Smoking Grass

I've recently come back from a wonderful few days in the company of Sparkling Eyes. Rock Chick wasn't around as much as usual because she's earning a wage as a professional waitress and for her a taster of the working world and the reality of money is being had. She's having fun, but especially on pay day. Now don't that sound like a familiar story for most of us.

I went to B & Q with Sparkling Eyes and bought a box of lawn fertilizer and moss killer. It seemed quite a large box but the instructions said it was enough for a quarter of a tennis court. Sparkling Eye's lawn is about this size I thought. So with vigor I took hand fulls of this substance and cast it over the lawn like a farmer throwing out seed on a freshly ploughed field. With pride in my step I looked for each patch of grass where the weeds were particularly thick and scattered a little extra. Sounds like a Bank advertising commercial that bit. I'll admit at this point not knowing what to expect. My reading of the instructions was cursory. Because if I had read them closer and understood what the effects were going to be I'd of done just a small patch of grass rather than the whole lot.

Half a day later after a good soaking with the hose the lawn was not the same. It looked like it had been burnt in patches. Sparkling Eyes threw daggers at me. Not to mention a tongue lashing. Rock Chick piled on the guilt. Telling me it was Sparkling Eyes pride and joy going out into the garden. The little brat said what i had done was like killing Sparkling Eyes second child, the lawn. Yep. A little on the dramatic side i thought. But I had it. I was hung out, draw out and quartered in the smallest littlest chunks you could imagine. The Crows pecked out my eyes, but I clung onto life. And re-read the fertilizer box half a dozen times afterwards. No matter how many protestations I made, "in two to three weeks it will be fine" it was not good enough. Another poke to the eye. Rock chick giggled in delight at my castigation and nearly castration if I hadn't of been quick witted, off the mark and a fast fat-boy runner and hidden the knifes.

The days passed and I fetched my train home. Next time I hope to do things differently. Next time I'll get someone else to scatter the grass. And I'll be away, with an alibi. Some place where I can't be found and can't be blamed.

I'm sure the grass will look good shortly, but between now and the place it does look good I'd just better be afraid. Aware. And look over my shoulder.

Two right Flip-Flops

Got up this morning, and packed my kit for the gym. Went to work, earn a living and then swetted out a bucket or two on a cycling machine, because my knees are playing up and I've pulled a muscle running. Cycling is the easier option. Hit the changing room. Pulled out my towel, shower gel and shampoo and then dropped the flip-flops on the floor. Two right feet, one with England written on the other with palm trees. There was no choice. So i but them on and walked around in circles for 20 minutes eventually finding the showers.

Memo to self, always make sure i have one right foot and one left foot flippy-floppy.

Haven't had a chat with Sparkling Eyes for a few days, or so it seems. Some one pass it on the grape-vine I miss her and hope all is well.

Now to put my slippers on, one right foot, one left foot. How fortunate genetics gave us 2 different feet otherwise we'd always be chasing our tails.

Stuck in Utopia

I been playing an online game which has taken up the time i'd usually spend writing BLOGS. Silly of me really, coz in reality I get a lot more out of this online diary. But incase anyone is interested the link is above. It's a game about kingdoms and provinces in the 19th century. I have my own little province which is populated. Then i have to build things like Farms, Banks and Thieves Dens. I'm not alone. There's about 20 people in our kingdom, we then go to war or get into w war with other kingdoms. Boring and perhaps nerdy. Sparkling Eyes would see it as Nerdy, and i expect she's got a few other choices for it as well. Then again Sparkling Eyes watches Big Brother a reality TV program I'm sure everyone has heard about. But watching someone sleep or pluck their eye brows seems just as nerdy to me. Yet it can be addictive as well and I must admit to watching the odd episode myself.

