Tales Of Epoch

Rap Idol

2011-11-01T22:28:00.000Z

When White Men Can’t Jump was bringing the cash money in for Woody Harrelson, sourcing Above the Rim on pirate made you the big man and campus, and this was just a twinkle in So Solid’s eye, there was East V West Coast rap.

Of course I didn’t really have a clue about what this actually meant. In fact, I’m pretty sure at the time I thought California was a city and the distance between east and west coast was only 200 miles. Yet, older, hip and dangerous kids were all listening to Puff Daddy, Notorious BIG, Bone Thugs n Harmony and Tupac. So naturally I was curious and decided to check it out. I didn’t really get into Puffy, whilst I loved Hypnotize by BIG and Crossroads by Bones, it was just those songs.

It was Tupac though which had an effect on me. Of course I didn’t empathise with the themes of his songs, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t get over just how articulate Mr Shakur was. He had a superb talent to deliver poignant statements that triggered a debate in my mind about the state of society. Actually, he made me think about what society was. He brutally brought across to me, teenage pregnancy, drug dealing, lack of employment and of course, race. He was very vocal about this, sometimes the swearing blurred his message but certainly his sentences carried a punch. I ain’t mad at cha, Do for love, Brenda’s got a baby. They are all great songs, but these lyrics pulsate with his passion to discuss subjects which we all know are prevalent but kind of think ‘well it ain’t happening to me, so it’s ok.’

And so I became Pac fan. I began increasing my reading because he was an avid reader. I considered this the source of his power. I began reading periodicals every day, even if I was tired and had to reach for the dictionary for every other word. I didn’t care though, I knew it would help me in the long run. I started off with The Times for about two months and realised it was too right wing for me and so turned to The Guardian. After a while I wanted a completely different opinion so went to The Independent. I began asking my teachers about books that they hadn’t heard of, and thought I was taking the pee out of them. I didn’t care though. I wanted to aspire to that level of articulation and passion that Tupac seemed to deliver in his songs. Ok, so after about a year I came to realise that he had other talents such as rapping, which I’ll never posses, but it did not matter. I was hooked on knowledge, and every time I listened to one of his tracks he reminded me that I should be reading, learning and debating where possible.

Tupac was angry though. You could tell he was frustrated why things didn’t change in the urban status quo. He was vicious with his words and sometimes I think some of the passion in his rapping was generated by hate. This was something I didn’t really like. As much as I idolised him and decided I wanted to develop and learn to be like him, I also like the whimsical things in life, like The Fresh Prince of Bell Air. And so after a while I started listening to him less and less as he became more focussed on launching pernicious attacks best typified by Hit em Up.

I forgot about him.

Whilst watching Battle: Los Angeles last month the opening sequence contained California Love, which evoked some great memories. It also reminded me of Tupac. Out of interest I decided to run a search for him on iTunes and started listening to all the thirty second samples that iTunes offered on each of his songs. I remembered why I loved his music so much, how he made me think, how much he was filled with energy and also hate. One thing reverberated in my mind though, just like the lil’ Paddington way back then, is that you need to present your thoughts to people. Debate with them and make them notice you. That’s what he did. His rap in the mid-nineties introduced me to this and started me thinking in ways which some of my teachers never did, I ran with it (I could have run harder and further, for sure) by reading my pants off, talking to different types of people and trying to learn as much as possible. Listening to him again, the messages are still the same today as they were back then in the mid-nineties.

iPhone Woes

2010-08-24T08:41:00.000Z

So, I’ve been looking to get an iPhone 4 since it’s been out but it has been almost impossible for me to get one from Apple. Aside from venturing into their shop and annoying them every other day with ‘Have you got the 16gb iPhone 4 in stock?’ To which their eyes tell me, ‘c’mon you know they sell out as soon as they come in’, but they politely tell me, ‘that they’d just run out of stock but I should keep trying’.

So yesterday, I did. I gave them a call.

Me: ‘ Morning, by any chance do you have the 16gb iPhone 4 in stock?’

Nice lady: ‘You know, we just got a small batch in this morning.’

Silence

At this point I realise it’s a race against time knowing that Apple do not hold products back for customers and that I was now in a race with more determined iPhone shoppers who had rung up at the crack of dawn, or in fact installed a webcam in the shop to check when delivery had arrived. Then there were the nonchalant shoppers ambling past the Apple store, wondering on the off chance if they had the iPhone in stock.

Me: “Excellent, I’ll be down in about 10 minutes, do you reckon they’d be sold out by then?”

Nice lady: “Well, I don’t think so but if we get a sudden surge of peeps then it could happen”

Me: “Ok, thanks. I’m on my way.”

And so I did, I grabbed my car keys and zoomed off. I parked as close as I could and got out jogging to the shop with thoughts of finally being able to install an ‘app’ and actually using a touch screen for the first time.

As a came around the corner I spied someone walking out of the Apple store with what looked like two iPhone boxes inside the near translucent bag. I bit my lip thinking, surely, he didn’t just walk out with the last two phones?.

I caught the attention of the first employee I could see and quickly spewed out that I called and was told that there are some 16gb iPhones in stock.

Worker: “Sorry man, we just sold out of the 16gb.”

I thought back to the guy who walked out with what seemed to be two iPhone boxes.

Me: “Pants.”

I was about to tell him how quickly I got down here, and how long I’ve been waiting to get one, but unfortunately he couldn’t help me even if he wanted to, so I held back.

Worker: “We’ve got the 32gb in stock though.”

Me: “I can’t afford it, thanks anyway.”

And I turned around and walked out iPhoneless and with a blister on my left foot.

I drove onto work and on my lunch break I decided to order one directly from Apple online as I just couldn’t be bothered to go through all that again. Only problem, it’s estimated time of delivery is 15 September. A new model will be out by then!

In other news, a Paddington’s Shadow production, presented by Tales of Epoch gives you another episode of Alfalfa’s Premiership Show.

Listen!

Crossroads

2010-08-16T21:55:00.000Z

Every once in a while I’m confronted with a decision to choose something over another. Akin to me standing in a Tescos Express for two minutes debating whether I want a Snickers or a Mars, I stared at the computer screen thinking should I take this opportunity or stick with what I know.

I hate these types of decisions, because everything has ramifications and as a result even not doing anything means I would be doing something. So whilst sipping some green tea I began writing down what could possibly happen if I took up this opportunity. It seemed that not much would change other than my financial situation and my stress levels, which potentially could be tolerable or would send me into some morbid state where all my hair drops off and my eyes grow bags bigger than an Asda bag for life (which is surprisingly large).

I still did not know what to do, so I sought advice from a few people. Each piece of advice was good but it was conflicting, one would say I should take the opportunity, whilst another felt it was best to let this ship sail, while another thought of combining the two. All three were clearly succinct and persuasive which meant I was stuck, because I felt no nearer as to whether I should do something about it or not.

And then I remembered, maybe I should just ask myself, and see how I feel about the opportunity inside. My initial reaction was that it didn’t feel right. Was it just nerves, and that’s why it didn’t feel right? This was plausible but that wasn’t the reason, there was just this feeling that it wasn’t correct for me, and that’s what I decided, to go with my instincts and stop playing about in my head about the ‘what ifs’ or the ‘why nots’ because it was eating away at me.

And so after two weeks, I let the opportunity float by and almost immediately I felt better and lighter. In fact it has made me more motivated for some reason, I don’t know entirely why but I’m not going to try and stifle it because I have been finding a lot of energy of late, rather than just relying in coffee to keep my energy levels up.

Yet, something tells me if I had heard this earlier, everything would have fallen into place sooner.

And here’s also another episode of Alfalfa’s Premiership Show.

Listen!

Things I've Been Meaning To Do

2010-08-03T21:22:00.000Z

Sitting here exhausted after a day’s work and after playing football at lunch time, I feel guilty about the things that have been filed in the back of my mind. Mainly because I can’t do them tonight, I wasn’t able to do them last night, or last week, or even last month, some even stretch back as far back as six months ago.

So now my mind is beginning to get cluttered with the things I want to do but haven’t quite got around to doing, because of work, rest or play. My mind works by thinking of something I want to do, assessing whether it is something that can be done easily or not. If easily, I tend to do it that week. If not, I attach a time scale on it, usually it’s the end of the month, or if it’s big then a couple of months. What tends to happen however, is when I come to do something, I have a momentarily struggle with my mood, if I’m not feeling it, I just cannot get my head round to doing it. This may not be a very strong argument because people can say that no one wants to go to work but yet we still do.

However, when I like doing something at work, I tend to flourish, like come in early, consider all the aspects of it and then sprinkle some Paddington’s Shadow love dust so that it at least shows effort was made.

To help get these things off my chest and perhaps embarrass me into doing them after I read this post again in a couple of days, I’ll list them below.

1) Reading, On Writing by Stephen King

I have been meaning to read this ever since Coldbrain mentioned it to me over a few Tuborgs way back in February of this year. Yet, after buying it on Amazon it’s still sitting on my bookshelf, leaning against my dictionary. So what’s stopping me reading it? Well, even though I walk past it every night, I just need to feel in the right mood to read it, to fully appreciate what has been written. I could just stare at the pages but I wouldn’t fully enjoy them.

2) Going to London

I have been meaning to go to London for months now, it’s not too far away and easily accessible as I live about 10 minutes away from the station and if I get the Pendalino I’ll be standing outside UpperCrust in Euston in about 35 minutes. I’ve got people I can see, places to visit, I haven’t been down to the national gallery in ages now, or gone down some pubs around Camden and bars in Leicester Square. So what’s stopping me? Although I want to go, although it’s easy to get there, I can’t be bothered to arrange the day off, look at the train times, arrange a time to meet and make sure I’m back before the last train. Still, this is a shame because I know, one visit to the Big Smoke and I’ll come back full of ideas and beans.

3) Finish watching the West Wing
I love the West Wing, it’s fast becoming my favourite ever television series, although Twin Peaks is still ahead. It’s so finely polished, well up to season 3 anyway, and the characters are really good, I come away from each episode having learned something. But what’s stopping me picking up the DVD and putting it in the player? Again, it’s down to mood, although I want to watch more episodes, at this moment I’m thinking I wouldn’t really appreciate it. I’d probably get bored and frustrated.

4) Buy a new shaver

My Gillette Mac 4 has done well over the last couple of years, but due to wear and tear it’s time to replace it. However, I keep forgetting to, and every other morning when I pick up the shaver I think to myself, I need to replace this, and then carry on. When I’m shopping I never remember and so the cycle continues. Why don’t I get a new one? Pure laziness is the answer. I should make a note to take next time I go shopping; in fact I’m going to do it now.

Although these are some of the things I’ve been meaning to do but haven’t, I have managed to do one thing and that’s to combine my love of football and general chatting of utter nonsense, so I present to you, particularly Premiership football fans, Alfalfa’s Premiership Show.

Listen!

Final scribblings of 2008

2010-07-27T22:03:00.000Z

I totally forgot I had these.

The end

The Comfort Zone

2010-07-26T20:35:00.000Z

So Kenny Loggins may have sung about the Danger Zone in the 80’s but I’d like to discuss a less warbled zone, the comfort zone. For me, the comfort zone is where I flourish, where I strut around with the same sort of conviction as Danny Ocean has when strolling through the Bellagio. A lot of my confidence derives from the comfort zone, mostly because in it I know how things work. Therefore I can exude some level of confidence in knowing what I’m talking about.

So when the opportunity came up on a course I’m doing to either go, A: A face-to-face residential school for four days, or, B: An online alternative for 3 weeks, my comfort zone squealed out for me not to go to the face-to-face residential school. The trepidation crawled all around me and the fear seeped in as visions of being exposed as some buffoon and sent home in disgrace seemed all too realistic. The thought everyone getting along with each other accept me, who instead had to spend my lunch time staring at the wall contemplating whether I’d be able to get up and get some pudding without tripping over. Or the feeling that the tutor would just ask me questions and not be satisfied with my answer until I became a nervous wreck. It was easily outside my comfort zone.

Instead I wanted to do the 3 week online alternative, where I could see everyone’s posts, reflect on what was written and then spend about fifteen minutes writing my response. It may take absolutely ages and actually be quite boring but it would be in my comfort zone, and therefore I’d feel safe, away from making a fool of myself, or being targeted to answer really difficult questions. And so I went to sleep that evening feeling all relaxed and comfortable that the online version (although convoluted and not as rewarding) would be more comfortable.

Something didn’t feel right though. Comfort zone or not, I’d be missing out on a great opportunity to meet fellow students. I held firm however, and refused myself to explore the idea of actually going there in person. It still itched though, and people noticed. One in particular wanted to get into Paddington’s Shadow’s head. The change came when that person said to me, ‘You should go, because it’ll be good to take you out of your comfort zone, and that is always interesting’. I felt exposed, was it that obvious that I had been coasting and not really testing myself of late?

And so in the end I opted for the face-to-face and never looked back from the moment I pulled up outside Whittlebury Hall. Apart from a fantastically run residential school, all you can eat buffet, it was the people that made it. It was a fantastic mix of randoms, who all felt that same fear of trepidation. It was great to share fears and realisations that we are all actually feeling the same thing.

I never would have got this had I stayed in my comfort zone. Sure I’d still be feeling safe and prancing about like I owned the place. But there is not much to prance about if the comfort zone is nothing more than box 5cm in height and width. I would completely have missed out and that’s something I’m so glad I didn’t do, because it’s probably given me the momentum required to finish the course now. Perhaps more importantly it’s made me realise that I should come out of this comfort zone a lot more, even if the experiences are not as great, at least I’d have experienced them.

Thoughts of World Cup 2010

2010-07-12T22:09:00.000Z

When I first began writing this entry I had done so with a vision on commenting on all 64 matches. However, after an hour of writing and only scratching on Germany vs. Australia, I knew it would be too much. Still, I wanted to note down something, particularly because it has happily taken up so much of my time in the last 30 days.

In a nutshell, the lesser teams were organised and determined, the better team hadn’t improved that much, but still it enthralled me. It began with a bang, and with a goal that seemed to typify that anything can happen, when Tshabalala smashed the ball into the top right hand corner. Celebrations akin to the Macerena from the players made me think this was the cup of the underdogs. Marquez’s equaliser ensured it was not to be the romantic cup when he equalised for the Mexicans and deprived the South Africans a victory.

My work days consisted of me listening to 5Live or watching the games on the BBC iPlayer or the ITV’s (virtually inaccessible) equivalent. I had to reduce the size of the webpage and discreetly nestle it into the corner of the screen. Then, when I heard excitement in the commentator’s voice I’d quickly switch to the screen only to see the ball go out for a goal kick.

What was a big disappointment was the performance of the England team. It still irks me to this day, whilst eating my oatflakes bleary eyed or drinking Bulmers on a summery evening lamenting with another football enthusiast on what could have been. If only Green hadn’t spilt it, if only the team turned up against Algeria. If only... The reality was, England severely underperformed, James, Terry, Ferdinand, Gerrard, Lampard, Wright-Phillips, Heskey have more than likely played their last World Cup. A limp way to finish your international career which perhaps, in hindsight, peaked when England went 1-0 up against Brazil, some eight years ago in Shizuoka. That was England’s best team of that alleged ‘Golden Generation’, well, apart from Danny Mills.

Germany destroyed England with a counter execution which left ol’ blighty in tatters. Capello almost lost his job and a few million people were left gormless staring at the television screen wondering what was going on. In fact Germany turned out to be one of the success of the tournament, with a coach who seems to be dressed by TopMan and players who only played a handful of times for their country before the tournament. Their destruction of Argentina brutally exposed the South American’s lack of tactical nous. Everyone knew how they would play, and so Germany just waited and waited and smashed them on the break.

In fact, the South American heavy weights did not really deliver in the tournament after every all South American teams qualified from their groups. Brazil was supposed to win it but they fell apart after a ropey attempt to punch the ball from Julio Cesar, ended up with it in their net. After that, a European orange heavy weight out-foxed them like a 10 year old tricking a 4 year old into giving them their sweets, leaving the 4 year old stamping their feet in frustration upon realising what had happened. And so did Brazil who became divas instead of competitors after the Dutch scored a second.

It was an unfancied Latin country which was my team of the tournament. Uruguay punched well above their weight, but there seemed to be some belief that oozed amongst them as they all worked together. Oscar Tabarez had his men well organised and in Diego Forlan they had a deadly striker who could score past any defence. He knocked out Liverpool in the Europa cup last season and also broke Fulham’s heart in their great journey in that competition. With that form he rattled in five and deservedly won the best player award. His strike partner, however, probably shouldn’t be booking a holiday to Accra anytime soon. His handball is probably one of the most notable moments of this world cup. I don’t blame him, although it did annoy me when he went from crying to celebrating like he had just one the thing when Gyan hit the crossbar. In context, I think many players would do the same, not all, but a lot would do what he had done.

Some of the European bigger teams crashed at the first hurdle with France being in the press more for their off the field antics than for their prowess on it. It was comical to see it unravel and many believed that they shouldn’t have even been there due to Henry’s handball against the Irish. Karma? The Italians stumbled in their first game against a dogged Paraguay and never managed to get momentum until the last thirty seconds against the Slovakians, a little too late. As a consequence they finished bottom of their group and outrage sprawled through the country like it has here.

The Asian teams had a good World Cup, and their astute attention to detail meant they were machine like in their play. South Korea was unfortunate to be knocked out by Uruguay and the Blue Samurai were able to mix that pragmatic organised approach with a sprinkle of flamboyancy in their star player, Honda. His free kick and subsequent set up for Japan’s victory over Denmark were amazing bits of skill. Gaining qualification to the tournament meant that the North Koreans had taken a step in the right direction (in terms of football I mean), and being able to hold Brazil for 55 minutes was mightily impressive. So was their (supposed) fans who all seemed to be waving their little flags in unison, it all seemed too staged for me.

New Zealand played gallantly and actually did not lose a game in the whole tournament. They held off the Italian onslaught and can consider their World Cup a success. The Australians probably will be kicking themselves at an opportunity lost with the last hurrah of their best ever players in Tim Cahill and Harry (injury prone) Kwell. It was unfortunate that they never played a match together and in the end only missed out in qualification on goal difference. A penalty should have been awarded to the Aussies against Serbia which never was and the game ended with them all screaming at the ref.

The final itself was entertaining, and whilst I did want the Dutch to win, the way they played changed my mind. It was never going to be an enthralling match considering what was at stake but the Spanish wanted to play football whilst Holland’s more combinative players just smashed the Spaniards about. De Jong’s karate kick in Alsono’s chest summed up the lengths they were willing to take in ensure the fluidity of the Spanish play was stopped.

I thought the Spanish goal was really well worked and worthy of a World Cup winning goal, the ball from Fabregas to Iniesta was superb and as it bounced up, everyone had time to wait and watch it come down, waiting for a Dutch defender to come launching in, or the keeper to come flying out, but no one came, and Iniesta composed himself to lash the ball into the bottom right. Game and tournament, over.

This World Cup was as expected great to watch but the lasting image that will stick in my mind for a long time was Arch Bishop Desmond Tutu donning a SA woolly hat and bopping to The Black Eyed Peas. He truly was relishing in the moment of having the continent’s first World Cup being held in his home country.

Right, so when’s the first game for Brazil 2014 kick off? Peru to win?

More scribblings from 2008

2010-07-05T16:58:00.000Z

Cleaning the bookshelf

2010-07-02T11:16:00.000Z

When the moon lines up in front of Jupiter and the temperature drops to -2 degrees at exactly 2:02am on the seventeenth day of the sixth month, it is time to dust my bookshelf. So the following the day I knew this moment had arrived so picked up the dusting cloth and proceeded to wipe, dab and rub.

After a couple of minutes I concluded to myself that the bookshelf contains the things that represent who I am, both in trait and possession. The mobile phone bills and SpecSaver contact lens’ boxes demonstrate just how disorganised I am with all things postal. Electronically, everything is filled in folders with logical pathways, but everything I get in the post either gets chucked away or finds itself shoved on the bookshelf. This may be acceptable for a few letters but not a year’s worth. So I sighed and proceeded to pull out all these letters regarding banking statements, insurances of all sorts and put them all in a large ring binder where they will stay until the day I realise that no one will actually ever ask to see my May bank statement of 2003.

Amongst all this envelope shrubbery is of course all my books. I looked at each one as I dusted their spines thinking about the last time I read that particular book. There were some I hadn’t even read yet so pulled these out and decided to make a ‘haven’t read yet’ section at the bottom of my shelf. Amongst all my fiction I also noticed tomes of yester year like, ‘How to use Macromedia Dreamweaver’ and, ‘An introduction to Marcomedia Flash’. Was I really into this stuff? I thought to myself. You bet I was, I loved it, that was until I realised I didn’t like to be in front of a computer all day (something I still haven’t managed to sort out) and because, quite frankly I never had the heart to fully embrace code.

Littered along the shelves are my random bits that I own but just don’t know where they should live, so they all have banded together and live anywhere there is space. These random bits include hundreds of friendship bands/bracelets that I just can’t throw away. In fact I collected them all up and put them all on and they almost come up to my elbow! There’s also a small globe broken but I’m still unable to chuck it away, keys that I am not sure what they open or lock, and about three sets of headphones which rest on top of my books with the wires draping all over the place. There’s also a lot of rubbish that I collect, particularly receipts.

But what I enjoy most about my bookshelf, especially when I actually pay attention on what is there, are the surprises. In between my Collins Thesaurus and Of Mice and Men was a little black note book which I took notes in when I was on holiday a few years ago. Below is what I wrote, well some of it as there’s too much to upload onto one entry.

Mighty Mourinho

2010-06-10T18:35:00.002Z

I remember getting ready to go out on a Friday night in 2003; I was trying to iron my shirt but failing miserably. Glancing at the television I saw Porto had just scored against Celtic in the UEFA Cup Final. I didn’t think much of it, believing Martin O’Neil knew what he was doing, and of course they had Henrik Larsson, so continued trying to avoid creasing my lapels.

Finally holding the ironed shirt aloft in triumph, the taxi beeped. I looked up once more at the television to see Derlei smash the ball, which Artur Boruc could only partially stop as it flew into the net. Porto won 3-2.

How could this be? I thought getting into the cab, Celtic were a solid unit with a great strong striker in Larsson, not to mention having one of the most respected, competitive best British managers of recent times in O’Neil. It was because of someone called Mourinho.

The thought didn’t really stay in my mind that long, it was a Friday night, after all, but this name was to crop up again. This time it was a rainy 9 March and I was listening to Man Utd playing Porto in the 2004 Champions League last 16 second leg. I was only partially paying attention as I expected United to advance after going 1-0 up. It all seemed formulaic, a mighty club, bursting with more profit than the Tesco quarterly declaration, crushing one of the small teams (albeit one soaked in history).

Then United gave away a foul in the 89^th minute, my eyebrow raised. McCarthy smacked it and then Tim Howard did something that perhaps changed the course of English football for the next three years, he parried the ball when it should have been caught. Costinho was there to gobble up the rebound and score.

I quickly turned on the television to catch Mourinho hurtling down the Old Trafford touchline, dressed in black like a thief in the night, running away with a game stolen from Ferguson, he did this with arms wide open as he approached his celebrating players by the corner flag. The hammer blow had come down; Old Trafford was silenced, shocked by the late equaliser and riled by Mourhino’s celebratory antics. I knew of the name then and after defeating Monaco in the Champions League Final, we all knew who he was. Winning that competition was quite extraordinary, and something I think was his greatest ever achievement as a manager.

FC Porto is not a big club compared to the financial clout that Man Utd, AC Milan, Bayern Munich or Real Madrid posses. They had no superstar players at the time and had to negotiate around a group which contained Real and also Marseille. Subsequently Mourinho masterminded victories over Lyon, Deportivo La Coruna and beat Monaco 3-0, leaving him with an offer from Chelsea that he could not refuse.

‘Again, please don't call me arrogant, because what I’m saying is true, I'm European champion, so I’m not one of the bottle, I think I'm a special one,’ was his declaration at a Chelsea press conference. The journalists must have been rubbing their hands in glee (at the presumed naivety) that someone could think they could enter the Premiership battlefield, where Ferguson had won the lion’s share, and with Wenger taking whatever was left. And do so with such swagger. Surely, this ‘Special One’ was in for a rude awakening.

Not so, by the beginning of the 2005 year he was top of the league and had just defeated Liverpool in the Carling Cup, Chelsea’s first silverware since 1997 (CFC fans correct me if I’m wrong, as I’m not 100%). There was more to come as he delivered what every Blues fan wanted, the Premiership title. Although, he had access to more resources than Ferguson, Wenger and Benitez, it did not guarantee success, just look what happened to Claudio Ranieri the season before.

Yet 2005 was also the year in which a bloody nose was served in the Champions League semi-final, here, he was matched by a tactically astute Benitez who set up a team buoyed by the Anfield crowd which won 1-0. Even Mourinho was bereft of ideas in the closing stages, sending Robert Huth to play up front to no avail. Still, Gudjohnsen had a chance to win it late, but Garcia’s early strike which crossed the line until Gallas cleared the ball, sent Liverpool through. The ‘ghost goal’ had defeated him.

By the time he left Chelsea he had won another league title, another Carling Cup and the F.A. Cup. The cracks in the relationship between himself and Abramovich appeared when the owner bought Andriy Shevchenko for no apparent reason, other than he was his pal. This was against Mourinho’s wishes and as a result Shevchenko hardly played, and without the faith of his coach was only an average player in the Premiership whereas he was a colossus in the San Siro.

The cracks widened to become rifts, as media reports suggested that Abramovich was now listening to suggestions made by Frank Arnesen (Director of Football at Chelsea) on who to buy and not the list that Mourinho had. The main reason was allegedly that Roman did not like the defensive style of play, and wanted something similar to Barcelona’s.

Yet it was this style of play which broke Man Utd’s and Arsenal’s reign as Premier League top dogs and had titles wrapped up with weeks left within the season. It had all became a bit boring for the general Premier League enthusiast, but it wasn’t for his Chelsea players. Terry, Carvalho, Essien, Drogba and Lampard were all Mourinho’s men and he gave them what they all wanted, titles and cups. They executed his instructions with aplomb and it typified the loyalty they had for him.

The day he was sacked by Chelsea, I remember seeing a tearful Garth Crooks hugging Mourinho as he said goodbye. I thought to myself, why was Garth Crooks almost crying because ‘The Special One’ was leaving? The truth was, Mourinho had made the media’s jobs so much more enjoyable with his ‘eggs and omelettes’ metaphors, and how he felt more pressure from the bird flu outbreak rather than the Premier League. Or, of course, the time when his dog fled to Portugal before being quarantined.

And just like that he was gone.

When Sky Sport News broke that he had joined Inter Milan 11 months after leaving Chelsea, I remember seeing him at the press conference addressing everyone in Italian. I was eating my Wheatabix, thinking, Wow, this guy can speak 3 languages. He later revealed that he learnt Italian in just 3 weeks of tuition; to this day I cannot believe this is true.

He successfully led the Nerazzurri to its third consecutive championship, but it was the Champions League which, owner Massimo Moratti really wanted. They found themselves pitted against Man Utd in the last 16, but this time there was no Porto repeat with the thief in black running down the touchline. Instead Ferguson gained some retribution (if he was looking for it) and convincingly beat Inter 2-0 in the 2^nd leg. That is not to say that Inter didn’t have chances after a 0-0 draw at the San Siro. Unfortunately all of their genuine chances fell to Ibrahimovic, how as, Johan Cruyff put it, he’s either got a great touch for a bad player, or a really bad touch for a good player. The chances went by and Inter were ditched.

This only left Mourinho defiant, albeit also slightly gracious admitting that Man Utd was currently the best team in the world. Still, he insisted that this was a team he inherited and did not have all the players that he wanted. He wanted to be judged 12 months later when he was able to acquire new personnel.

