Wedding blues

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm a little tired of the upcoming royal wedding already. I know this sounds very anti-monarchy of me but it's all over the TV already and shops are already stocking the most tacky of royal wedding souvenirs. I'm sure it'll all be very nice on the day. I know most of the country will come to a standstill huddled in front of huge TV sets, presumably to keep warm rather than squint - given the fact no one is able to afford to heat their homes anymore. But I do know those who steadfastly will be working.
A far better day today. My head wasn't being squeezed. A visit to my parents earlier did provide a degree of stress but it could have been worse. I've learnt to deal with it better over the years. They're lovely of course, but in small doses.
A note for TV buffs - The final ever Waking The Dead tonight on BBC1. A very British drama serial, dark and miserable, but very well made and acted.
I'm doing the house-daddy thing tomorrow as the kids are off school for the Easter break. He's not much trouble but getting more and more interested in computers...
Back briefly to the 'plan' and I have decided to apply for a 'warrant of execution'. This is provided by by the court who apparently send in their own bailiffs to demand the return of my money. I can see no other choice, but we are having to plead poverty and request that we are spared the fee. As with everything, this is far from an easy thing to do so we are requesting the help of our local Citizen's Advice Bureau on Wednesday. I'm determined not to let them get away with it. They have my money and I want it back... soon.

A glorious Sunday

A bright, sunnny and warm day. Unusual? Yep, but very welcome. It's amazing the effect a little sunshine has on people. Clothes become scant and outlandish, tops come off cars and people behave differently, some deciding to drive like complete twats. The sun and the heat also brings out the flies, the wasps and the bees
but it's a small price to pay. My wife hates bees and wasps. I have to deal with these. She handles the things with eight legs, much to my relief. The weather also brings out he barbeque. In recent years, this has become a very British phenomenan so much so it wouldn't surprise me if we had overtaken the Australians in the popularity stakes. My in-laws are particularly fond of them. The weather has had an odd effect on me today. Well I'm blaming the weather anyway. It should have had a positive effect, but it did exactly the opposite. I felt awful with a head feeling like it was being squeezed. Quite why I felt under so much pressure is a mystery. I have the same worries and uncertainties plaguing my every day. Normally these are kept under the surface, but not today. Something was different. Talk about re-painting the outside of the house did nothing to improve things. How can I consider making the house look better if we won't be in it next year? Give me security and I will devote every spare minute I have to it. Security equals confidence. Confidence equals motivation...

Citalopram Nights

The label reads 'Take one tablet daily just before bed'. This little yellow pill sure packs a punch. It keeps the dark clouds away. It also makes me sleep every night. I drift into Slumberland where I dream weird and wonderful things, so vivid I can remember the smallest detail. For a few hours, this pill makes me forget, it takes me to new and exciting places where anything is possible. Waking in the morning is a difficult process. I am wrenched from my slumber like being forced from one world into another. As I enter the real word, the world of now, reality begins to enter my mind and memory begins its painful entry back into my mind. Oh take me back to my Slumberland, where I am safe from the present, where I can be anything and do anything. There's a short time window when the recollection of a dream are vivid. If I'm lucky, I am able to capture them. If not, they vanish just like a fading roll of film. Some dreams are so vivid and leave such an impression, they seem to last forever, just like events in the 'real' world. This little yellow pill does its work in the conscious and the unconscious. Once awke, I feel as if fell into bed a few hours ago after a heavy drinking session. I feel rough, really rough. I feel I could slip back into Slumberland so easily. I must not close my eyes. Summoning the effort to move is difficult. My body seems to be several seconds behind my mind - the two aren't yet synchronised. After about half-an-hour, I'm functioning 'normally'. whatever that is. The real benefit of Citalopram is seen during the day. Has it helped me? Yes, most definitely. It keeps me away from the edge and helps me to stay in control. Is it the perfect solution? No. I still think the same things, it's just the effects of those things that are changed. It helps others to know that things are under control. Citalopram is a badge that tells others my speed is limited to 50 mph. It's an anti-surge device, a thermostat. It regulates and prevents me from going bang. It's my guardian during the day and my weaver of magical dreams at night. My Citalopram.

Recollection - Schools TV

I've decided it is possible to find absolutely anything on YouTube. I have even managed to find the old TV schools programmes I was forced to watch as a primary school kid back in the early 80's. A lot of them were made by ATV before it became Central. Programmes like Stop Look Listen, Seeing & Doing, History Around You, Watch, Picture Box, to name just a few. They are all there, beatifully converted from old analogue videocassette to digital - preserved forever for all to enjoy. Oh how innocent and basic things were back then. I recall sitting cross legged in front of the school TV high on its mobile stand. There would be a first generation JVC video recorder in a steel case beneath it. Built like a tank with chunky jutting out buttons - then a wonder of technology, now a collectors item. Oh how I would enjoy our 15 minute escapes from classroom routine. Sometimes, if we were lucky, it would be 30 minues and on the last day of term we would all be squashed into the TV room for a Disney film. I also remember equipment was painted with LBB in bright yellow. I had no idea what it meant back then but now know it was to show it was owned by the county council and a deterrent against theft. The countdown clock was the most memorable thing about schools TV, normally white on a blue background. Nowadays it can be found online and even downloaded as a screensaver! I have them all. The countdown clock and schools TV will be imprinted in my memory for years to come. Little did I know back then how significant it would be...

