Head all over the place

I know I've been neglecting my BLOG, it could be not having many people comment, or the low count on the page counter. But sometimes it's a matter of weighing out time writing against some other outlet. Such as spent with feet up reading a book, or better listening to one. Nope I should be a bit more active. As Sparkling Eyes will all ways say, after she's given me a full and complete opinion.

Easter is over. The talkatives came over for a visit. It was cold out and had even snowed but didn't settle. Can you believe it, in March of all times? I took Little Princess, and her two brother's talkative out for a walk to the woods. Also not forgetting the mad, absolutely mad dog. Being as the first ten minutes of the walk I found I was the only one talking, I then advised the boys they had to talk to me in turn. About anything they could think of. Yes, I'd put them under pressure. But then they are my nephews and I'm not really going to know much about them unless they tell me. After all Mrs Talkative talks far too much for anyone else to get a word in. It worked half way. There was difficulty in their conversation, yet at least they made the effort and I actually learnt something about them. It is like they are unwilling passengers whenever I take them out, but I always give them the free choice to come or stay in doors. I hope they like me, and if they don't I'd love to hear them tell me and their reasons why. It would be better than non participation.

On another day I went to see sister number 2 and her gang. She cooked leftover turkey and pasta. It didn't excite my taste buds. They were craving. But it was lunch. I'd even turned down a mate of mine who had offered lunch. The thought of refusing a good curry in a restaurant played a melody of regret in my belly. Well where family is concerned, you just have to do what you have to do. It's either this, or move to a foreign country. For some people this may be a reality, but I've always thought family should be close in vicinity. Unfortunately some families doesn't get on. For good reasons, petty reasons or bad reasons. They just don't. I only once heard a woman say she had a good childhood. Personally I thought she was a bit funny in the head. Families are dysfunctional, it's the way they are. Little House on the Prairie just don't exist in real life. Must get rid of the chip on my shoulder about the Dingle family, was that their name?

I am sorely missing Sparkling Eyes. It's been far too long since I last saw her. Amazing how it is the need of a hug, and having the Micky taken out of me is so good to have. Sparkling is doing so well giving up smoking. It must be 4 or 5 weeks now. Hmmm hope no ciggies doesn't mean she'll want to kill me next time I see her. Heck, she wants to throttle me smoking or not smoking, I can't win either way. But it's fun though. Yep, must make me crazy.

Signs of aging

It seems the signs of aging are making themselves a bit more explicit. Especially over the last few days. I look in the mirror in preparation for a shave and there's no denying it. Early in the morning I'm beginning to look ugly. Especially with the lines and shopping bags under my eyes. They just appear darker than normal. Must be the natural lighting from the morning sun, because it's getting brighter as well. Give me an electric light any day.

With aging comes worries of age related illnesses. So in another instance over the last few days I hear part of a radio program about Prostate Cancer. This is now moving me towards the hypochondria stage. Not only can I not escape eye bags, I got to think about whether my bladder is any different from what it was, in a more frequent way. Hell, I've always had a frequent bladder since whenever I can remember. Thing what made me think twice though was when an expert said 40% of men in their mid 40s have prostate cancer. Great, bloody great. So there's a high chance of anyone I know my age having it. Or perhaps even me. The only part positive thing the expert said was only 3% of those cases would be ones they'd have to look into. I know I shouldn't of checked out the web site they advised me of either. More food for the worry demons. If not the passing water demons.

Finally, for some completely unrelated reason I woke up at early this morning. It wasn't the bleary eyed wakefulness you get and go back to sleep kind. It was the, OK-it's-morning-lets-get-up kind. In a matter of moments I wondered about getting up. I knew it was early because it was still dark. I wondered well, if it was 5 a.m. then there would be no problem with having an early start and a long breakfast or listen to the radio. Just before I did this though I reached over and pulled the clock to my nose pressing the light button. Wonderful, it was 2:30 a.m., fortunately I managed to get back to sleep and woke up late.

I suppose it could of been worse. At least I did wake up, and at least I can moan and groan about my hopefully non existent health problems. So a big lunch and some chocolate and all was well again.

Moody week

It's been a moody week for me. It happened after a very short conversation I had with someone not to be named. Just to say, they way I was spoken to wasn't what I expected. But hell everyone has a bad day. But mine's lasted a week so far.

