The Fat And The Furious

An Unexpected Return to Wonderland...

2012-01-26T07:09:00.000-08:00

When I imagined myself returning to Dubai, I imagined all kinds of things and how I would feel as I looked at the now-working Metro lines and the finished Burj Dubai...I mean Khalifa. What I never, ever imagined was seeing Dubai from the inside of a police van, through the bars of black caging.

I was flying to Cambodia with Etihad, via AD and Bangkok. There was supposed to be a 2 hour stop in each place. On my way to Manchester Airport my new company rang to say there was a long delay to the Bangkok leg, and it would be leaving 8 or 9 hours late. When I landed in AD the transfer desk gave everyone a hotel voucher and told us to go through immigration and get picked up for the hotel. I had no inkling that they would pull me. I do have a debt outstanding to a UAE bank, but had agreed a payment plan with a UK company. I have also been back to the UAE since I left in 2007, staying for 3 weeks in AD only last year. So it was a surprise when the immigration officer took more than one look at my passport and then told me there was a case against me.

I was taken to 2 different offices, where I sat around a lot, watching blokes in uniforms looking at computer screens. They said very little to me other than there was a case lodged by HSBC about a bounced cheque in 2009. I said this was impossible. Surely I would have been pulled last year, and there was this agreement I had in place as well. I was then lead to a goods lift and down to a grim deportation holding area in the bowels of the airport, where I say on a metal bench. There were cells down there, with a collection of subcontinental men lying on dirty mattresses. Water was available, but you seemed to have to share one chewed-up polystyrene cup with everyone else. After a couple of hours they told me I was going to Dubai via AD police station and wouldn't be allowed to fly to Bangkok. Nice. This was turning hellish, and after another emotional goodbye with my kids, I was close to screaming the bloody place down. They off-loaded my bags and drove me to AD police station in a caged van. They said they might keep me there for the night (in a cell), but then after another few hours of sitting around they took me to the main police station in Dubai, again in a caged van, with all my luggage squeezed between and onto the seats.

As I said, it wasn't how I expected to see Dubai again...through bars. We went along the Emirates Road so I only saw the Burj from a distance. I guess sight-seeing isn't on the agenda. Food was, though. They stopped at a service station to get bottles of Sprite and a Burger King drive-through meal. At the police station I was locked in a holding cell and after an hour or so a representative from the bank arrived to talk to me...well, I actually talked to the regional collections manager...and I was pretty much coerced into agreeing a new deal to pay back a reduced portion of what I owe in a short timeframe, despite already having an agreement in place. What choice did I have? I needed to get away and back on my way to my new job. So I was released after a 12-hour detention. The bank man was slightly apologetic but didn't explain how this police case had come about and why it hadn't shown up last time. All very strange.

I have been told it could have been worse, but some wonderfully helpful people kindly pulled a few strings and got the bank man to see me quickly. I walked out of the police station with all my luggage and no local currency, needing to get back to AD somehow. My company found me a room in the Crowne Plaza for the night (luckily, there were barely any rooms going), so I got a taxi (via Dubai airport to change some money) and I got the Etihad bus to AD airport early next morning and got the hell outta Dodge. I really don't know if I want to ever set foot in the Middle East again. And I certainly won't give HSBC any of my business again!

Still, I am now in Cambodia. I arrived pretty much 48 hours after leaving home. The accommodation is fine, the commute is a 100-yard walk, and the people seem really nice. I won't be too glowing about it...been there before and fell flat on my face. I'm quietly optimistic that this Year of the Dragon, and the project I'm going to work on is supposed to represent the Dragon and Health and Prosperity. Fingers crossed...

The Journey Continues...in writing and in life.

2012-01-15T13:35:00.000-08:00

It has been a few days over six months since I self-published my first book, One Year In Wonderland, to Amazon using their KDP service. It has been an interesting half a year, there can be no doubt about it. I have sold 2,300 copies of the book, and now have 16 reviews on Amazon UK and US, with a further 3 on Librarything and 5 ratings at Goodreads, with an average rating of between 3 and 4 out of 5. As a first-time writer, I can't be too unhappy with that. My second book, "You Are My Boro", came out in December, and it has sold 300 copies so far.

The sales figures have been interesting to follow, with the huge increases I saw in late September and early October then a little dip before I redid my cover and blurb, which took me into another little climb. I trawled all over the internet looking for ways to publicise, using Twitter, Facebook and various forums and blogs to spread the word. Then there was the madness of the Christmas week, where I sold 200 copies in a week. For three months the book never left the top 1500 (UK overall) in terms of sales ranking, and has consistently been number 1 in the Travel>Middle East category.

Following the reviews has been interesting as well. I had one or two nice ones from on-line "freinds" who gave me glowing reports to get me going, as you'd expect, but soon had real reviews coming through. A couple of 4-star reviews with some constructive criticism were nice to read, including one saying I was a good writer who should travel more (well, I think I might be able to see to that soon...more later). Then there were one or two negative reviews. At first I was stung by them, especially when they were so dismissive and almost personal. I took it personally, and felt like making comments, particularly when someone said I was "racist and sexist". On a writer's web forum I was warned that this was not a good idea, so held my tongue/fingers. One has to develop thick skin and try and learn from these things, they told me. OK, thought I. I draw the line at people completely misquoting and misrepresenting my work, though, and have posted a comment after one very recent review showing the actual words I wrote, nothing more.

What I have learned and picked up is that the style I wrote OYIW is maybe a touch too informal and chatty for some. Whilst the light, bloggy style was OK for most, I think it jarred for a few people. Some were looking for a more serious and considered critique of Dubai, I think, and although I do talk about some bad things I saw, I know that there is far more to the place and far worse that could have gone into the book. I am currently in the process of writing something else about Dubai that will make OYIW seem like a glowing holiday brochure. It's not all my own work; it comes from someone else's experiences. I can't say too much at this stage until we decide how to bring it to the public eye.

I will also write about my time in Libya, where I spent 6 months in 2010. It will not be blog-based this time, so I hope I will be able to develop a more "mature" style or writing, although I'll definitely include some of the lighter moments of my time there.

And now there's the chance to use my career as a platform for writing material once again. More my accident than by design, I am going on my travels again. I have been unable to secure long-term QSing work in the UK, so have had to accept an offer to work in Cambodia for several months in Contracts Management...which CAN actually be a bit more interesting than plain old quantity surveying. In the family sense, it is far from ideal, as I will be leaving the wife and kids again (I am dreading the goodbyes already). The rotations aren't terrible (9 weeks on/2 weeks off), and I should be able to make some much-needed improvements to my finances...if my health holds up (that dreaded phrase I have been son fond of in the last decade). I have been to the Far East before (Taiwan in 2002/3), but Cambodia is a fascinating country with a troubled recent history, and I hope I will be able to craft some worthy words to describe my experiences there. Hopefully what I write will show that I am developing as a writer, if not (corn me up now) a person...

We shall see!

Happy Holidays on Holy Island

2011-12-28T12:08:00.001-08:00

I am absolutely shattered, but it is a price worth paying for the superb time I have had surrounded by family on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne just off the Northumberland coast. My aunt and uncle have a cottage there and invited a few of us up for the Christmas festivities. We ate and drank obscene amounts, even when the power went off for several hours on Christmas Eve, and walked for miles around the rugged coastline of the island, taking in the views and unique vibes. One of favourite times was when I dragged myself out of bed early to catch the sunrise and take some photos. The wind had dropped to nothing and for a splendid hour, I was the only soul for what felt like miles. It was great. I'll leave the pictures to say the rest.

Pictures of Holy Island.

Today is the day...

2011-12-16T13:49:00.000-08:00

that marks the death of an intellectual giant, Christopher Hitchens. Agree with him or not, he was a man who was able to provoke debate and thought. He was strident and obstinate to the end, assuring everyone there would be no Pascal's Wager death-bed conversion. He has to be admired.

Hitchens talks to Richard Dawkins.

Also, today marks the 10th anniversary of the passing of Stuart Adamson, lead singer of Big Country. Their album, "The Seer", is one of my favourites of all time, particularly the last song, "The Sailor". I could listen to that song forever.

The Sailor

You Are My Boro: The Unlikely Adventures of a Small Town in Europe

2011-12-11T08:24:00.000-08:00

My second book is now available to buy at Amazon.

You Are My Boro.

That was the day that was....

2011-12-02T14:18:00.000-08:00

pretty shite, actually.

I found myself with several metaphorical knives in my back at work today. I'm going to be transferred from the project I work on because one or two people don't think I'm up to the task. To be fair, they don't think many people are up to the task. They have had it in for me since I started back in July.

They conveniently forget that I have come into an environment of utter mistrust and apprehension because of the reorganisations that are about to occur. People have, understandably in some cases, played cards so close to their chests that even they can't see them. They have seen me as a threat because I'm a consultant, and have therefore only drip-fed me information and left me in the dark many, many times. I've also come up against some Kafka-esque procedural problems with gaining access to computer systems that are pretty much essential to my function. Yeah, maybe I should have pushed people and asked questions, but when the atmosphere is so non-conducive and people only want to talk about the negatives, you get bored of trying and you get depressed.

I was looking to get away anyway, so it's not all bad. I guess I'm just a bit sore about the way I feel people have behaved. Two weeks ago I was being told I was doing a good job, even with everything that's happened in my personal life (surgery and family illness). Now I'm a pariah.

Oh well. I've bounced back from worse than this. I will bounce back again. It helps when you're a touch rotund, of course...

U2 - Acrobat
Don't believe what you hear
Don't believe what you see
If you just close your eyes
You can feel the enemy
When I first met you girl
You had fire in your soul
What happened your face
Of melting in snow
Now it looks like this

And you can swallow
Or you can spit
You can throw it up
Or choke on it
And you can dream
So dream out loud
You know that your time is coming 'round
So don't let the bastards grind you down

No, nothing makes sense
Nothing seems to fit
I know you'd hit out
If you only knew who to hit
And I'd join the movement
If there was one I could believe in
Yeah I'd break bread and wine
If there was a church I could receive in
'cause I need it now

To take a cup
To fill it up
To drink it slow
I can't let you go
I must be an acrobat
To talk like this
And act like that
And you can dream
So dream out loud
And don't let the bastards grind you down

Oh, it hurts baby
(What are we going to do now it's all been said)
(No new ideas in the house and every book has been read)

And I must be an acrobat
To talk like this
And act like that
And you can dream
So dream out loud
And you can find
Your own way out
You can build
And I can will
And you can call
I can't wait until
You can stash
And you can seize
In dreams begin
Responsibilities
And I can love
And I can love
And I know that the tide is turning 'round
So don't let the bastards grind you down

Romance in Arabia...

2011-11-26T06:08:00.000-08:00

In some of the lighter and more pleasant moments of my time in Dubai, I could appreciate that the place had a certain mystical allure. When we went out on desert safari, there was certainly a romantic atmosphere, being in the desert with belly dancers, camp fires and starry skies.

Here is an extract from a contemporary romance novel set in the Middle East called "The Royal Sheik" written by Katheryn Lane. It is available on Amazon.

Sheikh Rafiq clasped Clare tightly around the waist and whispered into her ear, “Hold on tight”. With his free hand he pulled off the cord wrapped around the cloth on his head and used it to whack the camel, yelling out in Arabic as he did so. With a great lurch forward and then backwards that made Clare pull Rafiq’s arm more tightly around her, the camel arose and broke into a run.
They speeded off into desert and Clare could feel the hot wind against her face and bare legs. After several minutes riding, she began to get used to the lumbering motion of the camel and loosened her grip on the Sheikh’s arm. He yelled out again in Arabic. The camel stopped and dropped to its knees, making Clare resume her tight hold on Rafiq’s arm. He stepped off the camel and grabbed her around the middle. His large hands almost spanned her waist. He lifted her off and for a brief moment it was as if she was floating on the hot desert air.
“Here is the site of your building,” he announced.
“It’s your building, not mine,” she corrected him, as Mark had done earlier.
“No, it’s your creation. I will just be lucky enough to live in it once it’s built.”
She could smell salt in the air and was sure that she could hear the quiet lapping of waves breaking on the shore. She looked around and could see a deserted beach behind her. The moon had come out and it cast just enough light for her to see it reflected off the sea. It was beautiful. She wondered if he brought all of his women here.
Her defences rose again. “You only asked me to design the building, so that you could get me into your apartment.”
“Can you blame me for trying to find a way to get to know you better?” He sat down on the sand. She sat down next to him, slipped off her shoes and let the waves splash against her toes.
“Do you treat all the women you know like this?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I am nice to you and you back away. I try to treat you like a business associate and you accuse me of ignoring you. How do you want me to treat you? What exactly do you want?” He looked hurt.
A pang of guilt struck Clare. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to end up as another one of your conquests,” she blurted out and started crying. And for the second time that evening, Rafiq held her in his arms and tried to comfort her.
Slowly her sobbing receded and he took her face in his hands. Tears still glistened in her sea-blue eyes. He looked deep into them and lent towards her. She could feel his breath hot on her skin.
“You have been honest with me. Maybe it is time that I was honest with you,” he said caressing her hair. “When I first met you Clare, all I saw was an exceptionally beautiful woman that I longed to know better.”
He twisted a long strand of her hair around his fingers. “When I saw you the next day in the cafe, I couldn’t believe my luck. I desperately tried to think of how I could stop you from slipping away again.” He pulled the strand of her hair a little tighter, drawing her towards him. Clare’s heart lurched along with it.
“I admit, asking you to design a house was just a way to see you again,” he said. “I didn’t really think you would come up with something I could use. Remember, all I’d seen of your work was a few sketches on the back of a catalogue.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, “it wasn’t much to go on.”
“However,” he said, letting go of her hair and staring at the sea before him, “when you came up with those designs, I couldn’t believe it. It was my dream house. The one I’d always wanted, but could never conceptualise. You understood my vision; you made it real.” He grasped her hands in his.
“You still haven’t told me why you ignored me,” she said. He gently squeezed her fingers, sending tingles shimmering up through her arms.
“I thought that was what you wanted; a business friendship.” He stood up, lifting her up with him and together they paddled along the gentle surf.
“I was scared of loosing you. Also, I was a little caught up in the excitement of the project.” He gave her a broad smile. They walked a bit further, his body moving nearer and nearer to hers with each step.
“Do you swim?” he asked, looking longingly at the sea, or was it her?
“Yes, why?” she replied, excited but anxious all at the same time.
“Come on then,” he said and slipped off his robe, letting it fall onto the sand at his feet.

One Year In Wonderland: Now available in touchable paperback!

2011-11-22T11:06:00.000-08:00

It's nice to be able to hold the book in my hands...

Here's a link for it.

One Year In Wonderland

Got it covered...

2011-11-18T03:59:00.000-08:00

New cover for my first book, One Year In Wonderland. Along with a shorter and sharper blurb, it seems to have helped sales pick up again.

Coming soon...really soon...(fingers crossed)...

2011-11-16T04:50:00.000-08:00

No-one chooses to support the Boro; you are born to it.

Many in Middlesbrough might well tell you this, but it’s not entirely true. Some people did choose, even if success isn’t exactly a word associated with the team from Teesside. Maybe we were seduced by something; something mystical and intangible. I’m hoping it’s wasn’t all the chemicals in the atmosphere.

I couldn’t have chosen a better time to follow Middlesbrough Football Club, just as they struck out with new ambition, signing glamorous players and moving to a new stadium. There was no way I could know where this journey was going to take us.

But take us it did, and we were swept along on a ride like no other, down a path that was never straight or smooth, to places we would never have dreamt of. Not many people dream about places like Cardiff and Eindhoven, to be fair…

This is the story of Boro’s Golden Decade and a bit, from the emotional goodbye at Ayresome Park, through the cup finals and relegation fights, to the unlikely adventures of a Small Town in Europe that would take us to places no Boro fan had gone before…

Lest we forget...(but what happened to the dignity?)

