As I was walking back from the Supermoon, and spring equinox, woods visit, I had a load of thoughts about a load of things. They seemed like revelations to me at the time but then I saw this enormous pine cone on the side of the road and all I could think about was how brilliant they are at getting the fire going! I carried that pine cone back to the Casita and then decided it was too special to burn.
I was wondering why we do what we do and whether we are really in control of our "Choices" I was speaking with a traveller this week-end who was reading "Punk Science" a book called "Inside the mind of God" and it started me thinking again about the same things I thought about when I was 17-22ish. I had decided long ago to "Stop" thinking about "Big questions" and try (many ways) to get into the main picture, I obviously never managed that and so here I am, 30 odd years later, back to "Thnking" about the same questions!
When i say "in control of our choices" I am referring to the choices we make about how we are going to "Fit in/Contribute" to society. what options are we really given? does anyone remember being taught "Metaphysics" at school? i seem to remember RE consisting of "The One God"! (ok, i missed a load of school so maybe THAT lesson was one of those days!)
When we had "Careers advice" where was "Philosopher" or "Great thinker"? Vagabond Tramp Bum Cad Bounder adventurer Astrologer Healer? in fact, ANY of the Jobs/professions statuses that go to make up our society as a whole! "you don't think the BUM is important"? how about how good he makes you feel when you give him a bit of change? or the feeling of smug superiority you get from knowing you are "OK" ! Everything is interconected and we leave it to "Chance"! no, I don't think so.
Everything we think we know has been taught us by people who also, think they know. In 35 years I have seen a whole bunch of crap I "Thought I knew" proven to be bollocks! we have not been "Thinking" much at all really, we just accepted the spoonfed bullshit and swallowed it along with the "Job" we ended up doing.
I "Know" why I am where I am right now, I didn't believe a bloody word of what I was being told.
BTW. Einstein got a very "poor" Degree and Michael Faraday left school at 14 and had little formal education. if they had managed to get "Processed" we may never have got "Them".
Thursday, March 10, 2011
In the beginning
So, here I am, sitting in a "Casita" (small house) on a Finca (Small Farm) in southern Andalucia and I have decided to start Blogging as I have oh so much spare time now.
I suppose it all started when I was born but as the first several years from that date are nothing more than a load of crying crapping and cleeping (ok it should have been "sleeping" but that didn't look right and as i intend there to be at least a little amusement to this, for me anyway!.............) i will start somwhere around.............. "Noon"
It has been an interesting 40 years or so, and has culminated in me living almost as a hermit with very little in the way of possesions. I think i still possess that most essential possession "Marbles" although there are some that would throw that into question!
I don't own a house, but then, neither probably do any of you. you may think you do but if the authorities decide to build a runway or motorway through your area........... you will find you "Don't" own it. ah well, you probably have money in the Bank, hmmmmm, i wonder who decides whether you own that and what it is worth? I am digressing, i probably will digress as I was brought up on the likes of Ronnie Corbett and Co. So, "interesting"? well, it has been to me. Interesting, challenging, distressing, enlightening, in fact it has been many thINGS and at looks like it will continue inging into the future.
Back to now; it is 10th March 2011. I am sat at table looking through a window onto the hills of the "behindey bit" (oh i just love prosaic wordsmithery!) of the lower Costa Del Sol. the rain is falling gently in huge torrents (i will work on it ok!) of landslide proportions on the terrace below and my woodburner is humming as it consumes the recently processed deadwood from a nearby olive tree. (wot i cut with my own wooding skill)
I have no commitments, save a day a week, for Steve, the owner, and all the time in the world to learn Grammar, punkchewasian and the gentlemanly art of Digital nasal evacuation. I have purchased a copy of "Nuance naturally speaking" which has been loaded onto the laptop and has failed to understand anything i speak! i bought a dictaphone (please, don't even think about it!) which links to aforementioned Naturally speaking and have been told for the umpteenth time "You should start writing" so in the tradition of the great Earnest lee Wise (I guess thats his middle name) and with one and a half hands,(another story) i am started.
and now, for the moment, I am finished. back later.............................
Right, kettle on, time for a little more.
This will be the third time i have been back to live in Spain and my hope is, the last time. I came back around October 2010 to take a job looking after an old Artist and his hideous wife. her "hideousness" drove me to distraction and less than three months later I was dismissed. She viewed me as a Slave despite me being taken on as a servant of sorts. I didn't mind "serving" we all serve someone or other but to be told I was expected to work seven days a week (without extra pay) and be expected to listen to hours of frankly boring stories of "learning to cook at some fancy French restaurant, ow she ditched the Duke of Normandy, for a womanising PR man, her "Incredibly beautiful" daughters, how she was kdnapped but released (more likely they couldn't shut her up so booted her out) was becoming.......... well, boring. her use of superlatives for everything lessenend the interest factor and it became painful, so, I lost my ability to remain stoic and told her what I thought; didn't go down too well and she told me to leave. Her husband was seriously pissed off and wanted to keep me to spite her! but she managed to manipulate him and I left.
I was offered a place by Steve and so here I am. no job, no money, no transport no real problems. I know it may seem daunting to most people, not having any apparent security but when you have never really had any it isn't so bad.
There are times when I have a little "panic" about the future, but then I wake to a sunny day with the sound of Cicadas in the surrounding woods and feel everything will be alright; something will change again and off we go again! Fran (an ex partner from an earlier Spanish adventure) died a couple of weeks ago. we had been apart for 10 years but still kept in amicable contact. She called me from the Hospice for a last chat. she was reminiscing about our motorhome adventures in Andalucia and still saying we would meet up soon. She knew it wouldn't happen and I wasn't going to spoil it. she then asked before she hung up if I was OK for money. I said yes I was ok and that she should get healthier and we could go to one of our old haunts for lunch. She always viewed me as someone who had "adventures" said it was amazing how I always bounced and found something new and exciting to do. I will miss her infectious enthusiasm for life and remember that whatever the circumstances, there really IS always another adventure around the corner if you open your eyes to it. Fran was one who said I should write after she read something I wrote when I decided to cycle from Vienna to Wettingen for the love of another previous girlfriend. It was March there was snow on the Tyrol and I had sixty kilos of luggage strapped to me, but that's another story.............................
Right, kettle on, time for a little more.
This will be the third time i have been back to live in Spain and my hope is, the last time. I came back around October 2010 to take a job looking after an old Artist and his hideous wife. her "hideousness" drove me to distraction and less than three months later I was dismissed. She viewed me as a Slave despite me being taken on as a servant of sorts. I didn't mind "serving" we all serve someone or other but to be told I was expected to work seven days a week (without extra pay) and be expected to listen to hours of frankly boring stories of "learning to cook at some fancy French restaurant, ow she ditched the Duke of Normandy, for a womanising PR man, her "Incredibly beautiful" daughters, how she was kdnapped but released (more likely they couldn't shut her up so booted her out) was becoming.......... well, boring. her use of superlatives for everything lessenend the interest factor and it became painful, so, I lost my ability to remain stoic and told her what I thought; didn't go down too well and she told me to leave. Her husband was seriously pissed off and wanted to keep me to spite her! but she managed to manipulate him and I left.
I was offered a place by Steve and so here I am. no job, no money, no transport no real problems. I know it may seem daunting to most people, not having any apparent security but when you have never really had any it isn't so bad.
There are times when I have a little "panic" about the future, but then I wake to a sunny day with the sound of Cicadas in the surrounding woods and feel everything will be alright; something will change again and off we go again! Fran (an ex partner from an earlier Spanish adventure) died a couple of weeks ago. we had been apart for 10 years but still kept in amicable contact. She called me from the Hospice for a last chat. she was reminiscing about our motorhome adventures in Andalucia and still saying we would meet up soon. She knew it wouldn't happen and I wasn't going to spoil it. she then asked before she hung up if I was OK for money. I said yes I was ok and that she should get healthier and we could go to one of our old haunts for lunch. She always viewed me as someone who had "adventures" said it was amazing how I always bounced and found something new and exciting to do. I will miss her infectious enthusiasm for life and remember that whatever the circumstances, there really IS always another adventure around the corner if you open your eyes to it. Fran was one who said I should write after she read something I wrote when I decided to cycle from Vienna to Wettingen for the love of another previous girlfriend. It was March there was snow on the Tyrol and I had sixty kilos of luggage strapped to me, but that's another story.............................
So here I am in Spain pondering my existence. I have to admit to a certain degree of confusion; I have looked back at large parts of that existence and thought, “what in the name of”! (Insert your own deity here) are you bleeding bonkers, I say? And then I realise that talking to yourself is fairly accepted as an indication of general bonkerishness so I stop and try and find another way of asking the question without falling into “that” trap! It doesn’t work! The only other way is to ask someone else what they think; it’s a vicious circle, “nuts” will always be the conclusion unless the assessor is Nuts in which case the answer will be invalid? I think therefore I should consider everyone else “Nuts” and myself the sane one! Well that didn’t take much pondering, back to adventures then…………………….