And so during that summer I read about the best bit of football business since Tottenham had managed to sell Dimitar Berbatov to Utd for £30 million. Ibrahimovic would be going to Barcelona for Samuel Eto’o, one of the world’s most potent strikers and a player who does not got hiding on the highest club stage. This was not just a straight swap deal, Barca also paid 20 million Euros for Ibrahimovic too.

So now Mourinho had Eto’o, he had Milito, Motta and Snejider. He was ready to fulfil Moratti’s dreams or be sacked by Inter’s inability of progressing beyond the final 16. Inter were pitted in quite a difficult group with Barca, Dynamo Kyviv, and Rubin Kazan. Having lost to Barca away and gaining a draw against them. The results against the two remaining clubs were crucial and at one stage they looked like crashing out of the competition in the group stages, but they managed to go through in 2^nd place.

The league itself was not as clear cut as some had first thought; their lead was cut down by Roma, who eventually overtook them with only 5 games to play. His relationship with the Italian media was bad, and deteriorated even more so as the season progressed, even having a go at one of the pundit’s on an Italian football show and then walking off. I guess, this would be the equivalent of him dressing down Mark Lawrenson on Football Focus before dropping his mike and walking away from Manish Bhasin.

Roma lost momentum and eventually Inter won the league on the last game of the season, defeating Siena 1-0 away. They also defeated Roma in the Coppa Italia, a 1-0 victory courtesy of Gabriel Milito again. It was the Champions League which Inter had to prove themselves however, and after being drawn against Chelsea, it all added the extra spice to the already bubbling prospect of Mourinho returning to Stamford Bridge.

However, this Inter were his players and his formation. It was evident as they took on Chelsea at the San Siro with the focussed determination that was once embodied of the boys in blue. The 1^st leg score of 2-1 was just about justified, although Kalou was unfortunate not to have been given a penalty from the blatant hack made by Walter Samuel.

At the return leg at Stamford Bridge, Chelsea were again unfortunate not to have been given two penalties, but this could not hide that even at home they were losing control of the game. And in Sneijder they had a player like Joe Cole (but perhaps more mature on the field), who could unlock defences and so he did as he sent Eto’o free to scamper towards goal. And where Ibrahimovic might have missed, this striker does not, and with ten minutes remaining slammed the ball into the back of the net.

The Inter bench blew up in excitement in scoring but the former Chelsea boss, although initially unable to hide his delight, eventually composed himself by pumping his fist. He had managed to end Abramovich’s eternal quest to achieve Champions League glory and also break the Inter jinx of not getting past the last 16.

CSKA Moscow was no match and was duly dispatched, but what came up next was an intriguing tie. Barcelona, the club every football fan appreciates as playing the most free-flowing football in the world, and who are unique in paying Unicef to allow them to have it’s logo on their shirts, were against Inter. An ugly, determined side built on an unbreakable defence which was compounded with belief in each other, and more importantly, in the manager.

Somehow, and I don’t know how, they beat Barca 3-1 at the San Siro. This was also after going 1-0 down to them in the first half. Still, everyone thought they would throw out Inter in the 2^nd leg, like I do with the rubbish on a Tuesday morning.

‘Where people say we parked the bus, but it’s not true, we parked the plane. Not the bus, the plane,’ was his response after the match. It was a game where 90,000 people willed Barca to score, but the defensive unit which was playing for time as little as two minutes into the game, stood strong. Julio Cesar produced a magnificent save and Thiago Motta even got himself sent off, but this somehow made Inter stronger, like an oyster shell protecting its pearl, they closed around the goal and refused to let Barca unpick or force a hole. Only in the 84 minute did they score, but for the team, Guardiola and the fans – it was too late.

The final whistle blew and Mourinho marched onto the pitch in a Franco like manner, right into the beating heart of Catalonia, to celebrate. Victor Valdes saw this and tried to rough him up, but he was stopped by stewards. Somehow, the best attacking team in the world had been blunted by the Mourinho machine.

The 2010 Champions League final was a bit of a bore compared to what happened at the Camp Nou, well it was in my opinion. It was framed as the protégé taking on the master, akin to Luke Skywalker facing Obi Wan Kenobi, but so much time had passed that the paths of these two managers had gone in separate directions. Van Gaal peaked when managing Barca, but he was now building his reputation again as a great coach after being sacked by them. Whereas Mourinho had one championships in 3 different countries and had been a success at all of his last three clubs. Inter won 2-0 and also broke Italian history winning the treble for the first time. Etched into folklore, the Nerazzuri have become, but what of the manager?

The next project is perhaps his most difficult of all, taking charge of the great but highly temperamental Real Madrid. It has an ego to match, if not bigger than his and they expect to win everything, but win it in style. They have no qualms of either sacking a manager after a couple of bad results, or even indicate that the manager will be sacked at the end of the season, no matter how many trophies they win. Victor Del Bosque, the current Spanish coach, was the last Real manager to win them the Champions League but it was not enough for Real, and he did not have his contract renewed.

Such a controlling coach may find himself clashing with the President Florentino Perez or their director of institutional relations (whatever that is) Emilio Butragueno over transfer policy or even team selection. Real personnel are renowned for their interfering so it may not be surprising if Mourinho comes out fighting within a few weeks of the start of the season over who selects the team. He would have to show considerable mettle too, if he were to drop their ultimo galactico in Cristiano Ronaldo, as Ronaldo would not take kindly at being shunned, whilst Florentino could feel that shirt sales may suffer if the striker is perceived undermined by being on the bench.

Managing Real has its perks though, they tend to get who they want regardless of how much they pay, and Mourinho has had his sights on Gerrard since he arrived at Chelsea. Now entering his twilight playing years, Gerrard who once resisted the overtures of the ‘The Special One’ at the eleventh hour, may not do so as Liverpool have failed to reach the Champions League and the club is in unfortunate debt.

Seven years on from the 2003 Uefa Cup Final, my ironing of shirts has still not improved as I keep creasing my lapels, but for Mourinho his managerial prowess threatens to make him one of football’s greats.

Sleep x 8 = Knowledge

2010-05-26T20:48:00.000Z

So after reading this, I pondered for a bit on my approach to work tasks, duties and clutter. If anything, it made me realise how much I value my own productivity. I am in awe and a bit envious of those who can work during the day, then go home and do what they want to do until the early hours of the morning. Then wake up feeling refreshed and without that red faced, messy hair look I’m pretty good at managing.

I accepted years ago that I’m not that kind of person, and that 8 hours of sleep would ensure that following day I could imbibe knowledge like a three year old drinking Coca-Cola for the first time. So even though I am aware of this, I haven’t bothered trying to alter my sleeping patterns whatsoever to help optimise myself. I do stuff until I’m tired.

If I manage to sleep for 8 hours, I’m exceptionally efficient in a natural way where I take everything in my stride. Over time this has been really hard to achieve, I have become mindful that I need more sleep but my body doesn’t automatically wind down at 10pm. Unfortunately, my mind is buzzing around this time and if I don’t start thinking about resting, I can quite easily go to bed at 12:30 after watching a film, reading a book or listening to a radio programme. It then takes me another half an hour to sleep. So in a bid to try and find a way to sleep better and at a decent time I tried a few different approaches over the last 3 weeks and weighed up what were effective and what were not.

Cold Turkey

I made sure I was in bed for 10pm for a couple of nights, regardless of how I was feeling. The idea was that being in bed would entice sleep within the hour.

Verdict: Didn’t work at all and I became a restless and bored.

Au Natural

For these days I just let myself fall asleep when I wanted to. The first night was around 12 and the second 1am. My natural clock is set to wake up at 7am, but because I wanted to get the full 8 hours I went back to sleep until 8 and 9, respectively.

Verdict: The 8 hours was much appreciated but the day tends to start off on a bad foot if I get in just before 10am. Also, I tend to stay late as a result and basically shift my day along a few hours.

Preparation time

Around 9:30 I’d make sure I’m not doing anything active, i.e. watching a film, being sociable or actually thinking about stuff. Then at 10:30pm I go to bed listening to the radio at a very low volume and then I’m asleep by 11pm.

Verdict: Easily the most effective but in order to get the sleep at a decent time I’m going to have to stop engaging with everything, I don’t know how I feel about that. Not that good, actually.

Alcohol approach

Some red wine or Scotch with ice are great ways to sedate me, and after two glasses of vino I do tend to feel ‘chilled’. Sleeping is a bit easier although it can leave me with a heavy head.

Verdict: It’ll be quite expensive after a while and probably not the best way to tackle the issue.

Having tried all these methods to sleep 8 hours and within a reasonable time I can conclude that preparing to sleep at around 9:30 is the most effective by far. Yet, as mentioned earlier, it comes at a cost. I have to be disciplined and will also have to sacrifice anything that goes on after these hours, which is the best time, in my opinion. So I guess I find myself in the same position as to when I started this blog entry, I am aware of what is required to help me develop and perform tasks quicker, but I am not willing to sacrifice ‘my time’, in order to achieve this.

In other news, I was telling someone how much I loved this song. They unfortunately hadn’t heard of it but as I sat down on Tuesday night, it appeared as the title music to Luther on BBC. I’m now a major fan of the Luther production team. Good programme too.

13 And Out

2010-05-11T21:18:00.000Z

So this election business seems to be quite interesting, of late. No more so than watching Campbell antagonise Boulton . So now that Gordon Brown has resigned, it is the end of his front line political career but also the end of ‘that agreement’.

I don’t believe that the pact that both Brown and Blair made in 1994 would survive until May 2010. It was supposed to be a deal that would get Labour into power but it has done more than that. Through the creation of New Labour they created some sort of uber-party which won 3 of the last 4 elections. I can’t believe Tony, rubbing his chin anxiously as he inches towards the subject of who was going to stand as leader, knew what would be in store. Or Brown, as he winced in trepidation at being asked to step aside, could have comprehended that between them they would rule the country for 13 years.

Ten of those years were Blair’s with Brown holding the second most powerful role that a politician can have. They were instrumental in introducing minimum wage which has been a good thing, equally the hazy reasons for declaring war on Iraq and subsequently Afghanistan leaves a lot of people unclear, confused and ultimately disappointed about such a decision. When Blair left in 2007, he completely resigned from politics but Brown still carried on.

The three years of his tenure were odd. It seemed that he was going to try and hold off an election until the last possible moment as the Conservatives were going to smash the party like they had been floored in 1997. So, in a way, it seemed that everyone was waiting for him to do his business and then let the election take place so that Labour could get the battering. But then the recession hit, and Brown excelled, leading the charge in helping out the banks. No one liked the fact that the banks were using reckless practices and no more so than Brown. And for the first time, perhaps the public saw this side of him. He became open and honest in appraising himself, and not always in a good light. He fought well in the television debates against far superior orators and in the end ensured that Labour did not get obliterated, as was expected towards the end of last year, and in fact deprived the Tories of the majority they wanted so much.

His time was up though and as he walked outside of Number 10 to announce he was done, the first thing I thought was about ‘that agreement’, and how such pacts or arrangements can develop into something far bigger than anyone can ever expect.

So as David Cameron steps up to be one of the youngest Prime Ministers ever, I wonder if another pact will be made between two brothers on who should become the next Labour leader.

End Credits

2010-05-04T20:01:00.002Z

So, yesterday morning I completed the 5^th draft of my novel. The idea which was born in June 2007 has been refined since November 2008. Each time I complete an edit I believe that this is the finished piece of work, but after the third one I realised this was a bit silly, because after a few months I go back and read everything with a fresh eye. It’s then I am able to spot the areas I need to improve on.

At the moment I am quite happy with it. This particular version was focussed on trying to get rid of words that are not part of the storylines. I am partial to slapping on the descriptive text like someone slapping their make-up on for a Kiss concert. It’s brushed on thickly. So I have tried to review each sentence checking to see if it flows well in pace and that the reader isn’t being detracted by melodramatic descriptions. I still haven’t managed to record it and play it back to myself, mostly because I can’t stand my own voice. I guess the Paddington's Shadow audiobook will have to wait.

So is this the final edit? I don’t think so. Coldbrain recommended that I read On Writing by Stephen King so I bought it and have wanted to read it for ages now. I’m pretty sure after reading that book I’ll have loads of ideas. Or maybe I won’t.

I have created a blog http://odetothebrute.blogspot.com/ where I have upload my novel and I am looking for any feedback, good or bad as this will help me improve it further.

As for now, I’m going to finish off my bottle of Nastro Azzurro in peace.

Taxi Times

2010-04-30T10:24:00.003Z

There has been many a time where a taxi driver has over charged me because of the situation I was in. This is not the case of all taxi drivers, but I do recall standing outside Waitrose around 2am bartering with them as they asked for a premium payment to take me home at that moment or wait 3 hours when it’s all calmed down. When it’s freezing and you’re starving, twenty pound seems a small price to pay to get back.

This encounter however, left me confused and also challenged these previous experiences I’ve had. I booked a taxi from outside the library on a Sunday evening when it arrived with a screech as it zoomed around the corner.

“Yes bruvva, how you doing?” He said as I got in.

“Yeah, not bad, thanks” I replied whilst thinking, should I bother going through the cliché questions of what time did he start work, what time will he finish work and how well he knows the roads round these parts.

“So you been in the library, man you must be studying hard. Economics?”

“Huh? Erm, no. I’ve been out and I was planning to walk home but I got tired” I told him. I noticed he had a massive grin on his face as he bobbed his head back and forth.

“Wow, you are a studier. Me, I mean, economics, man, that’s difficult. But do you like it?”

I didn’t know what to say, I wasn’t sure if he didn’t care what I said or had no comprehension of my replies.

“So what you say, economics is hard for me?”

“Erm, nah, I think you could do economics well.”

“Ah wicked.” This was then followed by a laugh that resembled me of Mutley from Whacky Racers.

Now I was sniggering to myself because of Mutley. We went past three consecutive roundabouts in silence until he asked me another question.

“So is macroeconomics harder than microeconomics, my man?”

He shuffled a bit and I noticed he was wearing Adidas tracksuit bottoms with sandals; this guy was a right character.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I reckon you should visit an adult education website to help you, or something. It seems you really like economics.”

“Yeah, yeah that seems a really good idea.”

We pulled up at my destination, and he gave another Mutley laugh before charging me £3.50. I pulled out a ten pound note and he shook his head.

“Ah man, you ain’t got anything smaller?”

I opened the little compartment in my wallet and tipped out £1.73 in change.

“Ok, ok, ok, that’ll do. Superb,” he said whist scooping up the change.

I got out, said goodbye and felt a bit unsure of what had just happened. He drove away, I swear I heard one more Mutley laugh as he zoomed off, and I thought this was the first time I had paid less for my journey. However, what really freaked me out was that he took me to my location without me saying anything.

Weird.

Yelland's Tale

2010-04-08T10:03:00.000Z

I read this.

This article made me stop and think about things for a little while.

I was intrigued to read that in order to fully operate functionally in his job, he had to be influenced by alcohol. He identified something I have long considered plausible, that the relationship between success and addiction is so so close. Could it be that the addict will strive to do anything in order to satisfy their addiction? Skill, wit, cunning, deception, cheating, lying, determination are all part of the addict’s repertoire to get their fix and practicing them on a daily basis only makes it easier to transfer them to other means, such as a career. We all have the means to use some cunning now and then or lie, but I don’t think I could do it so well compared to someone who has focussed motivation. When people watching I sometimes try and find characteristics to try and work out what they really want. Not in the sense that they have a hidden agenda but maybe because they do not know themselves or are having trouble to express it. When I encounter those with addictive personalities they always seem to be able to influence me through some means of hi-jinx, sometimes for the good and sometimes for the bad but either way they are infectious individuals.

Yelland’s ambition to prove himself and reading that he had done it appealed to me. I liked that because I want to prove myself, don’t we all? Sometimes, I feel I’m getting closer and some days, I admit, I’m really decades away, but I love reading about people who have done it. It’s always interesting to discover their journey of how they got to the point in their lives where they’re now sitting in front of a keyboard, in Bournemouth, tapping away their tale.

Everything seemed to change for him when he realised who his real parents were. All those years of training and conditioning the mind in a certain way fell by the wayside once he realised who he was. Turning against The Sun’s overall agenda in order to push his own personal one takes some serious balls in my opinion, slowly altering the newspaper’s stance to protect and help those whom he probably wouldn’t have had he not discovered who he was. I wonder when was the turning point in his life, was it during a sober moment in a cab back from the office or finding some poignant clarity when inebriated during a night out.

This article blew me away and will probably only raise an eyebrow for you. I’m none the wiser why specifically but am more so generally. I just find this guy interesting, although it seems that although his addiction fuelled his career, where they worked in tandem to maintain it all, his alcoholism began killing the very thing that matters in life, the ones he loved.

It’s also a reminder to me that periodicals still very much have a place, despite what I thought a few months back. There’s no way I would have stumbled across this on the web.

When They Were Rubbish

2010-04-01T13:55:00.001Z

So the other day whilst getting increasingly frustrated about Spanish grammar, and my inability to understand the rules competently - I’ve got problems with understanding when to apply the perfect subjunctive as opposed to the subjunctive. I thought about how this was never a problem for Jose Pablo, but then concluded that he’s Spanish so why would he ever have had a problem, well maybe when he was seven and couldn’t pronounce ‘¿estas bien?’ So increasingly feeling crap about myself I made a ginger tea and let my mind go a bit wild. By this I mean, I began thinking about well known people and the problems they might of faced.

First off, Pablo Picasso must have been rubbish at painting once. Maybe when he was about twelve and drew something at school and the teacher just snorted in disgust at what was later to be known as cubism. As a result he went home and smashed up all his brushes and cried. Only to realise a few days later that he wanted to continue painting and wanted to create something that would show everyone that he what he produces is extraordinary pieces of art.

Or maybe when Roald Dahl thought he’d finally nailed a short story he had been writing for homework, only for the teacher to castigate him for not knowing where to apply the past-participle. This left Roald spending hours upon hours trying to memorise what this grammatical rule is and where to apply it. Instead of it just clicking he was left feeling annoyed and frustrated. So much so that he perhaps thought that writing wasn’t for him and it was better to instead try and focus his brain on something else, like fly fishing.

Perhaps Lionel Messi thought he’d never be a footballer when he tried to take the ball around bigger and stronger defender only to find himself flattened by a challenge more frequently seen at an NFL game. For a while he probably thought he’d never be able to get past players who were physically taller and stronger than him, and so he considered quitting and turning his attentions to something else. That was until he worked on his skill base and soon realised that he had the ability to ghost past defenders as if they weren’t there and when roughly tackled, was able to grow in strength to sustain those types of challenges.

Hmm, I guess I have used this entry to make realise that pretty much everyone, even those that became brilliant, have had set backs (well in my mind, I think they did), so I’m going to give myself a rest from trying to memorise stuff which at the moment is just not registering, and come back later when I’m not so annoyed at myself. I guess, sometimes I want to understand and remember something quickly when, to be honest, it actually takes me a while to fully take it in.

In other news, I met up with an ol’ pal named Ricky Rickatson (aka Jack Thursby and occasional visitor to this blog)a few weeks ago. It was good to catch up and also to see he still maintains his active enthusiasm for imported American confectionary, ‘fancy a sour Skittle?’

Disclaimer: All examples above are just a figment of my imagination and did not occur, and if they did, well, that’s just coincidence. Honest!

Prospects

2010-03-15T09:32:00.001Z

These last few days have been ones I love. It’s the transitional period where winter finally diminishes and spring begins to sprout. Saturday and especially today were glorious outside from the moment I woke up and stared out of the window. Yet, upon stepping outside to buy some milk I realised that I’d better go back in and get my hat and gloves because it was still effing freezing.

When the sun starts to rise earlier in the morning and there’s a bright glaze at 07:40 it makes me think about what’s around the corner in the following months because winter is finally ebbing away. It feels good coming home now and it’s not pitch black. Now it’s only just past dusky but every day it’s getting darker later and later.

When these bright but brisk days occur I see it as a sign that sunnier warmer days will be here soon (ok, so will grey clouds and rain) and it feels me with optimism about everything that’s going to happen in 2010. My steps along the path to the shop quicken, as I think that something good will happen to me this year. Not that I deserve it but I just feel like these next seven months will be sunny days where everyone will be having barbeques, people will be out mingling in the sun complaining just how hot it is, the nation will be on this fantastic vibe as it’s a world cup year, and somewhere amongst all that I’ll be really happy about something. I don’t if it will be because of an accomplishment or because of luck, but these are the sort of thoughts that run through my head at 07:45 on a Sunday morning when it’s all quiet outside and it’s just me alone kicking a stone along the redway and thinking things through.

I’m fully aware with myself that I get these feelings each year, and as yet, I don’t think that I’ve had an ultra lucky streak which would make even a leprechaun jealous or that anything I’d done was actually worth talking about. What I kind of like more is not the hope of any of these things happening but the feeling of knowing they might, and I’m happy with that for the time being because these things are out of my control and plus it’s always good to ponder favourably on the future, otherwise you just end up being a grump.

So, when I finally came down from my high of breathing in the fresh morning air, and admiring the horizon lit up by the sun, I got to the shops and realised I’d forgotten my wallet!

Networking

2010-03-07T10:54:00.000Z

There are many things that I am not good at, but networking is something I do not really like and am rubbish at doing. The garbling and exchanging of information and pleasantries are all achievable. It’s the way the majority of people turn all false that I don’t like. Also when someone yanks out a business card and shoves it in front of my face. I’m not too keen on that either.

This is only because I can’t handle the masquerading of it all. Sometimes when people approach me I think, ‘what are you after?’ And I feel bad for feeling this because I do like to help people but at the same time some people don’t deserve help and so I then try and work out how much information I want to give them.

Then there are times I’m boxed into a corner as someone strikes up a somewhat friendly conversation and the next thing they are trying to illicit what kind of synchronous technology I use and if it was applied what training elements were involved. I do not mind giving this information because, quite frankly I believe it should be passed on so that someone somewhere can do something really interesting with it, what I don’ t like is this tactic of acting to be my friend but at the same time just wanting something of me. I don’t mind that being asked about stuff it’s just that approach which really annoys me.

Sometimes when I realise it is happening I decide to give out some incomplete information just so I feel better because I’m sure they walk away thinking, ‘what a fool, he doesn’t realise I don’t care about him, and now I’ve got what I want...’ That way, they can think like that and I can smirk to myself knowing they haven’t got the complete picture.

What is rather funny is when I am looking for information. Say at an event or conference, I spend at least half an hour watching people walking around interacting, whilst I wrestle with myself about who to decide to approach first. When I finally decide to strike up a conversation, it always begins with me thinking, ‘I feel a right idiot for doing this.’ But I always begin and maintain the topic of what I want as the main discussion, none of this flattery, like ‘you must be really proud of yourself,’ or even stuff about my appearance, ‘your hair looks really good’. My hair doesn’t look good because it takes 0.3 seconds for me to style it in the mornings and I don’t wake up and spend all day beaming with pride.

Fortunately, there are some really nice people out there that wish to exchange information and do so without being smarmy or cunning. What’s even better is that sometimes you start to discover the person they are and you end up thinking that you would really like to work on a project with them. I guess the nature of networking is not to make friends but it also shouldn’t involve bad acting.

In other news, you may recall my post about my iPod being broken. Well, I can honestly say I can now stand tall amongst the likes of Maurice Moss, Screech Powers, Professor Frink and of course him . I took the whole thing apart (whilst making sure I was earthed), removed the hard drive, the battery and unscrewed the ear phone jack and replaced it. And it still worked after!

Quake

2010-03-02T17:39:00.003Z

Something I need to bring up, even though I’m sure someone has mentioned it somewhere (I hope). Last Saturday’s earthquake in Chile was another reminder of how powerful nature can be. Measuring 8.8 on the Richter scale making it one of the most powerful earth quakes in the last 30 years.

Ok, so I’m slight worried as it could have easily been Peru than Chile seeing that they are both next to each other. But what has struck me is that two massive earthquakes have occurred in the last two months causing huge devastation. Haiti is in complete ruin and Chile is still discovering the extent of the damage that has been done. At present it seems quite a few people are looting shops whether it be for survival purposes or opportunist inclinations, the country is trying to bring itself back to normal.

But the fact there’s been two quakes so close to each other in time needs to be looked at. Are things changing in the world? Or more importantly will there be another one within the next 60 days which could rip cause equal devastation like it did to Haiti.

It’s lucky that there’s nothing like this in the UK. Ok, we get some pretty ropey weather where it’s sunny in winter and rainy in summer but in general it’s mild compared to most climates. Although, it should be pointed out that apparently England was hit by a Tsuanmi in 1607 we fortunately have not experienced anything like that of recent years. Imagine an earthquake hitting London, Birmingham or Manchester – it’s a struggle coping with a heatwave in those places when it happens.

I really hope that seismologists (which I’m sure they have) are starting to look at the patterns between the two. Like, were there similarities in the currents of the sea before they occurred, or when was the last time two earthquakes happened within a space of 60 days, and was there a third shortly afterwards? These are the things that seem to be bouncing around in my mind of late and I just wanted to get it out on the internet so that I can move on and think about other things.

Recording to remember

2010-02-23T09:42:00.000Z

The other week I was thinking that I often forget stuff. Some things are quite trivial like not remembering to watch a television program (I haven’t got sky+ unfortunately). And others are a bit more serious, like forgetting to meet someone I’d planned to at 6, only to realise after watching an episode of the Simpsons and then dashing out.

This also stretches to learning. When having my Spanish lessons my teacher would reel off some rules of when to use the preterite version of a verb instead of the imperfect. At the time the justification all make sense and I am even able to give her examples of when to use the imperfect and when to use the preterite. Yet, within a space of a month when talking about the past in Spanish I found myself thinking, ‘what version should I use?’ and then spending a few moments to remember which the appropriate version is. I wish I could just remember off by heart.

So as a result I began to write everything down. I bought a diary to make sure I didn’t forget to watch things and a note book to write things in. It started off well but soon I would forget to write and instead go back to cluttering up my mind with crap like ‘must remember that Predator is on channel 4 on Sunday’. Although I scribbled down key rules in a notebook during my Spanish lessons it was always incoherent and just randomly sat on a page. So in the end I just got really annoyed and admitted loads of things slip my mind.

That was until I thought about something my ol’ pal Ricky Rickatson wrote on his blog. In fact it was his last entry. He had got himself a Dictaphone to record ideas on. I often thought if he literally said, ‘note to self...’ like Alan Partridge does whilst driving his Rover. So I decided I’d get myself one. Not to say, ‘note to self, remember to watch Slumdog next week’, but to record certain things like my lessons. That way I could listen to it on the way to work or when chilling out. Ok, listening to my voice would be something I’d cringe at but I’d get over it.

I have to say capturing things in the moment and then having time to reflect and think about them is really good, providing you have the time. For example, you record something that contains important info such as some Spanish grammar rules. You then try and remember them but if things seem a bit hazy you turn on the Phillips mp3 personal recorder, locate the recording and play it back. I find myself rewinding and fast-forwarding until my brain has finally absorbed it. The only drawback is that it does take up time listening to a recording when you could be doing something else, perhaps more constructively.

Ok, so I haven’t solved how to remember to watch television programmes, particularly 80’s movies such as Predator, where Schwarzenegger would say such classic lines as, ‘If it bleeds, we can kill it’, but I can just about cope with that.

Pod in a coma

2010-02-16T14:21:00.002Z

I’m pretty annoyed that my ipod is perishing before my eyes, well ears. My 5th generation video edition, the one where if you watch a video the battery drains in a couple of hours, is falling apart.

The problem is that sound does not come out of the left earphone. Originally I thought it was the earphones that had broken. I seem to break a set every few months or so, due mainly to tugging at them quite hard from my pocket when trying to get them out; only to find a big ball of tangled wires. Unfortunately, after buying a new pair of Sony headphones there was still no sound coming through the ear piece. I tired the earphones on my netbook and they worked fine. So I was stuck and annoyed because I only get to listen to things in a half-assed manner.
After some Googling I discovered that I have damaged the ear jack which seems simple enough to deal with. I’ll just buy a new one. That bit isn’t hard, the complex part is taking out the old one and installing a new one. Check out this video on how to do it.

