Boo!
Still alive (barely).
Stay well,
Nate
Have a question about my life or the UK?
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, December 16, 2011
Holidays
Hello dear readers,
Depression is so depressing. I feel like I am mired in the muck, unable to accomplish much. Of course I am only mildly down - blue perhaps - not perched atop the nearest tall building.
And you see, it leaves one with nothing interesting to say. I believe that's what I detest most about being in a depressed state: the tedium.
Of course another aspect is that everyone in the world appears to be having a fabulous time and progressing in their careers. Book contracts for punters such as myself are flying out the door while I waste away.
I did have some lovely white fish last night, however, with lemon butter. It could be the start of an upward trend in my karma. You really don't know what can kickstart your good luck after all. Look at Churchill: disgraced, boozy, loathed, ignored and one invasion of Poland later he's the saviour of the free world.
Granted, the total supression of free speech and a blistering propaganda machine helped his cause. There's no better boost for PR than a war.
If Germany invades Greece for being a complete pain in the arse, I wonder if the nation will turn to me... I shall do my best to be prepared.
Stay well,
Nate
Depression is so depressing. I feel like I am mired in the muck, unable to accomplish much. Of course I am only mildly down - blue perhaps - not perched atop the nearest tall building.
And you see, it leaves one with nothing interesting to say. I believe that's what I detest most about being in a depressed state: the tedium.
Of course another aspect is that everyone in the world appears to be having a fabulous time and progressing in their careers. Book contracts for punters such as myself are flying out the door while I waste away.
I did have some lovely white fish last night, however, with lemon butter. It could be the start of an upward trend in my karma. You really don't know what can kickstart your good luck after all. Look at Churchill: disgraced, boozy, loathed, ignored and one invasion of Poland later he's the saviour of the free world.
Granted, the total supression of free speech and a blistering propaganda machine helped his cause. There's no better boost for PR than a war.
If Germany invades Greece for being a complete pain in the arse, I wonder if the nation will turn to me... I shall do my best to be prepared.
Stay well,
Nate
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Elderly Improv: Xmas Edition
Hello dear readers,
Well, as some of you might know, last year I was rather heavily involved in my 79-year-old neighbour Mrs Donaldson's improv group, acting as a director/tea maker for the group.
Yesterday I was invited to their Xmas show, entitled Rudolph's Red Nose Day. I still haven't decided if the title is clever or not. Though I had expected the usual patchy improvised stabs at comedy (mixed with jarring moments of confession, usually about a dead husband or loneliness), I was happy to see that the group had gotten it together to write a play (of sorts).
The story involved an older couple lamenting the fact that the grandkids were far away and the magic of Christmas had been lost - no anticipation of the arrival of a gluttonous, milk and brandy-swilling elf hauling filthy lucre around the globe...
Of course, Santa did make a surprise visit, with Mrs Claus, because they were apparently quite old and having a thousand slaving elves wasn't the same as having a child around. Anyway, you could set your watch by it, but this quickly descended into a bedroom farce with lots of scurrying around and Santa adding Viagra to his candy cane mixture, saying it was 'the only way to get them firm' (or something).
Don't let the elderly fool you with their gentle smiles, soft hands and shuffling gait. They're as raunchy and debauched as the cider-swilling teenage boys who have taken to lingering on the corner by my abode. For some unknown reason, both groups are disturbingly amiable and eager to engage me in conversation, like I'm one of their own.
Anyways, after the play, we were invited to a small hall laid out in free grub made by the ladies - star-shaped and tree-shaped sandwiches, biscuits and fruitcake, mulled beverages... I ended up staying on with a table full of men who had worked hard all their lives and now saw no reason not to get completely bladdered at midday.
The conversation was cracking.
"You lot don't know austerity," said John. "After the war, we ate cabbage more cabbage than Peter Rabbit. Didn't have shops full of fresh fruit and salsa. I didn't eat a banana till my 20s."
He said salsa, as one might say, distressing bowel movement.
"I don't blame the immigrants," said Douglas. "I'd be over in a bolt from Eastern Europe if given the green light. You can't take umbrage with a lad doing his best to keep body and soul together."
"My daughter has a flat full of Romanians above her," said Ted. "At least 50 in there. Completely mess up the plumbing."
