Going Underground

I am not a good person at all…

I am a firm believer that to be on time is to be late, and to be late is to unforgivable.  If you need to be somewhere then you ought to get there early because anything else is just rude.  It was very much to my horror therefore that earlier this week I was nearly an hour late for a training course I was due to attend in London.

Now I would like to blame everybody else but it was my fault which only serves to make the whole episode that much more frustrating.

I was visiting an office I had never been to before and as I usually would gave it a quick google, checked which tube station to head to from Waterloo and set off with enough time to get me there with a good half an hour to spare to allow me to have a bit of a wander about.

As a seasoned visitor to the capital I like to think I am pretty good at getting about but alas I was so very, very wrong.  Boarding at waterloo I had a 50 minute journey with a change and this alone should have set the alarm bells ringing.  I knew roughly where it was yet I ignored that quiet whisper that told me that I ought to double check.

I don’t usually ignore this voice, not since that time I decided to install a kitchen and I measured how much I needed to trim off the work top in centimetres yet cut it off in inches.  There’s no hiding that from the wife when she gets home I tell you, but alas I did ignore it.

Now if you have not experienced rush hour on the London tube then trust me it is  as bad as you might imagine.  I was crammed so close to other people that in some cultures I am pretty certain that I am now engaged to at least two women and one bloke and there was a point where I had to explain to a fellow that I really couldn’t move up any more as if I did my groin would be closer to the face of a rather diminutive Sicilian looking old lady than I would be comfortable with.

Not that I am otherwise comfortable shoving my groin into the face of old women of any description regardless of where they come from, I am definitely not.

Anyway after half an hour and about 10 stops the whisper had become a scream and my desire to be on time and to not end up on the sex offenders list caused me to panic and I alighted at Earl’s court.  Unable to get a phone signal I hurried to the surface still smelling of the bloke who had been pressed against me since Knightsbridge to figure out where the bloody hell I was.  It was at this point I hit an all time low for me on the tubes.

If they are crammed I will usually just let everyone go before me and wait for the next one.  That is all part of why I leave extra early and it normally means I stay relatively calm and unflustered which I think is why I enjoy London so much.

Anyway so my plan is to drop a text to the trainer and explain I am late but will get there. It’s only a course right, hardly that important.  Now at this point I dropped my bank card as I took my phone out of my pocket and bent over to pick it up.  As I do this my bag swings from my shoulder and clips a fellow rushing past me and as I stand up he glares at me with a dark and ominous scowl.  Well, this seems to trigger me and for some reason I become possessed by the devil and decide to inform him that…

“Look at me like that again mate and I’ll punch you in the throat.”

I am a little more tense than I realise and for a moment we stare at each other.  I am hoping he is thinking “Shit I better get out of here he looks a bit handy” whilst I am thinking “Oh fuck I have no idea how to fight and the last thing I smashed was a carbonara pizza and I haven’t had a fight since 1990 (and ended up sat bleeding from the nose sat in a waste paper bin on that occasion) and I should apologise probably because that is just rather inappropriate and I am not Jean-Claude-fucking-Van-Damme.”

Fortunately he was obviously also late for something and scurried off as I leaned back against the wall in relief at not having to explain that I was late for a training course on emotional resilience because I was arrested for fighting an Albanian looking backpacker in Earl’s court tube station and rubbing my crotch in an Octogenarian lemon sellers face.

After that it was plain sailing really.  I worked out where I was actually meant to be going, got there an hour late, did the course, learned a few things and convinced the trainer to let us finish the session in the pub instead of the classroom and had a couple of pints of Guinness and a Cornish pasty and a sausage roll.

Life eh…


6 lines of words

Wistful she sits, her heart another’s and lost in fractured thought

to places far and wide she wanders in search of life and love and more

while heavy the bonds of obligation lie and soul so sadly smothered

and then behind her came a tiger and ate her face off and she was dead.


Sorry but I just saw the photo and it made me laugh.  I am sure she is meant to be all pensive and comtemplative but really, there is a big frigging tiger behind her and she is a slip of a lass and barefoot so there is no way she will either fight it off or outrun it.

Maybe she’s thinking “Oh bollocks a tiger…” and the tiger is thinking “Hello hello what do we have here you look delicious”.

And why on earth is she wearing that daft dress out in the middle of a forest.  It’s going to get bloody filthy and there’s no way she will get the muck out of it.

Some people…honest.

Wi-Fi Outage

Got teenagers?

Raging, doors slam and knotted stomachs stir

Another day another night another fight

As hormones rage and darkness falls

And once tender caress no longer soothes

There in the dark wet cheeks and heaving chest

All seems so lost and nothing causes smiles to spring

Until selected, renewed and connected

Heart slows, head clears and once more peace returns




A few days away.

