For One Day

Last year I spoke of Christmas as a state of mind, but what about the barriers to have cross to enter the state? You might be stopped at the checkpoint because you’ve got too much baggage. Worried about money, stressed about your living situation, sad over people you have lost; these are just some of things the state requires you to leave behind before you enter.

But it’s not so easy is it? How can you be excited about the joy your gifts may bring to others when you know the cost of that joy? How can you wake up on December 25^th on a bed that is on loan and feel joy? How can you not look at your Christmas tree and see the gift that will remain unopened. You can’t pretend these barriers don’t exist – that had been my original thought to suggest, but no, it can’t be done.

All I can suggest is smile. Yes you might have to scrape by and live on toasties for a while in the new year, but would you really trade it for the look in your families eyes as they see the gifts you bought. When you see what they hold in their hands is not just merchandise but an embodiment of the fact that you love them. It may not be your own bed but a look to your side will show you that all you need for Christmas has been with you all along. As long as you have them it will be okay – they will make it better for you just you will make it better for them. For the ones we’ve lost? Honour them. Honour them with memory and laughter and love. Celebrate them as you celebrate the day.

Christmas, as an adult, should be the one day of the year in which you should exile all negative thought. It may be hard; there could be tears and anger, maybe blood, but fight hard. Fight hard and then rest, and when you awake on the day, for that one day (because you deserve that day!), feel love and nothing more.

Merry Christmas everyone.

We Won't Have a Christmas This Year

We won't have a Christmas this year, you say
For now the children have all gone away;
And the house is so lonely, so quiet and so bare
We couldn't have a Christmas that they didn't share.

We won't have a Christmas this year, you sigh,
For Christmas means things that money must buy.
Misfortunes and illness have robbed us we fear
Of the things that we'd need to make Christmas this year.

We won't have a Christmas this year you weep,
For a loved one is gone, and our grief is too deep;
It will be a long time before our hearts heal,
And the spirit of Christmas again we can feel.

But if you lose Christmas when troubles befall,
You never have really had Christmas at all.
For once you have had it, it cannot depart
When you learn that true Christmas is love in your heart.

- Verna S. Teeuwissen

Christmas Message 2006

Christmas Message 2005

Jimmy

James Ambrose Senior is my father’s father. To my cousins he has always been 'Papa', but even at a young age ‘papa’ felt an odd word to me (equally true of My fathers mothers moniker 'Nana') and so I opted to call him, as others did, by his name; Jimmy.

For as long as I can remember Jimmy and Annie (the would be ‘Nana’) have lived in Rosebank Tower in Cambuslang. Jimmy would dress each day in a shirt in tie and tend to his small but lush garden on the veranda. He enjoyed popping into the bookies for a wee flutter (always on the double initial horses) and he could probably be tempted by a wee pint at the Black Bull just seeing as he’s passing, and sure why not a half of whisky too.

Jimmy won’t be at ‘The Bull’ this week, nor at the bookies. His garden, cultivated for decades, was sadly left behind when he and Annie were moved to home a few weeks ago and, as much as he may wish it, there will be no shirt buttoned and the tie will remain on its hook. Jimmy is dying.

How long has it been since I first heard those words? Months? Years? I’d place my money on the later. “Jimmy is dying” you’d hear and then only days later “Jimmy’s out the hospital, he’s okay”. Jimmy reinvented the emotional rollercoaster in the last few years with a multitude of miraculous comebacks. His remarkable fortitude in the face of Cancer and multiple surgeries even became a source of dark humour – my Aunt once remarked that she was going to stop telling people her father was dying as it was getting embarrassing to receive condolences on one day and congratulations on the next in so many occasions. If only today were one of those days, If only we could share another black laugh, if only, if only, if only.

While writing this post I received a phone call from my mother suggesting I join my father and his sisters at The Princess of Wales Hospice via taxi. That was 16:20. By 16:40 I was stepping into my taxi which, to my eternal regret, was also the time Jimmy drew his last breath. I met my dad on the steps of the hospice 50 minutes later at which time he simply told me “he’s gone, son”. For what seemed like a long time after that we stood together and cried over his father, my grandfather, Jimmy.

