Cynical and jaded, the differences and preferences

Is it better to be jaded or cynical, or is there no difference between the two.  The definition of "jaded" is more or less being bored of something you've experienced many times before. Which means it doesn't apply to a new experience. For example I'd of thought all American's would be tired of frys from a certain fast food chain, yet the same fast food chain continuously does good business.  So repeating the same experience when it comes to food doesn't mean something will be jaded. Not for American's unless they have a problem with short term memory but not a problem to obesity.  Whereas "cynical" means thinking people are only interested in themselves.  It was good searching for the two definitions for they are different things altogether, I thought they were the same but not. So eating frys is not a cynical thing, for the individual who eats the frys it is a self centred action which results in satisfaction. Unlike Mick Jagger who can't get no satisfaction, when he tries, which would make him jaded and not cynical.

There are people around me who make me cynical, their actions so obvious, they have patterns of behaviour which repeat and repeat therefore are jaded behaviours.  The results of the repetitions is cynicism.  Certainly on me it is.  I then find it difficult to endure their presence.  I should really just get over it.  Knowing how someone behaves is an advantage, for you always know what someone is going to do next, if they are so ingrained in their behaviour.  I expect there are those who know me and think the same.  I try to be calm as best I can, but I don't always get away with it. It depends on my mood, being cynical and jaded to behaviours helps me to keep calm. Yet there is always another reason as well and it is knowing some people like to see a reaction so I do my best not to react. Playing the cool poker player act.  Inside though I want to yell, shout and get into a fight. I don't. Sparkling has said she'd pay to see me get into a fight, because she thinks I'm a fud. In psychology what she terms as fud like behaviour is actually called the fundamental attribution error.  However, saying such a thing would make me seem even more fud like and possibly even nerdy.  Which is not cynical or jaded, yet it doesn't stop my own jaded and cynical views of the world creaping in continuously.  Doing the same things over and over again is making me jaded, witnessing them in others makes me cynical. Perhaps we are all both jaded in cynical in varying degrees, and there is a scale of measurement.

I don't often eat at fast food cafes, the term restaurant to these places is a misnomer, they are very much cafes and the word restaurant begins to lose it's authenticity and become jaded.  The customers who go to these places in turn will become cynical, their understanding of the word "restaurant" is false, they have been misled by the very establishments they visit and take it for granted. A restaurant does not have cooks, it has chefs, this is a little clue. Chefs usually take many years to hone their skills, they work hard to deliver a product which is the same every time. They are able to adapt to different products quickly and create master pieces from raw materials. Their limitations are the limits of their imagination. A cook in a fast food restaurant would not know what to do with raw materials, if they were not already pre frozen.  Their task is a matter of ensure food safety and hygiene, they are there to act like a production line, with speed and mass being all important. There's good reason to be jaded at fast food restaurants, and there's better reason not to visit them.

I am both cynical of the world and jaded by it but now I know these are two different terms.

Banksy is at it again

For some reason Banksy art pieces popping up all over London. Hidden in unremarkable doorways, standing there and waiting for a passerby to turn their head and then glance at something which raises a wyre smile. They have been put there as if just for the purpose of an unsupposing, non artist, they

are art for the common people.  In the same sense they have been hijacked by the art elite, walls ripped down and then sold at autions. They are appropriated by the owners of these buildings, but the images were put on without permission and one view is they could just as well be pieces of vandalism.  Except they are not, they are in the style and therefore most likely of a single person known as Banksy.  They're public viewing and obvious accessiblility suggests no piece belongs to a person, organization or establishment.  They are just there to be admired for the temporary basis, exposed to the elements and to decay.  This must be the artists intention. Yet in an act of counter vandalism they are whisked away and then no longer accessible, unless you happen to have an extortionate amount of money in your back pocket.