I been wondering about running next year's London Marathon. It seems to be a thought playing on my mind. Although my belly would probably deny me the opportunity at the moment. My belly and my mouth, which enjoy food too much. So saying next year gives me a goal to aim for. To see if I can. I used to run some years ago and did half marathons. Then I was quite fit. I was asked many times if i'd ever run a full marathon and I said "no" because i thought those people were mad. Now though for some reason it doesn't seem so mad. What proportion of people in the world have ever run a marathon I wonder. If the numbers are small which i suspect they are then there must be some esteem in running the full distance. The only problem would be my IBS. But what an achievement. For the moment it appears as a light at the end of a tunnel. I can see it in the long distance and am in the process of making my mind up. It will get me fit, slimmer and it would raise money for charity. Something I always tried to do when I ran. Get sponsorship and donate it to a good cause. It's an additional factor which pushed me along.

London is hot. Scotland is wet and cooler. I'm a little blue coz Sparkling Eyes has not contacted me today, even though i sent a sorry text. Yep, as well as having a fat belly I got a big head. The two go together, big head, big belly. Now a marathon in London, yes that would be something. With 30,000 people I'd have to reduce my belly otherwise there'd be a few knocked over. I only hope Sparkling Eyes don't see me at the finishing line and whip the medal off from around my neck. I doubt if I'd be able to catch her after 26 miles, that is so unfair.

P.S. this is my 100th BLOG on "Making Sense"

I saw the Tour De France

About 40 minutes ago I saw the Tour De France. It is the first time since 1994 it has been in this country (UK). And I only just about got there in time to see them. Just up the road from where I live. It wasn't quite as close as I originally thought so it meant a quick march until I was on the route. With a little bit of a jog. During my short legwork towards the cycling route, there was something which struck me. It was silence. Few people few cars. It was like a scene out of one of those disaster movies. Erie. Scarce traffic, and of the cars on the road they were being diverted around the Tour De France route. Within 2 minutes of arriving at the road side it all started. Something I have never seen before. Something I was excited about seeing and although exceedingly brief it was an amazing sight. Amazing.

Though not quite what I expected. The first wave was motorcycles, closely behind were cars. It seemed there were hundreds. As the motorcade passed lights were flashing and horns blowing. People lining the road leaned and stepping into the road to try and get a better view. Straining their necks, squinting their eyes, desperately trying to make out the first cyclists which had to behind this frenzied stampede. Leaning in was dangerous because of the speed of the traffic. Which was fast. Maybe about 45 mph or more where normally the speed limit is 30 mph. In an instance it was almost quite again, but there they were. A massive grouping of cyclists. What struck me was their speed as well. I was on an incline and the cyclists must of been doing 35 mph or more going up it. I had my camera ready and snapped away as many pictures as I could get but, they were so fast I was lucky if I got 3 or 4 photos of them. The speed.

It was remarkable to see the size of the bicycles and their riders. The wheels and the way they athletically pumped their peddling legs. Heads down. Always taking the shortest route as the road bent round suddenly the cyclists bunched into the bend. Pounding away up the hill. And then it was over. A few breaths and they were gone. They will be cycling for another 4 hours and it will finish in Canterbury.

OK memo to self, hit gym next week, and cycle my little leggies off like a lunatic. I'm now inspired. I wonder if I should get a bike and cycle to work. Then I'd have to get the yellow jersey, well maybe not yellow, perhaps a shade of dark blue, am not quite up to the yellow jersey standard. Hey Sparkling Eyes do you think I'll look good in yellow?

Birthday Party

Being invited to an 18th birthday party on a Friday night is an unusual thing for me. It was full of various events, which would not happen in normal circumstances. Like Sparkling Eyes getting into a conversation with a pair of teenage Soprano's, they just had some kind of bent on killing, and suggested an underworld connection with a nefarious group. Well one of them did. Personally I think it was because they wanted to impress Sparkling Eyes. Seeing Rock Chick get so tipsy and even say things which could be held against her when she's sobre. Love is so free when it's been enticed from a bottle of alcopop. Screaming neighbours telling, not asking, there be no more fireworks, although they had all been let off. Asbo officials who wanted to issue a fine and an ASBO (Anti-social-behaviour-order), and of course police. One police woman with an attitude who wanted to arrest the hostess because the hostess dared to speak back and give an opinion. Problem is when the hostess was a little tipsy herself. Otherwise there would of been no excuse to lock her up and suit her in striped pajamas.


