February snow

Stunning
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

February seems to bring a lot of snow. Allegedly, when I was born, the streets were knee high with snow for two weeks. I thought I was born in Edgware, North West London, but my parents paint a picture akin to the Arctic.

We've had a lot of snow in the last 36 hours. Sunday night saw the first flakes before we woke up to a sea of white.

Being Britain, the country was closed was all of Monday. Not a single London bus ran for yesterday's rush hour, 1 in 5 people took the day off work, tubes were down for the morning and thousands of schools were closed.

God bless Britain.

That meant I had the day off too. In my defence, I did get up at my normal time, showered, got ready then looked out of the window and thought that there was no way my car was leaving the end of my street, let alone getting up the hill beyond.

So, after a flurry (geddit!) of phone calls, official confirmation came through that if it was too dangerous to get into school, don't come. Later that day, we were told not to bother coming in today either. I'm not complaining.

I spent yesterday building a snowman with my dad and brother. Three grown men rolling huge spheres of snow up the street wasn't something I thought I'd see when I woke up that morning. The result was well worth it.

Luckily, we live well off the main road so any young rapscallions looking to kung-fu kick the newest addition to the family will be hard pressed to find him.

Right, time for a cuppa. Phil and Fearne are genius on This Morning. I wish I could cackle like Phil...sigh.

I'm useless - it's official

Please, don't argue the point...I said, don't argue the point. Sod you, then.

I'm finding the whole concept of blogging incredibly difficult to keep up with. How do people
a) find the time?
b) find the time?

I mean, for example, I'm busy watching Time Team at the moment and am forced to type at the same time as Baldrick's making a very interesting speech about some mud, or something. I still love this show.

We're currently rehearsing for our 'Seasonal Entertainment' at school right now. (That's Political Correctness for 'Christmas show' - sssh, I don't want to offend the Grinch's of the world.) Yes, I know it's November 10th. And yes, I know we started preparing for this way back in September, but the ruddy show will be shown to parents on Friday.

I can't remember the last time I taught an English lesson, what with all these rehearsals. I miss English lessons.

And the beat goes on...

Greenford Road disco
Originally uploaded by Route79

It's always a privilege to see others thinking of my rather mundane life. Over the last few months, I've had a couple of people say that they're enjoying reading this ramble on life. I thank you for your kind words, although I am worried for you as you really should have better things to do with your days than read this random muck.

I've had a few readers come through from my Flickr site, too. Flickr is a photo and video uploading site that enables you to (it's obvious when you think about it) share photos and short video clips with the online community (see, told you). If you haven't seen my page, why? Here it is, you lazy sods: http://www.flickr.com/photos/asimpleman/

The video I've posted here has been filmed by the inspiration for my Flickr photoset, Route79. (He's strangely obsessed with the Route 79 bus service that runs here in North West London. Don't worry, he is normal. Ish.)

The clip is based on the fact that Route79 takes the same route as I do to work and that I have now made it my mission to look out for this random man carrying out his filming whilst on my drive in.

Here, he has chosen to video the last section of the journey I take, added The Whispers' 60s disco classic 'And The Beat Goes On', highlighted the beauty of Greenford Road (most particularly the Texaco petrol station - a must-see for any tourists in the area) and even sped up the video a tad in order to catch the road I turn into.

If anyone else wishes to pay homage, I'll happily accept cash gifts.

And to see how a real blog should be written, check out Route79 and his Flickr site:
http://www.route79.org/journal/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/route79/

Pointless pursuits

Which club to use?
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

There are many things that happen in life, for which there seems to be no rhyme nor reason...

such as why your queue in Asda is always slower than the one next to you. Switch queues and your old queue goes faster;

such as why men feel the need to show off their podgy, pasty chests with the merest hint of sun;

or why someone ever told Shane Richie that he could turn up on my TV screen. The man's a lemon.

Another one to add to the list is the whole point of the game of golf. I do not understand it.

