Orchid Encore

Two more photographs of kitchen-sill orchids.

Operation Orchid

My good lady wife asked me to take photos of the orchids that live out on our kitchen window.

So, here they are.

"Fun"

To celebrate - or, upon reflection of England's woeful defeat to the mighty cricketing power that is The Netherlands, in the opening match - perhaps, to cast a respectful nod towards the 2009 Cricket 20/20 World Cup, which is currently being played out in England at the moment, I felt inspired to put font to monitor and compose something of a poetic nature.

I wandered for a while among the inner most tranquil meadows of my mind...scoured half-hidden rockpools of inspiration, tucked away behind beaches that swept majestically towards the most illuminating of golden sunsets...in a search to produce something that would speak to the nation...dammit, the world, and make 6 billion people think, 'Wow! That guy just nailed cricket in a few lines with an eruption of breath-taking talent, never to be repeated in the history of all time!'...

After a good 45 seconds of trying this, I stopped being so damn grown up, and instead of staring philosophilcally at the rockpools, with what I hoped was an intelligent posture, I jumped into them and splashed around for all I was worth, while making as many childish noises as I could think of.

The upshot of my simplistic splashings was delightfully silly, and therefore most worthy of repitition.

FUN.

Brownie, the happy, young bulldog

Wore a very loud, orange hat.

One day he met young mr Frederick Frog

Who was carrying a cricket bat.

"Hello there, Brownie" said Frederick Frog,

"How nice to see you today!"

And he smiled sweetly as he asked the dog,

"Would you like to come for a play?"

"Good morning, my little green buddy!"

Said a deep voice from under the hat,

"The green grass in the park is quite muddy,

But I'm not too bothered about that.

I'm a little bit tired and not feeling bright

But I'll come for a game in the park,

I was up chasing 'cat's eyes' all through the night,

They're easier to see in the dark."

"Can I please play too?" Asked a hedgehog,

Whose name was Prickly Paul,

"Why, of course!" Said Frederick and Brownie Dog,

"You'd be perfect to use as a ball!"

So Brownie batted and Paul was the ball

And they played and had hours of fun.

"It's great to have friends and feel special!" thought Paul,

As he flew over the trees for six runs.

So, it's important to feel that we're wanted...

And having good friends is real cool...

But never be bullied, teased or taunted,

And try not to be used as a ball.

Anon...anon...anon...

To my constant joy, I have often noted that I appear to be a strange enigma to some.

There are those who I have met in life who would have sworn that I must have taken a vow of silence some years back, as I used to be terribly shy when younger...not helped by a ferocious speech impediment from age 13 (Thanks Dad), which took several years of kicking myself up the rear and talking endlessly in front of mirrors and empty rooms, before it calmed down and stopped being a pain in my ass...and probably more importantly before someone found me talking to myself in a variety of different accents and expressions and carted me off to the funny farm.

Likewise, there are those who are of the view that I am slightly less noisy than an explosion in a firework factory. The most interesting occasions occur when two friends meet, one from each camp.

At the grand old age of forty-cough-cough, I now care less about what people think about me than I do about the exchange rate between the British Pound and the Outer Magobian Gumbo Bead...and yet there is always an area in which I instinctively shy away from.

Photographs which include my image...hate 'em...don't wanna be near 'em...will hide and have done.

In the past I admit that I've physically run away, especially when you get those inane bores at parties, and social gatherings, who seem obsessed with 'taking a quick shot for the album' of you, even though you have already politely stated on at least seven occasions that you would prefer it if they didn't.

I remember being at some dreary party many years back, where the highlight was probably trivial pursuit, or bobbing for apples...and this mindless young lass with a constant Jehovah's Witness smile, was wandering around armed with an Olympus Trip. Classic camera...vacant-headed owner.

I see her and know what's coming. She wants a photo...quite why is still beyond me, didn't know her from Adam...or Eve...but no, she is adamant, she wants to take my photo. Why? Because everyone else has. I'm not 'everyone else' and I don't want her to. She is stubborn and won't back down. So am I. Things get heated. I've had one too many beers and my mouth can get the better of me...people are now stopping dancing to watch us.

