The Best Fighter In Town

There's always a deeply flat feeling inside you the day after playing a good solid gig I find. Last night our band played an exciting, tight set - and there's no describing exactly how good that feeling is, being on stage in front of people, jumping up and down, feeling the music, strumming that guitar as hard as you can and singing the words in such belief and conviction that they could be wedding vow. A feeling of true highness. An ecstasy of the soul. It makes it all the more difficult to contemplate or wonder where that feeling has gone by the time you get to the following evening, a Saturday evening, and are spending it at home on your own. You wonder if that brilliant feeling was even there in the first place - and whether it will ever come back.

Today is the 10th anniversary of the death of Joe Strummer, lead singer of The Clash and many more things besides. Joe died of an undiagnosed heart defect on the morning of the 22nd of December in 2002 after being out walking the dogs. He'd just embarked on a new exciting resurrection of his career with a new band and was creating and writing a style of music that not only reminded us of his early years in The Clash, but was tinged with an edge of something completely different, completely fresh. There is no telling what he would have achieved and created in the following years, if he hadn't died unexpectedly at the young age of only 50. 

He achieved a great deal in his short time. Formed and fronted the most important band of all time, never being blinded by their success, played in several other bands, made films, became a role model for thousands of young people, and wrote hundreds of inspirational and accessible, relevant songs - I think its surprising how much of the music we listen to has lyrics that bear absolutely no relevance to our lives and situations, we just swallow the same old standard words all the time, never reflecting on what they actually mean to us. A that's the main thing he provided - a real character, someone you could identify with, a far cry from some of the pomposity and other worldly lives some highly revered artists are perceived by us to have. 

I suppose for me, being 16 at the time and just finding The Clash for the first time, the feeling left behind after Joe died is very similar to how I feel tonight. Its a weird flat feeling to think that someone with such energy and drive - just check out some of those early Clash performances on youtube - suddenly be gone, and in the time of his own renaissance and resurgence, just leaves you wanting more and wondering what could have been. Euphoria, then silence. 10 years is a long silence for one of the loudest voices out there.

But everything is temporary, whether its a half an hour set at a little music club on the south coast or an entire lifetime, it won't last forever. But that never makes it unimportant. Any achievements small or large all count, and won't be forgotten. For me, Joe Strummer provided us with more than most. When I'm angry, happy, sad or indifferent, there's always room to listen to his music, his words and his attitude. For that I will eternally be grateful, if only in the small capacity that a fan can, and those recordings and words will never die. So, I'm sitting here tonight, feeling quite morose and lonely - but next to a record player blasting out punk rock at top level makes things a little better. So I'll raise a glass to Joe tonight, who in my mind will never really die.

Monday 27th August - Edinburgh

My summer break is nearly at an end. I've only been off for 12 days, but suddenly the idea of being back at work tomorrow fills me with an ineffable dread. My job isn't too bad I suppose, but there's always something wonderfully free about not being there.

A majority of my time off has been spent in the act of drinking and laughing - two of my favourite things - and I visited the Edinburgh Festival Fringe for 5 of my days off. A wonderful mix of comedy and beer, and in possibly my favourite city in the world, such is the atmosphere and buzz about the place during the month of August. This was my 3rd trip to Edinburgh, and my second in a row to the Fringe - and it could become a real habit to return there every year.

This year I went with three mates and a great time was had by all, ducking in and out of pubs, stand-up gigs, theatre and street performances. And eating and drinking an awful lot. Largely pizza and beer I think - which is probably what caused the hotel room to smell so badly. I honestly think the Methane levels in that room from our collective farts over 5 days could have provided a breathable atmosphere from an alien Emissary from Uranus. (And that wasn't just an anus joke, I just Googled "methane-rich planets" and the only one it came up with was Uranus, which Google goes on to inform me is the third largest planet in the solar-system, with the fourth highest density, and is named after the ancient Greek god of flatulence.)

Of course, if we had to have entertained the Ambassador of Uranus in that hotel room I struggle to think that we could have provided him/her/it with much meaningful conversation until at least midday, once our hangovers had subsided. We could probably have fed him some crisps and nuts from our extensive supply, if that's what aliens eat, and let him finish the Independent crossword to keep him busy - while he was gulping in great lungfuls of our live-preserving anal-emissions, waiting for someone important like the PM or the Queen to turn up and greet him.

And so our Edinburgh experience quickly passed. It's a wonderful place and at that time of year, and I have often thought how great it would be to do a show up there, even though I know that unless you are vaguely well-known, most people putting shows on will return home at the end of the month having made massive losses and performed to largely empty rooms, which can't be anything but crushing. But I suppose that is part of the magic of the festival, that everyone can have a go if they're bold enough, and that some of the performers do end up making it big.

Monday 11th June - Eggs

The thing about putting all of your eggs into one basket is that if you drop that basket you are left with no eggs at all. They are all smashed and broken. But if, on the other hand, you de-cantered your eggs into several different baskets, and then happened to accidentally drop one of the said baskets, then you still have some eggs left in your other baskets. You do however limit yourself to an, albeit guaranteed, much smaller omelette. Whereas the first method, the single basket method, leaves you the outside chance of the biggest omelette you have ever seen in your life.

I think what I'm trying to ask here - in the style of an Eric Cantona of cookery - is; is it better to concentrate on one goal fully and solely, or to spread your ambition over a wider field?

I'm not at all sure, but I do like omelettes.

Sunday 10th June - Threat

A couple of weeks ago I received the following unexpected text message from a number I didn't recognise;

'Stay away from my girlfriend you piece of shit. I'm gonna fucking kill you. I know where you live.'

That's weird, I thought, and slightly scary. To my knowledge I hadn't been going anywhere near anybody's girlfriend in the first instance, and secondly, I'm not a piece of shit. Am I? It surely must have been some kind of administrative error from the sender of the text, managing to get the number of the wrong Tom Sadler - and from my research earlier in the year, there seems to be rather a lot of Tom Sadler's about, so easily done I suppose. 

But the fact that they'd obviously made this admin error in finding my phone number may also have meant they'd managed to get my address too, which brought the second half of the text into play; the fact that they were going to kill me. And not just kill me, 'fucking' kill me. Presumably implying in the literal sense of the word, some kind of sexual edge to the act of murder - surely the only appropriate murder for the 'piece of shit' who's been knocking around with this bloke's Mrs would be to, in his eyes, knock me around before knocking me off, or even to exact the punishment in such a violent manner as to cause my untimely death.

All this was worrying.

Until my friend texted me saying it was him - using someone else's phone to send the text as a hilarious joke. And that is the punchline to this anecdote.

