The future's so bright... hah.

Many years ago I used to work for a small consultancy business that specialised in organisational development and occupational stress, and one of the few things that I remember from this time is that one of the main causes of stress is a person's lack of control (real or perceived) over their life. Why mention this? Well, because I'm not feeling particularly in control at the moment. Like a child's balloon in a hurricane I seem to be buffeted from one thing to another, taking knocks along the way. Whilst wearing my "pater familias" hat I guess that I should be steering the family ship with a firm hand on the tiller and a steely gaze to the horizon, but at the moment the seas seem to be a little too stormy to do anything other than lash myself to the mainmast and hang on. Work as an independent consultant is a very movable feast - you are either working or not, earning or not, and the decision as to whether you work or earn is not entirely in your own hands. A contract lost, a client in trouble, and suddenly you are in the business of looking for work. Not that this is the case at the moment, but the future looks ever more uncertain. I mean, Woolworths for god's sake - who would have thought it? I've seen the effects of this first hand - a company on the same business park as one of my clients supplies Woolworths - last week they laid off over half of their staff (close to 100 people I'm told), and this is only the beginning. A family member works in the car trade - and their dealership sold 2 cars in the last month with a profit margin of £60. The stories of wrecked businesses keep on appearing. God knows what the next year is going to be like. I really don't know how bad the recession/depression is going to get, but right now I strongly feel the need to get a plan together. And this is where it all falls down I guess - how can you plan for uncertainty? Do you just hunker down, cut your costs and hope that it will all blow over? Do you look at more radical alternatives? I think that most people will be hunkering down, which makes me want to go in another direction. If all turns to ordure, I don't think that the social security system will be strong enough to cope - so any safety net needs to be of my own making but what? I think that the answers will be found in the past - right now I'm researching the success stories of the great depression - I'll let you know how I get on.

Haiku

Snow on the cherry tree
A single leaf remains
Solitude or death?

Everywhere you go (Always take the weather with you) Or "a few days with Jesus"

Well, what a week. When I heard I was going to Spain I was less than excited - it was, after all, work and not a holiday, and living on your own in a cheap hotel for four days can be a bit of a drag. So I didn't exactly have a joyous spring in my step when I set off. Overall though, the experience was not as bad as it could have been and better than I had feared. Arriving in Malaga at 8 o'clock at night things did not get off to a good start. I picked up my hire car and quicly realised that;

a) I had not driven a manual car for over 6 years.

b) The steering wheel and gearstick are on the wrong side. (Although this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because all the drivers drive on the wrong side of the road, so it sort of makes sense.)

c) The sat nav maps on my phone were at least 3 years out of date - and the display might just as well have displayed a skull and crossbones with the message "Here be Dragons" for all the use it was.

d) It was dark.

e) It was pissing down with rain.

So, to a merry accompaniment of shouts of encouragement from Spanish road users I lurched, juddered and swerved my way around Malaga until I spotted the road that I needed to take. It is a measure of my ability to quickly acclimatise that I was only lost for an hour or so. Some time later, I found the hotel. Then, looking for a parking spot, I got lost again and found myself on the motorway, speeding away from the hotel at a great rate of knots. By this time I was a seasoned Spanish driver, so it only took me about 45 minutes to find the hotel again. Cue a calming beer, and off to my room. I decided to use the USB dongle to pick up my emails, as the Internet connection in the hotel cost €24 (!) this proved to be a wise choice, as my Internet usage only came to some £35.....um. The next day it was off to the hills, where I was to be recording the Spanish Voice Over for a computer game.

The Studio

The studio was Little piece of hippy heaven snuggled into the foothills of whatever mountains were looming over us (note to self - pay more attention to geography). It was originally set up be a chap named Usul - a friend of Ravi Shankar's who died a couple of years ago, and was a place that had proudly earned the epithet "ramshackle". Take away the recording equipment and the tipsy wooden beams and placeholder roof would have not looked out of place in Hobbiton. The grounds were studded with orange, grapefruit, lime, clementine that you could just pick straight from the trees. I know, I can hear your thoughts already, but let's be fair, for most of us, the natural environment of the citrus fruit is the supermarket shelf, isn't it? In addition, there were the signs of another recently harvested crop which I would have found much more interesting had I needed to feel at one with life the universe and everything.... Inside, propped in a corner was a sitar that was once played by Ravi Shankar himself! Like any right minded person, I picked it up in the hope that Sitar playing skills had magically descended upon me. Alas no.

So, to work. The work would have gone swimmingly but for the constant interruptions of the local cockerel - every couple of minutes the recording would have to stop whilst we ran outside and shooed away the bloody thing. These things happen. The 2 actors, Jesus and Javier, were absolute stars, and made the trip for me - anyone who introduces themselves with the phrase " you are from England - you know David Icke?" can't fail to be interesting, or baffling. Or both. The work progressed, actors made sounds, we recorded them and all was well (cocks excepted).

After recording, I followed the same routine, hotel, shower, stroll, tapas, beer, hotel. A word about tapas. The tapas in Spain is Brilliant. (capital B intended), whether it's the chorizo, the anchovies, the octopus, the chicken livers, the little kebab things, the salads, the ham, the meatballs, the fried breadcrumbs, the potatoes in "stuff".. well, I'm sure that you get the point. For anyone planning to stay in San Pedro, the best place I found was La Bodega - relaxed, traditional, friendly, yummy and no Brits.

And so it went - having done my research and found that Estepona rejoiced in a year round climate of around 19 degrees, I was not best equipped for the freezing conditions. Evidently it is very rare for there to be snow. Really. And now back to the home front - delayed projects tapping me ever more urgently on the shoulder, things I really should be doing. And here I sit - blogging. Well, no more. To work it is. Until the next time, hasta la vista!

Brothers, Sisters, we don't need no fascist groove thang.

Having fallen off the wagon, I am feeling generally well disposed towards the world at the moment. Farewell road rage, and hello familiar worries. Although I do have some new worries...

