Morning creativity

It's odd what thoughts go through my head in the morning while on my way to work. There's this soliloquy commenting on various subjects which I think to myself are very interesting. It don't stop, it just carries on during the walk up the road. I like listening to it and wonder such thoughts should be written down. Trying to make a mental note to actually write them later. However, they inevitably fade away and I forget what was so interesting in the morning. It's at this point the notion of getting some kind of recording device comes to mind. Whether it just be a pen and paper or perhaps a digital recorder. Then later on they can be written up. The other notion also comes, because they are interesting to me at the time it doesn't mean they would be interesting to other people.

A similar creativity comes immediately when I sit down in the pub and I'm near the end of my first pint. The voice begins up again and the conversation and characters develop their depth. For instance balding man who has natural acerbic wit bordering on sarcasm, but very much a part of his personality. He's a softy at heart but a lot of people could easily dislike him. Think him a smarty pants and punch his lights out. I find balding man very funny, though I also believe he's probably an alcoholic. In fact the 3 or 4 regulars I sit with are probably all in varying degrees of alcoholism. From the completely pickled man who always sits in the same seat to the man who works at home and drinks to he pukes. He has these little gauges under his eye lids, they flip up and say FULL when he's had enough pints, then just walks out the pub without saying anything to anyone. As for fat man, I can't say i really see eye to eye with him but rather accept his company or have to accept his company. He has an arrogance about him in his own self important opinions so I've now developed an ability to just let it run off like water off a ducks back. And then state my own point because sometimes you just have no choice.

Then time passes and it's BLOG time, at which point I'm usually knackered and forgotten the day's events. Just when I should be putting them down in words for anyone to read. I wonder if people who read BLOGS are getting a free reading rather than buy a book. But then, BLOG authors are just opening up their lives for scrutiny at their own behest. Where did I put my microscope and how can I get royalties on what I put on a blog? No my name isn't Prince William.

Sewage in the Forth

Just outside of Edinburgh is the Firth of Forth, spanned by an incredible coppery orange painted bridge. Built in 1890 it was the major piece of civil engineering in Scotland at it's time. Going over this bridge on an East Coast train is wonderful. The Forth is an incredible tributary to the sea. Below the bridge spans are some small islands which at one time were inhabited. I don't know whether it was by people who worked there or they had little communities. But all the buildings are shells. One of which has a concrete cross on top of it. Large ships easily go underneath the bridge. People sail their dingys in the Forth or yachts if they are well to do. Off the shore there usually stand a number of tugs, showing this is a working River where people graft for a living. Each and every time I go over this bridge the view is different. Sometimes it can be breath taking as the train will take a couple of minutes to complete this stretch. It has to slow, because the bridge is old now and as always is being repaired or painted.

Thames water run a sewage treatment works on the Forth. On Friday it broke. They run the sewage works on behalf of Scottish water. Thames Water is now owned by a German company and have since the sell out been pretty prudent in it's spending. Making of course what all companies want, lots of money. An Archimedes pump broke at this sewage works. The radio reported approximately 6,000 litres of sewage per second was now spilling into the Forth. It's said by officials, though I don't know the providence of these officials, the sewage will likely dissipate with the tides and cause little in the way of environmental damage. Though the notion of a skinny dip on the edge of the Forth is probably something none of those same officials will sign themselves up for.

It is sad with such a casual demeanour an event like this can happen and be accepted all is well. All is not well. It shouldn't of been allowed to happen. Personally I'd like to see each and every high ranking owner, executive and self important suit at Thames Water personally be made responsible. Lets drop them in for a little swim just so they can test the water and tell us after they've been checked out for diseases, that all is well. No doubt the Firth of Forth will recover and I expect I'm being a little over dramatic. I just hope I don't have to put a peg on my nose the next time I go over the bridge.

The Grand National

I sat and watched the Grand National this afternoon, in the same pub I watched it last year. However, amongst the viewers was a particularly anoying young man, he just couldn't keep his trap shut. It was as though he needed to be the centre of attention. The worse part was he had walked in just two mintues before the race had began and merged with his mates. I think maybe he had some mental condition, or he wanted to get a mental condition. Because if he carries on the way he was during the National someone will give him a bruising, which I'm very much sure may silence him for a moment or two.

Besides the anus with a mouth the event was good to watch. I'd put a bet on 4 different horses each way. And with my bloody luck, not one of them came in. Although a couple seemed to stay quite a long distance, by the two thirds mark they somehow had dropped back into obscurity. So after chilling with my pint and the end of the race I left with my pocket lighter. But had to stop off at a betting shop because my friend Green Car man had actual won two places.

The moral of the story is, if you want to see an important event get a seat close to the box and hire a couple of bouncers to kick the living crap out of anyone who believes they are the side attraction.

