"Now I told ye not to trow yer horse in de sea, Seamus..."

Had a great day yesterday. Hoiked t'wife out of the house at 8am to get the train to Liverpool. Forgotten how quick the Liverpool run is once you get out of Manchester. It's flat (but then West Lancs and Lincs are very, very similar) and the train fair sprints. A good run. Anyway, we got into Liverpool for about 10:15 and took the Northern Line up to Freshfield. Merseyrail was as efficient and as shabby as I remember it. Very efficient (trains every 15 mins after all these years with razor sharp punctuality) and very shabby (train slightly smelly on the way up).

Bootle looked as grim as ever. I've never been all that keen on that area. I've been spoiled by the Sefton coast. On the other hand, Freshfield and the North Formby area is all entryphones, big cars and "Fuck off, peasant" gates. It's about a mile's walk from the railway station to the National Trust property by the beach - the squirrel sanctuary, the dunes and the beach itself. It was gorgeous - we arrived within 1/2 and hour of high tide and the sea was virtually up at the dunes. I was content to chill, but H was into the sea almost straight away, washing her feet in the sea with abandon. I look a bit of a twat when paddling, so I maintained my cool (!?) and stayed dry.

H decided to walk north and after a while, I realised that she had no intention of stopping, except to act as eco-warden, clearing up the odd piece of glass, picking up the occasional stone/shell and finding the odd battered plastic horse lost, no doubt, by some poor Irish toddler throwing a wobbly on Blackrock beach. We walked for what seemed like forever, with my knees throwing out warning signals like nuclear war had just been declared. Eventually, we came across more civilisation and decided to leave the beach. To our horror, we realised that we'd managed to walk the grand total of 3 1/2 miles on sand and still had a mile to walk to Ainsdale station. We'd bypassed precisely no stations. And we hurt.

Went to Southport. The sea had just done what it always does in Southport. A runner. Instead of the gentle waves we'd seen at Freshfields, there was just miles and miles of wet sand and yelling chavs. I love British seaside resorts. They bring out the worst in people. Ginner lobsters, ill advised clothing and more slotties than you can shake a stick at. If you ever feel a failure, go to the seaside and immediately feel smug about your cultured, thoughtful life. It's a tonic, I tell you. Had mediocre F&C, but I didn't care. Needed carbs desperately. The chips hit the spot perfectly. It wasn't the best cod in the world (in fact it was the piece of cod that passeth all understanding) but it set me up for that English of English pastimes, a walk down the pier.

More walking. Every time I thought I was coming to the end, it went on and on. Egad, that thing's long. Really long. We gave up in the end. Sp3ccylad's 1st law of walking states that "the longer one walks, the longer the concomitant return leg".  I realise that's obvious, but nobody said I was a genius, alright? So we stopped like some old couple in a pier shelter 2/3 of the way along, nursed our wearies and hobbled back into town. We sat out on Lord Street for a while (after finding this odd little French gift shop) and made our way to the railway station.

Liverpool, and the Albert Dock. My god, I like that place. Had a drink, missed the opening of the Tate by minutes and made our way through the city to Lime Street. Had an odd journey home, highlighted by a total stranger asking me to write a letter for her as she couldn't write English. I was happy to help. I know how it feels to be an immigrant.

All in all a great day. Really enjoyed myself. Reclaimed a bit of me from some memories. That's always good.

What an odd morning

Ran out of things to do, simply because I don't know how to do an awful lot. My immediate supervisor is back off holiday and she seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time to get up to speed. I've described myself as "at the twiddling thumbs stage" twice this morning and it's getting a tad embarrassing. I'd surf the web, but they don't like that here, so I'm blogging instead. Heh.

Went to Pontefract at the weekend. On the bus. Quite an absurd trek, really. The need for a car is rapidly reaching critical mass. It's just such an expensive undertaking, though. The price of petrol is through the roof, the price of insurance makes me cry... And I don't even enjoy driving, that's the stoopid thing. I shall just have to wait for the money to come through from a deal I'm setting up in Nigeria and see what's left over after I have my penis enlarged.

Pontefract's a nice enough place. The some of the locals are a bit rough, though. They lack tact, to be honest. I worked with the long-term unemployed in Pontefract for a few years and I had to develop a thick skin very quickly. It's like working with children: you can almost tell that they're speaking their mind. Such as is.

Work, work, work, work.

Phew. What a day. I'm undergoing trial by training right now. The rationaleis that now I've had the theory, I get the practice. Bigtime. One task, doneover and over until it's automatic. Then another. Then another. Then a mixture.A bit like learning to touch-type, really. And when I say "over and over"I mean over and over. 200 times. Three days' supply of a task until you can reproduce

dis rtnd 1/7/04 deds comm 21/6/04 @ £2.80pw NINO: ab123456c - ADB

in your sleep. And, like I said yesterday, I can't fault it. I feel at home here. Nice people (yet to get to know them properly, but they seem fine),decent enough open plan office...

I'm enjoying myself. I must be. I'm getting ideas again.

I've landed!

Yes, I've started that new job. Actually, I've been in my new job for over two weeks: and I haven't done a thing. This is not to be construed as a criticism. Quite the opposite, actually. I've been a bit of a guinea pig, involved in a new training programme that has attempted to ram the basics of the job into my thick skull. That's some undertaking, I think you'll agree. I look on it as a vote of confidence, to be honest - the chance to put my brain to some use.

