Philosophy of Life

It is only recently, in fact over this very Christmas period, that I have really come to appreciate the fact that I do indeed have a new outlook on life. My massive well of bitterness, cynicism and anger at the way the world is does indeed still remain but I no longer allow it to interfere with the small pleasures I try to take in everything. I have heard people talk about living in the moment, or living each day as your last, and these philosophies seem to be the closest to the way I now see things but still miss certain aspects that I find essential.

Take wine, a good example. A glass of wine with a meal is something which many people do take some sort of pleasure in, though I suspect the vast majority of people in this day and age simply drink it as many would have once drunk water, milk, or something similar with their meal. To most it seems to be simply something to accompany the meal, nothing in and of itself. To a connoisseur of wine then the wine is possibly the major aspect of the meal, but still they miss something. The wine itself can be savoured and tasted, enjoyed, remembered. The way that the wine may compliment the meal, or not as the case may be, is equally as important and as much pleasure can be taken in that. Each experience can indeed be new, even if it is one you have felt before.

Many times I have walked in the rain, simply out of enjoyment. Today I found myself caught outside without my hat, and I do not yet have an umbrella. Many began to dash for the nearest shelter, hurrying along, suddenly desperate to be elsewhere, out of this meteorological phenomena which they have decided is unpleasant. It was cold, chill throughout and I was near-shivering already, but I did not, and still do not, believe that hurrying to escape this, joining the mad rush for crowded shelter, would in any way benefit my health. Instead I paused for a moment, tilting my head back and letting the rain strike my face, damping my hair and trickling down my neck. The fact that it could be considered a pleasant or unpleasant experience was not something I was interested in at that time. Merely that it was an experience, a sensation that I have experienced before and probably will again but never in quite the same way.

Living in the moment implies an impetuousness. Seize the moment, grab the now, worry nothing for the past or the future, simply live now. I oppose this most strongly. The past makes us who we are, the tragedies and traumas of it combine to become the aspects of our personality. There is nothing to be ashamed of in the past, though I would not relate certain events to various people for reasons that only I need to know, but the past is gone. If you hold on to what is slipping away, you will be trapped by it, but if you let it go completely then you have nothing from before. Have no regrets for what is gone, no matter what it may be. Mourn when appropriate, and then smile and laugh afterwards. There are times when we feel sad and we should indulge ourselves in those moments, but we should not draw them out any longer than we have to.

No more should we artificially try to extend moments of joy and happiness, pleasant though they may be. Our minds themselves know when the moments are past and trying to force them to remain will simply seperate us from the world.

I suppose that is the main point. Do not live in the past. Do not live in the future. Do not live in the present. Live, be, experience. Sorrow, joy, guilt, freedom, hatred, love, pleasure, pain, accept all of them simply for what they are, and neither expect nor try to make them or yourself anything more. Certainly try and change things, advance yourself if you wish, sink if you wish, but do it for yourself rather than because you feel you should. What matters is what you want, what you think is right, not what others tell you or what you feel should be so.

Man-Flu

I have always found this term amazingly insulting, particularly since it was first used of me when I was in my younger years, and shortly after it was used I was diagnosed with pneumonia, hospitalised for a month and effectively bed-ridden for another five after that. That was fun. Hallucinations, respiratory problems whenever I tried to so much as move, and according to various people I was simply suffering from man-flu.

Anyway the reason I am bringing this up now is that I am suffering from flu. I am not suffering from man-flu, where the basic symptoms are of a cold but the apparent suffering is worthy of the black death. In fact soon, as I have been for the last few days of suffering, I will drag myself from my bed, check to see whether my temperature is maintaining its average of 104C, pull on clothes to suit my new look, and make myself be active without complaining. All of the complaining I may have wished to do, but refrained from, the last few days will be occuring in this post.

Each of the last few nights I have spent several hours wrapped up in a thick duvet, with three portable electric heaters blasting huge quantities of heat at me. This is an attempt to feel warm, or at least not cold enough to have chattering teeth and be shivering. My head feels like it has been carefully stuffed with cotton wool, and my nose feels like someone has stuffed corks into it. My throat meanwhile feels like I have deepthroated someone wearing a sandpaper condom. All in all, I do not feel particularly well, and the next person to accuse me of whining or having man-flu will be subjected to a sound verbal, and if I feel up to it physical, thrashing.

So now I need to concentrate on concealing my symptoms, in order to meet Russian to go to the cinema tonight. Should be interesting at least. I still cannot quite figure out whether or not I could push my luck with her and get away with it, and until I do so I am not taking the risk. I should also be visiting Sweetie some time in the next few days, before the New Year, and my moral dilemma has been heightened once again. See, before it was just that I was willing to potentially have some fun with my friend's sister, nothing serious. Now however he has threatened me, trying to scare me off her. I do not take threats well.

Little Sinner Nic

I can tell you all now that Christmas day is a bad time to realise that you have run out of cigarettes, nicotine gum, tobacco and fixings, pipe tobacco, lozenges, inhaler cartridges or any other product which contains nicotine. I have managed to keep a calm head throughout most of the day, right up until the last minute when I had to leave the family meal and walk home, hoping to regain control of my temper and stop the nicotine withdrawal fit which I was suffering from

For anyone who may not understand, do not start smoking, but I feel that I should explain the reason that a nicotine fit can be unpleasant. Nicotine is a sedative, which helps to suppress and calm anxieties. Essentially it is an artificial coping mechanism for times of stress. Unfortunately when this coping mechanism is removed, the anxieties feel much worse, and with the other effects that withdrawal brings the phrase 'I would kill for a cigarette' could easily become literal. My mind still is not quite straight now, even though I managed to acquire a half-pack.

Which brings me to the second part of the story. On the walk home I passed a gaggle of girls or young women, of indeterminate age, chattering and smoking. Passed may be the wrong word. A nicotine fit can massively heighten certain senses, at least I find it can, and from several hundred yards away I tracked the smell of smoke to the group. I then had to think of a way to seperate these people from their nicotine, which took me a few seconds to plan while 'Merry Christmas's' were exchanged, and were replied to with rather drunken hails in response. My cunning plan was then complete, and I requested a cigarette, explaining carefully that my sanity may be at stake and hoping that my rather snappy clothing would help speak for me, not to mention my recently neatened goatee and charming hat.

They did. One of the girls handed me a cigarette, and another asked if I would be alright for the rest of the day. I expressed doubt and, with giggles that I hope were due to alcohol rather than youth, one of the girls offered me the remains of a pack in exchange for a kiss. Now what worries me is that in various films and popular culture cigarettes are prison currency, and essentially I traded sexual favours for a few of them. The sexual favours were extremely limited, and involved no more than a little tongue and a touch of wandering hands, but does this now make me a prison bitch?

Oh, and I got a phone number out of the deal as well. I really need to start printing up business cards. All I need to do now is hope that the girl in question is indeed legal. I suspect that she is, although that may merely be optimism.

Coffee Addiction

I have been spending far too much time in coffee shops recently. Admittedly this time has been spent in very pleasant company. Russian is easy to talk to, squishy in all the right places, wriggly, ticklish, and seems to be completely and utterly disinterested in anything other than friendly flirting, frustatingly enough. Of course I could be misreading, since she does keep asking me to come meet her for coffee or alcohol, usually coffee. Either way, she is pleasant company.

The problem though is that any time I have an excuse to get out of the house at the moment, I pretty much have to take it. If I am at home then I am expected to do various different chores, fix computers, clean, cook, help wrap things, decorate, plan, make phone calls and so on. So I get out of the house a lot.

When I say a lot, I have so far this week been out for five cups of coffee with Russian and met her for drinks in the evening twice. The fact that she is a lot nearer to me than most of the Cast is convenient, though her apparent lack of interest is rather less useful.

