Monday January 3 2006

Anyway's, I escaped death and even managed to come out of the whole affair with some kudos, mostly from little people. It was all good. I also got to see my Uncle and parents during the christmas period along with the first sighting of my sister in roughly two years. She continues to be the golden apple, so much so she is competitive for the attention it garners in the face of even the least interested competition, in the form of me at lunch with her and our aging parents.

Dad footed the bill for the meal in the usual pub restaurant overlooking the solent harbour and sister aside it was a pleasant meal. She wasn't particularly hideous to be honest. Realistically she probably feels competitive against the endeavours of big bro (Me) and subconsciously, I for my parents attention over her, despite convincing myself I dont give a damn!

Dad also beat me at Tiger Woods Golf on the playstation, an 18 hole matchplay event we play under ritualistic conditions for an appealing trophy. For the most part of the last two years the trophy has been mine but on the last occasion, circa November last, it was cruelly snatched from me at the hands of some amazing random luck on fathers behalf.

This time it was all rather exciting. I hadn't been able to putt for toffee all afternoon and was 3 shots down with three to go. Pops took his foot of the peddle and I managed to level it on the last with a precocious eagle that was setup with a second 200yard shot that rolled 6 foot from the flag. Unfortunately the playoff ended on the third hole after a sudden gust of wind took my ball perilously close to and over the cliff edge (links course) and the trophy remains standing proudly on his neatly cluttered working desk.

My uncle is terribly lonely, by himself at the age of 76 not withstanding the close friends at his local. Anyone reading this that learns that I didn't invite him for Christmas lunch might leap to a certain conclusion, you might even be partially right, but that has never been the way of our family. Which is not to say its right, but I had never even considered it! I will next year though, what was I thinking!

New Year was spent in the company of some very good people, role play around the dinner table in the setting of a murder mystery complimented by lots of champagne!

I am moving from Newbury next week, to heartland Sussex, which reminds me, best pack!

I have shed more tears, repeatedly
For those I have loved in recent time
And for he who gave so freely.

The journey began with an embrace, not with this end in mind
We would never have given so much, which pains me now
Not for the giving, but for the loss.

She is mighty, to be wondered at
Such fortitude, bathing in her glow
But only from below

It is the simple things we all desire, she craves
But from an unsure footing she consumes
Her retribution for the ghosts, has grown
So hurtful, too often

Life unfolds another page, not shiny or new
The glow will live, if only within
A childs small arms will haunt me
But can never leave

Eventually lucked on a blog from an Indian geezer who reckoned you needed twice as much water as rice, maybe a little more water but no more. Leave rice in water to stand for 10 minutes and then zap for 12-15 minutes depending on the number of cups of rice.

Of course if you put in more than one cup of rice you will be eating basmati for weeks, but this method does produce glorious tasting rice. Basmati is good by the way as its sugars, unlike most others, is held as starch. When you eat it the sugar is digested over a period of time, instead of giving your body one big sugar rush. Just in case you needed to know.

I traipsed down to ASDA Eastbourne on Sunday and got me some new tops and jeans (that fit) and got rid of a lot of the old at the clothes bank. Also got me a rail to put in my wardrobe from Focus. In typical johnie style I had been walking around Next for about 15 minutes before I glanced into a mirror and saw my left trouser leg was tucked into my socks!! Wise man say put on socks before trousers and make sure you put up mirror in hallway!

Went to see the wrinklies yesterday, as my day is free during my stint on the Duty mobile. We had lunch at the usual, very pleasant and stumped up myself this time. Got trounced by the old man at Tiger Woods, was 3 shots down after 4 holes and ended the game 6 down which was the result of me trying all manner things tricky to catch up. None worked.

We then had a few more revelations of the family nature, all a bit saddening. Totally shocking how much anger there is still, for those long gone and those that took a different stance. As always there are two sides to every story and a lot of static in between.

As these things do, it all started innocuously with my desire to get the content of this website listed in various webrings, and hopefully accumulate a few more visits to this site. After I got this site added to a movie review webring I realised that if I was going to get my writing added to a similar ring then it would need to look better and be more readily accessible. So now we have the mostly completed sparkling new iWrite section. For some reason I started with the oldest entries and worked my way back to the newest in reformatting, so if you click on the latest essays you will find the heading looks dodgy and the text the same as before, but at this time, starting with On Men the others have been done.

In addition to this, where applicable I have written a 'context' or summary text for most entries that talks a little, or in some cases alot about the motivation for the writing or a context for the time the essay refers to. I think its real cool, so even if you have read all these, and some really have! then go back and have a look at the sidebar text as well.

I also had a made spurt tonight for DIY and in three hours put up a glass shelf above the sink, assembled and put up my bathroom cabinet above the glass shelf above the sink, towel rail and toothbrush holder. I also moved my Jack Vettriano beach scene into the bathroom above the toilet and opposite, above the new towel rail I put my printed Garden at Giverny by Monet. That combined with the fact my Dragon firn now resides in the bathroom alongside the parlor palm (its all about sunlight but I will maybe tell you that one another day) has given the whole room a very clean classical look that I am exceedingly pleased with.

Now onto the small matter of the other three rooms.

That roughly equates to a 200+ page novel. Ummnnn!

Like tears in rain

Getting the actual construct out there was not hugely difficult. Getting the text to line up inside without going over the borders was one thing, getting the bottom of the menu on was another, but just making it look presentable was a whole mission in itself. The key, in the end was to change the border from its origin white, to the off black we now have here, just makes it stand out. Making the 'read this' text yellow really was the finishing touch and changed the complexion of the whole menu.

Was on the pool mobile last week, which means going far from the computer at the weekend is not a good idea. It was a perfect excuse to veg and recover from my DIY endeavors in Friday night. What it actually meant is that for the first time in I dont know how long I spent 6 hours playing Tiger Woods PGA Golf on Sunday. It felt hugely decadent, bit like a jumbo bar of Cadbury's but without the calories.

On the plus side I did spend quite some time organising my diet and Gym routine as well. The last 18 months have not been kind on my body fat ratio and its time to do something about it. This culminated in a large food shop in Somerfield of Uckfield yesterday after my first proper visit to the gym since October 2004, gasp!

Also added the 'Feedback' button which you should be able to see to the left of this page. Click on it and you should be able to send me an email with constructive comments about this site. I created the text in Fireworks and exported to SwishMax where I added the animation.

Felt like I had a lot to say when picking my phone up off the floor at lunchtime, but now I find myself before keyboard the words have dried up, almost. Life has been fairly nondescript while embarking on my monk like body fat reducing regime. Last weekend was spent doing very little under the pretense of study. I managed to churn out two shelf's worth of 'On The Shelf' reviews which I hope you have checked out. There are six shelf's left. I also added links to Amazon for the full movie reviews plus the 4 and 5 star reviews in the Shelf section. The links when you click on them allow you to be taken straight to Amazon UK and be able to purchase the DVD for which you have just read my fabulous review. This in turn will make me a small amount of credit for which I can buy more DVD's to review. Neat huh! Click away.

Went to get some passport type photies at lunchtime. Decided on a proper photo shop opposed to one of those sit in a booth and wait an interminable amount of time for the in booth Windows photo computer to boot, before it takes 4 identical out of focus shots. Mind you the girls in the photo shop were not much better, had to have three lots of photies done before they got it the right size and even then there seemed to be some blur on the image, two chins you see.

While waiting for the first set of pictures to come out wrong I went just up the way to Bentalls which is a nice old fashioned department store. Was looking for a casserole pot that I can leave on the stove and trust to 'simmer' by food. This after I decided to cook four sittings worth of pasta boulegnese last week. The sauce said mix the pre fried mince with the sauce, cover and leave to simmer for an hour. I only had a large frying pan so decided that covering wasn't that big a deal.

