The Great Mouseketeer

En Garde! The mouse is mightier than the claws. That is at least, in one tale of animal heroism I heard recently. For too long the mouse has been the inferior being, pitted against the fat cats of the world. Well here's a tale that will give hope to mice people everywhere.

A few weeks ago I was engrossed by a tale of this mighty Mouseketeer. My mam has two cats, one of which is all white and used to be the top cat, head poncho of the neighbourhood. No cat would ever dare enter his territory if they valued any of their nine lives. But as the years have gone by the mighty cat has aged and mellowed somewhat and is no longer the tyrant he once was.

And so one fateful day in a kitchen a mouse sneaked in through the back door. It's mission was reconnaissance, to bring back as much food as it could for his very large and ever-growing family. He barely had his nose in the door when he could smell trouble. After poking his head round the corner he was able to detect his awaiting foe easily despite peering under the large hat he was wearing. The cat didn't know quite what to make of this mysterious hat.

Most mice would run a mile when confronted by fur and claws but not this one. Don El Jose Isadera Celianayma Dandis II. For Jose was no longer prepared to bow down to the tyranny of the enemy and was now determined to stand his ground and fight back with all his might. If it meant his own death, so be it.

Poised and waiting, the mouse with his miniature sword was ready to duel against the once powerful king cat of the neighbourhood, his freshly sharpened claws shining as they caught the light and looking ferociously pointy. The nicknamed 'N'o-ay Jose' attempted to clear his throat. Instead of sounding fearsome however, he managed to merely squeak 'Ci senor you're not going to take me alive!'. His notably fake Spanish accent resounded through the kitchen as he emerged from under his oversized sombrero. First impressions were deceiving as this was no longer merely a talking hat but a mouse of deadly destruction. Armed, tailed and dangerous.

The cat made the first move. He moved cautiously, uncertain of the enemy that stood before him. He was right to be cautious. Jose immediately lunged forward with his sword and attempted to pierce the cat's paw. It failed. Instead the sword became an immediate write-off, having snapped in two. Heavily mismatched the mouse fought on. He aggressively lashed out with a right jab and caught the cat flush on the nose. The cat jumped back in disbelief. While the ageing feline was off-balance, the mouse landed another swift blow with a left uppercut. He'd had enough. The cat spun and darted away into cover, defeated and with his pride as battered as his nose felt.

This hero of the Vermin family heritage stood tall on that day and lived to fight another cat. Unfortunately this victory was rather short-lived. Once my mam's other cat discovered the travesty of justice she was not impressed. She was not so fearful of and swiftly ate him alive, sword, sombrero and all. The sword got a little stuck in her throat at first but was quickly dislodged. At least the little fella had some good battles during his illustrious career.

Any creature no matter how great or small can put up a fight and really make a difference. This is a true testament of a never-say-die attitude going a long way against all odds. Quite literally in this case. So keep up your fighting spirit and watch out for sombrero-wearing, sword-wielding, Spanish-speaking vermin!

Self-Assembly Can't Pull Itself Together

Everyone seems to work from home these days don't they? Or at least, most people seem to have some kind of office or study at home. I recently made the decision to join this twenty-first century craze and make my own office in my one bedroom flat. It was certainly a challenge, space being against me, much like gravity, but I would not be defeated. So I set to work, moved furniture, and mountains, threw things out that were of minimal importance such as the sofa and TV and everything that took up floor space, et voila, I had my own office.

A couple of days later I realised something was missing from my newly created home office, which is actually just a remote corner of my tiny living room. I'd have to buy a desk for my computer to go on because at the moment I'm just sitting in my comfy new chair swivelling round and round with this heavy computer tower and monitor perched rather precariously on my lap. It's only going to be a matter of time before the computer gets sick and throws its microchips up all over me and my new chair.

So anyway I went back to the shop and bought a computer desk. I bought this particular one because it seemed simple to put together. The fact it was the cheapest one they had was just a coincedence. It claimed to be self assembly. Does anyone else feel the idea of self assembly is rather misleading? After juggling a bloody heavy and obscure-shaped box containing the computer desk I made it home. I landed inside my front door, planted the box in my living room and waited. Nothing happened. I checked the description in the catalogue again because I was thinking they'd given me the wrong item. Despite having a giant life-like picture of the desk striking an iconic pose on the side of the box, how could I know they didn't mix the boxes up in the warehouse or change the stickers for a laugh? So I checked the description. It definitely said self assembly. I then begin wondering if the box had a secret button I needed to find to activate the self-assembly mechanism. Maybe tickling its soft spot would make it erupt into life, it would jump out of the box, does a few acrobatics and lands with a perfect 10 in the corner of my living room. Still nothing happened. I kicked it and it fell over defiantly. Finally some action. It just lay there mocking me, thinking 'this idiot hasn't got a clue'. Well I had the last laugh. I picked up my hammer and really went to town on it. Smashed it limb from limb. 'Not laughing now are ya, stupid planks of wood' I said aloud with an evil chuckle.

