Year: 2008

bookmark_borderGood company

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As Christmas approaches I slowly start to get into the spirit of things, literally and figuratively, with the start of the usual round of nights out, last minute shopping, and the frantic wrapping of that present that I bought back in August but completely forgot about and only discovered when I tried to hide a second present in the same place.

Although I did consider just keeping it for myself.

Last Friday was the team lunch, held as tradition dictates, in the Fox & Hounds in Houston. Thankfully we are a quiet bunch so the other diners wouldn’t have been disturbed that much, well they wouldn’t have been if they hadn’t put those big long tiger balloon things on the tables. You know the ones, you blow them up and the fire them off round the room, hearing their whine sputter and die as they run out of air and fall limp into the only bowl of soup at the table.

It was a good afternoon, a few drinks, some stories and laughter. I work with a good bunch of people (aside from him.. ohh and him… and I won’t even mention her.. ) and before I knew it I was in a pub in Glasgow and I was being asked to finish my drink and make my way outside.

So I stoated outside, pished as a fart, had a couple of fights, pissed in an alleyway and puked in the taxi on the way home. Fuckin’ brilliant night!!

Or perhaps I simply said goodbye, phoned a taxi and wandered to George Square to get picked up, had a nice chat with the taxi driver, tipped him well, wished him a Merry Christmas and went to bed.

And by the time I awoke someone had gone into Glasgow to pick up my kilt for the official company night out on Saturday night, which, to all extents and purposes, was much the same. Good company, good food, great band (same as last year), some dancing, some drinks and another nice friendly taxi driver.

Admittedly, given that both nights ended with me getting to be at 4am and 5am respectively, I was a little tired on Sunday so spent most of the day doing NOT MUCH AT ALL. Which included a nice wee sleep just before dinner (missing the last 30 mins of the Arsenal vs Liverpool game).

Not a bad weekend that, and tomorrow I get to go out with the best company of all. My best friends.

And then, all of a sudden, it’ll be Christmas Eve.

bookmark_borderFat, fat, fattie

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I’m overweight. I know I’m overweight, I know what I need to do to lose weight but I remain, stubbornly and without willpower, overweight. I don’t like the fact any more than you probably like thinking about it but those are the facts as they stand at the moment, laydees and gennelmenn.

I am fat.

Looking around me I see that there are other fat people too. I know I’m not alone, just as I know that whilst I may be fat, I’m actually quite happy. Sure it annoys me that the person I see in the mirror doesn’t match my mental self-image (ONE day someone with a swimmer’s body will stare back… yeah right..) but I’ve long since made my peace with how I look.

I can’t speak for others on this issue, but I know that being overweight isn’t just a matter of being too lazy to exercise and too weak to have enough self control (they are factors, don’t get me wrong). Some people genuinely do have physiological and psychological factors that affect their weight.

I don’t. I’m just fat. Like most of the other fatties out there.

So, given that there is a reasonable percentage of fat people out there (and only now, dear reader, am I finally warming to the reason behind this post) why is it so hard to buy clothes.

I just typed “so hard to big clothes…”, not quite freudian but close, no?

I’ve mentioned before that I’m picky. The phrase I tend to use is that “I know what I like” or more accurately I’d flip that around and echo what someone, who was probably famous for his wit and candour, once said “No, not that, that’s fuckin’ hideous”.

I don’t actually mind that in some shops I’m an XL, in others an XXL for, unless I’m buying a cheap shirt (for work) from Primark or Asda, I always try the clothes on in the shop first.

And so it was on Thursday night I found myself coveting a rather nice shirt in River Island. I’d already been in most of the usual high-street haunts to be confronted only with dark shirts with garish stripes (which are increasingly common and thus, increasingly against my thinking (yes I’m a snob, bite me)), or high-contrast checked ‘slim fit’ style shirts, with buttons and flaps and… ohh fuck that I’m not 17. I get the style, the fashion, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not me.

Of course River Island didn’t have the shirt in XL. I tried on the L to no avail (it buttoned but would require the abstaining from any form of seated activity whatsoever) and was a bit miffed.

Across the road (technically across the concourse I guess as we were in Silverburn shopping centre – a place with an excellent parking system which I’ll tell you about another time) to Suits You and once again I locate another shirt which I would deem worthy of a place in my wardrobe and further to hang on my manly, but fat, frame.

Guess what. The XL didn’t fit and they didn’t have any XXL in stock. Of course they didn’t.

So, having tried 7 different shops, ranging from £15 to £50 and beyond, I found two shirts which I would have bought had but they had the right size.

This is why I don’t like shopping for clothes. Two and a bit hours (not counting stopping off at a second River Island on the way home, same result) of being constantly reminded that I’m fat. It’s really not very nice.

And what I still don’t get is why there is NEVER enough stock of these sizes. If I was an L, M, S, or even (in one store) an XS, I am spoilt for choice (fashion decisions aside). But not so the XL and above.

I’m waffling now so I’ll close with another quote that was once, possibly, uttered by someone famous (possibly the Queen) after yet another day of disappointment on the polo field.

“Meh”.

bookmark_borderA Message for Obama (pt. 2)

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In early November I took a photo of myself holding a short message for the ‘soon to be President’ Barack Obama. It was as part of a Flickr group which I thought was a nice idea and which seemed to capture the mood at the time. I mentioned it here and, to be honest, thought nothing of it until I received an email from Meg who was heading up the project to compile some of the photos into a book (modesty prevents me from suggesting the chose the best photos), who asked if I’d mind if they (The Guardian) included my photo in their book.

