Thursday, 31 March 2011

You'll Never Tell Your Kids Off Again

I have had the most enjoyable evening. I had the pleasure (not in the biblical sense) of the company of my good friend Alyn, who popped over for a few hours and a few beers.

Generally, its fair to say, that our conversation was not the most intellectual ever had. We discussed the past, the present, and the future. We talked about what might have been, what was, and what is.

We also discussed interesting facts - like how the letters "e,d,g,e" when spoken together in a word, can apparently stop you sneezing. The sound you make when saying these letters together in a word, stimulates parts of your sinus and nose and alleviates the irritation which causes you to sneeze. Alyn uses these letters in the word "Hedgehog" i.e (sneezes) "hedgehog" (sneezes) "hedgehog"  - and the sneezes stop.
In theory, any other word which has these four letters in order within it would do the same trick: "Wedgie", "Dredger", "Kedgeree", "Knowledge", "Ledger", and "Sledgehammer" for example, may all be as effective in stopping you sneezing.

I opened up a discussion on disciplining small children. Alyn has a son of just over two years (Dylan - an absolute cracker), who has to be sent to "The Naughty Stool" when he is being punished. I sort of ruined that idea when I casually mentioned that "The Naughty Stool" sounded like a badly behaved poo that wouldn't be flushed. A short role play ensued about a man trying to flush away the poo late at night without success, and as he dejectedly walks out of the bathroom, and voice from within the toilet bowl laughs and says "see you in the morning......"

These are the sort of things that spring up in conversation - especially when you have had four cans of John Smiths each.

I don't mind telling you that I had a bloody lovely evening, and can't wait for the next one.

God Bless ya Al, and your lovely wife!

Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Stretcher Bearers Hate Footballers

Among the many fruitless jobs in life, one of the worst must be stretcher bearer at a football game.

How many times have we seen one of the overpaid Prima Donnas - I mean professional footballers throw themselves to the ground and writhe around as if they have been shot? Every time the stalwart, reliable stretcher bearers stand up, ready to run on when needed.
And should the wounded hero on the pitch stay prone for more than five seconds, then the stretcher bearers run on in their high viz coats, ready to carry off the mortally wounded player.
And then what happens? the moment the stretcher is laid on the pitch next to the injured player, he makes a recovery that Lazarus would be proud of. So the poor stretcher bearers have to then trudge back off the pitch amid heckles of derision from the crowd. And this happens week in, week out up and down the country.
If I was a stretcher bearer, I'd be getting really hacked off. So much so, that one day as I see the £150,000 a week superstar rise up from his apparent career ending injury, I might kick him in the head, and then put him on the stretcher, and carry him off.

You mark my words - it'll happen one day.

Tuesday, 29 March 2011

Manure Liqueurs, My Impatient Body, and Enforced Improvisation

So, I did another good deed tonight; I gave my ex's mum a lift home. And today, Karma repaid me instantly as she gave me two of the largest potatoes I have ever seen. There is a picture of one of them on my Facebook page next to my Sky TV remote (used for the purposes of scale). She also made me a warm baguette with melted Cambozola and runner bean chutney, AND gave me a piece of chocolate Swiss roll and a cup of tea. I'd say I did rather well out of that deal, wouldn't you?

On my way home however, I  began to feel (or rather smell) that there might have been a bit more to pay to Messrs Karma and Sons (purveyors of the finest and worst things in life). I had the window down partially as it was a nice early evening, and as I drove the country air wafted gently into my car and punched me in the nose. Now, I have lived in the countryside long enough to hardly notice the "usual" aroma it has - but tonight something was different. Initially, I wondered if I had been mistaken in my assessment of the scent I had detected. I mentally re-traced my steps from my ex's mums house to my car, to check whether any of them had involved contact with a Richard the Third (that's Cockney Rhyming Slang), but nothing untoward came to mind.
As I drove along, with both my brow and my nose wrinkled, I tried to solve this pungent mystery. There appeared to be two smells at work here - the thicker, earthier smell of manure, but on top of that there was a lighter, sweet fragrance. The combination of the two could only be described  as like the way some horrendous wrong chocolate would smell and taste like. I say taste like, because at times I could taste the smell it was that strong.
I was running out of explanations for this bizarre and offensive odour, when suddenly it all became clear. Yes, I was smelling the sweet aroma of manure from the farmland I was passing on my journey home; but I was also smelling the fragrance from my "Magic Tree" car air freshener. It was the air freshener that was giving the manure the sugary coating I could smell. So I wasn't a box of limited edition Ferrero Rocher underneath my seat, after all.

All my life I have had to walk some way home from work. I've only learnt to drive in the past two years, and don't have the luxury of being able to park in front of my house. So every working day for the majority of the past 24 years has involved a walk home of some distance. And on more days than I can count over these 24 years, my body has decided to tell me that I need to go to the toilet when I am still quite some distance from home. Over the years, my journey time home on foot has varied. At one time, it was a good hour; the walk home from the train station used to take 20 minutes; today it took about three minutes from where I parked my car. But in every instance, on more than a few times I have had that sudden realisation that this is not a drill, and we are code brown.
What staggers me - apart from the effort involved in not soiling myself - is the fact that I had no prior warning of this. At no point in the journey home did I get the feeling that I should have visited to little boys room at my friends house before I left. That's quite ironic, when you take into consideration the odours I was dealing with. But it has always been this way - it's the biological equivalent of asking the kids if they need the toilet before you all set off on a long journey, only for them to tell you they "need a wee-wee" when you are less that five minutes into your journey.
So, what happens next is the inevitable mad dash for home. It doesn't matter when the "alert" is raised i.e. how far away from home you are when you "get the call" - the last fifty metres is always the same. The best way to describe the way I have to run to the door would be if you imagine the way a speed walker walks, combined with the co-ordination of the last placed pairing in a three-legged race. That is sort of how I look.
And of course, it's not over when I get to the door - I still have to unlock it, and open it. Naturally, with my mind focusing on clenching, my dexterity fails to kick in and I juggle the keys for what seems to be an eternity. Suddenly, time freezes as a small fart escapes and I wait for the ensuing avalanche. But nothing happens, and I somehow get the door open.
I nearly tear the trousers straight off me as I make it to the loo, and disaster is averted for another day.

And then tonight, after all I have been through, I realise that I've got no toilet paper. I knew I had no toilet paper this morning, and I knew that I had no toilet paper this lunchtime, when I nipped home to check for post. I even knew that I had no toilet paper yesterday - but none of this managed to inspire me to purchase some. So, faced with the dilemma I was faced with, I was forced to seek an alternative solution.
I didn't have time to mess around, so I went to my automatic second choice: Kitchen Towel.
I know it's not ideal, and I know it can block drains and end up costing lots of money to fix. But I was desperate, and time was of the essence. It did the job, and that's all I wanted.

