Elbow Strike

With little on my plate tonight, I have spent the evening relaxing with a glass of wine and an erection. As always, the erection is largely unrelated to the story, but I like to give full disclosure. Whilst doing so I began to reminisce, and spent a good hour or so analysing 2012 so far.

It's been a good and busy year, but February in particular made for quite an interesting month. If you follow me on Twitter (see the link to the right), you will remember that I had to go to Kent, England for a two week course. I was fairly enthused about attending the course anyway as it was a good qualification to have at the end, but the events that occurred whilst there made it even better.

Day one for example was simply fantastic. As I pulled into the training college in which the course was being held, the approaching street was lined with literally hundreds of people. They represented every age group, colour, creed and breakfast cereal preference imaginable. Slowing my car to a halt, I got out. Somewhat bemused I stared around at their smiling faces.

And then they began to sing.

I simply couldn't believe what was happening.

"We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine..."

They really went for it. Starting with a Beatles classic, they moved on to The B-52's Rock Lobster and finally, and for no apparent reason, Happy Birthday. Oh how I danced throughout, it was truly beautiful.

When they'd finished, each female kissed me gently on the cheek and every gentleman shook my hand firmly. Once that was done, they stood to attention.

"Good luck on your course!", they shouted in unison. One small girl was a split second out of time and was quickly rendered unconscious thanks to her angry mother and a rather adept elbow strike to the face.

And so I entered the college on that first day, a better man. A happy man. A man ready to take on whatever the course may bring.

And a man that wants to move to Kent.

A Tale About Bats and Defecation

Today's blog is mostly being brought to you in a state of utter confusion and amazement.

I like to think that although my career has provided me with uncountable experiences of an exciting/amazing/shocking/remarkable nature, and despite the fact that I have lived in many places around the world, I am a pretty down to earth, normal guy. I live a normal life with my wife, dog and two cats in our very homely home.

We like doing normal things like going out for meals, visiting places of interest, socialising and relaxing. In the grand scheme of things we are quite unspectacular.

Crazy things don't really happen to us.

At least until now.

I slept like a baby last night. Not screaming and defecating in my nappy you understand (although I did shit myself last night, but that's par for the course), but simply out for the count once I shut my eyes and I slept all the way through.

Awaking this morning I rolled over onto my side, still half asleep, expecting to find my wife there. But she wasn't. "She's run off with a mature student on a promising path to a career in the medical industry, one with an average sized penis but with bags of self confidence to compensate", was my first and perfectly normal thought.

But then something caught my eye.

Something on the ceiling. Glancing upwards I couldn't help but jump. There, suspended above me was my wife. She was hanging upside down and looked quite peaceful. My initial reaction was that she'd tried to hang herself by her feet in some kind of novelty suicide, but then she moved.

I say she moved, what I mean is that she looked at me and then spread her massive wings. I was erect at this point and I'm still working through the sexual issues I clearly have.

Despite the blatant poor photo editing, she was still a sexy bat.

"Babe...what the hell is going on?", I said.

She looked at me and smiled for a while before speaking.

"I'm a bat now", she proclaimed. "I'm a bat".

I just ran. Ran until I could run no more (the kitchen as a matter of fact). Out of breath I microwaved a sausage roll which I consumed slowly. Just as a point of interest I had it with brown sauce and although that sounds pretty nasty, and is entirely unconventional, it was really nice and you should try it. Don't go for cheap brown sauce obviously, you get what you pay for.

I'll be honest I haven't been back up there. I'm frightened about what I may have to come to terms with, not least the possibility that I think my wife makes a sexy, sexy bat and I might touch her where she emits sonar.

Mmm, sonar.

I need help.

The Dying Daze

The hospital machines beeped and whirred around her. She didn’t even know what most of them were for, but as the weeks had gone by and more machines had come in, and more wires and pads had been connected to her, she’d begun to realise that it didn’t really matter what they did.

