Like the corners of my mind...

Do you remember your dreams? I can normally remember mine for an hour or two after I wake and then they just fade. But some remain; some just stick in your mind as an actual memory. I can still remember a dream from my innocent years, which involved me hiding in a car from a T-rex, strange but true. To my mind it’s as if that event actually took place, of course I know that it didn’t. But what is it that keeps that dream embedded in my grey matter for so many years? Some true events have less clarity than certain dreams. I’m sure at the time of the dinosaur dream there would have been some external influence that caused the dream but what that was I couldn’t say.

Memories in general are very strange, what we hold on to and what we let go off. My father died when I was just five; if he was still alive today and passed me in the street I wouldn’t recognise him. I have no memory of him what so ever and yet I can recall a time after he had finished playing cricket and I went out on the field and tried to push the big cast iron roller that was used to flatten the green. I know he was there but I cannot picture him. No matter how hard I try I cannot form a metal picture of my father.

Some memories just stick with us for the rest of our days whilst some just fade for whatever reason that may be, maybe they are disturbing memories, sad, unhappy times but that isn’t always the case, I can still clearly remember the day the policeman knocked on our door and told my mother that terrible news and how she then in turn came and told my brother and me, I can remember events that sometimes I wish I couldn’t. Most which stay with us are however probably joyous events, grand occasions, wedding days, children’s births etc but then some are just obscure memories that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, and in truth probably don’t mean that much to you. But our memories and our experience are part of our make up and what makes us the person we are today. If I were to suddenly lose my memory would that change the person I am today, would that change the way I dream? It must do, if you don’t know who you are, where you have come from it must change your out look on the world. Fears, loves, wishes, dreams would all vanish, you’d start all over again with a clean slate. You could redefine the person that you were. Without the external influences individual to each and every one of us whilst we grew up you would start to draw from everything around you now. But the way an adult perceives things is completely different to that of a child.

I have touched on this before, how every event and person around us moulds us into the person we are today. Examine your childhood, think back to the things you did as a child, the games you played, the friends you had, the holidays you went on, the music you listened to. Think about your parents and what they meant to you, think of the way you remember the world around you, world events (whenever 1987 is brought up in conversation I still immediately think the year of the Storm), the taboos of the day, the big scandal that we all remember happening at school (whatever that may have been for your particular school, we all had something). All of that has helped form a foundation and a basis for you today. Now think about the generation growing up today, try to place yourselves in their shoes and imagine what games you play now, what friends you have, what holidays you go on and what music you listen to. Think about what your parents mean to you, the world around you, world events, the taboos, and the scandal at school. Think how all of this is forming the foundation and the basis for the adults they are to become.

We all have memories, wishes and dreams that form the man or woman that we are and that push us forward to become that which we are meant to be.

Take care in the way you influence the children in your lives, that off day you had, when you were quick to snap and lost your temper, that day you shouted or spoke without thinking, that may just be the day that that child remembers and keeps with him or her for the rest of their days, that day may form the foundation of their adult life.

Mr Right Now?

A very dear friend of mine lent me a book recently, a book that was to be found in most women’s hand bags during the nineties and almost without exception then forced onto the said woman’s significant other who would look at it with scorn and distrust but told “You have to read this”. The book became a best seller, primarily to women who longed for answers to relationship questions that have spanned the decades. According to the authors they had the answers, that Man and Woman are different, so different in fact that they could have come from separate planets, Men from Mars and Women from Venus and that over time we had forgotten just how different we are to one another, each expecting things and reactions from one another as we would expect them to react if it was us. That this manual will translate each others reactions, subtle hints, and language and suggest or inform as to why we behave the way we do.

Is my friend trying to tell me something?

She knows me well and obviously being a woman has picked up on the fact that maybe the reason I am alone is that I have not recognised these differences yet? Every relationship I have ever had has inevitably failed or else I would not be alone but happily married or at least married. But is a marriage without love a success? I would say not, love is surely the reason to be with someone. I have always believed that it is better to be alone for the right reasons than to be with someone for the wrong ones and I believed that women felt the same. And yet today I read an article in a newspaper penned by a woman who although initially felt the same and surmised that she would only ever marry for love that now as she grew older and felt that Mr Right just didn’t exist that she would settle for Mr He’ll Do. She was not much older than myself and confessed to being with someone she did not love, that she was just settling for. I don’t ever want to be someone that someone is just settling for.
I believe in love and that as Plato first suggested that each and every one of us has a soul mate, that there is that one special person that will complete us, we are one half of a pair separated. I don’t want to be paired with someone that just makes out to be my other half, that is just glossing over the parts that don’t quite match; relationships are hard enough without having to pretend how you feel about your partner. I’m sure we can all think of a couple in our lives that are unhappy and in a non-fruitful relationship, that they have just settled for someone, which offers the reality that if there is just that one special person for each of us that our soul mate could have already settled for someone else. This inescapably means that some of us are destined to live this life alone or to just settle for someone.

There is a fairly well know advert that states we should not hang around waiting for Fate and Cupid, that they guarantee finding you love within six months. Now I’m sure this is possible, Fate and Cupid could play a part in this dating service that will bring you together with your soul mate, after all it is just a matter of finding them which will never happen if you just stay at home so it serves its purpose of getting singles to go out and meet. But how many of those that use the service decides to just settle for someone, to find either Mr or Miss They’ll Do instead of Mr or Miss Right?

Whether in a relationship or not we constantly, man and woman endeavour to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex. We dress in clothes that we do not necessarily feel comfortable in but that we think the opposite sex will find attractive. We apply make-up to highlight and disguise, we spray and splash fragrances onto our bodies that we hope will entice. We constantly try to make ourselves that little bit more attractive to our partner, or to those of us that are still looking, our prospective partner.

Life is a journey that I don’t believe is meant to be travelled alone, life brings obstacles and situations that are better copped with as a team, however we need to recognise that part of this journey is to be taken alone and that somewhere along the way our paths will intertwine with each other bringing you into other peoples lives and that these paths will either only meet for the briefest of moments or continue together. I am on my path and hope that one day it will meet with another but only with another that is meant to be, not someone that has just taken a detour.
My soul mate is out there somewhere and hopefully she has not already decided that I am too elusive to find and has settled for someone else, that she believes, as I do and is on her path waiting for us to meet.

I don’t believe in fairy tale endings, life can be harsh. I do believe in what will be will be. So if that means my path is a single track for longer than so be it. I have made mistakes in the past, and if they have taught me anything it is that I would rather travel alone and wait for that special someone than just travel with someone for the sake of not being alone.

No one ever said it would be easy, some journeys are tougher than others but I will endure, I will continue to press forward and overcome that which is placed in my way.

Swine Flu, Hospital and Aching muscles

Apparently according to many news and television reports and even a leaflet that was pushed through my letter box we are all in danger of contracting swine flu from elevators and telephones. This is great news for me, I now have a genuine reason of not attending my office on the 12th floor and should I feel particularly athletic and bound up the many flights of stairs I then don’t have to answer the phone. My office has even sent out an email telling all members of staff that if possible they are advised to work from home until the danger passes. Wonderful. Now instead of having to drag my sorry arse out of bed at five o’clock in the morning, do the triple S of Sh*t, Shower and Shave and attempt to look somewhat respectable in a freshly ironed shirt and tie I can now lay in till a far more respectable time of seven o’clock, throw on any piece of clothing that is currently adorning my bedroom floor, partake in a freshly brewed cup of coffee with a couple of slices of toast and Marmalade and not worry about the nights growth on my chin.
I can then recline and sink into my luxurious leather sofa whilst Lorraine Kelly tells me what high heels I should be wearing and what pair of jeans would flatter my figure more. A second cup of coffee is brewed and a further round or two of toast before I amble over to my computer and press the power button. By now my ears are being assaulted by numerous Chavs shouting and screaming at each other whilst Mr Kyle endeavours to provoke further reaction whilst ascertaining who is the father of the lucky child brought into this affordable housing war zone. It’s not before Phil and Fern have updated me as to the latest goings on in Emmerdale and I have entered the ridiculously easy quiz that I actually log onto my computer and check my emails.
Other than the occasional phone call into my office, which nobody of course can answer, things progress along a similar vein for most of the day, I become very knowledgeable in antiques and their value, how to decorate my house badly in less than sixty minutes and how to purchase property in Spain.
Should Swine Flu ever really strike in this country to a serious degree of threat to kith and kin I will be fine, I can sell antiques to make enough money to leave this country and its pandemic behind whilst jetting off to sunnier climes in Europe and my newly decorated summer house all whilst looking magnificent in a pair of figure hugging jeans.