The events of the last couple of weeks have been worrying me, although not in the way you might expect. It seems pretty clear that we are heading towards a recession or a depression, depending on who you listen to, and although I don't think that we will be looking at soup kitchens and Jarrow marches, I think that one of the consequences of recession hasn't been seen yet. Always after an economic downturn there seems to follow a radicalisation of politics - liberalism (with a small l) doesn't seem to sit well with a population that's worried about jobs, money and the future that's in store for our kids. *cue some sweeping generalisations* The depression of the 1930's was the manure that gave vigour to the fascist movements in many western countries, and the dole queues were rich recruiting grounds for the National Front in the early 80's. With unemployment nudging 2 million again, how long before the Daily Mail readers start looking at the economic migrants with hate-filled eyes? Immigration has been an issue for debate over the last few years, and that's when there have been plenty of jobs to go around - how will the man in the dole queue view the Poles, Lithuanians, Latvians, Albanians, Croatians etc when he sees them earning money that "should be his"? I can even feel the stirrings of unease inside my own guardian-reading heart. Similarly, when money is tight, who gives a toss about the environment? When times are hard, who cares what the natives are doing to each other in Matabeleland? When you can't afford to run your own country, can politicians afford to look after another country's interests? "Foreign aid? No thanks, charity begins at home." And when the west is desperately trying to keep it's populations happy, fed and employed, some countries will see this as the perfect time to press their own agenda. Even in the last week, we've seen North Korea and Iran getting more belligerent - pushing the boundaries to see what they can get away with. I'm sure that this is going to continue - what hold we had over Russia and China has gone - and Georgia, has been the result. I certainly wouldn't like to be living in Taiwan at the moment - I wouldn't be at all surprised if there are some major Chinese military "exercises" there in the next few months. As the west sees that it cannot project itself on the world through conventional force, the only deterrent left becomes the unthinkable nightmare of nuclear weapons - raising the stakes of the game to a point where you simply cannot afford to call the bluff of the muscular states. And as the west sees it's hegemony slipping away, there will be those in the wings talking about the destiny of our countries, how we shouldn't bend our knee to the upstart nations, national pride, and even *whisper it* racial purity. And as we see the rise of the right, so too will we see the left gaining strength to balance the equation - the failure of capitalism will be flag, the fight against fascism will be the cause, and China will be the shining example. Throw into the mix a racially and religiously diverse population and we are heading for shit street. Politicians have seldom been so free of ideology as they are at the moment, to a point where it is difficult to say what the different parties (in the UK at least) actually stand for. Pragmatism has been the byword for recent politics, both in terms of the policies and the self-serving agendas of the politicians themselves - but when that pragmatism encourages politicians to swim with the current of public opinion, you get a distorted and amplified view of what 's in the public mind - no matter how ugly that is.

"Hard times in old England, in old England, very hard times."

V

Day four of giving up smoking and I'm not a nice person to be around. Or indeed to be. I'm very very tetchy. Angry almost. The headaches don't help. Driving is especially trying - Bruce Banner goes out of the window, and what is left is not a courteous and considerate road user. I have come up with a strategy however, to try to reduce the risk of a little incident; I have a mental narrative playing, where I try to categorise all other road users by the make of their car. For example, all Vauxhall drivers are cunts. Every one.

Corsa/Nova: Either untermensch chavscum "cruising" round town with their pox riddled fuck puppets advertising to the world their lack of taste in cars, music and women, or semi senile piss soaked grannies who are about as useful behind the wheel of a car as a random bucket of organs from the local butchers.

Astras: Falls into two categories, old Astras and new Astras. Old Astras are the equivalent of a mule in the wild west - cheap, basic transport, invariably laden down with tools, wood and bits and pieces from the local DIY shop. Driven by slouching old men with a roll up behind one ear and trousers held up with hairy string (probably). Highway code? They wrote it. In fucking crayon. Utterly unconcerned by the presence of other road users, probably because they are wondering where the nearest lay-by is so that they can clot their sporran over page three whilst eating a pie.

New Astras are invariably driven by bitter, under achieving, office supplies salesmen (and women). Cheap suits, cheap aftershave, and the flashiest mobile phone they can afford. Bitter at their lot in life, and wishing that they could be eligible for a better car, they always seem to drive as if they have something to prove. News flash: You've already proved it. And we're laughing. We KNOW that you'll never make middle management and the elusive executive upgrade, but do you? One day soon, after a morning spent carving up other motorists and and afternoon failing to sell any A4 copier paper you are going to sit down, assess your life, and make the world a happier place by leaving.

Zafira/Meriva

Where to start? The Paedophiles choice. Mum goes to Iceland, and dad drives a Zafira. For some strange reason, I see a lot of the GSi (is that right?) or "sporty" models about. A little badge on the back of your four wheeled transformer does not a cool dad make, and secretly they know it. People who drive these cars masturbate in the shower whilst thinking of the wife's sister, or the work experience girl. If you own a Zafira or a Meriva your life is over - oh you may still be breathing, but have you ever asked yourself what for? Your kids lie awake at night wondering how much they will inherit when you die. Alright, not as badly driven as some models, mainly because the drivers are acutely aware of their own mortality.

Tigra/Antara/Agila

Tigra - one of the ugliest cars in the world, can only be bought by blind people, who shouldn't be allowed to drive. (actually, I suppose that rich people could buy Tigras and give then to people that they really don't like, but I suspect that this is not a sustainable market given the current economic climate).

Antara "From £21,000". If you cannot think of a better way to spend £21,000 then you are dragging average IQ of the human race down, and you should be shot for the good of us all.

Agila. A Suzuki. Built in Poland. By Vauxhall. On which planet does this sound good? Judging by the drivers, planet Ditzy. Always female (or pre-op transsexual). Often with a passenger who that are incapable of talking to without turning their head and looking them in the eyes "why should I look at the road? It's not as if it's going anywhere..". Not involved in as many accidents as they cause, which is a pity.

