Premonition

On my daughter's birthday, the 17th November, I went for an assessment for a new job.

I passed that.

On my birthday, the 26th November, I went for the interview.

I got the job; provisionally until the checks and the rest are completed. I start in January. I will be a Call Handler for the Police. 999 calls being one aspect. It will suit me and I will suit it. It's why I went for it and, if truth be known, pinned my hopes on getting it.

But what a strange journey. I had my interview at 11 am. They phoned me at 2.40 pm. Quick eh!

Between leaving the interview and about 2 pm I stared into a chasm. I saw despair for I knew then how much I wanted that job. The interviewers had been good, the best I have been to. The process had been very efficient and professional.

And I had now shot my bolt for good or ill; I had got to that point where I could not do any more.

At about 2 pm my mood changed. From staring into the abyss of possible failure I suddenly 'knew' I had that job. Wishful thinking? Inability to stare into possible failure anymore? Self-Protection? Some sort of telepathy?

I don't know if it was any of those but it frightened me. I wondered if I was going mad but all I could think of was getting the phone call from them to get it out of the way......for them to confirm what I already knew. Instead of worry I felt frustration; very strange.

I've had premonitions before of a kind. I get jittery and then the following day some bad news arrives. Or I get elated for no reason and some good news arrives later. It's never been so specific though.

With this I just 'knew'. I cannot explain it. I didn't dare tell my wife. She was as tense as me and if I'd come out with that she wouldn't have known what to make of it.

The phone call arrived and when they told me it was something I already knew.

But it didn't stop me behaving like one of the X-Factor finalists - imagine, a middle aged old fart like me whooping like a daft teenager. I did though. And my wife burst into tears followed closely by me.

Tears of relief and vindication. She had seen the rejection, the humiliation at the hands of people with agendas - an example; I had performed brilliantly in one other assessment for another job. I heard later about my performance. One of the very top applicants. I was kicked back at the interview. ALL the successful applicants turned out to be young graduates. Half have already left. What a bummer. And what a con. They hadn't advertised for graduates.

I've sat in interviews and looked across at people with that tick box mentality and squirmed. They've looked through me. I've been there to make up the numbers I think. Most, I think, just haven't 'got' me. They've had this high earning executive looking guy in front of them wanting to do something for a third or less of his previous earnings and haven't understood why. Nor have they tried to understand even though I have tried to explain.

They've looked at me and seen a square peg that they haven't had a hole for; and more to the point, they haven't been prepared to look for one.

It's been a shock for me. I've got used to dealing with people of my kind of calibre who think outside of the box. Those interviewing me were not in my box LOL, not of the same calibre as those who I have worked with for years.

This last one was different. They interviewed ME, not a middle-aged old fart. They were interested in ME.

And they have hired ME.

They will get ME too.

In the last 6 months or so I have learnt more about myself than I have in any other similar time span in my life.

Not bad at 56.

Of things Anal

Oh, I bet that title gets a few hits - he says, sniggering.

It's all about Electric Bidets.

So why am I talking about them? Well, for one thing I'd never heard of them until I went to see a very good client who I would chat to for quite a while over a coffee. She had Parkinson's Disease and it was always a little sad seeing the deterioration from the last visit in her each time I went there.

And each time I'd visit she would have some new aid to her life so enabling her to prolong the time she could stay independent.

One was the Electric Bidet. It was a combo bidet and toilet and she was tickled pink by it. I can well imagine too as hers had a power wash.

You can even get portable versions. My mind boggled at that until I learned that they are popular with Muslims who prefer to - cough - wash rather than wipe. Here is one if you don't believe me.

Next time you see a Muslim travelling with a rucksack it won't be a bomb. It will be a portable electric bidet.

OK, I'm taking the piss here. They are cleaner and our predilection for wiping rather than washing is seen as dirty by many. Maybe all new houses should be fitted with them. Just think of the fun with all the different settings.

I do wonder why someone would want an oscillating or pulsating one. You could sit there for hours with the remote control adjusting the pressure an so on.

I wonder, too, what the 'self diagnosis' does? Does it give messages such as, 'You had a curry last night so put the damn thing on Max Power'

And I'm sure that guy on the link is cleaning the nozzle with a tooth brush.

What a pity

We have to apply sex to everything.

Eh? I hear you say.

OK then, I'll tell you. I came in from work, chilled and chatted to my wife before she went to bed. She's off to work early whilst I can faff about in the mornings. So, at this late hour I wander on to the web and see what fun I can have; often with a drink at my side.

