Category Archives: Life

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

Aah, the innocence of youth……….

Tonight, I came into the living room and found a conversation in full flow between my stepson and my fiancée. My stepson was in a state of shock, after discovering that my fiancée knew  both who Stormzy was, AND that he was a Grime artist.

(He is a Grime artist, isn’t he? I hope he is – ‘cos if he’s not, I’m going to look like a right tit.)

According to my stepson (who is 13 years old), my fiancée and I had no right knowing who Stormzy is, because we are A) Old, and B) wrinkly. My young ward continued to lessen the number of Christmas presents he was going to receive, by saying that we only listened to music on those (and I quote) “flat, black things”. This caused some degree of confusion for several minutes, until we realised he meant records. The confusion was extended somewhat because he said that these flat black things were purchased in packets.

I’m not aware of ever going into HMV or Woolworths (ask your parents, kids) and asking for a packet of records. I never smoked, so never got a packets of cigarettes – and wasn’t as attractive to the opposite sex as I am now, so never asked for a packet of three. In fact I once had a condom in my wallet so long, that it went out of date. Ironically, there was no warning on the packet that said “best before end”…….

Needless to say, we put Barnaby straight on a few things (about our knowledge of modern music – not the lack of sex in my younger days), and he now knows that we are down wiv da kids.

Bruv.

 

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Good evening, and welcome my blog.

Last Sunday, I was waiting for Blue Planet II to start, and had a 45 minutes to wait. I decided to try and write a poem in that time.

I failed.

But what I did do, was inadvetently record the struggle that so often happens to me when I am trying to think up a poem.

This is a glimpse into that struggle.

Waiting for David

It’s 7:15pm on Sunday night. I’ve got 45 minutes – not a second more. 45 minutes to write a poem, 45 minutes to conceive and craft a worthy piece.

And why the urgency? Blue Planet II is on at 8 O’clock, and I don’t want to miss that- oh no. You just don’t miss the Attenborough.
For once, I’m in pretty good shape – it’s been a good day in terms of jobs done. But it’s not been perfect – no banjo practise today, and I’m still waiting for that egg to cool down. Slave to an egg, that’s me.

Perhaps that is what I should write about: waiting to make egg mayo sandwiches. I know it doesn’t sound exciting – but you never know, there could be a whole niche market of sandwich filling based poetry, just waiting to be conquered. For all I know, “Ode to Coronation Chicken” Might just be my break into the big time.

I love David Attenborough. I bloody love him.; he is an institution, a national treasure, and the Icon of my lifetime. He’s always been there, like a comfort blanket, giving me a warm feeling of security, but not dribbled on, or stained by rusks. David Attenborough could present a programme about wardrobes, and I’d watch it. In fact, it’s a little known fact thar he doesn’t just do programmes about nature;

I once saw him present a programme that explained how the Titanic was put together, and I can honestly say, it was riveting.

7:30pm – fifteen minutes gone, wasted, evaporated. I haven’t got a clue what to write about. I’m still thinking about Blue Planet II. Maybe that is what I should write about, the life in our oceans: the sharks, fish, octopi etc. I could even write about crabs – who wouldn’t want to hear about crabs?

I’m suddenly reminded of a blind date I once had…………..

Hang on – the cat has just come in, and is now crunching his dinner. His cat food stinks – it’s meant to be biscuits flavoured with Tuna and Salmon, but I doubt that there is any actual fish content in that food at all. The cat obviously thinks the same, as he has just walked out again.

Come on, I need to write something – time is getting on.

You see, I set myself this goal of writing a poem on a Sunday night, so that I would have time to review it mid-week before publishing it on the Friday. The trouble is, it’s hard to review something that hasn’t actually been written. Actually, that isn’t true –  it isn’t hard,  it’s easy: You just say “nothing that needs changing here”.

I notice my socks: they are red – but not bright red; they’re more the type of red colour that white socks would go if you were to bleed heavily into them.

 

Dear God, I’m rambling now; going on about bloody socks – in both senses of the word! I can hear David Attenborough narrating this scene in my head, as if I was the subject of a nature programme:

“Here we see the would-be poet, sitting in a quiet corner of his habitat. He rocks back and forth, staring at his bloodied feet. In his left hand, a pen; in his right, a notebook. His teeth are clenched tightly together in frustration, as he desperately tries to think of something to write about. As mating displays go, this surely must be nature’s poorest. None of the females are coming anywhere near.”

7:48pm – Twelve minutes to go. No poem in sight.

