Z is for Zombie

Is it weird to admit that I have something of a plan in mind should there be a zombie apocalypse?

I will admit that for a long time I have been of the mind that the world would certainly benefit from a zombie outbreak outbreak.  Maybe it isn’t a full on extinction event but just something to focus people a little and perhaps thin the population.  In the past we had wars that would do that but these days war has turned into an almost corporate event and just doesn’t do the job it once did.  There was a time when you could also rely on pestilence but again, we seem to mostly have that under control at the moment and as a result (whether directly or not I am yet to decide) It now takes me at least 20 minutes to get to work.  There are so many vehicles on the road these days driving in the wrong lane or just generally being annoying that I am pretty sure that with an even low level event that could well be cut to 15 with the resulting thinning of the population.

If there was to be an outbreak I feel pretty good about my chances, and whilst I am not one for squirrelling away supplies or constructing a bolthole in the garden, I do have a plan that I have been putting together over the years.  I know where I would get supplies, and I am confident that I could secure the house and surrounding area to keep anything but the most determined brain hungry creature at bay.  I have a destination out of town that I know for certain would be a pretty great place to ride out the apocalypse and should I for any reason not be able to get out of the street I know which of the neighbours I need to deal with and in what order to ensure that precious resources aren’t wasted.

And just to be clear, the bloke at number 6 who insists on parking badly…top of my list in case we run particularly low on food.

Anyway,there is more but I am not giving it away.  Make your own plan!

Happy Monday


Y is for You, yes YOU

What makes me follow…

I’ve been doing this for a while now and I am often conflicted with how best to use my time as I want to read as many people as possible on here but the truth of the matter is that simply is not possible.  This is not intended as an excuse, but rather an acknowledgement and from that stems the question – how will I decide who to follow and read.

Turns out, for me, it’s about the author and not necessarily the work.   Connections with authors seems to matter as much to me as their work, and if that person allows you into their world in a way that is more than just the words for that day then I find myself wanting to return to find out more about them.  The most compelling blogs I have followed are also quite often those where the author takes time to build the relationship with their reader.  They post and reply to comments in a meaningful way, they show an interest in your opinion and they seem genuinely interested in engaging rather than simply throwing a work out there and waiting for the likes.

Now that’s not always the case, and obviously an interest in the work of the person helps and if that interest extends to enjoyment all the better.  I enjoy the odd bit of poetry, and have re-blogged some and will be re-blogging more of my favourites in coming weeks.  Recently though I stumbled upon this chap who I not only enjoyed immensely but also followed because his poetry was so damned good.  The rhyming and metre and flow was just some so ridiculously enjoyable I felt compelled to.

Anyway, not sure where that came from because I was going to write about Yoga and people who do yoga and yoga pants but that will have to wait for another day.


X is for X-Rated

The time I nearly taught a class of 11 year olds about fetish sex by accident

A few days ago I wrote here about volunteering to teach code in a nearby school.  I expressed a degree of nervousness over the endeavour but was nonetheless excited at the prospect of sharing something of what I love.
Last Thursday came and went and for the most part it went rather well.  The children  were engaged and excited by the lesson, I am now known as “Mr Code Man” – which I absolutely love, and I will be returning this week.
It was touch and go though because of an issue with the content of my internet browser.
If you have read my blog then you might know that I wrote a whole series of posts on the crazy sexual fetish’s that are out there and much of my research came from a Huffington post article.  Now there is nothing deviant or inappropriate on my laptop.  My theory on such things is dont lie or hide things then you don’t have to remember anything.
Seems though that I happened to bookmark this particular site.  Just imagine the scene…
I hook up my laptop to the gigantic electronic screen in the classroom and it displays my desktop for them to see.  There was a small matter of XBOX alerts popping up because my kids were enjoying a snow day at home and I monitor their messages on my laptop.  Nothing untoward though and I quickly turned the alerts off.  It actually earned me kudos with the older boys in the class.
So there I stand, facing the twenty or so little faces and another 5 teaches and I click the browser and it opens up and there on the screen, projected to a size of 3 metres wide is this.   Now I only have 2 bookmarks in my browser and here they are…
Now I noticed it straight away and as fast as I could fumbled around to close it but eventually yanked the output cable from my screen somewhat flustered and closed it down, my heart pounding in my chest.
I looked around and it seems I got away with it but god, can you imagine if I had clicked it by accident…

W is for water

Seems you have a drinking problem

 Let’s do one of M’s prompts.  Thirsty gulps.

