So goodbye then, September 2006.

You have blown goats in ways more hideous and insidious than I ever believed possible.

EJ Thribb, 17 and three quarters

A tale of two nights out. In one.

Part 1. Abbeys wine bar and restaurant; a little gem of civilization in Cod City. Taxied in to town in torrential rain and high humidity; washed and poshed, clean shaven, hair at the perfect length, nerves in the back still buzzing from the afternoon's abuse; to be honest girls, I was pretty bloody gorgeous last night. Nice Pinot Grig' for me and a Merlot for Kaz, quality scoff. Apparently it's not the sort of joint she's ever gets taken too back home, suppose then in the words of Hunter S Thompson "I suppose you're ready then ! ! ! ". Nice meal as you'd expect from Abbeys, coffee and conversation, then off to the Barge for a bevvie.

Part 2. Had washed, poshed and sartorial eleganced quite cunningly, a choice of outfit that worked in civilisation and also wouldn't be out of place in the grungier places I fancied for finishing up in. So it's off to the Barge for music and beer, then off to the rock club after chucking out time for loud music, Newcastle Brown ale and safety with a bunch of "sweet arsed freaks" to quote the late Ian Dury thus undoing all my expensive civilization of earlier. Kaz isn't one of my burds, never has been, never will be but she's known me as a mate for years and seems to know a thing or two about Shadey handling that certain people we know who can lay claim to knowing me best should have been able to suss out far better than they did. From time to time at the rock club, the stresses of current life would reach out for me, for a moment I wouldn't really be there anymore, miles away; suppose from outside, the thousand yard stare would have kicked in. Kaz handles this with a grin, a poke in the ribs and a drag to the dancefloor. No drama, no alarms, no marding for hours, no saving it up for use in an arguement later. Maybe I should print a user guide for girlfriends with this friendly information and other vital maintenance tips in it?

Wobbled off at chucking out time, jumped in a cab and headed home as one does. At some point, the earth rotates, the sun comes up above the horizon and so do I. Well, metaphorically speaking, you understand. Still sniffled to hell, Newcastle Brown ale is working it's evil plans and about that I should really draw a curtain and probably open a window too.

For those of you who are followers of the doings of Gizmo the cat:

Sorry, no great stories of kills to report, just a shopping trip for the little hooligan. Today, during a visitation from my good local homeboy Baz the Bike who's currently as happy a camper as I am due to complications he's got, the little pygmy panther came up to his catflap from outside and sat there for some considerable time yowling. The assumption was he was being a lazy monster, and being the over indulgent dad that I am, I wandered over to let him in. No, no lazyness here. His collar's gone walkabout, and taken the magnet that unlocks the catflap with him. So that's the end of the tatty blue cloth thing he's had around his neck since kittenhood, one sexy new blue leather one with shiney stars on it procured instead.

Minor supplies run into town; insurance money is in for the lost specs at V festival so a new pair have been ordered; a minor shiney kitchen gadget has been procured for my amusement. I'm conducting a study into the effects of shock on the human nervous system as my back is buzzing still from the attentions of the back waxing lady (I'm sure it hurt more than it did first time around). And I am now working up to aiding my recouperation from illness by drinking a very large amount of wine and vodka. Yay!

TTFN!

Had an enormous evening on the beer after an attempt at a tasty homemade salmon dinner. Don't know if that was a good idea or not, I suspect not really. Woke up to discover I was back somewhere in the virgin territory of anger at this hateful situation I find myself in. Very offputting, very foreign and nothing I want to be feeling for her concerned; something that's maybe overdue though, supressing it was maybe a bad idea.

At that moment, I felt very shafted by people of whom I expected to never do that; by a situation that I could see coming for miles, but when I raised it I was told I was paranoid; by a network that's got good people on it, but put a foot wrong and you step on the vipers, who bite and indeed bit: I felt abandoned; forgotten like a single shot of spirits on a Saturday night bender. Betrayed? Hmmm, big and important word, not sure I like it. Jolly f*cking hockey sticks for those who still choose to be involved that shit. Not so good for those of us that end up bloodyed by it. The net giveth, the net taketh away. Damnation be on the net.

This doesn't get any easier, folks.

Got up, sat down, wrote a pithy letter that'll never be posted and tried to sane out a bit. Trod on a nail in bare feet. Oh well. If I vanish from here folks, it'll be tenanus. My cat goes to my mother to look after if I snuff it, ok?

Still a bit of Kurganning going on here, so it's day 3 on the sick. Should be back to my, ahem, "best", mwahahah, by Monday. I have to be in town later; a few months back I had my back waxed as a suprise for FLoH; today I'm having it redone. No idea why. I must be sick in the head, or turning gay.

On the sick, day two

Having a Kurgan day. For those of you who don’t know their Highlander, that’s when you speak like a large Russian brutal barbarian who’s had his throat cut. Puts you in an excellent position to say things like “I have something to say, it’s better to burn out that to fade away” and “happy Halloween ladies”. Of course, if you don’t get the film reference, it’ll mean bugger all to you. Been battering down the fluid in the lungs and the terrorised throat with copious applications of FLoH’s patent throat pain annihilator. And speaking of cuts, that’s a sharp old cocktail shaker I bought yesterday. Shredded my hand while I was washing it earlier. Nice. Oh well, plenty more blood where that came from.

Went into town for essential supplies earlier; got some, couldn’t find others and spent a considerable amount of money on distinctly non essential supplies, dvd’s and books. Retail therapy is good. Being in a somewhat nihilistic frame of mind earlier, my calendar’s page for September now has the words “Worst f*cking month of my life, die September, die” written on it in big blue letters. Well, it’s true, isn’t it. September can f*ck off and die. It’s been a huge wall of shite, followed by an even bigger truckload of shite, mixed in with sulphuric acid and surplus atomic weapons with a cherry to garnish it with. I’m damned if I know what else the hell can go wrong this month, or next month, and frankly at this moment in time I don’t give a toss so I’ll put up my abuse at it and laugh. Right now, I’m a bit cross, but then frankly I’m a bit drunk at this moment in time. Anyway, to digress from the usual bitter rant this page is becoming, more retail therapy required; one of my elderly rellies has snuffed it, so a trip down south is in order to see the old girl off. Been promising myself a new suit for ages, and last month when life was still funky, heard that M&S in Leeds do a tailoring service. Time to pay them a visit.

I’ve come to a conclusion. It’s time for a trip. There’s stuff to be done, spaces on walls to be filled. I could always just go to Ikea and get some renta-art that’s on twenty thousand identical walls, but all that says about my home and I is that I’m susceptible to the same marketing as other guys. I want to buy it abroad, take it myself, make it myself or commission it myself. Either way. There’s travel to do. Miles to eat. New ground to cover. Laws to flout. And it needs to be done very soon.

Recovering from a shopping splurge in town; procurements:

Trainspotting - Irving Walsh (about time too)
Brand new friend - Mike Gayle (confessional male rubbish)
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (more heavy romantic fiction to wreck my head)

Oh, and about a ton of paracetamol and flu remedies. An evening awaits. Might even post a review. If it's good. Here's a little lyric to cheer away the evening...

My only promise is that I'll never tell,
Keep you at a distance from the things that I've felt
I'll bite the bullet, take the beating until I take it all down, anyway
What was I supposed to say?

