Stick or twist?

Someone has offered me a job. I was slightly the worse for wear, alcohol wise, and started moaning on about work and how disgruntled I am, and the trendy young barman asked me if I'd ever done bar work. I haven't, of course, but on the back of 11 rum and cokes I heard myself say "Yeah, I used to help out in the student bar at Uni."
It turns out that the pub - The Pheasant and Partridge - has just been bought by a local family who want to throw out the 'Generic-GastroPub-That-Looks-Exactly-Like-Every-Other-Pub-In-The-Country' atmosphere that the recent owners (a national chain) had put in. Part of the transformation involves employing local people with a bit of personality, rather than the 'pretty boys and girls with more make-up than sense' that were working there previously. I'm quite intrigued really. Tom (the barman) is the new owner's nephew and is running it until October, then he's off to Cyprus to join his Cypriot fiancee in her restaurant. So they want to take on a couple of local people to train up as managers to run it for them, while they expand their empire elsewhere. I should point out at this point that I may well have misunderstood a lot of what was said - I couldn't see straight, I was having trouble balancing on the stool, and I was busting for a pee so my mind was wandering somewhat as well. But if all is as it seems, it might be a nice opportunity. Hannah tells me the hours can be long and unsociable, but I wouldn't be working overnights anymore would I?
I have the application form before me on the table....

RC 31-8-09

Quick Haiku about Salmon

They leap in a stream
Like silver sperm on the waves
But they're still just fish

RC 28-8-09

Close Encounters of the Turd Kind

I had a horrible experience cycling this morning. I decided to take a footpath down by the river, but had forgotten how many dog owners walk their pets that way in the morning, and how few of them bother to carry bags for poop... I'm used to feeling mud and stones and things hitting me in the back after being flicked up by my back wheel, so I thought nothing of it when something splattered between my shoulder blades. It was only when I got home that I realised I had ridden thorough something left by a Great Dane with a bowel disorder, most of which was now steaming and drying on my T-shirt.
Filthy bastards.
Talk about a stench. I smell like one of Hannah's old boyfriends.

RC 27-8-09

Summer ups and downs

Sorry I've been neglecting you, dear reader. I've been enjoying the fairly decent weather by cycling and walking lots, and the thought of going indoors to turn on the computer and work was about as welcome as the thought of licking my big toe and putting it in a light socket. Being slightly fitter, and slightly thinner, means I can get out there and enjoy life without feeling knackered or embarrassed by my physique. I'm still over-weight, but not in the sense that children point at me and laugh, or get told by their parents 'that'll be you if you don't lay off the cola and crisps.'
I think I've reached the end of my tether with night work. I have no regrets about my time as a supermarket stock replenishment assistant - it got me back in the job market, and brought in some much-needed cash - but if I stay there much longer I'm going to stagnate and fester, and before long I'll be losing my will and brain cells, and I'll have forgotten what words like 'stagnate' and 'fester' actually mean.
The trouble is I'm picking precisely the wrong time to be considering a job change. Unemployment is rocketing, more and more graduates are out of work, and the chances of finding something that I enjoy, that pays well, and that is suited to my qualifications appear virtually nil. Maybe I'll just take the first thing that comes along and do it for a while until it bores me, and then move on again. But if I'm going to do that, why not just stay where I am and stick with the familiarity?
I'm sure I'm not alone in these sentiments, but that doesn't make them any less concerning.
Oh well - back to the bike.

RC 24-8-09

Decision

I've decided to give myself more leeway with the number of words I can use in each blog. I've become a bit obsessed about posting exactly 250, so I write a beautiful, thoughtful entry then spend hours trying to re-write it and cut it to fit my self-imposed boundary of wordage. In doing that I think I'm sometimes losing the passion of the piece, and my individual thoughts and feelings are failing to shine through as a result. So from now on - no Word Count, no editing, just honest, heartfelt and hopefully hilarious musings. I'll get down what I want to get down, and if it's 50 words or 5000 it'll be just fine with me.

That'll do for today, then.

RC 15-8-09

Watch this space/wait and see

Ted continues to ramp up his Summer Of Self-Indulgence. He tells me his heart attack has made him realise his time on this planet is short, and he wants to enjoy every second of it. If he carries on in his current vein, there won't be that many seconds left for him to enjoy...
I'm taking bets on what gives up first - his long-suffering wife or his fragile heart.

No joy on my campaign to let me wear headphones at work. Dave said he doesn't have a problem, but approval would have to come from the Store Manager - Esther - who apparently welcomes suggestions from staff the way she would welcome Freddie Kruger to a coffee morning.
It's typical of today's world, and today's companies. They're run by people with degrees but no experience, who think the key to success is to have every store looking identical and fail to realise that the only people who really understand what the customers want are the ones who are down there dealing with them every day. Let's see Esther in a uniform spending 10 hours a night placing tinned goods on a shelf in date order and see if she wouldn't welcome a spell with an iPod. Uncaring bitch in her ivory tower with her pension and her power-suit and her ninety quid haircut like Morticia Addams, I bet she's never done a real days work in her worthless life.
Having said all that, she might say 'yes,' so personally I'm reserving judgement.

RC 14-8-09

The things people say..

