I was watching some excerpts of one of Ross Kemp's programmes on Sky One the other day. I can't remember what the series is called, but it must be something like "Ross Kemp Visits Some Real Shit Holes", because the abject poverty and desperate tales of abuse and destitution were genuinely distressing and very moving. It's so easy to forget that even in present day Britain or the US, there are people whose lives are based around survival in the most squalid conditions.
In one scene, Kemp visited a man living in an abandoned, hurricane damaged house in New Orleans. Was it living in conditions, that even the least fussy rat would object to, that had lead to him suffering from what were clearly severe mental health problems? Or was it this very illness that had lead him there in the first place? Probably a combination of the two, creating a very viscous circle.
Thankfully, as often seems to be the way even in the most desperate of conditions, a group of volunteers tended to this unfortunate chap and the many others like him. It was genuinely humbling to see the essence of human spirit that deep down, cares for those less fortunate than ourselves, in action. For every Mark Bridger, there are many many more decent people who are actively supporting various good causes and it does my heart good to remember this.
Kemp spoke with one of these outreach workers and described that among the many other dreadful things that people like the mentally ill chap had to endure, was living an existence that was not even as good as 'day-to-day' but more like 'second-to-second'.
Now, I know exactly what he meant by this and it's true that a situation devoid of hope like this one, is impossible for most of us to imagine. But the phrase 'living day-to-day' and it's even uglier cousin, 'second-by-second', reminded me of the times that people have said that to me as they've sympathised with a predicament that I've been in - usually the pain caused by chronic ill health.
But in actual fact, illness and all the other various mental and emotional pains we humans get to experience during a typical lifetime, have given me plenty alongside the bits they've apparently taken away. One of the greatest gifts is actually the very thing which most people use to label unfortunate people in an undesirable situation, and that is 'living moment by moment'.
Far from being some kind of affliction, it has actually brought the greatest freedom imaginable. My experience has been that releasing my aspirations to achieve certain goals in the future that would yield happiness once achieved, and instead focusing my attention on what's happening right here, right now, has revealed a really quite magical world where happiness and many other positive emotions bubble up to be enjoyed immediately.
I'm not saying it's all a wonderful rose garden. Sometimes sitting quietly whilst taking notice of what's here is extremely unpleasant. But by giving it our full attention, you do get to see it for what it is. Somehow this lessens it's power and I have found this to be genuinely healing.
It's not always easy to keep focused on the present moment. Our minds appear to be predestined to try and run off and imagine various possibilities and fantasies that are anywhere but right here. We live in a culture where this is seen as normal and often encouraged - especially through aspirational marketing that is so prevalent.
At one time, this may have been part of a survival mechanism in order to help cut off the myriad of possible dangers faced by early man, before they happened.
And even now, it's nice to let your mind go and play with various concepts and have fun in an imaginary world. But when it does this of its own accord, all of the time, and dwells on worries and possible calamities, it ain't half wearing. I have found that being able to choose to spend a little while back 'here' is amazingly nourishing and therapeutic.
I had found myself scrabbling towards this conclusion myself, when, towards the end of the nineties, the Universe gave me a big old helping shove in the right direction.
I was in a bookshop when suddenly, a book actually appeared to come off the shelf and float in front of me! I think this was actually because of my eye moving rapidly from one place to another in quick succession rather than anything more mystical, but it got my attention nonetheless.
The book was called The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle (for Londoners, you may know it as 'The Pah of Nah'). The title was a little bit off putting to start with. Usually a book in the self-help section with the word 'Power' in it suggests how you can harness something to achieve your own goals; to basically get your own way. But I still felt drawn to it and in actual fact, you couldn't find a book less centred on letting the ego try to run your world.
It's focus is on just observing what's happening, right now, in a non-judgemental way. It's about accepting what's happening as it is. For me, it was such a relief to find someone with a point of view that was similar to my own - I was fed up and worn out trying to get the world to fit in with the way I wanted things to be.
I must have bought about two dozen copies for friends and family over the years. Whatever your situation, these are just some guiding words to encourage you to take notice of what's happening right now. You don't have to buy into any belief system. In fact belief, or faith are completely irrelevant here. It's all about your own practical experience, right now. Don't rely on what anyone else tells you is good or bad or any other judgemental label, just be aware of what you're doing, of what's going on.
I like how right now, I am typing these words on my iPad on a Sunday afternoon. And yet also right now, you are reading these words, whenever that may be. It could be days, weeks or years in between these two events in our conventional understanding of time. But ultimately, they both happen right now. Everything happens right now. There is nothing other than right now. You can imagine your next holiday, or you can relive the one you had last year, but what's really happening is that you're sat there, accessing various parts of your brain in the present moment.
Despite our very best efforts, we can never escape now. So spend a while focusing on what's here and let it be.
If any of this resonates with you, why not check out the book for yourself? (available here on Amazon for example)
There are many other helpful guides like this, but I have found it to be the best introduction to, what for many of us, is a very different way of looking at things.
There is also a 'lite' version called Practising The Power Of Now which strips down the essence of the original book into more digestible bite-sized pieces for those who prefer it that way.
These books are also available on Kindle and iBooks etc.
Whether you're blissfully happy, or going through some kind of turmoil, I really hope that these, or the philosophy they contain, help reveal a new dimension within your own life, like I found they did in mine.
Sunday, 7 October 2012
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
What's that coming over the hill, is it a monster? Kind of! It's Uncle Toby (and he's not even bothered to clean it up)
Why, who is this kindly old fellow with a peculiar dress sense and a keen desire to make youngsters happy. No! It’s not Sir Jimmy Saville, but good old Uncle Toby.
Just to clarify for those of you who have asked; no, Uncle Toby does not offer a range of rice or stir-in sauces. You're muddling him with Uncle Ben. Blimey, how could you get confused by that, they’re not even the same race for crying out loud!
Anyway, let's get on board the Troubled Bus and steer it away from the Cliff of Despair and back towards the calm gentle waters of Solution Beach.
Today's first problem comes from Jen in 'The Independent Free State of Cornwall'. So, that's Cornwall then:
Dear Uncle Toby,
I'm 18 years old and have just moved away from home to start the next phase of my life at university. I come from a small village where everyone knows everybody else, so moving to a large city is really scary! My mum is naturally concerned about my welfare and has warned me in particular about a thing called 'date rape'. I didn't want to appear stupid or worry her by admitting I didn't know what that was - please could you explain?