Mind, the thing is I often wonder how many of these Banksy pieces are really by Banksy, because there must be a lot of copy cats out there. The style of art isn't so difficult as to be uncopyable by any means. A little bit of practice and I think I could have a pretty good go at doing one. Pherhaps one of the stencil like pictures. Where it's just a matter of getting a few bits of cardboard and cutting them into the right shapes, painting it on a wall and then adjusting for highlights. In fact I have seen Banksy like art works which I knew were not Banksy pieces not far from where I live. They are still good pieces of art but as they are not bona fide Banksy the authorities usually paint over them some time afterwards.  But it is noticeable there's a theme in the subject matter, usually somethng ironic or humourous, such as the boy and girl here on the left. The boy gives flowers the girl has a club, when stereotypically it would be the other way round. It's a great idea.  You can't help but fall in love with images like these. Yet why is there such a value on Banksy works? He is a prolific artist. It's not like there are only a few of his pictures, they are all over the place. Even on the wall dividing Palestine and Israel. Of course here the message is political.

 Personally I like Banksy because he is British and in typical anti establishment. This is a bit like the Scots, who don't like the English but are also very anti establishment. They just don't like to conform to rules.  Most of all they don't hold any values for the royal family or royalty, the English royal family have no sway over the Scots. Lets also face it, no decent normal human being would also allow themselves to be subjugated to royalty and those who do are probably pretty misguided. They'd best go and work in Tea shops
serving cakes, but I'm sure they would be very nice cakes. And if I had a choice to do a copy cat style Banksy picture it would be something like the queen eating beans on toast while a corgi cocks it's leg up the sofa. It's the other side of royalty we don't get to see.  I do hear queeny was in the news for counting the sweets scattered around the palace and was upset when staff were helping themselves. Well, what does she expect, she's know as a notoriously cheap individual who pays her staff poorly. This whiffs very much of someone who is happy with their self importance. Like working for her was reward enough.  I wouldn't mind betting she does eat beans on toast, for real. Don't be fooled I say, I'm also quite sure I seen her in a que at the Post Office popping in to pick up her pension. The corgi's were tied to a railing outside.  Poor things.

The New Ugly is Skinny

There is a popularist view of beauty in the West, it's simply put, and simply in this context is a pun (i.e. also refering to borderline subnormal intelligence).  As beauty is youthful and is skinny. Being young and beautiful are two items which inherently go together and who is to deny youth it's own stupidity gene anyway. Yet not all youngsters fall into this category, just the ones who spend too much time in front of a mirror or following the latest fashion.  The Western generalization of skinny and beauty though is probably something held by people who are skinny, or who aspire to being skinny, have low self worth and really do not understand the truth of human nature.  Skinny does not mean beautiful and anyone believing this has lost the plot.  To exagerate in a big way: they've lost the plot in the biggest allotment the world has ever seen, they swim in the sea and ask where is the sea, they breath in fresh air and wonder what the pong is. The poor lost things. The frightening aspect of this body type or view of the rest of the world makes me think it is a stereotype close to racism, sexism and extremism.

A particular culprit of the skinny and beautiful is the fashion industry.  There's a dislike of the so skinny models which adorn pages of magazines, newspapers and websites, well for normal bodied people there is. They quite often look what they are, anorexic and a reminder of second world war concentration camps.  They must be verging on the malnourished.  The clothes they have on are always brand new and pressed, they do look nice but then most people if put into beautiful new clothes can look pretty good.  Depending on the on the fit, but it doesn't mean only skinny people should wear beautiful clothes.  I am lead to believe clothes designers do not like the curvy body type, it is the way cloth hangs on the human body. Yet, everyone has curves, except the skinny drab lookers. Curves are beautiful, the human body is beautiful.  Alternatively there is also the extreme of curvy which is obesity and it is quite understandable clothes on obese people will not look their best.  In many respects botht he obese and the skinny fall within the same category. Extreme skinny is anorexia and can result in death.  Obesity similarily leads to death.  Fortunately in the West most people fall somewhere betweeen, except this may not be entirely true as now I hear obesity is becoming an epidemic particularly in the USA. Gluttony is bad, think twice I say to myself as I devour a second Danish Pastry. Usually the second thought is after it's already eaten and then the guilt kicks in. If only guilt burnt off calories, but it fecking doesn't.

