When little trips go bad.

I went out shopping today. I thought I would be about 30 minutes. The plan was to ride to a music shop, have a look at the guitars, ride back.

What actually happened was as follows.

Drive to a music shop; find another one on the way; have a look in there; keep on going to original shop; get lost; get found; fail to find shop; make way back to first shop; look at guitars again; not buy one anyway; ride home; realise trip lasted about two hours; notice legs feel odd; ponder that I have been out for 2 hours with no sunblock; have a cool shower; liberally apply Vaseline Intensive Care; spend rest of afternoon trying not to touch foot; curse myself liberally.

Honestly, my foot is a joke. Not only is it cut, but now it's swollen from where I've been kicking the bag, and then I go and burn it too!

What was good about the day though is that when I was by the side of the road blatantly looking like a lost foreigner, a couple of lads pulled up and with the aid of my map showed me where to go. They didn't ask for anything, they simply went out of their way to help me then turned around and rode off.

Lovely.

A plague on my house.

As you know from previous posts, I'm getting the life bitten out of me over here by mosquitoes. Today however, things managed to get worse.

I woke up this morning to find my kitchen over-run by ants. I mean, absolutely covered in ants. They were all over every piece of cutlery and crockery I have, they had built a small nest like thing in my sink and they were covering the entirety of my work surface. Breakfast was officially off.

I did the best I could to clean them up but in the end I just gave up from frustration and hoped they would be gone by the time I returned. In the back of my mind I was thinking the maid would notice and know what to do in this situation.

I spent the day by the beach, shopping and drinking lemon ice shakes.

I got back to my bungalow, took of my sandals and noticed there was a can of Raid outside my door. Excellent, I thought, they have sorted it out for me. I went inside and as my hands were full I walked straight over to my bed to put my stuff down. Now my bungalow is dark, really dark. I had to buy new bulbs as the ones that were fitted only managed to throw a soft glow on the ceiling, never mind supply adequate light for and kind of meaningful activity.

While I was stood at my bed I thought, 'hmmm, what's that under my foot?' I turned and put the light on to be greeted by the kind of vision usually reserved for horror movies.

Covering my bed, floor, table and any horizontal surface in the room were dead and dying wasps. Lying there, writing in their death throws must have been almost 500 wasps. It took me a moment to take it all in. You just don't expect to see such an outrageously vile site when you turn on the light.

I started cleaning them up and the job never seemed to end. I shook my trainers out and found 11 in those alone. They were under my bed, under my table, in my change mug, in my towels, in my clothes. . . just. . . everywhere!

In the corner where my wardrobe is there was a pile as high as the toe of my trainers and about as wide as dinner plate. They must have swarmed into my room during the day. Luckily for me someone noticed and emptied a can of raid before closing the door.

I got the guys from the camp and they decided that they came in through a gap in my wall which has now been taped over. My confidence that I'm going to make it the night is not even nearly restored.

I hate my bungalow. During the day I get bitten by mozzies which creep in through all the cracks in the walls; ants have literally taken over my kitchen and made any sort of activity in there impossible; wasps have taken up residence somewhere in my room and geckos hide in my toilet roll . . . . which to be honest I find quite cute but I needed something to keep the tempo going!

I mean, can you imagine if I'd been asleep when they swarmed into my room. I would have woken up to a couple of hundred angry wasps and been stung so freaking badly it could well have put and early end to my trip.

I'm not training tomorrow. There's no way I'm going to be able to sleep tonight. What I am going to do though is get a better place. I don't even care about the price anymore. Having to sweep wasps off your bed with a broom while avoiding the kitchen and being bitten by mosquitoes is not something that lends itself to that 'homely' feel I'm so desperately trying to achieve.

Ok Then

I know this is a bit funky at the moment as new posts arnt appearing at the top but I'm doing this so I dont end up with a load of posts just on the days I manage to get to the internet cafe.
Now my usb stick works this shouldnt be a problem as I wont have to back track so far.

Anyways, scroll down for the new stuff.

Denied!!!

I cant connect my usb stick to the computer in the internet cafe. Once again you are going to have to wait a couple of days.

But seeing as I'm here now.

This morning at training I discovered a new type of sit up. I shall call this variant a punch up. You lie on the floor in normal 'sit up' position, then someone punches you in the stomach and you do a sit up. Pleasant. During this same session I found out that if you do a set of 10 'punch ups' and the instructor says 'one more' he does not mean one for luck. He means another set of ten. You'd better believe that number 12 took me way by surprise and knocked the wind out of me.

I'm going to use all the micropore in the camp if I'm not careful. I'm now bandaging both big toes, one little toe and the ball of my left foot every morning. Tomorrow I'm going to have to start on my knuckles because they are starting to gross me out. I need to sort my punching out as well, I have no skin on my little finger knuckles, this is bad technique, only my first and second knuckle should be suffering.

Damn my soft English skin.

Why hello there.

Consider this your substitute post. I have stacks written back at my bungalow but when I went to pick up my disk it was being cleaned and I didn't want to get in their way.
Needless to say, it's nice over here. Feel free to consider 'nice' and understatement.
At the beach, when I'm in water up to my neck, I can look down and see my feet. Bite that Bournemouth!
It's hot, hot like eating curry in a sauna hot. During training I manage to get through about 4 liters of water.
I ache like I've never ached before, my feet are a medley of blisters and open wounds, my knuckles are raw and on my right hand I have two nice craters in my knuckle that have turned a whiteish yellow.

I'll post more later. I've got about 6 long ones already written. This place is a breeding ground of good stories!

Training.

Can only get easier. Thank god.

The greatest band in the world.

I know I've said this about some bands before, but now I really mean it. Last night I went to a faux English bar ( It's like Britain, but with the weather). I ordered steak, I thought I'd treat myself after my first real day of training. The food was immaculate, the chef even came out to see if we were happy with everything. No chef has ever asked me if there was anything more he could do for me, I felt privileged.

In this bar there was a four piece band. All Thais, there was a bass, two lead guitars and keyboards. This band was so cool they almost redefined what I class as cool. They did songs from the likes of Elvis and Ray Charles, even a quite brilliant rendition of Under The Boardwalk. But what makes this band stand out is the sheer class with which they played. The lead singer changed for the different songs, they harmonised with each other, they just stood in, were wearing, and even oozing the kind of cool someone like me can only dream of owning. I could have cried when I found out they didn't have a cd I could buy, in fact they didn't have anything I could buy to remind me of them. However, I do know they are playing again next week so I'm going to go along and when they take a break I'm going to get a photo of myself with them.
Nobody I meet from this day forward will impress me as much as those four guys managed to. That is, unless they find a way to bring Evil Kenevil back to life, but that goes without saying.

The Beach.

When I'm standing in the water up to my neck, I can still see my feet through the water. The beaches are so nice. There is no seaweed sprawled near the waters front, there is no litter, there is no pollution. What there are though, are vendors ever hundred meters selling food and drink, people walking around selling everything from wooden eagles and snakes to pieces of Aloe Vera for sunburn and soft soft golden sand.
There was a guy selling hammocks too and at the time I said no but now I really regret it. I've been back since looking for him but so far, no luck. I reckon I can turn my veranda into the ultimate chill out zone with the clever use of a hammock and a cunning selection of music.

I start training properly tomorrow. Early night.

Would you like a Rolex sir.

I spent most of the afternoon looking for a bag. I know just what kind I want but cant find one anywhere. I was in one shop and when I asked for one a note of recognition went through the guys eyes. He then took me outside, into an abandoned shop next door, and then through the back. It was at this point that alarm bells started ringing. We then went through another door into a small room packed wall to wall with bags, jewellery and watches. All the walls were covered in black curtains and there was one over the door we just went through. The guy stood in front of the door and told me to "pick one". Not so much a request as an order. Now this was a small small room, just big enough for the both of us and a counter. The only exit was blocked and we were behind an abandoned shop. Nice.

Luckily I noticed that all the bags were really expensive handbags like Gucci and D&G, I explained that it was for me and that I didn't need a handbag. I then had to talk him out of selling me a Rolex (read Faulex) and begrudgingly he let me leave.

I'm glad it happened now it's over, but let's hope it never happens again.

A night full of firsts.

I went out for the first time tonight. Seeing as it was my first time the guys thought they would show me "the sights". Needless to say, I have never seen so many beautiful women in my life. And I mean really really beautiful. Also for the first time in my life the beautiful beautiful women were all freaking over me. Usually I go out, have a couple of drinks, make an ass of myself while trying to be smooth, and go home. Here though, oh man, I don't know how to put this. . . the challenge here, is to not get laid. Where as you would usually have to try to get a girls attention, here you have to try to get them to leave you alone.