She calls me a 'boring bastard', I call her a 'Nazi cow'...we aren't going to sending cards to each other at Christmas, that's a gimme. She shouts at me, to a now hushed room, asking me why I have to be such a 'spoil-sport dickhead'...the kind of ignorant bullying that I completely detest in life...people who believe that there is no middle ground and they must ALWAYS be right. Your views and opinions don't count one iota. Complete wankers...all of them.

I bravely ignore the armies of marching swear words, marching towards my vocal chords at double speed, and instead asked her:

"If I went to your office every day for a week, opened your window and waved my willy towards the congested pavements below, while shouting your full name, address and phone number for half an hour, along with little key phrases such as 'itchy crabs' and 'crap shag', would you get some kind of perverse kick out of it?"

She recoiled and screwed up her face, shouting out words that gave me the very strong impression that she would not.

"Well, in the same way that you would prefer it that I didn't do that, I would rather prefer it that you didn't take my fucking photo." Point made.

In light of this, I have made a career out of dodging photo lenses, but occasionally - and always with my consent - it does happen. Usually though, I enjoy taking images of me and altering them creatively...something I got rather hooked on at college, some twenty-cough-cough years ago.

A good friend recently got me thinking about this again, and as it's been a while since I've played about with my image, or even thought about in a positive light, I thought it about time that I maybe should.

The less I can make my image look like me, the happier and jollier I shall be. :)

Playing about.

It's not too often these days that I get the chance to play around and experiment with photography.
Today I had a rare day...a chance to get out with my wife, as she went to a couple of business meetings. While she laboured inside the ridiculously outdated 1970's office building - which looked like it had been designed by short-sighted chimpanzees with learning difficulties - I enjoyed the last few rays of our mini heatwave here in the UK, before the clouds came over with the threat of subsequent thunder storms.

Ok, so the office was an eyesore, and on the other side of it was about 5 square miles of building site...but, squashed in between the two eyesores there was by a pretty canal, and although I couldn't move too far up and down the bank I was able to wander away a few feet to sit by some reeds and take in the wildlife around me. I need a telephoto lens - badly! I have always adored the way that water reflections look as if they have been painted in with wonderfully, rough brush strokes...creating a surreal fantasy landscape of their own. I love most forms of artwork, but I'm always interested in Victorian paintings. Something about the clean brushstrokes and strong images maybe, but I did enjoy spending a few minutes trying to create a 'Victorianised' version of a photo I took.

When you only have about 20 feet of riverbank to play with and too much time on your hands, it's always good to see visitors. Word had obviously spread among the local Duck community concerning the arrival of the latest fashion in sockwear - namely purple and black stripes. Here, Quentin Quackfast, chief fashion editor for the 'Daily Ducky' checks out the hot gossip.

After a childhood which had frequent bouts of laying on grass and cloud-watching, I still enjoy seeing shapes in nature and putting 'stories' to them. Here, we clearly see a giant bunny tree on the right. The other trees to the left of the picture are most likely parents. The small one in front of them, gingerly reaching out to stroke the rabbit...well, it has to be the infantry...doesn't it? Shouldn't it? Ahhh...c'mon...

Twitter Twatter Chitter Chatter

Ok, so I'm the wrong side of 40...and maybe my understanding of technology is showing the merest, slightest strains of cloudiness...to the point where my mind says 'Huh?' more than it used to...but hey, I like lots of new-fangled things...such as...well, there's Facebook...that's quite good...well, it's ok...well you can make friends on it and invite all your friends onto it...and have lots of friends...and..well, you can send them cyber presents, and silly pictures from the internet and bombard each other with acres of digital daisies, instead of talking in long, old-fashioned sentences like you both used to, or phoning them and sitting up till 5am, until you had to stop typing cos your ribs hurt so much from laughing.

And then there's Myspace...ah, ok, forget Myspace...never got on with it, never really wanted to. If I was 17, and trying to promote my own garage band, or still in that phase of life where I genuinely wanted coach loads of people to look at me with an interesting glance and wonder..."Hmmm...I wonder what makes HIM tick?"...then I'm sure that Myspace would be a gimme, and I'm sure I'd be right there in the stampede to get 10,000 faceless strangers to call me 'friend'...but, to be absolutely truthful, I'm at that age when you realise that all that nonsense is mostly a crock of horse crap, and the only thing in this often miserable, stressful world that matters is what you think of yourself...more important is that anyone who really doesn't 'get you', or tries to criticise you/your style/your individuality/how you choose to express yourself in this world, can go play chicken with the traffic, or juggle chainsaws until the screaming starts, for all the difference it will make to us and our overall happiness in life.

