The Reluctant Radio

There is something wrong with my radio. It's a DAB radio, which I'm not sure it it makes any difference, but possibly does. With the facility to search out and find radio stations this is pretty useful, however it's not so useful if the bloody thing is taking a tizzy fit and showing constant signs of petulance. It used to be each morning I would plug it in turn it on and there would be the World Service to listen to in pretty good clarity. However, this is not the case now. It sounds as though someone has walked in front of the aerial and is obstructing it. On and off they walk and sometimes this imaginary individual just stands there for the fun of it disturbing my morning ritual. It's not a nice thing to do.  I'd kill him if I could put my hands around his imaginary neck, but it is not a man at all it's the radio itself. Last time this happened I found the mains wire was not fully connected to the back and it didn't take any effort to fix it. Now though the irritating interference has become stubborn and an uninvited guest who just isn't getting the message to feck off.

So the morning ritual has changed. It's plug the radio in, turn it on, put on my toast and the kettle, return to the radio and begin the first round of diagnostics.  Set the auto retune on, for a moment or two there is now audio, it sets itself up again and then returns to the radio station, but it still has interference. What is the use of having an auto retune if it doesn't work I wonder. Toast gets buttered, tea gets made and I sit down with the radio and try moving it to a different place on the table. Eat my toast, drink my tea and see if there is any difference. A momentary laps of audible sound comes out and then it reverts again to squeaking, squelching audio diarrhoea with intermittent speech.  This morning in frustration I reverted to the age old give-it-a-thump repair method. This is used by many a man and helps rather to make one feel better than it does to cure the problem. It wasn't a hard thump and a kind of palm of hand juddering thud. I didn't want to make it any worse than it already was although the thought has procured to me just to throw the thing out, which would solve the problem, except I'd have to purchase another one. Till such a time it would be me and silence. With silence probably winning out and breaking me down in a strangle hold of broken ritual versus coping with my own company. Sometimes I find I don't want to be with me but I can't very well run away from myself and the radio is a distraction. What an arsehole I can be. It's true, I'm sure a lot of people have the same self reflections, just some don't listen to it.

Being a Sunday and a bank holiday tomorrow, there is no rush to do anything much. I made a second cup of tea and listened to the thing doing an impersonation of a radio.  Yet gradually the audio was becoming a little clearer. It wasn't like I had successfully found a position the radio liked to be in. The thing was actually sounding the way it should sound. The voices on the radio were clearer. I could make out conversations, amazing.  It now worked.  Probably about forty minutes had passed before it decided to warm up and be accommodating. Maybe I shouldn't of thumped the thing? Or maybe it was working because I did thump it and it was afraid not to fix itself.  The rest of the morning was even more relaxed as I did little else and merged into the day knowing my skills of radio repair had temporarily been successfully.  Well, we'll see if they work tomorrow, I'll not change job just yet.

Vertigo while at ground level

After spending part of my Saturday afternoon just doing shit, which means passing the time away to no particular purpose at all,  ventured onto newspaper site to catch up with the latest.  In true not-much-to-do fashion I meandered onto the videos. A shark was eaten by a very large fish and there is then a video from a free-runner at height.  He climbs a crane from the very bottom, step by step his feet are recorded as he goes from one part of the structure to another. He must of been wearing some kind of camera helmet because it is a first person perspective. Eventually he reaches the top. Now this has got to be an odd thing, but while I sat there at ground level watching this video I began to get vertigo, feeling dizzy and having a sense puzzlement because I wasn't holding on tight to anything and maybe I should be because after all this was pretty high up.  Another side of the brain kicked in, it tried to reassure the perceptual fooling which was going on.  Yes, my feet are on the ground, I am sat in a comfortable chair, I can feel the back of the chair as it warms my back. As the video progressed I switched from full screen to normal mini screen and then made sure the volume was completely turned off.  Not that it could be heard above the music playing in the pub. Come on, logic kick in, this is not real, it is a recording, I have not climbed up this crane and certainly not in the one and a half minute which has only passed. But it didn't matter what I thought, how much I tried to talk myself into being as logical as possible, I still felt dizzy.

