6 April 2012 (Friday) - Good Friday

Traditionally Good Friday has for some years been synonymous with Chambers Bar Beer Festival followed by a pub crawl round Folkestone. And while I cannot deny that I have enjoyed the beer festivals immensely, Good Friday has also been synonymous with a cost of over one hundred pounds, having no recollection of large parts of the evening, and feeling like death warmed up on the following Saturday. So in a novel break with tradition I decided to give the beer festival a miss this year. After all money doesn't save itself and weight doesn't lose itself.

So today rather than going drinking to excess, we had a day of healthy exercise. Four of us cycled to Singleton where we picked up a fifth member of the party, and the we got off our bikes and pushed up Singleton Hill. Back when I cycled more often I would have been able to have cycled up without stopping, but today was the first cycling outing for a year. Mind you, once at the top of Singleton Hill I certainly zoomed down the other side. We were soon at Shadoxhurst, and from there it was but a wiggle until we were at Orlestone woods.  Admittedly more of a wiggle than I was thinking it would be, but it was worth the effort.
At Orlestone woods we met up with those who'd come down in the car, and we broke out the picnic. It was a lovely place to sit with friends in the sunshine. And a picnic was a far better dinner when cycling. In the past we've cycled and had a pub lunch and then tried to cycle back when absolutely stuffed. A picnic was far more manageable.

And after an hour's sitting in the sunshine it was time to move on; tempting as it was to stay put. There's no denying that getting back on the bike was very tender on the barse, but we'd cycled there, so cycling back had to be done. It was a very pleasant cycle ride back through the woods - the weather forecast hadn't got it right at all. And we soon found ourselves cycling past the King's Head. The Rear Admiral fancied a crafty half, so we stopped for one. Or, to be precise, a half. There's no denying that I haven't been in pubs much lately. I couldn't believe the prices. Five halves came to £9.75. That's £3.90 per pint. Nearly four quid for a pint of beer. I don't think I can afford to go in a pub for a long time....

And back on the bikes (oh - that hurt!) and back to Steve & Sarah's for a well deserved cuppa. We sat in the sunshine and chatted for half an hour. It was tempting to stay longer, but we needed to push on, and soon were back home where we again sat in the sunshine chatting for a bit before waving goodbye to our fellow cyclists.
My mobile rang - it was the first fruit of my loin asking if we wanted to go round for tea. I am always keen if someone is going to feed me, so we set off. And we had a wonderful evening. I got totally thrashed at an "Alvin and the Chipmunks" card game; I got Fudged, it was brill, and a wonderful way to round off a wonderful day.
It's having days like today that make it worth bothering with the grotty ones in between them....

5 April 2012 (Thursday) - Keeping Busy

I woke at 5am this morning - less than an hour of laying around bored this morning. When not on a late start or a day off, my daily round is pretty much fixed - get up, ablute, hang the laundry round the radiators, twenty sit-ups, brekkie with Bob Ross, check my emails, and off to work. My morning scrape takes ten minutes, brekkie with Bob is half an hour, and checking emails is as long as it takes - the whole lot is done and dusted in far less than an hour. Which is why waking up at silly o'clock is such a pain - if I get up when I wake, there isn't enough to do to fill the time and I get bored.  Mind you, I get just as bored lying there waiting for time to pass. Perhaps next time the insomnia strikes I might get up and spend two hours playing "Angry Birds". Or maybe not. Maybe I could spend my time organising a fishing syndicate.....

There is an old axiom - "if you want a job done, give it to a busy person". I first heard this said of the chap who used to run my Boys Brigade Company. And over the years I've found it to be very true.  In theory if you have something that needs to be done, you should give it to someone who is less busy and has more time to devote to the task. But it's been my experience that it doesn't work that way. People with time on their hands seem to be content to fritter their lives away. Because that's the kind of guys (and gals) they are.

