“There’s always someone worse off than yourself.”

We all like to bemoan our lot in life, and none more so than me … on occasion. But if we stop from time to time, and take a good look at the world around us, we’ll all see that on the whole, we have very little to complain about.

We took our infant son to Great Ormond Street Hospital yesterday because he has congenital cataracts in both eyes. We both felt pretty low about the whole thing. It’s nobody’s fault of course, but it’s not a nice thing to deal with and I’m embarrassed to say that I was having one of those ‘why me?’ moments (terribly self-centred I know but …).

However, what I saw in the waiting room shamed me completely. Jack WILL be fine, my wife and I WILL cope and my self pity is just churlish and defeatist. Believe me when I say “there are people worse off than you”. I take no pleasure from it, but it’s true none-the-less.

We decide to play a game to help pass time during the car journey. Three adults, myself included, start to think of possibilities but in the back of the car my niece, Ishbel (10 years old) and my nephew, Peter (7 years old) insist on a variation of charades whereby we each have to think of an animal and then give the first letter of that animal to the others for them to guess. The game probably has a real name, but if so I cannot think of it now for the life of me. It’s not the game I would have chosen, but I know from experience that refusal to play will result in tantrums – I really want to avoid tantrums.

Peter insists on going first. So does Ishbel, but surprisingly she capitulates very quickly in the face of Peter’s mounting objections and I turn round to see a strangely self-satisfied smile on her face. ‘Okay then. You go first,’ she spits in a feigned ‘huff’, crossing her arms and throwing herself forcefully back into her seat. She pouts for effect but I can still see the smile around her eyes.

‘T,’ announces Peter loudly, grinning from ear to ear.

There is a moments silence whilst the adults wait for Ishbel to make the first guess. As adults it seems the best thing to do and strangely we all seem to arrive at this conclusion without the need for discussion. I love it when things like that happen.

She looks at each of us in turn, making sure that none of us is about to answer. Then, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, she says, ‘Trouser Snake.’

Peter nods. ‘Yup.,’ he says with a broad grin. I almost choke as I stifle my laughter.

Ishbel shakes her head slowly. ‘He ALWAYS says Trouser Snake,’ she explains ruefully whilst I ponder if she, and Peter, know what a trouser snake actually is. Their mother, driving the car, can be heard sniggering faintly at the wheel.

My wife and I will light a few candles; I'm assuming that it's night time, or at least dark enough to require illumination. Then we play cards, or board games or even just read a book.

If the storm is close enough, and we have a sufficiently good and uninterrupted view of the skyline, we may even just watch the storm rage. There is something satisfying about watching a thunderstorm. Sitting cross-legged by the window, our faces pressed up against the galss, we watch the flashes and then count; one, two, three, four ... to see how far away the storm is, and if it's moving closer.

I get terribly caught up in the 'pathos' of movies and find myself unable to dissociate my emotions from those of the characters.

This story just tore my heart in two. I blubbed through a good part of it.

Still not overly comfortable with poetry - and this one was very challenging:

Simon says sausages sizzle silently,
Simon says sunshine shines sublimely,
Simon says symphonies sound so stunning,
Silk, says Simon, starts some shuttles spinning,
Simon says sirens sing sad songs so sweetly,
Snow, says Simon, sometimes sounds ‘sleety’,
Sadly, Simon says some stupid sentences.
So Simon should shut-it!!

I’m not a natural poet; being far more comfortable with the freedom of narrative prose than the constraints of rhythmic and metric structure. Still – here goes:

Our neighbour doesn’t like us, because of what we say,
We had to set the police on her, regrettably, today,
Her friend had parked his giant car as inconveniently,
As anyone had ever parked a vehicle – don’t you see?
‘You clipped it when you parked your car’, the policeman told my wife,
When he came round to tell us that her friend had suffered strife,
‘Then why did he not tell us, instead of sending you?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ the policeman said, ‘But sort it out – Thank you.’
And so we sent him straight next door, to tell the stupid twit,
As a neighbour she is crappy, and her friends can’t park for shit!

