Regeneration

Hello. Whilst you weren't looking I had a bit of a tidy up, and freshened the place up a bit. So farewell then purply lilac look. Farewell picture of Hadleigh Castle in Essex. Hello blackness and cleaner lines. And for this Festive time at least, have a snow dusted Tardis. Well, aren't all blogs filled with Doctor Who these days?
Well, no, actually. Certainly not the ones I read anyway, but I digress.
For the last month or so I've been finding my feet in my new and slightly grown-up job.
After the old shop closed, I tried working in a call centre for a while. This wasn't ever going to be permanent, but I thought I'd give it 6 months until I felt 100% fit again. I lasted 2 months. And only because I spent one week in hospital, had a weeks holiday and then worked a weeks notice when I came back from my holiday. Otherwise, I would have managed 5 weeks, and then chucked myself in the canal. I can't name the company I worked for, all I can say is they are
British and involved in Telecommunications. And without question, the worst company I have ever worked for. And I used to work for House of Fraser.
So, throwing caution to the wind, I decided to "Live the Rock n Roll dream" I got a job in a bank.
Oh yes! Home Insurance fixed premiums for next 3 years? High Interest Current Account? Saving for your child's future? That's m'job. And to be perfectly honest, I've enjoyed it so far.
Mind you, the best part of 3 weeks stuck in the Jurys Inn in Glasgow leaves you yearning for decent grub. Thankfully, Blue Lagoon chippy round the corner saved me on a couple of nights. Here's a wee tip should you be staying in the hotel mentioned above. Do not, under any circumstances have the vegetarian option. Ever. Doesn't matter what it might be, just say no!
I could have sicked up a more appetising lasagne. And the vegetable tikka masala? I was in Glasgow, they have Indian restaurants there, lots of them. Really really good ones too. What possessed me to have the lumps of green pepper in a runny sauce, I shall never know.
Mind you, the beds. I have seldom slept so well in my life. Either they were the finest beds in the world or the AirCon was blasting out Valerian and Lavender.
I do like Glasgow though. Always have, but I've sort of ignored it in recent years. If my training did nothing else, I'll always be grateful for the fact it rekindled my love of the city.
And most of the people training with me were lovely. And funny. And I shall miss them.
Not sure they'll feel the same about me, but who knows. Maybe one day we'll all meet up again and talk about APR and BGC. Maybe not.
Think of this post as a filler. I'm currently trying to emulate Gwen and post 56 Things About Me
but I'm stuck on number 4. So bear with me.

...just a quick thing...

I thought I'd keep things up to date with a tiny post before I clear off for a week.
Spent much of this week in hospital in Inverness, as a sequel to my earlier illness. The last couple of months have been a bit odd to say the least. What with jobs coming and going, the hospitalisation of my father and indeed myself, and a couple of other things I've not posted such as my 99 year old Grandmother's dementia, and subsequent failures of the care of the elderly in the Scottish Highlands. Forget all the crap spouted by the Daily Mail-centric opinion writers about our old folk getting free, wonderful health care. It's bollocks. In fact where I live they've taken to shutting down the odd place here and there just to make things a bit more difficult. To listen to the people who phone 5Live and LBC, you'd think the care homes here are swimming in milk and honey whilst the inmates, sorry, residents, are sung to their slumbers by Aled Jones and Daniel O Donnell, before being wrapped in cotton wool, and fed quince and grapes...
However, that is for another blog, later.
I just wanted to say that having been for all my tests and scans, apparently I'm fine. Nothing suspicious, "in fact", and I'm quoting now, "Mr Soupy Twist, you can go home whenever you like..." Sadly the surgeon did tell me this 5 minutes AFTER the last bus from Inverness to my hometown had left for the evening. So I got to spend another night in the Highland Capital's lovely hospital, mind you, the food's not bad at all, and the staff are very jolly.
And now, I'm going to take myself off for a week. In fact, as it's November, I'm off to a caravan by the Ayrshire coast. And if you're passing, please feel free to pop in for a cup of Ginger and Lemon Tea. And a pizza. And some chocolate.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. And Ultravox.

