What A Week

Monday: Went out for a meal with Jim, Denis, Nail, H, Graham and Hillary at our usual dining destination; Needoo Grill in Whitechapel. Saw Nettie's friend there which shows the success of our spreading the word about this delicious destination. Had a good evening rounded off at the local.

Thursday: Went to the bank to check my statement. After waiting 5 minutes at the Account Manager machine, I got on it, entered my details and pressed print statement button. At which point a Russian lady came up to me and said "Are you going to take all day?". I'm not one for making a scene but that... that INFURIATED ME. You know how obsessed I am about people being quick and efficient in public places, and I was being so... I hadn't been on the machine more than a 30 seconds. So I told her off for being rude and she denied she was.

As I walked away she said "I'm sorry if I upset you". Which is when I went a little overboard, shouting at her about how it was rude people like her dragging this country down, how stupid she was etc. etc. Public embarrassment but I took satisfaction in the fact she looked quite thoroughly terrified of this giant gay man on a rampage. I may regret being a bastard but sometimes these people need to be told.

Mainly what annoyed me was her inconsistency. I hate people who apologise straight after doing something. If you are going to be sorry about it in five seconds time, why do it in the first place? Of course I understand being sorry for something that happened some time before, when you've had a chance to reflect properly. But otherwise it just makes me EVEN ANGRIER. If you are going to insult me, at least have the balls to stand by your statement.

Friday: Went out to the Ram after work, just like last week except with lots more people. There were tales of nervous from university, drunken managers, very close fights, accusations of homosexuality against "straight" colleagues. It was, in other words, bloody brilliant. But I have suffered for it today, and am finally just getting over hangover whilst watching Melodifestivalen 2010!

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Shopping: Is It Really That Hard?

Shopping. It can't be that hard, can it? Pick up goods. Take goods to checkout. Queue if necessary. Prepare money/cards for assistant. Bag goods, exchange money, leave. It's very, very basic. So how come so very few people seem able to do it? 

I can forgive the obviously senile, the elderly and the disabled. But how can you reach the age of 30 with good health and still not be able to understand how to purchase goods in a shop? 

The shocked look on their face when they are asked for money as they pat themselves down, perhaps hoping the assistant will say "Oh, you know what... don't worry about the money today!" The idly standing around whilst the goods are swiped before they suddenly think "Oh, these need to go in a bag!!!".  

It's mindboggling. If we can't perform this simple task, is it any wonder that most of our species believe in sky fairies or that many have bought into the hilarious lie that if you just work hard enough in this life, you'll get to a better place in the next? 

We are surrounded by morons. There's nothing more that can be said. People who can't even carry out their basic daily tasks without stretching their limited intellects to breaking point. It sounds elitist, and hey... it is! I'm no genius but I can catch a train, go to a shop AND work out how to use machines all in one trip! Next time I find some overpaid suit staring stupidly at a train ticket machine or see someone wondering just how a queue works, I'm just going to give them a slap. It's for their own good. I urge you to do the same. 

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I Have A Plan

Yes, that's right. A plan. Obviously, you've heard this all before Dear Constant Reader. But I am determined to move from stressful living in London with debt to just getting on with a peaceful life in Folkestone without worry. I must do it. It's time to grow up! 

Yoinked from Asian Hunks

Friday saw me attended Stephen K. Amos' "Feelgood Factor" at the Hammersmith Apollo. It was alright, click the link to see my review.

Otherwise nothing much to report (beyond receiving a very envy-inducing email from Arwen. Tut!). Soon, Dear Constant Reader, I promise to be one post a day exciting!

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Sexism, Racism And Customers

If you do not believe sexism and racism are deeply embedded in our culture, then I'd urge you to spend a couple of days in customer service. I've seen it before in other places of work, but now that I work for a charity serving a very diverse client base, I have to say I am truly depressed by how openly it's professed.

Today a lady phoned and the first thing she said was "Thank God it's a man, the women you have there can't seem to understand simple concepts". Now I had to bite my lip and not give her a verbal lashing over the phone, but she is just one of many. No man has ever said anything sexist over the phone to me about women. But women seem unable to STOP themselves being sexist against their own gender. Be it a woman who wanted someone to come put up a shelf "As we don't have a man here in the office" to this most recent stupid comment... it's everywhere.