In the end I took it back to the shop. The shop assistant said 'sir you can't return it in that condition'.

I replied 'why not? All I did was give it some encouragement, it's not my fault it couldn't put itself together is it? It said self assembly in the catalogue. You sold me a lazy, non self-assembling, insulting computer desk and I want my money back. I didn't pay good money to be mocked by planks of wood. I get enough of that from my family as it is, they already think I'm as thick as two short planks'. Unable to argue with such reasonable gibbering logic she took the box and refunded me my money and I went on my way.

Later that week I actually did manage to find a self-assembled computer desk. It was free from someone that already had it in their house so I just stole / borrowed it and threw it in the car and took it home. Wouldn't you know it; all wooden tales have a happy ending.

Life in the Fast Chair

Does anyone else wish some items you buy from the shop were just a little bit more conveniently packaged? I for one wish shops like Argos would give you the option of purchasing items ready assembled. There are times when it would make the journey home so much easier. Like the other day I bought a computer chair. It has wheels and I live at the bottom of a hill. I'd already made the trek up the hill to the shop so it would be so easy just to jump on the chair and sail down the hill to my house. The lack of brakes could be a potential worry but I'm sure with the hydraulic buttons I could duck and dive my way past most signs and obstacles. It would be like test driving the chair. If both the chair and I make it home in one piece, well that would be a concern because it would mean I was somehow permanently embedded in the chair, but if we made it home with each of us in one piece then we could call it a success and the chair could be accepted as part of my family. I'd give it a home and make it feel welcome; give it warmth by sitting on it and doing all the family activities that are usually associated with chairs. If it failed the test I'd simply carry its remains back up the hill and claim a refund.

For test driving chairs to become a reality we would first need some of the extra money given to local governments to improve the roads to actually be used to repair the roads, with a little more going towards creating designated chair lanes. The result would be incredible. You could race your neighbour on your new computer chair and it would be the true test of which chair is the best of the best. It would give the expression 'keeping up with the Jones'' a whole new meaning.

One woman had bought one of these chairs that I too was considering buying and wrote a very insightful review. It read 'easy to sit on'. I had to read it twice. I couldn't believe someone would write that about a chair. Easy to sit on? You bought a chair and found it was easy to sit on? Are you kidding? What kind of crazy chairs must she be used to I wondered. Electric chairs maybe? Honestly, the logic of these people worries me. In the end I decided NOT to buy that particular chair and went with one that was really easy to sit on. It was an arm chair that was already in my living room!

I persevered and decided to buy the chair after all. So after a spot of DIY, the chair was ready to go. I jumped on it and with my best push-start, catapulted myself off down the hill towards home. So there I was speeding down the hill on my new computer chair when I saw something shoot past me. Zoom. It was my next door neighbour who had seen me in the shop and decided he too must buy a new computer chair. Only his was the better quality one that happened to be in the sale so cost half the price of mine. He blasted past me. I put my hand on the invisible key stick and moved into 5th gear. I wasn't going to stand or indeed, sit, for that, I needed to beat him. It pains me to say that he won. However while he may have won the race, I had the last laugh. You see, as he went flying past me, he couldn't stop because he'd melted the brakes. Onwards he steamed, across the road and straight over the fence into Mrs Johnson's flowerbeds. She went nuts! Needless to say he had to pay for them which put the price of his chair up significantly higher than mine.

There's a valuable lesson to be learned from this I feel, the next time you go to buy a chair, make sure you test drive it first.

Friday 13th Strikes Again?

Are you superstitious or is do you just blame Friday 13th for everything that goes wrong on that particular day? What is it about Friday 13th that makes all hell break loose for those unfortunate to believe in its mystical powers?

Really though how bad can it be? Well last Friday 13th my day began with a bang. I was woken by the spontaneous combustion of my car. Excellent. Breakfast was a non-event. I didn't have any. I was too worried I'd set my house on fire by burning the toast or something so I chose the safe option. If in doubt, leave breakfast and go out. So I did. Of course I no longer had a car so I had to walk. As I was walked along the street I was greeted by a ladder who was taking up the entire pavement thus forcing me to duck into the dark, shadowy path beneath him. He claimed to be called Larry but I suspect he was maybe under the weather or suffering from concussion because he kept muttering gibberish about being ordered to run up and down the shop all morning.

While I was walking under the ladder a double drain sprang out of nowhere! Much too late for me to avoid it, I was forced to clamber over it. Typically, there wasn't another double drain anywhere for me to counteract this act of pure superstitional madness. All the while I was being stalked by a black cat. I quickly grew suspicious of the cat, and also rather annoyed with it. I tried to kick it but tripped over my untied shoe lace. Upon hitting the ground, I heard the bathroom mirror I'd just bought, shatter beneath me. Immediately afterward I was running to catch a bus and was ran over by a taxi. All that happened before 9.30.

