What’s the first impression you want to give people?
I’m so sorry I couldn’t resist anchorman infused gifs. Ah what a movie. I used to have a ‘I love lamp’ t-shirt but got lost a good decade ago. In all honesty I would want to give the impression that I am calm but underneath lays complete and utter, terror. Sort of a thousand yard stare but not too much. Reminiscent of Hunter S. Thompson but more toeing the thin line between madness and genius. Read into that what you wish.
Unfortunately due to several personality disorders I very rarely get to choose which person comes out on a first impression. I got all the range here. From shy and reserved to jumping on a desk, surfing. The latter hasn’t been attempted in a while. Not sure if the table would still be standing to be fair.
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
*ahem* £205 for a single trading card to complete a set? Painful. But overly satisfying to look at once in a while. That would be the most shocking use of money. I used to play Plus500 and made silly money on it, but also lost it. Fortunately, I gained more than what I put in, but it was properly messed up. £900 on coal… £900 on gold… like it’s not real money. You then hold firm until it hits a nice profit and sell them back. I had a few close calls, but insane money there.
I’m struggling to think of anything else. A computer for £1k or the £400 headphones. I think if there is a wasteful category, then I would win. But saying that, I’ve used that computer pretty much every day and the headphones, after a couple of years, are still being used this very second. So it’s all a matter of perspective!
Moon cheese. If the moon were made out of cheese, I would funnel all my millions into a ticket to fly there. The endless possibilities of a moon made of cheese would be immense. I wonder what it would taste like. Probably chalky, which definitely would be a bad thing. Investing all that money to find out it’s made of chalky cheese? Nah.
In all honesty, I think anyone with nearly enough money to pay to go to the moon should try investing it here on Earth first. Food banks, hospitals, schools, digital poverty, and poverty itself, for that matter. There are far more needy causes on this planet before we start screwing around with space tourism. I’m more than happy with NASA, Europe, and the rest of the world exploring and things. It just stings a bit when someone could potentially spend millions to get a ticket to the moon.
Science, yay. Citizens, nay.
But then again, if they have earned the money, they should be able to spend it how they like. It must be a question of morality. I honestly didn’t think this question would be that loaded. If you have the money to burn and that money towards a ticket is then used to further enhance our technology or offset the cost, then I’m all for it.
It was the same with the Titanic incident where the explorers all lost their lives on the way down. It was their money, they knew the risks, and that’s ultimately the price you can end up paying. So, would it be a safe thing to do? Argh, I’m now just rambling at this point.
Back in the day, my career path was focused more on which jobs would kill me rather than what I would be good at. In high school, the career software they had running on the machines matched me with a funeral director, which I always found amusing. I vividly remember when I was 14-15, requesting an army promotional VHS tape. Watched it, thinking I would love to be in the army if I was fit enough to do something useful and learn a skill. I wanted to join the air defense, which at the time was a SAM site operator.
With the progression of high school, in year 11, when I was 15, I started becoming interested in programming. I started off with HTML, then quickly progressed to PHP. MySQL came naturally with it, and by 2000, I was busy building blogs and the like. Then, free will happened when I finished high school, and I went to college, then ultimately university, where I picked up Unix, etc. A career path was always focused on IT ensued.
Now, looking back, I always wondered what would have happened if I did join the army. How would it have shaped me and where would my life be? I’m a firm believer in natural progression, going with the flow and where the wind takes me. I do enjoy IT work, hardware or programming, but especially DB development and reporting. There is something quite satisfying about writing a mega join SQL statement that doesn’t cripple the server.
In conclusion
I’m struggling to think if there was another dream career, but no, I am quite happy with this one and the imaginary soldier life, haha. Charity work is my primary function these days, which is very rewarding at times and keeps me busy.
Dad food. Anything I can put in the air fryer: sausages, chips, beans. But actual cooking skill comes in the form of mini lessons D used to give me when she had the patience. I can make a nice honey roast gammon that just melts, thrice-cooked wedges, roasted parsnips, and carrots. A Sunday roast.
I used to love baking but fell out of love with that long ago. I wanted to experiment with petit fours, but all my cooking molds got thrown away, might take it up again when I’ve moved into the flat. Yes, the flat. I’m still waiting for them to finish sorting out the electrics. Much to the chagrin of the council who have to pay for my motel expenses to keep me here. That’s a rant for another post.
I can do spaghetti, oh, and I can make an awesome tuna pasta bake with a thick layer of molten cheese. Come to think of it, at one point, I was using the Cookidoo to make decent meals. It took a lot of tinkering at first, but I guess I’ve learned a fair few dishes. S doesn’t like cheese and is particular about texture, so we used to draw up a list of meals she liked and we would all build a menu.