From "Wind up" by the Foo Fighters. I've just played it for the first time in ages and like it. No meaning to read into it, don't take everything I put down so seriously, naughty reader.

On the sick. Went into work at half five... my bunch are off to do something evil in another city, but someone's got to hold the hand of the visiting team that are coming in to keep things going. Got the early movements out of the way, set the paperwork up as best I could then bailed out. For the best really, I wasn't at all fit to be there, sweating and chilled - tired as I was up half the night coughing and choking. I'm just a bloody hero. Or a bloody idiot, but then that's already well established. Questionable as to whether I'm fit for duty full stop. My focus is all shot to hell at the moment, I don't know how much of that has to do with the bug, and how much has to do with the stress that I'll be talking to the quack about as soon as it's subsided. Anyhow, taken FLoH's patent cold battering hot drink, thank you to her for the recipe, coldy things have calmed down a bit but I'll be leaving it a few hours before I do anything else thanks to the enormous alcoholic content.

Got plenty on my mind today, and when I get another five minutes to myself I think I've got plenty writing to do, there's plenty on my mind. None of it's appearing here though, sorry. Suspended my net community profile; prior to deleting it for good. I'm transferring my old journal from it into a word format, and that's a lengthy process; but damnit, it's a year of my life that was in the main good, and I want to keep it if only so I can look at it in five years time and reminice about what I prize prat I've been. Should have binned the group long ago; no offence at all to the lovely people I've met though it (irony! There are actually many good friends of mine off that group and some of them are working hard keeping me alive and sane right how; I never said I had to make logical sense all the time!!!) but working eight and a half hours at a screen for a job I hated then coming home and spending all night on a group that made me insecure is more than terminally unhealthy; it's let me do a lot of harm to mysef by the wayside and there's nothing but hell for me there now. I saw it before for years, watching peoples lives fall apart through the MSN groups, and then dealing with the pyschos and vipers on Feesch but there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. It was an addiction; part of my routine I couldn't break.

Time's enough.

You know, downloading that journal makes me realise that it used to be a much happier read. Really sorry about making you read this depressing hogwash! Normal service will be resumed... erm... dunno.

Today's a dark day. That which I hold fairest is lost beyond hope of retrieval. Dramatic language but a dramatic day. The insanity pixies would have liked to reach out and take me on a day like today, to make things weird, screwey and a hundred times worse. I didn't let them. I didn't bite. As it happens, sometimes I suprise myself, I found a big reserve of strengh I didn't know was there and acted for once in my life like an adult and not a rotweiller that's been starved for a week.

There may be dark days ahead without direction. But I've got a friendship to rebuild with the best mate a chap could ever find in the world (no disrespect to all my other amazing friends). I can do that. I can be incredible when I have to.

Work still sucked though. The cough I picked up at the weekend has turned into the evil nasty throat from hell, which kind of kyboshes my plan to make an appointment this week with the quack about my lungs; not a lot of point having tests if that's sitting on top of the pile.

Been neglecting for a day or two, so just for information, back in sunny Grimsby. Joy.

Beer festival came and went; some out of town friends from the Internet came to Ipswich to play; fun time was had, vast amounts of beer was drunk and so was I. Did feel to an extent that the absence of a certain ingredient was felt, only my limited social skills to keep the beast ticking over, but it seemed to go fine. Was uncertain as to whether FLoH deserved a beer festival glass (as it's got a yorkie white rose on it, and she's of the yorkie type) to go with her collection or not, but saved myself the decision making process by getting bladdered and bringing one back anyway. See, all my best decisions are under the influence. Adjourned to the Lord Nelson for dinner, then off to the Dove where amongst other things I drank tequilla. Always a quality solution. To be honest, can't quite remember the journey home. Sorry about your ankle Pauline, hope it's alright.

Packed the funbuggy with more gear than it's good to cram in it, and wandered off to see mother prior to departing, then off to see my mate Jon and his wife Shez for lunch - traditional roast in The Dales, landlorded by Steve who ran The County when our group had it's glory days there. Walking up there was complicated by the fact that my lungs are still screwed, but needs must. After that, collected my friend Kaz who's coming up here for a week's sanctuary from her mad life problems down there, and made a final supplies and greetings stop at my grans before heading back. Better drive up than it was there, but then it's a Sunday, no tractors or lorries around. Returned to one excited cat, who's been looked after by my neighbour up to this point, unloaded a small mountain of bags and boxes from the car which will take about a fortnight to stack back away.

Went to bed, knowing I'm due up at five am to be in work for six. Awoke at three, sweating profusely and with my mind racing, and actually for the first time angry about what has transpired with life recently. I haven't allowed myself that luxury. People in the centre of the mess have never angered me since I've known them, or if they've annoyed me, I've kept it down as best I can so this was the first free reign it's had, and not for long. Pottered about and went to work, although I wasn't in the frame of mind for it by about a thousand percent. Made a call to a good mate who's good at chilling me down and duly chilled down. Works still stank though. Bought a lot of bottles of beer in Tommy Esco's, and for some reason a cocktail shaker, if nothing else it's a nice kitchen ornament. Buggered if I know how to actually use it...

Excellent chinese scoff courtesy of the Hong Kong Palace "all you can eat for twelve quid" place in Ipswich... a nice suprise was that my aunt and uncle came along for the evening, with the exception of my cousins who're all away doing "living their lives" stuffand my father who obviously can't be there, that's almost all of my surviving family in one place. Didn't quite get away in the good time that I'd have liked, but was still able to peg it at speed across a quarter mile or so, discover that my chest is not quite as better as I thought it was (huff, huff, gaagh), and jump into the mirthmobile to hare across town to pick up the Kevster for beer.

Jumped in the funky Kevmobile, 'coz he's not feeling too up to lots of beer, and there's no time for it anyway and down to the beer festivale* in time for ten, ran into a guy from school who's name I can never remember but he remembers me and we always run into each other there. Then ran into my long time good friend and beer buddette Southern Sophie who's been an enormous prop during recent bad times, much jumping up and down and hugging, good laughy night on the beer ensues. Also saw my old beer buddette Tracey who's way too young to be having a fortieth bash this year, it's all a fraud so she can get her company pension earlier. Whiskey Chasers were the band (see Monday's entry for what they're about), very loud and good and unfortunately made it impossible for the Zoffster to speak to me when he tried to call me on a number of occaisions. I think the fella carries a Nokia 'coz he phoned me after that about eleven times, all of which seemed to be "my phone's in my pocket and has knocked off it's keyboard lock" syndrome; a common failing of Nokia types which is why I no longer touch them with a fifteen foot spikey pole.

*This is a play on words, not a typo....

Woke up this morning with a minor scale sore throat from satan's armpit; think I've caught the lurgy that's preventing Kev from going to Gloucester for his model railway thing. Never mind. I'm about to put the eyeball raping shirt on and go into town to kill this bug with beer. Organised most of my stuff for the journey home tomorrow and packed the car. Festival stuff is ready, all it takes now is to open the door and step out. Feels a little weird, there's an important ingredient or two missing but it's time to win the day. TTFN!!

