£s and lbs

A change of job last October and some better application has seen me earn a few pounds bonus this quarter. Should get it in my pay this month so I've already made a list of things I need or want. It starts off with a new suit (or two) and finishes off with a bike, camera lens and hard drive camcorder. Obviously, although at the top of the list, the suit will be bought last, if at all.

On the subject of pounds, I've resisted fast food for a few days. Unfortunately for the previous 14 weeks I stuffed my fat face and am a fine figure of a man if your definition of such is the view at a fairground hall of mirrors. My new year goal of losing 2 stone (28lbs) by the end June is looking unrealistic. Actually getting back to 11 stone any time is probably unrealistic. But that's why the token bike is on the list. It will at least help assuage my guilt and take up the last morsel of free space in the garage thereby making it a complete no-go zone. Win, win.

pics and sticks

The Golden Wedding Anniversary party went off without a hitch. My parents didn't have a clue until the minute they walked through the door into the room at the venue we'd hired for the day. They were instantly knocked over by the emotion. About 70 people had turned up, friends and family, and they got round them all over the following few hours.

I'd repaired old photos and blown some original wedding photos up as posters 30"x20" which were displayed around the room and made an album up of more 8"x10"s which was passed around the tables.
I thanked people for coming and my dad got up and made a short speech finishing by saying Mini-me was the love of his life. I don't think anyone had ever seen him cry before.

My lasting memory, however, is of my 8 cousins and their progeny. Someone was awfully busy with the ugly stick. Euwwwwgh!

the office

In my job there's two things I hate. Most.

1/ people not returning calls. These are the same people who would be leaving me sharp, angry messages on my voicemail or email if the situation was reversed. " This is the 2nd time I've left a message. I'd have have thought someone would have rang me back by now..."

Is it so difficult to return a call? How can they NOT return a call after a 2nd/3rd message is left? Cunts.

2/ e-mail building up quicker than I can delete it. "Inbox" (apparently one word according to Outlook) now sitting at 148 emails, 7 reminders (some overdue by 3 weeks), 22 items unread.

And what happened to ringing people. I work from home. Fine. Doesn't mean I AM at home all day. Please read where I wrote "do not email me as I will not have access to email until tomorrow, ring me on the number below". From now on I'm going to add "you fuckwit" to the end of that line. Let's see if anyone actually reads it, eh?

3/ (OK, I said two but I got thinking...) the twats that walk you up the path, commit to giving business after months of discussion then need something urgently 10 minutes before they intend to do the deal that will require everything being dropped in an attempt to comply with their impossible request, as they tell you that if you don't get XYZ to them in ABC minutes they'll take the business to EFG company/individual.

Those fuckers should burn. Slowly. Basted in chilli sauce.


Yep, it's a good day at the office today.

old, borrowed, blue......itchy and new

Busy, busy, busy. For me anyway. I've spent the last 2 years probably working about an average of 20 hours a week. Some weeks, in the previous job, perhaps as low as 2/3 hours. Not enough sunlight I think. I'm certainly not going back on the happy pills.

Anyway, busy. That's right. Busy working, trying to earn a few grand bonus money for the first time in 2 years, looking good so far. Quarter ends at the end of March so we''ll see what's in by then.

Busy scanning old photos and trying to restore some. My parents celebrate their golden wedding anniversary next Sunday and I plan to blow up some old pics I've borrowed from them. A party is arranged for them and, though a secret, they may have already guessed as we arranged one for their ruby anniversary 10 years ago.

For some reason I got quite emotional on Saturday when playing with mini-me. Got to wondering what she would remember of me if something happened to me. How would she grow up if I wasn't around, that sort of thing. It was just after I'd found what had been causing the itching under my right arm the last 2 or 3 weeks, some patches of uneven discoloured skin. I don't think it's anything to worry about, though I did for a few hours. Obviously I'm not going to go to the doctor's. Anyway, here's an old one.

Yawn

Been in Dublin again this weekend. No rugby this time. Food, drink.