The clocks have gone back, the nights are drawing in and deep within the primeval heart of every man a desire to lie in the dark listening to old albums awakens. Alright, perhaps not every man, but certainly me. Every year it happens. One day I'll be going about my normal business, the next, it's a cold, wet, dark Sunday night and I'm lying on the floor, headphones on, re-living my teenage years. And I reckon that this has been going on for over twenty years now. And this year, it started today. Quite without warning I found myself drifting in and out of conciusness listening to Ultravox's Lament album. Which I probably haven't listened to in full since I was about 20. In the old days, I would have supplemented my inappropraite album listenign with the Early Sunday Evening musings of Annie Nightengale. Straight after another God forsaken Top 40 Countdown with Bruno Brookes, or Simon Bates, which came itself, straight after the aural shite-fest that was "Sing Something Simple". Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Autumn. Now don't get me wrong. I like Autumn. I love watching the colours change from green to red, gold and brown. There is a freshness in the air and there is sense of change. I enjoy Spring for much the same reason. But this year, Summer wasn't exactly brilliant, even by the standards I'm used to, and it never really got into gear. So for some months now, there has been an overall feeling of "meh" about the place. In truth, I've been waiting for Summer to start. But now I have to accept that this year, it's been and gone. I believe it was a Thursday.I suppose you'll want to know why I came to be listening to Ultravox.

Truth is I've been sticking stuff onto a "popular fruit based mp3 player" and in between transferring the entire Radio series's of The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy and loads of lovely stuff from the 4AD back catalogue onto it, I've been going through my not so fashionable music too. And there is a large part of the music of the 80s I still hold dear, as it was the music of the school discos, the soundtrack to my growing up, the stuff I pretended to hate but secretly went out and bought. So yes, there is a lot of stuff by The Smiths and This Mortal Coil on my portable tunefest, but there is a good chance that OMD, Johnny Hates Jazz and Curiosity Killed the Cat may find themselves in there too. Poor Ben Vol-a-vaunt, where is he now. Bless him, I wonder if he ever realised how much of an arse he looked in that beret of his. He's probably giving style tips to JayKay on HatTwattery as I type.

Actually, I think I may return to this theme in the coming days. Your Guilty 80's Musical Secrets. Book your place in Father Joseph's Pop Confessional now.

quality music-at a price you can afford

Poll Position

So, after months of frenzied speculation, and a poll rating that has gone up and down like Casanova's underpants, Gordon Brown has ruled out a snap election. It says so as BREAKING NEWS on BBC News 24. Although, if the rest of the British Media is to be beleived, I should take everything said by the BBC with more than a pinch of salt. Obviously, if it were a cynic, I might be inclined to believe that the other outlets of the Media in the UK may have their own agendas when it comes to pepetuating their anti BBC bias. I might say that, if I were a cynic.

Oh hold on, the chaps and lady chaps on Sky News are saying it too. So it must be true.

Mind you, it seemed highly unlikely it was going to happen anyway.

The Labour Party have no money to fight another election so soon after the last one, the Tories have had enough of licking their -often self inflicted- wounds, and are putting on a united front. A report in the Sunday Telegraph on the eve of the Tory conference suggested Lord Ashcroft had already spend £10m on campaigning before the election had even started. Hoping to repeat the success of his previous campaign when in the first three months of 2005 he paid nearly £300,000 in donations to 33 candidates in marginal constituencies. The effects of this were clear for all to see: 11 of the candidates unseated Labour candidates and five vulnerable Conservative MPs were saved. This time around, he is refining the campaign to target an even smaller group of seats, and Brown knows the effects could be far more serious than in 2005.Gordon has been in the leader's chair for 101 days now, and probably doesn't want to run the risk of being turfed out of job he's waited so long to have.

So, has he bottled it?

Possibly. Or he could be the shrewd, prudent political power he clearly feels he is.

For a man who wrote such a fine selection of Political essays under the collective heading of "Courage" it is claimed he has, at times, been shown wanting when it's come to demonstarting the courage of his own convictions. When the whole of the UK fell out of love with Tony Blair, Gordon Brown didn't go for the kill, he stayed in the background, "brooding" if the media were to be believed. Maybe. Or he showed loyalty to his Party, and his leader, knowing that an all out civil war would do irrepairable damage to Labour. For many, the long dark years spent in the wilderness weren't all that long ago. If a week is a long time in politics, 18 years is akin to the rise and fall of the Mayan empire.

Only time will tell if PM Brown has shown weakness in ruling out an election now, or if he's shown great courage.

Politics is a fickle business. 7 days ago, Gordon Brown was hanging ten as he rode the crest of a wave, bouyed by a surge in the polls, this week it's "Just Call Me Dave" Cameron that's on a high, mind you, after all his years working for Carlton he should be used to that. That and talking unprompted for hour upon hour...

By which I mean, they were once a very successful Media organisation, with very impressive communication skills.

Personally, I'm quite glad that there isn't to be an election just yet.

It's Autumn and Hallowe'en is just around the corner, surely opening the door to ghoulish visions of the undead imploring you to choose between a trick or a treat, would only get in the way of Hallowe'en for the kids.