I made one other mistake, I didn't turn the gas down to simmer level, the contents of the pan were simmering when I left it. When I returned 30 minutes later to check on my masterpiece the mince and sauce had fussed as one burnt lump at the bottom of the pan in a rough approximation of what I can only imagine part processed rubber must look like.

I did try eating a portion of this, out of sheer belligerence but the experience was enough to lead me to bin the rest immediately.

Bentalls had a wide selection, priced between 25quid and about 150quid, which seemed extortionate for a metal tin with a lid. I eventually found a whole rack that had been reduced to 8quid from 25, so one was promptly purchased. I will let you know how I got on.

In between waiting for the next set of photographs I was wondering around the photo shop and was looking at the rather neat looking pouches you can get now for various electronic components. There was a really small one apparently for a compact camera. It struck me this also looked about the right size for my stunning new Motorola V3I mobile flip phone. Its so new I cant get a case for it and I am not the sort of phone owner that should be without a case for long. The V3i fitted perfectly and the case had a really practical no slip belt clip.

So I brought this, took it out of the cardboard package while the girl pulled the strip off the back of my photies. Got my phone out to put it in its new protective cover and of course immediately drop the phone on the floor with a loud clatter. Luckily despite looking like it will break if you look at it hard, it survived and its now safely snug in the new case. I never intend taking it out.

Found out my ex-wife is pregnant today. Quite interesting, I dreamed that she was pregnant last Christmas, now I know she is I put the coincidence of the dream down to sheer odds. If she was going to have a kid it would have to be relatively soon, based on age.

Finding this sort of thing out is one of those things I think you are programmed into having an emotional reaction to. All that sanctity of the marriage bond, and the concept of your wife being pregnant by another man, even the ex wife. I had struggled to move on over the years that immediately followed the separation (in 2000) but have got to the stage where I just look back at those times with some fondness and a little regret. After all you cant go denying all the things in your life that come to nothing, you could end up wiping out most of your life experiences.

I was surprised I felt very little, almost like there was closure. Haven't quite worked that one out yet.

Am going to try the casserole pot the 'morrow so I will let you know how it goes.

The exam was yesterday and today was about not studying, or at least studying something I am interested in. I did get very excited about Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) during my lunch break.  CSS is a powerful component of web design that I knew could do amazing things. In my mind though these amazing things have been of a graphical nature and, apart from the general layout of text on these pages not something I had delved too deeply into.

One of the first things I tried and failed to do on this website (ed circa 2002) was to manipulate the URL to look how I wanted it to. The URL or hyperlink as it is often referred, being the links on the page that allow you to jump to another page just by clicking on it. Normally they look like this which although functional is rather static and unappealing. I wanted something that stood out on the page and would interact when you moved your mouse over it, something cooler like this. At the time it seemed to me that the only way I could do this was by creating rollover images which is something I discuss in the Techno section.

So I sat down and did some research on good sites that might show me the ways of CSS. I eventually came to one site called www.w3schools.com which, if web design is of any interest to you, you should immediately visit. Not only did it have tutorials on CSS, but simplified Javascript and extended version of HTML. This is the very best  example for a website brilliantly devised and presented along its objectives that makes the advertising it carries very relative. Stepping through the tutorials shows me that creating the interactive URL's, without going to the fiddly trouble of rollover images was not as elusive as I might imagine. So it was that I rushed home and, after some fiddling, had achieved  that which I desired for so long.

Having got the basic URL's working I decided that I should also revamp my  main menu on this front page, from a fairly static image map to something slightly more impressive. I ported what I had learned from CSS into the new menu system. Hoorah. Its not quite there right now but is a fair representation of where I am currently at. I am hoping that very soon it will look a lot better.

The only problem with this then is that I am currently doing the healthy lifestyle thang. Despite this, and two decades worth of experience in the realm of self control and enjoyment where Guinness is involved,  I really did firmly believe that I would go there and only have the two pints.

Of course what really happened is that we got there at just after two Saturday afternoon. The football preamble came and went, the commentators sitting behind screens in the studio and updates from the grounds blurred as one. Pompey held out till the second half but succumbed to the Chelsea onslaught and the days results were posted. There were brief flashes of England struggling against a resurgent Scotland and the final disappointment of the Scottish victory. We finally left just before nine.

Not having drank for two weeks meant that it all hit me a little harder and I think it was only years of relentless training that saw me through! I have distant  memories of quaffing down half a chicken with some bread roles when we got back. Next thing I know I wake up at eleven with Gary Lineker doing his Saturday night review of the days football and my Uncle raising the rafters upstairs.

I cant tell you how annoyed I am that having abstained for two weeks, with relative ease, the first time the nectar passes my lips I get absolutely trollied. Its annoying, apart from the fact I felt really bad all through the day, still feel rough right now and didn't go to the gym.

I did stop off at Havant ASDA on the way home today. What a place that is. Walking up and down the isles I was reminded of the huge shopping centres in America when I reminded myself this was actually owned by wall mart. Got myself a second cutlery set, some place mats, DVD's, tupperware and of course some food.

Cooked myself a quick meal this evening, refreshingly healthy after the debauchery of the weekend and eventually watched 'Brotherhood of the Wolf' which is an extremely stylised French movie set in the 18th century, purchased earlier that day in ASDA. I know its not the done thing, specially round these parts but I quite admire the French.

For anyone that has read both books it is very clear that one of the threads running through 'The Da Vinci Code' and some key messages are first detailed in Holy Blood, Holy Grail. Brown even acknowledges this in his own. I find particularly interesting though, that the writers of Holy Blood should bring a case against Dan Brown for plagiarising their work considering the following quote from the introduction of Holy Blood;

.. we felt the story had passed out of our hands, had passed beyond us, into the public domain and the hands of other researchers. This, as we stated at the end of The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail, was just what we hoped would happen.

If they had written a book of fiction the similarities between the two books would be undeniable plagiarism, but as they purport their premise to be conclusion based on historic evidence then is there copyright for historic conjecture?

I doubt at all that the authors are motivated by the fact that Da Vinci and its spin offs are making Dan Brown $43 million a year. Its a shame because I was quite taken by their enthusiasm for the subject in their book, despite its constant requirement to make 'best guesses' and feel they have offered a fairly well documented, if unlikely alternate to the classical figure of Jesus. Dan Brown in turn, has taken the basic premise they unveil, mixed in some enterprising puzzles and topped it off with some dark catholic dealings and run of the mill cross Europe thriller chase. So what!

Interesting week. Seems I took an allergic reaction to something at my Uncles, which meant that from Sunday onwards I felt fairly crap, over and above the excesses of the day before. This resulted in a particularly unpleasant rash on my face which was a little disconcerting, enough that I felt conscious about public forays. As we close today its just getting back to rosy cheeked normality.

Ontop of which I watched Fargo last night, brilliant movie but left me a little depressed, wasnt quite sure why. I think its because the William H Macy character was an out of control escalation of the predicaments we can sometimes find ourselves. Something deep inside me acknowledged that once or twice in my life I have been two or three bad decisions away from that whole world of pain. I think it was his final scene that really got to me! Great, great film though, Fran Mcdormand was exceptional as was Macey.

Funny thing happened last Sunday afternoon, which I hadn't mentioned before. I brought a computer from QVC. Can't believe I did it really and sure that my expectations will be shattered. They had Dell on there presenting their geewizz multi media PC which seemed to fulfil all my expectations for a new PC, which admittedly I am looking for at this time. I went online and checked the specification and price against the Dell build your own options but could not get it down to the price QVC were offering. So I ordered from QVC!!

Currently the PC I have at home is my desktop from work, but I need to take it back into the office as it being at home, albeit helpful for my two working at home days, is a pain for my three in office days.