In my various stages of inebriation perceptions of events change. Knocking back each bottle of beer a different narrative occurs. The little voice in the back of my head gives a running commentary of what's going on. Sometimes it's so interesting I just sit and listen to it wishing I was writing everything down or even had a voice recorder. Problem is, the ramblings of a half drunk may very well be just ramblings of a half drunk to someone who is sobre. Unfortunately I never carry a pen and note pad either. Don't matter. But the routine is usually the same, beginning with 1. what do i say? 2. lets eat something. 3. I think I'll just sit here and 4. I am so pissed I love everyone. Such are the stages of inebriation. And of course a continuing annoyance at whoever is controlling the CD player because for some reason they keep skipping the tracks I like. BASTARDS!!!!

At just after 3 a.m. I escorted Sparkling Eyes back home. Rock Chick had walked ahead with her pal the hyper and probably drunk Effervescent Eva. We all slept in, Rock Chick had a hang over which lasted 2 days. Mine lasted a morning, Sparkling Eyes of course never gets one. Which must be something do with her constitution. As for Rock Chick even saying she loved me as a step-father, she later recanted this saying it was a comment she made so I'd get her lots of presents. Damn, an I believed it. Thing is when I'm drunk I can't help but speak garbage, truthful garbage. And then pass out my love to every Tom Dick and Henry about. Next time I'll take a tape recorder, not just for my benefit, I could blackmail other's later. Who knows what may come out. Personally, I hope they keep it tucked away and don't let it out unless it's on film, camera, or voicemail.

Making Gravy

Last weekend I did it, this week end i repeated it, Yes, I believe I am now a champion gravy maker. It was a matter of powdered Bisto not the granule kind which has hydrogenated fats in it but the flour kind. The real stuff. The technique is so simple, but so tasty.

So I wont tell and will keep it to myself. It's taken years. Years. Well no actually just a matter of reading the instructions and following them. Now this is unusual because sometimes reading instructions doesn't help, especially when they have been written in Japanese. Especially in furniture flat-pack construction. Nope. just read the instruction on a pack of Bisto and your gravy will (fingers-crossed) be perfect.

The day has been quite, not much done except for the gravy and now all of a sudden I'm thinking of all the things I could of done. It's like my brain's in second gear and going backwards. I suppose were I a woman I would of done a 100 different things. Lucky I'm not then.

From a 6 year old's perspective

Little Monster boy is growing taller, today he really does look like his full 6 years of age. I tried to tell him about my exercising and putting on weight. He was not bothered. He said he was not bothered. While he drew pictures of Cybermen.

If only I were 6 again. I am often accused of being imature, even child like. In all the reality of this world being child like is a welcome distraction. Now being fat might make it easier for Cybermen to catch me. So now I know where to get my inspiration. Treadmill tomorrow here I come.

Air conditioning in the house of pain

It is a gruelling confession to make when I say Sparkling Eyes gave me the additional elbow to get healthy again and go to the gym. She was concerned i might collapse doing the garden some time. So now I'm in my 4th week of accepting pain. It's hard going. The 21st century has refined the art of torture and legalised it. Instead of whips, chains, water, racks and burning hot irons I pay for it each month. Go on a voluntary basis and then kid myself it was fun. Nope, not for me. Not now when I'm now an old git who loves to sofa sit. Which is all the more reason to run my socks off when given the chance. The worse thing is over the last 2 weeks the air conditioning has been out. The swet box really is a swet box.

