Dyad

... in sociology is a noun used to describe the smallest possible social group. An interaction between two people.

Dog Day Afternoon

Russell Jones

The voice, the man, the legend, the one, the only... Rusty Ratchet Jones...

"You're taking the piss out of me aren't you"

Daisy, Denzel and/or Trevor

There are several new inhabitants at number 31. Among them is this young feline, Daisy. Incidentally, she also responds to the names Denzel and Trevor.

With the aim of winning her over I've taken to carrying small pieces of ham in my dressing gown pocket.

Visionaries

Whispered secrets of a shattered age, I summon you: renew this sage

Draw upon the breath of stars, And scorch the skies with fiery scars

Three suns aligned pour forth their light, And fill the archer's bow with might

Sheathe these feet in the driving gale, Make swift these legs o'er land I sail

A whim, a thought, and more is sought, Awake my mind; thy will be wrought

By warmth of heart, your pain I feel, Grant me the power, your wounds to heal

Roofless

Having some work done in the loft at the moment and they've taken the roof off.

Oh and the gas metre has decided it doesn't want to work anymore. Its had enough.

Cold? No, I leave the house at 12am every night and get on the N44 night bus for a few hours or so, just long enough to get a bit of sleep and to soften the numbing in my hands.

Daytimes are better. Sometimes I visit Battersea dogs home. I have to pretend I want to rescue a dog and they let me in the cage for a while to stroke it and to see if we bond. I can't take the dogs home but it's nice to have a little cuddle for a bit. The older, more disheveled ones tend to be the warmest. But then they also seem to be sadder when I leave.

I'm not proud of myself, but needs must.

...that

101 expressions to use before "that"...

1. accepts that
2. affirms that
3. alleges that
4. argues that
5. asserts that
6. asseverates that
7. assumes that
8. assures that
9. attests that
10. avers that
11. avows that
12. bears in mind that
13. believes that
14. claims that
15. clarifies that
16. comments that
17. comprehends that
18. conceives that
19. concludes that
20. confirms that
21. conjectures that
22. considers that
23. contends that
24. declares that
25. deduces that
26. deems that
27. demonstrates that
28. discerns that
29. elucidates that
30. emphasizes that
31. espouses the view that
32. evinces that
33. explains that
34. explicates that
35. expounds that
36. expresses that
37. gathers that
38. has no doubt that
39. has the view that
40. hints that
41. holds that
42. hypothesizes that
43. illustrates that
44. imagines that
45. implies that
46. indicates that
47. infers that
48. insinuates that
49. insists that
50. intimates that
51. is aware that
52. is certain that
53. is convinced that
54. is of the opinion that
55. is resolved that
56. is swayed that
57. judges that
58. maintains that
59. marks that
60. mentions that
61. notes that
62. observes that
63. opines that
64. perceives that
65. points out that
66. posits that
67. postulates that
68. presumes that
69. proclaims that
70. proffers that
71. professes that
72. pronounces that
73. proposes that
74. propounds that
75. proves that
76. reckons that
77. realizes that
78. reasons that
79. recognizes that
80. reiterates that
81. relates that
82. remarks that
83. responds that
84. says that
85. speculates that
86. spells out that
87. states that
88. stresses that
89. submits that
90. suggests that
91. supposes tha
92. surmises that
93. takes it for granted that
94. testifies that
95. theorizes that
96. thinks that
97. understands that
98. urges that
99. utters that
100. verifies that
101. writes that

Last Stop

Living at the end of the Northern Line means that I have the pleasure of always, without fail, getting a seat. Not just any old seat, oh no, second carriage from the end, last seat on the left, next to the pane of glass. My seat.

Although comfortably seated, the downside of living at the end of the line is that my journey lasts longer than most.

But then there’s also the benefit that I can fall asleep on the way home without missing my stop. I may be vulnerable to being laughed at, robbed, sexually assaulted, having my shoelaces tied together etc., but at least I can feel safe in the knowledge that if I fall asleep I won't miss my stop.