This new thing, for those interested in such things is multi media orientated, so we are talking 24 inch wide screen LCD monitor, 1Gb ram (which I plan on expanding to 3Gb immediately), DVD Read Write, Soundblaster Audigy with 5.1 speakers, 256Mb ATI video card and supercooled processor that allegedly makes no noise. Additionally it runs Microsoft's Media Centre OS which I had never heard of before and has DAB TV Tuner and remote control, which you can then control, watch, listen and switch between with from your living room chair, in my case Ikea poontang, or some similar named seating contraption. Of course there was a hitch, apparently my card didn't authorise but there is plenty of credit, I reckon they are stalling for time on their 5-7 day delivery promise. If its not shipped next week its toast.

On Monday I signed upto www.fasthost.co.uk and registered www.johniebg.co.uk with 150Mb of hosted webspace and 150Mb worth of mySql database. This in readiness for the next stage of this websites evolution. The plan is to implement PHP and mySql components such as feedback forms that get mailed to me by my server and not be reliant on your client email. Additionally am looking to dynamically update this blog through an interface at my server and not through editing a page and uploading. I want to create web site stats as well. The first stage will be that www.johniebg.net accesses dynamic pages from this new site, mid phase is it will redirect completely and finally I intend transferring my www.johniebg.net to this new host.

I also found out about RSS feeds the day which I also plan on adding to this site in the mid term, or as soon as I work out how much work would be involved. RSS (Really Simple Syndication) is a process which allows you to define a list of updates to your site that are dynamically updated to the users web browser, if they chose too. They can then simply click on your bookmark in their browser and it pops up with a list of new stuff on your website which they can then go straight to. Saves them having to go to your site and find it.

All quite exciting! Except some people cant see the point of me doing this all myself. Mostly because there are pre built packages out there that you can install and do all this and more without the ordeal of learning these technologies! They are missing the point! Why does anyone buy a kit car and build it when you can go out and buy a pre built one. Why? because they love the building process and driving around in something constructed of their own hand.

That's the nearest analogy I can give you anyway's. Off now to go cook some food and watch the England friendly!

Today is a cold morning, so bare with me I am sure it will all become lucid at any moment. I suppose I should start with last Friday. I went to the gym on the way home, which was at the end of a long day that had required three hours and 30 minutes commuting. During the journey home I had done much deliberating on whether to actually stop at the gym. I got there though, changed, went into the gym and did my thing before returning home.

On saturday I was looking for my shoes prior to leaving for my uncles, I couldn't find them anywhere. It eventually occured to me this was because the last time I had seen them, they sat at the back of the locker in the gym. I suppose I could have gone there on the way to my Uncles or called reception but I don't think of such things and just got in the car and went, the events of which are documented elsewhere on this site.

I worked at home on Monday. Come the evening I was sitting in the gym changing room pulling my jeans over my trainers, when an open locker with my shoes sat in the back caught my attention.

This friday, same commute and 18:00 I am deliberating whether to go and see 'The Matador' at the Bracknell UCI which starts at 19:00 or go home and to the gym. Ultimately I choose the gym for some reason, I think maybe my poor form the weekend before was a motivating factor. So, thirty minutes past the hour of six I am heading towards the M3 along the A322. Its 5 miles from my office to the M3 and a further 7 from the M3 to the M25. It took me seven minutes to do the first five miles and two hours and nineteen minutes the next seven. There had apparently been a crash just before the junction of the M25 on the M3. It had probably occurred as I was walking to my car judging by the fact we were stationary for two hours of the wait and had to budge to one side to let the vehicle recovery trucks past.

By the time I got onto the M25 it was roughly the same time I would have got there if I had actually gone to see the movie and of course, too late to get to the gym. So much for diligence. Of course the traffic reports that constantly feeds me news of hell suffered by other drivers, dried up immediately. After 90 minutes Radio Five Live did a 20 second appraisal that didn't even include the M3 and on two hours a local radio station announced an accident at Jct 2 was causing holdups on the northbound M3. No F(bleep) S(bleep) sherlock!

I maintained a loose hold on sanity by promising myself a takeaway chicken balti and ice cold cobra from the local indian 'stead of a quiet friday night workout. This was a prophecy fulfilled at 10 shortly after I got home.

As an epilogue, I was still wired till late and didn't eventually get to bed till four of the saturday morning. Got up at midday and felt sluggish all day. Eventually did get to the gym for 18:40 and was once more in the locker pulling my jeans over my trainers when an attendant breezed in and asked me whether I was changing for the gym? Dumbfounded I replied in the affirmative, not quite sure what else he was expecting me to be doing in the gym changing room. He announced it closed at seven on saturdays. I cant repeat what I said once he had jauntily left, but I almost knocked a guy off his feet with the entrance door as I barged through on my way out and had to go back and apologise.

Even as I type my desire to not swear on this site is being severally tested. Seven o'clock, f(bleep)ing market town leisure centre! surprised they decided opening was worthwhile with only f(bleep)ing 24 hours in the f(bleep)ing day. Signing off.

Two things happened shortly after each other. Firstly the building futures thing didn't pan out much to the dismay of my heavy heart. Shortly after, the guy renting my place patched up the differences with his estranged wife and moved back in with her.

I do love Sussex, especially where I live. To say it is a beautiful part of the country, does it no justice. This expanding market town situated in the rolling hills, resting just above the south downs can trace its lineage back to a 14th century hamlet. Even now as I look out of my high skylight window and look upon the surrounding area, I see irregular pockets of houses dispersed amongst occasionally wooden countryside. Every branch, leaf and stone wall dripping with English history. Wood smoke roles from chimneys and you get the distinct impression that this place has little changed in many generations.

The only problem with this then is that its at least 2 hours away from the rest of my life! Despite two days working at home, the three days commuting from Sussex to Berkshire take a heavy toll, as does visiting relations, friends and travelling anywhere in the UK for work that is not London. My mainstays; work is two hours, relatives two hours, Brum nearly four hours. Just getting to a major road in any direction is an hour unless your travelling at midnight on a Sunday.

So it is with a fair reluctance, given the optimism with which I moved here barely two months ago that I have to face reality. The futures thing was why I was here, but as this is now not the case I am going to move lock stock and two smoking barrels back across the country to my flat in Berkshire.

This is equally set in a market town, but one further expanded than this in Sussex. The flat does not look out over rolling countryside but instead the busy A4, although is surrounded by the best the west country has to offer. I was quite happy in Berkshire before I came here, but the sheer beauty of the locale and I think above all the sheer pain of moving my whole life once more seems very unappealing, although, thank goodness not to a new start.

Berkshire has its benefits, the flat is big, it is only a 30 minute commute down the M4 to work, 50 minutes down the A34 to Portsmouth and 90 minutes up the A34 to Brum. Heathrow is under 40 mins and Gatwick just an hour.

I wont go yet I dont think, I have a weeks holiday soon from which I will return and start redecorating the Berkshire pad, best done while its empty me thinks. I will sell off a bunch of stuff I dont need anymore, like my massive 42inch rear projected TV, along with a bunch more electronic kit I just dont use, clothes and remnants of a previous life that were rented with my flat. We will see, hope lives eternal.

I drew up a list of my living arrangements since 2001 the other day, while deliberating pro's and con's for moving;

2001 – Living in hotels almost through the whole year working abroad
2002 – Living in digs while working in Yorkshire, back to Suffolk weekends
2003 – Took job in Bracknell bunked up with a relative in Hampshire
2003 – Moved to own digs in Hampshire
2004 – Sold house in Suffolk, moved to digs in Berkshire
2004 – Brought flat in Berkshire and moved into it
2006 – Moved to Sussex
2006 – Back to Berkshire and there to stay for a while.

In the end though I cant stay here anymore, my life just isnt here. Whether I stay through to the end of this rental agreement or stay another six months I would move away, so might as well bite the bullet now.

Monday March 13 2006 - A weekend in Suffolk

Well I was back there this last weekend and started writing about it when I got back. Fact is though, I havent stopped writing since, so the chunk of text I now have has been cut and pasted to an iwrite section and will become available as soon as I have finished it.

