Bee happy.

Merry Christmas, all. It's a fantastic time of year! Stress, frustration, rushing, hurrying, busyness and having more to do in a day than you'd normally do in a week. It's good, but I think it's probably best that it's kept as an annual thing.

I mean - come on. This whole Jesus thing's getting old, yea? He's best kept as an ornament for the season. I understand. He's a big guy and He's always there. His hands, feet and side make an awful mess, covering us with blood. It's probably for the best that we go and sing to Him without getting too close. I know. Keep Him at a distance. Wouldn't want to mess our clothes.

And all that about forgiveness. Goodness. It's as if He wants us to look past what we've done and just focus on Him. A bit selfish, no? Wanting to be the centre of all we do. Giving us advice and telling us what's best for us. Who does He think He is? Our Creator?!

And what of love? Pah. If we show love we'll have to talk to people we don't like. We'll have to make the time to see people we barely know. We'll have to hear about what they're going through - about what they might need help with.

I'm not sure about you; but this is what I live for.

"Oh, HO," you say, "The ol' switcheroo."

Call me silly, but I love the fact that His blood has covered everything I have done. The fact that when He suffered and died on the cross, it was me He was thinking of.

I know you think that's a bit big-headed, the fact that I think that I was on His mind. Me. One in billions that have since walked - and still walk - the earth. That He would take the time to think of me as an individual. Well. He did. And you. I'm no different to you. I'm a sinner. That's it. Doesn't matter what I've done. If I so much as lie, it's as much a sin in God's eyes as someone who has taken a life without cause. The questions raised from statements like this often seem innumerable, but for each one there is an answer. I'm not claiming I have them all. Far from it. But I can point you in the direction of someone who does.

Truth is, He's by my side day in, day out. He's there to listen, He's there to offer help. So many people have the view that if they follow Jesus, He's going to ask them to do something they don't want to do. That He's going to tell them to go somewhere they don't want to go, to pursue a life that they don't want. If you take the time to actually listen, though, you'll find that this is not the case. His will won't take us out of His protection. His requests won't lead us out of His grace. Cast your cares on Him. Don't fear. He's got your back.

As a side note, many people think that being Christened makes them a Christian. It does not. This is a very dangerous thing to think. If, at the age of 3 months, you were able to make an informed, intelligent, individual, personal decision to follow Christ, then fair enough (what's it like being a genius?). But if your parents though it would either be right or nice to have you sprinkled, you're going to have to rethink. Your parent's faith will not cover you. It is valid for one. Get your own faith.

I tell you now. Following Him has given me a life that I could not have even dreamt about. I am studying in America this year. I have met great people out here and through following Him and getting involved in a church out here I've met a lot of people and done many things that I would never have met or done. I have the most beautiful girl in the world as my fiancée and I can tell you that were it not for God being in our lives and directing our paths, we would never have even known of each other's existence. It's amazing. She's amazing. An absolute gift from God. From the bottom of my heart I beg you to try it. I dare you to try it.

Don't just dismiss it. There's nothing more irritating than people who base their views on what other people tell them or what other people think. For your own opinion. Take everything you've ever been told about Jesus and throw it away. Read the book of John. Or Matthew, or Luke or Mark. Read for yourself the wonders of this guy. Then come back and talk about it like an adult.

And it's fun talking to people. I have been through things that will prove to be a big help to other people I meet in the coming years of my life. And they the same. How do we help each other without talking? How to we help each other without offering advice?

Similarly, how do we maintain relationships without talking and listening to the person? People say they're Christian and people say they worship Jesus. This may be the case, but if you're only talking to Him once a year, I wouldn't shout about it.

My God is as real today as He was on Friday. He's going to be just as real tomorrow. It's not that I'm disrespecting the celebration of His birth or the memory of His death. It's not that I'm belittling them and saying people are silly to get excited, but what are you really getting excited about if it's just the one time a year? I'm not for tradition, I'm for fruition. Christmas and Easter are good and all, but I know they're not all there is about Him.

Just give it a go. What have you got to lose?

God bless, guys.

I love you.

Birthday without presence.

Well. So much for updating it a few days after my last post. A few weeks isn't much different... A lot has gone on over the past month. Let me describe to you a glimpse...

It was my birthday on the 12th of November. I had a really good day despite my friends, my family and my love being 5,000 miles away. I have met some amazing people here over the past few months, however, and hanging out with them was fantastic. I had a few presents sent through to me from my parents and some money put into my account from my grandparents. I opened them with my girlfriend over skype and it was one of the best birthday mornings I have ever had. Later on a couple of people went to a café/restaurant and had a nice evening meal. It was a great day and a lovely way to enter my 24th year of life.

I went to Oregon for Thanksgiving. It is interesting to be part of a celebration in which people are enjoying not being associated with England any more. The meal was nice. Littered with "Oh, you must think this is so strange because you're English" and other such comments. I did not think it was strange. It was a nice day - I got to fulfill my dream of watching an American Football game on Thanksgiving afternoon. The whole week, overall, was very enjoyable. I did have four projects on the go, but to have a little bit of time off was much appreciated. A great deal of that time off was spent playing Modern Warfare II and getting my mate's level up by a great deal. Upon my return home (after having to pay a second time to put my bag on the plane I was on), I went to the fridge to get myself something to eat. As I'm sure some of you will know, going to the fridge after being away on holiday is not one of the things that is at the top of the to-do list. I found food that should not have been found. Food that should not have been there for much more than a day after I left, let alone a week. After throwing out the inedible I was left with two pop tarts and half a jar of peaches. What a feast.

One of the more memorable things I've seen here this semester was a billboard on one of the highways. It was simply telling people to "Eat smaller". That's right. There was a huge sign telling people not to eat as much as they do. Oh, America.

Well. This post was worth the wait.

Wood have been nice.

I have no opening that I can think of at the moment. Take this as a placeholder if you want. It's not going to change, though.

I've stared a sculpture project using wood. I'm very happy. I've never really got into things like that and it's nice to stretch my wings, even though I do so cautiously. It's nice to be able to make things that I haven't made before. It's nice to be able to have the time and the resources to experiment with. I've finished a project that last post's images were relating to. I had to design a poster. It was a nice project. I think I did a good job. I've never done it before, so I have nothing to compare it to at the moment. Oh well. Time will tell, I guess.

Words here are different. Would you believe it?! I thought it was pretty widely known, but I can only assume that it's because I've grown up with American shows as part of my culture. No-one seems to know what Spaced is or whatever spins offs of their shows we have. (I'm thinking Holby City, The Green Wing, etc.) It's probably a good thing that they haven't seen our renditions of their shows. They'd only hate us more. My point is, it's been nice to have to tell people what I'm talking about when I say 'the bin' or 'cheers, mate' or 'rubbish' or 'well good' or other things. I can see it getting old pretty soon, but I'm going to ride the enjoyment wave as it passes.

