Insomnia!
RLS!
It's a real pain in the arse being me sometimes!
Normally my medication would have kicked in long ago and I would have drifted off to sleep in the normal way; snuggled up under a thick, winter duvet.
But not this time!
I lay awake from 11.30pm until frustration got the better of me and I had to get up. It was 1.45am.
I've read all the bogs I didn't have time for yesterday and posted one or two comments. I read, then re-read my emails, but couldn't bring myself to answer more than one of them before I started to get frustrated again.
I haven't suffered from insomnia for such a long time, but tonight, it's back with a vengeance aided and abetted by legs that think they are capable of doing a can-can without asking permission first.
The dogs are unaccustomed to having me around at this time and are looking worried. Sym in particular seems very concerned for his'daddy'. He is sitting at my feet right now, head resting on my knee, and hasn't taken his eyes off me for over an hour.
Clover is sleeping ... when is she not? ... but doesn't seem able to settle and keeps waking up to give me a quick look before pirouetting back down onto her mat.
Sox is dozing on one of the other dog mats, occasionally she'll raise her head to see if I'm still there.
It's somehow nice to know that they care.
In a few hours I have to go to work. I really should be tired.
Ah, well! There is always a possibility I will be able to take a nap in my lunch break tomorrow ... er, later today.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
No Jocks, No Americans, Just Crusader 80 (Part Three)
This is the third and final post relating to the exploits 52 Ord Coy, 5 Ordnance Battalion during Exercise Crusader 80.
Although never planned as trilogy, the events documented here
here,
Our fearless leader, Major McCormack, joined us for the first time in this location (he had to attend some function or other) on this day as it was our turn under the spotlight and media glare. The press turned up in the wake of our even more fearless leader, Brigadier Forgotizname, who was coming to say a hearty 'well done' to the troops for a successful exercise.
The tent nearest to the barn was the HQ tent and was where Major McCormack met Brigadier Forgotizname.
The plan was to visit the Control tent, where supplies were controlled by myself and three others, then to do a circuit of our defensive positions, starting at the fox-hole behind our tent and going in a clockwise direction around the farm.
Now, Major McCormack did not know what we knew and, after greeting our illustrious guests at our HQ tent, he boldly stepped up onto the small concrete wall surrounding the area of green, indicating that the 'show' was about to start and that everyone should follow him towards the Control tent.
Before any word of warning could be uttered, he stepped onto the green area ... and promptly disappeared up to his waist in liquid pig shit!
The 'green' area was actually a large basin created to collect the pig's 'doings' and allow it to ferment a little before it could be sprayed on the surrounding fields. The 'green' surface was a layer of algae that had grown across that surface of the liquid.
If you weren't told what it was, then it really did look like a safe place to walk on.
With the layer of algae being all that held back the stench, the air was quickly filled with the wonderful aroma that only a pigs bottom could generate.
The stifled laughter of all in attendance broke into guffaws as Major McCormack continued his walk through the shit-pit saying "Well? What's everyone waiting for? C'mon in! The shit's lovely!"
The visit did eventually continue but, alas, without the attendance of Major McCormack who went off to immerse himself in a bath of disinfectant .
Although never planned as trilogy, the events documented here
Part One - Another "First Encounter" With Americans ,
here,
Part Two - When The Jock Hits The Shi@
and in the following lines, are true events that occurred (with only minor embellishments) during the afore mentioned exercise which took place in Germany in 1980.
The location: Belle (Nordrhein-Westfalen), Germany.
Crusader 80 was drawing to a close and it was time for the Brass to do a little PR work by visiting all those poor, dirty and stressed-out souls on the ground.
Our fearless leader, Major McCormack, joined us for the first time in this location (he had to attend some function or other) on this day as it was our turn under the spotlight and media glare. The press turned up in the wake of our even more fearless leader, Brigadier Forgotizname, who was coming to say a hearty 'well done' to the troops for a successful exercise.
Major McCormack, as I mentioned, had only just joined us and, after a quick briefing from his 2 I/C, made ready to greet our visitor. Sadly his briefing did not include any info as to the layout of the farm in which we were located other than the positions of various tents (cook tent, control tent, HQ tent) and sentry posts.
It was completely lacking any and all information regarding the large area of green surrounded by a low concrete wall in the centre of the farm's courtyard.
The courtyard looked something like this
The tent nearest to the barn was the HQ tent and was where Major McCormack met Brigadier Forgotizname.
The plan was to visit the Control tent, where supplies were controlled by myself and three others, then to do a circuit of our defensive positions, starting at the fox-hole behind our tent and going in a clockwise direction around the farm.
