The Majesty and the Misery

There have been some fabulous unforgettable moments that I have been lucky enough to enjoy over the last 6 weeks of pseudo-marital bliss. Moments that I found surprising, like the day we went to my lady’s friends house, and we, they and the kids played chickenfeet ‘til we couldn’t laugh or stay awake any longer, or the time we went flying kites and even my lady was surprised at how much fun it was keeping a 4 foot square piece of plastic in the air or the afternoon I stuffed myself silly eating a small mountain of frozen yoghurt with every topping imaginable cascading down its slopes with each spoonful.

There have been moments of such warmth the like of which I have never experienced before. Like introducing Roald Dahl to the skiddles, putting on silly voices as we read them “George’s Marvellous Medicine”, and “The Witches”, or watching the oldest skiddle have that moment of realisation when he finally saw, after 75 minutes of fighting with me, that if you carry that number down, long division really does work, or making my girl hold her chest with belly laughter, watching her tears stream down her beautiful cheeks as I tell her stories of what her evil cat did to me in the middle of the night. Or when I read the warm and touching comments from the lady whom I hope will soon be my mother-in-law.

There have been moments of total synchronicity too. Like when my girl and I told the 2J’s, at exactly the same time, that they could both wear dresses to the wedding if they really want to. Hearing the older boy moan his complaint for the next few minutes would have been great fun, but we were laughing so much at saying it at the same time that we couldn’t hear him. Or occasionally thinking and acting with perfect understanding, like suddenly singing to the same song on the radio, or ordering things without asking each other while out to dinner.

Every now and then, individually the skiddles would turn to us and say in a petulant and frustrated voice “I have the weirdest parents!”. Words which on its own would fill me with pride, being referred to as “parent”, but when said in reaction to us just being “in-love” made it all the more special.

Today was not a good day however, for so many reasons.

First and most obviously, the dream has ended. My six wonderful weeks are over and I had to say goodbye to the woman who has taken my heart. I know I will return and that I have to go home to organise myself and say a different set of goodbyes, but, stealing a line from a man much funnier than me, when you finally know who you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want that life to start right away.

I feel like I have been a balloon, and when I am near her I am blown up, stretching my heart to its fullest, but now she is not by my side. Now that I know I will not get to touch her hand or kiss her lips or smell her hair for so long, I feel like the balloon is empty, and the rubber has warped and gone wrinkly. I feel all wrong, out of shape and uncomfortable. I don’t feel like I will function right again until I am with her again. That’s all I am going to say about her. My feelings of loss are mine own, they are also unreasonable and in my more lucid moments I recognise that this has to happen. It doesn’t serve me to dwell on them, but it is useful to know that my mind was never where it should have been, and still isn’t.

This is probably why on my trip back from OKC to Heathrow I managed to get lost twice.

I can’t say very much about leaving Oklahoma, it was a little bit of a blur, I simply wasn’t thinking about it. I can tell you it was flat, but then most places look flat from above on high. I could tell you that the staff were polite, but I don’t remember a single word they said to me. I didn’t cry on that flight, I just went quiet, stoic and statuesque. It’s a form of shock I imagine.

I landed in Minnesota, the twin city, an hour or two later. I have never been to Minneapolis airport. Last time I came back via Cincinnati, I think, and the in flights were always through Atlanta, both of which seemed quite generic places, but Minnesota had some real character. If It were a real holiday I would have spent a few days there hiking through the woods looking for deer or bears to photograph.

Unlike the times previous however I got to leave the airport. Not out of choice, I should add. For some reason, as I left the flight from Oklahoma I felt I had to collect my luggage from the baggage claim place. After walking past security it dawned on me that they would probably just move my bags directly to the next plane, just like they have always done in the past. So I asked the very nice police lady with the very large hand gun who politely told me that I was right, I needed to check back in, but if I was trying to go back the way I came she would have to use the aforementioned device and floor me. After a swift retreat I found myself facing another security guard type person who told me I was allowed outside the airport for as long as my visa was good, if I didn’t mind missing the flight. With this newly garnished knowledge I ventured my first few steps into the metropolis of Minnesota, and with my second few steps I ventured back into the airport and to the safety of airport control.

A cup of coffee a dose of self-consternation later and I had resolved to pay more attention to what was going on around me and stop sonambulising myself through a coma.

Minnesota really was an interesting place to visit, and even though I was only there for a short amount of time, and only in its airport lounge, there was a sense of identity that you don’t see in other places. They were far more in touch with their spirit. Native Indian art and jewellery was everywhere, as were stuffed wolves and pictures of snow. Even cowboy hats and boots had their place, something you just don’t see in the much smaller OKC airport, but my real joy was taking off.

It’s not that big an airport having what appeared to be only one runway, but it was certainly nice to see the planes taxi in turn on the runways in such an orderly fashion, but the truth is that it was the clarity of the night lights that I enjoyed so much. The freeway lights causing regular areas of shadow and light reminded me of tiger snakes as far as the eye could see. Every block clearly defined and spaced out in such an organised grid pattern that would make mathematicians and town planners the world over turn pale with jealousy. The Vikings stadium and the baseball pitch next door so beautifully lit up. And The big river meandering through it all, with its brightly lit bridges creating focal points throughout the city.

I was stunned by its elegance, but as we flew higher and higher, the wispy clouds blurred most of the lights until they were like distant galaxies seen by the hubble telescope. This notion stayed in my head for the next 30 minutes as we drifted across the states passing small towns that looked in my wandering head like tiny constellations. A horse prancing, a bucket spilled, a field of mushrooms.

The hours dwindled, I flicked through some in flight movies, but even X-Men made me feel sad and Transformers got turned off within 5 minutes. I ended up watching Ghosts of Girlfriends Past and wondered when Matthew Mcconaughey will remove his misogynistic thumb out of his apparently sexy derriere and make a movie that doesnt involve him being an annoying playboy type to women who fawn over him all the time.