I had a drink tonight.....well a couple actually, and whilst ambling downstairs to get the second Bacardi and Coke - feeling decadent tonight - I saw a little spider scampering across the floor.

Tiny he was. Sorry....tiny SHE was.

Which?

Well, I for one don't know how to sex a spider but if I referred to the spider as an 'it' it would sound so impersonal. It didn't fit the occasion, that of a little creature scurrying across the floor.

The spider wasn't an 'it'. So what was he, she or whatever?

The failings of language eh?

Light

We have a funny little nook in our lounge that totally transforms the room. When we bought the house we weren't sure what to do with it. It isn't big enough to sit in and seemed a bit of a waste of space. It did give the room some indefinable character though.

It's all to do with the light and where the windows are

I posted something on this some time ago here. This morning I came into the room and wondered why my wife had left the light on in the 'nook'. It was quite sunny outside but the nook positively glowed. I was convinced the light was on.

It wasn't. Just the sun reaching in through the little side window and stroking the wall opposite with its yellow warmth.









The pictures don't really do it justice but hopefully give some sort of idea. Those two tiny windows in the nook add so much to the whole room.

On a morning the window facing East brings in an intense warmth that the two main windows cannot match.

And on a night the the window facing North throws shadows of the big Ash tree we have in the garden all over the place.






And then there is the moon. She dances all over the place when she comes out. I get up in the middle of the night just so I can see her private light show in our room.

Because we have windows facing both East and North we get light coming in from what seems like all angles and because it has less distance to cover in the nook what falls as a shadow on the floor of the main room will live on the wall in our little nook.

It's quite a light show sometimes.

If we move again I would want to have a main room with windows on two walls.

That first holiday

With my then fiance, now my wife.

A week in a caravan in Dovedale in Derbyshire. She was 17 and I was 21. Very young and the thought of a whole week of unfettered fun was intoxicating.

And it was then I realised I was 'in love'. Oh yes, I've had the crushes, the infatuations; in fact all combinations of attraction from the mildest of fancies to the raunchiest of lust.

But to be 'in love' and have it returned has happened only once. With my wife.

The eyes told me.

We'd wake up on an idyllic August morning and the sun would shine and so would she. I've never before, or since, seen such love in someone's eyes.

A Song that moves me

We are getting to that time of year when walking into a shop is accompanied by the 'Christmas Songs'. You know, Slade, Mudd, Bing Crosby and many others.

There is one that always brings goose bumps. In fact my eyes well when I listen to it. At first I wondered why. What ludicrous combination of sounds could create this reaction within me?

The song? Thank God it's Christmas by Queen. I can hear you say......'eh???'

And why does that particular song do it for me?

Simple really. A wonderful grinding rhythm dominated by a sensual bass from John Deacon, soaring vocals by the incomparable Freddie Mercury. And ethereal guitar work by Brian May. Earthy passion is a phrase that comes to mind.

To find a Christmas song so sensually moving may seem perverse but hey......that's me.

Comfort Films

Do you have them? Those films that you have bought a DVD for because you like to watch them more than once.

A film to while away a dull Saturday afternoon with some wine and maybe cheese, biscuits and pickles. Wonderful, and even more wonderful in the knowledge that if you doze off you won't lose the plot. You've seen it before and can pick it up at any point you wake up.

On occasion the familiar old film is sheer bliss to indulge in. You don't so much watch as experience it. You can drift off into your own fantasy land coloured by the ambiance of the film because you don't have to concentrate on the film itself, just use it as a trigger for a particular mood.

We did that this afternoon.

We watched The Two Towers, the middle one of The Lord of The Rings trilogy. It's actually my least favourite of the three but we have to watch them in order LOL. The scale of it is glorious and you get romance, action, everything really.

Others?

Kind Hearts and Coronets; it seems to be remembered primarily for the numerous cameos of Alec Guinness playing various members of the Gascoigne family. Yes, that is brilliant but for me the highlight is the dialogue and Dennis Price as the charming cynic who murders his way to his inheritance. And Joan Greenwood as Sybella is one of the sexiest sirens I have ever seen on celluloid. Why, just to imagine her squirming.........oops, better stop there.

The Ghost and Mrs Muir; again the dialogue does it for me. And the fact that it is an impossible love story. We all fantasise about unrequited, impossible love. Well, I know I do. So a love story between a ghost and a mortal caps it doesn't it?

A Christmas Carol; as good as the latest Disney version is the 1951 film with Alastair Sim is still my favourite. We watch it every Christmas. Haunting.

