It's Monday

Y'know how Robins are supposed to fight to the death? Well is that just "between Robins", or does that code of honour apply to everything that challenges the Robin?

I mean, if a cat goes after a Robin, but fails to catch it or kill it, does the Robin then spend the rest of its life trying to kill the cat?

Honour-bound.

Or if I go out there and annoy a Robin, once challenged, will it keep coming after me until one of us is dead?

Still Wednesday

I'm amazed at the futility of this thought, but I often wish that I could change things. We all have regrets. I wish I could just fix a couple of things.

But hey, parallel universes. That's what they're there for. And it's all relative anyway.

Poem - Born Again Every Minute

Nothing will be simple again.
Who you are now,
will not be you,
was not you
back when
Things can't be that simple again.

You're too old now
too young now
too mean now
and then

you promised you wouldn't be like that again.
But what is a promise when made to yourself?
Words.

Pick one. Pick any one.
A good day last Tuesday,
or a moment in 92
That's you.
A fleeting glimpse.

Born again every second
of every minute
of every thought.

Wednesday

My neighbour is watching a documentary on Michael Crawford. If I go to the bathroom, I can enjoy it too, it's that loud. My neighbour is quite deaf and for some reason likes to watch movies and TV into the early hours. He always has his bedroom windows open too, so we can all share in his viewing enjoyment.

The Westerns are the worst.

Nothing but whooping, galloping, gunshots, and the occasional cry of "Hank!"....

Anyway, I'm stood, sorry STANDING there, brushing my teeth and enjoying the commentary about Michael Crawford, when the programme mentions Condorman and how it wasn't well received. I almost, almost shouted out of the window "I love that film!"

I've gotta watch that.

My shouting out loud, not the film.

I'd rather avoid the film now if I may?

I have too many happy memories of it. No good can come of watching it now. Why would I want to? I remember it as being brilliant. How can seeing it again make it any better? It might turn out to be like the time I revisited the "Masters of the Universe" cartoon.

Amazing when you're ten. A pile of pants when you're twenty ten.

And those awful morals and safety lessons at the end of each episode. In one, He-Man teaches some kids how to cross the road safely. There's a road with traffic! On Eternia! When, during all the battles with Skeletor or Hordak, did He-Man ever get stuck in traffic or use a road? A junction?

Mental.

Lazin' on a sunny (not really) Sunday afternooooon....

I'm not really lazin'.

I wouldn't even know where to get a laser from. Not at this time on a Sunday anyway.

And it's not sunny either. I wouldn't know where to get Sun from at this time on a Sunday anyway.

I just listened to the Bangles singing Manic Monday.
You shouldn't do that on a Sunday. Now my calendar will be all thrown out. I'm too suggestible like that. In fact some days music isn't good for me at all.

I've been known to get stuck on an infinity loop of crap music.

Dog Blog

 

Number of dog-related falls: 3

Dreams

Numerous and weird.

The Dark Ages

It's 12:28am. And very dark.
Dark....outside.
It would be a touch lighter, but 3 days ago, the local council, in a fit of austerity-inspired madness, decided that the town no longer needed street lights after midnight.

This project has cost (to date) £1.5 million pounds, and is estimated to save the council £500,000 a year.

So we, and we're all in this together, unless we aren't, will need to wait 3 years until this breaks even.

This has now resulted in some sort of unofficial curfew. You can see all of the late-night dog walkers desperately trying to cram in one last walk before you're pitched into a blackness that's akin to the Silent Hill games.

I know, because I'm one of them. Walking the dog around the block by torchlight is one thing, but picking up his mess, while holding the poop bag in one hand, torch in the other, with his extend-a-lead firmly grasped between my thighs, is not something that I enjoy. Especially as every few seconds, I have to wave the torch around, looking all around me, fearing that another dog walker will be coming out of the darkness.

Their are quite a few dog walkers in my neighbourhood that like to walk their dogs off the lead, or "out of control" as I like to call it.

