Tomorrow

Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind. ~Mary Ellen Chase

In my previous post I had spoke of what fills me with the feeling of excitement for Christmas approaching – wrapping Michelle’s gifts – but, while the above is true, the state of mind mentioned in the above quotation does not occur until the day is upon me.

Children are filled with the spirit from the day their advent calendars are opened, or at least as the number days open out number those still to be. At some point they begin to count sleeps and become ever easier to manipulate with the perhaps cruel but effective threat that Santa knows if they have been bad or good. Christmas is magical for children, their still developing little brains dazzled by the shiny objects and bright, occasionally blinking, lights. And of course there are all the packages under the tree – “For me?” – For them.

The older your get the more difficult it is to feel the magic. The shiny objects are less fascinating, the bright lights hurt your eyes and blinking ones threaten to send you into some sort of fit, and all those gifts under the tree – “For me?” – No, not for you. You have to struggle through crowds of ignorant humanity and wait in seemingly endless line after line for your gifts. Then there’s the cost - where’s that jolly fat bastard when you really need him?

And then you wake up on Christmas morning. There’s something unquantifiable in the air – everything seems still. There are the one or two gifts under the tree for you and your content with the quantity you receive and love those gifts because you love the one that gave them to you. Everyone is pleasant – you pass people in the street and rather than pass by them you greet them a merry Christmas or at least wish them a good day. The worries of the year nearly past fall away for one day and the day it’s self is a gift for that fact.

Today, Christmas Eve, is stress. Maybe you’re buying the last minute gifts, maybe your wrapping all your gifts, maybe you’re preparing for tomorrow’s dinner or maybe you’re building your kids gifts tonight to be freshly delivered by Santa Claus tomorrow. Tomorrow is calm. Tomorrow is content. Tomorrow is love. Tomorrow is Christmas.

Have a good one.

A Lot Like Christmas

I don’t know if it’s the non-stop rain, the fact that month it passing so quickly or astonishing amount of money I don’t have, but I hadn’t been feeling the Christmas spirit too much until recently.

The tree was up, the house decorated and Michelle and I had wrapped all the presents we got for the kids and parents – but I know now that none of that does it for me, doesn’t get me excited about the upcoming festivity. I know now that it’s wrapping Michelle’s gifts that gives me that familiar buzz that we mostly leave behind the more time passes.

I think it’s because Michelle is now the only person that I buy gifts for; meaning that she is the only person that receives gifts which are just from me as opposed to “us”. I always buy her, her own wrapping paper so that her gifts look different from everyone else’s under the tree, and I always pack those gifts in boxes or bags full of tissues and decorate the packages with bows and sometimes ribbons.

I like to make the effort with the packaging because Michelle almost always knows what she’s getting. This year for example I bought her tickets for Swan Lake but stupidly got them sent to the flat. Of course Michelle was in when the mail came that day and it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out what I was getting though the post in an envelope marked as being sent by The Theatre Royal. So, yeah she knows what it is, but I made her an envelope from two types of wrapping paper so that, while it may not be a surprise, her main gift will at least look nice when she wakes on Christmas morning.

Anyway - I’m done for now as I don’t want to speak to much about Christmas at this time. I’m hoping to write a good Christmas post nearer the time in the same vain as last year.

‘Till then.

2006 Questionnaire

I did this same questionnaire for 2005 this time last year so here I go again.

1) Was 2006 a good year for you?
I got married, became a godfather (the non mafia kind), finally went to New York, got another cat and stayed in the one job – good year all round!

2) What was your favourite moment of the year?
Getting married would come first but seeing the New York sky line for the first time was incredible.

3) What was your least favourite moment of the year?
Finding out my leg can’t be fixed was not the best, but it wasn’t really that big a surprise, so nothing too bad.

4) Where were you when 2006 began?
In my flat for The Bells and then later at Scott and Louise’s.

5) Who were you with?
Michelle and Fudge for the bells then Louise, Scott and Bob shortly after.

6) Where will you be when 2006 ends?
Shaw’s house is the plan.

7) Who will you be with when 2006 ends?
Michelle, Shaw, Lindsey, and probably Nigel, (Iona is working), and maybe Sparkie, David, Natalie, Kenny, Claire, Murray, and others.

8) Did you keep your new years resolution of 2006?
Last year when I did this (almost a year to the day FYI) I did a recap the resolutions I wrote down on the Blog, as I fail all but one last year I just made the same ones again and added “study hard” in reference to my being a student. Lets see how I did: -

Save for the wedding.
RESULT: Fail – Yes the wedding bills were paid but I’ll be paying back the loan for the next three years and, if my current finances are anything to go by, with some difficulty.

Lose weight.
RESULT: Pass – I did lose a little, a very little, but I think it’s mostly due to my fretting over money rather than my short lived Gym membership(s).

Work on scripts.
RESULT: Fail – as always I’m making my little notes and dreaming up the plots but I have never once put pen to paper or finger to key for my scripts in this entire year. Hopefully the writing course Laura and Stuart ‘got’ me for my birthday which starts in January will help.

Study Hard.
RESULT: Fail – I am no longer a student and I do not have a degree. Need I say more.

9) Do you have a new year’s resolution for 2007?
I will and will be sure to notify you of them once I do.

10) Did you fall in love in 2006?
As I said last year – I fell a long time ago and show no signs of getting back up.

11) If yes, with who?
Michelle.

12) If yes, do they know?
The wedding ring should make it pretty clear.

13) Are you still in love with them?
“But not as much as to-morr-ow!”

14) Do regret it?
No.

15) Did you break-up with anyone in 2006?
I think I might drop these questions next year… yeah I steal some from another one of these.

16) Did you make any new friends in 2006?
Work acquaintances I suppose but I already have a lot of Friends. I regained a friend in Peter who I stopped talking to for one of the stupid reason people stop talking top others. We’re cool now and I’m very happy with that… Though if he loses his job because of my MySpace Mini Golf we could be back to square one…

17) Who are your favourite new friends?
Peter. “Old friends are best” – John Selden, the jurist, said that and I believe him.

18) What was your favourite month of 2006?
September - Married. New York. Hawaii. Birthday.

19) Did you travel outside of the UK in 2006?
New York and Hawaii, with a short stop in San Francisco.

20) How many different states did you travel to in 2006?
Three.

21) Did you lose anybody close to you in 2006?
Thankfully no, though Michelle lost her cat Cleo who lived with her (Michelle’s) mum and who Michelle had since she was nine.

*** New question the replace the ‘love’ ones ***

22) What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing and Saving.

23) What do you wish you'd done less of?
Procrastinating.

24) What dates from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
1st September – I got married.
2nd September – I went to NYC.
25th March – Bought Frankie.

25) What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I can’t remember my Birthday… I was 25 and I don’t think I did anything. Oh me and Gary had a joint birthday dinner at he and Kirsty’s house. And Jim gave me 15% off in A1.

26) What song will always remind you of 2006?
Hmm… Someone Like You by Van Morrison, All I Want is You by U2 and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls all featured at my wedding so those ones.