Ok, I know you didn’t, so I’ll summarise. You need to know your stuff. I don’t. My options are to follow the instructions but unwittingly screw up my pod or get a new one. A new one would put my estate into disrepute, plus I don’t like just ditching things that aren’t fully broken. Yeah, the ipod touch would be nice and I could download apps ‘n stuff which would result me in being a more productive and efficient human being. But, although I admit I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing, I shall attempt to repair the pod using a screwdriver, a new earjack and a sprinkle of good fortune. I think I’ll also need a monocle (purely for image purposes, only) and a white jacket (Coldbrain, can I borrow yours if you still have one?)

I’m almost certain that I will break my ipod but at the same time I wish to undertake this technological procedure, just so I won’t feel so bad when I go onto Amazon and buy the new ipod touch, and because secretly I have a reason to act like Moss from the IT Crowd, if only for a few minutes...

105 miles

2010-02-08T11:04:00.001Z

I got into the car and started the engine. Turning the corner I switched on the radio to hear this. I listened for a few moments and realised exposing my ears to anymore would result in me thinking about Neighbours all night. I drive through the residential area at 28 mph and the electronic box attached to the lamp post produces a smiley face. I press the tuner button and it tunes into this song.

I don’t mind it, it doesn’t repulse my ears to the point my ear drums turn inside out. Although, it’s not really me and so I sniff and press the tuner button again. There’s static for a few moments as I pull up to the traffic lights. My index finger pushes the button once more and finally it picks up one of those commercial radio stations currently playing an advert about wall tiles being on discount. I hate those adverts so turn down the volume and concentrate driving through the rain.

The boy racers are out tonight and they swarm me like lions circling a wounded antelope. It’s only a matter of time before one of them tries to cut me up or honks their horn so that I look at them only to be greeted by the middle finger. I remember that there’s a CD in the player that I had forgotten about so quickly turn back up the volume and press the button. It’s one of my mix CDs which makes me grin as I approach another set of lights. The racer to my left revs his engine in an act of machismo and an indication he wishes to rut with me like stags fighting for domination. The first song that plays on my CD is this and the tune reminds me of a few years back when I used to duel with my nemesis. The lights turn green and the boy racer speeds off as I remember to turn left and do so.

I think about my nemesis for a moment and grin to myself. The song changes to this one but nothing really pops into my head as I drive past a Tesco garage and glance at the petrol meter. Everything is good, just like Mr Jones.

The national speed limit sign means I can finally spread my wings and glide across the country road. There’s not a car in sight when this track starts to kick in. For some reason I begin to think about the 19th century when women wore corsets and the men wore those funny white wigs that judges wear. It’s a bit surreal but I reach the motorway and join on. INXS comes on as I stare ahead and notice that there are more silver cars than any other tonight. A couple of BMWs and Audis speed past me and I turn into the left hand lane to let a Ford Focus go past.

The CD begins skipping (it’s an old disc) disrupting Hutchence et al and finally deciding to settle down to this tune. I overtake something that resembles one of those cattle wagons and notice the sign for the services. My eyes briefly gaze at the petrol sign where quite a lot of juice has been drunk but I conclude that I’ll be alright. Another Chem Bros. track comes on and my ears perk up. I had forgotten they did this and now my index fingers are tapping the steering wheel and I’m shaking my head. I recall the video being one of my favourites because of the jelly fish and how they glowed with the beat. I thought that was really cool.

The travel news interrupts everything but I’m not in the mood so turn down the volume and carry on thinking about the glowing jelly fish. The silence also provides my mind to ask me a few random questions, like, ‘why haven’t I bothered to watch Season 3 of Heroes yet?’ or ‘If an early election is called will this mean it’s more likely that there will be a hung parliament?’ and of course, ‘I wonder how cold it is in Scotland right now?’ I purse my lips and decide that it’s just general information I’d collated through the day but feel obliged to answer them to myself. ‘You liked Heroes, more so than you liked Lost because more things happened. However, you got annoyed that Sylar didn’t die so haven’t been that bothered since. Hmm, I think there is more of a greater chance of their being a hung parliament if an election is called early. Yes, it must be bloody freezing in Scotland, right now.’

I notice my junction to turn off on isn’t too far now and decide to give the radio another chance. This time I find this song and settle with it. I haven’t heard it in a while and as it comes to an end I’ve turned off at J14 and am now slowing up to a roundabout. The light appears on the petrol meter so I decide to drive to the garage.

The next song on this radio station reminds me of something that gets played in Topman, over and over, again and again so I start pressing the tuner button. I see the garage and turn in whilst still trying to find something decent. The garage is surprisingly busy for around this time of the night. I find a bay that is free and quickly nip in. My hand begins to turn the ignition off when the tuner finds another radio station that begins playing this. My fingers let go of the key and I get myself comfortable again. I mean, this song is amazing and I haven’t heard it in years. I love it.

Someone beeps me from behind and I remember I should be getting petrol. Fuck it, it was worth staying in the car to listen to that song. I turn off the engine, fill up and drive home in silence.

The Drugs That Keep Me Going

2010-01-17T20:02:00.000Z

What better way to start an entry than with a title like the one above. Alas, it’s not going to be a divulgence of ho w I gripped-up a drug dealer outside the local shops and slugged back his packet of ecstasy because I needed a pick-me-up before a presentation.

No, I’m more concerned about the legal drugs that keep my motor humming or stuttering along so I can do the things I can (live, read and muse). Until 2010 I’d probably consumed about a packet worth of paracetamol, yes a pathetic amount, I know, but I just didn’t like them and thought they wouldn’t work. It was as if I considered my body some kind of pure temple and that no manufactured product created could stop the throbbing sensation behind my eyes – but somehow tea that looked like pond water would. After a couple of headaches and a few litres of green tea I decided to ask someone if they had any paracetmol. The headache stopped and now I’m loving them. This doesn’t mean I take one with my cornflakes but as soon as I get a twinge in the cranium I reach for the little white pill(s).

A new drug I got the other day was hayfever relief spray, this was what the doctor suggested when I told him how I’ve got trouble breathing through my nose. It’s a really odd feeling but sometimes I can hear myself breathing which freaks me out because I’m making the kind of sound an unprepared marathon runner coming to the end of the finishing line, would make. So he pulled out his torch type thing and looked up my nose announcing that I have very thin nasal passages and that’s probably the reason why I struggle to breathe through them. The solution to my problem is hayfever nasal spray that contains a steroid that will open up these thin nasal passages to optimise the small space they have. So every morning before work I squirt this thing up my nose (twice) and roll my head around trying to stop the liquid from trickling down the back of my throat. I’m also worried that as it contains a steroid my nasal hairs will mutate and grow into something that will look like cat’s whiskers protruding out of my nostrils. I guess only time will tell.

I’ve also got some benzyl peroxide for my face which I think basically burns things and can ‘bleach clothing’ so I’m sure it will do wonders for me. I’ve got to apply it at night time and the first time I did so it stung really bad, like when pouring alcohol on a cut. I’ve also got to store it in the fridge because otherwise it goes off so it’s really cold when I get it out.

Oh, and I can’t forget the multi-vitamins I take every day but I don’t think they could be classed as drugs, or can they? Either way, all these things weren’t available 100 years ago so rather being the picture of health I am today, I’d be a spotty, malnourished young man that whistled every time he breathed and suffered from random headaches. Man, I sound like Urkel!

The Other Side

2010-01-12T21:33:00.001Z

It was really quite strange being on the other side. I didn’t really think I’d ever be there. In fact, part of the motivation was to check with myself that I had the capacity to do it. By this I mean, not falling off my chair or saying something inappropriate, or something Alan Partridge might say. The other side was me being part of an interview panel.

I wasn’t sure on how to approach it. Learning the questions I was going to ask was easy but delivering them was still up for discussion within my mind. Should I enunciate clearly at the end of each sentence? Should I maintain eye-contact all the time? These thoughts floated round my mind as I brushed my teeth and looked at myself in the mirror. I decided that I should maintain eye-contact but not adopt a poker like face. I remembered when I was being interviewed once and the main interviewer asked me a question and just stared expressionless, it freaked me out a bit because I couldn’t see any soul behind those eyes, and instead I answered all my questions whilst looking at the smiling blonde lady who sat next to him.

Before the first interviewee came in the 3 panel members went over what questions were going to be asked and in what order. I was reminded that I shouldn’t try and put words in people’s mouths, i.e. give them the answer. I rubbed my forehead and just thought all this is a bit surreal , I’m going to ask questions about team building and how they deal with stress and all the time they’ll be thinking ‘who does this AC Slater lookalike think he is asking me about stress and team building. The guy can’t even be bothered to do his hair properly.’ And so I let me imagination run wild until I recalled what it was like to actually be in an interview and the motivations for actually going for a job.

Obviously I’m not going to discuss each interviewee as it isn’t appropriate but from my point-of-view I learned a lot being on the other side. At first I was equally as scared as they were and maybe my nerves contorted my smiling to resemble something like Jack Nicholson would pull in The Shining. This soon disappeared after asking the first question and I found myself listening intently to what was being said, remembering that these questions are really here to help them open up.

I’m glad I experienced the other side, if only to see whether I’d be any good at interviewing, but I learned that the whole thing isn’t that scary and in fact you get to meet some interesting people too.

Bringing The Estate Back From Disrepute

2010-01-07T20:57:00.002Z

So, today I decided to cut down on my monthly outings. This was not inspired by watching an Ocean Finance advert where one can consolidate all their monthly repayments via one friendly loan.

No, this was inspired by months of mulling over mustering up the energy to quit various direct debits. I perceive the process (based on experience) as long winded, a battle of wits, and a clash of who can impose their assertiveness without being offensive. However, as it is a new year and all I set about on cancelling my first direct debit.

I took back up when I walked to the gym to end the one and half year membership. I hadn’t been since late September so pretty much knew the best thing to do was call it a day. I hadn’t got that buff, not the gym’s fault, mine really due to not regularly attending. However, in my defence I did go through a two month spate of visiting the gym at 6:55 each morning. Now that was some dedication I’ll wistfully reminisce about when I think to myself, ‘I should join a gym to get buff, I’m sure I’ll stay committed, like the time…’

Expecting to be faced with a plethora of options that involved double negatives such as, ‘So you do not not want to terminate your membership? Right?’ I was pleasantly surprised to have only a cancellation membership form thrusted in front of me by the nice lady. I filled it out and confirmed with the nice lady that the last time my account will be debited will be in Feb. I walked out feeling good that soon I’ll be saving myself £30 a month.

Next on my hit list was my internet service provider. 02 were offering me a decent deal that would cut my current bill by over 50%. I wouldn’t get the ‘up to 20meg speeds’ that are on offer from other providers but as I’ve been using 2meg since switching to broadband I’m pretty content with the slow end connection.

This time I was offered multiple choices but before being given them I had to wait to be transferred to the department of sharp talkers. It was laid on thick at how much money I could save if I stayed with them and how good their service was (it is good to be fair) but £7.50 a month for internet is too good to resist so told them that I wasn’t going to sign whatsoever and the sharp talker gave up almost instantly and then in a monosyllabic tone told me what was going to happen.

After that, I decided I’d done enough for one day and boiled the kettle thinking of what else I could cut so that I can save a few pennies come the end of the month.

In other news, I’ve had to upgrade my Flickr account to Pro. You wanna check out my Lesotho and SA photos (in unorganised format)then go here

And in even further news, Being Human is back.

A Newish Year

2010-01-05T22:57:00.001Z

And just like that, after watching Big Fat Quiz of the Year, I accepted that 2010 had truly commenced.

I’ve been off the radar recently which has mostly been due to the fact I get tired at winter. I’ve had loads of things to write about but every time I flipped open the laptop I managed to change my font to verdana (I can only write in verdana for some reason) and then get side tracked by the BBC website and YouTube.

So at the cusp of a new year what do I hope of achieving. Well to start with I shall be tackling all the spots that have appeared over my face. It’s like a constellation of stars that have been produced by the bosom of the sebaceous glad. Being a previous sufferer of severe acne, I’m really up for getting rid of my unwanted acquaintances.

Running in parallel with this, I am going to relax a bit more by trying to think things ahead. What I mean by this is knowing you have to do something and actually spending a few seconds thinking it through instead of acting on the spot and causing hi-jinx trying to sort the situation out in real time. A good recent example is thinking on a Sunday, ‘I’ll wear that washed but unironed jumper tomorrow.’ The 2009 Paddington’s Shadow would, in fact did, iron it on a Monday morning even thought he woke up late for work and in the rush tried to brush his teeth as well as iron resulting in toothpaste pouring out of my mouth and splattering my jumper. Then, in haste run off to get a glass of water to wash it off and forgetting that the iron was still on the jumper. Now the 2010 me will iron the jumper on a Sunday night whilst listening to podcasts. That way, come Monday morning, when I wake up knackered and it’s late I can chill out and not have to scramble about so much.

I’m going to sort out my iTunes and start downloading muzak and in abundance. I was going through my pod yesterday and just couldn’t find anything I wanted to listen too which is extremely frustrating, this caused me to pull a screw face in public in disgust which caused a few people to look at me with a mixture of pity and terror.

I’d also like to go visit another country if I can. I just need to calculate this equation

Money + time x ideas = 1 trip

Simples.

Oh, and my little task I’ve set myself this year, well every year since I’ve started to write this blog, is to write 52 entries for the year. I’ve failed so far.

Boost + McGregor = Aspiration

2009-11-20T01:49:00.000Z

At first I was going to write about how much I want Ben Fogle’s job. The notion first popped into my head when I saw him on some television programme visiting some random but magnificent places in the world. The boy done good since Castaway, or was it Shipwrecked? Anyway, I concluded that I wanted his job, the kind of occupation where they pay you money to visit unique places on earth and you see what beauty this planet has to offer.

But this did not rest well with me, oh no, whilst choosing between a Boost and a Double Decker at the vending machine, I also decided to delve deeper into my soul. Saying I want Fogle’s presenting job or something of that sort was one thing, but it did not feel right. Apart from the occupation I’d rather have my own life thanks, even my own experiences, ta very muchly. It was only when I decided on a Boost that I remembered about Ewan McGregor. Now, he’s had some experiences. Yes, he is someone I wouldn’t mind swapping places with, well for a couple of days at least. Firstly, Trainspotting is one of my favourite films. The iconic moment for me is when Renton swings that battered holdall across his back and Born Slippy begins playing. Magic.

It is not just starring in a cult film though, I recall his bike trip from London to NYC via some dodgy parts of Russia and Mongolia. I watched those episodes on Sky 1. He travelled properly and experienced some great countries, met some interesting people and also rode a decent bike. He lived it.

By now I was sitting in the cafe munching on my Boost recalling the other trip he took around Africa. He got to see Silver Back Gorillas. One of my dreams is to see these magnificent creatures in the wild and he managed to do it whilst going on yet another adventure. I mean the guy even starred as Obi Wan Kenobi in Star Wars, what more can someone ask of their career, oh yeah, they could have starred in Shallow Grave.

I finish my Boost bar and smile, it is good to aspire to people and I want a bit of what McGregor’s had, particularly going to see Silver Backs before they are extinct. I go back to work aware that Paddington’s Shadow is miles and miles away from reaching this goal but also happy that I’ve at least discovered something I would truly like to do.

Viral Woes

2009-11-10T22:20:00.002Z

Last week I was browsing the BBC website whilst listening to Jamie T on YouTube. All was as should be until I tried to click to the next page when suddenly my netbook screen flickered and all of a sudden it went black and restarted. Upon boot-up my background picture had disappeared and I was left with a white one. That’s odd, I thought before right-clicking to change my picture back. The little pop-up appeared and I noticed that my option to change had been greyed out. In fact I could see another icon within the list entitled, ‘critical warning’.

Slightly concerned about what was happening I logged on to interweb only to find that my default home page had changed to some 8888.com advert. Something was up, something malicious and annoying. I quickly loaded up AVG and it briefly appeared before shutting itself down again. What? I thought, and tried again. It happened again. This time I changed tact and went launch it from Run on the taskbar. It had disappeared. I then tried my last line of defence before admitting I’d been well and truly shafted. I pressed the Windows key + R and got a message telling me that function had been disabled by the administrator. I’m the administrator, aren’t I?

Apparently not, this little monkey of a virus had taken over my computer. I even tried to reach the Spybot website only to be redirected to some saucy livecam with some hot chick. Although, briefly a welcome distraction, the fact my netbook had been compromised brought me back to rainy reality. My only option was to try and reformat the hard drive. One issue, I would sacrifice all the scrawls I’d accumulated since January.

Swallowing acceptance like I was drinking egg yolk full of nettles (the ones that hurt and require a doc leaf which never works) I tried to reformat the whole thing but stumbled at the first hurdle. This thing doesn’t have a CD-Rom drive and I don’t have an operating system on a flash pen just hanging about. I sighed, and went to listen to some music, half annoyed about been taunted by a cyber bug and half annoyed I was annoyed at the whole thing.

On Monday I decided to take in the ‘puter to work and ask nicely to IT for advice. They were good and gave me some but nothing worked. I was beaten, that was until someone completely unrelated to IT, in fact hates IT, said, ‘why you so vexed?’, to which I replied, ‘My lil’ ‘puter is ruined by a virus and the only way to fix it is to reformat the hard drive but I ain’t got XP’.

‘Yeah I had that problem, you need to find the recovery key and then I suggest you download Windows 7 it's really good, and it’s only £30 because we get some employee discount or something’.

‘what?’ and then I thought, how does he know this stuff?
‘The recovery key is either f2 or f4, try it out when you have a moment, see ya.’

First thing I did was try and find out whether Windows 7 was available on the cheap. It was. Buoyed by this revelation I turned on the netbook and pressed ‘f4’ as soon as it turned on. There was a whirring noise followed by some blue screen flickering until a page finally loaded up saying ‘Welcome to Samsung recovery’.

So now I’ve got the netbook in working order and have pimped it up with windows 7. I am happy again.

In other news, I have terminated my Twitter account after only having opened it 3 months ago. I just canny not be bothered with it any longer.

“Lynn, you’re just like a little mouse”

2009-11-03T23:01:00.003Z

This is exactly how I was feeling upon thinking about my return to work. I find coming back to work after an extended break difficult to handle. It’s not just the fact you have been away enjoying yourself and devoid from all your daily responsibilities and had been left with only two, ‘where are we going to sleep tonight?’, and ‘shall we eat here?’

My temperament can handle this quite well. What it struggles with is the unknown, what mess did I leave behind? Or whether things have moved on so much that I’ll never be able to hop back onto the conveyor belt of daily life duties and that I’ll have to find another one. Thinking about it now, when I was younger, I was the same at school, if I had been away longer than 3 weeks or after the 6 weeks holiday, I’d get all nervous because I was anxious about not knowing what was going to happen in the near future.

So before my legs went all wobbly and I began stammering as much as Professor Quirrell, I thought about why I feel like this and realised that I strive continuity and that change causes this immediate review of, ‘why is it changing?’, to run through my mind. So I decided to play on this uncertainty coupled with anxiety and see what I could find by thinking of the worst case scenario that could unravel in front of my bleary red eyes.

I decided that it would be for everyone to shake their heads whilst closing their eyes in disapproval, nay, pity, before being told that I was to collect my stuff and go. For a moment I thought this terrible, utter disaster. It was only after I started to picture this in my mind that I began to actually realise that should it ever happen, it would not be necessarily the worst thing, it would only mean that that chapter had ended. And the most important thing is not to think about going in on Monday with an aura of trepidation.

So I walked into the office the next day and attempted to take everything in my stride. However, then I heard this, then, hit replay about 8 times until I concluded, “sh*t happens, and if it all goes wrong, go to New York, ok, may just York then.”

In other news, I am really pleased to write about the return of Coldbrain to blogging. Alas, Coldbrain was the person who got me into scrawling my thoughts on Blogger so I am indebted to him for introducing me to this medium. I have missed his enlightening approach to topics and his tone of writing ever since MrColdbrain was closed down, well actually, his Lewis Hamilton joke entry was a significant turning point on the quality of that blog. However, he has now returned here on Tumblr.

Is it me, or is Tumblr and Wordpress light-years ahead of Blogspot in templates, accessibility and just about everything, it seems? I’m hoping Blogger is going to step-up or it could become the new MySpace.

P.S. the title of this blog is from an Alan Partridge qoute, I've been trying to find the exact scene on YouTube but it evades me.

Lesotho & South Africa

2009-10-25T19:26:00.023Z

I got in around 11am Saturday morning and had a bath before going straight to bed. I woke up around 8pm and everything felt odd, like I’d been away longer. Still after a brew I decided I better write everything down that is currently in my head. Lots of the stuff I did out there still hasn’t sunk in yet but I think I’ve managed to capture most of the places visited on the journey.

Lesotho

Lesotho is a wonderful country. It is poor and that is visible in the state of the roads and the majority of the structures built. Yet, it is surrounded by some breathtaking scenery, if you like mountains then you will love this country. The Drakensburg is also in Lesotho as well as South Africa (although I never went) so if mountain walking is your hobby, you should pay a visit.

I went to Maseru which is the capital and the place was great. The people were friendly and I did not feel threatened there in the slightest, even when venturing deep into the belly of their central market. Of course you are encouraged to view what is being sold, and will gently nudged into making a purchase, but if you decline no offence is taken. One thing that did stick out in my mind was the amount of barbers that Maseru had, practically every other spot was a makeshift barbers. What I mean by makeshift is a large cargo holder container for the shop with a couple of garden chairs and some clippers hanging from the wall. I was tempted but I’d already given myself a haircut so just looked on and watched as someone was getting their head shaved.

I visited the mountain where the country was formed and the tour guide explained that all the people gathered here to evade their attackers and in fact used the mountain as a means of a platform to forge their own attack on those who tried to climb it. Eventually Moshoeshoe led them down to victory and Lesotho was born. Whilst at the top I saw another mountain which was shaped a bit like a hat I’d seen a Basotho boy wearing earlier in the day, it turned out that the mountain is their national symbol and features on all their car number plates.

Kruger Park

The concept of Kruger Park was hard to fathom. The idea that there was a national park bigger than the country I live in. It just didn’t make any sense. That was until of course I visited the place. Once through the gates (which reminded me of Jurrassic Park) you are then invited to drive around and look for any animal you can find under the sun. Within a few metres I spotted an impala and thought I’d done well. Turns out there are thousands of these little antelopes. Along the road the shrubbery is quite dense so visibility is thin but every 800 metres or so it clears up and you are rewarded with a glimpse of a beast. We saw black rhino and two friendly giraffes that walked right up to the roadside and began munching on a tall tree whilst every one stopped their cars to take a look.

The early morning safari drive is recommended if you can get up and be at the meeting point, which is at 5am! The reason it is so early is because that is when a lot of the animals come out to play. In fact, within a few minutes of driving a large African elephant with her baby pounded across the road. The elephant stared at the vehicle for a moment before ushering her baby along. We also encountered a pride of lions relaxing on the road which was enthralling to watch even though they were doing nothing. I also caught my first glimpse of the Greater Kudu which freaked me out. I never knew antelopes could grow that big, it was bigger than a horse! There were also a lot of vervet monkeys which scrambled along the roadside looking for food, they also invaded the lodgings and would try to open bins or investigate any rubbish that happened to be left behind. Quite a few hyenas and buffaloes roamed the area as well, the hyenas looked quite devious and their skulking manner made me feel a bit uncomfortable. It looked like they were looking for a weakness in something which they could exploit. Unfortunately the weather was not always good and resembled England quite a bit but that is where the similarities ended.

Shosholoza meyl train journey

The longest train journey I had ever been on before this one was the London Waterloo to Weymouth I used to take every Christmas. This train journey was to take 19 hours from Johannesburg to Port Elizabeth. The Shosholoza meyl is a long distance train and I was not sure what to expect.

Inside we were given our cabin names and we went in them. It was not like the long rows of seats I was expecting; instead it was one long hard seat per person. That long seat was to be turned into a bed. So 19 hours was spent either within the allocated cabin or along the corridor where the views were amazing, especially during sunset. Every now and then a lady would walk by asking us if we wanted food and would shove a menu that consisted of either burgers or steaks.

It was a surprisingly pleasant journey considering there were not many places to go. The only negative were the train’s brakes. Every time it stopped the brakes would wake me up as they screeched to halt leaving me bleary eyed and forgetting where I was. And do began the Garden Route journey.

Port Elizabeth

This city is known as the ‘windy city’ in South Africa and it lived up to its name. However, the wind was not cold and in fact provided a welcome breeze to the hot weather that had finally come. It is a good looking city but there is not actually that much to do there. There is the Donkin lighthouse which I climbed and stood at the top taking photos of everything below, and it also has some beautiful beaches. This was where most of the two days were spent.

Addo National Elephant Park

This park is superb, if you like elephants. A guide accompanied us on this trip who was knowledge but had a thick accent I found hard to understand. At first there were no sign of elephants; instead I was shown the flightless dung beetle. In fact, there were road signs stating that the dung beetle had the right of way if it was crossing the road which made me laugh. There were also a lot of tortoises that ambled along minding their own business which I loved watching. They just rocked along at a slow pace not caring about anything else. There were also warthog along some of the roads eating the grass before cars would scare them off.

Finally, an elephant came. A young bull crashed through the trees and stomped its way to a watering hole. It was fantastic to see the largest living land mammal doing its daily routine of sucking up water and squirting it all over itself. .

At another watering hole we saw a large herd of elephants drinking. The buffalos were by the watering hole too but were unable to get to the water because the elephants just kept bumping them out of the way. And these are not small animals, either! One elephant got so close to the vehicle that it looked like it was going to sit on us, luckily it just fell asleep standing up so we went.

Jeffreys Bay

Now in a Kia Picanto the first stop on the road was Jeffreys Bay. The Lonely Plant Guide (LPG) describes the place as a surfing hotspot. It is a small place but has a fantastic beach. True to what was written there were many surfers in the sea trying their luck against the waves. Well, apart from surfing though, there isn’t that much to do apart from go to the beach and try to spot a whale.

After about fifteen minutes I’d given up trying to look for a one, I thought it nothing more than a myth, even though the informative poster about how to spot Southern Right whales made it sound like they were here all the time. I couldn’t see one and in the end decided to get some food instead.

Storms River Part 1

Storms River is another National Park which is gorgeous woodland by the sea. I do not know the name of the trees but they are tall and picturesque. There were many activities to do here like black water tubing and zip wiring amongst the tall trees which was great to do. There is also various trails to go hiking where you can see some of the wildlife (I never saw any though). It was strange but when surrounded by the trees it does feel like a completely different country and not actually South Africa, perhaps Sherwood Forest or something. It just didn’t seem South African but that is only because I did not associate woodland, streams and mud with this place.

Unfortunately the weather got bad at this point and the visit to Storms River mouth was a bit of a flop because nothing could be seen amongst the grey and rain. What was supposed to be there is a suspension bridge which overlooks where the river and the sea meet.

Plettenburg Bay

Now, according to the map this was a place where Southern Right Whales could be seen. From the beach I spent a good hour looking and thought I saw something which actually turned out to be a wave just crashing. I wasn’t impressed.

The bay is very beautiful, more so than Jeffreys and also has a better vibe with more things happening. I do not know if this has something to do with the size of the place or because there is better access to marine wildlife. It is recommended to go on a whale watching tour because one thing you will see up close are the Southern Right Whales. I have often wondered in my head how big whales are. Although I have seen a skeleton of a Blue Whale in the Natural History museum it cannot prepare you to see this huge mammal swim past. The barnacles that are scattered all over its body or the way the seagulls land on it and peck away at the dead skin. It is all a bit surreal, well it was for me anyway. There were seven whales that swam by the boat in the end, they raised their heads in the ‘spying’ position, flipped there large tales and another one in the vista even breached.

