Freshly Spilled Thoughts

If Carlsberg made bar staff…

It doesn’t look like much, but I spent quite a while setting up the contact page on this site.

I tried to keep spam on it down to a minimum, but the odd bit gets through the cracks. I keep getting one from someone called Leepep (what sort of name is that).

Anyway, other than that it works like a dream so I am sort of proud of it.

The amazing thing is people can messsage without even needing an email address, which is stupendous even if I do say so myself. I still get the email notification.

I tested it earlier:

As you can see it works perfectly. I included my email but I didn’t have to.

After writing that I thought I should check doing it without…

I got a message from someone called Ken telling me how I could improve my blog. Go away Ken.

I wrote this 14 years ago but I’ve always been somewhat protective of spiders…

I was at a girlfriend’s house one day in the living room, when all of a sudden a big spider appeared from under a chair.

She said, “Oh that’s just George”

“George?” (I was amused by the specific naming convention)

“Yes. He’s in a band!“, she replied.

Maybe he was! In my head this gave spiders a lot more personality.

So ever since then I always imagine spiders being in some kind of rock band, with the lead vocalist inevitably being called George.

I sometimes wonder what they get up to in rehearsals.

One of my pet hates is waking up before a dream has concluded.

You can never go back to finish the dream off, which means it is unresolved.

“For fucks sake, I was enjoying that dream”

Sometimes I have tried to go back to sleep to pick up where I left off, but I can never quite get there.

Then you quickly forget what it was all about unless you write it down quickly or spend a while thinking about it.

My mate had a dream once about someone with a really long tongue chasing someone else around a caravan.

I didn’t ask them to expand further.

AI came back with one of the best answers to date: “This one’s just your mate’s brain messing about like a drunk improv comic at 3am.”

Novak Djokovic has made his way to the Australian Open final at the age of 38.

The critics had written him off.

You know someone who hadn’t written Djokovic off?

Himself.

The easiest thing in the world is to be a critic.

It’s far harder to walk the walk than talk the talk.

Critics just dispense opinion. They don’t shape or change the world.

They just trade in volumes of air that end up being written down in tabloids and editorials.

At best their opinion is an educated guess.

Society is too quick to write people off. We seem to love doing that don’t we?

We get bored when someone is brilliant at what they do and we hope they will lose. We want the drama.

When they start losing, we want them to start winning again.

The Brits in particular loves rooting for the underdog.

It’s something that will never change because it’s how the human condition works.

What we should be doing is marvelling and appreciating those at the top of their game, because they earned it.

A genius is only interesting if they are flawed or troubled.

People love Ronnie O’Sullivan because he’s a troubled genius.

People love stories of Oliver Reed doing crazy things, when in fact he was a very fine actor.

People loved George Best because he was great at football then drank himself into oblivion.

Part of the reason we love this is because we identify it. None of us are perfect, we’re just muddling through the best way we know how.

Even the ones we think have got their shit together are just winging it.

They just do it in plain sight.

When someone is doing exceptional things, at some level it’s nice to see they are flawed too. I think it makes us feel better.

So we’d rather hear about the time Oliver Reed chased Alex Higgins around the house with an axe and the occasion he cleared a blocked pub chimney with a shotgun.

It’s a lot more interesting, not to mention the fact we love a bit of gossip.

Did I ever tell you about the time…

A bloke who lives near me, who shall remain nameless, got shacked up with this woman who was the mother of his sons girlfriend.

To me it seemed like the most unlikely of arrangements.

But whatever works I guess.

Until it doesn’t.

It seems that this has been the case here, as he’s met an old flame from the past and spends most of his time with her elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the woman he got shacked up with continues to live in his house.

I can’t get my hat off.

He recently called the old flame, “The love of his life” and he’s hardly ever at home.

I can’t help but feel sorry for the woman who is living in the house still. She must get pretty lonely and I don’t know the ins and outs of it all, but you can’t continue to live that way.

Something has gotta give, right?

Ultimately he’s going to end up with this old flame for good and he’s going to move on with his life.

What happens in between is just marking time.

