A visit from St Nicholas

This poem truly is my favourite ever. I'm really not into poetry in the slightest, but live reading this to my children as they go to be on Christmas Eve.

If I should 't be reproducing this due to copywright, please let me know and I will remove it, however I thi k it should be there for all to see and its message spread across the world.
My favourite ever poem: 

A Visit from St. Nicholas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,

And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap —

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,

"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blitzen;

"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too:

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:

He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys was flung on his back,

And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack:

His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry,

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face, and a little round belly

That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight —

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.'

Have a fantastic Christmas everybody xXx

Wake up and smell the coffee

So, it is long overdue that I write this. I have had people tell me how much they enjoy my blogs (however rare they are), and whilst I feel sorry for these poor unfortunate souls, I also feel an enormous sense of well-being hearing their feedback. Something happened this evening, and it made me realise just how bloody wonderful life is. To be fair, a few things have made me think that lately. Just crazy random things in the main, others are more life-changing.

On the 8th February, I posted a status on my facebook account, a bit of an outpouring of the heart really. I am not that kind of man to just gush stuff, but I did. I lay on the couch, with tears streaming down my face as I typed that the following day was the 30th anniversary of losing my Dad. It was also only a couple of weeks since the 5th anniversary of losing my Mum. I didn't do all that bollocky stuff about how much they are missed, I just truly typed something out in a minute or two about how lucky I am. It wasn't pre-meditated, it wasn't designed to garner a response, it was a bit of self-therapy (probably like this shit I'm writing now if I'm honest) - just a way of me letting myself know how I feel.
I was literally bowled over by the response I got. I do not like facebook, I do not like attention seekers (I am probably the world's worst), I use it to keep in contact with some old friends and family who I don't see often enough. However, within minutes, I was bombarded with notifications, people 'liking' my post, people commenting on it. I even got texts, emails and tweets about it. One particular message I got from someone who I have never met, but hope to soon. She simply said to me "your facebook status is beautiful". At this point, I was pretty much blubbing. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I wasn't upset about the sadness of the anniversaries, I certainly wasn't self-loving about the amount of reaction I got. What I was, was overwhelmed by how bloody nice people can be. I have tears on my cheeks typing this, what sort of nobhead am I ffs??

Since Christmas, life has been pretty much shit, nothing more, nothing less. My father in law, for whom I have grown to care for a lot over the last 15 years was diagnosed with Leukaemia. He is currently fighting it with the aid of chemo, and the love of his family. I'm not looking for sympathy for him, or his family here, many people across the world are also fighting similar battles, he/we are no different from them. The reason I'm mentioning it are the people who work in the hospital. Sure, I know it is their job and they are trained to be like they are. But these people are different. I don't know any of their names, I wouldn't recognise any one of them in the street (I am fucking loopy after all), but whenever I have been at the hospital, each and every one of them treats him like he is the only person in the world that matters, they are incredible. I have never seen any of them without a smile on their face, remarkable considering the amount of pain and suffering they deal with on a daily basis. They truly are angels.

My family: - I have said before, I am blessed with the most wonderful woman on the planet, and the fact she wants to be with me. I have four absolutely amazing kids. They light up my life at the mere thought of them.
My friends: - one of the closest people in my life I have known for 40 years, another for well over 30 years,  I'm 44 right now - that is the vast majority of my life. I have friends that I went to school with who I still hold as dear to my heart now as I did when we lived in each other's pockets growing up. I have friends who I haven't known for as long, but I am still close to, and know that they would be there for me at a moment's notice if needed, as I would be for them.

