Toad in the hole!!

I wasn't going to make a blog posting today.

I haven't been up to much. Got up late.... Played some Nintendo (of course)...... Went out for some lunch..... Visited the folks..... Came home, and the two pint lunch caught up with me.... Snoozed on the sofa to the dulcet tones of Alan Titchmarsh explaining something about an ice age??

It's all there in a nutshell, not that my blog is merely a boring "woke up, had some toast, got dressed" kind of journal you understand.

I've been goaded (or is that toaded?) into making a posting though.

I know I've been ranting about lurkers recently.

I know I encourage everyone to leave their pawprint in the sand, as they walk across my mind.

So, what is it that's wound me up?

See yesterday?? Well of course you can't actually see yesterday as such, but you can see the post I made yesterday clear enough. It's down there underneath this one (unless this one happens to be the last one on the page and yesterday's post has fallen off the stack into the archives - It's true that yesterday's blog is today's virtual chip paper!).

Well..... If you look at yesterday, you will clearly see, that at the top of the posting it carries a date stamp. It was obviously Friday, hence the title of the blog entry. The whole blog entry is about it being Friday.

Someone called Toad has been and commented on yesterday's blog (today), that it is in fact Saturday.

The irony of this comment is tearing me apart.

I know today is Saturday. I know I shouldn't be bothered by this comment. It's either a cleverly crafted mindfrik, or an incredibly silly reader. I can't decide, and it's making my head explode.

Coupled with the fact that Toad left no clue as to who they might be, or their reciprocal blog address....... I'm scuppered.

I fully anticipate a flood of comments telling me the day now, but believe me, once it's been pulled, my leg's not going to fall for that one again. Pull the other one, it's got bells on, as they say in Yorkshire!

Friday.

Is it really Friday?

In my previous incarnation, the one where I used to be employed, Fridays were a magical part of the week.

Everyone always looked forward to Friday.

Fridays signify the end of the week, the start of the weekend. Perhaps a dress down day? Lunchtime in the pub, maybe sink a lunchtime pint? Early finish.... Making a bolt for the door, and jumping in the car to roar home.

That would be the start of my time.... home time..... relaxing time.

These days, since I opted out of work, the Friday has lost its meaning. It's no longer a special isolated day. It's become part of s homogeneous string of timeless sleeping and waking moments.

The only thing that seems to govern any aspect of my life now, is that the sun rises and the sun sets. I rarely have appointments or dates of significance to work towards, and to be fair, it suits me very well.

You can't beat an afternoon nap on the sofa.

I spent last evening in the extremely pleasant company of my old friend Dan, his mother, and his cousin too. We visited the comedy cellar in Huddersfield and went for a few drinks. It's always good to catch up with Dan, and when I do, I can never understand why we always end up drifting so far apart for so long.

My rat trap is still getting its pockets picked regularly. I am now starting to think that I am going to have to resort to some poison after all. So that was fifteen quid well spent, wasn't it??

Does anyone know of a Sega Megadrive game called Wani-Wani World??

Hope Dan's mum made it to work this morning, and that she has a wicked time on her fortnight long Greek holiday.

Oh, and a quick reminder, or in case you didn't know, there are at least a couple of hundred photos on my flickr album now. Go see!!

Early morning.

I jumped into my Porsche Carrera GT, and drove it down through Gray Point.

All the money I have spent on the car recently was feeling like money well spent. The car has reached a new level of responsiveness, and I couldn't wait to reach Rockport to really find out what it was capable of.

Driving through Point Camden. Taking the corners on the wrong side of the road, feeling the racing line. Trying not to draw TOO much attention.

Then, before you could blink, Downtown Rockport was in front of me. The widest, fastest, most open roads this side of Rosewood. It was still early, the roads were quiet enough.

The phone rings. It's my old enemy, Razor. He still bears a grudge. By the end of the phone call he is sitting in his car alongside me. One of us would have to make the first move. Billy the Kid and Wyatt Earp. High noon on wheels.

I stepped on the accelerator. Wheels spun, rubber burned, the front end of the car snaked left, then right, and I fought with the steering to bring it back under control. Eventually, I was in front..... A hundred miles an hour was the last thing I remember.

What happened? Razor flew past me, and I glanced at the speedometer. One hundred and eighty miles an hour, and he'd overtaken me. I was out of my depth.

I dropped the joystick to the floor, and switched over the television to watch a fishing programme instead.

Chalk it down.....

I know it means absolutely nothing to anyone who might read this, but it means something to me, and it's my blog!!!

Officially, today, it's my 2000th cigarette anniversary!!

Since I quit smoking, exactly fifty days ago, I have not smoked 2000 cigs.... would you Adam and Eve it? The total monetary saving thus far, amounts to the grand sum of five hundred and twenty five pounds (1050 USD; 1160 CAD).

I fall over trying to pat myself on the back.

I find it quite useful to be able to write these figures down in my blog. I think, if I hadn't started recording my progress here, that by now I wouldn't even know when I stopped smoking.

Another milestone, is that I have now been completely nicotine free for a whole week. It's just over a week, in fact, since I stopped taking the lozenges.

Hooray for me.

Anyone else thinking about stopping smoking? Want to know something?? It doesn't hurt one bit!! The fear of trying to stop, and possibly failing, is far worse than actually stopping.

Going back to my webstats.... I know I shouldn't...... An average day for me is usually thirty to forty visitors. Yesterday, I received one hundred visitors. Unprecedented, and wholly inexplicable.

Rol: You wanted to know if you could track your visitors.... well, yes of course you can...... I use something called sitemeter - you can sign up for some free webstats like mine at sitemeter - You can view my stats..... by clicking the little Sitemeter button, which is lurking somewhere down the right hand side of my page, near the bottom of those navigational elements over there >>>

What the.....

.... bloody hell is going on?

I haven't updated my blog for a couple of days, and my web stats have, in my absence, reached new highs, of which I have never seen the likes.

I decided to look into where these extra readers are coming from and what they are trying to find.

Firstly, I am pleased to say that the majority of people are finding my blog whilst looking for "arctic fox" in some incarnation...... There don't seem to be many of my nemeses "artic fox" searches getting through to me. It seems my persistence in educating the masses about ensuring they use a "C" in the word "arCtic", is finally paying dividends.

Secondly, I have noticed some quite disturbing search criteria that are finding me. I know I should not publish these search terms, because it will just perpetuate their association with my blog..... bugger it...... here they are anyways:

1) deceased mothers day poems
2) lambs gambling on the lawn
3) cottaging huddersfield
4) vanessa phelps wife swap
5) all no limit arctic
6) giana sisters jar
7) japanese proverb bloom sake sun tipsy
8) oven bottom muffins
9) tighty whitey wrestling

Quite a haul, I am sure you'll agree.

I am most interested to know if anyone can shed any light on the Japanese proverb one!!

I do not want to know about cottaging in Huddersfield.

Rat update: Today, all the bait was gone, the trap was sprung..... the cage was empty!!!