Persuasion; no not all of my favourites are old films. This harks from 1995. It's the one with Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds in. It still, after so many viewings makes my eyes well embarrassingly. Why? She portrays a perfect combination of vulnerability and toughness which I'm a sucker for. And he paints a picture of repressed and frustrated passion which is just not sought after in most modern films, yet I find very appealing, very romantic. Probably because I identify with it although I am no Ciaran Hinds. Again, it is about a seemingly impossible love that comes true.

Yeah I know. I am a bit soppy at times. Imagine it; a middle aged man wiping away the tears at a film, surreptitiously in the hope that he won't be seen.

There are others but I can hear you yawning so I'll stop now.

I Still Hope

.....that I will be seen for what I am.

.....that I will be seen for what I can do.

Not for how old I am.

I've been for a number of assessments and interviews. I'm getting the feeling that middle-aged white males are not exactly flavour of the month. One assessment in particular hurt. There were three of them. All women. All in their early thirties. Same age as my daughter. And when I looked into their faces there was no connection.

All they saw was 'dad'. I didn't progress. Most of my interviewers have been much younger than me.

I don't blame them. When I was thirty-ish I assumed people in their fifties were a bit set in their ways. I wouldn't have looked at them as promising employment material.

And in my thirties I was a manager and responsible for recruiting. Maybe I rejected people of my current age then.

Oh how wrong. How very very wrong.

I am more tolerant, more flexible than I have ever been in my life. Twenty years ago I would never have done the job I'm doing now; I would have thought it beneath me. Silly snob. I've always been resilient but now I'm positively tough.

At almost 56 my mind is more receptive that it was at 36.

At nearly 56 things don't phase me the way they did at 36.

But you only see that at 56. You don't recognise it at 36.

And do you know something. I don't feel fear the way I did twenty years ago. I would never have comprehended my current approach to life at 30 odd years of age.

And all those who are in control of recruitment? How old are they? Mostly thirties. How can they understand people in their fifties??

That's maybe a problem. Recruitment at low levels is in the hands of the wrong people??? Is it?

So I have an uphill struggle. Maybe I will get somewhere; maybe not. Many would adopt cynicism to protect themselves. With cynicism you give up. It is the ultimate excuse in my view.

I'll stick to hope.

A cynic would call that wishful thinking......and laugh. Well, maybe.

Without hope we are dead.

I would shake this man's hand

A couple of nights ago I was driving back to the depot. It was late and I was happy. Job done and done well, my mind wandered over all sorts of things. That run back to the depot is lovely.

Not a care in the world.

I drove down one of the main routes into the centre and my eye was caught by the bright glow of lights around a house. Yes, Christmas lights. The whole house was ablaze. It was a little different though. No Santas or sleighs or snowmen. Instead the house was festooned with what can only be described as a blue and green curtain. It was magical and much more stylish than most of these eye-catching creations. It was like a fairy's waterfall.

As I drove parallel to it I noticed something else too. Above the door was a name. The name of the owner I presumed.

And it was an Asian name. A Muslim name no less. Something like Ali Akbhar.

So that's why there were no Christian symbols. That's why it was abstract; Islam forbids imagery.

Yet here we had a Muslim entering into the spirit of the time but doing it according to his own culture, his own religion. And he was making a statement too. Good for him.

How uplifting I thought. What a wonderful thing.

I wish I'd had my camera. I'd have taken a shot and shown it to those silly liberal plonkers who think that celebrating Christmas has to be neutered in case it offends people from other cultures.

That man was celebrating the culture of the society he is a part of. Simples LOL. And the beauty of it was that he was doing on his own terms.

What a mature and civilised way to behave.

Next time I drive past I may even stop and knock on his door.

And shake his hand.

........so confirming the view that Englishmen are quite mad.

Oh, and as I drove past, totally enthralled, I almost crashed into the back of a parked car. I think I gave the drivers behind me a laugh as they saw an on-line delivery van careering around a parked car. It was very very close.

It's fate innit

I have an interview for a job next week. On my birthday too. Fate?

One of the requirements for the job is a reasonable geographical knowledge of West Yorkshire.

Well, my current and previous jobs help there. I have travelled the length and breadth of the county.

Mostly using Sat Nav though.

Tonight it was different. Sat Nav went AWOL. Oh shit. That was my first thought. I had a full load of 10 drops and I envisaged sitting in various laybys poring over my A to Z and falling behind in my deliveries.

It didn't happen. My knowledge of the area and the fact that I'd been to some of the customers previously stood me in good stead.

I actually completed my run more quickly than if I'd used Sat Nav.

Now there's a thought. Have we become so reliant on technology that we overlook the traditional 'manual' ways of doing things? I felt a great sense of pride that it was ME who got to where I was going and not a computer linked to a satellite. And all on time too.