I was on water as I had to take my bike to the bars we went to. Later though, I discovered that just because people take their bikes does not mean under any circumstances they don't drink. They do drink, a lot, and then watching their painful attempts to get on their bikes and get them started at the end of the night kind of lightens the feeling that you really don't see them making it home alive.

I spent the whole night jaw open, trying to take it all in. There is nothing you can't see or do here. We went to an after club and -sober- I made it through to six in the morning. . . sober . . . stone cold sober . . . man it was a long night.

Seeing as I tried to take in a whole torrent of information in one night I'm still not sure what to make of the nightlife. I know they tried to shock me, and in some ways they did. I expected everything I saw, but knowing about it and seeing it are two different things.

If I learnt anything that night it is this.

The subtle art of the chat up has been lost. And romance is dead.

Come ride the death machine.

For 3 300 Baht a month I have chosen to nearly die, every single day that passes. This is not because I've once again sold my body to medical science. Doing that in this county is even beyond me. It is because I am now the proud owner of a yellow death scooter. A scooter, meant for death, painted yellow. Death is it's game, yellow scooter is its name.

Getting this scooter was painfully easy. I just asked.

What is your name. Give me your money. Here are your keys.

That's it. So simple I would describe it as a painless procedure, would I not die in a scooter crash of irony if I did so.

The first time I tried to set off, I shot across the street towards a restaurant, I'm now on the wrong side of the road, with on coming traffic and a while bunch of people looking at me. I turn to face my side of the road again, try to gently pop the throttle and once again I'm a flying machine of un-coordination and fear. Then before I get to the petrol station, as the patrons kindly drained the tank before letting me have it, I managed to stall it and flood the engine - - and this thing is an automatic! Once the tank if full again I shoot towards a car which has to pull out of my way, and then I'm once again on the road. Just me, my scooter and a population with the kind of road sense less "Driving Miss Daisy" and more "Mad Max".

I was sweating so bad by the time I got back to the camp. I had a shower, and then a sleep. I know that I just need to take it out and practice but the thought terrifies me.

I think one of the places the fear stems from is my brothers bike. When I went out on that we were going a lot faster than I'm ever going to get, but I had a full set of leathers on and a helmet that looked like it might actually be of some use if I fell off.

Now, I'm wearing a helmet that has long since parted ways with it's padding and the only protection between me and certain pain from falling is a wistful layer of body hair.

Falling, quite literally, is not an option.

The first causality of war.

Any by 'war', I mean 'humidity'. Do you remember a little while ago, I didn't make much of it you probably missed it. I had a few little things called dreadlocks. I loved these dreadlocks, I thought they were awesome. I preened them daily, I plied them with lotions and potions the world over to make them look good and smell nice, I treated them with the respect and dignity I thought they deserved.

Then I got to Thailand.

Humidity is a strange thing. Worse still when it's already boiling hot and all you want to be is cool and dry, just like my dreads. Humidity is like being wrapped in a thick wet quilt, inside a sauna. . . . with hot wet feathers inside you lungs. Sometimes the humidity is lovely, at night when I'm sat on the veranda in nothing more than shorts and it's warm, I mean really nice and warm, but it's night, I love that. The other side of the coin though, is when I'm training. Because when you feel like you're inside a sauna, wrapped in a quilt, coughing up chicken insulation, you kind of want it to be drizzling a little bit. . . and cool. . oh what I would give for a nice cool drizzle!

While I may have a love hate relationship with humidity, my dreads only saw it one way. The wrong way. From the moment I stopped off the plane, my nice tight dreads started to transform. They started to resemble the tails of small squirrels sticking out of my head. No amount of rolling could reduce the fuzz, infact I think it might even have made it worse. Dreadlocks like to be dry, when they get wet they start to unravel themselves because of the reduced friction. They also smell if they stay wet for too long, not nice. So there I was, day after day, rolling away and applying my ointments, and what happened? They just started to look greasy, wet greasy squirrels tails that will end up smelling. I tried to dry them, but seeing as I'm sweating more than the builder who sold Barrymore "slip-safe" tiling for around his pool, it's not really working.

Eventually, something had to give.

It is at this moment that I would like to thank Dave. Dave tirelessly spend hour after hour after hour working on my hair to get it looking sweet. He would do any touch-ups that needed doing and he would get the awkward ones at the back that I couldn't reach. Without him, I would have never had dreads in the first place.

So one day, after morning training, I decided enough was enough, these things have got to go. I dutifully armed myself with shampoo, a steel comb, and time.

Needless to say, getting them out was a lesson in patience and pain. So much so that I haven't been able to get them out completely. Some of them are too stubborn to budge. This means I'm now left with a big mop of hair that is reminiscent of a badly kept seven year old boys. A big mess full of knots.

At some point, I need to find a barbers on this island and get the whole lot cut off.

Please note here people that I made a decision, I chose substance over style. . . this county is doing strange things to my head!

If you're on a plane and it crashes somewhere remote, hope I'm on board.

This isn't because I think I would be of any use. The only use I would be was if you were looking for someone who was comically hysterical, and even then I'd just get annoying. No, the reason I would be of so much use to you is that I taste great. I mean really great. Not wanting to sound too big headed about the whole thing I took a poll. I mean who am I to say I taste great, it's not like I've ever really had the opportunity to sample my own flesh. The poll was easy. If you like me, bite me, if you don't, leave. The results were outstanding. 143 out of 120 000 000 mosquitoes think I'm the best thing since a dog. When faced with statistics such as those it seems almost child like to complain that these bites are concentrated around the straps on my sandals making walking painful, and my left arm, for no reason I can fathom.

The French Lady.

If I sit on a bus and drink, I could get arrested. There are some parts of my city where if I drink in public, I get fined. I'm not even allowed to drink and ride my mountain bike. So why, please tell me, do they see it fit to serve alcohol on airplanes.

There just doesn't seem to be any logic behind it. Take a group of people, put them into what could become a stressful situation, cram them together and let them get drunk. What insight.

On this particular flight I was lucky enough to get the seat by the emergency exit. Lucky, I thought, as this meant I would be able to get some sleep as I had extra leg room to fit myself into. This seemed like such a good catch until the plane took off. On the ground it was quiet and serene and my leg room was my own, in the air the door was so noisy I couldn't sleep and my leg room was continually interrupted.

On the same flight as me, sitting in the aisle seats, there was a group of French people. Now I don't want this to turn into a French bashing post . . . but here we go anyway. The one particular French lady started drinking wine a full hour into a seven hour flight. She then continued to drink wine until she was suitable inebriated. This is, unsurprisingly, when she started making an ass of herself. As if singing was not enough, she started talking to the guy in front of me who could talk a few words of French. Busted, I though, he's gonna get stuck with the crazy lady. . . oh how fate laughed at me that day.

While I was gazing out the window she noticed me and thought she would come have a look too. As there was enough room to kneel in front of the door -barely- she did just that. Only, there wasn't quite enough space and her breasts ended up resting squarely on my knees. It wasn't a case of "oh oh, her breasts just brushed my knees" more "her breasts are fully, and with all their weight, on my knees. . . classy".

She then started to talk to me. In French. She would look out the window, look at me, talk for a while, I would do my best British tact of smiling politely while forming this post in my head. I understood a couple of words. There was Mag-Nif-Eek, and then later Be-You-Tee-Fall. I think she was talking about the clouds, I'm not entirely sure as I was far too distracted by the battering my knees were getting. I mean, there's no way in that turbulence free sky that she didn't realise her every movement and gesture was causing her breasts to knock, roll and rest on my knees. I was taken aback. I didn't know what to say. Luckily for me, my fake laugh and smile got me through the worst of it.

Then as we coming into landing, she was still being an ass and then she just got out of her seat and started dancing. A lady who was sat near her grabber her arm and very politely told her that she needed to be sat down as we were coming into land.

Boom.

All hell broke lose. There was a whole load of swearing going off. I don't know French, but you can tell when someone is swearing, and she was, repeatedly. This woman just wouldn't shut up, and then the best thing is, she was getting so mad that she wound herself up and just started getting madder. The poor woman that was trying to help her ended up getting a face full of abuse, then other customers started telling this woman to calm down and take her seat; so she started swearing with higher force and frequency, gotta love the French.

