Pray tell me that I'm free to ride.

It seems like an age since I last talked to you.

I have been lost in my own little world of distractions and dalliances. I had a job interview and have progressed to the next level, six of us for four jobs, wish me luck. I also had a TMA to submit, got 65% in my last one, my math’s let me down, I really am crap at it, I think I must be number blind or something. I’m sure they’ll eventually discover that some part of my brain is missing, from then on it will be known as bluetealeaf syndrome.

I have also been honing my eBay skills. I had an epiphany of epic proportions, you know the kind when all of a sudden a light goes off in your head and you think “fuck me, why has no one thought of that before ?” The fact is that probably loads of people have thought of it, but they didn’t tell me. Information is the key; you can sell it over and over again and still have it. Yesterday I sold an email for £5. This isn’t one of those scams that you hear of, this is bonefide genuine information that certain people need, and more to the point, willing to pay handsomely for. Result !

The Taxdodger came up last week; we took him home earlier today. We always take the opportunity to eat pies when we travel back to Manchester, the pies in Cumbria are sadly lacking in the taste and texture department. It’s strange because Cumbria has some really nice food, but they can’t seem to get the hang of pies. If anyone from this beautiful county is reading this, just imagine a pork and apple pie from Haighs in Workington, then multiply that by a million, and you’re not even close, and don’t even mention kebabs.

If I don’t get this most recent job, I have an interview for a teaching job, this is a bit of a tangent for me, I think I’ve always been a frustrated teacher, but I fucking hate children….. bit of a problem that. This one is teaching people at work, but judging by some of the fucking half-wits I have had the misfortune to work with, it won’t be that different. I’ve been told that you’re not allowed to beat children anymore, fucking disgrace if you ask me. There would be none of this “happy slapping” if you could give them a good clip round the ear…. Mind you, if anyone ever does that to me they’ll fucking know about it, fucking happy kicking is what will be administered. Little bastards. Can you have a bit of a tangent ? Come you math’s wizards, let me know.

Anyway it has been a hard drive there and back and I have a vodka and orange getting warm.

A loaded gun won't set you free.

It’s twenty five years since Ian Curtis committed suicide. I remember a mate at school buying “love will tear us apart” from the record stall in Stalybridge indoor market, what a fantastic song. It made me realise that Manchester had a really great music scene, and it set me off on a voyage of discovery around some of Manchester’s record shops. I remember spending hours mooching round Robinson’s records and the Church Street market. It has always been an annoyance to me that I was either too young to see these bands, or later too skint. I missed out on seeing Joy Division because I was still at school, and later I couldn’t afford to see The Smiths or The Stone Roses. I suppose if we had been crap parents and spent all our money clubbing in Manchester, then we may have been at the Hacienda to see some of Manchester’s greats.

At the time I couldn’t understand why someone on the verge of fame and fortune would hang himself. A few years later my friend’s brother killed himself and I was again confused as to why. It's difficult to understand why someone would think that the world would benefit from them not being in it. Twenty five years later and I’m no closer to understanding, I suppose I never will.

Kurt Cobain was influenced by Ian Curtis as was Bono and Robert Smith, I wonder if they would have said that had he lived ? It’s strange what a young death does to a rock star’s credentials, it’s like it adds a certain kudos. I can’t help wondering how many songs we have missed out on by these people not being here.

Now his fate is sealed with my lance.

I like George Galloway more and more every time I hear him speak, how many of you would have loved the opportunity to stand before a senate hearing and tear them a new arsehole ? I know I would. Good on you George.

The days float through my eyes.

I fancied a change, it may evolve slightly over the next few days, or I may get sick of it and revert back.

We'll see.

This square foot of sky will be mine til I die.

The news that Stuart Pearce has been given the job of managing City has been overshadowed by some yank buying MU plc. The media bias against City has really been pissing me off recently, we always seem to be on near the end of motd, in discussions about next years uefa cup all the talk is about Spurs and Middlesborough, and today’s poor coverage of a proper sport story has just tipped me over the edge. You see Pearce’s appointment coincided with the unveiling of a mosaic in honour of City’s greatest manager Joe Mercer, and if Psycho is half as good as Joe then we have some good times coming up. United, on the other hand, could be heading for trouble. Mind you, when the club you support drops the words “football club” from their title you know you are on a slippery slope. They could be heading for a rebranding…… Manchester Broncos Soccer Club ?

Anyone else having major fucking problems getting into “my eBay” ? It won’t let me in…bastard fucking bullock twatting cunt arse ! I’m a bit edgy tonight; it must have been that caravan.

…..as we travel the universe.

Towing a caravan isn’t as frustrating as being stuck behind one. Besides, we only moved it about twenty miles and it was a lovely day. By the time we reached the duel carriageway, just past the turn off for Trotters, we had a huge line of traffic behind us. They all went whizzing by us as we tootled along at forty miles per hour. After we had dumped the shit box we had a trip to Whitehaven, there was a continental market on the quayside. We bought fresh baklava and fresh roasted peanuts, bread and baby figs. I took some more pictures, have a look.