Since getting the train home I've needed a 3 hour coma already.

Much sleep needed. Laters.

Lurgy a go-go

I have a retentive streak that makes it hard to throw things away. What if I find out I later need it? Even years afterwards. So I hoard, re-organise, make that decision over and over as time goes by, throw it out or keep? A never ending cycle.

My office has piles of paperwork, cupboards and boxes of articles, cds or magazines I've never re-used, though thought I might, now out-dated because of legislation or simply the passage of time.
I'm the same with the contents of my fridge. A sell by/use by date means nothing. It'll be nuked, stir-fried, boiled so surely that renders it safe, it'll taste OK, not perfect but OK. I hate waste when it comes to food.

Yesterday I made a stir fry. King prawns, yellow pepper, sweetcorn, broccoli cooked in groundnut oil, seasoned with garlic, grated ginger and lemon grass and topped off with an over generous dose of bird's eye chillies. Add some egg fried rice at the end and serve. Yummy! The prawns were 3 days past. I made more than I could eat and forgot to put the remainder away but had it today for lunch reheated in the wok. Yummy twice!

This evening however retention caught up with me. Think Johnny Cash.

and then there were none

The last few days have been a bit strange. I haven't felt like writing. My best friend left today to go travelling, a year, two years, he might return and he might not.

Of my closest friends one left to live in Canada 6 years ago. One now lives in north-east England, another in London. Exactly a year ago my other closest friend emigrated to Australia. He and the one leaving today along with myself were the proverbial three legged stool. So today marked a final chapter. We grew up in or around the same town, drank together, lived and holidayed together spanning over 20 years.

Today he arrived at my house and we drove the brief 5 minute journey to the airport. The final hug outside wouldn't have given casual observers any clues to the regard we have for each other. A quick embrace, then the last fleeting eye contact before we go our own way. If I'd doubted how much he valued me his face told the full story, probably not helped by my instinctive "see ya' soon" parting comment. Quick and painful's better than slow and painful though.

I've been angry at everyone and everything all day. Close to tears at times. And I feel very alone.

stranger than fiction

I'm still shattered from the weekend. Had my boss with me all day today and was up late last night getting ready for his visit so hope you won't mind the abbreviated version.

Oh, and a Blogger spam-bot has LOCKED my blog so this post may never see the light of day. If they delete it I'm gone. Google, there are millions of spam and commercial Adsense link blogs out there, mine is NOT one of them. Get your shit together!


Did

• get drunk
• entertain guests
• had a laugh
• convinced a client to give me £1,200,000 instead of £400,000 later this month
• drank in many, many bars
• stayed out too late
• spent lots of money
• smoked a pack of cigs (sorry Sarah, Junq)
• see Ireland inflict the worst ever defeat in England's history, 43-13

Didn't

• talk to any girls (I know!)
• fall out with my boss
• spew
• get a stingy liver the next day
• take drugs
• go to a lap dance bar

I know, I did it all wrong.

Been there, done that

Saturday sees me get the train to Dublin, where the girls are so ...well, ugly actually. Most of them. If I were a U.S. political candidate my campaign would now be over, but as I'm not and I live on this moist sod of Atlantic turf I think I can say whatever the fuck I want, within reason.

The reason for my visit isn't girls anyway, it's the Ireland vs England rugby match. For those of you with little knowledge of rugby it's what American football was based on except it's not played with cissy helmets and headgear.


Foolhardy or cheapskates, you decide. Anyway, it's arranged through work, I'm taking 2 corporate guests who get the full corporate entertainment package £400/$800 worth plus hotel drink and transport. There's no room in the budget for me to actually attend the bloody (and it will be) match so I'll have to pick a Dublin bar and watch it on t.v. through a pint of Guinness. I lived in Dublin 20 odd years ago, it's changed much, the economy has grown from a poor 2nd world economy through the "Celtic Tiger" years and is now overheating. Drink costs a fuckin' fortune, I'll get a receipt, Coke is the hedonistic high of choice, and 1 in 5 people in the city are immigrants, mostly Poles and Nigerians and it's now an Irish caricature of itself.

