Merry Christmas and now it's time to go.

   I hope your Christmas, festive break, happy holiday (feel free to add your own discription here) is going well The turkey is in the oven, discussions over what vegtables and other foodstuffs should accompany the Turkey have been had. Personal grievences regarding Brussel Sprouts have been aired. A vote was taken as to whether pigs in blankets are an appetizer or part of the main dish. Unbelieveable only two of us are having Christmas pudding. My fellow pudding eater and I have already agreed that come next years Christmas the none pudding eating, softy Liberal children will be excluded. It's just the two of us from now on and Fred the dog. He's smart enough to eat what's put in front of him, not touch the alcohol and spends the rest of the day asleep in his basket.

   I posted my first entry on the 13th April 2010. It started out as a secret diary. I wanted to keep a log of how things went after my marriage ended but I'm pretty scatty about where I put stuff. So was a bit worried one of my daughters might come across my ramblings. My brother suggested I blogged. I told him I was a bit concerned someone might read it, as it was personal. After he stopped laughing. He wondered out loud who would want to read anything spell checker and myself could possibly have to say. That's about as positive as he gets regarding anything I'm doing. So with that glowing recommendation I started.
   As a fully paid up member of the dyslexic community, those early posts were a struggle. Although I happily stuck with it but there were occasions when Spell Checker wished I hadn't. Still, I improved over time (I refer here to the spelling not the content) there was the occasional paragraph that escaped any red lines. On those odd days I felt like Dickens. There are even a couple of posts buried amongest the heap, that actually seem to be written by a proper grown up. That really spurred me on to make more of an effort. To be able to write something that was easy to read, interesting and hopefully entertaining. So that's what I intend to do. A new blog on a subject that has nothing to do with me.
   I'd like to end by saying thank you for subjecting to the torment of having to read through my drivel. An even bigger thank you to the very small band who left comments. I hope your blogs continue to florish.

Onwards upwards and careering towards fulfilment :))) 

Emails.

   I'm coming to the end of a long job and needed a bit of a boast to get me over the line. Up to now, BBC radio has kept me company. Whether it's been one of their music stations or one of their spoken but I need a lift, a little inspiration.
   I've mentioned before, how often in my life, something crops up just at the right moment to move me forwards. An article, a programme, a shared thought from someone. Well this time it was an email from Jim Rohn. Now Jim and I have never met but some how he got hold of my email and sent me a message. Saying it might be worthwhile listening to a 15 minute clip of him, talking about goal setting.
   Having nothing planned. I took up Jims offer. It was really interesting. got me thinking, made me feel a little more positive and I've been listening to more him on YouTube for the past couple of days as I wrap the job up.
   He's a remarkable fella. Idaho farmboy who made good. Lost it and made good again. After just listening to him, you get the sense he'd be fun to be around. He's self effacing and speaks in that slightly sing along folksy voice I'd associate with, well a farmboy. What makes him even more remarkable is he died in 2009 but still managed to email me.
   Hats off to you Jim. You came along at the right moment.

Onwards upwards and careering towards fulfillment :)))

My life with pictures (part 3)

   Now I knew what I liked, saw how someone else put together their pictures and why. So I'm buying paintings and drawings. Not often and never for much money. It was more about the getting out and searching really. Each would be met, when it came home with me with "more rubbish" or " you can hang THAT in the garage." Well that's a little unfair occasionally she did like the odd one and if someone came over and said "Oh I like that" she'd say "Oh yes, we brought that at so and so."
WE! No WE didn't, I thought. It makes me smile now, well almost :) but at the time it really used to get to me. Ex Mrs Spanner still has a few of those pictures in her new home. Although she very kindly said I could keep them all if I wished but she did chose a few which was fine with me.
   Time rolled on and we had two girls who would of been around 6 and 10 at the time.
 "Daddy" said the 10 year old," how many pictures do we have on the walls?"
" I'm not sure, um ten fifteen?"
"Twenty three. I had to count them for school. The teacher asked how many pictures we had and we all had to count them."
"Wow, twenty three. Who had the most?"
"We did" I noted the reply didn't have that "YES" jump up and down feel to it. She takes after her mother here, when it comes to anything her dad collects
"Siobhan was second. They have seven"
"Oh right, well is that good?"
"I guess so." I felt the very faint chance of a possible conversion here but as it currently stands. All grown up and nearly thirty she has just two in her home. Still five behind Siobhans parents.

Onwards, upwards and careering towards fulfillment :)))

Today's my birthday.

   Today I'm fifty ten. An age only other people reach. I have never really had any sense of how old I am. Twenty one was good, so I've always been twenty one, while everyone else has got older. Now, reluctantly I'm going to accept I'm twenty one nolonger. There having been several clues to this of course. Any kind of getting up, sitting down, tying my shoe laces etc is accompanied by an involuntary "Ooh." Other people drive badly. I always seem to be blowing my nose and occasionally find two hankies in my pockets. I'm sometimes woken by a noise in the middle of the night only to realise it was probably me snoring. My laugh and I do laugh a lot. Has now somehow morphed into  Muttley's.

