There are some appalling events happening in the world today. But as conscientious as I am, Im far too distraught by another more pressing, harrowing event.

My bread is broken.

I hope you can now begin to fathom the depths of my hurt and frustration.

Im very protective over my bread. Not just any bread, this is the business. My secret special bread. Mmmmm baby.

Admittedly, its very wobbly, floppy and thin. Like a gutted fish. So its prone to breaking.

But, 'Bo', for it was he who served me, showed a callous, unfeeling disregard for this thing of culinary beauty.

Did he ask if I wished for it to be folded in two? Oh no, just an emotionless snap down the middle, and suddenly my bread is dead.

Did he think to himself, 'hmm, monsieur, this is a divine gift from the bread gods...what way of cutting or slicing it would do it justice? I must ask, I must...for how could I live with myself without allowing this bread to be shown the respect it deserves. I just hope, no, I pray that monsieur is as caring and gives this bread his undying love and gratitude.'

No. He didnt.

Its alright Bo, I didnt want to sensuously slather it in butter along its length, playfully tickle its belly with moist lettuce, then overwhelm it with a loving blanket of ....well, do it my way.

Actually I did. And now I cant.

And all because of some clueless bakery monkey with little regard for the customer.

Twat.

Jurassic 5 live

Superb!

More later...

Forget astronaut or train driver, when I grow up I want to work in toothpaste.

If the adverts are to believed it looks really cool. All of those hip beautiful people holding clipboards and light pens. Lots of pointing at clear perspex boards with hi-tech diagrams on them, computerised images of plaque particles being whizzed here and there.

Its that hi-tech and full of multi-million pound gadgets, it looks like Q's development lab from James Bond.

If my application fails, I'll think I'll try shaving gel work instead, that looks just as swishy.

Bloody TV

Not literally of course.
For starters theres 4, no 5, no 4...um, lots of them.
And I cant rap.
Plus Im not American or black.

Hell, who chose that stupid title anyway? What a ridiculous statement to make.

Anyway, the concert should be good.

I'll go now.

Cast your mind back to childhood tales of pirates and their hordes of treasure – caskets overflowing with glittering jewels and piles of gleaming gold

Or to tales of Aladdin and the cave of riches – again, images of gleaming light shining off all of the gold, eyes wide in wonder.

Or even to stories of the Wild West; the grizzled old gold prospectors, panning the rivers for those little nuggets of hope.

There’s something sexy about the thought of owning a bar of gold. Actually, several bars. I don’t know, it just seems to be the international sign of wealth.
Good investment too – it has to be safer than a pension.

I can imagine owning a stack of gold bullion, and when I have guests round, casually using one of the bars as a door stop.

Me, nonchalantly:
“Oh, that old thing? Yeah, I’ve got stacks of them, just cluttering up the place. Never know what to do with them, but, you know, they make good paperweights and stuff. Saves wasting money on one, doesn’t it?”

Ooh, that would be very arrogant wouldn’t it?
And ostentatious.

But fun.

Perhaps I'll raid the bank account and buy some.

Sometimes I envy geeks. Sorry, fantasy gamers.
How wonderful it must be to construct and live in a make believe world that is better than the real one. I imagine that if you immerse yourself in that fantasy from dusk to dawn, it actually is a kind of reality.

I'm wondering whether my view into the hobbithole was another sign of my longing for escapism.

Last night, I was walking by a Games Workshop, and as seems to be the habit (or is that hobbit??!) in every one I pass, two of the staff were still sat in there after 8 o'clock. Like two drunks sharing a table, or the cop interviewing the suspect - sat there at either side of this immense, crafted landscape.
ShadowMaster and the Elvish Warrior, lost in their own little world.

Stubble and long unkempt hair? Check.
Rucksacks full of fantasy paraphernalia? Check.
Geek glasses, periodically returned to the bridge of the nose by a grubby, chubby digit? Check.

One can only imagine the conversations driving their battles through Middle Earth, the Shadowlands, or the Silver Mines, wherever they may have transported themselves. If you overheard without the benefit of seeing, you would probably dismiss them as two E-heads or care in the community cases.

