It was without a doubt the most soul destroying experience I have ever had. It never felt like this the first time around, but then again I wasn’t supporting a wife and 3 kids in 1992. I felt every single piece of motivational spirit being sucked out of me by Doug, my employment advisor, as he explained that I should have come in sooner and my chances of getting a back dated claim were minimal (Well, I haven’t seen one approved in 20 years…. and that I had to come in every two weeks armed with details of every job I have looked at and applied for to get my money and, more importantly, get my mortgage insurance paying out.

Doug is a middle aged man with very large HotFuzz style aviator glasses as his normal spectacles; bouffant grey hair complete with side parting; a charcoal grey suit coupled with a black shirt which someone has obviously told him would be slimming (it isn’t) all topped off with the annoying habit of saying Yep every single time I open my mouth to speak without giving a crap what I am actually trying to say. This is called Waiting to Speak and is the antithesis of Listening and very frustrating for a guy who is trying to get actual information as to how he can get out of the deep hole he has found himself in. It took all my strength not to shout in his face that I wasn’t some Channel 4 documentary benefit scrounger and that I didn’t want to be there anymore than he did, but I just sat there and took it because what else could I do? Do I really blame him? I guess not. After all, would I be any less jaded if I had been doing the job as long as him and dealing with the people that he has to – good, bad and indifferent?

So I stood up at the end of the interview and walked past the hoodies waiting to get their money – money I’d been providing not long beforehand – and walked outside. I had a list of errands I wanted to run in town but my brain wouldn’t work. I couldn’t think what I needed to do and Jo was too busy with the kids to pick me up so I went into autopilot and walked the 20 minutes or so home in a funk, trying to find a positive thought somewhere in my head.

I’m fine now, of course, and I gather that many feel like this but why? Why do we feel so awful? Surely there is a better way? I certainly want a job even more than I did before as I want to spend as little time as possible in that place.
Every cloud, eh?

Yes. Had me confused for a moment there too.

Turns out someone has purchased a domain called ginger-ninja.net which is obviously almost identical to my own domain gingerninja.net. Not only that, but this individual is also using the site to sell medical items of a somewhat dubious nature. I’ll give you a taster:

Buy Cheap Viagra, Discount Viagra, Kamagra jelly, Kamagra, Apcalis and many more erectile dysfunction treatment solutions by Ginger Ninja!

Does that really sound like something I would do?

You’d think that after 21 years as my best mate, Kev would have known better than to ask. But, I said to myself, maybe Kev had only my best interests at heart? Afterall, a hacker can still get in and takeover a website if the admin has been rather silly with their security procedures. Maybe Kev was simply ensuring that it wasn’t my site and to ensure that I didn’t have a major problem. It doesn’t hurt to ask afterall and he’d me doing me a favour if that is the case.

And then it hit me. There is also always the possibility that Kev was looking for some assistance with his upcoming wedding and was hoping I could supply him with something to keep his ….morale… up on his wedding night? I’m not sure but I really do wonder if supplying little blue pills is above and beyond the call of duty for a Best Man.

Me: Johno? Johno… Now, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time… A long time.
Junior: I think my uncle knows him. He said he was dead.
Me: Oh, he’s not dead… Not yet anyway.
Junior: You know him?
Me: Of course I know him….He’s me!
*pauses*
Me: I haven’t gone by the name of Johno since before you were born.
*looks away reflecting on the past…at Camber and Littlesea*
Me: I have something here for you. Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn’t allow it. He feared you might follow old Johno on some damn fool idealistic summer season show like your father did. It’s your father’s jacket. This is the weapon of a BlueCoat. Not as clumsy or as random as a Red Coat, but an elegant weapon for a more civilized age. For over a thousand generations, the BlueCoats were the guardians of fun and laughter in the Old Holiday Camps. Before the dark times. Before Ibiza.

But I am an old man and my powers are weak….

Anyway, did a quick search on Facebook for Ykema to see how common it is. There are LOADS of them in the US and Canada, but I am guessing that they are probably not related. Having said that, I don’t know about much about Charlie’s brothers or sisters so it may be possible.

So, this weekend I was a little bit of a party animal. Pete & Michelle turned 29 and 31 respectively last week. As one of Pete’s close mates and Michelle’s favourite cousin (obviously) and the reason that they got together I couldn’t not turn up for drinks. Jo was originally going to be coming over as well, but we quickly realised that the train fare was going to be around £20 and it would be a four hour return journey for about an hour and a half of pub time. She sacrificed herself for my drinking time and so I was able to go along *sniff* and drink until it was time for my last train home. So off I went for an evening of drinking, laughter, plums, drinking, rude bar staff from Eastern Europe, impromptu Queen songs, drinking, being special and partaking in a floor show for the benefit of a mini-cab driver.

Many thanks to Katie, Becky, Hazel, Justin, Joanna, Leanne, Amos, Lauren, Ashley and of course Pete and Michelle for making sure I had a fab and brilliant night out. Cheers!

