Everything Will Be All White On The Night

And there it was, snow. It eventually settled, quickly became slippery and then almost vanished, only for it to try again and the cycle repeat for a few days. And even with the small amount of snow, not even an inch-thick layer, people lost their tiny little minds again. Forbid they ever live anywhere that has proper snow where it falls a foot at a time. I’m assuming the milkman must have got embedded in a three-inch drift in a cul-de-sac as to why they didn’t turn up on Tuesday.

We had managed to get out for a walk on Saturday before the white stuff arrived. It ended up being a bit of a beast and we were out for over three hours. Full details are at the link below.

https://onetruekev.medium.com/am-i-really-still-in-crawley-ab221714c146

My poor little fatbit didn’t know what had hit it, going off at regular intervals for reaching the daily 10k steps target, and then for reaching 20k and 25k in a day for the first time.

And I managed to write up an old walk around Broadfield as well.

https://onetruekev.medium.com/a-pint-of-the-black-stuff-9b0c15aada60

Sniffles is finding it tough going at the moment. He obviously feels that he now needs to do the work of three pets. He’s got the additional vocal output and food fussiness of his sister down to a tee and is trying to bring in that touch of skittishness. He also has the investigate every corner of the house and getting stuck from being nosey schtick going from the dog, the only bit he isn’t now covering is the racist barking at passers-by.

He has caused me to jump a couple of times recently as he’s suddenly appeared out of spaces that make me wonder how he got in there in the first place. Plus, he’s now taken up a new hobby of positioning himself in my seat at every opportunity. If I nip to the kitchen to get a drink, or go to the toilet, the cheeky little sod is curled up pretending to be asleep in it by the time I get back. Even those times when I’m sure he’s outside.

And speaking of outside, it is always amusing when he whines at the door to go out, only for the door to be opened to the poor weather – howling winds, torrential rain, mini snow blizzard – and him to decide that perhaps it isn’t so urgent to go out. But only after trotting to the other side of the house, as surely the weather is going to be better there.

For the third time this year unexpected water in a dry area led to the emergency plumber being called out (no claims bonus will be right out of the window). This time the waste pipe from the sink in the bathroom decided it had had enough of being connected to the main cast iron waste pipe and had snapped off, and so using the sink would end up with water on the floor in the corner of the bathroom. It was fixed the next day, but it is surprising just how much of an automatic reaction it is to use the sink after going to the toilet.

Sunday was Superbowl LV, an annual watching tradition, back at home this year, with lockdown considerations, and the fact that the 49ers got nowhere near this time around. And no need to book annual leave for the day after as its now a non-working day Mondays. It went the way I wanted it to, so with the first Tottenham win since Cinch starting sponsoring (well, jinxing) them, it was a good day.

Tuesdays are turning out to be horrendous again. It seems to be meeting day, eight Skype or Teams meetings during the day makes me dread Tuesdays as much now as I did back in the day of networks timesheets and Tuesday being JIB day. Being so full of calls it does take some of the joy of the writing group in the evening away, as I can do without another hour and a half on the phone. Although it was the last week of that for a while.

As it has several times over the last few months, the term “Naga” was trending in the UK on Twitter. Every time it does, I click on the item in the hope that it will be some hot chilli related shenanigans, only to find it’s another boring rehash of comments about (or from) a presenter on TV. Just for once, why can’t it be something different and interesting? For example, “Man blames him being found naked in the middle of a field of cabbages on the hallucinogenic effect of him eating too many naga chillies in a chilli eating contest”; or “Woman still hasn’t regained her sight after contest to crush as many naga chillies as possible into her eyes in a minute. It’s been a week now she said, it’s normally worn off after three days or so.”

More Of The Same

They say that time flies when you are enjoying yourself. So, I dread to think how quickly these weeks would be going past if I was enjoying myself.

We’ve had a week of no curtains in the bedroom. We have noticed a drop in temperature at night with no barrier to the cold and dark outside the window. Meanwhile neighbours will have complained of sightings of the abominable snowman in the neighbourhood as I’m backlit against the night sky, all white and hairy. Like I’m a character in a Scandi noir crime thriller where no one has any curtains or blinds. The only difference being they have a population density similar to the moon; whereas I’m doing it in the equivalent of a packed campsite.

It suddenly dawned on me – at half five in the morning – perhaps I’m poisonous to animals. It’s been long established that insects don’t bite me. I seem to have a built-in repellent. But seeing Sniffles run into the bedroom before me I though that he has never licked me. Meanwhile, Charlie would be forever licking or trying to lick my hands and knees, and he died of some cancerous growth. Not long before that Willow went the same way, and she had a habit of either licking the back of my head or my feet. I’m wondering, if Sniffles does take it upon himself to start licking me, whether that is a sign to start writing his elegy.

It’s unusual for me to get to bed first, I’m usually the one still pratting about on my laptop, but it was Helen on Friday. I’d got up, rinsed my glass, filled it with water, been for the pre bed pee, brushed my teeth, done a hot water bottle, and she was still on the sofa.

“I won’t be long, it just feels weird not responding to x’s message.” (I wasn’t paying that much attention).

But I did have the thought, what if both Helen and her friend are now locked in a responding death circle? They’re both being too polite to put the phone down and go to bed in case the other one messages back and doesn’t get a response and is thinking the other one is being rude. Whereas in real life, neither will actually think the other is being rude, and in actual fact both of them are praying that the other one doesn’t answer so they can go to bed. They’re both thinking “for the love of god woman, just go to bed and respond in the morning, it’s already midnight and I wanted to be asleep in bed hours ago.”

Meanwhile, I responded to an e-mail someone sent me in November, deleted two sent to me in December without bothering to respond, and looked at one from this week and thought, ‘eff it, CBA responding tonight, I’ll have another look next week.’ And that’s before I looked at my personal ones.

