Well, had the big farewell party for my little bro and his partner, Kerry, yesterday. Great fun (pics are on here somewhere), but all got a bit emotional. Lots of goodbyes said; I know Kerry finds it harder (James being a bloke), she's extremely close to her dad. Her dad! Top bloke, came out of the closet after Kerry was born. He lost it outside after saying goodbye, I lost it as well, big (manly!...grrr!) hugs all round. Seriously going to miss them something awful. I lost the plot about four years back, they did all they could to bring me back round and succeeded, seriously don't know what would of happened to me if they hadn't been there. I know full well that it's going to be piss easy to get in contact with them, tech god over here's armed him with enough technology know-how to both order a sofa online and make a serious attempt on the Pentagon, but it's never going to be quite the same as rolling into their place and chewing the fat. At the same time though; I'm mind bendingly proud of the both of them for having the guts and determination to make such a huge change for a better life. He's carrying on with the trucker thing, huge wage and a decent amount of life comfort, Kerry has to wait for a work visa. Wayne, me and Billy are aiming for a big Canadian road trip when they're settled which I'm seriously looking forward to; holidays for the cost of a plane ticket! Been trying to write them a letter to read on the plane, but kept sobbing so I wrote this instead and leaving that till later!

Possibly not the best time to blog, because I'm feeling not a little exhausted and a touch emotional (sleep deprivation!), but I'll do it anyway to let loose the demons.

Thought through what happened last night; whilst the female attention was all well and good and rubbed the ego the right way (which is slowly backwards and forwards across my shaven scalp, fact fans!) it's not really what I'm looking for. Yep, attractive, pushed all the right buttons on the physical score, but a case of back to mine, do the deed and jump straight into the taxi. I'm fairly sure she found the time to wipe, if not the cabby's going to be wondering who let the snails loose on the back seat. While it's nice to actually have sex (a teenager throwback), I've discovered I want the warm body next to me through the night more than anything else. Bit of conversation after?! Erm...the chance to say "good morning", even though you know full well that they're regretting the barcadi and cokes and the bright light that sears the retinas off at the crack of daybreak. I could always learn to say it in an ironic fashion.

So, to sum it up; sex is no longer a priority (visualise the queue of head scratching blokes with blank looks). Affection is a serious priority, whether it leads to the funky monkey or not. A distinct possibility of saying good morning more than once in this lifetime is another. Don't get me wrong, I'm not throwing myself into a serious relationship with the first person that shows up, unless against the law of odds, it clicks in all the right places, because that'd be leading both myself and the other person down the garden path, left turn into fantasy street and into the wasteland. Going to carry on dating and I guess that one day I'll hit the nail on the head. And no, that wasn't innuendo about "nailing it".

For the meantime, perfectly happy with both being single and the possibility of something else kicking off. I've got illness to cope with (and coping well with), a rapidly re-expanding circle of good and close mates and my head into everything (my natural state of being).

The Caffiene Razor

It's caffiene day; the only thing keeping my body running is coffee and red bull, I'm on the that razor sharp edge where you're mind doesn't even know if it's got much to do with the body it's connected to. Had a great night last night, went to see some live music in Leicester with Juliette. We even found the club eventually! Anyways, another late night and early morning and it's not over yet. Big 'Ol Wayne's coming out on the lash around Skegness later so my short lived plans to get some sleep've been put on the backburner.

I'm actually learning to appreciate public transport; I'm now a fully fledged window licker, so I'm trying to put myself in role. Essential tools; something to read, be it book or magazine. MP3 player loaded with carefully chosen music of eclectic quality, a shaven head to put people off sitting next to you. Careful planning is essential, otherwise you end up on the school run and half a county worth of giggling schoolgirls.

Really enjoying life at the moment; making some cracking mates (Juliette - you really are the best!) and my social circle's building itself back up again. Very much more like myself again, back to outgoing self confidence; I'm enjoying being me again!

Drowning in my fluids

My hands are sore. My eyes sting. I lay awake at night, gasping for breath, the fluids rattling in my lungs as my body fights for life and grasps for the edge with bloody, ragged fingernails, afraid to fall into the abyss, lest I never climb out again.

Which is a good indication that the common household chemicals I'm using to remove the damp induced mould in the flat may well be reacting together and I might need to open a window or two. Big change at home; utter rearrangement of the flat. Kate took the vast majority of her furniture yesterday, so I spent six hours yesterday evening on an intensely hyperactive Johnny Homemaker cleaning and moving session. Erecting the new bed was less hassle than it initially appeared to be, aided by the fact that when I bolted the wrong bit on, House Boy, a.k.a my son Mark was sent into the warzone on his own to undo my wrong-doings.

<---- House Boy!

The living room is now the bedroom, and vice versa. Decided I'd rather have a roomy, non claustrophobic bedroom and a small, cosy living room. The kitchen has been scrubbed down in obsessive-compulsive fashion. The entire place has been thoroughly aired and the horrible, not quite identifiable musty smell has gone.

I don't agree with the whole New Man thing, males should be males and etc etc, do what's in your nature as long as it's not hurting someone else. Yet, I find myself standing in shops and looking at duvet covers and assorted home furnishings, stroking my chin knowing full well I look like Graham Norton eyeing up a bottom.

Frankly, I don't care; this is the first place in over half a decade which has been entirely my abode and mine alone. Like a dog pissing up you favourite dry clean only jacket, I'm marking my territory and creating Base Camp. It's like a mad dictators hidden cave deep in the mountains; no matter what goes wrong in my personal and social life, I can retreat here and redraw my plans for world domination.

I'm a cocktail shaker!

Here’s a turn up for the books! Went for the consultation after the couple of fits I’ve had over the past year and it turns out I’ve got epilepsy! Net result: I go on medication for the next two years, side effects of which are:

a) it’s dangerous if I become pregnant (I may discount this one, having no womb for gestation)
b) it puts on huge amounts of weight (bit of a bonus, could do with an extra stone or two)

The big downside is the loss of my driving license for the next year; if I have no more fits over the next twelve months, the DVLA’ll give me it back and my insurance company will charge me to hell and back. Now, as always, trying to see the bright side in the situation; I’m going to have to go out and buy a push-bike for work. This is my key to getting uber-fit over the next year. I’ve always been a very strong cyclist, used to cycle an 80 mile round trip just to see my kids when I was younger. I really enjoy it and it’s worked wonders for my health over the years. During a medical a few years ago, my lung capacity was a litre above average.

The sheer cost of keeping a motorcycle on the road is gone; between petrol, insurance and consumables I’m going to be nearly £150 better off every month which should work wonders both for my social life and my health. Taking up boxing again, now suddenly rendered affordable and handily, there’s a very local club about four hundred yards down the road.

That’s about it, really! I’ve got two big bald patches on a hairy chest due to the ecg and I look like a hair shirt that’s moulting. CAT scans are booked, what appeared to be the full eight litres of blood reside in very possibly a bucket that’s being sent to my gp.

Sometimes when life throws shit at you, you have to pick out the sweetcorn and throw the faeces away :)