Episode 35 - Hardy Kruger - South African?

My wife is on the laptop in the kitchen - doing a forensic degree case.

I'm in the lounge, glugging my way through a bottle of Hardy's wine (I care not what type it is - Merlot? maybe...)

Anyhoo, hence the Hardy Kruger reference.

Strange - Hardy Kruger played a kaffir hating mercenary in Wild Geese (film) who died for a black man, eventually. Why am I mentioning this? Well, its a Hardy thing.

Judge the man (or woman) by his (her) deeds, not by anything else. Talking bollocks is easily done. The guy in Wild Geese did the right thing in the circumstances - see that? circumstances - "c" sounding like an "s" - sircumstances, hard becoming snake like in its "ssss". After all, you don't say sunt in the height of displeasure, do you?

No, you say c**t.

English is so strange, Here endeth the lesson.

G'night.

Interlude - Should you or shouldn't you?

I've just had an e-mail froma complete stranger, to which I responded.

No harm, I suppose but they could be mad? Chating can't harm, eh?

Just finished delivering human resource training in work. Am I the dullest man alive?

Possibly, but not as dull as the twats I've dealing with for the last three weeks.

Episode 34 - New Horizons?

Doing this blog has been interesting so far. Cathartic.

It has helped me express myself and it has helped me focus, too.

If anything the future has more in store for me on a creative level than it ever did. I'm not saying that I'm going to be the next this or that, but I am saying that I've rediscovered a bit of me that has laid dormant for too long.

Happiness is creativity. Its part of the human condition. We create and we are pleased with what we have done - hence happiness. We can't all be Rembrandt or Tchaikovsky, or Anthony Hopkins or Richard Burton, David Baily or Henry Moore. But in our own small ways we can reach out to others by our ability to create.

Yes, I'm waffling. But I see the way ahead is clear and I know what I must do.

And to top it off, I spent a pleasant day with my daughter - and I can't put a price on that. When my daughter and my three boys are with me I feel a sense of completeness.

Episode 33 - Crushed By The Wheels Of Industry

Stayed up late last night - sleep as elusive as the Scarlet Pimpernel. As sometimes happens to me, I paced my lounge up and down, nervously contemplating the next day at work.

I am really growing to hate my job with a passion that few can muster.

Eventually I crawl into bed and slow slip off into dream land. The usual suspects drift like mist inside my sleeping world - freedom, escape, loads of cash and no desk job. But before you know it, the alarm rings, its half past five and time to wash, dry and pour myself into my clothes, stuff my mouth with toast/flakes/tea/whatever and drag my semi conscious body behind the wheel of my C3 and point it in the direction of Swansea and the mountain of paper-work/figures/shit that no doubt awaits.

I'm spending the next two weeks putting a training regime together for my colleagues and I don't give a fuck. The day drags on and eventually its time to leave and its at this point that I briefly feel alive - a pause in my zombie like working trance.

Clunk-click and I'm strapped into my commuter-mobile and pointing away from Swansea and back home. Pancakes for tea and out again, children in tow to the local hall where they teach gymnastics. The children make shapes with their arms and legs for an hour whilst I look for the meaning of life in the nearby library.

Haven't found it yet, but I did find a book about DNA - seriously.

I return to the hall and children are bending like reeds in the breeze. Soon we are home again. A bed they go and the day peters out. I am numb with fatigue but the worry about tomorrow is soon revisited.

I seek salvation.

Episode 32 - Luck, Luck, Lucky!?

Like most fat and contented Westerners, I moan about the littlest things. Ooh, my PC has crashed, or there's no semi-skimmed milk in the fridge.

I've spent consecutive evenings watching films set in Africa - Blood Diamonds and Hotel Rwanda. Now, it struck me that for a lot of Africans life is pretty tough - getting killed by gun wielding psycho's, being ignored by well meaning whites and so forth. Not once did anyone moan about anything regarding semi-skimmed milk or fucked up personal computers.

Those two films, told me a bit about Africa, but not much. I am, after all, an ignorant European who for the most part concerns himself with consumerism and other crap. Nothing that I worry about really comes down to a life or death situation - I've got my health and a wide screen TV.

But what struck me is this. I ended up occupying the flesh and bones that envelope me this very day, but who is to say that I would not have ended up a Tutsi, or a man trying to find his family in the middle of some civil war, where life is cheap?

Yes, I moan like the next person but in essence I am a very lucky person - I just don't appreciate it very much.

Episode 31 - Easy?

That last bit.

I should say that as easy as it is to type such things, it's a lot harder in practice. Sorry if I sounded glib.

Here's a nice picture to make up for it. I hope.

Episode 30 - Your Life In Your Hands

I wonder about people sometimes. I wonder why people (myself included) constantly live in fear.

At whatever level.

Not fear of being maimed or killed in a road side bombing. Not fear of being attacked in the street for their outlandishly expensive mobile phone, nor fear being diagnosed with a wasting disease.

Even though the things above are just a few of the very reasonable things to be scared of, it is fear of yourself that paralyses nearly everyone on some level. Fear of being different, fear of not conforming, fear of sticking your neck out.

Fear of taking a chance.

Fear of taking control of your life.

Fear of taking the blame or taking the plaudits. Fear of liberation.

And I'm no different.

Episode 29 - Talking To God On The Big White Telephone

Went out on Thursday night, to meet a friend in a local pub. I was in school with Richard but hadn't really stayed in touch for about 20 years. We'd met up over Christmas but still had a bit of catching up to do - and besides, it was interesting to find out whether we still had that old friendship and whether we could still get on?

Sian, another one of the old school turned about and stayed for a drink and then left. Out of all of us she had seemingly changed the least - still looked the same and sounded the same. But, like all of us the last 20 years had not gone by without leaving some trace. She was in the twilight of a fading marriage. Richard, long divorced but embarking on a new relationship with Jane - the fourth our little school time group. Richard had held a candle for her even then and it was a nice surprised to hear that they'd got together at last. Here's hoping that they get 20 years together and more.

When Sian left Richard and I got down to the business of the evening - talking bollocks, which i felt we did with some aplomb. Especially with all that ale and wine swilling about!

We spoke of creativity and what it was to us. Richard is a talented artist and I'm trying to be a writer (trying being the operative word). I've always wanted to write a children's book. I have the ideas, the characters and all the details in my head but not the courage to actually do it. Strange that, when you tell people your dreams, they come back with something - a word of encouragement - that seemingly pierces the veil and all becomes possible. You wonder why you held off for so long.

But the year, so far, has been like that. Re-appraisal, reconnection and re-vitalisation. Most of all, the confidence is returning and the fear is receding.

We talked about lots of other things too but I can't remember what. Soon, we drank up and left. Richards father picked him up and I walked home through the cold night - I was offered a lift, but the thought of spewing in the back of Richards Dads shiny Passat was a significant deterrent!

I eventually made it home, woke the house, retched in the toilet and was banished to the sofa. Spent the next day doing some more retching and felling sorry for myself. However, it all did the trick - as my head and stomach reconnected, I felt that me and more world were coming back together too.

Here's to hope.

Interlude - Is There Anybody Out There?

A thought.

I wonder if anyone has dropped by? Maybe not, but I've given this blog a lot of thought and effort. I'm not doing it for anyone else, but still, you can only wonder if it will ever fall beneath the gaze of another's eyeballs?

After all, I'm as vain as the next person.

