Thursday, 4 August 2011

Entry Twenty-Seven: Some owners do 'ave 'em


I am blessed enough to entertain 4 dogs in my little life. Of course I'm referring to canines, although the comparison can often be brought against the females of my own species; monsters and giant squids of anger - for instance.

Anyway back to dogs. I have four of them. But only one has my heart wrapped around her little claw. They say after some time a dog begins to look like its owner, well this one acts like its owner.

Isis - the prettiest dog in the world - is a black lab/whippet cross we picked up when my family was living in Belgium, thick as two-short-planks but very sweet with massive brown puppy eyes. she even crosses her legs when she lays down. She rarely barks, choosing to be seen and not heard, stays out of trouble and doesn't like playing unless it's on her terms.



On two occasions today alone she proved why we love her so. I came downstairs fuming about my utter failure of a university letting me down AGAIN, and she was straight there, pretty much forcing me to cuddle her and giving me that look that makes me forget everything in the world because she's too bloody sweet! Later the matriarch was a bit upset about something familial she has to deal with tomorrow and, once again, from no-where came Isis, paw on leg, head on knee, velvety soft ears flicking in that 'stroke me now' way only she has managed to master.

We used to have a black Alsatian, she was an ex RMP dog and was possibly the most loyal animal to walk the earth - a fact she proved on more than one occasion. She got to a stage of illness (as many dogs do) where we had to do the kindest thing and I still remember the afternoon my mum came home from the vets on October 5th 2002 with Thor's collar in her coat pocket. From that moment Isis stepped up and stopped being a puppy.

It's very peculiar how attached we become to our pets, but it's even more peculiar how in sync we become with them. Isis is eleven years old this year, she's pretty short sighted and getting arthritic in her back legs, but she's still fit and healthy, she's still got the biggest eyes you'll ever see and eye lashes most women would kill for. She knows when we need reassuring that there is good in the world and she will be like that until the bitter end, a day I hope my parents have the good sense to call me home to say goodbye.

There isn't a huge amount of research on this kind of behaviour in dogs, but Isis saw some pretty horrific stuff when she was a puppy. She arrived about a year before my parents split and had to watch us all go through that - she would've learned from a young age what we look like upset and I put her ability to comfort us down to that.

She's a bit slow and has always had terrible breath, but she's my puppy and I love her to bits. and she's really cute - did I say that already?

AO

******************

By the way - I am aware that I've ignored this blog AGAIN for like ten months - but I've been busy! Plus I have two other blogs as well. If it helps I do have about eighteen-throusand words waiting to be typed up - I just haven't had a chance to, yet.
--scratch that - I have no discipline, sorry!

Sunday, 5 September 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Six: Ill-Motivation Is Such A Chore

Hello stranger!

I won't lie to you; I've not really been busy, in fact I've had little to nothing to do. I've simply been bone idle and lazy. I'm not proud of it but what's done is done and I can't take that time back.

The trials and tribulations of the last few months are many, life has varied from day to day and karma has been biting at my ankles for over a month. The revelation that very few people read this blog, and most of those who do read it do so only to mock me, probably didn't help my self-esteem when it came to posting my musings for all the world to see. I got over it though, and now I'm back, driven as ever, ready to kick some bottoms.

I've got a lot of blogs coming, many that I didn't finish, but some of them are good.

People believe what they want to believe, the actions you take rest on your conscience only and you should never feel guilty for doing something you enjoy.

Alex

Sunday, 23 May 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Five: Writer's Block

I write a blog; this blog, so I'm going to risk the assumption that whomever may be reading this has already worked out that I'm rather passionate about writing and it's something I'm not afraid to say I'm good at.

*****

Frank Sinatra's playing; godly. When I was seventeen it was, indeed, a very good year.

If you hadn't noticed by now I have writer's block. I know about what I want to write; paper, but I don't know quite how to approach the subject.

Do you remember my last blog? I sent the original draft along with a lucky 20p, a graffitied train ticket and a scoring from a chess match, not to mention some other bits, to Gwa. When he's not busy working he seems to get pretty lonely, and he has a pin-board so I figured I'd send him a few mementos to remind him we're all thinking of him.

Now I look at it I can see that writing in the Roman alphabet really isn't all that different to writing in morse code. If you consider the two main components of writing the way demonstrated here, straight lines and loopy bits, then squash that and change the orientation of it all we end up with dots and dashes, interesting.

I suppose we can consider this ramble to be my homage to writer's block. My question is why do we get writer's block even when we are inspired?