Security had to come over and see what the matter was, then when they grabber hold of her, she had a go at one of the people she was travelling with. He'd had a bit to drink as well and then both of them started on each other. There was another round of "who can be loudest" and then the Saudi security guy took her to another part of the plane. There was a little bit of clapping, people made sure the nice woman whom unfortunately started this whole thing off was ok, and we came into land.

This should have been the end of it. We had out bit of Air Rage, all would now be well. That should have been the end of it, yes; but guess what?

Lining up at Thai customs we were chatting and wondering what had become of her. It didn't take long before all our questions were answered as the now familiar sound of a drunk French woman swearing at the top of her voice rang through immigration. At this point I was at the gate getting my passport checked. The customs official stopped what he was doing for a while to watch her. A colleague of his called security. He looked at her, looked at me, stamped my passport and gave it me back. All through this he had been keeping an eye on her as she was in his queue, security were now approaching. As he gave me the all clear I nodded over to her, looked back at him and said "Have fun", for the first time since I saw him, he smiled. It was a smile that said "Ohhhhhh, I'm gonna".

Nearly There.

I've just got into Bangkok, thought I'd give my first internet cafe a whirl. The journey hasnt been too bad so far, apart from a complete lack of sleep there havnt been too many upsets, of course there have been some, otherwise I'd have nothing to write about, but they will have to wait untill I have more time.

Cant say much, got to go try and get some sleep before my next flight and the big introduction, I need to shave (Yes, it has been that long since I set off, nearly a week!!! har har har) and get some food.

Untill next week.

I'm off guvner.

Well this is it. My final post from the safe and comfortable shores of home. Next time I post it shall be from Thailand. In about three hours I have to go and start my journey. Hopefully it shall be uneventful and routine, the last thing I want is a hilarious "and then the engine failed and everyone started screaming" story to write about.

Thanks to everyone who has helped out with time or things over the past few days. A postcard shall be your gift!

Also, if anyone out there knows of an easy way to host and post pictures in blogger while I'm away then comment up. I'll be using internet café's so it's all gotta be online.

Here I go. Lets hope it doesn't hurt too much!

A question of customs.

This Wednesday I leave. Finally, after all the waiting and work, it?s nearly time for me to go. But now a question.

Do I take all my training supplements with me on the plane, or post them.

Let me explain.

To post them costs a lot. And I mean a Lot! It will be close to £100 to get it all over there with registered post. I wouldn?t want to use anything less than this as if it gets lost I?m stuffed, all for an extra twenty quid.

To take them in my bag may mean a very stressful questions and answers session with the Thai authorities as I try and convince them that the kilo?s of white powder I have in my bag are Not Drugs!! That they are Legal, and that I don?t want to spend the rest of my life in Prison!

And so I have to ask myself, am I overreacting, and I?ll be ok going through customs with completely legal substances, receipts and tamper proof containers; or should I just post it.

Most people think ?oh just take them through you wimp, you?re not doing anything wrong.? However, these are not the same people that have to take part in a sit down chat with Thai customs officials.

That, unfortunately, would be me.

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.

Hotmail blows.

So they have decided that for 'security' reasons I can no longer seamlessly integrate with Outlook. Last week they disabled my Outlook support and made me log in through a browser and do this little "type in the letters you see in the picture" test. This was a mere annoyance to me, I could have forgiven this and see how it may be necessary. However, once you have done this you have to download all your mail to outlook again. Which in my case puts in into the hundreds. How is this not the most stupid thing they could have thought of.

So while this really annoyed me. I thought I would let them off. After all I've been using hotmail for years now and although I never liked the online side, it has always been fine through Outlook. Then this week I get the same message from them telling me that I have to do the 'security check' again. Now it's starting to become an annoyance. Once I have completed this for the second time I then have to download all my mail. . AGAIN!!!

This is starting to border on the ridiculous for me now. The whole point of using Outlook is that I don't have to go through a brower and log in every time. So while this has got my back up I get an e-mail from Hotmail saying how they are no longer supporting Outlook for new accounts.

Well, if that isn't the sound of warning bells I don't know what it. So instead of putting up with their ridiculous security check every week, and instead of having to download my mail every week ( which Completely destroys the point of using Outlook in the first place ) I am simply ditching Hotmail.

Hotmail is dead, long live Gmail.

Make time go faster.

Plans are coming together nicely. I pick me tickets up this week and then all I have to do is buy any toys I want to take with me. My accommodation is all sorted, they are looking forward to meeting me at the camp. I have been told to take a protein shake with me and my favourite supplement so it looks like all that time trying to put weight on might finally come to some use.

I'm working a lot. This is why I'm not posting. You don't want to hear about my work everyday. Remember, I leave in April. I'm trying to work every day I can until then. I've managed to scam my way into working every day this week. I keep on working out how much I earn in a day in Thai Baht, it is little things like this, that keep my going!

I also discovered my new favourite music track today. It makes me want to jump around waving my arms in the air in the most stupid way I can think of. I'm going to play it sooo much at work to keep me in the holiday mood.

Single digit weeks left.

So. . . painfully . . . close.

I'm doin it.

Yup, that's right. I booked my tickets today. I finally have something to look forward to. My decision is made, the flights have my name on them. April is the month, the 20th is the date. Put it in your diaries.

For on that date, I will be taking my merry self over to Thailand. You heard me right people, I'm off to Thailand. How long for you ask, well about six months actually. Oh yeah, six glorious months of Thai sun, sea, shin splints and getting the shit kicked out of me.

Yup, you heard me right again. I'm going to spend the majority of the time getting the shit kicked out of me. No no, not because I'm planning on keeping the English tradition alive of sullying others cultures by getting drunk and insulting, but because I'm going to be spending my time living at a Thai Boxing camp.

Again, you were not misled. I'm going to Thailand for six months to train in Thai Boxing. I'm staying at a boxing camp and by the time I get back I should be in the shape of my life.

I am truly excited with equal portions of fear thrown in for good measure.

Keep on checking back. Wardys got something to write about again!

Sloppy writing killed the cat.

There is an advert on at the mo for a cat sanctuary that says ?remember, for every cat we take in, there are two others in need of help.?
By my logic this means that if I game them money I would be making the situation worse. So instead of that, I?m going to actively make two cats homeless, thus securing a place at the sanctuary for one lucky moggy.

Say goodbye to hair.

There is no reason, not to play this.

Gold from my bowels.

Well after three days of losing as much fluid as possible out of every orifice that leads to my stomach, I am finally on the up.

In these three days however, I have discovered something great. I have discovered Dream Evil. (disclaimer - this picture on this site is sooooo camp it completely ruins any respect you may have for them. I almost cried when I saw this picture, my heroes shot down in a hail of silver face paint and guys holding hands) However, any damage the picture may have caused is quickly erased when you hear the first track of their new album The Book Of Heavy Metal. You can download it from the site but I'm not sure of the legality so I didn't tell you to, ok. Anyways, should you download it, you are only in for disappointment. The best part of the track is missing. At the very beginning of the track on the album version, the singer lets rip with a high pitched and sustained voice tearing scream of "Meeettttaaaaaaaaaaaalll." Pure Genius. It sets the song up perfectly. This tracks has now knocked Metallicas The Call Of Ktulu off the top spot as my Clean The Workshop track.

This song rules, of this there is no doubt. But when someone from the store came in my workshop and went "the singer sounds like that guy from The Darkness" I nearly puked and crapped myself all over again.

. . . and relax.

Having spent the day carefully crafting a cd of immeasurable quality with which to astound a friend of mine, I sat back and did some good old fashioned day-off relaxing.

Firstly I started reading Down And Out In The Magic Kingdom, I got to chapter 4 and will finish it off after I've printed it so I can sit in a comfy chair to read. Then I played a bit of piano, then a bit of guitar (man, I wish I was good at either of these) after which I decided I would leave it up to the pros and retired to my favourite spot in front of my speakers.

However, I then spent the next hour-and-a-bit in random and impossible to resist bouts of inane grinning and spurts of laughter. Go and see for yourself.

Thanks to Grumps for supplying me with the link.

Proof positive, as if you needed it, that all the time I sunk into getting my contact page to work is starting to pay off.

Flame On!

About a week ago Chris thought he would kick the proverbial hornets nest around a bit and see if he could cause a fuss. Post Here. He did, and quite managed to upset Ann. I did my bit to calm the situation but ended up not helping at all. Mike then jumped in with one of the best units of measurement I have ever heard off and quite upset Sarah. Chris did some clever self-depreciating and Sarah calmed down with a little self-hate of her own and everything settled.