In my diary I generally write down the days I go to the gym. After finding I've been paying for my membership for a good few months and not using it I decided now was time to return. Get my monies worth. Or if not the full money, a few lose coins worth. So I counted the number of times I've done gym. It comes to 14 sessions. Not so much blood, but lots of gasping for air and sweat has been involved. I'm not entirely sure but I just might be losing a little bit of weight. A clue is in the need to keep pulling up my jeans. Not to say they are falling down. Just there happens to be a little more space in the girth. Not enough to go and buy a new wardrobe though.

My speciality is running. It's a funny thing is running. Because it's something you can't really cheat at. If the fitness is not there to run, then you're not going to be much good at it. The amazing thing is a lot of the poser types, or the young looking good types like to try and jog on the tread mill. The operative word here is try. I enjoy their company when they get a machine next to me. Especially, when they try, yes try, to actually run. They don't last long. They may look good, or look meaty with all those muscles, but their cardio vascular is ridiculous. I can't take on all comers. But, to date only one middle aged woman i've seen has the ability to run. She must be a freak of nature. Mind there is another very slim girl who can run very well, but hopefully by the time she turns up again, or ever returns to the gym, I might, just might be a little bit better than I am now. Unfortunately I'd probably have to lose a stone in weight, plus some. As for all the other young beautiful people, I can say they give me a wonderful feeling, yes wonderful. The 40+ fat man out runs them. What a blow it must be. I hope I am not gaining too much satisfaction from it, hell yes, a lot. At this moment it's been the funniest part of my week. I can see it now on the local tabloids. "Fat man beats body beautifuls on tread mill."

Go on Forest, run fat boy run!

Turner at the Thames

Looking out of the Fish Factory window I can see the Thames. Facing up towards the Thames Barrier. For the last few days cold air and thick fog has hit London, and the Thames, it's buildings either side and the snuffled hues of the sun have looked like a Turner painting. One where the mixes of colours are pastel in shade. Where there are no real defining features because the fog ensures a wedding viel effect. It is in short a beautiful sight to see. I advised my fellow fish gutters about it but they really didn't understand what they were looking at. Yes, fog, yes the light looks different, but it didn't sink in. I said it may be many years again before this sight is ever seen again. It fell on deft ears.

I got thinking, how many sunsets, how many days, how many nights, how many stars are seen in a life time? No matter how big the number, they are finite. Just as the people we know, the time we spend with them and the love we feel. I think of Sparkling Eyes and miss her.

Chinese New Year 2008 and yellow hair

Not having much to do and nearly waking up at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday is a bad combination. Even contemplating the notion of Gym from which I've established an endorphin high is a sign of having to get a life. But today in London Chinese New Year celebrations were on. The year of the rat. What it means I don't know. Just as with other years it's going to be a good year. I'm sure it will be. Being born in the rabbit year myself I think I'm suppose to get on ok with rat years. It sure is lucky they don't have vegetables, because I'd hate to be a cabbage. Though some might say if the hat fits wear it, no i'm no vegetable, a rabbit will do nicely.

I set off from home with big Moma and Little Monster boy. I was hoping it would be a wonderful experience for the Little Monster, but after finding he had set the ground rules I was just basically around to ensure I had a good time and he did whatever he wanted. Which was not much as the crowds were pretty thick. Monster enjoyed his snapping noise making packets of paper. Just dropping them on the ground they would then make a little bang. He is after all 7 years old and will be 8 this year. Moma was a bit apprehensive of the crowds but even she showed a bit of spirit and managed to push herself quite close to one of the dancing lions. I snapped a way with my camera. Moma spent money on little toys while I bought 3 very nice egg custard tarts. One for each of us. I ate mine first to find it was hot, it must of just come out of the oven and was delicious. But extortionately expensive at £1.50 per tart. Way too many tourists were about and all the stalls were making a killing. If I had slanted eyes and a bent for business I'd of had a stall as well.

I got home and made roast beef. The first time we'd had it in a few years, a real beef joint. I remember growing up and nearly having it each Sunday. So I now expect to get mad cows disease. It can take 30 or 40 years to gestate. The beef was good, done well with a very small hint of red in the middle. Nothing to notice. A little mustard and I was in heaven. I reached for my phone after lunch to check for messages.

