Motivation - now there’s a word to conjure with

Motivation - now there’s a word to conjure with

I think I have SAD. I’m just weary and I can’t put my finger upon it. I look out of my window and sunny Plymouth is officially grey. I don’t think I even have the energy to write another word, that’s how tired I am. I am so tired I don’t even think that a gram of amphetamine mainlined into my central nervous system would wake me up. I am so tired that I can’t even think about a gram of amphetamine let alone spend the energy actually trying to buy the foul stuff.

I am feeling numb from the top of my head to the aching soles of my feet. I feel so numb that if someone where to beat me around the head with a 5 kilo codfish I wouldn’t notice. I am so numb that when I'm asked why my head and clothing are encrusted with scales I would just shrug and look numbly back at them.

I am fatigued. My muscles feel like they have been overworked and underfed. My greatest wish, should I summon up the enthusiasm, would be to lie in bed somewhere being intravenously fed with vitamin enriched lucozade backed up with a glucose drip. My fatigue is so inherent that should Kyle wish to attend and perform the bed bath upon me my penis would lay there like a sleepy snake at midday, mid Sahara.

I am shattered. My energy lies in shards around me, but like an ill matched jigsaw I just don’t seem to be able to pick it up and put it together again. I am so shattered that if the building were to burn down right now, at least my room would be warm for a while and I’d be comfortable. They’d find my burned and charred husk sitting with my blackened stumps upon my desk enjoying the heat, remembering those hot summer days when we are all so full of energy.

I am drained, like a can of peas after lunch; I no longer have any juice. I can’t make my pods go pop with any vigour. I feel slightly greenish and slow and sort of mushy. My vital energy has drained right out of me just when I wasn’t looking, like a slow puncture in my tire, I have been let down. Now I am desiccated, dried and demoralised should someone stand next to me and sneeze I would explode into a thousand million molecules and float around for eternity getting up peoples noses and giving them allergies.

I’ve just had enough and am all-in. If I had the wherewithal I would vote for the one day week and the compulsory Lennonesque 6 day bed-in. I am totally bushed, and have the energy levels of an inmate at Guantanamo Bay who has just been kicked shitless by the guards but given a weekend pass. I’ll pass. Mañana will do for me I couldn’t drag myself out on the town even if I was strapped to a herd of rogue elephants being teased by white mice.

I am just dead beat, like a deadbeat after a bottle of Thunderbird. A nice soft gutter would do me right now, an eiderdown of newspapers and a mattress of cardboard sounds like bliss. Take me to oblivion on a single ticket and shackle me to the railings. I’m sleepy, no hi ho’s will keep me awake, like drowsy, I’m six dwarves short of a snooze. My lids are drooping, and I’m drooling down my shirt like a bad Pavlovian experiment. I can’t write another word; my fingers droop over the keyboard, neither can I check the thesaurus for another, yet another, synonym – I am pooped. 

Simple steps to meditation

Here's something I wrote 10 years ago (blimey!)

Simple Steps to Meditation.

Walking the 100 miles of the Two Moors Ways between Ivybridge and Lynmouth takes about seven days. In those seven days one travels through the ancient landscapes of Dartmoor and Exmoor. Burial mounds, standing stones, hut circles and ancient trails punctuate the walk with the constant reminder that these places have always been special for humans.

Carrying a 20 kilo pack containing tent, sleeping bag, food and equipment forces one to practise one of the main tenets of walking meditation – that of moving the feet. Buddhists are instructed to be mindful of four stages in each step: (i) lifting the foot; (ii) moving it forward; (iii) putting it down; and (iv) touching or pressing the foot on the ground.

And step by step, as I travelled these ways, I entered the meditative state of mind simply by putting one foot in front of the other, or as some practitioners suggest ‘stepping, stepping, stepping’.

Walking the moors, one has to be aware of these actions because to put a foot wrong means a turned ankle or worse. By increasing our awareness of our bodies actions we also become increasingly aware of things outside of ourselves, objects we might trip over, other people we might walk into, and these are many other things outside of ourselves that we will be more aware of than when we are sitting –especially if we sit inside. These include the wind, the sun and the rain, and the sounds of nature and of humans and machines.

