Well well well

Long time since I rapped at ya!

Drove to London from Ukraine in a couple of days. Quick stop in Holland and that was that. Nothing remarkable. Got to the apartment in Ealing, due to share with the Korean chap. Lasted 1 night. He refuses to clean after himself, and regards ALL food in the fridge as his, regardless of who bought it. He ate everything I brought to the house, and despite having the larger bedroom (over twice my rooms size), still had a load of his stuff in there. He was overbearing, and immediately started to try and boss me around. And scrounged all my cigarettes.

Fuck that. I drove to Macclesfield, and unloaded the car at Mallory Towers. Stayed for a couple of days and met up with another strange girl in my life. We went to the local craft-stuff market, and I found myself, by sheer fluke, parking the Landrover right next to my psychopathic paedophile ex-chef's van. I saw him in passing in the town centre, but he didn't clock me, being too busy grooming his new young protege.

However, when we walked back to the car, he was in his van. He spotted me, and started talking to his disciple, who was staring and laughing at me. He stopped laughing and looked a little surprised when I got into the Landrover.

Aaah the Landrover! When I returned to London a couple of days later, we took it for service and MoT. It was fucked - totally abused and neglected - no oil changes, no filter changes, front brakes down to the (cracked) disks. My boss played fuckwank, but accepted that what I had been telling him about the way the staff treated the car was true. Now they have really shot their bolt.

I went for a Thai with him on Portobello Road, which he really enjoyed, then took the train home, having explained why I cannot share with the Korean. He understood.

On return I immediately bought a little open-top sports car, an MGF. Silver with black hood, 70,000 miles and black leather interior. £850. Bargain. It runs like a dream and is fast enough to be fun. Clutch has started slipping, but at that price it's still a bargain.

As soon as I got home, I checked my e-mail, and received an invitation to Muscat, Oman. Buggeration, I had 3 days to play with the car (roof down in the cold sunshine) and then left. I had to leave it on the drive, and could have saved the money. Anyway what's done is done.

I flew to Oman via Abu Dhabi. First time in the Middle East. Sunshine, beaches, deserts and mountains. I acquired a nearly-new Harley Davidson and reacquainted myself with my love of motorbikes. I hadn't ridden since my time in South East Asia - UK weather and Ukraine road quality made me wary of having a bike, so I was 6 years out of the saddle. It has really fired me, and I aim to try South America on one within the next couple of years.

I also managed to obtain an all-over tan. I've always had a white stripe on my arse, so when I found the house had an un-overlooked roof terrace, it had to be done.

Had a month in Oman. Did what I had to do and came back. It was an interesting country and I would like to return. that may yet be possible - I will know in the next couple of weeks. The return included a 10-hour stopover at Abu Dhabi. I spent most of the time in the smoking room and met some very interesting people... including a Russian model, who was most impressed that I happened to be reading (I shit you not) a book of Russian poetry, in Russian. It had English translations, but I was only trying to learn the pronunciation of the words, not the meanings. It was given to me by my last Russian model's mother, around the time she was pushing me to marry her daughter.

She, by the way, is friendly with me again. We have had a little communication - she is currently in Prague, and aiming for Milan next month. I messaged her today - wishing her 'Merry Christmas' and telling her I missed her on her public profile. She responded positively on her public profile. So her friends know we are speaking again. I still do miss her very much, but do now think we'll meet again before long.

I didn't do the France trip - the boss wanted me to go, but still expected me to hang around waiting. He was spun out when I e-mailed him from Oman, but I needed to prove a point: I can find better things to do. He is currently in Ukraine with the Landrover, but will be driving it back - ha ha ha. If I haven't gone to Oman by his return, the 3rd week of January, I'll pop down to London to see him. He may have something for me to do which will pay me some money. Or maybe not...

So since my return a week ago, I've just wandered around the pubs, showing off my tan. Met up with the UK girl that I was once really into a couple of times - she's just texted me now, we're going to some form of society 'do' tomorrow night. Only because her car is knackered and she has to go there. Not sure whether I'm just chauffeuring or actually attending. Doesn't matter either way to me, so long as I know what to wear.

Been in my old pub a couple of times. I feel a little awkward, almost embarrassed to go in nowadays. It's still a nice place though. Last night the pub was dead, so I accompanied a friend to the Christmas Eve midnight mass at the local church. All the wording has become modern so it didn't appeal. My friend had had enough about half-way through, and I was bursting for the loo, so I followed him as he 'sneaked' out during the communion part. Tried to sneak out - the doors were locked and he made quite a noise rattling them, whilst I hid out of the congregation's sight on the staircase and giggled at his efforts. Eventually 2 regular church-goers came to his aid, and I scurried out when they had opened the doors.

Went to the pub by the church and ended up drinking rounds of shots. Christmas day was a little 'fragile'. Dinner at my brother's and home by the fire. Received a keyring that stores photographs, so loaded it up with pictures of my Russian model. Does that sound obsessive or stalker-ish? Don't care: I like to look through them - pix of us together, pix I took at home and when we were out, and modelling shots. She is beautiful and I still celebrate that. Obviously I'm not over her - I'm not so shallow as to switch her off overnight, and it will take a while for such intense feelings to diminish to the point where I can find a new mate. And no matter what, a part of me will always love her. Enough of that. it's now the end of Christmas Day, and I'm back at home with my parents. That makes a nice family time; my brother, sister and I are rarely all together.

And I get to walk the dog again.

Take it or leave it

Well, all is packed and my passport has returned. Looks like I'll be enjoying an Indian meal on Friday, and a Thai restaurant in London Saturday. Can't say I'm sad to go, not now. Will return one day for holiday, but maybe that will be a long time away. So I am told, they won't allow me back for 5 years when I leave this time. So be fucking it.

Will head to London for a few days, then down to the South of France. That will be a nice break. It will be good to see my parents, walk the dog and all that attendant home and family stuff.

Looks like all ties are severed with her. She fell out with me hugely on Sunday and said she never wants to see me again. Refuses to answer her phone or respond to texts. For a bullshit reason. Well, as this will be the last time I'll write about her, I'll put the situation down:

I was asked to arrange a guest list for Sunday lunch. She was interested and we put one together. Then the housekeeper said she had done it and the list was full. We cancelled our guests and decided that we were not going either, not to the 'cleaning lady's luncheon'.

Sunday morning, the boss asked me to go and buy some wine. When I came back he asked if I was going, and I told him I wasn't. He said he really wanted me to go, so I reluctantly agreed to support him. I then phoned her to let her know. I woke her up, and she said that she was tired, having not slept well, was spending the afternoon sleeping and would call me later, goodbye. Phone down. I didn't get past the 'How are you today?'.

So what do I do? Call her back? So I went to the lunch on my own, thinking at least I'd get some food and a drink in me. She called a couple of hours later, asking what I was doing. I told her I was at the lunch and she went fucking bananas, accusing me of not inviting her, bullshitting her etc etc, then put the phone down. She wouldn't answer the phone to me, so I texted her, apologising (why?), and she sent me a single, brush off response, ending 'Have a nice life'. Texted yesterday but no response. I see her on-line on Skype, but if she won't answer her mobile, she won't answer that. What a shame to leave on such bad terms. I will be leaving in approximately 24 hours and might not be back here for 5 years. The one person I wanted to continue any form of communication with has blown me out, and that wasn't my fault. I do think that it was just an excuse though, but hardly see the point if I am leaving anyway (after a lot of discussion and agreement with her), and she is also leaving next month. So why part on such bad terms?

I will text her when I am crossing the border - the last message I will send on my local mobile number. And wish her happy birthday in April. Apart from that, it has to be up to her - I am not going to harass her. She made it plain she doesn't want a relationship with me, and now is making it plain she never wants to see me ever again. I have told her how I feel about her - completely, and it is she who does not want that.

The most beautiful girl I have ever met. She brought sunshine to my life. The boss did ask me if I wanted to bring her with me, and I said 'yes', but could not as she is house-sitting, does not like London, and does not really want to get further involved with me. Had hoped we would meet in Europe somewhere, but now I know that if we do, it would be a frosty experience. Unlikely though, Europe is a big place, and I'm only small.