Jimmy Ambrose
20/12/1921 – 12/12/07

Mallett's Mallet

Ignorance is Bliss

I was talking with someone the other day about the TV show Lost. He’d never seen the show and wondered if what he had heard about it is true. What he had heard that it was an equally weird and irritating show which offer more questions than it does answers. So that got me started, and once I got started, the public perception of Lost became, for me, a symbol of the gradual breakdown of society.

I watch the show, I love the show! Do I care about the answers? Of course! But I’m in no rush to get them. You’re watching a story and the story is about the journey just like any other story. You’re not supposed to have the answers – if you did there would be not story! You don’t flip to the end of the book and you don’t ask what happens at the end of the movie! But see there’s the problem – even as I type this you’re turning over those pages and you’re asking that goddamn question.

The books stay on the shelf because you’ve not got the patience, or the stamina, or even the will to enjoy the journey anymore. You hate the films that ask questions because you’re too lazy to wait for the answers – Stick on Scary Movie 9 instead. And when you find something on the TV that keeps you guessing at every turn, gives to adventure, romance and suspense you click the channel to some more Reality TV and fire another bullet into creative storytelling. And the funny thing is – you loved that show! But shouldn’t it be done by now? Why won’t it tell me what’s going on? How come they’re not all dead like I read in The Sun that time?

Pick up a f***ing book, watch the f***ing movie, enjoy the f***ing show, and for f**k sake don’t ask if we’re there yet, just enjoy the scenery. Trust me – it’s better than any national karaoke, dance or modelling competition out there. And it’s sure as f**k better than watching some dipshits being thrown out of a goldfish bowl.

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - The Dirty Dozen, Grindhouse Presents: Planet Terror.
I Read: - The Fourth Hand by John Irving
I listened to: - Five Men in a Hut by Gomez and The Essential Bob Dylan

Destruction of Property

This week Michelle and I were getting some new furniture for our bedroom from my Aunt Liz and Uncle Dave. Dave and Liz moved home from America last year and are now moving again into to a fully furnished home they had built. Fully furnished means that all the furniture they got when they left the US was now useless to them and up for grabs.

Now see if you can spot the difference in items in the next paragraphs.

Michelle and I took a half day to rid ourselves of the old Argos cheapskate range furniture we bought when we moved in. We took apart two sets of drawers, two bedside cabinets and a computer desk, the parts of which were promptly picked up and disposed of by the Cleansing Dept the next day.

The original plan had been that my Dad and I would go get the furniture in his van, but as it turned out my father would not be back from his holiday in time to collect the good before the move. This is the part where my good friend Gareth sets in. After much scrambling by Michelle, her Dad, her Step Dad and myself to try and hire or obtain a van by any means all it took was one phone call – the first time we had spoke since his wedding in July – Gareth said he would help us out. The guy is a diamond. I look at him now and I see him in pants and a cape. You know; like a superhero!

So me and the superhero go and get the stuff and it goes much faster than I thought in no time at all we are moving two new sets of drawers and a computer desk into the flat. So did you spot it? I’ll give you a minute… … … … … … time’s up! Yes that’s right – we didn’t get new bedside cabinets. Not only did we not get bedside cabinets, there was never even any discussion of us possibly getting bedside cabinets. This means that Michelle and I, with full knowledge though hazy memory destroyed two perfectly good pieces of furniture. This also means that our cost free bedroom remodelling will now end up being costly.

It’s not so bad, and “costly” is quite an exaggeration for the price of bedside cabinets. What really worries me is that the few times I do now write my blog the stories all have the common theme of my idiocy. I think I’ll try and win an award and write about that.

‘Till then

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - Heroes Season 2 (episodes 1 &2).
I Read: - The Straw Men by Michael Marshall.
I listened to: - Lennon Legend – The Very Best of John Lennon

Daze Like These

I left work for the day on Tuesday and walked to the gym. I walked up the stairs to the changing room, got in the cubicle, and proceeded to get changed. After hanging my jacket on the door I took off my boots socks, jeans shirt and t-shirt and folded them on the bench. I then put other socks, my gym trainers, joggies and a fresh tee. I put the clothes I had been wearing into the large part of my bag and put my rings and watch into the front pouch. I also take the machine key from the pouch and put it into my pocket. I then, fully changed, open the cubicle and prepare to step out. Only at this point do I realise. I don’t have a pound coin for the locker!