Vectra

Ah, the Vectra. Ever wondered what happens to the bitter, under achieving office supplies salesman if he gets promoted? A bitter, under achieving sales manager. Or a policeman. Whatever, the effect is much the same, a cocksure, know-it-all napoleon complex wrapped up in a cocoon of insecurities, spite and bile. Often causes accidents by replying to email offering penis enlargement on their blackberry. Interestingly, many Vectra drivers seem to be aware of this on some level, and often drive the cars as if they really hate them. You know that David Brent would drive a Vectra.

Labels for this post: e.g. scooters, vacation, fall

It is true that it has been some time since I put finger to keyboard and for that I apologise. Newsworthy events have been few and far between of late. Or so I have believed. Ennui has reared it's lethargic head and yawned at me. Work has become more of a chore than usual, and the excitement of the new has become the lassitude on the mundane. Starting projects is all well and good, but they need to be followed through and finished at some stage. I have become aware that I am good at starting fires, but bad at keeping them fed. Even so, I feel the urge to start something else now, something exciting, something rewarding, something fulfilling. And in a way, I have. But more of that later. All counselling is now finished, and it would be forgotten but for the fact that I had set a recurring alarm in Outlook and since all of my phones are synced, every week I get a reminder for an appointment that I no longer have. Strangely, I haven't deleted the appointment and I don't know why.. perhaps it's part of me saying "at least once a week you need to gaze upon your navel" perhaps I'm just lazy. Hmm. It's quite appropriate to be having these thoughts at a time when I've just talked myself out of a potentially lucrative contract - inside I'm shouting "take the fucking money you idiot!", but there was a conflict of interest with another client, and it didn't feel right to take the money when it could come back to bite me on the arse and besmirch my professional reputation. Easy come, easier fucking go.

Change is in the air at the moment - I smell woodsmoke, apple and blackberries, and everything tells me that I should be looking to the new. I think that it's something ingrained in me since school - new term, new year, new challenges. I always prided myself that I seemed to have a wellspring of ideas and creative solutions to problems, but now I realise that ideas are useless unless they are acted upon. Ideas are just dreams, until sweat and focus make them solid. I've been lacking sweat and focus. So I'm purposely denying myself the indulgence of dreaming up new schemes, new things to do, until I've put a few of the old ones in their place. So that is where I am - revisiting old ideas, assessing them and if they are still worthy, whipping them until they run or die.

In a related development, space has now been cleared in the garage for the next great project - getting my motorbike ready for next spring - good honest work. Work fit for a man. With a reward at the end. Operation Triumph is go!

Piss, vinegar and CJ Stone

Today I rediscovered an old friend. In a manner of speaking.. One of my favourite writers is a chap called CJ Stone. I first stumbled accross his writing in the guardian column "Housing Benefit Hill". Truth be told it was this column that confirmed me as a guardian reader, for a while. When the column ended (or was dropped, I'm not quite sure) the guardian seemed to lose a little bit of it's edge, an edge it hasn't really found since. I'm not saying that the guardian was defined by the column, but it was a good fit with the editorial style of the time, when there were not too many writers that had a good word to say about the miners, the travellers, the rave scene, reactionary legislation and all of the other things that were important to me at the time. Another thing that endeared me to his writing was a kind of attached detachment to the subjects he covered - yes, I know it's a poor description, but I can't do any better. It seemed that he was seeing the people and event through my eyes rather than his. Even now the writing reminds me of what we have lost in terms of political awareness and the willingness to protest and party. I'm older, I know, but I doubt that the generation behind me has as much of the piss and vinegar that we seemed to be full of. Or Shepherd Neame (meh, give me Theakstons any day). "Piss and vinegar? No thanks, I'll have a nice shiraz and a doobie thanks awfully."

Anyway, read his stuff. It's good. Fierce Dancing is a particularly good book, and if by any chance somebody is reading this thinking that they have a copy that I lent to them, I'd like it back. Either of them. That'll teach me to lend books after midnight.

Many boats, one river.

Sorry. It's not you, it's me. I haven't been taking this blogging thing seriously. I just needed a little space. But I'm back now. For better or for worse.

So what's been happening? Life. Like a boat trip, it moves on, it carries you along on the current, and you get to look at things from a different perspective every single minute. It's good that perspectives change - it says as much about the subject as the object that such a simple twist can create profound effects. It says to the soul "I change, you change, we all change." And not even god (intentional non-capitalisation) can control it. We can swim with the current, or against it but you have to acknowledge that it's there. Not that I'm saying swimming against the tide (so to speak) is a bad thing, far from it - it can be a noble, enriching, life defining action. To deny or oppose change is as valid as accepting it - it's just that you have to pick your battles.

So am I accepting it? Ask me tomorrow.

My perspective changed recently - slightly but perceptibly, and perhaps I am a little happier for seeing that he grass I always thought to be greener actually isn't... "Ha!" you say - he's just got round to counting his blessings..and well, yes I have. I have plenty of blessings - a fine and foxy missus, top kids, good friends, a roof over my head, food on the table, and a lot of toys.. But you don't appreciate these things until.... until.... well, in my case, until ................

The Buddha taught that this thirst grows from ignorance of the self. We go through life grabbing one thing after another to get a sense of security about ourselves. We attach not only to physical things, but also to ideas and opinions about ourselves and the world around us. Then we grow frustrated when the world doesn't behave the way we think it should and our lives don't conform to our expectations.

Thanks to PaintMonkey for reminding me about Buddhism in his blog.

Writing using definitions instead of words is hard.

