RambleAgain

Valentines day. The one day a year when hygiene, chocolate, flowers and private investigators all occupy the male psyche in equality, without questions of suspicion. The rabid consumerism pushed upon us to win some loving angel's heart in a contest of who can do best Michael Caine impression without people asking, What's it all about? Alfie?

What is it all about? Why do women come together once a year with all the power to say this day is all about romance and love, and we men have to listen and obey… and pay. Even the best bachelor kneels at the world wide request of women to have one day of her year, like Romeo and Juliet. Hopefully realising that nobody wants to live out a thirteen-year-olds suicidal wet dream.

Cupid arrives with an aim quite alike Robin Hood, to rob us of our dignity once a year, but indeed without the marksmanship of the latter. Indeed, what single man ever comes into Valentines day anything more than hopeful. They say all is fair in love and war, but it does feel more like you are slogging in the trenches as a man, when the women get shoot you down from a distance with their rejection rifles. I'm just saying, the St. Valentines day massacre happened once, we men have to live through this speed dating meat grinder many more times.

And like the darkest of chocolates I am left asking myself a question. I'm not bitter am I? With barely two decades down and the promise of many more to go, I am not weary of this occasion just yet am I? Has the constant expense of chasing women, winning rejection and the single bedrooms purchased at the heartbreak hotel really got to me. All the secret admiring I am required to do, that on any other day of the year would really just see me on a one-way track to court and a restraining order.

No, I still play my part, like everyone else. Indeed Cupid has all men in a chokehold, as embarrassing as the image is of grown men being subjugated by a diaper wielding baby. We still go out, buy chocolate and flowers, admire girls in coffee shops anonymously without much in the hope of success and then come home and drink, when we fail. But then again, I am not only loser on this day. My bank account suffers just as much as I do, but then again, the cost could be much higher if heaven forbid… I won.

Valentines day really is, just one big advert for consumerism, and at the end of the day, BAM, the is love gone, shouted loud and clear by Barry Scott in a diaper with wings.

Well. Lots of love.

Okay so maybe it is just time for me to admit it. I have an inability to become addicted to blogging, and worse, without a deadline set by and held to by others I am worse than useless at maintain this blog.

I hope my sincere apology will suffice enough for someone to read this nice shiny new article I have just belched forth from my truly terrible inner cynic...

Lots of love as always,

Currently, I am under examinations at university which means that most publishing efforts on this blog should be followed by the name Pappers... Unfortunately he is equally unreliable as I am busy. So I leave you with this short message.

Sorry.

I'm going to set the dogs on him later, (though what a bunch of yorkshire terriers are going to do I will never know).

Wish me luck if you'd like.

Laters

I've never liked libraries. University and school libraries even less. But still here I am.

Seven days away from a Shorthand exam. Six from a news writing exam. Making little to no progress, but I guess its more than nothing. Do I go home and achieve nothing whilst playing xbox or games on my mac? Or do I stay here and try to actually pass my course. I am acutely aware after have a seminar on shorthand nought an hour earlier how hard I am going to have to work to even come close to passing.

So here I am, close to the probably the most important week of my academic life so far, and I'm struggling with motivational issues, (its snowing so I have put off Lacrosse today) and trying nowhere near my hardest to learn what I need for shorthand.

Also I'm doing fiction. Which I shouldn't be, given my situation.

Oh well.

Right, because I will never be able to conquer my lazy streak, I have decided it might be time to expand my little enterprise. I know its not like I have a million followers... or ten, but still. If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England.

The foreign corner being tumblr and yes I did just quote Rupert Brooke.

So I shall be introducing a close friend of mine, whom has agreed to take up the undeniably tough slack of writing and publishing blog posts for the massive audience I currently entertain.

Welcome to the internet, Pappers. Take it away.

So, I've always wondered what it would be like to have an open-to-the-public place to broadcast my colourful observations and thoughts unto people, and now I have just that, albeit to a somewhat modest audience. So, with this blog I'll do just that - as of now, this space will get a front row viewing into my highly unconventional and controversial opinions and thoughts on the ruthless journey that is life in western society. - Pappers

Fuck you're deep...

Rambled out for the night.

Okay so I thought I would come full circle today and return to the fiction that I started writing on this blog. Chosen. 

So in the great spur of the moment, I have literally written and posted things on this blog for two whole days in a row, I am going to put some more online. Same deal as before, pre-edit.

Irentice. Home. Earon silently wished he was there right now. In the moment before his eyes finally adjusted to the light he could be anywhere. “Where am I?” He said, not fully aware of his surroundings.

“The Firmament.” A voice replied back to him from his left.

“How did I get here?” He asked. All Earon could remember was hitting the water, and a noise like thunder and a crash in the ocean.

“You got lucky love, one of the dragons from the fight got dragged down to the ocean. He dealt with his opposite and saw you. The captain had you fished out and brought back here.” It was clear the voice was a woman now.

“A captain? Who?” He turned his head but only succeeded in hurting his neck.

“Lie still, the doctor said the crash into the water did damage to your neck and back.” She was older than him, he could tell, and her voice had a tenderness to it, it was almost motherly. “He will be back soon.”

“What happened to captain Harken? And Harley? Are they alright? Please say that are alright?”

“Captain Harken is fine. He left the infirmary yesterday. Tough man he is. Like yourself. You were both unconscious when your were found.” Earon relaxed again, but felt a deep unease. The woman had said nothing of Harley. “What about his Igoret, Harley?”

“Harley was hurt badly. She can no longer fly proficiently, and has been sent to the breeding grounds. Harken went with her. He asked for leave to be with her till she recovered. Command granted him leave to wait for her first hatchling and then he is to be assigned to it instead of Harley.”

It struck Earon then, how kind Command had been to Harken. He was a messenger and could easily be assigned to another bird fresh from the hatchery, but no, they had given him time to recover and help rear another Igoret from the start.

The female voice continued, “But you are to begin training as soon as you are healthy, which shouldn't be too long. Your injuries are not severe.” The woman stood up, and moved from her vantage point somewhere to his left, where he could not turn his head. When she came into view in front of him he noticed her uniform. It was a Corps uniform, and the bars on her shoulder distinguished her as a captain. Below was a small golden flourish on a pin, shaped cunningly like a dragon coiled in on itself.

“Excuse me, err, Captain, but did you watch over me whilst I was asleep?” Earon asked.

“Yes Earon, I did. The entire time. Had to make sure the boy I saved was doing alright. It was damn lucky we hit the water so close to you. Damn lucky we didn't lose anyone ourselves in the process.”

“May I ask your name Captain?”

“Raynes. Captain Miranda Raynes.” She removed her cap, and ruffled her own blonde hair about until it sat messily around her face. She could have been no older than twenty, perhaps younger if looks were anything to go on, but she spoke with an air of experience. Her eyes were a deep blue that spoke of experience beyond her years suggested. “I fly with Sora, Calibrian Blueback, thirty-two tonnes for her twelve years. You should come thank her when you get the chance. She asks me about you daily.”

You're welcome.

http://footballneutrality.tumblr.com/

This is the tumblr for my piece of Footballing fiction, titled Grass Roots. Feel free to check it out. It is set to be a weekly updated blog, if not bi-weekly given my record of actually being able to stay on topic.

Well anywho...

Thats me over and out. I'm oscar mike.

The obvious and hopefully not ill fated foray into the world of Instagram.

It has already begun…

After hearing so much about it over the previous year, and finally managing to cobble together enough pennies to afford my iPod touch I thought it would be worth a try.

You are now my guinea pigs.

Rambling, For Science…