Yep, Rock Chick's hair colour had changed again. Now it is yellow rather than orange or the very much desired blond. I sure hope Sparkling Eyes is ok. I'm sure Rock Chick has been having a bad couple of days and she would of gone crazy. Never mind. Could be worse though for a teenage girl I can't think how much worse.

Hair disaster is not a thing to make fun of

I messaged Sparkling Eyes on MSN. Her reply was brief and to the point. Rock Chick had a minor hair disaster. In reality a major hair disaster. It had turned orange. I requested Sparkling take a picture because it would make great blackmail material. However, I got chastised not to make fun, the situation was serious. Personally I've never had orange hair, not ever dying it has helped. A little grey coming through here and there, but no orange. I messaged a laugh, and got chastised again. Wondering how her hair got orange and whether she had read the instructions I went on and asked had Rock Chick put it on herself? The reply was no Sparkling had done the deed. Ooops. Now I can see why it was a disaster movie in one evening, teenage girl goes mad at parent. Police called. "Yes sir, it was a mess" said a bystander "her eyebrows just didn't match." It's not the end of the world. A new hair colour is only a bottle away.

I chuckled to myself as imagination took off. Orangutan's, ginger nuts, satsuma's and Tango. Then got sworn at, I was having way too much fun. Even a few hundred miles away I can get into trouble. But I'll keep my hair on, until I got bald though not too quickly I hope.

The never ending ten minute delay

I got to the train station this evening and watching the indicator board my train would be due in twelve minutes. In exasperation I wondered whether to get a bus. It was dark. I wanted to get home quick, not have a slow trundle. Even though the snail like speed of a bus may have got me there faster, just like the fable of the hare and tortoise. Waiting on the platform I then checked out the indicator a good two or three minutes had passed. Except now my train was equally delayed by three minutes.

Before going to the station I considered the pub. In the end I wanted to get home, I'd requested overtime and have to get up early tomorrow. Yet I could of been sociable and had a pint or a soda and lime seeing as I was coming back from the gym. Yep the second time in at least four months. It'll almost make my gym membership worth it.

In pensive mind I glanced up again the board, the seconds flipped, but the minutes were killing me. Now I've been here a full ten minutes the train is still delayed by another ten minutes. It's like I am getting no where fast. In fact I can see the second train due at the same time as the first. There it goes. Even the second train is delayed. Which is good because I sure don't know how they could of squeezed two trains on the same single stretch of track. I'm still waiting. Getting nowhere thinking of home. Also of how packed this stretched limosine which is not on time will be. Or not be. As the case will be.

It arrives. Only 25 minutes waiting. Another five mintues and I'll be at my own station stop. Altogether a round lovely 30 minutes. The bus? Yep, might of got there just a few minutes earlier had it come immediately.

A little older, a little wiser, a little bit understanding. You just can't lead a Ass anywhere if he don't want to go but at least his excrement makes good manure.

Dreams of being a Chef and a train watcher

This morning I woke up to a wierd dream, but then most dreams I remember are weird. This time I was a chef, being taught by a famous celebrity. Possibly Gordon Ramsey. Except I had to keep leaving the kitchen and returning to a hotel. There at the hotel I noticed either myself or one of the other chefs had a big tray of in their bed. It was the kinda tray you put bread into, I checked the bed and the tray was full of packages which looked like loafs. They were not. They were in fact tightly rapped bundles of money. Each loaf looking bundle of money was £17 million. I had a problem counting them, being as I was alseep and estimated in my mind there to be about 24 or so loafs. And wondered why the owner of them, whether it was me or someone else was doing a course on being a chef when they had so much money. Prominent to this dream though was the tray. Because each bundle was neat and tidy and just like loafs of bread. I got no idea what it means. However, yesterdays dream was again along the same lines.

Yesterday, I dreamed I was at some really big factory place museum. And I was following a mate round. The museum was full of old trains. Work men were in the process of digging pits which cradled the trains in them. They were all pretty orderly. My friend wanted to find a particular train by a well known old train engineer. Again one of the prominent points of this dream was the orderly manner in which the trains were placed.