In case that; granting or supposing that; on condition that the pronoun of the second person singular or plural, used of the person or persons being addressed, in the nominative or objective case, have or form in the mind as an idea, conception, (to indicate a person, thing, idea, state, event, time, remark, etc., as pointed out or present, mentioned before, supposed to be understood, or by way of emphasis) a large number, quantity, or amount of anything (used to indicate possession, connection, or association), of nonsense, falsehood drivel or the like (third person singular present indicative) of whatever or whichever it may be, satisfactory in quality, quantity or degree, then please have or form in the mind as an idea, conception in an additional case or instance furthermore, (a form of the possessive case of “I” used as an attributive adjective) person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

My beautifully cracked mirror. (Edit)

Don't think, just ***** eh? Don't think. Do not think. Think? No thanks. I don't think, thank you very much. Properly dresdenized as far as ************** is concerned. Black dogs ************ black mirrors. Razed and flattened. Crawling through the rubble. Look at my hands. ********* Oil and blood - very meta fucking ********. I can look in a million directions, but only follow one path. I am *********, but can't. Crawl on, that *****. ********* me over the top, whistle me down a wind. Blow baby blow. Exhale, inhale. And repeat. That's the ******, the secret, the ********* truth, the turd in the lucky dip. Creeping, ********* to the top of the rollercoaster. Struggling upwards. Screaming down. And repeat. In through the nose, out through the *********. Or vice-versa. Mind like a ransom note. ************ cut and pasted. Strings of plasticine squeezed together until they become one. One malleable *****. I wish my mind was a stainless ***** ****. "I ****"? WISH? If wishes were ****** I could remember the end of the saying. How fucking ********. Don't wish, just..... what? What? Children can wish *** * ****, but when you're ********** wishing is just ************ onanism. Turn on, tune in, and miss the ********. Miss it. Missed.Hey, the grass is greener **********? Always greener, softer, more **********, more fragrant and always where you're not. What sort of a ******* is that? **** the saying, **** the sentiment. Can you see? Can you? ********** is reflected on the back of my eye. In my ******. My beautifully cracked mirror. Be grateful **** ********, otherwise I might see things as they really are.

Well, it's a little shamefacedly that I return to the blog that has been so wantonly neglected for the last couple of weeks. Excuses? None. Sheer bloody laziness on my part. So what's new? Well, a few things actually...

1 Toys. Toys acquired include a new phone (bog standard Nokia 6500) which was ought from
Three so that I could get a broadband dongle for £4 a month. Whizzy it is. Simply plug it into yer lapdog, and bingo - t'interweb access wherever you go. Works pretty well too - all the drivers are pre-installed in it, so it really is plug and play. connection speed ain't broadband, but it's good enough. Top toy. Next new toy is a Mazda Bongo - following the untimely demise of our much loved campervan, Bluebell I decided to put all my eggs in one basket, and go for a "one vehicle solution" for the household. So farewell then Jeep, hello Billy Bongo. I'll post a pic as son as I get it - it's a fresh import from Japan, so it's taking a while to register it with the DVLA.

2 Jobs. I was about to say "it all seems to be going pretty well on the job front" but that seems like tempting fate, so let's say that it hasn't all turned to ordure yet. Consultancy is up to 3 days per week, bottles are coming along very slowly, and I seem to have over committed myself by agreeing to do some "sweat equity" work for a couple of startups. All of which means that I've been pretty flat out over the last couple of weeks.

3 Life. Life is good. Had a bit of a moan the other day when we were informed that the Levellers gig at Harewood House was cancelled, but then we were offered tickets to "A Beautiful Day Out" at Arley Hall, which means that not only do we get to see the Levellers, but also Seth Lakeman, Dreadzone, Chumbawumba and 3 Daft Monkeys. Result. Also had a top weekend on the boat, along the Leeds-Liverpool Canal to Dowley Gap, nice two day trip, nice pub, nice nosh, top one all round. (Apart from the puncture on the Jeep at 7pm on Sunday night when we were wanting to be getting home). Mucho looking forward to Thornborough Festival too.

4 Head. Not sure on this one, I've missed out on my last 2 counselling sessions, because of one thing or another, so I haven't had the time set aside to gaze into my navel - but on the sanity meter I must be doing pretty well - for the last couple of nights I've actually fallen asleep at night rather than dropped unconscious due to self medication. But overall I seem to be on an even keel at the moment.

5 Weirdness. Lots. Don't know if this is the time of year for it, but seems to all around - in my head and out of it. As an example, I woke this morning having had a very vivid dream about having to explain myself out of a tricky situation in the style of William Topaz McGonagall. What's that all about then? Eh?

6 Fashion. After a short but intriguing discussion with the PaintMonkey, I am decided to change my style. I think that I will be spending more time in the charity shops searching for the "Isembard Kingdom Brunel meets Edwardian Gentleman with a nod towards Steampunk" look.

What Ho!

Spaceman, I always wanted you to go into space man....

I had trouble getting to sleep last night, and as is my wont I cycled through the things that I think about in such situations, the mental comfort blankets that let me fall asleep......dependent upon my mood and state of mind the top three are:

1)Sex - obviously - no need to elaborate here.

2) Super powers - currently there are two super powers that I'd like to have - the first being ability to make people defecate at any time. This would be very amusing - I'm particularly thinking of politicians here, and would love to see how they react to suddenly full undercrackers in the middle of important speeches. However, it would also be fun simply walking down the street and picking a chav at random.... The second super power would be the ability to control the minds of other people - I would be the puppet master, dictating the thoughts, actions and emotions of everyone (Muahahahaha!!!!) As I write this, in my minds eye I see a psychologist stroking his goatee beard and muttering darkly... BTW, 5 extra house points if you know the classic science fiction book series that this is borrowed from.

3)Being a spaceman. The scenario is this: Somehow I have acquired a spaceship - old school 1950's style flying saucer. What I do next is: land the saucer on the lawn of the White House, erect a force field around it, and wait. When the worlds TV cameras and diplomats are in place, the ramp slowly descends... and out of the mist I walk slowly down the ramp onto the grass, unzip, and piss on the lawn. I then re-enter the spaceship and leave. There is a variant to this tableau, where I am joined by a bunch of friends (all suitably attired in retro spaceman chic), and we proceed to have a barbecue, get royally pissed, then leave.

That's about it really. I do feel strange blogging this - currently I have no idea if anybody else has these little pre-dreams, or how anyone else gets to sleep (passing out is always a good option). Do let me know that I'm not too weird.