Went out walking in the pouring rain today. It was quite harsh and bleak in parts, but it DOES make you feel alive. It was nice to see Duncs today, and to share the walk with him. It was also very nice of the lovely Dawn, to visit my house in my absence and tidy it up..... she's a rare treasure!!

I leave you with one of my favourite quotes of the moment:

"I was born a cynical bastard..... I'll die a cynical bastard" - Rab C Nesbitt

Me noggin's.....

... took a floggin'!

Went out and got a bit pissed last night. A standard Huddersfield drinking session, which was quite enjoyable. Good company always helps, so those around me can't fail to have a good time!!

I am paying the price today.

It's actually the first night that I have managed to be able to stick it out in pubs and bars without even thinking about having a cig. I'm quite pleased with myself in this respect, but disappointed in my headache.

Yesterday I saw the rat. I saw the rat eating bird food in my garden. I went out to examine the trap, and of course, as predicted, the bait from the trap has all been eaten and the trap remains empty.

Gary Ford's voice is echoing in my ears, "Buy cheap, buy twice". Bollocks.

It's about this point, where I start lurker-bashing. Having looked at my webstats, it seems that, out of the last 100 visitors, nobody has left me a comment - I could be talking bollocks of course, but I am amazed that so many people don't leave an imprint. I don't bite..... often.

Oh well, it's time for some soluble painkillers....... Must..... reduce..... brain...... swelling.

Personal development.

A short while ago, the mighty Yorkshire Pudding made a comment, comparing me to Simon Armitage, and refusing to state whether this was a good thing or bad, and inviting me to make up my own mind. Rightly or wrongly, I took this to mean it was an insult!!

Rol came along, and stated that he felt it was a compliment of the highest order.

I am an ignorant bugger sometimes, and indeed, I often tend to form opinions about things I know feck all about. It's a nasty quality that I possess. I seem to remember reading some of Simon's work in "The Examiner" - Our local Huddersfield based rag. That was all I knew, and I hadn't much cared for it.

Anyhoo.....

Cutting to the chase..... Whilst house-sitting at mum's a week or two ago, I spotted the book "All Points North" and in order to broaden my horizons, began to read.

Well, I've finished the book now, and although there are several more books I should be reading before forming my opinion, I have already decided.......

1) I've enjoyed reading it.
2) I don't think that referring to yourself in the third person (if that's the right term) really makes someone a literary genius.
3) Omitting the words "the" and "and" and "a" does not turn a piece of writing into a poem (in my humble opinion).
4) I felt in parts that the author was trying to sell me a script, namely the Jerusalem thing.... I just didn't think it fitted into the book at all.
5) Some of it was very funny.

One thing I noticed whilst reading the book, and something which troubles me..... The experiences and stories of being in and around Huddersfield come as no great surprise to me. The beliefs and values that are being written about, are generally those of everyone in Colne Valley, and are well observed. I am frustrated by the simplicity of it all.

Imagine my mother and me, walking round the Tate Gallery.... Upon seeing a pile of bricks, the conversation would go something like......

"Look at that, that's not art. I bet you like it don't you?"
"Mum, it's art. It is no more or less valid than a bloody Van Gogh."
"So you like it?"
"I have no feelings about it either way, other than the fact that it is stirring some emotion in you and provoking conversation between us, and therefore it MUST be art."
"Well, I could have done that."
"Yes mum, of course you could have done it, more importantly you didn't do it and someone else did."
"Well it's rubbish"

End of conversation.

In the Simon Armitage context, I am very much in my mother's role.... but I CAN see that I have no position from which to criticise, as indeed, someone else did it, and I didn't.

If a publisher ever described my book like this "The specifications for the books are high -beautifully produced, they all have flaps and are sewn and printed in Italy" - I think I'd be looking for a new publisher!!

You look across the table at the nicotine lozenge that's been lying there for three days now. It wouldn't hurt to eat it, but you've done so well, and decide to have a smint instead. In twenty years you've never done a day without nicotine, and now you've done three.

You read back through your blog entry, and wish you'd sent it to a publisher instead of letting every man and his dog read it already.

They saw me coming.

Gripped, as I am, with snooker fever, during the 2007 world championship, and constantly on the search for a suitable console equivalent of the omnipotent PC based Virtual Pool series of games, I plumped for a copy of International Snooker Championship for the PS2.

Excitedly, I tore myself away from watching the snooker on the TV and plugged in the PS2 and loaded the game.

Arctic Fox wins the toss and decides to break.

It's a good break. The cue ball travels down the table, and makes contact with the pack of reds. A couple of red balls move marginally, and the cue ball travels round the angles and returns to the balk line. Not perfect, but you'd settle for it.

Up steps Johnny "Elvis" Cage, my computer opponent......

117 points later, and with just the black ball left on the table, Johnny finally misses, and rubs salt into my wounds.

I say, to nobody in particular "What kind of a fekking game is this?". I switch it off and put the TV back on.

On reflection, I guess only a fool would take a computer on at any sport..... Just like it would take an extra special sort of dick to play at an online casino..... But that's another story!!

Rol: Thanks for pointing out my broken link - Seems sometimes when I tag the target="_blank" on the end of the link, it sometimes screws it up..... the tag launches the link in a new window so you don't end up navigating away from my blog. It's fixed now.

For those that missed it, and wanted it.... My Flickr Album

Buy cheap....

..... Buy twice.

I know I always advocate the Gary Ford shopping mantra of "buy cheap, buy twice", and usually observe this advice well. Today is an exception.

Dawn's not well.

I dropped Tom at school, took Connor to his school, and dropped The Kirsty at work.

With Dawn in her pyjamas underneath some hastily assembled clothing, and Stevie the wonder dog in the back of the car, I headed off to B&Q for some animal trap action.

It's always a bloody pain parking at B&Q for some reason, and I always try to get near the door, and of course there are never any spaces, and by the time you've reached the door and not found a space then it's far too late to be doubling back. I parked in Comet's car park and walked back.

Poorly Dawn and a hot dog waited in the car. I wouldn't be long..... would I?

As I enter the store, I have to fight my way through crowds of people...... the tills are down, and they are manually writing out item sheets, and then scanning the items at the tills with some sort of hand held device which tells them the price. It looks like slow going.

B&Q is completely the other side of town to my house, and there was no way I was going to come here and leave without my trap.

Eventually I find a member of staff who is not busy writing out little sales slips, and we establish the location of humane rat traps. Aisle 50, the last one of course!! I get there, and there's one rat trap left. The traps I have seen online are going to be about forty quid, and this one (cheaper because there's no postage of course) is much cheaper at fifteen quid. I take it.

I get in a queue for someone to write me a little slip out. I get my little slip written out and I get in another queue for a till. The usual chaos ensues, whereby there seem to be two queues leading to my till, and of course it's the other queue that's doing all the moving.

Puffing and blowing I reach the till, only to be told that the tills are now working, and someone comes and collects my little slip, and I go through the till in a normal fashion. All told, approximately one hour and fifteen quid lighter.

I get home and open the trap, to find that it's about as much use as a chocolate teapot. None of the pieces are manufactured correctly, and I have to start bending little pieces of metal rods to make any of it function.

