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.


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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.

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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.

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.


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“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.

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.

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“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.

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


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“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.