A quick check of my wallet shows I have nothing to make change with and mere moments after closing that cubicle door I back in there and reversing the whole process you just read.

D’oh!

The cats were crying for food as usual on Wednesday whenI got up . As I do every morning I walked straight to the kitchen I get two sachets of food out the cupboard and I wash their bowls. I open one sachet, drop the food in the bowl and put the empty sachet in the bin. I open the next sachet, drop the food in the bin and put the empty sachet on the bowl.

D’oh!

I’m sitting in work on Thursday and at 2 o’clock a woman in my team comes in and sits at her desk. I assume correctly that she is starting at 2pm because she works part time and is on a late shift. I found this odd because the day before I had asked if she could do my Friday late shift and I’m wondering why she would agree towork late two nights in a row. I get up to ask her, but she’s gone to get a drink, so I ask the guy who sits next to her if she is in fact working late. The guy says that I should know; she’s covering my shift.

Turns out that I may have said on Wednesday,
“Can you do my late shift tomorrow?” Tomorrow.
Now when I say “may have said” I obviously mean, well, just “said”. In doing so, by somehow managing to mix up the days of the week, I had left myself with no Friday cover (which I needed) and I had caused my kind colleague to work late on a day when no more late cover was needed. Not to mention the small matter that she was, in fact, six hours late for work.

It was all sorted, all good, but still…

D’oh!

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - Damages, The Lookout and Entourage.
I Read: - Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets by David Simon.
I listened to: - Myself saying “Damn it!” a lot.

Fat Boy’s Adventures in Exercise: Week 4

I finally did the gym thing this week. Pretty much all I did was walk at quick pace for half an hour (it might not seem like much but I was absolutely drenched with sweat) and then went fo a half hour swim. Yes an actual swim – not just floating about in the water.

So anyway there I was proper swimming when I look over and see Ron walking towards the area I’m in. Ron looks to be in his early to mid thirties, fairly average looking, oh and I don’t actually know him; Ron is just the name I gave him for reasons that may or may not become apparent to you depending on how big a Will Ferrell fan you are.

So Ron is walking towards the pool and obviously that’s not a big deal and the only fact that registers as a little odd is that he walks by the steps to go into the pool. I take a break at this point on the opposite side of the pool directly facing Ron’s path and this how I see it. It was bizarre, I think maybe it could have been a bet, because that is the only reason I can think of for a man, alone and in his mid thirties, to do a cannonball into a busy public pool.

Now I don’t mean he just jumped, that would be bad enough (who does that in their thirties?), but this guy jumped into the air raised his knees and splashed down like a lunar capsule that just came through earths atmosphere. The splash was incredible, I’m sure I felt myself sink a little as water level dropped. And the best part was that Ron never even batted an eyelid at all the heads turned in his direction. Legend. Genuine legend.

Anyway, next week I’ll be adding some weight machines to my routine, so I’ll let you know how that goes.

‘Till then.

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - The Rock, House Season 3 finally, Jack & Bobby.
I Read: - Free Fall by Robert Crais.
I listened to:- Send Away the Tigers by Manic Street Preachers.

Fat Boy’s Adventures in Exercise: Week 3

Monday – 5:40pm I walk though the doors of the Dolan Aqua Centre with my pre-packed bag of gym attire. It had taken two weeks but finely my adventures in exercise were actually going to contain some exercise.

Once I was changed I went to the counter to speak to the trainer. I may be determined to do some exercise but I still have tendonitis in my knee, and my determination does not outweigh my desire to walk without limping.

“Complete rest.” This was what the trainer recommended when I asked which exercise would be best for me. Not exactly what I wanted to hear but after a little chat I was able to get him to agree that very light exercise would be acceptable. Basically I can walk on the tread mills – so that’s what I did. For twenty minutes at quick pace. At first I thought it wasn’t so bad; there was a girl beside me a little younger than I am and she too walked on the treadmill. Maybe lots of people just do this, I thought, you’re not a wuss. Of course they do not and I am. The girl was merely warming up before her run which outlasted my walk by at least ten minutes.

