To the Batcave!!

BATCAVE

Bat Cave

Merry xmos atmos! - better list the presents for 2007 then:
1 watch strap (not watch, already had one of those)
1 book
1 bottle of after-shave (Burberry if you must know)
I home made wodden sign saying 'BATCAVE' (One word) to hang outside the Bat cave - the summer house
1 pair of cufflinks
1 wallet (no money inside)
1 webcam in the shape of a robot dog

Not a bad haul this year, at least there are a couple of things I actually asked for, the book for example and the other stuff on my xmas list, well, I can just go out and buy in the sales....it's ok.
Tomorrow I go back to work. nice 2 days off. nice.
Sheeeesh!

The Estonian adventure

Tallin

Been back from Tallinn a week now - had a great time, spent way too much but worth it. My Oz mate loved every minute of it, the bars, the disco's the snow! It's weird to be looking back now when I've spent the last month or more looking forward to it....Oh well, xmas next, then next year and all that.
The work front is going well, they still love me and have indicated they want to pay me more which is nice. I'm thinking of starting a Ltd company and channeling my dosh through that to save on tax and stuff but I'm pretty ignorant about the process so I'll need some coaching. I've already bought a company name and have contacted an accountant so it should all come together soon.
Getting pestered with xmas beers now that December is here, too many really to do, especially mid-week ones where there's no way I can really drink because I just can't handle the hangovers now. I went for a mid-week drink last month, in Ware, 5 pints only and the next day I was throwing up, skipped work too which cost me £200 days pay, so fuck that again.
Tallinn pictures to follow....

Tired, lonely and bored

I'm so busy, that's the thing now; no time to stop and stare. So, what's been happening...lemme see, well, they've not discovered me yet, so still at the new job, 8 weeks in now! amazing. I've convinced them they need a special piece of software and lately that they also need a central IM team to manage IM, KM, RM etc which all seems to be taken on board. This week I think I'm in on a kick-off meeting to decide new IM team structure. which is nice.
Thing is, I'm not really enjoying it - the commute I hate, the people nice but I've not made friends, the work is in fits and starts, so I'm busy one minute, bored the next. It doesn't help the team keep taking time off 'sick' too, always a bad sign that..I've had an interview with another place, I cancelled at the last minute and now wondering if that was the right thing to do and I've now got another interview, date to be confirmed and again I'm wondering if I should commit to this one, or commit to the job. It's all very stressful.

Home life is fine, been going out the last few Friday nights, which is unheard of but the missus has changed her nights working, so it's all fine now. Latest acquisitions have been the new Battle star Galactica s3 DVD box set. some new pants. a top. some new boots for the wife. and a new suit for work. Having a bit of spare money is great! and Dr and the bloody Medics are coming to Ware for a gig and I'll be there at the front, signing all their hits along with them, like Spirit in the Sky...and...umm...

Fat

You have to accept that when you’re on holiday, the diet goes out the window, especially in France where grease and oil are part and parcel of every dish, be it, breakfast, lunch or tea, or dinner as they say in France. Sure, I knew that my finely honed body was in for a pummelling when I tentatively drove the Nissan Tino off that ferry but even I was surprised at how much weight I put on in those few days. And the missus come to that! Now, I’m not one to throw stones, but I was moved one night to suggest that maybe, just, maybe, that crop top wasn’t doing her any favours; I think the expression is muffin top? Dunno, seems about right from what I saw anyway….

Mind you, we both took some comfort in our fellow Brit campers, quite happy, it seemed, to wobble about, tops off, guts protruding from tight tee-shirts or over speedo drunks as if the concept of shame had never been invented. I don’t get it, in my day you bloody well covered it up; you wore loose tops, black tops and you damn well sucked it in – these days, it’s let it all hang out, who cares if the sight of me offends you, it’s my life, get over it!

One girl, must have been 14 if she was a day, wobbles into the bar one afternoon, wearing her swimming costume, an all-in-one tight fitting thing, nipples in sharp contrast, flip flops heroically bearing the strain, fag hanging out of her gob, strolls up to the bar and orders a vodka! – The French barman must have thought, Jesus! These bloody Brits!! Because not only did her order her out of the bar, he tells her to take the fag out of her gob too! – I’m wondering about her parents you know, like, do they know she’s an overweight jezebel harlot in the making, do they even care?
Why should I care anyway, I’ve enough on my plate trying to get back into my 28 inch jeans and the missus is eyeing up the Kays size 16+ catalogue while tucking into the jumbo Toblerone we got in duty free.