I do wish her happiness, but think it will become ever more difficult to find as she gets older. She's 36 now, and still single; her clock is ticking far more urgently than mine, and with every passing birthday, she will become less of a catch, especially if she remains so volatile. Maybe my offer is not the best, but at least it was sincere.

So it looks like this is the last words I will write about her. Sorry to have gone on about her over the past few weeks, but she truly captured my heart. Now she is gone, I'll have to fill the hole - and my writing here - with other stuff. Love her, miss her, want her. So very sorry.

Ready for the off

Plan is to leave Wednesday. Still believe it when I see it though. I will gladly place a bet the my passport will not be ready in time, and the boss will have to go to Poland without me. For whatever reason, they will fuck up my departure, even though they don't want me here. I reckon it's the car. They will do anything to stop me taking it out of the country; their plan is to get me out and leave the car.

Am packing anyway. Will still drive him to the border, but know that if he gets to the airport without me, I'll be impounded here until Christmas. Fucking Hell. She leaves in a month and then I'll be completely alone. She's now more interested in the chap that's following me - my communication link. She certainly has plans for him, and possibly plans for this apartment. Very interesting; she kind of wants to follow me, but kind of doesn't. I'll go where I go now, there will be a trail and the prize is so very well worth having, but you really have to be dedicated.

So many opportunities have opened up; I just need to get out from here. Don't believe that I'll ever spend more than a fortnight here again if I can possibly avoid it.

Have I a photograph to share today?

Make of it what you will.

So now I have a trip to London, with a couple of Cheshire visits. Might even try to pop to the Lake District for a couple of days. Then after say 2 weeks in the UK, a run to the South of France, and some time at a farmhouse there. Then, perhaps here, but I feel Asia calling. HK is possible, and with success there, could bounce to Thailand and repeat, progressing another project. One friend is suggesting Long Island. Hmmmm jury is out. I still don't know how far progressed I am on this trip and what I'm taking with me. And what I'm leaving behind.

Fun and Games

Yesterday took the biscuit.

The boss was flying over to a small airport in Poland. He asked me to collect him. All the visa shit that went down earlier was a result of learning that I could not leave the country to pick him up. If he hadn't been coming in, they wouldn't even have gone that far.

Anyway, I discussed this with him, and we agreed that he would be collected by a Polish chap at the airport and driven to the border. He then walks across and I wait on the other side in the car. We have a driver, so I could sit and chat on the way back to the city.

Yesterday, an emissary was sent from the office to dissuade me from going. Initial gambit was that is was too late and I'd be tired, so no need. We had arranged to set off at 9pm, so would return about 1.30. Not too late.

When I said it was no problem, I was then told that I couldn't go as my passport is not with me (at the lawyers). Smelling a rat by now, I explained that I was not crossing the border, nor was I driving. Surely I don't need such a document to be a passenger in a car? I would take the risk, as I really wanted to go see him.

Then the muppet from the office just said, 'We propose to CANCEL your going to meet him. So we will do that." I then insisted on the reason for this, saying that I had personally arranged this with the boss, and why was this such a problem? He went pale, and asked me why I insisted on going. When I replied "because I do, what the fuck is your problem with that", he rushed off and there was a lot of consternation in the building.

So we went to dinner. A very nice dinner on the outskirts of town. She was good fun and I realise how much I will miss her. It is a shame that it will never be; we've wasted a great opportunity.

The intermediary phoned to say my driver would be at the building in 30 minutes. We had arranged to go at 9.00pm, so after finishing dinner I walked back to the office, arriving at 9.00pm. No driver. No car. On the phone to find out where he was - nobody knew. Eventually I discovered that his phone battery was flat, and he didn't answer the phone until he was 50 miles out of town, heading for the border.

I told them to turn the fucker back. He returned to collect me, taking me to a different collection point then the boss and I had arranged. He did get a few calls on his 'flat' mobile en route, so the meeting point was legitimate. On the way back I explained how they had so deliberately tried to stop me from going to collect him, and in general always tried to block me whenever I wanted to use the car. He was not impressed.

Upshot is, I'm out of here. South of France for me. And I'm taking the fucking car.

Fight, run, hide

My passport has gone for some form of service. Last rites as far as I'm concerned. It is due to run out soon anyway, so will have to consider a new one.
Have decided, after good advice, that I am not going to make any money here. The building staff are determined to undermine anything I try to do, ignore any of my instructions, and generally take any opportunity to prove to the owner that I am not necessary here. Fuck them. I am not having my club's Sunday lunch guest list torn up and replaced by the housekeeper's choices. I've not even got the fight in me any more. Get me to a beach, and some decent food.

So over the next few weeks will try to find my next situation, somewhere. UK is the very last option, but may be necessary to re-collect my thoughts, and arrange the cash for the next adventure. Has been a good Summer though. No hard feelings - after all, it's not me that is losing. Sayonara baby.

I predict a riot

Music can hit a situation, or is that shit a shituation? Or are we in a hituation.

Sitting here now freezing my nuts off, trying to work out how I am being forced to become a clandestino, pretty much in a situation where I cannot leave the country without some form of issue. This is truly an uncomfortable situation and I am not happy with it at all. For one reason more than any: I have other responsibilities in life, which on occasion mean that I may have to leave, even for a short time, at very short notice. Here I can't even give notice to visit the next town without something appearing to impede my movement.

Why? Starting to think that this is on purpose, but by whom? There are several suspects within the building, but I cannot see to what ends. What are they looking to achieve out of my dependency? Money is naturally the first thing, but I do not have money. I am broke here, and those around me know this. OK, I am from a reasonably comfortable family, however in UK terms we are far from wealthy... vieux pauvre, if you like.

So what do you want from me? OK, sort of useful/useless within the actual property, since nobody ever communicates with me, and whatever I try to arrange is immediately foxed. It appears I cannot even arrange a table of guests for dinner without being over-ruled by the housekeeper.

No it seems that since I am at the end of my total time allowed here, if I leave the country I will not be allowed back. After repeated warnings from me to all I work with here.

Have collected and eaten soft-boiled eggs; real comfort food.

Have now been told that things will be sorted out during tomorrow. Comforting for tonight, but will truly believe it if/when I see it. It does make one wonder about personal security and freedom. Here was a situation whereby either I leave now and cannot come back or I stay here and cannot leave.

When I discovered this - this morning (much to everybody's surprise... as I had only been asking for progress with this for 3 months), my immediate response was to accept it as fact, and act. I started planning luggage, computer, phone etc, that would fit into aircraft allowance, so that I could collect the boss at the airport, pass him the keys to drive back across the border, and then jump on a budget carrier out of there to somewhere, sitting it out until they sorted out my legal re-entry. Simple.

Another possibility that came to mind was to rent a place in Poland and arrange a residency permit (Being EU it is simple). I could then sit near the border until the visa is sorted out, and pop in and out of here with no issue. Simple.

She went fucking mental. (Yes, she has reappeared, and been around a lot). After the horror (yes, horror!) of hearing that I was leaving tomorrow and unable to return for an indefinite period, her initial solution was to come and live with me in Poland. Next a 'we could get engaged' possibility, for my convenience - and I genuinely believe that. Then she got on the phone and started moving like you wouldn't believe. She doesn't want me, but obviously doesn't want me gone (!) What is the motivation behind this? I did get rather stressed about the clandestino solution - my being 'stuck' in the country. It's all about dependency: who can you depend on? who should you depend on? who wants you to depend on them? what is the payback?

It looks like in order just to stay here, I have to depend on somebody. Seriously. Already to approach any form of happiness and security I need her so much... now is even deeper dependency coming? Does she encourage this? Why? It is baffling. I really have to depend on somebody and that can only be her. I would not entertain getting engaged or married for convenience, but if it were for the right reasons and I didn't have such uncertainty about her feelings towards me, I certainly would. I can't do this here without her, and feel she can't do it here without me. But she still thinks I am an idiot.

