String ... the master of man.

Mankind can truly believe that he is the master of this world, now that we have cracked the gene code and can clone virtually anything all we need next is time and space to be sorted... but there are a few things that can master man....

I speak about string, that simply little thing, but string, string, string can be the master of many a man...

I for one was conquered by this apparently simple item, I got knotted, and not in a good way.

Being blessed with the D.I.Y gene, I tend to do all my own repairs and things, and this can include cars, houses, computers and generally anything I'll have a try at repairing, of which string can play a major part... But this does not blend well with the being the random abnormal sort of person I can be at times.

I was the slave to string during my recent D.I.Y, which was an attempt to get my house feeling warmer. (my friends and my girl friend say it's cold, but one bound to feel it more, wink wink nudge nudge.. do you catch my drift).

So after working out all the fundamentals - bit's of wood, that used to live in the window frame, panel pins which once were hammered into my doors (I try to recycle as much as possible), I got into my D.I.Y super suit and bobble hat, strapped a torch to my head and ventured into the trap...

The trap consisted of the area underneath my floor, approximately 2 feet high, full room width, white mold growths here and there, plentiful amount of dust, bare earth and the odd spider web complete with a desiccate spider corpse. Thankfully I'd not bought the house off either a guy called West or Shipman, as there could have been some more surprises (The other thing the trap manages to do is make you smell like you've just been dug up).

So armed with everything I needed and more, away it went, smoothly at first but then snaggs began to appear. The string I was using was one of the many that my father seems to own. The ones that I think existed before me, possibly purchased by him, never seem to run out and will probably be passed on by me to my son, (if the winds are favourable) and to his and so on...

It began to tangle, like nothing else.

So after the excessive amount of dust making me cough, and bits falling on my face as I hammered and laying on my back in what really is a big coffin, this is all I didn't need, but this is where a normal sort of person would have reached for the scissors, snipped the offending piece of string and carried on. But being of made of the strange brew, (maybe a few more puppy dogs tails than normal, as plenty of friends and people know) I began to untangle a 20ft knot...

My brain was totally focussed on the freeing of this string, so for the best part of an hour, in my makeshift coffin (since I was mostly on my own, no phone it could have been my resting place).

I happily sorted out the knot. (I hate being beaten by a problem and equally I hate useless knots, How can a hosepipe packed away cleanly get so messy? answers on a postcard to the usual address). I should have used the time more wisely, working out a possible string theory (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/String_theory) but sadly no.

So what were the benefits of such a time?... yes I got my brain and hands to untangle a problem, but did I lose something in the process?... it did have a prize at the end, I finally got it done, but unlike the knot below... no fun was ultimately had....

A nice knot to undo :)

Lost in Transience...

There are times in life where you think you're wasting your mortal coil, watching the very seconds of your life tick away... but ever so inhumanly slow....

A second in everyday life is nothing much, your brain far to removed and busy to worry about a mere second... what can you do?.. not much ... but being transient they can last a lifetime, as anyone can find out.

So what events lead to this? what became my second escape from reality... well...

Sunday night, things have changed since I last stayed out so late on a school night and I found myself eagerly flapping my arms at what I eventually found out was the last bus hoping it may stop.

But as I well found out and have seen before, some bus drivers have heart, where as late night bus drivers have none... I was a mere ten foot away when he decided my future state of limbo.

So now what? stood at a bus stop, some fellow travelers also stuck with the same dilemma... walk, taxi, wait? each ran through my mind... some fellow waiters actually clubbed together for a taxi to longshite, which would have still meant I'd have been far from my destination of sulmberland, but wait a small light in the darkness popped into my head...

On my swift journey to the bus I was accompanied by recently acquired friend.... a master of the transience, that after a brief walk, now stood before me once more...

Through our walk from the pop porn, we had enjoyed earlier, with a larger group of friends and the delicate process of chat, I'd find out that he came from the same hick town as myself, another born and bred Blackburn person, a few years difference but his thoughts being similar to mine about the place, ie it's dire, and clicky.... so after a long talk,our journeys began taking a similar route back to our methods to return from hence we came....

