Know your day is gonna come.

This week has been unbelievably busy at work.
This hasn't been such a bad thing, 'cos it's helped take my mind of things. Things that I have no control over and yet things....things that linger in your head.
Unresolving things....

I'm working all over the weekend, so no break for me until next Thursday.

I've been invited out Saturday night. I said, "maybe", 'cos I think I just want some time to myself this weekend. So that "maybe" could well turn into a "some other time".

There's been some good news in the camp today.
Maybe this will give me a little boost, as I've been a little low of late.

I've burnt myself on the iron tonight. It's in the usual place where I always catch myself, on the inside of my right arm. It's a little red, it stings a little, it looks like it's gonna be sore, but I'll live.

The Blagger bought his girlfriend, Krusty, a lovely white gold bracelet, with little diamonds linked through it, for her birthday. It's really lovely.

Yesterday, I spent a lot of, listening to some new albums. Apart from the new Embrace one, I also heard The Zutons, Jamie Foxx, Skin, Panic at the disco, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Morrissey and Fall out boy.

Damn, my taste is improving.

I'm kinda struggling with the new Embrace CD. I wasn't too taken by the single "Natures Law" and hoped it wasn't a good representation of the CD. Whilst not being wrong, I was damn close!
That said, I'm quite enjoying repeat listening, trying to get off the fence and decide either way if I like it or not.
I want to love it like I do all their other albums. I want find little hooks in each track and pull Danny's lyrics apart.
The jury is still out....

The title track is a stonker though!
*ahem*

I've got to tell you in my loudest tones, that I started looking for a warning sign.

The inevitable has happened.

Leon has died.
He is almost certainly beyond resuscitation now and I think it's time to let him go off to a better place.

Not wanting to dwell on the bad times, instead I'm reminiscing of the good times we shared. Those nights when we would talk about girls, music, dancing and getting high. Those times when he would just sit there and listen intently to my every word, without judging me once. Those times when he was the familiar face that greeted me as I opened the door and said "Hi Leon, how's your day been?"

So....no more....

He has been with me since I rescued him from the shelf in a B & Q Warehouse. Looking out of place amongst other, let's say, 'flowery' plants, I could do nothing to fight off my impulsive purchase and subsequent meeting of one of my dear friends on this journey of mine.

We've been through some great times. We've been through so all time lows. We've seen our fair share of every stretch of emotional plane and each time, we've both been there for each other on the other side.

I feel it's time to move on to the next level with this journey of mine. His time with me is now done and it's down to me to either continue alone, or find another companion who will hopefully see me through the next stages.

I'm gonna have a glass of wine, raise it up with a smile in my eyes and bid farewell to my dear Leon.


How I shall remember him, in his more 'healthy' days, alongside Mathilda.

Light up, light up....As if you have a choice.

Not much seems to be making sense at the moment.

I'm left feeling choked by frustration.

In other news, I had somebody out this morning to value my house.
But that's a whole different story.

I haven't slept well for a while now. Even when I lie there, knowing full well that I'm near exhausted, I still manage to stay awake to watch the end of the DVD I play.

To help wind myself down, I'm now in the middle of my second glass of cheap, shitty wine and I'm about to roll up another spliff.

I'm chuffed to fuckery about getting my Radiohead tickets, but I can't seem to show it at the moment. I see the current 'going rate' is now over £100, which is ridiculous, but that's a whole new post!

I think now maybe a good time to try and finish off drawing that tattoo of mine.

When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye.

Yesterday, I picked up my Christmas present off my parents.

A lawnmower!

I now have a terrible fear that in their eyes, they see me as a 'practical/logical/routine' kinda guy.

You gotta fight, for your right, to party.

Maybe it's time I cooled down my 'open house' policy.

Since I've been in this place of mine, I've always been happy to have people around. Sometimes this has been just one other person, sometimes it's been more.

Last night's Plan B was an odd affair. Ten of us met up at a pub not far from here and we stayed until just before midnight. Then it suddenly dawned on a couple of people that coming back to mine wasn't such a good idea because I didn't have any drink in the house. What followed was a fiasco of trying to buy bottles of vodka from behind the bar, which didn't materialise and then people racking their brains to think of a shop which would still be serving alcohol.
Not far from where we were is a couple of supermarkets of the 24 hour variety. I tried to tell them that even though they were 24 hours, they would have to close on a Saturday night, due to Sunday trading hours. It seems they all knew better and subsequently phoned said supermarkets, only to be greeted with a recorded message stating that on Saturdays, they close at 10pm.

Some of them looked decidedly pissed off that not only could they not continue getting pissed after the pub closed, but "Shock Horror", I had no alcohol in my house and therefore as far as they were concerned....and I quote, "Well, there's no point coming back then, if you have nothing to drink!"

I can't understand what the big deal was?
They know me, well...sort of. They know I'm not a 'drinker' by nature, so it should come as no big surprise to them that I don't keep a 24 pack of beers cooled in the fridge, 2 bottles of fine wine, a huge bottle of vodka, a bottle or two of Aftershock and various mixers in the house.

It kinda grieved me that half of them had by now, decided their evening was over and left when their taxis arrived. But then again, it was their choice.
A few minutes later, I was unsettled once again. This time by a ridiculous conversation over Paintguy's puppy.
He assumed we would be calling back at his place on the way back to mine, to pick up his puppy and bring her back here. Where he got that idea, I can't even begin to understand! He knows I'm not a big fan of dogs anyway, but that aside, his cute little puppy (and yes, she is cute) is nowhere near house-trained yet. Add to that fact, that she is a typical playful puppy that likes nothing more than to scratch corners of the carpets up and chew anything that's left lying about and surely my reasons for saying "no" were founded.
It appears not, because what followed was a stupid conversation about why I wouldn't let him bring his dog back here. I stood my ground, but for those 20 minutes, I was made to feel like a complete wanker because a.p.p.a.r.e.n.t.l.y....I was being unreasonable and if I wouldn't let Paintguy bring her back, he wouldn't be staying and would be going home.
He went home.

