she would say, Sparkling Eyes kept stoom. She would not let the cat out of the bag. I'd even reasoned along the lines of how she had to always open things up before the day, or make a very good guess. When on one Christmas she had guessed 8 out of 9 prezzies just by feeling the wrappers. It can be so soul destroying. This time I was the recipient. Even when there was a mix up of address she did not say what it was. Then I found out when I got home this evening.

A giant box awaited sitting on the settee, taking up space for two persons. The wrapping tape said not to use anything sharp to open it. Which was a puzzle coz how can anyone take off such tape without using a knife? So I was careful, and edging a knife under the tape managed to take it off. The box was light for it's size, which should of been a clue. For there I could see a big Valentines balloon in the shape of a heart. There was also a basket with a half bottle of white whine and a box of delicious chocolates. Wow, am I so lucky. Sparkling Eyes has hinted to me now, about sending flowers on valentines day, and said she wants to be surprised. I'm guilty the dozen red roses were not a surprise, but were nice. So next year what will it be, I'll start thinking about it now then come the next 14th February I just might come up with something a little different from flowers.

The chocolates were marvelous, the wine went down so quickly and my head is still in a dizz. Am I so lucky or what?

Warm feelings

There are somethings which always seem to tap into my emotions when I see them. Things I just can't help myself but smile and feel happy about. It's a warm feeling. And of all the things happening in the world at this precise moment the warmth hits nothing really has much relevance. It's as though in a brief second the world has revealed itself and a kind of Nirvana experience ascends. Weird, but true.

Coming home on the train I had such a moment. I sat down and then noticed in the next set of seats in front of me a young boy of perhaps 5 or 6 years. His mother was a young girl back to me. She was fussing over her son. He stood there straight and just let her do what she had to do. Straighted his hood, made sure his buttons were done up, zip in place, gloves on hands. He looked at his mum with big brown eyes and a smile, he was happy just to let her prepare him for the next stop. I smiled and the warmth hit me. It's the same emotion which comes to me when I think of time spent with Sparkling Eyes. Something warm and beautiful just swaddles me. It's comforting to feel.

I got off the train and put on my MP3 player. Choosing UB40, and thinking to myself if I were not white, I'd be black. Because I just like a lot of black music. Reggae can be great to listen to, it might be something to do with the slow rhythmic beat which is said to be close resemble the heart beat. Whereas some music can make your heart race, reggae just has a chilling effect. Though I don't listen to it all the time. Then suddenly a track came on, the warm feeling hugged me it was "I need you babe." I had hopelessly tried singing a duo with Sparkling Eyes. Unfortunately vocal talents and memory have a migrating effect on me when they are combined. It must be one of those unique conditions some people have, where they can not remember words to songs and I got it. So, I read the words off a laptop and the track replayed several times. I was drunk I expect Sparkling Eyes was as well but it didn't stop us belting it out the words. Thing is even now I can't remember the bloody words. At least the feeling was there to trespass onto my casual existence now.

Think I'll get myself one of those tea cosy hats, with bright colours unfortunately I don't have the hair for dreadlocks, never mind the hat will do nicely.

Checking out Parliament

Today I went with the retired English Teacher, Green Car man and a Tacit oriental to see Parliament. It had been organised through our Member of Parliament by the ex English Teacher. I and Tacit man had to meet ex-teacher at the train station, at the prescribed time of 9:40 a.m., Green Car man was going to make his own way into London and had admitted he found outings of his sort were at times stressful when the pressure was on to be at a certain place at a certain time. Tacit Oriental man met me outside the station, he looked like he'd just got out of bed his eyes were all puffy. I was eating a sausage roll even though I'd had breakfast. English had got off the train to greet us, he will be going up to London again tomorrow to begin his course in Chemo therapy so this was his exercise and preliminary run.