The main point though is that I believe I have regained my caffeine addiction, not something I particularly wanted. On the other hand there is very little I would not do for possession of this coffee machine.

Christmas Shopping

A large portion of my Christmas shopping is now done, certainly all of the family presents have been bought, wrapped, and put under the tree. They would have been anyway, if we had put the tree up yet. Decorating is almost always left to the last minute, or possibly even later, here so with luck the tree will be erected by Christmas Eve. Just do not expect my own Scroogey self to take part in the decorating of it, or any other part of the house. It is not that I do not like decorations, or Christmas, it is just that I find all of the tacky, glittery decorations so gaudy and overstated.

Were decorating to be left to me alone then it would consist of muted greens and reds, mainly in the form of holly and berries with a few pieces of mistletoe, place near doorways, windows and fireplaces. The rest would be candles scattered around carefully, lit in the evenings to try and chase away that cloying wintery darkness, so different from the crushing humid heat of summer, or its clear, fresh airiness if you happen to get lucky. Winter darkness is sweet-tasting, chill and close to the skin.

Anyway I have drifted away from the title of this post. The main point was to try and defend myself as not a Grinch-type character, despite what people at work may think. I do not dislike Christmas, I simply think it is overdone. As proof of this I offer my love of Christmas shopping. I delight in shouldering my way through crowds of cramped, irritable shoppers all searching for that one perfect present. I love the press of people, despite the mild claustrophobia it triggers in me, the sheer chaos of the shops so close to the big event itself. The gaudy decorations never look quite so bad in scale with much larger buildings than those they are usually put in, and the pitiful attempts at Christmas lights by the town council always amuse me.

Once the chaos has been fought and defeated, along with a trip to the supermarket to buy myself a bottle of wine for when I return home in an attempt to drown the adrenaline, the wrapping must be done. Massively overpriced decorated paper where brown parcel paper would make do must be tightly sealed around each gift, hiding the contents from prying eyes and fingers of the receiver as they sit under the tree, teasing with their presence but giving away nothing.

Yes, I enjoy Christmas, I just do not enjoy the overblown build-up to it.

Sanity Break

I decided to take tonight as a sanity break, resting quietly in the pub with my iPod, a book, and several pints of cider to simply calm down for a while. Life has been so hectic recently that I have had no chance to just relax. My main decision through this has been that I will no longer struggle and try to force myself into trying to write a blog post each and every day. I will still be trying, but if nothing comes to mind then I will simply give up, and instead back-date an entry when one comes to mind.

Tomorrow I am working again, oh joy of joys, and plan to spend most of my time sitting in the office simply writing a short story for Saturday, or several Saturdays. I have quite a few hours to waste after all. Also, I have discovered a new grooming product, sort of, I have a mild fear that I may be turning into a metrosexual but I sincerely look forwards to my weekly salt-scrub now. Still undecided whether to stick with a goatee, or go for a plain beard.

Feel free to vote either way, but any beard will be short. If you really want to make a comparison then let me know via e-mail and I will send you pictures as necessary.

Moral Dilemma - Solved

So maybe not exactly solved, but I have come to the conclusion that she is simply too cute and sweet-smelling to pass up. Besides all of that she is aware of my reputation, so it is hardly likely that there will be any serious drama with her. As to her brother, while he is a pleasant enough fellow I would not honestly count him as a friend. An acquaintance, maybe. Pleasant company, most definitely.

Maybe I am simply addicted to drama. I certainly feel more alive when events are in turmoil and chaos around me. No matter how much trouble or trauma it may cause, I much prefer living when things are uncertain than when I know exactly what is going on. People are simply too predictable to make life fun when they react rationally to things.

A Moral Dilemma

Yes, occasionally I do hesitate because of morals, the few I have left. Essentially the sister of an acquaintance, not someone I have known long enough to really call a friend, is throwing herself at me. This is not a figure of speech, it is quite literal and was occuring while I was with said acquaintance and a few others drinking quietly in the pub. It was commented on by a few of the people present that it was happening, telling me that it was not a figment of my imagination.

Then again if my imagination can force me to hallucinate being jumped and having kisses pressed upon me when the sister of said acquaintance was leaving it is a lot more powerful than I thought. Now the lass is a little young, though still of legal age as evidenced by her presence in a public house of drinking, but the main problem here is the supposed unwritten rule that you do not sleep with your friend's families.

Personally I have never understood this rule, and still do not. Sure it can complicate things but frankly I do not see that it would bother me any more than a complete stranger with whom I share no common ground sleeping with my sister. In point of fact I strongly suspect it would bother me a lot less. It is not that I am planning to drag off the poor young girl and screw her the first chance I get, or at all really, but as I have said before I do find it difficult to say no, particularly to members of the female species with curvy bits in the right places, dirty smiles, and sulky eyes.

Before anyone asks she has been warned about my by various members of my group of friends, which I suspect is half of what has caused the dilemma to arise. Telling a young woman that a certain person is dangerous and sleeps around far too much is possibly not the best way to put their interest off them. Anyway, I will probably be seeing this girl again soon at the next gathering of my friends and am uncertain how to respond. I do not think being unnaturally unfriendly in order to try and discourage her is an option, as simply put I would feel guilty for that. I suspect I will end up being my usual self and simply flirting and joking as much as I usually would. All I can hope is that her brother does not challenge me to a duel in her honour.

Visiting Sweetie

Last night I paid a pleasant visit to Sweetie for a few hours. A very pleasant visit. I apologise if this post is a little erratic but I am somewhat sleep deprived due to not returning home until four o'clock this morning and dragging myself straight to bed, eager to get away from the frost and chill in the air and into warmth and, more importantly, sleep.

Sweetie demonstrated a little more of herself than I am used to from her last night, not that I am complaining. I arrived at her flat only to find myself slammed up against the wall and being rapidly stripped, losing several buttons in the process as her hands tore at my clothes. Still slightly winded I was grabbed again, pushed down to the floor, straddled and pinned while she rode me until she orgasmed and collapsed on top of me, grinning.

I decided at this point to get a little revenge, shoving her off me, grabbing her hair and pulling her into the sitting room. Pushing her face-down over a sofa, her knees on the floor I proceeded to thoroughly fuck her until she, and I, came again, pulling free of her and spraying cum over her arse.

Over the next few hours there was a lot more sex, less rough than that first session but somewhat messier. Paint-on icing was involved for a little while, and provided a good deal of entertainment, before finally we dragged our bruised, aching bodies into the shower to carefully wash one another down and letting me leave for home.

Being Poor

A certain Rabbit Gone Wrong has inspired this post, or rather her reporting of comments by her soon-to-be ex-husband. I have met people similar to this man, at least with the personality aspect she has described today, where they are poor simply because they do not have the latest sports car, a couple of extra mansions, private jets, stocks and shares meaning they never have to work again and so on. People using this as a definition of poverty is one of the things that irritates me. Now I know that I have not experienced the type of poverty that strikes in less priviliged countries than my own, but even I have more idea about what being poor really means than this guy.

I only have somewhere to live and eat now through the grace and generosity of my parents. I work part time, because I lack the qualifications to get a better job full time and have too much experience to get a worse job full time. The only way I got this job was by calling in some very old favours, and while I used to have a lot of those owed to me I am rapidly running out. This is not what I would consider poverty by any stretch, I am earning money, in a pinch I could afford to rent a room in a boarding house and eat one meal of rice a day, possibly with a little meat once and twice a week. I would manage to survive.

I only suffered what I would consider true poverty for two weeks. I had lost my house, this was back when I had one, and I had lost my job. What I had left was a car, which I had no petrol for and which got impounded due to my inability to pay for insurance, tax, petrol or parking permit. Other than that I had a good quality coat, seventy-two pence, and a set of good sturdy clothes. That seventy-two pence and a lot of fast-talking purchased me a couple of McDonald's burgers on the first day I was homeless, and then I had nothing.

