Retirement - A Year On

41 years ago today, on Monday 17th September 1984, I started work as a Graduate Computer Programmer at a large company that was based in South Manchester. It was the beginning of almost 40 years in Software Engineering, which basically means that I spent my entire working life in combat with computer software running on a variety of machines that slowly evolved and now continue to evolve to this day.

I actually loved writing software but eventually all the politics and crap that surrounds such a career got to me in the end. I guess all office based careers end up mutating into something else and that was definitely true of my job. 

In a sense I was lucky because for about thirty five of those forty years I worked in the airport industry, which meant that I got to travel to exotic places such as Russia, China, USA and South Africa as well as Europe. 

What I discovered as part of these travels is that people the world over are largely the same. When I say “people” I mean ordinary people such as myself, not politicians, celebrities and others wielding power.

For example, in Russia, I worked with a guy who was wonderful company and very helpful to me. In China I was looked after so well by the people I was working with and my attempts to speak Mandarin were met with enthusiasm but laughter as I skilfully mispronounced all manner of words, turning simple sentences into utter gibberish.

On Thursday 12th September 2025 I waved goodbye to all that and retired.

Now, on the day that career started, I thought that I would reflect on what has happened since I handed over my work laptop and said goodbye to my work colleagues. 

Do I think of work now? 

The answer is not really. I am still in touch with quite a few people I used to work with and I definitely miss some of the trips abroad, even though they were hard work in terms of the job I had to do. Thankfully, now that I am free of the chains of my career I can revisit some of these places as a tourist and enjoy them without the pressure of the job. 

The question I am now asked most is:

“What are you doing with your time, Dave?”

When I was younger, I thought that retired people just spent their time doing nothing but now that I have joined that elite group of people, I know how wrong that naïve view is. Some of the retired people I know are actually busier now than when they worked. 

From a personal point of view, my plan for retirement was to make sure that I didn’t fall into the trap of doing absolutely nothing. I wanted a routine. I wanted to keep fit. I wanted to challenge my mind. I wanted to make time for fun. 

I actually went about the task of bringing this plan to fruition in quite a methodical manner. I guess this is no surprise for somebody who designed algorithms for computer systems to follow. Here’s what I did:

First, I made a list of things that I wanted to do (hobbies if you like), and a list of things that were necessary (such as chores etc) as well as finding something to do to simply relax. That list is huge by the way and I have only really looked at a fraction of it. 

In a sense, I was lucky to retire when I did, though fellow retirees will almost certainly disagree with me. Retirees I know said that the best time to retire is at the start of summer yet, paradoxically I ignored that advice and quit my job at the start of autumn. The weather in autumn in the UK is okay but steadily gets worse as time passes inexorably towards winter. Consequently, I found myself staying at home as the weather devolved into unpleasantness. 

You may think this is a bad idea, but it wasn’t bad for me. It allowed my routine to take hold and now, a year later, I have a daily routine that absolutely works for me. 

That is a key thing (and I can’t emphasise it enough) – get yourself a routine that suits you. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as it is something that you can look forward to every day and something that is fulfilling. However, there is a caveat, which I have learned this summer. By all means stick to the routine but don’t be too hard on yourself if something more interesting comes along like a trip out, a holiday or just hanging around with friends. My life was rigid enough when I worked and, as paradoxical as it seems, I don’t want to take that into retirement even though I have a routine for less active days. 

I have a massive list of things that I would like to try and I have spent time listing those in a document for future use, but for now, I have selected a couple to fit into my routine. 

These include, teaching myself (badly) to play the piano, playing with a synthesiser, writing (including a novel, a memoir and blog posts) and learning languages (Spanish, French and German). 

The timetable includes time for daily chores, a bit of relaxation and time to be a total child with my PS5. 

As well as this, I try to walk roughly five miles a day. I do this first thing in the morning because this serves a couple of purposes. First, it wakes me up and second I find it quite mindful and relaxing. Walking also gets me out of the house and is great exercise for an old git like myself. I do this even in terrible weather (Like this morning when I was asking myself whether there was a new Noah constructing a brand new Ark). 

So, have I stuck to myroutine? 

In short, the answer is yes.

It was easier during the winter months and even into spring. 

When summer arrived it was more tricky because there was more to do. I started seriously watching cricket, for example and I have been to a lot of games. Also, the weather improved which meant that I was able to get out and about more or simply sit in the garden and read, enjoying the nice weather. For once we have had a great summer in 2025, involving four heatwaves (yes four – can you believe that in the UK?) with temperatures reaching the high twenties to the mid-thirties Celsius. I don’t think I have spent as much time in the garden as I have this summer. 

To be honest, summer has ruined my routine quite a lot but that is a good thing if you consider that going out and doing stuff is as good as settling into your routine. Summer has taught me that no matter how rigid you wanted the routine to be, it is okay to put it aside for a while and enjoy the benefits of good weather, like a cricket match or simply reading in the garden, as well as other activities and socialising with mates.

Holidays have also required me to shelve my routine a lot. I have been on holiday nine times, three of them in the UK and the rest abroad. There are a few other things going on too, notably bi-monthly get-togethers with a bunch of old retired workmates to travel around the local area via train to seek out new pubs and new breweries – to boldly drink beer where no Mancunian has drunk beer before.  

As well as that, I have become a domestic goddess. Mrs PM is still working and so while she slaves away over a hot laptop, I look after domestic chores such as washing, shopping and being a slave to our two furry overlords. 

That works well and I am (relatively) happy to take over. 

What about the future? 

I am going on another holiday at the end of next week, a cruise around the Aegean Sea with two friends, and after that I will take stock of where I am and consider changing things around a little bit as winter approaches. 

I don’t think that I will change much, if I’m honest, because I am content at the moment. I have a list of new things to try and perhaps I will find time but at the moment I am happy to continue for a while. I will of course review again as the New Year approaches, as this is the time that people traditionally review their day to day lives. 

Life is peachy at the moment and I will try to make the most of it while I am still in the go-go period of retirement. As I said above, I have learned that no matter how disciplined I am with a routine, it is absolutely fine to break that for more interesting pursuits – and in fact it should be actively encouraged. 

I expect more of the same next year and I am delighted with that. 

Billy No Mates

I have been Billy No Mates in the past.

You might wonder whether this is just another silly name I have invented for myself. It’s not really.

In the UK (and possibly other places) becoming “Billy No Mates” refers to situations where you find yourself on your own in a pub, in a restaurant, at a gig or some other social gathering potentially feeling self-conscious because, in your head, you think that everybody else enjoying the company other people and when they see you sitting on your own in the corner, they will laugh or feel sorry for you. 

“Look at him. He’s got no friends. HA HA HA!”

“I feel sorry for old Bill No Mates in the corner there on his own.”

