Well, it's goodnight from me, and goodnight from him.

Take care. x

Putting something back

Crime and punishment. It's very black and white. The Justice system hauls you in, chews you up a bit and spits you out at a rate of knots, supposedly having turned you from Jack-the-Ripper-in-a-motor-car to driving Miss Daisy in one easy step.

Society has evolved into thinking that payment in kind is all to do with the Law and very little to do with actually trying to put right what you put wrong. Surely the best thing that could come out of a bad situation, is a lesson to stop it happening again? In my case, I am sure the public at large slept well knowing they were protected from me, whilst I resided at Number 1, block H of Durham (well, my bad jokes, most definately, but that's another blog entry...). Truth is, it wasn't 3 months having my freedom curtailed that stopped me driving like a prick. It isn't the memory of that that's keeping me on the straight and narrow now.

Seeing the scene of destruction, watching a man lying in the middle of the road, not breathing, thinking you've killed someone, that's the punishment. Not being able to help, not being able to fix the damage, that's what lives with you. Not a few months from a lifetime sitting in a cell with people who don't really care either way.

I'm not a doctor, biologist or millionaire, so trying to put straight my error isn't a simple task. It wasn't fixed by a year of Police investigation, interviews, court, prison, tagging or probation. There isn't an instruction manual in tidying up the enormous cluster fuck I created. So I've got to think creatively about how to make something good from something very bad. Like trying to turn a school dinner into a meal. Tough, but maybe not impossible.

One thing I can do, is tell the story to others. If that story stops one person going through the pain of the whole experience, it's been worth it. Giving something meaningful back is important, and that's what I'm going to do.

Take nothing for granted part II

And just when you thought it wasn't safe to leave the cupboard under the stairs, something happens to let you know you needn't have been there in the first place.

That smile you had hidden in the inside pocket of your deepest darkest winter jacket, can start escaping into the open like the you're The Joker on a family pack course of Valium. And it's contagious. Suddenly that thing that pisses you off every single day, that cretin driving at 2mph, makes you chuckle instead of wanting to jump out, run alongside and harpoon the coffin dodger.

Even a conversation with a call centre ends in 'goodbye' instead of 'fuck off and die'. Must be going soft in my old age. But it feels great. Like the opening, lighter nights as Winter's beaten into submission by a rampant Spring. But I draw the line at Parking Attendants. Yes, parking attendants- you're not Traffic Wardens, they're 15 steps up the evolutionary ladder compared to you, you parasitic non-jobbers-in-silly-hats-with-fat-arses.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, happiness.

Never forget how good that moment feels, when your heart reimplodes with fireworks. It should be a daily occurrance, not a once in a while experience. Do what you have to do to maintain it. Make everyday another new experience and get excited all over again. Recycle the happiness, keep it up.

This one's dedicated to the Irish Sea, thanks for nothing! :)

Take nothing for granted

There you are, running at full speed towards you don't know what. Ups come, downs come and the world meanders along at a pace it's always been used to.

The faces in your life are a mixture of acquaintances, friends, rocks and family, in any given combination. You get used to them, you rely on some of them, you don't really need some and yes, you always take some for granted. Days, weeks, months and years go by and they're still there. They're the wallpaper on your life's walls.

Sometimes it's your choice to redecorate, change the wallpaper, new curtains, change the scene. It suits you, you need to do it. But sometimes, it's out of your hands. You turn around and that woodchip has been peeled off, not even to be replaced. The comfort in your surroundings can disappear faster than a pikey with your pushbike. And how you feel, I suppose, depends on where that comfort was on your radar.

That ground you didn't realise was supporting your feet, gives way, and the shock of the fall is only eclipsed by the pain of your heavy landing. And, for a while at least, you take stock, you evaluate and consider. A life moving at 27,000 miles an hour slows to a crawl and a moment of clarity is delivered like a parcel from the god of pragmatism. All those connections, wallpapers, suddenly mean so much to you, not to be taken for granted, not to be removed.

Don't let it ebb. Keep that considered clarity. Never wake up in a redecorated room regretting you never managed one last look at the old decorations. Accept it can happen any time, any place, probably when you want or expect it the least, but it's going to happen. Live as if it's going to, let the rocks, friends and family take their rightful place in your thoughts and when it happens, let that candle in your conscience burn for them without wavering.

Love isn't a weakness or a dependence, it's a strength and should be embraced. Embrace the ones you love and don't let go.

This one's dedicated to someone in pain right now. Celtic 1, Rangers 0, at least.

TV Licence Wankers

What is it with these people? I don't have a TV that can receive their shite. I don't want to pay them £12 a month for that shite, that I don't receive.

"Dear Mr Olley

Thank you for contacting us.

Our records show that the name on the TV Licence you have enquired about is not yours.  I am unable to inform a third party of the details concerning a particular person or address, as this would be in breach of the Data Protection Act.