"Romanians, but... They've always been a terrible lot."
"Vlad the Impaler."
We basically put the world to right, deciding the current economic woes lay in the fact that as a nation, we no longer make anything. As one gent said, a service economy is fine, but it's difficult to export a haircut.
"Go to any port nowadays and you'll see more ducks than men working," said John. "Even worse in the north."
"No ducks?" I said.
This got a good laugh. I will certainly make an excellent elderly person in a few decades.
Anyway, I slept off the worst of my hangover in the afternoon, then was off to work for the nightshift. Silly season continues.
Stay well,
Nate
Well, as some of you might know, last year I was rather heavily involved in my 79-year-old neighbour Mrs Donaldson's improv group, acting as a director/tea maker for the group.
Yesterday I was invited to their Xmas show, entitled Rudolph's Red Nose Day. I still haven't decided if the title is clever or not. Though I had expected the usual patchy improvised stabs at comedy (mixed with jarring moments of confession, usually about a dead husband or loneliness), I was happy to see that the group had gotten it together to write a play (of sorts).
The story involved an older couple lamenting the fact that the grandkids were far away and the magic of Christmas had been lost - no anticipation of the arrival of a gluttonous, milk and brandy-swilling elf hauling filthy lucre around the globe...
Of course, Santa did make a surprise visit, with Mrs Claus, because they were apparently quite old and having a thousand slaving elves wasn't the same as having a child around. Anyway, you could set your watch by it, but this quickly descended into a bedroom farce with lots of scurrying around and Santa adding Viagra to his candy cane mixture, saying it was 'the only way to get them firm' (or something).
Don't let the elderly fool you with their gentle smiles, soft hands and shuffling gait. They're as raunchy and debauched as the cider-swilling teenage boys who have taken to lingering on the corner by my abode. For some unknown reason, both groups are disturbingly amiable and eager to engage me in conversation, like I'm one of their own.
Anyways, after the play, we were invited to a small hall laid out in free grub made by the ladies - star-shaped and tree-shaped sandwiches, biscuits and fruitcake, mulled beverages... I ended up staying on with a table full of men who had worked hard all their lives and now saw no reason not to get completely bladdered at midday.
The conversation was cracking.
"You lot don't know austerity," said John. "After the war, we ate cabbage more cabbage than Peter Rabbit. Didn't have shops full of fresh fruit and salsa. I didn't eat a banana till my 20s."
He said salsa, as one might say, distressing bowel movement.
"I don't blame the immigrants," said Douglas. "I'd be over in a bolt from Eastern Europe if given the green light. You can't take umbrage with a lad doing his best to keep body and soul together."
"My daughter has a flat full of Romanians above her," said Ted. "At least 50 in there. Completely mess up the plumbing."
"Romanians, but... They've always been a terrible lot."
"Vlad the Impaler."
We basically put the world to right, deciding the current economic woes lay in the fact that as a nation, we no longer make anything. As one gent said, a service economy is fine, but it's difficult to export a haircut.
"Go to any port nowadays and you'll see more ducks than men working," said John. "Even worse in the north."
"No ducks?" I said.
This got a good laugh. I will certainly make an excellent elderly person in a few decades.
Anyway, I slept off the worst of my hangover in the afternoon, then was off to work for the nightshift. Silly season continues.
Stay well,
Nate
Friday, December 9, 2011
absence
Hello dear readers,
No, I have not given up the blog once again. Tis the silly season, and given that I work for a major supermarket chain in shipping, I have been literally run off my feet.
Yes, I fell down a small flight of stairs the other night, being both distracted by hunger, tired and overloaded with printed forms for the transport bunker - not to mention generally uncoordinated. I am fine, though the knees are always tender.
Topside roasts are flying out the door. They have become the bane of my existence.
I'm having my unemployed group over to the flat for a meal next week. I'm providing the nibbles and roast, but have asked everyone to bring a bottle. I'm certain they've all been cutting back in their lean times, so don't fancy six unemployed types attacking my meagre reserves like rabid piranhas. You know the out of work...
Can piranhas get rabies? I'm not sure my metaphor works.
Stay well,
Nate
No, I have not given up the blog once again. Tis the silly season, and given that I work for a major supermarket chain in shipping, I have been literally run off my feet.
