Spring has sprung

It felt  summer-like outside today and it has got me a little excited for the coming season. That, plus a dear friend has just come back from a Caribbean holiday with stories of sunshine and cocktails by the pool. I had basically forgotten what these things were during what has been the coldest winter in the UK for over 12 years..but o doubt her photographs will trigger some sort of memory hidden in the barrens of my brain - memories of sunshine and this ball of fire they apparently call the sun. Don't you just love the summer? So near, yet so very far...

Now, I also love the depth of winter with the cosy, dark nights in. As well as the snowball fights and building snowmen, of course. I really do- I'm an 8 year old child all over again when it happens. But I also love the heat and humidity of deep summer. It's not as fun trying to sleep when its 25oC and very muggy outside - but if it's on a cruise, then the sea air cools you down nicely. This summer I am going to be spoilt with not one, but two cruises. Yes two! What I have done to do deserve this is any body's guess, but I will worry about that later. The first is a 7 day sailing with a group of friends, venturing down to Spain and Portugal, and back up again. In the middle of June it will be plain-sailing and very hot, perfection. It can't come soon enough if you ask me. And this is just a taster. July brings a 2 week Mediterranean cruise taking in Spain, Portugal, South of France, Ibiza and Gibraltar. 14 endless days with sun in my face, cocktail in hand and with the company of the other half. Sheer bliss. Although I have to get myself through Spring first. If the weather is like today then that won't be a problem - Goodbye coats. And scarves and jackets. Bring on the sun shades, shorts and t-shirts please!

I spent 5 days in Reykjavik, Iceland this winter, taking in the most beautiful country I have yet to visit. It was an amazing trip, in a beautiful apartment, but for me you just cant beat cruising. I'm petrified of flying ever since a bad experience saw me hurtling ground-ward on a trip to Milan when I was about 15. Fearing for my life on a plane ride that had seen two people collapse put a dampener on the whole experience for me, and it's never been the same since. But regardless of that, a cruise means you can take in a new country almost every day. Go in the summer and most of Europe pretty much guarantees you blistering sunshine and smooth seas, if that's your thing. No cramped seat on a plane with no legroom, no stressful journey through the airport being prodded by securtiy and no getting lost god knows how many times on the M25 trying to find the place. The food on a cruise is 5 star, and right on your doorstep. No washing up, great entertainment, two pools, a few Jacuzzis and crew that remember not only your name, but your drink of choice to. The list really goes on. 

As I enjoy this early spring sunshine be assured I shall be day-dreaming of the long summer days to come, especially those aboard the Balmoral on my two cruises...Bon Voyage!

Pride before the fall?

I watched a very interesting programme about Victorian Britain earlier this afternoon. Wow, what a wonderful time it was for this nation; the powerhouse of the world, the endless inventions being churned out and the sheer confidence and power of the people who lived here. As Rudyard Kipling wrote at the time: "To be born an Englishman is to win first prize in the lottery of life" I found myself swallowed up in this and felt an immense pride in what this country achieved. But why? It is positively insane! Was I there? Did I invent the telephone? Did I contribute towards making this country the first industrialised nation? Did I fight to achieve what was the largest empire the world has ever seen? No. Definitely not. It all happened over a century before I was even a mere thought in the imagination of my parents. Pride is a strange thing. It was all rather premature as well, all this pride in Great Britain and the empire soon fell and gave way to the next superpower. Truly pride before a fall...

Pride in the valiant win for the local football team last Saturday for example. It's crazy. Supporters wander around as if they were the ones sweating it out on the pitch for 90 minutes. Even if we are proud simply because they are playing for the local team, the majority of players are from else where. Even so, they should be ones who are proud because they are the ones who put all the work in. None of this 'we' crap- the win had nothing to do with any 'we' as far as the supporters are concerned. When Britain does well in the Olympics, or Tennis, or any sport we are all proud about it, as if we were the ones swimming 50 laps of the pool, or jumping over a pole as high as my house. Why? To make us feel better? Is it to make our own seemingly pointless lives feel a little bit more worth it? Don't get me wrong; we should be glad for them all, but they are the ones who should be proud, not us. After all, they worked for it.

