Tuesday 29 December 2015
Lemmy...
Very sad news today, Lemmy, rock and roll legend has died. He was a one in a billion character who lived life to the full and on his terms, and his terms alone. I'm feeling pretty down today as it is, this has made it worse.
Tuesday 22 December 2015
Merry Christmas...
OK, so checking out my page views today and so far, since I've been running this periodic blog, i have had a grand total of FUCK ALL visitors (apart from various government snooping agencies...natch!)
So this christmas message will be going out to them mostly, and you if you are becoming my first visitor.
This Christmas is the first Christmas that I will be spending alone. Ive been feeling pretty down about it obviously and i sit for hours ruing the mistakes I've made and the bad decisions I've taken that have landed me here. You see we are all gifted with a certain amount of free-will, there are somethings that are beyond our control; other people, events around us, inanimate objects, you know the stuff we interact with on a daily basis. We have no control over those things, they taught me that in my AA meetings when i was getting on the wagon, about twenty some years ago. That was a valuable lesson to learn. The other lesson I've learned over the last few years is that I am a hopeless judge of people, and for the majority of my fifty one years i have been extremely naive in that regard. I always saw what i thought was the good in people, but then through a series of unfortunate events, that whole tower that id built came tumbling down. I now know I can only trust three people in my life, two of those are my parents, and the other is someone who i love and care about very much. I prefer in the large, animals to people, some of the nicest people i have met have been dogs, and i stand by that 110%.
Anyway, this christmas I feel a little hard done by, but its all of my own doing as I've said so tough titties to me! Yet, as I've been wandering the streets looking for ways to show my love to those three people this christmas I've seen a particular group of people who have made me feel a great deal more humble and a great deal more grateful for what i have. This christmas, as it is every christmas there will be thousands of people without a roof over their head, without a huge great steaming turkey and trimmings, without a hot toddy, without warmth, without love, without companionship, without chestnuts roasting on open fires, many of them without hope.
So, when you are out doing those last minute emergency shopping runs to get those essentials that you've forgotten, like Brandy butter, or sausages for your pigs in blankets, think of these people who would do anything for just a tiny portion of what you will be consuming for christmas, anything for just a few hours of family and friends gathered around a table laughing or even arguing, that essential warmth of human kindness doesn't always flow in the right direction at christmas. So if you get the chance to drop a few coins in a cup or indeed bring them a steaming cup of hot chocolate from the nearest coffee shop, do it! I guarantee it will make you feel better, and it will do a great deal to let these people know that someone gives a shit about them at this time of year.
Merry Christmas to one and all!
So this christmas message will be going out to them mostly, and you if you are becoming my first visitor.
This Christmas is the first Christmas that I will be spending alone. Ive been feeling pretty down about it obviously and i sit for hours ruing the mistakes I've made and the bad decisions I've taken that have landed me here. You see we are all gifted with a certain amount of free-will, there are somethings that are beyond our control; other people, events around us, inanimate objects, you know the stuff we interact with on a daily basis. We have no control over those things, they taught me that in my AA meetings when i was getting on the wagon, about twenty some years ago. That was a valuable lesson to learn. The other lesson I've learned over the last few years is that I am a hopeless judge of people, and for the majority of my fifty one years i have been extremely naive in that regard. I always saw what i thought was the good in people, but then through a series of unfortunate events, that whole tower that id built came tumbling down. I now know I can only trust three people in my life, two of those are my parents, and the other is someone who i love and care about very much. I prefer in the large, animals to people, some of the nicest people i have met have been dogs, and i stand by that 110%.
Anyway, this christmas I feel a little hard done by, but its all of my own doing as I've said so tough titties to me! Yet, as I've been wandering the streets looking for ways to show my love to those three people this christmas I've seen a particular group of people who have made me feel a great deal more humble and a great deal more grateful for what i have. This christmas, as it is every christmas there will be thousands of people without a roof over their head, without a huge great steaming turkey and trimmings, without a hot toddy, without warmth, without love, without companionship, without chestnuts roasting on open fires, many of them without hope.
So, when you are out doing those last minute emergency shopping runs to get those essentials that you've forgotten, like Brandy butter, or sausages for your pigs in blankets, think of these people who would do anything for just a tiny portion of what you will be consuming for christmas, anything for just a few hours of family and friends gathered around a table laughing or even arguing, that essential warmth of human kindness doesn't always flow in the right direction at christmas. So if you get the chance to drop a few coins in a cup or indeed bring them a steaming cup of hot chocolate from the nearest coffee shop, do it! I guarantee it will make you feel better, and it will do a great deal to let these people know that someone gives a shit about them at this time of year.
Merry Christmas to one and all!
Wednesday 30 September 2015
Red Bull F1 a messy end??
From total domination to the brink of departure from the sport, Red Bull's rise and potential fall is a remarkable tale.
The road to the precarious position in which the team find themselves in Formula 1 dates back several years, to an engine supply partnership with Renault which hit problems almost as soon as it started.
That was the end of 2006 after Red Bull became dissatisfied with their previous supplier, Ferrari. Nine years on, Red Bull's options have distilled to another deal with Ferrari or quitting F1.
How they reached this point is a story of ambition, fuelled by success, turbocharged by frustration, spiced with a dash of arrogance and topped with a sense of entitlement. And not all of that applies to Red Bull.
It is a story of how the most successful team of the past five years have got to a point where, five races before the end of the 2015 season, they have secured a split from their current engine partner without having anything lined up to replace it.
On the face of it, it is a catastrophic strategic miscalculation. But, as ever in F1, it is not quite as simple as that.
The rise of Red Bull-Renault
When Red Bull started their relationship with Renault in 2007, they soon realised that the engine was down on power compared with the rivals from Mercedes and Ferrari - which was a problem, because F1 had started a period of frozen engines, when only changes aimed at reliability would be allowed.
Red Bull and Renault started lobbying to be allowed to retune the engine, on the basis that the engine freeze was predicated on there being parity between teams, and there wasn't any.
Governing body the FIA agreed, and Renault was allowed to modify its engine over the winter of 2008, while Mercedes and Ferrari were not. Inevitably, this led to resentment that continues to rumble behind the scenes today.
Even after retuning, the Renault was not the most powerful engine - it lagged by about 5%, or 35bhp, according to Red Bull. But it had other positive attributes, including excellent driveability.
Rivals were not impressed when, following a major rule change on chassis for 2009, Red Bull-Renault had suddenly transformed themselves from midfielders to front-runners.
Red Bull came on increasingly strong in that year's championship, but ended up as runners-up to Jenson Button and Brawn.
In 2010, Red Bull and Sebastian Vettel went one better - and then repeated the double success of drivers' and constructors' titles for the next three years.
A fair bit of that success over 2010-13 was based on Renault's expertise at a particularly esoteric form of engine technology.
The French company tuned the engine to blow exhaust gases even when the driver was off-throttle. These were harnessed by Red Bull's aerodynamicists, led by the genius Adrian Newey, to create rear downforce out of reach of other teams - even when they cottoned on to what Red Bull were up to.
Their lead driver adapted brilliantly to the unique and counter-intuitive driving style required by this technology and Vettel-Red Bull-Renault swept all before them.
The collapse of the relationship
Behind the scenes, though, all was not well.
Red Bull bosses wasted no opportunity to point out that they were achieving this success despite having a down-on-power engine, rarely mentioning the effect of the blown exhaust. And Renault began to resent the lack of coverage they were getting for the success, despite their integral part in it.
Tensions began to grow.
Despite being a works partner, Red Bull were paying for their engines. Renault introduced to team principal Christian Horner the idea of a sponsorship from Infiniti, the luxury brand of Japanese company Nissan, which is part of an automotive conglomerate with Renault.
Horner and the Infiniti bosses quickly concluded a sponsorship deal for the 2011 season, which grew into a title sponsorship for 2013.
But the deal was not a win-win for Red Bull.
The Infiniti title sponsorship deal - worth $30m (£19.8m) - more than covered the cost of the engines. So it meant the Renault engines were effectively free. And even with the more expensive turbo hybrid engines introduced from 2014 Red Bull still had a net financial gain from the deal.
However, $30m was considerably less than the space allocated to Infiniti on the car could theoretically be sold for to another company.
So, all in all, Red Bull felt it was offering a pretty good arrangement to the Renault-Nissan group.
But the logic of the arrangement was always lost to those not involved - by putting another car company's brand on the Red Bull car, and including it in the team's official name, it was inevitably going to further frustrate Renault by reducing its brand exposure.
Sure enough, Renault realised this too. As Renault F1 boss Cyril Abiteboul puts it: "The problem is, when we were winning championships with Red Bull, no-one was talking about us."
Slow and unreliable: the hybrid disaster
Although both parties admit the relationship was not exactly one of roses and chocolates to begin with, things really began to go wrong from 2014.
Renault entered the new era of turbo hybrid engines last season with confidence. One executive told a senior insider in F1 towards the end of 2013: "Nobody knows more about turbocharged engines than Renault."
But the executive was wrong. Mercedes had committed more resources to the project much sooner than anybody else, and their four-year development programme resulted last year in an engine that was miles ahead of any other manufacturer.
As well as being slow, Renault's engine was initially catastrophically unreliable, and Red Bull had a terrible pre-season testing programme.
The biggest problems were solved by the start of the season, but reliability remained an issue through 2014 and, with in-season development frozen, Red Bull were resigned to a season picking up scraps. They did, at least, win three races when things went wrong for Mercedes, thanks to some brilliant driving by Daniel Ricciardo.
Renault promised Red Bull a significant step forward in performance for 2015. But when the definitive 2015 engine appeared for the first time at the first race of the season in Australia, it was not only no more powerful than the 2014 engine, it had worse drivability and was unreliable.
Red Bull had had enough and severely criticised Renault in public after the race, Horner describing the situation as "unacceptable".
Renault, too, was unhappy, and both parties quickly concluded that the current relationship was not working for them.
The end game: finding new partners
Renault began to explore the possibility of running its own team again - five years after it had concluded this was not the way forward and handed its team to investment group Genii Capital.
Initially, Renault looked at Toro Rosso, Red Bull's junior team. Red Bull proposed a deal that locked it into the Renault Group - Renault would buy and rebrand Toro Rosso; Red Bull would continue with Renault engines, but badged as Infiniti. Renault rejected it and started to look at buying back its old team, now called Lotus.
Meanwhile, Red Bull had funded its own engine development programme with the British Ilmor company.
By early summer, it had produced a new engine design that it believed would be 0.45secs a lap quicker than the current one.
Renault was doing its own parallel development. After being told about Ilmor's progress, Renault said its development engine was worth an extra 0.46secs, and it would pursue that design.
Later, that step forward was downgraded to 0.25secs. Now, Renault is telling Red Bull the new engine that is due to debut at the US Grand Prix next month will gain them 0.15secs. Red Bull is questioning whether that gain is worth the grid penalties using it would incur.
As this saga unfolded, Red Bull owner Dietrich Mateschitz decided he had had enough of Renault - and that he would not work with them any longer, even if it meant pulling out of F1.
That the Red Bull-Renault partnership will end after this season has not been officially announced, but it is an open secret within F1.