Racism is even more common. I encounter open racism from customers about others (be it colleagues, neighbours or contractors) every day. They don't even hide it, or say it obliquely. They just come out and say it. Whites against blacks. South Asians against blacks. Blacks against Arabs. It is universal and disturbing. I sometimes find myself forgiving the old, white folks who phone up and mutter on about some such person of some such race. I know I shouldn't but I just think that the miserable old sod doesn't know any better. But when I hear some lady of Pakistani origin talking about her Somalian neighbour as if they were murderers, I can't quite believe it. She must have experienced some form of intolerance in her life. How can she go and dish it out to someone else based not on their actions but on their origins?

And then I struggle. My customer service minded self tells my good citizen side to keep quiet, let it go and just deal with the customer and get rid of them. But inside I want to scream "WHAAAAAAAAAT DID YOU JUST SAY????" I want to shout at them, tell them there is no place in this world for such openly expressed hatred for others. But I don't...

I confront tenants all the time over their aggressive behaviour and swearing. Unfailingly they back down and change how they speak and what they say. I think it's time I stopped rolling over and letting these backward thinking folk get away with their prejudices. So from tomorrow I promise to confront people about what they say to strangers over the telephone.

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Sometimes I Think The Whole World's Insane

I must be very, very weird. I mean that in the mental sense, so no comments such as "Yes, a 6'8" gay guy is pretty strange" please! :p

I cannot understand other people. I don't understand people's interest in the personal lives of celebrities. I don't understand why people don't just look where they are going. I can't comprehend why people get so emotional sometimes.

Item: Window shoppers. They walk along, staring off to the side ploughing through others with no care. I cannot imagine being so unself-conscious.

Item: People who get to the checkout, wait in line for 5 minutes, pack their goods AND THEN decide it's time to begin the "Where did I put my wallet/purse dance?".

Item: People who get to the checkout, wait for all their goods to be scanned BEFORE they even start packing. What is that all about?

Item: Customers who give you a long story, and then when you offer a solution (and acknowledgement you have understood and heard their rather uninteresting story) they repeat themselves. One in every two customers do this. It's as if they had spent so long figuring out what they were going to say when refused before they picked up the phone, that when their problem is resolved within a minute they can't comprehend what to do.

Item: People who start speaking over you when you answer the phone.

Item: People who cry because their cooker is broken.

Item: People who feel the need to make out in public places.

And the list goes on. Almost everyone I see is engaged in an activity I find perplexing, illogical and mad. Which must mean... I'm the mad one. I must be totally insane. Lock me up! Please... get me away from these people.

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Weekend In Hythe

Sunday saw Jim and I headed down to Folkestone, via a pick up in Snodland of my Nan, for some time with my family. Some ongoing family drama meant I didn't see my sister that much but she did make an appearance.

For the evening entertainment, and some Valentine's Day time alone, Jim and I headed into Hythe to find NOTHING WAS OPEN. The Globe, The Red Lion, the Chinese with the scary Chinese lady, and just about any other pub we could find was closed. We eventually found ourselves in The Kings Head, which turned out to be a quiet, but agreeable, Shepherd's Neame pub where we had a few drinks.

On the way back, in honour of the Chinese New Year, we grabbed a Chinese takeaway and headed back home for a lovely meal and then Pan's Labyrinth to finish off the night.

The next day we met my Mum's new partner's daughter, Natasha. She was nice but was somewhat akin to Taz of Tazmania, and terrified and exhausted us to the point we made a fast exit home.

I may be having only a four day week but work is... STRESSFUL. Donations to the "Keep Jae Out Of Work Fund" or clicks on my sidebar ads gratefully appreciated! :p

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Too Much Drink?

Thursday evening Mum and Stuart came up to Hammersmith to see Massive Attack at the Apollo. I met them after work, although our meeting was delayed by the fact the traffic around Queen Charlotte Street is HELL. I managed to actually catch them up as they went round!