Towards the end of the evening I was starting to feel as if the whole thing had been done on purpose to try and block me... but from what? I envisaging some random situation in the city ending up with me in the stripy hole, awaiting deportation... which could take months. Kick me out... fine! but please don't take 5 years to do it. I was starting to imagine my reaction - a serious survival instinct was starting to kick in; I was already moving to a 'defcon' level where I would consider the brutal removal of blockages to my safe passage. That scared me; naturally we all have incidents when we could react brutally, but this was rising out of such a simple, unnecessary situation. Suddenly I saw a threat to my freedom, and I hadn't done anything 'wrong' just accepted the locals' comments and advice that "We'll sort it out. Don't worry about it. There's plenty of time.". And now my own personal security was at risk as a result of that. I will not say here how dark I was going in my planned response to situations.

Will see how tomorrow goes.

Oh yes! I had a birthday party on Saturday. Shame, I've kind of forgotten about it with all the Monday stress, but on the positive note, here's a picture of some cheese I received:

And it tastes very nice too.

Birthday week

Weekend was pleasant, but this week has been uninspiring. Having a birthday party this Saturday, but don't really want to. No reason, I'm just not in the mood. Other people seem to want it, so I said 'OK'.
She's definitely not so close now. Gave her a lift home Sunday evening, after a lovely weekend, but still seemed more distant in communication. Her parents were preparing to go away, and she's house and Grandmother sitting, so must spend a lot of time at the house. Therefore I don't expect to see her so much, but...

Surprisingly, over weekend, she did say that as she would be stuck at her parents', I would be able to go there some evenings, drink and stay. I thought that would be nice. Monday heard nothing, Tuesday nothing, so called her in the evening. She has been busy, helping her family arrange their vacation. I asked her to call me Wednesday (my birthday), and she was offended that I felt the need to ask. I only wanted to speak with her. She called Wednesday morning, but it was only lip-service, as if: "Right. Done that. Next task." Her parents were travelling that day so I didn't expect to see her unless she was free in the evening. Didn't hear from her, so went out for dinner alone - there was no-one else I wanted to see. Watching a movie back home afterwards and she called, but only for 2 minutes.

She called me this afternoon, telling me that the stalker had phoned her on some pretext, then invited her for coffee. About 10 minutes earlier I had had a text from the stalker, asking me to go into town and said I was busy. She must have suspected we were together, so tried to check this. We were both pissed off about this - and I explained that I have not had communication with her since the party 2 weeks ago, except for the text message response. She really pisses me off now.

Anyway, back to the important one. I see her on Skype a lot, but we are still rarely communicating. Today in conversation she did say that she prefers to communicate face-to-face, as do I, so perhaps she only calls long-distance people. I do think though she may be waiting for a call from Italy - probably one of these wealthy suitors I fear so much. She is certainly not so talkative about her activities at the moment. It may be a passing phase, but it makes it more difficult for me to speak with her as I worry so much. My brain is truly fucked! A couple of times I've messaged her on Skype, but had no response. this is such a change from a few weeks ago when we would communicate so much. She is definitely planning on a proper move to Italy in 6 weeks or so, and I am certain that this will end our communication. Maybe she's weaning me off her - trying to let me down gently? Whatever it is, it is a shame. I do not want to bombard her with phone calls, snoop or do any of the things that the stalker did to piss me off so much.

After a lot of thought, I have decided to write to her. A 'letter of resignation', if you like. The idea is at least to explain my feelings honestly and frankly before she leaves for good. This may yet drive her even further away, but I cannot stand by and witness her retreat into the distance without at least saying something. How could I if she really means so much? Will edit it over a few days, and then decide the delivery method and time. I want her to keep it, so an e-mail would be too impersonal. Printed letter or written by hand? I think the latter - or is that too theatrical?

I doubt she'll come to my party - the stalker will certainly be there - and she's not that interested in a lot of the people going. Neither am I to be honest, but it is a social obligation. We did discuss her stopping in my apartment during the party, so I could pop up and visit, and some of her friends could be there. I would like that. If she decides against that, I will close the apartment and have no visitors. I am not having the stalker finding any excuse to come to my apartment, and I am certain she will try. If I am alone here, I will refuse all visitors and retire upstairs alone when I've had enough of the party.

Mood today is sad and I feel hopeless. All I can do is wait, as I may yet be reading too much into her actions. I know she's busy tending to her Grandmother, but also feel that that is not it. I sense she has seen her future back abroad with a different set of people, and there is no space for me in that. Will see how she communicates between now and her friends visiting. I think I will leave the letter until after they have gone as well; I don't want to put her off-kilter in any way.

Weekend upon us

Well, she's back. Much happier. She had phoned a third time after I blogged, arranging her return, and said 'love you' in ending the call. Today, I visited our farm to finalise the termination of our farm manager. Strange cracking underfoot turned out to be between 2 and 3 shitloads (yes, that IS a valid quantity) of walnuts. Filled my pockets.

Had promised to pick her up on the outskirts of town - she had heavy luggage. Time at the farm overran, and I eventually had to tell my driver to go straight to collect her. Still late. I intended on dropping him off in the city centre as I didn't want him to drive me, preferring to drive myself. My social life is mine - not part of work. However, he knows the city better than I, so it would have taken me far longer to get to her. Anyway, he was most apologetic to her, saying it wasn't my fault etc. She was very pleased to see me, but very tired and I took her straight home.

We prepared for her mother in the car: the last time I visited, her mother had me pinioned in the hallway, telling me I had to marry her daughter. She was most embarrassed about it, and I've not been allowed back since. At the time I pretended I didn't understand her mother's English, to try and minimise her discomfort, and never referred to it. Tonight, her oblique referral was the first mention.

Sitting in the back of the car she was so animated, constantly chatting, often touching my leg and worrying about my health. She thought I looked ill (I don't), and threatened to take me to the doctors... am I eating enough... etc etc. At the apartment, my driver waited while we took the luggage inside. Just before the lift arrived, she stared straight at me, let out a really raucous, joyful laugh, then grabbed my face with both hands kissing me quick and hard on the lips. It was an honest moment, and actually very intense communication.

She said she'll only stay for a month though - wants to go back to Italy. Shame, but I understand. She asked me if I'd had any female entertainment, and I truthfully told her 'no', 'not interested'. She knows I was being honest - she knows. I never asked her, but she implied that it was the same case for her. She has some friends visiting from Italy in a couple of weeks, and keenly asked me to stick around - she really wants me to meet them... or them to meet me. That is interesting, as they are from the 'glamorous' part of her life that I am not part of. All I hear is anecdotal stories, and I never ask to know anything. That is hers, and no business of mine. Now it looks like she might want to make me a part of it. That certainly suggests a degree of fixture in her life/future, since if you have another, far-flung life, would you bring somebody from back home into it, unless you envisaged them being a larger part of your whole life? Her friends will then know me, and no doubt discuss me with her (or have they already?) - then there's no escape. Once you have mutual disparate friends on Facebook or suchlike, you're tied together in so many ways.

Tomorrow she has decided we are going for a picnic, somewhere nice she knows. She will call me when she wakes up, and I'll go collect her. We might be meeting another of her female friends. That is lovely - she genuinely wants to spend time with me, and bring me into her wider circle.

Then I went home, to do some work, sitting on the sofa. I put Skype on-line as it can provide natural breaks from work, and she appeared on-line within a minute. I didn't call her - I was working, and don't want to appear always in her face - after all we'd only parted 30 minutes earlier. She called me. No reason, just talking for a few minutes before she went to bed. During today she has said 'love you' several times. And held, kissed and hugged me a lot. Will see how this month goes - and what will happen if she does move to Italy. I hope she doesn't... but that is merely me being selfish.

Back on Topic

She phoned yesterday. Twice. First one she seemed a little distant, but the second one she was very chatty. She did apologise for not being in touch, but I really didn't mind; so long as she is OK I am happy. She said she's back at weekend - it will be good to see her. I still think that she's not mine. I know she missed me - her saying it was quite heartfelt - but don't think it struck her until after her first call. Better put a pic up, so we get an idea of how she looks:

A Gianfranco Ferre catwalk show in Milan. So now you know what all the fuss is about. What on earth is this girl doing in my life? Of course I get insecure - I'm neither good-looking nor wealthy. What is she doing with me? Am I just a stop-gap to entertain until some suave, handsome yacht owner turns up? This is why falling in love with her has shaken and scared me so much. Now I am completely under the spell of a girl who can so obviously do so much better. And it will devastate me when she does. She controls our relationship and I have never felt so vulnerable in my life.