I haven't really got much more to say, Im afraid. I'm going to update this on my birthday because I've had a brilliant title geared up since June, so I'll make sure I've got something more to talk about then. Oh, how I look forward to turning 23...

Talk to you when I'm a year older, then.

Tee tee eff en.

Daze of yore.

Well this isn't too good. Apologies all round. No post for nearly a month? What have I become?

Cheery corn, cheery oats, cheery rice and wheat. Cheery something something-thing CHEERIOS, so good to eat. I think they're the lyrics. It doesn't matter. My point is that there are four types - if you will - of Cheerios. Americans have five. Five. I don't know what they make the fifth cheerio out of and frankly I don't care. It's just not right. There's no symmetry in it. The spoon will be all over the show.

Another somewhat comical observation here is the fact that tax is put on to things at the till. If the price of an item is on the shelf next to it, you'd better be very good at working out obscure percentages because it's going to be tacked on to it when you get to the paying. I know, it's not comical - even somewhat. I just chuckled bitterly to myself when I thought I had enough for an item from the dollar menu at McDonalds and then had to frantically turn out my pockets in the hope that I wouldn't have the embarrassment of the staff there giving me a dirty, yet pitiful, look as they slowly pour my small portion of fries back into that little heating semi-cabinet that they use. Pah. One dollar eight cents. Pathetic.

One thing that is pretty big over here (or may have been. I'm not the best at keeping up to speed on these things) is the idea of introducing National Health Care. I don't know why I capitalised it. It just seems important. I was asked about the differences the other day. In summary England, with it's healthcare service, gets a lot of free perks. Well, it gets a lot of free everything. It gets completely free everything, in fact. America doesn't. Call me silly, but I can't see why people don't want this.

I went to a petrol station the other day with my mates to get petrol - because that's how we roll. All of the pumps were out of order and we weren't sure why, until a kindly young man came over and informed us that they were too full. Too full. There was too much petrol in their reserve to sell us a few gallons. Just when I started to get my head around the way this country works, BAM. Curveball. I don't know how long the people who owned the station have been in business; and I myself have no business sentience, if I may use that term, but I would like to think that I at least know that selling what your property is renowned for selling - expected to sell, I would go as far as saying - is at the very least the bottom line. The base of all sales. The bread and butter. But I've never owned a petrol station. They call them gas stations here anyway, but that is a whole post by itself.

Actually... Who's up for some crazy word comparisons next time we're here? I know I am.

I'll make a note.

kisses

Didn't get court.

A pregnant girl I know thinks that airplanes are part of a conspiracy to get money out of us people.  She thinks that it is perfectly viable to dig big holes through the crust of the earth and slide to wherever it is we want to get to.  Sometimes I weep for the future of humanity.

I like to think that my ramble filter is working well, but I haven't posted anything for a while.  After reading that again, I think I may have just put the two together...

Melissa came up to see me on the Thursday before Labour Day weekend.  Labour Day is an equivalent here of a bank holiday back home.  They just feel the need to give it a flashy name.  She came up from Lavaca to Warrensburg (bonus points if you can find either on a map) on the Thursday and then on the Friday, I drove back so we could spend some time with her family.  It's the first time I've driven properly here and it was amazing.  It's a six hour drive and I drove for five hours.  In those five hours, I had to turn at a junction about four times.  It's brilliant.  I also made great use of the cruise control.  Get up to speed, hit cruise control, move your legs back into a more comfortable position and then only worry about steering.  We got back to Lavaca when it was dark and I can't really navigate my way round at the best of times.  Moving into the turning lane too early, I got back on to the main road.  Moving in again early, I started to move back to the main road but then realised it'd be easier to stay there.  After turning, I saw some headlights.  Asking Melissa if it was the police, she confirmed my fears that it was, indeed, the 5-0.  I won't bore you with the details, but they pulled me over and took my details (as they do with everyone they pull over, regardless of why they are pulled over).  We were let off at least one ticket because the guy knew Melissa's family.  Turns out he's a weirdo.  But my point is I was driving for 5 hours and then in the last 5 minutes of the journey, I got pulled over by the Fuzz.  Ramble filter: rusty.

I heard that there's a town or State nearby that is thinking of introducing the sale of deep fried butter.  DEEP.  FRIED.  BUTTER.  Missed out on a trick there, Scotland.  SATIRE.

I am in dire need of what I believe is known as 'filler'.  Normally, I have enough to talk about.  In future, I will have enough to talk about.  At the moment, I am stuck.  My lady has left for the UK and I will not be seeing her until the 19th of December.  I'm not really in the mood for being witty this evening.  (Because I am the rest of the time HAHAHAHAA).  I guess this is the equivalent of a teacher letting you out of class early.  You're expecting a bit more, but you don't really want to be here, you know?  You know.  Go on, kids.  Scarper.

Quite a weight.

It's been a good while.  And I'm sorry.

This little blog post is simply to inform you good people that I will update this blog once more tomorrow with a message of more substance.

Not that this message is completely empty - there are plenty of words.  I'll post a picture, too.

...

<--- Here you go.

Now you have nothing to complain about.

See you tomorrow, when I'll be talking about my brush with Bobby Law, amongst other things.

Tie food.

Being in America makes it hard to observe things in England and make potentially hilarious commentary on them.  Fortunately, I smuggled my notebook over.  Within its sleek black walls, its off-white, lined pages have literally sentences full of witty perceptions of life in the UK.  Once the reservoir of material has run dry (probably by the next post HAHA), I shall attempt to draw comparisons of life here and there.  Look forward to it.  It might be good.

I've had to put my stamp collecting on hold whilst I'm here.  I was doing well - I was up to about 20.  I do admit I have cheated a bit, though.  A few of the stamps came on the same envelope.  Oh snap.  Was that a joke?  A beautiful four-liner, if ever there was.

I don't like the fact that in most toilet cubicles, one has to straddle the toilet in order to successfully get out of the way of the arc of the door and close the door itself.  Which way do you stand?  Back to the porcelain, legs akimbo, chancing the awkward eye-catch of a fellow restroom-goer?  Back to the rest of the place, bracing yourself against the wall in the desperate hope that it has been cleaned in at least the last 24 hours?  At least if you go for the latter, you can casually flick the door closed behind your back.  But pray that you do.  If you don't you run the risk of leaning back onto the door and having it push you back against the wall and further towards the toilet.  Much to the merriment of the four other gentlemen in the cinema restrooms.

