The small and subtle changes

Sit clarior, sit dignior

Every time I return here I see them. A new building where there was once another, a shop or business closed and replaced by something new. Sometimes you see them straight away, whilst others slowly dawn on you. 'Didn't that used to be...?' you ask yourself. Changes small and not so small that show that time moves on.

quotquot labuntur menses

It was once my home, but each time I r eturn the place feels less and less familiar. The city itself is pretty much the same of course, and full of contradictions as it always was. Big but small, cosmopolitan yet provincial, beautiful yet ugly. Home but not home.

Sit primus nobis hic decor

But friends have moved on and I'm now just another visitor, here for a few days before I head on to the next destination. But as the memories of here will always will be with me, so will the city itself. As it was and as it is.

Sumus Bristolienses.

Programming Christmas

10 EAT
20 DRINK
30 SLEEP
40 GOTO 10

A city of tribes

The live amongst one another, but do they ever actually meet?

You know you are having a bad day when...

..you open the fridge and discover that those nice cold beers you bought are actually non alcohlic.

Recovery

All change please. Out with one life and in with another. The clock is now ticking....

The end is nigh!

The closing moments before the credits roll. The final seconds ticking away before the lights come up and the analysis and discussion begins. Life moves on as always, but am I waiting for a freeze frame?

Wash it all away

The misconceptions. The falsehoods. The memories that have become too faded, jaded, over time.

In a cold wet evening the rain beats down welcoming me home.

Retreat into a virtual world

I made a new friend today. He might be a he but maybe he is a she. To him I'm probably a he but maybe he sees me as a she. Anyway I digress. My new friend and I...We talked, we teleported, we wondered around the titanic as he told me about his weapons collection. We drank some lemonade, then some Guinness and after all that we flew into the sky and found a big green dragon.

The word surreal just doesn't do it justice.

No news is good news

Nothing. Nowt. Nada. Nichts.

Maybe something will happen at some point, but I'm not really complaining.

Into another world

A different currency (but of course readily convertible into US dollars). Ken style lack of certain body parts come as standard (although extras can be bought apparently). And some truly bizarre fashion (I'm currently the kind of person, who if you saw on the tube, you would immediately stand up and get off at the next station).

All rather odd if I was to be truthful. And I can't quite see the point of the whole thing. But learn I must, and all in the name of work. So when I'm next asked at a party what I actually do I can reply with a straight face 'I play games all day'.

My childhood dreams are now fulfilled.

Thought for the day

Led Zeppelin, a bottle of red wine, the joys of the internet and the realisation that I can have a lie in tomorrow. Good Good.

Pay day

Money in. Money out. That's just the way the world works.

Framing memories

The exact layout of Henleaze Infants school. I remember. The windows in the class rooms that seemingly stretched from the floor to the sky. I remember them as well. The walk home past the houses that I can vividly picture even as I write this. Even the colours. Then nothing. And then memories appear again. The desks at another school with their now redundant inkwells. The sound of my feet as I paced the long stone laden hallways. The green grass that tantalizing appeared through windows that has long been replaced by concrete nothingness. Faces, places and names, but really nothing more.

I remember nothing, but at the same time I remember everything.

Peace.

Light the night

Winter draws in and the dark skies with it. But in the place of sun and light I'm entranced by the myriad of colours that surround me. Natural and neon reflecting into one, creating unique combinations at each turn on my journey home. Yellow on red, red on blue, changing at every moment as the clear white moon watches over.

Death and life

Sad news yesterday of a distant relative and then today of seven colleagues I never had the chance to know. And I don't quite know exactly how I should feel.

But then you see how these people touched the lives of others, people who loved them and people who never even knew them. Such beautiful words and thoughts. Emails and messages from people from around the world who just care, about the people, their families and their work. And in such a moment of sadness for so many people, I can't not but feel hope.

And then I think back to the hazy memories of my relative. Uncle Harold, although he wasn't really my uncle. The small house he shared with his late brother. He stories of the war, the fact that he was always happy to see my brother and... and whilst writing this I realise he wasn't that distant at all.

Peace.

Two days and a hell of a lot of le français

The state of anti-semitism in Europe. The pros and cons of big city vs. country living. Cool bands, wine making and the joys of relationships (or lack of). In French. Maybe I'm getting somewhere after all.

My worst ever gift

I'm in the most romantic city on earth and I bring back a pasta recipe book (in French). Sigh.

Facial hair

You either love it or hate it. Ok, you probably hate it. Especially if you talking about your gran. But anyways I digress. Why is it that it just keeps growing, even when hair that is actually useful (i.e. on your head) seems to be falling out. Not that my hair is falling out, heavens forbid. No sir. I've just decided a toupee is rather stylish for a gentlemen of my age.

Anyway some old fool has decided to raise money by trying to grow a moustache. Progress has yet to be visually documented but I wish him well, even though he once stole my Guinness.

And so my mere freak of chance I am drawn into a world of mystery and intrigue that I never knew existed. The previously unknown world of beards.

Stuck between here and there

Which way next. So much time spent, but so little seemingly achieved. Moments fly by with no recollection of what passed before. And an unwelcome five letter words clings to my mind.

