I was trying to explain to Lynn this morning that just because I appear to be grumpy all the time, this is not actually an indication of my poor state of mind:
DEPRESSED + GRUMPY: a bleak mood where nothing seems to go right and you feel like throwing yourself in front of the next C2C train as the thought of getting anything better is like thoughts of winning the lottery. Nice, but not likely to happen. Arguably a reflection of the true state of things.
REALLY GRUMPY: Grumpy but in a cheerful, optimistic, or at least stoic kind of way.
HAPPY GRUMPY: Full and willing acceptance that your life is a bag of poo but that it doesn’t really matter as it will go on anyway so you might as well do whatever passes for enjoyment.
HAPPY: A state of mind that requires medical intervention. Happiness comes but once a year – and more frequently than this and strong drugs might be needed.
Yes, I am a grumpy old bugger.
And I don’t care today.
MOOD: REALLY GRUMPY
MOOZIK: Fountains of Wayne and Faithless
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Monday, December 13, 2004
A very happy un-Christmas...to you
I’m very glad to note this year that the usual marketing hyperbole, which is sometimes known as Christmas, has been much less noticeable this year. Or perhaps I’ve just been more efficient at avoiding it, having done most of my shopping online and avoiding the meat market that is the mall. Definitely the way to go. High Street retailers please take note. Christmas sales are NOT down, it’s just savvy bastards like me, as well as much of the male population who don’t get a kick of being slalomed by marauding buggies and mullered by shopping bags full of other people’s tut, are having their presents delivered. I am tired of hearing the same sensationalist "woe are we - the economy is crashing because sales are X percent down compared to last year" rubbish touted by the Chartered Society of British Shopkeepers or whatever the association representing the needs of he the robber-barons in our high streets offensive to my intelligence. Come February, we’ll all be lectured by the government and the Bank of England on just how irresponsible we’ve been, that British debt is spiralling out of control and blah blah bloody blah.
I usually get a case of the Christmas blues about the end of the October, which lasts up until the dreaded day itself. But this year, mainly due to us making a decision to keep present buying to manageable proportions, the stress levels I usually suffer are down considerably.
Christmas is for kids. If you have, them, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. I know I did until the age of about 14. But I’m not a kid, my brat is nearly 18, and we’re not having any more for the foreseeable. So what does the leviathan of High Street commercialism intend for us? Bloody nowt, that’s what.
If Christmas was the church’s answer to the pagan Winter Solstice celebration, but has now become a celebration of how much debt you can accumulate in the shortest space of time, let me define the Daggerdukc fantasy Christmas:
It would start with a long lie in bed with Lynn. Understrappers would supply an endless supply of hot (preferably alcoholic) drinks, chocolate, rich, decadent food, and later on, a turkey curry, Christmas dinner in its traditional form being just too plain bloody boring for my tastes. There would be a plentiful supply of our choice of DVDs, music and comedy. Ideally, this would take place in front of an open fire, but the heating would be on full blast in our house. Later we would hoist our over-full bodies out of doors and visit friends doing likewise. A limo would be there to take us to whichever friends we considered most worthy (OK, so this isn’t going to happen, but public transport would at least be plentiful and free for the day) . Oh yeah, and no carols or Slade records.
Hey, I’ve just noticed – I’ve not heard any ‘festive’ music on the radio at all this year. I know my radio stations of choice are BBC London and 6Music, both catering, I like to think (or kid myself), for the urbane, somewhat cynical listener. But even the high street seems bereft of the usual Xmas crap this year
Suits me fine. Ebenezer had it right all alone.
Bologs to Christmas and bah humbug to the lot of ya.
Unless you do have kids, in which case I hope they have/had a grand old time doing things involving snow, sledges and whining that the bike/iPod/hypodermic needle you bought them was the wrong colour and not as good as Stacey’s/Raj’s anyway.
Moozik and moods - see next entry as I'm on a roll today.