Jen xx
P.S. Thanks for your daily emails, inviting me to come to stay with you if I'm feeling lonely and vulnerable.
Hi Jen, you're welcome. I'm always here for you (unless you turn out to be a bit of a gargoyle - in which case, you're on your own).
Date rape is quite a sticky subject, but I'll do my best to handle it with my trademark tact and care.
What it basically consists of is getting the small, fleshy fruit of a palm tree and inserting it (or indeed several of them) into a lady's love passages, without their prior consent.
This is obviously a very invasive experience and most sadly of all, ruins what would otherwise be a perfectly good snack.
If you should be unfortunate enough to suffer with a date rape, be aware when cleaning out the debris that they do contain quite a large stone, so make sure you remove this before resuming normal activities down below.
Stay safe.
Onto our next correspondent, T from 'just over there':
Dear Uncle Toby,
Thanks so much for taking time out of your busy day to help us normal, troubled people with our crappy little problems.
Last week I tweeted a joke that contained the words 'whore' and 'slag'. Whilst I appreciate these are unpleasant ways to address ladies in the real world, I thought that on Twitter within the context that I used them, they wouldn't cause genuine offence.
The joke was supposed to be on a man who would really use such words, and not intended to be derogatory in any way. Whilst many females found this funny in the way it was intended, alas some ladies didn't see it like that and took great offence, suggesting that I had committed a crime towards the female species that's the equivalent of directing racial abuse at ethnic minorities and that I had contributed to the oppression of women by using these terms.
The intent behind these attempts at humour couldn't have been further away from the way they were interpreted by some and I regret having caused this upset. Some of my best friends are women. I'd be grateful for your thoughts on this thorny issue.
Thanks in advance for your limitless wisdom,
T x (that's a kiss by the way, and not my second initial as if my surname were Xavier or something).
Hi T, thanks for getting in touch. From the tone of your question, it seems obvious that you genuinely didn't mean to cause any harm. Unfortunately, getting the 'spirit' of a joke across in a tweet is extremely hard and is always open to misinterpretation.
It is really important that mankind offers nothing but absolute respect to females (or 'bitches' as they prefer to be called). Life gives them plenty to deal with after all, what with not only having to put up with periods and childbirth, but also cooking, cleaning, not watching football and having smaller brains.
If they want to dress like a prostitute, that's their choice and I for one, wouldn't try to stop them.
Finally tonight, here's one from thingy in somewhere or other:
Dear Uncle Toby,
I am a mid-twenties woman who suffers greatly from shyness and social anxiety. I don't know why, but people never seem to notice me and I often get ignored. Is there anyway I can overcome this and make more of an impact? It's such a relief to finally be able to share my problems with somebody like you who is such a great listener.
Many thanks,
Blahdy blah.
*checks watch*
*finishes sudoku*
And that's all we've got time for tonight folks! Remember to keep sending your problems in. No matter how big or small, I'm ready to help you (assuming I'm not prevented from doing so because of legal proceedings against me - so nothing involving small rodents, milk bottles or Vaseline just now thanks).
Just to clarify for those of you who have asked; no, Uncle Toby does not offer a range of rice or stir-in sauces. You're muddling him with Uncle Ben. Blimey, how could you get confused by that, they’re not even the same race for crying out loud!
Anyway, let's get on board the Troubled Bus and steer it away from the Cliff of Despair and back towards the calm gentle waters of Solution Beach.
Today's first problem comes from Jen in 'The Independent Free State of Cornwall'. So, that's Cornwall then:
Dear Uncle Toby,
I'm 18 years old and have just moved away from home to start the next phase of my life at university. I come from a small village where everyone knows everybody else, so moving to a large city is really scary! My mum is naturally concerned about my welfare and has warned me in particular about a thing called 'date rape'. I didn't want to appear stupid or worry her by admitting I didn't know what that was - please could you explain?
Jen xx
P.S. Thanks for your daily emails, inviting me to come to stay with you if I'm feeling lonely and vulnerable.
Hi Jen, you're welcome. I'm always here for you (unless you turn out to be a bit of a gargoyle - in which case, you're on your own).
Date rape is quite a sticky subject, but I'll do my best to handle it with my trademark tact and care.
What it basically consists of is getting the small, fleshy fruit of a palm tree and inserting it (or indeed several of them) into a lady's love passages, without their prior consent.
This is obviously a very invasive experience and most sadly of all, ruins what would otherwise be a perfectly good snack.
If you should be unfortunate enough to suffer with a date rape, be aware when cleaning out the debris that they do contain quite a large stone, so make sure you remove this before resuming normal activities down below.
Stay safe.
Onto our next correspondent, T from 'just over there':
Dear Uncle Toby,
Thanks so much for taking time out of your busy day to help us normal, troubled people with our crappy little problems.
Last week I tweeted a joke that contained the words 'whore' and 'slag'. Whilst I appreciate these are unpleasant ways to address ladies in the real world, I thought that on Twitter within the context that I used them, they wouldn't cause genuine offence.
The joke was supposed to be on a man who would really use such words, and not intended to be derogatory in any way. Whilst many females found this funny in the way it was intended, alas some ladies didn't see it like that and took great offence, suggesting that I had committed a crime towards the female species that's the equivalent of directing racial abuse at ethnic minorities and that I had contributed to the oppression of women by using these terms.
The intent behind these attempts at humour couldn't have been further away from the way they were interpreted by some and I regret having caused this upset. Some of my best friends are women. I'd be grateful for your thoughts on this thorny issue.
Thanks in advance for your limitless wisdom,
T x (that's a kiss by the way, and not my second initial as if my surname were Xavier or something).
Hi T, thanks for getting in touch. From the tone of your question, it seems obvious that you genuinely didn't mean to cause any harm. Unfortunately, getting the 'spirit' of a joke across in a tweet is extremely hard and is always open to misinterpretation.
It is really important that mankind offers nothing but absolute respect to females (or 'bitches' as they prefer to be called). Life gives them plenty to deal with after all, what with not only having to put up with periods and childbirth, but also cooking, cleaning, not watching football and having smaller brains.
If they want to dress like a prostitute, that's their choice and I for one, wouldn't try to stop them.
Finally tonight, here's one from thingy in somewhere or other:
Dear Uncle Toby,
I am a mid-twenties woman who suffers greatly from shyness and social anxiety. I don't know why, but people never seem to notice me and I often get ignored. Is there anyway I can overcome this and make more of an impact? It's such a relief to finally be able to share my problems with somebody like you who is such a great listener.
