Night-Night
Night’s have been and gone. The one shift I was made for. Once again it did not fail to amuse with a barely tolerant mix of excessive alcohol, and obnoxious behaviour from all in sundry. Traffic offences galore, reckless behaviour from many and more often than not discussions in raised tones of an inappropriate nature. Modern day policing, it’s tough but look at all the stuff we get away with!!
This week I have been mostly eating a mixture of sandwiches and cooked goods from my local food vending emporium that also happens to do a bit of a side trade in vehicular fuels. Alright! I’ve been getting my dinner from the petrol station.
Last night I successfully circumnavigated a chicken chow mein meal to move rather audaciously onto a thin crust pizza. The night previously I decided to partake of some chicken and stuffing sandwiches, salmon and cucumber sandwiches and some rather lovely Aloo Gobi. Unsurprisingly my best diet does seem to be situated during the most unsociable shift.
Blue tinted glasses
There was an incident on one night, which had already staggered into morning and was very close to being a call that early turn would have dealt with rather than us. An old gent had his maisonette broken into by a young man who lived downstairs who appeared to have serious mental health issues.
The behaviour of the man during his arrest echoed back to a teenage lad I had dealt with about a year previously.
We were called by his Granddad who had seen the boy, Geoff (for the purposes of this story) kick in everyone of the cars body panels. This is no mean feat as both Gaffa and I found out, as we walked around what was once a Rover 75. Granddad also mentioned that Geoff had mental health issues and hadn’t been taking his medication.
Now here was the first mistake Gaffa and I made, we both huddled up at the end of the driveway and decided, 1. Geoff was local, 2. Geoff was probably at an address we already had, 3. Another colleague could take a statement, 4. It would be a good body of work if we could process the guy within the shift.
The simple plans are always the best, until you try and execute them.
We tracked Geoff all over Kingston, as we haired from one address to another, in a convoy of two police cars and the van. We finally caught up with him (as always) at the first place we had looked. We were met by his flat mate who said he’d help us speak to Geoff, as after some checks, it became apparent that Geoff was in the elite group of those that have the platinum membership of warning signals.
We climbed the rickety old narrow staircase (uh-oh) to meet a door right on the corner of the staircase. The flatmate turned almost triumphantly to tell us “This is his! I’ll go in and tell him you’re here, that way he should be alright.” Gaffa and I exchanged a glance, and agreed that SEEMED the best course of action.
We both awaited the soft tones of a calming voice escaping through the slight crack the door had left where it didn’t meet the frame comfortably. How wrong we were. The voice that escaped was… like Brian Blessed on acid.
“GEOFF WHAT THE HELL YOU BEEN DOIN? THE POLICE ARE HERE. THEY’RE NOT HAPPY. YOU’RE GONA BE ARRESTED. GEOFF WHY’D YOU DO IT MAN? COME ON THE POLICE ARE RIGHT OUTSIDE NOW.”
Gaffa and I again exchanged a more worried glance, which then trailed down the staircase we were currently stood at the top of. We then had an Indiana Jones moment as we both attempted to find an anchoring point to hold onto, before the expected collapse of the bridge. To our relief, the door opened and out stepped flatmate and Geoff (who was wearing blue tinted specs).
Geoff was twitchy to say the least and continually eyed both Gaffa and I, which meant I was continually puffing my chest out to look more menacing than I ever actually could be. I was almost hyperventilating by the time we got back to the station.
Our initial thoughts, he seems fine.
Samurai Steaks
By this time it was near the end of the shift and it had already become apparent that this wasn't one of our best ideas. Things got worse when we discovered there was no space for Geoff at Kingston and we would have to intrude on a neighbour. We found (a kind of) solace at Wimbledon (where they do the tennis we lose).
As always there was a bit of wait so we stood chatting with Geoff. His behaviour was intriguing as his character seemed to turn on a penny. For short moments he would ask us to clarify why he was there and what it was he'd done again. He'd then revert to a hardcore version of who he assumed his self image to be.
Gaffa has been gifted with an extraordinary ability to talk to anyone. He didn't bat an eyelid as Geoff leapt from topic to topic. It took me a while but I settled into it, and we began to get on quite well despite the often surreal subject matter.
Geoff told us how, in his words, he was Samurai, he was Superstar Ninja, and he was double edged. For ten minutes he told us how he was essentially the harder big brother of Bruce Lee.
The conversation then moved onto steaks. Both Gaffa and I agreed we could do with a lovely steak, as we had missed breakfast and lunch at this point. Gaffa then said to Geoff, “I suppose you like your steak bloody and raw” to keep with his Samurai persona. There came the reply “No, I like it well done, blood makes me faint.”