It all sort of started in the mid seventies. I had left school, perhaps a little earlier than I should have, and started work at Colchester Zoo, “relief keeper” (Pause for sniggering and juvenile comments to subside) in itself NOT very adventurous but when you throw “Arnie” the hells angel reptile keeper into the equation it starts to warm up. Arnie was first encountered by me and a friend a couple of years earlier whilst riding a policeman’s moped that we “had liberated”. We were heading into Halstead road woods for some off road fun when out of a bush leapt Arnie. “Where’s me engines” he yelled. Bear in mind this guy is around 18 plus and looked evil in all his leathers and with his long black hair and slanted eyes, we were kids compared to him. We explained that we had no idea and thought that would do the trick. He was having none of it. He kicked my mate in the leg with his German Jack-boots and I buggered off on the Ped. (It was cowardly but that is how it happened) amazingly he nicked a “Bicycle” off a kid and started chasing me! Me on powered moped and hells angel on Bicycle! I got onto the road and wound her up to full speed which was oooh, around 30-35 MPH, “He was GAINING” on me!! I am sure the wind escaping from my arse helped me stay ahead and he soon gave up………………….. Then, (as a reward for abandoning him) my mate and Arnie turned up at my parents place! Somehow we managed to persuade him that there might be a bloke who knew or had, his engines and that was that…………….until…………….. I arrive at Colchester Zoo and this guy (who you could never forget) turns out to be the Reptile keeper.
It was inevitable he would recognise me, and he did. Oddly, he wasn’t anything like he was that day in the woods, what he said was;”why didn’t we fight back”? well, I was a little surprised he should ask that as he was an adult and we were juveniles but I told him that was why, and he decided he was going to “teach me” how to fight!
He decided that the best way for me to learn was for him to slap me at lunchtimes until I got angry! It didn’t take too long and one day I just blocked his blow and shouted at him to fuck off and leave me alone. I waited for the assault but it never came, he just said, “there, see, you CAN defend yourself”
We became sort of friends after that and he just loved to close me in with some of the Zoo’s animals! He would chortle at opening the gate of the White Rhino whilst I was shovelling its dung. He was particularly amused when it was realised that while I was picking up litter from “Pasha” the Black Panthers compound, “SHE WAS STILL IN IT”! There was certainly more shit in the compound AFTER I got out than before I went in!! But I think his favourite time was when he told me I had to clean out the snake area. We are talking about Rat snake, Water snake Boa and Python in an area about 3 metres by 2 metres and 2.5 high with a glass front (from which he watched in glee) as I attempted to clean it out. I had a mop and a bucket which I was supposed to stick in the pond part, I did, I stuck that mop in the water and fucking snakes flew out! I will never understand why I didn’t get bitten and I will never forget his contorted laughing mush!
I can’t blame him for “Tiger” the black faced chimp biting my fingernail off, that was just one cunning old chimp teaching the “white clothed chimp”, he was a smart bastard! I remember Frankie Farrar the owner telling me, as he offered me a plaster, “I shouldn’t have pulled away from the bite”! he was right, and he shouldn’t have been allowed a licence for a fucking Zoo!. I think the job lasted around a couple of months before I decided £12.50 for 60 odd hours wasn’t really “me”, I had decided to join the Army and so off to the recruitment office on North hill I went…………………
11/03/2011.
I will deal with the Army later, for now, i was lookig at old "writings" and thought i could put them here, so, here is one i wrote a few years back:
11/03/2011.
I will deal with the Army later, for now, i was lookig at old "writings" and thought i could put them here, so, here is one i wrote a few years back:
Internet dating sites (IDS) or to give it it’s medical name “irritable dating syndrome”.
It all seems too good to be true; you get to spend hours or months in the privacy of your own home scouring the web for Ms or Mr perfect. You can specify exactly what you are looking for in status, looks, weight, age, likes and dislikes etc etc, thereby minimising the possibility of discovering at some time in the future that your dream partner has more baggage than Heathrow after a strike or “fog in”, or at least “that is how it seems”.
But what is the reality? How many of us (oops, you!) end up with the Bunny boiler from hell? Did she tell you that Emelda Marcos was an amateur when it comes to shoe collecting or that when she said “I am a little bit jealous” that what she actually meant was “ if I catch you looking at anything but the floor, you will get the howling of a banshee to reckon with”. When he said he had a strong sex drive did you assume he meant “normal” or did you discover later that he was looking to stick it in a hole that doesn’t yet exist and when he said he was “solvent” did you find out too late that he thought that was some euphemism for being able to make “sticky things come unstuck”!
I wonder if what we have is a nation of estate agents, like they call a pokey dingy hole, “Compact and bijou” or “requires modernisation” means, complete wreck. A dating lister calls manic depression. “A sensitive nature”. Or “sociable and outgoing” actually means, “part time escort”. “Technophobe” for “practising Amish”, “quiet night’s in on the sofa” means Agoraphobic. And “likes pets,” means you are likely to find the whole horse in your bed or the ancient immobile dying dog will be made to live on a life support system if necessary.
It’s a bit like ordering clothes online. Not from a known reputable high street chain but from “ebay”!! They are really only there because no one in their right mind would buy them if they saw them in the flesh first. If the sale of goods act was applied to dating sites they would be bankrupt overnight. Now that’s not to say there aren’t any genuine people trying to find love it’s just that he and she were taken a long time ago and what’s left are the “new without tags!” (Yeah right) listings that sound too good to be true.
The most incredible thing about all these available people is that every single one of them was entirely blameless for their old relationship breaking up! It’s highly unlikely you will ever hear “well, it was my fault because I shagged his or her best mate or, “I lied, she/he found out and I tried to blame it on her/him”
Picture this scenario:
He had a long standing relationship say 7 years, but one day he decided a wife and 1.3 kids was not what he wanted so he had an affair with a workmate. His wife found out and said she thought it was only supposed to be used for holding wood steady and DIY, he said it gave him more pleasure than her and so she threw him out. Meanwhile in another town, in a part of the UK you didn’t know existed, another relationship is breaking up. After six weeks on an oil rig he returns to find his wife has been working on a platform too, only hers had a pole in the middle of it he can’t send her back to Warsaw so he left her and moved in with a co-worker. Then they all join the same dating site! What are the odds that the oil rig worker will end up with the wife whose husband had the affair, In other words the blameless pair, assuming they all stay heterosexual? The chances are surely as remote as the oilrig
And were they really “blameless”? Perhaps “workmate man” found pleasure in DIY because his wife only wanted sex once a week (after bath-time) and expected him to perform regardless of whether he was tired or not. Maybe “Mrs Pole” suffered brutish callous behaviour every time her husband came off the rig and craved simple longing desire from someone.
As for what you have to reveal to stand any chance of a “nod or a wink” from a prospective date! And then to discover it is almost impossible to get it removed once you have found your next Ms, Mrs, Mr, Dr, Sir, or Lady right.
Do you really want your next partner to have all their personal details, likes and dislikes, chat room discussions and photo on a million personal computers? Not to mention the embarrassing phone call from the person you cyberdumped after crying on their shoulder for months but never really wanted to meet. And what about that night you came home a little pissed turned on your PC camera and showed your bestest netmate a little something to whet the appetite, will that come back to haunt you?
Fact is, you wouldn’t do any of the things you do on the dating sites, chat rooms or instant messengers, “in person”. You wouldn’t ask half the questions or give half the answers. You wouldn’t give half the “matches” 10 seconds of your real time; they are not “real”. Your slightly built, clean, sexual Olympiad, auburn transport executive is really a 4 foot, herpes infested, wank-weary, 6 stone, ginger pubed, car-rental hygiene operative. And she may well turn out to be a gargantuan McDonalds addict with 4 children from four different fathers who she never knew because she was comatose on whatever alcopop was fashionable at the time, and not, a bubbly mother who loves kids and eating out.
As for me? Well 6’2”, 12st, Brown Hair and eyes, legendary sexual prowess, extensively travelled speaker of languages, versatile creative sensitive, educated to a degree looking for a Sensitive, Happy, Articulate, Goddess.
After leaving the Zoo I decided that what I needed was a large dose of discipline. (I wasn’t the only one that reached that conclusion!) Now, previously, I had dallied with the Law enforcement side of society as a provider of their raison d’être. It wasn’t anything serious, mostly nicking mopeds or petty thievery but, it seems that these heinous crimes have a lasting impact on one’s ability to ever re-enter society in certain areas. I am not for example “fit to be a politician”! Solicitor, policeman, Judge/Magistrate, Teacher, Banker, or any area where I may have some “influence” on vulnerable people. Some may agree with that philosophy and choose to ignore the fact that there are many in those professions who, have since committed a crime but remain in their positions! Some even get a knighthood.