I have been trying to learn snippets of different languages while I'm here.  To say hello, at least, in as many languages as I can.  I've got quite a few down.  Konichiwa.  Sin Chou.  Nei Hou.  Ketcha.  Anyon.  Chescht.  Salut.  Hola.  Tschuss.  Hej.  Howdy.  Sawat Dee.  etc.  These are in no way spelt the way they are meant to be, it's just how I picture them being pronounced.  In our alphabet, at least.  I also know 'monkey' in Mandarin:  Hoú-zi.  One of the funniest things you can hope to experience is a group of international students who are all very, very tired.  When accents start to slip, it is amazing.  Once of my friends just started speaking Hindi to another friend who is Born and Bred American.  Too tired to realise!  Immerse yourself in culture.  Meet people from outside the country and don't be afraid to talk to them about it.  If they have a foreign accent, don't be afraid to ask where they're from.  Unless they're Welsh.  It's best to avoid them in that case.

Maybe I have a little bit left in the well of my notepad.  We'll see.  I'll be sure to make some comical observations as the days go by.

Good talking to you.

In one peace.

I saw my first ever armadillo the other day.  They look pretty cool.  I couldn't describe to you their temperament because I was in the car and couldn't really stop and even if I could get to it, it was roadkill.  But it was an armadillo.

I am in America.  Land of the free, home of the brave, standing room only.  I spent a week with a beautiful girl in sunny, sunny Arkansas.  Like a true Brit, I went on about the weather more than I needed to, but who else was representing the country?  I did my best.  It's pretty humid on top of being rather warm.  On one of the nights, we sat outside at 3:30 in the morning and it was as warm as the day back home.  The thunderstorms here are something to write home about, so I'm going to write home about them.  They are big.  NOTHING HERE IS DONE IN SMALL DOSES.  Rolling thunder hangs round for hours at a time with very little rain to show for it.  If it does rain, the humidity keeps the ground wet longer than the heat itself would allow.  The roads and the cars are all bigger.  The products in the shops are all bigger.  Most of the people I have met at the moment are other exchange students, so I cannot vouch for myself just yet when I say all the people are bigger...  It is a wonder to behold.  I have been fortunate to have been here 4 times now, so I'm somewhat expectant as to what things are like here, but it never ceases to amaze me how much bigger things are.

The insects here are pretty big.  I was chasing a mantis that was nearly as long as my hand.  There are beetles the size of my thumb, grasshoppers the size of my fingers and... other... big insects.  I can't think of any more right now.  Once I find my card reader, I'll post some pictures of everything here, but for the moment, just imagine it.  You know the black Ground beetles at home?  The ones that run like the wind when you move the rock they're under?  Yea.  They are about 1.5 - 2 inches here.  It's like some sort alternate dimension where the insects are bigger.  Or the people are smaller.  I haven't decided yet.

My week was amazing.  It started fairly badly.  I was at gate G8 in Chicago, Illinois, waiting to fly out to Tulsa, Oklahoma.  I was reading a magazine and looking out of the window when I noticed the bags from the plane at G8 getting unloaded.  I kept looking back and forth and after a while, I saw my bags along with a few other people's bags.  All of a sudden, there was an announcement for all who are waiting for the plane to leave from G8 were to move to gate G12 instead.  I went there, along with everyone else, but noticed that the bags didn't appear to have come with us.  They were sat by another plane no more than 40 metres away from the plane they were meant to be on.  No worries, I thought, This is Chicago.  One of the biggest International airports in the world.  They'll deal with this sort of thing every day - why wouldn't they do the same today?  So I got on the plane and went to Tulsa.  Standing at the carousel at the baggage claim in Tulsa, I realised that my bags had not, in fact, got on the plane after all.  Neither had the few other people's bags.  They had obviously gone to wherever the plane at G8 had gone to.  I still don't know where that was, but it didn't really matter.  A few days later, m'lady's mum kindly picked them up for me from Fort Smith airport (as "deliver[ing] them to your house" over here evidently means "deliver[ing] them to an airport that is out of the way and at a time when the need for clothes within the luggage has long since passed").  THANKS AMERICA.  YOU ARE A BIG HELP.

At 4' 11", with firey-red hair and sea-green eyes, my girlfriend is gorgeous.  Combine this with her heart for God, her love for the people around her and her integrity and sincerity, you have yourself one of the most beautiful people you will ever have the chance to meet.  The way her nose crinkles when she smiles, the bounce in her step and her unreserved giggle just adds to that.  A beauty pageant winner and an ex-cheerleader on top of all this, I can safely say that she is more than out of my league.  I have done for too well for myself.  But don't tell her that.

I had an amazing time with her.  We did errands and things.  Picked stuff up for people, went to various places.  Nothing massive, but it was perfect.

Oh, goodness.  Sorry lads.  I went all sloppy.  I shall go and buy a gun from Wal*mart and shoot down a tree.  Maybe redeem some manpoints.

We came up to Missouri at the weekend so I could get settled in my accommodation.  It's like a resort!  I have my own room and sink and although I share a flat with 4 people (and a pathetic dog), we have 1 shower between 2.  There is also a swimming pool outside.  It's got a volleyball net across it, a volleyball in it and a hot tub on the side.  A big fire pit-type construction stands beside it, with a BBQ on either side of that.  Indoors, there is a movie room with big, cupholder-endowed arms, a pool table and a little gym.  I went there tonight and I am now tired, hence the blog.

I am going to start another blog for the sole purpose of this trip.  It'll be cool.  Depending on how many pictures I get, I'll make it a bit more picture-orientated.  I am wanting to make it into a book at the end, but I'll need numbers or something if it's going to be worth it.  Eh.  It's worth a thought.

I am off for the night, folks.  I shall try and talk here again soon.

Smooches.

Not what I knead.

My, it's been a while.  I have broken my habit of posting 3 a month, it would seem.  No matter.  It was bound to happen sooner or later.  Generic niceties to one and all.  My reason for not posting is that I have been somewhat preoccupied by getting ready to spend a few months in America.  It has taken more out of me than I thought it would.  It didn't help that I had to do quite a bit of chasing about my finances, as the ever-helpful Sefton Council decided that it was not fantastically important that I have the means to live in a house come one fortnight's time.  I applied for my finance, as one does, but for one reason or another, my application went to Darlington.  I don't even know where that is.  Now fair enough, this was not the fault of the Council here, but they were so half-assed about the whole thing I could feel them giving me the finger as they spoke to me on the phone.  They told my uni that they had no means of contact with their central office and that it was my uni's fault for not giving them the right papers.  Or something.  I phased out half way through the whole thing.  Fortunately, the situation is ameliorated now.

