Sunday, May 08, 2011

Hung Like a Horse Whisperer

I have a blockage... Don't panic, it's nothing physical. There is not going to be a stream of shit at some point that is going to cause a disaster. The blockage is up here [taps side of brain]. It's not a full on mental block, but it is stopping the synapses from doing their job to the extent that I'm racked with doubt and self censorship.

I think it has to do with my feeling of damp squibness. The feeling that things, for everyone, not just me, are going to get a lot worse before they get better and it will be a gradual plunge into shit not a quick and unexpected one. I have this feeling that we're all going to watch ourselves drown and it'll be slow enough for us to discuss it with each other and apportion blame.

I have four unfinished blog entries. I know what I want to say, I just can't seem to be able to put it down on cyber paper. Or, as is the case of the four unfinished pieces, I don't seem to be able to put across what I am trying to say without overcomplicating it. I am becoming the literary equivalent of one of my fellow quiz team members; I appear to be using 50 words where 1 would suffice. Is what you are trying to convey to me a negative answer, an opposite to an affirmative answer? A short word that essentially is you saying that you are not, as they say, in certain circles, up for it? Sometimes No is just No. I seem to think that more is needed. I am going off on tangents that I shouldn't. and they're not making it better.

I suppose you could say I have a rose rather than a blockage. You know, the thing you stick on the end of a hose that has umpteen different jet settings. I don't have a blockage, I have a mental rose. I'm wandering off down many paths when one or a couple would do. I'm sprinkling when I should be spurting; I'm veering off into sexual innuendo areas again.

I have lots to opine about; but nothing has solidity or the point I want to put across is being obfuscated by minutiae.

In a nutshell, I'm having a moratorium on politics,. I'm going to stop writing my political blog for a while because of the way I feel about politics at the moment.
I want to be a fanboy/nerd and talk about my theories on Doctor Who, but every time I write something it ends up being deleted or I stare at it and despair.
I have a semi-serious piece about illegal activities and the Internet, which is genuinely about a friend of mine and not just a thinly-veiled piece of confession.
I have a rant about work - which is unfinished and waiting for the 21st May (if I deem it worthy of publishing).

And, while I think about it, I have this question...

Who are you and how did you find me? You know who I'm talking to; your mum works with my wife. I want to know how you found me? Was it by accident? Did you find me and then work out that your mum worked with my wife, because she never talks about my blog to her colleagues, so something must have happened that made you put 2 and 2 together to make 4. Do I know you? Are you a comics fan? And if you are how did you work out that the woman your mum might mention was actually my wife? Especially as I've mentioned her name just once ever in these pages. How did you work it all out?

I think I know what the problem is. Everything feels a bit pooh at the moment... Oh, I sort of said that already... See?



  1. I'm the man whose mum worked with your wife. I found your blog a year or two ago in the course of trying to discover what happened to Squonk!!, where I was a very occasional customer in my early teens. Sometime after that, Mum must have mentioned that a colleague's husband used to own a comic shop in Wellingborough. So no detective work required on my part!

  2. Would I remember you, Martin? I've been pretty good at remembering old customers.
    It seems logical how you put it; Paula is always talking about people at work and their kids, etc.
    If you want to know what happened to Squonk and my further adventures in comics land, then read my other blog - the link is at the top right of this page!

  3. I'm already reading your comics blog with great interest. It still blows my mind that comics were once popular enough to sustain a shop in Wellingborough - not that I was really old enough to appreciate it. I doubt you'd remember me, I did only visit literally half a dozen times. If only I'd been born twenty years earlier...