   None of this is bad news. Fifty ten is the new twenty one and God willing I can be fifty ten for quite a few years to come.
   I've taken the day off. After breakfast I'll mooch around a local auction house. The current book and I will walk up to the pub and spend lunchtime enjoying a couple beers and as many pages as I can be bothered with. This evening, I'm following that very English tradition of ending the day at the local Indian, sharing a curry with friends.

Onwards, upwards and careering towards a vindaloo and fulfillment :)))

My life with pictures (part 2)

   Just before I carry on down memory lane. Something came to me just now as I reread my last post. I mentioned my schoolboy friend Frank Kelly. Just for the record it was Frank who told me Father Christmas didn't exist and several months after that bombshell his big brother told the pair of us the facts of life in quite Gracie detail as we all walked home from school.

   OK back to the Art. My senior school did have art on it's walls. Above me in my form room was a print of Georges Seurat's "Bathers at Asnieres." Georges wasn't just a talented painter. He really studied the science of colour and along with the artist Paul Signac developed "Pointillism." You apply the paint as dots. Different colours very close together. Which fools the eye into seeing another colour entirely. It's worth mentioning that the invention of the camera made a lot of artists believe that a new way had to be found to paint and there by, give us a different way to see the world. Unfortunately Georges didn't have the long and successful career his abilities deserved. He died at the age of 31 his son died two weeks later barely a year old. His partner was carrying their second child at the time. That baby was also destined to die not long after it was born.
  At the time I knew none of this. I just liked his work. It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I actually started to buy books on the artists I'd come to like and actively visit gallery's. I brought prints of their work and put those on my walls but that was all about to change.
  Years and years ago a friend of mine called me up and asked if I could pop round to one of his long term customers as he was busy. The address was in a very nice part of Chelsea. I managed to find a space parked the van, filled the meter and walked up to the house. Knocked on the door, which was duly opened by a very old and very small woman. Maybe she might have been normal size and the front door very big. As I said it was a long time ago but I think you get the picture.
   The hallway was plastered with paintings from floor to ceiling and all the way up the stairs. It was an amazing mix of styles, colours and sizes. After I'd sorted out the problem (a loose and drippy tap) and began to make my exit. I commented on the wonderful pictures.
"Oh that's nothing, come and look at these."
She lead me into the dinning room which again had an amazing collection of eclectic paintings. She let me walk round and study them all.
"You see my husband was a lawyer and one time he represented some miners. They had no money but he didn't mind. He made a good living. After the case was over they gave him some of the pictures they used to paint at their social clubs. In the 30's people had lots of hobbies. Then some poor artist needed my husband's help and more paintings. All the time he comes home with paintings. You know we had lots of dinner parties. I would cook and my husband would move the pictures around. Then our guests would arrive and they'd say "Oh John another painting, tell us the story" and he would tell them about the case and whether he won. He was a charming clever man, he always won. Then he would tell them about the picture, where it was or the style, you know. They were such wonderful evenings. Such stories."
   Soon after that I brought a little water colour from a junk shop and haven't looked back.

Onwards, upwards and careering towards frames and fulfillment :)))
   

My life with pictures (part 1)

   Art wasn't really on my radar as I grew up in working class Brixton, South London during the mid 1960's. The flat my family and I lived in had four old framed prints on our living room wall. I think they were given to my dad by one of his customers. I don't remember any pictures on the walls of my first school and Sculpture was something big black and municipal. A Field Marshal on a horse or a Politician towering above me as we drove through central London on our way to visit family or friends. That was the sum of my exposure to the world of art. It wasn't part of my world or seemingly those around me. It just wasn't meant for us.
   Then one day my friend Frank Kelly (where are you now? I do hope you're happy) and I walked the three or four miles from where we lived to the Imperial War Museum. Situated slightly anonymously behind Waterloo Station. It was one of several huge adventures two ten year old Brixton boys undertook during their school holidays back then. Wearing shorts and strippy tee shirts.The unofficial uniform of all ten year olds in 60's Britain. We set off.
   The IWM was stuffed with old guns, huge shells, uniforms, planes hanging from ceilings, bits of tanks, photos of soldiers and lots more. Along with football and sweets it's what little boys back then lived for. Not thirty feet from the entrance hung high up on a wall was a painting that changed me. It was huge. Over six metres long and two and a bit tall. That's over 20 foot long and almost eight high in old money. The subject is tragic. Which wasn't lost on the two ten year olds staring up at it. The IWM was all those years ago primarily there to show the Nation's  military successes but here was a picture showing it's tragic failure. That war repeats what it purports to end. Human suffering.