27) What was your favourite TV program?
Favourite new show this year would have to be Heroes but close behind that would be Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. In fact I think it would have to be a tie.

28) Favourite film of this year?
Superman Returns because I’m a freekin’ geek but also excellent were Casino Royale, Capote, Crash, The Departed and Brick.

Samoan Joe

Michelle and I had four long fights on the various legs of our honeymoon. The first long flight – from London to New York – was pleasant and comfortable enough and passed quickly thanks to the small screens that were on the backs of the seats which allowed you to choose from a variety of movies. The key factor on this flight, which made it the most comfortable of the four, was the fact that Michelle and I were sat together in a row of two rather than having to share a row of three with a complete stranger.

The complete stranger however is to be expected on a long flight and so one can only hope to have a person you would barely notice… and be disappointed they get what’s given.

Coming back over the Atlantic Ocean on the flight from San Francisco to London I have to admit the man beside us was not a bother at all. I call him The Quiet American. Nevertheless, knowing all too well that when one door opens another closes, I was unsurprised when the passenger in front of us turned out to be The Jerk. The Jerk at countless times throughout the nine hour flight seemed determined to force his chair to lie horizontally and therefore onto Michelle’s lap. Being inconsiderate appears to be, like yawning, contagious as myself and The Quiet American soon discovered when The Jerk’s companions soon joined in on his endeavour for a lie down on an Economy Class airplane chair. At one point in The Jerk even had the audacity to turn around to look behind as if Michelle were somehow preventing him from carrying out a function the chair was not designed to include. This inspection was met with my best dead eyed glare which The Jerk seemed to correctly as a non verbal “Go ahead punk, make my day.” Yet despite The Jerk and his almost equally boorish companions this flight was still not so bad when compared to the seven hour ordeal that was Samoan Joe.

On the flight from New York to San Francisco (connecting to Hawaii) we had a woman sitting next to us who I refer to as The Oriental Snorter. This travelling companion was an elderly oriental woman who, as her title would suggest, sniffed and snorted throughout the flight. I’m sure you will agree that this alone could be too much to bare for over six hours, yet I try to be considerate. After all The Snorter must have been suffering from either allergy or illness to have been snorting in the first place and for this reason I try to forgive. What I do not forgive is her feet.

As well as the snorting The Snorter also saw fit to put her legs up on the cramped seat causing her well travelled and clammy feet to touch those unlucky enough to be sitting beside her. This one stranger I’m sure has your skin crawling at the thought that you could have had those feet touching you or had to listen to the ceaseless snorting and sniffing. And still even she could not prepare me for Samoan Joe.

***

I hesitate before type the story of our flight from Hawaii to San Francisco for I know that no word can be written that can truly do justice to the horrifying discomfort that was Samoan Joe. But type I must, for some legends cannot be untold.

***

It was a fantastic holiday but despite the long journey ahead of us my new wife and I were glad to be leaving for home. Having endured The Oriental Snorter on our last long flight Michelle and I felt the universe owed us a break on this first of a series of flights which would begin on a Tuesday and end on a Thursday. Our ticket numbers were amongst some of the first called onto the plane, and although we were in a bank of three seats the third remained empty as those around us became occupied. A foolish dream filled our heads with glorious visions of comfort and even spreading out a little on the long flight. As the plane filled out we even had the courage to speak our dream aloud, dared to believe it could be true! And then I saw Him.

Samoan Joe is not just a man. He is a man that in many years gone by one may have found residing atop a beanstalk. His head is the size of a year old child curled into a ball, his hands are the size a frying pans and most likely have the same density and his body is the mass of a small town. Exaggerating, just a little, though I may be I’m sure your grasping my point; he was big. Really really big. Not fat. Just BIG.

The poor man had to cram himself into our row of three. It is the equivalent of a person of normal size and bulk sitting on a child’s chair and then pulling themselves into a chills desk. His knees were all but up at his chest, he struggled to keep his huge gorilla size arms to himself and as a cherry on top his small daughter (who was seated in the next row with Joe’s wife) kept screaming, not crying, screaming when she had to sit in her seat on the often turbulent flight.

Had been sitting nearby Joe I would have unquestionably looked on at the unfortunately apportioned mans discomfort with deep pity. Of course I was not sitting nearby I was right next to him. Despite the fact I am aware and was aware even then that Samoan Joe laboured to leave me with as much of my seat as his magnitude allowed. Regardless that I know if he could have avoided my neck having had be at a forty-five degree angle he would. There was only one thought in my head and one thought that remains about that considerate giant of a man. That one thought, bore out of frustration, discomfort and bitterness was, is and forever will remain, simply and unfairly, “You bastard.”

Relativity Speaking

Albert Einstein explained his Theory of Relativity in his most simplistic way when he said "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity."

I like that quote a lot and I believe wholly in the theory. The reason I bring it up is that in my work lately I keep scribbling the above title again and again. While most people might keep this to themselves fearing a mental collapse from reality I have chosen to write about it.

See, using Einstein’s quote as an example, my work when busy is a pretty girl, time passes very quickly. For quite a while now however my work has been the equivalent of talking with a girl with a body like a moulded turnip and the face of a person who has not merely fallen from the ugly tree but one who has hit every branch on the way down, fell in the putrid cess pool at the bottom and had the fence surrounding the tree fall and impale them. It’s slow. Painfully slow. Watching a minute pass is gut wrenching. And the later the day gets the slower time passes.
I was on a late on Friday night until 20:00 and it felt like days passed. It’s incredible to watch the fatigue set in on a bunch of people who sit at a desk all day but by good it does.

Anyway I’m not moaning about it, I still like my job and I’ve came up with a cunning plan to help the days pass more quickly. And that plan is this. Literally THIS. When I write time passes like water through an eighty-six year old, very quickly. Recently I haven’t being been doing it because I forgot that even the smallest thing can be interesting if told the right way. So I’ll concentrate on the oddities of people and write it down on a wee pad to post later. Now that I think of it I’ve still not told the story of Samoan Joe. So I’ll start there.

‘Till then.

PS. This is a really crappy post and I apologise for that but I was having a four way conversation in the middle and forgot my point.

Old Journey, New Path

A month has past. The vows have been spoken, the speeches have been spoken and the dance has been danced. The Wedding is over and the Marriage has just begun. Now I can say with absolute sincerity what a great night it was, how much fun I had and how delighted I am with my new wife.

The wedding, to be honest, was a blur. A force ten gale of smiling faces, pictures and dancing. Nigel said (and I’m glad he did because I wouldn’t have) that you could truly feel love on that night and I could not agree more. But you were there. You know what that night was and I could never find the words to do it justice. The last thing I will say on the subject is that Michelle and I could not have asked for a better day or better friends to share it with.

***

When we arrived in New York there was a torrential downpour thanks to the tail end of a hurricane which was blowing through. My niece and nephew, Anna and Jonathan, with the help of their parents had arranged for a town car to pick us up at JFK and Carlos, our driver, advised with a bright smile and raised eyebrows that maybe, due to the weather, we’d prefer to spend our honeymoon indoors anyway.

