Learning to Fly.

open

2010-08-09T00:47:00.001+02:00

I can believe it; I can more than believe it, and maybe that’s why it’s so sad. I think of the disappointment for a wasted life cut so short and the lost potential, but I can’t help but think how things could so easily have been different. It’s a glowing reminder of our mortality and I want to tell you, despite the glaring clichés, to grab life by the horns and give it as good as it gets because you really don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.

(Automatic Writing) Tiger Feet

2010-07-30T23:24:00.000+02:00

This is for you brother, for when everything becomes clear,
you won't be the person you thought you were,
the resonance of a thousand horns chorusing at midnight
the anger of your neighbours, your brothers, at dawn
with a thousand lies packed into your love
and a sweet pill to take it all away
but what will happen when you wake up?
I thought the tide had gone out so far it would never come back,
but it rushes back in to drown the lone straggler on the beach,
the shining pebbles in its wake the jewels to lure you out
your hovel, so much as it is, another plastic shroud to secure the fiction
the dark wanton dream you built, so far fetched, yet so real

With leaden boots

2010-06-15T10:27:00.000+02:00

Coming back from the darkest depths, I thought I was safe. I had emerged from the pitch with a half-convinced smile, but it was bad odds and my inability to communicate on a semi-social level led to another failure to add to my ever-growing catalogue of half-arsed schemes. Now I have had my sentence increased by a further six months. These are trying times.
Once more I resign myself to the monotony and I shall pick up a paint brush, because that sure as hell beats rubbing faeces into the wall as a means of self-expression.

British Council Plan B

2010-04-23T14:24:00.000+02:00

OK, so my plan B is now perfectly viable! Hooray!
If I don't get onto my choice Social Work MA, I have got onto a teaching assistant programme in France! yay! It's always good to have something to fall back on if everything goes pear-shaped, and knowing I will get money is also a boon! :D
So yeah, pretty chuffed...

Photo Vandal Review

2010-04-22T15:56:00.000+02:00

Best iPhone apps at AppStoreHQ

There are now thousands of app's available for the iPhone that are simply piling up in the iTunes store, this is making it increasing difficult to sort the gems from the general hoi-polloi. Photo Vandal is an app. that has been, so far, seemingly overlooked.
Yes, it isn't a super practical tool to help you scrape back some control of your 'every second counts' life, but it is a fun, entertaining program which is used with relative ease (and if there is any confusion, a quick perusal of the short 'help' screen will set you straight) and you can create some cracking pictures.
This is an app. that people of any age can appreciate, just load up a photo (one you've taken with your iPhone, or just one you have in your album) and you can 'vandalize' it with a good selection of comedy clip-art. Turn your muscle men into babies with bonnets and pacifiers, put pig-tails on the bar man... there's many pictures to choose from - and if you are really that keen - you can make your own clip-art to load into the programme.
The best feature for this programme is the upload straight to Facebook aspect; this means you can sit in the pub, snap pictures of your friends in fiendishly embarrassing (or slightly inebriated) poses and splatter their faces with beards, moustaches, scars, glasses, silly hats and a hundred more things. The end result is of a good quality and kept us laughing for hours. It's an entertaining app. which you can use again and again - guaranteed to get a laugh and people wanting a turn.
*****

Iphone apps

2010-03-24T13:15:00.000+01:00

Loads of people have mobile phones; I have two, both very old and neither of which work, they don't even have sim cards in them... Now people have these fancy phones with touch-screens and applications you can download especially for them. My brother and his wifey have those iphones, but, I live in a third world country so maybe they're just not really a necessity here... Recently me and Seb have decided to start making these apps, so Seb registered to do it and he does the main programming where I do the boring data entry, and the graphics (which is much more exciting.) It does take an effin age to do though. We released our first 'app' last week under 'Ginger Dog Software' (every other name we thought of was already in use). It's a basic retro game on sale for 59 pence and is just a bit of a time-killer I suppose. In the week it's been on it has only sold 20 copies, but it's the first one and I guess it gets you into the swing of making decent, better applications. I have tons of ideas about what to make next, there's not enough hours in the day though... At the moment we're making a photo-vandal application where you can attack photographs of your friends with a host of clip-art I'm making. I've nearly finished doing the selection of clip-art and hopefully it will be on sale by the end of next week. I always have plans about what to do next, I'm always good at starting things, but the endings are always very vague and ambiguous; I just seem to fade out and get bored and then start something else without any real definition. I still haven't heard whether I will get on the course I have applied for, but then, I've been told I won't hear until the end of April - so another month to go then. I guess these applications can keep me busy until then.
On another note, I have an interview (this time in English, thank god) about the possibility of teaching GCSE English. W00t.
Swings and roundabouts, eh?

Something to do...