For two weeks, because I was too proud to call some friends and admit I had failed miserably to support myself as I was meant to, I practically starved. I would beg and grovel for people to give me some money so that I could get food, dying of shame the whole time. I discovered after the first week why it seems that so many homeless people drink. It just gives you the ability to debase yourself to such a level that you can bring yourself to beg, at least that was how I found it. Most of my money from then went on drink, cheap supermarket brandy was a favourite since it was cheap, and warming. Never let anyone tell you sleeping on a bench is comfortable. It is not.

And then at the end of those two weeks I was rescued. One of those friends I had refused to call found me, talked me into going back with them, got me cleaned up, a change of clothes, and forced upon me enough money to get my car back and on the road, and enough petrol to get home. He also forced me to call my parents and explain what had happened, which was probably the hardest thing I have ever done.

So, next time you hear a couple of people in designer clothes, or driving a car, or just walking through town shopping complaining that they are poor just laugh at them. They honestly have no idea.

Scents and Tastes

I think I have finally discovered what it is about certain people that pushes my buttons, while others just do not do anything. It is nothing to do with looks, although anyone with my interest has to be healthy and not unnattractive. It even has very little to do with personality. Some of it may be to do with voices, but that is open to debate. I do appreciate good looks, by my own variable standards, but more in the same way that I enjoy a nice view or in some cases a good, dramatic storm.

Nope, the secret way to turn me into a stuttering, drooling mass seems to be scent. I am not talking about perfume, though I do enjoy that, its the genuine scent of a person that hits me. That soft, sweet scent that some people have sitting under their perfume. Some people smell good, some people do not, it is as simple as that. Some scents just jump straight from my nose to my brain and switch off all of the higher reasoning abilities.

That might be an exaggeration, a better way to describe it might be to say that someone with the right scent switches my priorities around from being my usual rather heartless self to being quite solidly in lust. Not love, love is a very different concept for me and requires very different triggers but lust can definitely be triggered with relative ease.

Some perfume can fake it, but usually I actually need the genuine scent of a person. The only exception I have found to this so far is Ghost, and every now and then I treat myself to some of the male version. I will not wear it often, but if I am going out to relax and enjoy myself in the evening then I will, more for me than for anyone else who might enjoy it.

I am going to try and spend a lot more time paying attention to, and indulging my senses over the Christmas holidays and next year. I feel that I have been neglecting some of them.

Russian

Now this is a strange little novelty. I do believe that I am being actively pursued by someone attempting to draw me in to a classic dating pattern. Of course I could be mistaken, and their various invites out may in fact be simple, friendly overtures, which does not explain why they are always arranged to be just the two of us and seem to involve a lot of attempted tickling. Normally by now I would have someone nicely categorized either as a potential conquest, or just a friend, but here I am not quite sure.

The problem is Russian seems to be just far, far too sweet to be my type, and especially to be interested in me. I have a great time whenever we meet up chatting and flirting but to be honest its not really any different from any friend I meet up with in private. Obviously this is apart from the fact that she does look very good in a figure-hugging backless shirt which it was far too cold to wear as sensible clothing. And I suppose it is also apart from the fact that she has soft, smooth, pale skin, long, flexible legs rising up to a perfect arse and narrow waist, with generous breasts for her size and little, pouty lips.

Okay, so given the opportunity the friends thing most likely would not work, but I have already explained about my situation and my various relationships. It seems to have made no difference. I suppose failing anything else I can ask her to start teaching me Russian. I suspect my repertoire of jokes about Communism and the Mafia will not be a good topic of discussion next time we meet though.

Interestingly she also seems to be completely non-existent on the internet. I cannot find a trace of her. I know, or suspect the reason for this, but it is rather strange all the same. Another thought has just struck me. Over time I have discovered that people of different races, and sometimes nationalities, have different tastes to them. In the spirit of scientific enquiry I believe I will have to find out what Russian tastes of.


I am also suffering jealousy over someone at the moment, rather a novel feeling. Mystery is seeing someone at the moment. Normally I have no trouble with someone in whom I have an interest spending time with someone else, but oddly enough this time it is upsetting me somewhat. I blame it on the bad weather at the moment.

Letter to the Past

With the workload that my job has put upon me at the moment, as well as Christmas and family demands my letter-writing has been sadly neglected, so much of this weekend will hopefully be dedicated to rectifying this lapse in literary diligence. On a related topic, this meme which has been recently travelling around, appearing wherever I might see, of people writing a letter to their teenage selves has stimulated my interest until I have finally decided to submit and create my own contribution.

Dear Rabbit,

Hear me out, because I know that name will mean nothing to you at the moment. You will have no idea how you, or we, will acquire it or how much it will come to mean to you. You have no idea how cynically you will come to regard it, even as you treasure and prize it as the core of your still-developing identity. Enough about your little prized nickname however, that is something you will have to discover on your own. There are other things I do want to tell you though, even if it will mean you avoid them and never learn some of the things I have.

First of all those people at school, the ones you hate and despise, and are convinced will never amount to anything. The ones that you have never let a single tear fall for, and vowed that you never will? Well, you managed it. No crying. Apparently you are nearly physically incapable of it. You never let them see anything, and that is where you screwed up on this one. It becomes so ingrained into you to hide what you are feeling that you keep doing it. Lies, deception, masking, shielding, it all becomes part of your life.

In a couple of years you will fall in love for the first time, or something close to it, and then have your heart broken. You will tell no one of this, no one will have the slightest clue what has happened except for the friends who knew you both, and them you will simply avoid. It will also be your first encounter with death. Avoid all of this. Avoid the scars it will bring you, all of them, from a handful on your arms to a mark down the centre of your tongue which is with you years later. Avoid the lot. Do not, ever, talk to a dark-haired girl that you might meet on the train. Never. Just do not do it.

A year after that you will finally escape from the hell that school has gradually been becoming, and move on to college. A few weeks later you will leave your first college having been caught accidentally by a bullet, fortunately little more than a graze, and move to a new college a short time afterwards. Avoid that, being shot hurts. Do not go to a different college simply because people from your school are not going there, the people who tormented you at school will do so anyway until certain things change, and that comes in a few months. Just go to a college where you will not be shot, and may at least have a handful of people who will talk to you.

There is no need to go into what finally happens with your tormentors, though you do not need to be quite as harsh with the first one who comes after you. That was a close call with the police, and you were nearly jailed for excessive force. You do not want to be jailed, and having something like that on your record would mess up a lot of future plans. Be careful. Stop hitting when he is down. Leave it at that. It may save you some trouble with the others as well.

Fortunately after a few more encounters like that they will start to leave you alone, though admittedly you will have added a few more scars to your collection, and ruined a perfectly good coat into the bargain. You will also begin to find it harder to concentrate on your college work, and difficult to see a point in any of it. Stick with it, and actually go to classes. You will pass anyway, as you suspect, but not quite with the marks you were hoping for.

Do not, and I cannot emphasize this enough, go with your supposed friend to meet another friend of his from the airport. She is nothing but trouble. Do not meet her. Do not speak with her. Do not date her. Do not marry her. Leave her be. You want nothing to do with her at all. The only good thing that comes out of ever having met her is your wedding ring, and she steals that when you throw her out. Just buy yourself a red gold ring instead. Marriage is not a good idea.

Once you have struggled through college you will find yourself, suprisingly, accepted into university. This is where everything pays off, all that karma owed to you comes back two-fold, maybe more. Within the first two weeks you will have discovered that relationships do not need to be painful, or even particularly romantic. There are some very friendly girls who you will be living with, and so long as you keep up your end of the bargain that is proposed at the beginning of the year, so will they. Just do not try and have sex with the blonde one, she is very dedicated to her boyfriend, no matter how affectionate and flirty she may be. The two shorter ones are fair game and will be joining you in bed shortly anyway, and there will be plenty of general physical comfort and affection in the house.

