Fragrance Oddity

There's a little sign on the air freshener in the gents' at work (bear with me here) that says 'For Commercial and Industrial Use Only'. The Commercial bit I understand - they sell lots of the stuff to businesses, that kind of deal.

Industrial though? Surely they can only mean air freshening on an industrial scale. What are they using it for? Are there people employed to walk around sewer treatment facilities spraying vast amounts of jasmine scented stuff into the air?

Tom is confused.

Again.

Frustration

I've been thinking about frustration because it's a serious issue, likely to go from simmering resentment to full-on rage in a very short space of time.
My personal frustration stems from the situation in which I find myself with regard to the ever-widening gap between my dreams of being an author and the reality of my day job. I wish to write, but until I am successful I have to keep earning money. In order to do this, I have to continue working in a job with which I am not all that enamoured, despite what I might sometimes say.
There are benefits to the job, of course, but there are also serious drawbacks. Chief amongst these is my mental state after a day in the office. Spending 8 hours in front of a computer having to be moderately intelligent leads to a serious deficiency in imaginative and literary power come the eveningtime. Whilst I am often afforded the time in which to write, I typically lack the willpower or creative talent with which to do so (okay, so the talent bit is missing all the time, but I like to fool myself that this is the result of my job).
This, of course, is a bit of a problem, since I need to be able to write in order to quit the job, and in order to write I need to not be working on anything else. This is my personal definition of frustration. What's yours?

The Stupidity of Cats

My cat is stupid, no doubt about it. This post, though, is about another cat, which bit my cat. That cat, in this case, is the particularly stupid one, especially as it had failed to clean its teeth that day, and left Kafter infected and in need of injections and tablets.

As I'm sure you can imagine, injections and tablets weren't well received, expecially when you consider that cats are stupid and they have no idea the torture you're putting them through is for thier own good.

Cats are stupid.

Resolve

Resolve is, as you would expect, rather different to ambition, as was probably made clear in the last post. If they were the same, it would be called 'ambition', and the dictionary would be one entry shorter.

The single positive which has emerged from this week's return to the office is that I am now more determined than ever to find a way to make a living on my own terms, without having to pander to the schedule of others. Writing is probably my only way out of this, unless I suddenly re-kindle my interest in woodwork and train as a carpenter (unlikely, but you never know).

So, time to make a New Year's resolution, then. This year I will write a book and attempt to get it published.

Or make some really nice furniture...

The Ambition of Authors

Like most Authors (capital 'a'), I'm fairly ambitious in the area of having a book published. This should not be mistaken for proactivity. For years, I have had ambitions of getting something out there, but have been rather lazy about it. I intend to bring a halt to this pathetic state of affairs, either by trying hard to get published, or (and this is the show-stopper, ladies and gents) by 'giving up'.

The art of 'giving up' was first introduced by the French, and had been perfected by the time Hitler swept across Europe. On hearing that he was on his way with hordes of drunk, screaming Nazis, raping and pillaging as they went (so sue me for slander, I dare you), vast swathes of France simply dropped their pants and bent over for him. To be fair, a sizable portion didn't just faint and surrender, they formed La Resistance instead, and good on them. If I was French, I'd hope to be descended from one of those guys, not one of the cheese eating surrender monkeys.

But enough about the French. They did the 'giving up' thing in style, and I could never hope to match their achievements. If I gave up on the writing thing, it would be low-key, subtle, a slow decline in the (admittedly already erratic) weekly word count, rather than a full-scale dive off the Beachy Head of writing. I would give up in such a fashion that, wait for it... you would hardly realise.

Gone would be the ambition, the drive, the constant desire to make it, replaced instead with a laissez faire (there's the French for you again, inventing whole phrases about simply not giving a shit) attitude to the world of literature which might actually see me pick up a book by an author I've not already read to death (disclaimer: no authors were harmed in the making of this library).

I would flourish, reading book after book, not letting my creative juices out, bottling them up inside so that suddenly I became the life of the party, the go-to man in a crisis of wit. And before long, I would have to start writing some of this stuff down. Maybe thinking about a book or two.

Damn. Damn it all.

Teacher Charged over Teddy Row

I'm shocked, but unfortunately not surprised by this story. I would suggest this is more likely a silly mistake than a "calculated action and another ring in the circles of plotting against Islam", as Sudanese clerics have claimed.

Whilst they have every right to enforce the law of their own country, it should perhaps be pointed out to these lads that they're coming across as rather childish, as opposed to the strength I imagine they wished to show.

The Muslim Council of Britain has commented that the bringing of charges is "a disgraceful decision and defies common sense", and it's easy to see why they're keen to be heard - they don't want Muslims in this country to the tarred by the same brush as a group of what are best described as fundamentalists. With the emphasis on the last three syllables.

Already this issue must be filling the Daily Mail readership of the Kingdom with yet more anti-Islamic feeling. Let's hope for a quick resolution to this story so they can get back to complaining about Gordon Brown instead, someone who truly deserves their ire.

Formula One Rubbish from Tom
I've been thinking about this new rule next year, where driver aids are removed from the car. Seems like a fairly sensible move to me. That's it really...















Only kidding. What I was going to get around to saying is that I think the new kids on the block, the Hamiltons of this world who have only recently graduated from GP2, might well just thrive on this idea. There are no driver aids in GP2, and as such these guys are ideally placed to take advantage of the rules. They and the drivers who've been around since before traction control was reintroduced, which is basically David Coulthard. Roll on the new season...

Well done Kimi, you deserve it...

I'm ill. I hate being ill. Being ill is officially rubbish. In fact, I'm sick of being ill. I've spent considerable time today sneezing at things, which isn't good for me, or for things. Work has been abandoned in favour of being at home, although I did actually manage to stay there until lunchtime, so yay me. Now I'm slightly bored, even with the power of blog to keep me happy. Feel the power of blog. Blog...

I really can't write right now. I was trying to write this really well-constructed argument about conspiracy theorists, but it sounded a lot better in my head while I was hanging up the washing. Damn...