Sunday 27th May - Hot

Within the last week summer seems to have finally arrived, suddenly and quite unannounced.  After a month's solid rain the clouds have parted and left the country bathing in a sub-continent-like heat-wave. Barbecues are organised, the beach gets crowded, and everyone starts to get very sunburnt. Nearly everyone I saw in the supermarket over the weekend were buying bags of ice cubes too, as if they were in imminent danger of melting if they weren't bought that day. Just like when it snows you get the impression that we just aren't prepared for any slight fluctuation in climate, even if it does happen at least once every year. 

The other thing you notice is the amount of body parts suddenly on show - body parts which should never really see the light of day. Pasty white limbs, flabby bellies and unsightly hair are now visually on offer everywhere you look, as if the right to display them were under immediate jeopardy. The new rule at my work allowing shorts to be worn to the office has revealed pairs of legs which may not have seen the light of day for 20 years or more. 

I was even shocked to be standing at the railway crossing on Friday, only to after a minute or so realise that the woman standing next to me, waiting for the gates to open, was wearing just a bikini. And carrying a plastic shopping bag. She obviously thought it was hot enough to just nip out to do her shopping in what was effectively just her underwear - which is what a bikini is by the way, not appropriate clothing alternative for the summer months, just a bra and knickers designed for going in water. For what it was worth she was pretty good looking, but I couldn't help but wonder what I'd look like myself if I'd just popped down the shops in nothing but my pants. Maybe I'm being a bit old-fashioned, just seemed over the top to me. Not sure where I put my wallet if I went shopping in nothing but my pants anyway.

Yesterday I myself contributed to the stereotypes of the heatwave by going to the cricket and getting highly sunburnt. I wouldn't change it though, there's something about the sunshine that doesn't just burn skin, it also warms the soul, makes you happy.

Thursday 3rd May - Bad Breath and Polling Day

Today I've been thinking about bad breath. Specifically about a bad breath emanating from  the bloke that has just sat diagonally opposite me at work. It stinks. It's not a smell I can define as such, and I couldn't offer any other notes than; rotten, lingering, and it put me off my sandwiches, but it certainly tainted what was already a very average day.


I found myself wondering just where it came from (other than his mouth). How does such a small, bearded man - and I'm not suggesting being small and having a beard has any connection to his condition, I'm just setting the scene - but how does such a small, bearded man produce such a large quantity of foul-smelling exhalatory gas for such a long time? Surely he'd run out of his reserves of bad breath eventually? Apparently not. And with every slight sigh, or short spell of speaking, he emitted a potent gust of halitosis across the, perhaps 2 or 3 metres between us, which settled comfortably around me. Like an unwanted extra colleague, impeding my personal space. 


Now I don't know what was causing it (from the smell I could hazard a guess it was from a combination of not cleaning his teeth enough, and eating dog shit sandwiches for breakfast), but the thing that got me was that this guy seems be a massive attraction to some of the women at work. They flock to him. Like flies around a dog shit sandwich. Seemingly, having bad breath is no inhibiter to attracting the opposite sex, which I had never thought possible. It seems I may have wasted valuable time before almost every date I've ever been on, always taking care to spend ages cleaning and flossing my teeth, and even chewing gum, before setting out. This guys probably cleans them once a week and turns up to the meeting place chomping on a raw onion, and she can barely contain herself from mounting him there and then on a bar stool. It just doesn't seem right. I wonder if Sean Connery had bad breath in those Bond films?


Aside from practicing to see how long I could hold my breath for large periods of the day, the other noteworthy event today was voting. It's always a depressing sight every May when the local elections come along and I make my way down to the Polling Station at Lancing Parish Hall to cast my vote for whichever candidate isn't Conservative - which usually leaves me about 1 candidate to choose from. The miserable looks on all of the people who have to work there from 7am to 10pm to satisfy the needs of what can't actually be many people who bother turn out for it. But I quite like voting myself, and am quite proud that in the 8 years I've been eligible to vote I've never not made it down there. I always feel like if I haven't bothered to vote, then I don't really deserve the right to criticise those in Government, local or national, and criticising them is the only way we can really keep them in check. 


Sadly, in the 8 years I've been voting - including 2 general elections, yearly local elections and european - I have never backed a winning candidate, since I live in probably the safest Conservative seat in the country. And I could never bring myself to vote Tory. Not unless they propose handing out free Listerine daily to small, bearded men in their next election manifesto. 

Monday 23rd April

"Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it anyway", so said Mahatma Gandhi. Presumably he hadn't spent all nearly all weekend and a Monday evening watching episodes of 'Hustle' on youtube which, while entertaining, does seem almost like I've been wasting a lot of time. But I must say I find Gandhi's quote an encouraging idea, an idea which perhaps justifies some of the hobbies I have.


I didn't spend quite all of the weekend watching Hustle - and, for those who haven't seen it, check it out it's great! - and managed to spend much of yesterday evening drinking with friends in Brighton, and had quite a few ales in the end. This served as an interesting prelude to the radio show I heard this evening where former MP Anne Widdicombe was investigating the effects and possible solutions of a binge drinking problem in our society. This seems to be the latest in a long line of reports in the media on this subject, which tends largely to be damning against those who go out and drink to excess. 


Now, I agree that in some cases that binge drinking is a problem, but I don't think it is as large a problem as is generally perceived. There are always comparisons to places like France where people, apparently, enjoy drinking in a more 'cultural' and 'reserved' manner - and this seemed to be the largest argument in this show tonight, that we should be more like that here in Britain. There is also the fact that alcohol abuse causes so much spending on the NHS, where perhaps there could be money saved if the drinking culture was changed. I agree with many of the points these kinds of shows make concerning the issue, but I think they all seem to miss the fundamental point about why people go out on a Friday and Saturday and drink heavily and to excess - they do it because it's fun. 


If they didn't enjoy it, people wouldn't do it. And it must be enjoyable, otherwise people wouldn't give themselves the awful hangovers the next day if they didn't think it would be worth it for the night out. Although, if I'd known I was going to suffer from the other side effect of a night on the beer - terrible wind the next day - I may have drunk a little less last night. Was in so much agony today, just about managing to hold what felt like several cubic tons of fart gas inside me for he benefit of my colleagues. (For reference, I think Fart Gas is somewhere between Helium and Argon on the Periodic Table.) The more I listened to the show, the more I wanted to take Anne Widdicombe out one night and get her really drunk - although not for romantic purposes. She could even teach me a few of her famous dance moves. 


Right, back to Hustle I think. Imagine in this episode Mickey Bricks and the gang will manage to set up some witless thug in a mind-boggling con that will look like its sort of gone wrong until there's a big reveal near the end and they all end up in Eddie's Bar at the end and have a good laugh about it. Like every week. 


