The Box Was In The Cupboard For A Long Time.

I remember years ago my Dad wrote out a Christmas list for what he wanted from the children for Santa. He had only written one thing down and it was a jigsaw. My mind ran away with itself trying to imagine the best possible jigsaw. What brand?, how many pieces?, should there be a picture of a truck or a horse on it?. I was awash with ideas and excitement, not only for the chance to please my Dad but also the chance to sit with him and build the puzzle. We had spent time before in the past where he had helped me build model airplanes and technic lego machines nurturing my engineering brain. But as with most things, while we're living, traditions and past times seem to go by the wayside as other more pressing issues raise their heads. For me as a young teenage boy, I had suddenly seemed to be obsessed with the fairer 50% of our species and climbing trees, jumping bikes and even smoking had entered my days, introducing me to the wide and wonderful world of "peacocking". It would take me a long time to perfect my peacocking ways which is a whole other story.

Well anyway, Christmas day came and I sat patiently waiting for the circle of gifting to reach the moment of truth. Would he like the puzzle I had pondered over for so long? Would the 1000 pieces be enough to peak his interest? and finally, would the fluffy bunnies in the meadow depicted hop, skip and jump through his memory for years to come?

Well the answer is no. Turns out he wanted a Black and Decker Power Jigsaw and not a piddley puzzle at all! But in his stern gentle way he voiced his understanding of the mistake and we had a good chortle. Unfortunately we never took the time to sit and place each piece of the picture and now I find myself sorting through the cupboard looking for those fluffy bunnies in the hope of spending time with my son now that the roles are reversed. It may take us a few hours, a few days or an eternity but with each piece that we place will create peace of mind that we took time and created moments together.

While we're living, the dreams we have as children fade away.


I'm not a painter in any shape or form but my house does need a lick of paint here and there. It seems quite over whelming right now as I should have been taking taking care of the maintenance over time. But I love procrastinating.

What do I want? Everything! When do I want it? Now!

When will I do it? Tomorrow! YAY said the people.

Off to Home Depot to pick up some paint and start slapping it on the walls and spilling on the floor. Who needs masking tape anyway. Just as I'm feeling good about all my hard work, I realize I have painted myself into a corner. Disaster. Looks like I'm not getting out of this one.

Is there a way out? Of course! There's already paint all over the place, so what difference does it make to walk through the wet paint to the other side.

All in the perspective.


HG Wells mused many years ago about tripodal martians coming from the red planet to destroy us all. Of course this was fiction and there is no proof at this stage that threats from beyond the stars actually exist, but I find in my own existence I fight intergalactic battle once a month every month.

You see I suffer from depression, not situational or seasonal but good old fashioned chemical imbalance! I've never truly got to grips with it but at least I know my triggers these days and sometimes when those triggers are pulled, it is like a being hit by a cannonball and getting pinned to the floor under the dead lead weight. My biggest trigger is the great white cannonball made of cheese up there in the night sky, just hanging there and taunting me. It wants me dead. Pretty selfish don't you think?, as I have never done anything to it. Maybe it's all the sacrifices I offer to Ra (Egyptian Sun god) that has it bent out of shape in a fit of jealousy?. I wonder if I switched to offering up penance to tanning salons would I see a change?

I'm certainly no astronomer or folklorist but I can tell you that werewolves do exist. Not literal metamorphosing furry beasts but in my experience there is definitely a monstrous shift in some people around this time of the month. Could be the change in atmospheric pressure, could be natural chemical reactions or it could be anything or nothing. But the truth is unfortunately I am among the pack and my victim is me.

What is the solution? How can I apply semiotics and Create Reel Change concepts to quell the beast inside? Should I howl at the moon? Should I sit back and allow it ravish me? No on both accounts. If I imagine the phases of the moon at stages on a clock face across the night sky, then I can come to the understanding that it is all just time and soon my snarling hairy friend will return to it's cave hopefully not leaving my clothes too raggedy in it's wake.

In closing, I'll return to the tripods from War Of The Worlds. Those three legged behemoths seemed impenetrable from every angle, only to be brought down by the human cold. A simple virus that we had become immune to over the years. This gives me hope that what may seem as my biggest enemies can be knocked out with something similarly simple like the ticking of a clock.


Round and round and round the record spins, with a comforting crackle underneath Dylan telling the youth of the yesterday, today and tomorrow the woes of the world. It's simple, the record goes on the turntable, the needle goes into the groove and then we get into the groove, for whatever that maybe. We are happy travelling in circles of continuum. I even found myself thinking I knew the meaning of life!

The answer my friend...The answer my friend...The answer my friend...The answer my friend...

No I am not stuttering but there is a scratch in the record. What am I going to do? I love that song. Better get the shovel and start piling earth onto it, not in the burial sense, but I love making mountains out of molehills. The record seems broken now and unplayable at the best part!! I could throw it away and get a new one, maybe even a CD, but they break too. Starting again from the beginning until another part scratches. Over and over and over making the same mistakes. This is my cycle and I certainly sound like a broken record a lot.

But here is the plan, how can I Create Change in my life in this situation. The record isn't smashed or destroyed but in fact there is just a bit of fluff on the stylus that I can remove with a simple puff of breath and the sweet tones can continue to emanate. "The answer my friend is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind"

Remember vinyl seemed to be dead, but it is making a comeback.