Why the Hell do People Think I'm Intelligent?

My Dad was a working class orphan from Fulham. He spent the second world war down mines as he was too young to fight, he later became a fireman then a central heating service engineer. My Mum was a working class girl from Ireland. Her first job was as a servant, she later ran away to London and worked for the BBC as a cook. They met, got married, moved to Hampshire and finally had 1 child when they were both in their 40s. That'll be me then.

So I grew up within constant hearing distance of 2 very distinctive - and different - accents. Yet my brain decided to ignore this and, for some reason, I have never had any accent at all. Nothing. Also, being an only child to older parents, I learned to escape boredom by reading and I developed an interest in words. This ensured that I gradually expanded my vocabulary and developed a love of the English language. 

BUT - and this is the important part - on a basic level I've never really been particularly bright. I have an average level of education because I simply couldn't be bothered to go to university, I couldn't see the advantages it might offer. So I went to work in a supermarket (and stayed in retail for 22 years, never progressing beyond dept. manager). 

I digress, the point I am stumbling towards here is that ever since the age of 10 I have been dogged by the general opinion that, almost entirely due to the way I talk, I am some sort of clever person. We moved to Wiltshire when I was 10 and for the first couple of years I was relentlessly bullied because I was 'posh' and 'clever'. Nope. I just don't have any kind of local accent. This, somehow, translates to 'posh' for a lot of folks.

People who have worked with me know only too well that I am not suited to work. Oh sure, I can muck in and work hard, I just dislike the whole ethos of having to do stuff all day for somebody when I'd rather be doing stuff for myself, in my own way and my own time. This causes an emotional response which translates into stress. So work colleagues would often see a side of me which only ever materialises when at work - miserable, confrontational and generally unpleasant. I recently (and not for the first time) walked out of a job for entirely emotional reasons and am now unemployed with no money. I am applying for jobs which I know will stress me out again and which I'll probably eventually walk away from under a big black cloud... but I've never had any kind of career plan or managed trajectory in life and I'm basically at the same place now that I was when I was made redundant at 20. Just hanging around hoping something will 'turn up'. But I've never been clever enough to work out a way to work for myself, even though I've had 30 years in which to do so.

So, I really don't see myself as being intelligent, sorry. Perhaps I'm completely misunderstanding what 'intelligent' means... This, in itself, makes me a bit dim.

There's a point in the book The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy (or one of its sequels) where Ford Prefect declares to Arthur Dent that they are both just a couple of "fartarounds". I like that. That word sums up my approach to life completely. 

Forget intelligent. Forget imaginative. I hereby declare that I am, always have been and always will be a fartaround.

Peace.

STAND BY.....

You lucky lucky people.....

Farewell, have fun, this blog is no more....

Bye now.


Or, if you really are a glutton for punishment ;

http://sketchphot.blogspot.co.uk/









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Dawlish Warren Acid Trip

Taken with Samsung Tocco 8mp phone camera, June 27th - July 1st 2012. Fiddled with using PhotoScape. I never said I was a professional...


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Four Seasons, One Tree

Pictures taken with Samsung Tocco mobile phone camera between April and December 2011

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Lost Helicopter

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Happy Birthday

Seems this attempt at a blog is 1 year old today. And still rubbish.

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Attack of the Sea Monkeys

When I was a tiny Sketchy my old man would sometimes come home from work with American comics for me (Spiderman, Superman etc) - I later learned he used them to hide his porn mags inside but that's another story...

Within the pages of these pulpy 1970s tomes were bizarre adverts for things like x-ray specs, life-size monsters, hypno-coins and the famous Charles Atlas bodybuilding courses... I was insanely jealous of American kids who could get their hands on this stuff for just a few dollars, British comics had no such exciting products available to order.

But the one advert which had me spellbound, and terminally confused, was for Sea Monkeys. Apparently these were little pink people, wearing crowns, who hatched from eggs and could be kept in a glass of water. Now, I was already fascinated by nature and even at the age of 8 was fairly sure that if there were tiny people living in castles in the sea I would have heard about them. For literally years I pondered this until I gradually forgot all about them...

Well full marks to the advert designers... they were friggin' BRINE SHRIMPS all along...

Having done a little internet research I am gobsmacked to find that they are still available to buy, from Amazon and many other outlets. I kind of doubt that they can be 'trained' as the original advert states, but then nothing in that advert is particularly close to reality anyway... however I am suddenly tempted to get hold of some even if only to finally put to rest my suddenly over-excited inner 8 year old self.