He told me that he had a wait on for the train in the morning, but was fine that had some tunes to get him through, so I bid farewell and engaged in my lesser hobby of bus flagging (where you stand slightly drunk flapping your arms as soon as you see the large mass move towards you and hoping it is a bus).

-----------------

So here we were again in each others company and now how do you properly waste five hours? and I say waste, I had no ipod, no jotter book, just 3 cameras... and both of us being too sober to just fall into a stupor....

For a while we talked and walked, watching the endless repetition of 2 hollywood movies, trying to catch the bullet sounds and pretend to be shot dead (every 8mins, which we worked out and did last the full course of 5 hours). These where churned out by the 3 dvd vending machines (there are no food vending machines or bins in the station, so you may die of starvation and dehydration, but you'll be entertained to the end ). Endlessly watching the staff clearing up the detritus of the previous day and observing others at least 4,who where stuck in this limbo... but where they here by choice or such as ourselves, circumstance?

My companion smoked, so at least we got to go outside, quick chat, a laugh and I did inform him there was a 24 hour shop just up the road, so that's were we headed, not cold enough to come out with the line... I'm going outside, I maybe some time!.

So having previously already been in the establishment I went straight for some light entertainment, which once I left the shop consisted of the magazine Esquire, The lovely Rachael Weisz, seductively placed on the cover and it's seedier distant cousin Nuts all about good bums!, a drink and a packet of Crisps.

Back at our free hotel, in the warmest seating, I began to peruse my magazines, I had already read many leaflets, so now with my back to the clock, with it's slow ticking seconds I opened the magazines eagerly hoping it would kill a little time and fill my brain with knowledge.

The articles mentioned how it's bad to know too much, Racheal being the woman most men would marry in a survey, glamour girls boobs,and bums, new unaffordable sports cars, football yuck, all managed to kill some time... but as it lasts forever not much time actually passed.

It did remind me of a time 11 years ago, where I first fell into this transient hole, on a dance floor in Ibiza waiting for a foam party. It was loud, full to the rafters and again I was under the drunken illusion and as I danced my night away quite energetically till the point of collapse, I thought time was passing at the same speed, but no, I ended up sitting down till just after 6am, waiting for the foam. I since found out my mate got lucky by the sea during this time, with a quite attractive girl, one I actually ate coleslaw for (sad face, as wish I'd been lucky, I think I'm the only person never to have been lucky in ibiza).. but in the end the foam was well worth the wait..... but back to now 11 years later.

So being only armed with 3 cameras, I proceeded to take pictures of my new companions and then myself larking around.

The girl in the first picture moved about the station during the five hours, partly from the staff having to clean, but also I think for warmth. She posed an interesting quandary, she looked eastern european and the contents of her blue plastic bag seemed a little random, were these her only possessions?. The was an air of sorrow that seemed to be with her, and I was curious about her, she must have viewed me and my companion as safe and she didn't stink....

The rest that lay in various states around the station consisted of:

a group of young lads with a suitcase each, who looked like they may have been kicked out of their hotel, they did offer for us to join them and listen to crappy tinny tunes coming from a phone, but we gladly declined the offer.

two other people managing to sleep on the chairs near us...

A couple of ladies of the night, maybe a judge-mental thought on my part, but I guess that they were for three reasons.

1. I knew that just behind the station is a well known area for touting for business.

2. I had seen an interesting documentary in the past all about the area and the station at night. 3. Who else would have dress sense such as that?

One stayed for a while, she must have been on a break... or full up.

A couple of scallies came through, asking to borrow a pound, asking everyone in turn, wether they slept or wide awake. They sloped by not stopping even if anyone had a offered them a pound, but they did kindly tell the girl next to us that she "had a nipple on her head", I just thought they'd never seen a beret before. This made the girl awake, then move on to another place in the station.

By now time had speeded up slightly, as my attention had been taken elsewhere, distracted by people and actually trying to learn how my digital camera works. So at last 4.13am was reborn, along with the purchase of my cheap ticket home.

More people now where beginning to file into the station, the boards lighting up with trains to the north and the south, and there was mine the 5.05am train to the big smoke.