Perhaps it is something to do with wearing glasses, because when you wear glasses you are more focused on what the immediately front view, than on the periphery.  Objects at the edge of view can be seen, but focus is definitely on those things which are in focus.  The free-runner now walked along the arm of the crane, as he looked down the tops of buildings and cars could be seen moving. They looked so small, they were far below.  Normally things don't look small unless they are actually small or a long way away.  He then did something utterly stupid in my book and had me reaching for an imaginary parachute, or white knuckle ride cage support.  Neither of which were there.  The video showed him hanging by his hands, looking down at his dangling body and feet. If I were completely fooled by this scene I would of been sick. I wasn't but it still didn't stop the dizzness going into overdrive. He now hung with one arm by his side, suspended by a single hand. Feck. This dude has got a suicide wish, and guess what? It would of all been caught on cam, well, providing the cam didn't disintegrate once he hit the road below.

The eye and the brain are amazing things, but it seems even they can be evaded by persons with no common sense. Then again I did hear common sense was in short supply nowadays.

24 hours without food

After a dicky tummy episode one morning I knew was something not right.  Having last eaten the previous evening I decided to continue with this abstinence.  So from 8 p.m. on one day to 8 p.m. the next I ate nothing hoping it would cure the shites.  My belief is intestinal acids build up and then incinerating the dirty little virus thing dwelling within the gut.  Just as it helps not to have a stomach of food which eventually would have to find it's way out.  However, I am not a biologist but it sounds reasonable enough to someone with their head screwed on.  Abstaining from food doesn't hurt either, some do it for religious reasons, others to diet. Whatever the reason it would have a multifaceted advantageous effect on me.  This belly could do without a few calories and the scales might even look on with happiness as well. I can hear them now, "get off ya fat bastard" if they could talk that is.
The other thought besides the need to stop running to the toilet, was this whole thing would be a test of my own determination.  Fasting for me is not something which comes naturally, whereas eating is, and starting in the evening meant all I had to do was endure a few hours before going to bed because there would be no desire to eat while asleep. Providing I didn't wake up in the middle of some erotic food related dream. Mind I don't remember my dreams much anyway. So it was, the day began.

I thought the morning would of been difficult, sitting in the kitchen and drinking a cup of tea listening to the radio. When normally it would of been toast, tea and radio. I did notice a feeling of just taking it easy and not needing to rush about. Probably this was the residual of a recent holiday and the post holiday euphoria kicking in again. I must admit the tea did have a better fuller taste to it than normal does. Perhaps this was linked to my expectation I was not to eat all day long and had to savour every drink from this moment onwards. Which reminds me I must learn how to make Indian Chai.  It wasn't until I was sat at my desk at work I could then feel my belly rumbling. It knew something was missing, but I just looked at the monitor in front of me and thought concentrate on work, do your job, if you do this then your mind will be taken off the need to eat.  It seemed to work, but waiting for lunch time to come took forever.  Again at lunch I know considered well I will not be spending money on food. If this is an exercise I can do on a more regular basis it could work out to save me some dosh. I do spend too much money on lunchtime food as I rarely make my own sandwiches.  Walking through the market at lunch time I could smell the open fast food stalls, one specialises in Nepalise the other in plane greasy burgers and there's a third does Caribbean food.  I could of gone over and bought something. But no, I carried on walking to the pub where I have my lunchtime coffee.  It's nice sitting in there. Getting my phone out I could spend more time catching up with the BBC news website and of course make a phone call to Sparkling Eyes.

While inside the pub someone had ordered a plate of fish and chips. The smell of the fish was pungent and I could feel my nostrils flare up. It was like if I could breath in deep enough I would be tasting this fish and chips, even if it was overly smelly.  The experience of being forced to smell it was awful. My belly was again having some weird stuff happen. It felt swollen on account of the undiagnosed self diagnosed IBS. It had become solid as a football. This is one of the things I hate about being overweight, having a belly which means I don't get to see my feet unless I'm sat down. It's not a pretty sight.  So with purpose, I managed to get through the afternoon, constantly trying to distract myself by getting on with my work. I had a similar temptation period after leaving work and popping in the pub for a pint of Guinness, some lads had ordered burgers and chips. Bastards. The smell of those chips almost made me break, but I wasn't going to now, only a couple of more hours and it would be a full 24 hours.