One of my new pet fears is bumping into one of these canine surprises while I'm out with Billy, in the dark. The first rule of Bite Club is you do NOT talk about Bite Club. But I promise you that IF it happens, the whole street will hear it.

And I will side with my dog, whether he starts it or not. I'm not above biting a dog.

Anyway, back to the darkness. When did taking light away ever make anything safer? I mean, there's ONE albino that I know of in town, and I know for a fact that he goes out at night, so I'm sure he'll be loving it. But as for the rest of us, if you have to go outside for anything, you'll need a torch or you're buggered.

I have no idea what happens if a crime is committed or if there's an accident? The police don't have a magic button to turn these lights back on, so they can investigate something, look for clues, plant evidence, or whatever it is they do these days.

I've read the opinion of two locals so far on this subject. One said that it was spooky, but a good idea. While the other thought it was good for cutting light pollution and we made it through the Dark Ages, so what's the problem.

Why yes. We all made it through the 14th century. What on earth were street lights invented for in the first place? I mean, what madness! Why do we have cars, or penicillin? I mean, we made it through the Dark Ages without them. What's the problem!

By the way, what does the word "akin" mean?

Keith Haring

I recently watched a documentary about Keith Haring. On that note, take this.

        

This is currently on at the Herbert, in Coventry. If you're in Coventry and you have some time to kill (no pun intended), then this little show is well worth checking out. It features thought-provoking work from some interesting artists. It's all about war, civilians caught up in war, and possibly about reconciliation.

If you like name dropping, there's a John Piper, a Banksy, a Blek Le Rat, a War Boutique, a KennardPhillips, and many, many, many more.

This was actually my first "in the flesh" Banksy, and while it wasn't the life-changing experience I believed it might be, I did enjoy seeing it up close. Although the message of the piece may have been lost on me, as I kept thinking "that's worth HOW MUCH!".

I think there are a couple of pieces from some "bona fide" war artists in there too. You know, people with guns and paintbrushes. The artists that know how to kill you, and as you're dying, paint a really unflattering portrait of you while you're feeling at your worst.

War and conflict is really shit. It thins the herd a bit, but we could do that just by not having so many children. Then we could get rid of war altogether.

Sure, some may call me simplistic, but I haven't got a clue what that means.

Anyway, go and see this show. Enjoy the art. Think about how lucky you are not to be shot at or blown up every day. And then leave a message on the official message board in there. Just try not to get too wound up if you read some of the other messages. You'll see what I mean.

Anyway (again), it's a good show, and even though you might leave there feeling angry, and with an overwhelming need to perform a citizen's arrest on Tony Blair, it's well worth going to.



So there.

I have spoken.

Now I sleep...

Dog Blog

Well, well, well.

The dog was leaking blood from his penis. I collect a urine sample and submit it to the vet.

I pay £16 to have it tested.

The vet contacts me.

It's tested positive for blood in his urine.

When pushed for a more definitive diagnosis, the vet said "To be honest, it could be anything."

Bravo, vet. Bravo.

So, the vet gives me a prescription for some antibiotics, and the very instant, the very instant I committed to purchasing them, the dog stops bleeding from his penis.

It's like the dog is working with the vet.

It's good news though. Nobody likes their dog to be ill or bleeding. And nobody likes following their dog around with a bit of tissue paper all the time.

Dog Blog

Today, I was literally taking the piss.........................to the vets!

Got the sample. That was easier than I thought.
I waited for his first pee of the day, and quickly shoved a plastic cup under there. Quite skillful I might add. Reminiscent of acquiring a Sprite refill.

I then transferred it to the only small container that I had. An old glass spice jar. The kind with the screw on lid.

It worked fine. Ok, Billy might test positive for cinnamon, but it should be ok.

Dropped the sample off. Awaiting news.

Dog still leaking blood.

:(

Dog Blog

Tomorrow, I have to collect a urine sample from the dog. I'll let you know how that goes.

Fostering a Dog.......day something or other?

I guess I should change the heading to "Adopting a Dog", as I've somehow adopted the adorable little monster.