We had a few drinks in the Ram, discussed allsorts and then parted ways. I headed home to find Jim in the local and I joined him for a long night of drinking into the early hours. After that we popped into Nettie and Paul's house on way home... at 1.30am. As you do.

Yoinked from get ur pantz on

Friday, and I headed home and had a bath before I again went down the local to find a rather cheery Jim. Another night of drinking ensued. All very nice...

Today, has been very, very quiet. Strangely enough given sore heads!

Tomorrow we head down to my Mum's for a Valentine's Day in Folkestone. And I hope there's still snow after the chaos of the last few days down there! I want LOTS of snow!!

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The Dark Streets Of Whitechapel

Work is, at the moment, a source of great stress and upset for me right now. Soon, I hope, it'll all be over... one way or another. By Thursday things should be far more relaxed. Alas not tomorrow though! Sigh. So it came as surprise both to myself, and Jim, when I accepted his offer to go out with him, Denis, Nal, and H for a meal.

Our first stop though was a reconnaissance to the Prince Albert pub, here in Greenwich, which is undergoing refurbishment. Well when I say undergoing, reports had obviously been vastly exaggerated. It was more like refurbishment had just start 5 minutes before we arrived. With little thus to see and comment on we decided to make our way to the station. Much hilarity ensued as we all got our own type of ticket... surely given we were all going to the same place via the same train this was completely impossible but not in London of course!

Our destination was Shadwell from where we were to walk to Whitechapel and one of Jim's newest favourite restaurants; Needoo's.

As always the food was gorgeous and cheap. Added fun was had because Nal has eyes bigger than his stomach. When his order was brought out, an extra table was added to the end of ours. True story.

With added cute but world-weary waiter (I like to make up stories about my stalking victims lives, he struck me as a newly arrived immigrant who has discovered that his dreams of earning decent wages were cruelly shattered upon his arrival to our dismal country) and a lovely atmosphere it was a nice way to forget about all my work stress.

The walk back to Shadwell was bitterly cold. Another cold snap is definitely upon us!

After a nightcap in the local, it was time for bed and the horror of work in the morning... :(

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Tidbits

1) My usual Eurovision post will not be happening this year. Well not here anyway! Instead it is now over on my latest blog (yes, Dear Constant Reader, the world really was crying out for yet another blog from me!) here. It shall be kept up to date as per tradition and my live blog etc. will happen over there this year.

2) Folkestone, Folkestone, Folkestone. The move must happen sometime this year. And whilst I am not looking forward to the stress of moving, every time it's brought up or Jim shows me a property, my heart goes all a flutter. There is something deeply draining about living in London, and I cannot wait to escape this place. It's been good but it's time to go home.

Jim was just showing me a flat which is directly opposite Faulty Towers Hotel (or what used to be it anyway). Don't you think it'd would be most fitting to return there? Full circle indeed!

3) Nuf the Venus Fly Trap has sprouted a flower stalk. Yes, through some miracle, she still lives despite drowning/drying out several times over. I've ignored every suggestion given on her upkeep by every expert thus I shall ignore their advice and let her flower. For better or worse, it's what she wants to do!

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Harley Street Hell

Yesterday morning I had to visit Harley Street for an Occupational Health referral. It had been hastily arranged by Human Resources the evening before, who had asked me to go on short notice as "a favour" as they had received a last minute cancellation.

I agreed but, being fully aware of how things usually turn out, I made it quite clear to them that I'd be happy to go "only if they know to expect me". Thinking that by specifically mentioning this, I might avoid problems I turned up at Harley Street the next morning relatively relaxed.

Harley Street (for those who don't know, this is a London street which is renowned for it's medical associations) is basically a street full of expensive doors that say "You can trust us, only a very reassuringly expensive place would be able to afford a door like this!". I turned up to the designated address (which had a less than expensive door) 30 minutes early, and having found it wandered around for a while to avoid upsetting the receptionists. A quarter of an hour before my appointment I returned and was rather concerned to find the company I was looking for was not listed on the entrance buzzer. Hmm... regardless I snuck into the building behind another visitor and found my way to the office with the same number as the people I was looking for. I rang their bell, but there was no answer.