2011-11-11T10:52:00.001-08:00

I bought myself another poppy at York Railway Station today. The one on my coat had become a bit battered and scruffy, so I handed my pound over to the friendly old timer standing by the British Legion stand and took my new paper and plastic flower, complete with a handy pin through the leaf.

I buy a poppy every year as a matter of course. I have since I was old enough and ugly enough to pay for them. I never thought of it as anything more than just a token of my remembrance and appreciation for the thousands of people who gave their lives in the two World Wars so that we could enjoy the freedoms we take for granted today. Armistice Day itself, the 11th day of the 11th month, was always marked with a quiet and dignified minute or two of silence and wreath laying by Heads of State at the Cenotaph. Remembrance Sunday was always about quiet and dignified ceremonies in towns and villages around the country, where wreaths were laid to remember the war dead, attended by the British Legion, Scouts, Guides, Army Cadets, Air Training Corps and son on. Remembrance and appreciation with dignity. The British way.

This year, I have started to have serious doubts about poppy-wearing for the first time in my life, and it saddens me. When I see what has happened in the media over the last few weeks, I wonder what the poppy has come to symbolise in the eyes of many people, and wonder what motivates people to wear them or display them nowadays.

For me there are two issues at play now. First is the politicisation of the poppy. Somehow the issue of remembrance has become conflated with supporting the troops, which is also conflated with supporting the current conflicts our troops are involved in. For some people, both in a pro and anti sense, wearing a poppy means you are doing all three. People who see me wearing my poppy may assume I agree with the the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, even though I don't. I might be a supporter of the men and women in Her Majesty's Armed Forces, mainly because my father served in the Royal Signals for 22 years and my Grandpa was in the Royal Navy during WW2, but I don't agree with the political motives behind the invasion of Iraq or the continued occupation of Afghanistan. Of course, in today's climate of immediate false dichotomy, that makes me a supporter of the Taliban. If we're going to these ridiculous lengths, one could say that wearing poppies means you support the act of opium poppy growing in rural Afghanistan...but that would be churlish.

The other issue is the one of cosmetic grief. Everyone seems desperate to be seen to care about stuff these days. We have to ostentatiously display our feelings, and if you don't do this, you don't care. There's that false dichotomy again. I've noticed some troubling postings on social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook about various issues, not just poppy-wearing. There are the things like: If you care about sick children and animals, like this! 97% of you won't! The implication being that if you don't like the post, you want all baby ducks to die of cancer. Give me a break.

And then you've got the unedifying spectacle of celebrities, politicians and footballers all elbowing their way into the screenshot to show off their poppies. The X-Factor judges and contestants all wore blinged-up sparkly poppies last weekend. There was a Tory MP on BBC's Question Time last night with the biggest poppy I've ever seen. And then there's the whole England football saga, where there have been more and more hysterical calls for FIFA to allow the England players to wear a shirt with an embroidered poppy on it. FIFA see it as a political symbol (there's that conflation again, can you blame them for seeing it like this?), so refused permission initially, but the histrionics got to such a level that FIFA eventually allowed England to wear armbands with poppies on. They even had a silent moment at the training session today and it was broadcast live. Quite bizarre, really. There have been loads of matches around this time in the last 90 years, but there was never such a hullabaloo made demanding that the players wear poppies to show they care.

Now I feel that if I don't wear one, I will be assumed to be some kind of uncaring, liberal pacifist. I could be two of those, I suppose, but I don't like people making such assumptions. Surely we all have the choice to wear one or not.

So this all leaves me wondering one thing: Where did the quiet dignity go?

Oh, and by the way...

2011-11-07T13:42:00.001-08:00

I'm featured on a new website for Kindle Readers and Authors today, called AuthorOutbreak.

http://authoroutbreak.com/featured/one-year-in-wonderland/

Coming soon, to a website near you...

2011-11-07T13:38:00.000-08:00

The tale of Middlesbrough Football Club's golden decade and a bit, through the eyes of a Middle Class, Part-time, Glory Supporter.

I have finished drafting the next book and am seeking beta readers. I anticipate getting the book live and for sale by the end of November.

Oh yeah!

7 billion and counting...

2011-11-04T12:40:00.000-07:00

Well, someone is, apparently. I don't know how they're counting the number of people on the planet, but according to the announcements in the news over the last week or so, this number is now seven billion. SEVEN BILLION. Did they herald the arrival of this particular soul with banners and balloons and cheesy grins all around?

When I was born in 1970 there were about half that amount. In 1900, the world population was about 1.6 billion, meaning the time it has taken to double has approximately halved. These are really quite astonishing and scary statistics. Official projections seem to suggest the population will reach about 9 billion in 2050 before starting to reduce. I'm not sure how they "know" that either.

All this makes me wonder about the dire warnings that a certain Thomas Robert Malthus made back in 1798, where he suggested that eventually famine and disease would check population growth. He didn't reckon with things like the industrial revolution and the use of oil, both of which made agriculture infinitely more efficient and allowed the food supply to grow so quickly. Nor did he predict the advances in medicine that would reduce infant mortality rates and increase life-spans. I guess we can let him off as he didn't have a crystal ball or a handy Nostradamus kicking about.

On the other hand, maybe his predictions will come to be true in time. After all, this planet is a finite, pretty-much closed system with finite resources. Have we passed Peak Oil? We can only keep growing for so long, surely. Maybe science will find some other way to cheat nature again for a while, but eventually something like a plague will do for us, if we don't do ourselves in with our stupid fighting or polluting first. Maybe an asteroid will hit us, killing off large swathes of the population. I think about this kind of thing at night, keeping myself awake. That's just the way I am. I worry about stuff; I always have, and now that I have children I worry even more. What kind of world will they grow up in?

Of course, I think the worst thing that we could do is even start to entertain any notions of population control or reduction. Such measures would amount to genocide. There are massive differences in levels of wealth, education and culture, and some might think they have a right to decide who is worthy and who is worthless, but this is dangerous ground. Don't even go there.

One book I read a few years still resonates strongly with me. It's called "Ishmael" and was written by Daniel Quinn. It basically tells the story of how man came to believe it had dominion over the Earth and all other living things and how the development of agriculture 10,000 years ago was a huge turning point in history which has lead to a profoundly sick civilisation where we live completely at odds with nature. It's certainly food for thought. Of course, it wouldn't be sensible to promote a return to caveman-style living, it's not practical and I look terrible in a loin cloth. Still, I do think we should think more about how we exploit the world around us, including other living things.

Excuse me now. I'm off to hug a tree.

The thousandth time...my experience with self-publishing so far

2011-10-28T05:55:00.000-07:00

I went to bed late last night with my total sales figure sitting at 999. It was a nice feeling to know that I would most probably be over that threshold of 1,000 sales by the morning.

I was. I was a few over the magical mark in the sand, actually. I am pretty damn pleased as to how well it has gone, and also a little scared to think that 1,000 people have paid (even if it is only 99c or 86p) to read my work. I am delighted at how easy it actually was to get into self-publishing after just a little research a few months ago. I had a book ready to go, having turned my Beer and Bloating in Dubai blog into book form, but I hadn't really considered this approach, holding onto some remote hope that I could land a publishing deal the traditional way, even sending out a dozen or so enquires to literary agents I found in the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook.

When I realised how easy it was to self-publish to Amazon, I went for it, and when I put "One Year In Wonderland" up on Amazon for sale in early July, I hoped I might sell a couple of hundred copies. To start with the sales rates weren't spectacular, they ticked over at around 4 a day. I had done some shameless plugging on a few internet forums I inhabit and had mentioned it a few times on Facebook to my circle of friends, but not much more than that.

August saw a slight increase in the sales rate to 5 a day, and my total sales for the month were just over 150. I got one or two reviews on Amazon and a little bit of good feedback from people I "know" from the message boards. One or two pointed out that there were a few typos and grammatical errors throughout the book, so I had a read through and found the problems. I also noticed that the formatting was a bit erratic, so remedied that at the same time. Finally I redesigned the cover, making it sharper and snazzier, in my opinion. I posted the revised edition in early September.

At the same time I sent out a few enquiries to Dubai blogs to see if they would do a review for me. One or two answered, and it was the lovely Grace at Sandier Pastures who offered to do a review. I sent her a copy by e-mail, waited a week or two and the review followed.

I don't think it's coincidence that my sales figures then started to rocket. From the middle of September up until the first week in October the rate went from 4 a day to nearly 23 a day. I sailed past 500 sales in the week following my birthday (24th Sept). The rate has dropped back a little, but I am still selling around a hundred a week, and am reaping the rewards of a little bit of marketing. My book is ranking at number 1 in the Travel>Middle East Category and has been there for at least a month now. I even rank in the top 10 of all Travel books some of the time, and got to the dizzy heights of #278 in ALL Kindle ebooks on UK Amazon. It was scary and exciting.

Around the beginning of October I read an article in a Sunday newspaper supplement magazine about e-book self-publishing, and from that I found a forum called Kindle Boards where readers and writers discuss Kindle books. I've found it a valuable place for advice on marketing, and a great sounding board for people with worries about their book. I do like to go on there and have a whinge about a bad day in my sales fugues occasionally. The article also talked about how to get your profile raised through social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook, so I've built up a network of people to annoy the hell out of.

Things got even mopre exciting the other week when a published author and journalist for a major newspaper tweeted me and said he wanted to ask some questions about my experiences for an article he was writing, so I ended up talking to him on the phone, trying hard not to come across as a completely desperate wannabe. I think I came across OK, anyway, and he gave me some glowing feedback on the sample he'd read. Soon afterwards a literary agency I had previously contacted got back in touch asking for sample chapters and a synopsis.

And now I'm plugging away at making my presence felt. The book is staying between 1000 and 500 in the rankings, and I'm getting more and more reviews, none of which have been bad. Of course I would still love to get it or another book into proper print so I can hold it and smell it and put it on the bookshelf. I don't see why this can't happen in the future.

The best side-effect of all this has been the effect it's had on my writing. I'm now writing every day, and am nearly finished the first draft of my next project, which is a book about the Boro. I've got 2 working titles competing for prominence and have put out some feelers to local artists and graphic designers with a view to getting a professional cover for it. I would love to get it out by the end of November, and then move on to something else. I've heard it said that the best publicity is to have more than one book out. There are some intriguing ideas in my head, and the chance to do some ghost-writing. I might even try my hand at fiction in time. Watch this space.

Peed off with being ripped off

2011-10-24T12:06:00.000-07:00

I went to my usual morning coffee kiosk at York station this morning and asked for my occasional treat of a regular cappuccino (I asked if I could have it, not if I could get it, of course). I was horrified - OK, slightly surprised - to hear the demanded consideration had gone up by nearly 20 pence. Cuh, Puh, Fuh, and so on.

It's getting silly. Prices for everything just seem to be heading up at a frightening pace wherever you look. I bought some extra strong mentholated sweets at the garage the other day...99p! I bought a couple of bags of sweets and 3 fizzy drinks at the cinema the other night...more than a tenner! Then there's the prices I've noticed in the supermarkets. Every little helps, I'm sure, but not at 2 pounds bloody 49p for a few scabby strawberries that go off after a few days. All those adverts and banners telling you that they are keeping prices LOW or crunching this or shrinking that...I just don't believe them, especially when you check their little games like charging more per unit for multi-packs of beans than they cost if you buy 4 tins individually. The swines.

Where we shop we use the petrol station on the way out. Once every few weeks we get a 5p per litre reduction if we've spent more than 50 quid at the checkout, which we invariably do on a weekly shop. That's nice, but it takes no more than a couple of quid off your bill of 60 plus quid to fill the tank of an average diesel-engined car. The prices have steadfastly stuck at over 130p a litre for weeks, despite news that world oil prices are coming DOWN. Now that Libya has rid itself of that Mad Dog the experts tell us we should see oil prices come down even more. Not that we should rub our hands with glee at such a bloody revolution of course; that isn't the point I'm trying to make here. I'm talking about profiteering. Will we see a price reduction at the pumps? Maybe a couple of pence, but they won't come down at the same rate which they invariably shoot up with when someone in Saudi Arabia gets annoyed about something insignificant...such as the price of a coffee at Starbucks...ahem.

And then there's those there utility companies. Their tariffs and tie-in, fixed price contracts are amazingly complex. On her request, I helped my mother-in-law choose what I thought was the best tariff when a chap came round from one of the big companies, and I struggled to understand what they guy was showing and telling me. I hope I chose right, but we do at least have some comfort in the prices being fixed for 2 years. I did have to let out a wry chuckle when I heard how the government had dealt so forcefully with these utility companies by basically letting them get away with all their price increases and confusing pricing systems and telling the consumers to "shop around". Really forceful, really flipping helpful...

As for insurance companies, they're probably the worst of the lot. When my car insurance renewal was due recently, the incumbents casually banged my premiums up by something stupid like 60% even though I hadn't made any claims. So much more retaining loyal customers. I shopped around and found a price more in line with what I'd paid before and switched. Of course, that in it itself isn't terrible, but I've seen how these slippery sods operate when trying their utmost to get out of paying up when you make a claim, and if you even think about making a claim your premiums will rocket. I've seen people who have suffered bereavement having their suffering amplified by these companies as they try every trick in the book.

So what can we do about it? Not a lot, I fear. It's all stitched up and the game is rigged. I hate to come across as a tin-foil-hat adorned conspiracy nutter, but I do wonder about who actually runs the world and who is benefiting from all these upward movements in prices. I don't see people's wages going up by these amounts. People bleat on about "trickle-down" economics, but that's a busted flush. It's a myth and has been exposed as such. We are being fleeced by a small elite who want to take us for as much as they can.

What makes me think these thought even more is seeing things like this: The 147 companies that run the world. , It doesn't surprise me to see how many of them are banks or similar institutions.

KillerKindle - Home of indie authors and Kindle book reviews: Kindle ebook review: 'One Year in Wonderland' by C...

2011-10-18T12:17:00.000-07:00

KillerKindle - Home of indie authors and Kindle book reviews: Kindle ebook review: 'One Year in Wonderland' by C...: I've caught many bugs down the years - colds, influenzas, gastroenteritis - but one bug I've never caught is the travel bug. I do...

Football Console/Computer Games...a Potted History

2011-10-17T12:53:00.000-07:00

Today I went into the York branch of Game and bought a pre-owned Xbox 360 copy of Pro Evolution Soccer for 99p. 99p! I was just browsing, but I couldn't resist the temptation. I did have the 2011 version until a few months ago (I traded it in) but had been unimpressed with how the developer, Konami, had messed around with the controls. It's obviously trying to keep up with EA Sports' FIFA series, which has taken top dog status in the football gaming world in many's eyes.

I was also tempted because Pro Evo 2008 was the last version of Pro Evo I'd bought on the PS2, and my son and I had spent many a boyishly amused hour making teams of max-skilled giants with silly names (Phil Dinn and Tom Artoe, for instance) who would thrash Newcastle 37-0. Much more fun than playing out a full season as the Middlesbrough team featuring the likes of Jeremie Aliadiare...

All this got me thinking about how football games for consoles and computers have evolved throughout my life. I struggle to remember the name of the first footy game I played, but I think it was International Soccer on the Commodore 64 back in about 1987 or so. The graphics were shockingly basic, with zig-zaggy diagonal lines on the pitch and square-headed players who were able to head the almost ball from one end of the pitch to the other before smashing it past a 'keeper who dived - or fell over - about 3 seconds too late. I was horribly addicted, of course, and spent many an evening abusing the joystick and ranting like a man possessed at the crapness of my team. My mother told me I could be heard shouting at the other end of the street.