Sometimes when I am writing to prompts, I will go to pixabay and search their picture archives and see whether anything crops up that sparks something or inspires me in a particular direction.  I do that on the matter of ‘Thirsty Gulps’ and found the picture featured in the header of this post.

I also found this one.


Are you seeing a theme yet?  No then how about if I add in this one?


Right, obvious now.

Turns out people who go running or arse around in deserts and find themselves dehydrated and dying of thirst are in that position because they do not possess the ability to drink properly.  Drink like a normal person thanks.  If I am treasuring every precious drop I have then I am not going to try and throw it into my mouth from half a foot away all dramatically against the fiery backdrop of a setting sun.  That is wasteful and if you ask me rather foolish.  Idiots.

Starving children in Africa do not toss their food up into the air and hope it comes down into their gaping hungry mouths.  If they did I imagine some other pot bellied famine victim with flies on his face would happily grab it mid air with a playful ‘Yoink”.

No, they treasure every morsel because that could be the only meal they have today.

I don’t know, maybe were just wasteful because we have too much.  A good famine might do us all a bit of good and give us some perspective.

Now stop being stupid and drink properly.

V is for Volunteering

Try imagine this…

The company I work for encourage its staff to play an active part in the community.   I used to think it was all just a bit of PR but my experience over the last few years has changed my mind on that.  It is easy to be cynical I admit but in addition to matching any charitable fundraising we do (to a limit of £500 a year) they also, to a degree, support us with a certain amount of time off work to pursue these causes that matter to us most.
Using some of this time, this week I will be embarking on something of an adventure as I
start to volunteer teaching code in one of the small schools one town across.   As part of

Code Club I will be teaching 9-12 year olds how to code in scratch for an hour a week on a Thursday afternoon.

There aren’t enough coders around and I believe it is a skill that breeds creativity and develops problem solving abilities that will be critical later in life and I just figured if no one else is going to do it I will.

Code Club is itself critical in this though and a wonderful endeavour and it provides a wonderful framework within which to work.  You don’t even have to be able to code to be able to teach it.  I can though so hopefully it will help immensely.
Initially I was rather enthusiastic and following a visit to the school though it was a great
idea but as Thursday looms it has dawned on me that will be teaching up to thirty eager
coders never having taught children before.  I have taught adults plenty at work but they are different and wholly more docile.
I may well have bitten off more than I can chew, and I am uncertain if I am the type to be shaping young minds and I am concerned that they will make me cry.  But, it is now too late to back out and by all accounts they are rather excited and if I do run away I
imagine they will hunt me down and go all lord of the flies on me because that’s what children do.
Oh well…

U is for UY Scuti

Try imagine this…

There are things that freak me out and UY Scuti is one of them.  It boggles my mind in such a way that it makes me want to curl up in a ball in a darkened room and consider just how insignificant we all are in this big old universe.

UY Scuti is a red super-giant star and currently the largest known by radius.  Approximately 1700 times that of our sun.  It has a volume 5 BILLION times that of our sun.

Seem big yet?  If it was at the centre of our universe it would engulf the orbit of Jupiter.  JUPITER!

Still struggling?  Take a look at the pictures below and try imagine it.  The universe is frigging amazing!

This shows UY Scuti compared to our Sun.


Follow the picture below, might give you a sense of just how big it is.


Picture above kindly created by By JoeyPknowsalotaboutthat – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63075349

Now go think about it…







S is for Screw you 2017

Oh 2017, face like a pool of sick and bogies

Oh 2017, face like a pool of sick and bogies

suckling us with your rancid saggy tits

filling our hungry mouths with your curdled filth

Our eyes watering as we gag on your putrid…


Only kidding 🙂

I have really enjoyed this year, despite how it may appear at times.  The year isn’t yet out and who knows what today will bring, but when it does close I wont be looking back any regret.  As I have gotten older I realise more and more that regret is a steaming bowl of maggoty stew and will only lead to you sat on the loo with your head in the sink praying to Jesus asking him to kill you as your body turns slowly inside out.

