Okay I admit it...

Okay so I admit it, I have not blogged for quite a while, but I have a perfectly good excuse - summer! Summer is the time to lay on the beach, prance around in shorts too short and stuff your face with icecream right? Nope... Instead I have been soaked in sudden downpours, been splashed by a bus driving past a puddle and have discovered a dark underworld directly on the street below... Yes... An underworld...

In evidnce of the underworld... At four in the morning a number of rather enebriated people thought that they would ring all the door bells on the street and then proceed to swear at the people who actually got up and answered. Who gets up and answers? I have no idea... Asking for trouble! Strangely I never get really offended by this, instead I fantasise about the usage of a catapult, bangers and water bombs... In truth, I was trying to work out the best angle of tradjectory using a water bomb, the opposite building and a catapult to get the drunks in the back of the head without bursting the waterbomb before impact. I considered rebounding off the opposite wall but the pressure would make it burst. After creating a large diagram on a blueprint and plotting my tradjectories with a compass and ruler I came to the conclusion that if I was fast enough I could shoot multiple water-bombs high into the air enabling a pelting which might appear as though God himself was peeved with the drunks. They would not be able to react quikly either. There was something satisfying in that knowledge...

Anyway I am afraid I did not have a catapult to hand nor water-bombs so no action could be taken, however a couple of nights later we had a rendition of Buffalo soldier at five o'clock in the morning... The drunken chappy was singing his heart out for approximately three hours. It was as if a record was stuck on the same line - Buffalo soldier... In the heart of America... Stolen from Africa... Oh man... what are the other words?

"Shut the **ck up," said one of the neighbours.
"No those aren't the words," he replied thoughtfully...

Buffalo soldier... In the heart of...

"Would you please shut the **ck up!" shouted a neighbour.

"Man... I am just singing a song... We should all sing... And this is a good song... Buffalo soldier... with a dreadlocked rasta stolen from Africa to make an excellent pasta..."

"Those aren't even the F***ing words!" screamed the neighbour.
"Look man I am being creative. You are ruining the flow man."

A loud scream followed by a thud, left a great deal to th imagination. There was silence.

But of course the song was stuck in my mind...

Moral of the story - always have a decent catapult and a stash of waterbombs for drunks who ring door bells.

Moral of the story two. Work on the perfect tradjectory so someone else gets the blame.

Moral of the story three - when singing a song no one wants to hear - sing it in the bath and not the street. Do not entertain the idea of taking a bath into the street for singing!

Dangling a bottom on a stick!

Dangling a bottom on a stick.

It is days like this that I love coming to work. I do not mind sitting at the desk because I am provided with a rare insight into the male mind and how it perceives the world. While I construct the most enormously complex spreadsheet full of formulae, the simplistic nature of the male mind and its motivations are revealed.
I glanced over at the office cheeky, “is everything okay? You haven’t said anything rude today.”
“Oh, sorry... Just busy,” he replied.
Admittedly he did look completely harassed and immersed in numerous complex calculations and charts.
“I want the fun one back,” I replied.
“Okay I will just pop to the loo and then tell you about the perfect gym experience that I had last night,” he said. With that he stood up from the desk and stretched.
When he returned he had one of those cheeky glints in his eye.
“So... I was at the gym last night and running on the treadmill and some kind of planetary alignment must have taken place because the perfect motivation took place. You know what it was?”
I studied him, “naked can-can dancers?”
“Nope three Latino bottoms on the cross trainers in front of me,” he replied smugly.
I frowned, I had an image of dis-embodied bottoms residing on the foot placement pads of the cross-trainer. “I take it they had women attached to them...”
“Yes the most perfect women you could imagine. I don’t know why they even have to go to the gym,” he said entering the fantasy dazed state.
“Well surely that is why they are perfect. They go to the gym daily and maintain their bodies - so therefore are ideal. If they didn’t go and ate pies they would probably look very different,” I replied
“Chicken and egg,” he said.
“So regarding these women’s bottoms... I sense that there is some kind of bottom hierarchy / measure to gauge the perfection of a bottom.”
“There are three types,” he replied.
Surely there had to be more than three types of bottom. Still I did not butt into the bottom flow.
“There is the Latino bottom, which is the ultimate in bottom. It is full, voluptuous and firm. There is plenty of meat on it. There is the Afro-Caribbean bottom. A similar kind of bottom, full, solid and beautiful and then there is the ‘other,’” he said with a smile.
There was a silence while I waited for his bottom measure elaboration / justification.
“The other comprises of all manner of bottom. You have the small Asian, the American cheerleader and many others. Three categories are more than enough for men to determine where something sits in terms of bottom,” he said with a definite nod.

