Don't you hate it when you're about to press publish and you lose it all? I do.

Is it wrong of me to try to sort out all that headjam I have inside of me that I can't get out so often? Pretty much everyday this week i've worked over and then I've spent further time just writing up my blog, getting all that stuff out. Is it wierd of me to do that? To try and work out all that stuff?

I've been trying to work out What went wrong last weekend too - apart from everything, obviously. Was it somethign I said? Something I did? Something I didn't say or didn't do? Was it that I wasn't the person she remembered, not the knight in shining armour ; not so much the person she thought I was, but that I wasn't the person she remembered me as being in that 16 month gap. Maybe I couldn;t be everythign she thought I was going to be, maybe I was instead just the person i was, Always have been, not that romanticised, idyllic image. All I am is all I am, nothing more. I know myself better than to expect miracles from anything. All I am is just a man, with a mans courage, not much more than a man...

I should know better than to quote Flash Gordon when I'm soul searching, i really should.

‘Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die’…

Thursday, I was late for work. I had to parcel from the sorting office. Getting to the sorting office, me picking up the parcel and then getting to work took me some time ; five buses and 2 and a half hours. The actual time spent travelling? 45 minutes. That’s the beauty of public transport at commuter hours, eh?

If I drove I could have done it in fifteen. Ludicrous. And no matter hwat anyone says, waiting half an hour and then having three buses come at once is not the same as one every ten minutes. You dig? And On the way back, someone almost started a fight with me over a free paper. A copy of the metro. I stick the copy of the metro down right next to my bag whilst I get something out of my bag. Some guy picks it up and turns to the sport pages.

“Have you finished with my paper?” I ask
“You Put it down” He says.
“Doesn’t mean I was finished with it.”
“Did you buy it?” He asks.
“Doesn’t mean it was yours. Doesn’t mean I was finished with it - So, Are you done with my paper?” I say.
“Shut the f--- up man. Just shut the f—up!” He says..

I’m sure its not his lack of verbal reasoning or conversational skills or logical deduction or negotiation skills that mean he wasn’t at work that morning, honestly.

The rest of Thursday was pretty dull, but busy work wise. After work, I went to see Becca. My visit was delayed slightly by excessive roadworks, but I got there in the middle of her birthday celebrations. I find it impossible to believe she is
one already, that is a year ago I first met her. She was asleep then and so tiny. Now shes walking and talking and smiling and so full of personality and laughter. Surrounded by birthday balloons, and she talks so much. Not just the usual baby squeals and yelps, but multisyllabic words like ‘Ababwubbipdob’ and ‘ablumblumblumblumwab’. Beccas mom is convinced she’s speaking French. I’m convinced shes putting all the sillybulls she’s heard together into one and seeing what words she comes up with. I wish I was as bright and intelligent as her. Then she took me for a walk in the garden, and I really really love her to pieces. She’s the most important person in my world. She can’t be one already, but she is. Its an impossible thing to explain, that love you feel for a child, until you know it yourself.

Finally I got home to discover that even my backup plan of not making next weekend a complete and total disaster had failed. My plan was to go away next weekend to see someone, and I had purchased the train tickets far far in advance to get the best prices.Now things have been called off and those train tickets are are of no use to me, utterly bloody worthless. A total waste of £50, and its not my fault at all. Either way, I cant get the money back; and the back up plan failed because the sale of train tickets on ebay is forbidden. I cannot express my utter joy at the discovery of this, because…erm….I feel no joy at all. Just a dull, relentless grind at that money not being put to good use.

And one thing I am annoyed by is the fact that a couple of days ago, I wrote here about whats its like to care about, to be involved with deeply, with someone who has an addictive personality, a destructive personality, an alcoholic. Sadly I’m loyal to the point of stupidity sometimes, and misguided or not, you still care about people no matter how stupid or reckless some of the situations they find themselves in. And its heartbreaking to watch them do it to themselves, and that’s what really hurts. Because its not about pointing fingers, or laying the blame, or saying whose at fault. That’s not what I was talking about, and to try and turn it into a finger pointing exercise isn’t the point. Its about watching someone else disintegrate, how much it hurts to do so, and how powerless you are to change their life, when the only person who can chose to do so isn’t you. Its them. Its not about who started it. Who started it doesn’t matter anymore. That’s like running around sending out lawyers letters after a car accident rather than lifting people out of the burning wreck. Philip K Dick once wrote:

“Drug misuse is not a disease it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error in judgement. When a bunch of people begin to do it, it is a social error, a life-style. In this particular life-style the motto is 'Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying,' but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory”

Thing is, anyone with an addiction has it start somewhere. Normally in one seemingly innocent act for which the consequences cannot always be predicted. All things - even the smallest little acts - have consequences that ripple through decades later.

Did I know for example, that buying Iron Maiden’s ‘The Evil that men Do’ on picture disc would have such longstanding consequences? I did not know that that would lead to my decision to grow long hair, which would lead me to getting beaten up, which would give me permanent back damage? No. Its not exactly the best analogy in the world, but the analogy is this. At the beginning what seems innocent and harmless can, by the end, destroy you inside piece by tiny piece.

Just one, just one, just the first one, never makes any harm. The one drink. The one cigarette. The one tab. Its when its out of control, that’s when it causes harm. Its the addictive compulsive personality, that personality that tries to get back that particular high that’s long gone, that can never be back, and the easy access to alcohol, nicotine, and all sorts of drugs – that cause these problems. After all, if we banned alcohol or nicotine, would the quality of our lives be significantly impaired? Honestly?

Just throwing an idea out there. Its not going to happen. But seriously, does it do more harm than good, having these things out there, easily available? Of course it does. But some people have that addictive, compulsive, obsessive personality which compels them to do that. Just one more drink. Just one more drug. One more cigarette. One more CD. One more car. One more plastic surgery disaster. One more synthesiser. One more one night stand. One more. Whatever. Just the one. Just to get back to how good it was when it began. Just one more and then I’ll be complete. I’ll be done. That aching, god shaped hole will be filled, for a little while. Until that gnawing, dull, ache comes back again. It doesn’t matter what our vices are, we all have them, and none of us is free from it. None of us. And We’d be a fool to pretend otherwise.



For some people, that 'one more’ is more dangerous, more destructive than others. For some, its CDs. For some, its drink. For Some, its shoes. For all of us, it helps fill that little nagging god shaped hole until that ache comes back. To have a go at someone and say ‘its all their own fault’ could apply to anyone, anyone. Did you crash your car? Its your own fault. Are you an alcholic? Its your own fault. Did you spend so much money on CDS or shoes or whatever your vice is that you couldn’t afford to eat anymore, or have to move house, or become homeless? Its your own fault. All of it. And I’ve no sympathy with any of you.

Long term consequences of short term decisions and individual actions; All of them start from one point. One drink. One pair of shoes. One thing. No matter what. And its simply put as this: do we blame people for doing the same vices we ourselves do? None of us is above reproach here. We all have our vices. Even the ones we love. Especially the ones we love. And with our detachement, our taking one step back, we can all see it through a more rational, more detached pair of us, than we can up close.

That’s why its so easy for us to see the cracks in other peoples relationships as they fall apart when we are too close to our own to see the little fractures that will eventuall tear it apart as they begin to form.

He without sin, as simple as that. We’re all flawed, in our own way. Just some are flawed in more socially acceptable ways – such as the desire to purchase and buy consumer goods, foreign holidays – than others; such as those who have the desire to purchase and buy other products, such as alcoholics.

It is only the man freed of that desire who is free.

I do find myself looking back over the past and sometimes wondering, just what the hell am I doing with my life? I know there’s so many things I will never, ever do. But At least I’ll try to pay the rent on time, pay the bills on time, pay my debts on time. Everything else is a bonus. Without resorting to that king of pain schtick, I’ve been in the position where you don’t have a roof over your head – and in that position, it kinda realigns your perceptions. All this other stuff, all these other trappings that keep you up with the Jesus Jones? They don’t matter. Not at all. Buying an mp3 player won’t solve anything, The only thing that will make me better as a person is trying to follow the advice of Bill & Ted: be Excellent to each other.