Driving

Was shitting myself thinking about driving on the wrong side of the road in France, so was the missus, but we tossed for it on the ferry and I lost, so I hit Brittany with sweaty palms and clenched bottom inside our Nissan Tino. Turns out, it’s a piece of piss! Not only did I take to the open French roads like a local fat greasy frog I actually preferred their roads. Boy! Are they free of traffic or what? – Two days in and I’m like, where are all the frogs?

One thing that pissed me off though was my conscience sitting beside me in the form of a nagging wife, indoctrinated at an early age to ALWAYS obey the law/rules like a proper little nazi and the minute I went over the speed limit, she’ll be like, Steeeeeeve…slow down (sigh) when all the frogs are lining up behind me, or, when they had the chance, whizzing passed me, hooting their hones and waving at me, using one, sometimes two fingers, like I’m some OAP on a Sunday bloody outing!

The missus managed to get behind the wheel once or twice, usually when I decided I needed a glass or two of crap French wine to wash down my very average French meal. She was a bag of nerves, naturally, and never really took to it. At one point, driving along an empty French road, backwater track really, we spotted some old hag wandering up the road, coming towards us like, so the missus began applying the brakes, slower and slower as we got nearer and nearer until, by the time we were passing her, the Tino was going about a mile an hour – Jesus! I said, the old crone isn’t a bloody horse; she won’t bolt, put your foot down for fucksake!…more stories from France later but I’ll cluster them around the following topics
If the above we call ‘Driving’ – the others will be:
‘Music’ ‘Sex’ ‘Fucking English holiday-maker scum’ ‘Fat’ and ‘Miserable’

Bugger me

Yeah, I know, it’s crap but I gotta do the sweating in this new job first y’know? – I’ve been in the new job a week and I’m slowly beginning to get an idea of what’s they need from me and what I can offer. – basically, I’m proposing same as last time at the last job, well, why not? And it seems to be going down quite well, they’ve never heard of anything I’m proposing, so they think I’m great!
Other news, well, the younger smasher rode his bike without stabilisers for the first time last week – much faster learner than his older brother, well, in terms of physical stuff anyway. The old one started new footie season with his club last week and lost, predictably, luckily for him, it was the wife’s turn to take him last week, so he was saved from my derision. It’s my turn tomorrow, so he better buck his ideas up!
The wife and I are off for a meal tomorrow at café Uno! – nothing but the best for my wife and thanks to Tesco vouchers, a freebie for me too – except for the cost of the booze I need to get me through the evening.
I’m planning a drink with what’s left of my so-called mates soon, I hear both of them have some news from their respective holidays, opposite ends of the spectrum I’m guessing.

Ty Nadan

Just a few of the hundreds of snaps from the holiday...

I'm leaving on a jet plane, no wait, a ferry...

Where to start though…I guess, 2 weeks ago would be about right, my last day in the office and wouldn’t you know it, writing up a document for the boss instead of swanning around the office saying goodbye to everyone individually, which is my style of course. Having said that, managed to leave for the boozah by 12:00 for a liquid lunch, where, to my surprise, everyone in the whole world turned up to wish me luck and give me an enormous card stuffed full with love and more importantly, euros for my holiday! – 3 hours later and I’m snogging my boss on the steps of London bridge, well, alright, she’s doing a European lovvey on me, by kissing me on both barrels but, being a gentleman to the last, refrained from ‘leaning in’ for a last grope.

That’s it, wandered lonely as a pissed clown to the station, thinking, Christ! What have I done and was still thinking the same at the other end, in a boozah back home…and more of the same later on the sofa with a bottle of white wine – until I passed out.

Next morning, or rather 4 hours later, I’m in the shower, a little unsteady on my pins, readying myself for the drive to Plymouth to catch the lunchtime ferry to France. Did all that really happen yesterday? Did I really quid my nice cosy job?…Oh god…

Chingachgook

My so-called mate finally shipped off to Oz last week, but before he went, he had a leaving do at a touristy pub by the Thames. To be honest, hardly anyone showed up and I felt sorry for him, so stayed with him most of the night, telling him it didn’t matter and that at least I had shown up. At the end of the evening, well, a couple of hours after it ‘officially’ started I had had enough and was saying my goodbyes which was obviously painful for him as I noticed tears in his eyes when I managed to prise myself from his grip. I don’t blame him for crying; I’d miss me if I went to the other side of the world without me, but hey-ho.
What else….Oh yeah! I quit my job at the council, working on the dust is fine for a couple of years, but after a while it pales and I’m keen to try something else. It was agony deciding this one; I’m taking a huge risk leaving a reasonably well-paid and secure job for basically, a contract job, in an industry I’m totally unfamiliar with. I guess we’ll soon see if I f**k this up. The thing is, I’m bored, underpaid, career going no-where, no prospect of earning any more dosh and everyone I’ve known on the job has left! I am like Chingachgook, last of the Mohicans, I tell ya.
a warrior goes to you swift and straight as an arrow shot into the sun. Welcome him and let him take his place at the council fire of my people. [pause] He is Uncas, my son. [pause] Bid them patience and ask death for speed; for they are all there but one - I, Chingachgook - Last of the Mohicans.

