The free contemplating Cheerio.

So who am I? I'm one of the bunch or I was until about 6 months or so ago, when I was released from my bowl prison... my fate to be eaten and turned into energy and poo narrowly averted.

My name's Chaz the lone Cheerio (a name of a cereal that's really saying goodbye and full of oooo's)... I'm currently lying on the wooden floor in an old embroidery factory all on my own, I fell out of the bowl on the way back to the human office... soaked in milk, my escape was heard.. but not seen.

It's quite a miracle to have been here so long, considering the rats and mice that infest this place... so what's my fate to be now?, will I end up in a rodent stomach? or can I continue my thoughts on life, the mysteries of the universe and love, till I turn into dust.

I think my life would be radically different if my original fate had come true... parts of me now would be far and wide combined with different things... including other food stuffs.. or I'd be floating free in a large body of water, or buried in the dark soil..... the possibilities are endless..

I can though now recite Pi or π to it's three thousand decimal point.... forwards and backwards (I'm sure my mobile number is in there somewhere)...

Pi to 3000dp PI 3. 141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944 592307816406286208998628034825342117067982148086513282306647 093844609550582231725359408128481117450284102701938521105559 644622948954930381964428810975665933446128475648233786783165 271201909145648566923460348610454326648213393607260249141273 724587006606315588174881520920962829254091715364367892590360 011330530548820466521384146951941511609433057270365759591953 092186117381932611793105118548074462379962749567351885752724 891227938183011949129833673362440656643086021394946395224737 190702179860943702770539217176293176752384674818467669405132 000568127145263560827785771342757789609173637178721468440901 224953430146549585371050792279689258923542019956112129021960 864034418159813629774771309960518707211349999998372978049951 059731732816096318595024459455346908302642522308253344685035 261931188171010003137838752886587533208381420617177669147303 598253490428755468731159562863882353787593751957781857780532 171226806613001927876611195909216420198938095257201065485863 278865936153381827968230301952035301852968995773622599413891 249721775283479131515574857242454150695950829533116861727855 889075098381754637464939319255060400927701671139009848824012 858361603563707660104710181942955596198946767837449448255379 774726847104047534646208046684259069491293313677028989152104 752162056966024058038150193511253382430035587640247496473263 914199272604269922796782354781636009341721641219924586315030 286182974555706749838505494588586926995690927210797509302955 321165344987202755960236480665499119881834797753566369807426 542527862551818417574672890977772793800081647060016145249192 173217214772350141441973568548161361157352552133475741849468 438523323907394143334547762416862518983569485562099219222184 272550254256887671790494601653466804988627232791786085784383 827967976681454100953883786360950680064225125205117392984896 084128488626945604241965285022210661186306744278622039194945 047123713786960956364371917287467764657573962413890865832645 995813390478027590099465764078951269468398352595709825822620 522489407726719478268482601476990902640136394437455305068203 496252451749399651431429809190659250937221696461515709858387 410597885959772975498930161753928468138268683868942774155991 855925245953959431049972524680845987273644695848653836736222 626099124608051243884390451244136549762780797715691435997700 129616089441694868555848406353422072225828488648158456028506 016842739452267467678895252138522549954666727823986456596116 354886230577456498035593634568174324112515076069479451096596 094025228879710893145669136867228748940560101503308617928680 920874760917824938589009714909675985261365549781893129784821 682998948722658804857564014270477555132379641451523746234364 542858444795265867821051141354735739523113427166102135969536 231442952484937187110145765403590279934403742007310578539062 198387447808478489683321445713868751943506430218453191048481 005370614680674919278191197939952061419663428754440643745123 718192179998391015919561814675142691239748940907186494231961 567945208095146550225231603881930142093762137855956638937787

I've helped construct a spider village for "Seven" the spider disability charity, for the unfortunate spiders who through one reason or more only have 7 or less legs...

We constructed a feeding station for Currant, the paraplegic, he recently lost all his legs in a recent child leg pulling incident, the poor chap is still tramatised and has to have all his food pre-digested.

In my spare time I've have become a fairly decent artist, trying various styles of old masters....

I recently had a show entitled "Homage", the turn out was quite low, Dusty the dust bunny turned up, the humans who past by, including the guy who was going to eat me ignored the free show, but what pleased me best of all the mites had a coach trip to the show and I managed to sell 3 of them.

In June I threw a fancy dress party, where everyone had to come as a superhero, what a night lots of drink and fun, but the following morning, I woke up with Suzi the sugar puff who had been eyeing me up all night, her wonderwoman outfit had my eyes distracted all night, the way it showed off her curves ....mmmmmm

Well we're going steady now... until she's either eaten or brushed away... I can't wait to see what the next few months have in store for me... the free cheerio!

Frog log

There was a young Frog who sat on a log resting in a bog,

Which apparently made him sound like a dog,

Curious he pondered, once I sat on this log I no longer sound like a frog but instead I have the woof of the dog.