Chris then moved on and talked about oil prices. Post Here. ydelek and SoCalJ helped with providing real time statistics and Mike thought he would add a touch of British humour. SoCalJ completely missed the British art of sarcasm and got narked.

With all that going off I thought "It will never last. Sooner or later we are going to get a post that starts 'I don't know what to talk about today' and then go onto talk about nothing for three paragraphs." I was expecting this, it is the way of Chris.

But then what happened, something incredible. The flame wars truly came to life and some random lass came in, all guns blazing with insults and more. Boy is she pissed! This is what Chris has been trying to do for days now, really really get under someones skin, and finally, he cracked it. Sarah helped translate for those of us who could only read the short words and then ydelek comes in with the greatest closing sentence in history.

Keep up the good work people. You are brightening my days.

Fatties, Tramps and Jews.

No, not the clever title of a book, but the clientele of a petrol station we were at Saturday night, pre camping trip.

After filling the car up we took another twenty minutes to get to the car park in the Peaks that we were to depart from. A swift walk into the woods and were at our clearing. We collected wood, pitched our tents, lit the fire, then got down to some serious chinwagging and drinking.

It seemed like such a good idea in theory. We would work all Saturday, then go camping Saturday night, then get up and go to work on Sunday.
It seemed like such a good idea in theory.

Waking up on Sunday was horrible. I lay there, fully clothed in my sleeping bag, thinking ?I?m laying in the middle of a wood in the peak district, and I have to be at work in about an hour!?

We made it to the door with not a second to spare. We got changed on the shop floor and spent the day serving customers in our unwashed state, stinking of wood smoke.
It was ace.

My love of music is refreshed.

I have recently found some sites on the internet which have reaffirmed my faith in good music. Having been on a bit of a sabbatical from hunting around for tunes, I thought I would give it another go last week. Am I ever glad I did! Thanks to the wave of blogs out there that concentrate on music I have managed to find myself some of the most amazing music. Yeah, you still have to listen to the hours of crap and average stuff before you get your hands on the gold, but that?s half the fun. It makes finding those special tracks so much more satisfying. I spend my days listening to what I?ve scavenged and then when I get home I whittle it down to the select few.
The quality of what I have found even spurred me on to go and buy new cables for my stereo so I can use that istead of relying on headphones.

Which brings me to another point.

While listening through speakers is better during the day, when night closes in headphones rule. I have taken some of these tracks to bed with me (so to speak) and laying there in the dark, fully submerged in music. . . it just blows me away.
Some people get passionate about films, I rarely go to the cinema. Some get passionate about books, I?m a casual reader. For me, laying in the dark, eyes closed, submerging yourself in music. . . that is a passion that owns me.

The holidays are over.

My bedroom is a medlee of beer bottles, tea mugs and clothes. There is a quarter eaten Toblerone on the floor, assorted socks, travel insurance information, one glove and unplugged computer speakers in between my bed and the door. I avoid these things rather than move them, somehow moving them is too much effort and stepping over/around/on them each and every time I use my door is acceptable.

Next to my keyboard I have pennies and bottle tops, pay slips, cd cases and a remote control for a stereo that doesn't work. Even the files on my computer have somehow become jumbled. My usual anal habit of keeping the desktop clutter-free has been left by the wayside.

I got in from work today and had a beer and a quarter of Toblerone for dinner, then I washed it all down with a couple more beers.

Next day off I get, I have to tidy.

The holidays are over people, get back to normal.

Well that's Christmas over and done with.

Moving onto the year ahead I'm going on holiday. It is going to be massive. I'm pretty sure on where I'm going and what I'm doing but until I do I'm not going to leave a trial of bread crumbs, I'm just going to leave you in the dark and then hit you with it. It's going to be sooooo ace. I'll have something to write about again. Sweet.

At work today one of my machines caught fire. Not a big one, more a smoulder than a fire, but still. . .

All my training came into its own, years of lectures and self preservation techniques kicked straight into action as to stop the fire alarm going off, I poured cold coffee onto a large electrical machine.

If there is one thing I need a the moment. . . . it's that holiday!

Where's a good protest when you want one.

Today at work we were hoping for Animal Rights Protestors to come to the shop and start harking on about how terrible it is that a couple of animal had to die for the well being of the human race. Me and the rest of the staff were soooo up for a big protest. Something to give the day a bit of flavour. And yet, it would seem apathy won yet again and nobody turned up. Booo.

So I had to spend a normal day at work with no crowd of crazy tree huggers banging drums and trying to be political to cheer me up.

It's weird, being quite liberal myself I thought I would be able to sympathise with animal rights people, but I just can't. When they go on (and on) about how terrible it is that we test drugs on rats I just think, "well hey dude, I test them too so quit bitchin'", then when they say that we shouldn't use animals for science I think, "well hey dude, my bro would be dead if we didn't so quit bitchin'", then they use the good old 'Meat is Murder' line I think, "well hey dude, meat is dinner, so why don't you bite me instead and quit bitchin'".

Other stores got protestors, we got nothing. . . . denied.

*cough* *cough*

For the majority of the day I have to wear a dust mask while I'm in my workshop. I only really need it for a couple of the machines but it's such a pain putting my protective stuff on and off all freaking day that I tend to keep my mask on. I've started taping a big "X" on the front of it to give it a bit of character but I felt more was needed.

Then today I had a brainwave. From this day onward, my dust mask is going to be adorned with the phrase "I have SARS."

Brilliant.

The inner monologue of todays crash.

Faster Wardy, must go faster. Must show that even though I'm on someone else's bike I've still got it. That's it, pedal harder, pick up speed.

Ohhh, nicely done. Drop it a gear, pedal hard down the hill. Ohhh, yeah. Holy moly I've got a lot of speed up. Ok, ok, calm down, spot your line around the corner. Right then, aim for the apex. Crap! There's a bench in the way. Ok, cool down hot shot, just go a little wide. Damn, picked up too much speed, get on the brakes now Wardy, lets take some of the oomph out of this flying machine.

Hmmm, not slowing down a lot. Pull the levers harder, no no, that's not working. Man I wish I was on my bike, where are disk brakes when you need them. Ok, think faster, pick your line, try and lose more speed.

Still not slowing down, hmmm, the brake levers wont pull and tighter. Well well, this should be interesting. Right then Wardy, time to get serious. You're going way too fast to get around this corner, evasive manoeuvres required.

Start evasive manouvers. . . now - crap, too late!

Lean, lean damn you, swivel your hips in the direction you want to go, careful with the brakes. Mind the bench, lean further, get around this damn corne - WHOA - ok calm down. You bailed. You're on your side. Balls, this is going to burn sooooo bad. Still sliding, watch where you're going, don't hit anything. Look, look, wet soggy grass, I'm sliding straight onto wet soggy gra - Airborne, I'm in the air. Ok, I'm spinning around in the ai - Aarrgggh, just landed. Where am I, oh yeah, sliding I'm just - Airborne, whoa I'm spinning again. Does my shin hurt? Hope I don't injure myself when I - Aarrgggh that's the floor, oohhhhh that's gonna sting in the morning. Still moving, still sliding fast. I'm on my back, my legs are tangled in the bike, lets hope I don't flip again. Man I'm sliding a long way. Hey, check it out. There's Fran and Ezra coming down the path. Frans shouting something, whats that. . oh, got it. Am I ok? Woo Hoo, I'm fine dude. Still sliding though.

Ok, I've stopped sliding. I'm in one piece. Check your legs Wardy, make sure nothings broken, check out that shin. Ok ok, I'm good. Just bruised. Bad Ass, That was cool. Where are the guys? I wish we had that on camera.



Ahhhh Damnit, I've busted my headset again!!!!

Money Matters.

This week has been the kind of week that makes me despise not being unfathomably rich. The past week has just been a week of my life gone by with nothing to show for it. Yes I've earnt some money. Woo pee do. I have nothing to remember this week by. There was an absence of noticeable events. My job is not varied enough for any one week to be different enough from the rest to earn a place in memory. I'm just a week older.
Sometimes I think this lottery thing is a bit of a fix. I mean, I've been playing for ages now and I still have to get up in a morning and lose the best part of my day doing something I'd rather not be. And the kicker is, my job is pretty cool. I get to work with really nice people, listening to whatever music I want, and there's a really laid back atmosphere. Can you imagine what I'd be like with a crummy job, oh boy!
Yet still, I want to be rich beyond my wildest dreams. To have the money to get out there and do stuff instead of just dreaming about it.

Still, I've got a holiday coming up in the next year so this is just all fuel to the fire to make sure I get the best out of it.