As an added bonus we also saw a pod of humpback dolphins weaving amongst the waves and past the boat.

Storms River Part 2

As the weather had made a turn for the better we headed backwards to Storms River Mouth.

I thought the suspension bridge would be a lot higher and also a lot more treacherous, the kind that would be found in an Indiana Jones movie. Instead it was clean, safe and felt durable with no risk of tipping over. The view was lovely however and although I saw no difference between the river water and the sea, the scenery made it a trip worth visiting and the 20 minute hike to get there.

At Storms River Mouth there is also a hike called the Waterfall trail which is a 3km walk there and back to a waterfall which was quite an enticing reason to go and investigate. The trail was great fun although a bit slippery, basically it is along the shoreline but the muddy path is amongst the trees so it’s like walking on wet wood. Yes, I fell a couple of times but was able to scramble to safety before being pulled away into sea. It took 55 minutes to get there and the waterfall was the second one I had seen on my journey so wasn’t completely in awe over it. I was more pleased that I’d managed to get there without falling over. In retrospect wearing trainers is not advisable on hikes. The guides do tell you this so it is worth listening to them because I didn’t and although it added a bit more spice to the walk, it could have easily ended in tears.

Oudtshoorn

If I was to describe this town it would be ‘Ostrichland’. As you enter, whilst in it and as you drive out you are surrounded by Ostriches. They were everywhere. The town itself was about 55km in mainland and is hot. It reminded me a bit of a Wild West town, the dusty roads, low buildings that resembled saloon bars. All it needed was the tumbleweed but had Ostriches instead.

Oudtshoorn is also home of the Cango Caves. I had never heard of these caves until I read a bit about them in the LPG. Apparently they are world famous. The caves themselves are very interesting to look at. They are different sizes and various textures which help define the ages of certain parts of the caves. Unfortunately, the guide was rather commercial and felt it would be more interesting to focus the explanation on how famous they are and how lucky we all were to see them. It was good to see them but I wish I could just be allowed to have a look myself, but I am aware how impractical and unsafe that would be. Saying that though, there was another tour which was to go right through into the smallest rooms of the caves that required the participant to actually do some caving, I didn’t bother.

Also in Oudtshoorn is the Cango wildlife sanctuary. This was a good place to get a sight of the elusive cheetah (I’d tried really hard in Kruger but to no avail). I did get to see the cheetah and even interact with some small cubs; one of them even regurgitated their raw meat lunch by my foot (nice). I also saw the Marabou Stork in the flesh which I’d always wanted to. Not because they are beautiful or majestic, they are none of these. In fact, they eat what the vultures don’t from a carcass and have habits that I won’t divulge here. I wanted to see one because of the book, Marabou Storks, by Irvine Welsh. It is one of my favourite books.

Mossell Bay

The place of residence in Mossell Bay was a converted train by the beach front. The view was great but it was rather cramped. Mossell Bay surpassed even Plettenburg Bay for its beauty, the sand was clean and the sea was a nice aqua colour but extremely choppy. The time here was spent on the beach and resting after driving around for so long. In Mossell Bay you have an opportunity to go Great White Shark cage diving. Now, I must admit I was intrigued but ultimately I knew I was too scared to go through with it. A supreme efficient killing machine was something I wanted to see but at the same time didn’t want to submerge myself in ice cold water whilst a leg of lamb (or some other meat) is floating on the water looking to attract these beats.

Instead, as an alternative, there is a trip to Seal Island where you hop on a rather rocky boat to a seal colony. There were hundreds of them on this island no bigger than 100 metre sq. I was kind of hoping that I would see a Great White in action as they feast on these little creatures, but I did not. Instead the boat slowly circled the island whilst the seals hopped on and off the rocks into the sea, it kind of felt like I was watching a wildlife documentary but without the commentary.

Swellendam

In hindsight I wished we just drove through this town and carried on to Cape Town and had the extra day there. However, I am not sure I feel like this because it was here I caught a cold and got ill or that the town is just boring.

The town is back into mainland and about 200 – 300 km from Cape Town. It is very picturesque. Everything is neat, tidy and clean. It was almost perfect like a Laura Ashely showroom. In fact I thought the designers had been allowed to design the place. I was scared to touch anything in case I’d soil their lovely decorative pathways, trees and shops.

Apart from admiring just how neat and tidy it is, there is not much else to do. There is a national park down the road but I’d already seen my fill of animals. Instead I got a headache which eventually blossomed into a nice spring cold.

Kaapstad

The LPG describes Cape Town as one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I agree. When driving towards it I was not expecting much, partly because I didn’t want to raise my hopes and partly because I wasn’t feeling that good. However, driving down from the mountains I saw the sun gleaming on the silhouette of a city which was in front of the sea, I knew this place was going to be good.

The city is overshadowed by Table Mountain and has the ocean in front of it (not sure if it the Atlantic or Indian). At no point did we feel threatened or unsafe, people were friendly and all were looking forward to the World Cup.

It was here that I experienced a township, it was half a day in the Langa township. Here I saw the poverty which is still evident in South Africa and began to place the effects of the Apartheid into a perspective I could understand. The hostels that were built had been the home of five to six men in each room which eventually swelled to five to six families per room once they brought them to the city. As there was no room they built little homes from wood that were outside the hostels for themselves and that was where they would spend most of the day time, only returning to the hostel to sleep, at night. These hostels are still there and there are still three or four families sharing each room but the townships are advancing. Decent homes have now been built and inhabited as well as some sort of road infrastructure which is good to see.

But as Thambis our guide pointed out, there is a lot of counter productivity happening here. AIDS is rife in the townships, and he described a typical manner in how it spreads. Unfortunately it is the men who are spreading it by visiting the drinking shacks and indulging in copulation with an infected partner. They then return to their homes and infect their wives. It is a horrible reality but people like Thambis are trying to educate the young about the needs of contraception and what AIDS is about because it is still very much taboo in SA.

Cape Town is also home to Robben Island which I managed to visit. Although now quite a commercial tourist attraction it still has echoes of the dark past where Mandela was kept. It was an interesting experience because we got to learn about how the political prisoner was considered the most dangerous and therefore had to be kept apart from the rest. How Nelson and other educated prisoners would teach other inmates academic subjects which eventually spread to teaching the young prison officers. Many would come to Mandela for advice about careers or personal issues. I got to see the cell that Mandela was kept in. It was small, claustrophobic and basic. I cannot work out how he and the others that were kept at this prison actually kept their sanity. It seems it was built to demoralise human spirit.

We also got lost in the building which wasn’t the best thing to do considering it used to be a maximum security prison. Luckily, however, we somehow managed to find the way out!

At the mouth of Cape Town is the Waterfront which is a great place to go. It is rammed with restaurants and bars and is full of vibrancy. I could easily spend a few days just watching the sea whilst supping on a Castle draught lager. Unfortunately, I only had one day left but when the sun is blazing, the breeze is brisk you realise what a wonderful place Cape Town is.

I wish I had more time to explore Cape Point and go up Table Mountain but this has at least given me a thirst to go back, although when I go, I do not know.

Hermanus

As a quick detour Hermanus was the next place to visit even though we had to go back to Cape Town to catch the train back. Hermanus is a small bay but is by far the most beautiful of them all. The main reason being because it has a small cliff which overlooks the shoreline and that is where all the Southern Right Whales come to feed. There were loads of them coming close to the shoreline and then eventually diving deep and swimming away. There were a few that breached near the shore as well which had everyone in awe because it was so close.

As I looked around it was quite believable that people decided to bring a picnic, some binoculars and then spend the whole day whale watching. The views were really that good. Apart from the whales, Hermanus was very friendly and their craft market has loads of odd bits and bobs that tourist’s, like me, love.

Train back

The Kia Picanto was dropped off and we boarded the train back to Johannesburg. The journey back was spent mostly sleeping.

Apartheid Museum

I am glad I took the time to visit this place. It is here that I read the story of the Apartheid, its makers and those who fought tooth and nail and some times with their lives to bring the regime down. When you pay your ticket you are given another ticket dependant on your ethnicity. I was the only one who was given the ‘non-white’ and had to enter the museum via a different entrance (albeit it was next to it) than everyone else. The idea was to help put in perspective the divisions that were in place during apartheid. It did make me think ‘geez, if I was living here 30 years ago, my life would have been a nightmare’.

I’m not going to babble too much on about the museum. It is definitely a thought provoking place and I’m glad something like this is here for people to remember and learn from. One thing I will take away and look into further is about the story of man called Steve Biko. He was a political activist and as I read about him I just wanted to know more and more about him because I found him and his spirit so galvanising.

Well, that’s about it really. Lesotho and SA are both great places and am thankful for the experiences. It’s now back to reality…

A Questioning Time

2009-10-22T15:15:00.003Z

I wanted to write this after skimming through the BBC website for news today. It seems that the BNP’s appearance on Question Time is causing some furore. I think Nick Griffin will be appearing on tonight’s show. I shall not be watching it but am intrigued by the debate that has enflamed regarding whether the BBC is right to invite a racist party to its most popular political show.

It could be described that the BBC is hiding behind a flimsy reason of censorship as to why it asked the BNP to appear. They have announced that it is not up to them to censor law abiding political parties. That is up to the government to decide. As the party won two European Parliamentary seats a few months ago, the BBC were almost obliged (because that is what they have been doing with other minority parties) to ask them to appear. We all know though, what the party stands for and that makes it different from the rest. We should also not forget that the BBC did broadcast a documentary about the findings of an undercover reporter who infiltrated the BNP.

Yet the BBC has an obligation to represent all and it could also be described that it is the fault of the other heavyweight political parties that this party may appear on Question Time in the first place. They have been elected by members of the public but I am sure Labour and Conservatives could have used resource more astutely to assist their candidates greater where the BNP was forming a stronghold somewhere. The BNP seem to be picking up votes by associating high unemployment and allocation of homes to the rise of ethnic minorities within towns and cities. It is not difficult to counter this ideology but it does take resource and perhaps these bigger parties decided it is better spent elsewhere. Maybe this a contributing reason as to why Gordon Brown’s government has not stepped in and prevented them from appearing.

The most irksome thing about this whole issue is that it has turned into a big news agenda item and as a result given the party exposure arguably bigger than the one they will get on Question Time. The debate features in a lot of the newspapers and on the BBC website. This exposure is great for them and gives them an opportunity to raise their profile. This is not what should be done, it is a mistake.

We live in a democracy and they should have their say, because unfortunately, they did win two European Parliamentary seats in June. However, I abhor what they stand for and if the BBC allows their invitation to be exploited by inciting and encouraging racism then, they have to do something, be it re-editing certain parts or just explaining why they are not showing a certain response to a question. That is their obligation to us and failure to do so would make them partly responsible, in my eyes. Yet, I am sure Nick Griffin is a bit too canny to be so brazen, he knows this is a major opportunity to appeal to the mainstream and being so overt and crude would squash any bridge he is trying to connect. It is the mainstream aspect that does worry me; I am worried that he’ll bedazzle certain target groups by using buzz words and slogans to woo them over to at least consider voting for them.

I love the BBC and what it stands for. Yes, I think they made a serious stupid mistake in castigating Russell Brand to appease those who hadn’t even heard of him before Sachs-gate. In general however, it is an absolutely fantastic unrivalled organisation, but it needs to treat this issue carefully because the devil is always in the detail and it is what Nick Griffin says and how they handle what comes from his mouth that they will be judged on.

Still Here

2009-10-21T12:50:00.001Z

Hello, I have not gone AWOL. I’m currently in Johannesburg on the last stage of my exploits around South Africa and Lesotho. It has been great but although this has been classed as a holiday, I am not rested whatsoever. I have trudged around from East Coast to West Coast and hopped on a train to take me back here.

Anyhow, I will write a bit more about where I have been when I get back, I’ve got a bit of a cold so I’m going to lie down for a bit.

Looking up...to

2009-09-23T23:08:00.000Z

I was having a conversation with someone yesterday about the people we look up to and if they affect us with our decisions. I couldn’t really comment at the time because I was having trouble remembering who I actually looking up to. It is not that I have no one, I had just forgotten about them other than Optimus Prime and Hot Rod but then I was about 9.

The most obvious person that sprang to mind was Barack Obama. He truly is someone to look up to by many different types of people. The first black American president, great intelligence circulating around his mind and orator skills that would put Mel Gibson’s Braveheart speech to shame, and he is even left-handed. Millions of us wish to achieve only some of the success he has experienced and will continue to cast an eye over him as he makes his history as president. I just hope the health reform system he wishes to introduce does not enflame an enthusiasm to bring Sarah Palin back to challenge him in the next election. That entry is for another day.

For me in particular I aspire to master the oratory skills he possess, I’m completely in awe when he talks because of his manor of delivery.

And then I start to think of the next person I look up to and want to be and a smirk spreads across my face. I look up to Benicio Del Toro, for the work in the films he has done and for just being effortlessly ‘cool’. If I was to be a Hollywood filmstar, Del Toro would be it, I’d pick his type of films, dress like him, let the charisma seep out like he does and of course try and relive that encounter with Scarlett Johansson. As yet he’s never been a lead in a film (that I know of anyway) but that doesn’t matter because he probably doesn’t want to be and likes nothing more than getting involved in some gritty, unique and interesting project, film his part before disappearing again.

The person I have to say I idolise for their sporting achievements is Michael Jordan. To me he is the greatest athlete to have ever played sports. I do not think Pele, Jessie Owens, Usian Bolt (although he is making inroads), Roger Federer, Carl Lewis, Magic Johnson or Maradonna come close. The reason being that repeatedly and not just once, when he played for the Chicago Bulls and his team were down by a point with 3 seconds left on the clock the coach would call a time out or the ball would go out. Everyone knew who would get the ball, everyone was aware what would be attempted, especially the opponents. Yet somehow, Bulls would get the ball to Jordan who would dribble and fire a shot which would end up in the bucket. It was like witnessing the end of Teenwolf, over and over again but instead it’s an NBA playoff game and it’s real. It is that reason, the fact everyone knew he was going to get the ball, that fact he only had seconds to act and that he did it repeatedly that I rate him as the best sportsman ever.

And then I move onto the next person, and that is JK Rowling (Coldbrain I know you are either cracking up or rolling your eyes up as you read this). I cannot remember the amount of times I have just sat back and thought what she has produced is absolute mastery of imagination. It’s amazing. She has managed to take an idea from her imagination and constructed this story/saga full of intricate details that build upon the old cliché of good versus evil. It is like she had planned everything ten years before she started writing the first book. I could spend a month thinking up names and I would never come close to Sturgeis Podmore or Fenrir Greyback. It is all just amazing and I was a sceptic at the beginning who after reading the first two books still wasn’t feeling ‘it’, but by the third I was hooked. I am not sure if I will ever encounter something that contains so much imagination but then I never thought they’d be a better trilogy than Star Wars… and then Lord of the Rings came along.

Oh, I forgot, there was one other I look up to. He is Winston from Eastenders. How on earth does he manage to get by in life with his quarterly 3 second speaking appearances on Albert Square. I haven’t seen him on anything else, ever.

And in other news, I’m going to South Africa the end of this month for a month for an adventure. Well, I actually want to go whale watching so my entries may be a little thin over October.

World Cup ahoy!

2009-09-10T21:10:00.005Z

I’m drinking four day old red wine at the moment, is it still ok to drink or am I going to be ill?

Anyway, I feel I should write this entry because I wrote about the failures of the England football team and the ‘wally with the brolly’ back in 2007. There is a piece of me that feels that had England qualified for Euro 2008 we may have escaped a recession (or at least soften its impact). My reasons being, firstly, people spend more on consumables when England qualifies. I am referring to alcohol, party and barbeque food. Money is constantly being pumped into the economy each week as the team progresses. The second reason is there is a good vibe around the place. And this vibe is what I have missed since Germany 2006.

So it is great that England are back at a major final, in fact the biggest sport competition in the world (yep, I even think it’s bigger than the Olympics). I’m looking forward for everyone to become obsessed with the World Cup. The training camps, what is eaten for breakfast and even the omens related to whether the home or away kit will be worn. The sun will be shining (hopefully) and every one will gather around in the streets to watch the matches (I wonder whether they’ll erect television screens up the City Centre like they did last time). What also heightens this anticipation is the fact that right now on the other side of the globe a Paddington’s Shadow doppelganger is currently feeling the same thing, apart from the Argentinean and French Paddington’s Shadows who are very worried as it seems their teams may not qualify.

Mixed up with all this eagerness, there is also some unfortunate realisation that there will be some d*cks out and about who have no qualms about trashing the place they are in because they disagree with a decision. Or go on a rampage against people who support a different team. The worst case I remember was watching on the news when Portugal had defeated England on penalties in Euro 2004 and a bunch of thugs gathered around a Portuguese pub (in Oxford, I think) and smashed the place to bits trying to get in. I am glad that it is a minority as those actions are pathetic.

The World Cup will rule the summer and I’m looking for 2010 and to see just how South Africa host the event and who will draw Brazil in the work’s sweepstake, still one thing is a bit of a downer on a personal level. Peru will definitely not be qualifying for the forthcoming tournament having lost to Venezuela 3-1 yesterday. They now are bottom of their qualifying group.

Right, I fancy listening to Guns ‘n Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle.

Can I get a remit?

2009-09-02T21:01:00.000Z

You may have thought the last word was a typo and that I actually meant ‘Rewind’. You’d be wrong. This summer has flown by and most of it highly uneventful. Probably the biggest piece of news was Cristiano Ronaldo moving to Real Madrid for £80,000,000 odd. Even those that despise football would have read about it, even to gawp then gag ever so slightly at attempting to digest the fee paid for him.

Then something serious occurred when the Lockerbie bomber was released on compassionate grounds and this has sparked much debate both in this country and in the United States. I do not understand enough of everything that went on surrounding the release but one thing I am sure of is just how little I know about governmental power. Currently the press are commenting that it was a Scottish Parliament decision yet there is talk that Westminster was behind how it was decided.

This is where I enter uncharted waters. As far as I am aware the Scottish Parliament has the power to pass laws for Scotland other than those that concern Britain as a whole (I could be wrong here – Politics students rinse me if you must) in which case it is a decision made by Westminster. Westminster has said it was a purely Scottish Parliament decision and not theirs, yet it could be argued that the decision affects the whole of Britain and therefore collaboration sounds a more plausible approach. And then I get confused. Scotland can pass laws on some things but not on others. So where does this remit end? And where does the Welsh Parliament fit in and what power does it have?

My mind did not just stop there and it was beginning to annoy me. It seems I have clarity issues with who governs who in the United Kingdom but that was nothing to compare to the concept of Puerto Rico. This truly had me slapping myself for even daring to understand which government has the power over there. Puerto Rico is a little island off the US of A and is heavily influenced by the US but for some reason is not a US state. Now, when I mean heavily influenced, I am referring to it in a legitimate sense. I believe they openly assist in the election of the new, err, actually is it President or Governor? You see, it’s confusing. Why is it that Hawaii which is further away than Puerto Rico is a state and PR not?

Yes I will look them up (and Wikipedia will be my first port of call), however, I wanted to write about it and raise to myself if anything just how little I know about who has the power to control a country, even if it is another country. It is probably disjointed because of time and the battles and agreements that were constantly occurring meant that nothing was ever simple. And at the same time this complexity will assist some people, who will ever question a decision when they are not sure exactly who is responsible for making it because camp A can make choices about some things and Camp B does for others.

Ah pants, I just thought of another one. Is the moon North America’s because they stuck their flag in it first?

Conjugation for the Nation

2009-08-30T20:55:00.001Z

So what I have I been spending the last week doing? Well, apart from work I have found myself scribbling down the regular Spanish conjugated verbs that end in ‘ar’, ‘er’ and ‘ir’. I have been writing these out as part of the learning process and objective to learn all the important regular conjugations off by heart. I had learned them once before, but if I don’t practice or use them regularly, they fall out of my head.

It’s important for me to learn as much Spanish as I can. Currently, I can get by. My ability to translate Spanish is good, I can definitely get by talking (although in-depth discussions about river dams leave me perplexed), my reading is ok and my writing is atrocious. It is the rules that I now crave to learn and etch into my subconscious mind. I want to construct perfect sentences and use appropriate tenses; otherwise I will never be able to move on.

I sat in a meeting room on my own three weeks ago, mulling it over. I have completed a Spanish course, I have read Exacto! A practical guide to Spanish Grammar and did all the exercises. Granted, that book was immense and opened up the rules of the Spanish language. But like everything we are not really good at or completely confident in, complacency takes over and after I’d passed my Spanish course and read Exacto, all the learning stopped. In my mind, I could hear this little voice saying You need to carry on learning Spanish, you need to push it. But I didn’t, I revelled in my accomplishments and put it to one side.

After a few months I reasoned with myself and concluded that I should not forget all that I had learned. I had been on a roll but momentum will stop if I do not help myself. So I decided to test myself and write out all the conjugated verbs of the word ‘Hablar’ whilst eating my Wheatabix. Surprisingly, I got almost all of them right when I went to check. I moved onto ‘Comer’ where I did ok in that to. I was going to be late for work but I really wanted to test myself on ‘Pedir’ so forgot about time and wrote down all the combinations I could remember. I did not do so well with that one but I was buoyed by the fact that most of what I’d learnt was still there.

The little voice came back and I agreed. I should not let the momentum roll to a standstill. As mentioned earlier, three weeks ago I looked up a private tutor on some webpage and went to the empty meeting room. I made the call and arranged private lessons.

Today I am reflecting upon my decision, it hurts the pocket book and yes it eats into ‘my time’ but I do feel like I’m learning. Also the fact I’m paying for it makes me motivated to move on, because if I don’t do the homework (yes, I get homework) then we spend the following lesson doing the homework when I should be learning something new.

Complacency looms, it is true. When I’m tired or have a headache it comes knocking on my door. In the meantime, when I see a scrap piece of paper lying around I start writing down regular verb conjugations to test myself. My hope is by the time complacency overpowers me and I quit everything I would have been able to learn some of the rules and verbs off by heart.

Drinky Drinky

2009-08-21T13:37:00.003Z

I read an article about being healthy and that we should drink at least 5 pints of water a day. I quaffed at the thought whilst munching on a red apple. As if anyone could do something like that I said to myself when I realised that 5 pints isn’t actually that much when put into a different context. Drinking 5 pints of ale in a pub over the space of three hours isn’t entirely out of the question, especially when the company is good. But thinking about drinking 5 pints of water over the space of 8 hours had me feeling bloated. So what better way to find out than to try.

I brought in a pint glass to work and at 8:15 poured myself my first pint of water. I also made a cup of coffee to perk me up and sat at my desk surrounded by fluids. The first pint was going down quite a treat. I was habitually taking small sips and within the hour it was no more. The coffee too was gone within quick time. So around 9:30 I got back up and poured another pint and placed it back down on my desk.
This time the water didn’t go down so speedily, my whistle had been whetted enough so it stayed by my side annoying me as my mouse banged against it. Still, I persisted and by around 11:45 I’d finished my second pint of water. It was around this point I realised I really wanted to go to the toilet, so went. Upon my return I poured myself another pint of water and thought to myself, If I could drink at least a quarter by lunch then, when I get back there wouldn’t be so much to drink. It was all becoming a bit of a chore now.

When I got back I noticed I’d hardly touched the 3rd pint but still took a large swig. In fact I just kept on drinking until half of it was gone. Then I felt sick and bloated. Still I was happy that I was more than halfway in filling my daily water intake quota.

It was around 16:00 when I’d finished the 3rd pint. I’d been to the bathroom four times since and was beginning to grow a complex that people had noticed I kept leaving my desk. I had my argument though, should I be pulled up on it. I would tell whoever it was that I was listening to what nutritionists recommend and drinking 5 pints of water was essential. As a result, I had to go to the bathroom a lot. Simple as.

No one did so I began drinking my 4th pint during a meeting. Everyone had plastic cups whilst I chugged down my penultimate pint. I could feel the water bubbling in my stomach and rising to my chest. I suddenly felt a bit uneasy, and started breathing in a strange way so not to antagonise the vast amount of water my body was holding. Last thing I wanted was someone to say, ‘Mr Paddington’s Shadow, what do you think?’ And then I open my mouth and something like this happens (I love that show by the way.)

Luckily, no one asked me any questions and I refrained from speaking in fact when I got back to my desk I just sat there quietly and worked. I concluded that 5 pints of water is too much to drink for one person when they are not having fun.

In other news, may I point you in the direction of this blog. Here you find highly entertaining and funny podcasts that discusses the real important issues in life such as the lost lyrics from the Fresh Prince of Bell Air rap. Go now!

Au Natural

2009-08-13T20:49:00.003Z

So, although my time has been spent of late being busy and at the same time feeling lethargic, I some how muscled in a visit to The Natural History Museum. I had never been before and quite frankly it is nothing short of world class, it makes the Millennium Dome look nothing more than a rather large circus tent. It is a spectacular place and I recommend you shove your little hinds over there.

The first zone I visited was the blue zone. Straight in there I was hunting out the dinosaurs and found myself walking through a corridor of stuffed birds. There were familiar ones like swans and peacocks but also some rather unusual ones like a black parrot and some kind of giant eagle. The eagle looked particularly menacing even though it was full of cotton wool. One swipe of those claws and I’d probably find that my eyes had been gouged out.

The actual dinosaur zone is pretty good. They have a lot of life size replicas such a Triceratops and the one that looks like a gigantic armadillo. You then sort of follow this trail and get to see a lot of actual bones and fossils from the Jurassic era. Some look like leftovers from an eaten family bucket of KFC but some leave you in wonderment. They had a display of some teeth that sparked of my imagination of just how big they were and how ferocious some dinosaurs were. For a brief moment I wondered what it would be like to be a palaeontologist but then Ross from Friends came into my head and it didn’t seem so good. The climax of the trail was to go past an animatronic of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I wasn’t that bothered about seeing it because what I really wanted to check out was just past it.

I entered the Mammals area and it was here I saw the life like model of a blue whale. It was huge and looked immense. I couldn’t get my head around the fact it only fed on plankton as I walked around it looking in awe at its enormity. This to me was the highlight. The blue whale was surrounded by other large animals such as a hippopotamuses and the African Elephant. It was all just fascinating to look at and read about.

The other zones are impressive too. The green zone covers birds, ecology and creepy crawlies. There are fossil marine reptiles too which are pretty good to investigate but I found the different types of tortoise in the world the most interesting. The orange zone has a butterfly jungle and the Darwin Centre (but I didn’t go there because it was tours only). The red zone covered earth starting with ‘in the beginning’ right up until how humans are trashing the place. I also found myself engrossed in reading up on all the type of minerals earth has and where they can be found.

If you are ever in Londres, I seriously recommend visiting the Natural History Museum. It is an amazing place and it is absolutely free.

I’ve been asleep

2009-08-05T20:18:00.001Z

Well, I would like to say that was why I haven’t written anything close to three weeks. Truth is; I’ve been slack. It’s not that I forgot about ol’ Talesofepoch but when it came for me to open the lid of the laptop nothing sprang to mind so I decided to take a little break from it.

I’ve been shattered of late, just been getting back from work and thinking ‘I can’t be arsed’, where a few entries ago I was writing about how I was on par in productivity as Dilbert on amphetamines. Still, life is good. I can’t complain, been reading some good books, listening to some radio and have been drinking Hoegarden like it was the only available fluid going. Oh, and those little French beers. I forget what they’re called but they always seem to pop up around summer, like bumble bees.

I’ve also started wearing those thin scarves that kind of make me look like an artist. I don’t mind that look (If I could get away with the clobber they wear in that BBC pre-Raphaelite programme, I so would). No question. I like that artist look but can’t really pull it off but an extremely toned down version is what I will have to live with. I started off with buying one on a Monday morning but by the following Monday I’d bought four scarves. Next month cravats, a pipe and a wallowing of the British Empire in its hey day.