Things were to improve fairly quickly, however. Commodore upped their game with the Amiga, and the increased processing power brought about more detailed and faster games like the Kick Off series and Sensible Soccer. Kick Off 2 was ridiculously fast, but so, so smooth. The bend you could apply to the ball would shame Roberto Carlos. In the mid-'90s Sensible Soccer set the benchmark for football computer games, with easy-to-grasp gameplay and the ability to play against and humiliate friends, as we huddled together around portable TVs, mashing the joystick buttons and applying after-touch to our shots.

The Sony Playstation raised the stakes even more towards the late 1990s, and I remember thinking how superb it was to play a football game by Japanese developer Konami called International Superstar Soccer Pro that finally looked right in terms of dimensions and perspectives, and featured 32 International football teams. The stadiums looked pretty decent as well. The control pad for the Playstation, with its multitude of buttons, increased the options for players, giving them the choice of long or short passes, through balls and shots and also the ability to sprint and display skills. There was even commentary, even if it was some voice actor you'd never heard of before or since. The names of the players were a bit strange as well, although some were slightly familiar. The weird sound effects as you dribbled or passed the ball with a metallic clunk didn't detract from the smooth playability of the game.

FIFA 99 was the other football game I tried on my PS. It featured real teams from the English Premier League and real players wearing slightly dodgy representations of the club kits, and it featured commentary by John Motson and Mark Lawrenson. The graphics were pretty smooth, but the game felt a bit like you were playing on ice at times, and the player movements in cut-scenes made them look like angry gangsta rappers, for some bizarre reason.

Into the new millennium and I was soon investing in the new generation Microsoft Xbox, which took graphics up another level and offered the facility to engage in online play against your friends...who could be miles away at the time. So, so cool. The games didn't disappoint, either. The first footy game I got was Pro Evolution Soccer 4, and it remains one of my favourites, probably because it was such a quantum leap forward from the likes of FIFA 99. The graphics were great, with players looking like their real-life counterparts in many cases. The level of tactical choice was astounding and best of all, there was that ability to play against your mate who was 30 or more miles away and not risk getting a dead arm when you rubbed it in following a 4-0 drubbing. Even the odd bit of "lag", when the game slowed down, didn't spoil the experience. Of course, some people learned to exploit such things and strangers you'd been matched against by Xbox Live often just quit the games when they were losing. Leagues were even formed on on-line communities, but getting them finished was a real challenge.

PES went for realism with number 5, but that spoiled it for me. The game became less arcadey, yes, but it also became too hard. Some would say it got more realistic, but the harsh refereeing made it even more annoying. I was glad when they eased back on the "realism" in the next version.

I was an unashamed PES fanboy by now, obviously, and I gave the FIFA series short shrift for a while. I relented to the wave of popular opinion when I upgraded to the 360 and bought myself FIFA 11. It was slower and more measured, but the depth of the game was really something to behold. Being able to play as a League 2 team with the right kit and properly-named players is quite something, if that's what turns you on. Playing against them on the easiest level is more fun. The Ultimate Team add-on had me seriously hooked for a while as well. I got quite good, beating the likes of Barcelona on the hardest Legendary setting, and I spent a few quid on points for the Gold Packs. I never got a Messi or Ronaldo, though, and was soon bored of losing 7 and 8-0 to kids with the reactions of mosquitoes on speed. I'm getting old, you know.

So now I've got PES 2008 again and have convinced my son that he should recreate the team we called "The Jammers" (I don't really know where that came from, it was his idea). In the twenty-odd years I've been playing them, football games have changed a lot, but I'm still a sucker for a quick blast on a moderately easy setting to see who can score the best, acutest-angled, longest-range goal possible.

Feeling one's age...

2011-10-13T13:13:00.000-07:00

Over the last two days I've driven to and from the Midlands for what was called an "Employee Engagement Day" at a large residential training complex. It was all presentations, speeches and team-building events such as building aeroplanes with brie and filling each others pockets with free cakes. Despite my latent cynicism about corporate BS, I had a reasonably good time. I ate far too much of the lovely free grub, and had one or two more glasses of red wine that I really should have during the evening social event.

For the trip down in the car I was joined by a young new recruit to the company. He is fresh out of university and was keen as mustard to absorb the information at the event and also mingle with his new colleagues. He asked lots of questions about the company and the projects we were working on, and I tried not to sound too world-weary when I answered them. Once the work talk had been exhausted on the three-hour drive, we started talking about music and books and films and all that good cultural stuff people have in common or otherwise. I was a little startled when more than a couple of a my cultural references went waaaaay over the young man's head. He hadn't even heard of the legendary band Simple Minds, for goodness' sake! I established that he had been born in the late '80s, and I started to feel every bit the archetypal Middle Aged man. When I had a little rant at the traffic (as is my wont) on the M1, he said I reminded him of Jeremy Clarkson. Oh sweet baby Jesus...

After the first day's presentations there was a chance for people to go and do some physical activity, be it football, swimming or jogging. I opted for a quick snooze in my room, after checking my e-mails and book sales numbers, naturally. If I'd had my mankini with me I may well have treated the swimmers to the sight of my body, but they were spared this particular ordeal. I mooched around for a bit near the social/fitness club and watched a few of the less fitness-minded people trying to play pool. I spied the footballers playing on the indoor court through a window. They were mostly young, fit things, but one or two were in their late 40s. I watched in wonder for a few minutes as they huffed and puffed gamely (as it happened they played for 2 hours straight) before heading back towards my room to get ready for the social event. I bumped into two other colleagues who were just back from a 10km run. They were soaked with sweat, red-faced and out of breath. I wasn't sure if I felt envious of them or sorry for them. I've decided that jogging isn't for me, having learned that the man who made it popular in the 1970s actually died of a heart attack whilst out jogging. Still, I half-wished I could motivate myself to run like these chaps.

At the social event after dinner I tried my usual trick of flitting between groups of people to see who was entertaining and who was easily annoyed by my presence. As the night wore on, people became more and more merry and relaxed, and started talking about possible venues to visit after the bar closed at 11.30. The night was definitely young for some of these people, even though many of us had started the day earlier than usual. I staggered to my room at the far end of the complex; that was more than enough exercise for me. I found out this morning that some had been in a pub in the nearby town until the wee hours.

How do they do it? Early start, long day of corporate stuff, sports, drinking, then on to even more drinking until some silly time in the morning. I wouldn't have been able to move this morning let alone get up at 7.30am for breakfast and breeze into the morning's events looking as fresh as a daisy. Well, OK, there were a few sweat-beaded foreheads and bags under eyes, but they lasted the rest of the day without too much trouble.

So I'm feeling my age tonight. Older than that, even. The drive home wasn't too bad, just tiring. I get very stiff sitting for long periods now and have to stop regularly for toilet breaks and stretches. My earnest colleague was still as lively as yesterday, and talked at length about the event. I tried to keep up with his energy levels but was just happy to listen to Radio 2 and mull things over. Radio 1 is too shouty and loud for me these days...

I guess that the last two days have shown me that I am approaching a mature age, but on the other hand I've seen people of my age, if not older, doing the sports and the socialising. I sometimes feel like I've got the body of a man twenty years older. I'm getting to one of those moments again, as I did in the New Year. Time to drag out the Wii Fit board and get my head around eating healthily again. I can't keep making excuses if I want to feel healthy and youthful again. There's no reason why I can't, right? Right!?

Bullying...It does hurt

2011-10-05T13:43:00.000-07:00

I noticed this evening that BULLYING HURTS is trending on Twitter. It hit a nerve, because bullying is something I know about.

I went to a boarding school in the north of England between 1982 and 1989. For the first two years I became accustomed to running the gauntlet of the older pupils, especially those in the year directly above mine. It wasn't really bullying as much as a well-worn ritual of making life difficult, and I wasn't alone in being on the receiving end of cruel jokes, taunts, minor physical abuse and being given stupid and menial tasks to do as punishment for the most minuscule of transgression. It was the way of the world and everyone got on with it, and when our year moved up to become 2nd Years, we treated the new 1st Years with the same disdain meted out to us.

I expected life in the boarding school to become easier and easier as the years progressed, but had something of a shock waiting for me when I returned as a 3rd Year in 1984. There was a new boy in our year, and he was different to the others. He had lived abroad for a long time and had a brash confidence about him that bordered on arrogance. He didn't immediately make many friends. Was that partly why he behaved the way he did later on?

After a few months of settling in, this new boy - let's call him Peter - decided I was an easy target. I was quieter than the other boys, and was obviously more sensitive. He started by picking on my physical appearance and added in the fact I had a limp because of the disease I'd had in my hip as a child and the numerous surgeries I'd had as a result. I'd previously been given a nick-name by the rest of the school which connected me to a famous motorcycle racer with metal in his legs, but that wasn't really hurtful; in fact I liked the name. Peter made his names as nasty and vindictive as possible, calling me a cripple and other horrible things as often as possible. He knew it upset me by the way I reacted, so he kept doing it.He soon added a physical element to his abuse, putting me in headlocks and punching my arms when he got the chance.

I wasn't alone in the bullying. Another pupil in our year - a tiny slip of a lad with the nick-name "Twiggy" - also came into Peter's sights, and by Christmas we were glad to get away from his constant abuse. At boarding school, the only time we were away from his crap was in lessons. He was in the same dormitories as us, and made the most of any time he was alone with us. I remember quite well that he wasn't half as bad when there were other boys around.

By the end of the 3rd Year, both me and the other boy had had quite enough, and made the massive mistake of telling our parents about Peter's bullying. They in turn told the school, who told Peter's parents, and he was given a stern warning as to his behaviour.

When we got back into the 4th Year in September 1985, Peter was waiting for us. When he got his chance, he told us we were both evil little snitches who would now suffer even more for daring to tell on him. Nice. We were the guilty parties all the way, and the 4th Year was utter hell for a lot of the time. He found a diary I had written with entries about a girl in the day school I had a massive crush on. He delighted in keeping it and threatening me with revelation to the whole year. I was wise and lucky enough to steal it back and destroy it when he wasn't around one day.

"Twiggy" left at the end of the 5th Year, having managed to administer a black eye to Peter on one occasion, much to the amusement of the rest of the school, who knew what Peter had been doing. He was still not very popular.

From then on, things eased up. Into the Sixth Form years, Peter eased up on the abuse, even trying to be friendly with me at times. I played along, but didn't trust him one bit. The experience he had put me and "Twiggy" through wouldn't be forgotten quickly.

Years later, at a school reunion in around 2003, there was no sign of Peter. No-one at the reunion knew of his whereabouts, and didn't really seem bothered. The one person who was interested in where he was, and was slightly upset at his absence, was "Twiggy", who was now a strapping, 16 stone, shaven-headed man, dressed in military-style clothing. He stated quite plainly that he would like to punch Peter if he ever saw him again. He didn't stay long at the reunion, and I found myself feeling quite lucky that whilst I hadn't forgotten what had happened, I didn't harbour any violent intent towards my tormentor.

If I met Peter now, I'm not sure what I'd do, to be honest. I'd probably try and laugh it all off to his face, but I'd like to think he felt some kind of remorse. I don't hate him or pity him or anything clichéd like that. I just hope he knows that what he did was pretty awful, and affected two people quite profoundly. I can forgive it, but I will never, ever forget what it was like to be bullied.

And now that I have my own children at school, I watch like a hawk for the slightest hint that they are suffering the slightest of bullying. If there's any sign of it, I'm going to make sure they don't have to stand for it. I believe now that it has to be nipped in the bud before the person doing the bullying thinks they can get away with it.

Bullying hurts, and it needs to be stopped.

The book...

2011-09-29T13:05:00.000-07:00

Has now sold over 500 copies and is going well.

I am continuing to put the word out and am now working at finishing another book. This one will be about football (or soccer, depending on your location).

One Year In Wonderland: 2nd Edition

2011-09-08T12:26:00.000-07:00

Now for sale, with a few additions, quite a few improvements, and all for only 86 English New Pence!

Under the knife...

2011-09-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

Once again I go, tomorrow. Fingers, toes and every other appendage possible crossed that it does the trick!

See you on the other side!

Back on the wagon...

2011-08-22T13:34:00.000-07:00

If I can catch the bloody thing.

Bit of catch up first...left the bloody AD job after 3 weeks of utter torture. As decisions go, taking that job was a bad one. The people I worked for were quite understanding about it, to be fair, and the lucky person who replaced me has got better working conditions, or so they tell me.

I ended up being out of work for almost 2 months. I applied left, right and centre, applying for almost 200 jobs. I had one or two interviews but nothing came of them, and was starting to get desperate. I even went to the job centre in York (although it wasn't as easy as just turning up there and saying I wanted to look for a job...bloody bureaucracy!), but thankfully something did turn up, with a consultancy I've talked to before about work, and who now had a position to fill in York. Oh yes please! They said I may have to work down south for a bit, but then I'd be based near home. Super duper. Shame it never really works like that. Looks like I'll be working down south for 2 years, not just a few weeks or months...Oh well, a job is a job at the end of the day, and I'm still in York for the time being and it's actually been quite challenging and enjoyable.

Shame my health has gone to shit again.

The Abu Dhabi abortion added to my weakness of will meant that most of the good work I did up to the beginning of March has been undone. I went on the Wii Fit the other night and after it had told me off for not using it for 120+ days, it told me I had put over a stone back on. Back in late Feb I had been down to 17 st 3 lbs. Now I am not far off 19 stone again. Bugger.

I have had the gauntlet slapped down again by my brother, with a 20 quid bet to see who can lose the most over 10 weeks. I want to do it, but just can't seem to click my mind into the right mode, as I was able to do back in January. I'm going to make excuses again, I'm afraid...I have another operation to go through!

I'm going for a septoplasty on 2nd September. That's a week on Friday. I have been needing this for a while with my bad breathing, snoring, poor sleep, constant rhinitis and recurrent sinus problems. I'm not looking forward to it, and worry about having to have a general anaesthetic, given my weight and history of irregular heart-beat. It should only be a short op, hopefully, and it should make a real difference. If I can breathe and sleep properly I will hopefully be able to get into the exercise thing with some real effort. I've got myself a bicycle again (thanks to the Bro again), and have had a few blasts on it, but really want to get serious about it, not just a few puffed-out-after-3-mile outings.

So, that's where I am. I sense another crossroads coming up. Please, please, please, let me choose the right path this time, eh?

Read all about it!

2011-07-12T13:35:00.000-07:00

I'm now a (self) published author. My Dubai blog has spawned a book, which can be bought for Kindle for a very reasonable sum.

One Year In Wonderland: A True Tale of Expat Life in Dubai

No Royal Wave from me...

2011-04-29T07:28:00.000-07:00

Just yet.

I'm still here, although I'm not sure for how much longer. As predicted, the Koreans raised concerns about my health (if only they knew the half of it) to my company, and there are now moves afoot to try and reallocate me (hopefully in the UK) and get someone else to take over this role, but it's all very hush hush at the moment.

I was ultimately persuaded that rather than jump on the first plane home I should stick it out for another few days or weeks and not give my company a bad name. Fair enough, I guess. It's not in my interests to burn bridges, and a job hunt in the UK could prove to be a tricky task in the "current climate".

I did need a break, though. Just to get out of this concrete cell for more than a snatched hour or two, and since pay day had arrived, I decided to treat myself to a night in a hotel. The wonderful wide world web helped me find a very reasonable offer in a nearby establishment, so I hurriedly packed my holdall bag (forgetting underwear) and called my driver man to take me there. I spent yesterday afternoon munching on goodies from the mini-bar, snoozing, watching trashy movies on TV (Oh, the joy of TV!) and having an aromatherapy massage (given to me by an Indian man with large, rough hands, but it was OK). It was glorious, and I felt refreshed and revitalised enough to drop down to the hotel pub/bar establishment and have a 3-course WESTERN meal and a couple of glasses of red wine. I ended up staying awake far too late, as I always do when there's a TV to watch, and watched Red Dragon, the Hannibal Lecter prequel (I think).