   It's title is "Gassed" painted by the Anglo American Artist John Singer Sargent. Who spent much of his career painting the rich and wealthy of Europe. As the title suggests, it shows the aftermath of a gas attack and given that the wind doesn't favour either Army. You were just as likely to be gassed by your side as the enemy. Sargent was commissioned by the British War Memorials Committee in 1918 as the war was coming to its close. To produce a work for the "Hall of Remembrance."  Although 62 years old. He travelled to the Western Front to find the inspiration for his epic work. He got word one afternoon, of a good many gas cases at a field dressing station. He went there drew pencil sketches and made notes. This ultimately lead to the painting above. Finished in 1919.

   I knew none of this then but what I did learn that day was how a painting can affect me and tell me so much in just the blink of an eye.

  If by any chance you happen to read this and live near Kansas City, Missouri. The painting is there on loan. At the "National World War One Museum" till June. Go see it and tell me what you think.

   

   Onwards, upwards and careering towards a picture full fulfillment :)))

 

Snow and growing old. Episode two.

I guess if I stick a title over a piece of work. It would make sense to refer to it at least once in the body of that work. I could fib and say I was being ironic. Seeing as forgetfulness comes with old age. The truth however is I didn't look back. Just ploughed on and hit "publish" so dumb would be honest and dumb is a willing traveling companion whatever your age.
In just under two weeks I hit 60 and over the year in preparation for the big event I've started to develop the habits that befit a sexagenian. Involuntary noises (mutterings as opposed to biological ones) when I bend down, stand up, get in the van, get out of the van, virtually any movement really. The wearing of gloves, hat, thick jumpers and socks immediately the weather man says to expect anything other than sunshine. Commenting on the bad driving of others (while ignoring my own) and not just car owners. I give the evil eye to anyone who gets too close with their shopping trollies, prams or pushchairs.
While mentioning prams and pushchairs it seems apposite to mention my eldest daughter and her partner have had a son. He's five months old now. He seems to find me amusing. I think in part because I'm a bigger version of him, bald, make funny noises, badly co-ordinated and we both drink from bottles. I ignore anyone who calls me "grandpa" or any variant there of. While I'm happy he's around, I really don't want to be reminded of my age. So for the moment we'll just nod and say "alright?" I've explained this to him numerous times but he just dribbles at the moment.
The worst thing by far. Is reading or hearing that someone my age or worse, has died. God, does that make me feel your days are numbered. Followed immediately by a deep sense of sorrow for those they've left behind. Who will nolonger share a conversation, a hug  or chocolate again. The idea that my two kids will have to sort through all my shrewd acquisitions thinking it's all junk (which it probably is) fills me with horror. The painting in the hall for instance. It's  a Catherdral with some kind of grand ceremony taking place on the steps. In an impressionist style by the long dead and forgotten painter and garden designer Raymond Berrow. Reframed in a suitably grand gilt frame (courtesy of eBay ) it makes me stop and smile each and everytime I see it. Not only are the frame and picture a perfect match (smug smile, clever me) but I remember where both parts came from. How ridiculously cheap both were and the joy of carefully cleaning both and finding out the little that's written about Berrow. Before hanging it up on the wall. For me and hopeful others to enjoy. It's a safe bet it's days will be numbered very shortly after mine are up.
Although this all seems doom and gloom. It isn't. It's me waking up to the fact that time is precious. There are things to do, people to see and the words we don't say enough to those close to us, need to be said and said often.

Onwards, upwards and careering towards fulfillment and a Zimmer frame :)))

Snow and growing old.

Proper winter weather has finally come to Kent. I drove home from my daughters Monday evening along the M2. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and the odd flurries of falling snow as I drove along. Picking my way through a mixture of people driving along at 40mph with fog lights and headlights full on while others cruised by at 80 as if it was just a normal day I got home around midnight. The town was asleep, unawares they would all wake up to snow covered streets in a few short hours. It didn't hang around and was gone by the time I went to the post office around 4pm. However this evening it's snowing again and everything, including the two palms in my front garden are covered in the white stuff.

I've been here about five years now and this is only the second time it's snowed. It feels really odd having snow in a seaside town. Rain, yes. Especially in the summer. English summers are not meant to be warm and consistent. If you holiday here in the summer you expect to be told that the week before you came was glorious and you expect to wear every bit of clothing you brought with you all at the same time. In an effort to stay warm and dry while on your holiday. You also expect to hear once back home and back at work that the wet, damp place you drove away from a few days previously is experiencing wonderfully hot sunny days again.

Back to the now though. With antiquated heating and no insulation it's been a cold winter. Hopefully the last one though. A good run of work has meant I got my taxes filed and paid on time. That's two years on the bounce. I'd like to think the people at "Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs" give out a little cheer when they hear I've manage it yet again. More importantly it means there's enough cash in my savings account to replace the roof and insulate as soon as the weather improves. I'll no longer resemble a character from a "Dickens" novel complete with woolly hat, when I go to my bed. Which itself is covered in every blanket I own or stole and all topped off with my overcoat for good measure.