Anyway - some pic's from Nige's leaving do - I will miss you, my friend.

Part-ay

Well, it all seemed to go well enough - a few slackers failed to show up, but not worth mentioning. I was my charming self, as ever, moving between groups of people with confident ease, a word of hello here, an arm round someone there, a dance, a song and moist kisses until I had to begin physically remove people who over stayed their welcome with a fuck off you cunt and don't ever come back ya bastard! Dunno who called the cops in the end, but that wasn't necessary..

Kim and Aggie

You remember what you were kids and you’d make a tape of music for a bird you fancied? – You know the kind of thing, Joy Division, The Fall…etc….hmm well, yesterday was the turn-off’s birthday and I thought, what can I give a women that has everything? How can I make her 40 years melt away with a wonderful, thoughtless gesture from me? So, having given it about a minutes thought, set about up-dating that time honoured tradition, by making her a CD from my growing iPod music collection. Simple, cheap and I don’t even have to go down the shops nor ought. I had to dress it up a bit with a CD jacket and some wrapping paper but Bingo! Job’s a good ‘un.

Tomorrow she’s having a party round the house and to stop me sulking and moaning that I don’t know anyone and refusing to make nice friends with her mates husbands etc she’s reluctantly agreed I could invite a few of my so-called mates. Not that they were wildly enthusiastic about being invited I have to say, under-whelmed is about right, but by hook or crook and by threats I’ve managed to get most of them to agree to come, not that that will stop one in particular from texting me like a coward tomorrow morning claiming his dad is dead or something to avoid the trip (20 minutes from Liverpool street).

Today, I’ve been cleaning the house in preparation for tomorrow, while the missus quietly seethes from the sofa, where’s she’s plonked herself today, because she thinks I’m undermining her and her cleaning regime. I am of course, the house is a sty and she knows it, but I have some pride and there’s no way I’m having any of her mates peering down our loo searching for poo stuck to the sides. I’m like those two from how clean is your house with the missus, the thin one really, who drags one of the home owners over to a particularly encrusted bit of poo or grime and shows them how, with a bit of toothpaste and candle wax, they can remove years an layers of shite. She’s not interested of course and refuses to come when I beckon her, so I just get on with it, with a sigh, naturally..

Tomorrow, I’ve made it perfectly clear to anyone who’ll listen that my optimum time, when I’ll be at my most convivial, will be between 1-3pm after that I’ll slowly turn nasty drunk, then crying drunk, before falling face down into the swimming pool with massive anal trauma and chocking on someone else’s puke – or, "in my wet dreams" as one mate as commented. Oh, how he knows me so well…

It's just the facts of life..there's no matser plan

Another week goes by, another job interview. This one based just around the corner from the last one, same money, seemed to be a lot more involved though, so naturally I’m shying away from it already. I got a very encouraging call from the agency on Friday, saying the guy really liked me, loved the cv, had only one other guy to interview but basically it’s all good. I’m like, uh-huh, that’s good, hmmm…great…right then…all the time thinking, how long can I string this on for until I have to say, actually, I can’t be arsed with it all, I’m staying put thanks mate.

Why do I do this? Put myself through it? The thing is, this job is 8-month contract and while everyone’s saying don’t worry, it’ll roll over onto the next financial year, I’m worried. Also, it’s outside my comfort zone, it’s something I’m not familiar with and I’m beginning to enjoy working where I am now, coupled with the fact they’ve given me a 2 increment pay rise – which is nice.

Last weekend I met up with a couple of so-called mates in St Albans – shitty day weather wise, but grand to be sharing my time with some old mates over a few beers, chatting about how our lives are moving on, or not, how great our sex lives are, or aren’t, how we see our relationships with our wives as equal and respectful in every way…or don’t as the cases may be. Speaking of respectful wives, mine literally picked me up after our days drinking and drove me, flat out in the back seat, home for my tea - now, not every wife would do that, right? A very nice day, spoilt only by my other so-called mate refusing to get onto a train and take the 20 minute ride up to see us. That was the last time I’ll drink in St Albans, as my friend is off to Oz in a few weeks time, or so he keeps saying. I, for one, will miss him, if he does manage to get on a plane and leave us. Miss him terribly…actually, I probably wont much, my life is too rich and full to be overly concerned with a peripheral mate, but you get me sentiment dontcha?