As usual, I was the designated driver by choice. It appears that in those circumstances, it's perfectly acceptable that I'm not bothered about having a drink and suddenly I became a bit of a savior because I could drive them over to Krusty's house, since she'd declared she had a full bottle of vodka and some shorts that she could bring.

The rest of the evening was ok, but nothing special. A glass got broken, Leon had the piss taken out of him, Homer got abused and photographed a few times but the pool table didn't surface.

This morning, the state of the kitchen told many a tale. As my coffee maker bubbled and made those peculiar "ppprrrrrkkkkkkkkk" noises, I stood there wondering what to clean up first as I heard footsteps on the second floor as people began to surface.
One by one, they disappeared through the front door and I was left to finish washing up 3 million glasses, put Homer back in his happy place and run the vacuum around like somebody possessed.

So maybe it's time for me to cool off on the "Yeah, everybody come back to mine" malarky.

Pull me out of the aircrash, pull me out of the lake. I'm your superhero ,we are standing on the edge.

Once again, plan B has come into operation.

The whole night round Sniffer's place, with some cool friends and a blast from the past, with me spinning choones on the turntables....is gonna have to be rescheduled.

Plan B....well, it started in the pub for a quickie after work. There was me, The Blagger and Krusty just having a quick drink discussing a possible reschedule for the Sniffer night. I asked what they had planned and they replied that they would probably just stay in.
I suggested that if they wanted to pop round mine, then they were more than welcome.
This then escalated from a suggested 3 people round my place, just for a little chill out session, into him getting on his phone and then calling me an hour later to inform me that there were now 10 of us going out and then coming back to mine.

This could get messy!

The pool table will inevitably see some action (of the pool playing variety, not the sexual kind).
My 5 foot cardboard cut out of Homer will undoubtedly rear his ugly head sometime during the evening (sexual action may well take place here though).
Leon will most likely get the piss taken out of him.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit feeling disappointed about Plan A didn't rise to fruition, but Plan B sounds ok and I'm quite looking forward to just having a laugh and chilling out.
And ya never know, I might even make a girl smile during the evening.

This morning at 9 o'clock, I once again put myself through the stress of trying to get some concert tickets. Once again, I had 2 phones on redial and 4 webpages trying to refresh in desperation. At just after 9.10am, I managed to get through on one of the phonelines, only to be greeted with a recorded message informing me that "all the tickets were now sold out!". I persevered with the web pages and the other phonelines and over the next 20 minutes, each one giving me the same message, "All tickets are now sold out!".
I finally gave up, just in time for my first customer of the day. She had been in the previous day and I'd asked her very nicely, if she would mind coming in at half past instead because I was gonna be all stressed out trying to get these tickets.

She asked me about them and her face dropped when I told her I couldn't get any, bless her.

Just as we were finishing, my next pair of customers arrived and sat waiting for me. As I sat them down at my desk, I noticed that 1 of the webpages that hadn't been refreshing....just sitting there with the blue bars down the bottom moving slower than a snail stuck on glue, had indeed refreshed. Not only that, but it was on the screen when I type in my details and card number to buy them.
It's bad, I know....But as I sat there with my customers, chatting away about their morning and the weather and their pet cats, I was secretly filling in the field boxes with all my details and my card numbers and secretly praying....and praying.
They wondered what had happened, when half way through their conversation about their grandson in university, I jumped a little off my chair and kinda...squeeked!

I am indeed going here!

Into the half light, another velvet morning for me, yeah.

I suffered an uncomfortable night's sleep.

I woke up to my radio alarm playing Gnarls Barkley, lay there for a while with a smile on my face whilst soaking up the driving bassline and thumping beat. I had every intention of getting up, jumping in the shower, donning my combats and a t-shirt before tackling the tasks for the day.
The next time my eyes opened, the clock has moved forward an hour, Faithless was on the radio and my smile had turned to a frustrated frown.

A few days ago, I woke up feeling all twisted. Evidence of a restless night being proven by waking up almost sideways in the bed, my quilt cover scrunched up in an untidy mound only covering the lower half of my body and the throw I have on top of the quilt had somehow found it's way to the other side of the room.
A twisted pain in my left side, presumably from sleeping in a weird position, left me with a feeling of being repeatedly punched by several people wearing boxing gloves during the night. It was both painful and annoying and I probably wouldn't have minded so much had it been a result of some acrobatic sex during the night, but unless during my restless sleeping, my hands took a mind of their own and launched into a marathon wanking session, I can only put it down to the fact that just lately....I'm not sleeping very well.

Last night, I found myself waking up frequently because I felt so uncomfortable. I shuffled, shifted, tossed and turned, desperately trying to find a comfy position to drift back off to sleep, only to wake up a few moments later with the same predicament.
My bed is comfortable, my quilt and sheets are soft and my pillows are the kind that let your head sink right into them, so how come I struggled to get into my usual peaceful position and drift off until morning?
Quite simply, my dick.
For some reason (and I can't recall any sexy dreams), my dick decided to launch itself into 'stiffy mode' and no amount of reasoning with it, or trying to think of things like this could convince the bugger to play dead.

Ok, so I can understand that girls may not have such an easy life either, with their tits being something that perhaps makes going to sleep on your front a little, erm....awkward. Although of course, this is speculation on my part as I'm not yet the owner of a pair of 'man boobs' and presumably the bigger the chest, the more problems they provide. That said though, surely nothing can provide more discomfort than an erection that just wont take no for an answer and seems to go out of it's way to make anything other than lying on your back bearable.

Maybe I'm just a fussy sleeper. I've never been aware of that before and perhaps I should succumb to wearing a sports jock strap in bed from now on, to keep everything in it's place.

Walk out into velvet, nothing more to say.

What is it about people who drive posh cars?!

Ok, so they appear to hold a certain status by smoking around in something that costs as much as a semi detached house did several years ago, but as soon as they get behind the wheel, their ego grows into an untouchable force.
Or so they think.

