Process of ageing

It's my birthday!

No longer, admittedly, the occasion for celebration and excitement that it once was.  In fact I can only once remember when I was at Junior school my mother offering to do me a birthday party, when she gave me the chance of having a party or an extra-special (i.e. expensive) present, and I somewhat anti-socially chose the present!  Needless to say I've long since forgotten what it was.

One thing I do remember, doing a bit of reminiscing, is how apprehensive we all all were back in the year 2000 being at the mercy of the so-called 'millennium bug'.  Would it mark the end of life as we knew it?  It didn't: life carried on just the same despite all the prophets of doom.

I don't know about anyone else, but the last seventeen years haven't been particularly eventful ones for me, not compared, say, to the first seventeen years of my life.  I survived my childhood, and free of the pervasive creeping influence of the nanny-state, those years were by and large happy, carefree ones - although I'm pretty sure I didn't think so at the time.  On the other hand despite the intrinsic curiosity value I certainly wouldn't want to back and relive them, or at least certainly not in a modern setting.  There's a well-known natural tendency to remember things from long ago as being better than they actually were, of course.

And what of the last seventeen?  They've been marked by the major event of leaving work and while I'm tempted to say that my retirement hasn't been anything like I thought it was going to be, I don't honestly think I'd given that much thought to what it was going to be like.  I've always tended to go for the make-it-up-as-you-go-along  approach.

One thing which has marked the last 17 years was my decision in the year 2000 to start an online diary, of which this this blog is the latest incarnation.  I've only very occasionally trawled back to see what I was thinking about and writing about - and most of it I suspect was fairly trivial.  But it is/was an insight into how I was feeling at the time, and I've never deleted or altered anything.  And while I don't blog as frequently or consistently as I did when I first started, I keep it going because I want to.  It's just for me, and not, God forbid, for future generations of schoolboys à la Pepys!   

A policeman's lot is not a happy one

I guess it's part of the intrinsic nature of blogging that so many of them achieve a sort of 'here today - gone tomorrow' status.  One of the more stable (or so I thought) had been that of Inspector Gadget, the pseudonymous Police Inspector whose accounts of what it's really like out there the front line in the British Police force have kept me entertained, informed and on occasion saddened by some of the goings-on behind the scenes.  It's never been my intention in this blog to lift the lid on what similarly went on (and doubtless still does) behind the scenes in Local Government, nor to bad-mouth my erstwhile employers: suffice to say that the pernicious creeping influences of political correctness and emphasis on diversity had to be experienced to be believed, and the resultant barking madness was nothing short of a massive impediment to actually getting the job done. 

I'm not sure why the Inspector has decided to call it a day.  Maybe he's decided enough is enough and is about to hand in his badge.  I feel I detected a growing desperation on his part at the direction in which successive governments have sought to take both the police force and the way it operates.  I hope he hasn't got 'busted': I can't imagine his outspoken views on the antics of senior officers will have earned him many friends in high places and the opportunity to shut down such a thorn in the side would be one many a Chief Constable would find hard to resist.

Pause for reflection

Time to make New Years' Resolutions?  Probably so.  I haven't done any as such, because like most people I don't end up keeping them, but as I think one should at least make some sort of effort, I have made some tentative plans.  How they match up to the reality I'll maybe record on here as we go along.  I've got off to a good start with an entry for the first day of the year, at any rate. 

And so how was 2011?  It's going to stick in my mind forever of course as the year my sister died, but then I didn't have any control over that.  Of the things I did have a measure of control over, they went OK: not spectacularly well, but I avoided any major disasters.  I learned a bit more Italian, reminisced a little bit, and wrote a little bit.  I can't in all honesty say I achieved all that much, but then who can?  I can't pinpoint anything I did in 2011 that I've really since regretted, so I guess that's something of an achievement in itself.

As for 2012, I vouch for one thing only.  That this blog will be an Olympics-free zone!!