Many thanks,
Blahdy blah.
*checks watch*
*finishes sudoku*
And that's all we've got time for tonight folks! Remember to keep sending your problems in. No matter how big or small, I'm ready to help you (assuming I'm not prevented from doing so because of legal proceedings against me - so nothing involving small rodents, milk bottles or Vaseline just now thanks).
Monday, 1 October 2012
My big day out! (part 3 of 3 unless I do a Director's Cut) - The Main Event
Welcome to the next thrilling instalment of my adventures in London with my glamourous sidekick, Keira Husky. You may like to familiarise yourselves with our railway journey (where we nearly got gassed to death on the tube) and our expedition across tower bridge (where we nearly got drowned to death my sea monsters). In summary, against all the odds, we had somehow made our way to the Design Museum in one piece...We were directed up toward the '1.5 gallery', where the photography exhibition was taking place. I'm not sure if that's pronounced the 'one point five gallery', the 'one and a half gallery', the 'three divided by two gallery' or what. But it's obviously very cool and sophisticated.
After being greeted by several ladies with clipboards who checked off our names in triplicate, we were offered a choice of drinks. Alas they had no Guinness or beer, so it was champagne for Keira and fruit juice for myself.
I was then taken over to where my picture was displayed and had my photograph taken with it by the official event photographer. For the first time in his career, he had encountered someone who blinked every single time he used his flash.
After the seventh failed attempt, we agreed that a higher ISO setting might have to be used instead of the flash. I was hoping that the extra grain this might bring to the image, may help hide the sweat and raindrops that were still nestling on my ample forehead. The dress code for the event was 'smart / casual', but at that point I was more 'clammy pile of shit'.
We were then asked to go around and vote for our favourite picture in each of the categories. Although this seemed straightforward enough, my admin assistant Keira Husky, found it more challenging than I had hoped. There was quite a bit of crossing out in order for our chosen photograph titles to actually end up in the right section of the voting slip. I now see why champagne is not available in office drinks machines.
One of the highlights of the night for me was that a string of attractive young waitresses (and one Korean dude) would come around with platefuls of unidentified, but very tasty, posh nosh. Suddenly, the whole concept of pretentious ponciness which once repulsed me, seemed bloody fantastic! Looking at nice pictures with a limitless supply of drink and tasty food, all whilst overlooking a beautiful part of London, was a wonderful way to spend one's time.
After doing some mingling, eating, sitting, drinking and more eating, I suddenly heard a very familiar voice. Had someone switched the radio on? No! Reggie Yates was actually in the room! He was looking very cool and dapper. Well almost. There was one exception to his attire that just didn't seem to fit in with the rest of his look - he was wearing slippers.
Now, as regular readers of my twitter feed will know, I recently bought a new pair of slippers myself and have really fallen in love with just how comfortable they are (non twitter folk, if hearing that you're missing out on that kind of insight into my life doesn't make you want to join up and follow me, I don't know what will). But really? Slippers? Smart / casual? This event wasn't like popping over the road for a paper and some milk.
What really completed this look was the fact that they had a skull and crossbones on. I would have loved some of these...when I was six! *bitch face*
So, despite that fact that he was wearing little boy slippers which, to my mind didn't really go with the rest of his look (bear in mind that I'm an avid viewer of Britain and Ireland's Next Top Model, so I think I know a little bit about style), the first thing I said to him when I had the chance was, "Hi Reggie, great to meet you. I LOVE your shoes!". Honestly, I can be so two faced.
Slippers aside, Reggie was an absolutely lovely guy. No doubt he was being paid to be there and mingle with us all, but he couldn't have been more friendly or patient. Keira and I had a really good chat with him and he seemed a genuinely decent chap. I would like to be his mate and hang out with him (especially when he goes shoe shopping - I could have helped him out there).
I felt bad that the other guests weren't having much of a chance to speak with her and eventually, when she had got in between me and the tasty food once too often, she was asked to leave. It was horrible to see her cry like that, but it was for the best - if we were together, it would only have been a matter of time before she introduced me to the other members of Girls Aloud and, unless she was willing to share me, her heart would have gone through even more pain.
As the evening went on and the champagne flowed, the occasion grew louder and louder. Keira was kindly drinking my share of the fizz (and also that of the twelve guests who hadn't been able to make it). There was a really nice atmosphere and it was a great experience to be able to chat to the other entrants who were refreshingly normal.
My previous experience that people from the north of England and most of Wales are the friendliest in the country, was proved once again, although Keira and I did our bit as ambassadors for the south. In fact, one of the Welsh guys there was especially friendly towards Keira and would have been that extra special kind of friendly given half a chance. Luckily having spent too much time hanging around with me, she's fairly used to batting away unwanted male attention and managed to escape unscathed.
The only downside of the night (aside from them not serving Guinness) was that we were desperately missing the third member of our Terrific Trio, Jessington Cupcake. Despite my best efforts at wangling a plus two, she gracefully stepped aside to let Keira enjoy the day. We both resolved that we would visit London again soon, but this time with Jess firmly in tow. Plus, Ms Cupcake also gets the consolation prize of an all expenses paid lunch (up to the value of £15, terms and conditions apply, no cash equivalent shall be given) with me.
At twenty minutes past the time that the event should have closed, they started to turn the lights out and a few minutes after that, actually booted us back down the stairs. It had been an amazing evening and the four and a bit hours we'd been there had flown by.
Thankfully, London is full of weirdos on a Friday night who responded to this quite well and took her in as one of their own.
On one occasion I had to restrain her from approaching a gang of feral looking youths with caps on at jaunty angles, which thankfully she thought better of. The only other restraint I urged her to show was when we were passing a fresh faced young policeman. Although that encounter passed off peacefully, she did manage to blurt out, "What are you, 12?" as we passed by.
Whilst we waited for Tower Bridge to return to its flaccid state after having been raised, I noticed that there were round floodlights set into the pavement which were shining brightly. But then I wondered, whether these may actually be teleport pads to get us across to the other side whilst the bridge wasn't available. I stood on one to try it out and even made teleport noises, but unfortunately, it appears that it was just a spotlight after all (unless it was faulty I suppose). I don't even have champagne to blame for this incident, although I guess I had been passively drinking Keira's all night.
