A Great Response

So far we have raised over £1,400 for Cancer Research UK. The progress bar on www.justgiving.com/roundarran has burst through the £1,000 target. This is so rewarding and really puts the wind at our backs for the run tomorrow.

The training is going ...

... not too bad considering that we have so little spare time for it. Take last week-end for example. I was due to fly out of Prestwick on Sunday for a business trip to France. The colleague and I planned to do a 40 mile run round the back roads of Ayrshire on Saturday, so I booked into a hotel in Prestwick for the Saturday night and took the bike down on the back of the car. So we set off on the road to Straiton and Maybole, good hilly roads to get the lungs working, and then down towards the coast road between Culzean Castle and the Electric Brae.

All in all it was four and a half hours in the saddle and the after effects were not too unbearable. So now we're looking forward to this coming Saturday for the main event. We reckon to leave Brodick at 11.00 a.m. and head clockwise round the island. If we complete in the time we think we will need then we'll be back in Brodick by 6.00 p.m. It will be a great achievement just to finish on the same day, for me at least, so wish me luck.

Give A Little - Make A Difference

If you are a generous caring person then the chances are you're all used up with giving. Because there are too many demands on your time, your money, your self. But here's a thing; I am going to be breaking my arsebone riding 57 miles around Arran in the hope that others will make my efforts seem worthwhile. Please don't let me down. If you want to support Cancer Research UK and also support me and the colleagues in our sponsored cycle then visit www.justgiving.com/roundarran and donate a quid, a dollar, or a rouble, and help to make a difference.

A Ride Would Be Good

Well it's developing. The Round Arran Challenge or Blazing Saddles is getting closer. The training is well under way and myself and the colleagues are working hard on building up resistance to saddle-ache.

The venue of Arran could not be better, well it could be flatter but this isn't Holland is it. We've booked into a B & B in Brodick for the night of Saturday 2nd Sept. and hopefully we'll be back there after the round island cycle in good order for a pint or two. Well it would be a real bummer if we were so fucked by the end of the day we couldn't enjoy a celebration.
The plan is to ride anti-clockwise and get the hilly north part over first. Frankly I don't think it'll make that much difference but you have to have a plan don't you.

I've put a couple of maps here for you but mostly I've put them here for me. I love maps, and I love maps of islands. They remind me of Treasure Island and I could spend hours poring over them imagining where the treasure might be hidden.

I used to spend a weekends on Arran when I was a youth. We used to camp outside of Brodick and the favourite pub was the Ormidale Hotel. I got thrown out of the place once for dancing on the table. This bloke called Fisher Gilmour who owned the place took a dim view.

Anyway I'm going to set up a donation opportunity for you all to support Cancer Research UK. Kat gave me the idea of a page on justgiving.com. As soon as it's ready I'll let you know.

I'm in Love ...

with my Apollo Cafe 2. I know it's only a bike but what a wonderful piece of machinery it is. 21 speed Shimano gears with revo-shift, lightweight aluminium frame, front suspension, seat suspension, och just all the bells and whistles you could wish for, including a bell! But that's not the point. The thing just beguiles me with it's ability to make me feel good.

It was stuck in the coal cellar for eighteen months, lying neglected with deflated tyres and not even cleaned of the muck I had subjected it to on its last run out. Then my colleague started talking about how he had always wanted to cycle round Arran. Well I was really energised by that for some reason. Whether it's because Arran is one of my favourite places or whether it was just the idea of the challenge, I don't know but before I knew it I was dragging the thing out of its dark hole into the sunshine of the back yard, pouring 3-In-One onto the chain and gears, buffing with a cloth, and preparing to mount.

Despite the lay-up she whirred along like a sewing machine. A scoosh round the coast road past the Cloch lighthouse on Sunday morning was just idyllic. Joggers jogged past smiling; Maw, Paw, and the weans cruised by in the old family jalopy, the sun shone on all who were skidging church. It was a perfect day. And the bike made me a part of it.

You see the thing is, I work too much so I need some antidote to work and a day on a bike ... well a good day on a bike, I wouldn't want it to be pishing down ... is the perfect antidote to work. And work is the main reason I can't keep up this blog the way I would like. I mean it's just not possible. Here's a typical day for me:
06.30 Alarm goes. Up, bath, breakfast, cuppa in bed for the wife.
07.30 In the car, up the M8.
08.00 Arrive in office. Open computer - on the batter.
10.00 Tea at desk
12.00 Lunch
12.30 Back to desk - continue on the batter.
15.00 Tea
15.15 Meeting - yadda yadda yadda.
18.30 Start to clear up.
18.45 In the car, music up to max volume, yaaaaa-aaaah!!!!

