Late

I won't lie to you (that needs to be said in a Tipperary accent) it's been a hard couple of days. There's been a cranking up of pressure, both professionally and personally.

I don't propose to go into any great detail about either, just acknowledging both here will help a little. The problem is, of course, other people. If they would just leave me/us alone to get on with life then everything would be fine. Decisions that needed to be made would be made at the right time and I/we would deal with the consequences because I/we had chosen a moment when it was right to do so.

Blah! And Meh! And possible other words ending in "h", too. I don't have a problem with being in situations where my two choices are to be either be wrong or to be incorrect, what bugs me is knowing that I'm in that position because of other people putting their noses where they are neither needed nor wanted.

And now I'm going to try sleeping. That ought to be fun.

Quite Quiet

I'm typing this in a Google Chrome browser. I got bored and thought I'd try it again. It's ok. Still prefer Firefox.

It's been a strange day. I was up very early to watch rugby online and, surprisingly, haven't dozed during the day. I've done a fair bit of housework, including washing the kitchen floor and the doormats, in the hope that I won't be treading mud in from the yard again.

It's bugging me a little that I'm having to type this in raw html to get it to format the way that I want. That alone, is probably enough to get me to stay with Firefox as my default browser. You know what it's like though - I have several tabs open with stuff happening in all of them and can't be arsed to fire up Firefox just to blog.

I should probably explain that I usually type these in a Firefox extension called Scribefire. There is a Chrome version but it spectacularly fails to publish anything! The composer window of the Blogger website doesn't indent my paragraphs unless I type in the coding myself. Pain. Oh well.

The plan for tomorrow is another early start to watch rugby and then probably get some "work work" done. I have a big launch to manage next week and the more stuff I can get done ahead of time the better. I shan't be knocking myself out with it but might well poke at it on and off during the day. Or I might not. We'll have to see.

The house was very quiet last night and today, no matter how busy I kept myself. I had the pleasure of my pretty lady's company, unexpectedly, for Wednesday and Thursday nights. My eyes like it when the last thing they see at night is her, and the first thing in the morning too. One day, every day will begin and end that way.

When I say it's been quiet, I include my neighbours in that. I have a house full of students next door, and one of the houses behind my yard is full of them too. On Tuesday night both houses hosted parties - it's Fresher's Week. I have no problem with parties, especially as they both finished well before midnight. I do have a problem however with either my neighbours or their guests standing on the flat roof of their kitchen, pissing off the end of it. I don't think they realise that their landlord is mine too. If it happens again I might have to have a quick word with him. Or just throw stuff at them!

To draw a quiet evening to an end it's an Ovaltine, I think. My God, how rock & roll am I?

Ten Years Gone

I thought it was a joke in poor taste when first I heard. "Did you hear two planes have flown into the World Trade Centre?" Like "Did you hear about the horse that walked into a bar?" That kind of thing. 

It wasn't until I got back to the house and put the news on that I realised what had happened.

All this time later it still hardly seems possible. The pictures still exert a grim fascination and retain their power to shock.

On this day of remembrance, peace and love to you all.

Reaction

I've been kind of passive this evening. Maybe because it was quite an intense day at work. I haven't been able to generate anything from within tonight.

I tried chess and really stumbled through a couple of games, quite unlike my recent form. Both Facebook and Google+ were open all the time and while I was able to pass a few comments there was never any indication that I'd add anything witty or insightful to the stream itself. Reaction, not action.

I couldn't even settle to reading, which isn't like me at all, preferring to gaze blankly at the telly or sit with music washing over me. I can't even scrape up the inspiration for a decent ending to this.

Soup Of The Day

I had Tomato Soup for dinner tonight, because it was a wet and stormy evening. It seemed like the weather for it, as it always does. Let me tell you a tale...

It was early in my time at secondary school. I was 11, maybe 12. To raise funds for a new school minibus, a sponsored walk was organised. The route took us along a footpath by the banks of the river that the town I grew up in was situated on. This was no clear flowing river with green trees overhanging bubbling water, rabbits and deer frolicking in the lush grass. The Great Ouse was brown and wide, silt-banked and flanked by the wide, empty fields of the northern Fenland, even close to Lynn.

We started at the beginning of the school day. Groups of friends strolling down the river path. As the morning wore on, the day made good on it's threat of rain. I don't remember that it rained very hard, I remember that it rained persistently, squalling into our faces, raindrops like a horde of insects buzzing inside hoods and under collars. "Blustery" doesn't quite describe it.

There was to be a stop after about 6 miles. The higher years could go on further if they wished but us youngsters were expected to stop in Stowmarket and turn round after a break. The town came into view and grew along the banks of the river. We reached the bridge and turned left into a field and what could almost be described as a marquee. Almost.

There were teachers. Teachers and a trestle table with sandwiches and a soup tureen. I chose a small plastic cup of Tomato Soup, sat on one of the folding chairs and began to sip at it. I can still remember the taste now. It never leaves me completely. It was warm and rich and creamy and spread through me slowly. I was still wet, and looking at a six mile walk home in the rain but suddenly all was right with the world.

From that day to this, if I hear the wind rattling raindrops against the window, a part of me wants Tomato Soup. In a plastic cup.

Put The Kettle On

It's amazing the way that things can change over the years.

I hadn't been awake for long this morning when I got a phone call. Shortly thereafter I was in the company of the prettiest girl in the world, munching a breakfast roll and reading the paper while we waited for Lidl to open. A rather lovely start to a Sunday.

20 years ago I probably started a Sunday with a hangover. Which brings me to an interesting observation. If I was given the choice between "no beers" (or any kind of intoxicating liquor) and "enough beers (or etc...) to make you wish you were dead in the morning", I would unhesitatingly choose the abstemious option. I just can't hack the hangovers any more. It used to be a case of "oh God, give me another drink". Now it's a case of "kill me, please!"

I guess it happens as one gets older. I've recently seen a Facebook group called "I don't have a hangover, I am actually dying" and I understand the sentiment completely. Would you believe that I've even given serious thought to going teetotal? I've had a bottle of whiskey in the house untouched for God knows how long, and there are bottles of beer in the fridge that must be dangerously close to reaching their Best Before date. I just don't enjoy it the way that I used to. Every once in a blue moon I really fancy a pint, but the nearest thing I can get to an enjoyable pint in Cork is probably one of the stouts. I miss Real Ale! But even if I had unlimited Abbot Ale at my disposal I wouldn't be going overboard.

I guess I've had my share. I'll have a cup of tea, please.