Fried Day…


End of the week.

Grass still needs cutting, but my wilderness of a social life lit up with a few beers last night. As far as I am concerned, grass needs to grow.

Now, I am about to mount my trusty steed and cycle into my place of work (fully lycraed) and full of bon something or other in French, but I can’t think of that right now.

"I think maybe we've evolved TOO much - I"m having second thoughts."



You Need Balls For Target Setting…

bin Littering fully Wicker trash .Meaning work out The the no id

One of my many meaningless pastimes that run alongside my ‘teaching’ career is the throwing of paper balls. For this activity all that is required is a bin and a ball (rolled-up paper that is meant for the recycling. Oh, and you also need a classroom).

My activity follows a similar pattern: I mark or plan, I get bored marking or planning, I go into the recycling bin, fish out a piece of unwanted A4 and then screw it up into a rudimentary ball. It is important to spend a bit of time on this ball screwing business as a misshaped ball will not aid anyone. It’s all about aerodynamics.

Then it is time to take up position around the classroom. I personally like to stretch and challenge so place myself at the furthest extremities of the room. Just make sure that there are no blockages or impediments that may mitigate towards a completely unsuccessful attempt at the bin. On this point, be certain that the bin is sufficiently empty or the said ball will pop out just as quickly as it pops in. And, unless you are partial to table-enders, ensure that there are no offending desks in line with your potential flight-paths.

As Robert the Bruce was fond of saying, if at first, or third, or sixty-fifth you don’t succeed try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try,,,,,,,,infinitum.  The law of averages must kick in at some point.

If you are like me, a tempter of fate, you will most likely try out your new obsession in front of a class.

To get the feel of the big arena, wander aimlessly about the room with a pre-screwed paper ball in your hand. Don’t make a show of it. Have the kids working on a quiet working task. As they are writing away, measure you aim. Have the odd shot without making it obvious that that is what you are doing. Look casual. Look relaxed. Appear unconcerned. You will miss. You may even miss all of your shots, but you will be getting valuable practice in without really trying.

Only when you feel that you are getting within range should you announce, in a jokey kind of way, that you are going for a bin-shot. If you miss, produce a mock-sports commentary that captures the drama of your failed attempt. Remember that your audience must believe that this a trivial fun event and nothing that you truly care about.

After three to four years, you will get to be quite good at this. And even if you don’t always hit or get near the bin, it is part of your training. Eventually you will be able to hit, or close-miss, the bin in front of even the most hostile of crowds. You will be able to lay down challenges to students and defeat them. You will have the right to run around them celebrating your superiority whilst mocking there failed attempts.


Paper-ball Ninja Master Number 1… 




Woden’s Day has arrived in all its Norse finery. There was a time when this day was worshipped just as much as Fry-Up Day when all of the sops and left-overs from the week’s cooking were thrown into a huge greasy vat of pig-shavings and fried until all the evil and goodness had been banished. Archaeologists believe that this is why people at that time live longer than their fellow Earth-dwellers (twenty-one average years as opposed to seventeen rather less than average).

Recently, a giant Viking turd has been uncovered in York and it is believed that this is again evidence of a very advanced culture whose dietary habits and tastes match the very best of own own.


Turds to one side. Woden’s Day is the centre of the work week which means that those of us on the hamster-wheel of life can look up, look back, and look ahead to the two slim days of relaxation after Fry-Up Day.

In my most shallow wisdom, I decided to name this day, The Top Of The Piste Day as I believed that all of us hamsters had spent Moon Day and Shoes Day climbing up that great edifice of the mountain face and now at Giant Turd’s Day we are ready to launch ourselves down the slippery slope and into the weekend. This is where we get Furs Day from as it is what is required on that cold mountain-top whereas Sitting day is what we do after a good pig-oil fry-up.

Unfortunately, Soon Day reminds of of our trials to come. 


Bark at the Moon all day after that… 

W T F …


Tuesdays have never been my favourite since the days when it always seemed that I had dental appointment at this particular time of the week.

The dentists in those days were unredeemed psychopaths who enjoyed administering pain to the achingly unsuspecting. Making school children do the backwards-crab as they tried to climb out of the swivel-chair of sensory torments was probably an added bonus.