And so, this week - after resisting for ages - I found myself sucked into a very dull moment, or three...where not even shaking my ass at Dance Island on 'Second Life', while bouncing in my chair and hollering like the coolest of all cool werewolves, could lift me out of boredom.

And so, I flicked through webpages, as one does, until eventually I alighted on the Twitter page. Now you know when something is rubbish, but there is that little rational part of the brain that says "Oh come on...you must never judge a book by its cover...let's go wild and give it a try! Waddya say?" (Why do a lot of my inner, annoying voices all sound like very bad American car salespeople...or those poor unfortunates that trudge from door to door in a vain attempt to sell sets of encyclopedias?)

And thus, it came to pass that I joined Twitter. Well, for about 4 minutes, before it kicked me off and wouldn't let me back in for 13 hours. When I did rejoin, I was facing a blank screen, asking me to say what I was doing.

Well, duh...I'm sat in front of my puter, staring at a screen - when I could be out chasing butterflies through leafy glades, or attempting to find the universal cure for bald hamsters.

I joined the cool, British singer Lily Allen's Twitter page...because nearly half a million people can't be wrong, can they?

So, I joined...and looked some more...hang on, is that really Lily Allen? I could be typing to some 74 year old bloke in Venezuela, sat in his string vest and yellow Y-Fronts...is that really her? And if so then are we buds?

I mean, ok...there are half a million others, but hey, c'mon...we've bonded yeah? Somewhere, in a hotel room, on tour, she will flip up her laptop and my name will flash across her screen as one of the likely 500 new subscribers that day to her Twitter page...and she'll pause for a moment and think "Hmmm, I wonder makes HIM tick?"....dammit, she will, won't she? She don't need all those other people...she has ME! We're tight and we know it.

And hey...I can now say to complete strangers..."Ya know that Lily Allen? Hah...we're mates. Yeah, she tells me everything. Never off my laptop...we sit up tweeting at each other til 5am...God, my ribs..."

So, there's me and Lily...and some complete stranger who wants to sell me things that I don't need and keeps asking me if I want to chat, 'for our mutual advantage?'...but I'm playing it cool, cos even if I never hear from Lily in person then I will know, deep within my heart, that she's out there...and waiting for me to post something relevant and very 'now' on her Twitter...such as 'I am eating toast', or 'The sun was very hot today', or 'I found Jesus in the clouds and He smiled at ME!'.

Lily would respect that.

I know she would - we're tighter than clingfilm, man.

Interesting Socks of the Month - May, 2009.

For roughly half the world - give or take a few hundred million or so, now is the time when layers of heavy duty cable knitwear, and thermal underwear, come sliding off, as we turn our faces to the brighter, bluer skies and welcome the onset of Summer.

Miserable cries and woeful shouts of shivering through the long Winter months are replaced promptly by cheery smiles of joy...which usually last for about a day and a half, before being replaced by miserable cries and woeful shouts of sweltering under the dire heat and feeling oppressed by the mugginess.

The office - a haven of warmth and security in the dark Winter months, now becomes the last place we want to be, as we slowly simmer and seriously consider selling our grannies for an overpriced soft drink and a nice cool breeze.

However...despite the heavy chances of ignoring all safety advice or simple common sense, and burning our skin to a crisp inside a long afternoon...I think it fitting to look fondly towards the oncoming months...or about a week and a half if you live in Britain...of Summer and welcome them in with a pair of summery, cheery sockwear.

These happy-go-lucky socks sure brighten up any day - regardless of mugginess levels or lack of a decent breeze.

Perfect for the beach...or simply reclining with a loved one of your choosing at some outdoor location, such as a picnic or BBQ...although naturally for health and safety reasons the picnic would be the best option. 8/10. ********--

Interesting Socks of the Month - April, 2009.

Socks are a broad reflection of life itself.

Instinctively, we seek out the bright...the alluring and daring, for it brings us a sense of wonder and excitement.

However, as in all things, outward looks are often a mere distraction, away from the most valuable things in our lives...those things which can bring us true and deep happiness.