Ignore the maggoty stew I say and gorge on the wholesome soup of what could be because it had croutons and delicious chunky bits at the bottom…and it won’t make you shit your pants!

Words to live by!  BOOM!

R is for Rugby

Think of it as a physical version of American Football.

Oddly Rugby hasn’t really come up whilst I have been doing this blog given that it plays such a large role in my life, and always has.

Born in East Hull there is the inevitable link to Hull Kingston Rovers and I remember going to watch them from a very early age.   You grow up in Hull and you’re either a Red and White or a Black and White, there is no sitting on the fence, and I was a red and white.

There was something really magical about trips to the games with my Dad and there was such a thrill when I would take the match day programme and try and get player autographs.  It’s nearly 35 years ago now but the memories of drinking bovril in the cold remain and there is still a real sense of just how important it was to me all those years ago.

We moved to South Africa in 1981 and rugby is a bit like religion over there, just more important.  I loved playing growing up and despite those huge Afrikaaners forever battering us it was there that I grew to love Rugby Union.  I am a Northern Transvaal fan at heart still and was fortunate enough to live there in 1995 when the Springboks won the world cup.  Talk about fever pitch, the country went berserk and it was truly an amazing thing to witness.

Now I get that it is not everyone’s cup of tea, and the rules can be confusing and there are two types which doesn’t help but there is just something about the game that I love.  Whether its the physical nature of the contest I love or the skill, speed and power I do not know, but something in the game just appeals to me.  It doesn’t matter what level it is played at I can just watch it because of the sheer pleasure it brings me.

There is a real community, honest and camaraderie about rugby too and it is that side of things I enjoy more and more as I get older.  I spend a lot of time doing work for the local club and both my boys play so most weekends are taken up in one form or another with something rugby related.

Hmm.  You know this might be the most bland and sensible thing I have ever written.  You know, that must show just how serious I take it.  I think I will stop right there because I feel very grown up suddenly and I seem to be an awful bore when I’m serious about something.




Q is for Queen

Get your lighters out…

Well not quite Queen, I am thinking more Freddie Mercury. Why Freddy I hear you ask…well of course he is the lead man in my imaginary band of Dead musicians.

Think about it, that incredible ensemble of dead-too-soon genius’ reunited for one last hoorah. Everyone’s invited and you so better bring your dancing shoes because it could be a rather good night.

Now you may have your own opinion as to who is the best dead front man but I am sorry but it’s more than likely wrong if it isn’t Freddie Mercury. I am not even going to listen to any alternatives and will simply place me hands over me ears if you try and la-la-la-la-la-la. Forgotten how good he is? Maybe you have but I haven’t and I thnk perhaps just go youtube him because you’ll realise I’m right.

I know I probably should have done lead man last but I think he sets the tone and if we cannot agree on anything else then you know what, he can do an unplugged acoustic kinda thing and I’ll still get my lighter out and wave it in the air.

Now before I continue I will admit that I’m no expert when it comes to music bit I know what I like so this will mostly be about me because I’m a bit of a princess. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments though.

So. Drums. I went instinctively for John Bonham because he probably was the most insanely talented and influential drummer ever and if you don’t believe me go and watch his him on ‘Moby Dick’. Sweet baby Jesus he was seriously intense and after he launches into his solo you’ll know what I am on about. He was a real show stealer too and given he died so very young I am putting him in my line up.

Guitar? Ok so I am having two and they can fight it out. I am having Jimmy Hendrix and Prince. I could have had Prince as lead man and every instrument to be honest but this is more of a rock band and I am trusting Prince to get on board because bloody hell he could play a guitar. I think it was often overlooked because his persona was so huge, and having seen him live I will admit to having somewhat more than a semi after watching him play Purple Rain.

