Monday, 21 August 2017

An Alarming Situation.

I'm trying to not get alarmed but an alarming situation in my apartment is causing me a huge amount of stress.

I have a faulty alarm system in my apartment.  It went off several times over the space of two weeks. I had some guy check out the alarm and I thought it had been fixed.  However, it's acting up again.

This is the routine.  The alarm goes off.  Red and blue flashing lights with the noise at the level of an air raid shelter, emanates around my apartment.  My intercom rings and a care worker asks me if I'm okay.  At least, I think that's what they say.  Two minutes later, the doorbell rings.  The care worker notes that there is no evidence of smoke, of cooking, of anything that would trigger the alarm. She gets the alarm switched off and files a report.

It's a good thing that Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar has not been here during any of the times the alarm has gone off.  I can imagine how frightening it would be to her.

I have a lot of issues with this place.  I'm making plans to get the hell out of here.  Penny has a partial post done in regards to another farcical situation here.

I shall quickly post this before the alarm goes off again.......Haven't even checked for tipos, um, typos......

Tuesday, 8 August 2017

Reliving The Pain, Yet Again.

Here I go again.  Or, here I not go again.  

This is getting frustrating.  I've been trying to get the blogging momentum back.  Now, once more, I'm having hassles from the British government in regards to my benefits entitlement.  Benefits I wish I didn't need but are my financial lifeline. 

After a total breakdown from nearly nine years of systematic workplace bullying, physical, financial and psychological, my doctor signed me off work.  

This meant I needed assistance from the government.  Assistance that makes me feel like a criminal every time I have to go to a face-to-face assessment to justify my case as to why I should still be entitled to help.  Such meetings force me to dredge up a painful past full of horrific memories I'd rather not choose to relive.  

I went to such an assessment last Friday, August 4.  The assessment played on my mind from the day, about a month ago, when I got the appointment notice through my letterbox.  I now have to wait a few weeks to find out if I still have my benefits.

It's really difficult to concentrate on writing when I have such worries.  I'm angry that the bullying, from over twenty years ago, still impacts my life.  Bullying that cost me my marriage, my home and very nearly the final remnants of my self-respect as the drinking that ensued almost cost me my life.    

I shall be shutting off the comments section again.  I need time to reflect upon this latest saga and do my utmost to embrace the positive possibilities that may still come out of this worrying situation.  

Distractions can come in mighty handy.  A distraction such as the video below.
I've been watching this show.  The inspiration, the laughter, the profound moments, demonstrate the joy that can be found in life.

Tuesday, 25 July 2017

Eye Don't Believe It.

Just when eye thought my blogging momentum was returning, eye find eye am having a bit of a problem with focusing my vision.

It's quite difficult typing this post when my computer screen looks more like an aquarium.  This situation, which is happening in my right eye, should be sorted out within the next few hours.  

You see, well you see, eye'm kinda' vain and eye hate wearing my glasses.  Eye was removing my contact lenses and part of the right contact lens decided to break off.   It's floating aimlessly about at the bottom part of my right eye.  The minor injuries unit at the local hospital can flush the contact fragment out. 

Oh and wearing my glasses makes it even weirder.  

Thus and eye don't believe it, eye'm switching off the comments on this post.  Hopefully eye will return shortly.

Here's a photo of my right eye from a few years ago.  Eye took the photo myself.  

Did eye ever mention that eye attended school with a pupil named Iris.....

Saturday, 15 July 2017

Mark Oh Polo!

You might be familiar with Polo.  A bizarre game where a bunch of posh folks ride around on horses. These Polo Pony prancers hit a wooden or white plastic ball with some kinda' weird mallet.  Apparently, you're supposed to hit said ball with said mallet into, ideally, the opposition's goal. What the Chukka, I say.  I've read that a Chukka is a period of play in Polo. 
You might be familiar with Water Polo.  A bizarre game where a bunch of wet folks try to throw a ball into a goal.  The players chase around a rubber or a nylon ball.  The balls get bigger in size as you get older.  The balls start at size one all the way up to size five for adult men who like to play with the biggest balls while frolicking in the water. 
What you might not realise is that in Water Polo the players are riding around on Seahorses. 