I now come on to what has inspired me to write tonight. My #tweetfam , and in particular, the #pompeyfamily. I know all clubs think they have the best fans. I know a hell of a lot of clubs have better numbers than we do. But trust me, I really don't give a shit who you support, we have THE best, there are no words to describe them. I tweeted tonight saying I would love to get down to Fratton Park tomorrow with my boy, but money is not as ready as it was a year or two ago, and was looking to car share with someone to keep the costs down. Seconds later, I got a 'DM', a direct message, not a public tweet, with someone offering to buy me a ticket. I declined this wonderful lady's offer for two reasons. Firstly, I don't like taking money off others, not because I am too proud, but because I don't know if they are offering because they are just a genuinely nice person. Secondly, I am mental, I know this, and I know I would lie awake worrying about if they had put themselves in debt for me, because they are nice. This particular person, from what I have worked out via twitter is quite wonderful. Life has not been kind, but this person has not been beaten by that, in fact, quite the opposite. Whatever cards she has been dealt, she always seems to be ok with them. She takes the bull by the horns and gets on with it.
It wasn't just this single act of generosity that has prompted this piece. It was the whole togetherness Pompey fans are showing. I have heard of people buying tickets and giving them to people who wouldn't normally go. Players are taking pay cuts, and deferred wages - and helping out in the ticket office! It is a shame that the club had to make people redundant, and my heart goes out to those people, along with my thanks for their work in trying to make my club a success. I may yet get to #packthepark tomorrow - I'm working on it! If I do, it is because someone has been amazing.

I haven't even read this horseshit back through yet, I'm just having a ramble. I am not going to either, I just want to publish this while I am in the mood. I don't care if nobody thinks its good. I do want people to read it, but if the quality ain't up to much, so be it. I have written this with one thing in mind...

Life around the world is shit right now. We have the goings on in Syria, in Afghanistan, in Rochdale FFS. We have a global depression. We have worldwide poverty and hunger. We have bullies, cheats, liars, thieves. But maybe, just maybe the world needs to take a step back from all the shit. Let us look at the good for once. The press, be it tv, radio, internet, papers, etc etc, only seem to want to report on the shit, doom and fucking gloom. The revel in it. The revel in making people's lives a misery. Just look at the Ryan Giggs fiasco for example - who on earth made his personal life that public that he should have to try and take out a super injunction (cunt of a phrase) to keep his life private. Sure, he should have kept his cock in his pants, we all know that, but it is of no business, but that of him and his family. Doom and fucking gloom - if he had scored the goal that took his country to the world cup against all odds, it would have been a quick headline, then onto the doom. Dereck Chisora and David Haye - they had a bit of a dust up, it probably helped to sell interest in the fight they are probably trying to organise. Chisora, for all his faults (I've tweeted enough about them), had just produced the fight of his life in gallantly losing in a world title fight. Yet all the press wanted to know about was him and Haye having a handbags job. Worse happens in every town and city every weekend, but because it was those two, it was police this, disgrace that. Bunch of arse if you ask me!

Isn't it about time that we focussed on the good things in life, on the amazing people that are around us. The neighbours, the old couple over the road, the mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers that we take for granted.

I only hope this hasn't been a complete load of shit that I have written. I don't want to sound like someone trying to preach, or someone bigging himself up. I have realised that life is too short to constantly worry about the negatives around. If we concentrated on happiness, instead of being materialistic etc, we may actually make this life thing work. This will fall on deaf ears - we'll carry on putting up with the bad news and not the good. We'll carry on buying celebrity magazines and trying to get a "side-boob" view of celebrities that have been papped by a long lens whilst on holiday. We'll carry on sending people to their deaths in other countries, instead of trying to sort things out properly. We'll fund people's right to protest (The EDL have reportedly cost the police forces in the NW £1.8 million to police their marches) - yet complain when the police do not have enough bodies on the street. We'll complain about bankers' bonuses. We'll do fuck all about all of these things, because then we can have a right good gossip and moan. We can share in our woes, because it makes us feel better. We won't change, because there are far too many sheep happily following the flock. Well, one day it will be too late. FFS, what has happened to saying hello to someone you pass on the street? I get looked at like I'm a nutter (ok, that is up for debate anyway, but still, come on ffs!) if I smile at an old biddy when I'm out walking the dog. We're to worried about a rapist's human rights to think about the important things in life. I'm no fucking hippy you know, I don't go round hugging bloody trees (my dog has probably pissed on them ffs), I can't stand the sight of some people, but I would still try and help them if they needed help.

You, the person reading this, you're fucking amazing you know. Do you know that? Really? Tell you what, go and tell that cunt you pass in the street every morning, you know, the one you can't stand because he walks like Jar Jar Fucking Binks, yeah, him. Go and tell him how good life is. Strike up a conversation with someone you don't know. Don't be that twat on the bus or train who stinks of piss, but speak to the twat. You never know, he could be a top geezer down on his luck, and all he needs is someone to pass the time of day with him for once instead of grunting at him and pretending he ain't there. He could go onto to be a fantastic artist, a teacher, a parent - all because your two minutes of decency brought him back from the edge. Life is fucking great, people are great.