Episode 28 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 6)

Rather bizarrely, life did in fact get a lot better from that day. Maybe there is some truth in the saying "If it doesn't kill you, it'll make you stronger" (or similar). Its funny to think that it was me trying to kill myself that was the act that made me stronger, more ready to face up to my responsibilities.

I had been to the brink and had come back. I was lucky and I knew it. Maybe it was only indigestion tablets that I had taken but hey, I was still here and ready to move on. I was still going to be a dad and as such had to reconnect with Sian. No point throwing it all away again. There was the small matter of the death threats but I was sure we could work around them.

I eventually got back in touch with Sian by letter. She eventually agreed to meet me and after a heated exchange (mostly her telling me what a twat I had been and how much I'd upset her and her family...) we finally got to talk about the baby and the future. There was to be no wedding - there couldn't be now. But we could try and be together, albeit in secret. We managed to do the things that expectant couples did like buy prams and all the other paraphernalia of birth. Sian wasn't going to get her council house just yet and was planning to stay in her parents house after the birth. I was lucky enough to finally land a job and was able to pay for everything she needed.

I re-discovered my friends, too. The constant piss taking about the impending birth became a strange comfort. Unfortunately, one friend wasn't going to be around to see me make it to father hood. Just two days before his birthday, Bruce G was snuffed out by a van driver whilst on his way to work on his bike. His neck was snapped instantly and a family lay devastated - shadows of one of my possible future, with me in the Bruce G role but mine would've been no accident.

The funeral followed and we all gathered at the local crematorium in our white shirts and black ties. Young men with futures saying goodbye to a young man without one. After the service we moved onto a pub on the coast - like Bruce G, long gone - and sat about under a pale blue sky, sharing memories and saluting our departed friend. I've been to funerals since, but those of the young are always the saddest.

Life goes on. And as one ended, another was to begin.....

Episode 27 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 5)

The phone rings and I answer it. It's Sian and she wants to discuss the up coming wedding. The phone call went as follows - a small talk starter, before the wedding main course and the deserts which, as it happens, were to be far from sweet.

Even though I had said how we wanted things to be and then having spectacularly caved into demands from her parents, the little finger of rebellion had been tickling my brain with increasing regularity. I had been brave and decisive, cowardly and weak, but it now seemed that a sense of defiance - or was it self preservation - was kicking in. Its appearance as mystical as my spineless back tracking over the wedding. It chose to explode into this particular phone call.

One minute I was talking to Sian, the next minute her mother and it was during this bit with her mother that all my inner turmoil poured out. I know that the call ended with, "........Go fuck yourself, you black mailing cow!" and then slam, the hand set was back in its cradle. I remember very little else, but something must have happened to make me do that. Maybe that little finger of rebellion had hit the right button?

Within 12 hours of that call ending, I was laying there in the dark waiting for my escape from this self constructed nightmare.

The phone rings again, and in a daze I answer it. Its Sian's Dad and he wants to discuss with me my comments. He tells me that it wasn't the right thing to do, that i could consider my involvement with his daughter over and that it was his view, that should I be seen again by him or any of his sons, they would consider it their duty to kill me. Slam and the line went dead.

Oh fuck. I've pissed them off now. Now that little finger of rebellion was pushing other buttons - wrong ones - despair, fear, hopelessness. My mind started working on how I could retrieve the situation and make everyone happy again, or more importantly, how was i stop Sian's family from doing me in (self preservation makes cowards of us all).

I picked up the phone and dialed. Sian's father answered. He repeated in more forthright terms his earlier stated views and soon i was listening to the dialing tone again. The rebellious finger disappeared from whence it came, leaving the despair, fear and hopelessness buttons jammed in their casings, permanently on.

My world darkened as the evening gloom closed in.

All through this my mother was outside talking to a neighbour, oblivious to her youngest child taking a turn for the worse. I went up to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the abyss where my carpet used to be. Outside the sun was setting but inside it was already below my inner horizon. Deep inside out of the growing darkness came a fist, tight and frenzied, metaphorical and real - I went into a daze - and came out of it with blood on my knuckles and a hole in my bedroom door.

Down in the street my mother looks up from her neighbourly conversation, liked she'd heard a noise.

Much later, I lay there on my bed with the lights out. I weighed up my limited options, considered the glowing embers of my burnt bridges. But in lots of ways (retrospection is a wonderful thing), my outburst was inevitable.

My parents are deeply middle class. My father, a civil engineer, is a man with precise views. He had aspirations for his son. He wanted me to do well, to achieve something and to be someone that he could be proud of. My mother too, wanted only good things for her little boy. Neither of them wanted their son to get his 18 year old girlfriend pregnant. Neither of them wanted their son to get married because of a baby either. For them these things were a vision of hell.

I had given them the opposite of what they wanted. I had not covered myself in glory. I'd started off well by saying what I thought was best - no marriage, wait and see - and then acquiesced to the needs and wants of Sian's parents and Sian herself (who'd become convinced that a weeding was best). My capitulation deepened my parents sense of middle class outrage and served to piss them of more than I could've believed. Through all of this my own sense of how things were lurched from triumph to abject defeat, from sensibility to rank stupidity, from white(!) to black.

Somewhere inside me, the pressure was building and like all pressure, something has to give.

And it did. The pressure blew away the sense of loss of control - I had gone from control to being controlled - and in desperation I had blurted out how I really felt and in fairness I did feel these things from the beginning but had allowed others to change things. The natural order had to be restored - these feelings refused to be suppressed.

Hence the inevitability. (I know I may not be making much sense, but looking back there is a lot I do not understand and more that I cannot remember clearly)

It was in these circumstances and with these feelings inside, I crept downstairs to the medicine cabinet. Suicide seemed the best way to resolve things - I had let everyone down and most of all I had let myself down. I remember thinking that it was something I was capable of. It was the ultimate escape. Selfishly, I probably didn't consider the effect on those left beside. I only thought of myself, my little world, my feelings and no one else. I wonder if all suicides are selfish? I think I was - after what I had put my family through I hadn't a care for what else I was going to inflict on them.

It hasn't escaped my notice that I am not really a sympathetic character in this particular phase of my life, but then again I should be happy that I'm here to say this!?

I opened the cabinet and looked inside. Plenty of pills to found. I grabbed a bottle, emptied it into my mouth - the bottle looked important enough and I figured the lot would do the trick. To this day, I don't remember what they were. A glass of water to wash them all down and I was soon back in my bedroom, waiting.

I contemplated what I had done. Too late to back out now - I could vomit, but why should I? I was as serious as I could be and my mind was set. I lay there, listening to the house, listening to the silent night. The darkness in my room seemed to get darker - blacker? My breathing got shallower and my chest seemed to get heavier, the weight of the duvet pressing down.

The fact that I'm writing this makes the outcome obvious. My attempt failed and aside from a missing pill bottle no one in the house that night would have been any the wiser.

The sun rose, the world turned and another day began. My plans not to be a part of it hadn't worked out, but I wasn't disappointed - I was calm.

One thing was clear, though. No more laying in the dark waiting for my breathing to stop.

Episode 26 - Panic On The Streets Of Everywhere

Over the last few days, there have been rumblings in the weather news about snow. Lots of it, too. And being the UK, people mostly, well, panic. They all jump in their cars and bugger off down to Tescos where they all stock up on bread, milk and other stuff, that unless something fairly apocalyptic happens, the shops never run out of. But because snow is due, everyone goes mad.