Well I'll wonder what tonights dream will be about?

If anyone has an interpretation your welcome to leave a comment.

Aliens clone Teenage girls

Yes it is true. I completely and utterly believe a significant proportion of teenage girls are being cloned by aliens. Abducted and the clone returned to earth. It is the only logical explanation. For teenage girls in England are all beginning to sound the same. The thing about it is they look different from each other. Just by looking you'd think each of them would be unique. I suppose they can't really return them back to earth all looking the same. I mean, parents would get somewhat suspicious. The thing is though, as soon as they open their mouths and say something, anything, it becomes true. It's the words spoken and it's how they are spoken these all add up to Alien. It's not because these words are different, it's because they are the same. The tone of voice, the expressions used, they are all the same.

This afternoon after a long walk, about 3 and a bitty miles I decided to go for a Chinese. Sat down at a table, me, Mr No Mates Crazyfirdayman ordered a delicious seafood in black bean sauce on rice and waited. Within a few minutes two teenage girls entered. They sat somewhere behind me. I had barely noticed them as they came in. But then as they began to chat to each other I thought one of the voices sounded familiar. Yes it did, no doubt about it. The voice, the words, the expressions, the tone all were the same as my teenage niece. I didn't turn round because if it was her she might feel embarrassed. I listened and thought at some point she would talk about something or say a name which I knew. Then I'd be 100% sure. I sat, ate and waited. She didn't. Simple because it was not my niece. It was an alien clone facsimile of a teenage girl. Which sounded like my niece. So closely I was fooled. Well nearly, fortunately being of sound mind and Sherlock Holmes like powers of deduction I could tell. I was not being fooled.

The alternative could be present day teenage girls do come from a certain background, a mould, a cultural homogeneity which tends to make them all drift towards an average or norm of what they should be like. How incredibly boring this alternative would be to the world. Imagine they have no separate personalities, they all talk about the same things, in the same way and wear or look as similar as far as they can. They are therefore no longer individuals or different. Hell, I like the alien theory better. Because if these teenage girls happen to be undercover lizards like in the old TV series called "V" then we can treat them to a few rats or pigeons. Now where would I get the pigeons from. I know. Better give my niece a call and ask her round for lunch some time. I'll not worry about cutlery.

Returned with a Chicken Pox Warning

I returned from Scotland to London today. As I left sheets of sleet obscured vision, chilly air spewed forth clouds of frosted breath and I got on a 4 minute delayed train. An old and slightly odd couple sat on the other side of the carriage from me. Odd, because they talked with plums in their mouth. As though brought up from some rich or middle class background. I settled into my seat facing forward and time flew by. Taking a look out of the window at York the inevitable flooded field and high stream threatened to drown the city. But some how it clings on to an imaginary boy. Maybe donut shaped. It bobs up and down and fortunately the train line remains dry as do the stones surrounding them. The train trundled on towards London and I sent a text message to Sparkling Eyes.

After a returned text asking if I'd received the other text messages she had tried to send me, the news came. Yep. Typical and something to make me sweat with dread besides the creeping onset of flu. One of our party from the log cabin had come down with Chicken Pox an adult not a child. He must of been a carrier for the days he was there amongst us. This is very bad news. I've had the pox which means I'd be in line for the Shingles and what gruesome stories I've heard about them. Great. Shingles+Flu=lurgies. My head is aching bad enough as it is. I don't want to drown myself in sorrows of hypochondria, or worse the real thing, but I can't help being a pessimist at times. It's a different thing thinking you could be having a brain hemorrhage because you smell toast in the morning and nobody is making toast. However, Shingles is not what I had in mind. I spoke to Rock Chick on the phone and let her know. She to thinks she could be having a brain embolism. Even though I said it only occurs if you smell something which is not there. In the meantime Sparkling Eyes tells me about the bump on her back, oozing out a puss from the recently applied poultice. Hey and to note if I get the Flu guess who gave it to me.

Tomorrow is a day in the fish factory. Shortly I'll have a picture or two sent to me of the wonderful surprise party we had for Sparkling Eyes. I might just stick it on here for all to see. The one I have in mind is where I'm wearing a Robin outfit, the other half to Batman. Lets not talk about how tight it was, or how fat I am.