I returned downstairs to discover a well hidden reception for the building and asked the Indian gentlemen there whether he knew who this company was and if they were available. Not only did he not know them, nor did he seem to understand the English language, he also seemed convinced the address I had was next door's address (despite the fact the canopy outside clearly showed I was at the right address) and escorted me out of the building.

I phoned up HR and advised them of my predicament. They asked me if I was at the correct address. I told them yes. They gave me directions to the correct address. I told them I know them because I was already there. "It's on Harley Street." they said helpfully at which point I started to cry a little inside... After 5 minutes of them attempting to direct me to the position I was already at, they agreed with my suggestion that they find a phone number for the doctors and try to reach them that way.

10 minutes later, and well past my appointment time they came back to tell me that no one had informed the doctors I was coming. "HILARIOUS" was one of the words I did not think to use to describe the situation.

The doctors finally arrived and, after I'd given the idiotic receptionist a look that might very well have killed him as we walked past, were actually very efficient and pleasant, but needless to say I had a few words with HR upon my arrival at the office.

Stupid, stupid people. Grrrr...

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Articles Of Faith

God, I wish I believed in God. I think, after a few years out of religion, I've come to the realisation that belief is something that makes life a lot easier. That's not a statement in support of it, of course, nor am I in anyway suggesting it makes belief any more honest. But faith does have some upsides.

As you should know, Dear Constant Reader, I'm a former Christian and a former pagan (Wiccan mainly). When you're feeling down as an atheist you actually have to get off your bum and do something to change things. No good sitting there praying or wishing for change. That won't do anything. But when you have faith, that praying or wishing for things gives you a, fake, sense of control over a situation. "Oh God, please deliver me from this evil" etc. helps you sleep at night.

As you may be aware, I've been feeling a little down of late. No one reason, just a general case of Black Dog. And it got me nostalgic for my pagan faith where I might have tried spellcasting or praying in order to see me through to better times. I remember the reassuring warmth that would come over me, "knowing" the Gods would see me through. I look back upon those times with a sense of longing for those feelings again, feelings I know to be fake and useless, and at the same time I look back with disgust at my stupidity.

It's weird, but sometimes I forget how powerful those feelings were and perhaps that makes it difficult for me to be sympathetic to the religious. I've walked in their shoes, and I should be a little more forgiving when they suggest bombing Iran to start the end of the world or they start stoning adulterers.

Nah... maybe not. Wake up fools!

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Prayers For Bobby And My Coming Out Story

Jim just introduced me to the most touching movie. Prayers for Bobby starring Sigourney Weaver is the true story of a boy who kills himself due to his difficulties with his sexuality and about his mother who must face her part in his death and face conflicts with her faith. It had me in tears. It was a wonderful, wonderful movie.

I suppose I forget how lucky I was coming out. Bobby killed himself in 1983, the year I was born, but I know his story isn't unique even in today's America (and I'm sure here in the UK to, thankfully, a much lesser extent). I was born into a family free of religion, if not completely of prejudice, and my coming out was a lot easier than most. I think I was harder on myself than my family.

When I was about 12 I got my hands on my first Bible and consumed it's contents eagerly, finding comfort in faith that I couldn't seem to find in friends thanks mainly to not staying in one place long enough to really make many. Then I turned 14.

It started with George Michael. My paper round meant I usually had a Sun left over each day and I was saving up Page 3 girl pictures. Why? Because I was just not finding girls attractive and was doing my best to force the process. Well one day I opened the Sun to find this picture:

It was during George Michael's trouble with the law in some toilets, and it did far more for me than Page 3 girls ever had. Being a good Christian boy (of my own making) I was mortified. I struggled so much to fight it, thinking and believing that homosexuality was wrong.

And then along came the Sixth Former. At 10.25, 26th February 1998 outside the media studies room in the Harvey Grammar School, he stole my heart in an instant. Within 5 minutes I had accepted my sexuality for the first time. And it felt good.

But my inner turmoil did not cease, it was just now my true nature was in the ascendant and my faith in Jesus was diminishing. It was about that time I became pretty suicidal and wrote a suicide note. I didn't actually attempt suicide, I'd more written it as an exercise in what exactly was making me so unhappy in life. I forgot about it but left it (and my diary) in the bottom of my wardrobe one day. And that is when my Mum found it. This came atop a letter from one of my teachers regarding a piece of coursework and his plans to put me in detention for the holidays received the very same day.

