Thursday 20 December 2007

Stumbling Along

I know I’m no longer on the cusp of the technological edge, so this news may somewhat be redundant to you. The fact my latest IT discovery has made me feel all warm and funny inside over the endless possibilities makes me obliged to tell you. I recently installed StumbleUpon (click here to get hooked up) on my laptop after a conversation with the IT bod from work. It was water cooler conversation again, where none of us know what to say really, so I fill up the time asking him questions while he spends it answering them. It’s a silent agreement we have and are both happy with. In this particular occasion I asked him if he knew of any websites that may share my interests and he told me about StumbleUpon.

You install it on your computer and when you run it it asks you a series of questions about your interests like, comedy, sport, writing, etc. You then tick all the boxes you are interested in and then open your browser. Then you’ll see a little sumbleupon icon button. Press that and you’re taken to a random website that’s about a particular interest you have chosen. It’s great, I’ve spent ages checking out sites I’d never find on a google search. I learnt about William Borrughs cut-up method of writing which has for many years perplexed me since buying Naked Lunch. It was one of those things that I meant to get to the bottom of but obviously there’s more pressing daily matters to attend. However, Stumbleupon brought me to a site that explained his technique so now that’s something I can tick off my list of things to do before I die. If you’ve got the odd half hour to kill I’d strongly recommended it.

In other news I discovered that Dyson LTD are expanding thier product range. I was in the shopping centre the other day and needed to use the public toilet. Once I’d finished I washed my hands and was drying them when I noticed this small device next to the conventional dryer with the Dyson logo on it. It read that it can dry hands within 5 seconds so I thought I’d dip my hands in between this device. Sure enough you put your hands in and slowly pull them out whilst a serious jolt of air comes flying out. It’s almost like drying your hands with the turbines of an aeroplane but without getting yourself entangled. I have to say I was impressed and went and told everyone about this new device claiming it is called the Dyson Dribble. Turns out it’s the Dyson Air Blade. I think the name I chose sounds better.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


His phone vibrates and he reaches into his pocket to get it out. He sips on his whisky as he looks at the message from Gregor. It reads, “Two hours, mine.” Charles throws his phone to the floor and swirls his drink around staring at the whisky sloshing around the glass. He’s not going to go this time. He told himself this earlier. Who is he going to betray his strength of mind or Gregor?

After an hour Charles gets up picks up his car keys and heads out to the car.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Yannish left the police station un-tucking his shirt collar from his neck and straightening it out until he felt comfortable. He couldn’t believe his experience. They were so polite. It was almost surreal. They saw him standing on the forecourt, chaos circulating around as policemen tried to wrap tape around the area while armed police could be seen bobbing up and down around the area looking for any unusual movements that could possibly be a lead. And there stood Yannish, who had appeared from no where, his eyes transfixed on the garage. An officer walked up to him and before he spoke Yannish said.

“The guy you want is over there, he ran into the woods.” Lifting his hand to indicate where he’d just come from.

The officer looked at him sceptically and didn’t look too convinced.

“How do you this?”

“Because I chased him.”

The officer looked at Yannish’s ruffled look, his garage uniform looked dusty, he had random scratches all over his face and arms. His hair was stuck in the air and he was quivering.

“Well you’d better come with me.” And with that stepped behind Yannish and ushered him forward without touching him. It was the movement of going behind that started Yannish walking, walking all the way until they got to police car, he noticed the steel railings separating the back seat and the front.

“Aren’t you going to tell your colleagues where to go?” He asked feeling a bit perplexed about what seemed to be happening. He had only ever been stopped once by a police man when he was 14. He had found a porno magazine in the bushes by his local park. He quickly swiped it and scurried off home only to be stopped by his local constable. Yannish looking anxious and just plain shifty was asked to show him what his sticking out of his jacket. Reluctantly but acquiescing with the constable’s demand he passed over his soggy porno magazine.

“Yes, yes I’ll tell them but first we must get you to the station, now get in please.”

Yannish although slightly confused and starting to feel irate that nothing was being done opened the door and slid into the back seat. The officer spoke into his radio controller but he was inaudible and ended talking once he’d got into the car. They set off.

There was silence in the back seat nothing was being said at all. Yannish didn’t want to speak, the moments of what had happened were beginning to catch up with him. He started to think about what would have happened if he’d walked out with Karen when she came to visit him. This would have all been different.

“I’m bringing in a suspect from the Cavendish garage, robbery.” Said the policeman on his car radio.

Thursday 13 December 2007

On Tap

I was out the other night and was unwittingly put on the spot. I was at the bar with a mate of mine and he asked what I would like to drink. I peered over and all I could see were the usual suspects on tap, Fosters, Stella, Strongbow and Peter Kay’s favourite John Smiths. As I looked at the symbol on each pump I let out an “ahh” sound in disappointment of not wanting any of those. Not because they’re all putrid pints of piss but because I’ve got history with them all due to them being only available on tap for the last decade. Fosters was the first beer I ever tried. I remember cringing as I tasted it and thinking, “shit I’ve got to be a man and pretend it tastes nice when really all I want to do is regurgitate it on my shoes so I have an excuse to leave.” I then moved onto Stella when I thought I was more of a refined drinker but that stopped once I started to lose my memory after five pints. I used to spend the next day patching it together with various texts from people I didn’t know I even saw the previous night. And of course most of it was embarrassing. Strongbow was the first cider I ever tasted and immediately thought it tasted like gone off boiled sweets so only drank it in desperation. I don’t mind John Smith’s bitter but at that moment in time I wanted something lighter. To be honest I fancied a pint of Becks but there’s no where I know that has it on tap. So after saying “ahh” for about thirty seconds I finally asked for a bottle of Becks even though I really fancied a pint. It may just be the places I visit but wherever I’m out I always find those drinks on tap or the majority of them. Granted I’ve noticed a few Kronenbourg Blanc’s and there is a pub near me that serves Red Stripe which I love but am scared of the locals to go there so I guess I’m stuck with those for the time being.

If anyone knows where they serve Becks on tap let me know.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“Yeah maybe, but I know what I’m doing with those, I know how to hit someone with it. I can wave in front of them, smack them across the knees and watch them buckle. Then wait, wait for their co-operation and if they still refused I’d smack them across the jaw. But with a weapon like this, what can I do but either wave it in their faces or start firing at them as soon as they refuse to comply.”

“Don’t start chatting about not being able to control a weapon. It’s because you’re scared of using something new. I think you should take the plunge for once, be Gregor’s right hand man. He came to you first to show you his acquisitions. Be a fucking man.”

Charles looks at the pistol. He hates the way it looks, the way it feels all cold and hard. It was almost phallic but yet he couldn’t help but feel incapable if he didn’t accept it. Gregor would laugh at him before spitting on him at the disgust of his refusal. He wants to be part of this new era of theft. It was Marla though he really didn’t want to let down, she thought she married a rampaging hooligan but how can that be true if he wouldn’t even learn to use and carry a gun. The fifteen year old boys that hang round the local shop have air rifles shoved down their pants. It isn’t that much different. He stares at the gun once more then looks back up to Marla who has her eyes fixed on him, waiting for his answer.

“You’re right carrying a gun will make me all powerful, no one will mess with me if I shove this underneath their noses.”

Marla jumps at him and kisses him while wrapping her legs tightly round his waist.

They pull up outside their house. Marla gets out and slams the door and stomps towards the house. Charles then gets out of the car he walks in just as Marla crashes their bedroom door shut upstairs. He was fed up. He couldn’t cope with her tantrums right now and goes over to the kitchen retrieves a glass from the cupboard drops a few ice cubes before pouring some whisky. He slumps himself down on the chair making sure he flops so low that his chin and chest meet while almost all of his legs hang off the end.

The night had been weird. Peter had got him aggravated but he managed to come out on top in their verbal encounter. But soon he’d have to see Gregor about the latest job. Why did he feel in such bondage with this repulsive human? He couldn’t stand him now, his grey stubbly face, his dry peeling skin and his French crop hair style. The thought makes him want to punch Gregor square on the face. He was a weasel. And yet he’ll always do business with him, always invite him in when he comes banging on the door. Never mention not to spit on the door step just before knocking. Maybe for once he should just not get involved with him, slowly distance himself from him. He could hear Marla talking on the phone upstairs probably to Semmi. He decided he liked Semmi, she was a lot more honest with her feelings than her sister and certainly wasn’t as demanding as Marla. Marla wants it all and wants to give no one anything.

Monday 10 December 2007

A Woeful Attempt At Christmas Shopping

Started my Christmas shopping the other day, it was for everything I hadn’t ordered online so ventured into town to pick up those bits. My first stop was HMV which seems such a dense hive of activity at first glance. You absolutely can’t move a muscle without a bit of jostling. I could see the Blue Planet DVD I wanted to get, it was only about fifteen feet away but there was so little room for manoeuvring. It wasn’t for the amount of people in there but for the crazy amount of aisles they have. Eventually I got there but as soon as I picked it up I realised I’ve got to go all the way back and the queue was fast growing. What a total pain in the arse I thought. It’s times like this when I’m put in a position where I may have to be patient that my mind starts sparking with ideas. Unfortunately these ideas are only on how to reduce my waiting time and nothing more. You see I abhor waiting and so does my brain. In fact whenever I arrange to meet someone for something I’m always late. I know its tardy behaviour but I just can’t stand waiting so I know if I’m late I won’t have to wait for the other person. Anyway, in this instance it dawned on me I could go upstairs where they sell posters, games and CD singles hardly anyone ever goes up there anymore. So I weaved my way through the rest of the potential punters and sure enough it was dead apart from a goth guy requesting an obscure death metal album to a confused and slightly scared sales girl. I paid for my goods and thought that pretty much the rest of shops round town are going to be like this so bailed on my trip. Not without passing this shop called Zavvi, where Virgin used to be. What’s all that about then?