Fuckwittery

This is what happens if you try to drive into ASDA's carpark and ignore the "max headroom" signs.. my fault. Bluebell the campervan is seriously unwell -we won't find out until Monday if a)the insurances has a fuckwit clause, and b) if she's repairable or a write off. Fuck.

Whilst we are on the topic of transport related disasters, it seems that the away team charged with bringing das boat up to Yorkshire has also had a mishap, though thankfully not of the same magnitude - a collision with a lock gate has possibly bent the rudder post, making the steering a bit heavy - they are cruising towards somewhere that can effect repairs as I speak. Fingers crossed that it isn't a pain in the wallet... So after the bad news outlined above, I set to with a vengeance to get royally blathered on Saturday night - fire, music, food, good company and an unexpected absence of children made for a bladdy good night. Today, Knaresborough beach called, again - good people, good times. Even if PM and TG were a bit tardy ;)

Better with or without?

Where to start? At the beginning? Not possible really - the beginning is in a different country, a different time, a different life. Some things don't really have beginnings - they emerge slowly and stealthily, like an island rising from the sea. And so it was. One day, suddenly and forever it was here, a great granite fact of my life. Background, foreground, detail and wash - it was inescapable. A silent friend at my side. A stealthy foe stalking me. A comfort during the bad times. A necessity for the good times. So much a part of me that to hate it would be to hate myself. And yet it's impossible to love. How can you possibly love something that will destroy you? We all need our weaknesses, our crutches, our excuses. Without the crutches Tiny Tim would just be the runt of the litter, barely worth a spit. Stephen Hawking would be a very intelligent, very anonymous academic. Pete Doherty would be a vacuum. Would they have it any other way? (See what I'm doing here?) The irony is of course, that we don't get those choices very often -to decide who you will be, what will rule your life, what to be guided by, what to avoid. And when the choices do come along, they're hard, cold, and lonely. And not to be rushed.

copoutcopoutcopoutcopoutcopoutcopoutcopout.

Next time I may write something about my cat.

This life intentionally left blank.

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À la recherche du temps perdu

As I do every week, I've been to see my friendly counsellor - and I'm quite enjoying it, truth be told. It's not often that you get the chance to unburden in a guilt free environment, examine your navel and ponder on who exactly you are. By way of back story, I was in a very dark place a few months ago, and it was suggested that I go for some counselling. The waiting list was such that I had to wait a while, and as luck would have it, my first appointment came through just after I'd had a rush of blood to the head and walked out of my job (see previous posts). So I went, hesitant and guarded at first, to see what it was all about. I go every week, I sit down, I talk, I answer questions, and I come away feeling better somehow. To be honest, I've resisted the urge to dissect the process, to examine and understand what is going on and why, as I thought that it would be counterproductive. Instead I sit back and enjoy the ride. And bugger me - it seems to be working. I know that it might just be that I was on the upward curve anyway, and that the counselling was nothing to do with the upswing in mood, but hey, I'll give it the benefit of the doubt.

Depression colours everything in your life, and nothing is free from the critical voices in your head - work, family, self worth, but most of all it seems to take the flavour out of memories - intellectually I could recognize that there was a time when I was happy, when I was full of the cocky arrogance that comes with self belief, but I couldn't remember what it was like, what it tasted of. This from someone that had to look up the word supercilious when it was put on a school report aged 10......

Well, I'm tasting life again. Gods know why, as on the surface life is as worrisome and complicated as ever, but my ego tells me that I can handle it, that all will be well, and if the shit does hit the fan, it won't be my fault. Life is good. Until it isn't - obviously.

I'm in the middle by the way. Scarborough punks c1979

AS TON ISH ED

I wouldn't say that I'm particularly wise, but as to being astonished - yes. Astonished that I've actually enjoyed 2 days work for the first time in years. Astonished that my boys are growing up so fast. Astonished that I can be so lucky yet feel so sad. Astonished that people can't see through me. Astonished that I can be loved. Astonished that time is stretchy. Astonished that I still have the capacity to love. Astonished that I still have the chance. Astonished that I haven't blown it. Astonished by giraffes. Astonished by the audacity of some people. Astonished by talent. Astonished by the fact that we are all different. Astonished by rainbows. Astonished by myself. Astonished by those who love me. Astonished by the worlds in peoples heads. Astonished by the amount of wine I drink. Astonished that I seem to be getting older. Astonished by the fact that something is finally going right. Astonished by the fact that I haven't realised it'll all turn to dust.

Employed, exploded, upbraided and beautiful shabby arses.

Where were we? Ah yes. The saga continues.... since the last installment, I have been busy. Properly busy. Meetings here, there and every fucking where. Busy is good - no time to think, no time to ponder, no time to mope - just keep on keeping on. So what, I hear no-one ask, is the upshot of all this frenzied activity? (small break in the stream of consciousness here as I go into a small rant about whatever the fuck Skype has started doing to my computer - now the antivirus doesn't recognise or allow it, and I have to press OK to permit it every couple of minutes - major pain in the arse)

Hmm...What has happened? Well, I'm employed - 2 days a week! Enough money to keep chez nous ticking over, and enough time left to chase other projects. Result. Should be fun - nice people (fuck skype) and not a million miles away.

RIP then my old Jeep... or nearly. Headgasket blew on the M1 last week resulting in a repair bill which equates to the total value of the car... big thanks however to Lighthouse Jeep Spares - £37 for a head gasket set as opposed to £211 from Chrysler.(Fuck skype).

Plans are underway for the Great Voyage. Having come into the possession of a narrowboat on the Avon, the task of moving it up to Yorkshire is upon me - or rather upon someone else..14 days of (fuck skype) sailing (I think that the correct term is cruising, but somehow it doesn't sound quite right) and 144 locks. The journey may be split own into sections (or not - who knows) so there may be some mobile bloggage to come. I'd love to do the journey myself - it takes in some of the most scenic and beeeoootiful parts of the canal network, as well as a lot of industrial grit and grime. In towns and cities the canals are a window into our industrial past, and the sights you see are often hidden from people who live minutes away - high streets may get corporate rebranding, but the canals show the shabby arse of towns that often hasn't been touched in a hundred years - like the clogged up arteries of an old lady with too many facelifts, but beautiful in it's own way.