The tour took about an hour and a half, we had to wait outside the doors for 20 minutes because some idiot had set of the fire alarm earlier. There was a group of school children who could not of been older than 9 or 10 years at most, and I couldn't help wonder if Parliament was the right place to bring them at that age. All would of been in one ear and out of the other I have no doubt for such young ears. On taking the tour we walked through some large rooms which were ornately decorated with paintings and often gold leaf. The tour guide said they were priceless. Paintings of kings and queens were on walls left and right in the Royal Gallery. In one gallery the paintings looked poor, I commented to Green Car man they looked no better than pieces an A'level art student could of put together. We saw the Lords room and then the Parliamentary room. The Lords sitting area again was quite ornate an area behind the speakers chair where the monarch would sit at times, again in gold leaf. The seats were of a red leather, and tourists were not allowed to sit on them. Whereas the parliamentary area was quite plane, with very little in the way of any decoration, green leather chairs and noticeably the public gallery had a fully enclosed layer of bullet proof glass. The parliamentary building had been bombed in 1941 so what we had seen was what was built after the war. Whilst the Lords Chamber had survived the second world war it's ornate design was about 160 years old. The decoration of the royal gallery and the Lords chamber only did one thing to me, get up my nose. I felt a cloud of anger shadow my disposition.

Time and time again tax payers put money into government and then it goes to support royalty when it could be used on hospitals, public transport systems, the poor anything but glorify a trumped up family we term as royalty. A family of parasites who will forever be parasites and never know the realities of real working life.

Some misled people believe they have been abducted by aliens. I can only think they are suffering from some kind of mental illness. But just supposing it were a real event and just supposing some people were abducted and never returned. Now if I were an alien I'd mark the cards of the entire Royal Family and lineage. I'd take them out of their cushy little palaces they have built, experiment on them and remove all vestiges of the royal demeanour. I'd then return them impregnated with the thought they were all ordinary working people. Maybe slap a couple of ASBO's on the odd blue blood just to help them blend in a bit more. Then I'd magically removed royalty from every record ever kept, up to Cromwell. Who would of been re-written as the man who did us all a favour and chopped their heads off. Cromwell, Cromwell oh why didn't you go further? Maybe he had a square head and it got stuck in one of his round helmets.

Run for the hills

The Talkatives are about to arrive. Well Mrs Talkative and the gang of not so talkatives with dog in tow. I need earplugs, Valium, walking boots (to take the dog out), patience, maybe another Valium, 2 pints of Guinness, a doppelganger to fill in when necessary, a helmet, a spare chair because there will be nowhere to sit, muscular strength, to hold the dog while on a lead, more patience, a get away car with powerful engine, doggy poo bags, maybe a third Valium (how many can you max out on I ask?), something to keep the kids amused, I know dress them up in red and put them in a field with a bull, yes I do love them, a course of Prozac, a little more alcohol, oh someone kick me in the head. A strong spiritual belief the day will come to an end though it may not feel like it. Somewhere to sit down again, rest, close my eyes and enjoy peace for soon all will be hit with the bombshell of the Talkatives.

Where did I put the valium? Please anyone with an address of the closest 24 hour pharmacy, bar and hospital?

Some one likes the SSP

Spoke to Sparkling Eyes last night who was very excited about things happening in her life. Going from 24 hours to 16 hours work a week, running as a Scottish Socialist Party (SSP) Councillor in a very Tory ward, how she saved the life of a budgerigar from a deppressed existence and her dedicated support for funding and building of a local community centre. Not forgetting her requirment to do some work on an SSP stall and go to meets. She spoke with energy, enthusiasm and purpose. Then tried to get me to go to a Socialist party meeting. I grabbed my nearest crucifix and waved it about, she then said I should even try going to a Tory party meeting just to find out what they were about. At this point I then jumped into a bath of holy water and chanted verses from Revelations. My response was her enthusiasm had effected me so much I felt like now putting in my membership of the Liberal Democrat Party or perhaps the Labour party. I then mentioned in London there did not exist a SSP party and noted the Socialist were raving lunatics too hard core for my liking. I was not going to be persuaded. No way Jose.