The streets were a river and the sky was cloud blanketing the infamous skyline. That was no deterrent however, as nice as the hotel room was, a room is a room, and I was in the greatest city on earth. We were soaked in a second but out for an hour walking the streets we all know; Along Madison Avenue, down to Fifth and back toward third and over to the Chrysler Building (which we had mistaken for The Empire State Building).

This is a city in which the fantastic is typical. The next morning no-one bats an eyelid at part of Broadway being cordoned off as that section of street is made to look ancient torn and broken as tanks sit on the road. A movie’s being filmed, possibly a Will Smith film by the name of ‘I Am Legend’ (I memorised a one of the names from a set of directors chairs we spotted and according to IMDB this is the only movie the guy is involved in which is filming). It’s more than big it’s grand and in the days thaty follow Michelle and I will travel across the city to its greatest landmarks, thankfully in the hot sun rather than the pouring rain.

The Empire State Building is five minutes walk from the hotel. Times Square is 10 minutes walk and the bus tour tickets we bought on the first day take us everywhere else. Day 2 we saw The Lion King on Broadway and visit the top of Empire State. Day Three we take a tour of NBC Studios and see were Saturday Night Live is filmed. We go across to Brooklyn on the Bridge by the same name and visit the site of the World Trade Centre. Next day we took a helicopter ride over The Statue of Liberty and carriage through Central Park (bike not horse) and on the last day we simply enjoyed the city.

***

Hawaii did not start off so well. On the long flight over Michelle and I were feeling a little home sick and when we arrived our bags were not there to collect. The hotel was nice, the staff friendly and the room was large and comfortable. All and all though, I think we both were both regretting the second leg of our dream honeymoon. And then we saw the view.


Like a postcard in a photograph, like a dream in the eyes of the beholder. We walked on the beach that night in clothes we bought from the complex across from the hotel. The sand was coarse beneath our feet, the sea was strong and moon was large and full. Paradise.

We spent the next day on the beach and in the sea. I was burned quite badly on my legs and found it difficult (by which I mean extremely painful) to walk on that day so we didn’t get to enjoy some of the activities we planned on. Instead we enjoyed the rest of Hawaii by the pool and with many more walks on the beach. We relaxed in the sun and, after the busy streets of Manhattan, were glad for the opportunity.

***

People think I’m crazy for saying this but I couldn’t be happier to be home. New York was breath taking, Hawaii a dream but this is where I belong. I miss things too much. I miss my house, my streets, my people, and really sadly I especially missed my cats.

***

Marriage is a funny thing. Nothing has changed but everything is different. I’m on the same journey with a new path to follow. There seems to be more possibility and more certainty at the same time. I feel better, almost healthier in a way. Honestly I don’t know what I feel. But I know I’m happy and I know Michelle is too – and as long as I can keep us that way what more can anyone ask?

Honeymoon Photos!

Wedding

New York

Hawaii

Thank You

I have wrote this days before you are reading it, which should be sometime after the wedding which has yet to happen. Of course I can’t talk about what a great night it was, how much fun I had or how delighted I am with my new wife, but, I’m sure I will after the honeymoon.

For now, while I sit amongst the gifts and cards you all have given and sent, I simply want to say how privileged, proud , and fortunate I am to each of you in my life. You all have been telling me how much you are all looking forward to our day and you all have spent allot of time and money on our behalf and Michelle and I are truly grateful for all that you have done. I won’t thank anyone individually, not here, but you know who you are and if not I’ll make sure you know.

I’m not too sentimental, at least I pretend not to be, so I’m not the best at thank yous or at letting people know how much I care for them and how glad I am to know them so I’ll just say this: I don’t have a lot of time for most people but I have all the time in the world for each of you. I know you had a good night (because I’ll be making sure you do) and I hope your hangovers were not too bad.

I’ll be either be on a plane, in earths greatest city or on a white sand beach while you read this but, despite my incredible destinations, believe then I can’t wake to get back to you all.

‘Till Then

Staggered

Kudos all round and especially to Mr Wilson(right), for someone who did not want a Stag Night a really did enjoy myself. I admit I was nervous that my wishes may not have been taken seriously but I’m happy to say there were neither nasty surprises nor upsets throughout the night.

I was happy that my Dad, William and my brother Christopher were there. Props to Stoo for his bravery in choice of shirt and a big thanks to all the guys who came – it really meant a lot.

Two of the comedians were just all right at Jongleurs but the excellent Tom Stade (left) was alone worth the price of admission.

Forgive the shortness of the post and don’t think it a reflection on the night. It’s less than three days to go and my head is just too full for the words to form properly. ‘The Wedding’ post should be posted Thursday night time permitting.

‘Till then.

Shake Well

I’m partial to the odd milk shake, Frijj, being my favourite. Last Sunday when in Morrison’s my Mum, knowing how much her boy likes this brand of shake, very kindly took advantage of the twofur offer that was on at the time.

The same day, last Sunday, Michelle and I went round for dinner and, sure enough, when asked if we wanted a drink my mum offered her kind purchase, some sickly sweet smelling strawberry Frijj, which I eagerly accepted. Off she went to get the drinks while Michelle and I spoke with my dad. Half way through the idol banter of weddings and work and all the rest I was handed the familiar pink and white bottle and, as the label instructs, shook well. Unfortunately my mum, being naturally helpful, had loosened the lid for me, a fact I did not of course realise until my initial shock subsided and I realised that my parents couch, table floor and rug, myself my fiancée and indeed my father were covered by the sticky gelatinous bright pink liquid once contained in the bottle.

There was a mad dive for the kitchen roll and the furniture was salvaged, save for the odd sticky spot, Michelle was mostly okay, my dad had to change his trousers, but as I was at ground zero of the pink eruption I had to be driven home, throw my cloths under the shower and completely wash and dress myself. Even after washing myself off completely I still smelt like walking candyfloss.

Some of you may be wondering if this little accident was followed by my usual brand of seething rage and wall punching. Much the Michelle’s relief, who was watching me nervously while I surveyed the areas hit, I simply let out a short laugh of disbelief, brought on when my eyes finally reached my fathers shell shocked face, which I assume matched my own.

The Exciting Adventures of the Soon to be Married

I’ve not written in a while. I could blame the heat and the sweat and the fatigue it brings to the body and mind, but if I wanted to bitch about summer I wouldn’t have been stuck for the words to write. Truth is I’ve barely crossed the door but for work, supplies or cat food or litter.

The money’s not short, in fact it’s growing as we speak, but all my wealth might as well be smoke and air because the big day is coming and it’s time for the debts to be paid . Life’s been a non-stop rollercoaster of books, burned disks and getting to bed early for the lack of other choice. But like the summer, I could have been grousing about this for weeks, so I’ll drop the subject.

Five weeks to go and all the dominos are starting fall faster. The photographer will be paid in the next few days, the meals and hall in the next few weeks, and then the party starts. The stag and hen nights are sorted too; my best men have arranged a sixteen man limo to take us to Jongleurs on the 19th August while Michelle and Co will be learning to pole dance on a date I can never remember.