Eventually, we began to lose altitude and I looked out my window onto a bright and hot London. Its odd the things I never normally noticed before, that we dont appreciate. I looked down at a rich green patchwork of fields, not a straight line separating them. It was almost as if a five year old were told to draw them. And every field, road, house, garden and farm edged with the trees and bushes that so epitomise my country.

I watched as the landmarks of london came into view. The Thames Barrier, The Millenium Dome, The Ghurkin, The London Eye and Parliament. I watched Buck Palace pass underneath and for the first time perhaps I noticed just how many fields, greens, parks, play areas and commons it has. How you are never too far away from grass and always have a tree in view within a minute. I look in wonder at a very different sort of elegance. At a country that wasnt planned, but formed over centuries of struggle and debate, that was torn by class conflict, by unfair taxes, by crazy civil wars, by religious bickering and also by rain that cuts through our rolling hills and creates so many irrisistable natural boundaries.

And I realise that even on this, the saddest of all days when I say goodbye to the love of my life for a period of time too long to contemplate without invoking a panic attack, that my exhausted state allowed me to see things of elegance and beauty, things that describe the differences between our two countries so simply, things normally overlooked by me and many like me I am sure.

The world has a habit of throwing you curve-balls... and sometimes they are just the tonic you need to keep going a little longer.

From Cherub to Chav

For those of you who have no idea what a chav is... well thats a tricky one... Wikipedia (always fun for a laugh) says

"The stereotypical "chav" is an aggressive teenager or young adult who often engages in anti-social behaviour, such as street drinking, drug abuse and rowdy behaviour. They are often assumed to be unemployed or in a low paid job. Stereotypical "chavs" typically wear tracksuits and hoodies made by sporting brands such as Nike and Adidas and listen to dance music and RnB."

Its typical of wikipedia to sugarcoat these things. I wondering how many chavs grimace at such an official and flat sounding description

You're in your car and you see a Chav on a bike....Why should you try not to hit him?
Its probably your bike

The urban dictionary, home of many an amusing alternative definition comes out with something alot more precise....

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="162" caption="Frightening huh!"][/caption]

"Picture this a young lad about 12 years of age and 4 ½ feet high baseball cap at ninety degrees in a imitation addidas tracksuit, with trouser legs tucked into his socks (of course, is definitely the height of fashion). This lad is strutting around, fag in one hand jewellery al over the over, outside McDonalds acting as if he is 8 foot tall and built like a rugby player, when some poor unsuspecting adult (about 17/18) walks round the corner wanting to go to mcdonalds for his dinner glances at the young lad, the young lad jumps up in complete disgust and says “Whats your problem? Wanna make sommin of it? Bling Bling” when the adult starts to walk towards the young lad, the young lad pisses himself and runs off to either his pregnant 14-year-old girlfriend or his brother in the army crying his eyes out."

I think you get the picture. In fact I have just seen a webisite that describes these delightful young people as a cross between a "wigger" and "white trash"... so erm.... "wigger trash???" I dont know!

What do you call a chav collecting his moms child benefit from a post office?

Sorrrrrted!

Anyhow, whilst packing with the kids today, I was reminded that even the worst chav started out as a small and often adorable child. What is it about our children that turns even the sweetest, most angelic, doting little girl into a 15 year old foul mouthed, dirty trollop? What has happened to our civilisation that allows the utter dregs of society, the laziest, most ungrateful, theiving,  joy-riding, drug crazed, disrespectful, immature and pathetic youths to happy slap their way into british culture like a childs version of the mafia?

What do you call a Chavette in a white tracksuit?
The bride.

So I wondered maybe its something we are doing. Naturally my first instinct was to turn to The Usual Suspects. Maybe its diet, too much sugar, insecticides in the food cycle, preservatives or MSG. Perhaps its bad parenting due to the nuclear family, single parents, modern working families, reliance on schools, lack of respect. Maybe its obsession with possesions, getting the latest ipod, mobile phone or Wii game or a simple degradation of society, no religious values, bad policing and useless laws.

Why did the Chav cross the road?
To start a fight with a random stranger for no reason whatsoever.

I guess all this is possible, but to find the truth I think we really need to look at our little ones. As an unqualified adult, but not a father I am in a unique position of perspective. I am encountering children but do not have the blood connection that society automatically allows us certian rights. I have to be very careful what I do and say to the children I care for, always being aware that every action I take could be scrutinised from granma to the next door neighbour.

It occurs to me that maybe we have somewhere along the way given children too much consideration. So I looked up some of the great literature on the subject, voices that the world will recognise instantaneously as being profoundly right and decent.

"I believe the children are our are future, Teach them well and let them lead the way
Show them all the beauty they possess inside, Give them a sense of pride to make it easier"

[caption id="attachment_321" align="alignright" width="228" caption="Haiiiii-Yah"][/caption]

Whitney's portentious edict suggested that we must teach them well and let them lead the way. Im not sure Whitney has ever tried to teach a chav, it would be fun to watch, after all I strongly suspect they are a lot more inclined to listen to Bobby Browns advice on how to bring knuckle bruises down whilst wearing stupidly low pants.

And one thing you can definitely say about chavs is that they have pride, normally in the quantity of "bling" they have stolen from their grannies, or the best fastest most outrageous and loudest Vauxhall Nova they have stolen this week. I wonder if Whitney meant something more incidious, like the beauty inside being their heart, rib cage, stomach? Hmmm, perhaps I have underestimated her

Two Chavs in a car without any music. Who's driving?
The police

So what are we doing wrong to our kids to make them behave in such an anti scoial manner? I have an idea... take a look at the following picture. I believe it will be made very very clear......