Being proud of a football team is like being proud to be gay or straight, ginger or brunette, male or female. I have never been into gay pride simply because it is being proud of something that I have no control over. Yes, I can be happy that I live in a more tolerant society that allows me to express my sexuality. But pride? No. I had as much choice in being gay as I did being born with a penis. Yes I like being a man, I can admit that on the whole we get it a lot easier than women, but proud of it? There is simply no logic there. We can embrace who we are, but being proud of the country we were born in, or what colour our hair is, just doesn't make sense. I just happened to be born in the UK. I love my life and all those around me here. I love lots of things about this country- but proud to be British? No, not pride. I'm proud to be an honest, decent human being who believes in what the democracy and freedom of the UK stands for. And that's it. 

When a brother or sister, or a parent or child does well then yes, we should be happy - yes we should be glad for them. But proud?! We haven't contributed to it. In fact, you could even say that we are actually selfishly absorbing some of the glory for ourselves. Glory that should be solely aimed towards the person who has achieved something. Should we proud that we live in a multi-cultural, democratic nation that welcomes people of all colour, religion and creed? Well we can be happy about it, but unless we stand for all these values then this is an entirely hypocritical pride. You can be proud of everything this wonderful country stands for only if you can be proud of the fact that you are a citizen who follows the morals and views that the country believes in.

Pride should be saved for something we have done ourselves, that we are apart of or have contributed to in some way. A real achievement or a successful aim. It is part of the lazy 21st century 'pysche' to be proud of something we haven't  been apart of ourselves. It takes away our own motivation to go out there and be somebody, or do what we have always dreamed of doing. It's an excuse to shy away from the challenge, hard work and commitment that it takes to go out there and achieve that goal. Of course, be happy for those around you who do well. If your child draws a beautiful picture then congratulate them. If your father takes a trip to Africa to provide aid for the needy then support him, and be inspired. But don't let this stop you from going out there and making something of 'your' life. This might be running a well kept home, or becoming a valuable apart of your community. It could be climbing a mountain to raise money for charity, or visiting some far-flung corner of the earth that has always fascinated you. Maybe it is going out there and fighting for what you believe in, and persuading people around you to think the same. 

Once you have gone out there and done it for yourself, only then will you feel real pride!

Fat United 0 - 0 Skinny Wanderers

I don't know how you think, but why is it that as human beings most of us are never happy with who we are? I know good looking people, and I know ugly people. I know fat people, and I know skinny people. My family and friends, and all those in my life, are every size, shape and colour under the sun. The one thing that unites them all? The very fact that not one of them is truly happy with who they are- like me. I am beginning to wonder why as human beings we worry about every single part of our selves; our shape, our size, our colour. In a way that we don't with those around is.

Its the same the world over - In the Philippines they bleach their skin white. In the West we bleach our skins orange, or lie in the un until we are tickled pink, or red raw. And the number of Fake tan bottles sold each year must surely outnumber the ones filled with water. Mankind simply want what we can't have. Skinny girls desperately want the curves that curvaceous girls crave to lose. Confusing yes? But put simply, we can see the beauty in those around us easily, but struggle to find that same beauty in our own bodies. Which I think is very sad.

What does it matter anyways? What we look like shouldn't be what drives our lives, right? It's who we are as a person and what we do in our life. But let me be honest for one second. Image really does matter in this society whether we face up to it or not.

You see, I hate my own body and want to be skinny like my partner. But my partner hates being too skinny and would like to be a slightly bigger build like me. But shouldn't we all just accept who we are, and embrace the body we were born into? After all there is little I can do about my frame- woman's hips I affectionately call them - my bone frame won't ever change regardless of how much I eat. If I lost more weight then my bones would be poking out, but I still wouldn't be the 30inch waist I wanna be. Some people eat endless junk without  putting on a single pound. Others only have to look at chocolate cake and they have already gained one. I need to get use to this, and fast!

Naturally I think my partner is gorgeous, and vice versa, but neither of us would stand up naked and be proud of ourselves. Trust me, I wish I could. I recently lost a stone and for a while stood on top of a very image conscience world. But it didn't last long. I was soon sucked back into self depreciation and despite being the same size as I was a week ago, I now find myself fearing those dreaded scales once more. I now feel as if the mirror was lying to me the whole time. I thought I looked good for all of 5 minutes. It all goes back to our society- we are on one hand constantly told that we can look better, and magazines guide us towards the ultra-skinny lollipop head role models taht feature on page after page. But the confusing thing is that the backlash against this has victimised those who are naturally skinny and led to the contradictory claim that big is in fact better. 