There are so many things I could write but I find myself only being motivated to write blogs. What's up with that?

The lady over the road was just looking at me sat at my desk. Strange curtain-twitching person, she is. This town is like that though, everyone is in everyone else's pockets, of course it's not crowded or anything negative like that, everyone just knows everyone's business. 
My brother once compared this town to Midsummer, I didn't sleep for a week after. I thought every noise was an apparently frail, helpless little old lady bound to crack open my head with a Le Creuset cast iron skillet then butcher me and feed my flesh to her cats. Yes, it is a rather vivid imagination I have isn't it?

Tuesday, 4 May 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Four: Vote For People

On May 3rd 2010 Gordon Brown made a speech to Citizens UK. Right from the off I'd like to point out that I do not know who I am voting for on Thursday, nor am I - or have I ever been - a Labour supporter or fan of Mr. Brown. It has to be said, none-the-less, that there have been many great speeches in history: Martin Luther King Jr's "I have a dream"; Winston Churchill's "Greatest military defeat in history" speech after the evacuation of Dunkerque; and President Obama's Inaugral speech on Capital Hill to name but a few of my favourites. This, I feel, must be added to that list. The power and passion Brown thrust into his supporters during his speech was exquisite, compelling and truly awe-inspiring.

The inhabitant of No.10 compelled me to think about those I care most for, I feel that one must not purely vote for one's self but also for those who are important to one and without whom our own happiness is fickle. I want to take this opportunity to talk about two of these people. The first I've already spoken of in a blog and the second is yet to be known.

Gwa... My ginger friend and someone I care more about than myself - as with the others in this post -, if he needed me I'd be at his side in a flash. He comes from a working-class family, an artist in the role of mother and a chef as father, both exceptional people and two that Labour are most certainly out to gain votes from. Himself; he's an instructor, living away and doing what he loves the most. An intellectual but not an academic, an artist but not a sculptor of marble and granite, a philosopher but not insane and a wordsmith but not a poet. He works with his hands, his feet and his mind; one wrong move and tragedy. An inspiration in-the-making and a friend to everyone. He inspires my creativity and relieves my fears in life. He knows exactly how to calm me down and, by Newton's 3rd Law, how to drive me crazy. We make plans for rainy days and plans for sunny days. We improvise imaginary sword fights and we devise ways to cause mischief with no direct victims or consequences. Once upon a rainy Friday English lesson we thought of introducing a debating society to our school and what grew from that was nothing short of immense!

Without Gwa I wouldn't be who I am today.

Loz is the same but different, a year ahead of his time, he inspires me in different ways. From a modest but comfortable background with an adoring mother and a family who love him sprung an amazingly intelligent, intellectual gentleman with quiet tendencies not from shyness; but from a commendable prudence and a preference for listening. He knows when to be honest and when to keep it buttoned, when to laugh and when to empathise. The mind he possesses far surpasses my own and the joy this brings me to have a challenging conversation is insurmountable and cements why I could not live without him.
We set ourselves challenges, things like learning a new method of solving a Rubik's Cube; learning Morse Code and, most recently, gaining a thorough understanding of lift on a particle level. He and I have shared many deep conversations and once spent a few hours sat on garden furniture in the dark of night under a clear, starless sky in close to freezing temperatures.

The two of us have led lives as similar as two new pins.

It's as hard to believe I knew neither of these people two short years ago as it is to imagine life continuing without them. I find it hard to go more than a few days without talking to them so God-knows how I'm to cope when my future leaves us all as islands floating in an endless sea.

They both know things which could could destroy me and they both know silly little things like what song I want played at my funeral and what my wedding cake will look like. These things may seem trivial but a great man once said that it is the little things that count.

I believe certain souls are destined to meet;
I believe people come into our lives bringing something we must learn and that we must, in return, teach them;
I believe we cannot leave this world until we learn these truths.

There's one more person I'd like to introduce, Z. Come on, you didn't think I'd use her real name did you? The blatant anonymity I surround my friends with in my writings on here should have shown you that by now. I once pretentiously called her a chav. She isn't actually a chav, nor does she appear to be one. It happened when we first met. I've never called her it since, just for the record.