The thing I hate most about Switzerland

Now you might think this is obvious. The impression that the place is rather boring. What about the obsessive rules. Maybe it is the lack of decent pubs or the fact that nothing is open on Sundays. Or perhaps Orson Welles best summed it up in the Third man when he said "in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock".

But no. The place isn't boring (ok a little quiet perhaps). Yes, there are lots of rules, but lots of people don't follow them. It is actually possible to find a nice pint and maybe one day a week without obsessive shopping isn't such a bad thing. And what is wrong with the cuckoo clock?

No, the thing I hate most are…the traffic lights. I just can't deal with them. Really. Red lights but the man stays red. And everyone just waits. And waits. And waits some more. The cars wait. The motorcycles wait. The pedestrians wait. Even the cyclists wait for heaven’s sake. We all just stand or sit waiting for something, anything, to happen. And the worst thing is that I wait as well. No more London style rushing across dual carriageways-like-roads without a care in the world. No sir. I stand. And I wait for that magic little green man to appear. The adopted Londoner within me shouts and screams to break free, but its no use. He’s been beaten. By the bloody cuckoo clock.

The man

He stands alone in the car park, shuffling to the left and then to the right. Who is he?
He looks furtively around with hands firmly held in pockets. What is he doing?
Something grabs his attention. He stops. Who is he waiting for?
His curiosity temporarily placated he starts his shuffle once again. Who is he?
Is he me?

Missing

The faded and hard to decipher postmark says 6.20pm on 25 July, but the envelope only reaches me today, when it catches my glance sitting on top of the gleaming silver post boxes. What was once missing is now found. But the question remains of where it been on its travels.

Nothing to report

Nothing stupid or cryptic, or stupidly cryptic or even cryptically stupid. No strange dreams, no odd encounters, no hangovers, no pearls of wisdom.

Lazy Sunday

A beautiful sunny down and I'm surrounded by lakes and mountains. So many options. Yet I've moved a grand total of about 10m so far today, and I can't see that increasing much.

Surreal dream fragment

I don't normally remember my dreams and after last night I can probably see why that is a good thing. The only part I remember is this...I'm standing in a queue at US immigration and am handed a form to fill in. It has all the usual stuff, name, address etc. But at the top it asked when did Murder She Wrote begin. Now, I'm not totally clear why US immigration needed to asses my knowledge of the popular 80's murder mystery show starring Angela Lansbury, but it sure as hell had me perplexed when I woke up this morning.

And the answer is 1984. In case you ever get asked.

Virtual work therapy

I have that horrible sinking feeling. Not about myself, mind you. No, that feeling when you know something you are working on is destined to become a complete load of crap. A complete stinker. Really, really bad. Imagine bad, then think worse. So bad that you want to shout at the top of your voice "this is complete bollocks". But being the nice quiet lad that I am, I keep it inside and write it down here instead....I'M WORKING ON A COMPLETE LOAD OF BOLLOCKS! Now breathe.....

Feel better already.

Quick fire global commentary

The world sucks. Its official. Or so I'm told. More bombs. More robberies. More general shit permeating through our daily lives. More bullshit. More cynicism. More gloom. More doom. More money. More poverty. A lot more. More environmental meltdowns. More 'I don't give a toss about you' attitudes. And its only Monday.

The moment that never was

And never will be. At least not in this lifetime. So instead all I have are dreams that are never to be realised. But despite it all I'm still smiling.

Spring clean

It isn't spring and it isn't clean. But I hope you get my drift. Next step is to start writing things that make more sense, but that might be a step too far at this stage.

Strange days

I'm listening to the Cure, but I can't help feel upbeat. Not sure why. The weather sucks and it feels like Autumn already. But despite that the future looks bright, not orange, but just bright. And so another week begins.

Peering in through tinted glass

Change is afoot. Lots of change it seems. Where once I was in the midst, now I'm just another bystander, a member of that mass we casually call the general public. I briefly wonder what would I feel if I was still there. But the moment passes. Life moves on and there's no point looking back.

No comment

Exactly that.

Flash back

The little boys lies in bed grasping the covers around him. No I don't want to go to school. He repeats, again and again. His parents are surprisingly calm and gently try and coax him out. It will be fun, you will make lots of new friends. But the little boy seems quite resistant to their arguments.

Flash forward 30 years and the now not so little boy seems to be having the same feelings.

Tingles in me toes

I started rather late at this. Very late if I'm truthful. It passed my teenage years and just kept on going. So much so that I never thought it would stop. Or rather, I never thought it would start. But here I am. Sad, but smiling. Like the teenager standing at side of a school disco who has finally decided to let go of that wall. Amen.

Out of time

Unfortunately, unlike in the Stones song, time wasn't on my side. And so it ends again. To be filed in the drawer of those I'll never know what might have happened moments. But I still can't help but wonder......

Cryptology

What on earth does it mean? How can three paragraphs confuse me in this way? If I click reply what do I say? Only one way to find out.....

Bed, Bed, Bed

If I keep saying it maybe I will gather the strength to go to sleep.

A short reflection on Sweden

And off we golly well go
Originally uploaded by Random in Geneva.