Five fucking days a week, I shit you not. I know it's no way to live but that's the way it is, and I actually enjoy a lot of what I do, it's just I've got very little time to myself. I'd love to just spend ages and ages doing my OU thing (did I tell you I'd passed that BTW? No? Sorry.), keeping a nicely creative blog going, writing pithy short stories, meeting fellow bloggers in Babbity Bowsters for a pint (Oh so yoo-oo-'re Ill Man, yes you do loook a little pale ...). I mean look at what interesting lives all these bloggers are leading. It's fuckin' cuttin' edge stuff ... Tommy Sheridan and bits oot o' the paper and, and ... aw sorts. It's jist awesome, and here's me.

So a bike is good. Gets ye oot. (I''ll need to get a grip here. I'm starting to sound like Billy Connelly). Anyway here's the plan. We're gon'eh cycle round Arran for charity. September week-end. All the way round Arran (57 miles by the way) in aid of cancer research. Do you think I've got it in me?

How To Be Good - Nick Hornby ...

... has an ending which seems to have intrigued more than a few people; in fact unsettled may be a better way of describing some people's reactions. Now I would like to explore this a little further, and I have been asked to but ... I'm afraid that, unlike in those halcyon days of a few month ago when I was living the ex-pat bachelor life in old Dalmatia, I am now chained to a desk for eight to ten hours of the day and when I get home of an evening it's all I can do to rouse myself occasionally from my armchair to tap a few words once a week into this blog. And in any case I've forgotten how the ending went so that's not much use. But I will re-read this book and try to shed some light on the author's purpose. Don't hold your breath though, I may take a while.

So that's where you come in. Have you read the book? How did you like it? Was the ending good for you? Did the earth move? Let me know and share with others, you'll enjoy the experience. And don't be shy of giving the ending away, who cares.

Sepia-toned Soldier

You look out of faded pictures
Through wars and years long gone.
I try so hard to see into your eyes
To try to know you again.
But it's 1935 and you're in India,
Shoulder to shoulder with your mates,
Royal Scots, Pontius Pilate's bodyguard,
And you can't see me yet.

You're a hard wee man and
you're not looking too far ahead.
There's soldiering to do and
Battles to fight,
Mates to lose.
A girl to meet,
Five sons and a daughter to grow,
But you can't see it yet.

You can't see me in 1960
helping you to pee into a bottle
Because the cancer that's killing you
Has stripped the muscle from
Your sturdy soldier's body.

I wish I could see you now
Just so I can tell you,
I'm okay.

Analyse This

A is for asking - what's next?
B is for breast - me on yours, you in mine.
C is for careless - in both of its senses.
D is for don't - just don't.
E is for echo - echo.
F is for - who gives it?
G is for God or god.
H is for home - sleeping alone.
I is for ignorance - who cares?
J is for jealousy - mine not mine.
K is for kindness - it's all.
L is for lambs - of God or god.
M is for me - only me.
N is for normal - normally.
O is for open - openly.
P is for pen - and words - please come.
Q is for quick - being cut to the.
R is for resolve - I will, maybe.
S is for sex - sugar.
T is for tangled - tortured.
U is for under - an obligation.
V is for veneer - thin.
W is for wonder - if I can.
X is for ex - except I don't.
Y is for you - or you.
Z is for Zen - Ommm.

Acknowledging Lingo Slinger's idea

Fresh Bile Once More Available

They're back. And I'm back too. For the last two weeks I've just been concentrating on being a dad. The boy's and I have been farting around Split together and also doing some strenuous outdoor things on the islands. Our first day together in Split coincided with the ex-pat's five-a-side kickabout so the boys joined in. Then the next day we went over to Brač to start a five day sea-kayaking adventure. We were lucky in having for our guide the coolest guy in Split. Pačo is an old acquaintance of mine from my visits to Twins Caffe Bar on Split's riva. He was our constant companion on kayak trips to the Pakleni Islands and down the south coast of Hvar to Sv. Nedelja. This was basically a rock climbing camp with a small lodge for overnight stays. We climbed the 600 m peak of Sv. Nikola which was absolutely gruelling in the heat we're getting this summer.













After the hill climbing being in the kayak was positively relaxing although paddling 20 km or so up the coast was no walk in the park, if I can put it that way.















Sometimes a dad has to do a bit of hard work to let his kids know he's there for them. And it's not always quality time that matters, just quantity time.





















So that explains my absence from the blog, in case you've been wondering. I'll catch up soon.