All that mattered was that they were keeping her alive now. When they’d first introduced the telephone, she’d scoffed at the new-fangled technology, thinking it was some gimmick that would never take off. It seemed almost ironic that in her dying days, it was technology she had to thank for giving her a little bit more time.

But in these final few days, everything had started to become so clear. Suddenly she didn’t feel so thankful for the machines. For the beeping and the whirring that seemed to serve only to remind her that existence without the machines was impossible.

When the Doctor had first told her that she was dying she had been petrified. 6 to 9 months he had said. 7 months on and the realisation had come that she would spend her dying days in a lonely hospital ward. After the fear had come the anger. It seemed so outrageous that she had to die. She wasn’t ready!

Then the denial. Ignorance of what the Doctor had said would make it all go away.

But now this was a different feeling altogether. This felt like…acceptance. But surely not? Acceptance of her own death? It went against her basic human instincts; not to step out in the road without looking, not to eat something that may be poisonous. So why did she feel now as though she just didn’t care any more?

She had three wonderful children, two of which had given her the sweetest grandchildren she could imagine. They’d visited her this morning. The strain on their faces was starting to become visible. The waiting. Waiting for her to die so that they could begin to grieve, begin to move towards being able to sleep at night again.

Her husband had passed away some 5 years previously. As an atheist she had always realised she’d never see him again. But with this newfound acceptance came another feeling. Was it hope? Hope that she may be with him again? Not in Heaven, that whole idea just seemed too far-fetched.

But maybe there was something? Surely there had to be? There HAD to be a point to all of this.

Her thoughts were broken by a violent coughing fit. Another one. They had become extremely frequent and more painful as the days had gone by and this one really hurt. More blood. Time to call the nurse again and have more painkillers.

They’d keep the pain away for a couple of hours.

She’d had enough. She’d had her time. She had no more to offer. And the world had nothing more to offer her.

Just pain.

As the coughing subsided, she suddenly knew what she had to do. She pulled at her chest and arms. Wires, pads, cables, beeping, whirring. It was everywhere!

No more. No more.

A warm feeling flushed over her. Blurred figures surrounded her. Uniforms. Shouting. She felt like she was sweating, hard and fast. Drowning in it. An ocean of sweat in which she could not keep her head above the surface. Slowly she slipped under. It was so peaceful.

No pain. Just peace.

And just before the lights went out…she saw him. Her husband. In the darkness they held one another for a short time.

Then there was no more.

In the real world the medical team gave up. She was dead. The Doctor pronounced the time of death and began to walk away. But as he did he looked at her face one last time.

A single tear rolled down her cheek and onto the lips of a smile.

A beautiful, full smile.

He inwardly smiled to himself. Perhaps there was a Heaven after all. Just not the way she’d imagined.

Candy Cigarettes

The excitement in the air was almost tangible; between them it was all they could do to stop themselves shrieking and whooping. It was a pleasant evening at the little camping site in Scarborough. Outside of the caravan the air was still and the sky free of clouds. In fact, had they cared to step outside and look at the sky, the boys would have seen one of the most beautifully starlit skies the seaside town had boasted in some time.

But the boys weren’t interested in stars, pleasant summer evenings or even the outside world in general at that moment. In fact, for the members of ‘One Direction’ (a boy band produced from TV’s ‘X Factor’, destined to fade into obscurity after approximately one year), this moment was all about Harry Styles, their sexual leader.

Growing up together, they’d always known he’d be the first to kiss a girl. This one time at school, he’d totally flirted with a girl and everything. He was brilliant. But none of them had ever thought that he’d do anything more until he was a real grown up.

Inside the caravan, Harry leant back against the MDF wall with a candy cigarette in his mouth. Pretending to smoke it, he had a twinkle in his eye that they were all too familiar with. He had something to brag about. They were so excited. Harry’s tales were always the best.