Very flat. Lots of trees. Lots of green. Quite a few lakes. Lots of flags. Road signs painted with the national colours. And houses. A distinct lake of IKEA furniture. Quite a lot of blonde hair. But less than Denmark. Apparently. Very laid back. No sign of the Swedish chef. Pity. Nice beer. Full of stupid English tourists. Who can't navigate. The reality that Swedish meatballs taste much nicer when eaten outside a summer cottage. In the sunshine. Overlooking a lake. Much better than the IKEA restaurant. Nice people. Nice place. A nice weekend. Reflection ends.

The oddities of air travel

As the plane heads towards Munich I wait nervously for news of my connection. Will I sleep in my own bed or does another faceless hotel room await me. As we land several passengers rush to the door, all eager to get home tonight. I await my turn and put my future in the attendant's hands. Will it be thumbs up, yes you can go home, or thumbs down, a sentence with no chance of parole. A smile, yes, you are ok. In fact the very same plane will be taking you home. Relief. Part of me wants to ask why they couldn't have told me this before, but I resist the urge.

So then I disembark the plane, go down some stairs, get on a bus, drive to the terminal, go up some stairs, walk to the gate, go back down some stairs, get on another bus, head back to the same plane, walk up the same stairs and say hello again to the same attendant I saw only a few minutes ago. All to move 3 rows.

When things go wrong they certainly can go wrong

Foreign country. Unknown town. Plane to catch. A hitch. A spanner in the works. Wrong train. Heading in completely the wrong direction. Where the hell am I. How do I get to where I need to go. Nice station lady. Some help. Hard truths. No trains. No busses. Only a taxi. How much. Gulp. Too much. Way too much. How can a taxi cost more than a flight. A moment. A decision. No real choice in the end. Rush to a cash machine. Jump in the cab. Time passes. Slowly. At the airport. Finally. Plane now delayed. Here we go. Connection may be lost. May be sleeping in another city. Another country tonight. My bed seems further away than ever.

Raising Lazarus

It lives! The prognosis is in, the miracle can be achieved, what was dead can be alive once again. Praise be.

The Quincy Game

Drink Once When:

..Quincy walks off in a huff.

..someone explains some obscure fact to Quincy
(like "Kids can buy these drugs over the counter ANYWHERE in America!")

(Drink twice if Quincy freaks out about that.)

..Quincy looks disappointed and turns away.

..Quincy ends a discussion with someone with a KILLER
phrase that obviously wins the conversation
(like "That's funny.. I thought you HAD...")

..Quincy complains about government/company red tape.

..Quincy goes somewhere to re-enact the crime that caused the episode

(Drink twice if Sam goes with him.)

..they end the episode at Danny's Restaurant.

Drink Twice When:

..a moral message is shoved down your throat.

..Quincy tells everyone ELSE something before he tells Sam.

..Sam asks Quincy to explain why he needs to do a lab test...

..the police detective gets upset with Quincy for doing his job

Drink Three Times When:

..Quincy gets awakened by a long lost friend while sleeping
on his boat.

..Dr. Astin (his supervisior) mentions his budget

Finish Keg When:

..Quincy says "You're a MURDERER!!!"

An idle thought

What do we ultimately want to get out of life? And how do we get it? Why do I have a nagging doubt that I should be doing something, anything, which doesn't involve staring at a computer screen? But then I have no idea what. Cooking, gardening, studying who knows. But something is missing for sure. Perhaps its the place, perhaps its the people, perhaps its just the day of the week or the lunar calendar. Or maybe I'm just restless, maybe I'm bored, maybe I just need a good kick up the backside and be told to 'snap out of it'. Maybe.

Downtime

I recognise the feeling once more. The most unwelcome reminder of a time I hoped was a long time past. Must be calm, must relax, must not take it to heart, must remember what I have been told again and again. Breathe in, breathe out.

Into the blue

After a wait of over a year I finally dive into the crystal blue water of the lake. Cool water and sunshine in no particular order. And whilst discussing the day over an ice cold beer listening to a (not that bad) 70's cover band I say to myself 'I quite like this city'. Finally.....

Today's forecast

More sun. More heat. More sweat. More walking. More talking. More laughing. More discussing. More exploring. More discovering. More drinking. More eating. More sleeping. More smiling.

Another day, another hangover

So here we go again. The same headache, the same tiredness, the same bodily failure, the same moment of dread waking up on the couch, the same point when you say to yourself "not again", the same resolution that you will never do this again, the same knowledge that of course you will.

20:39

Perceived social ineptness, bills coming out of your ears, and the sudden desire to paint your toe nails blue. What does this all add up other than someone who probably isn't socially inept, is probably doing ok really, and who should seriously consider whether painting their toes nails (again) is a really a good way to impress people. But then again perhaps blue is my colour...

Criss cross

I'm here, then I'm there. I'm there, then I'm here. And in between there are only swathes of blue and green accompanied by the indescribable sound of a train heading towards oblivion.

We all came back from Montreux

We all came back from Montreux
Originally uploaded by Random in Geneva.

The train is packed with silent revellers. The party is over and now only the long journey home remains.

Saturday morning

I wake up without a hangover. I think I might be ill.

Downs and ups

I wake up with that horrible hungover feeling. Too much alcohol, too little food and not enough sleep, you know the one. And then I face the realization that I have a whole day of work to get through before I can collapse in a heap on my bed and pray for the beer god's forgiveness. I attend a meeting where budget cuts and lay-offs are discussed. Not very nice. So far, so bad. The mood isn't good and my hangover is still fighting against me. But then I get some good news about my job, kinda expected, but a surprise none the less. So what do I want to do now? Have a drink of course. And then wait for the cycle to repeat...