The thing is that work sometimes made sure that it was difficult to avoid becoming Billy No Mates before I retired. I may have mentioned that I used to work on airport IT systems, which meant that I was often asked to fly abroad for days and sometimes weeks at a time to work with the system on site. Most of the time, I travelled with colleagues and a lot of the time, I was entertained by the customers concerned. I don’t mean that they got up and started singing and dancing – they just took me out for meals. 

However, sometimes it was just me. 

When I started travelling abroad I was still quite shy and reserved and if I ended up on my own in those early years, I was tempted to simply go to McDonalds and take my Big Mac Meal back to my lonely old hotel room and sit there on my bed munching away and feeling sorry for myself. The problem was that I had a meal allowance and as time went on I started thinking to myself that perhaps I should take advantage of this and go out to a restaurant. 

And so I did and over the years, as Billy No Mates, I’ve actually just enjoyed meals in sometimes crowded places, watching other people, listening to other conversations and not feeling that self-conscious at all. There comes a point when you realise that being Billy No Mates in such situations is fine and also can be enjoyable. 

Initially, when I plucked up the courage to do it, I used to take a book with me and read it while I was waiting for my meal. That all stopped on a trip to Toronto, Canada. I had the weekend off so, as Billy No Mates, I decided to spend Saturday exploring Toronto and Sunday exploring Niagara Falls. On Saturday, I forgot my book, which was annoying at first, but then I realised that having lunch in a coffee shop and a lovely evening meal in a lively Toronto restaurant was actually just as enjoyable as getting lost in a good book. The restaurant I chose in Toronto had a lively bar attached to it, and I thoroughly enjoyed sampling a couple of Canadian beers and just people watching as I ate. Nobody stared at me and nobody laughed. In fact, the waiters and waitresses stopped to chat a couple of times. 

On Sunday, I spent the whole day in Niagara and had a great lunch. On the way back, an old lady sat next to me on the bus (which was really a special airport taxi) and gave me her life story. She was going back to the UK for the first time for fifty years and was very nervous about it. I did my best to reassure her and, when we arrived at the airport, where I was also staying, I took her to the check-in desks and made sure that she got a boarding pass. She took me for a coffee by way of thanks and I escorted her to the departure lounge. She was most grateful.

I’ve even been on my own in Moscow in the middle of winter. During the three week trip, I was staying at an airport miles away from the city but close enough to get there by train. Armed with my Russian phrasebook, I managed to catch a train and navigate the amazing underground subway system. I found a Mexican restaurant I had been to before with a colleague on a previous trip, and I enjoyed a lovely Mexican meal while watching a live Russian band performing rock music, all washed down with a couple of Baltika beers. There was even an argument in there between a couple and although I couldn’t understand a single word they were saying, it was entertaining. 

All this brings me to the point of this post, which I am reaching in a roundabout way. 

One thing that helps if you find yourself on your own in a pub or restaurant, whether you are actively being Billy No Mates or just waiting for somebody who is delayed, is to have your phone with you. I recall one night when I was in Hong Kong alone, again on a work trip, when I decided to go to a couple of places where Mrs PM had been to when we lived there for three months. In fact it was my very last work trip to Hong Kong. This was not a smartphone but it had a camera and a couple of games so it kind of passed the time. Mrs PM and I would go to a bar called Delaney’s in Wan Chai and then have a meal in a Mexican restaurant called La Placita in Causeway Bay. For old times sake, I wandered into Delaney’s only to find that the bar had moved. I sat at the bar with a beer and chatted to Mrs PM via text. It felt like I wasn’t alone at all. Later, I went to find La Placita but it too had closed. Instead I went to an American diner we had visited a couple of times and again, I chatted via text to Mrs PM, saying how disappointed I was that La Placita was closed. And I was barely aware that I was Billy No Mates – even though I was. 

Since then, phone technology has exploded and just about everybody you see has one. They are far more than just a phone and almost everybody has become reliant on them – myself included. However, this appears to have had a negative effect. What you see now is people in bars and restaurants spending their time engrossed in their phones even when they are with people. It seems a lot of people want to become Billy No Mates, ironically even if they are with their mates. 

I’ve mentioned this before but there was one recent example I saw in a local pub. Three young people were sitting at a table and they were clearly together. All of them were totally absorbed in whatever was on their phones and nobody was talking, that is until one of them ran out of beer and asked whose round it was. They all chose to be Billy No Mates even though they were together. What was the point of being out with friends if all you can do is spend your time on your phone?

It’s crazy. 

I still become Billy No Mates occasionally these days and when I do I use my smartphone to entertain me if necessary. But if I am waiting for a friend in a pub, say, the phone is returned to my pocket the very moment they arrive. 

These days, the only time I become Billy No Mates is when I am waiting for somebody or on public transport on my own. That said, I am quite happy to go to the cinema on my own for example. The same applies to rock concerts. I have a group of mates who all love a bit of rock music and we tend to all go together but occasionally I have to go on my own if the band concerned is more progressive. And I don’t mind that either. For example I have in recent years happily become Billy No Mates to see Riverside, Rush, Porcupine Tree and Dream Theater because I’m the only one out of our group that likes them.

I guess the moral of the post is that It's okay to become Billy No Mates but I’m not sure that becoming Billy No Mates when you are out with friends because of your smartphone is cool really. 

You can’t beat a real conversation with a human being. 

Shiny Happy People

Usually when I am on a flight, I hear from the captain and the flight crew during the course of the flight. These fine people speak to the passengers in a professional and informative manner and we all understand what they say and are happy, informed and reassured.

Some flight companies adopt a slightly different approach. I recently returned from a holiday in Croatia with one of them (I’m not saying which).

Rather than letting the flight crew speak, we were subjected to messages pre-recorded by what I can only describe as “shiny happy people”.

The messages alternated between a man who seemed high on euphoria and a women totally immersed in rapture. I can kind of sense why these recordings exist and what they are meant to achieve but I get the feeling, looking around at my fellow passengers, that their goals weren’t quite met.

The airline is a budget airline that is striving to get people in the mood for their holiday while at the same time trying to raise their spirits about the two and a half hour flight ahead. It worked better on the journey out but not so well on the journey back.

I heard one guy say “What do they mean welcoming us home as if it is the best thing since sliced bread? I don’t WANT to come home! I was on holiday and I want to STAY THERE!”

It didn’t bother me too much because deep down I prefer happy people to miserable buggers (even though I can be a bit of a miserable bugger myself sometimes).  However, it got me thinking – always a dangerous thing.

What if the plane had a fault and both engines failed? What would happen as the aircraft started to dive towards the sea? Do they have a pre-recorded message for that?

Happy Man:  “Hey holiday makers! We hope you are enjoying our AMAZING flight but we do have a slight problem. Nothing to worry about but the aircraft is now plummeting towards the Atlantic Ocean as a rate of knots.”