2010-02-23T12:54:00.000+01:00

I've decided to come back to Norwich, because my life has skidded to a halt.
I wanted to do an MA course - in fact I applied to do it at the UEA before my mum had her 'orrible accident and before my Gma was ill, and broken, and ill. I decided to go to France and now I feel a little surplus to requirements and more often than not bored out of my head. I should write, but I don't feel very stimulated, quite the opposite. I've reapplied to do the Social Work course via a government funded programme which will pay me to do, so I won't have a huge financial burden. People say it's a thankless job, but I see it as a step closer in achieving my own goals - I will be DR.LENNY by the time I'm 35! hahaha! The thought of it, both scary and exciting, is what's driving me at the minute.

I'm worried that I might be being selfish and a total Charlie Uniform. I think my mum might go spare trying to cope with my insane Gma. I'm going mad too, so I need to leave. Is it bad that I will miss my dog more than anything?

I have considered taking him with me, but I know he would be more unhappy living in a town than he would here. Besides, he is a spoilt, needy ginger boy and wouldn't like being left along all day. Am I justifying myself yet? Why am I?

I'll put some loud music to drown out my conscience...

SPAZZING OUT

2010-01-25T21:36:00.000+01:00

Can I even use that phrase?
Probably not.
I just did though. I think everybody should be allowed to spazz out once in a while.
It's probably healthy.
After spazzing out, I've bought some tickets to fly home for a few days next week. I think this will cheer me up.
Can't wait to save the moo-lah and move back to my 'home' for good.
:D

In reponse to postcard fiction...

2010-01-24T13:52:00.001+01:00

I sipped the whiskey. It was neat and cheap as far as whiskey goes, something you would probably get from your local newsagent - the kind stored behind the till, next to the collection of tobaccos, an unspecific brand you've never even heard of before. It was harsh, coursing down my throat as if it were full of needles. I didn't flinch, just took another sip and let out a heavy sigh. My hand remained vice-like around the glass. I stared at the lone ice-cube melting into my drink and then I stared right through the glass. I stared into nothing, into eternity for an immeasurable amount of time. I could feel the despair leaking into my thoughts, mocking my melancholy and whispering the rumours. I pushed the glass round the top of the table, my mouth morosely dropped as my eyes followed the pattern my glass traced out in the puddle of condensation beneath it. The grease sat on the table as a second veneer, resisting the water snail-trail that glistened against the darkened room. I swirled the cube of ice around my drink, letting it clink against the edges. It noise seemed so loud in the empty pub. I imagined the landlady staring so hard at me, she was boring a hole into the back of my head. I put the glass back onto the table and gulped down some of the air. It was damp and solitary. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat. The land lady cleared her throat, I turned round instinctively. She had her head buried in a newspaper. The rumours came hurtling back to the forefront of my mind. The hushed voices speculated about my life; my wasted life. I had to stop thinking, thinking is just too dangerous. The ice had melted. I lifted my glass up to the window, where the fading sunlight struggled in. I finished my drink and with only a hint of a pause, took my empty glass to the bar and left.

THE MADNESS

2010-01-16T20:59:00.000+01:00

And, I ask you, WHAT THE HELL HAVE THEY DONE?

How, Just how could you do this to such a lovely bug? And... I ask you to notice...

an old split screen at that?

Heinous crimes! I wish I could rescue her! This, my friends, is what is wrong with the 80's.

French Interview

2010-01-14T20:51:00.001+01:00

Ohhhhh god.
Curses. Swear. Insert filthy language here. Curses. Curses.

Today was awful.
I went to Bordeaux for a job interview (to be an English teacher).
This proved harder than I thought. The person giving the interview spoke no English at all. Trying to convey my ideas and teaching methods with a limited French vocabulary (probably more the fact that my grammar is totally shit) was very taxing. I persevered through 25 minutes of speaking French and discussed lesson plans etc. I forgot half of what I had wanted to say and spoke worse French than normal because in the pressure of the moment I was incredibly tongue-tied. The TEFL course I did taught you to teach English by immersing your students in it - not allowing your students to speak anything but English in a lesson. You should only use their mother-tongue as a last resort. I am quite happy with this methodology, understand the principles and the ways the teacher should teach English, but the person interviewing thought it necessary that I should be fluent in French. She asked me if I was currently taking lessons, etc etc. SO after stealing my teaching ideas - which she was very impressed with as they were creative and engaging, unlike the French method of listen and write, she said she would email me, but I bet I don't receive a response. At least I understood everything she said and she understood me. The other English teacher they have is French and the person who was being interviewed after me was also French, but a part of me thinks they should have an English person teaching English - not just for better pronunciation, but I think it's important to learn the idioms of our every day language, our obscure sayings and quirks... "It's raining cats and dogs" "A little bird told me" "A lick and a promise" "I've got an axe to grind..."

hehehe, ah well, nothing ventured nothing gained - a rolling stone gathers no moss.