As I was once a child, I have a good few childhood memories.  Some of them are of places, some of items, some of TV programs.  It is the latter that I am finding a bit challenging as of late.  The changing theme music to Fireman Sam, the changing theme music and narration of Pingu.  One thing that has changed most of all is Postman Pat.  Now I haven't had time to watch a lot of this program, but what I have seen is disappointing.  See, they have taken the changing-the-theme music angle.  They have also changed the opening animation.  They have also changed the style of animation and EVERYTHING ELSE ABOUT THE PROGRAM.  It looks like good old stop-time animation is out of the window in lieu of the easier, quicker and more mass-produce..ier computer-aided animations.  Postman Pat has a child.  There are new, politically-correct characters throughout.  I hate talking about this because I always end up thinking I'm a bit chavvy-blinging-Daily Mail-reading-esque.  It just annoys me that Political Correctness has become what it has.  Going out of our way to make sure we don't offend anyone, lest we get an angry letter.

  This part of the blog is opening up a large can o' worms and hasn't really gone anywhere in particular so, like a gangrenous hand, I shall cut it off, only to be haunted by its loss later on when I need to scratch myself.

I like creating clips in my head of memories that other people may have had.  Or making memories and reliving bits of my childhood, á la The Butterfly Effect.  (I know the accent on that 'a' is the wrong way round, but I couldn't find the right one.  Deal with it).

  Putting things together to make makeshift memories from someone else's point of view of you, if you get that.  If you look at people living today, your life experience will have given you the views and angles to be able to superimpose them on the people you see.  If you see someone crossing the road, you apply your knowledge and memories of crossing any road and you'll be able to see what they see.  Same goes for talking to someone, looking at something, eating something. You have the viewpoint to cover what anyone is seeing.

  Try it sometime.  (I hope it's not just my imagination.  I'm not crazy).

I thought it was common knowledge that we die because our cells lose the ability to regenerate.  I honestly did.  I thought it was a given.  I read it in the paper a while ago.  It turns out that it was not, in fact, common knowledge. Sometimes I should speak more; make people aware of my underlying genius.

Well.  That's all for now.  I am very tired, as you can probably tell.  Once I am refreshed and have had enough sleep, I shall probably look back at this blog and come to the slow realisation that I may have made a big mistake.

Oh well.

At least it means I'd have had some sleep.

Stick around.  It gets better.

Ewe want what?

I do not like television adverts for books.  I just don't.  If I am going to read a book, I will find out about what is within by reading a review or the blurb on the back.  If I see an advert that involves explosions, shouting and/or chases, then it is already promising me more than it will be able to deliver.  If you want to advertise a book, either read an excerpt or don't bother.  If I see a trailer-style advert for something that has neither pictures nor sound, then I will wait until it is at least on DVD.  Similarly, don't advertise films on the radio.  If something has been made - specifically - to be watched, don't attempt to sell it without the pictures.

It's like going to a gig where the band you want to see and the band that are supporting them are of two different genres.  Why?  What would possibly drive someone to see it as a good idea?  I once went to a Reel Big Fish gig with my brothers and my dad.  Lively, personable, funny ska.  Bring on the trumpets.  What were we greeted with as a warm up?  A big welshman who was somehow fusing together metal and dance, whilst shouting aggressively at the crowd for not dancing.  He may have been lively, but he wasn't personable or funny.  Nor was he playing ska.

My point for the two is keep things in the medium that people want them in.  If it's a film, advertise it at another film showing; if it's a warm up act, have it play in a similar style to the band that it's supporting.  It's not that hard.

Rowntree has brought us some new and exciting sweets.  Huzzah.  Rowntree's Randoms.  Now.  Are they random?  Or are they just another stupid use of the word random?  (Clue: it's the latter).  I posit that they are, indeed, far from random.  I think you will find that they are all created by machines, presses and moulds that have been created - exclusively - to form the shapes.  Maybe if they just dripped molten gelatine from a point to form truly adventitious shapes.  That would make them random.  At unspecified times, with different sized drips and of whatever colour they happen to be.  In packing, differing amounts would be put into the bags.  Maybe one bag contains 15 sweets, maybe another holds none.  This would be random and deserving of the name.  These are created with colours in mind, shapes designed, approximate number of sweets per bag and to a deadline.  This is what they should be called.

I went to Rockin'Asia tonight.  It's a little club in my little town.  I went there because Beats Phatree were playing and they are very good indeed.  Not only are they highly skilled in their instruments of choice, they are pretty intelligent to boot.  A fantastic all round group.  Their renditions of songs are fresh, their sets are tight and you can see that they are having a good time doing what they do.  Cheeky smiles from one to the other, a chuckle half way through the songs.  Had I known the words to the songs they were playing, I would have been up on the dancefloor, singing along.  Unfortunately, my knowledge of pop music (and indeed classics) leaves much to be desired, so I simply sat and watched.  I'm not a dancer and I'll write about that another time, so sitting and watching a band is my way of enjoying it.  A Michael Jackson song was played.  I know the tune but not the title.  It was delivered in their ever-fresh style and was neither cheesy nor cliché.  A fitting tribute to the King of Pop.  As the night went on and their set was coming to an end, they were still spot on, showing no sign of tiring.  If you ever get the chance to see these guys play, take it.  Grab it with both hands.  Truly a joy to experience.

Well I'm not sure how to finish this.  I'm going to find a picture that seems to fit the content and then I'll try and think of a witty title.  Of course, you will have seen both before you read this, so this little paragraph is pretty moot.

Join me again next time, when I'll be talking about Postman Pat, fake memories and things that I though were widely known but are not, in fact, widely known.

Stop that - you'll brake it.

This evening I did something that I have wanted to do for as long as I can remember.  Ever since I saw someone on TV letting a little bird go, I have wanted to do the same thing.  Swinging my arms up and opening my hands as, in a flurry of feathers, the little creature flies off to freedom.  It's a thing of beauty.  Tonight, a little collared dove got into the chicken's little fenced off area and couldn't get out.  I went in to catch it - and catch it I did.  I was surprised - I thought it would just find a way out and be done with it.  But I caught it and went into the open and gracefully chucked it skywards.  I have only had one opportunity to do such a thing before.  I caught a little bird in Pizza Hut when I worked there.  I put it in a little wings box (insert joke or amusing observation here), and went home.  Upon entering the house, I proceeded to look around for our cat.  Unless the reason for this is not too clear, most cats like to eat - if not, kill - birds.  I did not want this bird to be eaten or killed.  Long story short, I bury a dead bird at the end of this anecdote.

I bought another Moleskine book the other day.  It was £10 and it's a little smaller than A6, but it's worth it.  I got it because I have found myself coming up with things to write about (which I have found is good for a blog), but not having anything to record them in.  I thought about getting a dictaphone, but then I'd have to grow a moustache, wear big glasses, and look at people as I smugly talk into my hand.  Since I don't like looking at people, I bought a book.  I'm getting the hang of it, this writing thing.  It's always hard to start a new sketchbook - slightly more so when you're writing in it.  But I have found a small passion - a smassion, if you will - for writing things that I (and hopefully a few others) find slightly amusing.  I'll let you know how it goes.