As my soul departed my body and started drifting upwards I remembered I believed in reincarnation. My despair promptly turned to anticipation and excitement as I began wondering what I'd come back to Earth as. I opened my eyes, and just could not believe what I saw. Such an incredible glow pierced my pupils, though I wasn't at school yet so I've no idea how that happened but I found it difficult to fully open my eyes. I thought it must be heaven, or maybe I'd been reincarnated as the casing of a spotlight or something. After a few seconds my eyes opened fully and I saw a very familiar scene. My bubble quickly burst. I couldn't believe my luck. Of all the wonderful things in the world, I'd been reincarnated as myself! To make matters worse I was lying in the road as though I was waiting for another bus after having missed the last one. Of course I could also have have been waiting for another taxi to hit me, I wasn't sure. Luckily I was helped to my feet by common sense and dragged onto the pavement out of danger. Somehow all this drama meant my day ended at 9.30 in the morning. All other memories of that day have vanished without trace. Maybe I was abducted by aliens or maybe the accident / deliberate attempt on my life caused amnesia, I don't remember, it's a lot of maybes and I don't really want to think about being stung by maybes while we're in the month of May.

Whoever said bad luck on Friday 13th is just nonsense should have spent the day in my shoes. They would have been crippled, lost their car to a freak accident, stalked by a black cat, missed their bus to work and hit by a taxi. Then after all that, they would have died and been reincarnated as themselves and forced to live the day all over again. Is there no end to the torture for the superstitious other than locking yourself in a cupboard forever?

Teaching Assistant Goes Back to School

Do all Classroom Assistants get locked in the cupboard or is it just me? Well I suppose I am still only training to become a Teaching Assistant at the moment, maybe that's the difference. So far I love it, except for being locked in the cupboard which isn't quite as much fun. For anyone not clued up, Teaching Assistants or Classroom Assistants are basically support staff for the teachers. To put it simply, we do exactly what we say on the tin. We're actually shipped to schools in tin cans to protect us from being battered and bruised before we arrive. Also it acts as a sound barrier and a bullet-proof force field that blocks out the light and shields our fragile eyes from the horrors of the real world. Once we've been smuggled safely inside, the doors are locked and we're released into the wild. We have our freedom, sort of. At least we're as free as we're ever going to be.

Anyway as I was saying, we Teaching Assistant are beneath the teachers. When I say we're beneath the teachers, I mean that we're sandwiched somewhere between the floor and their shoe. It's not a bad place to be. I can certainly think of worse places. Of course all the teachers in my school are great. I have to say that or they'll lock me in the stationery cupboard again. It's such a boring cupboard too; it never goes anywhere, it's completely stationary. Last time I was in there for three years. Three years! All I had for company was an Irish paperclip called Paddy. He always seemed to be drunk and kept falling off shelves but that's a different story entirely.

By the time I was released from the cupboard I couldn't speak, I couldn't spell my own name. Come to think of it, I didn't even know my own name. To stop them thinking I was a complete idiot I replied instinctively with the first and only thing that came into my head, 'Paddy'. From that day forth I've been known as Paddy. To make matters worse I could barely speak at all. Every time I opened my mouth I blurted out some random, incoherent noises that have never been heard before and will hopefully never be heard again. There are probably top secret decoder teams still trying to decipher those sounds.

After the 'name' incident the teachers thought I was unintelligible and sent me back to Reception. The Receptionist told me there wasn't a space for me there and she was far too busy to speak to me right now so I'd have to go away. Luckily someone came to my rescue and escorted me to the correct class. Three years in a cupboard had done my amazing geography skills no good at all as I discovered the Reception class was at the other end of the school.

I had to learn everything from scratch. Of course I was the oldest kid in the class, being some twenty four years older than the next oldest who was five. The other children would gang up on me and bully me beyond belief. They were monsters. One boy stole my lunch money four times in one week. I only escaped the fifth day because it was a teacher training day so we weren't at school. He must have been the meanest four year old I'd ever seen. I swear he was about seven feet tall. Either his parents were pouring Miracle-Gro on his Shreddies or he was wearing stilts. All I knew was I wasn't going to argue with him. I just reluctantly handed over my money and ran away and hid in a corner.

Finally, here I am today, the finished product of an excellent education system. It was an education system that was not afraid to keep children behind, whether they were failing or not. Last year I finally graduated from Primary school, aged 35. It was a proud day but I'm so happy those days are over. I'm not looking forward to beginning Secondary school though.