After the treadmill I headed down to the weight machines in Gym 2. I travelled from machine to machine for about ten to twenty minutes. On each machine I visited I read the instructions provided having forgotten the coaching I was given in my induction so long ago, back when I first joined. You need a special electronic key to operate each machine which I forgot to remove after each of my attempts to operate the apparatus. If you’ve ever seen a new parent trying to fold down a baby buggy they you may have some concept of how I looked in my attempts to operate the weight machines. If you’re unfamiliar with the baby buggy problem try instead to visualise your dad’s face when attempting to read the instructions on how to assemble your new bike. There was a guy across the floor from me who I saw watching my sad attempts from the corner of his eye several times. At first I thought his gaze was mocking me but as I visited each machine I could gradually see that he in fact looked at me with the weary pity you grant on the pathetic.

After I gave up there I went back to the tread mill for another 15 minutes, this time telling myself that a light run would pose no problem. This time around my running partner was not a young girl but an older gentleman who ran at just as quick a pace. The fact that this man – so twenty or thirty years my senior was able to run with such grace only compounded the embarrassment I felt at my clumpy pain inducing short jog. Short being the kind term, in this case, for barely over a minute.

***

When I eventually limped home on Monday I told Michelle of my weight machine fumbles and cheek warming jog, but, I also told her that I was glad I went and that I planned to go swimming on Tuesday then back to the gym on Wednesday and carry on with this pattern. My adventure in exercise had finally begun.

After dinner that night I got up to pack my shorts and towel for Tuesdays swim but was stopped by a phone call from my mum on the way through.

“We’ll leave tomorrow at nine o’clock?” she said much to my confusion. I had forgotten all about the minor operation I had scheduled for Tuesday morning. I was having a fatty lump removed just above my hip – I was cut into and then given stitches. Swimming was out of the question – not unless I wanted to look like shark bait in the water. At first I thought I might still be able to go to the gym but on Wednesday I was in quite a bit on pain. The stitches were right on my waist band and were being rubbed so much that my wound bled badly enough for my dressing to burst. I was sent home from work then and when I returned the next morning found it impossible to walk on even sit at my desk without my wound stringing badly. I got a line from the doctor the next day and will not be back in work until after the holiday Monday.

I think I will still stay out of the water for another week but I should be able to continue my walking on the treadmill as of Tuesday coming. In order to prevent further embarrassment I think it would be a good idea to get another crash course on the machines when I go back too.

‘Till then.

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - Zodiac, The Lost World:Jurassic Park, Jurassic Park III and the Season Three finally of Lost.
I Read: - The Closers by Michael Connelly.
I listened to: - Nothing.
Time in Gym: - 1 hr approx.

Fat Boy’s Adventures in Exercise: Week 2

So Week 1 you read that I never even got to join the gym until Friday afternoon and before I signed off last Sunday I assured you all that I would be on an exercise bike just after 5:30pm Monday and for the rest of the week. Even when writing that I had a slight cough, nothing that would stop me going to the gym… except that that slight cough quickly turned into a chest infection which I am today finishing the course of antibiotics for.

I know it sounds like an excuse, but believe me when I say that there was no way I go to the gym. I talk on the phone to between fifty and seventy people a day and after each of those phone calls I would go into a coughing fit. I knew that if I went to gym I wouldn’t last two minutes on any machine without bringing up a lung.

So yeah, Week 2 of my adventure of exercise, just as in Week 1, features no exercise at all. Of course there’s always Week 3, which we are in now because I’m posting this three days after I intended to, but if I tell you about it now what will I write about next week?

‘Till then.

P.S.

I’m adding a new addition to my ‘THIS WEEK’ section called ‘Time in Gym’ it’s fairly self explanatory and, like the title, is intended to motivate me.

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - Bones: Season 2, The Office (US): Season 3, Scrubs: Season 6
I Read: - Panic by Jeff Abbott.
I listened to:- Costello Music by The Fratellis.