You can never escape your own past. You will always see this world though the same set of eyes in the same head. You can have it shaped, the lines taken out, but it won’t change the same pair of eyes. You can never escape who you truly are. I may be a flawed individual, like all of us, but I’m never going to be pretend not to be. I may not have sold my soul to the devil, but no way am I clean, no way am I immune from these flaws. And it’s take a weak man to ignore these flaws, to pretend they don’t exist ; and to admit his errors and imperfections is not a sign of weakness.

Anyway, Germany is being invaded by gigantic mutant 50m sized earwigs as seen here , and remember, in these circumstances, always follow the advice of the register:- “Do not attempt to advance single-handedly upon the insect army quoting passages from the bible. The Godless Communist hoards will simply dissolve you with their death ray.”.

In form of an itinery then? I’m all written out, otherwise
Wednesday…
i)Work. Wake up at 6.52am. Unable to get back to sleep. Go to work. Its work.
ii)Go Home. Telephone calls. Cook the first meal at home in a week. I’ve been quite depressed, you see.
iii)hello giles. He brings around some stuff. Off to cinema
iv)Watch An inconvienient truth at the movies. Its like koyaanisqatsi, with a commentary track. Or the last five minutes of Steven Seagals ‘On Deadly Ground’, an ecological masterpiece. Or more accurately, a very well done, effective documentary. Pretty good, but its more like a DVD to watch than a cinema event./ fascinating and chilling though.
v)tescos. Buy the new Stereophonics Live 20 track double album, reduced now to £3.93. Its only been out two months. Impulse purchase for ya, that is.
vi)Sleep
viii)Work. Etc.

off out tonight. Its becca’s first birthday. She can’t really be one already. Honestly.

Monday Night, I stayed at work until seven o’clock. Well, half an hour on the internet after I finished at half six, but still, it was seven o’clock when I left the building. I was in the middle of a text message argument with someone, quite upset. I had to go to town to get a present for my daughter – she is one in a couple of days – and then I phoned Nic. I needed someone to talk to. I was thoroughly miserable.

I really didn’t feel like I could deal with this situation sober. I just had a horrible weekend – as evidenced below – and just needed to do something other than go home and wallow. So I went to the pub, had a couple of pints, talked rubbish, vented some spleen, and then just had a nice night being bloody silly – chopping out lines of salt on the table, talking rubbish – all very theraputic. And then I came home and went to bed, immeadiately. Waking up not tired was a great feeling.

Tuesday? Pah, it was mostly rubbish. Work and Work and Work. I stayed after work for an hour, writing my blog. I went home, and talked on the phone for a long time. Then to bed. And to sleep. Perchance to dream….

Wednesday? Babe, It ain’t over til it’s over….

Just a quick question though – and I wanna know – what do you think of my writing? Sometimes, about half an hour of getting into it, some good stuff comes out I think. Just flows.

Might have to think about NanoWriMo this year. this year, I might even finish it too.

G x

‘Don’t you know, you’ve got your daddy’s eyes….’

Its one of the hardest things in the world, seeing someone you love disintegrate slowly.

For some reason, I’ve tended to be attracted to women with destructive, addictive, personalities. Cathy, who I lived with for three years, turned out to have not just a propensity for destructive, reckless behaviour - such as excessive drinking, and the insistence that ‘I’m not old yet’ at 25, at trying to prove it by going out three nights in a row and spending money like water, before discovering that the bag of white powder kept in the sugar jar wasn’t sugar. Or Salt. It all ended very badly there. Dawn, on the other hand, got addicted to church. And then after she didn’t need me anymore, became an alcholic so much she lost her home.

The other woman I saw at the weekend, I’ve been seeing on and off for a while. Though it was the first time I saw her since April 2005, the first thing we did was go to the pub. Saturday was a Silent afternoon, not talking, just sitting, an emotional gulf between us. She had spent most of the last year as a self-confessed ‘lush’, which with her existing ability to go out and get drunk to the point of oblivion, seems pretty understated. She also had a history with other, more illicit substances. She openly confessed to the circles she hung out being less than salubrious – ‘I sold my soul to the devil’ she said at one point, in reference to the circles she keeps sometimes. I saw her behaviour then, and what she has said , and I can tell you one thing. She drinks a lot, and gets herself involved in situations where logic no longer applies. Quite simply, the drink (incidence, and frequency) has impacted on her normal behaviour. Yep, she can hold down a job, come across as organised ina professional context – but on a personal level, she can’t. It all falls apart.

And everyone else ends up paying the price.

When you love someone like that, the way they make you feel is wonderful. When wrapped up in their arms, that warmth and glow, its magical. Its like nothing else matters. When the phone rings and you don’t know where they are or what they’re going to be like, that predictability, that certainty disappears. You just can’t rely on them. You just don’t know whats gonna happen. You know they don’t know when its enough, when to stop, when to say no, when to hold fire and decide to just take it easy, to make sure they don’t lose control. That’s when problems start. And everyone else ends up having to pick up the pieces, staying sober enough to make sure the whole world doesn’t fall apart, to look after them when they can no longer look after themselves. Its like having a baby running around in an adult body, only they choose to do it, to be irresponsible. And the next morning someone has to pick up the pieces, make sure they are alright, change all their plans around someone for who the word stop does not exist, for whom throwing up out of a taxi is a normal occurance, or falling into bed at stupid oclock and sleeping all day trying to recover, or for whom their personal life is pretty much a complete, chaotic, random, mess.

People concentrate on the alcoholic – not the people who support them. Not the people who try to look after them. Not the people who love them. Not the people who have to be there for them, because no one else is. You can only try to help so much, and fail everytime, before it becomes a slow demoralising spiral. The dullness and uncertainity. The feelings of not knowing what will greet you in the morning, or when you go home. Some people take after their parents – the role model, the person you look up to, and because they do it, and you love your parents – because your parents are the closest thing to god you’ll ever know because after all, like god, they made you, they are the creator, they brought you into this world and there must be some reason why we are here and the person who maqde you who you love and look up, their reason is a magical liquid that makes them happy – well, that’s what you’ve been taught. That’s what you’ve learned.

One day you realise you’ve a little life to look after. And you can’t just carry on, making sure you’re sober enough to go to work on the morning after the night before. Theres someone who loves you, who depends upon you for everything, and the magical liquid wont make their screaming go away. They depend upon you. They trust you. They love you no matter what happens, no matter if you don’t love yourself, that there’s these little demons pushing you one way or the next, and this little person loves you so much they don’t understand why you would make them hurt. Make them hungry. All they could ever do is love you, and all you ever could do is drink. And not do the housework.

But its natural to you. Its too hard to cope with, and one little drink will not shrink you ‘til you’re underground, it will just make it a little bit better to deal with. And if one will make it better, maybe two will make it even easier. And the screaming is so loud, and one drink’ll turn the volume down. It’ll be Ok. Don’t worry. Hush Hush. They’ll cry themselves to sleep soon enough.




“You think / One drink / Will shrink you 'til you're underground / And living down / But it's not going to stop / til you wise up”

But for the people who love you, there isn’t that relief. There’s dread, creeping, encroaching dread. The living with the waiting for something terrible to happen. One day. But you love them. You Can’t leave. Its just this once. Just once. Its ok. Don’t Worry. Hush hush. It won’t happen again. Its just because of this, or that. Just Because. You want to feel their arms around you again, see them sparkle and shine like you know you can, Like that momentary glimpses you see when they are happy, rather than the fragment of a person that they could be, that haze of rage ready to be ignited just to saying the wrong word, not this dull haze of existence. But its too late, and you don’t know its too late, and you’re in too deep to leave, because you love them and cant bear to let go, to see them go, because you care. Because its just as hard to leave as it is to stay. And you know, you hope, that just around the corner, everything will be ok, and you want to see it ok, want to see that moment when they stop. When they stop. Not reach for that other drink.

And then they reach for that other drink.

Another night out where there’s music and lights and they feel alive.