He has some "behavioural" issues and a few personality quirks that wouldn't be out of place with someone who wears a hockey mask and carry's a machete. But I love him.

He's family now. And like all families, there's always one member that can snap and turn violent at a moment's notice.

He's an incredibly sweet guy inside the house, but outside, I think he finds the whole world a bit scary and he doesn't have enough experience of things to understand that not every passing old lady with a walking stick is going to attack him.

After a stressful visit to the vet (the one that the dog rescue place made me use), the vet advised the charity to have him put to sleep, as he'd shown some aggression (the dog, not the vet).

So, after a bit of BS from the charity about how they were going to "Assess him", I decided that I would adopt him (again, the dog, not the vet). This then set into motion a whole lot of back and forth, which has sadly meant that I will NEVER..........EVER have anything to do with this particular dog rescue again. What a pain in the arse it was.

So, I have a dog. A dog with more health problems than all of the other dogs that I've ever owned. And they're dead.

Sunday

Where shall I begin?
We went to Coughton Court today. And by court, I mean a large stately home, and not a magistrates court or something like that. This was spurred on by the fact that our National Trust membership runs out.............today. Yes, that's right. We were fully paid up members of the National Trust. It's amazing what a money off deal will get you to sign up to. Especially when about 12 months ago, you really wanted to have a wander around St Michael's Mount, and thought "Blimey! How much for both of us to get in? That's a bit steep isn't it? And if we do pay, how much of the Mount do we get to keep?"

Anyway, we were due to renew our membership. Mainly because there was a Direct Debit set up, and I don't like to tinker with things. Anyway, then the Badger cull came along. With the National Trust coming down on the side of the Badger killers. Well, if you're not with Brian May and the Badgers, then you're not getting my 80 quid. So I called up and cancelled it. They didn't ask why. I'm afraid that if they had, I would have squeaked out, in my most feeble of voices "......................because of the Badgers...."

So, we headed to Coughton Court to try to get our money's worth of membership out of this year.

It's a very nice place. Like a lot of stately homes, it's hard to imagine that some people lived so grandly, while other people waited on them hand and foot (and the rest of their body parts, probably).

Ooh! They have a spiral stone staircase that goes up a sort of tower bit, thingy. I love those! I'm not built for them though, obviously. 400 years ago, the average person was no taller than an Orange. So my size 13 feet and 5'10" of altitude are not really designed to cope with spirally stone steps.

I look like every step could be my last, as I nervously clutch, nay cling, to the handrail. And I was wearing new shoes. I've been clip-clopping all day. New shoes take a few days to get used to, don't they. You find yourself catching on things and clumping around because you're not used to the new tread depth or something like that.

I've been trying to walk on grass and carpet a lot. Concrete, stone, or wooden floors are right out. At several points today, my quietest walking sounded like someone had put tap shoes onto a Giraffe.

The main building is packed with paintings and objects de art. Although not a suit of armour anywhere. Very disappointing.
Loads of portraits of various family members from throughout the ages. Theirs, not mine, that would just be weird.

The detail in the old portraits is staggering. They must have taken ages to paint. And each one had to be accurate, as there were no cameras or photographs back then. Can you imagine getting your passport photo painted. It takes weeks. You then send it off. Wait some more weeks. Then finally it gets sent back to you, rejected, because the artist has painted a bit of a droopy fringe over your left eye.

Do you ever make noises when you trip or stumble? Like when you're walking and misjudge the tread depth on your new shoes and you scuff one foot on the ground, stumble forward and make a noise like "Wup"?

I do. What's "Wup"? I think it's meant to be whoops, but I've shortened it for some reason. Like it's not embarrassing enough to fuck up the ability to walk properly, I then, just in case some people didn't notice, make a cartoon-like noise.

Anyway, the building and its grounds are lovely.

In other news, my dog is bleeding from his penis. You heard me :(

Four Line Poetry

When Clare called round at Michael's
he was changing for their date.
What a horrid shock that was for her
HE'S A WEREWOLF!! ...oops......too late....