To be honest, it was lucky that I had kitchen towel available; if I hadn't, the tea towels would have had to be washed for the second time in this week.

Monday, 28 March 2011

It's Up To You.

This is likely to be my shortest post ever.

Life, and how it pans out in relation to your hopes and dreams is in your own hands. You have more influence on how happy or sad you will be in life than anything else in existence.

The only things that limit us, are ourselves.

Sunday, 27 March 2011

We've Been Robbed - By Coincidence, Chance, and Sod's Law!

So, It's 2:05pm and I'm sat on a fold up chair (no folded up) in my garden with my laptop on my lap, and a glass of rose by my side. It is another glorious day here in Sturminster Newton, and I suspect for much of Dorset and the UK as a whole. There is a wasp buzzing around my head, so I may in a moment throw my laptop to the floor and run into the house screaming like a small girl. If you never get to read this post, that is why.

But then, how would you know, if I never get to publish this post?

On that line of thought, how many masterpieces of literature, art, music or sculpture have never been completed or released to he world because their creator was interrupted somehow?

For all we know, Michelangelo's "David" was just something he threw together whilst working on his real masterpiece - only to have his real best work destroyed when a moth flew into his workshop one night, causing him to reel back in panic, knocking five years worth of work to the floor, smashing it to smithereens?
Who can say that the world should have marvelled at Michelangelo's "Rufus", and only given "David" the briefest of attention that such lesser work requires?

Beethoven's Unfinished Symphony might well have been destined to be completed and named "Exultation to the Glory of The World", or some other more spectacular title, had it not been for the fire that broke out in his neighbours house, forcing Beethoven (who was also a part time fireman - or the equivalent of his day) to leave his work, and spend the next four hours risking his life to save the life of his neighbour, his neighbour's family, and even his neighbour's dog, ironically named "Mozart". And this act of friendship, social conscience, and heroism could well have erased from Beethoven's mind the melody and tune required to complete his masterpiece. Instead, he returned to his work, scanned what he had created so far and simply thought to himself "I'll come back to that later on."

How do we not know that the day after painting "Sunflowers", Vincent Van Gogh found himself by the river bank, in the perfect place at the perfect time to witness the struggle of life and death in nature, and be inspired to paint his greatest picture ever: "Dragonfly being caught by leaping fish as Kingfisher swoops" - only to inadvertently disturb a hornets nest hanging above him, and in the ensuing attack of the swarm, knock his painting into the river, losing it for ever? None of us can dismiss the theory with any certainty that from that day onwards, Van Gogh would privately refer to his much acclaimed "Sunflowers", as a pile of crap in comparison to what might have been.

It could well have been possible that the greatest theologians, teachers, artists, mathematicians, and thinkers of their time all lived in the same street in Pompeii, all socialising together and meeting up for daily brain storming sessions. they could well have been on the verge of revolutionising the world as they knew it with ideas centuries before their time - only to be obliterated from the mind of history by that Volcanic eruption that engulfed their city in lava, preserivng everthing as it was at that moment. The world might well have have been a different place is someone had said "that sounds like the volcano erupting", instead of "is that you're stomach grumbling? You're always hungry you are".

So, although we know there have been geniuses throughout the ages, we could quite conceivably have missed out on ever greater discoveries, or masterpieces, all because of unfortunate occurrences.

It makes you think, doesn't it?

Well it made me think, I can't speak for you lot.

Saturday, 26 March 2011

Fish Food, and Gender Re-assignment Shopping

Last week, I went to have my back waxed at the local beauty clinic/shop. As the hair was being ripped from my skin via gaffer tape dipped in hot honey (that's what it felt like), I noticed what appeared to be a very poorly equipped fish tank in the room. When I enquired as to why there were bored looking fish in tanks with nothing else in it -  no plants, pebbles, plastic divers, and not even one of these chests that open and close.
Laughing, the torturer - sorry 'assistant' - savagely ripped off a strip of skin with hair attached, and told me that they were tropical fish on display, they were the latest therapy treatment. They are called Garra Fish, and they eat the dead skin off your feet. I must admit, I was intrigued.

So intrigued in fact, that I went back this morning to try out the fish that eat your feet. Unfortunately, I was only able to have one foot treated, as there is strict rules about blisters, verrucas, and wounds etc. and I had managed to rip the nail off my little toe the night before. Nonetheless, I had my right foot washed, I rolled up my trouser leg, and I sat with my foot hovering above the waiting fish in the tank below.

The assistant told me that the fish don't just feed on the dead skin of the feet, they get fed 'normal' fish food every day. However, I'm not sure if anyone had told the fish that. From the moment my foot was revealed, the fish rushed up to the glass in the tank and followed my foot as I walked around and then took my seat. Then as I held my foot inches above the water, they milled about at the surface expectantly. To be honest, their eagerness was a little unsettling to say the least.

And then the moment came for me to lower my foot into the water. As I did, these little fish (I say little - they vary in size between say, the size of your little finger to the size of your index finger) swarmed all over my foot - in exactly the same way you see Piranha swarm on all those nature programmes. Initially, it was a very weird feeling. The best way to describe it is like when you start to get pins and needles. I'm very tickly on, around, and under my feet so for the first thirty seconds I was sat there with my face screwed up and my fists clenched as I tried to bear the incessant tickling of thirty or forty fish all over my foot. The treatment lasts for fifteen minutes - you can have a thirty minute treatment, but I erred on the side of caution for my first experience. After a couple of minutes, I got used to the sensation and then spent the rest of the time mesmerised by these fish merrily sweeping over every inch of my foot.

The treatment is doubly therapeutic: Firstly, the fish eat the dead skin off your feet, leaving them feeling softer, cleaner and healthier. Secondly, sitting there watching these fish work is very relaxing and calming. As I sat there spreading my toes so the fish could get to the skin in between, I couldn't help but think of the cleaner fish that escort sharks and larger sea going creatures, and I did feel a kind of kin ship. I could quite easily have watched them all day - though what state my feet would be in at the end of a twenty-four hour fish nibbling session, I leave to your imagination.

All too soon, the time was up. I was told to very slowly lift my foot out of the water, because (and I quote) "the fish are so engrossed in eating the dead skin, they forget to let go". And true enough as I slowly removed my foot from the water, one by one the fish suddenly dropped off. it was as if they were each going "mmm....(chomp)...tasty skin to eat.....(chew).....(chomp)......oh heck! I can't breathe!".

Even though they had just been munching on my tootsies for the past quarter of an hour, the greedy little buggers still watched my every move as I put my sock and trainer on!. Maybe thirty minutes would satisfy them. I doubt it somehow.....