Monkey-Monkey

2010-01-11T17:50:00.003+01:00

Monkey-Monkey lived in a tree house above the Crystal Lagoon in the tropical jungle of Mount-Bumba. Monkey-Monkey was not the best behaved of monkeys and often found himself getting into big-baboon trouble and his ever-suffering mum was tired of hearing his ill-thought out excuses, which only served to prove that Monkey-Monkey was the most heinous of liars.

A couple of weeks ago, Monkey-Monkey painted all the ostriches pink whilst they had their heads stuck in the ground. When they pulled their heads into daylight, Monkey-Monkey told them they had turned into flamingoes. Now, you would have to be pretty intellectually challenged to believe such a statement, but where do you think the term 'bird-brain' originates?

“Monkey-Monkey, if you don't behave, the men will come and get you!” Monkey-Monkey's mum would say to him when he was up to mischief. This scared Monkey-Monkey a little bit because he had seen Gorilla's who had their hands cut off, but Monkey-Monkey always shrugged off his mothers transparent threats.

Last week, Monkey-Monkey's uncle came to visit. He was fat and balding and Monkey-Monkey thought he was a bit of an orang-utan at times. He sat in the tree branches drinking tea in a sloth-like manner while his idiotic offspring clung to him and imitated his every move in a way that the other monkeys considered 'cute' but Monkey-Monkey saw it for the revolting attention seeking behaviour that it was and took his chance at punching his little monkey cousins whenever nobody was looking. While Monkey-Monkey's uncle was visiting, Monkey-Monkey swung by to his Uncle's tree-house and located his hidden stash of fermented fruit. With a loud, excited shriek, Monkey-Monkey invited a few of his primate pals over and they feasted to the point of inebriation.

When Monkey-Monkey got home he was quite sick. Monkey-Monkey told his mum that an elephant had encouraged him to do it, saying that if he ate all the fermented fruit then he would become just like a human and that would mean that 'the men' would never be able to come and get him.

“Monkey-Monkey, you should have been born a cheetah!” Monkey-Monkey's mum would shout when she was at her wits end. Monkey-Monkey sometimes wished he had been born a cheetah and thinks his mother's narrow-minded bigotry in stereotyping a whole race of animal was nothing short of out-of-date racism that would get him into much more trouble than his usual cheeky antics, (or even physical violence, for that matter) should he repeat it at school.

One morning, Monkey-Monkey heard a horrible noise, unlike any animal noise he had heard EVER before. 'Bang-Bang-Bang' went the awful noise.

“Thud-a-Thud”

“Crack-Crack-Crack”

“What could this racket be?” Thought Monkey-Monkey.

“Monkey-Monkey? What is all that noise? What are you up to?” Monkey-Monkey's mother was as red as a baboon's behind.

“It wasn't me!” Monkey-Monkey retorted. “I don't know where the noise is coming from!”

“You've been upsetting our neighbours again, haven't you?” Monkey-Monkey's mum put her hands on her hips, she was fuming!

“No.... I've been asleep!” Monkey-Monkey protested.

“I'm fed up of your lies Monkey-Monkey!” She said. Monkey-Monkey knew from her face that she was about to go ape.

Then came the shouting, “Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim-ber!” followed by a huge crash.

Monkey-Monkey and his mother rushed to the window, suddenly they were very afraid.

The men were coming.

BLAH BLAH BLAH

2010-01-10T17:19:00.001+01:00

Sunday. The end of another week. I can't tell you how immeasurably boring my life has become. I have left my house once (to do food shopping) in the past 17 days. I know I should be making good use of my time, but I have nothing but the stultifying dreariness of the typical repetitive drone to endure on this cycling basis. Where has the randomness gone? Instead I've got this autistic wet-dream of predictable routine and I swear it's destroying my sparks.

I started writing a half-assed screen-play, but I don't think it's that imaginative. I'll finish the first episode then post it to mes copines to attack with witchy brutality.

I think I'm going to go and chew my toe-nails for another season.

CHOW

New Year

2010-01-05T20:54:00.001+01:00

I hate new year. Honest.
It's over-rated, the whole cycle of shit to start again and nothing but more acid bile to consider.
I think, why the fuck should I be considering anything? I'm young, I still have loads of time to be an obnoxious little bastard, so what's the point in worrying or even considering anything else?

I did realise, though, as I entered the new year, that this is my fourth decade and that made me feel old.

That wasn't the reason I then spent a few days vomming up my poor guts in bed though. I have a feeling I'm allergic to a certain pain killer, for I have only taken it twice and each time I spent 2 /3 days running a stupidly high fever, going hot-cold, not being able to drink anything, let alone eat anything and spewing up the contents of my insides. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't get so dizzy I couldn't see. That's the worst bit, I like having a good read when I'm sick. Still, I'll not use those pain killers again in a hurry.

