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.