That makes my heart hurt again. Sunday roasts and planning meals. Something I’ll never get to do again. At least not yet. There are plans in motion.
To remember events is important to keep the memories of those events alive, or more precisely, so we never forget. I have been privy to a few events, some major to me and my family but also more mainstream historical events too.
Princess Diana. In bed sleeping at the farm, I was like 14 or 15. My Day barges into the room, sticks my TV on, and watches all the coverage of her crash in Paris. You could feel the sadness of the whole thing. Mother-in-law off’s princess. I still don’t know what to believe with that one. I remember the butler getting a book deal out of it.
9/11. Again, in bed, I hear the sound of the workers from the factory flooding into the gun room at the farm, and I’m glued to the TV. I stumbled in half-dressed just as the second plane hit in real time.
Mum. August. Dad left a message on my phone at 4 am. Just as mum’s favorite song, “Son of a Preacher Man,” started playing, she squeezed my dad’s hand and drifted off.
Dad. August. Holding his hand and saying, “You do what you need to do,” I squeezed his hand and he was gone.
Risk is drugs for me. I haven’t hidden or spared any details on my blog about my battles with addiction or the general fact that I take 27 tablets a day. What would I love to do? Come off every single one and see how things are. The vast majority of the meds I take are antipsychotics, Valium, and other sedating medication. There was a time when I wasn’t medicated, and d put the idea in my head about reducing them when things are more stable. It would be interesting because either something really good will happen or something will go horribly, horribly wrong.
But the risk. The risk is unthinkable with blackout rage, and this whole antisocial narcissistic side of me that I’m petrified will take hold and that the drugs, prescribed, are holding the gates closed and allowing me to float around my days. I think if I started small and dropped one of the antipsychotics from 4 times a day to 2 and try that. It’ll take ages to do it but… god, I don’t know, is it worth the possible relapse? And what if I come off everything and I just can’t handle life again? Then again, what if it actually works?
If you were skimming through that, the main takeaway is the risk of not taking my meds. If you got this far, I’ll show you what my brain understood that to mean:
Heroin. I’d like to start injecting again, but this time with some class A. Risk? Didn’t see that part of the question.
Proud moments are in abundance with an awesome family such as mine. But then, I’m a little biased about the whole thing. I know many will see it as an easy answer, but I genuinely feel pride when think of the three most annoying, most fabulous kids. From one who reinvents cooking with random TikTok videos (and almost blowing the microwave up), to a Maltesers monster and a turtle-obsessed Ruthian. They each have their quirks, and it makes me so proud when I think about how well they are growing up in a not-so-normal family. So B, S, and R, this one is for you.
B = Future chef/programmer/RPG-playing person!
S = Dolphin trainer.
R = Post-apocalyptic zombie killer.
When I think about it, there are quite a few other people of whom I’m proud. I believe that in different stages of life, we have the privilege to experience that feeling towards someone. Although I may be divorced, there were moments where I was proud to be married to her. Such is the human condition, I suppose. Moving towards family, I am proud of the challenges my mother went through to hold the family together. Every day, I am proud of the small battles my son fights and the progress he makes. It’s quite peculiar, really. You can feel proud of a child standing up to a bully, even though you may not know that person.
It’s 3 am, and I probably shouldn’t be typing at this hour. My apologies for any errors in my previous response.
A good neighbor would be a silent one who, when late at night, sees you digging a 6-foot-deep hole, silently joins you with a spade, and you dig together. That’s neighborly love. Maybe in my warped mind. A good neighbor knows when to come round, take a hint, defrost each other’s cars in the morning, taking turns. All that good stuff.
Unfortunately, you don’t get much of that here, well, here being in a city. Here you are just happy if your neighbor hasn’t keyed your car or put a knife through your wheels. Back in Wales. Now that’s a completely different story. In Wales, they come round and have dinner with you, look after the house while you’re away, you share your garden homegrown harvest with, and you are actually proud to have them as a friend.
An example, Martin, who has since departed, would come round all the time, or we would go to him and help him out with things. He was a nice neighbor to have. He would look after the house, feed the chickens when we were away, and we would cook him proper meals and have him sit with us in the dining room. Martin came to support my dad’s funeral although never meeting him. He was, for all purposes, a good man. A neighbor.
I would love to have a neighbor like that here. I really would. Maybe when I finally get into the flat, I’ll be pleasantly surprised, and my neighbors are nice. There is a Ukrainian social club on the same street, so wondering what that’ll be like living next to.
Bad neighbors. Good neighbors. Makes for an interesting life, but definitely prefer good neighbors. The line was crossed when the neighbors opened up our parcels, more than once, thinking it was theirs. Once maybe, two, three times? Nah. That’s just rude.