Last night at the rugby the talk was of snow - how much, how deep, where and when. Some one mentioned sleet - oh no, I've bought 20 loves of bread and planned a day off and you're telling me its only going to sleet!? But I'm prepared and by golly it had better snow!! Gary has a bad heart but we're all worried about the snow. And freezing our arses off watching our kids run around with an egg shaped ball.

The weather men got it right and it did indeed snow - lots of it. Predictably the areas affected ground to a halt, offices and workplaces up and down the land ringing to the sound of phone chiming the imminent non arrival off staff who don't fancy the roads much.

Hey, I was one of them. I did try but after seeing a few cars stuffed into the central reservation on the M4 I lost my bottle and turned back. Let's face it. No one is going to thank me for getting my self damaged trying to get to work? Besides, any excuse.

The street soon filled up with children fighting pitched battles with each other, snow balls arcing across from one gang to another. One little twat thought it amusing to see if he could put my patios doors through by throwing the largest snow balls imaginable. Not amused, was I.

Funny thing is, much later in the day the snow has virtually gone. Panic over until the next time. Imagine if we lived in Sweden!!! They get tons of the stuff and it doesn't bother them. If it happened here, we'd be f.........

Interlude - Poetry Gone Bad (pt 3)

Due to the author not being able to come up with a shockingly bad poem, there will be no Poetry Gone Bad today.

We apologise for any inconvenience.

Episode 25 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 4)

Seemingly, everything was as rosy as anyone had a right to expect. Yes, I'd got my girlfriend pregnant. Yes, people were not pleased, but yes, everything seemed to be unfolding in a civilised manner.

NO!!!!!! Hold the press. Remember that bit about re-writes at the end of part 3? Oh aye, we had re-writes alright! You go away at the end of the one episode thinking, ok, that's not to bad. Could be worse. But, and there always is a but, plans were a foot.

My dear mother and father decided that they needed a holiday - two weeks in France to have a think about what their silly little boy had done and stuff like that. And they probably drink a lot of wine, too. Which is what they 'd planned to do anyway?

Remember that but? (I've highlighted it, you can't miss it...about a paragraph back?) Will here it is (finally).

Sian's Mum and Dad were not to be so easily beaten off the scent. They'd smelt a wedding and by jingo they were going to have one. One evening I visited their house to see Sian and just do the usual - chat, spend time etc. But, in the greatest traditions and being on their turf - they ambushed me. I can't quite remember the details but by the time I'd left that night, I had agreed to go back on everything I'd said and marry their daughter as they'd originally planned.

If mistake number one was joining the every growing statistic of young un-married men getting young un-married girls pregnant, then mistake number two was being brow beaten into going along with their plan for me-domination.

Have you noticed how this sorry tale has suddenly taken a turn for the ridiculous. Is it me or is my prose getting flippant and that I'm loosing my grip?

It is me, isn't it?

I'd completely caved in, become a coward and all manner of spineless shits. Before my parents returned from France, I'd obtained a marriage license, a marriage date and Sian's family had set about drawing up a list for toasters, kettles and all manner of white goods to adorn the house that no doubt, the council was to provide. They'd even bought pickled eggs for the reception!

When my parents learnt of this, my mother wept even more and my father had one of those temper losing sessions in which he bore a passing resemblance to Norwegian god of war who'd heard something really bad and was really, really fighting the urge to go a-plundering and pillaging.

Then everything settled down again. Sian was happy and on the outside I looked happy - must've really, as everyone on her side of the family thought that everything was going swimmingly. They'd got their way. They'd won. Their little girl was going to get her day.

Inside, this was not what I wanted. The question was, could I find the courage to stand up for what I'd originally wanted? What I thought was the best for both me, her and our unborn child?

Tune in next time for the next exciting(?) episode..........

Episode 24 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 3)

One Sunday afternoon Sian's parents came to my parents house, with the intention of sorting out mine and Sian's future. June, a Saturday afternoon wrestler of a woman - big daddy in a wig, parked her self on the sofa next to her slicked backed, pony tailed husband - John. Although, typically, he did the talking (when allowed) it was obvious who was the power behind the throne. Tea and biscuits refused, they (she) set our their stall.

My father and mother were also in a business like mood and not prepared to be bullied by this domineering she-thug and her weaselly other half. Sian and I, apparently, were to be seen and not heard.

Them: Your son will marry our daughter of he'll not see her or the baby.
My Parents: Don't make me laugh. How do you think your going to do that. Its up to these two surely? (pointing at us). And besides, my out son has no job, no prospect of one. More importantly, where do you suppose they live?
Them: Ok, fair point. But the council will give them a house and the Government will provide.
My Parents: That is no foundation for a future.....
Them: But it will do to start with?

Like a game of tennis, this went back and forth for most of the afternoon. The room grew warmer as tempers flared and air thickened with the potential for violence. June's smug demeanor was starting to wear down my fathers iron facade. John and my mother were fast becoming spectators like myself and Sian.

But then - break through.

As if suddenly noticing that Sian and I were actually in the room, my father (like a poker player with a winning hand) said, "What do you two think is best?" Considering what was at stake you'd think that I we would've had an opinion by now. All I could think of was, "Let me and Sian go for a walk so that we chat about it privately...." And that what we did.

We were quite sensible about it as we walked through the streets near my parents house. We both agreed that we shouldn't marry, that we would wait and see how it all turned out. I would get a job and do my best to support us and the baby. We would not, above all, rush into things.

All in all, quite a mature attitude and one that we both agreed upon.

We returned to the house and said all of this to a considerate silence. Soon after Sian and her parents left and things didn't seem so bad. My parents were still quite pissed off with me but at least they had an idea of what the future held.

The script for our future had be written, but as ever, a couple of the lead actors in this particular production had plans for re-writes.

Stay tuned?

Interlude - Poetry Gone Bad (pt 2)

Another bad poem. Possibly, I could be had under the trade descriptions act for this one:-

Scent Of A Worm

You self procreate
In the dank earth
Blowing your own trumpet
So to speak
I'd never leave my house
If I could do that.

Address your howling criticisms to usual address etc

Episode 23 - Doing The Loop

I do the loop almost every week day.

At 12 o'clock (mostly) I leave my desk, collect my lunchtime buddies and head off down the High Street - to get some air and to stretch the legs. The High Street is an interesting place.

In so much that all human life is there. From shoppers to drug dealers, wino's to the cream of the civil service (tongue placed firmly in cheek). So, it is through this motley lot that I pick my way each day. Trust me when I say a bomb would very much improve the place.

We mostly go to the same old places, sticking to the familiar and not straying to far. Grab a sandwich, buy a paper, look at clothes, sometimes we even buy clothes, look at other stuff etc. Sometimes we try and put the world to rights, or talk of our little triumphs or share our moments of saddness.

Today, Simon is choosing a shirt for his brother-in-law. When Simon buys stuff he tends to umm and ahh for some time before taking the plunge, buying an item, taking it home and then bringing it back the next day because he's changed his mind or its too.......something. It can be very entertaining watching his inner struggle, and this shirt was no different. "Is this a bit too pink?" "Not sure if black will do......" "Oh dear, a stain!"

For the love of God!!!!! Just give him some fucking money so he can buy his own shirt!!!!!!