Been reading Garbriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude and enjoying it. In fact I love reading a book and drinking alcohol. Not to get wasted but to help relax me and thus settle into the story quickly. Writing about alcoholic beverages, I’ve also been getting into coffee liqueurs. My favourite at the moment is a McCloud, which consists of Drambuie and Teachers whisky. I recommend.

Other than that, not much has been happening of late, the weather has been a nightmare so much so that I have developed a conspiracy theory that Peter Mandelson threatened to knife Michael Fish if the BBC meteorologists didn’t dupe the country by declaring that we would be experiencing a heat wave this summer. Not sure how true this is. I recall only yesterday I walked across the car park and within a few seconds I was soaked.

Apart from that everything is doing alright, for now…

Skill Set

2009-07-15T20:56:00.002Z

Every once in a while I’ll be staring at the computer, out of a window or at the pavement, thinking what am I actually good at. This usually happens after I’ve made a relatively large mistake, got my ego burnt or tried to be helpful but been nothing more than a bane.

It also happens when I think about what I am actually good for in the working world; what skills do I possess and which ones I haven’t got and wish for. My initial thought is that all my attributes are innate and quite frankly everything I have learned in this living in this world is nothing. Obviously this isn’t true and perhaps this first reaction is one of my weaknesses coming into. Still, I can’t deny that if I was to list my strengths a lot of them derive from what makes me, me. First off, one of my major strengths is that I find it very difficult to give up. I’m very dogged. If I was a premier league footballer, I’d be Michael Essien. As a result I tend to never give in easily when set a task. If barriers are put up I find ways to get around them. If it’s something I’m personally interested in then I am almost rude in getting something done. Alas, this strength is also a weakness because trying to get something done takes time and therefore sometimes it isn’t well spent and I end up celebrating a pyrrhic victory. Embarrassment, although I wouldn’t call it a weakness does affect me. Not many things get me embarrassed but those things that do make me recoil into myself and I just don’t do things and dwell on the event and occasion over and over again. It takes a long time for me to get back to being normal so I am relieved not many things get me embarrassed.

I’m not too hot on arithmetic either, or reading maps but do have pretty good ICT skills. I can rustle up a website and am relatively intermediate in most of the Office applications. I think this is linked to a general interest in technology and wanting to know how things work. I can spend hours learning a new application. Perhaps this has to do with the hours spent trying to work out a Rubix cube when I was younger. What I am not good at is demonstrating something at my desk, like when you are asked to bring up a document from the depths of a server just so it can be displayed to back up a comment that was discussed over coffee. I tend to sniff, stick my tongue out and try and find the Word wizard paperclip helper. It usually ends with me saying, It’s not where I thought it was, give me a couple of minutes and I’ll find it. I then spend a further five minutes getting rid of the paperclip helper.

One thing I thought I’d get out into the interweb world is confidence. I lack it quite a lot, I think. But sometimes I feel really confident, almost like untouchable. But these occasions are rare and the majority of time I feel that I don’t have any confidence, yet, just to add another layer of complexity, is that I do things that require confidence but don’t think it required any. For example, being put on the spot and having to greet and chaperone someone totally out of the blue. People will say to me, you must have a lot of confidence to do what you’ve done. I smile, but inside I think, seriously, I think I’ve got no confidence sometimes. Maybe I’ve got it but don’t realise that I have. In fact I’m not sure about this one entirely, so am opening it up here.

I am quite good at presentations though, and given enough time I can be darn hot at it. This was developed at school and something I’d always felt comfortable and actually thrived on. No question I’ve crashed and burned many a time when I’ve stood there, hand shaking thinking, I’ve totally forgotten everything. But then Alan Partridge snippets fall into my head like, I’d like a pint of bitter, and then everything seems to fall into place. At one stage I was giving so many presentations that I started to vibe off the crowd, knowing if they would dig any of my homemade dry japes I had thought of or if I should take this seriously.

Ok, enough of this self-appraisal, my glass of wine is empty and I need to go buy some toothpaste.

Energise

2009-07-07T20:49:00.003Z

Hmm, I wonder if the title of this entry will attract any Star Trek geeks Googling various Trekkie sound-bites. Well the real reason for this title is because recently I’ve gained an abundance of energy for absolutely no where.

It kind of started mid-way through last week. I woke up in the morning and stared at the mirror and instead of seeing a scowling Popeye, I saw this calm looking expression across my face, in my head I said, so what are we going to do today? I thought I was suffering from some mental break down so turned away and legged it, hoping it was nothing but a dream. By mid-morning, I was accomplishing various things at work but also remembering to do the little things I always forget to help my day run that little bit sweeter. For example, spending a couple of minutes looking for a good radio station to listen too on LastFM or remembering to buy a packet of soft mints. I like to chew whilst I do stuff. When I realised I’d done all these, I thought to myself, damn, this must be mighty fine coffee to make me think this quick. I peered into my mug and alas there were only the dregs leftover from yesterday’s pouring.

This carried on for the rest of the week, even on Sunday night where I read until 2 am. It was the typical situation where you start reading to get tired, a chapter becomes mighty interesting, so you ride through the wave of tiredness until a second wind comes along. By then two more chapters have been read and only when you realise it’s late and that you’ll struggle to get up in the morning, you begrudgingly decide it is time to call it a day. Even when I closed my eyes I thought that I’d really find it difficult to get up in five hours. At 7am I sprung up like a freak in the morning, I didn’t even need the radio to assist me. Again I found myself staring at the mirror and a lively more assured version of me was looking back saying, it’s going to be sunny today, wear a t-shirt mate. This was getting odd.

Today I have pretty much done everything I wanted to accomplish and more, like go through and delete loads of emails I’ve stored throughout the years. I even managed to go jogging. But where is all this energy coming from? Nothing has changed, in fact I’m getting less sleep and eating less. I tried thinking about it but quite frankly after a few moments, I didn’t care. So what if I suffer a burnout some where, or all of a sudden collapse on the floor into a slumber. I hope it never ends because it feels good actually doing things and accomplishing them in decent time. And if this momentum continued for something like 6 months it would be ace.

In other news, someone sent me this link and thought I’d pass it on

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcqFztb2QnA

I prefer this version but it was only after listening to this mix I noticed what Lily is actually chatting about. Poor girl.

Goodbye Sasquatch

2009-06-30T20:58:00.002Z

He’ll never read this because he’s pretty lazy and he’s still finishing chapter 2 of Back to the Future: A Novel (he started last millennium). However, I feel compelled to write this. For today Sasquatch, my pal, has left the British Isles to seek adventure around the other side of the world.

This is a huge achievement, actually planning, funding and going through with buying a plane ticket for a round the world trip. He’s talked about it before, in fact incessantly, but doing it is something different. Totally. He’s off to Thailand, Oz, New Zealand, Fiji, Hawaii, then finishing in the US of A.

Relatively prepared he’s about to embark on this crazy journey of seeing different cultures, experiencing new cuisines, meeting different people who live life in a totally different way, he’s going to love it.

I’ve got a lot of admiration for what he has already done, and wish him all the best. I wish I could do what he is doing, but at this moment in time, I cannot. Odd thing is, I don’t think I’ll see Sasquatch for a long, long time. The travelling vibe suits his aura and I think he’ll stay in Oz for many years, in fact maybe even permanently. I’ll be checking out Neighbours now and then just to see if some guy, who looks like Jonny Rico’s bleached blonde friend from Starship Troopers, walks on and says, ‘alright geese, where’s Daphne?’

Good luck Sasquatch, and well done for actually going through with it.

Paper Mache?

2009-06-28T12:21:00.001Z

Yesterday I bought The Guardian for the first time in a long time. Perhaps about four or five months had passed since I walked into Smiths or a mini-mart to buy a periodical. I think it was the death of Michael Jackson that had me ambling along to the newsagents to buy a paper. I was curious about the media reaction to his death and how it would be commented upon.

It struck me almost immediately after reading the stories about Michael Jackson that the newspaper offered almost nothing new (although Comment was good). The main story was just a regurgitation of what everyone already knew. And how did we all know? Because we are now highly-skilled technological freaks, who log on and start searching for crap when a big story breaks and no longer wait until the next day to read about it in the paper, The Guardian et al cannot compete in paper format.

I think it was some website called TMZ who broke the news that MJ had died. This website is allegedly well known for breaking Hollywood stories into the public domain. And as everyone heard the news, probably via radio or television went straight to the interweb to find out more information. Why? Because the interweb has more opinions and resources than News 24 or Sky News do. We have to wait for those channels to tell us the news, whereas when we log onto Google and run a search we begin our journey to find our ‘own’ news. We are in a sense conducting investigative journalism, perhaps in a crude way, it could be argued. But take the example, of someone hearing breaking news on the radio, dashes to their laptop and runs a search. Finds TMZ at the top of the search rankings which discloses the details that Michael Jackson had a cardiac arrest, then this person has a blog and posts the news and the link on there. This contributes to the feeding and momentum of the story which can be updated within minutes whereas a periodical takes considerably longer. I mean Google themselves thought they were under attack because so many searches were conducted regarding the Prince of Pop.

So where does this leave the good ol’ paper. Well I think they are in a bit of trouble. Everything written on Saturday had already been covered meticulously by other interweb sources which meant all they could really do is stitch together the pieces of info that the readership already knew about. I don’t want to come over as pessimistic about the livelihood of newspapers, they all do have their websites which are updated frequently, but I feel newspapers must look at how people react when big news occurs and that repeating what has already been covered perhaps isn’t the best tact.

One thing I did like was the Comment section, and here is where I think newspapers can excel. Having people ‘in the know’ write their opinions on the matter and discuss how this affects the country, the world even. It’s that sort of tone I think newspapers need to adopt throughout their column inches, pushing journalist’s interpretations at the forefront and backed up with clear facts. They do this already, granted, because just by the nature of writing something they are expressing their opinion in some form. I just feel it should be done more.

I also accept that it is done in the supplementary material. I have noticed an increase in supplementary material in weekend papers just by the sheer weight of picking up one of those bad boys. I feel sorry for those paperboys and girls who have to deliver five copies of The Sunday Times. Having sections such as Life, Money, Cars, Technology, Mid Morning Brunch, How To Live Your Life does include an abundant amount of opinions but I just don’t think it’s topical news and that’s the lifeblood of a newspaper, surely? If I want to read about cars, I’ll just buy AutoTrader magazine, or even better visit the website.

Perhaps, I’m writing rubbish, I don’t know. But something just didn’t seem right when I spent £1.70 just to read everything I have already read elsewhere (excluding the Comment section) and for free.

In other news, I’ve started watching The West Wing and I am loving it. It makes working in an office look cool.

The Quentin Thomas Effect

2009-06-20T12:47:00.001Z

Some of you probably know who he already is; I didn’t, although I should as I’ve seen his name at least seventy times.

I was sitting in the Slug ‘n Lettuce today, sipping on Peroni, when I started to think about how much nothing has happened this year. It just seems to be plodding by. I took another sip, and thought that perhaps this was actually true. This year, I’ve not really done anything other than attend work, do work, go off on holiday for a bit and then return. Nothing has changed, compared to 2008, and perhaps that was just a continuation of how things were in 2007.

Air, came on in the pub, and I sat back, thinking, that truly nothing has moved on. It didn’t make me glum, but I thought the purpose of living was to advance? Well, maybe that isn’t exactly true because, for some people, it is literally to try and stay alive. It still though rested uncomfortably with me. All around looked and felt the same. Even the blaring of Kelly Rock the Stars had me thinking that there was a possibility that it was even the same when that tune was first heard by my ears. My Peroni was now half empty.

I sniffed and thought about it a bit more. In fact I started spinning the pepper pot in front of me when I decided that this year has been a bit of a blur. Wasn’t it snowing the other month (February)? Then, it dawned that things had changed, I have. I’ve managed to save up some cash money to put my estate into some sort of order instead of being in disrepute. I’m more confident in my job now having grown into it. I generally feel a bit more stable. I have carved out a path using the sabre of determination and it’s there in front of me should I want to start running that way (I always run and never walk). Even in my appearance I’ve changed, I’ve developed red eye due to a bad contact lens (everyone now thinks I’m stoner).

I should explain who Quentin Thomas is, in case you don’t know, (Coldbrain, I wonder if you got it straight away?). Quentin Thomas is the president of the BBFC and issues the age ratings for all films that are screened in the UK. Quentin’s name always appears just before you see a film in the cinema. No shit, he’s always there. It’s always the same black background with a shaky signature informing the viewer he’s approved this film rating.

And for every film I’ve seen ranging from Gremlins 2: The new Batch to Angels & Demons I had never realised, never really ‘looked’ just like I had not realised I’ve grown, altered morphed into something different than last year, but because I stare in the mirror every morning with a Mac 4 in one hand, I’m oblivious to it. It’s these little alterations in life that contribute to something but I don’t notice because I forget, can’t be arsed or am too scared to, but they are always there. I see the clear base of the glass as I take a large swig of Peroni. To me, this is the Quentin Thomas effect. Not noticing the little things even though they are there to be clearly seen.

Sitting in the Slug ‘n Lettuce made me realise actually spending time to think about yourself and where you are going, is a good thing, isn’t it? I mean, I will carry on living regardless but highlighting major fuckups and learning from them is a pretty good way of avoiding them the next time. Also, you don’t feel like nothing has changed whereas the surroundings remain the same.

I finished my Peroni.

Appetite

2009-06-12T20:04:00.000Z

There’s something that I don’t understand. Why is it that relatives always want you to eat so much that you’re left unable to move and wishing some crane would come and pick you up?

When I was younger I used to dread meal times because I’d be given the largest plate of spaghetti and feel that I have to finish it. My aunt or whoever would look at me ever so often to check that I was consuming the half tonne of pasta. If it looked like I was struggling she would holler that I was ill or that perhaps some fever had affected my appetite. Twenty minutes later and I’m slumped on the chair just like Mojo the monkey from The Simpsons, barely able to breath because my body has shut down virtually all functions in order to digest the food I’d just consumed. It is only then that relatives are content that you are a healthy growing boy, although to me this is just irony at its best.

As I got older I started saying ‘no’ to portions that could feed a small family and I’d receive a scornful look. It wasn’t one of annoyance but more of disappointment, both in me and at their perceived failure to nourish me. With my normal portion of food I’m quite content but because I’m a fast eater I always finish first. Yet this prompts a nudge followed by large spoon of sustenance shoved in my direction. I raise my hands in protest and I get that look again, before some non-verbal communication enacted by patting my stomach ends the issue for the time being. In fact, I realised that in order to avoid the spoon scenario altogether I needed to lay my knife and fork down very carefully so that it makes no noise.

Recently I caved in and remembered just what it’s like to feel like Mojo again when I was visiting a relative. I had a huge piece of Shepherd’s Pie and scoffed it all like a famished dog. I think it was all gone in about four minutes. I forgot to lay the fork down carefully and it made a rattling sound on the plate. I was promptly asked if I wanted another piece. I still felt hungry and so nodded in agreement. What I was expecting was the final leftover piece, but instead, a whole new pie appeared from the oven and was given a piece larger than my original. Still I felt that I should at least attempt to eat it. Forty minutes later, I finished and I wanted to go to sleep. I’d not felt that full in years. I was practically waddling to the sofa and kept thinking to myself surely this isn’t healthy.

Thing is, I’m pretty certain that when I’m older this is exactly what I will do. In fact I better start taking notes, a male of 5’10 stature requires one plate the size of Ben Nevis. When the next generation arrives at my gaff I’m sure I’ll be there ready to dish out the food and will give ‘the look’ should someone refuse an extra dollop of goulash. It’s weird but I guess that’s what happens.

In other news, never go out wearing just one contact lens.

Chilling & Consideration

2009-06-09T12:54:00.001Z

¿Hola, como estas? I’m currently chilling in Madrid for a week. I thought some time off work would do me some good and reinvigorate me to concentrate on things I like. At present I’m sitting in that very Spanish institution, Starbucks, looking over all the people scurrying around below in a place called Sol.

Anyway, enough of that, what I really wanted to write about was the film ‘Yes Man’. Before I’d watched the film I referred to it with a Jamaican accent and thought it wasn’t worth watching at all. In fact, after I checked it out I thought it was quite a liberating film and also made me think of what on earth would happen if I applied that kind of logic to my everyday life. Half way through the film I started to think that I don’t get many choices where it involves a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ answer. I was being stupid however, of course there are, but what I seemed to do is just proceed with out actually thinking about them. Like, I always avoid the sandwiches at work or when I go for a walk at lunch it is always the same route, even if someone says ‘shall we try this way’. I tend to say ‘nah, let’s go this way’. How rubbish is that, but I don’t really think about it. Or when I see three drains adjacent to one another, I always avoid them. I’ve done this for so long that I can’t remember why and it has become part of my default setting, along the lines of: 3 x drains + 1 x Mr P. Shadow = bad luck.

But why do I avoid the three drains? I’ve forgotten, other than somewhere down the line someone once said that if you walk over three drains you will suffer misfortune. Thing is I can’t really remember the actual tale or who told me it. Yet, when I see three drains I tend to do this really odd skip, pivot and bounce to avoid them. It’s quite a street dance performance but I step around them with serious intent. I know this is genuine characteristics of someone with obsessive compulsive disorder but in an odd way I kind of like avoiding those drains. Obviously I want to avoid the bad luck which will strike down on me should I one day step all over them, but also, I want to continue this lore that I know thousands of others abide by. And how do I know this? Well because every time I’m up town I see people doing their own little hop, skip and jump to avoid those three drains. It’s like we are all strangers but are all part of this subculture where somewhere down the line someone told us the story of how treading on three drains brings untold misery and so we avoid them at all cost. They even do it in Madrid. Perhaps there’s a wikipedia page about it all but I can’t really be bothered to check but at least I’ve now considered something that I just do generally without thinking, thing is, I’m quite happy to just continue doing it so really I haven’t changed anything at all. Ah well.

Learning the Forgotten

2009-05-31T09:59:00.008Z

It’s a skill that I have yet not become even remotely good at; in fact, I’m utterly rubbish at it. Although, even remembering to (or discovering) the importance of the art of learning the forgotten is a positive step. What I mean by this is learning something ages ago, storing it in your mind and then consequently forgetting it about five minutes later. Some of it is mundane, like buying a packet of Pork Scratchings back in 2000 and noting like they taste of gone off tripe with salt sprinkled on them. Only for last week to find myself in Sainsbury’s noticing a packet of Pork Scratchings hanging in between the wine and the cans of lager. Hmm, they look interesting, I wonder what they taste like? Next thing I’m doing is throwing in a packet into my basket and outside popping one of those dry curly pieces of saturated fat into my mouth. Rancid. And then I get the flash back of the first time I tasted them, after buying them from some garage outside Birmingham somewhere. Why didn’t I remember?

And then there’s things that help me with work and everyday life which I should of learned at school (and quite possibly did but forgot), like when is it appropriate to use semi colons. I learned about its use in 2006 when an employee of the local library picked up something I’d wrote, which I had left behind. As she ran towards me she must of glanced at what I had written because as she handed me back the piece of paper she told me, you need some semi colons in there. To which I replied that I haven’t got a clue about when I should use one. She then spent five minutes with me, explaining that it should be used when you want more emphasis than just a comma. Yet, I can tell you now I have pretty much totally forgotten about semi colons and where they should be applied. I just go off tapping away and inserting commas and full stops where I see fit and never consider that perhaps a semi colon should be used, until that is, someone points it out to me and I say, oh yeah, but inside I’m beating myself up for not learning/remembering hard enough the time the kind lady in the library explained it all.

Also, there are the aspects of emotion that I forget, even though at the time, it felt so good that I said to myself that I’d never forget how that feeling was. Only to forget, until I feel it again and it’s like bumping into an old chum, it all comes flooding back. A most recent example was the feeling of accomplishment. When I was being overwhelmed at work I was just sinking into the mire and so was beginning to think like this, starting to be closed minded as my body shutdown what it considered superfluous activities in order to save energy to get things done. And I remember thinking, this is crap, I don’t like feeling like this. Yet I have been in this situation and felt this way before. And when I finally complete my tasks and projects there is this superb feeling of elation of finishing but also at conquering what I thought was too difficult. I become reenergised and I note that the thing did not break me and so my capacity for accommodating stress has expanded a little further. I need to remember this because although I’m not out of the mire at the moment, I have one more big week and then I genuinely hope it will all be over and I can get that feeling of accomplishment.

But there are others, like telling someone who really deserves it to piss off. Regardless of the context of the situation, if someone deserves those words bequeathed to them, then when it’s delivered you should get a feeling of satisfaction that outweighs any repercussion. Whether it be in front of a tribunal or a severe head smacking, if they deserve it then you should still feel that justification for telling them so. Sometimes I forget that feeling of justification and satisfaction because of the context that surrounds the situation and the over riding notion, that we should not swear to each other because we are adults. Yeah right. I’ve told local hoodies to do this, as well as work colleagues (although years ago) and when I’ve said it I remember it feeling right. To me, it was a concise way of communicating what I wanted them to do and I shouldn’t forget that sometimes people need that conveyed.

So now I have discovered about learning the forgotten I’m hoping I can start to develop the skill of wrenching out stuff I learned ages ago and not have to learn them all over again. Or, what is more likely, that I will forget about this all and learning about the forgotten will sound nothing more than a 90’s Britpop album title. I guess that’s why I’ve posted it on the blog, before I forget!

In other news, I discovered this song for the first time on Friday afternoon. I immediately fell in love with it and knew my weekend was going to be good. Right, I'm off to get high on Peruvian coffee.

Lumley's Law

2009-05-22T10:40:00.004Z

I thought it was really good to see a government back down from their original stance of not allowing Gurkha’s who had fought for Britain before 1997 UK residency. What I did pick up from all this was that you need a celebrity in order to do (or at the very least significantly contribute) to a campaign, otherwise the campaign only seems to get so far before it just loses a motion or is suffocated by other things happening. In the case for the Gurhka’s, they had a beautiful woman who was able to speak with a resonance that compelled even the politicians themselves.

It seems sad but in order for the government to hear you, you need a celebrity to attract attention. So, does this mean that those who wish to have speed cameras taken down should contact, The Hoff? I mean, what better ambassador? He could drive down the street in the sleek black car, whilst Kit blared out that all speed cameras should be taken down. When backed into a corner during a fierce debate with some dodgy politician, he could just whisper something into his black digital Casio and all of a sudden – in extremely slow motion and with a bionic sound effect – Kit could come crashing through the window and pull up in front of The Hoff before the both sped off down the M1.

Or, what about those that campaign against Airport expansion or construction, they could get Mr T. He hated flying, so surely he has no interest in airports being constructed. For every speech he did they could have an opening sequence of the various ways the rest of the A-Team managed to get him on a plane. Ranging from the spiking of his smoothie to the time he was somehow tricked into actually getting on a plane without him noticing. Also, all his speeches would be concise and to the point. And if any one disagreed I’m sure they’d face a knuckle sandwich. There could be special appearances from Murdoc or Face (I found out his full name was Templeton Peck the other day and cracked up laughing) to reaffirm the message.

I’m not trying to trivialise those that campaign because it’s something I feel strongly about (Although my last two paragraphs have suceeded in doing so). Yet, it seems that in order to be heard, the importance of a celebrity is weighty. Joanna Lumley also happens to show humility in defeat (when they originally lost the decision), never gave up hope and dealt with everything with aplomb. However, if she wasn’t there still attracting people after the original defeat, would it have been overturned?

In other news, Coldbrain sent me a link to a sighting of Mr Paddington himself (click on Street View). I’m now hopping onto a train to see if he wants to go for a pint.

Can I claim for that?

2009-05-18T18:04:00.000Z

For me, it started off with a murmuring around the news agenda at the end of last year. A few sentences spoken on 5Live, a couple of columns worth in the newspapers about some MP from Balderdash who managed to claim back on expenses a new plasma television. Cheeky git, I remember telling myself and then totally forgetting all about it, just like I do with most of the news I hear or read.

The murmurings continued to grow, however, on a weekly basis with new MPs from Codswallop or Crudforth successfully making rather dubious claims from new garden decorations to toilet rolls. The public’s interest grew and the media licked its lips in anticipation of another scandal teetering on the brink of explosion. What made it all the more enchanting was that we were being dripped fed information because it was not being disclosed by the government. It smelt bad and the fact it was being hidden made us all the more suspicious as to who spent what on what. Maybe Gordon Brown had made an expense claim on a Rocket Propeller Grenade launcher to wipe out any threat both inside his party and out, or that’s what I like too have thought.

It seemed something was foul and it was being covered up. Yet, someone, either a civil servant or other government employee disagreed with the non-compliance, and decided to do something about it and started giving newspapers info. I hope it was the same 23 year old clerk how was blamed (as it was his/her fault) for all that data being lost on a CD sometime last year, thus ensuing public uproar.

And then The Daily Telegraph finally got the information released letting us all know what’s been going on. MPs had successfully claimed back on expenses things like, mortgage repayments for second homes, restoration of beams to a roof, a garden being redesigned and a moat being cleaned. A moat! Now that is abuse if I ever heard one. The fact it was a Conservative MP only reinforced the stereotypical image of what one has of a stereotypical MP. Still what made this all juicy was that it was all MPs from all the major parties that were abusing ‘the system’. I do believe that the Labour and Liberal Democrats looked worse from this, considering their ace card revolves around being ‘working class orientated’. So instead of blaming each other, they blamed ‘the system’. Along the lines of, I am perfectly within my rights to claim for those items because the system allows it.

Those justifications were as solid as Ian Hislop’s chances of winning on an episode of Have I got News For You. Everyday we all heard more stuff coming out in The Daily Telegraph about home improvements being claimed back but even worse, using ‘the system’ to make a profit on the housing market. Enraged and fuelled with righteous retribution they were all wrong, that was until someone said.

“Yeah, but what would you do if you were in that position. I mean, say you were new and your boss said ‘it’s alright, claim that new ipod touch on expenses, we all do it’, wouldn’t you?”

Shit I thought, I probably would and stayed silent as my conscious wrestled itself into submission. But then, my answer was honest and that made me look at things differently but still come up with the same conclusion, I really want an ipod touch. I would like to think that I wouldn’t make too many far out claims, perhaps buying Pret A Manager sandwiches instead of Boots ones or tipping the cab driver a few pound on the receipt. Definitely no moat being cleaned!

Some of those MPs did make a mistake and claiming for tea cloths is probably just about excusable whereas there were those that did realise exactly what they were doing. What has come out of this though will be a change in the expenses claim system which will hopefully eradicate the lavish and process the appropriate.

What I would like to do is thank the guy or gal who first discovered what was going on and started telling the press about it because without him or her doing that, none of us would have known what had been happening.

Readjusting

2009-05-14T21:21:00.001Z

It’s been a while since I last posted. It’s not that TalesofEpoch has been forgotten. In fact, I think about the ol’ blog on a daily basis as it is my creative outlet. Each day I wait for a new entry idea to fall into my head. Sometimes it happens when I’m making coffee in the kitchen at work, just before I push the lever down on the hydroboil machine and scald my hand causing the instant freeze coffee to fly from my mug. Other times I’ll be reading a book in peace, either at home, in a coffee shop or the library and then the idea will just appear. Not daily, but quite frequently.

These ideas have been popping into my head less and less of late though. It’s like I am scraping the barrel of concepts and getting the dried leftover pulp. I mean what on earth were my last two blog entries about? They were shit. I reread them this evening and they made me snigger but I was overwhelmingly cringing at the lack of substance. Now I think the reason for my last two lacklustre entries was because I’ve been working my cotton socks off. Since mid March my working life has taken over all other aspects of life and has become my life. I have been starting work around 8:15am and finishing around 6pm which churns out nothing more than a haggard looking man who spends a further five minutes trying to untangle his earphones to listen to some music before exiting the building. After I finish work all I want to do is sleep and nothing more. Well apart from eating first. I’ve been trying the last couple of weeks to write something but both pieces resembled my last two entries and were duly deleted. Currently, work has regulated my life because all my energies are focussed there, it is begrudgingly because I want energy for myself to at the very least make breakfast in the morning and hold a decent conversation. Instead I’ve started saying uh-huh as a response to everything which when asked, is that report done yet, is perfectly appropriate but when asked, Please, I need your help, I think I’m going to have a breakdown isn’t really the response the recipient was hoping for.