I have just recently, albeit reluctantly furthered my life by another year. Not that I want my life to end you understand but would just rather I didn’t have to count my progressing years anymore. I have never really celebrated my birthdays, at least not since my younger school days and as I have grown older it has become just another day. The problem is no matter how much you hide or try to shy away from your real age or your birthday someone is always there to remind you. On this occasion I was reminded when I received a letter in the post a week or two prior to the actual day. There is no hiding from the fact that you are getting older when on your birthday you receive a Colonoscopy as a present from your local hospital, this really is the kind of present to which you hope the receipt has been kept and you can happily exchange it at a later date. However it hadn’t and I was forced to attend and endure one of the more embarrassing procedures your doctor can inflict upon you.
Having not only starved myself the day before my system also had to be flushed clean of any “obstacles” so that the lengthy camera that will be inserted into my rectum will have an unobstructed view of my internal workings. So having spent the previous day sitting on the toilet experiencing something that can only be described as someone turning on a fire hose full blast and letting go of the end I was fairly eager to get this whole unpleasant day or two over with. I arrived on ward with plenty of time to spare hoping to get in and out as soon as possible, or should I say to get the camera in and out as soon as possible? But, alas this was not to be. I have no gripes about waiting to be seen, none whatsoever, in fact it’s a pet hate of mine to be sat in a waiting room and listen to other people complaining that they haven’t been seen yet. It’s called a waiting room for a reason. It’s where you wait; it’s not called a sit down and be seen straight away room. It’s one of the few things in this world that really erks me. I will never say a bad word about our NHS. They do a wonderful job in a difficult and sometimes dangerous environment. My praises will always go out to them; they have helped me a great deal including scrapping me off the tarmac on one occasion.

However… The only thing I will say is are hospital gowns really necessary? I’m sure we can come up with a slightly less degrading option. Now it may be different for women and certain Celtic men on two counts, but I believe they are an inside joke to help pass the time for the nurses. Firstly I do not own any item of clothing that fastens at the back, so I have no experience of doing this. Not once have I managed to find all the straps or tie them to the correct opposite strap, I either miss out straps altogether or have the top tied to the bottom. I always end up spinning in circles like a dog chasing his tail trying to find them. Would a strip of Velcro down the back not be easier? Secondly how are you meant to sit down once you have to a degree fastened the back without showing off all that God gave you? Again I do not own any skirts and have no idea how to sit down in one in a dignified manner. Women cross their legs differently to men. Women cross their legs at the knee whilst men place one ankle on the opposite knee. This obviously is not appropriate when your meat and two veg are on display like a raw chicken hung in a butcher’s window. So you end up sitting there fidgeting until the doctor or nurse comes to see how you are getting on and finds you kicking your legs about like a once famous Kenny Everet character “In the best possible taste”.
Having found a comfortable position to sit in, and by comfortable I mean both feet on the floor, legs tightly clasped together and both hands trying to pull down the edge of the gown between your legs. I sit and listen to the doctor explain the procedure to me. I am then walked into the operating theatre, my bare arse hanging out of the badly fastened gown. My feelings of humiliation were soon replaced by something far worse as within seconds of climbing onto the operating table my gown was swung up around my neck until I was wearing it more as Superman would wear his cape. I take my mind of it all by rambling incoherent nonsense to the nurse attending to my gas and air desperately trying to forget the fact that I am lying naked on a table with three strangers busying themselves around me. Very soon the invasion begins, as what feels like a BBC war correspondence team venturing into an area that isn’t discussed in polite conversation. Luckily for me and my awkward discomfort I am able to remove myself form the situation and watch it all take place on TV as if it’s happening to somebody else and not me at all. This didn’t last long. The camera crew exploring my every internal crevice had reached what appeared to be a difficult corner to navigate and needed some external assistance. One of the nurses then began to lean on my stomach and manually assist the camera through the difficult colon chicane. My groans and grunting brought calming words from the nurse looking after me however this didn’t alleviate the thoughts that at any moment something was going to burst through my stomach wall. After various changes in position the camera crew reached their final destination and started the return journey. Thankfully this is a lot quicker although did make me feel like a drain that Dyno Rod were busy working on. Trying in vain to transport myself out of my current predicament I focus back on the TV screen and watch the journey my food takes on a daily basis.
Eventually after much prodding, poking and worst of all inserting I am wheeled back onto ward to recover for a few minutes, given a nice hot cup of tea and a sandwich and then sent on my merry way, walking out of the hospital as if I had been riding a horse for the last week.


I have been having trouble with my back for a few weeks having twisted my spine a couple of months back and the built up accumulation of many years of ill treatment, overworked lifting and shifting and incorrect posture, having been to see a physiotherapist I thought that I would book myself in for a sports massage to ease out any further knots. I have never had a professional massage before and was quite looking forward to it. I am welcomed into the centre with a nice cup of tea and asked a few routine health questions and if I had had any recent injuries. Very soon I was lying face down on the table with my face in a hole. As I think I have mentioned before I am not great at small talk, this is hindered even further when I have my face through a hole in a table, am half naked and a woman I have only met five minutes previously is pummelling my back. There I am staring at her parquet flooring and trying to discuss the weather and holidays etc. Before my hair rebelled on me and started disappearing and I actually went to hairdressers I always went to the same chap, we had an understanding, we would exchange pleasantries and then just shut up. None of this where are you going for your holidays rubbish. This is something I am going to have to instil on my masseuse should I go back again which I think I probably will. So there I am studying the floor, listening to the plinky music in the background and making the odd remark about the rain. You cannot have any intimacy issues if you intend to go for a massage, although primarily aimed at my back and neck apparently it was also necessary to attack my gluteus maximus, thankfully it had been a couple of weeks since my earlier experiences with the doctors or we could be telling a whole other story.
I have discovered that a sports massage is very different to a regular massage. A regular massage is designed to relax you, to send you off into a pleasant dream world leaving all your troubles behind. This was not. This was designed to loosen stiff overworked muscles, releasing the body toxins and realigning that which is out of place and considering that I have never had a massage before over the years my muscles had become very stiff and tight. Not being able to see a great deal other than floor I had no idea what she was doing and at times I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had climbed up onto my back and frog marched up and down my spine. She really did throw her whole being into the massage, twisting, bending, pummelling, stroking, rubbing and digging into my back. I could physically feel my muscles separating and moving around. At one point with my arm being pulled over my head my Lats clunked quite satisfyingly back into place. All in all it was very satisfying, albeit at times slightly uncomfortable re-manoeuvring muscles back into place, my back feels good, my small talk techniques have been exercised and I have a new intimate knowledge of parquet flooring. I do however feel it necessary to go for a relaxation type massage for comparison purposes only of course; however there is a small part of me that thinks this would result in me worrying about wrinkles and grey hairs, before you know it I’d be buying moisturisers and hair dye. A sports massage can be cunningly disguised as a medical procedure and not a treatment reserved for WAGS and pretty boys.
And yet it dawns on me that now having watched so much daytime telly, had a colonic irrigation and now a massage I may have unforeseeably slipped onto the downward spiral of male grooming…



I fear the worst.

To Protect, Serve and look good on Television

Over recent weeks the Police have been headline news once more, with various people crying out of police brutality and violence, heavy handiness and hostility. Like most people I watched the G20 protests on the news and for the most part, from what was broadcast it was a fairly calm affair with a few pockets of fighting and property destruction. The police once again maintained a safe environment for all and any in the area and yet because two or three people complain because whilst they shouted and screamed abuse at a frontline officer, that when they assaulted the officer by placing their hands on them and the officer attempted to arrest the individual to remove them from the street so as the rest of the protest was not further tainted by the acts of one or two there is a public outcry. If you place yourself in the situation, in the line of fire so to speak and then get hurt the blame should be solely laid at that individuals feet. Of all the thousands that attended that day how many complaints have been received?

When I watched the protests on the news I was amazed at how little police presence there was, try to imagine what it must have been like for an officer holding the line, standing nose to nose with thousands of screaming, angry protesters. Being pushed and assaulted, being spat at and abused just because you are the one in uniform there. One line of officers attempting to control thousands, under the uniform and the training, the equipment and the rank a police officer is a person. Adrenaline and fear, heart racing and sweat beading the person has to stand there and resist all that is within them to remove themselves from this dangerous, life threatening situation. To remain calm and professional in the face of a violent, threatening crowd. To remember their training, to find the knowledge of what they can and can’t do in the eyes of the law, to watch without reaction as people threaten violence, as objects are thrown and punches received from the undistinguishable masses. As thousands march towards you, their faces hidden, their arms raised.

People are far too quick to judge and condemn the police for the work that they do, without ever putting the uniform on and patroling the streets they criticise. How many times is a police officer hurt whilst carrying out his or her day to day duties?

Don’t know?

It doesn’t make front page reading like so called police brutality does. The fact is thousands of our officers are hurt on a daily basis trying to do a job that they feel passionate about, trying to keep us safe whilst we sleep in our beds or enjoy a night out. If we are to criticise them we must first understand what they do, we must walk a mile in their shoes to realise just what the job entails. There was quite rightly public outcry when we learnt some of our armed forces were going to the front line poorly equipped and yet the police across this country are sent out daily without the correct equipment. Most people would be shocked to find out how few police officers are on active duty in their town each evening. A small handful is expected to protect the masses.

Gone are the days of the friendly police bobby standing on the corner with his tunic and custodian on, able, without any finger pointing or forms to fill in, to clip a youngster round the ear for cursing and drag said scallywag home to his mother.
When I grew up I wouldn’t have said boo to a police officer for fear of retribution from not only him but my mother having been marched home. Now so little respect for the law is shown by both child and parent alike, we flout the law on a daily basis. And when caught complain until it is dropped. With every new day our police officers hands are tied and tightened even further behind their backs.