A guy pulled up and parked outside our Dealership earlier today in his BMW 3 Series. Not only did he exit the car with such a fuss, in order to draw as much attention to himself, but he parked the fucker right in the middle of a driveway, thus blocking everybody trying to get in and out.
He strolled around the used car pitch, with a sneer on his face that resembled somebody chewing a wasp.
When I approached him to ask him if he wouldn't mind moving his car slightly, perhaps into one of the empty car parking spaces, he gave me a look as if I'd just asked him to sleep with his mother, then said he'd finished looking at our paltry selection and strolled back to his car.

Ever notice when you see one of these tossers driving on the road, that they never use the indicators! Is it because the cars are so expensive and exclusive that they don't come with them as standard and indicators are an optional extra....or perhaps they feel above actually using them. Or maybe it's down to the fact that they feel everybody else on the road should part the way, in a fashion similar to Moses parting the Red Sea, so they can rule the road.

I can't remember a time when they've cut me any slack on the roads. When I'm waiting at a junction to pull out and I see what might be an available space to slip into, I might as well forget it if it's a tosser in such a car. They normally see that a slight gap has appeared in front of them and that I am waiting for them to flash their lights or give me a gesture to take the chance, but instead, they speed up, closing the gap and avoid eye contact at all costs.

I'm taking a whole day off work tomorrow!
A rarity I know, though I must admit that I was gonna go in for a couple of hours in the morning. This brief thought was kicked in the bollocks by the side of my brain that convinced me to take off the time that I'm due.

I have a million and one things to do and a lie in isn't one of them. Although I may allow myself to sleep in a little more than I usually do, I find waking up from a naturally waking lie in more frustrating than anything else because I'm cursing myself at the things I could have got done while I was enjoying that dream about 'insert lovely dream details here'.

Saturday, a few of us are going round Sniffers place. It's been one of those nights that we've tried to organise for ages but has never materialised, due to everybody else having other commitments, but this weekend appears to be best option.
He has asked me dig out some of my old skool 12" singles from my DJ days and spin some choones on his turntables.

Go me!

New music files on the bedshaped jukebox on the right sidebar.

To find the sunshine in the rain, to turn the ashes into flames.

Inspired by a post from somebody I don't even know.

On the 31st of December 1999, I was ready to end it all.
I hadn't made the decision because it seemed like a fitting way to see out the end of the century, it was more so because I didn't want to face the turn of the new year...the new century, in the same way as I had faced the last years of the previous one.

Facing up to the fact that my marriage had failed a few years earlier threw me into a depression. Trying to come to terms with the reasons and the absolute feeling of being used, dragged me down into the bleakest and darkest depths of a place I'd never want to return.

Nobody had any idea what was going on in my head. I had almost perfected the smiles, the happy-go-lucky and the 'mask' that I have subsequently over the years, learnt to carry off without even thinking.

In the year leading up to the (non) event, I found myself trying desperately to be wanted. A string of unsuccessful relationships left me feeling empty and no amount of attention from girls managed to convince me I was worth anything more than shit on their shoes. I was going through a period of being convinced that every girl I would have a relationship with, was based on a 'need' from them to be wanted....a need from them to be with somebody...and nothing to do with actually wanting to be with me.

My only solace during that year, was my visits to gay clubs with my ex wife, purely for the feeling of 'release'. The music was way, way, way beyond the average par. The people were uber-friendly and the atmosphere made me feel like I could let go of my inner fears, even for such a short moment and feel as close to myself as I felt was possible at the time.
There was no posing, no pressure, no "watch how cool I am" feelings in there and the ambiance left me with a feeling of hope.
This wasn't to last, mainly because I felt like I was almost intruding on territory that I didn't belong, even though I went with my ex-wife, who by this time was out to her few closest friends and her immediate family.

Emptiness seemed to fill my eyes and I felt like my soul needed to be set free.

During the week leading up to the eve of the Millennium, I ensured I was as 'normal' as the painting I had portrayed for others to see. I didn't go out of my way to see or speak to friends or family, just in case I drew their attention to something being wrong.

After very little thought, my choice of poison was handfuls of sleeping tablets and as much vodka as I could stomach. Ironic then, because I have always struggled to take tablets and I can't say I'm a big fan of vodka at the best of times. But the focus was on the result, not the method.

Sat alone in a room in the house, I could countdown the time by the explosions of fireworks being set off outside by the party revellers in the same street. I can remember thinking how absurd it felt that so many other people were building up to the excitement and celebrations of a new year, a new decade and a new era and there was me using their fireworks countdown as a measure to the end.

Feeling completely unselfish at the time, I didn't even give a second thought to the people I was about to leave behind. As far as I was concerned, everybody was better off without me. I even convinced myself that after the initial shock they may feel, followed by some anger and frustration, they would all get over it fairly quickly and their own lives would continue without even looking back on what I'd done.
It's quite unreal just how selfish you feel when contemplating suicide.

During the last hour, I pondered about leaving a note. I pretty much knew that none of my friends or family had any idea about my motives that night because I'd been careful not be act 'out of the ordinary'. I became frustrated with myself with what to say, building more unwanted turmoil in my head during the final 30 minutes before finally deciding that I just wanted to say goodbye to everybody.
It didn't seem right....It didn't seem fitting....It made me feel even more uncomfortable with myself that I was even bothering to spend so much time trying to say such a simple thing, but failing.

Nothing got written down for a while. I just sat there on the edge of the bed with a pen in one hand, a scrap of paper in the other feeling blank.

With less than 5 minutes to go, I finally put pen to paper and wrote, "There was no hope for me, I'm sorry". Those words will always stay burnt in the back of my mind.

When the time came, I glanced down at the handful of pills in my palm, the pills now losing some of their coating from the clammy sweat, leaving white powdery traces. The bottle of vodka sat on the floor, beside my feet.
It was time.

To this day, I don't know why I couldn't swallow those pills. My mouth was heaving with dozens of pills, the vodka being poured in, trying to wash them down but to no avail. I felt a huge battle going on between my determination to swallow them down and a slight sense of sanity. For some reason, my throat just closed up and refused to allow me to continue. By this time, tears were streaming down my face, although I'm still not sure if they were tears of frustration or relief.