Walked my legs off

Tonight I am tired. I feel tired because I've made sure during the whole day I did a bit of walking. A mile and half in the morning a good mile and a half in the evening and some little bits in the day. If I carry on like this, I'll end up 2 inches shorter by the end of the week. People wont recognise me. And worse still I might get more comments about the balding patch at the back of my head.

Memo for self. Get platform shoes, wig and superglue. The glue will keep it all in place on a windy day

Movie Saturation

There has been a point over the Easter holiday where I had reached complete movie saturation overdose. I just didn't want to view another film. No matter how good, who the actors were or who directed. Enough was enough. So to say. It's at this time I wondered what else I could do, besides leading a meaningless and non evocative existence. Passing hours in the monotony of a little square box was like having a leach suck out my brain. At saturation point I begin to take stock and ask what I have achieved. What meaningful thing I have done today which has made it worth waking up, having breakfast, and being a contribution to the world. I'd got my hair cut, well better than nothing.

I considered chatting to Sparkling Eyes. However, Sparkling Eyes wasn't having any of it either. She'd probably reached saturation point with me. Try as I might I was shunted off to the sidings like a defunct dejected railway carriage. Although I must admit in one communication Sparkling Eyes had a wonderful turn of phrase when she wrote "walking the boards of indecision" or something of a similar vein. Very eloquent I thought. Still I was punted nice turn of phrase or not. She had given me the big E for the time being. My anodyne to the human race had walked off.

I suppose when it comes to it, the only person you can't run away from is yourself. OK it maybe a bit narcissistic, but it depends for some just being in your own company could be a good thing. Then you can listen to the voices. In the walls. In your own head. Perhaps even in other peoples heads if you got mind reading abilities.

So after this holiday period, I will change myself and use my time to a better end. It doesn't matter what I do as long as I am doing something. Something constructive, something which does not involve going into a passive vegetative state. Something which may even be for the better of human kind. Of course that's it, put on my blue cape, tights and brush the lint from the big letter "S" standing out on my torso. Or maybe just one step at a time. I'll try the flying bit off a kitchen chair. Sure hope the cat doesn't think I've lost it.

Trip to Hastings

I went to Hastings with Green Car man and the little oriental fella. It was sunny and windy. But nice to get out of London. To have a long weekend away from the Fish Factory for a start.

Hastings I decided was a dive. All it seems to have is chip shops, pubs and amusement arcades. There's nothing in the way of night life, well certainly not on the sea front. Besides plenty of sea air. And a shale beach. Which is quite large as far as south coast beaches go. Certainly a lot larger than Margate which is another even deeper dive sea side resort. It must be something to do with their seasonal demand. We popped into a sweet shop which I thought was well overpriced. £1.50 for a 150 grams of lime an chocolate sweets. A rip off. A Woolworths would of put them to shame. We discussed how it must be a sorrowful plight for people who lived in the area and wanted work. There are times when a metropolis has it's advantages.

We played crazy golf. And although we may have been the odd bunch because most players seemed to be families the game was fun, we all had a laugh. I managed to get 3 holes in one while green car man, the expert golfer amongst us only got a single hole in one. We had fish n chips for supper. The fish was enormous and the chips small. Then it was time to head back, with the roads getting pretty dark where they didn't have lights.

While in Hastings I thought of Beautiful Eyes and her lost family tie. I breifly considered my own cousins and an aunt who lived here somewhere. I haven't seen them in years and am sure I wouldn't even recognise them.

The sea air was good for shaking out cobwebs. It was a pensive day overall.

Losing Hair

I'd stayed up late chatting to Beautiful Eyes via MSN, which was pretty good because the actual thing worked rather than booting me off every two minutes. She was merry and happy especially with the prospect of becoming an SSP councilor. I was warned I had to vote for her. Even though I live in in a different city, it don't matter. She'd get m vote anyway.

My plan was to wake up late. However the rest of the world had other plans for me. Dustbin men were out and about before the hour hand had passed eight. I got up about half past. Had ten minutes of my favourite radio station and got ready for the day.

One of the worse things I find about using the bathroom is finding someone else's hair. Usually long ones. Always from girls with long hair. Perhaps this is because I don't have long hair myself. But they get in the way. Though I suppose now this is becoming much less of a problem. With hair getting in the way. I washed mine and was surprised to see a fair proportion go down the sink. Surprised edged onto alarm. Wondering how many hairs on a head the average person has, and how long it would take before I go bald. Then if I don't watch it this hair thing could become an obsession. Thing is it is. I want to see other blokes go bald before me. It could be something to do with the patch on my crown Beautiful Eyes usually points out. Well not just the patch she points out everything. If there's a flaw she'll tell me about it and beat me with it laughing at my paranoia. If I don't accept it, I'd be in a right state. If your loved ones take the pee then it's a matter of getting on with it. Which reminds me how Little Monster Boy called me fat on two occasions yesterday. Which is another story.

Let me get fat but whatever you do, don't take my hair away.

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?