This trip away had already been the best they had ever had. Most summers had been spent with Harry’s parents at the very same camping site, but thanks to their recent fame Harry’s parents had said that he was a big boy now and he could have his own big boy caravan. They even had their own stash of biscuits and milk.

As Harry stubbed out his candy cigarette, it all became a little too much. “Tell us Harry! The papers said you and Caroline Flack have been doing really naughty things in hotels! Like…like SEX!”, screamed one. The others collapsed on the floor in laughter at this last word.

“Did you touch her boobies?!”, enquired another. “Were they big? Did they have milk in them?!”

More laughter. One ejaculated everywhere profusely.

Surveying his caravan kingdom, Harry smiled. “Sex? Oh yeah boys! I totally Flacked her all over those hotel rooms!”, he quipped.

Silence. No one got the joke. Not even Harry. More ejaculation from the corner.

Within the hour, confused and more excited than before, they retired to bed. It was all too much for their little minds. Question after question had been asked but the responses had either been blocked out by laughter or simply just weren’t understood.

Soon afterwards they slept. Angelic little darlings, daring to dream of the amazing futures that lay before them. With so much to learn, their tiny snores quivered underneath the sheets as they slumbered.

But not Harry Styles. He was wide awake. 

Already he’d discovered that the world was full of boobies. And vaginas too. There was no way he could sleep knowing what was out there. And he wanted more.

He knew about the boobies.

He knew.

A Distinctly Average Brew

Now that all of the excitement had died down, that most of the major relationship milestones had been reached, he felt as though he was...out of sorts. It wasn't that he was unhappy all of a sudden, more that he just wasn't happy all of the time.

Like he should be. Like he thought he deserved.

Walking into the kitchen he rested the small of his back against the counter and stared blankly out at the evening moon. The kettle rumbled lightly beside him, the siren sounding to announce the completion of its boiling cycle. In the adjoining living room his wife sat sprawled out on the sofa, immersed entirely into the laptop he had given her some two years previously. As always, she would be escaping to a world that was anywhere but the one she was already in. And to be quite frank he just didn't give a toss any more.

A wave of memories washed over him as he placed a teabag into his favourite mug. The day they'd first met, their first date, the night they got engaged...the wedding! Oh what a day that had been. He'd felt it to be the happiest day he could ever experience.

But that was six and a half years ago now. A lot had changed in that time. For eleven years they had known each other. For eleven years they had lived in each others pockets. And to be fair he had always been happy with that. He still was.

But it was the moods that really got to him. If he had done something wrong and the anger or annoyance was justified, then he was fine with it. It was basic stuff that when someone upsets you, you get annoyed or upset with them. But half the time she'd get in a mood with him for absolutely nothing at all, or for such trivial crap that he had no idea how she mustered the energy to have a go at him for it.

And then as soon as she started having a go at him, even for the most menial of things, she'd escalate the situation. Violence was almost always her first tick in the box. Any kind of disagreement and something would be thrown at him as hard as she physically could. Frankly it was really starting to piss him off. And then, once the argument had come to some kind of close, the sulking stage would begin. This would go on for minutes, hours or even days. In the mean time, she would insist that she had done nothing wrong and that he had caused the problem in its entirety (yet again). Eventually one of them would decide it wasn't worth it and apologise.

He was fed up of apologising to her for her behaviour.

Taking a sip of his tea, he just felt grateful that kids had not come along yet. They were kind of tied together by the pets they shared, but deep down he knew that these were strings that could be cut if he really needed to. If kids came along he could still get away from the situation but there would always be a permanent tie there that couldn't be erased. Maybe it wouldn't come to that.

Maybe it would.

All he knew was that he loved her deeply, he really did. And he cared for her as a lover and a friend. And she hadn't always been like this. In fact it was only a relatively recent thing, perhaps the last year or so...ever since he'd said he wanted to wait a few more years to have children. At 31 she felt her body clock was ticking.

