Painting rooms

Recently I have spent a lot of time with a paintbrush in my hand decorating rooms (with a lot of help from the Folks!) often with the help of my little Niece, who has discovered the joy of smearing pigments all over the place (mainly herself and any other surface other than the paper that is put in front of her!)

Whilst it can be a real pain to get started it's really nice to be able to watch as your environment changes with each coat of paint, how suddenly a room becomes lighter or warmer. The whole experience becomes suddenly quite enjoyable as with each coat you can see the finishing line approaching.

This has not always been the case and in particular one incident soured me towards painting indoors for a very long time.

A few years after the sugar puffs incident we moved house. With Sister II now with us we needed more space, and the parentals had found a larger house only a mile or two from our first one (a house with its own bar – which was quickly removed after they found my Sister I and myself at a tender age helping ourselves to Babychams [bought in specially for Granny] from behind the bar – I admit that I started drinking early although I don't think either of us were aware that it was alcohol, just fizzy and sweet!) Into this house was bought a "beautiful" new WHITE shag pile carpet for Sister I's bedroom.

We moved in in the April and had been warned in no uncertain terms that nothing was to be taken onto the white carpet! NO drinks (especially not blackcurrant squash), NO food, NO shoes! (I think that if they could have found one they would have erected a sign on my Sister's door similar to the ones that you used to see in swimming pools warning people about the dangers of running, bombing and heavy petting in the deep end!)

By the Summer holidays we must have been driving my Mother mad, with two young children and a toddler to contend with, and my Grandmother had come over to help watch us. After running around for hours my Sister I and I decided that we wanted to paint inside. We'd had enough of climbing the trees, playing with a football, hitting each other with garden canes, and generally fresh air!

"You can't……the sun is shining and you have a garden to play in."

"but we want to paint and we are bored of the garden! It's too hot/ cold/ windy/ BOOOOORRRRIINNNGGG!"

"NO!"

So that was the final word……..we could either paint outside, or stay indoors and play with some toys in the house!

UNTIL we had the great idea of painting upstairs! (I'm not too sure who had the idea…..it was probably me and my Sister did tend to think most of my ideas at that time were really good [she was/is a Tomboy] – although she has fortunately changed her mind about most of my ideas!) We knew that my Sister's room had some paints…..and one of those really cheap colouring in books, which seemed to be printed on toilet paper it was so thin!

After what felt like hours of painting (although was probably only about 20 minutes) my Mother obviously got somewhat concerned about the lack of running footsteps, the slamming of the back door, and general noise of children destroying the place and asked us what we were doing!

"NOTHING!" (the response most guaranteed to result in the fastest 50 yard upstairs dash)

You can probably guess where this is heading…….caught red-handed with a rainbow of colour splashed all over the new carpet. We expected to catch hell from our Mother (which we duly did!) but even our sweet dear Grandmother had a crack at us, and after a swift sharp lesson we were thrown into the garden and the backdoor locked with the most dreaded phrase "Wait till your Father gets home" ringing behind us (there were many recriminations as to whose idea it had been, who had spilled the most paint, and generally who was the biggest pain…….I still maintain that my Sister smelled worse than me and that girls couldn't paint properly anyway!)

It was the first and last time that I was sent to bed without dinner (well through anything other than personal choice……and usually a large amount of alcohol!). I think if every tale has a moral then the moral for this has got to be:

"Whilst it is sensible to let sleeping dogs lie…….silence from children will only lead to trouble"

When life gives you lemons......................

..........................make lemon drizzle cake!

At low points in my life I have found great enjoyment and relaxation in baking. There doesn't need to be a special occasion, and whilst my Grandmother was ill and whilst going through the stresses of handing my notice in and changing jobs it was almost a weekly thing for me to take freshly baked cakes into the office (it's rarely a case that I would actually eat the cakes, but the fun is in the making, and the enjoyment that other people gain from them.)

Now that the nightmare of the flat is almost over (although my expectations that the agreement that the remaining items would be cleared was somewhat optimistic) and in preparation for a visit to some good friends this weekend I have decided to bring out of the cupboard one of my favourite recipes.

Ingredients:

175g softened butter

175g caster sugar

3 large eggs

175g self-raising flour

1 tsp baking powder

Grated rind of one unwaxed lemon

pinch of salt

For drizzle:

125g granulated sugar

60ml lemon juice

Recipe:

1. Line the base of a greased 18cm round cake tin with a piece greaseproof paper.

2. Place all the ingredients into a bowl and beat with a wooden spoon (or for an even easier option place in a mixer for one minute - or just until the mixture is smooth!)

3. Pour the mixture into the tin and smooth and bake in the middle of a preheated oved (at 180°C ) for 45 - 50 minutes. The cake should be well risen and golden and can be tested by inserting a skewer into the centre, which should come out clean.