I usually get a case of the Christmas blues about the end of the October, which lasts up until the dreaded day itself. But this year, mainly due to us making a decision to keep present buying to manageable proportions, the stress levels I usually suffer are down considerably.
Christmas is for kids. If you have, them, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. I know I did until the age of about 14. But I’m not a kid, my brat is nearly 18, and we’re not having any more for the foreseeable. So what does the leviathan of High Street commercialism intend for us? Bloody nowt, that’s what.
If Christmas was the church’s answer to the pagan Winter Solstice celebration, but has now become a celebration of how much debt you can accumulate in the shortest space of time, let me define the Daggerdukc fantasy Christmas:
It would start with a long lie in bed with Lynn. Understrappers would supply an endless supply of hot (preferably alcoholic) drinks, chocolate, rich, decadent food, and later on, a turkey curry, Christmas dinner in its traditional form being just too plain bloody boring for my tastes. There would be a plentiful supply of our choice of DVDs, music and comedy. Ideally, this would take place in front of an open fire, but the heating would be on full blast in our house. Later we would hoist our over-full bodies out of doors and visit friends doing likewise. A limo would be there to take us to whichever friends we considered most worthy (OK, so this isn’t going to happen, but public transport would at least be plentiful and free for the day) . Oh yeah, and no carols or Slade records.
Hey, I’ve just noticed – I’ve not heard any ‘festive’ music on the radio at all this year. I know my radio stations of choice are BBC London and 6Music, both catering, I like to think (or kid myself), for the urbane, somewhat cynical listener. But even the high street seems bereft of the usual Xmas crap this year
Suits me fine. Ebenezer had it right all alone.
Bologs to Christmas and bah humbug to the lot of ya.
Unless you do have kids, in which case I hope they have/had a grand old time doing things involving snow, sledges and whining that the bike/iPod/hypodermic needle you bought them was the wrong colour and not as good as Stacey’s/Raj’s anyway.
Moozik and moods - see next entry as I'm on a roll today.
Playing at being daddy
The wifelet and me travelled to Folkestone yesterday to see our friend Paula and her baby Bethany. For maybe the fifth or sixth time in my "life" I felt broody! Her baby is such a cutie. I grew up with three younger sisters and referring to any child as ‘cute’ after that traumatic episode of my life is something I have never considered thinking, let alone articulating publicly before. Paula is in good form and having the child, and caring for her without her "father" around has aged her 10 years in a good way. Only my South African friend Johan’s wife, Nicky, is a better mother in my opinion. And Paula was once such a likkle girl not so many years ago…
I also learned that as a partially sighted person, BUGGIES ARE MY FRIEND. I pushed the baby around town while Paula did her shopping – she’s totally blind, so getting into town and doing what she wants is a big deal. People move themselves sharpish when they see a fat bloke with a buggy and I’m now considering buying one and pushing it around Romford, sans child, just so people move their fat arses from out of our collective way when I’m bimbling around the centre with wifey and Kizzer. No low floor buses on our local 103 route though, whereas Folkestone has loads.
A good day was had and I wish we could have stayed over the night.
Moozik: Keane and Queen (the poetic duo)
Mood: Veering left and right between hating Christmas preparation and all its trappings to somewhere close to content. Am I a bipolar depressive on the Q.T? I often wonder...
Books: Just ploughing through the goodnewsfest that is Metro in the mornings. And not doing much on the way home.
I also learned that as a partially sighted person, BUGGIES ARE MY FRIEND. I pushed the baby around town while Paula did her shopping – she’s totally blind, so getting into town and doing what she wants is a big deal. People move themselves sharpish when they see a fat bloke with a buggy and I’m now considering buying one and pushing it around Romford, sans child, just so people move their fat arses from out of our collective way when I’m bimbling around the centre with wifey and Kizzer. No low floor buses on our local 103 route though, whereas Folkestone has loads.
A good day was had and I wish we could have stayed over the night.