Glad I've discovered this programme, otherwise I could easily just be wasting my time.

Monday 9th April - Back On The Blog!

After mostly eating pizza and drinking Guinness all of this bank holiday weekend, I have decided to dedicate my day today to my exercise bike, in an effort to 'offset' the calories I've taken on. Could have my work cut out. My weight has always been a fascination to me, which I guess isn't a very manly thing to admit to. Whilst never having been actually 'fat' or 'thin' I have always fluctuated between weights. While some people can eat and eat to their heart's content and never put weight on, and this seems dramatically unfair, all I have to do is take the tiniest bite out of a half-fat muffin, eat a low-fat packet of crisps, a big bar of chocolate, several pasties, a massive curry, loads of Haribo, 4 pizzas and a gallon of Guinness and the weight piles on me. I just don't understand it.


It's been over 2 months since my last blog entry. My attempt to write a blog every day for an entire year fizzled out at only 128 days - not unexpectedly really, it was quite hard work doing it every day in the end. Although I do feel that I have let down my loyal subscribers, all 5 of them, by not having written anything in months now. 


In the past 2 months, by way of keeping you up to date, I have done absolutely nothing worth noting. I seem to have been very busy, but somehow can't really remember what I've actually done. To look at the pictures on my facebook profile you would probably think I've been constantly playing gigs, as all of my photos seem to be of me playing guitar or singing, but I've not really played that many this year I don't think. It seems that the only time people ever take a picture of me is at a gig. And I'm always wearing the same shirt! 


Keep your eyes/ears peeled for the new podcast my friend and I will be starting soon.

Thursday The Whatever It Is Of February, Probably The 2nd Or 3rd Or Something - Resigning From The Daily Blog Challenge

Seriously getting to the stage where I think I might stop trying to write this blog daily. Its just really quite rarely in any way interesting any more! Some days I'm finding it quite difficult to think of anything to write, and really can't be bothered either! I'll see how it goes, and it might just be that I've had a couple of pretty bad days, but I think I'd rather just write something less frequent and more interesting.


It has, however, been interesting for me to see how long I could try and do it before I finally cracked and gave up the daily thing. But, I guess, in a way I've already stopped doing it daily anyway, as most of my posts in the last couple of weeks have been extremely poor quality, and nowhere near funny or interesting. Certainly not reason's to be cheerful. I think I shall therefore stop the daily thing. I suppose doing one hundred and twenty-odd days in a row isn't that bad anyway. If I carry on I think I may have to rename it 'Reasons To Force Myself To Write A Dreary Line Of Crap Each Night For No Apparent Reason', which, I think, has less of a ring to it. And uses the word 'reason' twice, and I never like to repeat things - except when I steal other people's jokes and claim them as my own. 

Wednesday 1st February

Sometimes I can't help but wonder what the point is. You try so hard to better yourself all the time and do things right but you never really reap the rewards. Maybe that's it, hoping for a reward for something doesn't really mean you've earned it. I'm not sure, and you may have no idea what I'm talking about. You probably don't. I'm not sure I do. At least Bob can put it into words; Is Your Love In Vein?


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhaFJ4Hgrqc

Tuesday 31st January

This evening was spent well seeing a good friend I haven't seen for a little while. During our drunken time together we discussed at some point owning and running a pub together - which I think we would be only too qualified for, and also entering a sailing race in October up the the river Arun. I have never sailed before nor even really been in a small boat before, but I aim to honour this invitation.

Monday 30th January

It seems to be only Sundays now that I have given up sleeping, which could be worse I suppose. It means that only one day a week I will be completely knackered, and I can hardly complain at that. As they say, everything in moderation, and I suppose that counts with insomnia too. 


Another day at work completed today, and it surprises me - pleasantly, I must add - that I am still there. My original month of working seems to have stretched further than I'd thought  and so far not snapped, which is surely a result. The money I am earning has not only fed my eager lust for beer, but also this weekend, allowed me to buy a laptop off of ebay. Something I've wanted for a while. I must point out that if you read my recent post about struggling to win auctions on ebay, I didn't get better at it, I just bottled it in the end and went for a 'buy it now' option. My poor record with actually winning items on ebay through skill in an auction remains intact. 


And so, the first month in 2012 is almost up. And its been pretty good! This time last year I was in my first unemployed spell, and was about a stone fatter and feeling sorry for myself. But this time this year, well now, I suppose, I am working, I've played a few gigs with my rock band, I've been out with my friends a lot, walked almost half of the South Downs Way, have made friends with another Tom Sadler on facebook, continued to write a daily - if largely uneventful account of my life and have really gotten into eating Mexican food.


The year has started well. 


With any luck my year will continue in this positive way; I will find a more permanent job, maybe have a couple of holidays, finish walking the South Downs Way, improve my batting average and hopefully have sex at some point.

Sunday 29th January - Free Willy

Stumbled upon the film 'Free Willy' this evening when I got in. A tale of a friendship between a lonely whale and a lonely kid. This is a film I remember watching as a child and it was strange to watch it again as an adult.


It is obviously a ridiculous film, and strewn with dodgy facts about whales, but I actually found it quite endearing, and actually quite touching in parts. What really got me though - apart from never quite trusting Michael Madsen to be the good guy for a change - was that when the boy was talking to the whale it kept nodding and shaking its head to the bits the boy said that it agreed with or not! I almost certainly wouldn't have noticed this as a child, but it really grated on me all the way through today. 


I know that whales are very smart, but they surely wouldn't have a decent enough grasp of the English language to engage in conversion with a rambling american adolescent. The least they would know would be the basics you learn with any foreign language, like the words for 'hello' and 'thank you'. 


Having said that, I'm glad they saved the whale and it did the ridiculous big jumping over the wall finale thing, and the villains of the piece got their just desserts. And they all lived happily ever after. I kind of want to see 'Free Willy 2' now!

Saturday 28th January

Played another gig tonight. But it wasn't that good. For a start the sound engineer was really crap, like he didn't have a clue about anything, but secondly, we didn't have our bass player. I realised tonight how much I love my mate who plays bass. Not just because he's good at it, and it really completes the sound, but because I think I need his companionship on stage.


Both of us, in fact three of us, have all done - and are doing- our own thing. We have all got side projects doing our own stuff and, I think, we are all quite good at it. But as a band we have a certain dynamic which is hard to beat. Not just from the music, but as characters, and mates. Tonight, playing without our bass player, I felt kinda lost, like I didn't have my mate to share looks and concerns and chats with during songs. The lead guitarist and singer, and keyboard player are so busy - and the drummer is just in the zone - me and the bassist just share looks and glances all the time and its nice, and comforting I guess, to know they're there.


