A Matter Of Life And Death.

The 1946 'A Matter of Life and Death' also known as 'Stairway to Heaven'
is another movie I would not hesitate in suggesting you should watch.
It has David Niven in it, hes an actor I like but don't really like too many of his films, once considered for the role of James Bond, he did play Bond in the Casino Royale spoof which I did like, also I liked his film 'Paper Tiger'.

The basic plot of A Matter of Life and Death is a British wartime aviator who cheats death must argue for his life before a celestial court.

Its one of those stories about love conquering all, oh shit did I give the ending away? it has scenes in colour for everyday life and then when anything Heaveny happens it goes black and white, its very well done.
I have watched it quite a few times and have the heavy piano music soundtrack that is played a lot of the way through it forever stuck in head.

A Bitter Bitch.

I used to work at frederick and sons of Inveraray. As a distributor and retailer of paint and paint products it became one of the last hold outs to sell the traditional flavour of paint, containing lead. Paint isn't paint unless you get buzzed while painting, the old painter and decorators that had to go through cold turkey are just shells of their former selves. Hitler was a painter and decorator, do you think he would have come up with all his ideas if he wasn't huffing paint? well ok that may not be a good example but still it was Hitler's idea to make the Volkswagon beetle look like a beetle, his first idea was a silver unicorn.

I was in charge of making sure the proper paint orders got delivered on the trucks as well as getting the orders from our paint shop to give to customers. I wasn't getting paid for this responsibly but Jim the former supervisor got the sack for handing out free stuff to his friends and so it somehow became my job.
One of the many managers there was a woman named Mona, she was a small round woman in her mid 30's with a sour expression and straw like Bleached blonde hair, 10 or 15 years ago she may have been an attractive gurl and full of joy but now she was intent on living up to her name, she was married, what reason did she have for making an effort anymore? her husband was a fellow bitter balls who would wait for her in his car at knocking off time with his windows rolled doon and bagpipe music blaring out.
Always the drama queen, if you told Mona the temparature was 35c in Spain on your holidays she'd tell you it was 45c on hers , if you said you won £80 on the lottery she'll tell you right off how she recently won £200.

Her office always had a cloud of cigarette smoke and the formerly white walls were now stained a mustard colour , because she had a sharp tongue and didn't mind confrontations she could do what she pleased. The other management including company directors saw making decisions as a potential danger to their health so didn't mind that Mona a mere office manager played the big dog, they didn't want to get involved. While everyone started work at 9 am Mona sauntered in around 9.20 am, if she had a customer query you had better drop the 4 customers you're dealing with and whatever else you have to do and get her answers .
The outside stores had a PA system and when it wasn't playing I want to commit suicide instrumental music, the shop assistants, sales reps and management serving in the shop would call out every 10 minutes, "storeman to the shop please" just like that Slav and his trained dog, you know now when I hear the sound of pan pipes, I still get the urge to cut myself.
Mona,who had the patience of a bargain shopper used to call several times within a minute and even now and again made the mistake of saying,"storeman to the shop please -------- on the double" any storeman about to answer her call did an about face and felt the need for a smoke break.

One Thursday evening (stayed open late on Thursdays) as I was in one of the outside stores working and I saw two men wearing ski masks running from the shop, wusses I thought its not even cold, when the police turned up 10 minutes later I found out there was a robbery, yes no one thought to check on Old Knudsen. As the money gets dropped before the day time staff goes home and most people paid by check in that place they only got away with some coins, what a well thought out plan.
The staff were all back at work the next day, all except Mona, she suffered mental trauma from it, she got about 6 weeks off, fully paid (storemen got 3 paid sick days a year) and for 2 months refused to work in the shop or late nights on Thursday, both things she disliked doing so it all worked out ok for her in the end.
Mona made working at Frederick and sons miserable for many people,when I got a better job working at the DeLorean car plant across the water in Northern Ireland I was able to tell them to stick their job, it was just before stock take so they were not very happy.

What sunk the fastest? the Titantic or the DeLorean car plant?

On my last day there Mona got all teary eyed, she was one of those people that could put on the water works at a drop of a hat to manipulate, she put out her arms ands hugged me. I stood there frozen in fear and revulsion while others looked on amused and rolling their eyes, I could feel her large breasts squeezed tight against my chest for what felt like an eternity, I felt like a character in the movie Alien when the big beastie stands right in front of you seconds before it attacks ripping you to pieces, my fight or flight impulse just gave up and said, "you're fucked lad".