Moozik: Keane and Queen (the poetic duo)
Mood: Veering left and right between hating Christmas preparation and all its trappings to somewhere close to content. Am I a bipolar depressive on the Q.T? I often wonder...
Books: Just ploughing through the goodnewsfest that is Metro in the mornings. And not doing much on the way home.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Prozac anyone?
Whine whine whine. That’s me at the moment. (Hmm, for the past couple of months actually). No, make it the last couple of years. Am I really as miserable as I think I am or am or just having a bad day/week/month? A bit of perspective is required and I certainly don’t feel able to offer it to myself, let alone this blog.
Why is it that people are so able to criticise and totally unable to say thanks for anything good you have done for them? I’m bored of being everyone’s enabler then being totally forgotten about when my services are no longer required. There is only one solution, and it’s one I don’t especially like and that is to be a complete c**t to everyone. I would love to tell al my fair weathered friends to go take a flying f**k at something metallic and preferably fast moving.
That little observation is all I want to write today. Don’t feel up to scribbling any more so won’t waste anyone’s time doing so.
Hell’s bells, I need hard drugs.
Mood: No, we won’t go there any more than we already have.
Moozik: What’s that?
Why is it that people are so able to criticise and totally unable to say thanks for anything good you have done for them? I’m bored of being everyone’s enabler then being totally forgotten about when my services are no longer required. There is only one solution, and it’s one I don’t especially like and that is to be a complete c**t to everyone. I would love to tell al my fair weathered friends to go take a flying f**k at something metallic and preferably fast moving.
That little observation is all I want to write today. Don’t feel up to scribbling any more so won’t waste anyone’s time doing so.
Hell’s bells, I need hard drugs.
Mood: No, we won’t go there any more than we already have.
Moozik: What’s that?
White space needed here!
We attended the Aquabats Christmas dinner last night at the Irish Centre in
Queens Park. What a spread it was too. Loads of the usual Christmas fare,
and cooked to perfection.
We had a lovely New York Irish woman serve us; who, on seeing Lynn’s skin,
complimented her on her freckles. This woman had been voted the Coney Island
"Queen of Freckles, 1973". Lynn, whose nicknames include Dots, Frex,
LadyDots, Tidge (LenTIDGEini, Italian for…you’ve guessed) it has now been
given a new name.
Work hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be this week; the usual
combination of mailing production and assisting users. This week’s feature:
how to produce letters using Alms as a mailmerge source. Several minor
crises with users being locked out and yours truly having to reboot the
server remotely, something I’ve never tried before. My stress levels were
phenomenal on Wednesday evening.
The weekend trip to Liverpool and Manchester with Tomsk has been cancelled.
The official reason is that Lynn’s brother has a ‘crisis’ going on in his
life at the moment, and is coming over tomorrow. Not quite true, he’s
coming over on Sunday and he does indeed have a ‘crisis’ though I suspect
this means he wants to get busy with a new guy he’s met in Forest Gate. A
long way from Blackpool where he lives, but convenient for our house. I
really like Lee – he’s been a good support to Lynn and more of a brother
than any of her blood ones, even though he was adopted by Lynn’s mum in the
70s. He’s a truly sleazy character and I’m sure we’ll have some fun over
the next week. I am one poor liar, and don’t like lying on principal, so
feel a touch guilty about this, but all to the best. I know Lynn didn’t
want to go and I was only 25 percent into it, so as there are only 52
weekends a year, so be it. The main reason we didn’t want to go up north
was simply because we don’t have a spare weekend before Christmas and so we
are both creaming ourselves for white space.
