23 rd June.

23/06/2007
12:22
I took a Zyprexa last night and enjoyed 15 hours solid sleep.
Unfortunately my lower back is again solid.
I am in pain.
The birds are singing, the watery sun tries bravely to cut through the mass of grey cloud; and the window cleaner hurries to finish the job before the rain comes.

The treetops show little movement, yet my voiles are tickled into action by the chilled breeze from the open windows.
First thought in my mind today, was, to go back to bed.
A thought which is often high on the list after taking one of the mind tablets.

My pepper plant is resembling a decorated Christmas tree, peppers standing up.
I hope I’m successful with the crop.

I change from meditation to chill out on the radio.
Which of course is 777.

I read and delete my e. mail, watch the cleaner scurry down his ladder as the rain starts.
Judging by the wad of notes he was counting earlier, he has had a good morning’s work.
Should see him o.k.
In the pub for the remainder of the day, no doubt.

The room chills down, and so do I;
Flaming June!

I check with date insert and discover today is actually Saturday, not Friday as I had thought.
People will have toiled all week only to be rewarded with a wet weekend.
Such is life.

The rain shifts into another gear and comes down heavy; many raindrops find themselves down the chimney, playing a staccato tune on the metal back of the gas fire.

I realise I haven’t had to use the hosepipe on the garden for three weeks now.
Oh, how I wish I was somewhere warmer, sunnier, anywhere, I care not.

It is dark, almost too dark to see the keys.

Thunder rumbles nearby, fading reluctantly, as does the weight of the rain.
Only briefly pausing before redoubling its effort.
Lightening flashes, thunder cracks, almost directly overhead.
The rain comes down almost vertical.
My little old flower garden will appreciate the downpour, and no doubt the local water authority.
Some areas will be worried about flooding, I am not.

The rain subsides but the thunder continues to crackle and roar.
A steadier shower takes over but them increases,
A lot of water is coming down.
There is a small chink in the grey sky but it is quickly covered.

As usual the local, Hoppings, (week long fair), will be turned into a sea of mud, as will any other outdoor events of the weekend.
Glastonbury, no doubt.

An exceptionally loud crack of thunder breaks overhead.
If I’d have been in company it would have prompted a comment from me, I’m sure.
The nearby field and woods are obscured from view as the torrential rain continues.

I am reminded of the rain showers in Ireland, they come, pass, and go.
This deluge is not going to be disappearing for a while.

I love summer storms.
I remember sitting on the balcony of a hotel in Callela, drink and smoke in hand watching the fantastic light show of the lightening out to sea.
Bats scurrying back to the safety of the gap in the roof above me.
Passing me, within a couple of feet.

The grey sky mingles with the greyness of the vista and forms an impenetrable curtain.
I wonder, would I have slept through it?
Quite possibly.

The best thing about a bloody good downpour is the feeling of freshness which one senses.
An extremely loud thunderclap makes me jump but as I see the misty curtain rise slightly, I think the excessive clap may signal the nearing of the end of the deluge.
I’m right, the force of the rain decreases and the thunder becomes more distant.

Lightning is a giant spark. A single stroke of lightning can heat the air around it to 30,000 degrees Celsius (54,000 degrees Fahrenheit)! This extreme heating causes the air to expand at an explosive rate. The expansion creates a shock wave that turns into a booming sound wave, better known as thunder. Thus the name thunderstorm.
http://www.windows.ucar.edu/tour/link=/earth/Atmosphere/tstorm/lightning.html

So now we know.

The rain subsides but the thunder continues, merging with the sounds of one of the many trains which pass by the properties.
Things return to normal and very soon, I imagine, the peace and quiet of a cemetery will return.

As I type the above the rain stops and we are left with a bright but hazy outlook.

Thank fuck, for that, I think.
What else would I have written if it hadn’t happened along?

I look around the room and once again feel guilt for not tidying up and unpacking.
Two weeks now and bags of clothes etc. remain full.

Who knows when the mood will take me?

I am cold and consider putting the fire on.
I will consider the option further.

The flower garden is well and truly “puddled”, standing water covering at least a third of it,
Wonder where the cats will shit today?
I take a leak switching the kettle on before I do so in order to heat up the insipid tankard of coffee I had managed to produce earlier.
I take a cursory glance in the mirror; chin and face full of a mixture of white, grey, black, and brown bristles.
I will never look good with a beard.

I take a drink of the revitalised coffee, it tastes bland, I remember the early morning Belgium coffees I used to have with the taxi drivers in Puerto Rico and try to recall the distinctive taste.
I think of JD and warm coffee but decided against any such experimentation.

I pour a small amount of my beverage into a glass and add an appropriate measure of JD. Drink.
The JD immediately assaults my mouth and throat but does add flavour.
It thus shakes hands with me, reminding me of my time spent in its company yesterday.