So-Called mates

wake up Boo

I’ve been busy, busy and lazy to be honest. It all started to go wrong when I applied for a job. The process seemed to take ages, ages for an interview and ages after to be told I was piped at the post. In many ways it was a perfect job and it certainly was one of my better interviews, but when I was told I felt relief! Relief the whole thing was over and relief that, actually, the job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But it’s felt me feeling empty, bored, tired and yes, lazy. I haven’t done a full week’s work in weeks; I’ve been working from home one day a week without fail and most of the time, with little to actually occupy me and I don’t care, that’s the worrying bit. My motivation has gone out the window, I tell ya!
2 new things, I’ve finally taken possession of a new Dahon folding bike, that’s been unfolded exactly twice since I’ve bought it. (4 weeks ago) I wouldn’t mind, but it’s an £800 bike and I totally can’t be arsed to get on the bloody thing. Right now, it’s under the stairs where it will remain until I can’t take the missus nagging any more. The other new thing is a mobile phone, same make as my last one, but this new one has all it’s software working, which is ace! I knew the last one wasn’t working properly but as no one ever calls me, I wasn’t all that bovvered, but if I’m to continue trying to leave my job, I need a fully functioning phone, one that will take a bloody message for me at least.

Cathy darling'

The turn-off has suddenly taken to calling the smashers ‘darling’ – it’s an affectation I’d normally allow to pass but I couldn’t let this one go and the other day I pulled her up on it. But why does it annoy you? She asked me and I told her about one of my mums boyfriends who used to call my mum ‘darlin’ - just like that, with the ‘g’ missing off the end. He used to say it in a nasty, aggressive way, like instead of saying, ‘bitch’ he’d say ‘darlin’.
For us, my sister and I, when we’ve had a few beers and felt able to talk about those times have imitated that wanker by using that word. The missus listened to all of this, nodding where appropriate and putting a hand on mine when I couldn’t go on then left me with my thoughts, without, I’d noticed, an assurance she’d not use that trigger word near me ever again. Now, if anything, she’s re-doubled her efforts in using the word, sometimes she’ll sneak it in when she says something directly to me! – I mean, Christ! Talk about rubbing my nose in it, or is it maybe she has a plan to de-sensitise me by over using it…or like am I just over-dramatising?

Camping it up in Wells-Next-The-Sea

Wet dreams

It's been a wet few days alright, April seems a long way a-way now. Had a dull weekend, took the smasher to football Saturday morning, but spent most of the time dozing in the car instead of watching the lad throw himself around the pitch. There was a niggling feeling I probably shouldn't leave him alone un-supervised, or something, but I soon went off and dreamed of scantily dressed women, dancing for me in a field, warm rain caressing their bodies, making their skin glisten and shimmer. Funny how, sometimes your dreams come true...and sometimes, they just don't. check it. dreams made real.

Belly Dancing in Hertford

When I was a child

Medieval Village

I never laid a finger in her!

Jesus, it’s been a while now. I’d like to have a half decent excuse but I don’t have one. This last week mind has been hell, well, the first couple of days anyway. Worked late Monday night with the boss, perfecting our joint presentation at Internet World. Nightmare. Never co-present with anyone, my advice. Oh, I’ll say this and that, then you come in and say this, but say it that way, and don’t mumble and don’t shuffle about, better not say this or that try saying bla bla blaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!! Seriously, I came out of the office thinking, hmm, tomorrow’ll be fun.

Tuesday came and I was fine, better than the boss, who kept referring to her notes, but I did it all from the top of me noggin innit. Round of applause, some intelligent questions from the crowd and my jacket thrown over my shoulders at the end and I’m steered off exhausted but happy. I then headed back to the office for a 2-pint lunch followed up later with 6 more with my so-called mates.

A good night out, we sure don’t do many of these anymore, in fact we were arranging our last couple that night before Nigel heads off to Oz for a year or two.

The next morning I discovered some scrawl all over my Internet World handouts, mine and Nigel’s writing but I can’t make heads or tails of it, something about telly programmes or summat.

Hung over I head into Peckham for my day late ‘How to present with confidence’ course which was very useful, or would have been a couple of days earlier. We had 2 ‘resting’ actors tell us how to breathe deeply to dissipate nerves, stand and project ourselves with confidence and I was reminded of Blackadder 3 when King George took acting lessons from the 2 OTT actors but anyway, was a good day, learnt a few tips and made a thorough fool of myself.