But as one finds the natural rhythm (and using a pair of trekking poles forces you into such a rhythm) you find that each and every footstep forms part of a natural mantra. And as the length of the walk progresses, it becomes easier to enter into the detached but aware state that walking meditation facilitates.

While walking long distances there will always be feelings associated with our bodies, from the niggling pain of the blister to a pleasant feeling of relaxation. There will also be feelings associated with the things we see and hear, and with all of the other sensory modalities that we experience – including those that are imagined.

In paying attention to feelings, the important thing is simply to notice them without either clinging to them or pushing them away. When we are unaware, it is very common for our minds to start grasping after experiences associated with pleasant feelings.

Many people say to me when I start walking a long-distance path that I’ll “be able to have some thinking time – to sort things out”, but it always seems to me that when walking I actually have very little ‘thinking time’.  My mind becomes attuned to the mantra of walking, my eyes to the path ahead and my body to experiencing the sensations of physical activity.  By experiencing our sensations, rather than thinking about them, we help to cut down on unproductive thinking and bring about more calmness.

Walking the Two Moors way allows us to ‘be in the moment’.  That moment where we can fill out mind with the richness of the experience of walking, leaving less room for daydreaming and fantasy and becoming deeply aware of our present experience, which becomes far more fulfilling than any daydream.

This detached state then becomes an integral part of the ‘Art of Walking’. The Buddhist monk Thick Nhat Hanh tells us that ‘If we practise walking meditation, we walk just for walking, not to arrive. We have to be alive with each step, and if we are, each step brings real life back to us. The purpose is to be in the present moment and enjoy each step you make’.

Walking alone through the wilderness of Dartmoor and Exmoor is a pure exercise in walking meditation and each step becomes a prayer and each mile dharma. 

(published in Connect Magazine October/November 2002 - Issue 15)

Garden meditation

The tadpoles in the garden

Are turning into frogs

The sun is shining

It’s too hot for dogs

The fruit trees are blooming

The country it is parched

Who could believe it?

It’s still only March

The sky is a deep blue

They’re swimming in the sea

People wearing shorts

And sipping cream tea

The weather is delightful

The sunshine is so hot

I gotta put a hat on

Before I lose the plot

It’s hotter than Venice

It’s hotter than Spain

The headlines in the papers

Make that plain

It’s hotter than Greece

It’s hotter than Rome

Who needs a holiday?

When you can stay at home

So I’m sitting in my garden

I’m watching bees buzz

I’m listening to the flowers grow

The dog just does

The fruit trees are blooming

Pink petals in the sun

I’m doing nothing

Just listening to the hum

Ommmmmmmmmm………

How I met my dog....

I have just submitted this article to an american pet magazine.  Theres no money in it or even a prize if one gets published. But I thought now I'm back from China I had better get this blog going again.  Some of you who know me might remind me what my Cocker Spaniel was called because for the life of me I can't remember, isn't that sad?  So I've named him 'Barney' for the purpose of this piece.


How I met my dog...

It was a sunny Sunday in May and I was taking tea on Plymouth Hoe. The Coffee Shack was, and still is, one of my most favourite places in the whole world.  Located on West Hoe in Plymouth one is able to dawdle over tea and look out over the spectacular natural harbour that has seen seafarers from Drake to Darwin sail away.

However, on that day in May, I was alone and was feeling in need of some sort of friendly company so I decided to leave my sunny spot and head off across town to see my friends Mandy and Dave.  I was surprised when I reached their place to be greeted at the door by not one Jack Russell but two!  I knew my friends had Toby the diminutive wirehaired scamp that lived with them, but they had increased their family by one with Molly, a friendly shorthaired Jack.

My surprise and astonishment at being met by two very friendly dogs jumping and wiggling around my feet was increased when I was ushered into the kitchen to peep into a cardboard box where 6 little pug noses were being pushed out to greet me with little yips of excitement. Mandy and Dave beamed at me.