Oh, and it couldn't be more than a tenner. Something really expensive like a car or a plot of land and he's right in there. As he says himself, "Go figure...."

As much as its a break from the mindless drudgery of the job, I look to a day when I don't have tip toe through the scum of the earth every lunchtime.

Should've paid attention in school and got a proper job.

Interlude - Poetry Gone Bad (pt 1)

I like bad poetry. Here's one I wrote earlier:-

Snails That Do It

Slimy and moist
Their fragile shells
Go click clack
Slow to climax
No post coital cigarette
For hand-less molluscs.

See? I told you it was bad.

Episode 21- We Shall Not Be Moved.

Went on strike today.

Got up early and went to help man a picket line in Swansea. Lots of standing around, handing out leaflets to strike breakers - mostly good natured - and drinking lots of hot tea.

Thing is, there was the odd idiot who thought it would be fun to drive their cars at us even though we were all colleagues! Ok, our politics might not match but that's no reason to be shitty like that, is there?

One of the managers offered to call to the Police because he felt we were blocking the highway. We offered to get a make over for his hideously ugly wife and a penis extension for him.

Middle Managers - don't believe for a minute that they are nothing but hen-pecked husbands with domineering wives who emasculate them in the home so that they feel the need to be c**ts at work. Also, they have principles that come with a price tag and declare themselves company men. For the record, Mr Manager you just as redundant as the rest of us when the axe falls - some for declaring you allegiance to the flag and doing your masters bidding.

The shame of it all is there always the last to know that they are expendable.

Episode 20 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 2)

I lay there in the darkness waiting for my breathing to stop.

The house was silent - no sound at all. My mother and father fast asleep and unaware that I had chosen to escape the situation that I found myself in, a situation that was snapping me in half with the utter despair that I felt.

At the age of nineteen, my life was to end, barely before it had really begun.

I can't sit here now and blame the girl I met in the night club a year previously and now, all those years ago. She, and those close to her certainly had contributed to the way I was feeling but ultimately it was me and the choices I made, that undid me.

Now, it seems silly but occasionally I feel the echo's of that time and it fills me with shame that I even contemplated checking out. Shame that I actually tried.

Luckily, I didn't get it right.

After meeting Sian - for that was her name, I was happy. Life was great and all the roses in my garden were in full bloom - no aphids and no need for pesticide. Like young couples do, we spent our time getting to know each other, both emotionally and physically. Evenings holding hands as we walked, chatting, dreaming about the future and sharing our thoughts. Dark nights fumbling with each others zips in the back of a borrowed car down some quiet and dusty lane. And it was one such fumbling that sent me down the dark hole that lead to me waiting in the dark for the end.

It was a Sunday afternoon, late April in 1988. It was sunny and fresh and I had secured the keys to my mothers burgundy red Mini Metro. I drove off to Sian's house, where much to my surprise I found her quite drunk, rolling around the streets of her village with a bemused friend in tow. She seemed happy enough and pleased to see me, and as was usual (once the friend realised her gooseberry status and buggered off) we went for a walk in the nearby woods. Emboldened by drink, we started getting frisky and pretty soon we were going at it behind some trees. With one eye on her bouncing chest and another eye looking out for passing ramblers, this did nothing for me and within a few minutes my sense of decency (shagging in cars is ok, but out in the open air with the constant threat of being caught......) was telling me to climb off and find some where a bit more discreet.

The shadows grew long as evening faded into night and eventually we returned to the car. Sian's boozing was catching up with her as she sobered up but that didn't stop her from throwing up in a bin. She didn't look to clever so I suggested we go for a drive with the windows down so that it might wake her up a bit and put some colour back in her.

Should've taken her home, in hindsight.

But the drive did the trick and she was soon back to her best - plus a few mints to freshen the breath, too (vomit breath is not conducive to any intimacy).

And what do you know, we found ourselves parked up in one of those dusty, deserted lanes with only the star and local wildlife for company. Now, I think at the time I must have been a bit of a stupid guy and when we clambered into the back seat of my mothers Metro and started shagging again, I didn't think about stuff like condoms or whether she'd taken her pill. And pretty soon it was all academic - with all the sperm now floating around inside her, the inevitable was bound to happen.

When I returned her to her parents house I had the strangest feeling that, even though people have sex all the time without the P word happening, this particular liaison was going to end with the squeal of a newborn.

And sure enough, within a few months we got the news that I had been dreading but she was over the moon about - I was going to be a Dad, she was going to be a Mother. We were about to become parents. My world sagged a bit, but no where near as much as it was going to when I told my parents. Her mum and dad, strangely I thought, were over the moon.

When I finally found the courage to tell my Mother and Father it went as badly as I expected - my mother cried (didn't stop really until six months after my daughter was born) and my father flew into an apocalyptic rage. I fully deserved the both barrels that my parents gave me that day. Even though it was no real use in crying after the milk was spilt (so to speak) their feelings were understandable. The coming months where punctuated with massive rows and accusing stares across dinner tables and the sounds of muffled sobbing coming from my mothers bedroom.

To make things more interesting, Sian's parents suggested we marry.

This did not go down well with My Dad.........

Episode 19 - Life's Lessons Through The Medium of Film!

Watched Carlito's War the other night, for the second time in about ten years. Aside from the morals of the tale and the various messages running through it, a couple of things struck me about the circumstances in which the film was first watched and the second time.

It must've come out on video about in about 1995, 1996? Alexia and I hadn't long bought our house - a smart little three bedroomed semi with a smart little garden full of pot holes and builders rubbish. We couldn't really afford much at the time but it was a good deal and so we went for it. When we moved in we had no carpet (couldn't afford it), very little furniture (begged, borrowed and bought) but we did have a TV (no arial) and a Video Player - plus a membership of Tremains Video.

We put the TV upstairs in one of the bedrooms and set the VCr next to it. Plonked a battered two seater sofa in front of it and we were good to go.

So, having hired Carlito's Way, we snuggled up and watched it. When it got to the bit when Carlito turns up at Gales flat and knocks the door down before making passionate love to her, we (me and Alexia) hit the pause button and did exactly the same thing on the floor in front of the TV!!

Except, I didn't knock the door down.

Can't even remember if we finished watching the film, either.

Anyway, the last time we watched it Alexia was sat exhausted on a different, newer settee after a day of sorting the house out and I'm plowing my way through a mountain of ironing. How things change.

As for the themes in the film, this much is true of real life, too:-

1) Try as you might, you can't always escape your past.

2) Some people just don't want you to grow or move on.

3) Some people will do anything to fuck you over.

4) Sometimes you have to pay a high price for the things you want.

5) Isn't love just great?

Hollywood sermonising - isn't it just the best?

I'll say this much, 10 years of marriage doesn't mean the end of love making in front of the TV, it means that you have a shit load of other things to do as all that shagging tends to lead to kids. We all know how they can just gobble up your time, your energy and your inclination.......

Episode 18 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 1)

Its funny the small details that you remember about certain situations. Major events smudged by bad memory, but you can remember what your were wearing, or similar - if the captain of the Titanic were here today he might say, "I say, I don't recall much about the ship going doing but I do remember Mrs Flossington-Whyte-Hyde was wearing a lovely dress. Showed her cleavage off a treat....."

