Time Dilation Theory

Today is dragging it's feet. I've had to pull what was left of the morning kicking and screaming into the afternoon. Now the afternoon is on a go slow. Usually by now it would be late afternoon and I'd be looking over the shoulder of five o'clock, But time is on a work to rule. No skipping any minutes, each second has to be verified ratified and notified to the appropriate department of time and space at the Einstein institute.
On a normal day every so often I'd be really reckless and jump forward in time by sometimes up to 30 minutes. Thus making my working day shorter. But today time is being watched carefully, each second of the day has to be fully experienced. It's boring. Once you've had one second it's much the same as the next. So skipping forward makes a lot of sense and life that much more interesting. It's now four o'clock and it feels like I've been at work for the equivalent of three days straight.
The worst thing is I'll get to the pub tonight and what should be a really good three hour bashing at the falling down water and listening to music will suddenly condense into a mere three seconds. I think this goes to prove Einsteins theory of relativity, or his time dilation theory.
I am currently constructing a working model in my spare time in between customers today. I've put in all the parameters and variables and am now waiting for my mega computer to crunch the numbers, thus proving beyond all shadow of a doubt that lack of alcohol, makes the day longer.
You'll be finding my published thesis on the subject in next months copy of "Science Now". My nobel prize is just around the corner.
My next project for tonight, if it ever arrives, is to be a human guinea pig to support the recently published theory that you can sit in a pub drinking for hours without going to the loo. However as soon as you go for the first time you're up and down like a yo yo for the rest of the night. Apparently this is not just caused by excess fluid intake. It's caused by the release of a neurotransmitter in the bladder area causing the brain to require the release of urine in the form of micturation at an increased rate, Thus the Yo Yo effect. Try it next time you're bladdered, I think you'll find it's true.
Meanwhile back at science central my computer has come up with a problem. It seems a previous version of myself from another dimension has interupted the programme in an effort to stop a time loop beginning where I am forced to stay in this boring afternoon until the end of eternity.

iPod now playing - Time by Pink Floyd

Lap Dancer

I went to my pub tonight. For a pint and a chat with the Quinn brothers.
Then Steve the landlord, changed channels on the satellite feed and put on Naked news. That's got to be seen to be believed. It's channel 235 if you haven't already seen it. There's all these cute girls reading the news. They come on wearing smart business suits and start reading the news. Then they do a striptease whilst still talking about President Bush. The clothes keep coming off until they are completely naked. You don't get that on the BBC.

I was at the bar ordering a pint when I heard this voice next to me. "Hello there. I haven't seen you in a long while." I looked to my left and there was my Lapdancing friend. She's cute as a button and only 25. But she already owns her own house outright. And it's not a small house either.
She is also incredibly intelligent and speaks several languages. Ages ago I asked her why she worked as a Lapdancer when she was so clever and knowledgeable. She put it very simply. She earns a shit load of money doing it, more money than she could ever earn doing a regular job. On top of that she has a daughter to support. A daughter she protects quite vigourously. To the point of working in London, rather than in her home town. She told me that the club she worked at had closed down and now she was working in Bournemouth. But a new Lapdancing club is opening in Peterborough. She has been offered work there but she's worried that it's too close to home. She doesn't want her daughter to have any part in what she does. I get the impression her daughter doesn't have a clue what she does. We chatted for about three or four minutes and she went off to be with her friends. She always talks to me when she comes in, which isn't often maybe once every three months. Maybe she appreciates the fact I don't judge her. I just talk to her about her job just like it's any other job. I don't ask details about exactly what she does in her routines. Though if we had more time it would be fascinating to see it from her point of view. The first time I met her was about a year ago. I was fascinated by how intelligent she was. She doesn't at anytime exude sex. She is so normal. She doesn't flirt or play on her sexuality. She talks sensibly and intelligently. Unless you knew her you'd never guess she was a Lapdancer. In a way I admire her for what she does and the way she composes herself. her friends are all common and loud. You'd think they were the Lapdancers. But she is quiet and respectful. Not quiet in the sense she doesn't say much. Because she does. She talks a lot but she talks in a calm and quiet manner. Her friends let her down. All dressed like tarts. With mouths to match. But my Lapdancer friend wears a smart unrevealing business suit. She has style she has class. She is twenty years younger than me. While all eyes were on the Naked news Channel, I was just happy to watch her move gracefully around the pub sipping her Vodka and orange. I don't have any fantasies about her or dreams. She's not my type and far too young. But I do admire her dignity. Even if I was twenty years younger I wouldn't think of her in any other way, just someone I feel priveliged to have met.