A Cloud's Sorrow

The clouds weep at their own pathetic fallacy.
Oh sweet irony how you become truth
Perched high above the action
Helpless in their dream to become wanted
They remain perpetually frowned upon
Though people must look up to them
No respect is shown for their cause
In spite of it being a will not of their own

Only a matter of days pass before it's time
For the clouds to wreak their 'unwanted' revenge
They remain defiant til the end
Knowing that fulfilling this forced destiny
Shall in fact evaporate their dwindling life
But alas there will be more
Samples of the strongest clouds are taken
And from them a new generation of woeful blankets shall emerge
And the cycle shall begin again

The clouds will forever be trapped in their vast space
Forced to regurgitate their eternal cycle
Although never forgotten they will be forever overshadowed by the mighty fire
The one they say rules the sky with tyrannical precision
However there are those few chances that are seized by the clouds
En mass they too are a potent foe
They wrap around the sky and roar to Earth
No more shall there be warmth
No more shall the fiery ball control the skies
Everyone is thrown into an uneasy ambiguity
Unable to predict just when this new force is going to unleash its wrath

The sky parts and there is once more peace
Peaceful clouds return after the wave of terror
But they are scorned and beaten by the actions of their parents
Poor clouds, how could anyone understand their feelings?
They close their heavy eyelids and their tears trickle once again, down to earth

Technically it's Just another Job

OK so this one week (the one in this story, not this actual week), I began a new job as a Technical Support Adviser, working in a Call Centre so that was a good start to the week.

On the first day I figured how hard can this be? The day began, I answered the phone all confident 'Good morning this is Technical Support; I can cure all your technical problems. You name it, I can tell you how to fix it by simply reading this automated encyclopedic script, this fountain of all technical knowledge that has presented itself in front of me. Now mere non-technical mortal, how I can help you today?'

The day began rather rapidly with people all over the country calling up to say their Internet had stopped working. They had no idea what has happened to it but it has stopped working. It worked last night when they went to bed but now they've woken up their Internet has remained in a deep slumber, refusing to rise before its first cup of Columbian Roast. After an investigation they find a load of agents have just been sitting at their desk clicking away switching off people's Internet randomly while expressing their sheer delight in their work 'wheeeeeee!'. When the customer says their Internet isn't working is greeted smugly by the operator 'Yes I know'.

This particular problem required some technical-bobbety-thingy kind of change. A girl sitting beside me who was also new asked me why we couldn't just make the change ourselves. The reply came from a manager who explains 'oh no, they don't give you that kind of power. That would be far too dangerous.'

I was confused. I thought the department I was in was technical support. Suddenly I began wondering if they'd lied on the advert. I started asking people around me, what do we do exactly? People phone us up for technical support, they ask completely useless question to which we give just as useless responses, 'Yes, no, no, nee-eey'. I have no idea why we would happen to sound like knights that say 'nee' but that's what happens. Then after all these questions, I had to tell the customer 'I'm sorry sir but I can't help you further this will require special advanced technical support.' This is technical support of a much higher calibre, the levels of support that are unheard of to the regular Joe. It makes it sound as though this mere problem has now become an MI6 mission. They ask where the case is going and I have to tell them (and this is on the script too) 'I'm sorry sir that's classified information. If I tell you, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you.' Then, as you stroke your white Persian cat perched rather awkwardly on the arm of your cheap replica office chair, it falls to the floor for the 26th time today. 'Bollocks!' I said rather loudly, forgetting I was still talking to a customer. So after that incident I was marched into the manager's office and sacked for bad language. Ah well at least I lasted 2 hours, that's twice as long as the last job I worked at. I was only 59 minutes in at B&Q when I was given my marching orders. A guy came into the store asking for decking. I wasn't taking any chances so I threw the first punch. Knocked him clean out. I thought I'd done a pretty good job but the manager didn't think so.

One of these days I'll find my niche. I took her to the supermarket one day and came back without her. Oh I meant niche, not niece. Forget I said anything about that *whistles innocently*. For now I'll try to stick to my day job, it might stop me getting into so much trouble.

All Our Roads Are Going to Pot

I know it's not just me that thinks this but are ALL our roads going to pot? As a cyclist my eye is trained in the fine art of detecting pot holes, not that it takes a genius to see them. Let's face it, it's easy enough to spot gaping chasms, cracks, dips, troughs, holes and overzealous drains, from a mile off and our roads are full of them.