And that’s what its like seeing someone you love slowly fade in front of yours. Someone you love throw it all away. Everything you could offer them – everything you think you could offer them – love, acceptance, happiness, the chance of everything you could give them – is not enough. Never enough. All you can do is watch them fade, unwilling to turn away is an act of betrayal because you love them, and knowing that staying is even worse.

And dammit, if that doesn’t hurt, nothing ever will.

Don’t you know, you’ve got your daddys eyes….

"Some people have a past so threatening it has to be forgotten...We should try to give ourselves a new past from which we should have liked to descend. But this is also dangerous, because it is so difficult to trace the denial of ones past...." - Paul De man

I had a dreadful weekend. Really, quite possibly, the worst weekend I’ve had in years. A complete, total, and unmitigated disaster with no redeeming features whatsoever. It was supposed to be a great weekend too. Obviously, it wasn’t.

I went to Newcastle, for a wedding. (Not mine). I got there and met someone I hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. But it was good to meet them again. Came in on the train,got a cheap ticket, met up with who I was supposed to see. She met me at the train station, looking so different but looking so good for it - long hair, thinner, and then we met her friends, and then we went to the pub (The Forth) . And then went to a bar called Camp David ; its a gay bar and with a name like that, you wouldn’t expect any else, would you? Then off to another place - the tackiest disco in Europe. Later that night, watching Saturday Night fever, the floor patterns really did look familiar.

A little while later, I’m inside someones apartment. This was really not what I wanted to be doing tonight; Trying to meet gay Geordie brickies in order to obtain pharmaceuticals from them. Let it not be said I live a dull life sometimes. Mission unpossible that it is, we left to go back to the flat, where she proceeded to get involved with argybargy on the phone with people in another country - even at three in the morning, shes on the phone trying to sort something out, rowing away with someone.. And more. It was a horrible night, but Saturday was less interesting.

Saturday, I got up. Put my suit on, looked fairly presentable, We went to the wedding. Bumped into someone I hadn’t seen in fifteen years, someone from school, exchanged email addresses. We didn’t get to the wedding – we got to the pre-wedding reception, but had to leave. She was unwell, and called a taxi, passing out lightly, and then pulling the taxi over to vomit. This was the side effects of laser treatment and the biopsy because she has cancer – something completely hidden from me until a few hours before. She didn’t want to talk about it. We went back to the flat and stayed there all day, not heading to the reception. The high point of the day was her watching Match of the Day whilst I read ‘A Scanner Darkly’ on the sofa. And on Sunday morning, they left without saying a word. . My train isn't for another seven or eight hours, I'm in a strangers flat using their mac, and I can't help but feel disappointed. To leave without saying goodbye when someone has travelled 200 miles to be there for you is just bloody rude.

Its was like a vigil in a wilderness of mirrors this weekend - where nothing is exactly what it seems. I see plans within plans within plans, subterfuge and deceptions and webs of lies and untruths and omissions, all piling up around one another, encircling and encroaching. All because of a few simple deceptions - the white lies that turn black, the untruths we tell that that become fact in other peoples minds.

We all present sides of ourselves to other people; not the raw, naked, honesty and emotion; but the sides people want to see. In all honesty, I don't. i am what i am, nothing more, nothing less, but some people aren't like that. to Some people they are different people, chameleons to that world. I cannot be. Take it or leave it...most people seem to leave it.

I wouldn't say when growing up I did without. There were things I didn't have that other people didn’t, but I didn't know anything different. All I knew was all I had. We didn't go to Florida on holiday, but we weren't impoverished ; We did ok. We got by. I didn't worry so much about the next meal, because I could always look in the freezer and make sure it was still there; even if one time, we went on a school trip and ate sandwiches whilst everyone else had the luxury of a McDonalds. If I'd know it wasn't quite so exciting, I might even have had a MacDonalds in birmingham.

And then certain things happened. The vanity number plate. the holiday in the same town every year. Little things, little illusions of how our life might be, social aspirations and little benchmarks to show we still had it, still were able to fit in and compete with the jones. I used to do the same myself, with my record collection. I've got all this stuff, I'd think to myself, doesn't that mean something? that I've still got it? Still hip and it means something?

Does it hell. it just means I've spent a lot of money on music. Todays must-have album of the year for £8.97 in Tescos is in five years time, going to be £1 in an MVE bargain basement, along with another five copies of the same thing. so much for keeping down the Jesus Joneses. Its all transitory, it all will pass and be meaningless. The only worth it has is whether it moves you or not, what you get out of it. if you just buy it to look good on the coffee table, the more fool you. this years trend is tomorrows yesterdays man. And then landfill, so it seems.

So I look over the shelves of books and CDs and DVDs and wonder just what sort of Box set defines me as a person - is it Hendrix or Joy Division?

All this stuff is just so meaningless. it took me many years to realise it, to break out of that comfort zone. The only stuff that matters is the fact that youve got friends and people you can trust and love,and the roof over your head. All that over aspirational stuff? mere window dressing. I dont need an ipod to be happy - or any of those other consumer goods - i dont need that. i don’t need your consumer devices and expensive cars. I just need to know Im doing ok, that my soul is fed not my debt.

I judge how rich I am now by the company I keep and the fact there's food in the freezer. Nothing more. I've done my get into debt thing, and its just made me more determined never to owe anyone, anything, ever. Debt has no soul ; it will not cry when you leave, it will no go hungry, and it will not stop, ever. Its like the goddamn terminator. it will take everything it can, if only you are willing to let it. All you have to do is apply here for the credit. The zeros magicked out of thin air into your account.

nowadays, I get by ok as well. I go to work and come back. i don't have a passport, and I dont go on holidays. my curtains are dried yellowing newspapers, Because I am at heart quite unmotivated and lazy. But at least I am honest enough to admit it, no matter how much I dislike it. No matter whatever my past, no matter whatever lies you wrap yourself in, the truth remains and it cant be escaped.

Some days I feel sorry for myself, Like I'm not enough for someone. I've already had someone say to me this weekend they knew they weren't good enough for me, that i was too good for them. But thats another story. Because Sometimes you think you know someone, and you don't. You don't know them at all. There's pieces of them you've never seen, probably never will, that they've kept from you.

Though I am quite guarded about some things, I'm quite open about others. Sometimes though, people just keep secrets, things they’ve done that they don’t want everyone or anyone to know. I know i do, but my sins are pretty lightweight compared to others. Some peoples sins are bigger than others. Much bigger.

Some things though, if someone is to be in your life, you must tell; no matter how uncomfortable. There's some things I wouldn't necessarily want to share with
everyone, but if you want to be with someone, to have them trust and love you and be open with you, you cannot by definition then not be open with them. Not tell them. because if you do that, then what is that trust worth? its worthless. By omitting the truth, you are basing the relationship on a lie. And You cannot base a relationship on lying, or omission; because like any house built on sand, it will crumble.

Or maybe its not omission. Maybe its an inference or something similar of something that has gone terribly, terribly wrong; that something terribly terribly bad has happened, and somehow you are involved.

And how can you keep that from someone, and yet still be loved? not knowing if that person you love might not unleash their vengeance upon you, even if you have done nothing to them. To know that they could, that they have that power inside them - would you want to spend time with that person? Would you wonder if you've have to watch your back? Someone who no matter what else happens and what other bad luck befalls them, that you never know when someone elses vengeance may fall upon them...and anyone else in their way. Anyone else involved in their life.

I can't deny I'm not upset. of course I am. i feel like the past two years of my life have been thrown away for what? Nothing. No wonder I occasionally feel that haze of rage you get when you feel betrayed. When someone suddenly cuts you dead, when they act like its nothing, not in their life. It looks like I’m not in their life anymore, judging by the way they left without saying goodbye on Sunday. Yes it's the end, the final showdown Yes it's the end of our small love You'll have to find another no one to take the sh1t like I have Well I guess this is the end, I guess this is the end. Thank god, because now its someone elses sh1t to deal with.




“ ……to have watched a human being you loved deeply, that you had gotten real close to, held and slept with and kissed and worried about and befriended and most of all admired -- to see that warm living person burn out from the inside, burn from the heart outward…..”

PK Dick

I should be at a wedding right now. I'm not.

