Thanks to the northerly latitude I live at I don’t have to get up before sunrise (which this morning was at 6:09am), that’s not to say I am not awake at that time. I can still wrap my head in a pillow while Baby G makes noises and pretend that at 6.30am I have had a lie in. Come December that will all change as our closest star won’t make an appearance until gone 8am, by which time I will already be at my desk at work.
Dawn, whenever it may be always arrives in the morning but the only use for A.M. is to be asleep and not wake up. I am not designed to wake up before the sunrise (whenever that is), nor should I be woken by any loud ringing noise or external stimulus. I am a sensitive soul who should be allowed to fall asleep when I am tired and wake up when I’m not.
I’m basically a cat in human form, and would have no issues with being fed and worshiped as a God. Do you hear that Mrs G, I would have no problem at all being worshiped.
For the meantime I live in a world that insists on stopping me sleeping, and waking me up at some stupid time in the morning on a regular basis.
It isn’t a good idea to have a conversation around me. I’m a pretty nosy person. Not only am I blessed with a large nasal appendage I had developed the ability to overhear that would be of great use to any spy.
Sitting listening is a skill few have because they want to be involved, but you can find out so much more when you sit quietly selecting which conversations you want to eavesdrop. It might sound sneaky but if you want privacy then don’t speak in public around me.
I am constantly listening out because I am curious as to what is happening in other people’s lives. Although as I am working through the Mr. Men series with Baby-G I should know better than to stick my nose in.
Mrs G has just gone back to school, she had to because we had run out of money and as she is a teacher it seemed like the best place to go and get some coin to keep me in the manner I’ve become accustomed to (which is being able to pay the bills and have food on the table).
Also entering full time education (Sandpit 101 and Advanced Fingerpainting) is Baby-G who has started nursery. Within a few days she has already been able to chew everything and learn how to catch infectious diseases, clever girl.
So with all the Ladies-G experiencing an end to summer it made me realise that it has been 16 years since I had the return to school August blues.
Accusations that I am Grinch will follow this post I am sure, just as they have when I have talked about this in the offline realms, but I am getting cold feet over the latest big charity “event”.
If you have been online in the last month (and I am assuming you have given you are reading this) then you can’t have missed the “ALS Ice Bucket Challenge”. Celebs and normal people alike have been throwing “ice-cold” water over themselves in aid to raise “awareness” and also a few dollars to help research in the fight against Motor Neurone Disease (as it is known in the UK). It is, and there is no argument from me here, a very noble cause.
My issue is not with the ALS Association, MNDA or any charity looking to raise money. It is hard out there for volunteer organisations, and anything they can do to help increase funds is okay by me. My issue is with the way that it has been co-opted as a “thing you *have* to do”.
Phew, finally life is getting back to normal. Well on a scale to normal that takes into account a rampant nine-month old with “dino-DNA”. Yet for the first time in almost two years it is starting to feel like life is settling down into a pattern that I can expect it to follow rather than the maelstrom of upheaval it has been.
Life is moving on at Maison-G as both Mrs and Baby G are off to their various forms of school. Mrs G starts her new job teaching A-Level English whilst the mini-me starts her first day at nursery. Despite the huge upheaval this is going to cause (getting up a bit earlier to get them both ready) it finally feels as though life is about to get back on track.
The big office move has gone off without a hitch and despite losing a window, natural light and air-con there is one thing good to come from it. I now have a straight edged desk.
You see curved desks are stupid, and if you disagree you are wrong. As wrong as a desk that does not fit under quadrilateral in a shape test, as wrong as the waste of desk area generated by the pointless cut out shape of a pleasantly bending surface with which to work on. For centuries we have worked at desks that have consisted of nothing but for straight sides and do you know what was built?
The Great Wall of China
The modern world
Even though we now have the modern technology is vastly superior to that of the 1960’s we have yet to go back to the Moon, and why? Curved desks.
Being away always means that you get to come back, well mostly but this isn’t a post about what disasters are likely to befall you whilst you are absent from home. Instead this is a post about what I miss most when I am away from home.