We complain that there are too many cameras on our roads and that they serve no purpose. Now I am no statistician but people complain because thousands of fines and points are dealt out because of these cameras. Now as far as I am aware the cameras do not pick random motorists to discipline they are activated when you are going faster than the speed limit for that road or jumping through a red light, or to put it more simply they only take a picture when somebody breaks the law. If we were technologically advanced enough to have cameras that spotted burglaries or muggings as they happened and immediately issued the law breaker his or her sentence or fine would we be so quick to complain? Why are some laws taken with a pinch of salt and broken by us all at some point? I guess it is human nature to complain or try and dodge punishment when we are caught, it something we have done throughout our lives from not handing homework in on time because the dog ate it or driving home having one too many because somebody must have spiked your drink.

Do not point fingers at those that choose to put on the uniform every day and go about their duties to the best of their abilities. If you have done nothing wrong than what concern have you got? They are there for our benefit. Help them. Assist where you can. Remember they are all somebody’s son or daughter that has made the decision that they want to try and help their community. That by walking a street at night or by driving a marked police car they can in some small way make this country safer.

Somebody once told me that an average police officer will experience in a single year more than a member of the public will in their entire life time.

A police officer will place themselves in situations you could only conceive of in your worst nightmares and at the same time be expected to act professionally and legally. Often on their own, with back up maybe 5 minutes away if they are lucky, a lot can happen to a single person in five minutes when confronted by a violent group.

The police are understaffed and underequipped. Let’s not make their job any harder than it already is.

One of our jigsaw pieces is missing...

Over recent weeks a few, slightly older familiar faces have re-entered my life via the means of a certain popular social networking site. It has made me realise how much time has past without me knowing it. Friends have married, moved away, come back again, had children, divorced, married again, travelled over seas, had more children and settled down.

Looking at the snap shot of people’s lives through the window of Facebook I suddenly realised just how much I have missed out on. I have married and regrettably divorced; I have married again and will very soon be divorced, again. Marriage and me just doesn’t seem to fit, unfortunately, because I am a great believer in marriage and always longed for the “perfect” life, if such a thing exists? I always thought I would marry my childhood sweetheart, have children and grow old together. But, somewhere along the way I took the wrong road which has led me somewhere I never thought I would be.

Here I am a thirty something male alone. Not having somebody to share your life with can prove a very testing time. It leaves you a lot of time with only yourself and your thoughts as company. Something which I have never minded, I have always enjoyed my own company but am not sure I will be so happy growing old with just me as a companion.

I have not written off the possibility of finding my soul mate and living the dream but I’m not in any rush. Life has left its scars on me and I’m not sure if my aging body could cope with any more. But on the other hand I am not getting any younger either. To live my dream would involve having children and in that dream I was always young and fit enough to play with them, not so old all I want are my slippers and a hot cup of Horlicks, (not that I’m quite there yet).

Please don’t get me wrong, I am very happy with my life, most of the jigsaw is there and starting to fit together nicely, however I haven’t found all the edges yet and there is the feeling that there may be a few important pieces missing or at least some pieces are proving very elusive. I am, for a change putting myself first and doing things that I have always wanted to do and just maybe this has put me back on the road I diverted from so many moons ago.

The problem is, when I look at my friends lives, somewhere there in the still dark recesses of my mind a small voice whispers to me “You have left it too late”.
And worse still, a part of me agrees with it.


What if you only get one shot at your dream and I have missed mine or just messed it up? What if this is as good as it’s going to get for me now. As much as I enjoy my life if there is a significant piece missing and if you recognise the fact it is missing, it will always be missed.


The upside is, when I look at my friends lives, somewhere there in a brighter recess of my mind a small voice whispers to me “Your time has yet to come”.
And thankfully, a part of me agrees with it.

Space, the new frontier?

It was in the news this week that scientists believe that there are over a billion other Earth like planets somewhere out in the voids of space. I have always been of the belief that there could be life on other planets. Why wouldn’t there be? I’m not necessarily talking about little green men or hideous monsters with acid for blood that rip through your stomach wall whilst you are enjoying your Sunday lunch, but life of some description, maybe not that dissimilar to us.

Space intrigues me, that amount of undiscovered territory just waiting to be found and explored. What could be, what is, waiting for us just beyond the local stars we have barely touched upon? Space, as far as I am aware has no limits, no boundaries, if it did what would be beyond space?

Days gone by have spawned some of the greatest explorers known to man. Columbus and Cook set sail from various shores to discover new worlds returning victorious before their people. The urge to explore space however does not seem to herald such urgency or desire as it once did. And yes I understand that there is a fair bit of expense in the exploration of space, however in comparative terms I’m sure there was a fair bit of expense for Columbus, Cook and other explorers of the day to get a ship, man it and stock it for the months or years spent at sea.

Just try to imagine what discoveries would be brought back with the modern day explorer. Instead of potatoes we could get Felimper Carmos, (no I have no idea either but that’s because it hasn’t been discovered yet). I hope I will get to see in my lifetime just some of the exploration of space that I am sure we will one day achieve. If volunteers were called upon to man an experimental exploration ship into the darkest realms of space I would be first in the line to sign up.

To witness things that nobody had ever seen before, to step where no human has stood.

TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE.


The possibilities are endless, it’s no wonder the concept has produced so many much loved television shows and movies. It truly is science fiction, but then so were many of today’s technologies that we now take for granted. One day science fiction must become science fact, either through need or desire we will explore that which has only been viewed through a lens.

It wouldn’t surprise me either if one day we, the human race, start to populate some of these Earth like planets. Over the many years on this planet we have grown in numbers with every passing year. I’m not a historian by any means but I think it would be fairly accurate to say that the world’s population increases every year. And with every passing year and every new person born to this world more and more space is needed. We have spread from humble beginnings to every far flung corner of Earth and populated it.
There is only so much room and very soon it will run out and we will have to look elsewhere to live. Even if we were to plunder and colonise the oceans depths, sooner or later this too would run out. Eventually our only option for our continued growth will be to break free from the bounds of this sphere and find new planets to call home.
In years to come when you are searching the local estate agents boards for a new larger home to accommodate your ever growing family’s needs you could find yourself choosing not only a new street in a new town but maybe on a new planet.
Interstellar house moving? I dread to think; moving now can be stressful enough.

I wonder if it is that far from us. Relatively speaking we are still a fairly young species. We have only just begun in the greater view of things. The excitement as we stumbled into the new millennium and the 21st century is still fresh in our minds and memories. But, as long as we don’t screw things up too much, imagine what it will be like for our very distant relatives to witness the world’s first steps into the 121st century.
Just think how far technology has already progressed and how fast it is progressing. Before you take your latest gadget to the till and pay for it chances are its successor is already being made.

The jobs section of the local rag could become very interesting in years to come. Just like any large cruise ship now needs almost every type of profession onboard it so would the intergalactic ships of the future. Imagine applying for an administrator’s job or an electrician, plumber, caretaker, security guard on board HMS Star Searcher. The opportunity to travel through space will at some point become a very real option for the common Joe Public as the ship is crewed in preparation for its journey. A living community with a need for everything we need now and for people to service and provide for those needs.

Of course I would be applying for a more senior position amongst the crew, nothing too glamorous or above my station but Captain has a nice ring to it. Whatever you do, don’t choose a role where you suddenly appear at the beginning of an episode and have never been seen before. You will almost certainly be killed within the next hour. Go for the more prestigious role that comes with more air time.

This is all very Hollywood at the moment, the kind of stuff only really dreamt of in movie studios and played out in front of us by A list celebrities. But then is it? Who knows what is currently in production behind the doors at NASA. Would it be that unbelievable to think that more space travel has already taken place than we are led to believe? Space travel and exploration has lost the glamour and intrigue it once held, primarily because of the various Hollywood blockbusters and so it is now easier to hide should the appropriate authorities deem it necessary. Hollywood has already shown us the corners of the galaxy according to each producer and directors CGI induced creativity. So when new pictures come back from the Hubble telescope it doesn’t grab your imagination like it once did. Your imagination has already been stretched and will now take a lot more than pictures of a newly discovered star to excite it once more.
I would have loved to have experienced that feeling of the first moon landing beamed into everybody’s living room. It dominated the News and was the talk of every town worldwide, people were excited, the human race was taking its first baby steps into a new world, a new way of living. A space shuttle launches now and you’ll be lucky to find it in the “and finally” story at the end of the News.


There are two types of people in this world, Astronomers and Astronauts.
Those that are happy to just look at the stars and those that need to play amongst them.

I know which one I am.


Beam me up Scotty, bring on the playing field.

Let it snow... Just no where near our transport system

This great country has survived many trials over its years, from invading Romans, Spanish armadas to Nazi Germany. We have repelled them all. The great British spirit rose up as one and defeated all opposing forces. We stood proud and strong. We were GREAT BRITAIN, ruler of the waves. We were respected and feared, a great nation.

Now it seems the once ferocious lion has been neutered, mane shaved, claws trimmed and teeth removed. Of all the invasions, battles, conquests and victories we have now been defeated. Mother Nature has shown its strength and brought us to our knees.

