St8rk Reality.

Summer's Here (almost)

2007-05-02T20:45:00.000+01:00

No it is. It must be.

Because yesterday I walked to the train station sans jacket.

I looked the very epitome of a cool, relaxed, man-about-town, casually strolling along, whistling my way to work. I could have been out of a Frank Capra film.

Only, secretly, I was freezing my bollocks off.

It may have looked sunny but I was never so glad to get in a nice , warm train carriage and guzzling piping hot coffee.

I should have known beter than to trust the sun.

The duffle coat comes out tomorrow

Few happy returns

2007-04-26T21:42:00.000+01:00

I awoke to an empty house this morning.
I had to drive to work, which meant I arrived in a bad mood.
Work was pretty stressfull.
I sweated in the gym - it's almost bikini season! (and people in bikinis
will laugh at me if I don't drop a few pounds. Must be careful not to pick
them up again)
I spent three frustrating hours stripping wallpaper. Last night it was five
hours.
The house is still empty.
I have just poured myself a glass of wine.

It is my birthday.

I'm being positive. It means I can eat, drink and scratch what i like. (I am currently doing all three)
Whooppeee!!

holy technobabble

2007-04-16T19:58:00.000+01:00

This bloody new version of blogger keeps driving me nuts!

Every time I muster up a few remnants of the day's energy to blog, the bloody thing keeps asking me about passwords I've long forgotten - along with a host of other things I use to think were important, like the colour of Mrs S's eyes, the first Number One by Howard Jones and the capital of Mozambique.
(Only one of those answers is green but I'm not sure which).

Anyhoo, there I was, persuing around a pretty church is County Tipperary (which, disappointingly, isn't a long way at all) when I spy two elderly nuns struggle to carry a large bucket of holy water.
They both looked like they were about to collapse with exhaustion (but I suppose they had a helping hand from the bloke above) when I decided to do the Christian thing - quite a leap for me, given I'm borderline Satanist with a tendency to wear black and detsroy clergymen's homes at will* - and offer a lending hand.

It was doubly good of me, given that moments before, they'd accused Stark Jnr of being both male and Polish! Not that there's anything intrinsically wrong with either, just that she looks less male and Polish than most.

So, the big strong (and ocassionally atractive) man that I am, duly carried their bucket of the holy stuff to their car.
The first nun got in and sat in the passenger side. She then asked me to pass her the bucket, which was full to the brim and placed it at her feet.

The other nun got in the driver's side. They thanked me and drove off.

And I couldn't help but wonder - what would happen if they braked. Or turned a corner. Or just generally stopped? I had visions of a nun emerging from the car, totally soaked from the waist down, carrying an empty bucket.

*When I visited the minister who would marry the future Mrs S and I, I was upfrfont and told him I didn't believe in God (much to some violent nudging from the future Mrs S). At that exact moment, his living room wall collapsed. No, really. The look on his face said it all - get out heathen!

Actually, he did marry us and turned out to be an OK bloke.

Mysterious ways, eh?

What the...?

2007-04-04T20:42:00.000+01:00

Hey, what happened?

Who stole March? Last thing I remember it was late February, Stark Jnr was teething/not taking a bottle/being grumpy/being incontinent, work was mental and I had a few "side projects" on the go.

In all this confusion, I clean forgot about you lot.

"Side projects" sounds distinctly dodgy, doesn't it? If only it were that exciting.

All that coupled with a "lock-out" of my Blogger account (they said I had to take gardening leave until I was funny again) meant Stark was AWOL. Personally, I blame the "side projects" and consequential delusions of grandeur.

Sorry for the vagueness, it just happens to be a convenient excuse for couldn't-be-arsed-ness.

Mrs and Jnr S and I are off to the land of black drink, soda bread and something called a crack for easter.

If I see a decent crack I'll bring back photos!!

trials and tribulations

2007-02-27T20:28:00.000Z

Today...

I have been screamed at, scratched, ignored, hung up on (as it the telephone, not in a strange infatuation way), swore at and urinated on.

And that was when I got home.

I had decided today that, almost two whoole months into 2007, I was due some time off work, to spend at home.

I think I may have changed my mind.

Nursery Ryh..Rty...Rythm...Songs

2007-02-14T19:46:00.000Z

Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub...

What the hell is that about?

I think Stark Jnr is a little too young to hear about three-in-a-bath homosexual swingers parties!

Sunday Morning Call

2007-02-12T19:52:00.000Z

I know all men probably say it at one time or another but... it had never happened to me before. Honestly.

There I was standing outside the supermarket, waiting for it to open. IT WAS SUNDAY BLOODY MORNING!!!

I was up so early on Sunday - a contradiction in my house - that I had to stand outside the local supermarket waiting for it to open. What was wrong with me?

There I was, tracksuit bottoms on, jangling my car keys awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact with the couple who were also waiting. They looked like they'd been up drinking all night and were desperate for the shop to open so they could buy some lighter fluid to keep ther party burning.

They probably thought the same about me.

Pre-9am shopping?

Aah, the lure of a good bacon sandwich does strange things to a man.

weather man

2007-02-08T22:13:00.000Z

Why does the weather report insist on referring to 'adverse' weather?

What's so bloody adverse about it? Surely there's no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' weather? Just weather.
What's so good about sun? Skin cancer, heat exhaustion and men in socks and sandals!
And what's so bad about snow or rain? I happen to love the snow.

So stop bloody moaning!

Empty Sack

2007-02-01T19:39:00.000Z

I knew something was wrong when I saw her walking towards me, holding my folder in her hands.

"There you go," she smiled. I'd just managed to thank her before my heart sunk. I stared at my rucksack. It was wide open. And empty.

In my haste to catch my morning train I had done the unthinkable. I had ran the last 200 yards to the station. And, unbeknownst to me, had deposited the contents of my bag onto the road every few steps.

There was my umbrella, lying on the station steps; that CD my friend returned to me last night, strewn on the station concourse; my notebook with my life's work fluttering in the gutter. And my cheese and coleslaw sandwich, lovingly prepared before I left home this morning, abandoned in the middle of the road.

I stared at the multiseed concoction lyin forlornly halfway across the pedestrian crossing.

By some miracle, the wheels of passing cars had missed it. Like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon it had survived by being directly in the centre of the road, thus avoiding certain death.

I considered my options.

Do I abandon my organic friend to its fate or, like the muppet I am, press the button, wait for the green man and boldly walk into the centre of the road, pick up the sandwich and place it in my bag, thus attracting the bewildered gaze of passers-by.

Well, it's just not me to leave a friend in distress.

I made my way back to the station, whistling "Two Little Boys"

Did you think I would leave you lying... when there's room in my bag for two....

Map Man

2007-01-29T19:29:00.000Z

I like looking at maps.