Went to the pool anyway. Massive school party walking in. I walked out. Don't need a couple of dozen eight year olds screaming the place down while I'm trying to do my thing. Lunch with Michelle, picked her up from OOCL and spied all the poor drones wandering around in their standard dress of white shirts and ties, dreadful lives. Remembered when I had to do that sort of thing for a living; I can always critisise the department and always do, but it's got to be better than that. Then a bimble around Felixstowe; around the port viewing point and the wildlife sanctuary at Landguard point as I had time to kill. Sparrowhawk spotted on top of one of the massive dock cranes, looking for lunch. Me, I had carrot and pepper soup. I suspect he had raw mouse. Spent a lot of happy times in Fxt, but in many ways it really is the Seaside town that they forgot to close down. Pier's closed off, which is never a good thing in the seaside credibility stakes, tourist attractions mainly consist of arcades and crazy golf. Oh and three million tons of cargo in the enormous container port, fifty yards from the nearest caravan park.

You know, you really can't turn back the clock. While I once again had time to kill yesterday evening (a rare luxury I'm making the most of), I took a nostalgic stroll around my old village... the recreation ground, the streets I used to haunt... I can remember the high school looking a damned sight further away from the primary school playing field when I was there, and that running track looked a damned sight longer. Thinking about it, it's twenty years since I wandered those streets drinking cider. You really can't go back and I don't think I should look at these things and places again.

About to run off and pick the grandmaternal one up for dinner with my olds in town, prior to rushing off to drink beer. Chest seems to be a bit better, but my morale isn't very up. Certain things manifest in my mind which I would much rather didn't for a few hours so that I can at least get a fun evening in. Wish they wouldn't do that.

Hey ho. Time for movement.

In my ongoing fit of tackling things I've been meaning to do for ages, as you've already read, I ordered a set of prescription swimming goggles. They've arrived. And my chest is too tight to contemplate swimming. That's annoying. Might go anyway, we'll see what else the morning brings.

After banging out yesterday's entry, strolled into town for a bit... went to my old shadey back street second hand record shop, invested in a little Garbage (4th album, although I suspect they'll have lost their bite by now) and a little Beautiful South who impressed me considerably when I saw them both at the V Festival and at Castle Howard beforehand, so very warped. Met up with mother for lunch at Old Orleans, very different take on garlic mushrooms and potato wedges for starters, my chicken cheeze melt was more standard but very tasty none the less, a worthy trip. Had a little time to kill, so I wandered off to one of my old propellorheading haunts, Wattisham Airfield, the former RAF Wattisham - it's now gone over to Army Air Corps control thus the change in name. .

All change there; by my favourate spot at crashgate 2 (where once there was a smelly ditch famous only for concealing a bunch of SAS blokes during an exercise who got up and wandered out scaring the crap out of all the plane spotters after two days of hiding in their midst) there is now a neatly arranged war memorial to the British and American crews that flew from this place; a little known fact is that the first bombing raid of WWII flew from here, Blenhiems of 110 squadron, to Wilmshaven if I remember correctly. As with Blenhiem daylight raids, they got chopped up a bit. Crashgate 2 was positioned feet from a taxiway, in the old days the Phantom jets of 74sqn would taxi past you on the way to the runway, their wingtips no more than twenty feet away. Low fences, what one well positioned and motivated Irishman couldn't have achieved with a single hand grenade doesn't bear thinking about. Simpler, happier days. Not much flying, none of the resident Apaches in sight but photographed a Lynx coming in. Wandered over to Crashgate 1, at the very end of the runway. My god, what a fantastic site for takeoff and landing photography; why was I so stuck on gate 2 when this place was flying more interesting aircraft?

After that, back home to Barham, the village where I was raised. The intention being to drop in on Alan's lads night, every thursday evening for eight years, before the advent of shift working made me irregular. Popped in on Barham churchyard first to say hello to my grandfather, and see who else that I know has been keeping him company since. My gran's friend Elsie who died a few weeks back is there; was shocked to see a stone for one lady who I'm pretty convinced is one of my more fondly remembered teachers from primary school; of course we never knew our teachers christian names, but working out age from dates of birth, I'm fairly convinced it's her. That's a shame. As they say, the goodn's go first. Working on that basis, I'll be immortal.

Over then to Al's. His LoH, Claire was there for the start of the evening. Proof positive of what a good, no nonsense, sane woman can do for a chap. His house used to be, frankly a bit of a blokish cesspit. A very nice one, admittedly but it could be pretty grim. Now, all nicely wooden floored, tasteful wall covering, the computer moved into the games room, a lovely pad. Being a sensible sort of chap, he too has gone into cat stewardship (best not to think of it as ownership, eh), having a lovely friendly little tabby beast keeping them company. He's calmed down a pile, from the vodka and cider swilling loon of old, to a not dis-similar state of early middle aged'ness that I've got to, just without the insecurity, paranoia and insanity. Lucky bugger.

For a lads night, nothing much happened. It was known there wasn't going to be a game tonight, Sarge had fumbled his organisation roll and double booked himself at the beer festival; Trev' didn't turn up, which was a shame as I'd liked to have seen him - the first of us to marry, one of the few to achieve real contentment at any early stage; and Jon just didn't show. Bugsy came over though, not one of my closest mates. We always had pretty violently conflicting opinions on many things, his recreational experiments on the effects of narcotics on the human system, and thus his considerable scorn for my work being one - but he always makes me feel good, as he's one of the few people I know who's lardier and more unfit than me ;o). We're reasonably friendly these days anyway. Pleasant evening of chat, chips and "Tristan and Isolde" on the DVD gave Al's supertelly a workout. Pretty unmemorable title, but a pleasant and very well shot romantic film on the themes of big love with a certain amount of high quality hack and slay for the blokes to enjoy. Not so good if you happen to be a curly haired American playing a cornish hero type, and you don't like your heart getting trampled by death, moodyness, hopeless romantic situations, betrayal and big swords; and I'm sorry about that, I hope you get reincarnated as a character in a Wayan brothers comedy next time.

Thursday... so here we go again.

Not a good start to the day, a text from FLoH at stupid o clock alerting me to the fact that TV's Richard Hammond has got badly busted up in a drag car accident at Elvington airfield, a bit north from where I normally am in Grimsby. Critical in Leeds hospital, what is it with TV presenters at the moment, is there a cull going on? We're big fans of him both for his work on Top Gear and Brainiac, so was glad to see they've reclassified him as serious but stable, showing signs of improvement. GWS Hamster, zen grapes on their way over and don't let Clarkson do a review of medical machines that go Beep Beep Beep Beep or you'll be screwed.

"And remember, he drives 300mph cars so that you don't have to..."

Actually, I didn't mind the early text. I was already awake and reading, for some reason my much abused body clock did it's thing and had me awake beyond hope of any more rest at six am. Considering that dark scary things were the order of the drinking last night, and the power that they have to hurt the unsuspecting beer drinker, I feel in exceptionally good form this morning - really most healthy. Chest feels crummy still, tried to book a quack's appointment for that yesterday, but blessed be the NHS, got to call back on Monday as they can't access next weeks appointments yet. Blessings be upon all NHS receptionists. Yeah right.

