Definition: Hootability

Definition:-

Index of the ability to give a damn, or in fact a "hoot".

This can range from zero (0) - where no hoots are given, to the maximum two (2) hoots. So depending where you are on this scale, is your current "Hootability".

General Usage: "He couldn't give two hoots, whether it works or not". (This is a "bad" thing)

Specific Usage: "She came in on a Sunday to get the project finished; she really gave two hoots" (This is a good thing, apart from the coming to work on a Sunday)

Emoji Usage: The "Owl" symbol is used to denote ones "Hootability".

Other Example Usage: "I am all out of hoots"; "I am in a hoot free zone right now".

Debate

How quickly can you regain your hootability once lost?

How long can you lose your hootability for? If lost, where did it go and what caused it to go? Was it having a holiday without you, and if so, where, and who did it invite?

Where does your hootability come from? Is it an innate characteristic? Can you learn it? (Yes, please contact me for the next, "Hootability - how to give a damn!", course. There is a special  30% increase in cost, if you mention this post and give me an example of how you give two hoots - training ed)

Is your hootability dependent on particular aspects of your life? For instance, can you give a hoot on one particular thing - but give no hoots on everything else? Compare and contrast the things you give two hoots about, to those you don't, discuss.

Is your hootability linked to your Biorhythms or perhaps the amount of alcohol you consume?

Can you recharge your hootability, perhaps with a holiday?

Can you get a prescription from your Doctor to help?

Will talking to the "Wise Old Owl", help you recover from a massive and sustained hootability failure?

Will just the passing of time, regenerate your hootability abilities?


Afterthought

Just what on Earth am I talking about?

Strangely, no alcohol was consumed in the construction of this inanity, it being a "School Night".

Post Afterthought

Did you spot the fact that I am prepared to charge you 30% more if you mention this blog post, when you ask about the next time I am running the course.
Naturally some of you will ask, "Is there a real course?", to which the answer is, "Yes, if enough of you want one, then I shall create one!"


From my Google Statistics Module the most favoured posts on this blog are:

IR35

Freelance IT Contractors

Ironing

EE - The Annual Event

David's curated list of TED Talks

Subjects of Rage

There is a rage building.

It has been building for a while.

It seems to be the sum of a lot of smaller bothersome things.

Perhaps, a series of things that we might call "Ragelets"

Now I should come of with a term for that (you have, you have just added a link, a line of two above -ed), The David Scratchabiity Index (DSI) to give a scale of minor itching to the full on need to rip the skin from your body to relieve the incessant itching with a really deep scratch. I am sure that scratching is tied into something quite deep in our brain, because the relief is deeply deeply satisfying.

Hmm, ragelets, "Hey David" what could possibly be generating these so called ragelets . 

Seems I might have to answer that with my starter for ten response, "Well that is an interesting question" - well I do believe that is an understatement to say the least.

So, Mr Collins - can you elucidate?

There seems to a number of themes - and in no particular order:-

Work

Bureaucracy

UK and the EU

Da Government

Facts vs Lies

The Media

Democracy

The Economy

Company CEO Pay

The Finance Industry

Gender this that and the other 

Manufacturing in the UK

The Nation State

The Euro

Mental Health

Statistics and Lies

The Environment and Climate Change

Free Trade

Litter

UK Housing

Veganism with meat bonus

Dairy Intolerance

Speeding Cars

Lack of Common Sense

General Stupidity 

Barking Dogs

Careless Dog Owners (or that's no snake lurking in the grass it's dog poop)

The Pointlessness of Cats

Pets in General

Most Shop Staff

Insurance Companies

Banks

Austerity

Political Parties

Emojis 

Walking/Driving/Breathing and Texting at the same time.

Diets (nothing to do with the Japanese parliament)

Conspiracies


Bit of a big list I know - but there is so much that needs to be addressed in this country and that gets right on my nerves. (Ooh, does each one generate a ragelet I wonder - ed)

What I may try and do is flesh out different items from the above list, to amuse myself, and perhaps even you, my dear, lonely reader, but the night is drawing in, and not doing a great job of it, as the pencil is a bit blunt and night has got its eyes shut (again), so is making quite a mess of it.


Afterthought

Haven't done one of these in a while, but that is probably for the best.

Ragelet

Definition: Ragelet

noun:

1.  A very minor irritation

Perhaps like a single mosquito bite.

Which, if you are Bridget blows up into a tennis ball sized red monstrosity, within what seems like minutes, but if me, just another things on my body that I have to scratch.