At some point in this year someone will introduce you to a hobby called live-action roleplaying. When you go to your first event do not drink that nice guy's bottle of creme de menthe. If you do you will struggle for a long time to suppress a phobia of being touched by anyone male, and for good reason. If you do, then the morning afterwards you will have to go to hospital. The hospital will tell you you have been drugged. You will keep the whole thing quiet for years, too frightened and ashamed to tell anyone and feeling sick any time anyone male so much as shakes your hand.

Oh, a year and nine months later you will discover that you have been part of what could be a bad sitcom plot. Those two, you know the ones, are actually switching around on you. You will discover this when you encounter them both at once. Enjoy it, it will only last a few months but you can get free drinks with those stories for years. Learn to co-ordinate yourself carefully though, otherwise you will just get confused.

I would love to recommend that you do not leave university the first time, and maybe if you have not married then you will not have to, but it may also be that university is not for you. Look into psychology and save yourself a few years of desperately trying to find yourself, meaningless or meaningful relationships, struggling to make ends meet, always falling slightly below expectations and constantly feeling yourself as a dissappointment. Computing is definitely not your field, as you have always suspected, but without a degree you are most likely to end up stuck in it anyway.

Save money, enjoy life, avoid the biggest mistakes I have warned you about if you can but throw yourself into the little ones. You will come to realise that little screw-ups are almost as enjoyable as getting things right. Try not to let your school years destroy all of your confidence, it will save you time in building it up again later, something I have still not managed, your veneer of arrogance will come in useful though so practice that. Do not start smoking, and when driving stay well away from anyone in a business suit and a BMW.

Have fun,
Mr R Rabbit

So there you go. Interesting exercise. I am not quite sure whether I feel better, worse, no different or anything else. It is done now though.

Decoder Ring Theatre

I adore pulp fiction. Not the film, though that is good as well, but old classical adventure, hard-boiled adventurers and tough Canadian superheroes, and some time ago I discovered it free on the internet. This is a plug, though it is one which I am choosing to do rather than having been asked or paid for it. I just want to thank the people who make these podcast plays for the sanity breaks and such they have given me at work, or while on long drives.

So here is to the people at Decoder Ring Theatre and congratulations to them all. Because of them I get to escape off into hard-boiled detective stories and fantastical superhero tales during my breaks at work.

Drifting off-topic slightly, though maybe not so much given the powers of the Red Panda, my quest to learn hypnotism and all of the other little tricks of the human mind has been renewed once again. I watched Derren Brown's "The Heist" tonight, finishing only a short while ago, and with my psychological studies resuming once again next year, including hopefully a specialist course in grief counselling, and another in hypnotherapy, I hope soon to be able to do more than simply understand how what he is doing works.

Winter's Tale

It is now definitely winter, this fact can no longer be denied or delayed. Winter has struck, with all the sudden impact that choice of phrasing implies. A few days ago mornings were still bright and crisp, but the grass was green and water flowed freely. Now everything has turned white with frost, including cars and large sections of the smaller roads near me, and water has solidified. The grass crackles as you place weight upon it, and up until midday you can bend down and snap a blade of grass rather than simply plucking it from the ground.

I love winter. The crisp air in the mornings which lasts until last thing at night, biting through any layers you wear to taunt your skin, making your body ache with cold no matter what precautions you take. The ice that snaps and creaks underfoot as you walk, touching everything with a thin layer of white even without snow falling. The slick pathways, smoothed out and with any grip removed by sheets of frozen water so that you can choose whether to try and struggle down them on foot, your legs flying in all directions, or simply take a run-up and slide, hoping for the best and trying to keep your balance as you glide along.

It is easy to understand why people use to personalize Winter, giving it human traits. It feels like Winter is out to get each of us, personally. No one else is being chilled quite as much as we are, no one else has to spend quite as long uncovering their car from frost, that patch of ice was placed specifically for us. All of it just tells us how much Winter enjoys playing with us. Never make the mistake of assuming Winter is evil or cruel, it is simply playful, and has no idea how much damage it can do. We do best when we are being pressured, pushed and tested, and Winter certainly tests us, no matter how safe we may really be.

My iTunes

Recently I unearthed my iPod, hiding under a stack of books in my study. I say my iPod but it was actually a second-hand gift from a friend when they upgraded to one of those new video iPod things, and given its age and the general reliability of Apple products it is a miracle it is still working with no battery replacement needed. I also discovered that much of the music I originally placed upon it, is still there. In a handful of cases this could be considered embarassing, in others simply funny.

My taste in music has changed little over the last few years, it is still as eclectic as ever, the only types of music I find it hard to listen to as a general genre rather than as specific songs are heavy classical opera, though I adore instrumental classical, and hip-hop or rap type music, with a few exceptions. I do not know what it is about opera, but there is something about the voices of opera singers that sends a shiver down my spine, and not in a good way. Light opera such as Gilbert and Sullivan is a different matter, and I enjoy such music greatly, but serious, heavy, wobbly-voiced opera just repels me completely.

In fact I am not a huge fan of singing in general, while I do enjoy songs I would usually much prefer to listen to a complex melody produced by instruments working in harmony or disharmony. Whether it is produced by an orchestra or a single person and a synthesizer is unimportant, it is the complexity that intrigues me.

Over-Indulgence

I feel that I may be getting old, particularly in the matter of alcohol consumption. It seems that I am unable, as I gather years, to consume alcohol in the same way in which I used to. Indeed, it has become apparent that with any drinks outside of a certain range, I find it difficult to stomach the consumption of more than two glasses. Maybe stomach is the wrong turn of phrase to use, as queasiness is rarely one of my symptoms, much more common is dizziness, slowing down and uncertainty.

Due to this I will now be sticking quite firmly to those alcoholic drinks derived from fruit or honey, as they seem to have much less of an effect upon me than any fermented or distilled from hops or barley. While I do enjoy the sensation of being 'tipsy', and having that faint tingle across my skin, I must either stick with these drinks or force myself to imbibe drinks only slowly and over a longer period of time in order to avoid moving from the pleasantly tipsy, buzzing state into loud and drunk.

There was a time when I could drink non-stop, without suffering the next morning or at the time. That seems to have fled. I suppose it will save me money at least as I will no longer need to buy as many drinks.

Having said that, I may allow myself a quick glass of brandy in the hopes of warming my icy form from the weather outside.

Typecasting

Writing the post yesterday about the various members of the cast got me thinking. People often comment that someone is, or is not, their type, so I decided to try and work out mine. Then I hit a slight problem. The only common trait I can think of is that the majority of the cast are smaller than me, height-wise at least. But I have dated or been with plenty of people who were taller than me. I then decided to go with something more general, and decided that all of the cast are female, but events in my past have demonstrated that my inclinations are, or at least used to be somewhat more flexible than that.

There are very definite reasons they are no longer that flexible, but that is a story for another time and a much more morbid and depressing post.

So maybe hair colour or length? Nope, the cast range from long blonde hair to short dark hair, as have my past relationships. No real tendency to either, though longer hair is more common in my past history I suspect that is because longer hair is simply more commong than shorter. As for colour, again anything could apply. Having spent several weeks with one girl who had rainbow hair, produced by the application of dye, and also time spent with someone who had simple, plain, naturally coloured hair I think I can rule out hair colour.

Eye colour? Definitely not. Type of looks? Cute, sexy, innocent, and many others have featured in my past. This was where I began to pick up a few hints as to what may be going on. While I found them all attractive, I found them attractive in different ways. Tomboyish looks tend to end up in somewhat rougher sex than delicate, feminine looks which draw almost a romantic mood from me. So now we have a hint. I began to think back again.