My counsellor mentioned yesterday that there is a reason why busy people are busy, and people with time to waste have time to waste. Apparently there are people who are happy to run themselves ragged to get something done, even when they are completely over-committed. And I (and she) think I am one of them. For example when camping there are those who will do the washing up once and loudly declare that they have done it. Me - I will build the campsite, wash up every meal and strike the campsite single handed and think nothing of it. There are few clubs and societies I have joined without ending up on the committee (I'm getting better at that one!). I am always early at an appointment. I was a scout leader for thirteen years.
Even today I was considering starting a university degree at a local college.
The counsellor lady seemed to think that this is a character flaw on my part that could be improved by counselling, and that I should try not to be one of life's do-ers. I should make a point relaxing and taking life easy. I've tried that in the past. I get bored.

Something which might ease the boredom is running a fishing syndicate. Regular readers of this drivel may recall that over the last two years I've been part of a syndicate that has secured fishing rights to a local small pond. It's not the best place in the world to fish, bit it certainly isn't the worst. It turns out that the chap who has organised the syndicate is looking to step down, and apparently "Yours Truly" is seen as the obvious person to take on the job.
Do I want to take it on? What would be involved? Collecting twenty quid from twenty (or so) people and taking the cash to the pond owner. Hardly an arduous job, but do I want to take it on? Well, the answer to that is a resounding "NO!!!". Quite frankly I don't want to do it. But if I don't do it, is there anybody else willing to take it on? Perhaps we (I) should get all members of the syndicate together and see if we can't get someone to run the show. However I have been told that if I don't take over running the show, no-one will. Perhaps I might give it a go for one year and see what happens...

4 April 2012 (Wednesday) - Busy

I slept (reasonably) well last night, but woke with a right cob-on, and stomped about sulking. I must apologize to the most recent fruit of my loin who was visiting - I wasn't much company this morning. I had some brekkie, and then went delivering catalogues. This time to the other side of town. I realise that the petrol costs will eat into any profit margin, but with three separate distributors competing for the area within walking distance of my house, we needed to find somewhere where they don't get catalogues through the door regularly. And thanks to my loyal readership we might have found somewhere.
catalogue delivering took half an hour, and then I set off to Church Road. I found a framing shop, and got chatting with the owner there. He reckons he can put a decent frame round some of my smaller paintings for less than twenty quid. I shall direct my future customers in his direction when they require framing services. In return he says he will try to flog some of my output. When I'm next in the area I shall pop in with a painting or two.

And then I had my second counselling session. The plan is to help me come to terms with my now reduced circumstances. I thought I was coming to terms with them. But there's no denying that since I started this counselling I really feel I am noticeably more depressed. I get the distinct impression that the counsellor is trying to make me blub. She said I appeared to be very down when I arrived for this morning's session, and she said I should explore avenues of "emptying my pot of sorrow". At the end of the session she felt that she had spoken too much, and I had not spoken enough. She advised me to reconsider my reticence to take anti-depressants. Apparently because I would bandage a sprain and take antibiotics for an infection, I should think nothing of going onto anti-depressants for six months (!)
It probably doesn't help that I have identified what's wrong with my life (no cash) and am seriously trying to remedy the situation (job hunting & part-time money-spinnng): having sussed this out has left counselling somewhat redundant. Mind you, the counsellor lady did suggest that maybe I was being to restrictive in my job hunting; and suggested I might broaden my horizons somewhat. Perhaps she's got a point.

And so home. I watched the film "Bonded by Blood"; a watch-able tale about football thugs and drug dealers kicking seven shades of poo out of each other. And then I went back on to the job hunting front. I've updated my C.V. and put a version of it on this blog. I'd be grateful for any comments or suggestions on the thing - click on the link at the top of the page to view it. I know the formatting is squafty; it's the content I need help to improve. I then spent an hour updating all my profiles with various employment agencies, and had a couple of phone calls from the same agencies about possible future jobs. Something might come of these - hope springs eternal.
I then updated the Facebook page for Friday's cycle ride; if any of my loyal readers fancy a day out on Friday, do let me know. And I updated my Google calendar. The calendar accessible from the link above connects to my Google calendar and works fine. However I can't get it to link to the one on mankybadger.com - I wish I knew why. And talking of I.T. mysteries, my laptop is having a funny five minutes (or so). The copying and pasting facility seems to have gone west in that it only copies unformatted text. It loses the hyperlinks and italics and superscripts I put in when creating blog entries,which means that having put them in when typing in Open Office I then have to repeat the formatting in the Blogger software. Which is a nuisance...