I travelled about 200 miles to be here, for a wedding of a stranger, bumped into a friend from school I haven't seen since 1991, and though I met the Groom, I still have no idea who the bride is or what she looks like. I got to the pre-wedding reception, but had to leave.

The person who I was invited to attend with has cancer. Something I didn't know until today.I had no idea. I really cannot explain quite how worried and upset I am about it.

The doctors told them to take it easy, not to travel, to rest, but the side effects of the treatment were worse than reckoned - they passed out at the reception, followed by vomiting.Thats laser treatment and a biopsy for you. And thats the least of it - thats just the stuff I can talk about.

I'm immensely worried, and They are rested, its all I can do.

I will check in again on monday. i dont really wanna talk about.

rather sadly I’ve been reading some Dan Brown. I wondered what all the fuss was about, so I read it. One of them ; not Da Vinci Code, because I already know what happens, but its predecessor ‘Angels and Demons’. Could it really be as bad as all the press I had read?

I finished it in four hours – all six hundred or so pages of it.

You can tell a lot about a writer from his style of writing ; Uncomplicated sentence structures, straightforward and leaden writing, and a rather limited simplistic vocabulary helped make it easier to understand; except of course for the specialist, complicated terminology designed to impress.I’d probably reckon that this writer read a potboiler like this, thought he couldn’t do any worse, and gave it a shot. In other words, not a writer as such, but a jobsworth hack.

The plot? Predictable and hackneyed. Signposted about 50 pages in advance. Certain little things – a line here and there – stand out as obvious signposters. Others are worked on the principle of what Chekov says ; “If a character has a gun, It must go off in the third act.” Things are introduced with the obviousness of certainity that they will be used to advance the plot – why use a Boeing X-33 at Mach 15 eh? Because….well, we need to prove a certain organisation has a certain ostentiousness of money. Why would someone park a helicopter in the Vatican when there’s an implausible antimatter bomb hidden somewhere in the city that’s going to obliterate it within the next 20 minutes? Well, like, duh. You go figure. Especially when we’ve been signposted that the herop will save his life using an improvised parachute in chapter one.

The plot? Its risibly overcomplicated, convoluted, and insane. Some grand conspiracy by the Catholic Church to reassert themselves in the world, involving the ritualistic murder of world-renowned figures, missing antimatter bombs, and a string of further ritualistic murders to propel the plot along. However, in the past 100 pages, it goes completely into the realms of ludicrosity; with the murder of four cardinals, the desecration of churches, the murder of the pope, the sucession process, an antimatter bomb exploding in a helicopter four miles above the Vatican, ritual immolation in front of a baying audience of millions on live tv, and a hideen illegitimate child of the pope. And that’s not to mention the risible last line; ‘Have you ever made love to a yoga instructor?’.

Jeezus. I haven’t read something this bad since Dr. Seuss.

Sure, its propelled forward at a lightning pace, but the strings of implausibility don’t so much suspend disbelief as look like examples of ‘what the most improbably crazy ludicrous stuff I can get away with next?’. Simplistic language, little advanced beyond a standard basic reading level of a 15 year old, devoid of sophiscation and using the same level of literacy of a tabloid, with no craft or insight in the work – the words exist solely to express the plot forward to the next action sequence.

Actually, I found myself reading it to find out what happens next. Not because I cared about the characters – all wafer thing ciphers – but instead just to see how much ludicrous it could get. Antimatter bombs, exploding with the force of a nuclear explosion, five miles above the Vatican, for example. The lead character jumping out of a helicopter without a parachute, surviving a 33,000 ft fall unscathed and able to run like the Six Million Dollar Man.

Its utterly, utterly terrible. Devoid of any craft or artistry, this exists solely as a roadmap for stuff blowing up. Its like Indiana Jones, without the brains, or actions. Its like a bad Tom Selleck movie, full of shocks and schlock and utter utterly risible. God only knows how they’ll make a movie out of this. It’ll be terrible.

Sometimes, you’ve got to experience something just to see just how bad it is. This is one example. Never again. I’ve read Stephen King and Tom Clancy books – I know what an airport novel potboiler is. This? It makes Tom Clancy looks like Baudrillard. It makes King looks like Shakespeare. It’s a book that reads like Its been written for teenagers, written in the same vernacular as an issue of the Sun, and utterly utterly devoid of any merit at all. It’s a book for people who don’t read books, a book that reads like a 600 page magazine article or short story in Playboy. Like harry Potter, its not a book for adults. Its dire beyond belief.

So, could it be as bad as I heard? No. Its worse.

Honestly.

“Dear Lord baby Jesus, we thank you so much for this bountiful harvest of Dominos, KFC, and the always delicious Taco Bell”

I had lots to tell you, but I can’t remember any of it right now. Oh, yeah.

Tallegeda Nights. Damn, its good. Damn its, funny. But Damn, its nowhere near as good as Anchorman or Zoolander or the Wedding Crashers, and especially not MTV:Reloaded, Its probably one of the lesser, but better, Will Ferell movies. He’s a redneck stockcar driver, dumb as a box of hammers and twice as vulgar, on a rags to riches to rags to glory trip. Add in Sacha Baron Cohen as the overexaggerated hypereffeminate and blatantly homosexual rival Jean Giraud, in a typecast stereotypical French performance (reading Baudrillard and sipping tea mid-race anybody?), and lots of stupid, struipid humour, and you’ve got a winner. Consistently hilarious and laugh out loud funny, though not as cohesive or consistent as Anchorman, occasionally patchy, its great, but dumb, but great. Its Like Smokey and the Bandit, meets Anchorman, with Jokes. And the best one liner was one I didn’t even expect. “What, is this like the Whitesnake video?” EXACTLY. It even crossrefences Highlander too.anyway, I prefer the Christmas Jesus.

Here,s some post from DVDtimes, Linky and it was Another hard, long day at work. Another day without comments. I’m out of time, and its time to go home. So off I go. And Here's some wierd locomotive for ya.

Busy day. overtime and I'm still atw ork. here be links.



i)Did you know Sealand had a railway station? Linky And here’s more about diused railway stations link

ii) Celebrity ‘Fake’ nude photos shocker. bear / Woods interface

iii)You’ve heard of Man bites Dog, here’s…. man bites Panda

iv) Napster 'For Sale'


Daleks invade Netherlands, interdimensional portal discovered, , shocked Schwarzneggar devotees discovers Phased pulse rifles in forty watt range unavailable in gun shops when told 'hey, just what you see, pal' .

I will be EXTREMELY quiet this weekend. I am away.

Watching my daughter grow up, little by little, is a wonderful thing. Its difficult to explain to someone who isn’t a parent, but seeing a little someone who would have never existed without you, watching them walk and giggle and play and explore the world like everyday is fresh and new abd exciting, watching them form their personality, be thoughtful and inquisitive; its like nothing else in the world. Only the other night, I was reading a text message from her mother, when she told me about a little becca who didn’t want anything but to be held and spoken too and following her around all day moaning ‘mum mum’….. and I got all emotional and had a little cry.

She hasn’t really been here a year has she? It doesn’t seem like yesterday I first held her in my arms as she slept just after being born. But at the same time, It can’t imagine a world without her, I can’t imagine not knowing her, not seeing her joyful and playful. She’s so important in this world, sometimes I feel like I could change the whole world just to make it better for her.

I really do miss that little girl, she means everything to me.

I realise I’ve been very quiet this month. It’s probably got a lot to do with workload – there’s lots of it. And no let up at all. But still, that’s a different matter.

It’s been an interesting weekend. Much has come to light about my wife. Well, ex-wife. It appears that after she split from me, she spiralled out of control, to alcoholism and pot smoking, to the point whereby friends would come around and she would refuse to let them in because you’ve have a half drunk bottle of vodka inside and two friends enjoying the products of hydroponics. Instead, you talk to them on the balcony, rather than let them in.