Perhaps even generated by a new improved work process that is in fact a step backwards, as it  consumes more of your time for absolutely no personal benefit (but saves other people time and money).

Perhaps generated by simple spelling mistake e.g. "passsports" with that slippery extra "s".

Perhaps generated by cars speeding through a 20 mph zone at closer to 40 mph with nary a concern.

Perhaps generated by cars/vans/trucks going through road side puddles and blithely unaware and uninterested as they pick their noses, eat their breakfast, text, talk on the phone, do their hair as they splash that unwary highly visible pedestrian with a tsunami of water.

Perhaps generated by another piece of unthought out, over worded, unimplementable,  unfit for purpose piece of Government legislation that not only fails to address the issue that it purportedly is supposed to address but makes life that little bit more difficult for everyone that comes into contact with it

Note: ragelet is not a word that is in general usage (as I have made it up, ooh - one sec while I google it - yep - not out there in internet land, so another word first for me).

How it relates to me

I see ragelets (oh yes, there are normally found in large groups, usually lurking in the corners of you mind) as set of  small things that are added one at a time to my mental landscape and have over perhaps the last year or two, created a vast monstrous palace (Gormenghast - ain't got nothing on it - I can tell you) of rage about what seems to be almost everything that I see, read, watch and have to deal with. But that is a different post.


Note:  A ragelet (all by itself, is nary a danger) , however, with time and effort and  the subtle  addition of its brethren  (other ragelets), maybe one here, one there, a couple from behind the sofa,  bloom into a damn good inferno of rage.

Be warned. Ragelet induced rage is one of the most concerning epidemics of our times.

Just don't mention  IR35 or Brexit whilst I am in earshot.

It seems that the use of certain words or short phrases can generate  a cascade of self-perpetuating ragelets, that can quickly form into a black rage in just a few short but in no way sweet moments , I can tell you!

Also, as can anyone who has been there when it has happened to me.

Some of these poor people are still on the path to recovery.

I do visit them from time to time in the post-rage unit (PRU) , with flowers and fruit, not sure why I do that, but it seems appropriate; though the nurses keep telling me to ditch the flowers as they can trigger asthma attacks, sigh.

It's been a while...

 I know, I know!

Where have I been, what have I been doing?

You really don't care, do you, you are just being polite!

Some of you may want to know about the unfinished, "Anguish in Aberdeen", cycle of posts. It's all in my mind, just takes time to extract it all and put it into an electronic form. I might be bothered to get all the posts links into one super linked post, but then again, I am not sure that I can be bothered.

So, how am I?

Well that IS an interesting question!

(I can hear Bridget in my mind, going, "Oh no, he's used the 'Interesting Question' response - that's never a good sign.)

As those of you who know me, and not in the Biblical sense, but then there is very little sense in the Bible. Now, there is a whole host of things about the Bible that I could...

 (whoa there, not gonna, just saying I could, I don't want to drive the last reader of this blog away,  the pleasantly named, The Right Reverend Angus Wilcox, "Morning Rev" (for it is at this moment of time the morning in, oh so sunny, Alton))

...go skipping over any Bible shenanigans, (way too much begatting in there for my liking), where was I going?

Aha, the response to, "How am I?"

That IS an interesting question?

Where should I start?

There are just so many different aspects of that that need to be taken into consideration.

I will see if I can break them down into sensible groupings, perhaps starting with some outline headings - then that will help me focus and fill out each one, probably a post for each one; though this may be the start of the long festering book in my head,

"David's Guide to Common Sense and Its Application to Everyday Life in the 21st Century on Planet Earth (tm)", not the snappiest of titles but it is a decent starter for ten (For those overseas readers, that is a BBC University Challenge reference - look it up ed)

But, before I get to that point, I need to be quite clear that there is a build up of rage, driven by a large number of disparate things going on, as ever, mostly in my head.

Which takes me to one of my favourite Harry Potter (no Rev, don't go - ed) quotes:

Harry Potter:
Professor? Is this all real? Or is it just happening inside my head?

Albus Dumbledore:
Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry. Why should that mean that it's not real?

.. and I think that is very deep indeed. It is all real and it is all happening inside my head, including you my dear, dear reader.

Meandering around Alton

I've had an unexpected couple of days "off", my current contract expired on Tuesday and the new one arrived Wednesday with a surreptitious 'gotcha' clause added in, luckily I spotted it,  queried it and  without some changes I simply could not sign it. Sigh.