Happy Woman: “Yes – the water is REALLY WARM at this time of year and to make sure that you fully enjoy it, please BRACE now! If you don’t know how to BRACE, our WONDERFUL flight crew will help you. IF you hear your fellow passengers SCREAMING, rest assured that they are screams of EXCITEMENT at a plunge into the warm wonderful water!”

Happy Man: “And after impact we will do our very best to get any survivors out of the aircraft as quickly as possible!”

Okay – that’s a bit extreme, I admit, but there are a lot of shiny happy people around, particularly on the radio and our telly boxes.

I no longer listen to the radio, apart from the news channel when I wake up, but in the past I recall overly happy DJs laughing at – well – nothing - in such a forced way that I thought they were all having a seizure.

I know things haven’t changed because this morning I saw an advert for the breakfast show on a local bus with pictures of demented looking DJs guffawing at something that was out of shot with a line that explained that their show was a mixture of music and “banter”. 

I assume that "banter" means lots of in-jokes from the DJ team that result in bouts of hysterical laughter at their own expense that the general public don't really find funny at all, especially while stuck in traffic, driving to a mundane job on a miserable, cold, dark Manchester Monday morning in the middle of January.

Similarly light entertainment programmes on TV are full of presenters who seem to have taken some form of drug to make them laugh hysterically at dull items and equally dull celebrity guests that I have never heard of as they try to plug their latest projects.

I am sure that you are now reading this thinking “You miserable bastard! Why don’t you just lighten up?”

The truth is that I provide my own form of entertainment on a daily basis at work by ranting mercilessly about things like reality TV, music, politics and shiny happy celebrities, causing joyous merriment amongst my co-workers as they realise that I am just a cantankerous old git who doesn’t understand modern culture.

And they are right.

But at least their laughter is genuine.

I’ll leave you with the song that inspired the title of this post.

I’m the grumpy git peddling at the start of the video.

Please don’t laugh.

Look What I Found In My Head

Every day at work, I leave my desk at lunchtime, armed with my smartphone and my iPod and set off on a circular walk of just over two miles. My aim is fourfold:

(1) Get a little exercise.

(2) Escape the confines of the office.

(3) Enjoy some music.

(4) Clear my head.

I want to focus on item (4).

As I stroll around the streets, my mind wanders, replacing the inevitable stress and tedium of office work with a journey through my own imagination, accompanied by a musical soundtrack of songs that I love.

And that journey is usually quite fruitful.

The experience feels like I am in a room with thousands of doors. The journey begins when I open one of the doors and go through. The choice of door depends on my mood, the music I am listening to, the day I have had so far and random thoughts that have popped into my head based on conversations, news – anything really.

Ultimately I hope to find something interesting – like this idea for a blog post for example.

I am fascinated by the train of thought that eventually leads to the gems I find inside my own head. Sometimes they are good things but occasionally they are not do good. For example, if I am in a bad mood, or a little depressed about something, I find that sometimes it is difficult to drag myself from a negative path. In that respect I understand how depressed people think – I know this first hand because Mrs PM is prone to depression and in these situations it is difficult if not impossible to escape the irrational downward spiral that follows.

Happily, I have experience of seeing this is other people and can assist, if only to be the person who comforts them or to be a shoulder to cry on, so to speak. Of course, it is not as simple as that and, thankfully, Mrs PM is in control of it.

I don’t suffer from depression myself but if a negative thought threatens to enter my head and cause a negative cycle, I switch my mind to something that will distract it – like changing the song on my iPod of taking a moment to look around as I walk. This helps usually; rather like leaving the bad door alone and finding another more interesting one to go through. It doesn’t always work – and I have struggled sometimes in 2017 to be fair – but things are improving.

Sometimes, exploring my imagination can cause embarrassment. Here are a couple of examples.

Picture the scene. I am walking along oblivious to my surroundings and listening to a fantastic and happy song - a song such as this:

I find myself walking in step to the beat and imagine myself as the artist. The problem is that my step becomes jaunty and bouncy and on a couple of occasion I have actually started mouthing the words. If I have my headphones in, I can’t actually tell whether I am actually singing – I might be. In which case, it’s no surprise that I have acquired a few strange looks by people queuing up at a bus stop I have walked past.

On other occasions, a song has reminded me of a funny incident in the past caused an involuntary guffaw that is difficult to control and fuels yet more laughter, making me look like some kind of idiot marching along the streets.

Also, if I see somebody I know as I walk, I try to be polite and greet them as we pass. However, because of my headphones, it is more difficult to judge volume.

“Hi Dave,” they will say as we approach!

“HI ANDY,” I bellow at the top of my voice, in an attempt to drown out both the heavy metal song in my ears and the noise of cars, lorries and buses roaring past on the main road.

When I get back to work, I face the inevitable consequences.

“Why were you yelling at me in the street, Dave?”

Thankfully, this doesn’t happen very often and my walks are uneventful to watch.  The good news for me is that I have around 10,000 novel ideas as a result of my lunchtime walks. The bad news is that when I get back to work, I never write them down because the moment I sit back down at my desk, the shit hits the fan and I am plunged back into the abyss of the rat race before I have the time to write down a paragraph about invisible mutant aliens turning people into slaves.

However, I am certainly more relaxed and, for an hour or so at least, I find myself going about the daily grind with a smile on my face and a more relaxed approach to work.

I recommend you try it, dear reader. Once a day, grab hold of your own musical device and walk around the streets of your town or city for half an hour or so. Take off the chains of your imagination, walk through an interesting door and see where it leads you.

In almost all cases you will be amazed.

And for any Mancunians out there, if you see a greying blond nutcase singing or laughing as he walks – it might just be me.

Feel free to say “Hi Dave!” – I will try not to yell back at you.

The Profanity Filter

A couple of years ago I wrote a post about email catastrophes. You can read it here.

I want to draw your attention to the profanity filter I mentioned in that post. The profanity filter is the procedure embedded in the email software that removes any messages that contain swear words.

I sometimes swear. I can’t help it. I find myself punctuating sentences occasionally with words that may offend people but have the effect of totally emphasising the point, adding humour or expressing my distaste for the subject at hand.

I started writing a post about the upcoming election in the UK (YES -  ANOTHER BLOODY ELECTION!!!!) but I had already promised myself that I wouldn’t upset anybody (including me!) with politics and threw it into the cyber bin.

However, the post was full of expletives and insults that would probably have offended people. Ditching it was a good thing. Nevertheless, if I had decided to keep it and send it to my work email address, the message would never have made it into my inbox thanks to the profanity filter.

And this got me thinking – always a dangerous thing!

I have a fantastic idea for a change of career. I want to be the person responsible for programming the profanity filter.

When I think of work emails, the message must run through a chunk of software that analyses every word looking for expletives. In order to identify an expletive, it must check each word against a list of known expletives.

I want to write that list, research that list and add new words whenever they come out.

Can you imagine how much fun that would be? 

It would probably only be a part time job, one day a year – but what a day that would be. New swear words pop into existence every now again, so I would have to hunt them down with the help of Mr Google.