Fat Boy’s Adventures in Exercise: Week 1

F**k that. These were the words of encouragement was given by my friends when I told them I was going to rejoin the gym. Sure I’ve tried and failed twice but joining the gym a third time is much preferable to having to restock my wardrobe a third time due to “shrinking” clothes. Besides they say third time’s a charm.

I was supposed to go rejoin on Monday. I did not. Tuesday I did not. Wednesday I did not. Thursday? Thursday I thought of all the positive things I could achieve by joining the gym – Feel better about myself, be healthier, relive stress etc – and that was it. Thursday was the day to do it, the day to rejoin the gym.

We have a two minute rule in my work which basically means you can be two minutes late and leave two minutes early. 16:58 I was up out my desk signed off my computer, signed out of the building and opening the exit door by 17:00. I walk fast and confident. Proud of myself for taking this step.

I moved with precision into Primark. Jogging trousers – 2 pair. T-Shirt - 2 set. Cash register line. Paid for goods. Out the door. I went back the way I came now cutting down that corridor that brings you out in front Crystals and smells like pee. I didn’t let the pee smell distract me and I headed up the ramp to the bridge that would take me to The Dolan Aqua Centre. The Gym.

There was a skater dipshit on the bridge, he was too old for that skate board and that hair-do and he was not watching where he was going because he was fiddling with whatever was in his unwashed hands. Probably a crack pipe… could have been an MP3 player though. Pretty sure he was going to run into me but he looked up at the last minute. I gave him a hard look and I’m pretty sure he said something cheeky. I did a quick calculation in my head and decided the fitness facilities available in prison were not worth throwing him off the bridge. Onwards.

My neighbour, and also the guy who sold me this flat works at the Dolan, his name is Scott.
“What can I do for you” he said.
“I’m going to rejoin the gym, mate.” I said, and as I said it could see that smile. The smile of guy who works in a gym and seen a hundred of guys like me walk through that proverbial revolving door a hundred times before.
“Oh right. I’m just coving the desk for a moment I’ll go get the girl who deals with that.” He said as he turned to go into the office behind him.
For some reason I was slightly nervous and despite having only a casual passing relation ship with Scott I felt it was appropriate at this point to shout after him “Got to fight the fat Scotty Boy!”

Out came the desk girl. I forget her name, and though it’s important to he parents who though long and hard about it and to those who love her it’s not that important to me or this story. She asked if I’ve been a member before and reminded me of the prices. I confirm all this is fine and I want to join. No problem? Wrong.
“Oh… did you receive a letter a while ago about paying a cancellation fee?” said Desk Girl.
I’m here to give you my business again and you people are demanding a cancellation fee? Does that make sense to you, you vacuous little leech?
“Oh yeah… I forgot all about that… I can pay it now?”
“Sorry, payment has to mailed or made over the phone”.
Of course it has! Nothing is ever bloody simple is it you smug little parasite!
“I see… do you perchance have the number there?”
“I’ll just see if I can get that for you.”
Bitch.
“Thank you so much”.

I got the number and it wasn’t long before I realised my good intention was doomed. There was no answer at the number and a quick look at my wrist watch made realise why. No council employee works past 5:00pm.

And so it was that I did not join the gym this week. I paid my bill at lunch on Friday, I had Nigel and Iona’s wedding on Saturday and today…. Well Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest isn't it?. However, it will happen. Specifically it will happen just after 5:30pm tomorrow. I’ll pack a bag tonight and intend to be on an exercise bike or like minded equipment each night after work. I’ll let you know how I get on next week.

‘Till then.

THIS WEEK
I Watched: - 24, Lost, Entourage, The Sopranos and The Unit.
I Read: - Panic by Jeff Abbott.
I listened to: - On the Leyline by Ocean Colour Scene.

Books

The first book I read of my own free will was some crap out of my school library about slug like aliens growing in a barn and one boys quest to find out the truth. Some crap like that; I couldn’t say for sure.