Polo
Oh no
What the Chukka
Who gives a Fukka
Water Polo
Big balls, hello!
Riding on a Seahorse
Underwater intercourse
Polo is a car
Not a car by Jaguar
Polo is a mint
Strong enough to make you squint
Polo is a shirt
Goes rather well with my skirt
Polo is an aftershave
Splash some on before I rave. 

Saturday, 8 July 2017

Musical "Cymbalism".

I've never been in a LOVER'S triangle.

However, finally, at long last, I've become a SEX cymbal.
That calls for a drum roll. 


Thursday, 22 June 2017

The Community Of Humane Humanity.

For the past three weeks, I've started this post, erased the words and started again and again...

I was going to tell you what had transpired in regards to the bursitis in my right elbow.

And another tragedy would happen in Britain.  Yes, Britain, "this green and pleasant land".  A land tested and tormented to an insidious breaking point.  I'd start to type again and another tragedy would befall this beleaguered, fragile land.

Each heartbreaking incident has deeply impacted ever fibre of my emotional being.  Floods of tears have cascaded down my cheeks.

So much pain. Some perpetrated by acts of terror. And then there was the horror of the apartment tower.  

It made the physical pain I'd experienced, for just over eight months, pale into insignificance.  Yes, through the passage of time, a further evaluation by my doctor, it has turned out that I will not be needing surgery.  My right elbow is almost back to normal.

My elbow situation is but a sideline issue in regards to the overall ethos of this post.

For through each tragedy I've witnessed, there has been a tangible sense of a real, loving community. A gathering of humanity.  All united in a solidarity that gives them, gives you, gives me hope through the hell.  People from all walks of life, the rich, the poor, the black, the white, the Muslim, the Christian, the Jew, the atheist and the agnostic, embracing, crying together, being there for each other in a peaceful defiance to what could, but never will, tear us apart.

All different.  All equal. We must not let hatred, through ignorance, breed further hatred and ignorance.  Let us celebrate humanity's diversity.  Let us learn from each other, in peace, in love.

Extremism, in all its ugly forms, will never, ever defeat us.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Going Down.

You might of realised that I've left the comments switched off for the last few, very short blog posts. The reason being is that I do try to comment back individually to anybody kind enough to take the time to comment.  However, while my right elbow was still not completely okay, it's been a struggle to type.  Besides, I also like to be proactive on other blog sites and leave comments.  I've failed miserably in doing this during the last several months of having an "el-boob" aka "tennis elbow.

I'll be switching the comments back on fairly soon because my elbow has just about healed without the need for surgery.  I explain the farcical situation about it at a later time.

In the meantime, I'll share another experience with you.

Don't you just hate it when you push the button to go up in the lift, also known as an elevator and you end up going down.  This happened to Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar and myself, a couple of days ago. We were on the second floor.  We wanted to go to the third floor and found we were going down, going down to the first floor.  The doors opened and before us were three pensioners, one of them had a mobility scooter.  Realising that there wouldn't be enough room for all of us, Penny and I graciously got out of the elevator and waited for a later moment.

Thankfully, we've memorised the route because sometimes going up means you end up going down.

Thursday, 25 May 2017

"Hairing" My Clean Laundry.

Okay, time to put away the neatly folded, nice, clean laundry. 
"Ah Gary, my wonderful human dad, you've got no chance!" 

Monday, 22 May 2017

Who Laughed First?



Just had a staring contest with Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar.  And yay, I won!  She laughed first! Oh, before some smart ass wonders, I'm in the photo on the right.  The one wearing the baseball cap. 

Friday, 19 May 2017

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

What A Reception.

Oh no, not again!  I phoned the health centre and got the following message.  "All of our receptionists are currently engaged..."  

Good gosh, I phoned to arrange an appointment with the doctor.  I didn't phone to find out about the relationship status of the receptionists......

Friday, 12 May 2017

One Trump Or Two.


Well, how about that!  Boris Johnson, that bizarre, bumbling buffoon, former mayor of London, was born in New York city. Time to send him back so he can be closer to his older brother. Yes, that other bizarre, bumbling buffoon....