So, as I couldn't provide services without a contract, I stayed at home. But this was not a problem (apart from the loss of one or more billable days - financial ed)

Now, I am a big fan of Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor, Stoic Philosopher, Wise Man and all round great guy.

Why am I mentioning this, well, as I had this "unexpected free day" (not free, damn costly - opportunity cost ed), rather than just rail and rage about the injustice of the lack of a signable contract and berating the bureaucracy that failed to get it in place before the end of the previous contract; and yes I did do those things, but after few minutes or so I realised that it was in fact pointless and not making me feel any better - but it did throw another log onto the fires of my rage; it's burning just a wee bit hotter and brighter now, if you are asking.

So, I used this spare day, as the opportunity that it was, to do some stuff that needed doing; and as we all know, the backlog of stuff that needs doing sometime, is enormous, and generally grows.

This was a golden opportunity to attack that backlog and make a big dent in it, possibly with my head, but preferably with some less easily damaged part of my anatomy.

Hmm, using words like, "backlog" and "opportunity" makes me feel like I am at work, grrr.

FYI I work in the "Agile" world of software development now (recently, since around about 2000) . I even signed the "Agile Manifesto" way back when, which in essence is the, 'Build software that the customer actually wants and get it into production as soon as possible with the highest possible quality, then rinse and repeat',  style of development. But I think that is a whole other post (or book - looking for opportunities business ed)

The Bed

We are about to change our bed; we bought a new one (wouldn't make much sense buying an old one I suppose, unless it was antique?),  in early January 2019 ...

(sorry - I have had to split off the below section as it has seemingly turned into a monster of its own creation... if you want to know about the bed can I suggest you skip the below section in braces and with italics, if you are lucky the words afterwards will line up and make sense (that would be a massive improvement - sarcasm ed)

...
(for those of you who are annually challenged, you know who you are, it takes until around April before you realise that you are in fact in a New Year - and then you start wondering, "Where did the year go?". 

It used to be a more prevalent condition when we all used to write cheques. 

Note:  a cheque is a piece of paper, that you could write details, names, amounts, dates to ensure payments (money) from your bank account went to the appropriate people, companies and da Government  - for those of you "Millenially" challenged, kind of like a mobile payments app, but without the need for a phone, an app, a charge battery - ed),

... which is part of the 'Fixing up the house" programme of work that is going on this year (2019  - as we established earlier - sigh).

The Point

There is a point to all of this, but as with many things, it is the journey that leads to enlightenment, not the final destination, as, and I know it is sometimes hard to really grasp, no-one gets out of here alive, so the final destination is meeting DEATH and so the journey is what it is all about.

Making the most of every day and  having the most enjoyment along the way:-

 "Keeps my boat, not only afloat, but hovering around 6ft off the ground"

(for my metrically challenged readers, that is around 1.8 metres).

But I digress, and if I didn't, would I be me?

Old age 

What? How did we get here, we were talking about Beds, then "Fixing up the house" and now Old Age...

Patience, my Dear Alaskan Friend. It is all linked, trust me, I am a [insert your favoured trustworthy person here] (most people use 'Doctor', but strangely enough, not me.)

 There have been a number of discussions over the past few years, very few of them relevant to this missive, but the pertinent one is about retirement (thankfully missing out the mental and physical decline and the ever nearing death conversation - phew ed).

The Staircase of Doom

The staircase in our cosy (small, very small - ed) Victorian terrace is terrific - nope definitely the wrong word - terrifying is the correct word.

It is very steep and narrow, it would fit perfectly in with the high streets of many a northern town, but without the music, the cobblestones, the rain, did I mention that damned mournful music, the soot, the Northerners, in fact let's face it, it is just plain steep and narrow and it has never visited the North.

Given the nature of the house, 2-up and 2-down, with single story extension at the back (errm - doesn't that make it a 2-up, 3-down - pedantic ed), where the single story extension contains the kitchen and the bathroom (if you were asking). 

(Though it does raise the idea of a 3-up, 2-down, that at first seems impossible, until you take into consideration hillsides - architecture ed)

The downstairs bathroom is the only bathroom (restroom for those of you linguistically challenged - ed) in the house; which means that those nocturnal moments of joylessness, where you can no longer ignore the bladder pressure, generally incur a journey down the nightmare staircase to the safety of the bathroom and relief, let's face it, the bathroom is about as far away from the bedroom as it is possible to be in this house, sigh.

We have both fallen down the stairs over the years, most importantly (i) without being pushed and (ii) without being inebriated ..