It was my little brother's 18th birthday the other week.  It was my other little brother's 21st a couple of weeks before that.  Good planning on the parent's part.  For my brother's 18th, we all went go-karting.  It was very nice.  My little brother is as much of a racing chav in a kart as he is in a car.  Hunched forward, one hand on the top of the wheel, one on the 'gear stick', looking round through rolled up eyes.  Oh dear.  The track itself was very good - it was quite big and it had a couple of bridges.  The karts were fantastic - nice and low, very tight steering, good grip (for the most part.  I swear my kart in the final race had less grip than my kart in the qualifiers.  And the seat was uncomfortable).  It was a pretty sweet way to spend a good few hours.  We had a BBQ in the afternoon and then we went out in the evening/night/early morning.  That's a whole new post.

One thing that I did notice when we were karting, was the fact that in a few 'man-sports' the people involved are, more often than not, inspired to recall the events of the day with much vigour and relish.  And usually a deeper voice and a different argot.  Well - not so much a different idiom, more of a change of emphases on certain words.  Words that would normally seem geeky or are previously untouched by the lips of the speaker become commonplace.  Go-karting and Paintballing seem to be the biggest culprits.  People are transformed into petrol heads and commandos.  They suck you in and give you a different life for a few hours; a 'life' after which, you are more than qualified to talk about what you have no idea about.  Even the shyest, most preserved folk turn into men who know what they're talking about - and talk about it with an almost unwavering certainty.

That said, you should have seen the way I entered the eleventh corner.  Nice and tight to the tyres, keeping it in until the last minute.  The steering was trying to get away, but I kept it under control.  I had to tap the brakes a bit towards the end to keep it from spinning out, but I think I dealt with it pretty well.  And so forth.

Solar flair.

Well, here's another after work, pre-shower post.  It's early in the morning and I need to go to bed.  As I pointed out in my last post, my inspirations seem to strike in the early hours when I'm in need of sleep.  Although this post is not particularly inspired, I wanted to post something either today or tomorrow, and I don't think I'll remember any of it tomorrow.  Well I probably will, but even if I save this today and post it tomorrow, it will still show today as the date I posted it.  Man, I'm just talking nonsense now.

Arguably, the chances of anything entering the Earth's atmosphere and burning up, creating a Shooting Star, is one in a googol.  Miniscule.  Pretty much too small to be bothered about.  But I am always filled with a childlike sense of optimism whenever I look up into the night's sky.  Hoping beyond hope that such a chance will occur.  (I think there might be a bigger chance than one in a googol - what with the asteroid belt floating round between Mars and Jupiter.  And the asteroid sphere that encompasses our Solar System.  Still - space is pretty big.  We've got a bigger chance of being missed by things flying towards us).  Tonight, my anticipation of this event was quenched.  I saw a Shooting Star.  It lasted long enough to not only catch my eye, but to allow me to look in its direction and watch it for the few seconds it lasted.  Bear in mind that a few seconds is ages for a Shooting Star.  It was enough time for me to see that it was, in fact, several pieces falling together after breaking up a bit - it was long enough for me to at least guess where it was heading - it was long enough for me to appreciate the orange colour it burnt with.  I can think of few things that are as awesome as a Shooting Star.

I learnt something new about the fourth state of matter the other day.  I have known what it is for a long time, but I've never thought of anything that is made from it, if that makes sense.  There is solid, liquid and gas.  And plasma.  The fourth, and most badass, state of matter.  It is ionised gas that is neither gas nor solid.  "Where can we find this?" I hear you ask.  "Fire," says I.  "And lightning," I further add.  I love that fact that it is something so simple.  Two everyday things.  Made of PLASMA.  That is all.

I am going to bed now.  It's got to the stage where I'm barely able to keep my eyes open and I've started to nod embarrassingly.  As well as this, I can hear noises that I shouldn't be hearing at this time of night; playing in my head like some sort of built-in speaker system.  My mind is telling me that I can hear the cars on my way home from work and that I'm on the 'Airfield' level of Call Of Duty 5.  At the same time.  And I know I'm not doing either.

I'm also reading my sentences over a good few times each before finally posting this, lest I make some hideous typo or grammatical error.

Wish me luck.

Early mourning.

I find that I get my best ideas and inspirations when I need to go to sleep.  More to the point - when I need to go to sleep because I have to be up early the next day.  Sometimes I want to take a picture that I know will not be possible to take again for a long time.  Other times, I just want to draw until I have no more ink.

I have just come back from work after closing up and finishing later than I thought possible.  It's 04:20 (as you can probably see form the 'time posted' bit at the bottom).

I was offered a lift home, which I declined (in the end).  The allure of the early morning birdsong was too much.  I just wanted to walk home and listen to Ms Nature.  I was trying very hard to think of when I would have another possibility to experience such an opportunity to find myself, by chance, in this situation again.  I thought I could easily set my alarm and go out for a dawn-break walk, but that would defeat the spontaneity somewhat.  Besides; I'd just go back to sleep anyway - annoyed at myself that I thought it was a good idea to wake me up at 03:00.

This walk home was pretty amazing, though.  As it was dawn, it was possible to see things, which gave me more confidence to walk home through a stretch of Southport that rivals the notoriety of piss bridge/rape bridge/nazi bridge/junkie bridge/death bridge.  You know where I mean.  If you don't, don't worry.  It is pretty much exactly how I have described it.  You're not missing out.

The birdsong was intense.  Calls from everywhere - the trees on the outskirts of my view, the tops of the lamp-posts, the tops of the buildings in the distance.  Geese honking across the other side of the Marine Lake.  A single gull drifted above me, highlighted pink by the rising sun.  Another gull a bit further on changed the status of the first gull to one of a pair.  It didn't seem to care, though.  I did.  It spoiled this part of the blog.  The bridge was silhouetted against the pink sky; the Lake mirroring the colours above it as its edges lapped against the banks.

Some more walking brought me to the edge of the calmer area, where the giggly shrieks of a girl and the slow silencing of the birds could be heard.  Getting further away, the gulls started to squawk.  I always imagine them as the English equivalent of the Hyena.  As the hyena chuckles, it conjures up images of blokes in their mid 20s, snickering like ne'er-do-wells at something inexplicably funny.  As the gull squawks, it brings images of a fat lady cackling to mind, with an association to Bingo, for reasons that escape me.

As I crossed the road, the giggling girl and her friends passed me in a car.  A bloke gestured a thumbs up to a cab that was parked in the middle of the road, asking for a lift.  No such luck.  The man and his lady friend crossed the road and started walking behind me, where she let out a big, classy belch.

Moving towards the outskirts of the town, the birds got louder once again.  The kebab shops had long since closed and the pubs were shut.  The beautiful sound of nature had only really been interrupted thrice by cars, but for a much longer time as I walked through the desolate streets.  It's a shame they have been driven out somewhat by the want of a cushy life.

