Sunday 28 October 2012

Spring Forward, Fall Back

Dear Dobson,

Your day of 'Super Learning' made me want to weep for you and those like you.  If ever there were a valid excuse to self-harm I'd say you have one right there...  'This morning we will be dealing with conflict resolution and this afternoon we will be stating the cunting obvious'.  It's a shame your poor man's Tony Robbins looked nothing like Tony Robbins; given that visual stimulus some inappropriate nipple brushing at the back could have been a fine way to pass the seemingly endless hours.

Today it is my turn to have eyes like pissholes in the snow.  It's safe to say I am fairly fucked and a battery recharge is on this evening's agenda.  A lovely, but late, time on Friday night / Saturday morning and then beaucoup de gin in Kings Langley last night has broken me.

The train journey back from Watford was fairly horrific; standing room only and I'm sure I actually nodded off at one point during the twenty-five minute ride, unable to fight the urge to close my stinging eyes.  On waking from my vertical power snooze I noticed the dribble down the back of the young German in front of me and can only presume I was responsible.

I was so desperate to get home I was close to tears on changing at London Bridge.  An irritating toilet stop slowed me down there, though I confess the desire to just let it flow was strong.  I am unsure whether the need for 'immediate release' was a symptom of the three pints consumed with my roast dinner or simply my middle-aged bladder.  I don't relish the prospect of the waterworks going up the spout just yet.  Catheter schmatheter.

Is it too early to go to bed given that the clocks went back?

Frankie

Thursday 25 October 2012

The Yoof

Dearest Frankie

As days go, this was an odd one.  No real 'work' as such, just a day of 'Super Learning' with lots of activities for all. I was involved in 'Conflict resolution', which was being 'run' by The British Transport Police. I've lost you already, haven't I? And indeed the 200 eleven-year-olds forced into participating.

 I say participating. It was a bunch of 'Yoof Workers' who made them sit still whilst they barked and yelled at them, made them shout "Your Mum" at each other,  lectured them on the most basic stuff ("yeah right, if like a person, right, yeah, puts a knife to your back, yeah, then , yeah, give them your phone, yeah, cos like your phone is not your life, yeah, its more important to have your life, yeah, blah blah blah"). There were 2 transport cops there, but they looked like they lost the will to live.

At one point a poor man's Tony Robbins (see below, but not him.  Not even remotely), got up to demonstrate his Karate (his words, not mine) skills.  Poor dumb bastard. 

I wouldn't have minded but the FOUR HOURS of "don't stand on someone's shoes on a train, isn't that right officers?" CONFLICT RESOLUTION ended with a near Hillsborough incident outside the assembly hall, in which numerous fights broke out and several 11 year olds got crushed.... 

On a happier note the bird teaching aerobics tonight played a quality 80s mix. First time I have grapevined to Yazoo.

Having a Whisky Disco now.

Love Dobson x

http://positivetalk.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Tony-Robbins-Photo.jpg

Wednesday 24 October 2012

Eye Eye

Dear Dobson,

Glad you managed to swing by Blogsville given your exhaustion.  I hope you are now lying in the comfort of your bed, all-seeing 'eye' tightly closed and dreaming pleasant things - perhaps the odd fart thrown in for good measure.

Did you know the Norse god Odin gave up one eye in order that he could gain wisdom and power?  Have you struck a deal with someone somewhere?  For the record, I only know this as a result of Googling 'Thor' after seeing the film with the boys - nothing to do with knowledge, schooling or being well read.

Still focusing on all things visual (see what I did there...) modern educational practice sounds blinkered (I'll stop now...) and frighteningly naïve.  Next time you're in one of these meetings and get the urge to draw phalluses left, right and centre, spraying obscenities all over the place, I suggest you do it.  Get it down on paper.  You could make a mint selling that shit to pubescent boys.  Forty minutes scribbling could earn you a lot of money.

I am tired but wired.  Seems to be a bit of a mantra these days. 

I think I shall retire to the boudoir with some Neil Diamond and seek inspiration.

Frankie

Pissholes in the snow

Dearest Frankie

Despite my tired, battered condition, I felt it amiss not to blog and applaud your bucket list for Friday evening.  I don't often get out, but it only takes one bar of "Sweet Caroline" for me to want to ram an entire roast chicken up my arse.

"I am, I said" makes me want to include the roasting tray.

Same old, same old, same old. We had a meeting where we discussed 'email etiquette'. Basically Big Brother is watching and he has a severe  case of passive aggression. In case any of us hadn't worked it out, "sending an email in haste is not good". Apparently we have to |talk to the person face to face.  Don't cc in anyone important." Thanks for that. Next week, bring an egg and your nan. Take her teeth out.

I took the minutes and to be honest I had to resist with every fibre in my body not to just draw big willies with cascading cum erupting out of the top. (Like you used to see graffitied into RE books at school).  Amongst my phallic masterpieces I would write like a cartoon character with Tourettes.  Then just add in some education speak and, volia! A document which sums up perfectly my state of mind during those long 40 minutes ,which I will never get back.  Probably educational too.

On the plus side my pisshole eyes are shifting towards my nose thus creating one big eye. Like a minotaur. Or Mike Lebowski. Depends on my mood.

Later Skater.

Love

Dobson x




Mid-Week Special

Dear Dobson,

Sorry to hear your evening panned out like the plot of The Exorcist.  I hope the girl is on the mend and that you've made it through another day enlightening the 'yoot' of East London.  As the hugely popular band Musical Youth once sang:

"The youth of today has got lots to say
  It's our life, it's our future..."

I'm assuming those lyrics were written before one of them went to prison?  Or was it two?