So what is best? Skeleton or curvaceous? Black, orange or white?  The answer is simple: none of them. Every single human being, no matter what their size, colour or race is a beautiful creation. We shouldn't embrace these false idealisms, and instead be happy with what and who we are. I haven't said it is easy, I'm definitely struggling at the moment, but I'm going to do my best to change this. I truly want to be happy with who I am, and not feel inadequate or inferior to those around me. Yes every single one of them are beautiful, but I need to start realising that I am too. We all are. Fat vs Skinny? 0-0. It's a goalless draw.

Ol' London town.

I was recently in London for a couple of days. Unlike most of the people I share my life with, I actually love London. It's the variety of buildings. The mixture of people and styles. The blend of endless shops. The hectic rush and feel of the place. The buzz of being in the most diverse city in the world. Linking in from my last blog, maybe it is the endless noise that most appeals to me, the constant background hum subconsciously comforts me. But in the right place, at the right time, the hustle of daytime London transforms itself into a peaceful abyss with a beautiful backdrop of elegant buildings and surroundings. I even enjoy the Tube in a sordid, slightly seedy way. Crammed into a moving tin box travelling at close to 20mph along with twenty or so other poor souls, I sit there observing and listening to the lives of anyone in my radar.

 

I have enjoyed pretty much every one of the many things to do in the city- everything that appeals to me anyway. Now I tend just to stroll down Oxford street (for the bargains in Primark) or check out Camden market (for the more pricey, but original items). Maybe catch a show and stay the night in a hotel. More importantly I like to watch everyone go by, indulging myself in the quirky outfits and the interesting accents that surround me. Its weird because in London I dress more outrageous and emphasize my slight 'country' accent- all just to fit in.

Don't get me wrong, I also love rolling hills and snow-capped mountains. These are both beautiful landscapes. But people neglect to see beauty in the more subtle things around us. As I walk down Oxford Street I see not only the sale signs and the shops- not just the giant Primark sign calling my name and guiding me towards the bargains that have my name written all over them- I also see the amazing buildings that these shops now live in. The classic and rich architecture is a beauty all in its own. The parks and social spaces in London are enjoyed by a mix of people in the midst of a  concrete jungle. The strong and inviting accents ring smoothly on the ears. Yes people barge past, and you don't get an ounce of personal space but look at the warm smile that are worn by these people. London truly is a beautiful city of which we should all be proud, Londoners and tourists alike.

Silence equals noise

I saw a programme last night. Something about being green. It was quite interesting really- I was actually engrossed in a book at the time but it sufficiently captured my attention to (begrudgingly) pull away from my book. The telly was only meant to provide a bit of background noise, which I find strangely comforting- for reasons I shall attempt to explain.

Referring to the programme, I do realise this doesn't do much to my green credentials. If I am on my laptop then if I don't have my favourite album on (Anything by Kings of Leon at the moment), I have the telly blaring away. I don't tend to watch it- it is simply there because I don't like it to be too quiet. I am a thinker, a 'binge thinker' as I heard it referred to today, and so I don't like to get too lost in my own thoughts. Most of the time anyway.

Even when reading I have the compulsory noise in the background, be it music or telly. I come from large family, meaning I grew up in a fairly crowded house. One of 6 children sharing a 3 bedroom house with my parents means I am use to noise. Not having my own bedroom until I was 16 also means I am use to having someone around. Usually my brother. One of my annoying (and naughty) habits is to leave my laptop running all night. It saves all that hassle of turning it back on you know. But again, this means I tend to sleep with it buzzing away in the background on stand-by mode. Or even worse, I fall asleep whilst watching a film meaning the telly gets left on overnight. (Sorry planet!)

It's quite funny really, the background noise that fills my night-time world normally ends up incorporated into my dreams. The tick of my clock. The hum of my laptop. The news reader on the telly that was left on. Like when my alarm goes off and suddenly my dream is filled with whatever song I have chosen to wake me up and prepare me for my day. Anyway, I digress..