It never dawned on me that offences committed as a juvenile would be brought up as reason to preclude me from the Army.
I went to the recruitment office and proudly announced that I was available and keen to be…………….. A lorry driver in the RCT (Royal Corp of Transport) the only “influence” I could have there was over the direction I steered a truck! (bear in mind I had NO IDEA that my previous misdemeanours would have any negative effect on my future, foolishly I assumed that as I had been caught and punished, I was clean again)
So this recruitment Sergeant starts asking me to fill in the forms and then asks me if I had any criminal convictions? I was on a “tell the truth whatever”, trip at the time and so revealed my horrendous crimes, fully expecting him to be pleased at my honesty and welcome me into the Army brotherhood. “Fucked that one up didn’t I”! After what seemed an eternity of describing these petty offences, he pondered (artificially) and then said; “I am sorry but we can’t accept you into the Army at this time” he also mentioned my “mono renal” condition as another reason for not wanting me.
I was devastated. There were many times in my early life when I really wanted to stop being an arse and get straight, and stuck in. I am sure I made this clear on, many occasions and was always met with the same old bullshit.
I left the office and slowly started to get angry. I got so angry I decided I needed to write a letter to the Minister of Defence. I did, I wrote what I thought was a coherent appealing letter asking for a second chance. Unbelievably, I got a response from the department saying I should re-present myself at the same centre and re-apply! Whoopfuckinee! There was some fairness after all.
I made the appointment and trotted off for a re-assessment. The Sergeant welcomed me in and went through all the form filling again and then said………………right, would I list ALL the previous offences. I did it with a light hearted attitude and a feeling of relief that I could rid myself of these juvenile histories and make a clean start. I suppose “naivety” is a fairly common state when one is young and I was no different from most my age in that area but I was pissed off that the system could shaft me again and again without me realising it!
He took a little longer this time but in essence he told me I was not wanted by the Army at that time and that I should possibly have another go in a few years after having remained “straight”. Reality was, I couldn’t conceive of that length of time at 16 and so decided they just didn’t want me and I was being fobbed off. I decided another letter to the Minister of Defence was required only this time a little more severe. I wrote saying I was pissed off, that it was mean to punish someone twice and that there were many more “Armies” I could join, I listed Bader Meinhof PLO IRA! I wasn’t being very sensible but thought “fuckem”! If I can’t join them, I will fight them!
The letter I got back was a clever brilliant put down. I really asked for that one and boy did I get it. “The Army could afford to recruit a “Higher Calibre” of recruit” was the message and clearly I was of an inferior calibre. I laugh now because it was very good and put me squarely in my place but at the time it pissed me off. I also think they were probably right not to take me on anyway because I was not a good accepter of discipline.
So my dreams of getting into the Army and showing I WAS capable of something useful were dashed.
16 years old, no academic qualifications, one kidney, a bad moody attitude based on a lithium deficiency, no real direction and a powerful feeling of “energy” within that had no outlet other than mischievousness and a feeling that there really must be more to life than this! Haven’t a clue why, but I decided to be a Chef!...................
Update on weather here; "still raining and wood pile nearly depleted"
I should explain here that I was in and out of work on a regular basis. I would start a job and either reach the ceiling of its difficulty and then get bored or I would lose my rag and get it lost for me.
Some of the jobs were physical and some cerebral (not many of the second!) the early jobs were Commis chef, telegraph pole rot injector, baked bean soaker, radio tuner inspector, cavity wall insulation filler, digger restorer, (mechanical not Australian) personal accident insurance salesman, (won awards in training, couldn’t sell the product! Had to sing “zippadee doo dah” every morning before starting!) English fine bone china salesman, t-shrt printing salesman, Dinghy hull polisher, Forestry Commission trainee, CNC trainee, Barman, General assistant, hooky fake gold salesman (that was a laugh, had my first serious car crash doing that and walked away unscathed)
Every time I tried to get a “Proper job” my lack of academic qualifications would preclude me. So, I applied for a "live in all found" job at the “Marlborough Head Hotel” in Dedham Essex. The job was for a general assistant but mainly kitchen and bar. The owners, Mr & Mrs Rothwell were nice people and took me on. Obviously I didn’t tell them I was currently on probation as it would certainly have meant not getting it.
Within a couple of weeks they decided to go on holiday and left the head chef and me in charge. The chef was ok and he even let me run the kitchen on a few nights while he had time off. The only screw up I had was leaving the eye in a trout meuniere one night and having the customer complain. (I should have replaced it with a Pea) the customers liked me and all seemed well. I had a 0.50p increase in my wage from the Zoo and didn’t have any bills, brilliant! But…………….. I had to visit Ray Gamble once every couple of weeks for a “probation assessment” Ray and I got on very well and it was a useful period of self analysis but he was either a cruel bastard or more naïve than me when he asked if I had told the Rothwells about my previous convictions. I left that meeting having been convinced that “honesty really was the best policy” I went to the Rothwells and explained that I “HAD” been a naughty boy but it was all behind me now. Within five minutes so was the Marlborough Head Hotel!
Let me explain the system of crime and punishment in the mid seventies;
Despite the Law being unbelievably bent and using questionable at best, tactics, it was fairly clear and understandable. You committed a crime; they attempted to “detect” it (although the detection rate was shit, most offences being discovered by accident or stupidity on the part of the perpetrator)
You would be arrested, questioned, (sometimes if you held out, they would help you stay awake by switching your cell light on and off throughout the night) threatened with punishments they had no ability to legally carry out and then when you finally said “hands up” (even to TIC crimes (Taken into consideration, a way for them to clear the books of unsolved crimes that were similar to the one you committed!) you would be bailed to appear before the Magistrate.
If you were smart you would turn up at ten am in some smart clothing with concerned parent in attendance, show contrition, hang your head in shame and promise not to do it again. That would sometimes result in a lenient sentence. It would also mean you could experience the whole gamut of available punishments in some sort of order!
“Fines” first, then “Probation” then more probation, then suspended sentence, then Juvenile detention centre, which I spent my 16th birthday in, maybe senior detention centre, Youth Prisoner in full nick. That was about the scale I experienced. (Except senior DC) there was of course “Borstal” which I thankfully also missed! Between 14 and 18 I ran the lot.
The fines and probation were easy but when they finally said “ he’s taking the piss” I was presented with a delightful little place just outside Kidlington Oxford” it was a Junior DC where they would “educate” you to a degree that was supposed to remove your nasty little thieving tendencies! I was just shy of 16 and totally unprepared for the brutality of the sadists that ran it or the inmates who were pretty tough already. The coppers/pigs who took me there from Colchester were giggling like children and winding me up all the way. They knew I was in for a rude awakening and delighted in the torture.
I was booked in to this place for three months which at 15 seemed an eternity. It was ringed by double, huge fences with razor wire toppings and looked more like a Maximum security prison than a Juvenile Detention Centre.
I entered the main door and was met by a dwarfish bastard named “Said” Mr Said. He reminded me of Max Wall both in appearance and voice. He “Invited” me to go to the bottom of a long corridor, I started walking, I then felt a thump in my back and a shout of “move it”! Needless to say, I “legged it” to the bottom. At the end was a door to my left and a door in front. I had to stop here. I turned around and he shouted to “fucking turn around and read the rules” which covered the door. He then slammed me into the door nose first so it was not possible to read the rules! After a few minutes I was “invited” into the room to my left where two more nasty examples of depraved humanity told me to strip. I was “processed” given my uniform and marched double time to the dorm.
“being me” I found it best to be charming and polite (this is easy when you are terrified!) and the result was that I quickly became Officers mess orderly, a not unpleasant role which allowed one to empty ashtrays make tea, eat biscuits. Yes, we were educated in how to wire a plug (courtesy of Mr Gurd) and yes the chores were stupid, like cleaning black and yellow lino-tiled floor with toothbrush. But near the end of my visit I was asked to go with the decorating screws to do some painting at the governor’s house. This was tantalisingly close to the entrance and right in front of Kidlington airfield. Thoughts of Colditz style escape came and went. I would be free in a few weeks and boy was I “Going straight”!
One of the things the more experienced “Cons” tell you, is “not to look back” when you walk out the prison/detention centre. They say if you do, “you will be back”! One of the things the Screws tell you is “you will be back”! I proved them both right! Although in all honesty I was stitched up by Colchester’s finest?