Later in the evening I did eat and managed a full 24 hours.  However, I should of gone through to the next morning again just to make sure the belly virus was burnt to hell.  Missing out on a day's food made me feel a little better about myself and it probably has helped a little in trying to lose weight as well.  A full pound in weight is 3500 calories and an hour's walk is about 450 calories. It sure is a lot of energy.  There are two parts however to a diet, one eating less and two exercising more.  Damn it's tough to, because exercise gives you an appetite just when you should not eat the desire is so much more. 

Dose of the shites

I got the shites, it's not very nice, it never is, but this is a particularly bad dose of the shites. I'm not permanently shitting, but get attacked by sudden spasms. This morning has been awful, I was attacked again and intestinal warfare is such a nasty business, it seemed I had my arse on the bog for about twenty minutes. A bit like the movies jaws, when you thought it was safe to return to the water the large sharp toothed fishy would hit again. As I sat there and relieved myself feeling relieved about to disengage like a spacecraft would undock with the space station, I'd then be hit again with another wave. It wasn't a pretty sound, sometimes even explosive, I thought about what I'd eaten and something suspicious came to mind.

Now this was probably the biggest beef in black bean sauce and steam rice they had ever given me at my Chinese.  It could of fed a family of four. Or one budding fat man who is now in the obese category. So I ate it, the lot. It didn't taste as good as it should of tasted. I was sure a piece of meat was not right, but it went down anyway. Maybe it shouldn't of, I haven't been back there since. On account of a recent reading from the kitchen scales. Although they don't talk the did creek and if they were able to talk they would of said "get of you fecking fat bastard" what language from a domestic appliance as well. Yes, it was the beef, there was something not right about it and I am paying for it now. The thing is whatever I eat has had a funny taste to it. Maybe it has been multiple sources which have given me the shites? Talk about having a bad day, or possibly a bad week in this case. It was so bad this morning I've in even wondered whether I should go into work. For the moment though it is calm. Mind there can't be much left in this fat belly which can be lost out my arse.

A look of the NHS website indicates there are three stomach problems which can cause the shites. Unfortunately the worse one can last several weeks, it's called Giardiasis. Having this might even be an advantage and help my weight loss.The other two causes last less than a week. This one is the hard nosed ebola of shites, it's a parasite which lives in the belly and can be treated with antibiotics. It's a bloody amazing what you'll look up on the internet when you're ill. I know I have a fragile belly but this form of the shites is news to me. I don't think I'll boast about it though, I'll just run off to the toilet when needed, but now I think about it a standby packet of tissues might be useful. Just in case someone else has the shites and uses the last one from the dispenser. When you get to my age it's all about safety and security. Or rather having a bloated painful belly, which is generally bloated anyway.

They say there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, my shite is getting to see a lot of that at the moment. For the time being there's a lull, yep, it's the lull before the next shite storm. A very real one at as well.

A morning lay in

I got the day off work, there's a need to get this long haired mop cut, so what better an excuse to have a day off work. I never get hair cuts at weekends when the hairdressers become factory chicken machines pumping out one customer after the other. Nope, a weekday is best and not too early or during their lunch break.

It was odd waking up this morning I'd had a good sleep. My phone read 6 a.m. but this is way to early to get up on a day off. So even though the bed was hot I got greedy and wanted more sheep counting. So I laid there and concentrated.  It didn't seem to come. I've had this before, when you think hours have passed but check the time and only a minute or two have crept by. It's like your internal time counting clock is on amphetamines and the world around you is slow. At some time I'd had enough and decided to actually get up, looking at my phone I then saw two hours had passed not ten minutes. It was like I had actually jumped forward in time, I had got the benefit of an extra sleep, but it didn't feel like it. It felt like my fingers had been snapped and magically I'd gone forward through the morning. If only being at work was like this, when two seconds could become two hours.