Things could be worse, I could be dead. Sparkling Eyes told me about a neighbour of her's who has recently passed away. I was sorry to hear the news (God rest the neighbour's soul). Then Sparkling went on to remind me how more stressful a life she has than I. I agree. Sparkling Eyes is a wonderful woman, not because she would tell me to say it but because she is and she hasn't told me to say it. She then advises I could kick the bucket because of any number things and because of the way I've led my life. Like eating food cooked with Lard when I was a kid. I suppose I should lay off the chips nowadays then. Hope is all I have, hope those earlier years of growing up on fried bacon sandwiches and other fatty stuffs doesn't get me before the tread mill, multi gym, Swiss ball, rowing machine or fixed cycle. For now I'll just do my best to stop the paranoia kicking in things could be worse.

When concerns are cowering overhead think of happy things. Ice cream, chocolate a good hot madras with poppadoms, nan and dips hmmm. A cold glass of Rose wine and a good movie. Such delightful thoughts are the side effect of exercise and belly-neglect. If only exercise brought as much happiness as a cold pint in the pub or my rubbing Sparkling Eyes feet. Well better add another 5 minutes next session and owe a foot rub or two for someone who deserves them more then I the madras.

Won Ton Noodle and the British Museum

Friday night Green Car man texted me and asked if I'd like to go out and do something, so on Saturday the musketeers went into London. The Agenda was to visit the British Museum and peruse the Egyptian collection. Check out some mummies, coz all the daddies had absconded. Look at old written text on bits of wall and view loads of statues. Except from the start of this exhibition I had a hankering for one thing, it was Won Ton noodle. I could see the steam coming up from the bowl. The noodles nice and fresh seated there and around the edges of the noodles sank in the soup those wonderful dumplings. The image appeared to be haunting me, Green Car man mentioned I has referred to this dish a few times during the day. Yes, my stomach was thinking for me. So what. Yep another inch on my belly.
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The museum was wonderful. They have put an massive atrium to cover an area which used to be in the open. It's called the Great Court Yard. The floor is marble-like and the room is vast. It is wonderful piece of architecture. This is the first time I have seen this piece of modernisation. And the word which came out of my mouth when I walked in there was WOW. I was amazed by it. The natural lighting was superb. I bought my friends a book mark each. It was odd because I went in the museum shop and thought that looks nice, it was cheap and represented Egypt. Then the musketeers each picked one up. So at the counter I found myself purchasing 3 book marks where I had intended only to get the one. When we finished our tiring amble of the museum we went outside for a rest lay down and it wasn't long before I heard the snores of my compatriots. We are getting old I thought

In the museum I was struck by two groups going round on tour. One was of Muslim boys the other of Muslim girls. It was obvious because they each had traditional Muslim clothing on. The girls I felt so sorry for. Nearly every single one was covered from head to toe in black apparel. They must of been so uncomfortable on such a hot day. And again my personal view of women becoming second class citizens because of man's interpretation of religious text and writing of religious text came to mind. But more than this, part of me sees this as a disrespect to my own British culture. An unwillingness to be accepted as British. And I know for some this can be offensive. But it's religion. Sad as it is, in the name of religion the worse acts of humanity are found. Some one's religion has certainly got to be up the creek. Or rather someone's interpretation of it is.

The day finished with, you can guess, hmmmmm Won Ton noodle, which was as equally superb as sight seeing the British Museum. It's not served up by mummys fortunately but then if it was it could be just a little dusty. I'd hate to have an embalmed Won Ton I like mine in soup thank-you-very-much.

Back to the Slammer Paris

Sparkling Eyes sent me a text message about how annoyed she was when Paris Hilton girl-born-with-a-platinum-spoon-in-her-mouth, had been allowed out of Jail. The Sheriff had put her under house arrest after only serving 3 days of her sentence. Paris was distraught, she just doesn't have the mental savvy when it comes to wearing stripes. Perhaps they don't match her blond hair. Or maybe it's the having to mix with common people. Alternatively there may of been some big butch lesbian who has made a claim on Paris and is going to make Paris her very own bitch. I certainly could see Paris getting edgy over it. Then to the world's surprise to be let out. Sparkling Eyes was quaking in anger. Talk of back-handers was dropped between lines. Personally I think the Sheriff had a soft spot for Paris, her being one of the beautiful people and he decided to oil the jail door just so she could leave.