It's not something I look back on with admiration or pride. Although I have, on occasion, thought back to how weak I felt at the time and somehow managed to find a tiny glimmer of hope to get through it.
And when I look back, even after writing this....I feel like I must have had something to offer. Something to offer myself, or maybe in time, even something to offer someone else.

There is always hope.

It ain't me, ooh it's gotta be you.

I'm currently faced with a barrage of bills.

As I am still within my first 12 months of owning my own place, this is all still new to me. I am however, already coming to the conclusion that Companies strategically talk amongst themselves to decide when the most (in)appropriate time will be to send all their bills together.

In front of me, I currently have bills for Gas, Electric, Water rates, Council Tax (spit), and 2 credit cards.
Most, if not all of them state, quite clearly, that the best way to pay is by direct debit. That suits me fine because I'd rather have a case of 'little and often' rather than 'all in one go'.

In this day and age of technology, the internet, the web et al...all of them bragg that the 'easiest' way to set up such a direct debit is to go online to the subsequent website, fill in the appropriate details, hit the 'send' button and Bob's literally your Uncle.
I have however, hit a problem and I'm thinking more and more that it's something that they've planned to make this 'easy way to pay' as difficult as possible.

The first problem I have is filling in the full address of my Bank. Maybe this doesn't sound so difficult, but every statement I have just lists a PO Box in Glasgow and even though I've been to Scotland, I can't ever remember ever opening up a Bank account up there.
I Googled....I Asked Jeeves...Hell, I even tried some of the more *ahem* dubious search engines, to no avail.
It's come to an age where 'personal services' have been taken away from us.
I made the mistake of phoning my Bank a while ago, only to be connected with some foreign guy, who not only had difficulty speaking English, but couldn't understand the simple instruction of "I want to transfer some money please!"

After a phone call to my mum, who seems to be the all seeing, all knowing person to such an extreme that without even a single pause of breath, appeared to reel off the full address, including the postcode (She probably knows the Managers' name and date of birth) and I could continue to fill in the fields on the website form.
The next problem was the 'customer reference number'. This would be the number, as they state on the bill, that 'appears on the front of the bill'. These reference numbers always seem to consist of a few letters, then numbers, a few slashes here and there and on occasion, some dashes. The only problem being that the spaces on the sites for these reference numbers are only able to take about 10 digits. So what am I supposed to do with all the rest of the numbers, letters and slashes that make up the reference number?
There is, quite simply...no logic to which part of the number they want.

It's a fucking conspiracy!

No problem I'm thinking, because there's a phone number that I can call, also listed on the bill, if I get into trouble.
Lo and behold, I either get through to a foreign guy who can't understand that I want to set up a direct debit to pay my bill, or I'm faced with a string of automated responses where I'm supposed to press corresponding numbers on my keypad to get through to the correct person.

There's only so many times I can press the number for "And for all other enquiries, press 8" before I give up.

After attempting to set up 3 of my bills on direct debit, I find I am no further forward and will have to resort to filling out the attached form and using the good old reliable post system.

So much for technology, huh!

I lost my piece of mind somewhere along the way.

Three days between posting? Wow, my life must be so, so busy!

Nope.

Take some worry (ex-wife K), add some pub activity on Friday evening, sprinkle on some phone action, mix in a dose of pool playing last night, stir in a few late nights, fold in some very fast driving, beat together with some piss poor tv and then top off with emotions ranging from worry, sadness, emptiness, frustration and panic to laughter, butterflies and hope.

The decision has been made to make a few changes in my house this week. I would like to completely empty out all my cupboards, wipe them all out clean and restack everything in a completely different order. My bedroom will once again be re-arranged and I'd like to spend at least one evening in the garage, sorting out the junk and getting rid of it, so I can make some room in there.
This is all on top of once again cleaning the complete house from top to bottom in a fashion similar to to those two old ladies on that TV program, who go into peoples houses and find all sorts of dirty crap.
It's not that my house isn't clean or tidy....It is!

I guess I'm just going through one of those moments I tend to get, when I feel the need to clean...and change things...and make things different...and feel better about it.

I'm the lie living for you, so you can hide.

The best news I've had all week, is that my ex-wife K has been for tests earlier today and the results say "don't panic!". She has been given some meds, told to rest more than she is doing and go back for another check up in 3 months time.

*Exhale huge relief*

I suspect I may have a house guest next week. Krusty is going away from Sunday 'til Thursday, so The Blagger will be at a loss. There have been a few subtle mentions of us getting together a lot more next week, but he's not mentioned staying over here, or me staying at his. I might just come out with it tomorrow, still being subtle, but more to the point like, "I know you're gonna miss Krusty while she's away, so just remember you're always welcome at mine, if you want some company."

I think Leon is dying. His once lavish, green leaves have wilted and are turning a reddish/brown. I don't even know what kind of plant he is, otherwise I would seek some 'help' on the net, in the hope that I may be able to revive him.
It's very cold here. Has been for the past months or so, with bitter winds and low temperatures. He always suffers with cases of Mr Floppy around the cold weeks, but I can't ever recall him looking so....sad.

Having already lost one of companions on this journey, namely Jewel, the cat I rescued from a centre of unwanted pets, when she went out one day....never to return, I don't want to have to handle losing my last travelling friend.

His soil is moist, his stem is strong, he has plenty of light and his current home is plenty big enough for his roots.
And yet he's faltering....drooping....looking sad....

I'm beginning to think that spending too much time in the bath, gives way to my mind going off an strange tangents.