Monsters luck in hidden places

When I returned to my apartment last night dead flies were everywhere. But when I return tonight they are all gone. No trace of them remains but a mystery begins.

Mouth in foot

Words come out backwards, or perhaps they are just mirrored going forwards. Hum ho.

Circus time

Circus time
Originally uploaded by majamee.

Proof that you can find something fun even at the end of your street. What is a rather dull piece of sculpture by day becomes a circus by night. I can only imagine what the Swiss neighbours thought. The horror! The horror!

When victory honks its horn

Another win and the cars erupt once again. Horns blare, flags fly and drivers and passengers cheer. Italy this time, who seem to have much fewer local fans than Portugal (clear leaders, especially with last night drumming), Brazil (runners up) and Spain in the celebratory noise championship. But they give it a good go regardless. Well done them.

The beautiful game?

I decide not to watch it as a timid act of defiance, so I force myself to read a book instead. But then the chapter ends and the remote calls me, gives me a sly wink and say 'go on, just for a minute, what harm will it do?'. So my resolve crumbles and I turn it on, just to check the score of course. And then I revert to type, asking myself approximately 70 minutes later the only possible question, why? Is it the unusual atmosphere, the lack of pissed people surrounding me, is it the hot weather that keeps my fan on overdrive? Or am I just restless for something to happen, something, anything?

Words of wisdom

When a man is wrestling a leopard in a middle of a pond he is in no position to run.

R.I.P.

My camera is dead and I am blind once again. It was not even a year old but it had enough. So no more photos of flowers, my feet or my pet gnome. No more posting to Flickr, no more attempts to capture that perfect ray of light. I mourn its passing and secretly hope that unknown forces can bring it back to life...

Summer

Its a glorious day and I'm sitting inside typing this. There is a word for people like me, but I can't quite remember it... ho hum

Curve

It is proving slightly steeper than I might have hoped. One minute up and the next thing you know, you're down again. Emotions taking control and reality taking an unwelcome leave of absence. I feel I'm on a crash course, but someone has nicked my helmet...

Silence

Some say that silence is golden, but there are times when it really isn't. I want it to be broken, but it looks increasingly unlikely. So back to the drawing board for me....

Memory block

I sit down to write something important and then it is immediately lost. The keys make their distinctive sound as my fingers glide over them trying to make sense out of the jumble sale which is my brain at present. I type one thing but, no, that wasn't it. I delete, write again then delete once more. What am I trying to say?? The purpose of this post eludes me......

New horizons or false dawns

Rain. Closed bars. Open bar. Drink. Food. Conversation. Laughter. Goodbyes.

And now the waiting begins....

A little mystery

An email in my inbox from a cell phone in the UK. Yet no message is contained within.

17 May

What was once a special day is now just like any other. You get up in the morning, you sleep in the evening. And everything in-between is up to you....

A slight problem

The weather is great, the sun is out and I decide to wear sandals in my office. Only then do I remember that my toenails have a somewhat distinctive appearance after the weekend. So I have to decide whether to show my new fangled look with pride. There is only one option really.

The only question now is what colour goes best with purple?

Breakfast

Almost 12 hours later and I'm still digesting....but boy, was it tasty!! My compliments to the chef.

Adventures in Euroland

The heart of European democracy, the centre of an evil empire threatening to engulf our continent or just a really nice place with great food and beer? Take your pick, but I've kind of made my mind up.

Confusion

How do I feel and what do I want? These are the questions of the day. To which I could add how should I act, what do I say and when do I say it. Answers on a postcard please to the usual address

Song for the day

Two Gunslingers by Tom Petty.. 'And one said I don’t wanna fight no more'

Dunce

I sit in the classroom and desperately want to be at the back of the class, behind all the bright kids who will answer all the questions. The problem now is that I am the only student.

Method in madness

I think I might have hit the nail on the head. I used to believe in happy endings, fairy tales, where good always triumphed, where the bad guy always got his comeuppance (usually in a rather nasty – but somehow comical – way) and where the nerdy guy with the terrible haircut always got the girl. Then reality happened. Life is somewhat more complicated than a movie script and my dreams and illusions shattered over night.

So for while, I gave up entirely. I looked upon life as a series of cold episodes. And I tried to come to terms with my life and where it had taken me. Yet, with all of this I wasn't able to find anything. Just more questions, more 'what if's that didn’t lead me anywhere I wanted to go.

But something in recent months has begun to change. What I don’t quite know. Perhaps it was Audrey Hepburn looking down at me, who knows? The realisation that not everything needs to change, at least not right now. So now I’m beginning to dream again. Not so naively this time, but dreaming I am.

A painful personal admission

I have an embarrassing admission to make. Its painful but I have to admit that I have a problem. I can't hide it away any longer. I need to face it and find the help I need.

I'm addicted to crap movies. Really bad ones. Think of a truly terrible movie, probably a romantic comedy that is neither romantic or comedic, and its one of those. I just can't help myself. I've tried abstinence and it didn't work. I've tried watching thoughtful, intelligent movies to wane me of my habit, but no joy. I just can’t help myself.