Well I guess that’s it for now, all I didn’t have to say is said and this typing wore me out. Besides I’m a busy man; books to read, TV to watch, litter trays to change and memories of life without debts to dwell on.

The Wisdom of Teeth

I had a pain in one of my teeth for a few weeks before I’d finally resigned to the fact that I’d be making my first trip in (at least) two years to the Dentist. It’s not that I’m afraid of the dentist, not at all, though; if I were it wouldn’t be without good cause. When I was knee high to, well, a persons knee I suppose, I had a tooth removed. The removal was done at Hairmyres Hospital and had required anaesthetic, and as I understand it went smoothly and without incident. It was only when I got home that my throat began to close, the ambulance was called and I spent the next few days at Monklands with an Air mask on.

But no, I am not afraid of the dentist. I am however cheap. And I grudge paying money to someone to drill inside my mouth.

Not long in the door at the White Moss Road surgery I found myself being X-Rayed by my freshly qualified and newly acquired dentist. Her name wasn’t even on the door yet she was so new you know. X-Ray done and films looked at the damage was assessed. Three fillings and (the eventual point of this post) the removal of my bottom left hand wisdom tooth was what was required.

***

To digress again slightly, Dentist Jr asked if I wanted White Fillings or the standard NHS issue. I wasn’t really sure of the difference so asked for a price comparison which was as follows: -

3x NHS Fillings
Removal
Scale and Polish
X- Ray

£68.00

OR

3x White Fillings

£235.00

I’ll leave you make up your mind as to the option I chose.

***

Having had the majority of the fillings and scale and polish attended to in an earlier appointment, I went on Friday at 9:40 for my last filling and the removal of my wisdom tooth. It’s important to note that I was completely unaware I even had wisdom teeth until I was told one was to be removed. So easy come easy go I figured. I wouldn’t miss it, it doesn’t even have a purpose; you can’t chew with them and they don’t make you Yoda or anything which the name may suggest. As far as I can tell there only function is to cause pain to some as they grow.

Easy come easy go, right? Wrong. When I had mentioned to my boss that I was getting the tooth removed he literally laughed in my face at the possibility of my coming to work after the procedure. Yeah, yeah. Wuss.

So here I go the last fillings done and out comes an instrument which seems vaguely familiar to me from my time working with my Dad, He a plumber. I shrug it off. No problem. Macho. Here we go.

Jesuschristthiscrazybitchistryingtoripmyjawoff!!!!!

***

My mum had offered me a lift on every day since I told her about having the tooth removed and I had declined each offer. I’d be just fine I’d tell her. I’m glad she ignored me. Still shaking I ask her to take me to work. As I reach Paul, my boss, he winces and tries not look directly at me. He offers me a tissue and I’m still numb so I mumble my thanks, though I’m not sure at this point why gives it to me. I wipe at my mouth and the hanky dyes red. Go home he tells me and I burble my agreement.

I look at myself in the mirror on the way back down the lift and the blood has began crusting on my numb lips and drying on my teeth. When I get home I do my best to remove it but its still flowing. When the door goes the postman has the terrified look of a man who’s about to be offered a nice Chianti. He looks away quickly enough to sleep soundly that night.

Pain. Pain is the wisdom of wisdom teeth. It is the only purpose I can fathom. Visit the dentist regularly. It’s worth the cost.

6 Things

Tell me 6 things about yourself and then tag 6 others to do the same.

1. Although only a handful (if that) of people read this Blog semi regularly at best I love to write it. In fact I just love to write.
2. I have plotted, planned and developed the characters for my own comic book which, like the Blog, I write only for my own amusement. Despite working on the series for years I have only ever written drafts of the first four issues, which have changed dramatically since the last time they were written. The reason I do not have any forward momentum is that, despite an intricate web of well laid sub plots, I am unable to form a sustaining central plot.
3. Recently a Doctor told me that I could not put my knee under any strain. I was told that I would not be able to continue using a exercise bike, cross-trainer, rowing machine or any leg weights. This means that the only exercise I am able to do in order to lose weight is swim. As yet there is no diagnosis of what is actually wrong with my knee.
4. I sat opposite Grant Morrison in Princess Square on Wednesday. Morrison is a top comic book writer whose work made C-List characters like the Doom Patrol and Animal Man into cult figures, and who revitalised franchises like the JLA and the X-Men. He is like the John Lennon of comic books so you can imagine I was quite excited (though I bottled out on an autograph).
5. I hate, or rather have no time for, all people, including children, who have no connection with me. This is the central reason I hate to attend functions which will have large crowds.
6. Though generally sour tempered, anti social, being quite dull and having zero tolerance for the majority of things in life I manage to have many good friends, be mostly inoffensive and am incredibly satisfied with both my character and life.

401

I can vaguely remember the first comic book I ever read. I’m pretty sure it ’87 ’88, I would be 6 or 7 years old, and it was a Captain America comic. The oldest comic I own is an issue of Superman which I bought in 1989. I bought Superman comics and others for years from RS McCall at the Westwood Shops, but one year my mum brought me to Parnie Street in Glasgow to a shop part owned by an old English teacher, and friend of a friend of my family, John McShane. Back then the shop was called AKA Books & Comics but over the years and through a change of ownership the place would simply become known amongst my family as Craig’s shop. My Shop.

I don’t remember exactly when John sold the place or when his partner Pete Root moved his backlist over to the more commercial Forbidden Planet store in Buchanan Street(He would later return to Parnie Street, though this time a few doors down at Kollectables) or when I first met the owners David and his, I think twin, brother who’s name escapes me. What I do remember is that it was near this time that my mum had picked up a leaflet for me to fill in which would mean the store, now A1 Comics, would place an order of comics for me in a file to picked up at a time of my choosing.

My first File was number 311 and I lost it when I was 17 due to not having a job and spending what little money my parents gave me (not a complaint) on Laura Russell , my first and short lived girlfriend. People always say that I’m quite a lucky guy, but the day after Laura dumped me I got a call from A1 to say that as I had not emptied my file for over three months they could no longer continue to keep my comics on file. Honestly, to this day, I still don’t know what broke my heart more.

Before I lost my file my lunch and pocket money had been being saved up each week and every Saturday my friend, Peter Gardener, and I would go into Glasgow on the 18 bus. We had been doing that for three years at the time I lost 311, since I was 14, and every penny I saved went toward the purchase of what I would think of as my alcohol, my escape from the real world.

Two months after the loss of 311 I got my first job serving burgers at McDonalds on the Queensway. My first wage went entirely to the purchase of a Royal Dolton figurine for my mother, as was the tradition set by my sister and brother before me. The second pay however was mine and the first thing I did was open up a new file at A1 Comics – File 401.

As I had when I was fourteen, I visited the shop once weekly to pick up the comics from my shop. This means that until this day I have been going there every week, apart from my three month exile, for yearly 11 years.

I said until today. I said that because today I walked into my shop, had my usual banter with the surly long time employee and my friend Jim Frame, and then told Adam, the weekday manager of A1 Comics to close my file. I know this may all sound pathetic to those who read this post, this obituary of my life long and perhaps defining hobby, but even as I write the words now I can’t help but feel that I have lost a part of myself this afternoon.