Problem is, when our relationship was deteriorating, she turned to the church to reaffirm her identity and individuality. Without me present, she didn’t need to reassert that identity and individuality – she had the place back to herself and her life back to herself. As a result, she no longer needed the church to take up her time and have her separate identity from me. She became rudderless, began to drink and smoke again, and reached the point where a bottle of vodka a night was not uncommon, as she told me herself. With the money going on the booze rather than the roof over her head, and debts rising, it was easier to abandon the council flat and its subsidised rent and the arrears of £700 than it was to keep it. Of course, the best thing to do is then of course, to move to kingstanding in a shared out with another woman, lose the job, and erm…continue rudderless and adrift.

Given what happened after she and I split, On the basis of the above, It appeared I provided a steadying influence whilst I was there. No matter how unhappy and how difficult things between us were, I never would have let that home be thrown away out of sheer foolishness. Its an utter act of irresponsibility, to lose your home but keep on buying the vodka and alcohol. I’m no angel and deeply flawed, but I think when the chips are down, I am at least sensible and pay the bills promptly and regularly. Better that than lose everything. I’ve been in the position where I’ve lost everything before – being homeless three days after my beautiful daughter was born - and I never ever want to see that happen again. I don’t take the ground beneath my feet and the roof above my head for granted.Its given me a humility, an appreciation, I never other wise had. Its easy to take for granted that it’ll always be there, but all of us are only two paycheques away from the street, as the phrase goes.

But this is the life she chose for herself, and I have no sympathy. She had a job, she had a cheapo place to live way below market rent, and threw it all away. Shes shown herself to be who she is, and Im glad I’m not with her anymore.

The past is soemthign you can’t escape. It will never go away. It will always be part of your life and your history, it will always be there. How much longer will I carry this albatross around my neck, weighed down like the ancient mariner? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner It will always be part of what made me who I am today; and splitting from her was probably one of the most important, life changing events of my life. I can’t imagine my life If I had still stayed with her, to be honest. I probably wouldn’t have a beautiful daughter who I adore, or my own home. It changed me, forever. And it is by your fruits you will know them; she spiralled into alcoholism and lost her home, and me? I have a beautiful daughter, a home of my own, a job and overall, stuffs alright. I can pay the bills, that’s the important thing, and I’m getting by. Even though things are far from perfect, I’m happier than I have been under her. And though I wouldn’t wish what I went through on my worst enemy, I have a appreciation of what I do have, like I couldn’t have imagined before.

Sure, it’s part of my past, and always will be; but the past is history. That’s where it remains. Its not the here and now. I’m in a so much better place than I was when I was with her. And By your fruits you will know them… the quote says .... On basis of what I've heard, I'm far happier the way things have turned out this way for me than how they have for her. But thats the way the things are now, not in the past.It'll always have been a part of my life - that day when I was refused entry to a homeless hostel, that day when I didn't even have somewhere to sleep - but It's the present thats most important to me.

The Past is History. My history. Its not where I'm going to spend the rest of my life. Thank God.

MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME

1.What is the middle name of the first person you ever slept with?
I don’t think she had a middle name. Oh hang on – Amy.

2. What kind of underwear are you wearing and what color?
Black – like my rotten to the core heart. Pants.

3. What is the song you want played at your funeral?
Dead Can Dance. The Host of Seraphim.

4. Would you tell your parents if you're gay?
No. He couldn’t stand it. He thought I was gay once because I didn’t have a girlfriend at the age of 14 – which being a solitary, shy, 14 year old boy with glasses and horrific acne and being bullied at an all boys school yet having amassed a huge amount of erm…magazines….

5. What would your last meal be before getting executed?
Big Mac and Fries to go. (Though in all seriously, I’d have an all you can eat buffet with no time restriction)

6. Beatles or Stones?
The ‘Oo.

7. If you had to pick one person on earth who should die, who?
There's No one I hate that much.

8. Beer, wine or hard liquor?
Cider. Oooargh. Scrumpy.

9. What is the thing most important to you about your mate?
That I know she is out there somewhere.

10. What are your plans for the future?
Stuff.

12. Do you walk around the house naked?
Yes. But I live alone, so no one else notices.

13. How many drinks does it take to get you drunk?
About 4 or 5.

14. Where is your best friend(s)?.
At the end of the phone.

15. Hair color you like on someone you're dating?
I’ve a soft spot for redheads.

16. Would you rather be blind or deaf?
Much as I love music, I’d rather be Deaf. I’d still have the internet, DVD subtitles, good books, and be able to cross the road safely.

17. Do you have any special talents?
The ability to sing out of tune.

20. Favorite hateful thing to do to someone?
I don’t hate anyone that much.

21. First movie you can remember seeing as a kid?
Herbie goes Bananas and The black Hole.

22. What do you do as soon as you walk in the house?
Throw my keys down.

23. When's the last time you went on a date?
A long long time ago.

24. Do you like horror or comedy?
Sci-fi.

26. Person you most wish you hadn't made out with?
I think you can guess.

28. If you weren't straight, what person of the same sex would you do it
with?
Elvis. Of course. Or em…


29. Where do you want to live when you are old?
Home.With an army of subservient robots.

30. Who is the person you can count on most?
Me.

31. If you could date any celebrity past or present, who would it be?
None.

32. Where was your first kiss?
.In the alleyway in junior school with a girl called Claire.

33. Favorite drinking game?
None

34. What did you dream last night?
Blissful sleep

35. What is your favorite sport to watch?
None

36. When was the last time you got laid?
*blushes* long time ago

37. What is your new obsession?
Stuff. Vacuuming.

38. If you could take back one thing in your past, what would it be?
The past.

I'm still alive.

And erm... Thats it. There's nothing else to report. I'll be off in a minute.

Not much to say today. So it won't be said, whatever it is. Except I really , really want to try this one energy drink I've never tried.....



I mean, its endorsed by Steven Seagal. SEAGAL! For gods sake. Now thats a man. A real man. A man who makes straight to video action movies, as identified here on this page . (Look under V for my favourite straight to Video title ever...)

Which kind of reminds me of a great movie pitch. Why not stick a whole load of once-iconic action stars now in straight to video films in just One film....Stallone, Van Damme, Seagal, Hasselhoff, AND Chuck Norris? Hmmm, I'd buy that for a dollar. Mind you, that Seagal, he's not bitter about being passed up for the Last Samurai, not at all. Can't you tell? ""I was raised in Japan. I was schooled in martial arts. I was given the title of master. They take a movie The Last Samurai. They have a five foot two inch little guy, whether he was straight or gay, I don't know. I don't care. He had never been to Japan. He doesn't speak Japanese. He has never held a sword. They make him the last samurai. [6]"


I think I'm talk rubbish. Toodlepip.

Erm.... Crank gets reviewed.

Nothing else to tell you, peeps.

Apparently Some of my comments yesterday may have been considered uncharitable. I don’t think they were.

I’d be quite glad to live a relatively simple life, some days. This might be why I’m quite such a hermit. I don’t have many friends (though I did surprise myself by how many I had to put into the new phone), and these close friends are people I trust. There’s not many I do trust, come to think of it. People who play games and manipulate…I cut them out of my life. Its best. I don’t need it, so I don’t take it. And erm….that brings me onto people like my ex. (Most of ‘em, actually.).

Some people just aren’t what you think they are. They present themselves to you in one light, but as time goes by, you realise they aren’t the person you thought they were – or the person they wanted you to think they were. And that’s what happened with the person I saw on Friday night. They weren't who I believed they were, and I’m really glad nothing further ever happened. Friday night, I went out to have a great time – and I did – and along the way I saw someone who I thought might have been grinding an axe, proving a point that no one cared about. Lifes too short. The past is history, as I say, and its best left there. Still, there ya go. (I guess this veiled criticsm is some passive/aggressive thing some might say, but quite simply, it isn’t. I still feel that the ‘look at me’ actions were a bit pathetic and pointless, and I don’t mind saying so. Saddens me really. Still, they’re someone I have no involvement with any longer, and that’s for the best).

Is this thinking bad of an ex? Or is it me instead just talking about the way I feel they acted that night? Badmouthing others isn’t necessarily good form, but neither is such point scoring. Perhaps it is true that the people who win are those who do not fight; in this case, I was simply not concerned by their attempts in the way they intended: if they wanted to prove themselves better, maybe they should have just tried to prove that point quite so much. Either way, I’m glad not to be involved with that person anymore.