I was changing the bed Saturday morning it was interesting to note the difference in pillow indentations between Helen’s pillows and mine. Her two pillows still look light and fluffy almost as if they haven’t been slept on. Mine meanwhile have a bit of a pancake look with a deep impression in the middle as if a sixteen-pound bowling ball has been there all night.

Sunday saw a little wander around in the sunlight. As always, we started out from Southgate. First, we went across Southgate playing fields, taking in the surrounding vista, then through Hawth Woods, and across into Furnace Green. I’ve done various walks through Furnace Green before, whether just looking around, or going through to Tilgate or Maidenbower. And what always fascinates me is the wonderful array of different housing through the estate. Chalet style bungalows, modern terraces, semi-detached, detached, three story blocks of flats; and in so many different styles. What is also wonderful is the effort made to keep little oases of green, whether in public areas, or in the cramped front yards of houses. Coming from the Hawth we came down to Waterleas, through the little estate of Norfolk place names, and into Forestfield Conservation Area and back out to Weald Drive, before leaving Furnace Green behind to come back past the locally listed Tilgate Parade and back up to home in Southgate.

Once back at home it was mainly watching sports. Spurs managed to hold a lead in another insipid display (no matter what the commentators were saying). Only for them to be out insipid-ed by the Liverpool vs Manchester United game. The NFL was a lot better, with two very good games. At least they didn’t go so late as the week before, and it was only three in the morning when I got to bed.

When I eventually got up on Monday, I had a quick wander around Southgate, meandering back and forth between Brighton Road and Horsham Road. Mainly picturing street signs. Took some pics of locally listed buildings on Goffs Park Road and Brighton road, some other impressive looking houses along Goffs Park Road and Perryfield Close, and then did four seasons in one day, and the Brighton Road Conservation Area, though I wasn’t able to find a conservation area sign for Brighton Road itself.

And then it was back to work, or as it is more accurately called on days like Tuesday, sitting around bored to death on calls. Much the same as Wednesday morning. There was no respite from calls out of work either, although I had enthusiastically (well as much as I’m ever going to be enthusiastic) signed up for the latest zoom writing course. Plus, I actually wrote something that wasn’t a blog or FRC, with my first short story in about five months. I’m hoping this new course will kick start some creativity.

Unexpected Pet In The Working Area

Two days in to working from home (again) and I’m already losing the will to live. As I’ve changed to a compressed week it means an earlier start for me; so, it is probably a good thing that I’m working from home until I acclimatise to having to be working at a time when I’m usually only just getting out of bed. No one needs me having to drive to Portslade whilst still trying to wake up – it’s bad enough when I’m wide awake.

And as we are in lockdown three, I had an idea about naming lockdown three in the style of paraphrasing film titles of films from a series, whether they be a trilogy or longer. It was something to do whilst on boring calls, and I came up with the following list.

The Lord of the Lockdowns – The Return of the Restrictions

Lockdown with a Vengeance

The Lockdown and Furious: Wuhan Drift

Indiana Jones & The Last Lockdown

Star Wars: The Return of the Lockdown

Harry Lockdown and the Prisoner of Covid

Batman: The R Rate Rises

Back to the Lockdown III

Pirates of the Covid: At Lockdown’s End

Mad Max Beyond Lockdown

Beverly Hills Lockdown III

Lockdown 3: Europe’s Most Infected

The Bourne Lockdown

There is a drip in the kitchen somewhere. I suspect it is from the plughole in the sink down into the waste pipe, but in the silence of the kitchen it didn’t take long to drive me insane. I usually have my iPod plugged into a Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen table with me, but it was too close to drown the sound of the drip out, so I’ve had to resort to having the radio on at a louder volume than usual, as it’s near the sink and wipes the dripping sound out.

Anyway, I packed my work IT equipment away Thursday evening and retired to the living room. Only to get up Friday morning to find that my usual working space on the kitchen table had a large wooden box with a snake in its place. Plus, all my IT lit had been unplugged so they could plug in light and heat for the effing snake. I can’t see the snake because the glass side of the tank has an apron and tea towel draped over it. It belongs to Nathan’s girlfriend, so hopefully it will only be today that it is in my way, and that when I get around to returning to work on Tuesday it will have f#@&ed off.

Is it a coincidence that I’ve not seen Sniffles since the snake turned up? At least the snake isn’t in a cardboard box, as that would have been certain of investigation by the idiot cat. As it turned out the snake went, even before I got to the end of the working day. Back off to Portsmouth before it had the chance to eat any household members.

Sitting at the kitchen table as a desk in yet another lockdown does mean the mind wanders. Especially to the hope of being able to go out and do something or go somewhere. This impulse isn’t helped every time I look up and see the side of the fridge and all the magnets stuck to the side of it from out travels. It is somewhat distracting. Especially with it making me think of how many nice days out we’ve had.

Despite a big clear out before Christmas I can’t stop buying books. Another big box arrived on Thursday. Granted, this consignment did contain some future birthday / Christmas presents (how far ahead of the game?), and a couple that would be used for new items for Flanagan’s Running Club this year, but there are space considerations not that there is reduced shelving space available. It means I’ll have to pull my finger out and get through reading more of them so there is another consignment for the charity shop soon.

Helen got me a new proper fatbit for Christmas, to replace my cheapo version. I still haven’t got my head around everything it does, but it does buzz on my arm at regular intervals to try and get me to move; its own version of ‘move you fat b@st@rd’. it had a vibration celebration when I was putting the Christmas decorations away at the first time I’d climbed ten flights of stairs in a day. On our walk on Saturday

it went vibrating crazy. Going off and sending me e-mails as I broke ten thousand and fifteen thousand steps for the first time, and again as it reckoned I had done more than twenty-five flights of stairs. I’m not convinced my arm can survive this kind of thing for too long.

On the walk as we passed the Half Moon pub, I had a thought of how would you do a half moon? Would you pull your trousers down so only half of your backside would be showing; or would it require the use of stripper style velcro’d trousers, where you just ripped the one side open to show one ass cheek?