iPod now playing - Long Train Running by The Doobie Brothers

Tantric Sex

Have you ever heard of Tantric sex (as recommended by Sting of the Police AKA Gordon Sumner)? supposedly that's where you have sex for 8 hours straight. Amazing except you don't get to touch each other. God I must be having great sex life according to Sting. So if I'm feeling so fulfilled why am I still desperate to shag someone?
I've just realised that I used to have loads of tantric sex with my ex. We never touched each other. I would be slobbing out in my arm chair and she'd be curled up on the settee. We'd be watching TV. Best sex I ever had. Without touching. The only sex I ever had at the time as it happens. There's a lot to be said for Tantric sex.
In the divorce court you claim “I was denied sex m'lud.”
“That's not true I gave him all the Tantric sex he could handle.”
“Is this true?”
“Well yes we spent hours sitting close together and I wasn't allowed to touch her.”
“But you were thinking of it?”
“Helloooo . I was desperate. Of course I was thinking about it. 286 times a day.”
“So you did have Tantric sex Mr Da Hat. You weren't denied it.”
“No I wasn't denied Tantric sex. I could think about it all I wanted.”
“The court finds in favour of Mrs Da Hat in that she didn't deny Mr Da Hat Tantric sex. Case dismissed.”
I suppose someone somewhere is going to put me right and say “Hang on you do get to touch in Tantric sex.” I Know that. I was just exaggerating for comic purposes.
Yes during this 8 hour marathon of sex and debauchery you only actually get to touch your partner for a total of three milliseconds. In those three milliseconds you achieve nirvana. Which hardly surprising after being teased for eight hours. It wouldn’t take much after that. You’d be like a coiled spring with a hair trigger. Except you’d end up saying “Oops sorry I couldn’t help it.”

iPod now playing - Dry your eyes by The Streets

Who do you talk to?

There's a sign out side a pub I went to on Sunday it read:

Vacancies

Urgently Required

Customers

Apply Within

The Quinn brothers came to my music club last night. Curiously they are both left handed and more curiously they both play right handed guitars upside down. I got a bizarre text from Charlie apologising for not turning up at the club:

Sorry guys I can't

Make it tonight

I've just had my

haircut. See you soon

Charlie

What's all that about? What sort of maniac hairdresser is out there that causes someone not to be able to make the music club because of a simple haircut. Who's my MP on this? Who can we call. Has there been a government white paper on the subject? Has Sweeny Todd come back from the grave? I had a haircut Monday it nearly killed me. Well not exactly the haircut but the four mile walk in the bitter cold and driving snow. The heating had failed at the hairdressers and Jerry had to keep putting on the hairdryers in a futile attempt to warm the place.

Whilst waiting I flicked through "Homme" magazine one thousand pages of adverts. No articles to read just adverts. What's all that about? Who buys this rubbish apart from Hairdressers and Dentists?

iPod now playing - Rhapsody in Blue by Gershwin

Lucky man

You may recall my psychic friend told me that Jupiter or was it Saturn (whatever) was in Scorpio right now and this year will be a very lucky year for me. Of course I pooh poohed that, and thatvery evening I won the raffle at my pub. Well friends one Saturday I won the lottery. Twice!
Two lines £10 each line. Don't all rush with your begging letters. The money has gone already. Jeez I'm such a spendthift. I took my boy to dinner, gave all the money to a pub. Easy come easy go.

So in view of this I am offering shares in Mike Da Hat Ltd. I'm going global. I am making myself a limited company with a view to my future luck. Should anyone care to jump on my lucky bandwagon, you can contact me privately and send me your cash which will be invested wisely, or unwisely, who gives a shit? I can't do any wrong. Dividends will be paid when Jupiter or was it Saturn? leaves the building.