Well something good to look forward to, the pox.

Scared by log cabin ghost story

It's about two in the morning, behind a closed door was a living room. The TV had stopped playing from a DVD left in continuous loops. Somewhere music was could be heard. Sparkling Eyes decided she had a desire for fruit juice. The log cabin we slept in was big, it had 5 bedrooms and all were occupied. Except our bedroom was alone. Upstairs. Sparkling had to walk through the open planned lounge area into the kitchen. I slept on, barely aware Sparkling had arisen to quench her first. A few moments later, she returned to bed. Elbow. Elbow. Slight pain, followed by the inevitable question "are you awake?" From a drowsy sleep I replied "yes, darling." Unfortunately for me I should of pretended to still be asleep but I didn't. For now Sparkling was to tell me what had just happened.


She'd left the room for juice and walked into the kitchen. Then Sparkling felt a tingle go down her back, it was as though could fingers had gently touched her spine. Hence a shiver. Spine tingling shiver. The Karaoke machine was playing a CD, so she turned it off. Turning around and about to head into the kitchen area Sparkling noticed a chair had been moved. It was in a different position from when she'd originally entered this area. There was a presence, Sparkling felt something, as though it was trying to get to her, it was around her. Closing in. Surrounding. Dare I say, as though it wanted to overtake her, to possess. So it was time to get out she returned back to bed. Woke me, from sleep bleary eyed I listened, becoming more alert as she described what had happened. I was being pulled in like a fish being realed after taking a peck and some very delicious looking bait. Then came the request.

"Darling, would you go and get me some juice?" My response was "I'm asleep, tired" not very good because I was still able bodied. I should of replied along the lines of "sorry darlink, I'm crippled, my legs wont work, and blind, nope just can't move a foot," this would of had more of an effect. Not good enough. I was pushed, shoved and cursed. Because I wouldn't go and get some juice. Well, what half sane man would after hearing a story of spine chilling fingers? Or being told "I think this place is haunted." All very encouraging information. It's not because I believe in these things, I don't, it's just I didn't need the extra information. If Sparkling had just asked me to get some juice without the ghost story I would of not hesitated. My legs just wouldn't move. Sparkling gave me the I-am-not-amused-look, the kind of look I try to avoid. And I must admit to almost being cajoled, bullied, pushed out of the bed. For Sparkling's convenience. But I didn't.

Morning came and so did daylight and the ghost had gone. Wonderful. Except I'd been given the look. Memo to self, put the number of a good priest into my mobile phone, one who can do ghost checks over the phone and exorcise them. Alternatively, just don't believe in those things. Blimey I don't. Well, I'll remember next time. Oh yes, where did I put the holy water?

Batman and Robin - Green Tights

It's not something a man should really do. Not if he's a man. Unless there happens to be some kind of weird tendency he keeps secret from friends, family and work colleagues. But I shall soon be wearing green tights. All for a reason of course. To be in costume. To be Robin the shorter more handsome of the crime fighting duo Batman and Robin. Holly mackerel Batman. Yes, Robin will be on the streets in Scotland.

Now this is not a natural course of events. I'm going to be dressed up for a Fancy Dress party. I don't go about looking like a crime fighter every day. Which I'm sure many people would be happy about. Many criminals dressed in black and carrying bags with the word SWAG printed on them. Though I'm not sure what SWAG actually stands for. I'm sure it's lots of illicit goodies stolen from the good people of Gotham City. Did I actually just say Gotham City? Holly mollowly Batman I feel something's happening to me. Better get to the Bat mobile. Hey don't I have a motorbike? A special Robin bike? Which could mean I'll have to start taking motor bike lessons. I wonder if I can get a helmet to match my crime fighting outfit?

I just hope I don't ladder my tights.

2008 meets the bionic woman

OK so it's a few more days into 2008, and I'm still wondering what I am going to do. It's not a matter of procrastinating, though it might be, I hope it's not. I checked out some courses and then heard the government are going to stop subsidies on part time educational bents. Bloody typical, I didn't even know there was help available and then the government withdraws it. It seems wherever there is a chance to cut funds to the people who need it then the British Government will do their best to find a way to cut. It's not very labour like. In fact they should change their political persuasion. Perhaps call themselves the middle-of-the-road party.