(the wall at the bottom of the staircase has brought one court action against us for assault, but luckily for us, the magistrate threw the case out with the words, "A wall cannot bring a court action, it is an inanimate object" - common sense shone by the bucket load that fateful day - ed)  

..and 'fixing' the staircase has been a source of what we shall call, meaningful discussions a number of times.

My view was to put a contract out on it, but Bridget thought I was being silly, remember she is The Reservoir of Household Sanity (tm). So I was over-ruled, again, sigh.

Retirement Home Options

So, we are on this journey, and you my dear, lovely, warm and fuzzy readers are coming with me on it.

With me so far? The bed is relevant and I will sew it back into the fabric of this narrative soon, real soon now (do you trust me - I wouldn't - I do have some idea where I am going with is, but the sun is dipping now - and there is a fire to make, fizz to be popped and guzzled and chins to be wagged - eh ed)

We (not 'you', unless you were hiding under the stairs, with the rest of the scary monsters - ed), started discussing where we would live come retirement; as for us to be able to retire in this house, with these stairs would be ever so difficult, nay dangerous.

It used to be that you got a special Victorian stair allowance from the Government, to provide home help to give you a hand up and down steep staircases, sadly this has been done away with due to Austerlitz (don't you mean Austerity - ed),  I know what I mean, follow the link if you need further information, it is not at all relevant, but it is importantly more information.

So, this retirement discussion, where we chatted in an adult fashion ...

 (the screaming, shouting and abuse are, believe it or not, all optional in an adult discussion, I think the worst thing we do is do the muppet eye roll - and to be honest that is mostly by me, I've got it down to a 'T' or is it a 'Tee' or maybe even a 'Tea' - Milk and Two Sugars please - ed),

...about where we could afford to, or want to live when we both retire.

As ever, it came down to money, familiarity and the proximity of family and loved ones (the further away the better in my books - ed).

Now you may know, certainly you will if you have been paying attention?

Have you? Why have you? Sorry, for a moment there I had a moment of doubt, but I believe it has passed.

I shall try and go on, but The Voices (tm) they do so interrupt my choo choo i(train - helpful ed) of thought.

You may know that we have been to The Great North (tm) where I had a bout of The Great North Runs (tm) (which would quite nicely take us back to the Anguish in Aberdeen saga, is only I could weave it all into the tapestry of my life - ed) not to be mistaken for The Great North Run (probably someones trademark - ed).

One of the things we had believed was, that housing was cheaper up north.

But as ever it was not as simple as that. Why oh why is it never just plain and simple?

But is did get us to thinking, what would we need to do to this house to enable us to stay in it until not only My time of dying but also Bridget's.

If you have followed this far, well done, but can you see I am starting to stitch it altogether, (No, oh poop - ed)

The Staircase

So our after our initial skirmishes (discussions - ed) we arrived at the thought, "What if we could get a less steep and dangerous staircase into the house?"

So we chatted and wondered, and finally I did some measurements, got some dimensions, numbers of steps etc worked out that the only place a new staircase could go, was exactly where it was, but would need to be less steep, and have to turn 180 degrees to get all the required steps in.

Did I mention that the steps are also very shallow - which means that people with normal feet have to walk in a sideways fashion coming down the stairs; going up ain't so bad as you can bound up on the front (balls) of you feet.

However, my calculations showed that for the staircase to be less steep (and meet modern regs - safety ed), that we would need to lose some of the floor in the back bedroom to allow for enough head room on the final turn(s) at would be the bottom of the staircase. With me? I would draw a picture, but really cannot be bothered.

Let there be Light

So, whilst we were discussing the staircase, one thing led to another and we talked about letting more light into the middle of the 3 downstairs rooms.

The back of the house is south facing, so the kitchen and the under-used back bedroom get all of the light.

The middle room, has no natural light and is a dark and dingy place, so we mused over having the wall between it and the kitchen removed - so that the light from the kitchen could pour like a golden wave of cheer and happiness. See where we are going here...

One things leads to another...

Then we thought, whilst we were at it, we could also fix the "Slug Problem (tm)".

Slug Problem

We have a slug problem. Eh? Under the floorboards downstairs is just soil, good old Victorian damp soil.

Slugs, spiders, snails and other scary things (mostly beginning with the letter S)  live under them, and even with a layer of cat hair filled carpet and the liberal (other political parties are available - balance ed) application of strategically placed gaffer tape, the little bleeders get out and into the house.

Now, I can live with the spiders, everyone has spiders, however, descending the North Face of the Eiger (our staircase - sigh ed), in the dark, in the middle of the night and finding something squish under and then up between your toes, is really, really (perhaps even another really - ed?) not something  I would wish on anyone, not even people I don't like.