Onwards, upwards and careering towards fulfillment and insulation :)))

I Shall Try Again.

 

I started my last post with a little update. Describing why I blog. I then got sidetracked and went  completely off topic and discussed the toilet arrangements on small boats. So now I will endeavour to stick to the subject.
    I've decided not to try too hard to understand what and why I do/don't do stuff. At my age there isn't time. It feels a little like looking over your shoulder and there by possibly missing what's ahead. I'll just try and be better at it. Whatever it is. Full stop.
    I did notice the other day however.  How what I wear changes who I am slightly. My last pair of work dungarees where pretty threadbare so I retired them and didn't get round to replacing them till now. I also picked up a new pair of work boots roundabout the same time. The first hint of something different occurred when I got home one evening. Boots off, dungarees off, tee shirt, socks etc shower and change of clothes. Picked up discarded work clothes hung them up, added clean tee, socks and shreddies ready for the next day and it dawned on me. That I was now, "not working" but "home and relaxing" and not thinking of work. Next morning I got up, pulled on the dungarees and boots and felt a slight sense of haste to get on to work and make a start. I don't know why it had never occurred to me before. After all. Actors are always going on about how they get into character only when they put the costume on. Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker all know the benefits of a change of outfit. Without their bits of spandex, villains would get away with murder! Sometimes it's all so obvious
  The boots are on and it's time for work and I'm off to clear the mean streets of Margate of leaking taps and blocked toilets.

 Onwards, upwards and careering towards fulfilment :)))

Why do I do what I do. Or, more to the point. Why don't I do what I should do!

   The whole idea of keeping a secret diary, was to allow me to chart my ups and downs after the event and hopefully make some sense of it all. Which on the whole it has. Nothing really auspicious or fortunately, devastating, just little insights into my personalty. It's a bit like the moment you realise you roughly know approximately where the letters are on the keyboard without looking. So no posts for the last four months. Whilst it gave you a break from my tedium it isn't going to be of any help to me. It wouldn't be so bad if nothing  much had happened in between posts but it always does. But hey, I won't dwell on it (when did I stop doing that?) Lets get on
   Lots has happened since my last diary entry. Sailing in Corfu was enormous fun and I did draw and splodge a little. Living on a boat however isn't. Being over six foot means you either walk with a constant stoop or risk banging your head. Both of which I achieved but not in that order. Beds on small yachts resemble coffins which you roll out of. Portholes are never where you want them so it's a trip up on deck to see daylight or moonlight if you come over all "isn't life wonderful" or have drunk too much red wine. In my case the later usually leads to the former. Moonlight twinkling on water and highlighting the landscape is rather special though and well worth drinking a little too much just to enjoy. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. Sam, the son of one of my customers and Jo, his girlfriend were my hosts for the five days. They sail people around the Greek islands for a living, in a rather large posh yacht. For the days I was there we used their smaller yacht (and home). After "stowing my kit" (yes the nautical language started straight away) in my bunk (imagine a space not much bigger than a coffin with the sound of lapping water outside)I was given a brief tour.Gallery, their bunk (bigger than mine, but not much, at the pointy end of the boat) and then the bathroom. The bathroom was much the same size as my "bunk" but vertical instead of horizontal. So you s**t, shower and shave almost on the same spot.The whole toilet thing deserves a chapter or two all of its own. So here goes.
  There's a lot of water pumping involved. First you pump in (5 times) filling the loo then flick the switch on top, so it's in pump out mode. It's not too difficult but its a little noisy Add to that, your bodies own propensity to join in with it's own additional sounds and all in a very confined space and alarm bells are going off in your head. Once you've done it's time to pump out (5 times or more if needed?) and you need to remember to flick the switch back, ready for the next visitor. Sam explains this in a way a bomb disposal expert would describe how to defuse a bomb. I'm guessing the results are much the same if you get either wrong. So even before you've set sail and have used the coffin toilet, you're planning on visiting any loo you pass when on dry land. Regardless of whether you want to or not. Oh and I forgot to mention the paper. That goes in a small bin next to the loo. As the fish don't like the paper as much as the poo. I kid you not! If you get to sit and steer at the back of Sam & Jo's yacht, as I did. You'll notice little silvery blue fish following your every move. "What are they?" you'll ask. "Oh they're the poo fish." They'll reply."They follow you everywhere."
   OK , I've almost finished. Just the finer details now.Timing is very important. If you get up late in the night. You'll have to navigate in the pitch black (I'm still using the right words) from one end of the tiny yacht to the other. Without tripping or banging into what seems like endless amounts of deliberate bruising table or bench ends and toe stubbing legs. Once safely locked into the closet (So that's where the name comes from) with your shorts round your ankles you suddenly realise your bare bum is about a foot away from Captain Sam's sleeping (I so hope and pray) head with only a sheet of plywood keeping you apart. No, night time isn't the best time. The best time is with everybody else on deck. Keeping busy,  pulling anchors up, looking at charts or steering you somewhere nice. Then you can pump poo and pump again. Safe in the knowledge that no one can hear you. However as you may have guessed. You've just pumped everything out of the side for all to see as it floats by but that's another story.
   I really loved my few days sailing. Waving and smiling at other sailors while you manically tried to out manoeuvre them. Especially if they were sailing under the flag of every Englishman's mortal enemies. Namely the French and Australians. On these occasion I didn't let the ghosts of Drake, Walter Raleigh or Admiral Nelson down. The impromptu swims off the back of the boat or the barbecues and beers at the end of a day's sailing in some picturesque little cove were brilliant fun. I have to say though, that on balance yachting is like caravaning, only for rich people (when you factor in the costs of owning even the smallest one. My next holiday will have a huge soundproof bathroom. A bed I can sit up in, without whacking my head on some important bit of nautical superstructure and I won't be followed by pretty little fishes waiting to dine on, what I dined on the night before. Finally the little picture is of the Albanian coastline taken early morning. Every day you woke up, sailed through or went to sleep with a view like this :)