And the fate thing? It isn't just the birthday. I can now proudly tell my interviewers that I don't need Sat Nav to find my way around West Yorkshire. I can quote an example.

That 'Oh shit' moment may well be a blessing.

Camaraderie

We humans look for it everywhere. It's part of what makes us human.

Any situation that involves even a little stress will attract a group connection amongst those involved.

Take today. I went for an assessment for a job. It was tough, very tough. There were five of us. Me and four women aged from early twenties to mid forties.

I've got used to being the only middle-aged male in for an interview or assessment so I was relaxed in the company if not about the assessment.

I had gone there quite nervous and armed only with ME and the best wishes of a couple of people who care about me.

Between tasks we chatted and as time wore on became quite friendly. That was strange really for as we performed each task I tried to gauge how the others did and if any fell behind me I did a little 'whoopee' in my mind. I'm sure the others did that too.

But I didn't want anyone to disgrace themselves. I just wanted to be the best out of our little group and I wanted ALL of us to get to the next stage............the interview................gulp.

In situations like that you do gauge people. Two, I'm sure will have failed. I think I did OK. The worst for me was the typing skills....oh my word.

Yes, me, a middle aged ex-business type going for a job where they want you to type. I had laughed off this in our chats as being a 'two fingered' typist'. When we launched ourselves into it the girl in front was surprised at my speed. She expected a slow 'clack, clack' but instead got a proper 'clackety clack'. I'm quite fast.

So maybe I've done enough.

If I get through I do hope those who were with me have too. I'd like to work with them.

Comrades you see. We shared something that no-one else has.

Edit; I passed the assessments and in for interview next week. They certainly aren't messing about. - a phone call less than 24 hours after I'd done them!

My Novel

I've added this to my sidebar.

It is invitation only and is only there as an easy link for those who are giving me feedback.

It also saves me the hassle of sending out voluminous emails to those kind enough (foolhardy enough?) to read it.

If you are interested feel free to email me.

A Hobby

Why is it that men have hobbies? Few women do and if they do their hobby tends to be related to real life. They would never call it a hobby either.

My wife's relaxation is all to do with shopping. Ebay, shopping channels, charity shops, her jewelry collection. It's all linked to the mainstream of her life and practical.

Me?

Well, one of my hobbies is Wargaming. I'm not a soldier. I have no link with anything military so there is no practical side to my hobby. Aside from that the games I play are Fantasy Wargames; played with Dwarves, Elves and all sorts of other fantastical entities. No link with reality at all.

I don't really want to re-enact a bloody battle from the recent past; not with war being so close to our family.

But I don't mind pretend killing of the Undead.

It is pure escape. An abstract thing with absolutely no practical use at all.

Except that it relaxes me and takes me away from the day to day stuff and provides another world for me to play in.

Men seem to need that more than women. I wonder why.

Yet, when I compare myself to my wife. When I compare our general state of being I'd say that I am generally happier.

I can take myself out of reality and soothe my anxieties in another place. She cannot. Perhaps my more relaxed attitude is partly down to that ability to walk away from reality from time to time. To allow the wear and tear of reality to repair a little.

I had a game yesterday. I've scrapped the bespoke room I used to have and turned that into our snug;





The snug; my Sunday Paper and music place.












And where do I have my games now? Why, in the dining room. It quickly converts from an eating place to a room full of dreams.



As you can see I don't do things by halves. Bespoke terrain and wine to accompany our game. Heaven. I have mountains, castles. Whole towns along with rivers and bridges for my armies of Elves and all sorts of other daft creatures to march, shuffle, waddle or whetever, over them.

In the thick of it. My Trolls, Ogres, Orcs and Goblins take on Vampires, ghosts, Zombies and skeletons along with some giant bats.

Utterly silly.

But I don't care.

A Colourful Plate

I'm lucky. I like to see variety and colour on my plate. The visual effect enhances the meal and different colours usually means different flavours.

We went to see A Christmas Carol with Granddaughter today. Brilliant film and the only version that comes near to the famous Alastair Sim one. We'll get the DVD.

Oops, I'm meandering again.

After the film we went to a Chinese, one of those places with a buffet. It was part of Xscape just off the M62. I hate those complexes. Full of bland but loud noise. Music that you'd never buy set at a volume that forces you to talk a little more loudly than normal making the whole place an assault on the ears.

The restaurant was good for its kind. Cheap, efficient and cheerful. The food was fresh too; buffet style doesn't suit Chinese food in the main but here it was fine.