I did have a couple of days off during the Bank Holiday and I remembered what it was like to be me which was great, especially when the red eye disappeared and I didn’t have to open Outlook. The time off also made me realise that I’ve got to readjust myself. Work life is always going only get harder and I’ve got to develop the skill to either get away with doing nothing, which I can’t do if I wanted because I actually strive for self actualisation (check me out getting some of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in here). Or I develop the skill to cast work aside at a certain point and not let it flood my life. At the moment, I’m rubbish at this but at least I’ve realised that’s what I should do if I don’t want to turn into a complete bod.

And should I fail, I’m afraid I’ll write about more crap like how difficult I find it to cut my toe nails, or how I’ve got earring shrapnel in the top rim of my left ear which is now part of me as the skin has grown over it.

In other news, I got a juicer. No it wasn’t because I saw a Jason Vale advert. Two people completely unrelated to each other and on separate occasions advocated the benefits of buying a juicer so completely blindly taking their advice I went and got one. Now I can drink carrot, beetroot and radish all in one drink. How lovely.

Dogs and Sharks

2009-04-26T18:28:00.003Z

Over the recent years I have becoming gradually more and more scared of dogs. I am not referring to a Sausage dog or a Labrador. It’s the Rottweiler and the Staffordshire bull terriers that have me feeling all cold and shivery when I see one walking along the path. I didn’t really used to care about them but recently they’ve started growling at me and forcing their owner towards my direction.

For example, I was walking back from the off licence the other day after buying some wine and was day-dreaming a naughty scenario that included me and Sarah Silverman, when all of a sudden I hear this low pitch growl, Sarah Silverman shouldn’t growl I thought, so I looked around and from the other side of the path was a man of no great stature but a weather-beaten face holding the leash of a large Rottweiler almost as big as him. At first I thought it might have been the man who growled but the baring of teeth by his pet made me realise it was the dog. We were about 40 feet apart and coming closer with every step. I thought what should I do, if the dog goes for me. The sensible pragmatic side of me said cross over the road now and you will be fine but the side full of naïve self-pride said bollocks to that, if you walk away they’ll know it’s because of them. The only thing I could think of to defend myself would be my keys should it attack. Not much help there. Still I thought that these are public walkways and anyone should feel comfortable using them and besides the dog probably doesn’t want to take a chunk out of me, it’s probably just messing with my head. As we crossed each other I took a deft side step to the right to make sure there was plenty of space between me and the 100 pound animal which didn’t go unnoticed by its owner. “Don’t’ worry mate if he wanted to bite you it would,” fucking great reassurance.

But sometimes it’s the owner that makes me think oh shit, I’m screwed because they are so puny. One guy was practically being led by his dog and although he had the bling and the large silver chain as a leash there was no hiding the fact the Staffordshire bull terrier was taking him for a walk. On that occasion, the dog didn’t pay much interest to me but I was getting slightly freaked for the possibility that the owner wouldn’t be able to stop it if it did want some of my calf.

Yet thinking about it some more, ‘dangerous’ dogs are still well behind on the thing I fear most, Great White Sharks and the possible return of El Dorado to the BBC. Perhaps it was because I watched Jaws when I was far too young or that a rather large fish brushed past me in the sea when I was around twelve, but I am terrified of the Carcharodon carcharias. I have never seen one other than on television but the sight of them fills me with a slight awe but more predominately, terror.

It is not because I think they are evil and horrid. I admit if I’m in the sea then I may be considered food. It is the realisation that when one is near you and wants you then life is pretty much over. Seeing the fin gliding above the sea is the signification that death is coming towards you. Shouting won’t help, swimming away won’t help and no one can help you. And that’s what scares me. Knowing that I just can’t do anything but wait, even though it’ll be a couple of seconds before I’ve been slashed into pieces and then spat out because I wasn’t the juicy seal it was expecting.

I read an article about a surfer in San Fran who got attack by a Great White. He said that he got hit from below and he didn’t realise what had happened until he saw his board snapped in two and blood all around him. Then the next moment the shark bit into his rib cage but he still was able to shout for help as he tried to stop the shark from rolling him under by punching its nose. I couldn’t believe it as I was reading that he had time to scream for help. What was he saying? He was lucky because another surfer had heard the screams and originally fled but felt he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t turn back so went to his aid. By then the guy had some how managed to fight off the shark but was dying from the lack of blood because half his organs were hanging out. Still the other surfer saved his life by swimming him back to shore so that the paramedics could take him straight to the hospital.

Snail Shells Shower Sneaks

2009-04-20T19:19:00.006Z

Now that's the sixth best sequence of alliteration I've seen all year.

A random thing happened to me last Thursday. It was around 10pm and I was walking home. It had been raining and I’d decided to stay in Ye Olde Weatherspoons and drink another bottle of Effes beer. The rain stopped after twenty or so minutes and I made my move.

Although walks home at night after a few beers are not uncommon, the mixture of rain, humidity and moisture in the air made sure it was a rather odd journey. I crossed over a road and turned off the main path onto a short cut and then crunch. I knew I’d trodden on something before I heard the sound because of the small resistance I felt as my foot came down. I had stepped on a snail. Crap I thought and scrapped my new pumps (I got these ones by the way) along the ground to clear away any shell debris leftover. Turning left to save me ten minutes meant I’d have to go down an alleyway where the street lamps did not work. I first thought that this was ‘chav’ hunting ground. The ominous signs were there, all street lamps were off, it was dark, the path was an alleyway where anyone could appear from, but I thought sod it and started the 300 (or so) metre walk. It took only a few steps when again there was a crunch sound. I couldn’t be bothered to scrape my shoes and continued but it was not too long until there was another crunch as within a space of a nanosecond I crushed a snail’s home followed by its life. My feet shuffled along a few more steps and with every other I destroyed a snail and its abode. This was getting all too strange so pulled out my key-ring and found my little light and illuminated the alleyway. At first I couldn’t quite understand what was in front of me but as I narrowed my eyes to take a more inquisitive look I noticed hundreds of snails all over the place. The path was absolutely littered with them. There was hardly anywhere I could tread without smashing one of those little fellas into pieces. It seemed there was some sort of a snail convention taking place inviting all the snails within four counties to congregate here down this dodgy dark alleyway. I pulled out my phone to take a photo but it was currently being repaired and the makeshift one doesn’t have a camera.

I still wanted to get home early though and decided to carry on down the alleyway. So with my little light as guidance I began weaving in and out but unfortunately could only pick out the big ones. Crunch, “Ah shit” I said aloud as I started to squash more snails. I even attempted tip-toeing but lost my balance and almost ended up falling to the floor. Getting back to the task in hand I decided that there was no other way to get through but to leg it. There would be more squashing but I wanted to get out quickly. I put the little light away and just ran for it.

It didn’t take long for me to hear that crunching sound, in fact it happened with every step. In the dark I could imagine I was treading on snow. Unfortunately, reality set in when I finally made it through the alleyway and stood underneath a lamp post (that was alight) and saw on my new trainers a plethora of snail shells covering my pumps. When I got back home I took the hose out and washed away all the debris making sure everything had been sprayed off. To help with the cleaning process I even poured half a tube worth of washing up liquid to make sure the job was done. It was a random end to the night but my trainers no longer look new and I hate snails.

In other news, I saw this on the Kiss Channel a couple of weeks ago.

It's all in the email

2009-04-12T20:36:00.001Z

I get annoyed when ever so often the news agenda runs wild with some story and its coverage becomes bigger than the story itself. It makes me not want to buy a newspaper, watch or listen to the news and stay ignorant of everything.

On this occasion it’s about some bloke who works for Prime Minister Brown that wrote an email to ‘a friend’ (who happens to run some political blog) about smearing some Conservatives. Firstly, what on earth do they mean by ‘smearing’? Is someone going to smear Ann Widdecombe in Johnson’s Baby Oil or smear the Tories HQ in dog crap? Ok, it’s to do with damaging someone’s reputation but I think I’ve made my point on the loose term of the word used in political context.

Still, I’m torn here and even though I have been exposed to quite a bit of coverage on this story I’m still not clear on a few things (please note I’m writing this before I have read a Sunday Paper) such as did the guy send the email to blogger man from his personal email address or was it from his @labour.gov.uk one? This is why I’m undecided. I think given his position as some spin doctor, you know that band from the early-mid nineties, pants, I mean some guy that turns bad news into good for an organisation, he shouldn’t really have written what he did. But this should only apply within his working capacity, i.e. whilst at work or using equipment owned by his employer. Outside that jurisdiction I think he should be able to say what he wishes. I mean come off it, so what if he wants to ‘have George Osbourne running scared’ by smearing him. If that’s his talent in life, then he might as well use it. I shout at the television and call Wayne Rooney a bastard every time he scores for Man United, doesn’t mean I hate the guy, it’s just some throw away expression I make every time he does what he does best. Same thing applies when I see crap news stories all over the papers, I think what a load of crap The Guardian or Telegraph have got printed on their font covers today. I then check out the hottie on the Daily Star and I calm down. Still I say it with my voice and not on a letter headed with the organisation I work for which would in some way suggest to the recipient of my views that the organisation I work for endorses what I say. So this is why I’m sitting on the fence on this one but wish to make the reader aware of which way I’ll side once I find out where the email was sent from.

If it was sent by his @labour.gov.uk email address then I think he’s in the wrong. Sending that sort of stuff using your work email address is probably not the smartest thing to do because really you are opening up everything to interpretation. The stalwart right winger would probably believe that Mr Brown himself proof read the email before it was sent and that’s where the hysteria begins. Fair play to the Conservatives, they’re precisely doing what Labour doesn’t want them to do, acting rather admirably. As yet, I haven’t heard a call for a ‘public enquiry’ (another term I one day wish to discuss) or some sort of restructuring of their cabinet. All they’re highlighting is that we’re in a recession and that Labour should be concentrating on that and not smear. I think all 60 million of us are in agreement with that and we probably also agree based on their reaction to this is that they’ve got better spin doctors (perhaps the they’ve got the singer working for them).

If he did send it from his @destroyconservative.me.uk email address to his blogging pal then I think we are wrong to castigate him. Yes, it is probably foolish to write those things but we all do foolish things and as long as we do them in our own time then we should be allowed to express our personal intentions and feelings. I’m pretty sure Tony Blair must of said ‘That git David, he made me look a fool today. I’ll get him one day,’ after receiving a pasting on Prime Minister’s question time and he should be allowed to say that at home or sending it to his mate Bill Clinton on his @blairrules.co.uk address. Isn’t that what freedom of speech (I guess in this sense freedom of email) is all about?

In other news, I’m so glad Phileas Fogg Tortilla chips are back. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s invited every time I munch on a packet of those bad boys.

Pumps

2009-04-09T10:01:00.001Z

My battered plimpsoles have finally perished. I had managed to ignore the gradual demise and crumbling of my footwear by shoving them in the corner to collect dust and become a shelter home for arachnids. Besides I wear shoes to work, so polished you can see your face in them. Well, not really but they are in tidy condition. What I could not do any longer was ignore the hole in my plimpsole, especially when it rained and my feet got wet. Thing is, I’m really picky on my footwear based on a criteria of comfort and whether they look radical which sounds simple but can last eons in the search for new footwear.

And so it began last week venturing all through the shops looking for a new pair of trainers. I walked past a pair of Converse and winced a little. I really like those trainers especially as they look better the older and more battered they become. My only problem is getting them on. Those boot versions leave me spending ages trying to slip them on. Sometimes I try so hard to get my foot in that I lose my balance and smack myself against the wall. So I carried on walking past and spied a cracking pair of Adidas Campus. These white and orange shell capped beauties were exactly what I was looking for and asked for a pair of size 9s. The sales girl came out two minutes later with a pair of size 8s. They had no 9s left but would I consider trying the 8s. Even though I knew full well I am a 9 I still found myself saying, “yeah alright then,” as she handed them over to me. They looked the money, I felt the money but alas my big toe was attempting a breakout from shell cap prison and there was no way I could cope with the crammed up condition the rest of my digits were in.

Vexed, I even considered ‘Priceless Shoes’ but it seemed they have all closed down. Eventually I found myself on eBay bidding for a pair of those Nike turtle shoes, the ones where they’ve cut out an extra section for the big toe to live. However, I got out bidded in the last moments with someone coming in with a £62 bid for a pair. I couldn’t really compete but it was a blessing in disguise as I’d either have to wear them bare foot or buy those special Nike socks. A bit of a palaver for someone who likes to get ready in about fifteen minutes so I guess it was for the best. So in the end it left me looking at my stained, scuffed plimpsoles and thinking I’ve got at least another summers worth of wear out of them.

Back and forth

2009-03-29T21:50:00.002Z

The clocks going forward today was a bit of a bitter sweet sensation for me. Around 9 last night someone brought to my attention that the clocks were going forward one hour. This caused me to then work out if that meant we got an extra hour in bed or if we lose it. After much confusion and debate I worked out that we lose an hour but in exchange it will get dark later. Hmm, I’d grown attached to that hour. We had become close over the winter period like we do every year. It was like having a summer camp girlfriend. Over a period of time you’d spend your life with each other but once summer came to an end you kind of say an awkward goodbye and forget about each other until the next summer. The extra hour in October was a clear indication to me that I should take things more slowly now. Hey, we get the extra hour in bed and the whole reason the clocks went back in the first place was to adapt to the winter months.

In fact within a week of the clocks going back my body became all cold and I couldn’t be bothered to do anything. I just wanted to sleep or perhaps hibernate if the opportunity arose (it never has). More recently however, I have been sleeping longer for some unknown reason. I mean I have been banking some good ten hour sessions but for no apparent reason other than my body was trying to hibernate. Or, as I concluded it was altering for the summer months. A bit like whenever I go on holiday abroad and live a few weeks in the sun. As soon as my hind touches Great British soil I’m bed stricken with a cold for a couple of days. It happens all the time. A lady from my old job told me a few years ago that it was because my body got used to the sun and when it came back to all the grey and wet it freaked out and shut down which resulted in a cold. It then used the time spent in bed to readjust itself to the demands that I required from it. I recall staring at the lady in an odd way and thinking, ‘you’re crazy’ but finding myself nodding in agreement at the same time. However, reflecting back I think she is right and it’s actually the same with me towards mid-to-late March, I suddenly feel knackered and solemn but this is because I’m pretty much rebuilding myself for the summer and I don’t want or need the 8 hours a night kip and am content just with a 4 or 5.

So when I woke this morning, I looked at my mobile phone and realised that it had moved the clock forward for me (it hadn’t, I changed it last night but at the time I’d forgotten) so I spent most of the morning biggin’ up the Nokia and all it’s gizmos to everyone (when I finally remembered that I did it last night I was too ashamed to admit it). But what was great about the change in time was the weather which isn’t related to the clocks changing. I am so glad that the first day of spring was a sunny one though. It may have been chilly and yes, I did shiver walking along the street. But it was bright and the sky was blue which kind of lifted my spirits and made me think, perhaps, foolishly that this summer will be a hot one. I don’t know how I can come to this assumption based on today being sunny, and I have now probably jinxed it because of this proclamation. Still at least today was great and it felt like this was the ‘real’ start of the year and the previous 3 months were nothing more than a prelude (with a tundra thrown in for fun). I can tolerate the loss of the extra hour until we are reunited again in October and the whole cycle happens again but I just thought today was a good day. Don’t know how long this optimism will last though, I just saw on the BBC website that we’ve got rain this week!

In other news, has anyone seen a programme called Being Human on BBC Three? I saw it for the first time last night and thought it was great. It’s got a pretty far-fetched concept and storyline but I kind of like that odd random style.

unSUSTainable

2009-03-24T20:06:00.002Z

I’ve been meaning to write this entry ever since I walked past the shop to get my haircut a couple of weeks ago. That day as I was running late so I took a short cut through the food hall where on the left I saw a large sign with the words written, ‘Sust, closing down’.

Sust was the only shop in the vicinity specifically focussed on trading ethically sound products. I suppose it didn’t help that it used to be next to Sainsbury’s but I always thought it was a great idea and for a good cause. Yet when I stared at the sign I realised just how much of a rubbish supporter of ethically produced goods I was. When I went into Sust I used to walk around thinking, ‘yep, I’ll buy that Mexican silver chain next week.’ Or, ‘maybe next month I’ll buy that hand crafted wooden dolphin.’ Instead I used to compromise (and to offset my guilt perhaps) on a chocolate linseed bar or some odourless environmentally friendly soap. Basically nothing over £20 it seemed. Although in my defence I did buy some bongos from there for £25 and I once even bought some CFC free deodorant which was spray-on. The bongos are great and I’ve still got them although hardly played they look good on my shelf. The spray-on deodorant was a bit of disaster though and the protection only lasted for a couple of hours.

So with customers like me there wasn’t much hope for the shop. But that got me thinking whilst I was getting my hair chopped that Sust didn’t really do that much wrong. I mean it was very competitively priced and although it hadn’t the marketing budget of Tescos it was still well known around these parts. Where it suffered was from my laziness. Although fairtrade coffee was sold there aplenty I wouldn’t go out of my way there just to buy coffee and soap. I don’t like going to town because I spend money and it is pretty boring so I just want to go to one place and get in and out before subliminal advertising overpowers my conscious mind and I find myself buying those little French yogurts for no apparent reason other than it’s buy 6 get the 7th free, or whatever. Never do I think that I need a chain or a ring and although they had wonderful clothing there most of it was a bit too extreme for me. So perhaps that’s one of the reasons why Sust folded because lazy fools like me didn’t bother making the effort to always buy their coffee and other small essentials there. Or when I had to buy a new belt because my old one snapped (perhaps that is for another entry) why didn’t I think of going to Sust and look at their choice. Instead I went to FatFace and bought one that was way too expensive but I bought it because I wanted to be sure this one wouldn’t snap in public.

Still I wish I had bought so much more. Everything there was practically handcrafted and helped those in the third world. But as my sideburns were being trimmed I concluded (or made myself feel better) that even if I shopped there everyday I probably couldn’t have helped it from going bust. I do wish I’d gotten that poncho though. That thing was badass!

P.S. I forgot to mention that after my haircut I went into Sust and they gave me a list of websites that they used to source their products so I’ve put them up here.

www.namaste-uk.com
www.nomadsclothing.co.uk
www.onevillage.com
www.patchoulifair.co.uk
www.sharedearth.co.uk
www.siestacrafts.co.uk
www.sunlover-uk.com
www.montezumas.co.uk

Clingy

2009-03-17T20:37:00.001Z

There are many things I am not good at in this world. A lot of them I have come to terms with and have tried to improve these weaknesses over time. Others I have cut loose and given up, conceding that I will never be good it them. And then there’s the final category, the one where I know I’m rubbish but somehow don’t ever think about it. A rather big build up you may think and I’m afraid you are now going to be as disappointed like we all were when The Phantom Menace came out in the cinema. You see, I’m rubbish at handling cling-film.

I abhor the thing and yet I accept that it is part of daily life. I make my lunch in the mornings after realising that I save x amount of pounds a week by not eating canteen food. I did the math and it’s worth a couple of hundred pounds a year. I realised that I actually like making sandwiches with cold toast (perhaps I’m a freak). So every morning I make my toast butter the each slice and slap in either cheese, ham or if I’m feeling sophisticated, humus. Anyhow, I’ve mastered this process just as well and can do it while day dreaming about what it would be like to live in a country where it was sunny each morning. However, things come to a sharp halt and I need all my senses to tackle the next task. I often knock back a gulp of black coffee to galvanise myself before opening the cupboard. There in a rectangular box is the cling-film I use to wrap up my sandwiches. Every morning I pick up the box open the flap to see the serrated metal edge on the inside. I see this as some sort of intimidation tactic so bare my own teeth at the box to show I am not scared. I grab the sticky translucent sheet and begin to pull. I tug hard and the sheet unravels from the roll but always being careful not let my fingers get entwined at the end. For I have fallen at this stage many time before where I it all gets stuck and I try to pull my hand away but only succeed in unravelling more cling-film which eventually gets rolled back but all baggy and practically unusable.

Still this isn’t the most difficult bit. The hard part comes when I try to cut the sheet using the serrated edge. Every time I pull back and with force run the sheet against the edge only one end of the sheet tears off and nothing more. Once that happens going back is pointless because as you pull it back you tear the sheet unevenly and it becomes loose and clings on to itself which is a nightmare to unpick. No shit, this event happens every morning and each day I think I need to go on some cling-film handling course. Eventually what is left is a ball of cling-film which I try to wrap my sandwiches with. I usually manage to cover the top half but some of the unpicking is just too difficult to do so I tear that piece off and take another gulp of my coffee. I stare at the ball of cling-film terrorising my sandwiches and virtually every other day I give up and pull it away and throw it in the bin. I then turn to cling-films arch but more expensive enemy, tin foil. The cutting of the required amount of foil is easy as is the wrapping of my sandwiches but there is still something in ‘the morning’ me that wants to master the art of cling-film handling.

Tuning To The Right Path

2009-03-10T19:24:00.000Z

Seems strange when you write about things you think are funny but secretly you keep in your head until for some unknown reason you throw it in the public domain.

For me, listening to tunes is the lifeblood of my living day. I need to listen to music. I’d even go so far as to say that twiddling the knobs to find the local radio station was acceptable if that was the only way to listen to music. My local radio station has a play list created in the mid-nineties and hasn’t for whatever reason ever changed. I sometimes spare a thought and create a scene in my head that a criminal breaks in every weekday and thrusts a shotgun at the DJ’s head forcing him to play, Texas, Natalie Imbruglia and Toni Braxton on constant repeat, forever.

I don’t know why but music to me is sacred (is it probably is to you), I guess I view it as ‘me’. Some way to describe me at that moment or how I view life, I do feel awfully melodramatic writing this shit, but at the same time I think I should write what I feel. You see I box songs in little metaphorical cubes to remind me of things. I’ve got hundreds of them, all personal to me. Sometimes though I talk about them because I feel like I should and then add what they mean to me. The recipient usually looks at me, pulls the stink face, and says ‘shut up’. Still I don’t give a fuck. That’s how I treat and handle music.

This evening I spoke about two boxes of music that I had stored in my mind. The first box was only created last summer. The tune was Coldplay’s “Life if Technicolour II”. I first heard shards of it on the album where they seemed to have cut up the guitar bit. That was one of my favourite parts of the whole LP. That guitar intro used to mess me up in July, listening to it as I walked along the canal. Inside I found it hard to contain all this bubbling of emotion that featured the luminaries of hope, fear, success and motivation. That’s what it did to me and that’s what I boxed and stored in my mind to eventually be filed in the hard drive of my subconscious.

Coldbrain whom I met for a few beers this evening probably didn’t realise that when “Life in Technicolur II” appeared on the ropey television it was one of the tunes that had a box. It’s strange but listening to that tune suddenly made me want to do something purposeful. I really like the song, I think it’s well written and the guitar rift makes me think, ‘shit that’s good’. What I did tell Coldbrain was that Underworld’s, Born Slippy was the tune that would boom around me if I ever had a million pounds, told my work , ‘see you later’ and walked out the building with a black holdall wrapped around my back wearing skin-tight jeans and a dodgy crew cut. That’s the song that reminds me of escape. From when I first saw it and watched Renton swagger down the street without a care in the world even though he should have been riddled with guilt, I thought that song was the bollocks. I wanted to feel what Renton must have been feeling. A bag full of money, no obligations to tie him to anywhere and a badass pair of plimpsoles, what else in the world do you need?

Writing about my boxes of music makes me feel that they will now not come true. It’s based on nothing whatsoever but still I feel that now I’ve written this, the tune will not play should I rob a bank, double cross everyone and walk away with the loot. So I deal with it by thinking I’m an utter mentalist and that there’s plenty of other songs that evoke many a feeling. So what if I never find myself bowling down the streets of London with a bag full of cash money I still picture myself in better situations, like when winning the lottery and cruising around the world to the beat of the Bar Kays ‘To Hot To Stop’.

Netbook

2009-03-08T22:49:00.001Z

I got a new netbook the other day and am quite chuffed with it. I first encountered one last August when I was contemplating getting a new laptop. After searching the interweb, well just running a few Google searches, I read an article about a ‘netbook’. What on earth is this? I thought, so clicked on the link. The article written by some dude high on technology explained how a new strand of mobile device was entering the scene. Looking like a laptop but half the size with a quarter of processing power and no CD ROM they were ideal for surfing and word processing. My grubby little fingers rubbed themselves together with glee at this thought. How a jealous look would appear on my face at seeing all those people carrying around their slick “13 inch Sony Vaios. It wasn’t really the design that brought the green-eyed monster to come and sit with me. Nope, it was the size. They could fit easily in a bag to carry around. Whereas when I jammed my laptop in my rucksack it kind of resembled something the Ghostbusters used to wear when on duty.

When I saw the photos of the first generation netbooks, they looked like little toys. Like ‘my first computer’. Still, the fact they had only a “10 size screen made me blind to the fact that they only came in three coloured tops, lime green, pink and baby blue with a white keyboard. So keen was I to part £160 for one so I could type and surf the web easily on the move I didn’t even bother buying one online. Nope, I betrayed my oath never to pay over-the-odds for computer goods and went to PC World.

These little netbooks were huddled in the corner looking more suitable for a 7 year old than for me. Still I didn’t care, the convenience outweighed the fact it would look like I carried around a Speak ‘n Spell. I chose a lime green one but the guy with the creased shirt told me they only had baby blue left. The transaction was swift and quick. Back at home I fired up the little machine only to remember that it didn’t run on Windows and instead used Linux. This took some time getting used to but after a while I really liked the little netbook. It would go around with me everywhere I went and if I stopped for a drink or was waiting for someone I would try and hook up on wireless. Even if there was no free wireless I would still spend the time thinking of passwords on the off chance I may get in. I never did.

As the months rolled by I realised that my old laptop had become obsolete. It had been acting up but since I bought the little machine I hardly used it. This fact made me realise that my computer habits consisted of surfing and word processing and that’s it. No computer games, or online gaming or Photoshoping (if that is actually a word). I considered selling the laptop so done another Google search to find out how much they were selling new. That was when I saw the new generation netbooks. If only I hadn’t seen it and wasn’t wooed by adverts so easily. The new netbooks didn’t look like a child’s toy but sleek contemporary pieces metal to accompany Ikea furniture. They had hard drives larger than my laptop and the keyboard was almost full size. Still this came at a price and one of 250 big ones. Not the sort of money I had to spend, certainly not on lavish and hardly essential things like that. Still I wanted it. I looked at my old laptop and thought I would not get much money for this. But my current little netbook was still in pristine condition with a box and manual still colleting dust on my wardrobe. That was it. I slapped it on ebay and one week later I was posting it off to somewhere in England having got £141 for it. This meant only £109 to contribute for a new netbook which wasn’t too bad (it was but I convinced myself it was a bargain) and now I’m using it to write this entry.

The Tea ling King

2009-03-02T22:26:00.003Z

“It’s like egg shaped and you unscrew it so you can put the junk in there.” The spotty faced sales assistant looked at me with an expression of confusion. His largest spot on his forehead caught my eye but so wrapped up in trying to be articulate in my description I closed my eyes to think of a better way to tell him what I was looking for than stare at his pulsating pimple. I paused and thought the best way to help him understand what I was looking for was to act more enthusiastically in my description. So I took a step forward and started miming an egg shape while shouting “OK, it’s metal with little holes in and is shaped like an egg and tea goes in it.” At this point I thrust this imaginary egg shape towards the guy who looks at me in horror. And replies rather whimpishly that he hasn’t got a clue what I am talking about. The problem I find myself with is that I do not actually know the proper name of the product I wish to buy other than calling it a tea egg. I’m too embarrassed to ask for a tea egg but equally my powers of description leave adolescent part-timers a quivering wreck. So why all this hassle?

