A Title? But That Involves Thought...

Okay, okay. I know it's been an age since I last wrote, but don't hold it against me - assuming of course, you give a shit. But here's a quick update on what's happened since the last time I pained you with my litera- uh, ramblings.

Rejected, like a horny Jack Russel
Unfortunately, I didn't make it into the Army. This was a major set-back for me - one I'm still left reeling from, despite it happening over half a year ago. I had my whole life planned out on the back of being successful with this. But I wasn't, and I still haven't figured out an alternative track to take.
In case you're wondering, I was referred on the medical basis that I'm afflicted by migraines, of which I understand, but it still doesn't do anything to moisten my throat to help me swallow that large and bitter pill.

PPP-Passed
Literally by the skin of my teeth, but I passed college. My previous blogs have probably well documented the sheer lack of enjoyment that I found in going to college in the last few months of my course. Thanks to the abnormally high levels of wank that South Tyneside College is, and having less in common with my class mates than I would with a slug it got to the stage where I just lost all interest and did the bare minimum to pass with at least something that wouldn't have sent those two years sailing through the air straight into the thick file of my life headed: "ANOTHER WASTE OF FUCKING TIME".

Hello, thanks for calling...
I left Primark and got a job in the technical phone support industry. I found that leaving Primark after three years was a quite difficult, as much as I hated the job itself, the people who I worked with made it worth getting up for.
That aside, as I direct result in my being referred from the Army, I decided that I probably had to get a proper job where I had to get up every morning for. I've been there for five months now, and it's surprising how quickly it becomes apparent that spending 8 and a half hours a day talking at a computer screen is seriously yawn inducing.

Fell off t' perch
The news that an incredible member of the family was ill and diagnosed with weeks to live arrived like a kick in the groin - by a horse - for everyone. My Grandfather was my idol, one minute fit as a fiddle, the next, quite literally on his death bed.
A true Yorkshire man born and bred, big wig in the Maisonettes and head of the family, this man managed to sneak into Russia for a holiday, broke his foot on Ayers Rock and proposed to his wife on The Great Wall of China. He once when to the Borneo rainforest and traveled across Israel as well as countless other places. I could never even put into words how much of an inspirational man that he was. Really, I couldn't.

Commoner's Palace
Over the past year and a half I think I've moved around five times. A youth hostel, to 2 different shared accommodation houses, to a council flat and now finally a flat of which I share with a very close friend. It's taken a while, but I can finally settle down and be comfortable with where I live.


So, yeah - that's enough about my meaningless life. It probably wasn't quite as world changing as the Arab Spring, or Kim-Jong Il's demise - but it killed a few hours of otherwise inate boredom that has been my Saturday.

Don't ever be the first, don't ever be the last and don't ever volunteer to do anything.

Over the past month or so I have taken the decision and put into force the motions for my joining the Army. I've always wanted to join up and in 2009, I nearly did, falling short when I received the news that I was going to become a father. At the time I couldn't, in good conscience just fuck off and leave the mother to go through it without my support; or even risk missing some of the most important parts of a child's life; so I stayed and decided that maybe in the future I would try again.

Since the start of the year the idea of giving it a second chance has been bouncing around my head and I just put it down as a pipe dream and tried not to think about it too much, but then I got in one day and turned on the telly to the last 15minutes of a documentary that Jeremy Kyle was doing called Jeremy Kyle's: Military Driving School. It seriously put a strong, and sweet, taste in my mouth that made me decide that the Army is what I wanted.

The next day I had free I found myself sitting in the Armed Forces Careers Office in Newcastle, sat in the exact same spot as I had 2 years previous twisting my thumbs, looking around at the separate forces' desks, reading the posters and watching the same montage of clips repeat themselves over and over on the plasma in the corner of the room whilst I waited for my turn with the Army cadre. There was a surprising amount of other applicants in with me that day too, mostly young lasses; a couple had even brought their toddlers with them. I wasn't quite sure what their stories were, and I did my best not to find out. I was there for me, and for me only.

When the Staff Sergeant on duty that day finally got round to seeing me he asked me what the score was and I replied along the lines of, "well, I kind of want to join the Army...sir." Probably not the best work of articulation that's left my mouth, and he obviously thought the same with the retort of, "you wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't".