It was a good weekend, am damn glad I dont live there anymore though.

I have spent quite a while thinking about how I might describe in words the beauty that is this new republic finding its feet in the post communist era. Words fail me, mostly. The last time I went it was the height of the tourist season and I have to say, packed. Despite the glorious sunshine, spending much of the holiday shoulder to shoulder with loud and disorderly English and Americans alike. March was a much better time to take in this amazing place. Like so many major cities it sits on the banks of a large river and like so many born of the middle ages sits at the foot of at least one large hill, in this instance two. One of the hills props up the castle and estate of the well to do forefathers. We stood atop these hills last week, looking down and across at the snow covered suburbs that now sprawls over and away from the river, into the horizon. It does not take a great stretch of the imagination to see this magnificent city at its genesis a thousand years ago. Capitalism will probably ruin it but for now it is a treasure you should behold.

When it did arrive, sometime around Tuesday lunchtime I received; A 24inch widescreen DVI capable monitor, a base unit with 1Gb ram, 3Ghz Processor, a network card, tv tuner, ATI 256Mb DVI capable graphics card, remote control, Ir receiver, DVB ir Receiver, 5.1 surround sound speakers including subwoofer, a ton of cables all individually wrapped in bomb proof plastic and five bits of paper with lots of pictures and arrows detailing how it should all be setup in 8 languages. There were two install CD's each for the monitor and the IR remote in turn and a piece of paper shaped like a CD that stated that I need not worry about install CD's as it was all part of the PC build. Ha Ha! I laugh now as I reflect.

It took me an hour just to unpack all the stuff and more than that to assemble and connect all the components. It had been midday when I signed a piece of paper with my name and confirmed my door was white. It was dark by the time it was all connected. I plugged in the last power cable, despite all the work my fingers trembled ever so slightly at the prospect of powering on this beast. The surge protected power strip glowed with a red light, I reached round and pressed the power button on the main unit. Nothing.

The following 90 minutes was spent eradicating everything other than the precious base unit as the cause of failure, which was futile, it was the base unit. I seriously considered declaring a Jihad against Dell before opting to ring support instead. Seemed like the path of least resistance. Jihad would have been more effective; 'Your in a very long queue and we cant imagine when we will get around to taking your call, please wait!'

My speaker phone repeated the message every 90 seconds while I contemplated extreme violence, all around me seemed reluctant, damn inanimate objects, no fight in them.

After 30 minutes on hold I simmer back into the leisure room where my computer obstinately sits lifeless. I despair and stab the button one last futile time; everything springs into life!! There's so many led's flashing I worry Gatwick air traffic control might get jealous. Its worked ever since. I have no idea why the damn ON button didn't work for the hour that I had been pressing it beforehand. I put it down to condensation.

Of course getting the thing to start was just the beginning of the ordeal but five days down the line, sitting in front of the beautiful 24inch screen that shows colors via DVI as I have never seen them I am not quite so in love with Dell anymore, but I do love my new PC. Nathan Fillion never looked so dark and magnificent!

I think other than just spending time with them, which often feels precious in itself, conversation and a meeting of the minds is so complimentary. I would enjoy a discussion with them both even if we were not related. It is extremely interesting to me, how I see distinct aspects of myself in their thoughts and actions regardless of the physical similarities. You would think that this has been because I have spent a lifetime with them, their characteristics are bound to rub off. The truth is though that I left home twenty years ago and have probably not seen them more than once a year through the first 18 years of that time and on each occassion, seldomly for more than a few hours. I seem to have come to the extraordinary similarity relatively independently.

As with most adults I have enocuntered, I spent a large portion of my life denying that I was anything like my parents, as if we could be anything else. I am certainly me, and am pleased that I am a unique and refined incarnation of that biologically inherited from my parents. But there is no mistaking the fact that I am a product of their union. Which brings me to a thought that often strikes me.

I am artistic, willful, imaginative, stubborn, passionate and I suspect compulsive like my mother. Methodical, clever, staid, thoughtfull, creative and more physically like my father, especially facially. A portion of this must come from upbringing, of course, although I think this effects the person you are, over what you are. So did I get all these things from just one tiny sperm and an egg? Many of these are mental processes, they are in the biological mix as well?

Time to do some research on DNA me thinks which no doubt will result in a blog sometime in the medium to distant future on the nature of the soul.

Of course, completely knackered the day, but thankfully no hangover. Eyelids got heavy the afternoon shortly after lunch but managed to struggle through too six thirty. Checked the AA and a few other sites and no reported motorway incidents, and headed off toward Sussex.

There is a mile stretch of the M3, as you approach junction 2 and the M25 that seems to me like a high speed dodgem ride. Cars are joslting for position and darting in and out of the tighly packed cars for the clockwise or anticlockwise lanes of the M25. All in the hope of saving a few minutes of queueing. As the 1/2 mile marker appears up ahead everything came to a very sudden halt. Everything on my passenger seat is now in the footwell. Within 10 minutes there were lots of sirens shooting past the stationary cars and coming to a stop about 500 yards ahead. After another 5 minutes we slowly move forward and towards the cause of the congestion. There is a silver Honda Civic upside down in the middle lane, pointing the wrong way. It looks like it left the ground at some stage and has come down hard on the offside front corner of the roof. The bit directly over the driver, which is almost flat. A shredded airbag billows listleslly through the glassless windows. There is a line of hurriedly halted cars on the hard shoulder with an assortment of impact marks. Behind, on the sloping embankment there are a whole bunch of stunned looking individuals that 15 minutes ago, only had getting home and what they were going to have for tea on their minds. I hope one of them is the driver, but as I inched past on the outside lane an ambulance screamed to a halt by the car, it seemed unlikely.

The sheer force that must be required to flip a whole car into the air and have it hit the ground upside down, facing the wrong way, seems almost incomprehensible. Life can change in the blink of an eye.

For about 18 months I have been planning and even written part of a book that has been a long standing dream of mine to write. The trouble is, its so much of a dream I have spent over a year researching it and researching it and researching it. So much so that very little time has actually been spent writing the damn thing!. It is almost in part like I am scared to sit down and write, for fear that I realise I can't. Shattering the dream.

The irony then is that I really dont have a clue what I am doing, in the truest sense. I have never written a book. Hell, some serious skullduggery was required just make it out of school with respectable English qualifications. I want to write though and have written lots on this site in this pursuit. Over 80,000 words in total. On the book front I need to pluck the dream from the vapor and get going. The first drafts will probably be dire but there is only one way to learn, keep getting back on the bike. Believe.

Which leads me to the second part of his blog. The BBC today reported that the inaugural prize for a blog turned book was dished out to Julie Powell for her book Julie & Julia. That's right! The blooker prize is dished out to bloggers that have turned their blog's into books. Ummn I hear you say, we see where this is going!

It is, sort of, but bare with me. So, this lunchtime I did spend forty min's or so reading Julie Powell's later blog's post completion of her quest to cook 500+ recipes from the 1960's book by Julia Child; 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking'. She is a secretary by trade, not a writer, but what she does write is sharp, honest, very observant and clean. Clean in the sense you don't much get bogged down in what she is saying. Her language, certainly isn't clean on the verbal front and not for the feint hearted. You often laugh inside though.

So. Here is the interesting bit, for me at least. Suitably intrigued by the whole writing a blog about a life mission, I have decided to change the focus of this blog for the next twelve months. It will still be about me but will focus significantly on my journey to getting the first draughts of my story out there.

I have been writing a synopsis now for the last 6 weeks, but this is a perfect testament to the problem I have. Half way through I got stuck on a key plot point, got an idea for another blog, dropped the synopsis and ended up with a 8000 word essay on diet and nutrition. In itself this will probably have several of you in stitches. Not in the reading, its all a little earnest, but in the fact that I have written on this particular subject. As I say to anyone that finds this point amusing, "which man would you seek out on diet? The man that is slim and seldomly ponders the salient points of weight control, or the one that at times falls from physical grace but knows his way back?". Something like that anyways.

