Ironing and Ouija Boards

The one person who reads this stuff has requested a new posting but she's heard of lot this over the 'phone so it feels a bit strange writing this.

I've done a lot of thought over the last couple of days about various boards - bulletin boards, ironing boards and ouija boards. I've recently moved (again) and now have my own flat in the leafy suburbia that surrounds Ashford. When I moved out of my flat in Folkestone, I intended to house share and got rid of loads of stuff that I now need - like irons and ironing boards.

I discovered on Monday that there's one thing that will make people treat you with absolute respect. It's not very short hair, being 6'3, tattoos (haven't got these yet), rottweillers (or these), bulging muscles (definitely not) or a look of psychopathic abandon (after 30 minutes in Tescos....). Its pushing an ironing board in a trolley.

It wasn't a big ironing board. It had to be small to fit in the car and it wasn't intimidatingly patterned - Tesco value, yay - but it stopped people in their tracks and made them cross to the other side of the car park. Getting through the checkout crowds was like parting the Red Sea. I foresee a future for crowd control, personal bodyguard protection and getting to the bar at Christmas. Rows of black clad policeman with full riot gear each armed with a shopping trolley and an £8.97 ironing board. The future's bright, the future's ironing.

And it started me thinking about the other dangerous boards. Apparently ouija boards were originally marketed as games. Now you've all (all - one person's only ever read this!) seen the increase in marketing of toys and games in the build up to Christmas. You're sitting there one morning, watching Ministry of Mayhem and waiting for Holly, when the adverts kick in.

The ultimate in excitement this Christmas, for ALL the family, even those who can't be with you. Hours of fun as you conjure up spirits, raise the dead and talk to obscure sixties musicians. Play guess the name of the spook or try to work out what your dyslexic great uncle is really trying to say about his will. Open up new channels to other worlds and let violent, disruptive poltergeists into to your life.

Not suitable for the under fives. May contain small moving parts and demonic possession.

Sounds better with my creepy voice effects anyway.

Finally, as I am missing the beautiful, lovely and wonderful C even more, I've discovered the delights of 'phone sex. Not with C, this is phone sex on one's own. By using the BT SMS reading service, you can send all sorts of filthy messages to yourself and get them read out to you by a sexy computerised woman's voice...........At least I hope it's computerised. I can't remember putting some mocking laughter in on the last one.

I might have some fun with this at work tomorrow.

Anyway, time to go. Soon I'll have my own broadband connection and I won't still be sitting at work at 6.30pm. Still, everybody thinks I'm dedicated.

Look after the ones you love,

God Bless

So it's Sunday and I'm in work but posting on this blog. OK, how did I get here.....

November came calling with cold and windy weather and a notice to quit my flat. My Christmas holidays consisted of lots of sorting, shredding, throwing away, worrying and a lot of snow. January passed slowly. February even slower. When it came to the seventh, I was as ready to move as I could be, so I took Cleo, my feline companion of two years to the cat sanctuary for rehoming*, moved the last of my stuff into my new room and got on a plane to South Africa for three weeks.

* This sounds easier in words than it was. I drove to the cat sanctuary in floods of tears and I'm thankful that Cleo was rehomed quickly with an elderly lady who will be ideal for her temperament.

My first time at an airport. Signs for arrivals and prayer room next to each other. Now I'm not nervous about flying but the fact that the airport authorities recognise the need to give Thanks for successful flights worried me. Lots of people, all moving quickly, queues, shops, signs, checkpoints. A woman asks me to take my belt off. Now I know you get all sorts of services in First and Business Class but I didn't know this was included in Economy.

The departure lounge is purgatory. The tannoy summons those who have been good and earned a place in the higher classes to their elevated positions. Us mere sinners are left awaiting our fate for eternity or at least fifteen minutes.

Finally, we're allowed on. I look for my seat offering a fervent Prayer. "Please Lord, no active small children or loud snorers or drunks". I get too very kind mature ladies, one of whom is apparently the only person on the plane who can open the little packets of cheese. The seats are cramped, with little legroom for anyone over 5' 10" and if you're 6' 3" or thereabouts like me......well it's going to be a long 12 hours but worth it because at the end of the journey is C.

I settle back, watch Wallace & Gromit, read The Economist, eat airplane food (which I enjoyed, having eaten very little over the last few days), slept very little (surprising because I had only 3 hours sleep over the previous 48 hours), listened to the different accents of the air hostesses, watched the progress of the flight and hoped that Airbuses are more reliable than Smart cars.