So in the process of considering what my next move is I've just seen the first 8 episodes of the Bionic woman. Played by an English actress called Michelle Ryan who happened to have started in a Soap called Eastenders first. During the first episode I kept expecting her to talk like a Cockney at any time. Then I thought maybe some American woman is the voice and she's just moving her mouth saying words which are dubbed out of the frame and overlapped by the American actress. But after a couple of episodes I soon got into the swing of this miss matched image and voice. Why on earth the producers and directors didn't let her remain English I don't know. I'm sure the Americans are not stupid enough to be caught out by her put-on American accent. In one episode she actually has to pretend to be English. And in typical American stereotype she has to have a middle-to-upper class Oxford accent. This made me want to puke. Hey if there's any Americans out there check out the English actor in the series "Dead like Me" now he is English and not some nonced up put-on just for the American audience. Then that's a Canadian series not American.

I'll be off in a week or so to see Sparkling Eyes again. I'm sure she'll be practicing her kick me up the ass routine if I don't make myself useful. To tell the truth I'm fed up with attempting to put up doors with the wrong tools knowing I'm being set up to fail. Maybe I should take up some kind of wood working. Which could be useful. Useful when hanging doors I bet.

2008 Something has to be done

First day back at Fish Factory for 2008. It's weird returning back to the grindstone on a Wednesday. A number of people have complained it felt like a Monday. I hate Mondays. No it's definitely a Wednesday and a new year. A very new year. Things are going to change, things will be different.

I've felt sorry for myself in some minor way, I didn't realise this, but Sparkling Eyes did. She demanded I change my attitude when I'd rang her up on New Year's day. She would ring back and I had better be different. Needless to say she didn't. Ring back that is. Whereas I took the opinion if she can't be bothered to ring back then I'll not be bothered to text her. It's her move now. She should of rung. I'd put myself out yesterday. No. I'm going to sit on my high horse here and not budge. This is the normal very macho thing to do if your a man. There's only so far more you should go when you already put yourself out. So I wait, still no text. Still no phone call. I may have made a mistake. But then I don't want to seem needy. I got my life to lead, things to do, blogs to write. Changes to make. Yes. Positively this year will see a change.

I've felt I've wasted too much time doing nothing. I was saying this or words to this effect to my compatriots in the pub over my Guinness. I'm going to do something different, it don't matter what it is it has to be something different. Something more constructive with my time. Something useful. So far I've looked at further education classes, dancing and creative writing. Though not all at the same time. I just know I got to do something. Something different and stop sitting here watching DVDs letting the world pass me by. Sparkling will no doubt take credit for this self inspirational bent. Being as she has spent time cajoling me, kicking me literally in the head, pulling my strings, pulling my leg, and jabbing a red nail varnished finger in my direction. I can feel the bruises. I'm on the road to somewhere and it don't matter where it is as long as I'm on the bus. I wonder if Sparkling will be driving, damn I know what she's like soon as I ring for my stop she'll over shoot it and make me walk the half mile back. Better get my boots on then.

Chrimbo with the Flu

It's been a scintillating Chrimbo. I was in bed at 7:30 p.m. Chrimbo Eve, I wish I could say it was because I expected Santa to turn up with the latest Tonka Toy, a stocking full of nuts and enough chocolates to make me puke. No it wasn't. Just my luck to get the flu. To be hit hard. Out for the count. About 15 hours later I got up out of bed Chrimbo Day. My chocolate has been pill popping paracetamol tablets or Echinacea. The odd Lemsip, copious amounts of vitamin C in tangerines, cranberry juice and squash. In consequence I've been a moody bear. An intolerant grouch, coughing constantly, sneezing inappropriately and being careful to eat only the smallest of children to pass my way.

My food portions have been small. Because after each meal I'd feel like I had to hold down a projectile banshee waiting to expel herself from my stomach. OK feel like crap but I'm still alive. Wish I could taste the food though. Nothing has any flavour and if it does have flavour then I feel the need for only the most simple cooked food. Nothing extravagant, just a preferrence for simple food. My head has felt like it is about to explode. And any moment brains will be spattered over the surrounding walls. Slowly crawling down, quivering, my body functioning to an all but decapitated reasoning. The passed couple of days have not been so good.