Once you've done it once, and have had to rinse the dead sluggy blood and bits from out between your toes in the shower in the middle of the night, you really, really don't want to have to have that happen ever again, I still shiver at the memory. Once you've been slugged once, you never want to  go back.

Solving the Slug Problem

So, to solve the slug problem we reckoned we would need to take up the carpets, the floorboards etc and fix it, membranes, damp prevention, new flooring, insulation, the whole works... and we would need to do this to both the front room and the middle room.

The job of "fixing the house up for retirement" was growing.

Slug Hunting at 1am (one a.m - not Iam)

Have you ever done slug hunting at night?

It has to be done at night, as they seem to be nocturnal. I have sat for many an hour during the day waiting for them to show themselves, but they don't!

I have slug hunted, many times, sometimes even successfully!

Note, even picking them up with a tissue is an unpleasant thing to do, but in perspective, not as bad as cleaning them out from between your toes... everything is relative.

I know when they have got in to the house (again), as they leave little trails for me to find in the morning.

I suspect they laugh at me (snails don't laugh at you, but I would suspect that a lot of your readers might - ed). 

The smarter slugs taunt me by creating trails that read. "Katch me if you can human", "Slugs rool" - seemingly they are better at spelling than many of today's school children, who knew!

So, once I have spotted a taunting trail, the very next night, when my bladder calls me to go downstairs or I wake up due to my internal Slug Watch Alarm (tm) going off, I creep down the stairs then  turn the lights on full , and with my Slug Net (tm), in hand I go a-hunting.

What never ceases to amaze me, is how even the tiniest slugs, seem to be able to generate enormous trails.

Bringing it to a temporary end.

OK, this post is not quite finished (barely started, the voices in your head, might say - psyche ed) - the choo choo of thought hasn't faded, but my right buttock is starting to indicate that it has been sat on for a little bit too long.

Don't worry, there is more I want to share, oh, so very much I want to share (wink) .

But I most get this into the postbox before the last post is collected (I am not sure that's how it actually works - sanity ed)

But don't worry  - I'll be back... I've missed you, yes I have, even you at the back of the room.


For those of you suffering

Never forget there is help to be had, and people who will listen.

A Failure to Apologise and Golden Wonder Points

“I would like to apologise”

“What have you done this time?”

“Nuffin!”

“What nuffin schmuffin?”

“Correctamundo Frederick”

“Then why are you apologising for?”

“Because I have done things that need apologising for”

“Give me a ‘for instance’ ”

“Won’t, you can’t make me”

“Hang on, you started this silly conversation; I am simply trying to find out what you are apologising for?”

“Hmm, good point, well made. Do you have something to apologise for?”

“Hang on a moment, you’ve switched it around, why am I having to think of something I need to apologise for?”

“Aha, so you have nothing to apologise for? You have somehow led a blameless life? Seems a little unlikely don’t you think?”

“This is most unfair, why am I under scrutiny here? No, I have not led a blameless life, I have done things that were unfair, thoughtless, sometimes even underhand, but never unscrupulous.”

“So you DO have something you need to apologise for! Thought you might, given the life you have led. So go on, let us know what you would like to apologise for”

“Sorry, I am not prepared to apologise at this time or in this place.”

“Hmm, so you’ve done bad stuff to people and they don’t deserve to have an apology, even at this late stage?”

“What do you mean, I haven’t done ‘bad stuff’ to people”

“But you have just admitted that you need to apologise, but simply not here and now? What did you do and to whom?”

“That is none of your concern”

“Well it is now, I was preparing to apologise, you butted in, disrupted my prepared speech with claims of leading a blameful life with never an apology. How can that be? Do you ever apologise for anything?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I apologise immediately I realise I have done something ‘wrong’. It is better to get the apology in sooner rather than later. Apologies have a way of becoming harder, more set in their ways if you leave them.”

“So what have you had to apologise for recently?”

“Nope, not going to tell you, that is between me and my counsellor”,

“Aha, so you are seeking help for your inability to apologise?”

“No, that is not why I am seeing a counsellor!”

“So why then?”

“Again, this is not something I am prepared to discuss, with you, at this time, or in this place”

“So, what are you prepared to bare your soul about?”

“Now that is an interesting question?”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it. So go on, give us a hint?”

“Us? Who is us?”

“Well that will be me...”,

“Yesss….”

“... and my world wide blog audience”

“Excuse me, you are blogging this conversation?”