Meanwhile I have to tell you of the filth that's next door in the flower shop. There is and has been a naked lady in the window for the last week. She's one of those clothes models. Petal has seen fit to display her in all her nakedness. Not a stitch on her, her modesty covered only by a few strategically placed flowers. I am at a loss as to how this helps sales of flowers and what relevance it has to the flower trade, but I'm open to suggestion. Perhaps Petal will enlighten us., Meanwhile the little school boys can have a giggle through the window.

iPod now playing - Lucky man by The Verve

Mrs Mad Woman

Mrs Mad Woman came into the shop with her lamp we'd fixed the day before. "Why have you changed the colour of my lamp"
"We haven't we've just repaired it. It was a broken wire."
"Yes you have. This was all Brass and now it's silver."
"That's how you brought it in."
"Don't you tell me how I brought it in. I've owned this lamp for 40 years I should know by now what colour it should be and it shouldn't be silver."
"But for what possible reason would we want to change it?"
"Well I don't know, but you have."
"It's impossible, we can't get spares for new lamps never mind lamps bought in the USA 40 years ago. So even if we wanted to deliberately change your lamp to another colour where would we get the bits?"
"I don't know that. All I know is I want you to put back the bits you've taken off."
"But we haven't taken anything off."
"It's silver do you think I'm stupid not to notice?"
"In forty years?"

Mrs Mad Woman II came in yesterday.
"The man didn't come."
"What man?"
"The plumber."
"We don't have any plumbers. We're electricians."
"I know but he said he be here first thing this morning."
"But it's only 9:15am and you are here. He's probably at your house now looking for you."
"I've been waiting four hours for him."
"What since five this morning?"
"He said he'd be early. Can you phone him for me and ask him what he's playing at?"
"I don't even know him."
"He's in the phone book."
"What's his name I'll give you the number you can phone him."
"I don't know his name.......it might be Bob or Roger."
"I think the best thing is to just go home in case you miss him."
"Yes you're right. If you see him, tell him I'll be back home in five minutes."
"I don't know him."
"He's a plumber."
"Yes I know."
"There you are then."
For Chrissakes give me strength!!!!!

iPod now playing - Englishman in New York by Sting

Chavellers

My local now has a new pool table. It's very nice. The old one wasn't bad well not until the pub was invaded by a load of chavellers. Chavellers is a words coined by my son, as you can guess, they are Chavs who are also travellers or pikeys or gypsies whatever. Well this was last Wednesday, they'd all been to a funeral and were drinking enough to sink the Titanic. The first jolly jape was to dowse the table in Guinness. Oh what larks! Then they proceeded to slice up the cloth. Then they kicked the shit out of the table. A fight broke out and my good friend Dave the Chef got caught up in it and was beaten up.
So now we have a new pool table. It's very nice.

iPod now playing - Crawling up a hill by Katie Melua

The Language Barrier

MY friend MIck who went to live in Spain was scottish, i suppose is scottish he can't say film. He can only say fillum. He used to live next door to a farum.
"A what?"
"A farum."
"What's a farum?"
"You know a farum with cows and stuff."
"Oh a farm."
"Yes that's what I said. A farum."

My sisters adopted daughter is Jamaican she can't "ask" for anything. She said. "I'll axe my mummy"
"What? You're going to chop her up?"
"No silly I'm going to axe her if I can have an Icecream."

The italians here can't say Hotpoint. Which is one of the biggest factories in the City. Making washing machines and tumble dryers. They all say "ottapoint."
"You 'ave parts for ze ottapoint."
"Yes we have Hotpoint spares."
"You fix?"
"Yes what's wrong with it?"
"Ah dunno izza break innit?"
"But what's broken?"
"Ma ottapoint! He izza break I jus said dat."
"Yes but how is it broken, what's wrong with it? What's it not doing?"
"Ah dunno izza break innit. You fixa ma ottappoint or no?"
"OK we fixa da ottapoint. You giva me da money I getta someone to fixa da ottapoint."
"You wanna da money now?"
"No."
"So why you say I giva you da money?"
"You giva da money when we fixa da otterpoint OK?"
"Si iz OK. When you come?"
"I'll call my Engineer............Hello trevor..... yes it's me.... yep I've got a job for you....... izza ottapoint........when can you fix it?.... he's from Woodston..............what's wrong with it?I don't know you ask the customer yourself he's right here."
"Ello you is engineer? ....si... si..... si........woodston.....Larkalanda Road...... numero 23...... si izza ottapoint.......I dunno izza break innit."

iPod now playing - Hand in my Pocket by Alanis Morrisette

....AND THEN YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

So Sunday I had to take darling Gemmalah back to university. We'd got the whole boot jammed packed with all her personal belongings. We also had a car full of people and I'm doing about 85mph up the A1.
All of a sudden there's a bloody great bang and the back end slews round a tad. I manage to keep it in a straight line even though I swear I was going crabwise a while. Then I struggle to get back to the inside lane through the line of lorries and then onto the hard shoulder.
The tyre had a fourteen inch split all round the rim.
We had that tyre changed in ten minutes, including emptying the boot to get at the spare.
Life is so full of adventure isn't it?