I explained to him that I wanted to join the RLC (Royal Logistics Corps) as a Driver and that I had applied a couple of years ago but decided not todue to the issues already explained above. From this he found me on the system and told me that I hadn't explained this to them at the time and they just assumed I had chickened out (which is understandable, there was a lot going on at that point in my life - perhaps notifying the Army that I wasn't joining after all may have slipped my mind). I apologised and explained that I thought I had and tried to make it look like I wasn't some silly boy who couldn't make up his mind.

The SSG told me that as a result of my past application and the current state of affairs within the Armed Forces that if I flunked this time around, unless it was for a 'fucking good reason', that would be it and I would be kicked out the door if I tried to apply again in the future. I told him that I understood and gathered up the application forms that he issued me with and left.

Filling out the forms didn't take too long, and the next opportunity I got, I returned them back the the Recruitment Office, where I found the same SSG that dealt with my application originally in 2009 - thankfully he didn't remember me, and didn't hold it against me that I'd dropped out before as much as the first SSG did. He told me that I was too smart to be a driver and should seriously consider doing something else. Copies of my ID and qualifications were taken and we had a little chat about how my father was once a signaller (which was what he was). He queried as to why I didn't want to follow in Dad's footsteps to which I replied that it just didn't sound very interesting (I think this offended him a little). Either way, he gave me a date to return to do my BARB test (British Army Recruitment Battery), shook my hand and sent me on my way.

The BARB test is a 30 minute basic aptitude test that generates a result from the answers provided to questions relating to basic logic. Said questions include: "If this shape looks like this now, what would it look like when flipped 90°?" Easy? You would think so, and so would I, but I somehow managed to fuck it up big time and came out with a result around 20 points lower than I had got in 2009. Thankfully it meant that I could still be a driver; but my personal pride did take a little bit of a dent. After this I had another word with my SSG about my options and with a firm handshake, yet more paperwork (this time medical) to fill in, a list of Army Jobs I am eligible for (mostly infantry) sent me on my way to chew over my list of choices.

Since then, I have decided on my job role that I would like to do (Driver/Communications Specialist) and as of earlier today, got my medical paperwork sorted out with my new doctor. Apparently my normal doctor retired in November and I didn't even realise - shows how often I go to see him. Anyway, my new doctor (whom has an equally Indian name) seemed very nice and eager to see my ambition to join up successful and promised to get the forms filled out and sent away as soon as he could.

Another thing I have been doing since the BARB test is a fitness work. I've researched the selection requirements for the RLC selection and found out that I have to be able to run 1.5miles in a maximum of 13 minutes 15 seconds. It may sound difficult, but believe me, 1.5 miles really isn't all that great a distance, and my times for it have steadily been getting better and better up until the focal point last night when I managed it in a time of 13.05. Which is my best time by far. I am going to keep training and aim for around 10minutes at least to ensure that I'm not passing by the skin of my teeth when it comes to doing it for real - and plus it's handy to have that extra piece of stamina available if and when I need it. I've also been doing a lot of cycling to raise my stamina levels and been getting the sit up and press up tally steadily counting upward.

That is it so far, and I'm just waiting to hear back from my SSG when he receives my medical paperwork from my doc. When that happens I'll be booked onto a pre ADSC course (basically a selection, selection course) where my fitness will be tested for a day to ensure that I am physically git enough to even join the Army.

I know this has been a long one, but bear with me for just a couple more paragraphs, please!

This is like a dream for me, and although I am seriously excited to finally be doing this and having all these events set into motion, I am also still ridiculously nervous. I'm worried about how much I'll miss my 2 year old son, and my family and friends. I'm worried about how much I'll miss my current job; as much as I hate the job itself, the people make it so much worth while.

But I know that on this path I'm taking, I'll make new friends, and I'll still be able to see my son, and I'll still be able to keep in contact with the friends I leave behind - and with all the money I'll be earning, I'll be able to spoil the sprog rotten and party 'til the cows come home when I'm on leave.

Until the next development, or event that causes me to have the urge to write satirically about...

ADIOS!

How do you define the purpose of something that has NO purpose?