Angus and Corie were over on Wednesday’s "evening of stress" after we
threatened to teach Lottie, Core’s guide woofer how to ‘do’ escalators at
West Ham tube, the shortest escalator in London, and quite near us. This
turned into a longer-than-expected drinking session at the Barking Dog, so
teaching the dog the art of the moving stairs wasn’t an option. Instad we
returned here at 11 for a lasagne which Lynn made – (beautiful thing,
bricklike in consistency, tastes out of this world). However, we were too
lazy to make them up a bed so they ended up sleeping on our spare double. I
hope they didn’t get up to anything involving exchanging bodily fluids
without protection: our house has already been branded the conception zone,
and one baby at least has been squirted into existence by two friends who I
shan’t name.
I am doing a lot of imports tomorrow, so intend to knock off work early and
get something special to eat tonight.
Mood: Not bad. Could do with giving up the cigs again though. Patches this
evening I reckon. After a week of returning to them after mainly an 8 month
absence, I’m now sounding ten years older than my kid-like 35.
Moozik: Lots of random CD plays on Weds, but other than this, am looking
for silence.
Book: Bits and pieces from the Best New Horror compilation. I think I’ll be
ready to tackle something more intense come Monday.
_________________________________________________________________
Queens Park. What a spread it was too. Loads of the usual Christmas fare,
and cooked to perfection.
We had a lovely New York Irish woman serve us; who, on seeing Lynn’s skin,
complimented her on her freckles. This woman had been voted the Coney Island
"Queen of Freckles, 1973". Lynn, whose nicknames include Dots, Frex,
LadyDots, Tidge (LenTIDGEini, Italian for…you’ve guessed) it has now been
given a new name.
Work hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be this week; the usual
combination of mailing production and assisting users. This week’s feature:
how to produce letters using Alms as a mailmerge source. Several minor
crises with users being locked out and yours truly having to reboot the
server remotely, something I’ve never tried before. My stress levels were
phenomenal on Wednesday evening.
The weekend trip to Liverpool and Manchester with Tomsk has been cancelled.
The official reason is that Lynn’s brother has a ‘crisis’ going on in his
life at the moment, and is coming over tomorrow. Not quite true, he’s
coming over on Sunday and he does indeed have a ‘crisis’ though I suspect
this means he wants to get busy with a new guy he’s met in Forest Gate. A
long way from Blackpool where he lives, but convenient for our house. I
really like Lee – he’s been a good support to Lynn and more of a brother
than any of her blood ones, even though he was adopted by Lynn’s mum in the
70s. He’s a truly sleazy character and I’m sure we’ll have some fun over
the next week. I am one poor liar, and don’t like lying on principal, so
feel a touch guilty about this, but all to the best. I know Lynn didn’t
want to go and I was only 25 percent into it, so as there are only 52
weekends a year, so be it. The main reason we didn’t want to go up north
was simply because we don’t have a spare weekend before Christmas and so we
are both creaming ourselves for white space.
Angus and Corie were over on Wednesday’s "evening of stress" after we
threatened to teach Lottie, Core’s guide woofer how to ‘do’ escalators at
West Ham tube, the shortest escalator in London, and quite near us. This
turned into a longer-than-expected drinking session at the Barking Dog, so
teaching the dog the art of the moving stairs wasn’t an option. Instad we
returned here at 11 for a lasagne which Lynn made – (beautiful thing,
bricklike in consistency, tastes out of this world). However, we were too
lazy to make them up a bed so they ended up sleeping on our spare double. I
hope they didn’t get up to anything involving exchanging bodily fluids
without protection: our house has already been branded the conception zone,
and one baby at least has been squirted into existence by two friends who I
shan’t name.
I am doing a lot of imports tomorrow, so intend to knock off work early and
get something special to eat tonight.
Mood: Not bad. Could do with giving up the cigs again though. Patches this
evening I reckon. After a week of returning to them after mainly an 8 month
absence, I’m now sounding ten years older than my kid-like 35.
Moozik: Lots of random CD plays on Weds, but other than this, am looking
for silence.
Book: Bits and pieces from the Best New Horror compilation. I think I’ll be
ready to tackle something more intense come Monday.
_________________________________________________________________
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