Boom, and if you will, tish... thank you very much, I'm here all week, try the soup.

A Glimpse Into My Soul

Just a quick one, this weekend I'd been going through my old phone and binning pictures and other junk, when I came upon this snapshot. Possibly the finest episode of Holby City ever. Coming up next on BBC1, Casualty, Harry stumbles across Davros in the staff canteen and Charlie and Josh are killed by The Master. Obviously this picture seems to imply that my Sky+ is filled with episodes of QI, Holby and Torchwood. This couldn't be further from the truth. It's mostly episodes of Shaun the Sheep.

Mellow Yellow

And so the blogging begins again.

Never the most regular of posters, my blog has been somewhat lacking on updates in recent weeks. This has been for a number of reasons. Firstly, the company I have worked for for most of my working life, has finally shuffled off it's retail coil. And it has been a slow painful death. This has meant that I have been travelling up and down this fine country for various job interviews, using up any spare time or days off I had. On a positive note, every interview I had resulted in a job offer. Unfortunately, the job I wanted, in the town I wanted, was snatched from my grasp. Not by my failure to find somewhere to live, but by my body rebelling against me in a most painful way. And in a way that allowed me to resemble, in skin tone at least, my Simpson-a-like. Oh how I laughed.

Acute pancreatitis. I have never in my life experienced anything as painful, or as unpleasant. And this comes from the perspective of someone who lived through Thatcher's Britain (yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen, a little bit of politics, doubleseatdoubleseatgottagetadoubleseat, sparkly suit, git face)and had his... No that's another story, and not one I really want to go into just yet.

So, there I was, lying on the shop floor, sweating, turning yellow, and cursing the indigestion I seemed unable to shift, and slowly, but surely it got worse. Now as a lardyarsed Scotsman, who hasn't taken as much care of himself as he should, every thought going through my head seemed to end at the same point, "You may as well face it Tubbs, you're not going to be sending any Christmas cards this year..." oh alright, the actual thought was, "Shit, I'm going to die" well that and a bemused "Didn't I used to have white bits in my eyes?". Now all this started on the Friday, by Wednesday I decided I should see a doctor of some sort. Doctor seemed to think I'd have been better going to A&E. Probably on the previous Friday.

So off I went to my local hospital. For reasons best known to itself, there is a part of the Medical Ward in the same part as the Maternity Ward. The very Maternity Ward I was born in. "Brilliant" I thought, "I'm going to die 10 feet from where I was born, how pitiful is that?".

Now, you've probably guessed by now that I didn't die. I'm not yellow either. And I have lost around 20lbs since my collapse. Actually, I lost most of that on the Friday, still, it's still off. People I haven't seen for a while have commented on how well I'm looking, how I've lost weight and am looking fresher and younger than I have for a long time. And the pancreatitis? Apparently it may never rear it's head again, nasty gallstone getting lodged in places it shouldn't be. And now that I seem to be living on porridge, fruit and low fat-well-everything, it might just have been the warning I needed to give myself the kick up the arse I needed. I'm sure that when it started in my head, that sentence made sense.

Sadly, because of the illness, the job in Ayr fell through. I really wanted the job too. Still, obviously wasn't to be. So for the past few weeks, instead of the stress of moving house and starting a new job in the same week, I've been in hospital, lost weight, gone from pink to yellow and back to pink again, and thrown myself into a Closing Down sale. Must end Saturday, Everything Must Go. Including me. Free to a good home.

However, on Monday, I start a new job here, in my hometown, and it's 9-5, Monday to Friday, every weekend off, every Bank holiday off and pay wise, I'm no worse off than I am in my current job. Now, that might not seem remarkable to most people, but ever since I left school I have worked in Retail. The last time I had every, or even regular, weekends off it was May 1987. And I don't have the stress of moving house. Yet.

So, this weekend, I shall hang up my Retail Hat. For a while anyway. No more kilts, menswear, tailoring or malt whisky. No more soul destroying trips to the NEC in February, and no more salty soup at the Scottish Menswear shows in Moodiesburn and Hamilton. No more Sales reps. No more late night curry frenzies in Birmingham. No more smelly old tweed.I've sold everything from postcards to HD Televisions, and for the best part of 2005, Ladies Accessories, anything you need to know about Radley Handbags, just ask. And in 3 years, I've managed to not only close the oldest established store in the town (1860-2004) I've closed the local Currys and the new Menswear shop (from the "ashes" of the old store) we only opened in April 2006. You'd think people would have stopped employing me by now wouldn't you?

And will I miss working in Retail? Ask me after a month working in an office.

But wish me luck, I think I'm going to need it.