Red or Black?

Mid-evening greed-a-thon Red or Black (ITV game show where you could win one million pounds just by picking red or black); an aspirational guessing game where no knowledge, skill or talent is required, just luck. It comes from the Simon Cowell stable; which I should of guessed 'cause it's shit!

Because it's Cowell associated it comes with the obligatory sob-stories, how the contestant deserves to win because of their previous misfortune. It fate has dealt you a rotten hand previously it seems unlikely that he's going to change his mind and gift you one million pounds?

Whatever comes up, red or black, the only person who wins is the ambassador of evil Cowell as he continues the rapid encouragement of the dumbing down of our Nation. Yet there is some justice, despite it's huge production outlay and blanket evening broadcasting it hasn't brought in the viewing figures ITV desired. This is probably 'cause as a concept it is poor; as a big budget one-off extravaganza it may have caught the viewing public’s imagination. But it quickly became tiresome; some dick you don't care about is gonna win a bundle.

… and whilst we're at it PJ & Duncan (Ant & Dec) have seriously outstayed their welcome. ITV seem intent to ring out every ounce of talent out of their talent, desperate to get their moneies worth (and they certainly pay enough) Come on lads have a year off, recharge your collective batteries, get involved in some community action or charity work, just stay off television for a while.

Tweeter

Liz & her Mum shop, whilst I try to occupy myself wandering round Birmingham. I have turned hanging around in coffee shops into an art form.

Birdy tweeter (being sold by the street sellers); marginally less annoying than the assorted street evangelists that appear to inhabit the Birmingham streets today. I appreciate their desire to spread the gospel and admire their courage in doing so; I'm just unsure if it's the most effective form of evangelism?

Especially when two miked-up preachers are standing less than one hundred metres apart; competing for attention, their words merging into just noise and occasionally feedback.

It's not just the Christians who are out in force (large Baptist contingent it appears), but the Muslims are also out (badly timed it could be said on the eve of 9/11), the Mormons and even the Hari Kristinas. Add to that the inevitable chuggers (charity muggers), collecting bank details & direct debits for Care, Save the Children and the NSPCC (three separate charities in one City on one day, overkill)

… and each of them catches me; the balisha-beacon that flashes above me that encourages every crack-pot, nut case, lunatic, fanatic or good deed doer to approach. I am tolerant, but it gradually evaporates. I just want to be left alone.

A new menace also prows our streets, the researcher.

“Hello Sir can I just ask you a few questions? Do you eat crisps?”

“No. My body is a temple and I only eat raw organic food that I have grown myself!” (that stumps 'em)

“Can I ask you how you reached Birmingham today?”

“Your guess is as good as mine; some bad decisions in my teens I suppose?”

If you complete their survey and you're lucky you get given a few sweets or are entered into a competition to win a holiday. Yes that was worth sacrificing half an hour of my time, five tubes of friggin' Smarties.

I always feared the Hari-Krishnas on my first encounters with as a teen; which is fairly ironic considering their gentle & peaceful nature. Being brought up in a Christian home we were taught to be wary of other beliefs, consequently I worried that Gouranga would be some kind of mystic spell and by saying it it would open the gates of Haides or invite a demon into my soul; but it's just a word (although not as good a word as marmalade)

"Say Gouranga and be happy".

"Say Titmouse and giggle like a school-girl"

"Say Bobble-hat (a very pleasing word) and chuckle"

Lazy

I am fundamentally very lazy

(there, I've said it)

Friday Review

Just when I think I'll briefly close my eyes for a few minutes the phone rings, isn't that always the way?
Bored, direction less and still poorly motivated. I haven't publicised my holiday widely, thinking a week completing niggling jobs and spending some isolated time would help me regain my equilibrium and gain a bit of perspective. In truth I haven't really gained or done anything for the past two days, beyond visiting the Biddlecombes in Knowle which I'll admit was very valuable.

I'm not even sure how much weight I have carried for EJT on her return to school; she stuck in her room upstairs and me twiddling around on the internet downstairs. I imagined I'd spent hours writing, and perhaps I have, but it doesn't appear I have created a great deal of value.

I have spent a lot of time drinking coffee and reading newspapers, so at least I'm caffeined-up and up to date with current affairs.

Thankfully I have a few more days to make this holiday count for something, so I shouldn't despair just yet, although I feel less enthused at the prospect of selling myself & CV completion than I did on Monday. But on Monday at least I was full of gusto to make headway with my jobs list.