Well you did ask Doc...
Once the usual rig moral involved with detainees was over, the doctor was called to see if he felt Geoff was in a fit medical state to stay with us. As Geoff was becoming more agitated, it was deemed necessary for an officer to stand in on the consultation.
Gaffa’s about 6’2” and has a foreboding presence about him. So they picked me.
The Doc asked the most ridiculous leading questions I have heard, and, to his credit, Geoff played him like a fool.
Doc; So Geoff, do you believe you have superpowers?
Geoff; Course I have, I’m Samurai.
Doc; Ok. What powers do you have?
Geoff; All of ‘em, I’m dragon Ninja ain’t I.
Doc; Ok Geoff. Do you have Superman’s powers?
Geoff; Yeah, I’m like Superman, hard man.
Doc; Right Geoff. And can you fly Geoff?
Geoff; Course I can, I’m Superman.
Doc; And Geoff, tell me, have you ever tried jumping off a building to fly?
Geoff; No. I’m not a phuking idiot.
Geoff, if my memory serves me correctly, was never dealt with regarding the incident. As it was deemed that he could not be held accountable due to the lax supervision in place to ensure he kept taking the medication that he had been prescribed.
I’m not certain where he is now, but the character he was, really shone. He seemed completely content. I don’t doubt the demons he carried pressed on his character, but from the glimpse we caught, he seemed to be living his life to how he enjoyed.
I’m not condoning his actions. But in a way, I was able to lift from him, an ideal that every once in a while everyone needs to learn to let go.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Friday, February 18, 2005
Two days to burn
A common problem amongst professionals (people with a job) is how best to spend your days off in a constructive and yet essentially efficient manner. Many a... minute have a pondered this problem at work, on the toilet, with one foot against the rickety old door, trying to prevent the unknown from storming my stronghold.
Time and time again, I fall back upon the age old adage of "go out, get sh1t faced" (repeat to fade)
And so with a reluctance I could only manage to disguise as complete excitement I met up with my long standing associate and newly acquainted drinking bud Jim (Yim, Y, J, Jay, Yaka, Sacred etc etc).
We're going to need a bigger basket
For four long and dust filled hours we struggled, mainly him really but I'm talking my part up, to construct a devious device of unseen music emmittance which is also more commonly known as a 'boot build.'
During this time we also popped to a local shopping emporium named Halfords. It sells various products including bicycles, car engine oil, windscreen wiper blades, air freshener, speakers, cycling shorts and more recently car cleaning products. When I say car cleaning products, I don't refer to the usual tack that mere mortals would usually buy, oh no. This stuff is the creme de la pasteurised, the champion of the best and the leader of the flock!!
How Jim's little face lit up as we turned the corner into the aisle named "It's here you mug, get out your cold hard cash" He stopped. (suddenly because i walked straight into him). He stared. He (pratically) drooled. Product after product was picked up, until eventually Jim looked me in the eye and said "I'm going to need a basket."
The products looked flash, and they bore a name that was slightly too close to Midge Ure for my liking. They came in an assortment of bottles, bags, sprays and sponge things. Needless to say, the products they stocked are no longer there, Jim bought them all!
With a whimper he handed over £20 note after £20 note, as they loaded the items into two full carrier bags. And as we struggled from the store, I glanced back to see three members of staff sat atop the till whilst another two tried in vain to close the draw containing Jim's oodles of cash.
When back at his place, Jim began to load a cupboard with his cleaning products. I kid you not, this boy is ill. In all, there must have been over 30 different cleaning items, some of which had duplicates or even triplicates.
And is Jim's car clean? ...is it phuk!!!
The Bells.. The Bells!!!
As the hour was now late and the time had come and gone we elected to drink heinous amounts of alcohol at his house rather than risk a fight over a spilt kebab in a local town. We raced from shop to shop looking for booze. We eventually found our salvation in a small "offie" near North Cheam. We did wish to select Jack Daniels to while away the hours but instead had to plump for Bell's. It looked the same, cost the same, but turned out to be stronger. Result!!
And so the drinks began with bottled lager, but soon the Bell's was unleashed in tall glasses mixed energetically with Coke (the drink). It hit us hard and as we went onto consume the best part of 3/4 of a litre of whisky everything became ridiculously funny. We didn't feel all that drunk, but every other moment was spent giggling like Brownies at a cake sale, as the mind numbingly dull became a golden comedy moment.
We eventually ebbed out at around 6am and slept like the comatosed drunken monkeys we had become. When morning had been and gone, and the afternoon reared it's ugly head, alarms sounded and we awoke to the day we had onyl just left.