Thanks for reading (you probably never got this far, seems like I've prattled on for fucking ages. I have no idea how long this is, or how long it will take to read. But fuck it, I feel better for writing it, so I'm happy!

You're on the plane son, and take that shit with you! Episode 1

So, watching Michael Douglas in Falling Down the other night. It made me think of a lot of things that piss me off, not just things either, mainly people. I came to realise there are many cocks in the world, and also many things, that if they were human, would also be cocks.

So, what would be the best thing to do to sort it out, and rid the world of this evil once and for all? You guessed it - buy a big fuck off plane, like that double-decker airbus monkey, and put all the cocks on board for a one-way flight to somewhere shit - no, not Wales, I have a whole other idea for Wales which involves Napalm! Where would be a good place to fly it to. Well, to me, its obviously Antarctica - its bloody cold there, and they would be as far away from us as possible.

Well, there are a hell of a lot of cocks (both human and non-human) who I would put on the plane, so I guess I should mention a few. These will be listed as they come into my head, some piss me off more than others, but each, I believe, are carrying valid boarding cards.

1. Lord Sir Alan Sugar, MBE, CBE, OBE, Master of all that is cock. I think I have listed all his official titles there. What is it with this guy? I take nothing away from him for what he has achieved in business, he saw a gap in a market, and did superbly well with it. He managed to get a seat in the House of Lords for some unbeknown reason, he actually likes to be referred to as Lord Sugar? I'm sorry, I just don't get it. He loves himself on that god awful television programme laughingly called The Apprentice, he loves to belittle people on there (some of them, if not all of them deserve it from what I have seen to be fair),  but there is no need to look so smug doing it, like a poor man's Anne Robinson. Lastly, he purports to be a football fan, supporting Tottenham. Fair do's he bought the club some years ago, took it as far as he could and bailed. But now he tweets from the match, and if they aren't winning convincingly, he fucks off home, and tweets as if the team are not deserving of his presence. One word - wanker.

2. Peers Fucking Morgan. Not much to say about this cunt, possibly one of my most unfavourite people on this planet (apart from terrorists, murderers, rapists, child molesters etc). He has made an extremely comfortable living from ruining people's lives. As editor of various newspapers, he exposed more "stories" than you could shake a stick at. Granted, the people he exposed, in general, deserved it. Tossers playing away from their other halves etc. What about actresses who want to go away and get their cans out on a beach somewhere - why shouldn't they be able to do it? Regular women etc can go and get naked on beaches without being plastered all over some red-top. Believe me, I'm the first in line to perv at a nice pair of  boobies, all the better if they're famous - but why on earth should people have to be worried about some tosser hiding in bushes trying to get a pic of someone spending time with their family/friends? I'm sure there is a law about voyeurism isn't there? Well, Mr Morgan was right in there at the start when all this sort of shit really kicked off. The story of Wayne Rooney last year, where he shagged some prostitute - who really needed to know about that? Who cares? I'll tell you who cares - Mr & Mrs Rooney, they had a lot of work on their marriage to worry about as it is, instead of having to shy away from cameras, phone calls from the world and his dog. I'm not suggesting for one minute that Morgan had anything to do with that story, but he has published enough of them in the past, one can only imagine how many lives of innocent people he has ruined. The damaged parties in all these stories (e.g. Colleen Rooney) do not deserve to have their washing aired so publicly do they? One word - Wanker.

3. Harry Redknapp. I refuse to write anything more about this cretin, besides to say that one day I truly hope he gets his come-uppance and spends some time at Her Majesty's special hotels. One word - Wanker.

4. People who create computer viruses. I can sort of understand, although not condone, people who create viruses in order to make a load of money from selling information. However, my argument is more about the arseholes who use their undeniable knowledge and talent purely to fuck people over and cause havoc among the good people of the world. Sort your heads out and do some good for the world. Use your brains to create safe, cheap reliable, green energy. One word, many people - Wankers.