A knock on the door a few minutes ago, it's the postie, my special delivery has arrived. Yay! My shirt for Saturday's beer festival session has arrived, although it's not quite up to the standard of the satanic orange monstrosity that I wore in March and that I love so much, it's an eyeball burner that should not so much offend the eye as gouge it out with a rusty spoon and skullfuck the viewer. That's my kind of shirt.

And there's more of Wednesday.... so busy down here at the moment!

Went over to see my Grandmother on the way to more socialising. Not a great deal to report there, dropped off some guff I'd borrowed some time ago and that was cluttering up my shed. In return she gave me more guff, another boxful of my late grandfathers's specialist woodworking tools that I've got no idea how to use. Apparently he was a bit of a dab hand at woodworking when he was a youngster; he was offered a scholarship but my great grandfather refused to pay for it, preferring to get him a job on a farm instead... his younger brother got all the breaks, going in to mechanics. Generally a far less likeable bloke, was always the favorate. Me, I'd have been fizzing at that if it had happened to me, but my grandfather clearly wasn't the type to brood.

Must have been weird family stuff day... I popped over to my old shooting club in the evening to say hello to the chaps and maybe do a bit of leadslinging. Someone mentioned in conversation that the range they're now using was set up for the Home Guard during the war years... my grandfather would have been in that platoon, as he was in a reserved occupation, couldn't be called up and joined the Local Defence Volunteers, later the HG when they formed. He was a support weapons gunner, Vickers water cooled machine gun and Spigot mortar; I've always flattered myself that it's where I get it from. Felt odd to think that we were both battering the same range, sixty years apart.

Was very good to see the chaps from the shooting club again. I'd brought my rifles down; I still shoot up north but very infrequently now; my club up there lacks the spirit and buzz of that place, even in their reduced circumstances, post Dunblane. I started shooting in '92 with handguns and I still miss 'em; modern gallery rifle as it's known is just not as absorbing as the disciplines I shot a lot of in those five years. I miss the shooting I did then, I especially miss my .357 Smith and Wesson revolver that had to be surrendered at the time, I put thousands upon thousands of shots through that pistol and if I think about it can still remember it's weight and the way it balanced; as with all things nowadays, life is more complicated, more expensive and less fun. I don't get nearly as much range time as I should up north, partially through work, partially apathy and partially the fact that the aforementioned lack of buzz in my club - my god, they've only just discovered postal leagues, we were doing those 14 years ago - but I still cracked in a lot of quite reasonable cards, and a few VERY good ones. You could say it's like riding a bike, but then that'd be putting down talent ;o). I was a decent enough shot with pistol when I was there; my coach said at the time* that if I'd have worked on it, I could have been county standard or better, but after the handgun ban took to rifles like a duck to water. First time I shot competition with them, I was entered as a decent enough Class C competitor and with a borrowed rifle, came within one point of stuffing all the class A shooters and taking the club championship, which wasn't bad considering there were some VERY good guys there who'd shot at international level.

*He was a WWII veteran of the Tunisian campaign. He also said one day as I wandered downrange to change my target board while wearing an army surplus jacket that if you gave me a big cigar, I'd do a pretty good inpersonation of a Panzer III tank....

As an aside, while I was there I had a very interesting conversation with a guy who's a winchman on the search and rescue choppers at the airbase up the road. He'd just been involved with pulling a German guy out of the drink who'd ditched his twin engined aircraft off the coast. The news reports all say the plane ran out of fuel approaching Clacton beacon, but the jury's out as to whether that's the case (unlikely, experienced pilot), whether there was a mechanical problem, or fuel contamination. Apparently, the joke going around SAR circles at the moment is that the German lad could at least have got his grandad to give him a hand with his fuel calculations, he'd at least have made Coventry....

Would have liked to have stayed longer, that was the most enjoyable shooting I've done in the last year or so and I would have liked to have stayed until my ammunition ran out, but duty called elsewhere... Left with a promise not to leave it three years before I come down again and scuttled off into town, to pick up my mate JH who'd arranged my guest ticket for the night's bangery and zoomed off at a rate of knots to Kev Towers, "meeting up for the first night at the beer festival for the use of" and the three of us headed townwards courtesy of Kev's Dad Taxi's. Waved my CAMRA membership card at the entrance for my freebie in, procured my commemorative festival glass and beer cards (you buy one of these for a fiver and they mark off the squares as you buy beer, cuts out the cash handling at the bars and makes it quicker and simpler), and got stuck in. Ran into Hairy Martin which is not especially pleasant, but then ran into my good buds Sarge, Fuhrer and Nick the Nice which was more pleasant - enjoyed jolly sociable boozy company. Mrs Sarge also turned up, the lovely Sonja, not seen her for a year or so jollification was considerable. The theme this year is "War of the Roses, beers from Yorkshire and Lancashire", so it's a bit of a busman's holiday for me; I decided to treat night #01 as a homage to the fine Yorkiebeer I've been glugging and have developed considerable appreciation for, for the last 18 months or so. A real sod of life at the moment is that things in Lincolnshire are freewheeling somewhat, you'd think from the tone of this journal that a move back south would be the logical thing to do and in many ways you'd be right, but apart from the fact that I'd need to sell several major organs on the black market to actually be able to afford a property down here at the moment (prices for anything other than the complete scuzzbucket I used to live in start at £200,000... insane) I've developed my existing appreciation of all things Yorkshire to a love that I'm reluctant to shed. It feels like Suffolk just with worse weather and sheep. Anyway, digressing again.

Ale was glugged in goodly quantity, was nice to have Hambletons Nightmare in something other than bottled format for a change, highlight of the night was a local one, Mighty Oak's "Saxon Strong" A T-shirt was procured for the weekend ("Pub Fiction", if you're interested. If you want to see it, you'll have to come and drink beer with me on Saturday. Ha!), and a mad dash to the bar was made to get a pint of something dark and scary called Fernandes Double Six when they called last orders way before I was ready to stop.

"Facing my interrogator and stuck for an excuse, dreamt up fifteen variations on pastry abuse"

Thus sayeth Mr Thomas Dolby some years ago, well here it's onion abuse, and it's pretty nasty. Could have been worse though. So far on this beer extravaganza, I've managed to avoid the Doctors Dog who paid me many visits after nights out when I lived here. If you didn't know, he's the hairy lad who comes around when you're sleeping it off and takes a nice big heavy dump in your mouth, which explains why your mouth tastes like shit when you wake up. He's not been here yet, although I fear I may moxy myself by mentioning him. If not the Doctor, then the Man with the Rats. You must know the guy. Sneaks around when you're in your beer induced coma in a red suit with a belt with dead rats hanging off, shoves the rats up your arse while you sleep and that explains the smells and discomfort, it's the rats trying to claw their way out. As it's beer festival time, I confidently expect that at least he will make an appearance.

A bit of an interesting morning, this one.