Well, recently I have been consuming copious amounts of tea. First it started off with the traditional Tetley tea bag with a splash of milk and no sugar. Then I moved on to Twinnings peppermint tea for a while which was superb for settling my stomach but nothing much else. It looked like pond water and didn’t really do anything to me. So I ditched the peppermint tea for only hangovers situation. It is here that the peppermint tea comes into its element, it’s great in sorting out that dodgy stomach after a few too many drinks the previous night. Still on a Wednesday morning, I found myself taking a sip and staring idly at the cup waiting for some aliment to be cured. It never happened. And so, I moved back to Tetley teabags, this time doing the sick but satisfying thing of leaving the tea bag in my cup instead of taking it out. This made the tea extra strong and I enjoyed the added kick but at the same time the taste kind of mellowed me out too.

Green tea came into the scene when I was around someone’s house and we ate a meal and afterwards they asked if I wanted some green tea. I nodded and after a few minutes I found myself slurping this green tea which really helped the meal go down. The next day I went to the shop and picked me up a packet and so this became my drink of choice after something to eat. However, this recent crash course in tea still had another twist. A friend of mine was going to China so I asked if they could pick me up some Chinese tea. They agreed and I thought nothing more of it until 3 weeks later she slid a large cardboard container across the table and told me this was some authentic green tea. When I lifted the lid of the cardboard container I saw dark green shredded leaves and immediately knew I needed to get a tea strainer.

Back at home I looked up tea strainers on the internet (because I’m all about the rock ‘n roll) and found that among all those strainers there was the ‘tea egg’. A small stainless steel egg shaped ball which could hold a small amount of tea leaves. The tea strainer did make me feel uncomfortable, it all seemed rather prim and proper with also excess wastage involved. By the time I moved removed the tea leaves from the strainer my tea would be cold. This tea egg phenomenon seemed appealing and the fact it was sold out on the website made me want it even more.

And so I found myself in John Lewis after trying a multiple of shops terrorising this spotty part timer trying to explain to him about the tea egg. After thrusting my egg shape before him he suddenly decided that backup was required and called the assistance of his supervisor. A small grey haired lady ambled up to me and asked what I was looking for. Once again I found myself closing my eyes for a moment and thinking carefully what words I should use. This time going for a more calm approach I described the egg and how it is unscrewed at the middle so that the tea leaves can go in. “Ah, you mean one of those tea egg things?” She replied with a friendly smile on her face. “Yes! Yes, that’s the one.” I bellowed my eyes bulging at her response. “Yeah, we don’t sell those.”

I got a tea strainer in the end and although the Chinese tea is gorgeous I still feel a geek fumbling about with that strainer spilling leaves all over the floor.

In other news, major props has to go out to Sazz for introducing me to this which subsequently made me discover this. My days seem a little bit funnier when I hear these songs. Both tunes are pure genius.

Hey Ma, if you could see me now, arms spread wide on the starboard bow

Complet...

2009-02-23T21:23:00.000Z

I really thought I had gotten rid of it. But just like the two chicken pox scars on my chest it is probably something that I will carry with me to the grave. It is nothing more than a trait, but it is an awfully annoying one. My inability to complete things I start.

It has been with me since I can remember. When I would think of something it would be with such enthusiasm that I would start with enjoyment and momentum. And then, just like that, the enthusiasm wavers and the enjoyment slowly trickles away and suddenly I’m grinding to a halt. I thought it was mostly because I was lazy and didn’t want to put in too much effort, the ideas were good but my focus was obviously ragged. This self made belief rested well with me for years, it was attaching something to the unknown that enabled me to shrug it off knowing full well that I am just too lazy to finish a difficult job. I think I formed it around about the same time I considered working part time in Blockbusters watching the latest films probably the best job in the world.

But just like the Pulp song “Something changed”. Obviously but completely unexpectedly I started to concentrate in improving my focus. This was fuelled by injustices of the world and closer to home which could not altered unless I took issues more seriously and thus develop the focus to finish mundane but necessary tasks, push through the barrier of uncertainty, when you sort of feel that you are not sure why you are doing this. In fact, I still do this quite a lot but even from doing it a few times I was beginning to finish things that I would have left without even thinking twice knowing full well that my initial belief of ‘it’s because I’m a slacker’ was justification and reason enough not to complete the task. This blog, is a good example. Although cajoled into starting one I soon realised that it was a virtual carte blanc for my ideas and inky fingers to get hold of. However, after a few months the gusto dwindled and ideas dried up faster than my contact lens do that I considered not bothering anymore. But with the morsel of improved focus I was able to push myself to type until the topics to write about retuned in abundance. It felt good writing but also good knowing that in a small way I had self improved. I no longer believed in this ‘well it’s because I’m a slacker’. Truth is I am not, or I am not one anymore and it felt good. I liked pushing myself a bit. But this did not settle my initial fear and loathing of not completing most things I started. In fact it reopened the wound in the same way you dig out an avocado pip, and it left me lost.

It dawned on me last week when I was thinking about the reasons why I shudder at completing things. It never was because I was lazy and ‘too cool to go to school’. That had been addressed, this was a stark realisation which kind of left me slightly cold but I’m pretty sure everyone gets that same feeling. The feeling of failure. Why bother finishing something if it ends up totally rubbish? You might as well cut your losses, call it a day. Consider it a learning experience and move onto something new. There is no point in completing something if you feel it will turn out to be a failure. My mind just wasn’t computing the concept of finishing something that would end as a disaster, so for years this was the true reason why I never finished things I started but managed to submerge it deep down in my subconscious.

I guess the reason for this entry and why I am writing out my thoughts to get to this point and then explain my point to myself (and you of course). I spent last Tuesday morning debating to start on the 3rd draft of my story. The 2nd draft took nearly 8 months to complete and there I found myself sitting in a café musing whether it was worth a 3rd draft. The story is basically done, it could stand alone but it is not finished. Supping on my coffee I realised that the 3rd draft would probably bring it to an end or at the very least bring me closer to being entirely happy with it. But what is stopping me is not the potential 8 months reading, rereading, writing, deleting and then reinserting again. I think I could cope with all that to a certain extent. It is the idea of spending all this time and energy writing something that in turn would end up being rubbish and a failure. It was strange moving my mindset to accept that I had finished my story just like that over a large Americano on a rainy grey Tuesday in February.

It took about thirty seconds before I reversed my decision. I had spent so much time, I mean since July 07 until now, piecing it all together, times where I was knackered but knew it was important to struggle on, times where I had been out drinking all night to come home and fire up the laptop because I thought of something new to add to the story. I would write in the rain, or in the blazing sun always adding to this crazy tapestry that was once a thought. I would write in various locations ranging from, the library, all sorts of cafes, on a toilet, the train, a beach, on grass, in bed, in the park, in the airport. Even at work I would occasionally get an idea and quickly cobble a paragraph together to refine later on that night. And then there are the people that took time out to read my 1st draft and give me feedback so I could write a better 2nd draft. And those that read the 2nd version who did the same to help me refine the next update, surely it is harsh on them and makes all their efforts redundant. And all the tunes I listened to whilst typing away, Sigur Ros, The Album Leaf, Air, Bjork, Babyshambles, Coldplay, Emiliana Torrini, Jamie T, Jose Gonzalez, Kanye West, The Killers, Kula Shaker, Lali Puna, M83, Madeliene Peryroux, Massive Attack, Oasis, Portishead, Psapp, Roni Size, Sebastien Tellier, The Thrills, Tricky, The Cardigans, Cat Power, The Eagles, Libertines, Metro Area… I could go on for ages, but I listened to all their music for help emotionally to write this thing, evoking memories or fuelling my imagination that kind of left me drained and it would be a waste, all of it, if I just considered it finished even though I know full well it is not.

I guess too much of me is involved in this thing now, even if I read it in ten years time and laughed embarrassingly to myself at what I wrote all those years ago. It doesn’t really matter does it? It is, at very least a reminder of just how I was and thought at that time and so it is important I finish it for myself. Correct the misuse of tense (and there are a lot of them), develop the characters and strengthen the main story line. And even if it is a failure and I read it afterwards with my head in my hands, it will have been completed and that in it self is some sort of achievement. Now, when I begin the 3rd draft is another matter.

The last stand of the early 90’s

2009-02-12T21:46:00.004Z

I was lying on my bed aimlessly flicking through the television channels when something made me shake my head and lean my head forward (as if this was going to unveil more). There in front of me was an advert for Beverly Hills 902010. Surely, this was some kind of mistake I thought turning up the volume so I could hear the deep voiced man from E4 give his synopsis. And there it all became apparent, Beverly Hills 90210 had be remade for 2009. 90210, as it is now called will have its work cut out to achieve the success of its predecessor. I mean, for a start in the early nineties they were all donning white t-shirts with waist coats and ripped jeans (perhaps a symbolic gesture to the 80s). Would this new show revolve around twins and their honest family, only for the female twin to embroil herself with the local bad boy who looked 30 when he was supposed to look 18? The male twin who was the grounded down to earth one would spend his time pursuing his journalism career with the geek (but secretly well fit when she took of her glasses and dropped her hair) Andrea who was constantly searching for some travesty to uncover at the local high school. Surely this new version cannot compete, I thought. Or was I just being nostalgic and forgetting that sometimes when things are remade they are actually better. But then I remembered David Silver, the guy who was a year younger than the ‘cool lot’ and even though he tried always failed to get in with the gang. That was until he ‘allegedly’ spent one summer taking extra lessons for extra credit and found himself in their year a few seasons later. From then on he became accepted by the cool gang, neglected his best friend who subsequently shot himself, and epitomised ‘cool’ which was typified by his keyboard playing skills. Now, how about that for a story line! There is no doubt that 902109 for 2009 has its work cut out but this isn’t just the reason why I’m writing this now.

What I then began to realise was just how much things come full circle. When the original 90210 came out on TV Great Britain was in a receding economic environment and as we are in one now a revamped version of the American high school drama has made its way on to our screens. OK, it’s a tenuous link but then Gladiators was remade last year and I think that was launched way back in the early nineties. They even recruited an ex-footballer just like they did with John Fashanu way back in the day. Could it be that television reacts to the repetitive economic climates by regurgitating old shows from when we were all in a trough? I tired to think about the relationship about music and the recession and during that time Nirvana seemed to typify the current mood but I can’t think of anyone right now that is doing the same. But still music is a good way of discovering the general feeling. When the recession in the early nineties ended we entered a new era in full steam with indie band Oasis spearheading the ‘Britpop’ scene where it seemed everyone loved this type of music (well apart from America). It then moulded into ‘Cool Britannia’ and then the country was on a high for some apparent reason.

So this leaves me musing that in a couple of years time, say 2012, indie will make a come back and the forever young Jarvis Cocker will rise once again to take his throne as Britain comes out of the gloom. By 2014 everyone will be feeling great about living in ol’ blighty. Although I doubt it’ll be dubbed ‘Cool Britannia’ but am sure someone else will find a term to capture the moment. And a few years on from that when the economy begins to creak once more and the recession looms I’ll keep and eye out for 90210 Generation X Style but how I wish they would remake Rising Damp.

In other news, this snow is pretty intense. I tried to take the laid back approach but since the snow has turned into ice and I fell over I don’t like it anymore. Here are some pics before it all turned to slush.

Nothing Much

2009-02-05T21:43:00.000Z

Thinking about it recently and particularly today, there’s nothing much been happening. Perhaps my life is nothing more than a bore or that I have lost the ability to remember things. Or maybe I’m just knackered. Ok, currently the snow has affected me by preventing a journey to work today but that didn’t give me the bug to scribble something down. What I had noticed about the white stuff was that it has managed to wrestle top spot on all the news agendas from the ever present ‘credit crunch’ saga. In fact I found myself sitting on my bottom step thinking who invented this term ‘credit crunch’. Was it said nonchalantly by an economist during a Channel 4 news interview? Or perhaps it was Nick Robinson the politics man for ITV (I’m sure he used to be on the BBC) who mentioned it one day in a broadcast. Or perhaps The Sun or The Mail paid someone to spend all day thinking of buzz words to encapsulate something so intricate and complicated that by saying the term everyone else will understand what they mean without knowing what they actually mean. If you know what I mean!

Have been ignoring television recently and I don’t know why. Seems like anything I want to watch is never on during a time I feel like watching television. Instead I have started to listen to some Radio 4. Some of it is boring (actually I find it hard to understand) but the good stuff is good. Currently I have been getting into listening to some Parliament show that’s on in the night. It’s just a recap of what happened in Parliament that day with clips of people debating with one another. I smirk every time I hear them say ‘My right honourable gentleman’ and then proceed to tear his/her argument apart by insinuating the party they belong to are nothing more than corrupt aristocrats who spend money at the same rate Jimmy Carr delivers controversial jokes. Still, I often find myself trying to put the faces to the voices and almost all the time there’s a vision of a fat balding man in a smart suit and if they are female it’s always a focussed power suited woman with intelligent eyes. I then sigh and realise that I truly have let my impressions be led by the ever enticing stereotype.

What I have been getting into recently are audio books. How I wished I discovered them earlier as this has become my favourite way to imbibe knowledge (by not actually concentrating and letting my subconscious do all the work). So far I have listened to the galvanising voice of Barack Obama talking about his experiences within the senate in The Audacity of Hope. Then there’s some narrator I have never heard of tell me the tale of A Tale of Two Cities. I have been listening to some Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix too. Ok, I’m not going to learn much from Harry Potter but it’s still entertaining. If you ever find yourself not sure what to bung on your iPod, go do a search for ‘audio books’ on iTunes and you’ll be in for a treat.

I’m going now, my tea bag has seemed to have dried up and want to wash it before it sticks to the base.

Visit to Kerouac's Scroll

2009-01-28T09:25:00.009Z

In a Hartbeat

2009-01-21T22:26:00.003Z

The news that Tony Hart had died didn’t quite register with me straight away. I was in my room when I heard something on the radio that Tony Hart had passed. At first, I thought I recognised the name but nothing more so I didn’t really register the brief 30 second encapsulation of his life achievements. So I carried on reading my book in peace not bothering to pay the news segment anymore attention. It was only when I turned on to News24 later in the evening and saw Morph that I thought something unusual was happening. Surely I hadn’t discovered a channel dedicated to the 80s. Then, the penny dropped and I realised that it was his creator who had died.

I absolutely adored Hartbeat when I was a young ‘un. I thought Tony Hart’s creations were immense. Whether they were a small painting using watercolours to larger projects where the viewer only sees certain segments in detail and only at the end does the camera zoom out to reveal some breathtaking landscape made from twigs, acorns and paints. It fuelled my curiosity in all things artistic. Teachers at school used to hate me when it came to art because I’d be hell bent on discovering a ‘new’ colour by mixing various paints together and then wasting all the brilliant blues, greens and reds only to produce some putrid quagmire that looked worse than it sounded. Still it was the eagerness of pushing those ‘artistic boundaries’ that I thought every Year 5 needed to make.

And then there was Morph. I was captivated by this little splodge of plastacine that used to cause no end of commotion. Never talking, just moving causing havoc with a few buttons and pens then cruising back to the comfort of home which was a pencil case. What I particular enjoyed was the link between Tony and Morph, how every now and then the camera would cut to Tony who would either tell Morph off or ask him a question. Then it would zoom in on the little plasticine man who would mumble something back that only Tony could understand. I loved it, making it seem almost plausible that Morph did actually exist.

This obviously led an impressionable young boy to try and create his own one. I was unable to convince my mother to buy me Play Doh or even the more authentic plasticine that seemed only to be sold in WHSmiths. So annoyed and digging around I finally found a packet of Blu-Tac and wasted the whole packet making my own FrankenMorph. I used a butter knife to give his head a dome look, screwed up two small pieces of paper into balls for eyes and used a pencil to engrave a smile. The result was a Morph suffering from pneumonia who had perhaps consumed one lead pencil too many . It was a disaster.

Hartbeat really influenced my life when I was a young so I thank you Tony Hart for all the enjoyment and encouragement you and your programme gave me.

Intelligentsia

2009-01-17T22:52:00.003Z

Perhaps it isn’t the best time to write this as I’m suffering from a hangover. Still, it’s been on my mind the last week and has been lingering around in my head for quite sometime now.

What I find difficult to understand is how to quantify level of intelligence. I know it sounds stupid that I think of things like this but I do. At school we take exams to test our knowledge of a particular subject. Some actually concentrate more on playing the exam system which is probably a pretty clever thing to do in itself. Journalists and a lot of media outlets deem footballers thick and stupid especially Cristiano Ronaldo (at the moment). However, he speaks two languages, Portuguese and English. He even demonstrates his new learned language in television interviews broadcasted all over the country and on the internet. That’s something I’m sure not many people would do. And this is without mentioning his actual profession, surely he must have a high level of intelligence to understand the runs, plays and reactions required in anticipation of receiving the ball. However, I expect that he is no scholar of academia.

Academics themselves are pupils of their chosen expertise and generally accepted by all as intelligent human beings. They must be having past many exams in their life time and written papers that are printed in journals. But is it possible that sometimes they become so engrossed in their work that they forget about ‘basic’ intelligence to get through the day? I mean in the sense of perhaps conveying opinions on ‘mundane’ matters of what’s in the paper or just general conversation because they are too focussed on intricate algorithms or the latest experimental break through.

And what about those people that do not have high paid jobs? I spoke to a dustman on Wednesday and he began to tell me of his travels to Sri Lanka, his old job working as a clerk in India and learned how to cook a traditional Indian curry. And now he was currently studying A-Level biology at evening classes. And there it kind of dawned on me that although some people may not be deemed clever a lot must be said for those that strive to be. Ones that wish to better themselves to learn new things and gain experiences from places they didn’t expect. Even though he may obtain a recognised qualification in biology I still think he must be clever if he can cook a traditional curry.

I guess we are own judges of who is intelligent and what level they are at. Society does give us indicators by the type of job one has or how much they get paid. For me, and this will be different for others, it is wit. When I meet someone witty, genuine bona-fide unique wit I completely become in awe of them and listen to them intently. To think that quickly and deliver what they wish to say the way they do is nothing short of genius, in my humble opinion. True, it is unlikely a medical cure will come out of a great comic or orator. And yes, perhaps the bridges I walk on wouldn’t be as sturdy if they made them. Still, they do contribute to the enjoyment of life.

Come back to Radio 2 Russell Brand. I miss your chaotic wit and four syllable words.

In other news, it’s still freezing! Here are some photos of a frozen river and frost on my scarf from a short 5 minute walk to the shop.

Entry Number 100 and An Eyeful Tale

2009-01-12T20:55:00.002Z

It is 7:23am and I’m standing in the bathroom trying to get my contact lenses in before heading out to work. The lens for the right slips in with aplomb but when it comes to the left one it does not sit well. I begin to blink which is an indication that my eye is screaming ‘get this out of here before I turn red’. I oblige and pull out the lens but before managing to bring it to the safety of my open palm it slips from my finger and begins to descend all the way down into the open toilet. Game over. Looking into the toilet I can see this lucid shape floating merrily along in loo water. I turn to my spare lenses but there are none that was my last set until my new batch arrive the end of this month. There was no point having the right one in either because it was like the Olsen twins, it doesn’t feel right when you see only one.

This occurrence shaped my whole day and not for the better. Only being able to see about two metres in front of me meant that I basically blanked everyone at work because I just didn’t recognise them causing the below to happen.

Email 10:02am

Them: What’s up?

Me: Nothing much just shattered. You good?

Them: Seriously, what’s wrong? Have I upset you?

Me: What are you on about?

Them: You blanked me when I walked past you this morning by the library.
Wanted to know what I’ve done wrong.

Me: Lol, don’t worry about it. I haven’t got any contacts in so I can’t see anything
today. Sorry if it looked like I blanked you.

Them: So you are sure nothing is wrong?

Me: Yeah.

Them: You aren’t feeding me crap because you blanked me?

Me: No. Relax, I didn’t intentionally blank you. I have not got my contacts in so
I can’t really see anyone within a two metre radius.

Them: But I was within 2 metres.

Me: Gosh, it’s an estimate. I’ve got a meeting. Speak to you later…

I didn’t have a meeting but I wanted to get out of that email conversation as soon as possible as I was beginning to get irate. It did however highlight just how important it was that I got a new pair of contacts as soon as possible. Unfortunately this was not as easy as I thought.

Phone conversation around 10:40am

Me: Hi, look my one of my contacts has fallen into the toilet and I haven’t got a
spare. Can you send me out a new set please?

Them: What type of account do you have sir?

Me: Erm, I don’t know. The one where I get lenses every couple of months.

Them: What’s your reference number?

Me: I don’t know. I haven’t got my reference number on me but surely you can
identify me from my date of birth, name and address.

Them: What’s your date of birth, name and first line of you address?

I proceed to tell him these details.

Them: That is all correct. Ok, how can I help you sir?

Me: What? Look I told you a few minutes ago I need you to send me a spare set
of contacts.

I hear the computer tapping for a few moments.

Them: Right you are due to have your next batch delivered at the end of this
month.

Me: I need them now, I can’t really see and it’s causing me havoc.

Silence

Them: Right… I cannot authorise this release. Can I call you back later after I
have spoken to someone?

Me: Yes!

Them: I will contact you on …

Me: Yeah that’s right. Now hurry up.

Click

Slightly frustrated at hitting a brick wall I spent the rest of the morning by my desk so that I didn’t encounter many people. The last thing I wanted to do was get more people emailing me. Around 11:30 I get a phone call back from the guy at the contact lens company who confirms he spoke to someone and that a set will be sent later today. A slight relief spreads through me knowing that I will not have to endure much more of this eye squinting and carefully trying to work out who people are by their movements, body shape and skin colour. Still there was time to offend someone else before the day was out. This time it was at the city when my phone buzzes with a message.

Them: Why’d you blank me?

Me: Soz, I can’t see I haven’t got my contacts in. How are you?

And they never replied. Ah well, I can’t wait to see properly again.

In other news, this is my one hundredth entry on here. I can’t really believe it but Blogger informed me this evening when it displayed all my other 99 entries. Well, I’m not sure if I’ll reach 200 but I’m really pleased at reaching this milestone considering it spawned from a drunken conversation many moons ago.

The ’09 Season

2009-01-04T19:21:00.007Z

2009 has now started. For me it began with illness but now I’m recovered I thought it was time to think of some new year’s resolutions. However, before I start scribbling down what I hope to achieve this year I will first reflect about how well I did in completing my ones of 2008

Tardiness
I think I did well with this one. At work I was as punctual as could be expected, in fact I improved dramatically in getting to work early. I managed to shuffle in around 8:10 which is pretty good by my standards. My biggest improvement was with meeting up with people. I hope Coldbrain noticed that I was on average only two minutes late when meeting up for a drink as opposed to the usual five.

Get More But Decent Tunes On To My ipod
When I wrote this in 2008 I had 827 tunes on my pod. I have now got 1180 so I’m slowly getting more on there. Although I should point out that my pod can hold up to 20,000 tunes so I’ve got a long, long way to go. I discovered a few good bands during last year. Orgatronics, Pssap and My Morning Jacket all made it onto my ipod in 2008 but according to Last.FM the most song played was Viva la Vida by Coldplay.

Cut Down On Meat
I thought this was going to be really hard to do but on the 6th January I decided to become a vegetarian. First it was a surreal not buying meat, then a slight inconvenience which finally turned into a revelation after discovering alternative meat free products and recipes. However, I stacked in mid-August when I was in France. I couldn’t go to France and not eat meat! So for just over eight months I managed to cut out meat completely which I am quite proud of. I do not think I will consider becoming vegetarian for quite a long time though.

Get Buff
I didn’t do so well here. I am not in good shape at the moment which is something I would like to address. I played a lot of sport last year but this made me just eat more and then I’d get injured but still have the same appetite as a small Hippopotamus.

Go To another Continent
Ok, I did write that I wanted to go to Marrakech but unfortunately that did not happen. Shame and I would still like to go. I did manage to go back to Peru so I at least managed to visit another continent.

Go To Noel Fielding’s Art Exhibition
I managed to go. It was a strange place and I annoyed the owner of the café by not buying something straightaway and only asking to see the paintings. He must have thought I was a right tosser but I wanted to see the art first then sup on some brew later.

Looking back at my resolutions I seemed to have completed most of them which is pretty good considering they tend to stay in my mind for about a week before being replaced with more important thoughts. So in 2009 I would like to achieve the following:

Learn a bit more about Spanish grammar
I have phrased this very carefully so that I can cop out at any time but the studious part of me would like to learn more about Spanish grammar which also enlightens me on things about the English version.

Drink decent coffee
I am used to drinking the turgid stuff placed in front of me which is usually a jar of Nescafe instant coffee. This year I want to drink some decent coffee or at the very least drink decent instant coffee and not the chemically induced bile I have been happily chugging down my throat the past year.

Get into an Adventure
I do not really care where and why but I would like to embark on some sort of adventure and I hope either fate or initiative opens one up for me.

Take up opportunities
I am rubbish with this. I do not even realise when one presents itself and usually shrug it off. Only for someone either to walk up to me and say ‘I can’t believe you just turned that down’ or even worse, six months down the time line I lay in bed and then suddenly it dawns on me that what was offered was a great opportunity.

Chill
It is important that I know when it is time to relax and when is the time to really push myself. I am a being of extremes in everything I do. If I am chilled, I really am to the point people think I’ve been smoking during my lunch break. But when I’m in full flow, rushing around people tell me to slow down or I’ll have a break down. So I need to find the balance which can turn on the heat when required but at the same time kick back when there is a moment to do so.

And finally…I’d like to break away from the 9-5

This does not mean I want to replace it with a 2pm-10pm shift somewhere but ideally I would like to do something that does not involve 9-5 and mean I could go places, visit different people whilst still earning enough money to live.

In other news, I grew a goatee. It looked kind of strange but I managed to get used to it until someone said I looked like shipmate from Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s now been shaved off.

Belated Happy New Year to you all.

Mish Mash

2008-12-24T22:47:00.004Z

I thought I would slip this entry in having partially recovered from a virus. I know man-flu doesn’t bring the sympathy that I think it should but at least it was nothing worse. Still things have slowed down for me because I spent a few days in bed groaning, watching The IT Crowd, listening to Radio 5 (hearing the same news stories being repeated every half hour is akin to torture, I’m sure of it). But being sick also meant my life kind of went topsy-turvey.

My routine of work and lunch were thrown aside to be replaced by constant wriggling in an attempt to get comfortable so I could fall asleep. I still needed to get some Christmas presents but was unable to because of my illness. But although I was unable to do any of the tasks I would do on a daily basis it gave me time to think about things perhaps more important to me. The things I usually neglect, not because I want to, but because daily life kind of takes over and I neglect it to the point of forgetting it. For instance, reflecting how well and how badly the year has gone for me. It is strange thinking about it while in a meeting or trying to compose an official email which requires me to scrutinise my grammar in case a smart ass points it out and also copies everyone else in. Nor can it be done in my lunch hour. I don’t want to spend my spare free time in a day to reflect on things like that. I want to eat, talk trash or funny anecdotes and maybe go for a walk. In fact there is not many times I can think of to reflect about my year, apart from when I’m sick in bed. There is no question the thought would never have popped into my head had I not been lying there waiting to get better (which is like waiting for a train. You wait then wait. Then you sit down because waiting has made you tired until finally when all hope has gone it casually rolls up with a conductor hanging out of the window flicking his fag ash everywhere).