I will definitely be going back again to have it done. And I highly recommend it to all of you.

Sometimes, the phrase "You couldn't make it up" springs to mind. it sprang to mind today, when I received my new Tesco Clubcard. I decided that it was about time I got one, as I do my main food shop there and would use the vouchers. So I registered online and waited for my card to arrive.

Now, I have registered for many things online in my time, and know how to fill out my personal information correctly. I am a Mr, I have always been a Mr - it's the first thing I check when completing information online. It's also the first thing I check when I get up in the morning - but that's another story. So you can imagine how pleased I was to find that the name on the envelope containing my Clubcard, AND the name embossed on the clubcard it self read "Mrs Larry Lagrue". I was not a happy bunny.

In fact, you know the Tesco's spices in those jars which have the first letter of the spice really big on the front of the jar? Next time I go in there, I'm going too rearrange the display until it says something really rude.

Friday, 25 March 2011

They Don't Make 'em Like They Used To......

I was going to go to the cinema today, but I've had my plans changed for me. Instead I will be watching a DVD at home.I have a small but varied collection of Films, and one of my favourites is The Battle Of Britain. I haven't seen it in a while, but thinking about it reminds me of how very different films were 40 years ago.Today, there are just as many female lead actors as male, and in movies women are portrayed as strong free spirited women who know what they want. In fact, nowadays it is the man who is most often portrayed as the fool, or the weak person.

Oh take me back to the good old days when women were weak and unsure of the world around them! A world where if a woman actually got up the courage to scream and yell at a man for treating her badly, the man would simply take the woman in his arms, laugh loudly, and then kiss her passionately. The woman would struggle initially - but then be so overwhelmed by the mans kiss that she would submit with a whimper and melt in his embrace.

In this world, you always knew who the good guy was, because he wore a white hat (in cowboy films) which never came off in a fight. In this world, The main character would talk down to the local inhabitants - but this was okay, as they were stereotypes who just smiled cheerily and ran about in Sombrero's (Mexican) or loin cloths (any other nationality).

Films today are very complex, and often need to be seen more than once to be understood. Films like "Inception" and "Shutter Island" have raised the bar in terms of how much the viewer needs to concentrate. Way back in the good old days, however, it was much more simple - especially in War films. In war films it was so easy to tell who was going to be there at the end credits, and who was going to snuff it. There were three basic types to watch out for:

1) The "One last sortie before I retire" type - you know he is buying the farm.

2) The "I'll ask my childhood sweetheart to marry me when I get back" type - he 'ain't coming back

3) The "My faithful dog waits for me to return every day when I'm out on patrol" type - ring Battersea dogs home.

These people were the equivalent in the guy in Star Trek that nobody has ever seen before, and every week he beams down to the planet with the main characters, and promptly snuffs it. And he is pointed out to us because  he wears a red outfit, and all the others are in blue or green (Captain Kirk).

Someone should make a modern movie with all the old stereotypes thrown in - I'd buy a extortionately priced cinema ticket to watch it!

That's enough about that - I'm typing this as I sit in my garden, enjoying a day off (and the start of a long weekend) with a beer enjoying the glorious weather.

Let's hope the weather continues - and I get to go to the movies!

The Four Minute Warning? That's SO Eighties Darling.....

The good thing about being awake since 5:30 am is that my brain generates all kinds of random questions.

Today's question is: Would there still only be a four minute warning of an impending nuclear strike, or would we now get a longer warning due to the advances in technology? Also, if there was the technology to give us more warning, would the powers that be tell us sooner or just leave it until four minutes before impact?

That's two questions, I hear you cry.

Naff off - it's early.

In the Eighties, tension between America and Russia was at an all time high. All the baddies were Russian in American Movies (Red Dawn, Rocky IV), and Russia sent terrifyingly huge female athletes to the Olympics to scare the Americans into second place. The threat of Nuclear war hung over our heads like a blood red gaudy chandelier of death, and even the music industry played on the sense of doom ("Two Tribes" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and "Russians" by Sting were popular records in the Eighties).
It was widely believed that if a Nuclear Missile was launched at the UK from Russia, we would have four minutes before it landed and killed us all. I never found out if it was four minutes from launch to impact, or whether it was four minutes from when the missile was detected by Radar.

I've just checked, and it must be from launch. Well, it has to be - according to the Internet, a Nuclear (cruise) missile travels as 5 times the speed of sound. The speed of sound is 340.29 metres per second, so the missile travels at 1701.5 metres per second, so in four minutes would travel 408, 360 metres, or 253 miles. Of course, it doesn't travel at that speed right from launch, so for arguments sake let's say that in four minutes it travels 200 miles.

Four minutes is not very long - as my ex wife used to tell me. There's not too much you can do in four minutes, and even less that you can do in four minutes that would enable you to survive a nuclear strike -unless boiling an egg somehow makes you immune to the blast, shock wave, and radiation. Boiling an egg was chosen as the most popular response to the question of what to do while you wait to be killed by a nuclear missile, because the real answer most people gave was too rude. That was the promiscuous Eighties for you - thanks Mrs Thatcher!

But the Eighties are long behind us, and since then technology advanced in leaps and bounds. Most things are now smaller and faster than they were in the Eighties - with the possible exception of Nuclear Missiles ironically. They are now even more powerful and, even though there are less of them, the damage they would do is just as great. I think we will end up with just one nuclear missile in the world that every country owns a part of. And if one country wants to launch it at another country, they have to get the permission of all the other countries that own a part of it. And as the intended target country would own a part in the missile, it would never agree and so the missile would never be used.

I've just solved the threat of Nuclear War - I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Nobel Peace Prize? Don't mind if I do.

Going back to my point - with the advancement in technology today, we would be able to warn people much sooner of a missile attack. In fact with advancements in news and media coverage, not only would you be able to follow the arguments leading up to the missile launch, you also be able to see and hear an in depth one on one interview with the missile to see how it is feeling! People would have days, weeks even to evacuate the area affected, rather than wait for the announcement on the TV and radio.
Actually, these days we would all more likely receive the warning about a nuclear missile strike by text:

"Msl in 4 mins :-( LOL "

Back in the eighties, the Missile detection system was good in the technological side of things - with radar and satellites etc. - but it still came down to some guy watching a screen somewhere. There had to be a bloke who saw the screen, and made a call to alert some more people, and then they alerted more people etc. What if the first guy was away from his desk when the missile was caught on radar? The fate of millions of people could have been decided by how full someones bladder was, or how tired and in need of caffeine they were. We could have died because some guy was making a coffee!! That's a scary thought.