Furthermore, I would also extend it. 

And - just for fun - I could add stupid words just to confuse people!

My job involves a lot of foreign customers, and we send out and receive emails in a variety of different languages. I would love to research the expletives that the Spanish use, for example. I would love to hunt down Polish profanities and add them to the list of disallowed words.

The job satisfaction would be immense – and testing it would be a scream.

All of this leads me onto another little story.

Many years ago at work, before the profanity filter existed on emails, a certain employee noticed that quite a few people were swearing at work on a regular basis. She wasn’t very happy. We had to listen to her because she was our project manager.

I tried to explain that sometimes people swear to diffuse or express their frustration but she wouldn’t listen. I didn’t like to offend her – she is a very nice person – so I suggested that we have an office swear box.

“I will personally look after it,” I said, “and we will have a scale of swear words, charging a small amount for the “safe” ones, rising to more painful fines for the more offensive words.”

She loved that idea, particularly when I suggested that the money would be given to charity at the end of the month.

Even my work colleagues embraced the idea. And I was targetted as potentially the worst offender, because at the time (as I am now in fact) I was a grumpy old git, frustrated by work and life and prone to rants full of expletives.

To get the ball rolling, I had to create a scale of offense.

Without thinking things through, I wrote an email to the entire team with a list of swear words and the cost of using each, ranging from 10p for something inoffensive like bloody rising up to £2 for the worst word of all (you know what word that is). In the interests of good taste, I will not reproduce the email here.

I sent the email to my team.

And promptly got a bunch of replies back, stating that without any shadow of a doubt, the mail I had sent was THE MOST OFFENSIVE email they had ever seen.

The profanity filter we have governing our mails today would have overloaded and melted the email server software had it encountered such a disgraceful message.

Consequently, I was the first contributor to the swear box. I was outvoted. I was forced to pay the fine for each word that I had used and that contribution actually hurt my wallet. But, in the spirit of comradery, I submitted and transferred the cash from my wallet to the swear box to get things going.

I was well and truly hoisted by my own petard!

Worse, one joker decided to print the email off and put it on his desk so that he could police us all. He was fined the equivalent amount because, we argued, that somebody could have intercepted it at the printer. He paid up, but I was thankful that nobody had picked it up at the printer because I’m sure it would have found its way to HR – and it had my name plastered all over it.

However, over the next few weeks, people did contribute to the swear box when they forgot themselves and the project manager was happy. In fact, she was caught out a few times when people heard her swearing under her breath.

It lasted for a couple of months and my contributions were in fact few and far between. The main contributor was a young lad who swore that he would not swear (if you’ll pardon the pun).

We finally got rid of it, when a manager from another area of the building walked in.

“I’m so fucking pissed off with those bastards!” he said.

This caused lots of merriment.

“Put your money in the swear box,” I said. “We don’t allow swearing here.”

“I’m not putting any fucking money in a fucking swear box!” he said before marching out again.

At that point we gave up on the idea but it actually worked – the amount of swearing was significantly reduced.

Looking back at this post, it would have cost me £5.10 had I read it aloud in the office at that time.

I’ll put some money in my own personal swear box here on my desk. Fear not – the money will go to my favourite charity – ME!

I will enjoy the beer I can purchase with it and I promise not to swear in the pub.

Mindfulness

At the start of this year, my company tried to inflict a New Year’s resolution on all of us. Some people reacted badly - others embraced it.

I was somewhere in between and I don’t blame them. After all, a healthy and happy work force is a good work force.

The Managing Director tasked HR with encouraging us all to be healthier in 2017 in four ways – diet, physical health, mind and finance (although finance was a little bit weird in my opinion).

For diet, we were encouraged to eat healthily and they even provided fruit every Monday and brought in nutritionists to chat to anybody that was interested about the benefits of eating good stuff. I wasn’t interested in this because I actually eat very healthily, in my opinion (apart from the odd burger, full English and beer or two).

For finance, we were encouraged to look after our cash and assets with a newsletter pointing out the long term benefits of savings, spending wisely and generally not blowing all of your cash on stupid things. Again, I wasn’t interested because I think that myself and Mrs PM are okay at the moment. Besides, if they want to improve my financial well-being they can bloody well give me a massive pay increase for having to endure some of the shit I have to endure.

For health, various people who exercise were asked to give seminars about their chosen discipline, including kayaking, rock climbing, marathon running and even pole-dancing. Groups of people clubbed together and took on a challenge of trying to walk in excess of 10.000 steps a day, competing against each other for fun. I walk two and a quarter miles every lunchtime of every working day and I am proud to say that I think I walk the most during a working day. HR were very interested in this and asked me to take a group of people on my walk at lunchtime.

I politely refused. Why?

Because the whole point of my going for a walk is to escape work. I pound the streets around my office with tiny little jukebox blasting out pop, rock and heavy metal, to allow me to enter the zone of contemplation and drift into my own little world, expunging, temporarily at least, any work related issues that may induce stress. It works for me and the last thing I want is a group of people bitching about work to further ruin my day.

However, the final topic – the mind – intrigued me.

HR arranged a seminar, inviting a woman to tell us all about mindfulness. This was the only seminar I attended. I am fascinated with the power of the mind and the ability and capability of certain people to use their mind to escape and control other physical attributes. Having been a victim of stress many years ago, and having delved recently into things like hypnosis (for fun initially) I was keen to open my mind to new techniques to support my positive outlook this year.

When I started looking at hypnosis, my purpose was to write a mocking blog post about how stupid people were if they thought that listening to somebody appeal to their subconscious mind would in any way help them to escape their vices, or change their behaviour. When I actually tried it, I was amazed that the effect of being hypnotised can actually vaguely work. Not that I do this now, of course, but I no longer mock those who believe in at as an alternative therapy.

The same principle applies to mindfulness, which is a similar concept. Basically, mindfulness is a form of meditation. The woman who presented the seminar gave us an overview of mindfulness and told us that she had actually used it to help her get through a major health scare a few years ago. She had been diagnosed with cancer and thankfully she is now fully fit again. To help support her mind during those trying times, she used meditation techniques and this helped her cope.

Again, I had a healthy scepticism about it but opened my mind to the possibilities. It wasn’t until we actually tried meditating that I was surprised. She asked us to sit up straight, focus on our breathing and allow our minds to wander, quelling any other thoughts and allowing our minds to settle and drift. There were about twelve of us in the room and I suddenly found myself just listening to her as she guided us through thinking about our own bodies. What struck me was the clock in the room. That may sound weird but I have been in that room many times and never sensed the clock. All I could hear was the gentle ticking. After a few minutes, she spoke again and asked us how we felt. It was almost like being hypnotised and I actually felt really good.

Mindfulness had taken me to the same zone that I enter when walking at lunchtime. It was the same as listening to a favourite song and allowing the gentle melody to take you on a journey through your own imagination.