Whether skinny or obese, what is beautiful is in a smile, self belief, personal warmth, an internal calmness with the world, spontaniety and bringing joy to others.  In relation to body type, posture is probably more important for it shows self confidence and beauty.  Yet not in a stuck up posh way which again is something the modelling fraternity have highjacked.  Appearing beautiful in posture and aloof yet again falls into the stupid category.  Beautify can be so ethereal no words will describe it.   It can even be in the picture of a person who has a story to tell.  For example Adam Pearson a
man suffering from a condition disfiguring his body with tumours, fortunately non malignant (neurofibromatosis). Here is a picture of the man, and if I were to say who is the more beautiful of these two photos I'd have to vote Adam.  Doesn't he looks cheeky as well? Something I'm sure Scarlett Johansson would be able to talk about, seeing as they have both been doing a little acting together. In this I see beauty, I see someone who is an individual with character. Whereas the skinny beans above have a surface beauty, I'd be lying if I said otherwise, they look unhappy in a moody.  They need a good bowl of stew and a happiness injection and probably a few years of happiness psychotherapy.

Get over it skinny people, the new ugly is beautiful and I've got a hairy arse look at it and cry.

Farrell Williams - Happy Videos go viral

The last couple of weeks I have been completely hooked a new song by Farrell Williams called "Happy," it's not just a matter of the lyrics and the music it is also the videos. There must be thousands of them, and Williams must of done quite a few himself to the song.  I just love the song, love the music and love videos. On Youtube you can see different videos all of which go through an hour cycle of the track with different people dancing and walking along the same journey, as the song finishes with one person, the video pans to the ground and then pans back again to a new person and the song turns over again. I think there may be as many as 24 different one hour videos, called 24hoursofhappines.com, or something of the ilk.

In a world full of disasters and bad news this single song has shone out to be a contrary ism to the world of bad news. It cheers me up, it makes me want to learn the song and then learn to play it on the ukulele. I recommend it to anyone and after watching the song and a different character dance away to the same music you can't but cheer up and smile. Damn I love it.  I love the fact the people included in the video are so different, they are not all beautiful great dancers although mostly young they are just ordinary in many senses. There is also a complete fan based following where copycats are doing their own version of the song and dancing in all kinds of places. From airport waiting lounges to weddings, the world is being taken over by this one song. Before long everyone will be clapping along, singing along "It might seem crazy what I'm about to say..."

Yes it's crazy, it's fun, it's probably one of the greatest aspects of humanity, it is just being happy and loving it and showing it for a few minutes in a song for all to see.

What is it about leopard print

I don't know what it is but for some reason women like leopard print. Myself I don't, it reminds me of a TV soap where one of the actors used to wear it all the time. Unfortunately Sparkling eyes has got a fixation for leopard print and today she has shown me how far this fixation has gone. The cat's food tray got the treatment, it's now a leopard print food tray, the front door has had some of the print stuck to it, a TV stand was attacked and in the kitchen above the washing up bowl stands a plant pot, it to has been smothered in leopard print. Sparkling sent me the pictures from her phone. There was also a picture of the hoover sitting somewhere between the front room and the kitchen, on the floor waiting to be switched on and used. If it sits still long enough and doesn't defend it's self then it will get the leopard print treatment. I don't know if this is a hormone thing or maybe there is a genetic predisposition towards it.  Sparkling got leopard print boots for baby Princess J, who likes to take them and put them in her mouth. On account of teething. So now a 10 month old baby has been indoctrinated into the leopard print club. When she grows up it will be her preferred pattern of choice.

Personally I can't say there is a colour pattern I prefer. Although as I've hit my fifties I do notice I visualise colours more and wonder what tie best suits my shirt. I see them in my mind's eye as fingers hover over ties. Thinking which is the best match.  I do have some lilac ties, and I don't know why I bought them, three in all, but they don't seem to match any shirt at all. I got them because I like them and yet haven't chanced to wear them.  I certainly do not have a leopard print tie, it would not make me happy to say the least. Yet it would be interesting to Sparkling. I don't think I have shirt which would match leopard skin. It just is  not my colour.