Every few months, I feel the need to brush down my brother's clubs and take them out for a round. My reasoning is always based around the fact that it's a lovely day, so I should make the most of it by spending a few hours with just greenery and me. I'd be better off sitting in Homebase.

From the moment I tee off (look at me with my technical speak), I see people hurriedly putting up umbrellas to prevent themselves from being permanently maimed by the projectile lumps of earth that I carve out of the ground with every shot.

I usually take along a friend to make me feel even worse about my lack of aptitude for the game. Whereas they seem to have an invisible fishing line reeling their ball towards the hole, my ball always seems adamant on exploring areas of the green that man hasn't set eyes on for the last millenia.

These areas largely consist of pointy branched trees, stinging nettled patches of grass and the bottom of ponds. Bill Oddy, eat your heart out mate.

I'll get to the end of a hole, which should have been completed in three shots, swearing under my breath as my attempt was closer to fifteen. And even then I chose to give up as the pair of golfers behind us had resorted to pitching up a tent and starting a camp fire because I'd taken so long.

It really is a pointlessly frustrating game. So frustrating that I'm not going to get back those hours spent rooting around in undergrowth.

So frustrating as that lump of earth has now been been projected into space, to orbit the Mir Space Station, never to fit into the patchwork of green from which it once came.

So frustrating that I'll find myself trying to get the better of it very, very soon...

Six weeks to get back on track

School doesn't have to be boring!
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

Right, this is pathetic. My blog was meant to be interesting, up-to-date, humorous and a generally nice way to pass a minute or two.

So far, it's succeeded in being poorly maintained. That's about it.

I've got six weeks to put it right. That's because it's summer holidays!

For those of you who don't know me (and quite frankly, not many people do. I'm somewhat of an enigma. Or should that be an enema?), I'm a primary school teacher.

Six weeks holidays are what every teacher looks forward to after busting a gut to get the kids through the year. All those early starts, late evenings marking and preparing and weekends lost due to flippin' paperwork all melt into insignificance when you have this time on your hands.

What to do with it, though? Well, being completely disorganised, I haven't actually booked a trip anywhere. As I scan the holidays online now, it seems as though I'll be paying through my bottom to actually afford anywhere overseas that at least doesn't have a chavvy family in the room next door, or where the streets don't smell of British wee and vomit. Tenerife, that means you.

I'm in work on Monday though. Tidying up and prepping for next year. Those six weeks are never what it says on the tin.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

I went to get my hair cut today. That's usually quite a traumatic experience for me. Over the last three years, I've probably visited about fifteen different barbers/stylists in order to get a cut that I like.

Some places are cheap, others expensive; some places take four hours for a cut, others take seven minutes; some places use only scissors; others use nothing but clippers.

I work in a school and my colleagues regularly comment on the amount of effort I put into making my hair look good. Note: colleagues, not five year olds, before you start getting all smart.

Some would call it vanity. So would I.

I believe that hair says a lot about a person. Hair should look good. Just because it's a load of dead cells protruding from the top of your head, doesn't mean you shouldn't care for it.

Which is why I wash and condition my hair every day. Sometimes twice a day for the sheer hell of it. I live life on the edge.

Then, I spend a good ten minutes getting it to look semi-decent (as long as the cut's done a good job) by manipulating it with a tub of 'Matt Paste', that costs the ridicuously exorbitent amount of £19.99 per tub.

However, today I saw that this excessive amount of effort with my hair could be starting to show. In today's financially astute world, I would liken what I saw today to 'negative equity'.

As the barber pulled the right-hand side of my hair back, I believe I saw a...I can't even bring myself to say it...a receding hairline.

I haven't checked again. I'm too scared.

This could be due to the excessive amount of attention that I pay it. It could be due to age - I'm 29. Almost past it, as many of my younger friends regularly say. The gits.

Either way, I'm worried. I'd rather have the Ebola virus than lose my hair.