This month's interesting sock is one which may not win any beauty contests. It does however exude torrents of reliability and steadfast honesty.

This is a sock that triumphs over all adversity. One to rely on...dependable, tough and true.

Such socks are always necessary...if only to remind us that life is hard, and we need socks that can carry us on our long and perilous journeys with a degree of confidence and trust.

The little red patches are quite nice too.

9 out of 10.

New Addition To The Household.

A couple of weeks ago, and long since passed away into the murky depths of forgetfulness, there came a new addition to the household.

And it came to pass that the people of the household did celebrate and do somersaults.

Especially the tallest and most male of the house.

For it was he who would take most advantage of the new arrival. And thus did he dance and shout out 'Woo-hoo!' and dress as Batman, for to run around the garden in his delight...but, of course, that is moving away from the point.

Canon EOS 350D...a digital SLR...something I have been after for quite a while.

I'm looking forward to finding out more about it. it has lots of knobs and things on it that I don't fully understand.

I'm sure they're all wonderful and fab. Can't wait to find out. :)

Sugar - The Ear Wax of Satan

Speaking as a former devotee...nay, disciple of the evil whiteness...and one who regularly bathed in its alluring sweet enticement, I can divulge that last year I managed to escape from the ignorance and lies of the immortal sweet-toothed one, so that I could see the light and truth that sugar is nothing less than purest evil, in granular or cube form.

Look at the sugar cube nearest the camera...observe its malicious intent...see how it grins at you...how it yearns to trap your soul. See how the ones behind egg it on...taunting our poor innocent and naive ears...

Of course, this may - or indeed may not - have anything to do with the fact that last year I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes.

It could be completely irrelevant that I can no longer enjoy the glorious luxury of my midnight feasts, involving boxes of apple pies, various bars of chocolates...doughnuts and flapjacks.

Bitter? Moi?

Well...maybe a teensy weensy bit. Although, it has to be said that on the grand scale of things I have played my vital part in the consumption of sugary treats.

If religious or spiritual achievement were based upon the worship of all things sugary then I would be at least at the archbishop level, and likely knocking on the door to Popemanship.

So, I guess I can at least say that I haven't gone without knowing the wicked pleasures of the late night sticky bun, or the hurriedly sneaked choc bar during hours of work...and I am hardly naive to the many seductive pleasures of the almond finger...which perhaps makes it all the more harder to have to turn my back upon all my former sweet friends...even when they call my name at 3am and try to entice me to the kitchen, where the chocolate biscuits are having a party, and they want me...yes ME, to be the star guest...would it be wrong to go?

Only 10 minutes...no more...I'll be like Cinderella and be home by midnight...dammit, what would be the harm?

Sadly, as any diabetic will know, the risks - even those related to beckoning apple doughnuts and friendly jars of peanut butter - are none too appealing...and even the hold of a lifetime of sugary treats; from the early years of queueing in the old-fashioned shop aged about 6, waiting patiently for the elderly owner, as he went from enticing jar to yet more enticing jars, plucking out quarter pound measurements of gobstoppers, or pineapple chunks...or those ultra fizzy cola bottles...or sherbert dip dabs...or...or...well, all those and more...not even all those combined into one giant sugary army of temptation could make a diabetic turn back to them, once he/she has that initial chat with the doctor, who delightfully informs the poor diabetic of the start of a VERY long list of foodstuffs which may never again pass his/her lips.

Vast increases in the risk of a stroke and heart attack, plus constant worries about losing eyesight or feet/legs, are all enough to force even the most ardent chocolatier turn his gaze away from the sexiest eclair in the shop and learn the wonders of a new diet, that invariably involves large quantities of wholewheat and several types of beans.

Stand upwind - you have been warned.

So, with diabetes figures escalting through the roof (a recent poll indicated that numbers have increased by perhaps as much as 600% in the last 5 years, and could possibly increase significantly again by 2010 - and doubling by 2030 to 366,000,000 people), one would think that there would be increased awareness of this reflected by food manufacturers and supermarkets.

Of course, one simple answer is that the amount of sugar in our food is increasing at a ridiculous rate.

As supermarkets continue to dominate the market and encourage us to buy their cheaper, value brands, where we can all dance down the aisles and thank the Supermarket Gods for making our purses richer by a whole penny, than if we had alligned with the nasty, rival supermarkets and stores, with their evil, healthy and expensive options...and of course, if food is cheap and contains less goodness, well, a little sugar there and salt here wouldn't help to make it taste more like the good quality brands...and who doesn't like sugar, eh?