It was then we recalled the appointments we had made to view prospective properties to buy.
Don't look at the carpet, and lean against the walls.. they'll never notice
We both agreed that we had no hang over (yay) but when I tried to walk and J attempted speach we realised we had a problem. Our bodies had transcended to a time in the mid Eighties when we were but young children and the simplest task had become a challenge.
We arrived at the first property by a means of transport known only to J and I (after consuming a hot tea each and some cheese on toast). We met up with our Estate Agent and were whisked into the first place.
We asked intelligent questions and presumed an air of "we're not p1ssed, we know what we're doing."
It didn't hold.
I had to leave the house on the pretext of a phone call to gulp copious amounts of fresh air to save from collapsing.
The second property was J's downfall. Upon entering the living room, J looked to the floor and made a loud and clearly audible "Waaahheeur" noise. Then came the advice, "don't look at the floor, it'll make you chuck." Needless to say, what was the first thing I did.
Yep. From my leaned position by a wall, I looked down and then snapped my head back up at break neck speed. We then spent an agonising 10 minutes rebuffing the agents approaches of conversation to attempt an early exit from the place to the sanctity of primary colours outside.
The carpet was a chequered design in a creamy pastel colour. Closest comparison I could find for sober eyes was...
Outside J received the call that blew our cover completely. Whilst on the phone, he had said the following -
1) Hi, yeah... okay... could wu tid...
2) that's fine cand you, can you calld him
3) No, we're hear'd with them now, him
Eventually we fessed up with the overly proud "we're still drunk from yesterday!"
We fled the second headed for the other two. One we never made it to and the other was basically a bit ca-ca-poo-poo.
During our journeys to these two J continued to attempt phone calls to two different Estate agents. Starting all of them with a loud "HELLO MATE" and most usually contained a moment when J said the wrong name and then realised he hadn't called who he meant to.
How we laughed. How they wish we hadn't approached them to buy a house.
A word of warning to the wise - don't go house shopping whilst under the influence.
Both J and I now own a room in an old people's home, a bungalow with extensive fire damage and a small apartment in Sarajevo with awful lino in the welcome hall and an unexploded mortar round in the spare bedroom.
You have been warned.
Time and time again, I fall back upon the age old adage of "go out, get sh1t faced" (repeat to fade)
And so with a reluctance I could only manage to disguise as complete excitement I met up with my long standing associate and newly acquainted drinking bud Jim (Yim, Y, J, Jay, Yaka, Sacred etc etc).
We're going to need a bigger basket
For four long and dust filled hours we struggled, mainly him really but I'm talking my part up, to construct a devious device of unseen music emmittance which is also more commonly known as a 'boot build.'
During this time we also popped to a local shopping emporium named Halfords. It sells various products including bicycles, car engine oil, windscreen wiper blades, air freshener, speakers, cycling shorts and more recently car cleaning products. When I say car cleaning products, I don't refer to the usual tack that mere mortals would usually buy, oh no. This stuff is the creme de la pasteurised, the champion of the best and the leader of the flock!!
How Jim's little face lit up as we turned the corner into the aisle named "It's here you mug, get out your cold hard cash" He stopped. (suddenly because i walked straight into him). He stared. He (pratically) drooled. Product after product was picked up, until eventually Jim looked me in the eye and said "I'm going to need a basket."
The products looked flash, and they bore a name that was slightly too close to Midge Ure for my liking. They came in an assortment of bottles, bags, sprays and sponge things. Needless to say, the products they stocked are no longer there, Jim bought them all!
With a whimper he handed over £20 note after £20 note, as they loaded the items into two full carrier bags. And as we struggled from the store, I glanced back to see three members of staff sat atop the till whilst another two tried in vain to close the draw containing Jim's oodles of cash.
When back at his place, Jim began to load a cupboard with his cleaning products. I kid you not, this boy is ill. In all, there must have been over 30 different cleaning items, some of which had duplicates or even triplicates.
And is Jim's car clean? ...is it phuk!!!
The Bells.. The Bells!!!
As the hour was now late and the time had come and gone we elected to drink heinous amounts of alcohol at his house rather than risk a fight over a spilt kebab in a local town. We raced from shop to shop looking for booze. We eventually found our salvation in a small "offie" near North Cheam. We did wish to select Jack Daniels to while away the hours but instead had to plump for Bell's. It looked the same, cost the same, but turned out to be stronger. Result!!
And so the drinks began with bottled lager, but soon the Bell's was unleashed in tall glasses mixed energetically with Coke (the drink). It hit us hard and as we went onto consume the best part of 3/4 of a litre of whisky everything became ridiculously funny. We didn't feel all that drunk, but every other moment was spent giggling like Brownies at a cake sale, as the mind numbingly dull became a golden comedy moment.