I should have been more aware!

Well, of course, everyone loves a newly born puppy and I am no exception. I had owned dogs in the past but having lost my last two dogs somewhat tragically I had not renewed my relationship with mans best friend.  My last two dogs had been faithful companions. Rosy was an English Springer Spaniel of advancing years I had saved from certain death when her former owner had announced he was leaving the country; she was ensconced on the settee, in front of the fire, that very evening.

Barney was a Blue Roan Cocker Spaniel from good stock that I had from a puppy.  As he had such good, prizewinning parents, I had decided that I would enter the dog into various shows and see how he did.  I thought that this would probably be a good and new hobby that would get me out and about, meeting new people, and of course I knew I had a ‘good’ dog so it might be fun too.

Living and working in Cornwall is a wonderful place to have dogs. There are so many places one can go and with Rosy and Barney I took full advantage until one day I noticed that old Rosy was making heavy weather of her usual walk. Springer Spaniels are full of energy and just want to work. She would always be ahead of me, quartering the ground ahead; doing what she was bred to do, flushing game.  But now she was panting and lying down every few yards, not a happy dog at all.

That week I took her to the vet as she just didn’t improve so she clearly wasn’t just under the weather.  It was bad news. Her heart was failing. The kindest thing was … unspeakable, but it was done. I was distraught.

Within two days, my young energetic Cocker Spaniel was showing symptoms of something; he was lethargic, off his food.  Pining for Rosy we thought.  But he got worse.  More visits to the vet. The vet was nonplussed.  Barney got more and more ill. The vet diagnosed a blood problem and even used his own dog to provide blood for Barney. But to no avail.  Ten days after Rosy had gone, so too was Barney gone.

The house was empty of dogs; except for the phantom dogs I could hear jumping off the beds upstairs.  There was no one to eat my apple cores where once upon a time two pairs of bright eyes were locked on my every movement whilst I ate the apple.

Now two new pairs of eyes were locked onto mine.  Two bright sparkly eyes, attached to a friendly little face, a button nose and markings that gave her kohl around the eyes and huge eyebrows – a seductress! I still wasn’t sure I wanted a dog. I hadn’t had a dog for years.  I worked in an office for goodness sake.  Mandy and Dave were teasing me, goading me on. But I still wasn’t sure.  Yes, we all love puppies and the one that was cuddled in my hands was no exception. And yes she was very beautiful.  But what was that? She was born on March 4^th?  But that’s my birthday too!

‘Oh go on then’ - it was obviously meant to be.

I still sit on Plymouth Hoe in the sunshine, drinking tea, looking across the beautiful harbour. But now on my lap, sharing a biscuit, is Snooks, my constant companion. 

..................................

Just adding the photo for illumination and extra interest

I am going to China

Soon I am going to China
An adventure in my later years
Escaping the tedium of the office and salary and the 9 to 5 slog

Before I get too old
I am going to China
I'm leaving my old life
And my daughter and my dog

And I can't sleep 
I lay on my bed and think
Let the doubt work into my head and kick off the quilt with irritation

My daughter on the settee a metre away snores gently
Supportive but scared of losing her daddy
And he scared 
Questions the reason of the decision

I am going to China
And now I cannot sleep
Not like my daughter is sleeping innocent and trusting
But with guilt writhing in my head

And soon the roar of the jet plane with fill my ears
And the smell of China fill my nose
And my daughter will cry her tears
I think of these as I lie, awake, in my bed. 

Danny Baker

This is my Danny Baker story. I'm writing it simply because I am pleased that Danny is still with us after facing up to cancer.

I once taught sociology at the University of Exeter. It came to my attention via the usual sources that the students had nicknamed me 'Danny Baker'. I'm not sure why as I don't think I particularly look or sound like him. Although I do recollect that at an OU summer school disco I was asked if I was Danny Baker by a rather nice looking girl. Obviously stupidly I answered in the negative and will never know if I could have got a shag out of a positive response.