Is this how most relationships follow:

Interest....excitement...butterflies in the stomach....more revealing of each other....spend more time together....talk about loads of stuff....compliments...attention....lots of action in the sex department....can't get enough of each...hurt when apart....get closer...reveal more....spend so much time together, eventually move in together....loving the feeling....devotion follows....discover some things you didn't know about each other....turn your nose up about a few things....feelings changing....try to be forgiving...sex becomes more of a routine....the attraction fades...the excitement fails...the butterflies have long since died....began to have straying eyes....become aware of 'other people'....life becomes routine....less to say to each other....relish the safeness of the relationship, but crave the excitement....think back on the times when you were both fresh to each other.....try to rekindle something....realise that "this may be it"....become stubborn.....tit for tat.....become resentful....

And thanks....for the trouble you took from her eyes.

This week has been pretty awful for me.

When I think back over the time I've been working at my current haunt, the past 3 1/2 days have been the most frustrating, unpleasant, distressing, troublesome and quite frankly mentally crushing days I've experienced.

The most frustrating part of my job is having to rely on other people to bring it all together. Having to rely on an Admin Department, which is currently down to less than half their usual staffing levels is difficult at the best of times, but this week all I've heard is, "Taxing girl isn't in, she's off sick, so we're not gonna get that done today", "There's nobody looking after booking in the cars at the moment, so you can't sell that for another couple of days", or "I'm sorry, there's nobody here who can help you."
Easy for them to say, because they don't have to explain to the customer that they can't have their brand spanking new car due to people being off sick or whatever and even though we are one of the biggest car selling groups in the Country...we don't appear to have any contingency plans.

Just lately, our beloved transport department have been about as useful as a bra made out of ice cream and I've lost count of the amount of times The Car Manufacturer that I sell cars for 'delayed' delivery to us because they "can't find the car!"
How the hell do you lose a car?!

Despite feeling as frustrated as a recovering alcoholic on a visit to The Guinness Factory, I'm still smiling.

I can't put it down to recently experiencing ravenous sex, basically because that hasn't happened.
Neither can I put it down to winning the lottery or being the recipient of a huge pay rise, in fact, money has been tighter than ever for me this month.
And no, Angelina hasn't dumped Brad and declared her undying love for me, unless you count the dream I had a few weeks ago.

The chalk lines keep getting rubbed out,
Redrawn.
Pushing and pulling melts down the defenses,
Rebuilding.

Cried when she should and she laughed when she should....

Tonight, I've had the pleasure of 'guy talk' in the pub.

It's the talk that kinda revolves around latest conquests and "what I did with her" and all that shit.
I really can't be doing with it and mark my presence with a nod, a "yeah" and a focus on the guy who's talking all the bullshit.
The sad fact of the matter being, that most of the guys have probably never done what they exclaim to have done and instead just wished...or dreamt..or fantasized about it.

I felt completely out of the group.

I really struggle, especially lately, with groups of guys when they launch into their sexual extravaganzas

My only solace being...when my phone bleeped and it felt like I was with somebody human again.

Make it worth it, 'cos time is beating our hearts.

As I was lay in the bath earlier, I was thinking about pubic hair.

It's a funny old thing, is pubic hair. It's almost like a mark of maturity and yet, when people reach that point, they feel it necessary to either hide it, wipe it out, shape it, trim it, or sometimes leave it to do natures' course.

I can't even remember how old I was when I first grew pubes. I was trying to think back earlier and all I could remember was the dread of having to take a shower with all the other boys after a lesson of physical education. We used to have one of the wanky teachers that would stand there and insist we all got in the showers at the same time. He would moan and shout at us if we tried to dodge it and would stand there tapping his foot and going onnnn and onnnn until he had seen everybody at least get wet.
From a hygienic point of view, sure, it's a good thing. From a teenager's point of view, it's hell!

Trying my hardest to think back, I still can't remember what age I was when I first started 'sprouting'. Not only that, but I also couldn't remember just how they grew!
I mean....did they just show up in even growth one day or did I get the occasional hair growing, until I finally gained my 'maturity bush'

Guys are lucky, I guess, mainly because when it comes to keeping the 'hair levels' down, in most cases, that only involves shaving our faces. I am (So I'm told), in the minority when it comes to guys actually looking after their pubes. It's been mentioned several times on here before about my feelings of pubes, especially on a guy and how I have to maintain a certain...erm...standard.

Girls however...well, it's a whole new kettle of fish in that respect. There's the leg shaving, the arm-pit shaving and then the 'tendering of the garden', so to speak. I've lost count of different types of 'garden culture', ranging from....all off, to brazilian, to landing strips, to trimmed, to making shapes, to au naturel.

I knew a girl once, who used to tell people that she shaved everything off, only to get a tattoo done 'downstairs', which sounded like she basically wanted to always have a neat bush, without the hassle of doing it herself. To me, that's on a par with girls who shave all of their eyebrows off and then pencil them back in again.

I've also known girls to make shapes, such a hearts, arrows and big V signs.

I've gone the whole-hog and taken all mine all off a few times. Whilst the penis isn't exactly the cutest thing to cast your eyes upon at the best of times, this just made things look a million times worse! But then again, is that better than seeing a 'Tree in a forrest!".

So there was me, lay in the bath, with bubbles up to my neck, thinking about pubic hair.

My mind works in mysterious ways sometimes, but it will possibly never beat the 'Pencil Sex' conversation last night!

This post began as a grumble about all the shit at work again today. Somehow the pubic hair incident seemed much more relevant.

New mp3 music files available to download on the right, in the bedshaped jukebox.
I've been in a Tori mood tonight.

You can’t mistake my Biology. The way that we talk, the way that we walk, its there in our thoughts.

So, there were about 18 of us at one point, on Saturday night.
A kind of 'pre-birthday' celebration night out for Krusty, The Blagger's girlfriend.
As the night dwindled on, our numbers eventually had shrunk down to just 9, by the time we finally got chucked out of the club.

During the evening, 4 of us got dragged onto a table of girls out on a hen night, all dressed in bunny type outfits, 1 of us fell off their stool, there was lots of drink, lots of shorts in particular, lots....and I mean lots of 'girl-talk' going on, some touchy feely kissy kissy going on between some of them and my mobile phone decided to take a brief holiday, as per the post below.