I find it strangely comforting to examine the name places of countries and continents I'll probably never visit. From the Siberian wasteland to the Mexican coast, I could look at them for hours.

In fact, I'm almost sexually attracted to Ordnance Survey maps. They are the epitome of class.

Last night I discovered the best placename yet. A small town on the Donegal coast in Northern Ireland called... Muff.

Are the people who live there Muffers?
As it's on the coast, there is a chance it has a diving school - The Muff Diving School!
I would gladly pay good money for a 'Certified Muff Diver' T-shirt.

But that's because under this facade of adult respectability lies an nine-year-old schoolboy chuckling "muff" under his breath.

Oh dear.

Beer Googles

2007-01-24T21:19:00.000Z

I googled myself today.

I know, how very passe, but it was a slow day at work and I wanted to see what the various versions of me in a parallel world were doing.

So, I put in my real name.

Turns out I am not who I thought I was. Depeneding on which site you visit,
I am a...

1. Highly successful Christian musician from the USA
2. A religious author who reently joined a native American tribe
3. A public health executive from New Zealand
4. An Australian food writer
5. An Australian folk singer
6. A computer repairman from Alabama
7. A convicted fraudster from Kent
8. Young, single and "up for anything, except animals", from Newcastle
9. A disgruntled commuter who only blogs when he's nothing better to do.

Hmmm...

All White on the Night

2007-01-23T16:57:00.000Z

When I awoke this morning, the snow was deep. And crisp. And even.

I scraped the snow off the car, carefully cleared a stretch of driveway (yes, I admit it, I have a driveway, but it doesn't make me posh) and edged my way slowly up the road toward the motorway.

To avoid a repeat of last year's 'Stuck in the snow 20 yards from my house' fiasco, I threw the snow shovel in the back of the car. Super Safety Stark, always thinking ahead. I should have been a Mountie. If I lived in Canada and wasn't allergic to horses.

By the time I arrived at work in Big City, the sun was shining, there wasn't a drop of snow to be seen.

A colleague looked at the back seat of my car and spotted the snow shovel.

"Not an optimist, are you?"

Late Christmas Wrapping

2007-01-05T22:32:00.000Z

I receive a mystery package.

It is a large box, wrapped in brown paper. It has my name on it.
I am immediately disappointed when i lift the box. It is too light to contain any of the following:
A case of whisky
A new Apple Mac laptop
One of those Playboy bunnies that leap from giant cakes to sing Happy Birthday in a sultry marilyn Monroe fashion.
(To be honest the last one was a bit of a long shot, really. It isn't even my birthday)

I open the box.

There is another box inside, similarly wrapped in brown paper. If this is one of those Russian doll-type gags, I won't be amused, i say to myself.

There is yet another box inside the smaller box!!! Clearly someone is having a laugh at my expense, or I've received a gift from an anonymous stalker who has a brown wrapping paper fetish and this IS the present!

Needless to say the real present lay inside the third box, thus dispelling the last theory.

It wasn't even for me. It was for Stark Jnr. It wasn't remotely alcoholic.

I stuff the (rather attractive) brown wrapping paper into the bin and open a beer.

Tsk.

Tempted (by the car of another)

2007-01-04T21:12:00.000Z

It was like a scene from The Omega Man (or 28 Days Later depending on your age).

The Big City streets were deathly quiet. Only the ocassional discarded newspaper fluttering down the empty streets interupted the silence.

I was completely alone.

It was dawn and the city was still asleep. The last time I walked the streets at this ungodly hour, I was coming home from a party and desperately searching for a 24-hour kebab house.

This morning, I was unreasonably sober and on my way to work.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered.

A brand spanking new Mini Cooper screeched to a halt 10ft in front of me.
The driver got out, slammed the door behind him and ran off clutching a bundle of newspapers. He hadn't seen me. He didn't lock the car's doors. I could see he was running in the direction of a nearby evil burger chain
outlet.

It would take him at least two minutes to make his drop-off and return to the unlocked car. Then it hit me. TEMPTATION. Or should that be TEMP-TA-TION (higher and higher!)

I could easily slip into the driver's side and steal the car. It was obvious the driver had left the keys in the ignition. He must have assumed no-one in their right mind would be out of their beds at this time. The car would be
safe.

A hundred thoughts ran through my mind. I wouldn't have to steal the car outright, just jump in and drive a couple of hudred yards, get out, and be on my way. It would certainly teach him a lesson.

I have to admit to you, I came dangerously close. It was almost too good an opportunity to miss. Car thieves and ne'er do wells across the country would give their benfit cheques for an opportunity such as this.

But me? I'm a good boy. But with bad thoughts.

Instead, the only dangerous thing I did was buy a bacon roll and a cup of tea, thus breaking my "the bad food ends here" rule on Day One.

New Year New Me

2007-01-02T20:56:00.000Z

Nah, not really, just more of the same, except with a few more wrinkles and grey hairs (all of which add to my unerring attractiveness. No, really, it does).
My main resolutions are

1) Drink more. I'm a nicer person with a bottle of rich, fruity red wine in me. See, that's me thinking of others, that is.
2) Eat more. Just of the better variety of foods this time.
3) Teach Stark Jnr to swear effectively. C'mon, you know there's nothing more cute than a small child saying "bugger!"
4) Finish writing proper lists...

Sleepless in Scotland

2006-12-21T18:40:00.000Z

The effects of severe sleep deprivation, No. 32:

Pointing my car's electronic key fob at the garden wheelie bin and wondering why it won't open.
Mind you, it could be worse, I could have dumped the leftovers from last night's dinner in the back of the car.

Inside

2006-12-18T22:28:00.000Z

Sorry for the lack of red hot blogging action, I've been indisposed.

Why are all hospitals painted in the same hue of beige? I can think of nothing less appealing - apart from Christine Hamilton chatting me up at a swingers party (of which I've never been to, obviously) - than this so-called colour.

It is the colour of boredom.

19 hours, one room, three nurses and one poster illustrating the correct way to lift someone (which I can now, though won't, quote verbatim. I'll save that party piece for Christmas).

I'm now back to normality - although I suspect it's a normality which will never be the same again.

Oh, I meant to say... what kind of cheese does not belong to you?

Nacho cheese.

(really sorry)

The kindness of strangers

2006-12-11T21:54:00.000Z

My faith in humanity has been (temporarily) restored.

Perhaps it's a Christmas 'good will to all men' thing but yesterday two small gestures really made my day.
Firstly, I was returning to my car in the dungeon car park where it lives during daylight hours. As I never, EVER, have enough change to feed the meter for an entire day, I usually have to make at least one return journey during the day to top-up the meter.
As I approached the money-hungry machine, I could see a small ticket, carefully stuck to the facade of the machine. The ticket still had three hours to run before it expired.
Rather than simply scrunch the ticket into a ball and toss it into the passenger footwell, someone, a very thoughtful and generous someone, left the ticket behind for someone to make use of.