I filled one of my plates with all sorts of stuff. Yes I was hungry and since I lose weight during the week I allow the pig in me full rein on a weekend, I think I tried nearly every dish. There were a lot too LOL.

They had things like 'Green Beans in Garlic' or 'Broccoli in Oyster Sauce' My plates had a lot of green on them.

And Granddaughter? Brown food. Wontons, Prawn toast, chips, prawn crackers, onion rings. Luckily there was no pastry.

Have you noticed that the cheaper a restaurant is, the more uniformly brown the food? That light 'batter' brown where everything is deep-fried or covered in pastry..............and where other colour is provided - usually by the obligatory salad - it gets left............unless it's red and it's the ketchup.

Even in the more expensive places it's the green stuff that gets left.

Have you noticed that?

Or aren't you nosey like me.

In the face of adversity.

Just get on with it and smile.

That's always been my attitude. Life's too short to be miserable and no matter how difficult things can be there is usually something good to take out of it.

Take last night. A thoroughly miserable evening by the standards of those who didn't have to be out in it. The rain never stopped and by the end of my run of deliveries there was a lot of standing water on the roads. Visibility was crap and I had to take more than my usual care when manoeuvring the van and trying to ensure that the groceries didn't get too wet...........even dashing to one house with a French Stick under my reflective jacket LOL.

I enjoyed it. Rain gives a kind of peace. It cocoons you in your own little world of intimacy and muffles other more distant sounds and sights. You can hear each drop providing its own temporary contribution to the bigger sound of them altogether. Speeding up or slowing down, bigger or smaller and with the wind lending yet another dimension. I love the sound and I love the feel of it; except when it gets on my glasses. Thank God for the peak on baseball caps.

When you are inside and warm you pity those poor sods who have to be out in it. I think I got the benefit of that last night. I bounced up to the doors with my normal cheerful patter and was treated with even more courtesy and respect than normal. Most people are nice and they are even nicer if they think you are being cheerful in what they perceive as a miserable situation.

I even got a tip from one woman who'd travelled all the way from Milton Keynes that evening, got into her Jimmy Jams and felt so sorry for me that she gave a a couple of quid.

Give me the rain anytime.

The Sex Industry

Shh....we'll have to whisper.

It's not talked about is it. At least on mainstream websites and blogs. Of all the blogs I read I've only seen it discussed at all by someone involved in the industry; either as a user or a supplier.

And then it's all done under assumed names.

We don't know how to deal with it do we. We know it won't go away but many wish it would and because we get embarrassed about discussing we avoid talking about it and when we do we don't do it dispassionately. It gets emotive and words like 'exploitation', 'trafficking' and many more get thrown in as much to endorse our already negative views on it.

God forbid we were to acknowledge that it has a place in our society.

Yet it does have a place, even if that place is a spot that has been invaded by something we would rather not be there. A bit like the unwelcome neighbour.

And just like the unwelcome neighbour you can't kick it out; or if you do it just goes elsewhere. People like Harriet Harman would like to but they miss the point. It's there so we have to accept it; have to learn to deal with it.

I'm talking from the point of view of an outsider. You don't know if I am. I read somewhere that over 10% of men visit prostitutes, for example. That means more than one in ten of my male readers may well have seen one. You will be reading me and wondering.....hmmm one or two in ten. Has he? The thing is very few men would ever admit it. So, I will neither confirm nor deny it because that would be meaningless. Heck, I could be a supplier for all you know. Ha, now there the mind would boggle if you look at my photo.

Far more look at porn. I've admitted the latter. That's partly because you can admit to looking at porn without without being explicit about using it and it is impersonal.

How do we learn to live with it as a society? For most that means ignoring it. I wonder if that's a mistake. If you ignore things then you ignore everything about it; the trafficking for instance. A little like walking past an altercation in the street and not stopping because you don't know how to handle it. That altercation could be inconsequential or it could turn nasty. By ignoring it and walking past we aren't there to provide restraint if it gets out of hand.

Should we ignore it? Or should we try to understand why, for instance, prostitution exists. Should we listen to that altercation, the argument, so that we can assess how safe or not it it is?

And, if we try to understand it would we realise that maybe there are elements of it that do have a legitimate part to play in our society?

If we only dealt with the things that we are comfortable with we would never progress.

Now you can stop squirming because I've reached the end of this little missive which is more of an open question than an essay.

Man Bags

Do any of my male readers use them?

Being of the age that I am I would have once thought them taboo. If someone had suggested I use one 30 years ago I would probably have responded like a horrified Lady Bracknell.......'A Handbag?'...................... but, of course, in a deep manly voice.

