Blog at 30,000 ft

Well this is the first blog entry from 32,000 feet, plus I’ve had half a bottle of Chenin Blanc. So last night was a bit weird, I was absolutely freezing, so called I at day (night) at 10PM and crawled into bed with half a bottle of Pinot and some Ryvitas. Finished watching episode of ‘Sex education’ and then it was lights out. According to the sleep app tracking I managed just under five hours sleep, which considering the anticipation wasn’t too bad. I was fully awake at just gone 3AM and lay in bed, well alternating between laying in bed and going for a pee. Finally the first alarm went off at 5:45, I managed to resist getting up until just before six. Usual round of coffee and cereal, followed by the inevitable bowel movement. It was heavy rain all last night and it continued this morning. I left just after 6:30AM. Was at the airport at 7:15 and into security. They decided that somebody with two phones a tablet and two watches, plus numerous batteries and two watches was somewhat suspect, plus the addition of a pad lock. So they had a good rummage before they sent me on my way. I must of timed it pretty well as I just had time for a quick half and a little wonder before it was boarding time. I’m now on the plane.

So the plan is to meet up with Pete and have a good time. One thing I know for sure is this four days off not drinking thing really isn’t working. My sleep pattern is hell and I’m just binging on the days that I do drink. So will have to think about an alternative arrangement. 

The Turkey Monologues – Barry 57 – Plumber

(To be read as a stream of consciousness)

She was the quiet one. There was the three of them in the corner, her, her sister and her friend. I had my eye on her friend first, she was the pretty one, all dolled up, trying to look twenty-one when she was probably closer to sixteen. Long flowing blue dress. It was the colour of the summer sky. She had no interest in me though, I didn’t have the film star looks she was seeking, even by that age I was beginning balding and my belly was certainly looking like a Yorkshire pudding expanding over the edge of the baking tin.

She eyed me up, little did I know at the stage. I gathered my whits about me and stood up. I don’t actually remember our first words but we danced the night away. She moved like an angel, I moved more like a steam train, heavy and on rails.

Married in the spring. Small wedding, her sister, mother and giggling friend. My mother and brother, shortly before he was killed in the forces. I never had great aspirations, plumbing, taught by my father, noble profession, ‘Will always put food on the table lad, someone somewhere will always have tried to flush something they shouldn’t have down a toilet’. He was right, never out of work, which was a good thing.

It started shortly after our wedding night. She had what I can only say as a very ‘short’ temper. I was never a drinker, always made me feel a bit sick, I always stuck to a nice brew, on a special occasion I could be pushed to a port and lemon, she always said that was ‘a ladies drink’. I tried stout once and couldn’t eat for three days.

Six AM, seven days a week, always up at six. Early to rise, another one from my father. ‘Be up with the lark, and bed by the moon’. I can’t say that did him much good, he died at sixty from consumption.

First it was just a raised voice. ‘Barry, your boots, you’ve dragged mud all over the kitchen again’. We never had children, we tried, on a couple of occasions, I was certainly no Casanova. She always said that I may be a plumber but I couldn’t fix my own pipes.

We never had a physical relationship, well not in that way. She was always chaotic while I liked a sense of order. It was probably after about a year it started. We’d been been ambling along quite happily in our two up, two down. Greyhounds were my thing. Once a fortnight. Local track, couple of shillings. I wasn’t a big gambler, never spent more than I could afford. Not that I had any money anyway, she insisted it all went in the jar. Every job, every bit of paperwork was scrutinised, every penny had to be accounted for. It was only the ‘extras’ I received I got to keep. I was known for being discreet and minding my own business, I wasn’t a meddler, what went on in a man’s home I believed stayed there, maybe that was part of the problem. On several occasions I was called out to do ‘special’ plumbing jobs. I remember one in particular. A mature lady married to a rather well known member of the constabulary, had what can only be described as an ‘indiscretion’ with a man from the military. The local ‘doctor’ had to pay a visit. I later had to unblock the sewage pipe.

