Keep this scene inside your head, as the bruises turn to yellow, and the swelling goes down.

A few days have passed me by in a kind of blur. Probably as a result of only managing three or four hours of undisturbed sleep. It's the waking up, convinced that somebody has been pounding on the front door, demanding to be let in so they can take anything of value.

It's a little hazy, but last night I think I dreamt I was crushing up travel sickness tables and snorting them. On reflection, perhaps watching Donnie Darko before I drifted off for the first time wasn't a good move.

I have had no work for two days straight now. Yesterday was the first time that I've seriously thought about giving up. Today I feel a little better.

Cutting back, cutting back, cutting back.
I've made a few changes with bills, fighting the thoughts of "is it worth it for only £20" with "every little will help". Yes, it's got to be worth it. I'm not sure how I can cut back anymore with my food shopping though, considering if I do have anything in the fridge or cupboards, it's already blatantly obvious that I go for value brands.

A consideration I was toying with was to leave this blog dormant for a while. Well, dormant or close it down completely. It's common-place to see other bloggers go silent for a while, or even close down their blogs completely while they are going through tough times. Whilst I'm still struggling to post anything here that's of any relevance or even slightly interesting for anybody else to read, I've come to the conclusion that I've been thinking about it all wrong. I never started this with the intention of 'writing for an audience', although when you find yourself with 'regular readers', sometimes the purpose of invention becomes warped. So fuck it.

There are many, many important things in life that often get left by the side. Things that are so important, that it becomes ridiculous that they are not at the foremost of our thoughts more often. In fact the words "more often" doesn't even do them justice.
I'm grateful for the good things in my life and my goal is to make sure that when things aren't going my way....I pause....take a short step back....and be thankful for all the good things.

It only makes me stronger, when you say I won't succeed. I'll work that bit harder, when you say you see no strength in me.

She is everything worth fighting for.
I fear the unwritten, but a future with her hand to hold calms the pages.
No amount of truly grotesque monster would put the frighteners in me.
My sword would be drawn,
my shield held high,
my heart beating brave.


I get wrapped up in myself all too often and it's easily done I guess. But through it all, I try my best to remember how difficult it is for The Girl and lend my support as much as I can. Ninety miles is nothing in the whole scale of things, but sometimes it feels like the other side of the world and that's when it really hits me that sometimes words are just words. When all I want to do is wrap my arms around her, but the gaping distance doesn't allow that. So we're left with words between us that so often don't feel anywhere near enough.

"So I stretch myself across, like a bridge. And I pull you to the edge"

She often doesn't realise just how much she copes with. Too quick to beat herself down over things, when in reality, she manages to juggle an amazing amount in her life and should feel immensely proud.
And that's exactly what I am....Immensely proud of her.
Ok, so I can't be with her all the time to give her the hug that she needs. But I hope she understands that one day....I will be. Through all the confusion and mess and distraction and anarchy and turmoil and work-load and turbulence....I hope she knows.
Even with the chaos and disorder of my own life, I have never lost sight of that amazing girl who deserves a hug.
Every
Single
Day.

When nothing rings home enough to dig your heels in. You dont have to leave me to see what I mean.

I became engaged in a conversation with my ex-wife earlier, mainly about debt. Strange then, that I felt she'd been more honest with me about her own personal finances than she'd ever been with me before about anything. I wonder if she thought that admitting to me how difficult things were for her would make me feel better about my own situation.
I already know that living without at least dipping your toes into debt is a rare thing nowadays. I also know that many, many other people are in worse financial situations than myself. And who can forget the Christmas Cash-Fest that's getting ever closer.

I'm trying to be more pro-active about the possibility of financial implosion. Instead of sitting around wondering why I don't win the lottery (probably because I've never played it in my life), why a stranger doesn't knock on my door to hand over a handsome cheque or why my Bank Manager doesn't ring me up to announce he's writing off all my overdrafts and loans, I'm trying to do things to help myself.