4. Let the cake cool in the tin for about 5 minutes and the run a knife around the edge before turning out onto a wire rack to cool.

5. After a few minutes prick the top of the cake with a skewer (carefully as the cake is likely to still be quite hot). Combine the drizzle mixture and poor over the top of the cake.

6. Enjoy!

The Draw of the Law!

When I look at where I am now , and what I wanted to do with my life, I still cannot believe that I am sitting in an office all day(although it is a very nice new office block in the heart of Manchester City Centre with fantastic panoramic views), working in the "Law" (I can't see myself doing this for the next 40+ years! – this thought alone is enough to drive me out to buy a lottery ticket!)

Of all the things that I wanted to do as a kid this is really the last place I ever expected to be. I was somewhat driven by the things around me or saw! At the age of four my grandparents bought me for Christmas a fireman's helmet, with built in flashing light and siren, and a drum (I'm sure they loved my mum and dad, but now as an uncle one of the greatest joys is being the hip uncle, able to buy cool noisy presents and then leaves before they become too annoying).

From then to about the age of 8 all I wanted to do was to be a fireman (I wish I knew where my drum and fireman's helmet had got too, but for some strange reason they seemed to disappear one night in about February!)

I was then bought a box of airfix toy soldiers, and a military career seemed to be the way forward. Yes I had played with the green plastic figures and now I wanted to do it for real (plus I was an army brat anyway and so had a lot of militaria around me!) [To be honest I still wonder about applying! I know I have about 12 months to do it, and every month or two I wander past the army careers office and contemplate just stepping in!]

After the army came Top Gun (the film!) That was it I decided, I'd either be a fast jet fighter pilot.............. or an actor! Yes something of a strange mix. I know that I was attracted by the thought of fast flying, but I can also see the attraction of being someone new every week. (There have been times over the last few weeks/months when I would have given my right hand to be someone else, somewhere else.) But again common sense/reality reasserted itself (I would be too tall to fly fast jets/and I really wasn't that good an actor [in fact other than at slapstick I was really bad!])

By the time of GCSEs I was torn between Medicine and Law (with two younger sisters I had been subjected to Ally McBeal (I think that that is how you spell it!!!) and I have to admit that the lifestyle portrayed seemed fantastic! In Court all day cross examining witnesses, young female lawyers in short skirts, crazy senior partners and then down to the bar at the bottom of your office for drinks and karaoke!) This image was quickly dispelled when doing an internship at a local firm I was handed a box of 40 files all relating to a single trust, and told to read through it (I didn't remember any of the cast of the US Legal shows having to read things, they were far to busy with their madcap lifestyles!)

When this crushing blow was compared with the excitement of seeing surgery there was only one way to go! Here I come medicine! After three years at university studying anatomy I again realised that medicine wasn't quite what I had expected, and I was not sure how I could face another five years studying to become a doctor (looking back how little I knew! Five years as a student......five whole years of student lifestyle......with some of the craziest, most alcohol driven, morally loose people I have ever met!!!!!! What was wrong with me? I should have jumped at an extra five years rather than entering full-time employment!)

It's somewhat concerning that after all this time in a profession, and all the time and costs that it has taken to get here, that I am pretty sure that it's not what I want for the rest of my life (and I have still yet to see mixed toilets in an office or a dancing baby [although I think that if I did that would be definitely the time to get out of Law!])

I think if I could now do anything, and money was not an option I would open a small bistro somewhere (and yes I know that complaining about long hours in Law would be nothing compared to the time and effort that you have to put in to make a restaurant a success) cooking simple but tasty food to which you would all be invited.

Aesops modern tales

One of my Mother's favourite tales, whenever she sees my four year old Niece with her finger (or anything else) up or around her nose, was of when I was about five or six years old.

We lived in a very nice house, with a breakfast bar in the kitchen. On one particular day my Mother had come back from shopping and left my sister (who must have been about three or four at the time) and myself in the kitchen with the shopping bags on the floor, including a box of sugar puff cereal.

She must only have been gone for a few minutes, but during this time we had managed to remove and open the box of cereal (a feat in itself which I am still often unable to manage without spilling the contents all over the floor) and positioned ourselves under the breakfast bar. She came in to see us shovelling handfuls of dry sugary goodness into our mouths when disaster struck. I must have inhaled whilst devouring a handful, as a sugar puff became firmly wedged up my left nostril (a particularly unpleasant experience at any age, but which seemed so much worse at that tender age!)

Panic ensued as I was unable to talk due to the tears coursing down my cheeks, and my sister wasn't fully conversant at that stage. As it was a mime that Marcel Marceau would have been proud of we established that a sugar puff had gone where no sugary cereal product should have gone. Probing with items (okay I admit it was mainly my finger) got us nowhere other than pushing it further and further up my nostril. My Father, who was (and still is) a General Medical Practitioner, and who was at his practice received an urgent call to say that his second (and I should imagine somewhat slower) son had managed nasal dilation by confectionary, and asked for advice. I was to be brought over for treatment, a trip of some 10 miles.

