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Sunday, 27 January 2013

Insert witty play on a Shakespearean quote here

I had occasion a couple of weeks ago, to walk out of a room in disgust, halfway through a conversation. This happens more often than you might think, in my place of work, because the majority of my colleagues have some rather...unpleasant, I suppose is the word, attitudes when it comes to, let's see;

Children/Corporal Punishment

And so on. They're tits, basically.

The incident I'm talking about this time, was one involving 'fucking gypsies'; a favourite source of frenzied mutterings of late.

The thing is, I agreed that the people being complained about; the aforementioned 'fucking gypsies', were in the wrong in what they were doing. I had been quite irate with them myself. The difference though,was that I was angry over the behaviour of a small group of people who happened to be Travelers. My colleagues, I suspect, cared about the behaviour only so far as it allowed them the opportunity to have a rant. They were falling over themselves to top each others vile slurs. Which I won't repeat on here, cos this is a fuckin family blog, bitches!

What was this terrible behaviour, I don't hear you ask. Well, I shall tell you. It involved (horrible cliche alert, I'm sorry but it's what actually happened) horses. My place of work is directly opposite a large area of public grass, which is used by the kids to play games and the people of the adjacent estate as a dog toilet. Oftentimes, of  late, horses have begun to sprout up out of the ground there. (Not really, they're put there by their owners)

On this particular day, a group of young lads arrived on said area of grass to install two horses. Stakes were duly staked into the ground, ropes were duly tied to said duly staked stakes, and horses were duly tied to said duly tied ropes which had been attached to said duly staked stakes. Or that was the plan. What actually happened was that the horses bolted before being tied, ran across the main road and trotted, calm as you like, into our yard.

I won't go into too much detail about what happened next because it was essentially a Benny Hill sketch for almost two hours, but suffice it to say that the lads got on their mobile phones and pretty soon our yard was swarming with a large number of people attempting to corral a couple of horses who were, to my untrained eye at least, absolutely fucking terrified. They really didn't want to go with these lads.

After they had been caught and ropes tied to their necks, they were led out of the yard. One of them obviously knew the game was up and went quietly, guvnor, but the other; smaller, so I'm gonna assume younger, and therefore possibly more scared (I'm projecting human qualities here but fuck it, it's how it seemed to me) was having none of it. It braced with it's back legs and no amount of pulling on the rope or pushing on it's arse was shifting it.

Shall I tell you the ingenious method that was applied to get this horse moving? Don't answer that, because you might say no and that'll be awkward when I do it anyway. Here goes.

They drove into the back of it with a pick-up. They DROVE into a HORSE. Only slowly, mind you, so that's something, but they fucking drove into a horse with a pick-up truck. Come on!

After they got the horses out of the yard they herded them, still using the truck up the arse technique, across the car park of the supermarket next door, and onto the main road that leads to their camp; obviously having given up on the idea of putting them out to graze on the public land. And do you know what happened then? They lost control of the little one again, and it bolted.

 We watched from the canteen window as this horse ran up and down and across a busy main road for what seemed like forever, with these lads chasing after it. It would have been hilarious if not for the ever present threat of a  major traffic accident and the fact that when it was caught it wasn't going back to a particularly well cared for life.

So that's what happened. Were these people Travelers/'Fucking Gypsies?' Yes they were. Was I angry about their behaviour and treatment of those horses? Yes I was. But the two were not related. I know of a hell of a lot of people; more than I'd like; who have proved time and time again that they are not fit to own/care for animals, and it has nothing to do with their social/ethnic group. Some people are just tits.

And that's why I walked out of a conversation in disgust. Not because I didn't believe the people in question were in the wrong, but because I thought they were in the wrong for reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that they lived in a caravan.

Monday, 21 January 2013

Snow (Cos I'm An Original Bastard)

So yeah. it's snowing here.

Snowing when I went to bed last night, snowing when I got up, snowing when I left for work and snowing when I arrived.

I hate snow.

Our yard at work is under a cover of the stuff, and when we arrived w found the manager (God knows what time he'd gotten in), shoveling away like a little trooper. Of course, being a shirt and tie walla  he wasn't having much  luck, and we came to his rescue. An HOUR later, we cleared a moderately decent car parking area, then we gave up.

Since then the coffees have almost reached double figures and I'v read a good chunk of my book. Other than that...

Yeah, I hate snow.

Sunday, 13 January 2013

Why hast thou forsaken me?

A lot of posts on here have focused on my Primary School education and it seems that someone up there likes them because every time I think I've exhausted that particular avenue something else comes up to keep me waffling away on that very subject. Case in point;

Remember when I had a sudden batch of memories that I couldn't reconcile with the story of my life? Yeah? Well I've had another one.

At some point after I left Langley Park Primary School; an event which coincided with the end of my parents marriage, and which I remember well, I returned there for a brief time. The thing is, I've no memory of living in Langley Park again, or indeed of when this might have happened.

You see, when my parents split we moved in with my Aunt. From there we moved into the worlds friendliest street (TWFS). And from there; in a development that the blog hasn't reached yet, but probably will soon; we moved to the next town up the road and the house that would be my home for the remainder of my childhood.