If I advertise in another paper, that should bring in more work. The advert would be another expense, but it's definitely worth a trial run otherwise I'll never know and life's too short for too many "What ifs".
I have a car sat outside that's very rarely used. I could save on the cost of insurance, running, MOT and road tax by getting rid of it. Not only would I save a little bit by not having it, but the money from the sale would definitely come in useful over the next few weeks. Again, it's not without an initial outlay from me though, as the MOT is due and I have to get one of the tyres repaired.
This house is causing me the biggest headache. As things are, I simply can't afford to stay here as I am, unless my workload almost doubles. So instead of waiting for that to happen, I've decided to either get a lodger in or find somewhere else for me to stay and rent the whole place out. There's pro's and con's for both options.
To have somebody else living with me as a lodger....well, they'd have to meet certain criteria in order for me to not feel uncomfortable in my own place. That's not because I'm particularly picky, as I'm sure anybody else would feel the same. It's just how it is. Of course, there are brilliant people out there who would probably fit right in with my kind of living, although finding one has proven very difficult so far. But that's not to say it still couldn't happen.
Getting out of here and finding somewhere else to stay (on a temporary basis) would mean I could rent the whole place out. The Lettings Agency that I do work for have already said that they'll manage the property for me. Hopefully, the rent coming in would cover the mortgage payments and I'd also be free of the other bills that come hand in hand with owning your own place.
Whichever route I take, one thing's pretty much certain. Next year sometime, I want to be living closer to The Girl. So whether I take the renting out route and continue with it, or take the lodger route and sell up/rent out next year, it doesn't really change the fact that my heart isn't in this house anymore.

You're going to roll right over this one. Just roll me over, let me go.

I felt like a beggar, asking The Blagger if he would mind a houseguest for a while. I explained that he would be helping me out massively and we could come to some sort of arrangement over the money he still owes me.
If I can stay with a friend, while I rent this place out and somebody else pays the mortgage for me, then maybe I can get through the next few months. Saving the mortgage payments, along with the other bills that are tied with having a house will be a huge help for me.
My folks think that finder a lodger is still the answer, but so far I've not had any luck. Perhaps, because I've been just able to scrape by, I've not put in as much effort finding one as I should.
I'm still torn over what to do.
Sometimes it's just too much to think about.

While I was at the folks house yesterday, we joked about the lack of food in my fridge. I wondered if they knew the harsh reality of what we'd been laughing about.

Eleven and a half months since I quit the rat race. I haven't gone under yet, so I must be doing something right.

One foot goes down in front of the other....

You can keep me pinned. It's easier to tease. But you can't paint an elephant. Quite as good as she.

Big decisions are always easier to make when there's more than just yourself to make them.
Of course the main benefit of it just being yourself, is that if the decision turns out to be a poor one, the only person you can blame is yourself.

Here, as I watch the time go by. How I'd like to sail away. Leaving all my past behind. But I know I'd only last for a couple of days.

It's not very often that I get an email off my brother, Pandy.
Tonight, I did.
His emails are usually direct and straight to the point. Often, he only emails me to ask my advice about something.
His email is titled "Memories". What could this mean? Is this a relatively light-weighted communication, with him talking about things we used to get up to as youngsters? Is it something relevant to my dad's upcoming birthday? Is he going to be asking me something that's been nagging at him?
The email contains just two lines and link to a YouTube video.

"Thought this might bring back a few good memories for ya."



"Just turn it up and enjoy the good old days."

I used to have hair like Danny. I had a pet hate for Dorothy. To this day, I still don't really know why. Mr Shorofsky was my favourite. I always wished his first name was Sherman, but it was Benjamin. I always thought Leroy and the dance teacher had a thing going and Mrs Sherwood, or Elizabeth to her friends, well I used to wish for a teacher like that.
When I watch it now, it's almost cringe worthy, with just a splash of kitch, which kinda makes it ok to watch with some enjoyment. I guess Fame was to a previous generation what High School Musical is to the kids right now.
I think it used to be on Wednesdays. Then it grew in ratings and became more akin with the other 'prime time' slots. Every hip girl in the neighbourhood sported leg warmers. I bet the person who invented leg warmers never expected that to happen. They are probably long retired and living a fabulous life, all on the back of making over sized socks with no foot part.
Genius!

I had the 'Starmaker' episode taped and for the next few months I would spend day after day watching it. As far as I'm concerned that was the best episode I'd seen up til then and they never bettered it. It was a depressing episode, all based around the fact that a well loved teacher was being given the boot, surplus to requirements/budget cuts as it were. The ending was their "Goodbye and good luck. We'll all miss you" speech, delivered as a song. Well, what else would you expect from an Academy of Performing Arts!
The thing is, I've sat here for ages now, trying to think how the episode ended. And I can't. At one point earlier, when I started writing the post, I was convinced the somebody ran in at the last minute and saved the day by announcing the budget was ok somehow and they didn't have to give anybody the chop after all. Google hasn't provided me with any answers and after trying for 15 minutes, I decided that it just wasn't that important.