We eventually ebbed out at around 6am and slept like the comatosed drunken monkeys we had become. When morning had been and gone, and the afternoon reared it's ugly head, alarms sounded and we awoke to the day we had onyl just left.
It was then we recalled the appointments we had made to view prospective properties to buy.
Don't look at the carpet, and lean against the walls.. they'll never notice
We both agreed that we had no hang over (yay) but when I tried to walk and J attempted speach we realised we had a problem. Our bodies had transcended to a time in the mid Eighties when we were but young children and the simplest task had become a challenge.
We arrived at the first property by a means of transport known only to J and I (after consuming a hot tea each and some cheese on toast). We met up with our Estate Agent and were whisked into the first place.
We asked intelligent questions and presumed an air of "we're not p1ssed, we know what we're doing."
It didn't hold.
I had to leave the house on the pretext of a phone call to gulp copious amounts of fresh air to save from collapsing.
The second property was J's downfall. Upon entering the living room, J looked to the floor and made a loud and clearly audible "Waaahheeur" noise. Then came the advice, "don't look at the floor, it'll make you chuck." Needless to say, what was the first thing I did.
Yep. From my leaned position by a wall, I looked down and then snapped my head back up at break neck speed. We then spent an agonising 10 minutes rebuffing the agents approaches of conversation to attempt an early exit from the place to the sanctity of primary colours outside.
The carpet was a chequered design in a creamy pastel colour. Closest comparison I could find for sober eyes was...
Outside J received the call that blew our cover completely. Whilst on the phone, he had said the following -
1) Hi, yeah... okay... could wu tid...
2) that's fine cand you, can you calld him
3) No, we're hear'd with them now, him
Eventually we fessed up with the overly proud "we're still drunk from yesterday!"
We fled the second headed for the other two. One we never made it to and the other was basically a bit ca-ca-poo-poo.
During our journeys to these two J continued to attempt phone calls to two different Estate agents. Starting all of them with a loud "HELLO MATE" and most usually contained a moment when J said the wrong name and then realised he hadn't called who he meant to.
How we laughed. How they wish we hadn't approached them to buy a house.
A word of warning to the wise - don't go house shopping whilst under the influence.
Both J and I now own a room in an old people's home, a bungalow with extensive fire damage and a small apartment in Sarajevo with awful lino in the welcome hall and an unexploded mortar round in the spare bedroom.
You have been warned.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Come back around
Return To Work Interview - A semi-formal affair involving the sickee (myself) and a supervisor of highly regarded professionalism and staunch disposition, failing this I asked Briggsy (also a sickee).
MY Return to Work Interview - A semi-formal discussion about the merits I possess to do my job to the fullest of my ability and how to jazz up "makes the tea well" to stretch to fill a paragraph sized box.
During this semi-formal affair there were the comments "I can't put you have returned to a fit state to resume work as I don't think you've ever been fit to do this job." and "Do you feel this incident has affected you in any adverse way?... Milky?... Milky! Stop bouncing around on your chair and listen!"
The Early Bird... gets the heebie-jeebies
For me, one of the most enjoyable qualities about doing shift work is the ability to commute to and from work during the wet season. By this I mean, I'm not squished in amongst thousands of other wildebeest (people) attempting to cross the main artery of the Serengeti's water supply (the A3 at Tolworth) at the same time, of the same day, everyday, for the rest of my life.
There is something quite pleasurable about travelling to work in the teeniest weeniest hours of the day, when the local winged wildlife is still discussing whether or not it's another solar eclipse or the sun is finally beginning to emerge on the horizon. The wind hasn't woken up and the rain is still falling in the other hemisphere. Although, there's a presence still around, for short periods of time at least, it's nice to presume a greater importance within yourself than when you disappear back into the end of a queue of traffic or are jostled away from the entrance to the train.
I'm not one for mornings, unless I've been awake since it was previously referred to as evening. But this, folks, is the reason I don't grudgingly drag myself from a warm bed, looking world weary and like I should be finishing work and not starting it.
Plus there's the added bonus of being able to break the speed limit and bend certain rules of the road (which is something I can't often do in the career path I've... forget that last bit).
Where was I, ah yes, as you no doubt appreciate now, early starts at work don't faze me. And due to the local council's splendid ingenuity I'm also able to enjoy a half mile wander to work. Owing to the fact that terrorists may at some point wish to blow up any part of Kingston with a car bomb. Hence the need for restricted/residents parking all over the place.