“Yes….”

“... and why would you do that?”

“That is because I have absolutely nothing to hide”

“I am sorry, I find that very hard to believe, next you will be telling me Donald Trump is the President of the United States of America!”

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

“Given the world is not a radioactive wasteland, I struggle to believe you.”

“But he is, he is going to build a wall”

“Like Pink Floyd did in their ‘The Wall’ concerts?”

“Nope, much bigger and better than that.”

“What bigger and better than the Great Wall of China?”

“Nope. Not that big”

“So where is this wall going to go?”

“On the border between Mexico and the US.”

“Really, why does he want to build a wall there?”

“To stop the Mexicans from coming in to the US”

“Errm, but wouldn’t they just get a boat around the wall to get to the US, or get a flight, or make their way to Canada and cross that unattended border? What has he got against the Mexicans?”

“Depends on whether you believe what he says in his speeches, statements to the press and his Twitter account. He believes they are the cause of crime, drugs, rape and murder in the US”

“... and are they? There is certainly a lot of crime in Mexico, there are headless bodies turning up all the time. Has he got facts backing his statements, or it is just anecdotal?”

[The EBC interrupts at this point]

Apologies for interrupting you in mid flow, but you have failed to follow the editorial guidelines and you have wandered off into the rich tapestry of Trumpland - Reality TV Gone Mad (™) and as you are not a fully paid up member of The Union of US Satirists you cannot write anything about Da Trump,

This is a cease and desist interruption and I hereby declare this blog post stopped.

[End of EBC interrupt, apologies for any inconvenience caused]

“Well that was a surprise””,

“Certainly was, but notice the double apology, those EBC Gals are simply wonderfully polite”

“Where we we?”

“No idea, I think I have lost the plot”,

“Sounds about right,, maybe we should close this post?”

“Have you got anything more to say?”

“I always have more to say, just not at this time or at this place”

Note For The Dedicated Reader

Well done, you have reached the end of one of the more rambling blog posts, you are hereby award an extra 100 Golden Wonder Points.

What are ‘Golden Wonder Points?’

Each new person that I meet is given a stock of 1,000 Golden Wonder Points. This is a reservoir of the goodwill that I feel for each and everyone in the World.

As I interact with people, the number allocated to them is either added to or subtracted from (I have a rather large spreadsheet to keep a track of all this, it can be quite time consuming!)

If the stock of a person’s GWPs drops to zero or below, I endeavour to stop having anything to do with that person and actively stay clear.

Note: This stock is given to each and every person, irrespective of what I have heard or read about them.

Splendid Indifference

Just what am I on about this time?

Well, for once, or is it twice, I am not too sure.

Perhaps Clarity?

Life requires clarity.

Clarity is a rare and beautiful thing.

It is something to aspire to and to work towards throughout your life.

Once experienced, you feel the overwhelming urge to repeat the feeling time and time again, but the fog of normal living can and will rise quickly and obscure that wonderful view.

Clarity is like an extremely addictive drug but with no side effects, well none so far as I can tell.

Clarity is like reaching the top of the tallest peak after years of strenuous effort and having the whole of your life’s experiences and memories arrayed out in front of you.

The sum of all your life history, all the things that made you the person that you are.

Each and every painful, joyful, heart rending, soul destroying and spirit lifting step of the way from conception to that particular instant of time of absolute pure clarity.

None of it is all good, or all bad.

I see it as a series of ridges, hills, both large and small, and a diverse array of ravines, both narrow and broad valleys, where the ridges and hills define the sunlit uplands and the ravines and valleys the darknesses.

It is what you do with the knowledge you perceive that matters.

It is your choice and your choice alone how to interpret the knowledge exposed to you at that moment.

And yes, you really do have a choice on how to deal with what you see.

What is past is indeed past but it will have shaped you up until this moment and will continue to shape your future, if you let it or wish it to, or you can simply breath it in, understand it and let it go, thereby understanding who you are and what made you who you are

You can choose to acknowledge it and simply move on.

Mind you that is not always easy, not easy at all.

Some of the revealed knowledge, has the stickiest of tendrils, the clingiest most venomous of embraces and the sharpest of skin puncturing poisonous fangs.

Be careful of those, they are hardest to shift.

I struggled to get clear of those.

They hooked me, entangled me, poisoned my heart and mind, made my timeless feelings of cold self-loathing into a waterfall of utter bile that I stepped into willingly, time after time, because that is what I felt I deserved. The soundless screams of mental anguish clamped shut my mouth and closed down my mind.