That being said the decision to stop buying comic books on a weekly basis was my own and the reasons for doing so are, unlike before, not financial. I just feel I’ve come to a point in my life where I don’t need to find out what happens next every week, I’m tired of the trips in and out of that shop, My Shop which I have been a regular customer of for well over 10 years.

I’ll read the trade paperbacks (which collect storylines into a single book) I’ll still visit My Shop from time to time but there can be no denying that an era has ended today. I convinced myself to do this and I still believe it is what I want and will not turn back. I had told Michelle that I expected protest from the staff, especially Jim, but, as she had told me, there was none. When I told Adam what I wanted to do he simply looked at me then Michelle and back and saw that I was serious, he then sombrely and sadly nodded to me as he agreed to close the file and this significant chapter of my life along with it.

Il Padrino

On my ‘Waiting on the Wing’ post I’d mentioned that I had news, well the news was that my sister, Lorraine, and Brother-in-Law, Graeme, had asked me to be godfather to my nephew Jonathan.

Needless to say I was delighted to be asked but none the less, in true Ambrose style, I had some issues about performing my part of the service. As godfather it was my job to stand before my family, the congregation and the priest, renounce Satan and state that I did in fact believe in God almighty. Problem is I do not nor ever have believed in God, almighty or otherwise.

Now I know most people would not have any qualms about doing this, they are only words after all, but this is me and we all know I love the angst. It does have to be said at this point that I cannot allow myself to let you make the assumption that my hesitance in this matter was due to taking some sort of moral high ground. No if fact my apprehension was due to the fact that my believes (or disbelieves I suppose) on this subject matter are widely known and my fear was that at best my ‘white lie’ would end in the best case with my being asked to leave that holy place or, at worst, being stoned to death on the steps of the chapel.

The service was last Sunday and, after some confusion amongst my mostly lapsed/heathen family over the fact no one could decide it the front wooden shelve from which the knee rests come from was in fact a seat, it was near time to take my oaths. The service was led by the kindly Irishman, and EK legend, Father Mac who was quick to point out at the beginning of his service that on an occasion such as the Christening of a child, denomination was no great concern in his eyes. This statement made me feel worse. Despite my feelings towards practiced religion I was of course feeling guilty about lying to a priest in the first place, but to lie to this man, a good man who would never judge you by your religion or lack of it as some can, to lie to a man like that I’d deserve for hell to exist just so as I could be sent there.

As Father Mac approached us in preparation for the oaths to be taken I prepared myself to rise and be damned, Just as the last wave of guilt passed over me I realised that he had begun, the time was now and to my amazement and great relief I was remained seated. Better still Father Mac and the eyes of all that were able were on the star of the show as little Jonathan looked up the big man in the dress with a natural confusion as he was spoken to in the well known Irish murmur. The oaths were asked. I renounced Satan but was able to keep my mouth firm and unnoticeably closed when the question of believe was asked, better still there seemed to be no ill effect on or scorch marks left when I traced the sign of the cross on my Godsons head.

I was and am very proud to have been asked to do and be such a thing as I am to Jonathan. All that remains now is to be there for him, answer the questions which kids don’t ask there parents, give the odd bung now and then and obviously if I feel he needs it threaten the odd obstacles, which may occur, with the severed head of an animal put into said obstacles bed.

***

Anna and the Church

As a side piece to my christening story here is a small story about my niece Anna on the day of her little brothers christening.

As Lorraine and Graeme were getting ready to leave to attend the mass before the christening service their daughter of 4 years old, Anna, asked them “what’s mass?” Anna was quickly seated and explained to as briefly as possible the ins and outs of mass, which has attended before, and the reasons for attending Church.

Anna quietly contemplated all that she was told and after a breathless wait screwed her face up and said “nah, I’m not going to that.”

That’s ma girl.

The Geekter-Scale

Michelle has come up with a geek rating system which she calls The Geekter-Scale.

There are five categories:-

Sci-Fi (Star Wars/Trek, Stargate Buffy Angel etc)
Comic Books
Video Games
Movies (knowledge and ownership of)
Computers (knowledge of workings)

Each category has 3 points with and extra half bonus point for going “the extra mile”. The extra mile would constitute, for example, ownership of Star Wars novels/toys, Superhero action figures, the ability to build a computer or just general over excitement about a topic related to a relevant category.

My Scoring is as follows: -

Sci-Fi - 1.5
Comic Books - 3.5
Video Games - 1
Movies - 3.5
Computers - 1
TOTAL - 10.5

Try it out

Waiting on the Wing

I’m waiting for The West Wing to download. whilst waiting here by my computer on my hard wooden dining chair, barely softened by the once effective red Ikea cushion which is attached to it, I realised that I’d not posted for a while.

I don’t usually sit here and wait of course; it’s the last episode I’m waiting for, the very last episode of my favourite TV show for the last seven years. I won’t go on about it.

So no posts, what can I say, there’s been stuff happening and I even have news. But the stuffs not been big enough (like that usually makes a difference) or I’m just not able to tell a story about it. And the news is something I’m not ready to talk about yet. Nothing bad and Michelle’s not pregnant or anything I just need to know a little more before I post.

Wondering what the happening stuff is that I can’t spin out to a story? No? Well I’ll tell you anyway. Helped David move into his flat, Michelle head butted a wardrobe while drunk in David’s flat, I went to Largs on Saturday with Laura and Stuart and, most importantly, I actually beat Stuart at Halo (sorry mate had to be said).

So my download is done now and I’m off to watch and maybe shed a tear for the end of the Bartlett administration. Next time I’ll talk about something I swore I wouldn’t ever discuss again in this Blog: Work. Don’t worry though there’s a twist in the tale.

‘Till then.

Every Party Needs a Paul

I wondered what the hell was going on at midnight on Saturday. We were up at Nigel’s flat for his 25th, just a small group of close friends with the notable exception of Sparkie (don’t talk to me about it), when at midnight Claire, Lindsey (I apologise for spelling if incorrect) and Kenny, normally an experienced survivor until the end on nights like this, were leaving. They all had legitimate reasons, work and long travel during the day, I’m not moaning about their leaving at all, I was just shocked at the prospect the night could potentially come to an end at this juncture.

Stupid really. There was no chance of an end in sight at this time. The post midnight guests were as follows: - David, Laurie, Shaw, Michelle, Iona a couple from Nigel’s work (the female was Michelle but I have no idea what her largely silent bows name was), Mark (Nigel’s older brother) Myself, the birthday boy and the never ending entertainment that was Paul, Nigel’s younger brother.

While Mark was, as always a funny guy (save for nicknaming me Geoff for the night after deciding my beard gave me the likeness of the Biker Grove legend), Paul was a force of nature. from trying to convince David to let him down the bottle of his illegal in 49 states alcohol he had won in the Dominican (which would have killed him) to an impressively blush free bought of dancing, and actually getting Shaw to listen to his point of view (they said it couldn’t be done!) Paul kept the party alive. In fact it was not long after he fell asleep that the taxi was called (at 5am). All respect to the wee man he took a fair amount of abuse, what more can you expect from an older brother and his friends, but he kept smiling and got back up after every blow (only Shaw actually physically assaulted him in a ‘my street fighting is better than your black belt’ demonstration (don’t worry he only pinned him)).