Of course not!

I received my copy of said book yesterday and, whilst I realise it is close to Xmas, it would make an excellent stocking filler/coffee table book and you get double karma points as all the Guardian’s profits from the sale of the book will go to the Katine development project.

And don’t worry, it’s not JUST my ugly mug that adorns the pages.

bookmark_borderOnce upon a story

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I’m boring myself with this blog now. Not the act of writing posts for it but the act of writing posts ABOUT it. So I’ll stop. Thanks for the thoughts and comments though. You really DID help. Yes. You.

I’ve been trawling through some draft post ideas, scribbles and ill conceived stories and figured that, as a means to an end, I’d be as well posting them here. No, I’m not sure what end this would be the means of but let’s not dwell on that.

I have quite a few rambling beginnings of stories, borne from my love of words and cadence, which will never amount to anything more than a few paragraphs. The following is one such example. Your thoughts, comments, hysterical laughter and mirth, are all welcomed.

The average man
He wanders through the streets, past the gentle glow of the houses, under dark and slanting drizzle. He has no purpose, no destination, and can barely remember where he started but this is all he knows, this is his life, his motion. He hunches forwards as another car drives past, plucking the droplets clustering on the edge of his hood and shining them like jewels.

His motion is fluid and organic as he ambles over the pavements, lightly stepping on cobbles and kerbs. He has been here before, he knows, been round this place more than once. He knows it well, too well perhaps, but like an old friend he enjoys the comfort it brings, the familiarity that makes it all too easy to slip into this place one more time.

A break in the clouds above and spears of light arrow down and smash into puddles. He pauses, splashed by scattered light, bathing in the warm glow of the rain, capturing every detail that he can. Processing them quickly in a vain hope of capture, knowing that few will remain with him but one or two will penetrate deeply enough to stick. Moments of beauty to add to the collection, fractured and precious he holds them dear. The very phrase echoes of her.

Almost as soon as they part the clouds start again to weave together, a blanket of gloom restored, drenching all beneath it.

Off he goes once more, without direction. Something that is neither required nor sought, instead he trusts he will find his own way. He has been lost before and found his way back.

The streets are quieter now and he fills his head with sound, pulling memories of pain and pleasure (never pleasure and pain) to keep him on track. Other times his head remains empty with nothing but the dull echo of his thoughts to keep him company.

bookmark_borderThe average man

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He wanders through the streets, past the gentle glow of the houses, under dark and slanting drizzle. He has no purpose, no destination, and can barely remember where he started but this is all he knows, this is his life, his motion. He hunches forwards as another car drives past, plucking the droplets clustering on the edge of his hood and shining them like jewels.

His motion is fluid and organic as he ambles over the pavements, lightly stepping on cobbles and kerbs. He has been here before, he knows, been round this place more than once. He knows it well, too well perhaps, but like an old friend he enjoys the comfort it brings, the familiarity that makes it all too easy to slip into this place one more time.

A break in the clouds above and spears of light arrow down and smash into puddles. He pauses, splashed by scattered light, bathing in the warm glow of the rain, capturing every detail that he can. Processing them quickly in a vain hope of capture, knowing that few will remain with him but one or two will penetrate deeply enough to stick. Moments of beauty to add to the collection, fractured and precious he holds them dear. The very phrase echoes of her.

Almost as soon as they part the clouds start again to weave together, a blanket of gloom restored, drenching all beneath it.

Off he goes once more, without direction. Something that is neither required nor sought, instead he trusts he will find his own way. He has been lost before and found his way back.

The streets are quieter now and he fills his head with sound, pulling memories of pain and pleasure (never pleasure and pain) to keep him on track. Other times his head remains empty with nothing but the dull echo of his thoughts to keep him company.

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bookmark_borderYe olde blog

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OK, perhaps if I head back to some previous “unblocking” techniques I might be able to kick start my blogging mojo.

Remember when Referrer Searches were all the rage? Back when we all suddenly discovered that our blogs were being indexed by something called “Google” (weird name…) and that meant we could see how people came to find our blogs? Those were the days, eh!!

So, aprop… ohh I’ve done that…

So, without further ado here are the top 12 search referrals (slightly filtered):

  1. gordon mclean
  2. itunes stuttering
  3. my mother is an idiot
  4. how to make a cup of tea
  5. how to kung fu withdraw testicles
  6. jamie bulger email
  7. 37signals apps
  8. monitor rss start torrent
  9. recipes for chicken with red pesto
  10. one mans blog.com
  11. voyeuer nature
  12. mrmen

To be fair, there are multiple variations on “red pesto chicken“, as well as “iTunes stutter“, and “how to make tea” but they fail to knock a good old ego search off the top of the list. And no, it’s not me googling myself… honest.

I should also apologise, again, to my mother for calling her an idiot, and I should point out that I no longer use ANY of the 37signals apps that I seemed to be so bothered about last year.

And, finally, I have NO idea how to “kung fu withdraw testicles” but it sure sounds like something that would come in handy… at some point… if my testicles were under threat I mean…

I think I’ll stop there.

Now, what should I do for my next post?