Pictures taken with Samsung Tocco mobile phone camera between April and December 2011
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Sunday, 8 July 2012
Tuesday, 19 June 2012
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Thursday, 1 March 2012
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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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.
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Monday, 6 February 2012
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
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
Saturday, 4 February 2012
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…
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…
Thursday, 12 January 2012
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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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....
.
Thursday, 29 December 2011
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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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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Monday, 5 December 2011
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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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…
.
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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