That’s because there’s always a fellow passenger who is more than eager to nudge a stranger awake. Just a little tap of the knee is all it takes to save an individual the hassle of finding their way home from the opposite side of London in the middle of the night. A gentle little tap o’ the knee, that works well. A short, sharp prod into the rib cage isn’t so good.

I’ve seen these people in action. Over the years, during the countless hours of pulling into Morden Station that I’ve endured, I’ve had a chance to study these curious individuals and put together somewhat of a ‘case study’. I shan’t bore you with that now but I will take this opportunity to note some general observations.

They begin ‘Operation Wake Up’ innocently enough, clocking their target, their personal little Sleeping Beauty, from across the carriage. Then they deftly maneuver themselves into the optimum position, choosing the exit that will take them directly past their target. With a quick little tap and a sympathetic smile, they soothingly pronounce the words ‘last stop’.

Unfortunately, the "thank you" that they so desperately yearn for, the "Oh, wayfaring stranger, how kind of you to wake me up, how unlike most other inhabitants of this sprawling metropolis you are. Come, let us dine together and it will be the beginning of a fruitful and decade-spanning friendship between kindred spirits!", that reaction seldom comes.

Instead the reaction is quite the opposite, the awoken traveler is more likely to "tut" with annoyance than to show any sort of gratitude. For the first few seconds of waking up on the tube are disorientating to say the least and there are questions that demand answering, like "where am I? And why the fuck did that pervert just touch my leg!"

Wish List

So it's approaching that time of year again. Just to make people's lives a little easier I've taken my sisters advice and compiled a Wish List on Amazon.

Feel free to get me whatever's on the list. A few of you might want to club together and get me something better. To be honest, rather than you all getting me little things that aren't so good I'd prefer just one big thing. Even if it means I'll have less to open on Christmas day, that's cool...

My Wish List

If you decide to use a bit of initiative and get me something that's not on the list then that's great, I encourage that. But do keep hold of the receipt just in case.

Diwali Down The Downsman

Celebrated the Hindu festival of Diwali down the local...

Tomb of the Unknown Warrior

90 years ago today they buried the body of an unknown Warrior. His tombstone in Westminster Abbey is the only one that it is forbidden to walk over. Engraved on its marble stone are these words...

BENEATH THIS STONE RESTS THE BODY

OF A BRITISH WARRIOR

UNKNOWN BY NAME OR RANK

BROUGHT FROM FRANCE TO LIE AMONG

THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS OF THE LAND

AND BURIED HERE ON ARMISTICE DAY

11 NOV: 1920, IN THE PRESENCE OF

HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE V

HIS MINISTERS OF STATE

THE CHIEFS OF HIS FORCES

AND A VAST CONCOURSE OF THE NATION

THUS ARE COMMEMORATED THE MANY

MULTITUDES WHO DURING THE GREAT

WAR OF 1914 - 1918 GAVE THE MOST THAT

MAN CAN GIVE LIFE ITSELF

FOR GOD

FOR KING AND COUNTRY

FOR LOVED ONES HOME AND EMPIRE

FOR THE SACRED CAUSE OF JUSTICE AND

THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD

THEY BURIED HIM AMONG THE KINGS BECAUSE HE

HAD DONE GOOD TOWARD GOD AND TOWARD

HIS HOUSE

Tulleys Farm

Went to Tulleys Farm in West Sussex with the fam this Halloween...

Brother & I with our masks...

A Tribute to Chip

Chip, Chippy, Sir Chipalot, Chipski, Chippin, Chip 'n' Pin, Pippin, Pipkin, Chripy, Frippy, Chipstick, Chipstickle.

I recently saw the brilliant short documentary called 'Last Minutes with Oden' and it moved me to tears, or at least a tear. It made me remember that often in life a lot of things are taken for granted and it's usually only through the loss of said things that we're made aware of this.

Check out the documentary...

It made me think of my dog Chip...