On the story front I need to focus. The plan is to finish the synopsis and get my feet wet writing three short stories which will appear on this site. These short stories, as literary trailers for the bigger story will hopefully gain some interest for the whole premise and some feedback.

I think therefore the first thing I need to do is write a schedule. Well the first thing I need to do is finish the diet and nutrition thing and then the schedule. Damn, and do some decorating. Am going to get the schedule done by the end of the week, It has to be done.

I think I used to be wittier, I think all that stopped when I started worrying about what I should include on this site, for the concern of offending the participants in my life. I shall just have to be creative. We need witty, for the humour of life, is life itself.

I could be completely wrong but it occured to me that this accident was very likely caused by someone realising at the last moment that they were about to miss their junction and making a last second bolt for the slip road, and taking with them someone simply trying to get from A to B. The next junction is two miles up the road. Makes you think.

If you cant be bothered to get the DVD and watch these scenes its 'Morena Baccarin' who played 'Inara' in both the TV and movie incarnations of 'Firefly' and 'Serenity'.

Unfortunately, I dont tend to make things overly easy for myself and one thing led to another. The priority for sending off for the log book slowly slipped in the fairly crowded but unhurried list of things I really should be doing, but havent been given the impetus to actually do. As such almost one year after guiding the Rover into the car park for the last time, I got hauled into a meeting room with the building manager at work and some geezer from HR.

They tried to make the most of the opportunity; 'very serious situation' ... 'if there was an accident' ... 'your responsibility' etc were rolled out in grave tones. I pondered the seriousness of a car parked in a private car park, and that anyone running into my stationary vehicle deserved all that would befall them. I made a beligerently accomplished effort at looking like I thought they were being over dramatic. Their desire to remove the car was not wholy lost on me though, especially as it was now covered in a years worth of garage dust, had 'help' etched in large letters on the rear window and both nearside tires were flat. This once mightly car did now look rather sorry for itself.

Its being picked up on Friday by a vehicle removal company who will deposit it outside my flat in Berkshire where I will clean it and sell it on eBay. If that fails then the local council will pick it up for nothing, apparently. All I have to do is send off for the log book.

In an ironic twist, Summer Glau also has a new movie ready to be launched on an eager American public. Named; Mammoth, it looks like straight to video fare by the look of the description and publicity poster. We all live in hope though.

Sure enough, I am 5 minutes out of Bracknell and the phone goes and the guy announces he is sitting outside. This strikes me as a tad strange as I work in a big complex of about 5 buildings and sitting outside would mean either blocking a main road or a private road in the complex. Sure enough I park up and he is no where to be seen. A quick phone call confirms that he is sitting outside my flat 30 miles away, apparently waiting for the keys.

An hour later the guy arrives. Large, clad in overalls, limping, with volumous grey white hair and a drooping handlebar moustache. The later appears to be so from the sheer weight of facial hair over any design intention. He drags the pulley cable into the covered parking, bending down to hook the cable onto the back of my car. In the process he farts so load, and with so much resonance I expect him to stand bolt upright with a sheer look of realised horror on his face and start backing away. But he continues as if nothing has happened and 10 minutes later the car is not only on the back of the truck but the geezer has offered to take the car off my hands and straight to the scrap yard, rather than the car parking space outside my flat. This does sound appealing. The thought of the car in its current state outside my house for 10 days while I find somewhere else to park, sounds very unappealing. Especially as the council are only going to take it to scrap anyway's. Something about the eagerness with which the offer is made, and the almost imperceptible shadow of greed on the guys face, makes me falter, momentarily. I had checked the web and as a whole this car doesn't seem worth more than 200 quid. So either its worth has been underestimated or 200 quid means more to him than it does me. I guess it is probably the later. He took it to the scrap yard.

I loved that Rover. In 100,000 miles over five years in never let me down save for two punctures and the second one didn't count as it was right next to a tyre shop. It was brought by me and the ex-wife in January of 2000 and was hotly debated in the post break-up negotiations, I fought hard to keep it. Me and that Rover spent a lot of hours driving about this country, mostly alone. It took me to work, interviews, friends and hopeful meetings with many women. There have been all manner of people in that passenger seat, from surly old men, children peering over the window and pressing every button, too women both coiled defensively and sleekly, legs disappearing into the foot well. It has carried me home bereft and in tears and seen me shouting with joy, mostly though I just listened to the radio. I know its an inanimate heap of metal parts but somehow, its left its mark and will be remembered with considerable fondness.

Got back to the flat early on Friday as I was having the second of three quotes done for laminating every floor space in the flat. Real wooden floors have been discounted on price in context to the flats worth. If this was a country house or a mansion conversion type apartment, or one that stylishly looked over a flowing river or something, I might consider it. As much as I like my apartment its none of the above, so we get laminated. The first guy that turned up on Thursday night seemed real nice. A short, timid sort of person with a birthmark across his nose. He seemed real genuine, very keen and really wrong footed, almost jilted when I told him I was getting two other quotes. His was the cheapest price but the guy that turned up on Friday, did so with exactly the type of flooring I wanted from the description I gave him and spent some time detailing how it would look. 250quid more expensive, but I judged to be worth it. The third quote was a waste of time. Either she knew I was set already or just could not be bothered to sell her product. Her quote came in at over a grand more expensive than the others and despite attempts at questioning it was real difficult to get information about joins between rooms and beading and all that sort of stuff.

Didn't do much else that night save for splatter more tester pots over myself and the walls and sand over filled holes. Did another tour round B&Q for essentials. Seems like every time I go to the counter there, irrespective of what I have in my basket the bill is fifty quid.

As is my want I have purchased a whole bunch of decorating gadgets that apparently guarantee straight edging lines and back ache free ceilings. In the end though they were rubbish, dripping paint everywhere. Ended up using an edging brush, a mini roller and a large roller. Got the ceilings done first then spare room, just so I could see what the color looked like in a whole room before banging it onto the living room walls. It was just what I wanted when there was light in the room, as the light dropped though the yellow became richer. I think it should be ok, I have tested enough colors to know there is nothing pre mixed that I want. I might save the living room for last and head straight into the bedroom with Wild Primrose and see how that pans out. Gets a similar amount of natural light to the living room.

Not exactly rock an' roll is it!

Of the three I opened and read the first chapter of both 'Julie and Julia' and 'Belle de Jour' during my lunch break, both were captivating reading from the get go. Something about Belle de Jour though, dont know whether its the chronicle of a girls move from unemployed graduate into fulltime, willfull prostitution and all that entails in the male mind, or whether its just brilliantly written. On the whole I think the balance is about 40-60. Anyways it sat willing me to read more all afternoon.

If I have had a long day that involves getting back to Sussex in the late evening, I usually get something to eat and then trawl the web, do something bloggish and then goto bed. This will usually then mean reading for about half an hour before reaching out, dousing the light and relatively quickly descending into slumber.

Most of that happened last night, upto the dousing light thing. I sat up against the brushed metal framed head board wearing shorts and t-shirt and opened up Belle de Jour where I left off that lunchtime. It was about 11PM. By 4:30AM I had to force myself to put the book down and turn off the light. As I rested my head on the latex pillow, dawns chorus was just starting up, the night a slightly lighter shade of dark. I am halfway through the book, which I know I will read again the instant I have finished the other two. She is a prostitute, she is a girlfriend, a friend and someones daughter, but above all her thoughfull, questing nature is what keeps you turning the pages. Cant wait for tonight.

Which means I should probably leave but can't stomach another move just now, at least of my own volition. The job is cool, technically best I have had, its just the ambling infrastructure, forced crap policies and too many round pegs squeezed into square holes too far up the totem poll. I should do what most others do and keep my trap shut, but that, historically has been my folly.