Yes, I fell down a small flight of stairs the other night, being both distracted by hunger, tired and overloaded with printed forms for the transport bunker - not to mention generally uncoordinated. I am fine, though the knees are always tender.
Topside roasts are flying out the door. They have become the bane of my existence.
I'm having my unemployed group over to the flat for a meal next week. I'm providing the nibbles and roast, but have asked everyone to bring a bottle. I'm certain they've all been cutting back in their lean times, so don't fancy six unemployed types attacking my meagre reserves like rabid piranhas. You know the out of work...
Can piranhas get rabies? I'm not sure my metaphor works.
Stay well,
Nate
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The Cabbage Soup Diet
Hello dear readers,
Well, I'm off the garden vegetable train and back in the real world, and I must say I'm thankful.
The first two days of my cabbage soup experience were the most intense, as my body violently offloaded the contents of my bowels on day two. I shan't go into details, except to say my sprints to the WC were hourly and there was great cramping.
By day three, admittedly, the appeal of another bowl of turgid broth with limp green strands of cabbage lolling about was enough to make my stomach turn. So, bending the rules slightly, I added some lovely beef and rice to the mix. Still, technically a cabbage soup diet, but enhanced.
By day five, the cabbage and reintroduction of flesh seemed to confuse my system. Though the rice helped bring my mood levels back to a more level plain (I had been getting snappy due to no carbohydrates), my flatulance became concentrated.
I only got caught out once to my knowledge, in the work kitchen before shift. I often arrive an hour or two early to have a few cups, read a book and chat to passing traffic. It's an excellent system for me for three reasons:
1 - I live alone and this is often my only social interaction of the day.
2 - Most people are more than happy to waste company time by having a chat, as they're as anesthetised by the grind of regimented corporate life as the rest of us.
3 - Work is automatic common ground. I don't have to worry about being particularily interesting or coming up with fresh insights into the world. I can simply talk about work, gossip about the freaks, moan about management and spread false information about redundancies. And if that dries up, there's always the weather. Beyond that, I'm afraid I'm hopeless...
Anyway, on day five I was alone, perusing the biscuits, when I let out the most minute bit of wind. It really was a very small allotment, the kind of expulsion one routinely lets creep out from time to time. It didn't emit even a faint squeak. But my goodness, it was an eye-bleeder.
Think of cutting onions in a small room made from boiled eggs.
One of the girls from administration walked in and though we were both quite aware of the violation unleashed, she showed enough professionalism to make her chocolate-based beverage without comment. I wanted to say, 'it really was just a small one' but thought better of it and retreated to a table in the corner of the common area to hide behind a paperback.
From this point onward, I took my leave from each public place before passing wind, unless I was outside or near someone who had been rude. This only occurred once, when an older lady at the supermarket asked that I assist in getting her a packet of gravy from a high shelf then withheld thanks.
I don't believe in bestowing unlimited respect to someone simply due to age. One must earn it every day. And given her limited mobility, I suspect she lingered in my odour for far longer than a younger person might. Perhaps next time she'll think to say, ta.
At the conclusion of day seven, I indulged in a pork pie with chips and gravy, followed by ice cream. My stomach ached, but I had earned it. And I'm half a stone lighter, so there you go! Diets can work. I may try a week of apples and water next. I've heard good things about shifting the beef with that one.
Upwards and onwards to fighting fit.
Stay well,
Nate
Well, I'm off the garden vegetable train and back in the real world, and I must say I'm thankful.
The first two days of my cabbage soup experience were the most intense, as my body violently offloaded the contents of my bowels on day two. I shan't go into details, except to say my sprints to the WC were hourly and there was great cramping.
By day three, admittedly, the appeal of another bowl of turgid broth with limp green strands of cabbage lolling about was enough to make my stomach turn. So, bending the rules slightly, I added some lovely beef and rice to the mix. Still, technically a cabbage soup diet, but enhanced.
By day five, the cabbage and reintroduction of flesh seemed to confuse my system. Though the rice helped bring my mood levels back to a more level plain (I had been getting snappy due to no carbohydrates), my flatulance became concentrated.
I only got caught out once to my knowledge, in the work kitchen before shift. I often arrive an hour or two early to have a few cups, read a book and chat to passing traffic. It's an excellent system for me for three reasons:
1 - I live alone and this is often my only social interaction of the day.