So ever late, still not up and washed I catch up on the latest Scottish referendum debate, but also know I need to get changed and washed. The things you have to do when waking up. Today I'm going to be a lazy arse, it's all there is to it.

Sunday Walk and feeling blue

I went for my usual Sunday walk today, it lasted about 3 hours and was enjoyable. I checked out the weather which was mild at 22 degrees C max.  I like taking a walk on Sundays, it is relaxing. I get to think and to exercise at the same time, however, stopping off at a shop I bought chocolate and crisps so had probably cancelled out any of the health benefits from the hours of pavement pounding. What a bloody shame. Of course it is the first Sunday without waking up with Sparkling Eyes next to me in bed and being able to get a hug.  As usual the sun was bright and acted like an alarm clock as it pierces through the curtains. Maybe the curtains are too thin, or the sun is too hard, I need thick heavy ones which block out light more effectively and to repaint the walls a dark colour so light does not reflect.

Rather than go into work this weekend I decided to take the weekend off as leave, returning last week to two days was depressing to say the least.  I'm in a belligerent mood as well, having seen a member of my family who hasn't worked for years and arguing they should get a job because my taxes are paying for their dole money.  I get to feel maybe I been watching too many of those TV programs about benefits scroungers, especially those living of a pittance and insisting they can not and will not work. When I was in Scotland I went to a cafe, it was an ordinary cafe, and there was surprised most of the staff were Polish. I couldn't understand why there were not Scottish, and wondered if Scots didn't like working in Cafes.

The walk helped clear my mind a little. When I got back I soon came over feeling tired so laid on bed for an hour. It was the heat.  I'm sure summer is now in it's decline the solstice must of passed by now so we are gradually moving towards winter.  Schools have also let their children out, they have 6 weeks off from school and don't know what to do with themselves.  Maybe they should be sent to work for a taster of what it is like.  It's bloody hard and their thinking life is nothing but play is a dream waiting to be shattered by reality.  I saw on one news web site how children as young as 4 or 5 were working in one developing country. It doesn't mean it is right, it's just a little work never harmed anyone especially if there is some pocket money involved in it.

I feel blue still, it was returning from the holiday which did it.  But then you can't stay on a holiday all your life, not even if you're a scrounger.

Monster Boy, a holiday in Prague and catching up

It has been a while since my last BLOG, life can get in the way of doing things. Obstacles so to say.

A brief update.

Little Monster Boy is more of a teenager than he is a monster boy now. He is getting his own opinions and he disagrees with whatever is said in a belligerent manner. When asking for his opinion on something he spouts out conspiracy theories he's read on the internet, it is like he has become a babbling crazy man who is completely unconvincing.  But yet, when I say he must be hot with his long hair and it probably needs a cut, given it's in the mid 80s F and I can see beads of sweat on his neck he'll say "no it's not hot."  This of course makes me feel like he is treating me like an idiot and could easily result in an argument. I guess it is the natural progression of teenagers, they argue, they seek their nook and cranny and they are fed up with adults telling them what to do.  Not to mention being pain in the back sides.  When Monster Boy was young I used to seek out his company and enjoyed it because he was young and had that wonderful view of life. Where the only important thing was Doctor Who, now when we go out for a walk I even notice him glancing at girls.  Although he doesn't have a girlfriend yet, I wonder how long it will be. Unfortunately he is the geeky type and nice geeks don't get girlfriends early, they generally have to wait a few extra years. So now if I take him out for a walk I have to be prepared for either a discussion with someone who is off his head and wants to argue or a case of me doing all the talking and him just nodding  his head like a toy. Neither of which is much use to either of us, I like discussion, two ways, I can talk to a wall any time there's a lot of them about.