I take a deep breath and breath out slowly, my wool jumper irritates against my skin.
I burp and belch, sure sign that JD is now tackling the innards on its journey to my bladder.

I drink JD when in pain or when I am on my own seeking pleasure and a good night’s sleep.
Seldom drinking it in any amount if in company.

My Father continues to frown when I decline the offer of a pint and ask for a double JD over ice.
He fails to realise it is merely the equivalent of a pint.
A feeling of an inner glow comes over as Jack continues his journey through my system.
A pleasant, reassuring feeling.

Some more deep breaths and I become relaxed, al thoughts of what to write have disappeared and words merely flow from the actions of the fingers upon the keys.

Question: If the optimum seating position is on a slant of 10 degrees,
Why do wheel chairs have a straight back?

Being tall can have some advantages, I can adjust my driving seat for example to provide me with a laid back, as far removed from pedals as adjustably possible position.
I will, one day manufacture a headrest for myself to take away the strain from having to keep the head rigid.

Any more complaints? Regarding my old Rover 200, not really, apart from the obvious poor, spongy braking system.
It is comfortable, rides the bumps well and has adequate power when needed.

I have little baccy left, plenty of JD and very low reserves of energy.
I should therefore jettison the coffee and concentrate upon JD and smokes.
I drain my coffee in preparation for the shift.

I really am a selfish? Old Hector, refusing to share JD or dope with anyone.

Such is life,You try anything to make living in a chair seem bearable.
Do you have problems supporting a heavy head while sat in your favourite chair?
I folded up a cushion and held it in place with an old jumper, arms of which are tied, out of sight behind the chair.
Does it work?
It is now.

I pour a JD and lemonade, noticing as I do so that the lemonade is nearly finished, may be enough for another two drinks.
Which should be sufficient for me.

Not being a weekend orientated person uninterested in sport,
Saturdays hold nothing in store for me.
Nightime TV entertainment is crap and all in all the day is wasted on me,
As are most days which try to be distinctive from the remainder of the week.
Sundays, I associate with a good meal, but apart from that days are generally allowed to run into each other.

Memories of work try to invade the thought process and I quickly scupper them.

If I’d have been fishing today I would expect the fish to be biting like hell after such a downpour, something to do with increased oxygen levels I suspect.
True I would have been soaked because I am at present without a fishing brolly.

I’m still undecided as to whether I will hurl myself back into freshwater angling.

I will probably, will see.

Memories of past fishing trips explode upon my thinking region, in an attempt to convince me, I herd them away, back into a corner.
I have no reason to remember, knowing full well that even the most unproductive outings have been enjoyed for some reason or other.

I am hitting the baccy like a jackhammer, perhaps in an attempt to remove it completely, to take away the temptation.
My breathing has been noisy at nighttime and I really should make the effort.
After all we will be smoke free next month.

A guy the other week said to me he was glad of the change over to non smoking,
“ The bastards that have winghed will have to pay out of their taxes,” he informed me. And that fact, made him feel good.

I have a couple of more tests and another section of my course work to complete but I am no longer in the mood and am near to jettisoning the idea.
Apparently we , as humans tend to give up when success is in sight.
I will finish it and achieve the qualification just to prove to others that I am in fact capable of doing same.

I recently installed a Stat counter on my site, am still confused with regards to some of the stats but apparently they show a slow increase in the amount of traffic.
I’d read somewhere that it may take months for a site to be actually noticed and therefore a slow stream of visitors is to be expected.
Generally, the font size is a larger number than the visitor total.
Should I expect anything but? I think not.
After all my life never changes from day to day.
I remain, sat in this chair most days and therefore am restricted in terms of stimulation.

Iraq is apparently the largest tea drinking nation; we rate fifth.
Source: my packet of Top 5 rollie papers.
Makes you wonder how they find the time with all the troubles of the country.

I love a good cuppa.
Fact.
I also have great difficulty in finding one.
So much of the tea nowadays is crap,
Perhaps I long for the old traditional stew in the pot, leaf tea.
For whatever reason the tea and coffee produced nowadays seems to be far inferior.

A nice strong early morning coffee and croissants or a nice cup of tea and a fresh scone with butter and jam topping, mid afternoon.

Or alternatively JD with lemonade and a stream of rollies.

Living is a fatal disease brought on by an unknown dosage of time.
I hope I die in my sleep.

Killing time is an overrated pastime.
No matter what effort you put into its execution you seldom are rewarded with any tangible outcome.

I hate time, having it waste it doing something totally unconstructive and worthless.
I often give in, no more able to come up with any viable ideas, succumbing to the alternative and retiring to sleep.

