Never look behind the humour

To the regular readers I apologise for a personal post, for the very regular readers well you are used to it, normal service will resume.

So occasionally I post something that is written for my children. I cannot say whether I write is as a cathartic exercise or as a record that I hope they will one day read, some comfort or some questions answered perhaps.

I have always been rubbish at birthdays and if I can’t remember them you can rest assured that Mother’s, Father’s and long lost Uncle day’s are never given a thought. But somehow every year Father’s day lets me know it is there, always in a different way as if it creeps up on me with some foreboding malice. This year I spent some of the preceding day celebrating a friends birthday, a lovely occasion surrounded by his family. I was unaware that this was the day before Father’s day, hell at the moment I am only vaguely aware of what day of the week it is.

So today some social media/news/other mechanism reminded me what day it was. To be fair this year it was a couple of people who had forgotten. It is OK, I have never been one for manufactured occasions after all. Then Gav kicks in and I recreate my own Father’s day post with a picture of the mortgage statement on the door mat, mans got to laugh after all and I don’t do serious do I?

Sometimes I nearly convince myself…. The truth however is that I spent an hour or so this morning with pictures of my two gorgeous children. They are old pictures, of course, from days gone by. I remember the feeling of young heads on my chest, that bond of unconditional love. I remember looking into the most gorgeous eyes knowing that they owned my soul in a way that no other ever could.

I remember us laughing at the bemused look on Emma’s face when melted ice cream ran down her arms, she decided that she liked to eat the bottom of the cone first. I remember spending a holiday with Harry compiling a scrap book of all the things that we had all done together the previous year. So many wonderful memories and all so regularly replayed, kept as fresh as the day they were made.

Should you ever read this then remember that your Fathers love is unconditional and our memories still bring wetness to this wizened, emotionless old man.

Proper snacks and the FBI

I knew that the enforced curfew of Christmas had got too much this morning when I found myself idly checking that I wasn’t on the FBI’s most wanted list*. Backache meant a run was out of the question so I opted for a walk along the seafront on a chilly December morning. This is a stroll that I do quite regularly and I will rarely see more than half a dozen people, today was busier than an August bank holiday, well almost. There were people everywhere but these were no ordinary people they were festive ones, is one day not enough?

When I say that they were festive I don’t mean that they were wearing red hats and tinsel, oh no they were in disguise. They couldn’t hide from me though I spotted their strange groupings, like adults ever voluntarily go for walks with parents. And again the over formality, it was like somebody waved a wand that converted all the hoodies into formal coats! The strangest thing happened when passing these groups, they tried some form of communication! I know, in England and in a public place way to blend in losers. Luckily I had deployed my standard defence against such tactics, an MP3 player and a slightly psychotic expression** that few would try to engage with.

Having overcome my shock at the masses I happened upon one of those things that brilliantly captures the special breed that is coastal residents. Sitting in plastic chairs against the sea wall were a family indulging in the perfect seaside treat for a freezing December day, ice cream. This was no mere supermarket purchase though, at the coast we plan this stuff out way better than that. The family was eating Mr Whippy from the local kiosk which was not only open but had its obligatory 4 ft high plastic cone out to let people know. We breed em tough round here.

I can share an interesting development from the continues battle with Ms Nature. I seem to have some nerve conflict going on which is making my hands go ice-cold and numb from time to time. There seems to be no logic for this it just happens and then eventually goes away again, go figure. The entertaining thing about this latest assault is the futility of it, my wrists hurt so making them numb is a relief. That’s the great thing about Ms Nature, she’s determined but dumb and that is why I will win.

 

 

*Google is supposed to surround me with relevant advertisements and amongst all the plumbing supplies was a link to the FBI most wanted list, I figured Google may have known something that I didn’t…..

**The former is available from all good stores but the latter takes a special blend of parents I am afraid

The stupid ones come first, it’s all in the preparation ..