I'd dropped a cautious letter to my father before coming down, inviting a meet and chat, as I've not seen the fella for a few years... those few that know the particular circumstances of me being here will know why I'm cautious as to how I word these things. Since I left home, direct contact has been absent, although birthdays and such were always remembered, face to face contact hadn't happened, except for once about four years ago, accidentally in town. Been ruminating on this for a while, and in my usual way of worrying about stuff but not actually doing anything about it, I was set to continue until I decided enough was enough. The fella's over seventy now - if anything happened to him and I'd not done anything about meeting up, knowing that I should have done, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself. Anyways up; just a meet for a cuppa and a chat in between his bus there and the one home, but very nice anyway. He's not in as great as shape as he's ever been and is somewhat deaf, but he's still the old man; if you met him, you could see where I get a lot of it from. Talked about stuff that's never been talked about before, he and my mother, stuff before my time and certainly before my recollection; brought two pictures with him, one of myself and mother when I was just turned three and the scarey one, mum at eighteen. Should have borrowed them to scan actually; maybe that's one for next time. Quite sad actually; but probably not that unusual, expecially if you're fond of trashy romantic fiction... married with kids early, then encounters the big love, and I turn up on the scene. Hey ho. Such chances are the difference between me growing up "normal" with a father on the scene and growing up as I did, raised between mother and grandparents. What I didn't know however was that I had a half brother at the same school when I was there; three years above. Not a name that rings a bell with me to be honest, which is probably a good thing.

Been into town and picked up a couple of bar stools for my kitchen that I found in a sale; ran into a guy I used to work with while wandering up to the Buttermarket and had a yak which was nice. Turns out the bloke I emailed to tell everyone I was coming has been off sick, probably with stress, for the last few months. Hmmmm. That would explain the lack of reply!

Wednesday.

A planned sort of day beckons. There's things that have to be done, at certain times and certain places, so that gives some sort of structure to the day.

Beginning to think I should have booked two weeks for this trip, rather than just the one but then the nature of the trip is different from what I planned when I booked it; in fact the nature of life as a whole is radically different from when I booked it. Big things to address, and I don't mean sending an elephant by special delivery; wrongs to try and right; personal maintenance which is not so much of the oil checking type, more of a gearbox change in mentality. It's just the start. At the end of this week, I'm back into my solitary existance in parts northern, and the status quo for the last six years is just not acceptable, it's a hell of a challenge. The changes in behaviour that FLoH caught the sticky end of; the effect on my personality was not a switch that was flipped ten months ago, it was the cumulative effect of several years of self neglect, lack of effort, lack of vision, being glued to the idiot tube in the corner of the spare room to the neglect of things that actually affect real life. At times down here this week, I've felt answers close by for the grabbing; I've got to try to take that mentality back up with me when I return. In the words of my old school reports "must try harder".

Thanks due to Jaxx for putting up my horoscope on her blog yesterday...

"Tuesday 19th. You are in touch with your innermost needs and may be rather impatient about having to wait. But the universe has other plans in mind as you are told to cool your heels. Although everything has taken too long already, your confidence is returning and you know that good times are ahead. It's been a hard journey, but don't give up. You are closer to your dreams than you realize"

That'd be nice to believe. Of course one can read anything into these things that you like, and there's things there that I can certainly identify with. Of course it's bunk, isn't it (??) but it has to be said that iin some serious books on astrology I've read, open up the scorpio section and there's just a picture of me in it. Or might as well be.

For today. "In preparation for Friday's eclipse, try to clear the air of anything you are still suppressing. If you are into rituals, this would be a great time to light a candle, recap the previous month on a piece of paper, and then burn it. If you're not into rituals, then at least get outside where you can see into the distance. Looking at the tops of trees can help you move beyond your limitations. "

Sounds like a plan, time to stop tippedty tapping and look at some trees. Although burning this month sounds attractive.

Seeya later.

Tuesday...

More muppettry. Have forgotten to pack both my charger for my DSLR batteries AND my special shirts. Have attempted to procure replacement for both in town, suprise suprise, Canon charger units are thirty quid (yeah right) and can't be got for a fortnight; eyeball burning shirts are out of fashion down here it would appear. Enquired about the possibility of having one run up, but it's not feasable and costly in the time frame available, so I'm moving onto plan C which I'm sure will work.

A busy day, helping out mates in need by being a general good egg and superhero; a bit of a shopping splurge, made the mistake of wandering into Waterstones, got away with only buying another Hunter S Thompson ramble to attempt to engage the grey matter - that shop's about five times the size of Ottakars in Grimbo, I'm trying to resist going back before the end of the week, I think if I do my debit card may melt. At long last, got off my arse and ordered prescription swimming goggles so I can face the pool without blur. Or Oasis, I like them even less. This is an ongoing requirement; my chronic short sight has crippled my confidence in swimming situations for years, and getting it sorted has been on the list of things to do for longer than I care to remember. It feels good to tick something else off the list, to grab back control from the lunacy pixies. Not sure if my bank manager is going to be so impressed, but frankly he can go and screw himself.

Found time for a nice walk down on Nacton shore, perfect weather. I think an issue of living up north is that I've not found anywhere that's just nice to wander in that way; not that I'm interested in moving back down here but I've got no hideaways up there, no places to just go and be me, to chill out, just work, the domestic cell, the computer desk... it's no wonder I went barmy! It's not as if I've particularly looked for one either, and I think I need to find some as a matter of urgency when I get back; re-engaging with life and making the most of what life offers the solitary Scorpio and breaking the destructive bonds that have formed and messed my life up, and hurt people I care about.

Chinese for tea then popped down to Felixstowe to pick up my old mate Miche' for pubbing; her mother and gran are with her from Glasgow at the moment and driving her more insane and grouchy than she normally is already with proximity and cigarette smoke. Ain't no smoker like a militant ex smoker eh; the irony of her situation has been noted, mocking has been done already. Her mother's had me fully booked as potential son in law material for years; truth is though everybody knows we'd murder each other within a week, maybe we could have done that ten years ago, but we didn't and frankly thank god for that!

Then pub. Then jollity.

Met up with 'Mo and the aforementioned Kev at the Fat Cat for real ale related jollity. On the gossip front, it seems that it's the checkup from the neckup season; of the people I still know down here, three of them are in councilling at the moment for traumas old and new and I'm thinking about it, not so much for the anger issues which I at least think I can understand, but for all the other confidence issues, insecurity, begatting paranoia and anger again... hell, I understand those too, just not entirely sure how one beats them. Anyway, digressing... ale related jollity taken and enjoyed, reprised my enjoyment of the Essex Blonde (that's the Crouch Vale beer, not the barmaid, mucky reader), before sampling the Adnams, Mauldons and Chimay Blue; a favorate poison of mine of old.. At some point with Miche', chinese food generally appears and sure enough, a big bag of squid duely appeared at the table, and was hoovered by those of a mucky seafood fetish. Kev and I just attacked the famous enormous onion rings as popularised by several internet meets there, no doubt there will be a toll to pay for that onion abuse in the morning. It won't be the beer. Honest guv.

Heh, just for Biro Jules.

Here's the LINKY

Aha, the week off work commenceth...

Monday. Catsitter problems scrub my drive down on Sunday. Can't find my neighbour, or either of my usual two to confirm details with, so departure doesn't happen. If the neighbour's gone away for a week too, the cat'll have to come down with me and lodge with mother, a three hour drive he can do without - and frankly I can do without squeezing the cat box into the mountain of chuff that's filling the car. Eventually on Monday, locate my neighbour who's still dead pleased with the choccies I brought her back from Slovenia for looking after the hairy little demon last time I was away, and more than happy to do so again. Car filled to bursting, all plants watered and catbowls filled, and off we go...