When trying to find out more about a person's character a question that is sometimes asked is whether they prefer dogs or cats. Like are you an Elvis or Beatles person? (See the deleted scene from Pulp Fiction...)

I'm more of a dog man myself and this quote pretty much sums up my stance on the issue...

Dogs have Owners, Cats have Staff.

There's been many dogs in my life. Now that I think about it, there's always been a dog for as long as I can remember. There's been Sandy (Labrador), Barny (Labrador/Staff cross), Jessica (Collie), Alfie, Molly and Harry (English Cocker Spaniels), Stanley (Jack Russell) and finally Chip (Jack Russell/Daschund cross). There was Kelly too, although not technically a Canine, she was a dog nevertheless, a bitch of the Stoke Newington breed if my memory serves me correctly.

Sandy was the first dog I remember, he belonged to my Nan and Granddad and, like them, Uncle Sandy was a genius, a true scholar of a dog.

Among other things, he knew when it was dinner time just by listening to what was on T.V. When the theme tune to Neighbors came on he got up and strolled into the kitchen. But the truly clever thing was that it was only on the sound of the closing credits that he got up. He distinguished between the beginning and ending of the programme, knowing full well that dinner would be served only when Neighbors had finished.

Never has a dog eaten so well. A funny thing about my Nan was that when dinner time was approaching we'd start smelling these wonderful aromas drifting in from the kitchen, like rich, thick gravy and perfectly steamed vegetables. Then she served it up... in Sandy's bowl! Only after Sandy was content with his lot would she start cooking our dinner, which was delicious nonetheless, but I always wondered how good a mouthful from Sandy's bowl would taste.

Sandy also had a bowl of tea in the morning and, being the gent that he was, he always smelt of the Hugo Boss aftershave Elements. I later figured out that the only explanation for this was that it had rubbed off from my Granddad's hands. I was bitterly disappointed that Sandy didn't apply the cologne himself.

I've since tried to find Elements but I think its been discontinued. The closest I've come to smelling something similar is Dior's Fahrenheit, which I was once given as a birthday present in my early teens and now evokes memories of swings, cider and B&H Gold. Elements was a lot more subtle (and nicer) but I guess it has the same base ingredient.

Probably better that I don't smell it anyway, I'd probably have another relapse into childhood. Like when I smelt marzipan for the first time since nursery school, but that's another story for another day.

When from a long-distant past nothing subsists... the smell and taste of things remain poised for a long time... and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

Marcel Proust, The Remembrance of Things Past

Frank's Cafe

Here are some pictures I took last night at Frank's Cafe on the roof of the multistory carpark in Peckham. Hanging around in a multistory car park at night isn't something I'd usually recommend, however...

The view from up there is great because you can see both West, the City and the Docklands all in one skyline. I was going to take three photos of the different parts of the skyline and then use my Photoshop wizardry to stitch them together into one beautiful panoramic triptych. After a few beers I forgot all about that idea. I did at least get the Docklands shot though...

As the next picture highlights, the drawback of holding an event in a dark carpark is that the whole place ends up being used as a toilet. There were portaloos there but the majority of people opted to find one of the many shadowy alcoves instead. By the end of the night there was a torrent of piss streaming down the ramps.

People were respectful of the installations at least.

Unfortunately, as is so often the case when I drink too much, the night ended on a rather sour note. I'm not referring to stuffing my face with junk food, although that is equally shameful (I'm so disappointed with myself *sob*, I was doing so well at eating healthy recently, and now *sob* it's all gone to shit. I might as well stuff my face for the rest of the week now).

No, the real silly moment came when myself and a friend of mine, Gavin, were leaving and, as is customary between real men, we had a little bit of a Greco Roman wrestling match. Alas, things got a bit heated and Gavin's glasses fell off, I seized the opportunity, picked them up and launched them right over a fence.

I have no idea why.

The thing is, these weren't those black rimmed glasses that hipsters wear to look nerdy, no, these were Gavin's real glasses, he needs them to fucking see.