I can’t remember exactly when it happened or for what, but I had been given a six month sentence suspended for a year. I wasn’t 18 yet and was still trying to go straight and still trying to work in Catering. I had managed to lie my way into a job at the “Frinton Lodge Hotel” as silver service waiter and ………….general assistant. This meant I got a room in an annexe and live in all found again. It suited me just fine and I quite enjoyed the job. Then one weekend (or rather Sunday) I was on my time off and decided to go home for the break. There was one train running to Colchester and I aimed to get it.
I got to the station, bought my ticket and waited. Then a policeman arrived and started looking at the waiting passengers. He approached me and started asking questions, who I was, where I had come from, where I was going. While he was doing this another pig er I mean policy enforcer, was radioing my details to the station. Inevitably I “came up” on the system and things changed! I was told to empty my pockets, (in front of everyone else) and then marched off to a waiting pig mobile. They drove me to “the other side of town” and marched me up to the door of a large house on First Avenue and asked the owner “Is this him”! Now I don’t know what you know about “fair chance” but in law that is called a “ONE MAN IDENTITY PARADE” and isn’t right. As it happens, I had been straight for a year and this particular offence wasn’t my doing. The owner said “No, that isn’t him” and I was taken back to the station. On the way the Pig said “obviously I understood why they thought it might have been me” and apologised. I was feeling benevolent and responded politely; he then turned and said “So what did you do with the stuff”! I cursed and got out to find my train had gone. I managed to get home where I told my mother of the event.
Upon my return to the Hotel I discovered my door had been kicked in and my possessions and some of the Hotels “Unused” plate’s cutlery table chair etc had been removed. My fellow waiter told me Mr Burroughs was waiting to see me in his office.
I went to see him and was dismissed for “Theft of Hotel property” whilst I was at home the pigs had visited my room and persuaded the Manager I was nicking Hotel Property and kindly informed him of my previous history. They then realised that I could be charged with that offence and enacted the “suspended sentence”, problem was, it was actually outside of the year by a few weeks, didn’t matter to them though, I am sure to this day that they altered the date of offence to be “within” the year. And I distinctly remember my Mother telling the Barrister the date was wrong, he just said it wouldn’t do any good to say that.
I went to court and the judge had to send me down for six months.
I was sent to Norwich Prison as a “YP” (youth prisoner) as I was still under 18 I had certain rights benefits whilst inside. I had my 18th birthday in Norwich and the Governor kindly informed me that I was eligible to be made up to a “Full prisoner” don’t ask me why, but I agreed! It meant I could work in “Bookbinders” making government folders and suchlike. It also meant I could “hang out” with the Top floor boys who were in for longer. I could use the “solitary confinement” facility when I was disobedient, and experience the “2 Days bread and water” one day normal food” no books no cigarettes no nuffink, wood bed and all! I did four of the six and this time I “Didn’t look back” when I was released.
I am not going into detail about Norwich Nick because it wasn’t very nice and I have no desire to give it anymore brain space. The only nice thing was the Governor saying he couldn’t understand why “I” was there and he “DIDN’T expect to see me back! Oh, and I managed to steal a prison shirt! “Well, you mustn’t let the bastards grind you down”.
For many years I was trying to leave home. I would either, run away, or be asked to leave (as a result of my bad behaviour) school was a monumental fuck-up for me and I am sure I didn’t make it very good for some others. (For which I apologise) I Couldn’t complain about family life because it was a good one with everything needed, provided. As I sit here now, feeling benign, relatively sane, I have to wonder why I am an “outsider”. I am not bothered about being one, but I do think I should try and figure out how I missed the boat. Why “my” brain has managed to avoid being persuaded that “the system” is ok and I should contribute. Why I believe that although things are seemingly “managed” so far, it is inevitably all going to come crashing down. Little things like Banks screwing up big time, Wikileaks, Arab revolutions. Why am I thinking more about that than lining my own nest? I haven’t believed a sodding word of what the governments, authorities or establishment have said, and I cannot in good conscience believe we are even remotely on the right path.
When I was 18-ish, I went to see a psychiatrist (Eddie Kwong I think he was called) at Severalls mental hospital (you could call it “Mental” in those days!) I had been soaked by a passing car and I flipped. I thumped a plastic bin attached to a lamp-post and split my knuckles. I decided I was too angry and wanted to know what was going on.
I had the tests, EEG blood etc and when I went to see Dr Kwong he said my anger was justified but my reaction was negative and that I should channel that energy into something constructive. He seemed to think I had a lithium deficiency but I couldn’t take it as it was damaging to Kidneys and as I only had one! The advice was that I should “learn to control myself”! Well, “duh”! I could figure that one out myself! What I needed was a smarter solution than the one “I” could come up with! Even I could see that where I was heading wasn’t going to be very “stable” fuck me, I was 18 and wanted to silence the raging bull between me ears! (I like mixed metaphors or metaphor and a half’s!) You know, when you find it hard to “control yourself” and you seek advice and you are advised to, “control yourself” you kinda lose confidence in the system. I was once prescribed “Deprax” (after I had asked for Prozac!) and boy what a living Zombie that made me! (That was here in Spain oddly enough and by a Doctor who then attempted to commit suicide! You couldn’t make it up!!)
Where was I? Oh yes, “dissatisfied” so, I have experienced quite a few “unusual” things by 18 and come out of it relatively unscathed. I had the “appearance” of normality. I could manage to “look like” I fitted in somewhere and so was able to move around without drawing too much attention to myself. A shed load of things happened during my first few years of leaving school including a rather unusual relationship with a guy 10 years older than me (not a sexual relationship) he was a very charismatic guy and very intelligent. He sounded like he had “answers” it was a great time for me and extremely interesting.
As a result of meeting this man I got to sail on the “Esther Lohse” (ship in the Onedin Line) entrance to the swankiest night-club in Colchester, hitch-hiking abroad, a spectacular car crash in Sweden (in the winter!) Politics, Spiritualism, Occult. It was an all too brief period of “food for my mind” but a period that has stayed with me for thirty years.
One of the things we wanted to do was go to the “Trondheim” region in winter. We had hitched to southern France slept in haystacks and Maize fields but both of us, although probably more he, liked the culture of the Norse. Actually, I am pretty sure it was after my Marriage had finished that we went. Anyway, I managed to get a few things we might need like heavy Duck filled Puffa jackets, gloves, emergency reflective blanket etc and we purchased 2 tickets for a train. Unfortunately we didn’t buy tickets that went all the way and late one night the Train Gestapo told us we were to get off at the next stop. This was in Germany in a fucking forest in the snow! Ah well, another “adventure”!
We found our way to a road and started hitching. It wasn’t that successful until a man in a pea green Mercedes 200 picked us up and we headed off in the direction of Denmark. He was a seed salesman and every now and then he would have to drop us off the main road while he went off to a farm. It was quite a lift really as when he returned to the main road, “We were still trying to get a lift”! So, he did this a few times and we managed to cross into Denmark. I can’t remember if this all happened in one night but once in Denmark we managed to get a lift with a Telephone engineer in a VW van. The driver smelled like a Seal! He took us so far and then we got a lift with a maniac in an Opel Record who had no concept of the appalling conditions outside. He got us to Aarhus where we were possibly going to see someone my mate knew, we didn’t!
Next stop Fredrickshavn. There was a ferry that went between Fredrickshavn and Goteborg and we managed to get on it. “It gets more interesting for me now”! On this ferry were a load of gorgeous Swedish girls who were quite forward towards me, one of them said “Er hatz zehr schon Brau augen” (you have lovely brown eyes!) yahay!! I was going to enjoy this trip…….. Well, “I WAS” until a Moroccan man came up and asked if we were going to Oslo. Naturally we had to take him up on his offer to give us a lift (providing one of us drove a bit) and the girls lost interest.
We docked in Goteborg at night and set off on the road to Oslo. This was a windy road that headed into the hills and as it was winter, the slush would build up and form a sort of “hump” on the centre-line. The Moroccan man was getting impatient at our progress and kept harassing my mate to overtake the car in front. I was just laying down in the back (it was a VW Golf Gti) when we moved to overtake. The car went over the humpy bit and before we could return too our side of the road an Articulated lorry coming the other way, smashed into us. My mate had his nose split but amazingly neither the Moroccan nor I had any real injury! All the traffic stopped and an efficiency, the likes of which I had never experienced, took over. A nurse took my emergency blanket and wrapped it around my mate, who by now was lying in a snowdrift, and within a few minutes a car derived ambulance arrived and put him in. I had to stop them from leaving without me as they didn’t think I had been in the wreck! I got into the front passenger seat and the driver was taking my pulse whilst speeding to the hospital!
We were treated, and I think, spent the remainder of the night there. Then we were discharged and continued our trek towards Norway.