5. Bity things. Mosquitos, horseflies, wasps etc. Absolute pains in the arse. I am one of the lucky ones that these little shits love to eat. I've just been bitten by a horsefly, already there is a nice big painful lump on my shoulder - it has ruined my mood. It is itchy, still stinging my shoulder and I am pissed off. What purpose do these things serve? Does anyone know? Its a serious question. I hate spiders, and everybody says spiders are good cbecause they eat all the flies etc. Now in my mind, we get rid of the bugs, there's no need for any of them. I know birds like to eat bugs, but they also like berries and worms etc, so there's no argument there. I won't dwell any further on this subject, but I know you'd want to know what happened to the horsefly that bit me? It is currently spitting like a hog roast in a citronella candle I've just lit, I hope it suffered as I am. Don't give me any friends of the earth bollocks, I am more environmentally conscious than the majority, and am also a great believer in Karma - the horsefly also understands Karma now.

6. Weeds. Again, what purpose do they serve? As far as I'm aware, they grow to kill. They attack the roots of flowers and plants, and suck the life out of them. They look ugly, and generally cause trouble wherever they go. Maybe we should rename all weeds Piers Fucking Morgan?

7. Do-gooders. The idiots that worry about other people's Human Rights. They worry about murderers, rapists, child molesters et al, and try to keep the identities hidden in case they are attacked. Did these criminals think of their victims' human rights? I don't think so do you? These same do-gooders have also in their time changed blackboards to chalkboards, baa baa black sheep has been banished, or coloured green. We have multi-lingual signs in our schools, and aren't allowed to celebrate Christmas for fear of offending someone. Hang on a minute, I'm offended by these things, who the fuck is going to lobby about that eh? I've talked before about St George's day, so I won't rattle on, and I am very much against these poorly disguised rascist political "parties", but we really need to get a grip here and focus on what is important.

Right, that's all I'm going to type for now, I'm bored writing, you're probably bored reading. It may be quite incoherant, I don't know, I haven't read it, I'm just going to publish it.

Love you xXx

The Northern Monkey - episode 1

Disclaimer:

i) Before you start to read this, I warn you, I swear a little today, and frankly I couldn't give a flying fuck whether I offend you, either with my colourful use of the English language, or if you happen to be a Northener. If you do feel offended by it, fook off (typed in Northern English, for the amoebas I live among), I don't care, in fact, just get a grip, I'm only taking the piss, and highlighting your deficiencies.
ii) This blog does not apply to my children (75% of which were born up here), as I am trying to teach them to live properly e.g. vote Tory, don't buy knock off goods, and pyjamas are not socially acceptable attire to go to the Co-op* or Tesco* in.

* Other convenience stores and supermarkets are available.


I decided to write this because not a day goes by in my life, either in work, at home or elsewhere in the good old North West of England - that I am not constantly reminded of the fact I was born south of Watford.

Let's be honest about this, it isn't exactly a one way street though - I do manage to take on the Monkeys at their own game, and give as good as I get!

There are some people that like to make fun of my accent -strangely, the Monkeys constantly call me a "Cockney" which goes to show how little they know. I have no claim to being a Cockney, I am originally from darn sarf, Hampshire, Hayling Island to be precise. I would estimate that to be roughly 100 miles away from East London. To put it into perspective for the few Northerners that have the ability to read this blog, that means, to travel an approximate equidistance (look it up - fuckwit) from your enclosure, you would end up in Birmingham, or near the Scottish border! Let's think about this you cloth cap wearing, pigeon fancying buffoons, would you think I was a bit of a tit if I referred to you lot as Geordies, or Brummies? By the way, I have no axe to grind with being referred to as a Cockney, in some ways, I class it as a bit of Care in the Community work when I explain to the smeg heads how the geography works in the great land of ours.

Tomorrow, being Friday, is regularly breakfast day from the chuck wagon down the road from the office. I might like to indulge in a bacon roll. Now I'm pretty sure, that most people south of Warwick (approximation, don't get the hump over the border issues!) would class a bread roll as some form of roundish bread product, not a flat bread (e.g. pitta, chapati), but it can be brown or white (push the boat out and say granary maybe too) and it also could be soft or crusty. We may occasionally refer to a burger bun, or a bap, but generally its a bloody bread roll, job done. The monkeys however, and let's face it, I work in Lancashire, it doesn't get more monkeyfied that that, cannot even agree between them what the sodding bread should be called! It can be referred to as a "barm" a "batch" a "muffin" (yes, muffin is the classic - as far as I am aware, there are three types of muffin.