My sister and I were bundled into the car, strapped in (still in a lot of pain I have to say!) by a very aggravated and stressed mother. I seem to recall that the journey was fraught with red lights and other road users, and we had made it to about a hundred metres from my father's surgery when I felt the sneeze building, fifty metres and I knew what was coming, and turning into the car park when my mother was hit on the back of her head by a soggy sugar puff.

Of course I was flavour of the month for a while but I think that this story has a deeper message, namely:

"Don’t stick your nose where it's not wanted as the results are rarely very nice......and the resulting journey is often pointless!"

Countdown to holidays!

After the last six months, which has included the loss of my last remaining grandparent (after a hard battle with cancer), a radical job change, and then finally the break-up of my relationship with The Girl, my thoughts turned to a chance to escape and make a break with the UK.

My sisters and I were hugely fortunate as children and we were taken on holiday to the continent. This culminated (purely by chance I think) in my parents finding a British couple who owned property about 50 kilometres from Bordeaux, in the deepest, most rural France. They had three properties to rent on the site, (and daughters a similar age to my sisters) and we ended up returning year after year. The belief that every French village had a bakers and patisserie obviously hadn't reached Barie. Other than a church and a communal basketball court the only other signs of life was the post office that would be open every other Thursday for half a day. Into this tranquillity were introduced three Eeenglish children up to the age of 16.

Days were spent "bombing" in the pool, or chasing each other on bikes through what felt like undiscovered country, and evenings sat beside the barbeque or sitting round the patio table enjoying the fantastic fresh produce (although at that age the greatest pleasure was the discovery of the somewhat lax health and safety regulations that the French have when it came to the sale of quite lethal fireworks – which I put to great use in shattering the peace and quite of this little hamlet)

As we grew up, flew the nest, and did our own things for holidays there was always a bit of a soft spot for the place in Barie. When my niece arrived four years ago (a real shock which I will tell you about sometime) my parents obviously also thought of the Barie again, and suggested a family trip out to see the old place. We booked one of the houses, and our flights, and arrived in glorious high summer in the south of France. Whilst my parents and my youngest sister, with her new daughter and husband (to be) spend two weeks out, my other sister and I alternated a week each (couldn't take too much time off from the office and was in fact my first holiday for more than 2 days for about three years). It was fantastic, and again days were spent sitting around the pool, surrounded by miles and miles of maize fields, and rustic French buildings (and more fireworks)

Whilst we were talking one evening my Father mentioned that he was planning to retire, or at least slow down and work part time. They loved France, and he was toying with the idea of using some of his pension to buy a place in France. We all agreed that this would be a really nice idea. My parents had worked so hard that a place that they could get away to that was there own would be ideal for them. They both spoke enough French to be understood, and loved the area (my own French was enough to survive on from GCSEs – namely to order a beer and some sausage [what more could you need?]). This was a long term plan and like some of my parent's plans I somewhat expected them to change their mind and it to never happen, so I was somewhat shocked when they returned to say that they had found a place, and met with solicitors, and it was right next door to where we had been staying.

Last summer saw the first mass visit to the house, with my parents, both sisters and partners (and niece), my half-sister (and son), my half-brother, my grandmother and friend (something that we were so pleased that she had made it to see the house and enjoyed herself before her condition became known) and The Girl and I. The house was packed to the roof beams, and it seemed that every night was another party. You could do as much or as little as you wanted, and when I have some more time I will regale you with some of the more interesting stories (well I think they are interesting) but we came back from the holiday extremely brown, very tired, but thoroughly relaxed (as usual this lasted until approximately half an hour into the first day back at work [but that's what work is for])

This year the circumstances are somewhat different, and somewhat sadder, and some of those who were with us last year are no longer around, for whatever reasons. I am hoping though that the result will be the same and now with only 12 days to go, I am physically ticking the days off the calendar.

Not the usual Friday feeling!

Whilst recently weekends have been something that I dreaded coming, this weekend sees pretty much the last of the flat. I have been going back repeatedly to keep it clean having emptied it of all my stuff, and to pick up post, but this weekend The Girl moves the rest of her stuff out of the flat. This isn't a happy event as I loved living in the flat with The Girl and it was a place full of happy memories. However once the majority of the flat had been emptied it became cold and soul-less and all I could see whilst walking around was how the flat had looked whilst we still lived there together.


It was a beautiful two bedroom flat, very close to the station, that was our first place together.
With the removal of The Girl's stuff though the flat will no longer be ours, and I know that the relationship is truly over, and there is no chance of any future together, (and it is a very sad thought)! I have not been looking forward to this day at all.