I notice even in the fish factory there are certain females who have a thing about wearing leopard print. It has this attraction to them. Why I don't know, I just don't get it. What is it about leopard print? It makes my eyes go funny. I'm sure it is not a camouflage thing. Otherwise the British army would be wearing it. Heaven's help us if they were in theatre with leopard printed helmets and fatigues. But if they did, I know one thing for sure, there would be a lot of women watching war films and thinking they must get a pair of leopard print boots, flack jacket and helmet as well.  The thought of this is all becoming too much, I can feel a brain freeze coming on, it's like the image of leopard print before me is making me freeze. Help, where's the lilac tie?

Switchboards, repeated melodies and wasting life on the end of the phone

I believe the phenomenon of switchboards and answering machines which then direct you through automated services could be the bane of modern day living.  I have nearly got to the point of full understanding, when I have to phone up an organization to discuss a topic, I should record every bit of information on the phone call. Date, time, person spoken to, what was said, any references and then wait to see what the result is. If there is going to be another phone call because the first did not settle the matter then this has also to be recorded.  Notes and details should be made of the organization I am about to speak to, who runs it, who are the directors, what is their complaints policy and to what independent body are they accountable. It is sad but switchboards, listening to repeated melodies and time wasted speaking to individuals who know English as a second language and have never been to the UK is soul sapping to say the least.  There is no doubt a great comedy sketch waiting to be written if it has not already been.

I'd write it, except for being completely exhausted. These switchboard services are Kafka like conspiracies cobbled together by large organizations whose purpose is to make as much money as possible out of their customers. It helps when they have something approaching a monopoly.  One such company which has been in the news lately is B.T. which stands for Bloody Terrible. Not for the telecoms service it is suppose to represent. Some years ago I even applied for a job with this company and was verbally offered a position, however they never got back to me and verified the start date. I should of realised at this point something was up. They had my cards marked and were going to sap my life away somehow. Maybe I should of been tenacious enough to have followed it up and pestered them for the job they'd offered. Unfortunately with verbal contracts it becomes a case of one person's word against another.  Fortunately there was an alternate job on the table to pick up and it didn't involve waiting on the end of a telephone line for an answer.

Admittedly though there is something to be gained from understanding the failure of not getting to talk to someone to get a solution to your problem.  It is an appreciation of the efforts people have to go through. Anyone who makes a phone all to a faceless bureaucratic organization should be given a medal.  The longer they wait the more colourful the medal should be. A bit like the pot at the end of a rainbow.  Unfortunately when it comes to the Bloody Terrible company you'll find the pot has been emptied out by the time you get to it.

Spring forward, forward time

Sometime this morning an hour was stolen from the whole of mankind in the UK. Snatched away by a dark cloaked figure in the middle of the morning, nobody got to see the face or could even tell what gender it was, but we all lost it. A single hour.  This has made me personally cranky all day long, waking up and feeling it should of been earlier than it actually was, I've had to go and lay down twice to catch up on this stolen time. It probably serves me right for staying up too late, when this time of year comes it's more necessary to get sleep than you think. The individual who stole this time will however give it back again later in the year which will make us all feel a little better about it. However today has been awful, it has also been Mother's day. What a dastardly thing to do, steal an hour on Mother's day. Spring time holds not quibbles about special events, it does what it needs to do and damns the consequences.

So if you happen to see a dark cloaked individual, don't stare into their eyes, keep your hands on your possessions, stay alert because they have supernatural powers which command every time keeping device. Especially the electronic ones. Look down, whistle a happy tune then play catch up with sleep the next day. Only a sweet dream will make them fade away.