For in sleep my aching muscles relax, my brain sorts out any prominent problems, my organs are relieved of the daily strain of working and all is well with the world if you are indeed closed down for the duration.

The first signs of acid producing, stomach churning action become noticeable.
My body has developed a low tolerance to alcohol.
It has decided it will no longer tolerate its presence and does its level best to deter me from further imbibing.

Yet I persist.
Even though I know that alcohol is after all, a downer, a depressant.

I pause and decided to steer away from the present course of thought.

I skin and spark a rollie while contemplating my gut hanging over the waistband of the trackie bottoms.

I need exercise and being without a partner I am unable to rely on regular sessions of sex to burn off the calories,
I need to be more active.
I make a note, as I have done many times in the last 12 months, lose weight, stop smoking, and take control.

I have finished one project and succeeded in exorcising my latest episode form my life, I now need to look o the future and if one is to exist, make plans for it.

To live the remainder of my days with a financially secure partner who has an isolated property with fishing close to hand may be simply a dream.
To do something in my life which I enjoy and brings in sufficient a revenue to allow me to be independent is also a dream.

I cannot imagine what it would be like to have sufficient reserves of money to allow spending without guilt.
To allow travel to anywhere in the world and know that whatever one desires,
Is affordable.

I crave not the ability to spend freely or to have sufficient funds to pass on to my daughter and her family.
Simply enough to allow me some breaks away from the monotonous life which I live.

So how does one turn a dream or wish into reality?
Answers please.

I will however try to tackle some of the more prominent aspects of my present life.
I will lose some weight.
Become more active.
Stop smoking normal cigarettes.
And look for?

I leave the last item blank for I know what I shall seek.
Thus incorporating, the necessary element of the unknown, with its associated degree of risk.

I pour myself the penultimate drink and consider the possibility of JD and Ginger beer, trying to imagine the taste.
My stomach surges several times and I grimace as the power of the acid fills my throat and enters my mouth.
I have sufficient lemonade left for a small drink and truthfully that will be sufficient.
I have no memories whatsoever of actually being drunk on JD,
Such is the power of the drink.

A couple of guys are tearing around on bikes, one with little or no exhaust and the other being the pathetic sounding scooter.
I think back to my childhood, riding up, down and around a shale heap on an assortment of motorcycles.
I nearly bought a trike a few years ago,
Billy Connelly beat me to it,
Travelling around on a trike was a plan I had a few years ago.
I could never be comfortable on a bike but a trike with a comfortable seat would have been ideal.
Unfortunately the rental on a garage to house such a machine would have meant me incurring yet another expense which I can ill afford.

I pour the remnants of the baccy into the paper; any further smokes will have to be made out of the ashtray’s dogends.
Such is life,
Such is existence.

Do I look to the future with a glad heart?
Apparently not or else I would have packed in smoking after the heart attack.
No doubt if I’d have had a rewarding occupation and perhaps a family I may have made the effort.
But as the reader will see my life is much of a sameness and therefore lacking in any such carrots.

Perhaps I may stumble upon an advert along the lines of
“Partner wanted to assist in upkeep of fishing pond and hotel.”
“Live in estate manager”
“House sitter”
“Apartment maintenance guy wanted”
“Travel companion”
“English teacher required, live in”

Not being an avid reader of situations vacant for a number of years now, the above possibility, is somewhat far fetched.

I am now destined to retrieve as much tobacco as possible fro the meagre remains in the ashtray.
The time is passing nicely and approaching a possible suitable time to take time off.

For no better reason than to pass time I will make a list of past occupations.
Church pianist.
Kitchen furniture assembler.
Car showroom assistant.
Blast furnace worker,
Steel stocktaker,
Foundry worker, scrap burner,
Homeless hostel keeper,
Factory worker, acid stripper.
Fitter’s mate, engineering,
Grit blaster,
Self taught car mechanic,
Groundsman, park dept. worker.
Driver,
Bodyguard.
Personal assistant,
Property renovator,
Wagon driver, 7.5
Husband, father, gardener and part time fisherman, as well as being someone’s son.
And, in between all that, college student studying many subjects.

Probably not the best idea in the world to write one’s past on the back of a postage stamp!

I struggle to successfully bit huge strips from my upper lip.
Possibly a sign of hunger or more likely boredom.

I begin to write and then demolish all traces of the sentence, sure sign of an ill-fated beginning.

A word of advice to anyone who has been shall we say, pissed off with school,
Get yourself to college, but remember you and you alone are responsible for learning. It’s all up to you whether or not you succeed.

Once again I veer away from the subject.

Today has been hard work; I still feel the deflation after yesterdays decision that one project had indeed ended.

I have nothing to think of now but my own future.
And the biggest part of that will be waking up each day.