We went through about 3 bars and ended up in a club, that seemed to thrive on their handbag house style and got mighty full at one point.
In the club, our numbers by this time, about 12, we seemed to be commanding the dancefloor. Yep, even the bedshaped shoes threw some shapes!

Matt The Paint came out and as usual, seems to be a hit with the ladies. In the club, he attracted the attention of 3 girls on the tables next to us. Within no time at all, they were sat with our group and one of them in particular seemed to take a shine with me, for some reason.
Clearly on the road to being very pissed, she spent the best part of 30 minutes, talking shit...and then went on about her ex-boyfriend and what a bastard he was and how she's "off men" and blah blah blah. I didn't contribute much to the conversation, covering myself with lots of nods and "myeah's".

Six of them stayed at mine in the end. My lovely double bed was safe though. I made it clear the loft conversion, my room, was out of bounds. I also made sure those who stayed understood the two rules of the house:

No smoking in the house

No sex in the house.

Everybody followed the first rule. I'm not sure about the second one. Technically, the only 'couple' who slept together was The Blagger and Krusty and the state I saw of him, he would have been suffering from a serious case of "Mr Floppy", so no action there. Considering the other two beds were occupied by 2 girls in one and two guys in the other, I think I'm pretty safe.

Apart from 'the phone incident', the evening was good. Far too much booze was consumed, but I still felt pretty ok, mainly cos I passed on a few rounds.
Krusty had a great time and it was nice to see her surrounded by lots of her friends. I had a warm and fuzzy moment then.

So all in all, t'was a reasonable weekend.
And I'm getting to know more, biatch!

Oh, and I've just found out that my ex wife has discovered a lump and is going to get it checked out on Thursday.

It's a constant battle, this life, huh?

It's getting insane, I know. Let it not be true.

Today has seen me spiral through all sorts of emotions and moods.

This morning, I awoke and straight away felt that gutted wrenching in my stomach. The same gutted feeling I had this morning when we got back to mine just after 3am.

I've owned a mobile phone for many years now. I've always kept the same number and looked after them in such a way that I've never once even thought twice about taking out any kind of mobile phone insurance for protection against damage, being stolen or getting lost.
The last word there is the main offender.
So yeah, last night in between the journey back from the club in the taxi and walking in my front door, my mobile phone had decided to perform a disappearing act.
As soon as we got in, I realised something was wrong. That familiar bulge in my pocket was no longer there and it was nothing to do with going flacid.
After frantically searching through all my clothes, I came to the conclusion it must have fell out in the taxi on the way back. This wouldn't have proved a problem if we had stuck to our original plan of using the same pre-booked taxi company to bring us back, thus providing us with all the details we would have needed.
We didn't stick to said plan though, mainly because when the pre-booked taxi driver dropped us off, we double checked with him about collecting us again at 2.30am and he said he wanted all the money upfront. Our back up plan, was to take our chances and just grab any taxi outside the club at chucking out time, which we did.
So, the biggest problem was, when I realised the missing item must have fell out of my pocket in the taxi, who the fuck bought us back?!

In desperation, I phoned my mobile from The Blaggers' phone and was chuffed to bits when a guy answered...the taxi driver. The chuffed feeling soon dissolved when he grunted the words, "Not my problem mate....blah blah....tough shit"
Shit, shit, shit.

I've spent all day at work with a horrible feeling of loss. Sounds silly, I know, but it's felt like I've lost a limb or something.
It's also made me realise just how much I depend on having my phone. It's so much more than just a mobile to me.

Anyway, to cut a long story short (what do you mean, too late?), he phones The Blaggers mobile late this evening and we have been pretty much all over the City centre looking for him. because he's been working, he kept phoning us with different locations every 20 minutes or so, but we eventually caught up with him and needless to say, I now am reunited with my phone.

There's more on the rest of the night's adventures....

Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile....

Quick time check : 7.44pm.
That gives me just under an hour get get myself sorted out for a night out on the tiles.

There will be no painting the town red, there will be no boisterous anarchy and there will be no 'kissy kissy' action, not from me anyway.

How come when you know about a night out coming up that sounds good, you have time to plan a few things and know most of the people who will be there, it always turns into a 'downtime moment'.
A downtime moment = not looking forward to it anymore.
A downtime moment = almost becoming a chore to go out.
A downtime moment = I'd rather just stay in, settle down on the sofa, have a couple of glasses of wine and tuck into a good movie.

It's Krusty's pre-birthday celebrations tonight. I'm led to believe there will be just over 20 people in 'our crowd', which in itself makes me nervous.
The plan (Shit, how I hate planning things) is for 8 of my friends to meet me here, then we take a minibus/taxi up into the City centre where large measures of drinking and dancing will take place. The return minibus/taxi is due to collect us falling out of the club at 2.15am and then returning myself and the other 8 friends to my place for the rest of the evening/morning.

It will be interesting to see how many of the other 8 actually make it back here, as opposed to go off with other people for some 'kissy kissy' action. It may not be a bad thing considering by simple mathematics....There's gonna be 9 of us here....and I have 4 beds.
The sofa isn't really big enough for anybody to sleep on, but I guess I do have plenty of floor space, although I may be sadly lacking in the blanket department.

Not wanting to ruin anybody else's fun, especially Krusty's, I'm now gonna spend the next 45 minutes making myself look beautiful and painting on a smile.

Pour a drink and I pull the blinds and I wonder what I'll find?

Today has been nothing short of weird.

Actually, subtract weird and insert a steaming pile of wank.

It's mostly work related.
The fiasco I lived through this morning was as comical (on refection) as a Carry On film.

The long as short of it was:
I had a new car being collected by a customer this afternoon. The car is currently in our compound, which is about 15 miles from the Dealership. It's been sat there since it got delivered 7 days ago.
7 days ago, I saw that it had been delivered and straight away, sent a fax to our beloved transport department to ask them to get the car over to me.
A simple and mostly trouble free process.....Normally.

Each day after the fax, I would call our beloved transport department to ask, "Is my car coming over today?", to be told, "Probably not today, but we'll try and get it over tomorrow."
6 days pass and still no sign of my car.

