I'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song.

I wonder how many bloggers have got a secret blog somewhere else?

A few things I've noticed whilst hitting the 'Next Blog' button on the blogger tool bar:
There's a lot of people who blog about their kids. I wonder if they intend to use them as a replacement to a photo album?
There's a lot of 'Arty' blogs. Some of them are really good, some not so.
Lots of 'family blogs' too, where each member of the family can post.

It certainly seems to evolved from the Teenage domination period.

In the call of a new world, as I climb to the next floor. Haven't we met before under brighter skies above?

Indeed!

And to think that I always preferred Velma over Daphne anyway.

Six different people have voiced Velma over the years. I have no idea which of them is my favourite, but I would have a favourite. Isn't Wikipedia great! Although, a word of warning....Being even slightly stoned and browsing Wikipedia do not great bedfellows make.

We get some rules to follow. That and this, these and those.

I've been thinking about dying a lot lately.

A few days ago, I dreamt about my funeral.
I couldn't see their faces,
save the blur of unhappiness
filling the room.

Close the door behind you, use your late night push.
Be ready for the stories,
the aches and pains.
Silence brings me home.

I’ve got my own small world in here, of happy and sad and the little I have seen.

Bang goes my anonymity.
(NSFW) !

Shine the headlight, straight into my eyes. Like the roadkill, I'm paralysed. You see through my disguise.

When I was living at home with my parents, my Dad would often point out little things that I did. Little things that in his eyes were quite simply wrong. Watching me drink from a cup or mug would drive him nuts because I would hold it around the base, instead of by the handle.
"Hours of design and research, love and attention have gone into designing the handle on that mug!" he would say.
This would be followed by an explanation of how they probably designed many prototypes; varying in shape, size and comfort. Not to mention repeated tests to ensure the handle didn't conduct too much heat from the hot drink and become uncomfortable to hold. It used to nark him that I would (in his eyes) dismiss such important things.
Drinking with a spoon in the mug, not wearing a belt with ill fitting jeans, carrying bags by scrunching the top between my fingers instead of using the handles, changing the way my trainers were laced up, strapping my watch to my clothing instead of wearing it on my wrist, sitting on chairs the wrong way around, using a knife instead of a screwdriver, pressing Record on the VCR anytime within an hour of a programme starting instead of using the 'timer control', putting tea-bags into each cup instead of using the tea-pot.... And the list would go on. And so would the Fatherly lectures.

For many years, I had it drilled into me that when it came down to practical things....'doing things'....my Dad was always right. In everything. I don't think I've ever heard him say that he was wrong. It's not necessarily a bad thing to have a parent that's 'always right' when it comes to practical things, but it does grind you down over the years.

For the last few weeks, I've been consciously opening crisp packets upside-down. No doubt my Dad would lecture me on this too. Something along the lines of, "A lot of care and attention has gone into designing these packs to make them relatively easy to open the correct way up. The seal has just enough strength to ensure nothing gets in or out of the pack and yet it's not too difficult to pull the sides apart, thus creating an opening. The bottom of the pack isn't designed to be opened. It's designed with more strength to ensure less splitting..." Blah, blah, bollocks.
Anyway....opening the packs up arse end first makes no difference what-so-ever. The crisps taste the same and the world still keeps on turning.
It's just nice to be a little different sometimes.

Oh, look what you've done. You've made a fool of everyone. Oh well, it seems like such fun, until you lose what you had won.

Still breathing....
In
And
Out.










I'm pondering the question, "Is Blogging a form of exhibitionism and/or voyeurism?"

It creeps around me all the time, this restless feelin' on my mind. Confusin' and abusin' me, so I won't turn around to see.

Accepting their award, Marketa said, "The fact that we're standing here tonight, the fact that we're able to hold this, it's just to prove no matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible. And fair play to those who dare to dream and don't give up. This song was written from a perspective of hope, and hope at the end of the day connects us all, no matter how different we are."

Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova - "Falling Slowly"

I should have something quite profound to say at this point, but all I can think about is, "What if i come back from a shitty day at work (like today) and just wanna listen to The Stones Roses (like today), fairly loudly....?"

My van smells of old people's feet. Not that I know what old people's feet smells like, but I'd imagine it's pretty close. I am neither old, nor do I have smelly feet. It's a mystery. I'm never gonna sell my house in time now. Of all the times I could have done it, I pick a fucking housing recession. I have bills coming out of my ears and no money to fight them off with. I have two more fence panels to repair, thanks to the recent winds. Hey thanks winds!

But we all hope.

All these thoughts in my head aren't my own. Wreaking havoc.

I sleep in an old Prince tour t-shirt, from way back when.
I listen to compilation CD's that I burnt, all those years ago.
I still catch a glimpse of a TV show, every now and then.

I often hear a song that takes me back, to different days.
I rarely go a day, without being thankful for who I am.

I get reminders of the days, that I'd rather forget.

Sometimes it just fucking sucks to get out of bed in the morning.

And we took the town to town last night. We kissed like we invented it.

I can't even begin to describe how proud I am, of The Girl. Her college results came in, giving her five merits and five distinctions. I'm not completely 'savvy' with qualifications, but that certainly sounds like she's got her just deserts, for all the hard work she put in. I'm so, so pleased for her.
Last week, we attended an exhibition at her college. It was to show the students' final pieces. It's a weird place to be, stuck between knowing a certain person in real life, then seeing them splatter themselves on a drawing, a Basque, a model, a painting, a sculpture.
It makes me realise that when people dig deep inside, they can really express themselves. And that everybody has something to say. People really are amazing.
I'm typing this....and you're reading it. Whoever you are. So just think.....while you're reading this, I'm thinking about you reading it. How weird is that?! How amazing?!

We'll be seeing each other this weekend, which will be lovely. It's been too long. Because we've both had a shitty time recently, we've decided to go out one night to the movies. I like going to the movies! To be honest, she talked me into it by saying, " what do you fancy doing? cinema? you could perv on angelina? I'll let you touch me up in the dark?"
I say no more!

I'm coming to see you guys on your home turf in October.
That night is gonna mean so much to me.

"So lift off love. All down to you dear"