I go three hours for nothing!

What an unselfish act, I thought, as I walked the short distance to the underground station. I had only a short distance to travel to run a lunchtime errand and so decided to travel by tube, rather than risk losing my parking space for the rest of the afternoon.

Then it happened, again.

As I was entering the station, I pulled out my wallet and began scrambling for enough money to buy a ticket. Just as I pulled out a note, I was approached by an elderly gentleman.

"Excuse me," he said, in an elderly gentlemanly kind of way, "but are you going to use the tube?"

"Er.... yes," I said, bracing myself to repel a ninja-style attack by the old geezer.

"You may as well have this, then. It's an All Day pass and I won't be using it again today. Go on, it'll save you two quid."

I took it from him and continued with my journey. I was gobsmacked. I use up most of my oxygen quota complaining about how selfish and cynical society has become and then this happens - TWO thoughtful acts within the space of five minutes.

People. How great are they?

Groundhog Day (revisited)

2006-12-06T19:23:00.000Z

I am living in Groundhog Day (again)

Every day is the same -
Wake up
Brush teeth
Dress
Eat cheap German cereal (Aldi-addict!)
Pack bag
Get in car
Sit in traffic
Seethe
Park
Enter office
Leave office for coffee
Seethe
Work
Go for long walk at lunchtime
Make unneccesary purchase
Work
Seethe
Try not to fall asleep
Get back in car
Sit in traffic
Seethe (there's a theme here, have you go it yet?)
Arrive home
Go for walk with Mrs S
Check e-mails
Eat dinner
Do a couple of token household chores (badly)
Do exercises in spare room, serial killer-style (you know, with a broody
look on my face and tattooes glistening in the sodium hue of the street
lights)
Go for bath
Watch CSI (sometimes two)
Go to bed
Awake
Brush teeth
Etc
Etc
Etc

Every day is the same.

Oh, apart from today, when I paraded about the big city dressed as Santa
Claus, being chased by gangs of local youths who screamed: "Where's Rudolph
now, ya fat bastard!"

Ho Ho Bloody Ho

Car Wars

2006-11-29T17:19:00.000Z

It all happened in slow motion.

I could see it in the rear view mirror, inching closer to the side of the car. Confident it would remain a safe distance from the shiny blue paintwork, I continued to edge slowly forward. Then...

SSSCCCCCRRRRREEEEAAAAGGGGGHHHHKKKKK!!!!!!!

The large concrete pillar brushed the side of the car with all the delicate touch of a drunken Mike Tyson. I had reached the point where you think: 'Will I do less damage if I keep going, or will I reverse in the hope of minimising the situation?'

I reversed back out of the parking space. I got out the car and surveyed the damage. A foot-deep, white scrape now adorned the rear passenger door. Four thoughts ran through my head.

1. I've jusy spent £150 on new (but probably unneccessary - thank you Kwik Fit) tyres and can't afford to throw more money away.

2. Will this affect my no-claims bonus?

3. There goes my new iPod I planned to buy this month.

4. If I can do this in a COMPLETELY EMPTY car park, think of the damage I could do in a full one.

My only excuse was it was 7.15 am, a Monday morning and I hadn't eaten any breakfast.

My week was ruined before it started.

Deals on Wheels

2006-11-25T14:42:00.000Z

I'm not sure what happened.

I could have sworn I only went in there to replace a flat tyre. Instead, my wallet is £150 lighter. Excuse the toilet-mouthed language, but I FUCKING HATE KWIK FIT!!!

The knuckle-dragging degenerate hummed. He hawed. He scratchedd his greasy head. He growled: "You're gonna have to replace four of yer tyres mates."

Firstly, I'm not "yer mate." In fact, should we ever be stranded on a desert island together, a la Lost, you would be Sawyer to my Jack. (actually, I'd be more like that wee Hobbit fella but I digress). Not under any circumstances could we ever be regardedd as 'friends'.

Secondly, I wouldn't trust your opinion about whether the sky is blue, never mind about the state of my tyres.

Thirdly, what the hell do I know. "OK, fair enough, go ahead," I said meekly.

I may as well have walked in there, pulled my jeans down, turned around and screamed: "Go for it big boy, do your worst!" Because, metaphorically at least, that's what they've done.

I've been well and truly shafted.

workin' 9 to 5 (what a way to make a living)

2006-11-23T21:13:00.000Z

Work has been mental!

All week, it's been "do this NOW!"
"But I've still to finish..."
"THAT doesn't matter, THIS is more important."

A few minutes later...

"Can you quickly do this for me? I need it within the next five minutes!"
"But you just said I had to work on..."
"Never mind what I just said, THIS is more important than THAT! And when
you've finished, I've got something else for you."
"I'll do my best but I have a meeting in half an hour..."
"Don't bother with the meeting, THIS is more important."
"Yes, but it's the meeting you set up and said was extremely important for
me to attend. You said that."
"Never mind what I said just do as I tell you."

And that's just before I leave the house.

Which is why posts have been as thin on the ground as Jade Goody's O' Levels.

fishy tales

2006-11-16T21:33:00.000Z

I'm back to spending an hour every morning behind my jalopy, cursing and gesticulating wildly at BMW drivers, so forgive my foul mood.

Today, I went to the fishmongers. I was on a mission from cod (ooh, that was below the belt, sorry!)

I like the fishmongers and I prepare well for my visit, packing a cooler bag with ice packs. Well, my 'catch' has to lurk about my car boot for five hours before it finds my fridge.

I am quite conservative when it comes to buying fish. Although I love all seafood and will try almost anything, I'm a creature of habit when it come to buying our seafaring friends. Haddock, salmon, mackerel and sea bass are as adventurous as I got today.

I'm also a 'pointer' rather than a 'handler' unlike the Chinese couple who were handling every fish, closely smelling them and generally picking them up with the confidence of Captain Bird's Eye. At one point I thought they might start juggling with the squid - it wouldn't have looked out of plaice (oh, there I go again!)

A visit to the fishmongers does, however, make me feel like a proper 'foodie' - no Tesco pretend fish counter for me. I am truly a connoisseur of fine comestibles.

Anyway, less writey, more cookey, I'm making dinner tonight. It's chicken.

Regards

Rick Stein

Garden DIY

2006-11-12T17:52:00.000Z

I have been doing some work in the garden.

The neighbours think my new statue is a tad OTT. I think it suits the area.

The Evil That Men Do

2006-11-11T16:07:00.000Z

I did it.

I found a long-forgotten crumb of courage lurking deep inside me and did it. I told my neighbour I didn't want a lift. "Thanks, but it's a lovely morning and I'm enjoying the fresh air. I appreciate the offer, though," I said and continued on my merry way.