It was a great night. Michelle, who won’t mind me saying, couldn’t be bothered going out ended up disappointed to leave and Nigel was smiling covered up in his bed when we left (though I felt he could have waited until we left before getting naked). Happy Birthday Nige’! Or since you’re a quarter of a century old would you prefer Happy Birthday Michael? What is the threshold on Nicknames?

My Stag

"A bachelor party (also called a stag party, stag night (UK and Ireland), or
bucks party (Australia)) is a party held for a bachelor shortly before he is
married, to commemorate his final opportunity to engage in activities a new wife
might not approve of, or merely to spend time bonding with his male friends. A
bachelor party may involve activities such as going to a strip club, hiring a
female stripper, drinking alcohol and gambling."

The above is the reason I thought it best not to have a stag night. I didn't really see the point, I mean I don't drink or gamble and, I know this is weird but, I don't want to go and see strangers getting naked in front of me. However I was convinced, by David, that if I agreed to have one it would concentrate on the "bonding with male friends" and despite the fact that I'm not much for male bonding* either I agreed.

* Stereotypical common activities of male friends include watching sports on
television, drinking beer, or going for a curry.

Following that agreement I found myself very nervous about the prospect of the Stag, I had been told that David with Sparkie were going to a lot of trouble to think something up that I would like, which while nice I was sure would be a disaster. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I was, I am very grateful for the thought, but lets be honest; I am not an ordinary person who likes... well much of anything really, and its nobodies fault that they can't understand that, I'm odd and I'm fine with that but some people, I think, think that I can't really not like the stuff they do. After all they like it so why wouldn't I? Anyway, I was nervous and I phoned David and called it all off.

Not long after the call he was round at the flat and was again assuring me that it would be fine and I'd have a good time and blah blah blah. It ended up with a list. He told me to write a list of things that I wanted for my Stag Night. The list was as follows: -

1. No Nudity of any kind.
2. No surprises.
3. A quiet night.

Simple. Not ambiguous in any way, wouldn't you agree? So you can imagine my surprise when I found out my best men had organised this.

And also planed for everyone to dress in superhero costumes while out in Glasgow.

I found out when I overheard someone express concern that I wouldn't like what was going to happen. They never told me what the something was, David told me after a few texts expressing my concerns and then a few more which expressed my violent opposition to the costumes. He wasn't too happy about it all but he did agreed not to do the ambulance thing right away and eventully gave up on the costumes.

So all is said and done now and it looks like I'll be going for a quiet drink at the Crooked Lum. Now some of you may read this and think "that's a rubbish Stag Night" and you'd be right. But it is my Stag Night, and it is all I ever wanted to do if anything at all.

UPDATED

It's come to my attention, that is a few people have said, that this post appears to convey anger and that I have been mean spirited in its writing. If that's how it comes across I am sorry for that. I'll admit I was angry when I heard of the proposed plans for the night but my objective here was to make people aware of my peculuarities. It was a good Stag night that David and Sparkie organised, truly it would have been a great stag. My point was I don't want a Stag night and I felt I had to make people aware that when we go on that night out before my wedding that they wouldn't be attending a stag night.

The Whole Hogg

For your viewing pleasure I have included within this post an example of the fine work done by Mr Dave Hogg in his daily diary comic strips from a few years ago. Even if you've never met Dave I'm sure you will find, as I did, that Dave has a real talent for capturing the essence of small occurrences and quirks in an interesting, sometimes odd and frequently amusing way.

The example of the strips which I have included is, for me and if you know him I'm sure you'll agree, a perfect snapshot of Stuart's personality.

Click of the image to see the rest of Dave's strips.

Miller Genuine Graft

Saturday was my second induction at the gym. As I walk into the changing rooms to find some guys bare arse staring at me while he was bent over to remove his kegs I was reminded of why the idea of joining this type of establishment had never much appealed to me. However, after condensing this image into a tiny little ball and storing with the other disturbing and angry thoughts, I myself got changed and headed for the exercise bike to warm up.

After my recommended fifteen minutes on the bike at level 5 (way too low apparently) I beginning to wonder what all the fuss was about this fitness malarkey; I wasn’t even feeling look-warm never mind “the burn”. Then Craig Miller walked in to greet me.

Craig Miller is a school friend of David’s who I has a casual acquaintance with and who just happened to be my instructor for the weight training I was about to receive. Now for me going to the gym is embarrassing enough, actually embarrassing may be too strong a word but can’t think of another so let’s just say it doesn’t sit right with me. Anyway, I was saying that being that I’m not too comfortable with the gym experience as I am, having a person I know instruct me didn’t help put me at ease. That being said Miller was very professional and did not stray into personal territory whilst instructing me. Though I do think he may be trying to kill me.

Each machine I went on he would predict a weight which I could lift and then ask if I was comfortable with that weight. I said yes each time and each time the weight was increased. He explained that on each machine I was to do 10 to 12 repetitions and that I should feel by the time I get to the end of those reps that if I was to try a thirteenth it would be impossible to do so.

As I dragged myself to the changing room at the end of the instruction, in which I had done said 10 – 12 reps on each machine at two different weights, and as the blood pounded in my ears I felt what I can only assume was, having never felt it before in my life, The Burn.

I did weights before, when I was younger at home, and I had what could pass as muscle on my arms but I have never felt the tightness and the aches that even now, 33 hours after leaving that gym, I still feel. This is the deal. This is what it is to work to achieve something. It’s hard because it should be and I will not back away this time. I’ll be there tomorrow, Wednesday and Friday after work and I will do what I have been advised to do because at the end of the day, when all is said and done, I’m not giving those torturing bastards £33 a month and having nothing to show for it!

In closing I have to confess that while going to Glasgow yesterday I was thinking to myself that I couldn’t be bother with the gym, that I’d use to pool for the 3 months until I have the option to leave and then drop it. At the moment I’m reading a great book called The Tipping Point, which you can read the synopsis of here, and in it a wealthy man talks of how he got his beautiful and huge home for a price less that what it was worth. The man says that at the time he thought of approaching the owner to convince him to sell for the proposed price he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it, but as he always says “if you don’t try, you’ll never succeed.”

Nice n' Sleazy

If you look up to your right to the top corner of the page I'll hope you notice my new profile pic is now at least 82% less sleazeball (right) and more of an all-round wholesome shot of my rugged yet pretty mug.

Gym'll Fix It

Yes on Monday 27th March I finally got my ever growing arse in gear and finally joined a gym. Cannons Gym, to be specific, and I plan to walk down there after work at least 3 or 4 times a week to follow the workout pattern that was half worked out for me on Tuesday.