She doesn't have to go to work, but she doesn't want to stay in bed. 'Cos it's changed from something comfortable, to something else instead.

Well....apparently, my bedclothes are too manly.
They scream bachelor!

Wake from your sleep. The drying of your tears. Today, we escape. We escape.

I'm not getting enough work. I'm getting some, so the local adverts are paying off, but I need to be busier than I currently am. I hope it's not going into a 'quiet' period. Is this a trade that has quiet periods?
It's obviously all down to marketing and basically getting your name and contact details out there. I'm advertising weekly in the local free paper, I'm listed on all the typical search engines for plumbers; such as Yell.com, Thompson Local etc, I've done some local leaflet drops, I've written to lots of local Lettings Agencies and I'm trying to get some good 'contacts' from local builders etc. But it's all not enough.
Yellow Pages seems to be the best option. It's expensive, but apparently works really well for certain Trades, such as Carpenters, Builders, Plasterers, Electricians and yep, Plumbers. The downside being that it's only published once a year, June/July I think, so I've missed the boat on that one. Until next year, of course. Until then, I have to carry on pushing myself the way I have been. Which is a real struggle.
It's beginning to grind on me a little now, when people say "Oh, you can't get a plumber for love nor money!".
Hello!
HELLO!
Plumber looking for work, right here!!!!

In retrospect, had I known how tough it was gonna be, I'd have planned it out a lot better. As it is now, I'm pretty much making it up as I go along.
Incredibly tough, yes. But as hard as it is, I still wouldn't change it for a 'proper job'. With the extra worry of a financially impossible Christmas looming, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that no matter how I write it down on paper, I can't see myself getting through without some more 'help' from my folks. For 'help' read money.
*Sigh*
I HATE thinking I will have to borrow money for Christmas. That sucks. That sucks big, sweaty smelling donkey balls.

I get eaten by the worms and weird fishes. Picked over by the worms and weird fishes.

It takes a certain type of person to be able to successfully live on your own. Lately, I'm feeling more and more that I'm not one of them.
Or perhaps I'm looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps everybody can and indeed should live on their own to gain a deeper understanding of the sort of person they are. Maybe when you're on your own, you're living at your most vulnerable and if anything, it gives you a good insight at the things in your life that really make the differences.

Almost twelve months ago, I quit my job and took the plunge into self employment. The only thing that nags at me is that it's been financially crippling. Other than that, I have no regrets. With huge restraints on my finances, many things have been affected. My fridge and food cupboard have been even more barren than normal. I haven't been able to go to as many gigs as I would have liked. Gifts for friends and family member's birthdays have been virtually none existent, luckily helped by everybody being so understanding. I don't get out as much because I can't afford to keep topping up the fuel and I have rarely been out with friends because I simply can't afford it. It's also affected the time I've spent with The Girl. Again, the fuel has been an issue, but also we haven't been going out or 'doing things' that we would have liked to do. The bills that come hand in hand with having one's own place have seemed to become bigger and somehow more demanding, even though in reality, I don't think they've changed at all. The metered services are the only ones I have any control over, hence I've been sparse with my use of electricity and brutally mean with my gas usage by not having my heating on. My home telephone only serves the purpose of providing my broadband connection and taking incoming calls. I've cancelled payments for things that I didn't deem important enough and have literally been living hand to mouth.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I hate the way money can rule one's life, even when you try so hard to make it an irrelevant issue.
I used to have people round a lot of the time. This has changed considerably this last twelve months, predominantly because I'm embarrassed to have people see what state I live in. My parents have helped me out financially, particularly this last six months and if I'm completely honest, I think they'd be shocked if they saw me now. Luckily, they don't come over to mine and most of our communications happen over the phone or when I visit their place. But that's all wrong. I feel like I'm hiding from people. And it feels wrong.

As each week goes by, I feel more and more convinced that I would feel happier getting out of this house. This house I've never felt comfortable enough calling home. It's far too big for me and whilst it proved too good an opportunity to miss out on when I bought it, I'm now feeling that having such a big, empty space surrounding me is proving more detrimental to my happiness. Empty, unused bedrooms serve no purpose anymore. They would come in handy when friends and family would visit and stay over, but as I've said, that doesn't happen anymore.