However that refusal to use a bag of any kind meant bulging pockets. And not bulging with my masculinity either. But with keys, wallet, loose change and with the advent of mobile phones another bulge appeared giving me the appearance of Mr Lumpy with a colostomy bag on his left tit.

My jackets would bcome misshapen and my trousers would hang low. My paunch only added to the problem. In the summer it was hell. I'd sometimes wear a jacket just so I had the pockets. And sweated like hell.

It started quite subtly. On holiday in Italy it was too hot to wear much so pockets were scarce. I got a little thing with pockets and zips. A bit like a bum bag but with a shoulder strap and it was made of waterproof material.

It was practical and could not be confused with the kind of bag that my wife used. And it was a godsend.

But it was a little too small. So my pockets still bulged, although not as much and I had nowhere for my camera. With the bag and camera straps slung over me and maybe a waterbottle I felt like a soldier on campaign.

So I graduated to a bigger bag. This had all sorts of compartments with zips and did the trick and held all of my stuff. I was hooked.

But it was utilitarian. I wandered into a shop that sold more stylish bags. I saw one that had some leather on it. Buckles too. I bought it. I even posed in the mirror before buying it. Furtively of course.

Now when I'm out with my wife in the summer and need something to carry my things in we both will end up rummaging for stuff and find all sorts of things we forgot were in there.

So far I haven't found any lipstick. Or a tampon.

But one day.

Cynicism on show

You'll be aware that we watch X Factor at our home.

And we enjoy it too, in the main.

It is fascinating on all sorts of levels. Watching the acts develop, who gets kicked out who survives, the game playing by the judges. It has it all.

It's a mirror on our society too.

Last night it got down to the last two acts; the two who had got the least votes from the public. No surprise to see John and Edward there at long last but Lucie was a bit of a shock. We both thought she had given one of the best performances of the previous night and was starting to come into her own. So getting so few votes was a surprise when comparing her with one or two other acts who seem weak by comparison.

But this highlights something about popular entertainment and entertainers. Lucie is the girl next door. very pretty, talented but a little reserved. Polite too.

Well, we can just about put up with polite although we prefer 'in yer face' or even down right rude. But reserved? Oh no. We want our entertainers to emote, to reveal all. We want tears and drama. Lucie didn't really conform to that. She was too restrained. And she didn't come over as vulnerable enough. We like our stars to be vulnerable so we can either cuddle them or kick them and watch the tears. There are other contenders who are a little reserved but they have a vulnerability about them. Her reserve could be seen as aloofness at times. We don't do aloof excpet in character actors.

Until last night. Then the tears and pain were there and it made me squirm.

Why?

Well, the last two have a 'sing off' to see who is best and will survive. Lucie was by far the best. She knew it too and I'm sure when she finished she felt confident that she'd sung John and Edward out of the competition.

But no. Simon Cowell was the last judge to vote and he had the chance to vote John and Edward out - it was 2 to 1 against them up until then - or go to the public vote. He smirked more pompously than he normally does. He savoured his power. He lingered over the decision like a cat playing with its prey. He knew that John and Edward were finally vulnerable; he doesn't care for them. And he had a threat to his own contestants in the palm of his hands; a little mouse caught in the claws of his ambition.

He sat on it long enough for the camera to linger on a visibly deflating Lucie. It isn't often you see deliberate cruelty on TV but I felt I was watching it last night.

So he went to the public vote and she got booted off.

Why cynical? Well, as I say she, in my view, may have become a threat to his acts if the public started warming to her. She was improving but that improvement had probably come too late.

He got to keep John and Edward knowing they will get voted off, if not by the public then by the other judges who would have kept Lucie. He was back in control.

And John and Edward are good for the ratings of his show.

A very happy man and it showed.

The show reflects the world we live in. It is ruthless and has little compassion although it pretends to have. Here you could see that lack of compassion in all its glory. It is all about ambition and the desire to be number one.

Lucie was sacrificed on the altar not just of Cowell's ambition, but also on our own. He is just a symbol of what we all are, deep down.

Is it wrong?

Well maybe yes, maybe no. It is how the world is. Lucie had an opportunity that few get. She has had her profile raised and may get opportunities that she would not have otherwise got.

And she has learnt just how cruel the world can be.

So it's not all bad. But it does make you realise that the world isn't an easy place to live in.

Remembrance Day

For the first time in my life I watched the whole thing. Well, pretty well all of it. It's a much longer programme than I expected.

I'm glad I did.

It makes you realise how many people's lives have been affected by the conflicts over the years. My eyes filled a little at some of the interviews.