Of course this is easy; I miss my wife and family when I am away from them. Especially as I know this part of my post normally appears on Facebook so will earn me extra points for being all soppy. I’m hoping that the excerpt will end at “them”.
I am always sensitive around sleep, so I will always miss my bed whenever I’m not at home. Actually I can be even more specific than that. It’s not the mattress or bed frame that I pine for, it’s the pillows. The aged pieces of artificial fibres (no feathers due to my asthma) that have separated and reformed, bound together by sweat and skin cells, to fit perfectly to my head. Whenever I go and sleep elsewhere it just isn’t the same.
Celebrities have it easy don’t they? They get to do jobs that most would love to have, and in return only get judged on their abilities and looks by the public that knows nothing about them and is comfortable with the kind of abuse that would see you in jail.
So why would you want to be a celebrity? What drives people to want their eyeballs fried by flashbulbs and the very hint of a fat cell condemned as though they are obese? Who would I be if I could have been a contender?
Time is a strange concept, hours linger while the day flies by. A month is over in a sneeze, but a year goes forward slowly but speeds up when looking back. A calendar seems to be subject to the chronological Doppler effect, with the high pitched whine of the past echoing into the distance.
So it comes to pass that I have another birthday, and this one is different to the others. For the first time I shall be getting a card from my offspring. What makes this quite satisfying is that I found an old post from a couple of years ago that had the following:
So here’s to looking forward to a future birthday, to when I am 40, by which time I hope to be in a job I love, be married and have kids, in a nice house by the sea.
In the space of a few years my life has changed considerably, as it always has seemed to do.
I had a bit of a rant to some people offline about the banality of my everyday routine, how I do the same thing five days a week until I get a chance to rest at the weekend. I thought this might be worth a blog post but today will be different.
Today I am going to try my hand at something new. I cannot promise it will be any good, not that I really promise any of my posts are of a high quality. This is just a preliminary warning that rather than the free-flowing paragraphs you may be used to I am trying my hand at songwriting.
Or more specifically, lyric writing.
More more specifically, slightly changing the words of an existing song while also breaking the syllable count and possibly any rhyming.
Every government has done things it’s not proud of, history can be a harsh judge especially when past events are filtered through a modern sensibility lens. What was seen as deviant 60 years ago is now seen as normal and causes embarrassment for those in charge.
Such is the case of the great Alan Turing. A man who did more for his country than many others and was then treated inhumanly by a government he had helped to protect.
Plumbing new levels of bland blog posts I am taking part in today’s vote for Europe. This isn’t the pan-continental vote that really matters, that was the other weekend when Conchita Wurst belted out a faux James Bond theme to stick one in Putin’s eye to win Eurovision for Austria. Instead today I am taking a look at the staple
Part of my digital life has died, no longer am I trying to exploit the stupidity of the internet and have let another website perish. Being my second instance of blogicide I don’t feel as emotional as the abandoning of Angry Fairy Tales.
I have had the email confirmation that exploitingnobbers.com is no more, the two year old site no longer fulfilling the niche it was setup to do. It’s original purpose was to see how many people would be happy to pay for end of the world insurance (remember we were all going to die in 2012).
In memory of this site, I thought I’d offer the chance to protect yourself against all being raptured 18 months ago.
At this time in November life was a little crazy, if your definition of crazy is after being in hospital for a week your wife is pumped full of drugs to get a baby out followed by an emergency cesarean. I remember very little from that day other than the toast was amazing.
Today though is Baby G’s Half Year birthday, and so I’m going to indulge my own vanity and put up some pictures of the joint best thing to ever happen to me.
There was a time when posting every day was a habit, now I seem to have progressed to semi-centurally-daily. The gap between this and my last proclamation of my continuing existence has shortened by a few days but the radio silence has remained.
I was naive and thought that I would still be able to have a life, or more importantly the energy, to do everything I did prior to fatherhood. Instead I have had to compromise and, while not giving up completely on myself, have had to dedicate more of my time to parenting. To do this I’ve started to consolidate my life to make it more manageable and as a result I’ve had to make sacrifices.
Except they are not really sacrifices at all.