What's Happened To Emerald Bile?

Does anyone know where Noreen and Ball Bag have gone? Please submit your conspiracy theories here.

So it's near enough midnight ...

... last Friday night and I'm sitting on the roof terrace of the Caffe Bar Libar chillin' with the dudes , or whatever the expression is, and I get a call from my colleague in Glasgow.
"West", he says urgently. "You've got to go to New York and sort out the mess on" ... (names the place where the mess is occurring).
"But I'm just about to get into a higher gear here!" I protested. Anxious faces turned towards mine as my consternation communicated itself to the assembled company. They sensed that something was going on which could put a dampener on the party atmosphere. They drew closer together, gaining comfort from each other as events unfolded.
"It's all arranged, West, your ticket is booked, Split to Frankfurt ten o'clock tomorrow morning, just enough time to sign a few autographs at Frankfurt, then it's next stop New York. The Big Apple's waiting West baby, start spreading the news".
"Are you fucking mental!" I screamed. "There's stuff to do here, babes to service, conquests lining up." But he was gone, the die was cast.
"What's happening West?" Spokesbabe number one asked tentatively, her eyes downcast. The others hung back, waiting.
"I'm sorry babes, I've got to go. It's New York for me."

And so I departed old Dalmatia prematurely. The late Friday night/early Saturday morning high jinks at the Club Tribu just about did for me. Honestly, the next day I thought I was going to peg out, but once I had rehydrated and medicated myself with half a pharmacy I summoned the strength to get out to the airport and was off, in shambling order to New York via Frankfurt.

After the mess was sorted out I made sure to head back down to Manhattan. I arrived there last Monday evening at about seven thirty. Just enough time for a long soak and then a short stroll down to Thirty Second Street to get the subway to my spiritual home, Hoboken.
I lived there for six months from October 2002 and I just love the place. I got off the PATH and strolled down 1st Street to call in at the Nag's Head Pub run by Barney Finnegan, the most disagreeable pub landlord I have ever met. Unfortunately Barney was not at home so I had a quiet pint of very agreeable Guinness and headed off to the Scotland Yard Bar home of the Monday Night Blues Jam with Big Ed Sullivan. I used to go to the Yard religiously every Monday and I'm glad to say that nothing had changed. It was still great. Christine was still behind the bar, Big Ed was still running the show, and great musicians like Arthur Nielsen and Dave Gross, the wunderkid. And so many other fine musicians, most of them enthusiastic but gifted amateurs. The regular drummer is good and really can drive a good rocking blues number, but there was also another, younger guy there who showed some unexpected subtlety in that company. Great music, and all for the cost of a few beers and show your appreciation in the tip jar.

Next day it was down to Macy's for the shopping and another chance to soak up NYC. Being as how it was the Fourth of July the place was relatively quiet, as the office workers had abandoned the canyons for the day and left the place to the tourists. A handbag for the lady wife, a Boston Celtics vest for the sprog, and two original 1960's Superman comics for the wasting asset. And so to the airport, relax in the business lounge, a few glasses of wine, board the plane, dinner and a few more glasses of wine. I slept like a baby all the way to London.

Paddling Like Fuck

I'll be seeing you soon. Don't think I'm giving up or anything. Work is overwhelming at the moment but it'll settle down and we'll be back to abnormal. I'm going back to the UK on Wednesday next and that is the end of my sojourn in old Dalmatia. I'm going to miss this place. It has captured a special place in my heart and ... well I'm going to miss it. I've had a great opportunity to meet a lot of nice people, get to know a special place and soak up a different culture. My only regret is that for a large part of it I could not share it with someone I love. There's a saying - a worry shared is a worry halved. I also think that a pleasure shared is a pleasure doubled, and if that is doubled twice it is quadrupled. Singular pleasure seeking often leaves one feeling empty.

So it was a particular pleasure for me to share a kayaking trip to Brač with a colleague. I'll try and give you some idea in a future post as to the distance covered but I'll tell you now. It was a fucking long way. But good, you know how good you can feel when you have really achieved something. That's how it felt.

It's All In The Mind

“Wait, get up a minute.” Said George.

Hank paused. He looked over at George and he could see the sweat running down his oil-stained face. Henry eased himself out from under the car giving George space to do the same.

“Where are you going?” Asked Hank.

George wiped his face with an oily rag.
”I need a drink of water.”

Hank looked at the transmission assembly lying on the trolley-jack, then he looked at the clock.
”But we've not finished yet.”

George started walking towards the office.
”I'm too hot.”