If anyone of you know of something in the world that I simply must do before I die then go the Contact page and let me know. If I end up doing it I shall personally send you a post card from wherever in the world I may be. Now that my friend, is an offer!

Money Matters.

This week has been the kind of week that makes me despise not being unfathomably rich. The past week has just been a week of my life gone by with nothing to show for it. Yes I've earnt some money. Woo pee do. I have nothing to remember this week by. There was an absence of noticeable events. My job is not varied enough for any one week to be different enough from the rest to earn a place in memory. I'm just a week older.
Sometimes I think this lottery thing is a bit of a fix. I mean, I've been playing for ages now and I still have to get up in a morning and lose the best part of my day doing something I'd rather not be. And the kicker is, my job is pretty cool. I get to work with really nice people, listening to whatever music I want, and there's a really laid back atmosphere. Can you imagine what I'd be like with a crummy job, oh boy!
Yet still, I want to be rich beyond my wildest dreams. To have the money to get out there and do stuff instead of just dreaming about it.

Still, I've got a holiday coming up in the next year so this is just all fuel to the fire to make sure I get the best out of it.

If anyone of you know of something in the world that I simply must do before I die then go the Contact page and let me know. If I end up doing it I shall personally send you a post card from wherever in the world I may be. Now that my friend, is an offer!

Congratulations, you're as useful as VD.

Today I was on my annual "what mobile phone deal can I get" shopping trip when I had the misfortune to walk into Phones 4 U. The first thing that happened once I had set foot into retail space was that someone asked me if I needed any help. Seeing as I knew exactly what I was after I thought I would take him up on the offer and save myself browsing time. "Actually", I replied "I'm looking for a PDA phone."

Silence.

"Oh" he managed after going through every PDA acronym he knew before realising he didn't know what 'acronym' stood for "I'll just go and ask someone"

and somehow it went downhill from there.

Now, I work in a ski and snowboard shop. I know little about ski's and snowboards. This is why I don't go up to people and ask them if they want help. What use am I? None.
Asking if I wanted help would imply that he could be of help to me. So why oh why when I told him what I wanted, did he look stunned. It's a PDA mate, you sell them, it's a type of mobile phone, I'm stood in a mobile phone shop, do the math.

So he went and got someone else and they got me sat down in "buyers corner", a subtle technique to make me feel compelled to buy which washed over me in exactly the same way his stinking cologne didn't, and they showed me the only PDA phone they sold.

Now I had done a mornings research on the internet to make sure I knew what I was after. I knew the particular model they showed me could not be used to access the internet in the way I needed it to. It was around this point that I thought I would play along and hopefully glean some information out of these people that I didn't already possess.
I asked if the phone could be used to access the internet. The guy, and I wish I was kidding here, turned the phone around in his hands, saw a button with a little arrow or globe on it or something and then informed me that it could indeed be used to access the internet. Well blow me away, it has a shortcut button on it. That answers all my questions straight away. I asked if they knew anything of the "walled garden" internet access as it is sloppily named, they did not. I explained that it could not be used for normal browsing, they seemed surprised. There was a man stood slightly away from us taking notes on a clip board. I had embarrassed the sales staff, they would have their revenge.

I went on to explain that I simply would not in any way be buying a phone unless I could get a full size keyboard to accompany it for text input. I know for a fact that you can buy these off the internet. The sales gang -there were now three of them- went on to explain that I could use the stylus provided to enter text and so I wouldn't need a keyboard. I explained that I would be producing Word documents and so I needed a keyboard as I could touch type and it would make it faster.

"You can input text really fast with the stylus though, it has a special input method to speed it up"
"Yes, but I can touch type so would prefer a keyboard."
"It's faster using a stylus than it is with a phone though."
"But I can touch type."
"Honestly you wouldn't believe how fast you can get."

Then it hit me. He didn't know what touch typing was. He imagined me sitting there with my mobile frantically bashing away with one thumb and he though that was what I meant.
Oh poor confused soul.

I asked if they stocked any keyboards but unfortunately they didn't.

"The only one that will work with this phone is not being released till next March."
"What about the one I could have bought off Amazon this morning?"

Silence.

Finally somebody asks me exactly why I want a PDA phone and separate keyboard. I explain and he looks at me, weighing his options.

He takes me slightly away from the others and gives me the heart to heart.

"It sounds to me mate, like you'd be better off with a laptop."
For the nth time I explain how I don't want a laptop as I need something small and portable.
"You can get them pretty small these days though."
"Yeah, but they cost a couple of thousand pounds."
"Small though."

Brilliant. No other word could describe it. I walk into a shop, am greeted by ignorance, lied to, and then told I should go somewhere else and spend a couple of thousand pounds to overcome my problem.

I have come to the conclusion that the Phones 4 U advert is not filmed in some backwards part of Kentucky, so much as in Birmingham, at the Phones 4 U annual staff party.

Needless to say, I shall never again be setting foot into any of their stores.

Luckily though, since last time we met, there have been happy times also. Times that I can look back on and smile. I was talking to a friend from uni last night, she went to the theatre to watch Chicago, I went to watch Joseph. Although this tragically highlighted the class difference between us, it only brought a grin to my face as I cast my mind back. Since Chris has already written about the night, I shall point you there.

And remember people, "It takes a man who knows no fear, to wrestle, with a goat."

You wanna buy some Skunk?

Was not a question I was expecting as I walked into Gap today. However, it would seem that buying drugs in my city centre is now simply a matter of walking around and looking like the type of person that would buy drugs. Unfortunately, if I was going to buy drugs would I really buy it off some random scabby guy that accosts me in the street? It would seem so much more logical that this guy should concentrate his efforts on the literal crowds of urban scum that accumulate like brown froth on shallow streams, rather than any old uber-dude that just happens to be walking by.

However, being the type of person that sells drugs in the street probably rules him out of being able to make these kind of informed decisions about society. That coupled with my blatant disregard for clothes that look like they were made to fit, hair so outrageously out of control that I'm seriously considering wearing a beanie to the gym, and a friend who look like he probably does use drugs on a regular basis, and I can kind of see where the poor chap was coming from.

Needless to say, I did not purchase any of this mans questionable-in-quality skunk and busied myself with distracting the manager of Gap from doing his job properly by trying on any item to hand and organising a "Welcome to the city" outing with him.

It was while in Gap, distracting the manager, not buying drugs, that I was remind of something that happened almost exactly three years ago. I was out shopping for a friends birthday and we decided we would get this ace stuffed monkey we had seen.

As a side note, this was not during the big ITV monkey saga, it was not the ITV monkey, the ITV monkey and this story, no relevance hold.

It was dressed in a bright yellow mak and hat which we thought were a bit lame so we decided to take it to Gap and get it some nice clobber. We entered the shop, went upstairs to the Baby Gap section and flagged the attention of a nice girl on sales.
The conversation went as close as matters to the following.

Hi, I think we're going to need a bit of help here.

OK, how old is the baby that you are buying for.

Well, it's not so much of a baby. . . . as we need you to dress this monkey.

(Wardy pulls the monkey from the bag with all the pride that a monkey can be pulled out of a bag with)

Oh.

Yeah.

True to form though she pulled through and we bought some tiny trousers and a tiny top. The monkey looked ace, the present was well received and another birthday went down a storm.

Remembering that made me wish I had started this blog when I was 15. So much stuff has happened that I have forgotten about. I know that most of it is lost forever so it's always nice to get things like this down so I can look back in years to come.

Saying that , the university dialogue is coming along nicely and if anyone reading this was at uni with me and can think of something memorable that happened, then mail me and I'll be sure to include it.

Theatre tomorrow, I'll let you know how it goes.

Skunkless Wardy out.

Is it wrong to laugh on my own?

I have been sat here today in hysterics. I'm writing about my time at university and I was sat giggling to myself like a little girl as I typed away. It was the little things in the big things that made me laugh. For example, it wasn't so much the practical joke I was writing about that made me laugh, so much as the look on my housemates face when he watched me throw a bag of flour out the window. Just remembering how hard I was laughing on that day made me crack up all over again. I can still see Olly now, a look of complete astonishment on his face. Torn between laughing out loud, and being so astonished that he couldn't laugh.
Good times.

This is my first day off since graduation and it has been nice to just sit and write. I cant believe how hard I used to find it trying to find another 1000 words to put in an essay when today I just sat and wrote page after page without thinking about it. I really really want a cheap laptop. I think I'm going to go shopping for one with my first pay packet. I don't want anything fancy, just a word processor so I can go out and sit in other places when I write. If I can find one for below £100 then all the better.