The Mercedes option: Wolff shuts down deal
As the Renault relationship collapsed, Red Bull began exploring other options. First on the list was Mercedes.
Mateschitz - who has a longstanding antipathy towards Mercedes for a reason few in F1 understand - met with Mercedes non-executive chairman Niki Lauda, a fellow Austrian, who is close to Red Bull motorsport adviser Helmut Marko.
There are differing versions of what happened at that meeting. One is that a deal for Red Bull to have Mercedes engines in 2016 was "effectively agreed". Except Lauda is not empowered to make that decision.
Another is that Lauda said he was pro the idea and would do all he could to persuade Mercedes to make it happen.
Red Bull's problem was that Mercedes F1 boss Toto Wolff was very much against the idea - and he worked hard to make sure it did not happen. By early September, Wolff had got his way.
Now, though, Red Bull had a problem. They had dumped Renault and Mercedes had said no. Which only left Ferrari, whose engine in 2015 has improved dramatically and is as near as makes no real difference a match for Mercedes.
No problem - Ferrari president Sergio Marchionne had said as long ago as June that he would be happy to supply Red Bull engines if they needed them.
But what he did not say was which engines - and there's the rub.
Ferrari's F1 team have offered Red Bull a supply of 2015 engines - their very real fear being that if Red Bull had parity, they would beat Ferrari, whose car has not been as good as a Red Bull since 2009.
Red Bull describe this as an "insult", given that Ferrari customers Sauber and Haas will get 2016 engines, and say if they do not get parity they will quit F1. And so they have reached an impasse.
Red Bull and Ferrari both have cards to play
Red Bull have a negotiating position. Ferrari wants to change the engine development rules for next year, to give it a chance of surpassing Mercedes.
Currently, in-season engine development is banned again next year, after being permitted on a limited basis this season. Ferrari want the system that has applied this year to continue - and Honda and Renault want completely open development, to try to close the chasm that exists between them and the others. Mercedes are open to discussion.
But for this to be allowed, all the teams need to agree - and Red Bull could threaten to block it unless they are given a 2016 Ferrari engine.
Ferrari, though, also have cards in their hands.
Red Bull have under contract four of the most promising young drivers in F1. Ferrari initially had Ricciardo at the top of their list as a potential replacement for Kimi Raikkonen in 2016, but he is locked into Red Bull until the end of 2018.
The Italian team are also interested in Toro Rosso's teenage sensation Max Verstappen, who has a three-year deal with Red Bull until the end of 2017.
Ferrari could use their interest in either of them as leverage in the engine negotiations.
It's a game of brinksmanship. Who will win? The Austrian soft drinks billionaire? Or the world's most glamorous car brand?
The road to the precarious position in which the team find themselves in Formula 1 dates back several years, to an engine supply partnership with Renault which hit problems almost as soon as it started.
That was the end of 2006 after Red Bull became dissatisfied with their previous supplier, Ferrari. Nine years on, Red Bull's options have distilled to another deal with Ferrari or quitting F1.
How they reached this point is a story of ambition, fuelled by success, turbocharged by frustration, spiced with a dash of arrogance and topped with a sense of entitlement. And not all of that applies to Red Bull.
It is a story of how the most successful team of the past five years have got to a point where, five races before the end of the 2015 season, they have secured a split from their current engine partner without having anything lined up to replace it.
On the face of it, it is a catastrophic strategic miscalculation. But, as ever in F1, it is not quite as simple as that.
The rise of Red Bull-Renault
When Red Bull started their relationship with Renault in 2007, they soon realised that the engine was down on power compared with the rivals from Mercedes and Ferrari - which was a problem, because F1 had started a period of frozen engines, when only changes aimed at reliability would be allowed.
Red Bull and Renault started lobbying to be allowed to retune the engine, on the basis that the engine freeze was predicated on there being parity between teams, and there wasn't any.
Governing body the FIA agreed, and Renault was allowed to modify its engine over the winter of 2008, while Mercedes and Ferrari were not. Inevitably, this led to resentment that continues to rumble behind the scenes today.
Even after retuning, the Renault was not the most powerful engine - it lagged by about 5%, or 35bhp, according to Red Bull. But it had other positive attributes, including excellent driveability.
Rivals were not impressed when, following a major rule change on chassis for 2009, Red Bull-Renault had suddenly transformed themselves from midfielders to front-runners.
Red Bull came on increasingly strong in that year's championship, but ended up as runners-up to Jenson Button and Brawn.
In 2010, Red Bull and Sebastian Vettel went one better - and then repeated the double success of drivers' and constructors' titles for the next three years.
A fair bit of that success over 2010-13 was based on Renault's expertise at a particularly esoteric form of engine technology.
The French company tuned the engine to blow exhaust gases even when the driver was off-throttle. These were harnessed by Red Bull's aerodynamicists, led by the genius Adrian Newey, to create rear downforce out of reach of other teams - even when they cottoned on to what Red Bull were up to.
Their lead driver adapted brilliantly to the unique and counter-intuitive driving style required by this technology and Vettel-Red Bull-Renault swept all before them.
The collapse of the relationship
Behind the scenes, though, all was not well.
Red Bull bosses wasted no opportunity to point out that they were achieving this success despite having a down-on-power engine, rarely mentioning the effect of the blown exhaust. And Renault began to resent the lack of coverage they were getting for the success, despite their integral part in it.
Tensions began to grow.
Despite being a works partner, Red Bull were paying for their engines. Renault introduced to team principal Christian Horner the idea of a sponsorship from Infiniti, the luxury brand of Japanese company Nissan, which is part of an automotive conglomerate with Renault.
Horner and the Infiniti bosses quickly concluded a sponsorship deal for the 2011 season, which grew into a title sponsorship for 2013.
But the deal was not a win-win for Red Bull.
The Infiniti title sponsorship deal - worth $30m (£19.8m) - more than covered the cost of the engines. So it meant the Renault engines were effectively free. And even with the more expensive turbo hybrid engines introduced from 2014 Red Bull still had a net financial gain from the deal.
However, $30m was considerably less than the space allocated to Infiniti on the car could theoretically be sold for to another company.
So, all in all, Red Bull felt it was offering a pretty good arrangement to the Renault-Nissan group.
But the logic of the arrangement was always lost to those not involved - by putting another car company's brand on the Red Bull car, and including it in the team's official name, it was inevitably going to further frustrate Renault by reducing its brand exposure.
Sure enough, Renault realised this too. As Renault F1 boss Cyril Abiteboul puts it: "The problem is, when we were winning championships with Red Bull, no-one was talking about us."
Slow and unreliable: the hybrid disaster
Although both parties admit the relationship was not exactly one of roses and chocolates to begin with, things really began to go wrong from 2014.
Renault entered the new era of turbo hybrid engines last season with confidence. One executive told a senior insider in F1 towards the end of 2013: "Nobody knows more about turbocharged engines than Renault."
But the executive was wrong. Mercedes had committed more resources to the project much sooner than anybody else, and their four-year development programme resulted last year in an engine that was miles ahead of any other manufacturer.
As well as being slow, Renault's engine was initially catastrophically unreliable, and Red Bull had a terrible pre-season testing programme.
The biggest problems were solved by the start of the season, but reliability remained an issue through 2014 and, with in-season development frozen, Red Bull were resigned to a season picking up scraps. They did, at least, win three races when things went wrong for Mercedes, thanks to some brilliant driving by Daniel Ricciardo.
Renault promised Red Bull a significant step forward in performance for 2015. But when the definitive 2015 engine appeared for the first time at the first race of the season in Australia, it was not only no more powerful than the 2014 engine, it had worse drivability and was unreliable.
Red Bull had had enough and severely criticised Renault in public after the race, Horner describing the situation as "unacceptable".
Renault, too, was unhappy, and both parties quickly concluded that the current relationship was not working for them.
The end game: finding new partners
Renault began to explore the possibility of running its own team again - five years after it had concluded this was not the way forward and handed its team to investment group Genii Capital.
Initially, Renault looked at Toro Rosso, Red Bull's junior team. Red Bull proposed a deal that locked it into the Renault Group - Renault would buy and rebrand Toro Rosso; Red Bull would continue with Renault engines, but badged as Infiniti. Renault rejected it and started to look at buying back its old team, now called Lotus.
Meanwhile, Red Bull had funded its own engine development programme with the British Ilmor company.
By early summer, it had produced a new engine design that it believed would be 0.45secs a lap quicker than the current one.
Renault was doing its own parallel development. After being told about Ilmor's progress, Renault said its development engine was worth an extra 0.46secs, and it would pursue that design.
Later, that step forward was downgraded to 0.25secs. Now, Renault is telling Red Bull the new engine that is due to debut at the US Grand Prix next month will gain them 0.15secs. Red Bull is questioning whether that gain is worth the grid penalties using it would incur.
As this saga unfolded, Red Bull owner Dietrich Mateschitz decided he had had enough of Renault - and that he would not work with them any longer, even if it meant pulling out of F1.
That the Red Bull-Renault partnership will end after this season has not been officially announced, but it is an open secret within F1.
The Mercedes option: Wolff shuts down deal
As the Renault relationship collapsed, Red Bull began exploring other options. First on the list was Mercedes.
Mateschitz - who has a longstanding antipathy towards Mercedes for a reason few in F1 understand - met with Mercedes non-executive chairman Niki Lauda, a fellow Austrian, who is close to Red Bull motorsport adviser Helmut Marko.
There are differing versions of what happened at that meeting. One is that a deal for Red Bull to have Mercedes engines in 2016 was "effectively agreed". Except Lauda is not empowered to make that decision.
Another is that Lauda said he was pro the idea and would do all he could to persuade Mercedes to make it happen.
Red Bull's problem was that Mercedes F1 boss Toto Wolff was very much against the idea - and he worked hard to make sure it did not happen. By early September, Wolff had got his way.
Now, though, Red Bull had a problem. They had dumped Renault and Mercedes had said no. Which only left Ferrari, whose engine in 2015 has improved dramatically and is as near as makes no real difference a match for Mercedes.
No problem - Ferrari president Sergio Marchionne had said as long ago as June that he would be happy to supply Red Bull engines if they needed them.
But what he did not say was which engines - and there's the rub.
Ferrari's F1 team have offered Red Bull a supply of 2015 engines - their very real fear being that if Red Bull had parity, they would beat Ferrari, whose car has not been as good as a Red Bull since 2009.
Red Bull describe this as an "insult", given that Ferrari customers Sauber and Haas will get 2016 engines, and say if they do not get parity they will quit F1. And so they have reached an impasse.
Red Bull and Ferrari both have cards to play
Red Bull have a negotiating position. Ferrari wants to change the engine development rules for next year, to give it a chance of surpassing Mercedes.
Currently, in-season engine development is banned again next year, after being permitted on a limited basis this season. Ferrari want the system that has applied this year to continue - and Honda and Renault want completely open development, to try to close the chasm that exists between them and the others. Mercedes are open to discussion.
But for this to be allowed, all the teams need to agree - and Red Bull could threaten to block it unless they are given a 2016 Ferrari engine.
Ferrari, though, also have cards in their hands.