Now as ever I can read your mind. I know your thinking about the swimming debacle back in the early days of the Blogging when I would find a new excuse every week not to go swimming (as I had resolved to do on the eve of 2005) But trust me, If the £33 I’ll be paying dosen’t motivate me to get down the gym, then Michelle always got the cattle prod of disappointment at her disposal (“I thought you wanted to do this for the wedding” etc).

As I said before, only half of my schedule has been worked out, I’ve still to go through weight training on Saturday afternoon, but until then I plan to go tomorrow for a swim and do what the completed half of my programme tells me.

***

In other news; the cats, as predicted, are now getting along just fine. Little Frankie want’s to go everywhere Fudge goes, but unfortunately can’t always reach. Here’s a picture of them together to show that the little kitten is now 100% less terrified of the big cat.

PS
Anyone got an EK Mail from this week? Well I’m in it being interviewed about human drug testing with an apparently, and I quote this (though suspect mockery), “smouldering” picture to accompany the piece.

Fun Time Frankie!

So we finally got a new kitten to keep Fudge company… of course Fudge hates her and the little one is terrorised (as the action shot to the right shows) but thems the breaks I guess.

Anyway I’m sure they’ll soon get along… well eventually at least. In the mean time say hello to our new tiny blue eyed kitten Frankie.


P.S
As I write this Fudge has just attacked the tiny kitten by chasing her down and battering her across the face. It’ll all work out…

Craving

I don’t know what it was about Saturday night but I had a really good time on Saturday and since then I just want to go back out! I asked everyone if they wanted to go to the pub quiz tonight (only Stuart and Nigel said yes/maybe) and I even tried to entice David and Sparkie to going to Centre Point. Never mind the fact I would have had to go to work for 8:30 tomorrow, I HATE CENTRE POINT!

I’ve been drugged I tells ya! Drugged! This madness must end!

… So anyone up for Plush on Thursday..?

2 hours!

Whoa! 2 hours of Blogging! I haven't Blogged this hard since I worked for Multi Utilities!

Bright Lights

This time last night I was sitting with Sparkie in Crystals singing and performing actions along to the Kaiser Chiefs I Predict a Riot. It was a great night, I know it’s hard to believe but it truly was, and I was glad to be out again unlike the last few times I’ve been where I’ve not enjoyed myself as much.

Michelle and I had met Laura and an initially pale looking and subdued Stuart at the beefeater before heading down to Crystals where we met up with Kristy and Gary and bumped into Andy, Sparkie and Michelle’s brother Stephen and his fiancée Ellen. This is why I love Crystals (and oddly why a lot of folk hate it), there are always loads of people you know there.

As I mentioned, I enjoyed myself on this night more than the last few times I had been despite the fact that not a lot was different in terms of company, music or atmosphere. In fact I even had a small migraine for the majority of the night causing my head to pound whenever I stopped talking. Weirdly I never shut up all night; usually I hate to talk in the dancing because you have to shout to be heard, though shout I did, and to such an extent that my voice was broken and rasped by the end of the night. I was animated and carefree, even civil to people I don’t know, and more than one person commented that it was as if I were drunk (which, needless to say, I of course was not). I was a little like I used to be when I went out, though I didn’t dance this night (I probably would have though it never came up), and I think I know what it was.

The only thing, other than Michelle and a good story, is more often than not a quest for knowledge or the validation of knowledge which I believe to be true. At first when we got to Crystals I could feel myself slipping into my familiar surly silent and seated persona, which I adopt in Crystals the majority of the time. As I was gradually working my way into a slouch it occurred to me that something wasn’t quite right with the place. It was brighter than usual, I was sure and so after asking those around the table if they agreed with this assessment of increased visibility and getting mixed opinions I went to seek out more. My first point of call was Sparkie and Andy, who I had found earlier during a trademark wonder round, along with Jason, Big Craigy and others. Again opinions differed as to the brightness of the bar area of Crystals, but Andy in particular was adamant that the lighting was as it always was and ever had been. Needles to say: this meant war.

The first bouncer I asked stood by the doors of the side exit and I did not recognise his face. He said that the lights were sometimes dimmed. The next bouncer said that they were dimmed, the barmaid said they were never dimmed, the DJ and his mate said that they were and would be this same night. So I had the votes, 3 for Yes, 1 No and one undecided. I went back to Andy and re-laid this information to him but he was still adamant that those light would not be dimmed and was backed up by a blond girl he was talking with.

Half past Midnight was the time limit set for the lights to be dimmed and for my firm believe to be validated. As that time came and went and the bulbs still burned brightly I found myself defeated but of course did not really care. It the course of my quest for knowledge I had barley sat down and spoke and laughed with all my friends and those around me and met acquaintances barley thought of or newly acquired. I had no care of appearances or self image or expected behaviour and simply reverted into a person I thought long buried.

As I close this post I find myself wondering if in fact those lights were ever dimmed or whether it was my own point of view in previous visits which made the place seem dull.

Fudge in the Fridge

Pepsi Challenge

The other night, using the throw from our bed draped over one of our armchairs and with a cushion to prop up an opening, Michelle created a tent for Fudge. We left her to purr and sleep peacefully there for quite a while in there, at least 10 -15 minutes before we felt the urge to lunge our attention on her.

Michelle was the instigator, as she is more often than not of the attention giving/torment and commentated that within a few seconds of her hand blindly probing the inside of the makeshift tent that she felt a sharp and all too familiar nip on her hand. Fudge had bitten her hand.

Now this may seem a terrible thing and some of you may be imagining that this story has taken a turn to one of blood and tetanus shots, however you would thankfully be mistaken. A ‘bite’ from Fudge is not for want of causing harm or tasting blood but rather a simple warning born out of irritation. Her mouth and the teeth within will simply grab your hand sharply and never remotely threaten to break skin or even leave a trace that there had even been a bite at all. To put it simply Fudge’s bites exist purely due to the lack of opposable hands with which to grab (though she does slap at times), and the ‘grab’ is what Michelle’s hand was on the reviving end of underneath that tent.

After withdrawing her hand with pouted lip I then proceeded to enter my hand into the tent for reasons of pure curiosity as to whether Fudge had indeed launched her attack unprovoked as Michelle had claimed or whether it was the result of some loving jabs at the baby kittens sleeping person. My hand ventured in and just as Michelle had said I quickly felt a shift as Fudge’s head moved towards the intruder in her makeshift sanctuary. I felt the quick teeth on hand only for a second before they quickly loosened and were replaced by a cold nose and then the familiar sand paper tongue. Michelle surmised that she must have startled Fudge and that the sleepy cat had been to disoriented to recognise what had awoke her and attacked on instinct. Again our hand swapped places and sure enough the now undeniably awake Fudge sniffed Michelle’s hand and promptly bit it again. We followed this routine a few more times and met with the same results, even placing my hand on top of Michelle’s and vice versa.

It was like the Pepsi challenge and I was Pepsi. Coca-Cola was gutted.

Whiteout

Some people say they hate the snow. Maybe they even believe it but it’s not true. They hate the cold of course and they hate the slush and squelch that follows, but I can’t believe anyone who wakes up to see the blank canvas of undisturbed white can truly hate it.

All photographs taken at 7am on Sunday 12th March.