Hendrix doesn’t need a reason why. He’s just Hendrix.

Now there is no way you’re putting a line up together of dead musicians together without Phil Lynott bass guitar. I don’t care just how good he was or wasn’t…I need him in there because he is simply frigging awesome. Get listening to some Thin Lizzy and you’ll see what I mean. You know, he could be front man too, behind Freddie, Prince and Jimmy…

Now I have no idea whether they could gel because they were all so fabulous in their own rights but just imagine if they could. Such talent, on stage for one night only, and with the exception of Levon Helm all gone way too soon and such a loss.

Let’s see those lighters in the air one last time…

P is for Prince

All hail his purple majesty!


I cried the day prince died, and for weeks after continued to feel real loss.  I haven’t always been a fan though, I can still remember a time when I didn’t care for his music but quite clearly I can recall the day when the penny dropped and I realised that here was something worth listening to.  It was the day I heard the haunting whistles of ‘Around the world in a day’.  From then on I was hooked.

Album after album provided the soundtrack to my growing up and as I have become older that love has passed down to my youngest son Tom who is a big fan. Clever kid that Tom.

I will admit that there have been times when I wasn’t the greatest of fans of what he was doing, but he was still doing things no one else was even thinking about and there were still gems to be found no matter which of his phases he was in.

The pinnacle for me though was when I got the chance to see him at the O2 arena when he was in London in 2007.  As I stood there watching him play purple rain live I realised that I could quite happily call it a day and shuffle off this mortal coil because this was as good as it gets and given that I had an heir to carry on the family name everything was going to be downhill from there.




O is for Originality

just do it!

Not an easy thing really is it.  I mean what hasn’t already been said or done?  What idea hasn’t been explored time and time again and how many blogs already do something very similar to the one you just created.

You know what, I haven’t been doing this for long so I am hardly in a position to give advice but Im going to.  Just keep going at it, as hard as you can because most people are really lazy buggers with no stamina at all and they will probably give up at some point.

You don’t have to be the first to do something or even the best, sometimes working hard and sticking to your guns and not being lazy will get you somewhere.  And if that doesn’t work then maybe you’re just not very good at it and need to try something else but at least you tried and that’s more than most people do because a lot of people are just pointless and the world wouldn’t miss them if they were gone.

But not you.  You’re special because you’re reading this and somewhere out there are people who want to hear your voice.




N is for nature

I’m no Richard Attenborough obviously. In fact I’n not even a David…



I’ve always had a bit of a love hate relationship with nature.  I grew up in Africa so there was very much an abundance of the stuff and we were forever outside.  Wherever you went there was flora or fauna of some description and always of the sort of stuff people wax lyrical about.  It was an incredibly beautiful place but it can become a bit much.

Pop to the shop and there was inevitably something ‘majestic’ of some description there in your face screaming “Look at me” and waving it’s arms frantically.   Each morning the sunrise would require a slack handful of fire related adjectives before it would leave you alone and sunset would quite rudely demand your attention whether you had things you needed to get done or not.  What’s wrong with a cold grey morning that lumbers along as you get up or it suddenly becoming dark without you noticing and accompanying fanfare.

It was though a wonderful place to grow up and whether the gorgeous expanses of the Highveld or the wild rugged coastlines it’s the sort of place most people would give an arm to grow up in and I’m really grateful that I did.  I’m less grateful however for the vast array of things that wanted to kill us.  Whether it be snakes, spiders, sharks, scorpions or any of the larger creatures there was such an array of deadly beasties that it really does tend to spoil things.

“Remember to check your boots for scorpions” was a piece of advice I received in the army that I will always remember.

As much as I loved it there I find England far more inviting and wholly less aggressive.  Not that it  isn’t completely without event though – occasionally we may have a bit of a slug problem and one day there was a badger that kept knocking over the bins which caused quite a stir.  Anyone familiar with Yorkshire or the lake district would probably also agree that we compare pretty favourably to some of the more grand vistas out there even if we are more on the side of ‘picture postcard’.

But we all like different things, I get that.





M is for Michael

that’s me…

Michael.  That’s me.