A short discussion then ensued at how I was a lazy shite, and needed to put more effort into my Ritz man activities. I deliberated on the state of my branch union and how it could be a very powerful body if some of the key members had the ability to come together rather than the internal fighting going on. Politics and incompatible personalities seem to go hand in hand. How on earth the political system works is mind bending. Especially when we all end up with some trumped up self important idiot in power. In psychology they call this risky shift. It's where the opinions of the whole are shifted to a more extreme view because of the extreme voters and you end up with a leader/event/choice no one really wanted. Sparkling Eyes put me to task as she usually does whenever she feels like it. I sat back and took a little ass whooping. Sometimes you just have to, but it doesn't stop me from loving her, even if she's a member of the Reds, I appreciate and accept her opinion, it's valuable. Just as I'll stand by my own opinion. Now what would life be like with out such events I ask.

I may get to see little Monster Boy this morning which will be wonderful, the most difficult thing is getting him to stop talking about Doctor Who. Last time I tried bribery which worked half way. It was a nice and pleasant respite. Perhaps I'll try again when I see him. Maybe it is all a case of people will do what they feel they have to do. Sparkling Eyes will be a torch barer for socialism, Monster Boy a Doctor Who fanatic, me a lazy shite. Lets rephrase, me a concerned deliberator who ways up the pros and cons makes evaluative decisions from an informed view point, after he's watched a good DVD. Actually i've been watching fewer than I normally do and writing more blogs. Freedome of expression thank heavens we all have it.

Change

While out at lunch time, I couldn't help notice how my home town was changing. How it all looks different, how the people walking about are different than they would of been 20 years ago, how there is a feel, a different feel to the place. London is changing everyday but I had been so fortunate as to see relatively little change in quite a long time where I live. But now it had all crept up. Sneaked up like the slowly cooling water of a hot bath, and only when you start to discern the first shiver of your body you realise you're cold. In the same way, this change was now overpowering in my home town.

The worst thing about this was my perception of fear, fear I don't like it and my area is now changing beyond my control and understanding. I am unsettled. In an area hit by poverty it is now being made more poverty stricken. It's the thought of a new block of flats being built, at 27 stories high. It will bring low cost housing, rental, druggies, and even greater deprivation. How can such a project be given authorisation. Where a plaster is needed, instead a sythe comes swinging.

There are some very certain certainties in life, birth, death and change. When I get up in the morning I change from PJs to clothes, when handing over money for an item I usually get change, I often change my mind, whereas some people appear not to change. They provide stability in their character and then I wish they would change. The weather changes from day to day, and work will always be work. So for the things I can't change, then I suppose I have to put up, shut up or have a pint and look at the funny side. There's nothing like a happy refrain, God help me nurture this, but not to they point of hysteria.

Now whose this bloke if he exists then?

Crocs in the water

The freebie paper today had a picture of a swimming pool in Australia, and in it was the biggest crocodile I have seen. Though I don't know what the scale of the pool was, the crock was big, very big. And there I am with my mild dose of Arachnia phobia, except for the friendly ones and there's some poor Aussy wondering if it's safe to dip into his own pool. I suppose a quick dip before breakfast might very well of been a breakfast in itself.

It could be an example of mankind encroaching into a land where he should not be, a wild which should be left solely for the wild. It makes me wonder if crocks suffer from Arachnia phobia's, I doubt it. The elephant comes to mind as well. Or the stereotypical notion elephants are scared of mice. Could it be true or just some trollop made up by a mouse who had an inferiority complex when the elephant knicked his cheese. As for cheese I'm sure mice prefer biscuits, but the biscuits are kept in a jar, it would be easier for and elephant to empty the jar. I can see a trunk wrapped round our biscuit jar right now. We're fortunate all these animals don't speak the same language.

Next time I pass a pool, I'll wonder if there's a crock in it. As long as he's not eating my biscuits, chatting to the mouse and passing the peace pipe with an elephant I should be OK. Boy don't mankind just take so much for granted lol.

Johnny Cash

Woke up this morning and got up to pluck a hair from my ear. The rest of the morning I spent listening to Johnny Cash. Wondering if I were in a band and had the talent to write songs sing them and entertain people while they downed a pint or two, it would be story songs like Cash's. Ones to make people laugh, sing along to the words be happy, contemplative and enjoy the moment.