To deny the symptoms to myself is the only way that I can live with this condition. So, from now on, I shall only be concentrating on looking at the left hand side of my head of hair.

The right hand side is evil and doesn't deserve any attention whatsoever. Evil, I tell you...

Best Men shouldn't have to write. We're the best.

Best Man speech - written
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

My best friend's getting married in two weeks. I'm joint best man, with one of his friends from his work-days.

I spent four ruddy hours writing a speech today. I thought the internet would help. It just gave me dodgy jokes that Jim Davidson would have used, circa 1984.

The trouble with using the internet for something like this is that everyone uses it. Therefore, you run the risk of regurgitating a speech that people have heard in drips and drabs at all the weddings that they've ever been to.

I, however, have never been Best Man and this is only the second Christian wedding I'm going to so it's all new to me. Even if I heard jokes from Bobby Davro's stand-up act from 1987, it wouldn't make the blind bit of difference to me as it'd all be fresh material to my ears!

Writing this speech has been difficult as I can't be rude, nor can I mention any of the groom's past 'misdemeanours'. It's like I'm writing for someone who doesn't really exist.

This must be what it's like when you work for a politician.

I'm going to test the water with the speech with colleagues at work this week. I expect quite a few re-writes as even I'm cringing at some of the gags that have been thrown in there, and I wrote the ruddy thing...

Woof

Birthday dogs
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

Greyhound racing. The sport of the common man. Stale beer. Greasy chips. Chavs.

And a bloody good laugh!

I went to Wimbledon dogs, for the first time, as part of my birthday celebrations. I was joined by other novices and one wannabe John McCririck (blimey, that's tricky to spell) who'd brought along the paper to 'study the odds'.

I, on the other hand, went for the well-thought out route in order to earn my millions - pick the pooch with the best name.

So, my choices ranged from 'Droopys Dalvina' (as it reminded me of an impotent Davina McCall - scientifically impossible, but logic doesn't come into this), through to 'Comans Joe' (it reminded me of the great Schwarzenneger in Conan The Barbarian).

With such a fine system, I ended the night with three wins. Out of eleven races. Left a fiver down. Not quite enough to jack the job in yet.

Next port of call: bingo. Those old biddies clearly know something I don't...

Sesame Street, it ain't

Avenue Q
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

Went to See Avenue Q last night, as part of my birthday celebrations. Had heard that it was very funny, with actors controlling puppets that were vaguely Sesame Street-esque, but ruder.

Yes, I'd say two puppets boffing away in the middle of the stage was slightly rude, but incredibly funny.

The show 'starred' puppets, but the stars were really the voice artists/puppet controllers who had a strange skill of being obviously there manipulating the puppets but, after a while, just became part of the scenery and enabled the audience to concentrate on the puppet, rather than the person standing two inches behind it.

Highly recommended. Just don't take the kids.

Happy Birthday to me

It's my birthday today.

I'm 29.

Blimey.

The Christmas Party

Dinner paraphernalia
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

Just what is it about this annual event that makes people act so strangely? Ah, yes, the booze.

Had ours on Friday night and, as with so many parties across the country, as the alcohol increased, so did the strange events. I must confess that I am guilty of having a few too many (£2.80 for a double vodka and coke - seriously, you'd have to be mad not to make the most of that!)

However, the morning after always produces fine stories. Amongst our tales of woe, we had someone throwing mince pies across the car park, somebody else urinating in the middle of the same car park, without a care in the world, as traffic passed alongside, me singing Take That's 'Back For Good' as a duet with the hired singer (I bow my head in shame) and somebody else being dry-humped.

Come to think of it, I'm actually quite glad I can't remember much of it. If your party is coming up, enjoy!

Livingstone's double bluff

Spot the spelling mistake
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

I wanted to have a wander into the city today to make a start on my Christmas shopping. I thought I'd make the most of the much hyped traffic-free Oxford and Bond Street. Ken Livingstone's put a lot of effort into advertising and promoting the fact that these roads would be fully pedestrian just for Saturday, alongside street entertainers and music to make it a fun and enjoyable day for all. Use the tube and come on down to have a truely unique experience!