I've decided I am such a lazy bastard that I need some structure, even if it's quite vague to fill my pointless existence. At the moment it has been procrastinate all day followed by a walk the dog. I'm going to aim to fill my days with something a bit more errr 'profitable' (in the self-worth sense at least) and make more of an effort with my French learning and pointedly do a bit of writing... even if it means me sitting staring at the blinking monitor for a few hours every day.

I did apply for three jobs today. Hmmmm, I hate stupid application forms.

Now I'm posting on my blog and listening to Rammstein... this is anything, anything to avoid the fact that I should be writing something worthwhile... Oh cock.

My email to Play.com

2009-12-14T19:03:00.005+01:00

I am writing to complain about the despicable service I have received from play.com that has left me absolutely livid and really quite upset. I have called the 0845 800 2010 telephone number to try and resolve my problem twice and have, in total, wasted two hours talking to people who were rude, unhelpful and insulting and then proceeded to lie to me, cheat me and insult me.
It is now one in the morning and I am composing this email after finishing on the telephone to a manager who actually has no authority to help me whatsoever. What exactly is the point in his title?
I initially ordered two games from Play.com to be delivered to an address in France. This was clearly stated on my order – Play.com INSISTS that when purchasing items for France that they be paid for in Euros. I gather this is an inexplicable company policy and so, despite the fact that my bank (and billing address) is UK based, I was forced to pay a premium rate in Euros and incur charges from my bank for the ‘currency exchange service’. This naturally makes it much more expensive and so I VERY OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t be wanting to pay any extra than necessary; that would be illogical, but illogical is clearly how play.com runs, because when I received an email stating my FIRST item (New Super Mario Bros, Wii) had been dispatched I was pretty annoyed to see that it was being sent to the WRONG address and I checked my second item (Legend of Zelda, DS) and found that was due to be sent to the Wrong address as well.
What? How can this be? I thought, I very clearly instructed the delivery address to be to France! I’m not going to be in the UK over Christmas, New Year or until February. I ordered these games as Christmas gifts for my family who live in France. Why would I pay the premium rate for items to be sent to the UK. The play.com website was the system that instructed me as I was paying to pay in euros as my delivery address was in France, so quite perturbed |I gave the call centre a ring.
I may as well have set fire to my face. I was put on hold four times during this first conversation. The first reason for this was because “I had not entered a delivery address” so by default the product will get sent to my billing address. Now, I’m not Sherlock Holmes or anything, but WHY WOULD I PAY IN EUROS, ergo paying a premium and then some, for something to be sent to the UK?
This, of course, was tosh, when the call operator then asked me if it was supposed to go to “2 Impasse des Toinons, etc . etc.” Well, clearly I ENTERED that address, for that is the French address I SPECIFIED as the delivery address and I have never had anything delivered to that address before – how would that address be there if I hadn’t entered it??? So, like a pig pulling a cart load of sausages, a draw my own conclusion; I was rudely told it was my fault and made to feel like a liar, when in fact I WAS BEING LIED TO! This is not customer service to be proud of.
The first solution to this predicament was for me to re-order my presents to be sent to France and to wait for the ones being sent to my UK address and then return them by recorded delivery at which point I would receive a refund in Euros.
I pointed out how ludicrous this ‘solution’ was; I would end up paying nearly double for each game as I would incur bank charges for 3 currency transfers and, more to the point, I’M NOT AT MY UK ADDRESS. I CAN NOT RECEIVE THINGS, I CAN NOT RETURN THINGS! Oh, and thirdly, I would have to be paying a second time for the games and this is something I CAN NOT afford, and I have no time to wait for a refund to re-buy the games... Can you see where I was getting at?
Well, I thought I had made myself quite clear. So the next solution sounded fine...
I was told as I was not at the address at the moment that the items would be instantly returned and I would not have to worry about that. I was told that the items have to be signed for now, although this I have a feeling, is a load of ‘frolics in the park’. When I have had items delivered before they have NEVER been signed for and have always been posted through the door and sat on my door mat until I’ve found them. Well I gave the operator the benefit of doubt, possibly because she continued with a solution that I thought was going to resolve my problems – she would simply have my item sent to the correct address and she would change the delivery details on my second item. I was told not to worry and that she would sort it out “because it is Christmas and we understand everyone wants their items on time.”
BINGO, or so I thought....
Ok, so I was still sizzling a bit when I went to check my email and to check my orders status on play.com
An email came through after a while –a RE-ORDER of Mario Bros??? I didn’t want to pay for an item twice! I DID NOT AUTHORISE a second payment! That’s just naughty and plain bad manners. You can’t vaguely tell someone over the telephone not to worry and that the problem is sorted by STEALING money from their bank account and hoping they don’t notice to appease them. I was shocked to say the least! I’m not a girl of great means and I don’t have the sort of money to pay for things twice. I don’t have the convenience of a bank account in the black which can pay for something twice with an uncertain wait for something to be refunded at a point sometime in the future, which judging from your diabolical charade of a call centre would be never.
And how come this item (the re-order of Mario Bros) which WAS ACTUALLY to be delivered to France, can now be paid for in UK pounds? That’s just making the rules up as you go along; worse than my brother at Monopoly.
I thought I best check the status of item 2, the Zelda game for the DS, and low and behold, it was still due to be shipped to the UK. So, despite being told that item 2 would simply have a change of address before it would be dispatched and that it would have a simple destination change; it was all a crock. The delivery details hadn’t been changed and as I sat on hold in my second call to the 0845 call centre, I watched the item status change from getting packed to getting dispatched, all to the wrong address AFTER I had been told it was sorted.
So, nothing to worry about turned to EVERYTHING to worry about. This was supposed to be a hassle-free Christmas present for family members and you’ve turned it into an incredibly stressful circus for me where I’ve sat on the telephone for nearly 2 hours only to be told that no one has any authority to do anything to help me, even after waiting to speak to a so-called manager. It’s bitterly ironic that they can take MY money without authorisation, but nobody in the whole building is authorised to give it back.
I’m finishing this email at 2am and I desperately hope you can help resolve this issue as soon as possible.
I’m at the point where I feel like laughing an insane sort of banging your head against the wall cackle, but don’t get me wrong, I do not think this is funny. I am really very angry indeed and I have endeavoured to be as polite as Britishly possible, but in all honestly the air here is blue, to put it mildly.