When I was about 18 years old I went to a local nightclub (I don't remember its name, but that's academic as its a car park now) with some friends of mine - Clive, who'd recently moved back from Hong Kong with his mum, Nerun, a half Indian half Scottish lad who grew up in North Wales, Mauritius and was living with his Grandfather at the time. I've no idea what has happened to these people now. The nightclub its self seemed to be one of those places that had grand ideas but was cheaply executed and in the long run, undone by its rough and ready clientele - people who streamed in from the surround streets and valleys looking to spend there wages/dole cheques, get laid, have a fight and generally, get pissed.

My friends and I were no different.

I was working as a "chain boy" (an old term to describe what amounted to being a dogs body - fetch that, make this cup of tea, go to the chip-shop, hold this tape measure, got stand over there etc.....) on a site, making a minuscule contribution to a bridge that was being built in Cardiff. I was paid on a Thursday and usually by Friday my hard earned cash was in the safe keeping of the barmen and women of Bridgend town centre. I reasoned that a shower would wash the dust and crap from my body, but a nice cold pint was the only way to wash it all from my mouth and throat. The first pint of the night was always the very best - the others dulled as the alcohol took hold. I also smoked at the time, so there was always a battered pack of Marlboros to hand too.

That particular night, we rolled into the nightclub, pleasantly mullered and looking for girls. My two friends never had that much of a problem getting laid - Nerun was the product of a fairly exotic mix and had the looks to match, Clive was a muscular type with boyish good looks. Me? I had wild auburn hair and a pair of nerdy glasses to fighten the chicks away.

So, there we sat, drinking our pints, smoking our ciggies and cruising the joint with our eyes. Two girls came over and sat next to Nerun. One was fat with long hair, dressed in black and looking like the wicked witch of the west, minus the pointy nose and packing a few more pounds. The other girl, also wearing black and considerably slimmer sported a curly perm and wore glasses. Her eyes, however, seemed to act independently of each other.

Nerun engaged them both in conversation with the usual patter that's universal in these places - Whats your name, where are you from and would you like a dance? All this conducted at a shout, having to repeat just about everything over the loud eighties dance music.

My glass empty, I went to the bar and got another pint. I remember this pint extremely well as, arguably, what happened next changed my life beyond all recognition. By the time I'd got half way down this particular pint, my fate was sealed.

Ooooh, how dramatic!

I wandered back to my friends - Clive had disappeared and Nerun was now sat between Wicked-witch and Googly-eyes. Having not much of a choice, I sat next to Googly-eyes. We talked, more out of embarrassment and something to do, than anything else. Now, I don't recall anything about the conversation but I do remember the multi-colour disco lights reflecting off the condensation that had formed on my cold pint, I remember that it was Stella Artois and that it was going down very well.

Half way down said pint, Googly-eyes asked me for a dance. Me. For a dance. I had two left feet and neither of them had a clue about dancing. What the hell, so I said yes and the dye was set. Within the hour, we were snogging in the back of a taxi and going back to her house.

Something inside my life had changed. Barely perceptible at the time but it now seems that I had abandoned free will, I thought at the time that I had fallen in love with this frizzy haired girl with the wandering eyes and the fat friend (turns out it was her sister, which in hind sight is never a good sign). By the end of that summer night, I had embarked on a path that would lead to parent hood, a suicide attempt and generally unhappiness on a scale that I haven't experienced since.

And the strange thing is this, I could've stopped at any time. Could've ended it and said this is not for me. But I didn't. The strange thing is this - if I had the chance to do it all again would I change anything? Simple answer? Probably not. Who's to say that I had to go through that to get to where I ended up next? Someone told me that God allowed suffering so that you could find your way to him, or something like that. Following that logic I had to go through what I did to find my way to....er.....me?

Maybe the simple explanation for my actions is that I was thinking with my dick.

Episode 17 - Captains Log...Stardate No. 2's

it comes to something when the highlight of your day is coiling one down. Having a plop. Dropping the kids of at the pool. Going for a Richard. Rolling a bum cigar. Exchanging contracts on a log cabin.

Having a crap.

Its been that kind of day. I've recently moved to a new team in the office and initial impressions are not good. For one thing, its quiet - too quiet. I'm used to banter, chat and the general hum of office life - sometimes it can be good fun. I have my moments when I feel quite low and most of the time there is a clown lurking who can make you feel not so grim.

But this new team has had a sense of humour by-pass. I haven't decided whether I should call it the library or the morgue. May they're all just sizing me up........or maybe they really are a miserable bunch of sods.

We had a visit today from one of the top dogs. A turkey necked man in a bad suit who looked at people in the manner that a frog looks at a fly, just before he eats it - dinner with him must have been interesting. I feel sorry for people like this as they've probably never known the love of their mothers.

At the earliest opportunity I left the office and headed home, mostly because I was loosing the will to live and secondly because I had a good book to read. Well, I say good - a bit trashy, but a page turner. Its about nanotechnology gone bad, a cautionary tale, if you will.

Traffic was light for a mid afternoon, but it was cold. Had the air con keeping me toasty as I listened to my usual radio station. Every now and then I wonder what the presenters look like, as a voice can sometimes conjure up a face in your imagination. In work we take a lot telephone calls from posh solicitors and occasionally you get what sounds like a fantastic looking woman. But as one of mates said, "Girl on the 'phone, add two stone."

Maybe they're all bloaters on the radio, too?

Found my father-in-law dozing on the settee when i got home. He'd caught the bus up and was staying for tea. There was a bit of an atmosphere over food and it wasn't until after I took him home that my wife spilt the beans.

If the truth be told, my father-in-law is a bit of a nob, for reasons that are too numerous to go into here. Keeping it brief, he has five children - four sons (one's dead) and a daughter - my wife. The three remaining sons are a bunch of wasters and have between them stripped the family wealth (such as it was) bare. He's forever singing their praises which amounts to rubbing my wife's nose in it. She's worked hard bringing up a family, doing a degree (she's in her second year) and generally be an all round good egg. Does her father acknowledge this? Does he f.......

As you may have guessed, this is not a good day.

Episode 16 - Broadsword Calling Dannyboy....

My middle son plays rugby for a local under eights team Tondu Juniors RFC every Sunday morning. We usually head off into the wilds of the Welsh valleys, where more by luck than judgement we find the team we are meant to be playing and....er...play them. Normally, the team we play are based in some unremarkable places ranging from isolated towns clinging to the side of hills to absolute crap holes located in the kind of places you'd go and visit your hub caps.

But this cold and bracing Sunday morning we ended up in Pontrhydyfen. Its would be one of those unremarkable places if it wasn't for two small things:-

1) Its quite picturesque with great views up and down the valley
2) There's a bloody great big bridge right in the middle of the village
3) It is the birthplace of one of the greatest ever Welshmen - Richard Burton.

OK, my maths is pretty poor - that is indeed three things.

Richard Burton came out of the Valleys like an acting colossus, strode the stages and movie sets of the world, knobbing his share Hollywood starlets - Liz Taylor in particular - and the disappearing into the Valleys of Switzerland where he promptly expired.

As proud as I am of the fact that this charismatic man was Welsh and in lots of ways put us on the world stage along side him, he wasn't without his faults.

He wasted a lot of his talent on rubbish films (they paid the rent...) and pissed alot of his life away via the joys of alcohol. But when he was on his game, there were few to equal him and for that I am grateful.

Anyhow, my son and his little team mates were oblivious to all this and played there game and won. Mud spattered and triumphant my son sat in the passenger seat or our Citroen, basking in afterglow of a game well played, nod doubt thinking of future glories, whilst I drove home thinking of a great man and his past glories - a case of what could be and what has been.