Got an email from an old friend from Uni days, an old Hippie mate. She found my email through Friends reunited and I jokingly pretend remembered she was her hippie mate then slagged the ‘other’ hippie off to her see…oh it was very funny, everyone thought so and said as much to me later when I was surrounded at the bar, holding court.

What else has been happening? Finished OU course, 3,000 word essay and mini website, nightmare, never again I tell ya, let the students do all that studying nonsense from now on, I’ve had it.

Went to see me dad, he’s fine; my sister treated us all to a posh lunch in the sunshine which was lovely. Notice, by the way all my positivisms littering this entry; it’s the new me.

Deepdale Camping in North Norfolk

North Norfolk

Life begins at 40 - so do age discrimination laws

Ahh let’s get this over with, I turned 40 last Friday – I got a pair of trainers from the turn-off, Hush Puppies naturally, some cash from my sister and from my in-laws. Excellent I said to the missus, £45 to blow down the boozah, Oh no she says, the money from my parents is for buying plants for the garden! Uh-ugh I said, my birthday, my money…actually this is just too bloody depressing to spell out, we all know what happens here don’t we? – plants are doing very well in the garden now, thanks.

Actually, while I was sulking around the garden centre I spotted a couple of director type chairs, perfect I thought for lazy days in the sun, so I spent my sisters money on them.

Saturday we all set off for Deepdale, north Norfolk for 2-night impromptu camping. Wonderful spot on the site, overlooking rolling hills, but boy was it windy and my god, at night it was cold – all of us getting into our sleeping bags in layers of clothes, too cold to bother getting up again until the sun came right up the next day and with my bladder you know that’s a painful wait. – But I got me my first sun burn of the year on a so-called nudist beach my so-called mate recommended I visit-and-don’t-tell-the-missus-until-we’re-there wink-wink carry on camping stylee but did we see any flesh on display? Did we fuck.

I met the lads the other night, swapped holiday stories, they patted me on the back and welcomed me to the 40-year-olds club. I didn’t realise until now but almost every conversation they have is framed within the context of age, holidays, sex, jobs you name it, they’ll say something like,…’and I’ve only got 10 more years of this…’ or ‘…and at my age, that’s not bad…’ or’…so what if I have to take viagra, if it gets me there and keeps me there I’ll take that heart attack risk…’

Sapphire

We were invited to have lunch with the in-laws and her brother on Saturday in a local pub. It was one of those pizza-in-a-pub places, nice enough scrag and plenty of room for the smashers outside to play. When we arrived they were all settled with a glass of wine chatting away but it wasn’t until 15 minutes in that someone raised a toast to the in-laws 45^th wedding anniversary that I lost it and said, “well, I would toast you but no-ones offered me a drink yet!” – Oh-oh, would you like a drink Steve, too bloody right I would! – The rest of the meal passed by uneventfully, the brother boring us all by reading out loud the ingredients from his Red Bull drink, then trying to get us to go to Ostend for our summer holidays - er, why would we do that then? And generally talking over everyone else until we all give up and sat there listening to him drone on and on.

Amazingly another bottle of red wine arrives and I help myself to another glass and, 30 minutes later, I’m eyeing up the 3/4 full bottle for third helpings when it was decided that no, we wouldn’t have coffee in the pub, we’d all leave immediately and head back to my house and leave a perfectly good bottle of wine right there on the table! I don’t know if it says more about me or them - that abandoned bottle of wine, me for the sheer waste of it or them that they don’t crave it like me, so can do without. - I know, it says more about me...I know it does...

We all headed back to our house, I said to the wife, drop me off in town and I’ll pop the DVD back into the shop and wander back home, Oh no, she says, I know you, you’ll 'pop' into a pub on the way home too and leave me to it; I’ll park up and wait for you to drop the film in, then we’ll all drive home. Damn, I’m a predictable fecker.

When they drank their coffee and left, I still have an urge for beer, so wandered down to Tesco’s for a bottle of red wine, then popped into my local, where they’ve actually forgotten what I drink now, so always ask me, which is annoying considering. Had one pint and came home and fell asleep in the shed. I mean summer house.

Summer house

Finally, after what seems weeks and weeks, the summer house is ready for it's summer resident. Me.