Crap as it was though I still thought it was great. The detail a book goes into can never compare story wise to even the best the cinema has to offer and if I love anything it’s detail. I obsess over it. Detail in fact is one of the main reasons that the stories I write are never complete; I can’t let the details go. Detail is paramount to fiction and fiction is really what I love. Give me a biography and it can take me weeks to get through it – no matter how interesting. I’m the worst with biographies, though books like The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell(everyone should read The Tipping Point) for example can take me longer too nothing sends me to sleep like a biography. It’s like a subconscious rating system – I read biographies in weeks, consume knowledge in days, and devour fiction in hours.

And not just any fiction; American fiction. I hate stories set in Britain - they are so grey and dismal and downtrodden compared to the bright shining heights of American works. That being said I have enjoyed Ben Elton and I am about to delve into Christopher Brookmyre’s Quite Ugly One Morning.

I just finished a book called Promise Me by Harlan Coben. Coben is a great mystery writer – some would say the best currently around- and Promise Me was his first book in years to feature one of my favourite characters, Myron Bolitar – It took just over a day to read.

I first came across Myron Bolitar after reading Coben’s bestseller Tell No One – a great example of Coben’s non Bolitar work in which an everyman is thrown by some means or another into a seedy world of violence, lies, and most often a menacing hitman of some sort. I loved Tell No One and this prompted me to buy Deal Breaker; Coben’s first book to feature The former basketball star turned sports agent, Myron Bolitar. It took me weeks to finally pick it up. Weeks. Why? Well comeon – Myron Bolitar? What the hell sort of name is that? And he’s a sports agent – I hate sports – who solves crime? Really? Comeon! However, read it I did, the reviews were good and I had, after all, paid money for it. I read it in hours. I loved Myron Bolitar. Love in fact.

Myron is sort of like Batman if Batman were a wise cracking crime solving sports agent. Coben’s novels are filled with great charters with colourful backgrounds and bad guys with almost Batman villain esque facets to their character (ghost like appearance, steel hard fingers, a fetish for biting etc). This was the first PI book I read (although technically not a PI, Bolitar is as good as there.) and since them I can’t put them down. I love delving into the hard boiled and morally ambiguous worlds of characters like Patrick Kenzie, Harry Bosch or Atticus Kodiak.

PI/mystery books are great but are pretty much the Die Hards or Lethal Weapons of literature. All style and no real substance. Every so often I find I need to read a book of substance, serious literature with charters that feel real and make you think. Richard Russo is a great author – his books are about life or lives within small town America and can capture me so completely that I feel genuine loss after finishing one of his novels because I know I’ll never meet the charters within again. These books are harder to get into but infinitely more rewarding in the end.

If your wondering why I’m writing about this or why I thought anyone would really care what my thoughts on books were the answers are: one - I stole the idea from Irish writer John Connelly’s Blog. And two – I never really care if anyone’s interested in the stuff I write or not I just like to write it.

I watched: - The Constant Gardener and parts of The Shield: Season Six

I read: - Promise Me by Harlan Coben and The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Cabon

I listened to: - The Arctic Monkeys – all albums.

Boo

Fudge is a good cat. Each night round about 10:00 or 11:00 she’ll run excitedly to the door having heard me tie the bag of used litter to take to the bin. Frankie can’t come with us; she’s too excitable and would run around outside for hours before deciding to come back. Not Fudge though. Fudge appreciates her night visit to the garden and listens when told it’s time to come in. Fudge is a good cat.

I had dropped the double bagged used litter in the bin and was waiting for Fudge to come down the three steps in the close and out to the garden. She always hesitates because of the noise she hears from out there and thinks it may be a stranger – someone not within her comfort bubble that she doesn’t want to be around. The noise is my neighbours overflow pipe. It’s been broken for as long as I can remember and makes a cracking sound as it hits the constantly wet gravel.

Crack.
Crack.
Crack.

A steady and constant sound like a metronome.

In barely anytime at all Fudge remembers the origin of the sound and has a short burst of a run to reach the door. She stopped short however strafing to her left as she spots something on the close floor. A bug. I can’t see it but I know it’s there because Fudge’s head follows its path her nose never leaving the ground; her mouth never leaving the bug.