When my sisters, all 4 of them, finally moved out and my brother jumped ship to go study at uni then the original 8 became 3. Mum and Dad, and me. My Dad is a social kind of creature- he works all week early to late. In the evenings he is usually visiting a friend or having a drink in the pub. At weekends he keeps himself busy because he is from that generation that doesn't like to be doing nothing. My mum works part-time, and this means a lot of evenings she is at work, or she plays Darts and Bingo, or visits the pub also. Or shes loyally playing Facebook Bingo. AGAIN. This means that when I am not a dinner party with friends, or visiting a pub bar or club myself, then I'm often home alone. Or I might as well be- something I am definitely not use to. So I guess this noise must sort-of keep me company. Along with the squeaky floors my house possesses. Ask my partner- I have lived in this house my whole life so the constant background noise is comforting to me. But my partner has taken over 2 years to finally be able to get a good nights sleep here. That's perseverance- I must be well loved- and I do appreciate that.

On a similar note, I only live half-a-mile from a railway track and the trains marching along do nothing to affect my sleep. I'm located near a main road and opposite a park with equally little or no effect. Whilst the cars shoot by and the local 13 year old's are busy smashing the place up and sipping their White Lightning, I am lying comfortably in my bed without a care in the world. Bliss.

Silence is noise to me. It makes me uncomfortable. I hate one-minute silences. I hate it when everyone stops talking and a place goes dead silent. I don't like libraries. Its awkward. Noise is good and should be celebrated- and is not done so in my opinion. Maybe I'm biased though.

As it was a 'green' programme I was watching then please note that I do try and remember to put the timer on the telly, I unplug the laptop every so often- and I do my fair chunk of recycling. I try and be green. But as my 'background noise' caught my attention last night I was reminded about how much more I need to do. I will save that topic for a rainy day...or maybe it won't be raining, if global warming is to be believed, and outside will become a hot sandy beach. Alas, I can, but dream. (with weird noises fluttering in and out of them)

Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

I thought I would copy you all in on a letter I forwarded to God today. And who knows, maybe reading it will give you something to do on your rainy Sunday afternoon...

Mr. Eagle Eye

1 Eagle Street

Eye

Eyeshire

EA1 9LE

Jesus Christ Esq.

Cloud 9

TH3 5KY

Sunday 1st March 2009.

Dear Lord,

RE: Sundays- the day of 'rest' but what else?

My name is Mr Eagle Eye. But I guess you already knew that. I am just one of the many creatures (great and small) who live on the wonderful planet that we call the Earth. As I sit here today - the Sunday papers read, the inevitable Fry-up long gone (and in my belly) and all DIY up-to-date and in order, I am pondering about the point of this day in the whole spectrum of things.

My rather biased - although entirely valid - explanation at the moment is, that you created this sacred day to allow us mere humble beings to recover from the night before. As I speak, last nights antics and this mornings inevitable hangover have yet to be cured by fresh dose of air, a couple of aspirin, a stiff cup of coffee and a refreshing shower.

It is quite easy to justify the creation of many of the other day's. Monday morning is for us to catch up with work colleagues about Saturday night. Tuesday is to catch up on the work that should have been doing on Monday, Wednesday evening is for catching a movie, taking advantage of Orange Wednesdays. Friday afternoon: trawling the Internet at work, and planning the next Saturday night out. And finally, Saturday is for shopping, dining out and getting hopelessly drunk. Oh, and taking to the dance floor unsafe in the knowledge that we are the best dancer in the world (under the influence of alcohol) no matter what anyone else thinks. At this point I must quickly press on before I suffer any mental flashbacks of myself on the aforementioned dance floor last night. Damnit, too late.

Anyway; back to Sundays. What are they for?!

Television is awful; a mixture of repeated episodes of 'Friends', endless hours of pointless soap Omnibuses and to top it all off- black and white films invading every TV channel on my screen. Not happy- Why were they even invented anyway?! I can't enjoy a film when I can't actually see the colour of anything on the screen. Maybe I hold a grudge for the hours of torture I was physically forced through as a child to watch these 'classic' films.

I suppose there are cars to watch and there is football to play, but seeing as my car is out of action on the drive way and football does nothing for me, this is entirely irrelevant. Of course some people still go to church- but although I believe in you, I don't believe in organised religion so this isn't much help either. Sorry. I might read a book, in the garden if its sunny (my endless pursuit of a perfect tan that never materialises) I might force myself through a little of the ashamedly bad telly. I might even listen to a little music, or watch a film- but this is all something I can quite happily fit into the rest of the week thank you very much. Ultimately I almost always end the day on an utterly bored and unfulfilled note. I like to feel like I have accomplished something at the of the day, and come Sunday evening I am always disappointed.