[caption id="attachment_327" align="alignright" width="127" caption="Hmmm"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_328" align="alignleft" width="134" caption="curious"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_329" align="aligncenter" width="134" caption="ahhhh"][/caption]

To me, it seems pretty clear that when we take photos like these and then post it to literally millions of people on the internet, it is bound to affect our little ones, so when they turn into the teenage chavs, we only have ourselves to blame.

[caption id="attachment_352" align="alignleft" width="111" caption="I see, birds huh"][/caption]

One last point. If you are in the UK remember it is better to have tried and been happy slapped down, had your mug viewed by thousands on slappy internet sites and shown on the naional news, than not to try at all... apparently! If you are living in the US however, please note, he may look and act like Vanilla Ice, but the gun he's carrying is probably B.I.G's.

[caption id="attachment_335" align="alignright" width="150" caption="scary"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_349" align="alignright" width="112" caption="Ungh"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_339" align="alignnone" width="105" caption="erm..."][/caption]

An Englishman in New York

Okay, Okay... I'm not in New York, but An Englishman in Oklahoma City doesnt work.

So, I just wanted to tell you how my trip has panned out, a random morning in my random life. A brief description of  the differences between the English way and the American way.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Gerroff!"][/caption]

First, I woke up at 5am. I didnt intend to, but its hot here, much hotter than in the UK, which means I'm not used to it. So naturally when I try to sleep under the covers I end up sweating a couple pounds away in the night. I do the smart thing therefore, I sleep on top of the covers and keep nicely cool especially when the air conditioning kicks in.... .hmmmm. Anyhow, as I said I woke up at 5am... not because I wanted to, but because clearly my totally exposed bottom is too much of a temptation for the kitten that owns the flat. At 5am exactly, the miniature fluffball that I shall call 'Damian' decided to crawl up my body and paw-pad my bum. I dont know why its called paw-padding, the damned feline was using the sharp end of its claws!

So having screamed at the top of my voice, waking the entire house up, running to the bathroom to see if I was bleeding and washing myself down with cold water to get over the shock, I return to the bed and to sleep, which is now uncomfortably sweaty cos I'm terrified of being minced again. Naturally my fiance gives me as much sympathy as I will next time she sees a spider.

At 7:30am the skiddles decide that enough is enough and I must be put to my proper use. No more sleeping allowed, now I have become a climbing frame. They leap on top of me with the athletic ability of the russian gymnasium team, and just like a pack of lions ripping through a dead gaselle, they rip through the last of my dreams and bring me to a bumpy reality.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="233" caption="Very Useful"][/caption]

I stumble into the bathroom for my morning ablutions. Now I have to tell you, bathrooms, and more specifically toilets... are different in the UK. If anyone is coming over here for a holiday, you must be prepared for this. The water lever in the toilet bowl is much much higher than in the UK. I shall say that again to re-emphasise it. The toilet water level is much much higher than in the UK.

Now (I am trying to be delicate here) in britain we may occasionally miss our target, and cause a little smearing on the lower bowl, but this is easily cleared up with a quick wipe of the loo brush. In the USA, it appears the higher water level avoids this problem completely. However, this causes three other unexpected problems.

First and least worrying is that with a low water level, any toilet paper disgarded generally covers any deposits left in the bowl, so when you turn to flush, you see nothing. You can look carefully into the depths of the bowl with the only thing on your mind being 'I wonder how many sheets they use in Africa?', but with a higher water level, there is more surface area, and if you arent very careful at looking sternly forward at all times, you may accidentally discover floaty things! Before you know it you have lunged for the flusher and vowed to yourself you will never again use a toilet on the USA, well that or you will never eat again. Perhaps thats why the models are so skinny. hmmmm. I am telling you, because if you arent expecting it....

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="330" caption="Very Teethy"][/caption]

The second problem is considerably more significant. With a water level only an inch lower than your bottom, you really dont want to stray too far on your reach.... below! Especially in a supermarket toilet, which are unbelievably clean by the way. My beautiful fiance was convinced I had gotten lost when I finally emerged out of the loo. How could i tell her that I had been touched by the hand of pooh and had spent the next 2 hours scrubbing myself clean.

Finally there is the sound issue. With a higher water level a man... I cant go for the noise reducing, china hitting pee. Instead I have to aim for the much noisier water hitting pee. So the middle of the night pee is like betting it all on black. I have no idea whether my girl will wake up and if she does what will she think. Quite honestly, even though we are engaged, there's still only so much reality a girl can take. Worst still what if she is not impressed... what if she thinks a true man should be able to hold more in his bladder... okay, now that is bothering me.

Anyhow, after I get dressed we decide to pop out for breakfast. I wrote about breakfast before, a full english breakfast in a greasy spoon cafe, but instead of that humbling and risky adventure into botchulism and listeria we went to an 'all you can eat' breakfast place, where the kids took their plates and filled them sky high with a healthy old fashioned breakfast of gummybears, jelly beans and chocolate mousse. My fiance and I were far more reserved, having a giant omelet followed by mashed potatoes and half a cow.

This idea of the all you can eat, whatever you want style restaurants would be totally alien to the british public, as would only paying for your drinks once, and getting as many refills as you like. You dont even have to go anywhere to get it, The waitress brings the iced fizzypops, iced tea and coffee regularly ensuring you never run out. In fact the only thing you "run out" of in the USA appears to be time, because they seem to badger you to leave quickly once you have finished eating. This surprises me as in britain you can be the first person to arrive and last to leave and the staff wont bat an eyelid, having said that, the reason they wont bat an eyelid is probably because they are nowhere to be seen, either smoking out the back before sticking their fingers in the food in the kitchen.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="245" caption="Hmmm. I wonder?"][/caption]

Having "filled up" to a level totally unnatural to me, we wobble out to the people carrier (for 4 people?) and go off to town. Hmmm, town... yes thats more of a idea than an actual thing. Dont get me wrong. You can buy anything you want here, they have sizes going up to 6xxl! You can buy a pair of pants that look like a flag, or a flag that looks like a pair of pants! The trouble is that with the exception of a couple of 'malls' everywhere else is what we call a warehouse outlet store. Imagine Cribs Causway, without the shopping centre part, then imagine that on every street. The smallest shops are still massive.