Tonight wasn't a very good gig basically. We were poor, and we were missing a vital component, and the night was organised really badly anyway. It was such a leap to go from a good gig we played last week to a rubbish one tonight. But, I guess, you've got to take the crunchy with the smooth with this stuff. also, I think I might have been a bit gobby during the performance. Apparently this show was being broadcast live and, sure in the knowledge that I knew we weren't playing well and that no one was listening anyway, I may have been a little rude. 


At least I scrubbed out the message I wrote on my guitar though. Writing stuff on my my guitar is kind of my thing. Tonight it was originally 'METAL IS SHIT', because we were supporting metal bands, but I changed it at the last minute. I think this shows a great deal of respect and politeness on my part. So, erm, well done to me I suppose!

Friday 27th January

The relentless blogging continues. Another week over and a lye-in to look forward to. 

Thursday 26th January

Today was a tiring day at work, following last night's drinking and rocking on that boat, and I was glad when 5pm eventually rolled around. Unfortunately tomorrow is already shaping up to be a bit of a replay, as I've just spent the evening drinking Guinness and whiskey with my cousin again - seems to have become a kind of fortnightly thing we do - and it was much fun. Imagine that's exactly the opposite to what I might say when my alarm rudely interrupts my sleeping body in the morning.


Got in to catch the end of 'Question Time', and amongst the tail end of a discussion about whether we should assist America in invading Iran or not - and I won't even bother to mention my views on that today, seeing as how ridiculous an idea it sounds even to a drunken man. But I wondered this evening what David Dimbleby actually thought about it? For years he's been dishing out the questions and refereeing the debate, and not once has he ever said what he thinks about something. He must be itching to get involved on some occasions. I, as a humble viewer, have occasionally found myself shouting at the telly when it's on if something particularly annoys me. Much respect to Dimbleby for keeping his cool for all these years.

Wednesday 25th January - The Boat That Rocked

I actually watched 'The Boat That Rocked' a couple of days ago for the first time, and really enjoyed it despite expecting not to. But it was a really nice feel-good film and had a load of great records played in it. Tonight, my band rocked out on a boat. On this occasion for a friend of our drummer, who used to work at the BBC I believe - which in itself sounds like a cool thing to tell people - and got us round to his house-boat tonight to record and film a live video of a couple of our tracks.


It was a really fun evening and, despite a few technical difficulties early on - which resulted a percentage of the band visiting the local pub for a spell - we got down and played a good couple of tracks, with any luck getting a decent take out of it. It was an interesting and fun place to play and with the set-up the guy had we will hopefully get something out of it that looks and sounds really good.


It was also fun later on edging along the side of this boat with all the gear, hoping with all our might that we wouldn't fall in the river.

Tuesday 24th January

Hmm, I believe the title to this blog is 'Reasons To Be Cheerful'. I wonder what 'Reasons' I can think of to be 'Cheerful' today. Its almost like the wrong person got chosen to write this blog. It hasn't been a bad day by any means. I am still, for at least a couple more days I guess, working. Have just been for a few pints with my old man, which was quite nice. And have also really got into The Ramones in the last few days. Not that I've not liked them before, I had, and I don't think anyone has got any reason whatsoever not to like them. They were quite simply, amazing. And if you don't like them then you're wrong, plain and simple.


But other than that, and once again me being quite poor at ebay, nothing has really happened that is different from any other day. Today has just been a day. Just another day. This seems ignorant in a way. I mean, something always happens. In one day for me and the world, something always happens, or I'll think about something that happens. I suppose I could mention there was a traffic problem on the A27 this morning according to people at work, or maybe say something about that big boat lying on it's side in Italy but, right now, it disinterests me. 

Monday 23rd January

A few more temps were laid off at work today. Luckily myself, and a couple of others who I've got to know, were okay this time - but I have a feeling it won't last more than two or three more weeks. Which is okay. I mean, it's temp work - being temporary is pretty much implied in the title - but it seems a shame to be almost over just as I've settled into it and got to know a few people. And it seems quite harrowing when some people are let go, and you can't help but think, "I'm glad I'm okay", even though you feel sorry for those having to leave. 


But as we get closer to the end of the project, and the workload gets lower, people will inevitably continue to be let go, or 'culled', as the term has become amongst the remaining few of us. It raises the unenviable thought of workers no longer required being led out the back and shot against a wall. Whenever this is said I get an uneasy feeling I'm going to walk out into the car park and see burning stacks of temporary workers smoking high into the sky.


I think I prefer to see it as more like a series of 'The X-Factor', where, as the weeks go on, we are gradually voted off until the end of the project when someone will be crowned the 'Ultimate Temp', and receive the fantastic prize of gaining maybe a couple of extra days pay than anybody else. Week by week you are assessed as to your office skills, efficiency, punctuality and general likeability by a panel of judges consisting of senior management and permanent staff.


Tim is still there too, and as far as he is concerned, deservedly so. On the way out he managed a little nod and a sly grin to me, "Still here then, Tom?", in a smarmy way that suggested he thought I probably wouldn't be. Perhaps we will both make the final round. He will be the Olly Murs to my.....erm.......some other bloke I guess. I don't really watch X-Factor.

Sunday 22nd January

I am totally shit at ebay. Have just been trying to bid on a laptop to replace my old broken one, and have three times this evening been outbid right at the end, about 2 seconds before the auction finishes, just enough time to cue panic button-pressing and predictable disappointment. The annoying thing is that I've just kind of been hanging around waiting for each auction to end when I'd really rather be doing something else.


Some people must just be really great at ebay, well versed in tactics and protocol, and probably laugh hysterically when they manage to outbid me at the last minute. Like the mad super-villains in films do when they've just hatched a plan to dispose of the hero, except hunched over a keyboard and wearing slippers. I feel dejected.


Might just have a go at one more before bed. 

Saturday 21st January - 'Tom Sadler The Ripper'

In today's blog I have decided to delve back into my mission to find more Tom Sadlers. Buoyed by the success of the last entry on this subject (http://www.tomsadler-rtbc.blogspot.com/2012/01/tuesday-17th-january-other-tom-sadler.html) I just couldn't resist it. It seems  that I just love writing about myself, researching myself, and thinking about myself. 


Today's Tom is a little different, but I couldn't help writing about him. Unfortunately, since he's been dead for over 100 years, there is little chance I'm going to be able to make friends with him on facebook. But even if he was alive I'm not entirely sure I'd want to be friends with him, for this Tom Sadler was a murder suspect during the famous 'Jack The Ripper' killings in Whitechapel in the late 1900's. And I can't tell you how pleased I am to have discovered this!