Everything can be hacked and you can be brigter than you think, in some cases

I have just watched a TED lecture and been shocked at the way a computer hacker described what he could do if he was board in his hotel room. Coming to a realisation there is no such thing as a secure IT system. He said, whenever microchips are put into devices, such as toasters the become vulnerable to the usual IT issues of a computer.  He then went on to describe what he did while sitting in his hotel room. Seeing a TV on the wall he said it was just like a node in a network, he accessed the TV and was then able to watch any film he wanted, play any game he wanted and it would cost him nothing.  His next step was to see what other people on the network were watching on TV. In due course he took screen captures, from porno site log ins to incredibly large financial transactions taking place. The more I watched this man describe his abilities the greater a shock.  It is taken for granted we all used laptops or play stations and they are also used for doing a lot of financial transactions on all of these are hackable. His lecture went on to talk about a new credit card people are using, the swipe and pay type. Audience members came up on the stage, he had them wave their card over his scanner and within a few seconds the card was hacked, with their numbers in his possession. The only way this could be stopped from happening was to enclose the card in thin steel case which he gave to each of the volunteers.  As the talk went on he talked about other hacks and how his team were now researching a method of beating malaria.  This man was certainly in the top of his field, but the way he described hacking was like for these people it was simple, it was something they did as a normal thing all the time.  In my semi shocked state I realised the rest of the human population is vulnerable, the human population who doesn't know how to hack, who doesn't know how to be secure or who puts too much into security, because for him it was like, if there is a security process at work then there was a way to beat that security process. Then just to think this may only happen with electronic devices he demonstrated how he found a way to hack door keys and it was simple.

The second TED lecture I watched was a discussion from a memory expert in Sweden. He described how after finishing his degree he wanted to find another challenge in life and in so doing thought about learning another language. He wanted to try something so different he could not even recognise the characters, and considered Arabic or Hindi.  While in his research he came across a book which described some simple memory techniques. A few years passed and he went through the exercises and was getting pretty good at them then decided he would enter a memory championship. At which he then came 22nd in the world. He went on to say students study too hard. They are not taught how to remember, and to become a memory expert wasn't difficult it was about having fun with things. It was about making connections, images, exaggerations and unique sensory experiences to the things which had to be committed to memory. For him he was able to remember the order of a shuffled pack of cards in five minutes. For the world memory champion this could be done in about 20 seconds. In effect memory strength was not about spending lots of time doing something it was about making it fun and vivid and getting on with your life. But with practice these simple methods of connecting things together didn't only become easy, they appeared to be incredibly powerful, so powerful as to be frightening.  To make an ordinary human being appear to be extra-ordinary, extra, extra smart.  When it was not what you know but rather how it was all put together. The more fun had doing this the better the memory would become, and the more practice the more extra ordinary the individual would appear to be.

If such methods were applied to schools then they examination system would have to be re-written, for students would be so extraordinary and able to get the highest marks the exam system would fail. The answer are not secrets, they are available and they are there for anyone to find or pick up. Just as it is easy for some normal people to hack anything in the world. Of all these things though, something both individual's didn't touch on was a little but large topic of "motivation," as the saying goes, you can lead a donkey to water but you can't make him drink.

Waking up too early and reading books

Don't know why it is but I've been feeling blue lately, a manic fish factory where every day is filled with fires and before I walk through the door it's necessary to check the extinguisher is full up, hatchet is sharp, yellow helmet on my head and breathing apparatus is filled.  Yesterday I even went into the Fish Factory to do a little extra work, it's weird though how it doesn't take too long before feeling overcome by the amount there is outstanding and how to cope with it. As continuous pressure is put on fish production the fishes are expected to do more and more, with IT systems which are slow and continuously fail.  With IT support who's only answer is to switch off and switch on again. Maybe all of this is why the insomnia is kicking in again. One evening after going to bed I woke up at 1:30 a.m. and thought I was fully refreshed and ready to get up, another morning I woke up at 4:04 a.m. as I checked my phone I wondered, now should I actually get up or should I try and sleep in a little longer.  Knowing, getting up in the wee small hours would of meant being a wreck at some point during the day.  This would mean my fire fighting skills might not of been much scratch either. Funny how when there are things on my mind how everything else becomes more difficult to deal with.