I just can't fathom why they were latched on to the end of the week. As some sort of compensation for the the trauma of enduring endless Sunday-after-Sunday-after-Sunday, maybe you would be kind enough to take a little of your time and answer my questions. Now I understand you are a very busy man, but maybe it could give you something to do during your own Sunday evening. If it anything like mine then I hope you may appreciate this kind gesture.

I would be very interested to hear your explanations on the matter and greatly anticipate your reply. Not least because I have a bet with one of my mates about your ultimate reasoning for this pointless 7th day of the week, but also because reading your reply will give me something to do on my otherwise empty Sunday schedule.

Yours faithfully

Mr. E.A Eye

CC: Anyone who reads my blog

PS: As I speak a David Attenborough nature documentary has appeared on my television screen and it all makes sense- this is why Sundays were invented after all!

"Wearing sunglasses at night hurts your eyes after a while"

"black, retro plastic chic at their very best"

Yesterday was a momentous occasion. This years first glimpse of the sun. Ten whole minutes, I swear. People almost had the bucket and spade in one hand, the towel and sun block firmly in the other. But the cloud rolled back in for the weekend- of course- so they were put back in the cupboards to gather a little dust before Summer is upon us.


However, this has turned my thoughts to Sunglasses, and glasses in general. You see, over the last few years, the fashion world has come running into this arena all guns a-blazing. 1960's black-rimmed glasses are 'in' at the moment and I'm afraid to say I have succumbed. I own a pair of (clear plastic) glasses which are saved for evenings when I dress myself in head to toe geek shic; Lumberjack shirt (tucked in), black skinny jeans, big belt, braces - that sort of thing. Technically I don't actually need glasses, but my excuse is they are cool. And I'm not the only one who wears them, so there !

 
I already own my treasured sunglasses for this season; black, retro plastic chic at their very best. You see, the first sentence of this blog entry is an almost lie- last weekend the sun sort-of made a half-hearted attempt to come out. But it was enough. The coat, scarf, beanie hat were all ditched, hopefully not to be seen until next winter. And I decided to give my new pair a little airing, in preparation for the summer- gotta wear them in and all that. They were a big success. 

This craze seems to be a younger generation thing, for now at least. Wearing my little beauties, I was surrounded by their sunglasses brothers and sisters of endless descriptions. Heart shaped ones. Black ones. Yellow ones. Dotted ones. Star-shaped ones. The list could go on, and on. Shop after shop had a rack which was a cosmopolitan collection of glasses of all colours, race and creed. A mini 'Sunglasses World' in the corner of each and every store I entered. Heaven.


Back-in-the-day they were an afterthought, an irrelevance- having glasses was NOT a cool thing. But it's all changed. They are now THE ultimate accessory. They remain glued to the head of any respectable follower of fashion; be it day or night, be you inside or out. You stand out in a crowd. Well that was the initial theory anyway. The more and more people who wear them will ultimately make you (god forbid) blend in to an endless sea of glasses.


But not to worry, by then there will be a new 'must-have' and glasses will have been swapped to something else. Probably something that's been through it all before. But hey, that's fashion. For now I'm just gonna lie back and enjoy it. Hopefully with plentiful sunshine, and a cocktail in hand...

With a gun in your hand

Quote : "It is an absolute bonus to make friends out of colleagues, but we are friends and our relations grow stronger ever day"

Wow, two entry's in a day! It must be a Friday afternoon evening ... 

This one I couldn't resist..

I'm pondering. To what extent should we assist our colleagues in the work place ?! An interesting one. I'm a civil, well mannered kind of guy. When asked by my boss to do something, then I do it. Generally speaking its work-related and there is no reason not to.

However a 40-year old (ish) work colleague asked me today, after pointing out the rather obvious fact that I am younger than her, to collect her printings from the printer today and take them to her desk. OK. Fine. In the rush of the moment I complied.