Going to see The Darjeeling Limited on Wednesday so if it’s any good I might write about it.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Yeah maybe, but I know what I’m doing with those, I know how to hit someone with it. I can wave in front of them, smack them across the knees and watch them buckle. Then wait, wait for their co-operation and if they still refused I’d smack them across the jaw. But with a weapon like this, what can I do but either wave it in their faces or start firing at them as soon as they refuse to comply.”

“Don’t start chatting about not being able to control a weapon. It’s because you’re scared of using something new. I think you should take the plunge for once, be Gregor’s right hand man. He came to you first to show you his acquisitions. Be a fucking man.”

Charles looked at the pistol. He hated the way it looked, the way it felt all cold and hard. It was almost phallic but yet he couldn’t help but feel incapable if he didn’t accept it. Gregor would laugh at him before spitting on him at the disgust of his refusal. He wanted to be part of this new era of theft. It was Marla though he really didn’t want to let down, she thought she married a rampaging hooligan but how can that be true if he wouldn’t even learn to use and carry a gun. The fifteen year old boys that hang round the local shop have air rifles shoved down their pants. It isn’t that much different. He stared at the gun once more then looked back up to Marla who had her eyes fixed on him, waiting for his answer.

“You’re right carrying a gun will make me all powerful, no one will mess with me if I shove this underneath their noses.”

Marla jumped him and kissed him while wrapping her legs tightly round his waist.

They pulled up outside their house. Marla got out and slammed the door and stomped towards the house. Charles then got out of the car he walked in just as Marla slammed their bedroom door upstairs. He was fed up. He couldn’t cope with her tantrums right now and walked over to kitchen retrieved a glass from the cupboard walked to the kitchen and dropped a few ice cubes before pouring some whisky. He slumped himself down on the chair making sure he flopped so low that his chin and chest met while almost all of his legs hung off the end. The night had been weird. Peter had got him aggravated but he managed to come out on top with in their verbal encounter. But soon he’d have to see Gregor about the latest job. Why did he feel in such bondage with this repulsive human? He couldn’t stand him now, his grey stubbly face, his dry skinned face and his French crop hair style made him want to punch him square on the face. He was a weasel. And yet he’ll always do business with him, always invite him in when he came banging on the door. Never mention not to spit on the door step just before knocking. Maybe for once he should just not get involved with him, slowly distance himself from him. He could hear Marla talking on the phone upstairs probably to Semmi. He decided he liked Semmi, she was a lot more honest with her feelings than her sister and certainly wasn’t as demanding as Marla. Marla wants it all and wants to give no one anything.

His phone vibrates and he reaches into his pocket to get it out. He sips on his whisky as he looks at the message from Gregor. It reads, “Two hours, mine.” Charles throws his phone to the floor and swirls his drink around staring at the whisky slushing around the glass. He’s not going to go this time. He told himself this earlier. Who is he going to betray his strength of mind or Gregor?

After an hour Charles gets up picks up his car keys and heads out to the car.

Sunday 2 December 2007

Glasses - Update

A couple of months ago I wrote about visiting the opticians to find out just how blind I am (click here). Well I finally made the appointment on Monday and at 6:00 on Thursday evening I found myself standing at the reception area letting them know I’ve got an eye appointment. The receptionist thought it was funny that I said eye appointment I thought that’s what most people say. She led me upstairs where another receptionist, greeted me and asked if I’d come here before for my eye tests. I shook my head that I hadn’t so he shoved some forms under my nose and told me to fill them out before seeing the optician. I had to fill out questions like, do I watch television? And, how often do I rest my eyes? Surely that’s another way to say how often do I sleep. Anyway, I answered them the best I could and waited for the optician who called out my name after a few moments in strong powerful assertive tone. I got up and followed him into his office. He was striding with an aura of self importance. He pointed to the chair which I guess is where I was supposed to sit and he snatched the form out of my hand in the same manner Emmet Brown ripped the Save The Clock Tower leaflet from Marty’s hand. He nodded then grabbed my chin moving my head side to side then asked if anything had got into my eye. I told him nothing to my knowledge. He thought I had a mark on my left cornea but to make sure he wanted to use some yellow dye. He produced a little pipette from no where and quickly dropped some fluid in my left eye and then one in my right. I guess he thought he might as well do them both. Immediately I started blinking profusely as this foreign substance invaded my pupil. When I finally managed to focus everything had a nice yellow tint to it, it was really weird but in a pleasant way. This mundane office had suddenly sprung to life in a flourish of yellow. I told the optician this but he didn’t care he just told me to nestle my chin on a piece of machinery and stare straight ahead. He went around the other side and started looking into my eyes examining this mark. A minute passed in silence while he looked into my eyes. Then another minute passed and still no one spoke. Usually when this happens my mind starts to drift, and sure enough it did. I don’t know why, I guess I was bored but something random popped into my head and it was this.

Soup Soup
That Tasty

Soup Soup
That Spicy Carrot and corriander
Chilli Chowder
Crouton Crouton
Crunchy friends in a liquid broth
I am gespatio (oh)
I am a summer soup (mmm)
Miso Miso Fighting in the Dojo
Miso Miso Oriental Prince from the land of soup

I was transfixed by this song, playing it over and over in my head. I wasn’t aware that the optician was calling my name. I felt the fool when he finally got my attention by rocking my shoulder but the song was still ringing round. He told me that there was a slight scratch on the cornea but not to worry. I wasn’t. He then made me wear glasses with one eye covered with a patch and told me to read the letters from the white board, when I finally got stuck on line 5 he replaced the lense with another one and things became clearer and I read all of them apart from the bottom line. I think that’s impossible anyway, and it’s just a joke that opticians do to amuse themselves. I then went through the whole process again with the other eye and again I got right until the bottom line. I took off the glasses and the optician told me I needed some spectacles for reading and watching and television. I expected this and he led me outside where a young eager salesgirl awaited me. The soup song was still in my head but I didn’t think it was clever to start singing it out loud. The salesgirl virtually held my hand guiding me to all these glasses but I wasn’t really interested in any of them. She showed me ones that looked like something an SS Nazi officer would wear, some rimless Sven Goran Eriksson one’s but they were far too expensive. I did quite like the look of some thick black rimmed ones but when I looked in the mirror I just looked like a dopey Clark Kent. I even enquired about a monocle but apparently they are no longer in fashion. So in the end I procured some half rimless ones that make me look sort of intelligent. I collect them next week.

In case you don’t know the soup song. Here’s how the professionals perform it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I29IjrCY6Wc&feature=related


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“You fucking are if you want to get a cut of some up and coming jobs. You’re supposed the hard nut of our set up.”

Charles looks at the gun. He stares at the scratched tally chart and thinks if he’ll ever add to it. He didn’t want to use the gun, he tried to justify it to himself that he wouldn’t have to use it just scare people by bringing it into sight. If he had to use it he could just hit them with the butt of the pistol.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about you fucking pussy?”

The lounge door opens causing Gregor to spin round pointing the gun as Marla enters. She at first looks at Gregor’s serious expression. His eyes fiery with passion and his mouth open to bear his clenched teeth. Then she notices what he’s pointing towards her. Charles waits for the horrific scream that she is capable of but instead she looks at the object. She cranes her neck to examine it as Gregor gets up and embraces her, kissing her on the cheek. He places the gun in her hand and she stares in wonderment.

“This is amazing you’ve got a gun. A fully functional gun?” She asks still looking at the pistol in her hands.

“Of course, my dear, of course. It doesn’t seem you’re scared of these things, unlike your husband.”

“You’re scared of them Charlie? Why in earth?” She says as she starts pointing it around the room. She takes aim at the miniature statue of David that is standing on the fire place. Her eyes squinting slightly as she looks at the target.

“I’m not scared of it. I’m just, I don’t know. It sort of worries me that we might have to use them.”

“Ahhhh, so what if we have to shoot someone might do them some fucking good. I came here tonight to show you what I’ve spent months trying to get. Do you know how fucking hard it is to speak to a Ukrainian that understands only broken English? And it’s your wife that’s taken any genuine interest in them. Marla, talk some sense into him we need him for a job in a couple of weeks and he’ll need practice. I’m going to the pub.”

Gregor stands up, takes one last hard stare at Charles making sure he makes direct eye contact with his eyes. Then he leans over kisses Marla on the cheek again and takes the gun away from her grasp and slips it into his pocket nonchalantly like as if it was a wallet or his mobile phone. The door slams as he leaves them both.

Marla turns to Charles.

“Why are you scared of using a gun?”

“Why do you think I’m scared, I don’t want to kill anyone. I mean if in a fight someone was fatally wounded then so be it. But using a gun is so, so abrupt. There’s no control of pressure. Once I’ve pulled the trigger it’s more than likely the person will die. I don’t like that. I want to terrify them with my fists, my crow bar in my hand and play with them a little not terminate their lives if they don’t agree to what I ask. Fuck, I don’t even know how to use one.”

“Times are changing Charlie you need to be able to respond to every situation and by having a gun you’ll be able to do that. Who’d want to argue with someone pointing a ticket to visit death in their face? You shouldn’t be so scared, be a man take the gun. It’s not much different to your baseball bat or crow bar. If you hit someone across the head hard enough you’d kill them.

Tuesday 27 November 2007

Argos Woes

I noticed a tear on my lampshade so decided to get a new one which seemed a simple enough thing to accomplish. Or so I thought. Seeing the Argos catalogue lying around I picked it up and started to look for the lampshade section. After turning over 4,590 (slight exaggeration) pages I finally found the page with them on and decided on a brown mesh one. So I set off on my way to Argos.