I got back a few days ago from seeing Sparkling Eyes, it was as usual wonderful. We also had a holiday in Prague.  I was a little disappointed by Prague because it appears to be exceptionally set up for tourists.  There may well be history there, great architecture, wonderful beer, but it is like every shop has a purpose of getting money out of tourists. They sell crappy little tourist trinkets for people to take back home, the sort of things which go on shelves and have no use, that cost more than they are worth and were made in China in a sweat factory workshop. Hell I can get those things anywhere. The most useful thing which Sparkling got on the entire holiday was a hand fan, again a toursity thing but she used it and it went everywhere with her, unfortunately it got torn.  The temperature in Prague was exceptionally high on some days.  We walked around a tourist market and at one point I came across some thermometers, they were in the shade and registering temperatures of either 34 or 36 degrees Celsius.  I walked slow, I just don't know what it was, I just could not pull myself together to walk fast.  It was at this time I realised the worst season you can visit a country is during the height of summer, for you are always tired and don't have the motivation to get up and see the sights. The fact is I may have liked Prague if it was not for the tourists. It was disappointing to be in an ex communist country as well to find how expensive it was, the prices should of been cheaper, but unfortunately the Czech Republic is running into the EU like yet another demented sheep following the herd.

When I returned to London from Scotland the next day I would be in the Fish Factory.  I just didn't want to go back. I hated the idea of returning to it.  I felt like I needed another 6 months off work and it was the realisation of work pressure which hit home.  I felt sad and fragile. Missing Sparkling, missing being woken up at 2:30 a.m. by Olly the cat who treats me like his constant bitch, missing my morning hug of Sparkling and someone to love and love back. Fed up with my immediate family who are set in their own psychic vicious circles and don't want to change.  To the extent I wonder if it is me who has the problem, maybe I should be talking to brick walls, I guess every brick wall has its own personality and although they are all similar you can guarantee never to get into an argument with one, it will always be silent and always non judgemental.  I can see a few traits there similar to good psycho analysts.

Maybe it's because I am angry at things. Angry at a lot of stuff and just have to let things go even though at times it feels like being shite on from a height. Holding on to anger doesn't help me, it's like holding onto the fat around my girth. Heck does this mean I am a screwed up individual. Probably, but probably no more screwed up than anyone else. Now what I need is a holiday but without the tourists.

Hooked on an online game.

I'm hooked on an on-line game, but know this relationship can not continue. At the moment it does because I am not bored, because it is exciting and spicy. Only the problem is it will have to come to an end at some time. I can't spend hours and hours waiting for my supply line to be reconstituted. Or even more hours being picked off by a bigger and tougher player, who sporadically has his eye on my area of the map. This happened to me once before, then I even joined in with a group of people. We were not very good. It's a basic beat them up strategy game which in normal circumstances you have to build alliances with other players. But I don't want to, do this, I'd rather play alone. All the victory is mine then. It's just the time it takes. I know what these things are like, the makers try and get you to purchase extra parts of the game, you could spend an awful lot of money on one of these things. Instead I've spent an awful lot of time and now it is getting irritating.  I want to get to the next level but it's going to take another day of waiting. Or possibly even longer if someone decides to raid me. In reality I should just delete it, which I know will happen at some time. However for the moment I'm living in cyberspace and standing around with my hands in my pocket waiting for something to happen.

Well, all things come to an end, I'll have to put in a break out strategy soon, it's just too much, I can't stand the waiting around.

Our Man In Havana

There on a book shelf had stood for years a slim volume of a book once read, then left waiting for it's turn of attention. Only for it to pass, then pass again. The pages yellow, it acquires a smell, the smell an old book gets, the smell given off from volumes of literature in an established library.  Musky like, dusty like and learned, waiting to be read.  So it was, I picked up this novel by Graham Greene, which has the category of "entertainment" and this week have been reading.

The funny thing about books is it is easy to read a book just once and then never pick it up again. To say to people oh yes I read that book, and describe parts of it or the storyline.  The truth though is one reading is never enough when the book you read is real literature and not the throw away kind, like a TV soap which will never fulfil the mind.  But after such a great gap I didn't realise how much I had forgotten of the story line, to the point I can hardly recognise any of the story at all. It is like picking the book up from new and starting all over again. Graham Greene however could never be described as an entertainer which belittles his great skill as a writer.  The book is entertaining however more than this it is funny.