I’ve got two other pairs of socks; One set is purple and they make my feet look horribly bruised – as if they were smashed in retribution in a mob vendetta. The other set are grey, and give the impression that I have really bad circulation – which is ironic, because I do. Some days, I cannot tell if I am wearing socks or not.

Oh dear lord, more sock ranting – shut up man! You can’t write a poem about your socks!

 

The children are exchanging insults in a relaxed, almost musical manner in the living room. “You’re a Pooooooooo!!!”, flutters tunefully down the hall to the room I am in. Even with that gem on a plate, my mind refuses to pick it up and run with it.

Mind you, it is a poo – so I do understand to an extent.

I wouldn’t run with a poo – or scissors for that matter. But if I picked up the poo with the scissors, would that be okay? Could I still run? Or would they cancel each other out?

It’s 8pm – Blue Planet II is starting. I haven’t written my poem.

David has come to save me.

From myself.

 

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

Ironically, this isn’t the blog I was going to present tonight. I say Ironically, because the blog I was thinking of posting had a very similar title – in that it was made up of individual, and not necessarily connected words.

However, it was not to be – so this blog post came to be.

Will we ever know what the other blog post might have said? who knows? You’re probably hoping me I guess, but in honesty the moment has passed. The blog that was created by the writhing combination of blank space, my keyboard, and the random thoughts that float through my brain, never made it to full term. It was, at best a title – destined never to reach its potential.

So here is the post I selected.

I hope you like it.

 

Rejected, Inspiration, Spontaneity, Resignation

Don’t you just hate it, when you big yourself up, and then don’t achieve what you boasted about?

I had an appointment to give blood today. I am very proud of the fact that I give blood, and make no bones about telling everyone when I am doing it. I had crowed loudly this morning on Facebook, and due to the fact that all my friends are amazing, I got lots of nice comments.

So I’m in Blandford (look it up on Google Maps) waiting to be called. I had to fill in the health questionnaire, and for the first time in ages had to answer “yes” to a couple of questions. Not questions about sexual relations – that car still has no engine. I basically said I had been to the hospital for an examination, and that I was waiting to see a doctor. Both of these related to the ongoing investigations into my suspiciously high pressured eyes, but couldn’t affect me giving blood.

Well, that’s what I thought. However, when the nurse called my name to run through the questionnaire and then test my blood, it transpired that because I didn’t know for definite that I didn’t have Glaucoma, they couldn’t risk taking my blood.

So I couldn’t donate. I was really disappointed.

As I walked back to my car I checked my phone. A reminder had popped up titled “Russell Birthday” for tomorrow. Russell is my Brother in Law, and I had forgotten it was his Birthday tomorrow.
I drove round to Tesco’s and perused their selection of cards. I couldn’t find one suitable so – knowing that I had to find a card, write it, address it, put a stamp on it AND get it in the post box before the 4pm last collection – I made an alternative choice.
I cannot say more than that, but I have apologised to my Sister in advance. I will explain all tomorrow.

I was late getting out of work tonight, as yet again I had to wait for a lorry. When I eventually made my way home, I popped into my local Co-op in search of something for tea. Technically I still had the vegetables and gravy/stock from my casserole – but I was a bit tired of that.
Luckily, my luck was in tonight as I found two pork chops reduced to £1.09. They had to be eaten today, and that suited me cos I had them for tea with the veg from my casserole. The purchase of the chops was a spur of the moment thing – as might be my trips to the loo tonight if they are actually past their best.

I’m not looking forward to the rest of this week. I’ve got a container tomorrow and Friday, and a big delivery Thursday. That means early starts (I’m in at 6am tomorrow) and long days. The thing is, it needs to be done, so although I’m not relishing the idea, I won’t shy away from it.

But that is tomorrow – tonight I’m watching Arsenal on Telly.

COME ON YOU ARSENAL!

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

As the great J.R. Tolkien wrote, to close his world-famous trilogy “The Lord of the Rings” – ‘Well, I’m back.’

Back from where? You may well ask – but fear not, if you don’t ask I shall tell you anyway. I’m back from Edinburgh, arguably the greatest city in the united kingdom.

Now, before you enquire as to whether this blog has a complaints procedure (it does: Bite me.), I am well aware that all of the other great cities that pepper our landscape like the droppings from the good lord’s own glorious seagull, will say that they are the greatest city – and that is all well and good. This blog, and the sentiments contained within it, are all my opinion. You do not have to agree with what I write; just as long as you subscribe to my blog and like it and share it with all of your friends, you can disagree to your heart’s content.