However, lets not forget why Paris was incarcerated. She had been caught a number of times intoxicated while driving. The judge had passed what is a very apt sentence. After all isn't it through drunk drivers other innocent people die? Isn't it usually unthinking incompetent stupid actions of drunk drivers which result in the life time of family misery. Where beloved relatives are never given the chance to be seen again, suddenly snatched from existence. No goodbyes, gone. If the judge decided Paris should go to jail then surely her sentence and the lesson she gains from it could save the life of someone. For what would happen if on the 4th occasion drunk while under the influence someone is slaughtered?

So it is with a hop in my step and an inner happiness I heard in the news Paris has been ordered back to jail to finish her sentence. What wonderful news. I do realise there is a little bit of malevolence in this, because although Paris is pretty distressed over being deprived of her liberty, I don't care. Even better still she just happens to be one of the rich elite and of course beautiful people. The type who don't know how tough the real world is. Such other's coming under this grouping would be Royalty and Old Money.

Yes, I'd say stick them all in jail for a short refresher of the hard stuff. Lets just hope there are enough butch lesbians and hairy Lifers to go round.

PJs at lunch time

The day is beautiful, the is sun out and it's nice and hot. I whereas find there are no muskateers to do a thing and sit in my PJs. I'd of normally rang up Sparkling Eyes but for now I am not inclined to do so. So instead, I drink a cold, cold alcoholic beverage and the gentle swathes of happy mild intoxication decend. Lovely.

Such a light weight, but I don't care. It's my day to chill, sit back speak to not a soul and recharge. So yes, lunch time and still in PJs need a shave and missed the post man and a delivery from Amazon. Oh well have to wait to next week now.

IBS in Cambridge

Green car man rang me up. As the bank holiday was approaching the three musketeers decided to do something. A brief morning of negotiations and we were to hit Cambridge. I'd never been to Cambridge and was looking forward to it, however my belly had other ideas. The morning was filled with belly belly illness. Irritable Bowel Syndrome(undiagnosed as Sparkling Eyes would remind me) I'd been to the loo 5 times before 11 a.m. and eventually went to the chemist for some pills. Perhaps this was an omen of the day. Cloud has been gathering over London and the Weather reports were equally ominous. Yep, another bank holiday and we were likely to have rain. Just maybe my belly belly was tied into it.

We got to Cambridge after an hour and half of driving, and following the directions on Tom Tom (GPS/Road navigation system)speaking out when it felt the need. Cambridge is a small city, mostly populated with incredibly grand old buildings, but it's got some very nice modern shops as well. I think because it is a pretty much established Towny kind of place it was never meant for cars, or certainly any overly heavy traffic. We got a Park and Ride bus into Cambridge which only took ten minutes. There are 31 different colleges in Cambridge all with their own Coat of Arms and some with Latin type of name (e.g. Corpus Christi, Darwin College, Magdalene College, Trinity Hall ect). The population appeared to be majorly white and young. I must admit a slight dizzy feeling seeing this population make up. My own area is very, very multicultural. I could go into long ramblings about the educated white society and the poor working class background of most people, but I'll not. Cambridge has a smallish river on it's outskirts, this is called the Carn. It's a pleasant Towny place, one which has a calmness about it and you'd like to live in. One away from the Urban problems places like London, Birmingham, Liverpool might have. Should I say this was my impression for I know little about Cambridge other than this afternoon visit.