But what the hell do they have to do with monkeys? Who sat and stared at a bunch of shrimps for a few hours back in the 60s and decided they looked like monkeys? Oh, hang on, the 60s... it all becomes clear...



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The Ghost in the Stairwell - Part 2

I slowly descended, watching the figure standing in the dark as it watched me…

As I cautiously reached the bottom of the stairs I saw its mouth drop open and it seemed to slump against the side of the reception desk. “You… BASTARD!” it hissed at me.

It was Mr Crawford, he was white as a sheet and clearly terrified. What I hadn’t realised was that on Saturdays the twilight team finished at 6pm, not 8... Mr Crawford let everyone out, assumed I had already gone, set all the silent alarms and went home.

When I went to the canteen for a drink, I’d set the alarms off. Mr C had been called back by the police, who then searched the entire building - when they got to the stock control office they’d looked through the window in the door, not realising I was at work just around the corner (good search technique, I don’t think).

Finding nothing, the police had gone again, while I was totally oblivious to the whole event. That was when Mr C reset the alarms, but before he could leave the building they went off again… then I appeared at the top of the stairs…

All he could see was a silent figure in a long dark coat who shouldn’t have been there, standing in the gloom, then slowly coming down the stairs towards him. It was brown trousers time for Mr Crawford that evening for sure when he saw me, the ghost in the stairwell…


FINI

The Ghost in the Stairwell - Part 1

The following is a true story… I know because I was there…


The town centre of Trowbridge, all the streets, shops, offices, car parks and houses, is built upon the site of the old town castle. The castle itself was torn down hundreds of years ago and no obvious physical evidence remains. It can be traced from above quite easily though as many streets follow the route of its old walls and ditches.

Back in the late 1980s I worked for a well known supermarket chain and the branch I worked in was built more-or-less above the main castle site. As soon as I started working there other staff began telling me stories of various ghostly incidences which had occurred over the years, things moving, half-glimpsed figures walking through walls… you know the kind of thing. I dismissed it all as the usual tosh folk like to imagine… but rumour had it that the store was actually built above the old castle dungeons and was haunted by the spirits of poor souls who had died in various unimaginably horrible ways…

One Saturday in November I was working late. Now, these were the days when there was no 24 hour shopping, indeed hardly any evening shopping either. The store closed, like every other shop in town, at 5.30 on Saturdays. I was, at this time, manager of the stock control department. Almost all stock control was carried out first thing in the morning and the team of staff were all generally going home by 4pm, but we’d recently had a new computer system installed to finally drag us out of the dark days of pen, paper and sales calculations… needless to say, although it seemed state-of-the-art to us, it was a bit crap and required a hell of a lot of accurate data input.

I had elected to stay late, on my own, to do some overtime, working on into Saturday evening in order to get all the stock data updated. The stock control office was upstairs, next to the staff canteen. At about 4pm I shared a quick coffee break with the duty manager of the day, a young chap, Mr Crawford, who was fairly new to the store. Nice bloke as I recall, a bit soft but friendly enough. Afterwards I went back to the office and carried on.

The office itself was L-shaped with one door, the door had a face-height window in it. The computer station was round the corner from the doorway, so anyone working there was invisible to outside observers.

After a couple more hours I could see I was nowhere near finishing the job so I headed back out for another coffee and a smoke. (Of course this was when you could light up INDOORS in the workplace, thus ensuring that the chances of developing lung cancer were spread equally amongst smokers and non-smokers alike. Ah, happy days.) Entering the empty room I realised someone had switched all the lights off. I reached for the light switch but then realised the huge windows were enough to illuminate the room from the car park lights outside, it gave the place a kind of warm, soft, orangey glow which I rather liked, so I left the lights on, lit a fag and stood, musing, at the window while I smoked. Then I grabbed a mug of coffee and took it back into the office.

It did all seem very quiet but I knew the small team of twilight shelf-fillers were beavering away downstairs, getting the stock on the shelves ready for Monday (no Sunday trading in those days, oh however did we survive?!). I set my coffee down and carried on working.