So needless to say that when I came home from school it was to find my Mum and Stepdad sat at the dining room table waiting for me. They told me it was just a phase, that it'd pass, that everything was going to be alright. Well that is what my Mum screamed between tears.

I was terrified of what my life was about to become... but after that evening that sort of talk was never mentioned again. It was like they slept on it and realised they'd overreacted. My sexuality became a non-issue, an anti-climatic end to my official family coming out at 14. My extended family was informed, of course, but that was that. When I started going to gay bars in Canterbury with Stephen, my Mum happily gave me a lift there and back without questioning me. When I brought Stephen home for the first time he was quickly adopted and forced into doing the washing up (a sure sign of acceptance in my family).  When my parents arrived home one day and I walked down the stairs with unruly hair and a black policeman, hardly an eyebrow was raised.

It wasn't a perfect coming out, but it was probably the best one for me... I have to say I thank my lucky stars for my Mum and her acceptance of who I am. It's just such a shame for all the boys and girls out there who grow up like Bobby did, living with enforced shame and hatred. One day I hope no one ever needs to come out, that who you love is no more of an issue than your favourite colour. One day...

Prayers for Bobby: A Mother's Coming to Terms with the Suicide of Her Gay Son (US Amazon)

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Grand Old Blogger

One of the first pictures I ever blogged: Tom Welling

I've been blogging since 2001. I've been on Blogger since before it was bought by Google, back in the days of Pyra Labs. You, Dear Constant Reader, have seen the ups and downs of my life throughout that time.

But behind that something has changed. When I started, blogging was niche. It was about to have it's first great leap forward with 9/11 and the spike in new blogs that occurred there after. But most blogs, even after that, were still very interesting, very personal, places full of the weird and wonderful tidbits of someone else's life. Blogs about Backstreet Boys slash fiction and The Sims and college life. All at the same time. Written by a girl. Wonderful.

Of course it's easy to get nostalgic. Looking around the blogging world now I find most people are on the make. Most companies have blogs. More and more politicians are getting them. And, the worst of all, most of the good blogs have gone as their writers have moved away from the commercialisation and use their talents elsewhere. Dead blogs are everywhere.

I look at my blog list and I have to say: not one of those blogs is in anyway similar to what a blog was when I first arrived on the blogging scene. And it makes me sad.

I wasn't about for the start of the internet revolution. But I was pleased to be about for the start of the blogging revolution. It was a time of great fun. Onwards and upwards though... I'm sure soon enough we shall have another slow burning fad appear which shall be just as wonderful and great as blogs used to be.

Why the nostalgia? Because I watched the rather awesome first part of the Open University/BBC internet retrospective The Virtual Revolution. I have to say I've been watching a lot of Open University stuff recently...

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Please Hold

To celebrate Australia Day: Michael Witt!

And for the rest of my blog entry I think another Australian singing will pretty much sum everything up...

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Leave All This To Yesterday

Coming to the end of the weekend, and of Under The Dome too, and I'm feeling low as low can be. Have been all week. Maybe it's the time of year, after all my great European adventure happened at the same time of year. Perhaps I have SAD. Now that would be somewhat unfortunate in that I am a cold weather person! But also so very apt.

I know, getting rid of this Black Dog would mean I'd no longer be me any more. My emotional ups and downs are as much as part of me as my height or my inherent shyness in public. It's just I hate how they affect others. I can ride them out, but can my relationship? My friendships? My job?

I don't mean to hurt or upset others when I'm like this, but I do. I know I do. I hurt my Mum more than I will probably ever be able to understand when I ran away. I hurt people still.

If angels were real, they'd absolutely look like Mario Maurer

Grr... well that's me this week. I'm sure I'll be fine again next... I've been through enough ups and downs to know neither state lasts forever which is, in itself, both a blessing and curse. So don't worry unduly Dear Constant Reader!

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Too Busy!

Reading Stephen King's Under the Dome that is...

It's absolutely bloody awesome! Unless he truly screws up this ending it's going to be up there with It and The Stand as one my favourites. (thanks again Zoe!)