Then he decides to give the go-ahead for my local tube station to be closed this weekend for engineering works. Cheers.

The waiting game

That's a lot of bags
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

I had the misfortune to be stuck in ladies fashion store 'Jane Norman' this afternoon. I don't particularly mind shopping with girls. It's not as bad as it's made out to be. Yes, it does involve waiting around outside changing rooms for a long time, but it provides quality thinking time which is a rarity. It also enables me to look at the other poor souls who are standing around playing the waiting game too.

Whilst I was standing around today, I created a game to keep me occupied. You can play it too, if you want. Here's what to do.

Next time you're sitting on one of those soft cube cushions in the waiting area, pick a man who looks suitably fed up.

Look carefully at his face. Study the look of boredom and frustration then take a bet (with yourself, not with him because he'll probably smack you) on the number of minutes before he has an outburst.

Then, sit back and watch as the look of sheer boredom grows and manifests itself into a fearsome beast, ready to explode at the next halterneck top that the unfortunate man's lady friend chooses to wave under his nose with the immortal line "What do you think?"

I bet seven minutes against one bloke today. He exploded in 3 minutes, 12 seconds. I lost the bet with myself. Highly enjoyable though.

Normal service will soon resume...

Sunbathing iguana
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

I'm just fiddling with a few bits to make my blogging life a tad easier for me.

If you haven't noticed, I'm not the most regular blogger due to the fiddly nature of this blogging site I'm on. Hopefully, by posting entries this way, I'll be able to comment on more nothingness a bit more frequently.

Avoidance

On Saturday, I went to the gym. However, due to the local council wishing to tear up the roads at a moment's notice, I was stuck in a load of traffic on the way to my normal gym. Having a reciprocal gym membership with this well known fitness chain, I decided to go to another of their branches instead.

I got to said establishment and pulled into a parking spot. I reversed out a little, with the intention of straightening and tidying the parking up. Nothing worse than being outside your polygon - there's no excuse. Anyway, as I was slowly reversing out, some pillock goes by at a ridiculously fast speed and honks his horn. He then pulls up a little further down and has the audacity to stick his head out of the window towards me and make, what can only be described as, a Shaw Taylor Police 5 'Keep 'Em Peeled' gesture with his fingers. (Ask your parents.)

He looked bigger than me so, even though I had really done nothing wrong, I kept my fingers to myself. This is Wembley. You can lose your fingers for just blinking at someone in a funny way.

It was then that the charade began. He parked up a little way down, but refused to get out of his car, instead opting to try and stare me out through his rear view mirror, knowing full well I'd have to pass his car to get into the gym. By this point, I'd got out, grabbed my gym bag from the boot and was about to make way towards my hour of sweat and tears. But I saw his eyes. They looked menacing.

So, I began to do what many of us must have done at some point. In order to buy some time, I acted as if I'd lost something. On the surface, I was pretending to look for my gym card. In my head, I was thinking 'You look like a wally'. I opened the boot and rooted around. Looked up - he was still staring. I went to the passenger door and looked in the glove compartment - beady eyes still on me. I leafed through my pockets, 'sighed'. He hadn't moved an inch.

Buying time had failed. Only one option left for delicate folk like me. I got back in my car and drove home. It was the only sensible thing to do. I'm a realist. I like my face as it is. The muscles can wait a day, I'm just glad I still have a pair of eyes that point forwards, ta very much.

Time is but a passing fad...

See, I take my eye off the clock and it's August already. My last blog update was at the end of May. That's atrocious.

Although I must admit that a lot's happened during the intervening months. Work wise, my class received their Key Stage 2 SATs results and were, by and large, very pleased with themselves. And so they should be. They worked their socks off. Although it still seems some aren't happy. Alas, there will always be critics.

