Well, aren't I just the veritable Marty Mc Fly, leaping through time from 2009 to 2016, pulling up in my  DeLorean-like-blog and flinging the door open to amazement and wonder.

So whats changed?

The good stuff:

• I'm now married with 2 amazing kids and equally amazing wife, living in suburban Surrey
• Having forged a career in retail, I have a great job managing 3 teams working for a well known UK fashion label
• Having had 2 dickhead bosses prior to great job, my current boss is refreshingly not a dick head
• I can drive and I love it

The not so good stuff:

• Dad passed away last year after fighting a lengthy battle against prostate cancer
• We've also since lost Michael Jackson, Prince, Nelson Mandela and David Bowie
• The world continued to turn to shit following the completion of 2 pointless wars and lighting the fire for an extremeist driven 3rd
• We (the UK) are about to leave Europe

Much of the above was unthinkable the last time the door to my time travelling blog opened, alas here we are taking the good with the bad, minus the incredibly amazing.

My family is my life and how overwhelmingly amazing an experience it truly is. Each day is different with kids in the house, some of them frightening, most of them joyous and every kind between and not a single one would I have lived without.

That's right, even the ones blessed with never ending torrents of sick and poo, leaving a pair of bedraggled parents in their wake. 

Such experiences become more prevalent over time, catalysed by the mostly un-expected adversities thrown at us by life. For me personally, none more so than the death of my Father and everything that entailed.

Such experiences carry weight enough to change a person for life, even after a year in passing. I have yet to completely the complexities of loss emotionally and thought that perhaps this was a good outlet to do so, outside of the practical demands that death brings about, forced by reality. A subject like that demands it's own dedicated space and besides, I wouldn't know where to start. The latter uncertainty an indication that death and I make strange bed-fellows I guess, that's all I have to say about that for now.

Fruit of the loins.

The gravity of creation is in itself eclipsed only, by the ever changing experience that ensues the birth of legacy.

The above probably insists on itself a bit, but that's exactly what kids do. In their tiny universe they are the gargantuan Sun, orbiting the smaller moons and plants they know as thier parents or siblings.
It's always interesting to describe something experienced the world over and yet some of us are still compelled to do it for a myriad of different reasons. For me personally it's a time capsule to be dug up and found in years to come. I've had great fun tracing and finding other stuff i'd written on the net, warbling on about the  thoughts that were precious to me then, I

The change is overnight, but the understanding of underlying complexities of what it really means to be a parent is in itself very gradual. Shock, joy, disbelief and fear have always been natural paths to acceptance and ultimately this is no different. 

The true realisation that there is no going back, that this is for life.

I pour over this a little, as permanence has little outing in modern society anymore. Most of our encounters of big change are fairly ephemeral; a house, a car, a job, all things expect to take temporary possession of and change at some point.

You could even go as far as to say that parenthood is a paradox of modern life as a result of it's permanency, and yet, it has and continues to underpin the very fabric of life itself.

It's the ever-maturing understanding and appreciation of it's many facets that keeps us in wonder and awake at night. It's one that can not be forced or rushed, downloaded, streamed or upgraded.

It simply grows with you and your child, effortlessly embracing and ever comforting.

Well, aren't I just the veritable Marty Mc Fly, leaping through time from 2009 to 2016, pulling up in my  DeLorean-like-blog and flinging the door open to amazement and wonder.

So?

The good stuff:

• I'm now married with 2 amazing kids and equally amazing wife, living in suburban Surrey
• Having forged a career in retail, I have a great job managing 3 teams working for a well known UK fashion label
• Having had 2 dickhead bosses prior to great job, my current boss is refreshingly not a dick head
• I can drive and I love it

The not so good stuff:

• Dad passed away last year after fighting a lengthy battle against prostate cancer
• We've also since lost Michael Jackson, Prince, Nelson Mandela and David Bowie
• The world continued to turn to shit following completion 2 pointless wars lighting the fire for an extremeist driven 3rd
• We (the UK) are about to leave Europe

Much of the above was unthinkable the last time the hypothetical door to my time travelling blog opened, alas here we are, taking the good with the bad, minus the incredibly amazing.