In other news TFI the weekend! Jesus, I can't stand work. Grr...

Erm... and that's it really. I really should start preparing to move. But there's always next weekend for that...

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I'll Take One To Go

Aviel Tan

This week: the 17:50 Cannon Street service to Greenwich has been late every day. The first day the driver announced it had been late due to Southeastern insisting it needed a really good wash. The second day he said he hadn't been joking the first day. *sigh* Basically some problem stemming from Southeastern's new timetable, and when the driver is suggesting you call in to complain you know it's not good!

At work, I'm currently training a new boy who is already nearly better than me. Grr... I just hate/love that.

Zoe, Her Most Awesomest, bought me a get well gift last week when I was ill (I note you, Dear Constant Reader, did not).... Stephen King's Under the Dome. I got it on Tuesday and am already half way through this huge tome. It is bloody awesome so far, one of his best. I just pray to God he doesn't screw it up with one of his rubbish endings (hello The Cell).

Otherwise life just muddles along as always.

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One Of Those Days

When I woke up this morning I came into the front room to find Jim worrying over Mr Gibbs broken vivarium light. He gave me a look and told me it was going to be one of those days. He was not wrong!

We decided to take the car up to Charlton Reptiles to get a new light and some food for Mr Gibbs. The cars front wheel looked a little deflated but we decided to go anyway and stop off at a garage to top it up. At the top of Point Hill, just behind our house, we realised it wasn't just a little deflated... it was flat.

Bobby Rossong Yoinked from Queerty

So lots of fiddling around later we managed to change the tyre... and as we attempted to turn the engine on to power our emergency tyre inflater it conked out. Much fiddling around later, and discovering not only was the car broken but the tyre inflater was too, we got the car working again and managed to get it home.

Abandoning this route we decided to see if Wickes had the light we needed. The light we needed was a bayonet, but Wickes only had screw in ones. Aha! thought Jim, I'll just buy a screw in light fitting... but all the light fittings they had were bayonet!! Joined up supply there, me thinks!!

Next plan: go to Lewisham by DLR and then walk down to Ladywell to a pet shop there. Jim doesn't have Oyster and my Oyster isn't topped up and they don't do DLR returns any more!!!! Deciding we'd rather walk then pay 4 quid for a ticket for 3 stops, we headed down into Lewisham, stopped off at Spoons for a much needed top up and finally got to the pet shop. Surprisingly they had what we needed, which was concerning in itself, and we headed back (via Spoons again). Jim suddenly had an urge for jam pudding (don't ask) so we headed to Tesco's... just after we'd crossed the road by the railway bridge and were heading passed Maggies we heard a thud and screams from behind us. Some girl had just been hit by a car that promptly drove off! The police were there in seconds so we moved on quickly...

4 hours after we set off... we returned home with a light and food for Gibbs and beer and chocolate for ourselves. Stress-o-rama!!!

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Blogging

Bobby Rossong Yoinked from Queerty

I've been blogging for 9 years, as of this year. Amazing really when you think about it! Last year I made over £200 from blogging, thanks mainly to some rather unobtrusive paid links (honestly you won't spot it on here!). So I spent a few days off work sick working on my blogs. Tidying them up, removing dead links, and generally preparing them for the next stage of blogging... i.e. more posts and better quality ones at that. Relax folks I'm not going to suddenly have Google Ads between every post nor add any more ads to the sidebar. Those ads work perfectly well. It's now time to actually give some content. And, anyway, this blog is already pretty damn awesome (9 years of age means it can hold it's own on Google!) so it's my other blogs I'll be focussing on.

Why? Every little helps... I am determined to try to escape my current way of life however I can! Positive thinking people!

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The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there

Back in the early days of this blog, I did something thoughtless and cruel to my family and friends. I ran away. Sure I only lasted two weeks but I think that's a pretty damn good innings for a childish, melodramatic endeavour (Part One The Journey To Rome, Part Two The Journey Home).