Hank sighed. We’ll never get this finished tonight, he thought.
"OK, bring me one too." He shouted.

I just thought I'd try that to tease you. What did your imagination tell you the poem in the previous post was all about? Well we know where Lingo Slinger's head was.

Whatever ...

... comes into my head in the next two minutes. I'm going over to Hvar today. It's apparently beautiful but then to me all islands are beautiful, especially all islands in the Adriatic. I'll hire a scooter and tool around and see where the spirit takes me. That's the joy of life isn't it? Not knowing what might be around the next corner. Or maybe it's a curse - not wanting what you have but always wanting something else which you can't quite see clearly but you know it's always going to be just out of reach.

Enough of this middle-aged angst which is so boring. I hope that Lingo Slinger did good at the poetry slam. Here's one from me:

Wait, get up a minute.
Where are you going?
I need a drink of water.
But we've not finished yet.
I'm too hot.
OK, bring me one too.

Is Human Life Sacred?

That was the philosophy question in the final assessment for my OU course in the humanities. Now I know that I'm not supposed to post these TMA's onto my blog but I'll get away with this, mainly because I posted it off without copying it and now I've only got a vague recollection about what I actually wrote. So let's consider - what do we mean, first of all, by sacred. I always like to get back to basics with these things so let's take the dictionary definition first:

sacred a. 1. Consecrated or held especially acceptable to a deity, dedicated or reserved or appropriated to some person or purpose; made holy by religious association, hallowed...

I believe that it is in humankind's instincts to hold human life as sacred and I would extract from that dictionary definition the part - dedicated or reserved to some person or purpose. It seems to me that most people hold human life to be sacred whether or not they believe in a deity. So what, you might ask, is the purpose to which I think human life is dedicated to? It is simple self-preservation.

We studied early on in the course the philosopher Rousseau and he spoke about society obeying the general will. Most people would see sense in this idea as the alternative to rule by consent is anarchy, and in a state of anarchy we are at peril. So we live in what we commonly call society. In most cases this is based on small groups such as the family, then the neighbourhood, the town, the province and then the nation. We expand this co-operative network by forming alliances, commonwealths etc. and finally a body such as the United Nations.

The link here is that we wish to protect, firstly ourselves, then our family, then out neighbours and countrymen, and then our allies and international neighbours. Our instinct for self-preservation is not therefore just a narrow, selfish impulse. By holding other human life to be sacred we protect ourselves. That is society. Maggie Thatcher tried to tell us different:

And, you know, there is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women, and there are families. And no government can do anything except through people, and people must look to themselves first. It's our duty to look after ourselves and then, also to look after our neighbour. (M. Thatcher 1987)

If we look after our families and our neighbours we live in a social world, a society. The poor old cunt didn't know what she was saying. Of course there are instances of killing but these are mercifully few compared to the billions of lives being led by people in harmony with one another. Making war is not our natural instinct, making love is. All human life is sacred and we don't need a religion to make it so. And that is not to put religion down as such. Often religion is nothing more than unscrupulous people seeking power over others but it can be a force for good, and I believe that this is so when it is directed inwards. When a person studies his own inner self, call it the soul if you like, then he is more able to see the value of others and to cherish the beauty and diversity of his fellow humans.

A New Beginning

As you may notice from the comments below the gorgeous, pouting Lingo Slinger seeks to rouse me from a prolonged torpor and get on with this blog. It seems also to me that it is time I got on with the rest of my life, not just the blog. The reason I have been slumbering this long, or reasons I should say, is that (a) I have been busy with work (b) I have been reconsidering the future content and (c) pure fucking laziness. So there - now you know.

So now I've spent all this time reconsidering the future content, what have I decided? Not a clue. Hopeless, all this reconsidering when you fail to come up with something substantive. Never mind, I'll write about nothing until something comes up. (Why don't you sit on my lap Miss Jones and we'll see what comes up).

Thing is, I've got writer's block and I did want the point of this to be an outlet for creative writing. And now I just have to fall back on bashing away at the keyboard until something happens. My time in Croatia is coming to an end shortly, in about three weeks. I'll be packing up the office soon and getting ready to hand over my apartment. I will be sorry to go as I've just fallen in love with this country. The old town of Split has been my home for the past year and a half but all good things must come to an end eventually. There's a nice community of ex-pats here and I'll miss that. Friday nights in the Caffe Bar Libar have been especially pleasant and the genial host (hosts are better if they're genial as if they're not then they're generally surly) Kristijan has become a good friend. It's one of the nice things about Split that the people here are very fond of their town. There's a poem inscribed on a small obelisk near the old town centre which I think sums this up very nicely. I liked it so much I had to learn it off by heart in Croatian.