For an eye-opener...when I had my friendly 'doctor-patient-you probably won't see far past 60-but try to eat healthy and exercise and hope for the best'-chat, I was advised to change my diet completely...which, being a smart individual, I immediately did.

Wholegrain is healthy...and yoghurt is healthy, so wholegrain yoghurt, wow, that gotta be healthy huh? No more silly old bacon and eggs for me...sign me up to the yoghurt brigade and give me a tree to hug.

And yes...actually it is delicious...and very handy for a quick snack to restore the blood sugar.

So I eat them daily, and wonder why I still feel wobbly at times...until I find out that each pot has around 80g of sugar in it.

Now, a non-diabetic - probably much like your wonderful self, dear reader - should you possess testicles, giggle endlessly at fart jokes and think about sex every ten seconds, then your pancreas can cope with around 90g of sugar a day.

For those of the non-testicle persuasion, your pancreas can cope with slightly less.

So one large yoghurt, and your pancreas is already struggling.

Now add sugar in hot drinks...that should account for another 30-50g per day...a few biscuits...well, each average biscuit is around 4-5g...and then there's the beloved chocolate.

Let's say between 15 and 40g for each bar of chocolate. Add a doughnut or cream cake and we are probably looking at around 200g a day...and that's without the main meals that will invariably contain large amounts of sugar, especially if we are partial to frozen ready meals.

Milk - well, 2 pints has about 50g of sugar...let's not mention Coke and Pepsi.

Next time you go shopping, have a good look at the amounts of sugar in each food product...see how long it takes before you're over the 85-90g mark.

Once the pancreas starts to struggle then that's the start of the slippery road towards Type 2 diabetes. If the pancreas breaks down altogether then Type 1 diabetes awaits and that certainly isn't a joyous thought for those who don't enjoy daily injections of insulin into the stomach.

Scary stuff...and that's with you buying your own food. Want to wonder how much sugar is in the golden KFC chicken skin...or that lovely Chicken Korma curry...

Now go back to the top photo of the evil lumps of temptation...see how they grin at you...leering they are...cackling even...mwhahaha...resist dammit...resist!

Hang on...slide over the box of donuts and I'll sit with you for a while and help you resist. It's the very least I can do...hey, you gonna eat all of that chocolate bar?...got any spare eclairs?...dammit, just give me the sugar bowl or the hamster gets it...

Interesting Socks Of The Month - March 2009.

I think, what I like most about these - aside from the instantly obvious, bright appeal of the radiant reds, that simply screams "Buy me, dammit...buy me now!' - is the cheerful feeling that comes to mind...a sensation of the approaching Summer months and all the expectant joy and anticipation that lies within them.

The yellow, fiery bits are also nice. Overall, I think a well-deserved 8.8 is called for.

Brigstowe

Although I left there for good when I was in my mid-thirties, and now live a good 30 miles to the north of it, the city of Bristol will always be classed very much as home for me.
Perhaps it’s one of those thing where you don’t miss a good thing until it’s no longer in your clutches, but I do miss this place and get nostalgic for it on a regular basis.

Good things about Bristol…well, architecture. Being a medieval city in origin, (original name of Brigstowe, which is Anglo Saxon for stone bridge) it has managed to maintain a good balance of older buildings - the earliest dating back to the mid-12th Century - with some outstanding examples of churches. I was fortunate enough to work in Bristol on several archaeology digs in the mid 80's, and the history of the buildings and people over the last thousand years are a constant source of enlightenment.

Bristolian Speak.

The true traditional Bristolian accent is very heavy on vowel sounds and can best be likened to that of a pirate.

The following is an example of Bristolian...again, think pirate. No, not the Hollywood Caribbean sort, but more your true Long John Silvers and Blackbeards. (Interesting fact #2 - Blackbeard was in fact a gentleman named Edward Teach, from Bristol...who scared his poor victims by braiding his long beard and then setting it alight, so that it would look as if smoke was pouring from his head.) But enough of burning pirates...please consider the following text...