The reason I chose to write about her is; as with the other dramatis-personae mentioned here, she has changed me. Before I met her I was a cynic, I was bitter about the world and I acted complainingly about just about everything.
Her smile could make a boxer - just out of the ring - melt with joy. In the face of total adversity and every hardship she has remained happy. Her family adore her as do her peers. A teenage mother returning to school to finish her A-levels and a soon-to-be university student, she strolls through it all with a cheerful grin on her face and a merry skip in her step.
Her daughter is beautiful. I've only had the pleasure of meeting her once and she was surrounded by cooing, clegg-manic voting-age girls which; sadly, isn't a situation I'm able to truly be myself in. None-the-less I felt patriarchal at first sight. As with all her friends, I saw Z grow into a glowing mother-to-be and then I viewed her as a joyful mother with a child I'd been looking forward to meeting for months. We were all kept closely informed of everything during the pregnancy and; as such, I and a few of her other close male friends feel as much of a father to Little A as her real father does.

What Z showed me above all else was that with a smile on your face and a bit of charm nothing can get in your way. I keep a Christmas card signed 'Love from Z and Bump x' as  the bookmark in the book I'm reading at the time to always remind me to be joyful and thankful.

It's hard to have anything but respect for Z.

These people are who I'm voting for, they mean the world to me and I could not go a day without thinking of them. I love them all dearly and they are a big part of why I will succeed in life.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one."
-- Spock

Alex

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Three: Train Journeys

Being a terrible poster; I often lose concentration when I'm writing. This is true of two train journeys I recently took. I have also been learning morse code which is why there is a section at the bottom of this blog which consists of dots and dashes. It's only the following paragraph so if you don't understand it don't worry.

Cheers,
Alex

*****
April 11th 2010
Trains, Trains Go Away

Perhaps it's the rush back to work after the Easter break, or maybe it's the weather. Either way it doesn't make sense that a nine-carriage Virgin Pendolino train be completely full on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe it's the Glaswegian water that's attracted everybody travelling through London to board this train, whatever 'it' is, it's amiss.

The en-mass migration to Scotland certainly explains why the ticket issuer was unable to book me a seat on this train. It's not all bad I suppose, it's only five hours of my life and I am looking forward to seeing my father; even if that sucks I do have a table-window seat booked for my return.

The first leg of my journey was a bitch too; a train full of already tipsy football fans heading to Wembly Stadium, throwing around a team coloured balloon and yelling political slogans. When I was walking to the train at the beginning of the day the massive crowd; standing on the platform, yelled at the same time, this benefits-stealing choir  actually made a wonderfully tuneful wall of sound that was so testosterone filled I could sense a dog's testicles growing across the river and I'm fairly certain several foetuses actually changed sex.

*****
April 18th 2010
Another Train Journey

So, a week after I wrote the last blog I'm writing this. I promised a friend I'd upload it translated into Morse Code but it becomes tiring after the first fifty words and I sadly failed to complete my task. None-the-less I am here, bravely attempting the wholly-possible once again. No half measures, no minced words, just lovely dots and dashes representing our language.

A week in Glasgow, a week with my father. It was actually the most time I've spent with him since he moved there. Before this trip it was September, three days which became six when I caught swine flu; prefacing that was January '09 at my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary, for which I got a beautiful, new suit. Before that I hadn't seen him since July 2006, shocking I know!

*****

As I said before, I fail at writing. I got distracted both times and when that happens I find it very hard to get back into the flow. Anyway, here's the morse I mentioned.

.-  -..-  .-.  ..  .-..     .----  .----  -  ....     ..---  -----  .----  -----
-  .-.  .-  ..  -.  ...  --..--     -  .-.  .-  -.  ...     --.  ---     .-  .--  .-  -.--