3 April 2012 (Tuesday) - Dull

The first fruit of my loin went for a tiddle at 3am. He went quietly (I am reliably informed). I didn't get back to sleep after that: I lay awake fretting about how tired I would be later. And so I was. When I have the opportunity to sleep (i.e. when I'm in my pit) I am wide awake. When I should be raring to go, I want to curl up. Such is life.
Over a spot of brekkie I watched Bob Ross and The Joy of Painting. Bob was featuring a guest artist today - he wasn't anywhere near as good as Bob. Or perhaps he was and I was sulking as there was nowhere near enough milk for my bran flakes. I need quite a bit of milk on bran flakes - that's  the kind of guy I am.

And so to work - my daily round was much the same as everyone else's (I suppose), apart from a seagull which spent the day attacking his reflection in the window. For the first few minutes it was rather amusing, but the novelty soon wore off and the noise got right on my pip. Fortunately for my sanity the seagull lost interest shortly before 7pm, so I had one hour without the sounds of seagull declaring blood vengeance on itself.

I've had (yet) another look at my C.V.; I think I might have been going wrong in using the traditional format. People see what I've done, think it is too highly specialised, and ignore the fact I have loads of transferable skills (to coin a phrase!). So I've written a first draft of a "functional C.V." I shall work on it some more and post it here for the sage wisdom of my august readership. Or for the punters to have a laugh at; depending on your personal perspective...

2 April 2012 (Monday) - Art

Yesterday I mentioned that the microwave had gone west; overnight it would seem to have been fixed. Either naturally, or through the intervention of magical pixies. Either explanation suits me, as long as the thing is fixed.

I retrieved one of my better paintings today: it wasn't wanted where it was so, in a fit of pique, I thought I'd have it back. It's quite a good painting, even if I do say so myself. It's sixteen by twenty inches; twenty five quid (or nearest offer).
I've (again) been told that I shouldn't sell my paintings so cheaply. Certainly there's no denying that the gallery in the building where the arky-ologee club meets has paintings which are nowhere near as good as mine (note the modesty!) up for sale at ten times what I charge. At the same time there's no denying that these same paintings have hung on those walls for a few years now. If my paintings really were worth that much, I can't help but feel that I'd be selling more of them. Perhaps I just haven't found the right opening to get to the paying public.

If any of my loyal readers might suggest a good way of exposing my merchandise to the punters (oo-er!), please do let me know.
 

1 April 2012 (Sunday) - Dover to St Margarets

Bearing in mind how good the weather has been lately, it was rather cold this morning. I woke about 7am, bursting for a tiddle, and lay in bed in pain rather than getting up to face the cold morning. When I did get up it was to find a very indignant first fruit of my loin. Overnight someone had put a crash helmet on our garden wall; and he had taken this as a personal affront (for no adequately explored reason).
Normally at the weekend I browse the Internet over a spot of brekkie: today I had the laptop on, but I must admit it didn't hold my interest. Instead I listened to my stomach rumbling. Perhaps is was excessive crisps at the film night or the visit to Nandos; whatever it was, my innards had never rumbled so noisily before.

And so on with the business of the day. To Folkestone where we met up with the Folkstonians, and then on to the car park below Dover Castle. The original plans for the day had a lot more people coming along, but what with one thing and another, today had quite a high attrition rate. But six of us (and a dog) were soon at the Bleriot monument. I thought that this would be in some way connected with the Battle of Britain monument; it turned out that Bleriot was the first man to fly across the English Channel. I never knew that.
We then wandered on to the coastal path and the magnificent views across the English Channel. There was a dodgy five minutes when Sid was eating horse poo, but we managed to overcome such adversity.