Back at Exeter ( the obvious choice for student that had failed to get into Oxbridge or Durham) I carried on through the term knowing that these bright sparks were still calling me 'Danny' (perhaps it was my working class roots, or my accent which many placed as London but not cockney although I have spent all my life south of Bristol in the west country)

Throughout the term I planned my revenge. The last lecture of the year is the one where the lecturer might give BIG hints as to what might come up in the exam which he himself had written. So a full turn out was expected.

On the day the students hung on my every word, taking copious notes trying to decipher my words for the much needed exam hints. At the end of the lecture I summed up with - 'Now if there is just one thing you need to take from this series of lectures, the most important thing is this......the students sat, attentive, rapt, their pencils poised for my most important insight.

I switched the overhead projector on (yes it was a few years ago) and there in all his glory was a picture of Danny Baker!

'That is' I pointed at the picture 'Danny Baker, a big cockney twat' and 'I' I said, pointing at myself 'am the guy that's going to mark your exams!' I kept a serious slightly pissed off look on my face

There was a stunned silence in the room, lots of nervous eyes and shuffling, until I smiled at which everyone laughed with relief and the lecture series came to a happy end.

So that's my Danny Baker story. You can follow Danny on twitter @prodnose

Thanks Danny - keep on keeping on!

Six Nations Rugby

Six nations rugby
The power and the glory
The blood and the beef
The thrilling knife-edge story

The kick and the pass
The maul and the ruck
Body slamming tackles
The nip and the tuck

Of the winger and scrum half
The push of the pack
No 10 sometimes the hero
Safe hands, the full back.

The trys and conversions
The full bore drop goal
Playing for their country
Mind, body and soul

The stadiums are singing
The anthems and songs
The flags and the mascots
The shirts say I belong

The players are our Heros
Their courage is unbowed
To proudly play for country
To thrill the watching crowd

The six nations rugby
An immense sporting event
Boys get out on that field
And play with passionate intent!

Lazy Sunday...blues

It's a lazy Sunday morning
I'm sitting on my ass
I'm even saving money
By turning off the gas

A massive jug of coffee
A pile of bagels, cheese
I'm just doing fuck all
Doing as I please

Just got the Sunday papers
A forest full of news
Ones gotta keep upto date
To have some valid views

Got my iTunes spinning tunes
Got my tv on remote
I'm drinking so much coffee
My teeth may start to float

I'm not doing any housework
Not doing any chores
Ain't polishing my knickknacks
Ain't hoovering my floors

The washing up can wait a while
While I lie here on my back
I made my mind up recently
Today? I'll just be slack

Not gonna run no five miles
Not gonna hit the gym
Today my energy levels
Are set right down to dim

So pass the chocolate biscuits
Break out the carrot cake
When I hit that sugar coma
DO NOT prod me awake

It's way past Sunday morning
Still lounging on the couch
Just wile away the hours
I admit that I'm a slouch

Only eight more hours
It's slack, I know, I said
But hey just don't bug me
Cos soon I'm off to bed!

Journey

I'm sitting on the train again
Outside it's very grey
On my way to London
A businessman today

Yesterday I was daddy
To darling daughter girl
Eatin chips and fizzy pop
Sugar popcorn till we hurl

In the evening I was Rob
With daughters dizzy mum
Coffee n cakes and laughter
I think we we're having fun

Tomorrow I'll be worker bee
Lost in the mindless hive
Head stuck in my computer
Count the seconds till I leave

I really don't know who I am
And where I want to go
But it's not where you are going
But the journeys none stop show

Sometimes I might be static
Sometimes I might be lost
Sometimes I need a helping hand
To fix the fences crossed

With no handy map or compass
I'm going with the flow
Because on this mortal journey
You just never bloody know.

Where are the geeks?