For protection, I senselessly wrapped myself up into a cocoon of dark self-hatred. Thoughts incessantly pounding away at my sanity. Corrosive waves of black acid battered the light and the love of life within me, until life hung by a very slender thread.

I survived, though it was a close run thing,

A few things helped me recover,

it certainly wasn’t the drugs,

it wasn’t drink,

it wasn’t the mental institutions or their staff,

it was the simple unconditional love, care, thought, time and superhuman patience of my, “Bridget”....

Thank you.

If no Bridget or Bridget equivalent available here are some suggestions

Not in any particular order:

• Exercise, it does help, yes, get out of the house and walk and walk and walk, or run if you have to (I shudder at the thought). Movement really is good for mind and body, it’s a scientific fact.
• Mindfulness and yoga helped me, though it has taken a few years to make the yoga a habit.
• “Zen it out”, which is my terminology for using The Breath, Mindfulness and Yoga all at the same time to get you out of a downwards spiral.
• Know your Triggers,  
• The Breath (™) is a powerful tool in your box of tricks.
• Cut back or stop the drinking (be brave, it is possible). Sadly alcohol is a poison, but what a sweet and surreptitious siren she/he is; watch out for her/him (On the grounds of equality, the gender of the surreptitious siren can be whatever you want it to be.).
• Talk to people, talk maybe cheap, but it is proven to help (terms and conditions apply)
• Ask for help, you really, really are not alone, really, you are not! Did I mention that you are not alone?
• Build slippery shoulders, so that unhelpful thoughts can easily be dismissed out of your head, be made to roll off your shoulders and in one motion be kicked under the table; they deserve no time or energy from you at all (apart from a decent kick in their vitals), If all the bad thoughts cannot be found quivering with fear in the dark under the table (hmm, sounds a little like my childhood - ed) then you just haven’t kicked them quite hard enough. Get them out and each time they slip back, kick them out again. “Just say no”, to bad thoughts.
• Eat proper food, nope home-delivered pizzas are not proper food, even if they have pineapple strewn all over them.

Hmm, this list is getting a little bit long and prescriptive, so time to stop, this isn’t a self help blog I will have you know.

The Not The Alton 20mph Zone

Where can I possibly start, I guess with the words of my counsellor ringing in my ears I guess I have to start at the beginning,

I have a problem.

I am disappointed with a number of things in life (whoa there cowboy, how can that possibly be, you’re are as happy as Larry, and he is a gay old chap) and it is about time that I got one or two of them off my chest,

Well, this particular diatribe is about the 20 mph limit in Alton. (What, just that, you had me worried there for a moment old chap - deep dark secrets ed)

Alton, a small market town in Hampshire, England, United Kingdom, just off the European mainland, that is until we cut our ties and lifeline and sail off into the dark blue horizon of the mid-Atlantic, where storms abrew and the winds of trade are harsh and unforgiving; unlike the bosomy Germanic warmth  of the European Union, where they take our taxes and thanks us snidely in a host of magnificent but incomprehensible languages.

Ponder on my works ye mighty and despair.

Alton, or rather the Town Council in hand with that rapacious supermarket chain, Waitrose, or as it is seen from Alton Station WAITROSE, as the neon letters for rose have lost their lustre.

Many a-time I have stopped on the railway footbridge to WAIT as instructed, but then felt decidedly dim as all the other passengers carried on without waiting at all.

Perhaps I am the only one that noticed the lack of light in the sign and decided that I should wait, perhaps I am the one true acolyte of the great supermarket chain of “WAIT”.

Anyhow and whatever, with a little everwhat thrown in on the side, there was money to be had by the Town Council from allowing WAITROSE to build a unimpressive box like structure next to the station. This money was to be used to improve pedestrian, road and bus access to the Alton Railway station (location of a thousand sunrises and sunsets if you follow me on Instagram).

This would help Alton to become the, “Gateway To the South Downs”, or as the Waitrose management team were concerned, “Allow better access to our upmarket, expensive and did I mention expensively up its own wazoo store, conveniently located next to a busy London commuter station” (is there the slightest hint of cynicism there?)

Improvements.

Over the last year, and I guess what I mean is, through 2017 a number of improvements have in fact been made to transport in Alton, sadly none to the betterment of the pedestrian, where we still suffer with the short end of a very short pointy stick.