I don't know what I would do in the event of a nuclear attack. it's a fair bet that the telephone and mobile networks would be in meltdown (like at New Years Eve, when you can never send a text for the first fourteen minutes of the New Year), so you couldn't call anyone. My dad said he would move towards the blast - he would rather die in an instant that suffer with burns and radiation poisoning. If I could get away, I would probably do the same thing.

Luckily the threat of a Nuclear War is far less today. True there are a few "dodgy" countries that we have to keep an eye on, but I believe that a disaster could be averted in the event. I don't think that we will see a nuclear bomb go off in anger in my lifetime, but if we do, at least we'll have enough time to put it in our diaries and plan for it.


Wednesday, 23 March 2011

Greater Than The Sum of It's Parts

I want to tell you my thoughts on friendship - and particularly having a Best Friend. I have a Best Friend, and in about six weeks I'm going to be spending a week with him and some other friends in Scotland. I have no ulterior motive for tellling you about my Best Friend - I don't owe him money, he's not dying, I'm not dying, and I'm not coming out. If I was, he wouldn't be my type. I guess I just want to share my interpretation of what our friendship is through the memories that stand out in my mind. It might be that someone reading this will identify with what I'm saying - or I might be way off what most people would say a best friend is. I won't even mention his name, but he knows who he is.

Unless he has Alzheimer's.

Let me start by saying that our friendship doesn't live over the rainbow in a magical kingdom where everyone is happy. Many times my Best Friend has done things, and said things, and behaved in ways that I haven't agreed with - and I am sure he would say the same about me. In fact, we didn't get off to a very good start....

I met my best friend in about 1998. I was working in a toy shop on the sales floor, and was steadily working my way to getting the push. My friend was supervisor of the warehouse, and one he apparently saw me and thought I would be useful working with him as I was big and relatively strong so could lug stuff about. So I got moved to the warehouse, and pretty much instantly hated him. You see, I was a very naive and not very worldly wise young man. I'm not your typical bloke nowadays, but back then I was even worse. To make matters worse, my friend (who was now my supervisor) had little patience for mistakes and forgetfulness, and would almost daily ridicule me, shout at me, and embarrass me whenever I did something wrong. When it came to the Carrot or the Stick - I always got the stick. This treatment did the trick over time, as the mistakes were basically bullied out of me. I remember one night waking up because I had realised that I hadn't done a job he had asked me to do - and I was worried about the humiliation I was going to get. It was THAT bad.
But, like I said, over time I got better, and he got better, and we started getting on. Then he invited me to come and play five-a-side football for his team, and as it turned out I was a damn fine goalkeeper. Our team was called "Fulchester United" - a comic strip football team from the magazine "Viz", who's star player was Billy The Fish - a part man, part fish wonder keeper. Well, I wasn't quite as good as old Billy, but in 1992 when Fulchester United won the League and Cup Double, I got "Man of The Match" in the cup final.
By this time, I was lodging with my friend and his girlfriend, and working with him, and playing five-a-side with him. Honestly, he was everywhere!
My marriage failed in 1991, and not too long after me and my friend went the a mutual friends wedding reception - it might even have been his sisters (was it?). I was washing my hands in the gents, when my friend walked in, and stood next to me and asked me if I was alright - meaning that he understood that being at a wedding reception so soon after the breakdown of my (very short lived) marriage, would have been painful for me, and he was just checking I was ok. That was first time I saw that side of him - and I have never forgotten it.
The years rolled by, and for a few years we lost touch. I'm not sure how, but we didn't see each other or stay in contact. The five-a-side football had dried up, and we were doing different things. And then one day, I saw him driving a bus. he stopped (mid-route) and said a quick hello - and it transpired that he was now living less than 5 minutes away from where I was living at the time, with a new woman (well those old women don't last). This was about 1997 - it had been at least three years since we had seen each other.
Of course I visited, met his lovely new woman(now his lovely wife).About a year after my friend and his
woman had a son, and I used to read him stories when I popped round. I have a photo of my friends son and me on a shelf here at home. The son is now 13 years old!
Anyway, we fell back into the old routine, my friend was now playing eleven-a-side football, and got me into the team. we used to go training on a Thursday night - with a trip to KFC drive through on the way home - and we would have a full game on a Sunday. Quite often I would be invited over the my now best friends house to have Sunday Lunch with them, and they really were marvelous times.
And things pretty much stayed that way right up until I moved away in 2006 to follow my heart. We briefly saw each other last year, but haven't spent any length of time together in ages.

In this brief explanation of the years I have known him, I have missed out so many great memories - purely because if I started, I would not be able to finish. A few things that will mean nothing to you, but should trigger something in him are:
  • The Push Through
  • "F*ck Me! Dave's Scored!!"
  • That Skylight in Stornoway
  • "Winner!"....."Widower!"...."Wheelchair!!"
  • "It's Me - Bob!"
  • Jumping Out of Cupboards to scare new employees
The title of this post sums up how I feel. To me, Friendship is greater that the sum of it's parts. me and my best friend are able to pick up where we left off last time, no matter how much time has passed since our last meeting. he knows my exact sense of humour; we can both share a joke with a single glance at opposite sides of a room; we have had our differences, but you have to look at the friendship as a whole. True friends do fall out, and argue, and don't agree.

To me this sums him up: I used to tell people that he was my Best Friend. He would reply "No - you like me, I don't like you."

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

I should be a Doctor that Also Sings Soprano - and Has a Full Head of Hair. I'd Be Happier, Apparently.

Sometimes I think that I really was meant to be a doctor. Not because of a keen interest in the workings of the human body, or my caring demeanour and reliability when it comes to all things confidential, but because of my horrendous handwriting. You really don't know how lucky you are not to be reading this in my handwriting, because basically you wouldn't be able to. At the age of almost forty, I still have the handwriting of a toddler.

I don't know why my handwriting is so terrible - well I do, and I don't. My handwriting is bad because I obviously didn't learn to write properly - or I did up to a certain age, and then just didn't bother trying. Another factor may be that I am left handed. This might not seem like a relevant cause to you, and I'm sure all of the left-handed people with lovely handwriting and a calligraphy set would write me the most beautiful letters pointing out the fact that I am obviously the exception to a very eloquent rule. However, what you don't realise is that I don't know if I'm really left handed at all.!!.......(gasps of shock from the readers).

Let me explain; I have a clear memory of infant school where I am learning to write with my right hand. But for some reason, this memory is a singular one and I soon afterwards began writing with my left hand. I cannot imagine why I changed hands. Was it under the instruction of my teacher? Had my parents noticed that I predominantly used my left hand for the other things I did as a smalll child? - stuffing worms into my mouth, poking the cat, picking my nose (and then poking the cat), stretching my willy every time I had a bath (somethings never change). Am I a right handed person trapped in a left hander's body? Consider these facts: If playing Cricket, I hold the bat and face the bowler like a right handed player; when playing snooker, I hold the cue in my right hand and guide it with my left; When I played football in goal, I always dived better to my right - as the ball passed by on my left.