There was some looking at that you can do under lockdown on the government website, and apparently ‘for the purpose of picketing’ is a legal reason for leaving the house, as is ‘reasonably necessary to vote’. No woolly language there at all. But the best thing, is the fact that the government recognise we are a nation of alcoholics as they classify off licenses as being essential shops that need to be open.

It was a late night Sunday as it’s NFL playoff season and the last of six games over the weekend finished not long before some people would be getting up for work Monday morning. Not me anymore, Mondays are now a day off. I had a little trip out, nowhere exciting mind you, just a trip to the vet with Sniffles as he had a lot of bumps on his lower back. He had been snoozing on a bed all day, but it’s amazing how quickly he turned into a star shaped cat when faced with being put in the cat carrier. He escaped on the second attempt, only to get distracted by food in his bowl, and at the third attempt he was squeezed into the carrier. There’s nothing seriously wrong with him, just an allergy to flea bites, though where he’s getting fleas from in this weather without any other pets in the house is anyone’s guess.

This new working pattern is going well, it’s amazing how quickly the working week seems to go now. Wednesday night is here already, only two days to go before a three day weekend.

Hello 2021

It was back to work this morning, and it was a bit of a culture shock after twelve days off. Especially since I’ve moved to a four-day week and it means an 8am start. At least with the lockdown it did mean I didn’t have to travel to my new office location in Portslade (they can call the office Hove all they like, it’s next to Portslade train station ffs). It was a dull cold morning and not fully light as I was setting up, and it was dark by the time I logged off.

Since I last did a usual update, I’ve had my last day in Atlantic House, a day earlier than planned, a bit of a retrospective is below

The last working day for me before Christmas was worked from home, as Helen needed the car to take Charlie to the vets for a scan / blood test. It was a strange and sad day as Charlie didn’t make it home.

It didn’t take long for the local cheeky fox to work out there was no dog in residence, as when loading the car, the fox kept poking its nose in the house between my trips to the car.

We were travelling north to spend Christmas at my mum’s in Morecambe, but were looking to leave at a reasonable time to then stop at Stafford overnight on the way up. With the events of the day we were later than intended and ended up having dinner at home before setting off. It was ridiculously windy and rainy as we drove up, and it was after eleven by the time we got to the hotel for the night.

At least the weather Christmas Eve was better and brighter as we did the second part of the journey. We had left a tier 2 Crawley for a Christmas bubble in tier 3, but found out before going that we would be returning to tier 4 Crawley.

Christmas at my mum’s was a lot more relaxing than expected. We got out a couple of times for walks, once sneaking over the border into Cumbria to Arnside, and once to the end of the world at Sutherland Point.

The journey back started in bright sunshine, but it became overcast as we travelled south. From just after Lancaster down to Birmingham the whole of the surrounding countryside had at least a thin layer of snow on it, and in places the fast lane had a thick layer of dirty grey slush in it. Oxfordshire was a different matter, the whole county appeared to be an inland sea, there was no defining where the banks of the River Cherwell was the three times the motorway passed over it.

We got back to Crawley about the same time as the darkness. We’d no sooner parked up than Sniffles ran and hid under the car. The fox was back now unchecked by a local dog and had to be chased off twice before Sniffles could get into the house.

A house that was leaking, a slow steady drip in the kitchen ceiling. Inspecting the bathroom gave no indication where the water was coming from. It was a late night as we tried to figure out where the water was coming from while Helen rang the insurance company, and we tried to work out how to turn the water off. By the time the plumber turned up the next morning the leak had stopped. The plumber confidently told us it was coming from a gap in the sealant around the bath and shower.

Therefore after 36 hours of not using the shower it was a surprise to get up the following morning to find the drip had reappeared. Home Sense sent a second plumber out, who diagnosed the leak was actually coming from the toilet and running along boards to get to the point above the leak. He fixed that and its been drip free since then, and we’ve redone the sealant around the bath just in case.

New Year’s Eve saw us having a few quiet drinks and a takeaway curry, and then at a quarter to midnight we were out on the front to have a socially distanced gathering of neighbours. However, I suddenly had an urgent need for the toilet and was sat there as the new year came in and all the fireworks around the town started going off. It was quite literally a case of same s#&*, different year.

As a final insult from 2020, the vibrations of the very load Bluetooth speaker we’d acquired recently forced Helen’s iPad off its surface and onto a concrete step, smashing the screen.

Some fizz, some shots and a lot of chat saw it become a late night, and no sign of anyone surfacing until the afternoon of New Year’s Day. It also appeared that we had used every glass in the house, and most of the plates and cutlery as I washed up. We had takeaway pizza that night, which we ate from the box, so I was confused and dismayed as to how on earth so much washing up there was Saturday morning.

The decorations all came down and were boxed away, although as I type this and look up, I can see a remnant hung over a lamp that we missed.

The new year has come in and I’m not sure that I have any real resolutions. I had thought about trying to be a bit less miserable and more engaged at work, but that lasted about two minutes in to a half eight call this morning. I suppose I should try and do some more proper writing this year, go back and do the novels that are works in progress, rather than only ever writing blog posts.

Away from that, what I really want for 2021 is for Dave to finally get a new sponsor for their primetime programming and so we never have to see another of their three dreadfully repetitive Dacia adverts. They’ve changed their sponsor on all their other segments, but the ones for the main time we watch live TV are enough to drive anyone insane after at least two years of them. I can guarantee they have put me off of ever buying a Dacia car in my lifetime.

I’ve bought a month of Now TV’s Sky Sports pass, as it’s NFL playoff season, and there is no RedZone now. It does coincide with Spurs being in a cup semi-final tonight, so may brave watching a match under the footballing antichrist. However, despite playing opposition from the Championship, I fully expect us to do what we always do nowadays and lose a domestic cup semi-final. At least my mate Jimbo Up North would be happy.