Keep the Faith

iPod now playing - Bloody Well Right by Supertramp

......Sometimes you lose

I can feel it love is definitely in the air. I was propositioned last night with promises of untold love and rampant sex. Now normally I'd be really flattered, I'd have a moment of feeling nice that someone actually loves me. But Gay Greg?
I don't think so.
My mates were pissing themselves laughing as Greg promised me the earth would move. Greg was pissed of course. I was sorely tempted to deck him, just to make certain he knew I wasn't batting on the same side as he was. But I am not a violent man. So I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn't interested now or ever, not in this lifetime sonny Jim.
So he said "Oh alright then." and he gave the puppy dog eyes and my mates fell about again. "No hard feelings eh? No offence honest."
"None taken. Just count me out of the equation."
"OK But you do have a nice bum."
"Fuck off Greg."

Sometimes you win sometimes.......

I went to the pub tonight, my pub. I had a thirst. A thirst so bad I could have dived into a swiming pool and drunk the whole pool dry. I ordered a pint of Carling. It's the weakest beer on tap. I do that as a rule because I know myself. I drink too much so I deliberately drink the weakest I can find. I hadn't even got the pint to my lips when this guy came up to me and asked me if I wanted to enter the raffle. He had a card of names of Speedway riders. You choose a name and put yours under it. When the card is full they peel back the sticker and a name is revealed the winner gets £10. I put in £1 for two chances. I chose *********** because that's my brothers name. I'd only drunk one inch of my pint when the guy comes back and hands me a tenner and says You've won.
"What the fuck?"
I could hear voices all round the pub saying "Who the fuck is Mike Da Hat?" They were the voices of the visiting pool team. I was pointed out. Hang my head in shame for winning. But fuck it I'm ten quid better off than I was two hours ago.

It's a Rum Old Life

So last night I'm minding my own business playing with my computer and doing some serious slobbing. That was to be followed by a period of inactivity, then I wasn't going to do anything. If I found time I was going to have a lie down and stare into space for a while.
Well the evening was going really successfully as planned I had achieved absolutely nothing. The phone rang.
Shit! I've got to move to answer it.
It was Del. "Hello Mike Da Hat what yuh doin'"
"Nothing."
"Good you can come round and have a couple of beer with me then."
So I put on my coat and wandered off to Dels.
I sat there two minutes until I finally said
"OK Del where's the beer then."
"Got none." he says.
"You've got me here under false pretences m'boy."
"Got something better." and he reaches down and pulls out a bottle of Jamaica rum and pours me a generous slug.
Nectar.
So we start chilling out and punishing that bottle, in fact we punished it so much the empty is already in the bin.
Diane came in, Dels says "Diane what do we have in the cupboard that needs finishing off?"
She came back with another bottle of rum.
"errr.... I've errr got to go home now Del."
"No you don't sit yourself down and have a snifter of this one. It'll do you good." he pours a generous snifter. Del is nothing if not generous.
It was aweful, it tasted like phenol.
"Gawd Del this is vile."
"Knock it back you'll get used to it. It gets better after the third."
later..........
"I've got to go now Del"
"Ah then you'll be wanting one for the road then."
"No thanks."
"Come on, you knows it."
"No really I've 'ad enuff."
"Come here big fella give us yuh glass. It's cold outside. And will you sit down. You keep standing up it's putting me off I keep thinking your leaving or something."
"Well I am."
"You are what?"
"Leaving."
"When?"
"I was."
"What."
"Leaving."
"Are you?"
" I was before but didn't and I am now but aren't but I will soon."
"Well sit down a while, while you finish your drink."

Well the moral of this tale is.......... I'm not quite sure but my head still hurts and I think I've gone blind.

The Petts Woods Amateur Rapist

There's a middle aged man
In a middle aged coat
And a Middle aged shirt and tie
He wanders the paths and lonely spots
In the woods, Petts Woods, nearby.

He prowls the paths and lonely spots
And hides himself in trees
And when he pounces from his lair
His prey, young girl, she flees.

