New Phone

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

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

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

Without knowing

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

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

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

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

Telecoms and circuses

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

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

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

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

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

Fire alarm at the fish factory

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

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

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

Stressed Fish

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

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

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

News

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

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

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

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

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

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

Double helping of lasagne, forget the Kate Bush

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

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

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

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

Relax, Chill, Calm

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

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

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

Big fish talking to little fish

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

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

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

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

Unconscious mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listening

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

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

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

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

Antipidean seat

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

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

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

Lighter mornings

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

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

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

Hair cut

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

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

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

What's wrong with me?

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

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

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

Parcel arrives

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

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

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

Warm feelings

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

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

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

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

Checking out Parliament

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

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

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

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

Run for the hills

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

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

Some one likes the SSP

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

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

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