I have agreed that I will help remove some more of the last stuff from the flat that The Girl doesn't want, and can't remove as she is without a car, but I know that I cannot be at the flat to see the last of our life together end! Instead I am heading down to Whittington Barracks with The Guys for a re-enactment event.

It will be good to catch up with everyone and should be a great weekend, and I hope that you enjoy your weekend too!

Toad Trail comes to an end!

I'm sorry to say that tonight I will collect my last two toads. Surprisingly, for some reason they are two of the closest to my current address, and yet they are still the last to be spotted (not really sure how that happened!)

In total I have walked (and admittedly driven for Toads 39 & 40) about 50 miles, visiting and collecting photographs of the toads. At almost every one there has been a group of people, all very excited about the them and I believe that they really have achieved some community spirit. Most of the groups are families with kids having their photographs taken with the toads, although I have seen couples, both young and old, out exploring , on bikes or walking with their dogs, and even strange single people (like myself) who appear with camera in hand (and often a map) and try to compose the best picture possible before heading on to the next one. I readily admit that I mainly fell into the last category. The whole concept started out as something of a joke. I had taken some of my first photographs and shown them to my 4 year old niece. She loved Punkphibian and wanted to see more so I agreed to see how many of them I could find and take pictures of them.

In the end I became more excited about tracking down the toads than she did. It became a really nice way of spending an evening. I take my camera with me to work, and once I got back to Hull station would set out to find the next days allotted spots. It was almost a military exercise, with journeys on the train spent with a map sat in front of me, trying to work out how if I turned left at this junction I could then come up on two toads relatively easily and then backtrack to get a third, and if it would be possible to collect six or seven in the evening!

This culminated in yesterday's crop of photographs. I was on my usual train to Manchester when on approaching Leeds we discovered that there had been an incident further up the track. Not being able to get any further, I decided that with remote access for my computer and the ability to work from anywhere, I would head back to Hull. Having been dropped off at the station, and with the weather being so glorious (something of a change) I decided that I could probably spare 45 minutes (which I of course made up over lunch and by working late) and wandered round Hull city centre, collecting those that I had not found before. With the sun shining it was a really nice way to spend some time, when I could let my mind relax and stop thinking about my relationship (or recent lack of one), The Girl (who I admit I still think about an awful lot, but who I understand has moved on with someone new), and work.

Some were quite difficult to find, including the first which is located within "the Deep" an aquarium, or to be precise an submarium, nestled on the banks of the Humber (very sneaky I thought putting it inside a building!), but as the sun continued to shine (even more remarkably) I walked along the banks of the Humber towards the marina, where the last few were situated. Standing looking out over the river, and at the marina filled with tall masts I realised how beautiful Hull can be (yes I know that we have some rough areas and places of municipal greyness, although we also have huge areas of green parks many of them really peaceful and the local Council does do a really good job of keeping flowers planted around the city throughout the year!) and how much I loved the place. It hit home how much my proposed move to Manchester is really going to change things (I know that I can always get in my car or jump on a train and be back but it's not quite the same!)

Unfortunately not everyone has taken to the toads as well as others and there has been vandalism (Punkphibian has had his Mohawk ripped off, and Kasey toad has had something like a fist or foot put through the side of it [ I really can't understand why people would do such a thing…..whilst I accept that they are not everyone's cup of tea, they are still attempting to brighten up what can at times quite a dull, grey city]), but all the comments that I have heard whilst walking around is that people really love the toads.

If you are in Hull or can get there, I would really recommend taking an hour or so to walk the trail. I wouldn't suggest trying to see them all in one walk (impressive if you can do it considering 39 is in Melton and 40 is in Beverley) but a walk around those toads in the city centre take you through some really interesting and beautiful areas, including Queen's Gardens, the riverside, marina and the 'Old Town'.

I hope that you enjoy the toads as much as I have. The only problem is that with the conlcusion of my 'OCD' like search for toads now looming I am quite concerned at to how I fill my evenings? The x-box and television has nothing to compare with the tranquillity and peace that being out walking (with friends, family or on your own) with the sun setting around you! I would welcome any suggestions of walks that I could take (ideally in the area!) :)

PS - please no suggestions of a long one of f a short pier!

PPS - I will put the last photographs up this evening!

Even more toads spotted

Positively "swamped" by toads today!

Sorry that was a really bad joke!

I' about 11 short and then I will put them up as a slideshow.

Toad Trail

More toads spotted and added above!

Enjoy

If I hear "You're too good for me!" one more time.....

............I THINK I'll SCREAM!

I don't expect another relationship, and at the moment I am not looking for one, but I really hate the world's lamest excuse for a break-up "You are too good for me!". I understand that relationships change as do people's feelings, and you can't help that, but I would rather be told the truth "I don't love you anymore!" or "There is someone esle!" At least with that you can understand, although probably not make it any easier.