Something is not right (no pun intended) somewhere. It probably is just the fact that I didn't bother practicing my lettters. I dabbled in joined up writing for a while - the dark arts of writing - but the demons that were conjured terrified me. Being left handed has another problem for writing: smudging. If a the ink in a pen has the smallest chance of being able to be smudged, I'm all over it like adults who should know better on a bouncy castle. Many of you reading this now will have at some point in the last year received a Birthday or Christmas card from me with smudge marks in it, which give the card the appearance of suffering from domestic violence. That is why I should be a Doctor, because of my horrendous epileptic-spider-walking-through-ink handwriting. Actually, I have applied several times to be a member of the medical profession, but never got shortlisted for interview. Perhaps the handwritten application form let me down.......

I don't have a very manly voice. Certainly not consistently, anyway. it would appear that given any situation where vocal interaction with another human being is required - especially a human being I do not know - then my vocal chords seem to choose to switch to "Justin Bieber" mode. As I type this, I am greeting imaginary people, and my voice has a nice manly and deep resonance to it. Put me face to face with someone, and it's Joe Pasquale all the way.
I don't know why it happens - it's not nerves, I'm certain of that. Maybe there's a chemical imbalance in my vocal chords, which could be resolved with some sort of supplement , or maybe it's down to dehydration or lack of moisture. Whatever it is, it sounds like I'm possessed by Michael Jackson.
I'm really not happy about it - it is embarrassing. To my ears, when I out with my mates it sounds like an episode from the Barry White and Mickey Mouse show. I know I can get round it if I concentrate on what I'm going to say, but that doesn't really allow for flowing conversation or me being good company.
To my friends and family, and those who I will speak to in the future I can only apologise: in terms of conversation, I will from now on be more of a listener than a talker. I will try to remember to speak in a deeper tone, as only dogs and Superman will be able to understand me otherwise.

According to the TV Advert for Regaine Foam "We are at our best with a full head of hair". Have you ever heard such rubbish in your life!? And I'm not saying that because I look like my forehead suffered an earthquake and the skin Tsunami washed most of my hair away. These people are saying that to be at our best we each need to have a full head of hair. Why not say "Bald men are losers!" or "No hair? might as well kill yourself now - you've nothing to live for!"
Adverts like this one, and that awful advert about "Acid Erosion in Teeth" - where they get that UV light which shows that our teeth are melting away like ice cubes in boiling water because we ate fruit - play on our fears and stereotypes, and we shouldn't fall for it. Are the Regaine Foam people trying to tell me that Ming The Merciless would never have been beaten by Flash Gordon if he had a shaggy perm? Would Bruce Willis have saved the day with no bother at all from the baddies, and have not to had go through all the trouble he did if he was sporting a mullet? Of course not!! We are at our best because of what we hold inside - not because of shampoos, or toothopaste, or creams, or lotions. These things are superficial - they only make us feel better, not make us better.

Being the best starts with believing in yourself. And for me, with the new Gilette Hydro Razor! Moisture activated gel provides our smoothest and closest shave yet........blah blah blah....

Monday, 21 March 2011

Try Not to Let it Get You Down

I am under no illusion; life is difficult, unpleasant, hard, and out to get you. If you let it, it'll grind you down in an instant and stamp all over you forever and a day. We all work very hard every day to earn enoough money (often less than that) to etch a meagre existence. We are bombarded everyday with stories and images of the terrible things that we as human beings can do to each other. I think there is now an almost automatic feeling of distrust towards those in power, and to our fellow man. A combination of Health & Safety, Human Rights, and a blame culture have made it easier to keep away from each other rather than interact and keep strong the social bonds that used to exist in our parents day. If you sat and thought for long enough about all the problems that face the world, you would breakdown and cry.
Now, I don't pretend that there is nothing wrong with the world; I don't live in my own little bubble, away with the fairies (which by the way, you probably can't call them anymore, as it is no longer politically correct), oblivious to the war, famine, and natural disasters that are happening each and every day somewhere in the world. I do watch the news, I do listen to the radio, I do read the paper. And my heart breaks.

But I refuse to just let myself be dragged down without a fight. And how do I fight? With humour. It's not going to stop a child starving to death, or stop a Tsunami killing thousands, or stop a Tyrant attacking his own people - but I believe it does inject a tiny amount of goodness back into the world.
I'm not looking for a pat on the back, or a round of applause - I'm just telling you how I feel.

Most of my status updates on Facebook are (meant to be) funny. You'll notice that alot of them are directed at myself - that is because I strongly believe that you cannot laugh at anyone else until you can laugh at yourself first. I suppose it's a form of defence mechanism - if I can take the mickey out of myself, I won't be seen as a threat by anyone and end up in a confrontational situation. Sadly this defence never worked at school when I was getting hit with a golf club by this guy who was bulllying me. Although remembering that moment has made me think how funny it would have been if he had been calling me "Fore eyes". Not funny for me, funny for him (see, reaching out to people all the time. Nobel Prize? Don't mind if I do)
I try and make people laugh, partly for the feeling of appreciation I get (I do love to be liked - it's a wimp/nerd thing), and for the feeling I get from the thought of making someone smile, even if I can't see it.
If I ever thought that I wasn't making someone, somewhere smile - even a little - well that would would be a tradegy. And as I wear glasses, and wasn't that popular at school you could say it would be a Geek Tradegy.

That is also what I do - play on words. I'm always willing to help people, and am quite often getting asked by old ladies in the supermarket if I can reach an item from the top shelf for them. I do help them, but usually say "there will be a small charge - about forty volts", which usually get's a laugh out of them. Sometimes they call the Security Guard - but I take my chances.

I just think that in today's world it is far to easy NOT to help, not to get involved, not to reach out and connect with people - but that is not who I want to be. I get my sense of humour and my willingness to chat to people from my dad, who was 100 times the man I will ever be. The Older members of my extended family knew how funny my dad was, and some have said that I have inherited it from him. I have my doubts - he was so much more than I am. Even in the last few years of his life, he still had his sense of humour - and he shared mine as welll. I remember he came into my work with my stepmother just after coming out of hospital again. he showed me the bottle of tablets he had been given. I looked at the bottle and said to him with a wink "It says here you have to take one of these every day for the rest of your life". Knowing what was coming, he played along and replied "yes, that's right." So I held the bottle up to the light and then said "but there's only six...." At which point my dad burst out laughing, and my Stepmother (who was terrified of him dying) whacked me on the arm.