The Chicken Cannon Incident

OK so here goes. Friends have often said that my life has been so full of odd incidents and amusing anecdotes that I really ought to write them down. Otherwise they only come to mind when in context of another discussion, so can be forgotten until a conversation goes that way. Chicken cannons rarely come up in conversation, so had better get this one down now.

When travelling a few years back, people whom you met always hit you with the same stock questions. One of them was 'what do you do for a living?'. It helps them to judge you, pigeonhole you, if you like. It became tedious.

Travelling on a boat, to an island called Koh Chang, I resolved one day to convince the next person who asked me that question that I dealt in Chicken Cannons for a living. I told my travelling friend, but he was more interested in watching the island approach.

When we found our ideal beach, he introduced me to a few of his friends and as the evening drew on, we found ourselves sitting on cushions in front of a beach bar, drinking a concoction prepared in an ice-bucket - 'One Set'.

There was an irritating Canadian girl, 'Nagelbaum' was her name, who joined us. She was with a curly-haired, uninteresting, dumb bloke. Australian. As soon as she joined our mat, she wanted to know what we all did.

The divers dived. Steve (my friend) was a surveyor. I refused to tell her, saying that I didn't want to talk about it. She pressed a little and I said it was a little embarrassing, and she would only take the piss. I was here on holiday and didn't want to be justifying my career in front of a load of strangers on the beach. Subject changed (by me) and she was duly intrigued.

Only Steve knew what I was up to, and I caught a knowing glance as I went into this. He said nothing and the conversation drifted on. Next subject was 'where are you heading next?' and 'how long are you travelling?'. I was non-committal on both, saying that I may go anywhere, and was expecting to be travelling for at least 6 more months (having been travelling for 3 at the time).
"But what about your job?"
"Oh, that's all right, it doesn't really matter how long I go. I might have to nip back to work for a week or so, but that's it."
More intrigue... what type of work did I do that allowed me so much time so far from work?
"OK," I fessed up "I'm a saleman, but I only sell big items, so only shift 1 or 2 per year."
She said that being a salesman was not embarrassing, so why such reticence? Again I said I'd really rather not talk about it, in fact it was already becoming an issue, and I did not want everybody on the beach taking the piss, and why was all the attention on me, IF YOU DON'T MIND.
Hooked: "what do you sell?"
"I am NOT telling you."
"Why not?" etc etc
Steve was rolling his eyes, and the rest of his mates (uninformed) were now becoming curious. Eventually I agreed to tell her, on condition that she did not take the piss. She readily agreed.
"I deal in a ballistic product. A type of cannon. That fires chickens."
Hysterical laughter. I became really offended and shouted at her "You see! That's why I don't want to fucking talk about it!"
"What is the point of that?"
"Well it saved your life."
"How?"
"How did you get here?"
"By boat."
"Not to the island you berk, to the country."
"I flew."
"Precisely."

Then the spiel really started. I had a good friend called Ed Prelock in LA. He was a Director of Disney (Walt nicknamed him 'Mouse' and staff called him 'Mr Mouse'), a lovely man and deserved a part in this blag.
I said that I worked for a company called Maus Prelock, Mauser being a German weapons manufacturer bought out by American Prelock Engineering after the war to create Maus Prelock Ballistics.

We manufactured a cannon which fired chickens at jet aircraft engines to test them for safety. After all, you cannot fly a plane into a mountain as one crash-tests a car (and the result would be pretty fucking obvious), nor can you fly around looking for a large bird to fly into. Leave the plane on the ground and fire birds at it to test its strength. Bird strikes are very common on runways, and geese fly very high. A chicken was therefore designated as the standard unit to test aircraft fuselage and engines, fired at a speed to simulate real flying situations. Chickens are the same constituency blood, bones, flesh and similar in size and weight to a high flying bird - why send money creating a dummy? They are also easily available and cheap to buy from any supermarket, farm, butcher etc around the world. Standard.

The chicken is loaded into a wooden case or 'sabot' to ensure a perfectly circular seal. Chickens are not all the same shape, so it enables uniform pressure. The canon is charged with propellant gas (same as hairspray), the higher the pressure, the higher the muzzle velocity. On leaving the barrel, the sabot springs apart, and the chicken continues. Think of 500mph cruising speed + 35mph goose flying gives an impact velocity of 535mph. Load it to 600mph and you can test a jetliner. Different aircraft have different cruising speeds, so use more or less propellant pressure accordingly. By the way a sabot was a French wooden clog, work by mill workers. When dissatisfied, they were known to throw them into the workings of the machinery and bring the mill to a halt. Hence the word 'Sabot-age'.

By now all the people sitting around on the mat were completely enthralled. Steve, to his credit kept very quiet and stared out towards the sea, only agreeing when asked by one of his friends if this were true. The technical explanation did seal the deal though, as it was delivered very matter-of-factly, by a person who really did not want to talk about it.

Phrases such as 'it may sound ridiculous, but somebody has to do it' and 'that's the thing with you people, you don't think about shit like this when sitting in an aircraft, but do when you buy a car' also helped.
"How much to they cost?"
"Quarter of a million. I make 10% commission, so only need to sell 1 or 2 a year. Usually through an airshow, but there's maintenance contracts, and recalibrating when a new aircraft is developed" etc etc bullshit bullshit.

Nagelbaum loved it. She tried to keep a straight face, but truly could not believe what she had stumbled upon, giggling until I would shoot her a tired look, and occasionally collapsing into fits of hysteria until I would get offended and she would apologise. Again and again.

One of the divers, a sharp, retired New York broker called Douggie (who became one of my closest friends), went to the toilet. he'd obviously had a think about it, as when he returned he leaned forward an hissed the words 'You bitch!' out of the corner of his mouth. I smirked and winked at him. He was now in on the deal, and as he could corral the rest of the dive team, I decided to raise the ante with his tacit approval. Douggie had heard of this job, just never met anyone who did it etc etc. Now I was legitimately firing chickens out of cannons. It was the first time he'd met me, and he was loving it.

So I hit them with an amusing work-related anecdote, actively encouraged by Douggie, with the rest of the divers in astonished awe.

In Britain, they produced a high-speed train prototype, good for 150mph. Regular trains did 80 at the time. Trains routinely run over badgers, foxes and dogs. Crows and magpies will them eat the carrion; an approaching train will scare them off. However, with the new trains travelling at 150mph, they might not make it and it would be possible for one to collide with the windshield having flown up to that height as the train approaches. 150mph+35 gives impact velocity of 185mph. Can we test their windshields? Sure we can... we do the Japanese Shinkansen (bullet train) which uses 3 layers of polycarbonate (same as a fighter jet canopy) sandwiched with a clear resin to provide elasticity (you've got to have the background facts to hand).

So we arranged a short-term lease on a machine that we used for demonstrations at air shows, took it down and set it up. Showed them how to turn the pressure down to get a muzzle velocity of 200mph, and said to get standard chickens from Tesco.

After a few days, we received a call. There was a problem and could we come over and take a look. The chicken had devastated the front of the train. Gone straight through the front windshield, destroyed half of the console, smashed the back off the driver's seat, and left a 4-inch dent in the metal rear of the driver's compartment. Had they fired it too fast?

2 engineers went to watch them carry out the experiment again, with the same result. they came back and issued a report, stating that the next time they carried out the experiment, we recommended that they defrosted the chickens before placing them in the cannon.

Complete bullshit - an urban myth I had read somewhere on the internet. But fucking hell, it had them all going. Douggie was crying, and Steve had been completely unaware of this side to the blag. This was 10 years or so ago, so that particular urban myth is too well known to chance again, but it had a good airing.

After Nagelbaum went to bed, I told the rest of the crew that the whole thing was total bollocks. They admitted having been completely taken in by it, so though I say so myself, I had done very well. We didn't tell her though.

She told everybody on the beach, and for the next few days, whenever I saw her, she would shout "Ha ha! Chicken Man!", flap her arms and cluck like a chicken.

And she thought that SHE was taking the piss.

When we lived on the beach, our set beach phrase was 'the devil finds work for idle hands' as we were always looking for some form of mischief to entertain ourselves, often at the gentle expense of 1 or 2 week holidaymakers. There's a lot more where that came from.