Tom Sadler was born in around 1838, and was actually named 'James' Sadler, but for some reason took on the noble name of 'Tom' to, luckily, make himself eligible to be written about by his namesake in a self-obsessed blog 170 years later in a town near Brighton. He probably didn't change his name because of this, but it would show remarkable foresight if he did. 


Tom grew up in and around the Norfolk area and eventually became a sailor, taking on various jobs on land when not at sea. He married Sarah Chapman in 1851, and afterwards moved to London. So far so good, then. This is probably what he looked like, not sure there's much resemblance to me. Then again, I've never grown a massive beard and killed a prostitute, so who knows. But with any luck, we're not related;

Sadler and Chapman had three children, and seemed to endure a turbulent marriage together in London. While he went form job to job in the East end of London, holding all manner of roles from that of a greengrocer to a tram driver, and spending occasional times at sea, the couple split several times. Largely, it seems on account of Tom being a violent drunk, once described by his lodger as 'a treacherous and cowardly man', who on several occasions threatened to take his wife's life. It seems that for a time around 1888 to 1891, Tom was living alone in the Whitechapel area of London, and was regularly spending time with Francis Coles, a local prostitute. Some sources claim they were actually an item, but it seems more likely that he was just a very regular and eager customer.


'Jack The Ripper' was the name given to the unidentified serial killer that was active in the impoverished East End of London in 1888-1889, possibly later. He is thought to have murdered at least 5 young women, all prostitutes, during this time. He is likely two have killed 2 more and possibly up to 15 or 16. The likelihood is that many of the others were copycat murders, driven on by the intrigue and media hype, but only 5 of them are thought to have been committed for sure by the same person, typified by the similar method of asphyxiation, followed by throat-slitting and the removal of bodily organs. Francis Coles was one of the more unlikely to have been a victim of The Ripper. 


Below is a link to a website which is very detailed and interesting account of the case, and worth a good look if you're interested in the case at all. Although I've got to say, I didn't enjoy looking at the photographs very much. They're pretty gruesome, and unbelievably creepy. Before stumbling across this Tom Sadler on google, I knew very little about 'Jack The Ripper', other than the famous name and place.
http://www.casebook.org/intro.html

Francis Coles was killed a time after the bulk, for want of a better word, of the murders were committed, in 1891 - the majority of killings occurred between 1888 and 1890. On the lead up to her murder, Francis had been out with Tom for effectively 48 hours on a massive pub crawl. Which for starters is wonderful, because I didn't think I'd find that much in common with him until I read this bit! But it seems he did like a drink. After spend a night in what are referred to as 'chambers', they carried on drinking the next day until they appeared to have a massive argument in the street, our man thinking it was Coles' fault that he'd been mugged while they were out - although it strikes me that if he'd been drinking for that long, he's probably just left his wallet in a pub somewhere without realising. The couple parted company but only a couple of hours later, Francis Coles was dead. Her throat cut, and body left in an alley.


Strikes me it would have surely been simpler if he'd just phoned up and cancelled his credit card and chalked the loss of a couple of notes up to bad luck, rather than lose his rag and violently murder his Mrs, but there you go. This is a picture of them on a night out. Looks like they're having an amazing time;

Looks like he's bored her into some kind of coma. Probably going on and on about folk music and cricket all night, not letting her get a bloody word in. 


Sadler was arrested two days later in, surprisingly, a pub. Upon the arrival of the police he is alleged to have said to them, "Well, it took you long enough didn't it?", which can't have helped his case very much. He was detained, charged, and sentenced for her murder, and put under suspicion for the other murders committed a couple of years previously by 'Saucy Jack'.


He was, however, a few weeks later acquitted of the crime due to a lack of evidence and some new evidence provided by his Union, apparently providing witnesses to prove that Sadler was elsewhere when Coles was murdered. The story was that at this time he was at least a mile away being beaten up by some men on the docks. 


Despite his freedom, the police always suspected him of the murder of Francis Coles - although it seems there is very little chance that he was the culprit of the other unsolved murders. He eventually left London, under much pressure from the police who wanted him out of town. No-one knows exactly when he died, but there are registered deaths of a 'James Sadler' in Wandsworth in 1910, and a 'Thomas Sadler' in Camberwell in 1906. 


I wonder what happened to his three children? Maybe one of them moved down the road to Brighton at some point........


As much as I have immensely enjoyed researching this 'Tom Sadler', and do share his affinity for pubs, I must say I feel more akin to the Tom Sadler in Virginia I spoke about a few days ago. He seems like an all round much nicer bloke!

Friday 20th January

Watching a BBC live session with Paul Simon. Makes me think how he is undoubtedly is a great musician, but misses having Art Garfunkel's amazing singing voice with him. They churned out some amazing stuff in a short period when they were together I guess 40 years ago now. Still good to see these old names up and about though.


Today I managed to realise the predictable conclusion of a night of rock 'n' roll and plenty of booze at work pretty well. Oh hangovers at work, how I've missed you not very much. Having said that, its a little better than last summer when after a few gigs with work the next day, I'd end up just not bothering to go to bed, instead opting to drink and dance all night and then just go straight to work. Maybe I'm getting too old for that kind of stuff - not that its really necessary anyway.


Last night was a great show. Good crowd, good beer, good musicians playing. Our set was pretty well on form as well, maybe as good as we've played in a while. I think its hard not to be on good form when you're performing to a full house though - really gets you going. And its great to see people get out on a weekday for local music events, as it is sometimes a struggle to fill a venue and make it worth everybody's while. But last night was a good advert for it.


I always, however, and wherever we play a show, seem to feel kind of flat the next day. And not just because of the hangover. It's like the previous night you were something else. Just for a while. And maybe just in your head, but it doesn't really matter. It's like last night you were something special and today you're not. I'd love to at some point be able to perform everyday in one form or another. 

Thursday 19th January

A really very short one tonight. Had a fantastic evening. Played a good gig and there was pretty much a full house at the venue. Hope to do it again really soon. Entirely not looking forward to getting up for work in a few hours! With any luck, a more interesting blog tomorrow, but for now, as a drunken guitarist in a pretty good band, goodnight.

Wednesday 18th January

Another seemingly endless day at work eventually came to a close. These days at work seem to be never-ending in the sense that as soon as I seem to have finished for the evening, I suddenly seem to be sitting back at my desk the next day already. It's like my evening never even happened. I've also signed up to work Saturday and Sunday, so my next day off seems like an awful long way off. I guess I really shouldn't complain though, what with how difficult it is to get a job at the moment, and suppose I just have to grin and bear it.