In the form of an itinery then?
Tuesday? Go home. Cook. Sleep.

Wednesday? Work.

Thats about it really. Oi! Giles! Wanna do a movie tonight? Ring me ASAP. I don't feel quite so rubbish as I did when I work up after five hours sleep anymore. Honest.

Stolen from a blog found via google....

1. YOUR ROCKSTAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Storm Hawkesley * (not my current street, btw)

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your mom's side, your favorite candy)
Isabella Crunchie

3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your last name)
G-Ree

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite animal, favorite color)
Dog Black

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Brent Birmingham

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters of your last name, last 3 letters of mother's maiden name, first 3 letters of your pet's name)
Reewil Sto

7. JEDI NAME: (middle name spelled backwards, your mom's maiden name spelled backwards)
Tnerb Dliw

8. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, the automobile you drive)
Black Matchbox

Didn’t blog yesterday. Very Busy. Very busy, indeed. Frantic and Hectic. Today hasn’t been much better.



So, in the manner of an itinery…

Friday – I phone Nic, who is in town. Only she’s not. We decided to go to town for a quick one. This quick one ends at 3.15 in the morning, 4 pints and 1 night club later. I hadn’t been home to change. I rocked like only a man with short hair in a work shirt playing air guitar with no shame or concept of how stupid he looks can. Somewhere along the night, I bumped into an old acquaintance. Someone I once had a brief physical relationship with.

I’m there with Nic, my friend. As is often the case, when people see a boy and a girl together, for all intents and purposes, they are together. That’s what people assume. So this statuesque woman, her stature enhanced by a proscribed gothic femininity and heightened by five inch stiletto heels on thigh high boots to a an Amazonian height, is there, and that’s the old acquaintance.For some reason I’m reminded of the song lyric that goes ‘She’s got legs for miles, but her face is a mess….’

Shes seen me, in that blue work shirt. No longer shirking work, no longer sponging off the government. Whenever I was dancing with Nic, this old acquaintence then seemed to miraculously dance next to me, shaking it like a Polaroid picture. As if she’s trying to say how much better she is than Nic. As if to say, look at that, is that the best you can do? I’m so much better than you, you are so beneath me. I’m so above you. Beyond you. Elevated from a definite mistake, as I apparently was, because she’s a high quality woman, and she needs a high quality man. (Maybe that’s why she was out on her own, I suppose.)

Not a word is said. It doesn’t have to be. There’s nothing to say, no connection, nothing. The past is history, that’s where it belongs. That’s where it stays. That’s what you do with mistakes – leave them behind.

The more I got to know her, the more I realised I didn’t really like her; her personality, those little postures and small little pointscoring powertrips, I don’t need them. I leave that whole sort of playing games routine to kids, not adults. (Small goes for little plastic dollies, actually).

We’ve all met people in the past who we realise weren’t right for each other, and thank god I’m not with her. She wasn’t pretty, and I wouldn’t have picked her out from the crowd. It just made me think if she was trying to prove a point about how much better she is than me, it failed - because I wasn't bothered by who was better than who. She was. I wonder what that says about the situation.

Saturday – erm, is that the time? I get up…and nothing gets me down. Well, I do go into town, to meet Susan. Susan is a woman I’ve known for seven years, who I first met at a Miles Hunt gig. She’s getting married in a few weeks and invited me to the hen do. This involves some of her friends, a couple of boyfriends, me, and a lot of booze, a Chinese all you can eat buffet, a lot of silly accents and fake moustaches, my very best redneck mechanic impression, and calling everyone Cleetus. All I needed was the motor oil, and I’m a one man Jaymz Hetfield tribute act. YEEHAW! Which then proceeded into some very bizarre conversations, very bizarre indeed. And then if was off to snobs. Only we went to Edwards first, where I got stiffed out of £10 by the door staff because I was too dumb to realise I had given them a £20 not a ten, and then after half an hour there where some got increasingly bored, we went to snobs. Its at the point that money flowed like water, and Susan bought a bottle of champagne for £30. Insania.

Sunday involved lots and LOTS of painting. Or more accurately, Giles insisting I get out of the way whilst I let him get into the theraputic aspect of painting. I think Giles likes painting. I don’t think he likes me in the way.

Monday involved burning cds, having a nice long bath, and phone calls.

And Tuesday was just busy at work.

Hmmm.

Veyr busy yesterday, and last night, I went out. Most unexpected too.Nic was in town, I rang her sayign I oculd go into town, we met up, I went to the borders sale, and then to the pub for a quick pint. I wasn't expecting to be out late and I wasn;t expecting to be out either, so I didn'tgo home and change or bring a shirt, I just went out in my work clothes.

Quite why I was air guitaring at five to two in my work shirt I don;t know. it might have been the drink, or something. I bet I looked shit on the dancefloor, really. However, At least one observer said I looked like I was 'going insane'.

But most unexpected was something that was going to happen sooner or later anyway; bumping into someone you've known People do act in mysterious ways, sometimes.Sometimes they act like its about scoring points and proving how better they are than others. Petty, petty behaviour. Thats what you get to bumping into someone who you had a one night stand with two years ago and then publically got trolled by because they were too chicken to deal with the situation properly. Still, its quite funny in a tragic sort of way.

Yes, I live.

More tomorrow. Busy day. not much time.

P.S. Even though he is my brother, he can be bleeding rude sometimes. *Shuts hotel Graham for winter*

Quite Possibly the best ebay auction ever.... the unofficial 'Snakes on a Plane' 1970s vintage action set!

Another Orange Wednesday, another cheap Movie. Cars.

Cars rocks. Its digital animation is by far the best I’ve ever seen on a pixar production, and that is saying something. And there’s so many small, minor, fleeting jokes in the background (the Sparkplug company called ‘re-volt-ing!’ for example on a sticker on a car, the plot point about Lightning Mcqueen beign nicknamed ‘Stickers’ because he does have any lights, that sort of thing), its impossible to take it all in on first viewing. Not to mention the Fast and Furious-esque neon hotrodders (complete down to the car designs themselves), and so so much more. Its great, it really is. And watch the end credits. All of ‘em. You don’t want to miss the remake of scenes from toy Story made in a car universe at the drive in , do you? Or the little car-flies? Really, its just a great family film. Pure fun, though not quite as satirical as the other pixar movies and the plot isn’t quite so good, it does look more realistic than, say – Driven. Hmmmm.

Another late night too, another long day at work, another night with little sleep. 4 hours each night these past four days. Since Midday Sunday I’ve slept 16 hours out of 96. I’m slightly tired, and work is frantically busy. Last night I saw becca, and given that she started walking and never shuts up – shes such a chatterbox – well, just seeing her walk is great. Anyway, Im gonna turn into some soppy dad at this rate, so I’ll shut up.

Ok, here’s the news:-

i) Terminator: the TV show
ii) Knight Rider: das Movie
iii) And Its Tony Blair, Goodbye! You might want to pencil in May 3rd as his leaving day – the 10th anniversary of his coronation ans King Tony the despot

So, Iraqis are bad for you official – After losing his sight in a bomb blast, he continued to drive around in his car. Bloody idiot. Surely it wasn’t this careless approach that led him into being in a bomb blast, surely? Mere slander I know, but I cant help but suspect the two are elated. Honestly.

And in the meantime, Ebay are cashing in on the recent interest in Steve Irwin…. though actual body parts aren’t being sold yet. Neither in the stingray, come to mention it.



And here’s some info on the new megascraper being built on the graves of 3000 dead Americas – aka Ground zero. Its surely better to build yet another concrete middle finger to the world then learning from your mistakes and not building commercial edifices which are vulnerable and prone to attack? Hmmm?

Hmmm.The more I write, the less people comment. Especially after my copius output recently. In brief, though I am a very high quality man, I was in fact extracting urinal fluid from a pretentious and self-important woman, and making a confessional about my emotional detachment. Alas, though I blog only for myself, its nice to know I’m screaming into the void……(hang on, isn’t that an album by Judas Priest?)