Meanwhile, Sniffles is a confused cat. He doesn’t understand why there is no dog around, and he can’t quite get a grip on the fact his feeding bowl is now on the floor instead of up on the side. For the last two years he has looked up at the worktop mournfully pretending he can’t jump up there to get his food. Since the food has been on the floor he has on a daily basis managed to jump up to the side by himself. Today he managed it three times, each time to jump back down when he saw food going in his bowl on the floor. This is after I heard him whining outside. I opened to backdoor to let him in, but there was no sign of him, just a wail coming from under the cover of the garden furniture. He had gotten under it to keep himself dry, but hadn’t managed to work out how to get back out until I lifted a corner of it up and let some light in. He had been whining to come and sleep in our room, but now the dog has gone he’s always whining and pawing at Nathan’s door instead, despite the other two bedroom doors being open. Contrary little sod.

End Of An Era 2 – Charlie

Charlie is no longer with us. He hadn’t been himself for a while, and last Wednesday when he was taken into the vets for a blood test and abdominal scan, it wasn’t good news and so the difficult decision was taken to put the poor sod to sleep. He’d been ignoring his food (but still begging for cat and human food) for a while, and yet his stomach had been getting bigger. It wasn’t the ideal preparation for Christmas, especially not when we were travelling north that day after finishing work.

Nominally Charlie was Helen’s son’s dog, but in reality, he was Helen’s, and had been around long before I was really a part of her life. My first encounter with Charlie was when we were going on a training walk for the Thames Path challenge in 2013. It needs pointing out that I am petrified of dogs, and so when Helen asked me to hold Charlie’s lead for a minute, apparently, I turned whiter than usual.

As a springer, Charlie wasn’t a small dog, he had a deep sounding bark, and was over exuberant and I found him scary. However, as time went on and I spent more time around him I found that he was just a soft in the head, friendly, lunatic of a dog. This doesn’t mean I’m not wary of other dogs, just that I was OK around Charlie.

There are just so many things that he did that made us smile, and a few that were exasperating. He loved chasing things; balls, sticks and frisbees were always good, squirrels were better, although I’m not convinced he would have known what to do with one if he actually caught it. He seemed to have an endless supply of energy to chase things, although he never did get the hang of giving the ball or frisbee back so it could be thrown again.

It must have been a thing about having something in his silly doggy mouth. Whenever anyone arrived at the house Charlie would rush to try and find any socks or pants from the radiator so he could show them to the newcomer. We would be forever finding random socks all over the house. And he had a thing for bin dipping as well, mainly looking for used tissues he could shred and eat, but he also had a knack for finding other less hygienic items, such as the used condom he found in the bathroom bin after an illicit hook-up post-Christmas party one year.

He loved jumping in water, although he would avoid walking in puddles, and we couldn’t get him into the paddling pool in the back garden for love nor money; ponds, lakes, rivers, and the sea were not an issue. Once he came out of the water, he had to find some random person to go and shake the water off on. And he would find the most disgusting pools of water and lap it up as if it was the best tasting nectar the world had ever seen.

Then there was his eating, there was absolutely no impulse control on Charlie, if it looked, smelt or might have been food then he would eat it. I lost count of the number of times I’ve gone back into the kitchen to find him on the table scoffing cat or human food. Items not left far enough back on the worktop would be dragged to the floor and demolished, often only leaving the wrapper as any proof there had been food there in the first place. And it was often food that dogs shouldn’t eat. We’ve found the empty wrapper to six iced buns, and despite being on top of a speaker on the side of a storage unit, he had climbed up, pulled a box full of alcohol filled truffles and eaten the lot – he looked most pleased with that, and despite the chocolate and alcohol he didn’t show even the slightest sign of ill effects.

The funniest was when he snaffled the drip tray from the George Foreman grill. Obviously, the meaty grease smells were a great attraction. The first we knew of it was when he came into the living room with a funny expression, licking his lips frantically. He would rush to the kitchen for water and come back and do it all over again. He had picked the day we’d been cooking chilli burgers and so the fat was chilli laden and had burnt his poor little doggy lips.

It wasn’t just inside the house he would eat anything going, outside offered the chance to eat whatever was just left lying around. Dead pigeon? Yes please. Mouldy sausage roll thrown in a bush? Of course. Poor unsuspecting family having a picnic in the middle of a field? You bet. How Charlie managed not to poison himself is one of life’s little mysteries.

Strange as it may seem, there were a few things Charlie wouldn’t eat, mainly salad items (he’s not the only one). He would often pick up a cherry tomato, as they were red and ball shaped, only for us to find them spat out somewhere down the garden. Lettuce would be hoovered up only to be spat out Rapido. I’m sure there is still some spat out lettuce under the fridge.

Away from food Charlie considered himself to be an escape artist, not wanting to be confined to the house and garden he had been known to escape through cat flaps, disappear out of an open front door and go to visit the local shops. He would chew his way through, under or over fences and gates to get into neighbour’s gardens, and when gales blew down the back fence, he was off and running into the park out the back, often as silly o’clock in the morning, and it would be me in slippers and boxer shorts trying to corral him back into the house. An open front door would see him race out, around the bins and then into next door’s house, or on one occasion across the road, in the passenger door of a parking car and then burrowing under their shopping on the back seat.

He did love a good barking session. It wasn’t always good, he’d bark the house down at three in the morning, only for us to get down and open the door and him not need the toilet. He would bark at passers-by, although embarrassingly it only appeared to be at non-whites and children (and Andy next door when he had a suntan). There was the time when we picked him up from kennels after Christmas one year, and for the girl there suddenly look all excited when we said we’d come to pick Charlie up. He tried to bark when we got home but it only came out as a kind of squeak. The kennel girl must have looked delighted because the little sod had spent all week barking himself hoarse.