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment :)))

 

A short break will follow.

I'm off to Corfu, Greece for six days tomorrow. I just had to find the air fare and enough small change to buy food and wine. I'll be sleeping on a small yacht and will get a few days sailing. Which I've never done before. Banging my head on various bits of boat and being seasick. Both of which without boasting, I have done before and am rather good at. I shall be packing my little watercolour set, a little book of watercolour paper and my new brushes. I haven't told many people I'm going as they'll be dreading my little watercolour postcard sploge being pushed through their letterbox.Then, because they're friends or family. They'll feel obliged to stick it on the mantle or fridge. I'd rather it be a surprise. No point in upsetting them yet. This time round I might sign it "Spanner 59and a half " and it can compete for space on the fridge door next to the more revered work of their grandchildren.
I saw a balloon sail by yesterday, here in sunny Kent. Luckily for you I didn't have my paints only a camera.

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment :)))

Two weeks ago.

Coincidentally both Joy and Karen only live a few miles from my daughter Where I've been working or more precisely slaving of late. You see Dads are cheaper than builders and you can moan at them constantly, unlike the builders, who will strut off and won't come back for a few days until you've learned your lesson and buy chocolate biscuits to go with their tea. So after a day of no chocolate covered baked treats to go with my tea and being moaned at , I smartened myself up and headed off to the agreed destination.
I parked, locked the car and had just enough time to sucked the life out of a mint from the pack in my pocket, as I walked up to the local theatre. It has a coffee bar for those not interested in the Arts but instead need somewhere to go if it rains or they're meeting ex lovers after many years have past. 
As I climbed the steps I started to feel nervous. Was this a good idea, would it have been best to just leave things as they were, should I make my escape now? Before I could turn and run there was a, "Hey wait for me." It was Joy. Now what? a hug, handshake or hand over my passport to prove who I was. I managed a feeble "Oh hello, how are you?" "OK thanks" as she swept past. Maybe she's a little nervous too I thought or maybe she's building up for the big public slapping she's going to give me once inside. We join the queue in the coffee bar, I tried to remember the moves I'd been taught in Karate to fend off furious ex girlfriends armed with cafeteria trays. "One tea, one flat white please." We sit down and things are a little frosty. Way back then, before mobile phones and CD's. Yes it's really been that long. Joy could be a little quite and shy, especial with strangers around but I'd temporally forgotten this and was just keeping an eye out for sharp objects within her reach. We awkwardly manoeuvred around the usual.
"Did you have to come far?" "No."
"Was your journey ok?" "Yes."
"Are you sure you don't want cake to go with your tea?" "No, I don't"
Fortunately her sister and Terry arrived before the uneasy silence did. Now Karen takes talking as seriously as Usain Bolt takes the 100 metres and probably has a bigger trophy cabinet. So for the next 45 minutes things moved briskly. She occasionally asks Terry to confirm or share something with us and he usually manages two or three words before Karen finished his sentences. So no change after thirty odd years there then. In fact they hadn't changed, the three of them were almost the same as they were all those years ago. A little older round the eyes and Terry's ponytail was now grey (did he keep that just to make me jealous?) but other than that exactly the same. Karen and Terry left after about an hour. With the usual exchange of "Lets do this again, it was really fun." Terry had accepted he wasn't going to get a word in, so nodded, smiled alot and was probably wondering if Karen would ever be struck down with a severe case of laryngitis at some point in the near future and allow him the luxury to hold court and tell all of his near silent years spent with the lovely but never quite Karen.
Joy and I moved to the bar downstairs. Things were easier now. We both swapped stories. Joy about her various jobs. She had worked in fashion her whole career (if I haven't already said. We met while at Art College(s) and clever thing that she was/is stuck with it, unlike you author) so lots of travel. She updated me on friends back then and how they are doing. Most of them I'm happy to write are doing ok. She had no partner or children so I told her about my dysfunctional marriage and  dysfunctional kids. The weird bunch of jobs I'd had, primarily to pay the bills and keep the little ones in Disney videos. I think that made her feel better.
It was strange, sitting opposite someone who had been the first person I had consciously fallen in love with, who looked almost exactly the same. Had the same mannerisms and same kooky fashion sense. Talking to me as if a few weeks had past and not closer to four decades. Our time was over, I offered her a lift home but kept quite about the mints. She accepted and probably wondered if I had any mints. Driving or being driven is a good place to be when talking about delicate issues. You're close together but not looking at each other. Ones concentrating on driving while the other is trying to work out the odds on whether they'll survive the journey. I apologised to Joy for being such a twat all those years ago and she graciously said maybe she could of worked a little harder at the relationship and we should have talked things though more. Overal though it was a happy time for her. We swap phone numbers and agree to meet up again soon, this time without Karen and Terry. As I'm driving I get a text thanking me for a nice evening and hoping I get home safely. I still think I made the right decision not to mention the mints though.