Again…

It seems she is the only opponent we cannot defeat. Our nemesis. For once again this formerly great country came to a grinding halt as a blanket of snow was laid across its glorious green lands. It all came crashing down. Unable to cope, our cities and capital froze in the artic waste that devoured our fair land. The London transport system just stopped. Final. Trains stopped running, busses taken off the road. The emergency services declared they would only respond to life threatening situations. The M25 changed from a car park to a skating rink. More people took the day off work than at any other time in the history of mankind. All because it snowed and although it had been predicted for seven days running up to the cataclysmic event it took us all by surprise. “We just weren’t prepared” a transport minister was heard to say.

Again…

Schools were closed, shops shut there doors, businesses stopped trading. Internet shopping saw its biggest profits in a single day as people locked themselves away from the big freeze and went online. How is it possible for a layer of snow and alright I’ll give it credit, a fairly good layer of snow to disrupt us this much? What has changed within us that has crippled our ability to cope? It hasn’t always been like this. In fact this is a recent event. Like many of you I can remember traipsing through snow up to my knees to get to school, loving every second of it, stopping to have snowball fights or to sledge down a hill on anything with a smooth surface that we could lay our hands on. Building snowmen and igloos, (although I never managed to get the roof done). Mass snowball fights in the school playground, sitting in class with my coat and gloves on to keep warm. We weren’t sent home or told the school was closed for the day, teachers didn't stop us from playing in the snow incase somebody got hurt. It wasn’t even contemplated, everyone went to school and everyone went to work. Life carried on just like any other day.

So what has changed? The problem seems to be that this countries elected officials are now spoken down to and told what to do by everyone except the British public to whom it matters. Once in a position to act on our behalf they are now instructed on what we can and can’t do by people that don’t even live here. The British stiff upper lip is now quivering under the threat of the European Union telling us off. Health and Safety regulations have brought this country to its knees.
We can no longer do anything even mildly risky for fear of retribution and reprisals. Before we sneeze we must make sure that we sneeze into an approved tissue. I fear we have become a wet flannel on the floor of the EU’s bathroom. It is time that this lion found its balls again, disembowelled the European Union and declared itself, with a mighty roar as king once more. No longer should we have to ask permission from those outside this country before we wipe our nose. Then and only then might this Britain become great once more and cope with a little bit of snow. Maybe then the next time Mother Nature sees fit to send a bit of snow our way that rather than taking the day off we will just put on our wellies, wrap up warm and set about our days as per normal.

Britain was named Great Britain for a reason. Lets try to see if we can remember why and just maybe we can make this country great once more...

The Truth Is In There

Why do women, with whom you have a relationship with, at some point, normally at a time in the day when you are quite happily just enjoying each others company but not holding any kind of conversation turn to you and ask

“What are you thinking?”

Why?

You will never hear a man ask his significant other this question. What is it within a woman that makes her ask this? Why does she want to know? Does she really want to know or is she looking for some kind of fabricated answer?

The knee jerk reaction for most men when the question is posed is to simply say,

“Nothing”

To which the woman will almost definitely reply

“You must be thinking something.”

Women obviously have underestimated mans ability to do absolutely nothing. It is a practiced and mastered skill. A man can waste hours, days, even weeks and not accomplish a damn thing. Training normally begins in our early teens and is mastered over the years that follow. It takes very little for a man to empty his mind of everything; to be perfectly honest there normally isn’t a great deal to empty. We are skilled in the art of doing nothing.

However, women in general will not accept this fact and continue to push you for an answer. At this point man attempts to jump start his mind from the state of nothingness, this is a feat in itself comparable to trying to start an old car on a cold and frosty morning, once ignited back into life man will attempt to conjure up a believable answer and at the same time try to seize the opportunity of acquiring some much needed brownie points from his beloved. This is where we often fall down, having struggled for years to comprehend the female mind we truly believe that she wants to hear something along the lines of, “I was just thinking how beautiful you are”, or “I was just thinking how lucky I am to be with you”, or worse still “I was just contemplating our relationship and think we should discuss taking it to the next level”.

The problem with this is that most women will see straight through this, and although most will be grateful that you tried would much rather have heard the truth.

Now this really can pose a problem. Women don’t need to know the truth; not really, they may think that they do but honestly they are much better kept in the dark about the inner workings of the male psyche. The truth will only ever make your good lady think less of you and knock a few feet off the pedestal that I am sure she holds you on.

A woman doesn’t want to know that whilst walking through the town with her you are thinking what it would be like to be a Transformer and that at any point the VW Golf parked across the road could suddenly spring into life and attack you. That you would then engage in a ferocious battle to the death in order to save the human race from complete annihilation. She also doesn’t need to know that during your romantic stroll through the park you are under the belief that you are an international spy and that the bench by the bush would make a good drop off point for the micro film you earlier acquired from the Russians. That it provides good all round visibility for any impending dangers and the bridge crossing the stream will make the perfect observation point to witness the pick up.

None of this information will be of any benefit to the young lady. You are much better off having to sit down and discuss the future of your relationship, which as all men know is a complete minefield but does offer you the opportunity to once again empty your mind of everything and nod at the appropriate times for good measure throwing in occasional noises of agreement and is a far better outcome than your other half discovering that you want to be Bond, James Bond.



When the inevitable question is posed, no matter what you do, do not mention the truth, as far as women are concerned the truth most definitely is not out there.

Lost?

Someone once said that to find yourself you must first be lost. But what is finding yourself? Is it simply knowing yourself? But then how well do any of us really know ourselves? Unless placed in a specific situation can we honestly answer what our response or actions would be? We can all surmise what we would or wouldn’t do but unless we are actually placed in the scenario do we truly know? I would like to think that I know how I would behave if for example I saw somebody being attacked or if I saw a child run out in front of a car but without it ever actually happening I don’t think I could hold my hand on my heart and say that is what I would do.

Maybe it is something deeper than that, maybe I need to be lost first before I could even contemplate answering this. Life is a constant discovery of oneself, from the moment we are born our brains start to learn and adapt and continue to do so until our last breath. Life and the people around us help mould us in our formative years into the person we are now. We subconsciously draw from every encounter we make, we mimic characteristics we like in others, adapt them for ourselves. So in effect knowing ourselves we must know those around us. How many times has a sibling said to you “you are just like mum when you do that.”? Or “you remind me of such and such when you look like that.”?

I picture our path of discovery and growth as a lump of plasticine. Initially unformed, but soon we take shape, then along the way we meet and bump into other lumps of plasticine and bits of us adhere to them just as bits of them adhere to us and before too long we are no longer as pure as we once were. There are now lots of different bits of coloured plasticine, bits of grit and dirt, grim and filth we have picked up along the way. We are now an amalgamation of our continuing growth, relationships, wrong turns and right turns. We are not only the decisions we have made along the way but partly the decisions made by others around us. I’m sure most of us at some point in our lives, either as children or now as parents have had a piece of plasticine like this and have tried to clean it of all the dirt, tried to separate all the foreign bodies and return it to the solitary colour it once was. It might be too far to go as to say it’s impossible but it can’t be far from it. To remove every speck of dust it has picked up, every stray hair, every bit of colour from another would take a life time of work and patience. And for every speck removed I’m sure another would soon attach itself. I wonder if at any point in our life we would ever be as pure as that which we first were.

As I write this I am becoming aware of the spiritual aspect to the questions being posed and maybe God, in whatever form you believe is the only answer. Maybe only he or she would have the patience and willingness to cleanse what has been so appallingly tarnished and transformed from the original form. Maybe it’s at the point that we drop to our knees and cry out for help that we have become truly lost. The years of constant bombardment from the world’s effluence has left us so burdened that we have no option but to fall to our knees.

Will we ever find ourselves? Maybe not, maybe we do need to get lost first; maybe we need to ask for help out of the maze of life before we can be found.



Maybe we need to find ourselves in others and them in us to truly understand who we really are.

A marriage made in heaven?

I was talking to a very good friend the other day who had just managed to conjure up enough influence over his good lady wife to make her see sense that their out of date television required a facelift and brought into the 21st century. It wasn’t a particularly bad telly and as far as I am aware still functioned adequately, but it was starting to show it’s age, the wood panelling on the sides was fading and my friend had heard rumours that you could now get TV’s where you don’t have to get up to change channels.

So with various rules and a budget laid out by the wife, Denzel (who’s name I have changed to protect his identity), went out to find his new best friend. As all men know the relationship you have with your television is a very special one, it’s built up over the years and has a strong foundation. You cannot rush into a purchase. It is an intimate thing between you and the TV, it must feel right. Research has to be done, comparisons made, prices evaluated. You are about to embark on what you hope to be a long term relationship and this should never be taken lightly. This is not going to be a one night stand. It’s precious. Special.