The only common factor that really could be discerned is that all of the girls in my past, and my present, are relatively healthy. This is not to say that they were all athletically slim, muscled girls, many were far from that, but none of them were at extremes. I have no stick-figures, or beach-balls in my dating history. Anyone I have dated is capable of getting around on their own feet quite happily, and none starve themselves. So, that was something.

I thought through it again. My entire dating history has varied, but in each case I have fitted myself to another person rather than shaping them to me. Sure I may be convincing, probably about a quarter of the first dates I have been on have ended up in sexual activity of some kind, and of those that did not the majority of second dates have, but each time it does not seem to be because I try to pressure the other person involved into sex, but because I try to come across as a person who is right for them.

So a little voyage of self-discovery is beginning, where I will be trying to find out what I actually want out of life, and who I actually am when I am not pretending to be anything for anyone.

Pantomime

I have tried to explain pantomimes to people who have not experienced them in the past, with limited success at best. How exactly do you explain a form of performance which usually involves cross-dressing, a romance between two women, a villain who is booed and derided by the audience every time they come onto stage, jokes which have not changed since the whole formula was invented, and heavy amounts of innuendo in a performance supposedly aimed at children while still keeping the idea in someone's head that this is all entertaining and in good fun, and really is suitable for the whole family? You can imagine why I have had such trouble, particularly in my occasional attempts to explain this to Americans.

So then, allow me to try and explain the formulaic elements common to most pantomimes before I tell you how my evening so far has gone. The hero of whatever story is being told, usually a fairy tale, is played by a woman who generally wears very short shorts, and tights. It is completely accepted that this is the hero, no matter how feminine she may actually be. No one questions the matter, or even thinks about it too much. The hero is simply played by a woman. That has always been the case in pantomime, and probably always will be. It gets interesting when you get to the hero's love interest, also played by a woman, but this time actually representing one. Before the perverts among you get your hopes up the most sexual thing you will see in your average pantomime might be a kiss on the cheek or a hug. These are shows for children, no matter what you may think.

Then you have the Buttons-type character. This is generally a companion or friend of the heroine's, if there is one, but may sometimes be instead linked to the villain. If a companion of the heroine's then Buttons will be secretly in love with her. He will confess this early on in the show to the audience, usually by asking them to look after a present of some kind which will be left at the edge of the stage. If any of the audience see someone trying to take this, they are to shout 'Buttons', or whatever name may be appropriate. Pantomime is big on audience participation. If a companion of the villain the Buttons-type character will usually be moderately incompetent, and act to temper the villain's evil.

The villains are truly evil, and revel in it, taunting and tormenting the audience to provoke choruses of boos and hisses. Sometimes they are redeemed at the end, other times they are simply killed. They are almost always the favourite character of a large portion of the audience, which drives them to even greater heights in trying to boo them off the stage.

Many pantomimes, though not all, will also have a character called a Dame. Some will have more than one. These are men dressed as women in outlandish outfits, which become gradually more and more ridiculous as each scene goes on. Either Buttons-type or the Dame or sometimes both will at some point generally do a scene where they encourage the audience to join in a song, invite children up on stage to join in, throw sweets to the audience, sing to scare away a ghost or gorilla or something similar, sometimes a mix of the above.

At some point the audience will usually be required to shout 'It's behind you' to alert the hero, or one of the good guys, to someone hiding, a nearby threat, something they are looking for or something else. They will also usually engage in a shouting match of 'oh no it isn't' or 'oh yes it is' with one of the characters, and this has become a common joke among most of England's population.

I hope I have now given you some idea of what a pantomime is, which is necessary to explain that this evening I have been to see the local pantomime with my family. The poster is above, and the person in the centre who looks like Captain Hook, and is Captain Hook, may be better known to some of you as a certain famous character from an old situational comedy, namely the Fonz.

Just thought I should share. He made an excellent Hook.

Cast Updates

I have decided that it might be worth updating people on the status of various cast members tonight. So, running through in alphabetical order and with the addition of a new potential member, here we go.

• Affair - Is still around, though I get less chance to talk to her these days since her boyfriend has recently become unemployed and is spending more time at home. However she is still trying to arrange a visit to me, or vice-versa, where we will be undisturbed by her boyfriend and both of us will have a chance to once again indulge in the rampant and rather messy sex which we had before certain circumstances persuaded us that staying together would be to the detriment of both our lives, and that we were better off as simply friends with the potential for benefits.
• BedBuddy - Has now found herself a boyfriend and, while we are still friends, is not currently a member of the cast. She did however send me some interesting pictures of herself and her new boyfriend. She will be being removed from my little cast list shortly.
  
• Essex - Is very much still around in a friendly, no-strings attached to either party manner. I am hoping to find an opportune time to visit her again soon.
• Miss Complicated - Is purely a friend now, things just got far too stressful for either of us to maintain even pretense at something more. Holding back and simply being friendly while discussing the overthrow of the government seems much easier for both of us.
• Mystery - Is still very much around, and has even commented on here recently. She will be remaining anonymous for the time being though. Wish that she lived a lot closer.
• Slave - Post-visit a decision has been reached whereby we will be remaining friendly, but accept that we are not suited for that sort of relationship. Frankly she is far too much hard work as are many of her friends. I am not willing to start providing that much support.
• Stalker - Has calmed down and backed away recently, but still regularly tries to contact me.
• Student - Is still around as a friend, and as an occasional bedwarmer. There is no real passion between us, at least not of the romantic time, but there are times when a bedwarmer or a simple, uncomplicated, unemotional fuck makes things much clearer.
• Sweetie - Again, very much still around and hopefully I will be seeing her before Christmas. Things are getting a little complicated here however, as she is starting to let me know that she is jealous. Not quite sure what to do since she also does not want to break things off.
• Tart - Completely gone, simply vanished off the face of the earth as far as I can tell. Mutual friends and acquaintances have no idea what has happened to her so it seems she may have simply gone.

Now as to the new one, tonight I was meant to be meeting with some friends who I have not seen for a while. Those friends managed to lose mobile phones or just fail to answer them, but while waiting in the pub I was approached by a young lass with a pretty face and a Russian accent. The rest of her body was also not unnattractive, and we began a conversation about fantasy writing and the supernatural before drifting into other topics. After a tour of several bars and a coffee shop she was returned home, with any innocence that she may have had intact except for some moderate tickling, playing around and petting. Phone numbers exchanged, and the conversation has continued through the wonders of text messaging. So, a new member of the cast, I would like you all to meet Russian.

Amateur Melodramatics

So last night was fun, to put it mildly. Shortly after finishing work and putting up the previous post I get an urgent phone call from a friend. She was absolutely panicked, since she had just had an argument with her ex-boyfriend and he had stormed off, swearing vengeance and that he would return. After barricading the door to her flat she had called me, expecting me to come and help. She is an old friend, if not the brightest bulb, in fact she barely registers as a candle, and I knew the boyfriend concerned. He was not an old friend, anything but, and I must admit that the opportunity to do anything that would foil revenge plans he might have was like sweet nectar in my mind.

Due to all of this I ended up not going home as I originally planned, but instead driving over a hundred miles northwards through traffic from hell, eventually arriving four hours after I left and leaving my car securely parked, after collecting a handy toy which my paranoia insists I keep close to hand in my vehicle. There are reasons for this paranoia, but let us just say that I have been the victim of road rage and leave it at that. Following this me and my little illegal toy made our way to her flat building, and inside.

I should clarify, the little illegal toy I am referring to is nothing serious. I do not keep a gun in the car, I do not even own one, though I do have a stab-proof vest which occasionally accompanies me to areas where I am not popular. The toy is essentially an extendable baton, titanium sheathing over a soft iron core extending from six inches in length to eighteen and weighing in at a comfortable four kilograms. It was bought legally, before the law changed, and personally I believe it is much more tasteful than if I were to start carrying a knife.