One, of a young guy who had lost his sight while helping to save half a dozen other soldiers, was particularly touching. He had a nice kind sensitive face that will never see other faces again. How sad. Yet his attitude was not bitter; merely proud that he had helped others.

There were others too. Dignity is what comes to mind. No maudlin emotionalism just a stoicism that is so unfashionable now.

I enjoyed the marching. Old veterans concentrating on staying on their feet. Wheelchairs in reserve. Some who hadn't marched in years and found it difficult. Many who were self conscious but still proud. One or two that raised a smile in me.

An oldish guy who, there is no other way of describing this, did a 'camp' march. Oh how gay.

Then a female in smart uniform who can only be described as 'pimp marching'. That was a hoot.

The pride at being there. The pride at being remembered. That struck me about them.

And then the Queen. If, for no other reason, we have a monarch then the Remembrance Day events are a good enough reason.

She provided a focus and entered into the spirit with an almost religious devotion. During the two minute silence she seemed to enter into a reverie; lots of memories for the old lady.

I'm glad I watched. It made me feel humble. It made me proud of those who have served over the years.

I got a Birthday Card today

And it isn't my birthday for over two weeks yet......26th of November - hint, hint.

It wasn't from anyone I know either.

I'll get cards from some - not all - of my family and in-laws plus one or two good friends. That will do.

Today's was from Direct Line; my car insurer.

An Institutional Birthday Card.

At least it wasn't signed.

A part of me admired the personal touch that the corporate leaders of the firm were trying to instill.

But.

It left me cold. A birthday card is a personal thing...... a from me to you....sort of thing.

I will get a hand created one from Granddaughter probably; that will be personal. I've still got my old ones.

An impersonal one? From not even a stranger but from an institution?

Oh no.

But then I thought of the friendless. The lonely.

For someone it might be the only birthday card they get.

Let me make it clear

One of my regular readers has expressed concern that her replies to my posts have not appeared. She wondered if I was 'moderating' her out on the grounds of 'irrelevance'. I've explained what I think may be happening because I lose some of my replies.

But to clarify. I do not moderate posts at all. When I set up my blog I did pause and consider whether I would want to vet any reply before allowing it to be seen.

I went for the cavalier option; no moderation at all. Foolhardy? Brave? I know a number of fellow bloggers who have had 'nasties' posted as replies. So it was a bit of a risk, especially given the risque nature of some of my posts. I felt I could take that risk because my blog is a not tied to any business or career; it is just me. So I can scrap it at any time without loss. But I decided to test the water. And do you know what. The water is nice and warm, a pleasure to be in. I have not had to delete any comment. Far from it. They have all been lovely; some have been enlightening too.

Some, in my view, have enhanced the original post and given it a new depth.

Oh so dry

My wife had a nasty experience today; she fell awkwardly and was quite badly hurt as well as shaken.

It happened just before she left work to go and pick up Granddaughter. The pain didn't really kick in until she collected her and by the time she got home she was in some agony.

The first thing she did when she got back, of course, was to describe the event.

Granddaughter was all ears and when Grandma had finished she said, 'So Grandma, did the ground shake?'

If she'd been four or five we would have thought it was an innocent question asked in all seriousness. At seven? No. She knows the ground wouldn't shake.

She kept a straight face too.....until grandma started laughing.........and groaning...........and then the giggles started.

Humour is a kind of sophistication.............well, OK it could depend on the kind of humour.

But at seven I would never have thought of that kind of quip. I can now.....at 55 (nearly 56) but as a youngster I was very literal. If someone had talked about shaking ground I would have believed them..........and imagined the tremors.

It did lighten the pain for poor Grandma too, even though it was a little cruel.

And opened another door in our wonder at that funny little girl who keeps surprising us.

Words must out

I have a need to write, to express myself.

For now I'm not writing stories. My novel is 'maturing' like a ripe cheese waiting to be read and revisited after the feedback. I have another novel I've started but that is going through the 'thinking process'. I'm working out in my mind how to move it along and once I have an idea the words will flow.

So where do all my words go now? They must find an outlet otherwise my head would explode.

Well, that's why I am here 'multi blogging'.

And I'm doing something else; visiting a few message boards.

Now that will end in tears for I'll get into some row with a troll and flounce off in high dudgeon. I cannot resist speaking my mind though, and most message boards harbour a few people who seem to behave like bacteria; they latch on to any healthy debate and turn into it something sour.

I end up 'posting and hiding'

But it will be fun while I'm doing it.

Progress

Whenever anyone talks about progress it is often presented as a double-edged sword. I bet when you read the title you wondered whether I'd be for or against it. Whether I am a moderniser or a Luddite.