John’s hair looked no different from before and so we all made comments (alright, mainly me) about the hairdresser just waving the scissors about his head, ruffling his hair and saying done. To be fair, the back of his neck looked like the hair had been cut as it was all squared off but that was about it and John didn’t think to say anything when they held up the mirror for him. Turns out that John was only in there for ten minutes and most of that time was spent with his eyes closed enjoying having his hair shampooed and his scalp massaged with the hairdressers long hair wafting in his face – until he realised it was a bloke.

After further discussion, we finally convinced John that he should go and ask for his money back, but it turns out he’s a little bit shy about doing so. Reema is as incensed as Scott and I that he paid over the odds so volunteers to be the fake girlfriend to go with him and we discuss the plan. John then decides that I should go with them as I know what to say and how to get my money back from shops (thanks Mum!)…..

How stupid is it going to look with three of us going in there to complain about your haircut? say I.
But you know what to say! says John, panic seeping into his voice. OK, how about instead of Reema, you come with me? You could be my gay lover or something!
Dude, I am not about to go to a hairdressers and pretend to be your gay lover in order for you to get your money back on a haircut where they just waved scissors at you! say I, Besides, I am well out of your league!

And so it was that Reema dragged John to the hairdressers where he looked like a suitably henpecked boyfriend/husband whilst Reema raged on at the hairdresser, who when she had finished, apologised for the upset and offered a free hair appointment, adding that they gave John exactly what he had asked for: a light trim with not much off as he likes it left long. Reema turned on John with a face of thunder and said (through gritted teeth)
You mean to tell me that you asked them to take not much off and when you realised that you had paid £45 for this that you thought you should complain?
*sheepishly*  Yes.
You idiot! Come on!
And with that she thanked the hairdresser and dragged him out of the shop and back to the office.

Damon & Lydia held a St. David’s Day Party at their flat. The idea was for everyone to wear Welsh costume or similar. As I like to get into the spirit of these things, I duly purchased a nice polyester shirt made out of two copies of the Welsh flag and duly changed my name to Gildas (it means Servant of God and is the closest Welsh name to John which means Gift from God, Jehovah has given or God is forgiving. As is usually the case when I attend such parties, I was the only one who had made an effort. Lydia is Welsh, which is apparantly enough, Damon was wearing a small fabric leek badge on his shirt and Kevin had a whacking, great-big-circumcised leek on a string around his neck. Everyone else was dressed up in clubbing gear and so I looked like a numpty. Again. Tidy.

Anyway, music was playing and when nobody seemed to care very much, I changed the CD for the Minstry of Sound Funk-Soul Classics and put on Cameo’s Word Up as it’s a firm favourite with the lads. The reaction from one of Lydia’s friends?
Ooooo, how very retro!.
Retro? say I. This is classic. I remember when it came out!
When was that then?
1986.
I was two.
I was twelve. Pants.

That was just the beginning. Turns out I would also much rather go to a nice restaurant and have a meal and some wine with good friends than go to a party at a house with loud music, weird cocktail’s and sit around trying to hold a conversation. When did that happen? Apparantly when I got old. Oh, boy!

At 28 I’ve got one or two grey hairs creeping in and the odd crazy long eye brow. Although to be honest these things don’t really mean your getting old, I mean I had a mate who pretty much went bald at 17!! No, what really makes me realise my advancing years is the discovery that nothing today is as good as it was when I was a kid.

The list is as long as my arm and ranges from things like films (tell me the late 70’s, 80’s were not the best cinematic era since talkies came in and replaced silent movies… go on, then prove it!) to the toys. Ok so they were not as advanced as they are now but I’ll take my scrawny looking Luke Skywalker over the body builder he’s now become! Plus they were far more dangerous which for a kid is cool.

But what really brought it home to me was watching a video on youTube of the opening theme to a 70/80’s TV show. It struck me that there was nothing like this on TV at the moment nothing even close! Then I started thinking back to my old favorites, shows like:

• Knight Rider
• AirWolf
• A Team
• CHiPs
• Manimal!!!!!
• Blue Thunder
• TJ Hooker (so good I named our dog after him!)
• Starsky and Hutch
• The Professionals

I know I’m forgetting some as well! These we’re quality shows, you didn’t need to watch them religiously like 24 (although I do love that show) you could miss a week and still be right back into into because there was usually no complicated mythology just a nice formulaic episode structure sort of like:

Michael Knight drives through small town and finds small town plagued by gang of nasty bikers.

Michael Knight befriends towns person (usually a girl) and decides to help fight the bikers.

The bikers fight back.

TURBO BOOST!!!

Michael Knight wins.

The End

Simple is beautiful sometimes, things don’t always need to be so heavy and gritty!

Anyway I’ve rambled on a bit here so as a final homage to these shows here is my top three themes (in reverse order).

3. Street Hawk – So 80’s it hurts! I love the voice over “incredible speeeds up to 300 miles per hour..” never mind the bike could do that 300mph around right angle corners!!!

Oh and the lead actors name was Rex!!! Does it get any better?

2. Knight Rider – Yes it does!! The Hoff, a talking car and a kick ass theme tune.

1. CHiPs – Never mind that the theme is only 0.0001% from being 70’s pron when it starts. I remember sitting on my police bike in front of the TV watching this (I was 3!). This ones for you Ponch!!!

Pedro OUT!