A man in Havana eaks out a living and his business in vacuum cleaners seems to be hitting a declining trend.  His teenage daughter doesn't understand the value of money and starts to push him into financial ruin, however at this time an offer comes out of the blue.  To work as a secret agent for the British government and report on events which take place.  Except Havana is a boring location to live, it may be nice and hot, but nothing much happens in the way of Wormould's life.  He does what he does and gets by.  After an incident with a friend's apartment being ransacked he decides to feed a bucket load of lies to the secret service and claim all the expenses he needs.  The story line is wonderful and the writing is superb.  There are times of laughter, I can put it down easy and then pick it up and read it just as easily as well. 

Go out, buy it, read it and see for yourself.

Tuesday, it's an underrated day

It struck me this evening after, having two pints and feeling pissed.  The Guinness went down so easily, that a Tuesday is probably one of the most underrated days of the week. It is in fact a great day to get pissed if you are so inclined.  There would be no cuing up at the bar, the evening take-away shops are empty because everybody who wants to get pissed usually does a Friday or Saturday.  Tuesday is in many respects, a psychological non-entity. Unless you happen to have a birthday on a Tuesday. Which of course has a one in seven chance of happening. It's a day when you can go walking around the shops and not expect to be crushed by the crowds, it's a day when the majority of people are at work, children are at school and everyone is geared up to run from one place to another. All because the next day is a Wednesday. Yet another working day, however a Wednesday once completed, in the afternoon means everything else is downhill and an easy ride.  Whereas on a Tuesday you are still walking up hill against the floods.  Tuesday therefore has got to be the best day of the week to do special things. To get out and about, purchase those clothes, buy shoes, have a nice quite drink in a nice loud pub, because what would of been a busy pub is relatively serene. Tuesday is without doubt a totally underrated day of the week. So in this frame of mind I realise if I want to get out and about then Tuesday is the best time in which to do it. The problem is working and working on a Wednesday.

Well, I didn't say Tuesday was completely without it's problems, but certainly free of most of them.

Insomnia again

Well last night I was struck by insomnia again. Went to bed at 1:30 a.m. and still fully awake at 2:30 a.m. I could of gone to the kitchen made a cup of tea, made a cake, carved a spoon returned back to bed and it would of been like my eyes were glued open.  My head was in thinking mode and there was nothing to stop it. It kept on going and going.  It was a matter of persevering, so I just lay on the bed sometimes without my ear plugs in. At some point I got to sleep, but then didn't check the clock to see what time it was. It was morning time.  In consideration of poor sleep I got up early, 7:30 a.m. and was awake. Fully awake, now at 1:30 p.m. I find it difficult to keep my eyes open.  If I follow the temptation and rest my head for a short while the whole insomnia thing could return later tonight.  Again.  So it's catch 22, keep myself awake and not let the devilish insomnia take a grip.

So be it, for now.  Zzzzzzzzzz

Cat rescues boy from dog attack

Catching up on the latest news today I saw the story of a cat rescuing his young master from a dog attack.  It had all been caught on CCTV from a house.  The child was a small boy of 4 years, he ambled along on his little bicycle at the front of the house.  When from around a car the dog looking like a taupe coloured Jack Russell breed trots up to the boy, shows interest in the boy's left leg and then immediately bites it and swings his head rapidly from side to side.  Then from the front of the house a cat similar in size to the dog bounds at speed and jumps at the dog. Although difficult to tell from the video I would think the cat (a tabby called Tara) had pounced with all claws out on the head or neck of the dog.  The dog released the boy and ran off, at which the cat also ran after the dog to see him off as well.  The boys mother ran out of the house and is seen on the video.  It is remarkable to watch the video, but it is also a reminder that even small dogs may attack children.  To the point you would be wary of being with any dog and child in close contact.  I grew up with dogs as a child and can think of one occasion where a over exuberant dog decided to bite my arse while running about in a garden. It was a sharp nip and hurt, my arse recovered from it, but it is a painful place to be bitten.  In this more serious case the boy had puncture wounds on his leg and had to receive stitches.  Both cat and boy are very brave. If you happen to be in California keep your eyes open for a tabby cat on the watch out and who is best friends to a boy.