Since Monday I've been watching the builders at the back of our house working. They are digging out the footings of a row of five houses in a terrace.

One man in the earth mover, another with a dumper to take the soil away and, occasionally a third to help tidy up bits that the earth mover cannot do. There's not much it can't do either. The operator can move it with a deftness that reminds me of an elephant trying to nudge its baby to do something.

And now they have just about finished the footings. A series of three foot deep trenches that resemble nothing so much as a mini World War One trench system.

Three men did that in under three days.

One hundred years ago it would have taken so many more men with picks and shovels a lot longer.

If that change had happened overnight there may have been discontent at all those men being thrown out of work. As it is it has happened gradually.

But still; where have all those men who would have been digging now?

I'll tell you. Burger flipping, delivering on-line groceries, servicing cars, selling insurance

Are we a better society for having burger flippers and the rest instead of labouring men?

There's a debate to open at some time.

But I tell you what; I'd rather be delivering on-line groceries than digging trenches.

And when people complain about the loss of jobs in a particular industry, the loss of communities and the all the rest I do wonder.

Are we worse off without the mining communities? Without communities where men died prematurely and had a skill that they could not transfer anywhere else?

It's a moot point; and another debate.

I suppose the miners of the late 20th century have something in common with the flint chippers of pre-history; they'll get forgotten except by historians.

After all, who regrets the passing of the flint chippers.

They learn young

'Granda'

'Yes'

'Don't forget the mince and milk'

'I won't'

'Come on Granda, we'll be late'

Parting shots on the way to school this morning. It had been decided that I was to make some Bolognese sauce - it's done now and simply gorgeous - and Granddaughter was making sure I wouldn't forget the mince and milk - she wanted full cream for her Ready Brek.

Somehow, I imagine if she was a little boy I wouldn't get the bossy instructions.

Is it a woman thing?

Please don't laugh.........

.................but I'm going to admit something that only my family knows about.

I have a soft spot for soft toys. Teddy Bears in particular.

I bought this character one day for my wife under the guise of him being useful. You can put him in the microwave to warm up and use him to ease those aches and pains.

I think she knows that if the 'warmer' hadn't been disguised as a rather sweet bear I doubt I would have bought him.

I got a second one too......doh.








I've always been like that with soft toys. I remember as a very small child being hugely attached to an elephant who had bright red satin trousers. His stuffing started coming out so my parents decided to destroy him.

In front of me.

They threw him on the fire. I was distraught and still don't understand why they did that. OK, get rid of a tatty old toy.......................while the child is asleep for God's sake.

Later I had a rather posh teddy. I called him 'John'; my name. I actually identified with this mute soft toy and kept him for years. When I was younger he would come to bed with me. Later he would sit discreetly on top of a chest of drawers. A more distant love.

I still had him as a teenager would you believe. He became so threadbare that he fell to bits. Poor thing.

No-one else in our family has had the same rather embarrassing affinity with teddy bears and the like. I bought loads for our children but they didn't 'click' with them and the poor sad things would be left lying around unloved.

Until granddaughter came along. She loves them and will cuddle and look after them just as I used to do - and still do in secret. She'll take three or four with her to bed sometimes and extend an affection to them that seems illogical to many but which I understand.

As she's got older my wife has adopted my traits. We both 'arrange' them - there are several in our house, most ostensibly there for Granddaughter - in poses. I do it to make them 'comfortable'. My wife will do it more for a sweet or quirky effect.

We've ordered one of these for Granddaughter as part of her Christmas box.

I'm trying to think of an excuse to keep him at our home for her.

I sometimes wonder why I like them. Maybe it's along the lines of a pet. But a pet that doesn't shit or piss or get ill.

Some people like animals because of a control thing to some extent. An animal cannot let you down in the way people can.

Well, soft toys are maybe a step even further for those who are frightened of emotional commitment.....who are wary of being hurt.

A control thing?

The Halloween Pie

I made a pie yesterday and being the kind of person who hates waste used the pastry off cuts to create a pattern on the top.

I've done all sorts in the past. Often Granddaughter's name will appear. Once I did a Desperate Dan themed pie complete with cow horns adorning it.....in pastry of course.

Since it was Halloween yesterday I made a Bat and New Moon set in a landscape of tall pines (could be distant mountains actually) with a little turreted castle all providing a frame for a Witch's portrait.



Well, I suppose you can just about make some of it out. Granddaughter liked it and wanted to eat the Witch but had to make do with the moon.

Sometimes it's the silliest things that give the most pleasure.