Onwards and upwards, in pursuit of fulfilment :-)))

Ps we've exchanged a few texts over the last week and plan another tea, flat white and no cake very soon.

Six years ago.

Before I tell you what happened six years ago I need to go back a little further. I've kept in touch with my school friend Sue for years. There have been gaps but outside of my family she's the one person I've know longest. I've known her husband almost as long. Vic is loud and funny. A hard working "working class" boy from North London. He's smart and reasoned and stands up for himself. Something I don't always do and I so admire him for that. Being married to Sue though, means you have to be. She takes no prisoners. About eight or nine years ago Vic admitted he was an alcoholic. He'd spent all their savings betting on horses. Manly because he was drunk at the time and when not sloshed, in a vain bid to recover his losses. Sue phoned me up and gave me a blow by blow account. At the end of the call I asked her was she going to kick him out. There was a pause and then she said, "Don't be so f##king stupid, I love him." To this day it's probably the nicest most powerful way anybody has declared their love for someone that I've ever heard.
Over the coming months I spent some time with Vic and he told me how he was doing, his AA meetings, the characters there and how AA works. One of the steps. Apologising to those close to you, about the hurt you've brought them, stuck with me. I wondered who I would apologise to. Two people came to mind. A boy called Mohinder, who I wasn't very nice to at school and Joy. My first long term girlfriend. We went out for over three years. She loved me and I her, deeply. At one stage it looked as if we'd marry but things didn't work out that way and eventually I ended it. Very cruelly as well. I don't and didn't regret the ending but I've always deeply regretted how horrible I made that ending.  
A little over six years ago I looked her up on Facebook. I didn't contact her. I remember Vic saying that you had to think long and hard who you apologised to. You're not doing it for your benefit but theirs and if it might cause them more pain, hen best move on and leave it alone. Instead I sent a message to her sister. Telling her I hadn't been very nice to Joy and I'd like her to know how sorry I was. How it was one of the biggest regrets of my life and if she felt it right would she share that with Joy. There was no reply. So I concluded, that her sister had decided this was something best left unmentioned.
Three weeks ago, I get a "friends" request from Karen, Joy's sister and a note on how she hadn't seen my message, until she'd used another computer to log onto Facebook. There buried deep amongst the gossip was my unopened mail. She was still with Terry, the boyfriend she'd had all those years (35+) ago and Joy was fine and lived not far from them and not far from the house they'd both grown up in. We swapped messages for about a week when Karen wondered if I'd like to meet up. I said, it felt kind of strange after all these years and I'd only ever intended for my apology to be past on but yes, lets meet. Then another message with the rendezvous and that Terry would like to come, was that ok. Yes sure. The day before we checked with each other that we were still free to meet and "Oh can Joy come too" tagged on the end. I couldn't refuse but now felt very nervous about the whole thing. How was this going to go?
I can't spend all day on here so you're going to have to wait till later......

Onwards and upwards, in the pursuit of fulfilment :)))   

It's been a while!

It's been a while since I've written. Lots has happened but my old laptop finally decided it's days of dealing with my awful spelling and my complete disregard of the basic rules of grammar were enough. It refused to switch on despite my protests and trying to type on the phone or kindle just doesn't work for me.
Luckily a secondhand laptop of the same make and model turned up on eBay. So once again, I can record the mundane musings of an ageing old fart and when my second purchase (a bunch of wires and plugs) arrives. I hope to recover my old photos and paperwork.
I'm giving you advanced warning, the year or so of enforced silence has not led to any improvement in content or writing style. My talents for procrastination and fiscal ineptitude shows no signs of waning. It's bad enough that I have to reread this drivel before pressing the publish button. The knowledge that you are leaves me with a heavy heart. Add me to the long list of things you've managed to quit. Drugs, booze, cigarettes and James Blunt Cd's

