February 7th, 2007


The Black Dog

telemeister and ellefurtle have both recently pointed out in their journals, there appear to be an alarming number of Black Dogs moping around at present.

This article on the BBC Website may go some way to explain things…

… but I think people feel a bit ‘def pu’ because of the all the Black Dogs.

Maybe it’s the short days, though mercifully they are getting longer, maybe its my own disorganisation, but I just don’t feel in control of things anymore. At home or work.

Work is mental, week on week it feels more and more like a poorly scripted Terry Gilliam film. Shiny new 20 going on 12 year old HEOD Tellytubbies bouncing around, having whizzo ideas that generally distract from proper work and pace additional burdens. And no one seems to be able to keep them in check them with a proverbial piece of 2 by 4.

Weekends literally vanish in the blink of an eye. Friday night’s are spent at the supermarket hunting and gathering, and moaning that Sainsbury's seems to be 'out of' (bread, milk eggs, fruit and veg..you know the essentials) followed by a late tea, and vegging out in front of the TV until late. Saturday morning are spent unconscious recovering from the week just gone. Saturdays are pottered or frittered away without doing anything constructive and I usually stay up til silly o’clock because ‘I can’. Then on Sundays I usually am too tired, or lazy to get up at 7:00 am to go to Mass. So I feel guilty. And if I haven’t gone to Mass why bother going to fencing, after all I coach all Monday night, then the rest of the day is taken up with washing, visiting Grandma, and then visiting my parents for dinner. Buy the time I get home it’s gone 9:30 and by the time I have made sandwiches ironed and shirt sorted my fencing kit for Monday night and done any other odd jobs , it’s usually 12:30 am….I’m knackered and I turn in grumpy and fed up looking forward to another wonderful week in the Government equivalent of Arkham.

Commuting is taking 3 hours a day or more.
There doesn’t seem to be any time for the Gym any more.
Evenings are spent cooking meals eating meals washing up after meals making sandwiches and maybe snatching an hour if lucky on the PC or in front of Newsnight.

All the big jobs are put off because I spend what little spare cash I have on collectable rubbish or figures because while I enjoy collecting them for what they are great models of shows or films I love, they have no use and couldn’t be displayed in a aircraft hanger for lack of room, let alone my two decorated rooms. So the habit becomes a source of frustration, either at tracking them down, at the cost of them, or that I never actually getto apreciate them the way I want to- displayed nicely.

And this goes on week, after week, after week.

Yesterday didn't help. I recently sought some advice about my sculpting from someone whose advice respect a great deal. The response was fair and accurate but it indicated what I knew in my heart of hearts was the case, that my latest piece is niether an accurate portrait or a particularly well executed bit of scultpure. Frustrating but fair. And even though I know its true and there was encouragement there too, I'm still feeling a bit glum about it.

With the greatest respect I wish ‘fido’ would **** right off…

Happy Endings...

Yesterday I took delivery of a small parcel at work.

It was the matchspill barrel carved from the teak decking of HMS Ajax, the ship my Grandad served on during the Battle of the River Plate.

I unwrapped the little parcel yesterday lunch time and took out the tiny little barrel. It seemed very strange to think that my Grandad would have walked over or past that piece of decking all those years ago and in the shadow of such an historic Naval Battle. I never knew him because he died when I was just an infant, but I am very proud of Chief Stoker Nicholas Thomas Atkinson. They even named a street named after him in Ajax Ontario in Canada. My mother was invited over there a few years ago to plant it. http://www.townofajax.com/AssetFactory.aspx?did=75

Well tonight I called down home and gave present. She was absolutely thrilled to bits, she was actually speechless. A rare condition for my mother. At first she didn't know what it was and looked very confused, but as she read the small metal plaque the tears just rolled down her face.....and I have to admit I was pretty choked too. The look on her face was worth 10 times what I paid for that little barrel.

I got the biggest hug you can imagine, and a big bowl of curry.

What Black dogs where ?

Happy endings.

Speaking of Ends...

Speaking of Ends my derrier apears to have made a concerted effort to escape from the seat of my suit trousers.

I knew they were wearing thin.... but the timing could have been better. I shall have to go in in civies tomorrow and attemptto pick up a new suit from M&S next to Government Towers tomorrow.....more expense !

Duh !