Under the circumstances please ask the licence holder to contact us.

Yours sincerely

Sally
TV Licensing"


"Dear Sally

You're happy to take my fucking money, yet aren't willing to talk to me about it. You parasites are examples of what's wrong with this shithole of a country.

I woudn't mind, but I consciously do not spend any of my free time watching the mindless, worthless shite that is 'tv' because being patronised by left wing fucking idiots is not my preferred pastime.

For your information, I will use part of what is my one day off, to visit my bank and let them know to cut off my funding contribution to your nasty little nazi-on-a-stick empire, seeming you shower of cunts are unable to execute (good choice of word, considering the analogy- you wouldn't have got it had I not pointed it out) a simple but important request.

On a personal level, I'm sure you'll enjoy forwarding this message around the office in a sort of "let's laugh at this guy" kind of way. Let's at this point bear in mind you're the one who's the email jockey having to send out mindless, automated replies to people in response to the seemingly endless fuckwittery that is the tv licencing system.

I hope you feel a valued employee.

Have a nice day.

Dan"

Fuckers.

Hangover

When you're 18, the concept of the hangover is much less exciting than the concept of being drunk.

By the time I hit my 30s and, having experienced one or two of both (this is obviously like the rev counter on a car, you have to multiply to get the true figure), the concept of the hangover is looming large against the joy of being so drunk you're willing to have a conversation about 18th Century French Artists with your trousers.

If hangovers weren't bad enough, life, playing with it's big biology chemistry science set, then makes the cure for a hangover, more drink. It's not orange juice, coffee, gallons of water, enough paracetemol to euthanase Paris or a fried breakfast. It's plain old beer. Or spirits if you're feeling particularly racey. Hindsight, is never so strong as the morning after, when you question the value in your choice and quantity of drink from the night before. Was it really a good idea to drink 8 pints and 7 large Vodkas and that bottle of wine and the emergency aftershave you keep in the fridge? There's nobody as wise with drinking decisions of the past than the terminally hungover.

And those morning states can vary wildly, from a headache designed to kill rather than disable, to still being a bit drunk, dancing wildy around the living room to some stupidly loud music as if the night before is still in progress. Well, I suppose at that point, it is. Nothing better than a quick pause before resumption of festivities. Remember, you're not an alcoholic as long as you're enjoying yourself. Or something. Hic.

Is it worth it? Is the effort of depriving your bank account of funds to fill the urinal with funds of your own, really worth it? Sensible people will say 'no'. Sensible people will also be able to tell you the cast list of Coronation Street and know more about home improvements than is really ideal. So, mostly, it's a resounding 'yes'. The people you meet, the conversations you have, are all mechanicals functioned by the oil that is alcohol, in one way or another. It gets shit done.

Multi million pound business deals. Are they really done around the boardroom table? More likely, they're forged in the Lounge Bar, trying to play Whiskey top trumps 'till the wee hours, talking about that time they got caught by wife number 3 with their PA's legs wrapped around their neck and the resultant divorce. Atilla the Hun wasn't really a genocidal maniac intent on dominating the world. He was just pissed, most of the time. Waking up to find you've slaughtered hundreds of thousands of people and paracetamol hasn't ben invented yet must be a real hangover bitch from hell. 

So the hangover is just a byproduct of a necessary evil that gets shit done, makes the world go around and costs the NHS millions of pounds in treatments every single year. What's not to like?

Friends

No, not the TV program. You stupid fucker.

Real friends. People who will put their own shit a little further back on the conveyor belt of life, to scan and process yours. I never used to value the value of friends, until that day I really needed to use them as my mental zimmer frame.

And the great thing is, you find there are people out there who will listen, deal with and make sense of all your excrement, for free and, they mean it. It doesn't just speak volumes without talking, it means the whole world. Suddenly there's a realisation that there are people out there, that you would never consider having sex with, who can still mean the earth. Unloading enough of your shit to bury a small town, these friends absorb, listen, talk and advise. They might be as mad as a box of epileptic badgers, but the fact they're willing to listen and care means you'll put up with the paw prints.

What follows next? Enlightenment. That someone will do something so selfless for you, you then know how to do it for someone else. The slab of granite you've been leaning on, you want to be that slab for someone else, someone who needs it more than you. It's not about your own validation anymore, it's about making sure that friend is OK, that you're helping, that they won't let their crap envelope them like a duvet of depression. Most of people's shee-ite is short term, and they just need some binoculors to spot the wood from the trees. Provide that viewing aid, and you're doing the right thing.

Perspective is sometimes a skill, sometimes a gift, sometimes a curse. When it's a skill, use it. When it's a gift, give it. When it's a curse, use your friends.

I can only dedicate this one to my rock, they know who they are, and, thank you.