I actually loved it.

And you are reading the words of a man who, in the past, has taken such things with a pinch of salt and only feigned interest when using it as ammunition to mock people on a medium such as this.

Actually, the key thing is that you don’t have to go away and hide to give this a go – and you can achieve a calmer demeanour in as little as two minutes.

There was a little bit of Buddhist nonsense attached to it, which I have dismissed, but the principle is sound and I would recommend giving it a go, particularly when news about Brexit or Donald Trump appears on your telly box.

Progressive Thoughts - Day 2

Today's song is Owner of a Lonely Heart by Yes.

I love this song because it combines early 1980’s pop music with a progressive rock feel.  Here it is:

The song is about taking control of your life, rather than just allowing yourself to drift without questioning anything. I’ve certainly been guilty of this at various times during my fifty four years.

What is bizarre about this is that we all go through phases when we question, and act but also we just slot into role that society expects of us and conform with expectations.  I know that I am guilty of this.

Certainly as a child, I questioned everything. I wanted to know everything. My grandad bought me a brilliant book for Christmas containing the answers to 100 questions that every child asks about a variety of subjects, questions like “What is the biggest number?”. The reason he bought it was because I was constantly pestering him from simple questions like “Why is the sky blue?” to more awkward questions like “When will Nanna have another baby?”

The book was fascinating and as a seven year old I soaked it up. I still remember the answer to the question “What is the biggest number?” because it introduced me to two concepts.

First that there was a huge number called a “googol” which has a value of 1 followed by 100 zeroes.

Does the name sound familiar? The company Google is a misspelling of the word. It was originally meant to signify that Google could provide huge quantities of information – which of course it can via its search engine.

Secondly, I was introduced to the concept of infinity. The true answer to the question is that there is no largest number because if you were to find it, you could just add one to make a new largest number. This opened a door in my mind and I became fascinated with maths (if you are American, I mean, of course, “math”), steering me in the eventual direction I took in life.

Of course, when I went to school I conformed until my hormones kicked in and made me question everything again. I wasn’t a pleasant adolescent; I became a rebellious arse who didn’t like the rules but had to stick to them. I asked questions like “Why can’t I tell the teacher he’s a cretin?” and “Why do I have to do what you tell me to do?”

Over the years, I have taken a few chances and broken out of the drudgery that life expects me to adhere to. A controlled population is, after all, an easy society to deal with. Yes, I got a job, got married, had kids, bought a house, paid my taxes, went on holiday, blah blah blah, but there were a few blips along the way, like getting divorced.

Yet, as I get older, the non-conformist rebel is surfacing more and more and I find myself questioning the shackles that bind me again. I am desperate to escape the rat race and have been doing so for about ten to fifteen years now.

It’s not that I hate my job. In fact, when I think about work, I have a bittersweet relationship with my career. It has allowed me to travel the world and provided me with everything I have now. Yet at the same time, it has been like a sort of open prison where I have had to go to an office for almost 240 days a year since I was 21 years old and have to listen to certain people, a few of whom I have had  little respect for.  I love the social aspect of work and have made many friends over the years.

The problem is that now I’m bored with my career and want to do something else – I want more freedom. I don’t want to have to justify everything that I do for a common goal that rewards certain people more than others. The rebel has been trying to surface to get me to take a chance. As the song says: “Prove yourself, you are the move you make, take your chances, win or loser”.

If only.

Never mind. I am now fifty four years old and as the days go by I care less and less about my job. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and the one remaining shackle to complete will, within disappear within the next decade.

The rebellious adolescent is speaking to me again – and I love it.

Guilty M'lud!

Whenever I return from a holiday or from a pastime that I enjoy, there is always a feeling of guilt deep down inside me that threatens to ruin the memories of the fun I have had.

It shouldn’t be this way, dear reader.

I blame politicians and control freaks
.
We need to stand up against this outrageous manipulation of our feelings as these people try to control us by pointing out the bad things in life.

Are you with me?

When I go on holiday it is like the steam valve on a pressure cooker has been released and the true me escapes into the world like dog let off a leash.

I eat too much, drink too much and sleep too much.

I spend my time either being lazy and relaxing or embracing new cultural experiences.

I make rude gestures at Mr Motivator, the corporate bastard who tries to dominate my life.

I ignore advice from governmental arseholes who think that they know what is best for me.

And when I set foot back in my own home, part of me feels guilty , even if I have only been away for seven days, because:

I have over-indulged on food that is going to make me fat and unhealthy.

I have drunk more beer than I should have with little regard for the consequences.

I have wasted part of the day because I went to bed at 1am, got up at 10am, having spent too much time sleeping and just lying in bed with a good book.

I have spent time on a sunbed reading or listening to music while watching the sea gently lap up onto a golden beach, when I could have (and in certain people’s eyes should have) been doing something productive.

All thoughts of work have been dispelled and I have dreamt about leaving and burning all of my bridges with Mr Motivator.

I have done exactly what I wanted.

The current guilt-laden culture of living really pisses me off. Why? Because ...

I am made to feel guilty because I have a full English breakfast on a Saturday morning. 

I am made to feel guilty because I choose to spend three hours binge-watching Sons of Anarchy instead of going outside to do something more active.

I am made to feel guilty because I want to go for a long walk at my own pace instead of killing myself to run a 10K race.

I am made to feel guilty because I leave work early to relax instead of choosing to stay behind for four hours listening to Mr Motivator’s bullshit.

I am made to feel guilty because I have an extra beer on a Friday night.

I am made to feel guilty because I sometimes want to some “me time”.

I am made to feel guilty for sleeping in at the weekend.

I am made to feel guilty not getting over-excited when I read the latest banal post on Facebook.

I am made to feel guilty because I choose to go to a rock concert instead of an opera.

I am made to feel guilty because I tell people why I do not like things.

I am made to feel guilty because I no longer send Christmas cards or Valentines cards. 

I am made to feel guilty for being happy.

I am made to feel guilty for swearing when I’m pissed off.

I am made to feel guilty for having fish and chips!

I am made to feel guilty about going on holiday.

I am made to feel guilty for not working hard enough by Mr Motivator and politicians who praise “hard-working families” without actually knowing how fucking hard people DO work.

I am made to feel guilty by refusing to give money to charities, even though I give money to other charities.

I am made to feel guilty for going out when the BBC hand over their entire Friday Night schedule to a charity telethon.

I am made to feel guilty for watching football. 

I am made to feel guilty about sneaking food into the cinema because the bastards try to rip me off with overpriced and oversized portions of crap.

I am made to feel guilty about having a big cream bun!

I am made to feel guilty for telling people “No”!

I am made to feel guilty for doing exactly what I want to do and not what other people want me to do to “fit in”.

I am made to feel guilty for playing video games at the age of 53.

I am made to feel guilty for spending my own money on things I want.