Red Bull have under contract four of the most promising young drivers in F1. Ferrari initially had Ricciardo at the top of their list as a potential replacement for Kimi Raikkonen in 2016, but he is locked into Red Bull until the end of 2018.
The Italian team are also interested in Toro Rosso's teenage sensation Max Verstappen, who has a three-year deal with Red Bull until the end of 2017.
Ferrari could use their interest in either of them as leverage in the engine negotiations.
It's a game of brinksmanship. Who will win? The Austrian soft drinks billionaire? Or the world's most glamorous car brand?
Sunday 2 August 2015
Funk #49...
Joe Walsh is my ALL TIME guitar hero and Funk #49 is one of his best known songs, originally recorded with the awesomely powerful James Gang. Joe was replaced when he left the band by none other than Tommy Bolin, a guitar hero in his own right who went on the play with Deep Purple before his sad and untimely death aged just 25. Bolin was ahead of his time, immensely talented for such a young player, and although recognised by guitar geeks, sadly at best underrated, or worse unknown by the general population of music consumers.
Here is a short but sweet video of Tommy playing his predecessors best known cut...
Here is a short but sweet video of Tommy playing his predecessors best known cut...
Friday 31 July 2015
The Black-Eyed Dog...
If you, like me, have ever suffered from depression, then you may have heard of Winston Churchill's name for the illness: "The Black Dog" of depression is a haunting creature who hounds your every waking moment, like a shadow that wont go away whether the sun is shining or not.
I prefer the term "Black-Eyed Dog" coined here by musician Nick Drake, a poor soul who was no stranger to depression which ultimately claimed his all too short and talented life.
A black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog he knew my name
If you do suffer from bouts of depression or have major depressive episodes believe me I feel your pain, and I have felt it far too often and for far too long. I came very close to death on one occasion and was hospitalised after taking too many painkillers for a far too long period of time. They said I was just hours away from the final curtain. Had I not been caught in time I wouldn't be here typing this recollection now.
The black eyed dog, a black eyed dog
I'm growing old and I wanna go home
I'm growing old and I don't wanna know
I'm growing old and I wanna go home
If you ever feel so bad, so low and so without hope that you seek the ultimate solution, please take time to consider your family and your friends. There are people around you who do actually care for you and love you even though you might think otherwise. Get yourself help, see a doctor, see friends or family and tell them how you feel. Go to a hospital, go to a police station, go and be with people who can take you in and care for you and see you over the worst. It does get better, you might not think its possible, I didn't. But I was wrong.
I still get days and periods where I get the blues really bad and my thoughts always turn to suicide...always, it goes with the territory, but you just have to drag yourself out each time and little by little it does get better.
Please look after yourself...you are important and you are loved.
A black eyed dog he called at my door
A black eyed dog he called for more
I prefer the term "Black-Eyed Dog" coined here by musician Nick Drake, a poor soul who was no stranger to depression which ultimately claimed his all too short and talented life.
A black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog he knew my name
If you do suffer from bouts of depression or have major depressive episodes believe me I feel your pain, and I have felt it far too often and for far too long. I came very close to death on one occasion and was hospitalised after taking too many painkillers for a far too long period of time. They said I was just hours away from the final curtain. Had I not been caught in time I wouldn't be here typing this recollection now.
The black eyed dog, a black eyed dog
I'm growing old and I wanna go home
I'm growing old and I don't wanna know
I'm growing old and I wanna go home
If you ever feel so bad, so low and so without hope that you seek the ultimate solution, please take time to consider your family and your friends. There are people around you who do actually care for you and love you even though you might think otherwise. Get yourself help, see a doctor, see friends or family and tell them how you feel. Go to a hospital, go to a police station, go and be with people who can take you in and care for you and see you over the worst. It does get better, you might not think its possible, I didn't. But I was wrong.
I still get days and periods where I get the blues really bad and my thoughts always turn to suicide...always, it goes with the territory, but you just have to drag yourself out each time and little by little it does get better.
Please look after yourself...you are important and you are loved.
A black eyed dog he called at my door
A black eyed dog he called for more
Wednesday 29 July 2015
On the Subject of Poetry...This is a TWAT
The Last of the Romantic Poets...
I heard this first as a teenager, and over the years I've often been reminded of it (especially at work) Every now and then we all come into contact with personalities who fit this particular bill. Take a couple of minutes and give this a listen, and next time you meet one, remember these wise words from John Coope Clarke, the last of the true romantic poets....
Monday 29 June 2015
Chris Squire...
Yesterday we learned of the sad death of Chris Squire, bassist and founder member of Yes.
It was only about 4 or 5 weeks ago that it was announced that Chris had a particularly aggressive form of Leukaemia, and was undergoing treatment at his home in Phoenix, Arizona.
Yesterday he died in the arms of his wife.
As a fan of Yes it is a sad occasion, I saw the band perform a few years back and Chris' presence on stage even from where I was sitting, was enormous. He was a mountain of a man physically, and from what I've read spiritually also. His bass playing was always inventive and powerful, he has inspired many, many players over the years.
It's a particularly poignant occasion for me personally also as my paternal Grandfather had Leukaemia also. It is a nasty form of cancer, although all forms of cancer are bad, but some forms of cancer are thankfully less final due in no small part to the many medical researchers who are working out ways of combating cancer in all its forms. So what I'd like to say here is please if you have the opportunity, give what you can, no matter how small, towards helping these people who are constantly looking at ways of fighting cancer, because one day it might touch you and wouldn't you like to think that through the ceaseless efforts of these people, that your chances of surviving at greatly increased?
The link below will take you to a page that lists a number of cancer charities in the UK, so either click on the link or copy and paste into your browser address bar and hit go, and make a difference.
http://www.charitychoice.co.uk/charities/health/cancer
An Open Letter to Kanye West...
Dear Mr K. West,
I am writing to you to ask a few simple questions.
1) Did you stay at Glastonbury long enough to see The Who perform last night.
2) If you did, can you please provide some evidence for why you still consider yourself to be "the no.1 living breathing rock star"
3) Do you still consider yourself "a god" ?
Mr. West, will you now bugger off back to where you come from and never darken these shores again. We don't need to be told who is the best, you see because this country has produced:
The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Yes, Queen, Pink Floyd, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Smiths, Radiohead, The Kinks, Black Sabbath, Arctic Monkeys, Muse, Genesis, Joy Division, Manic Street Preachers, Thin Lizzy, The Small Faces, Rod Stewart, Coldplay, The Cure, The Stone Roses, Pet Shop Boys, Fleetwood Mac, Pulp, Blur, Oasis, Marc Bolan and T Rex, The Specials, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Roxy Music, King Krimson, Dire Straits, The Animals, Happy Monday's, Cream, Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, Slash (born in Stoke), John McLaughlin, Gary Moore, Richard Thompson, The Police, Sting, Mike Oldfield, Hank Marvin and the Shadows, Ritchie Blackmore, Deep Purple, Rainbow, David Bowie, U2, Robin Trower, Procal Harem, The Moody Blues, John Mayall, Paul Weller, Brian Eno, John Williams, Julian Bream, and yes even Cliff Richard and many, many, more....
This country has enough talent and plenty of nominees for No.1 living breathing rock star, so you need to take you and your (c)Rap music and show a little class, and due reverence to a country that knows great music when we see it because we pretty much invented it.
Monday 15 June 2015
A Lesson Learned...
I found this story on the BBC News Website, and I am purloining it here as I think it is a beautiful story, a very human story of a Fathers love for his son.
Sometimes, even now, I wake up with my head throbbing and my ears ringing, as if my skull has been tightly clamped in a vice all night. I haven't been to the doctor's about it. It wouldn't do any good. It isn't depression, or stress. It isn't a migraine, or a hangover. It's nothing physical at all. It's just a memory - a memory from childhood.
One Sunday morning when I was 10, my dad woke me up by tweaking my nose: "Come on, son. Gerrup! Ah've a surprise for thi!"
Oh no, I thought. My dad was full of surprises - it was the one thing I didn't like about him - and he always sprang them on you when you weren't expecting them.
His worst surprise wasn't even a surprise at all. You knew exactly what was coming. He normally struck when he was drunk. He would stumble through the front door, smash one of mum's favourite ornaments, trip over the dog, give you the beady eye, and shout, "Whiskers!"
Then you were in for it. Your only hope was to get out of the house, but he knew that, so he would wave his arms about and block the front door.
I don't know why we called it the front door. We lived in a two-up, two-down, back-to-back terrace and the front door was the only door we had. Dad knew that if he closed off that route, escape was impossible. You could try locking yourself in the bathroom, but he would think nothing of kicking the door off its hinges when he'd had a few.
"Whiskers!" You could hide under the bed, but he would just drag you out by your heels, or turn the whole thing over on its side. "Whiskers!" There was no escape. One way or another, he would catch you. Then you got the whiskers.
These days, it's called designer stubble. In the 1960s, it was called scruffy. Either way, it hurt like hell. He would grab you, pin you down and scrape his three-day growth of razor-sharp bristles across your soft, childish face. It felt like you were being cut to ribbons and your skin was left looking like an over-used ice rink.
It's a big disappointment to a child when his father turns out to be more immature than he is. Still, I didn't complain. Many of the kids in our street were beaten up on a regular basis for the slightest misdemeanour. My dad was a nutcase, but he was a harmless nutcase (most of the time) and I appreciated that.
The old man worked on the coalface at the Savile mine, in Methley, a small pit-village near Castleford.
Every village around Leeds had a pit at one time and each village had a thousand men and boys to help hew the coal from the ground.
In November 1700, the Aire and Calder Navigation opened between Knottingley and Leeds, which for the first time made large-scale coal production in the area economically viable. As this network of canals grew, coal could be moved cheaply and easily around the country, fuelling the Industrial Revolution.
The industry grew, developed and flourished over the next 250 years and Leeds grew with it. Coal was part of the economic lifeblood of the city and other local industries - engineering, textiles, brewing, chemicals, railways, and pottery - depended on it for their existence.
Coal brought prosperity to Leeds, but at a cost. My dad was covered in little blue scars, like tattoos. If you got even the smallest cut down a pit, the dust got in straight away and turned it blue forever - and there was nothing you could do about it.
The dust got in to your lungs too. My dad coughed a lot, but not as much as my granddad. Granddad's knees were shot too, due to 50 years kneeling and crawling in damp conditions at the coalface.
No-one ever spoke about it, but we all knew that sometimes nobody came home from work at all. 1825: Explosion, Middleton, 25 men and boys lost. 1872: Explosion, Morley Main, 36 men and boys lost. 1896: Explosion, Peckfield, 68 men and boys lost.
Even the pit ponies were blasted to oblivion in the Peckfield explosion and 90 children, mostly from one village, were left fatherless. When it went wrong down a pit, it went wrong big time and every member of every family involved in the industry was acutely aware of it.
Strange then that on this particular Sunday the old man should have taken it into his head to take me down the pit with him that day. I don't know how he wangled it. It would never be allowed in today's litigious and safety-conscious times. It was the maddest thing he'd ever done.
Who in their right mind would take a 10-year-old boy down a working coal mine? I knew it was dangerous because I overheard things.