Recollections 1

I've decided to add periodic recollections from my past for two main reasons - firstly as they may be of interest and secondly to prevent my memory from deteriorating. If I record my memories then when my mind fails, I have something to rely on.
I was born and grew up in Kent in a large town just south of London. I moved up here to Lincolnshire in 2002 but I had been backwards and forwards between my home down south and my place of work in Peterborough for about a year beforehand.
I remember much of my younger life being spent on public transport. My parents didn't drive and had no desire to do so. The buses ran very close to home and there was a stop at both ends of our road. Therefore, most of my memories from that period contain buses for one reason or another. Every day involved normally at least two bus trips. They were all red back then and old - RT's and RM's - but reliable and classically British. It's hard to understand nowadays but they were invariably smoke-filled, especially when it was cold or raining - not from the engine fumes but from smokers. Back then you could smoke on buses. Hard to believe nowadays but true.
We would go shopping, visit family and sometimes I would just ride about visiting different places. It was cheap and as I got older, I was able to have my own bus pass. This was a pass to freedom and I was convinced it could take me anywhere.
I used to love sitting at the front. In those days, I was just behind the driver and I had a clear view so I could see everything - the road ahead and what the driver was doing to make this beautiful machine move. I used to love the smell. You could smell the warm oil, the diesel fumes, the hot engine. It smelled like a bus. Not like nowadays - everything is cleaned-up, they may as well be electric. I love them. If one looked slightly different, I noticed and I remembered, right down to the smallest detail.
In the evening, I used to walk up the road to meet my Dad from work. He would sometimes get off there depending on the bus he had caught and then walk down the road. I would get to the stop early. I used to like doing that as I could see more buses. I would see the bus in the far distance and as it slowly came into view, I could tell if my Dad could be on it by its route number. Sometimes the bus would pull up and he wouldn't get off but I knew he'd be on one of them eventually. I remember carrying his case for him. I loved those times. I remember them well...

You called yourself Somi

We met on IRC in 1997, soon after Diana had left us. We chatted every night. You were hours ahead and I would often stay up late in the night and into the morning to talk to you. I'd struggle to stay awake at work some days. We used Netmeeting - you were thousands of miles away but I could hear your voice. Sometime we'd lose the connection. We only had dial-up modems back then. You told me you were coming to visit in 1998, July. You wanted to meet me, you told me you loved me. We met at Victoria Station, under the clock. You threw your arms around me and we hugged. We walked to the pub across the road from the station. It was the World Cup and the pub was full of people watching it on the TV. We sat looking at each other longingly. I was shaking.
We went outside and walked for a little. We held each other for hours and it became dark. We were in our time and our place. You had to go and so did I. But we would see each other again, soon. You called a cab. We waved goodbye and I headed back to the station. I boarded my train and went home - not a long journey, just 20 minutes.
We met again and again. I showed you my home town and where I worked. You met my father in his shop. It rained and we both got wet. We were happy. I drove us to the country and we went to Heathfield, home of Winnie The Pooh. We spent a barmy afternoon there. In a field of long grass, we held each other. Some walkers came by and they tutted as they passed. We laughed. We became close and we talked about the future - 10 years from then, talking on the phone until you fell asleep. Then I'd listen to you sleeping.
But then you went. You knew it couldn't be. We let go. You floated away.
I sat at my desk in my office. It's July 2008. I start looking for you on the Internet. I know your father has a firm a long was away. I send an e-mail. I get a reply and he tells me I have been in touch. I feel great but a bit scared. I keep looking and I find you at a firm in London. I email you. I don't know if you will remember. You mail back. You do remember. But you have changed. And so have I. I'll never forget you. I'm still there in 1998 and so are you. Maybe I'll see you again, someday... I'll always miss you, Somi.

Sausages

Can a sausage ever be square...?  I like sausages, I consider myself a bit of a connoisseur. Imagine then my surprise when I came across a square sausage the other week in our local frozen food store. I bought a pack - at just £1 for 10, I considered them a bargain. 
They are made in Scotland which leads me to think this may be a Scottish thing... However, putting their shape to one side, they are actually very nice and taste just like a normal breakfast sausage. 
Yummy yum...