But in more general terms, life is looking up. Jam tomorrow now has a date and a paycheck waiting, spring is sprung, people have lost the winter glums, and there is room for optimism.

Upbraided? Ah - yes, was chastised for lazy bloggage last night, so here I make amends. Is that alright for you?

Well, I woke up this morning....

..and this was what I saw.

6.40am Bidford on Avon

"Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair"

Time for a lazy post, just cut and pasted from an email that I sent yesterday...




I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley


Does that inscription sound like someone who is comfortable with themselves? I would say not. Money and power is not the answer to living within your own skin (which is a comfort to me). So what is left? To be happy as a dreamer of dreams, a teller of tales, a maker of music, a painter of pictures, a player in the game of life, someone who added to the joy of humanity. I’m beginning to think that realising this is knowing yourself. How could anyone be miserable if they truly believed that they have added to the joy of humanity? I’m smiling as I write this. I can only guess what sort of world we would live in if people believed it was so and valued it…. A world where Bill Gates would look up to Bill Bailey, and Madonna would aspire to be Stephen Fry.

It’s a currency that I’m happy to say, many of my friends are rich in. Now, who could want more?

PS Can you tell I’m in good mood today? (Which is strange – up to my ears in hassle, no jobs yet etc.etc. But the sun is out and the spring is sprung

Angst, angsty, angstest.

Soren Kierkegaard used the word Angest to describe a profound and deep-seated spiritual condition of insecurity and despair in the free human being. Where the animal is a slave to its instincts but always confident in its own actions, Kierkegaard believed that the freedom given to mankind leaves the human in a constant fear of failing its responsibilities to God. Leaving aside the whole God thing (it'd be nice if everyone did) I think that Mr K missed the point- it's when we fail in our responsibilities to ourselves that angst gets a grip.. But that leaves the bigger question - who is it that we are failing exactly? I wear so many masks that I'm not sure who's underneath anymore. The business mask is one that I've put on, taken off, changed etc so many times that describing me as a *insert occupation here* is about as accurate as calling me an overcoat. Likewise, becoming a father and husband is something that I chose to do rather than chose to become - no-one becomes a husband because they see themselves as a husband, or a father. So that doesn't really describe me either. So what are the core beliefs or values that make me who I am? I'm still working on that one - maybe we're all too close to the subject to get it in proper focus, or maybe that's just an excuse not to peer into the darkness for fear of what might be lurking there.

Leaving aside the whole question of who I am, (yeah I know it's a cop out, but if I could answer that one in one short blogging session I'd be a freelance philosopher writing bestselling books).. the question remains as to what our responsibilities are to ourselves - bejaysus, this is turning into a sixth-form essay. A chance coversation in that great bastion of British Philosopy - the Pub, gave me a clue though. The PaintMonkey (for it was he) opined that it is the art (in it's widest sense) we leave behind us that defines a life)*.. which is a heavy obligation if 'tis so.

Very heavy.

*I may have got this wrong - we had been debating the eternal verities for a number of hours, and I was quite "tired" by the time we left the pub, which is probably why my head hurt this morning - over use.

Updates..

About time for more bloggage then. It's been a while - simply had too much going on to think about the blog... Lets bullet point the major developments in the world of Phineas.



n (Fish) = 1

Farewell to the Mighty Quins. I am the Death of fish.


Relatives visited = 1

Visited Mater in Scarborough - Therapies all completed now (radio and chemo) and looking better than before in a Judy Dench short-haired way. Boys hadn't seem "Grandma Seaside" for nearly a year as she didn't want to scare them while she looked like Skeletor's aunt... Weather was awful - north easterlies lashing in with hail and sleet - glad I never became a fisherman (despite 5 years of sea-training school).


Pirates voiced = 1

Easter day at Newby Hall came and went, with me being the voice of the animatronic Pirate Scarecrow. Yarr! Avast behind! etc. It was a nice day though - safe enough to let the boys go feral for a day - only saw then when they wanted food. Good people, good times.


Houses re-organised = 1

Finally got the computer out of the bedroom and into the living room, partly because boys will be using it more for homework etc, and despite parental controls being in place, it's nice to keep an eye on them. Bedroom seems more relaxing already.

Jobs = 0

Hmm... the Italians are still mulling things over, and the UK company likewise.

Moorings acquired = 1

Am really quite excited. The narrow boat will soon be ensconced in luverly new moorings at Apperley Bridge - half an hour away. It means that I'll at least get some use out of the damn thing. Only thing to do now is find out how to get it from the Avon up to Yorkshire... crew required....

Ooompah Loompas, Fish and Chips, and Milano

"Well, I'm back." As Sam Gamgee said. An odd journey all round. I don't really enjoy travelling alone - it's just one worry after another - if the train's late, i'll miss the airport shuttle. If I miss the airport shuttle I'll miss the plane, etc etc. This time it was Harrogate to Liverpool by public transport - a journey that actually cheered me up a lot when I realized that if I try very hard I may never have to go to Warrington again. Oh, and I saw an Ooompah Loompah in Warrington - not in stature, but exactly the right shade of cancer shop orange. I even started to hum the Ooompah Loompah song until I caught myself... Then it was Liverpool to Milan by Ryan Air. Gods know what visitors to the European city of culture 2008 must think when they fly in - the airport is surrounded by the most depressing looking seedy estates - or Liverpool as it's known (boom tish) But really - it's almost onto the "scary" end of the deprived sink estate scale.

Did I say I was flying to Milan? Well, Milan AREA. Bergamo airport is some 30 miles from Milan - good job I was being picked up. A full on day of meetings, 8am-6.30pm followed by traditional Italian cuisine - fish and chips. Really. Sort of fish and chips. Braised Sea Bass with Artichoke Hearts and sliced potato, with a side order of chips. Yum. With freshly made lemon sorbet for desert. Double yum. And a Sardinian liquer - Mirto - to finish off - all herby and Myrtle (y), but on first taste, remarkably like Sloe Gin. Yum and hic. Nice, simple, family run restaurant, which was a relief because Milan made me feel as if I was dressed by an east european cousin of Worzel Gummidge. Especially as I'd dressed for winter/spring and it was 21 degrees. Still, my Italian skills are improving, although exactly how useful the phrase "look at that badly dressed sweaty man!" will be in the future I don't know.