One of the must do things when in Cambridge is to go on a boat and be punted around along the river. Then back again. But we didn't get to do this. I was to blame. For at this point my 7 month pregnancy which had been staring me in the gym mirror 3 times this week became a 9 month rock hard soccer ball. If I weren't a man (which Sparkling Eyes would say I was more of a woose) I would of been in contractions and screaming. The belly belly was kicking in. What discomfort it was as well. I disappeared off to try and find a toilet. While my 2 musketeer companions stood around the Punt station and were accosted several times by men who wanted their custom (for a ride on a Punt that is, nothing else). The cost of a ride reduced as each man gave them a slip of paper with a quote for 3 persons. It began at £10 each then eventually dropped to £6 each. They must of looked like bait by the Carn, each fishy wanting a bite. Business was slow for the old chaps today. I'm sorry we didn't get to do the punt. I hate my belly, but I got to live with it.


Later that evening I got drunk on wine and the IBS had subsided. If it were a little homunculus I'd of killed him several times over. Throttled the life out of the little bugger. And he's gotta be resident in my belly the little shit. Whatever you do, whoever you are don't ever get IBS. Mind the getting drunk bit was good. I'll now debate the rest of the morning whether to hit the gym again. Or just go an have my baby.

This last picture is what a homonculus looks like, except in my case I got my hands round his neck.

The Unusual Mannequin

On passing a clothes shop I had to look twice. It’s not something I’d usually do, but it was one of those I-can’t-believe-it moments. A male dummy stood in the window, wearing a hat, T-shirt and jeans and it looked really quite fashionable, at first glance. Except on second glance there was an appreciable difference to other male dummys. In particular because of two things pointing out. This male mannequin had tits.

It reminded me of a couple of events. How as a slowly increasing pot bellied man I’ve began to acquire my own mammaries much to my own embarrassment. It’s a weight thing, and of the time when I went in the men’s changing room to change for gym, I was slimmer then. I saw a body builder put on his T-shirt, replete with his very own size A’s. It was like seeing something you didn’t want to see but at the same time couldn’t help watching. Kind of macabre. The worse thing was they were actually saggy. It’s also at times like this you can’t but question your own sexuality. I wondered, did I stare because it was weird or was it because of some underlying sexual fantasy of wanting my own boobs to play with? I hope it was the first.

If anyone was into steroids this was the kind of incident would likely send a chilling message. But still with weight gain I’ve noticed men gain a little extra where they’d rather shouldn’t, not if they’re a man.

I passed the shop and couldn’t help laugh. Fortunately I’ve been to the gym twice this week. That’s twice in 5 months. Maybe next time I’ll do an extra 5 minutes on the tread mill. And not too energetically, I don’t want my little boobs bobbing about and people getting to ogle at them.

The bells, the cat, the pidgeons

This morning I woke up at 2 a.m. it was the phone. I could hear it and it must of rang through my subconscious state. But as I stirred and I'm not talking about stirring the milk in my tea. Stirring and flickered into consciousness it struck me I had pulled the phone socket out. But being not quite sure, and thinking maybe I hadn't I trampsed downstairs. Checked the phone and it was dead. Checked the socket and I had indeed pulled it out. I endeavoured to get back to sleep and did so without to many problems, except at first my heart was pumping faster.

I woke up again. This time I wasn't sure what the time was because I couldn't be bothered to rouse enough out of my half sleeping state. I could hear the cat meowing so purposefully chose to ignore the racket and drifted off again. Heart not going so erratically.

Again I woke and now the early morning light was beginning to come through. But I considered it to still be too early to be worth getting up. With no idea of what the time was I closed my eyes. A little while later, I heard wood pigeons and managed to push them out of my mind drifting back into slumber.

I got up and it was just after 6 a.m. an early start but I'd of rather it had been 7 a.m or even 7:30 a.m ish. The radio on I heard the news, the main part being about the Cutty Sark catching on fire. I wondered why I had heard the phone ring when I knew I had pulled it out. When I thought I had heard the cat, but it was way too early for the cat to stir, he's lazy and doesn't get up till he hears your up. I wondered about the pigeons something I could not predict had really made any noise. If the other two events weren't real did the pigeons exist either?

