How not to get promoted.

I had to work this Easter Sunday. We were not busy. Not being busy at work has produced many things. It has produced a sledge with old racing skis bolted to the bottom and a working brake. It has produced a mould so that I can make my own wax sticks. It has also been the birth child of indoor cricket.

Indoor cricket sounds harmless enough. This is true, it has been played in the store over most summers to while away the long and tedious days. They had never played it however, while I was there.

We made a ball, it had a sock core, wrapped in elastic bands and held together with tape. We already owned a bat made from an old ski, this was in the loft though and we couldn't be bothered to get it. Instead I grabbed the first thing to hand, an old junior ski about the same size as a bat. This I thought, would do fine.

I was up to bat first; the manger of my department was bowling. Only he wasn't bowling. He was pitching. Sure, he made all the motions of bowling, the arm travelling over the head, but the ball didn't bounce. It simply flew, at great speed, towards the wickets. Congratulations, you bowled me out. But that was a pitch, it doesn't count, bowl again.

This he did, and yet somehow he didn't. He pitched again. Once again I was out.

Now the challenge was on. I gave him the ball back, if he wasn't going to play properly then I was just going to have to change tactics. "Don't expect the bounce," I repeated to myself, "just hit the damn thing." This time when the ball came, I was ready. With ski in hand I gripped hard, and swung.

Immediately I realised this was a bad idea. I was gripping hard onto the metal edges of a ski. This hurt. I was committed now however and just tried to slow the ski down before I cut my fingers off. Well I didn't cut my fingers off, but I didn't manage to slow the ski down either. I simply let go.

I don't remember thinking to myself that I should let go. I think my brain did it for me to save my hands. Either way, this was not good.

The ski was now flying across the shop floor like a weapon from Val Helsing. Spinning as it went, aimed squarely for my manager. Contact was made. He fell to the floor holding his leg. I laughed my ass off.

I found him lying on the floor holding his shin. We were both in hysterics. Hardly able to say a word for laughing we simply tried to catch out breath, and then I saw the blood.

Suddenly this wasn't so funny anymore as the blood had made a substantial stain on his jeans. He pulled his trouser leg up to reveal a fairly nasty gouge in his shin. While this was still funny, it was now a more subdued "oh ha ha, please don't fire my ass, ha ha" kind of laugh.

Such was the damage he went to hospital and needed three stitches and a tetanus jab. When he told the nurses what had happened they didn't believe him. "My colleague threw a ski at me while playing cricket" isn't the most believable thing they have heard in Accident and Emergency.

Needless to say, I think I still have a job next year, but I cant imagine being invited to join the shop floor guys next time they are bored and need to while away the hours.

For me, for now, I'm banished back inside my workshop.

Me, my dreads and my tights.

I was stood looking at the Oakley cabinet at work a few days ago when I was struck with an idea. This was an idea so good that when I got in that night I e-mailed Oakley with it. Although I am waiting on a reply I still feel that it credits being shared with a larger audience. You are they.

I was looking at the names of all the glasses when suddenly I realised that Oakley could produce a pair of sunnies, the likes of which the world had never seen, and sell thousand upon thousand of pairs if only they had the right name. Like a flash of light through specially tinted and polarised lenses the idea came to me. They should name a pair of sunglasses. . . the Doakley!!!

Think about it.


Recently I also took the problematic hair that I own and once again tried to make a guy with long curly hair not look like a complete chump. I think I'm on the road to success with 'mah new dreads! Unfortunately it has only turned me into a chump in recluse. At the moment they are in that awful "bedding in" stage. This basically means that they look a bit kack, and will continue to do so until they turn into real dreads and not just bits of hair held together by beeswax. However, while in the vulnerable early stages it is recommended that you wear a pair of tights (well I say pair, I guess just one would do) over your head while you sleep to stop the little fellas from coming undone due to your relentless tossing and turning. I have dutifully followed these instructions and being wearing one on my head during slumber.