A weight had lifted from my broad, athletic shoulders (what??!) and I found a new spring in my step. This lasted for about thirty seconds before I began to feel like a spoiled, ungrateful, shit.

I imagined my friendly neighbour continuing her drive to work in floods of tears, feelings of rejection overwhelming her. Spurned by someone she regarded as a friend, she would never stop and offer again.

You think I'm being silly?

Yesterday morning, just as I was leaving the park and heading into the metropolis, I once again spotted my friendly neighbour approaching in her car. I noticed the rear brake lights light up as the car slowed down. "Here we go again" I thought, steeling myself for another rebuff (well it was another nice morning and I really needed the exercise - beer and takeaway food were planned).

But the car didn't stop. The brake lights fizzled away and the car disappeared into the horizon. SHE HAD SECOND THOUGHTS ABOUT STOPPING! I have ruined everything.

I am truly a BAD MAN.

Fancy a lift?

2006-11-08T21:15:00.000Z

Every weekday morning I walk to the train station.

It's a walk I enjoy. Through the park, past the same friendly faces. It takes about half an hour and the extra exercise means I can occasionally eat a lump of hydrogenated snack food without too much guilt.

But... at least three mornings a week, my friendly neighbour passes in her car and stops to offer me a lift to the station. It's a kind and neighbourly offer and, so far, I've always accepted. I'm too bloody polite to tell her I don't want a lift, that I prefer my leisurely stroll, just me, the park and James Taylor on the iPod. You see, I don't want to offend her because she's really nice and I occasionally don't mind getting a lift, especially when the rain is chucking it down.

To some, a half hour walk in the near pitch-dark at 7.30am is an act of pure mentalness, but to me, it's the only time of day I get to be alone (apart from a couple of visits to the toilet but I'm not sure they count - mind you, imagine how weird it would be if SHE DID pop her head over the toilet partition wall and said: "Morning! Need any help?")

So how do I tell her that, thanks very much but I prefer to walk to the station in the morning?

Will she be offended and never offer me a lift or any other neighbourly hand of friendship ever again? Will she watch me from inside her warm car, swerving closer to the kerb to deliberately splash me with a puddle?

Or will she politely say "That's fine, any time you DO want a lift, just you let me know" and we'll both be on our way, except I'll feel like a total shit and she'll think I'm an ungrateful twat who thinks he's too good to get into my car?

I await tomorrow morning with dread.

You just don't need that kind of shit in the morning do you? (no reference to above toilet scenario intended)

Poor show

2006-11-07T22:23:00.000Z

A proper post tomorrow, I promise.

No, really.

I've been very busy with lots of...erm... things.

Trust me.

Winter's Here

2006-10-31T16:32:00.000Z

Bloody hell, it's getting cold up here!

'Tis the Season

2006-10-30T16:37:00.000Z

I am suffering from chronic smugness.

The reason for my self-satisfying aura is... I've completed my Christmas shopping - AND IT'S STILL BLOODY OCTOBER!!!
How organised am I?

It's a world shopping record in my house and I'm so smug I'm telling everyone. There's even a pinch of double-smugness because I bought everything from a charity website. So, not only are my friends and family going to receive all manner of very useful, hand-crafted baskets from Nepal (or something very similar) but I've helped save the planet. A wee bit anyway. Well, at least my conscience is clear. Ok sod it, I just couldn't be bothered battling it out with the moronic hordes in shopping centres all buying useless pieces of crap for equally useless relatives.

I did it all over two hours a couple of nights ago and now I await the delivery of a huge parcel with presents for everyone. I can't wait to open the huge box (let's face it , there aren't many things more exciting than opening a big box). Only, I know I'm going to be a bit disappointed when I realise none of the box's contents are for me. I'll probably reward my own generosity by popping into town and making an unnecessary purchase - like a new screwdriver. Woo! Rock 'n' roll!!!

Wee Break

2006-10-25T13:13:00.000+01:00

Like a midget in the mail room, this will be a short post.

I am on holiday.

I am not, however, sunning myself on a tropical beach, tapping away at the keyboard from under the welcoming shade of a mature palm tree, lavishing in the five star resort's wireless broadband connection.

No. I am at home, staring at the grey mist outside the window, mulling over which of the 45,332 odd jobs around the house I will do next. And I still have another week and a half of a work-free existence.

So far today, I've been an electrician, housekeeper, picture hanger, dishwasher and joiner (carpeneter to the uninitiated). And it's all been done with my usual half-arsed approach. My motto has always been: "If a job is worth doing, it's worth doing badly, quickly and bad tempered." I have exceeded at this.

Following this brief bacon roll respite, I will resume my duties as super-husband and become a plumber, computer technician, interor designer and serial shopper.

There's every chance I will also become drinker.

I think I deserve it.

Happy Snapper

2006-10-19T19:22:00.000+01:00

I am a sometime amateur photographer.

(This does not mean I take photos of the neighbour's wife in compromising positions after one too many G&Ts - there was the once but we'll gloss over that)

Anyway apropos of nothing, here is a photograph.

I was really just trying to prove that I could upload a photo.

There.

Book 'em!

2006-10-19T18:54:00.000+01:00

I miss the train.
(not through poor timing but longing)

For the past week I have ditched my usual walk-train-coffee-book routine in favour of the car-swear-sweat-stress routine.
I have had to be in work at a ridiculously early hour this week, which I'm pretty sure is illegal everywhere except North Korea, which means I have had to drive to the big city each morning rather than the more relaxed train ride.

The thing I liked best about the train was I got to catch up on some reading. I'm a sucker for those 3 for 2 deals in high street bookshops and have a huge pile of unread literature littering the house. It makes me look very well-read. Until someone says: "Oh, I see you've read The Revenge of the Ninja Geisha!* Didn't you find the post-modern narrative an illuminating concept, and so daring of the author to kill off the protagonist in Chapter Two?"

"Mmmm... s'pose," I usually answer, quickly changing the subject for fear they realise I haven't got around the reading it yet.

In the past few weeks, I've managed to remedy the situation and ticked a few books off my list. So, here is a list of the books what I have read recently and what I thought of them. I just thought you might be interested.

Feel free to indulge in a high-brow tete a tete about their individual merits. Or not.

As Used On The Famous Nelson Mandela by Mark Thomas.
I quite like a bit of revealing non-fiction every now and then and it gives me an enormous sense of smugness to know that I now know more about the illegal arms trade than the bloke sitting next to me on the train reading the latest Dan Brown.
Verdict: A shocking eye-opener which you really must read. Don't wait for the film, it could be a while.

We Need To Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver.
A post-Columbine tale about a mother and her struggle to deal with the aftermath of a high school massacre - by her son.
Verdict: A bit pretentious at times but ultimately a good read.

Saturday by Ian McEwan
One day in the life of a posho neurosurgeon and his posho family, set against the backdrop of the anti-war demo.
Verdict: You'll learn a lot about brain surgery -and posho families.