That's what really got to me in my last position. I was so unhappy with the atmosphere in the job - there was an air of constant suspicion: a sense that if you dared to show any spirit, any thought, you were marking yourself out for - how can I put this - special attention. I have informal sources that tell me that the air amongst certain management tiers in my old workplace was "what can we get people on?" Which, I'm sure you can agree is not the best way to solve problems. Cause them, maybe. Solve them, no. Doubly so when taxpayers' money is involved.

I'm quite the idealist at heart. I joined local government because if I was going to sell my time, I wanted to sell my time making a bit of a difference. And this is the thing: I got accused, on regular occasions, of cynicism, by the very people carrying out the informal "what can we get people on" policy. There's a big difference between having the intelligence to see a worst outcome and having a heart black enough to believe people want that as a matter of course. But every time I planned in any way to at least go into a situation with eyes open, I was called cynical. Cynical's setting traps for people. Cynical's using procedure to stifle debate. That's cynical.

I was only saying to my new boss today (who's a thoroughly decent chap, btw) that I believe in the essential goodness of most people. People might do bad things, but they want to be good. Sometimes they get trapped in a cycle of bad stuff, but they still want to be good. To be honest, I don't see much point in using up oxygen in a world where people are cynical as a matter of course. I mean, what's the point? Where does it get you?

Cunt.

I'm back. Thought I'd exercise the blogging muscles again. Been a rocky few weeks, including a bit of controversy at work that I stoll find pretty hard to explain. I'm not sure I want to go into it, but it seemed to be both the end of the world and much ado about nothing all at the same time.

I've got a week off work and then I start a new position at work. Looking forward to that. Should be interesting.

Had an old friend from Switzerland get in touch with me out of the blue a while back. It took a while for me to get in touch, although the hardest thing was working out in what order you tell someone a good six or seven years worth of news that includes a relationship breakup, TWO emigrations a marriage and a kitten. Yeah, quite.

Suggestions, anyone?

I have a stinking cold.

I mean, The irony of it all - the day before my 40th birthday. Actually,
if you ever wanted proof that the dumb hand of chance enjoys being as
ironic as possible, I think it's probably encapsulated in the fact that
I'm meant to be writing a letter on happiness for a performance next
month. I was going to wax philosophical about contentment and instead I
feel wretched.

And to add insult to injury, I managed to arrange my lunchbreak to
coincide with my opticians'. Clever.

Amazing stuff

Writing from work today: and I've just come back from a dental
appointment. I used to be really scared of the dentist. I mean, really
scared. Top 10% of the bell curve scared - no joke. Don't mind it as
much any more, to be honest, in fact in an odd "novelty" way, I quite
enjoy it. Well when I say "enjoy", I enjoy it as much as anyone could
enjoy the dentist.

It's my last day of being in my 30's today. Tomorrow, I'm officially
280 years old in dog years. So I suppose that if I was a labrador, I'd
have been destroyed humanely sometime in 1740. Nice thought. It's an odd
bloody place I work in. Can't say too much, but the atmosphere is
unusual. I likened the place to an oddly dysfunctional Comprehensive
school, and it immediately got christened "Strange Hill".

More contacts to collect today. The final tweak in the prescription
before I fly solo. I report back tomorrow on that.

Well, the contact lens business gets more and more convoluted. I am in the process of trying out what will probably be my penultimate pair, which is a pair of Hydron Zero6-T lenses that are slightly off prescription wise but the dogs bollocks otherwise. Very comfy.

This time round, there's a slight visual disturbance on the right eye on the nasal side in low light. Guess I must just have big pupils. All in all, though I'm happy. I get to wear glasses when I want to and have the pick of sunglasses. Spot the happy man.

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Wok boarding. A new urban sport.

Law Of The Playground is quite marvellous. I found the site some time ago and then pretty much forgot about it. I was looking for a reference to explain the phrase "fucking Ada" for my wife (who, being American, thought it was "fucking hate her" - I had a similar problem with the Oregon accent, so don't be too hard on her). Law Of The Playground wasn't much help, but it reminded me that my teenage years had been documented in startling detail.

You want universality? Forget that yokel Thomas Hardy: go to Law Of The Playground.

Picking your nose may make you more healthy. Makes sense to me.

Sp3ccylad: Now 91% Fat Free

I had my body fat percentage measured yesterday and it was a bit alarming.

Hey: I may know what you're thinking. Blogger, sedentary lifestyle. Comic Book Guy out of The Simpsons.

Worst guess ever.

9% body fat. That's not normal, is it? Actually, checking about on the web tells me that I could go as low as 3% and still have enough essential body fat. It just means that I have a body like a badly packed portable xylophone; or (to use a Russian idiom that a colleague told me yesterday) I'm as skinny as a bicycle.

"Skinny as a bicycle". Heh. I love that.

Ooh look! A giant marshmallow! I'll just impale this clown to it.

Madnesscombat.com is back with another death-fest.

It's quite engaging in a funny sort of way, and it's had a Douglas Adams makeover. Ah, go on: you know you want to.