As anyone will know from following me on Twitter or being my friend on Facebook, I recently commissioned Tommie Kelly of Road Crew Comic to do a comic-style avatar for me which I immediately used on all on all of my social network places like Twitter and Facebook, and for a few others things like Gravatar, etc.
I also have a wife who is extremely thoughtful, and very clever, and loves me very much (obviously). So for our 1st wedding anniversary this weekend, at breakfast yesterday, she presented me with this, all framed and gift-wrapped with a lovely card stuck to the front:
(click for VERY LARGE full-size version - 3508 × 2480 JPEG, 2.8 MB )
(This cartoon is based on a true story, much to my embarrassment)
-I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
-More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can
think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell
my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves
-Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you
realize you're wrong.
-I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink to
have fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and
sticks when they've invented the lighter?
-Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're
going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to
be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the
direction from which you came, you have to first do something like
check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to
yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're
crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.
-That's enough, Nickelback.
-I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
-Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know"
feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose
not to be friends with?
-Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't
work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically
fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all
know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards
or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.
-There is a great need for sarcasm font.
-Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and
suddenly realize I had no idea what the f was going on when I first
# inhumaneness: the quality of lacking compassion or consideration for others
# atrocity: an act of atrocious cruelty
I know I know I haven't written in aaaaaaaaages but I have been busy and also haven't been inspired for a while, until today that is.
There is a man who lives near the restaurant where I work. He is probably in his 50's or 60's and quite obviously has some kind of mental illness, what it is exactly I am not sure of, but I see him all the time and he talks to himself in the street always, chatting away, full blown conversations with himself and he makes strange faces a lot. He is always walking up and down the street, up and down, up and down all day. He comes into the restaurant sometimes, for coffee, for soup, for tea, for a chat mostly. He is very obviously lonely. He is not doing any body any harm, ever.
He was in today for his lunch. He always has soup with extra bread. He was sitting there minding his own business talking to one of the waiters. No one else was sitting inside because it was so sunny. Then he went to sit at one of the tables on the terrace, to smoke a cigarette. As he was coming back inside a table of 6 was also coming in. One of them stopped him coming in by putting his foot to the bottom of the door. Why? Because this man is different. He is "strange". "We don't want HIS sort in here". Do we? Why not? Why would we not? He was a customer, a regular customer at that, he was paying, he was not bothering anyone and yet this man, this big bastard in his pink shirt and fancy tie thought that it was right to exclude him because "he's not normal". What's not normal is how unaccepting people are. Anyone different. Get rid of them. Anyone with anything wrong with them physically or mentally. Get rid of them. Or stare at them. Or laugh at them. Or all of those things combined.
Three years ago, on a quiet, wet April morning, there was a
profunderance of snails in the "yard" area behind where I work. They
always turned up in droves when the ground was damp. I don't know what
came upon us, but we decided to mark a few of the snails on their
shells, using (non-toxic) "Tipp-Ex" with x's, y's and z's, in a
Today, the day after a drizzley bank holiday, an old friend turned up,
making his way back to the flowerbed from the drying yard.
This is the chestnut tree in my parent's garden that I had a treehouse
in when I was a kid, about 20 years ago or more. It has since died
but, being a tree, it will be there for a few more years yet, and will
then be a splendid source of fuel for my "old pair". It's covered in
fungus, canker and incredibly gnarled, pale bark.
I think it's beautiful.
Having realised that I haven't done a proper "blog post" on this here blog for quite a while, I give you this:
...And a promise that my next post will be soon, and will almost definitely be an extended review of Grand Theft Auto: Chinatown Wars for the Nintendo DS, which I'm almost finished, and which contains semi-lethal levels of awesomeness.
Ciao for now.
It's my old tricycle from Le Eighties made all nice and shiny and new again for Isobel, she doesn't even know about it yet, I can't wait to see her face. Ah the glorious days I spent tricycling about the place, under tables, under peoples legs, out the back of the house on the path way and drive way, wind in my "airy fairy" hair, plasters all over my legs, marmite on my cheeks, kittens all over the shop. I loved that trike with all of my heart, Raleigh Special with frogs on the seat, peddling away like I was free as a bird.
I think the reason why I loved it so much was because the siblings were too big to have a go of it so it was all mine all the time. I have some vague recollections of falling off it a few times. Poor me when I was three.
My Dad is the best Dad and the best Granddad for Izzers ever for fixing it all up so it's like new again!