Having scoured the internet for his new companion a decision was made and the new high definition LCD TV was purchased. Once home it was carefully removed from its packaging and given pride of place in the living room. Batteries were inserted, protective film removed and, unfortunately, knowing Denzel the manual was discarded. (I have tried to educate him on the male pastime of reading manuals but to no avail). The power button was pressed, tiny virgin circuit boards sparked into existence and the screen came into focus. Denzel was then most probably bombarded by various setup options and in a moment of hysteria, having bashed away at a few buttons and thinking his new love is broken, scrambled through the vast quantities of unnecessary packaging in a desperate search for the discarded manual. Eventually after a few hours of, (lets be honest here Denzel) trial and error the TV finally found reception and an array of stations unveiled themselves.
Denzel sat back and gazed admiringly at his new love. He knew that this was forever, that life would never be the same again, life for Denzel now held new meaning, new purpose. Sitting alone the new marriage was consummated as Denzel explored every inch of his new significant other. The commitment was made; there was no going back now, although, it should be noted, the only difference with this marriage is that it is perfectly acceptable to cheat on your TV with another. It really is a case of trading her in for a new model. This is primarily because unlike your actual wife your TV will not cut up your clothes, kick you in an area that should only ever be treated nicely and generally make life a living hell for you. The only similarity is that it will end up costing you vast quantities of money.

Denzel marvelled at the picture clarity, waded through the new ocean of sound he was immersed in and found new depths he had never reached in previous relationships. At this point the lady of the house returned. Denzel sat there, silent, proud, awaiting the much deserved praise from his now slightly less significant other. The lady of the house uttered the inevitable words,

“It doesn’t match the cabinet.”

And that my friend is why men and women are so different. Men will admire and respect the creation of other men, praise them for there good deeds shower them with gifts for a job well done, place them on a pedestal so high they share company with the clouds.

Women on the other hand will just find the mistakes, the slight imperfections and flaws and then endeavour to change and correct, amend and make perfect that which was undesirable, iron out the creases and create something which man never had the vision for in the first place. Woman will in essence make what we thought was already perfect, better and then go about reminding us of it on a daily basis…

Any Dream Will Do

I have decided that my New Years resolutions will no longer take the format of “I must give up this…” or “I must stop doing that…” Instead, from this point on my resolutions will be more positive. I am going to resolve to do things instead of stopping things. For example this year my resolution is to do a parachute jump. It’s something I have always wanted to do but just never got round to it. It is a familiar line of thought that resolutions are broken within the first week or two and I think this is primarily because you are resolving to do or stop something that you don’t particularly want to do or stop. Resolutions often take the format of attempting to give up bad habits or unhealthy actions. But why should they? Why not resolve to do something you are actually going to enjoy? Surely this way you actually stand a chance of keeping said resolution. And along the way of keeping your promise to yourself you may actually enjoy yourself, enrich your life or fulfil a long lost or forgotten dream.

I’m sure all of us had dreams when we were younger which we have never accomplished. How many of us wanted to be Fire-fighter’s, Police, Vets, Zoo Keepers, Astronauts, Pilots? And how many of us actually saw those dreams to fruition? Most things these days can now be accomplished with a little thought, you just need to look on the internet for all the various “Experience” web sites. With a little research I’m sure most of our dreams and fantasies could be played out and achieved, albeit in some cases for maybe only a few hours or a day but surely that is better than having never done it? And I know, before you say it, doing some of these things may not be cheap, especially the whole Astronaut thing.

BUT…

Are we not worth it? Are our dreams not that precious to at least try and make them come true? But saying that, I also realise that we still need to remain realistic, spending however many millions it is to travel to Russia and be launched into space to dock with a space station may not be in the average families budget. So at this point, should your dream be out of financial reach, call upon that often little used part of our brain and use your imagination. Maybe you cannot actually go for a space walk, but I’m sure you could visit NASA or sit in the shuttle or try on a space suit. Who knows what’s achievable? But without trying you’ll never know and your dream will remain just that.

So why not this year resolve to make your dreams come true? It sounds so much better than I'm giving up smoking... Again.

A Fitter New Year

What is it about the New Year and joining the gym? Do we all really feel so guilty for enjoying ourselves over a two maybe three day period that we force ourselves to believe we must now spend a small fortune and burn off the few extra calories we have consumed celebrating the festive season? OK so maybe we overindulged a little, had one too many roast potatoes, the odd extra serving of pudding or maybe a glass of sherry over the limit. But should we really punish ourselves for it?



The problem is, is that it is all too easy to overindulge during the season. No matter where you go you will find tempting goodies to lead you away from the strict healthy diet I’m sure we all live by the rest of the year. Suddenly as if by magic small containers of nibbles adorn every mantelpiece and table, filled with nuts and sweeties, Twigglets and other savoury delights. It’s almost an automatic reaction when walking past any such receptacle that your hand will reach out and pick up a handful of the mouth watering delights. You cannot even escape at work, bosses all across the country suddenly racked with guilt over their overworked employees feel that they need to do something to show their appreciation at Christmas.

But what?

What will show them that I am thinking of them but will not cost me too much? And so, all of a sudden office desks find tins of various brightly coloured chocolates and toffees laid across them. And, for the even further guilt burdened boss you may even be treated to some home made mince pies which have been laboured over by Mrs Boss or maybe a cheap bottle of plonk from the local supermarket.



So here we are in January, maybe we have had to loosen the belt by a notch or two but no more so than a good night out at the local curry house and yet we all feel the need to run, ok drive to the nearest gym and hand over our hard earned savings so that we can not go and use their expensive torture equipment. We all know that only a small handful, the tiniest of percentages of people that sign up to gym membership in January will actually still be going a month or two later. If you were of the inclination to keep fit and active you would already be a member. This is why every gym makes you sign up to twelve months. They know this fact too. They know its money for old rope and that within a couple of months they will be dipping into numerous bank accounts for people they have never seen.



I have to admit that knowing all of this I have still fallen head first into the alluring hold of my local gymnasium. I have, along with the vast majority signed up for membership, fooling myself that I am actually one of the few people that want to keep fit and active but have just so happened to choose January to join under the pretence that gym’s will be offering good deals on membership to snare the unsuspecting bloated, guilt ridden post Christmas public. Somewhere in my mind a voice tells me that I will go on a regular basis, I will enjoy my time there and my new found levels of fitness, that by this time next year I’ll be entering the London Marathon. However, hidden even deeper is a quieter voice, one that tells me to stop being so foolish, to save my money and stay at home, trying in desperation to convince me that I will be one of the ill fated masses that will continue to pay on a monthly basis for a gym I do not use. However this voice is soon overpowered and gagged by the much larger, more powerful voice that believes in the dream and fantasy of winning Olympic gold.



But what are we to do? Once snared by the all powerful gym we are theirs for a minimum of twelve months. The answer, I’m afraid eludes me. So for now until a solution can be found I will see you all at the gym,




or maybe not...

Happy New Year

Well that's it. The bells of the New Year have tolled, the party poppers have all been popped, Champaign drunk, dances danced, kisses stolen and resolutions most likely already broken.
Two thousand and nine is upon us all and with it brings twelve brand new months full of unknown joys, tears, love, laughter, births, deaths, trials, tribulations and adventures.
For some of us they have started already, a new horizon dawning on an old life already full of memories and experience, for others theirs is the expectation of what is yet to come. Wars won and lost, defeats commiserated and victories celebrated. As it was written and loved by so many I say to thee do not go gentle into that good night, fight the good fight, live life to the full, if it has made you smile have no regrets, only regret those things you wished to have done, decisions you wish you had made, embrace life with all that is within you, take hold of it with one hand and with the other take hold of your loved ones and carry them with you on the adventure we are all embarking upon, take the road less travelled and experience life to the full. Life is addictive and infectious; once you have sampled it you will want more as will those around you. Every now and then step across the line and break the rules. You are never too old, too fragile, too poor to say yes to an adventure. Step out, step up and be noticed. Recognise your own potential and aim for only the very best. Lick the lid of life and believe your own hype.
We are all true believers in dreams and fantasies, in knights and princesses, in gold and rainbows, in once upon a time and riding off into the sunset. Don't let the world around us spoil the life within us. When all around us seems lost it takes only the smallest of lights to make the darkness retreat. Reminisce but don't live in the past, what's done is done and what will be will be, keep your eyes on what's to come if you are too busy looking at the past you may miss your future. Live the dream we all had when we were too young to know any better, find the child within yourself and let them out to play, take the time out to stop and look around once in a while, recognise the true gifts you have been given and never for one second take them for granted or one day you may find them gone. When you love somebody, love them, do not hold back, love them with all that you have, you will never run out of love so why keep it to yourself? Emotions are a gift from God, all of them, embrace them and understand them, they help to create and mould you into the person you are destined to be. Never be afraid to know what's around the corner, do not fear change it will enrich your life if you let it.
Life is there to be lived, so live it, you are not a passenger on this trip, and where you go is up to you and only you. If you stay in neutral you won't get very far and only have yourself to blame. Start the engine and see where the road takes you.
Enjoy 2009, I hope our paths will cross and that we can travel together for some of the journey.

Christmas omission

One thing I omitted from my previous Christmas post…

Although it can be appreciated, loved and enjoyed on your own, Christmas is so much better when it’s shared.

Tis the season...