I have now set the trap, baited it with cheese (a nice piece of Irish Carberry), and to be fair, I think the rat is as safe as he was before I spent the time and money!!

Watch this space!!

In other news, I stuck a few more photos in my Flickr album today - you can see the full moon from last night and some from a bluebell wood today..... what more could you ask for?

I am....

... waiting for the moon.

Wasn't that a Lou Reed song?

It's a gorgeous spring day, blue sky, a few wispy clouds, and deliciously warm.

It's also my six week marker. I haven't smoked a cigarette for forty two days now, and I am seriously pleased with myself. They say the first three months are the hardest, and I am half way through it. To be fair, it's been a bloody doddle.

It's also the first of May.

On top of all this, we are blessed this evening with a full moon. I aim to take some nice photos of it. Last night the moon came out early, and looked stunning in the blue sky. It's always easier to photograph the moon in the day because of the contrast issues..... Tonight could be my night.

All these things happening together...... the sheer syszygy of it all.... It's got to mean something.

I even cut my lawn today, and that's not something that happens very often. Now, if only I could get round to trimming my hoboesque beard and barnett, I'd be laughing.

You asked for it!

OK, I have been peer pressure cooked into it.

The rat must go, but the rat must also live.

The reseach I have done is not very favourable for our rat friend.

For just a few pounds I can kill him / her / them. For considerably more, I can trap him / her / them and release into the wild.

It comes as no great surprise to anyone who knows me, that I am currently out of work, and am living on the breadline. No income.... no job..... no coffee.... no hope.

The net result of my poverty is that it dictates that the rat(s) must die a horrible, painful, poisonous death.... needs must.

Unless......

.... And this is where I call on all my cunning foxy attributes, to mastermind an alternate plan.

How about this:

You can help me save a rat!!

I promise, that in return for contributions, I will dedicate captured rats to your generosity. Each contributor shall receive a certificate of ownership, and a letter of thanks from each captured rat, along with a photograph commemorating the release.

Click the banner - don't make me kill Ben!! If you don't contribute, then Ben's pain will be on your heads.... not mine!!

It's a rap trap.....

Well, I realise that opinion on rats is very divided. I like him though. I still can't imagine a method of catching or trapping the little fella, that will not endanger any of the feathered chums that visit my locale.

Perhaps it's time for a little rodentary research?

Sunday evening eh? Where'd the weekend go?

Well, if you're sitting comfortably, and enjoying the "Goldie Lookin' Chain" that should be caressing your earlobes by now (if you have the relevant plugins and sound enabled, and choose to listen to it of course - that's a lot of variables, and I imagine most choose not!!), then I'll begin....

It was a dark and stormy night.... Well, OK, it was a warm sunny Saturday afternoon, probably about nineteen degrees centigrade, but that makes for a crappy beginning....

It was a warm, spring, Saturday afternoon, and the lambs were gambling in the fields.... most of them were hooked up to some online poker tournament, but the rest were just playing "stone paper scissors" for cash, which is hard if you only have hooves for hands!!

Me and Dawn/Dawn and I/myself and Dawn/Dawn and myself - all the bases covered - jumped in the car and began heading north....

I lie..... We actually began heading west, along the infamous M62.... M60.... M61 and then north..... This is actually turning into a pretty crappy story already....

OK, I will cut out the flowery prose of the middle man, and render this seemingly long story short, for your benefit you understand!!

We went to visit my Auntie and Uncle in Dumfriesshire.... the rolling lowlands of Scotland. It only takes two and a half to three hours to get there, and it's a great place to be, and my lovely relatives are always most welcoming.

Exactly one year ago to the day since we last visited the same area on our first "away" trip together.

The weather was grand, the scenery breathtaking, and the wildlife out there, if you take time to suck it all in is majestic.

Amongst the creatures on display - A pheasant strutting around the garden lawn. Red kites hunting the thermals, and soaring circularly skyward, out of sight. Wild partridge running along the roadside, dicing with death.

We just stayed for a day really.... not really long enough to appreciate the excellent company of my relatives, or to explore the sights and sounds, and spring bursting across the land.

What it HAS been though, is a most welcomed sojourn in Scotland. I love spending time with my folks, and I love spending time with Dawn. Quality time - that's what they call it!!

Back down to earth.....

Now, about that rat..... The fox wanders off in search of humane solutions.....

The epitome....

... of laziness.

It's Friday, it's a quarter past eight in the evening, and guess what.... I still haven't even got dressed today!!

I ran out of coffee two days ago, and I don't drink tea.... until today that is!!

So what the hell have I been doing all day?

Watching snooker..... Playing "need for speed".... Drinking tea.....

Nothing more, nothing less.

At one point, I was in the kitchen making a cup of tea, when my garden rat decided to show his face. I spotted him swinging around on a coconut, hanging from my bird feeding pole.

This might not sound at all remarkable in any way, but to me it was an incredible feat. Incredible until I saw him skillfully scale the pole to the top, in order to reach a fresh batch of bird food that I had put out.

The pole itself is a sheer metal pole, with no obvious points of purchase for any furry critters to cling to. Roland (well it seems a fitting to give him the name of my 1980's role model) just wrapped his little paws around the pole, and up he went.... I've never seen anything like it. Coming back down, he just did the same thing, but in reverse..... craftily clinging, and descending headfirst.

I ran, grabbed my camera, and managed to set it to video, and caught the resourceful rodent in resplendent glory, shinning the pole. Unfortunately, it seems the little fella has much more about him than I, and of course, I hadn't quite pressed the right button, and missed the whole bloody episode!!

Bugger!!

I am still torn over the concept of having a rat in my garden, but he is a fine specimen, and for his cunning stunts, he has bought himself a little while longer at least.

Right, I better go get dressed.

Early to bed.....

... early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.

I guess my desire to play "need for speed" until all hours ungodly, will mean I am destined to be a sick, stupid, pauper, for all eternity.

It's one AM and I have just hung up my crochet backed driving gloves for the evening, or should that be morning? Even my lovely ambilight television cannot conceal the bags beneath my watery, bloodshot eyes.

I've promised myself to be a better blogger over the next few days. I have so many blogs that I'd like to catch up on.

I remember once, I had a physics teacher, with whom I had established a mutual bond of hatred and fear. When I skived off physics one time, the thought of going back there to face the wrath was too much. Net result was that I never returned to his lesson for the rest of the year.

This is a similar feeling I have to revisiting some of the blogs I have been neglecting lately. The amount of catching up, and the shame of neglecting all those blog entries, and the bloody pressure to come up with a comment for each missed day is tremendous.

Even my own blog is suffering some serious abandonment issues.

I must jolly up my blog, and start writing properly again. I must organise my photos and start posting some of them. I must also start responding to a few comments that get left from time to time.

Starting now:

Spice - The camera in question, that I am saving up for, is a Samsung GX10. The camera and two lenses is just about six hundred pounds, but when you factor all the nice twiddly bits and pieces - spare battery, bag, etc etc then you know I am gonna need a grand.