My family is my life and how overwhelmingly amazing an experience it truly is. Each day is different, some frightening, but none of them, not one, would I choose not to have been a part of. 

Such experiences become even more prevalent, catalysed mostly by the un-expected adversities thrown at us by life. For me personally, epitome of this was death of my Father and everything that followed. Something which even after a year in passing I've yet to completely fathom emotionally, outside of the logical and practical demands death brings about, forced by reality.

Such a subject demands it's own space and dedication, although I wouldn't know where to start. The latter uncertainty, an indication that Death and I make strange bed-fellows I guess, but that's all I have to say about that.

Onto the next big hitter.

'The gravity of creation is in itself eclipsed only by the ever changing experiences that ensue and follow, the literal birth of legacy.'

My best and most honest attempt to describe something experienced the world over by billions, described by many folk far better equipped to do so than me.

The change is overnight, but the understanding of underlying complexities of what it really means to be a parent is in itself very gradual. Shock, joy, disbelief and fear have always been natural paths to acceptance and ultimately this is no different. 

The true realisation that there is no going back, that this is for life.

I pour over this a little, as permanence has little outing in modern society anymore. Most of our encounters of big change are fairly ephemeral; a house, a car, a job, all things expect to take temporary possession of and change at some point.

You could even go as far as to say that parenthood is a paradox of modern life as a result of it's permanency, and yet, it has and continues to underpin the very fabric of life itself.

It's the ever-maturing understanding and appreciation of it's many facets that keeps us in wonder and awake at night. It's one that can not be forced or rushed, downloaded, streamed or upgraded.

It simply grows with you and your child, effortlessly embracing and ever comforting.

Gordon Brown - Charlie Brooker

I love this, spot on Charlie!

" If real life were a movie, instead of a cruel and horrifying string of random unfolding events, the mortifying slow-motion car crash that is Gordon Brown's premiership would inspire pity in all but the most stone-hearted audience member. Assailed from all directions, stumbling, bumbling, droning, punch-drunk, hapless, hopeless, and aching with palpable misery, he increasingly resembles a depressed elephant, slowly being felled by a thousand pin-sized arrows fired into his hide by a million tiny natives, still somehow moving forward, trudging wearily toward its allotted graveyard-slot with morose resignation.
Here is a man apparently allergic to luck. Nothing goes right for the Brown minister. He can't even pop on to YouTube and attempt a smile without everyone laughing and calling him creepy. And they're right. The smiles were creepy: they made him look like the long-dead corpse of a gameshow host resurrected by a crazed scientist in some satirical horror movie. It's Saturday night, live from Television Centre! The theme tune plays on a church organ. Your children shriek when he bounds on to the screen. As he descends the glittering staircase, one decomposing arm drops off at the shoulder socket, hitting the studio floor with a damp thud. Oblivious, he steps over it to approach camera one, gazing down the lens with frozen eyes, intermittently twitching that smile. Your screen cracks. Hot plasma leaks out. This broadcast is over."


Taken from: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/may/11/charlie-brooker-gordon-brown (Without permission, as noone reads this anyway!)

Zen by Langya

Think of Trees: "They let the birds perch and fly, with no intention to call them when they come and no longing for their return when they fly away. If people's hearts can be like the trees, they will not be off the Way. "

Gavin & Stacey? Actually I'd rather drink a pint of my best mates piss, thanks.

I can see the look of outrage on many faces.

"What?! What?! But it's great! People told me it's great so it's great! I read the Daily Star, and it too said it was great! So it must be!"

No.

No, no no no.

What you need to do, is calm down, take a step back, then slap yourself in the face with fucking big wet fish and dunk your head in a bucket of cold water, also filled with fish (wet, naturally).

Then, once you've calmed down, dig out your DVD of Spaced, a big bucket of Pop Corn Chicken, sit down and and hit play.

You need to remind yourself of what a good comedy is actually like, and with this, realise that the only reason you think this puke filled pinata you like to hit so much is good, is because there is nothing else good on. You are a hungry man/woman being thrown a moldy cracker, and that's why you think it tastes divine.

Indulge in a banquet of calorific indulgent comedy until you are happy and full.