I have been to Edinburgh before, but only briefly; I passed through it once on a journey to the Highlands of Scotland, and another time I travelled to Edinburgh and back in a day to take a birthday present to a friend. I went by train on that occasion, and whenever people hear that, they ask my why I didn’t take a plane to my friend? The answer is simple: I don’t know that she likes planes, and I didn’t have enough wrapping paper.

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Panoramic view from Edinburgh Castle

 

This time I stayed in Edinburgh for 8 days, and I took my Fiancée and two children along with me. They had not been to Scotland before and I was sure they would love it as much as I did.

Sadly, their first impression of Scotland was not a good one. After and 9 1/2 hour train journey from Dorset, we arrived at Edinburgh Waverley Station tired, and hungry. All of us were laden with baggage – none more than me, who has been married before. Seriously though, I was carrying the two large hold-alls with most of our stuff, and my arms felt like I had just beaten a Wookie at space chess. There was a lift down to the way out and we, along with several other weary travellers plodded towards it. As we waited for the doors to open, I became aware of a small, frail and wizened old lady slowly shuffling up next to me. She was almost bent double, and had a walking stick with wobbled frighteningly as she took each aged step. As the doors of the lift opened however, this frail old lady fixed me with an evil glare and said in a nasty voice, ‘I have priority!’ before shooting forward into the lift faster than Usain Bolt shot out of a cannon! She was in that lift in the blink of an eye, and cared not who she knocked over in getting there. I can only assume that she was in a hurry to get back to her house of Sweets before Hansel and Gretal walked by.

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Stunning View of the Castle

 

I’m pleased to say that this old lady was very much the exception to the rule when it comes to the people of Edinburgh; from the shopkeepers (none of whom appeared to be Scottish, bizarrely) to the staff on hand at the various tourist attractions and sites, everyone was friendly and polite and really welcoming.

We saw lots of stuff in the short time we were there: Edinburgh Castle, Edinburgh Zoo, Dynamic Earth, Camera Obscura, Greyfriars Bobby, Arthur’s Seat, the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Museum of Scotland and ate out a lovely restaurants. The weather was gorgeous too – blue skies, warm (well – not freezing cold), and it was really lovely to be there.

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Edinburgh Castle

 

I love Edinburgh. The reasons for this are many; its buildings and architecture, its history, the fact that it is (for me anyway) the gateway to Scotland and the many wonders within, the many happy memories I have associated with this place (my mum’s best friend lives here and has sent me £10 for my Birthday every years since I was about ten).

As if that wasn’t enough, during my time up here I managed to meet up with my best friend and his wife, who live about an hour away from Edinburgh, and whom I hadn’t seen in six years. I also managed a brief catch up with a former work colleague who moved here in 2004 who I get to see once every six to eight years, if time and life allows.

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If in doubt, have a MASSIVE pudding!!

 

Edinburgh is a very special place for me. I was so glad to be able to spend time here – and be able to bring my special people to see it.

What a fabulous time we had!

Good evening, and welcome to this blog from the past that posted from slightly less in the past than the time you are reading this – which at the time of writing this sentence is technically the future.

Confused? Good.

I wrote this a long time ago, and now you are reading it.

Simples.

Specialist Gentleman’s Salon…..and Add-on For Scales.

Today, I made another purchase in the Category “well, I never thought I’d need one of these again”. Now before you start, it was none of the following:

A plastic, wipe clean cover for my bed sheet.
Safety scissors.
Training pants.
Stabilisers for my bike.

The item I purchased today was in fact a comb. An item I last purchased over 20 years ago. I bought one today not for my head, but for my beard which is still irritating me somewhat.
This comb is the second hitherto forgotten product I have bought to aid my painful beard, the first being shampoo. I made this purchase on the advice of a fellow beard wearer who suggested that combing my facial fuzz might alleviate some of the irritation.

I must admit that I had my doubts about the whole shampoo and comb thing – but it does seem to be working. What worries me is that my friend might take advantage of my beard naivety, and convince me that other hair products and gizmos would enhance my beard experience. Will I end up with tubs of gel, various dyes, and mini curlers and straighteners? I hope not. I don’t want to think that I have to spend hours carefully washing, conditioning, and then styling my beard just to stop it itching.

All this beard management talk got me thinking: are there specialist men’s hair salons just for beards, or are they still under the jurisdictional control of men’s hairdressers?
If there are specialist salons, are the chairs designed to lean right back so you are upside down, and then are raised up to a manageable working height for the stylist? Instead of tilting your head back to get it washed, do you just dip your chin in a large bowl?