The snow was very deep, very deep and very dry. It was snow like I had never experienced and it was bloody difficult getting a lift. There were the occasional wankers that would stop ahead and then piss off as we approached, and I really can’t remember how we finally managed to get into Oslo, but we did. We had no money, my mate was not in a good way, and we arrived in Oslo to a temperature around 30 below with nowhere to stay.
We saw an old tramp huddled in a church entrance and decided to join him. It was right opposite an enormous thermometer that reminded us of the temperature! Somehow he explained how we could get help and so before taking his advice we went to the British Embassy and told our story to an official with the hope of some help. Firstly, he told us that our Passports were not worth the cardboard they were printed on! (They were the £5.00 type you got at the post office. He then offered us a cup of Bovril and his best wishes! We decided to follow the advice of the tramp and went to a Doctor who said the way it works there (social security) is a Doctor assesses your need and makes a decision! Fucking brilliant if you ask me, anyway, she organised a hostel and a little cash and advised us to return to UK after the weekend.
The Hostel was like a four star UK Hotel and it was cleaner! We did the weekend there and when we checked out we started towards Kristiansand. It was very grey very wet and very cold but we started hitching anyway. After a little while a car stopped ahead and it was a greyish “Golf” I said to my mate, “I am not getting in another fucking Golf”! I think I said something like, “ok, if he speaks English I will get in”
He did! In fact his English was extremely good so we took the ride.
It was a fortuitous lift that resulted in us staying with him for a few days at his parent’s enormous house.
I learned a few things too! I learned that Norwegians are fucking nuts when it comes to “winter fun”. Johnny (the Norwegian) took us to a Fjord in his car and “drove onto it”! He then sped the car up to 70 ish mph and then threw the steering wheel over and pulled on the handbrake! Result, “spinning around and around for ages”! There were 2 other cars on the Fjord performing what I describe as “Car Ballet” there were 2 cars, 2 drivers and 2 nutters standing on the ridge around the boot holding the lid. They then raced towards each other, and when they came alongside, pulled the handbrake and flung the wheel in opposite directions! It looked amazing but how the hell those guys managed to hold onto the boot lid beats me.
I helped Johnny re-clad the front of a house he owned on the Fjord. He looked after us very well and we had many long, into the night, discussions about religion and suchlike, then it came time to leave. He thanked us for our company, we thanked him for his hospitality, and we headed down to the port to hitch a ride on a small ship that was heading for the UK. (You could do that in those days! No paranoid terrorist crap then) we worked the passage by cleaning the engine room with a product called “Jizer” or something like that. It didn’t take long and 2-3 days later we were anchored in the estuary at Brightlingsea awaiting clearance for Colchester Hythe quay.
We never made it to the Trondheim but it wasn’t really that surprising considering the events!
That trip on the ship just reminded me of the time I was a deckhand on a rusty Panamanian coaster called the Ankh, but that is another story............
Ok, I started this as a Blog but having re-read it, it looks like it is becoming a life story! I think I will continue in that vein especially at the moment, because it has been pissing down for a week and looks like it is going to continue into next week. I am finding it “cathartic” too which while maybe not interesting to you, is of some benefit to me!
Things to look forward too (maybe):
Sailing the Atlantic.
The Ankh (500 tonne coaster)
How I was asked to be a spy for the C.I.D. (tough shit “Sooty”) “Handler” you don’t scare me anymore)
Vienna to Wettingen, by KTM bike
International Technology Exchange
The Ship that Sank
“Casanove”
“Suicide and how to fail at it”
“Misty Dream”
My 911
How to fail at business
Why you shouldn’t shoot your shotgun into an enemy’s car windscreen.
“Marriage”
Things not previously revealed that may get me locked up!
How to fall out of a V8 engined Morris van on a French Motorway at 80mph and survive.
Sailing adventures
And many more.
It may take some time…………………….
One of my earlier jobs came about after I had visited a ship at Colchester Hythe (The Bristol Trader) and asked the skipper if he had any work. He didn’t but took my name and number and said they would call if anything came up.
I was at the Affair Club in Colchester at a Xmas party when I was called to the phone. My mother had called to tell me that “Halcyon Shipping” had called and that if I still wanted to go to sea I should be at quay2 or 4 in Gt Yarmouth by 4am the following day! (I was still around 17 years old)
I rushed home and packed a few things and my Dad drove me to Gt Yarmouth. It was cold and wet and there was no ship but we said goodbye and I waited……….and waited…………..and waited! The “Ankh” turned up later and the Skipper a 24 year old guy told me to get on board. We then had an hour or so before we had to leave in order to catch the tide. I knew absolutely nothing of nautical terms then and I also had no idea you could start an engine the size of a land rover with a "Handle”!
I was shown to my bunk which was aft-port and was under about 2 foot of water, my bunk was the top so the water wasn’t an issue.
I then observed 2 other people get on board, one, a man in full merchant seaman’s outfit complete with full beard and the other a Black guy.
The Skipper said we had to go and that we needed to start the engine. Three of us went down to the engine room and took hold of an enormous handle and started to crank! There were “decompression levers to fiddle with and a load of huffing and puffing before the engine farted, snorted and then slowly started thumping into life.(one of my jobs was later to be the one who topped up these little glass oil reservoirs that dripped onto external rockers)
Lines were “slipped” and we eased away from the quay and headed out of the river.
Our destination was Europort where we were to collect some new ropes and fenders and then carry on up the Gouda where we were to unload our cargo of Iron ore. The skipper said “what the fuck do the Germans want with Iron Ore; the only thing it’s good for is building fucking Tanks! They are up to no good again, mark my words”!
As we were leaving the river he told me to, “go and sluice down the fo’csle”! Well, I thought he was pissed! I didn’t have a Scooby doo what he was on about and asked for an explanation! His reply was “Fuck me, don’t you know fucking nothing, fucking sheave off”! “Sheave off” was a phrase I became used to with him usually when I needed translation of a nautical term.
So, translation made, I headed up to the “Fo’csle” (Forward Castle, a term from when they built ships in sections and then stuck them together, the front was the “forward Castle”)
I turned this rusty looking tap and sure enough, water started gushing out, unfortunately the tap came off in my hand too, I suppose I did panic a bit but as the “Gunnels” (side of ship) had huge slots, the water just ran out. Another “fucking sheave off” and a pair of molegrips and the problem was solved.
On the door to my cabin was a small plaque that indicated all sorts of ship info, including the manning capacity. It was “12” there were in fact “4” of us and one of us, the first mate, came on board at Gt Yarmouth and I didn’t see him until a couple of weeks later! The other was a Black guy from Cape Verde who spoke no English, and of course the Skipper. The other deckhand was called Olly and between us we more or less did everything.
My pay was to be 400 Guilders a week (about one hundred pounds sterling) which was huge. Food was included as long as I cooked it! And there was loads of “Halbzware Shag” (rolling tobacco) to be had for next to nothing.
As we got out to sea proper I had the opportunity to explore the vessel. The sea was bloody raging and as I stood holding the aft rail (Back bit) I could see the propeller every time the bows (front bit) nose dived and the stern (back bit) rose out of the water! It was exhilarating and a little bit scary.
I felt great, alive, it was a “real adventure” at last, I had “gone to sea” with a head full of romantic nonsense that masked the reality of working as a deck-hand on a Panamanian registered rust bucket with a drunken skipper a nonexistent first mate.
The Ankh was a 500 tonne twin-hold coaster that had seen better days, “a fucking long time ago”! Halcyon Shipping was a grand name for a one man, two ship outfit that must surely have been breaking every nautical code in the book. But I was actually bloody happy!
At around 3am the following morning we came into port. It looked vast. The skipper said the owner was going to meet us on the quay and deliver some rope and fenders and that as we “went alongside” I should hop off and take the lines to tie her up.
We were edging closer and closer to the quay and when it seemed safe, I leaped onto the quay and waited for Olly to throw me the line……….. He didn’t! The skipper shouted that he needed to “re-approach” at a better angle and I should wait there! Well, I could never have got back on anyway and so watched as he buggered off. I never really knew if it was an “initiation” or what, but he didn’t return for a couple of hours and I was freezing my bollocks off on a cold miserable quay. The owner turned up in a Merc estate, said “ah, you must be the new boy” dumped a load of rope and fenders and left. The Ankh eventually came alongside and we tied her up and I went for a warm up in the engine room.
A little while later we set off up what I believe was the “Gouda” a canal that connects to the Rhine. It was narrow and had ice a foot thick floating on it. At some point we were to cross from Holland into Germany and that is when you are boarded b the Dutch customs and asked for identity. Hmmmm, well, in my haste to join the Ankh I had omitted to bring ANY ID! There was much discussion with the Skipper and me looking all innocent whilst enduring many “Fucking Sheave off’s” from Skipper. I was cuffed by the Dutch customs and marched off for enquiries about who I said I was. Somehow they were convinced I was harmless (maybe the fact that I was a gangly teenager with twat written all over his face helped) and I was returned to the Ankh for more expletive deleted from Skipper, I was also warned by the Dutch that when we reached Dusseldorf (I think it was Dusseldorf) I should stay on the ship as the police tended to shoot first and ask questions later, that was bollocks but was meant to scare me.