Now watch Gavin and Stacey again, it will make you sick.

Why?

It starts with the fat fuck.

James Corden is the principle reason I hate this program.

Not because he is fat, but because this stupid talentless wank stain makes the assumption (like all the other wank stains that sully the table cloth of British comedy), that because he puts on a stupidly bad 'common' accent, that is completely out of touch with the youth of today - yet what the middle classes (of which he happens to be a member) would associate as being an accurate portrayal of, that he is funny.

No my friend, you are not funny, just another stupid fat f*ck, much like Johnny Vegas, and I'd hasten to add, nothing like Nick Frost.

In my eyes, they (they being him and his equally talentless & stupid friend) are obviously and quite toe nail's off with pliers painfully, trying to akin themselves to being like a 'new' Simon Pegg & Nick Frost of Shaun of the dead/Spaced fame.

Now as if that wasn't bad enough, these stupid talentless fucks have attempted to make a film of a similar nature to Pegg & Frost's Shaun of the dead, and given it the 'does what it says on the tin'- for all the thick fucks out there name of 'Lesbian Vampire Killers'.

So not only are they marketing themselves to the middle classes who can scoff and say, 'thats right Margo, that's how they talk!', they will also appeal to the 14 year old spotty faced nightmares who will drool over every bad joke, punch line and pair of tits that burts onto the screen in blind adoration.

I will not stand for it, and shall not let it go unsaid.

Are you listening to me you pair of cheap happy shopper, bargain basement, 'Tommy Hillfinger, 'I'm fat he's thing so this must be funny', dumb-arse, shit eating grin-faced piss flaps, destroying whatever hopes the future holds for inspiring good comedy of the future?

Stop it now! End your cancerous reign on television and stop appearing on my TV!

Or if you must, stick to the pre-existing shit-on-a-stick programs like the Catherine Tate show, where you belong. Breed underground so we (the decent and valued) don't have to be reminded that projectile cat vomited balls of cack like you exist, and live happy and peaceful lives.

For the good of humanity, put an end to the madness!

CK

today

Sinking like a lead balloon

I thought I was out, but they pulled me back in...

Cue Al Pacino clutching his chest in an flamboyant yet epic show of what years of brutality and hardship as a Mafia boss will bring. Kay!....where are you Kay!!

Okay, so my rejoining of the rat-race after traveling is maybe not as dramatic. but I can certainly empathise with Michael Corleone in my own little way.

When thoughts are prompted having repeatedly been asked how I'm, "settling back into life in the UK", of the heart sinking realisation of how I'd actually totally forgotten about travelling, and left with the "yeah, fine, just slipped back into it really" retort.

Those who have travelled with know how sad that truly feels. Imagine the first day back at School after the best summer holidays ever, and multiply that by a 100.

How long ago it all seems now? Just a blurry dream that filled the vacuous space away from work.

Work work work.

"It's like you never left eh!?" my boss bleats, followed by the light-hearted pity slap on the back as though to say, 'You may have left for a bit but you're back now aren't you!". He might as well have had little horns, pointing with his red spindle like fingers at a piece of blood stained paper with the words "we own your soul" on it.

Meh, here I am 3 months & change on and I'm thinking about life, somewhat similarly to before, pondering a few noticeable changes between the two times, notably:

1. A much more hungry work ethic (I know, I was surprised too).
2. An improved zest for life (outside of jumping from a plane) for new experiences.
   
3. A better understanding of the world.
4. Likewise, its people.
5. A lessened tolerance of stupid people.
6. A need to prevent the stagnation of all of the ideas above.
   

I also realised that I didn't write in my blog any more, mainly due to my writing being nonsensical crap for the best part. I blame that on having not written for so long, alas the only way to improve is keep at it, powering through the crapness, flexing muscles of abstract thought to give my crap laden thoughts teeny crap-wings to fly my crap thoughts to your very souls.

I'm not sure where this is going, needless to say I love you all that much.

This is what it's like to be 30.

Life begins here, fuck the last 29 years, they were nothing. Look out world, etc. etc.

As Dylan said: There's a battle outside and it's ragin', it'll shake up your windows and rattle your walls for the times, they are a-changin'.