I'm a firm believer that life is what you make it. A certain amount of planning and organisation may be required. I'm certainly not the type of person who wallows in their own self pity, waiting for something to change. Waiting for somebody else to make things happen. It's become very apparent to me, particularly recently, that if I just sit this out then I might as well be watching my life unfold in fast forward. And when I hit 'play' again the only thing that's changed is that another twelve months have gone by. And that's twelve months of my life that I will never get back.
If it were possible to travel forward in time and you were offered the opportunity to go forward twelve months, just think how disappointed you would feel if what you saw about yourself and your life was exactly the same as you saw before you jumped.

Living on my own these last 2 1/2 years has really opened my eyes. I like my own company. I like that fact that I have the freedom to be able to play music I love, at volumes I like, whenever I like. I like the fact that my TV is rarely on. I like the fact that I can have a lounge in the bath with the door open. I like the fact that I can eat (or not) whatever I like, whenever I like. I like the fact that I can get stoned. I like the fact that I can masturbate without worrying that somebody might walk in or over-hear. I like the fact I can keep the place relatively tidy without relying on others to do the same. I like the fact that I know where everything is.
But for every like, there is a dislike.
And for every like, there is a worry and concern that other people might not be so forgiving, or understanding, or responsive, or tolerant. And I wonder....is that very selfish of me?

Perhaps I'm just reaching the end of another chapter in my life. Perhaps the unwritten chapters demand a certain amount of change to keep my interest. Or maybe I have been given a taste of what could really make me happy and it's time I dealt with these itchy feet.

In the deepest ocean. The bottom of the sea. Your eyes, they turn me.

It's Sunday evening, which means the weekend is almost over.
I blinked, I missed it.
Last night was spent in solitary company. Each flick of the remote showed endless channels of utter drivel. When did Saturdays become a day when you couldn't find anything on TV to watch? Obviously it's catering to somebody.
My resulting Saturday evening was spent listening to some music, flickering around the WWW and getting slightly stoned. This was followed fairly swiftly with an un-fightable desire to dunk biscuits in my coffee.

My birthday comes around again on Tuesday. Has it been 12 months already?
I already know that I'm gonna get exactly what I want. I'm gonna be spending most of the day and all the night with The Girl. How could I possibly want anything more....

I'm desperately worried about Christmas. It's a horrible lurching feeling about the financial implications it's gonna put me under. Earlier today, it suddenly dawned on me and I hate the fact that worrying about money is making me forget about all the good things associated with Christmas.
I'm also not sure how much time to take off over Christmas either. I'm used to having my holiday periods dictated to me, so now I have the final say, it's proving to be more difficult than I imagined. I want to work as much over the holiday period, because people will inevitably need plumbers and it would be nice to help people out and earn myself some money at the same time. At the same time, I want to have a rest. I wanted to work for myself for many reasons. One of them was not having to answer to anybody about my working hours.

I watched Citizen Kane the other night. I'd not seen it before and as it's normally listed in some top/great movies of all time polls, I thought I'd take the plunge and see what all the fuss was about. As it happens, I can officially declare it to be an OK movie. It's well known for it's plotlines, it's character acting, it's pioneering camera techniques, it's set pieces, etc etc. I think my problem was I've seen it all before, many times. What I watched in Citizen Kane wasn't outstanding enough for me to realise that's the movie that set the bar. I'm well aware that many movie buffs will scoff at my words and declare it to be one of the most amazing movies ever made. That doesn't change my opinion though. I think I may have ruined my experience anyway, by leaving it so long to watch it. Maybe if I'd have watched it many years ago, my experience would have been so much more favourable. Who knows?
And did anybody really give a shit about "Rosebud"?!

I love the new Radiohead album. I've reviewed it here.

For the person who stumbled across my blog whilst searching Google for "stories of guys making other guys drink their piss", I apologise.

He's compromising. At least he's got a job for life. Get born, get school, get job, get car, pay tax and find a wife.

So what is it....Perfect Partner or Soul Mate?
Fate or Destiny?
Love At First Sight or third, forth, fifth time lucky?
Persistence or Chance?