2 - Most people are more than happy to waste company time by having a chat, as they're as anesthetised by the grind of regimented corporate life as the rest of us.
3 - Work is automatic common ground. I don't have to worry about being particularily interesting or coming up with fresh insights into the world. I can simply talk about work, gossip about the freaks, moan about management and spread false information about redundancies. And if that dries up, there's always the weather. Beyond that, I'm afraid I'm hopeless...
Anyway, on day five I was alone, perusing the biscuits, when I let out the most minute bit of wind. It really was a very small allotment, the kind of expulsion one routinely lets creep out from time to time. It didn't emit even a faint squeak. But my goodness, it was an eye-bleeder.
Think of cutting onions in a small room made from boiled eggs.
One of the girls from administration walked in and though we were both quite aware of the violation unleashed, she showed enough professionalism to make her chocolate-based beverage without comment. I wanted to say, 'it really was just a small one' but thought better of it and retreated to a table in the corner of the common area to hide behind a paperback.
From this point onward, I took my leave from each public place before passing wind, unless I was outside or near someone who had been rude. This only occurred once, when an older lady at the supermarket asked that I assist in getting her a packet of gravy from a high shelf then withheld thanks.
I don't believe in bestowing unlimited respect to someone simply due to age. One must earn it every day. And given her limited mobility, I suspect she lingered in my odour for far longer than a younger person might. Perhaps next time she'll think to say, ta.
At the conclusion of day seven, I indulged in a pork pie with chips and gravy, followed by ice cream. My stomach ached, but I had earned it. And I'm half a stone lighter, so there you go! Diets can work. I may try a week of apples and water next. I've heard good things about shifting the beef with that one.
Upwards and onwards to fighting fit.
Stay well,
Nate
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Cabbage
Hello dear readers,
Well, I've started my cabbage soup diet. Now, a normal person would probably do some research into the scheme, perhaps join the official on-line 'Cabbage Soup Diet Program' and find a support group. I, on the other hand, haven't bothered to even do a Google search.
I'm simply going to eat nothing but large vats of cabbage soup for one week and see what eventuates. Part of this is about choice. I don't want to be told that I'm limited to cabbage, broth and garlic. I want to feel unincumbered and free to spice things up with a bit of tomato or a legume or two.
Frankly, I like a good soup, and last night's three bowls was more than satisfying. I feel lighter and more alert already.
My new initiative works nicely with an evolving plan in my celibate mind to 'put the moves' on a young lady who has been frequenting the library. She's part of an informal support group for jobseekers, which I sometimes advise.
Yes, during the Blair years of milk and honey, I was unemployed. Now in the dire times of coalition austerity, I am gainfully employed and making a few quid. So, I'm the shoulder to lean on and the voice of experience. You might call me the elder statesman, a Baron Birt to a young Tony Blair, or a trusted advisor, like Andy Coulson with scrupples and no hidden hooves and horns.
Anyway, my potential amour is ex of a government department, the recipient of a package to accept redundancy, and a redhead. Firey. Except that she's quite quiet. But you have to watch the quiet ones, I hear.
I haven't worked out the details of my approach. I'm very much in the planning stage. But you see, I believe in the past I rushed too quickly into love and mucked up each and every situation by not having a Plan B (or Plan C or realising that one individual was actually engaged - oh well).
So, another new phase. Upwards and onwards.
Stay well,
Nate
Well, I've started my cabbage soup diet. Now, a normal person would probably do some research into the scheme, perhaps join the official on-line 'Cabbage Soup Diet Program' and find a support group. I, on the other hand, haven't bothered to even do a Google search.
I'm simply going to eat nothing but large vats of cabbage soup for one week and see what eventuates. Part of this is about choice. I don't want to be told that I'm limited to cabbage, broth and garlic. I want to feel unincumbered and free to spice things up with a bit of tomato or a legume or two.
Frankly, I like a good soup, and last night's three bowls was more than satisfying. I feel lighter and more alert already.
My new initiative works nicely with an evolving plan in my celibate mind to 'put the moves' on a young lady who has been frequenting the library. She's part of an informal support group for jobseekers, which I sometimes advise.