Graz-gow

Graz

Graz

Just come back from Graz, in Austria, never heard of it? - no, nor me until a few weeks ago. It sells itself as second only to Vienna in size and bigger than Saltsburg or something vague like that, good enough for me I thought, as I clicked on the 'buy now' link on the Ryanair website. Well, to be honest my first choice was Switzerland and the missus was New York so fuck knows how we ended up in the Birmingham of Austria!
Anywho, stayed in a nice 4 star hotel called the Daniel hotel which was this arty farty design themed hotel where the showers were all glass and exposed to the room; which was nice enough for me when the missus had her morning shower and I could perv from the comfort of the bed, but not so nice for her, probably, having to watch me pick fluff and christ-knows what else from my bum crack of a morning. and sniff it.
The town itself was quite nice though, the usual 'old town' none sense, a clock tower on a hill, cake shops, MacDonald's, H&M, BodyShop identikit high street and oh yeah the obligatory Oirish bars. Plenty of peep show joints and topless bars too, not that I could get a look-in with the turn-off in tow, but useful to know anyway if I ever return, which I wont.
So, that's that, my 40th treat, done and done and all in all quite a nice trip so I'm not complaining. much. Pictures to follow.

One of Nine

Any-hoo...moving on...talk about being depressed though, yesterday it was my 9th wedding anniversary! - the missus, maths always her strong subject at school, reminded me that next year will be our 10th anniversary. - Ten years! my god, where have the years gone? I can still feel the tattoo needle as it etched out a red rose on my virgin but muscular bicep on my stag weekend in the Dam, now sagging with fat and covered in course shoulder hair and long since faded.
I bought her some cheap flowers and a cheap Tesco card and out of all the cards in a town with 4 card shops, I kid you not, she went a bought me the same cheap Tesco card! - how weird and cheap and nasty at the same time is that? - The cards managed to stay up for one day, but I notice this evening, both have been put in the bin - romance sure aint dead in this house!

So-called mates came back from Romania last weekend, claiming all the cheap strip joints have cottoned onto the dirty pervy western market and have hiked all their prices up into double digits - enough in other words, to put my two cheap-skate mates off putting their grubby hands into their grimy pockets, with holes in them, and forking out. Haha! and I thought it couldn't get any worse than that place I don't talk about beginning with B.

A happy man

Unhappy men are all alike; some wound they suffered long ago, some wish denied, some blow to pride, some kindling spark of love put out by scorn – or worse, indifference – cleaves to them, and they to it and so they live each day within a shroud of yesterdays.

I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it’s palpable, it’s with me nearly all the time and it’s getting worse; this feeling of what’s the point, who cares, why bother. I’ve gone from someone who, at times, could summon up a bit of enthusiasm for some things to this person who really couldn’t care less about practically everything. Work holds no interest for me at all, I long, ache for weekends or annual leave, all the time. My manner at work borders, at times, a stroppy teenager and at home I’m miserable, lethargic and bored and I don’t know how to snap out of it.
The happy man does not look back: He doesn’t look ahead: He lives in the present.

The rub is that the present can never deliver one thing: meaning. The ways of happiness and meaning are not the same. To find happiness, a man need only to live in the moment: he need only live for the moment. But if he wants meaning – the meaning of his dreams, his secrets, his life – a man must reinhabit his past, however dark, and live for the future, however uncertain. Thus nature dangles happiness and meaning before us all insisting only that we choose between them.
Sigh...anyway, back to my OU work, which, you've guessed it, I am not enthused about, not one little bit. One thing I have accepted though, about myself like, is that being idle makes things worse, keeping busy wards off the depression - problem is, I'm incredibly lazy! so naturally, I gravitate towards the bed and then onto dark thoughts - in a vicious cycle see?

New Forest

We spent a few days in a mates cottage in the New Forest; it rained almost all of the time, but it was great!

New Forest

You are Sting!

The missus’ path to eastern enlightenment took a new path recently, not content with the belly dancing - she’s now trying out, or rather I am; the phoenix thrust method in bed! Now, I’m baffled why we need to try this method out at all, but to go along I agreed the other morning. Basically, it’s a method couples try to improve the longevity and intensity of sex…like I say, not sure why she’s insistent we incorporate it into our routine, but anything for a quiet life. Anyone familiar with the method will know that a man starts off with say, 8 shallow thrusting motions, then one deep one, then 7 shallow, 2 deep, 6 shallow, 3 deep etc until you get to the end, 1 shallow, 7 deep, then you start all over again; thing is, when I got to the end of the first cycle (yes, I did manage to get to the end ya cants) and started again, I quickly lost count, 3 shallow, 4 deep, 5 deep, 3 deep, one shallow…oh…god…and the missus, who’s a very perceptive women quickly deduced I’d lost count, patted me on the back and held on for dear life as my method turned to madness, then stopped altogether, before rolling off and grinning up at her like a good boy who’s learnt a new trick.