The kids performed their leavers performance, then waved goodbye to life at Primary School, taking their first steps along the long and winding road of adolescence and onto adulthood. Take your time, little ones, it's not as much fun as you think it is, when you finally get here...

As for me, my summer holidays are in full swing. Spent a few days in Cornwall last week. Never been before, but will certainly visit again. Being able to actually see the stars in the night sky was a real treat, as well as popping down to the beach for a spot of surfing as and when the need arose.

However, living there? Never. To me, the rolling green fields and lines of trees are all very well and good for a little visit, but I'm a city lad through and through. I like rude people around me. I like car fumes and noise. I like to sample the delights that international cuisine has to offer me simply by popping down to my local high street. I like to know that if I ever need a packet of Digestives at 3 in the morning, the Happy Shopper down the road will always be willing to serve me. I like broken slabs of pavement tiles - they add character. I like to be busy. I like to meet people from the farthest reaches of the planet on a single night out in Willesden. I like to play chicken with the buses. I like the dodgy London Underground system. I like being a part of the vast number of religious and international festivals that are celebrated here. I like to pay over the odds for anything and everything I buy. Well, maybe not the latter but that's the price you pay for the rest of it.

I'm probably in a minority, but I don't mind. Makes the feeling even more special.

Off-road driving

Walking down the local high street today, I happened to encounter upon this huge BMW 4x4 conveniently parked on the pavement. Clearly, he didn't feel as though there was enough space on the road.

Which is fair enough. I mean, with a car that big, why should the driver use the road at all? No doubt he's more used to deep, treacherous ravines, rocky mountain terrain, miles of waterlogged stretches of paddy fields and awe-inspiringly steep hills for those 4x4 gears to be put to real work.

Oh sorry, no he's not. He's driving in Wembley.

Facebook: Update

I'm addicted. It's official.

This must be what heroin feels like.

I find myself checking it every few hours for a mere snippet of a comment someone may have saved on my 'Wall'. As for the photos people leave of me in my youth, well, they're cringeworthy, yet strangely captivating.

There really, really must be more to life than this.

Getting to know you

I've joined Facebook. I don't understand it myself. I feel I was rallied into it by others and their overzealous comments on the sheer wonderfulness of its existence.

It just seems to be a place where one of two things happens.

Thing Number One
You happen to stumble across someone from your life whom you've spoken to for ages. Could be an old work colleague, maybe someone you were mates with at school. For this, I like Facebook.

Thing Number Two
Some nutter from your past manages to track you down. You've spent all these years trying to distance yourself/change your your name by depol in order to get away from this person, then in one click of a mouse, they're back with you again in all their inanely nerdy glory. For this, Facebook, I can never truely hold you dear to my heart.

Polite people

Went to the petrol station to top up the air in my car's tyres this afternoon.

I'm overly concious about this issue now as I went through a period of not checking the tyres at all, resulting in them quickly wearing down to well past the legal limit. Not big and not clever.

I went to a Texaco petrol station close to where I live. I pulled up beside the machine and then - being the precise keeno that I am - went around my tyres checking what pressure I should be filling up to.

Again, in my days of laxness, even when I did get around to filling air up, I'd just fill up without checking anything. I must have often filled up the car with the air that the push-bike in front had used. This probably was a secondary factor to the tyres going bald.

Anyway, as I was being safety concious and checking the tyres, a man pulled up behind me and asked if he could jump in. I was just about to begin the process myself but he had greasy hands (like a mechanic) and looked bigger than me so I let him cut in front.

I kept my distance throughout in case he turned nasty.

However, when he was done, he politely turned round and, with a cheeky little glint in his eye, said that there was still quite a bit of time left in the machine and that I was welcome to quickly make the most of it.

I did just what he said. And there was still time left after that for the next chap who had pulled up.

Our mechanic friend must have put at least a quid in. It's good to know that polite people still exist.

Even if he did have very greasy hands.