While his brain did cog over the mystery of the log, down came a thick fog.

He sat on his log for the full slog, till the fog did clear to show a hog.

A hog as big as a large dog, now looked at the frog who sat on the log and woofed like a dog.

Who are you remarked the Hog, Me? I'm just a mystery Frog.

And who are you Hog? How did you end up in this bog?

Well said the Hog, I went for a jog but got lost in the fog.

So there they did chat this jogging hog and mystery frog, both sat on the log, in a bog drinking egg nog from two clogs.

The End

A Tale of Two Coats...

Look back at your teenage years or further back to childhood, then come back to the present and discuss.

What's the first thing most people say they don't see no more... white dog poo!. and that wagon wheels are no longer the same size, along with polo's and curly wurlys. But has something else seem to be in decline too? but more silent that sun bleached fecal matter and chocolate treats and sweets....

What ever happened to the memorable lovable tramp?... It seems they have just been replaced by scagheads and beggers... even big issue sellers now seem to be mostly "imported" beggars.

In the town I currently work in, all I see is what I just mentioned, scagheads etc, I do see this one old guy walking the same bit of road, in the same clothes, but he lacks the ubiquitous big bushy beard, he may have the pungent odour, but never been that close.... thankfully...

So what has happened to the quintessential Tramp?... are they in decline like the bees? or have they all died out... because they were so old in the first place? and because they seem to be in decline.. are we importing foreign tramps in? to replace the national shortage...

But I digress so back to the blog about a Tramp...

In the town where I used to live as a child there were tramps and one that became a very familiar sight, Mr Two Coats...

Now Two Coats first came to the attention of my mother, who when on her lunch or just around town, would notice him, with his funny gaited walk and vaguely odd appearance, strolling all around town. She pointed him out to me once when I was with her in town, as mothers do and blatantly said, that's a tramp. (I think he was a "care in the community" refugee to be honest, abandoned by the system, but most people just think they are just weird..)

From then on, I would notice Two Coats when in town and I named him thus. This is all due to seeing him on a daily basis, once in the morning and going home in the afternoon, but each time he would be wearing a different coat.

In the morning, he could be sporting a long blue mac, a little too small to cover his rotund belly. Later he would be dressed in a short leatherette jacket. I think any coat was fair game to him, as I think I saw him in a ladies coat once.

This was the case for the many years I used to see him, his beard growing ever larger and his belly, the top of his head becoming ever balder and his apparent wardrobe full of coats becoming ever more large and equipped for all seasons.

I wondered where this wardrobe might be? Narnia?... did he have a stash behind the big skips in town? or where they simply dropped in specific places...

Considering these days seeing abandoned clothing around town is a common sight, back then there was simply nothing.

I often wonder if he's still around, swapping fashion ever couple of hours, mumbling to himself about what is in this season.. and which designer is the one to be seen in?... as he passes his day of travel.

Skool what is it gud 4?

Well since I've been struggling to find somethings to blog about, I seem to have been searching everywhere... and today a small light came on in my head while talking to a work colleague....

It stems from remembering things in the past from school (feeling a bit bitter that I feel a bit thick, even though I'm not), all the times when I got told off for being me... there was a few times this happened.

In art, I got told to stop drawing black lines around everything... which was my style not theirs, they tried to drum it that it was wrong, only Mat Smith flourished in this environment, creating masterpiece after masterpiece, me I failed but ironically I do now work in the design field, maybe I'd started earlier if I had my own style....

Then at the age of 14 for having a black magic book, which came from a book club, Mr Salkeld took it off me saying it was dangerous.... how stupid did this fool think I was, where was a 14 year old going to get some dolphin for one of the spells, from Tesco's.. at the all you need for witchcraft aisle?.

Being the burk he was, maybe he went on to learn the dark arts, as he was a crap English teacher...

But the first time I was told off was by Miss Chadwick or was it Mrs.. I don't think we ever knew.... She was a wizened old teacher with a large ginger hairdo, who I think from this day forth didn't like me, it was a small battle of wills, I would not reform... and I think she enjoyed telling me I couldn't come back to do the sixth form due to my exam results...

It was my second year and I remember being in the classroom, but can't recall what subject it was for. Wiggy one tit (as I nick named her later) gave us all a writing assignment, what can you see out of your bedroom window at home?....

Well the thought went through my mind that what I can see was a tad on the boring side and would have been very short... compared to most of my country dwelling school friends, with all their fields and trees, I lived in a 1970's house overlooking a load of bugalows and garage roofs.... so what did I do.... well I got creative... and thought out of the box...

I proceeded to write about seeing a giant beanstalk outside my window and I used to climb it, well this rubbed her up the wrong way.. rather than seeing it as using my imagination and funny.. I was made to look like a naughty kid in front of everyone ... so having just told this story to my work colleague we came up with a new one... both of us being the smutty and double entendre type, it would have being interesting to see what my teacher would have done if I came up with this at the age of 12... I've tried to keep in context.