Now, and heres where the chump bit comes into it. Wearing one of these things on yer noggin is not one of the more comfortable things you can do. I mean, these things are tight! Maybe I'm just doing it wrong, I honestly don't know, I don't have a lot of experience with them. After a couple of nights I was thinking to myself, there has got to be an easier way.

And there is.

You see, your neck is considerable thinner than your head. Therefore, the seam which has been cutting into my head would not be so tight around it.

Stay with me here people.

There I was laying in bed, tights on head (stocking, tight, nylon, I'm not really sure what the proper name is for what I'm wearing). I'm laying there thinking, "This would be so much easier if I just pulled it completely over my head."
"No way" I think back to myself, "Can you imagine what a complete freaking loser you would look like". But then I figure, who would see?? It would just be me, my dreads and my tights. (for future reference, please shoot me if I ever come close to using a sentence like that again, there is only so much shame one man can handle) So with a little further ado, I pull the tights down over my head, Bank Robber style!

The pain - gone. The dreads - secure. The look - not good.

I have been sleeping like this for about a week now. Every time I do it I have to laugh to myself. Even if I end up not going with the dreads I will be glad I tried it solely for this endeavour.

Threre's a bank robber in my bedroom and he wants natty hair!

It is one month to the day.

One month. That?s all. Oh man, not long now.

I?m redesigning my website, I want it to be easier to post to and easier to use. I reckon I?m on the right track at the mo. The main graphics are coming together. Just need to make it all blend now.

Tonight my bro is out making the magic of television happen. Yes, it may all look glossy and beautiful behind the scenes but the people making that all work are normal hard working lads like my bro. Bless him, out till the early hours of the morning making sure that when you sit down with your tv dinner, you have something marginally enjoyable to watch. Ie, The Games, relax, partially enjoy and remember that it?s my family that make the magic happen!!

However, on a more personal note, tonight I am sat at home with a bottle of red wine, one glass, and no, read that none, friends.
The thing I loved about uni was that I could kick back with friends and enjoy a night in. Now, I love my family, but every now and again I miss with all that I am, just being able to kick it in an over crowded room, with too many people talking at once, with a relaxing drink and good company.

Call me old fashioned, but man alive, I can?t wait for my holiday.

Things that blow when planning a holiday.

Getting ill before you go.
Getting so ill that you have to have repeat trips to your doctors.
Getting so ill you are finally sent for a chest x-ray to try and work out why you are having trouble breathing.

Well, seeing as I'm going away for a nice relaxing holiday by the beach and not going to be engaging in strenuous martial arts training every day I suppose I should be ok. . . wait. . . hang on a mo. . . balls!

My work is coming to an end soon. A friendly sign that my holiday draws near.

One of the most troublesome things about my trip is that I will no longer be able to update my music collection. I could sit on the internet all day and browse around sampling new bands, seeing whats good and what isn't. It's a pleasant little pass time of mine. But once I'm gone, the only music I'll have is what I take with me. This gives me more than enough of an excuse to spend hours at home stocking up on material.
It was on one of these trips that I stumbled upon Wolfmother.

All I can say is Whoa-de-da-do-Ho. Rock isn't dead, it was just hiding out and slowly building a band with which to unleash itself upon the world. Wolfmother is that band.

Feel the finger burn!

I've spent the past two hours furiously tapping away at my keyboard. I have managed to get a couple of thousand words down and for once in far far too long I actually feel like I have accomplished something today other than another days work. My holiday is drawing temptingly closer. My bro's wedding plans are coming together nicely. I'm managing not to spend too much. My visa arrived safely.

Every day I dream about my holiday. Every day I worry that I've been dreaming about it for too long and it wont live up to expectations, but then every day I remind myself that seeing as I have little to no idea what I'm getting myself into I'll just have to wait and see what happens.

I think I'll make this website a bit more holiday friendly before I go too. Seeing as I'm going to be posting on a regular basis again, I think I should do myself the favour of making it as easy as I can.

Here's hoping there are plenty more productive nights before I go.