I had an encounter with one of life's true gentlemen today. I was standing by the bus stop, wondering what mental challenges I could set myself to make the hours at work less unbearable, when the invasive roar of a motorbike shook my senses. The guy riding it was straight from the "Aged Roadies That Ride Bikes" catalogue - long, unkempt beard, Harley T-shirt, torn jeans, black boots, dirty grey hair under a Nazi trooper-style helmet, and tattoos on every square inch of skin. As he approached the traffic lights, an old man in a Peugeot changed lanes in front of him, missing him by the princely distance of a good thirty feet. Apparently, to an aged biker, this is an intolerable invasion of personal space.
"Use your indicators you f***ing idiot. You stupid f***ing c***," he yelled, showing his brittle yellow teeth in the process. "Stupid old f***ing c***, GET OFF THE ROAD!!"
I stood there smiling, then realised that he was looking straight at me from behind his Harley wrap-around sunglasses. He looked wound up tighter than a reel of clingfilm, and there was no question that someone or something would be feeling the brunt of that anger. I thought my smile might mean it was me, so I shook my head, tutted and said "Some people, eh?"
He said "Yeah - and they wonder why you drag 'em out of the car and kick the f***ing shit out of 'em."
And people say bikers are foul-mouthed and aggresive.

RC 13-8-09

plus ca change

I'm going back to work tomorrow. I'm down to a small strapping on two fingers and some bruising so it's hard to justify not doing my job. The middle-aged lady on the phone from HR (I think her name was Ms Battleaxe) tells me it's company policy that when an injured party returns to work they will be placed on gentle, restricted duties only. She put on her media-trained soothing, caring voice and said "You must tell us straight away if you're feeling uncomfortable."
I was going to say "I'm an intelligent man with a degree and I'm working nights as a shelf-filler, I feel uncomfortable every time I clock in," but I decided against it.
I've got to get myself tuned to overnights again. For two weeks I've been around in daylight hours, now I have to re-train as a night owl once more. Caffeine is the key, I feel. Caffeine, Pro Plus and a Tazer that'll stun me anytime I fall asleep.
I'm going to start a campaign to let us wear headphones while working. Most of us work on our own in silence anyway, and we only get the odd stoner or incontinent insomniac in, so it's not as if we'd be upsetting scores of customers. Plus it means I won't have to listen to the inane whingeings of my narrow-minded and in-bred co-workers, who between them have the intelligence of a sparrow and the life experience of a new-born lamb.
I'm so pleased I'm going back.

RC 12-8-09

Chumps, and stumps

One of the idiots down our way had his pet arrested today under the Dangerous Dogs Act. You can't say it was unexpected. On Sunday one of the kids in the street dropped a tennis ball over the fence and the dog tore it to shreds before trying to headbutt his way out to kill everyone in sight. It's the latest in a fairly long line of incidents. The owner had several warnings, now it's Goodnight Vienna. (I don't think the dog was called Vienna, but you get my drift..)
The dog, by the way, was an Alsatian/Rottweiler cross, so you can imagine the temperament.. As it was drugged, hooded and thrown in the van the owner was heard to say "I just wanted a pet I could cuddle and play with." If you're reading this pal - no you didn't. If you'd wanted that you'd have got a labrador. What you wanted was something to make you feel manly and strong, because you have a small penis and an even smaller brain.

I sat down to watch the cricket with Ted again on Sunday. I'm quite new to the game, but I think it's fair to say England got a spanking. Ted was hungover and says the result was all my fault - apparently the team were playing well until I started watching and in the last two Tests they've been awful. Ted drowned his sorrows in a four-pack of Worthington Creamflow and a cigar the size of Shropshire.

RC 11-8-09

The Game

I have some interesting bruises on my hand now. I popped over to show Ted and he said "Modern medicine is all voodoo and trickery. If I was you I'd rip off that strapping, throw away the pills, and rub some Witch Hazel in with a lintle." I think he said a lintle. It doesn't make much sense to me, but then that's true of most of Ted's utterances.
Beryl has moved back in, but is still silent and frosty. Things might improve if Ted stops nipping out for a quick cig or tinny every couple of hours. He goes back in reeking of smoke or lager and wonders why she kicks up a fuss. He's a character, God Bless Him.
He's been trying to get me interested in cricket. I've always considered it a game for pansies who aren't good enough to play real sports.. Ted insists it's like full-size chess with gentlemen players instead of pieces, and that you have to watch it at length to appreciate it. So at the weekend I accepted his offer to spend the day watching it with him. We had snacks, we had drinks, and I was fully willing to absorb myself in the spectacle and learn appreciation from Ted as the hours unfolded.
And it rained. It rained all day. All we got to see were some groundsmen sweeping rain off the pitch, and some pissed off spectators who'd blown fifty quid each to watch the rain for ten hours.
Stupid game.

RC 6-8-09

another day, another dream

I can't get Thursday's dream out of my head. I can remember almost every line that was spoken, every scene that was filmed, every position that the actors got into. I've been trying to write it all down. While I'm off work, I may try and put it together as a proper screenplay and see if I can sell it. I've often thought my imagination could make me money, although I hadn't expected my first idea to be a film in which an interstellar hooker bangs her way around the Universe, but sex sells as they say, especially in the porn industry.

If I rent two DVDs a day from the 'adult entertainment' section of the local shop, will they understand that I'm merely researching the current styles and trends in the genre so I can tailor my upcoming screenplay accordingly? Or will they just think I'm a pervert? I'd hate to walk into the shop next month and have women say to each other - "That's the one Janet. That's him. Filthy bastard. Masturbates more often than he breathes. Watch him, Janet, and lock the girls away until they're forty."
Ah, stuff 'em. Do I care what they think? A bunch of middle-aged, over-weight, under-sexed, chocoholic, leather-skinned sourpuss hags and has-beens? Women whose only sniff of sex in the past ten years has been sitting in a warm bath with some Chablis and a second-hand 'racy novel'?

Actually, that's an idea - I wonder if Mills and Boon do sci-fi?

RC 3-8-09