Am I becoming more pedantic or are the news agencies becoming lest strict when vetting their stories? Like a grumpy old man I am finding that some news articles grate on me with a level of annoyance that I find hard to justify. Some recent examples that you may recognise:

• During the Christmas Eve travel chaos in the UK there were repeated scenes where a studio cut to “their reporter on the scene”. A pristine looking reporter would then describe what they saw as the camera panned “these people have been listening to announcements all day”, how is that news? We look to the news agencies to provide us information, when there is travel chaos I know that all of the terminals will be full of people waiting for information that does not count as news!
• Some idiot started a small fire on a ferry which subsequently had to return to dock. All very dramatised by the press, but I accept that is their job, and lots of coverage. There were hundreds on board so how long did it take the press to find Mrs Bell who said “I think I will stay in the UK from now on, it’s a lot safer”. This woman had gone on holiday with her husband and we can only hope that is the entire extent of their gene pool. They went on a weekend break to Holland, some drunks set fire to a duvet and for that she has condemned the rest of the planet as uncivilised and dangerous! New York? Vienna? hell no that’s just Syria by another name for Mrs Bell.
• The final one, of many, is the revelation that painkillers have been found in ice cream manufactured by the biggest manufacturer in Europe. The pain killers were found, still in their tablet form, inside wrapped ice cream cones so we clearly need an ‘expert’. Our expert tells us that this “looks like a case of contamination” well I checked the ingredients and it doesn’t list painkillers so that’s a pretty safe bet. There were two tablets found, one each in two separate cones, the expert thinks this may have been deliberate, clearly he is an expert in stupidity then. This is obviously somebody that has dropped a couple of pills by accident and either been unaware or too scared to stop the line. If you are trying to poison people it is accepted good practice to crush the poison especially if you are hiding it in something soft like ice cream! Two contaminated items from such a huge supplier lends itself to accident rather than malicious and it was paracetamol, surely a simple peanut would have been more devastating if the intent was malicious?

I don’t know if it is the multiple news sources all fighting for the same story or it is a feature of the instant availability of news that we have today but it is definitely losing its value. During the travel ‘chaos’, they are delays unless it is Christmas Eve, we were faced with television screens full of idiots demonstrating that were idiots. Let me be clear it is not the fault of the public, we knew they were idiots that’s why they are public! It is the idiot that, employed to seek out newsworthy quotes, stuffs a roaming microphone randomly at these buffoons. “We’re just like trying to get home for Christmas” and there’s me thinking that you had headed out early for Easter! “I don’t want to spend all night here” oh no, quick summon assistance there is someone in the throng of bodies at check in that didn’t intend to spend 24 hours here!

When I was younger the news was full of insightful information and explanations. Whilst these poor people were eating the weak  and setting fire to belongings to stay warm at Heathrow a suited newscaster would explain the weather trends and the fact that it was all Coca Cola’s fault, we learnt something that was the point. Is it perhaps that I have now reached an age where they can teach me no more? I don’t mean that I know everything I mean that I have reached an age where I can see through the well scripted news readers and realise that they don’t know any more than I do.

I think that the news studios are more cunning than that, or perhaps they are cleverly aligned with other state departments, they are preparing for the zombie invasion. When the living dead are roaming our towns the reporters will be dispatched and we will be fed a series of inane and moronic statements from roaming hoards of flesh eaters. To us at home it will be business as normal, we will watch the news and then pop out shopping thereby feeding the growing army of the living dead. They are conditioning us to see morons on the streets, the next step will be the worsening make up and then the scuffles in the back ground, by my predictions we will see this in the New Year’s Eve coverage. Slowly but surely they are conditioning us so that the invasion is not a shock, I’m off to polish my zombie bat……

The practicalities of ice cream murderers and fizzy giraffes

I have written before on the subject of dreams or, more specifically, my lack of them. Quite simply I don’t ever recall dreams. The emphasis here is on the word ‘ever’ I don’t mean ‘rarely’ or ‘not often’ I mean never. When you explain to me that you dreamt that a leopard made of ice cream dressed in your wife’s stockings was chasing you through a lemon flavoured fog I presume that you’re mad. As a reasoned adult I can think of no other explanation except that you are insane. Frankly you must be madder than a whole box of frogs to have these experiences. 

The odd thing is that people are so confident in their delusional ramblings that they share them! What is the matter with you, are you hankering for full board in the local asylum? I do have to concede though that there are a lot of you around. Most weeks somebody will make mention of a dream and, let’s be honest, they are rarely normal. My conclusion, the logical conclusion, is that I am surrounded by lunatics. Everywhere I look there are mad people whose minds are filled with giant, car driving hamsters and candy floss that attacks you in your sleep. 