"Your too good for me!" or "I don't make you happy" is just a non-excuse. How can someone be too good to someone? or how can someone know how they make someone else feel!

I will readily admit that when I am in a relationship I put my heart on my sleeve and throw my whole self in, and this has often resulted in me being extremely hurt. But being TOO NICE.......

I blame my Father and Grandfather! They are (or were) real gentlemen. I was brought up to respect women. Just little things like to walk on the outside when on the road, to open doors and to allow them to sit down before me. This has nothing with disrespect (and it may be considered old fashioned) but I don't think I can change now!

I have done enough things during my life that I am not proud of, that are not "nice" or "good", but I would not do those to someone that I am in a relationship with, to someone to whom I have given my heart.

Do women want just a "Bad lad" who will hurt them or give them the run around? I can understand that there is some excitement in that, but if that is what women want I get the feeling I'm going to be alone for a while!

Something slinky this way comes?

I have never really been a cat person, having grown up around dogs. Several ex-girlfriends had cats and I had always tolerated them, but that was the extent of my relationship with the feline species. I think this was pretty much a mutual relationship (other than the typical cat reaction to someone who is wary or unimpressed by them of jumping onto their lap and covering them in loose fur!)

This was until I met The Girl. I was told that she had always had cats and when I first met her, she and her mother had got a new kitten called Mabel. Mabel was very cute, but also quite frankly psychotic, and my gauntlets came into their own just trying to approach her. Unfortunately Mabel went missing, and after several days of searching around the house it was accepted that she probably wasn't coming back. The Girl and her Mother were understandably very upset, and it was decided that there would be no more cats.

This lasted for all of a few weeks when it was discovered that a friend's cat had just had kittens! "We are only going round to look, we definitely won't get one!" Well they were correct, because they came back with two!! (a little ginger boy who was named Fred, and a lovely little black and white girl who was named Ivy [this name lasted about a week before it was changed to Lilly – far more appropriate])

They were so much fun as kittens, and I have to admit that I really became attached to them. And then the BIG BAD BOY made the Girl move out into our own rented property. We weren't allowed pets as part of the lease, and so despite requests I stayed adamant that once we moved to Manchester we would look at getting a cat of our own, but until then Fred and Lilly would just have to come to visit. This they did, and as they grew their personalities developed.

Fred was always a little shy, being bullied by local bigger cats (and having been neutered had no idea why) and he was very friendly. Almost everytime I saw them he would curl up on my lap for a cuddle and fall asleep (much to the annoyance of the Girl!). Having joined one cat search when Fred went missing at about 6 months old days were again spent searching for him, and his disappearance really hit me hard! Thankfully he returned after about 3 days, very scared and much skinnier, but otherwise healthy!

Lilly was always somewhat more adventurous, inquisitive and CRAZY!!! She had to be into everything that was going on. She became an expert chef, dishwasher loader, handyman, electrician, plumber and gas fitter by sitting beside you whilst jobs were being done. She was also the most likely to embed her claws into your thigh for no apparent reason, just because it could be fun to do so.

Since the break-up I have realised how much the Kittens meant to me. I always knew that I liked them, but not quite how much, and I know that I will never see them grow up fully.

So now that I am about to move to Manchester I am looking for your advice! Having had one good reasonable and one fantastic experience with cats do I look to get one of my own? Or as a previous dog person do I look to stick with what I know?

I know that both carry a huge amount of responsibility, time and effort, but wondered what people in "Blogland" thought!

Toad Project!

Typical for Hull we love to adopt people and take them for our own. One of the most famous of these adopted sons was Philip Larkin, the Librarian at Hull University. To celebrate his life the community decided to place 40 fibre glass toads in and around Hull, in reference to his poems Toads and Toads Revisited.


I first saw them and was a little disappointed but having seen more and more of them I decided to try and find as many as possible and thought that I would share them with you good people.


Please feel free to check out the Toad Projects above! Hope you enjoy and I will update them as soon as I find (and have time to visit) some more!

Re-enacting!

One of my great passions is re-enacting,and as I will probably regale you with some of the many stories I thought I would explain why and how I got into it.

I come from a very military family (pretty much all the males for the last 5 generations have served in one or other of the forces, from my Victorian Great great Grandfather who was a naval captain, to my nephew who has just joined the Marines). I had dallied with the forces myself, being sent for commissioning board interviews and regiment visits, but was always told to get an education first (plus I really wanted to fly fast jets but was told that as I was 6 foot 2 at 15 I would be far too tall - roll on the lottery win when I can buy a custom built one!)