Ne treba
Nikamo ici
Nigdje drugdje
Traziti
Sto jest
I tu je

Basically the poem says - You don't need to go anwhere, to look elsewhere, what you want is here. Perhaps in another life all I want would be here but I'm not a Splichian so I'll seek elsewhere. Some day I may find it.

Just as a matter of interest ...

... here is an interesting blog giving some figures comparing the current situation in Iraq with the situation three years ago when the great Commander-In-Chief enthralled the world with his grasp of military campaigning.

Mission accomplished ...

... as the banner behind George W. said on the USS Abraham Lincoln. With the same breathtaking hubris I can also point to a job well done. I have just completed AZX103 An Introduction To The Humanities and, like the great Commander In Chief, I like to bask in the applause while the going is good. And, also like George, I'm getting the photo opportunity set up before I know the final result. Why waste time waiting for the marks to come in, let's get the party started.

I am just glad that it is now over. I posted my final TMA today by courier and I just hope it gets to the right place. Some confusion arose when I was trying to figure out who to send it to. The very specific instruction sheet gave one address in Milton Keynes. However there was included with it a pre-addressed envelope for the purpose of enclosing the same TMA and it had a different address in MK. What to do? Well I phoned the OU Student Support lot and the woman on the other end gave me yet another address. Well, fuck it I thought. I just went with the first one given on the instructions and hoped for the best. All very confusing.

Will I do another one? I had the notion before I started this that I might use this as the basis for a degree. I'm not so sure now. My work life and private life would have to be a lot more tranquil than it is at present for me to be able to do another 60 pointer properly. It was enjoyable even though I was doing it more or less totally on my own. The on-line tutorials were almost non-existent and the conference was dead despite my early efforts to inject some life into it.

I did learn some stuff about art appreciation and expressing myself which I can perhaps build on and that is a real positive. It is good to tackle some thing new and get satisfaction knowing you've made a decent fist of it. It was fairly basic stuff but, hey, it still required a lot of effort so good for me.

The question now is - now that the OU is out of the picture for the while - where does the blog go? Looking through past posts it is a bit of a dog's breakfast. The OU provided a thread but there's a lot of other stuff which doesn't really sit readily beside it. I'm not sure now. I know that nobody out there gives a shite but the blog does serve a useful purpose for me so I want to do it well. I reckon I should follow the fragrant Lingo Slinger's example and get more short fiction down. That will maybe stand me in good stead if I ever get round to doing A215, you never know. And on reflection it's good for a body to be able to rant about politics every once in a while. It also feels good getting my views out there where they might meet up with some similar opinion and take energy from that and grow and ... wow, gee whizz! Who knows where it might all end up!

Teethmarks On The Clenching Bar ...

... is the working title for my autobiography. You need to know, of course, what a clenching bar is exactly to get the full impact. It's a piece of nautical equipment, a sloping bar or hand-hold, bolted to the bulkhead adjacent to the toilet bowl in a ship's toilet. It's there for when the ship is rolling or pitching violently and you need a little assistance in keeping your arse tight to the cludgie. But sailors have another function for it and that is for when one is afflicted by the trots, gippy tummy, Ghandi's revenge, the squirts, or whatever other fragrant name you wish to call it.

Thus - the clenching bar, there to grip tightly as you give your bowels that extra squeeze, hoping your arse is not about to fall off, while you sit there, eyes bulging and sweating like a rapist, resolving never to spend another night drinking Tiger beer and eating dodgy noodles on Bugis Street, before staggering back to the ship at half past three in the morning, just in time to go on watch at four o'clock. And then, just when your ring is scorched to a white heat by the passage of the undigested raw chillies you somehow thought were a good idea twelve hours ago, you stifle your screams by biting down on the clenching bar and you wonder - Why did I ever come to sea? And then you remember. It was for the uniform, the foreign travel and the chance to see exotic places, meet new people, the glamour. And then your travails for the time being are over and you hitch up your breeks and sweat-soaked boilersuit and head back down to the heat of the engine room.

What's Happening With The OU?

You might well ask. I'm back in old Dalmatia once more and have run out of time for the latest TMA. I did ask for an extension (again) and I fully intend to submit something. I've now got the weekend to get it done. The Swinging Sixties - Eng-ulland swings like a pendulum-doo, Bobbies on by-sickles two by two - and all that bollocks. We'll just have to give it a go, see what happens. Then the final TMA just when I've got a trip to Trieste coming up. Ohhh n-oooo!