Well, dear reader, there are many reasons other things that people try to make me feel guilty about and to be brutally frank I’ve had enough!

I think I need to make a change and stick two fingers up to the establishment on certain occasion.

The fightback starts here!

I am NOT GUILTY M'lud!

Now PISS OFF and leave me alone!

Are you with me, dear reader?

Stress Relief

Over the years I have been a victim of stress sometimes and while I still occasionally confront the demon stress-monster, these days I can usually vanquish him with casual and relaxing punch in the face.

Most of my stress comes from my job, something I think is true the world over. It amazes me that we as a society can allow ourselves to wind ourselves up at work to the point where it actually causes physical symptoms. You often feel like you really have been in a fight with a monster.

Something like this happened to me about seventeen years ago and I vowed that I would declare war on the beast that threatens to destabilize my life. These days we spar intermittently with me almost always coming out on top.

I have a few techniques that work for me to deal with stress. Some are obvious, others may seem rather unorthodox. They work for me and usually manage to keep me in control of the demonic beast at both a professional and a personal level. Here they are:

Hypnosis

Before you slap a label on me as a crackpot, let me explain. In a previous post, I started out attacking hypnotism as a mystical load of old bollocks for gullible people. That is until I tried it, in the name of research. 

You can read about it here.

What I discovered was that if you lie back in a darkened room and listen to a hypnosis tape for a while, you actually do start to de-stress. I would never pay money to go for hypnotherapy and on a couple of occasions I have tried it to relax with a lot of success. Try it - YouTube is full of them.

I am still sceptical about it – particularly when people start talking about past life regression and nonsense like that. I can’t imagine for a second that I have lived before, let alone suddenly find that under a hypnotic trance that I weirdly have access to these past lives. That is plain ridiculous.

Beer With Friends

Some foreigners may think that the British tradition of sitting in a pub with friends and/or family at the end of a hard work is a bit strange. The truth is that there is no better way of unwinding with good company, good ale and a bellyful of laughs. The stress monster is never invited to such shindigs.

Listen To Chill Out Music

Music is very therapeutic and it is a very important part of my life. There are numerous songs in my collection that are gentle, peaceful and soothing and usually invoke a special memory like lying on a beach in the sun with the waves kissing the beach and Mrs PM next to me as we sip a cold drink. 

Here is an example of a stress melter:

Playing With Cats

I have three cats, all of which have different personalities. They are getting on a bit at the moment yet I can entertain myself with each one of them, either gently stroking them, or baiting them with string, toy mice or my own hand (which is risky, particularly with the hellcat who has the capability and the will to induce more stress; having to go to hospital can be quite stressful itself).

Ask Yourself “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I am afraid of public speaking and the first time I had to really face my fear was when I was asked to travel to America to give a course. Beforehand, I spent about a month beating myself up about it to the point where I actually decided that I was going to just refuse to go. However, I am professional and I decided to take the bull by the horns and go for it. I asked myself “What is the worst that can happen?” and I answered my own question. Nothing, even the sack, would matter – I would bounce back even from that. In the end, I was nervous but I completed the course. And since then I have given courses in Russia, Switzerland, China and South Africa. I still hate it it but I don’t allow myself to get stressed about it.

Go for a Long Walk

My days are generally split into two when working. I endure the morning period and then at around 12:30, I pick up my iPod, leave the building and embark upon a walk of just over two miles with my music as a soundtrack. Not only does this get me away from my desk, it also allows me free thinking time where I can drift into my own imagination and even reignite my creativity. And of course, my mind wonders away from the pressure of work for half an hour or so.

Go on Holiday

Whenever work starts to grind me down, I look at my calendar and remind myself of my travel plans. Sadly, I don’t get enough holiday to travel anywhere near as much as I want to, which is frustrating but at the same time makes the trips I take very special. At the moment, I have two holidays to Europe booked and a weekend break next week in Barcelona. The stress is fading just thinking about it.

Play a Video Game

You may think that I am a little too old to indulge in childish pursuits such as playing games on a console. And the truth is that I am. Yet when I decide to pick up the joystick and play a football game or become a nightmarish villain in a surreal city or even fight zombies and monsters in a scary labyrinth, my imagination runs amok and once again I have a victory over worries and tension.

Read and Write

I may not be a good writer, but putting down my thoughts on paper is a fantastic way of winding down. Whenever I put myself at the mercy of my imagination, I usually have fun, even if it’s writing a simple blog post, a plan for one of the many books in my head or just my thoughts. Whether anybody reads my words is totally irrelevant – it’s great to just get them down.

Alternatively, there are few things more enjoyable than immersing yourself in a decent book. Stories are wonderful things and I always imagine myself as the constant companion of the heroes of the story, watching them as they struggle, lose and ultimately triumph (though not always). It’s a great way to forget about your own woes.

Listen to Hard and Heavy Rock Music

This may sound a bit weird, but when I allow myself to totally succumb to stress, which does happen, albeit infrequently these days, I simply blast away the negativity with a good dose of noise. It may seem wrong to unleash loud and heavy music when in a mood like that but for me at least it totally works. At the end of a heavy tune I feel a lot better – something like this:



R.I.P Lemmy

Spend Time With Family

Letting off steam to Mrs PM and family generally can be therapeutic because ultimately they will listen to you and offer words of encouragement. Of course, simply chilling out with family is equally good. There are few things I like better than spending time with Mrs PM and/or my two lads.

And Finally …

Over to you, dear reader.

How do you cope with stress?

What techniques have you for winding down and beating back the stress demon?

The Meaning of Life - How To Live Your Life

Every day there is somebody telling me how to live my life, mostly in a subtle manner but on some occasions, the message is blatant.

To those people, I say this.

“Leave me alone! It’s my life not yours.”

Of course, I don’t have total control. To start with, I am governed by the laws of the land. For example, I can’t break into a rich man’s house and steal all of his money. I can’t strip off all of my clothes, paint myself purple and prance in the centre of Manchester screaming “Look at my dongle!”

In both cases, I would be arrested immediately.

I hasten to add I have no desire whatsoever to do either of those things.

Other forms of control are more subtle but nonetheless still exist.

For example, in order to be able to do the things I like to do, I have to conform to society’s expectations. I need money therefore I need to work. When I work, I have to conform to the terms and conditions of my employer otherwise I run the risk of being sacked.

Work is the bane of my life and I would gladly free myself of the shackles if I could.

The day I win the lottery is the day my freedom begins. Failing that, I have to wait another fourteen years before I can retire. I can’t wait. I just hope that by that age I’m not a doddery old codger who can barely walk without gasping for breath.

That’s why I want to get a lot of stuff done now - while I still can. And I don’t want anybody to tell me what to do or how to do it.

I’m amazed by adrenaline junkies who actually want to risk their lives to get a buzz. I would never try to tell them what to do and what not to do but such dangerous pursuits are not for me.