Uncle Goldie, dad's brother, often called round to our house and the two of them invariably got talking about the pit. "Ah see Leetning lost three on t' thutty-niners t' other week, Poke. Bloody belt'll kill some'dy sooin, tha knows."
We caught the rickety blue Castleford bus and sat on the long front bench. I'd been to the pit top dozens of times, usually on a Friday when the men picked up their wages.
We spoke the Queen's English in Leeds, but Methley was out in the sticks. There, they spoke a bizarre, musical language full of strange words and inflections.
They cared more for the sound of a sentence, rather than what it actually said. I was picking it up, slowly but surely. Poke was my dad. Leetning was my dad's best mate.
Each coalface had a number and they were working on "thutty-nine" at the time. Conveyor belts took the coal from the face to the surface. The miners weren't supposed to ride on them, but they did. Fingers were often forfeited along the way. Leetning lost three. I didn't really want to go down the pit and I had no idea what the old man thought he was playing at.
Dad often threw a sickie once he had the cash out of his wage packet and the day would be spent at the miner's welfare club with my granddad. It was always a good day out in Methley, but this time it was different. This time I was going underground.
The old man, perhaps sensing my reservations, put his arm around me and pulled me close. "Stick wi' me, son. Tha'll be reet."
Eventually, we got to the pit. My dad was more popular than I'd imagined. Everyone at the pit top from the gateman to the engine driver greeted him as though he were a friend and brother.
"Hey up, Poke. Is that thy lad?"
Then to me: "Hey up, Young Pokey. Is tha barn darn t' pit?"
"Aye, sither. Ah'm barn darn t' thutty-niners wi' t' fa'ther."
"He's a cheyky young bleeder. Tha wants to gi'im thick end o' thi belt."
I was brought up in Leeds and they knew I didn't talk broad Yorkshire. They must have thought I was taking the mick. I wasn't, though. I was just trying to fit in and be like my dad.
We got changed, donned donkey jackets and miners' helmets and soon we were stood before the lift shaft with a dozen other men. Everyone said "Hey up, Poke" to my dad.
We all crammed in the cage and snuggled up against each other. "Dad," I said. "Why d' the' all call you 'Poke' when your name's Bernard like me?"
"That's me nickname," he said. "Everyone gets a nickname at t' pit." Nodding towards a workmate, he said, "Tha knows Leetning, dun't tha?"
"Course, but why's he called Leetning when his name's Harold?"
"Cos he's an idle swine," my dad explained, "who never does no wuck."
Leetning prodded my shoulder with his newly deformed hand. "Aye, sither, but even then Ah still do bart twice as much as thi fa'ther."
I gasped as the floor fell away. They just let the cage drop until it got near the bottom of the shaft and only then applied the brakes.
I didn't know that, of course. I thought the cable had snapped and started screaming with all my might. I wanted to make one last big noise before I died.
Aeons later, when we reached the bottom, everyone in the cage, including my dad, was doubled up with laughter. They obviously enjoyed playing this trick on innocent children. It must have livened up an otherwise dull day down the mine.
I thought that was my surprise, but I was wrong. That was nothing.
We walked for 30 minutes along a narrow tunnel. Pitch black, with only the meagre light from your helmet to guide you. The roof was 6ft high at best and the men had to bow their heads as they walked along. Twisted spikes of metal stuck out from the roof and walls at obscure angles, threatening to take your eyes out if you weren't extremely careful.
There was a dank, fetid odour, the likes of which I haven't encountered before or since - a combination of exotic gases and rotting meat.
In my bones, I could feel the hundreds of feet of solid rock pushing and crushing down on me from above. Dank, smelly, sweaty, claustrophobic, I hated the foul, festering hell-hole the moment I set foot down there.
It suddenly occurred to me that my dad was a hero, coming down every day just to feed my mam, my brother and me. Spiritually and philosophically, it might have been better to let us starve.
Eventually, we approached the coalface. The noise began as a slow, distant rumbling, built into a loud, throbbing buzz, and finally became a crashing, tumultuous screech. The roof got lower and lower as the noise got louder and louder.
We had to crawl through a space no more than 4ft high to get to the coalface. All the while, the cacophony was unbearable. It was impossible to hear yourself think.
In the distance, a monstrous wheel of metal with a thousand sharp, jagged teeth spun wildly, tearing at the coal, sending shards of black rock bulleting through the air. That's if you could call it air. It was more like dust. It seared your lungs as you breathed it in.
As they cut the coalface, they moved the chocks along and allowed the roof to collapse behind
When the machine stopped, I understood the deeper meaning of the phrase "silence is golden". The relief was majestic, like waking from a nightmare. "I want to go home," I told my dad.
He hadn't shifted more than a couple of yards from me throughout the expedition. I knew he wouldn't let any harm come to me, but I'd had enough. I wanted to go home. I'd made my mind up. I liked it better at home.
"But thy an't had thi surprise yet," he said, ominously.
To our left was a progression of metal chocks - giant hydraulic jacks which held the roof up. These went back some distance. My helmet light could only pierce the gloom for a matter of feet, so I had no idea how far, maybe yards, maybe miles. An intercom, which had been rigged up along the coal face, crackled into life. Crrrck. "Poke's lad darn yet?"
"Aye ... cheyky little bugger ..." Crrrck.
As they cut the coalface, they moved the chocks along and allowed the roof to collapse behind. "Reet oh. Ah'll start droppin 'em. Watch thi'sens."
Then I got my surprise. There was a long, wailing ululation, like the sound of a thousand anguished voices screaming in the darkness, followed by a bellowing, full-throated roar. Then the real noise began - a thundering, reverberating explosion, which almost shattered my eardrums.
This time I knew I was dead. Unless I missed my guess, the whole roof was collapsing. A black shockwave hit, knocking me from my knees and on to my side. I was left a terrified wreck.
When the dust settled and I came to my senses, the old man was hugging me like a baby. "Sorry, son," he said, trying not to laugh. "I'm sorry. Tha wain't say nowt to thi mam nar, will tha? This is just between us men."
I was shivering and shaking uncontrollably. He'd put the fear of God into me with his stupid surprises.
Almost 20 years later, during the miners' strike of 1984-85, I bumped into Leetning in the Nag's Head in Leeds town centre while I was out having a drink.
I'd finished college, got my degree and had a highly paid job in social work. I was therefore in a position to stand him a drink or two, even though I was also helping my family make ends meet through the year-long strike. Over a beer, I told him that I'd never really forgiven my father for the humiliation he put me through that day.
Leetning, who always had a kind of leering grin on his face, looked serious for a moment. "But tha knows why he done it, dun't tha?"
"Because he was a nutcase," I said. "He was always doing stupid things. He used to throw the dog's water bowl over me once or twice a week, just to keep me on my toes, cos he knew how much it wound me up. I know you love him like a brother, but you didn't have to live with him."
"Nay, lad," Leetning said, shaking his head. "Thi dad had to grease a few palms to get thi darn t' pit that day, tha knows. Nar look at thi. Tha passed thi Eleven Plus, tha's bin to college an' tha's got a reet good job, an't tha?"
"So?" I said. "I've worked hard to get an education. I decided that day that I'd never end up down the pit like my dad. I decided that day I'd never set foot in a pit again as long as I lived. I decided that day I wanted something better."
Leetning, grinning again, tapped his single digit on the end of his nose. "Exactly! Sither nar, sunshine?"
He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. I'd seen the light. "Yes, Harold," I said, suddenly ashamed of my self-centredness and stupidity. "I see now."
At the age of 10, Bernard Hare's father took him down the mine where he worked. It was an experience he would never forget.
Sometimes, even now, I wake up with my head throbbing and my ears ringing, as if my skull has been tightly clamped in a vice all night. I haven't been to the doctor's about it. It wouldn't do any good. It isn't depression, or stress. It isn't a migraine, or a hangover. It's nothing physical at all. It's just a memory - a memory from childhood.
One Sunday morning when I was 10, my dad woke me up by tweaking my nose: "Come on, son. Gerrup! Ah've a surprise for thi!"
Oh no, I thought. My dad was full of surprises - it was the one thing I didn't like about him - and he always sprang them on you when you weren't expecting them.
His worst surprise wasn't even a surprise at all. You knew exactly what was coming. He normally struck when he was drunk. He would stumble through the front door, smash one of mum's favourite ornaments, trip over the dog, give you the beady eye, and shout, "Whiskers!"
Then you were in for it. Your only hope was to get out of the house, but he knew that, so he would wave his arms about and block the front door.
I don't know why we called it the front door. We lived in a two-up, two-down, back-to-back terrace and the front door was the only door we had. Dad knew that if he closed off that route, escape was impossible. You could try locking yourself in the bathroom, but he would think nothing of kicking the door off its hinges when he'd had a few.
"Whiskers!" You could hide under the bed, but he would just drag you out by your heels, or turn the whole thing over on its side. "Whiskers!" There was no escape. One way or another, he would catch you. Then you got the whiskers.
These days, it's called designer stubble. In the 1960s, it was called scruffy. Either way, it hurt like hell. He would grab you, pin you down and scrape his three-day growth of razor-sharp bristles across your soft, childish face. It felt like you were being cut to ribbons and your skin was left looking like an over-used ice rink.
It's a big disappointment to a child when his father turns out to be more immature than he is. Still, I didn't complain. Many of the kids in our street were beaten up on a regular basis for the slightest misdemeanour. My dad was a nutcase, but he was a harmless nutcase (most of the time) and I appreciated that.
The old man worked on the coalface at the Savile mine, in Methley, a small pit-village near Castleford.
Every village around Leeds had a pit at one time and each village had a thousand men and boys to help hew the coal from the ground.
In November 1700, the Aire and Calder Navigation opened between Knottingley and Leeds, which for the first time made large-scale coal production in the area economically viable. As this network of canals grew, coal could be moved cheaply and easily around the country, fuelling the Industrial Revolution.
The industry grew, developed and flourished over the next 250 years and Leeds grew with it. Coal was part of the economic lifeblood of the city and other local industries - engineering, textiles, brewing, chemicals, railways, and pottery - depended on it for their existence.
Coal brought prosperity to Leeds, but at a cost. My dad was covered in little blue scars, like tattoos. If you got even the smallest cut down a pit, the dust got in straight away and turned it blue forever - and there was nothing you could do about it.
The dust got in to your lungs too. My dad coughed a lot, but not as much as my granddad. Granddad's knees were shot too, due to 50 years kneeling and crawling in damp conditions at the coalface.
No-one ever spoke about it, but we all knew that sometimes nobody came home from work at all. 1825: Explosion, Middleton, 25 men and boys lost. 1872: Explosion, Morley Main, 36 men and boys lost. 1896: Explosion, Peckfield, 68 men and boys lost.
Even the pit ponies were blasted to oblivion in the Peckfield explosion and 90 children, mostly from one village, were left fatherless. When it went wrong down a pit, it went wrong big time and every member of every family involved in the industry was acutely aware of it.
Strange then that on this particular Sunday the old man should have taken it into his head to take me down the pit with him that day. I don't know how he wangled it. It would never be allowed in today's litigious and safety-conscious times. It was the maddest thing he'd ever done.