When I arrived the place was packed, particularly with mothers pushing buggies around at an extreme pace in an attempt to over take each other. I managed to swerve and spin my self to one of those little blue calculator looking things. Everything went accordingly, I patched in the correct code number to check stock availability and luckily they had one in stock. As I began writing out the code again on the little paper you take to the pay area a thudding crash followed by a sharp pain on my heel left my yelling out loud. It wasn’t an authoritative yell that sounds like a giant has just been stirred from slumber. No, it was a bit of a high pitched yelp to begin with because of the sudden shock but as I realised my life wasn’t in danger my brain obviously wished to mask this potential for embarrassment and lowered my yelling a few octaves. However, I was pissed off and so I turned round to face the culprit only to see an exasperated mother who had lost control of her buggy which unfortunately smacked on to my heel. She apologised profusely but her child looked more than amused. In fact he looked far too big to be in that push chair. I told her that I wouldn’t die so there would be no need to worry and so she left. I couldn’t help but wanting to kick the buggy though. It was the same sort of feeling you get when you’re playing sports at school and the ball accidentally hits you on the face. Every one around laughs and as it wasn’t done purposefully you haven’t got anyone to blame so you either smile it off, even though you can feel your face turning beetroot, or you just cry. However, secretly inside you want to smack the ball right in the person’s face regardless of it wasn’t an accident or not.

Anyway, I hobbled over to the pay area and bought the lampshade and found myself sitting on a chair waiting for my number to appear on the screen so I can collect my goods. After about 10 minutes my number finally came up and I went over to collect it but I noticed that the lamp shade colour was sandstone. I questioned this to the tattooed muscle man standing behind the collection point area.

“Nah mate, that’s what you’ve ordered.” He told me.

“No it wasn’t, look at the code.” I presented my small piece of paper with it on, believing this would convince him.

Muscle man grabbed it, glanced at it then almost snarled at me.

“Yeah, this is for sandstone.”

I knew he was lying as only a geek would know what the code numbers signify without patching it in the computer. And he wasn’t one of those. It was obvious he didn’t like me and to be honest I didn’t like him now.

“You don’t know what the code signifies. Look just get me a brown one please.”

Muscleman glared at me but I felt that I should meet this glare with a cold stare. Had we been in the streets or out in a bar I would not have done this because quite frankly he looked like he had the power to break me in pieces. But in here, he hasn’t got much of a choice and besides he was the one wearing the stupid turquoise uniform.

“I can’t fucking deal with this. You deal with him.” Said the muscleman to his colleague.

And with that he turned round and started to bowl it down the isle, not before smacking one of the metal shelves. It must have hurt and looked painful but some how he managed to keep bowling it until out of sight.

I explained to the other person that I wanted a brown one and within a couple of minutes he retuned with one. Everybody is happy. I just hope I don’t see this muscle man out in town otherwise I could be in for a bit of a beating.

Lampshade looks good though.



::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“You fucking are if you want to get a cut of some up and coming jobs. You’re supposed the hard nut of our set up.”

Charles looks at the gun. He stares at the scratched tally chart and thought if he’d ever add to it. He didn’t want to use the gun, he tried to justify it to himself that he wouldn’t have to use it just scare people by bringing it into sight. If he had to use it he could just hit them with the butt of the pistol.
“I’ll have to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about you fucking pussy?”

The lounge door opens causing Gregor to spin round pointing the gun as Marla enters. She at first looks at Gregor’s serious expression. His eyes fiery with passion and his mouth open to bear his clenched teeth. Then she notices what he’s pointing towards her. Charles waits for the horrific scream that she is capable of but instead she looks at the object. She cranes her neck to examine it as Gregor gets up and embraces her, kissing her on the cheek. He places the gun in her hand and she stares in wonderment.

“This is amazing you’ve got a gun. A fully functional gun?” She asks still looking at the pistol in her hands.

“Of course, my dear, of course. It doesn’t seem you’re scared of these things, unlike your husband.”

“You’re scared of them Charlie? Why in earth?” She says as she starts pointing it around the room. She takes aim at the miniature statue of David that it standing on the fire place. Her eyes squinting slightly as she looks at the target.

“I’m not scared of it. I’m just, I don’t know. It sort of worries me that we might have to use them.”

“Ahhhh, so what if we have to shoot someone might do them some fucking good. I came here tonight to show you what I’ve spent months trying to get. Do you know how fucking hard it is to speak to a Ukrainian that understands only broken English? And it’s your wife that’s taken any genuine interest in them. Marla, talk some sense into him we need him for a job in a couple of weeks and he’ll need practice. I’m going to the pub.”

Gregor stands up, takes one last hard stare at Charles making sure he makes direct eye contact with his eyes. Then he leans over kisses Marla on the cheek again and takes the gun away from her grasp and slips it into his pocket nonchalantly like as if it was a wallet or his mobile phone. The door slams as he leaves them both.

Marla turns to Charles.

“Why are you scared of using a gun?”

“Why do you think I’m scared, I don’t want to kill anyone. I mean if in a fight someone was fatally wounded then so be it. But using a gun is so, so abrupt. There’s no control of pressure. Once I’ve pulled the trigger it’s more than likely the person will die. I don’t like that. I want to terrify them with my fists, my crow bar in my hand and play with them a little not terminate their lives if they don’t agree to what I ask. Fuck, I don’t even know how to use one.”

Saturday 24 November 2007

Eur-a-Failure


At last I’m starting to feel better. I’ve spent the last few days off work letting the anti bodies and the virus battle it out while I lay back and rest. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before but being sick can be extremely boring, you just lay there and wait to get better. Physically you’re restrained because you’ve as much strength as a new born baby and mentally you’re as fragile as the ol' lady in the queue at the Post Office. And when I thought I was getting better I attempted to string a few sentences together for a blog entry but all I could muster was illegible pulp so I gave up and carried on resting.

From my sickbed I had to witness England fail to qualify for the European Championships in 2008 by losing to Croatia. Mr McClaren may have finally been sacked but I don’t think he realises that he’s just helped push this country further towards a recession. No one is likely to spend much during the summer weeks that Euro ‘08 will be on. Where people would be out in the bars and pubs spending copious amounts of their disposable income on alcohol and food, now they’re likely to stay at home in a hump and not spend any money so less will be in circulation and instead be in bank accounts. The service sector is huge in the UK and they depended on Euro ‘08 to create this ‘feel good’ factor around the country which has hordes going into town to watch the game even though once you get inside a bar or pub it’s extremely crowded with a stench of man sweat circulating through the air and when someone scores a goal beer files ever where, usually landing on your hair and eyes. Only a ‘feel good’ factor could persuade people to endure this and actually think it’s a good idea. While being ill I listened to an economist who believed that the failure to qualify wouldn’t affect the economy at all. “People will find other ways to spend their money. They may go on holiday now.” Right, if they go on holiday it’s likely that it’ll be away from these rainy shores so their disposable income will be injected to another economy you daft person.

In business terms I reckon Umbro will finally be sold to Nike now. The US giant has been courting Umbro in recent months as a way to finally become England’s kit makers. The takeover hasn’t happened yet because if England would have qualified the shareholders would have been in a better bargaining position to up the price offered by Nike. The reason for this was because more England shirts would have been sold. Now they haven’t got anything to play with and will likely sell giving Nike easy access to make England’s kit once Umbro’s current deal expires.

It’s all misery here but there is some good that’s come out of not qualifying for the Championships. When England get knocked out in the quarter in finals at least there won’t be a drunken riot in the street where shop windows get smashed by alcohol fuelled skin heads singing ‘England till I die...” And innocent people aren’t set upon because they were apparently giving him ‘evils’.

Ah well, being half Peruvian I still got Peru to fall back on, who achieved an honourable draw with Brasil last Sunday in the World Cup Qualifiers. Sadly England has to wait until September 2008 for their first qualifying match.

Pants.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“What are you chatting about Marla?” Spoke Charles, finally deciding to engage his wife in an argument.

“You’re an idiot! A fucking violent idiot, I’m just glad that you didn’t have a gun.”

Charles looked a her in an abhorrent way, and then carried on focussing on the road. If it wasn’t for her he never would have got involved with fire arms. He was content in exacting terror the old fashioned way, punching them about, maybe a baseball bat but never an instrument that could kill someone so instantly. Gregor had called round his house one evening, the pungent smell of whisky trailing him behind. He burst through when he opened the door and sat on the table waiting for Charles to join him. Charles couldn’t believe that someone would be so disrespectful as to barge past and sit down by the table in someone’s house without even being asked to come in, or even saying hello. But that was Gregor. Gregor beckoned him over with wave of the hand. Resentfully Charles sat down to see Gregor looking rather pensive, his eyes kept scuttling around looking for some unusual movement. When finally all was quiet apart from his heavy breathing Gregor engaged Charles.

“Been to the Ukraine.” He said.

Again he looked around and when nothing seemed out of the ordinary he started to zip down his coat.

“Sounds interesting, why go there?” Asked Charles half curious half startled that Gregor would go on holiday. Let alone a country that is freezing most of the year.

Sensing the hint of amusement growing on Charles’s face Gregor snarled and finished unzipping his coat and from inside produced a something wrapped in a brown cloth. Charles’s looked at the cloth lying on the table and wondered what it could be.

“Look at these.” Said Gregor now with amusement lighting up his face as he saw Charles’s face look stunned when he unravelled the cloth. There lay two Browning SFS 9mm pistols.