I think there is something about tabby cats which makes them more loveable than other cats.  I think of Tigger my own cat who was the friendliest cat ever.  He was friendly to everyone and didn't mind just going up to strangers or children with his tail held high and then rubbing himself against them looking to be stroked.  He wasn't quite so keen on very small children but those who had grown up a little bit he treated just like anyone else.  Every morning when I had breakfast and opened the kitchen door there he would be and he would meow in a perfect cat hello sound. I'd say he really was trying to say hello exactly the way he heard it.  I have no doubt, cats are just as much friends to their owners as dogs can be and may even be a little smarter. Than both dogs or owners.

Don't jump out the window, become a broom stick maker

So taking a crafty break from the bedlam of the Fish Factory I sneaked a phone call to Sparkling Eyes, not just to tell her I love her and miss her, but to have a good moan about work in the Fish Factory. It is getting out of hand especially when you go to a meeting and enter the room then a little man jumps out with a tape measure to check the size of your anus.  This is always a bad sign for it means the last set of brooms they shoved up there are about to be renewed with another set.  All you can hope is the handles are not as wide as they were last time.  And of course it gives a chance to audition for a high pitched tenor vocal range at an Oprah House.  So I says to Sparkling I think I could just jump out the window with the amount of crap they are now piling on.  To which she replies "no you can't you have to get your Will sorted out first." Wonderful I would be better thought of as a rich dead dude than a poor overworked, stressed out alive dude. Of course she didn't mean anything by this comment, well, I hope not. I know she would rather be a full time GaGa to Princess J rather than be a hard working undervalued, underpaid stressed barmaid.  The two of us being stressed isn't a good combination, yet finding humour in it is.  For it seems every employer now days is out to get a few ounces over their pound of flesh?  Yes, is the answer.

Mind, there would be quite a mess if anyone fell out of the window, it's 4 stories or more from the ground, and the landing is on hard concrete.  No walking away, maybe this thought I have shows the need to mentally escape.  I sit there and wait to see if any of the other middle management fish are about to have a mental breakdown, the only person I think is close to it is me.  Then I carefully consider, these people don't give a shite about the broom sticks, in fact they stand around the corner making phone calls to Stationary asking if they need to get more broom sticks on order. Currently the world's supply of broom sticks is a booming industry.  A growth industry with lots of broom stick makers popping up all over the place. They are now more frequent than Pound shops in the high street.  Except these companies do their business behind closed doors and direct to employers.

It's odd, I mean, organizations have stress policies and they have Employee Assistance Programs (EAP) but this means nothing if those policies are not acted on.  Someone who may be on the edge of a breakdown is just left to see how they get on. They are left to see if they do actually break down. To see how much stress they can take. There are few if any Stress assessments, because being stressed out is like having  a mental illness and it is a marker of someone not being able to cope.  Employees don't like to admit they are having problems.  They don't want their cards marked. Then employers throw another spanner in the works and up the ante by bringing in more stringent sickness policies, or if they don't like to use the word sick they call them Attendance policies.  Gone are the days of saying exactly what you mean because this is a taboo subject.  Employees have got to show blood sweat and tears and be pushed and worn out like a part to an engine.  And then ultimately they say it is the employees own fault, because it is they way they view the world.

I wonder if broom stick makers have the same problems as these organizations which run a common practice of over working employees and getting as much unpaid overtime out of them as possible. If only we all got bonuses equal to the degree of stress we felt. I don't though whether these would be much good to those individuals who have been to hell and back. The ones who have stepped on a precipice and fallen. Only to land in a large dung heap, left appropriately under every open window.  Get up, shake yourself off and don't let the broom sticks change the way you walk down the road.  Just sweep your troubles under the carpet, and while your sweeping there could you just....