One of my long standing memories of this night will be Keira stood by the automatic barriers at Waterloo underground station, waving her crumpled ticket in the air, saying "I need assistance!". It would seem that she wasn't the only one affected by the fizz and her ticket was too far over the limit to be of use any longer.
Thankfully the train back to Salisbury was far quieter than the one we had arrived on. The only incident of note was when a young couple started canoodling. The woman was being cradled in this guy’s arms like a baby. Then they started kissing. But wait, what’s going on? That’s not kissing. He’s actually sucking on her nose. Her nose! I nearly called the guard to stop such peculiarity, but they soon got off (the train, not the other way, at least so far as I could tell).
For the remainder of the journey home, we reminisced and laughed together about the evening we had just experienced, both unable to put into words quite how much we had enjoyed it. Despite having been on my best behaviour for most of the day, my mischievous (or 'dickish' side) did rear its cheeky head as I found myself hiding Keira's purse whilst she slept. I still don’t think she’s noticed the £20 that’s missing.
Sunday, 30 September 2012
My big day out! (part 2 of 3 or 4 or thereabouts) - The Tempest
Hello, and welcome to episode two of 'Toby and Keira Ponce Around London'. Before reading this, you really ought to read part one here, or just be aware that we had successfully navigated London's subterranean minefield and had just broken through to what should have been daylight...
After leaving the cosy surroundings of Tower Hill tube station, we were faced with the harsh reality of a wet and windy day on London's surface. The imposing features of the Tower of London greeted us and the howling ghosts of the condemned men and women who spent their last days on this earth there, were shrieking on the wind. Or, it could have just been the complaints voiced by my hungry belly. Either way, it was extremely frightening.
We scurried past the Tower and headed towards Tower Bridge. With each footstep that took us closer to the Thames, the intensity of the wind and rain increased proportionately. The conditions were so abysmal, it was hard to see more than a few feet in front of our faces. We then had a fright as one of the Tower of London's famous residents landed beside us. No, not a beefeater, but a raven. Although closer inspection revealed that this may have actually been a dark coloured pigeon.
Either way, it was an eerie omen as we headed towards the violent maelstrom that had engulfed the middle of the bridge. Many tourists were turning back, deciding against making the trip across the raging Thames.
Children were crying as their worried parents clutched them close as they desperately looked for shelter that was, alas, non-existent.
A man holding a golfing umbrella was whisked up into the air and was last seen being buffeted towards the sea.
There was a loud crack! Thunder? No, the top of The Shard had been snapped clean off! Although, later we realised it had actually just been obscured by low cloud.
I contemplated turning back round and calling the whole day a write-off. All the signs were telling us not to continue. But being both brave and in need of a wee, the only choice was to head in One Direction (<--- a little bit of search engine optimisation there) - forwards.
For the first time in the three years I'd owned it, I unravelled the hood that was usually concealed in the collar of my coat, knowing full well that I'd never get it back into quite the same condition again. If that doesn't tell you just how bad the conditions were, I don't know what will.
Whilst I was clutching the hood over my rain lashed head, my companion, Keira Husky, had use of my umbrella. You may think that lending it to her was an incredibly gentlemanly thing of me to do. But having seen what happened to the man with the golfing umbrella, it was actually far from gallant and just a matter of self-preservation.
With great strength and skill, Keira managed to wrestle with the writhing brolly like an angry king cobra. Despite its best efforts to whisk her away, she managed to keep her feet on the ground. Several bystanders lost an eye or two in the struggle, but the important thing was, we finally reached the south bank of the river in one piece.
Despite wearing my glasses, the rain still managed to seep into my eyes causing them to sting. Thankfully a couple of kindly souls stopped to let us cross the road as we'd wandered straight past the stairs that led down underneath the bridge to safety.
Eventually we were heading along the little cobbled road of Shad Thames that offered some merciful shelter from the wind. We stopped in an alcove to get our bearings and looked at one another. Nobody else would ever understand what we'd been through to get here. Our lives would never be quite the same again. We had a bond the like of which only soldiers who have fought alongside one another in battle could possibly know.
Keira's once sparkly ballet pumps, had now become dull and extremely squelchy. The only options my glasses offered me were wet, or smeary. Together, we crawled the final few metres towards the Design Museum. In the words of my friend Tom Tom, we had reached our destination.
After leaving the cosy surroundings of Tower Hill tube station, we were faced with the harsh reality of a wet and windy day on London's surface. The imposing features of the Tower of London greeted us and the howling ghosts of the condemned men and women who spent their last days on this earth there, were shrieking on the wind. Or, it could have just been the complaints voiced by my hungry belly. Either way, it was extremely frightening.
We scurried past the Tower and headed towards Tower Bridge. With each footstep that took us closer to the Thames, the intensity of the wind and rain increased proportionately. The conditions were so abysmal, it was hard to see more than a few feet in front of our faces. We then had a fright as one of the Tower of London's famous residents landed beside us. No, not a beefeater, but a raven. Although closer inspection revealed that this may have actually been a dark coloured pigeon.
Either way, it was an eerie omen as we headed towards the violent maelstrom that had engulfed the middle of the bridge. Many tourists were turning back, deciding against making the trip across the raging Thames.
Children were crying as their worried parents clutched them close as they desperately looked for shelter that was, alas, non-existent.
A man holding a golfing umbrella was whisked up into the air and was last seen being buffeted towards the sea.
There was a loud crack! Thunder? No, the top of The Shard had been snapped clean off! Although, later we realised it had actually just been obscured by low cloud.
I contemplated turning back round and calling the whole day a write-off. All the signs were telling us not to continue. But being both brave and in need of a wee, the only choice was to head in One Direction (<--- a little bit of search engine optimisation there) - forwards.
For the first time in the three years I'd owned it, I unravelled the hood that was usually concealed in the collar of my coat, knowing full well that I'd never get it back into quite the same condition again. If that doesn't tell you just how bad the conditions were, I don't know what will.
Whilst I was clutching the hood over my rain lashed head, my companion, Keira Husky, had use of my umbrella. You may think that lending it to her was an incredibly gentlemanly thing of me to do. But having seen what happened to the man with the golfing umbrella, it was actually far from gallant and just a matter of self-preservation.
With great strength and skill, Keira managed to wrestle with the writhing brolly like an angry king cobra. Despite its best efforts to whisk her away, she managed to keep her feet on the ground. Several bystanders lost an eye or two in the struggle, but the important thing was, we finally reached the south bank of the river in one piece.