Now, Major McCormack did not know what we knew and, after greeting our illustrious guests at our HQ tent, he boldly stepped up onto the small concrete wall surrounding the area of green, indicating that the 'show' was about to start and that everyone should follow him towards the Control tent.
Before any word of warning could be uttered, he stepped onto the green area ... and promptly disappeared up to his waist in liquid pig shit!
The 'green' area was actually a large basin created to collect the pig's 'doings' and allow it to ferment a little before it could be sprayed on the surrounding fields. The 'green' surface was a layer of algae that had grown across that surface of the liquid.
If you weren't told what it was, then it really did look like a safe place to walk on.
With the layer of algae being all that held back the stench, the air was quickly filled with the wonderful aroma that only a pigs bottom could generate.
The stifled laughter of all in attendance broke into guffaws as Major McCormack continued his walk through the shit-pit saying "Well? What's everyone waiting for? C'mon in! The shit's lovely!"
The visit did eventually continue but, alas, without the attendance of Major McCormack who went off to immerse himself in a bath of disinfectant .
Sunday, 2 January 2011
It Was Just Another Day
As I've already mentioned, I was working on New Years Eve so I didn't celebrate. As my client saw it as 'just another day' and went to bed, as usual, at 10 pm, I locked up the house, turned off the TV and settled down for the evening with my book.
At 11 pm the skies over Cardiff were it up by those over eager souls who couldn't wait until midnight to let off their paltry selection of cheap and nasty fireworks. I had a quick look out of the window but I wasn't impressed by what I saw. I knew immediately that Sydney Harbour's pyrotechnic display would once again over shadow anything Cardiff had to offer. It always does and always will.
In the years between my youth (when alcohol was denied me) and my more sober adult years (where I denied myself alcohol) I have attended many a wild and wicked party.
I imbibed with a passion that rarely allowed me to remember, let alone see, the celebrations at hand. Many a time I heard the clock strike midnight with my head halfway down a toilet bowl or in the custody of the local constabulary.
Those were the days, eh?
But I grew up ... eventually ... and became a none-drinker. A glass of bubbly, only at the appointed hour and only after a round of 'chinking' glasses, would be all that crossed my lips.
Many years before I began my examinations of toilet bowls - when I was still living in Newbiggin By The Sea (Northumberland) - I would roam from street to street, house to house, party to party picking up a rag-tag collections of friends and relatives en route and we would nearly always all end up at my aunt's house to see in the New Year.
In those days no one locked their front doors. You could pick a house at random, knock, walk straight in shouting 'Happy New Year!' and you were part of the celebration. No objections! No problems!
Someone would probably shoot you if you tried that nowadays.
Anyway, my point is that I no longer celebrate the change of the year as I once did. I, like my client, accept the 31st of December, and indeed the 1st of January, as 'other days' in my daily slog.
Truth be told, the new year is just a reminder of how old I am becoming and in March, I will receive another one accompanied by cards and choruses of 'happy birthday'.
These days, I would no doubt make a lousy party guest.
At 11 pm the skies over Cardiff were it up by those over eager souls who couldn't wait until midnight to let off their paltry selection of cheap and nasty fireworks. I had a quick look out of the window but I wasn't impressed by what I saw. I knew immediately that Sydney Harbour's pyrotechnic display would once again over shadow anything Cardiff had to offer. It always does and always will.
In the years between my youth (when alcohol was denied me) and my more sober adult years (where I denied myself alcohol) I have attended many a wild and wicked party.
I imbibed with a passion that rarely allowed me to remember, let alone see, the celebrations at hand. Many a time I heard the clock strike midnight with my head halfway down a toilet bowl or in the custody of the local constabulary.
Those were the days, eh?
But I grew up ... eventually ... and became a none-drinker. A glass of bubbly, only at the appointed hour and only after a round of 'chinking' glasses, would be all that crossed my lips.
Many years before I began my examinations of toilet bowls - when I was still living in Newbiggin By The Sea (Northumberland) - I would roam from street to street, house to house, party to party picking up a rag-tag collections of friends and relatives en route and we would nearly always all end up at my aunt's house to see in the New Year.
In those days no one locked their front doors. You could pick a house at random, knock, walk straight in shouting 'Happy New Year!' and you were part of the celebration. No objections! No problems!
Someone would probably shoot you if you tried that nowadays.
Anyway, my point is that I no longer celebrate the change of the year as I once did. I, like my client, accept the 31st of December, and indeed the 1st of January, as 'other days' in my daily slog.
Truth be told, the new year is just a reminder of how old I am becoming and in March, I will receive another one accompanied by cards and choruses of 'happy birthday'.
These days, I would no doubt make a lousy party guest.
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