Then back to the airport, onto a plane to Leeds, onto the bus to Harrogate, into the car to pick up trouble in trousers times two from school.

Reports to write now...all subtitled "Why you should employ me as an obscenely well paid consultant". Fingers crossed.

Displacement Activity and Jam Tomorrow.

I really should be working. Even though I don't really feel that I've anything to say I'd rather be doing this. Hmm.. nothing to say. Nothing informative, nothing witty, nothing helpful, nothing interesting, nothing remarkable, nothing insightful, nothing helpful, nothing supportive, nothing creative, nothing wise, nothing comforting, nothing. That said, here I go anyway.

The setback earlier in the week has left an empty hole where my enthusiasm used to be. But fuck me, if you could eat jam tomorrow I'd be a fat bastard. It's all jam tomorrow. Someone said to me yesterday that I seem to be running around at a million miles per hour, with "projects" left right and centre, but don't seem to make any time for myself. "What do you do for fun?" I was asked. What indeed? I sat there like like a guppy - mouth opening and closing and nothing coming out. The question still stumps me. Not a happy thought. Things that I might call fun just seem to be things that allow me to switch my brain off for a time - either by immersion or oblivion. So that's the challenge. Have fun. Sounds easy huh? We'll see. I guess that having fun means crawling out of my shell again - I've distanced myself from friends lately, and without explaining to them exactly why it's hard not to make that seem like a cold rejection on my part. One of the troubles is that a lot of my friends are scattered to the four winds, and an occasional email doesn't really replace the craic that we used to have, and I'm touchy enough that a lack of response to an email gets me either paranoid that my mail isn't working, or puts me in a "fuck you then" mood. Meh.


On other fronts, had to deal with distraught little people yesterday - two of the fish have gone to that place where fish are eternally blessed. Caramel the goldfish - gone. And the Mighty Quins (White Cloud Minnows) are now the Fantastic Four. God knows why they died. For once, t'interweb doesn't seem to be much help - I think that I did all the right things. Who knows?

My hat is knocked off, but I put it on again.

Bit of a setback today - the game design that we've been working on for the last few months seem to be redundant... a major US publisher has just announced that they have what amounts to the exact same game in development. Bugger. It looks like we weren't the only other people to put 2 and 2 together and get 4. A real kick in the guts. We have other game designs in production, but this was the one that everyone agreed was going to be the money spinner. If I was feeling positive I'd say that the fact that the publisher has decided to develop the game vindicates our approach, and that there is always room for one more game in a new genre. That's what I would say if I was feeling positive, but it seems like my pessimism is vindicated more than anything else. The little voice inside is saying "See? SEE? I told you it'd all turn to shit."

So I have the rest of the week to stew on it..... let's see what I can pull out of the fire... other than burned fingers.

Time will tell

Moonie got out the Tarot Cards last night, after not touching them for over 10 years.... the last time she did a reading the results were way too accurate for comfort. I didn't ask her why, or why now - I trust her in these things. Time and time again I've been shown that the eldrich streak in her is real, so I went with the flow.... It was a fairly simple spread, one card to represent me, one for the past, one for the present, and one for the future. Before we started, Moonie said "Don't get freaked if you get the Death card, because I think that you will." Hmmm...

I'm not going to go into Moonie's interpretation, or mine, but it was very spooky..... the spread was as follows:

1st Card: The Chariot (Me)

Triumph over adversity, overcoming life's obstacles, decisiveness and ambition in achieving one's goals, well deserved victory. A period of struggle ending in worldly success. Self control, effort, perseverance. Working within the boundaries of one's life to build up a successful existence.

2nd Card: Death (The Past)

The beginning of a new life. As a result of underlying circumstances transformation and change. Major changes. The end of a phase in life which has served its purpose. Abrupt and complete change of circumstances, way of life and patterns of behaviour due to past events and actions. Alterations.

3rd Card: The Emperor (The Present)

Competitiveness, forcefulness in development and execution. Authority, structure, governmental and corporate identities. Worldly power, self control gained through experience. Ability to shoulder responsibility. Powerful individuals, ambition together with the possibility of long term achievement.

4th Card: The Lovers (The Future)

Harmony and union, choices to be made using intuition and not intellect. Difficult decisions to be made not necessarily about love. Some form of test and consideration about commitments. Abstract thought, internal harmony and union, second sight. Possibly a struggle between two paths

For those who follow such things - all of the cards were upright...

Do I believe? Not necessarily. Do I find it interesting? Yes. Am I slightly spooked? Definitely. Time will tell on this one...

*Images borrowed from www.paranormality.com

Small Victories..

Sometimes it's the little things that make you smile. Yesterday I decided to bin my subscription to Sky. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth amongst the little people, but that was to be expected. I have, in fact tried to cancel Sky before, but somehow when I put the phone down I was still a subscriber, albeit with a cheaper package. So this time I was fully expecting to get the full scripted sales job again. True to form, as soon as I mentioned cancelling my subscription I was transferred from Mumbai to Scotland, where a warm caledonian voice seemed genunely hurt that I wanted to leave. The script kicked in, and when I was asked why I was leaving I simply said that I was watching too much tv. Cue a slight pause "Er.. em.... ok then." Seems that this isn't a standard response covered by the scripts. Result.

Friday saw one cancelled meeting and one delayed meeting, resulting in much frustration. Frusration resulting in too much wine, resulting in a hangover on Saturday. Way to go.

But, in the spirit of "keep on keeping on" another meeting due this afternoon.. Sunday working - who'd have thought it?
<< >>
Well, meeting over and it finally looks like we've got a little traction with interesting developements coming out of left field... optimism is finally moving up the scale into positive values.