And that is how I'm going to be - if you've been unfortunate enough to read any of the other posts I've written, you'll know they are full of drivel and rubbish that could be better written by a dislexic gibbon with two prosthetic arms on a typewriter with all of the vowel buttons missing. But, you fools - I mean glorious people - seem to like them, so who am I to question the judgement of my peers? So I willl keep being funny, because that is all I know - I don't know how to be a great speaker, and I don't know Astrophysics (I watch the series "Wonders of The Universe" with Dr Brian Cox each week, and I don't understand half of it. Incedently, I don't know Brian Cox has to come round my hoouse to watch it, surely he has his own place?), and I don't even know DIY, but for some reason I have a very small, tiny........talent (get your minds out of the gutter people!) for making people laugh, and spreading a miniscule amount of goodwill.

The world takes itself far too seriously - I'm not about to. Some people will consider me and my humour childish and pathetic. That is their opinion, and they are welcome to it. But laughing is free, good for you, and contagious. So why not share a little mirth? What harm can it do?

I take no responsibility for damages or injuries sustained in the course of sharing mirth.

If you have been affected by any of the material in this post, phone someone you haven't spoken to in a long time - just to see how they are.

Sunday, 20 March 2011

Garlic - Friend or Foe?

I was watching a film today called "Shadow of The Vampire" its set in the 1930s around a German film director who is making a vampire film - but is using a real Vampire in the lead role. Various people start disappearing, and no-one can figure out why. I like it because it's got Eddie Izzard in it, and although it's not a comedy, some of his facial expressions and mannerisms are just fantastic. Anyway, there is this one scene where a woman is found in her room doped up to the gills on Morphine, while the Vampire creeps around outside. This got me thinking: If a Vampire drank the blood of someone who had recently injected themselves with Morphine, would the Vampire then be affected by the Morphine also? I don't know if Morphine can be absorbed through the stomach, or if it has to be put directly into the blood stream, but if it can be absorbed through ingestion, then surely the Nosferatu in question would succumb to the effects? If so, the victim would ultimately get revenge by making the Vampire so 'out of it' that it would not be able to find it's way back to it's coffin before sunrise, and would therefore instantly turn to ashes as the first rays of sunlight touch it.
I then thought that if that theory worked, would it also work with Garlic? If you were surrounded by Vampires with no means of escape, you could inject yourself with Garlic Oil. Then, the Vampire drinks your blood, the Garlic is in the Vampire, Vampires are allergic to Garlic, and they die. Simple, yes?
Well, I'm not so sure.
Firstly, apparently Garlic Oil can kill you if it gets into your bloodstream. There is an urban legend that Mafia Hit men used to coat their bullets in Garlic Oil so that if their shot was off target, they were guaranteed results from the Garlic Oil. The truth of the matter is that you would need a large quantity of Garlic to do yourself real damage - somewhere in the region of 18grams of Garlic. Lesser amounts of Garlic will only lead to lesser injuries, including: Anemia, Vertigo, and failure of the testicles ability to produce semen. Now 18 grams of Garlic might not sound like a lot, but a .38 calibre bullet weighs 10 grams approximately (according to the Internet), so you'd have to put a lot of garlic around the bullet - which in turn leads to firing problems etc. If you use less garlic to ensure the bullet can be fired properly, the best you can hope for (if the bullet doesn't kill the victim) is that he will suddenly be very scared of heights, and his wife will be very pissed off.
Secondly, if Vampires only suffer an allergic reaction to Garlic, surely they only need to take a Antihistamine and the effects of the Garlic are cancelled. In all the Vampire films I've ever seen, the Garlic never does any physical damage - it only makes the Vampire hiss, pull it's cape up to cover it's face, and make it turn away. What you don't see is the Vampire sneezing constantly with its eyes streaming. However, it won't belong before Vampires discover Antihistamines, and the Garlic defence is doomed. The only way around the problem of Vampires alleviating their Garlic allergy  would be to fake an allergy yourself, ask the Vampire if they have an Piriton tablet, and when they give you the box (which they will, as they can appreciate how you are suffering), destroy it somehow. Or you could smother the tablets in garlic. But make sure you put enough garlic on the Piriton to ensure that the Vampire is dead before the Piriton starts to work.

Of course, whatever you do won't detract from the fact that you yourself will still be killed by the vampire. Unless of course you show the Vampire you injecting yourself with Garlic Oil, in which case he (or she - equal rights for blood suckers) will be less inclined to drink your blood. But then whilst you might have survived a vampire attack, you will be impotent and unable to visit the viewing platform of the Empire State Building. just pretend to inject yourself with Garlic Oil, but actually inject yourself with water coloured green (I assume that is the colour of Garlic Oil?). That way, the Vampire still won't attack you, and you can have children in high places.

So to survive a Vampire attack you will need: Make up - to redden your eyes to fake an allergy; Garlic - to smother on any Piriton tablets the attacking Vampire may have; a syringe filled with garlic coloured water; a syringe filled with garlic oil in case all of the previous fail; a self help book on overcoming Vertigo, and the number if your local impotency help clinic.

Saturday, 19 March 2011

Cars, Conductors, Karma, and Christmas

So, it's 10.7 miles by road from my house to Tesco's, where I do my food shopping (in case you didn't know what Tesco's was). It's a 20 minute drive, and for the majority of this morning's drive there was not another car behind me on the road. Obviously, this is not unheard of,  but I did find it strange, especially considering it was Saturday mid-morning - the time when (I would assume) that the roads would be quite busy. Initially I wondered if there had been a massive party in the local area which everyone but me had been invited to, and this morning was the inveitable hang over which is why no-one else was on the road. I felt a bit like the guy in that film '28 Days Later', who wakes up in hospital and finds London deserted.
After my initial surprise, I began to enjoy the fact that no-one was behind me. I was regularly checking my rear view mirror - with more frequency in fact than I do when there is traffic behind me - but still, nothing appeared. There were plenty of cars passing me on the other side of the road, but I wasn't interested in them. I was beginning to enjoy my solitude so much that I started to quietly say to myself "This is my road - my road baby. Ain't nobody on this road but me, oh yeah"
So I carried on like this for a few miles - and then another car apppeared in the distance behind me.
My instant reaction was to shout "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON MY ROAD!?", followed by me glowering at the car behind as it got closer to me. I could feel myself frowning really badly as I looked every other second in my mirror. The guy in car the behind must have thought I was a right psycho as we stopped at some traffic lights, because I continued to glare at him and mutter. Luckily for him, this anger was short lived as more and more cars joined the queue at the lights, and I remembered that this wasn't my road, it was everyone's road.

