Wish I Could Speak Like An Old Biddy

I normally find writing to be easy. I usually have something that I want to share or go on and on and on about to the point of ennui. I suppose I’m a bit obsessive like that. Some people have me marked down as a depressive, or bi polar, but they’re wrong. What I am is someone who is a leading expert on blowing things up out of all proportion. It’s just I feel that by and large I’ve run out of things to say. Whatever doesn’t help is the fact that I have spent far too many of my evening when I return home from work doing pretty non productive things.

Alan Bennett

Alan Bennett

One productive thing I’ve been doing is reading and listening to audiobooks. The audiobooks are a collection of the works of Alan Bennett, the Talking Heads series and I’ll be moving onto The Lady In The Van once I get past those. I find the Talking Heads plays or monologues if you like to be clever, witty and very very perceptive. It seems that Mr. Bennett can crawl into the psyche of middle aged women with an effortless ease that a tubby little Yam Yam can only envy. So much so I’ve written the biggest part of one myself. It’s probably rubbish and highly derivative rubbish at that, but there you are. The problem for me is, that what I’m writing/have written is a 5 or 10 minute  piece to camera  or microphone (as in a radio play) that needs a woman’s voice. I’ve had a go at doing it myself but I just can’t do it, I sould ridiculous trying to do an old woman’s voice. I could “demo” it for a woman to perform under my direction (Orson Denbow anyone?) but unfortunately I don’t know anyone, anyone at all who’d do it for me.

On that score I’m back to the drawing board so I may have to just right click and select delete and book it down as a bad job all round. However, it occurs to me that I should try to write the same sort of thing, you know using that seed of an idea and try to write something like that. The idea of trying to write or complete this novel I’ve been hankering after writing just seems like too much bloody hard work and let’s face it, I’m a lazy bugger. At least with doing a “Talking Heads” type thing I could just talk to my iPad and then write down the dialogue. I’m really good at talking, spectacularly good in fact.

This brings me rather clumsily to my next (maybe final) The last few weeks have been shit. Really shit in that there’s been some issues, shall we say, that have made my life somewhat difficult. Extended family problems sort of thing. What dropped me in the excrement was telling the family (I believe in honesty) about me wandering about stark bollock naked back in July. Kids laughed at me, wife won’t even broach the subject. It does seem now that the whole thing has disappeared into the background a bit and they think I won’t do anything like that again, I just won’t tell them next time. Oh yes, forgot about the point I was going to make about me being a chap who is good at talking. My daughter is getting married on 20th September and of course it fall to me as Father Of The Bride to make a little speech. This is not to be an unsubstantial wedding and the thought of getting on my back legs to put my oratory skills to the test was scaring me to death. Note the ”was.” I desperately didn’t and don’t want to let her down on her big day and felt nerves on my part were going to be a massive and insurmountable problem.

That’s part of the reason I did what I did back in July. If I can put myself into that type of situation and stay in that situation for a few hours, then getting up to say a few words should be a breeze.

Ciao For Now




Nail Polish Or Tattoos?

English: Male Fitness & Muscle Model John Quin...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Am I a believer? Am I atheist, agnostic or religious? I would have to say that I am none of those. When it comes to religion I merely abstain. I refuse to be drawn in the melting pot of religious dogma in any way shape or form. Besides my own views on the matter are intensely private and remain hidden under a cloak of invisibility and evasion. Besides when it comes to matter spiritual it is none of your business what I think and neither is my place to make even the smallest effort to impose my ideas and thoughts upon you. However, society as a whole imposes its ideas, thoughts and conventions upon you even if you are not aware that it does.

We have things in our society that are considered “normal,” conventional is another word that could be used. There are many “normal” things that a chap of my age is supposed to do. By definition there also must be many “normal” things that I really ought not to do. I’m not famous, I have a normal job, I live in a normal house, I have a normal wife and family. I would therefore be considered normal. However, am I normal? Now that’s not a question that’s loaded with self doubt or psychosis it is a simple question. That is where the problem starts. You must see that question is very difficult, if not impossible, to answer. In order to work out whether I’m normal then a definition of normal must be agreed upon.