Despite wearing my glasses, the rain still managed to seep into my eyes causing them to sting. Thankfully a couple of kindly souls stopped to let us cross the road as we'd wandered straight past the stairs that led down underneath the bridge to safety.
Eventually we were heading along the little cobbled road of Shad Thames that offered some merciful shelter from the wind. We stopped in an alcove to get our bearings and looked at one another. Nobody else would ever understand what we'd been through to get here. Our lives would never be quite the same again. We had a bond the like of which only soldiers who have fought alongside one another in battle could possibly know.
Keira's once sparkly ballet pumps, had now become dull and extremely squelchy. The only options my glasses offered me were wet, or smeary. Together, we crawled the final few metres towards the Design Museum. In the words of my friend Tom Tom, we had reached our destination.
Saturday, 29 September 2012
My big day out! Part 1 of 2 (but could be 3, who knows?) - The Journey
Last night I was walking across Tower Bridge when, like an over excited teenager in gym class, it suddenly started to rise. I actually felt quite emotional, such was the spectacular sight of road and pavement soaring gracefully into the air, when just minutes before, pedestrians and traffic and been trundling over it. It was a marvellous feat of engineering to witness.
They say that if you're on Tower Bridge at the moment it is raised, you should make a wish as it will surely come true. I might have wished to have one of the best evenings of my life ever, if I hadn't already just had it. So instead, I wished to be on the other other side of the bridge and just minutes later, I was! If that's not proof enough for you sceptics who don't believe in such miracles, I don't know what is.
But let's take a step back, before all of the merriment, to the start of the day. My feelings then were very different. I was a mixture of nerves, excitement, apprehension and wonder. I was headed to London to attend a private viewing of an exhibition where one of my photographs was being displayed.
I wrote a post about this a few weeks ago, so you might like to check it out here out before continuing. Although that might be a bit of an effort, so in summary, I entered a competition organised by Pentax and my photo was shortlisted as a winner. An exhibition of mine and 29 other pictures were on display at the Design Museum, which is situated close to the aforementioned magical bridge in London. As well as the photographers, guests, PR people and Pentax representatives, the event would also be attended by Radio 1 DJ and all round cool hipster Reggie Yates and Girls Aloud performer Sarah Harding.
Having never been to anything like this before, I had no idea what to expect and whether it would be my cup of tea. I'm really not a fan of 'poncey' and was concerned that this could be an occasion full of trendy folks looking for the deeper meaning and symbolism behind a photograph of a fried breakfast.
One comforting fact was that I wouldn't be facing this ordeal alone. It had been such a difficult decision of which of my two best friends, Jessington Cupcake or Keira Husky, was to be my plus one (more details about them can be found in this earlier post).
Being mature adults, they settled this amicably between themselves by engaging in a series of hair pulling, scratching and all round fighting that would have put the Hunger Games to shame. It was Keira Husky who finally proved victorious and would be my companion for the afternoon. In a state of giddy excitement, we set off on a lunchtime train to London!
I'd never traveled at this time before, and expected it to be really quiet. Surely a Friday afternoon would see people trying to escape the capital for the weekend, not heading towards it. With this mindset, I graciously let an old man with a walking stick onto the train ahead of us. After initially hobbling, he suddenly showed a great turn of speed to grab the only free seat within sight.
Thankfully, much further on down the carriage we managed to find the last vacant seats on the train. It was a group of four with a table and we were quickly joined by what turned out to be a journalist and a mad woman who kept talking to herself and sniggering whilst playing games on her phone. A journey on public transport just wouldn't be the same without the company of a lunatic!
The train was rammed full, with many people standing for the entire journey. The drink and snacks trolley couldn't move because of the congested gangway and was stuck right by us. I was tempted to pinch a packet of biscuits that were winking at me, but to do so, I would have had to lean across the giggling mad woman and was worried she might bite me.
It's a good job I didn't need the toilet because there was no way of making it through the crowd. If I'd had to go, things would have got very messy. Although me soiling myself may well have delighted Mrs Mental as she'd probably have thought she'd finally found her equally troubled soul mate.
The weather deteriorated, and as we arrived in London, it was horribly wet and windy. I hoped it might ease off by the time we left cover, which was still some time off as we had to go subterranean and head towards Tower Hill tube station.
Our underground journey was complicated by a fire at Embankment which meant no trains would stop there. So instead we had to head in the opposite diretion to Westminster before resuming our journey east. I was pleased that I'd built in some contingency time into our journey to allow for such an occurrence.
What I hadn't planned for was our experience on the District line. The tube train was mainly packed but we spotted one carriage that was nearly empty. Thrilled at being able to sit down and not being put in that awkward situation where there is mass personal space invasion as you practically climb aboard the shoulders of your fellow travellers, we gleefully hopped on and sunk into our seats.
About two seconds later, it became apparent just why this carriage was empty. An ample Indian gentleman was sat a few seats up from us. He seemed very relaxed and had his arms spread out across the top of the two seats next to him. This had the unfortunate side affect of sharing what can only be described as his 'gargantuan stink' with the rest of us. Boy oh boy it was awful. His body still seemed to be trying to sweat out a hearty meal he'd eaten several years previously.
Now, being one myself, I'm fairly used to dealing with the odour generated by smelly old men. Dear Keira however was finding it increasing difficult not to gag. At first I thought she was joking, but the stench combined with the rocking motion of the train started to make her genuinely look like she was going to be ill. So, despite being a very un-British thing to do, we headed up the carriage away from this filthy behemoth, trying to take emergency breaths of deodorant and aftershave from the cleaner passengers along the way.
We finally arrived at Tower Hill, but was then engulfed by a sea of foreign students, whom it would appear had not come to see the Tower of London, but instead found it more entertaining to congregate in large numbers on the staircase and in front of the exit to the station.
With sharp elbows, we bowled through this loud, unruly group and finally broke free of cover, out into the fresh air! But suddenly we were faced with an even more almighty enemy than the bubble gum chewing, gibber jabbering Italian kids. The weather was even worse than when we had first arrived...
Would we make it to our destination? Or would we...no wait, you know that we obviously do make it because of the introduction to this post. But it was bloody hard! Tune in to part two to find out how we somehow managed to survive a howling gale and the adventures we had once at the exhibition.
They say that if you're on Tower Bridge at the moment it is raised, you should make a wish as it will surely come true. I might have wished to have one of the best evenings of my life ever, if I hadn't already just had it. So instead, I wished to be on the other other side of the bridge and just minutes later, I was! If that's not proof enough for you sceptics who don't believe in such miracles, I don't know what is.