I dunno how Sting can keep this kinda eastern lovemaking up to be honest, it must take an enormous amount of stamina; I know I was exhausted and would be uncomfortable trying it again in a hurry

Half term

Ahh a week off with the smashers at half term, could I be any more content?…well, yes, obviously, but it beats work, just about. The missus has taken them off swimming while I pretend to do some OU work. I’m suffering a little bit because last night I went out drinking with my Ware friends. I was the instigator and the social whirl introducing each to one another and for the most part it worked well. You know how it can be when you are friends with one guy and want your other mate to be friends with them too, so like, you can be in a gang and that, but sometimes mate one doesn’t like mate two and you are in the middle having to choose sides, but until you do, you bitch about one to the other and vice versa innit. One of them is a copper but I didn’t introduce him as such, as it’s not fair on him, but when one of the guys started talking about bashing his bitch about because she wasn’t whoring enough to feed his habit up-side her- heed I had to step in with a firm kick to his shins under the table while jerking me head in the coppers direction making pig noises. He took the hint and shut his trap, leaving shortly after.

Tomorrow we all head off to the new forest to a cottage my mate has kindly lent me. It’ll be a nice wee break even though the missus is threatening more severe belt tightening times ahead, which is worrying for me, as I’ve not managed to get into a size 34 inch waste for a number of years now. So, they'll be little in the way of pub lunches and fancy days out, more long walks in the fresh air followed by home made sarnie lunches with a buicut treat for afters. nice.

Snow joke - geddit?

Today I am ‘working from home’ except without the quotes because I really am working actually, so there!

It’s snowing outside, so all the schools are closed naturally and the trains are fecked and so rather than force my way in this morning, I sensibly stayed in bed. I forewarned as many people as possible yesterday that there was a possibility that I may not be able to get in, like when people begin to cough and sneeze at work, to alert people that they are ‘ill’ and that there’s a strong chance they’ll be off the following day.

I’m upstairs, writing my performance plan bullshit, but needs must as it’s the way to get a nice pay rise, fingers crossed; Steve has done this and that and the other this year, ain’t he done awfully well, give him a pay rise. Nice. Downstairs the kids are drying off after sledging down our hill outside all morning and the missus has her arab music one, practicing her belly dancing routine she’s become obsessed with lately. Mind you, the other night she did a turn for me and I must say I achieved a rare semi-lob-on right there on the sofa, godamnit and that’ not to be, er, sniffed at, especially after a hard day at work I can tell ya!

link to my snow scene, enjoy.

Moral maze

Ever wondered about small deceptions and how they can sometimes spiral out of control, so that you don’t know which way is up anymore? Blimey, I have!

The other day, the missus, looking over our finances, declared my drinking habit was draining all our spare resources and to stop the flood, decided, unilaterally, that instead of buying 2 bottles of red wine for me for my weekend enjoyment, she’d reduce it to one bottle, thereby making a grand saving of about £3 a week, or, as she put it, £12 a month. Half listening, I agreed that an extra £12 would be very handy alright; so she took that as assent and this weekend I found only one bottle in the fridge.

Now, this is where it the moral maze kicks in because walking home Friday evening I nipped into the offie for a nice bottle of red. Because I’d had a shit week and I was stressed, and thirsty and sleepy and depressed and figured one bottle would not be enough. Really.

My stash firmly wedged down the bottom of my bag, I strolled into the house that night, kissed the missus goodbye as she went off to work, packed the kids off to bed, then cracked open my bottle. An hour later, bottle empty and the beginnings of doubt and trepidation began to nibble away at my confidence and fool-proof plan, for I knew, when the missus returned from work that night, she’d instinctively know I’d been drinking; call it her 6^th sense. She’d go into the kitchen, see the full bottle of red she’d bought me, still sitting in the fridge, put 2 and 2 together and make one hell of an assumption, the correct one, but still, how very dare she!

So, I’d need to make inroads in that bottle too! So that she’d:

A: Know I’ve had a drink

B: Check the fridge and see some booze clearly consumed

C: Pat herself on the back that she could still rely on her hunches being correct.

My problem, certainly the next day at any rate, were more of a health concern issue, drinking a bottle and a half of red wine, does tend to leave one a little cloudy the next morning; would she notice this? Begin to ask awkward questions? I had to make the decision, make the call, so opened up the bottle she’d bought me, drank half of it, even though by now I was ready to call it a night, and take my chances the next day by getting up early to take the smasher out to football practice to let the hangover dissipate and somehow disappear the empty bottle of wine in my own good time.

So far, seems to have worked, but I feel uneasy, I’ve won this one, but it doesn’t feel right. Y’know?

Bad wind. Day off.

