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