“Why did you bring these to my house?” Asked Charles feeling scared in the presence of the two SFS pistols. He looked at them but was reluctant to touch them. Gregor however wasn’t and grabbed one and started to point it around the room.

“Ahh shut up Charlie boy. No one is gonna a get shot. This will help us be more persuasive with our jobs. Go on pick it up.”

“We already are persuasive Gregor we always get what we want” Said Charles still looking at the pistol, not sure what to do.

“Wasn’t successful in robbing the bank was we? Didn’t even get to the bank.” He still hadn’t let it go.

“Besides I think we should enter a newer league with greater rewards but with that comes a greater risk of failure. Now pick it up.”

Charles grabbed the brown handle, it looked just like the guns they use of television but up close in reality he could see all the scratch marks. Near the tip looked like a tally chart of six lines. He thought the previous owner must have managed to have terminated six people before passing the gun on. He held it up and stared down the single barrel and saw Gregor’s beaming face at the end.

“Good, huh? They cost me three grand but I see it as investment. I could only get two, so one is for me and one is for you.

“I can’t use this. It’s too dangerous, it’s fucking heavy I bet if I took a shot it would throw me to the floor.” Replied Charles now holding the gun in the palm of his hand and examining the trigger. He didn’t like this idea at all. No way. Using fists and tools he was comfortable with and that was it.

Monday 19 November 2007

Sick

This is a more relaxed entry today as I’m writing from my sick bed having successfully caught a cold. I don’t know how I managed to catch it but it might have something to do with falling asleep wearing virtually nothing but a smile. I woke up around 5am shivering and although conscious my body was too tired to get it self up and put on some clothes. Instead it managed to blag my mind that everything will be alright in the morning and to go back to sleep which I did but not without wrapping a pillow case around my shoulders for some token attempt to harness warmth.

So Saturday was spent spluttering all over the place and waiting for the sore throat to come on. Every time I spoke I was in pain and eating solid food made it worse so I opened the cupboard and went straight to the cliché shelf and got out a can of chicken soup. Hoping the tales of the nourishing elements chicken soup possesses were true I gulped it all down thinking it tasted more of banned preservatives, gone off cream with a few straggly bits of chicken that seemed to get caught in between my teeth. Nothing nourishing about that and I didn’t feel any better so decided to cut my losses and head off to bed even though I wasn’t tired.

This can be quite boring and I spent hours staring at the ceiling, waiting to see if it would move just slightly so I could have been a witness to a defining laws of physics defying moment. But nothing happened, and besides whom would I tell? About two people. And would they give a shit? Probably not. So instead I let the illness do its work while I switched on the radio and listened to the football.

Sunday was completely a day in bed and this morning I did have enough energy to make it to work where I am sure I have infected everyone in my open plan office with my cold and sore throat. It’s not my fault that ‘the man’ makes me work, I felt ill but I could still stand and so I attended. It’s just a shame that I have had to protest in coming to work by conducting germ warfare on a grand office scale.

Anyway, enough word processed inanity, I’m off to sleep.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“I didn’t see anything, I just heard a smash and saw you all over Peter smashing his head in.” screamed Marla.

“He told me, he wanted to kill Semmi.” Was the timid sound from Peter’s mouth. He was entwined within Semmi’s embrace, nestled against her bosom like an upset child being comforted.

“What the fuck are you talking about, I never said that.”

Charles starts to move towards Peter who just recoils within Semmi’s body. Marla starts to yank him back and looks at the rest of the restaurant for help but everyone is watching quietly apart from the waiter who is shaking but still managing not to drop the tray of food. He nervously smiles at Marla letting her know she’s on her own.

“Yes you did, and then you threatened to beat me up if I told anyone and so you did.”

Charles listened to what Peter said and although initially he moved towards him to pull him away from Semmi and continue with the beatings he couldn’t bring him self to do it. What Peter was saying was absurd, utter nonsense.

“Let’s go Marla, this guy is a freak. Semmi, I don’t care what he says, I didn’t say I wanted to kill you, I have no desire to do anything like that. You should take this pathetic person to the hospital though he may be concussed or hopefully worse.”

Semmi just look at him, not in hatred or resentment, in a way Charles didn’t understand so he grabbed Marla by the wrists to stop her scratching him anymore pulled out his wallet and scooped out three twenty pound notes and threw them on the table. He turned around and strode out of the Janpur’s with Marla behind him.

“I hate you!”

They got into the car.

“You’re a violent dick head.”

He starts up the engine and begins to drive away.

“I told you not to ruin my night and what do you go and do…”

It’s at that point Charles decides to ostracise Marla from his thoughts. He can’t believe just how sneaky Peter was. Peter was trying to unsettle Charles as soon as they both sat opposite each other but he managed to cope with his inquisitive comments and questions and in fact turn the pressure around on him. He made Peter tell Semmi where he lives and with whom, but what he told her was a lie. But why? Why lie? He didn’t want to take her back so instead he attacked Charles knowing full well that he would retaliate with lethalness. His wailing and screaming had all been an act to sensationalise the beating. If Charles beat him too much there was no way he could go straight home, instead he’d have to go to the A&E and every one would be concerned with him and detest Charles.

“Fuck.” Said Charles aloud.

“Don’t you start swearing at me…” Carries on Marla.

What a conniving weasel Peter was, intelligent for sure but totally untrustworthy thinks Charles as he starts to slump into his seat. Even though he ended up on the receiving end of Peter’s emergency plan he was pleased with him self. Pleased that he initially didn’t use force on Peter when he started asking difficult questions, he couldn’t believe that he managed to worm his way out of them and then actually make Peter squirm a bit. In the end he used violence but he was attacked and that was a more or less natural reaction and he didn’t seriously injure him which he believes Peter was seriously hoping for.

Thursday 15 November 2007

Link (No, not the hero from Zelda)

There’s a guy at my work who has the best seat in the house if you want to be the ultimate slacker. Out of the 150+ people that work on his open plan floor he has managed to stumble across a desk that is right at the back so only the wall can see what he gets up to on his ‘puter. He informs me that he does do work even though I never mention work only just how good it must feel seeing who is approaching you and not jumping up like an idiot in fright when someone approaches you from behind. But it’s also got some other good advantages like whenever I want to buy something online (we are allowed to on our breaks which are 10:45 or 1pm). However, as it’s an open plan office I can’t help but feel that as soon as I whip my card out the Director will come strolling past seeing me online buying something, and all I can say is that ‘I’m on my break”. So I have to inconspicuously negotiate my wallet from my back pocket which consists of shimmying from side to side and contorting my body so that it looks like I’m grinding the back of the chair. Once I’ve got my wallet out I then carefully slide out the ol’ debit card and nestle it in my palm so I can lay my hand on the table and turn it over occasionally to write out the details with no one noticing. My colleague, well he just slaps his card on the table and bashes it all out all in one go.

One day I decided to pay him a visit so I made my way upstairs and endured the 3 minute walk from one end of the office to the other. He wasn’t there so I waited by his desk and saw he had his screen saver on. I waited 30 seconds and there was no sign of him. I waited another 30 seconds and there was still no sign of him. So I decided to sit in his seat and by habit I shook the mouse which to my surprise evaporated his screen saver to show me what was on his screen. On there was a still image of a clip from the IT Crowd, in fact on closer inspection it wasn’t a still it was a video paused (cheeky git). I looked confused and felt perplexed. At that moment my colleague came back saw that what I had seen and proceeded to tell me about this website he found that has loads of different TV shows and movies on. Some of them work but some don’t and some are rubbish quality. He passed me the link for me to investigate.

It’s a pretty good site full of films and TV goodies, it’s not really appropriate for the working office environment as the boss will bust your hind but if you’re bored at home it could come in handy so I think I’ll pass it on for other people to check out at their leisure.

http://www15.alluc.org/alluc/


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Marla and Semmi took two huge sips from their glasses and began chatting about television. Charles, deciding not to continue playing games with Peter looked at Semmi with her green army jacket that had the Germany flagged coloured in black. He couldn’t help but think that it was a deliberate choice of colour on her behalf, an effort of irony. Something Semmi would definitely do and leave for others to work out. She was very odd opposite Marla. Marla, enjoyed the good life, the more luxurious the more content she would be. Being pampered and waited on would be her ideal scenario in life, where as Semmi wasn’t interested at all in that part of life. She was concerned about rights and welfare of living things whether human or animal. She would talk about animals that Marla hadn’t even heard of or human torturing happening in countries that he didn’t even know about. He didn’t like her because he felt she was too self righteous but looking at the little Germany flag on her left shoulder made him think that there was so much substance in the personality of Semmi.

A shining in the corner of Charles’s eye catches his attention from his gaze and turns and raises his forearm just in time to let the glass smash against it and not his face. He peers from his forearm to see Peter pull away and quickly push the table forward. But before it rams into Charles’s stomach he manages to grab it and hold it firm. He brings down his forearm and remembers the thought he had about hitting Peter and the satisfaction he was about to feel as he brought it to reality. Grabbing a clump of his hair he flings Peter head first on to the table making a dull thudding noise as he crashes down. Next he starts punching him round the back of the head, first with his fist, over and over again until he can see blood. But his cranium refuses to cave in. Charles looks for something to grab onto and clutches his pint glass. Peter is squealing for mercy and starts crying loudly. The Indian waiter carrying their meals on a tray sees what’s happening and starts to shimmy again from one side to the next, not sure what to do but shimmy in excitement. Marla, who quickly snaps out of the initial shock sees Charles lunch for the pint glass and grabs his arm.

“No Charles, don’t do it.” Screams Marla.

Peter feels the pressure she’s applying on his arm attempting to stop it going down. Even though it’s futile she is still trying. He starts to feel remorseful of his actions.