Leaving University with a degree in Anatomical Scinences I still had no idea what I wanted to do but again I thought about the army, but although I was offered a commission I had lost three good friends whilst in the TA and this was still very raw! In the end I went to law college yet still yearned for the military lifestyle (well to be truthful the comraderie that you get from spending time with your mates training and suffering all sorts in all kinds of weather!) Whilst at college my Father and I went to see an English Civil War re-enactment and both thought that it looked like a lot of fun, although we were both big fans of Sharpe and so decided to look into Napoleon's Grand Army.

In the end I found a group although when they turned up it turned out to be a group that portrayed a German paratrooper regiment from World War 2. My dad decided that he was too old to be running around, but I decided to give it a go, and have never looked back. Groups have come and gone, and I have dabbled in most historical periods from medieval onwards although the Guys are still the core of my first group, and we now have a very close knit group of friends who are more like family than friends. We have been through births, weddings and deaths together and I hope will be as close until we are too old to do it anymore!

So that was how, why is a bit more complicated. I think most of the re-enactors that I meet all had a real interest in history as children and progressed from toys to models, some through militaria collecting, to finally wondering what it would be like to wear the kit. I also find it important that those who went through it are remembered. It is a huge priveledge to meet veterans and talk to them of their recollections, and it keeps the memory of what they suffered still in the collective memory.

We are about to start a busy period, and I hope to keep you amused with some of the funnier stories from the camp!

Drinking on a school night!

When a friend invited me out for a few drinks last night to see some more of Manchester, I thought well why not. I have nothing to rush back to Hull for at the moment, and seeing some more of the sights will set me in good stead before my impending move.

So armed with a small bag, wash kit and change of clothes I arrived in Manchester ready for a day of work and looking forward to a quiet informal drink in the evening. Arriving at work I was immediately advised that at lunch the team was going out to meet a friend who worked across the road (I'm sorry I should explain, up until a few months ago the team I am in worked in Sheffield for a large legal firm, but after a very acrimonious split with the senior management moved lock stock to a firm in Manchester). Fine I though we'll go and grab a sandwich and a coffee and catch up on all the gossip from the old firm. This quick bite to eat ended up as a 2 hour drinking session and a limp salad sandwich to try and absorb some of the alcohol before trying to force my way through an afternoon at work (or rather force myself to stay awake and look busy whilst really catching up on some wonderful peoples' blogs and the latest news on the BBC website!).
Working through a liquid lunch used to be something we did a lot of when I was a trainee, and never seemed to phase me. Unfortunately this ability seems to have diminished somewhat with age (or lack of practice!) but after three hours of staring blankly at a computer screen whilst pushing papers around it was time to leave! Again the best laid plans were to be further disrupted when the team decided that we would try and be a bit more sociable and invited another team out for a few drinks! I find it amazing how work socials have a habit of reverting back to school discos with teams sitting like boys and girls on opposite sides of the dance floor, staring across at each other and willing the first brave person to get up and make some kind of move to break apart the barriers.

It's okay I thought, I've still got an hour till I'm due to meet my friend, one more small drink and then I can move on. Of course the one small drink turned into three more large drinks, and then a mad dash across Manchester with suitcase and laptop bag through rush hour traffic and the rain. Arrived with a mouth already full of apologies and excuses to find that she was stuck in the same rush hour traffic and could I get the drinks in!

As I have said the purpose of staying over was to allow me to see some more of Manchester, and to consider some more flats although unfortunately the only places I saw were the inside of bars, and the only flats I saw were from the back of a black taxi at about 1:30 this morning!

I'm used to getting up at 5am for the commute, and whilst a 6:30 start seems like a piece of mana from heaven, just the thought of trying to raise my head from my pillow this morning seemed at one point beyond my physical ability (at the time I doubted that even Hercules would have the strength to get me out of my pit!).

Lying in bed I started to wonder where the ability to drink on a school night and still be up and raring to go the next morning had gone! Is it a sign of my steady decline into maturity and all things grey and beige? If so how come the mature business men I saw last night were still able to do it? Or is this like any type of physical activity, something that you have to practice at to get better? The thought of trying it again anytime soon already has my head pounding and my stomach churning! Well don't worry boys I promise not again for a while (well I say that now!)

Contemplations from a Train

There is something very cathartic about sitting on a train knowing that your destination is already pre-ordained, and you have no control over the journey there. There may be delays and detours, hold ups and unexpected stops, but barring a significant accident, sooner or later you will pull into the station at the other end.

Recently a lot of people have been telling me that everything happens for a reason, fate intervenes, or that fairies or angels are directing your life (an idea that I find somewhat disconcerting, as if at 6 foot 7 I cannot direct my life what chance do I have relying upon the Fairy Folk [unless it is a leprechaun who wishes to take me to his pot of gold!]). This morning however I wondered how much life really is like a railway journey.