And she escapes 'cause he is caught
Entangled in a briar
And he curses for he tries hard
But next time he'll climb higher

He'll try to get his timing right
And get his flash on cue
He'll open his mac as fast as light
And grease his zipper too

So if you're down in the woods
And he flashes you please say
"That's disgusting you filthy thing"
It would really make his day.

******************************

I'm working real hard on this depression lark. I'll get back to writing properly soon. Anyway the stupid poem is about a flasher who used to frequent Petts Woods which is near Orpington in Kent. He was called locally the Amateur Rapist. I'm not sure if it's politically correct but who gives a flying f***. I've had it up to my back teeth in political correctness.
I was discussing kids games with Del yesterday, Del works for the council as a childrens play coordinator. It seems children aren't allowed to play anymore. Anything that might be deemed even vaguely risky is verboten.
"What about those 30 foot ropes swings over the river we used to make?"
"Can't do that anymore.
"How about all those home made bows and arrows?"
"I think you'll find that's covered in section three of the what not to do manual."
"What about the box carts made out of old pram wheels, and flying down hills on them."
"Too dangerous."
"So I suppose taping kitchen knives onto broom handles and playing gladiator is out too."
Well we talked and Del came up with the theory that children aren't allowed to do anything dangerous in their play so what do they end up doing? Joy riding and drugs. Now which is preferable?
A smacked up kid stealing your car and probably taking your car and themselves out at the same time.
Or a damned good rope swing over a river and the chance of getting a good soaking?
Kids need that element of risk and danger. Otherwise what is there to live for? Cuts scrapes bruises were all part of our everyday life. Running into the kitchen with blood pouring from your head.
"Gis a plaster mum we're having a great game........ I'll be out again in a minute lads........ come on mum all I need is a plaster."
Now we have risk assessments and culpability, public liability insurance. Ambulance chasing lawyers. Give me a break.

iPod now playing - Misere mei by Allegri

You're a Cad and a Bounder Sir

With nothing better to do I wrote this little skit for a friend.
I'd been talking to someone about relationships and this lot just sort of slipped out onto the keypad.

"You're a cad and a bounder Sir and I demand satisfaction."
"Well get your kit off while I warm my hands."
"Where's the romance?"
"I'm sorry dearie romance is extra. I need prior warning for romance, there's stuff to arrange, flowers to be bought, choccies to find."
"But surely romance is part of the satisfaction I have demanded."
"Well there's the nub of it m'lady, it's your definition of satisfaction, if you check the small print of your contract what you 'ave signed not ten minutes ago, you will notice a small codacil........'ere you are ma'am, a magnifying glass.... ahem, as I was saying, and I quote "The designated Cad and Bounder" that's me ma'am "will satisfy on a purely physical basis the satisfyee" that's you ma'am."
"But it's so small."
"It's not what you 'ave dear, it's what you does wiv it, as they say."
"Well what do I get for my six pence and three farthings?"
"A kings ransom ma'am to be sure. Let me consult my code of practices manual, pocket sized for convenience. Hmmmm Yes ma'am the world is your oyster, we 'ave an 'ole plethora of things you can have for six pence three farthings however if you want to make it seven pence 'apenny I'll throw in light conversation as well. Although if you notice codacil three in your contract it firmly states religion an' politics is out."
"Do I have enough for a shag?"
"A shag ma'am? A shag? I'm sorry but we at Cuthbert Mortimer and Bragg do not engage in... oh dear oh dear... a simple shag as you so eloquently puts it. We as finesse, style, we lovingly coax you to your required level of satisfaction we do not.... as you put it..... shag."
"But you are a Cad and a Bounder surely that requires the ability to shag."
"It's a simple marketing tool ma'am. Caveat emptor."

