Perfect Day

Perfect Day…what comes into your mind when you hear those words? Lou Reed,probably…hopefully,because it is a classic song.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day…..I’m glad I spent it with you.”

It may just be me,but that song has always depressed me….today may have been a “perfect day”…but what about the future?

Today may have been perfect…but tomorrow won’t be…we’re just putting a brave face on things.

Hmmm….always looking to the future,me….I can never just “live in the moment.”

I can’t “let myself go” as the old dears at the granny party tried to make me do.

Is it even possible to just enjoy “the moment?” To have fun for fun’s sake? I suppose you can if you’re not a miserable old bugger like me…but I live in hope of experiencing a Perfect Day,perhaps even with someone else.

I can think of someone I would like to have a Perfect Day with…more of that later. 😉

But first,with a little help from my friends,a recreation of the BBC’s (admittedly schmaltzy) multi-celeb version of Perfect Day in blog form.—–By Wyn

So…a blog with the theme of “perfect day”. I thought about this for a while and after an initial blast of Lou Reeds song;

“Oh it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you.”

in this instance a perfect day being one spent with someone who means a lot to him (I’m ignoring the ideas it’s about his drug use). I started to move onto other thoughts about what a perfect day means to me.

I don’t happen to have a special someone in my life at the moment but don’t feel that this stops me from being able to enjoy a “perfect day”.

So I thought some more….

Now, hoping I don’t sound too clichéd, actually I feel that every day in life (even the really sh***y ones) have some aspects of perfection about them. Now before you think “yeah, yeah she’s obviously had an easy time of life” I haven’t. Life has dealt me quite a lot of “challenging times” but every day has taught me something (when I’ve gotten over the hysteria or intense weeping!). There is something beautiful and perfect in everyday and embracing that helps me realise EVERY day is perfect.——By Emma

Perfect day(for Emyr’s 50TH! oldie :P):
What exactly is a perfect day?Is it when its sunny and cool, or is it when rain is hammering down and you get to spend quality time with your family because your to scared to go outdoors? Is a perfect day like that song by all the singers suggest.Is it like the video to that song?Is it none of these things?something completely different maybe?
Want to know what I think? Course you don’t. But I’m going to tell you anyway.

A perfect day is a mix of all the things I previously said.A perfect day is where there is a drizzle of rain in the morning before you go out to see your mates and when you do go out the sun shines but the early morning drizzle helps keep the air cool and fresh. A perfect day is spending time with the people you love and care about,Just talking,Like most of us have forgotten to do.And a perfect day is going out and enjoying life whilst you can. Live for today work for tomorrow 😀    By Shanna

I think I have probably had perfect days which may have seemed pretty ordinary at the time and were certainly not pre-planned to be anything particularly special and I think this is probably the key to their specialness – the lack of planning and expectation and the sense of simply going with the flow of life. For example one of the nicest days I can remember was spent on Dartmoor walking with my other half. We got up in the morning, decided it was a good day for a hike, packed a very simple picnic and off we went. The day was spent admiring the natural beauty on our doorstep and spending real quality time with each other and talking to each other about real stuff, not whether we needed milk or if the bins had been put out but real conversation that everyday life quite often precludes. But on the other hand, days that you might expect to be perfect, like your wedding day for example are often so well planned or so anticipated that the real beauty of life and the joy of spontaneity and the unknown are lost. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my wedding day and it is one of the most memorable in my life but it was also a bit stressful (being centre of attention is not my thing!) and as we had been thinking about, planning and living it for months in advance in the end it could never have been everything we expected or envisaged.

So, what am I trying to say here? I don’t know, I probably shouldn’t be allowed to witter on longer than 140 characters but I guess the gist of my message is that we shouldn’t plan our lives too much, shouldn’t worry too much about the future and make sure we spend quality time with the ones we care about. If we do this we might all just have perfect days more often.—– By Lisa

It’s been a long, hard night’s work. You’ve been at it since sunset, and now the sun is rising again. 12 hours is a long time without a break. As the sky greys, you’re impossibly tired and wondering how this next day is going to pan out, whether you’re going to make it through. But then, in a heartbeat, everything changes. In one breath the day becomes absurdly magical. It only takes one tell-tale sound for you to know you you’ve made it. One cry. And at the end of that cry you’re looking at a brand new person. And that tiny brand new person is looking right back at you. This is their first day, and you know you’re going to do your damnedest to make it perfect.—– By Beccy

My perfect day is simple… Me and my best friend. We do not get to meet as much sadly because of how life gets busy, but every time we meet and make a day out of it you have no idea where we shall end up and how much fun we shall have! From going to Stonehenge, Balloon Festival, Banksy, to just random strolls around London, taking pictures, yapping away, or just discussing life and its philosophies over a cuppa! This is my idea of a perfect day… a perfect day with my best friend :)—– By Sami

I think it’s psychologically impossible to have a perfect day on a Monday.
The invisible Monday monkeys see to that, that’s why were all grumpy on a Monday, little did you know that the Monday monkeys are constantly annoying us.