Incidentally, I've learnt a new skill! Can you guess what it is!?!? Proving that the world is shrinking and that I am not as dull as I thunk I wuz, a fellow blogger has introduced me to the world of html.

And very handy it will be, too.

Episode 15 - Its Cool For Cats

Now, I'm a cat lover. I have four cats - Pud, Charlie, Scout and Little Cat. On the whole, they're nice enough. All different, too.

Pud - getting on a bit, like his home comforts and never strays far from the house. Maybe because we had his nuts crushed he lost the urge to wander the neighbourhood looking for females. No point finding them, if you can't do anything with them, is there?

Charlie - similar to Pud in some much that he too is testicular-arily challenged (made up word!) but he is much bigger and a lot more fierce. Even though he is without balls in the physical sense, he still posses "balls", so to speak.

Scout - A sweet little female pussy cat. Named after a character from To Kill A Mockingbird - a book I read in school. Nothing like the character in the book by way of personality, but it's a nice name. Very friendly and very playful and at 2am in the morning a pain in the arse.

Little Cat - a part timer. She was and I suppose still is, a bit of a stray. My wife met her in the street a few years ago. She followed her home and stayed for about 3 years before going a bit weird - took her to the Vet for a jab and she's never been the same - the cat, not my wife. We never gave her a proper name, because when she first came to stay we didn't think she'd hang around.

The cat hiarachy in the house is ruled by Charlie, with Scout and Pud down the pecking order. Little Cat dosen't really come in to it as she flits in and out, although Charlie would happily rip her throat out.

Now, one of these little buggers is the reason I've spent most of the afternoon ripping up the floor in my hall. One of them has been leaving offerings to the almighty Cat piss god. Not just today, but for some time. We've tried cleaning it up but you just can't shift the stench without using industrial strenght cat piss remover, or bleach as its more commonly known. The hall is now without carpet, grippers and soon enough it'll be without any floor tiles.

All because some little feline can't keep their legs crossed. Why they can't wait and do it some one elses garden......

Episode 14 - Happy Smiley!!

Just re-read some of my posts. God, I'm a miserably bastard!!!

Just clear things up. I dislike my job but it pays the bills. I have high hopes but lack motivation. I love my family and am quite well adjusted on the whole.

I like crap jokes and rambling at lenght about complete and utter bollocks.

Who could ask for more?

Episode 13 - Nietzsche said, God is Dead.

There's a song by the Manics that has the line mentioned above. When ever I hear it, it always sticks in my head for days afterwards. Don't know what Mr Friedrich Nietzsche really meant - could look it up but I'd rather ponder on it myself.

To me God is a concept that is common to everyone, even atheists. Ok, so atheist don't believe in God as such but everyone without exception has a belief system of some kind - just not everyone calls it God. So, did Nietzsche really mean that there is nothing left to believe in and that investing hope in something bigger than ourselves is redundant?

No matter, we all still believe in our own little gods.

Went to the beach today. The weather was terrible and the waves crashed in showering us with spray. I took a few photo's in the gathering darkness - they were crap - in the hope of catching the foam and spray plastering the rocks. We didn't hang about long as the children complained of the lazy wind - it blows through you and not around you - and went to the library. Picked up a few books, one on some mad Aussie called Chopper, another on Football in Iraq. Also, bought a book by Michael Palin.

Went home, sent the kids to bed and watched another re-run of Top Gear. Sometimes, I reach a low ebb unexpectantly and punish myself by listening to Jeremy Clarkson over compensate for his no doubt minuscule penis by raving on about cars that only the fortunate can afford.

Its my own personal form of masochism.

I just done a spell check on this blog and I have spelt "believe" wrong time I've typed it. Vaguely worrying for no particular reason.

Episode 12 - Look Into The Abyss

Went to see a Career Advisor today. All part of my plan for world domination.

Took the day off from work today in the vain hope, through the power of career advising, of finding a start, an idea, a something to which I could move onto and become useful in my working life, or at least, fullfilled.

My appointment was at 10 o'clock so I thought I'd wander about the town for an hour before hand, look in the shops, feel the pavement beneath my feet - that kind of thing. When picking up a newspaper from Smiths, I bumped into my old boss, Emlyn. I hadn't seen him for a few years and aside from a hello I wasn't expecting much else, but he was in the mood for a chat. So we stood there in the middle of Smiths and chatted.

He explained to me that he was now a man of lesiure and had taken reduncy from the place that we had both worked. His job of managing the dross of humanity (his words - I should be insulted as I was once managed by him!!) and compiling stats for faceless civil service mandarins had reduced him to bourbon glugging wreck and when the opportunity came, he took the money and ran.

He said that towards the end he was indeed throwing back at least one bottle of Kentucky's finest a night just to dull the gnawing uncertainty about whether he was actually acheiving anything, and to desensitise himself to the contstant moaning and whinging that his underlings indulged in like some kind of sport - my miserable worthless life is more miserable and worthless than yours. He saw him self becoming empty, moving about in an office world where sad and lonely people came to work to avoide their husbands/wives/children/lovers and to be with others of the same ilk. They spend their evenings watching soap operas, only to come to work to appear in a sopa opera of their own making. Thus poor Emlyn, broken on the wheel of endless figures, took his leave of the working world.

Now, he told me, he spends his days watching his money and wandering about enjoying being a human being again and basking in the thought of never having to wear a shirt and tie again. Not until they bury him, at least. My appointment with destiny was almost upon me so I bade farewell as he made his way off to the DVD section.

Soon enough I found myself sitting beside a desk in the Careers Office. Opposite me sat what appeared to be one of the very people Emlyn had spoken of. Ill fitting blouse and eyes to far apart, a forty something women sat in her chair feigning enthusiasm and reading off some internal script, that was no doubt etched upon her very soul. Said script seemingly designed to push me in some direction, we were soon talking about things like the Probabtion Office (recruiting soon, so it seems), bricklaying (her idea of creativity, but not mine), writing (I probably could use some practical advice) and various other things that might've been relavent if I had remembered them.

One hour later and I'm back home. Not a wasted morning but plenty to dwell on. Something else Emlyn mentioned came back to me whilst I munched on my lunch. It was an interesting observation that he made and worth repeating. For years he had listened to the moaning and grinding of teeth from his staff about the work and so forth. How they would be out of there given the chance and how they couldn't wait to retire. When the chance came (the chance that Emlyn took with all the gratitude of a thirsty man necking a cold pint on a hot summer day...maybe not a good thing for Emlyn, but still...) they all, almost to a man and woman, shut up about retiring or taking redundancy. He said it was amazing. He had listened to their crap for years and when they had the opportunity they fell silent and clung on to their jobs even tighter!! He said that fear drove them deeper into the bosom of their careers - fear of the real world, fear of spouses and family warfare.

He said the silence was stunning......

If I'm still in this job when I get the offer to go you can count on it - I'm fucking off sharpish!

Episode 11 - On Any Given Sunday

Sunday morning came to soon for me today. Its always does. Sneaking up on me when I'm not quite ready for it, dragging me rudely from my slumber in the shape of impatient children who want to be in their swimming lessons, like, now.