When I am in the car, I either play a cd, or listen to the radio. If the radio is on, it's usually Classic FM. I do like a bit of classical music, and great thing about listening to it in the car when I'm alone (which is all the time) is that I can pretend to be the conductor, and wave my index fingers (whilst keeping hold of the steering wheel - safety first kids) like I'm conducting the orchestra playing. Today I was conducting "The Blue Danube" by Johann Strauss, which was very enjoyable. If however, there is a pice of music from an Opera, I do admit I like to pretend I'm the Opera Singer - and sometimes, even the male ones. Of course, I don't know the words, but I open and close my mouth, and make the facial expressions as if I was Pavarotti himself.
If you've never tried it - and I seriously can't believe that none of you have - you should.

Now, I am a great believer in Karma. If you do good things, good things will happen to you. Likewise, if you do bad things, you must expect to feel it back at some point. However, I also believe that if you are generally a good person and something bad happens to you or your life, then that is simply a test which we all get from time to time. Some people believe that the return on good Karma should be rapid. My boss believes that you should get it back with 48hrs. I don't subscribe to that - I believe that there is no timescale for the return of good or bad Karma, and I also believe that the degree of good or bad Karma you get back is not equal to the amount of good or bad things you did.
I have been on a Karma trip today. Next to the Tesco's I went to, there is a Homebase store. A friend of mine (the mother of my ex-girlfriend to be precise) had mentioned that she wanted one of those bath tap shower attachments things, so before I got my food shopping, I popped into Homebase and picked one up. Then, when I got my shopping, I bought her a bunch of flowers (I'll talk to you about flowers shortly). I then drove over to my friends village to take her the shower attachment, and the flowers. I had to park a little way away, so had to walk down her road. As I did, I passed a house where a young woman was washing her car. I saw the woman , the woman saw me and smiled politely. So I said (raising the flowers) "sorrry, these aren't for you - If you had told me I would have brought two bouquets". She laughed, I laughed, and that was it. I went my friends house, gave her the flowers (which she loved), and set up the shower attachment for her. While I was there, my friend showed me her bird feeder stand which was inundated with Goldfinches, Blue Tits, and other smalll birds. My friends Partner asked me if I would like a bird feeder stand for my garden, and he offered to build me one.

Now this is where the Karma kicks in - I did a good deed, I got my friend her tap shower attachment, and gave her a bunch of flowers. In return, I'm going to get a bird feeder stand for my garden, AND I goot smiled at and had a nice joke with a young woman. In that instance there was a quick turn around of Karma, and although there is not monetary value in the Karma returned (the flowers and shower attachment cost me £20), I get a bird feeder for free, and my day was brightened by the friendliness of the young woman. That's how it works.

Right - Flowers. The Flowers I bought my friend were not bought for any particular reason. They were "Just Because" flowers, I bought them for her just because. You see, flowers don't  have to be bought to say sorry, or to say I Love You - they can just be bought. I have on accasion bought "pre-emptive" flowers - which are to be given to a loved one with the message 'I'm bound to mess it up at some point - it's not intentional'. They work quite well. I like stuff like that - just because flowers, no reason chocolates, you're gonna hate me ina minute massages. It's all good.

So I'm going to have bird feeders in my garden. I like the ones for Blue Tits etc. but I'm planning of getting a much bigger feeder with steak in it. I'm hoping to attract a Golden Eagle. How fabulous would it be to look into your garden and see a Golden Eagle at it's feeder, next to a Chaffinch, a Wren, and a Sparrow. It could work, it's the same principle, but on a bigger scale.

I've just remebered something else - Football Commentators on the radio; do they talk like that alll the time? You know when you listen to the commentary, they get progressively more and more excited as the actions builds, buut then they end really disappointed when someone misses. Are they picked specially for that job because they just talk that way anyway? Was this a typical Christmas morning:

"Dad reaches under the tree....he's pulling out a's got my name on it!......I've got it in my hands - this could be the Action Man I asked santa for!!.....I'm tearing the paper off - is this it!?.......... no, it's a jumper - how rubbish....."

That's what I think, anyway

Friday, 18 March 2011

Procrastination, and Death by Chocolate

Firstly, the title of this post - is it just me, or does that sound like terrible English when you say it? Have I made a pigs ear of the grammar and wording? Those of you who know about such things, please let me know if I should have worked harder at school.....

Anyway, I've come to the conclusion that I am a bit rubbish. When my last relationship ended, and I found myself in my current abode and singleness, I made a mental to-do list. This is not to be confused with a crazy to-do list, where you write down ridiculously stupid things to do,  such as:  lick the postman, shave half your hair off, call everyone you speak to "Dave", and interrupt yourself when talking to somebody by putting a finger to your temple, looking skyward and shouting "alright, I'll tell them!"
On my mental to-do list are such things as: visit various friends and family around the country, do a creative writing course, learn sign language, get a six pack. Of these, to-date, I have only partially achieved one: Learn Sign Language. As many of you will know I am in the process of learning the basics, with a view to further learning.
The point I'm trying to make is that I have been in my current situation for almost a year now, and I have not achieved all that I set out to. My problem is that I am lazy, and lose motivation. To be honest, you'll be lucky if I get to finish this post, rather than give up half w

It's okay - I'm still here. Who says you can't be funny in a blog? The Anti-Blog Humour League (or the ABHL as they like to be known), that's who - but I defy them! I laugh in their faeces, and wedgie them with disdain!. I'm sorry - I appear to be having "a moment"...I'm okay now. Yes, I'm lazy - and I hate it. I'm going to make a concerted effort to get on with these things I want to do. I have a plan, and I'm going to see it through. Nothing will happen until after May, which is when I go to Scotland with my best mate, and his brother and sister and her boyfriend for a week of laughs and adventures in the highlands. I am currently saving up petrol and spending money which is why I am not thinking of doing anything else. I have laid the groundwork for a trip to Edinburgh in September to visit my mums best friend, and catch up with some other fabulous people in the vicinity, but apart from that, nothing else is planned. Once I get back from the Highlands in May, I will be calling folk, and making plans. I'm not booking a holiday this year, but will take long weekends where possible.

Talking of the weekend, it's the weekend! I have nothing planned apart from watching the last Six Nations Rugby matches, housework - I am domesticated, don't you know - and chilling out. The weather is going to be good tomorrow, so that will make it all the more enjoyable.

Obviously, I will be eating chocolate at some point - maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe today AND tomorrow. You never know with me, it's like Russian roulette. Except nobody dies. I wonder what odds I'd get on my choking to death on a chunk of Cadbury's whole nut? Would I choke to death? Surely the chocolate would melt, allowing the chunk to slip down my throat, no? You never get a whole peanut in a chunk - it's always a half, or a piece - so I'm not worried about choking on a nut, but would the chocolate melt fast enough? I like my chocolate cold, I keep it in the fridge - so that might cause a problem.