Ooh, that almost sounded eloquent. I must have had a good nights sleep 🙂

But before I go…

The 3rd car I ever owned was a white Peugeot 205 GTI 1.6 exactly like the one below…

I fell in love with it as soon as I drove it and my neurons will never forget it.

The guy selling it was a right slick Harry type, but I was too young to care.

I counted out the money and drove home, smelling strawberry air freshener and finding it hard to believe I’d just bought this thing.

Anyone that has never owned one of these won’t get it, but it was the highlight of my day for a number of months.

My drive to work and back became an experience instead of an endurance.

My spare time was filled with wonder. The dullest of expeditions became something quite extraordinary.

Most of the time a car is just a machine, but sometimes they sprinkle a bit of magic onto them and they become so much more.

I don’t know how they do it. I just know it’s possible because I experienced it.

It’s a relationship of sorts, as weird as that sounds.

It’s the same with people.

Most just tick the boxes as they amble along, then one captures your imagination and makes you stop in your tracks.

That’s why I always say magic is real. You might not be able to quite understand why but when it’s there it’s undeniable.

On that note I’m orf to enjoy the weekend. Ciao.

In the late 90’s I went through a phase of entering competitions.

I won quite a few different things.

One day I got back home from work and a parcel was waiting for me.

I excitedly opened it only to discover a pair of hearing aids.

I asked around to see if anyone wanted them, but nobody appeared to be listening 😉

One day I got a letter from the Royal Mint saying I had won their competition.

I had never won a big prize in my life before, so I thought it was a setup. I didn’t believe it.

One phonecall later, I was more convinced.

Cut a long story short I won £2700 at the Royal Mint in 20 seconds.

Not a bad earner, as Arthur Daley might say.

One bloke had won the national prize, which was 20 grand. At the end he collapsed on the floor.

I stayed in touch with him for a while. He used to send me nostalgic memories of TV shows like the Clangers. I’d never watched the Clangers – I was more a Fraggle Rock kinda guy 😉

Can’t even remember his name now, but I’ll never forget the look on his face when he’d finished shovelling 20 grand in coins into a barrel.

I wonder what he did with the money.

There was one more guy who won a prize. His dad went with him and his father was a really emotional guy. He just kept saying, “This has been a great day. Nice to see good people win for a change”.

He was nearly crying with joy and it wasn’t even his money.

Meanwhile, after collecting the prize, Dean got his glasses, jacket and motorcycle before riding off into the sunset.

Hasta La Vista, Baby.

Haddaway once said, “What Is Love.”

Although it’s universal, I think it means different things to different people.

It’s a bit like eyesight.

Everyone thinks they are looking at the same thing, but there’s no way of being 100% sure because you can only see what you can see.

I think, though, we can all agree that love is unconditional.

For me, love is something that never goes away, whether that’s for family members, friends, or people you’ve connected with in life.

Some may argue that it’s like a tap… that it can be switched off or replaced. Personally I disagree with that school of thought.

I don’t think love is a choice. I think it’s a thing.

Too powerful a thing to make a conscious decision about, because it comes from the heart.

People don’t do a very good job of explaining it, but in the purest form it’s unconditional.

I loved my Grandfather then, just as I do now. After all, he was my Grandfather.

More than that though, he was also a role model, and over 30 years later he’s still in my thoughts. He’ll be in my thoughts until I sputter out.

That’s just one example.

When you cut through everything in life, love and people is all there really is. That and our imaginations.

The rest is just made-up stuff that isn’t really important, even if society would have you believe it is.

I’m not sure there is a greater achievement in life than two people who ‘get each other’.

The whole becomes greater than the sum of the parts, and the world looks just that little bit more colourful because of it.

For those that haven’t got there yet, you can never stop believing because you do not know what tomorrow will bring.

My sister had a best friend who went into hospital a couple of years ago and sadly, he never made it out the other side.

But she still thinks he visits and watches over her. Who’s to say she’s wrong?

Maybe he’s never gone away.

Humans have an amazing ability to seek comfort even when the person they love is no longer around.

Happy Friday.

In boxes of Quality Street why do they put the ones with soft centres like strawberry and orange in there?