.--.  .  .-.  ....  .-  .--.  ...    ..  -  .---.  ...     -  ....  .     .-.  ..-  ...  ....     -...  .-  -.-.  -.-     -  ---     .--  ---  .-.  -.-     .-  ..-.  -  .  .-.     -  ....  .     .  .-  ...   -   .   .-.     -...  .-.  .  .-  -.-  --..--     ---  .-.     ---  .-  -.--  -...  .     ..  -  .----.  ...     -  ....  .     .--  .  .-  -  ....  .  .-.  .-.-.-     .  ..  -  ....  .  .-.     .--  .-  -.--     ..  -     -..  ---  .  ...  -.  .----.  -     --  .-  -.-  .     ...  .  -.  ...  .     -  ....  .-  -     .-     ----.     -.-.  .-  .-.  .-.  ..  .-  --.  .     ...-  ..  .-.  --.  ..  -.     .--.  .  -.  -..  ---   .-..  ..  -.  ---     -  .-.  .-  ..  -.     -...  .     -.-.  ---   --  .--.   .-..  .  -  .  .-..  -.--     ..-.  ..-  .-..  .-..   ---  -.     .     ...  ..-  -.  -..  .-  -.--     .-  ..-.  -  .  .-.  -.  ---  ---  -.  .-.-.-     --  .-  -.--  -...  .     ..  -  .----.  ...     -  ....  .     --.  .-..  .-  ...  .--  .  --.  ..  .-  -.     .--  .-  -  .  .-.     -  ....  .-  -  .----.  ...     .-  -  -  .-.  .-  -.-.  -  .  -..     .  ...-  .  .-.  -.--  -...  ---  -..  -.--     -  .-.  .-  ...-  .  .-..  .-..  ..  -.  --.     -  .-.  ---  ..-  --.  ....     .-..  ---  -.  -..  ---  -.     -  ---     -...  ---  .-  .-.  -..     -  ....  ..  ...     -  .-.  .-  -.  --..--     .--  ....  .-  -  .  ...-  .  .-.     .-..-.  ..  -  .-..-.     ..  ...  --..--     ..  -  .----.  ...     .-  --  ..  ...  .-.-.-

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Two: Sea, My surf and I.

Ten ships float gently alongside the island as the tide calmly leaves the shore; some are passing us by, destined for far-off ports; some are here to rest but most are waiting for work with their crews bored and their cargo decks serving only as vast empty spaces used for dark, dank, make-shift running tracks and football pitches until the next order comes. Dwarfed alongside them sit yachts, bobbing up and down with the flow of the ocean as it laps at their sides.

Those ten ships become nine as the tenth disappears behind the mammoth cliff which dominates the skyline a click to my north-east. Towering above the ocean, for me, it represents the edge of my blinkered view, reminding me of my own limits. One cannot see what is hidden from one's eyes, adventure waits beyond the horizon.

The ships become ten once more as another emerges from the horizontal haze which marks the edge of my known space, a car ferry by the looks of its shape and bright-white colouring.

My destiny; like the tide's, lays far beyond what I can see. A vast and endless current of oceans command not only the entire world but my life especially. As I look towards what I cannot see I get a feeling of isolation, but also (and more importantly) hope and how my own minute existence may one day change what people see from this very spot.

The beach is empty now, the sun has taken shelter behind the massive cliffs above me and the heat left imprisoned in the sand isn't enough to keep the tourists here. I will mount my bicycle now and ride home with a thought on my mind:

If people leave when the sun goes down how will anyone appreciate the eerie silence of the ocean? If my own sunshine fails to glow will people forget about the beauty of my simplicity, too?

The simple things are what make us feel alive, without them we have no hope of surviving in true happiness.

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-One: My Town

I wish I could see the sunset from my home.

"Today is the first day of summer, not scientifically but the sun was shining and the tourists are here. Furthermore; the tourists are in my town, which means they're bored.

Or lost."

That isn't to say my town isn't lovely, my little spot on the island is among the most beautiful if you know where to look. Sadly my dinky town; with its centuries of history and its spirited people, is in crisis: large planned development and the loss of one of our main tourist attractions has rendered us helpless. A recent Town Council meeting apparently shed no new light on what is to happen to the grade II listed building which housed the aforementioned failed business.

Four pubs; a statue of a bull; two bus stops; two national heritage sites; a church and a chappel; a Post Office; a general shop; an electronic goods store; a train station; a doctor's surgery; three post boxes, football and cricket clubs; tea rooms; a model train shop; a hair salon; reading rooms; our own day, and some of the most darling houses you will ever see make up this town which is 13 times less dense than New York and is too often mistaken for a village.

The worst opinion of this town I've ever heard to date is the description that it is little more than a place you pass through to get to one of the surrounding, larger towns.
This view not only ignores our very existance but also belittles us and forgets our wonderful home. I've not had the pleasure of meeting most of our residents but from what I have experienced I know we are a hardy group who all love our little corner of heaven very much and many, it seems, would fight for its survival.

To counter the statement at the beginning of this well-meaning ramble: this town is stuffed full of wonderful people, places, activities, sights and history. Any person will find a million things to love about this place; tourist or resident alike, and those not visiting are the ones who are truly lost.

As I approach the two year anniversary of my living here I must say I have never felt so at home in any of my numerous former residencies. There's something about this place that makes me never want to leave. Thankyou, Brading, for being so perfect.

Oh and I may not see the sunset from my home but I can show you a dozen places where it can be seen at its most beautiful, all in my little town.