As you know, Wednesday is my mid-week special.  The one day that my trusty trio of boys are collected from school by someone other than me.  I have indulged by way of a trip to the cinema; Ginger & Rosa was the fillum of choice.  It was nicely acted if a little predictable, although I think my indifference is more to do with the fact I can't concentrate on anything at the moment.  My diagnosis hovers between ADHD and Mid-Life Crisis...

In online dating news, I received this gem from a 23 year old today:

"your probably going to get really angry at me now but im going to have to risk it..basically iv got a problem im just scared that my thing is too small iv not been with a girl yet so iv not been able to get opinions and i don't know what girls will think of it..if i show it you could you give me an honest opinion?

P.S..if your mad at me im sorry and wish you the very best of luck in your search"

I propose a response highlighting the grammatical difference between 'your' and 'you're' and a recommendation that he target someone more age appropriate with his small penis.  Before signing off though, I might share my top three guilty pleasures with him just for fun; Neil Diamond, Wetherspoon's roast dinners and anal sex (in that particular order) - on that bum note I'm offski.

Frankie

Boden s'moden

Dear Frankie

I am jealous. Seriously. I have spent the evening/early hours clearing up baby puke. Now I have to go to work.  Not even in Boden.  Wish you had come over as it would have given me a "bit of an evening".

And after the girl had been sick for the third time her first word, with a smile, was "The Boys".

My side cabinet is clear, but within the drawer lies all sorts of shite.  Take from that what you will.

Happy Wednesday Mon Ami.  x

Dobson. x

Tuesday 23 October 2012

S'late

Dear Dobson,

I've had no online requests of marriage today, this disappoints me greatly.  However, I've decided to accept the next one that comes my way.  Times is hard.  On the bright side, there are 91 people out there who would 'like to meet me' - go me.

The pissed-off part of the description of your 'persona' provoked an image of you dressed as Michael Douglas, à la 'Falling Down', brandishing a NERF Gun and causing all the middle-class parents in your locale to actually defecate in their Boden underwear.  Small pleasures.

I was saddened to hear you'll be keeping your debut clean, though I am sure there will be time for cunt and cock away from the smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd.

I have overdosed on Chet Baker this evening.  Never a good thing; it's like Pedigree Chum for the Black Dog.

I will leave you with some highlights from my bedside table:

-  iPod playing Chet
-  Two tampons
-  A Mr Tom Peanut Bar wrapper
-  Sore throat lozenges
-  Nail varnish x 3 / remover
-  Thrush cream

Try not to envy my life.

Over and out.

Frankie


Comedy, tragedy, over to you Kev.

Dear Frankie

I am surprised at the choice of men you have. What more could you ask for?  Illiterate and low expectations.  Always a winner.  Dear god.  It's like evolution never happened....

I am just back from The Course. Feel ok really.  Apparently my persona is "high status, friendly, but pissed off, like having a chat with someone".  No dirty stuff though. Even though I am potty-ed of mouth in "real life".  Reckon I have enough for 5 mins.


 Feel quite calm although I expect that will change in the next week....


Right. Night night.

Dobson

Sunday 21 October 2012

Defining the 'D' Word

Dear Dobson,

I agree, Sunday night does have the tendency to loom like a portent of doom...

Though I must admit, for me, there is a tinge of relief in there somewhere.  Monday to Friday brings order and structure.  I don't have to think about what to do because it's all pretty much mapped out for me.  I like it that way, choice is confusing.

Which segues nicely into my next point...

I have a plethora of dating choices to pick from this evening, 'Monsieur you are spoiling me...'  My quandary is obviously which to go for or should I take a sharp knife to my delicate wrists now and give up on the whole fecking game?!

*to be read in an 'our Graham' style*

Choice One - "Hello damsel, just passing by and your profile just pop up, well i dont make friends like that, but i like your profile picture..
These are some of the things I think about when I fantasize about friendship, i like good look, well am widowed and am relocating to your area soon, i want to get to know you more.. maybe we can start as friends, well you can add me on msn to *******@hotmail.com , join me on there for chat and you can send me email also there and i will email you with my pictures and more about me.."

Choice Two -  "You look finger lickin' good.Even kfc would admit they don't serve thighs, legs or breasts that tasty!"

Choice Three -  "Hiya and real lovely profile you have here and i am **** working as a telecommunications consultant in North Western London. I would really like to get to know you so much more if that's fine with you. Wishing you a lovely day."

Now that's depressing...

I'm more excited at the prospect of a pre-9pm bedtime and a quality wank.

Frankie

Sunday night feeling

Dear Frankie

... surely as a bona fide grown up person I shouldn't still have that horrible Sunday night feeling? It's that heady mix of dread and anxiety,  creeping up you from around 4pm, like you haven't revised for an important exam.  I feel rather sorry for myself, not prepared for the weekend to end, to face work. What a load of old tosh.

 I was talking to someone today who exclaimed "It's just a job!"

Agreed, but it was as difficult to explain to her in that moment as it would be to go into the tedious reasons of my 'job hate' on this blog entry.  

Especially I am typing next to my 5 year old son who keeps asking me who is married to who on "Strictly Come Dancing". 

"No-one".

*Silence* "But you can't dance with someone you are not married to".

"No not really".

*Repeat this conversation x 25*

This surely must help push the Black Dog away until at least the end of Downton Abbey.

You would hope.

Dobson


Merlin

Dear Frankie

To avoid X Factor I made myself watch 'Merlin' last night, which seemed to do the trick as Anthony Head was the most wooden ghost ever.  Even in the afterlife he still can't act. I had to go to sleep at 9am to avoid possible depression setting in. FFS.

Dobson