Anything involving falling from a great height, whether tied to a bungee rope, a parachute wrapped in a rucksack or metal frame with a lot of plastic sheeting is far too risky for me to try. I would be so scared that I probably would probably croak due to heart failure before the adrenaline kicked in.

I just don’t get it. Life experiences are fantastic and I applaud them. But if there is even the slightest chance that I would end up on the ground as an unrecognisable red splat then it’s not for me.

I’ve always had goals of sorts, but what surprises me most is that most of them didn’t materialise until I was older. If, for example, I had decided that I needed to write a book at the age of 18 I would have actually done so by now, changing my plans and studying English or journalism instead of messing around with computers. I might even have even written a few books.

Instead, I find myself writing a blog, which I started at the age of 45 and only now, eight years later, am I actually attempting to write a novel as part of NaNoWriMo (my latest 30 day challenge).

If I had been bitten by the travel bug at the age of 18, I would have seen a lot more of the world than I have.

If I had learned to play a piano or guitar at the age of 18, I could have been a member of a rock band by now, travelling, writing and enjoying the fruits of my creative juices.

My life would probably be so different. That said, I wouldn’t go back and change anything because I would never have had two great kids and met Mrs PM.

Still, it’s never too late to live my dreams. I’m happy enough and I can still realise some ambitions – just as long as they don’t involve heights, danger and pain.

And as long as nobody tries to tell me which goals to choose, I will remain happy.

Equally, I would never tell anybody else what to do either.

The truth is, I still want every day to be the perfect day and my feelings are summed up by this rock song from Skin, a great British rock band, who had some success in the mid 1990’s:

Over to you, dear reader.

Are you an adrenaline junky or have you ever been one?

Are you happy with the way you live your life?

Have you any regrets?

What are your ambitions?

What is your Perfect Day?

Mr Sleepy Head

I have just returned from a trip to Oman and am desperately trying to adjust my body clock to match UK time. Even though there is only three hours difference between Muscat and my sleep has been curtailed by being jammed up in economy class like a battery hen on a flight that left Abu Dhabi at 2:30 and flew overnight.

I hardly got a wink of sleep, either smashing my legs on the seat in front or being pushed by somnambulists, walking down the aisle in a trance on their way to the toilet having quaffed too much liquid in the airport.

I arrived at home at 8:30 in the morning and went straight to bed. And today, a day later, I am shattered and don’t know when to sleep.

There are people I work with who follow the mantra of Mr Motivator, whose drive and desire to work at 200% mean that, in their opinion, there aren’t enough hours in a day. Such people think that I should have gone into work on Friday – for at least half a day, “because there is so much to do and the work won’t complete itself”.

I wasn’t asked directly – probably because the people concerned know that my response would have rhymed with “duck trough”.

I have many reasons to dislike (and for some people actually detest) those who follow the work ethics of Mr Motivator but lack of sleep and tiredness are major ones.

When I travel to a place like China, a journey that can last over 18 hours, I am expected to work as soon as I possibly can after I arrive. The first day of work is usually totally non-productive because of jet lag.

How people expect you to work, when the time difference is eight hours and you have travelled for almost an entire day on at least one long haul flight on an aircraft where sleep is utterly impossible, is totally beyond my comprehension.

Yet it happens.

And that is just the travelling aspect. I have heard Mr Motivator say absurd things like:

“Don’t believe people who say that you need a minimum of seven hours of sleep a night are just lazy. You can get by on four hours. Margaret Thatcher did – and so do I!”

Everybody needs a different amount of sleep. Not everyone is like Mr Motivator. I would go further and say that while Mr Motivator thinks he can get away with only five hours sleep, the reality is that he can’t. You will see him sitting there yawning occasionally and totally fuelled by caffeine to get him through the day.

I’ve done some research on this and I hope that Mr Motivator is reading because people really do need sleep. Here are ten effects of lack of sleep:

(1) Tiredness causes accidents. If you live miles away from work and have to drive on a motorway after only a couple of hours’ sleep, the chances of having an accident because of drowsiness and slow reaction times is vastly increased.

(2) You are more stupid. Lack of sleep impairs concentration and alertness and slows down your capacity to think clearly. In a job like mine, where I need to use my brain to solve problems, I need a full night’s sleep to make my mind sharp for the challenges of the day. This may explain some of Margaret Thatcher’s ridiculous policy decisions.

(3) You look older. Sleep deprivation can have a detrimental effect on your skin, as well as those bags under your puffy eyes, making you look as if you have aged a number of years.  The term “beauty sleep” was not coined as a joke. And it is quite clear that I need a lot of beauty sleep.

(4) Increased health problems. Being a hypochondriac, I wish I hadn’t discovered this. Lack of sleep can increase your chances of suffering from heart disease, high blood pressure, strokes and diabetes.

(5) Lower sex drive. Apparently age has an effect on your sex drive so if you are also not getting enough sleep then your libido will suffer. I can’t make myself younger (God knows I’ve tried) so I think I need more sleep.

(6) Depression. Depression is bad enough but if you can’t or won’t sleep because you are depressed, the  condition can be aggravated.

(7) Forgetfulness. As I grow older my memory is fading slowly but if you do not sleep enough, your already addled brain struggles even more to locate nuggets of information locked in your mind in little boxes labelled “Do not forget this”.

(8) You get fatter. Latest research suggests that lack of sleep can increase your appetite, causing you to eat more and therefore put on weight.

(9) Impaired judgement. Your brain suffers quite a lot because of sleep deprivation but as well as the effects mentioned above, your ability to assess situations correctly is also impaired.

(10) Increased risk of death. Possibly the scariest effect is that lack of sleep can increase the risk of fatal health issues.

If you are reading this, Mr Motivator, and think that I should spend more of my time working and not sleeping then you can think again. You may feel like you can survive on five or six hours’ sleep but I can’t. I need at least seven hours and I will continue to do that.

I am pretty sure that any readers who regularly wake up naturally after a full night of sleep will agree with me that there is no better feeling. You are refreshed, your brain is alert and you do not need a bulletproof caffeine injection to stimulate your groggy brain into action.

There may not be enough hours is a day for you Mr Motivator, but that is your problem and not mine.

I will not lose any sleep over your ill-judged advice, particularly if I have just suffered the ignominy of trying to sleep on a crammed aircraft next to a snoring bloater who is so fat that every time he moves, the entire aircraft shifts to the right, causing my knees to smash into the seat once more.

You should not have to adapt to a lifestyle created by Mr Motivator, dear reader; tell him to bugger off and get your eight hours of sleep.

You will feel healthier than he does.

I feel like starting a campaign.

Who’s with me?

Beware - Man Flu

I’ve got man flu. Well - to be honest - I am just recovering from an extremely nasty bout and I have found the strength to crawl to my keyboard to tell you about it.