With such a pothole-keen eye, I quickly spotted one such small and easily avoidable crack next to a drain, on a busy road. I'd never had any problems avoiding it as I'd taken the same route for well over a year and knew it well. On a fateful day last week I was cycling along as I always do when I was struck by surprise. They'd filled that particular pothole in! So many of our roads are riddled with gaping chasms of perilous danger and yet of all the atrocities of the other roads, this mediocre, menial, even harmless, hole was the one to meet its demise. Why this one? This puzzled me incessantly for the remainder of the journey as I tried to imagine the road maintenance committee having a meeting to discuss the most perilous holes that required attention. I bet none of them would have suspected that tiny hole would one day top the list of priorities. It's so small it looks as though it may have in fact been filled in by a random traveller with a home-made DIY pothole filler kit. Maybe it wasn't even acknowledged by the road maintenance committee at all. Some obsessive-compulsive person finally snapped. I know it intrigued me every day that I had to avoid it. Maybe it was a fellow cyclist who was tired of having to swerve to avoid it on his daily commute. Driven to near-madness he whipped up a DIY pothole repair kit and set off on a mission. There just can't be any other explanation for it. Surely the council couldn't have, in their brilliant foresight, have isolated this one small defect and flagged it for urgent action. When I say urgent I mean within 2-3 years of it being reported of course.

Ultimately I know we can't control the state of our roads, the council do their bit by being completely useless, and the rest is up to us to use what little common sense we have left to carefully manoeuvre round them in the best way possible. So if you're feeling particularly wound up by one particular part of road, there may be good news for you. You no longer need to be a mere passenger in this ordeal. Whip up your own pothole-fixing DIY kit and you too can combat the roads of tomorrow, today!

Keyboard Feet Bandits on the Run

How do keyboards lose their feet? No, this is not a joke, or trick, but a genuine question. Most people have probably heard the expression 'to find your feet' or some variation, meaning to find your bearings etc but the flip side is losing one's feet. For people that work in an office I'm sure at one time or another they have experienced this crazy keyboard foot fetish.

It's rather disconcerting to find that someone has stolen the feet from your keyboard. I'm sure all keyboards are born with feet yet somehow as they mature and begin their working life in a call centre, their feet magically disappear. The rather deflated keyboards land flat on their backs, unable to provide the ergonomically-rich experience for which they were purposely hired. It's an outrage!

I find it oddly sadistic severing limbs from inanimate objects but it must be done. I like my keyboards to be just like me, reasonably long and with all limbs attached. After resisting the temptation of printing wanted or lost posters for the keyboard feet, I resigned myself to a more practical option, stealing. I decided that after someone had kindly deprived me of having an ergonomic typing instrument, I was now adamant I would inflict the same punishment to some other unsuspecting victim. This is the effect such an event has on you; it turns you into a thief. This morning I was an honest, law-abiding citizen. Since arriving at work however I've now become a fully fledged foot thief. If anyone finds out I'll have to run and hope no-one catches me because I feel my defence in the name of ergonomics probably wouldn't stand up in court. As this is a daily occurrence I can't help but wonder just how many of us there are. There must be countless keyboard feet stealing bandits out there that are secretly in hiding or on the run, or worse, walking among us! Maybe there's a secret covenant, who knows.

Where I work it's quite a big problem. You can actually go to lunch, leaving a full-limbed keyboard and return to find that its feet have gone walkabouts. How on Earth can they up sticks and leave within 30 minutes, they surely can’t be that restless. If people can steal such a simple thing, it makes me wonder what else they can pilfer. Mind you, I do work in a place where people have no qualms about stealing your sandwich out of the fridge but that's a different story. Imagine walking into a fridge, not literally, and suddenly being struck by amnesia. Amidst this panic of no longer being able to find your lunch you pick one randomly and walk away, calmly shaking. I wonder if that's what happens to the keyboards. People must misplace pieces of their keyboard and forget where they are so when they 'think' they're reclaiming their own equipment; they are in fact just stealing someone else's.

While it may all be fun and games until someone's keyboard loses a foot or a leg, it's not very nice or indeed helpful to steal them from another place. So next time you're faced with the dilemma of a footless keyboard, stop and think about your actions. Do you really want to turn into a keyboard foot thief? Stop, put the keyboard down and walk away! Keep your dignity in tact and replace the entire keyboard.

Disabled Car

This is just a short piece I wrote a week or so back. I thought I'd best publish something as it's been over a week since the last one. I'll get round to publishing more often very soon. Enjoy and thanks for reading.

Disabled Car

As I embark on my pursuing my dreams as a comedy writer I don't really do much stand-up or in fact any at all. I'm quite shy and retired so I like sitting down. But I do love writing though. I write a lot. Well I write in a lot at least. Parking lots mostly. I do the ticketing you see. Love writing those tickets I do. I can write 'em all day and I do as well. That reminds me, who out there is driving that Reliant Robin? Did you really think you were going to get away with it? They should have been confined to go kart tracks years ago. Just because it's only got three wheels doesn't mean you can park in a disabled bay you know. So who's is it? As the tumbleweed blew past me I came to the conclusion maybe it doesn't belong to anyone. It belongs to no-one. 'Hm...oh dear' I think aloud. I think I might have been in the wrong car park. Come to think of it, it was a rather small car park, only consisting of 2 cars. Ah well too late now, it's past the point of no return. If I go back now to remove the ticket from the car it'll look well dodgy, people will think I'm trying to steal it. So I best leave it there. The owner of that deprived little motor vehicle will get quite a surprise when he opens his front door in the morning I'm quite sure. I think it's the dementia setting in. Bad times.