By the way, you can google 'chicken gun' - they do exist.

Low point

Now I'm sure I've lost her. Been over a week and not a word. I've e-mailed her 3 times and no response. Have seen a little activity from her friends on Facebook, but no response even to them since Sunday, and nothing to me since Thursday. I truly feel she has found something better to do; the demons have really started nagging me. I assume she's OK, as her old friends are in obvious communication, and they are also in the same city. However, as I have not even heard a simple 'hello, I'm OK' response, I can only assume she is less than seriously interested. It's an absolute heartbreaker.

The thing is, I never came here to look for a girl. I came here to try and make a bit of a life, and some business to set me up for my next chapter. It's ironic that now I have lived in 2 places renowned for Westerners going to look for girls, with that being the furthest thing from my mind on both occasions. When I lived in Bangkok, I had to endue the standard 'knowing looks', but I was honestly not there for the women. I miss the food, my friends and the beaches - that was what made life there so great.

Then I came to Ukraine. Again, not looking for women, but told repeatedly that it was why males of my age/nationality often went there. I never expected to meet a girl I would care so much about, never expected to fall in love. And shit I did it. With possibly the only girl in the city who does not really want to make something with me. Believe you me, I've deflected enough advances from girls in their 20's; then I get so into a girl in her mid-30's and it hurts. Shit I've lost her. Shit shit shit.

Cannot keep e-mailing her - I don't want to appear to be some form of sad stalker who mails her every day - obsessively, but I do think of her all the time. She texted me when she arrived, but from an Italian number. I responded immediately to say 'thanks', but don't know for sure it was her own number, and she'd not borrowed somebody else's phone, so don't want to send another message on that number unless it is confirmed that it's hers. She has my mobile anyway.

I don't want to ask her friends how she is either. I don't know them, and don't want to do anything 'weird' or stalker-ish to her. If I had had some form of introduction, perhaps it would be OK, but I really don't want to cramp her style or embarrass her. So there I am, stuck on the sidelines, missing the game, but getting odd snatches and trying to work it out from those. I really think that I've lost her now, and I love her so much it hurts. What will I do without her? She filled my life and reason here,  and the hole is so big as to be impossible to fill for a long time.

She did originally say that she had to come back in October to take care of home stuff whilst her parents went on holiday, and I recall the date for them to leave being around my birthday. That is in a week and a half. Will she really be back by then? What do I plan for my birthday? All I really want to do is go out for dinner with her, then come back to the apartment and spend the night with her. Anything else would be hollow, and in my current frame of mind, a sad night. Can I plan an evening? Silly sad fuck I am.

For God's sake, I'm 43. Most of my friends are in settled, content, happy relationships, kids, house, security etc. I shouldn't be feeling like some insecure lovestruck teenager, fretting about a girl. For years I've pretty much kept women at a distance, not really falling for someone since I was 30 (really hurt then), and now, the first time I do again, it hurts even more. Will I ever learn? Have I the capacity to get over this blow? OK, I always knew I was (as previously stated) punching above my weight), but I tried really hard not to fall for her. I wouldn't have done if SHE had not come around so much, and been so goddamn special. I did not try to lure her, just let her do as she pleased. And I fell hopelessly in love with her.

Now I'm paying the price. I've lost her and it hurts so much. I don't know what more to say.

Shit shit shit

A couple of months ago, I received a phone call from a girl who was obviously very distressed. I asked her name, and she told me 3 times, but I never 'got' it. By then, I thought that I couldn't ask again, so might figure it out during the conversation. She told me about somebody dying, and didn't know what to do. The call was international, so I couldn't collect the number, or even figure out which country it came from. After 30 minutes, I was still none-the-wiser, so tried to console her as best I could, but really didn't know what to do.

For the following couple of weeks, I tried to find out where this call had come from to no avail. It was a strange situation to say the least. No-body seemed to know.

I have just found out, and I am gutted. It was a friend from Monaco. His daughter phoned. We never spent enough time together, but I really enjoyed his company, and respected him greatly. I had always assumed we would get to spend more time together in the future, after all we've got plenty of time (?), so had made ethereal plans to return to Monaco and was hoping he would visit here. He was only 52 - and I still don't know what happened.

Now what to do... have e-mailed to his daughter - we are in regular contact, but as I was unaware of the situation I never referred to it; when considering who it was that called, I struck them off quite early as I thought him too young, and never saw a message to imply this situation on her social network updates. It must be so difficult for her, and I want to offer any support I can. A bit late now. I feel really useless.

God bless you Chris, you were a fine man. Bon voyage my dear friend.

Nothing couple of days

Sitting in the apartment, listening to the builders drilling or whatever it is they're up to. Will go and inspect in a bit, but it makes no difference.

Again, the feelings of fight or flight come to mind. A friend from Belarus has plenty of trades, some could make money. However, I am unwilling to follow them up here, as the people I deal with on the ground cannot be relied on. Pretty much everything I ever ask is ignored, so without support I'm just some guy in the city with no language. Why should I even open a deal to them? Just a waste of breath.

Spending too much time browsing social networking sites. There's a horrific 'car crash' quality to watching how people play out their lives through these sites. Two friends have just had a public argument over the course of a couple of hours. Fortunately, they saw sense and deleted the comments before the night was over. I have been known to look back through my past comments and remove a few from time to time. Not really necessary, as who would be interested enough to trawl through them. Having said that... I have myself done that through peoples' statuses in the past. Kind of a guilty pleasure; ex-girlfriends, girls I fancy (or once fancied) and enemies are the favourite objects of this cyber-voyeurism. Don't do it so often, as it feels like a sin. How many people do it now though?

Mixed feelings about UK. There are some lovely people there, whom I miss very much. Unfortunately there are also a lot of complete wankers, people who I don't care whether they live or die, so long as I never have to see them again. They abound, and that reason alone is enough to keep me away from there.

Maybe if I bought a place in another county, nearby but far enough to be out of sight, and left people in UK thinking I'm still abroad. Hmmm. Or would it only be a matter of time before even the new neighbours became just the same. I need somewhere with land, and a decent pub nearby. Possibly on an island.

The stalker phoned and texted yesterday, trying to arrange a meeting. I did not respond. She pissed me off by gatecrashing on Saturday, then wandering around my apartment as if SHE were the hostess. On 4 occasions when I was talking with a girl, she butted in to talk with her until I walked away. The final time I was trying to set up Bluetooth with a chap to pass a file, and I just put my hand in front of her face and carried on talking. I had had enough of this simple rudeness. When I emptied my washing machine, her sister insisted on helping me, even though I told her not to. I like to do my own clothes, it's another form of therapy. While she did this, she kept telling me how I needed a woman about the place to help me with all this. I was polite but firm. I told her sister I had a girlfriend, and she seemed surprised. Of course she was 'cos the stalker has been telling people we were an item. I had to explain to 2 other girls on Saturday that I am not involved with her - both of them were amazed. Then, when I decided I wanted to go to bed, she offered to kick everybody out of the apartment. Sure she wanted to do this - to demonstrate that it was hers. I refused her kind offer, and made sure she was NOT the last to leave. When I commented about the mimes on Facebook, she had to add her own comment, publicly to demonstrate her involvement. I deleted my original comment, so her reply vanished too.

No further word from the one I do want. Maybe she'll appear unannounced and surprise me. Or e-mail me from Los Angeles and surprise me. Whatever she does, she will surprise me. Just so long as she doesn't disappear. Please don't disappear.