12 hours later, we arrive. Passport control, no problem. Pick up suitcase. Go to arrivals. First inkling that my eyesight's definitely failing, when I can't see C. Eventually, she's there and it's bliss to be with her again. I've lived this moment a million times in my head and the reality is a million times better. Just the same as I live the moment I see her again now and the moment when we're finally together for good.

A pause for a cappucino, I meet C's sister and father, nervous, hope it doesn't show. We leave the airport, past the townships, the sheer poverty of which just blows the mind of someone only used to the consumer rich West.

We arrive. I meet C's mum and the two dogs and puppy. I am tired. A bit overwhelmed. A bit jetlagged. I can't believe I'm here. I want to hold C and not let go. I'm frightened that if I do, she'll fade away and I'll wake up along again in England.

To be continued....

(To all with the person they love, tell them you love them and kiss them while you can. Don't waste a moment.)

Go Naked and Make a Difference

Understatement of the day. "Please take care as the chocolate sauce will be hot." Now, this should read "Plan in advance to maximise your enjoyment of our product. Heat for 2.5 minutes in the microwave and leave to stand in a cool place for ten hours. This will prevent mouth burns and leave the surface on your tongue intact".

So, apologies, for any typing errors tonight, I'm in a little pain. That doesn't mean that I'm typing with my tongue. You can be reassured there's no strange keyboard practices here.

I gave quick introduction last time about the charity. I'm currently trying to promote a fundraising day to be held on 1 December to coincide with World AIDS day and this involves women not wearing make up for the day and men wearing it instead. Guess which aspect the papers have picked up on? One of my work colleagues, John, has very kindly "volunteered" to take part, along with myself. Me being a lot older and a fraction wiser than him meant that his picture rather than mine appeared in the paper.

Trying to get as many people to sponsor and to take part can be frustrating, particularly when you've planned and got agreement to send an email about the day to clients and then a colleague sends out one requesting funds for a different non-charitable cause thereby making it difficult, if not impossible for yours to go out.

Anyway, rather than me telling you about the day, have a look at the cutting above.

Like the desserts miss the rain

Hi and welcome to my life. I'm going to write this as though somebody's actually going to read it some day but it'll probably end up like a piece of abandoned internet debris filling up space on a server somewhere.

Anyway, allow me to introduce myself. My name's Steve, I'm 37 and living in Folkestone. I'm engaged and there begins the tale......

Now to experience the delight and pleasure of married life it goes without saying that you normally have to live together for a substantial amount of the time. Being on separate continents is not a recommended starting point for domestic bliss. In fact this is such a goes without saying point that Relate's guide to Better Relationships doesn't mention it. (This is an excellent book which I can recommend. My ex-wife and I bought in on the first day of our honeymoon and I think she got custody of it in the divorce.)

Anyway, the one I love and adore is 6,000 miles away from me in South Africa, living with her parents and I miss her terribly. In fact, I miss her like the deserts miss the rain. I hope I didn't put a double "s" into deserts because that would spoil the romantic and touching moment, although I could put like the desserts miss the cream; it even fits into the music.

OK, are you still with me here. There's me here - her there - her parents there and also a need for action there. You see, dear reader, South Africa has an AIDS epidemic on an horrendous scale. There's an infection rate of 21.5%. That's one in five of your friends, that's twelve people on the bus, two people at an Osmond's concert. You get the picture.

And it's not only the people who get AIDS who suffer. There's the ones who are left behind. In 2004, there were 2.2 million orphans in South Africa, 13% of the total number of children. Nearly half those children were orphaned by AIDS. By the end of the decade, it's estimated that this illness which shadows sub-Saharan Africa will have orphaned 18 million children in that region.

Apologies for the number crunching. The statistics are horrific but even these can't do justice to the effect that this can have on a child. They lose the ability to be children, to learn, to play and sometimes lose any hope for their future.

I've been fortunate in my life. I've never really starved, only briefly ever been homeless, not had to suffer the death of either of my parents and now I've been blessed with the chance to put something back into the world, albeit on a very very tiny scale. My fiancee's parents are involved with a charity that are trying to build an orphan daycare centre near to Cape Town, after being involved with a similar project in Malawi and I've offered to assist with the UK side of the fundraising, being stuck on this side of the river.

This blog is going to regale you with not only the ups, downs and more downs of my life but also the journey to New Growth. It's going to be a difficult, mountainous journey but I hope you'll stick with me.

Fasten your seatbelts.