We got to the port and it was relatively uneventful other than I could hear Led Zeppelin playing a concert somewhere. I wanted to try and find it but Skipper had other ideas!
We unloaded the Ore and took on Soya bean meal, and headed back to the UK, Hull, to be precise.
As we were back in Europort we were listening to the other small ships radio to each other saying, “It’s too rough, we are heading back to port. After 5 of these messages our Skipper said “Bollocks, it aint that bad we are going”
We headed out and I realised why the others came back, the sea was huge! We were rocking in every direction even the fucking “Fo’csle” was going under each time a wave hit. The Skipper said to me that I was on watch, didn’t need to do anything as she was on autopilot and not to disturb him unless it was an emergency! He disappeared with Johnny walker red label to his cabin and I wedged myself between helm and corner and enjoyed the spectacular scene.
About an hour out and the ship was doing strange things. Seemed to be veering wildly so I woke Olly and got him to come up. He didn’t know what to do so woke the Skipper. He wasn’t particularly amused but said the autopilot had failed and I should use this little joystick thing to steer the ship. I was to watch a meter on the screen that was half red and half green and keep her in the middle! He then fucked off again with me riveted to this little box trying to keep the ship straight. I was moving that lever every few seconds not realising she needed time to settle before moving it again. Eventually it stopped working! This time “I” went for Skipper and was quite shaky. He ranted again and said “well use the fucking wheel”! for the next 2 hours that wheel was spinning from left to right in a blur, I was doing it all wrong but it felt amazing, huge sea, me at helm with “proper” wheel and no one around. I was relieved by Skipper as we got within sight of UK and I went to my cabin knackered.
A few hours later we were going backwards! You had to enter Hull port that way as there wasn’t enough room inside to turn around!
I was given 400 Guilders and went ashore with Olly who seemed to know where I could be ripped off; er I mean exchange my Guilders for Pounds. I think I got about 70 pounds that time and ended up in a dreadful area that looked like a war torn town. It was rough! It made Marseille look like the Cote D Azure.
I was getting the hang of this seaman thing and quite enjoying it but I did miss home and it was when we went to Littlehampton and were told it would be three days before we were unloaded that I took the opportunity to have a break and go home.
We were tied up, no one was about and so I got a train back to Colchester. When I returned a couple of days later, the ship had gone! I was a little perturbed! I went into a pub on the port and asked after her. “Oh, you are in trouble” came the response. She moved to be unloaded early and the skipper isn’t best pleased with you!
I found out where she was and approached her. As I did so, fuck me! I saw the first mate! Hadn’t seen him since I joined the ship. He told me the Skipper was hopping mad and that if I wanted to keep the job I should get the covers back over the hold pronto. Well, if you have ever seen the set up for this you will know it is a “two man” job!
One of you has to walk down the centre girder while the other walks down the side, and you have these hooks which locate in eyes at the end of what is essentially a large scaffold plank. You start at one end and work your way back until you have built a deck, you then cover it with a tarp and tie it down. Let me tell you, “It is not possible for one person to do this without falling into the hold many times"!
The holds had been refilled with some sort of grain which when you fell in (three times) acted like quicksand! I was desperately trying to get the hold covered but what with icy central girder 10 foot heavy planks and numb fingers it just wasn’t going to happen.
I decided I had enough and was leaving. The Mate had a go at me and I lost it big time. I told him to back off or I would smash his fucking face in (that was tame in those days) I collected my gear and left to the sound of him shouting “you will never work on any ship again, we will see to that” I never got my “Seaman’s ticket” (which would have allowed me to get a proper ship job) and they owed me £60.00 in pay. I tried to follow her movements and get my money until I read that she had sunk of the east coast. I think they survived but I didn’t pursue my money any longer and I never found another ship.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Well it seems I spent all day yesterday writing. As it was pissing down, I don’t feel guilty and, as it is still pissing down, I might as well do some more.
I had an infestation of enormous flies yesterday, I think Beelzebub must have paid me a visit! It was a toss up between “do I use the rolled up newspaper to swat flies, or use it to attempt keeping the fire going”? the fire lost!
I was thinking about my “Blog” I was wondering if I should “go too far” and that got me thinking about that particular phrase, “Go too far”! How should we determine that threshold? For example: how do we explain to a great big blubbery wobbling lump of gluttonous planet eater, that they are just that? We have decided that “Smokers” are ok to be vilified now, and there is no shortage of, opinionated, self fucking righteous ,juice gargling Gym whores, ready to point out how unbelievably disgusting the state sponsored habit is.
I am going to “coin a word” (whatever the fuck that means!) and it shall be……“Geplumpenmensch”. I decided to use the German vernacular as it is already in use. Shadenfreude for example, or Zeitgeist. Obviously this would only refer to “Fatties” collectively and so when referring to an individual “Male”, we can use “Geplumpenmann” and for the female, Geplumpenfrau” (married female) for an unmarried female….Geplumpenfrauline. It actually lends itself quite nicely to many examples of hideous blubberyness. Your dog becomes a Geplumpenhund, and someone with a fat head as Geplumpenkopf!
Some of you may wonder why I am concerned with this particular issue and I say it is because I believe we have been barking up the wrong tree with regard to “Global Warming”!
You see, having read some Stephen Hawking (is it just me or does everyone read it with that electronic sound in their head!) I read that he “just THOUGHT” about how the universe came into existence. I thought “what a great idea” (how could it NOT be if HE had it!) so I decided to think about Global Warming and what I discovered was incredibly simple!! (Would have to be for me to think it!)(I am way ahead of you!!)
It is simple really, and it does relate to all the current explanations…but……………not for the reasons we think! It seems to be down to “Geplumpenmensch”!
I started by thinking about how “Cars” are always blamed and I thought about fuel consumption. Well, it stands to reason that if you take a standard Smart car which is inherently economical and stuff it with four fat people, it won’t return a very good mpg, so there is a “weight correlation” that flows into ALL forms of transport. Plane load of Fat people? Same result. What is annoying is that as a thin person when I get on a plane, “My” weight uses “LESS” fuel than the fat person and yet “I” pay the same!
I then started thinking about other areas of imbalance. “Clothes”! firstly, it “IS” fucking unfair that Geplumpenmensch pay the same for a xxxxl shirt as me who has a L. it hardly seems fair that His/her shirt has more fabric in it than mine, it should, therefore, cost more. The making of that Fabric uses energy and resources. Mr Cotton farmer gets paid by the quantity of cotton he sells, then the manufacturer of the fabric charges the maker by the yard/metre, then the maker gets stuffed by having to sell differing quantities of fabric sizes for the same price! That doesn’t even take into account the larger amount of “dye” used, the extra time a sewing machine takes to sew “extra” thread. Well! I then took it even further………. “Soap”! It seems logical that, by area, a Geplumpenklumpen (body) needs more soap to wash with and then “more water” to rinse it off, ok; there is a slight balancing of water consumption when taking a bath simply because of water displacement! But it is again cancelled out by the size of robes required to cover those huge areas of flesh.
It occurred to me that “consumption” is the problem. Deodorant for e.g., you need much more deo if you are to mask the sweat caused by the friction of so much rubbing flesh, more of nearly everything to maintain the vastness of the skin covering. But by far the worst consumption is the food. Enormous areas of land are required to produce food, yet if Geplumpenmensch were out of the equation we would need less farming land and could plant more trees! I have a solution. I think supermarkets should put electrified barriers at the entrance to the chocolate aisles, you know, two steel poles either side that only allow thin people access. We have recognised the need to define “Height” at fairground attractions we should apply the same “Fair” principle to Geplumpengente (GermanoSpanish equivalent)
Smokers contribute 9 billion sterling to the treasury coffers in Tax and only 3 odd billion is the cost to the NHS to care for the effects of smoking. Great big fat unsightly sweating blubbermunchers are eating the planet and cost the NHS far more in all related diseases/conditions and don’t pay any extra!
Casanove
According to Ynot esuorp
Whersa ma fuckin horse, could be heard most nights on the streets of bella Roma, usually followed by, “cumma back youa dirty dago bastard I cutta you fuckin balls off”
The recipient of all this aggression was none other than Don Toni Di Fanni the phantom shagger of Italy, he wasn’t a bad chap really, he just vidi vici veni’id a bit more than the normal bum pinching wop but this smooth debonair dick dipper could not resist a pretty senorina and this would ultimately be his downfall.