What makes a person want to spend the rest of their life with another?
They say "opposites attract". They say "like two peas in a pod".
They say "you look for a duplicate of yourself". They say "you want to find a person with a different personality, a different opinion, a different attitude".

I'm sure dating agencies work differently nowadays, but I'm sure the older way of matching people was to find similarities, things in common, a good likeness of each other. That way following the "two peas in a pod" strategy.
Nowadays, I'm sure the internet dating sites would have criteria set out by the member. Certain things; physical appearance, likes, dislikes, opinions etc could be used to determine their 'match'. But then, isn't that ruling so many other possibilities out?
Speaking from my own point of view, I would never have been able to match myself up with The Girl. Her opinions, her personality, her physical appearance, her likes, her dislikes, etc....I'd never have been able to set them out as 'criteria to fit for possible match'. And I'd never want her to be anything or anyone other than herself, anyway.
I wouldn't say we were opposites, neither would I say we were similar. We're kinda blurred out somewhere in the middle. She compliments me in every way and when we're together, I feel like she brings out the best in me.

So perhaps there's no set formula at all. As we Humans are all different, maybe our preferences are too. So if that's the case, then how can anybody explain the success rates from Dating Sites and personal ads. Is that a case of 'lucky in love', 'chance' or 'destiny'?
I don't think 'Love' will ever be truly explainable, anymore so than the human brain.
In this day and age, we are no closer to explaining why we dream the things that we do, or Deja Vu, or why when your heart is broken, it really does feel like a dagger plunged right through your heart.

This was all nicely leading up to my point, until I forgot what my point was. I'm distracted tonight by Radio One's Live Lounge vol 2 and a nice smoke on the old "how's yer Father", so I apologise. Aah Jose Gonzalez "Heartbeats". Now that's just beauty wrapped up in a person.

I have nothing against Dating Sites or the people that use them, but if I were single, or indeed when I was single I would never even think about signing up with one. For the simple reason that they are seen as places where weirdos or dirty old men hang out (I'd like to point out that I don't think all guys fit into those categories, I'm just quoting general hear say). I've lost count the number of times I've stumbled across a blogpost talking about the weirdos and sex pests they get 'matched' with. So it's just a simple case of me not wanting to associate with places that would conjure up images of dirty old men and weirdos.
I saw a few months ago, Match.com was advertising with a promise of "Finding true love" or your money back. Now that's a big promise to fulfil. And where are the boundary lines when it comes to a dispute over whether it was true love or not. I imagine the Terms and Conditions on that one was a biggie.

Interesting that I began with soul mates and true love and perfect partners, and now I'm talking about Dating Sites. Perhaps that's some kind of destiny for me to post that here. Perhaps somebody who stumbles upon this post will find their perfect partner through a Dating Site and reading this post proved somewhat fateful.
My folks have been married a long time. People have done a life sentence in prison and then some to be exact. I look at them sometimes and wonder if they were lucky and found their perfect partner so young. Or are they of the generation that thinks "you have to work at a marriage" and tolerates and forgives. Over the years, they have shown less and less affection to each other. Is that something that just 'goes' or should it always be there? I know which one I'd like it to be.
You know what we don't see enough of....?
Old people holding hands.
I love it when I see old people holding hands, showing affection.

As you may have noticed, I still haven't reached my point, which I've yet to remember. It may come still, but I think I'll shut up now. I've moved onto Radiohead's new album, I'm feeling a little stoned and thinking my point will probably come back to me tomorrow, when I'm under somebody's bath.

So yeah, more old people holding hands!

Oh, and thank fuck for the spell checker!

I cheated myself, like I knew I would. I told you I was trouble. You know that I'm no good.

I was introduced to more of The Girl's family over the weekend.
In summary, the most nervous I've ever been around The Girl. Even more nervous than on our first encounter.
Within 10 minutes, I'd already decided how lovely they all were. They all felt so familiar.
I spent the rest of the weekend worrying about what they thought of me.
I think it went ok.

It's really, really important for me to be liked by The Girl's family. After what she's been through, it's not really rocket science to understand that they are all going to be looking out for her a hell of a lot more. I'm not setting out to impress anybody, I would just like to be liked, that's all.

I remember my first encounter with my ex wife's step-dad. I was introduced to him by my name, to which he yelped back, pronouncing that I was off to a bad start because my ex wife's dad's name is the same and "We all know what kind of a wanker he was, don't we?"
My first encounter with my ex's dad was when we came back from a night out to find he'd broken into her house and fallen asleep on the sofa, drunk.