Dodgy second hand shops and rip-off merchants, here I come!

Work consumes me.

I really do wish I could update more. There has been a rash of funny stuff happen at work but I'm either in too late to write before I have to get to bed (I'm a bit of a sleep monster) or I'm just plain old knackered and want a nice cup of tea.

I'm going to the theatre this weekend. "Very cultured Wardy." I hear you shout, well it would be if I wasn't going to see Joseph and his amazing technicolor dreamcoat. If there were ever a show to remind me of my childhood this would be it. Car journeys listening to the tape from beginning to end, singing all the words are a memory I will never lose. Neither will I forget that I used to think they sang "And throw the Cheese into the Nile as well." I was young folks, and with a vivid mind. I did use to wonder what cheese had to do with it though.

My snowboarding is slowly improving. I'm only falling on my ass every other run now. I'm sure within a matter of months I'll be popping a 340 hang rail goofy backside grab thing on the merest of whims.

While I have written about a number of things over the time this blog has been up and running, never in a week have I had such a diverse range of people visit. I'm glad that I'm attracting attention, it's just that the sort of attention I'm attracting isn't always what I would expect.

If you are the company that you keep, I think I need to evaluate my life.

Decide for yourself which worse, the Geek (1st) , or the Freak (8th).

Laters.

You may remember this post. Yeah I was on my soap-box, and with good reason too. The guy in question left for Afghanistan today. He's going back out after the country nearly took his life.

I used to think I was fairly brave. Now, I'm not so sure. It takes a whole different kind of courage to stand up and walk back towards a situation that almost killed you.

He is a Christian in the way that men should be.

Stay safe Tom.

Wardy Fireball BSc.

It's over.
I've graduated.
Another part of my life is behind me. All I have left is memory and friends.

All I have left, is more than enough.

It's my birthday . . . .yesterday.

I'm now yet another year older. Yesterday I turned 24 to the rapturous applause of myself. Now I'm getting old (ha) I think I should start setting definite goals for myself. Last year for me was all about graduating. Now I'm not at uni I don't really have anything to aim towards. I no longer have a big 'goal' in life. It should be my career, but hey, I don't even know what I want that to be. So instead of being some target that I can only achieve through brown nosing my way to the top in some dead end job I don't even want, my targets are going to be personal. They will be targets that I can achieve through just putting my mind to it, and getting on and doing them. Because of this they will be goals about me, they will not be goals about 'things'. For example, I was going to have "leave the country" on this list but I could walk down the street and book a ticket to anywhere. There is no process involved. These goals have to be about personal achievement, not materialistic gain.

And so, my targets are as follows.

- Be able to do the splits.
- Be able to do 10 one legged squats on each leg.
- Be able to do 5 one arm pushups on each arm.
- Be able to play the blues on the piano.
- Stop picking my nails.
- Write at least one of those things I've always said I should write.

There you go. So easy to write, so dastardly to accomplish!

The first three are physical goals. Now I've stopped trying to put weight on I've kinda slipped from going to the gym. I'm resigned that I'll never be the big, so I figure I should try and be strong instead. As for the splits, well I just think it's be cool to be able to do that!

The next is a skill. I love listening to music and have dabbled with playing instruments in the past. I have a bit of a soft spot for the piano so I'm gonna give it a go. 12-bar boogie here we come!

The next is personal. I have a horrid habbit of picking my nails. I just can't stop myself from doing it. I cannot remember a time when I didn't do it but it's getting annoying now. I constantly have really ratty, nasty nails. I'm almost embarrassed to let people see my hands. This has to end.

The last one is emotional. I've had something I've wanted to write going round my head for a while now. I even started it once but never got very far. I would love to just take myself away for a week to somewhere secluded and get it out my system. Just me, a laptop and nice whisky.


So this time next year I'll check back and see if I managed any of them.

I'm hoping this list will help me regain the motivation I seem to have lost over the past months. If I have something to work towards it should kick start me into life.
I want my spark back.

Too tired.

To write much. This is why.

Just time to say, apologies to the guy who found my site through this search. Denied.

I'm going to start running in a morning before work. Not going to the gym is making me feel all lethargic, I can almost feel my fitness levels dropping. Hopefully the painfully early mornings will become second nature to me soon and I wont dread them as much.

You may also remember the Piano vs Guitar problem that I was musing over before. Well today I bought myself a book on playing the piano, I'm going to use my evenings for something more constructive than watching telly.
One of my workmates is giving me a snowboarding lesson tomorrow too so in a couple of months I should have a two more skills to add to my repertoire.

Tired, so very tired.

Wardy out.

Captain Ronald Brown.

My entire blog entry for the last week has just paled into insignificance after seeing this picture of Ron on the internet. Coupled with the e-mail I just got off him I have been sat here laughing my ass off.
Ron is a bandit who fully bailed on me to go on the worlds most spectacular holiday leaving me in England having to catch busses in the freezing cold and work eleven hour days.
He also got me pushed in a canal because he's too stupid to react fast.

I say these things because I'm jealous.

PS. Ron once vomited on his pillow because he didn't lean far enough out his window to be sick while drunk. This is the type of person that is protecting our environment.

Start worrying,
,
,
,
now.

The Debate Rages On!

Which is cooler. Zero gravity, or throwing cats.
Now, most people have easy access to a cat which they can throw. Not so many of us can quickly and reliably experience weightlessness. This has often meant that this debate could never be answered. Untill now.

Why can't we all just get along, and enjoy both at the same time!

This is what the internet is about.

Cast your mind back if you may, to when I was harking on about The How And The Tao Of Old Time Banjo. Well the guy who wrote the book mailed me and thanked me for drumming up support.
Now, I'm not one to let a kind gesture like that go unnoticed, so it is without further ado that I bring two of my favourite things together: Music and Nice People.

Patrick Costello is so cool that not only has he released one book on the internet free of charge, he has put a second one on too. The How And The Tao Of Folk Guitar Volume One: Getting Started is now free for the world to enjoy. This means that if you want to learn how to play folk guitar, you can get first rate information, free. He is also releasing the second and third books in the series under the Creative Commons licence so you will be able to get those free in the future too.
It is people like Patrick Costello that make the internet great. Everybody sharing the knowledge they have with each other, no string attached.
If you already play the guitar, go and look for fresh ideas; if you are wanting to learn, what better place to start.

I know quite a few people that are learning to play the guitar and I expect you all to check this book out.

Help out the good guys people, it doesn't cost you anything and in your own little way you are helping to shape the internet into a bigger, better thing.

Cheating and stupidity.

We would awake. The crisp morning sun would beam through our thin curtains lighting the room with a welcoming glow.
We would roll over, pull the duvet over our head and try to fall back to sleep.

I've always preferred sunrise to sunset. I can see how sunsets have become more popular as you are usually awake to witness a sunset, and so appreciate it. But sunsets represent the end of something. Watching sunsets marks the end of a beautiful day or the end of a memorable year. Sunrise gets shunned. But to me, sunrise means more. You have to make an effort to witness a sunrise. You don't witness a sunrise by being drunk one night and just happening to be watching the sky when the sun goes down. To catch a sunrise needs a bit of effort. To me they mean more, they mark the beginning of something. They are the start, and sunset is the end. I'm all for fresh starts.

Apart from when you've had a bit too much to drink the night before. In that case, sack sunrise. Who cares a bit about its beauty or majesty, turn it off. Make the light go away, shut the blinds, get me a glass of water, and make it night again.

I didn't appreciate one morning at the cottage. The only happiness they brought me was thinking back to the night before and remembering the laughs that we had.

Laughs like playing board games.

First up was Pictionary. The lads (me and Chris) got fully owned by the gals (Katie and Jo). It was painful to watch us lose. Chris is a graphic designer and with my imagination I thought we would have this game sewn up.
Not so.

We even cheated and still lost.

Well, I say Cheated. That is a strong word. It brings with it connotations of deceitfulness and dishonesty. We didn't so much cheat as we did strongly imply what a word may be. . . through the use of pictures. . . and some letters. . . . letters which may or may not have spelt the word we were trying to guess. . . . repeatedly.

But it all came unstuck when after a seemingly superhuman effort I guessed Leisure Centre in all of nine seconds. (damn you alcohol for clouding my judgement of time!) The gals asked to see our picture, and well you know. . . we didn't have one.

Busted.

So the rest of the game was played with all decorum and we got our assess whipped.

But the night after when we played again. . . this was a different kettle of fish.