"Ear, eye loikes the looka tha new soap operawl. Snot star tin till nine tho…wanna go owt-en-then come back for starovit? We can grab a pizzall, or summat. They does gert lush uns down Pizzallhut. Finish ee vodkal and I’ll go lava tree."

And translated into the Queen's English, although, in reality, quite unlikely to be used by her royal majestyness at any stage...

"Why, that new TV soap-opera looks jolly entertaining…although it does not commence until nine o’clock. Shall we go out and then come back later to see it? We could have a pizza, or something…I hear they do rather nice ones at Pizza Hut. You finish your vodka and I’ll visit the bathroom."

Although, probably due to posh school and moving away from the city, my accent has tamed somewhat, it never fails to surprise me how easily it slides back in, especially as my proximity to Bristol grows. On the journey there I might comment on the 'fluid luminosity of the landscape' and the way in which the 'dappled light through the forest crosses the fields, like a starry waterfall', but passing the same spot on the return journey home, I'd be more likely to be pointing excitedly out of the window and shouting 'Yer...look at they treez...thems bloody lush!'.

Yummy Cuisine, With Which To Be Seen. #1

This month's top choice for yummy and trendy cuisine, with which to be seen, is the delightful range of new crisps (potato chips to the rest of the world) from Walkers.

Bold and adventurous in both texture and taste, it's hard to pick a personal favourite from the delightful range of new flavours on offer.

The Fish and Chips variety is perhaps the most acceptable for many...and while it doesn't sound over-adventurous, the waft of strong vinegar delivers a strong uppercut upon opening the traditional brightly-coloured...yet always half-empty packets, associated with Walkers...while the first taste that explodes in the mouth is of thick, chip-shop batter. The first taste explosion in the 'Builder's Breakfast' flavour is definitely egg.

Another interesting range of tastes can be discovered in the 'Cajun Squirrel' flavour. They remind me of a short-lived Hedgehog flavour of crisps that came out in the 1980's, but were removed due to over-complaining. It may be my warped sense of humour, or merely a foggy memory from so long ago, but I'm sure they re-released them under a new 'Prickled Onion' range.

If not then they certainly should have.

Cinque Ans.

Youngest daughter turned 15 today.

It made me think back to when I waved nostagically at the battered, worn out #14 steam train, knowing that I would never see it again, and skipped intriguingly across the platform to alight the #15 express...standing shiny and proud in the station.

If I'm perfectly honest then I can't actually remember too much about this time.

I was at school, yet I was trying desperately to get out of it permanently by going for job interviews and lying about my age. I remember being desperately keen not to be at school, and also turning from the goody-goody kid that I had always been, into someone with a lot more anger and defiance against authority.

I remember being gawky and extremely awkward...but probably that's an awfully common thing when looking back to teenage years.

I remember wearing a lot of jeans and brown corduroy trousers. Also sleeveless tops, usually in shades of khaki or undefinable blue.

I remember an awful lot of Boney M music.

Being a nosey so and so and having 10 minutes to kill after coming back from the pub, I dug around a little to try and remember what life was like when I turned 15.

The #1 single in England was 'Night Fever', by The Bee Gees. I remember that disco fever was in full swing and people were attending disco dancing classes by the swarm, so that they could all dance like John Travolta and, of course, doubtless possess the irresistable magnetic charm that he had, in order to wield it over their intended targets on the multi-coloured dance floor at their local discotheque.

A lot of it was really lost on me, as I was never hugely into disco, and in 1978 I was too busy discovering punk and alternative music, because it made loud, unpretty noises and scared old people. (Anyone over 30.)

The top LP - (long playing vinyl disc, containing multiple musical tracks, operated by a 'stylus' and approximately 12 inches in diameter which revolved at 33 and a third revolutions a minute, for anyone under the age of 21) - was 'Abba - The Album'...rather unsurprisingly by the Swedish hit monsters, Abba...and one I think I had in my own collection.

Best TV available on all three of the channels at my 15 year old fingertips would have been 'Wonderwoman'...for some reason(s) I remember that show very well...very, very well.

'Grange Hill' was at its peak for us kids and Starsky & Hutch were the icing on the Saturday evening yummy cake, that was the glorious TV Schedule...when figures of 15 Million bums on sofas per show (or B.O.S.P.S. for short) were not merely fantasy, but considered average.