Regular readers of this drivel may recall that on previous excursions round the coast we've managed to find our way into disused military installations left over from the last war. Today through the wonders of Sat-Nav technology we had six such targets mapped out to be investigated. the first target simply wasn't there, and the second two targets had been deliberately covered over and blocked up. Blocked beyond even our ability to trespass; and we can be quite determined when the mood takes us. So we admired the recent landslide and moved on to the fourth target.
Fourth time lucky! there was a hole in the ground at which most people wouldn't look twice. I was in it like a rat down a drainpipe, and was soon making my way down a rather steep staircase in pitch blackness. We checked the tunnels out, and found a blocked staircase before scrambling back out.

Having tunnel-ratted we were now much happier, and having found a sunny spot sheltered from the wind we sat down and pic-nic-ed. It's amazing how good it is to have a ham roll in the sunshine with some muckers. And so, having scoffed, we made our way onwards. We found another military-looking installation which we looked at. Some local teenagers appeared and told us to be careful of the deep hole inside. Deep hole? That was all we needed to hear. In we went and found that hole. The hole in question was a trap door to a lower level. A trap door complete with ladder. The drop was about five metres, but the ladder looked up to the job, so we descended. The local teenagers were amazed. They'd been looking down that hole for years without being brave enough to climb down.
We had a good scramble about, Stevey cracked his head open on a low ceiling, and we clambered back up again. A quick dose of first aid, and we were soon on our way. pausing only briefly to photograph a baby horse we found another set of tunnels to explore before making our way into St Margarets to find a a bus stop. We sat in the sun and enjoyed the view across the channel before getting the bus back to Dover. The bus was only fifteen minutes late, and we did get off two stops too early, but all too soon it was time to come home. An excellent day out - there are photographs of the day here.

And so home, and having gathered up the last of the catalogues that I didn't collect yesterday we had tea. And whilst cooking that tea, the microwave oven packed up.
That's all we need....

31 March 2012 (Saturday) - Tintin

There's no denying that by the I'd sorted out the money from last night's astro club meeting it was rather late - by the time I crawled into my pit it was gone 1am. I was pleasantly surprised to find that (again) I slept though till 7am. I had a tiddle, thought I'd go back to bed for a few more minutes, and woke up at 10.30am.
The first fruit of my loin was grumbling - his 10.30am appointment hadn't turned up, and he wasn't happy. It must be a disappointment when your 10.30am doesn't show; it certainly was for him. He also had words to say about the workmen up the road. they would seem to have returned, and were making "bear racket". For those of my loyal readers who (like me) require translation, "bear racket" is not some form of ursine sports equipment - it is actually excessive noise. One lives and learns.

I then went out and collected the catalogues I delivered on Wednesday. We got most of the catalogues back. And at half the houses there was the catalogue I'd delivered as well as an identical catalogue someone else had delivered. The trouble with flogging Kleeneze is that there is no co-ordination between agents; no one has "a patch". It's a total free-for-all. there are (at least) three people operating within walking distance of my house. We need to find an area where there is no one doing this caper.

We then delivered last week's sales, and went up to the town. I had the proceeds of last night's astro club meeting to pay into the bank. Between membership renewals, tea money and a rather lucrative raffle there was over three hundred quid to go into the bank. I suppose that if the worst comes to the worst I can always embezzle the astro club funds. Mind you, if I'm going to embezzle the astro club funds the best time to do it would be whilst I had three hundred quid in used notes in my hand; not after I'd paid it into the bank and need two other people's signatures to get it back out again.
We then carried on wandering round the town, but I couldn't get home quick enough: it seemed to be "National Take Your Screaming Brat to Town Day" today. Ashford was awash with screaming, howling, whining horrors. Finishing off the shopping came as a blessed relief.

And so home, where I slobbed in front of the telly for a while whilst surfing the net on my laptop. I tried touting the painting I did yesterday on some local Facebook selling pages. I didn't shift the thing, but my beloved managed to get herself a free haircut from Facebook. It's amazing what you can do on social networking. And then the Bat arrived and treated us to a visit to Nandos to celebrate there being a "y" in the day. I'd not been to Nandos before. It's quite good.
And then, suitably replete, the clans gathered for the now traditional Saturday film night. First off we watched "Tintin". The animation and graphics were excellent. And then "Justice" with Nicholas Cage. A film which was surprisingly good.....