Yes, during the Blair years of milk and honey, I was unemployed. Now in the dire times of coalition austerity, I am gainfully employed and making a few quid. So, I'm the shoulder to lean on and the voice of experience. You might call me the elder statesman, a Baron Birt to a young Tony Blair, or a trusted advisor, like Andy Coulson with scrupples and no hidden hooves and horns.
Anyway, my potential amour is ex of a government department, the recipient of a package to accept redundancy, and a redhead. Firey. Except that she's quite quiet. But you have to watch the quiet ones, I hear.
I haven't worked out the details of my approach. I'm very much in the planning stage. But you see, I believe in the past I rushed too quickly into love and mucked up each and every situation by not having a Plan B (or Plan C or realising that one individual was actually engaged - oh well).
So, another new phase. Upwards and onwards.
Stay well,
Nate
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
New lows
Hello dear readers,
Well, just when you think Ol' Natesy can't sink much lower... Yes, I'm sorry to say, I have taken two actions for which my shame levels have risen.
First, I ate an entire roasted chicken in one sitting. With only a fork.
I hadn't intended to eat the entire bird. In fact, I had simply intended to have a jab at the juicy bits before putting together a sandwich with representative foodstuffs from the recommended food groups. This used to be found in a pyramid. Now it may be oblong and include chia seeds - I'm not certain.
But there were so many juicy bits, and my hunger seemed to rise up and take control. I attacked the roasted animal like a famished wood louse might when encountering a slow* and naive foal.
*speed, not developmental
It seems that my hunger urges are taking on a life of their own, which frightens me frankly. It's gone instinctual, animalistic, which clearly indicates I need to change my relationship with food. Which brings me to the second point of shame.
I ate ice cream. With a knife.
You see, sometimes my old refridgerator freezes items at too cold a temperature. The ice cream had hardened into the consistency of the Hope Diamond and I simply couldn't be bothered to leave the container out for a minor defrost. And besides, there was no guarantee it would have softened uniformly.
So I cut off small pieces with a carving knife, which I consumed by hand.
Well, I had to use my hand, obviously. I didn't want to risk slicing my face and ending up like that poor young chap who played The Joker in that Batman film a few years back. Cracking film, but not a look to which the ladies would come a'flocking.
I'm considering a diet. I've heard about the cabbage soup diet (I enjoy garden vegetables and soup, and the weather is right for it). I've also heard tell of a new diet in which the participant eats nothing but meat for two weeks and blasts the lot out with spoonfuls of wheat germ.
At least I haven't sunk that low.
Yet.
Stay well. Tell your friends to read the blog.
Nate
Well, just when you think Ol' Natesy can't sink much lower... Yes, I'm sorry to say, I have taken two actions for which my shame levels have risen.
First, I ate an entire roasted chicken in one sitting. With only a fork.
I hadn't intended to eat the entire bird. In fact, I had simply intended to have a jab at the juicy bits before putting together a sandwich with representative foodstuffs from the recommended food groups. This used to be found in a pyramid. Now it may be oblong and include chia seeds - I'm not certain.
But there were so many juicy bits, and my hunger seemed to rise up and take control. I attacked the roasted animal like a famished wood louse might when encountering a slow* and naive foal.
*speed, not developmental
It seems that my hunger urges are taking on a life of their own, which frightens me frankly. It's gone instinctual, animalistic, which clearly indicates I need to change my relationship with food. Which brings me to the second point of shame.
I ate ice cream. With a knife.
You see, sometimes my old refridgerator freezes items at too cold a temperature. The ice cream had hardened into the consistency of the Hope Diamond and I simply couldn't be bothered to leave the container out for a minor defrost. And besides, there was no guarantee it would have softened uniformly.
So I cut off small pieces with a carving knife, which I consumed by hand.
Well, I had to use my hand, obviously. I didn't want to risk slicing my face and ending up like that poor young chap who played The Joker in that Batman film a few years back. Cracking film, but not a look to which the ladies would come a'flocking.
I'm considering a diet. I've heard about the cabbage soup diet (I enjoy garden vegetables and soup, and the weather is right for it). I've also heard tell of a new diet in which the participant eats nothing but meat for two weeks and blasts the lot out with spoonfuls of wheat germ.
At least I haven't sunk that low.
Yet.
Stay well. Tell your friends to read the blog.
Nate
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