“You’ve already fucking ruined this night I don’t want you going to prison, I need to get things, I want the kitchen redone and you can’t pay for that in prison. Now stop!”

Peter realises her attempt, her pressure to stop his arm wasn’t out of his concern but for hers. He shakes her arm away sees Peter shaking his arms in the air, flapping around like an injured bird attempting to fly as the fox approaches. As he starts to bring his arm down he sees Semmi’s pleading face, her genuine look of sorrow. The blacked out Germany badge. He slams the glass on the table centimetre’s from Peter’s eye’s who gasps in shock at not being glassed. Marla flings herself at Charles entrenching her nails on to his face.

“How could you do this? How could you show me up? You’ve attacked an innocent man for no reason.”

Wednesday 14 November 2007

The Goth Dectectives


Since I repaired my Ipod I’ve had a lot of listening to do from all the podcasts I’d missed. What better way than to do it on a Saturday morning when all you want to do is lie wrapped in your covers coyly smiling that you don’t have to get up early. I lay there snoozing with my earphones locked into my lug holes when Russell Brand’s radio show came on. His usual side kick Matt Morgan had scuttled off on holiday somewhere leaving Brand needing another right hand man. So he brought in none other than, Noel Fielding. It was a recipe of utter chaos, mixed with thick dollops of humour and iced with random conversations. It was all these, and was utterly hilarious but for Brand it must have been an unusual situation to find himself playing catch up to someone else.

Both comics, I think, are amazing and dabble in different ends of the comedic spectrum. One being loud, brash and a lexicon worshiper, the other being a happy-go- lucky smirking Boosh member who talks about random things. It was strange that someone as subtle as Fielding would start taking the lead on Brand’s show. He’d always have the last say with a sprinkle of absurdity, such as “I gave away one of Lenny Kravitiz’s dreadlocks.” These sorts of sayings ended up dumbfounding Russell and sending the backroom staff in raptures. Brand is a funny guy and he tried to keep up with Fielding’s inspired randomness, “…Robin are you on Facebook?” but found himself only being able to add to his comments in his high octave voice which was funny but Fielding originated it. The show rocked, featuring a pissed up Courtney Love who was going to be interviewed but was too inebriated to risk. Instead she sat in the background shouting so she could be heard. It even featured Rainbow George who ever he is…

Brand maybe the flavour of the year and Fielding may be Gary Numan’s number one fan but together they are The Goth Detectives. When the show finished I got up feeling I’d just been enriched with an armoury of witty comments and decided that now was a good time to start the day.

Listen to this show if you can but if you don't like any of them you probably shouldn't.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“I work for an independent insurance company, Gregorsworth.” Was the reply, from his mouth. At first he could feel just how dry his mouth actually was his teeth tugging at the lips as he opened it. But when he realised what he said was actually a worthwhile answer he felt the salvia pour in just as his enthusiasm to make Peter squirm did. He felt he could carry on talking and so did.

“What insurance do you currently have on your own property, in fact where is it that you live?”

Peter’s mouth coiled into a tight little hole which reminded Charles of an anus. He couldn’t help but smirk, not because of the anus stuck on Peter’s face or the snarling of his nostrils but because he knew Peter was flummoxed. Exactly how Charles was feeling a moment ago.

“Where I live is really none of your business, is it?” Was the acidic reply of Peter who now had his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Well no, but you’re asking about property insurance and so I thought I’d see what you’ve currently got.” Replied Charles.

“Well I’ve got very good insurance, thank you.”

“Where do you live, Peter?” Said Charles trying hard not to beam a satisfying smile of victory.

“Yes, Peter where do you live? We’ve been going out for four weeks and yet we’ve never once gone back to your place. I haven’t got a clue where you live, who you live with, whether you got a pet.” Asked Semmi who had decided to reintroduce her self in the conversation, staring at him while she waited for an answer.

Peter sat still, he had already used his hair flopping trick once and doing it again would only show he had something to hide. His face turned red and tried to look calm by grabbing for his drink only to find the waiter hadn’t come round to give them any. He felt embarrassed.

“I live on Chester Street.” He said, awaiting the replies from both Charles and Semmi. Semmi curled her hands around her chin and leaned forward looking very interested.

“What end of Chester Street do you live on?” She asked him.

“I live near the garage, on that end.” He said quickly. Seeing the disapproval of the lack of depth in the answer in Semmi’s face he decides to add a bit more substance.

“I live on my own in a one bedroom maisonette, I own a cat named Baracus. It’s a quiet area allowing me to drink and read in peace.”

“I want to go there later.” Semmi demanded

“Of course you can. We’ll go after the meal.”

Charles didn’t really need to say anything, he knew Peter wanted to appease Semmi and not make her upset. Peter was lying, Charles knew that. He had lied so many times, to Marla, to his parents even himself that he knew when someone wasn’t telling the truth. Peter was lying for sure and because of that they both had something to lose should they continue trying to unmask each others fibs.

“Here are your drinks, a bottle of house white for the two ladies, a pint of Kronenbourg for you sir and a red Stripe for you. Your meal will be here shortly.” Said the joyful waiter, who shimmied over to the next table once he had placed the final pint glass down.

Monday 12 November 2007

Mouf Wash

I’m not writing about the Kate Nash song here. I’m talking about my recent experience in purchasing mouthwash. I usually gurgle Listerine Mint Fresh which has served me well the last couple of years. However, when in Tesco last week all the Listerine Mint Fresh was sold out. Instead of moaning I thought I’d treat this as an opportunity to try something new. So I scanned the shelves until something caught my eye which was Oral B. It is light blue similar to my usual mouth wash so I bunged it in my basket and walked off.

The next morning I got ready for work, staring at the mirror examining for any unusual growths like spots or boils. Luckily there was none so I proceeded to the next stage of turning myself socially tolerable for the working environment, which was brushing my teeth. After cleaning my nashers I grabbed the Oral B mouth wash, spent a few seconds negotiating the safety cap and poured and generous amount in my mouth. Within seconds I realised that this didn’t taste very nice. It wasn’t a horrible flavour swishing in my gob, it tasted like Hubba Bubba but with a very rich texture so it felt like you had 20 Hubba Bubba’s in your mouth at once. I couldn’t take it anymore and spat everything out before I even got to the gurgling and poured the remaining contents down the sink. I set off to work remembering that I needed to buy some new mouth wash and when the day was over I diverted into Sainsbury’s this time. Again, no mint fresh Listerine but I thought I’d definitely get one from the same family so I settled with Original. It looked more like a disinfectant than an oral cleanser but I just threw it in the basket and carried on.

Again I found myself standing in front of the mirror the next morning and again I was checking my face for any unwanted growths. The check came back clean but a dark red patch just by my jaw is beginning to look ominous. I thought nothing of it and brushed my teeth. I reached for the mouth wash and poured out a sizeable amount in the cap. I threw it into my mouth and immediately felt my mouth burn. My nasal passages cleared as the burning spread. My hard pallet felt like it was melting and soon would be part of the soft one. My gums began to feel sore and my tongue just exacerbated everything by swishing the mouth wash around. I started coughing and tried to spit it out but couldn’t get it out. I fell back and accidentally flushed the toilet as I finally spat it out but not with out swallowing a little bit of it. It tasted like TCP. I just stared at the wall, my eyes watery and my mouth violated until the burning went away.

I’m abstaining from mouth wash until Listerine Mint Fresh is on the shelves. Everything else is either too sickly or just dangerous.



::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“Sir, would you like more time?” Said the waiter ever so gently tapping his index finger on the paper to let them know he didn’t really mean it. He was though smiling politely.

“Charles why aren’t you asking for the Jalfrezi? You always get the chicken Jalfrezi, why change a habit of a lifetime.” Said Marla in an unimpressed tone.

Charles was rubbing his sovereign ring against his lips deep in pensive thought. Where does Peter come from? What is his job? Where does he live? Finally before he left an imprint on his lip by his ring he thought of a way to answer Peter’s bombardment of questions.

“Yes, yes alright I’ll go for the chicken Jalfrezi please. And can we have a bottle of white wine for the ladies, I’ll have a lager and Peter what would you like?”

“I’ll have a pint of lager also please, Red Stripe if you have it.”

“We do sir, very good.” And with that the waiter scribbled the drinks order on his pad and walked away from the group.

Charles turned to Peter, his smile equal to that of the long haired man.

“I work for an independent insurance firm, very casual. I don’t really have to dress up for work that much. Just as long as I turn up the boss is happy enough. He knows I work hard and I work long hours. The branch is on Gobian Street. You say you need some property insuring, where about is the property located as that will play a factor on the choices available to you?”

“Yes, it’s a property not far from where you live actually Charles.”

“Is it yours?” Retorted Charles quickly.

“Well…Well, yes it is mine and no.” Said Peter starting to get slightly agitated.

“I didn’t know you had property Peter?” said Semmi suddenly dipping out of her conversation with Marla and entering another.

Peter’s anxiety became more visible once Semmi became interested and kept pushing his glasses back more frequently even though they hadn’t moved a millimetre. He rocked forward so that his hair flopped over his face, hiding himself from everyone. Charles knew Peter was a wily man and wasn’t surprised that he’d try and salvage him self more time to think. He could see in between the clumps of greasy brown hair Peter’s eyes darting around almost in a crazed fashion when suddenly he flings his hair back showing a calm expression spread across his face.

“My dear, I didn’t know until recently that my aunt bequeathed me a two bedroom apartment from her will. I thought I’d take this opportunity to ask Charles here for some advice as he is in insurance. So Charles what insurance company do you work for again?”

