The Travellers

I'm stood in the bar of The Red Lion in Fareham and I'm posting to my blog via my Blackberry for the first time ever. I'm not a prolific blogger and I really only do it to remind myself of things that have happened to me or feelings I have had! But here I am blogging with a pint of Stella to hand!

Why am I blogging? Well... I'm alone. Travelling around the country with work may seem exciting but I do end up in hotel bars by myself.

Of course, there are other travellers. There are lots of lonely people sitting at tables in the bar by themselves and none of them are speaking to each other.

Of course... I'm as bad as they are. And I'm ashamed of that fact. Maybe these people would be delighted if I said hello? Maybe they would tell me where to go? I don't know but something has changed in our society which means that all these people are happier with their laptop on their knee rather than an interesting and engaging fellow traveller to keep them amused. And I'm blogging.

I have become one of these people!

I think I'll speak to someone after all. 'Another pint please, good man'

Small Mindedness

My home town, Glengormley, was closed down last night for a few hours while the Loyal Orange Order's "arch" was erected across the road in readiness for the 12th of July celebrations.

A rich pageantry of fun and frivolity should be had by all except it just isn't the case.

The erecting of the arch is a signal for the thuggery to congregate on street corners, vandalise property, intimidate householders and stage pathetic mini-confrontations with their various rivals.

What this meant for me was a crowd of about 20 youths gathered outside my house to plot and scheme and taunt police officers. Of course, the plotting and scheming was done without the use of any words with more than two syllables but with an over-liberal use of four-letter words of the docker kind.

A young girl demonstrated particular linguistic skill at one point by declaring "for ****'s sake, be ****ing careful, I'm nearly ****ing pregnant". Class! She would've been aged around 14 or 15 (and could maybe have been 14 or 15 stone also) which begs a number of questions:

• Did her parents know she was wandering the streets at 11pm on a school night?
• Does she even go to school and if so, is she concentrating during her English lessons?
• What does "nearly pregnant" mean?

My hedge was damaged during the evening. I can only guess that someone was pushed by someone else through my hedge. And I have some graffiti on my wall - though not very much as I'm guessing that spelling wasn't the "artist's" strong point. Damage was minor but the stress was positively major. If ever there was a reason for moving on, the colourful tribe from Queen's Park provided it.

I Hate Mice

A number of years ago, I came home from a 2 week holiday to find mouse droppings all over my living room floor. A trap was set and a mouse was caught. The trap was reset and another mouse was caught. Thirteen mice were murdered in the space of a week but the house was clean.

Three years ago, we had another mouse come into the house - it didn't last long.

This week, that all too familiar "scratching" sound could be heard as I was busying myself on my computer. A turned around to find a mouse come out of my fireplace, stand on the hearth looking at me (with a look of a disdain, I thought) and then scurry back into the fireplace.

Damnit....

Trap set, mouse murdered. Chilli flavoured dark chocolate seemed to entice the wee fella to meet his maker. I say 'fella' and 'his' but I could be wrong!

Trap is reset (just in case) and bang - another mouse murdered. This is serious now. Multiple mice suggests a family! And one of the rooms in the house that is virtually disused is showing the distinctive signs - some droppings, some gnawings.

I know it is probably my fault. The hot days encourage us to leave the back-door open all day and I reckon they "wander" in to the house to see what they can see. Should I just accept that it is an "occupational hazard" or should I buy a cat?

European Election Time

So, it's that time of year again.

The one time when it seems acceptable to deface our streets with election campaigning posters. A time when tribal politics takes to the fore once more.

The literature was dumped through my letter-box and (as I always do), I diligently read everything that the candidates had to say. Only two candidates seems to make reference to what it means to be a member of the European Parliament and what they would do for "our wee country" at Brussels.

And the other candidates? No Dublin rule; Brits out; Red, White & Blue; Green White & Gold.

Pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic and sickening.

Once again, the politics of fear and division!

And some of it was incomprehensible! I stared at the one candidate's poster which stated:

• Experience
• Principle
• Integrity

Now... I'm no literary expert, but it disturbs me everytime I see that poster. Principle is a noun so what is he trying to say? Is he saying that he is a principled person, ie. someone with high moral values? I suspect he is trying to say that, but then he ought to have said Principled?

