opinion – Afterwards

G is for god.

I’m not looking for a debate or deep discussion on whether a supernatural power does, or does not exist.

I’m not looking for a debate or deep discussion on whether a supernatural power does, or does not exist. You are more than welcome to leave your thoughts on the matter if you wish – but I don’t intend to get into fisticuffs over it.

I just wanted to see for myself whether I would start to write about it and then carry on given that when I sit down to write I do not always know where it will go. I have something of a history with organised religion and whilst you will probably have noticed a passive aggressiveness in my writing towards it I don’t think it is something I have fully explored my feelings on yet.

Having got even this far I do not feel my thoughts on the matter are fully formed and I need to work on expressing them more clearly. They’re more emotions than words and they don’t always make a lot of sense. Actually, I might not quite know what those feelings are yet but when I do I am sure you will be the first to know.

Until then I think I will stick with my light derision and mockery until I am in a more serious mood.

Photo courtesy of pixabay

F is for Fat

Oh F, such possibilities I see in you.

So I have written about being fat a few times, and whilst I fully intended to do so again I think I shall not and instead ponder a few other F’s – of which there are many.

I could write of friends or Facebook of fanatics or fighting. I could perhaps turn my attentions to females or feuds or concern myself mostly with fantastical tales or the pursuit of faith but I shall do none of those things.

Neither will I give much thought to frogs or furniture, of which I have previously written, and I shall most certainly not write of finances or fiscal matters of any description.

No, I shall merely allow myself the luxury of consider all of the things I could do and choose to do none because it is bed time, and I have spent over ten hours in meetings today and am well and truly fucked.

Tomorrow, G is for Granville.

E is for Ectoplasm

Her name is Rio and she apparently dances on the sand

If you’re of a certain age and have had a proper upbringing you will know that E is for ectoplasm. You will also know that ectoplasm is from Ghostbusters and Ghostbusters is one of the greatest films ever made.

That should be the end of the post really.

These alphabet things seem to be turning into streams of consciousness for me and oddly they seem to lead me back to the eighties in some ways, a time which I will admit to having problems remembering. It’s all a bit hazy and feels a lifetime ago but as I write and ponder on things they start to come back to me slowly.

Perhaps it is because there is little in my life which leads me back to that time. I grew up in Africa and have little or no contact with people from back them so seldom have cause to think about it.

So ectoplasm got me to thinking of Ghostbusters which led me to remembering that I first watched it at a drive in theatre in a place called Evander in South Africa. A few of us had hitch hiked there with our sleeping bags and Granville’s dad picked us afterwards and as clear as day I can now remember him asking his son if he had slipped a certain young lady the tongue.

He hadn’t, that I remember too. Not for lack of trying I am sure.

Anyway, this turned out different to what I was intending to write but I will go with it, why not.

Tomorrow, F is for Fat

D is for Duran Duran

Her name is Rio and she apparently dances on the sand

I’ll be buggered if I know why I wrote ’D is for Duran Duran’ yesterday, but I did. Well not literally, I think that would be pretty harsh by way of action to be taken if I do at some point happen to remember.

I must have some subconscious Duran Duran issues to be worked through.

I do recall going to a disco in someone’s garage in Secunda in South Africa when I was about 13 and all they played was ‘Reflex’ by DD and Locomotion by OMD. Like just those two songs all night long. I recall I was terrified at the thought of dancing so remained mostly outside and a couple of the lads tried to put of aspirin in a coke can and get the girls to drink it because they believe it would make them super horny.

Looking back that is suddenly quite sinister and rather rapey isn’t it. No wonder we are having all these issues at the moment with sex pests and deviant artistic types.

Needless to say it didn’t work but my mate Granville did get to snog Sian Williams as I recall. They were both particularly tall and rather well suited to one another on that basis alone.

I also recall the first time I saw the ‘Wild Boys’ video. Oh god did you see it? Where you there? It was a freaking event the likes of which you just don’t see these days. One of the lads turned up with it on a VHS cassette and we shared it around just in awe. We all wanted to be Simon Le Bonne. Apart from one of the lads wanted to be Nick Rhodes. In later years we discovered why. You have to remember this was South Africa in the eighties. A whole other world, but I will probably write about that when I get to ‘S for Secunda’.