"Well from my bedroom window I can see Mrs Bradbury's house, she in her 20's, blonde, pretty and married.

It's a lovely house, with a nice pair of big knockers, I like to fumble a little with them,

as they are very unusual.

She waves to me sometimes from the kitchen, wearing her apron. I can see she has a nice rack.

It's full of spices to make meals with, it must be hand made, the kind of thing we'd make in CDT.

At times she scratches herself a lot, with some meals, something about crabs,

I think she has an allergy to shellfish, but her husband really likes them.

On occasion I can hear her scream YES YES YES...

as I think she has solved her cooking conundrums or come up with a new tasty recipe...

She also has a huge flowery bush, at the bottom of the garden.

Mr Brabury grumbles as he has to go down so often, to sort it out.

In winter I see her with two fat balls in her hand.

There is nothing more pretty than Tits hanging off them.

The Tits can't stay for too long, as her pussy keeps popping out of it's flap,

it's very scary and the meanest cat on the street.

I sometimes go round for a good time and fun, generally I come first,

before all the other kids, as I live closer.

One week she asked me to help her put a bun in the oven,

it took us a while to work out how to put it in, it was a big cake, the whole street could have had a piece.

We played a game where you have to pull things out,

Operation is really tricky.

The end.

Abandoned things and their stories...

We've all seen the all to common sight of abandoned or lost clothes scattered across town and road, victims of passion, possibly... or lack of cash at the weekends who knows?. I did hear an urban myth about taxi drivers taking peoples jeans if they could not pay...

I myself take pictures of these unfortunate items. I started this after my long and still ongoing project of taking pictures of abandoned shopping trollies which evolved and before anyone ones says "thats been done before", well I had the first idea to do it 11 years ago now, whilst existing in the twilight.

Where I used to work in Sale, was a trolley mecca. My office block stood in an area littered with Tesco's finest, Mark and Spencer's best, Sainsbury's try something new wire metaled constructs, along with many more, all casually abandoned after ferrying their own weight in eggs and bread, milk and stockings.. (plus I also used to have crushes on some of the check out girls, who I'd had given names, I was too nervous to actually find out their names. These where the only other people I interacted with on a regular basis, working nights at my previous job, was a killer of friendships and souls).

So armed with my trusty film camera which I still prefer (I'd only purchase my first digital 2 years later whilst drunk and getting fat in Tenerife, with a massive 2 mega pixels). I'd go out after work or dinner, sometimes as late as 2am and wander around snapping up the local abandoned trollies, we'd also used to get large gathering on our carpark, hiding from the collectors or left by kids, looking more like animals than inanimates.

A lot were left as if causally waiting for a friend or punting for extra business as if it was something illicit, some as if they had run away themselves, others huddled together for warmth like pack animals and many cast upon their sides - the dead or murdered, but the most unfortunate would be in rivers or canals.

I still take pictures of them, but after a while this evolved into collecting shopping lists, left within these trollies. Yes I'm strange for the most part and I did get quite feverish at collecting them, sometimes going out of my way to get these scraps of screwed up paper. But I often wondered why lists are so readily thrown away....

If you think about a list, most people will spend a lot of time and effort to scribe down their wants, needs, treats and then simply screw it up and leave it... this list, that may have taken time to produce and probably the most thought out thing in that persons day or week.

But also interestingly the scraps of paper or what ever comes to hand used for lists is vast and the previous information or added information can just be as interesting, mobile phone numbers, letters from schools... wanting to see the parents of so and so... and some of the items listed are hilarious... Some badly spelt, but all in a different cursive. Some surprisingly long, whilst other suspiciously short and vague, did they know what the wanted or just thought "hell with it.. what ever takes my fancy shall be cast into my basket or trolley... I don't need it but I don't care...."

Again I still collect the odd ones, I did have a project to collect 101 randomly found lists, my eventual idea was to make a big list from all the scraps... which is still in the making...

Well as all things do, the evolution continued and I moved onto taking pictures of abandoned clothes. It's surprising how many loose articles are scattered around and when you mention it to people they too have come across a fair amount of this detritus.... My mum and dad once saw a bra hanging from a tree or on top of a bush in a very public area.

I myself have seen shoes (mostly babies), a pair of jeans, a couple of jumpers and many hat, but by far the most lost piece of clothing must be the humble glove. A sad lonely thing on it own, always craving for it's opposite equal. This is where my final part of the abandonment has come to rest, finding that single glove in the gutter or run over in the road, all wet and dirty.

If these glove weren't an inanimate object and had feelings what would they be?, a constant feeling of loneliness? or loss?, a want of rescue to meet lefty or righty again and be happy ever after?... that desperate plea to meet a one handed person....

No Doubt this will continue on until the point we evolve something better than hands, either a bluetooth dongle or a USB finger tip

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!.

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..

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, which stung my eyes..... 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.