Y.P. - Yes, I DO want to give up the lozenges. I have heard that the first three months of stopping smoking are the worst, and I intend to use the therapy for that period at least. After six weeks, I will make a concerted effort to reduce the dosage, but until then I am in no rush.... It's not a sprint, it's a bloody tri-peak fell running marathon. Not sure if Dawn prefers kissing an ashtray or a moody, grumpy bastard to be honest?

Here's a fitting photo that I took on St. George's day - it's one of those sit-on-and-ride things, and it's a dragon. (phone camera unfortunately - sorry).



Here's a couple of pics from when I was house sitting at my mum's place. Sheep and millstone grit, and some wild ducks that came to help the chickens eat the sheep's food!! (These are a special gift to Jen and Fred).

This is Yorkshire!!

Oh to be in England.

Saint George's day just passed, grey and drizzly, snooker on the telly, and BNP leaflets through the door.

Yes, we're most definitely in England.

Strangely enough, it always makes me smile that BNP (British National Party) are the only wankers who will shove a leaflet through the door and then run off without so much as canvassing my hard earned vote. They are the only party I would actually like to knock on my door, so in return I could knock their effing blocks off!!

I think their PR guru missed a trick by not wrapping their bile ridden leaflets round a house brick and then throwing them through our windows as they drive by from some armoured vehicle.

I shouldn't moan, it's a democracy right? Seems a shame that the BNP come canvassing in a village where two of the three remaining shops are run by Asians, and I for one am VERY grateful for their services, and the fact that they don't observe christian holidays. I can always get a pint of milk or a curry when I need one.

Thirty one days without a cigarette. I am beginning to feel quite proud of this achievement. So far, I haven't smoked twelve hundred and forty cigarettes, and I haven't spent three hundred and twenty five pounds (650 USD; 725 CAD).

The only drawback of using nicotine lozenges, is a heightened state of extremely unpleasant flatulence. The comedy potential is enormous, and I am often found retching at my own astonishing pungency.

Don't think it will be too long now before I can afford the camera I am promising myself.

Right, I better be scooting along.... time's money on a Wednesday night, and I better get myself out of this funk, and into something a bit more presentable before I go round to see Dawn.

Manana bananas!!

Double edged sword.

Newton was right.... Every action force, does indeed, have an equal and opposite reaction force.

I am in absolutely no position to confirm any law of physics, but the law does seem to fit my life in mysterious ways.

Having chosen to be out of work, and to rest my weary bones, I am constantly amazed at the reaction this news would provoke in people.

People I haven't seen for years, seem to think that the topic of work is a suitable point of conversation. Rarely am I asked for my viewpoint on the war in Iraq, or my stance on global economics.

So, what are you doing now? The recurring question.

Nothing, the eternal reply.

Impossible, the look on all their faces.

As an addendum, I admit to playing lots of Nintendo.

It's difficult to garner any respect when you don't tow the seemingly employed party line.

I don't like being made to feel guilty about my choice though, and that's the bit that leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Is it really so incredible that someone might choose not to work?

Today, as an example, and a rare one, I concede.... I woke up on the settee at about two in the morning. Rolled off the sofa, and switched everything off and went to bed.

Woke up around nine, and got some coffee and muesli. Played Nintendo while I ate my breakfast, and went back to bed.

Sucking on a nicotine lozenge and reading a book until I felt ready to get dressed. One in the afternoon. More Nintendo, more coffee, another lozenge.

I have to go pick Tom up from school in a bit, otherwise I may well have charged up my Nintendo DS and spent the whole day in bed reading, and playing games.

Whilst working, I would have daydreamed of days like this. Even on the odd duvet day, it would have been nigh on impossible to shake the nagging guilt far enough away to enjoy relaxing so much.

I refuse to feel bad about doing it..... For a while I am truly free.... to come and go as I see fit, and to do absolutely nothing if I so wish..... and I have wished long enough.

Back in the swing.

I was going to write something about my rehabilitation. My return to my own dwelling, after a week of house-sitting. Something about being "back in the swing" of it. Alas, I don't ever think I have been in the swing of anything, and as such, it would be foolish of me to think otherwise.

I have missed certain elements of being at home this last week though.

I am amazed at how much the garden has come along.

The previously stumpy, brown, decayed stands of fern, that will eventually transform my woodland glade into a jurassic park, have begun to shoot and the fronds are unclicking themselves.

The daffodils, some that came early have now finished, but the later ones are in full bloom. I have some gorgeous double daffs, and they're oh so pretty.

Harebells and bluebells are budding and bursting out.

A handful of tulips (all red unfortunately) are unfurling their scarlet petals, to reveal the alien interiors, in a brazen display of floral flashing.

The cherry tree has finally begun to come into leaf, and there are a few unopened blossoms, where it will no doubt fruit, and be ravaged by the birds.

The monumental, frankly oversized ash tree, which is always the last to get its leaves, and the first to lose them, is budding too.

There's a haze about the place, a fuzzy green haze at the peripheral edge of the garden, that hasn't been there until now. Rebirth, regrowth, resplendent. It's the heartening cycle of life that, irrespective of our short encounter with it, will rumble on regardless.

I frikking hate photos of flowers and plants and such, so here are some!!

The Pole.

Pole Moor, it's a helluva town.

Well, of course, it's not a town.... far from it.... Far from frikking everything if the truth be known.

Missionaries beware!!

The land of neighbourless dwellings, and marginally reduced light pollution, on the edge of the Pennines. Where five TV channels, and internet connections, are considered akin to alchemy.

It's a close call between watching a program about wheelchair dancing or another dissection of the Virginia Tech shootings on a regurgitative news show.

I'd read a book, but without the television on, the silence here is overwhelming.

Does anyone want some free-range eggs? I've got loads here, and anyone who knows will happily testify as to their outstanding quality..... I'm the egg-man!!

As an example of the Pole Moor based pace of life: I scanned in the Huddersfield Examiner weekly prize crossword, emailed it to my mum, and she and Fred returned me the answers, which we have completed in triplicate and will be entering into this week's prize draw!!

It's times like this that make me wish I'd burned all the Rab C Nesbitt episodes from my Sky+ onto a DVD to bring with me.

Perhaps I will just go back to playing some PC based golf. A more pointlessly enjoyable exercise I could not imagine at quarter past eleven of a Tuesday evening.

In other news - I am slightly on the mend. I've regained some element of control over my bowels. I'm skint, waiting for all kinds of money to land in my lap, but still not quite able to touch it. I am still confused as to what my next career move should be.

Anyone got a job for me?

Infected.

The blogger you have installed is infected with a virus.

Please ensure you have all the relevant painkillers, vitamins, and disinfectants to hand.

I don't know what the hell I have had for the last few days.

First, I thought I had sunstroke. I was shaking, and hot, and then cold, and generally feeling like something bad was going to happen.

Next projectile vomiting - not something that happens to me too often, and I never relish the prospect of a bag of dried fruit trying to make a break for freedom down my nostrils.

Shortly followed by the sensation that every muscle, bone, and fibre of my pathetic existence had been microwaved and hung out to dry. A constant flu like feeling, similar to that of being repeatedly kicked in the scrotum.