But let's take a step back, before all of the merriment, to the start of the day. My feelings then were very different. I was a mixture of nerves, excitement, apprehension and wonder. I was headed to London to attend a private viewing of an exhibition where one of my photographs was being displayed.
I wrote a post about this a few weeks ago, so you might like to check it out here out before continuing. Although that might be a bit of an effort, so in summary, I entered a competition organised by Pentax and my photo was shortlisted as a winner. An exhibition of mine and 29 other pictures were on display at the Design Museum, which is situated close to the aforementioned magical bridge in London. As well as the photographers, guests, PR people and Pentax representatives, the event would also be attended by Radio 1 DJ and all round cool hipster Reggie Yates and Girls Aloud performer Sarah Harding.
Having never been to anything like this before, I had no idea what to expect and whether it would be my cup of tea. I'm really not a fan of 'poncey' and was concerned that this could be an occasion full of trendy folks looking for the deeper meaning and symbolism behind a photograph of a fried breakfast.
One comforting fact was that I wouldn't be facing this ordeal alone. It had been such a difficult decision of which of my two best friends, Jessington Cupcake or Keira Husky, was to be my plus one (more details about them can be found in this earlier post).
Being mature adults, they settled this amicably between themselves by engaging in a series of hair pulling, scratching and all round fighting that would have put the Hunger Games to shame. It was Keira Husky who finally proved victorious and would be my companion for the afternoon. In a state of giddy excitement, we set off on a lunchtime train to London!
I'd never traveled at this time before, and expected it to be really quiet. Surely a Friday afternoon would see people trying to escape the capital for the weekend, not heading towards it. With this mindset, I graciously let an old man with a walking stick onto the train ahead of us. After initially hobbling, he suddenly showed a great turn of speed to grab the only free seat within sight.
Thankfully, much further on down the carriage we managed to find the last vacant seats on the train. It was a group of four with a table and we were quickly joined by what turned out to be a journalist and a mad woman who kept talking to herself and sniggering whilst playing games on her phone. A journey on public transport just wouldn't be the same without the company of a lunatic!
The train was rammed full, with many people standing for the entire journey. The drink and snacks trolley couldn't move because of the congested gangway and was stuck right by us. I was tempted to pinch a packet of biscuits that were winking at me, but to do so, I would have had to lean across the giggling mad woman and was worried she might bite me.
It's a good job I didn't need the toilet because there was no way of making it through the crowd. If I'd had to go, things would have got very messy. Although me soiling myself may well have delighted Mrs Mental as she'd probably have thought she'd finally found her equally troubled soul mate.
The weather deteriorated, and as we arrived in London, it was horribly wet and windy. I hoped it might ease off by the time we left cover, which was still some time off as we had to go subterranean and head towards Tower Hill tube station.
Our underground journey was complicated by a fire at Embankment which meant no trains would stop there. So instead we had to head in the opposite diretion to Westminster before resuming our journey east. I was pleased that I'd built in some contingency time into our journey to allow for such an occurrence.
What I hadn't planned for was our experience on the District line. The tube train was mainly packed but we spotted one carriage that was nearly empty. Thrilled at being able to sit down and not being put in that awkward situation where there is mass personal space invasion as you practically climb aboard the shoulders of your fellow travellers, we gleefully hopped on and sunk into our seats.
About two seconds later, it became apparent just why this carriage was empty. An ample Indian gentleman was sat a few seats up from us. He seemed very relaxed and had his arms spread out across the top of the two seats next to him. This had the unfortunate side affect of sharing what can only be described as his 'gargantuan stink' with the rest of us. Boy oh boy it was awful. His body still seemed to be trying to sweat out a hearty meal he'd eaten several years previously.
Now, being one myself, I'm fairly used to dealing with the odour generated by smelly old men. Dear Keira however was finding it increasing difficult not to gag. At first I thought she was joking, but the stench combined with the rocking motion of the train started to make her genuinely look like she was going to be ill. So, despite being a very un-British thing to do, we headed up the carriage away from this filthy behemoth, trying to take emergency breaths of deodorant and aftershave from the cleaner passengers along the way.
We finally arrived at Tower Hill, but was then engulfed by a sea of foreign students, whom it would appear had not come to see the Tower of London, but instead found it more entertaining to congregate in large numbers on the staircase and in front of the exit to the station.
With sharp elbows, we bowled through this loud, unruly group and finally broke free of cover, out into the fresh air! But suddenly we were faced with an even more almighty enemy than the bubble gum chewing, gibber jabbering Italian kids. The weather was even worse than when we had first arrived...
Would we make it to our destination? Or would we...no wait, you know that we obviously do make it because of the introduction to this post. But it was bloody hard! Tune in to part two to find out how we somehow managed to survive a howling gale and the adventures we had once at the exhibition.
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Problems be gone; it's Uncle Toby time!
Some heroes slip off into phone boxes to change into a bedazzling costume before helping to save the world. Not me though. Once again I'm donning my comfy knitwear with a vile pattern. I may not be able to fly, look through walls or dress myself without help, but that's not to say I'm no less capable of saving YOUR life.
That's right folks, tonight sees the return of Uncle Toby, ready to listen to YOUR problems and giving YOU sound and sensible advice to see YOU out of your hellish predicament.
If your haven't experienced Uncle Toby before, you're probably either stupid or on the list of people I'm not allowed to be within 50m of. Check out some of his previous wisdom here..
Without further ado, here are today's problemees:
Nick from London writes:
Dear Uncle Toby,
Two and a half years ago, everything was going so well for me. I had enjoyed a meteoric rise in popularity, not long after having achieved the highest rank in my organisation. But almost overnight this came to an abrupt end.
I entered into a relationship with a guy named David because I thought it would help my career. Despite our very different backgrounds and some reservations, I thought that somehow it was the right thing to do. He promised me earth and said he was committed to being my partner for at least the next five years.
Despite bending over backwards to accommodate his needs (quite literally - he'd obviously learned a thing or two from his time at Eton), he soon changed from the man I thought I'd hooked up with.
Despite appearing as charming to the outside world, behind the doors of our London town house, he was a violent bully and would make me do things I had PLEDGED never to do.
I have lost all self respect and my popularity has never been so low. Please tell me what to do!
Thanks for getting in touch Nick.
Obviously you are in quite a predicament. It's not easy to know how to tell you this, but it's only fair that I be completely honest with you: you only have yourself to blame.