Okay so think about this for a moment, this normal business. For the sake of argument suppose that I decide to have a tattoo. Remember I’m in my 50s and have never had a tattoo before and I decide to go the whole hog and have one of those full sleeve jobs. What would people think? Would that be considered normal with a soupcon of midlife crisis? What about if I started to paint my finger nails and toenails and get a touch of fake tan and bleach my hair? Would that be seen as another last desperate act of an aging man?

Applying nail polish on toes

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As I am Mr Normal as stated earlier both of these things would be seen as stepping well outside of the box, but given modern fashions and the acceptability these days of tattoos I don’t think anyone would really take that much notice about a full sleeve tattoo. What about the nail varnish and the hair? In my opinion people would think I’d well and truly lost the plot. If I combined the two I think that I’d end up in a padded cell. Why should that be the case? If I was a rock star would anyone blink an eye? Why is it that rock n rollers can do stuff that Mr Normal can’t do and dress exactly how they may wish and get zillions of tattoos and wear make up and paint their nails? Is it simply because they have to live up to the Mr Rock Star image just as everyone else has to live to the Mr Normal image?

I think that is really the case. We all have to wear uniforms and we have to wear them all of the time. These uniforms mark us out, they illustrate clearly what we are and to an extent what we do. Sadly there is very little that we can do about it unless we can find the courage to buck the trend and break free of the social norm. Of course there are a few people that do just this but can make themselves unemployable or conversely looked upon by the world as complete and utter wankers just because of their station in life.

Ciao For Now


 Thanks to @ModalConfusion for planting the idea for this post in my mind.


I Don’t Know What To Do Anymore

Considering the simple fact that I feel that I have little to write about these days the urge to write is as strong as ever. My self discipline is sadly lacking in that I can’t seem to make the time and don’t seem to have the inclination to dip my toe in the icy waters and try to get on writing my book/novel/big story whatever you or I may wish to call it and continue writing that. No, what it is I want to write, but I really don’t know what it is that I want to write about.

DenbowI’ve published a few fairly aimless pieces recently, none of which I’ve been entirely happy with. I think it’s fair to say that the piece that I was happy with was posted on July 24, 2014. Since then everything I’ve written on this blog and written for this blog but either deleted or simply not published has been pretty vacuous. I’ve usually been able to write a blog post with a beginning a middle and an end, but at the moment I cannot find a beginning let alone a middle or end.

I think that part of the problem is that I’m looking in the wrong places for something to write about. Prior to July 24 I had been writing towards a specific end, outlining plans and then writing about how that plan came to fruition and just what happened. Since then nothing, zero no idea of what I what to write anymore. Moreover I don’t know why I want to write as I feel I have shared all that I can. I’ve written of my mind, my feelings and my ups and downs. I wrote about my mind in the most naked way and I also wrote about my body in the same manner. I think the me, me, me part of this blog is now exhausted and needs to have a rest or even maybe to wither and be allowed to die as it has run its natural course. Does that mean that I’m giving up? Should I take a rest and just leave this little piece of Denbow to sit alone, untendered and unkempt? Should I make the whole blog private or just delete it and move on?

To be 100% truthful I’m not sure right now whether I have anything more to say, however, this little site will stay here regardless of whether I can find it in my heart or head to add to it. You see the real issue is, for all of the little asides about Storage Wars and Finding Bigfoot this blog has been all about me and my frustration of being, err, me. I don’t feel like that anymore. For the first time in years I had an ambition and I fulfilled it and enjoyed it. That experience opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities. You wouldn’t understand,  I could try to explain it to you but I really don’t think that you’d be too interested.

Ciao For Now


The Pursuit Of Happiness

In all of my life, I’ve never been anywhere. My travels are done on the television or in books or maybe in my dreams. I know there are places that I’d like to visit; things that I’d like to see that I never will. I know also I’ll never own a Porsche or an Aston Martin and am highly unlikely to have the chance to actually drive one. That realization comes I believe with age and a certain fatalism creeps in to your thought processes.