I am on the mend now, but the occasional visits to the bathroom are still producing some distinctly unpleasant twists.

A body in turmoil. Thirty six emotionally and physically cataclysmic hours.

I am "baby sitting" my mum's house, while they visit my relatives in Scotland. Being ill, away from home, is not a pleasant experience. The chickens, cats, and sheep in these parts are non too sympathetic to my plight.

As part of any recovery from illness, I like to clean myself up, have a shave, a shower, a change of clothes, and a change of mood. I find I can only face these things when I feel better, and I like to think of it as changing out of my funk. It's usually a good sign when I actually WANT to shave!!

Well, right now, I think I am ready to wield the Gillette Mach 3 and get myself a shower.

I've been in the bloody wars lately.

Grazed?

Ok, so a combination of walking boots, a steep grass banking, a dead tree at the bottom of the banking, denim jeans, an over zealous 38 year old non-smoker with the brain patterns of a ten year old, and legs that don't keep up with the brain.....

Put them together and what do you get?

Cracked ribs, grass stains, grazed forearms, torn muscles, and a reasonable amount of laughter at one's own expense.

I look like a self harm victim that's bitten off a bit more than I ought to.

I can't remember the last time I got a "graze". I certainly can't remember the last time I had a grazed nipple!!

I am dosed up on germoline and nicotine lozenges, and my rock bone's even more busted than ever!!

In order to clear up any confusion over where your rock bone might be.... I would suggest it's somewhere between your shoulder and your collar bone on your "strumming" side!! Overuse of a "whammy bar" or trembalo arm, if you prefer, might cause severe shattering of said rock bone, to the point that one can no longer rock, but must sit in one's grandparents rocking chair drooling like Ozzy Osbourne's dealer.

One thing I have learnt today.... well I've learnt more than one, but I won't bore you with a ream of facts about running down slopes in walking boots..... so, one thing I have learnt, is that if you do suffer a nasty graze..... try to wash it in COLD water... not hot!!

My granny.....

.... Not only throws harder than that, but she rocks harder too!!

What am I on about?

I done busted my rock bone, Musky.

I was supposed to be giving a masterclass to the kids tonight in how to play Guitar Hero 2. Alas and alack, during my afternoon warm up, which lasted some three hours, I think I have snapped more than my G string!!

My rock bone is truly knackered.

I did, however, manage to attain levels far in advance of those ever witnessed before. I can honestly say, that for a while, I was rocking.

I guess that, unlike an ageing, and rather portly Biff Byford, I know when it's time to hang up my plastic ukulele, and start sipping cocoa by the fire, with a cat curled round my feet. I don't want any of those marshmallows on top though, they make me feel queasy. I'll stick to drinking my pureed vegetables through a straw.

Ouch, my rock bone's even twinging and twanging when I type, and that's never a good sign, is it?

I should apologise for having neglected, not only my own blog, for a week or so, but everyone else's too, but I am not going to, so there!! The Fox bites his thumb at thee!!

I am still eating far too much. Too many sweets, and now I am starting to get toothache. I would switch over to gum, but it just makes me more hungry, and last time I chewed gum it inflamed an abscess in my jaw. I haven't smoked a cigarette for three weeks though, and that's no bad thing. I'll be a toothless, fat, bald, non-smoker, before you can say "diabetes".

I have managed, so far, to not smoke eight hundred and forty cigs. I have saved two hundred and twenty pounds (434 USD; 498 CAD), and that's roughly about a quarter of what I want to spend on my new camera and associated peripherals. It's a start.

I can't imagine how much gunk would have come out of those eight hundred and forty cigs, and into my lungs, and subsequently, blood. I just can't begin to imagine, that over twenty or so years of smoking, this hasn't occurred to me before.

I think, when you stop smoking, you look at a bigger picture. Let's imagine I was still smoking, then I only ever measure how many cigs I smoke in a day. I would never calculate the volume of a week, or the cost of a month..... Just the day. It works in reverse I suppose. A handy way we can imagine to ourselves that we'll stop smoking tomorrow, or that we enjoy smoking anyway.

Having a sense of smell again is a bonus.

Having a sense of taste, and obliterating it with every sugary confection under God's blue sky, is another matter.

I love being a preachy non-smoker!!

Fear ye not!



Whilst sleeping, a particularly spiced up cat, came and scent-marked my place!!

It took me two days to get my coat back into condition.

I am very much alive.

To be fair, I don't really know what I have been doing for the last couple of days. Nothing of great importance or note, that's for sure.

The weather's picked up and we are having a great spring-like flush. I've got a new phone, which has a really nice camera on it, and I've been playing a lot of Guitar Hero 2.

Please find enclosed a nice picture from my new phone. Incidentally, if anyone were interested, it's a Sony Ericsson K800i, which incorporates a 3.2 Megapixel cybershot camera with image stabilisation and all sorts of spanky bits.



A definite sign of the warmer weather... I've seen loads of really cool insects. Lots of humble bees, and flutterbys, and ladybirds.

Cheech Marin.... I used to worship you as a God, and now I see you clean shaven, and suited and booted in Nash Bridges??? How the mighty have fallen.

Late night shopping.... I am going supermarket shopping this evening with three ladies. This might not be the smartest move I have ever made. Might get some random shopping pics with my new phone though!!

Easter..... I'm not in the slightest bit religious, nor do I actually like chocolate all that much. Makes easter a bit of a washout for me really. Perhaps I should be ebaying my bloody easter eggs? I am sure Dawn and Kirsty will see them off though.

Shhhhh....

Don't wake the Fox.... he's sleeping.

Recipe for what?

Ingredients:

1 Sunday night.
1 Slice of Paul Daniels
2 Cupfuls of Vanessa Feltz
1 Jug premixed Louis Theroux
4 Months of Frank Skinner
60 Offspring of Fred Phelps
1 Banjo

Method:

Gently peel the Frank Skinner.

Mix with the banjo and allow to simmer for four months.

Roll out your Frank/banjo mix at the international banjo championships in Kansas, until Frank's face goes bright red.

Next, mix, on a separate channel, your Vanessa Feltz and Paul Daniels, and sprinkle liberally with their respective partners.

Pour the mix into a saucepan and leave to simmer for 2 weeks.

While the pan is simmering, pour modest amounts of Louis Theroux over the offspring of Fred Phelps. Be careful not to add too little or too much Louis, as the result could leave a severely bitter taste in everyones mouth.

When all the ingredients have been prepared, mixed, and marinated enough, pour them into one lightly greased Sunday evening and bake in a moderately heated telly box.

The result: A rather pleasant evening of uncomfortable televisual entertainment.

Allow me to elucidate further.

First up in last night's entertainment:

Play it again: The BBC hitting all the high notes, with this six part series. Take six "celebrities" and make them learn an instrument in a 4 month period. Each show focuses on one such four month period. The first one was Jo Brand, learning to play the organ - culminating in a performance at the Royal Albert Hall in London. Last night was Frank Skinner learning the banjo, and he wound up making a bit of an ass of himself in Kansas, but showed that learning an instrument is NOT a competition. Foxy factor? I'll give it nine claws.