iPod now playing - Exultate jubilate alleluia by Mozart

Squashing the Inventive spirit

Many years ago when I was a third year junior in Cyprus I designed and constructed a miniature dart made from a sewing needle, a piece of insulation from an electrical wire, paper and sticky back plastic. I could load it into an empty biro case and fire it with incredible accuracy. I was so proud of this invention that I had to take it to school to show my friends. They were amazed that I could hit a small target from ten feet.
I spent a while demonstrating this weapon of mass distraction. My friends all stood round marvelling. Suggesting targets I could hit.
I was lining up a shot at a painting on the wall, when someone nudged me saying "Gis us a go." The dart was on it's way and hit Cheryl B in the shoulder. She screamed.
We all stood there looking at her while this hyperdermic was dangling from her skin. She pulled it out and the tiniest beed of scarlet appeared on her skin. It couldn't have been more than a millimetre in diameter. But she screamed some more.
My first thought was she was a wimp. My second thought was "please stop screaming." She didn't. A teacher ran in to see what the commotion was about. Mr Humphreys, God bless him, my favourite teacher.
Cheryl B was a whimpering wreck.
For Gods sake, it's only a flesh wound. Get over it. You're not dead. Claim your purple heart and take it like a man. But she wasn't a man she was a nine year old girl. She stood there holding my incredible invention and pointing to the merest drop of blood on her shoulder.
"Mike Da Hat shot me wiv it."
Traitor!
Yes I wore hats even at that age. Then it was an army bush hat. Given to me by some guy in the UN. I had army badges all over it and wore it Australian fashion one side pinned up. I wore it all the time. Even in bed. The blue UN badge taking pride of place right at the front. To the left was the badge of 261 signal squadron and to the right the badge of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers. REME.
Mr Humphrey took the dart and my arm and dragged me off to an interview with the headmaster, Mr Warner. I was left outside the office while Mr Humphrey went in to explain the situation to the headmaster. After a few minutes I was called in.
I stood in front of the headmasters desk while Mr Warner held my creation in his fingers.
"This is a very dangerous thing." he said.
I know that. But look at the workmanship. Look at the creative genius that went into making it.
"You could have blinded someone with this."
I know that as well. It's a lethal weapon but I made it with my own hands. Don't you think it's incredible. It's so accurate.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you.
Give me a medal for being a genius.
"I am going to have to speak to your parents about this."
Please. That would be great, tell them how inventive I am.
"I am also going to have to write a letter to poor Cheryls parents apologising for this incident."
What? What on earth for? She made such a fuss over nothing. You ought to be giving HER grief for being a wimp. We're armed forces children, we're made of tougher stuff than that. Why are you on at me? You should be congratulating me for being so inventive. A credit to humanity. One of the chosen few, who are truly gifted.
"Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"
I said nothing. I shuffled a bit.
"Come on boy, haven't you a tongue in your mouth?"
At this point I knew I had to say something. We were part of the priveliged few. I had responsibility. My Father was the station Warrant Officer, I could not let him down, I couldn't let the armed forces down by keeping quiet and wimping out like Cheryl B. I wasn't going to cry. The reputation of the whole of the British Empire rested on me at that moment. I had to admit responsibility and take it like a man. I wanted to cry, I was so scared. I bit my lip.
"Well?" Mr Warner looked at me with one of his sternest stares.
"It was my dart. I made it, and I'm sorry that this happened."
"And it's not going to happen again?"
"No Sir."
"I don't want to see you in my office ever again."
"NO Sir."
"Well cut along then."
What no punishment? No firing squad? No stripping to the waist and getting whipped to within an inch of my life? Not even detention?
I walked out his office, amazed that I hadn't even incurred jankers. Nothing. I got off scot free. Perhaps he recognised my genius after all. Secretly he knew my dart was a precurser to greater things. I was going to save the world, cure cancer, solve the worlds economic problems, feed the third world, I was going to be the next Kissinger, a nobel prize winner.
How wrong he was. I ended up a nobody. My contribution to this world
amounts to exactly nothing. I have dedicated my life to non achievement.

Maybe I can convince myself I've scared a few birds so planes from Luton and Heathrow didn't crash due to bird strikes. I might have saved hundreds of lives. I've built a few gardens as a landscape gardener. But hey! That doesn't ignite the passions. I've baked countless loaves of bread as a baker and saved the world from hunger. I've repaired countless vacuum cleaners and microwave ovens. But does that drag me into the hall of fame? No. I'm just one of the forgotten masses.

We all crave recognition for the small part we play in this world. I'm a musician. I'm not even a good musician. I do a job. I entertain a few people who happen to turn up at a venue. They don't come to see me. They are there by default. They've got nothing better to do.
But when they start singing along and dancing in front of us, for a very short time I feel important. When girls come up to us and start kissing us and saying "thank you" then it becomes worthwhile. I'm not going to change the world. I'm not going to make a difference. But for a very short while. For a very few people, I am up there. I could have been someone but then so could any one. I'm just me. I don't want to pretend I'm something I'm not. But that dart was something else. I could have laid waste to the world with that dart. A small acorn that was trodden into the dust.

Rock on dudes we're all just small cogs in a bigger world.

iPod now playing - Boom Boom by John Lee Hooker