Before sleeping I try to get a few pages of my book read.  It is enjoyable picking up a good book to read. One which sets you off in a different world, or time or country.  With characters and story you begin to live in your mind's eye. It's not just a matter of reading it is of being in the book, in a place and away from it all. The book I have now was picked up in a charity shop for only 50 pence. It's called Carter Beats the Devil, written by Glen David Gold.  It is great to pick up a book so cheaply, and this is the one thing which e-readers is going to kill off. Bad news for charity shops bad news for those who can't afford to pay the full extortionate price of an e-reader or the download data of an e-reader book. These kinds of books can't be loaned out.  The e-reader is a universal reading device which may last two or three years and then every book loaded to it is then lost.  I hear the books they hold are encrypted to the reader. Which further restricts loaning or indeed putting the data onto another device so it can be read another day or year. This is important because I have books on shelves and they stay there waiting for another day to be read. They then get picked up and re-read. In doing so I realise there are passages I had forgotten or not really taken in.  The good literary novels are the best to go over again. They are ones which stay in your mind and leave an imprint which makes you think about them. They are more than entertainment, much more.  Reading a book is an investment in your own time, it's a necessary thing, it will educate as well.  Whenever I can I try to learn new words, and book reading definitely helps in expanding vocabulary. Book reading is education for adults, if you are not reading a book then you are not feeding your grey cells.  Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a librarian, but then I'd have to interact with people as well.  There's more to minding a library than meets the eye especially with the general public having their own ideas of what a library is.

The character Charles Carter in this book is having a bad time of it at the moment. The thing is I feel for him and this probably isn't helping with the stressed out mood I got either. I hope he picks himself up I need a bit of an adventure and a bit of laughter. Glen David Gold is a good writer and I must admit to really liking the story and the writing style.  There are so many authors out there who over simplify their language an literary style just to enhance book sales.  Writing a book isn't just for the public, it is for the author as well and by doing something for themselves regardless of what the public might think then the best writing comes out. To write for a commercial reason is not the same as to write for the love of writing and want.  I also personally believe people who pride themselves in being fast readers don't actually read books well at all. Like the formulaic author they skim through a book and if you have read the same book and start to ask the questions they don't remember or are unable to contribute to the conversation. Perhaps it is a case of quick in then quick out.  Shame, because where is the pleasure in discarding art, education and entertainment at such a level I ask.

Well, after a long nearly three hour Sunday morning walk I'm beginning to feel a little better. The fireman's helmet can come off and I think I'll just settle down and dive into Gold's book. Which I highly recommend to anyone. It beats fighting fires all day, that's for sure.

A hole in my sock

It seems as good as anything to mention, I have a hole in my sock. My feet are up and right now it is looking at me, when I turn my head I can see from the corner of my eye it has just blinked. Heck, how the hell did I get a hole in socks which are nearly brand new?  The worse thing is I really like these socks and now it is clear their shelf life is going to be pretty limited. It's the colours they have, yellow toe and heal and this kind of mixed purple, they are really very nice looking socks.  And in their short life time I've got attached to them. It is sentimental but us human beings do get attached to things which wear out, as in socks or shoes for instance.  In my mind there must be a design failure or poor construction, I have a set of socks like these and they are only 5 weeks old.  It shouldn't be necessary to purchase another set of socks after such a short period, they are used once and washed and I don't always wear socks from the same set. They are spaced out so maybe have only had half a dozen wears at most. What a disappointment.

I bought them because I liked them, they are unusual and I paid more for them. When you see something you like and it is a little more expensive than normal it doesn't matter, because you fall in love at first sight. The thing is except for the hole which blinks once in a while there is nothing wrong with them. I've also done something sad, and searched on the internet to see if I can find this style of socks again. The brand has many different patterns but this particular design isn't anywhere to be seen. It's like they have become even more precious. So why would I want to buy the same socks again when it is clear there is something wrong with them. It's still because I like them, I know it is inefficient to buy something which wears out so quickly, but I still like them. Therefore it all comes down to emotional attachment. The thing which makes bad investors, those who get attached to something and hope by chance it will increase in value while all the time it is sliding downwards.  It is one of the most difficult things to let go of a thing which you know is costing more than it is worth.  At this point timing becomes an asset, knowing exactly when to give up because the dip is just too far down to recover in the foreseeable future. It's gambling in a way.  Socks however, should not be gambling, there should be some kind of guarantee they are going to last certainly more than a few weeks I'd of hoped. I certainly can not see a sock manufacturer giving me back my money. It's just enough time to take my money and run. Literally speak, so to say. I hope they build better trainers than they sow socks.