Like a muppet, twenty miles down the road I realised that I'd left the facia panel for the car stereo in the house, and decided against going back to get it, so drove 150 miles with just the engine for company, on what is for me ... well, let's just say, Carlsberg don't make boring roads, but if they did, they'd have made the A16 to Ipswich. I have driven this road so many times in my life that it is utterly beyond any joy for me, it's three hours of abject tedium. This would be why I almost crashed into a line of stationery traffic as my mind was off doing other things, good job I've rehearsed that scenario a hundred times before in my mind and had an escape route for my emergency braking. Could fill pages with the description of slow sunday drivers, lorries, tractors, towns I've passed a hundred times before... Partney, boring; Boston, barely legal*; Kings Lynn, not fit for a queen; Thetford, bypassed; but I really wouldn't do that to you. Suffice to say, arrived in Ippo with failing light. Popped in on my erstwhile landlord, my buddy Alien Kev, then scooted across town to drop stuff off with my mother at her allotment.

Now as an aside here, I'd just like to say that since I've been away in the north, standards seem to have been slipping in my hometown, or maybe that's just the way it seems to me. On the way across town, it struck me that the inhabitants of the place seem to have been on a driving un-manners course; they've all turned into vicious rude bastards and on asking the muv' if this is the case, or am I being paranoid again, apparrently it is indeed very much so... there's a report of roadrage in the paper at least a couple of times a month - bloke sounds his horn and gets rammed then punched for his trouble instead. I've said before in my previous journal that I didn't like the way my town was going, and I still don't. If I ever live down south again, it'll not be in Ipswich.

Anyways up, dropped off what I had to drop off... my folks are big on recycling, as indeed am I so three boxes full of empty jars for jam were passed over, plus large chunks of my old bedroom carpet - don't laugh, they use it on the allotment, I think it's weed control. As my stepfather walked in front of my car to show me where to drop the stuff in the gloaming with my lights on his back (I'm not being mean, I would have given him a lift but the large amount of lawnmower taking up the passenger space kind of precluded that) I very much thought of the video to Radiohead's Karma Police, with Thom Yorke running that poor bastard to death on a desert road. Of course, David's never heard of Radiohead. Hey ho.

Anyways up, back to Chez Kev, a quick turn around and then off to the Fat Cat, a public house of splendid reputation and one of the reasons it's still good to come to Ipswich, no matter how crummy many of the inhabitants have become. First class beer on offer; massive scotch egg to tummy line, then a pint of Crouch Vale Essex Blonde followed by a pint of their own Microbrewery's Top Cat. Then off to nightclub land to student night at Zest (gawd, how old do I feel), where Whisky Chaser, a folky punk band of excellent repuation were playing. Shouldn't be dancing like that the way my lungs are at the moment. Suffered for it too. None the less, entertaining evening, plenty of nasty lagerbeer drunk 'cause I had to drink something. Hope my guts forgive me. Ended up having an extremely entertaining and in fact somewhat risque discussion with a young gentleman at the burger van who was frankly as camp as a row of tents, benter than a nine pound note and wanted to know if I was *absolutely* sure I wasn't bisexual instead of straight and therefore not in his sphere of influence. Must say he took his dissapointment well. Burger van man was a grumpy bugger though; if you don't like drunks, you shouldn't set up to work with them.

* This is a TV joke. Please keep up.

Something positive to start the week.

As I've not DONE anything positive yet, I'm going to blatantly republish something from my mate Jaxx's blog, if you're reading this hun I do hope you're not offended by my presumption, it's just a really nice thing to read in the morning and I thought I'd share it with my readership of two and a cat x x.

"As I'm waiting for the washing to finish.. the washing I've been putting off doing all day.. I start to think about the drive to work in the morning. On a good day, remembering its a 90 mile drive.. give or take, it'll take me an hour and a half. On a really bad day you can easily stick another hour to the journey.

I'm still smiling here. I have to admit I have one of the best commutes ever, well I think so anyway. After less than 5 minutes I can be out of this town into countryside.. and depending on the way I feel I can spend the next 40 minutes heading up the A1 towards Newcastle and the airport.. or I can turn left and head to Bishop Auckland. I usually go through B/A.. simply because I can't be bothered with the brake on.. brake off driving on the motorway.I say that to myself as I make the decision.. the real reason is the spectacular scenary along the A68 on the other side of B/A. It's also one of the straightest roads around here.. even though you have the occasional very sharp bend and almost mountinous peak on what are laughingly described as 'sudden crests'. There's one in particular I swear is a giant tarmac covered toblerone!! This is a singel carriageway up until the A69 which you travel along for a couple of miles before diving back onto the 68. Up a hill and the moorland starts to encroach on the farmland. There was some moorland as you passed Tow Law, but this second lot is wilder. The road continues along for about 25 miles until you get to a T-junction and the Otterburn/Ponteland/Newcastle Airport road intersects. Left turn here.. and you're on your way again, this time passing the Otterburn Ranges.. Red flags flying all year round just about. It was along here last week I'm certain I caught a glimpse of my first Red Squirrel.. loads of pine forests round for them here breaking up the monotony (as if) of the moorland and the (just lately) very purple heather. I've seen barn owls flying wild and free, deer, stoats, foxes, badgers, gazillions of rabbits.. and loads of buzzard type hawks. As I get closer to my destination, I'm taken through a valley sided by the reddest sandstone I've seen.. and I mean it's actually a RUSTY PINK colour!!! The very final leg of the journey has me twisting up a very steep climb, past a golf course and over a brow to look down onto one of the most beautiful valleys. Half a mil along a single track road and I've got to work.. park up next to the small copse, where mother keeps her chickens and go find the kettle. All the while I'm travellin I'm listening to Apocalyptica or Nightwish.. almost drowning in a kind of snsory overload.. Gawd I love the commute.. got it all to do in reverse the day after I arrive.. Smiles when I get into work.. smiles when I get home again "

So dragged myself off to the pool this afternoon... no doubt about it, Lake Bled's nicer but then so was the company. Actually learned to swim in 2000, but lost the urge and the confidence, so it's starting all over again. FLoH did wonders on the latter score when we spent time in the water in Slovenia, and I've been niggling for ages that there's six year old kids that dare do stuff in the water that I daren't. I envy the water babies, know there's no actual reason I can't do that stuff and as I've time on my hands, I'm back to having another go at it. Problem was, my puff wasn't all that it should be all day today, and I actually felt quite weak in the water, lungs weren't behaving at all. Think it's time I went to the quacks and got this looked at, walked a mile and a half earlier and was quite seriously out of breath; this kicked off for the first time in 2004 - I'm HOPING it's a mild allergy to my cat, or a reaction to the dirty air where I work. The worst case scenario would be heart or lungs, in which case I may be truly screwed. I was considering what the hell I'd do if that were the case and I was forced to give up my job. Suprisingly, I managed to come up with some fairly positive "what if" scenario's quite quickly involving selling the house, paying off the debts, getting into a rental in the countryside somewhere and repositioning life while I sort my health out - reading, gardening, going back into education, moving eventually into a new career.