Depending how I feel tomorrow morning I may find myself treading the mill of work and heading to the Fish Factory. If the chill which comes at night doesn't grab me when I next hit the hay. A chill which feels deep within my bones. No matter how many coverings the bed has it's still there. Or has been there. Tonight I escape it. More Echinacea. More paracetamol. Tomorrow I break free. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes so I will from this flu. Alive. Awake. Then to take on the world.

The end of Mankind

With interest Sparkling Eyes remarked on an article she had read and passed it over for my perusal. Disappointingly the words strung together told of the slow and inevitable decline of Men from society. How the gene which held our chromosome had a degrading impact over time. So in something like 125,000 years or maybe less. It would mean no more men would walk this planet. We would not be around to open up over-tightened jars, our skills in map reading, chess and the allure of physics would be lost.

With Man effectively extinct, the world would be inhabited only by women. As for the procreation of humanity, the article went on to say artificial sperm was now on the edge of development. Two females could in theory provide the genetic material to create sperm and so babies. There were examples of fish populations which were totally female. The world would be so different.

With this thought I sit aghast, petrified. I can not even consider what this it would be like, it is completely incomprehensible.

So it has been said, Men are not the stronger sex. Not in the long run, so I expect this means it's about time Sparkling Eyes spent some time rubbing my back and feet. It's a joke honest.

Side bet on a weep

With delight I recently visited Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. I spent a week in their company and learnt what it is to be a man whose strings were being pulled from two directions or more. But of all things it soon emerged there was a little side bet going on which I had not been told about. It did not take long to find out what it was.

It has to be down to a combination of hormones and age. The two together now have resulted in my becoming a bit weepy at times. Things just choke me up more than normal. It used to be one of the reasons I avoided watching Lassie films as a kid, they just made me cry. It’s something boys should not do. Now things are different. If something on the small box touches my heart strings, I can’t help myself. My emotions are moved. I let burst. It’s worse if I try and hold them back because then it’s like a big choking sound comes from me. As I breath in deep and then let rip with the wet stuff flooding down over my cheeks. Of course it is all to the delight of Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick. They see me, and then burst out with laughter. They wonder what the next item on TV will do to me. They watch. Glancing over just checking out. Waiting. Then tell each other if one is not around what set me off again. This is completely unfair. Unjust. But it happens. On this occasion unbeknown to me. I was the subject of a bet. How many times would his cheeks be washed? How many times would this softy have his emotions get the better of him? The betting was on three or more. Though I deny I reached this number, the terrible duo watching me judged it to be higher. How could I get them back I thought? I’d just have to wait my turn, and watch. They were keeping tabs. I’d have to keep an eye open as well.

There was a film on TV which I hadn’t seen before called “The Colour Purple.” With telly on the three of us sat down and enjoyed a warm room against a cold winter evening. The gas fire warmed us. Relaxed I lay draped on a sofa. Rock Chick and Sparkling Eyes sat close to each other glued to the telly on another sofa. The film rolled on. It’s quite a long film as well. The story enjoyable, based on the early 1900s black America. I was a little disappointed when Whoopy Goldberg’s character advised one man to beat his wife so she’d obey him more. That was sad I thought. It must have been near the end of the film about 2 hours in. When I felt a little twinge but not enough to let them roll when I turned and checked out the dreaded duo. Perhaps it was the sound of a sniff. Perhaps an unusual quietness from their side of the room. But there was no mistaking it. Both Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick sat there looking at the TV each with tears streaming down their faces. Oh my. What an enjoyable sight. I laughed and cajoled them. They were tears of joy for me. So yes, I am a softy, I’ll admit it. But even softy blokes get their rewards if they wait long enough.

We all got a tear or two and they are wonderful things. They are indicators of our own humanity. Our empathy an acknowledgement of the world. All I have to do now is instill a sense of wonder and happiness when Sparkling or Rock see a Sci Fi movie. Thing is I don’t think it’s going to happen.