An Englishman's home is his castle

A well-established principle, established over centuries, that what you do in your own home (within reason) is your own business, and no-one else has any right to interfere in it. So when a double-glazing salesman rang the doorbell this afternoon, and I just happened to be wearing a black leather miniskirt and tights, I answered it. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to say something like "Do I look like I'd want to buy double glazing from you?" but I guess he got the message, because he hightailed it back down the path like the proverbial bat out of hell.

Funnily enough, when some years ago I used to do door-to-door canvassing knocking on peoples' doors, I soon found out you see all sorts. I don't think for one moment it would've fazed me had the roles been reversed, but then perhaps he was new at the job?

Watching TV

I was chatting online last night *as you do* with a cyber-mate, and he'd apparently been watching a load of TV-themed porn videos *as you do (maybe?)* Anyway, the upshot of this was that he sent me some pics to look at: I think they were 'publicity shots' rather than stills from the clips, but they could've been either.

The basic contradiction, if you like, of TV/TS in a porn context is the combination of very huge and obvious boobs juxtaposed with an equally huge and obvious cock - or at least that's what came across from the photos he'd sent and I imagine they're all pretty much the same. What little there was of the costumes was quite appealing: in particular I spotted a zip-front (or rather half-unzipped) white PVC corset-thingy which looked pretty hot, but overall the effect - for me - was ruined by the very ostentatious boob job, and I'd have much preferred a hot guy, looking like a guy, dressed in the same outfit, and I told him so.

That, though, I guess rather defeats the main point of TV porn, which is that the stars look in most respects obviously like females, and the male psyche responds to big boobs as the usual manifestation of that - so I'm probably in the minority in not liking them much. I'd certainly cross being a TV porn star off my list of possible career options, anyway.

The noble art of self-importance

I'm not by any stretch of the imagination an extrovert, outgoing sort of person. But over the years I have joined and taken part in various online forums and "community" sites with a fair amount of success - it's nice to swap experiences and ideas with people who share the same interest. Most such sites (understandably) won't let you take part or use certain features unless you become a member.

So, when I thought that perhaps the High Heel Place sounded a cool one to belong to, I duly filled in a registration form and awaited the email with the validation link to complete the process. Normally, that's all there is to it with these things. So I was a bit surprised to find that they have a second stage which entails approving the account (presumably by an actual person) before you can do anything that you weren't able to before. I awaited another email......

I discovered it in my spam box. It said my registration had been removed, as it "did not meet our membership requirements". There followed a list of five standard possible reasons, including unsuitable usernames, porn spamming, duplicate registrations, guys masqerading as girls (it asks on the registration form what sex you are) and faked country of origins - but it just bluntly said "Sorry" at the end. It's all apparently to save themselves the hassle of dealing with problematic users by not letting them join in the first place. Right! There's no way of querying it: it didn't seem to have occurred to them that they might actually have made a mistake.

They have to win a prize to start with I think for one of the most bizarre registration procedures I've come across - either the system validates and accepts them upfront or else a person checks first, but not both. It's their loss, anyway: from what I saw of it their site didn't seem to have anything exceptional. Either way, I can tell when I'm not wanted!

Knock knock.... who's there?

I was getting the tea ready earlier this evening, when the doorbell rang. I went down to answer it and I could see two young-ish guys, smartly dressed, with clipboards. I looked at the nearest one expectantly.
"Hi there buddy, how are ya doin?" he started.
"Look, I'm sorry, but I really don't have time for this now"
His next piece of repartee from the script vanished into the night air as I shut the front door.