The first bruise never really showed up. It was probably my fault anyway. I should have never have left the gas cylinder by the back door, I didn’t expect her to catch her dress on it. Food wise, was always potted something, spam, chicken, stake and ale. Always came out of a tin. I was never really a good cook, my mother always catered for that. I don’t think my father ever ventured into the kitchen once. ‘Woman’s domain’, that’s what he always said. Always ate off a tray, never had a television, she said it would give me ‘ideas above my station’. We had a radiogram, one of those old fashioned ones, the radio would drift in and out, she always said she wanted a new one, but I couldn’t earn enough to provide one.

The rib was an accident. I’m sure she never meant to tug the power cord of the vacuum cleaner. The stairs were steep and the carpet was loose, she’d warned me of the carpet, saying that I never paid any attention to jobs around the house. The hospital stay was brief, I needed to get back to work. A band-aid and I was ready to go.

I had two pairs of work trousers and four shirts. I also possessed a ‘going out’ suit that I used for the greyhounds, I wish it had a happier story but both my brother and I were similar size, but what he had in muscle, I made up for in fat. My mother was a quiet woman, she new her place in the household, but she was also a great believer in life skills. I will always be grateful for the evening she spent with me with a needle and cotton. Those trousers have held up well, literally. Father used to press his own shirts, always said it was a ‘man’s job’ and had to be done right. He was taught in the army and passed his ironing skills on to me.

I’m sure the scar will fade with time, after all I shouldn’t have left the iron there. She always went out Wednesday to Sunday. I was never invited. Said I wouldn’t really enjoy it, French conversation class, reading groups and poetry exploration. Always had a new dress, bright lipstick and smelled like a freshly plucked rose. I’d sit by the radiogram with my steak and ale pie.

Thirty-five years. Yet with the pillow over her mouth, it only took her sixty seconds to die.

If I was any further north polar bears would start showing up on my Grindr nearby

As I now sat in a virtually empty checking lounge in Oslo, suffering from typing this on my phone as the WiFi is virtually nonexistent. Still only another five hours until I get going again.

Did have a fun issue. My luggage is checked in all the way to Antalya, which is why it’s currently sat next to me.

Still. Let’s see if I can pick up a polar bear.

And so we begin

Right, so after four weeks of configuring Ubuntu and playing around I finally got here. First a bit of background. I may waffle a bit, I’ve spent all afternoon digging a hedge out of the front garden and I’m now somewhat relaxing with a rather nice Arabella white. I’ll note doubt waffle on about wine in future posts. I think I may have become an expert by proxy of how much of the bloody stuff I drink.

Anyway, I’ve been keeping a Filofax diary since I was 16, actually I got the diary at Christmas when I was 16, so that’s what the best part of 24 years. Every night before I went to sleep I wrote the day up. Admittedly the last 10 years probably consist of ‘did work, went to gym’. And the last few would probably be ‘did work, should of gone to gym, drank too much wine’. But the first 10 or so years probably contain some real juicy stuff, lots of inner thoughts, lots of things about other people, lots of feelings. All those years are safely sealed in dated envelopes stored away, so when I die they can all be chucked into a skip, as I will be ruled as ‘insignificant’, so nobody wants to read about my life, I can appreciate that as I’ve never been tempted to open them and read back through them. I guess unless you are Hitler or Einstein very few people could actually give a flying fuck about what you did, what you are, or what you perceive to be. Even your family, to be truthful really don’t give a toss.

So why now? Well time’s getting on, I’m getting more and more ancient (40) and I’m getting board of writing, ‘did work, went to gym’. So hopefully these updates will contain something of interest. I plan on continuing the paper diary until the pages run out at the end of the year, but that will be the end. Not quite 25 years, but enough is enough.

So basically I just plan on sharing my random thoughts of the day, things I’ve done or played with and generally waxing lyrical about anything I bloody well feel like. I’ve spent the past four weeks setting up this server, so will probably babble about that for a while.

You will experience bad language, probably defamatory statements about individules and companies, but I will try and keep these of a personal nature so as not to get sued, Bad spelling (although WP has a spell checker, it’s just failed to find ‘individule’ so no idea if that’s correct or not and I can’t be arsed to Google it), and bad grammar.

Anyway, that’s enough for my opening post. Next job is to do some extra WordPress configuring things. And this is the first night I’m going to let the server go live….bring on the hackers…