You don't know you weren't there, it was really this scary.

In Frederick and sons the only good thing I remember is working with a man called Billy, one of the few people I've ever liked, the rest of the job was like a bad relationship, I sit here years from now and say," what was I thinking staying with those fuckers for 3 years?"


Here Taihae is my most fucked up relationship as requested.

Looking For Inspiration.

1. grab the nearest book. no cheating! the nearest book.

2. open the book to page 123.

3. find the fifth sentence

4. post the text of the next four sentences on your blog, along with these instructions.

5. don't you dare dig for a cool or intellectual book on your shelf. pick out whatever is closest!


Here WW2 is winding down, and Eugene (Broderick) forsakes Brooklyn for Biloxi, Miss, and ten grueling weeks of army basic training ,where he comes that much closer to manhood.Quite wonderful, in its best moments. Followed by TV movie BROADWAY BOUND. Super 35. [PG-15]

Yes my book was a film guide, more than 16,000 entries you know, sounds like my love life.
I got this from Rich at upright mechanics on my links, and he caught it off robyn so blame them, dirty buggers.

Ernest Hemingway Says.

Here are some quotes from that silly big Twunt Ernest Hemingway, for those that don't know him he was an American writer that went around getting the most out of life so he could describe it in the simplest terms, not my cup of tea but a lot of these quotes could have been said by me .


In modern war... you will die like a dog for no good reason.

My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way.

Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.

Once we have a war there is only one thing to do. It must be won. For defeat brings worse things than any that can ever happen in war.

If a writer knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows.
The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one ninth of it being above water.

That terrible mood of depression of whether it's any good or not is what is known as The Artist's Reward.

What is moral is what you feel good after, and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.

When I have an idea, I turn down the flame, as if it were a little alcohol stove, as low as it will go. Then it explodes and that is my idea.

Why should anybody be interested in some old man who was a failure?



And this is what someone should have said to him.

Careful with that shotgun, you could put yer eye out with that.

A Thing Of Beauty.

Rich over at vertical mechanisms (upright mechanics) mentioned about how he gets pulled into the news and the murder, rapes,destruction etc really bring him doon.
I understand this, it has to do with what wankers our fellow man/woman can be and being powerless to do anything about it, where is that lazy fucker Superman when we need him?

I get pulled into the whole terrorism thing having lived among that situation for too long (the name is Old Bitter Balls, 2+2 people) its the same thing in the middle east just different labels.

I am for the people that want to live in peace and stand for raising their children, not the loud mouthed religious/political fanatics, let them die for their cause if they want, but they never do, its always someone else.

So here is a snap of my 'niece' so I don't have to look at Hezbollah all the time and can calm doon. Normal who gives a shit service will resume presently.

Hezbollah, Fuck Off!

Yeah yeah, seen it all before.

Stop yer crazy arsed shit this minute Hezbollah, you and yer carefully controlled protests, you go about waving the flag of Lebanon to fool the world that Hezbollah is Lebanon, and when someone waves a Hezbollah flag he is grabbed and marched off, "no Abdul the crazy Muslim shit comes later, now we are the people".
Hezbollah, Taliban or Sinn Fein you are all the same, sneaky slimy fuckers with a strong arm terrorist group.
The agenda becomes fanatical and they refuse to lie down ever, no matter what cost to their own people.

At least the children have a future.

The Lebanese army are useless as Hezbollah contains cousins and brothers of the soldiers.
Hezbollah use the tricks most terrorist groups do on their own people, they support them by helping them with food and money once the bombs have hit, so it looks like they are the saviors even though it was them that were the targets and they will think nothing of using those who died by bullets and bombs meant for them as motivational tools to recruit new fighters. I got sick of this terrorist shit 20 years ago, you're just the same as the ones I know but with tans and some crazy assed lingo, oh and camels.

Beautiful Dreamer.

I was just reading a post about dreams over on First Nations and as usual the thoughts went to the back of my mind and so about a day later I want to write about it, that's how I come up with some of my posts, I wish I could take the credit but it has to go to the Muses, the ancestors the spirits in the material world whatever you want to call them, it happens when I want to remember something, c'mon you've done it, you think and think but can't remember some name or fact then when you're buttering some bread for dinner or at 3 am when you're in bed it comes to you, the thought you dirty shites, buttering bread is not a euphemism for anything, or is it ?