It's incredible to think Johnny has influenced people all over the world. When listening to Cocaine Blues I suddenly realised this was probably the first music track explicitly about drugs and murder. Of course in a tongue in cheek way so as not to encourage anyone to consider either one. Cash is very down to earth in his music and verse. He's song are for the people who have suffered set backs in their lives. Problems, issues, alcohol, drugs, fighting and having a laugh. Even with the occaisional inuendo. It's brilliant. Yep in a small part of the UK there's a 40 something tapping his toes to Johnny Cash now wishing he wore a stetson, rode a horse and strummed a guitar.

I'm not Johnny Cash because there can only ever be one, so it'll have to be a blog instead.

Awaiting

Sometimes when I do something, like question another person and they react towards me, I wonder if I have done something wrong. Whether there will be repercussions against me, and what they will be. Which I suppose is part of worrying when worrying is really no good at all. So it is like being in a waiting room for the dentist. I'm awaiting my appointment check up, it may be just a straight forward clean up or it could mean something else in a couple of weeks time. It's the waiting bit which plays on the mind. As I am now waiting whether my role as a Ritz man in a meet with a small fish against a big fish will lead to an accusation against me.

It's odd when stating the obvious how some big fish react. They may take offence, quite often this is because the poor little fish in the factory actually know some more. It goes on, on quite a big scale. For instance when the Chief Fish gives themselves a nice big £18 k payrise. Whilst ordinary cleaner fish who work part time may only be on an anual pay of £4k total. The higher up the chain a big fish is the bigger a head they get, the bigger a sense of their own financial worth. I wonder if they ever consider they actually become less liked by the little fish, looked on with distain and a nasty taste in the mouth.

So at this moment I am waiting to see the outcome of the meet. I know I did nothing wrong when I consdered the event in question. So I'll just have to see. I wonder if I should now contemplate a visit to the dentist, it's due. Thing is I have difficulty opening my mouth wide enough, unless I'm sticking my foot in it, and then it seems to go in quite easily.

Strained Day

It's been a stressful day. This evening I spent about 3 to 4 hours word processing events of the previous 2 days. I had a moment to see Little Monster Boy which is always very nice and a short discussion with Sparkling Eyes which was also nice.

The events arose from being the new Ritz man on the block. Helping the little Fishes in situations where the big fishes want to chastise or throw them out of the pond. Todays event even played to an extent on my own paranoia. As a result I may get a complaint about myself. Great, something to look forward to. It's true my own fears don't help if things get bad, well then I thought. I should let them and not add to the stress of it by worrying. Unfortunately worry and paranoia are traits which go along with my temperament. Perhaps I wondered I should not be a Ritz man. My mind was put at rest in part by the Ritz chair and beautiful Sparkling Eyes. She is such a comfort. I realised further when stressed the world is pereceived differently, you become more observant. And more appreciative of precious things and people. I realised smiling and nice people become a crutch and very valuable.

I suggested to Sparkling Eyes, she I and the DIY man get a trailer with a field. Grow our own vegtables, never go to work again and live of social security. The world would be somewhat different. But I'm sure some other object would rise it's little head and cause my stress, or paranoia to resurface. Oh well off to bed, at least there only the ghosts can get me, at the moment I'm so tired I don't really care if they do. Boooooooooooooo

Guinness

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

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

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

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

Deep Bath

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

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

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

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

Missing Sparkling Eyes

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

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

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

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

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

Bermuda Triangle of BLOGS

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

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

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

Held Hostage

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

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

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

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

A Different World

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

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

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

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

World of Ritz

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Liquish All sorts

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

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

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

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

Ritz Man

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

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

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

Grey hair and rain

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

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

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

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

Weird Morning Dreams

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

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

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

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

Mad Enough to Kill

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

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

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

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

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

Custard Pies

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

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

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

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

Return the Fish

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

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

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

Happy 2007

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

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

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

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