Yes, I know that if you are a female reader you are probably rolling your eyes, shaking your head and tutting in disbelief. I imagine that you are also picturing a scenario similar to this:

If you are then shame on you. I have been poorly – very poorly.

Honestly!

On Monday I went to work and started sniffling and coughing slightly. On Tuesday, my sinuses were completely blocked and my head felt like somebody had stuffed tons of cotton wool into it through my ears and nose.

My throat felt as if somebody had forced my mouth open and sandblasted my gullet with maximum prejudice. At lunchtime I had to visit the dentist so I somehow dragged myself to my car and drove to have my teeth examined by a man who I feared needed a new set of golf clubs and would therefore find something wrong.

As I sat in his chair with my mouth open, ready for the invasion of metal objects he said “I’m sorry if I sniffle, I have a bout of man flu.”

His assistant – a woman – scoffed and tutted. I could feel her eyes watching us as he probed my teeth with his vicious dental instruments while telling me about how bad his sinuses were. We compared notes about our illnesses at the end as his assistant stormed out to the hygienist – another woman who I was due to see next – with the words “OH PURLEEESSE!” echoing from her disbelieving lips.

The hygienist had no sympathy. As she scraped my teeth she moaned and moaned.

“He’s been going on about his sinuses all morning. For God’s sake – IT’S ONLY A COLD!”

“But it’s man flu,” I said with my mouth full of more vicious instruments, so that it sounded more like “BUURRGGGHHHHH EEESSSSSSSS BAAAAANNNN BOOOOOOOO”.

I left with teeth scraped and polished. The hygienist shook her head and said “Men! Honestly!”

On my return to work, a work colleague said I sounded so bad that I should go home. I survived until four o’clock and drove home in the wind and rain feeling extremely sorry for myself and expecting nothing but trauma from Mrs PM when I arrived home.

And then it got worse. I found myself shivering and sweating at the same time and my head felt like it was going to explode. My throat felt like the driest desert on Mars and my hacking cough sounded like the noise made by a rabid monster. I was sneezing so much that I managed to use three whole toilet rolls.

I had no strength to protect myself from a rampant Liquorice, our beloved hellcat, who was using my hand to exercise her already formidable jaw.

Mrs PM was very sympathetic. She cooked my tea did her best to protect me from the cat. The only thing she couldn’t do was go to the toilet for me.

At 9pm I had had enough. I crawled upstairs and fell into bed in a heap.

I hoped that a good night of rest and slumber would defeat the man flu; it didn’t.

I awoke feeling even worse. Mrs PM jumped out of bed and rushed to work with no sign of illness whatsoever, leaving me to fester in a pit of self-pity and debility.

I called in sick, my first day off work due to illness for at least three years.

And I tell you what, dear reader.

If you are ill and off work, don’t you feel guilty?

Why is that?

I barely had the strength to crawl downstairs, fight off the hellcat and make myself a Lemsip before slumping on the sofa with a duvet and a remote control – yet I felt that I should be in work passing my germs to all the male members of the office (because we all know that women don’t get man flu).

Does man flu addle your brain that much?

Back in my sickbed (or more accuratley sick sofa) I watched three movies and was bored out of my brain.

The Lemsip helped and I had perked up by the evening, enough to be able to find my gloves and defend myself against Liquorice, who by now had started boasting about “the biggest prey she had ever felled”.

By bedtime I was much better and this morning I was well enough to go back to work.

All my male colleagues had sympathy. Female colleagues rolled their eyes and muttered “Men, honestly!”.

I spoke to my boss who told me that “Man flu is no myth”.

I decided to investigate this. I discovered an article that suggested that scientists have discovered that manly men, i.e. those with high levels of testosterone, have a weaker immune system and are therefore more susceptible than women to a whole range of bacterial and viral infections.

Dear female reader - note the words: "more susceptible than women to a whole range of bacterial and viral infections."

So there is proof that man flu really does exist.

And I am recovering from it and have the strength (and testosterone) to be able to tell you about by the media of a very silly but painfully true blog post.

Guys – I know you know how I feel and sympathise.

Ladies – you need to be kinder to your man when he catches this evil little man flu bug.

He really is ill – honestly.

And if I catch you shaking your head and rolling your eyes, I will set my hellcat on you.

The Oxymoron

Many years ago, I had an appraisal at work. I liked the guy who was giving me my appraisal and he liked me so I regarded this little interview as a formality that would tick the right boxes and satisfy the corporate powers that be.

Usually with such interviews, the appraiser has to ask people who work with you what they think of your ability to do the job. Again, nobody had ever told me that I was useless and at the time I thought that I was good enough at my job not to attract negative vibes from my co-workers, so again I was happy that the boat would not be rocked.

It wasn’t – but there was a little wobble.

If you read my post called Mr Motivator Strikes Again, written earlier this month, you will no doubt remember Dirk, my former colleague who climbed the corporate ladder then promptly fell down again.

He had something to say about me at my appraisal.

He told my appraiser that when it came to estimating software effort I was absolutely rubbish.

My appraiser brought this up and I laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked.

“Is Dirk suggesting that I can’t estimate?”

“Yes,” he said. “He says your estimates aren’t accurate enough.”

I laughed again.

“Listen to what you are saying,” I said. “How can you have an accurate estimate? An estimate by its very nature is a guess and you cannot accurately guess every single time. It’s an oxymoron.”

He agreed, particularly when I reminded him that many people struggle to estimate.

“How long will this take?” is a very difficult question to answer. You can guess and sometimes the guess is reasonable. The problem is that there are so many factors that will affect your guess. That’s why major projects overrun, such as the construction of Wembley Stadium a few years ago. Sometimes they are earlier than expected but ultimately the most you can hope for is an educated guess based on previous experience.

How can it be accurate?

This got me thinking about other oxymorons. Here are a few I found while surfing the web:

A fine mess
Found missing
Civil war
Plastic glasses
Accurate horoscope
Act naturally
Crash landing
Alone together
Holy war
Student teacher
Same difference
Man child
Simple calculus
Poor rich kid
Bug fix
Pretty ugly
Religious tolerance
Free gift
Organised chaos
Hell’s angel
Alone in a crowd
Silent scream
Alcohol free beer
Ill health
Rap music
Christian soldiers
Live recording
Amicable divorce
Bad luck
Boxing ring
Genuine imitation
Decaffeinated coffee
Open secret
Peace force
Half full
Working holiday
Virtual reality

The world of politics throws up some good ones:

Political promise
Political trust
Political ethics

And my favourite:

Politically correct

The favourite one I have actually heard was during a discussion about religion was a menace to society and the cause of a lot of trouble in the world. One of the protagonists actually said the following sentence without blinking or considering the words he had said:

“I think people who follow religion are just deluded. Thank God I am an atheist.”

You are now immortalised on this blog, my friend.

And that’s terribly good.

Now over to you, dear reader. 

Have you got any good oxymorons to share? 

Or bad ones?