So the season of good will is upon us once again. The one time of the year when we can all be the people we would like to be for the rest of the year. The chance to release that inner child caged within us all and let them out to play, we start thinking about others more, we dance more, we kiss more, and we celebrate life in a manner so often foreign to us throughout the proceeding months.
We not only decorate our houses but our streets, our towns, villages and cities. For a few days of the year life is covered in glitter and sparkles and for most of us the darker, shadowy areas of life are tucked away out of site and ignored.
We all aim for that Hollywood movie Christmas that floods our cinemas and TV screens this time of year. For the glitz and glamour, the happy families, the miracles and magic, the wonder and spectacle of a Christmas adorned with every person’s fulfilled dreams and aspirations.

I adore this time of year and am sucked into the full spectacle. I love the songs on the radio, the Santa’s on the street collecting for charities, the traditions, the carol singers moving from door to door, hot mince pies, naff novelty Christmas ties and jumpers, I have even been known to roast a chestnut or two on an open fire. I love getting dressed for the cold, wrapping up in numerous jumpers, scarves, woolly hats and gloves and should we be lucky enough go and play in the snow. There is something very special about being the first to walk across pure virginal snow, the gentle crush under foot, the sound each step makes as you cross the white blanket laid so delicately in front of you. What’s even better is then returning home and defrosting by a roaring log fire. With a hot glass of mulled wine and a mince pie as the outside chill retreats from you once more.

This is the time of year when you can’t help but make life that little bit more special. It is a time of memories old and anew, a time to be spent with those that you love, a time to be enjoyed and cherished and a time to also remember those that may no longer be with us. Savour every moment, moments that will become new memories and keepsakes for years to come. One day when times are not so bright, warm and cheery you can look back and warm your heart on the coals of your reminiscences.

I even like to go shopping at this time of the year, which is unheard of; I normally avoid busy shopping centres. We should all stop and smell the roses during the year, but at Christmas we should stop and smell the roasting chestnuts, listen to the songs being sung by a choir, don’t just hustle passed them in your quest to obtain the latest must have for little Timmy, stop for a minute or two. Breathe in the Christmas spirit that hangs in the air like a crisp misty morn. We can all too easily become excessively occupied and fail to recognise those special moments we are all searching for that help to create this magical time. On Christmas morning take the time out amongst all the excitement, hustle and bustle to just stop and watch your family and loved ones. Watch your children’s faces as they open their gifts or when they find that the mince pie, carrot and glass of Sherry left out for Santa have been eaten and drunk. These are the precious times in our lives that we need to cherish and protect from the evils of this world. These precious times must be locked away in the vaults of our minds, more valued than gold and silver, safe from the pollution of the world’s propaganda and villainy. True wealth should be measured in the smiles we have put on other peoples faces and in those that we have received.

So to one and all, may the season bring you the wealth you truly deserve. May your heart be warmed by the wonder of the hour and the magic of the moment.

Merry Christmas.

The unsupervised male and the world wide web

Men and the internet is a bad thing.
We shouldn’t be allowed unsupervised access to so much information. It’s not good for us and inevitably will cost us a lot of money.
For example, before the internet came along a man caught what a woman would call a bit of a sniffle, where as we all know it to be a very serious case of man flu which should never be underplayed or taken any less seriously than a bout of bubonic plaque, we would be sat down for five minutes given a hot Lemsip and a Locket and told to get on with it. Within a couple of days of complaining, lying on the sofa gently moaning and trying to impress upon anyone that would listen the seriousness of man flu and that you may in fact drop dead at any moment, you would, eventually recover and return to normal health, primarily due to your super human immune system and nothing to do with honey flavoured sweets.

However…

Now with the internet within easy reach of most people a man coughs or sneezes and suddenly it’s out with the lap top and inputting your symptoms into Google. This is all very well and good when done in a sane frame of mind; however you need to understand how the male brain works. I have lost count of the amount of times I have contracted Capillary venous leptomeningeal angiomatosis, or had a nasty bout of Yemenite deaf-blind hypopigmentation syndrome.
For some strange reason, unknown to any living being, every man, even if he won’t admit it to himself or anyone else, wants to be ill.

It’s true.

Everything a man wants he gets when he is ill:
Relaxation
Attention
Food
His beloved TV
Playstation
No work
And if he is really lucky and seriously ill a pretty nurse in uniform taking care of him.

Within moments of opening the first page of Google results we will have convinced ourselves that we are on the brink of death, that we have contracted a very serious, probably a very rare disease and should be getting our house in order ready for the big off. We all have the ability now to research our symptoms and self diagnose ourselves all in approximately five minutes of powering up our computers. This is all very well and good except we don’t do that, we don’t do the research bit, we let Google do it and unfortunately the search engine tends not to list the common cold anywhere near the top and if it did we would assume it was a computer error and re-enter our symptoms. We then find the most destroying illness known to man, only to ever infect one in a billion people and yet we have it because we sneezed.
Final.
No ifs or buts’. The all knowing internet says that if I sneeze and when doing so have a slight sensation of light headiness that my internal organs are about to self combust and liquidise themselves, we then skip the rest of the symptoms that should go along with it and rush out to the local GP’s office.
Doctors must hate the internet. They have gone away and trained very hard for ten years for us to walk into their surgery and tell them
“I was looking on the internet and…”
at which point a groan goes out across the collective brotherhood of medical professionals,
“Another internet doctor has crossed my path and will proceed in telling me I’m wrong and how to do my job because the internet says so”
The good doctor knows now that there will be no end to this microchip terror sitting in his or her surgery, no appeasing the “patient” with an asprin, so does the only thing within their power…

They send you off for more tests.

Which just pampers to mans craving of attention and gives him more ammunition to prove he is in fact on the verge of a medical tsunami destroying anything that might foolishly cross him.
The wave of destruction will continue with test after test until one of two things happen.
One: Something is actually found and you discover you really are ill. (at which point life will stand still and you will break down into a puddle on the floor)
or
Two: You will have wasted a small fortune on private doctors, medicines and tests until the money runs out along with your wife, children and family mutt, only to find out that it was in fact just a bit of a sniffle in the first place.

The second problem with the internet, man and losing a vast proportion of his hard earned wages are gadgets. A mans love for all things shiny, flashy, beepy and new knows no bounds.
And now we can purchase the latest must have straight over the airwaves without even venturing outside and even worse without feeling the crisp new notes leave our hand and enter the shop keepers till. This of course is the biggest problem. Most men can be some what unwilling to open there wallet and spend money. So to be able to do it without feeling like you are spending “cash” but instead some kind of cyber currency is an argument with the good lady wife just waiting to happen as soon as the postman is spotted staggering down the drive, burdened by some obscurely shaped parcel.
We can pre order the new thingy so it arrives on our doormat the very day it is released guaranteeing that we are one of the first to try said new thingy, this is very important to man and inherits with it huge bragging rights the following day in the office or at the bar when you can ever so nonchantly produce your latest piece of technological wizardry and watch as your friends eyes fall from their sockets and their jaws drop to the floor. Only to find out the next day that a new thingy has been made which makes our old thingy look like a square next to a wheel. The circle repeats itself over and over again until we have more gadgets on Ebay than Dixons has batteries. It’s soon a race against time for our once top of the range thingy to arrive in the post before it is superseded by another new thingy. If a gadget comes out that has just one more flashing light on it than the one we already own a small voice starts whispering to us… “it must be mine, oh yes, it must be mine”

So to any loving wife, girlfriend or partner out there, do not let your man near an internet capable computer without adequate supervision or you will soon find your home is about to be repossessed, every cabinet full of vitamins and pills, gadgets and enough plastic packaging to send Greenpeace into a coma.

Life Changes

Where does the time go?

I can’t remember how it came about, but somebody at work brought in a picture of themselves aged around 18, we all had a good giggle at the outrageous clothing and terrible haircuts and everyone said they’d bring their own photos in for people to see. So I dug around in some old photos and found a picture of me shortly after I turned 18 and brought it into work. We collected all the photos together and handed them around to each other in turn and tried to guess who each one was.

Nobody, and I mean nobody could pick me out. Apparently I have changed, some people even point blankly refused to believe it was me…



Me? I didn’t see that much difference, a bit more hair, alright a lot more hair, slightly chubbier face but that was about it.



It just goes to show that life changes us. At some point when I wasn’t looking age has crept up on me and run me over. The various falls, misadventures, hiccups and inevitable unforeseen wrong turns and right turns have all left their marks on us, good and bad and changed us from the naive youngsters we once were into the wisdom burdened adults that face us every morning in the mirror.

I have seen things, done things and been in situations that I will carry with me forever. And if you were ever to look deep into my eyes, into the darkest realms hidden behind all the amazing and beautiful things that I have also been privileged to see and witness you may just catch a glimpse of the dark reality we all live in but are so often blinkered to. Those along with various relationship heart aches and illnesses seem to have taken their toll on the once youthful boy stood in the picture clasped in my hand. Friends often think and joke about the fact that I look a lot older than I actually am, maybe that’s down to me not partaking in the whole male beauty regime that is engulfing the once Neanderthal British male, or maybe it’s life showing through me. That boy I once new so well is now gone and can never return. He has grown up and, no matter how alien it sounds in my mind has become the “adult” looking back down at his own juvenile self. I wonder, if I were to bump into an old college friend that I have not seen since we all departed that wonderful place of study that brought us together, if they would even recognise me. Am I so far departed from the person I once was that I have become completely unrecognisable to somebody I would once have called a close friend?