After some rapid deconstruction work on the barricade and reconstruction I settled in to help talk a now moronically drunk young girl out of the idea of doing something truly stupid. Her plan was to call on certain old friends of mine from the same area and encourage everyone to go looking for her rather despicable ex-boyfriend. My resolve wavered somewhat when she showed me the list of messages he had been sending to her mobile, the last one sent a few minutes previously. All were unpleasantly abusive, unpleasant in a way which turned my stomach, and became gradually more so as the barrage of communication had continued.

It was another several hours before anything actually happened. My guess is that the ex-boyfriend had been gathering his courage, with the help of certain legal substances and possibly illegal, and building up his rage before deciding to return. Return he did, and spent a good half an hour hammering on the door and cursing in drunken incoherence. Others in the block of flats later claimed to have called the police, but I have my doubts. Then again the area we were in is not known for its rapidly responsive police, mainly due to work volume, so I find it hard to fault them.

Eventually I tired of holding a sobbing girl and lost my temper. The ex-boyfriend seemed somewhat suprised when the sound of a barricade being removed from behind the door appeared, but must have only been startled for a moment as his hammering efforts redoubled. Sadly for him the door opens outwards, and I am of a fairly respectable weight. Not to mention that the door was of fairly heavy construction, good, solid wood. This he discovered when I opened it a crack prior to throwing my full weight against it. The door collided with his much smaller frame, and knocked him from his feet.

There is one particular reason that extendable batons are one of my favourite weapons. Despite the fact that they are relatively non-lethal, at least in comparison to a bladed weapon and when used with care, and not often used there is something intimidating about the 'zzt' sound of twelve inches of metal suddenly extending and clicking into place with a flick of the wrist. Threats were exchanged, various important points were made, and the ex-boyfriend left.

Afterwards we somehow ended up sitting outside in the rain for a while, with me attempting to persuade her that none of what had happened was her fault. I love the rain.

In the morning the police were called again, the council were informed that a certain girl would be needing to move shortly, and my family lawyer was called and put in touch with the lass in order to try and arrange civil proceedings, mainly a restraining order. I then, at last, finally returned to my homestead in order to bathe and relax.

Now, sleep.

The Art of the Insult

I have grown bored on the insults that people resort to in these days of simplicity and convenience. Such thrown insults as wanker, bastard, bitch and so on are simply too light in their substance. They are a fast food format, they are the McDonalds and the Burger King of the slight against another person. They may be filling temporarily, but that full feeling is only temporary, and so lacking in taste and texture that you will soon wish you had another. These insults are truly pitiful, there is no emotion to them, and no impact, they even appear as friendly nicknames on occasion.

What happened to the days when killing insults were used? When people would duel to the death, or be provoked into violence or fleeing by a well-crafted phrase? Why do we no longer take the time to construct an insult that will reduce a person to tears or pale-faced shaking in their boots? Are our enemies no longer worth this effort, or has the diet of flavour-free entertainment robbed us of our imagination and reduced us to simply parrotting those insults and curses we hear through our favourite media?

So I say no more! No more will I resort to this simple, ready-packaged insults devoid of depth and impact. From this moment on any insult I utter will be carefully crafted, unique to whomever I am insulting and with the full force of my passion and belief in the need for them to be cursed or insulted contained within it. No more shall I say simply 'you wanker', when instead I may say 'you are an ignorant cur who should have been cast unto the rocks at your birth and dashed apart by the waves', no more will I say simply 'fuck you' when I can instead throw 'I hope for the sake of the future of humanity that any children you have are still-born and any wife you may take poisons you in your sleep'.

I am now going to research the historical greats of the insult, Shakespeare, Churchill, Wilde and many others besides. I will study their skills and arts, and return armed in verbal warfare.

Missing Words

English is extremely short on words and phrases to describe certain concepts, so I have taken it upon myself to rectify this error with regards to certain topics. For tonight I have chosen the rather obvious topic of relationships. Now it is known my many that the Greeks had three words for love, using Eros, Philia and Agape, each used for different aspects of love but sadly these days simply translated, all three, as just 'love'.

Eros is love as it is generally used today, a romantic, passionate, sexual love. It includes a desire for the body of another person as well as a lust for their companionship. Philia is an almost dispassionate, friendly love, a philosophical and mental love of someone rather than any lust for them. Agape refers to a love for the family, in simple terms, including the spouse. Once Eros has been worn away by the passing years Agape is the name for what remains if anything does.

Even these I believe, were we to absorb them into our language, would be insufficient. Eros for example refers to passionate love, with a touch of lust, but what about those feelings which are almost pure lust, with a touch of philia as an almost seperate feeling about someone? Someone whom you care about, and feel lust for, but not necessarily passion? None of these can be described even by those philosophical Greeks.

So, the different types of relationships, simplified and reduced obviously, that I believe exist:

• eros - an inflamed, passionate relationship, the first part of many relationships where those involved cannot keep their hands off one another
• philia - long-developed friendship, any feelings of lust dealt with long ago so that only an enjoyment on one another's companionship remains
• agape - love for the family, simple, instinctual feelings of protectiveness and care for family
• storge - again stolen from the Greek and changed, feelings of gentle affection. a child's relationship with their 'girlfriend' for example, that slight crush that makes you smile when you think of them for no real reason
• frato - sticking with the Greek theme, feelings more developed than just friendship but still non-sexual, a friend you would count as part of your family
• destro - my own invented word (I think), an obsession with someone to the point where a relationship would be destructive to both, being unable to resist a particular person, and doing anything they ask
• calc - a cold, unforgiving relationship where someone is simply out for what they can get from it and have no real feelings for the other person

I will most likely be adding to this list over time, as I think of more, and others are welcome to add their own.

Miniature Geekiness

Another short entry I am afraid, I have spent far too long tonight cutting, glueing and laminating in order to construct games. This has meant that my imagination for posting has been somewhat curtailed, so I am reduced to writing about some of my more publically-condemned interests. Admittedly I do not quite understand why my interests in games and comics should be less well-regarded than the fact that I regularly sleep with, and pursue, a variety of women but it is thus.

So yes, I am in fact a self-admitted semi-geek. I read comics, I read a lot of fantasy and science fiction, I play roleplaying games both tabletop and live-action and a large number of other games. Since I suspect most of my readers would have little interest in the details of the roleplaying games I have decided instead to focus on the other matters.

One of the main comics I check regularly is something called Least I Could Do, possibly because other than his much more prolific success with women, his personal ownership of his place of living, his very successful work-life and the fact that he seems rarely to wish for the death of his 'friends' I identify a lot with the main character. This is probably the comic that would most interest readers here, so feel free to take a look. It is free, will not cost you a penny unless you pay per minute for your connection.

Two games I have recently acquired, after being exposed to them in Ireland, require a rather sick and twisted sense of humour. One is Final Straw, though I hesitate to mention the topic of the game for fear of being savaged by any person with an ounce of decency, or children. I will admit that the game is absolutely sick, though it does play well. The second is equally as twisted, though less likely actually cause me to be lynched, and is called Hentacle. I will say now that unless you can take extremely dark humour then you should not look at either of these games. It would also be best to avoid them at work, or with children nearby. Possibly with adults nearby as well. But they are both enjoyable games and I spent several hours whiling away the time last week with various people and each of these.

In other news I have decided to break my anonymity, potentially. This coming weekend I am being fitted for a suit with top hat and tails in order to be an usher at my sister's wedding. Despite my most ardent requests I am not being allowed to carry a sword-cane for the wedding. However if I can get a good picture of myself in this suit at the fitting, I will be revealing what I look like for the enjoyment or amusement of my loyal readers.