Thursday, 11 May 2017

Spotted.

While I'm still waiting for surgery on my right elbow, which should hopefully be sorted out on May 26, yes, May 26 of this year, I'm going to attempt to do a series of short posts.  And yep, the comments are still switched off in the interim.  I will, however, continue to share your posts via all those gosh darn fun social "notworking" sites...


I was in town earlier and I "spotted" one of my neighbours. Amazing what you can do with a marker pen. 

Thursday, 27 April 2017

Spot The Dog.

Yep, still waiting to get my elbow fixed.  Still need surgery.  I've got a vague letter from a nearby hospital that might well be in regards to having surgery or perhaps have some doctor stick a needle in my elbow, yet again.  Only to have the doctor look puzzled and tell me I should get some surgery on my elbow.  I think they should rename the hospital.  "Groundhog Day Hospital", perhaps.

The letter from the hospital is for me to show up on May 26 of this year.  Yes, I will phone them and ask what the hell my appointment is actually for.

In the meantime, I still have the comments section switched off.  If you check your Google + and Twitter accounts, you may note I've been sharing your posts.


For reasons beyond my comprehension, you might be one of those bloggers who's obsessed with the alphabet. This means you might well be posting up some A to Z stuff.

As a bit of a distraction for you, please have a look at the above photo, taken near "The Roaches" in the Staffordshire Moorlands, near Leek.  Spot the dog?  That's not a reference to Spot the dog and the series of books.  Do you notice Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar having a right good sniff?

Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Hospital Humour Meets The Comedy Clinic.

You may have noticed I'm still not exactly active in the blogging world.  Yep, I'm lurking in the background sharing your posts via the various social "notworking" sites.  That's about the extent of it because I'm stuck in irony overdrive. Stuck,for now, with the aggravating "tit" on my right elbow aka "tennis elbow" aka bursitis.

I went to the hospital to get it sorted out way back on February 28.  I should of sensed that things weren't going to go well when the doctor asked me if I had a Northern Irish accent.  That's a new one on me.  Sort of refreshing, I guess, when I think about the number of times people have asked me what part of the States I'm from.  I have, well sort of still have, a Canadian accent.  Some might think my accent is "mid-Atlantic".  Which confuses me because I most certainly don't sound Jamaican.  "No way, mon!"

Oh, I've nothing against Northern Irish accents if you like to listen to people who sound pissed off all the time.  Maybe the doctor thought I was pissed off.  He would be correct, especially after what transpired next.

Right then, so this doctor, who probably sees loads of swollen elbows in a day, stuck in needle in the offending right elbow.  He looked puzzled.  "Never seen this happen before." he stated, "I should be getting out fluid but I'm getting out blood."

For the next few minutes he proceeded to squeeze my elbow.  He finally gave up, stuck a plaster on my elbow and suggested I have surgery.  I agreed to that.  He told me I would get a surgery date.

I left the hospital with a sense of irony.  My elbow was now feeling worse than before I went to the hospital.  Yes, irony right up there with the time my car got wiped out by an ambulance.  Note, "irony overdrive", in the first paragraph of this rather disjointed post.

On March 9, I received a letter that I thought would be in regards to my appointment for my surgery. Instead it was for me to make an appointment with a doctor at my health centre for a routine check in regards to my visit to the hospital.  Huh!?

On March 27, I got to see a doctor about the letter I'd received  He was as puzzled as I was about not actually getting a date for my surgery.  He said he'd  contact the hospital to actually get me a real time for my surgery. What a complete screw up.  Thus, I wait and wait and wait...






















Here's me
Doing a selfie
What agony
See my elbow
Oh no and woe
Took five days to type this
Not exactly bliss
Elbow, el-boob, on this dude
How very, very crude. 

Tuesday, 21 February 2017

Ten Years After.

Today, February 21, marks the ten year anniversary of what has become a rather sleepy blog.  Yes, ten years to the day, I set out to demonstrate that my mental health issues are only a small part of who I am.

The past year has challenged every fibre of my resolute determination.  I will not, I cannot ever go back to that dark, foreboding place that put me on the brink of death.  I have so much to live for.