For as long as I can remember I've tried to take control of my dreams, half way through the dream I say no! its my dream, and turn on the Bogeyman with an Uzi 9 mm and send his ass back to Bogey land in a Bogey bag, sometimes it turns out that my hand becomes the gun and my finger shoots really crap slow bullets, by then the Bogey element realises the jig is up and I sleep well after that.
The dreams about flying are really cool, they represent the ability to overcome any obstacle in life, I wish I had more of them, just don't think about crashing while you're flying or the spell is broken. Over thinking things only gives you a headache, life needs to be more simple or the joy goes.

I recently had a dream in which I was a boy on a bus that knocked doon a woman and no one noticed . I thought about sitting doon and not getting involved for an instant as fear overcame me then my usual face up to fear way of thinking kicked in and I commanded "stop the bus" and got someone to call 999 for an ambulance and I did first aid on the gurl, what a good dream, I was in control and accomplished something, usually I wake up first, oh and moments before she was hit I did check out her nice arse, she had olive coloured Capri pants on and I wonder why a lot of my dreams have one colour that sticks out.
I often have recurring dreams or dreams set the the same place and a lot of times its places I've never been.

I go for the Aboriginal way of thinking that the dream world is the real world, I suppose the film The Matrix tapped into that myth somewhat in a way that even a teenager might understand.
I believe that when you dream you enter a plane of existence where all the creatures of myth and fantasy live, a place where even the Gods live, like Cyberspace we can't live there or even touch it but we can go there.
The dreamland like anywhere else can effect your way of thinking and since your imagination opens wide when you dream, it can get you when you're awake, ever have a crap dream that bothers you all day?
Sleep is a main factor in a lot of mental and even physical health issues so my ideas are not so far out.
In times of yore, yore Ma, heroes like Cu Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster mysteriously fell asleep and in the space of an hour had dreams of adventures fighting battles and a love affair with a beautiful Fairy maiden that in the realm of the fairies (or the Dreamland) lasted months, his wife was quite pissed off when she found out as she had been frantically trying to wake him, it seems even in a dream cheating is cheating, I wonder if the stiffy he had gave him away?
In dreams we are not always thinking straight, that bloody fairy glamour I suppose, as good an excuse as any.

Fairyland where if you make a mistake you could end up in the shit.

Once a woman I knew described her father who had Alzheimers as 'being away with the fairies', maybe sometimes there is a price to pay for what you do or where you go in Dreamland as there is in this so-called real world, for instance if you die in a dream or eat some of the food there.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy, well anyway that's what I said to Horatio Hornblower as he smoked a Hamlet, the mild cigar.

Its a busy world we live in, many of the old ways have been left to the side for wacky things like Science and disposable products and even disposable people (chavs/neds/spides/white trash/gangstas/pimps,Chinese etc) dreams barely get a second thought.

Incidentally that's what I like about Blogging, people form thoughts, its refreshing in this time of reality shows and sheep herding.

I hate that on TV and films the gurl always goes to bed with a top and a bra on underneath, most of them have no tits whats there to support? I want realism in my TV and nipples poking through nighties, and when a couple on TV spend the night consentingly sexually violating eachother, er sorry 'making love' then they get up and wrap a white sheet around themselves before going to the bathroom why? though I do wish some of the gurls I shag would do that, when I have beer goggles on I become easy prey for the aesthetically challenged female, now I'm no beauty queen, I've been described as unconventionally goodlooking but when I go to bed with Kate Beckinsale and wake up with Julia Roberts, move yer shoes cos I'm gonna blow chunks.

Now this post started out well as a serious look into dreams and the unconscious, then it degraded into a shag a pig special, so to wrap it up lets talk about the act of boaking itself, vomiting to you yanks. The morning after when you feel like shit but you want to get up because if you eat and take some paracetemol you'll feel better faster and besides its Sunday and the Sunday sermon doesn't get rammed doon people's throats itself, those fuckers expect to see the Vicar.
So you get up and spend the next hour naked on the bathroom floor cos its nice and cool, its interrupted by the need to shit, so you get up and pinch off a foul metallic/ beer smelling shit, but yer body likes a wee joke so you start to throw up in your mouth, your hand catches some of the spray until you get your head doon and talk to God on the big porcelain telephone, that works for a minute but some stupid cunt had curry last night and ass juice is flowing too, so you sit back on and as you pebble dash the toilet you barf into the sink, perfect, until you want to go and use the sink, picking diced carrots out of a plug hole with a hangover is not fun.
I know there is always some dry shite Victor Mature that points out "you only have your self to blame", and thats why they are a Billy no mates.