And if there are not specialist salons for beards but only male hairdressers that “do” beards, does that mean that all styling of all hair would be covered by these male hairdressers?
Could you go in and have highlights put in your armpit hair? Could you have tram lines shaved into your chest hair? Would they give you dreadlocks, “down there”? You don’t know, they might be obliged to entertain any hair related styling request, under the hairdressers code. Who is to say that you couldn’t go in and ask for Brad Pitt’s hairstyle round your man parts?
Next time you are in the barbers, ask.

You know bathroom scales? Why can’t they, as well as having the weight measurement on them, also have clothes sizing on them? That way, when you weigh yourself you can see what size of clothes you should be wearing. This would eradicate inappropriate outfit choice overnight. The “muffin top” would be no more!

Plus it would be an additional motivation tool: if you could see what weight you had to be to be a dress size smaller, that would give you additional incentive, no?

I think it would work.

Hello.

 

I’d like to think that I’m an optimist, but in reality I probably am a pessimist. I find that my personal thoughts often turn to the worst case scenario, rather than consider that a non-bad outcome (not necessarily good – let’s not walk before we can run here) is possible. This tree of negativity has many branches; from a lack of self belief in my own ability and possibilities, to worry that my children may one day be abducted, or may be hurt or injured and me not being there to help them or protect them, to the abject fear of ever being though badly of. This last example is partly why I am so hard on myself when I make mistakes, and also why I strive so hard to please others. I have recognised that even this blog, and the poetry I write is simply me crying out to be loved. “Love me!!!” I scream – and yet, when people do I struggle to believe it. Give me a compliment and I will bat it away, or deflect it, or ignore it. Not out of arrogance or rudeness, but because I find it virtually impossible to like myself, and therefore equally impossible to believe that somebody else will. Recognising and accepting my own worth is a feat yet to be mastered. I guess I crave acceptance and love from others so much, because I don’t accept or love myself.

I’m 46 years old, earn less than £20,000 per year, do not own my own home, and do a basic administrative job. I have a very large “can’t be bothered” theme running through me – I am overweight, and should exercise. The only thing I do is walk a mile to work each morning, and although I know the long term risks of my sedentary life, I do nothing about it. I’m lazy – and have been all my life, and I don’t know how to change it. Or, if I do – I can’t be arsed to actually do it. I’m still waiting for life to bring the answers to me – a lottery win, a fantastic job offer out off the blue, the recipient of the bone marrow donation I did four years ago turning out to be the Sultan of Brunei’s cousin and him contacting me with a cheque for millions. I know life won’t do these things, but the hours I spend fantasising about winning the lottery is ridiculous. It’s an immature trait I have, I feel.

At our I house, we have an exterior light that has gone and we bought a new one but have no idea how to fit the new one (add “Should Know DIY” to the list of sticks with which I beat myself). I was able to ask a friend (I wanted to type then ‘a friend who I met through my Fiancée – he’s not my friend’ – because why would he want to be friends with me. This is the negativity I battle with) to come over and fit the new light, and while he was doing so I was so envious of his skill and talent in being able to do that. The best I could do, was to wash up and clean the work surfaces down whilst he was working – not the most manliest of tasks. I constantly have the feeling that I am not doing enough in any facet of life.

So why am I telling you all this? Firstly, because it feels good to do so. I am having counselling sessions at present in which much of this stuff is being worked on. I wasn’t sure what I would be writing about when I started this blog post, but then this stuff started coming out, and I didn’t want to stop it. My negative inner self is telling me that the only reason I wrote this is because I am seeking attention. Maybe he is right – although at the time of typing this sentence you are reading, this blog post is on a word document and hasn’t been copied onto my blog, so maybe you will never read it. However, the fact I just spoke to you probably means it will. I could go round and round like this for ages which – like the rest of my negativity – will get me nowhere.

The second reason I am telling you this stuff, is because I could never tell you this stuff – at least not face to face, without breaking down. Many of my friends, family, and work colleagues read my blog (be they’re regretting that tonight), and would not have been aware of some of the stuff I have spoken about. So I have taken the easy route and have bared all to them from a digital distance. As for the other readers and followers of my blog who live in various places across the globe, it is unlikely we shall ever meet face to face, so I divulge my innermost fears almost anonymously. You don’t know me, I don’t know you, and that’s okay.

The third reason for me revealing this stuff is that it gives it a tangibility; although documents can be deleted, and websites can crash, I feel this stuff is “out there” now. I’ve put my cards on the table where everyone (including me) can see them in the daylight. The inner voice that whispers how shit I am has now been heard by all of you, and it doesn’t like that, because as long as only I heard it, the voice was strong. Out in the open, where the wind blows the voice can be taken away on the breeze and disappear. If other people hear what the voice is saying to me, then it weakens it’s power because it’s not just me that hears it – and although I might let that happen, other people might not.