Charlie could be annoying, as he made it difficult to keep nice things. Pillows and cushions would get shagged to death, with the corners chewed off. If they were left at a low level, they would never be the same again. Anything on a low level could be ruined. Shredded cardboard boxes, records, books, all would get Charlied. And as old age wore on, fireworks would see him ripping up rugs and carpets as well.

Getting big teddy bears helped with this. Having one he could have sexy time with would ease the wreckage elsewhere. Over time they would develop holes and we’d find stuffing all over the place, but it was a single item. Of course, no Charlie round up would be complete without a tale about one of the bears. I was sat with my back to the kitchen at the table when I saw Charlie slink past slowly towards the back door, to be followed by one of the bears, which was stuck to his penis. The funny look on Charlie’s face was a picture as he pleaded with his eyes for the bear to be removed from his privates. I was too busy laughing to be much help, and Helen was dreading having to call the vets, but movement in the garden freed Charlie from the bear and he spent the next half an hour under the tree licking himself vigorously. Not that it deterred him, he came back inside and headed straight for the bear again.

The other tale I heard a lot but wasn’t around at the time to see for myself was when Helen had friends from work round. There were three of them sat on the sofa when Charlie decided to use it for doing laps. He ran across their laps, up the arm, across the back of the sofa behind their heads, down the other arm and repeat. It’s not sure how many laps were done before Helen managed to stop laughing long enough to get him to stop.

I’m sure there are many other tales that will spring(er) to mind after I’ve written this, but I will leave it here so that it doesn’t get left and then forgotten about.

So, now there is none of that. It is strange to think he won’t be around, and it is sad that he is gone, it seems so sudden. But it is for the best that it was done now rather than having it go on and the poor thing suffer. A source of constant amusement (well nearly always amusement) has now gone, and he will be missed.

‘Tis The Season To Be Jolly, But I Can’t Be Arsed.

It’s been a while since I committed to writing a blog post, I’ve not felt like it since the middle of November, at which point writing was going well, only for it to fall off the edge of a cliff the next day. I signed up for a four week zoom course set up by Writing Our Legacy, and have done the four weeks, but it is in a notebook and hasn’t been typed up yet. It will be entertaining trying to transcribe it when I do get around to it, my handwriting is notoriously difficult to read a day after I’ve written it and it’s still fresh in my head, let along a month down the line.

I’ve not got the Christmas spirit either, as it has stood for the last six weeks or so I’d make Scrooge look like Buddy from Elf. I suppose I’ve not written much as it will have only been expletive laden rants as everything seems to annoy me. I have been doing some things around the house, and have sold a couple of thousand records, and cleared out over three hundred books, pretty much all my DVD’s and half of my CD’s, which in doing so has freed up space and two units have been cleared and are gone, and a bookcase has been swapped out for one half the height. It wasn’t quite as cathartic as I was hoping it would be, but it has helped a bit, and Helen is happy with the added space and light the changes have given.

The sale of the records brings me to my first mini rant of this piece. I sold them mainly in job lots, with a few single items. I was extremely specific about not splitting the job lots, them being pick up only, and not accepting offers on them or ending auctions early. But it wasn’t clear enough for the cornucopia of utter fuckwits on eBay who bombarded me with stupid questions. Then of course eBay takes its 10%, including on postage, and PayPal takes another 2%. The thing that really annoyed me was out of twenty-three sales only six of the pillocks bothered to leave feedback. Less than thirty percent, and none of the ones who came and picked items up, all of whom got free boxes, one got a storage unit, and help hefting the multiple boxes to their swish cars, all of which seemed to have cream leather seats. I know they all received the items because they were all tracked. They are just a bunch of selfish ignorant twats.

It is sad to say the Charlie isn’t himself, he couldn’t be bothered to come and mither anyone picking stuff up, or even bark at them at the door. He isn’t eating properly and seems uninterested in whatever dog food is put in his bowl. He will eat cat biscuits, and will beg shamelessly for human food, but sniffs his own food and walks away. So much so the silly sod is sicking up bile because he’s empty. And he’s not as keen at going out either. Ongoing vets’ visits are in play.

Meanwhile Sniffles has been caught eating from the dog’s bowl a few times, but with it being permanently wet outside he spends a lot of time either curled up on a bed, or since the Christmas decorations have been out, on top of the kitchen table and usually on the lid of a wreath box. But in doing so he has become the target for cat buckaroo and dressing up. Which just elicits a stony glare.

Although to be fair, with all this rain I wouldn’t want to go out either. I can’t remember the last day it didn’t rain at some point. There really can’t be any more water up there. It’s all soaked into the ground of what now are marshes out there, and the drains are giving up the ghost. If anyone knows someone called Noah, you might well be advised to keep an eye on them to see if they start and large wood related projects.

And the rain seems to make drivers worse. Last Monday must have been officially “Drive like a c#@&” day. They were everywhere, and not driving to the wet conditions at all. No lights on, driving down the wrong side of the road, at twice the speed limit; others just parking / abandoning in the middle of road, on double yellows or in bus stops. Ignoring the bus lane and using it to undertake, and the complete lack of indicators, especially the muppets who change lane without looking and cut you up. It’s days like this that make me hate driving.

Work has been annoying me. The winding down at the office has been taking place, people have been coming in to clear their stuff out before the office closure, and some people have been in working, and because they are more sociable than me (which wouldn’t be difficult), they are chatting to people. I was on a call and someone else on the call asked who they could hear in the background. And when I told them, they proceeded to skype message them to tell them to be quiet. The cheek of it, especially from a person who has spent the last month trying to do “forced fun”, by hassling us to do festive selfies, take part in taskmaster events and the like. It is hypocritical in the extreme to moan about people who are being social in a natural environment when trying to force feed us artificial social situations.