But let’s not be hasty about falling down, Di Fanni has a story to tell, a magical story of goings on, and comings off, mostly comings off, when the only worldwide web was the one that many a lovely lady would get caught in, here was a man who did not know the meaning of the word boundary, or recidivist in fact there were many words Di Fanni Didn’t know the meaning of but that was of no importance to the man with the twinkle in his eye the smile on his face and the tonsil tickler in his pocket, the world was his oyster and he was determined to eat it.
1
Balconies are for leaping off.
Di Fanni was scared of heights but not as scared as he was of irate husband’s fiancés and cuckolded boyfriends, a balcony was a means of escape, not for him something to sing up to, or to climb with a rose between his teeth. That was for young, love struck virgins, as far as Di Fanni was concerned, a balcony was a prerequisite to a bonk, no balc no bonk.
It was on one such occasion that Di Fanni found out how useful it was to be hung like a donkey, having just given the daughter of one of Rome’s “Capo di tutti fruttti’s” a portion, the clock struck 11 just as the callused knuckles of Don fucca witme came crashing down on the door to senorita Hayworth’s bedroom,
“ whoosa dat “ cried Di Fanni “eetsa ma pa “ replied the terrified young girl, whassa he want asked Di Fanni, “he wanna teach you to singa soprano wadda ya think”
Well, Di Fanni needed no further encouragement, it was time to go, with the speed of a flashing rapier he put on his socks, then with the lightning reflex of a thing with lightning reflexes he put the rest of his clothes on, whipped his extra long condom out, and tied one end to the balcony and the other to his ankle, he turned to blow a kiss to the lovely young senorita and then leapt gracefully over the balcony, he plummeted all the way down to the bottom, it didn’t take long, he was on the bottom floor, undaunted he picked himself up and ran like the wind, the wind ran with him, every step a fart erupted from between his buttocks then in a flash he found himself back at the balcony, three times he did this until the condom finally released its rubbery grip on his ankle.
“I musta find out whata this strange elastic rope isa for, ita seems to be more trouble than itsa worth, I mighta swell putta it ona ma dick.
I knew these people, these two people. (Ry Cooder, Paris Texas.)
As I intimated earlier, school was a fuck up for me. I was crap at it and it was crap to me. I was, and probably still am, unable to understand many things. I didn’t understand for example why, I had a feeling of innate intelligence but no means of displaying it. (Or certainly none that were recognised!) I shot up to a lanky 6’2” and had a goofy look, as far as I was concerned. And didn’t feel comfortable with ANY particular peer group other than “Other idiots” “Girls” certainly invaded my thoughts on a regular basis but my demeanour did nothing to endear me to them.
At that time, I wouldn’t have recognised “Interest” anyway and would have needed a direct approach, like, “Cor, you are lovely, shall we canoodle” for example! I would have “Understood” that!
It didn’t happen and so I assumed my appearance was not attractive to the opposite sex. (Hey, I am a bloke! It really WAS that simple then!) There were a few juvenile fondlings with girls I was surprised took an interest. Fay Roe for example, Fay was a Sophia Loren stereotype (in appearance) and I can’t remember how, but we managed to hook up for a very brief time. (I think it lasted a day!) Sports field, bit of kissing, hand down blouse, “Stupid comment” “End of connection”! That is essentially how it went. So, I reckon the period between 14 17 was relatively devoid of female interest. (Of course, the extra-legal activities I was involved in didn’t help!) There were one or two attempts at getting a girlfriend but nothing successful. So, when I lost (actually I didn’t LOSE it, I gave it willingly!) my virginity to a gorgeous red-head curates daughter at the Marlborough Head Hotel, I perked up a bit! She was quite beautiful and had the pick of all the 2 available guys in Dedham! (She probably had the other one too if truth be known and I just completed the set!) anyway, in truth, I had absolutely NO confidence in my appearance and so didn’t bother trying (interestingly, I could apply that analogy to many other areas: no confidence, don’t bother trying!)
There WAS attention after I left school but I was unable to respond maturely to it and so it never amounted to anything. Until……….The Affair Club. Ahhh the “Affair Club”. This was a night-club where there were more of Colchester’s, shall we say, Elite? The clientele was made up predominantly of the wealthier or better educated. The “Beautiful People”
Current, and previous partners have expressed some dissatisfaction with my dress sense, but back then I was attired appropriately for such a place and it didn’t go unnoticed! My hair was thick wav and dark, my complexion slightly swarthy and I carried a moody look on my face without really trying. I would enter the club and get my nervous arse into a corner next to the DJ box and “Watch” “Drink” and try and find the courage to “chat-up” a female. It didn’t happen! Dancing was out as I took on the appearance of a Stick insect on amphetamines if I even went near the dance floor. (Unless I was pissed in which case I would do that “Greased Lightning” dance from Grease, and I COULD then!)
Trouble is, you can’t really do that one to Knights in White Satin! And let’s face it “vertical expression of horizontal intention was what it was all about.
It was all very predictable; I would arrive, find my corner, talk to “Men” and the DJ (Chirpy) and slowly get inebriated. That is until one day I made a huge error of judgement in my relationship with the DJ, I thought he was my mate but when I told him (probably for the 20th time) that “That girl with all the guys constantly around her was absolutely gorgeous. He said “right, you have 3 minutes to go and speak to her or I will ridicule you all over the club”!
I was petrified; she really was the one “everyone” had eyes for. I had to think fast and I realised my Mate G knew her a bit and so I demanded he quickly introduce me. He did and within a few seconds the other men all parted. I am sure I talked a load of crap but did manage to ask her for a slow dance the moment it came on (Which I think Chirpy did as soon as I was with her) while we were dancing (Hah, dancing my arse! There were all sorts of leg/crotch shenanigans going on) she told me she had been secretly admiring me and wondered why I never spoke to her!!!! Well, that was all she wrote as the saying goes. We became “an item”. However, her brothers had other ideas about who they wanted their little sister to be with and one day whilst walking her home, an Orange ford Capri with |Black bonnet (Yep, you heard right, that was cool in the seventies!) pulled up and out got this big guy and told her to get in the car. She obeyed and then he told me never to see her again. They worked for the Gas board and wanted Tanya to marry someone going places, the man she ended up with was a Manager of a Tyre fitting shop. She (the last time I saw her) was behind the counter at a Halifax saving bank and looked like Vanessa Feltz! Phew!
There was another girl from the Affair, well, a few, but this one was a little older than me and it was an experience where the Woman used the Man for sex! I of course had no idea this was happening until she was packing for a holiday and put a not inconsiderable quantity of condoms in her bag! I asked what she was doing and she said “well, if the opportunity arises………..) Thank you Karen Huffey, nice lesson for me there!
I started to get a picture of what constituted “beautiful” to me around then and there was one more Affair liaison with someone who I was genuinely smitten with. She was called Caroline and had all the attributes of Audrey Hepburn. Unfortunately for me, she wasn’t really that interested and after making a complete arse of myself, I stopped frequenting the Club.
At this time, I was experiencing my “metaphysical” period and was regularly visiting Colchester Bookshop and spending too much money on Occult and metaphysical literature. It was a long thin shop that had all the alternative books at the back counter. As I would enter the shop I would notice there was someone at the counter at the back but by the time I got there she had gone. I didn’t think anything of it and did my search for Crowley or Anton La Vey or whoever I had an interest in at that time. I did see her a couple of times and did have to pay for a book with her once or twice. She seemed timid and a little nervous which I put down to her personality.
I suppose this went on for several months. Then one day, my older friend told me he and another friend had arranged to meet this woman at her house for a talk and do I want to come. I said I did.
We went there one night and I still had no idea who I was about to meet. We knocked on the door and the woman who worked at the bookshop opened the door. She looked at us and then me in particular and seemed flustered. I also became flustered and made some excuse to go and get some alcohol from the off-licence so I could gather my thoughts about what I was going to do. I don’t know what it was but I felt very odd at seeing her and couldn’t figure out why, other than she was quite beautiful and I was never that comfortable with beautiful women!
I returned with the drinks resolved to just be casual and not seem nervous.
The evening was a strange one, with her and me exchanging many glances that made any “talking” a little pointless. Time to go arrived and she said I didn’t have to go! This didn’t go down that well with the other two and I was oblivious to their feelings at the time.
I stayed the night and had my first of two experiences with “Acid” (LSD) she wasn’t party to it. I had found these 2 little squares with yin yang symbols on them and decided they were LSD and as I had read the book LSD 21, felt I was aware of what would happen! Well, maybe “One” or even a “Half” tab would have been sensible to start, but oh no, I had to take 2.