Top movies...well, Grease was out...sadly...I remember the Summer being infected by the constant drone of 'Sandy-y-y-y' wafting out from transistor radios across the land, until thank God for The Boomtown Rats, who knocked John and Olivia from the #1 spot, after about 3 months of aural torture.

The new Superman movie was much more the ticket for us boy types, and who can remember putting their underpants outside their jeans and parading around in front of the mirror...screaming "Ooooh, look at you...the Man of Steel!!!"

No? Ahh...well...anyways top toys were the bloody annoying 'Simon Says'...a sort of robotic, doughnut shaped, talking machine, Atari games consoles and plastic figures of anything and anyone that had been in the Star Wars movie, which was still huge.

And, that's about all I could find from 1994....*cough*

Interesting Socks of the Month - February, 2009.

I feel it may prove hard to beat this rather dazzling pair. There is a reasonable chance that I may have found the most interesting pair of socks ever created.

Perfect for any occasion and looking to score mighty high on the comfort scale.

A worthy winner indeed for Interesting Socks of The Week, with an overall score of 9.85.

Well done to all concerned.

Home Education

This is what I does be doin and I has been doing it for neerly ten ears becoz I can teach my kids good and then they can be klevers, like wot I is.

Bad humour aside, the initial reasons for home education are often founded from negative experiences, and I guess it was largely for those unpleasant reasons that I decided to shun the current education system in England and wade out into an alternative system of education for our daughters.

It will be ten years this Autumn, and do I regret it?...Nope...not for a single moment. In fact this is probably the best decision I ever made in life and I'd do it all over again. Being a part of your childrens' education...learning alongside them, so that you also grow as an individual...just simply priceless.

Both our daughters have experienced mainstream school, which I think is important...but, at the end of the day, I know exactly what they are learning, and how they are learning it. I know that there are no restrictions on what they can, or cannot learn, and more importantly, so do they. They are aware of the world, and most importantly of their own English culture and history. They are not put onto 'dumb tables', nor made to feel that there is anything in life realistically outside of their understanding or potential mastery. They're treated like adults and respond as such. They are under no pressure to 'perform', to suit ridiculous education league tables, imposed by a government that simply does not have a clue and continues to ruin our national education system - once the envy of the world...now little more than a tragic joke.

Most importantly, we laugh. We have a blast and make learning fun...as it should be. Could I do this in a class of 30-35 disruptive kids in a mainstream school? Nah, probably not...nor would I really want to teach any kids who simply didn't want to learn about life, and explore everything around them with open minds and hearts. I think that would likely be a complete waste of time...I just feel sorry that there are many good, hardworking kids in schools across the land who won't be able to get the education they need, because of a few moronic and disruptive classmates, an education system that really doesn't work as it should and teachers who are under a mountain of pressure to perform, against ridiculous and unfair odds.

20 Years On...

T'was twenty years ago this very day that my wife and I went on our first ever date.

I remember cooking a meal. I remember us going out for a KFC at about 1am.

The bits inbetween are somewhat hazy.

It's like when you reach that level of drunkeness when time goes in small, jerky movements of clear recollection, surrounded by a sea of foggy shapes and sounds.

The meal must have been good...or perhaps the KFC was exquisite...or maybe, just maybe, the foggy bits inbetween were out of this world...but 1989 proved a good year in the fine and delicate art of romantic security as we first dated in February, engaged in August and married in December.

Cornwall

Cornwall...the most southwesterly county in England, and - trivia/anorak/nerd fact #1 - the only English county to only border one other.

Land of Arthurian legend, mystery and delicious cream teas. (More on cream teas to come, I'm sure...much more).

Having visited Cornwall now for some years, there isn't much of it I haven't gazed at/driven past/waved or whistled at/eaten my way through.

The British weather has been rather unkind to it in recent years, but it is still a favourite place to be...probably due to the many, quiet beaches and the oh-so rare sight for us Brits of clear, blue water - occasionally warm and inviting...especially if our traditional two weeks of Summer sunshine is kind and merciful.
Has the nastiest seagulls I've ever seen at St. Ives...real bruising, Conan The Barbarian type birds...who just swoop down and take what they want from the hands of unsuspecting tourists.

Saw my first dolphin here.
Rode my first horse here.
Would live here if I could afford to.
One fine day, when I finally get around to winning the lottery, then I shall.