At about 7pm I had finished all I could do and decided it was pub time. The twilight team were due to finish at 8 so I thought I’d slip away quietly and perhaps claim for an extra hour’s overtime if nobody spotted me on the way out…

I switched everything off and popped to the canteen for one last smoke - I did smoke very heavily in those days. Once I’d finished that I grabbed my long black raincoat from the cloakroom and headed for the stairs…

The stairway itself led down directly to staff reception, hence it was quite easy for staff to slip in and out unnoticed when there was only a small crew on and nobody manning the reception desk so I was still hopeful I wouldn’t be spotted and would be able to blag some extra overtime… I walked slowly onto the landing at the top of the stairs and peered down at the desk, wondering why the stair lights were also off… and there, next to the desk, was a dark figure, totally still, its white, ghostly face fixed on mine and piercing dark eyes stared up at me through the stygian gloom…


Part 2 to follow…

20 BLOODY 12

In the past 12 days the following things have happened in my little world :

Most of the fences around my garden blew down
The dog's developed an unknown illness
The car's developed a nasty grating noise when I turn the steering wheel
My DVD player has ceased to function (hardly world-stopping I guess)
I've caught a pernicious virus which has infected me now for 8 days and shows no sign of giving up

I don't have the cash to deal with the fences (at least 10 panels need replacing), the dog can't tell me what's wrong but delights in screaming with sudden pain at unexpected moments (the vet is equally confused about the cause of this), I can't afford to get the car fixed right now, the DVD player was substituted with a cheap but reasonably effective model, I feel like shite...

BUT...

If you think you're gonna come steaming in here and start kicking me around, 2012, you better bleedin' think again...

Gonna get you, sucker, gonna get you good....




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Seeing Out the Angel

What a superb year it has been. For me, that is. Generally it's been a vicious, murderous, unrepentant year of horror, death and deprivation... but that's most years isn't it? I'm not proud to be part of the human race and rarely invite them round to dinner (thanks Doug).

Fuck knows what 2012 will bring, beyond this coming Saturday night I have no firm plans whatsoever... something will turn up, it usually does, and it usually costs money.

Christmas has been quiet, as I prefer it. Having spent most of 2011 in a state of chemically-induced anaesthesia I thought, why stop now? So I've spent the last few days steadily numbing myself. A blinding night out on 17th with most of the usual suspects and much silliness and falling down was my socialising swansong of the year, this is hibernation time now. I have a 'plan' for next year's blogging but probably won't stick to it so I don't even know why I'm writing this... Ooh, very self-defeating!

For reasons I myself find difficult to explain, I have listened to the following piece of music every new year's eve since 1985, usually just after midnight. Nine and a half minutes of sublime genius. Enjoy.

And have Happy Future Days! There will be much more Sketchiness in 2012, stay tuned...

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Sweaty Cocks

Hahahahah... I've just changed the welcome message on my mobile phone to SWEATY COCKS!!

Haaahahahaha. :)









sorry, just trying to lighten the mood...



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From Where I Am

So, well then, here we are. I’ve made it to day no. 339 of 2011 and the current state of play is as follows…

My 47th Christmas is just under three weeks away and I have, as yet, developed no real enthusiasm for, or interest in planning how I am going to approach it this year. For the first time in my life I am due to be working on Christmas day. Not being a Christian I am untroubled by any concerns that I may be missing the opportunity to worship and be thankful… I am however somewhat concerned that this means I probably won’t be able to start drinking alcohol quite as early as I usually do on 25th December, i.e. shortly after breakfast.

(I say ‘probably’ because I may well smuggle a hipflask to work and partake of something warming just to be bloody minded and in the hope that they wouldn’t sack someone on Christmas day… would they?)*

The reality of ‘working on Christmas day’ usually means either not going in at all or getting sent home after about 2 hours, or so I’m told. I remain firmly sceptical of this as the person who told me - the main site manager - has consistently lied about everything else this year so why would he change tack now?

Due to the past several months being peppered with extremely hard work, very long hours** and lots of very intense socialising I am feeling generally run-down and a bit depressed… most of this is my own fault, some of it is work and the generally short, cold, grey days this time of year do little to excite me. I am dealing with this by self-medicating with a range of illicit substances. It is only helping in a short-term way, which isn’t quite bad enough to convince me to stop.

Most of my immediate family, no, actually - ALL of my immediate family died at this time of year (the most recent departure being three weeks ago, I didn’t attend the funeral. I don’t do funerals any more. The next one I attend will be my own, if you can call that ‘attending’) So I generally feel a bit low through November/December/January as I firmly associate this time with gloom, death and constipation.

My huge plans for next year involving relocation of life and career will probably have to be put on hold for various reasons. Again. This is not helping my general mood as it gives me little to look forward to apart from more of the same.