Even so, I sit here now in bed, typing away to the sound of several birds behind me in the garden and the ever-funny Danny Wallace on iplayer.  I love our garden.  I love this part of town.  Junkies next door aside, it's a very nice place to live.  But I shall talk about that another time.  (Turns out that the time in the second paragraph is now wrong.  Huzzah).

As for now, I must rest my weary legs and close my tired eyes, 

for in three hours hence, I must once again arise

to work a ten-hour shift, finishing early in the night,

I'll hopefully sort my hours out, so that they might not be so rubbish.

That synching feeling.

I don't think I will ever stop loving the irony of a fat man in a sports shirt.  Obviously, the fact that XL(+) tops are available and selling is reason enough for companies to continue making them, but I really do hope that this has not blinded them to their own fantastic derision of the more portly gentleman.  I do suppose it is nice to wear one's team's colours, but arguably more so when one is playing the sport one follows.  I'm not saying it doesn't annoy me.  To an extent, it does.  I just find it more hilarious than bothersome.

Now.  I am going to be a bit controversial.  I'm going to say straight that I think the case involving Baby P was blown out of proportion.  It seems as though I'm going a bit conspiracy theory crazy, as I'm starting to think that it was a distraction from the whole 'MPs claiming ridiculous expenses'.  See, the first inkling of something being awry re: MPs was noticed on the 9th of June last year (2008).  It was to do with the Torys and what they'd been claiming back under 'expenses'.  Now, Baby P was found dead in his cot on the 3rd of August, 2008 - just 24 days after.  I am part of a family that has fostered lots of children.  Lots.  I can safely say that the Social Services here are, at best, average.  Many, many children get a new life from the foster system and the adoption system, but many more get screwed over in equal measure.

  We looked after some kids who were not to be living with their mum ever again - by order of a judge.  Two weeks before Christmas, they are taken off us and given to their Nan to live in her care.  Their Nan lived with their mother.  Way to go, Social Services.  They were so close to escaping a crappy life and starting fresh when they were readily sent back there and now, several years on, they are on the adoption list, having had to live through another stretch of needless anguish.

Was this talked about in the news?  Nope.

Every day, so many children are abused.  Every day, children across the country are killed as a result of abuse.

Is this normally in the news?  No.

Maybe the time our Social Services gave our ex-directory phone number to the parent of one of the kids we were looking after.  Buh.  Good idea, guys.

Hardly national news-worthy, but maybe locally?  Nah.

But Baby P?

I'm not saying that we should overlook this sort of thing - quite the contrary.  I think that every case should be made known, but I know that if that were to happen, a separate paper would have to be created for it.  And no-one likes weekend supplements at the best of times.

I am just aware that when one case is scrutinised, like this one was, there must be something else going on.  Otherwise it will be looked over.  In this case, the something else seems to have been the expenses claims.  Over the course of two weeks, a multitude of claim cases came to light, from houses that have been fully paid for, to a floating duck island.  Once it seemed that this was no longer covered up, the people responsible for the death of Baby P were sentenced.  Once they were sentenced, the government suggested ways to fight the claims, hoping that it had all blown over.

I'm not a conspiracy theory nut, something just doesn't sit right about this.

Well.  This and Madeline McMurdered-by-her-parents.

I'm heading to America in a couple of months.  I'm going there to study for a year and I'm looking forward to it enormously.  Granted, money is an issue - as it always is - and I've never traveled ..  well..  anywhere on my own before, but I'm still pretty excited.  I have made it my (not-so-secret-anymore) mission to correct the Americans in their speech, spelling and grammar (but seeing as though my Mac is already against me, I'm not holding out much hope).  I doubt they'll take too kindly to it, but it's worth a try.  I'm just going to try and distract them from the fact that I'm going to be using more 'u's and less 'z's then they are.  And that I'm going to be calling them 'zed's and not 'zee's.

Well, this wasn't the lightest of posts.

I tried to make it a bit shorter, as I have noticed that they have been a bit lengthy as of late.

I'll be back with one when I can think of something witty to say.

Swine flew.

Well shut my mouth.  Although I ranted about the new X-men Origins film the last time I posted  (in case you missed it.  If you did it's just below this one), it turns out that a spin off of the spin off is planned.  With Mr Reynolds playing the loudmouthed merc, again.  So hey, yea they ruined the character in Origins, but then again, they have a big chance to redeem themselves.  X-men Origins: Wolverine is out and good.  X-men Origins: Magneto is said to be on the way.  There is another Origins film planned and it's going to be looking at the first few years of Xavier's Institute, which should be good to see even more powers being put on the screen.  This second trilogy is a spin off, then there looks to be the fore-mentioned Deadpool spin off.  I am very happy now.

I very rarely buy clothes.  Clothes is clothes, in my eyes.  I'm not really into brands, it's just that when I do find things that I like, they just happen to have logos and graphics on that represent certain companies.  The upside of not really being bothered about what I wear has become an advantage in recent years.  Because I'm not pouring money into it week after week, when I do find something that I like, I find that I can put more money towards it.  Like the other day - I got a complete outfit (sans shoes) for £30.  It's so uncommon that I buy clothes that it did feel weird spending that much in one go, but at the same time I know that some people buy clothes weekly.  Fair enough, but I urge you to give this a go.  Just don't buy clothes for a few months.  Wear what you have.  It's not that hard and it'll save you a bit of money.

I don't know whether or not I like or dislike the times when a sound interferes with a dream.  Sometimes it's amazing.  There was one time in the Lake District that I remember this happening.  I was in a tent with my brother (tent sharing is customary and necessary in a large family) and it was the early morning.  I was having a weird dream in which several people were laughing hysterically.  The laugh wasn't the best laugh.  In fact it was a bit creepy.  As I awoke, I realised that a badelynge of ducks (That's right.  Badelynge) was waddling past the tent, quacking ridiculously.  A fond memory.  More recently, however, I have been listening to Chris Moyles in the mornings (radio alarm.  Get me with the technology).  As I drift in and out of consciousness, the talking - more often than not the news - incorporates itself in my dreams or rather, the dreams shape themselves round the narration.  Once I'm fully awake and the news is back on again, I get the sense of Deja vu.

So the latest biggest-thing-to-hit-the-planet-this-month is Swine Influenza, it would seem.  A near 40 people have had/got it.  I'm not sure whether or not that's a number big enough to warrant a pandemic preparation, but hey, I could be wrong.  I find it amusing that this particular illness is said to affect the healthy, middle aged populace.  Finally, the old folks and babies get a break.  I don't know how different it is to either Influenza or Man Influenza, but something tells me that it's not much.  People don't know about it so it's scaring them.  The one thing that I find most amusing about it all is that washing your hands is now the in-thing.  Are you kidding me?  I don't need to papers, TV and radio to tell me to wash my hands or to cover my mouth when I cough or sneeze and then not touch people if I sneeze on my hands.  Come off it.  I'm not paying taxes.  If I was I wouldn't be paying taxes for people to remind me that basic hygiene is a good thing.