I wonder…

I wonder if I were to bump into my own 18 year old self if I would recognise myself?

What words of wisdom could I possibly pass onto me? What words of warning? Would I say anything? Telling myself something then would change the person I am now.

Life takes its toll on people in different ways, life changes us whether we want it to or not. But through it all, surely life makes us a better person? I am better for the experiences I have had, for the things I have seen and done. If at the age of 33 I was still the same as the young idiolistic 18 year old in the picture that would be a terrible tragedy. Change has to happen for us to move forward. For us to become the person we are meant to be. Will I look back on a photo of a young 33 year old adult in years to come and think how different I was then? Life continues to happen and change will inevitably follow hand in hand, so I’m sure as far removed as I feel from my adolescent self now I will feel the same in years to come about me now.

Who knows what is around the next corner?

What surprises has life got waiting for us in the shadows?

Whatever it is will transpire no matter what we do to try and avoid it. No matter how wise we think we have become, life always knows better. So why waste the energy trying to fight it? Ride the wave and enjoy the transition from the you now to the you to be…


We are all heading for the person we were destined to be. From that initial lump of clay, each and everyone of us will be moulded by life into a very individual masterpiece.

Nuns and Nazi's???

If you have read my previous entries you will know that I was toying with the idea of escaping this glorious land, albeit just for a week or two and try and find a lost horizon or two.
Well you will be pleased to know that I am stepping out and doing just that. I am broadening my horizons and seeing a bit more of this wonderful planet we like to call Earth.
I browsed and perused the internet looking for inspiration. And then it found me. Next month I will be heading to Austria, Mayrhofen to be precise. Snowy Alps, crystal clear mountain lakes, crisp fresh air, beer, sausages, leather shorts and if The Sound of Music is to be believed plenty of nuns and Nazi’s. Hmmmmm.
This is quite the adventure for me, having only ever travelled overseas twice in my life and on both occasions with somebody else, this time I am doing it all on my lonesome, me myself and I. And if the truth be known I can’t wait. I am planning on spending my time exploring the Alps on foot, horseback and maybe even from the air via a paraglider.
However, having now booked the holiday I fear I may have booked the most difficult destination to pack for. I may encounter every possible weather scenario, from snowy mountain peaks, to sunny days, from rain and drizzle to hurricane winds. It seems almost anything is possible any time of the year. But with my trusty camera in hand I intend to explore and experience as much as I can in my time there. I hope to visit Hitler’s Eagles Nest, the ice caves, obviously get as high up the tallest mountains that I can, maybe spread my wings and see if I can fly. The world is, as they say, my oyster. The only thing holding me back is me. Life is there to be lived so live it. I would hate to leave this planet and be labelled forever as being boring, so from now on I will endeavour to get out of neutral and breathe in as much life as I can.
I will, I’m sure write a few blog entries on my return and who knows maybe include a few pictures of what I believe will be a truly magnificent part of this land.

So wish me luck and God speed as I traverse Gatwick airport and customs and try to survive a week in Austria with my GCSE German.

Lost Horizon?



Hear I come…

Hi-Di-Hi

I was convinced that they had died, much like the Dodo they were no more, extinct, gone, dead, departed, no more of this earth.
But I was wrong...
Still living today, scattered throughout the dark corners of this fine isle are holiday camps. A great British retreat born in the 30's by Mr Billy Butlin, holiday camps spread like gossip in a ladies toilet. Sprouting up around the country family's would find chalet accommodation, entertainment, food and drink and if we are to believe so many Carry On film's their own fair share of naughtiness.
Staff members adorned in brightly coloured coats took care of our ever growing needs and entertained us with cabaret shows dragging the only too willing audience onto stage to participate. Knobbly knee competitions, cutest babies and unadulterated shenanigans were the order of every day.
Many of today's comics started their life in red, blue and green coats. Joe Pasquale, Shane Richie and Michael Barrymore to name but a few. TV shows even took hold of this new found holiday and in the 80's the little box in the corner of the room of every house would spill the vocal talent's of Gladys Pugh into our lounges.
"HI-DE-HI Campers" in her finest Welsh tongue

But as over seas travel became more accessible to us all, with package holidays and cheaper flights we fled in our droves to sunnier climates and far flung destinations. Holiday camps became a thing of embarrassment and comical remembrance of by-gone years and a better time. Why spend your days in British drizzle and cold wooden chalets when you can be wooed by Sun, Sand and Sangria?

I believed these fine establishments had faded away into the history books and only ever remembered by your great nan who would occasionally point to the telly and exclaim "I saw him as a red coat back in 1956 at Skegness. He was never funny then either"
But how wrong I was. They are alive and well.
A good friend of mine who once adorned the famed coloured coats has recently come out of the Hi-De-Hi retirement back catalogue and dusted of his moth eaten coat and is now proclaiming seniority on the holiday camp entertainment stage. In a somewhat curious and supportive fashion I joined him on a trip to an evening show the other night.
As we drove into the grounds on a late weekday evening, mobile homes and chalets appeared through the sea mist into living communities of brightly coloured retreats. Families were busying themselves to get ready for the evenings entertainment. Children ran through the grassed lanes between the mobile homes and played whilst mum and dad dressed for the night out, or is that in? Gaudy flags blew in the breeze from numerous flagpoles, the distant sound of music and a bad DJ drooling into the microphone could just be heard, coloured bikes, shop windows filled with every sweet you could ever want, Red coats hurrying themselves stopping to smile and chat with every holiday maker they passed, a permanent grin super glued to their face that would make The Joker envious.
We parked our car and made our way into the main showroom. Flashing lights and noise assaulted my senses at every step. It was like walking into a rainbow production factory. We entered the main stage area and were treated to even more flashing lights and music, a DJ speaking so closely into the microphone you can only understand every other word. Mums and dads sat around at various tables slowly consuming their own weight in brightly coloured alcoholic beverages whilst the children, without fear of embarrassment or ridicule danced and pranced on the ever so slippery wooden dance floor at the front. Enjoying themselves with the freedom we once knew but have long since forgotten and buried under piles of paperwork and bills. Buzzing with excitement as the lights danced around them and the mirror ball spun precariously above filling the room with a starry spectacular, lost in a world of cartoon proportions and fantasy that will one day come back to haunt them as Mum brings out the family photo album to show your new prospective girlfriend.
Somewhere in a locked closet within my mind I recall doing much the same as a young boy, 8 years old and on holiday. The world could never get better than that moment. There were lights, sweets and loud music, adults behaving like children and permission from my mother to stay up past nine o'clock.
Then later in life, loosed from the chains of parents, a school holiday to Butlins. Marvellous. Disco's, rival schools, teachers desperate to escape, suicide attempts (strange I know but this did happen and resulted in said disturbed child being sent home early leaving me and my best mate with the biggest chalet. This was later even better as my best mate also got sent home early with the pox. My chalet became the place to be...It was the party chalet) all of this and now also... GIRLS. Oh the mystery. If only I knew then what I know now.

We purchase a couple of drinks and stand near the back of the auditorium to watch the nights entertainment. Word of warning, never sit too close to the front at this kind of affair or you will be dragged kicking and screaming into some ridiculous spectacle you wish you were too drunk to remember.
The evening kicks off with a round or two of BINGO. Cuddly toys are the order of the day as far as prizes go. This is not a big budget do. You just know the minute you get your prized plush toy home the stitching will have ripped, stuffing spilling from it's sides like some bizarre toy road kill and you will see the same said toy on the next episode of Watchdog. The Red coat in charge of the game sits at her table and with the enthusiasm of a puppy with a new bone calls out the various numbers. Although now things have gone all politically correct. Two fat ladies are no more. Instead we are treated to, "two ladies, perfectly happy with their size but attending weight watchers in order to fit into their new jeans... Eighty eight."
And so it goes on...
Eventually the torture ends and we are treated to more disco but this time a red coat is forced into some costume of a young lad with an absurdly large head and takes the children on what would have been a conga when I was a lad around the chairs. Photos are taken with forced smiles and children bursting into uncontrollable tears as the poor sugar induced hallucinating youngster is forced to stand next to the big headed goon.
The main act of the evening is then introduced, a singing comic. HORAH...
With jokes and acts stolen from numerous TV comics the man with the absurd bleached hair bursts into life. Ever so slowly killing once great songs his act begins. Had Simon Cowell been in the audience the first note would have sent him into desperate vocal convulsions to stop him and make him leave... His jokes were, on occasion funny, sometimes raising more than just groans from the audience and obtaining something that resembled a laugh.
He was... Awful. BUT he was so awful he was good. Intentional or not I actually enjoyed his act albeit one or two songs too many. He made me laugh and more often cringe, somewhere inside me I had the feeling he had watered down his act somewhat to make it children friendly. To give him his due he had the courage to get up there in the first place and do something my body just wouldn't let me do. I would have been a quivering wreck backstage clinging desperately onto any solid structure I could find. But he is the kind of act that would make that holiday memorable. I can still remember acts from my holidays and I'm sure you can too.
Holiday camps are alive and well, with a bit of a makeover from my day but they are still there creating the childhood memories I'm certain we all have.
Long may they continue, a British tradition yet to be completely whitewashed from our ever quickening fall into a mixed pool of worlds traditions and ideas.