So just before I got on my train, I bid my friend goodbye as he went to Victoria to await his 6am train, cursed Costa Coffee for not opening early enough, from there on a 10min trip and a 15min walk... and the view of sumberland would be in my sight....

So do my fellow transients still roam the cold halls of Picadilly now?, or where they just passing through like myself.

Dinner, Dinner, Dinner BATMAN!

Well I'm back and it took me long enough.... I have been coming up with stories and following the amount of monologues that have run through my mind about possible blogs... I thought it about time to put my fingers on the keyboard and ticker-tapper some out.

So what's dinner, dinner dinner BATMAN?

Well I work in a small studio in Macclesfield and at dinner I get to escape, unlike some of my previous places of employment... which where like war camps questioning everything you did and needing a planning committee to go anywhere outside!!!... sorry name and serial number only to the bosh!

So I take this small amount of time to rush of into the exciting world that is "MACC", please hear the sarcasm in the word MACC... exciting and joyful is not the words that currently could describe the town centre... more like scally infested, empty shops and a huge overtly proportion of dog mess/general detritus per person.

But I do this ever working day and now after nearly three years, it's becoming too familiar. The press has mentioned that people don't interact the way they used to, from my little trips into "The world of MACC" (say this loud and with an echo) I can see how right the press was, heads down and into the scrum!.

So back to my daily routine, (yes it is a routine, as I tend to eat the same day after day, go to the same shops... as there is little to see... even if you do look up...)

Off I trot down the flagged and cobbled streets (which description makes them seem nice at first), then pass the dog mess left in all the tread-able places, inbetween the odd used condom, smashed glass and discarded food tray, half full with chips, the rest looking like they are crawling back to the centre of town, trying to escape....

The second house I pass, lives a rat or to some people a yorkshire terrier, which yapps away at me and probably every passerby, running from room to room, avoiding me and my shoes, which would either step on it or gift it with a swift kick up the arse.

Then passed the three storey house, whose occupiers seem to on a weekly basis chuck out something of large proportion and leave it in the street, unable to formulate a plan to get rid of it themselves, ie car + tip = job done.... or is that a catchpharse?

Items have included

- a sofa, which was there for best part of a month, a shade of pink at first then a slight

green tinge.

- a broken door.. wonder how it was snapped like that...

- a large screen tv, which again was there for a while, it was a surprise that no local scally had bunged it into the river, like someone had just before xmas, but I don't think ducks like Eastenders, a survey was carried out with mallards, but the findings where never released as many of them didn't pay their tv license bill.

Next is the talking cat, which does talk back, so a quick hello there and a quick stroke, is is such a nice cat.. I couldn't eat it all at once, it's also not a very talented cat, the other day I asked if it could ride a bike..and whether he was good at fixing videos, all he said was "me how?"

Then the house with the "curious step", curious why you ask in droves... (doubt even one would ask) well it always makes me think there is a cat apon it, could this be from the shape formed by the flaking paint or is there something ghostly!... I don't know, I still stare at it like a loon, shaking my head, knowing that there is simply nothing there!, except in the corner of my eye.... probably a bit of leftover sleep from the morning....

Then comes tripod, who is a three legged cat (front left is missing for those who want to know). Generally just a pile of hair sat on a door mat, but of late I've not seen it, he wasn't the fastest of felines so may have come to a sticky end...(4x4 garage across the road).. and again not very talented.. I asked once if it could paint a wall?...."me how?"

So at the end of the street we have the chippy and the pot of gold cafe (names have been changed to protect the innocents). Both always packed full of overweight sweaty workmen called Bob and Tom, their vans/trucks causing chaos at the junction, as they consume the weight of a small child and family in chips, peas, meat pies and chips, it shouldn't be possible for a person to sweat whilst eating.. but I have seen it happen... next is a flying elephant.

I used to go in once to the chippy and enjoy the young girl asking me "would you like a fuurck?" her accent evermore making it sound like she had a sideline in prostitution, how it would make me titter! and I never did say "how much?" or find out if her offer was any good.

And further I go into MACC.... past empty shops and a boarded up pub, a fallen down part of the pub, littered by various odd objects from prams, bags & cans, all clustered around the remains of the fireplace, the warmth long since gone, the only pretty thing here is from the flowering bush, a bloom of purple in the summer.