However, the walk is exercise, to some degree. Although not taxing, one can zigzag up the road to burn a few more calories but it's not always advisable at certain times as local residents do have a penchant for peering through their net curtains and reaching for the phone to call for pest control.
During my walk I utilise the current technological brilliance that is my MP3 player. Having recently danced gracefully around the copyright of most of the albums I own, I have been able to fashion a collection in my image (or at least one that loosely reflects my CD collection at home, minus the 5ive album that I only bought the case of).
As you can imagine I donned my headphones and leapt from my car, and begun my haphazard aforementioned zigzag to work with a spring in my step. Before hastily returning to my car to collect my required uniform, and to actually lock the doors as well. I resumed with gusto and relaxed into my 3.7 mph slouching stride.
Now usually, a colleague also blessed with the same intricate knowledge of our working environment as I, will drive past or happen to be already walking to work. As a result, a light hearted chat will often follow regarding the continuing strife in Israel, a brief reflection on how the recent Tsunami may affect the algae research currently underway in Antarctica and how much sleep we've both had.
This morning this did not happen. There was no-one. Constant checks over my shoulder confirmed this. My walk to work was colleague free.
Now in a "normal" job or 9 to 5 as some call them this wouldn't be of concern, because the other hundred people around you confirm that the world is still maintaining a degree of routine. On shifts, at 05:48 (that's AM) the backs of your ears start sweating. Mild panic sets in as you turn corner after corner with still no trace of a familiar face. You then start attempting to recall if you ever actually saw any other traffic on the way in. By this point your toes are getting twitchy and whistling to yourself seems to add a sense of security.
Your mind steps aside and the imagination back flips into life with
"Milky did the clocks go back?"
"Milky, you know you said you didn't believe in aliens..."
"Milky, have you actually woken up yet or is this that dream where you sleep with..."
And so on...
I reached my HQ and entered via an elaborate system of a plastic card and a painfully slow mechanical gate. Still no sign of life. "Sh1t, what day is it? Do I still work here? What was that film with the... Shaun of the Dead? No you muppet the other one... 28 Days Later? Yes that's it... oh bum, how'd you kill a zombie again..."
I enter the HQ main building through the security filters and start heading towards the changing rooms where I usually don my outfit for the days work. Still not a sausage; or a person in fact.
Then as I opened the changing room door there was my confirmation that everything was alright. Never will I say again that I have been so grateful to see Derv stood one legged leaning against his locker half doubled over attempting to pull his leg from a pair of leather trousers whilst stating "Ah, Milky! There you are, welcome back."
It's going to be okay.
The Zombies'll have to go past him to get to me! :)
MY Return to Work Interview - A semi-formal discussion about the merits I possess to do my job to the fullest of my ability and how to jazz up "makes the tea well" to stretch to fill a paragraph sized box.
During this semi-formal affair there were the comments "I can't put you have returned to a fit state to resume work as I don't think you've ever been fit to do this job." and "Do you feel this incident has affected you in any adverse way?... Milky?... Milky! Stop bouncing around on your chair and listen!"
The Early Bird... gets the heebie-jeebies
For me, one of the most enjoyable qualities about doing shift work is the ability to commute to and from work during the wet season. By this I mean, I'm not squished in amongst thousands of other wildebeest (people) attempting to cross the main artery of the Serengeti's water supply (the A3 at Tolworth) at the same time, of the same day, everyday, for the rest of my life.
There is something quite pleasurable about travelling to work in the teeniest weeniest hours of the day, when the local winged wildlife is still discussing whether or not it's another solar eclipse or the sun is finally beginning to emerge on the horizon. The wind hasn't woken up and the rain is still falling in the other hemisphere. Although, there's a presence still around, for short periods of time at least, it's nice to presume a greater importance within yourself than when you disappear back into the end of a queue of traffic or are jostled away from the entrance to the train.
I'm not one for mornings, unless I've been awake since it was previously referred to as evening. But this, folks, is the reason I don't grudgingly drag myself from a warm bed, looking world weary and like I should be finishing work and not starting it.
Plus there's the added bonus of being able to break the speed limit and bend certain rules of the road (which is something I can't often do in the career path I've... forget that last bit).
Where was I, ah yes, as you no doubt appreciate now, early starts at work don't faze me. And due to the local council's splendid ingenuity I'm also able to enjoy a half mile wander to work. Owing to the fact that terrorists may at some point wish to blow up any part of Kingston with a car bomb. Hence the need for restricted/residents parking all over the place.
However, the walk is exercise, to some degree. Although not taxing, one can zigzag up the road to burn a few more calories but it's not always advisable at certain times as local residents do have a penchant for peering through their net curtains and reaching for the phone to call for pest control.