Who in their right mind would take a 10-year-old boy down a working coal mine? I knew it was dangerous because I overheard things.
Uncle Goldie, dad's brother, often called round to our house and the two of them invariably got talking about the pit. "Ah see Leetning lost three on t' thutty-niners t' other week, Poke. Bloody belt'll kill some'dy sooin, tha knows."
We caught the rickety blue Castleford bus and sat on the long front bench. I'd been to the pit top dozens of times, usually on a Friday when the men picked up their wages.
We spoke the Queen's English in Leeds, but Methley was out in the sticks. There, they spoke a bizarre, musical language full of strange words and inflections.
They cared more for the sound of a sentence, rather than what it actually said. I was picking it up, slowly but surely. Poke was my dad. Leetning was my dad's best mate.
Each coalface had a number and they were working on "thutty-nine" at the time. Conveyor belts took the coal from the face to the surface. The miners weren't supposed to ride on them, but they did. Fingers were often forfeited along the way. Leetning lost three. I didn't really want to go down the pit and I had no idea what the old man thought he was playing at.
Dad often threw a sickie once he had the cash out of his wage packet and the day would be spent at the miner's welfare club with my granddad. It was always a good day out in Methley, but this time it was different. This time I was going underground.
The old man, perhaps sensing my reservations, put his arm around me and pulled me close. "Stick wi' me, son. Tha'll be reet."
Eventually, we got to the pit. My dad was more popular than I'd imagined. Everyone at the pit top from the gateman to the engine driver greeted him as though he were a friend and brother.
"Hey up, Poke. Is that thy lad?"
Then to me: "Hey up, Young Pokey. Is tha barn darn t' pit?"
"Aye, sither. Ah'm barn darn t' thutty-niners wi' t' fa'ther."
"He's a cheyky young bleeder. Tha wants to gi'im thick end o' thi belt."
I was brought up in Leeds and they knew I didn't talk broad Yorkshire. They must have thought I was taking the mick. I wasn't, though. I was just trying to fit in and be like my dad.
We got changed, donned donkey jackets and miners' helmets and soon we were stood before the lift shaft with a dozen other men. Everyone said "Hey up, Poke" to my dad.
We all crammed in the cage and snuggled up against each other. "Dad," I said. "Why d' the' all call you 'Poke' when your name's Bernard like me?"
"That's me nickname," he said. "Everyone gets a nickname at t' pit." Nodding towards a workmate, he said, "Tha knows Leetning, dun't tha?"
"Course, but why's he called Leetning when his name's Harold?"
"Cos he's an idle swine," my dad explained, "who never does no wuck."
Leetning prodded my shoulder with his newly deformed hand. "Aye, sither, but even then Ah still do bart twice as much as thi fa'ther."
I gasped as the floor fell away. They just let the cage drop until it got near the bottom of the shaft and only then applied the brakes.
I didn't know that, of course. I thought the cable had snapped and started screaming with all my might. I wanted to make one last big noise before I died.
Aeons later, when we reached the bottom, everyone in the cage, including my dad, was doubled up with laughter. They obviously enjoyed playing this trick on innocent children. It must have livened up an otherwise dull day down the mine.
I thought that was my surprise, but I was wrong. That was nothing.
We walked for 30 minutes along a narrow tunnel. Pitch black, with only the meagre light from your helmet to guide you. The roof was 6ft high at best and the men had to bow their heads as they walked along. Twisted spikes of metal stuck out from the roof and walls at obscure angles, threatening to take your eyes out if you weren't extremely careful.
There was a dank, fetid odour, the likes of which I haven't encountered before or since - a combination of exotic gases and rotting meat.
In my bones, I could feel the hundreds of feet of solid rock pushing and crushing down on me from above. Dank, smelly, sweaty, claustrophobic, I hated the foul, festering hell-hole the moment I set foot down there.
It suddenly occurred to me that my dad was a hero, coming down every day just to feed my mam, my brother and me. Spiritually and philosophically, it might have been better to let us starve.
Eventually, we approached the coalface. The noise began as a slow, distant rumbling, built into a loud, throbbing buzz, and finally became a crashing, tumultuous screech. The roof got lower and lower as the noise got louder and louder.
We had to crawl through a space no more than 4ft high to get to the coalface. All the while, the cacophony was unbearable. It was impossible to hear yourself think.
In the distance, a monstrous wheel of metal with a thousand sharp, jagged teeth spun wildly, tearing at the coal, sending shards of black rock bulleting through the air. That's if you could call it air. It was more like dust. It seared your lungs as you breathed it in.
As they cut the coalface, they moved the chocks along and allowed the roof to collapse behind
When the machine stopped, I understood the deeper meaning of the phrase "silence is golden". The relief was majestic, like waking from a nightmare. "I want to go home," I told my dad.
He hadn't shifted more than a couple of yards from me throughout the expedition. I knew he wouldn't let any harm come to me, but I'd had enough. I wanted to go home. I'd made my mind up. I liked it better at home.
"But thy an't had thi surprise yet," he said, ominously.
To our left was a progression of metal chocks - giant hydraulic jacks which held the roof up. These went back some distance. My helmet light could only pierce the gloom for a matter of feet, so I had no idea how far, maybe yards, maybe miles. An intercom, which had been rigged up along the coal face, crackled into life. Crrrck. "Poke's lad darn yet?"
"Aye ... cheyky little bugger ..." Crrrck.
As they cut the coalface, they moved the chocks along and allowed the roof to collapse behind. "Reet oh. Ah'll start droppin 'em. Watch thi'sens."
Then I got my surprise. There was a long, wailing ululation, like the sound of a thousand anguished voices screaming in the darkness, followed by a bellowing, full-throated roar. Then the real noise began - a thundering, reverberating explosion, which almost shattered my eardrums.
This time I knew I was dead. Unless I missed my guess, the whole roof was collapsing. A black shockwave hit, knocking me from my knees and on to my side. I was left a terrified wreck.
When the dust settled and I came to my senses, the old man was hugging me like a baby. "Sorry, son," he said, trying not to laugh. "I'm sorry. Tha wain't say nowt to thi mam nar, will tha? This is just between us men."
I was shivering and shaking uncontrollably. He'd put the fear of God into me with his stupid surprises.
Almost 20 years later, during the miners' strike of 1984-85, I bumped into Leetning in the Nag's Head in Leeds town centre while I was out having a drink.
I'd finished college, got my degree and had a highly paid job in social work. I was therefore in a position to stand him a drink or two, even though I was also helping my family make ends meet through the year-long strike. Over a beer, I told him that I'd never really forgiven my father for the humiliation he put me through that day.
Leetning, who always had a kind of leering grin on his face, looked serious for a moment. "But tha knows why he done it, dun't tha?"
"Because he was a nutcase," I said. "He was always doing stupid things. He used to throw the dog's water bowl over me once or twice a week, just to keep me on my toes, cos he knew how much it wound me up. I know you love him like a brother, but you didn't have to live with him."
"Nay, lad," Leetning said, shaking his head. "Thi dad had to grease a few palms to get thi darn t' pit that day, tha knows. Nar look at thi. Tha passed thi Eleven Plus, tha's bin to college an' tha's got a reet good job, an't tha?"
"So?" I said. "I've worked hard to get an education. I decided that day that I'd never end up down the pit like my dad. I decided that day I'd never set foot in a pit again as long as I lived. I decided that day I wanted something better."
Leetning, grinning again, tapped his single digit on the end of his nose. "Exactly! Sither nar, sunshine?"
He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. I'd seen the light. "Yes, Harold," I said, suddenly ashamed of my self-centredness and stupidity. "I see now."
A Musical Post...
Feeling quite lazy, but also guilty for not updating this blog much the last week, so here's my lazy way out.
A couple more Peter Gabiel excellent musical treats.
A couple more Peter Gabiel excellent musical treats.
Medieval Britain...
Did you know that here in the UK, in the 21st Century, some people are using metal spikes, embedded into pavements in certain locations for the sole purpose of preventing the homeless people of this county from sleeping on them.
I just cannot believe what I have read about these medieval devices which are used to keep the unfortunate, the poor, the despondent homeless people of this country from sleeping in the only place they can find, on the streets of this country.
Not only are we not doing enough to help these pople find accomodation, shelter, safety, security (ALL basic Human Rights) but now we are using these barbaric "defensive architectural devices"
"Anti Homeless Spikes" for christ sake! What century are we living in?
I am utterly appalled and bewildered by how barbarous & brutish these devices are.The use of these weapons (for that is what they are) needs to be terminated TOTALLY and unconditionally NOW!
I just cannot believe what I have read about these medieval devices which are used to keep the unfortunate, the poor, the despondent homeless people of this country from sleeping in the only place they can find, on the streets of this country.
Not only are we not doing enough to help these pople find accomodation, shelter, safety, security (ALL basic Human Rights) but now we are using these barbaric "defensive architectural devices"
"Anti Homeless Spikes" for christ sake! What century are we living in?
I am utterly appalled and bewildered by how barbarous & brutish these devices are.The use of these weapons (for that is what they are) needs to be terminated TOTALLY and unconditionally NOW!
Dream Machine...
This natural finish Fender Telecaster has been the desktop wallpaper on my laptop for about 4 years now. Never get tired of the stunning lines and curves. I think this is my dream guitar. No frills, just pure, simple, design perfection.
Fucking Bastard...
I hope, at the VERY LEAST, that this bastard gets thrown into a skip up to his nose full of pig shit.
With his colleagues looking on, the garbage man proceeded to drag the canine along the pavement before throwing it into the vehicle’s compacting mechanism.Once pictures of the cruel act, taken by a local photographer, were shared online, social media immediately exploded with outrage. The dog was believed to have been still alive at the time the garbage truck arrived at the trash dump in the evening, but died of its horrific injuries hours later.
The shocking images shot into prominence after popular Brazilian TV presenter Xuxa shared them with her 4.4 million Facebook followers. She wrote: "This little dog, who wasn’t bothering anyone, had its legs broken, and in agony was tied up and dragged by the neck, before being brutally murdered by this individual, being thrown and crushed alive in the back of the garbage truck.This monster can still appeal against a fine and will still be walking the streets in freedom! Are we going to let that happen?? Let’s do something?? Together we can."
Yesterday, Neilson da Cruz, the mayor of Presidente Figueiredo, told Brazil’s A Critica newspaper that the garbage collector had been fired and his employer, ViaLimpa, would face an undisclosed fine.
He was then seen dragging the animal into the back of the truck and inside its compacting mechanism.
The mayor criticized the behavior of the residents who had filmed Franca’s act, rather than try to prevent it. He told the newspaper: These people are more preoccupied with making recordings that with saving the animals. This is an absurdity. The garbage collector has reportedly been charged with aggravated animal cruelty and bailed, police Chief Valnei Silva said. Silva said that the Franca claimed that he threw the animal into the truck as an act of kindness because it was “suffering greatly” and “needed to be sacrificed”.
A garbage man has been fired after he was caught on camera throwing an injured dog in the back of his refuse truck to be crushed alive by the vehicle’s compacting mechanism.