I was raised in the Church of England and spent a number of years as a chorister at my church (between cub scouts and fencing/rugby and the beer that accompanied the more macho pastimes), and at University became a member of the Christian Union (this was again because of a girl I liked, but having done a large number of illegal substances, there was nothing like the high I got when I turned to Jesus). As the relationship soured, so did my faith, and I lost some good friends whilst in the Territorial Army. I started to question how could these friends, who were only in their early twenties be taken away so soon, and how did this match up with God's plans? (a question that I have still not answered!)

After leaving University I took up historical re-enactment, and met some very interesting people. One of my good friends at the time was married to a witch (no she was really a lovely person, but followed Wicca!) and he was an Odinist, believing in the old Norse gods. One evening we sat and talked about our beliefs, and he explained that the journey of life was already pre-ordained by the "norns" or spinners sitting at the foot of Yggdrasil who wove men's fates, and that you neglected them at your peril. At the time I maintained my scepticism, much preferring to hear about death in battle, with a sword in your hand, and being carried by valkyries to the feasting halls of Valhalla (the thought of feasting, drinking and fighting till the end times always seemed very appealing to me, although whether this is indicative of some deep seated psychological problem I'm not sure haha!)

I still don't know whether our lives are our own to walk, whether the fates, God, a higher purpose or some other greater being is directing our steps. After some of my mistakes I often question whether this is possible, or are we like children being allowed to make the mistakes and fall over before being picked up again by a caring parent?

Wow it's amazing where musing on a train will get you!

Relationship confusions

I promise that I will stop boring people with my latest relationship disaster shortly, but I wondered if anyone in "blogland" had any advice about women!

I have said that I enjoy relationships where I make people happy, and I thought that I had one until a few weeks ago! Working in Manchester and living in Hull I am the first to admit that when I got home in the evening, usually about 8pm (after a 5am start) I was not really in the best of conditions to go out and hit the clubs, but I was always happy to go to the cinema or the pub or out for a meal, or even just a walk in the park (usually for which I paid......although I have to say that I was glad to do so!). Unfortunately The Girl was somewhat less accomodating.

Unfortunately there seemed to be some reason why we couldn't do something most evenings. Tuesdays were here weight watchers night, Wednesday and Thursday were taken up with meeting her Stitchetts ( a group of girls who she would meet up with and stitch at one of their homes or at a local coffee shop) [whenever it was at our flat I would be dismissed for the night!] and Fridays were undoubtedly spent travelling to see her friends elsewhere. I was not included in this, although I was expected to drop her off and pick her up afterwards.

I don't know if I am just being sensitive, but she would regularly travel to Manchester to see friends! These friends were two ex-boyfriends who she would spend the night with (often sharing a bed with one of them!) I was told that nothing happened, and I believed her, because I trusted her! She would come home and constantly tell me how great the night was, and how she hoped that neither of them would get a girlfriend as that would spoil her relationship with them. Even then this really hurt, but as I said I trusted her and I didn't want to be controlling or seem boring.

A few months ago The Girl developed a DVT that spread to her lungs, and was a very scary time for me, although The Girl didn't seem to understand how serious this was. She was in hospital for about 10 days during which I was getting about 7 hours at home after visiting her in hospital before heading off to work again. This I did gladly and during which she would repeatedly tell me that she loved me and wanted to be with me, yet all of a sudden three weeks later she decides that she isn't happy and doesn't want to be with me anymore!

To say that I was shocked is a bit of an understatement! I tried to be understanding! "why are you not happy? Is there something I can do? I will try and be home more in the evening!" but she had decided that she wanted to move out. This was then replaced by having to comfort her as her family seemed to distance themselves from her, apparently not happy with her decision, so it ended up with me comforting her while she cried in our flat about how everyone hated her! (not sure if that was really my job whilst my heart was hanging by a thread). She decided she had to move out but had nowhere to go, so I agreed to keep the flat on for another 2 months so that she had plenty of time to get somewhere sorted, and even to help her sort her stuff out. In the end she moved into a friend's house .

I have tried to remain distant, although she has been on the telephone every so often wanting me to do something else. This was until a fortnight ago. The Girl had collected a number of potted plants that looking back seemed to mean more to her than me. These were left at the flat, and as I was moving out I didn't want them to die. I took them round to her mother's although I didn't stop. This lead to a number of messages from her mother saying that I should have stopped and that she wanted to catch up. Having emptied all my stuff out of the flat over the weekend, and feeling really quite down, I decided to put down my feelings in a letter. I have known where The Girl is now living, although I don't have her address, and as I wasn't going to just turn up at her door, so I dropped the letter off with her mum. I was invited in and got to play with the Lil Kitties (two cats, Fred and Lilly that although I wasn't a cat person before I really began to love seeing.) After a quick fur fix, I was talking to The Girl's mum, when I was accused of having cheated on her! To say I was fuming was an understatement.