There is now the, “Yellow Brick Road”,  from the Town Centre to the station that will take all incomers from the station into the throbbing heart of the our wonderful Hampshire market town (and vice versa, but us commuters are not so easily pleased by the ephemera of yellow paving stones); where sly cafes marketing themselves as places where, “Jane Austen ate toasted tea cakes here”, emporia, will extract the hard earned Great British Pounds from unsuspecting visitors looking for the rides of Alton Towers

(Note; the railway station has taken down the sign that said, “If you are looking for Alton Towers you are at the wrong station” , now it simply says, “Looking for Alton Towers, then take a cab but stop off at the Not Alton Towers Themed play park and give us your cash”)

In reality Jane Austen lived in Chawton, a small village, on the wrong side of the A31, just outside of Alton, though if truth be told her brother did own (part own) a small bank in Alton; for a short while whilst she wrote a book or two.

She lived there at a time when banks were banks and not rapacious money grabbing, customer ignoring, tax defrauding, money laundering, worker ignoring, small business loan denying, lying, cheating businesses,

Though I am sure her brother acted with the greatest of probity being the brother of the greatest woman writer that Chawton and Alton have ever known.

Strangely, Hampshire and many, many other counties (apparently she, “Got about a bit”) are known as “Jane Austen” counties… somehow I expect the music of, “The Big Country”, to pop into my mind when I read that on various signs. Or perhaps I am thinking of the Magnificent Seven.

Did I mention 20mph zones (or back in the Zone)

Da Governmunt (™) changed the law a couple of years ago, allowing local councils to, without any recourse to Actual Democratic Oversight (™), change the speed limit in the town, villages, hamlets in their areas.

This has subsequently meant that a host (no Golden Daffodils were injured in the writing of this post) of Town Councils have introduced a,

“Lower Limit of no more than 20 you speeding, ignorant of the law morons”,

rather than increasing the,

“Already Too High Limit, that is 30mph, to a Substantially higher Pedestrian Lethal Limit of 40mph).

Why is this annoying me?

Well for one, (I suggest standing back from your screen as I may not be able to contain the number of spleens that I feel the need to vent [This has been a Spleen Explosion Warning (™) , brought to your courtesy of the  #PutPedestriansFirst movement] ...

...there was been absolutely not a jot, not a hint of a jot, not even a tease of a hint of a jot of Enforcement Of The F***** Limit. Apologies to those of a timid nature, but it has to be said. Said LOUDLY and OFTEN.

What is the point of the Town Council spending someone else’s money to improve access to the “Gateway to The South Downs” so as to make it a veritable pleasant experience walking to and from the train station leading to pedestrians in Alton being given First Class and safe experience, rather than the dangerous and fearful experience it was before the change and what is now simply exactly the same.

What am I saying.

The majority (and believe me I have stood and counted the cars going passed me in the So-Called-20mph Zone and there is absolutely no doubt that it is the vast majority) - are either Wilfully Ignorant, Really Not Paying Attention or simply Breaking the Speed Limit In Full Knowledge of their Actions, because the speed limit is well and truly not enforced by anyone.

The #PutPedestriansFirst movement (of which I am a founding member, treasurer, secretary and Grand Chairman) has been created to take back the speed limit from the police, the highways authorities and local councils and Enforce The Bleedin’ Law; as without the law, the Road Bullies, the Petrol Headed Fuckwits Who Know the Right Speed for all road Conditions will triumph and pedestrians will be stuck where there are today and have been since the introduction of the motor car, with the Short and Shitty End of the Stick,

As I walk to and from Alton Station I have taken my first steps in fighting back against the rising tide of wilful ignorance and I catch each driver in the eye (no, not with a stick, a stone or even a laser pen) and if they are driving within the limit, I give then a massive Thumbs Up and a Beaming Grin.  However, if they are breaking the limit, they get the same eye contact but a Thumbs Down, a rueful shake of the head and a sad face.

With these simple free tools, and until the movement burgeons and I can extract money from people (stage 2-5 require funding above and beyond what I alone can afford), we can start to take back control of the streets, roads and lanes of our beautiful country from the Vehicular Nazis who currently stalk it and try to make it a cleaner, greener and more pleasant land for all pedestrians. After all, when a motorist gets out of a car, they become pedestrians too.

Small aside

I drive a car and drive within the speed limit. What really did my head in recently was driving in the Alton 20mph zone and being overtaken by a Range Rover driving Knob Head,  as we came up to some humps in the road. The Eejut had memorably number plates (available on demand for all law enforcement agencies) and proceeded to speed his away (no doubt it was a he, could tell by the way he was holding his phone), through the chicanes designed to slow cars down and headed out into the 30mph zone doing significantly more than that speed as well.