Thinking back, I can also remember the first time I went to a cinema over there. It was 1987 and we had to travel an hour and a half on a school to Pretoria to watch Living Daylights. I recall an argument and insisting, quite incorrectly, that the there tune was done by Duran Duran when in fact it was A-HA.

I also remember that was the first time I ever went to a Pizza Hut. Funny the things you recall.

Tomorrow, E is for Ectoplasm

C is for Christmas

For me it starts once I have seen the coke advert…

I was unsure as to whether posting on the matter of Christmas was a little premature, but I saw the Coco-Cola advert last night so for me that is the traditional beginning of Christmas and a green light to write about it.

Actually, I should confess that our family Christmas traditions started week before last. Each Sunday in the run up to Christmas we watch one of the Harry Potter films, and by the time they’re all done the big day is upon us. I just think there’s something about the films that screams Christmas plus it gives us a chance to curl up in front of the fire on a gloomy English Sunday afternoon and spend time together with the kids who, as they get older, are often keen to be anywhere else.

While I am at it I have another confession. On Sunday we had our first family Christmas get together. Now I know it is only mid November but my Dad works in Kazakhstan much of the year and this was the last chance we had to get together before he goes away until the new year so we had lunch (not a festive one as the Christmas menu was not yet out) and exchanged gifts. This has become something of a tradition in recent years, and we now seldom meet over the Christmas period.

Funny you know, but I had intended for this to be something of a rant about the things I don’t like about Christmas – and there are many, but over recent years I have learned to enjoy it more than I ever did, and I think perhaps it is because as a family we are making our own traditions and not simply slotting in with other peoples.

Yes we see our families and friends, but when it works for us instead of it feeling like an obligation. It’s selfish perhaps, but sometimes it is important to consider what you need first because just pleasing others at your own expense isn’t always a good thing, as selfless as it might seem.

Do you have any traditions that you’re excited about?

Anyway, see you tomorrow for ‘D is for Duran Duran’

B is for Balls

This is serious stuff, and not wholly unpleasant…

A few weeks ago I went to Leeds to see this chap who quite tenderly caressed my testicles and probed my bottom.

Okay, now that I have your attention I will clarify that it was part of a health assessment and the chap was most qualified to do so given the certificate on the wall. He also had a white coat and a stethoscope, so that pretty much qualifies him to do what the dickens he fancies to my tender parts.

I would say that the certificate didn’t specifically mention those activities, that would just be weird, but it all looked particularly official so I just assumed it covered it.

My point is, and it is a serious one, that many men neglect these things and end up dead.

There are some pretty harrowing figures out there on the matter of men’s health. Did you know that 1 in 8 men in the UK will get prostate cancer in their lives? It is the most common cancer in men in the UK, and yet so many of us do nothing about it in terms of prevention.

What’s the point you ask? My point is don’t neglect your health gents. You might actually find that you enjoy it, you never know.

Head over to www.prostatecanceruk.org if you want more information.

Tomorrow: C is for Christmas

A is for arseholes

Welcome my alphabet of thoughts.

The world is full of them, we all know that. Pompous, annoying and wholly unpleasant individuals who, if you could get away with it or were rather good at fighting, you would happily punch in their man-vagina. Turn around, I bet there is one near you right now.

He’s probably a loud mouth breather or perhaps he’s cooking fish in the office microwave whilst talking loudly about something pointless. I don’t know you or the circles you move in so you may even be in proximity to someone who’s rather fond of molesting prospective actors, some drunk and others not. You might just move in lofty circles indeed and you can see a vagina grabbing orange faced buffoon or a man of god senate elect who’s rather fond of fourteen year olds from where you’re sitting.

The point is they are everywhere.

I say him, it could well be a her, but my experience is that arseholes tend to be primarily male.

Let me give you an example. On the way into work this morning there was a spandex clad one on a bicycle who insisted on weaving dangerously between traffic causing the impatient driver arseholes in their cars to beep, swerve and drive dangerously to pass him almost wiping out one of those dog walking types who probably lets their dog shit everywhere for my kids to step in and drag it into my car making it smell like the bottom of a rottweiler. And exhale…

It really was a veritable cornucopia of arseholes. Unless there is a better collective noun for them. What about ‘a clench’ or perhaps ‘a puckering’.

Anyway, onto my rather laboured point. The world is full of them, in fact we have a glut, so try not to be one today, and I will too.

Tomorrow: B is for balls