The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst
A previous Booker Prize winner, it's more poshos, this time Eighties Tory MPs and their offspring. The protagonist is a young, gay writer who embarks "on a journey of discovery." Bit disturbed by the fact that my mother in-law recommended this one as it contains a lot of graphic gay scenes, particularly "bumshoving" (his phrase, not mine).
Verdict: A good yarn but beware of strange looks from the person sitting next to you on the train, reading over your shoulder.

I haven't decided on what to start next.

Tune in next time to Stark's Book Reviews and find out more...

*Don't look for it, I made it up.

Aquaman

2006-10-17T18:59:00.000+01:00

I went swimming today.

It's the first time I've pulled on a pair of trunks in anger since I stayed at a hotel in Liverpool in the summer.*
I was relieved to see that I'd lost none of my fish-like attributes. Why, at one point I held my face and head under the water for almost five seconds without spluttering and wiping a trail of snot from my nose. I am truly an aqua-athlete.

At one point, I saw the swimming instructor who was teaching the kiddies point in my direction and shake her head, doubtlessly telling her children that no matter how hard they trained, they'd never be as good as "that man over there."

Like a true aqua-athlete, I jumped effortlessly out of the pool, strutted by the swimming class with a smug sense of self-satisfaction.

I WAS NOT holding my stomach in - that's just the way it looks, OK. It comes with having so much 'swimming muscles'.

*The hotel had a pool, I wasn't just parading about the room in swimming trunks.

Life's Hard

2006-10-15T21:28:00.000+01:00

Want to know what's the hardest thing in life?

Finding the right partner to spend the rest of your life with?
A cinch.

Embarking on a career which is both financially rewarding and morally satisfactory?
A piece of piss.

Remaining healthy and guilt-free in a world full of extremely tempting bad habits?
A walk in the park.

The hardest thing life will ever throw at us is... painting a white ceiling white.

Seriously, I've done three of the buggers recently and there's nothing tougher. How do you know where you've stopped painting when the paint you're applying is the same colour as the one that's already there?

I've tried the light on-light off approach and it makes little difference. It's simply the most frustrating thing you'll ever had to do.

I'll tell you how you know if you've missed a patch. You finish painting, wash and dry the roller and brush, tidy up and sit down for a cup of tea. 24 hours later when you pop in to marvel at your handiwork, you'll see several patches of slightly faded white. The bits that you missed. That's how you see them - when you're lying on your back, kicking and screaming in frustration wishing you'd never started because you knew deep down - no matter what anyone else told you - that it didn't need blooody painting in the first place.

Ah, pathetic

2006-10-11T19:32:00.000+01:00

To be frank, I just haven't had the energy to post this week at all. Sorry.

It reminds me of a similar lack of enthusiasm when I was an "angry young man."

I wanted to establish an organisation called The Anti-Apathy League - encouraging people to "get involved" in anything from local politics to charity work.

But I couldn't be bothered.

Groundhog Day

2006-10-01T10:24:00.000+01:00

I am living in the film Groundhog Day.

Except I'm not a television weather man and I've no interest in Andie MacDowell.

Since I started catching the train to work a few weeks ago, every day is identical - right down to the people I pass on my way to the train station. No kidding, it's becoming very weird. Every day I pass:

The two identical builder's vans, who pull out of the same junction in the road at the same time, so I always have to wait a few seconds before crossing.

The same three nursery nurses on their way to work. The one on the left always wears a face that says 'I'd rather be anywhere else than here this morning.'

The middle-aged woman chaining her bike to the park railing before heading into the park for an early morning run.

A different middle-aged woman (I'm beginning to think they're the only ones who like to get up so early) walking her little black terrier-like dog. Sorry, I don't 'do' dogs so it could be a Giant Blood Retriever for all I know.

Mr Telegraph - older man carrying the Daily Telegraph under his left arm and a miserable look on his face.

Mr Guardian - older man carrying the Guardian under his right arm and a gentle look on his face - like in the Werther's Originals advert.

(I think they should get together over morning coffee and have a animated political debate)

Mr High Visibility Jacket - younger man who carries the same Farmfoods bag (don't all nutters?) and wears a yellow hi-vis jacket and waves to people who aren't there. I quite like him, he seems the happiest out of us all.

I've even began, unwittingly, to sit in exactly the same seat, in the same train carriage every morning, pulling out the same flask of coffee. If I didn't bring out a different book every week, I would be seriously worried.

I think I might be in a Lost-type experiment and there are hidden cameras everywhere - and a bloke sitting on a desert island somewhere recording all my moves.

Or maybe the people above all just leave their house at the same time I do every morning.

Problem solved!!

2006-09-21T22:34:00.000+01:00

The problem has been solved!

(Am I repeating myself again?)
After several days close scrutiny, the flood in my garage has been remedied - by none other than yours truly. I am feeling suitably smug and very manly. I am considering leaving my universally-acknowledged stupid career and becoming a jack of all trades - and master of a quite a few thankyouverymuch.

After ripping up floorboards in the adjacent room (no water there) and watching the garage floor closer than Paris Hilton watching her bathroom scales, the source of the uninvited water revealed itself to me.

It was a bloody loose connection on the washine machine. Which I tightened. Problem solved.

I would just like to take this opportunity to berrate every plumber in my town for failing to notice the problem for the past tw million months, thus making my garage - and consequently my whole house - smell damper than a tramp's feet in a mushroom factory. Cheers lads!

Anyway, this got me thinking.

Is it just me or is every problem down to a 'loose connection'? From my dodgy stereo and temperamental iPod to the wonky fridge door and the irritatingly broken remote control, it seems the problem can be traced to whant's known in "the trade" as a loose connection?

I think I've cracked it Watson. That's precisely what's wrong with the world these days. It isn't America's short-sighted foreign policy or our consumer society failing to grasp the consequences of our selfish actions - there's just a loose connection somewhere on the planet.

So, for the sake of the babies, could you all just check that the area around you is working OK and that there aren't any loose connections that are blindingly obvious?

If you find one, give me a shout and I'll be around in a jiff to sort it out.

Thank you

The Big Drip

2006-09-14T19:30:00.000+01:00

My garage has a mysterious leak.

There is a small pool of water lying dead centre in the middle of the floor. Yet the roof is bone dry!
I have taken to sitting in said garage - on a child's chair, cup of tea in one hand, cake in the other - watching, waiting, ever alert. But no drip comes.

So where the hell is the water coming from? It's like an episode of the X Files (the old episodes, before it got really silly).

In the past five months my house has seen more plumbers than a national plumbing convention but not one has solved the mystery.

So, forgive my brevity, but I must return to the garage to sit a while longer.

Oh, is this really what my life has come to?

probably, yes

who, what, why, where, when...