1. English, oven bottom muffins - the original and still the best. A bit like a bread roll, but denser, more floury, and very scrummy dripping in butter with some pork product hanging out of it.
2. The Yank version - obviously not the original, how the fuck could it be? Americans, as a nation are imbeciles, thick as bricks. Not only do they think they have a right to trample over every country on the planet, as long as they can get at their oil, but they even turn up late to the founding of their country! The native americans are (hang on) Native to the land, then us, the micks, the Italians, hispanics etc etc, build a country for them. You will never meet an American - for they are either Irish American, Italian American, African American, need I go on? I intend to write a blog about yanks one day soon. I ave some good friends who are (Irish) and (Polish) Americans, one is even a judge, but they are all stupid enough to not understand when I am being ironic, or sarcastic to them. Anyway, back to the yank muffin - it is a bloody fairy cake, thats all (which we, the English invented by the way). In super-fit anally obsessive New York City, I have watched someone order a fried muffin (where the nice, semi-crunchy top half is cut off, then a slab (yes a slab) of butter attached to the underside of said top bit, and fried on a griddle - with a skinny fucking latte! I kid you not, they really do make Northerners look intelligent. 
3. The "muffin top" - something which every woman has, (apart from the crack addicts, the anorexic, and the ones who believe they can make it as a star on Hollyoaks) but not one will appreciate you mentioning it to her. Doesn't matter what the hell they say to you about your weight, never, ever mention the fuxking muffin top - take it from me, its just not worth it!

So, how can a Northern Monkey, refer to a bread bloody roll as a muffin? One that I know (a female of the species - and one which I class as a mate), finds it hysterical to ask me (in a pseudo-cockney accent) if I "want a fackin maffin for me brekfist"? Please, understand you northern fools, that a muffin can only be one of the three examples above**!

** Unless its a fucking mule (which is a cross between a horse and a donkey, not a bloody shoe).

Now, the northerners I know who will read this, will undoubtedly say that I play up to this role, and yes I admit I do, its called banter, and I am not easily offended (IF I class you as a friend, then not much is off-limits on the piss taking front, as you will have noticed from the shit I have given you at some point).

There will be further episodes of the Northern Monkey over the coming months, this really is just the tip of the iceberg. There is so much for me to have a go at about living up here, it is easy fodder for me. I would also add that I love living up here, apart from the obviously small gene pool in places like Wigan, Rochdale,Oldham etc, it is a good life - if you can cope with having a left wing council, and shit weather!

I hope you find this blog entertaining and would love your comments, good or bad. However, if you want to make a negative comment, or indeed slate us "southern softies", then have the balls (or flaps if you are a lady) to not leave it as an anonymous comment, put your name there for all to see.

Love you
xXx

April 23rd - a wrong that should be put right.

So, April 23rd.

I am sat here in my England shirt, waiting for her indoors to wake up so I can start putting the flags up on the house. In my mind, this is our day, St George's Day. A day to celebrate being English. However, it seems to be that today is viewed in four different ways by the people of England:

1. There are those that treat this day with apathy, to the point they don't even know it is today.
2. There are those that see people who celebrate this day as 2nd class citizens, or chavvy.
3. There are those that have a view that it is a rascist celebration, and should be abolished completely.
4. There are those, including myself, that believe this day should be a National Holiday, and celebrated by all.

I would like to discuss the four different opinions in their own right.