Public Transport Fuels Turmoil

A deranged public transport vehicle may have left me scarred for life after a bizarre string of events occurred yesterday. I found myself surrounded by complete madness on what should have been a routine bus journey. There I was sitting on the bus, travelling along happily on my way to buy a new computer chair without a care in the world. It didn't take long for things to start going horribly wrong.

After seeing a few more people board the already quite packed bus I decided to move along the window seat to begrudgingly make space in case someone else needed to sit down. Let's face it, no-one likes people sitting beside them. If you look down a bus when you first set foot on it, there appears to be no empty seats at all. Once you've paid your fare and embark on the hunt to find a spare seat you see that every window seat is already long gone. They were taken about a dozen stops ago. Panic sets in. You MUST sit beside someone, and NOT in a window seat.

So I'd moved along to the window seat and bloody hell, talk about sitting in the hot seat. The sun was on the other side of the bus and yet it felt like it was actually embedded into the seat cushion. I could not believe how hot it was. Something wasn't right. The heat seemed to be coming from below the seat, rising, as it does, up my leg and tickling my sweat glands. The heating was on. Oh my god! It's a sunny spring day and the bus is already being indulged by the warmth of the greenhouse sun and yet the driver has put the heating on. It must be a joke. It felt like it was 500 degrees inside the bus.

Of course my choice of clothing didn't help at that point. My black t-shirt created the perfect interior lining in what felt like a furnace encased in a portable greenhouse. When I walked down for the bus I wasn't expecting one of those new pre-summer greenhouse buses.

On the same bus I saw an NHS poster / board thingy. It was at a slightly skewed angle so I couldn't see the actual point it was making though I suspect it was some kind of counselling or advice service. From the angle at which I was sitting, all I could read of the poster was four questions each on a separate line.

Unwell?
Unsure?
Confused?
Need help?

Immediately I became ALL of the above. After reading the first word I began thinking how I'd been sneezing all afternoon but I hardly felt it qualified me as unwell. So I placed a mental cross next to that question. That was easy enough I thought and moved onto the next one. Unsure? Um…well I had thought I was in reasonable health but now that I'm being probed by a random snot-coloured advertising board I'm just not sure any more. Apprehensive about that question, I quickly skipped to the following ones. Confused? Well by this point I was very confused and began wondering who would design such a thought provoking, intimidating and confusing poster. And finally the last question of the interrogation. Need help? YES! I screamed in my head. Oh my god all I wanted to do was take a bus up the road to buy a computer chair and now I don't even know who or what I am any more. I'm a lost soul, a wandering traveller on board a drifting incarnation of public confusion. From that moment on I kept my eyes forward to avoid any further tricks and pitfalls. I kept my fingers crossed. I needed to exit this wandering mayhem as soon as possible.

Ultimately after the culmination of heatstroke meltdown and a silent interrogation at the hands of the Board of Cunning Advertising, the relief I felt just to taste fresh air again was immense. When I say fresh air, I mean, it was as fresh as the air gets in Sunderland. I stepped off the bus and onto foreign soil and tried not to think about what the return journey was going to be like. I just wanted to grab my chair and get back home to safety as soon as I could.

Incidentally while on the same number bus heading back home, someone threatened to hit me for squashing his hand against a bar despite the bus being a heavily packed sardine tin on wheels. It was during the school run time. I didn't make anything of it and the rest of the ride was mostly smooth but honestly with experiences like this, is it any wonder people don't like taking public transport?

The Incontinent Angel Layer Cake

Yesterday I was tucking into one of my favourite types of cake, angel layer cake. I love angel layer cake. What a perfectly sweet name it has. This sugary goodness is so angelic and good, you could even call it divine. It makes you feel like eating the full cake because it contains layers of actual angels. If you consume angels into your digestive system maybe they will spread throughout your body and turn you into some magnificent beaming light. You'd be a beacon of goodness, everything you ever wanted would come true. You would get into heaven. It's pure gold, a cake made of win.

There's a cheesy chat-up line that some people may have heard, about angels. You know the one about heaven must be short an angel since you've fallen to earth, some kind of rubbish like that. The truth is, they didn't fall out of the sky. The reason that girl looks like an angel is that she's stuffed her face with so much angel layer cake that she's been forever transformed into one.