In a whole I have been happy with the year and it seems that the last couple of years I have achieved quite a lot. I don’t know why and tried to think about it but couldn’t find the answer, maybe I had just got mentally stronger in the sense I can take more things on now. Juggle more oranges in my life so I could be doing many things at once instead of two or three. It hasn’t been all dandy though, I have dropped a few, and squashed them. Hard. But for some reason, probably because I haven’t had much time to dwell over anything, I have just picked myself back up and carried on. Mistakes at work, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, accidentally using the female shower room* all seemed to happen but I just deal with it, laughed sheepishly before running off or just apologised and then moved on leaving me thinking that I have nudged in the right direction in ’08, just.

Although reflecting about a year still didn’t deliver me a kettle to wrap for Christmas. So this morning I managed to climb out of bed, have a shower and put on any clean clothes I could find. Town was heaving, and I thought everyone else was at work but it seemed they all had the same idea as me this morning. So still drowsy with man-flu and dragging my feet as I walked I found the nearest electrical store. Glaring at all the people bustling and jostling against one another I took a deep breath and dived in pushing my way through feeling like crap and sounding even more so. I stuck out a hand picked up and box with a kettle in it, joined the queue which took so long that I even had time to plug in my ipod, paid and got the hell back home. If only shopping for presents were this simple all the time.

Merry Christmas peeps

*Please note that it is only a single cubicle shower room and I unwittingly walked in thinking it was just unisex. I was corrected when a female knocked on the door and ask what the hell is a male was doing there.

We’re Jammin’

2008-12-16T21:08:00.011Z

Last night I had my next entry all planned out to write upon my arrival, it kind of fell into my head. That was until I got caught in a traffic jam for four hours so I have decided to write about that instead.

I was on the X5 heading back from Oxford. Everything was running smoothly, in fact the driver was swerving rather erratically around the bends causing me to occasionally bump my head against the window. Still I carried on with my book with my ipod plugged in. I had it on shuffle.

We left the city in haste going around 70mph where ever we could. But then it became 50mph, then 30mph until gradually we were going 15 mph and finally we were at stand still. I didn’t think much of it at first and in fact was secretly quite pleased because the plot was thickening in my book – kind of like corn flour when making home made gravy.

By the time I had reached chapter seventeen, I realised we had crawled about ten metres in the last half an hour. My senses suddenly became aware of my surroundings, particularly the passengers. A girl on the right a few seats down was talking loudly to her friend on the phone. “Yeah it’s on my Facebook page.” She told her (apparent) friend. “I’ve done some modelling shoots and they want to put me in a magazine.” There was an instinctive urge to see so I shuffled to the edge and caught a glimpse of her face. Yeah she could be a model. Still she spoke loudly so was glad I was not sitting by her.

Another girl who was behind me began to sigh. First it was a gentle sigh, one that kind of signified a wilting patience. Then after a few minutes she sighed with some force and her breath tickled the bit of my head that poked out from behind the back seat. There were a couple in front of me, both lying against one another forming a pyramid shape in between the two seats. I was tempted to push one of their heads just so I could see the other topple. I didn’t bother and returned to my book. Jimi Hendrix was playing on my ipod.

My thoughts returned to the current situation when a police car came hurtling past with its siren blaring aloud. The girl behind me was now on the phone cancelling her night’s plans because of the traffic jam. She apologised and then proclaimed that she had already read 107 pages of her book. What! I thought. I was a fast reader but this girl is reading twice the speed I am. Wow, perhaps I’m not fast at reading at all. Ah well. I shake my head to break my thoughts and hear the model now talking about getting wasted. “Yeah we can go down the pub and get bladdered”. She was talking even louder now. I looked over and saw the guy in front of her trying to catch her attention by pouting his lips slightly. He must have been trying to impress her. It didn’t work. “Yeah then we can go clubbing.” I sighed and then turned the page. Jose Gonzalez had just started.

I kind of freaked when I next saw the driver standing outside. We had not moved in that long that he felt there was enough time to go outside for a cheeky cigarette. What made me feel uneasy was that he was puffing on his Marlboro behind an oil tanker. I contemplated tapping on the window but then just slumped within my jacket. We’d been here a couple of hours, an explosion would at least make things a bit more interesting. Hey, it might even make local news if it’s a big enough blast. The girl behind me was on the phone again. “Talk to me I’m bored…” I liked her style. My eyes began to wander along the coach staring at the aisle way and then noticing a guy sitting behind the model reading a book. I tried to catch the title but couldn’t see it. Craning my neck to give myself a better angle still proved fruitless. I gave up for the time being and opened up my book again. “Yeah I’ve read 200 pages. I’d be totally screwed with out it.” Shit. This girl had some serious reading ability, I was barely scratching a century of pages and she was rifling through her tome like it was the latest Harry Potter novel. I begin to wonder if there is a tournament or world record for how fast people can read. If there was I would enter the girl behind me.

Finally we began to move. At first it was gradual with some rather sharp jerks which made me rock forward and bang my knees on the seat in front of me. The male of the couple turned his head back and gave me the stink eye. I shrugged my shoulders. It was not as if I meant it so felt I didn’t have to apologise. A shrug was all he was getting. Eventually the bus driver turned 2nd gear into 3rd and then 4th until finally we was cruising again on the open road in 5th. I tried once again to see if I could catch the title of the book the man was reading. Once again I failed. Ah well, it was a mildly entertaining game while it lasted. The model had now stopped talking and was staring out of the window. The girl behind me was also quiet so I looked outside. Everything seemed peaceful because it was hard to see anything. All was asleep, retired for the night apart from the X5 which was hurtling down the road trying to make up lost time. My eyes become heavy and I closed them. My ipod was now playing St Etienne and I fell asleep.

Pins ‘n Needles

2008-12-10T23:11:00.002Z

I hate waking up with one of my limbs suffering with pins and needles. Last night, or should I say this morning, I awoke to this odd hot and cold sensation when I realised that I was lying on my left arm. My head was a little hazy at first and thought that I’d grown an extra arm or something but then the pins and needles started or that was when I noticed it. I winced and then I grimaced until finally I was biting my pillow and wailing slightly. It wasn’t all pain but feeling fragile around 4am in the morning exacerbated the sensation. Finally after a couple of minutes that warm prickly feeling started to subdue. It didn’t completely go but it was a bit more tolerable so it then left me with the next issue, an arm that did not do much.

It was twisted in a locked position and did not feel part of me. With my right hand I flicked it but could not feel a thing. I pinched it next and still there was nothing. I started to wonder whether I’d slept on it for so long that it was dead and would spend my remaining years hanging and swinging by my left side. Not so, at last after pinching and then twisting the skin I finally felt something. It was faint but at least the worry that it had gone to sleep forever had evaporated.

The next stage was to try and move it. There was no response when I tried to bend it. Instead I just lay there staring at my arm contemptuously because it was depriving me of sleep. I turned my body so I was now on my side and in doing so my arm moved but it was like carrying a dead weight and just slapped my chest before landing on to the bed. I even started to play with it, picking it up by the wrist and then dropping it like they used to do in WWF when the referee was checking to see if Hulk Hogan was still conscious. My arm just flopped on to the bed without emotion. It was almost like playing with a toy. I even pulled it up high and let go causing it to hit the bed then bounce up and slap me on the nose.

It was only when I kept my arm lifted for over thirty seconds that I it started to feel it again. Elated that the thing was finally sorting out its circulation I placed it hanging over my bed thinking that this is what would stimulate the circulation even more so. After a couple of minutes I felt this rush of energy run through my arm and suddenly my fingers were moving and the pins and needles were gone. I sighed in relief to have my arm back, like a friend you hadn’t seen in a while. You want to catch up but after a while the novelty where’s off. And it did for me as sleep finally took over and I closed my eyes making sure to keep in the same position so as not to find myself in the same situation again.

In other news Kerouac’s scroll is in England. It is currently residing in the University of Birmingham and I plan to have a look.

Vampires & Goths

2008-12-08T00:07:00.003Z

It seems odd when I think about it and even stranger if I say it out loud but I’m really intrigued by the goth subculture. Ok, the music doesn’t really get me going (unless of course you are counting The Cure) because it depresses me. Maybe because it has an uncanny ability to influence my emotions into a state of despair but either way I keep away from it so I avoid any emotional trauma, like I do with Radiohead. I do like the way they dress though, especially the females and quite frankly I find goth girls alluring in an eerie way.

I could never be a goth though because I’m pretty rubbish. Committing myself to wearing black is too hard to do. There’s only a black leather jacket and a black t-shirt in my wardrobe. The rest is pretty much navy, grey or white. A navy coloured goth would just look foolish, surely. Also preparation time would take up much of my time. I’d have to learn how to apply black nail varnish and guyliner which would leave me looking stupid. Currently I can get ready in fourteen minutes in the morning which enables me to have an extra half hour in bed, giving that up would be hard to do especially to tie up those big ol’ boots. But why would I do I look in awe and curiosity when I walk past a gothic posse in the streets?

Maybe it is because when I was younger I was terrified of Vlad the Impaler, aka, Dracula. Christopher Lee swaggering around with his black cape in those hammer horror films had me going to bed having nightmares. Dracula is surely the goth messiah always shrouded in black and at his most powerful during night. Eventually, when I was a bit older I accepted that Dracula was not real or at least would not seek me out so now feeling a bit safer I began investigating his lore. The library brought me some rather different interpretations of a Romanian warlord or Count who used to dispose of his enemies by impaling them with a spear. Only for it to be done to him but he did not die. Women were wooed by his lascivious aura only to find themselves bitten in the night. And those victims to the sanguinary bite would become vampires themselves. Was Dracula unwittingly the original goth instigator? Well perhaps not especially if you look at Hollywood’s fairly recent portrayal of vampires. Interview with a Vampire had Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise walking around dressed rather casually without much black at all. There were no capes seen anywhere. The Lost Boys (I love this film) show the eighties generation of vampires as The Doors fans who although wear a lot more black still were not dressed in full gothic clobber. I am keen to see this Twilight film, the one with Cedric Diggory in it, just to see if the vampires of 2008 have by chance gone back to their original Dracula style roots. Vampires these days have drifted away from the black cape and powdered face so this has me thinking that Dracula may have kicked off the goth fashion but contemporary vampires try their best to integrate in society and therefore don’t walk around with high collared shirts (I will be keeping a more closer eye on Harry Hill though).

The relationship between vampirism and Gothicism seem entwined with me still trying to work the various connections, although for the learned it is probably clear as day light! Either way the subculture still fascinates me and I will continue to admire those goth chicks from afar.

Fix Up, Look Sharp

2008-12-04T20:33:00.004Z

Mr Rascal instructs so I listen and follow. Even though it’s so 2005 I have discovered skinny ties. Ok, so I may look like a member out of Busted but it’s definitely left me feeling comfortable looking smart.

It all started with me having to go to an event which insisted on ties being worn. There was no chance of me getting away with the ol’ open shirt with a couple of buttons undone. A tie was a necessity. So off I trudged to town on a mission to find one. I tried the most obvious place first, the Tie Rack. It is kind of an awkward shop on the corner of a larger building, I wasn’t sure how to actually get in because there were stands everywhere. A kind lady spotted the novice and aptly starting producing ties all over the place. “This will suit you.” “That will definitely match your shirt”. It sounded all very nice that I knew I was being played. There was no way a purple tie would look good against a brown shirt, or so I thought. I smiled sweetly whilst carefully backing away from the shop only to hit the back of head on a stand full of scarves. The stand shook and a few dropped on the floor leaving me feeling obliged to pick them up. As I stood though there were more ties being shoved in my face ranging from polka-dot to stripy and it was all too much for me. I laid the scarves from the stand and then bolted.

The next few shops proved futile, leaving me walking past Next. For a moment I took a step towards its direction but remembered that anything I buy there at least 3,567 people will be wearing the same thing. I back tracked and headed to John Lewis. The ties were gorgeous, spun by the finest Vietnamese silk worms but because of that they were costing around £50 - £80. I was not prepared to part with that sort of cash just because I can say my tie was made out of worms. I headed along not sure where to go next when I thought I might as well check out H&M. It was there that I saw a skinny tie. Although I’d come across them many a time it never really appealed to me wearing something half the size it should be. Grabbing it off the hook I spun it around my neck and remembered that I was pretty lame at tying knots, instead I twisted and turned it under so it kind of looked like a knot. Doing this meant I could not move my neck otherwise it would unravel and float to the floor leaving me looking a fool. Eventually sliding to the mirror I realised immediately that it actually suited me. It was a strange feeling of relief that my quest had come to an end but also I was annoyed why I hadn’t realised before. I pulled the tie away from my neck and this time spun it around so that it rested just beneath my open shirt. I just grinned and walked off to pick up four other more before heading to the till.

So in short I’ve been wearing a lot of ties recently to work because I kind of like them. People ask if I’ve got an interview but I don’t care because it kind of makes me feel like an action hero when I’m late for things and run down the road with the tie flapping in the air like ribbon blowing in the wind.

A Step Into The Unknown

2008-11-26T23:01:00.005Z

When I was in South America one of my cousins had a friend who could speak English whom I got to know fairly well. It became such a welcome relief to talk the native tongue after speaking woeful Spanish during my time there. I had to listen extremely attentively as the words rolled off tongues about hundred miles an hour. Then my brain would have to process these words, translate them and finally respond in a less than articulate way. It was extremely hard for me to crack jokes and in fact I would give up once a group of people would talk about things passionately. There was no way I could cope with the colloquialisms that were banded about other than ‘bien chevere’ (very cool). So when I did get to talk English it at least reminded me that I could cobble some words together and form sentences that some people could understand.

Anyhow it turns out that my cousin’s friend is now moving to Italy to improve her prospects for herself and her families. Peru is a third world country which is immediately noticeable from the streets of Lima to the villages in Moquegua. Yet it has natural riches beyond belief, a rain forest, volcanoes, a town in the mountains, gold, silver even uranium. The mismatch of the two is for another day. But I can see why young people want to go to the western world to get better lives. We do it here, our parents push us, the government encourages us by giving us loans to tempt us to go to university, hey, they even pay college students money just to attend a terms worth of classes. Unfortunately those mechanisms are not in place there because of obvious resources but the encouragement is equally apparent. What got me thinking like I am right now was that this girl who is going to Italy does not know what she is walking into. Britain is battling on the frontline to keep recession at bay, Germany are already underway whilst Italy are struggling too. Does she know this? I know she is a school teacher and accepts that she will not be one in Italy. But over there you are paid 500 soles a month for that job which equates to £125 here so you can see why even working in a factory would be appealing. I tried to put myself in her position, and immediately everything felt lonely, I have no contacts in Italy so I’d be screwed. I cannot even speak the language so alienation is something I would have to deal with. Trying to get a job, even one classed as non-skilled seems a lot harder now than it did say six years ago. I would be devastated if I came to the first world only to find it crumbling all around me and leaving me unable to find work at all. What would I do if no work was found and all the money I saved for umpteen years had been used up just living there? Emotionally it would be so taxing knowing you are trying hard but the opportunities are not appearing. And financially it would be a mess leaving me potentially homeless and vulnerable. It is such a gamble that I have nothing but the greatest admiration for her bravery in taking on this venture. I do hope that she finds work there and is able to earn money to form the foundations of a platform to move on in life in the western world. I am kind of troubled about this imminent recession but at the same time I think if someone can leave their country, friends, go to another continent in the hope of finding better work then it kind of puts my worries into perspective.

Enough of intense scrawling, the other day I was walking along listening to 6music when they dropped Sophie B. Hawkins’ Damn I wish I was your lover. Man, I love that song but had totally forgotten it existed. It made my day even though it was so cold that when I looked down my scarf had what seemed like frozen air nestled on the top of it.

Contactable

2008-11-17T21:38:00.005Z

It was the afternoon lull that was responsible. The period of time when after you have eaten lunch but are still forced to work, so as a protest your body begins to shut it self down. I began to yawn and the next thing I know I’m rubbing my eyes quite hard and not paying much notice to my blurry vision as a consequence.

I only noticed what had happened after I got home from work and decided to take out my contacts. I looked in the mirror and proceeded with the ritual of dabbing my eyeball with my finger and pinching the watery lens whilst trying not to pinch my actual eyeball (something I have done many times). The left one came out with one grab but when I tried to tug at the right eye it had disappeared. At first I thought it must have fallen out at some point during the day and tried to remember if there was an occasion where this might have happened. And so I recalled the lull earlier on where I’d found my head gradually trying to meet my chest. I concluded that I must have rubbed it away from my eye ball. But where was it? Was it in the bin or lying on the floor getting trampled on by the cleaner? Nope, I had managed to dislodge the contact lens from my eye only for it to find a new home up my eye lid. I did not realise straight away having now settled down to watch some television. It was after a few minutes I kept tapping my eyelid completely ignorant that there was a foreign entity harbouring in the upper corner. Eventually the constant tapping brought me back in front of the mirror. This time I carefully pressed on my eyelid and felt the lens hunched near the top leaving me unsure on what to do. My first attempt was to try and rub it out. But this only made my eye go red and my skin burn slightly from the constant friction. It was then I realised that I needed to go up there so with my right hand I pinched my eyelid and pulled it away exposing the inners of the dark roof. I started to gag at the sight of the back of my eyeball and for a brief moment I thought it might pop out just like the girl’s did in Hostel. Having got past the freakiness and the fascination of the amount of capillaries my eyeball has around the back I began my quest for the lost lens. No matter how much I tilted my head or twisted my body I could not get sight of the thing. It was there festering while my left eye tried hard to catch sight of it, but to no avail. The only method left was to try and jam a finger up there in the hope that brute force would get the lens back. I braced myself, washed my hands again and prepared my left little finger to be the violator. As I was about to thrust it up there when I had a brainwave. If I was to fall asleep then my eye would roll backwards and there was a small chance the lens would slip back into its place. Relieved that there was another way to remove the contact without jamming one of my digits up there I headed to bed.

The next morning began badly. The lens had not moved and was still hiding somewhere in my eyelid. Annoyed that I could not go to the optometrists until after work I headed off. Ten minutes had no passed before people were asking why I was blinking so incessantly so I divulged my situation. One of my colleagues then volunteered to get it out. For a moment I wasn’t sure if I should let someone prod my eyeball but I really needed the lens out of there. So I titled my head back and sure enough within a few seconds I was being shown a shrivelled little lump that had caused me so much distress.

In other news, I know it’s time to get my haircut when I start to sprout wings on the side of my head.

Fairground

2008-11-07T16:17:00.004Z

I love the fair and once again it has returned, perched on the heath of Campbell Park. The love affair started when I won a gold fish after throwing three consecutive baskets when I was twelve. The man who ran the stall scowled as he shoved the clear plastic bag full of water and a little orange fish into my hand. I took it with great pleasure and a sensation of satisfaction. Although subsequently the little fish died only four days later the enthusiastic feeling did not wane. Even when my friend’s wallet slipped out of his back pocket on the Helter Skelter and when we asked to check the seat the spotty teenage guy said we couldn’t whilst openly grinning at us. And then we tried to look anyway only to be confronted by the spotty teenager’s entourage of five burly skinheads looking for trouble, my excitement of the fair continued. Why? Well, because I love all the little games scattered amongst those rather thrilling yet shabby looking rides.

I really dig going up to one of those stalls where you have to toss ringlets over prizes they cannot actually fit around. My technique is to aim for something the ringlet must fit over but I still get thwarted. Once I aimed for a bottle of Grant’s Vodka and the ringlet went over the bottle but half of the ring still hung from the bottle top. Elated at the thought of winning, the owner shook his head and explained ‘his’ rules required the ringlet to completely go over the item and touch the ground. There was no point arguing so I just walked off. Another game I enjoy is firing the pellet gun at stack of cans. The objective is to knock over all the cans with eight pellets. Even though I have played this for years I still cannot win. My best is leaving only two cans left, but they are so hard to knock over, you literally have to hit the can in the bottom left or right corner to make it topple. Otherwise it just wobbles. And to add to its difficulty all you need to do is hover over the trigger and the pellet fires. There has been many a time I considered firing at the stall owner but he always seems to be standing well away from the gun’s reach for some reason.

As for rides, I’m not too keen on the absolute terrifying ones like Gravity, where there’s nothing stopping you from falling 40ft but gravity. Those machines just look too weathered for me to risk and take the plunge. I do not fancy being on the front cover of the local paper with a photo of me splattered on the ground and some quote from a local campaigner saying ‘there will be a full investigation’. The image is too clear in my mind to make me think it is plausible. The ride I really like is the ghost train, if the owner does it correctly. I truly brick it going through a route in a tatty little cart whilst various noises explode around and random textures rub against my face. One time there was even a ‘part-time’ actor who stayed in a coffin until the cart gradually came to a halt and he flew out shouting ‘rahhh’ while I just had a heart attack and screamed back. So impressed I was with that particular ride that I procured a water pistol and went back on the ride and drenched him the next time he sprung out.

Ahhhh, I do enjoy the fairground.

I am really pleased that Barack is now president-elect. I considered writing a piece but then thought the moment is best typified by this.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=tM1XrVVVBAk

November 2010 – A McCain Alternative?

2008-11-03T21:50:00.001Z

As you probably all have read or seen the UK will be supporting the US in deploying a military presence in Jordan after the US accused Iran of using aggressive force in the region. There has been no official report from the UN whether this is true but Vice President Palin considered there to be a ‘clear and evident threat’ not just in the Middle East but also the world. So far the UN has stated that guerrillas from both countries have exchanged fire over the border but nothing more. Prime Minister Cameron believes that it is imperative to stand shoulder to shoulder with the US over a matter of national security and has pledged to send 4,000 troops to the region to support the 20,000 US forces currently amassing. Although no other member country is willing to pledge any troops until the UN has assessed the situation and given a statement the US have refused to wait for the UN, as many believe will consider the conflict between separatist groups, and have declared that any enemy combatant state will suffer attacking an ally of the free world. Although President McCain does not wish to involve nuclear weapons he has refused to rule out the possibility of using them. Many people in the UK are hoping that David Cameron is able to influence the US administration into not being so forceful with Iran who have made it known they will retaliate with any means available to them should there be a US led conflict in their country.

November 2010 – An Obama Alternative?

2008-11-03T21:47:00.007Z

Tensions increased in the Middle East as fighting between Jordan and Iran intensified. President Obama has personally flown to the region to help resolve the problem by controversially asking President Ahmadinejad for a face to face meeting to see if a peaceful solution can be found. Although considered an enemy state it is an unprecedented move by the president who although has not ruled out sending troops to the area will wait for the UN to finish their investigations of the region before making a decision. Prime Minister Milliband advocated the bold move, seen by many nations as foolish, to be a great opportunity to bring stability to the area. Although declaring the UK to be a staunch ally of the US it would only contribute troops to the Middle East subject to the UN endorsing such a move. The UK is still sore over the capture of British sailors in March 2007 by Iran but there is a general consensus among the public that based on previous experience it was best to wait for the UN to finish conducting their investigation. The offer is another controversial move by the maverick president who last year held talks with Kim Jung Il over establishing better relationships between the east and west. It is being noted that since coming into power two years ago the current US president is willing to talk to leaders who were once deemed part of the ‘axis of evil’ as coined by the former administration. Although not always popular few can disagree that no other president, since Bill Clinton, has the interpersonal skills to reach out to nations who were deemed nothing more than enemies of the state. If the talks go ahead between the US and Iran it is hoped that the fighting will be stopped in the meantime.

As you probably have guessed I support Obama for president. However, I did try to write this in a non partisan way based on the statements made by both candidates here http://www.ontheissues.org/John_McCain.htm and here http://www.ontheissues.org/Barack_Obama.htm. Ok, McCain supporters can say that I have written a very extreme aggressive response from their leader’s camp. But there is not much for me to work with. This scenario is very much based on how the last current Republican administration dealt with the Iraq war. Remember the weapons inspection led by Has Blix for the UN and how they did not wait and disagreed with the findings? Only to be proved wrong. John McCain is a left wing republican but it is hard not to think that the right wing republican ideology will just diminish because he is in charge. Sarah Palin his right hand man is extremely right wing so I can imagine there being many more within the party in powerful influential roles. As for Obama, he is a bit of a flash in pan and has unparalleled oratory skills amongst the American political arena. He is willing to talk to people who are considered the West’s enemies and from a European point of view that is good. The world needs leaders that don’t get hyped up with militaristic buzzwords like ‘enemy combatant’ and actually is willing to meet a different culture, engage with them and maybe even resolve the problem without parking their tanks in the ‘enemies’ back yard. For that and more reasons (my hands getting tired and I can’t write anymore) Barack has my vote. Should he get in I will keep a close eye on whether Guantanamo Bay detention camp will get shut down.

In other news, I heard The Bewlay Brothers by David Bowie for the first time the other night. That song blew me away.

A Fallen Brand

2008-10-29T20:54:00.003Z

It was inevitable that Russell Brand would quit his radio show on BBC 2 today after being suspended. The apology seemed sincere only smirking at the end when he spoke of Jonathan Ross but alas there is no getting around it, his show was pretty darn good and those comments aside and the David Baddiel show, it will be missed by me. Profusely.

I first listened to those comments on my ipod after downloading the show on Sunday evening. When I heard Brand suggesting and talking in undertones about sleeping with the girl, I thought it was pretty risky but he always seems to do that. Then I hear Ross blurt out ‘he fucked your grand daughter’. I actually said ‘shit’ out loud upon hearing those words and felt a little bit embarrassed. It was over the line, and those who think it is not should try empathising in both the grandfather’s and the granddaughter’s view. If I become a grandfather the last thing I would want to hear is a man full of hi jinx retelling the tale of porking one of my progeny. What made me cringe slightly more was when they started visualising the scenario such as it was likely he’d be staring at a photograph of his granddaughter aged four as he heard his answer machine message. They pretty much fucked up big time but it was not said in a baleful manner just two guys subconsciously egging each other on.

What came next was unexpected. I presumed there would be some complaints and I thought that Brand would apologise immediately. I was lying in bed on Sunday evening trying to sleep when Steven Nolan on Radio 5Live was debating what Brand and Ross said was acceptable. It was odd that something that happened a week ago had made it onto the agenda of a radio talk show. Yet the majority of callers lambasted Brand and Ross calling for them to be sacked and stripped of their high wages. There was even some contempt in their voices when they spoke of the amount of money each one of them earns. Still I thought nothing of it. But the next morning it had reached the newspapers, the front pages even. Supplanting the current credit crunch or the US elections for something that happened on October 18th, it seemed odd. I read the news article on the BBC website that there had been a complaint made by the grandfather. I could understand why he made it. What did start to gyrate with me was the ever growing band of people complaining to the BBC. The last count was 20,000. These people did not listen to the show and hear what was said. Otherwise there would have been more than the 2 complaints made (for swearing) when the show was broadcasted. They could not have downloaded the podcast because that show had already been replaced and you cannot download old ones. My interpretation of why so many complaints were made was that many people read the papers and decided to voice their anger. Fair enough if these people did hear show and the way it was delivered with intonation and enunciation of the words used. But they did not. However, because so many of them complained it raised the stories profile and bumped it onto the agenda of the national news on television.

Only after the Prime Minister voiced his opinion did the BBC suspend Ross and Brand. Maybe it is because the BBC are still wounded over the court case they lost to the Labour government regarding the Andrew Gilligan allegations, that they felt action was required. And now Brand has quit. But I can not help but feel that it is the BBC that will lose out. It is a unique institution unrivalled through out the rest of the earth. It covers news meticulously, produces programmes on both radio and television which are superb but they have handled this issue badly. If Brand and Ross were going to be dealt with why not do it when the grandfather first complained. He and his granddaughter are the ones directly involved with the actions so they should have been suspended then. Not when 20,000 odd and the Prime Minister get involved. That only suggests that they are reacting to their fury and concern and not of the feelings of those who it does really matter. And this makes the suspension seem a façade and not genuine. Anyhow, I surmise with the belief that had Matt Morgan been there none of this would have happened. Where the hell is?

In other news, it snowed last night.