It’s not a new problem. I’ve had it before (Overboard with Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn – a truly underrated masterpiece of modern cinema) but I thought it had gone away. Several years of watching (mostly) great films, films with meaning and purpose, some even with sub-titles, lulled me into a false sense of security. But at a moment of personal weakness my curse resurfaced. And its now getting out of control. The choice of Raging Bull or Freaky Friday (guess which won?) has made me realise how deep the problem is.

I need help, urgently.

Jesus fucking Christ

What kind of shit have I got myself into? I've just found out that the organization I work for has a 'partner' in the US going by the name of Halliburton. Yes, that Halliburton. The same company with rather cosy links to the Bush administration, the 'reconstruction' of Iraq and more dodgy deals than you can shake a stick at. I've sold my soul to Satan and he's now pissing on me from a great height. I blame the wrestlers of course.

Sunshine and memories

Summer is clearly on its way. My sandals are out, I dip my feet in the lake, and I'm sunburnt already. Yet, the return of the sun also brings the return of memories that I've been avoiding of late. A visit to a town across the lake brings things back. The last time I was here and who I was with. Some feelings don't change. They may hide, mutate, or dip under the surface, but they are always there. And I know right now that I miss that face and that voice. And I wish that things might be different.

Culture jam

Something fun to pass the time away. GM create a website where you can make your own SUV advert.. and they are then surprised when people use the site to make anti SUV ads instead!

So here I now present my humble contribution.

join the fun and create your own advert today!

Flip flopping on a rainy day

A series of isolated events have come together in my mind. A clear blue sky, a glance and a smile across a table, cogs clicking into action and momentum building around something meaningful and worthwhile. So now here I am, flip-flopping all over the place, as the rain pours down around me. One minute this, another minute that. And no decisions to be found. Frustrating but welcoming at the same time. Some real choices now appear and the thinking must begin.

The grass is always greener...

..on the other side. I moan about having nothing to do and then everything starts happening. Now I'm moaning about having too much to do. You'd think I could make my bloody mind up. And the elephants are still chained to the tree in the meantime.

19.10 from Clapham Junction

I'm standing in a busy carrage and a large Winnie the Poo is singing to me. As he sings some unknown song the heat seems to grow more intense, the air thins and then my very vision seems to blur. I'm then sitting on my bag on the carrage floor, looking at the various legs around me. Different shapes, different sizes, shopping bags surrounding them. The doors open, the legs walk out and fresh air finally pours in. And I can finally stand again.

Homeward bound

My bag is packed. My ticket is ready. Now the waiting begins. In a few hours time I will be flying across Europe again. Yet the time is, as always, too short. Too many people to see and not enough time. And sadly, unlike the line from Paul Simon, my love life is not waiting silently for me.

Head examination required...maybe

Another song plays from the jukebox that is perpetually playing these days in my brain. This time it, rather disturbingly, a Take That song which was originally written by the Bee Gees. The answer to the question in the song is 'very' but that fact that I'm humming along to something like this is somewhat worrying. But then I look up the lyrics and they actually kind of sum of my feelings today, albeit in a rather corny Bee Gees way.

So perhaps my brain isn't playing tricks with me after all. But I have to wonder what it will play next. Any requests?

Track changes are the spawn of satan

I return home after a pleasant evening with friends and make the fatal mistake of checking my work email. Always a bad idea and I should know better by now. Anyway I find an email that butchers a piece of my work and turns it into a pile of horseshit. I must refrain from replying now, but I can only hope that I can be more level headed in the morning. Amen.

Flashback

The pages of my old university magazine turn quickly until my eyes stop on a page. A face in a photograph looks familiar and, on closer inspection, so does the name. Then it hits me and I remember who the person is. And then the memories of a moment return. Sitting together under a bridge, both drunk, watching the world go by. One of us waiting for an action from the other, which never came. I have often thought about what would have happened, what if...but I will never know, and maybe that is just as well.

A pause

I need to make a big decision, perhaps one of the biggest I've ever made. In reality it isn’t that major, I know, but it feels that so much depends on it. And the problem, of course, is that I'm desperately trying to avoid making it. Every time it crops up I put it back, shelve it, park it to one side. Put it on that pile, on that long list, of things you need to do. Hoping that, just like the shopping list you prepare, you will either forgot things from the list, or completely forget the list itself.

Home is where the heart is...or the heart is where the home is

As I sit in the train, some Paul Simon lyrics float into my ever distractable brain. He apparently had the inspiration for the song in Widnes of all places. I've never been there, and to be honest, I wouldn't mind if I never am. But the words are perhaps more apt as a result of that. For me the word 'home' has so many different meanings. Is it here in this foreign land, is it the small town where I was born, the city where I grew up, or the city where I became who I am. So I'm torn in different directions. My heart says one way, my brain says another, and my feet just wonder their own path regardless, waiting silently for me.

Words

Four short words from a few days ago ring loudly in my head, as the beautiful music of Ali Farka Toure fills the space that surround me. I have no answers to the question, only more questions myself. Comic, surreal, prolonged, delusional, confused, self indulgent. Take your pick but the magic mystery tour continues unabated.