Having a perfect day on a Tuesday is possible but uncool, bit like marrying someone called Eric Winterbottom.

Wednesday is the piggy, I’d be much happier having a good day on Wednesday simply because the perfect day would probably be winning the lottery, and thus mid-week would be a perfect time to tell people that “I’m never coming back to work”, “stick it up your trumpet”, and “sorry I actually think you look like a fool!”

I’ll have two days then to get ready for the weekend. Perfect!

Oh Friday and Saturday too late! Sunday sleeping!—–By Dean

The day would start early, with me waking from a dream where I had been flying and swooping over beaches and mountains. I’d be in a great mood, not tired and not hungry, so I wouldn’t have to waste time with breakfast. I wouldn’t have to mess around having a shower, as I’d already be fragrant and clean, with perfect make up and I’d have long hair, tied in a pony tail.
My Mum would turn up to feed the animals and stay with them and, once I’d kissed her on the cheek, I’d teleport out of there. There would be portals in all my close Twitter friends’ houses and I’d go round to each of them and gather them up with me for a picnic. They would all be ready, so I wouldn’t have to wait.
We’d arrive under a willow tree, by a stream with a bridge over it and there would be hampers of food. I wouldn’t have to eat a sandwich first before my ice cream…as I’m now grown up and can do what I want. There would be junk food for everyone but no alcohol…we’d just be on a natural high.
Then, across the bridge would come loads of different animals of all species..wild ones, domesticated ones etc. They would all be tame, and I’d cuddle them and hold them, and look into their eyes to see what I could learn.
It would now be afternoon and everyone would teleport back to their homes. When I got to my house my animals would come to greet me and there would also be Basil, my guinea pig who died a few weeks ago. I’d pick him up and kiss his little face and smell his belly and tell him how much I’ve missed him. I’d feed him his favourite veggies and never let him go.
All afternoon I would be sitting on the floor with my pets and watching musicals that I’d sing along to…especially ones with cockney songs in. I’d then watch a few episodes of Worzel Gummidge.
Towards early evening, my clothes would change into something sexy but classy, just before my favourite man from Twitter teleported in. We would have a candlelit dinner at the table, but it would be a take away and there’d be plenty of tea and lemonade. We’d then go through to the living room and relax on the sofa to watch classic episodes of Doctor Who, and maybe also a really good sci-fi film.
Just before midnight we would go outside and lie on the trampoline watching the stars and talking about the Universe…there would be loads of shooting stars and it would be magical. He’d kiss me very gently and romantic music would suddenly appear in the background, like it does in the films …but then he’d have to go home.
Still smiling I would come in, go to bed and snuggle with all my animals (especially Basil) and fall asleep to dream about my Twitter crush and how happy I am.—–By Josi

It’s me again.

I’ve finally thought about my idea of a “perfect day”…it would be to make someone else have a Perfect Day.To make someone else happy.I’m far too old and miserable to enjoy myself….if I can bring joy into someone’s life,my son for example,then everyday will be perfect.

I would like to thank everyone who contributed to this blog.I hope you enjoyed it. :)——By Wyn

“If you had a goldfish…

…you would ask for a bigger instrument.”

Or so read a spam email I received over the weekend.

Well…I suppose you would,wouldn’t you…it’s your God-given right to demand a bigger instrument.

Warning…I may get a bit random here.

Anyway….how are you all since I was here last?

Nothing much blogworthy happened at the weekend…my son stayed after his holiday,and we had a fun-filled,cup-

A highly dangerous animal...holding a snake (My son btw)

a-soup fuelled video-game and Scrabble fest.He brought me a present from Spain…a photo of him holding a whacking great snake.I admire his bravery,because it was one of those things where people sell photos of tourists with various animals…you’re walking along then someone plonks Hissing Sid on your shoulder and asks you for 20 euros.He’s smiling in the photo but I would have crapped myself.

His mother and step-father came to pick him up yesterday.

How can I describe my son’s mother…think of a blonde twiglet in high heels.