After I did it we both looked at each other and realized how stupid it was. Well, I say we both looked at each other, not quite accurate, I was looking at Gav, he thought he was looking at me but was actually squinting at a lamp post.

We spent the next 40 minutes trying to find them. I climbed over a barbed wire fence and squeezed myself in a space no more than half a metre wide between the fence and a wall and then proceeded to rummage through rubbish and leaves. As you can probably imagine, we didn't find them, which was unfortunate because it meant I had to lead Gavin home like a Golden Retriever. Luckily he has a spare pair at home.

Strangely, I actually have a picture of the glasses in question. Strange, because it's not something I'd usually take a picture of. Perhaps I subconsciously plotted to do it all along?

Apologies to you once again Gavin. A good night though I think you'd have to agree.

Desk space

Up until a little over an hour ago, for the past six months or so I'd been sharing my bedroom with a monster. A greedy, disrespectful and inconsiderate bastard. Actually, not a bastard, I know this because it is I who Fathered this frightful creature. It was borne of my laziness.

It happened so fast, like a cheap one night stand (so I hear). For me it was a convenient way to quickly organize the research on my dissertation. Without much thought I put together two little piles on my desk, one for written notes, the other for books.

All very well, no harm done, that was at least until the rate of which I was accumulating research exceeded the speed that I could process it.

The two neat piles slowly lost their way. I won't try and swerve the culpability that should rightly fall on my own shoulders. It was ultimately my responsibility to ensure that these piles had a good upbringing, that they were well manicured, pruned and generally tidied up every so often. But, in short, I stopped caring for them. They disgusted me ever more as they grew unsightly and obese, serving as a constant reminder that I wasn't putting enough hours into my dissertation.

The piles had me in their sights, they eventually joined forces and became one large stack. Its intentions were malignant, it wished me harm. I could sense it scowling at me, whispering discouraging words.

In all this time I hardly gave a second thought to my poor old desk who was suffering silently under the huge weight of this beast. I suppose the desk, being the loyal and humble servant that it is thought it a matter of discipline to keep quiet and to not add further strife to its masters mind.

The final straw came in the dead of night. I was in bed, everything was silent in the house. Suddenly the stack made an all out offensive move, it committed what in my book constitutes an act of aggressive warfare. It lunged forward and with a loud horrible wail rolled itself off the desk and onto the floor.

This could only mean one thing, it was actively seeking new territory. The stack had outgrown the confines of the desk in much the same way a Lion cub outgrows its first cage.

The sound of it landing startled me awake. I quickly fumbled the light on and to my horror I saw the digusting sight of it sprawled all over my floor.

For the first time I was... well... honestly, I was scared. Heaven knows I can look after myself alright. But there were women and children next door to think of for christ sakes.

In all our time together the stack had never been so brazen, had never dared, to physically move. It was time to put an end to this madness once and for all.

What spurred me on and instilled in me the belief that I could defeat this beast was just a subtle little look from my good old desk. And that look filled me with regret and remorse. How could I ever of been so short sighted and foolish as to think that I could get on without my desk? After all we've been through, all the work we've completed together. My best words have been written at that desk, my greatest drawings, drawn at that desk. It was my companion.

So through my eyes I reassured it, I told it that it will not have to suffer so for very much longer. But let us not act it haste, I said, or else the stack may end up getting the best of us both. Let us wait, plot a fool proof plan and then strike tomorrow when it thinks that tonight's affront has gone unchallenged.

I brought this thing into the world, I knew whose responsibility it was to take it out. So that's what I did. I eliminated it. Rendered it obsolete. Terminated it. Neutralized its threat. Nullified its future. However you want to put it, the thing is no more.

I write this now, sweaty and bruised, for it put up a good fight. But now the desk is free, never again will I let even so much as a single sheet of paper come between us. Okay, that might prove to be a bit difficult considering it is a desk after all. Well, I won't let another stack come between us at least.

So now here I am, saddled up in my old seat. My desk and I prepare to ride off into the future, in the direction of the rising Sun, carried along by a stream of unwritten words, through the dust of potential creativity.