Peter had managed to wriggle himself out and infuriate Charles by putting him under pressure once again. Charles imagined grabbing his greasy hair and pulling it towards him and grabbing the candle stick holder from the table. Pour the wax over his head allowing it to set in his scalp before crashing the holder repeatedly over his cranium, over and over again until he squealed an apology to him. Yet, even though he can feel the satisfaction oozing through him, it is not possible in reality and he still needs to tackle the problem of lying successfully to Peter without losing his temper and start hitting him. His brain began to hurt trying to suppress urges of violence so he could formulate a plan.

Saturday 10 November 2007

Mistakes

Mistakes are actions taken when reflecting back you realise that perhaps wasn’t the best action to take. It pains me that the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police absolutely refuses to resign over the handling of the mistaken killing of Jean Charles de Menezes. The reason being, for the time being that there were no ‘systematic’ failures (mistakes) made by the Met following the Independent Police Complaints Commission (IPCC) findings. I’m not going to criticise The Met too much. Its employee’s put their lives at risk daily. It’s hard now to imagine how London and England was feeling when the July 7th bombings went off in the capital. There was no question we were all anxious and vulnerable as it had been many years since a bomb went off in the country. For some police officers (probably Special Forces, as well) it was the first time they found themselves hunting terrorists so they probably were feeling the same too. However, I can still point out some failings in the fateful operation that killed Mr Charles de Menezes.

Failure 1
Why was there only one person watching the block of flats that the suspected terrorists were occupying. It turns out that while agent X was relieving himself in the bathroom, Mr Charles de Menezes left his flat to go to work so identification could not have been made by agent X which would have ruled him out as a terrorist.

Failure 2
While police were pursuing Mr Charles de Menezes they followed him around town and saw him get on a bus. I may be a simpleton but shouldn’t suicide bombers be prevented from entering crowded enclosed areas, such as a Double-Decker bus? If they had stopped him then in the streets, his death perhaps could have been avoided?

Failure 3
The police should not have let Mr Charles de Menezes enter the tube station if they considered him a danger for the same reasons as Failure 2. But also because by doing so they had to enter and cut themselves off from HQ communication as their radios didn’t work underground. Allegedly, the operations leader realised that they were about to apprehend an innocent man but was unable to notify her team or Special Forces until they were back outside. And as you know by then he had already been killed.

There are probably more failures that could be highlighted but these three failures are to me an example of systematic failings and therefore by your own admission as to why you are not resigning, you should step down Ian. You’ve got crap PR and everyone is very cagey about The Met which is not what they need when they are trying to catch real terrorists.

Be gone.



::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“How are you Peter?”

“I am quite fine Charles, and yourself?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Excellent, well would you be ever so kind and stop shaking my hand I believe it’s going to fall off if you carry on like that.”

Charles let him go and tried to snarl at him but instead found himself smiling almost chuckling at him. He turned to Semmi who was gazing straight back at him.

“Hi Semmi, how are you doing these days?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine Charles.” She turned her head ending the conversation and started to talk to Marla. Now that the pleasantries were executed the sisters would be nattering for a long time leaving the two males to converse.

Charles seats himself and realises that in front of him is a couple of hours of verbal jousting with the delightful Peter who has the tendency to keep flicking his brown greasy hair back and straight afterwards push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose even if they haven’t sloped down towards the tip.

“Now Charles, what have you been up to the last few months?” says Peter pushing his glasses up again.

“Nothing much really just been working hard to make sure Marla and I are able to live a good life.”

“You two do live quite a good life. Not a rich lifestyle by any means but one that is considered affluent in this type of neighbourhood. The insurance business must be doing very well is it not Charles?”


“Yes the insurance business is doing just fine Peter. Just fine.”

“You know, I’ve got some property that needs insuring and wanted to come to your branch but realised that I didn’t know where you work or for what branch you are based.”

“Good evening ladies and gentleman, are you ready to order? Can I get you some drinks?” Said the waiter who was standing just behind Marla and Charles. His beaming smile was well appreciated by Charles who thought he was about to find himself in a sticky situation with the inquisitive Peter.

“Can I have the Goan vegetable curry please.” Said Semmi who neatly closed the menu and passed it back to the waiter.

“I’ll have that too.” Replied Peter who hadn’t even bothered to open up his menu and had his eyes firmly fixed on Charles.

“Can I have the Korma.” Said Marla placing the menu on the waiter’s hand. The waiter’s eyes quickly illuminated at noticing the beauty of her.

Charles knew he was going to ask for the Jalfrezi it was what he always had when he had an Indian meal but he needed to use the time given to him by the waiter to think of a good response to Peter’s questions. He realised that answering his questions directly would only formulate more from the hole of the pompous prick. All peter said was full of alternative meanings, undertones of disbelief in what Charles was telling him. Charles knew that Peter was setting a trap and that he wasn’t clever enough to wriggle out of it head on. He considered getting Peter to the toilets and smacking him about a bit, perhaps even flushing that greasy mane in the toilet for a clean. But he couldn’t do that, no matter what explanation he gave to Marla she would just blame him and accuse him of ruining her night. Semmi would just look at him in disgust while comforting the beloved Peter. Where the fuck did Peter come from any way. He was a ghost who just appeared.

Wednesday 7 November 2007

Operation Ipod


‘twas only May that I decided to purchase an Ipod. For many years people had been quite passionate about the Ipod being the best MP3 player around and weren’t afraid to tell me this. For many years I abstained, thinking my £7.99 mp3 player was more than sufficient. People would even tell that if they had it stolen and or it broke they would replace it straightaway. So when I left my jacket in the rain and my Ipod in the jacket pocket I soon realised that I actually adore this piece of plastic. It was the collection I had amassed, the collection I was amassing which made me rummage in my pocket incessantly until I picked up the soaked player. I noticed that the screen was on and that it was still functioning but something didn’t look right. And it wasn’t. After about 5 minutes the battery died and so did my collection of tunes. The battery was gone and needed replacing so I searched the net looking for an Ipod battery but all were offering a battery in conjunction with their fitting services which totalled around £50. This is a bit steep for me so I continued searching until I finally found a site that sold the Ipod video battery for under £15 with £5 p&p. Of course they offered a fitting service and of course it was very expensive and so I decided to install the new battery myself using the websites installation instructions.

First thing I had to do was prise open the casing using tools provided with the battery which I managed to do. Then I had to carefully pull them apart with out ripping the headphone and battery connectors. Next, I had to unlock the battery connecter which was quite tricky but luckily I had many years of practice with stuff like this from the hours spent playing Operation as a boy. After that I was able to lay the metal case next to the white cover. I then prised open the battery and replaced it with a new one, sliding the connecter cable in until it locked. I carefully placed the pod together making sure the hard drive didn’t fall out as I clasped the two cases in place. I tentatively turned it on, half expecting the battery icon not to appear, half expecting nothing to happen at all. But some how it all worked, everything turned on, everything functioned correctly and now I can walk around with a beat to my step as I blast the tunes from my pod. I win, today!!!!
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Why don’t you choke them a little?” She once asked.

He’d never thought of that and told her he’d do that on his next job. And from then on she’d advise him on what injuries to inflict and he would carry them out. Smacking knee caps, punching the kidneys she really got turned on by the fact she was helping out by telling him how to beat up people. But she liked to hear about a lot of blood spilling the most and so he always made sure they were punched in the mouth. Just the cause of how they met. When punching his victims he often thought that this might be a blessing in disguise for them, just like it was for him.

They pulled up at Janpur’s Indian restaurant, not a word had been said in the car.

“You better not ruin tonight Charlie.”

“I’m not going to ruin tonight, you stupid girl I’m not out to ruin your beloved night. I’m here to enjoy the food then piss off home for a bit.”

“I want you to be nice to my sister. She is always nice to you but you, you just spit in her face all the time. I’m surprised she even talks to me.”

“I’m not going to bloody well spit in her face. Your sister is mental, she goes round in a Volkswagen camper van trying to save the world from pollution but she’s doing more harm than good driving round in that heap of crap. That must give off so much bad fumes. And this latest activitist group thing she’s involved in, what cause are they fighting for again?”


“They’re fighting against underground fox hunting. What they’re called I can’t remember. She’s my only sister, and I know her lifestyle habits are disgusting but it’s not her fault she’s like this. I feel sorry for her, I should have been around her more while she was growing up. Instead I was shagging you all over town so our stepfather got to her with his ways and views.”

“Don’t go blaming me about the state of your family. If it wasn’t for me you’d probably be sharing that camper van with your sister right now. Probably going halves with that Peter guy she’s seeing. Knowing you, you’d go first and make her watch and then have sloppy seconds. So don’t start trying to rant at me about the state of your sister.”

“Alright, alright, look just don’t cause an argument or make her or Peter cry.”

“I want to kick the shit of out him.”

“No!”

“Yes, I know. She’s your sister’s partner. I’m not going to do it, but when they break up I’m gonna hunt him down.”

“Alright, let’s go and don’t ruin my dinner, alright?”

They got out of the car and Charles could smell the pungent smell of Indian food straight away. He inhaled passionately so that he could tease his appetite even more. They walk into Janpur’s and Marla immediately saw Semmi sitting with Peter. Semmi saw her sister and waved her over so that they could join them. Charles noticed she was wearing a green army jacket with a Germany flag stitched on the right of her shoulder but completely coloured in in black. He couldn’t think why and before he got a chance to ask Peter was standing in front of him shoving his open hand in Charles’s gut. Charles slightly a taken back by the prod in his abdomen quickly realised who it was and quickly hooked onto Peter’s hand began shaking it with some force.