Then there are the printers, who are on a non-stop mission to take the piss. We have printing set up so we send the print and then we scan our ID card on the printer to get the print off. I don’t get mine straight away normally, as I pass a printer when I get up to go to the toilet or get a drink. Without fail in the last month when I do get to the printer it tells me there are no jobs on my ID waiting for me. So, I swear at the technological pile of shite and go back to my desk to reprint it. Only to get back to the printer, swipe on again, and for it to tell me there are now two copies there waiting for me. How I haven’t taken a baseball bat to the printers yet is a modern miracle. It’s not even as if I’m doing a lot of printing for myself, most of it is from people who aren’t in the office and send me their printing that needs to be posted out.

I have two days left in my office before I’m on leave over Christmas and the New Year before I have to do a crappy driving commute to my new office. We’ve been in the current office just over ten years, and if I were in a better mood then I would do a write up, but I’m not. All I can think of is how much it has changed in those ten years, especially the atmosphere, and none of it is for the better.

I had a sudden surge of energy last week and thought it would be a good idea to use Helen’s Amazon Prime to watch the Liverpool vs Tottenham game, but as the day wore on my enthusiasm wore off, and come the time when she got the show going on her laptop, I was losing the will to live. The fact that it came on with them interviewing #MourinhoOut didn’t help, and when they announced Ally McCoist was doing the commentary I shut down and turned the laptop off before the game started. I have no enthusiasm for watching Spurs now and won’t have until he leaves. And on Sunday during the game against Leicester, I had another mini rant about it on Facebook.

#MourinhoOut And before any of you fuckwits start, this isn’t a kneejerk reaction post. It’s a reiteration of what I have consistently stated since they appointed the footballing antichrist as manager over a year ago. The team hasn’t improved under him, they’ve got worse. The league position may have improved, but that’s because everyone else has gone downhill, the twat has dragged most teams down to below our level. If ever there has been an undeserved leader of the Premier League, it’s been the shower of shite Mourinho’s been sending out to play for Spurs week in week out. So, congratulations to Liverpool and Leicester for not being dragged down and for beating the abysmal attempt at football that has been put in front of you.

The American Football hasn’t been going any better, the 49ers have slipped back into a losing streak, including a loss to the cretins from Dallas. After winning the NFC title and narrowly losing the Superbowl last season, the end of this season sees us bumped out of the prime-time game slots, and dealt with as an afterthought on RedZone. It’s not good from a sports perspective at the moment.

And then we have the Prime Idiot messing with everyone’s head (and not just their Christmas), and coming out with hyperbole that now sees a whole host of countries banning flights from the UK to them, and Eurotunnel closing for 48 hours. In turn Sainsbury’s lost their mind and issued a list of foods that they said they would run out of before Christmas. Which was either really stupid and a self-fulfilling prophecy as it would create panic buying of those same items, not just in their own stores, or; it was a genius way of making sure they sold all the crap they thought they weren’t going to sell.

And at that point I will stop my incessant moaning.

Gimme Five

It struck me this week that there are lots of food and drink stuffs out there that come in four or six packs, but when do you ever see them in a five pack? Yes, I understand that it is a lot easier to make packs to hold four or six, or even numbers in general. However you would think that as most people work a five day week, that there would be the need for there to be five packs, so that you could have one a day for the working week. If you have four packs then you go without on a Friday. If you have six packs you end up having a fat Friday or one leftover that might be out of date the following week. The only five packs I’ve seen were the Cadbury’s Crème Eggs (and they were reduced from six packs and kept at the same price), and there is no way they would last as one a day (one a minute perhaps). Surely it can’t be that difficult to make five packs.

Pizza Friday was good, managed to find Fast & Furious 8 on Sky Store and find it was free under Sky VIP.

It rained a lot at the weekend; Facebook was filled with posts from Crawley where all kinds of roads and footpaths were flooded. As such it meant it wasn’t good going out weather, and I actually made a good dent into sorting out the records and marking up the ones for sale. If I can keep the momentum up then I should have the full list available for next weekend to put on eBay.

Charlie has decided he doesn’t like dog biscuits anymore, and ignores his bowl if there are biscuits in it (unless they are heavily disguised by meat). Give him a bowl of just meat and it’s gone in seconds. Sniffles now looks smug about the fact he’s not necessarily the fussiest eater in the house.

Speaking of Sniffles, I had a weird dream, which went something like…

“Meanwhile at the Catalonia grand prix, history was made as Sniffles the cat became the first ever feline winner of a grand prix, or any other motor race for that matter. We go over there now for an interview with the winner.

“Sniffles, congratulations on being the first ever cat grand prix winner, can you tell us how you managed to do it?”

“Meeeeeoooooaaaaawwwwww.”

Yes I know, I’ll get my coat.

And so to the American football, where the 49ers managed to lose again.

I think our general issue this season is we’re trying to be twice as good as the opposition, but in the wrong aspects of the game. There was a certain expectation after we reached the Superbowl last season, and we’re trying too hard to outdo the opposition. If our opponents throw an interception, we shouldn’t be trying to throw two. If they muff a punt then don’t muff two just to show them how it’s done. If they give us the ball from a fumble, don’t repay it twice. If one of their players gets injured, don’t have two of ours go down in sympathy. If they have a mind freeze and give away a silly penalty, don’t double down on that. If we sack their quarterback, it doesn’t mean they can sack ours twice.

Stop concentrating on being twice as good as the opposition in those areas, and shift the efforts to being twice as good in other areas. If they have a five yard rush, then we should have a ten yard rush. A nine yard reception, double that to an eighteen yard one for us. If they kick a field goal, then we should kick two. If they score a touchdown then we should score two. If they tackle us for a loss, then tackle them for a safety.

And above all if we lose a game then win at least two to offset it.

The week has rattled by and I have no idea what day it is most of the time, if I’ve asked once I’ve asked a dozen times “what day is it?” I keep thinking I’m a day earlier than it actually is, so I missed the fact it was Wednesday, and this was my usual day for posting this, as I thought it was Tuesday.