During my walk I utilise the current technological brilliance that is my MP3 player. Having recently danced gracefully around the copyright of most of the albums I own, I have been able to fashion a collection in my image (or at least one that loosely reflects my CD collection at home, minus the 5ive album that I only bought the case of).
As you can imagine I donned my headphones and leapt from my car, and begun my haphazard aforementioned zigzag to work with a spring in my step. Before hastily returning to my car to collect my required uniform, and to actually lock the doors as well. I resumed with gusto and relaxed into my 3.7 mph slouching stride.
Now usually, a colleague also blessed with the same intricate knowledge of our working environment as I, will drive past or happen to be already walking to work. As a result, a light hearted chat will often follow regarding the continuing strife in Israel, a brief reflection on how the recent Tsunami may affect the algae research currently underway in Antarctica and how much sleep we've both had.
This morning this did not happen. There was no-one. Constant checks over my shoulder confirmed this. My walk to work was colleague free.
Now in a "normal" job or 9 to 5 as some call them this wouldn't be of concern, because the other hundred people around you confirm that the world is still maintaining a degree of routine. On shifts, at 05:48 (that's AM) the backs of your ears start sweating. Mild panic sets in as you turn corner after corner with still no trace of a familiar face. You then start attempting to recall if you ever actually saw any other traffic on the way in. By this point your toes are getting twitchy and whistling to yourself seems to add a sense of security.
Your mind steps aside and the imagination back flips into life with
"Milky did the clocks go back?"
"Milky, you know you said you didn't believe in aliens..."
"Milky, have you actually woken up yet or is this that dream where you sleep with..."
And so on...
I reached my HQ and entered via an elaborate system of a plastic card and a painfully slow mechanical gate. Still no sign of life. "Sh1t, what day is it? Do I still work here? What was that film with the... Shaun of the Dead? No you muppet the other one... 28 Days Later? Yes that's it... oh bum, how'd you kill a zombie again..."
I enter the HQ main building through the security filters and start heading towards the changing rooms where I usually don my outfit for the days work. Still not a sausage; or a person in fact.
Then as I opened the changing room door there was my confirmation that everything was alright. Never will I say again that I have been so grateful to see Derv stood one legged leaning against his locker half doubled over attempting to pull his leg from a pair of leather trousers whilst stating "Ah, Milky! There you are, welcome back."
It's going to be okay.
The Zombies'll have to go past him to get to me! :)
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Individual
I don't ask for space when I'm crushed by the dream,
I live for the living at least that's how it seemed.
All that I want is to live with a home,
To stand in a crowd but still feel alone.
I don't wish for nothing 'cos wishing ain't true,
And hoping for something can soon destroy you.
My wander in life is not blessed with much more,
Than the lone simple thoughts that lap at my shore.
The sand in my toes and the wind in my hair,
Cause me to guess at the fears that are there.
I walk from the pain when I'm blind to the call,
That offers a touch that's like breathing it all.
So live for the moment and laugh for the fun,
But never forget
You're the true
Onlyone.
Milky'05
I don't ask for space when I'm crushed by the dream,
I live for the living at least that's how it seemed.
All that I want is to live with a home,
To stand in a crowd but still feel alone.
I don't wish for nothing 'cos wishing ain't true,
And hoping for something can soon destroy you.
My wander in life is not blessed with much more,
Than the lone simple thoughts that lap at my shore.
The sand in my toes and the wind in my hair,
Cause me to guess at the fears that are there.
I walk from the pain when I'm blind to the call,
That offers a touch that's like breathing it all.
So live for the moment and laugh for the fun,
But never forget
You're the true
Onlyone.
Milky'05
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
I know where everything is...
..it can just take a while to find things on occasions.
This is the closest I have to a bedside table. Uhm, where to start.
Have I created a game?
Amidst the mayhem is an elastic band ball, cheque book, numerous CD's, aftershave, get well cards, a shower cap, a picture of John Lennon, stamps, a v.old stereo and a hands free kit for a phone I don't own.
You all have Hx to blame.. she started it. (the photo's, not the mess!)
This is the closest I have to a bedside table. Uhm, where to start.
Have I created a game?
Amidst the mayhem is an elastic band ball, cheque book, numerous CD's, aftershave, get well cards, a shower cap, a picture of John Lennon, stamps, a v.old stereo and a hands free kit for a phone I don't own.
You all have Hx to blame.. she started it. (the photo's, not the mess!)
The Kingston Three +1
As some, few or none of you may be aware, last... Saturday... 5th.. February (Phew, this date thing takes a bit of getting used to) the Kingston Three (Andy, Briggsy & Moi) ventured out intrepidly into the hallowed drinking emporiums of "our patch" and proceeded to put the world to rights whilst attempting to drain the locals supply of liquor.