Regular readers will know that me, work and drink seldom (read never) go well together. I dread to think what the weekend will bring. One thing's for sure, men playing with odd shaped balls will be the least of my worries.

Snappy gifts

I have a couple of cameras. It's sounds so grand. It's not. I bought a new one a few weeks ago so now I have a "big" one to go along with my "wee" one. So, as you can see, even in my own head, that doesn't make me a photographer. I don't have the eye for it. I have an eye for spotting false breasts or for measuring cup and bra size at a glance. Different strokes....I'm just a happy snapper ....with an unusual talent for breast quantisation.
Anyway, Sarah's are lovely. Photos, that is. She has the eye, perhaps even two of them. Lucky bastard.
Photojournalists however, it's probably more about being in the right place at the right time than technique or composition. They've got to put themselves in danger quite often, but even more than that they need to have a certain type of character to allow them to detach themselves from the very inhumanity they may be recording. For that reason I couldn't do it. I was reminded of that fact when I ended up on a web page recently for competition winning photos and the subject matter for the one that started me thinking is linked below.

If you're easily offended don't click here.

P.S. the photo at the top, anyone want to guess?

If only I'd thought of this....

Funny what you come across on the interweb.

I particularly like January 7th.

Do you have a favourite?

changes

Does anyone really enjoy Valentine's day? I don't. I'm not sure I can say I've ever actually enjoyed it so I suppose I'm ambivolent. I got my first Valentine card when I was about 12 or 13 in school. It was sent to me in sympathy because 2 of the most fanciable girls in class had heard me saying I'd never received one.

When I think back that was the start of my insecurities. I felt pretty ordinary, perhaps less than ordinary and certainly lacking in confidence. I can't remember if I got another Valentine card at school, I suppose I must have but I know I didn't have a girlfriend in any way until I was about 17. Self-assured I was not. For years after I struggled to think well of myself, still do.

Isn't it funny how we can allow ourselves to be mentally neutered and how this can stretch out over years of our lives affecting all our important interactions.

I never received a card today. I'm quite happy about that.
So some things don't change. Happily, other things do.




me, now 43. with my specs on. (fretting about focus hence the dour bake)

3, 2, 1 ...go

So this is the first post under the new private-ish regime. I took the decision I didn't want people who knew me reading this blog. Well, not personally. You know , in the web sense. So not strangers in the traditional sense, not friends in the conventional sense. That's probably the strangest thing about blogging, that sense that you know or are known but at the same time balanced with anonymity. If you're one of the original invitees however you're here because what you write interests me in some way. So, welcome! Again, that is. To begin with you're very small in number but that might not necessarily stay that way as you'll see below.

There's things I can't say here in case someone from real life or business accidentally stumbles upon it. My stat-counter shows me pages where some have come from and it's all getting a bit too close to home.

Good ol' Blogger gives us "author only" or "invitees only" as the two privacy options. Being the awkward bastard that I am that's not going to be enough. Therefore I'm inventing a third privacy option that you will be complicit in.

If you think someone you know (in the web or personal sense) might be interested in reading this blog then just drop their email addy to tinyworldreview@googlemail.com and I'll send out an invite.

So, in a way it'll be a private blog but growing, not so much virally, nor even mouldily, more Arctic lichen-y.

Option 3 then. Clear as mud?


I'll link to this post in the sidebar for any newcomers there might be and post something more newsworthy later in the week when you've had time to log in and all. In the meantime all my posts have been migrated over from the old Spaces blog (sans comments) and categorised so feel free to leaf through my archives.

notice to readers

I'm going to make this blog private but grant access to those who want to read it.

You'll need to leave your email address (I think it must be a Gmail one) so that you can view it.

If you don't have a Gmail account and want one just email me at the email address contained within my Blogger profile.

drugged