Monday 5 November 2007

Francoiz Breut


At the moment Francoiz Breut is helping me get through these horrible days. Has anyone else noticed that by 4:30pm it’s completely dark outside? I have, and when I look outside from the window at work I get sad. No one wants to go to work when it’s dark and leave when it’s dark. All the best hours are spent working for the man, so luckily I’m privileged enough to be near a window and be able to listen to Francoiz Breut. She is a French singing artist that creates great slow beats with a sultry voice layered over the top. I love the French accent so I’m constantly purring at work when I start listening to her. For more information check out the Wikipedia link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3%A7oiz_Breut

In other news I’ve just procured season 6 of Family Guy. I’m half way through the second disc and as always I’m finding it utterly hilarious. However, I’ve noticed a few things with this series. The first is that they swear quite nonchalantly now which came a bit of a shock. Secondly there aren’t as many episodes in this series as there was in the last, it seems they are slowly creating less and less and still classing it as a series. Either way Stewie Griffin is still having me cracking up al over the place and occasionally getting out a dictionary.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::



Even though he was suspicious he never really entertained the idea further. Never thought about it more, like who could it be, were they male or female, where did they meet? Instead he turned his attention into locating his keys. He rummaged through his pockets until his fingers touched the serrated metal of his car keys, he pulled them out and started the car and they drove off. He turned his head to see Marla still in a state of anger, she was leaning against the window just looking straight ahead. “Bitch.” He murmured to himself as he turned back to focus on the road.

He had met her when he went to visit the dentist 16 years ago. He had lost a tooth and at least chipped three of them the previous night. He quickly ran home and looked in the local paper for an emergency dentist, no one would see him at that time of the night and all suggested the hospital. He was well accustomed with the hospital’s A&E and didn’t fancy being in the company of drunks, overdosed addicts and other people suffering grievances. Finally a dentist did agree to see him but he would have to wait until morning. So he sat in his flat till morning, using cotton wool to clog up the bleeding that was coming from the missing tooth. He played Sammy Davie Jr records to help sooth the pain.

When he arrived at the dentist he was shown to his room and that’s when he saw Marla. She was a dental nurse. Charles, felt the attraction straight away, he lusted after her as soon as he walked in to the room. Wearing her tight all white uniform only intensified his already pulsating carnal instincts. He noticed that he had an affect on her but wasn’t sure what it was that was causing her redden in the face. He could only think it was because he looked like a rugged man, one that was able to endure pain and be able to protect her if needed. The testosterone with in him was rife now and he puffed up his chest and introduced himself as Charlie. The first time he had ever called himself that.

He was right in thinking she was attracted to his hard image. She adored his skin head and the fact he had lost a few teeth made her mind burst with visions on how he lost them. She loved that rugged dangerous man and she felt she had finally found everything she wanted in one package apart from a missing tooth.

Their relationship intensified when he revealed just what sort of activities he got up to. She loved the idea he was breaking the law, that he was going out one night and coming back a couple of days later with his pockets full with bank notes that would easily pair their rent and live the most luxurious lifestyle of all the tenants of the Dennison blocks of flats. He would tell her how they would select a lorry and follow it a few days, learn it’s route and the driver’s habits like where he stopped for a break, if he visited a prostitute. They would then decide when was best to strike and Charles would always be the one to inflict the damage, he was strong, stronger than the others and that was his contribution to the gang. She would hang on his every word, look at him tentatively until he described what he do to his victims, break their noses, crack their jaws.

Thursday 1 November 2007

The Arachnid and I


I was strolling to work the other day I felt something brush my hair. I rummaged around with my hand and felt something scurry across the back of it. I jumped back startled even though it was only a slightly feeling I knew that it was some bug type thing. It then scuttled its way back into my hair causing me to use both hands to try and force it out of my hair. I was careful not to encourage it to venture in any of my ear holes because the last thing I would want is a spider taking refuge in my lug hole, especially after seeing a naff 70s horror movie about such a thing. In the film a killer spider makes a nest in a lady’s ear and eventually thousands of tiny spiders are released when the hairdresser cutting her hair accidentally cuts open a lump on her head. It was horrifically disgusting and because of this I was mindful to cover them up with my thumb. I looked like an idiot but the thought of a spider in my hair made me feel really agitated so I rubbed profusely around my hair until I felt it back on my hand again and then I flicked my hand quickly back up making the little spider launch high into the air and land a few metres away in the grass. I brushed myself down regained my composure and then noticed the frightened look of an old lady walking her dog after witnessing this event.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Alright, alright I’m coming just give me a moment.” Said Charles sitting bolt upright on the toilet seat. He pulled the chain so that it looked like he had been to the toilet, stood up and looked at his gaunt hollow eyes that stared back at him in the mirror. Then he stepped outside to see Marla, his wife, stand just outside like a Hyena stalking its prey. He swore, she looked like she was bearing her teeth at him.

“Why, oh why, Charlie, that every time I arrange something for us both to go to, you try everything you can to screw it up. You think by locking yourself in that toilet everything will go away. Well it won’t, and I don’t want to be late any longer, I’ve arranged dinner with my sister for two weeks now and if you think we’re not going to go because you can hide in the toilet you’re wrong.”

“ I was in the toilet to be at one with my thoughts. I wanted to think for myself without you nattering away at me.”

“I don’t give a shit Charlie.” Marla looked at him up and down, noticing that he was wearing his pink shirt, although slightly crinkled, easily acceptable at the Indian restaurant they were visiting. He still didn’t have his shoes on but he looked like he was ready to go.

“Look, I said I was going to come to your crappy meal even though that bum of her boyfriend Peter is going to be there. He fucking stinks and yet I’m willing to put up with his bad breath and body odour to keep you happy. And you won’t. You won’t, even give me five minutes to spend some time with myself.”

“Why, were you masturbating?”

“No! You know I wasn’t. Now I’m coming but I can’t do anything with you standing right in my face spewing out your frustrations, now move.” Charles, decided the conversation had now ended and barged past Marla making her stumble as he stomped past. He went to the wardrobe to find his shoes, remembering he’s got a meeting with Gregor later on tonight. He really didn’t want to meet up with him tonight, he couldn’t stand him but yet he felt obliged, no, felt ashamed as he was commanded by Gregor to meet with him tonight and he knew he’d turn up.

“Fuck!” Shouted Charles flinging his shoes across the room at the realisation of the thought. Even though that was hours away he also still had to endure the forthcoming meal. His dark thoughts had left him now but only to be replaced with trivial mundane duties. He wondered what was more tormenting.

They both got into the car. Marla, silent but her face glowing red in fury. Charles looked at her, admiring her wavy long brown hair, her upright nose that was the focal point of her beautiful face. He loved her but he just couldn’t stand her attitude, he was sure she was having an affair with someone else.

Wednesday 31 October 2007

Halloween


Yep, it’s the spookiest time of the year again. Where the little children knock on your door demanding sweets and the not so little children knock demanding money. Where I work the canteen people have been running a competition for scariest looking pumpkin. You have to present your pumpkin to them and the one they think gives them the shivers the most will win a free meal. Not bad I thought considering a meal there will cost you about £3.50. However it was my face that looked scary when I was browsing through the grocery store when I saw pumpkins for sale at £4. They weren’t even organic ones as well!

Enough of my shock on the cost of pumpkins, here’s some prose to check out if you wish.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Charles was sitting on the toilet seat now, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes looked at the shiny gold box twinkle in the bottom left corner and then crushed it. He crumpled the box in the palm of his hand and threw it to the ground. He leaned back against the toilet to relax and help his memory carry on flowing.

He smacked the bank manager with the butt of his pistol repeatedly, whilst screaming various expletives at him. He remembered how Gregor had to lunge over from the front seat and stop him from carrying on. The driver, Davey pulled out on to a field where they pulled over briefly pulled the bank manager out and Charles smacked him one more time across the jaw so that as he hit the ground red coloured saliva came spluttering out of his mouth. He lay on the grass motionless. Charles and Gregor jumped back in the car and they carried off across the grass. Gregor looked at Charles is disgust.

“Hey, Charlie boy! Couldn’t be bothered to frisk him, no? Thought your self too good to check his pockets, eh? You think yourself the big man do ya, that you didn’t consider this man an intelligent one? Didn’t bother to consider it no? Or, did you forget Charlie? You forgot to frisk him didn’t you? We’ve spent three months planning this, all of us knew what we had to do, we memorised it, what route to take and where to meet up, how long we should be in the bank, where to deposit the cash, everything. And now it’s for nothing, absolutely nothing and all because you, yes you, forgot to check that liver spotted, white collar piece of shit. And now you’ve cost us £30,000 each. Our money is gone and it’s all because of your stupidity.”

Charles couldn’t even look at Gregor. He stared at the floor feeling the anger starting to rise up within him. It was his own anger, his own doing. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He noticed the mobile phone on the floor and picked it up before snapping it cleanly in two.

They ditched the car as they neared woodland and decided to split their separate ways and not contact each other for two weeks.

Charles, regretted bringing that memory up again, he could feel the shame shower all over him again. How could he of been so idiotic? And Gregor never let him forget, never. He despised Gregor for many years but no matter how much he wanted to rid himself of the lanky balding scum, Gregor would always manage to weave his way back into his life. However, Charlie never told Gregor he never wanted to have anything to do with him again. He avoided that. The reason being was that to do anything illegal he required his craftiness to execute any job. They both knew this and for that reason Charles never took charge of any job they planned. He craved to take the lead but every time he tried Gregor would just take over, mock him in some why to douse his confidence and then manipulate his why into being in charge.

“Fuck sakes Charlie. We’ll be late.” Said Marla banging on the door.

Tuesday 30 October 2007

Phillip

Don't you think it's strange when your mind drifts off into an absent abyss only to return with a poignant message that stays in your mind for the rest of the day?