Secondly:

Wife Swap: So Vanessa, who has been seeing this guy (who sang on the annoying Phats and Small's minor hit "Turn Around") for about 4 months now. Paul Daniels (weirdician extraordinaire) who has been married to the equally sickeningly strange Debbie McGee, for about 18 years. They switch them over, and we get a chance (AGAIN) to marvel at what a completely fekked up individual Paul Daniels is, and to see how Vanessa really wishes she was quite young again. I thought it would be fireworktastic, but it was really a cringeworthy damp squib. Foxy fun? A sober 5 claws.

Thirdly:

Louis Theroux - The most hated family in America: Apparently God hates fags.... He also hates America, and anyone who isn't related to Fred Phelps. A bunch of religious "nuts" that picket dead soldiers' funerals, spreading hatred and damnation. A fascinating mockumentary, in true Louis Theroux style, which manages, marginally, to get under the skin of the Westboro Baptist Church. Enthralling viewing, if not only to see Louis' deadpan, preconceived, foppish, naivety at work. Must see TV. Foxy Frolics? Another 9 claws.

So what is it? What did the recipe make? Well, in all honesty, it's an evening of TV, that for a change, was actually worth watching.

Did you know Vanessa Feltz's first ever kiss was with Rolf Harris?

There once was a young fox from Hudds.....

No, seriously, I am NOT going to limerick my way through the week.

It's been very difficult this last week, being confined to haiku. There have been days where I have wanted to say things, and it's just not been possible.

One thing I DID discover over the course of the week, that I will point out to you, is a little blog that reports news headlines in haiku. It's just one guy that does it, and he does a great job. It's called "Now haiku", and I know he will appreciate your support.

The smoking, or should I say lack of it, is going really well. I have managed twelve whole days without a cigarette. In that time, I would have smoked four hundred and eighty cigs, yes 480 of them!!!! This would have cost me two hundred and fifty two pounds, yes £126, and for my American or Canadian chums, that's about two hundred and fifty US dollars or nearly three hundred Canadian dollars!!

I have set my heart on buying a new camera with the money I am saving. The camera I want is a Samsung GX10 and it's gonna cost me about six hundred quid, so I am well on my way.

Today, however, my dreams of becoming a photographer, have been shattered.

I have, for quite some time, fancied myself as a wildlife photographer. Dawn doesn't take photographs, but she enjoys looking at the ones I take. Imagine my disgruntlement, when today, she picked up my camera, and with a single shot, managed to catch one of the rarest sights you could hope to see......

Many wildlife photographers have tried to catch a scene like this. None have succeeded, until now. David Attenborough would have been proud to include this in his collection.

An Arctic Fox, captured, engaging in a hitherto unknown activity. It's unlikely that it will ever happen again either!!



You might be forgiven for thinking this is an April Fool's joke, but it bloody well isn't.

I might as well hang up my flashgun now.

Now, the end is near;

This week's poetry challenge,
Finishes today.

The sun has come out,
To bid farewell to haiku;
Have you enjoyed it?

It's been fun for me,
But it's been difficult too;
Syllable madness.

Limericks next week?
Are you trying to kill me?
I just want to write.

I don't want constraint;
Bound by literary laws,
Expression hampered.

And so, fare thee well,
My Japanese nemesis;
Week to remember.

Five, seven, and five;
Syllables are all counted,
Weighed, and found wanting.

A sorry attempt;
Yorkshire oik, with no finesse,
Kills haiku stone dead!

I can't help it now;

I even dream in Haiku,

Only two days left.

I will give you this,

A day free from my poems.

Pictures speak louder.

The rainy day blues;

Following days full of spring,
Rain dampens the mood.

Grey, foggy, and wet,
Leaves me feeling slightly flat;
The birds seem happy.

Nine whole days have passed,
Since my final cigarette;
My resolve still holds.

I wish I could stop,
Eating, and eating non-stop;
Non-smoking bloater!!

I promise myself;
Tomorrow for paperwork,
And some housework too.

The next sunny day,
I will fix my mountain bike;
Get back into shape.

I will be glad when,
This week of haiku concludes;
It's wearing thin now!!!

Five things you don't know,

That I have never revealed;
But done in Haiku.

Naughty Yorkshire Pud,
Has forced reciprocation;
How can I refuse?

Jethro Tull concert,
Milton Keynes Bowl eighty-six,
I slept through it all.

First time I ever,
Saw someone take heroin;
Hawkwind - Leeds Uni.

For eight years of life,
I was an awkward vegan;
Life's easier now.

I once loved a girl,
Who worked in the same office;
I never told her.

Sometimes I am scared,
To try something different;
Afraid of Failure.

And so there it is,
Five completely random things;
Never seen before.

In true "tag" fashion,
I am bound to call upon,
Others to follow.

Spice-The-Cat is one,
Polgara is my Second,
Rol can be my third.

Sophia sorry,
You are the fourth poor beggar,
I am requesting.

One more soul to go,
I say sorry in advance;
Kristiine, would you please?

To explain the rules,
In Haiku is difficult;
Please see Yorks Pudding.

The world holds its breath,

For the results of Tom's test;
Maths teacher has failed.

Tests remain unmarked,
I give the teacher grade F;
See me after class!

A foggy morning,
Similar to yesterday;
Brighter afternoon.

Bloody shopping trip,
With mother and my auntie;
Leaves my feet burning.

Tom agreed to go,
To the extra science class;
I am very pleased.

A grand finale,
Fuji Hiro's noodle bar,
Gyoza and soba.

Which bit don't you get?

Simple Japanese poems,
Rather than essays.

It's Monday morning.
Bright, but foggy and chilly;
Sunshine to follow.

Blog readers puzzled?
About the Fox's concept?
To haiku my week?

Five and a half days,
Since I smoked a cigarette;
A long way to go.

So far, I have NOT,
Smoked two hundred and twenty,
Which saved sixty quid.

Tom refuses help,
Will not attend extra class;
To help with science.

Paperwork O.D;
Must tackle bills and accounts,
Before bailiffs come.

Nicotine lozenge,
And a quick tidy around;
Before Dawn arrives.

Hai-Pew!!!

This week's story told,
through japanese poetry;
seven days unfold.

Eating lots of food,
walking with my camera,
spring finally sprung.

Grumpy arctic fox;
bad habit is hard to beat,
watch out food: hunger.

Flatulence extreme,
lozenges must be to blame;
visitors beware.

Good luck to young Tom;
tomorrow is results day,
fail, and I may fart!

Toast.

See me? I frikking love the toast. White bread, brown bread, poppy seed, bloomer, oven bottom, muffins, crumpets, bagels, cheap loaf, fruit loaf, hot cross buns.... I don't care. Toast 'em, butter em, and scoff 'em down.

I rarely add toppings to my toast. I am fond of a bagel with sliced apple and peanut butter. In fact I love the peanut butter too. Marmite, it's delicious. Cheese on toast. Scrambled eggs and cheese in pitta pockets. Mostly, it's just buttered though.