Our roles are reversed as I stand out in the pitch black stillness of the night and look in oh my cat as her head jerks and her mouth twitches in such a way that I know she’s just eaten her tiny prey.

“Aw Fudge that’s nasty ha ha.”

“ha. ha. ha.”

My head darts towards the sound of the laughter and my mind races. Maybe someone on the path past the fence? Maybe someone with an open window in there flat? Maybe my imagination? Maybe, but if I imagined it Fudge did too. When I looked over to her she had backed away toward the stairs, her head was down and her eyes were black.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty seconds looking into the blackness and trying to find a shape that didn’t belong, straining to hear movement but hearing nothing but the pipe drip.

Crack.
Crack.
Crack.

One minute now. Long enough. Fudge is half way to the door and I’ve proved to myself that I’m a man and not afraid by bumps in the night. But this was a laugh and despite finding no evidence in sight or another sound I can feel eyes on me and know that the chill in my spine has little to do with the winter air.

That was a week ago and no voice or otherwise has been heard or seen since. Fudge has trotted outside happily as always and in truth it’s the absence of the fearful little cats reluctance that is of most comfort to me. I used to walk with her out to the garden and stand with her as she sniffed the air. Now stand in the door. At the door nothing waits behind your back.

Babies!

This week has been all about babies. Not the least of which is my Brother Christopher and his wife Yvonne’s newborn Lucy. She was born on Valentines Day round about 2:30am and weighed 8lbs 12 ounces. Now the weird thing is a few people have said “So, you’re an uncle again”. Now I get what they mean – I have a niece and nephew from my sister already – but does another niece make me an uncle again? I don’t think so; if anything it just makes me more of an uncle. I’m an uncle to the power of three (and that’s just in blood relatives!).

***

Today we supposed to be babysitting for Michelle’s brother Steven and his girlfriend Ellen. They had a little boy a few weeks ago and named him Eli. Now I’ve only seen the kid once so on the one hand I was looking forward to seeing him again, but on the other hand – a much heavier and tired hand – looking after Eli would mean getting two trains into Govan.

It’s Sunday I don’t even like getting on two shoes on a Sunday let alone two trains. It’s just about the only part of Christianity I agree with – Sunday is for rest. I do nothing that involves effort on this day – it’s a life rule that I hate to break but still I did feel a little guilty at the fact I was overjoyed when I found out I didn’t need to go.

***

Now the last thing isn’t really anything to do with me but it was too cool a weird a thing not to tell people. My friend Jim has two brothers, Stevie and Craig. Stevie lives down south and Craig lives here in East Kilbride. Each has been with their girlfriends for a long time and recently both found out that their girl friends were pregnant. Great, brilliant, nothing odd about that – except that both babies are due on the same day! What are the chances of that!

***

Well that’s all I’ve got for now and I’ve got to say that after reading both Zach Braff and Kevin Smith’s Blogs I have to say that writing about my mundane little life is kind of intimidating. I really have to start doing interesting things.

'Till then.

Soon to be Mocked

A bit late perhaps but here are my resolutions for 2007: -

Do the Dishes Every Day
I do the dishes in the flat, it is one of the things that I, and only I, do. My current modus operandi with said dishes is to let them pile until there is either no room on the worktop or no cutlery with which to eat with. No more. Everyday!

Lift Weights on a Semi Regular Basis
Back in the day when my bulk was not purely made up of chub I use to lift weights. I still have them, so to say I plan to use them on a semi regular basis should not be too difficult. Lets say I do it at least once a week to start off. If I manage that I may start doing it more. Maybe. For now - once a week!

Join a Creative Writing Workshop
Specifically the creative writing workshop Laura and Stuart “got me” for my birthday. By “got me” I mean they looked for a course, highlighted the page for the course on a prospectus and gave me half the money towards it. Now the workshop starts this month, but as after all the bills come off Michelle and I will only have £15 in the bank I can’t afford to go. However I’m sure it’ll be on again and I plan to be there when it is. Best birthday present ever!

Make a Baby
Out of papier-mâché and try to convince Michelle it’s real and that she gave birth to it. Maybe if I used one of the cats in the mould…