I had honestly never considered a bottom hierarchy before. The office cheeky had changed my perception of the common bottom. “Okay what about men then?”
“There are two types: hairy and non hairy.”
How fair was that? There had to be more bottom categories for men.
“So tell me more about your motivation then,” I said allowing the male bottom hierarchy to churn in the back of my mind.
“Well being mesmerised by the bouncing bottoms, I realised I could divide my run into targets. When I achieved the first couple of kilometres I got the first one. The thought of her and her bottom kept me running. Then when I hit the second goal I was rewarded with the second beautiful bottom.”
I studied him; it was the office cheeky.... “You were rewarded with both weren’t you?”
He smiled a cheeky grin, “yep! Then when I got to the third...”
“Okay... I kind of get it...” I said before a full visual elaboration took place.
“The fantasy was fantastic... It worked really well apart from when I was running for the third posterial reward... Unfortunately the three of them finished training. I was so disappointed,” he said sadly.
“And let me guess an overly sweaty man arrived in a thong.”
“No... But it was a sad case. I ran faster to try and catch them,” he replied.
“You ran faster on a stationary treadmill to try and chase the Latino ladies?” I asked.
“Metaphorically yes. In my mind I ran through the treadmill and caught them all! It was amazing!”
“I think it would have been better if Mr sweaty and his white t-shirt had appeared. Or three flabby bottoms wobbled in front of you,” I said imagining it.
“Who is Mr Sweaty?”
“You have never heard of Mr Sweaty?”
He shook his head with a frown.
“He basically floods the area with sweat whenever he exercises. He is amazing. We once did an abs class and he sweated so hard that he created a sweat puddle. When he walked off he turned to us and said you know you have had a good work out when you have sweated. He often wears a white t-shirt which sticks to his hairy back. The hair sometimes makes patterns according to how he has been laying.”
“That is gross!” replied Office cheeky.
“He seems quite proud of it,” I replied.
Mr cheeky seemed absorbed by something.
“Okay what’s going on? Your eyes are wiggling... “I said.
“I am thinking... So how come some women wear lots of make- up to the gym and others don’t?” he asked seriously. Was there some kind of pattern?
“I have no real clue. Although my friend was saying about two women she saw at the gym. They were dressed in the smallest clothing, had done their hair and wore full evening make-up. They had rather pert parts and displayed braless- lycra-clad breastage. After they had posed around the gym she heard the pair of them in the stretching room saying ‘God men just stare all the time. They are such pervs. It really puts you off going to the gym!’”
The office cheeky looked dumbfounded, “but they are dressed like that – what do they expect? Men are visual! It is their instinct to look!”
He was right.
“As I said before men spend the majority of their time imagining women naked,” he said drifting into the glazed eye look.
“Yes I had a question about that... What even fat ones?” I said.
He shook his head and appeared to have a smell under his nose. “No they are invisible. They become an extension to a wall or a pillar. We just don’t see them. In fact we selectively filter to enable maximum naked fantasy of hottyness,” he said.
I shook my head, “that is not nice.”
“It is reality and truth... If a person wants to be imagined naked – make it nice for the fantasiser – I say!” he replied.
For a moment the pair of us sat in contemplation. I wondered how women perceived men at the gym. They grunted, a few posed but the majority appeared to exercise. In the meantime it was like a mental nudist camp for the men. How could the gym dynamic be sooo different for men and women?
The office hotty trotted past so I waved her over. “Do you go to the gym?”
“No,” she said.
“If you went to the gym would you wear make-up?”
“Probably,” she replied honestly.
“Do you know any women who wear make-up to the gym?” asked the office cheeky.
“Oh yes... One girl I know wears make-up and revealing clothing but that was because she fancied the instructor,” she replied
“Did it work?”
“Yes an escapee nipple resulted in her having a date and a cheeky kiss,” she said matter of factly.