This time, however, was different as we now had a fourth member. He was D'Artagnan to our... other three. He emerged like a spectre through the mists of the dank alleys of the town. Although in truth he lurched precariously through the pub doorway once the doorman had verified that he knew Andy (?!).
We drank merrily and often, and did what you're supposed to do during all social gatherings, text each other from the toilet asking if we were talking about them yet. At a later hour than originally planned it was deemed appropriate to shake our bad asses at our club of choice.
We proceeded there, via the strategically positioned Chicken Shop opposite. Some in our number opted out (Phil), whilst others attempted the Dallas Chicken record of 6 hot wings (Andy- who then proceeded to cry like an onion chopping vegetable lover) and then finally we get to those who; already knowing they are also thirsty decided to plump for the "so much more refreshing than a drink" tub of coleslaw (Briggsy).
After suitably cleansing ourselves with the disturbingly named cleanup tissue we approached the Q. One in our number was recognised as a disfigured local worker and we were immediately thrust into the bowels of the club (after checking our coats, obviously).
Again a bee-line was made straight to the "r'n'b and other music like that" room as so many of us affectionately call it. Where we proceeded to let all hell break loose (or dance). Phil initially stood by the bar monitoring our confused shuffling from a distance, like the care in the community we appeared to be. Until later he joined us on the littered wooden tiles where he continued to observe with concern.
Andy began his well recognised display of dancing prowess much like a Peacock in full mating ritual. Briggsy descended into her own 'zone' as her head dipped and eyes rolled back. I began a mix of the two whilst also attempting to keep my new shoes clean by kicking away every single item of rubbish on the dance floor. The podium dancers provided light relief as we attempted to emulate their super-stardom. Until the moment one of them leapt into the air and did the splits across the podiums hand rails. I immediately feigned injury and escaped a torn pride.
All too soon the lights came up (except for Phil, who had been attempting to leave since the previous hour!) and we made our way to the coat Q. I unwisely tried to joke with the woman returning my jacket when she enquired "Initials?" I replied "Who's asking?" Oh how... only I laughed.
We were then heralded home in Jim's motor vehicle (which Andy fondly described as an LOS due to the transitional phase the vehicle is in). All the way home, Briggsy lounged across the back seats pleading "Can I drive? Can I have a go? Can I drive? I'm not that drunk!
Again a success. Again a lot of fun. Again?
This time, however, was different as we now had a fourth member. He was D'Artagnan to our... other three. He emerged like a spectre through the mists of the dank alleys of the town. Although in truth he lurched precariously through the pub doorway once the doorman had verified that he knew Andy (?!).
We drank merrily and often, and did what you're supposed to do during all social gatherings, text each other from the toilet asking if we were talking about them yet. At a later hour than originally planned it was deemed appropriate to shake our bad asses at our club of choice.
We proceeded there, via the strategically positioned Chicken Shop opposite. Some in our number opted out (Phil), whilst others attempted the Dallas Chicken record of 6 hot wings (Andy- who then proceeded to cry like an onion chopping vegetable lover) and then finally we get to those who; already knowing they are also thirsty decided to plump for the "so much more refreshing than a drink" tub of coleslaw (Briggsy).
After suitably cleansing ourselves with the disturbingly named cleanup tissue we approached the Q. One in our number was recognised as a disfigured local worker and we were immediately thrust into the bowels of the club (after checking our coats, obviously).
Again a bee-line was made straight to the "r'n'b and other music like that" room as so many of us affectionately call it. Where we proceeded to let all hell break loose (or dance). Phil initially stood by the bar monitoring our confused shuffling from a distance, like the care in the community we appeared to be. Until later he joined us on the littered wooden tiles where he continued to observe with concern.
Andy began his well recognised display of dancing prowess much like a Peacock in full mating ritual. Briggsy descended into her own 'zone' as her head dipped and eyes rolled back. I began a mix of the two whilst also attempting to keep my new shoes clean by kicking away every single item of rubbish on the dance floor. The podium dancers provided light relief as we attempted to emulate their super-stardom. Until the moment one of them leapt into the air and did the splits across the podiums hand rails. I immediately feigned injury and escaped a torn pride.
All too soon the lights came up (except for Phil, who had been attempting to leave since the previous hour!) and we made our way to the coat Q. I unwisely tried to joke with the woman returning my jacket when she enquired "Initials?" I replied "Who's asking?" Oh how... only I laughed.