2006-09-08T18:25:00.000+01:00

I realise I've never quite got round to filling in the 'my profile' bit on the blog, not through any effort to protect my anonymity, just laziness I'm afraid.
So, in an attempt to 'reveal' a bit more here is some information which you will no doubt be of very little interest.

"Who are you?"
Whoo-whooo whooo whooo (sorry, dodgy Roger Dalrey impersonation)
I am Stark. That is all.

"Where are you?"
Halfway between Brighton and the Orkneys. Probably, although I haven't measure or anything. Or even looked it up. It just sounded good.

"Why are you here?"
Something to do with a Barry White song and a half bottle of vodka, but you'd have to ask my mum.

"I meant, why the blog?"
Oh, right, sorry. It seemed I was the only person in the world who WASN'T writing one. So, like the lemming I am, I got me one. The real answer is I need some discipline in writing - I need to be forced to do something, you see, no self-motivation.

To be continued...
(see I've ran out of motivation).

Tasty debates

2006-09-07T20:15:00.000+01:00

My place of work is increasingly odd...

Tony Blair's imminent departure? Not a mutter.
The crisis in the Middle East? Hardly an eyebrow raised.
Terror threat across the country? Mmmm, whatever.

No, the real debate in open-plan hell, the chat which has raised voices and temperatures and people have almost come to blows over is...

"What were the best sweeties when we were kids?"

I kid you not, people have been having serious fall-outs over this. For the past few days, every sentence has begun with: "Oh, oh, does anyone remember..." usually followed by such teeth rotters of yesteryear like "Jubilees, flying saucers, Wham bars, splicers, Caramacs, that edible rice paper type stuff."

As hard as I have tried to remain aloof from this juvenile - and frankly inane - banter, I did have to interject when one poor misguided fool actually tried to defend the rather poor 'shoelaces' against the infinitely superior, and timeless, 'ten pence mixture.' I mean, really.

But seriously, this is precisely what is wrong with the world. I haven't seen my work colleagues so animated about anything since, well... ever.
Forget the worsening AIDS crisis in Africa, human rights abuses in Indonesia, or even rising petrol prices at home, it's sugar-coated nostalgia that's gripping the nation.

Maybe when Gordon Brown becomes PM he could learn something from this lot. "My right honorable ladies and gentlemen of house... do any of you remember aniseed balls!"

Tell Tale Sign I'm Growing Old No.11

2006-08-31T18:23:00.000+01:00

I get excited about travel passes and waterproof jackets (see previous entry).

Trainspotting

2006-08-30T19:19:00.000+01:00

I am now an official commuter.

As of last Monday I have joined the throng of iPod-wearing, Metro-reading hordes who brave our beloved public transport system twice each day.
The previous week I was a lone, irate driver, who spent up to an hour every day ranting to no-one in particular about the Renault Clio in front which refuses to pull back into the inside lane.
Now... well, I'm a different person. Rather than play 'dodge the crazy lorries' and suffer the smug middle Englishness of BBC Radio 5 Live, I now enjoy a leisurely stroll through the park, a relaxing coffee and bury my
nose in a good book.

I even look the part. Waterproof jacket, comfortable walking shoes, homemade coffee in a portable mug/flask thing. I even have the ubiquitous white plastic string hanging from my ears. Which is handy if you don't like speaking to people - especially commuters.

I even... ooh this is so exciting.... have my own travel pass. With a photo of me. It reads: "Mr Stark - license to ride (the train)."

It doesn't. I made that up. But it's cool nonetheless.

Tree-mendous

2006-08-22T20:39:00.000+01:00

I have an alien tree in my front garden.

At first glance, it loooks like any ordinary tree. You know, the typical tree you'd find in any garden, park or woodland, anywhere across the country. With leaves, branches, bark, the whole tree shebang.

Except this tree hides a sinister secret. IT DOES NOT EXIST. I don't mean in a foliage existential way, it really does not exist. Anywhere. In any book. About trees.

It's tried to hide its 'alieness' by disguising itself as a goold old-fashioned Great British Tree. Blending into the tree-laden background. Borrowed its leaf shape from a rowan, bark from a willow, branch size from a birch. That sort of thing.

*Doesn't Bark From A Willow sound a great name for a heavy metal band?*

But the simple fact is, it doesn't exist in the world of known trees. So, either one of three things is possible.

1) It is a new species of tree, a hybrid of several existing species, possible created by some long-forgotten Dr Frankenstein of the tree world which has self-seeded itself from his top secret hideaway deep in the mountains. Or in the hatch where Lost is set.

2) It is an alien disguised as a tree, making notes on human behaviour. If so, his notes will probably read like this: human male. bit strange. likes sitting position. swears at box in corner of room a lot. no one visits. smells a bit too. even from outside in the garden. could be spy from the planet Frrooghlemeyyer.

or

3) I'm no use at using tree reference books and it's as common as muck.

Whatever the truth, I just wanted to know before I chopped the bugger down. In which case I won't ever be back if it turns out to be reason number 2.

"I'm a lumberjack and I'm... what the?... aaargghhh... get it off!..."

ratatatatatatatatat

2006-08-21T20:52:00.000+01:00

I have a pneumatic drill in my head today.

Or at least that's what it sounds -and feels - like.

Like drilling through glass in a cavern.

I have white finger brain.

I must lie down and watch mind-sapping television.

I'm so glad us men get to make the most of minor ailments.

Aren't you?

Back soon.

Flippin' heck(le)

2006-08-17T21:42:00.000+01:00

I read the funniest thing today.

It was about the best heckles people have heard at stand-up shows and concerts. The best one, which literally had me rolling in the aisles -except there are no aisles at my place of work, I am not a priest - was about everyone's favourite pseud-rocker, Bono.

The Dublin crooner and his U2 chums were playing to literally dozens of adoring fans in Glasgow last year. Ever the one for gettin his tuppence-worth in, old Mr Hewson spoke solemnly to the audience:

CLAP

CLAP

"Every time...

CLAP

"...I clap my hands..."

CLAP

"...a child in Africa..."

CLAP

"...dies..."

CLAP

A lone voice from the midst of the crowd piped up: "Well stop fuckin' doin' it then!"

Hats off to you, wherever you are.

technophobe

2006-08-16T20:17:00.000+01:00

No, it's not the fear of being trapped in a lift with The Shamen, it's me trying to get to grips with the slippery eel that is technology. Bare with me, they've only just discovered Channel 4 up in my neck of the woods.

Grrrrr

Technorati Profile

Fest-ering weekend

2006-08-15T21:15:00.000+01:00

Three nights, four days, six shows, four minor celebrities and countless pints of Guinness.

I'm back from Edinburgh.