*takes vow of silence, fails, starts blogging again*

One of the things I do think about occasionally is how much I’ve changed over the past two or three years. Its weird, but without my wife, life would have been so much more different.

Towards the end of the relationship, She found herself getting more and more involved (extremely heavily) with her church. In fact, the point at which it probably all fell apart was when she screamed at me in an argument “Are you saying I’m not going to see my mother again?” (Her mother has died in 1997, and in Mormonism,You can join your families in heaven. Its called the “doublebind” by critics). But anyway, that’s history, but as a result of her being more heavily involved with the church, she began pressuring me in little ways. Here and there, one thing here, one thing there. No movies with bad language or nudity. No caffeine. And how would you react if someone starts pressurising you into things you don’t want to do? Aside from badly? Well, you don’t do what they say. The walls go up and come back up anytime everytime someone tries to push you. Just like Rambo…..*



“Don’t Push me!”Ok, Ok, maybe not with the M-60 machine gun in hand, stomping through the forest. But it is true, the walls come up, and they don’t come down. Anyway, it got worse and worse with the wife, and the more she pressured me more and more, the more I reasserted myself in the relationship by not doing what she was commanding me or imploring me to do, and its one of the many things that would tear us apart.

You see, I trusted my wife. Implicity. Since then though, I discovered my trust on her I could not rely on. The trust in my other, the person I depended on, I could not. I since then, have had difficulty trusting. She misused that trust. She tried to manipulate me. (I know, this is all very boo hoo territory, but it sort of makes sense in the long run). Thing is, since then, I have found it incredibly difficult to open up to people, to trust them. I constantly expect them to misuse that trust, to pressure me, to make me do things I did not want to do or was unhappy with. It doesn’t mean that its You personally I don’t trust, but I don’t trust anyone. They always let me down.

Last person I opened up, they hurt me. So I don’t open up. I don’t get close. And if anyone shows the same traits of behaviour, like pressuring me or asking of me something I don’t feel comfortable with or trying to get money out of me, I back off. I go cold.

It doesn’t mean that they will try to hurt me, like she did – or abuse my trust, like she did. But she did do that. And its learned behaviour after you’ve put your ifnger sin the fire that it hurts, and that means you don’t do it again. You become cautious. And It doesn’t mean the other people in my life will hurt me like she did, but it does mean I do recoil away from situations where I might get hurt. I don’t get close. I go cold. Its what I do. Its self defense from a threat, from a danger in the past, when someone else used that same behaviour against me.

And it takes a couple of days for that gut reaction – that instinctive self preservation of withdrawal and distrust – to go away and it doesn’t mean anything except the fact that I’ve been hurt in the past, and I find it difficult to trust. In fact, I’ve found it impossible to trust people or to get close to people since my wife and I split. I’ve always kept my distance, kept cold, kept apart to myself I don’t let anyone in. And I don’t think I ever will. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it, anymore. The damage is done. And that’s why I go cold at night, keep you faraway when I hold you close, can’t let anything happen; that’s why when you ask me for help, for money to help, I retreat and turn away. Because I’m being pressured, like she did. And it’s a learned behaviour.

So If I find it hard to trust, its not because its you. Its because of others. If I shy away and back off, retreat into myself, its not because of you. Its because of how someone else treated me. Its just the way I am, that self-defense mechanism kicking in reflexively. its because I don;t want to get hurt.

Mind you, who does?

*Actually, less said about the fact that Rambo III is a remake of return of the Jedi (“This Time its for his friend”, and with Afghanis standing in for Ewoks, defeating the evil empire) the better. Honestly.

As stolen from swiss...

Steve Irwin 1962-2006. Death by Stingray. I can almost hear him saying 'Strewth! I bet that one was Grumpy!' Now that’s a headline you don’t see everyday.

Dating tips: Quality dates Quantity. Yeah, right.

Over the past eighteen months (since I and my last partner split) I’ve received a number of offers of dates and relationships from people I have met or have been acquaintances with. Sadly, at least two turned out to be 419 scammers out for a bit of dosh. I’m not looking for a new girlfriend right now but it seems I should clarify what it is I look for in a woman when I am, which will hopefully stem the flow of offers from gals who really don’t have it. But lets be honest here:



I am a very high quality man. That sounds arrogant, but lets consider the facts:

- I’m slightly overweight (as opposed to over 36% of the UK females who are obese)
- I’m relatively attractive (if you like Harry Potter and speccy nerds / )
- I’m relatively young (Over 50% of UK males are over 35)
- I’m intelligent (last time I did it on an online text I tested at 137 or so. Statistically, watching big brother would have dumbed me down a little)
- I’m educated (whereas some 75% of UK males do not have degrees)
- I have my financial stuff sort of together (some debt, imperfect credit history, a couple of bank accounts and a couple of quid in credit in each but not much more, employed)
- I have a strong libido (I’m a bloke, this is expectable)

The above list explains why I typically receive 1 or 2 (sometimes even 3) responses whenever I post personal ads. This is in addition to getting letched over almost every time I go out, mainly by older women in shops with husbands even less attractive than they are or I am. So as you can see, I’m in the top 10th percentile; ie, at least 10 per cent of men are worse than me. I do get hit on when I’m out – and all these women just go on based on the way I look – which when they are drunk, is probably somewhere between ‘not too minging’ and ‘Better than a night alone with a bottle of red wine’

Given that self-improvement is masterbation, maybe self-destruction is the answer, and is part of an ongoing project mayhem.I’m currently adding being bisexual, very physically unfit, poorly travelled, medium income given that money is not the be all and end all of the world and that a partner is not merely a walking wallet to be drained dry and thrown away in favour of someone younger, and being a mediocre cook. So even when “relatively young” drops off the list, I should have added enough other things that my overall dating market value should remain the same or even improve

The above list indicates why I think the sun shines out of my arse, and typically receive 0 responses in an market swamped with over zealous, over enthusiastic, not that good looking, socially inadaquete geeks like myself.So , *obviously* I have lots of choices of women who want to date me. Add in my chronic shyness, indecision, inability to talk to women and generally low self-esteem combination slashie guilt trip, and its pretty unbeatable.

Given all that of course, I choose only to date the highest quality of women who will actually have me, ie just about anybody, because I’m far too insecure about being left on the shelf in the current dating pool. That’s women who are either fit or unfit (hell, you don’t have to go to the gym, the most important thing is to be comfortable with your own body and not try and slim down to a ridiculous size 8 which would make Barbie look like a blimp; after all, self-acceptance is a quality I find endearing), attractive (ie not minging), intelligent (Ok, this is a must: but If I can’t hold down a conversation with you, I can’t hold down a relationship with you, that’s a bugbear), and not necessarily financially successful. After all, it’s the person you marry, not the bank balance. If you treat men like a walking wallet, and you are only interested in someone for the size of the money, then you are no better than a simple, common, prostitute; choosing a man for money and nothing more, reducing your relationship to a mere commercial transaction. Its that person who should knock your socks off, not buy your knickers off. Colour makes no difference, age makes no difference either; but I do draw the line at 12 years either side of my own age. Its because you wouldn’t have any cultural common ground with them, wouldn’t have had the same experiences to share, wouldn’t know the same injokes and references.

The pool of women who meets these requirements is quite large, so I factor in other things. Does not have to be atheist or agnostic, but it helps, must be libertarian, must like children (as I have one) or want more, does not need to be financially independent, or self employed, or available for world travel. In toehr words, must not be a self-important, holier than thou, stuck up ‘I earn more than yow’ snob.

You might scoff at these requirements, but in less than two years I’m sure I will find one person who matches them all. If I were to put more time and effort into looking I could probably find hundreds of women who both met my standards and were interested in dating me too. I can be picky. After all, its only the choice between that and my single double bed alone every night, isn’t it?

So, although I am not looking for a new girlfriend right now -- I am waiting until October, after which I’ve decided to extract my head from my arse -- those are the factors that I (and many other men) keep in mind when assessing potential romantic relationships. Just having some interests in common is enough for a good start.