We were then heralded home in Jim's motor vehicle (which Andy fondly described as an LOS due to the transitional phase the vehicle is in). All the way home, Briggsy lounged across the back seats pleading "Can I drive? Can I have a go? Can I drive? I'm not that drunk!
Again a success. Again a lot of fun. Again?
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Lucid moments
In the crush of the haze and the dark of the light,
The stars of tomorrow now burst into sight.
The unsullied dregs of a crisp golden sky,
Sing the praise of a tear from a young child's eye.
Dragging from hope all the need for a mind,
When the eye of temptation calls out to the blind.
Now my hope of a dream is scared still in the grey,
The beams of the future break into a day.
Screaming for silence from deaf passers by,
And calling for water in hell when you die.
Limit is endless and notice is late,
As the power of fear is realised much too late.
The stars were all people and still they will come,
To appear in the black and combine to be one.
Milky'05
In the crush of the haze and the dark of the light,
The stars of tomorrow now burst into sight.
The unsullied dregs of a crisp golden sky,
Sing the praise of a tear from a young child's eye.
Dragging from hope all the need for a mind,
When the eye of temptation calls out to the blind.
Now my hope of a dream is scared still in the grey,
The beams of the future break into a day.
Screaming for silence from deaf passers by,
And calling for water in hell when you die.
Limit is endless and notice is late,
As the power of fear is realised much too late.
The stars were all people and still they will come,
To appear in the black and combine to be one.
Milky'05
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
We've always been good friends..
..but there comes a point when you realise how well you get on.
My longest friend (in time and not any other measurement.. no matter how funny you think you are!!) and I went out for a drink for the first time since we've known each other. We've been friends for nigh on 7 years now. Granted a large part of that was spent in play-school and we never would have been serviced in a drinking establishment this side of Bumblefuckmissouri. Although I'm pretty sure this friend of note already had a 5 o'clock shadow, even back then.
We decided the best way to celebrate was to attempt what I like to call "the white pill dancing" for the whole of the night. It's so named due to the fact that everyone surrounding our locality appeared to be holding their heads like they had a headache. V. odd.
You can always tell when your dancing's on top form, when you shakily recall your actions the morning after the night before, and your able to state "we weren't on the dance floor for most of the night were we?" and the reply comes "No, I don't think so, although there was a large space around us that we took full advantage of."
So well did Jim and I dance that we appeared, to many of our concerned on-lookers, that we had infact fully choreographed the whole 4 hours we spent shaking our assests. I zigged, he zagged, I doh-see, he doh'd, I.. get the feeling you understand.
Then came the drunken and slightly slurred comment from Jim that I'm still unable to pin down to either an insult or compliment. "I've never met anyone who dances the same as me! And sods law it turns out to be you!"
In the cold harsh and very bright light of day since that evening we have resolved to
1) Do it again sometime soon
2) Try and tone down the hip movements
3) Never again do the imaginary lassooing thing
4) and that next time we'll try and avoid a fight (but that's a whole other story)
I only have one photo from the evening, but I think it sums up how much lady killing Jim is capable of with just a twitch of an eyebrow...
As evenings go, this was a great one.
My longest friend (in time and not any other measurement.. no matter how funny you think you are!!) and I went out for a drink for the first time since we've known each other. We've been friends for nigh on 7 years now. Granted a large part of that was spent in play-school and we never would have been serviced in a drinking establishment this side of Bumblefuckmissouri. Although I'm pretty sure this friend of note already had a 5 o'clock shadow, even back then.
We decided the best way to celebrate was to attempt what I like to call "the white pill dancing" for the whole of the night. It's so named due to the fact that everyone surrounding our locality appeared to be holding their heads like they had a headache. V. odd.
You can always tell when your dancing's on top form, when you shakily recall your actions the morning after the night before, and your able to state "we weren't on the dance floor for most of the night were we?" and the reply comes "No, I don't think so, although there was a large space around us that we took full advantage of."
So well did Jim and I dance that we appeared, to many of our concerned on-lookers, that we had infact fully choreographed the whole 4 hours we spent shaking our assests. I zigged, he zagged, I doh-see, he doh'd, I.. get the feeling you understand.
Then came the drunken and slightly slurred comment from Jim that I'm still unable to pin down to either an insult or compliment. "I've never met anyone who dances the same as me! And sods law it turns out to be you!"
In the cold harsh and very bright light of day since that evening we have resolved to
1) Do it again sometime soon
2) Try and tone down the hip movements
3) Never again do the imaginary lassooing thing
4) and that next time we'll try and avoid a fight (but that's a whole other story)
I only have one photo from the evening, but I think it sums up how much lady killing Jim is capable of with just a twitch of an eyebrow...
As evenings go, this was a great one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