I have no memory of any breaks in that timeline.

I'm going out on a limb here and saying that it must have happened around the time of the shift from the Aunts house to TWFS, but that's pure guesswork on my part, based on the fact that I distinctly remember the head teacher, when we were in his office on our first day back at Langley, telling my mother off, in quite stern tones, about moving us from school to school on a whim. That to me tells me that it must have been fairly soon after we had left. I may be wrong, but it's all I've got to go on.

Anyway, the timing of the event doesn't matter; I just thought it was interesting to point out how utterly incompetent my memory is. No, the point of this post is that the over-riding event that stuck out when this period floated to the top of my memory recently, was embarrassment.

I had a friend, who has been mentioned on MoaN before, during the Langley Park years. His name was Peter and in my very early years he was, most certainly, my best friend. So when we returned to LP School, I immediately started to hang around with him again. In my mind, we were still best friends.

In fact, another of the crystal clear incidents was of us getting on the bus to go for swimming practise and me rushing to sit next to him; one of the adults on the bus saw this and asked me if we had been friends when I was at the school before. "Yes Miss", I exclaimed. "We're best friends!" The look on his face when I said that made me cringe.

It was the same at break times. I would hang out with him and his group of friends; a group of friends that he hadn't had before I left. One day, one of them asked me why I always hung around them and told me I should go away and play with someone else. My reply was a rather plaintive "I don't know anybody else, though."

I should have taken the hint. Inside, I did; I knew full well that he had moved on and was not nearly as invested in our friendship as I had been. On the outside though, I kept pretending I hadn't noticed. The truth is that after we left LP the first time I always still thought of him as my best friend. I always assumed that we would go back one day and he would be there and we would pick up where we left off. No-one that I met at my new school came close, in my eyes. So to think that he had just... forgotten about me, would have broke my heart if I let it.

The brief stint back at LP Primary was exactly that; brief. Soon it was all change again and back to Chapel Street Primary, and a reunion with the Brancepeth Boys. A reunion I have no recollection of, if I'm honest; there's that shitty memory again.

Remembering this tiny little moment in my life; one that I had perhaps repressed all these years; has actually shone some light on one of the most long lasting of my personal 'not a real boy' quirks. That being, my inability to assume that I'm welcome anywhere.

When I was at Comprehensive School, I always ate my lunch with the same person (Chris); if we arrived at the dining hall together, or if he arrived after me. You see, if we arrived together we'd stand in line together and get served together and go to our table together and... you get the idea. If he arrived after me, he would get served and then he'd look around and find me and join me at my table. Simple. If I arrived after him though...

I'd get served, look around for him, see him sitting at whatever table, with whatever people, and... head in the other direction, pretending not to see him. Because after all, he was talking to those other people, so why would he want me to interrupt? I knew that he sought me out if he arrived late, so obviously wanted to sit with me, but for me to instigate it... wasn't gonna happen.

Even now, in my adult life, I can't sit down next to someone I know on a bus, or walk across to someone I know if I see them in the street. I'll go over if they see me and beckon me over, but I'm never gonna be the one to instigate contact. I just don't have it in me. At least now I know the roots of that particular social inadequacy; only 97 more to go.

Thursday, 3 January 2013

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's the same old shit on the blog.

Well, I'm back. Took December off from most of the blogging stuff that I do and last week, well, last week was New Years week and who can be bothered, right? So it's been a while.

Never fear though, because I'm all set and raring to go now, for another year of embarrassing confessions, knee jerk rants about things I don't understand and of course, everyone's favourite; horrifying glimpses into my depressing childhood.

Easing us back in gently; and by us, I mean me, because I always struggle to start this shit again after I've had a break; by-product of my chronic laziness, I suppose, for which I have an official Doctors note, so you aren't allowed to tut tut at me; I thought a quick bit of waffle about what I got up to over the break would suffice.


What did you get up to over Christmas? Eat too much? Get drunk? Course you did, no need to deny it, we're all friends here. I, of course, didn't do those things, being both a contrary bastard who refuses to participate in societally mandated 'fun' and afraid of alcohol, which doesn't agree with me.

Instead, I hid myself away like the emotionally stunted hermit that I am and attempted once again, as I do every year, to sleep through the whole wretched affair. Didn't succeed mind you, because I never do, but one day...

Why didn't I succeed? Family of course. No matter how much I protest, they will insist on including me in their nonsense and this year was no exception. So, I was picked up and ferried down to the scene of the festivities, went to sleep until the food was cooked, ate the food, made mindless small talk when I had to; which wasn't often, because I went to sleep again once I'd finished eating; and then got home in time for Doctor Who, which is the important thing. Obviously.

Oh, and this happened

New Year

Slept through it. The end.

There you go, a relatively painless first post of the year I think; although feel free to tell me otherwise in the comments if you want to, because if you don't tell me when you think I'm shit, I'll never impr... hahahahaha... I'm joking, I'm never gonna improve. You can still slag me off in the comments though, I don't mind.

I'll be back next week. No idea what I'll be writing about, but I'll be back. Until then, Au Revoir, mon, er, reader people.