This seemed like a good idea when I did the title but now I am less sure.  If you’ve read me for more than a day or two then you know what I’m like and I don’t really need to tell you.  I have a wife and kids who I love, a life I enjoy immensely and very few filters or boundaries.

You know what, I think that will just about do.

You really don’t need to know that I love comics or rugby or television or films or coding or laughing or being grumpy, that’s all there for you to see.  You don’t need to know that I think Donald trump is a twat and that I find it quite heart breaking to see what he is doing to America because I grew up with all things American and it played a big part in my growing up.

And you dont need to be told that I like to make people laugh and dont take things too seriously and that I have a problem with authority and organised religion.  It’s all there to see in my writing.

Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to take some pleasure in what I put out there and if not, meh, I’ll get over it.







L is for loss

If I were not here tomorrow…

Were I to die tomorrow then there are so many things I would not get to tell my boys.  As melancholy a thought as it is it is one with which I have of late struggled though something I have yet to remedy.  Such words of wisdom that are a father’s to impart would go unsaid and they would quite possibly venture into this world as young men without my deep and considered understanding of so many things.

Whilst their mother would without doubt provide them the support they need as young men I would not be there to explain to them why they should always ensure they place the drill chuck back in the little holder thingy on the handle of the drill to ensure they are not forever heading to the DIY place to buy another.

I ask myself who, if not me, should be the one to explain why darts is a sport and motor racing is not and why being a Yorkshire-man is truly a privilege.

My heart is heavy with the thought that at my passing so ceases the chance for me to impart upon them how a man should approach washing dishes so as to ensure he never gets asked again.

Truly though I believe the greatest gift we can give them is our presence, time and attention without which we cannot pass on our biases and prejudice.

Good god, what if they grow up to be Manchester United fans?


K is for Kids

Just to be clear. They are not for sale.

I have two and I love them very much, which is lucky for them because there are days when I think they might just be a little bit faulty.  Don’t get me wrong, despite their obvious flaws I still think mine are actually more pleasant than other peoples – and definitely yours – and I have the tedious photo’s and long winded stories to prove it.

I think/hope that my eldest may well have the most wonderful sense of humour as just the other day he asked whether the Germans were still looking for the Von Trapp family.  Now don’t get me wrong, as an Englishman I am of a mind to think that somewhere there is a lower level Ortsgruppenleitner with a hatred for sing songs that is still hopeful of apprehending them, but truth be told that’s probably just me being awful.  I was troubled enough to ask him whether he was serious, and I am still not actually sure.

The youngest is a precious little thing who has the most delightful ability to believe his own lies and I am most certain that he is destined for great things – probably in politics or banking.  Such is his conviction that I often have to refer to the internet to support any argument I may find myself having with him.

Still, I wouldn’t be without them no matter how much I was offered for them – and trust me the little blonde one is worth big money in certain parts of the middle east.  The elder brown haired one is probably worth less though he has broad shoulders and a strong back and would certainly do the work of at least one small mule.

Not that I’ve researched it.  Honest.

To be fair, had I tried to return them or asked for a repair I imagine I would have been told that any damage they are currently exhibiting may well be my fault.




J is for Jesus, Jew and Jam

I do rather like Jam.

Given it’s Christmas and all J is most definitely for Jesus.  I was going to write ‘J is for Jew’ but that sounded a bit accusatory and a kind of racist.  It’s not is it?  It’s only a word after all.  I tend not to think about what is and what is not appropriate when I write and simply go with it and watch my followers to see whether it effects the number.

Maybe it’s how you say it?  Or who says it?  If I am standing on top of a burning car outside of a bank it is most like decidedly racist, criminal and a load of other things that my mum would not be proud of.  If someone has a bomb vest on insisting J is for Jew and is shouting for his friend Alan Akbar then again – I am thinking it is probably a negative use.

Conversely, if I am wearing a little white hat thing on my head attending a colleagues son’s something-or-other where they cut parts of his dick off then I think it is simply a statement.  I sit and reflect: “Oh yes I see, J is for Jew.”  It’s almost a rather comforting and warming moment feeling that I am connected to a people that have spanned all of written memory.