I was this evening, however, greeted with a nice surprise when I turned on my computer and looked at facebook. The unsuspecting subject of yesterday's blog, the other Tom Sadler, from America, surprised me by reading the blog I wrote on him. This was something I hadn't expected, but it was a rather wonderful feeling to have connected in some way, and he very kindly left me some feedback too. 


This single act instantly made my day a lot better, and inspired me to think of how far a hunt for fellow Tom Sadlers could go? And whether they'd all happily become friends with me on facebook? I'd like to think they would, because they're probably all top blokes. We shall see.....


Tomorrow should be good too, as I've got a gig with my band. I always get excited a few days before a show, and seem to get itchy fingers if we haven't played for a little while, and we're expecting a decent crowd too which just adds to the build-up. 

Tuesday 17th January - The Other Tom Sadler

A couple of weeks ago I described myself as 'entirely self-obsessed', well, get this then! I am about to take that self-obsession to the next level. 


Last year sometime I decided to search for my name on google, as everybody has at some point I presume, and there were loads of results. Tom Sadlers everywhere. Like a rash. All over the internet. 


This interested me for all of about an hour, as I clicked on all the links and photos to see what all of my namesakes were up to. There were photographers, businessmen, a basketball player, a conservation and fishing expert, a comedian. Loads. And these were just the people who were on google - I guess the more successful ones. There must be thousands of them out there! Or at least hundreds. Maybe tens.


Anyway, forgot about that for a while, until a few weeks ago, when I decided to befriend the conservation and fishing expert Tom Sadler on facebook. He's great! I get constant updates on my newsfeed about wildlife conservation and good places to go fishing. Not that I'm massively interested in fishing, and it almost strikes me that fishing isn't massively helpful to conserving fish - but I guess he's the expert. 


If anything, I quite like that too. The contradiction in the man. Something I can identify with. The fight between good and evil. A bit like Darth Vader. I mean, he wants desperately to help conserve the fish, because he loves them, but equally he can't help himself but to go fishing, because he loves fishing. That's Tom Sadler, by the way, if you haven't seen Star Wars, not Darth Vader. Those films may have been less exciting if instead of the balance between the the good and the dark side of the force, it was more a moral struggle between liking fish but also wanting to catch them. But maybe a 'Fish vs. Fishing' film is just the original idea that cinema needs. If it is then I'm sure Tom Sadler would love to play the lead. 


Tom lives in a place called Verona, in Virginia, in the good old U.S. of A. He is married, sorry girls, and from the look of the photo looks like he is probably somewhere in his mid to late fifties. His profile titles him as a 'key grip and trout wrangler in 'The Middle River Group'' - as far as I can make out some kind of official body that provides expertise in conservation and fishing projects. 


In another source I read on the internet, Tom is described as "Playing Doc Holiday to the Wyatt Earps of the fish and wildlife conservation world". Which I love! I mean, wow! What a reputation! This is one impressive man. I am entirely proud to share a name with him. Haven't actually managed to pluck up the courage to message him yet, but I kind of want to. Not sure what to say though;


'Hello, I'm from England and have the same name as you. I don't really like fishing but totally dig conservation. I like you. Goodbye'.


Probably not. But it's nice to finally have become friends with myself, if only on facebook. Although, I suppose he did actually accept my 'friend request', so there must have been part of him that saw this, let out a short, but uncontrollable snigger and thought 'Ha, another Tom Sadler wants to be friends with me! I shall accept his request'. That's probably what happened, but in a broad Virginia accent. 


If you want to see a picture of him, check out this link (not sure how copyright laws work exactly, so thought it best not to post a picture of him on here, plus he's my friend now so I wouldn't want to offend him); 

https://plus.google.com/117955064299281017666/posts

Anyway, not wanting to sound too Dave Gorman-y (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Are-Dave-Gorman-Danny-Wallace/dp/0091884713/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1326827344&sr=8-4) - not that I have a problem with stealing other people's ideas, I am a folk musician after all - I actually quite enjoyed this almost-meeting with another one of me, so maybe this could be the start of a new project. A 'see how many other Tom Sadlers I can become friends with on facebook' kind of thing. I'll have a search tonight.

Monday 16th January

Ah, Monday mornings, how much I've missed you being part of my routine. You now are well an truly back in my life it seems. Today was the start of I think my fifth week in this job, and I'm pretty glad it has lasted as long as it has already, and looks like it may last a little longer.


To expand on yesterday, as I seem to remember I was too tired to actually write anything after having been walking all day after another sleepless night, it was actually a very good day, and entirely rewarding. Actually, to go back to the sleep thing, it was suggested yesterday that by one of my mates that insomnia was 'probably just another one of my things', much the same as my music, sport and this blog have been. Just another phase that I'm going through, probably seeking attention. Which was nice! And. I hope, not true. Talking to my boss today she said that lots of people struggle with sleep that work there, maybe as a result of the work being too boring, she said. I said nothing, not wanting to drop any thought I have over the boredom of the work in case it gets me sacked! Even if it is boring.


So, yeah, the walk. We set off from Buriton in Hampshire at about half 9 I think, and made our way along the route to the town of 'Cocking', in West Sussex. Twinned with 'Bumhole' in Kent, I believe. It was a lovely, if cold, winter's day, and perfect for a long walk. The countryside was beautiful, and it was great to get out and about and well away from the office or the house. 


Walking, and other stuff like this was never something I was really that bothered about a few years back, but since I've got older I've learned to respect the need for doing things like this as well as all the other stuff like drinking and music and football or whatever it is I'm into. It really is good for the soul I think to get out and about and see some of this stuff I think.


We arrived at the finish point at lunchtime and got stuck in to a well deserved pint. And you really do feel you've deserved it after a long walk. 


Hopefully have time for a few more interesting posts this week, got a few in mind that I'll share if time and tiredness allow. Meanwhile, it's bedtime.

Sunday 15th January

Today was leg 3 of mine and my friend's South Down's Way challenge. We got up pretty early and started the walk not long after 9am - which was a struggle, not that I'd slept anyway - but was well worth the effort. 


It was a lovely, if cold, winter's day and the 12 mile walk pretty well flew by. Had a couple of beers in the pub at the end afterwards. Actually really too tired to write any more today. Time for a hot bath and pray that I manage to sleep tonight.

Saturday 14th January

Had a good evening last night, went out for a couple of beers and had a Mexican meal. Made a good change from going out for a curry - which seems to be the norm amongst my group of friends for eating out - and it was pretty good. Had the advantage that you could still have a couple more drinks out after eating, unlike a curry - when you fill yourself with so much food that it is impossible to force any more of anything into your body afterwards.