And the day went on.

Snow storm

I was listening to the radio this morning and a phrase struck me. The words were "a snow storm of speculation" it just kind of brought an image to mind describing a political event. Playing with words and using them in such an inventive and unusual way is something which can only enrich the language we use each day. Though at the moment there's actually more rain here than snow.

There was also some words in Latin. Just casually dropped in the conversation. It seems at times English is inadequate to describe a theme. I'm going to make a list of a number of Latin phrases I've come across and their meaning. Useful ones, or just one's which can be dropped in any conversation. So although Latin is described as a dead language, it's not entirely true. Further it seems an injustice such words are only spoken by persons considered more knowledgeable than others. If Latin were a subject at school we'd all know what it was and not let this cloud of pomposity effect vision. No it might be a dead language but the thing is you don't have to be idiot by not using it. In fact I am sure we all do to some extent but in ignorance.

Watch this space for some Latin words.

Return to Fish

I returned back to the Fish Factory today, and had to do my bit at a small convention of Ritz Keepers. A short interval in the morning and I'd got the gist of what was going on. The fishes could all get gutted without proper representation in one big swoop of fish factory changes. Well life goes on.

Sparkling Eyes is off seeing Travis tonight in tow with Rock Chick and her energetic pal Hyper girl. I'm not. I'll stick a CD on and remind myself what they sound like. I know they will have fun. Back to the grind stone after a week in the company of Sparkling Eyes. Things wont quite be the same. But if I'm really luck it wont rain on me every day. So I will not be either blue and particularly yellow, I'll just Sing, everything will be alright.

Night all.

Not a woose

Some one I know has a little problem, or maybe not. He'll watch a movie or listen to music he likes and for some reason just cries. This leaves the poor old sod open to jibes of "woosey" and "you got more hormones than a woman" but he can't help it, he's just sensitive to things. And a nice bloke as well. Or maybe it's just better to let it out than keep it in. Crying I hear is actually good for you, the tears we release also take away chemicals or so 'they' say, which are built up through the stress of everyday living. Although I'm not entirely sure of who "they" happen to be, I'm sure it's true though.

I've spent a wonderful week away in the company of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. I got told off for being untidy. For being lazy, for being a woose for enticing Rock Chick into arguments. But regardless there were a few laughs along the way. I found as I was leaving Rock Chick actually smiled rather than bite my head off. She has a very nice smile although this seems to be matched by a liking for the macabre, such as TV shows about killers or even books about them. That's not to mention horror movies. Sparkling Eyes as usual is an unusual and beautiful woman challenging me whenever she so felt the need. I expect I deserved every bit of it, but regardless I come back for more, it must be something to do with loving her. Funny thing love. It sure makes into a different person, unless you happen to be a woose already.

I tried the advice of Bonner man, a gentle giant who looks more like a don't-mess-with-me-giant cos he'll eat you alive. I tried to develop the stare. It's the special stare you give when a man has to give it. One which warns others, you mean business. I spent all of 3 seconds looking in the mirror to perfect it. And am afraid it didn't work. Rock Chick saw through me. In a turn of events she then gave me her version of the stare. It worked. Bloody woose. That will be the last time I take Bonner man's advice.

Tony its about time

Wonderful news hit the headlines yesterday. Tony Blair will resign his post on the 27th June 2007, and the nation is sighing in relief. He nearly but not quite apologised for being a poodle to Bush. Unfortunately there is only one contender for the next Presidency of the UK. Gordon holds-the-purse-strings Brown. And today it was Gordon who made it known he was the major contender. Except, he's going to be shadow boxing for the benefit of a farcical contest of one. No one will dare to stand in the ring against him. No character Gordon is holding all the cards, but not only this he has bunged the referee a few quid, stuck a horse shoe in his glove, and taken a concoction of amphetamines. He's now buzzing.