Unless, I have a hot drink nearby that I can swig on in the event of choking. That would melt the chocolate faster - but would probably also result in a scalding accident. Can you scald yourself internally? I assume you can....yes, I'm sure you can, but I'd hate to experience it.
Please, don't try to find out for me kids - I'm not that desperate to know.

In the event that irony is on the phone to the Grim Reaper giving him my address, and I do happen to die whilst eating chocolate this weekend, please put the following on my Gravestone:

"Died as a result of choking on chocolate - combined with a fear of internal scalding which prevented him from taking the hot drink which probably would have saved his life."

Please make sure my Gravestone is landscape, not portrait.

Thursday, 17 March 2011

Useless Information, Incessant Interruptions - and Binge Eating

Today started out with a question: Why does my brain keep and store apparent useless pieces of information? I was asking this question because over breakfast I suddenly recalled two words: Nurgle, and Nongo. These were words that I had come across many years ago as a child whilst reading a copy of the Beano - specifically, the Bash Street Kids. I can't remember the plot line of that particular weeks humorous adventures, but I believe that the "kids" had written to various countries asking if they could visit, and they were reading the responses all of which were negative. Amongst the better known international words for "no" - "Non" (France), "Nein" (Germany) etc. there were these two words, Nurgle and Nongo. At no point did I wonder if they were actually the word "no" in some foreign tongue, I knew that they were made up. Incidentally, I have Googled both these words, and found that Nurgle is in fact the God of Decay, and one of the four major Chaos Powers in the (apparently) popular game Warhammer. Nongo, on the other hand is actually an Acronym for Non-governmental Organisations.
But why had I subconsciously retained these two words? Their appearance in this post has been their only useful contribution to my life thus far, and I can not foresee any possible scenario where recalling them would be an advantage. This thought process ultimately led to the main question; why do we store these random snippets of information, rather than discard them once their usefulness has expired? Everybody has knowledge of such things rattling around in their heads, but why?
I remember my dad having jars and jars full of screws, nails, bolts, and nuts alongside bits of wood and old carpet stored in a shed. He said that he kept these items 'just in case' they were needed - is that what I am doing with these tit-bits of info? Will I one day be grateful that I knew that the first time we see Rocky Balboa fighting in "Rocky", in that dingy old hall, he is fighting a guy called "Spider Rico"? Will the fact that Goats do not eat everything, and in particular do not like peppermints (as witnessed on the School Trip to Germany in 1982) be just the information I need to save my life?
Of course, there is the Quiz Night response - yes, a wide spectrum of knowledge is useful when entering a quiz night - but the knowledge required for that is not randomly collected, it is obtained more through structured learning I think.
There's nothing we can about it - when fishing boats trawl the ocean for cod, or mackerel, or tuna invariably when the net is emptied, you always find a crab or two in there. It is the same in life: as we trawl the ocean of knowledge, we sometimes drag up a shopping trolley.

I had a busy day at work today - I was the only one in the office, and had a list of jobs I wanted to achieve. So of course, right from the word off I was interrupted. First it was the office phones - the world and his wife rang to ask about deliveries, if a parcel had arrived, ask me for information. I swear that on a normal working day, when everyone is in the office, the phones don't ring as much. I was conscious of the time, as I had booked a collection of 14 pallets which I had to load, wrap, and do the paperwork for - so I didn't want to stay chatting on the phone. After about an hour or so, I managed to get out into the warehouse and crack on. I had booked the collection for 3pm, knowing that this would give me enough time being on my own to prepare the order and paperwork. I was very specific - I told the haulier 'the goods will not be ready for collection until 3pm'.

Imagine how pleasantly surprised I was when the hauliers lorry arrived at 11:30. In spite of of the fact that they were early, I now felt like I was keeping them waiting, and proceeded to rush about like a mad fool. the more I rushed, the more bad tempered I got. Colourful language was used - only to myself I hasten to add. So there I was, running about, cursing and muttering under my breath like Gollum with Tourettes, and then just to improve things, I had a couple of deliveries. And of course, because the sun was out, everyone wanted to stop and chat. I wanted to scream at these people "go away, and leave me alone! I don't care if your lorry got hit by a Tractor, and your wing mirrors got pushed through the door window of your cab - can't you see I'm busy!?" - but having been brought up to be polite, I simply smiled and ground my teeth.
Eventually, everyone got sorted. I haven't got to do everything I wanted to do today, but I'll get it done tomorrow - providing the rest of the world stays in bed.

Days like the one I've had today, often invoke my "sod it" reflex, and I buy myself a large quantity of Chocolate. I must admit however, that the "sod it" reflex is not just brought on by stress - it can be triggered by a number of factors including: boredom, proximity to the retailer, a day of the week that ends in the letter Y - all sorts of things. In fact only last night I had a 400g bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk. Usually, a bar of this size will take me approximately 6 minutes to eat, but last night I really struggled, and it took me a good hour to polish it off. In addition to this, I didn't really enjoy it. Now it could be that the fact that prior to eating that chocolate, I had already consumed a large bag of crisps, and my dinner (roast chicken breast with vegetables), which had affected my capacity eat such confectionary - but I also wonder if it is something else....
Up until quite recently, I have munched my way though chocolate at any time of the day or night with no problem. However, I am wondering if with the passage my time my metabolism is struggling to keep up with my sweet tooth. Basically, I'm wondering if one day I'm going to start piling on the pounds at a horrendous rate, and will turn into one of these 600lbs behemoths, that you see on the Jeremy Kyle show, talking to the host via satellite from their bed, which they have been a prisoner in for the past four years. Will I end up being hoisted out through a window by a crane and buried in a skip? That will never ever happen - because I live at the end of a narrow alley way off a main road, and you'll never get a crane down there.
If end up dying monstrously obese in my bed, a huge mass of flab and bed sores, just fill the whole place with earth, board up the windows and doors, and that will be my tomb.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

You've got to start somewhere...

Hello, and welcome to my blog.

As the imaginative and tantalising title might have told you, this will simply be a daily (hopefully) sharing of my thoughts, feelings, ideas, rants, and experiences from my life as it happens, day to day. I'm not trying to change the world, just share my existence with it.
It will not be my intention to upset or offend. I welcome comments, but please realise that the entries made are purely my opinion, and - just like everyone else - I am entitled to them.

I hope you like my blog. I'm sorry if you don't.

I'm about to take my first steps on a strange road - let's see where it takes me.

Larry :-)