Went to our nearby town of Worthing for a change last night too. Hadn't been out there for quite a while, but it made a nice change and gave us a chance to visit all the old sites, places we used to go to all the time. Like JB's, a pub which seems to harbour all the local freaks - a bit like a circus - and such characters as 'Shit Jagger', a bloke who dresses a bit like Mick Jagger and is incredibly thin and wrinkled, 'Shit Eyes', who apparently has very bad eyesight, and they've even got a midget who collects the glasses. We visited a few other places for nostalgia and ended up getting the last train home.


Today I have done very little whatsoever. I've watched TV, listened to football on the radio, and read books. For some reason I had a Mexican dish for dinner, which may have been overkill having it two days running, but it was quite nice. A bit like this blog, perhaps I could try and see how many day's in a row I could eat Mexican food for? Probably won't do that.


Off for a long walk tomorrow, as Leg 3 of our almost forgotten South Downs Way journey continues.......

Friday 13th January

Can't be entirely sure that I blinked more than about 5 times today. Been staring at a computer screen all day and have pretty much just zoned out into some unknown place. It was weird, but okay, because now it is the weekend! Oh yes! What wonderful non-working delights await me over this Saturday and Sunday? Not entirely sure to be honest. Off out this evening for some food and a few beers - and it certainly seems nice to be slotting back into the Friday night drinks with mates after a week off work, something I've really missed. 


With any luck I won't waste an entire weekend sitting at home watching TV or wasting time in some other way. It'd be nice to get out and about somewhere, as I feel like I've not really done it recently. 


Gonna have to leave it short today, as right now it's Friday evening and time to wash my work-weary body before going out. 

Thursday 12th January

Was doing something slightly different at work today, which came as some relief in a way - not because of the task at hand, but because of the bloke I've been sitting next to for most of the week. Before this week I had been sitting next to this bloke from Tanzania. He played table tennis and collected stamps, but was actually quite interesting to talk to, and he told me all about some African music that I like. But he was let go earlier this week unfortuantely, and I've been plonked next to Tim, from day one of the job that I think I mentioned who, while not being an unpleasant person, is, to actually put it mildly, as boring as fuck.


Every day I see him he gives me an update to his flooded bathroom at home, which he is struggling to get fixed, and he for some reason thinks I might give a shit about, which I don't. He is also not very good at this quite easy job, and constantly boasts to me about how qualified and clever he is. I suppose he must hide it well. He's also obsessed with tidying up, sometimes getting ready to go home and standing patiently behind his desk a clear half an hour before home time.


But I won't hold a grudge, and I do hope he gets his toilet fixed soon. 


And so it seems I've been given a promotion of sorts today. Not really a promotion, but something slightly different, and perhaps it might last a little longer in terms of a job. So all seems well today all in all. 


Was a bit down yesterday for some reason, but an evening spent in Brighton drinking Guinness and Jameson's with my cousin seemed to put things right. That is one of the good things about not starting till 9am at this job - most of my other jobs have started at 6 or 7am - is that I feel like I can go out on a weekday and not have to worry too much about recovering in time for work as it seems so comparatively late for for me. 


Looking forward to doing not very much at all this evening.

Wednesday 11th January

Doing a job like this can be a bad thing for a sleep deprived depressive. You talk to no-one all day, and just stare at the forms in front of you that you're checking. And the mind can wander into all sorts of places while you're doing it. It has a free run of my head for over 8 solitary hours while I'm there.


Sometimes this can be great and I'll have a great time daydreaming about all sorts of things, like yesterday when one of the girls I work with told me, for some reason, that she'd had a dream about our supervisor lady punching a Great White shark to death. So, naturally, I spent the morning imaging all the other kinds of animals she might be able to take on if she managed to pummel a Great White.


But other times, if you start the day on a down note, it can easily make you think depressing thoughts all day. So this evening, as an apt end to my day at work, I have come home quite down about all sorts of things, like my band - or, I should probably say - the band I'm in. To claim it's my band would be a bit much. My role really seems to be much the same as I image it is for a reserve player at Man Utd. It's great that you can tell everybody you play for them, but in reality you very rarely get a game. 


Other things that bother me today are the uncertainty of my job, and the usual lack of job etc etc blah blah blah.......boring.


I dearly hope this news has cheered you up after a tough day at work too, dear reader. Like I said yesterday, I am nothing if not entirely self-obsessed. 

Tuesday 10th January - Blog Number 100!

Today, as if you hadn't heard about it, marks the 100th instalment of 'Reasons To Be Cheerful'. Oh yes! I have managed to entertain and inform my loyal audience for 100 consecutive days. You, dear reader, have now been akin to my thrilling adventures and inner most thoughts for over a quarter of a year. It seems I am nothing if not entirely self-obsessed.

Looking back over the days, weeks and months it seems that a high percentage of the days I have been drunk at some point or another, which is quite impressive since for most of the time I have also been without a source of income. I would therefore like to take this opportunity to thank to the Government, who I am certain will be reading this, for supplying the money to keep me fuelled up during those dark days. Big up to you guys, keep up the good work - I may be needing you again very soon. 

Elsewhere in this barely detailed account of the last hundred days of my life, I have recounted to you tales of the gigs I've played, discussed various bodily functions, and almost exposed myself to the postman twice.

You will undoubtedly be glad to hear that I actually managed to sleep for a few hours last night, which made my day at work today all the more tolerable. By all accounts, I was like a barely intelligible giggling coke addict at band rehearsal last night, barely keeping in time and talking utter crap with a spaced out look on my face. This perhaps gave the lads an insight as to how I might be after a few days if we ever went on tour together. It was probably tedious and after a while very grating and repetitive, a bit like a subscription to 'Reason's To Be Cheerful'.

They've started to let some members of the agency staff at work go now, as the project we are working on is reaching its end. Somehow I seem to have managed to dodge the first cull, and have been told that there could still be work until March for some people, but I get an idea I could be let go by the end of January. Which is a shame. I've only just started to get to know some of the people there, and it seems a shame for it to stop just as I've got used to it. But that is the nature of temporary work I suppose.

One guy who was let go, an Italian man, seemed so shocked that his post was finishing today that he just walked around the office in a daze for about 20 minutes until he was asked to leave. It was like he'd just been informed that his entire family had just been killed in a horrific car accident somewhere, such was is obvious distress. I felt like nudging him and saying, 'Get over it mate, it's only a temp job!', my hand being stayed by the thought that he actually might have just found out his entire family had died in a horrific car accident and been let go from his temp job. How was I to know? What a shit day today must have been for him.