This morning I had a lovely, lazy breakfast in my room before checking out and getting myself a haircut and shave at the Male Beauty salon. The young Syrian man who attended to me was expert with clippers and cut-throat razors and sculpted me a very natty little goatee beard whilst we put the world to rights and discussed beer, cars and women.

Feeling even more refreshed and renewed, and with clearer nasal passages than I've had for weeks, I went back to the hotel pub for a spot of carvery brunch/lunch. I ended up sitting in there for a good couple of hours watching the Royal Wedding. It was on every screen, and they had Union flags all over the place. The British contingent were well up for it, cheering the national anthem and clapping every pivotal moment. Some nearby Aussies asked if I was English and automatically assumed that made me pro-Royal. I couldn't be arsed to debate the issue, so just raised my glass with them and smiled.

Of course, one can't be anything but impressed by the pomp and ceremony of a royal occasion. No-one does it like we do, and it's nice to see so many Brits smiling for once, rather than bloody moaning (which is the other thing we're good at). What was remarkable to me was the level of patriotism displayed by many of the expats around me. If I'd asked them if they wanted a ticket home right there and then, they'd probably have guffawed loudly in my face and possibly shoved a broken glass into my jugular vein. I guess that there is some logic behind it. I'm no raving patriot, coming from the "I didn't choose to born here" camp, but can of course see the good stuff about the UK, and when away from home, one does come to miss the good things and forget the bad things that one whinges about when at home.

It's the same for the family as well, I reckon. I miss them like crazy when I'm away, but at times they have the power to do my bloody head in when I'm actually with them. You don't know what you've got until you lose it, is that clichéd, but nevertheless accurate, refrain.

I'm back in Prisoner Cell Block K now. I'm skipping the Kraken stew and rice tonight, having eaten a week's worth of western-style food. I kept a Mars bar from the mini-bar, just in case I get peckish.

Where do we go from here?

2011-04-26T04:21:00.000-07:00

So I got to the weekend without any major upsets and battled on feeling like cack most of the time, making the most of the chance for a lie-in on Friday morning (they got the soju out again on Thursday night, but I only had a few small glasses this time). An idea for a road-trip to Al Ain or anywhere really had been mooted by the Canadian chap, but he didn't call me on Friday morning (he went on the lash Thursday night...nice for him) so I called Bashir the driver at about lunchtime but he was in Dubai so he sent a driver to collect me from the villa and take me wherever I wanted to go...the airport was tempting, but I settled for the Marina Mall in good old down-town AD. There are a few decent eateries there, so they tell me, and a chance just to get out and about.

On the way I noticed that AD has really come on leaps and bounds in terms of development since I was here 4 years ago. I remarked in my Beer and Bloating blog about how there were fewer high-rise buildings there, but now there are loads and many more being built. There are some real architect's flights of fancy and more than a few exhibitions of ego as well. They are definitely attracted to weird-shaped buildings in this part of the world, especially curves and wiggly lines. There's on at the Exhibition Centre that looks like a giant shiny sock. Hey, their money; their country, eh?

Marina Mall looks like a fairly mature, well-established mall, shall we say. There is a sky-tower sprouting from the back end, with what looks like a revolving restaurant at the top, giving views along the Corniche and the other way towards the sprawling, ornate Emirates Palace complex. The mall itself is airy and open with lots of natural light, and the choice of coffee shops and cafés is just mind-boggling. I made a bee-line for Belini, at the rear of the mall, having heard good reports of it, and had a very pleasant lunch of calamari followed by Quattro Staggioni pizza, sitting quietly and doing some people-watching. A young Bitish family with Southern accents were sat close by, with the obligatory blonde yummy-mummy and photogenic twin boys. One was called Sebastian, the poor child, and his father gave him a hard time over drawing a snake's head or something.

After lunch I wandered about for a bit, finding the Cinestar multi-screen cinema on an upper level, but deciding I didn't really fancy paying to see anything they had on, so decided to venture out the front of the mall and maybe take a taxi along to the beach and Corniche area. I ended up boarding an open-top double-decker bus that runs a shuttle to the beach park area and back and trying to take some photos of the AD sights as I went. The driver had other ideas, and sped along quite alarmingly, I thought. He took corners and roundabouts at high speed, and I honestly thought he was going to tip the bloody bus over, so when he came to his first stop, I jumped off and decided to use the two lower limbs and get some exercise. I hadn't reckoned with the heat.

It was knocking on towards 40 Celsius that afternoon, and I ended up walking a good half mile along a busy, bank-lined road trying to find my way to the beach. Luckily I found a shop where I bought a bottle of water to keep me going, and eventually I cut along a side street and came out at the Corniche road, not far from the beach park. I was getting very hot and sweaty by this point and was hoping to find a café with shaded tables to get an ice cream or similar, whilst making sure there were no inappropriate beach volley-ball games going on, otherwise I would have had to film them...

As it was, the options for drinks were rather limited, and access to the beach cost 10 dirhams, and since I had no swimming gear or towel, I decided not to bother, or risk being seen as a bit of an old perv just sat there watching people on the beach with my mega-zoom camera in hand. I ended up grabbing a taxi that had luckily just dropped someone at the beach and going back to the mall, finding Starbucks and ordering a large iced coffee. It was much needed, is all I can say.

So that was my weekend, pretty much. I tried hard not to think of the people in the UK enjoying the first of 2 four-day weekends, and apparently enjoying superb (not too hot) weather as well. And Saturday morning, I was woken at 5.30am by the alarm on my phone, and flung myself into another week of high adventure...or so I thought.

I got my blood test results back that morning. Nothing too alarming, just a bit of a naughty cholesterol profile. Tell me something I don't know. The anti-biotics should have been doing their job and ridding me of the sinus problem. If I could get my info together for the bosses, I might be able to get them to talk the client about moving me to my own place and reducing my hours, etc. and I might be better off within a week or two.

Uh-uh.

Sunday was pretty horrible. I felt horrible, and just didn't feel right. I had struggled to get up in the morning and just went through that day from one coffee to the next...drinking far too much caffeine again...and sugary stuff. My brother will kill me if this place doesn't, I tell you. I was glad to find out that I'm not alone in feeling tired and wretched. The main man I deal with at work and who I sit next to gets up as late as possible, turning up for breakfast five minutes before the bus leaves (even I'm not that bad), and I spent an hour watching him dozing off in front of his laptop one morning. He rarely types anything, just sits here with his left hand holding his head up, right hand holding the mouse and stares at the screen. Occasionally he rolls the mouse wheel. I can't see his screen from where I sit, but when I have managed to see it, it's always the internet on there. Everyone else is on it at least 50% of the time as well. It's insane. We could do what work we have in half the time we spend there, if not less. The stupidest bit is having the 90 minute lunch break which is spent sleeping to catch up on what we've lost in the morning. What is this about? It's fucking insane, people. Fucking insane!

But anyway, I got through Sunday, and half-hoped the soju would come out that night, as it had last Sunday. It did - for one or two tables - but not ours. Our department manager, sitting next to me at dinner, sent the bottle that came out for us back to the kitchen. I was not amused, and when I went back to my room, I got a migraine. I hardly ever get them. I can count the times I have had one on one hand, but my vision started going weird and then came the zig-zags, so it was an early night with 2 pain-killers for me.

So Monday morning, I'm thinking: this has to get better some time. I have to get used to this routine. My body clock has had 2 weeks to adjust, but no, I feel worse than ever, and sit at work wondering what the hell is going on. My head still hurts, and the nose is stuffier than ever. I tell the main man that I have to go back to the doctors, and this time I want to see a good one, not some dismissive prat who won't listen. I ring the insurance firm and tell them this, and they get me in with a very nice doctor called Doctor Vera, an American lady doc of oriental descent who sits and listens to all my worldly troubles, takes my BP, checks my ears and nose and then tells me I need to get some rest. I still have the sinus infection and my body needs rest to help it. I still have a high BP because of the lack of rest and the infection and probably the stress I'm under, and she thinks that a working situation like mine is unsustainable for someone in my condition...in fact anyone. What do you do for rest and relaxation, she asks? Everyone needs it. She gives me a letter for my bosses explaining this, and I take it back to the site, give a copy to the client and e-mail another to my company.

It's down to them now. They have let me take the prescribed time off (which is boring as hell in this villa, but it's needed), as they should, and they are going to want to discuss this between them all, I'm sure. Whatever. I have got to the point now that if the worst comes to the worst, I will just have to go home and start looking for a job in the UK, be it as a QS or a bloody burger-flipper. I really don't think I can do this shit any more, and I think my body is telling me that. Is this all really worth paying the ultimate price for? I don't think so. I don't want my health to get bad again after the work I've done to improve it. I want to be at home with my family and friends. I don't want to watch my daughter crying every time we Skype as she tries to hug the computer screen. I don't want to miss any more family get-togethers or friends' weddings or trips to the seaside. I just want a life.

I'm off for a sleep. Typing this has actually worn me out.

Weak too

2011-04-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

I managed to get into AD on Thursday night and had a welcome break from Little Seoul. I met with a chap I "know" from an expat website, and we shared tales of Asian woe over Lebanese food and a beer or three on the patio area behind an Irish bar. The people in the group all agreed that I had a tough gig.

On Friday I ventured out again, calling up my new best friend the private hire taxi gadgie called Bashir who conveyed me to the new Dalma Mall slap bang in the middle of an industrial area (Mussafah). It's supposed to be the biggest in AD. I soon discovered that there was only about 10% occupancy so far, with only a few shops open, including a huge Carrefour. I did find a nice little coffee shop with big comfy seats where I had a very decent cappuccino and read some stuff on the e-reader. There were few other options in there, and I was really after a decent feed, so I called up Bashir and asked him to take me to a different mall...the closest one that was open, and that he did. It was smaller, but had an open food court and a couple of American chain restuaranty places, so I was happier than a pig in muck as I ordered and scoffed a platter of chicken tenders with fries. They were GOOOOOOD.

Saturday was Suckyday. I can't really remember specifics, but I just felt awful. I think it was my proper full day without an excuse to get away, so I spent an interminably long day staring at the clock on my computer. 12+ hours is a long time to do that, believe me. By the time it was time to leave, I was ready to walk myself to the airport and get on the first plane, wherever it went to. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I was meeting my company boss in AD that night for dinner. Firstly I never turn down free food, and secondly I had a chance to whinge, which I won't pass up either, and it might even do some good this time.

I was ready and psyched up to lay down my list of demands and wave a plane ticket in his face, but my bravado dissipated a little on the way into town and all but disappeared when I met my boss at the hotel. He is a very easy-going, cool customer, and he just makes anyone he talks to feel relaxed and at ease. So I didn't go as forcefully as I wanted, but when he asked me how it was going, I did list my concerns to him...the accommodation, the food, the lack of personal transport, the ridiculous hours. He understood them all, thankfully, and said we should wait a week or two before going to the client with a list of issues and requests. I assented to this approach, seeing that it did really make sense.

After the meal we went to find beer and fortuitously ended up in a sports bar where the FA Cup semi-final between the United and City of Manchester was showing. We watched the last half hour or so over a couple of pints in a lively but not rowdy atmosphere and then went our separate ways. I ended up having a late night again, which isn't good when I have to get up at 5.30am.

Sunday was OK as well. I was sent with a driver to pick my boss up from the hotel, which meant another couple of hours out of the site office. We collected him and delivered him to the site where he spoke with the Korean management for all of about 10 minutes, going no further than a few pleasantries and general enquiries about the project. We then went on a lengthy site tour in a 4x4, and then it was lunchtime. I was hoping to escape to return the boss to his hotel, but was told the driver had other things to do afterwards, so I had to stay put.

That night, back at the ranch, I found the Koreans getting lightly sozzled over their dinners on a drink called soju. It's bamboo or rice spirit, something like that, and tastes like a sweet vodka, although it's only about half the strength at 20%. I was invited to sit with a table-full of Koreans and was soon learning the whole ritual surrounding the pouring of the drinks for other people and challenging to drink it down in one..."Gumbay!" A bit like the Chinese "Kampai" and the Japanese "Gambai". I don't know how much I drunk, but I was a little merry. The food that night was really good as well, featuring belly pork and onion-filled pancake things. It was the best meal I've had here by far, and I went to bed quite content...knowing that things were likely to improve.

That's been the peak of it, I think. Since then it has declined rapidly once more. Monday and Tuesday were pretty rotten. I have come down with another bloody sinus infection or something, and have been to the doctors. They gave me a load of medicine, half of which I've chucked away without taking because I probably know more about my own conditions than a new doctor and don't really trust what they give you here after a bad experience in Dubai. Blood tests were ordered as well, which I've had this morning, but they seemed to be surprised that my BP was up, when just getting to see the doctor was immensely stressful and involved 4 lengthy phone calls to my insurance company in London to arrange payment guarantee. It's times like this that you appreciate the good old NHS. (LEAVE IT ALONE, DAVID CAMERON!) I was at the clinic for 3 hours.

To make matters worse, I just can't fathom these Koreans. One minute they seem immensely worried about my welfare, the next they are completely ignoring me. I worry that I did something wrong on soju night, as I feel like a pariah at most meal times, and have watched them come in the dining room and purposefully avoid sitting with me. The 3 chaps I work with the most and share an office and even a villa with seem to have acquired their own car now, but have left me to use the mini-bus to get to and from work, and no-one says a word to me on there, other than the Indian driver who always says hello. I am showering...I'll say that now.

Do I make them uncomfortable in some way? I never had this level of cultural clashing when I worked with Japanese people in Taiwan, but then I was living with my western colleagues and mixing with them after work. I definitely need to get out of this villa ASAP. I've spoken to the Canadian safety guy again and he said it was hard. He lived with them for 4 months. Last night really took the biscuit when they decided to sit out in the common area (what could be a lounge in a normally-occupied villa) and blathered on in inscrutable words for a couple of hours...almost 11pm when they finished. I listened to my mp3 player to try and get some peace and maybe some sleep.

All in all, I am hoping things change quickly here for me, because I can't live like this for another 2 months. Last night I saw pictures of my daughter riding her bike without stabilisers for the first time. Of course, this could have happened when I was at work in the UK, but it's just another thing that got to me.

Day two at you know whooooo

2011-04-13T09:20:00.000-07:00

To get my 8 hours of sleep in, I now need to retire at around 9.20pm. I feel like a 10-year-old. A 10-year-old who has been banished to his room without TV for 11 weeks...

Still, the accommodation is better than what I had for the first month or so in Libya. That was a shocker. The biggest shock here is one of culture. Getting up at 5.20am just isn't natural for me, and I can't see how it's natural for anyone, to be honest. Breakfast is served from 5.30am, and it's pretty much the same kind of food they offered for dinner last night. The cook made me 2 fried eggs, which was nice.

Then it was off to work at 6am. Another surprise awaited me, as my erstwhile colleague revealed on the way. Everyone does exercises before starting work. You've probably seen these morning exercises that Japanese and Korean companies get their staff to do...lots of star jumps and stretching. That's exactly what I had to do, feeling slightly absurd as I stretched my arms and legs in a group of people arranged in neat rows. The Koreans knew it off by heart, having been taught this stuff from school age. It did wake me up a bit, I'll admit that much.