I have to do a specification for the game that I am programming at college. As you may have already learnt, I am appalling at programming, so this is quite a challenge. The following specification is the one that I would love to be able to submit. I really have no idea how I'm supposed to write a purpose for a game, since the reason why people play games is because they have no purpose.
I've written the actual specification which includes massive straw grasping, but here is the one that I would love to have submitted in its place.




Purpose (~100)

I have made this game because I have to. I don't especially want to, and I'm not especially good at it. That doesn't exactly explain the purpose, but I do kind of hope that this game is such a solid choice that it would survive a nuclear apocalypse and provide extreme and prolonged entertainment of the survived and mutilated humanity that remains. Perhaps in a similar circumstance to Fallout 3, by Bethesda.

Description (~400)

The game [Breakout] was originally developed by Atari in 1976. It was influenced by the earlier game, Pong, also by Atari, which is fitting, because I own an Atari t-shirt. I nearly wore it today, but instead settled for my high collar polo.
The game itself consists of rows of ‘bricks’ that occupy the majority of the players screen that must be ‘broken’ by a square that can be bounced from a paddle to keep the square in motion.

If the square was to miss the paddle then the player would lose a ‘life’ but they would generally have already lost their lives by playing this game in the first place.
I know right? Seriously advanced for its time.

User Requirements (~300)

A single finger and an eye-ball. Could the user be stretched to a basic computer use ability? It's okay if they can't, we can always get somebody else to turn it on.

Target Audience (~200)
Anybody that can be bothered to be killed via boredom and extreme monotony.

Sit down, shut up, and listen to my weekend.

I have been uncharacteristically detached from the news this week, despite reading the papers and watching some news, I haven't really absorbed any of it to really take any notice or even have anything news worthy to tangibly speak about. Apparently Libyan rebels have 'captured' Gaddafi's home town [The Guardian], and 250,000 people had a march in London about cuts or something [The Telegraph]. The latter resulted in a minority of people predictably shooting themselves up to the eyeballs on testosterone and break a few windows. And again, for some reason, the Star thinks that a front page headline about Jordan is more important for people to know about than what is the domestic news  headlines this weekend; if anybody can be bothered to look up today's Star headline you would probably reel in disbelief. I hope poor Alex doesn't read it. Most papers have a political orientation, the Star has a celebrity orientation.

Oh, and apparently Michael Barrymore was booed off stage in a comedy comeback attempt [Mail Online]. The highly talented and respected individual, Daily Mail Reporter, publised this. Of course backed up with the usual onslaught of degrading and embarrasing photographs. Like this:



Did I do that properly?

Anyway, due to me presenting the absorbtion qualites of a wet sponge last week regarding the news, I find myself with nothing important to face you will other than to attempt to make you jealous at how packed full of jam that my weekend was.

Thursday and Friday night was punctuated with lovely midnight adventure walks with a friend who I spoken to properly for a while with her new dog. I use the word 'dog' lightly, it's an Old English Sheepdog puppy; that shows every bit of intellegence of your average Essex bimbo. Was still  nice to just blabber the toss about nothing in particular in the darkness of the night.

Saturday's dull starchy sustinance was work. But it was polite to fly over and with the one bliddy time that I actually arranged to meet somebody outside the doors after my shift, is the one time where management decided to keep us all back 30 minutes to tidy the mess that was left by lazy, ignorant and stupid customers whom seemingly fail to possess the simply ability to hang something back up properly. So yeah, me and The Persistance of Memory eventually met, and under the false pretence of having a pint at the pub, the deceptive shit brought another one of our mates along and we ended up going to see a Faith No More tribute band, Faith No Man. Apparently this was what was planned all along, she did well to keep it from me. But then I have been mincing around in my own little bubble of late, so that probably is more my fault.

Faith No More were a pretty damn decent band back in the day, and this tribute band went a long way to doing them justice. Despite only knowing 'Epic' and vaguely recognising 'Falling to Pieces' from Black Hawk Down (I told you that it was in that film, guys)  I was severly impressed at how well they played. Good vocal work, and some pretty nifty finger work from the bassest and guitarist brought through the vibes of the classic rock band nicely. Furthermore, the drummer managed to flawlessly beat out the puccussion with enough politeness to vibrate the bones you stood with. One thing I would like to point out, would be that the keyboard player seemed to be there just for show half the time.