How can I possibly vote for someone who constructs a campaign poster so severely lacking in any sense? What am I saying? He's target demographic are the ones will vote for whichever person has managed to squeeze the most red, white and blue on to their poster?

Alas, I shall be voting for those people who advocate collaboration, are concerned about our country's standing within Europe and are caring towards the environment. In other words, the people that aren't likely to get elected.

Imagine That

It's 2am. I had enjoyed an evening watching football whilst quaffing a most delightful Italian red. The previous 2 hours were spent snoring heavily - I guess. I'm told that red wine often makes my volume control go wonky!

The whines from Emily made their way from her bedroom into mine and my deep slumber came to an end.

Usually, I would stay still and hope that I was mistaken. A second cry would ensure that my brain would start hoping for a mere brief bout of crying without the need for any kind of attendance.

Not tonight...

I eventually heaved my weary body to its feet and staggered to the kiddie room. Emily was still crying. In my most sympathetic tone, I told her to be quiet. Followed by the "I'm too tired for this, give it a rest now or else". She looked at me, but it was clear that she could see me. Another cry!

"Stop it", "be quiet" and "I'll give you something to cry about" may work with someone who is awake, but not tonight. She eventually calmed down and I bounced off the walls towards my own bed with the hope that I could resume my snoring.

Next morning, as we walked to school, I asked Emily "Why were you crying last night?"

"I wasn't crying, daddy" she replied.

"Oh yes you were. You woke me up and I had to come in to see you".

"Daddy, I think that was just your imagination" she said.

Maybe it was?

Society's Scum

Sometimes, the people around me sicken me. Sometimes it's enough to make me want to cry.

I've just found out that just two doors away from where I live there lives a family that may not be the most honest.

Mr. & Mrs. Dishonest are joined by four or five dishonest children and why do I say all this? Well, Mr. & Mrs. Dishonest don't work yet live in a house which is costing them about £500 a month in rent (and each room seems to have a 50in television in it). They holiday 3/4 times a year and they own a couple of cars.

How do they manage this when neither of them work?

Well, Mr. Dishonest seems to own a home somewhere. He claims that he has separated from his wife so she is claiming single mother's benefit. He claims redundancy, invalidity and goodness knows what else. Some of their "children" have left school already - but they don't work.

It seems that they get almost £1,000 a week in benefits!

That's tax-payers' money that is! That's my taxes going to them and what benefit do I get from it? I don't even feel good that my money is helping the under-privileged in my community because it is going to cheats!

This family have only recently moved in. Before them, lived another set of seemingly dishonest people. The "man" of the household refused to accept a full-time position in Tesco because it would have a severe impact on his state benefits.

How little pride must someone have to behave like that?

Is there a place in the world where I can bring up my family without the influence of "criminals" in my community because as far as I am concerned, these dishonest families are nothing more than that - criminals!

Uncle Alan

Uncle Alan, of course, is not my uncle. He is, however, my wife's uncle and he is quite a remarkable character.

Uncle Alan, with the look of a mad professor, is a single man in his sixties and can be best described as "not a people person".

His rantings are recorded and hopefully they will be released to the general public at some point in the future - they have the makings of quite a story and maybe even a film. For example:

"I went to the Post Office today to post a letter. Nobody was in the Post Office except for the two women behind the counter. They were chatting, as women do, and ignored me. I grew madder and madder. I took two pieces of tissue and shoved them up my nose, got down on all fours and barked like a dog! They shall not ignore me in future."

The story was verified by the women themselves! His most recent rant, however, shows his special contempt for foreigners.

"Swept the laneway... SIGH... Tried to paint... SQUEAL... I then switched on the television and some Afrigger was trying to tell me how to cook on BBC1. BBC2 had some Turban-wearer trying to tell me how to look after my home. That Irishman, Eamonn what's-his-name, was on ITV. And Channel 4 had some bastard with 15 boxes!"

Some may be critical of his behaviour. He certainly has some racist tendancies. However, I believe that these "eccentrics" should be treasured. How wonderful to know someone so opinionated.