Guess how it makes you feel is about you and not me really.


You know, google is great.  I searched for ‘Jewish Cock Cutting Ceremony’ and it informed me it was called a bris.  I am assuming lots of other people have searched similar terms.  See, I’m not alone in my ignorance.


J is also for ‘Jam’.  I do like Jam.




I is for i-spy

You can shove your i spy!

Before I get into this I would make the point that I love my boys very much and would do just about anything for them.

If in doubt understand that I will regularly unclog their toilet –  which they seem to prefer to only flush every third or fourth visit – with only minimal shouting and threats.  Look closely and you will see that the bonds of love are such that I have been known to tidy their rooms for them and only remind them once or twice that the option of adoption remains on the table until they are 18.

Still to be convinced?  My heart overflows with love so abundant that only recently I was witnessed preparing them 3 meals in a single day.  That’s true human kindness right there…

That said, there are limits and those limits come in the form of board games.  I really do not enjoy one bit sitting down with the family for an evening of board games and frivolity.  It takes almost no time at all for me to upset somebody because I refuse to let somebody win because they’re ‘only little’.  Play against kids of your own age if that’s how you want to roll but as far as I am concerned you want me to play, I will play to crush you.  Ideally I will make you never want to play board games with me ever again.

I know it makes me a terrible person.  I will pay for their therapy when they are older.  Might also explain why we have a cupboard full of unused board games.

The wife likes to play with the boys when I am away though, which is nice.

And don’t get me started on bloody i-spy.  As if driving in this country isn’t hard enough with it’s constant roadworks and sheer weight of traffic…I travel miles and miles having to try and guess the quite ridiculous things my youngest apparently spies.

Get lost Thomas you didn’t spot Batman, T is not for “Tornado” and you can get stuffed if you believe that you saw a clown in the car that went past us 5 miles ago.  You’re a liar and your lies make baby Jesus cry!

And don’t go crying to mum when I insist that Psoriasis begins with a P, and you’re no doctor so the dry skin on my elbows could well be something more serious and your diagnosis is worthless because you are only 9.





H is for Home

I have lived in a fair few places in my life.

I have lived in a fair few places in my life.  Hull, Secunda, Mossel Bay, Grahamstown, Oudtshoorn, Knysna, Immingham, Barton-Upon-Humber, Sheffield, Sowerby Bridge, Brighouse and Halifax.  Not the one in Nova Scotia.   I think that’s all of them.

My instinct here is to explore the phrase that ‘home is where the heart is’, and looking back all of those places – perhaps with the exception of Hull (Which I left when I was 10) and Halifax (where I live now) – felt rather temporary.   I have very few, though definitely some, memories that I look back upon with fondness, and try as I might I find myself hard pressed to remember the feeling of content I have where I live now.

Perhaps it is the stage in my life that I find myself at, the life I have made for myself and the physical surroundings that all together make my current home something different to everything that has gone before.  It is not a fancy house by any means, only a small terrace in an average part of an average norther town but it is mine.  Or ours, as I share it with my wife and children.  It is the place that we have made our home for the last ten years and where the memories that mean the most to me have been made.

It is where I have watched my boys grow up, each room filled with magical memories of at least one of them covering it in vomit.  It is the place where I have threatened to paint and put up shelves and trust me, I will get round to it I promise.  When we are long gone somebody will pull up the carpets and see the large cock I drew on the wooden floors in the back bedroom.

We renovated it from top to bottom recently, and put everything we had into it to make it the place that we could spend the next decade though there is perhaps still not quite enough room for my comic collection.  Oh, and don’t get me started on the collection of things at the bottom of the stairs up to the kids bedrooms.

It is about more than just the four of us though, it is the place where my wife and I have made new friends and welcomed them into our home and been so very grateful when they have eventually left because we do rather like the peace and quiet too.

When I go out I see so many people that I know from the community, and I feel like I belong here and am part of the community and proudly so.

I love where I live, the house I live in and the people I share it with and who knows, maybe we would have been happy in any of the myriad of places I have lived but to me this one is special.


Next time…I is for i-spy




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