"With the spell of Mirangoth I cast your feeble warriors into the fiery pits of Kalengor."
"But I am shielded from your spell, as I am cloaked in the ointment of ancient Elvish crimson bloodberry vines."

And so on.

God alone knows what time they stay there til each night. Or perhaps they live there, and when the moon rises to its highest point, they retreat to the basement with their knapsacks and potions, where they remain until sunrise.

Either that, or Mum picks them up in the peoplecarrier.

Ho-hum.

As you might have guessed, Im a bit obsessed with escaping at the moment. Aside from questions I have over what I want to do with work, Ive also been itching to go travelling for about 2 years now. During one of my usual wanderings around the net, I was provided with a link to somewhere I hadn’t really thought much about before. However, having viewed what the region holds, its now on my ever growing list.

The USA is somewhere that doesn’t always conjure up the travelling bug in me – but every now and then Im reminded of just how much there really is there, beyond the metropolis like cities. Cape Cod was the place I was shown and it looks just fantastic.

Cranberries, fishing, wine regions, beaches, wildlife, nature reserves…and all in a quaint, rustic and peaceful looking setting. Mmm, at this moment in time it looks like bliss. Funnily enough, Im reading a book at the moment which is a collation of extracts about writers who have lived or resided abroad for some or all of their life. One of the extracts that struck a chord with me was about the Marthas vineyard region. Now being a huge wine lover, not to mention pining for somewhere atmospheric to hone my writing skills, I was swept away by the imagery of it.

I didn’t realise it then, but its also in the Cape Cod region, so when I was reading up about the area, I got drawn in even further.

Some of the pictures are fantastic (have a look), and at this moment in time, faced with a dull day in a British office, or relaxing in that region, I know which one Id choose.

I find myself very restless these days. I have a constant feeling that I'm not doing what I should. I don't mean 'should' as in what society expects from me - 9 to 5, mortgage, house, car etc - but 'should' as in what I feel my instincts and gut tell me.

The trouble is, I can't quite pinpoint what the 'should' is.
Is it lethargy? Or the desire to just 'be'?
Or are they both the same with me?

Whatever it is, it's gnawing away at me - like a dog whos been sent to its basket, constantly padding around in circles; nudging the blankets, sitting, getting up, wriggling, going round in circles - trying to find the right spot. The zone of comfort to settle into and remain.

I have a good job, as far as jobs go, but it no longer fulfils me - even when I'm there, I'm not. My mind exits my body, trailing a beckoning finger in my direction, cajoling me to follow. What I see in front of me is akin to the ghost of christmas's yet to come. But it's not my future it taunts me with. It's my lack of future. The images I wish to have; to be brave enough to escape the humdrum and do something creative. Every bone in my body wishes I were writing or creating during the times I'm stuck in work slavery. Wishing I had that afternoon to myself rather than have to work for someone elses benefit.

I don't enjoy the 9 to 5 - I doubt there are many that do. Sure, like most I make the best of it, but when pressed, it's not what drives me.

What drives me is the dream of just being able to be. Sitting here now, it's lunch time and my mind has beckoned me to the cathedral grounds. Outdoors, with the breeze and the trees. The sky and the air. It's now that I return to a thought I keep having, watching the people around me, or taking in the simple nature of that and the view.

It's this: More often than not we may see, but we don't really look. The world is made to be explored, right from the simple act of looking properly at all that surrounds us, and appreciatiing it, to the complexities and exertions of travel and discovery.

That's when I know I want to be free; Free to discover, not only what's around me, but what's in my mind. To write, to tell stories, to capture, to imagine. To do things for me and to 'live'.
Nothing inspires creativity more than this. I don't know exactly what to create, what to write. That's what's still pulling at me. But I do know I feel trapped when I can't just be.

And even if it is lethargy rather than literary dreams that causes this - which place do I tell myself I'd rather still be?

As I ponder this and look around, the sun blazes its shining agreement down on me, and the breeze wraps itself around me in welcome.

I just sat down and wrote a small personal piece about my first Creative Writing course session.