Afterwards though my actions puzzled me. A perfectly healthy woman (physically at least, the rest is questionable - another time maybe..) asked me to walk the 2 metres she physically couldn't to collect god-knows-what and deliver it to her desk. If I came up with a catchy name and introduced a charge I could start a business surely? Now, if she was 62 and a little decrepit then it would be a different situation entirely. If she was disabled or suffered a condition, then fine, OK, no worries. Not a problem. Really. But my point is she is not and does not, and its not really OK. And I rather feel like a mug. In fact I'm not sure that I even heard a Please or Thank you!!

Needless to say, I was not amused. But after proceeding to forward the following email to a select few colleagues, it lightened my mood a little..

From:
To:
Sent: 27 February 2009 15:49
Subject: New Service..

Good Afternoon

If there is anything you would like me to do please don't hesitate to
ask.

If you would like me to lick your shoes clean, or maybe
dust
off your clothes, or maybe even adjust your chair- give me a
call!

Please call 0800 - F**KIN CHEEK right now. I would love to speak to you!

or visit: http://www.whatalazycow.com/

Love

Mr.
S.Lave

I'm still chuckling away to myself as we speak.

To point out at this very late stage, I sincerely like this particular work colleague despite the question of her sanity. I like her quirky mannerisms, and her quirky look. This makes me an outsider in my work place, it really does, however this occurrence has left me doubting my judgement.

Blushing and Flushing

With all this Giggling and Blushing, you'd think I was a little school girl with blond pig tails and a pair of dungarees. Let me assure you, I am not. However blushing is yet another torment in my life, and once again it is something that I have been cursed by since f o r e v e r.

Now contrary to what the title of this blog entry may or may not imply, this is not the start of an endearing tale about how something that I flushed caused me to blush. Flushing is actually just the technical name that Doctors give blushing. (doesn't actually sound too technical to me but hey..)

Funnily enough of all the many blushing tales I could tell, the only one that includes a flush was talking to a boss, on the loo, forgetting where I was and consequently flushing the toilet whilst still on the phone. And taking the idea of my ex-boss (funny that, eh) being a superhuman-who-can-see-into-other peoples-minds out of the equation, then this particular blush which turned my head into a shining beetroot wasn't actually seen by anyone else. Although I'm pretty sure the blush was so strong in-fact that you could hear it in the tone of my voice...

You see, although Blushing frustrates me, it is kind of fascinating. In the wide and varied animal kingdom, only humans blush- and no one is quite sure why. Without a second glance, it seems a pretty pointless, if painful, exercise- then again maybe Im biased. However it is entirely natural and a completely sub conscience reflex which cannot be helped- research shows even somebody who is both deaf and blind, can blush- indicating the very internal nature of this phenomenon. It's all in the mind.. Still this doesn't help.

The nitty gritty boring explanation is that Adrenalin dilates the blood vessells in the skin, allowing more blood in and this turns our cheeks, neck and ears that rather fetching Ketchup-coloured shade of red. Experts sort-of agree that it can, and I repeat CAN be a useful unspoken message between two people. If you loudly fart in a crowded room, then it is a sub conscience message of apology, acknowledgement and remorse to the poor souls around you. However it soon turns against you when it is a silent-but-deadly-killer, and you turn such a deep shade of scarlet that you might as well wear a 'IT WAS ME' sign fastened to the top your head. To rub salt into the wound, or last nights curry into the delivery so to speak, some people may blush even if it wasn't them who released the fatal blow. A lose/lose situation I'm sure you'd agree.

I am one of those poor unfortunate chaps who turns red at the drop of the hat. Not only when embarrassed, or uncomfortable, but if any degree of attention is placed on me for more than a micro-second. I can walk past a large group of people and a mere glance in my direction normally gets the ol' reflex-a-glowing. Even when I'm complimented my body can't cope with it and sends those red blood cells marching into my face like an army into battle.

It can work for me or against. My partner can even find it a bit 'cute' If I am complimented then I might go red, and this is a silent- but assuring - acknowledgment and thank you in return. However 9 times out of 10 it is something I'd rather be rid of. When a sister has lost her favourite DVD for example and she's sniffing out a culprit- then a luminous goldfish bowl for a head doesn't help to prove my innocence. Not 'till its found can I manage to do that. Whatever happened to innocent until proven....??