Purple Girl

2009-09-29T22:54:00.003+02:00

You're here with me in this room,
as we drink our soup from bowls,
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats.

The howling of the wind,
harks the ending of the day,
as I long to reach out to you,
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

The red soars on your face,
your knotted brown hair,
with hands grasping for warmth
and the purple knit jumper, drawing me in
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

I see your cracked, pursed lips
and they're not smiling for me,
your arms folded across your chest
and you clutch onto your memories
your blue eyes of longing, a million miles away
for your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

Toothache

2009-09-25T21:34:00.001+02:00

People always say, "ooooh toothache, it's the worst sort of pain..." and I secretly think, you know, what a load of bollocks, because surely like, dropping a chainsaw on your leg has got to be worse than some toothache. Man up! swallow a few paracetomol and get yourself down to the dentist, who, for a small fee, will sort you out.
Unless you're absolutely terrified of the dentist I suppose, then you deserve to be in pain. I actually am absolutely terrified of the evil bastard dentist. I mean, what sort of person becomes a dentist anyway? Sadists with an oral fixation, that's my guess anyway. I have really bad teeth, possibly because I sometimes forget to brush and I like sugary food. I try to scrub my teeth though, go nuts.... using mouth wash and dental floss and brush my teeth for a good 10 minutes, clearly it doesn't make a difference if you chow-down on as much sugar-crap as humanly possible and don't visit the dentist. I hadn't been for 6 years - I had refused treatment when I was 15 and not been back. I was supposed to have a filling then, but as he was about to I found myself unable to let him and ran away. By the time I was back in a dentists chair, 6 years later I needed 6 fillings and a root canal. What an effin' b*****d! to put it politely! Needless to say I was a mess and had more panic-attacks and hyperventilated and couldn't breath as I came out in a clammy cold sweat and wished I was dead! hahahha, it's funny, but it's not even funny. I despise that irrationality. What sort of person becomes a dentist, huh?
Now my wisdom teeth are coming through and it hurts... a lot!
Pile me up with the pain-killers please.

Nothing...

2009-09-22T16:40:00.004+02:00

Words aren't really working.

been drawing with me felt-tips, old school!

I forget how hard it is to draw with felt-tips, whatever you do will look rubbish!

And then I made a puppet... Just bored...

Kick in the arse, how long will it last?

2009-09-18T14:59:00.001+02:00

Ok!
Thanks for that kick in the arse JC!
You are, of course, a million times right and I should stop being a lazy Charlie Uniform and get writing, doing, whatever... so after I've eaten all that damn tasty fudge, I should begin... and start writing... good or not it has to be done otherise I might as well be doomed to return to Norwich and get a job at NU! arghhhhhhh!
Might as well sign my own death certificate!

So, I will endeavour to write and post more words to be attacked...

Lets get started...

Thought I could do with a re-fit

2009-09-01T22:04:00.002+02:00

Brushing off the cob-webs, and having a re-fit.
I guess this coincides with the completion of my bedroom!
I've moved out of the squat and now I have an actual bedroom! YAY!
I'm in the middle of a building site, but, hey! It's my space, I can start to unpack a little.

pass the bucket!