Bugger

I write one thing and then go and do the exact bloody opposite. Always seems to happen.

Ho hum

The doctor says not to worry, everything is fine, but then lists a series of things which sound quite scary to me. A quick search on the internet doesn't really help and leaves me with the impression that I'm probably going to keel over any second. Then I realise I am looking at the wrong condition altogether. So I decide to accept the doctors advice, but just hope that his knowledge of medicine is better than his knowledge of the Arsenal first team.

Roman holiday

Audrey Hepburn looks down upon me from the wall, her face forever immortalised in thousands, if not millions, of images just like this one. The look, the face, the smile, that combination of style and grace which so few people are able to achieve. Happy cinematic memories merge with equally happy thoughts of a frantic weekend and all I can do is but smile.

22 men and some grass

Twenty two men kick a white ball across a pitch of green'ish grass. The ball goes one way and then another. A man falls down, and then another. One man is sent off for running into another man a little bit too hard. The spectators get very excited, irrespective of what is happening on the pitch and millions of men (and women) around the world talk utter gibberish whilst watching the whole encounter on the television.

Young people enter the bar and give away free cigarettes, comments are made about how strange this country is, people start discussing whether you should support one team just because they come from London and someone jokes about Elephant culling in Africa.

And whilst all this goes on, and whilst I slowly (very slowly) sip my beer, a whole number of songs run through my head bringing a smile to my face.

Distance

735km doesn't seem that much, but it might as well be several light years. With all the traveling we make as part of our daily lives, the distances between us can seem so small, but in many ways it is more pronounced than ever. Instead of walking over to someone's desk I send them an email, as walking to Delhi isn't really an option. Instead of shouting to the person next to me I pick up the phone, as my voice doesn't extend as far as Berlin. Yet beyond work, the distance seems more mental than physical, an imaginary divide that separates me from my home. In two days time I will board a plane and will hopefully end up where I want to be. The physical separation will be gone (a short bus ride is all that there will be) but the distance will still remain and it will appear more unreachable than ever.

Fragments

The boy sits on the beach throwing dark stones into the cold swirling mass of the Severn before him. At the same time his father busies himself scouring the desolate shore hoping to unearth fossils in the stones scattered all around.

The rest is all a blur but fragments of the memory appears so vivid. The hammer to break the stones in my fathers hand, the colour and shape of the fossilised remains, the cold biting wind heading out to sea. All seems so real as if it happened only yesterday. When did this all take place I don't remember. A long time ago is all I can say. Why this comes into my mind I have no idea, but the memory lingers just like the day that I remember.

A cold sense of irony

Funny how one of the sponsors of Eurosport's winter Olympic coverage is Exxon Mobil (or Esso as they are known in Europe). Is it just me or is there any irony in a major oil company, which refuses to accept global warming, sponsoring an event which is at direct risk of climate change?

Below the snow line

Traveling back to Geneva, the lyrics of a certain Clash song play in my head. My body aches and the bruises are starting to show but the song continues to play on repeat. It is telling me something I know.....

A wonder in more ways than one

Melting snow slides under my feet as I explore Chamonix by night. People of different nationalities and languages merge into one mass consumed by the night. As I walk, the snow continues to fall seemingly from all sides as the wind carries it around me. But now a beacon calls me home and I shall see what the evening reveals.

People

New people, new conversation. Can't say I think it is all for me, but interesting none the less.

Chamonix

My skiing is terrible (truly awful) and my body seems incapable to following my mind. No surprise perhaps as my thoughts fly like the crows the hover above us. I drift from one reality to another, the beauty of the surroundings the perfect backdrop for dreams and imagination. The sheer pleasure of seeing the power of nature fills me with awe.

And, behind my sunglasses I look around me and the sheer stupidity of people dressed like space men throwing themselves off a mountain top.

Resumption of service

Two weeks, lots of skiing, a few falls, far too much alcohol and a few cigarettes later. Am absolutely shattered but ready to do it all again. Which is just as well, as that's exactly what I'm doing tomorrow. France here I come (again).

Saturday morning

Another night of the same dreams, another morning of the same thoughts. Now another day ahead with the person I least want to spend time with.

I don't understand why I can't let go. Is it so hard to move on? But for me it is, so I continue inflict pain on myself and the person I hold most dear. And that makes me feel so bad. What kind of love is that?

Each day I de construct my life in the same desperate quest for answers. But none are forthcoming and I'm scared.

Guilt

n.

1. The fact of being responsible for the commission of an offense. See Synonyms at blame.
2. Law. Culpability for a crime or lesser breach of regulations that carries a legal penalty.
3.
1. Remorseful awareness of having done something wrong.
2. Self-reproach for supposed inadequacy or wrongdoing.
4. Guilty conduct; sin.

I feel some, but someone feels more. Neither is valid.

More post new resolutions...

Think positively about myself
Don't make excuses - speak honestly
Keep in touch better with people who are dear to me

Trust

n.
1. Firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing.

Words I should try and remember.

Another day...