If I'm lucky I get to have breakfast before setting off down to the local pool where I mix with other parents, who in varying measures, feel and look like me, like they too where ambushed by Sunday morning. Bad hair, bad breath and bad posture abound as we slump, half dozing in our spindly plastic chairs, sipping on council teas and chewing on stale toast.

The children have a great time, splashing about and learning - its seems by accident - to swim. It doesn't really take that long having rushed them through the changing room and stuffed them back in the car we are soon home for a quality cuppa and a bowl of corn flakes.

Next up, its rugby - back in the car, with boots, balls and bedlam as one little boy has still too much energy and can't wait to be running around a muddy field. We arrive at the usual time and the gathered parents soon entrust their children to the Scotsman (the Coach) and his little helpers. The visitors, from some where north of the M4, soon arrive and various games are under way. They call it a sport, but at this age group, it looks like a bunch of hysterical dwarfs trying to knock seven shades of shit out of each other. There is lots of shouting, screaming and abuse and that's just the parents. The coaches try their best and the kids carry on regardless.

Most of us grown ups stand around chatting - moaning at the weather, moaning at the kids and moaning at the world in general. Gary (bad heart) makes his usual bad jokes, Mark (big beard) talks about just about anything and usually found with a bar of chocolate near to hand, Mike (woman in every wholesalers) nurses a hangover and probably a sore knob. We comment on the children, say nice things about them. We comment on the coaches/referees and say not so nice things about them. Mike, I think, wanted to kill the coach for being a bit to bad tempered with his boy but he went on and had a good game so macho pride was left just about intact. Occasionally, and today was one of those occasions, we talk about an issue of the day (yawn, parents are so tiresome sometimes but this time it was valid and worth mentioning). Today its was about gay people.

I don't have a problem with gay people. To me, they are just regular people doing whatever it is they do to get through life, just like the rest of us. OK, I'm not keen on the idea of two guys shagging each other (although two women does have a certain atheistic appeal....) but I don't have to think about that anymore than a gay bloke has to think about me and my wife banging away like a shit house door in the wind either. But some people find the idea of gay people abhorrent from start to finish.

Now I may be wrong or just naive but who really bases their world view of people on what they get up to in the bedroom? How ridiculous is it that you'd dislike some one because they take it up the arse with another guy, or that two females would wish to like each other honey pots? All of the people I like I tend to like because they say interesting things, or they make me laugh, or we share mutual interests - their sexuality doesn't really enter the equation. It would be like being best buddies for twenty years with someone - sharing the highs and lows, getting drunk etc. One day they tell you they are gay. What would you do, tell them to piss off or just say "So? And that makes a difference in what way?" I'd like to think the last answer is the right answer.

Why all this moralising? It got mentioned that a law was being talked about that is supposed to make discrimination on the grounds of sexuality (when it came to goods and services) illegal - a hotel owner, for example, couldn't turn away a lesbian couple on the grounds that they are gay. He could turn an adulterous straight couple away but that is another story. Things is, law or not, do any of us really need to know about a persons sexuality?

Its my humble opinion that we don't and we should try and judge people on their merits or not, as the case maybe.

So, thats sorted then.

Episode 10 - (We Don't Need This) Facist Grove Thang!

Well.

Weather was crap again - why I'm surprised, who knows as its Britain and its winter. Particularly vicious today as its blowing a gale, the rain is doing its left to right thing again, and the motorway was a river, populated by the usual suspects driving little tin cans far to fast whilst being stalked by continental lorry drivers who sometime forget which side of the road to drive on!

Its my last but one day with my current colleagues today so I've bought them all some organic cakes, fair trade bananas and some good old British Cox's apples (for my Daily Mail reading chums). Extra food is always appreciated as a highlight by my mentally jaded co-workers, so that went down well.

Whilst munching on said assortment, the subject of immigration came up (as it does....) - probably the bananas - and in particular those immigrants who come over for a free ride (spongers etc). My middle class, liberal, slightly left wing sensibilities were soon offended when my work mate Sue (daughter of Italian immigrants) started going on about how the UK is full of eastern European scumbags who are ripping off the benefits system. Now, there may be some truth in this but I retorted that the UK was also had its own home grown scumbags who were also scamming the system.

Now, most of the Europeans that I come across of a day are either lorry drivers (judging by the number plates on their rigs) or people doing what are degradingly called menial jobs - you know, the kind of jobs that our home grown scumbags think are beneath them. Funny how their self respect allows them to turn their collective noses up at these jobs, but lets them take handouts from the state on a regular basis. Shame that some of them are too thick to see the delicious irony in this.

But I suppose if we all live in a Democracy then we have to put up with dim witted daily mail readers, lazy bastards (where ever they are from) and self righteous wingers like my good self!

I take one of my kids to rugby training on a Wednesday evening. This usually consists of standing in the cold listening to bad jokes from Gary (or who ever), grumbling about the weather (can you see a theme developing?) and watch our children running around, being shouted at by over enthusiastic Scotsman who hardly anyone can understand. Last night, Stretch - one of the dads, started telling me about a girl he'd met in an electrical wholesalers who had taken a shine to him. Mobile numbers had been exchanged and much to his pleasant surprise, she starts sending him some rather fruity texts (which he shows to me....) describing what she's doing at that particular time (this set of texts were apparently sent when she was bathing...!).

Its get better, or worse depending on your view point.

She then starts sending him pictures!!! The joy of camera phones, eh?? I now know that this women, whom I've never met, shaves her funny down to the wood and has a penchant for sending grainy photos of her self doing rude things. Each to their own but really, doesn't she know that most men are out and out perverts who will quite happily show pictures of naked women to each other, especially if they don't know them/respect them very much and there's little or no chance of getting caught.

well, it livened up a bitterly cold evening, and I think training went ok.....

My other kids have started drama - should be interesting. I've already told my oldest to thank me and his mum in his Oscar speech.

Episode 9 - This Just in...

As usual its raining. So heavy, in fact, and so windy that it seems like its going from left to right and not top to bottom.

Rushing home through the drone traffic is never a pleasure and today the weather just adds to the sense of distaste. In fact, it adds to the danger as white van man is always lurking.

The radio is on and there's an article about a hospice for children, somewhere in England. I was half listening when a nun started talking about a special room that they had at the hospice. The idea was, that when a child died, the parents/carers/close friends could move the deceased to a room that was made up to look like a bedroom, but had all the qualities that prevented the body from deteriotating in the days leading up to the funeral or burial. People could then give the room the childs personality by placing objects there that reminded them of the child, or just be able to visit whenever they chose.

Well, like most men I can be a bit emotional distanced from things like this, but I found the whole thing tremendously moving and was almost overcome by the sensitivity of this nun and the work that she and her colleagues did. The stories from the parents of a dead child were ones of imense courage and warmth.

Hanging around in a room with a dead person should sound macabre but I can see the comfort it could bring. It seems that in Britain at least, we tend to hide the bodies away as soon the spirit has departed, but maybe its better to "let go" gradually by spending time with the deceased?

Strange but possibly a help?

Hmmn. Death is a curious thing, but more affecting when it take the young.....

Episode 8 - Bad Day at Blue Hill House

Another Monday successfully navigated,

Unfortunately, this Monday veered from the irritating, via the slightly annoying all the way over to sad and tragic.

Irritating - a neanderthal driving a white van spent most of my journey to work trying to get in my boot. Any closer and it would've been intimate. Also, he must had new main beam lights for Christmas as he was so keen to show me and anyone else who got in his way. All this and it was absolutely pissing it down, too.