I was eating my Cheerios this morning reading the Grauniad newspaper when I came across an article about the England team’s rugby success. This led me to think about when I played rugby at middle school, where we couldn’t even afford the posts so we couldn’t ever convert tries or penalties. At the time I was a winger and was considered quite a good player. However I did face stiff competition from Philip. He was a really nice guy, and even though my memories of him are hazy I remember him being someone of integrity which was something most 12 year olds didn’t even know was a word let alone have it.

Phillip’s father was an English teacher at our school who would strike terror amongst us with his large glaring eyes and Neanderthal style beard. He was a teacher that told you if you were good but had no problem telling you if you were bad with school work and I liked that style of teaching. However, there were rumours going round at the time that he was having an affair with another teacher. Every body talked about it and the gossip was rife through class to class and year to year. We all were mesmerised with the idea that the two teachers were at it, either in the store cupboard, class room or even the headmaster’s desk. The rumours just got wilder and stupid but it was lapped up by us all. But none of us thought about Phillip.

He must have been aware of these rumours as they were soon becoming playground lore. Not once did he shout at anyone for spreading them. Not once did he break down in public over them. He didn’t even leave the school. This is something I find quite admirable, that a boy of 12 could deal with such an emotional issue so well. I don’t think many others could. I certainly couldn’t and even though I don’t know him anymore I respect him so much now.

I realised that I had my spoon dangling in the air when my mind decided to return to its head. I quickly finished up and set off to work thinking about what Phillip had to put up with and what on earth is he doing now.

I’ve managed to bash out some prose for you to dabble with if you wish.



::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Charles Kennedy, stood looking at the mirror. He stared at his reflection, seeing his hair line growing perilously higher every time he saw himself. His blue eyes looked back at himself seeing his lips curling downwards. He hated himself. Not purely for the fact he had entered middle age and what he saw before him wouldn’t stir the loins of a nymphomaniac who had consumed a nets catch of oysters. He hated what was within, his angry temper, his devious mind that had been nurtured well over the years by performing a plethora of crimes ranging from stealing the hub caps of a Ford Cortina to armed robbery at various small shops and garages. He once tried to rob a bank. He was younger then, even greedier than he was today and a lot less experienced. They followed the bank manager for weeks finding out his journey home his, the route he took, how long it took and what alternative ones he used. Then one day when they were ready to rob the bank they followed him in a car and over took him and once they were on a one lane road stopped the car forcing the bank manager to stop his. Three of them put on balaclavas got out advanced on the car with shot guns pointing in his direction. They thought that was the hard part, capturing the bank manager. From there they could get the right details, force him to make the right calls and the money would be there’s. However, they didn’t consider the wiliness of this particular bank manager. Although to them he looked terrified and the urination stains on his trousers only made them think he will comply with anything. He let them easily pull him out of the car, threaten him of the consequences while shoving a gun in his mouth so far back that he started to gag. He nodded to their every demand eagerly. What they didn’t anticipate was that while they approached the car the bank manager dialled 999 on his mobile and popped it in his suit jacket pocket. They set off in their car towards the bank. The bank manager started to wail “I can’t believe you’re robbing the bank, my bank on Chester Street. Why not another, and why do you four have to bring guns with you. I just can’t believe it.”

“Shut it.” Said Charles.

“I just don’t want to die. Not like this, not here on a country road off Toddsbury.”

Charles sitting next to him grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face close to his.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll shoot your testicles off. Got it.”

It appeared to silence the bank manager who only nodded solemnly, Charles let him go and he turned his head forward, his body rigid.

Within five minutes the police siren sounds could be heard near by. All of them looked at each other for some sort of explanation as to why they were now being chased by the police.

Charles looked at Gregor.

“Don’t look at me for an answer. Did you frisk him? Did you check his pockets?”

Immediately Charles realised his bumbling error. How could he forget to check his pockets, even ask if he was carrying anything. Feeling embarrassed and angry with himself he lunged at the bank manager smacking him on the face with his right fist while his left hand grabbed his jacket. The mobile popped out from the pocket and landed on Charles’s lap. The 999 number illuminated in blue on the screen.

Tuesday 23 October 2007

Exhaustion


I haven’t really done myself any favours recently. As the seasonal cold bug starts to infect the office it is only a matter of time before you are next on its list. So on Sunday I woke up with a bit of a sore throat and the sniffles. This didn’t stop me from deciding to go for a 3 mile run which upon my return only intensified my ever growing cold. On Monday I woke up still feeling under the weather when I remembered I promised one of my work colleagues I'd play him at squash so I packed my kit begrudgingly and set off to work.

The squash game was rather intense with me prevailing 2-1 in games but not without playing so hard that when I looked at the wall I thought I saw stars. The next morning my cold was still lurking within me waiting to strike me down when I realised that I had a touch-rugby game. Once again I packed my kit thinking maybe I should take a rest. We lost the game 3-1 and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep my eyes open as I looked at the computer. As I am writing this my body is completely stiff and I feel run down and it is all my fault so I’m not going to do anything else until next Tuesday when I have another touch-rugby game.

Being unable to move due to sore muscles has enabled me to write some more prose. Check it out at your leisure.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Yannish?”

“Yannish?”

Yannish’s opened his left eye wearily to see a dark silhouette of a man leaning over him. He could feel his head swaying from within.

“Give me that can.” Said the voice of the silhouette.

He could hear a slight struggle going on above him but finding himself unable to move he lay there. Suddenly he heard a squeal and then a can being opened and all of a sudden gushes of cold beer landing in his mouth, his eyes and up his nostrils. His immediate reaction was to lean forward so that no more beer would its way into anymore vulnerable orifices. Coughing up beer that managed to tickle his throat on his way down he squinted his eyes to see Peter standing in front of him.

“There, I knew that would rouse you. Harsh, I know, but I needed to know whether you were severely injured. Trust me, it was debated whether to waste such favoured liquid on waking you up but then Conrad pointed out that a dead body would only attract unwanted attention. And so if that was the case we’d of had to move you somewhere. With gloves of course.”

Yannish, saw Conrad and George walk into his focus. His head was rattling and the swaying in the head was still there but the sudden jolt of action had stimulated his mind again and he was beginning to gain his senses.

“Where did you find me?”

“Here stupid.” Retorted George.

“Yes, we found you laying here. In fact we believed you to be dead, it was only until I checked your pulse that I realised that you had just been knocked unconscious. So are you going to tell us what happened?” Said Conrad as he started to walk around Yannish.
What happened…what happened? Were the words rolling through Yannish’s mind. As they continued to flash past pictures of the night’s events popped into his head.

“I was running after someone. I wanted to see where they were going. I knew that if they got to the wood I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them anymore. But he turned round and I got scared so ducked. I got scared because he had a gun. Why did he have a gun?”

“I don’t know, but why were you chasing someone that had a gun?” Asked Peter, in an inquisitive tone.

“Shit. The garage. It was robbed.”

“Pardon?” said Peter.

The adrenaline flowed through his body once again as if it were a prize for remembering what had happened. Yannish started to stand up, his legs shaking but he was able to get up.

“The man, I was chasing, he robbed the garage. I’ve got to get back and see how Clarence is doing.”

The moment he thought he had died was now clear in his head. He wanted to see Clarence, see she was alright and also because he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t like seeing that moment in his head, replaying in slow motion.

“You can’t go back there you’ve barely enough strength to walk back.” Said Conrad looking at him with some concern.

“I need to go.” And as he said that Yannish pushed himself to start walking. Very slowly he managed a few steps before his knees buckled and finds himself crumpled on the floor.

Admitting defeat, he lies back on the ground and begins to touch the source of pain. The bruise is bubbling nicely on his forehead and when touched sends an excruciating jolt of anguish through him.

“Did you guys, hear a gun shot? There was a shot from the garage. He didn’t want to kill us, he wanted to terrify us. Make sure we were broken humans, our spirits snapped or at least stretched to breaking point. The fucker.”

“Look what you need is to go to the hospital.” We can help you get you there.

“No, I want to go back to the garage, I want to see Clarence.” He wanted to see the garage, to see exactly what state it was in when he left. He wanted to go to the office and see the remaining bits of the safe and the table which he crashed on.

“Please, help me get back to the garage.”

“There will be police there. You know how we all feel about the law.”

“Look just help me up to the top of the heath and I’ll make me own way down there. You don’t need to worry about the police. It’s the fucking police who are likely to find this stranger, who could easily still be out there watching us all. It’s them who have the skills to catch him, catch him before he tries anything like this again.”

There was a silence.

“Ok, George help him up.”

Yannish felt weary now, it was only a ten minute walk but it seemed so very long. George was a ruthless carrier and flung him from side to side. Peter and Conrad walked behind him, he could see in both their eyes that they wanted to talk to him but respected the fact he wanted to return to the garage. Yannish himself thought it strange he craved so much to go back, he’d rather go there first than seek medical help or go home. He knew that the feeling of terror was still within him, he’d never felt so scared for his life, his life was snatched from him by this masked stranger and it was up to the clown to decide if he was to die tonight.

“That’s far enough George.” Said Yannish.

George put him back down and walked back over to Conrad and Peter.

“I’ll come back to see you three. I don’t know when as you can see I’m a bit of a state both in appearance and in mind. But we’ll chat. Thank you George for carrying my down.”

“Ok Yannish.” Said Conrad.

Yannish turned round and started to hobble his way down the heath, past the bushes until he could see blue flashing emanating from below. He followed the light, letting gravity pull him further down until he was at standing at the garage forecourt. He looked at the garage, the lights were back on and the place seemed alive full of policemen. Seeing the building like this settled him down inside again.