Oh, first I must do that dissertation.

Little pile of notes just here...

Magic in Derby

I've spent the last few nights at a Premier Inn in Derby. I'd never been to Derby before. The highlight was hitting 728 on the punching machine in the arcade across the road. Another highlight was this window pane of the toilet door in the local pub...

Yeah, I know, fun times.

But the highlight that tops them all was seeing the magician Paul Daniels and his wife Debbie at a garage on the way home. He's just the sort of b-list celebrity that I'd expect to bump into at a grim, nondescript service station.

I wonder if that's his Saturday afternoons... driving around middle England making pointless detours into garages under the pretense of buying wine gums, a paper, a ginsters pie, or anything else that won't make his wife suspect he's actually just looking for an opportunity to be recognized again, to perform impromptu tricks on weary travelers that are utterly thrilled to have bumped into the great Paul Daniels. To have an audience once more.

After seeing them in real life I can now say for sure that he's definitely punching above his weight. Debbie has still got it...

Not sure if Paul ever had it in the first place.

I expect he loves it when he's stopped by strangers and asked if they can take his and Debbie's picture. If my phone had had any battery I'd of asked for a picture too, after all, it's not everyday you bump into a national star.

Except rather than ask to take his picture I would of handed him my phone, put my arm around his wife and said 'make it a good one would you pal'.

I wonder how he'd take it? Probably by making my phone 'magically' disappear, grabbing Debbie by the arm and dragging her to the car muttering something like 'you're not a bloody glamour girl are you? So don't act like one then, you're a magician's assistant, you're my assistant, and you always bloody will be Debbie, always... Now, let's get home, have a nice cuppa and practice that new trick, eh, you can try on that new outfit I brought for you too'.

All in all it was one of the more memorable service station visits. For me at least. Paul Daniels on the other hand, I expect that it was a tad disappointing for him, not at all like the heady days of the early 90's when he had his own T.V show and was being greeted up and down the country like a national hero by hoards of families waving his picture for him to sign, children and adults alike practically begging him to perform a trick.

Instead, he gets me.

I bet every time he pulls off the motor way and into a service station there's always that faint glimmer of hope he'll be asked to perform again. Would stuffing one hundred coloured handkerchiefs up his jacket sleeve that same morning end up being worth it?

Or, like so often before, will it be a complete waste of time and effort that only ever results with him taking it out on his poor wife when they get home? It will be her job to not only bear the brunt of his anger but also to calm him down afterwards by whispering soothing words into his ear and stroking him to sleep. On particularly bad nights I imagine he wakes up in a cold sweat calling for the head of Derren Brown, 'that bastard confidence trickster, bring me his head!'

Actually I feel a bit sorry for Paul Daniels, it must be hard to keep up with the modern magicians like Derren Brown and David Blaine. As the saying goes, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

I wish I'd said something to him now, instead of awkwardly trying to pretend I didn't know who he was. He knew I knew who he was, he knows that everybody knows who is. He's fucking Paul Daniels. By that reasoning, he also knows I ignored him, I choose not to say 'hey, Paul, love your stuff man, you're great'. I cold shouldered a national hero, possibly the most loved magician this country has ever produced. What was I thinking!? I should be ashamed of myself.

I should be, but I'm not. In fact I quite like the idea that Paul and Debbie were lying in bed having this conversation...

'Debbie, can I ask you something?'

'Of course my darling, what is it?'

'I don't suppose you remember being in the service station earlier?'

'What one love? We went to eight today'.

'Erm, the one near Derby.'

'Yes, I think I remember. What about it?'

'It's just that there was a chap in there and well, he totally ignored me, he just looked straight through me, like, like I was just an ordinary man.'

'Oh, don't you worry about him silly, he knows who you are, he was just too shy to say hello.'

'Do you think so love? I mean do you really think so?'

'Yes my dear. Now close your eyes and go to sleep, it's been a busy day.'

'Okay... Love you.'

'N' night. Love you.'