Recently, I had the urge to find a nice jam or something. Something sweet, that wasn't your standard raspberry or strawberry fare. I stood, in the supermarket, amongst the jams, the curds, the honeys, and the spreads.... for what felt like an age. Looking at the jars, hoping, praying that something would wave its sugary paw at me, and say "Eat me!".

Eventually I made my selection. Plum jam... straight, cheap, no nonsense, supermarket own-brand, plum jam. Then, just as I was chasing the shopping trolley, which all blokes know, when driven by a woman, will have dematerialised during the process of product selection, and is usually to be found in Ikea or somewhere else.

At the end of the aisle, tucked away, almost out of sight, something grabbed my eye. Ginger preserve. I haven't had any for a long time. It's like dark matter, gelatinous, with chopped crystalised stem ginger in it, and it's gorgeous. I grabbed the jar and headed off, looking for the nearest Ikea.

Back at home, shopping stowed away. Perhaps a little ginger preserve on some toasted wholemeal muffins? I lift the jar from the shelf. Round about this time, perhaps through nicotine withdrawal, as the jar reached countertop level, it positively flipped out of my fingers, in an upwards and spinning fashion.

Matrix like bullet time...... spinning jar, hot grill, sideboard completely covered with washing up, vinyl floor covering, socks, all become a bit blurred. Perhaps my reactions are slowed through not smoking, but normally when I drop something, I have this stupid reaction to stick out my foot, and cushion the blow of whatever it is, as it falls to the floor. I hope I never drop a running chainsaw, as I am all too familiar with the damage that large knives can do. I have saved many a favourite mug in this fashion though.

So, of course, in this instance.... nothing. I just casually observe spinning jar, in slow motion, fall to the floor, with a sickening flop. I imagine a similar ending to someone jumping off a roof. The jar didn't bounce, nor fly into a million pieces everywhere. It just kind of splatted, and the unctuous gingery glop held all the shards together.

I looked down at the lump for a few seconds, and thoughts of salvaging it sprung to my mind. Foolish overreaction, I know. Slivers of glass in ginger jelly on toast has never been a speciality of mine, and it wasn't something I was about to start now.

I picked up the homogeneous lump of carnage. Slipped it quietly into a carrier bag, and disposed of it sensibly in the bin.

It's a bloody good job I like butter on my toast!!

Depressing reading.....

I have, for a while now, been trying to expand my blogging horizons.

I have, for a while now, been trying to find a way to start a board game club in Huddersfield.

Sadly, on both counts, I have drawn a big, fat blank.

British blogging is something that I particularly wanted to find out more about. Seems the average British blog is one that hasn't been updated for three years, or indeed it's updated daily, but with mindless regurgitation of news items and political analysis. If I want to read news, then I will go to reuters or Aunty Beeb's websites, and if I am really desperate, I might give the Examiner the once over.

Seems that British people with a spark of creativity, are doing other things than blogging.

I am sick of reading about what's bad in life. I am sick of writing about what's bad in life. I don't need an news index, because the stories I might be interested in are usually indexed on their respective sites already.

Where are all the good things?

How many people can honestly, hand on heart, hold their heads up high, and say that they have written a glowing report about somebody or something recently?

Have you been to a good restaurant? Have you had exceptionally good customer service experiences? Read a good book? Watched a good film? Have you even enjoyed a new bubble bath or toothpaste?

It's something I am constantly berating my folks for. I stand there, and manage to stomach about ten minutes of regurgitated Daily Mailesque articles, before I have to ask: "Is there anything you are happy about?".

It would appear that we only ever tell each other about things that piss us off.

Now, me, I like feeding the birds, I like walking in the countryside. The enjoyment of having taken a reasonable photograph is enough to sustain me for some time. I like writing, even reading. I am constantly wondering whether I could be fitting in an episode of "Black Books", or whether there is still a DVD in my collection that has been bought, but remains unviewed and unloved.

Temujin (the mongolian barbeque) in Milnsbridge, was a reasonable dining experience, and I enjoyed introducing Dawn to this type of cuisine. Laughing Gravy in Hebden Bridge, was one of the most unexpected and splendid meals I have eaten in the past year.

Seeing Tom being excited about getting back his maths test results (which he won't get back until next week because the teacher had some homework to mark......!?) has been rather enjoyable. I think both Tom and I have been amused by the difference in his attitude to actually wanting test results back.

Lapwings circling over my head. Their erratic flight paths. Hares springing up and running ahead of me. Squirrels rattling the branches. Isolated snow pockets, that run through depressions and ditches in the fields. Sunshine, spring.

Bill Bailey, George Formby, recording Skins for Kirsty. Trumpton, Camberwick Green, and recording them for Freddie. Pogo, Sniper Elite, Age of Empires. Magazines, books, comics. Moss, lichen, millstone grit, and heather. Stiles, footpaths, drystone walling, and bridleways. Sun, snow, wind and rain. Eyes, ears, nose and mouth.

We've got so bloody much going for us.

This is my blog. There are many like it but this one is mine. My blog is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my blog is useless. Without my blog I am useless. I must write my blog true. I must write straighter than my enemy, who is trying to permalink me. I must thrill him before he thrills me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my blog and myself are defenders of my country, we are the masters of my enemy, we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen.

Cheer up!!



Post update update: 3 days have now elapsed since I quit smoking. That amounts to 120 cigs that I haven't smoked, and approximately thirty two quid I haven't spent!! Woohoo!!

Lord, give me a sign.....

Tempting fate.

I know I shouldn't mention this.... I know I should keep my mouth shut.....

It is officially twenty hours, since I smoked a cigarette.

This might not sound like a brilliant achievement, and I am certainly NOT looking for reassurance, or support, or encouragement. I haven't even made a conscious decision to stop smoking. I bought some nicotine lozenges, with the aim of cutting down.

It seems quite apt, that on today of all days, the budget day, when cigarettes have just gone up by a further eleven pence per pack (of twenty), that I should be kicking it into touch.

As a positive measure, this is my story.

Recently I have been smoking two packs a day. That's forty cigarettes every twenty four hours. The old price of my habit, was approximately ten pounds and twenty pence per day. The new inflated price would be ten pounds and forty two pence per day. In the last forty eight hours, I've smoked just nine cigarettes, and eaten about three tons of food!!!

I'm gonna be able to breathe again, but too fat to get out of the house.

Bugger.

Hurray, it's the first day of spring.

To celebrate this gloriously sunny day, I've been out walking. Admittedly, I took a rucksack of food with me, but I have been out walking.

I also managed to take a few pictures.... nothing amazing, but they're on Flickr of course!!

There were quite a few things I wanted to write about today.... my mind's all over the place.....

Normal service will (hopefully) be resumed as soon as possible.

Desert Island Discs.

Well, I have finally managed to get around to it.

For a couple of days, every spare moment I have, has been given over to the deepest soul searching for this piece. I desperately wanted to avoid simply picking records that I like, and tried to pick ones that I would actually need to live, and that mean something extra.

And so, I give to you, my desert island discs.

