I was sitting in the pub last week, enjoying the smell of stale beer sans tobacco smoke. I was in the corner, no one was near me as I enjoyed the taste of the local ale. None of that American stuff in a bottle, but real ale.

Without realising it, I was humming the tune of a popular song, one I guess I either heard on a radio or as the background music from the TV, when the landlord came over and asked me to stop humming. Not that he minded humming, but apparently someone from the British Music Police had told him that in order to have live music, he needed to pay them money. He claimed to have jokingly said that no one would be able to hum or sing anymore, only to be told that "Yes, if you let people sing or hum without paying, you will be liable to a fine, even if you don't pay them."

This took me back. I thought they wanted us to sing these songs to ourselves, but I guess they just want us to listen to them, even if we are private citizens.

Sad world we live in now.

Why is it considered acceptable for women to wear sandals to work, but it not for men?

Why is it acceptable for a woman to wear a t-shirt to work but men must wear shirts and ties.

Why are long sleeve t-shirts acceptable for women for working but not men?

Why can women wear long shorts or short trousers for women but not men?

Why are women allowed to expose large sections of their chests at work but men cannot unbutton their shirts.

In hot weather, women often wear skirts and shorts to work, but men cannot.

Could this inequality against men be a reason why men tend to still get more pay?

Because of the hazards of being forced to wear what is effectively winter clothing during the summer?

Just a thought.

I know a quite a few people who claim that the charity street solicitors are sometimes not who they seem. These are the street hawkers who walk up to you asking for a minute of your time, then spend the next half hour talking you into giving your name, various details and your credit card number for the purpose of making donations to the charity of their choice.

It is claimed that even though they have what are very convincing ID cards, once you have given your details, you may find your card has been used in purchasing computers, holidays or even porn without your consent.I don't know how true this is, but I have noticed some of these workers can get quite aggressive when people want to walk away. I always thought it had to do with them being paid so much for each contributor, but if the card details are also used for other purposes, it makes sense that they would not want people to get away before these important details have been gleaned. I have been approached over and over by the same individuals, who seem to be working for different charities on different days and located in different places.

I think that the fact that I walk from the train station to work eschewing the idea of using the underground daily when a 20 minute walk gets me to where I need to go and is probably healthier for me in the long run; and that I tend to use different routes depending on the day and how I feel; means I run across these individuals more often than those who do go underground.

I often wonder how these people get vetted to do their jobs and who is actually collating the credit card data. So keeping in mind the experience of others, when I make contributions, I make the directly to the charity involved, staying away from third party collectors.

I’m not suggesting that you should do the same, but do you know where your card details are going when you give your details to a stranger on the street?

Depression is a friend of mine
Who comes around when I’ve the time,
To think about what might have been,
And lack the strength to start again.

It comes and goes without a care,
Of who or what or when or where
I am, or even who I’m with,
It comes along, it is a gift.

A gift that’s given to myself,
Assembled from my mental shelf,
Of promises and broken dreams,
Of chances lost and other things.

Built from regret and glued with hate,
Stitched with grief and bound by fate,
Stained by choice and shattered hope,
Makes me wonder, how I cope.

It nestles down inside my head,
And smothers all the things I’ve said,
About ‘caring not what others say’
Or ‘I’ll be happy again, someday.’

It ruins thought and stifles smiles,
It lingers on as I drive miles
Between the places I must go,
Stealing time and what I know.

When it looms inside my head,
My mind goes blank and what I’ve said
And all I’ve learnt is soon forgotten
Heart in mouth, taste is rotten.

When it will go, a broken spell,
Or if it will return, I cannot tell,
Instead I try to clear my mind,
Live for the moment, delaying time.

Richard Way - 1995

I've been kind of brain dead for a while. This seems to happen to me when ever I get emotionally destroyed by something in my life. I think I'm recovering now, although I guess you can never be sure. I started this blog last year to try to bring myself some outlet to release the tensions in my head, then they got so bad, I couldn't continue posting.

But fortunately, the blog is still here, and so am I. So I'm going to start again.

I'm writing things to post, and will be doing so shortly.

thanks for baring with me.