Read a whole heap more of 'Belle de Jour' last night, which I used translation.com today to work out means 'Beautiful day'. I think thats lovely. Can't believe a lot of people think this is a hoax. The story is far too nuanced to be so, her loss of direction while casting about for a mate through the early part of 2003 and increasingly dry and darker posts at the futility of her search are far too natural and succinct to be anything other than real.

Writing frequently and honestly about your own life does very often bring home the truth of the whole, above the narrow focused day to day, week to week overcoming of individual obstacles. It can very often be depressing as this reality sinks in.

Reading the book though, has been inspiring, resulting in me dumping 3000 words to keyboard last night on a topic that will probably never see the light of day, certainly not under the banner of johniebg anyway.

Wrapped up at 2 as I had to be up and out the door for 7:30 the morning but aim to finish the book tonight. Great stuff.

Finally, keeping with the spirit of BdJ; six of us from the office went to the pub lunchtime, prior to my rant, celebrating a birthday. The barmaid did everything while pouring two pints of Guinness that winds me up about bar staff that just don't think or care, as follows;

Dont fill the glass so full that when you hand it to me there is Guinness streaming down the sides, over your hands and on the counter. Its just really unappealing.

Dont have any part of your hand inside the glass when handing it too me and if you do, dont leave it with your thumb imprint in the head. Have the decency to scrape off said imprint, refill and try handing it to me again.

Dont bang the glass down on the counter, no matter how much of a hurry you are in, it usually results in at least one of the above two

Remember I have paid for what you have just handed me, your not doing me a favour!

It can't be that difficult surely

Being this high in a populated area, means you can see a lot of windows, especially with the trees so bare. Its unavoidable. You can see the shadows of life behind those shrouded, and blurred but colored forms behind the semi opaque and others clear as looking through glass itself. There are open kitchens, bedrooms, living rooms, studies, photo studios and the people that go about their day in these spaces. A wife making the bed or in the kitchen, children running about or stationary on the living room floor, an ever changing glow reflected from their faces. A husband wonders about the house with a towelling robe, drinking coffee, disapearing, climbing stairs and then back into view as he closes the door of the bathroom and blue towelling becomes distorted, thank god, find another window to dwell on. I dont mean to look, its just there infront of me, like the roads and the trees, like the squirel perched on the bird feeder and the black dog sniffing about the street.

I often have a re-occuring feeling and a vision, have been, for as long as I can remember. Usually at night wondering about the house I will suddenly feel like there is something, someone standing next to me, malevolant, unseen. I usually turn and walk away from this while in the back of my mind the vision appears as barely formed vapour and drawing a large scimitar hacks off my head from behind. This can feel quite disconcerting.

Am off to Newbury via Bracknell in an hour and a weekend of decorating. I am in a rich vein of writing at the moment though, only the smallest tip of the ice burg is seen here. Belle de Jour was finished last night, a book with no discernable beginning, middle or end, just a small part of someones life. It is one of the best I have ever read. 'Julie and Julia' is being packed in a mo, and am packing the laptop so that, as the night hour passes that which is acceptable to the noise of decorating, I can tune in the MP3 player and sit down and read or write. Bliss.

Orthodox - (or·tho·dox) Adhering to what is commonly accepted, customary, or traditional: an orthodox view.

Gnostic - (Gnos·tic) Of, relating to, or possessing intellectual or spiritual knowledge.

Christian - (Chris·tian) Professing belief in Jesus as Christ or following the religion based on the life and teachings of Jesus.

There have been quite a lot of Gnostic writings found in the last 100 years, and this one dates back to a 4th century copy of a text known to have existed in the early half of the second century. That makes it pretty old, probably written only 40 years after the Gospel of John we now have in the New Testament and roughly 70 years after the others. The Gospel of Judas is interesting for a key reason.

You may or may not know that Christianity is founded on the premise that Jesus of Nazareth is Christ aka The Messiah. There is heated debate as to just who's messiah this is, which we will ignore for the purpose of this discussion. Christians state two reasons above all else for Jesus claim as the messiah, please forgive my lack of theological finesse;

1) Jesus died on the cross for the sins of mankind and to reconcile us with god

2) Jesus resurection is a clear sign that there is salvation beyond this life and god exists

With this in the back of our minds then, we should also consider that Judas Escariot is mentioned 12 times in the New Testament. On each occassion the context does not cast him in a good light. Anyone that has been brough up in a Christian culture will have been taught Judas was a bad, bad man.

So the question scholars have been asking themselves for a long time is;

'If Christianity is defined by the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, why is the man that handed Jesus to the authorities and set in motion the events that defined Jesus as Christ; the messiah, looked upon so unfavourably?'

The Gospel of Judas, only available to scholars since 2001, appears to have been written by Gnostic Christians. These Christians were somewhat theologically at odds with what we now call Orthodox Christians ('Catholic' their most common name known today). Gnostics did not believe Jesus to be the messiah but rather a divine spirit that actually left Jesus as he died. They did not believe in a resurrection. His death was a fulfullment of the spirits quest to escape this mortal life and horrid planet.

In the Gospel of Judas we get a story that tells us Jesus realised Judas to be special above his other disciples and saw that Judas might be able to help Jesus free himself. Jesus took Judas into his confidence, showed him his spiritual world and facilitated Judas handing him over to the Jewish authorities. Sounds crazy?

As mentioned this was written half a century after the Gospel of John and would have been as valid a theory on the true nature of Jesus at the time. Paul taught one type of Christianity, the Gnostics had their own. Documentation of the time indicates there were many others.

History though, only remembers the victors. Orthodox Christianity was founded on the death and resurrection of Jesus, built by Paul and adopted by the Roman Empire in the early 4th century. A position of strength from which it then set about removing all evidence of these other branches of Christianity. Think thats pure fiction? Consider the following, final three points;

1) The fact that we are only now finding these gnostic documents, almost all of which were copies created in the 4th century, is the result of their being extremely well hidden. From whom?

2) Although Jesus and Paul were Jewish, Jews in the main rejected Christianity. They simply did not believe Jesus to be their messiah. Early Christians were gentiles, mostly Greeks. There was one branch of Christianity however that were Jewish Christians. They were called the Ebionites. Their doctrine as documented by the early Orthodox Christian heresy hunters was actually closer to the original teachings of Jesus than that of their own. Closer to the original teachings of Jesus, how come?

3) Jesus taught that the world was about to end, the apocolypse was upon us and only by following his teachings would you attain salvation with god. This was also taught by Paul but as the 1st and 2nd centuries came to a close, Orthodox Christian leaders were finding the impending apocolypse an increasingly difficult sell. So you then got salvation of the soul when you died, not at the hands of the apocolypse.

What a great story!

Story - (Sto·ry) An account or recital of an event or a series of events, either true or fictitious

It never used to be like this. Birmingham has always been bursting at the seems with a rich mozaic of culture. Everything is there, in your face going about its life, occassionally crossing into yours. One minute you can be intent on avoiding the marauding group of gnome like hoodies, the next jostling for position with a geezer dressed in traditional african gear or standing in an elevator next to the immaculately groomed caucasion couple sporting carefully constructed hair, shades on a sunless day and head to toe Next ripoffs. Equally your as likely to be queued up behind some grungy, Marolyn Manson lookalikes as holding the door open to let through a couple of Catholic Nuns. I am not sure what people see when shoulder to shoulder with me and my mate, a couple of middle age nerds I suspect.

These days though everything seems a little brighter, the buildings are cleaner, the clothes are newer. The street corner talk isnt secretive and dark but spoken with a smile and enthusiasm, of life and not so much just surviving it.

There is a saying; 'I am alone, but not lonely'. I like it. There is something very comforting about long term friendship though. Sitting around the table on a Sunday lunchtime can be hugely good for the soul, soaking up the collective well being of those you seem to have known for as long as the decisions in your life have been your own. The wit and the constant natural laughter bond you together, jokes of the past and of the recent. At your and their expense, and those not present. Sometimes, I dont feel quite so alone.