Speaking of careers, an interesting morning was had... further from Friday's encounter, today it was MY turn to be sat in the middle of town on the busiest shopping day of the week in plain wrappers, except that it's not so plain. Eight hours at the wheel of an intercept car waiting for a call to go that never came... how obvious CAN three big blokes further bulked up by body armour under their coats actually look? The answer to that one I fear is very, judging from the looks we got stopping off for grub on the way back. Also, the plain coat I keep for such occaisions is great for the night where we normally work, but not so good in the middle of town in daylight... Dutch army DPM gortex parka, after a night time experience where I discovered that the issue coat is absolute pants for moving with ANY kind of stealth whatsoever. Never mind eh. The thing to remember when having a day tossing about like that is to remember that it could be worse, they could be making you work, the bad guys could actually come which would inconvenience everything and you're actually getting paid for eight hours chuckles with a couple of good blokes.

Y'know, I was thinking last night, the thing that's spoiled life for me in the last ten years or so is cynisism and lack of trust. I don't trust people any more, though experience and professional leaning I guess. Part of me wishes I could turn the clock back and chill out as I used to. Part of me knows that if I did I'd be stripped skint faster than you can say "sucker".... I rather liked the line from a book entitled "Is it me or is everything shit.... "

Referring to Blairite politico's complaining about the culture of cynism in the country, it said "being told off for it by this fucking bunch of vipers is like being told to put your tits away by Kelly Brook".

Bloody hell, this town would be an anthropologist's dream. Tonight, encountered an ageing medallion man with an open shirt, thought they'd been extinct for years.

Was suprised to encounter one of our works cars in the car park while leaving the gym; a bunch of our guys in plain wrappers, off to do something nefarious. "Oh, er, 'ello Mike, what are you doing here". "What would I be doing at a f*cking gym, stopped off for a pint on the way home, didn't I".

Place is crawling with eastern Europeans. Some jabbering eastern language at the gym, Polish and Latvian cars seen in town. Sorry, I know it doesn't fit in with modern touchy feely sensibilities but I don't trust 'em; especially as I saw a works briefing a while back that said that basically the entirety of Lativa is bent. And now the town's full of 'em. Hey ho. Say hello to my inner xenophobe. Anyway, bimbled off down to the seafront for a quick pint before scuttling off home for kip.... one to add to your list of "tracks that it's not safe to play on your car stereo" is "Caught in a mosh" by Anthrax; an old fav' of mine that I've not played in years, anyone that saw me driving though town bouncing around inside the car like a madman might have called the police.

Anyways up; more positive things. Got some Slovene currency to get rid of from my holiday, been thinking of all kinds of clever ways to get that sorted. Currently working on the plot that goes "sod it. Just jump on sleasyjet and have a weekend drinking beer in Lubjana before they convert to the Euro at the end of the year". I'm sure I can manage that. I'm resolved to go back there next summer anyway; be a little weird without FLoH but as it happens I have unfinished business with Mt Stol and Lake Bled, and I don't like to leave things unfinished.

Anyway. This is getting discordant and rambling so I guess it's time to hit the hay.

Interesting conversation with the guy at the flooring shop this afternoon, a native of Berkshire... never known anyone hate this place as much as that. Hates the place, the people, the tat that he's expected to accept as "entertainment". So negative. Mind you, in a peake of boredom I went out to the pub this evening.... wow. About two hundred there reasons there why I should get out of here before it's too late and I actually turn into one of them. Humdrum, ugly, dreadful people with tattoos and cigarettes, jewellry by Elizabeth Duke. And that's just the blokes. Jeeez....

Wot I got up to at the weekend.....

Pics by Shadey Mike
Shadey Mike being in the right place in the first place by Biro Jules

Well it's been a day of fun and frolics. Or was that a load of bollicks? Radiation training at work. Oh what fun. Not the least dry of subjects (at least if you leave it in front of the microwave on full blast*), and to make it worse I had to share a room with the Boorish Bore and Boss Bullshite for a day, two people I'd like to nominate for the golden order of the stab in the throat with a skewer soaked in chilli juice. As per usual, it seems my department is not up to spec on health and safety legislation - shouldn't be suprised, what with senior management kerfuffle and shop floor poor morale we haven't been able to organise a piss up in a brewery for years. I'd leave but there's really no point, it just pays too well and lets face it, I've got naff all else to keep me occupied. Attempted to get a few days , and the weekend off, but no joy. As it happens there's a bundle of people in tomorrow so if I'm lucky, I might blag an office day... got a bunch of pre-course reading to do, but I'm a bit bummed about the weekend. I smell something bad somebody's way coming.

And speaking of things that smell bad, or more specifically DON'T smell bad (tenuous link or wot), had the last of my tasty Yorkshire farm shop meaty treats for tea... my take on sweet potato roasties are improving, they're not quite right yet but unlike last nights attempt, they weren't horrible. Now almost out of fresh ingredients, but as I'm out sandratting for a week, I'll not bother getting more in. Other domestic jollity, no joy on wallpaper procurement for the passion pit (HAH!!) - going to be quite important in a short while, as I've got to do terrible things to the wall. I managed to chop my telephone cable while sorting out floor installation yesterday, so I'm going to reroute it up from where it comes in, through the loft and inside the wall to where it did connect up. Going to see if I can bodge it myself, got a bloke booked to come and look at it in two weeks time (yeah really, the best I could get, is it fuckwits chopping wires season or something?) if I can't.

And now it's probably time to go out and do something again. Going to drop my old man a letter as I'm going to be down there next week, it'd be nice to see him. Equally nice was the reply from Jules from my previous posting; compared to my last journal I don't know who's reading it, it's a lot less interactive than the last system where most of the readership had made themselves known to me in one place or another. In a lot of ways I prefer the old, but like I said, it was time to take a break from that or go bananas.

Ta mate, it was getting lonely here, hope you liked the pics!





*This is a radiation joke, please try to keep up.

God help me.

I just watched "Father of the Pride" and enjoyed it.

I can feel my brain dying.......

"Realise what you're giving me is feeding my addiction"...

Oi do miss me 'net. The haven for the bored, although I've got plenty to do; my routine while sitting at a screen like I am at the moment would be to bimble about on a certain web community and do not much. And therein lies part of my problems for the last few years, it becomes addictive and therefore you never actually get anything done; the house is still crappy after three years in it, the old one was crappy until I moved out. But my PC was spotless.

Have been hitting the jobs like a manic thing during the last few weeks, and that's no badness. Got my bedroom flooring sorted out today, as well as a quote for bathroom installation. Ouch, how much! Managed to cut my main phoneline while doing the flooring, which is a bind, but I shall get that patched up in the next few days. Aiming to finish off the bedroom before the end of the month; first room clear and finished... that'll be nice. But I'm already looking ahead to procuring flooring for the lounge, the problem with this house restoration lark is that my mind works faster than my wallet.

Hmmmm. Tell you what; this day might have been busy as hell, but doesn't it just make for a tedious journal entry ! ! ! !

Monday. Hmmm. Lots of things seem to have happened, just can't place my finger on them. Spent the day doing kitchen painting things, cleaning things, a certain amount of drilling and fixing things up. Beginning to think that rooms almost done. Stripped everything out of my bedroom prior to the flooring guy coming to hit it with hammers today (Tuesday). So not a total waste of a day. Sophie dropped by at teatime with a vanload of furniture she promised me months back. Always a pleasure to welcome her to the premises, she couldn't hang around unfortunately due to early starts looming; we could have fed the dog to my cat and see what happened. Backing track of the day has been Spike Milligan's war memoirs on Audiobook, one of my fav's for some reason. I think it's because he has a vaguely comforting voice (for a lunatic), a bit like a favorite uncle telling you his stories.