Office cheeky and I gave each other a look. So by flashing your nipples at the gym instructor a person could get a date. I must have been bought up in a different era. It seemed the learnings I had had through my life had missed out that key fact. It was the same as the not running when taking part in a game of kiss chase. Hmmm maybe the gym was another equivalent to kiss chase in the exercise dynamic.
“The gym must attract two types – those who pose and those who actually want to exercise. Gym dating...” she said thinking about the make-up conundrum.
“Actually I was always bemused by a girl who used to come to the gym wearing Lycra with a leopard skin thong over the top. She used to saunter around the gym, stretch and bend over in front of the grunting men lifting weights. Suddenly it makes sense,” I said.
“Did they grunt louder went she bent over?” asked the office hotty.
“Yes much louder. Actually one time, at the same gym, one of the lycra-clad bending-over girls distracted a man on a treadmill who shot off the back and landed on my lap on the bike. It was quite funny really,” I said remembering how embarrassed the poor chap was.
“Really?”
The pair shook their heads.
“So how do you measure a man’s bottom? I mean in terms of pertness in the bottom hierarchy?” I asked the office hotty.
“Well there is peachy and not...”
“There must be more... Men have Latino, Afro-Caribbean and other for women,” I said.
“Other?” said with a bemused look.
“All the other categories,” I said.
“Let me just say there are lots of lovely bottoms in the ‘other’ category,” said the office cheeky.
“I think there are buns of steel, flat bottom and peachy,” I said thoughtfully considering the male bottom hierarchy.
The office hotty agreed. “I am not into the flat bottom. Just the peachy,” she said.
“There must be women who are specifically attracted to the flat bottom kind,” I said.
We all looked at each other. Was a woman attracted to a certain kind of bottom? What would determine that? It seemed the office hotty had developed a selective bottom filtration system. I had a tendency towards buns of steel and the walnut cracking kind. It seemed to tally in with the fact that I was fitness obsessed. She was curvaceous and had an attraction to a peachy bottom. I had never considered bottom hierarchy in the survival psyche. Nor had I realised that dangling a bottom on a stick was a key motivator for the male exerciser. I knew that sex was a motivator but I had one final question.”
“So if we created a man only gym with films of female bottoms playing repetition would the men get fit?”
“No. It isn’t real. You need the bouncing action to be real and close. That way we will fantasise about chasing it. It is all about the display and the potential.... It stops the pain in the limbs. You can ache like hell but you will keep chasing,” he said.
Hmmm. I smiled to myself.
“What happens if you get overly excited?” I asked.
“The treadmill will take care of that and eject you!”
I had never considered this before... I had never considered men running whilst excited... Was that possible? So I wrote on a pad “Can a man with an excited sausage run?” and handed it to the office comedian and the office cheeky.
Answer: ‘yes – when I was at school we had a swimming race. One of the kids had that same problem, jumped in the pool and won the race,’ said the office comedian.
I wonder whether he used it as a propeller....
Although, according to the office cheeky, there was more to it...
“I think I should explain...” he said thoughtfully. “There is a self safety process built in my system, it only needs a starting point where everything is calm before getting on the treadmill.... As a person gets more excited, the hope of getting the incentive grows, so you run faster putting all the extra blood to better use. Until that person thinks some more, gets more excited, runs faster, blood circulates ... And there you go a safety loop which is also the exercise driver ... and whole point behind the theory. Fantasy drives the physical!”
It made perfect sense.
“So what if a person is already het up?”
“Well that could prove sticky... If a person is already excited, then they will never start running until they take care of business manually. Or if they are half man and half amazing they will get the incentive to take care of business for them unfortunately the running becomes redundant.”
I was a little confused.
“So....”
“To answer your question regarding the sausage - no in all possible scenarios ... No running with a live hotdog,” he said.
How come the office comedian believed a person could run with an inflated extra leg and office cheeky was stumped by a hot dog in motion?