"Cone Of Shame"

Wow! This has turned out to be a really interesting question. At first I thought that I’d just bang out a quick answer but was surprised to discover that I was unable to think of anything that I would roll my eyes at.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I chastised myself with a disbelieving shake of the head, “Now – just think clearly for a moment. What makes you roll your eyes?” And there it was again – Nothing!
“Nonsense,” I hear you say, “Surely there must be loads of things that make you roll your eyes?” And therein, of course, lies the problem.

As I’m sure you’ve gathered, the reason I could not think of one thing which makes me look skyward, is that most things do! And I really do mean most things! It’s starting to become a little frightening as the list I’m compiling in my head grows ever longer without any sign of slowing down or, for the love of God, coming to an end. Kids, adults, the police, society, the government, speeding motorists, my electricity supplier, foreigners, benefit frauds, unhelpful ‘helpline’ staff, the weather, queue jumpers, drunks, sexist men, littering, my crappy neighbours, work, insurance companies, cowboy tradesmen, delivery firms that cannot find my address, poorly packaged breakfast cereal, a slow internet connection, people who cycle on the pavement, etc. etc.

I have thus been forced into the inescapably shocking conclusion that I have allowed myself to become a ‘grumpy old fart’.

If I were a dog I would force myself to wear the ‘cone of shame’. Do not look at me people of the World! Avert your eyes. Pass me by as you would a leper or a pariah. I am a grumpy old fart. Unclean. :0(

I must fix this.

Pot Noodle

Comfort food is not something I’ve ever indulged in. Comfort smoking … Yes (when I used to smoke). Comfort drinking … Yes also. But comfort eating … I’m afraid not.

I can understand the attraction, it’s the same as any comfort addiction, but if I’m depressed, upset or worried enough to resort to some form of physio-emotional crutch, my usual weapon of choice is Bacardi and Coke. It’s easy to mix (unlike some of those trendy cocktails that require you to have a PhD in Fluid Mechanics), frighteningly efficient and has very little fall out i.e. it doesn’t tend to give me too much of a hangover.

However, in direct contradiction to everything that precedes this, if I were to have a comfort food it would be Pot Noodle: it’s easy to mix (unlike some of those ‘faffy’ foods that require you to have a PhD in Fluid Mechanics), frighteningly efficient and has very little fall out i.e. it doesn’t tend to give me diarrhoea.

Too much information? :0)

Hmm – I’m tempted to say “My six month old son, Jack”, but that would be doing him a great disservice as, on the whole, he sleeps quite well for one so young. In truth, I sleep quite well too, so I suppose my honest answer is – Nothing. Apart from occasional indigestion caused by spicy food and/or one too many bottles of Thatcher’s Katy cider. :0)

PS: I've no idea who the woman in the picture is but she's stolen my bottle of cider!!!

Blimey! Let’s not beat around the bush anymore eh?

So – do I believe in the death penalty? Well let’s get straight to it – Yes, I do. But I must point out that there are one or two addenda, a couple of codicils and a hefty dollop of ‘… before you go jumping to any conclusions’ to add to my answer.

Some crimes, and I suppose therefore, some criminals, warrant nothing less. However ‘inhumane’ we may consider such extremes, there are occasions where justice demands, and can only be truly served by such a penalty. I live in a society that not only affords some criminals more rights than their victims but where the punishment for murder can see a convicted criminal back on our streets in just over 12 years (even less if so called ‘mitigating circumstances’ apply). Whilst the death penalty may seem harsh, I have to ask “if these people value human life so little, why should we value theirs?”

A justice system which, under the scrutiny of appeal, is exploited into criminalising the very society which operates it does little to deter crime and ultimately, in my opinion, serves only to elevate some wrongdoers to a level approaching martyrdom; at great detriment to the memory of their victims and their families. In cases of serious crime, we are increasingly being asked to consider whether we have the right to mete out punishment more than we are asked to consider whether that punishment is proportionate to the severity of the crime. When we hear that ‘human rights’ are being abused are we not ‘right’, on occasion, to stop and say “surely they gave up such rights when they committed this heinous crime?” Some may argue that the death penalty is equally heinous; others would say it is merely justice.

