Not an actual toilet, that would be all kinds of weird. I’ve never seen fit to climb into an actual toilet. To be entirely accurate, I got locked in a room with a toilet in it.
In the UK we often refer to that room as being ‘the toilet’, but I’m aware this is not the case in other parts of the world. My understanding is that in the USA it’s more commonly referred to as the ‘bathroom’ or ‘restroom’. As this blog has no shortage of regular visitors who are based in that part of the world, I’m hopeful that the correct terminology will be shared in the comments below. Continue reading The Time I Got Locked In The Toilet
Though I allude to it rarely, I have stated elsewhere on this site that I am, by profession, a teacher. I don’t like to mention it often because this blog is meant to be a kind of escapism from the daily grind and though things happen at work, from time to time, that amuse me, or irritate me, or make me want to bang my head against the wall in frustration, they are things that are better left in work, shared with colleagues, or, when the need arises, at home with Mrs Proclaims, who kindly allows me to vent on occasion. Continue reading Going With The Flow
A day after posting a poem that laments the fact that I’m too busy to blog, I find myself shirking my not inconsiderable workload in order to blog again. Which rather belies the message in my last post.
In point of fact I am too busy to post regularly at the moment but I felt it would be wrong of me not to write something in light of David Bowie’s recent passing.
I’m not a huge David Bowie aficionado, which is not to say I don’t appreciate his work. Indeed a compilation of his greatest hits is one of the few ever-presents on my, now-possibly-outdated-but-still-functional-so-really-not-worth-replacing 2nd generation 4GB iPod Nano. But much as I enjoy listening to those seminal tracks on shuffle, it is also proof that I am not a true devotee, because if I was, it wouldn’t be a greatest hit compilation but all of his actual albums. Further proof, if proof were needed, is the fact that the hits compilation I refer to was not even mine to begin with. It’s from the Mrs Proclaims side of our joint music collection. The cooler side if I’m honest. Continue reading A Tale Of Bowie, Gatecrashers And Too Much Vodka
But I call him Humpty, because we’re on first name terms.
Humpty and I have been friends since I was but a small child. Humpty was made by my amazingly talented aunt.
My Humpty is not the original Humpty. The original Humpty was an egg, whereas my Humpty is an egg-shaped soft toy made of wool. My Humpty is better because when he sits on a wall, even if he subsequently has a great fall, he doesn’t need any of the king’s horses or indeed any of the king’s men to put him together again. Continue reading Say Hello To My Little Friend
Unlike me, my other half is not a coffee drinker. When I first met her, she mostly consumed diet cola, but she’s moved on from that phase and will now indulge in hot drinks like a proper adult. Most often in polite company, she’ll go for an English Breakfast tea without milk (she doesn’t ask for it like that – she’ll just ask for a cup of tea, but as I’m going to talk about various kinds of tea, I thought it pertinent to make the distinction – although having now just reread the next paragraph it doesn’t really matter and I’m actually just being pedantic. I could go back and edit all of that but I feel that you, dear reader, should know what a pedant I truly am.) Continue reading An Infusiasm For Tea
Last night I did Kung Fu. It’s not unusual for me to do this on a Thursday night. It’s when the class is.
I say I did Kung Fu, the instructor may disagree with my assertion that what I did last night was Kung Fu. He may, in fact, suggest that what I was doing was waving my arms around in the air, vaguely imitating his actual Kung Fu, much like a toddler or a well-trained monkey might.
I’ve dipped into martial arts on and off since I was a child. In my time I’ve sampled Judo, Karate, Tae Kwon Do and now Kung Fu. I’ve become proficient at none of these. . Continue reading Way Of The Sloth
Sometimes I find it difficult to motivate myself to do anything.
It’s not depression or anything like that.
It’s just hard to inspire yourself when you’ve already achieved everything you ever wanted to…
Well maybe not everything, I still have ambitions, but anything that happens from now on will always pale into insignificance now that I’ve experienced the pinnacle of my childhood dreams. Continue reading Nee Naw
As I’ve stated previously, I enjoy a coffee on my way into to work of a morning. I’ve also shared the fact that I enjoy breakfast. Sometimes I combine these two pleasures and purchase both at the same outlet. I’m quite astute like that.
One of these outlets has a proprietor who reminds me quite a lot of Gus Fring off of the hit TV show Breaking Bad. Rather cleverly I’ve entitled this post ‘Baking Bad’ to reflect that. Although, to be completely honest, I’m not sure if the bread that is used to make my sausage baguette is baked on site. If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say it arrives on the premises par-baked and is finished off in the cafe’s own kitchen. But I couldn’t be certain. It’s probably not the most interesting facet of this story… Continue reading Baking Bad
Reading’s local rugby team is called London Irish. It’s a strange name for a team that is evidently not based in London, and has limited links to Ireland. Historically it had both of those things going for it, originally being set up as a club for Irish people who were living in London. The name endures despite the move to Reading and the fact that although there are still Irish players playing for the team, there are many more English players and, as with all modern teams, there are a lot of other nationalities in the squad too. It has a huge local following in Reading but it does still attract Irish fans, in much the same way as I and my fellow Welsh exiles have an affection for the now Oxford-based London Welsh.
I naturally assumed that when I saw a man dressed all in green and wearing a Leprechaun mask, walking across Reading Bridge today, that he was on his way home from a match. There could be no other explanation surely for such an outfit on a Sunday afternoon in May? Continue reading Livid Leprechaun