“But he says that his friend won a swimming competition whilst in a state of sausage excitement,” I replied.
The office cheeky rolled his eyes, “Water is a completely different medium with ,naturally, its own set of rules and theories ...”
I should have known!
In summary:
It seemed that motivation was more than just excitement. It seemed the simple suggestion that caused the lower regions to twitch could heighten a performance. But what did that mean? Did it mean that a person’s drive was stimulated by the potential physical reward? Was it primeval? Or was there something paramount that I was missing? Why were women so different? A woman would not necessarily run faster on a treadmill if three hot men were in front of her. If they were behind her she might run faster... Or she might slow down if she had been aware of the ideal strategy in kiss chase! Obviously these thoughts have distracted me. If you have answers to this conundrum I would love to know!
So to the morals of the story...
1) Place a large bottom on a stick to motivate a man to get fit.
2) Never be offended if your bottom falls into the other category.
3) Never run with an inflated hotdog unless you have the capability to use it as a propeller to win a swimming race.

Since the discussions Mr Cheeky has since informed that using a male appendage is unwise because it potentially could take the swimmer out of the water - kind of like a helicopter. "It should be more of a fin!" he said.

The mad, the bizarre and the down right wasted.

For the first time in my life I truly understood the expression as mad a hatter. Imagine parking your car opposite three people who are having a garage sale without a garage. Yes. So a number of undesirable items are lined up along the wall. Broken ornaments, an anarchy flag (everyone must have one of those) and a broken badminton bat... There were other items but they did not make a consumative impression on me...

The three people who had originated the idea accompanied their wall display with hardcore music played at full volume. A sales technique which is quite rare revealed highly energeticdancing which could be likened to jerking, spasms and tantrums. Every so often they sat down swigged a beer and then prepared for the next dance.

Subtely trying to park my car in a space that was coincidentally available oppsite the display, I tried to adopt my stealth departure. Unfortunately as I rounded a corner I stumbled upon three child-like drawings. Since I have a mind which feels the need to decode code I stood studying them. In red pen was writtem 'jellyusy is no need' no to discrmatv bevor,' and 4d+7d = somefing' A real puzzle if you ask me. In the centre there was a half drawn anarchy sign with eyelashes. If you can work that out you are a genius.

Since Boscombe has the ability to provide me than just human spectacle, I stood for a moment attempting fathom what it meant. That was my mistake. One of the spasmotic dancers spotted me and ran over. Well when I say ran is was more of a sideways stumble mixed with forward momentum. When she arrived she grinned at me wearing a top hat. Yes - TOP HAT!
'Hello do you like our drawings?'
Being polite I replied, 'I am just trying to work out what it says.'
'I am wasted.'
I studied the paper. I could not decipher those words.
'No I am wasted - been drinking and dancing. We did this to promote our garage sale. But I'm a bit drunk now.'
Okay - they were promoting their garage sale by not actually referencing a garage, having a garage, a sale or anything relating to it. Amazing cryptic clues - maybe they could enact a garage sale through charades too.

'I did that one,' she said pointing.
I nodded and considered my potential escape.
'It says not to be jealous... There is no point you see.'
She was right.
''cause jelousy makes you jealous.'
I could see the logic in that argument.
'I'm wearing a hat.'
'Yes you are... a top hat too.'
'I'm drunk. That bit says not to discrim in discrimin. Discrimin-hate...' she said with a belch. Discriminhate - that was pretty clever...
'That's a good attitude.' I replied.
'That one there was about dimensions and all the different dimensions. That is done by him over there... He likes his dimensions and his drugs.'
Oh brilliant... Lucky me falling into this conversation.
'I will be honest I don't really get it and I need to go and eat my tea.' I said.
She turned and gazed into my eyes, 'do you like it?'
What did a person say?
'I think the jealousy thing is very true. Jealousy does in actual fact make you jealous. Thank you. Right I have to go...'
She smiled, tipped her hat and stumbled back to the non garage sale.
I wandered home bemused and chatted to one of my friends on the phone about it. As much as I thought that was weird it turns out the person in a flat below her set off the fire-alarm with her cooking. When the three fire engines arrived she would not let them in. She then tried to stop the fire alarm by spraying airfreshner into it(at least it would smell nice) and later she was found hiding in a skip. How do you beat that?

I have to admit since moving to Boscombe I have had more writing material than a person could potentially wish for. Although as wonderful as it is, I often wonder about humanity and what the future holds. Then again - if it all goes to pot one can always hold a garage sale without a garage and advise random people not to get jealous. The posibilities are limitless!