Had a good night out in wokingham on saturday night. Five of us first had a few drinks, a meal in Pizza Express and then made our way to see Slither at the Showcase in Winnersh. Slither was excellent, gore, zombie trash with a good portion of humour starring the redoubtable Mr Nathan Fillion. After we headed back into Wokingham, where by chance we met up with two couples.

There is a certain dynamic that a couple, or a group of couples take to a night out. I am struggling to define it in my mind. Its about calm, your collective, which is not the same is your individual world. You talk about tidy couple type stuff, which usually means cursory conversations about the house, jobs to do, work, parents. If conversation is actually about your couple unit, its the cosy wedding plans or holidays which themselves are morphine to the dark seed of reality that lurks as yet unspoken in the home. Don't close your eyes it will not go away.

Usually though you talk about other couples, those not present of course, someone else and the troubles they are experiencing. Talking about other people as a couple is a defense mechanism, its someone else struggling not us, we are safe for now, babes.

As none of the people from our group that made it back into Wokingham are currently part of a couple we bring our own unique dynamic to a night out and generally not one that mixes well with the above, no matter how much you enjoy the company of the people individually. We should have sat outside, couples could have continued enjoying themselves without the proof of more failed relationships sitting the other side of the table.

As such the night out tailed off in the fun stakes but ended in classic style with me and Mr V. slumped on seperate sofas, snoring with unfinished whisky precariously balanced in our hands while Mulder and Scully argued over the likelyhood of corporeal possession.

17:00 I left the office, jumped back into my car, headed towards Heathrow and the long stay car park. At 17:45 I parked up and walked the short distance to the bus stop. The sun is brilliant in the cloudless sky. Everything is either bathed in long shadows or a glorious orange glow.

A few minutes and the green bus has arrived and soon I am at terminal one. I fumble unsuccessfully with a 'quick' check in computer. I am handed an orange priority ticket by an attendant hovering in apparent expectation of my failure. The check in queue is short and with boarding pass firmly gripped in hand, am soon in the departures security queue. This one slightly longer. I can only imagine the purpose of the priority token was to allay any random outburst of anger. Departure security was traversed, those home boys in 737's have a lot to answer for.

I spend some time casting about for underpants which it seems nobody sells despite an abundance of sock sellers. Instead I buy some whiskey in duty free, before heading to gate eight of terminal one.

Anyone that has spent any time at gate eight will know its the southern most border of Scotland, or so you would think from the cacophony of sounds heading in both directions.

19:35 we boarded and were away into the sky just past 19:50. 85 minutes later we landed in Aberdeen and were almost immediately herded off the plane and straight through the airport terminal which is no more than 20 metres from front to back.

Through the terminal, out the other side and across the road. It looks exactly like I remember, Edinburgh, from the outside but a quick check; 'BAA Aberdeen' on the trolleys allays my fears.

There is a long line of taxis and a short queue, so in no time I am placing my bag in the back of an open boot before realising there is something missing. A brief apology to the driver and I head back into the terminal, locate baggage reclaim and wait for no more than 10 minutes before my grey samsonite alike suitcase lurches past and is retrieved. Back out the door, across the road, into the still short queue and away we go in the taxi down the road.

We talk about the granite city, the declining amount of oil, the price of oil and the short journey staple of life as a taxi driver.

21:45 I am checked in at the Brittania and herding a lost Ukrainian to his room. His confusion caused by the main elevator being out of action and the green arrows only generally pointing in the direction of the other elevator, the other side of the hotel. He happens to be in the next room to me although I don't know that at the time. After dropping him off, I spend two minutes trying to get into the wrong room. I realise the last two digits are 20 and not 30 and hope I didn't scare anyone.

My room is huge, bigger even than the Savoy although a lot less pleasing on the eye, or the nostrils. Smoke and detergent, lovely.

I dump the bags on the bed and fire up the computer. I get a weak signal from an unsecure wireless router and get to the web, slowly. I think it must belong to one of the houses across the road so I cant really complain. A quick check of local superstore opening times indicates they all closed 5 minutes ago, my quest for pants is at an end for the day.

22:30 I head down stairs and into the Village Bar which is by far the best smelling and pleasing on the eye this hotel has to offer, save for the pool maybe.

“areyuseawayoafshurethemorrow?”Everyone seems determined to say whatever they have to say in under 1.5 seconds, no matter how much they have to say.

“Pardon?”I have just taken possession of my Guinness and am looking at a skinny geezer with a dark goaty and gold earings.

“AreYuseAwayOafShureTheMorrow?”

“Ahh! No I am here just for tomorrow”

“oahh!”

Everyone in the bar is not necessarily local but predominantly Scottish. Seems they are mostly all offshore the next day for a stint on the rigs. I have no idea why everyone is so friendly to this Englishman abroad, maybe its because they are unsure as to whether they will be cohabiting with me for the next few weeks or because everyone really is friendly. Regardless I spend the next hours in good company.

At midnight another geezer comes up to me. Older, thin, wizened and not much hair to speak of.

“yussenglishaye?”

“aye!”I also nod in the affirmative in case he no understands.

“yussknowwaynerooonie?”

I dont think this is meant as a question, but nod once again, more cautious.

“heesapooftaandshagsgranniees!”

“Pardon?”

“WayneRooooniee! HeesApooftaAndShaggsGranniees”

I consider the biological implications.

“ahhh! He's a boy alright”, I am beaming my best this is soo funny smile.

The geezer having said his piece grins as only a lifetime smoker can and turns back to his friends.

1:20 (ish) I sit on the sofa in my room watching Sky One. It occurs to me that Star Trek was rather better written than I ever gave it credit and that Stargate SG-1 most definitely was not.

8:15 this morning. I wake suddenly. Evidently the booked 8:00 wake up call didn't happen. A quick shower, 10 minutes pressing a warm lump of metal onto my shirt, packed and headed towards breakfast. This last cost me extra and the non wakeup call means I have 7 minutes to find the restaurant and eat before my lift arrives.

The waiter shows me to the table, he is eastern European with some certainty. As I am finishing my toast a girl across the way with a pronounced London dialect announces to said waiter she is Greek and is he from Naples? She repeats out load every first word for each sentence he replies. I'm confused but time is short.

In the car I am with CJ. CJ is a guy I worked with 13 years ago at Standard Life in Edinburgh. We have both been working at the bigOh for over two years but this is the first time we have actually worked, physically together in that time. I like CJ immensely. I think most people do. I enjoy this time, working together.

CJ and I arrive at the customer. The reason I am here is because things with their computers are causing some distress. Distress to 4,000 users to be precise. Well 4,000 users and one anxious director who signed the purchase order which resulted in all the above from 12:15 yesterday. I am charm personified, I think, it is not difficult these are nice people.

17:30 Problem sorted and director slaps my shoulder with gratitude and shakes my hand warmly. Ten minutes later I am in a taxi headed back to the airport. CJ left earlier, long drive. The sun is shining here, its beautiful in an open barren way.

17:55 I am mystified as to why I can check-in for the return journey on the outward journey if I then have to stand in the check-in queue to drop off my suitcase on the return. Apparently, so the girl at the desk said, its so those without bags don't have to queue. Ummn.

20:00 we take off, on time. I began writing this while waiting in the extremely compact waiting lounge and continue now surrounded by clouds and an ever darkening sky.

Heathrow appears below, a plethora of multi coloured lights. A young child behind asks her mum; “Is this Disney World?”.

The mother laughs and explains, while I smile but it is instantly tinged with sadness. I miss them so.