I hate my job
I hate my desk
I hate my office
I need a rest

I hate my boss
I hate the place
I hate the smile
Across her face

I hate her words
I hate her tasks
I hate the people
Behind their masks

I hate the gossip
I hate the smarm
I hate the rules
I might self harm

I hate this pencil
I hate this pad
I hate that mouse
I might be mad

I hate my pc
I hate my phone
I hate my laptop
Don't leave me alone

I hate this morning
I hate the wait
I hate the supportdesk
The geeks are late

I hate my keyboard
I hate my water cup
I hate them mixing
My. Computers. Fucked. Up!

mademoiselle stalker

Im writing a poem for my stalker
I know she's reading this
Its probably gone past midnight
And shes probably a little bit pissed

Shes checked my dating profile
And gone to my staff page online
She been following me on twitter
As she sips sweet white wine

She got onto my facebook
Via a family friend
She notes down from my diary
Events i'm going to attend

My post its always being tampered
My parcels expertly unwrapped
Sometimes in my kitchen Im feeling
That Im just a little bit trapped

Changing my mobile number
Is not a solution for this bitch
Within the hour of changing numbers
Texts tell me its pointless to switch

My blog is not infallible
She knows Im live online
and if MSN is working
She can messenger me real time

No more a friendly 'Hi There'
No more a winking eye
Just jagged threating wordscapes
Telling me how I might die

Im in an electronic prison
Captured in a virtual hell
And my stalker, she knows, I know it
shes one twisted mademoiselle

Christmas Poem

Ho ho ho it's Christmas Eve
There's nothing on the tele
All that's left for me to do
Is contemplate my belly

I'm having Christmas Home alone
No festive fun for me
No tinsel baubles shiny bright
No poor sad dying tree

No turkey death on the plate
No turnip, spud or sprout
No Christmas pud in alcohol
No relatives to chuck right out

Oh I've got my loverly choc Brazils
And my mighty mincey pies
Ive got the cheese and biscuits
Not telling any lies

I don't believe that Jesus said
Go get yourself in debt
Force feed yourself with Turkey
To honour what my life beget

I'm not even Christian
But would much rather see
A Christmas that was spiritual
It's got to be the key

So let's think peace and happiness
And goodwill to all mankind
And make those wishes happen
I think that we will find

That the revolutionary message
That Jesus bought to us
Would make the world a better place
So to all and everyone I wish a Happy Christ-mas

Broke Down blues

Woke up this morning
My car it didn't start
So I rang up the garage
To quote me for the part

I got the broke down blues
The broke down blues
My car it wouldn't start
I gotta use ma shoes

Went down to the garage
It's all down the hill
I gotta get the car there
Don't worry bout no bill

Yeah got the broke down blues
The broke down blues
Gotta get ma motor running
The mechanic needs his dues

Well the man with the spanner
He say the engines shot
Not gonna get it running
And it's gonna cost a lot

I got the broke down blues
The broke down blues
Can't get to see ma baby
Ain't gonna get me no flooze

So listen hear now people
If you don't want to pay
Don't be getting your hot wheels
From an auction on eBay

Oh I got the break down blues
Yeah the break down blues
Got no wheels a turnin
Got the broke down blues

Revolting students

The students are revolting
We said this all along
But are facing big bad coppers
With a slogan and a song

They want an education
They don't want some hopeless debt
So they've taken to the streets
To face up to the Met

The students are revolting
Some barely in their teens
Are taking it to Parliament
They know what anger means

They face the armoured bully boys
To try to tell Nick Clegg
Now that you've all lied to us
We're gonna make you beg

The students are revolting
By dancing in the square
All they ask of parliament
Is to make the choices fair

These children of the nineties
Can only make you proud
As you stand there amongst them
That dedicated crowd

The students are revolting
They're just your kids and mine
Let's make sure they've got a future
So stand with them on the line

The students are revolting
I'm proud they made the stance
Let's sing their higher praises
And join them in the dance.