She is a little on the “un-fat” side,what my mother would call a “stick-insect.” She is something of a pin-up among my son’s friends.I still fancy her,if I’m honest…but she’s not the easiest person to live with,so I probably won’t be sending her naughty texts anytime soon suggesting a reconciliation.

It’s her 40th birthday next month,and she is arranging a bit of knees-up.It’s also her non-identical twin-sister’s 40th birthday on EXACTLY the same date…how inconsiderate of her.(Ha ha) Anyway,I suggested they have a joint do and invite their parents and I could get my suit out of mothballs and all that.

Trouble is…the sisters aren’t actually speaking,and haven’t been for some considerable time.My son’s mother refers to her sister as “SHE” at all times (putting a lifetime of resentment into the word),and has always felt that she is not as good as her.They’ve never really got on…it’s all rather sad,and not something I want to get involved in,because I don’t know all the details,and it isn’t really affecting my son at all.I hope they will work it out in the end,but if I know my son’s mother at all,it probably won’t.

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I’m currently reading Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland…call me a miserable old cynic,but it isn’t as good as I’d expected it to be.It’s one of those books that everyone calls a classic but have never actually read,like Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four…now that is a classic that lives up to its hype.(I should know,I’ve read it five times.)

I’m like that with “classic” books…I thought Catcher In The Rye was an atrocious book,but some people,especially the Americans,regard it as some kind of Bible.

The Lord Of The Rings was a reading experience that can only be described as painful…I forced myself to finish The Fellowship of the Ring but chickened out of reading the other two books.

I could name others…Dracula,Dune….when I started reading London Fields by Martin Amis,I lost the will to live…that book is like having a chimpanzee with bowel trouble sitting on your head,continually flicking your ears.

Here,for your delectation,is a list of my Top 10 Books-perfect desert island reading…

1. Everything by George Orwell (esp. Nineteen Eighty-Four/Down And Out In Paris & London)
2. Everything by Philip K.Dick (esp. Martian Time-Slip/A Scanner Darkly)
3. That’s probably more than 10,but never mind…it’s my list…
4. The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster (nuttier than squirrel doo-doo)
5. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis (The story of Patrick Bateman..played by Christian Bale in the film-’nuff said)
6. The Forever War by Joe Haldeman (first line-“Tonight we’re going to show you eight silent ways to kill a man.”)
7. Childhood’s End by Arthur C.Clarke (sci-fi at its best)
8. Crash by J.G.Ballard (read all of his books too)
9. The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien (an Irish comic genius)
10. Absolutely everything ever written by Robert Rankin…even his shopping lists

That’s it.

If anybody wants to borrow any of these books,let me know. 😉

The One About Not Drinking

THIS!

“Teetotal” is strange word.

Why do people like myself need to have their own word so those who drink can can group them together and point at them?

Is drinking really that important and so ingrained in the public consciousness that there has to be a special word if you don’t do it? Well yes it is…everybody does it,and they do it a lot,or so the government would have us believe.It makes me feel abnormal.People do look at me strangely,as I found out to my cost in the OAP piss up I went to a couple of weekends back.I felt like a weird lifeform that had just landed.In order to shut them up I had a single glass of champagne (into which had been added an alarming “tot” of cassis,whatever that is)  to toast the old girl’s birthday (even though it wasnt her birthday…but that’s another story) but that was the first alcohol to pass my lips in over two years.And will be for the next two years.

And before you ask,yes,I did enjoy it.I didn’t want to drink it at all….but the grannies had,by this point,become increasingly restless and scary.

So am I actually teetotal?

Hmmm….time to set myself some ground rules,then.I’ll pretend it never happened,that should keep my conscience happy.

NOT THIS!

I never go out but if I did I could still have a good time without having to go home in an ambulance.To be honest I hate the taste of alcohol.I only put up with it for so long in order to be “social”…whatever that means…not wanting to look bad in front of my friends I suppose.I worked my way through several beverages in my younger days,from cider through to Bacardi,vodka,Southern Comfort,and finally settling on Jack Daniels (which I only started drinking because I was with a group of people and wanted to impress them with my choice of alcohol)  But luckily I liked Jack Daniels…he was a good friend to me for many years. I used to dabble with wine when the opportunity arose.I’m amazed that people can drink so much of it,especially red wine….it is vile.

Speaking of which,the worst I’ve ever been after drinking was when myself and a couple of friends went to Alton Towers for the weekend.For some reason,though probably in order not to look bad,I downed several cans of lager,something which I’ve never even liked.We all had about 10 cans each,and retired to my friend’s estate car which we were sleeping in.