At work this morning I was invited to a 'girly' pyjama party. Now as a gay male I am no stranger to hanging out with best female friends eating and drinking (better described as devouring) pizza and alcohol and whatever. However these are my work friends and this was my 'first' invite to one of these things. Being a bloke, I irrationally stated they didn't have to invite me if they didn't really want to. It was a girly night after all. At the same time my head unsubtly morphed into a giant red balloon, and those pesky and over-defensive red blood cells invaded the upper half of my body AGAIN. My boss then took offence thinking I had taken offence, we were very confused and I had to explain my embarrassment. It was more my rather 'cute' (Pfftt..) way of appreciating this very kind gesture and invitation...and if Im honest, inclusion.

It is seen as a kind of weakness; a sign of guilt or inferiority but it really shouldn't be. Its a vicious cycle; you go red, and as soon as it's pointed out then you go even redder. I also tend to become irrationally defensive and stutter out something incomprehensible or unjustifiably tense. Usually to pass the attention elsewhere. Another vicious reflex.

But is there REALLY a point to it all? Well.. its generally believed to have evolved as a kind of defence to get us back on track when diverging from our in-built sense of what is right and wrong. We cross our own personal boundary and our bodies physically react to make us think about what is happening, or what we are doing.

Either way, it really shouldn't bother us. It's something we should learn to live with, and what comes with age and experience, is the ability to tone down the reaction. We can be advised to relax and to breathe slowly, or to seek help with hypnosis or pill's, but it is something we ALL experience at one point or another and I somehow I doubt I will be preventing this very natural reaction anytime soon. After all, even though it defies absolute explanation, our bodies must do it for a reason..

To Giggle or not to Giggle..

• 
  
  

• I'd like to talk about the art of Giggling, the only area of expertise that I have mastered over my years. In fact, if there was an Olympic sport of Giggling then I'd probably have a few Gold medals planted proudly on my neck. At it is, It isn't and I don't and I can but dream..

• But should I have grown out of it by now? My resounding answer is NO. The very nature of it, as read above from the above definition from dictionary.com implies that it is a childish thing- note the word 'juvenile' in its explanation.

• I hold a responsible role in a full-time job, I relax on Mediterranean Cruises, I enjoy dinner party's with my friends and I sip cocktails in a bar. Juvenile?! Me?! Surely not..

• Today alone, I have collapsed into a fit of giggles on four separate occasions; tears streaming down my cheeks at the slightest of provocations. Reasons range from friends who unwittingly land themselves in trouble, to the unfortunate names of some of the people I encounter, from Internet jokes that leave little to the imagination, to slips of the tongue that tickle my mind- I simply lose the plot and fall down in a merry heap of laughter and tears. Is there really so much wrong with that?!

• You see, I have always giggled. Always. Back in school it was my 'thing.' You could usually count on me, especially on a Friday afternoon, to be silently chuckling away on the back row. This normally built up until BOOM it all escaped with a loud explosion of laughter that inevitably led to detention. During Mass at school I had to sit by the 'Head of year' because something the priest said, or did, was guaranteed to set me off. I was actually banned from Media classes because a teacher in a foul mood insisted on silence during registration. The slightest noise during it led to a torrent of shouting by him, echoed by a torrent of laughing by myself. 'Out' he screamed, purple faced with anger.

• My transition into work didn't change a thing. My first part-time job involved phone calls, with me desperately taking orders whilst I could stop laughing at a funny surname, or something my provoking colleague would do. Full time work didn't cure it either- Again phone calls where I mistook an old lady for a man, 'Sorry Madam, please find it in your self to forgive me' were followed by my responses, in between by the now mandatory stifled laughter of course. The hundred of hilarious phone calls I've had in my time alone would fill up my blog for a year, but you get my point.

• My argument is, as a kind of self justification, that my hilarious outlook on life will forever keep me young. Laughter is medicine and all that stuff. I like to see the funny things in life around me, because it's what makes this world interesting. It means I don't take myself too seriously, and that kind of draws people in- I can take the mick out of myself as much as the next wanna-be comedian all day long, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I'm comfortable with my flaws, and so can exploit them as cheap entertainment to attract a swarm of people around me- you can't go wrong!

• The definition above is almost correct. My giggles are high-pitched. They are ill-concealed. Short, repeated gasps and titters interrupt them. (I once giggled so hard I couldn't actually breathe) And they are normally out of amusement or embarrassment. But juvenile? I don't think so. Giggling is an expression of enjoyment, and what is life if we cannot enjoy it?