Everybody has a special somebody in the family who is most important to them. Even if it's difficult to admit, if you think about introducing your partner to your friends and family, which one person are you secretly hoping to hear positive things from, because their opinion is a little bit more important than everybody elses.
For me it's my brother. Even though my parents are still alive and they've given me so much help over the last few months, it's still my brother. He can be a right twat at times, but I still value his opinion, just that little bit more than everybody elses.

A wave came crashing like a fist to the jaw. Delivered him wings, "Hey, look at me now".

Just thinking back to times gone by.

The first single I bought was Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.
I really dislike that song now. I don't like Queen or Freddie Mercury. Never did. I think I bought it because I'd saved up my pocket money, went up town and wanted to buy a single. I probably stood there looking at the charts not knowing what most of the other songs were, so plumped for the one that everybody else in The UK seemed to be buying at the time. It's been lost over time, but I'm sure the b-side was something like "Don't drive my car" and I remember being disappointed because it didn't even have a proper cover; just one of those paper sleeves.

The first album I bought was Kings Of The Wild Frontier by Adam and the Ants.
I was really into Adam and the Ants as a kid. I can remember going down to the local disco on a Friday night and begging the DJ to play "Ant Music" until I was blue in the face. It's a little worrying how much I was into them because I can remember buying Smash Hits magazine especially because it had an 'Adam Ant' skull and crossbones pendant free on the cover. The album got played over and over, mainly because it was the only one I owned for a while and I remember being particularly chuffed with the gatefold sleeve.

The first live concert I went to was Ozzy Osbourne at The NEC arena.
My best friend's dad dropped us off at the venue and picked us up after it was all over. I had to lie to my parents and tell them that my friend's dad was going to the concert as well, otherwise they would have never let me go. I was completely blown away by the loudness of the music, the stage theatrics and the fact he hung a dwarf on stage during the gig. He was probably completely off his tits at the time, but that didn't matter to a kid like me. I just loved the whole night, although I can't remember a damn song he played, apart from "Paranoid" of course.

The first car I owned was a Morris Marina 1300.
It was an old knacker, with rust spots everywhere and in a horrible orange colour. I think I drove it for about 3 weeks before seizing the engine up because nobody told me anything about checking the oil and water. As far as I was concerned, so long as there was petrol in it, it would go. Apparently not so.

The first time I flew in a plane was when our family emigrated to South Africa.
I can't remember the total flight time, but it felt like forever. The plane stopped off somewhere to refuel and everybody had to get off the plane while they refuelled and did certain checks. When we all boarded again, my dad had to rush off back to the restaurant that we'd been sat in for a break, because my brother had left his jacket on the back of the chair. I can remember my mum crying when the cabin crew kept saying we would have to leave without him because he was taking too long. He just about made it.

The first film I watched at the cinema was Grease.
I hated it. My mum loved it. I can appreciate it a lot more nowadays, but the memory of me sat there being bored out of my skull for what seemed like four hours still niggles at me. We had to queue around the side of the cinema for about an hour before it actually started. Oh and people could smoke in there too.

The first girl I kissed was called Cheryl.
I always thought it was pronounced with a 'ch' sound, as in 'chips' or 'chisel' and can remember pronouncing her name wrong for months before she actually corrected me by saying it was a 'sh' sound. We kissed behind the Science Block. Our school didn't have bike sheds. She'd been asking me out for ages, apparently because she liked my South African accent, but I kept saying no. For about a year, if I remember rightly.

The first book I read from cover to cover was Lightning by Dean R Koontz.
As a kid, I was more into magazines than books and consequently never finished a book until I was in my twenties. Yes, yes, I know that's bad. I even skipped reading the books for my English Literature exams because I could always find something better to do with my time. Once I'd tasted what it feels like to finish a book in it's entirety, I ploughed on....with more books by the same author, although I never thought any of his others came close. Spookily enough, The Girl cites Lightning as her favourite Koontz novel.

The first job I had was in some engineering Company.
To this day, I have no idea what my actual job title or role was. It was very noisy, very dirty, there were lots of big machines everywhere, they used to design and make things for the Aerospace Industry and everybody used to look like they hated working there. I lasted about six months before realising I could earn more money DJ'ing and would enjoy myself about a million times more.