In comparison we drove to the latin area the other day, and suddenly the whole place thrived with life. Music coming from every small shop, spanish being shouted across streets, and an explosion of colour and culture swamping you with its intimate and personal touch. The smells of meats being slow cooked in chillies, or peanuts being toasted in upside-down dustbin lids, almost make you want to swing your samba hips and dance with a mexican passion. The culture shock hits you once again, as you find yourself trying foods from a street market stall that you would only risk at the state fayre.

Just a few miles later though we drive to another area where OKC hits you with surprisingly interesting streets filled with ambitious personalised houses that Prince Charles could only ever yearn for. The archetecture is all over the place but that doesnt seem to matter, as each and every owner seems to have put their own stamp on their buildings. English names like Dunroamin are dismissed for the far more extravagant Rivendell Ranch, Klingon's Castle or Hogwarts Hollow! What you have is houses that wish they were made a hundred years ago next to homes that look like they belong in science fiction novels. Its fascinating, and kind of fun.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="280" caption="Wookies Hole?"][/caption]

All-in-all though the experience is surprising different, and I still feel culture shock coming here. From the incredibly flat landscape and the ridiculously straight roads, to the vibrant specks of culture, music, art and powerful bostonian archetecture, there is always something dramatic to look at. And I have yet to meet an american I didnt like a little.

They are a little naive about the rest of the world, and some are a little closed off too, but they greet you warmly, normally with a little food and a big smile. They let you talk even if they dont have a clue what you're saying, they often enjoy your opinion even if they think you are wrong. And they always make you feel welcome.

For me there is no doubt. I am definitely warming to this big old state, and even if im not ready to don a baseball cap, drive a truck and buy a rifle, I am just about ready face my own personal prejudices. And perhaps its time for me to make a little lemonade, and invite a few people round for a barbeque... do they even have briquettes here?

[caption id="attachment_281" align="aligncenter" width="400" caption="Chicken Leg anyone?"][/caption]

Generation Chasm

The other day my parents asked me for a little help. They are not very computer lierate, and doing the simplest things like opening an attachment seems to be beyond them. I would teach them properly but like all people who really wish they didnt HAVE to learn these things, they got impatient and just wanted to get on and do their thing.

Anyhow, whilst playing around with their post I noticed my father had sent an email to ebay. They recently bought an item online, and my father replied to their payment confirmation letter with a thank you for your prompt response note. Let me re-itterate that, My Father sent a thank you note, to e-bay automatic response website address.

It occurs to me that the generation gap is more of a chasm, and its getting wider.

My Father just believes that when someone is polite enough to tell him something is all taken care of, he should have the decency to say thank you. Its a simple and obvious mistake, and its also the explanation for why my mother has a nightmare everytime she turns MSN on. Within minutes she has a plethora of friends saying hello, and despite me telling her over and over again to ignore them, that the etiquette of IM-ing is different to seeing your friends in the street say, she still insists on writing over and over again... "Hello, I cant talk, Im late for an appointment", before turning the computer off in disgust.

When I think about it though, I realise that my frustration at their dogmatic approach to procedure is just as bad as my reluctance to wear my trousers down by my bottom, listen to hip hop and use txt spk.

To me, there is nothing so distressing than seeing the language I know and love being corrupted by lazy kids that cant be bothered to learn how to spell. To me they are the same kids that go 'happy slapping', that paint our streets with grafitti, and throw rubbish without care into our streets.

I know it makes me sound like a grumpy old man saying these things (and lumping kids together as "the youth of today"), but I just cant help it. I find them all so annoying. After all, what is it about kids that forces them to draw a giant penis whenever they see an empty wall. Do they really think its never been done before? Is it really a statement from a disassociated youth against a tyrannical society? Or is it more to do with a fascination with sex and a desire to look hard to their peers (is that not slightly homoerotic too? drawing penises on walls infront of your male friends?)

Im not saying kids didnt draw grafitti when I was younger, but even the "Wot No..."  cartoons which you saw everywhere in the 80's occasionally got hi-jacked by a political cause... Wot No Jobs, Wot No Bombs... What political message can you subvert the penis drawing to mean? Rights for Fathers perhaps... or Lewinski for president?

What is it about our society that makes our younger kids so careful about the environment, telling us off when we dont recycle, and makes our teenagers so carefree and dirty throwing wrappers on the floor even though they are next to a bin. What do we do to them to change them so dramatically? Did we as young boys and girls really spend so little effort trying to get along with the society we live in.

And how did we ever allow 'happy slapping' to permeate through our streets. In case you dont know what happy slapping is, it is the trend of filming your frined slapping a random stranger on the street, and posting it on the internet. Why have we become so scared that we turn away from a happy slapping incident now, rather than confronting the youngsters. When I was a kid I used to get confronted just for swearing! Now as a kid you can physically abuse someone and nobody bats an eyelid!

Instead of facing up to these problems we turn away, we hide in our 3 bedroom homes, with its security cameras and door alarms, we watch 'crimewatch' and 'cops' and phone in to our local radio programmes about knife crime. We complain from on high, declaring someone ought to do something about this, but it cant be us, because they are minors and will probably cry rape if we go near them. After all, in our society, there is nothing so feared, so loathed, so hated as a paedophile.

In the end though, how do we ever expect to teach our children how to behave, how do we ever expect to show them the difference between right and wrong, how can we ensure the next generation will continue in our footsteps to strive for a caring society when we have not shown them how to interact with the world we have created, and when we are too frightened to leave our own doors.

If we are running scared from children, is it not surprising they feel disassociated?