I was put through a 2-hour-3-language H&S induction later that morning, featuring some rather gory pictures of men with broken grinding discs through their heads and so on, then was shuttled off by the helpful Indian admin man to get a local SIM card from a nearby newly-opened mall. As we set off over the bumpy site roads, a familiar rumbling feeling came to my stomach. It shouldn't have surprised me, really. I always get a dicky tum after a day or two in a new place, and I don't think the new diet has done much to help either. I informed my Indian friend that I needed a bathroom post haste, and he stopped at the same service station where I'd grabbed a bite to eat yesterday. A nice touch, I'm sure you'll agree. He pointed to the back of the station, saying the facilities were there. Again, I shouldn't have been surprised at what I found. I opened the door to find a squat-only-hole-in-the-floor bog. I wasn't going to even try it, not with guts like these, so I dashed back to the car and said I'd wait for the mall toilets. If they didn't have proper sit-down ones, I was screwed.

Luckily they did, and all was well. The primary reason for the visit to the mall didn't actually bear any fruit, because the supermarket phone counter was all out of SIM cards. We ended up driving to some back street phone shop where they had loads of them.

By lunchtime I was back at my desk, feeling very, very tired and hoping my stomach would settle. I went along to the canteen with a plan to eat some plain food, and was delighted to find the cook from the villa dishing up food for everyone onto delightfully prison-like metal food trays. I opted for some rice and some eggy stuff and a couple of pieces of fried fish. They didn't cause too much bother.

I managed to catch half an hour of sleep in the meeting room for the rest of the lunch hour-and-a-half, and resumed my work. The afternoon wasn't too bad, although I did have to pay a visit to the site clinic to get some immodium...just to be sure. My Indian friend plied me with Bombay Mix just before home time (although he quote forcefully insisted it was called KERALA MIX), pouring some very tasty mixed snacks into my hands. Before I knew it I was on the way back to the villa on a mini-bus, wondering what the cook had in store for dinner.

To my surprise she served up some steak...not really fancy, just some rump with some Chinese style veg and more spaghetti. Everyone got some, and I was left wondering if it was all on my account. There was still strange soup on offer and little dishes filled with a variety of tiny fish, noodles and a spicy dish called Kimshi or something. There are different types, and I tried a bit of a green one that had horseradish root in it. It was actually quite nice, and would have gone down well with the steak if I hadn't eaten it in one mouthful....recognisable foodstuffs will get that these days.

So now, I'm here in my room, with no TV, just Bejewelled Blitz and broken conversations on Facebook. I'll be turning in in less than an hour. All told, once I get back from work and have had dinner, I get less than 3 hours of spare time. Can I last the full 11 weeks in this environment? At the moment, there seems little choice.

I have lived and lamented this Life of Goodbyes enough (I'm a moaner and I know it) and just feel like my life is passing me by. I may be offered some relief tomorrow night if I can find a way into town for a beer and some recognisable food...at the moment I feel like I could be in Seoul. Why is it never as bloody advertised?

Back in the Sand Pit...

2011-04-12T09:04:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I can scarcely believe it myself, but I type this from a villa in a remote suburb of Abu Dhabi, wondering how the fuck I ended up back in the land of camels, date palms and Insha'allah.

To cut a long story short, my current job went down the swanny, but this job came along just at the right time...well, nothing else came up in its stead, to be fair, and I had little choice. How things change in the space of 3 months. After Christmas, all looked rosy in the garden (if you dug the snow out of the way), and I was in line to get a stable, secure, permanent role after another 3 month contract. I was that confident it was going to come off I bought a new(ish) car. It all started going breasts north about halfway through, say around 6 weeks ago...not in the sense that I was doing anything wrong, but there was a strange feeling of doom around the workplace, and people were feeling generally unsettled. Then came the announcement about redundancies. They said our office would be unaffected, other than the shedding of one admin person. This didn't stop people fearing the worst, especially those who've been through similar scenarios before. As a contractor, I felt immediately unsettled, and my attempts to seek any form of assurance were met with silence. I put the feelers out, as you do, within the company and elsewhere. In the "current climate", of course, the UK market was not offering up many solid leads. Only overseas did that.

As time went on, the unsettled feeling got worse. Rumours flew around. People got more and more peed off and as much time as possible was spent planning exits to the pub at lunchtime or after work. A phone call came completely out of the blue for this role in AD, and I was invited to attend an interview near London. I went down on the train, and was offered the job about 2 seconds after I walked in the door. I tend to get alarm bells going off when such things happen, but it sounded like a good job, even if the rotations were a bit harsh at 11 weeks on/2 weeks off. I had to make a decision.

A few days later, the decision was made for me. My boss told me I was no longer needed as the client couldn't see my role being full-time. Nothing else was showing on the horizon, so I took this AD one. Since then, I have spent my time buying new pairs of pants and socks and being with the wife and kids. I knew what was coming, and it has hit harder than ever before this time. We spent a last few beautiful days together for 3 months in some wonderful weather, wishing time would stand still. By Sunday night, I was pretty much in pieces. My daughter was distraught again, and I thought through a dozen ways of getting out of coming, including self-mutilation with a rolling pin and running away with the dish and the spoon.

I didn't do that of course, I got on the train yesterday morning, having given more tearful hugs to my kids and wife, and set off for here. The journey was long, uneventful, pretty damn lonely. I watched movies galore on the first flight (Tron and then Tron Legacy...compare and contrast!), then read some HG Wells on my shiny new e-book reader on the second. If I manage to stick this one out, I'll be doing direct flights from now on, at least until the new Doha airport opens, because the little old one is shockingly small and unfit for purpose as a major hub.

I landed in AD just after 3am local time, and joined the muddled queues to go through immigration. I answered 2 simple questions about previous trips to the UAE and journey start points, but then almost jumped and screamed when they scanned my passport through their machine and some horrible electronic alarm coincidentally sounded nearby. I got through without a problem, however, and picked up my suitcase before heading for the exit. I was meeted and greeted by the driver who conveyed my at Mach 2.1 to the villa I am sharing with about a dozen Koreans. It was nearly 4am local time when I turned in, and about 30 minutes later the Muzzein started the mournful wailing. Luckily, there aren't any mosques in the vicinity, so it didn't startle me this time.

About an hour after that I heard movement. The others were getting up for work. Crikey. This is going to be fun, thought I. What kind of hours do these nutters work, for God's sake? I drifted in and out of sleep, hearing the cleaners doing the stuff, listening to jets flying overhead, and dreaming of sunny days at Saltburn-by-the-Sea with ice cream and sandy toes. I finally roused myself around noon, showered and dressed and wondered what the hell I had to do. I managed to find some phone numbers for the company I am working for here and eventually found out that the main chap I was going to be working with was on his way to pick me up. He arrived 45 minutes later and very helpfully diverted to a petrol station so I could get some food. Maynards wine gums and coca-cola had been my only intake so far today.

The office was standard site office fare, with big wide cabins filled with desks and rumbling air conditioning units. I was shown round the offices, introduced to about 40 people with about 10 different job titles (mine, not theirs - it's political, you know. I'm being asked to be somewhat dishonest to two companies now). Then they made me attend a meeting with only one person who had a working knowledge of English, and expected me to understand the complex contractual issues they were bringing up. Thank goodness I have offers of support from around the globe, or I would be sinking faster than a stone with a really big stone tied to it.

It was a mercifully short afternoon, however, and I soon discovered that the hours are strictly adhered to at both ends of the day. We finish at 6 sharp and then have to make our ways back to the villa for dinner. The villa I'm in is one of about 4 in a row, full of Koreans. The food offered is therefore....Korean. I give most things a chance, and discovered some of the food they do is actually quite nice. It was like the proper Chinese fare you find in China rather than on Linthorpe Road, but with more fish and loads more heat and spice. I tucked in with some aplomb, impressing my colleagues with my chopstick technique and ignoring the naughty thoughts of possible canine consumption that cropped up in my mind. I could really have been eating anything, but it tasted pretty good. Then the Chinese/Korean lady cook came out with a huge plate of spaghetti blog that she'd made just for me, which I felt obliged to polish off as she sat there grinning at me and nodding her head.

So now I'm in my room. At least I have the internet. I need an early night as breakfast is served at 5.30am before the bus for work leaves at 6.05 on the dot. Oh joy of joys! At least there are only 2 more days until the weekend!

P.S. you may have guessed that the health/diet regime is on hold somewhat...the Koreans tell me that their food is velly hearthy.

Excuses, excuses

2011-03-10T12:57:00.001-08:00

Yep, I've got a whole rake of them. The dog ate my homework and aliens abducted my dog, so I had to travel to Sirius to fight the fish-headed f*ckers and get my homework back. The dog wanted to stay there, unfortunately.

But really, it's been a bit of a whirlwind since last time. Work is really busy, and I've been in at weekends and staying late to fulfil my duties. Then there was the London trip on Tuesday and Wednesday this week to see a boyband (wife's birthday).

Diet-wise, I haven't completely fallen apart, but have had a few weak moments, but try and limit them to weekends. OK, more than a few, especially in London for those 2 days. I ate and drank what I wanted, pretty much. Such are the pitfalls of an unplanned and unstable life on the road. Thank God I'm not touring with a rock band. I like routine...well, in dietary terms anyway.

Exercise...I tried that Tabata stuff again, although slightly modified from the last time. I did 4 rounds of 4 exercises: sit-ups, squats, lunges and shadow boxing, 20 secs of each exercise, 10 secs rest, 30 to 45 secs between rounds. I found it easier than the previous time, probably because I wasn't doing push-ups. I HATE push-ups, and my scrawny upper body is testament to that. I really must try and build up some muscle on the upper body. Not Arnie Schwarzenegger stuff, of course, just something approaching average would be nice.

I know I need to refocus now. There is still a week of hard work to go at work, but then I should be able to get fully back on the wagon and continue on the journey to slimness.

On the road

2011-02-27T13:08:00.000-08:00

I'm continuing to lose weight, despite not being half as disciplined as I was before. I have the odd nibble of bad things, and even had a fairly big blow-out the other weekend with booze and food galore, but it hasn't stopped the weight coming off. According to the scales I am now 17 stones and 3 pounds. In another 8 pounds I will be out of the Obese BMI category.

I have dug out some old suits from my wardrobe, and found stuff in the pockets of them that confirmed how long it is since I've been able to wear them. One was a nice grey number which is just about a perfect fit, the other was a tuxedo, which will probably fit in another half a stone or so. The last - and only - time I've worn it, was over 8 years ago at a ball in Taiwan. There was still a map of Taipei in the pocket. When I get into it I am going to have my photo taken in it.

I am exercising somewhat sporadically, but my gubro (guru/brother) told me to try the Tabata style of exercise on Wednesday night. It is brutal...involving 8 cycles of four exercises, which you do for 20 seconds full pelt with 10 seconds' break between each exercise. I did push-ups, lunges, squats and shadow boxing and managed 2 cycles before realising my heart was already pumping like crazy and deciding that I'd stop there. My sides and shoulders were sore for a few days afterwards. Having read up on it a bit, it sounds like it could really help the weight loss, but is also potentially dangerous if not done properly. I will proceed with caution!

Ailment-wise, my stomach has been behaving quite well, despite the cheats. I seem to be having a recurrent abscess problem in a tooth, though. It's an upper molar which seems to flare up after colds and nasal blockages. I had the sniffles for a few days, but the cold didn't seem to want to take full hold. Is my body better at fighting things off now? Hope so. It would be good if I can fight off an abscess rather than having to go on more antibiotics or undergo expensive and uncomfortable dental surgery.

Well, well, not so well...

2011-02-17T12:02:00.000-08:00

I hate my guts. They just won't give me any peace. The new meds worked for a few days, but then things came bad again on Tuesday. I suspected that it was the cheat meal I ate on Monday night (deep-fried whitebait, burger, a bit of sticky toffee pud), but it has only just got better today. I had been a bit cheaty over the weekend too, particularly on Friday night, and also drank a bottle of red wine over 2 nights. Can a cheat meal really do this to me, could it be the wine, or were the new meds to blame? I have gone back to the old, weaker anti-acid medication, and things have settled down again.

Maybe my body is just really, really full of rubbish and is still fighting a battle as the last 20 years' worth of crap makes its way out, like a drug addict on serious cold turkey. I really hope that's what it is, because eventually I will come out of the other side and feel great.

The weight continues to come off. Another 2lbs gone, according to the Wii Fit board. I want to do more exercise...especially the resistance stuff to try and build/maintain some lean muscle. I just keep getting struck down with the bad gut episodes and don't have the energy to do any exercise after a long day at work.

Anyway, I've decided that the cheating has to be more controlled, if not eliminated pretty much completely. Maybe I should try and go clean for another couple of weeks and see how my body reacts. It's difficult when social occasions come up, though. There is a family thang on Saturday...meals and cinema-going and probably alcohol...What to do?

Settle down

2011-02-10T12:54:00.001-08:00

Well, the acid and related stomach problems seem to have abated. That's probably the new drugs I'm taking. I guess I'll be on these for a while, until the healing happens. I need more tests and will be having another gastroscopy at the end of March.

In the meantime, I am managing to stick to the same way of eating. I have had the odd deviation, but nothing major. I can't eat massive amounts in one go any more, and to be honest, foods like bread and pasta hold no attraction for me any longer. I don't miss alcohol all that much, and am quite happy to have one, maybe even two glasses, once a week. I do fancy a pork pie, once in a while, mind. It will have to be a cheat meal.

The weight is still coming off. I've lost another 2lbs since last week. My clothes are getting seriously baggy. I do worry that my skin won't shrink back to my new body shape. I am trying to ex-foliate the skin when I bathe/shower. It helps with elasticity, apparently.

Exercise has been a bit scarce, I'm afraid. I had the bad guts for a few days over the weekend/start of the week. I am also feeling very tired after work. My head stuffiness and the related dizziness just refuses to leave me alone, and I still get headaches now and again. Gotta keep positive!

Acid House

2011-02-08T02:25:00.000-08:00

The doc says I've got severe acid problems in my stomach. Seems there is probably damage in there, possibly even an ulcer. That would explain a fair bit of the way I've been feeling of late, and why it seems to be getting worse and worse. He said that STRESS could well be a factor in the increased acid. So I'm going to be put on more drugs, stronger drugs. I really didn't want to go down this route. I want to be off drugs and pharmaceutical chemicals altogether!

I am a born worrier, I'm afraid. A born stress-head, and it has had some serious implications for my health. I really need to learn to deal with it better. What makes it worse is that having time off work makes my work situation less stable...another stress factor. One of them there vicious circle things.

What's the answer? Anyone who knows....write it on a postcard, please!

THIS is my life...

2011-02-06T11:28:00.000-08:00

Self-indulgent rant time!

I think I may be suffering from depression, or something to do with lack of fresh air and sunshine (I invariably feel better when I'm outside, in the air). Despite the fact that I have been on this "diet" for nigh on 3 weeks and have lost over 2 stone since November, I still feel like shite for far too much of the day. Why is that? I worry that I have some horrible ailment that the doctors are missing, as is my way. I'm sure the blood test results I get tomorrow will show nothing untoward, leaving me thinking that it HAS to be all in my head.

It probably is, to be fair.

I watched a programme about people who emigrated to Australia last night. There was this woman who moved there with her son, who had suffered from SAD in the UK. After only a few months she looked better and said she felt better, with more outdoor living and sunshine. It was certainly food for thought...

Not that I am about to bugger off to Australia at the drop of a hat, of course. The big spiders they have there put me right off the idea.

It made me think about what I do with my life. What IS my life. I get up, drive the hour to work, stare at a screen for the best part of 8 hours, wondering how much longer I can blag it, drive back (another hour...I found out I spend more than 12 hours a week in my car), I have my tea, maybe do a bit of Wii Fit if I feel up to it, then get back in front of two screens...TV and laptop...fucking about on stupid games on Facebook or reading pointless posts on messageboards...till it's time for bed.