Bumped into a couple of people of whom I hadn't seen for a while, one of which I was really hoping I hadn't, but fortunately, it was only in passing. But the night was remembered by the absolute legend of a DJ that put on a whole host of songs so old-school my Gran would've been happy pulling some shapes to them - Jackson 5, that's right.

Didn't actually get around to going to sleep until 4.30am- I mean, 5.30am. The clocks went forward, did I mention that? I didn't know for sure until the Taxi driver confirmed it.

Sunday was easily one of the worst days of work in my life (so far), but I did buy a funky new shirt and a banging Thomas The Tank Engine cap for the bairn because he's suddenly developed a well placed love for the little blue engine, just like his daddy when I was his age.

So that's my blog about the key news events of the past week. You know when you've been informed. Thank you and until next time.

Day 5 towards a smoke free life

This is day 5 of the latest one of my countless attempts to kick the habit of smoking. I have to say that this really isn't as hard as I thought it would be, nor how hard I remembered it to be. It may possibly be something to do with the sheer determination that I'm showing this time; even though I know deep down, I don't really want to quit.

Over the past 5 days it has given my brain time to think about how I can describe what it is like to a none smoker. Imagine breaking you leg or arm, it hurts like burning shit being smeared on the soles of your feet while having your eyes poked out with a blunt, but very hot pallet knife. It's not exactly how it feels to break a bone, but it's a similar pain level. Obviously, it doesn't physically hurt to have nicotine cravings, but for the sake of argument, just go along with it.
Anyway, imagine breaking your leg. It hurts loads to begin with, and then you go to the hospital and they strap it up and it doesn't hurt any more, it just aches. This is the same with quitting smoking. The first day or two are hell, the cravings come in their troves and you do all you can to stay sane. But after this first stage, the whole thing just retreats to the back of your mind, and like an annoying little child, will sit and repeat "IwannasmokeIwannasmokeIwannasmoke" all day. And just like with an annoying child, you learn to put up with it and not think about it. Of course this leads me to the major cravings that will breach every now and then - like a giant Sperm Whale does to breathe. These are like knocking your broken bone. It'll go from an inconsequential annoyance to a MASSIVE PAIN then back down to the former sensation again after a small (ish) wait.

Day 1 was utter hell. Me being stupid decided to smoke my last ciggy just moments before I started work. But with the knowledge of not being able to smoke when I finished my shift, all my stress levels rocketed the instant a customer showed any stupidity towards me.

"Where are the jeans?"
"Turn around, twat."

Of course, I didn't actually say that, but I thought it, and it showed with my stern and nippy responses to any query directed to me.

Day 2 was slightly better: work was much more relaxing than the day before. I'd managed the monumental effort of preparing myself mentally for the day ahead without my vice. But it ended with a mammoth craving that night that lasted about 2 or 3 hours, I actually came close to chewing off my face.

Day 3 was just a nightmare. First day back to college after half term, and poor poor Lewis took the whole lot of my angst straight in the face. Funny from an outside perspective, not so much for me. Or Lewis. But to his credit, he just took it. Like a boss.

Day 4 was lengthy. Because I was off college I spent the duration in my room waiting for Siobhan to finish university so I could go for a drink. I decided to try and make this wait as short as possible by literally laying in until 1.30 and then trying to keep myself busy. When the cravings did hit, they felt endless. Meeting up with Siobhan and putting the world to rights over a pint strangely didn't come with the by product of nicotine want, thankfully. Until upon exiting the staple institution of the English socialising medium (pub) I was full on walloped in the face by smoke fumes from those that were smoking on the doorstep. I found myself fighting the urge to drop to my knees and grovel for a cigarette from them. Of course I didn't do this. I have dignity.

Day 5. Well this is day 5, and rather peculiarly, I haven't had any major, MAJOR cravings - except from the odd one when I've seen another person indulging their habit. My mindset has also started to change towards smokers. I look at them differently, but I think this may just be bitterness because I want what they have in their hands and mouths (no, that was not an innuendo).

As of yet, I'm still not feeling the supposed health benefits that I should be, or the financial gains either. What ever I used to spend on sirs Lambert and Butler, just gets spent on other, equally pointless crap.

It matters not. Quitting is my goal, and quitting is what I'm going to do. Cold Turkey.