I am like the inexperienced potter; I have my future on the wheel but lack the knowledge or influence to shape it.
My only stipulation is that I must wake up daily and continue to do so for as long as able.

If the boffins are to believed we can expect, with new technology and developments to live till we are 100.
Fuck me, I’m half way there and have been bored sick for the last twenty years.
Is it right that I should soldier on just to fulfil my allotted expected time space?

Suicide isn’t as popular nowadays as it used to be.
Not since the removal of the half penny bridge.
A one time favourite for toppers.
The local cliffs being the alternative.
The long step and no doubt all to quick drop.
I plan to use a wheelchair and a parachute,
To ensure safe return of chair to much needed N.H.S. stock.

Once again I veer off the road and stifle the stomach churning.
Now I know that to have one’s cake and eat it is out of range of many of us.
But there are people out there able to do just that.
To have sufficient funds to live off the interest.
That must be brilliant.

To be like Bill Gaites, able to buy everyone in the world a drink and not be too much out of pocket.

A few years ago a millionaire was a rarity; nowadays we have billionaires,
Riches beyond the normal person’s comprehension.

Lets have a look at what they could buy.

Back in the 1970s, yachting was a form of camping, and now it's all about floating palaces

http://www.forbes.com/sport/2005/04/27/cx_ns_0427feat.html

Expensive houses.
http://www.forbes.com/lifestyle/2002/03/01/0301home.html
O.k. the above didn’t work so I coloured it blue!, copy and paste.

Most expensive divorce settlements.

http://uk.askmen.com/toys/top_10_60/74_top_10_list.html
Worked that time.

Living on £10 per day or so, I seldom visit such sites.
But, non the less admire anyone who has succeeded in reaching such a dizzy height of income.

o.k. I do live on the above sum, often as not my only choice while shopping is whether to choose whole plum tomatoes or sliced, but I survive.

What would the impact of wealth make on me.
Well it would take away the above choice for one; I would live somewhere warm enough to grow my fucking own, as well as a few more plants, no doubt.

Would I need a huge yacht and all its necessary crew?
No, a simple fishing boat would suffice, to be hired when desired.

I once had the opportunity of escorting an Arab yacht into port.
The views of the interior were breathtaking.

What would one do with money?
Buy everything one has ever wanted, I think not.
To be relaxed in the knowledge that few things are out of reach?
Possibly.
To be more able to cope with life when it becomes, simply boring?
Yes.

Or perhaps have the ability to know that if you choose to simply waste a day by following some trivial pastime, the world, as far as your bank account is concerned will remain virtually unaltered.



I wonder where I wander next.

I feel I’m nearing the end of this session.
It has been hard work trying to find subject matter,
I get confused over the spectacle of Ozzies family throwing huge hams over the neighbours fence in an attempt to cause irritation.
Jesus, he has a recording studio in his home and seldom uses it.

I pour myself a JD, leaving an inch in the bottom of the bottle for times when it may be required.
I realise there is no more lemonade.
I make the mistake of adding too much orange concentrate before having to leave the chair to venture into the kitchen for water.

I take the glass with me to the bathroom; have a piss and fill up the glass,
With water!
Tastes crap.
I roll up what will be my last rollie of the day.
I leave sufficient dog ends to warrant further foraging feasible.
Time approaches five.

I pour a carefully measured amount of JD into the orange powered drink and succeed in getting the mix, tolerable.
Enough left for a mouthwash, if need be.

I have read many blogs, but have yet to come across tales from the chair,
Or something similar, a diary of someone who is wheelchair bound.
Why not?

Tell us the amount of thought which goes into each and every movement.
The frustration and pain which everyday existence heaps upon you.

I am having a particularly dry today, in terms of writing.
I therefore think of finishing the drink, the tobacco and attempting to sleep for the duration of the day and night,
See what tomorrow brings.

More of the same, no doubt.
But who knows.

The thunder returns and by the look of the sky so will the downpours associated with such sounds.
Flamin’ June.

The makings of the last roll up are placed carefully onto the paper, broken up, and distributed evenly along the length of the paper and the last smoke is thus prepared.

I skin,
I spark,
My last.
I pick up my glass,
And drink my last.

I should have been called James!

What a fucking day! I have struggled to fill six hours and have had to admit defeat, take a tablet, and hope for sleep to erase the remainder of the day.

That is what Blogging must be all about, describing your day in such a way as to make even the most miserable of inhabitants of this sorry earth happy that they are alive and not in your shoes, or slippers, as the case may be.

Tomorrow is another day, revolving around whatever my mother can safely balance upon a dinner late, followed by the luxury of being laid out in a sweet smelling bath.
Today is too full of spelling mistakes and a such is destined to join the others in the garbage can.

I wish you BonSoir.