Weekends offer little in the way of excitement. Saturday is big food shop day. That's half the day gone. Sunday we take the boy to rugby and then we might get some fresh air for an hour or two. Once a month or so we visit my parents for dinner or something.

I'm telling you, whoever YOU are, right now...if this is what is the rest of my life is going to be like...well, I don't think I can face it. There's no point in getting healthy and fit if I don't make the most of it. I have little to no creative outlet at the moment (I am looking at joining a band again...that might help a bit).

So yeah, maybe I am a bit depressed. I honestly can't believe that this is the pinnacle of human life and civilisation. It can't be, surely.

Cheat, cheat, eat, eat...

2011-02-02T13:45:00.000-08:00

I had my first cheat meal today for my breakfast. I had to have a blood test at the doctors, for which I had to fast, so hadn't had anything to eat since 8.30pm last night. After the doc I went to a favourite little coffee shop of mine in town and had my cheat meal. It was a bacon sandwich and a large cappuccino. I enjoyed the bacon, but couldn't actually finish the bread. Even though it was supposedly healthy brown bread, it was just too stodgy for me.

I haven't gone off the rails, though. It hasn't made me eat dougnuts, cake, crisps, chocolate and all those other things. I just slipped back into my new mode and ate a lovely ham salad for lunch and chicken wrapped in bacon with home-made tomato and basil sauce for my tea. There was no need for carbs.

I had another half an hour of working out on the Wii Fit tonight. I had weighed myself this morning and it said I was another 2lbs down, at 17st 8lbs. That's ridiculous! Back in October/November I was tipping the scales at 20 stones.

People are starting to notice the difference. My face is slimmer, and my belly is shrinking. It feels good when people notice these things.

It's far from over.

2011-02-01T12:54:00.000-08:00

This is just the beginning. The battle goes on towards a healthy weight and a healthy life.

I have completed 2 weeks of the detox phase, and haven't eaten an ounce of bread, pasta or other wheaty nonsense, and I haven't had a sip of alcohol. I haven't missed them either, really.

I will continue with this style of eating, but can now have 2 "cheat" meals a week. I'm still unsure how to play that, whether to have them both on a weekend, or split them up through the week. Whatever I do, I am not going to fall off the wagon. I feel much better in myself, although there is still room for improvement. I'm sure that I will feel better and better as the weight drops off and the fitness improves.

I stepped onto the Wii Fit scales tonight and my BMI has dropped again, but only by a few decimal points, and less than a pound. I have lost 13lbs, probably 13 and a half, and now weigh less than 18 stone. That's less than I've been in a long time, and as far as I'm concerned, the only way is down. Coincidentally I have reached the target I set myself at the beginning of November, and have set myself a target of losing another 1 stone and 1 pound in two months, which should be achievable. When that target is reached, I will be out of the OBESE category and into the OVERWEIGHT category according to the BMI scale.

Thanks to my brother, Stephen, for his support and encouragement. Thanks to the wife for cooking my tea when it is often different to what the rest of them have. I hope I can count on continued support from everyone. I also hope I don't bore people at work too much with my new healthy outlook!

Food today:

Breakfast: 3 egg omelette with spinach and peppers

Snack: chicken drumsticks

Lunch: Carrot and lentil soup

Snack: nuts

Tea: pork chop with roasted veg

Nearly there...

2011-01-31T14:34:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the last day of the first phase of this new way of eating. I've felt reasonably good again today, aside from the odd half-hour here or there. I really think it's to do with my sinuses. Maybe my improved diet will help me.

So it was back to work, and today I tried a new approach to the snacking. I took a couple of chicken drumsticks I'd cooked last night with me as a mid-morning snack, and it definitely helped my energy levels stay constant. I had lunch a bit later than normal, then a late-afternoon snack of nuts, before having tea at about 7pm, AFTER a blast on the Wii Fit (step/hula/push-up/box) that was meant to be a quick weight check and 10 minute blast but ended up as almost 30 minutes of working out. Such are my energy levels, I just feel myself wanting to do it.

As for the weight, that's another 1lb off. That makes 13lb since the diet started, and overall since I got Wii Fit, I have lost around 2 stone (28lbs/13kg).

Food diary:

Breakfast: Greek yog, strawbs, bluebs

Snack: 2 chicken drumsticks

Lunch: 3 bean, tomato and bacon soup with side salad

Snack: nuts

Tea: Mackerel stir fried with veg and a few rice noodles.

The weekend comes, the motor hums...

2011-01-30T12:03:00.000-08:00

bringing more cake to me. Well, near me. It was offered but refused...again. Why does everyone have to have birthdays when I'm doing this diet?

Anyway, I found myself going along to food shopping yesterday, and the shopping bill increased by about 60% on last week. Such is the risk of having me along, seeing this and that on the shelves...new vegetables to try, chicken drumsticks to take to work as a snack...the wife knows that it's dangerous to have me with her now.

It would have been nice to be able to have a cheat meal this weekend. As I said, birthdays were on the agenda (my sister-in-law's), so we had a Sunday roast at the in-laws' house. I had pork, roast parsnips, carrots, cauliflower, 1 small plain boiled potato and NO gravy, stuffing or Yorkshire Puddings to start. I just sat in the living room during the starter. Maybe another time.

More temptation could have surfaced at rugby training (my boy's, not mine, I hasten to add). Bacon sarnies and cups of coffee are the order of the day from the clubhouse on most occasions, but this time I stayed out of the club and went to get the car washed before watching a bit of the training.

It wasn't too hard to resist. My resolve this time has been pretty unshakeable. It's just a shame I still feel crappy for periods of time. I don't know what it is, I just hope they reduce as I get leaner and fitter.

Another week beckons, then. I am looking forward to getting to Tuesday night and feeling like I've achieved something. I'm not going to go crazy, I'm going to stick to the prescribed 2 cheat meals a week.

So, food diary for the weekend:

Sat:

Breakfast: Omelette with bacon, spinach and peppers

Lunch: Veggie soup

Tea: Home-made burgers, sweet potato chips and hummus

Snack: Can't remember if I did, actually!

Sun:

Breakfast: Smoothie (using new smoothie maker procured on Saturday) made with banana, frozen berries and greek yoghurt. Yummy!

Lunch: Roast pork with veg (as described above)

Tea: Small burger left over from last night with small stir-fry veg portion

Snack: rice cakes with PB

Er...what day is it?

2011-01-28T13:06:00.000-08:00

Friday already! The weekend! My second on the detox diet. Jeez, it's going quickly. It's been a manic week at work, and a drink would be nice...a large glass of red wine. But, I don't really mind that I'm not going to have one. I can wait.

Of course, I could choose never to have another glass of wine again. Or a spoonful of wheat or sugar. Maybe that would be the best way. As Gary Taubes said in an interview, we should treat these bad carbs like drugs. You wouldn't say to an alcoholic, "OK, go and have one or two drinks."

Food for thought...although I do have 3 and a half bottles of whisky left to drink from birthday and Christmas!

Still, today was mixed again. I felt OK most of the time, but quite tired in the afternoon. I'm not sure if I'm eating enough through the day. You'll see what I mean from my food diary. I may have to address this and change my eating times to keep my energy levels stable. I'm sure my mentor can advise.

I also had another attack of loose bowels this morning - just a one off, seemingly. I suspect it's IBS. It seems to flare up now and again, especially during times of stress. Work, as I said, has been manic this week.

And I had another indicator that my health is heading the right way. I went to have my blood pressure checked this morning and it was 130 over 88, if I remember correctly. Even with all the stress, it is as low as it has been for years. My dream situation would be to be able to get off the multiple medications I take. Beta-blockers, Acid reflux reducers, BP reducers, antihistamines...I rattle in the morning after I take all the tablets.

Another pound and a bit has come off as well, according to Wii Fit. That's 11 or 12 off, something like that. I had a good 30 minute session again tonight. It was quite a bit of yoga and muscle work, with a quick step aerobic blast at the end. I used the Routine function, telling it I wanted to work on my hips, thighs, waist, shoulders and so on, and it chucked a selection of exercises at me. Enjoyed it. And variety is always good, I think.

Food today:

Breakfast: Greek yog with mixed berries and a pinch of seeds

Lunch: Three-bean soup and side salad (is beetroot OK?)

Snack: Nuts

Tea: Organic sausages with roasted veg.

I might have a rice cake with some of the organic peanut butter in a bit. I had one last night and it was yummy.

Day 9

2011-01-27T13:06:00.000-08:00

A strange day of contrasts today. Felt good for the best part of it, and found myself bounding up stairs and walking around briskly with an energy I've not had in ages. My belt has had to come in another notch as well, and there's at least an inch between notches.

I'm becoming a bit of a bore at work, I'm afraid to say. My colleagues think I'm slightly mad as I warn them about sugar in things. I was offered mini flapjacks and caramel slices galore today (someone brought them in for their birthday), but just wasn't tempted whatsoever.

The perceived wisdom is really programmed into people: fat is BAD. Sugary isn't. I talk about making my own mayo, and a chap pipes up that it's too much of a faff on and I might as well get the stuff in a jar. I say that it's full of crap, and they say to try the low-fat stuff. I stifle a belly laugh and leave them in disbelief when I tell them that the low-far stuff is probably even worse.

I will now plug some reading material: I'm reading a book called "Trick and Treat" by a chap called Barry Groves. It's about nutrition, health, medicine (some shocking exposes of the health/pharmaceutical industry), all those things I find have played a big part in my life. A LOT of the perceived wisdom would appear to be wrong, and I think I am slowly coming round to the idea that a diet low in starchy carbs is a good one. It's what we're genetically predisposed to eat. There are many people waking up to this. There are loads of books out there. Another would be Gary Taubes's "The Diet Delusion" or "Good Galories Bad Calories" (USA). He has a new one out which is supposedly easier to read than the first, called "Why We Get Fat And What To Do About It".

Enough preaching...back to my day. I was busy, really busy, and felt quite jaded and tired for an hour or so at home. I rushed home and paid a flying visit to Tesco, ostensibly to get some fuel for the car, but picking up some goodies (organic peanut butter, rice cakes, brown rice, fresh prawns) whilst I was there. I wolfed my spicy tea down far too quickly and suffered indigestion again. I need to slow down! I'm going to do some more wii fit in a bit, if I can get the TV remote off the wife...

Food:

Breakfast: Blueberries and Greek Yog

Lunch: Veg broth and salad

Snack: nuts

Tea: Chilli Prawn stir fry.

Week 2 begins

2011-01-26T13:01:00.000-08:00

And I'm finally feeling quite...normal. Normal is good for me, given that I have felt so shite for so long.

There have been a few headaches and a bit of indigestion, but nothing remarkable or debilitating. I hope it continues.

Even the mega-stressful environs of work haven't ruined the day for me. I got over the highly-fraught meeting I had this afternoon quite quickly and rushed home to get my tea.

Food today:

Breakfast: Yogurt and berries and seeds

Lunch: Jacket spud with mexican chicken, onion, carrot, cucumber

Tea: Home-made bolognese-style mince, mashed sweet potato and a few roasted veg left over from last night

Snack: Nuts

We're halfway there...

2011-01-25T13:29:00.000-08:00

We're living on a prayer. One week down, one to go.

Much, much better day today...well, from 3pm onwards. Up until then I felt OK then pretty rough after lunch. I'd even gone for a little walk outside on my way to the canteen, but after eating I was really sleepy. My stomach settled down eventually, though.

After 3pm I just seemed to get a new lease of life. It might have been going to a different office/site at work. Who knows? It lasted all the way till home time, and tonight I was really keen to get on the Wii Fit and had a good 30 minute blast, doing some step aerobics, a couple of muscle things (lunges, twists and tricep lifts), some hula hoop and a good blast on the medium level of rhythm boxing. My heart was going quite fast at the end, but some yogic deep breathing got it back under control.

Talking of my heart, I hate to tempt fate, but the old tickerooni has been on amazingly good behaviour of late. I used to have at least one ectopic/PVC a day, but they seem to have all but disappeared, or just aren't big enough to notice. Coincidence? I think not.

My cravings for crap have gone as well. Not completely, but on day 3 or 4 I was dying for a capuccino and a muffin or such like. Now I can smell naughty food and it doesn't bother me a lot. I don't find myself hungry at all. I'll still make sure to treat myself at the end of this 2 week "induction" phase, of course.

As for my weight, I have now lost 10lbs since starting this diet. In a week. I am under 18 stone for the first time in years. My mentor tells me this is not unusual for someone who has a lot of weight to shed in these early stages.

So, food:

Brek: 3 egg omelette with spinach and peppers

Lunch: Scotch broth with dry side salad

Tea: Roasted veg (carrot, parsnip, pepper, courgette, sweet potato) with hummus and a couple of slices of ham

Snack: Greek Yog with a few blueberries and 2 strawberries.

Day Six

2011-01-24T13:12:00.000-08:00

Food:

B: FF Greek Yog with strawberries and blueberries
L: Jacket spud with beefy stuff
T: Chicken stir-fry

Feeling shite. Bad guts, bad head. Is it toxins or depression?

EDIT:

Got on the Wii Fit for a bit of Yoga. It told me I've lost another 5lbs. That's 7lb in less than a week. Crikey.

The yoga made me feel better as well.

Day Five...still alive

2011-01-23T12:26:00.000-08:00

I think the headaches are starting to abate, and I do feel a bit better. My bowels are as well behaved as they have been in a long time, which is nice.

It was a test today in that I was out and about for most of it, taxiing children to rugby matches. The hardest bit was getting the requisite water into myself.

I got a good couple of miles of walking under my belt today, like. Especially at Wensleydale Rugby Club, which is in a valley with lots of slopes and steps to climb.

Food today:

Brekky: Yog with berries and seeds

Lunch: 2 poached eggs with toasted rye bread

Tea: Grilled salmon fillet and baked potato, carrots and broccoli.

Snack: Apple and hummus

Dave Oar

2011-01-22T14:12:00.000-08:00

Have had a relaxing day today, playing X-Box with the boy and just generally chilling. I'd like to start feeling better. The headaches aren't as bad, but they're still there. I don't know if it's my sinuses acting up, the toxins coming out or what. My mentor says it could be both.

The good lady did the food shopping today, and came back with a mass of fresh veg, organic yoghurts and little things to add flavour to dishes (chilli flakes, ginger, etc). I expected her to tell me it had cost a fortune, but it had cost no more than usual. Surprising. I still need to get some rice noodles, organic rice cakes, maybe organic, sugar-free peanut butter...if I can find it.

So, food today:

Brekky: Banana omelette with cinnamon. I was surprised how nice it was.

Lunch: Pork strips fried in a bit of olive oil with onion, mushroom and a couple of left over cooked new potatoes. I mixed a touch of the full fat yog and a tsp of grainy mustard to give it some flavour.

Snack: Nuts!

Tea: Organic sausages (Debbie & Andrews make, wheat free) and some stir fry veg, livened up with some chilli flakes, garlic and ginger. It was really quite nice. I could end up living on stir-fries.

Snack: Carrot and hummus.

Three Steps To...?

2011-01-21T12:17:00.000-08:00

I think the headaches and general feelings of grottiness are subsiding. A bit. I am sitting here typing this and my guts don't feel wonderful, to be honest. A little bit ropey. I am hoping this is just another side-effect of the detox.

I managed to do some exercise tonight. Nothing too heavy, of course, just a quick blast on the Wii Fit...a few minutes of rhythm boxing, kung fu, basic step and a couple of yoga poses...20 minutes of actual working out in total. I felt OK afterwards, so I'm glad I got going again. Oh, and the wii fit board told me I was 18 stone 7lbs, which is only 2lbs more than I was before the Xmas blow-out. One would hazard a guess that one has already lost a few pounds since Wednesday!