Back in the house, the dialogue went like this:
"Who was that at the door?"
"Some b****** doorstep salesman"
"What was he selling"
"Dunno - I didn't let him get that far"
"Well how d'you know he was a salesman"
"When someone you've never clapped eyes on before smarms all over you like you're a long-lost friend without saying who he is first, it's a dead giveaway"

As I finished getting the tea, I reflected on the times I used to go knocking on doors, years ago when I went out canvassing. The people who said "No" upfront were a godsend when you were getting paid £x for a fixed number of houses: you'd get the whole thing done and dusted in no time. You could do without the ones who messed around pretending to be out while surreptitiously peering through a crack in the curtains, the ones who yelled at you through the letterbox, not to mention the ones who asked if you could come back when their husband/boyfriend/parents were in - or the "I'm just the babysitter".

It occurred to me afterwards that I'd answered the door wearing a pair of sheer black tights and a red T-Shirt with "Smile if you wish you were gay" written across the front. When you go round knocking on peoples' doors you see it all, believe me!

Time zone

I remembered last night (or more accurately, my PC did it for me automatically) to alter the clock back to GMT or winter time. I must admit I was getting just a little peeved at having to get up while it was still dark in the morning and watching through the windows as the light slowly turned into day - more so than the difference between getting dark now at just past 5 in the evening as opposed to 6.

I remember the ill-fated experiment in the late 60s of a 'permanent' summer time: I was at college in Birmingham at the time, and in December it didn't get light till about 9.30 some mornings - halfway through the first lecture. And in the evening by the time I caught the train home it was almost five and already dark, so I couldn't see any benefit from the scheme at all and I was glad when it ended. "EU harmonization" or not, I hope it isn't resurrected!

And on this day in ........

It's my birthday today! Another year older, another year (perhaps) wiser? Not especially remarkable - certainly not compared to all the excitement and magic of childhood birthdays, anyway: receiving cards, opening presents and celebrating another milestone. I can't any longer actually remember anything distinctive about any of them - just a part of the happiness of growing up, and the anticipation of getting closer to being an adult and being able to do all the things I wasn't allowed to do as a child. Though I suppose the novelty of that soon wore off!

Nevertheless, a day to relax, chill out, enjoy the warm autumn sunshine and look forward to whatever another year has in store for me.

Credit where credit's due

I've had the misfortune to have to do quite a bit of hospital visiting just lately, and since I don't have a car (and couldn't afford the usurious hospital parking charges if I did) but I do have a free bus pass, that's how I get there.

So off I set the other day just after lunch, only to find that bus arrived absolutely packed to bursting point with schoolboys on their way home. Given the time of day (about ten to two in the afternoon), I'm guessing they may have got let off school early: they seemed in high spirits and quite boisterous, but in a harmless sort of way - not unlike some of my journeys home on the school bus when I was their age.

Anyway, during the course of the half-hour journey, three things struck me:

1) They were all (as far as I could see) dressed neatly and tidily in the correct items of school uniform.

2) I didn't hear the F-word once from any of them during the entire journey, nor anything even remotely close to it, and when one of them accidentally stepped on my foot, he apologized instantly.

3) They chatted amongst themselves freely and amiably without feeling the need to insert the word "like" as an essential ingredient of every single sentence.

It's probably rather a sad indictment of the low standards of pupil behaviour in public which is passed as acceptable by most schools that I find it remarkable enough to notice and comment on this in the first place - but kudos to the staff and pupils of Woodlands School. I don't have a son, but if I did I'd be more than happy to consider sending him there.

Melancholy moods

I haven't felt much like writing anything much just lately - so I haven't! In fact, to tell the truth I haven't felt much like anything else either. I don't really know why: maybe it's the tell-tale signs of another summer drawing to a close. It was good while it lasted, but all too brief. The long hot spell fizzled out rather unceremoniously into the more usual British combination of cloud and rain: although as I write this it's sunny outside and the rain has eased off today, there's nevertheless a distinct chill in the air with the promise of another cold night. Autumn is not far off.

Or maybe I'm just feeling my age (more than usual). Unfulfilled promises, missed opportunities - and underneath it all the hope that tomorrow will be better than today. Perhaps a bit more of the good old 'carpe diem' wouldn't go amiss? Quite possibly.