She returned to the bedroom with coffee and I proudly announced I had taken the second one. She said “oh no, now I will have to be up ALL night” (looking after me)
The trip………………………
I was unaware of the transition from “normal” to “Tripped” I told Lindsey that I was ok and that it wouldn’t have any effect on me! Then, for some reason, I started to play the candle! What happened was my eyes focussed on the candle flame and started to draw all the strings of light towards my eyes like a harp. I then put my hands up to “play” these strings. I was aware several times that she was watching me do these odd things and at some point we got into bed. Then I got out of bed, and back in again! I had moments of complete lucidity where I would say “right, I really must fly” and walked towards the window, I “Thought” I was playing with her as it had been suggested that people on Acid thought they could fly and jumped off buildings to prove (or not) that they really could. (Obviously this is true, you would “fly” until you met the ground at which point you would no longer be flying!)
The bed was interesting as I would lay there, head on pillow, looking up into the most beautiful deep brown eyes and smiling face. Then she made a small adjustment to her expression that to me, made her look like some demon. (She later told me she did it on purpose!) Thoughts came and went, either seeming to take an eternity or a nano second. The slightest stimulation would erupt into gargantuan proportions whatever the catalyst and it was mostly very beautiful.
We had sex. A few times. Problem was that one would get aroused and feel unbelievably virile and think it was all going well then within a second, “Poof” all gone and off somewhere else in your mind. I really can’t recall many more experiences of that night but in the morning I was incredibly hungry and had horrible pains in my stomach. I ate a whole loaf of dry bread. She said it was probably the “strychnine” in the Acid!
I have since toyed with the idea of experiencing an isolation chamber whilst on LSD (a la Altered States) but have decided that it would almost certainly “Blow my mind”!
We became lovers and soon moved in together. She was pregnant and believed it happened that first night. I felt honour bound to marry her and felt I loved her anyway so it was no difficult decision. (I had quite old fashioned views on marriage then)
It was not an easy going relationship and I am sure most of that was down to my attitude. Her parents despised me and didn’t do a lot to disguise the fact.
My reference at the top of this post is to a film called “Paris Texas” in it there is a scene where the man is talking to his wife after she has left him and is working in a sex parlour.
She felt “trapped” in the relationship and he, despite his efforts could not make her feel good. And so it disintegrated into a control situation. He didn’t want to lose her so he tried to control her in any way he could. If you haven’t seen the film, you might like to, it is good.
I am not making any “Direct” comparison to my marriage but it does, to me, have similar vibe to it. Great things that came out of it were two lovely daughters. Bad things (for me) “I hate Bruce Fucking Springsteen”!!!
"Interlude"
Maybe by now some may be thinking “what the hell is he on” good question but one I cannot answer with any degree of certainty.
What I can say is that after 25 years of screwing up in just about every area, I decided to try and be as honest to “Myself” as I could and see where it leads.
I have some strange views (apparently) but when I analyse these views I find they are “benign” in essence. I look at the world around me and wonder why it continues along a path which to all intents and purposes seems hell bent on self destruction.
I was thinking the other day about a sentence we often hear when there is an issue about something the Government or some other Authority has done. “we must learn from these mistakes and make sure they never happen again” “Learn” now, maybe I am being a tad intolerant here but, when I see a doctor about a problem that even my granny knows about, I really don’t feel like being the subject of his “education”! I expect, as he is supposed to be educated in medicine, to have him “know” beforehand what the correct course of action is.
A more pertinent example would be the “expenses scandal” most of us “KNOW” they were fiddling the system. But the plethora of feeble excuses that came from some of the fiddlers was ludicrous. Can I use the same excuses for many of “My” crimes and expect the same leniency? No I can’t. And frankly, I wouldn’t want to. Most of the “lying” that we hear from these people is exactly that “lying” but instead of demanding instant dismissal we listen to a load of “wordsmithery” and they carry on!
“Mis-spoke” (famous Hilary Clinton statement) actually a “LIE”! A lie is intent to deceive, plain and simple, “Mis-Spoke” what the fuck is that??? “There were bullets flying all around, we had to RUN for cover”!!! That strikes me as a “constructed recollection of events that she wanted us to believe” when it was discovered what really happened, it became a “Mis-Spoke” and yet……… millions of people still voted for her! If that isn’t mass hypnosis I don’t know what is. And now she has “power”! Power to make decisions that will inevitably affect the lives of millions of people and not just the dumb pillocks that voted for her! You will have to excuse me but I am not particularly enamoured by the knowledge that this “Liar” has ANY influence in what may affect MY life! And the same goes for any number of British Politicians (poly “many” Tics “bloodsuckers”)
I think what we do is allow these candidates to convince us that they have our interests at heart and then we turn a blind eye to a load of the shit they do that if we were to really think about, we wouldn’t agree with.
The current “Grey” political arena does not allow for any real change (for our benefit anyway) in our societies. There seems to be a unanimous agreement among all mainstream parties, that we are constantly under threat of “terrorist” attack yet I remember the seventies as having a load more active and successful terrorists than now. They would have you believe that is because they are on top of the situation now and so…….. Their systems work! “Brilliant”! I remember a joke about Elephants upside down in custard with yellow soles! Or in Cherry trees with red toenails! It was the same logic.
Tomorrow i am probably off to the forest (La Baltasara) to spend a few days sanding "Yurt poles" and generally being an aging hippy. hopefully another "fire-bath" under the stars and likely, a walk down to "La Semilla" to do a bit of horticulture. i will not be in reach of internet during this time so apologies if i don't respond to any facebook comments.
be good, take care and stay safe.
(Note to self)
JC & Barabbas
Petticoat Breeze, (St Lucia.)
"The Tungsten Fingernail"
The Pirate and the Custard Pie Launcher.
18/March 2011
"If you go down to the woods today" well i did go down to the woods and boy, what a surprise!
all the "expected " "WOOFERS" (W.orkOnOrganicFarm ers) turned up. 3 Danes A Kiwi, an English Girl and a Geman girl all in 20's (Kiwi 31) and all such lovely people. great attitudes great workers and very "aware" of their world and it's current shenanigans!
have to say I was not that pleased to be leaving this morning but back there on Sat night and ready for spring equinox. we are all going to "fast/Detox" for 3 days.
as this saturday is when the moon is closer to the Earth, on its current eliptical orbit, we are going to the top of the hill that night to get a good view.
I think here, I would like to say that despite my "Juvenile" history, I have spent the larger part of my life as ruthlessley honest and trustworthy as possible. Some think it not possible to be "Chaste" until one has been er "Unchaste"!!! one can hardly be "reformed" unless one has needed it! luckily, being a sufferer of aspbergers and turettes, I don't give a flying Fuck what anally retentive, holier than thou "Judgers" think anymore.
I cry when i see/hear something sad, I laugh when i see/hear something funny and i "Help" whenever i feel it is needed. what more do i "Need" to do? in the words of Mr Johnny Cash: "From the moment I could speak, I was TOLD to listen"!
I wouldn't have minded too much if the "Speakers" had any truth to offer.
Tomorrow i am probably off to the forest (La Baltasara) to spend a few days sanding "Yurt poles" and generally being an aging hippy. hopefully another "fire-bath" under the stars and likely, a walk down to "La Semilla" to do a bit of horticulture. i will not be in reach of internet during this time so apologies if i don't respond to any facebook comments.
be good, take care and stay safe.
(Note to self)
JC & Barabbas
Petticoat Breeze, (St Lucia.)
"The Tungsten Fingernail"
The Pirate and the Custard Pie Launcher.
18/March 2011
"If you go down to the woods today" well i did go down to the woods and boy, what a surprise!
all the "expected " "WOOFERS" (W.orkOnOrganicFarm ers) turned up. 3 Danes A Kiwi, an English Girl and a Geman girl all in 20's (Kiwi 31) and all such lovely people. great attitudes great workers and very "aware" of their world and it's current shenanigans!
have to say I was not that pleased to be leaving this morning but back there on Sat night and ready for spring equinox. we are all going to "fast/Detox" for 3 days.
as this saturday is when the moon is closer to the Earth, on its current eliptical orbit, we are going to the top of the hill that night to get a good view.
I think here, I would like to say that despite my "Juvenile" history, I have spent the larger part of my life as ruthlessley honest and trustworthy as possible. Some think it not possible to be "Chaste" until one has been er "Unchaste"!!! one can hardly be "reformed" unless one has needed it! luckily, being a sufferer of aspbergers and turettes, I don't give a flying Fuck what anally retentive, holier than thou "Judgers" think anymore.
I cry when i see/hear something sad, I laugh when i see/hear something funny and i "Help" whenever i feel it is needed. what more do i "Need" to do? in the words of Mr Johnny Cash: "From the moment I could speak, I was TOLD to listen"!
I wouldn't have minded too much if the "Speakers" had any truth to offer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)