Whether its a sign or not, I dont know, but its failed to save and completely disappeared.

Not the best attitude for a writer, I know, but I cant be arsed to do it again!

Come on, its Sunday, give me a break.

There are some sad and peculiar ironies that I've thought about this week.

The popes apology.

Im making no personal comment here, nor judgement, just scratching my chin at it -
The pope is a naughty boy and says some bad things (that he'd quoted from someone else). Not nice, little bit lacking in tact and compassion, especially from the infallible one, and not really appropriate.
Theres understandably outcry at making such comments and sounding ignorant.
Yet how did this outcry manifest itself? Violent and angry protests, burning of churches, and the alleged connection to the shooting of a nun. Its understandable that huge offence would be taken, and shouldnt be left with no response. A shame that some chose the wrong way to express that.

Sadly ironic.

(Please note, Im in no way condoning or taking sides)

Thailands Martial Law

The international symbol of peace and freedom is the white dove.
The sound it makes is a 'coo'

The same phonetic pronunciation applies to 'coup', as in military coup. As in an overthrow of power. A forced disposition so a regime can take control by whatever means necessary. Thus derailing the peace.

Well, a little bit of inspiration would be a start.

27 hours to go until my first Creative Writing module and Im starting to worry.

On the one hand, I have visions of quaint old ladies and retired accountants being my peers on the course - each having a long held vision of writing Miss Marplesque and Frederic Forsyth-like tomes respectively. That visions not too bad - I could cope with that to some degree. However, if that is the case, Im not sure they would 'get' me.

On the other hand, I have visions of lots of trendy media types, well practiced in the literary form and full of acerbic wit, ideas and literary prowess.

Me? All Ive got at the moment is the rut Im stuck in to voice my opinion, write bad puns, commentary pieces and infant school level diatribes.

Writing? Perhaps, to some low level.
Creative? Not a jot.

Maybe a little. Lets hope tomorrow is akin to a visit to the dentist, and the tutor can perform some much needed extractions...

Finally.
Money where my mouth is.
First step into that great void.

As of next week, not before time, im starting a writing course.
Slightly nervous, if truth be told, as im not sure im 'up to it' at the moment. Somehow, i just keep drifting back to 'article' style writing, or rants, or 'lots of other things in inverted commas'. The one area ive not made any headway on recently is my fiction writing, so im a bit apprehensive that im going to be bottom of the class.

Oh well, only one way to find out!
im really looking forward to it, and also pinning my hopes on learning some good habits and getting some structure to what and when i try to hone my craft.

My pen is poised...

Honestly.

You go to a file sharing site expecting to download illicit songs, and what happens?

Some lame arse goes and titles all of their songs as the new Killers tracks thats what. So instead of Mr Brandon Flowers sexy tones spilling out of the speakers, its some two-bit guitar-punk-new wave-knobhead promoting his own (piss poor) shite.

Whatever happened to the good old days, eh, when if you wanted to pirate a track you got exactly what you (werent) paying for.

I blame Television and hoodies and single mothers and fast food etc etc.

Yours,
Slighty peeved
from Saffron Walden

Has it really been a month since my fingers last performed their merry dance on this keyboard?

Indeed it has. Wow, so it is true - there is life beyond the blog.

Lots of things have been happening recently, but I'm not going to tell you what they are - you'll just have to make them up. Answers on a postcard...

What's the most likely thing to see on a work colleagues desk, I wonder? I'm pretty certain that in a Family Fortunes poll 'half a plain baguette' wouldn't be in the top ten. I have no idea why it's there. Especially as they havent been in the office for a week.

Is the phrase 'accident waiting to happen' a bit of an oxymoron?

Shall I mention Steve Irwin? No, I dont think I will.

In other news, though:

Still frantically trying to find out who to call about ugly sheep sightings? Then fret no longer, your prayers have been answered here

Like hedgehogs? Of course you do, or are you a heartless bastard?
Hate McDonalds? Of course you do, or are you ignorant to destructive corporate practices?
Well, read this and cheer on a victory for our little spiky flea-ridden pals.