Today's food:

Breakfast: Full fat natural yoghurt with mixed berries and a sprinkle of mixed seeds.

Not much to it, but it was tasty and kept me going till lunchtime.

Lunch: Veggie Soup and side salad (lettuce, cucumber, tomato, onion, carrot)

Was worried with it being cream of veg, but I don't think there was any milk in it.

Snack: handful nuts

Tea: 2 small pork steaks and roasted veg (carrot/parsnip/pepper) and 2 small boiled new potatoes.

I might try the banana omelette tomorrow...

(a) Day Two (far)

2011-01-20T13:04:00.000-08:00

Errrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

It's a struggle, folks. A mighty struggle. The headaches and tiredness seem to hit me in waves. I have perked up a few times, almost feeling normal. Having this damned bursitis on my hip isn't helping matters, either. I woke up with a lot of pain from that area this morning, and it only really settled after 2 high-powered anti-inflammatory tablets. I need and want to do some exercise on the Wii Fit, but really don't have the energy.

Talking about drugs...I take it all these chemicals I am taking for blood pressure, allergies and so on are going to stay in my system. It's only going to be a partial detox at best, I would say. But then again, if I lose loads of weight and get fit, I might not need all these meds. That would be great.

Here's today's food diary:

Breakfast: 3 egg omelette with yellow pepper.

Lunch: jacket potato with a little serving of chicken casserole, lettuce, tomato, onions.

Snack: handful of nuts

Tea: prawn stir-fry, dash of soya sauce.

I might have a few carrot sticks with hummus again in a bit. I might just try that wii fit for 15 minutes, just to get moving.

On we go. I hope one starts feeling better soon. I talked to my mum tonight, who did a similar diet regime before Xmas, and she told me it takes 2 weeks to get used to it! I gotta keep focused, though. It's tough when the rest of family are tucking into fish and chips!

A Tale Of Two Titties...Day 1

2011-01-19T13:34:00.000-08:00

Christmas has gone, and the hangover continues.

I went a bit mad, I'm afraid. I ate and drank enough to feed whole African villages for a year. It's a shame, because before Xmas I had lost a stone (14lbs) with the aid of Wii Fit (Rhythm Boxing) and sensible eating. I had hoped not to do too much damage, but was weak and have probably put back 5 to 6lbs of fat.

It's not just the fat that is the problem, it's how I feel. I have been feeling really quite shite for the last couple of weeks. Work has been a struggle, especially the 80-mile round trip. I told myself it was just post-seasonal depression, or the after-effects of the cold that finally got hold of me on Boxing Day, despite my attempts to head it off at the pass.

It culminated yesterday, and I decided enough was enough. My brother has very kindly offered to help me, giving me the benefit of his credentials and knowledge on nutrition and exercise.

As a starting point he has suggested a seriously brutal-sounding detox regime for 2 weeks, which doesn't allow any wheat, alcohol, tea, coffee, sugar, sweetener, and only very limited access to dairy products. There are suggested meals on the plan, but I'm guessing the basics can be used as a framework, and there is some flexibility in the menu. The plan suggests lots of anti-oxidant rich food like berries, spinach and so on. And then there are the banana omelettes. When I try one, I'll report on how it tastes!

And I'm going to get back into the Wii Fit. I will record it all on here.

So, Day 1

Breakfast - Morrisons Extra Creamy Pro biotic Strawberry Yoghurt and a banana.

Hmm. Not the ideal start, as this kind of yoghurt ain't really the one to use. I have now bought some proper full-fat natural stuff for the future.

Lunch - Tomato and Three Bean soup from works canteen.

Snack - Handful of nuts (pistachio, cashew and almond)

Tea - Chicken in a jarred Chasseur sauce with basmati rice.

Not ideal, either. Sauce from a jar? Probably sugar-laden (2.5g per portion, actually) White rice is probably a no-no, although better than pasta. I need to buy some brown rice.

Snack - One carrot cut into sticks and some hummus.

Drinks - 2 cups of green tea and loads of water.

I am meant to drink 3 litres, and I have probably managed 2. I am peeing a lot.

Activity - none today, other than lugging a load of office gear up some stairs. I have had some strange peaks and troughs of energy today, feeling OK sometimes, and even more rotten at other times, especially this morning when I was dying to drink some caffeine!

The Sailor

2010-01-17T13:51:00.000-08:00

What would you be if the waves set you free
And the wind in your hair brought you sailing to me
Tied up on the shore would you weary no more?
When will it be, when will it be
What would I be if a hurricane came
Would I be clever, would I be shamed
Would I lie helpless, cast up on the flames
What will I be, what will I be
I will be here forever
Till the river runs into the sea
I will always be silent
And hold my head up
Till we will be sailors no more
Where would we go
To the sand or the snow
Wander in memories or let them all go
Would we be dreamers, helplessly so
Where would we go, where would we go
I will be here forever
Till the river runs into the sea
I will always be silent
And hold my head up
Till we will be sailors no more
I will be here forever
Till the river runs into the sea
I will always be silent
And hold my head up
Till we will be sailors no more
Let's run right out of the city tonight
With our hair tied up and lips sealed tight
I will cry no more, I said I will cry no more
Like an empty tourist at the world fair
I could only stand and stare
And let it pass by me, let it pass me by
I never should have said out loud
That I wanted to save the world
But I let it slip away, I just let it slip away
The only thing I wanted to be
Was the perfect one who killed for free
And I will try no more, I say I will try no more
But now we are together we won't turn back
Where the boats are burned and the ties are black
And I will cry no more, I will cry no more...

Stuart Adamson.

Goodbye to the Noughties...

2009-12-31T10:21:00.000-08:00

Hello to the Tennies?

As I enter my fifth decade as a sentient being on this here little blue planet, I can't help looking back over the last ten years. They have been interesting times, there can be no denying it, and at times, they have been interesting in the way it is meant in the Chinese insult, "may you live in interesting times." I mean this in a global and personal sense.

It has been a decade of serious change...some good and some very bad. My two kids have to be the shining highlight of it all, with the boy arriving in 2000 and the girl four years later. They have given me a renewed focus and a fresh perspective on the priorities of my life and have helped me take stock of what I want and where I want to go. They are everything now. Everything I do is with them, for them and because of them.

On the flip side of the coin, I have seen my well-documented health problems come to a head. They have affected me to a massive extent...putting me in some dark and difficult places and times. The heart and hip things were the major issues, but as the last six hours of this decade drip away never to return, I hope that they have been addressed sufficiently for me to move onwards and upwards and start living the life I want while I am still relatively young. The other minor issues are inextricably linked to the major ones, so I'm sure they will be resolved as well.

I am actually looking forward to turning 40. I've heard it said that your 40s are your best adult years; when maturity and confidence is at its highest, stress is low, and a life plan is finally settled upon. I feel like I am on the way there, I just need a few things to fall into place. There is damage to repair, but I have a plan how I will do the renovations. I'm not too fixated or obsessed with the goals I have...they are flexible and can change. I have an idea of where I want to be by the end of the new decade and I have some big decisions and changes to make, and I hope I can meet them without too many problems. I am learning to manage my stress levels by distinguishing between those things I can and can't control. There is still much work to do, but progress is being made.

I don't see any of these thoughts as New Years Resolutions. They can be used to pave the way to hell at a later date, as Mark Twain once said. I see them as promises that I've made to myself...and I have allowed myself to be realistic and flexible on them.

Now that narcissism is done with, I'd like to wish anyone reading the happiest New Year possible. It's a blue moon tonight, don't you know. Maybe it's a portent of some kind, maybe it isn't. It would be nice for us to have a look at it through my son's new telescope.

Slainte. All the best.

Chris.

A Christmas Wish

2009-12-22T14:51:00.000-08:00

I would like a job.
I want a job.
I NEED a job.

Now. I'm going mad here. Please, someone...Santa Claus, God, the man from Del Monte....anyone...I need a freaking job! I'm good to go. The doctors are happy with me. It's not good to be sitting here bored out of my skull and worrying about things.

Not just for the money...I am going stir crazy. Christmas is helping to alleviate the problem a tad, but it will be back to this straight afterwards.

PLEASE!

6 Weeks In

2009-11-04T13:35:00.000-08:00

So, it's time for an update. I have now had my new hip joint for more than 6 weeks. This particular, important landmark passed last Friday. Everyone who has had a hip replacement knows that 6 weeks is a time when most patients are pretty much back to a normal life. They can drive, they can go to work (if office-based) and they can resume sexual relations. Yippee! Please try not to think of a 10-year-old Anakin Skywalker, though.

Well I am driving, and tomorrow I venture further from the house than I have in months, with a trip to London with a view to getting back onto the hamster wheel of a 9 to 5 job. I can't wait to get back to work, actually. I am once more at a point of despair with sitting in the house watching daytime TV and playing pointless games on the internet. I want to interact with people and engage myself in something worthwhile. I feel slightly bad that I haven't been able to make more of my time off, but my motivation levels for such things have been quite low with everything that's gone on. Luckily, I have remained motivated to do the physio and get out and about whilst the weather was reasonably good.

I had an appointment with the physio a couple of weeks ago and he seemed happy with my progress. He manipulated my leg in some alarming and uncomfortable ways, but I now realise that my range of movement is so much better than it has been for my whole adult life, if not longer. He told me to try some more exercises and to do my existing ballet-style ones standing on the operated leg. This has caused some minor pain and discomfort, but it is making the leg stronger and stronger. I can now get about without any walking aid, although I take one stick with me for longer walks just to be safe. I can walk a mile quite comfortable now, and even broke into a trot at the weekend. My stance is straighter and I stand taller than I ever have. No longer can I say my height is 6'1" or 6'2" depending on which leg I stand on. The limp is much less pronounced and will hopefully be completely gone by the time 3 months is up....around Christmas time.

Within a week or two I hope to be able to start cycling on an exercise bike and then I can really concentrate on the most important part of all of this...losing the excess flab. I still take far too many medications and most of them are linked to my size. When I get down to a decent weight the blood pressure should normalise, the hiatus hernia should ease off and the risk of atrial fibrillation returning should diminish significantly. I can't wait. Further down the line, I am hoping I can get to a decent enough level of fitness to allow me to cycle long distance. Who knows, I might even start thinking about doing some charity bike rides. Who's up for John O'Groats to Land's End?

Theatre of Dreams

2009-09-30T11:26:00.000-07:00

Today I went back to the hospital for the first time since discharge to have the 32 staples removed from the very long wound that runs from halfway up my thigh up and around into my right buttock. It stung a bit, but not terribly. My wife held my hand and promised me a lollipop if I was good whilst the nurse picked the staples out with a vicious-looking metal implement.

The good news is that I am on my feet and walking around, although with the aid of a pair of sturdy walking sticks. Every day I see a little bit of improvement in mobility and feel like I'm moving towards my goals. It is frustrating at times, and I do feel down at times, but am trying to think positively. Like I said before, this is a chance to start afresh and make up for lost time and lost quality of life.

The operation itself and the stay in hospital was an experience that will live with me for a long time. I've had ops on my leg before, but when I was 10 years old, and the memories of that have faded a lot.

I was admitted the day before the operation. My wife drove me up to Middlesbrough and made sure I got safely chekced in, then I spent the whole day sat next to or on my bed reading. I took two new books to read and finished one of them in one sitting, only taking the odd break to complete admission questionnaires, speak to my visiting family or have meals. One of the registrars came and drew a large black arrow on the lower part of my right leg with permanent marker. I made sure to have a biscuit and cup of tea from the late trolley round. It was likely to be the last food I would have for a while.

I didn't sleep much that night. Hospitals aren't the most conducive of environments as it is, with the groans, shouts and snoring coming from the other beds, on top of which I had a brain full of hopes and fears sloshing around like clothes in a washing machine. I went through a few cycles of spin that night.

On the morning of the op I was told I was second on the list to go in theatre so had to get up early, get showered and don the hospital gown and paper underpants. The chap in the next bed to me was called down at 8.00am, so I tried to relax and started reading the second book I'd brought. I couldn't get into it, and to be fair I shouldn't have chosen a philosophy book to read.

Finally, at 10am on Friday 18th ,2009, the porters arrived to take me to theatre. After they checked I was the right body, I laid on my bed and the wheeled me down a maze of narrow corridors, through dozens of doors, into a lift, and along some more corridors. As we moved along I watched the ceiling tiles and flourescent lights pass over me. Finally we arrived in the theatre preparation area where I was again ID checked before being deposited in a small ward area, where I was transferred to an operating gurney and where a jovial male nurse went through yet more checklists. The anaesthetist nurse came to see me, telling me I was going to have some of the stuff that killed Michael Jackson (very sensitive, mate) on top of a spinal injection and would probably sleep through the whole thing. Then the surgeon, resplendent in his dark green scrubs, made an appearance and asked if I had any last requests. I croaked out a rather pathetic: "just make me better" and watched him disappear back into the theatre with a smile on his face. The jovial nurse assured me I was in good hands, and that this chap was "one of the boys".

Before long I was wheeled into the anaesthetic room where the nurse I had seen before was joined by the senior chap and they set about prepping me for the op. I had a canular put into my hand and some antibiotics and sedative were pumped in. Then came the fun part. I sat up on the edge of the bed and had a stingy little injection in my back to numb the area. Then the big needle came. I didn't see it, but bloody well felt it. Even with the local I could feel the pushing and some significant pain as they tried to find the gap in my spine they needed to get the needle into. After what seemed like an absolute eternity and some more discomfort they announced that it was done and I laid flat on my back again, waiting for the feeling in my legs to start going.

Gradually my legs started to feel really strange. There was a lot of tingling and pins and needles, and a general feeling of heaviness. A catheter was then pushed into my bladder, which I didn't feel thankfully. After a few minutes, the aneasthetist took a can of spray and applied some to my belly to show me how cold it felt, before applying some to my right leg. I felt the first freezing blast, but not a thing of the second, until they moved it up to level with my navel. I was officially paralysed from the waist down, and was ready to be operated on.

A few moments later I was in the theatre, surrounded by the bright lights and dark green of sheets and clothing on the surgery team that busied themselves around me. I was rolled onto my left side and a screen was placed at my chest level so I wouldn't be able to see anything. The anaesthetist then told me I was getting another sedative pumped into me, and the next thing I knew I was waking up from a quite bizarre dream to a loud wooshing sound, like a hair dryer. It took me a second or two to realise I was on my back this time. Initially I thought I had woken in the middle of the operation and was hearing a drill or saw, but someone whispered to me that it was all over, and a moment later I was whisked out of the operating theatre and into the recovery room where a nurse took some observations and checked I was OK.

So that was that, I thought. The old hip was gone. The horrible, mis-shapen ball joint had been cut out and I had a new metal and ceramic prosthesis inside me. I still couldn't feel a thing, other than a feeling of slight wooziness after the sedatives. I drifted in and out of consciousness for maybe half an hour before I took the journey back up to the ward, along the many corridors and through the many doors once again.

In the ward I was wheeled back to my space and hooked up to the oxygen line. I was hooked up to a lot of things, as it happened. I had a drain taking excess blood from the wound, a catheter from my bladder, a drip with a patient-controlled morphine machine, a blood pressure cuff on my arm and an oxygen saturation device on my finger. Even if I'd been able to get up, I doubt I would have got very far. I thought about watching Derren Brown's "glue you to the sofa" experiment on TV that night, but didn't see the point.

My wife visited me in the late afternoon and looked relieved that I was OK. I wasn't much company, but it was good to see her. I ate very little that day, managing just a couple of sandwiches at around tea time. My appetite was conspicuous by its absence. Sensation was gradually returning to my legs, with pins and needles heralding the resumption of nerve function. Sensation meant pain, so I was glad to have the morphine button to hand. I could only have 1mg every 5 minutes, so there was no chance of OD.