Bloody Witches

Its' time for a decision, and I'm not sure what to do. I guess it all hangs on why I'm writing this blog, what it's for, who it's for and what I expect to get out of it... I've been to my first counselling session, and now I've got to decide whether this is something that I can share. If I rip my chest open and expose my heart what good will it do? What hurt could it do? On reflection I don't think that I will share, well, not everything. Still, twas interesting and kind of useful - even if it's just the modern equivalent of shouting down a well.

So what else has been going on? Johnny Foreigner has persuaded me to talk about working for them (an expenses paid trip to Milan - woo!). So that's one hare set running. Tomorrow is all about meetings - in the am it's all about serious games when I'll be putting my morals in my back pocket as I try to make a bob or two out of the military, and in the pm it's all about fun games where I try to make a bob or two out of teenage couch potatoes. Putting it like that, neither sounds like the sort of thing to be proud of, but strangely, I am. The scale of the task in front of me is bloody huge though, and frankly, terrifying.

On other fronts, a slightly weird night out last night was had.. not sure why, but even walking to the Blues Bar you could feel the tension in the air - little groups of teenage thugs, weird people shouting nothing - signs and portents. No reason why the rest of the night should have been so strange - but other people felt it too - vaguely unsatisfying and disquieting.. In the modern world we struggle to explain things like this where in the past it was just evil spirits or witches. Maybe its just the time of year for it.....

"In Christian Europe the old heathen custom of expelling the powers of evil at certain times of the year has survived to modern times.Thus in some villages of Calabria the month of March is inaugurated with the expulsion of the witches. It takes place at night to the sound of the church bells, the people running about the streets and crying, "March is come." They say that the witches roam about in March, and the ceremony is repeated every Friday evening during the month."

The Golden Bough: a study of magic and religion by Sir James George Frazer (1906)

Bloody witches.

"Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits"

A cancelled meeting, an unexpectedly empty morning. Today I was supposed to go to the heart of industrial West Yorkshire for a meeting that would kick off the first of my projects - arranging the fullfillment end of the distribution business that I'm setting up. But it didn't happen. With so much on my plate you'd have thought that a bonus morning would be welcome, but the frustrating thing is that there is little that I can actually do - before I can do (A) I have to do (B) and before I can do (B) I have to do (C) and so on... so I'm sitting on my arse again, imagining the money draining away and waiting for other people to do their thing before I can do mine. Despite yesterday's rush of bravado regarding the screen play that I'm writing I don't feel that I should be doing that when I should be doing something productive that would put food on the table, so here I sit, honing my task avoidance skills. Bloody audacious of me really, when I'm responsible for the feeding and well being of a wife, two boys, a cat and seven fish. Down to it then - there's johnny foreigner to talk to this afternoon, possible beers this evening, a ton of research to do, all the washing up lurking in the kitchen, and emails to write. I think that I'll have a cup of tea. Tally bloody ho.

Vanity or Therapy?

Like good weather, my optimism rarely lasts as long as I'd like. The see-saw has swung downwards again, and my previous sunny disposition has been replaced by the familiar gloom of self doubt and pessimism. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? What makes me think that I have the skills or drive to achieve anything at all? Where did I get the idea that everything won't turn to shit? Bugger. Only thing for it, keep on keeping on. Head down. Make the calls. Do the research. Button it down, bottle it up. Get the smiley mask out of the cupboard. It's one of the problems of working alone - in company you can put on the sociable mask, play the role, be the character you've invented - but on your own the audience doesn't fall for any of that crap. The audience knows that you're a fake, a loser, and they aren't afraid of letting you know it. A couple of months ago in real time I was put on a waiting list for counselling, and the first appointment is looming later in the week - I had thought that I'd pass, that I was infinately more chipper, that events had shooed off the black dogs, but evidently not. Roll on Thursday, and what I suspect to be a session of agressive listening. But I'll probably be alright by then. Probably.

As my moods change, so do my priorities. Bollocks to biting off more than I can chew - I'm going to stuff my face - another hat is beckoning. The screen play that I started is calling me again - writing it was something that I enjoyed so much, I cant think of the reasons that I gave myself to stop. Maybe it isn't ever going to pay for my retirement, but if I treat it like a hobby maybe I can get something out of the process. Vanity or therapy? Who cares - I need both.

I've been begun.

I always thought that beginnings are wonderful things, little parcels of hope wrapped up in childhood sunshine. But they're unpredictable buggers too - sneaking up behind you and shaking you by the shoulders. And although the signs were there, beginnings can still surprise and shock. I've been royally begun. Last month, after 10 years in an interesting and reasonably well paid job, I resigned. With a mortgage, family and life to support I just jacked it in. Without a clue as to what to do next. I must be a fucking idiot. So why do I feel so good? Well, (and I'm saying this so that when I look back I can point at this with hollow laughter) karma has come up trumps in as far as I've been given the choice of at least three paths to go down. This is where the story begins. Which path to take? Well, all of them obviously. So I'll be trying to wear a number of different hats from now on - there's the sensible hat: starting a web based distribution business in an industry I know nothing about. I think that this hat is probably an Isembard Kingdom Brunel type stovepipe hat, under which I can be a captain of industry, all gruff and Yorkshire grit. The second hat is the chancer's hat - starting a games development studio - an industry I do (at least) know something about - but it's high risk, high reward stuff. This is probably a "Flash Harry from St. Trinians" type of trilby - a hat that can release the wheeler dealer, artsy fartsy geek about town within. And as for the third hat, well that's the salaryman's hat - setting up a UK business for a foreign company (again in the games industry) that promises a fat monthly cheque, and the opportunity to do exactly what i was doing before, only for someone else. Flat cap - definately. Perfect for doffing or wringing between the hands in an "Ayee signor! The bandits they are comeeeng" sort of way. There are also a few other hats that have caught my eye, but for the moment - three will do. Fuck me, I'm turning into Mr Benn. The terrifying thing is... it's all up to me now.