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment  :)))

Conclusions

   I've been blogging for a while now. At first I knew it was simply a diary. No one was reading it, it was a daily record on how I felt. Then I became aware there was the odd casual  reader and occasionally they posted a comment (and just for the record Aims, Pixie, Pres and the lady from Pleasantville it was wonderfully up lifting and I hope and wish you well because you are part of what I am now). I have to admit I was slightly swayed by the idea that people actually read the rubbish I was publishing but that was soon put into check, when other blogs I was reading at the time (not the four mentioned) started saying things like "dear readers." So I got grounded pretty quick and returned to what I knew best. It's a real shame Pres doesn't blog anymore and Pixie and the lady from P do rarely. Aims bless her, posts non stop. I have struggled to find blogs good enough to replace these. Why? Well because they were heartfelt and didn't spare the blushes or the tears or the angst. So my post today is dedicated to those four bloggers. I wish you well and I wish you good things.

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment :)))

....... ation

   So what you been up to my procrastinating chums?  Yes me neither. Although I have been doing a bit of half hearted reading. I'd call it research but that would be laughed out of any court in the land. So let's just cut to the chase. Or let's cut to a slow stroll with plenty of stops.
    Procrastination is a really really long word to say let alone type and it's the label given to people who have a problem finishing something and/or give up early. It's from the Latin "to delay." I have a picture in my head of a bunch of Latin scholars dressed in sheets, gathered round a table in a downtown Athens tavena. Nibbling on olives and goats chesse while knocking back the local red. Seeing who could come up with the most outrageous and or the longest word to discribe some of lifes low blows. Intoxication (poisioned) not something to say quickly when your sober let alone drunk and what a party they must of had on the back of  Dyslexia and Dyspraxia
   Back to the here and now. My research (hoho) uncovered amongst other things, that too many of our modern day conveniences can easily distract one. Mobile phones, computors, the TV etc always get a mention and I wonder if those of us that fill our lives with lots of different things are more susceptible to price as...... To test my theory I'm making an effort to limit myself to as few distractions as possible. Gone is the wall of TV screens, tuned to stations across the globe. The Porsche. I know it looks nice but you try filling it with 10 metres of tiles a bath and a bundle of 15mm copper tube. The personal chef, the fitness trainer and girl Friday will all go and I'll swap the mobile for two tin cans and a long piece of string.

   I shall leave you with Deoxyribonucleic! any ideas on that one without reaching for a dictionary?

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment  :)))


   

Blogs on procrastin............

   Anything about procrastination I can find online, has become my breakfast reading of late. Absorbing the words as well as my eggs and coffee. There's a ton of stuff, on how to beat it. All are kind of interesting but after a while, I get fed up with their "It's so simple, write your to do list, pat yourself on the back, rewrite your list and go on give yourself another pat on the back. Every five minutes," approach most take. Then there are the odd articles on and by people with good jobs who are serious procrastinators. Haven't filed their tax returns for years, miss work deadlines etc but they so skillfully poke fun at themselves. It's funny. They make me look like a workaholic. However these are difficult to find, either because people in good jobs can't afford to procrastinate in the main or they are procrastinating and have finished the article they're supposed to be writing on procrastinating.
   So then I hit on the simple idea of looking for a blog on the subject of, yes I know, you're tired of reading the word, I'm tired of typing the P word. It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. However I found a couple and read away and would you believe it, they gave up after six or seven posts. So if any of you are currently reading a blog on the P word . Written by a conscientious, industrious procrastinator please let me know.
   While we're on the subject and as it's me pounding the keys we're staying on it. I read about this guy who counted off 150 paperclips into a cup. He then started his day, cold calling customers. After each call he takes a paperclip and moves it to another cup. He knew it wasn't his pitch or the product that paid him but making enough calls. It was simply a numbers game. For me it time spent on the job. I don't use paperclips but I do have plenty of brass olives. Little rings used in compression joints. So now, as I complete each hour I pop one into an empty container. I'm not sure if its going to work as well for me as the paperclips did for the telephone salesman but they make a wonderful noise when you shake them up and down. Just listen to how hard my day has been!
   That's not my only weapon in my fight. I like a nice snappy quote. Something I can write at the top of my to do list for the day. Together with the cheerful clanging of several olives in the background it will drive me onwards and upwards. Well I've had a few false starts. Great one liners but they just don't hit the spot. Until I found "Doing comes first." Written by, I forget who but illustrating that sometimes there is no motivation to do certain things. Emptying the bin, folding the laundry etc. You just do it and sometimes it's difficult to find the motivation for the important stuff but if you start doing it, it will come. Ok I've off to shake my olives.

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fullfilment :-)))
                                                                                                                    

Is there still time?