Slightly annoying - got told that I'm to be moved to another section. Only annoying slightly as I don't mind my current colleagues that much. Now I have to learn to be apathetic to new lot.

Sad and Tragic - I have a good buddy in work who I was keen to meet up with after the Christmas beak. For the last five years we've gone to lunch together, we share similar interests and laugh at each others jokes (OK, so he's just being polite.....well, I am!) and sometime put the world to rights.

Trouble was, he hasn't been around for a week and as it turned out for not good reasons. He'd kept it quiet for a little while, but his wife was pregnant. Trouble is, when they went for the 12 week scan they discovered that she had miss-carried. Needless to say, my heart went out to both of them. Its difficult to know what to say that could possible be of any comfort, but I think we all feel we have to say something? My wife and I, too, have know this kind of loss and even then, its difficult to say something that comforts - we knew ourselves that word, although well meaning and heartfelt, could and can never ease the pain.

Its like a death without a body and never having a funeral so that you can say good bye. Cliche, I know but time can heal but though you may learn to cope, it never leaves you. I don't know if my friend will be the same, but sometimes I've wondered about the person that unborn child would've become and it is then when I feel it the most.

Kind of puts life in perspective, doesn't it?

Episode 7 - Black.....

This is a self portrait.

Seems, I'm a shadow of what I once was.....ahem.

My wife told me today that she thinks I may be suffering from depression.

After looking stuff up about it, it seems she may be right.

Ok, the last sentence was a lie. I've been feeling down for some time (this blog is meant to help....) and I asked her, and she said yes, you are depressed - do something about it (in a nice way).

Thing is, what do you do? Now, thats probably the catch-22 of depression - you might know you have a problem. You may even admit it to yourself and others, but who can you turn to?

Yes, there are professionals but by going to them the cat is out of the bag.

As widespread as it is, people take a dim view of others who suffer from depression.

Malingerers, lazy sods...get a grip, get a hold of yourself, snap out of it etc.

When you hear that, or think that you will hear that, it makes you feel worse. It makes you think that you are pathetic and the spiral continues.

But, as I've said, its a start knowing, isn't it?

Episode 6 - Attack of the Psychotic Children

A few more days and the kids are back to school!!

Having spent the last 2 weeks or so being wound up (self wound!) and then being exploited by the commercial concerns of this fair country, it is now time (and none to soon) to hand them back to the educational system so that we, the parents, can regain some semblence of sanity!!

Ok, so we don't have to give in to guilt and buy our kids a load of crap they don't need and nearly always is left disgarded by Spring (or even earlier in lots of cases!!) but we do and as always are architects of our own downfall.

Sigh.

Our youngest has got so "difficult" that we have asked for advice for our Health Visitor. He dosen't respond to any kind of discipline (thats legal) and I'm sure smacking and what not wouldn't work either. Thing is, what is left for parents?

Ah, balls to it!!

As I say, we are architects of our own downfall.

Episode 5 - Family Values?

Ah, the sheer joy of returning to work. The sheer rush shuffling paper around a desk! The absolute excileration of just being a wage slave.....

I should be grateful that I have a job.

Its my daughters 18th birthday in a few weeks and she's having a party. Me and her mother had a bit of a fumble in the back of an A reg Mini Metro, in a laybay down a country lane back in 1988, and by 1989 it resulted in my daughter.

Pretty soon after we went our seperate ways, even though I have maintained contact with my daughter to this day. However as the years have gone by, my daughter and I have drifted apart and we've seen less and less of each other. Bit depressing, really.

I don't want to go to her party as her mother and family will be there. They've said on numerous occasions how they'd like to kill me and as such I don't wish to spend time in their company.

My current thinking is - I'm no going.

But, will my daughter mind? 18th Birthdays are a pretty big deal these days so my no show could make the distance between us all that bigger. On the other hand I could be in line for some unpleasnat abuse, which will help no one.

I think my parent are planning on going, but I suspect that they are not keen either.

What to do, eh?

Also, I'm becoming increasingly frustrated with my parents and sister. For reasons I find hard to articulate without getting really annoyed.

What to do, indeed.

If I've done this right, there should be a picture at the bigining of this blog......

Episode 4 - Normal Service is Resumed?

Back in work tomorrow. I shall join the scuttle of drones to the office blocks of deepest mundanety - a place everyone knows but doesn't wish to go to.

But!

But, I have a plan and a cunning one at that.

A plan to escape. A plan to roll back the last twenty years of my professional life (such that it is) and start again. Sadly, there is the realisation that I have, in a sense, wasted those years. That is also a very crushing but at the same time, liberating thought.

Crushing in so much that, my god, I've wasted all that time doing stuff I wasn't really happy doing.

Liberating in so much that I've have actually realised the above and now can move on and get back to things that I used to enjoy so much.

I loved art.

I loved poetry.

And I loved just writing for the sheer joy of writing.

OK, I wasn't very good (as no doubt you've gathered from reading this.....if anyone is indeed reading this) but I enjoyed it hugely.

The plan is now, return to my roots and who knows make something of it. Re-connect fully with my dormant creative side.

Not for anyone else, but for me.

And my sanity.

Episode 3 - New Years Day!!

Well, what a surprise - its raining again.

New Years Day.

A day of new beginnings and for some, some old endings. First hangover of the year, first resolution of the year.

First everything. Taking a dump, making love, arguing, shouting at the kids, staying in bed and whole load of other "firsts".

Thing is, there really isn't anything new about the new year except the digit - 2006 becomes 2007. We've had 1st January loads of times before and most of us have done all the things mentioned above at least once - well, you'd hope so. Imagine not shitting for ever!!!!

Maybe that's how the universe got formed - God never took a dump because he never needed too - why would he, he's God? But one day, he thought he'd give it a try - he's probably got an arse and maybe he got curious as to what it might be for.

So, he knocks up an inter galactic curry, washes it all down with a few tins of lager and boosh!!! Eight hours later he crapped out the universe.

What that makes us, who knows??

So, anyway.

I phoned my friend Mike to wish him a happy new year. He spends his days looking after his girlfriends Dad, watching porn, fantasising about owning a Ferrari and likes to discuss the merits of High Definition TV - at length. He is also very highly sexed and is always looking for ways and means to broaden his girlfriends, ahem, horizons.

I've known him for 25 years.

During the conversation I mention that we (me and my wife) are going to a party up the valley, to see in the new year. Our friend Diane, who's house we are visiting, is on and off single and seemgingly drifting into a personal abyss of apathy.

Anyway, Mike takes an interest in Diane and asks me to give her his mobile number. Now, is it just me or would a bloke asking this of his friend be up to no good? Is it me or is it symptomatic of something else? That my oversexed, Ferrari loving friend wishes to play the field?

Hmmn.

As it happens on arrival at the party, Diane's on-off relationship is back on again. Her sometime boyfriend Rob is there is the kitchen making a salad and seemingly guzzling his way through an endless supply of Strongbow - I make a mental note to avoid the salad.

Mike texts me and asks me if I've popped the question. Not being a fan of texting I delay my response (until the following day....) and tell him no, I haven't asked her, no, I won't be asking either because she'll probably say no! Besides, why is Mike so interested in this whole thing, when it seems his own relationship seems to be going diddly fine?

He hasn't got back to me and I suspect he won't on the question of why, either.

Nowt so strange as folk.......