Monday 9th January - Insomnia

I have not slept a wink since Friday night. Saturday I got in really very late after the walking home/punch in the balls incident, and just pretty much didn't bother to go to sleep. Last night, I was entirely knackered. Entirely. I could barely keep my eyes open most of the evening, which is why I was shocked that as soon as I decided to go to bed I suddenly couldn't sleep. So I just lay there and waited for sleep to envelope it's inevitable clutches around me. 

Two hour's later and it still hadn't. I couldn't understand it. So I decided to try and read for a bit, and then attempted to sleep again. By attempted, I mean I lay down in my bed with the lights off and my eyes shut. That is surely the only thing you really can do to go to sleep. It's a tried and tested formula that has been used by people for ages - I mean like years and years. It really should have worked. For another couple of hours I lay there wondering exactly why I wasn't asleep yet, since I was using the right technique and all. Still nothing. 

I must have been tired - I didn't bother to do any sleeping the previous night - so I was entirely due a good night's kip. I decided to go downstairs and drink some ovaltine, and then some whiskey too - that always knocks me out. Still no sleep. Much tiredness, but no sleep. It was the most frustrating thing to happen. As soon as you realise you aren't sleeping you get so frustrated that you aren't that it makes it even worse.

Eventually, my alarm went off a half 7 and I had to get ready for a day's work - something I wasn't really that up for, having not slept in two days. 

Today at work was a real hard slog. My attention span wasn't registering, I was pumping myself with Lucozade and caffeine - by 'pumping', I would like to point out, I mean I was administering it orally, via the usual method of, erm, drinking it. My sense of humour had gone, as well as which my memory was suffering. And my sense of humour had gone.

Having survived 8 and a bit hours at work, I had to get straight home and get ready for a rehearsal with the band, which I felt as much like doing as I do having to write this blog right now - but I guess you have to do these things if you're me. And I am me. At least I think I am, it's actually getting quite hard to tell to be honest.

At the latest count - which is now - I have now been awake for over 63 hours. 63 entire hours since I last graced 'The Land Of Nod' with my Godly presence. I miss it a lot. It is homely and cool things can happen to you while you're there, and it makes you feel a lot better in the daytime if you've had a nice amount of it. 

But now I am worried it will happen again. I don't know if I can survive another day without sleep. There must be a cut off point when a body just shuts down if you go without sleep for too long and you just, well, go to sleep I suppose. But I don't really want to do that at work to be honest. To suddenly just slump forward over my desk, pension claims forms scattering over the floor. Everyone thinking I've just died. And equally, I just can't drink any more fucking Lucozade. I suppose I could try different flavours, but at the end of the day its still Lucozade. The drink that fat people seem to always sit drinking on the trains between Brighton and Littlehampton. 

I also really need a shower right now, because I smell quite badly, but am worried that having one will make me wide awake. 

Just how long will Tom Sadler stay awake, dear readers? 

Sunday 8th January - An Unexpected Punch In The Balls

Ended up walking home from Brighton last night. I'm really not entirely sure why, except that I  was entirely drunk at the time, and couldn't afford the taxi by myself. I had just split from my friends on the way into a club when one of them decided it would be funny to punch me in the bollocks. 


It was really just unexpected more than anything. And I have no idea why he did it, and I didn't find it particularly funny. No matter how much you're mucking about with the lads, you surely don't punch a bloke in the bollocks do you? It's the most sacred area of a man's body and, I would venture, is probably about as painful as childbirth. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, but it does hurt an awful lot - I can confirm to members of the fairer sex. 


But for some reason it is funny to absolutely everybody present, except for the poor bloke lying on the ground clutching his plums. In organised sport it can be even worse. To have 20 other blokes standing around laughing at you in a state of indignant pain having been struck by, say, a cricket ball is quite embarrassing. Someone shout's out, "Don't rub 'em, count 'em!!", and more hilarity ensues. And you are powerless to stand up straight for several minutes. There is literally no way to speed the recovery from the dull ache that has encompassed your entire lower body. I obviously speak from some experience in the matter. 


I have been caught in the knackers by a cricket ball several times - even whilst wearing protection it is still very painful. I got it a few times playing football, I think whilst goalkeeping once I managed to save a powerful shot from hitting the back of the net by getting my love spuds in the way of it. It's like my balls are magnets for balls. (I wonder how many different words that can describe testicles - there's another one - I can subtly squeeze into this blog?) I even once got hit in them by a stale French-stick once when I worked at a supermarket, and was having a kind of light-saber battle with a mate in the store room.


Anyway, enough about my genitals. I am basically just pretty sure that hitting your mate in them while on a night out for a laugh is perhaps slightly antisocial, and didn't really expect it from this bloke - who I've known for a few years, and whilst he isn't really the best person in social situations, surely knows the basics. I mean that is a pretty basic social skill isn't it, not violently attacking another man's joy department for laughs. I am still very annoyed, and shall be terminating that particular friendship forthwith!


I really had forgotten quite how far it is to walk home from Brighton though, otherwise I would probably not have tried it. Looking at the map this morning I discovered that it is about 12 miles all the way, and it really did feel like it by the time I got home. But it was a beautifully clear and calm winter's night and for the most part, not unpleasant. I'd had a pretty good night overall, despite my aching testes - and I guess the exercise on the way home was actually quite good for me. 


And just to name and shame the 'Ball-Puncher' himself, it is my former friend Mike. Even though that isn't his name. I must point out that I don't use real names for people I know that get mentioned in my blog as it doesn't seem right to do so. But just so everybody knows, Mike punches his friends in the bollocks for fun. Mike the 'Ball-Puncher'. Bloody Ball-Punching not actually Mike. What a bastard.

Saturday 7th January - The Exit

Apologies for yesterday's entry, just read it back and realised quite how bad it was. If it makes things any better, I was so drunk when I did it that as soon as I'd spent at least 5 minutes squinting to get the site up and write it - trying to make the screen come into focus - I had to rush upstairs to be sick.


I had already been sick yesterday evening, about 45 minutes before. After work I had gone to my local for a couple of quiet beers. Nothing heavy, just decided to go for my first after-work pint in quite a while. There were a few of the regulars in there that I knew and before I knew it I'd had 4 or 5 pints. Then some of the bar staff who I know were drinking in the other bar and started buying me more booze, and shots and stuff. Hoping to have their wicked way with poor old innocent me probably. Probably. 


Before I knew it was heavily drunk and had to leave, even left a pint which was very unlike me. Queue the most amazing exit I have ever achieved; 


I grabbed my bag and coat, stood-up and announced to the pub that "I'm leaving now", before kissing a bald man on the head, shaking the landlord warmly by the hand, and then snogging one of the girls who was buying me drinks enthusiastically in front of the pub. And then I left and threw up just around the corner.