I understand that this arose because after changing my status on Stalkerbook a female friend jokingly put on my status that we could be public about our relationship. Putting aside the fact that I had no interest in this friend, that she had a boyfriend, that she was my friend's sister, that I have never cheated on anyone whilst in a relationship (I lie......I once kissed another girl at a disco when I was 17 and felt so guilty I could never do anything like that again!) and that The Girl knew all this, to me the key thing was that after all that I had done for her (gladly) every minute of everyday of the last two years (and even afterwards) and had clearly given my whole life to her she could still try and blame me for the breaking up of the relationtionship.

I realise that this is probably attempts to justify her decision to her friends and family, but whilst I could accept her destroying me physically and mentally, to then ruin my reputation I couldn't understand! I told her that whilst we were together I would not read her blog.....this was her space and I respected this, I kinda made the mistake of reading it after we split up in the hope of finding some answers! (REALLY REALLY WISH I HADN'T).

This all culminated in a telephone call yesterday morning to complain that I had taken her TV (this was bought with some money from her mother and the remainder we split.) I had told her from the start that the TV was hers. When I moved out on Sunday, including the curtains, I really didn't want to loose the security deposit because someone had broken in to take the TV that was on display. I had explained this to her mother, and texted her to advise. Still I got a missive last night after a 2 hours commute that she wanted it that evening. She said that she would get a taxi and pick it up, but like a fool I decided that it was quite expensive and I would take it to the road on which she lived and she could collect it. All I got was abuse for seeing her mother on Sunday!

I don't think that I am any great catch, nor do I expect another relationship anytime soon, I keep asking myself what I did wrong and how I could have avoided feeling so crummy now!

Anyway, I promise not to rant anymore! and I promise that I will try to avoid blogging about The Girl anymore.

I'm sorry I have just re-read this post, and it does read somewhat like a self-pitying rant. This was not what I intended. I have no regrets about the two years that I spent with The Girl, although I do realise that I was far deeper into the relationship than she was, and do feel that I was somewhat taken for granted, a mug at times and advantage of. I think the thing that really caused the greatest hurt was to be accused of cheating, and this posting was a result of the hurt that I felt. I hope you don't think too badly of me!

First ever blog!

I apologise in advance as this is the first piece of public writing that I have ever written, and I would welcome your comments to help make it better.

Everything you wanted to know (but never realised)

Hello and welcome to Just the Boy. This is just a brief introduction to me, my blog and the main players so that hoepfully I won't confuse you too much by all my random mitherings!

This blog was prompted by the Girl with whom I recently lived. She was a big blogger and seemed to take great comfort and advice from others in "Blogland"! After she (and some friends) decided that she was no longer happy with her life she decided that she would move on and I decided to give it a go!

Facts

I was born in Germany (as an army brat!) and was kindly known as a yellow conehead German freak by my two delightful younger sisters (I hope because of my jaudnice as a baby!) I grew up, and seemed to keep growing.

I love playing rugby, drinking with my friends, World War 2 re-enacting, and being in a relationship where I can make the other person happy! I also love France, and if I could speak the lingo sufficiently well, and they did the type of law that I specialise in I would move over there like a shot .........keep my fingers crossed that I win the lottery and can just move there.....although I suppose I should really buy a ticket!

I hate the fact that owing to the Girl's lifelong (or at least 5 year long dream) of living in Manchester I work at a large firm of solicitors in Manchester and currently live in Hull.....a daily commute of 4 hours (although I hope to remedy this very shortly). I also currently have a real dislike of those ever so friendly people who keep stealing the cables from the railnetwork, preventing me from either getting to or back from work.

Characters

Just so you are not too confused when I start mithering about people I would like to give you a heads up about whose who!

The Girl - I should imagine that I will probably bore the lot of you to tears in the first few blogs about the Girl, who I was with since June 2008, and lived together very happily until she decided that maybe she wasn't completely happy, or not too happy, or happy but not happy enough, or something .........one day I might find out, but I doubt it! (If I do I promise that I will let you know! )

The Guys - I have been a re-enactor for about 14 years, and have done everything from medieval knight to World War 2 paratrooper. The Guys are a really important part of my life, and are both male and female! We travel up and down the country throughout the Summer (and quite foolishly the winter too)! It is really just "cops and robbers" for grown ups with alcohol!

The Family - My family are very important to me. My parents live in Hull and I have an elder brother and sister who live in Bournemouth, and two younger sisters, both of whom currently live in Hull. We lost my maternal Grandmother earlier this year, but we have always been there for each other whenever we had a problem, and remain so. I have also got a very wonderful little neice who is a real joy, and who is the ultimate showman(or should that be showwoman)

The Roo - Roo is the fourth springer spaniel that we have owned! She is increadibly soft and is incredibly paranoid, unless she has a tennis ball in her mouth, when she is manic!