If it wasn’t bad enough being the sole sane person in a world full of fruitcakes you tell me that I am wrong. A conversation with a friend who was a psychology student revealed that not dreaming is a mental illness. Apparently not dreaming means that we don’t process subconscious thoughts and that is a key indicator for psychosis. Whilst I am dubious that anyone that dreams of cats that have their mother’s face and cook dinner is in a position to judge it is the accepted position. 

Because I’ve never been able to process the desire to fly, to eat the sun or to conduct an orchestra wearing nothing more than a clown’s nose I am at a disadvantage in the world. Or so the lunatics would have me believe. I understand that this works because dreams are our exploration of alternatives. As an example, when you dream that the television tastes like roast beef you are exploring the idea. Having explored the idea you discount it whereas I still think that the television may be flavoursome. Be that as it may I have never felt the need to chew a Sony. At the extremes are when you have a bad day and you dream of coming into the office and shooting everybody, that is actually meant to be healthy. The theory has it that you have explored that option and realise that it won’t work I, on the other hand, remain unconvinced. Apparently those people that fall off the deep end and slaughter their colleagues are normally not dreamers. Worth thinking about when you see me sitting quietly in the office. 

I read something recently that prompted this post. I didn’t really want to write a post that gave the impression that I was quietly waiting to slaughter the madmen that surround me since that could have been misunderstood. The article looked at the reasons why people don’t dream and there were several. The most common is not entering rapid eye movement (REM) sleep; this is a reflection of poor quality sleep. People who work erratic and long shifts commonly find that they don’t recall dreams until 3 or 4 days into a vacation which is when they have repaid their sleep deficit.   

Alcohol, nicotine and prescription drugs can, of course, alter sleep patterns such that you don’t recall dreams. But there was one that stuck out to me and that was simple logic. The theory goes that whilst we all dream some of us don’t waste our resources remembering them. So after the 8ft chocolate bar chases me around the racetrack riding a carrot I have an extra stage. Whilst you file it for later use I consider the benefit and discard the experience. I simply review the madness of a dream at a subconscious level and since I cannot find a use for the knowledge that cats aren’t made of custard I don’t bother saving it.

In conclusion I was correct all along, you, the dreamers, are bonkers. My theory was slightly off though since I thought that the process of dreaming was the mad part when in fact it is not. The madness comes when you review the world around you and think “hmmm I really should file the fact that an apricot can eat a 20ft long snake because one day that will be usefull”. When the zombies come* you may want to be on my team because while you have been wasting you’re time with fizzy giraffes I have a plan……

 

*For clues as to zombies iminent arrival please see other posts

It’s only weather after all

I had a good catch up with old friends this weekend so didn’t get around to posting my gratitude to the large family of tourists that tried to beat nature. Saturday we had a glorious morning that gave way to a darkened afternoon and eventual rain here. One family arrived around 10 am and decamped from two 16 seat minibuses, I counted several generations. They entered the beach and set out windbreakers, cool boxes and swing ball, presenting a perfect tourist scene. I considered pointing out their folly given the weather but chose not to in the end. It was great to see a family holiday in true English ‘despite the weather’ mode. By 2 pm the wind had got up, it was chilly and flecks of rain were drifting past. My tourist diehards remained resolute with their ice cream cornets and beach cricket. By 4 we had prolonged light rain but the family seemed to relish the opportunity to wash off the sugar from their donuts. At 4.30 the minibuses returned and they carefully packed all of their gear back in them and headed out of town.

This is what makes the UK unique, our perverse determination to ignore the weather! This was just one, albeit very good, example of what I have seen all over town. People walking backwards in order to eat their chips without them being blown away, people browsing sunglasses whilst holding a paper over their head against the rain. It’s madness on a scale that you wouldn’t see anywhere else in the world. They ignore the weather and soldier on with an attitude of ‘we are on holiday so we WILL have fun’ power to them.

Honourable mentions for Geoff, did you ever doubt I would ride again? Really? And to Zoff for his unique take on life, always refreshing.