The leap is too large for me. Stuck in my ways, too old to change. A million different ways to say "I dont want to", but just as I get frustrated at my father refusing to use a mobile phone, so I have to bite the bullet and accept things as they are and not as they once were.

With that in mind, I have decided to take the bull by the horns and face up to my own personal pet hates head on. Im off towalk the streets with my trousers belted around my arse whilst listening to Snoopy Doggs on my iPoddy thing.

L8rs !

Bring me de head of Santa Clausio

When I was younger, my father worked as a port controller in Jedda. He stayed there some 9 months of the year some times and we didnt get to see him alot. My mother would occasionally go to visit him out there and I would be carted off to the next door neighbours for a week.

This one particular year around christmas, both my mother and father came home with big smiles and I had hoped lots of presents. Both my brother and I were given a variety of different exotic gifts and it was great. Christmas day however held one big surprise for us both. My mother had bought a centrepiece for the dinner table.

The table was filled with turkey and pigs in blankes and yorkshire puds and peas and sprouts and crackers and everything else you would expect to see, but this year instead of the normal christmas candles was a red sparkly box that we were not allowed to touch.

As my brother and I got more and more excited we sat at the table waiting for our parents and wondering what could be in it, perhaps a big bowl of sweets, or a chocolate fountain. We joked about taking a peek, but didnt want a surprise.

Eventually it was time to open the box, my mother opened the flip top lid, and from its hair she produced a life size plastic head of Santa Claus.

Now I know that the arabs arent very christmasy and so therefore may look down on our ridiculous traditionalists, but dismembering the dude in the red suit seemed a little perverse. I know he's not everyone's cup of tea, but come on now. There was however worse to come.

Withing seconds of our stunned silence, my mother had plugged it in to the mains and a lightbulb lit within his skull like the alien crystal skulls of an indi movie, and the tune of jingle bells resonated like a hundred learner violinists around the room. Santas beard started to mechanically move, his fluffy white beard swishing in the christmas gravy as the words echoed into my brain forever.

The piece de resistance, however came after the second verse when as most musical people know there is room for an instrumental break. In this case the instruental break was joined by Santas head turning 360 degrees like in the exorcist. Some may suggest that this quasi-demonic possesion of santas cabesa is in the spirit of christmas bringing joy and happiness. I however consider it a warning as to the prostitution of christmas, and the spinning of the head is merely to ensure that everyone in that room knew it, eye to eye.

The reason I mention this is because I would like to take a moment to talk about one of my customers. He is a talented musician in a well recognised local band, who has spent this chrismas dressed up as Santa in a local restaurant singing christmas songs and carols. Each day I picked him up I thought about what he refered to prostituting his talent for a few quick bucks. His fine spirits over the unabashed performing monkiness of his christmas gig was clearly because of the ridiculously vast sum of money they paid him to do it. And good on him, we all do what we can to get by.

It is odd though that christmas brings this out in us. That for a few short weeks we become totally obsessed with otherwise meaningless aspects of our society. When do we ever eat so many sprouts and why would we when they taste like they've been in your grans armpits for the last 3 years? What drives us to buy a plastic tree and adorn it for a few weeks, and why do we insist on taking it down before a certain date in case we suffer 'bad luck'? Why do we give cards saying nothing more than 'To Sue... From Peter' when we just spent a good 20 minutes talking to them.

Despite all this, I too have fallen in with the christmas crowd as i always do each year. with cards and presents bought and wrapped. And with a christmas floppy hat worn in my little cab.

Merry christmas everyone

Christmas Spots

As you all know, Christmas is a time for fun, frolicing, dressing up in silly costumes, giving useless presents to people you dont like and generally being overly nice so we can feel less guilty about ripping them off the rest of the year. Which comes across a little cynical, but believe me I genuinely do love this time of the year.

I love watching the freezing cold carol singers go from door to door, their little red noses sniffing in the cold wind, whilst I stay in my warm house looking through the windows at the as they press my bell.

I love watching the town council electrician every year, in the ice and snow trying to reach across the various trees and buildings, putting up the christmas decorations, and it takes all of my effort to not go steady the ladder than invariable slides on the slippy ice and snow. Well I say all my efforts, obviously what I mean by that is that me and some of the other cabbies tend to don our winter coats, warm gloves and hats, get the hot coffee out and cheer, sing and dance the poor fellow on.

I love the girls going to the clubs in their mini santa outfits, freezing in the cold wind, leaping from leg to leg like they're warming up for the triple jump.

Yes, christmas is a great time, but there are some things I dont enjoy about it. Some things which christmas should not be about at all!

For example... Christmas spots!

Yes every year about this time my skin decides to conspire against me and in the run up to the big day where my family and friends are looking forward to seeing my smiley happy face greet them with warm cheer, I have instead been transformed into one of the witches in Macbeth. My particular low point was having a big red spot one year on the furthest tip of my nose. Oh what fun it was to be called 'Rudolf'' by not only the people who claim to love me, but also by the complete strangers that drunkenly get into my car. Imagine my joy when comfronted by one witty drunken jostler I was told...
"At least with that thing you'll be alright if the lights go out!"

Despite a regular array of chemical face packs, exfoliating creams, rejuvinating oils etc etc, every year it happens and every year i end up hiding in my house come christmas wishing everyone would forget about me this year.

My understanding is that it is not just me who suffers from this affliction. Other normally clear faced people will find themselves looking like a half baked pizza at Christmas times, as well as birthdays, on holiday and my particular favourite, on their wedding day.

Oddly though, I do not take heart knowing that others suffer in the same way. It should, but it doesnt. I shall have to just put up with my continuous shame and embarrassment and live to fight through another christmas under another balaclava.

Legalese

To honour my Angela joining the legal ranks, i offer you a few pitfalls. That are too priceless for a bullitin... well done Angela and thanks to Marco

These are from a book called Disorder in the America Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.
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ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?