Shit box.

Caravan park.

Caravan park.

Whitehaven harbour side.

Continental market.

I don’t get the whole caravan thing, I much rather stay in a hotel. It’s too much fucking about towing your shit box, setting it all up, having to walk half a mile for a piss… in the dark…..in the rain….and forgetting where your caravan is. Instead I prefer to turn up and drop onto a huge soft bed, three steps from an en suit bathroom with a light and some bog roll.

In a street that has no trees.

Today I had my thirteen week interview at the dole office. I have been unemployed for seven months; you obviously don’t need a math’s qualification to work at the dole office. So they waited seven months to tell me all about the extra help I can get looking for work, like free training courses and help setting up my own business. Why the fuck did they wait this long to tell me, before Christmas would have been really fucking helpful. Oh, and I still haven’t got my tax rebate….bastards.

I was on the verge of a rant about the dreaded caravan and the chances of getting stuck behind one as it meanders through the countryside like a geriatric elephant, there’s even more of the fuckers now the weather is a little more clement. Then a phone call from a friend.

Friend - Have you ever towed a caravan ?
Me - No ?
Friend - I’ve bought one, and I’m not sure how to do it.
Me - ….
Friend - Would you drive it to Keswick for me ?
Me - My car hasn’t got a tow bar.
Friend - Mine has.
Me - Yeah ok, I’ll give it a go.

So tomorrow, if you’re driving along the A66 towards Keswick, you may get stuck behind me towing a shit box. I fully expect all the other motorists to think I’m a tourist. I can’t see it changing my mind about the useless pieces of shit, but I’ll probably understand why they go so fucking slowly. I’m going to wear a disguise just in case I pass someone I know, I might even take a few photos.

It's against the law to jump off this bridge.

1 day, two meals, two very different experiences.

I have always thought that eating was an intensely social activity, I don’t like eating alone, it’s just not right. Today Tracy was at college so I made some breakfast alone. I had bacon, sausage, beans, tomatoes, a fried egg, bread and butter and a huge mug of steaming hot coffee; this comes top of my all time favourite meals. The first time I put my knife and fork down was after my last mouthful, it was rushed, and totally unsatisfying. I felt cheated.

Tonight we ate together, chicken cooked in garlic and lemon with roast potatoes, I had a bottle of red and we chilled and chatted whilst we ate. It was a far more enjoyable experience, relaxed and easy…… a joy.

So, a food meme. You know you want to do it. Simple really, three questions about your favourite food and drink. Cut, paste and wack on yours.

What’s your favourite starter ?

I’ve always preferred starters to a sweet, unless I fancy all three which isn’t often. My favourite starter would be seafood, maybe king prawns and a nice dipping sauce.

What’s your favourite meal ?

Full English breakfast, including black pudding which is gorgeous. It must be accompanied by a really hot mug of coffee.

Favourite pudding ?

Vanilla cheesecake from the Traveller’s rest at Grassmere. Cost me a month off work, but the least said about that the better.

Drink ?

Margarita, preferably served on a beach somewhere warm. But the living room will do.

Emptiness in harmony.

It has seemed an endless battle recently, looking for work and not finding any. After seven months of letter writing, phone calls, internet and newspaper scouring and a handful of interviews without anywhere near a result, those old feelings start to creep back in. Anyone who has spent time on the sidelines of the rat race otherwise known as the scrap heap will know those feelings, the ones that come in the night and keep you awake, the ones that question your confidence, the ones that chip away at your carefree attitude to life. These are the feelings that leach the colour from your skin and dull the twinkle in your eye. I don’t think I can single out any one feeling; it’s a mixture of desperation and a loss of confidence, mixed with an increase of weight bearing down on your shoulders. Life seems to know just when to give you a kick as well, within a couple of days last week the central heating boiler decided it wasn’t going to provide us with hot water or cosy radiators anymore, the fridge door handle fell off, the hoover coughed and sucked it’s last and the washing machine began that all to familiar rattle that usually comes before the thing finally goes out with a puff of blue smoke.

We decided to have a couple of days away. Off to Manchester to eat too much, drink far too much Tequila and shop for things we don’t need. It was ace. I took some photo’s which didn’t really turn out as I imagined. Have a look at the three that I thought at least looked like something; see if you can tell me which motorway service station number three is taken from.

#1.
#2.
#3.

Number 2 is the usual view through a car windscreen around here at this time of year, and I have ranted about it before. I can feel another one coming on.

You see through me don't you.

The little things have been getting to me this week. Someone coughed without covering their mouth, I was seething for ages, mumbling to myself and generally calling people names. I held a door for someone and they just walked past like I wasn’t there, not a thank you, kiss my arse or nowt. It doesn’t cost anything to be nice, good manners seem to be vanishing as faster than a politician's principles.

A little poetry I think……

Ode to eBay.

I’m flogging off the precious things
and owt that’s not nailed down.
So many deals my feedback isn’t sparse.
Our house bereft,
there’s nothing left.
It’s as well you can’t sell arse.