As the week has gone on it’s become even more obvious than usual that I hate people. And things. Everything seems to get on every last effing nerve at the moment. It must show, so I’m always pleasantly surprised to wake up every morning. I’m fully expecting to be euthanised under a pillow one night.

Back By Unpopular Demand

The first day of the new lockdown did see a dramatic drop in cars on the road. I’m not sure whether it was just down to the lockdown, or helped by the fact it was a bit foggy this morning. Despite the dense fog there was a large amount of similarly dense drivers out there who came drifting out of the fog background with no lights on at all. Regardless of the state of the nation or the state of the weather you can always rely on Crawley drivers to be complete morons.

At work there was the announcement they are closing the building I currently work in at the end of the year. The options will then be

  1. Work from home. (seriously, FTS)
  2. Travel to Interchange every day (easier by public transport, but a proper sh1tehole).
  3. Travel to the Hove office (next to Portslade station, at least one change of train, or lots of driving every day).
  4. Win the effing lottery. (No travelling again, well apart from holidays etc.)

Speaking of the lottery, they didn’t even send their customary “you’ve won a lucky dip” message this morning.

Helen bought me a beginner’s photography course for Christmas last year. It was a practical, in person course, to be held in London. I originally booked to do it the first Saturday in April, only for it to be postponed due to lockdown one. I rearranged for July, only to be postponed to September. That was cancelled due to lack of numbers, as was the October one I was rebooked onto, and so I was bumped to November. So, when the second lockdown was announced I was expecting another postponement. Therefore I was surprised when they said it was still going ahead.

It meant an early, nearly deserted train up to London and a wander to the south bank near the Royal Festival Hall. The stretch between the Hungerford and Waterloo bridges was emptier than I’ve ever seen it before, certainly at ten in the morning.

The course was worth the wait. I hadn’t got a proper manual with the camera, just a quick guide, and so didn’t know what most of the functions were for. I learnt a load about what the camera could do in different modes and settings, and there are a lot of them. Some seem quite useful, and expand what can be done, aside from the basic point, zoom, and click I’ve been doing for the last two years.

The three hours went quickly and once the course was over I took a wander across the river and walked from Trafalgar Square, along the length of the Strand and Fleet Street to Blackfriars, testing out what I had learnt. Then I made my way back towards Waterloo, as I’d seen a church close to it I’d never noticed before.

As I sat taking photos of it with different setting and exposures I was approached by a drunken Scottish tramp who shouted at me that he’d smash my effing camera over my effing head if I was taking photos of him. Also telling me it wasn’t the first time he’d seen me there taking photos. He wasn’t interested in listening to me or the truth, so I waved down a passing policeman and set him on the tramp. Such a shame as it put a real downer on what had been a good day until then. It was the first time I’d been to London since the initial lockdown started, and it was good to wander about the nearly empty streets admiring the buildings.

Spurs managed to win another dull insipid game and for a brief couple of hours were top of the league. But it brings no joy to me when we’ve still got that “see you next Tuesday” of a manager in charge. #MourinhoOut. No 49ers game as they’d already capitulated their way to another loss on prime time TV on Thursday night (well Friday morning here). But at least watching RedZone I could revel in seeing the Cowboys, Seahawks and Cardinals all losing as well.

I can’t say that my pre work weekly shopping trip on Monday morning was my most successful ever. I managed to buy myself a loaf of bread and a box of cereals, but nothing to use as filler for sandwiches, and no milk to put on the cereals. A bag of Twirl bites is hardly the breakfast of champions.

For a while there has been someone parking sideways across three bays in the car park at work. Not every day, but once or twice a week. This morning I saw who it was and it all clicked into place. It was Earl’s little sidekick, who isn’t just learning the IT trade, but also picking up parking tips from Earl, who mastered the art of parking like the car has been abandoned years ago.

Wednesday morning was a struggle as well. First up, I went out the door, closed it behind me, only to realise I hadn’t picked up the car keys, and not having the keys meant I’d locked myself out. Fortunately Helen is at home, as I couldn’t imagine Charlie being able to let me in. When I got in the car and turned the key I found that I’d left it in gear with the handbrake off when I’d parked last night. Fortunately all the other cars around me had already left.

Speaking of Charlie, I could probably do with him being in the office. Mainly so that as he wanders around he can keep the lights on instead of me having to slide across a desk and wave my arms every five minutes.

Second Coming

Time rumbles on as the days and weeks blur into one, and the rumours are confirmed and we are going back into lockdown next week. With instructions as clear as mud. Well more like slurry really. Of course, with a week’s notice people are rushing around to make the most of the little freedom they have now before Thursday arrives.

On our part there had been arrangements made for the weekend, and Helen saw friends on Friday and Sunday nights, and we hosted a mini Octoberfest on Halloween. Complete with banner of a Bavarian street scene, flags, beers, and lots of sausages and cheese. Prepping took most of the day, and being the typical party pooper, I’d had enough after two beers and moved to soft drinks and trying to keep my eyes open. Plus when tidying up on the Sunday, taking all the banners and stuff down I realised I didn’t even take a photo of the scene.

A problem that reoccurred watching the American Football Sunday night, but that was more a case of covering my eyes from the horror show of the latest 49ers capitulation. At least Spurs won, but they played like they were covering their eyes, struggling to a poorly deserved win. We may be third in the league, but we are still sh1te, and the call for Mourinho out still tumbles from my mouth whenever I talk about the football/

The National Lottery is effing with me, in the last two weeks I’ve won seven lucky dips and a £2.40 prize. I’m hoping it’s acting like one of those old school nineties fruit machines that would drop in a lot of little prizes before giving out the jackpot.

Charlie is now channelling the spirit of the cats by turning his nose up at the food in his bowl, several times he’s walked up to the bowl and sniffed at it, had a look around and then walked off. Then I saw him licking the edge of his bowl, but when I moved he noticed me and walked away from it. So I hid behind the fridge and he came back and actually ate what was in the bowl. It’s as if he has stage fright when eating.