I went to the Lakes today for a walk.  It is one of the best places I can think of being.  Idyllic is the only thing I can think of saying to describe it.  Nothing more, really.  It's absolutely beautiful.  I got a fair few photos, too.  It was a fairly clear day.  A bit windy, but the sun was out every now and again to keep us thinking that it would turn out nice in the end.  It did once we were back in the car, but that's not where or when we wanted it.  We went on a walk in Ambleside.  I don't know where the walk went or how long it was.  I know it was a good few miles and that's more than I need to know.  I just like walking.  There's something about nature that is comforting.  Something soothing about being in the open, with the fresh air surging through your lungs* and the surrounding sounds encompassing you - the birds' constant chirping; the trees swaying and howling as the wind pours through the branches; the trickles and splashes of the streams and brooks.  The smells should be savoured, too.  Yea, there's a lot of poo, but have you ever smelled fresh water?  Rain on the floor and the trees?  Man, you need to go.

I have no more to say at the moment.

*I know it's more of an in-and-out than it is a through, but you know what I mean.

Nothing to sea here.

WARNING.  I AM GOING TO BE TALKING ABOUT THE FILM 'X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE'.  IF YOU'VE NOT SEEN IT YET AND DON'T WANT IT SPOILING (sort of); THEN DON'T READ IT.

So.  I am going to attempt to review the film.  I'll give it a go, anyway.

I went to see X-men Origins the other day.  Now I am a bit of a geek when it comes to comics and the films based on them.  I am from the crowd that thinks the Marvel films only really became..  well... good.. when Marvel studios stepped on board and gave Iron Man a hand.  Iron Man was a great film.  One that I'd watch right now - and I'm tired.  The X-men Origins (Origins from hereon in) film was a mix of comfortable, reliable, exciting, intriguing and downright disappointing.  And here's why.

It was comforting to go to the cinema and know that I was going to be watching a good film.  The Trilogy of yore was excellent at first, then it got a little bit better, then it got a bit too big for itself and went a bit rubbish.  There's only so much a film can do in terms of visual effects and, indeed story length.  Especially when they are based on graphic novels.  Comics leave at least a bit up to the imagination and a series has the time to spin things out.  A feature film does not have much of either.  The effects - dazzling as they may be - do a lot to try and fulfill the imagination, leaving very, very little for the viewer to put in themselves.  It is also restricted to a couple of hours to tell a story that has had years to develop - and that has also had years to gather a massive fan base.  Even so, I was fairly secure in the knowledge that enough Marvel-based films have been made and that a lot has been learnt from them.  Comforting.

Hugh Jackman put his name on the line again as the ever-excitable wolverine.  Having become the face of Logan in the previous-but-future-films, he had really bought the character to life on-screen.  It was good to see that he hadn't given up the role to someone else in order that they could play the younger him - as a few have done in the past.  It gave me the feeling of reliability - that if he were to play the character again, he wouldn't tarnish the role with some second-rate acting and a bad script.  The on-screen character is - arguably - his creation, and it is something that he would not want to diminish.  His presence in the film made for a reliable story line and this is another reason I was excited to watch it.

It is always exciting to see a film with so many minor supporting roles.  Especially X-men.  Whatever I feel about the Trilogy, I enjoyed seeing the mutants' powers come to life.  Comics do make you use your imagination, but sometimes it is nice to just chill out and let it happen itself.  I was eager to see which mutants would be in Origins - the ones that are named and the ones that would appear as more of a surprise.  Gambit, the Blob and Sabretooth were all in the trailers in some way or another.  There was also John Wraith, who teleported in a similar way to Nightcrawler, but without the BAMF; Agent Zero, who was a pretty sharp shot with the old pistols; and Dominic Monaghan's character Bolt.  I think he could telepathically control electrical things.  His slowly-closing-eyes-whilst-raising-his-fingers-to-his-head gesture got tiring the first time he did it.  A very nice surprise was the katana-wielding smartmouth, Wade.  That's right.  Wade Wilson.  Deadpool.  More about him later.

  It's always nice to see how producers/directors interpret the different powers the characters have and the way they realise them on-screen.  From the first time Wolverine 'Snikked' his claws out to the way Gambit's kinetic energy manipulation shows itself along the details of the cards he wields.  The little things that are thrown in are a joy to look out for.

Now.  Let's bring it back to Deadpool.

  I can appreciate the fact that Wolverine's claws always come out from between his knuckles, regardless of how his hands are positioned.  If his hands were angled as if he were doing press ups, the claws would come out through his palms.  But they don't.  I can let it slide.

  I can understand that to get the effects of Wolverine's healing factor, the camera stays close up on him for a while, so the effects guys can do their thing and show us his flesh sewing up.  I can overlook the fact that this has happened in EVERY FILM HE'S BEEN IN but it's just because people want to see it happen up close.  I can get over that.

  Deadpool.  Now, Deadpool is one my favourite characters that Marvel has thrown up.  I've read more Deadpool than I have anything else.  It's because he is a good character.  A great character.  I urge you to read some Deadpool.  The basic story regarding him is that he got skin cancer and from the Weapon X project, he was given a modified healing factor taken from Wolverine.  Not, as this film would have you believe, EVERY POWER FROM ALL THE MUTANTS THAT STRYKER CAME ACROSS AND LOOKED GOOD.  They completely ruined the character by giving him every power shown to us throughout the film and then killing him off at the end.  Deadpool is a witty mercenary.  The fact that he has the healing factor means that he is more cocky, less tactful and less stealthy than your average merc.  WHICH IS WHY HE IS GOOD.  They really missed a trick by not having a Deadpool film.  Or at least more involvement on his part in this film.  Ryan Reynolds was playing him, too.  Could they be more stupid to turn down a chance like this?

Oh and the pictures?  The first one is Deadpool fighting off a crowd of clowns.  The second one is Deadpool punching Wolverine's girlfriend in the face so that Wolverine will fight him.  I rest my case.

It's got me so Nerdraged that it's made me want to speak in ALL CAPITALS.  MAYBE ITALICS AS WELL.

Well, that went well.

I don't think it was the best review ever, but I had to vent my inner Nerd's rage.

I'll be back with a more calm and undoubtedly better post sometime in the future.

As for now, I am going to bed.

Goodnight.

Why am I knot surprised?