Gone

Well she went on Wednesday night; the longest we've been apart since we met, and it hurts already. She's let me know she arrived OK, but I doubt she'll get much chance to communicate over the next few weeks. She's modelling, so it's a busy time, and all her model mates from back-in-the-day will be there. She did say she'll be back next month, and her return date seemed to get closer as she neared departure. Just before she went, she said she was worried about leaving me alone... how would I look after myself? Again, very sweet in a disparaging way!
Now all that is left is to worry whether her head will be turned by somebody more glamorous, successful, good-looking and exciting than me. Or perhaps she will decide that the whole jet-set lifestyle she has enjoyed is superficial - she always seems so happy relaxing on my sofa, wearing my old clothes, just the two of us. This could be a crucial point in our 'relationship' or whatever term you would use for the communication line between us. I don't want to pester her - she will be so busy, and I'd never want to appear like some form of albatross - but I think of her constantly. It drives me crazy. Ho hum, what will be will be. I don't think I've ever punched above my weight so much in my life. These feted 'supermodels' were always so inaccessible as to be stratospheric, so falling into something so intense with one is actually very stressful. Insecurity rages as I wonder how long it will be before she wakes up and realises how un-special I really am, then wonders why she spends so much time with me.
Thing is, I never really saw her as 'good looking'; I just thoroughly enjoyed being around her, and we moved so quickly from our initial meeting to a situation where we pretty much blocked everybody out of our communication (6 hours from first meeting). Since then, we have jointly let people in. So I guess she must find it refreshing that I love her for her, rather than her looks, glamour etc. Whether that will be underlined or sidelined during our time apart remains to be seen. Have e-mailed her today - nothing in particular to say, but just desperately wanted to communicate with her. Do not want to make her feel bad or worried about me; it is so important to support her in whatever she does, and it may be that the idea of having little, insignificant me, waiting at home with a cup of tea might give her an antidote to her other life - a secure escape if you like.

Had a lot of mimes in my apartment last night:

That's me taking the picture in the mirror. Don't ask.

They were in my hallway and both bathrooms. I didn't expect it when I went out last night, but life sometimes deals you a strange situation, whilst making it almost seem commonplace. I photographed them as I doubted friends would actually believe me. However, when I posted a comment on Facebook (before adding the pix), it was surprising how many people commented that it was a perfectly natural type of thing to happen to me - they believed me completely and required no proof.

So Saturday was interesting.

"What can I do? I'm addicted to this creature."
A bizarre, but interesting appraisal by her talking about me to a friend.
Kind of complimentary, kind of insulting, but very sincere.
It was very unusual today, listening with her chatting as she effortlessly switches languages, but now I really do understand what she's talking about 80% of the time, and am comfortable and secure enough with the other 20%. In general, I know what she's on about, if not always the fine details. And she's on my side.
As our visitor whispered to me 'Now THAT'S support', in quite respectful tones, as she outlined one of my situations, and her aims for improving it.
She does support. She does care. And the opening line really does sum it up.
Will try to sleep now. Will come back and pester your eyes in a bit.

এই বিষ্ঠা

If you want to have me, you've really got to want me. But then you will get everything.

That sounded really 'zen' when conjured up, and it became urgent to get it down. Thoughts turned to a few minutes break from picture sifting and 'work writing' to therapy. Here cometh self-indulgence. Alas, password had become forgotten and regular faves weren't coming up. Couple with confusion as to e-mail account etc etc, logging in became hopelessly bewildering. Then when the password reset came, going to a higher security level of a particular fave, was informed that it couldn't accept the same password again. By the time I'd figured that out, I was almost too exhausted to write anything. And had kind of forgotten why I'd even torn myself away from work.

Anyway, here now... so where are we? Last night proudly sported my new haircut at a rather lovely classical instrument concert. In an old palace on Kopernyka. One of the most beautiful, ornate and proportioned buildings I have ever see. The rooms are astounding; to sit in one of them listening to a flawless series of performances was sublime. Grub was good too. Phone set to record audio, got pretty much the lot. After trough, wandered out into the front of the Palace. there was a book fair closing, and managed to nab a couple of books in English. 2 Jungle Books and a book by Saki, to be precise. They were brand new and I am well chuffed. The Saki is a new-read for me, but I've read some of his stuff, and know some of his favourite characters. There's usually some fresh laugh-out-loud buried in there.

Saturday the city has been lovely. Met friends in the square, then strolled to a bar we'd heard of a few days ago. An English bar... called 'Liverpool'. Had previously met a Scouse chap here, but only once, and can't remember if he was resident. Anyway, the bar was supposed to be owned by a Scouser, so 3 of us Brits went along, with another phoning to try and meet us there. Have searched for this fucking bar twice already. Anyway we found it, in daylight, with a tiny little sign. Tried the door, locked. Bear in mind EVERY bar in the city is open on a sunny Saturday afternoon. One of us knocked and somebody came to the door saying they don't open until tomorrow. We tried to peep in, but no Scouser, just a London Underground sign. Nice enough place, but we had kind of assumed that it might have had some Liverpool colours, or Cavern Club detail etc etc. Not just an iron sign over the door saying 'Liverpool'. And how come you don't open until tomorrow, if we 4 have heard about you all week? Or is this another game? 'cos there is a game. Learning to read other languages helps you discover that. Do we use google translate? For everything? It makes it perfectly possible for someone to plagiarise from the almost any source, google translate it and publish. The original owner would never even know unless it was directly translated back. And who's going to do that?

Doubt I'll go there again, unless totally on the spur of the moment.

Spoke to her twice - 1 call each. She's out of town and don't like to disturb. Was disturbed by the stalker. Turned up in the fucking restaurant. Sitting right fucking behind me. Received a text from her saying 'what a coincidence' about 2 minutes before she walked in. The last remaining Brit spotted her and reported. I didn't turn round - sat by the band so it was noisy, and ignored my phone. Eventually she came over and I was all surprised. Informal, but not inviting in any way. She went back to her table and we left 15 minutes later, stopping to say 'Good Bye'. We were polite, but sent a clear message. Please go away. After the weekend 'do' will cut all communication.
There's somebody else it's far more important to build up communication with. Thoughts are close to continuous, and can have a down feeling when she's away. 'Who's she with?' 'What do they do?', all the jealousies and fears that are not normally me, and to be honest none of my business. Just because I love her, it doesn't mean that I own her. Will just have to see how truly she loves me. I don't think they say it lightly over here, and she did say it, unbidden. Wonder what future things she will proffer unbidden. I offer all, but expect all in return. but can that seem negative and stifling? Oh a ligature! Wonder how this typeface will treat the f and l of 'stifling'?
How facile to be so suddenly distracted when pouring out your heart. Grow up boy.
Maybe still best on my own.
Funny how you see such parallels in lives though, different people going through the same stages at different levels.
Tired now.

Well another couple of weird ones. Been into the office a couple of times today. Have to make arrangements for trip to Poland. Car still vanished, but promised back today. Anyway, 2nd visit, the girls were in the kitchen, eating and chatting - one girl had just returned from holiday. Sit down and eat, chat a bit with them and take some time to try to figure them out better. (KEYS)

Naturally many things I'd asked for, one has to push in a certain way, or it is never done. All was very very friendly, and we talked more than we ever had... Nipped to office to see Acc, and the guv'nor calls. When I passed the opening chit-chat and went into my office progress, it all became rather noisy, and the connection was lost. I should really have shouted at them, and will do if it happens again. (quick nip downstairs)

However on this visit, all is sweet and I am being taken for a haircut. Would rather she took me, but today's visit was kind of curtailed. She seemed more distant. Not unhappy with the magazine pic and even took 2 copies to show, but in some ways a mini-step back. We watched a bit of Austin Powers 2, and I saw a lot of the parody in myself and my own 'naff' behaviour, coupled with such a blatant lack of understanding of what a woman wants. It occurred that she might see the same in me. Oh no... will I have to plan even movies so carefully?

Reg v Coss. Funny this as I am reading the language now. When in an office on the phone, I noticed a staff circular, written in Ukrainian, regarding an apartment property. I don't know a lot of the words, but recognised the names, numbers and street addresses. The apartment in question is in a block that I know. It is not the same apartment, but there are not many in the building. The stalker lives in it. I visited once, but since have coincidentally walked past it, as it is on a route I have habitually used. I am not getting involved.

Is this a salvo?

In fact, come to think of it, when discussing the circular with the person on the end of the phone (who the circular was from), that was when the staff swang into action, on phones and printers. A few copies of the letter coming out of the laserprinter disrupted my conversation with him about the letter. How mad is that? Hopefully something will be done.

Downstairs again.

Car still missing - maybe next week? How can I plan if I cannot depend on things that normal situations would take for granted?

Anyway, here's a picture:

Standard school English language textbook from 20 years ago. Communication is better nowadays, but ludicrous games are still being played, across all levels.