Talking of reality shows, glad they voted that Chav idiot Jade off BB, but blimey, talk about slow news week! Jesus the coverage.

I spent Friday off work; I called the boss and said all my trains are fucked up and I can’t get in and she said, no problem, talk it outya your annual leave! Nice one, this from the ‘working from home’ queen, the person that tacks on a working from home day onto the end or beginning of every holiday she takes. I went in to work today determined not to book last Friday off and to have a pop if she started making noises that I should, but so far she’s said nothing.

But my god, last Thursday, a bit of wind and all the trains out of London cancelled, or at least all trains heading north at any rate. All tube platforms closed due to over crowding but I eventually got to Cock fosters on a train crammed to the rafters only to find the station and it’s environs packed with Hertford bound commuters, queuing up for cabs or buses late into the night. I was traumatised by the whole thing, seriously, I was in a state so when I checked the railway company’s website the next day to find all trains still cancelled I breathed a shy of relief knowing that I wouldn’t even bother trying until it was all fixed. Went and had a nice pint at lunch time, then another, and an other then polished off a bottle and a half of red wine.

Saturday, managed to take the smasher to footie practice, then into town for football card purchasing, a DVD for us later on, not bad, Children of Men, some gardening, more shed landscaping and the rest of the day doing nowt, calm before the storm eh?

Sunday, trip to Oxford to buy a couple of wicker Summer House chairs off someone from eBay, £20 bargain, £20 petrol. Oh.

Pizza pepperoni cheesy melt

There’s nothing like a home made pizza, the texture and taste, the freshness of the dough and piping hot too. Best served on a plate and not thrown into a lap of course, ruins the overall home-made-pizza experience, which I duly pointed out to the missus, once I’d sponged off the burning tomato base from my testicles. I guess we were having a ‘domestic’ at the time, note to self; Do not engage in a domestic when the turn-off is preparing hot food, recipe for disaster. Recipe see? – Dancing with Stars in their minds have a lot to answer for and I’ll be writing to Ofcom after I’ve blogged this note.

It all started innocently enough, even light hearted in it’s own way. I’d just bought in the coal from the garden, picture the grim northern scene now, when I immediately noticed she’d switched the telly over to ITV and that excuse for entertainment was just about to start so I said, Oh no! I draw the fucking line at Dancing on Ice with the Stars, or whatever it’s called – turn this crap over! No she says, I like it, Uh-ugh I say, no way, enough with the celebrities and the reality now, come on, let me have the remote control. What do you want to watch? She says, Never mind that, I say, gimme the remote – Anyway, long story short, I win this battle, and have my way and I settle down to watch The Weakest link, but as I should know by now, it’s never over with the turn-off, not until she says it’s over. 10 minutes later I’ve ice on me nads and she’s watching Stars on Ice and my dinner is a sloppy mess in the bin.

For the missus at least, revenge is a dish best served incredibly hot...not cold

Happy new year!

Happy new year! – yeah, well, not a lot has been happening to be honest. I went back to work, became instantly depressed and have remained so ever since. We’ve run out of money to do any more on the house and garden and that’s more or less fine except for a couple of things to things to finish off, we’ll now have to bloody save for god-damn-it. Ah well, this life on the never never isn’t for me anyway, buying things on tick just makes you more miserable than having the money to do stuff with in the first place. For example, we have a new wooden floor and new windows, but so what? We had those things before, albeit older and more knackered. We had 2 sheds, now we have 2 new sheds, we had a carpet upstairs, we now have one upstairs…you get me? The only thing we’ve actually bought brand new that wasn’t there before was a dining table, no wait, we had one of those as well. Anyway, house done, garden more or less done.

What else? Well, today we went to a park in Steveange to let the smashers run and run to let off some steam. I was amazed that, even after all that over the new year about dangerous pit bull type dogs, the number running about that bloody park with their council estate scum puffer jacket and baseball be-clad owners pimp rolling or invariably waddling after them, talk about bubble, these people live in.

I took the opportunity to teach the elder smasher some basic football moves, because yesterday, yet again, I stood watching, what can only be described as less than much good from the lad after all these so called lessons he’s been having. The number of times he went for the ball, kicked and missed was embarrassing to watch and what’s worse is that after the lesson is over he’ll come running over telling me how good he is! Now, I’m an old fashioned parent I’m afraid, not one to wrap the lad in cotton wool, as the turn-off does, and lately I’ve been given him some tough criticism, for his own good like. It’s no use him believing he’s the next Beckham when he’s not and it’s no use praising him when he needs pulling up on his discipline and concentration, no, I think he needs some tough love. He’s asked if his mum can take him next week and I’ve agreed.