Sniffles had taken to lying on the cushions that were piled up in the kitchen from the new garden furniture, which had got damp despite the covers with the volume of rain. When we put them in the attic he came in and looked very puzzled as to where his new bed had gone. He’s now taken up residence on Charlie’s rugs in the kitchen, only moving to be fed.

The fireworks have started, although it would appear that Charlie is a bit deaf as he hadn’t noticed a series of them going off, only waking up when Sniffles ran over him to get to hide down the side of the sofa. The TV is now set at pretty much full volume to disguise the bangs, and there haven’t been any firework related destruction episodes yet.

We went out for a last meal before lockdown on Tuesday night to Efe’s, and there was lots of food, all very nice, I’m just not convinced I’ll be able to move much on Wednesday.

Which had a nice frosty morning, and the sun was out, it was a surprise that it wasn’t raining. It was actually light in the office most of the day without having to resort to waving my arms around every five minutes. It did help that there were a few others in the building for a change so it wasn’t relying on me moving all the time to keep the lights on.

One of the morning calls involved chair yoga. Well it did for other people on the call. The closest I’ll get to doing chair yoga will be at lunch time when I have a yoghurt whilst sat in my chair.

As I type we are still waiting for the results of the US Presidential election. Both sides are claiming they have enough votes to win, despite the fact that they haven’t all been counted yet and they won’t have finished until at least Friday. At which point the Combover (as named by Public Enemy) will be taking everyone to court if he hasn’t won. To be honest I’m just surprised they’ve managed to find anyone who can count that high in the States without it involving dollar bills.

Sing A Song Of Sixpence

Someone we know put a picture on social media of a pretty much demolished afternoon tea. It was certainly different to the usual cacophony of pictures of meals before they are eaten. I was wondering whether this could become a new trend on Instagram – pictures of meals I’ve just eaten. It could even be turned into a game/app where people have to guess what the finished meal was. Perhaps with extra points for criticism of why there were leftovers in the first place.

I got into work Friday morning to find one of the little legs on my keyboard had been snapped off. Now I understand the need to clean desks, but there is absolutely no effing need to slam equipment about so hard whilst doing so, that pieces snap off it.

Friday night we had a kitchen planning appointment at Ikea. Jeez, two hours plus it took; so long we didn’t have time to buy a couple of bits we wanted to pick up. And despite cutting every corner available, I still clocked up a mile walking around the never ending twists and turns. By the time we got out it was too late to sit in and eat anywhere, so had take-out pizza sat in the car in the Pizza Hut car park.

Got the usual weekly e-mail from West Sussex County Council, and had to laugh that the snobby b@st@rds in Horsham are the most Covid-19 diseased part of West Sussex.

Charlie is mental, why has it only just occurred to me to call him a Muttcase?

We went out for the day on Saturday, which again involved driving through East Grinstead. It was interesting to note that their drivers seem even less enamoured about the Covid-19 pop up cycle lanes than Crawley ones. At the approach to one roundabout the last half dozen orange poles had been mowed down and were lying flat and crushed on the road.

It was a nice drive over to Rye, such a nice town, one of the original Cinque Ports, and at one point it was on the coast, whereas unless up a tower, you can’t see the sea there anymore. The old town on the cliff top is a wonder of beautiful old buildings. The Ypres Tower wasn’t open, as it’s too narrow to allow for social distancing. The impressive St Mary’s Church was partially open (again no tower access), and they had pens and fridge magnets J. We stopped for late lunch at Simon the Pieman’s, where at least Helen had a pie. I was going to have one, but when they came for the order the words cheese and ham Panini came out of my mouth.

After lunch we nipped into the tourist information, and got more leaflets, maps and after coming out and putting them all in my back pocket, I really did have a pocketful of Rye! (Yes, I’ve already got my coat.)

After a nice day wandering around Rye, and a drive home in the retreating light we went to the Downsman for dinner. With that, and a walk around town on Sunday morning, I draw the conclusion that Crawley is full of morons. They can’t do one way, masks, social distancing or anything remotely close to it. How we aren’t in danger of tier three is beyond me. I can’t imagine what the hell the snobby morons in Horsham are doing that is worse than us to have a higher infection rate.

Sunday afternoon means sport, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see Spurs jump into an early 3-0 lead, which we hold until there are only five minutes to play only to end up drawing 3-3. The mental fragility and defensive fragility are still there. Mourinho is a busted flush; he is supposed to be an expert in both of these areas. Well, I say that an ex is a has been and a spurt is a drip under pressure, so an expect is a has been drip under pressure, which would sum up Mourinho to a tee. We sacked Ossie Ardiles for playing his version of “we’re going to score one more than you”, but at least he wasn’t claiming to be a defensive mastermind.

On the plus side the 49ers won.

I had a bit of a blitz on Sporcle over the weekend and ended up getting my 1000th badge, which just goes to show how much time I’ve wasted playing quizzes on there in the last six years since Richard and James introduced me to it when they started working next to me.

I got home Monday night and something I’d ordered online had turned up, a month after it being ordered. Only for it to be not to be what it looked like on the web page, and for them to send me a medium instead of the 3XL I’d ordered. Furthermore the cheeky effers say that I have to pay to send it back (to China) for a refund. The postage is more than I paid for the item in the first place, so they offer a 15% refund. Effing scamming b@st@rds.

Being unsupervised on a week night isn’t great for sleep, as it’s one in the morning before I make it upstairs, and then there is at least an hour’s reading. The alarms weren’t very appealing Wednesday morning, and the constant rain wasn’t helping. It was dark in the office at nine in the morning, even with other people in the motion activated lights kept going off. A look out of the window shows that the customary lake has appeared on Hazelwick Avenue wiping out one of the pop up cycle lanes, turning it into a pop up kayak lane.

On the plus side it’s payday, not that there’s much to spend it on, save it for the kitchen I suppose.