The word was Dragonfly. It was an Allplay, so we were against each other to see who could guess it first. Chris and Jo were drawing, me and Katie were on interpretation duty.
The timer was started. Chris started on his abstract construct of what he sees as a Dragonfly. I got as far as Moth before taking a large swig from my whisky and wondering where the hell he was going with this.
Sure doom was looking us in the face. Chris has started on a tangent which no doubt was meant to 'help' me. My guesses were becoming more erratic, time was nearly out, the page was starting to resemble an entomologists scrap book, when from out of nowhere our deliverance sounded.

Imagine, if you will. What a whisper would sound like if it were not so much a whisper, as a cough . . . and if the volume didn't so much resemble the volume of a whisper, so much as that of a cough. . . . and if the whisper didn't sound so much like " wsshs" so much as "Dragonfly".

Imagine if you will, girls trying to cheat at Pictionary.

Whisper-coughing the word, loudly, when the opposition are sat no more than a meter away is not recommended practice for increasing your chances of 'getting away with it'.

Needless to say that Chris and I went on to take the game with a commanding lead. A lead so commanding in fact that it has been rumoured that we cheated. This is a rumour that we shall neither confirm nor deny. Needless to say that if we were cheating, we got it down to a fine art and for the whole game nobody noticed.

That is of course, if we were cheating. Which we were not. Not at all. Not once. Never.



After picturing ourselves out we though a game of Scrabble would calm things down.
Oh ho ho . . .wrong.

Before I tell this story. You have to remember that I was drinking the finest single malt Scottish whisky. Laphroig aged 15 years. Sweet and surprisingly mellow to start, with a slow burning peat smoke flavour building up towards the finish. This stuff is gorgeous, not my favourite, but a fine fine whisky none the less. This was a high pressure environment I was in, we were playing board games for heavens sake. I had consumed maybe more of this whisky than my cognitive capacity would have liked.

I had a great word ready. It was Wessex (a place in England). There was one E on the board and I had another. The move before mine Chris put a word down and I no longer had room for my super word. My W would have joined our too words together. I was gutted, I could see nothing else on the board. I would have got a double word score for this, and now, nothing. After longer than was socially acceptable sat looking at the board I had to throw my problem over to the other players. I could see no alternative.

I told them of my problem and a silence descended. They sat there looking at each other, confused faces one and all. I could see pity in their eyes, 'I know' I thought, 'my letters suck'. I could feel their condolences reaching out for me across the table, an almost unified sigh of regret that my letters, did indeed, suck.

Katie turned to me, she looked me straight in the eye, I could tell that this was where my game ended. I would have to pull out, put my letters back in the bag and make coffee for everyone. She took a controlled breath. "Wow" I thought, "she's taking this a bit hard".
With all the pity in the world, she looked at me and said,

"Why don't you just have Essex. . . . . Numbnuts!"

Awwww, Damn.

It was looking me in the face the whole time. The worst part about it was that I didn't even twig straight away and had to check that I had all the letters.

Man alive, sometimes I embarrasses myself.

Needless to say, I lost at scrabble. . . twice.



More tomorrow.

Wardy gets all academic.

Would you belive it. Check this bad boy out.
Who says I can't be serious when I want to.

To whoever it was that did this search, I hope it helped.

Dawn of the brain dead.

Setting off on Thursday I was expecting to be able to just kick back and relax. I thought this trip would chill me out. I was hoping for a nice sit down in the country, a couple of red wines by the open fire, intellectual conversation and a general feeling of well being.
Boy, was I disappointed.

It all started in Loughborough (pronounced Luffburra for the American contingent). Katie and I stopped off at Safeways to get some drinks in. As we were leaving the shop we were presented with a display of child-parent trust that would change my entire outlook of the weekend.

They were dawdling. Nobody likes being stuck behind dawdlers. As we ever so slowly followed Gran, Mum and Kid out the automatic doors my mind was on the car journey ahead of us. Mum was holding Kids hand. They approached the doors. The Kid was looking forwards. He was looking forwards. He was looking forwards. He just walked plain as day into a wall.

Just like that. Wham!

Don't laugh Wardy. Crap, Katies gonna laugh. Look away. How did he not see the wall?? Parents are Very close by, for the love of God don't laugh! Walk away, walk away from the parents and walk away from Katie. Katie is giggling, walk away from her, walk anywhere but just walk and don't laugh!

Don't laugh Wardy!

This poor kid was led directly into a wall by his mom. They were holding hands and I'm guessing that the Kid wasn't leading. I will never know how neither of them saw this collision coming. Yet for a good 10 meters the impact was inevitable and neither of them tried to rectify the situation. Wham!

From that moment, my relaxing weekend away was changed from the calm tempered, red wine sipping, open fire stoking, fresh air breathing experience I was hoping for, into a riotous four days. Not a day passed in which I did not laugh with all my breath. It was a far better break than I could have hoped for.

Here of a select few of the highlights.

Dawn.

We stopped at a service station on the way down for a pick-me-up coffee. As we went to pay for the goods we were met with a suspiciously jolly Brummie. You know the type, the ones that overcompensate for hating their jobs by being everything and more management want them to be in the vain hope they will get promoted and no longer have to serve rude business types their complicated coffee orders while fending off advances from the 'chef' who works behind the hot sausage rolls and pies counter.
I digress.

Dawn was obviously a woman. I mean no disrespect by this. Just to clarify that even from a distance, you would assume she was a woman. There was no doubt in my mind that Dawn was a woman.
I went to pay for our coffees and was presented with a grin as wide as her midlands accent was annoying.

"€œMy names not Michael."

- Cue me, stood, looking shocked.
- Still looking shocked.
- Trying to think of something to say.
- Feeling helpless.

"Oh, did you forget your name badge and had to wear another one then?" cue nervous laughter.

"No."
"My names not Michael."

- Cue me, just stood there. Lost for words.
- Still stood.
- Waiting to pay for coffee.
- I'm confused too now.

"Oh, how much is the coffee?"

- Clever, just ignore her, pay for the coffee and get the hell away.

"It's £3.60. But if they ask, my names not Michael."

- If WHO ask. The doctors?
- What does this woman want of me. Give me my coffee and let me go. I thought the motorways were meant to be the safest way to travel by car. Apparently they didn't take service stations into account.

"On the receipt, it says I'm called Michael, but I'm not. I've borrowed someone's card."

- Finally I understand. On the receipt, which she has not yet given me, it will say I was served by Michael, not Dawn. I will look at this receipt for all the time it takes to put it in my pocket, which I can't do because she is yet to give it me.

Instead of just telling me to ignore the name on the receipt, which I can image would be important for one in a couple of hundred thousand people, she just sends out crazy signals and expects me to join dots that I don't even know exist.

My names not Michael.
That's great love, but instead of playing impossi-puzzles with you can I just pay for my drinks and be on my way. Guessing an unimportant error on a piece of paper I wont look at, before you have even given it to me, was not on my top ten list today.

I blame the businessmen for turning normal workers into this.


The Jolly Locals.

I went into the local video store to buy a Scart adaptor. The guy who served us was the single most cheery man I have met. He could not have been happier to see us. He was delighted that he had what we were looking for. He was over the moon that we were buying something. He was overjoyed that we had nearly the right money. He was ecstatic that were happy customers. He was great.

Then I had to have an obligatory look in the charity shops. We found some funny stuff to buy, it came to the earth shattering total of 50p. At the counter the lovely dear couldn't quite get her head around us trying to give her a full pound, when it only came to 50p. She kept on counting the coins as if to clarify to herself that we had given her too much. She insisted we didn't have to. We assured her it was no bother. She looked so surprised it made it all worthwhile.


There is more to tell about the weekend, including "Cheating at board games, Why girls shouldn't try" and "My train carriage is flooding, how nice."

But before this post gets too long to be interesting I'm going to end it.

More tomorrow.

ps - apologies to Dawn. I try to avoid being directly rude about people but the title of this post made me laugh. sorry lass.

Sweet money, and bitter blood.

Once again the world shows that it likes to keep a balance in all things.

This weekend was yet another example of why you shouldn?t get too down when things are rough, and you shouldn?t get too happy when things are good.

I found out this Friday that I got the job I wanted. Yehaa and all that. This should mean that in about five months I will have mastered the basics of snowboarding and will be able to go on holiday somewhere snowy and actually have a laugh, as apposed to still being in the ?falling down while learning? stage.

So, we have a new job. This = Good.