I'm not a Tory supporter and maybe this is why I have come to get a cold shiver with old Tony. Because Tony has been more Tory than many Tories have been. Yet at the same time Gordon doesn't actually instill confidence. I get the feeling he is a control freak. It is with this feeling I'd go so far as to make a prediction. within the next 2 to 3 years, Labour will be plagued with in-fighting. At this stage parliament will take on a different appearance.

In contrast Scotland have elected a new party to run the business, it's the Scottish Nationalist Party SNP. I feel happiness for Scotland, they are a brave proud people who deserve their own governance. Best of all they don't have a queen or royal family. Perhaps they might like to take on a little bit of England's royalty. We could ship a couple up there, just so they don't feel out of place. However, for some reason I don't think they'd get through the border. I don't blame the Scots.

Tony's out YES. Hey anyone got a job for an ex prime minster. Well trained and pretty good poodle impersonator.

Too much of a good thing

Yesterday was one of those days where I'd had too much of a good thing. Food. It seems when I was a growing up kid and teenager there never was enough of it about. Especially with siblings being just as voracious. But now I'm somewhat grown up, there's shed loads of it. The problem is I'm eating shed loads of it as well. So slowly each year my girth expands. Now I feel bloated. I can just about see my toes over my belly and am possibly on the cusp of turning. Turning into something quite large. Of all the things to lose, weight has got to be the hardest. I don't exercise like I did some years ago, and in reality to maintain myself all I probably need to do is eat like a sparrow. Which might be OK for sparrows but human beings it's harder to do. Humans need substance to eat, the more the merrier, well to a point.

Anyway, this morning I'm on a train to see Sparkling Eyes. I doubt whether I'll get much exercise stuck in a seat for over 8 hours. Now if exercising my brain burnt of the calories it would be a little easier. I could sit and deliberate. But no. I have to be made out of a skeleton, and muscles and everything else. I am organic. An animal. I need my exercise. It's just a shame thinking about it don't count. Oh well better get off. Am sure Sparkling Eyes can find some jobs for me to do. OK it might be mowing the lawn or painting or some other house related odd job thing, but at least I'll be doing something. In the meantime Rock Chick will likely poke me with something sharp. Lucky they don't have cattle prods where I'm off to, I'd hate to be welcomed by "moooooooooo" and "here's something I prepared earlier." I've never thought electric shock therapy worked, thank heavens it's a vacation.

I'm quite happy really. It's just these bloody jeans, I do so wish they weren't so tight.

De-stressing

In 18 more posts I'd of reached that 100 mark, bloody amazing. Even though it's not quite a year, with a little luck I'll reach it just as the year of BLOG writing is marked.

The Fish Factory has been exceptionally busy. So much my in bucket has about 200 assorted fishes thrashing about needing processing. Some of them make a bigger splash than others. And the odd one is having little fishes to exacerbate the problem. In addition there's another 100 plus hidden items in a backlog bucket which has been kicked under the counter so far I can't see it. It wasn't me who kicked it there. Fortunately. It was my immediate big fish, his idea was if we can't see it then we'll be able to do more work. Or something along those lines. So all in all mid week I'd reached pretty high levels of stress. Fantasies of murder were on my mind. The kind you have to help relief the situation.

Then it hit me. I think it was the Thursday it hit me. It hit me with the revelation I would soon be seeing Sparkling Eyes. Oh boy do I need some company with her. She'll put everything right, or she'll cause me to think so much about her I don't have time to think about anything else. Which is probably more of the case. Not to mention Rock Chick shooting arrows at me, sticking me with a cow prod and seeing what the highest voltage is I can take. OK, it may sound sadistic but it's all in the best possible repartee, with a lot of fun. Which reminds me, Rock Chick said something about getting her a present. And it's not even her birthday, it was just because she things I should. It's Sunday. The next 2 days are holidays. I suppose I could hatch one out of an egg, I'll just sit here concentrate hard and see if anything happens.