What sets the cake apart from the rest are the colours. I love the colours of the layers. Bright pink layer at the top, that must be the angel's face. White layer at the bottom that must be either the angel's feet or the bottom of its robes. But I can't help feeling a little dubious about the middle layer. It's yellow. Now in my mind that is the middle area of the angel, which means it would be the angel's genitals. It would appear the middle layer of the cake is where the angels have wet themselves. This is somewhat distressing when you have this thought mid-cake. I'm eating angel piss. The cake makers have tried to hide the fact these angels are incontinent by inserting a layer of icing in a feeble attempt to stop the wee from running down to the bottom of the cake. This is a disaster. It's like making teapots out of chocolate. However, not one to be easily put off my food, I curiously kept eating. It actually tasted quite nice. They've done well adding the flavourings, you can hardly even taste the urine. It's quite amazing, and also rather worrying what can be done these days to disguise such mysterious and disgusting 'secret' ingredients used to create that perfectly scrumptious flavour.

Some foods you just have to avoid at all costs no matter how diverse you think they are. Delicacies such as yellow snow and chocolate snow must always be avoided like the plague. Don't even be tempted by chocolate snow, it will only end badly. Other delights are more plausible like angel layer cake. But a word to the wise, if you're happily chomping on your favourite food, don't jeopardise your enjoyment of it by stopping halfway through and start actually thinking about what you're eating. Just eat it if you know what's good for you or you might end up with the dilemma in which I found myself and you may not be able to stomach your ideas no matter how crazy and far fetched they are.

A New Beginning

Here's something a little different to my usual writing, a poem I wrote recently. Enjoy :)

A New Beginning

Darkness has once again awoken
As words of woe have been sorely spoken
Love is forlorn, it has no place here,
Close, far, or anywhere near
Bolt the locks and deprive the light
My eyes and soul grow black as night
Loneliness creeps from his dormant den
Sorrow flows from a bleeding pen
Oh heavy heart stop keeping time
You keep only to the beat of foolish rhyme

Alas another tomorrow draws near
One I neither wish to see nor hear
Displace this feeling, set me free
Beat me round the head with a Christmas tree
Tie my tongue and my shoe laces together
So I trip over my own words forever
Torture me with anything but guilt
Until your final tears have been spilt
If it means your closure is due
I'll endure whatever you need to do

You'll soon realise that nothing's lost
For a new beginning, it's worth the cost
For endless is life, eternal is love
Our friendship strong, like a turtle dove
Though we part for now in some ways
Closer we may grow in later days
However time must for now be paused
To find a remedy for the damage caused
Although more sand than you wish, may escape
It's work cannot be measured by any mortal tape

Keep smiling my dear, keep your eyes open wide
I know it's hard when time's a pain in your side
But time holds phoenix tears to soothe your pain
Allow them to shower you like a light rain
As the phoenix dies, it's reborn fresh and new
To start a new life that's long overdue
That day the world will appear a whole new vision
Clarity will strike you with fine precision
Your sense of purpose will rest no more
Inspiration beckons to finish that half written score

Alas keep your heart open and your eyes bright
So you can embrace the incredible new light
Chase your dreams, make them real
Lose no time to this mere ordeal
Brush aside the cobwebs of doubt
Bury them in a suitcase and throw them out
Leave your fears shipwrecked with nowhere to go
Paving the way for happiness to grow
Begin a journey in tune with your own sound
For that's where your new beginning can be found

A J Mallen

Chocolate Brownie Adventure

Is there any better desert than home-made chocolate brownie? I'm not sure there is. I had such a brownie the other day. This chocolate brownie was going to suffer its demise on the return journey from Scotland. How it survived the first leg of the adventure is still a mystery. Being preoccupied with other things helped I guess, and the cake was playing hide from the hazard, trying to avoid anyone or anything that may be a potential predator and cut short its life.

So the first leg of the trip came and went with great success for the chocolate goodness. It was soon time for the return leg where thoughts turned to all things edible and the inevitable, the chocolate brownie. Instead of devouring it however, I forgot about it. At least, I forgot about eating it. Temporarily that is. Instead I took pity on it and gave it my Swiss army knife and a torch. That was until I realised I was confusing the Brownies with Boy Scouts. I don't think Brownies go camping and find themselves wrestling wild bears with only their trusted Swiss army knives with which to defend themselves. Then I thought the idea of a chocolate brownie may sound a bit racist in today's society. I'm not racist, not the least bit, but it's maybe more politically correct to call them ethnic cocoa compositions. Though that just sounds like a collection of songs about chocolate so that probably wouldn't work either.

So anyway, after realising my mistake I promptly took back my Swiss army knife and torch and left the chocolate goodness in the car to find it's own way home. With any luck it can find a way of operating the sat nav and make it home in time to be eaten for supper. That is once it's recovered from the shock of surviving a two-legged car journey, a petrol station and travelling in a car filled with cake-eating human-shaped beings and making it through it all in one piece. Or well, maybe with most of its limbs still attached, though I'm sure the brownie has crumbled in some places, like the petrol station. In reality however, it's probably still trapped in the car door now. Screaming helplessly as its nuts drop out and its hair grows grey with mould age. I just hope it's discovered before it's too late...