Moral of the story jealously makes you jealous!
Moral of the story 2 Never ever stop and read promotional garage sale signs that do not relate to any garage.
Moral of the story 3 never park near to or next to anyone spasmotically dancing wearing a top hat at six in the evening....

Too much thinking about thinking.

This turned up today when I was thinking about updating my status on facebook!

The question what is on your mind is a strange question. If something was on my mind then surely my mind would be like a bench or something solid. I think a better question would be what is wafting / floating or wandering through the 'what is' that is labelled as your mind... I think to much... Thinking too much is on my mind... How does that work. I will stop thinking about thinking - which means I am thinking about thinking!!! Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ego learning and the concept of remote control sea gulls!

Today has been a bit of a learning... I had never really understood how a person's ego could inflate to the size of a walrus... Yes it is possible for an ego to become that huge!

So after careful consideration I believe I should share my findings... So how many people are actually aware of how they come across? How many people are actually aware of why they do things? How many people are aware of how huge their ego is? Not me!

Yesterday I was in a rowing race and had a strange moment where I realised as much as we rowed as a team, during the race we all resided in our own personal reality. One girl was feeling not good enough and feared letting the team down. One had to lead and had the responsibility of setting the pace, another was angry because she was not reaching her full potential. I was enjoying the view - young hot men lugging boats around. What more could a woman in her thirties want?

During the race the girl who felt inadequate kept saying sorry... She seemed to be living her own personal hell until her arm ceased up... There it was - bang - an excuse... A way out.

All the while, I was enjoying the view. Obviously we did not win the race but it was interesting how the team dynamic developed once we stepped ashore. I thought the race was great - there was a nice view, I had raced and had been out on the water and survived. The lady who felt bad was justifying why it had not gone well, another sulked whilst another was angry... In the meantime, I trundled around wondering what goes on in people's minds and why it matters so much to win...

While I was thinking deeply I was asked to spend an hour on the rescue boat. "what do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Rescue people and stop them dying," was the reply.
So I set about stopping people from dying. In doing so I climbed into the rescue boat with a chap who, not being rude, seemed to have no clue how to drive it. A few moments later the engine cut out in the middle of the race. There we floated with six racing boats hammering at us at full speed. How does one react to that?

The boat driver frantically tried to start the engine... I noticed some paddles and watched the chap panic. In the end I just thought - the worst that can happen is a collision and I get to fish hot men out of the water. I also had an excuse to practice mouth to mouth under the excuse of 'I am trying to stop you dying - that is my job you know!'

The collision did not happen but our rescue boat was rescued and the boat driver's ego was bruised. He also kept apologising and told me how out of control he felt. Surely life is out of control and any form of control in chaos is an illusion... What I did notice was how the ego was hurt with failiure or perceived failiure... A bit later I climbed the pontoon and strolled back to the picturesque site of athletic bodies and burgers.

Later that day, after dwelling on egos, the egosaurus appeared on the scene. The person who told us how great they were, how everyone else was lesser than them and how they were at a higher level... In truth it was hideous - but if life is a reflection of ourselves I had to consider where my own ego sat in a boat and how egotistical rantings affected others... In truth, unless we are aware of ourselves we often do not catch our behaviour... I often behave as though I can save the world, am a gold medal winner in the olympics and am an internationally renown author... Unfortunately, after witnessing the egosaurus, something dawned on me - we only see these things because that is part of ourselves... So with great reluctance one needs to face the ego monster and face the reality - one can save the world one tree at a time. Winning an olympic gold medal in chatting about random things is probably not likely. Being an internationally renown author may happen one day but it has not happened yet. So I will re-focus my energies on what is and what is actually possible!
So I just invented something amazing: a remote control seagull that you can use to shit on those whose egos are huge - it could be a best seller. What do you think?

Here is a link to RETINA BLUE AND GOYLEGATE - You could help me become an internationally renown author so I do not have to have the remote control seagull put into production!!!!

The Goyles are coming!

This is how we get things to the world!
http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=Goylegate

More access to Retina Blue!

Make it easy, make it accessible and the world will find it!
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/60637