I realize that some of you will find this post depressing because you’ll realize that you don’t qualify as a high quality woman and thus won’t be able to get a high quality man, like me. You have a few options:

i) Lower your standards and stop pursuing men who are out of your league. You are obviously a fat single mothers out there who can’t find dates either, waiting for brad pitt or george clooney. Get real. Look in the developing world. If you’re literate with a home computer and an internet connection you are very wealthy compared to the rest of the world. Citizenship or legal permanent residency in a rich country makes you more attractive to women in poorer countries. Your value on the dating market is thus much higher there.

ii)Self-improvement! I used to be a slightly unattractive college graduate who couldn’t get his life together, was homeless and jobless. Now I’m a slightly overweight, unattractive man who is successfully employed after graduating. You can make yourself over into a higher-quality man capable of winning a higher-quality woman too. The only difference now is I act like gods gift to women, and they think that this self confidence is somewhere warranted in all this bluster and balderdash, and the consequence is, all women like a bastard and they flock to me like flies round excrement.

Since becoming single again, The amount of time I’ve had to spend on stalker management is zero. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I think I’m so much better than everyone else, and therefore, too good for anybody. Even you, you h8rs.

I’d far rather be in love with someone for who they are, not their wage or how much they earn. Looks and beauty will fade, that bank balance will dwindle, but the personality you wake next to the morning will remain. They will love truly for who you are not what you earn or the car you drive; because if these things leave you,. That person fell in love with remains. You can stick your private jets and expense accounts… I’d far rather have someone who truly loves me, whose arms around me I relish in the morning. That matters more than any of your trappings, any of that stuff. Give me something real. None of those thigns - those toys, those trinkets - none of those matter against something real when you love someone. Nothing.

P.S. You can call me a loser if you like, but honey, someone just lost me from their dating pool and , Don't forget to call my lawyers With ridiculous demands And you can take the self-esteem so far But it's more than I can stand. . I wouldn't be interested in a stuck up woman no matter what, because it reminds me of Patrick Bateman waving away Bono in his arrogance. A man is not a commodity to be picked up and dropped, they are a real human being, not just some status symbol. Take your shopping list and leave it at home, maybe you wouldn't be on the shelf any longer; As someone once sang; Take your year in provence, and shove it up your arse....

love

Graham x x x

I LOVE second hand shops.



49p each. Bargain.

Now, Does anyone want to buy me a subscription to Q magazine, and look at my coffee table collection of vintage art books by warhol?

More later.

Lets see if this works, shall we?



Ok. if you have a big red X in the centre of a square, then it didn't. If it did work, well, then, there you go.

In the list of an itiniery again? then? yes, Ok. If I must.

Work. Work was busy and hectic, as normal. A member of staff got a phone thrown at them on Thursday across the desk, and I filled in an Incident Form. Joy. I haven't read any of Lenins Speeches yet, though I did after work on Friday go to town, buy a cheap DVD or two (like £2 each - Serenity and Hostage) , go to trade some duplicate DVDs in (like what happens if you upgrade from a vanilla to the special edition or see somethign ridiculously cheap you know you can trade in for much more than you pay for it), then go to the library, get some books out, go home, listen to music and have an early night after reading said books: The graphic novel of 'Sin City'. Now, I haven't seen the film, so my interest is quite piqued, but I don;t quite see how its going to be just as good as everyone says it is. the graphic novel is, quite shockingly I must admit, not that good. I far preferred Xmen or V for Vendetta - both of which are far far superior. I just don't get the whole 'Frank Miller is God' thing, myself. The visiual style (of using the negative inverse colours and imagery) just makes it deliberately opbtuse I feel. but here, stolen from a blogf no longer updated from someone I would rather not know, is a link on strip/screen comparisons for it.

In other news, one of todays papers has a free DVD of Belleville Rendezvous in it, and heres an interesting article about the current culture of DVD giveaways and freebies with papers. Read it here . Interesting stuff there about the new free music download service at SpiralFrog too.

Other links -

i)Oliver Stone lays into the recent Hollywood trend of ultra pro-War movies . At least one other person I knwo described 'Black Hawk Down' as 'War Porn'. Neither of the films he mentions have been directed by war veterens, incidentally.

ii)Three days ago this school was on the front page of a national newspaper - and now it's been raided by anti terror police. linky . Let it not be said that Blairs administration is reactive, in the slightest, oh no.

iii)Idiocracy, where art thou? Linky and linky
Im gonna be boring and off I go...

Last night was er…..busy. And interesting. I cleared the monthly bills – dull but it has to be done – and that was followed afterwards by a trip to Iceland. Not the city, the shop, and discovered they no longer appear to stock my favourite orange ice lollies (Boo f******* hoo). Then I went to the library and got stuck back in to the glory of freecycle, which now means I am a stockist of lots of vintage old school left wing firebrand publications, discussion journals and books of speeches by Lenin. Very good for a student of History, I’m sure. Via this diversion I then came back, cooked, burned a CD of China Drum and Aphex Twin (not together), made a couple of phone calls, got very tired, and that was that.

Work is busy, as always.

I was supposed to be away this weekend, up in Scotchland, but it is not happening. Which is probably, as far as work as concerned, for the best, given how ridiculously busy we have been so far.anyway, heres the links and stuff:-

I)results of inquest into death of ex WonderStuff drummer Martin Gilks. This also appeared in todays Metro, with a picture of the headline ‘Rock Death star ‘A muppet’, which is quite possibly one of the weirdest headlines I’ve ever seen, next to a picture of the presumably deceased but still very alive Malcolm treece. linky

ii)The furore over a fictional documentary style Channel 4 show called ‘Death of a President’, which mocks up the death of President Bush by a sniper in Chicago in 2007. linky Also see linky

iii)So much for being innocent until proven guilty – welcome to the world of being a criminal from birth. Asbos In the womb, anyone? linky. Criminal class of untermenschen? Anyone? And lets not forget who invented concentratiopn camps and advocated eugenics? (whoops, just invoked Godwins Law there)

iv) And crackhead Pete Doherty – looking to go down for a long time given he is in court on Monday facing five speerate charges of posession – is being chucked out of his ‘luxury’ flat which he has turned into a squalid crackden. Dare I say that he doesn’t deserve to live there? linky

v)Semen causes cancer. Human races stops procreating due to fear of the Big C, and the forthcoming film Children of Men linky becomes a chilling documentary. (BBc news linky



vi)And its goodbye to Airfix . Au revoir to model glue....


vii) David Blunkett writes in yesterdays Sun about how we should stop giving out free houses to single mothers, because as we all know, they only ever want to get pregnant to get a house. This is designed presumably to break the dependency on the stereotypical daily mail / the scum image of the fact all you have to do is to get knocked up to get a set of keys. Blunketts genius idea is to instead…. Move them into hostels. Great thinking, batman.

A council / housing association flat tends to cost – in terms of rent per week – about £50-80 in Housing Benefit. Add in about £11 a week Council tax benefit too, and we’re talking somewhere between £60-£90 a week. In my job, I have seen considerable amounts of paperwork for hostels regarding the charges to local authorities for putting people in Hostels, and it can cost between £156 (for the Salvation Army one in Snow Hill ) and £271 (For the local YMCA) a week. A Hostel is non-fixed, temporary accommodation. A hostel therefore costs somewhere somethree to five times MORE per person than the flat.

So tell me, who does this serve? We stick single mothers in hostels as the cost of a vast expense of money to the taxpayer for a lesser service, which provides no fixed accommodation, and does not solve the problem. And then twelve months down the line, they’ll be a furore about the amount of money being wasted by the government pumping cash into short term solutions to long term problems that solve nothing and end up causing problems in the long run. Blunkett, you are a fool, wasting money hand over fist. The best way to deal with this? Break to moratorium on building social housing, get away from the insane fixation of houseprices and try to do the best to look after these people. Don’t stick ‘em in hostels at 6 times the price for a single bedsit room. Build them somewhere to live. Build these people homes, rather than building up social problems for future administrations to inherit.

Social housing, I’ve written about it before, but as long as house prices remain so inaccessible to the vast majority of people, the problem will only ever get worse, never better..
Bloody idiots.

And all this from the the same newspaper which today features an article entitled Why terrorists want to destroy you'