WITNESS: No, I just lie there.
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ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?

WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

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ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?

WITNESS: I forget.

ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?

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ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?

WITNESS: He said, 'Where am I, Cathy?'

ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?

WITNESS: My name is Susan!

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ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?

WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

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ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-one-year-old, how old is he?

WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.

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ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?

WITNESS: Is this a trick question?

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ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?

WITNESS: Uh.... I was getting laid!

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ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: How many were boys?

WITNESS: None.

ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?

WITNESS: Are you shittin' me? Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?

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ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?

WITNESS: By death.

ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?

WITNESS: Now whose death do you suppose terminated it?

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ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?

WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.

ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?

WITNESS: Guess.

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ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?

WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

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ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?

WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people. Would you like to rephrase that?

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ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?

WITNESS: Oral.

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ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?

WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.

ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?

WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!

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-- And the best for last: ---

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?

WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.

ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?

WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law

Fun and Olympic Games

I cant help but be astounded at the variety of sports offered by the olympics in China this week. As always you get to see some sports you never watch at any time of your life, such as Dressage (of which I still dont understand) and the Points Cycling. I sat there for half an hour watching them go round and round the track getting excited, and without a clue as to what was going on.

In a moment of madness my flattie and I pondered where these sports originated. Some are obvious, like the marathon. As messengers from the kings and Emperors of history were sent to the front lines of major battles to inform their armies as to tactics...  It does seem a shame that some of those origins are not better adhered to. In those days the marathon runners would have to avoid arrows and spears thrown at them, perhaps a more traditional version of the sport could include the crowd throwing wet sponges and rotten tomatoes.

Likewise the javelin, or spear throwing makes perfect sense, although i have always felt there should be targets out there to hit, but what about some of the vaguer sports.

Krispin and I had a little think. Take the triple jump. Obviously seeing how far you can jump is a legitamate sport, but what on earth is the triple jump about? When in life do we Hop, Skip and Jump in such a rediculous manner... Here's my theory... Have you ever been on a beach on a really hot day when the sand is burning hot? Yes, I am convinced, the triple jump is a modern olympic version of going from the towel to the sea without burning the soles of your feet.

The shot put, seems like another strange one. Now some would say it comes from rock throwing as shown in the movie 'Braveheart' and maybe thats true, but as Mel Gibson in a kilt clearly showed, throwing big rocks at people is never going to be that effective. Instead I think its far more likely the sport developed in the 1600's. Imagine a ship being circled by pirates, and all the cannonballs are on one side! Cannonbal throwing would be useful then.

The discus also seems a little weird, but with a little thought, we figured this ancient sport clearly owes alot to bad cooking! Perhaps disgruntled greeks, tired of fighting on the frontline would would fling lumps of stale mouldy bread at their enemies rather than eat it themselves. Its just a thought.

Krispin suggested that the pole vault was some strange siege weapon, for knights to storm castles, but somehow I can imagine a knigt with chainmail, sword and shield running up to a castle wall with a dirty great pole.

Any ideas on that please let me know. Actually, if you have any other ideas, say about Badminton, or synchronised diving please let me know, and what the hell is the parrallel bars about... When did anyone need to do that!

Myfriend Angela believes we should develop these sports for the winter games too, perhaps instead of the 100 meter dash they have in the summer games, we should have a 100 meter stop, all the atheletes on a giant catapult, fired from a starting gate on the ice! I love it. Or you could have the 400 meter speed skate hurdling! Genius sport! That would be hilarious! As it is I spend half the winter olympics in tears of laughter. Why would any sane person go down a bobsleigh track on a tea tray!

I do like the idea of turning summer sports to winter sports though, I would love to see Womens Snow Volleyball, or Ice Weightlifting. Once again thoughts welcome.

The Worlds Greatest Olympian?

Firstly, I just want to say what a fantastic job the chinese did on the opening of the olympics. Full of colour and spectacle. I hate openings, but this one was truly stunning.

A huge well done to Michael Phelps for winning yet another gold medal and becoming the winner of the most gold medals in the history of the olympics. He is without doubt a phenomenal athelete and deserves every accolade... every accolade that is except greatest ever olympian.

Now I'm not saying he is, or he isnt, he certainly has a very very good claim on it, but I think he's not there yet. Lets be honest, in the top 100 of the most olympic medal winners, there are a lot of Swimmers. Could it be that the are more opportunities to win olympic golds?

Let me just put forward a few issues I have and mention a few other names for consideration.

Just to show that I am not being anti-american in this, lets start with Carl Lewis... winner of 9 golds and 1 silver medal. The 100m, 200m, 4x100m and long jump equalling Jesse Owens record in 1936. He then did the same thing again 4 years later. Breaking world records in all 8 competitions. After a hiccough in 92, he went on to win his final two medals in 96. This is a fantastic tally in a very difficult event

And what about the russian Gymnast Larissa Latynina, 9 gold medals, 5 silver medals and 4 bronze medals across three olympic games. She never entered a competition that she did not win a medal in, and still hold the record of most medals won.

Then theres the italian Edoardo Mangiarotti. In 2003, the IOC (International Olympic Committee) awarded him with a Platinum Wreath, with a document which stated that: Edoardo Mangiarotti's total of 39 medals (6 olympic golds, 5 slivers and 2 bronzes), in Olympic & World Fencing Championships not only earns him the distinction of being the greatest Fencer in that sport's history, but also distinguishes him as the most decorated athlete in ALL Olympic Sports in the history of the Olympics.

What about German canoer Brigit Fischer, winner of 8 gold medals in the K1, K2 and K4 events. The first in 1980, and despite retiring in 2001 she went on to win her last in 2004. She would have won more except for the eastern bloc boycott of 1984.

Or perhaps a nod should go to Bjorn Daehlie, winner of 8 gold medals and 4 silver medals in the extremely hard cross country skiing event during 92' to '98 (to be fair there were 3 olympic events here), this is a most impressive tally in an endurance event.