21:45 Baggage Reclaim. They are maybe mid to late twenties. He is bland. About my height, same mousy hair, over washed combats and a crumpled white shirt. She is petite, with straight ginger hair that passes her waistline. She is the antithesis to his bland, a mirage of colour through flared corduroy trousers and zipped up cardigan. She makes to move in close to him. Half way through wrapping her arms round his waist he steps out of the embrace, pointlessly to a motionless conveyor. So many moments, lost in time. I hope he realises before she grows out of it. I think I am tired.

Out into the world of jostling bodies moving in different directions and yellow signs pointing in directions I can't possibly go. Soon though out through the sliding doors and to the roadside. Waiting for the long Stay bus. The wait is short.

22:05 the barrier flips up and I ease my car after the signs marked, exit. These soon give way to signs for the M4.

22:50 I am a bit nervous. While I have been away a man should have been in my flat covering every floor surface with antique pine laminate. This could be the fulfilment of my vision but something has to have gone wrong, surely. Will I walk through the door and find all the laminate pointing in a direction I never imagined, will I be presented with concrete floors still unfinished or worse still not started. I turn the key in my front door, I hope.

23:58 I am sat on the floor, leaning against my living room wall, next to the fireplace. Legs are stretched out in front of me with my laptop balanced on my legs. Antique pine laminate stretches gloriously through the house. The guy has left a nice note, he hopes I will like the floor. I love it! I am so relieved. After I type these last few words I will close the laptop and go fetch my sleeping bag and sleep upon this floor, it will be as a feather mattress.

"The Germans today simply don't like war... And I can understand that."

I think thats hilarious.

He also goes on to detail his most rewarding moment as the president of the United States;

"I would say the best moment of all was when I caught a 7.5lb (3.4kg) perch in my lake"

Taxi Pleease!?

---

Dear Employer,

You recently asked for candidates to attend the Moral focused 'People Management' focus group.

As I understand, you are holding these groups because of the abysmally poor response you have received from the 'engagement' surveys you love us to complete once or twice a year. In particular, the faith your employees have in their immediate management seems to be rock bottom. Apparently, even the Americans received an all time low score, but took solace in knowing what the UK engagement result was.

Being an employee that has been encouraged to give my opinion on such things, I volunteered for the focus group.

Unfortunately, I could not go to the meeting last Thursday as I was in Aberdeen. You will know that I was asked if I would go to Aberdeen based on my skill sets and had been recommended by managerA. Of course I said yes. 'customer, shareholders, employees'

The trip involved giving up two evenings of my time, travelling the breadth of the country and tackling an issue over a long day that the customer had been trying to fix for seven months. When I left, having solved their problem with a combination of experience and luck, they were extremely grateful and talking about upgrading, paying us more money! This may or may not come to be realised but it was a battle won for our company in an ever sapping war.

I used to manage. The people I worked for seemed to think I was pretty good at it. About 75% of the people that worked for me were dedicated and seldom failed me. The 25% your always going to get, I worked hard at working with them, not always successfully, often it was me, sometimes them.

If anyone in my team ever did anything above the call of duty, I would simply go over to them, thank them, good job well done. Employee engaged. Its not difficult.

I got back from Aberdeen, two days now. Not a word from my own manager; managerB. He sits about 25 foot across the way. No tap on the shoulder, cheers, good job well done. Engaged!

So I didn't go to the engagement 'people management' focus group, but I offer you this letter in my stead. It says about all I had to say.

The last two days have been spent in Manchester. I am here with Sellers. Sellers is a colleague, he is not a salesman, or called that, its just what I call him here. We stayed at the splendid 'Midland'. Freshly decorated, we could still smell the paint. My room is huge, his is tiny, that's funny. I am normally the one that gets the small room. Apparently Mr Rolls and Mr Royce first met here in the 'Midland'.

We arrived on Tuesday 9th May. This was also the date Roy Keane played his Manchester United testimonial at Old Trafford. They were playing Celtic. We wondered why there were so many blokes wearing Celtic tops on the train from Reading to Manchester. Now we knew. It turns out the 70 thousand capacity stadium is sold out.

We spent some time with the customer in the afternoon, as it would happen, in Old Trafford. Old Trafford from the city centre is a simple matter of catching one tram, its about 4 stops and no more than 10 minutes.

On the way back to the city centre the tram was busy, but not as packed as the one going the other way, bursting at the seams with despondent commuters and very happy green and white wearing men. As I got on the tram, I grabbed the rail above and popped my computer bag on the floor. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. He his young, small, I would say about 18. “Would you like my seat?”

I am speechless, I know I didn't sleep much last night, drove from Sussex at 5:45am and have travelled from Reading to Manchester, but! do I look like I need your seat!!? Unspoken. I sat down, more because it just seemed the thing to do. He stood in front of me. I had lots of questions for him, I considered beating the answers out of him. I had another mid-life crises during that 10 minute journey, is this where old age begins? At the end, I got up, tapped him on the shoulder and said “thanks”.

Manchester city centre at 5PM was a sea of green and white. Irish and Scottish voices, hailing cabs, leaning through car windows asking for directions. They stood arms linked outside bars, bouncing up and down chanting; keano! keeano!! keeeano!!!

There is a little boy, maybe 6. He is dressed almost identically to his dad, jeans, celtic scarf tied around his waist, wearing a celtic shirt. He is so excited that running around wildly is pointless. He just jumps up and down emulating his father, fit to burst, at the edge of the busy road. The proximity to the road seems to indicate his mother is not close, but I hope she is here, somewhere. There are not many women to be seen. His father, lager in one hand, other arm wrapped around the shoulders of another, keeano! I would guess he is 4 to 5 hours from passing out. Manchester won 1 –0. I often wonder what happened to the little boy.

Later, almost mid-night. We leave a Chinese restaurant. I don't know the score, so I ask the guy coming the other way on the stairs. He is with another guy wearing a Celtic shirt. He has an Irish accent I just do not understand, despite his words seeming coherent. I do notice his eyes are lifeless, cold. In that wordless moment something about him passed through us, the other 5 guys with us stopped, tensed. I feared for a sudden burst of violence. Fortunately the moment passed and I spent the first two hours of May 10th in the hotel bar with Sellers.

First off on the original book. I read this just over 18 months ago. I found all of the puzzles, the Holy Grail, the concept of Mary Magdalene, the proposed fate of Jesus and the codes within paintings hugely intriguing.

I thought the story he used to deliver all this to be stilted, formula and all a bit; been there seen it done it. At the time I also read 'Angels and Demons' as well as 'Digital Fortress'. The former of the two is his best book to date for my mind although the ending a little way out there.

What I absolutely loved about the 'Da Vinci Code' was that people for the first time in as long as I can remember were talking about the origins of Christianity during lunch at work. What is more gratifying is that it rubbed the Catholic Church up the wrong way and that is always a very good thing.

Faith in modern religion is something I realised I didn't have during my second decade, although it took another two to realise what I did believe. Dan Browns Da Vinci though brought to me a realisation that I didn't know within my own mind whether his story or that of my birth religion, Christianity had any more legitimate claim to the truth about Jesus.

I do now of course. So as you listen and read what will no doubt be vitriolic Catholic rejection of Browns story over the next few weeks, consider these few salient points;

1. To this day we know next to nothing for sure about Jesus other than that he lived, preached and was crucified a criminal. Crucifixion was a very common form of punishment in the time. Anything else about Jesus is up for grabs.

2. The stories of Jesus used by Christianity to substantiate their claims for him being a messiah (a savior) and of his life started shortly after his death. These were passed between generation, through mutliple languages entirely via word of mouth for over 30 years. The stories started in hebrew but were first recorded to written word in Greek.

3. Everything else we do know about Jesus is told to us in the New Testament, these stories are told in the gospels. The gospels were written 30 to 70 years after the death of Jesus based on the word of mouth stories mentioned above. There is not one gospel that does not contradict the other. Get a bible and see for yourself.

4. There were many Christian 'churches' formed based on the word of mouth stories in th