Winter from a train

GeoTagged, [N50.89934, E3.37280]

It's icy on the outside
The fields go flashing by
Dark skeletons of tree branch
Against the darkening sky

White fields of icy sculpture
The grass an icing froth
Sheep huddled gainst the hayrick
The lakes a solid broth

Ghostly shapes emerging
From the riming mist
Bushes sparkling brightly
Whitely blushing, frost kissed

Quilted horses blowing steam
Above the icy stream
Trains hot blasting
Through this winter dream

England in the winter
A monochromatic view
From my speeding window
On the train right back to you

Landrover

Hey ho had to sell the landrover. Slight waterleak but to much to repair for me. £400 plus. Too much to put in a vehicle that only cost me £420. But with the work I did I got £750 back!

Winter train poem

My feet are slightly frozen
My nose is going blue
I've got a wooly hat on
I hope you've got one too

Cos the train is bloody freezing
It's getting rather cold
No heating in the carriage
The excuses are rather old

Can't understand why Its not working
Other carriages are warm
But hey this is Great Britain
And Great Western have got form

So a sub standard service
For a mighty mighty price
So we all sit here freezing
My toes are blocks of ice

No free hot coffee or chocolate
No refund of monies paid
Just blind indifference always
That's how profits are made

The temperature is falling
The windows covered with rime
There only one thing left to do
Men, I might be gone some time....

And now some good landrover news.

So the good news today is that the disco went to my local garage for a cambelt change, plus a replacement fan belt and alternator belt. The quote was for about £300 - which was reasonable a friend told me she was charged over £600 at a local garage.

But when I picked up the disco the bill came to )230 - result!

Well done Mark and team at Malborough Garage St. Levens Rd. Plymouth. I've used em for the last 5 years and they have never let me down. 5 stars from me.

Beware the Cowboy - a lesson learnt

More electrical drama with the disco.

So Jason fixed my land rover by sorting out the electrics for me and charging me £100 for the pleasure and looking under the bonnet it seemed like he had done a good job. All the wires were nice and tidy and of course it was going so I could drive it again.

Unfortunately I was struck down with a kidney stone and didn't get to drive the disco until last friday when I had to go up to the Hospital to pick up some medicine. On my way home I noticed that I seemed to be driving in a cloud of smoke. I soon realised that I was creating the smoke and yes once again it was coming from under the bonnet!

I stopped opened the bonnet and quickly noticed that I had a fire in my engine bay - yikes - panic!

So I swiftly ripped off my tshirt to put the fire out before it got out of hand (note to self - buy a fire extinguisher - quick)

Burnt tshirt

The cause of the fire was the shoddy workmanship of Jason the 'auto electrician' that had routed the cable over the exhaust manifold. - What a dickhead!

Here you can see what I failed to see

And this was the consequence

Jason, the professional that he is, once having been told about the fire and the damage, refused to answer any more of my calls or txts asking him to come and fix the damage cause by his stupidity. And I did ask him politely and I wasn't angry - despite the fact he could have killed me and my dog and burnt my disco to a cinder.

So fortunately I guy I know a bit is an ex military auto sparks and he did the job for me last night.

So the disco is back on the road and is booked in for the casmbelt change tomorrow.

Lets hope the dramas ease off for a while.

Costs so far:

Alternator £55
Battery £80 ish will dig out receipt when I have a minute
Electrics £100
Repair burnt electrics £30

Electricity clean simplicity!

No this isn't some sort of Modern Art this is the burnt wiring that caused my Disco panic last week when clouds of smoke poured out of my dashboard.

These are the wires that caused it. Not much plastic insulation left on them - most of it has melted.

Caused according to the sparks that sorted it by wires rubbing against stuff in the engine compartment and finally shorting out causing said plumes of smoke and stalling engine.

He also said if the circuit was a continuous one ie on all the time I would basically have been left with a pile of smoldering aluminum. As fire would have been a certainty.

That and the loads of seemingly diy wiring in the engine compartment. Now, of course, nicely squared away and shipshape like what they should be.

I'll take a picture when I can and post it.

So rolling total of spend on the disco

Alternator £55
Battery £80 ish will dig out receipt when I have a minute
Electrics £100.

Happy motoring!