We spent the rest of the night taking it in turns to vomit out of the doors.Nice….like a kind of synchronised puking team.

We still managed to survive the rides the next day,though.We had purged ourselves the night before.Nothing untoward came up on the Corkscrew.

Another notable time was at a colleague’s leaving do…I can’t remember much about the night,but the next day,on which of course I had to work,I spent most of the day shaking and shuffling around like Ozzy Osbourne.I think I had the DT’s..I don’t even know what they are but I think I had them.

Right…I’ve decided.No more champagne with 60 year-old ladies.

A typical scene in Carmarthen...every bloody night...

It’s orange juice all the way.

They’ll just have to think of another way to get me into bed.

Next time–hopefully I will have stopped laughing at this ———–>

Not Going Out…Party Fears Two

I don’t go out much…especially if it’s sunny.

I hate the sun,and what the sun does to people,especially here in Wales where hot weather is rarer than rocking-horse shit.

Last week in Tesco,I saw a bloke in t-shirt and shorts…it was pissing down.But because it was July and there had been 5 minutes of sun a fortnight previously,then he had to put the effort in.

I prefer the rain.It covers everything.

It means I can wear a raincoat with the hood pulled right over my head…that way no-one will see me and recognise me.

I hardly ever go out unless I really need to,other than for work purposes.I work early in the morning and so have the afternoons off,but once I’m back in the house I stay there.

I fear I may be becoming anti-social….

…but I truly HATE the outside world.

Remember my soon-to-be 80 year old gin-swiggling neighbour from the very first post? (what do you mean you haven’t read it??)

Well she is now officially 80…she’s like the Queen,she has two birthdays.

And that means another party.

I have received the invite.It’s this Saturday.Starts at midday and carries on until someone calls the police.

I’m still in therapy after the last one.Somehow the thought of seeing her fall on her arse after 15 gins makes me lose the will to live.

Not to mention her sex-starved friends with the wandering hands…great,the only time I’m groped by a woman and it’s a 60 year old…

I shall be giving this one a miss,I think.

Next time–something else…

Hinge-drinking and not going out

On Saturday night I discovered what had hitherto been missing from my life…the image of my 80 year-old neighour falling on her arse whilst attempting to remove a Jim Reeves CD from her hi-fi and replace it with a Daniel O’Donnell one while also pissed on gin.

She managed it,though.

Ever been trapped on a sofa,sandwiched between two grannies under the influence with wandering hands?

I have…twice in the same night….different grannies though.I like to keep my options open.

The official (well,I looked at one website) definition of binge-drinking is 8 units for a man,6 for a woman,8 units being about 4 pints of lager.That’s over the course of one night…how about in one glass?

So there I was at my neighbour’s 80th birthday party (Perez Hilton eat your heart out),being told how lovely I am by inebriated widows and fending off the endless stream of “Oh you don’t drink….why,what’s wrong with you?” questions,and feeling,I admit,strangely at home with the wrinklies,thinking that I should go out more,and also realising that I hate going out.

A few yards across to next-door is all I can manage these days…my excuse is that I’m past it…even my other neighbours looked as if they could be my children.In fact my neighbour was in two minds about whether to invite me or not…I am a miserable unsocial git,it has to be said.

Of course,she is a nosey old cow,and the fact that she has such loyal friends came as a bit of a surprise to me.Admittedly they’re a bunch of alkies,but beggars can’t be choosers at her age I suppose.

I have no friends,that’s why I don’t go out…but would I if I did?

I am happy on my own…honestly.I don’t need anyone.So:

I don’t drink

I don’t smoke.

I don’t have a girlfriend/wife/life partner.

I don’t go out.

Therefore I found myself the focus of attention at the party.

They looked at me as if there was something wrong with me…granted you’re not going to be too popular if you profess your teatotal-ness in a house full of hardened gin drinkers…but still.

I stuck it out till midnight…I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it,but a part of me wishes I hadn’t gone…I am a private person and think I lost a part of myself that night.I have never liked giving away too much personal information,partly because I am incredibly boring,and partly because I’ve lied so much in my life I don’t know what’s true about me anymore.

But I digress.

I now see my neighbour in a different light…perhaps not a wholly flattering light,but there you are.

I have seen binge-drinking done properly,by 70-year-old women.

They invented it.They can knock back more gin in one night than a teenager can in a week.Remember the Queen Mother? She was in triple figures and still at it.

Would I go again? Well…you see it wasn’t actually her birthday..that’s not until the 31st July…so another party could be possible.

Would I go?

Hell….I probably bloody will.

Next post:Bagpuss 2-Emily’s Revenge