Wind Turbines Of The Mind

Because I had the sense to book Friday off work, I’m half way through the working week, which is something of a relief. During a tedious meeting discussing matters such as "corporate restructuring", the issues of which may as well be about nuclear fission as far as I'm concerned, my mind wandered. From what I remember, I went over the following:

1.
I’m a sarky fucker, a facet of my personality I’m proud enough to own up to. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit” come the words of the sanctimonious. Well, comes my response, that’s good, as a lot of the time I can’t be arsed thinking of anything too heavy, especially when I’m trying to piss you off.

2.
Clearly, black is the coolest colour to wear. This is why Captain Black from Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons is one of the top 10 style icons of all time. And if you wear a large black overcoat, then you’re automatically kick-arse, unless it’s leather, in which case you just look like Herr Flick from Allo’ Allo’ (the Punisher being the notable exception).

3.
Having picked up a copy of Tiger Woods PGA Tour 12 on Sunday, I attempted to create a version of me that could compete for the top golf prizes in the world that exists in my Playstation. Looking up from her book, the good lady noted I looked like a crazy redneck serial killer. Tragically, she was right and everytime he/I takes to the tee, I expect the distant sound of banjo.

4.
I can’t help but wonder how much I’m mellowing with age. On Sunday, while leaving to go check out Stockport Vintage Market, there was a somewhat abusive and obnoxious note pinned in the hallway from one of the other residents stating the above mentioned good lady had been amiss with her parking, ensuring others were unable to enter/exit their automobiles with ease.

Putting it to the back of mind until our return, I first checked the apparent problem. It became immediately obvious that there was enough space to park a Transit van and still have space to unload a pair of sumo wrestlers from the side door. Somewhere in my forehead, a vein twitched.

Now, ten years ago, I think I might have exploded in rage and demanded an audience with said note writer to regale them with my thoughts on their attitude, parentage and relations with their mother with a healthy dose of Anglo-Saxon. But being over 30 years old, I instead keep the blood pressure low and informed the letting agency of the incident. That’ll learn ‘em.

5.
I've no idea why I’m writing this blog. I really don’t. I only started it up because a friend started one and wanted a “follower”. I notice she abandoned the concept a long time ago, but I've stuck at it for reasons totally beyond my ken. Partly, I think, it’s to keep my hand in the whole “writing” thing until such a time comes where I feel I’m capable of doing something more constructive.

That said, I’m constantly amused when I see the far-flung places people who pass by are from, such as Russia, South Korea and India. I like to assume it’s the same person from each of those countries every time and make up little stories in my head about who they are. Unless you're one of the readers from either Australia or Canada - I know exactly what you're like...