Will the phantom penis poster kindly own up?

I spotted this intriguing little news story yesterday: apparently someone has been putting up posters of what is described rather coyly as "male private parts" (why do journalists think it's necessary in this day and age to use such euphemisms?) with a yellow ribbon tied it round and the caption "Fees set to rise later this year." Hmmm... fees for what? Perhaps it's best not to speculate!

Anyway I had to chuckle at the punch-line which quoted a Sussex police spokesman as saying - "If this is a self-portrait the artist won't be in a hurry to be identified” I seem to have done my fair share of criticizing the police just lately, so it's nice to be able to record that, in one area at least, they haven't lost their sense of humour.

The scattergun effect!

One of the most annoying things about searching on the internet is the way a search for a specific subject or topic will produce a ton of unrelated material which, because of the way it's indexed, takes the right constituent pieces but puts them together in the wrong order.

To give an example, I usually check out which of my Flickr photos have been viewed the most, and how people found them. It's not much more than idle curiosity on my part, but it's a bit of an indication of the sort of stuff that it's probably not worth bothering to upload. Most searching seems to give fairly predictable results, but the one that caught my eye yesterday was "hairy beach stud" - and this is what they found:

It's an old polaroid holiday snap from the 1980s, and the caption reads: "On the beach with Sweep (the dog)- Me in tight jeans and DM boots with our first dog - a nice hairy one named Sweep. I was the envy of all the local lads in those boots: the 14-hole ones had only just come out and they all wanted to know where I'd got them from."

So the "beach" came from the title, the "hairy" from the subtitle, and the "stud" from the 'studded' tag I used to label the studded leather belt I was wearing. But rather obviously (or so I think, anyway) neither of us really fits the description of a hairy beach stud!

Ah well.... life is full of its little disappointments for someone.

Diversity? Epic fail!

Recent years have seen a move towards emphasizing the importance of "diversity" in everything. I don't particularly object to seeing the word "partner" (in place of wife / husband / boyfriend / girlfriend etc), used to denote a person with whom you may have any sort of semi-permanent relationship: it does avoid the potentially awkward question as to whether there's a legal basis for it, notwithsanding the sex of the person concerned. Similarly I'm happy to write he/she where the person I'm writing about could be either.

But then I'm not writing something like an ad or a set of instructions for public consumption. I'd instinctively assume those who are would be doubly conscious of the need to be aware of the realities of these things. Hence my surprise at buying a new fragrance of shower gel - Lynx Twist to be precise - yesterday, and finding written in the blurb on the back:
"A blast of fresh fragrance to make a good first impression which twists into long-lasting refreshment to keep her tantalized and intrigued by you"
Huh? "her"?
Perhaps it ought to have a warning on the label "Not recommended for gays"? I didn't check the other Lynx fragrances to see how the slogans on those were worded. Or perhaps I just inadventently picked the one marketed at boys aiming to impress their mothers? Yes, that must be it.

Zapped!

I just deleted my Formspring account.

Compared to the agonizing and soul-searching which I went through over my decision to leave BME, and which I wrote about yesterday, this one was a total no-brainer. In the three months during which I'd had it, I only ever got asked two questions, and neither of those was much more than spam - although I did try and give reasonably meaningful answers. In all honesty I think it's a rather pointless idea and I only joined because a few other people did at the same time. Basically it caters for the trivial: I mean if anyone has a serious question to which they want a proper answer, they're going to ask you directly.

One thing which did puzzle me slightly about it was the tendency of some people to complain bitterly about the type of questions they were asked. If you set yourself up as an Aunt Sally, you're going to get pot-shots taken at you and while those which bordered on the openly malicious went beyond a simple mischievous annoyance value, letting people know that their teasing/bullying is getting to you is the worst possible way of simply encouraging it all the more, and always has been.

Anyway, I'm not going to miss it one little bit!