1.   The apathetic view. These people in general have no idea what day it is for the other 364 days of the year, why should this day be any different? They only know its Christmas and Easter because the adverts are on the telly. Life passes these people by, they may well have good jobs, joe jobs, be unemployed, it makes no difference. I would also say that that I am confident that they rarely, if ever, vote in elections (but vote religiously for some kid on the xfactor). In the main, I believe these people could better their lives in every area if only they realised they are alive. Before they know it, their family will be devastated as someone will have to say something at their funeral about their life, but nobody knows what to say! We are always going to have these people in the world, I feel so sorry for them - poor buggars, probably think that they live a great life, but ultimately they will just exist for say 73 years, then die. I'm not saying everyone should get up and travel round the world, do bungee jumps, do voluntary work etc. I haven't been to a great deal of countries, have not yet done a bungee jump, and have never been in a position financially where I could spend time working voluntarily. I just these people would wake up and smell the coffee, before the day comes when they never wake up again.
2. The chavvy view. Some may think this is where I sit. The reason being is that I am proud to be a snob. Anyone who truly knows me, knows this is true. However, I'm not a snob because I am middle/upper class (far from it) - I am a snob because I see certain sections of society with a rather dim view. This will be discussed in a future blog, of this I am sure. Anyway, enough of the digression! A proportion of the country, including a lot of people who I view as friends, believe that people who adorn their houses with flags, wear England football shirts, put little flags on their cars etc as chavvy. They probably think that people like myself are all pyjama wearing Jeremy Kyle watchers (pyjama wearers also to be discussed in the future). I have a good job, 4 fantastic kids, each of whom I love with every ounce of my still way too large body, I always treat others how I would hope to  be treated myself. I pay my taxes, I give to charity. I respect my elders. I would never let my children hang around street corners. I sure as hell don't think this makes me a chav or second class citizen - do you? The people that have this view are largely socially uneducated, and believe what the Daily Mail tells them to believe. They are happy to go along with the trends because they think that's what they should do.
3. The rascist view. These are the ones who really get my goat, way more than the two groups above. This group is largely dominated by do-good student-type left wingers, who are always trying to write other people's wrongs. They think that because England has a somewhat chequered past with the Empire building and slavery etc, that we should not celebrating our past. Get a grip people, was I personally involved in slavery? Were my parents? Are we not one of the most culturally diverse nations in the world? We welcome all races, creeds, cultures onto our shores. We try to understand their cultures, and integrate their way of life into ours. I am of the opinion that whatever colour etc you are, you should be celebrating the fact you are English. FFS, it seems the whole of our great land is happy to celebrate St Patrick's day! There's a strong possibility that the vast majority have never been to Ireland, let alone have Irish bloodlines. Yet, when it comes to celebrating our national day, we are rascists! Completely way off the mark guys, take a reality check!
4. My view. Well, to be honest, I haven't really got this writing thing boxed off yet, I've pretty much made my point of view in all of the above. I won't be getting off my face on English Ale today, but I will wish every one I meet A Happy St George's Day. I am proud to be English, proud right through to the bones. I am massively anti-rascist. I am English, do not try to take my right to celebrate this fact. We should be celebrating today with a national holiday, not be ashamed to do so.

Rant over, thanks for reading, I'll try and be funny in the next one.

Love you
xXx

An ode to something that's helping me out

So, all of you who are my close friends and family, you know how much you have helped me fight the demons, and without you I would probably have been a basket case by now. However, something else is also helping me along the way, and the ditty* below is in tribute to the miracle drug that is Citalopram. I'm bricking it for when I eventually have to come off them, but this is just a light hearted tribute**.

Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew
Cover it with choc'late and a miracle or two
Citalopram, oh Citalopram
Citalopram can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good

Who can take a rainbow, wrap it in a sigh
Soak it in the sun and make a groovy lemon pie
Citalopram, Citalopram can'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good

Citalopram makes everything he bakes satisfying and delicious
Now you talk about your childhood wishes, you can even eat the dishes

Oh, who can take tomorrow, dip it in a dream
Separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream
Citalopram, oh Citalopram can
Citalopram can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good

Citalopram makes everything he bakes satisfying and delicious
Talk about your childhood wishes, you can even eat the dishes

*shamelessly plagiarised from Sammy Davis Jr and Willy Wonka
** I don't condone drugs, way off the scale the other way actually.

This is just a light hearted view of my depression, writing about it helps me understand and get through it. The more people that understand the better. Please follow @timetochange on Twitter, and like them on Facebook too - facebook.com/timetochange. #befrank

Love you
xXx

Sticking it to the bloke!