The celeb count was significantly down on last year but still included a very drunk Gail Porter, a very tall Alistair MacGowan and a very lonely (he was devoid of company) Marcus Bridgestock. Oh and I was asked directions my that tall blonde guy who played the new boy in The Office and was also in The Smoking Room.
I also bumped into that girl from Coronation Street who is also in Peter Kay's live videos (Shelley something perhaps?) whose lovely smile melted my cold Scottish heart at the bar - despite the fact her friend pushed past me and stepped on my toes.

We saw a few good shows too, Mrs S and I.

Top Gun was hilarious in a way only students running around a stage pretending to be jet fighters can be.
Levelland, the Rich Hall play, was interesting, if a little baffling.
Justin Edwards was self-deprecatingly funny. And 'clever', whatever that means.
Lucy Porter was lovely. She's made my list of people whom I'd love to go for a drink with. But, sorry, she didn't make me laugh out loud.
Midnight Cowboy was very moving.
Daniel Kitson was captivating. Must make an effort to see him again.

Special thanks to the Holiday Inn Express staff for turning a blind eye when I stole half a dozen bread rolls and countless pastries. They provided a cheap alternative to actually buying lunch.

And special, special thanks to the pretentious young Oxbridge drama students whose discussion at a pedestrian crossing concerning actors who "weren't challenging themselves enough" made me realise that, irrespective of how my life pans out, I'll never be as big a bunch of pseuds as them.

Cheers.

capital idea

2006-08-10T18:06:00.000+01:00

I'm off to the world leaflet convention this weekend.

I hope to collect upwards of 46 (last year's total) of the little colourful flyers from drama students with an unhealthy amount of youthful zest. With perma-grins emblazoned across their faces, they cry: "Come to our show, it's about the moral corruption of the nation's youth by egomaniacal religious zealots. Timmy Mallet's in it!"

Yep, I'm off to Edinburgh for the festival. A weekend of queuing, drinking and haranguing c-list celebs at the Pleasance bar.
This year I'm 'doing it' in style. With a proper hotel and everything. With breakfast included! For three nights!
I'm used to a flying visit, three shows, quick pint, last train home with a bag of chips, so this year I hope to be able to relax, enjoy the best of the fest. And drink more than usual.

If I'm not back in a couple of days, you know I've joined a Bulgarian circus troupe and am on my way to a tour of eastern European young offenders institutions with my new juggling act.

Golden Oldie

2006-08-06T17:35:00.000+01:00

I'm now I'm growing old because...

1) I have developed a 'fondness' for folk music. Where once nothing but screaming guitars and angst-ridden sonnets would 'float my boat' I now find myself harking after a good old fiddle. So to speak.

2) The 'morning lines' on my face stay with me all day. That first glance in the mirror in the morning? That's as good as it's going to get.

3) I have no idea who is Number One (in the charts or Hit Parade)

4) I seek out pubs with comfortable seating and no music - so I can have a "good chat". Usually about folk music or growing old.

5) I have began sampling real ales without feeling sick. I even managed an entire pint recently. And quite enjoyed it.

6) I panic because I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up. And I'm past grown up. D'oh!

7) I write to the council to complain about 'old people issues' - like not cutting the communal grass properly (God help me).

8) I think televeision is shit compared to when I was a kid. Bring back Ivor the Engine.

9) People who drink in my local pub were born after I finished college. That's a really scary one.

10) I make up irrelevant lists because I can't find something useful to do...

You Won't Stop Talking...

2006-08-02T18:35:00.000+01:00

I have a confession to make.

It ranks alongside 'I used to dress up in my mother's underwear' in the embarrassment stakes. (That bit was made up to illustrate my point. No, really).

I like... oh I can hardly say it... listening to.... ummmmmm.... Chas 'n' Dave.

There. I said it.

Stop that sniggering at the back.

The cheeky cockernee duo's tribute to Watership Down - Rabbit - regularly pops up on my iPod playlists. I downloaded it one drunken evening when I thought it was funny. But ever since, I find myself walking about the house singing under my breath: "You got more rabbit than Sainsbury’s, why don't you give it a rest," is a mockney accent a la Dick Van Dyke in Mary poppins.

Mrs S looks at me and shakes her head, undoubtedly trying to recall her ex-boyfriend's phone number.

It's not something I'm particularly proud of but I just can't resist the couplet: "you've got luv-er-lee eyes... you've got luv-er-lee thighs."

You'll be singing it all night now.

Sorry

Car Crash Telly

2006-08-01T19:53:00.000+01:00

I have discovered the best show in the history of the thing they call television.

'Cheaters' is the tackiest, sleaziest, lowest form of voyeurism. It's car crash TV. And I'm addicted.
For those who have yet to discover this wonder of 21st century entertainment and are still stuck with Newsnight and Noel Edmonds (note to any television producers reading this - must sound out Noel for possible guest presenting slot) a world of joy awaits.

In a nutshell it's an American (obviously) reality show where a suspecting spouse/partner hire a detective agency to spy on their other half, in the hope of catching them 'at it'. Upon being presented with the evidence that their partner is 'having it away with some little madam from the office/milkman' they are given the chance to confront their cheating partners.

[Believe it or not, Suspicious Minds by Elvis Presley has just come on the radio as I type - spooky!!]

Last night's 'confrontation' was the best television I HAVE EVER SEEN.

It involved a young man who suspected his wife was 'playing away' with an old boyfriend. The cuckolded young hubby (great word, cuckold, eh?) discovered his wife, and her cheating heart, was at a party with said ex-boyfriend.

So, there he was, bursting in on the party ready to confront his wife about her infidelity. What did he see when he (and a film crew of about 20) opened the front door?

Not only was his wife "engaged in extra marital activities" (their words, not mine) with her ex, she was 'at it' with the entire room! She was at the centre of attention of a full-blown masked orgy! The look on her husband's face will stay with me for a long time.

Upon seeing the cameras, people began to grab their underwear and scurry away to the nearest exit. One party guest - and I kid you not - was seen carrying a REAL LIVE GOAT. I almost dropped my Horlicks, I was laughing so much.

Until the party host emerged from the bedroom waving a gun!!! Thankfully the burly film crew security 'disengaged' him. Ouch.

Total class.

Missing Link

2006-07-28T21:04:00.000+01:00

"And I would have got away with it too, if it hadn't been for those pesky links."

Apologies if you've tried any of the sidebar links. I had a small brain seizure last night and entered the wrong code. For everything.

(i.e. I made a complete arse of things - I promise to make it all ok)

Bear with me little ones...

S'andy man

2006-07-27T20:29:00.000+01:00

I have been sanding floors.

For two days.

My head hurts.

"Worse things happen at sea," smiled Mrs Stark in an attempt to diffuse my explosive mood.
"Yeah, some poor bastard has to sand and stain the entire deck," I replied before returning to the task in hand.