We're going to Birmingham tomorrow, a different city to while away my time in. EJT will shop with her Mum, and I in turn will mooch-around, imbibe more caffeine & current affairs, visit Rich at Ignite (with a budget) and perhaps visit the cinema. The only problem with the flicks is that there is much on at the moment.

Liz will invariably ask when she gets in what I have done with my day, and I will shrug my shoulders and look blank. I think she knows I'm not at my best, as do family, but we are skirting round the issue whilst we wait to see how everything progresses.

I have reached the conclusion that a vast majority of men don't like their jobs. I like my work (caring) but I don't like my job (the bureaucracy of caring) I keep looking at a far off hill of improvement “It'll be better come March” Once all the rubbish about jobs is resolved and we're in the new building. In terms of work it is rare for me to be optimistic.

Always struck with the concern; if not nursing, what? What else can I do?

A record store / label / distro in this current economic climate (both financial & musical) is madness; it wouldn't generate the income required. Better as a hobby. I have to have faith that the right thing will come along.

Not good enough to be a writer, all novel ideas are trapped in my skull.

Not funny enough to be a comedian.

To much self-esteem and to many responsibilities to up sticks, run away and hide until it all blows over.

I'm naval gazing again … never good. Consequence of a direction less week-off alone. Too much navel gazing, not enough self-discipline. Story of my life.

Sharp slap ... back on track.

I really should pop into work and forward some information from my hard-drive there to my home PC. But I haven't been able to face going in, I don't need (or want) to be made aware of the goings on in my absence and I don't wish to be embroiled in any discussion. I should have e-mailed it before finishing on the 2^nd September, but I simply forgot in the desire to escape as quickly as I could.

I'm going to have to go in, no discussions ... ... ... perhaps on Monday?

Clashing plans

It's frustrating that every gig locally that I'd like to attend clashes with something or other. The King Blues* at the Sugarmill; I'm right in the middle of a run of nights. Your Demise, Letlive & Spycatcher; on a late. Spycatcher return the following month along with Everytime I Die, Trash Talk & Defeater; and again I'm on a late. Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly at the Box in Crewe; Pezza's wedding.

Although in regard to Pezza's wedding I won't believe it's actually real until I'm sitting in the ?? the following morning having breakfast. The delay in sending out invitations, the lack of information, reluctance in communication and most worryingly almost complete absence of excitement all make us think perhaps this ain't happening. Yet still it appears it is! Even so we have paid extra on our hotel rooms to ensure we can get a refund and all gifts & outfits will be purchased at the last minute and receipts retained. Not very romantic is it?

The planning of my Staffordshire wedding (as opposed to my Merseyside one) was so exciting and the planning brought such delight, it is sad that this doesn't appear to be the case for poor old Pezza.

* Matters are worse, Cerebral Ballzy are supporting.

Costa Crazy

Saw an ex-colleague this morning talking to the sugar in Costa.

As she left with her take-away beverage I gave her a smile and a little wave, but she clearly didn't recognise me. I wouldn't have recognised her if she hadn't drawn attention to herself by conversing with the sugar stand. Washed out, ashen & thin; where as before she was healthy, active & fit. A specialist nurse who gradually just faded away from the hospital under rumours of poor mental health (depression leading to a breakdown), which would be confirmed by talking to the sugar I suppose?

It always bothered me that her loss wasn't talked about, over a period of months she just disappeared. Even gossip was shockingly minimal for the health service. What I did hear, some time later, was that after lengthy bouts of sickness she was eventually dismissed.

A shame, I held her in very high regard (she was always very supportive and encouraged me to undertake teaching & training both inside & outside the hospital trust); she had an exceptional knowledge and much experience. She always gave the impression of being in control. Goes to show that sometimes despite best efforts you can't always escape your demons, the voices in your head and you never really know what goes on in the heads or homes of your colleagues.

I'd hate for my colleagues to know what was going on in my head.

Bitter Coffee

Reubens coffee gossips remain, still steadfastly present whenever I visit and thoroughly awful in their attitudes, opinions and whole damn demeaner. They hardly make for a conjusive & restful environment, but the coffee and the vibe (when they're not there) in Reubens is the best in Newcastle. Invariably they only ever enter once I've ordered and am sitting down so I can't escape, usually selecting a table near me.