Writing this stuff here tonight does nothing to change the things I am struggling with. What it does do is bring them out of the shadows, out from the dark place where they are in control. I feel that I am showing them to the world and am saying ‘This is me; this is where I am right now”

I’m not asking for anything – please do not think that I am. If you know me, are my friend, or have had me in your life at one point or another, then you have/are doing enough already. I have felt like I have been hiding this stuff for a long time behind my façade of being jokey, funny Larry/Laurence/Laurie/Lazza/Lagrueski (Delete as appropriate based on personal knowledge of me), and I still will be the same crap joke telling, awesome poetry writing, hunky chap with a beard as I always was.

 

I’m just not prepared to continue hiding this stuff anymore.

 

Thank you for reading.

 

Hello, and welcome to my blog!

I’m sorry that this post is so late, but it’s been a bit of an evening with everything being delayed by a faulty light switch in a car.

It’s a long story, which I won’t bore you with.

Instead I’ll bore you with a blog I wrote six years ago. Who am I kidding!? I know you lot love this stuff!!

So, here it is. Enjoy!!

Boring, Stilts, Embarrassment, and Early

Blimey! that was a close one.

I started writing this blog, and then got distracted and did something else. When I came back to my blog, I had a quick read through – and discovered that it was the most boring piece of writing you had ever encountered. I actually thought that telling you about how the display adapter in my laptop was on the way out would make a good topic for my blog.

I wouldn’t, it didn’t, I won’t.

Although just this second, as if to make a point, my screen flickered in a worrying sort of way……..

But never mind that (he said, saving his progress), if it turns out that my screen fails before I finish this blog, then so be it. Mind you, if I don’t get to publish it, you’ll never get  to read it and might just as well think that I simply stopped writing my blog. But if you did that, wouldn’t some of you wonder why a man who put the effort in to writing a blog every single day would simply stop out of the blue? Would you wonder if I was dead, or ill, or dead from being ill. Maybe you would think that I had some personal tragedy in my life which had made me think about the frailty of our lives and existence , and subsequently made me realise that wasting time on such frivolous things as Social Networking sites, or writing nonsense everyday, was simply a waste of my time, and therefore I decided to stop.

Or maybe you would just think “Oh, he’s stopped writing his blog – what’s for tea?”

Incidentally, halfway through that last paragraph my screen failed, and it took 10 minutes for me to get the computer working again. This is not good……

These are Roll Stilts. For some reason, I had a pair of these as a kid. Basically, you stood on them and the held the ropes in each hand and could walk about on them. I don’t know why I had them because as I was a tall child (six-foot by the age of twelve), I can’t understand the need to make myself taller. Now, these may look like harmless little stilts, but let me tell you – they could be deadly. In my experience, what would invariably happen was that due to poor foot positioning, the stilts would topple over. The first problem with this is that you more often than not twisted your ankle as you foot went over, but then as the curved edge of the stilts made contact with the ground, they would roll away from you throwing you backwards to the floor. Mind you, if there is one thing that can take your mind off a twisted ankle, it’s a crack on the back of your head.

I had a brief visitor this evening – and that’s not someone who pops round to look at your pants -, my good Friend Alyn Williams. He was in the vicinity because he was getting a take away for  his and his pretty-much-wife-but-their-not-married partner, Emma as he had been paid today. He is a man much after my own heart. He popped in to say hello and catch up while his take away was prepared. I always enjoy visitors, but was absolutely mortified when Alyn sat on my sofa and noticed a bit of food lying on the cushion next to him. I was horrified – I am not a total slob, and do tidy my house regularly. On this occasion I had forgotten that I was having any visitors and therefore did not run my Hoover round. I would also like to say that did not know that piece of food was there. if I had known, I would have cleared it up – I’m not in the habit of spreading food around my home to act as conversation starters when friend come round. So all in all, I’m very embarrassed.

Guess what I’ve got coming to work tomorrow? that’s right – a forty-foot container!! In truth, this one should not be a problem, there not too many different items, a lot of the boxes are large (= takes up more space in the container = the container takes less time to empty), and I’ve already got the warehouse sorted so every item has a place to go. I am still going in to work early though as I am currently one fifth of the way through entering 124 orders on the system. Before you gasp in admiration and horror, each order is only four lines, so it’s not too bad. If I get in for half six, I should get a good number done by the time the container arrives.

Well, I made it to the end of this blog without the comput

just kidding!!!! (I will be getting the Blogger App for my phone in case of system failure)