Will leave you with that.

Hauntings and Hurricanes

Just tidied up and sitting at the table. Where to begin? No real idea what to write - as hurridly getting to a position where I.

Oh, there's another loud bang. Now they are taking the piss. Not scared though. (2 minute break) Not for myself anyway.

Ahem... getting into a position where I could give this blogging thing an uninterrupted piece of time and get into the habit of writing and noting things. Problem is, whilst doing those tasks, the mind burns with ideas, but by the time you are at the launchpad, advancing years tend to make you forget them. Don't think it's a medical condition yet though... I'm just too easily distracted.

I said it today. Actually said it. I meant it too.

Funny, now I know that my experiment to publicise this yielded the expected result, it is even easier to be open. What will be will be. Having sent a couple of tweets to 'celebrities' asking them for a retweet, I waited 12 hours or so then deleted the requests. I briefly alluded to it on facebook - having soooooo many 'facebook friends' but went no further. That did offer a few people the opportunity to get here -"find the key!"  - that's what was exhorted by an inside friend overseas. I didn't realise he was being both cryptic and direct at the same time. Enjoyed that, thanks.

Got rid of the comb. Broke it in half and threw it in the bin. Will empty the bins at an undisclosed destination after dark. That's dealt with that then.

First item moved back in. Very welcome. Would like something alive.

Which is where we come to Caspar... The roof spooked me a little as heights have never been my thing. Looking down is OK, but looking up can be dizzying. Unless with a telescopic sight. Anyway, I am rather pale and thin, (will never have a fat ass) and tend to spook around the building at night. Rarely seen to be eating, and not really having much effect on what goes around in the real world. I know my chicken.

Have other writings to do later, and pix to move about. At least this exercise DOES provide some motivation and a kick-start to a block of activity. Quality time is so vital - how often do you spend doing exactly as you wish, without any form of obligation involved. So many times one 'ought' to go to some form of regulated entertainment, we all fall victim to the concept of 'quality time' before a screen. Are we heading to complete 24-hour on-line status communication? It's already possible with close friends to figure out their movements, sleeping and work habits from their on-line status. And their GPS location too. Couple with 'street view' and anybody could be anywhere and next to you.

Sorry, but I want the physical communication for it to be real.

Where did that come from? First impulse was to delete it immediately, but I only delete a few characters on principle. Not just because they don't sound right, or the grammer is incorre

Shit another distraction. Delivery of the magazine... Run downstairs - a cigarette by the car, and a glimpse at the contentious article. Shit. Not as I sent it. Shit. Photos different, but at least not as bad as first draft. Photo of us... Shit. And we look like a wedding couple. What to do? Phoned to warn her immediately. She'd seen the picture in the proofs and commented "That one... out!" for that reason. She doesn't want to see the magazine now, but better had before I show it to her friends. Or do I? Must show it to her - they'll see it anyway, since it is about their place. I really wanted to do something nicer for them. They are lovely, friendly and warm people, and I certainly didn't want to put any form of pressure on her. But I said it. Had been long debating the response to my saying it, as have had several warnings about going in that direction, but on leaving tonight, she actually said it to me, enabling a truly heart-felt response that came so naturally... as if I'd already said it to her a thousand times.

I'm not saying it to anybody else. Will read the rest of the magazine, and get back to you in a bit.

Gunshots and Limiting the Personal Pronoun

Just found a picture of myself wearing a fez.

No particular reason, but thought it worth airing.

Will firstly expand on the clattering last night. Initially I'd thought it was the builders, as they often work late. We have a central well in the building, and it is difficult to discern where noise is coming from. Didn't recognise the voices, and had already spotted a stranger in the building, so I took a large knife and went for a walk.
The main stairwell lights were off, and the landing lightswitch on the ground floor. Firstly I checked the top floor, and found an unlocked door into an area being renovated. Downstairs to switch the lights on, and back up to see if I could find anything in the dark top floor. the stairwell lights threw a dim glow into part of it.

Nothing to see, so after checking all doors from the stairwell, and listening intently, it was apparent that the noise was not from here.

Back to the apartment, do some work (and writing).

A gunshot and some shouting very close. Nothing to see, but then it occurs... who would you call? Who could you call? I don't even know the phone number for the police, and only speak English here. There was no sense of personal threat, but it got me thinking.

The second shot was at 3.30am. Woke me up. Nearly called, but again, to wake someone up when not directly threatened is not fair. Why have somebody else worry. It made me realise which one out of all these peripheral numbers stored in my phone is my true emergency number though. Who is yours? And whose are you?

Now trying not to use the word 'I' in writing. Obviously this blog is still completely ego-centric, but would prefer it to be about musings on life rather than pure self-indulgence. Or at least look that way.

Cat Amongst the Pigeons

Now there's a dare. Is it ever possible to resist the flame? Never wanted anybody to read this blog, but then on impulse ask 2 celebrities I follow if they would mind retweeting my blog address. Wonder whether they will? Wonder whether people will click on it and read this very paragraph. Or even the blog? Fantasy again, but an experiment. Apologies in advance if you do read on; it was never intended for consumption, but the demon made me do it...

Ky jelly and free tram tickets

Just done some 'proper' work. By that I mean stuff that earns me sustenance and a minor role in life here. One never knows where anything is leading here, but it is so helpful to get some words down. This writing will not earn me money, but it will keep me sane and help me deal with all the shit I have to. And on my own. Will this become a substitute for a partner? I truly hope not. There is the most wonderful woman I love with all my heart, but I am certain I fucked it up. I could never rationalise a relationship, and so have to pine alone for a while, all the time trying to think if I could in any way salvage or will just have to accept wait a few years until the feelings subside. Will they subside if she's still often around? Other times I've fallen in love (5 in total, well I AM nearly 44 and unmarried), some have faded with distance and time, some have still hurt. But if always around... can that ever let it fade?

Not sure what the locals think of me. I received a business SMS, urging me to check my e-mail. The message was 'Ky! Ky! Ky!'. What the fuck does that mean? This person has before sent me an urgent nudge to check my e-mail, but Ky! All it brings to mind is Ky Jelly, which has never been a part of my life. Is she implying that I am a crafty butcher, preferring my meat delivered around the back? I'm not going to fuck her to prove otherwise. I'm not fucking anybody at the moment, and to be frank have little interest. I've done enough of that over the years; the next one will be with my ring on her finger. Have I any chance? I do hope this doesn't mean I will stay celibate for the rest of my days. I don't need sex. I need sexual intimacy, that comes from complete communication at all levels - many levels that only 2 people can communicate at. Intimate sexual union is the most personal form of communication.

So who's the spy? Everybody is pretending to be nowadays. Again, interesting to watch. Currently snatching episodes of the original 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy'. Read it had been re-made so thought I'd re-watch the original. I was about 10 when it was first aired, and remembered enjoying it, but not a jot of the story. The only thing that came crashing back was the choirboy singing over the end titles. Never was involved in the church to be a choirboy. Was in Primary School choir for a couple of years, belting out Hans Christian Anderson tracks. I remember the song "There are so many wonderful far-away places to see" (That's the opening line, but not necessarily the title), and all the listings of exotic places ("Tokyo and Cairo and Lisbon and London; wonderful fabulous places we're longing to see!"). Have ticked a few off now, but not enough. Have to earn some cash to tick some more off. Hmmmm how to do that, and still earn?

Dream of Fantasy... become a writer! And submit one's works via the internet! How many have had that idea? Could I make this blog interesting enough to attach 35 million billion readers? And travel everywhere with internet access, keyboard and credit card? Wow! Well a man can dream. However I will sign up for that advertising thingy where they put an advert on your blog and you get a payment every time somebody visits your blog page. Even with only me visiting, over time I might earn enough for a tram ticket across town.

I could ask my Mum to follow it too; ideally I want a yacht.

September, cooling down, but still mosquitoes on the prowl. Had my eye on one a minute ago, but as soon as I clocked it, it started doing all those fancy aerobatics and moving across different shaded backgrounds. Bastard. It knew I'd clocked it. Ready with insect spray just in case it chances a leg.