Winter is here

There is something satisfying to waking up in a warm snug bed. Where you are just so comfortable and relaxed and just don't want to move, but know there's no choice. It's a working day. Inevitably it will be another late start. This morning, for about the third morning in a row, it was cold. damn cold. So cold I saw a monkey running down the street after his brass balls. Frost disguised the ground like the fine powdering of a Christmas Jule tide log. One step outside and my cheeks chilled. The capillaries constricted, nose ears and cheeks going red. Each exhale was equivalent to the steam from an old locomotive train. Each inhalation biting until my lungs were used to the crisp air. It was cold and I could only hope it continues to be cold for a good 3 or 4 weeks. To remind every person who lives in the UK, there are 4 seasons and this is what winter should really be like.

With global warming there have been very few cold winters in the UK. The weather has been so mild some years that winter may have only visited for a few days. To live in the UK you have to be versatile, your body should be able to adapt to both hot and cold. Come winter an internal clock gets kicked into action. Where your own body realises it has to adapt. Then when the temperature is 11 or more degrees Celsius you know it is mild. On a cold day it's wind chill which makes it worse still. Then the boys from the men are measured. Notably we all become mice, find a building and go into it. Especially with shops. Mingle around the stalls looking, but in reality just keeping warm. Make sure you always got a hat. Make sure you're prepared. Let the body's own central heating start. Eat porridge. Wear the warmest clothes you can find, even if they are outlandish, because in cold weather it don't matter. Because every person will look at your funny Russian hat and show envy. With observation check out the cool hip teenage boys who usually hang their jeans half way down their knees. Because now. Those same jeans have been pulled up. Poor things. Even fashion is secondary to warmth on a winter day. Oh how a cold bum would be a pain.

And eat, and eat, and eat. Like a fat squirrel. Eat store fat because those walks or jaunts into the world burn up more calories than normal. Or is it a chattering jaw? Warm up those arms, warm up your constitution, sing, dance, these are all ways to seek one thing. Warmth. Oh how I do love a warm bed on a cold day. Snuggle, snuggle, snuggle.

Gordon Ramsey the Hero

I just signed up to 4oD, this is channel 4 television on demand. It took about 20 minutes to get the software downloaded and to register myself, but it lets me view certain tv programs. For free. Wonderful. The word free. Not to be mixed with the word Three. Though sounding similar, quite different. So watching Channel 4, I've now been able to catch up with a couple of back episodes of Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares. Not to mention Father Ted. The two sets of programs being quite different. Chalk and Cheese.

Ramsey is like a breath of fresh air in a field encrusted with cow pats on the hottest day of the year. He has no qualms about telling it as it is. He takes a failing restaurant on the verge of disaster and turns it round. You might even say it is common sense. But common sense is a valuable item quite lacking in man trades. In one kitchen he found rotting old food in the bottom of a oven and condemned it. His remarks towards the head chef were all suggesting one thing, though he did not say it outright. It was "sack the twat" I heard it coz i could read between the lines. I expect many viewers did as well. Yes he swears, but he swears from his own passion, from his knowledge and ability which has already been proven. He don't have Michelin Stars for nothing me thinks. When he speaks people listen and the one who doesn't is a fool.

In many respects his acumen reminds me of that other great, Sir Harvey Jones who played a business trouble shooter. Again an inspiring man, one who didn't swear, but I tell you what one who could tell the cow pat from the breeze. And although all of us has pretty clear opinions on what a cow pat is it's odd a lot would rather stand amongst them than stand in the fresh zephre from an Atlantic swell.

Sunday morning waiting in trepidation

At some point this morning the Talkatives arrive. It's the pre Chrimbo visit. Mad dog will be going crazy and no doubt knock down the Chrimbo tree. Our cats are going to have to be locked away each in a different room. Because they don't get on. Then I'll have to take the entire family for a walk because mad dog hasn't been out for her little run. Return home about an hour later. And Crazy mama would of had a go at burning the dinner or ensuring every substance she cooks has got some form of hydrogenated fat in it. Did you know Paxo Stuffing has got it? Read the packet you'll see. Then the boys will get into a fight, little Angel Talkative will scream, and I will through half bleary eyes nod off and watch part of East Enders, wishing I was in some other land. Some very far away land. Where mad dogs, crazy mother's, over talkative sisters, screaming little angels and hydrogenated fats did not exist.

Better get changed and scrubbed up. Wonder if garlic would help?