I hired an industrial sander from one of those hire places which make you feel less of a man because you don't know the difference between an 'orbital' and a 'drum' sander.
When I say " you" I obviously mean "me."

Perhaps I am less of a man because of this. Or because I had to use ear plugs when using the big, scary alpha-male sanding machine. (Well, it was creating a bit of a racket and I'm growing more noise sensitive in my old age).

Anyway, Stark mansions has returned to its peaceful state and the floors look... well, like it's been 'Tango'd'. The tin read 'antique pine' but the lady at the counter must have switched it for 'Shades of Dale Winton'.

"Never mind," said Mrs S, "it'll look better when it dries in."

Things never look better when they 'dry in.' (ooh, hark at the woodstain philosopher)

Ants In My Pants

2006-07-24T20:28:00.000+01:00

OK, not so much my pants, exactly, but it's hard to make anything rhyme with 'kitchen working surface'.
They are everywhere, the devilish little movable inkspots.
I've tried all traditional methods of ant obliteration - stamping on them, squishing them with kitchen roll and screaming: "GET THE HELL OUT MY HOUSE YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!" at the top of my voice. All to little or no avail.

(incidentally,why is it things are always to NO avail. When was the last time you heard someone say "the stamping on them was to HUGE avail"?)

But the ants are wisening up. No sooner than I slowly crook my head around the kitchen door when one ant spies me and sends out secret ant messages to his fourteen thousand friends. "The ant serial killer is upon us" they squeak in an anty squeaky way, and they scatter like a bag of dropped marbles.
It's an ongoing battle - a little like Inspector Clouseau and Kato. You can guess who's who here.

I fear the armies are gathering, their force is strong. It;s like Zulu, only with ants. Where's Michael Caine when I bloody need him?

It's a waiting game...

All ant-obliteration tips gratefully received.

The sooner I'm elected God... the better

2006-07-19T15:01:00.000+01:00

I’m having one of those days when I think the world would be a better place, if only I were God.
Being God should be a democratically elected process. I think I’d run a good campaign.
The main points in my ‘Manifesto For Becoming God’ would include...

1) All personalised car license plates would read TWAT, irrespective of what the owner asked for. The owner of the yappy little BMW might have asked for K00L J1M - and to their eyes, that's exactly what it will say, but to the rest of us, it will read TWAT.

2) Snakes (and any other animal which attack me in anxiety dreams) will become extinct. Effective immediately. Watch your step Mr Adder. Oh, and the same goes for the ants who infiltrate my kitchen. Your card has been marked.

3) Chips will make you thin and attractive to the opposite sex. The same will apply to Guinness.

4) The notion of celebrity will cease to exist. The most ‘famous' person you know will be the local baker. Note to footballers' wives - be afraid. Be very afraid.

5) Kwik Fit will provide an friendly, efficient service. And be free.

Sorry... it must be the heat.

Beer goggles

2006-07-17T20:49:00.000+01:00

OK, I know this page looks as appealing as Christine Hamilton sans make-up but bear with me.

I have the technical ability of a baboon. With no arms. Or eyes. Or the
concept of ability.

I will rectify this. I will slap on some blog make-up and make it look attractive when you're sober, and not just after a few drinks.

(Sub)Urban Survival - Part Two

2006-07-17T09:03:00.000+01:00

Where once the hand of friendship was held out to my furry grey chum, it has now been withdrawn.
Permanently.
He's taken advantage of my hospitality, of my generosity with a packet of out of date cashews.
He began inviting his friends over to share in the spoils. At one point last week, there were even three 'Steves' in the garden, loitering with malicious intent like the rodent tearaways they are. They even ruined the lawn, digging little holes to store their stash for a rainy day. I've even considered approaching the SSPCA with a view to taking out an Anti Social Behaviour Order on Steve and his treacherous gang, but I'm not sure ASBOs were designed with squirrels in mind.
I feel used, as if I've left a teenager in charge of the house while I've been on holiday, only to return to realise they've had a wild party and emptied the drinks cabinet.
Friendships don't recover from things like that.
If you thought squirrels were those cute little critters who would entertain the That's Life cameras by completing an SAS-type assault course, think again. Some squirrels have no respect.
From now on, I'm keeping my nuts to myself.

(Sub)urban survival - Part One

2006-07-15T12:09:00.000+01:00

IT started out friendly enough, my relationship with Steve the squirrel.
But like so many blossoming friendships, things quickly turned sour.
The build up of resentment, the bitterness, the distrustful looks, all contributed to the messy end of what was once a promising relationship between man and beast.
Like so many similar tales, it started one spring weekend. As I glanced out of kitchen window and despaired at the amount of weeds infiltrating the onion bed, I spotted a little ball of grey fur darting across the lawn.
Excited as five-year-old I Immediately grabbed a few brazil nuts from the kitchen cupboard and headed outside to confront our garden visitor. To my utter delight, he didn't dart off to the safety of next door, fleeing from the big scary man with a manic grin.
Over the course of a few weeks, and taking my queue from the Bird Man of Alcatraz, I'd tamed my new wild friend enough to feed him a few nuts by hand.
Along with the family of flea-ravaged pigeons and the nervous ginger tom cat, he became part of the menagerie of animals that use my back garden as a kind of drop-in centre for wayward wildlife.
I say him, I've never got close enough to carry out a full medical. Nor, I hasten to add before you turn your computer off and call the SSPCA, do I have any plans to. Doctor Doolittle I'm not.
Admittedly, calling him Steve wasn't the best of ideas as it's also the name of a close friend who, upon hearing of his tree-dwelling rodent namesake, was less than enamoured. I couldn't blame him really.
Not to mention my father-in-law's look of bewilderment when we I explained I'd caught Steve hanging upside down from the bird feeder trying to scrape out the remaining seeds. "He doesn't look agile enough," was his response.
One day recently, I kid you not, I left the house only to find my new furry friend sitting on the doorstep awaiting his daily nut feast. He even began following me down the street like a lost puppy as I made my way to the bus stop. "Steve, you can't come with me, go home," I ordered him before realising I was talking to a squirrel and quickly stopped before anyone noticed.
But time changes everything.

To be cont'd...

..and they're off!

2006-07-14T13:36:00.000+01:00

OK, I admit it, I'm a bit slow off the mark.

Just when it seems blogs are 'very last season dahling' I finally get round to writing one.
Being an incurable procrastinator, it will probbaly take me weeks to get round to writing things like 'my profile, etc. So, for now, you'll just have to draw your own conclusions...

I can't promise you much, dear reader (he says optimistically , as if there were any ACTUAL readers at all) except regular musings, ramblings, rantings and generally talking bollocks. It's what I do best, really. The bollocks bit I mean.

No, really.... stick around for joy.

Hello world...

2006-07-13T21:46:00.000+01:00

Thursday, July13
Hello... one, two... hello?

Can you hear me at the back?