The routine is now the problem. Wake up in an empty bed. Have breakfast in front of the TV. Sit on a train reading a book. Enter my silent office, where the only noise disturbing the silence is that of keyboards clicking. The first meeting of the day and I am already dreaming of leaving. Dreaming of a different life away from here. Dreaming of things I haven't done, places I haven't seen and experiences yet to be experienced. But, of course, something drags me down, the same thought that hits me every day. Memories, dreams and hopes all converge into something which I can't understand. And through all of this one image sticks in my mind so strongly that I think it has been burned into my very consciousness. An image of life that I may never live, but one which I cannot give up hope for.

Money 1 Human rights and free speech 0

Compare Google and their new Chinese site and it becomes very clear. Another company looking for a quick buck at the expense of everything else, even their own mission statement.

So just another in a long list of companies (and the people who run them) who at the first sign of money, throw all those ideas which are so important straight out of the window.

Zen

An evening of meditation and relaxation brings some things into focus. But the bigger questions are still there lingering in my mind. Another job possibility has now appeared, this time back in London. Do I rush into moving back or should I take my time and see what happens to my life here? The call of familiar surroundings and friends is strong but am I giving up too early on my dream of living abroad? Should I soldier on here despite what I feel?

Funny how the only certainty I have right now is the one thing that is impossible. Everything else is wide open. The world is my playground but am I ready to play?

Coming home

Not the big move (at least not yet) but a quick visit now booked for a few weeks time. So now time to arrange to meet friends, have fun and forgot about my bigger questions.

There, but not there

I'm sitting in a room and conversation is taking place all around me. I'm taking part but then at one moment I tune out. From that point on I'm like an invisible spectator listening but unable and unwilling to participate. Whereas I want talk about politics, society, things that matter, all I hear are banal discussions about television.

It's the second time this has happened in 3 days and I'm realizing that I'm really missing my friends and my former life back home.

Destination somewhere

If life is a journey, then I've got lost on the way. Bad map, poor navigation, back seat driving or just plain incompetence, take your pick.

But I think the solution is becoming clearer. I need to leave this place and all the memories it holds. Say goodbye to Geneva, my flat, my belongings, my IKEA furniture and my job. And then see where the wind takes me.

Who am I?

Things used to be very clear. Who I was, what I wanted to do and where I was going. But now everything is up for grabs. Tonight I had to leave a bar to go and cry outside in the street. I realised I didn't know who I actually am. Do I want to live here, do I want to carry on with my job, do I want to carry on in this way? The answer to these questions is mostly no, but I just don't know how to break free.

Tingles

Hands move over my feet, massaging here, applying pressure there. It only takes 15 minutes and I can't feel any real difference. Relaxed yes, but nothing more than that.

Two hours later and they are tingling all over. An odd, but rather pleasing experience.

An audience

I started writing a post late last night but I wasn't able to publish it. Something just didn't seem right when I hovered my mouse over the publish button. I looked at the post again this morning and I could see why. What I had written was for one person, more a message than a random thought from me. Whilst I find it so hard to pick up a phone or send an email, writing here seems so much easier.

Which begs the question, why? Is it because I know friends and random strangers are reading this? Is it because writing my thoughts here is less committal than expressing them in a more direct way to an individual? Is it because a blog allows me to express my feelings in a more unconventional way? Am I playing to the crowd?

The day after

I used to sleep so well that I would joke that I'd sleep straight through a nuclear war. Nothing would disturb me. Now things are very different. More than a few hours uninterrupted sleep is a blessing as my dreams are now torturing me. Dreams of a person, their face, their voice, their inner self. When I wake up I want to shout their name as loud as I can so that they would hear me where ever they are. And I wonder, what are they doing at that very moment, what are they thinking, am I in their mind as they are so vivid in mine?

Am I just a lover spurned who is not understanding rejection? Yes. But I'm also someone who is only now finally understanding what love actually means. And that is the ultimate tragedy.

Miles

Off all the music I listen to, I think I get most pleasure from jazz. There is something about the combination of instruments, the rhythm and the improvisation that makes me feel warm inside. And of course, liking jazz, I have a special fondness for Miles Davis. From the moment I first heard Kind of Blue I've been transfixed by his records, some of them so beautiful that they almost make you cry.

So I was surprised to read that he was a man prone to violence (including many cases of domestic violence) and a heroin addict. Why I'm surprised I don't know as you often hear of such talented people having darker side to them. But I wonder whether his inner demons were the cause or the result of his amazing gift.

The end?

One person heads off, the other remains in Geneva. I wish it would happen differently but the decision is not mine. So I am a mere spectator in a show that has gone on for far too long. But now it ends, this time for good I fear.

Knowing too much part 2

Ok, I say one thing and do the complete opposite. So I now have found out far, far too much for my own good. And now I'm angry as well....

Knowing too much

Knowledge can sometimes be a terrible thing. I found out something which I shouldn't know or care about. But for some reason I do. So with the help of the information super highway I now know even more. Does this help me? No, but part of me wants to carry on searching. But the bigger question is why I am doing this. Jealousy plays its part, but curiosity is there as well. I'm one of those people who wants to know things, even when they are none of my business. So another thing for me to learn; letting go and minding my own bloody business.

View from my window

Snow dances as I stare out across the street. Specks of white fly past as they continue their inevitable descent to earth. But like dust they swirl, floating up then down, flowing with every change in the wind. Yet downwards they must eventually fall, for there is no other way for them to go.

As the moments pass the ground beneath me begins to change, a cold black grey soon replaced by white.