2009-08-31T11:45:00.000+02:00

Here is the revolting poem I had to read for my brother's wedding! Very sickly!
I couldn't stress enough that I hadn't chosen it!

On Your Wedding Day

Today is a day you will remember
The greatest in anyone’s life.
You’ll start off the day just two people in love
And end it as husband and wife.
It’s a brand new beginning, the start of a journey
With moments to cherish and treasure
And although there’ll be times when you both disagree
These surely will be outweighed by pleasure.
You’ll have heard many words of advice in the past
When the secrets of marriage were spoken
But you know that the answers lie hidden inside
Where the bond of true love lies unbroken.
So live happy forever as lovers and friends
It’s the dawn of a new life for you
As you stand there together with love in your eyes
For the moment you whisper ‘I do‘.
And with luck, all your hopes, and your dreams can
Be real.
May success find its way to your hearts.
Tomorrow can bring you the greatest of joys,
But today is the day it all starts.

Anon

Albert Picked His Nose

2009-08-25T16:43:00.000+02:00

Page 1.

Slap-bang amidst the hubbub of the city is the giant block of flats where eleven year old Albert lives with his Dad. There is a communal garden in the courtyard on the ground floor and every flat has a two by one metre balcony – just big enough for a window box and a few pots. Albert lives on the fourth floor and IS NOT, under any circumstances, allowed to play in the courtyard – even if Teri and Michael are down there and especially not if the Gordon's brothers are playing football.

“But I like football!” Albert would protest, “And they said they don't mind me playing.” but Albert's Dad would point out that Ady, the oldest Gordon's brother is sixteen and is no doubt up to mischief and then he would finish his argument by indicating to the faded green and yellow sign in the courtyard:

“The sign says, 'No Ball Games Allowed.” Albert would wave a miserable farewell to his friends and stomp up the snaking concrete steps, running his fingers across the dirty, flaking paint of the metal hand rails.

Albert was thinking how horrible his dad was as he reached his floor, and then panicked, in case there was anybody about who was able to read his thoughts.

“Come on Bert!” His Dad stood in the open doorway, jangling the keys. “Cheer up, mate! If you finish your homework early enough, I'll take you to the park.”

Albert's stomach did a somersault. He had completely forgotten about the homework task his grouchy teacher, Mr. Rocksted had set him. If only he had his old simpering teacher, Miss. Housely, from last year – he wouldn't have even bothered doing it. Miss Housely would listen to Albert's wild excuses on not having done his homework and would let him off with a pseudo stern word – usually something like, 'This is very bad of you Albert, you really must do today's worksheet or I will have to talk to your parents.' But she never did, and Albert never did the work.

Albert sighed, knowing he'd never finish his homework before it got dark and his head dropped to watch his feet as he trudged into the house, the delighted whoops of one of the Gordon brothers scoring a distant goal echoing round the stairwell. The front door shut behind him and the want of being outside instead of unjustly caged in on a sunny afternoon pounded in his ears louder than the quiet of the flat.

Albert couldn't help thinking how unfair it was as he trudged straight to his room and threw down his battered rucksack, knocking over the waste-paper bin in the process. He slumped down at his desk by the window and pressed his forehead against the glass. Teri and Michael had joined the Gordon's brothers in the football game now, Teri was still in her school uniform and was using her pink bag as one of the goal posts. The youngest brother, Jake, was in goal, he was only eight and he was always allowed out to play – sometimes until nine o'clock. Albert noticed he had breathed a vapour mist across the window and he drew a vampire bat in it, if he shut one eye and squinted, the bat had Jake's head in its mouth.

Albert stared out of the window, watching the football, but not really looking – just staring in the direction of the game. He brushed at his nose, he sniffed once or twice and then rubbed it again. Before long, his index finger had worked its way up his nostril and was picking out at the stubborn lumps of crusting snot that were blocking his nasal passage.

“Stop picking your nose and do your homework!” Albert hadn't noticed his dad come into the room. He yanked his finger out of his nose and gingerly scratched at it instead.

“I'm hungry...” Albert replied automatically.