I'm a brit though, and I cant help but add our own hero Steven Redgrave, 5 gold medals in 5 consecutive olympic games from '84 to 2000. Unlike other sporting events such as swimming or running, fencing or gymnastic, rowing is not a well supported event. It doesnt have 37 different medal winning opportunities. Its one race, one chance. And Redgrave was at the top of the sport for a fantastic 16years. And If you have ever tried rowing yourself, you will know that its an absolute killer of an endurance event.

I am really pleased that once again we have a fantastic olympian in Michael Phelps, and if he is still getting golds in 8 years time, I will concur that he is in fact the greatest olympian so far. Just not yet.

The Great British Breakfast

Imagine a plate of food served up to you at 8am, with the sun steaming through the whispy clouds.

Rashers of sizzling bacon, plump sausages, fried tomates, beans, eggs sunny side up, potato croquets or has browns if you will, mushrooms in butter, fried bread, toast on a side plate, a hot steaming cup of coffee and some fruit juice. A Full English breakfast. They say the entire british empire was nurtured by this hearty meal, everyday during its 300 year reign.

To you and I in this enlightened world, we may see it as a coronary waiting to happen, and would recommend 30 minutes on a stairmaster. However, in the days of the british raj this was not an option. Instead they used to hunt lions so thats nice.

As I sat in the cafe at Gatwick Airport, on the grubby seats and sugared table waiting for my Egg and Bacon toasty, I watched the esteemed group of various gentlemen that patronised the 'Greasy Spoon', and my thoughts went back to this image of 18th century Bristol filled with sailors looking to gather new booty from the Americas.

The sandwich finally arrived, and the only way to describe it was dissapppointing The bacon was limp and gristly, the egg yolk was congealed, and the barely toasted toast, was dry and stale as if the penicillin had only just been scraped off. There was no sign of butter or mayonnaise, tomatoes or lettuce. The coffee was weak and sourly burnt my lips with its insipid taste. I have no idea how many bacteria resided in the china chips.

Thats when it occured to me that Britain really is a nation of shopkeepers, and they dont go to work on a hearty, traditional full english at all, but instead go to work on a diet of shrivelled up sausages, rancid eggs, and a tomato so mushy that they'd give Halle Berry a run for best oscar acceptance.

Thank god I ate my cornflakes before i went.

The small businessmen and manual workers however, devoured every last morsel down to the final crumbs of buttered bread, as they sat and chatted with bonhomie and jus de vive.

Clearly I will never be a millionaire in Britain... for a start they're clearly all too French!

Providence

My friend Chris and I looked at a flat today.

Now, i have to tell you, for the last two to three months, my ex and I have been hunting around for a house to move into. Nothing was right, it was either too small, cost too much, was too far away from school, everything was wrong. On the day she finished with me we were due to look at yet another place, that was bound to be expensive and was 5 minutes away from her parents house. I hated the idea, but I had said to myself, this is what she wants, so just do it. And then bam!

Today just 10 days later, I find a place she would have loved thats cheap and close enough, roomy and clean. Perfect, but instead of moving in with her, I'm moving in with Chris, well provided we get the paperwork done in time.

As I mentioned in some of my blogs, I always thought god was paying me back for some of the mistakes I have made. I always thought god didn't like me much. No reason why she should. It has not gone wihout notice that unusually I saw this place on a Sunday, and it has also not without notice that recently everyone I have met on here has been in some way religious.

Maybe, I have finally been forgiven? Some of my friends will probably think I'm being delusional, possibly i am, but what harm is there. If it gives me hope and gives me direction, I suggest it cant do much harm saying thank you.

Obviously it might all fall through, or Chris might turn out to be awful to live with, but at this moment, on this day I feel hopeful.

And that has got to be positive. Last week, I didnt know if I wanted to be alive, and this week even though I am still in great pain, I know that things will go on, and I'll be ok.

I cant say this enough though. Thank you guys so much for talking to me. You've been so supportive and honest. When you break up big, you start to question your decisions. You dont know if you are doing the right thing. What you want is a coach to tell you what to do, where to go and so on, and so far you guys have been terrific. When i'm indecisive, i ask you and you say yes or no. I need that right now, so a big thank you.

Today has been a good day. Of course, a day hasn't gone by without me breaking down a some point, but today I felt hopeful for the first time. And tomorrow i have stuff to do now. So maybe tomorrow will be ok as well.

My Day (one at a time)

Today was better than I imagined it would be.

I had an all day job to London, and we got lost on the way home. My passenger, a young lad from a private school was a really good laugh and totally cool about it. For some reason I couldnt get past Farnborough, Reading and Guildford... I'm calling it the guildford triangle, as there is nothing there, but you cant get out.

My phone has been ringing all evening. Calls about jobs, calls about gossip, calls about junk. It's been nice to have other things to focus on. As so many of you have said to me, it just takes time. Thanks by the way for being so patient, you guys have been a godsend.

Yesterday was my fathers birthday, he is now 74, bless him. He had a pace maker put in last week, and mum was really worried until my friend Lynne told us pacemakers are as good as the energiser bunny. He'll go on for years now apparently. But when we went for the pre-op and they told us all about it, mum had to ask how sensitive they are. You aren't supposed to bang them see, but when dad snores, mum hits him til he stops! The doc said to hit him on the leg next time. lol.

It was strange not having her next to me as we played quiz board games, but she never liked them much anyway.

Thats me done for the day. The grief has kicked in for sure now, but I wont give in to it. We all make choices about how we feel. I so im gonna feel ok from now on. And one day soon, I wont have to try.

Bionic Eyes

I hope you all caught the recent story about Bionic Eyes.

I am very pleased about this new advance in technology and can personally see many benefits, not just to the blind, who might find it useful too.