Today, the customer was due to collect the car at 3pm. It's been done before, where we've had the car delivered, got it in the workshop for the technicians to do a 'pre-delivery-check' on it, had it fully valeted and even squeezed in a coffee or two before the customer arrives, so I wasn't too stressed out, until I made the phone call...to our beloved transport department.

bedshaped, "Hi beloved transport department...any chance I will have my car delivered today...you know, the one I've been asking for, for the last 6 days. Only, the customer would really like to collect it this afternoon?"
beloved transport department, "I don't think we can get it over today, we have a lack of drivers. We might be able to get it over to you tomorrow."
bedshaped, "Oh...."
beloved transport department, "Yeah, sorry."
bedshaped, "Ok....erm...how about...if I come down and collect it off you. I'm sure I can get a lift down there?"
beloved transport department, "Yeah...yeah, that would be great" That would help us out a lot."
bedshaped, "Cool. Can you do me one small favour? Would you be able to dig the keys out and get the car ready, so I can just turn up, sign the paperwork and then just leave?"
beloved transport department, "Sure, no problem"

Here's a summary of what followed....

Arrived at beloved transport department headquarters at 9.30am
9.50am, the guy finally finds the keys.
10.05am, he informs me that the car is out of fuel and do we have a fuel can in the car?
Erm....hello!!!! You are a transport department and you don't have any fuel cans down here???
11.10am, he writes us a fuel ticket out and send us up the road to get 5 litres of fuel...in an empty container that had previously contained turpentine substitute; the stuff you clean paint brushes with.
11.15am, we arrive at the fuel pump to be greeted by a guy called Dave. I offer him our fuel ticket, to be told that he will "give up his tea break" to serve us the fuel.
11.20am, we race back to the beloved transport department because said container has a hole in the side which is pissing out fuel. My finger proves a good plug, until it starts stinging!
11.25am, the fuel is given to the guy, who promptly transfers it into...yep...a fuel can...and proceeds to walk off in presumably, the direction of the car I wanted to take.
11.40am, he walks back up the compound, with a look on his face (the shaking of his head may have also been a clue) as if to say, "ain't no way that car's going anywhere"
We are told that the car has an engine problem and is what we call (and here's the clever bit) a non-starter!
11.45am, I track down the beloved transport department's manager and inform him of my predicament, to which he suggest I take a different car back with me. One of the other 9 cars we have been requesting for the past 5 days!
11.55am, After keys have been tracked down and the subsequent car found, I am on my way back to the Dealership, albeit with the wrong car!

Upon return, I am given a message from the customer who is due to pick his new car up in less than 3 hours, to ring him back to confirm everything is ok for 3pm collection.
I hate making phone calls like that! Especially as it's not even my fault.

The rest of the day at work was pretty much more of the same.
We have a new guy who started with us on Tuesday. His original nickname was Monkey-Boy, but after just 3 days, he has been renamed Pornstar, because yesterday, he told everybody else in the sales department that he'd starred in a porn movie.
Wow...we have a pornstar working at our Dealership!

Don't panic, I'm already asking him for tips!

I'm a brand new sky to hang the stars upon tonight.

Last night I was supposed to be coming back here after work and just relaxing.

A simple plan, foiled by the fact that The Blagger wanted to "have a chat" with me in the pub after work. Add to the pair of us, Accounts girl, who is helping out at our place while the MD's P.A. is off work recovering from an operation, and Sniffer, who just wanted to 'kill some time'.
The brief drink and "chat" never happened and about an hour or so later, we went round Sniffer's flat and had another drink there.

He has turntables!
Oh the joy!

I couldn't resist having a little play....reminiscing over my days as a DJ long gone....wondering if I've 'still got it' and it appears that I do indeed...still have it!

The remainder of the night involved The Blagger and I busting some moves with my 5 foot cardboard standee of Homer Simpson.
Not only that, but he insisted on putting my webcam on!

Don't worry, I'm hanging my head in shame.

Tonight is gonna be my yesterday that didn't happen, as in just moi, avec some tunes, maybe a little smoke, chilling out and hitting the sack at a reasonable time.

I remember when...I remember, I remember when I lost my mind.

Friday:
Apparently, I'm quite a scary person when I'm trying to book tickets.
Here's the scene....
At 8.30am, I ask my Sales Manager if I can use his office from 8.55am. He says it's fine, but when the time comes, he gives me that "I'm on an important call, bugger off" kinda look. It's time to put into effect....back up plan number one. I tell the receptionist that I can't take any calls until further notice, get myself a coffee from the machine and plant myself down at my desk.
What follows, so I'm told, isn't a pretty sight. Me, with 2 phones, both on speakerphone and both being frantically jabbed on the 'redial' button. Whilst I was sat there being pelted with the same message, "Bleep bleep bleep...This is a BT announcement. This line is experiencing high demand, please try again later....You have not been charged for this call", I decided it was time to put into action back up plan number two. This involved me trying to log onto various websites that I could buy tickets from. At one point, I had both phones constantly telling me the "lines were experiencing high demand..." (No shit Sherlock!) and four, count them, four different websites open on my pc searching for tickets.
During this 35 minute fiasco, The Blagger strolled by and asked me how things were going. He didn't seem too pleased when I responded, "Leave me alone...No seriously....Leave me alone!"

Every year, I put myself through this stress.
Every year, I sit there thinking that there must be a better way of the Festivals selling the tickets.

I've heard several different reports of how fast the tickets sold out, varying from 90 minutes to 3 hours. Between the 2 sites, I think it must be close to 130,000 tickets in total. That's a shit load of money for the promoters, considering they take our money in March and the Festival isn't until August and at £120 a shot, it doesn't take a genius to figure out they must make a fair whack out of the interest gained from our well earned money for the 5 months we wait...and wait....and wait....

Success anyway. My bollocks are safe from harm because I got all the tickets I needed!
Joe, I'll see you there!