   Like most, I have my secrets. In the main they're my shortcomings, my failings. The biggest, I really manage money badly. I'd sooner buy an old book or a picture from a junk shop than food or pay a bill. I don't spend masses, I don't earn masses (which is another secret. Now exposed to the whole World, or more accurately the 27 people that read this blog) because I estimate my jobs badly and over run. So it made me feel a little less of a failure when I read that 52% of Americans cannot raise $400 quickly without having to borrow it.
It's pretty scary to think that so many people are as vulnerable as me. Many of those people, through no fault of their own. Me, well I should of managed things a whole lot better than I have. Which brings me to the point of today's post. How much time does it take to change things?
   I'm 58 and luckily, fairly fit for my age (well I should be with all that looking at all my pictures and reading old books instead of eating the food I don't have) Also looking at the family tree I can hopefully expect to reach my mid 70's albeit either over weight or not sure of my name and where I live. Or both. Seventy seems so far away but it isn't. It's only 12 years away. My kids went from conception (that was a brilliant couple of nights) to 12 in no time. Nappies to over sized (they'll grow into them) school uniforms to "I hate you. You never let me do anything." followed by lots of slamming doors. Not the kind of behaviour you'd expect from a grown up but to be fair, I did apologize. Looking back all that seemed to have happened over a few months not years.
   I live in a ruin, surrounded by flea bitten rugs, books, pictures brought for not a lot at auctions or in junk shops and lots of wonderful ideas. Plus there's another ruin in deepest France that doesn't even have a proper roof. When am I going to fix these places and how will I pay for it all? Is it time to call a halt to some projects and be realistic or do I live my dreams and I mean live them not continue to dream them? The reason I'm thinking this way is, my latest client. We'll call him Berserk of Bexhill. I'm fitting a kitchen for BB. We decided on a simple plan, as he has a very small budget. BB then contacted me to say he brought a second hand oven at a great price. it was a great price but it doesn't fit the plan we agreed. it requires a completely different type of housing which changes the plan completely. The guy's living hand to mouth and has one mad idea after another. He can pay me half what we agreed and the other half when he sells his car! He reminds me of someone. Oh yes me. So I'm going along with his madness because it's the kind of dumb stupidness I get myself into. It seems like some kind of weird karma. I work with his craziness and it helps me understand mine.  
   I guess the fact that I'm willing to detach myself and coldly commit to screen what a financial clutz I am and I most certainly am. Plus the questioning of whether I should go on with certain plans and projects is a good thing.

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfillment :-)))          

TED, Radio 4, procrastination and me.

   As you may or may not know, I listen to a lot of radio while I'm working. BBC Radio 4 or 4 Extra, are my usually channels of choice. I also listen to the occasional TED talk. Here's a link to the last one I listened to.

https://www.ted.com/talks/dave_meslin_the_antidote_to_apathy

   What caught my interest, was the bit where the Speaker talked about the publication of "Planning applications" in the back of local papers. They look pretty drab and are difficult to get information from. Whereas Nike ads, for instance give you all the information you need. Now this is a fairly deliberate ploy on the part of your local council. They don't want people objecting and causing a fuss. They've stuck to the letter of the law and published in small print at the back of your local paper. Object if you dare.

   Now as important as local issues are. Closure of libraries, reduction of services and rubbish blowing up and down the streets etc. What got me thinking (and avoiding doing what I'm supposed to) was do we think in a similar way. Do we get distracted from what we should be doing by doing what we shouldn't. Because our brains advertise the distractions using the same ad department as Nike and the things we should be doing gets the one used by the local council? I know I'm over simplifying but currently (while still avoiding what I should be doing)  I'm making a bit of a point of keeping an eye on how I think things through. There, that's it for today.

Onwards and upwards in the persuit of fulfillment :-)))    

Are you still there?

I haven't written anything for ages. Well except for parts lists at the Plumbers Merchant and the odd shopping list after opening the fridge and realising that broccoli, red onions and limp celery isn't going to make for an exciting gourmet experience.
However I'll forgo work and food to update you (and me) on where I'm at, presently.

As always looking for an oppuntunity to smile or laugh. listening to the radio (working hours only).
Wondering why I can/can't do this or that.
So wishing Ella Fitzgerald was still around.
Stunned by the fact that anybody thinks Donald Trump is a good bet.
Sculpting my shaggy beard into something a bit more sexy (I'm 58 for fecks sake! Shouldn't I have given up years ago?).
Feeling fed up with how long it takes me to do things but starting to be happy with stuff I'm working on.

That's about it really. I have a biker jacket (recent birthday present) which I'm struggling to include into the blog. Partly because I look more Village People than Marlon Brando. So I'm wearing it around the house. While I make breakfast. Emptying the bin. Listen to Ella, laughing at Donald. Watching TV and writing this post. Don't believe me? go on punk make my day!
So that's about it. I'm ok. Happy in my own skin (at last). Still lots of battles to fight and win. That's for another day.

Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfillment :)))