Things keep breaking. Some of them are easily fixed (trodden-on spectacles can be gently manipulated back into shape. I discovered this yesterday), some are not (broken windows can be temporarily fixed using cardboard and duct-tape, however this is not very aesthetically pleasing or particularly weather-proof), others cause emotional distress but aren’t particularly important overall (dropping the mug with a childishly endearing poem about hugging on it which I bought for my girlfriend in 1990 when she was 21 and which she used every single day afterwards didn’t really go down very well. My protestations that she was lucky it had lasted this long didn’t help.) and some are bloody expensive (damn you cooker, you’ve left me penniless for Christmas)

And another year slides slowly to a bewildering conclusion. Bewilderment, however, is my normal state of mind so I’m cool with that. Everyone I know is either trapped in a low paid job they find vaguely distasteful and constantly inconvenient or they’re out of work wondering where the next meal is going to come from (that plastic pot which says ‘Pot Noodle’ probably). Several of them are on medication for depression. Yes - SEVERAL - which is depressing in itself. Not sure what that says about being friends with me either.

BUT, onwards and…er… onwards. This is the point where I begin a mild panic over Christmas which lasts until the day itself when I banish all concerns using a mixture of vast amounts of alcohol, vast amounts of food and moderate amounts of tobacco and other herbal smoking mixtures… then I spend a week feeling like shit, then it’s a new year, a whole new 365 days to fuck up.

I can hardly wait.

Here's a cute winter picture to cheer us all up. See you next time.

* Probably.


** Obviously all the hours were the same length, what I mean is that there have been too many difficult hours running consecutively. ‘Long hours’, what a ridiculous phrase, sometimes I’m embarrassed to be English. I better get used to that feeling for 2012 I suppose…but I digress…



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Another One Bites the Dust

RIP The Western Black Rhino, officially now declared extinct. Thanks in the main to poaching. Go humans, another couple of centuries and we'll be eating each other because there won't be anything else left.



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You Don't Have a Clue

Wow, it must be that time of the year again... I always seem to become lazy and unmotivated through the winter, I guess it's only natural... so this blog will probably be patchy and even more rubbish than usual for a while before springing back to life around March next year. (Heh, see what I did there?)

I made a decision last January that 2011 was going to be a year of excess and hedonism, and found it very easy to stick with that decision! Yes, quite a childish way for someone in their mid 40s to behave perhaps, but this year has been one of those 'end of an era' years. I've been aware for a while that change is on the horizon, it's happening crushingly slowly but the wheels are turning nonetheless and 2012 is going to be a year of hard work. Bugger. I hate it when a party ends, but always ensure I'm the last to leave, dragging it out beyond all necessity. As outlined in an earlier post this was also a year-long celebration of an important anniversary (yeah I know - any excuse!).

Something strange - two pubs in particular have featured heavily in this year's nonsense, two very different pubs in very different places with a very different clientele but both friendly, fun and reasonably cheap. And just as my 'summer of love' was winding to a close, they both unexpectedly closed within a week of each other! It's as though life is ensuring all temptation is removed now, what the hell? Or maybe I broke them. Very odd, and very sad, one of them has featured heavily in my life since 1981. Damn, it must be time to grow up, I always knew this day would come.

So, a few months of biding my time now before turning in a new direction. I'm gonna take things easy for a while, build reserves and get fat. Yeah. Meantime I will attempt to keep this place alive, the occasional CPR session should just about keep it ticking over.

This says it all :

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Let's Get It On

Saturday afternoon - 1st October - 28 degrees outside in the burning sunshine, I know, but let's not question it, eh? Decamping to a friend's flat in a couple of hours to meet up with other nutters in order to drink beer, eat takeaway and watch Dr Who...

Thenceforth into town (luckily the flat is actually in the centre of town so this involves, er, going downstairs) where more friends will be met and much more alcohol consumed, no doubt in several establishments... later still, avoiding the numerous grunting semi-evolved hominids intent on violence, we'll make our way to some form of dancing venue, consume still more alcohol and 'dance' for a bit.... I will attempt, probably half-heartedly, to avoid the brain-shredders known as Jagerbombs (ohhh, but they taste so good... and have the effect of class A drugs... not that that has anything to do with it of course. Heh)

One thing which always happens to me around this point in the evening is that I lose the ability to control any kind of basic device, ie mobile phones... there is almost always a point where someone goes awol and the cry goes out "Capt! Call Dave, find out where he is!" and after fumbling incompetantly with my phone for a couple of minutes, calling a couple of people who are asleep miles away, taking a photo of my left leg and a video of my crotch, I have to hand it over to someone else. That's normally when the missing person walks up and says "I was next door, been calling you for the last 10 minutes"

Probably then back to the flat, assuming gravity allows us, where we will talk utter bollocks for a while before making our merry ways homeward into the Sunday dawn. Couple of hours kip and out into the sunshine again (who am I kidding here?) and who knows, a lunchtime pint or three...?