The incident took place on Thursday in a street in Presidente Figueiredo, northern Brazil, and the trash collector has been identified as 35-year-old Jadson James Franca. Shocked residents report seeing the man mounting the sidewalk to hit the stray dog with his truck, then stopping the vehicle and tying a chain around the injured canine’s neck.
At that time, both of the animal’s legs were broken.
With his colleagues looking on, the garbage man proceeded to drag the canine along the pavement before throwing it into the vehicle’s compacting mechanism.Once pictures of the cruel act, taken by a local photographer, were shared online, social media immediately exploded with outrage. The dog was believed to have been still alive at the time the garbage truck arrived at the trash dump in the evening, but died of its horrific injuries hours later.
Colleagues then stood by as the garbage collector attached a chain to the dog’s neck.
The shocking images shot into prominence after popular Brazilian TV presenter Xuxa shared them with her 4.4 million Facebook followers. She wrote: "This little dog, who wasn’t bothering anyone, had its legs broken, and in agony was tied up and dragged by the neck, before being brutally murdered by this individual, being thrown and crushed alive in the back of the garbage truck.This monster can still appeal against a fine and will still be walking the streets in freedom! Are we going to let that happen?? Let’s do something?? Together we can."
Yesterday, Neilson da Cruz, the mayor of Presidente Figueiredo, told Brazil’s A Critica newspaper that the garbage collector had been fired and his employer, ViaLimpa, would face an undisclosed fine.
The mayor criticized the behavior of the residents who had filmed Franca’s act, rather than try to prevent it. He told the newspaper: These people are more preoccupied with making recordings that with saving the animals. This is an absurdity. The garbage collector has reportedly been charged with aggravated animal cruelty and bailed, police Chief Valnei Silva said. Silva said that the Franca claimed that he threw the animal into the truck as an act of kindness because it was “suffering greatly” and “needed to be sacrificed”.
Diggin' the Gabriel...
I'm listening to a great deal of Peter Gabriel at the moment, particularly enjoying the waay he constructs his songs using a variety of rhythms and samples, without falling into the trap of making it all seem a bit to mechanical. "Digging in the Dirt has one of my favourite bass riffs. Stand up and take a bow Tony Levin.
Bush Part Three?...
Please no! Not a third Bush!!
Last thing the world needs is this family back in the Whitehouse with a finger on the button.
Yes its Dubya's brother Jeb (Sounds like he came in fom the set of The Beverly Hillbillies
Last thing the world needs is this family back in the Whitehouse with a finger on the button.
Yes its Dubya's brother Jeb (Sounds like he came in fom the set of The Beverly Hillbillies
Tuesday 26 May 2015
Award Mr George 'Johnny' Johnson (Dambusters) a Knighthood...
Air crews in Bomber Command were expected to complete 30 operations, mainly at night and very few ever achieved this, usually making the ultimate sacrifice with their life. George 'Johnny' Johnson continued to complete a further 20 operations with 617 Squadron, the required amount for a second tour of duty.
In recognition for services and contribution to his country by displaying unconditional courage and gallantry in the face of the enemy and an inspiration to all of his fellow countryman, we call upon Government and all politicians to unite and support the nomination of Mr Johnson in becoming a Knight.
Sign This Petition Here
Paddy and George...
Paddy and George go to the cattle market and buy two pigs.
When they arrive home, Paddy says to George
"Eer' George, how do we know which pig's mine, and which pig's yours?"
George: "Shit... I dunno"
Paddy: "I tell you what, if I cut the ear off of my pig, we'll know mine is the one with one ear and yours is the one with two!"
George:"Fuckin' 'ell Paddy, genius!"
The next morning, Paddy and George come down and notice, both pigs only have one ear. Paddy's pig got jealous of the other one having both ears, so he chew it off.
George: "Fuck paddy, what now!?"
Paddy: "I tell you what, I'll cut the OTHER ear off my pig, then, my pig will be the one with NO ears!"
George: "Fuckin' 'ell Paddy, genius!"
So, after cutting off the pigs other ear, they go to the shop. When they get back, both pigs have no ears. Again, Paddy's pig grew jealous and chewed off the other's ear.
George: "Fuck sake Paddy, would you look at that, both pigs have no feckin' ears!"
Paddy: "Right... I tell you what, if I cut off my pigs tail, my pig will be the one with no ears and no tail!"
George: "Fuckin' 'ell Paddy, genius!"
So, after cutting of the pigs tail, Paddy and George go to the pub. When they returned, you would never have guessed, the pig grew jealous and chewed the other's tail off.
George: "Fuckin' 'ell Paddy! Look now, both have no ears or tail, should we cut one of your pigs legs off? That way your pig will have no ears, tail or leg!"
Paddy: "No, I tell you what George, you have the pink one, and I'll have the fucking black one!"
When they arrive home, Paddy says to George
"Eer' George, how do we know which pig's mine, and which pig's yours?"
George: "Shit... I dunno"
Paddy: "I tell you what, if I cut the ear off of my pig, we'll know mine is the one with one ear and yours is the one with two!"
George:"Fuckin' 'ell Paddy, genius!"
The next morning, Paddy and George come down and notice, both pigs only have one ear. Paddy's pig got jealous of the other one having both ears, so he chew it off.
George: "Fuck paddy, what now!?"
Paddy: "I tell you what, I'll cut the OTHER ear off my pig, then, my pig will be the one with NO ears!"
George: "Fuckin' 'ell Paddy, genius!"
So, after cutting off the pigs other ear, they go to the shop. When they get back, both pigs have no ears. Again, Paddy's pig grew jealous and chewed off the other's ear.
George: "Fuck sake Paddy, would you look at that, both pigs have no feckin' ears!"
Paddy: "Right... I tell you what, if I cut off my pigs tail, my pig will be the one with no ears and no tail!"
George: "Fuckin' 'ell Paddy, genius!"
So, after cutting of the pigs tail, Paddy and George go to the pub. When they returned, you would never have guessed, the pig grew jealous and chewed the other's tail off.
George: "Fuckin' 'ell Paddy! Look now, both have no ears or tail, should we cut one of your pigs legs off? That way your pig will have no ears, tail or leg!"
Paddy: "No, I tell you what George, you have the pink one, and I'll have the fucking black one!"
A Beautiful Thing...
Everything Is A Rich Man's Trick...
I do enjoy a good conspiacy theory. This is long but fascinating look at the role America and the "illuminati" have played in world history since the start of the twentieth century and beyond.
It's not ALL crackpot conspiracy, much of it is from proven historical record, which of course we just don't get taught about. It's quite astonishing actually.
Having watched the full 3 1/2 hours I can say that the first half is pretty good and backed up by sound corroborated evidence. However, the flight of fancy regarding the actual mechanism of the JFK assassination, although probably plausible in some minds, to me came across as just an amusing flight of fantasy and should be pretty much discounted.
However, give it a go and make your own mind up.
It's not ALL crackpot conspiracy, much of it is from proven historical record, which of course we just don't get taught about. It's quite astonishing actually.
Having watched the full 3 1/2 hours I can say that the first half is pretty good and backed up by sound corroborated evidence. However, the flight of fancy regarding the actual mechanism of the JFK assassination, although probably plausible in some minds, to me came across as just an amusing flight of fantasy and should be pretty much discounted.
However, give it a go and make your own mind up.
Romeo & Juliet - Monte Montgomery...
Here's some very classy acoustic playing by a guitarist far too many people have yet to hear about..
It's Only Rock 'n' Roll, But I Like It...
With a combined age of around 300yrs these guys still look and sound the best damn rock n roll band in the world!
Nuclear Device...
Quite an astonishing map showing the nuclear devices detonated by just four countries: USA, USSR (former,) France and the UK, up until 1991. A grand total of 2025 detonations. The fall out from these alone has been estimated as responsible for 52 million cases of cancer worldwide...and counting. Add to this just under 1 million deaths from radiation related illness caused by Chernobyl and add on Fukushima and you get a very scared picture.
Shocking what man does to man.
Taken from Time-Lapse Map of Every Nuclear Explosion Since 1945 - by Isao Hashimoto
Shocking what man does to man.
Taken from Time-Lapse Map of Every Nuclear Explosion Since 1945 - by Isao Hashimoto
The Budget Wha Wha Pedal...
Ingenious - The Wah Wah effect for the price of two pieces of wire and a few months without shaving.
A Ban on Food Waste...
"French supermarkets will be banned from throwing away or destroying unsold food and must instead donate it to charities or for animal feed, under a law set to crack down on food waste."
This is such a good idea, I don't see why this cannot be fully adopted in this country.
Click on the link below for the full Guardian Article
This is such a good idea, I don't see why this cannot be fully adopted in this country.
Click on the link below for the full Guardian Article
Shocking Ambivalence...
So the 'establishment' including the BBC claimed not to know anything about Jimmy Savile's private life? Not according to this interview from 1978, where Johnny Rotten, as he was known at the time, appears to speak clearly about the disgraced former TV presenter's perversions.
Tells you a lot about those in charge, doesn't it.
Tells you a lot about those in charge, doesn't it.
Depleted Trust...
An interesting documentary on the effects of depleted uranium on the lives of gulf war veterans. Another example of the way in which the military industrial complex is in bed with and running circles around the U.S. and UK governments all the while destroying the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and their families.
The more I find out the worse it all seems.
The more I find out the worse it all seems.
Saturday 23 May 2015
A thing of beauty...
Formula 1 cars are the pinnacle of motoring technology. There is a great deal of discussion at the moment about the sport and how it can be made more exciting and appealing to dwindling audiences internationally. One thing that cannot be denied is the raw beauty of these incredible machines, every year they look more and more stunning in my opinion. Whatever changes are made to engines and rules running the races, I hope that the cars continue to be sculptural masterpieces like these four stunning machines, McLaren, Williams, Mercedes and Scuderia Ferrari.
Words of wisdom...
"A treadmill is a perfect metaphor for my life because no matter how much I think I'm progressing I'm really still in the same place, but now I'm also tired"
Friday 22 May 2015
An Absolute Hero...
A real hero of mine...
Captain Lawrence Edward Grace "Titus" Oates (17 March 1880 – 16 March 1912) was an English cavalry officer with the 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons, and later an Antarcticexplorer, who died during the Terra Nova Expedition. Oates, afflicted with gangrene and frostbite, walked from his tent into a blizzard. His death is seen as an act of self-sacrifice when, aware that his ill health was compromising his three companions' chances of survival, he chose certain death.
Wednesday 13 May 2015
OK So I Stole this from Another Website...
I found this helpful advice at Adequate Man (US Site hence $ not £s) for anyone considering getting themselves a dog and wanted to share it because I think dogs are our guardian angels and I hate seeing them unhappy, poorly kept or abused. In fact nothing makes me more angry than animals being abused. I don't have a doggy partner of my own at the moment sadly, I lost my guardian angel about 8 years ago now. I still miss him every day, he was an absolute diamond!
I guess the main message I'd give is that : "A DOG IS FOR LIFE"
So you must think carefully before you commit to welcoming a little lady or little lad into your life, and the information below is excellent, sound advice, honest and practical, down to earth with no bullshit...