So, no matter how much closer we have got to the inconsequential weekend, I still do not like a Tuesday.


But at least this asteroid narrowly missed us on Sunday…

Desperately Seeking Something…


As more and more people seek the exit door of divorce to solve their marital disappointments, it seems that they are able to hold all the advantages. People have stopped getting old. Fifty is the new thirty and sixty is as well if one so desires. An awful lot of those not-so-oldies have more disposable income. They have realised hidden capital from previous assets like houses. Kids have grown up, sprouted wings and flown the nest. All in all, it sounds like a win-win situation. So, why do we know so many older singles who are desperately seeking someone?

Rebecca is a middle-aged woman who is recently divorced. She and her husband were married for 25 years when he told her he wanted a divorcebecause he is in love with someone else. For the past few years, Rebecca was unhappy in her marriage, but she never thought that they would divorce. She became accustomed to her life and it’s routine. Rebecca had no idea that her husband was cheating on her and so his revelation came as a total surprise.

She is now living alone and wondering what will become of her life. Her family and friends are there for her, with her married children living close by. Rebecca continues to work part-time at the same job she’s held for seven years. Financially, she is okay, but not as monetarily “comfortable” as when she was married.

Shoba Sreenivasan, Ph.D., and Linda E. Weinberger, Ph.D.

Emotional Nourishment

My wife and I have been married for almost twenty-one years and we have been married to each other all of that time. It’s not always been plain-sailing. My mental health issues have sometimes made life very difficult for the both of us. There were point when we could have given up. I always tell her that she could still get a very good-looking and financially endowed partner, but she tells me to stop talking such nonsense. The bottom line is that we have stuck together and hopefully will continue to do so.

Some of our friends have not done the same. They have taken the exit door when the whole performance became a little too much or too little. Unfortunately the next big act seems to refuse to appear.

Two of our divorcee friends have spent the time since their previous relationship trying to discover the one that is meant for them. It ought to be easy in this world of instant digital-dating. Indeed, the act of getting a date does not appear to be the difficult part. What is difficult is finding another fish in the sea that has not been damaged over-harvesting or just constantly harbouring the need to be wanted for any time between five minutes and an hour.

Sex is easy, but talking to the other person before, during and after the main event seems beyond many. The end result is a whole tranche of middle-aged singletons who are going to spend the rest of their lives living alone, but with the addition of occasional sex.

Another friend of mine (male) has accepted that his lot is to satisfy his own libido and the libido of other transient sexual encounters. He doesn’t desperately go searching for anything other than the instant gratification of skin on skin.



He seems to be happy enough…



Memorise your favorite poem.

Don’t believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.

Never laugh at anyone’s dreams.

Love deeply and passionately. …You might get hurt but it’s the only way to live life completely.

Talk slow but think quick.

When someone asks you a question you don’t want to answer, smile and ask, ….”Why do you want to know?”.

Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.

When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.


Spend some time alone.

Open your arms to change, but don’t let go of your values.

Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.

Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, …..You’ll get to enjoy it a second time.


We are born, we die.

In between is what we do.


The Trust Thing…


I have always been warned that I have a trusting nature. Indeed, it is the type of nature whose trusting naivety gets me into trouble. I have always tried to see the best in others until I hit the brick wall that was my life’s full-stop.

After the brick wall, I had a different take on people. I shied away from them. I was a reverse-leper who wanted only to be quarantined against the possible damage that people could inflict.

During this time, I lost my job, my confidence, and my trust (I didn’t actually lose my job, I lost it and it never found me again).


Have faith in, place one’s trust in, have confidence in, believe in, pin one’s faith to, pin one’s hopes on.

Now that is the type of trust that I am thinking about. I have no faith. I have nothing that I place trust in or put trust on. I have little confidence in nor belief in, nor do I pin my faith on. I no longer put my hopes on anything.

In short, I am short of that strange little thing called TRUST. And, as you can see, trust is a BIG word. And without that BIG word, things don’t seem to happen.

When the day arrived on which my life stopped, everything came to a halt.


Trust was the fuel on which it all ran.