The first time I got pulled over by the police was for a faulty brake light on my beloved orange Marina.
The only thing that's ever been more traumatising in my life was when my dad used to beat the shit out of me and my brother when we were kids. Because my brake light wasn't working, coupled with the fact my car was so obviously a piece of shit on wheels, the police officer checked every damn thing on my car; lights, tyres, brakes, everything. I had to get the light fixed and show a 'working declaration', stamped and signed by a local garage, along with all my driving documents to the local police station.

The first time I had sex was at a New Years eve party.
It was a horrendous experience and made me wonder just what the whole fuss was about, for a long, long time afterwards. It was a very short lived relationship and made me realise that having sex for the sake of having sex just isn't my bag, baby.

The first time I cried at a movie was my first encounter with The Dead Poet's Society.
Until then, I'd never been moved so much by such a wonderfully poignant story with such believable characters. Although I could never list my favourite ten movies, that one would surely be in there. It still moves me now, but I think the initial magic may be gone.

The first time I published myself on the web was on Livejournal.
I stuck with them for about two years before defecting to Deadjournal and then to Blogger. I had to move my Livejournal and Deadjournal accounts a couple of times because people I knew in real life found them and I hated the fact that I started to censor myself. So far, I've been lucky with Blogger and by remaining anonymous, but should that ever change, I wont even have to think twice about deleting this place.

We can get down like there's no one around. We'll keep on rockin'.

I appear to have chosen a line of work where the double entendres seem never ending:

"Hello, I understand you have a leaky pipe?"

"Yeah, your pipes aren't big enough to cope with it."

"The problem here is the flange."

"Ooh, it's gonna be tight getting it all to fit inside there, but I'll give it a go."

"It's just a dribble. I can sort that out by making it a tighter fit."

"You do realise that's not big enough to take a full dump, don't you?"

"Hi, I've been sent to check out your pipes."

"I'm gonna need to change your nuts. They don't seem to be doing their job properly."

"I would recommend flushing your system out"

"Your nipples probably need bleeding"

"Your hose is causing the problems."

"That cock is dribbling. It needs looking at right away before your problems get any worse."

"Some lubricant might help."

"Has somebody been messing with your pipes?"

I had visions, I was in them, I was looking into the mirror. To see a little bit clearer. The rottenness and evil in me.

A few days ago, I felt ill.
Either bought on from contamination when I was at The Girl's house, or perhaps my poor eating habits. Either way, I felt crap and couldn't possibly face trying to eat anything for fear of it making a sudden and quite unwelcome reappearance. I retired to bed early with a glass of milk (which I'm now informed is not a good idea) and Good Will Hunting. Faced with the fact that I don't own a 'sick bowl', I made sure my path to the bathroom was clear. Just in case.

I'm possibly in the minority here by not having a 'sick bowl'. Every other house seems to have one, but I can't see it making itself appear on the 'must buy' list alongside a new cooker, curtains and/or blinds or the DVD boxset of Skins. And besides, when you buy new things for your house, you like to show them off. I quite like the idea of showing people my new cooker (eventually), but I don't feel the same enthusiasm at the thought of presenting them with my new 'sick bowl'.

I blame the DVD for my strange dream. It was all going so well as I watched The Girl bumping uglies with Minnie Driver, but suddenly took a downward turn when Minnie ripped off her face to reveal it was really Robin Williams. I should have guessed from the hairy hands. If that wasn't bad enough, The Girl ripped her face off and it was me. Now, I like Robin Willliams, but not in that way. I wish I'd have watched Pirates of the Caribbean. Who could possibly say no to a little of The Depp!?

One more drink and I'll be fine. One more girl to take you off my mind.

I don't have any beef with guys who drink per se.
I'm not sure if I can use the word "majority" when I say that when they've had a drink, the majority of guys are ok. Accurate statistics aren't really important.
What I do have a problem with is guys who get drunk and it consequently turns them into a fucking idiot. My use of the word "idiot" is by no means intended as definitive.
How about defining idiot as a guy who thinks he is invincible, either squaring up to others, becoming loud mouthed wankers or just generally acting as if he is the strongest guy around and nobody could take him on.
How about defining idiot as a guy who becomes convinced that every single girl in the same room as him thinks he's irresistible. No girl could possibly resist him, but if they do, he tosses them off by declaring he wasn't interested anyway or even worse, that they must be lesbian.
How about defining idiot as a guy who think that nothing he does or says is offensive to anyone. That doing things like grinding a stone down the side of a car, smashing car door mirrors, letting tyres down, pushing bins over, smashing glass in bus-stops or telephone boxes, pulling flowers out or anything else pointlessly destructive is just 'fun' or 'silly' and that people who think otherwise are just 'Party Poopers'.
How about defining idiot as a guy who think he can talk with his fists.
How about defining idiot as a guy who becomes an embarrassment for his friends.