Well, that's the general plan, that's how it usually goes, things don't always happen as hoped though... updates to follow... if my brain still functions...

Cheers!

POST-MATCH REPORT :

Hmmm. After a confusing episode of Dr Who, during which the dog tried to die, the indoor badminton began

Once that and guitar hero was completed (yawn) we shuffled into town, saw some fighting, danced like sweaty fools and the night nosedived into the usual incomprehensible stupidity

Crashing finally occurred around 5am. Apparently we had a good time, but don't ask me, I wasn't there, I know nothing, there was no traffic cone, nobody shouted "CHUTNEY" at a horse and the gerbils will be absolutely fine. Once they find their way out of the trumpet.



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Badge of Evil

In the early 80s badges were big. Big badges. We all wore badges. They acted as proof of identity, confirmation of which particular tribe one belonged to. Mine were worn with pride on jacket lapels, jumpers, coats, even hats. And they were all terrible. I recently found an old bag of badges, and here are a few :

Firstly, the silly badges - specifically worn so that young ladies would approach, peer closely at them (thus getting within sniffing distance) and exclaim "Ha ha ha, brilliant, what an amazing sense of humour you must have, will you sleep with me?" This, of course, never happened.

Then there were the band badges - obviously designed to attract like-minded fans, and young ladies who would check out the badges and exclaim "Wow, you're into -insert band name here- , what a discerning taste in music you must have - fancy a shag?" This never happened either, quite possibly my choice of bands had a fair amount to do with that...

And finally the desperately obscure badges, usually connected to music but consisting of strange symbols culled from album covers or band logos which only the most fervent fans would recognise, thus absolutely guaranteeing that you'd get laid at some point due to the obvious deep thought applied to your badge-wearing... nope, never happened...

I never wore political badges. I didn't know what most of them even meant. It was a simple world I inhabited, and pretty damn sexless. Couldn't understand why at the time, but it's all so clear now...

Ahh, hindsight...

DAMN YOU BADGES!



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Wonderful in Young Life

This autumn heralds something of an anniversary for myself and an old and trusted friend. A 30th anniversary to be exact. A relationship began in autumn 1981 which endures to this day, despite many many changes both good and bad through the years. It's complex yet also very very simple... two like minds which gelled and continue to spark off each other in an oddly combustible way. I'll say no more, but these pictures tell a private little story of the year it all began :

A celebration is occurring, and has been for several months... it's non-specific and so far has involved much merriment and mischief.... with more to come... I fully hope that this particular layer of my life continues to deepen and swell with the richness of a firm friendship for many years to come...



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Don't Look Down

There are people out there - and I know this because I used to be one of them - who don't believe depression actually exists as a clinical condition. The old 'Oh just pull yourself together' brigade... you know who you are...

Well I can tell you for a fact that it bloody DOES exists, and at its worst it is utterly crippling. Having a broken brain is horrendous because it affects every single aspect of your life. I was knocked down by the depression bus several years ago and the bloody thing just kept on reversing over me, again and again. I didn't go out for years. I lived in my own headspace, a dark, cold little place without joy or optimism. It's reasonably easy to pretend to everyone that you're OK, you don't want their opinions or sympathy, so you carry on day-to-day but keep hidden in your burrow as much as possible and feel that your life is crap and that you are worthless and hated.

Anyway, I pulled through it all. Yes, it can be defeated. And for the last 3 years or so I have been myself again, not that strange, angry, nasty little shit I became for several 'lost' years. Suddenly I am loving life again, now with the foreknowledge that a simple chemical imbalance can screw a life up and chuck it in the bin, I take nothing for granted. I've managed to somehow develop a large social circle, with so many different dynamics and levels that it's becoming a full time job just to keep track of all my friends and decide where to go, with who, why and for how long. This is a world which was closed off to me for so long I stopped believing it even existed.

So, to all my current social buddies in the myriad pubs, bars and venues, flats, houses and towns we inhabit I'd like to say 'Fuck knows why you hang out with me, but thanks anyway. Mine's a pint."

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