Either way, he knew that he didn't deserve to be treated like rubbish all of his life. And life was short. Too short to be upset almost daily. Too short to have to tread around a person on eggshells in case they decided to turn at any moment. Too short to be the only one who cared enough to make things work in the face of adversity. And if she wanted children with him she was hardly making the situation better by constantly treating him this way.

As he finished his brew, he placed the mug in the dishwasher and ventured back into the living room. It was getting late and he had work in the morning.

"Goodnight", he said to her.

"Goodnight", she mimicked in a smarmy way.

He walked up the stairs alone.

Something had to give.

Ocean Drive

Last weekend I decided to take my lady away for a couple of days. We both decided it was high time we got out of the house and did something completely different instead of just venturing around our local area and doing the same old stuff. And so we travelled the best part of an hour to a lovely little town, a tourist area as a matter of fact.

We had a lovely time and it was great to get away; in fact we both said we would love to go again. But one part of the weekend has stuck in my mind more than any other, and that is a visit to a local lighthouse.

Forming part of a fairly vast archaeological site, it was probably the one part that I didn't think would be of any interest to me. A small placard was situated in front of it explaining where it had originated from, who had built it and how it was built entirely from eggs and the dried tears of pixies. Or something.

But once we ventured closer and began to look about, it became the best part of the weekend by far.

As we worked our way around it to the rear where the beginning of the steps were located, I kept hearing a rustling in the bushes. Thinking little of it at first, my curiosity grew and grew until finally I could take it no more and decided to investigate. Expecting some form of wild or dangerous animal I picked up a large rock and prepared myself to throw it towards the mysterious noise.

Life had become a huge cliché for both of them

And then a voice rang out.

"Wait! Don't throw it!"

I was baffled. I glanced nervously at the woman I live with who had collapsed in outright fear.

"Is...is someone there?", I tentatively enquired, rock still in hand.

I could hardly believe what I saw next. White flag waving, two men stood up and emerged from the bushes. Dressed in trendy late 90s fashion, they held their hands up with open palms, indicating that they meant me no harm. At first I didn't recognise them, but after significant thought, coupled with consultation with Google and Wikipedia as well as second opinions of a number of other visitors walking by, I realised just who it was facing me.

Pulse racing, I involuntarily dropped the rock from my hand as I realised I was looking at none other than Tunde Baiyewu and Paul Tucker, both members of The Lighthouse Family.

Having been quite a fan of their music at one time, and still having about an album's worth of their material on my iPod, I was quite excited. "What on earth are you guys doing here?", I spluttered.

They both sighed in unison.

"Well things were going so well that we never really planned for the future", said Tunde. We just lived for the moment. When we should have been thinking about investing and saving, we were going mental and splashing the cash on stuff we didn't even need. I have a house full of those little Russian nesting dolls. You know, the one's where you open one up and there's another one inside it and you keep on going like that?"

"But how on earth does that bring you to a lighthouse literally thousands of miles from the UK?", I enquired, somewhat baffled.

"Once the money dried up and the world realised that all of our songs sounded the same, we were doomed", said Paul. "Coldplay came on the scene and they could release songs that sounded exactly the same much more quickly than we could. Everyone lost interest. We were broke. So we moved out here to try and find some work and now we've ended up living in this lighthouse in what can only be described as a huge cliché".

I was taken aback to say the least. I had assumed that once they'd stopped making music, they'd had so much capital behind them that neither of them would work again. But here they were.

"So what are you doing to get by?", I asked.

"What we do best", they said in unison. "Singing. But we're going to reform this year. We're going to be HUGE again", they added.

And true to their word they began to sing. Starting with all time classic 'Ocean Drive', they worked through all their hits including 'Happy' and 'You're a star'. Tens of people threw sums of money in as they walked by, and I began to realise that they were probably making quite a healthy living out of it. It was a lovely afternoon spent in the sun.

Perhaps a reformation of The Lighthouse Family wouldn't be quite so crazy after all.

The Thief