I was tempted - and gave in - to walking home from work the other night with a cocktail stick in my mouth.  I thought it would be cool.  It was not cool.  It was, in fact, so not cool that once I had walked in to the more populated area of town, I proceeded to started to use it in the way that it should actually be used and started scraping at the gaps in my teeth.  I was so uncomfortable to swagger home with a little piece of wood in my mouth that to cover it up, I started to pick at my teeth.  I don't want to do either in future.  So I won't.  Lesson learnt.

I watched Aladdin the other day - just because the DVD player didn't work.  Otherwise I would have had to have watched diamond-boy, spade-in-the-face drivel; Twilight.  I'm so happy the DVD player wasn't working.  Even though I haven't seen Aladdin for well over 12 years now, it turns out that I saw the film so much as a kid that I was still able to quote the film (to myself so as not to annoy the other film watchers) and have the inexplicably warm feeling of knowing what was going to be said next, who was going to say it and what intonations and emphases they were going to put on the words.  It gave me a sense of smug, self-satisfaction that I am now eager to find again by watching every other film from my childhood.  Or The Princess Bride.  Me and my dad just quote that all the way through when it's on.  We're not geeks.

Yesterday, I was given the chance to go to Alton Towers.  It was going to cost quite a bit, but the offer was there nonetheless.  Because of the cost, I declined.  This was a mistake.  Although it meant that I was able to sleep in until 11:50 this morning, I was woken up at this point by my little brother.  It turns out that he is there, too.  That would have been enough to sway my decision to go, but to add insult to absence from Alton Towers, Derren Brown is there today as well.  Great.  Oh well, I guess.  At least I slept through the gym time I'd set aside for myself today and got up with aching shoulders and a headache.  I think I could be the winner of this situation.

I listened to the Stephen Merchant show yesterday on listen again.  I'm quite a fan of his laid-back-but-quick-talking manner.  It was not so long into the show when he read out a text saying (paraphrasing) "I love the show and want to thank you.  I moved to Norway from England a few years ago and, listening to your show is one of the things that I look forward to every week.  I get up at 7:30 in the morning every sunday to hear the show because it reminds me of how funny people are back home.  Thank you."

  This was followed by the announcement that the show was finishing next week.

This isn't the best week for me at the moment, it would seem.

So there it is, friends.  Another installment of vaguely filtered piffle.  It would appear that my filter is set to arbitrary.  I'm going to go and do some work, now.  I needed to do lots of work over the Easter holidays, but I thought that I wolud have a break.  (Because obviously spending two and a half weeks in America and coming back two days before the term ended wasn't enough).  I'll probably only end up drawing something completely unrelated but hey, at least I can post it here.

I'll talk again soon, no doubt.

Block party.

I use more toothpaste per day than I do shampoo.  Such is the virtue of having short hair.  It's not that I don't wash my hair (although people have been shocked to find out that I do actually use shampoo), it's just that I have very little.  I often wonder what I would look like with long hair - maybe a ponytail.  I think my head would be too round for it though.  I'll just cut it shorter and shorter until I have the Jason Statham look down.

I've held back from writing this second post for nearly the whole weekend.  I am both eager and hesitant to write this.  One part of me wants to type until my fingers wear down past the bone and all I am left doing is mashing a bloody keypad with soggy stubs whilst behind them, my body has become part of the sofa, with just my head distinguishing me from the soft purple cushions that so softly beckon me to stay.  Another part of me just wants to go to bed.  Then there's a third part that knows that if one brings on the crazy too soon, one will scare people away.  There's so much I want to say but, like some sort of editor or scolded child, I will think about what I want to say before saying it and then filter it down until nothing but gold remains.  It's a long process and I can't very well be expected to master it one the first try (hence this drivel), but master it I shall.

It would seem that I suffer from creative blocks at the worst possible moments in life.  At the moment, I have three and a half projects looming over me like a think fog.  It took me five hours to get through 1/4 of the final stage of one of these projects today.  I knew what I wanted to do and I (sort of) knew how I wanted to go about doing it, but it was taking me so long.  I suppose the best way to fight a creative block it to barrage it with creativity.  I just open a sketchbook and let the lines go wandering.  There's a picture in there somewhere - I'll come back to it another time and finish it off*.  All I want to do, as those of you who know me, is draw all day, every day.  It seems that blocks know when I'm needing to do actual work, though.  I don't understand.  It's still drawing - I just have something specific that I'm needing to achieve.  But no.  No no no.  If it's work that needs to be done, my mind won't let me.  Anything else, yea, go for it.  You want to draw a fish with a golf club?  Cool.  You want to draw a lumberjack with huge legs, cutting down a tree with six arms?  Do it.  You want to draw a castle?  What for?  Work?  Ah, then no.  No you can't.

(I'm still working on refining the drivel).

So me.  What can I say?  I'm a bloke.  I'm a Christian.  I'm a student.  I'm an artist.  I'm a drummer.  I'm a bassist.  I'm a singer.  I'm a goon.  I'm a Greenskin.  I'm a secret geek.  I'm a film buff.  I'm a hopeless romantic.  I'm a Cornerback.  I'm an Englishman.  I'm a patriot.  I'm an adventurer.  I'm a Stephen.  I'm a photographer.  I'm a novice gamer.

If you don't know what those are, I'll probably go into detail about all of them at some point in the future, so don't worry yourselves.

I've found that starting a blog is a lot like starting a sketchbook.  You don't know what to do on the first few pages, so you throw down anything that comes to mind.  You go back to halfway through old sketchbooks, redraw things from there and improve on them.  Unfortunately, the last written thing that I can go back to and work on is the opening to an essay on a designer that was born between the years 1750 and 1940.  Or a Facebook post.  Either way, it wouldn't bode well for you, the reader, so I shall end it here.  For the next post, I think I'll take notes and stuff like that.  I've already written and re-written a fair few sentences in this post.  Maybe I won't have to do that so much in the future.

I'm off to play Call of Duty with my brother.  It's late and I need to be up early but hey - what's life if you're not pretending to be in the Second World War?

* I won't.

It's bean too long.

So here it is.  Baby's first blog.

I write this with an air of excitement tonight, as I am ready to go and see my brother in concert for the first time.  He's headlining at a venue in Liverpool.  I should be there now, but one of the bands dropped out so I've got another hour at home.  It's good because now I've got a blog to show for it.

I'll keep it short for now.  I have a lot of work to be doing.  I'll update it as frequently as possible (I believe that it's the done thing with blogs) and I'll be putting various links, doodles and photos up (also the done thing).  I found out a few days ago that Facebook likes to take on the rights to anything you put on there in terms of pictures, so I'll be taking my drawings down sometime soon.  Apologies for that.  But hey - you've got this.  I'll make a website when I think I need it a bit more.  I can't do computers.

You too can check out my brother's band.

www.myspace.com/brontidetheband

I got the picture to work, too.  And only on the second attempt.  I'm getting the hang of this...