The surgeon came and talked to me for a few moments in the early evening and told me it had gone very well. It had only taken 90 minutes, which was pretty fast for a case like mine.

That night I didn't sleep a wink. The old man opposite was obviously in a lot of distress with a bladder infection or something and shouted out delerious ramblings every few minutes. I laid there and watched the hours creep slowly by, wishing I could get enough morphine in me to at least knock me out. The old man got more and more desperate as the hours passed, fighting old battles from the war and even pleading for death at one point.

The first day following surgery was the most painful. Sensation was fully back in place now, and even the morphine just took the edge of the pain. As well as the pain from my stretched and carved-open leg, I had a lot of pain in my lower back from the angle and position I was laid in. I was in for a nasty shock, though, when the nurses came and told me I had to get up. They don't mess about or indulge you these days: they get you up and moving as soon as they can.

Just sitting upright was agony. Moving my legs round was blindingly painful. When I finally managed to stand up and grasp the zimmer frame I felt somewhat light-headed, and as the nurses helped me shuffle round to the chair beside my bed, I was suddenly dreaming again. I woke up a second later wondering where the hell I was, with a glass of water at my mouth and the voices of worried nurses calling my name. I had fainted - luckily just as I was taking my seat, or I could have ended up back in theatre having the hip fixed again.

They got me back into bed and left me alone for the rest of the day. It was decided that I wouldn't undergo any physio that day. My only other movement was to the X-ray department, which involved a painful slide across to another trolley. My parents visited me in the evening, faces unable to hide their concern. Again, I wasn't very talkative. I ate lightly, still unable to stomach much more than a few mouthfuls of any food.

The next day I felt better. The old fella had been moved out of the ward to a side room so I managed to get some sleep. The physio team appeared in the middle of the morning and managed to get me up and about without me falling over on them. I was able to shuffle towards the door of the ward and back to the bed, my cathter bag and blood-filled drain bottle hanging from the frame, and was pleased with my progress.

That night I found myself crying like a girl whilst watching the X-Factor on TV. Something about one of the contestants (an autistic man from Stockton) touched me, and in my heightened emotional state it just broke the dam and opened the floodgates. I think I cried for a lot of things that night. I cried in joy and in pain and regret and hope. I cried for all the crap that has happened over the last few years. I cried for my Gran who died only 2 months ago. It was a watershed, if you will.

I got home on the Wednesday evening - five days after the op. Bit by bit I gained my independence, having the catheter and drain removed and being able to go to tbe bathroom by myself were big steps. I was discharged with the doctors' blessings when I was walking by myself with the aid of the two thick walking sticks supplied by the physio team and could manage to ascend and descend the stairs, which hadn't been as problematic as I anticipated. It was just a case of taking them one at a time with the good leg on the way up and the bad leg on the way down.

Progress is slow but sure...I can't wait to get to the magic 6 week mark when I should be pretty much able to function normally. I see the surgeon again in early December, and then should be able to get back to working and earning money. Until then, I have to stay disciplined: keep up the exercises and try not to eat too much rubbish when I feel down or bored. Most importantly, I can't let frustration take over and try to do too much at once. The last thing I need is an unscheduled trip to hospital and a return to square one.

I'll keep this updated with my progress.

End of an era...start of a life

2009-09-16T12:31:00.000-07:00

Well, Friday is the day I have been waiting for for most of my adult life, maybe even longer than that. I am going into hospital in Middlesbrough to have a total hip replacement operation.

I am both very excited and starting to get somewhat nervous. I am nervous because of the operation, naturally. I will probably be having the procedure performed under epidural and sedation rather than the full general anasthetic. I know that this is safer and is better for recovery, but I am worried about being too awake during the op. I really don't fancy hearing and seeing what is going on.

I am excited because this marks something of a watershed in my life. It is a definite punctuation mark: a threshold between the old life of pain and poor mobility and a new life of possibilities and potential. I can put a lot of the shit that has happened to me well and firmly into the past. I will no longer have the excuses that I have used for not being able to lose weight...and I don't want them, to be honest. Yeah, I've had some crappy luck with the illnesses I've endured, all starting with the Perthes disease that struck over 30 years ago, but I could have probably handled it better, if I'm honest.

For far too long I have let my health problems define me and hold me back. I have felt sorry for myself and have let the gloomy, grey clouds of depression shadow my life. If everything works as I hope it will with this op, I will have been given a second chance at life. Not many people get this kind of chance, and for that I should be grateful. For that reason I should take the chance with both hands and make amends for the failures and excuses of the last 20 years. I owe it to myself and especially to my family.

I fully intend to become fitter and healthier than I've ever been by taking up $cycling seriously. This will help me mentally as well, and in tandem I intend to focus on my professional future, decide what I want to do, where I want to go and not allow myself to be deviated.

If this sounds corny, then corn me up. It's for me as much as anything. It's a cathartic pep talk I am using to convince myself that this is going to end up transforming my life. Positive thinking. Positive vibes.

I'll see you on the other side.

It's the Most Wonderful Time

2008-12-06T13:01:00.001-08:00

of the year.

Yeah. Christmas. I like it - well, the family side of things and the looks on the kids' faces on the morning of the 25th, not the the shallow orgy of consumerism - and am looking forward to it.

Still, things have been a bit all over the place in the last month or two. I finally had my cathter ablation on 23rd October in Middlesbrough, under the care of the wonderful staff at the James Cook University hospital. It's still early days, but things are looking good in respect of having my atrial fibrillation problem fixed. Fingers crossed.

A couple of weeks after my procedure I lost my job. I was told it was because of the lack of work, but have a sneaking suspicion they were just looking for an excuse after a couple of weeks on the sick following the op. I was philosphical about it because there were other (exciting) irons in the fire.

The biggest, most exciting iron was the chance of a job in the USA, in New York. I got a call completely out of the blue from this company a day or two before my ablation, and picked up the conversations with them afterwards. I talked it through with the family and they were keen on the idea. I went through numerous telephone interviews with numerous big cheeses and things progressed slowly but surely towards a point where an outline offer was made and I looked at places to live. I was then invited to New York for a five-day trip to meet the people and see the place, so I took the plane over the atlantic, buried my hatred of flying as deep as I could and spent 5 whirlwind days seeing New York City and Long Island, meeting some lovely people, eating far too much amazing food. I flew back with a firm offer in my hand and a dream of something great in my mind - a fresh start - a great opportunity.

Of course, being the man I am - a worrying, doubting, paranoid android - I soon started having a few doubts a few days after I got home. They were the usual doubts about the enormity of moving to a new country and all that stuff, but on top of these doubts were my paranoid feelings that something would go wrong. There was some detail that would get in the way.

I should have realised what it would be. I can't believe that I didn't consider it more seriously. I suppose, if I was to make an excuse, I woud say that I have lived with this thing for so long that I have just accepted it as a part of me. I knew that this day would come, but it has always been away in the future.

But everything changed when I went to see an orthapeadic surgeon on Friday.

It was one of a long line of appoitnements I have had with specialists like him over the years. I had something called Perthes disease as a child whcih is basically a degenerative disease of the hip joint. Since about the age of 3 I have had problems with my right hip following the disease, which pretty much wrecked the joint and ruined the femur head, transforming it from a nice roud ball into something resembling a bit of dog-chewed toblerone. I had an operation at the age of 10 to correct the twisting to the leg caused by the poor shape, and then reached adulthood with my right leg more than an inch shorter than my left. I got used to it; I adapted to it; I developed a limp, but I was still pretty active well into my 20s. I even played football (not very well, I admit).

Then, in my mid-20s, I was told by a specialist to stop playing football, as it wasn't good for the joint. Who was I to argue? There wasn't any other exercise that I particuarly enjoyed, so I became pretty sedentary, but didn't cut down the eating to match my reduced activity - and within a couple of years became a fat bugger. By my early 30s I was knocking on 20 stone (280lbs). I really should have learned to love swimming or cycling, but just didn't and couldn't. I tried Weight Watchers, I tried hypnosis, I tried Atkins, I tried exercise regimes - all have ultimately failed, and I have stayed at around 20 stone for a while.

This has probably been worse for the hip than playing football, but at my regular visits to the orthapeadic surgeon, I was told that nothing was really changing and that I should keep going as long as possible until the hip was at the point of failure and the need for a replacement was overwhelming.

In the last year the pain has been getting worse, that's for sure, but it would come and go, and I had x-rays in the middle of last year that apparently showed little change. I took to using a walking stick for the bad times and took pain killers to help me sleep. Although there was a sneaking feeling in the back of my mind, I was surprised to hear the specialist say these words to me on Friday:

"It's time to give you a new hip."

Ah. That's the American Dream on the back-burner then, eh? Recovery time of 3 months? No driving for 6 weeks? I would also have to lose a substantial amount of weight before the op...

Still, the silver lining of this cloud is that I can now get it over with and get back to an almost normal existence. I will be able to function and have a good quality of life with a new hip. The timing is just rotten, though, especially when I've been out of work for a month. I am hoping the people in the US will wait for me. I hope they will understand. I feel a tad foolish for failing to see this as an issue before now, but I'm also glad that I wonn't go out to America and risk a catastrophic collapse of the hip and not be able to get it sorted.

Yet another thing is sent to try me, but I've got bored of feeling sorry for myself. I'm gonna get on with it.

The M62

2008-10-01T10:37:00.000-07:00

AAARRRGGHHH!!

I am pig, hog and boar sick of this fucking road. Allow me to whinge...I mean explain:

My current job is in the North West, near Liverpool. I live in North Yorkshire. This means I have to traverse the Pennines at least twice a week. The most direct and supposedly quickest route across the Pennines is on the M62 motorway. The problem is that it sucks. By God, it sucks.

I drove over it this morning, and didn't leave particularly early admittedly. This factor doesn't make much difference, because at the end where it morphs into the M60 Manchester Ring Road, it is invariably snarled up with thousands upon thousands of cars and lorries. Even if I leave at 6.30 or 7.00 am, I still get stuck in traffic around Manchester.

This morning, however, I had the added pleasure of rain, especially at the highest point of the motorway, where you are cheerily reminded that you are on the highest motorway in England. And up there, where the clouds converge it is not just rain, it's monsoon conditions. Even with the wipers flailing across the windscreen like demented, giant, Roger Moore eyebrows, the visibility was shockingly bad. It's always at this point that I seem to get some sleepy residue in my good eye, meaning I have to rub it out and rendering my vision even more blurry. At this point it's just a case of hoping I don't get sideswiped by a Lidl lorry (the shame!) or an Audi Awhatever (the wanker!).

And naturally the rain made the traffic worse. The approach to every other junction seems to be heralded by flashing lights and temporary 40mph speed limits indicated on the gantries overhead. This makes the drive a sequence of slowing down, speeding up then slowing down again a couple of miles later. It drives me mad.

I have been offered alternative routes to try, but they are no better time-wise. They involve either negotiating what is supposedly the busiest stretch of road in the world near Glossop (or taking a week to avoid it around some crazily convoluted short-cut) or tackling the searingly intense insanity of the M6 to get up to the A59, upon which you always - ALWAYS - get stuck behind some gimp in a Skoda.

AAAGGHH. Time to invest in a personal jet pack, I think.

Technology

2008-09-29T03:57:00.000-07:00

AARRRGGH!!

It's doing my freaking head in!

I can only seem to buy machines or gadgets that work properly for a maximum of 18 months, if that. Why is this? Laptops, i-pods, mobile phones; all invariably start malfunctioning and driving me to distraction.

Computers especially seem to have a habit of taking on the personality of a pre-menstrual woman. My laptop now takes at least 10 minutes to boot up properly and get going, and then will inexplicably freeze up as if its gone into an almighty huff. "NO, you're not using me! Get off! I'm not in the mood, and I'm not going to tell you what's wrong either. You have to read my mind!"

I have always suspected things are like this for a reason. There's this theory - a conspiracy theory if you like - that everything that is built these days is designed to fail and break down within a set period of time. It's called in-built obsolescence, or something like that. The theory basically says that things are built to either break down or become technologically and/or stylistically obsolete within a short period so that the consumer feels obliged to go out and buy a better replacement. It keeps the wheels of commerce in motion and keeps people shopping and borrowing money (for how long in these credit crunch times is anyone's guess).

Think about it. How many people still have the same computer they had 5 years ago, the same gaming console from 2 years ago, even the same mobile phone they had a year ago? I'd wager it isn't many. And what happens to all the shite we buy? We sling it out and it ends up in a council dump or landfill site being picked over by seagulls.

If I'm not careful this will end up as a rant about sustainability and finite resources, but I don't want to be a tree-hugger. The bark always snags my jumper.

Hotels

2008-09-12T05:35:00.000-07:00

MICHELLE, MY BELLE, FUCKING HELL, I DON’T FEEL TOO WELL…

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH

I FUCKING HATE HOTELS

I fucking hate hotels.

OK, let me qualify that statement: I hate hotels when I have to stay in them alone for work purposes, especially on a long-term basis. For four or five nights a week, I live in a glorified en-suite bedroom and my only conversation is with (mostly) surly hotel staff. When locally-based colleagues find out that I’m staying in some pretentiously-titled holiday camp, they make jealous noises and shake their heads. They obviously think I’m living in the lap of luxury, and while I might eat nice food and enjoy access to fabulous facilities, the truth is that I would rather not be here.

I’m not alone, that’s an undeniable fact, because I see the other poor sods every night, sat silent and alone at tables in the bar or restaurant with books or newspapers. None of them look happy. They glance around enviously at the old couple in the corner who laugh and joke about their recent trip to India, and then start stilted nervous conversations with nearby waiting staff about the weather or the price of goat’s cheese. Then there's the ambient music: We all hear the unspeakably awful Muzak that dribbles into the room like diarrhoea from hidden speakers. They're hidden for a reason, I'm sure. If they were not, they would be smashed into oblivion with anything that came to hand, including loaves of poncey olive bread. No-one should be subjected to the music of Lennon and McCartney played on pan pipes. It would be deemed inhumane to play it to prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Possibly.

The worst bit about it is the separation. We’re all hurting inside because we have to be away from our loved ones; wives and young children who could be doing anything, from recreating the ceiling of the Sistine chapel in the lounge to fighting off sustained attacks from sexually-frustrated poultry. Imagination is the lonely man’s nightmare.

So why on Earth do we subject ourselves to this? We must be fucking idiots. Is there such a need to earn large amounts of the filthy lucre that we feel obliged to live out of a suitcase and watch television whilst lying on a bed in our pants. Of course, if we were at home, we would probably be watching television whilst lying on the sofa in our pants, but that isn’t the point. When we are at home we can move freely to other rooms in our pants. Doing the same in the hotel might get us evicted.

I never sleep well in these godforsaken places either. I am invariably given a room below what sounds like a herd of wildebeest in clogs or next to some nocturnal entity with impaired hearing who turns the TV up to high volume at the same time I turn mine off for the night.

After a night of broken sleep, I stumble into the shower and turn the tap to see if I get a freezing trickle or a boiling jet that knocks me off my feet, juggling tiny bottles of shower gel and shampoo all the while.

At breakfast, the over-worked waiting staff shove me in a dim corner with the other loners and forget that I exist for an hour or two before bringing me some cold toast and treacle-like coffee. I end up consoling myself in a full English breakfast, which on top of the comforting food and numbing alcohol of the previous evening makes for a rather large calorie surplus. I’m going to need some new trousers soon.

Welcome...

2008-09-12T05:24:00.000-07:00

To a regular - OK, sporadic - rant at the injustices of the world.

Of course, I'm a white, middle class fat-arsed Westerner, but I like to have a good whinge now and again. Don't we all?

If you like it, fine. If you don't, fine.