Baw Heed

Now that I've got my head shaved can you tell the diffrence?

Marcus

Before you scroll down to my new post I’d just like to say a few things about Marcus Barron, who I met a few weeks ago in my training team and who was found dead in his home on Monday morning.

Like I say, I only met him a few weeks ago and was in his company just a little over a week, so I cannot say too much about him. All I can say is that Marcus was a nice guy and that no life should end after just 32 years.

My thoughts are with his family and friends and I hope that yours will be too.

The 125 Million Pound Question – King of Westwood

Remember way back a few weeks ago when the Euro Millions jackpot was £125 million? Well I started to write this way back then. Enjoy.

And so the big draw has past and I’m sorry to say that there are none of us any richer with the winning numbers having been drawn and the spoils going to two Frenchmen and a Spaniard. Of course because they have to split the winnings that mean they’ll only get about 40 million each. Euro bastards.

That being said I of course did not really expect to win, I know the odds of such a thing happening (the same chance as everyone else of course) but I did get to wondering what a person might do with the largest cash prize ever drawn. I’ve got five ideas for what I’d do with the cash but after writing the first one I’ve decided to post them separately. Here’s that first one: -

King of Westwood

As you all should now I am a great fan of the comic book industry and their trade so it should come as no surprise that this idea comes from the pages of Daredevil. The story is called ‘King of Hell’s Kitchen’ (Hell’s Kitchen being a real area of New York where this fiction takes place.) and in it Matt Murdock, who Daredevil is behind the mask, has just won one of the largest lawsuits in history. Matt rebuilt his neighbourhood with his millions, refurbishing buildings, bringing in new business and cleaned up the streets both literally and metaphorically as his alter ego. At this point my plans to do the same for Westwood hit its second snag.

What I didn’t mention before was that Matt’s payout from the law suit was considerably larger than 125 million pounds, and the second snag is of course that I do not have an alter ego with which I could take down the crime level as Matt did.

The first problem I think shouldn’t be too much trouble; it’s Westwood we’re talking about here, Westwood, East Kilbride. No matter what way you look at it it’s not New York City so it’s probably safe to say that Hell’s Kitchen alone may dwarf ‘Scotland’s Sixth Largest New Town’ ™. This being the case I’m pretty sure that my £125,000,000 would be more than adequate to make Westwood a better place to live. As for the second problem, that’s a little trickier. See with out a handy vigilante identity and the total lack of either superpowers or combat skills I would probably have to hire some kind of private security force. That security force would have to be a constant fixture around the neighbourhood in order to be effective and before you know it I’ve gone from saving Westwood to becoming a fascist dictator (see inset) with an iron grip on the goings on in my self proclaimed kingdom.

When all is said and done this was probably the worst of my ideas as I’m sure the residents would not be grateful for my generosity and that, what with the private army and all that, things could go horribly wrong. Come to think of it I’m pretty sure Daredevil got shot or something towards the end of the story…

All these arguments aside my little project, while enriching the lives of friends and neighbours, is sure to eat away at the majority of my hypothetical winnings, and so, in the words a great wise man “screw that”.

More £125 million ideas coming soon!

The NEW Year

It is now the forth week of January, close to a month into 2006. This year is a big one for me, as I’m sure you’re aware, with lots of new beginnings and changes underway.

FACE
Having sported facial fuzz for the most part of the past few years in order to lessen the impact of my chubby boyish cheeks I’ve decided to be facial hairless (at least 90%) for the foreseeable future.

Hopefully, if I stick to my plan to lose weight before the wedding, we’ll see my aforementioned cheeks reduce in size to resemble something in-between my now moon face and the gaunt and gawky looking mug I see in pictures of me as a teenager.

PET
Fudge has been kind of bored for a while now, she just mopes around all day, occasionally knocking things off of any reachable surface (CD’s, remote controls, pens, etc) then she just slumps off to the bedroom to sleep. I’ve spoke to other cat owners about this and they say that a depressed cat is a lonely cat.

We’ve only just started checking the ads for the new baby kitten and I plan to give the Bothwell Bridge Animal Welfare Centre a call during the week (they are open Wednesday – Sunday).
Hopefully it shouldn’t be too long before I have a second cat clawing at my feet at four o’clock in the morning…

JOB
I’ll put my hand up; college was a complete failure. I was away too long, I didn’t have the discipline that I needed to have and I missed my free time too much.

Thankfully I was able to upgrade my 25 hour temporary contract at Centre One to a full time-permanent position at the Plaza Tower call centre. Everyone I know who works there pretty much hates it and it has a terrible reputation for high turnover, however, knowing this I’m sure not to be disappointed in the job and if it turns out to be even slightly better than I expect then it’s a bonus.

After eighteen months to two years service at any civil service position you then can transfer anywhere you like. I plan to go back to Centre One, where work is the kind of holiday camp that only Her Majesty’s Government could provide, until I retire in peace with my full pension at 49 with 25 years service under my belt. I can dream can’t I?

HOME
Here comes a flitin’! Michelle and I hope to be moving from our wee one bedroom flat into a sightly bigger wee one bedroom flat in the very near future.

After the sad passing of my aunt, Jean, in November her son Henry has offered to sell her flat to Michelle and I for a very reasonable price (yet to be confirmed).

The proposed flat is more spacious in every aspect compared to our current home, but the real bonus for me is the extra storage space, something the current place is severely lacking. We’ve now had both flats valued now and are awaiting Henry to decide on a price. Meanwhile we’ve bought all the supply’s we need and have began freshening up our place to make look all shiny for those prospective buyers. If all goes well this flat should be on the market within two weeks.

MARITAL STATUS
This one is obviously the atom bomb compared to the rest of my lists fireworks. The life changer. You tell yourself that not much will change but it’s a lie. Marriage is the first step of the rest of your life, in fact, to a new life, a new you. You can walk up that alter a boy but you’d better be a man when you come back down. You have to take care of her now; it’s not about ‘you’ anymore it’s about ‘us’.

I Can’t wait.

The Last Day Effect.

Note: this post was written the old fashioned way, with a
pen and paper, while at my work and then typed when I returned home.

As I write this I am sitting at my desk in work in what feels like the seventh hour of my 5 – 10pm shift for the Inland Revenue.

Now before your eyes roll to the ceiling and you let out a sigh, rest assured that I am not going back to my old “I hate my job posts”. In fact this job is not usually as laborious as it is on this particular shift, it just so happens that this night is one of my colleagues last nights.

Surly I am not the only person to have witnessed the effects of the Last Day Effect? All of us at one time or another must surely have been infected by the radioactive lethargy which exudes from that person who sits next to, if front of, behind or to the side of you who is soon to vacate their position.

Last dayers should be isolated from the general population so as to contain the effect. Anyone who experiences it knows for a certainty that Einstein’s Theory of Relativity is no theory as the minutes crawl by and those caught within the radius of the cloud suffer a complete withdrawal of… of… can’t think of the words! I’m too far gone! My brain cells have yielded to the power of LDE. My vocabulary is getting worserer by second … me…no…can…more…thunk…uhg!