“You won't get full-up on boogies.” His dad sighed, “wash your hands and I'll make you a snack.” Albert's dad left and the door swung shut behind him. In the courtyard below a car alarm started going off. There were shrieks of excitement as Teri, Michael and the Gordon's brothers snatched up their bags and dispersed. Teri followed Ady into the bushes and the other two Gordon's brothers clambered over the wall into the pub car park, with Michael in hot pursuit. Albert wiped his hands on his school trousers and with a final gaze outside, left his room for the kitchen.

back to business

2009-08-24T18:55:00.001+02:00

Well, I'd say I have had a bit of a mental few weeks, but here I am, back to the grind.
My brother got married (yeuch), but it all went off very smoothly and no fights were had, possibly because my brother didn't really invite anyone from our side of the family, that made for amusing pictures. I did a reading from some anonymous poetry book, my grandma had chosen it to be read for them and asked me to do it (muggins me said yes) but, me, being me, didn't read it until a day before the wedding - and then I nearly vommed! I tell ye, it was so repulsive, icky lovey dovey squelch squelch, blubber blubber, I really did want to vomit 'pass the bucket' echoed round my head a good few times. Nevertheless, I got up and read this with some gusto infront of a crowd of their nearest and dearest and then was told what a lovely poem it was by a great deal of them. 'LOVELY POEM'? I thought, did you listen to the freakin' words? What a load of vom!
I guess I'm just a great actor, I'll dress a turd up as a prince and people will kiss it! Ok, maybe not, but still, eeek.

Now I'm back to work& back to business! Still doing specialist certificates (mini-courses) to complement my TEFL qualification and I've decided I need to find time to write more. I wrote 600 words today and once I've had a re-read, I may even let you have a laugh at my abymal dribblings!

SOFA so errrrm, yeah, hadn't really thought this through...

2009-07-25T15:08:00.000+02:00

COMING BACK TO NORWICH!!! BE THERE FOR A WEEK - EARLY HOURS TUESDAY MORNING (travelling all day and night Monday) The sofas have been delivered and I'll be collecting them with Seb.
WOOOOHOOO! PUB PUB PUB, so much I want to drink, I mean do! drink and do!

I am really looking forward to coming home, it's been a long time coming!

But, I have lots to think about and consider when I get there - like DO I WANT TO STAY?
arghhhhhhhhhhh!

Bloody Mozzys

2009-07-05T14:22:00.000+02:00

I am peppered with bright red mozzy bites. I have finally put up the mosquito net over my bed, but it only covers my top half. This morning I had 9 bites from my knee to my ankle on my right leg, what a charlie uniform. CURSES.
I have some deet anti-mozzy roll-on, but want to find something more, urgh, organic...

Plan for Life

2009-06-29T22:49:00.000+02:00

Go left at the next junction.
Go straight ahead until you get to something interesting.
Don't dwell.
Keep on going.
Turn right.
Keep going straight until you get there.

Going Backwards

2009-06-28T16:38:00.000+02:00

I threw a stone, I threw it really far, it just soared into the air.

I watched it shrink as it swam straight ahead into the sky.

What a throw.

It disappeared onto the horizon. I stared, quite amazed.

That's got to be an Olympic size throw, that one.

I threw a stone, I threw it really far, it just soared into the air.

I watched it shrink as it swam straight ahead into the sky;

Only to find that it hit me in the back of the head.

Home?

2009-06-24T21:56:00.000+02:00

You know, I often find myself wishing I could go home. How funny is that?
What's it all about though?
When I lived in Norwich though, I'd find myself thinking... I want to go home.
Problem is, I don't think Home really exists any more. Maybe this is something that everybody experiences at some pint in there life, or maybe not, maybe I'm just so stuck in a rut of sentimental bullshit that I find myself lost more often than not.
I will be looking for the comfort. I look for everything familiar and the people who I like the best.
I look for friends, both real and inanimate. I look for Sirius. I look for my 'tools' - my paints, my pencils, my papers and inks. I want my duck-feather duvet and comfy pyjamas. I want to understand what makes home, home. I want to be there and not feel like I'm missing something significant. There's just something missing where-ever I go.
So maybe that's what people deal with all the time, just a space, a black hole... that emptiness that knows how incomplete we are.
When I was in Norwich I thought that 'home' meant the family home, and It would all feel 'right' once I was here. I am so wrong though; this feels less like home than the Hotblack Road. I suppose Sirius is the anchor at the minute, which means I'm on a boat now, hopefully finding home. You big loser.

Is there anybody there? Life and Death

2009-06-21T22:51:00.000+02:00

Well, my my, hasn't it been a tumultuous few months?

How the hell my grandma is still alive, is beyond me...
hip replacement, heart attack, brain damage, broken wrist, stroke - all in a couple of months. If she was in the UK, I'd say she might be trying to get some of that money she's paid in tax back through the NHS. But... we're in France, so healthcare costs a fortune and I'm pretty sure she's had more money in pensions compared to what she paid in during her working life....
LOGANS RUN LOGANS RUN LOGANS RUN. What an awful film... I can see the sensibilities.
Now, don't think I'm hideous, it's just hard work and she wouldn't be alive / at home if it wasn't for all the support she's had from the everyday visits at hospital to her constant care that she now needs at home. She's doin' all right.
My brother on the other hand... I REALLY effin (can I swear on this?) hate him, that selfish bastad can rot in hell.

Why the hell I didn't kill myself, well that's beyond me to.