Friday evening, after a quickie in the pub (let's not go there again), I found myself back at The Blagger's house. His girlfriend, Krusty sat there flicking through the channels, whilst I accepted drinks from The Blagger with a cheeky smile.

He kept bringing in something he called a Turbo Shandy. I had no idea what it was as it's not the first time he's put a drink in my hand, called it something and then admitted no such drink exists and he just threw a few drinks together. "The Death Penalty" being one of them and let's not even go there!

He tells me a Turbo Shandy is beer and Smirnoff Ice, half and half. It doesn't sound nice, but it was quite drinkable. A few of those and I was beyond tipsy and fast approaching pissed.
When I woke the following morning, I felt like my head had been repeatedly run over with an 18 wheeler truck. Luckily this didn't last very long, but on arrival at work, The Blagger then decided to tell me a Turbo Shandy is in fact a quarter beer, a quarter Smirnoff Ice and a half vodka!

Saturday was a busy day at work, which on the plus side meant that the time went quickly. The evening was spent with some good friends and the usual quirky conversations we all tend to have after a few.

Today, I was supposed to be going Karting. I had phoned the Karting centre on Wednesday to be told we couldn't book a place and should just turn up on the day. It's something called "Arrive and drive" and is common in most Karting centres. I repeatedly expressed concern of us not being able to drive because there were too many others there, only to be told by the guy on the phone (several times) that I shouldn't worry about it, because he's never known people to turn up and not get to drive.
The only thing he mentioned was not to arrive before 2pm because they had a 'party' in there until that time and we definately wouldn't be able to drive during that time.
Fine.

What happens earlier today?
We turn up at 2.30pm and go to the desk to check in, sign the disclaimer and pay our money, only to be told there is another party just about to kick off.
I was restrained.
I remained calm.
We didn't get to drive.

There will be a telephone conversation tomorrow morning with the Manager of the Karting Centre consisting of me moaning, then repeating what the guy said to me about not having a problem to get on the track, followed by me moaning some more, followed by some swearing, followed by me asking (very nicely) for some compensation in the form of half price entrance or free return passes.

So, in summary:

Tickets....drink....ouch....strange conversations....a little more drink....excitement....frustration....being pissed off....getting over it....back here....bath....chillin'

Oh, and over the weekend, I had a dream that I was the UK's entrant for The Eurovision Song Contest.

New songs available for download on the jukebox, to the right.

Nothing unusual, nothing strange. Close to nothing at all.

My intention was to take a 'half-day' today.

Just before midday, I announced, "I'm leaving in a bit then".
Not long after 1.30pm, I said, "Just a couple of phone calls to make, then I'm outta here...."
Shortly after 3pm, I grumbled, "So much for a half-day for me then. But I'm leaving in the next 10 minutes...."
Almost 4.30pm and I'm still there, mumbling to myself, "Oh bollocks, look at the time, I really have to leave now...."

I finally made my exit at...wait for it....5.20pm.

Not wanting to put a curse on myself by mentioning it, I'm hoping to leave early tomorrow.....Damn!

Tomorrow morning will see me shut myself away in My Sales Managers' office at approximately 8.55am. I don't care what he's doing and I will come up with some good excuse for needing some 'privacy'.
The reason....?
Because of this!

To add to the pressure, I have the responsibility of securing 5 tickets for the festival. My bollocks are literally on the chopping block here.

Tomorrow night, I'm staying at The Blagger's house. It's a little complicated to go into, but it seems to be a good solution to a predicament I've found myself in.
He's advised me to expect a nice pizza, some semi-heavy drinking and a nice chill out. Those all sound fine....it was when he mentioned that I wouldn't need to bring any lube, 'cos he had it covered that I started to get a little nervous!
I should be ok though, 'cos I learnt a trick from the female of the species. When sex is a possibility, as in, on a first date....don't shave your legs...so I wont!

Case closed!

Still no sign of the blow up sheep, which is a shame, 'cos tomorrow night would have been ideal. For the practical joke on my Sales Manager I mean and not, repeat not anything to do with me staying over at The Blaggers house.

Nearly dug myself a hole then, didn't I!

White tees, Nikes, gangstas don't know how to act.

So, Kanye West rocked!
T'was a good gig, a little different to the usual types I go to, primarily because it was in a large arena, loads of seating and to be frank....can I be frank??? Let's face it, Rappers don't usually cut the mustard when it comes to playing live.
I take it all back though, if this is an example of what talented rappers can deliver.

The crowd were completely behind him and the rest of the stage outfit and the atmosphere was buzzing! Just like a good concert should be like.

On the news today, there have been reports of shootings at the venue. Apparently, there was some jerk-offs trying to get inside without tickets. They got challenged by the venue security and some twats answer was to pull a gun and start firing. The consequence being that 2 of the security guards were hit, 1 of them several times and both were hospitalized, all over some people pushing their luck, trying to get in without paying for tickets.

What is the world coming to?

The downside, apart form the obvious fact that two innocent people were shot, is that security at forthcoming gigs around the country will now be stepped up a few levels. Where as most of the gigs I go to, you don't tend to get a 'shake-down' on entry and they turn a blind eye to bulges in your pockets, which may be things like cameras or whatever. Now, the security on the entrances will be much more vigilant (and probably rightly so because I for one don't wanna think I'm standing next to somebody packing a gun, just in case somebody else is pissing them off), but at the expense of everybody else just going there to have a good time.

Work was a huge struggle today, but it always is on the first day of a registration plate change. Things can only get easier from here.

We have tried to lighten the mood a little by playing some jokes on The Whinger, but he so wasn't in the mood. I can't see what the problem is, when all we did was change the desktop settings on his PC to a picture of him that I'd 'doctored', with a funny hat, a clowns nose and some bright pink lipstick. Mind you, we probably crossed the line when we slapped black ink all over his telephone and he spent most of the day with black all over his ear and the left side of his face. I probably shouldn't mention then, that we also filled the air vents in his car with those little round bits from hole-punchers and turned his fans on full blast, so when he got in to go home, he got covered in small round bits of paper.

Oh well....some people have no sense of humour, huh!