Crazed Messenger Pen on Drugs?

Today's gripe is about a feature used in chat programs like MSN and Skype that annoys me beyond belief. This feature rears its ugly head when you're not using the program for actual talking. It's the messaging part, Skype in particular, that drives me insane. You can see when the other person is typing a message because this little yellow pen starts scribbling down what they're saying. It starts working away as soon as the first letter is typed.

The other night I was chatting to a friend on there and I thought to myself my god she's been writing that message for about half an hour now. I wonder if she's fallen asleep on the keyboard or something. I know I was about falling asleep myself just watching the mesmerizing yellow pen scribble for its life. So I thought she's either fallen asleep or she's frantically writing a novella or something. Finally the pen stops dead. My eyes spring open in anticipation for the message. Nothing appears! 'Are you kidding me?' That pen has been scribbling away for an age and there's no message? Did it get lost in translation or something? So I begin typing a reply to this invisible verse when out of the blue a few words appear as though by magic. There are nowhere near as many words as I'd expected mind you. I'm beginning to think this predictive pen or whatever his job title is, is skimming some off the side because he's not being paid enough for the job. One job it does very well however, is to lure you into a false sense of security, because you expect the person on the other computer to be typing as quickly as the pen. In reality though, the pen has rewritten 'War and Peace' in the time it takes the actual person to type 'hello'. In my opinion they should have a feature that automatically detects the speed at which a person is typing and then changes the icon accordingly. So in this case instead of a pen on acid, maybe a slug on sleeping pills would be more appropriate.

I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the pen writes in a different language and that English is not it's native tongue. Maybe it actually first types the message in Aboriginal Mandarin or something, then has to translate the message into English, that would explain why it seems to be scribbling away so furiously all the time. I find it funny when the pen goes into hyper drive and you're waiting for those wonderful words to appear and nothing shows up. Nothing at all. The pen was clearly writing something so complicated that it couldn't translate it into English. Either that or it couldn't read it's own handwriting so it abandoned the attempt halfway through in a blind panic. Then the pen sits quietly back down and takes a drink of water to settle its nerves in the hope that nobody has noticed the screw up. Once he's composed himself he takes to the screen again and types the three letters that always serve as the default lifesaver, 'lol'. 'Phew', the panic is over for now. Back to work it goes, ready to confuse another fool. Oh how a fool and his anticipation are so easily duped by these evil animated pens. One day they will pay...

The Art of Mis-communication

OK, so I always rave on about how great words are. I know, imagine that, a writer who loves words...but even more fun is the misunderstanding of words, expressions, signs etc, it's truly an art form. It's not an art form that many practice knowingly but it brings relentless amusement to those that are gifted in this unwitting skill. Another part of this talent involves mishearing (not to be confused with Miss Herring, the temp French teacher, temporary teacher that is, not temporarily French, though she is temporarily made-up). Mishearing words and substituting what our brain conjured up in attempt to relieve the embarrassment of our inferior sense of hearing is an insane amount fun. It's as though, as soon as a sentence or string of words is not heard and digested clearly enough to form a coherent response, our brain hits the panic button and goes to Defcon 2.

'Holy hell what are we going to do?!' The pygmy brainiacs that are paying a slave labour wage out of their own transparently worn pockets, working 25 hours a day to feed a starving nation of countless bastard children, because their wives couldn't produce a son, start arguing with one another. "I thought you were catching that word.'

'No we agreed I take every second word and that was not a second word!'

'But we agreed that sounds count as words too and there was definitely a sound made in the infancy of that dialogue. Roll the Speechometer cam, yup there you go, definite vocal interaction going on there!'

So as I was saying, panic sets in one of them has an idea:

'OK here's what we'll do, we each think of a word that sounds like what we thought we heard then we play rock paper, scissors and the winner's word is the one that's catapulted out of the bosses mouth, deal?'

'Deal!'

'Builder bob...- jibbertyflub...on three, one, two_'

'Paper!' 'Scissors!' they yelled in unison.

'Yes! Jibbertyflub!' The victor bellows the random arrangement of letters bearing as much resemblance to the actual word as marzipan soldiers do the enactment of 'All the King's Men'.

Every day there are millions of misunderstandings and communications go off at all kinds of tangents and this is OK because it happens to all of us. As long as it does no harm to anyone. Of course if you mistake every word someone is saying then you should maybe concentrate a little harder, or they're probably going to stop talking to you. At the end of the day, the enjoyment and excitement of words in endless and free for everyone to enjoy so go on, have some jibbertyflub moments, there's an infinity of them waiting to be discovered.