The concept, if you have been under a rock for the last sixty five years, is quite simple. You have to imagine you are a castaway on a desert island, of course!! You are permitted eight pieces of music. You may also take one book (you are automatically assigned a copy of the Bible, and the Complete Works of William Shakespeare). You are also allowed one luxury item.

Thus:

The first piece I have selected, is a piece of techno. The tune’s called “Plastic Dreams” and it’s by "JayDee". It’s a great rumbling tune, and it so reminds me of better times, and better places. Those heady, carefree days of reckless abandon, at the Ark in Leeds, at the Orbit in Morley. Listening to this and dancing round my desert island would give me the memories I would need to survive.

The second piece I have chosen is a classical romp. I’m a little surprised at myself for picking this, but it’s a tune I love and it dances like sunbeams whenever I hear it. Rossini’s Overture to La Gazza Ladra (The thieving magpie) - Maestoso marziale. Oh the snare drums!!

My third piece is more dance music, and I’ve chosen this track simply because it represents so many other tracks that I could have chosen. It’s a track called "Swords" and it comes from the mighty "Leftfield". I couldn’t live without something as positively sublime as this track. It never fails to raise my serotonin levels.

My fourth track would undoubtedly have to be "The Beloved", with their witty little ditty "Hello". A host of name checks, and clever rhymes, with some great early synth sounds…. How could I possibly leave this at home?

And on to my fifth. I hark right back to my good old metal days. Surely I have room for a metal track? But which one…. Oh Christ, there are so many. It’s gotta be Black Sabbath surely? A soft one? A hard one? Oh, I am in a pickle now!! Ok, stick a pin in the map, and it comes out – "Black Sabbath", and the fuzziest, thrashingest tune from the Never Say Die album…. I bring to you….. "Shock Wave". I couldn’t live on an island, knowing that I would never hear those tortured guitars, and Ozzy’s fantastic vocals again.

Lord, that was a hard choice. I guess it’s getting a little bit more difficult now.

Sixth choice – Well, this one’s easy, how could I go there without the "Beastie Boys" to back me up? I’m gonna take their lovely bubbling track "Alive"…. But in true Fox style, I’m gonna kill two birds with one egg, and take the Moby remix!! Perfect beach music.

Seventh tune. This record was given to me by a friend of my mum’s. He knew I was getting into "Jimi Hendrix" when I was younger, and made a generous donation. He presented me with an original seven inch pressing of “All along the Watchtower” from the very year that I was born. He also introduced me to Humble Pie and Montrose, but I just don’t think I have room for them.

And finally (drum roll please) The piece that would hold my emotional state together more than anything. Inspiration to ambient artists, and dance music alike, "Terry Riley" gives me "A Rainbow In Curved Air". Minimalist, vivid, colourful, and beautiful. Buried treasure for my island.

Well, that was quite emotionally draining. I am happy with all the tracks that I am taking with me, but it breaks my heart to leave so many behind. No room for Saxon, Iron Maiden, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, and too many other things to mention.

The book – It hasn’t taken me more than a minute to decide on this. It’s a book I once started to read, but found it too time consuming to finish. I would love the opportunity to not only finish, but reread – Bill Bryson’s "A Short History of Nearly Everything".

My luxury…. I guess a blowup doll would be unacceptable as a luxury, mainly because it could be used as a flotation device, and hence would be viewed as something which could aid my escape. I do know they allowed someone to take unlimited champagne though, but I don’t really want alcohol. The geek in me is saying “Swiss Army knife, you idiot” and I don’t think I should disagree.

Snow joke!!

Well, in line with Rol Hirst's Sunset over Slawit, I am discussing the weather. Like Rol Hirst's daffodils, my crocuses (crocii? croci?) and daffs have been royally rogered by Snegurochka.

We had (yesterday) a day of alternate bouts of sunshine, and hailstones.

By nine o' clock last night, we had about four or five inches of snow.

The traffic wasn't moving, the roads were covered, people were having to push their cars around my "local" village of Outlane.

Today, the trickling of meltwater, and the soft flopping of snow falling from the perches it found last night, accompanied by blindingly bright sunshine.

I could not resist the temptation to take a few photos.

Despite a trapped nerve in my shoulder, which is rendering me in "dead arm" mode, I managed a few shots, but didn't walk quite as far as I should have, or would have wanted to.

Check out my "Snow Day" Flickr set.

You can of course see all my sets here!!

Tom's got a maths test today, and I have been coaching him, and trying to teach him how to revise. I don't think he has done revision before, and we've done bite size pieces, and worked forwards and backwards through the required knowledge set.

I hope Tom does well.... Mainly, his teachers need to know that he is trying to knuckle down, so they take him seriously when he asks questions. Currently, they don't believe he is interested and dismiss his attempts to query the items he hasn't understood - This is purely a symptom of the fact that he arses about too much in lessons.

Another reason Tom needs to do well, is so that he stops believing he is "dumb". He isn't dumb, but he doesn't apply himself, and is too quick to "turn off" when he has to think too hard.

Another reason I am rooting for a good result, is that it will teach Tom the value of revision. What you can achieve, and that it doesn't have to be too difficult or intense. That revision pays off, and can't simply be done the night before a test.

As for my Desert Island Discs..... I still haven't worked them out, and of course, this will have to wait for another day.

Mutha's day!

Happy mothering Sunday to all you muthas.

Happy post Saint Patrick's day hangover to all the children.

Managed a few pints of the black stuff last night. Enough to earn me this year's Guinness hat and a clutch of badges.

Two noticeable changes to previous years' hats, are: This one proudly states that Guinness is brewed in Dublin, where before, the stout was in fact brewed all over the place. I guess this is a step forward in terms of consistency at least. The second thing, is that this year's hats carry the year marked on them. This surely means you can sneer down your nose at those poor scrotters who wheel out last year's hat in a vain attempt to make you think they've drunk a lot of Guinness already.

The badges also carry the year on them...

Four pints for a hat and a few badges... not a bad haul.

Then, on to Vox, for copious amounts of "Pirates of the Caribbean" pinball, and some long island iced tea. Slurp.

Home again, home again, jiggety jig, poached eggs on toast, and a mug of coffee, and a healthy slice of the fantastic Harry Hill's TV Burp.

I love Harry Hill. He is a very funny chap. His enthusiasm for mundane televisual experiences is charismatically infectious. I could cut out all the television in the week, and watch a lot more of Mr. Hill's dissection.

This morning rudely arrived, complete with heat induced dehydration, and cigarette induced hangover. Not a great start to the day, but then again, when was a day after Guinness a good one?

Surveyed the carnage that used to be my house.

Wrapped a few gifts for my mum, and took them round. The folks had their hands full with my two nephews. They both look tired and need a bloody break!!

Came home and did some washing up whilst listening to Jo Brand's Desert Island discs. It got me to wondering... what would my discs be? You get eight discs, the Bible, and the complete works of Shakespeare, one book you can choose yourself, and a luxury item.... I am still amazed that nobody has picked a speedboat as their luxury item!!

I think my choice will have to be another blog, another day.