HI-DI-HI?

HO-DI-HO...

Episode III - A new Home

Well here we are on a new site. For those of you that don't already know, my blog started it's meagre existence on a little know website called Facebook, you may have heard of it? Anyway I decided to move it to it's very own site and so here it is. Not a great deal, just my ramblings really. I have yet to find the reason why blogs have become so popular. Maybe it is the new technological diary for people, but yet a diary was always a secret treasured item, something you shared your intimate feelings and emotions with, things you kept from your mum, first kiss, fears, loves, hates all the sort of things you generally don't tell anyone except for maybe that closest of friends. So why would you now want to share all of that with the entire world?
Maybe it is for the budding novelist? In a world of quick fixes and instant "celebrities" having appeared momentarily on some reality show we think that by writing down a few thoughts and stories we will become the next C S Lewis or J K Rowling and make a fortune. Have our uneducated dribble made into the next Hollywood blockbuster and live the lifestyle we all so supposedly want?
Who knows?
I know I do I because it's a place for me to just express what I am feeling at the time. I don't particularly care if anyone reads it or not. It's not for anyone else, it's for my own personal benefit, but then why post? Why not just write files in Word and store them? Why share it all? Maybe somewhere in the dark recess of my mind I want that Hollywood lifestyle?
Maybe...
Maybe not...
But for what it's worth it's here, on these pages that I will occasionally write my thoughts and just maybe somebody will read it and then just maybe somebody may get something from it, but I very much doubt that that somebody will be me, at least not with a book or a new film.
So should you be that somebody, or an anybody or infact a nobody you are all welcome and should you wish to comment and tell me to shut my cake hole because the internet is already full to the brim with idle nonsense then please feel free, who am I to stop you?

But then again who are you?

Watching you, Watching me...

Being a fairly pleasant day I decided to take a stroll into town and partake in one of the worlds favourite pastimes of people watching. Oh how we love it, you only have to see how many reality TV shows are forced into our living rooms to see how much we love to eavesdrop on the everyday acts of the stranger around us. Whether its your average Joe or so called Celebrity we love nothing more than glimpsing a snapshot of supposed reality and how the other half live, now all from within the comfort of our own lounge we can snoop into the lives of others being paraded, dirty washing and all on prime time television.
The sun was shinning and with barely a cloud in the sky walking along the prom to town seemed the perfect route. There are not many things in this world more comical than the great British public on seeing a slight glimmer of sunshine. With the smallest of rays of sun breaking free from behind a cloud you will find countless individuals stripped to a near naked presence, present themselves on the beach to try and get a head start on the famed British tan. With what can only be described as an Oscar winning performance they lay there refusing to show that they are in fact freezing, their arms adorned with countless goose bumps as they fight back shivers from the biting sea breeze, with various catalogue poses which have surely been practiced in front of bedroom mirrors making every effort to find comfort amongst the pebbled shores. I have never been one to enjoy sitting on a beach, especially ones as uncomfortable as those found along our beautiful south coast. It rates up there with walking on hot coals and sitting on one of those car abacuses made popular in the 80’s. Whomever came up with the concept that driving a car whilst sitting on a mat made of beads is good for you must certainly now be sitting in the biggest, softest armchair laughing at the poor fools who still believe that the ability to add up your tax returns with the flexing of left and right butt cheek whilst driving is doing your posture good. If anything should be banned whilst driving it’s those things. Trying to remove a bead from some deep dark crevice has got to be more distracting than ordering your pizza on the way home from work with your mobile phone.
Progressing past the frozen sun worshipers I come across a parade of yummy mummy’s out for a stroll and a gossip. Walking six deep they take up the width of the prom, each pushing the latest in Land Rover off road buggies, who’s biggest challenging obstacle is a slightly raised drain cover or a cracked paving slab. With wheels that wouldn’t seem out of place on Big Foot they approach dauntingly in a pushchair drag race knowing no obstacle is too great for the mighty off roaders. Taking drastic, evasive action so as not to end up as road kill I move out into the path of oncoming cars and practice the less challenging danger of speeding motorists who are trying to remove beads from places best left alone.
Finally I make it into town, having survived the joggers with their lycra clad legs, cyclists who don’t seem to understand what cycle paths are for and quad bike beach patrols who, from what I can tell spend their days driving up and down the beach throwing up pebbles in their wake and generally destroying the poetic sounds of waves breaking along the shoreline. I make my way to a coffee shop where upon I am forced into ordering what I am sure is just a milky coffee but given some indulgent, mysterious Italian name. When all this happened I am not quite sure, some politically correct paper pushing terrorist that has never left the safety of his own four walls has decided that somebody somewhere may just take offence should I decide to order a black coffee and deemed it necessary that from now on we must indulge our caffeine addiction in various guises, under the different Italian pseudonyms so that no one, other than maybe every Italian on hearing our poor mispronunciation of their delightful language will take offence.
I take my “Latte”, milky coffee and find my seat outside whereupon I can watch the world go by. No sooner said than done a motorized driven super gran tears along the pavement. Peering over the top of her wire rimmed spectacles with a glint in her eye, her lips pursed as if sucking on a lemon, she travels at speed on her retro fitted chair boasting more gadgets than Bond’s latest Aston Martin and not looking out of place in the Wacky Racers, she finds her target, a small group of hoodies loitering outside a shop minding their own business, she depresses the turbo boost and with a flick of a switch walking sticks protrude from the wheels she mows down the innocent youths. Scattering the group who have found themselves having to dive for cover and slipping on the oil slick of Murray mints left in her wake she steams off to find her next unknowing target.
As the lunch hour descends upon us I am soon joined by various office folk eager to escape the dreary fluorescent-lit offices and savour a few moments of freedom. Young men forced into a suit and tie, polished shoes and manicured nails, they take their seats and unwrap some factory made lunch offering. I have never really done fashion, I’ve always worn what I found comfortable and never became a slave to the latest must have designer jeans or shirts, mainly because I have a very rare talent of making the most expensive designer garment look like sack cloth. There seems to be a new trend at the moment, which I just don’t get. It appears that Big Ben has been slightly sized down and wrapped around peoples wrists. What is it with the huge watches at the moment? Is people’s eyesight so bad that they need something that big? You could have left your watch at home on your bedside table and still see what the time is. Heaven forbid that they come with night-lights and you get sat next to one at the cinema. You could send SOS messages into the eternal universe with one of them. Leaving the boys in suits alone and their enormous timepieces, I am drawn to the very comical stage show now being paraded in front of me. There is a new challenge of finding somewhere, anywhere to indulge in the near prohibited act of smoking. People emerge from various hidden doorways and endeavour to light up in a place free from accusation and disgust. Cowering in doorways, behind bushes and in small American Football huddles these poor addicted fools partake in a lungful or two of smoke hoping that the anti-fag police are not looking on ready to pounce with fire extinguishers and leaflets showing damaged lungs.
Soon after this various school children break away from the confines of the classroom and descend on the town. Consuming as much sugar, artificial colours and calories as their lunch hour enables they swarm from shop to shop. Each of them trying in some small way to personalise the uniformed appearance forced upon them by their school. Ties tied short, back to front or tucked into the shirt soon after the top button, bending the rules ever so slightly by wearing a non conforming school jumper or trousers tight enough to count the small change in your pocket they endeavour to free themselves from the restraints of rules and regulations. Unknowingly this is their time of true freedom, soon enough they will be forced into suits and polished shoes and required to order Italian coffees paying three times the amount for a cup large enough to go paddling in so that we can feel European for a brief moment and dream of sitting in the sun by a fountain watching the colourful world go by whilst devouring a Ciabatta.
What has happened to our own identity? Why do we try to be anything but British?
Give me a good old-fashioned ploughman’s lunch and the hot beverage of my choice served from a thermos flask any day. Why is it we all want to leave this fine and glorious land but everyone else wants to get in? We flock in our hundreds and thousands to distant shores and far-flung places to establish our own versions of Britain on foreign soil and for those of us unable to we are offered the briefest of glimpses of this escape during our lunch breaks in every high street of our fair towns and cities. For a country once famed for its proud traditions and way of life we have slipped onto a very steep slope and have started to slide into a mixed gene pool of fashion and forced beliefs served to us on a silver platter of promises and dreams of a better life. Historians of the future will barely be able to distinguish one country from another as we all mix and lose our own customs. Soon the rainbow of diversity in all of us will be washed down into a very dull grey, as we all slowly but surely become the same as the person next to us. Rejoice in our differences and eccentricities, cherish them, for very soon if we listen to the glossy magazines and the spotty professionals paraded in front of us who have barely started living yet and keep telling us what to wear and how to act we will soon be just another mass produced human being of no distinguishable characteristics lost in the very glamour and cultures we longed for in the first place. Be yourself and not what somebody else tells you, you should be, for I fear if we all conform the very act of people watching will cease to be and our TV screens will be inundated with home makeovers and gardening programmes once more