Those that bullied me brought me to a profound crossroad in my life.  A broken, shadow of a man who found the way out as I lay dying on a hospital bed.  I clung onto the loving power instilled in me by the hug from my then nine year old son, Tristan.  My son saved my life for he gave me a reason to live.

I choose to live with rather than suffer from my mental illness.  My illness, not a curse.  An ironic blessing that's humbled and inspired me.

While I still struggle with getting any semblance of blogging momentum back, I have, once again, switched off comments.  I know you will understand.  I'm grateful to you.

"Ten Years After" and this song is still so very poignant. 

Penny the Jack Russell dog 
The heart of this blog
Together, we have a visualisation
A blessed realisation
Of the flag of peace unfurled
In an all different, all equal world.  

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Bungling, Bureaucratic Buffoonery.

I'm sitting here in my living room trying to cope with one ridiculous situation followed by another ridiculous situation.

For the past year, my vital link to the world beyond my computer screen has been sabotaged by a variety of issues that have challenged my right to a peaceful, positive environment.  I miss blogging and the interaction shared within the diverse blogging community.

I have loads of issues, mental and physical.  These issues have been dramatically compounded by the relentless incompetence of the bungling, bureaucratic buffoonery that has gone into sadistic overdrive, especially over the past twelve months.

Yes, in between hospital appointments, doctors appointments and bouts of severe depression, the UK government is now hassling me, yet again, about my claim for benefits.  Benefits, I might add, I wish I didn't need.  I didn't choose to become ill and now, just like all the other times I've been pursued, they are making me feel like a criminal.

Excuse me for swearing, but I've fucking had enough!  I feel terrible for not interacting with you.  I just wish I could focus on the blog and get the positive momentum back.

Please note that the comments section is switched off.  Thank you.

My friend, keep embracing the ideals of the all different, all equal blogging community.  A community that shares.  A community where we learn from each other as we strive to make this fragile, beleaguered planet, a better place for all of us.


Saturday, 28 January 2017

Bucket, Bewildered Brain And Blessing.

Right, that's it!  Enough, already.  It seemed that every time I was about to formulate a blog post, something else would happen that meant that I would suddenly find myself not formulating a blog post.

I've been so much in the blogging background and lacking in interaction that getting the momentum back has been a most daunting task.

I started writing this post over a week ago.  Then I heard this dripping noise.  I should add that the dripping noise had nothing to do with me or Penny the Jack Russell dog.  I looked over at the light fixture on my living room ceiling where drips of water were plopping down onto the carpet.

My bewildered brain realised that water coming from a light fixture was not a good idea.  Yes, my brain had a lightbulb moment.  I started feeling a bit pale because I needed a pail. Off to the kitchen to find the bucket.  "Ah bucket!", I mumbled.  "Ah, there's the bucket under the kitchen counter!"

Bucket lined up below the drip.  Make emergency phone call.  Two guys stared at the stains on my ceiling, noted the drips from the lighting and concluded that I had a leak. As in the ceiling had a leak and not me.  Brilliant and what observational skills.

Ceiling is now fixed but the bucket remains for a little longer.

So, after more than a week, here I am back to finish this post.

The last few months have challenged my vulnerable mental health well being.  Then a small moment of magic happened that more than made up for the torment I've been experiencing.  Paula, a dear friend of mine who lives in south Wales, was checking out the loft in her house.  She discovered some photo negatives.  Yes, remember the days before digital cameras.  When she realised what the subject of the negatives were, she contacted me and sent the developed photos.

My son, Tristan, Penny and I, are most grateful for Paula taking the effort to bring back some cherished memories of the past.  Thank you, Paula.




I'm guessing that these three photos are from around early 2001.  My son is 12 and Penny is about 3 months old.  Oh and the old dude would have been 46.

Tuesday, 10 January 2017

At This Rate..

At this rate
Oh, how grate
Um, great
Never too late
To soon do a post
From this lazy host
I'm almost back
Been ever so slack
Get back on track
My interaction gets better
With every letter
That I right
Um, write
Yep, I'll soon be in site, sorry, sight
Aint that write, doh, right
Comments not on
But it wont be long
Watch out for the next post
From this baffling host.