Sleep now. Work tomorrow. Boss will be in. Great.

As Close As Possible to Home

This little entry is unlikely to be a particularly happy one, though I am in fairly good humour at the moment. I have returned home from my trip to Ireland, or as close to home as I can get at the moment. The last time I actually had a place I could really call home it was a rather shabby, run-down one-bedroom house with a gas fire as the only heating for most of it, a gas stove as the only cooking implement, several items from my various collections hanging from the wall, and second-hand furniture scavenged from various charity shops.

In case you have not worked it out yet, I am talking about when I used to actually have my own place, even if it was rented. You have no idea how much I miss that, just being completely independent.

It has got to the point several times that I have thought about simply vanishing, becoming one of those people who simply vanish in a puff of statistics and low-priority missing person cases and see what I could do.

Not going to happen ofcourse, at least not any time soon. I have too much to do first.

Restless Night

Last night was not a good night. Slave's housemates had some friends round, and evidently decided to experiment with certain chemical substances I would prefer to avoid, except potentially in a clinical setting. I have an absolute fascination with hallucinations, and particularly a condition referred to as synaesthesia, but if I am going to experiment with substances that can cause either I am going to be extremely careful about it.

This led to one of them suffering what is known in common parlance as 'a bad trip' and spending the night on the stairs outside the room I am sleeping in alternately ranting, raving, and trying to break down the door. Quite evidently he was utterly off his head, and completely ignoring the people trying to talk him down.

Personally I just attempted to sleep. There was little I could have done had he actually managed to break down the door except hope that being completely sober and level-headed I would be capable of fending off someone a foot taller and of much heavier build than myself. I like to think that I would have managed, but I have to say that this was the first time in my entire life I have felt that helpless in such a situation.

Normally I can talk someone down from a rage easily, but this person seemed barely able to understand English. Failing that were I at home I would have access to various handy, but non-lethal weapons which are stashed around my room and the house. Okay, so I am a little paranoid, but I have my reasons. Even failing that I would have been able to run away, or call for help.

But in this case there was absolutely nothing that I felt I could actually do, except maybe unlock the door and hope that I was faster than him, and I was not ready to take that chance willingly.

As soon as I get back home I am joining the gym and finding a martial arts class. I want my complete self-confidence back.

This Meebo Thing

You may have noticed at the side of the blog, on the right there, is a little box saying 'meebo me' or some such. This is a wonderful little device which allows all of you lovely people to send me messages, and me to send them back when I am online. You get the idea I am sure. Messages sent are anonymous unless you choose to identify yourselves, so feel free to rant away.

Anyway I am sure the certain ones of you are interested in the graphic details of what has been going on in the little den of sin I find myself spending my time in. Slave has spent the majority of my time here on a leash, servicing me in some form whether that is by entertaining herself, massaging me, or more intimate tasks. After time spent on the leash she is released in order to cuddle and have actual affection.

This is something which often puzzles people about dominant-submissive relationships. It is important to remember that you are not trying to break your submissive's spirit or turn them into a true slave. In fact they are the ones who have actual control, since they are the only ones who can utter a safeword and stop whatever is going on. In a good relationship a safeword should never be needed, since the dominant should be aware enough of what the submissive is willing to do and what they can take that they should push their limits, but never go beyond them.

I have made it quite clear to Slave however that I will not be signing a contract with her, this is fun and games for both of us. Even if it were not she lives too far away for me to be willing to bind myself to her in contract, I do not know enough about her, and frankly the idea of actually permanently 'owning' another person terrifies me.

Lets Get This Meme Done

Okay, so I am going to try and complete this meme now. Incidentally as a random trivia fact meme actually refers to a way of looking at ideas or concepts in an organic fashion. Ideas, as everyone must know, spread, replicate and evolve as they are passed from person to person, in a similar way to genetic evolution. Somehow this psychological concept got hijacked and turned into a term meaning internet questionnaires.

So apparently this meme, kindly thrust upon me by Angel, means that I need to list seven things about myself and then choose seven other people to complete it. So here we go.

1. I lie like an expert, without even pausing to think about it, when I need to. I can even incorporate nice natural body language into my lies and keep track of them as they grow more complex. I can convince people of almost anything that I wish to without even putting effort into the matter.
2. I secretly want the white picket fence, two and a half children, and simple family life someday. Just not today. Nor tomorrow. Nor till I meet the person who I can actually see that future with.
3. My easiest solution to any problem is violence, it takes a lot of effort to keep this in check to the degree that I do, such that I never resort to it.
4. I detest using the phone, or any sort of electronic recording method for my voice. In fact I am massively insecure about the sound of my voice and even went for speech therapy when I was younger to try and rid myself of a lisp, which I am still self-conscious about even if people assure me it is no longer there.
5. During the course of my life four people have actively tried to kill me.
6. I was accumulating the qualifications and training needed to get a stuntman's license, but never had enough money to complete the stunt driving course that I was doing and so never got the license.
7. I feel most comfortable with a pair of swords on me, and always feel slightly naked in everyday life when I cannot wear them, which is most of the time.

So there you go. As to picking other people to do this meme, I will have to think upon it.

Inconceivable

So maybe this is not the best film in the entire history of cinematography, there may have been better films, but for an all-age film for any member of the family, to watch with a girlfriend, boyfriend, hermaphrofriend, or just friends, this is about as perfect as you can possibly get. As mentioned in the film itself there is sword fighting, giants, duels, true love, adventure, pirates, torture, death, marriage and so on. The dialogue is witty, the action is fantastically executed, the plot is predictably classical as well as being brilliantly comic.

Even with six fingers on my right hand I could not count the number of times I have watched this film with girls who I have been dating, with family members both young and old, from my baby cousins to my grandparents, and I have yet to find anyone who does not at least enjoy it. Whether ill, depressed, happy, lazy or in any other mood this film never fails to make me feel better. At one point I even got to the stage where I could recite the entire film from beginning to end without prompting, which made for some interesting mathematics lessons in college as me and various friends would drop in and out of the dialogue of the film at random moments when we grew bored of advanced calculus and quadratic equations.

Everyone has a handful of films that they enjoy watching again and again, this is the major one for me, but I will also quite happily watch a few others. Princess Bride is my any-mood film, but for violent depression I prefer Dark City, again one I can quite happily watch over and over. For sheer enjoyment of action and gunfights I will take Equilibrium, and for simple philosophising on the merits of humanity's continued existence I can watch Gattaca any time.

So which films do it for you?

Awards Left and Right

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Waking Strangely

I can sleep peacefully anywhere, one I can actually fall asleep, and here I have managed to have a peaceful, refreshing night, from which I have awoken both with my cold gone, and slave's mouth around my cock. After she finished her work she has informed me that there are certain things that need to be done today, such as a visit to the citizen's advice bureau, and that she wants to know if I would like breakfast.

After letting her know that I am not hungry, but would appreciate some coke, she leaves and I change rooms in order to take a quick shower. As she re-emerges with my coke, I tell her to put it down before throwing her onto the bed, pinning her down, shoving her skirt upwards and fucking her. Now I feel awake. Off to get dressed now, so hope you kiddies are having fun.

Flying to the Land of the Fey

I left at six o'clock in the morning, far far too early for my own comfort. Grabbing last minute items to be packed as I hurried out the door, shuffling cars around and arranging lifts before leaving for the airport. My usual paranoia kicked in and I began to panic about being late. I hate being late for flights. Fortunately, while it was cut close to the measure of thirty seconds, I was not actually late enough to miss my coach, or the subsequent flight.

Ireland has always been considered a slightly unreal, spiritual place, and its inhabitants similarly befuzzled by reality. I always find myself experiencing a similar feeling when I fly, or travel, a long distance. Admittedly Ireland is not a long distance, but due to the combination of car, coach and plane I used to find myself here, it was a long trip and I left the plane in a slight fuzz of unreality and confusion.