The end of one week and start of another

Ever since I started to read a book about improving memory, there has been a few times where I've  forgotten things and also how difficult it is to improve memory.  See my other blog on this topic http://whatsmemory.blogspot.co.uk/  but it doesn't stop me from trying. This afternoon I spent an hour and a half on the doorstep as I'd forgotten my front door keys.  Typical.  I rang up Sparkling Eyes to tell her about my predicament and she thought it funny.  It seems any inconvenient predicament I get myself into the funnier it is.  If only I could get this brain to work a bit faster and be more efficient. Hence reading a book on memory.  Years ago when I used to do a lot of running I considered myself an athlete, and now I am becoming a brain athlete, which fortunately doesn't mean spending so much time on the streets pounding the pavements. But I'm still pounding the pavements and fortunately now it is at a slower pace.

It's been good taking an extra day off from the Fish Factory.  Except I've actually done a seven day week so this is the eighth day and it's my day off.  This evening has been  a catch up session on the week's politics programs, my last post said I was going cold turkey, but it got broken after 16 hours.  Not too bad, but I got to try harder.  I really have no doubt in my mind I'm a TV addict, I need therapy, but where to they give you therapy for watching too much TV?  Tomorrow is Tuesday, which inevitably comes after Monday unless it was the end of the world. Take my word though the world will not end on Tuesday. Wednesday I can't be so sure about unless I'm in rehab with the other TV addict junkies.  They say humans use only a fraction of their brain, it's like the human brain has been made for some future event or circumstance I'm sure TV isn't it. If only I could remember my keys and keep the memory in some other part of my brain a bit where it obviously doesn't leak. 

Oh well, back to sitting on the steps.

TV addiction, what about a day of cold turkey

Too much of a good thing is bad, sometimes it might be what you want but not what you need. Too much of a good thing is an addiction, I'm an addict, a TV and internet addict. I can't get enough of it, I spend hours of my life watching TV series after TV series, it's usually Sci Fi based, but it doesn't have to be. It can be drama anything as long as there is amusement and fixation. I know it's not good but I can't help myself.  Episode after episode is watched and I could be doing something else with my time. Sometimes I will get captured by a book and then the book becomes my addiction. I can't put it down and just continuously read it at every opportunity, especially if it's good.  I joke to myself if it is a book then it is fine, a book includes some form of education.  At this moment though my TV habit is approaching out of control. I don't know what to do about it.  At the same time it is like it is not a recognised addiction. There is more to life than watching TV, being on a laptop, viewing video after video there is more to life than passively viewing.

So I plan to go cold turkey for a day starting from midnight tonight. The compulsion to switch on this computer will begin sometime in the middle of the day. However, if I take a nice long walk tomorrow then I shall not be in the house and have access to the box.  I don't know even if it will work, but I got to try. Perhaps even try again if it fails tomorrow.  A day without TV might be a day without air. But I've had so much air lately I got enough to last me a couple of months and not worry about it.  Lets see what happens.

The day will begin shortly.

It's only possible to pay attention to one thing at a time

I've been spending more time on mnemonics than I have with Harvey (Ukulele) recently, although he did get a strum earlier. When I talk to Sparkling about how I'm trying to remember things she then reminds me I've forgotten what shift she is working, or of some other matter.  The first rule though of remembering anything is attention. By focusing on something it is easier to understand and to retain it. It must be because I need to get my own story out when I'm chatting to Sparkling and in turn it just slips my mind I should equally pay attention to everything she says. But I don't think this is entirely my own doing, in general we are all guilty of this and I know at the same time I've spoken to Sparkling about subjects and she's just not paid any attention to me either. It could be because I can be boring, or it could be because she has other things on her mind at the time.  It is only possible to really focus on one thing at a time regardless of gender.

So tomorrow is a day off and I'll spend time possibly getting some exercise and also a little time with Harvey. In between these activities the mnemonic exercises will come out again. Maybe I should combine the two a little bit of rhythm and a little bit of good old country, I mean brain athleticism in training. Which is not physically tiring but sure is mentally.

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.