The electrodes stimulate the retinal nerves allowing a signal to be passed along the optic nerve to the brain, which perceives patterns of light and dark spots corresponding to the electrodes that are stimulated.

Obviously this is still in it's early stages, but I am quite looking forward to having my bionic eyes implanted. I would like to have a stick akin to Terry Wogan's wand in the 70's TV show Blankety Blank. I suspect having a bionic eye on a stick will have real advantages, such as finding your keys when they drop down a drain, or checking the top of the cabinet for hidden items such as the remote control. As a short person this second use would be of particular value.

Also small children can play with their removable eyes on sticks, checking for kidnappers when playing SWAT Team and Terrorist!

Imagine the joy of women throughout the world being finally at long last being able to examine how their bottoms look without the use of mirrors.

Also being to check up on your nanny would be much easier. Just leave your eye on the mantlepiece and watch remotely.

I love the potential of this hugely exciting project, and cannot wait to purchase half a dozen eyes, for me and a few of my closer friends.

I also look forward to other fascinating ideas coming from the same camp of scientists, such as bionic bottoms for easy bowel movements. Bowel Cancer will be a thing of the past! Bionic fingernails that make the scratching noise without the use of a blackboard, and bionic ears that can hear whale-call from over 600 miles!

People Are Different

One of the best things about browsing is you chat to people and they remind you that every country is different. Different customs and different attitudes.

Recently, whilst scouting for someone in Ireland, I was reminded of my one trip. Ireland is lovely and deserves as much time as you can spend there, and the people were terrific fun.

About half way through my trip there, I decided to go walkabout, well busabout at least. So off to Cork Bus station I went without a clue where I was going to end up. I met an american who looked a little dazed. I dont know why it is that I can be in my hometown and never talk to a stranger for weeks, but as soon as you go somewhere suddenly you are the friendliest person on the panic.

And so it was with me and Chuck. (I cant remember if his name was Chuck, it could have been Brad, or Buck maybe... It doesn't matter anyway, he was stressed!) He went to Uni at Berkley which I think is in California (JACK! His name was Jack... no it wasn't) with a guy from Larne in Northern Iereland.

Now this irish guy, who we will call Jerry, told Chuck that if he ever fancied visiting, to just turn up. Well Chuck had obviously been a good boy because his parents were paying for a 3 month backpack across Europe and now he had done Dublin and Cork, he intended to catch a bus up north and try to spend a few days touring round Belfast which is quite nearby.

Thats when I caught up with him. He told me his story and the phone call he had just made.

"Jerry told me I absolutely must come up straight away. It was perfect timing actually, because Jerry's off on holiday tomorrow and they have no-one to look after the dogs!"

My lasting impression about the irish on that trip was the astounding trust that they have in their follow man. Here was an irishman offering his house and all its contents to someone he went to college with 2 years earlier.

In comparisson, a couple years ago my flat was broken into. It was a cellar and ground floor maisonette, and we had the bedroom and lounge downstairs in the cellar, with the kitchen and dining room upstairs. I was downstairs watching a movie in the lounge, when someone broke in through the kitchen window, started to come down the stairs, heard me, went back upstairs and stole my penny jar, and my dads ship in a bottle!

Whats worse is the guy got caught and before sentencing he admitted to 58 other break-ins. I'm pleased that my greasy, horrible flat was filthy enough to leave fingerprints. I'm pleased that all he got from me was £1.37 and a vodka bottle with no vodka.

But I would much rather live in Ireland.

Prickle Rash

My beautiful fiance told me I was not allowed to kiss her as I would give her ’Prickle Rash’.....

Now i’m not sure what prickle rash is, but it sounds like fun. She didnt think so however and kicked me off the couch until I shaved.

I hate shaving, it stings and it feels unpleasantly like your skin has been flattened by an iron. Its very hard to get even, I spend ages trying to get every last bit of stubble, but it hides for ages until you start getting amorous. You touch your chin, a last check before you make your move, and blow me if underneath your chin your havent got a hedgehog!

I’m not keen on aftershave either, which burns even though its cold. I don’t get what girls like in aftershave. I had an ex who went barmy for ’Polo’, I could have sworn it was made from horse dung, but all i had to do was put the damn stuff on and she was putty. When she left me for a jockey, i wasnt surprised.

I love my girl though, and for her I would do almost anything, but I wondered if this was a major issue with women. I know that it can be cool to be stubbly. George Michael and Don Johnson in the eighties, Bruce Willis in the nineties, and now an increase in pop star goaties and celebrity small beards in the last 10 years suggests that facial hair is bigger than ever. Thats not to mention the hip shaggy styles from our friends in the mountains of afghanistan!

Having said that fashion makes big mistakes, like shoulder pads, blockerboots and leg warmers (apologies to all those that have recently bought leg warmers as they are apparently back in)

I saw a teenager the other day, who was struggling with her really high high-heals. She was crouching for balance, which made her arse stick out like a waddling duck. I just knew that later on she would jump into my cab, and take her shoes off in agony, I’d have to descretely open a window cos tights dont smell as good at the end of the night as they do at the start.

She wore a teeny tiny skirt and a huge puffer jacket and reminded me of the michelin man on stilts. No! She looked like one of those office toy flamingoes that swing back and forth until the beak dips into the water when it straightens up.

Her friend was wearing a muddy set of puffy boots, that looked a little like they did when they belonged to whichever animal made them. Im sure i got a pair of slippers that looked just like them a couple of years back. Mine had claws on the end though. Cool!

Blokes are no better though. Why do they bother to wear jeans at all. Just go out in your damn underpants, we can see your saggy arse anyway!

I’m just saying fashion has had its bad days. So I am asking the Question?

What is it you do or dont like about mens facial hair?

For me I have always liked the fact that i can scratch the back of my hand whilst driving, and they way my little girl rubs her tiny hands against it.

So comments please.