People avoid them… a bit like land mines.

If you end up with one of those, it’s like you’ve won a shit prize.

Everyone knows people are only interested in the purple ones with nuts and caramel in them.

I’ve always liked Richard E Grant. It took me longer than it should have to watch the film, Withnail and I, but I got there in the end.

It became a big hit with students. So many good quotes in that film, but here’s the one I always remember:

“Withnail: Balls. We want the finest wines available to humanity. We want them here, and we want them now. ”

Withnail: I’ve some extremely distressing news.
Marwood: I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear anything. Oh God, it’s a nightmare, I tell you, it’s a nightmare.
Withnail: We’ve just run out of wine. What are we going to do about it?

He was recently interviewed about his late wife, Joan… and this part really got me:

‘I feel fulfilled and sustained without feeling like I’ve lost my better half, which I have.’

The actor also revealed he is still so in love with his late wife that he emails her each night.

Richard said: ‘I have no woolly spiritual delusion that she’s hearing this, or that I’m going to get a response, but it somehow keeps the connection going.

‘So I write to her – “Dear J, today would really have amused you…” It makes it feel like that person is still there – it’s an ongoing conversation.’

He still emails her even though she’s no longer around in physical form.

That’s what LOVE is. It finds a way of transcending.

Pretty cool pixel art…

Would you take the Blue Pill or Red Pill?

People can be so specific.

Like the ones that say: “Ooh, if you’re under 6 foot then don’t bother.”

Then a guy rocks up who is 5ft 11 and a half inches.

What do these people do? Get out a tape measure?

“Oh I’m sorry. To the naked eye you seemed perfect, but the tape measure doesn’t lie. If you could go away and spend four weeks on a medieval torture rack getting stretched out, I’ll reconsider.”

The height thing always amuses me, because it’s psychological anyway.

Approximately only 14% of men in the UK are 6ft or over so that means 86% are surplus to requirements based on this criteria.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a comic genius or an expert at Judo, if you are under 6ft you’re running at an 86% filter. The solution of course is to walk around on stilts. You can thank me later.

“Did you meet him?”

“Yes.”

“Was he at least 6ft as per your strict and unswerving criteria?”

“He was 8ft 2″ actually. People kept staring at us. I felt like I was auditioning to be an Oompa-Loompa in Willy Wonka’s factory.”

“Ha ha. Be careful what you wish for I guess”

Don’t get me wrong, I do ‘get’ the whole, “I don’t want to be taller than him when I’m wearing high heels thing“. The easy solution again there is just to get him to wear high heels as well… just seems obvious.

*Chortle*

So I sort of get it, but the 6ft” (conveniently round numbered) cut-off is mercenary just like nature is, except if you’re Tarzan you can swing through the jungle, even when you’re a short-arse.

Here’s a real life example without the height hurdle added:

The person born with brown eyes lets out a big sigh. This was closely followed by the chap with green eyes who was close with no cigar.

At least he can buy a packet of Rolos, get a tattoo and take up hiking just to tick off superficial boxes constructed by whimsy.

People think they know what they want.

Until they meet it.

Or miss it by half an inch.

I’ll do anything for a kebab…

But only if it’s a good one.

Pilic Kebab in pitta bread with salad and a dash of chilli sauce = SOLD!

I don’t do Doner’s though, because I know what triglycerides are.

My favourite fish and chip shop that sold these has gone under.

I am a bit traumatised by this fact, but the world keeps turning.

You can take our trees but you can’t take our pilic kebabs. They will live on.

Sometimes the most terrifying sounding things are not actually that scary.

For example, I’ve been on the world’s fastest zipwire over a quarry at what must have been somewhere near 100 miles per hour.

Scary much?

Only the anticipation/build-up. The actual thing itself is more cinematic than anything else.

The thing I went on before that was actually scarier. It involved running off a blind ledge wearing a harness and then whizzing around on the equivalent of an aero skelter.

To prepare for the zipwire I used to look over an aqueduct bridge above a canal. Climbing up to look over it always gets me.

I understand people that want to feel alive by flirting with potential disaster.

Me?