"I wasn’t ready when I got my dog, Penny, in college. Lots of people compare owning a dog to raising a child, but I’ve never had a child, so I’ll compare it to looking after a Pokémon, of which I have owned many. True, canines are loyal companions who will come to your aid whenever you may need them. Except in this case, you can’t turn them off for a decade, then find them in the attic, jump right back into action, and beat the Elite Four one more time. Owning a dog takes actual, daily commitment.
I was probably stupid to get Penny in the first place, actually: I only wanted a pup to snuggle by my side, binge Netflix with me, and help me find self-worth. But Penny’s a good dog. She’s sweet, playful, and filled with life. And thanks to our growing up together, I do think I have become a competent—some would even say good!—dog owner.
Here’s the secret: There’s no such thing as a shitty dog. You show me a shitty dog, and I’ll show you a much shittier person who doesn’t give a fuck about the dog. And as someone who has transformed from “shithead student with a dog” into “shithead adult with a dog,” I feel like it’s on me to share some insight with others who may be thinking of getting their first pooch.
The first thing you should know is that all dog owners will unknowingly be shitty sometimes. Unfortunately, that just comes with the territory. There will come a point when you’ve had too much to drink, but are too cheap to take a cab or Uber, so you walk home; you know your dog has to pee, but that can wait 30 minutes while you save a few bucks. Meanwhile, your new best friend is engorging itself with that fancy new self-filling water bowl, and its fickle, chickpea-sized bladder is getting fuller and fuller. But it’s okay: The dog will just piss on your new comforter and teach you not to forget it next time.
But if you’ve any inkling that that sort of thing will happen often, let’s start with perhaps my most important piece of advice: MAYBE JUST DON’T GET A DOG! If you aren’t sure you can be a good dog owner, just wait until a time in your life when you can be sure. We aren’t gonna run out of dogs anytime soon. With that in mind, here are a few simple questions you can ask yourself
How much space do I have? There are few things sadder than a dog that doesn’t get enough room to roam, and instead is stuck sitting by a window watching the world go by. Now, that doesn’t necessarily mean that not having a yard—or living in a studio apartment the size of a cupboard—disqualifies you from owning a dog. Your space also includes the neighbourhood around you. Is there a dog park nearby? If so, great: That will allow you to socialise and exercise your dog regularly. You’re good as long as there is some kind of nearby area where you can let your pup off the leash and frolic as nature intended. At the same time, be reasonable: If you do live in a studio, don’t get a bull mastiff. It will be shitty for you and the dog alike, and you’ll likely end up hating it as much as your first college roommate. A good, common sense rule: the smaller the place, the smaller the dog.
How much time do I have? Remember that nearby dog park you’re excited about? It doesn’t mean dick if you don’t have the time to take your dog there. If you’re a young person, you likely have busy professional and social lives; if you still go out every night, a dog may not be the best thing for you. At the very least, find a dog that fits your lifestyle: If you absolutely must stay out every night, don’t get a husky. Some breeds, like bulldogs and pugs, are more than happy to sleep most of the day away. If you’re an avid runner, however, a bigger, more active dog may be right up your alley. Give yourself some time for introspection and figure out what size, age, and breed of dog best fits the life you want to live.
So what breed is right for me? Different breeds will carry different physical and personality traits. It’s important to know those things before you get one. If you hate shedding, don’t get a pug or a lab. Those breeds shed an unbelievable amount of hair and can leave it in places they’ve never been: Penny sheds, and I swear I’ve found her hair on top of my ceiling fan. If the hair makes your allergies flare, find a hypoallergenic dog, such as a poodle or poodle-cross. You should also consider the type of temperament you want from your dog: The dog that’s right for a bachelor likely won’t be right for a family. There are tons of on line questionnaires that’ll help with this: Here’s one from dogtime.com that asks about your dream dog, where you live, and how much grooming you’d like to do, and then suggests five possible breeds. It said I should get a Swedish Vallhund, which looks like a very good little dog indeed.
Is another person invested in this dog? This is a biggie. If you have a significant other, what’s the stability of your relationship? You have to remember: The dog isn’t going to think, “That one’s my owner, and that’s just some rando who spends the night a lot.” Both of you will be the dog’s “people.” If a breakup or other calamity occurs, it’s gonna be hard for your little mutt. That isn’t to say don’t get a dog when you’re in a relationship—in fact, a dog can help push an already serious relationship to the next level. But before you make the decision to get any sort of furry pet, you need to sit down with your partner and have a frank discussion about the status of your relationship and where you see it going. Then name the dog Frank.
Do I have the money for this? Getting a dog can quickly become an expensive endeavour. You have to pay for the dog, the initial vet bills, a million chew toys you’ll buy (that the dog will never play with), and food for the rest of its life. The simplest way to cut down on these initial costs is to get a rescue dog instead of buying a purebred: Everyone wants a dog just like the golden retriever they had as a kid, but those fuckers can cost $2,000 or more. Whereas there are plenty of rescue dogs you can get for free or for a small fee. If you live in a city where rescue dogs are in high demand, it can also be cheaper to get a rescue shipped in from a place where shelters are over-populated instead of going purebred. Also, if you’re someone without much time or space, it could be smart to rescue an old dog instead of a puppy. Yeah, you won’t get to watch it grow, and you don’t get the puppy phase (undoubtedly the cutest of all dog phases), but an old dog won’t need to be exercised as much. They’re generally happy having an owner who cares for them and spending their lives being chillers of the highest order. But old dogs may need more regular medical attention, so be wary of that.
What basics should I buy? There are a few must-haves here, starting with the food and water bowls. Make sure you get something with a solid base if you get a puppy: They spill more water into their food than you thought possible, so get something they can’t tip over easily. You should also invest in a sturdy leash. Borrow one from a friend, then take your new dog to a pet store and find one that fits it, and you, well. You and your dog will spend a lot of time with that leash, so don’t skimp. I was stupid and lazy when I got Penny and used a retractable leash my parents gave me. It took a few months for me to realise she hated the sound of the line retracting and recoiling, but I got a new, more standard leash, and our walks have been a simple joy ever since. There’s also the matter of getting your dog fixed. If it’s not a registered dog that you plan to breed, please spay or neuter it as soon as possible. Pet overpopulation is a huge problem in America, and it’s because people don’t get their animals fixed in a timely manner. I made the mistake of not getting Penny fixed early, and she went into heat about six months after I got her. It was a big mess. Let’s not get into it.
Seriously, do I have the money for this? You never know what can happen in the life of a dog. They could break a leg or get in a fight or poop something out that you don’t believe could come from a living organism. You need to be prepared for all these contingencies (especially mystery poop). Don’t dine out the first few weeks you have the dog and save the money you would’ve spent on that for unforeseen vet bills. Once you have a few hundred dollars, you will have enough to not worry when minor problems come up. And, god forbid, if a major medical problem presents itself, you’ll already have a good chunk of the money needed to address it.
So am I ready? If it’s not that time yet, don’t be disheartened. In the meantime, there are plenty of people who love their pups but wouldn’t mind letting you dog sit it for a night. Play with other people’s dogs and keep asking yourself these questions and you’ll know when the time is right.
I guess the main message I'd give is that : "A DOG IS FOR LIFE"
So you must think carefully before you commit to welcoming a little lady or little lad into your life, and the information below is excellent, sound advice, honest and practical, down to earth with no bullshit...
***********************
"I wasn’t ready when I got my dog, Penny, in college. Lots of people compare owning a dog to raising a child, but I’ve never had a child, so I’ll compare it to looking after a Pokémon, of which I have owned many. True, canines are loyal companions who will come to your aid whenever you may need them. Except in this case, you can’t turn them off for a decade, then find them in the attic, jump right back into action, and beat the Elite Four one more time. Owning a dog takes actual, daily commitment.
I was probably stupid to get Penny in the first place, actually: I only wanted a pup to snuggle by my side, binge Netflix with me, and help me find self-worth. But Penny’s a good dog. She’s sweet, playful, and filled with life. And thanks to our growing up together, I do think I have become a competent—some would even say good!—dog owner.
Here’s the secret: There’s no such thing as a shitty dog. You show me a shitty dog, and I’ll show you a much shittier person who doesn’t give a fuck about the dog. And as someone who has transformed from “shithead student with a dog” into “shithead adult with a dog,” I feel like it’s on me to share some insight with others who may be thinking of getting their first pooch.
The first thing you should know is that all dog owners will unknowingly be shitty sometimes. Unfortunately, that just comes with the territory. There will come a point when you’ve had too much to drink, but are too cheap to take a cab or Uber, so you walk home; you know your dog has to pee, but that can wait 30 minutes while you save a few bucks. Meanwhile, your new best friend is engorging itself with that fancy new self-filling water bowl, and its fickle, chickpea-sized bladder is getting fuller and fuller. But it’s okay: The dog will just piss on your new comforter and teach you not to forget it next time.
But if you’ve any inkling that that sort of thing will happen often, let’s start with perhaps my most important piece of advice: MAYBE JUST DON’T GET A DOG! If you aren’t sure you can be a good dog owner, just wait until a time in your life when you can be sure. We aren’t gonna run out of dogs anytime soon. With that in mind, here are a few simple questions you can ask yourself
How much space do I have? There are few things sadder than a dog that doesn’t get enough room to roam, and instead is stuck sitting by a window watching the world go by. Now, that doesn’t necessarily mean that not having a yard—or living in a studio apartment the size of a cupboard—disqualifies you from owning a dog. Your space also includes the neighbourhood around you. Is there a dog park nearby? If so, great: That will allow you to socialise and exercise your dog regularly. You’re good as long as there is some kind of nearby area where you can let your pup off the leash and frolic as nature intended. At the same time, be reasonable: If you do live in a studio, don’t get a bull mastiff. It will be shitty for you and the dog alike, and you’ll likely end up hating it as much as your first college roommate. A good, common sense rule: the smaller the place, the smaller the dog.
How much time do I have? Remember that nearby dog park you’re excited about? It doesn’t mean dick if you don’t have the time to take your dog there. If you’re a young person, you likely have busy professional and social lives; if you still go out every night, a dog may not be the best thing for you. At the very least, find a dog that fits your lifestyle: If you absolutely must stay out every night, don’t get a husky. Some breeds, like bulldogs and pugs, are more than happy to sleep most of the day away. If you’re an avid runner, however, a bigger, more active dog may be right up your alley. Give yourself some time for introspection and figure out what size, age, and breed of dog best fits the life you want to live.
So what breed is right for me? Different breeds will carry different physical and personality traits. It’s important to know those things before you get one. If you hate shedding, don’t get a pug or a lab. Those breeds shed an unbelievable amount of hair and can leave it in places they’ve never been: Penny sheds, and I swear I’ve found her hair on top of my ceiling fan. If the hair makes your allergies flare, find a hypoallergenic dog, such as a poodle or poodle-cross. You should also consider the type of temperament you want from your dog: The dog that’s right for a bachelor likely won’t be right for a family. There are tons of on line questionnaires that’ll help with this: Here’s one from dogtime.com that asks about your dream dog, where you live, and how much grooming you’d like to do, and then suggests five possible breeds. It said I should get a Swedish Vallhund, which looks like a very good little dog indeed.