Well that afternoon I took my bike out into the peaks for the first real test of its performance. (yes, another story about my bike, lucky you). All was going well, I was definitely faster than usual, confidence levels were high, storming along the top of some crags, my brain registering and evaluating every rock and making split second decisions about which route to take.
Well, that was the theory.
But where the body was willing, the brain failed. To me, the riding, and the pain were not separated by time, My brain was too shocked to register the flight and commit it to memory. One moment I was riding, the next I had face planted a rock, absolutely sure that I had broken my nose.
As luck would have it, my nose did not break. This is thanks solely to my helmet. The front of my helmet stopped my face from being too closely introduced to the rock. So while my soft squidy nose took the initial impact, my helmet quickly took over and stopped me messing my features up.
After a quick breather to compose myself, we set off and finished the ride. Oh yeah, we also had to cycle back up to the top of the massive hill because even though we had two cars and were going to shuttle run it back to top, someone forgot the keys.

. . . oh yeah. . . that was me. . . sorry Ez!

My first major ?new bike? ride and my first major fall. Lets hope I don?t keep this up eh.

So, I fell off my bike. This = Bad.

If I have learnt one thing, it is that you shouldn?t get smug when things go right, and you shouldn?t get down when they go wrong.
The world really is in balance, just ride it out.

Linkage.

Every now and again I like to post up some of the more interesting parts of the internet that I have found. Then I e-mail the post to Blogger, then I spend the next 15 minutes sorting out all the html that gets messed up somewhere between me hitting send, and the post getting published.
Every time.
Without fail.

Every been a child. Ever dreamt of having your own secret underground hideout" I still to this day dream of having a secret underground hideout. I saw recently on some Dream Home program this place in Turkey that had been built on the entrance to a cave and the house opened up in the kitchen to a huge cave complex. It took about five to seven seconds for me to fall deeply in love with the house. Image it, your own cave! How superhero cool is that. Finding some unexplored part of a city that you can take refuge in just rocks. The instinct is just built into us. Exploring is fun, even more so when you are doing it in secret under everyone"s noses. That is why I fully, and with all my heart, love this story. I found it a while back and forgot to write about it. It has everything that my heart craves, adventure, secret clubs, mystery and an out of this world "we know who you are" ending.

Man, I wish I was invited.

Luckily for me though, I have found a way to inject this adventure into my life. Thanks to advances in modern technology we can now experience what is usually reserved for backwards thinking, hooch drinking inbred rednecks.

While all this wishful thinking and daydreaming is nice, I still do find the time to get out into the real world every now and again.
It was during one of these excursions that I learnt something very important.
I was sat talking to a girl and she assured me that cooking is the way to a woman"s heart. I thought she was kidding at first but she assured me that if a man shows he is handy in the kitchen, he scores big points. This came as a bit of a blow as I"ve been stockpiling expensive diamond rings and air miles to romantic destinations to aid me in my "wooing". After thinking carefully about it I went on to sell all this expensive crap and found a website that can help turn my easily bored, analytical mind into a fine food super machine.
Now all I need is a date to try my finest cuisine on.

Unimaginable knowledge.

There have been a few baddies over the years trying to amass such a thing.
If only they had been alive in the future then it would have been so easy.

Brewster Kahle (founder of the Internet Archive, my favourite source for free and legal downloadable music) just delivered an amazing presentation called Universal Access to All Human Knowledge. He basically wants to archive all the information ever created in the world. Notes from the presentation taken by Cory Doctorow can be found here.

Can you imagine having free and quick access to all the information in the world. Man alive, I can waste time with the best of them on the internet, but to have literally all the information in the world at my fingertips would be too cool for words. I don't know what I'd do with it like, but it would be nice to find out.



For the nay-sayers out there, let me whet your appetite for universal knowledge with this book which is available online thanks to the Creative Commons licence. Sit back, buckle up and get ready for the might that is The How and the Tao of old Time Banjo.

I think we have a banjo in the attic somewhere. I might just have to get it out and see if I can rip chords with the best of them.





Changing direction slightly. President Bush is so god-awful stupid that this is probably true. It wouldn't even surprise me if this was actually the President but names had to be changed to protect the uncommonly dumb.



Lastly, this is just another example of why we'll tolerate the French, just that little bit longer.

Hair and Bikes.

Two of the subjects that have been taking up space in this blog recently.
Lets go through them in order.



Hair.



I decided to get a haircut as my graduation is coming up and my hair was
moving away from "cooky cool" to "Hasselhoff cool". I got some pictures of
what I was after and booked myself into a salon to have a word with one of
the guys. We chatted about what would and wouldn't work with Gene Wilders
rejected hairpiece and he had some grand ideas. Seeing as it wasn't going to
cost me the earth (a sign a should have noted) I decided to just go ahead
with it. The plan was to take the bulk out of the afro I was sporting and
leave a smaller fro with wispy bits sticking out aka medusa.



However, once the cut was finished and the 'product' reared its ugly head,
my stubborn curls got their revenge. The wispy bits just refused to be
wispy. They curled straight back on to themselves and disappeared back into
my now very much smaller afro.



This means I have now gone from zero maintenance but subject to taste hair,
to high maintenance but subject to taste hair. Not a good move.



I'm determined that my hair will look good long. It just has to. I've lived
with short hair for way too long to have to deal with it again. So I'm back
to growing my hair. Luckily he didn't fully crop me so there is a fair bit
of length there, once pulled straight.



Note to self, trying to make yourself look cool doesn't work.

Take what you've got and roll with it.



Bikes.



I got my first air today. . . SIR!



Oh yes, the obligatory "Point Blank" esqe quote to kick things off. But I
did indeed, catch my first air today. While exploring the local woods I
found a bike trail fully set up with cambered corners, jumps and all. I
found a jump that had 'beginner' written all over it and got to work. My
progress was in three distinct phases.



ONE.

Rolling over the jump at speed and summing up more and more courage to go
faster each time and finally get a wheel off the floor.



TWO.

Getting the front wheel to travel a fair distance but not really feeling
like I was 'jumping'. More 'hitting the ramp at speed'.



THREE.

A real life jump. Landing on the rear wheel first (most of the time), and
feeling like a champion.



I've got to get good at this jumping lark, it just looks so groovy on the
telly.



I want a piece of that.

How badly do I wanna get Beatified!!!

When did the Catholics start having all the fun eh??


While Gods messenger on earth sat slumped like a turnip in a barrow full of spuds, 'struggling for breath', he got to beatify some stiffs. Now in the side box it says that Beatification (how fully awesome is that word) requires that a miracle have occurred.

Yet I went to Italian-born (and mystic) nun Maria Ludovica De Angelis' write up on the Vatican website and it doesn't mention anything about a miracle. Which I, albeit being a mere unbeliever, assumed would be rather important. This seems to be the only thing the individual themselves have to do to be considered for Beatification.

And yet, nothing.


Now I'm not saying that she wasn't a top lass. But rules are rules, and
these are Gods rules.

Well they probably are, I don't know a lot about the Catholic faith, maybe there was a Saint who got the Beatification process explained to him one day over lamb.


So then I looked up French monk Joseph-Marie Cassant, lo and behold, his Vatican write up contains no mention of a miracle either. In fact, this guy basically did nothing other than be a nice guy. I quote "The sheer ordinariness of his life has been noted by some".


So now we get on to Frenchman Pierre Vigne who founded an order of nuns, again, no mention of a miracle. Sorry peeps. It does mention that his dad was an "honest textile merchant" which is good . . . but miraculous. . . I'm erring on the side of no.


The Pope it would seem, is just getting his own back at God. "The pope has now beatified some 1,340 people, more than all his predecessors combined, Reuters news agency says." I don't blame him. The poor guys a wreck. He probably thought that when he was ordained he would get it easy. After all, he is basically Gods squash partner. He's got about a gamillion people praying for him and he still needs somebody to wipe his mouth. God wont heal him, but he wont let him die either. The poor guy just keeps on getting rolled out every time the Vatican has something to say.



I'm all for the pope. He knew what he wanted to do and he went for it. But now he's just a frustrated old man, mumbling his way through speech after speech. Beatification is probably his little way of having fun. He can hardly do a bungee jump to raise money for a school, nor can he join in a sponsored Macarena.



You have to make fun for yourself wherever you can find it. So if the pope wants to keep on pushing the boundaries of Beatification, then I'm all for him.

He must have sat there going "ohhh, let me think, a guy that didn't do anything and a mystic!! Oh yeah, that's a good one!"


Then when this furore from this ceremony has settled down, a little grin will draw itself across his face as he laughs and thinks, "I've got it! A litigator and a modern artist! That should turn the Basilica into a hoot."