You danced with the devil and he rogered you violently from behind with his dirty great trident. That is a well known risk of dancing with a lord of darkness.
You've obviously hurt a lot of people and let your friends and supporters down badly. Will you ever recover from this? Possibly not. But you do have a chance to do the decent thing and apologise before walking away with your head held high (assuming you CAN still walk after all that time on your knees).
Just one final tip - issue the apology in the form of a letter. If you upload it as a video to YouTube, it could be edited into a song and then no one will be able to take it seriously.
Okay, here's the next troubled soul, Justin from Bristol:
Alright? So I was with this woman right. And to begin with everything was all a-maze-in and good times, but then she started flippin out cos I wanted her to write down every luvver she'd ever had in a note book. When she never did, I pushed her in front of a car, AS A JOKE, but she takes it all serious like and gets the police involved. Now I'm in court and being charged with assault and that. What should I do?
Thanks Justin. Hmm, well, as this is in the hands of the court, I have to be very careful what I say.
It sounds to me like you may be suffering with VSMS or 'very strange man syndrome' as it is properly known. Symptoms include excessive hair growth (on both the head and face) and the continued use of a very strong regional accent, even though you've not lived in your place of birth for many years. Some scientists have suggested that the condition is exacerbated by spending too much time with bespectacled gay men, but these studies have yet to be substantiated.
There is no known cure at this time, but symptoms can be reduced by getting a smart hair cut, talking properly and not pushing your loved ones into traffic.
If that fails, then the only other way out is a late night walk along Clifton suspension bridge at high tide.
Good luck!
And finally tonight, here's one from K in Inverness:
Dear Uncle Toby,
I find myself getting angry and aggressive towards people for no real reason. I always regret doing it, but can't seem to control myself much of the time. Everything starts off fine but soon I lose my patience and JUST FUCKING ANSWER ME ALREADY WILL YOU?
Hi K, thanks for your email.
Okay, I sense there is tension and anger deep inside you. You need to try to get to the bottom of what has caused this. Be kind to yourself and let it bubble to the surface in a gentle and non judgmental way. Oh and a rollicking great orgasm would help too, but you're probably frigid.
And that's it for this evening folks. Remember, you can always email me your problems, no matter how big or small. As you can see, I will handle them delicacy and care.
That's right folks, tonight sees the return of Uncle Toby, ready to listen to YOUR problems and giving YOU sound and sensible advice to see YOU out of your hellish predicament.
If your haven't experienced Uncle Toby before, you're probably either stupid or on the list of people I'm not allowed to be within 50m of. Check out some of his previous wisdom here..
Without further ado, here are today's problemees:
Nick from London writes:
Dear Uncle Toby,
Two and a half years ago, everything was going so well for me. I had enjoyed a meteoric rise in popularity, not long after having achieved the highest rank in my organisation. But almost overnight this came to an abrupt end.
I entered into a relationship with a guy named David because I thought it would help my career. Despite our very different backgrounds and some reservations, I thought that somehow it was the right thing to do. He promised me earth and said he was committed to being my partner for at least the next five years.
Despite bending over backwards to accommodate his needs (quite literally - he'd obviously learned a thing or two from his time at Eton), he soon changed from the man I thought I'd hooked up with.
Despite appearing as charming to the outside world, behind the doors of our London town house, he was a violent bully and would make me do things I had PLEDGED never to do.
I have lost all self respect and my popularity has never been so low. Please tell me what to do!
Thanks for getting in touch Nick.
Obviously you are in quite a predicament. It's not easy to know how to tell you this, but it's only fair that I be completely honest with you: you only have yourself to blame.
You danced with the devil and he rogered you violently from behind with his dirty great trident. That is a well known risk of dancing with a lord of darkness.
You've obviously hurt a lot of people and let your friends and supporters down badly. Will you ever recover from this? Possibly not. But you do have a chance to do the decent thing and apologise before walking away with your head held high (assuming you CAN still walk after all that time on your knees).
Just one final tip - issue the apology in the form of a letter. If you upload it as a video to YouTube, it could be edited into a song and then no one will be able to take it seriously.
Okay, here's the next troubled soul, Justin from Bristol:
Alright? So I was with this woman right. And to begin with everything was all a-maze-in and good times, but then she started flippin out cos I wanted her to write down every luvver she'd ever had in a note book. When she never did, I pushed her in front of a car, AS A JOKE, but she takes it all serious like and gets the police involved. Now I'm in court and being charged with assault and that. What should I do?
Thanks Justin. Hmm, well, as this is in the hands of the court, I have to be very careful what I say.
It sounds to me like you may be suffering with VSMS or 'very strange man syndrome' as it is properly known. Symptoms include excessive hair growth (on both the head and face) and the continued use of a very strong regional accent, even though you've not lived in your place of birth for many years. Some scientists have suggested that the condition is exacerbated by spending too much time with bespectacled gay men, but these studies have yet to be substantiated.
There is no known cure at this time, but symptoms can be reduced by getting a smart hair cut, talking properly and not pushing your loved ones into traffic.
If that fails, then the only other way out is a late night walk along Clifton suspension bridge at high tide.
Good luck!
And finally tonight, here's one from K in Inverness:
Dear Uncle Toby,
I find myself getting angry and aggressive towards people for no real reason. I always regret doing it, but can't seem to control myself much of the time. Everything starts off fine but soon I lose my patience and JUST FUCKING ANSWER ME ALREADY WILL YOU?
Hi K, thanks for your email.
Okay, I sense there is tension and anger deep inside you. You need to try to get to the bottom of what has caused this. Be kind to yourself and let it bubble to the surface in a gentle and non judgmental way. Oh and a rollicking great orgasm would help too, but you're probably frigid.
And that's it for this evening folks. Remember, you can always email me your problems, no matter how big or small. As you can see, I will handle them delicacy and care.
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Weight a minute
As the wise and learned regular readers of my blog will know, I decided a few weeks ago that it was time to terminate the baby that Mr Kipling had deposited inside my belly and get, if not properly fit, at least a bit more comfortable within myself. Here's another progress report for you about how it's going.
My dear and lovely mother said to me the other day that she thought I had lost some weight. By 'weight' she could well mean general standing and influence in the community, but I think she actually meant it in relation to my portly girth.