However, it is only a small investment buying socks, it's not like buying a car or a house. But if I were to buy a car or a house then I'd have to have socks on in order to walk around that house. So for the sake of a pair of socks I can no longer walk around the house without getting cold feet. Cold feet in turn can lead to a chill and I've learnt one thing, cold feet mean it can sometimes be difficult to sleep because it takes hours to warm up my feet till the point I am comfortable enough to relax and know cramp isn't going to set in. A bad night's sleep means an awful day the next day at work. Struggling with the yawns, concentration and demands of the job.  All for the sake of socks. So they may only be things which go on feet, little things, depending on how big your feet are, but they are without doubt, important things.  So says the sock who has just winked at me again.

Grumpy old man gets dumped

I got a problem with my upper left arm, it plain hurts when moved in certain positions, I think it's the muscle and need to see a doctor. However, considering how busy it always is at the Fish Factory get out and seeing the doc is a difficult thing so it's a matter of putting up with the pain. Ouch. I'm getting old. Which goes on to Sparkling getting annoyed at me for being old and poorly. She has to give me her opinion, as she does all the time because it annoys her.  Apparently now she considers that I am getting older than her, even though she is older by a few months.  There was I thinking it's good to be the Toy Boy of our relationship. Unfortunately I'm not much of either a Toy or a Boy and Sparkling knows this. So she has in turn told me I am going to get dumped if I carry on getting grumpy and old the way I am. I said to her, this was not a matter of playing Trivial Pursuit (TP) and getting to read the answers on all the cards before playing.  Which by the way happened to be something Sparkling would do with Rock Chick when they played TP.  I was younger then, a lot younger and also I had took it for granted my TP knowledge was appalling, whereas the dreaded duo together seemed to always get a high score. Sparkling thought this was funny but it is in typical Sparkling and Rock Chick form to stack the cards in their favour and win a game whenever they can.  But the idea of dropping me like a stone just because I have become a grumpy old man (GOM) is bloody awful.  The thing is I don't consider myself a GOM.  Well to rectify the matter Sparkling said when I next see her, which will be next week she is going to give me a dressing down. At the same time it is ironic I should be given a good talking to just because I moan. This sounds like additional moaning therapy which is not going to change me but rather make me unhappy.

I think of the time when we went to Krakow, and Sparkling had a dippy hippy. It is an allergy Sparkling has when coming to walking, unless it is pushing a pram with Princess J inside and when in Krakow Sparkling's hip was playing up.  She was in discomfort and complained about it.  So we tended to walk slowly and it meant Sparkling preferred to sit at cafes drinking a glass of wine than doing too much walking.  Sparkling doesn't like heights, so doesn't go into the attic, this is always my job. It is like some jobs must be allocated to me. Though I can understand this after all I am the man.  Which sounds pretty cool when I say it, so I'll say it again, I am the man.  Except Sparkling wears the trousers and I do what she tells me to to do. Or most of the time I do it. Which probably means if Sparkling tells me to shut up and stop moaning I'll have to find the motivation to shut up. 

As I spoke to Sparkling on my phone, this afternoon and she told me about getting dumped, she then said how annoyed she was at the phone conversation because it kept breaking up. This can happen while walking along and chatting on a mobile. She got to the point of saying if it happened again she was going to cut off the phone and not answer it. Well I walked slower in order for the signal to work, but it didn't work so Sparkling cut me off. Therefore when it comes to moaning it seems to me, Sparkling does not like to hear me moan but it is OK if she moans and particularly moans at me. It is also perfectly OK to cut me off on the phone because it is my fault for the quality of the phone line and my fault she is getting annoyed.  Yes, it seems I have to mend my ways and stop moaning about things because of course I am in the wrong and a grump old man. I'd sure hate it if I were ever right.

Cold, flu, stuck indoors, what do you do?

It's been a shite day.  I mean shite. I awoke with a stinking headache, if headaches could stink this would of been an elephant size dung headache, which didn't seem to go away. Eyes watering, nose running, coughing repeatedly. How the hell did I get this, what the hell is going on? I'm just no good for anything and it has felt so cold, maybe this was why I just lay in bed for so long before getting up. Then I got up had breakfast and went back to bed again. It seemed like every moment I was fully conscious was a pain, at least when sleeping it goes away, until you have to cough again. Staying in bed was the best option and so it seems another weekend day where I've not done anything, not gone out, not exercised, not done anything of any value other than stay in my PJs and do the best I could to disengage with the world. It worked in most part. Why is it when you're ill every single second of illness counts, it just drags on and on and doesn't give up. It becomes a matter of getting through the next ten minutes, next half hour, next hour and then marking it off and hoping by some slim chance when you've reached this future point things are better. The dreaded lurgies and gone away, or partly subsided. It's been dragging on from yesterday and it's dragging on now, but a corner has been turned and I will admit to feeling a whole lot better than I did yesterday or this morning.