A strange one. Shortly after Sunday mornings postings went up I reached some kind of breaking point... for the first time since I moved up here, I really felt that lack of a local support network and reached a point that I suppose combined isolation with stress, fatigue and a few other kinds of negativity. I was screwed, breaking point was reached, I could go no futher. I had to do something, but there was no steps I could take, or could face taking, and I was bouncing off the walls, so I reached for the phone.

Now, I don't believe there's any kind of world plan going on here, or anybody big looking out for me, but the random text that I fired of the "if I don't get out of here within minutes I'm going to go apeshit" variety, went to Biro Jules up the road in Hull for no reason in particular other than she knows me ,why I'm stressing, and I've not bent her ear to boredom on it. Expecting nothing in return; bugger me backwards if she didn't text me back within a minute with a solution kicking off in half an hour. Flying display at her works, free available ticket; folks who know me from other places will know I like me hairyplanes...

So, grabbed a camera already fitted with a 300mm telephoto, and my 500mm lens to boot; jumped in the Mirthmobile and headed for the Humber bridge. Ten miles up the road, the car begins to lack acceleration, the temperature guage goes through the roof, a layby is sought and "the man who can" is called. At this point I'm convinced the oil system's gone kablooey so call in the bad news, but Jules says that the flying doesn't start til 4 after all - this is good news, even if the car is dead, I can get a tow home, leap on the bike and not worry about the enormous repair bill until Monday. Roadside assistance arrives in very good time, and to my great suprise it turns out to be a simple roadside fix... coolant problem, expansion tank isn't doing what it should. A quick fix, a quick test and the funbuggy is back on track again. Updated ETA texted, and off we go again.

Arrived on the Northbank, rapidly discovered that my lens selection was not entirely appropriate and spent the rest of the day trying to take pictures with a 100-300mm zoom that would have done better with a 28mm wide angle. Also inappropriate was my choice of clothing; balmy indian summer sort of hot day, the rest of the world is in shorts and TShirt, me? Army surplus trousers, black shirt and big boots. Hey ho. Met up with Jules and her fella, can't believe I'm the first of t'net to actually meet him in the flesh. Smashing bloke, they go ever so well together. Got a good feeling about him... I normally go with my gut instinct on people nowadays. If I don't like a person for a reason I can't quite place, they generally turn out to be shits six months later. This one's a good'n and they go together smashingly, dead chuffed for her 'coz she's a lovely lass who deserves some funky luvvin' goodness. Had a very nice stroll around the airfield site having a butchers at what goes on; it's the site of the former Blackburn Aircraft factory and they're very on the ball historically so they've got things like a 1932 B.2 biplane in running order, as well as building the replica aeronautical insanity from the turn of the century that Branson was mad enough to strap his arse to; plus a beautiful big Buccaneer on the gate.

Good flying display if you like Hawks... as it happens I do. Firstly the RAF's display bird for the season with the special paint job turned up and did his throwing about of aeroplanes thing rather nicely. Then the Arrow's turned up. Always impressed by the way their commentator times his speech to their arrival by the second. This years display is as good as I've seen, in (eeeeek) years of going to airshows; I've rattled off more film on them than I care to mention, but it's all digital these days so I can muck about and experiment a bit more, and I did with good results. Might post a few if I can work how how it goes.

Anyways up, to conclude... took Jules and #02 son back to her pad in the funbuggy, to be met by her chap who'd also just arrived, drank copious amounts of tea and took pictures of her pussy. That's the cat. Four legged domestic feline. Mucky reader, wash your mind out.

As I was on the north bank, decided to take a stroll along to Spurn Point to take sunset piccies on the bird reserve. As it happened, couldn't find my way there, so I went to some other marshy area of nothingness and did it anyway, then went home to look at a map to discover where I went wrong. I'll go again later in the week. Got home to a phone call from a lass I know down south, who is in over her head with bloke problems and needed to yak. Made a nice change from my own problems I guess, and I'm very good at sorting out other peoples for them. Two hours seems excessive though and I must confess by the end of it I was almost ready to take a contract out on the bloke just to make it go away.

Anyways up, that's the end of one of the weirder and less predictable days since records began, saved from being a pit of hell by really good people. Massive hugs due to Jules, one of lifes truly good eggs - a bloody lifesaver this time x x x.

I reckon Howard Jones knew a thing or two...

"And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be
The door always must be left unlocked
To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you

And not just spend the time just doubting"

Well, the state of my guts this morning indicates that there was an interaction with Newcastle Brown ale and vodka chasers last night. That black shit has never agreed with me, I'd do well to remember that. I also appear to be out of beer at home as well. Packaging on the floor suggests kebab procurement, they're not good either. Don't remember getting home but I clearly did. I do recall sarcastic comments about my "matrix coat" but the lack of abrasions on my knuckles suggests that my intention to find a codhead to fight was unsucessful. Good job that, I'd not have been pleased with myself if that had transpired. In fact, I remember watching eight plod leap on some poor sucker and considering it a spectator event.

So this morning it's playing mp3's of old 80's songs and drinking foul ginseng tea. I can honestly say life's been better. I can't get used to referring to my former partner as my ex. The term doesn't suit her. That puts her in the same category as all those other women that have screwed with my head and generally helped make me the messed up scamp I am in late 2006, and for which she's suffered my moodiness. Anyway, enough of that sort of thing; no names, no pack drill, no details - love and respect are still the orders of the day, and our laundry ain't public. Hey ho.

There's a million jobs to do that up to this moment I've been raring to deal with. As I stepped through the door last night, I was hit around the head by a years worth of paranoia, unpleasantness and just how much I've screwed up my own life. Not nice. The last week's been manic and hypermotivated, incredible amounts of things that have been waiting forever have been sorted and tidied out of the way. Today though, be it the beer or whatever, I just can't get started.

Welcome aboard.

Some folks will have read my drivel before on another board, some folks will be coming to this new from the Blogger domain; I've transferred my journal here for reasons of my own that may become apparent and then again might not, depending whether or not I ever feel the need to share them.

Hey ho. Quick intro, I'm Shadey Mike, the reasons I'm called that are my own. I write this tripe for my own entertainment and sanity, a few folks in aforementioned other boards seem to enjoy reading what I bang out so I've kept it up. As this seems to be an American site, I'll point out that I'm British, old enough to know how to spell and my views are my own, and very probably not anybody elses. I work for what you might call an "action arm" of a well known government department over here, and although I refer to work often, I work hard to make all references to my work oblique and vague, as although it may be interesting to folks, and frankly I need to vent some of the stuff that happens for my own santiy, I'm pretty sure that my colleagues don't want to be in print, and the organisation will definately take a dim view of publishing; therefore it'll be obscure. As at odds with my department as I sometimes find myself, I have no wish to be fired. Form your own conculusions. Any folks that follow me from *****.co.uk (the place doesn't deserve any free publicity in my opinion) probably know what I do anyway.