The city is swiftly transformed into something else.

Airports..

..are all the same. Lots of people anxious to be somewhere else.

Pre recovery

3.40 am and I've just got back. Funny how in London I would have been asleep by 1 at the latest. Tonight was different; lots of wine (of course), beers, great people, dancing (yes, me) in a really cool city.

The tourist mode begins at 10 am so I hope I manage to get some sleep.

Relaxation

A nice bath. A cold beer. A successful day over. A pleasant evening and good company to look forward to. Don't you love Fridays?

Hotels

So here I now sit in that most soulless of all places, a hotel room. A place designed to be without charm, without character. A place whose very purpose is to support our modern transitory lifestyles. Thousands of people will have stayed in this room before me and thousands more will after me. And yet none of us will ever be remembered.

Athens

Another destination, another city. A shower makes me look more presentable but I feel shattered physically whilst my heart and mind are wondering.

But instead of much needed rest I must now attend a meeting to discuss the issue of toxic chemicals in wildlife. When what I probably need most right now are some of those same chemicals inside me just to keep me awake.

Zurich

Another place, another airport. Yet one is just like another.

For me, my heart lies elsewhere, next to someone sleeping peacefully in my bed. I would do anything to be with them right now, but I know that is not possible.

So I remember last night without regrets.

I hate email because...

It is impersonal
It is easy to misunderstand
There is too much off it
Most of it you receive is meaningless
You can not see the face of the sender as they write their words
You can not argue easily with it
Waiting for hours for a reply kind of kills the moment
You can rewrite messages endlessly before you send them
It kills spontaneity (well for me at least)
It can make people think you can actually spell

Out there

Decisions are made around me at work, discussions carry on, and I play no part. A weird feeling which I haven't experienced for a long while. But whilst part of me isn't happy the other part doesn't really care.

Amazing what a few months and a personal crisis can do to change your perspective on life.

Boots

"These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do
one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."

By Nancy Sinatra

Just the boots of course, nothing else...

Looking forwards

So here I am, looking forwards, with no illusions about what lies ahead. It will be hard not to repeat the mistakes of the past, but I feel I have changed in recent months. I've discovered a side of me, that I did not know existed.

And I wouldn't change that for the world.

Recurring dream

I'm having the same dream these days.

But when I wake up I realise that is all it is, a dream.

So now I wish I was asleep again.

Moments of clarity

There are certain times when things just seem to make sense. All to brief moments when the bullshit disappears and you see things like they are. Without fear, without confusion, eyes forward not back. I've just had one of these and it feels good. By tomorrow it will be just one thought amongst a thousand others spiraling round in my head, the confusion and insecurities will return and normal service will be resumed. But I'm going to treasure the moment whilst it lasts.

And on that thought I say to your dear reader: good night, sleep dreams and don't let the bed bugs bite.

Lost souls and fish bowls

We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.

Source: Pink Floyd

Am I crazy?

I think I probably am. I'm having lots of thoughts at the moment about whether Geneva is the right place for me at this point in my life. And I'm thinking it probably isn't. But I then go and see a really interesting job which is based...in Geneva. So I'm now thinking of applying... I think I need my head examined.

Is there a doctor in the house??

Looking for inspiration

I haven't been at work for two hours and I am already staring out of the window. They say the work is a key ingredient to happiness and they probably have a point. But for numerous reasons I can't get excited about what I'm doing. My heart simply isn't in it, and that tells me that is it time to move on...

Goodbyes

We wave goodbye to friends on the train and then all part our separate ways. After several days together I'm sad to see them go. Being around friends makes you realise the importance of social interaction, how we need it to feel alive. Now they are gone and life returns to normal here. The questions remain about what 'normal' actually means however. But I can enjoy the peace for a short while before I start trying to answer that one.

Into the night

We move silently throw the night, crossing snow covered valleys. Passing distant villages only visible by soon to be gone Christmas decorations. Cold ice slides down my back as my mind begins to wonder, the only thing keeping in this place is my writing these thoughts. My attention is interrupted by music blaring from a strangers stereo. The silence is broken, but no one else has noticed. The others are all in the their own worlds, half asleep after a full day. Now we head onwards into the darkness and are consumed by the night.

Experiences

It seems that life is comprised of a myriad of different experiences. Some good, others bad, all of which are highly subjective and relative. Love, pain, joy, happiness, fear, passion, violence and desire. The list is endless. Each helps shape who we are and what we will be. Yet how far do such experiences shape our ultimate paths in life and the decisions we make? Does someone's experiences in childhood and at that formative age ultimately determine where they end up? Do our parents and their choices (or lack of) on our upbringing provide clear reasons for who we are? How does one experience effect others that follow after it?

Again I have no answers, but it seems to me that a pattern is emerging. The problem is that I can't quite see what it is yet....

Goodbye one year, hello another

So a new year begins. Hard to know what it will hold, but I have to keep my fingers crossed. Celebrating the year in was a difficult experience. It is one of those times where you really notice other people's relationships. Couples disappearing to share a kiss, hands held under the table, discussion about shared plans and resolutions for the year ahead. Sadly that all brings home the truth that, in this sense, I am alone. Not that I lack friends of course, I don't. But I have lost the one person who I want to share my life with. And that truth bites very hard.