Now, the reason for her saying this will either be because:
a) she knows that's what I've been trying to do. So being the kindly soul that she is, she's telling me what she thinks it is I want to hear, whilst privately weeping about how I will never present her with a grandchild while I remain this large. (Hmm, a lot of 'she' in that sentence there. Oh look, here come some more).
or
b) she genuinely thinks that I have lost weight. Whilst on the surface she pretends this is great, inside she'll be worrying that I'm wasting away and will start baking me lots of cakes and pies.
But in truth, I really do feel like I am making good progress in the right direction to get in shape. I have deliberately stayed away from monitoring the situation with weights and measures because I know I'd get obsessed with them and the roller-coaster of emotions they'd trigger.
I have no hard facts to present to you as evidence of my stoic adherence to a way of life that now excludes the second, third and fourth helpings I would have at one time shovelled down my gizzard.
So instead, I have to rely on other, more wooly indicators. These are far less tangible, but they still provide me with encouragement and hope.
I thought I'd share a few of the things I've noticed that have changed since I've started eating a bit less and doing a bit more. Who knows whether they're all related to my new regime, but I think in all likelihood they are:
* previously when I used to walk along, I felt like a cow who had reared up onto her hind legs and was strolling along with very full udders that were swinging from side to side (not sure where the teats came from mind). But now I feel like someone has given me a jolly good milking and there is far less udder / belly sway during movement.
* my trousers keep trying to fall down! Honestly officer, it happened all of its own accord. Yes I know it was an unfortunate coincidence to be walking past a 6th form college at the time. No, it's always that shape. Yes, it is cold today.
* I now get full half-way through a meal. This has honestly never happened to me before! I usually manage to last right until the end and then come back for seconds straight away. So embarrassing.
* I've somehow mastered the art of taking tea and cake without the cake! I know this sounds abhorrent, but a cup of tea by itself is actually really nice. I've started to appreciate the flavour of it much more. Plus, it can actually be quite filling in an odd way.
* I've learned that eating healthy food has an interesting effect on one's bowels. Who knew that filling up on fruit and nuts (note: not Fruit and Nut) could actually power you to blow your entire duvet clean out the window. And by 'clean' I really mean, oh never mind. Was particularly proud of a late night [insert polite word for fart] that sounded exactly like the noise they play when someone gets an answer wrong on Family Fortunes. Epic.
* no one has given their seat up for me on the bus in ages now. Although that could just be because of a moral breakdown in society, rather than people no longer thinking that I'm expecting.
One insight I have had from reducing calorific input, is just how much my excess eating had been emotionally based. I know that comfort eating is a well known phenomenon, and I would do my fair share of this. But actually, more often I would have a feast to celebrate feeling well and happy. Either way though, the end result is the same.
I am aware that my feelings of good progress could all just be clever trickery on the part of my subconscious. My cunning mind might be trying to convince me that all is fine now, so I can stop this reduced eating nonsense - "ooh, looking good Mr Skeletor, now stop this charade and feed me with cake again".
But I will persevere because I HAVE THE POWER!!! *holds baguette aloft like a sword*
And if you've never watched He-Man, you'll be thinking I'm mentally disturbed right about now. But really, we both know you're the one who has missed out.
My dear and lovely mother said to me the other day that she thought I had lost some weight. By 'weight' she could well mean general standing and influence in the community, but I think she actually meant it in relation to my portly girth.
Now, the reason for her saying this will either be because:
a) she knows that's what I've been trying to do. So being the kindly soul that she is, she's telling me what she thinks it is I want to hear, whilst privately weeping about how I will never present her with a grandchild while I remain this large. (Hmm, a lot of 'she' in that sentence there. Oh look, here come some more).
or
b) she genuinely thinks that I have lost weight. Whilst on the surface she pretends this is great, inside she'll be worrying that I'm wasting away and will start baking me lots of cakes and pies.
But in truth, I really do feel like I am making good progress in the right direction to get in shape. I have deliberately stayed away from monitoring the situation with weights and measures because I know I'd get obsessed with them and the roller-coaster of emotions they'd trigger.
I have no hard facts to present to you as evidence of my stoic adherence to a way of life that now excludes the second, third and fourth helpings I would have at one time shovelled down my gizzard.
So instead, I have to rely on other, more wooly indicators. These are far less tangible, but they still provide me with encouragement and hope.
I thought I'd share a few of the things I've noticed that have changed since I've started eating a bit less and doing a bit more. Who knows whether they're all related to my new regime, but I think in all likelihood they are:
* previously when I used to walk along, I felt like a cow who had reared up onto her hind legs and was strolling along with very full udders that were swinging from side to side (not sure where the teats came from mind). But now I feel like someone has given me a jolly good milking and there is far less udder / belly sway during movement.
* my trousers keep trying to fall down! Honestly officer, it happened all of its own accord. Yes I know it was an unfortunate coincidence to be walking past a 6th form college at the time. No, it's always that shape. Yes, it is cold today.
* I now get full half-way through a meal. This has honestly never happened to me before! I usually manage to last right until the end and then come back for seconds straight away. So embarrassing.
* I've somehow mastered the art of taking tea and cake without the cake! I know this sounds abhorrent, but a cup of tea by itself is actually really nice. I've started to appreciate the flavour of it much more. Plus, it can actually be quite filling in an odd way.
* I've learned that eating healthy food has an interesting effect on one's bowels. Who knew that filling up on fruit and nuts (note: not Fruit and Nut) could actually power you to blow your entire duvet clean out the window. And by 'clean' I really mean, oh never mind. Was particularly proud of a late night [insert polite word for fart] that sounded exactly like the noise they play when someone gets an answer wrong on Family Fortunes. Epic.
* no one has given their seat up for me on the bus in ages now. Although that could just be because of a moral breakdown in society, rather than people no longer thinking that I'm expecting.
One insight I have had from reducing calorific input, is just how much my excess eating had been emotionally based. I know that comfort eating is a well known phenomenon, and I would do my fair share of this. But actually, more often I would have a feast to celebrate feeling well and happy. Either way though, the end result is the same.
I am aware that my feelings of good progress could all just be clever trickery on the part of my subconscious. My cunning mind might be trying to convince me that all is fine now, so I can stop this reduced eating nonsense - "ooh, looking good Mr Skeletor, now stop this charade and feed me with cake again".
But I will persevere because I HAVE THE POWER!!! *holds baguette aloft like a sword*
And if you've never watched He-Man, you'll be thinking I'm mentally disturbed right about now. But really, we both know you're the one who has missed out.
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