Pros: Punishment that fits the crime. Fewer life-term prisoners and hence reduced costs (the cost of keeping someone in prison in the UK in 2008 was ca. £40,000 per year* – for a life sentence that means ‘life’ this could represent costs in the region of £3,000,000). A genuine deterrent.

Cons: Far too many to mention (including the placing of a value on human life – see above and below) but undoubtedly the biggest one has to be to possibility of sending an innocent person to their death.

In conclusion, though I believe in the death penalty I don’t think we should reintroduce it in the UK.

* In 2008 I didn’t even earn £40,000 a year ... I still don’t. :0(

As we grow older we leave behind the naivety of youth and accept the harsh truths of the real world in its stead. The nursery is all but forgotten in our haste to grow-up and we find ourselves compelled to accept that the fantasies of adolescence cannot have a valid place in our day to day lives as adults. Most of us lose some of our ability to imagine and we become increasingly eager to accept the cold hard certainty of empirical dogma and forego the possibilities of fancy.
I have lived a long life and it has not been without its fair share of harsh reality, cold empiricism and brutal truths. I have seen war and reconciliation, plagues and plenitude, joy and sorrow, life and death. But now I find myself drawn to the comfort of the nursery, at least in my mind, and I am filled once again, as in my youth, with a wide eyed wonderment at the stories told there.
I am drawn to it not in search of some long forgotten comfort, nor from any longing to feel the contentment and safety of home, but to reassure myself that the events of my life have some basis in fact; some grounding in truth. For not all truths we hold are written in the learned books of history, but are contained instead in the stories we hear as we sit cross-legged by the fire, and stare up at the storytellers whose voices soothe us in our infancy. And these truths are not accepted by many. They cannot be seen by those who refuse to acknowledge that not everything can be proven with science. Those people cannot see the truth, they are blinkered and blinded by their need for evidence, and they must look with better eyes than that. They must look with a child’s eyes.

Hmm - that's a tricky one. I've received so may pieces of good advice over the years that it's difficult to say which one might be considered the 'best'. However, I recently teased a Plinky friend (tfockler60) about avoiding answering the 'best friend' question so as not to pigeon hole people ... so:

I would say that the best advice I was given is "Never let the sun go down on an argument." That or "Don't eat the yellow snow." :0)

There really is nothing worse than going to bed angry with someone. The morning after, if you're not careful, reconcilliation may be just out of reach. Such a shame wouldn't you say?

My best friend is my wife. And it isn’t really so difficult to understand why. What IS difficult to understand is why anyone would be married to someone who wasn’t also their best friend. That makes no sense at all.

I spend most of my time (when I’m not at work) with my wife. We enjoy the same things, we love the same people, we think the same thoughts – we even finish each other’s sentences from time to time. She’s always, and I mean ALWAYS, there for me whenever I need her. She laughs when I laugh, cries when I cry and hurts when I hurt. She tolerates my many imperfections and loves me not ‘in spite of all my faults’, but because of them.

If all this isn’t the measure of a best friend, then I don’t know what is.

... I was in charge. :0) That would pretty much do it for me.

... people who break the speed limit. I know it's silly but I get REALLY annoyed with them. I mean FOR THE LOVE OF GOD what's so hard about driving at the speed limit? What I really want to do is find all the people who speed and drive up and down outside their house VERY fast and see how they like it. I bet they'd have a totally different view of speeding when it's their childrens lives in danger. Rant, rant, rant ...

Would a badger ever be elected Pope? No. I seriously doubt it. And if one ever does I'll give up the internet for two months and just suffer.

... was Mr Tar - it was a perfect description of his soul! He was my junior school teacher. He once refused to let me leave his class to go to the toilet, no matter how many times I asked. I was forced to wet myself in front of everyone. That kind of stigma simply has no expiry date when you're a kid. My 'classmates' never let me forget it.

... Am I a good man?