For the first time in nearly 6 months I have just spent more than a day away from my blog. 

For the first time in nearly 6 months I have just spent more than a day away from my blog.  In the past Ive had the odd spell away, but nothing like this.  For 4 days in fact I have not made a post, read a comment or read anything anyone else has posted.

It was at first rather frustrating but there were these Ikea cupboards that needed to go up you see plus others that needed moving from one side of the bedroom to the other.  Now, in order to achieve that they needed to be dismantled which I kind of managed but then the dismantling was followed by shouting, swearing, sweating and me then apologising to the family for being a complete dick and a quite awful human being.

The second night I repeated my performance, to somewhat of a lesser degree, but again I was a twat and I will admit that I am this point thinking that I have issues.  No matter how hard I tried the combination of my complete ineptness and the quite obvious evil nature of these wardrobes brought out my inner twat.

Another night of it and by the time I had done them all I simply had no joy left in me and found it rather hard to return and it has taken a couple of days of cocktails, Christmas merriment and festive television to get me back to some sort of place where I have both the time and the inclination to write again.

I have some catching up to do I think but just glad my wife didn’t make me sleep in the garden this Christmas really.  She’s a frightfully patient woman.

Merry Christmas

Michael x




Love – FFFAW Challenge

You’d think we could be nice to each other wouldn’t you…

“Where are we going uncle?” Eleanor asked as she was swept slowly along with the crowd.

“To the memorial service” uncle answered not looking up.

“Why?” She asked holding up her sign just like the other excited children.

“Because you’re a good girl”

“Am I?” She asked.

“Yes you are” Uncle replied. “That’s why I bought you the backpack” he continued, his hand on her shoulder steering her through the crowd.  “That is a very pretty sign Eleanor, did you do it all by yourself?” he asked.

“Mummy helped me make it” she said quite proud.  She didn’t see Uncle very often since he moved away but he always bought her gifts when he visited.

He took her hand and lead her through the masses.  There were so many people, more than she had ever seen before.

“I can’t see” she said jumping up and down, her view blocked by a tall man carrying a candle.

Uncle reached down, his hand snaked into her back pack.  Leaning forward he whispered in her ear.

“Goodbye Eleanor.”

photo courtesy of Elaine Farrington Johnson

I feel rather tired of people being complete arse holes to other lately…




Pesky butterflies – Weekly Weather Challenge: Hurricane

Now I have heard it said that if a butterfly flaps its wings in my back garden it can cause a hurricane in the Philippines or Singapore or somewhere equally warm and exotic…

Now I have heard it said that if a butterfly flaps its wings in my back garden it can cause a hurricane in the Philippines or Singapore or somewhere equally warm and exotic,

Not wanting to appear ignorant I looked up the source of the saying, and from what I read it can be attributed to one Edward Lorenz, who I am sure is most learned, and is the basis of a chaos theory hypothesis which speaks to the randomness of outcomes given any number of contributing factors.

That is about as far as I got before my ignorance and intolerance of such nonsense got the better of me and I decided that surely it must be complete tosh and it would be most appreciated if people would just stop saying it.

I would like to suggest that Mr Lorenz get outdoors more and get a proper job.  Has he even seen a butterfly?  I can just imagine his lofty minded colleagues patting him on the back and congratulating him on his recent thesis whilst on the inside he is laughing his tits off and wondering how he might get into the head of the English departments knickers.

Okay, now if this is true then surely we need to kill all butterflies.  As beautiful and whimsical as they might seem, they cannot be allowed to run amuck causing severe meteorological events.  That just will not do.

Do butterflies possess some magical storm inducing power?  What about the effect of other winged creatures?  What about bats and eagles?  Could a fly flapping furiously in Egypt cause a light drizzle in Cape Town?  A lot of questions I realise but ones to be answered surely.  Heavens, can high winds in the Sahara be attributed to activities of a small flock of gulls in New York?

Perhaps I am taking it too literally and getting myself vexed over nothing.  I am thinking that I should have continued reading instead of submitting to my ignorance.

There are obviously many things that I do not know, but what I do know that I just went out into the garden with a tea tray and spent a minute wafting it up and down, simulating the force of a thousand angry butterflies.  I do not expect this to have any effect on anything (unless my neighbours saw me then perhaps there may be an awkward aversion of eyes next time we cross paths), but if by chance Manilla is ravaged by monsoons, hurricanes and tidal waves next week then I take it all back.

Frightfully sorry.

Fancy something else?







This Week’s Challenges: August 13 – 19 (OWPC & WW)