Is another person invested in this dog? This is a biggie. If you have a significant other, what’s the stability of your relationship? You have to remember: The dog isn’t going to think, “That one’s my owner, and that’s just some rando who spends the night a lot.” Both of you will be the dog’s “people.” If a breakup or other calamity occurs, it’s gonna be hard for your little mutt. That isn’t to say don’t get a dog when you’re in a relationship—in fact, a dog can help push an already serious relationship to the next level. But before you make the decision to get any sort of furry pet, you need to sit down with your partner and have a frank discussion about the status of your relationship and where you see it going. Then name the dog Frank.
Do I have the money for this? Getting a dog can quickly become an expensive endeavour. You have to pay for the dog, the initial vet bills, a million chew toys you’ll buy (that the dog will never play with), and food for the rest of its life. The simplest way to cut down on these initial costs is to get a rescue dog instead of buying a purebred: Everyone wants a dog just like the golden retriever they had as a kid, but those fuckers can cost $2,000 or more. Whereas there are plenty of rescue dogs you can get for free or for a small fee. If you live in a city where rescue dogs are in high demand, it can also be cheaper to get a rescue shipped in from a place where shelters are over-populated instead of going purebred. Also, if you’re someone without much time or space, it could be smart to rescue an old dog instead of a puppy. Yeah, you won’t get to watch it grow, and you don’t get the puppy phase (undoubtedly the cutest of all dog phases), but an old dog won’t need to be exercised as much. They’re generally happy having an owner who cares for them and spending their lives being chillers of the highest order. But old dogs may need more regular medical attention, so be wary of that.
What basics should I buy? There are a few must-haves here, starting with the food and water bowls. Make sure you get something with a solid base if you get a puppy: They spill more water into their food than you thought possible, so get something they can’t tip over easily. You should also invest in a sturdy leash. Borrow one from a friend, then take your new dog to a pet store and find one that fits it, and you, well. You and your dog will spend a lot of time with that leash, so don’t skimp. I was stupid and lazy when I got Penny and used a retractable leash my parents gave me. It took a few months for me to realise she hated the sound of the line retracting and recoiling, but I got a new, more standard leash, and our walks have been a simple joy ever since. There’s also the matter of getting your dog fixed. If it’s not a registered dog that you plan to breed, please spay or neuter it as soon as possible. Pet overpopulation is a huge problem in America, and it’s because people don’t get their animals fixed in a timely manner. I made the mistake of not getting Penny fixed early, and she went into heat about six months after I got her. It was a big mess. Let’s not get into it.
Seriously, do I have the money for this? You never know what can happen in the life of a dog. They could break a leg or get in a fight or poop something out that you don’t believe could come from a living organism. You need to be prepared for all these contingencies (especially mystery poop). Don’t dine out the first few weeks you have the dog and save the money you would’ve spent on that for unforeseen vet bills. Once you have a few hundred dollars, you will have enough to not worry when minor problems come up. And, god forbid, if a major medical problem presents itself, you’ll already have a good chunk of the money needed to address it.
So am I ready? If it’s not that time yet, don’t be disheartened. In the meantime, there are plenty of people who love their pups but wouldn’t mind letting you dog sit it for a night. Play with other people’s dogs and keep asking yourself these questions and you’ll know when the time is right.
On Heavy Rotation...
I do have quite a wide ranging taste in music. I like what I like, and what I like I like a lot!!
Today I'm revisiting one of my musical influences [I've been playing guitar since I was11 years old] and most of my favourite musicians are guitarists. I got into Joe Satriani around about 1985/6 when there was a Flexi disc (shit, man! do you remember those?) attached to Guitar Player magazine featuring Joe playing "Power Cosmic/Rush of Love" on one side and Steve Vai doing "Amazing Grace" on the other. A few months later there was an advert in Sounds for Satriani's debut solo album "Not of this Earth" and Vai's "Flexible" album. I was in college in those days so I rushed off to the nearest record store at the time and managed to pick up both albums that day. The Satriani album I loved, the Vai one, not so much - I came to dig Vai a few years later when he cut "Eat 'em and Smile" with David Lee Roth. I've still got those two vinyl discs and the Flexi disc too
Anyway to cut to today: I dug out a few of the Satriani CDs earlier and listened to some of his more recent stuff, which I've not really properly paid attention to, not as much as I used to. This track is my current "bangin' toon" of the moment. It's from the "Satriani LIVE!" album, and features Joe at his best I think. I've seen Joe on tour more times than any other artist, he's playing the UK again this autumn and I'm thinking about going. I haven't been to a gig for about 5-6 years now, last show was Sigur Rós at Bristol Colston Hall. I need to start to get to more gigs again, I used to see a show at least once a month, I love live music but, for reasons I won't go into here, I lost a lot of the passion I had for getting out and letting my hair down. This needs to be remedied...soon!
Today I'm revisiting one of my musical influences [I've been playing guitar since I was11 years old] and most of my favourite musicians are guitarists. I got into Joe Satriani around about 1985/6 when there was a Flexi disc (shit, man! do you remember those?) attached to Guitar Player magazine featuring Joe playing "Power Cosmic/Rush of Love" on one side and Steve Vai doing "Amazing Grace" on the other. A few months later there was an advert in Sounds for Satriani's debut solo album "Not of this Earth" and Vai's "Flexible" album. I was in college in those days so I rushed off to the nearest record store at the time and managed to pick up both albums that day. The Satriani album I loved, the Vai one, not so much - I came to dig Vai a few years later when he cut "Eat 'em and Smile" with David Lee Roth. I've still got those two vinyl discs and the Flexi disc too
Anyway to cut to today: I dug out a few of the Satriani CDs earlier and listened to some of his more recent stuff, which I've not really properly paid attention to, not as much as I used to. This track is my current "bangin' toon" of the moment. It's from the "Satriani LIVE!" album, and features Joe at his best I think. I've seen Joe on tour more times than any other artist, he's playing the UK again this autumn and I'm thinking about going. I haven't been to a gig for about 5-6 years now, last show was Sigur Rós at Bristol Colston Hall. I need to start to get to more gigs again, I used to see a show at least once a month, I love live music but, for reasons I won't go into here, I lost a lot of the passion I had for getting out and letting my hair down. This needs to be remedied...soon!
An Inconvenient Truth...
"Blogging isn't writing – it's just graffiti with punctuation!"
Screenwriter Scott Z Burns.
Tuesday 12 May 2015
A World Without Power...
I'm currently researching for an idea I've been formulating for a book I'm hoping to write. OK, I know everyone thinks they can write a book, this one is a book I'm writing purely for myself, it will never be published. The theme of the book is to do with living in a post apocalyptic world, and the struggles, dangers and obstacles that a lone person would face when the world has been turned completely upside down.
I've looked at a range of possible scenarios for the onset of this particular apocalyptic event, and last night I watched this film, which is freely available on YouTube. It deals with a situation where through an act of cyberterrorism the electricity supply in (in this case America) upon a national scale takes out the entire power grid. Now I'm sure they did their research on this, but I'm also sure they ramped it all up a bit too for dramatic effect, nevertheless, it is interesting and at times gripping viewing, so I thought I'd share it here for the millions of my regular visitors to take a look at.
You're very welcome!
I've looked at a range of possible scenarios for the onset of this particular apocalyptic event, and last night I watched this film, which is freely available on YouTube. It deals with a situation where through an act of cyberterrorism the electricity supply in (in this case America) upon a national scale takes out the entire power grid. Now I'm sure they did their research on this, but I'm also sure they ramped it all up a bit too for dramatic effect, nevertheless, it is interesting and at times gripping viewing, so I thought I'd share it here for the millions of my regular visitors to take a look at.
You're very welcome!
Monday 11 May 2015
Let's Get the Boring Personal Stuff Out of the Way...
Ok, so as threatened/promised, there is going to be a little bit of personal information about me. Just likes and dislikes really, and don't worry, it's all pretty shallow stuff, much like the author. This is by no means a complete list, things get added mentally each day, usually in the "Hates" section.
LIKES
Helen, Kizzy, Cal, Kitty, Rock music, Formula 1, Jazz, a bloody good book, coffee, playing the guitar [38 years and counting], War films, walking the dog, sleeping, a bloody good film, driving, Top Gear [The classic Clarkson years only] Italy, The Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, New York, Malboro and a double espresso for breakfast, Venice, Rome, Florence, my iPad, Apple iOS, Fender Telecasters, Fender Stratocasters, Gibson Les Paul, My Takamine acoustic, my Dobro's, the possibility of the apocalypse, animals of all shapes and sizes [except the human ape], Sir Ranulph Fiennes, James Hunt, Graham Hill, Damon Hill.
HATES
My fucking job, Bob fucking Dylan, Fernando fucking Alonso, arrogant fucking people, people who fucking say "enjoy", I Will fucking survive, all fucking politicians, all fucking liars, all fucking schemers and cheats, the fucking management, people who try to fucking tell me what to fucking do, people who think they need to fucking criticise me, Foo fucking Fighters, Microsoft fucking Windows, et al.
To all those in the second list, and a the others who are in my "The List" list....
LIKES
Helen, Kizzy, Cal, Kitty, Rock music, Formula 1, Jazz, a bloody good book, coffee, playing the guitar [38 years and counting], War films, walking the dog, sleeping, a bloody good film, driving, Top Gear [The classic Clarkson years only] Italy, The Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, New York, Malboro and a double espresso for breakfast, Venice, Rome, Florence, my iPad, Apple iOS, Fender Telecasters, Fender Stratocasters, Gibson Les Paul, My Takamine acoustic, my Dobro's, the possibility of the apocalypse, animals of all shapes and sizes [except the human ape], Sir Ranulph Fiennes, James Hunt, Graham Hill, Damon Hill.
HATES
My fucking job, Bob fucking Dylan, Fernando fucking Alonso, arrogant fucking people, people who fucking say "enjoy", I Will fucking survive, all fucking politicians, all fucking liars, all fucking schemers and cheats, the fucking management, people who try to fucking tell me what to fucking do, people who think they need to fucking criticise me, Foo fucking Fighters, Microsoft fucking Windows, et al.
To all those in the second list, and a the others who are in my "The List" list....
Welcome to the Club
Blogging is something that I've tinkered wth on and off over the last ten years or so. I have a few blogs and there are a few I visit regularly and provide me with entertainment daily in some cases, or occasionally in others. I've always wanted a blog of mine to be at least vaguely popular. I'm not sure how to achieve this other than by providing humour, interesting articles and the odd personal reflection [probably less of the latter if truth be told] After all who really gives a shit about my health, lack of relationship success, work, play or personal philosophy and opinion?
Anyway, I'll try and keep this updated regularly enough to see it grow a bit, and hope anyone who pops in will take the trouble to leave comments [no sales pitches please]
So, for now, cheers and welcome to the club!
Anyway, I'll try and keep this updated regularly enough to see it grow a bit, and hope anyone who pops in will take the trouble to leave comments [no sales pitches please]
So, for now, cheers and welcome to the club!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)