I didn't, of course, probably because that would be admitting defeat, and I'm not quite ready for that. Don't get me wrong though, I'm not afraid to die - I just hope it's by my terms. I don't want to be an old old ancient wreck of a human, pissing in my nappies and not being able to wipe my arse on my own, but I'd be pretty pissed off if someone declared a nuts sort of nuclear war and I had to die like that. I've always (don't know why) envisioned myself dying or pretty much dying, in a horrific car crash, I haven't ruled out hanging myself either. Don't think I fancy shitting myself though, that kinda puts me off - I don't want my last few dying seconds to be obscured by the stench of my bowels opening and my insides dropping out, down my leg onto the floor beneath me.

Have you ever seen Where the Wind Blows? (it's a graphic novel too) I think that is the scariest thing you could ever show your children. That's the horror movie that haunts my child-hood memories.

Anyway, James May awaits...

Creative Space

2008-12-07T20:08:00.000+01:00

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7768021.stm

I was reading this article by Clive James where he talks about creative spaces and mentions the Eamonn McCabe's Writers' Rooms exhibition where, funnily enough, he has photographed the 'creative spaces' of writers. I don't feel like I confine myself to anyone space, but when or wherever I work, I dominate. I take over the space and it VERY quickly becomes a nucleur wasteland. A dirty bomb hits and my crap scatters about in rooms and rooms of rubbish. But it's all essential, I lead myself to believe, integral for me to come up with the perfect... whatever it is I'm doing, I have to have my piles of crap, where amazingly I seem to know where whatever it is I need is. I can't work with things packed away or neatly kept in boxes, I want the sprawling mess, so when I suddenly change my idea I can grab something else (whether I'm being arty - and it'll be random objects or writery, and I'll want a picture or books or whatever... ) but I operate in chaos and I'm not ashamed of it!

Mutter1

2008-12-06T23:05:00.000+01:00

I want fish fingers and baked beans in a soft white roll.
I want to feel the sauce splat out and dribble down my chin,
down my clothes that I just put on; clean.

I'm listening to Dolly Parton.
I'm listening to myself,
"That's all I'll ever need..."

I had a shower today,
but I didn't wash up the saucepan.
The ketchup curdled.

And I'm thinking,
I can't believe Vic got married today.

Another day...

2008-12-06T22:53:00.000+01:00

So, it's another day gone. I think I should start a new blog called 100 Reasons to be Miserable (another good excuse to be dead). Not really doing anything makes me lose all focus, I can't centre on anything and I can't keep my attention on anything, so I feel completely unproductive...
Possibly because you are arsehole.
Yeah, but, at least I do have a job, I just have to wait for the paperwork, so it shouldn't be too long - after Christmas I'll be doing some graft...
What? Where you don't even get paid for the first four months, gee that will seem worth it. Not only that, if you even manage to stay engaged with it you'll probably be too tired to do any work that you enjoy or want to do, so again, you'll be unproductive. What a waste of time.
Fuck Off.
You have an excuse for everything, you can't just swear at me and hope I'll go away. I'm not a pathetic man. I'm not.
You're not, you're a bastard, leave me alone. I can do nothing if I want. I can do whatever I want.
Be the dole-monkey you deserve to be. Get up at 4 in the afternoon and then stay up into the early hours of the morning doing nothing at all, go to bed, wake up, go back to sleep. Eat in bed. Live in bed. die.

November

2008-11-30T23:12:00.000+01:00

So, it's November... just
Two weeks ago I moved to France and promptly lost my mobile. That's not ominous at all? Goodbye everyone; will I ever see civilisation again? Not saying that France isn't civilisation, just in some ways it does feel like the third world (okay, maybe that's a bit too far) but right, middle of nowhere, rural France, everyone drives a tractor, every village has it's bike (and a fair share of inbreds - bit like the Larkman) and I'm here. I thought I'd have a lot of time on my hands, but even not working I seem to have a million things I should be doing that don't involve things I want to be getting on with. I have, however, found myself a job - je suis un immoblier international. That's international estate agent. For however long that will last - I don't even get paid for the first 6 months. Luckily Seb will be doing a bit to feed my habits.
Also I have my Sirius (beautiful dog) and he had his Birthday on Friday (I can't believe he's 5!) I baked him a birthday cake (suitable for human pets as well as dogs) and he yummed it down.
Is it ok to give dogs raisins? I have a cookbook for your dog and it has raisins in recipies, but the list in the back of the book says NO! to raisins, so is it just a limit - they shouldn't have more than a few, or are they American plebs who wrote it and can't even keep a vain of continuity in the cookbook by going back on what they've said?!? Argh! Stupid people frustrate me, let me just hold onto that tether of pretentiousness and I can continue being obnoxious..... arghhhhh, yes, obnoxiousness.... tastes beautiful and renews me with fresh energy - Steam on!