The day has been filled with TV. I have eaten for breakfast, lunch and tea the latest BBC news. Keeping an eye on the situation in Ukraine, a situation which could result in civil war or war with Russia. The Ukrainian's don't want it, it all began with a corrupt president who looked after himself and cared less for his country than he did his neighbour. Yanokovych is going to be on a wanted list by the International Criminal's Court at some future date, possibly.

I played Candy Crush and lost repeatedly on level 199, it doesn't matter what I do I just can't get past it. I must of played in excess of 100 games at this level and still haven't got through it. When you've hit your head against the wall so many times it has left a dent and the bump is sticking out at some point you have to consider this wall hitting just isn't getting anywhere. Such is the life of trying to get through level 199, I'm even beginning to wonder how Sparkling did it as she has now jumped over a 100 levels in front of me or is it games.  One or the other. I should give up because there are better things I can do with my life than play hours of Candy Crush, it is really pissing me off.

Now I'm ending the day with some films. Then to hit the hay and hopefully tomorrow morning wake up as bright as the day is long. Happy and flu free. Except for the big pile of elephant crap in my room.

A good moan and some thoughts about a little Princess

The weather has taken a turn for the worse. It's cold and feels like winter is trying to come back again. For feck sake it's bloody March!! It should be well and truly Spring but this is not the case. I got up this morning and the chill just seemed to keep catching up with me. Good, now I have something to moan about. It's not just the cold, I been feeling like shite and think I'm coming down with something. There is nothing like a good moan to make you feel better. On top of all this I'm stuck on level 199 of Candy Crush, it's too difficult and just doesn't seem to be giving me the right mix of combinations to finish it.  I've been down to one square on two occasions but then ran out of moves. It's been longer than a week and I must admit to the addiction starting to wear off.  My shoulder and arm are killing me. I don't know what happened, my left upper arm hurts bad if moved in a certain way.  Sparkling doesn't give me any sympathy and just says I need to be fully well when I come up because I will be looking after Princess J.  Well thankfully I've managed to get some time off from the Fish Factory OK'd and I'll be up to relieve Sparkling and getting a bit of Granddad Pops exercise, but only if my arm holds out.

It seems the mischievous little dynamo is so full of energy she is completely wearing out Sparkling.  When on a full day shift I'm lucky to get a ten minute phone call with her, and this week I've probably only spoken to Sparkling twice.  Then she's preoccupied with having to do something. Like Hoovering up, dusting, cleaning making food to eat.  A Gaga's work is never done.  Well, Rock Chick and Dangerous must be glad to get home from the daily grind to find Nanny Gaga has been a full entertainment centre and wearer outer of Princess J.  All she needs is a feed before bed and then 10 hours of sleep. Rock Chick says Princess J is playing up to Gaga and doesn't act the same way when she and Dangerous put their foot down. Sparkling puts princess to bed but she only sleeps for twenty minutes after lunch, then she is up again and moving about.  Princess is getting her own personality, she interacts and demands fun. When she sees Gaga she screams throws up and open her arms and laughs with joy. Awwe, I feel like this every time I see Sparkling as well. But restrain myself because by this time I'm opening a car door and throwing myself inside so she can accelerate off.  If I did act this way I'd be sure to get the pointed finger and a telling off, then again there is an age gap between me and Princess of nearly 50 years.

I feel much better now a moan and a chat about the most beautiful funny little girl I know who has the ability to twist me around her little finger.  I see pictures of her on Facebook and am enthralled because she is just so cute. Mind I have a suspicion Sparkling is also partly to blame for Princess J's cute demanding and funny character for she has a thing about making smiles and laughter, of which Princess has buckets full.

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.