I'm not a party pooper and I'm well aware that the "majority" (there's that word again) of guys who drink are good fun to be around. I'm also completely aware that having a drink relaxes and crumbles down one's inhibitions, so with guys who tend to be a little tight, it can bring them out of themselves a little. It's the guys who don't know their limits that piss me off. I also find them intimidating and will more often than not remove myself from their presence out of fear for being dragged into something.
What I can't understand is, if guys know what they get like when they've had one too many, why oh why do they continue to push that limit. Why don't they realise that they could stop acting like an "idiot" if they just didn't drink as much. I'm sure the world would be a better place.

I have a friend who is the sort who you would describe as "one of the nicest guys I know". When he's had one too many, he turns....he changes....he evolves into what I can only describe as a sexual leech. He becomes predatory and leery. His conversations include as many double entendres as they can and when he's had way too many, he becomes openly suggestive.
An old friend of mine used to turn into a violent bashing machine. I can remember going to his house for the first time, his girlfriend embarrassed as I asked what all the holes in the walls and doors were.
Even my brother goes into "idiot" mode when he's had too many. Most of the time he's a lovable drunk, but I've been on the receiving end of text messages and phone calls from my sister-in-law, asking for help because he's had too many.
I used to get embarrassed when my mates used to go on the prowl in the pubs and clubs. Trying to get them to see sense always fell on deaf ears and often I'd find myself apologising to the girls and then leaving. Any further attempts by me to make them see sense usually resulted in a pointing, prodding and squaring up situation.

I've never been a big drinker myself. I could probably count on one hand how many times I've been really drunk. I've done my fair share of drinking in my younger days, but I think I lost interest in it quite early from when I used to go clubbing and see all the trouble it used to cause. Getting innocently dragged into fights probably didn't help either.
Nowadays, if I have a drink it's more to loosen up. I quite like the loose feeling. Merry is also a good place to be on occasion.

I had my door mirror smashed on Saturday night. I was staying over at The Girl's house and couldn't park right outside like I normally do. I had to park on an adjacent street, but it was still no more than 20 metres from her house. Not that that make a difference anyway because I've had it done before and I was parked right outside that time. Somebody's 'fun' is a pain in the arse to me. Not only do I have to find the money to replace the mirror and fix any internal workings that got damaged, but in the meantime, any driving I do is compromised by a lack of a vital item.

If you let go, the music should move your bones. Just remember....

Friday night....
Shouldn't I be out somewhere, or doing something, or being somewhere else that doesn't resemble my living room. I'm not depressed about being here. I'm not down about it or feeling sad. It just feels a little odd, like something's amiss.

I haven't worked enough this week, which is disappointing. The week before was great. No point in me losing sleep over it, it's just how it's been. Besides, this week coming could be brilliant.

The new series of Heroes is disappointing so far. I didn't expect that. I just hope Lost keeps up the standard when it returns.

I'm taking part in The Shuffleathon again, over at SwissToni's place.
I'm currently battling to cut my shortlist down. I may be some time because at last count, I was still about 20 songs too many.
Bollocks.

Weird post huh?
Yeah, weird mood.

Electric faces seem to merge. Hidden voices mock your words .

There's Winston Churchill dressed in drag. He used to be a British flag, plastic bag, what a drag.

After suffering a brief spell of incommunicado, we finally exchanged emails tonight.
We haven't arranged a meeting yet. We're still at the 'getting to know you' stage.
He's briefed himself as 30, gay, into sports, professional, reliable and honest.

What more could a guy ask for?!

The candy sweetness scent of you, it bathes my skin, I'm stained by you.

I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that the conversation with The Girl worried me slightly.
We seemed to have a difference of opinion about the similarity between licking and sucking someone's earlobes and going down on a girl.