8 years ago today I was in the town of Menton on the Cote D'Azur (that's southern France for the uninitiated), eating chicken and tomato panini's if memory serves me correctly. Whilst the memories are rather dark and foreboding, given that I was planning to kill myself at some point on the trip, I can now look back on them fondly. I'd given up all responsibilities, ever so briefly, and there was no family, no university, no work, nothing at all to worry about. Except for that damn black dog on my shoulder.

It's refreshing to remember a time before WORK when life was a little less repetitive. I would give anything, I repeat ANYTHING, to be able to afford not to have to work anymore. To be able to choose each day what I wanted to do and know that if I did choose to do something there was always tomorrow for a rest if I wanted it.

Which reminds me once again of my oft quoted promise to a tramp at Brighton Station (which occurred 8 years and a couple of days ago!) that I'd never become part of the rat race. Sorry dearest tramp, I have failed thee! And, I suppose, myself.

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Snow Up And Down

This week has been fairly simple. I've spent every single day praying for snow, peering out of windows at work and home searching for even the merest hint of a flake of snow. I blame my Mum, who is the sort of person who stares out the window in June and optimistically says "Ooo... looks like snow." Whilst others have been moaning about snow and the media coverage, I've been moaning about people moaning about snow (see here) and shouting at the television "Snow isn't BAD weather!!"

For all those like me who obsess over snow check out Will it rain today? for radar pictures updated every 15 minutes.

So with my hopes raised and dashed repeatedly it's no surprise I've caught a cold and am now playing the poorly card. Sympathy please!

Mr Gibbs has spent the last two days being frustratingly restless, jumping in and out of viv and running around the living room at amazingly high speed. He seems able to traverse the room in moments without you noticing. Disconcerting when you look at a box across from you and see a little reptilian head peering round the side watching you carefully. Gotta love the Gibbs!

Now here's something to warm us up during this cold snap... .a Singaporean life guard...

Yoinked from Asian Hunks

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Angry Commute

1) Dear Man on Platform 2 London Bridge at 17:50 today. When you decided to walk backwards into me as I stood awaiting my train, I wonder what exactly went through your mind to do it again. And again. Were you perhaps hoping I might pull your head off, boiler it clean and use the skull as a new fashionable Oyster card holder?

2) Dear Lady on Platform 2 London Bridge at 17:54 today. Some of us have the uncanny ability to know where the doors of a train are going to open. Others are too stupid to understand they open at the same place every day and instead position themselves randomly along the platform. I am the former, you are the latter. What this means is I am at the front of the queue to get on (once everyone is off of course), so what was going through your mind when you attempted to squeeze yourself (forcefully and hurriedly) into the one foot of space between me and the door thus getting in the way of those getting off and in the way of someone who has legs that are bigger than you?? Were you hoping to form a new type of graffiti made from your remains after I'd squashed you up into a pulp?

3) Dear Man on the 17:54 Greenwich bound train. You had been seated throughout the journey, whilst I had been standing. I was quite clearly standing waiting to get off. So what ever possessed you to think that when the doors opened you'd rush to push me out of the way so you could gain an extra 2 seconds lead? Did you think you'd be successful in moving me, Jae Kay The Man Mountain? Of course you failed. I trust this will serve as a lesson to you that the overwealming combination of etiquette and hugeness makes me a formidable commuting opponent whom you shall inevitably lose to should you seek to break the unwritten rules of travel.

If you feel benevolent and particularly generous, this writer always appreciates things bought for him from his wishlist

A New Decade

Lee Min Ho

I was going to write a "resolutions" post, but have now decided against it. Why? Because putting down in words your hopes and dreams only serves to demean and belittle them. I have great hopes for the future, and I'll aim for those but I won't put a reminder of them here for that may serve only to depress a Future Jae, who stupidly decides to reread his blog (note to Future Jae, if you are reading this you are a very bad man! You know what we agreed about rereading blogs!!).

I had a lovely New Years Eve party at the local (pictures here, taken by Jim on his nice new camera) and enjoyed a second trip to the cinema yesterday to see Avatar again. That movie has rocketed to the top of my favourite movies list.

I hope you have a Happy New Year, Dear Constant Reader, and rest assured that whilst I can still type you'll hear all about mine.

If you are feel benevolent and particularly generous, this writer always appreciates things bought for him from his wishlist