Go around the back and your presented with another lovely street scene just as littered, but here are the pub's cellar doors, which are fast becoming a accident waiting to happen, the rotting timbers shift under my weight every time I cross them. The street was cleaned up though last year .. and displayed as the prefect 50's street in a recent advert... see pics (the pub is in the background, they took the boards down for the shoot), the only irritating thing left was the little lad running up and down it.

Next comes the only thing to interest me on the walk, the cenotaph with it's well maintained gardens and a wash of colour, a pleasant place to sit for a while in the sun. But alas even this suffers from the blight, as you can't stay long due to the colourful smack heads... all a shade of puce and tinged with the smell that will make you throw up something of the same colour.

This is where the first human characters of my tale appear, the smack head group has two memorable characters, first "Peggy wheels" the one legged wheelchair bound female and "straight line Stan" a male of the group... yes from here on in it becomes a nature study....

I've had the pleasure of watching this group more than once, on my dinner,

Peggy is quite niffty at maneuvering around the course at the cenotaph, while shouting a constant stream of expletives and shaking one fist in the air, as this must be some kind of mating ritual, too which I am unaccustomed, but it does draw all the males smackies to her side.

While the Alpha male, Stan, has a more direct course, calmly waking in a straight line, cutting a sway through the treacherous flower beds, over the little bush, then a short frog hop over one of the stones with war dead on, to the final meeting area just behind the main statue, here they all gather round, swearing, wetting pants and drinking purple liquid.

This may have been where Sir David learnt his trade.

From here on in the interactions where people get fewer, I just give them names, which if published correctly, it could become a popular seek and see series...

We have -

Turmour Eileen - a young girl, curly hair, with crankles and a mobile phone which I think now is superglued to her ear, the new observation is that one leg appears to be shorter than the other and she's as comfortable in heels as a thug.

Lumpy John - a middle aged guy, blue baseball cap, scruffy, a big lumpy gout in his neck, always having a tab infront of the cancer research charity shop and I don't think he has the ability to stand up, as I've never seen it - update I have since seen him walking....

IGOR - works in WHS, only interaction I ever have is "would you like a bag for that...ha ha har (creepy laugh)" or "can I interest you in any half price chocolate? in exchange for a brain?" I have to wonder if she is made from the parts of dead people and automated?...

The Non-Smiling Woman - works in Marks, and never seems to smile when I reach the counter.... must be the sight of me in my tramp coat, purchasing the same daily items and fumbling for my change like I'm playing with my bollocks..

Flannel Scally - a grey suited moron, no matter what the weather, including in winter when I heard him say "it's cold" the snow not being a big enough clue to this numpty, as he was too busy with his hand in the grey flannel pants or shouting "w**ker" to his mate across the street, who responded with the choice words "F*ck off you're gay", brains, I tell you witty respond like that, I'm at a loss.

Old Lady Shoe - a little old lady whose back is so bent she can only look at her shoes, I've not seen her lately, so she maybe trapped in a high sided tray, thinking that the walls have surrounded her, or the cold snap may have claimed her.

The variety of Big Issue sellers - "alright Luv"... or big tissue, there is a set of four who regularly sell this magazine... there is one, who makes it painful to hear the words "Big Issue" as she always followed up with PLEEASSSE... that would drag on to a high screeching pitch and attract dogs..

I could go on and on....

But then there is the rarest of all, a flower within the weeds you might say, all be it I sound weird and like a stalker that I've noticed people, but the flower is a very attractive woman.

I've seen her the odd couple of times in Marks, inbetween the sandwiches, pieces of cheese, tweed and the tartan trolley. Cutting through the throng of old people and the ignorant in order to purchase a sandwich... a very vision of beauty, but having never heard her speak, she may have a voice like a 30 st brickie... and formely been called Nigel, but she does sport a decent hair-doo.

But alas after all this fun and frivolity I have to go back, stopping in all the charity shops on the way, seeing what dvd has been underpriced by oxfam, more and more making my collection bulge at the seams, back past all the derelict things, litter and mess

It did look pretty once... when all the snow covered it...