I can get the same adrenaline rush running up a hill like Kate Bush, so I’ll stick to that.

I used to love theme park rides until I went on an insane Waltzer ride one day at a gypsy fair. It lasted 5 minutes and I thought I was going to have a coronary.

It was so bad I was jealous of people having lovely conversations on the periphery while it was taking place.

I’ll quite happily hold the bags/candy floss and let someone else go on it, thank you.

At the bottom of the perilous ski slope you’ll find me with a glass of Primitivia and a look of contentment. I’ll have already trained for an hour earlier in the day

That’s all I need. People do these things to feel more alive, but I already do. Nothing missing.

I don’t BEEP very often.

When I’m driving in the car I mean.

It takes quite a lot to get a BEEP out of me.

One day I did engage in a bit of beepery, when someone dangerously stopped dead in front of me for no apparent reason.

No signal. No warning. He just stopped.

Then he turned left and parked up on his driveway.

The red mist descended and I BEEPED the shit out of him.

I let it all out, which was nice, then I calmed down and continued onwards.

There was a lag in this guys brain between realising someone had beeped him and responding, so a few seconds later he beeped as well, even though it was his fault.

I looked in my rear view mirror and this looney-tune was sitting on the driveway parked up, facing his own garage. Beeping repeatedly.

“You beeped me so I’ll beep you back,” was his modus operandi.

I laughed at the absurdity of it.

Later I am playing pass the parcel and musical chairs with him. He doesn’t know why he’s playing, but he loves it.

Nicholas Lyndhurst liked one of my posts today.

It’s up there with nearly doing a deal with Shannon Briggs (I got the offer at least). Let’s Go Champ.

I also once almost ran over Alison Hammond when she was crossing the road.  She was oblivious to this peril.

Last but not least, I once saw Gary Newbon standing outside Marks & Spencers in Solihull…

… and a presenter from 5th Gear used to come into my gym every Sunday evening.

Apparently it was also full of famous footballers at one time but I didn’t know that because I know sweet FA about football 🙂

If I was talking to Ronaldo I’d be none the wiser. I was in the same English class as Graham Potter though and he nearly got the England job.

No sign of Christopher Walken yet though and that’s all that counts.

I know someone that went on a blind date…

When the date had finished the bloke got in his car and literally wheelspan out of there. Smoke was coming off his wheels.

“How did the date go?”

“He wore out two car tyres trying to get away”

“Sounds promising. At least it’s an improvement on the four last time”

“Let’s hope the next one rides a unicycle.” 

I think it was AOL IM or MSN Messenger that used to tell people in a chat that the other person was typing.

Seems like a great idea in theory. WhatsApp has it now as well of course.

They added it without asking us if we wanted it…

Have you ever been in a chat, seen someone is typing something, then they stop.

The thought process goes a bit like this:

“Ooh… they’re typing something”

“I wonder what they’re typing about. It must be something really worthwhile because that bubble almost looks like it’s here to stay.”

“So thoughtful writing such a well considered message before pulling the trigger. You can’t put a price on that.”

“They seem to be typing for a long time. Why don’t they just hit send? What are they writing? The Magna Carta?”

“The bubbles have stopped. They must have deleted the thing they were typing. Everyone’s an editor these days”

“What were they going to say? It seems more interesting now it hasn’t materialised”

“Anything? No?”

“Nothing. Hmmmm.”

“It was important enough to start typing it, now they’ve thought better of it”

“Damn them to hell”

“Maybe they just slipped on the keyboard interface. Yes, that will be it. They are just so clumsy aren’t they.”

“But it might not have been?”

“I bet they were going to say something I wouldn’t like and saved themselves at the last moment”

“Absolute bastards. “

“I’m getting carried away”

“It was probably something lovely… or at least flowery”

“They know I don’t like it when they heap too much praise upon me”

“Holding back on all that waxing lyrical stuff to spare my blushes. I respect that”

“Maybe they think they get charged when they send anything. Should I tell them it’s free?”

“When they open their wallet a moth flies out I bet”

“I am going to change their saved name on WhatsApp to “Bubble Typing Tease””