Pissing around with twitter. Followed a few celebs and even 'tweeted' at them, but sometimes it doesn't sit right responding to a remark from someone you don't know, who kinda' wasn't speaking to you. The strict word count takes a little getting used to, as what can you put that is self-explanatory and interesting in that few characters, unless you tweet to...

Aha, just splatted the mosquito! Didn't even need the spray, so no smell and no cost! People hate mosquitoes, when you ask them what they think of them, they can rally forth with hatred and vitriol but: what does the mosquito think of us?

Food.

Nothing more, nothing less. How humbling is that?

Won't fit that on twitter. Now then Facebook, and vkontakte for that matter. Noticing friends deleting their accounts, and would myself, but have to keep some admin rights for a couple of groups so no way of logging in if I do. Maybe I could create a phantom account and give myself privileges... Don't know though as it is so nice to have a means of informal contact with friends. Status updates can make tedious reading though. And people who play their whole relationships and arguments out on-line! Have in the past put a few things on that were really too personal to share, but normally only a single significant party could truly understand them. It was almost like a dare, but I have been caught. From now on it will only be truly obscure shit. And as only I read this, perhaps only I will have a clue what they mean. Or you, dear reader, and contributor to my idle yachting fantasies. Unfortunately the marina is more than a tram-ride away.

The start of a prayer

Think boy think! Try to figure it out the pattern of shoutings and possible incidents that come with the rain. Before was completely silent, and as they clatter and row, with lights on and off are actually taking the piss. For sure it is paranoia, but it interesting to observe when it is only a passing phase. Witnessing your own egotistical issues from both inside and out. Hopefully this can help lead to a situation and try, oh please help me try, to be a decent, honest and reasonable human being; as close as ideal as possible, whilst satisfying basic human existence needs, passing on genes and experience, enjoying life and hurting no-one...

Shit shit shit. There I go again. At least it's not gossip. Certifiable maniac? Sorry again, mind sometimes seems to go into trips far too fast for my humble typewriting speed. A friend was the son of a famous UK poet (one that my poor education never made me aware of until after meeting them, and being told, thought I'd better do some research!). Anyway, digression over, his father used to sketch his work in pencil, crossing bits out and so forth (missing out the troublesome and frankly rather unsatisfying full-stop after etc.). Ha! What's this shit about writing about grammar that makes one need to use it so carefully? Can one grammatically correctly reproduce a tome-length monologue whilst keeping perfectly verbal with emphasis and stress without suddenly becoming a lo-fi gaudy magazine?

Funnily that puts me in frame of work. Good thing... I do have a lot to do and a lot to consider in the next few months. "I'll judge but I'm not getting involved".

Boots on, weapon in pocket, I'm off to take a look.

Ciao for now.

Right back from that little episode. Car's not here, excursion in building, yet more time to consider existence before jumping to the keyboard - to be frank, there is other work I must do, but the safety-inspection was kind of work, and all this must come out. Surely anyway, it's all practising communication. (Spell-check goes when thinking as I write). What can I say to her? And off we digress.....

Slurp of the vodka & orange and we'll call it a new paragraph. Or chapter. Or book. I guess each time a blog auto-saves it creates another possible image somewhere of a work part-completed. Which is where I was trying to go with the Sassoon opener so far ago. I wasn't trying to name-drop, honest.

Name-dropping... now there a whole kettle-of-fish. It's kind of fun, harmless bragging if you like, but also can have hidden purposes. Continuous bullshit name-dropping is horrendously boring - a trait the egotistical paranoiac in me horrendously recognises. I have exaggerated often, but never to the point of bullshit. You would be surprised how many people in strange places have experienced first-hand corroboration of anecdotes widely-reported to be outright fantasy. I do however try to keep it under control, and never use it to take the piss. Taking the piss is always light-hearted with no injury dreamt.

Think I may have fucked something very special up. Still getting such mixed signals. No not even going there with this, my un-read, partially secret blog. Can one really put one's inner thoughts about love and relationships on something that could be discovered by anybody? I have fucked something very special up.

Anecdote

A friend has a garage. He had a set of wheels which he wanted to get rid of. He put them at the side of the road, with a notice saying "4 Free wheels & tyres, help yourself" or suchlike - don't remember the exact wording.
They sat outside for a month, so his son suggested amending the sign to "4 wheels & tyres, £20".
They vanished that night.

Only connect

Just had dinner with two fabulous girls, young, beautiful, intelligent - dear friends, but so difficult to communicate today. Wasn't really into eating, even though haven't really eaten all day. Stomach may have shrunk. Back home now - is this not heading towards idle minutiae? Point was the inability to connect, even with close friends. Thank God this outlet exists, otherwise the frustration would be complete. Wonder if I'll start drawing, painting etc. I guess the problem is being unable to keep a conversation lightweight and flippant, when so much is pressing down, but not really wanting to burden friends with anything too intense.
At least with this I can talk and say what is exactly on my mind without interruption or embarrassment. This is my outlet and I'll say what I want, when I want; well it can always be deleted. Or if I do ever have a child, perhaps one day they might read it and get an idea of the type of person I was. My father keeps a diary, but I always felt it crossed a line to hunt it down and read it. A blog could be a little like that, but not so personal. After all it IS in the public domain; all one needs to do is know where to look. How (supposing somebody else is reading this) did you find it? Bet I didn't tell you!

First attempt

Well having had a go at Twitter, and managed a few words, it is maybe time to put one of these blogs together. no idea what to write, as so much of it is stream of consciousness, but gotta start somewhere.
Firstly an introduction: I am 43 years old, male and from near Manchester. Currently living in Lviv, Ukraine, but have lived in a few places. Will try not to bore you with history and anecdotes, unless they are relevant. The past is the past.
Trying desperately to understand the means of communication here. Have no language, but in some ways that makes understanding communication easier; much in the vein of a blind person, who develops enhanced sensory perception (hearing, touch, smell) to counter the loss of sight (try discerning Braille with your fingertips!), in not being able to understand the spoken conversations, the viewer concentrates on the underlying communication - what is really being said. Wish that were the case in regular communication.
Not here to talk about work. It may be referred to by incident, but not selling anything, or trying to show how good or bad or important or whatever. It is not a pissing contest.
Guess the real reason for writing is to find a place to put down thoughts - never been a philosopher, more a counsellor. And don't like to talk about myself too much with other people - don't want to be a bore.
I guess that here I can talk about myself with impunity. No-body currently knows this blog is here and that may continue for a while. Also, I'm not that important or ground-breaking for anything I write to be too sensitive, or matter in any way. Nobody has to read this blog - it is choice, so no apologies for being egocentric.
Making friends is becoming tricky here. Language barriers and common preconceptions of Westerners have to be dealt with. There is also the interminable issue of what people really want from you, and what they can/will genuinely offer in return. Cynical? Well after all this is about me. What do I get out of it? Unfortunately, it seems I have spent far too much time in the past helping other people without ever thinking what is in it for me. This has allowed people to gamble with my time and energy, sometimes until it became apparent we were flogging a dead horse. So therefore, it is time to do stuff for myself. Including writing for myself.
It's not just a case of starting to recognise and learn the game, but whether or not you want to play it, and again, what's in it for you if you do. There's been too many rainbows; now I really need to think. This is part of my therapy - and hopefully will stop me chasing more rainbows and finding something more solid in my life.
I have never married. That is a shame, and I fear I may never be in a position to raise my own children. This could become the great tragedy of my life. But how to deal with it? I could not just 'make a deal' with someone - there has to be something really there. Someone to share a complete life with, but what have I to offer? What security can I offer to a partner or child? I miss having that team-mate so terribly - but perhaps I never will find someone with the patience and practicality to deal with me. I'm not easy.
Anyone can be a busy fool. I have been that so many times, and yet it is also far too easy to procrastinate when there's no consequence on deciding 'yes' or 'no'. Just what IS important?
Please stop and think about that.
And in creating what you need, you hit the morality issues. Unfortunately my own morality is far higher than it should be for my life situation. At the bottom, when you are starving and homeless, your moral code is different - you will do many things for food and money that you wouldn't do if well fed, and content. Stealing for example.  It changes according to a situation, but how low can it go? What would you do to get what you want? Or need?
Sorry about the diatribe. At least only I am reading it.

xxx Gotta try and love myself.