Unfortunately this did not last long, as it was quickly dismissed by the fact that the city of Belfast looked like an average area of London, and a Costa Coffee shop occupied pride of place in the middle of the airport. Dissappointed, I moved outside for a cigarette, hoping to catch a leprechaun or one of the sidhe sneaking a smoke of their own, but none were there. Instead Slave met me with a hug and a submissive bow of her head. For my own part, I was too tired from the journey to do much more than lie on a sofa, so the first night was taken up with watching of various films while she obediently massaged my back, followed by sleep.

Pack Up Your Troubles

I love to travel, to go to new places, meet new people, see new things. I even enjoy the travelling, flights, driving, sailing, it does not matter which. The bit I do not enjoy is the packing and unpacking. Supposedly I should be packing now, I have about five hours before I will be too busy to do anything, but I just cannot summon up the energy. Between aches and exhaustion I am far too lazy to do anything useful.

Which is a pity, because I will need clothes for Ireland. At least for travelling to Slave's house.

Fortunately I should have internet access while I am there, so I will be trying to keep all of you updated on any debauchery or scandalous activities during the week.

There were none this weekend, except for the occasional poking fight with a rather attractive young lass. Sweet though she was, I believe she has a boyfriend, so things will be going no further there. Fun all the same though.

Satisfying Pain

Not all pain has to be either unpleasant or sexual, there is another form of pain that can be experienced. This is the satisfying pain which tells you that yes, you have been working incredibly hard and pushing yourself to the limit. I am feeling this pain right now, in a very big way. A very, very big way. Movementis somewhat painful, and slow. In fact it starts slowly then accelerates to a normal walking pace before I come to a stop once again.

There is nothing sexual about this form of pain whatsoever. It is just that lovely feeling of a job very, very well done. I have spent the entire weekend hammering players with foam weaponry, charging around in leather armour, chainmail armour, plate armour, heavy robes, furs, and various other forms of costume. It has been a good weekend.

Now I need to sleep.

Then tomorrow I need to clean up here and pack clothes and such for Ireland on Tuesday.

Friend Syndrome

Chatting with someone today a discussion of friend syndrome developed. If it so happens that there are some among my readers who do not know of, or have not encountered, said syndrome then I will be kind enough to explain it. Friend's syndrome is a particular collection of neuroses, insecurities and relationship difficulties that cause the person who possesses them to be seen as a friend by women, or men, rather than as a potential partner. There can be various different causes to the syndrome, but eventually they usually reduce to much the same origin.

In essence friend's syndrome usually arises when someone with a long-term friend decides that they would like that friendship to go further, while the other person involved would prefer it stays as a simple friendship for whatever reason they may have. This instills in the first party the feeling that they are always seen as just the friend, and they will begin complaining about this to anyone who might be within hearing range, reinforcing the syndrome as well as driving away potential partners, and potential friends. This self-reinforcement continues, with even potential partners being turned into friends by the fact that a person who may have been fairly normal has allowed themselves be turned, by one, or two, or more rejections into a whining, self-righteous, pathetic parody of humanity.

The best cure for such people is to give them a hard, open-handed blow across the cheeks, forcibly turn them around to apply a deal of force via your foot to their posterior, tell them to get over themselves and grow up, and then walk away until they do so. If they do not do so, the loss of their friendship is no real loss as they will continue to sink further and further into their self-righteous self-pity.

All Far Too Easy

Something I have never really understood is how people fall in love. I do not know if I have ever actually felt real love, to the point where my heart would be broken if someone was no longer in my life. Of course, I have cried over people leaving me, or some of the things people have done, but that is rare. Crying tears is even rarer, I could count on a single hand the number of times I have cried tears, according to my parents the first time was when I was twelve years old.

This is drifting a little off-topic. The main point is that I do not understand how people fall in love, though I would very much like to find out. However what seems to happen is that people fall in love with me incredibly easily. This is not a boastful thing, and I do not know that when they declare love they are speaking genuinely, but it just seems that many people either can fall in love very easily, or I am easy to fall in love with. It is quite inconvenient to be honest.

I detest hurting people, at least emotionally, if I care about them. Physical pain is a more debatable thing depending on levels of masochism, again though, not really relevant. Basically I want to know how to stop people supposedly falling for me, it makes my life far too complicated. I would find it much easier if people could just like me, or fall in lust, everything would be so much simpler.

Anyway, I am off to a world where these things only become important between two in the morning, and ten in the morning, which is meant to be when people sleep, drink, fool around, and socialise with one another.

Why Come to Me for Help?

Many of my friends locally are younger than I am, and seem to have adopted me as a teacher figure. I do not understand quite why. Today this was demonstrated to me quite well when someone asked me to help teach their friend how to fight, since they had suffered several attacks recently. I have accepted, but I am curious about how exactly they have come to the conclusion that I can fight well.

Now admittedly I can do and have demonstrated it, but I am not highly muscly, I do not have a fighter's build, and I have scars. Let us review for a moment on that. I have scars. Now yes, that means I have survived being hurt, but looking at the other side of it, I have been hit several times with sharp implements that leave nasty scars on my arms, and smaller ones on my chest, back, legs and face. This is not the sign of someone who will teach you how to stop being hurt.

Either way, I have now taken on a student, so I am going to have to think about how to teach someone to cause lots of pain and anguish when you are a lot smaller, weaker and less vicious than the person you are trying to hurt.

There is a psychological mechanism called the doomsday switch, at least that is its name in popular psychology. The doomsday switch is that little trigger in the brain which turns you from being interested in your own survival into being interested simply in causing as much damage as you can. This is not a survival mechanism for individuals, it is a pack mechanism, whereby one herd member will sacrifice itself for the good of the pack. This is the same sort of switch which allows grandmothers to lift cars off their grandchildren, meanwhile ripping every single muscle and joint in their body and bringing themselves to the edge of death.

I do not particularly want to teach someone how to use self-hypnosis to put themselves into this state. I think I will stick with the more basic things, like poking people in the eyes.

How to Kill a Libido

I am quite certain that all of you vultures, and I use the term with the utmost affection and respect, want all of the gory details about my visit with Essex. Unfortunately there is not that much to tell, due to heavy traffic and leaving work late I arrived there late. In fact I arrived about fifteen minutes before her ex-husband and the children were due to return home. Despite our haste in removing clothes and causing severe damage to her bed, which now needs replacement, I have now made great in-roads into discovering a whole new method of libido suppression.

Namely this is the sound of a doorbell ringing as an ex-husband and toddlers arrive back home, and ex-husband has fortunately forgotten his key. This is particularly fortunate as myself and Essex are mid-coitus at this point. One hurried escape to the bathroom to pull my clothes back on, and Essex's dressing on the stairs, and everything is fine. I sit for a while for an unplanned talk with her ex-husband about religion and to help her children construct some sort of lego statue, before we flee in order to do some shopping. I needed some new letter paper and envelopes.

While shopping I also discover the rather fine-looking cigarettes that you see above. They may be incredibly overpriced, in fact they most definitely are, but they are also very pretty. My new solution to quitting smoking is to instead switch to this brand, bankrupt myself and therefore be unable to afford to smoke. Either that or pick up some of the herbal cigarettes that I tried there, which while leaving me with the craving, at least dealt with the habit.

Travelling home however I encountered one of my favourite natural events, and one which is all too rare in this country I call my home. A true storm, with lightning, rain which poured rather than simply fell, and biting winds. Since I have a cough at the moment stopping at the edge of the motorway for ten minutes to allow the elements to batter my body, since I stepped out of the car to enjoy it, may not have been the best of ideas. But it was definitely worth it.