So, yesterday started off belting. Watched the son play his part in a good win on the final day of the season, although there is some dispute as to whether it was 5 or 6-1. The sun was out, the sky was blue, a good day was planned. Went to see BGNJ and his team play the only team above them in the league. They won, with Skipper BGNJ scoring the 4th in a 4-1 win. So, still all good. At this time, Rocha was getting sent off in sheepland for being headbutted, and Pompey were getting dicked by the clock robbers - things start to go downhill really. I go home to catch United beating City, all planned so I can rip the pish out of my mate, the city fan who is also a few slates short of a full roof. WTF happened there? City won! Bad times ensue.
We had plans for going out last night, binlids at Amityville (as this is my first post, I will explain this only once - Amityville is what I call the in-laws house. If you haven't heard of Amityville before, google it, I'm not here to wipe your arse!).
We're off out to a boozer not far away, on the bank of the river, for a mini festival they hold called Glastonferry (nice work on the name, good idea). This apparently is a thrice-annual bash, where divorced people go along, get mullered on fairly decent branded beers, have a sing song and a dance, and end up probably going home for a drunken fumble with someone they've just seen for the first time in years but they always fancied. Still, we were looking forward to the headline act, a Queen tribute, which was all gravy, and I'm a happy boy. This thing goes on all afternoon and evening, we arrive at 8pm, pretty much just to see the headline. Everyone is well oiled, fair do's to them, seems like they've had a great day. There's a band on, bloke with a red headband on, which is the only resemblance he had to Mark Knopfler. They should have called themselves Really Dire, but I maybe being unfair - they actually sounded ok, its just that their source material is Dire, but they did sound like them.
Then come on some polar primates. Not sure of their correct name, but you can work out who they were being. Again, they sounded alright, the odd song that I recognised sounded like their heros, but I realised just how much the real band are over-hyped. The music was god-awful (not the tribute band, but what they were covering). Then we notice that the place is emptying out, rather like last year's semi, when all the Tottenham fans left miles before the end. It starts to dawn on the four of us, everyone is going home. We wanted to go home, but were waiting for Queen. The primates were still on stage giving it their all, but there was hardly anyone left at the end of the set. So, did the Queen lot play early, or did they not turn up? We still don't know, but we sure as hell didn't see them perform! To be fair to the boozer, it seems everyone there had a brilliant day out, the beer wasn't over priced, it was well marshalled etc etc.

We walk back to the car, her indoors and her mate blondie wanted to have a Queen singalong in the car, with the roof down. Blondies other half didn't seem overly impressed with this thought, but what the hell, give them what they want, we'll both get what we want when we get them home, and he'll thank me for letting them have their fun.
Roof down, people looking at us like we're a bunch of almost middle aged tossers. Queen pumping out, full volume. Those two in the back, pissed up on gin, having a wail (sic) of a time. Him next to me starts to enjoy it, to be honest, it was very funny, so I decide to take them for a little drive to let them get it out of their system. Driving along the main road through Sankey, there are some cones out, sending us on to the other carriageway. A cyclist is up ahead, and I thought I would drive extra carefully, as the road wasn't the best, and he wasn't being the most road conscious he could have been. So, I hang back, waiting for the opportunity to pass, and do so when I can. All the time, I'm watching the two blokes in the car up my arse, thinking that they are either getting very pissed off because I'm driving slow or they are old bill. A hundred yards up the road, the latter proves to be correct. Flashy blue lights, pull over dickhead, what do you think you've been up to? Copper invites me out of the car, speaking though the non-existent roof at all of us (I thought I would be ironic by opening my window to talk to him). He asks me my name, and if I've had a drink, now, as you may know, I'm not allowed a shant, but I did sneak in a Guiness when we arrived at said fest, so I was honest and told him exactly that. So he breathalyses me, and whilst I'm blowing on his tube, I wonder whether the pint would mix with the medication and give a positive reading. It doesn't, I get a triple zero reading, result! PC Bloke gives me my souvenir, and we have a bit of a laugh, and say our good nights.
I get back into the car thinking that would calm the women down a bit, but instead I get congratulated for "sticking it to the bloke" and more riotous behaviour ensued. The two of them are hysterical - I think they laughing at me for being so f'ah about the whole situation. We get back to their house, and the pair of them are still at it, Blondie is almost unable to control herself with laughter. An hour later, her indoors is calm enough for me to drive us home.  I have to admit, you really probably had to have been there to fully understand, and this is probably going to stop you reading my blogs ever again as it has rambled on and on I'm sure.

The moral of this first story is, I guess, keep yer bird happy, for she is the one that cooks and cleans for you, and doesn't moan when you go the football etc. Keep your mate's bird happy, you never know, there's a chance that she maybe up for a threesome one day (joke FFS!).

I hope you enjoyed my first offering - constructive comments are very welcome.

Love you

xXx