That’s not to say I’ve got the metaphorical noose around my neck, more a case of “a man has got to know his limitations.” At one time thoughts like that, the concepts of limited opportunities, would have depressed me. I would have been very sad and felt sorry for myself and bemoaned my decline into middle age and the erosion of my body’s capabilities, my ambitions, my drive and will to succeed. When I was younger I wanted success to success’ sake. I wanted to puff my chest out and shout “look at me, look at me!” as an attempt to show how happy I was. Now success to me means something completely different. I no longer feel the need to do things in order to get approval from my peers. I longer have the ambition to be something, or someone.

I am someone……I’m me.

Identity conceptual view

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have my own sense of identity; I know just where it is that I fit in this world. I know who I am and I know what I want. I know what’s important and I am aware of what it is that’s truly trivial. I can recognize people who deserve my attention and time and I can differentiate between those and the emotional leeches who suck the life out of you by bringing you down to there miserable level or by simply telling you lies to make you empathise with and show sympathy for their plight.

That’s 325 words I’ve written above to what point? Is it a mission statement or is it a summary of my mental processes as they are right now? Well, to be honest I don’t know. I have no idea why I started this and I have no idea where it’ll finish. You see I feel I don’t have “it” anymore; the sense of righteous indignation, the smug superiority or the vicious jealous tongue that I once had. As a result the inherent black humour is not there and I feel that I have lost (or am losing) the ability to write something that doesn’t disappear slowly but surely up its own self satisfied arse.

That’s the problem. I don’t want to write about politics, what’s happening in the world is far too tragic for the pontifications of an ill educated hobby blogger. I have stopped watching as much TV and although I listen to music a lot of music there are plenty of music blogs out there without me adding the occasional piece. I read, but short of mentioning the title of the book that I’m reading I have no desire to go on and on about a book and exhort you to read it. Suit yourself about books, I don’t care. When it comes to sport, I have to say that my interest declines with each passing minute as more and more importance seems to be attached to it.

Things happen to you in life, well at least they did to me, that can cause a seismic shift in your thinking. You can have your own personal “vision on the road to Damascus” and I’m talking in an allegorical sense rather than a religious one. Whilst it’s true that a religious deity may come to you and change your life and your thinking it is also true that personal experiences and events that are purely secular can act in exactly the same way.

I suppose that if that kind of thing happens then it does alter your whole mindset and allows you to grasp life and existence with a whole you outlook and sense of positivity. It enables you to have a more open and honest relationship with people that you encounter. It also helps you to be happy just being. Just being you and you can see where and how you fit in because in one way or another, we all do.

Ciao For Now



I Got Blocked On Twitter

I got blocked on Twitter in the week, blocked.


Yup blocked.

Over the years I’ve been trolled, abused and had abuse hurled at me. That is just part of the experience of social networking so you either put up with it or keep well away. Every now and again I feel like jacking the whole lot in, but I find the people I regularly interact with to be funny, you know a laugh? Good bit of banter and all that.


(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One of the people with whom I had previously enjoyed Twitter chats with has seen fit to block me. Having been trolled in the past by Americans who believe that their command of the English language is better than mine and bombarded me with offensive DM’s and comment all over my blog, I have perhaps grown a tad over sensitive. Moreover, if I wish to express myself or my pretty mundane opinions in 140 characters then I will. I’m not racist, sexist or homophobic. FYI I’m not xenophobic either, so there you go.

This is icon for social networking website. Th...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Anyway, I Tweeted something and had what I considered to be a facetious reply and replied less than kindly and blocked him, thought about it then unblocked. This chap (or chappess) told of his/her experience to someone I followed who followed me back and consequently I was unfollowed. I asked why and was told “I wouldn’t like it.” Although it was mentioned that I was playing the “Big Man” with my 1000 Twitter followers and he had, 24?

I think that was it anyway.

Anyway after a short while I was blocked! I returned the compliment, then thought bollocks, I’ve done nothing wrong or to be ashamed of. It’s just the hurly burly tough world of Twitter.

Should I care?

Really, should I care? Should it bother that a face on an avatar that I spoke to on occasions at some length has decided that I’m no longer a “bud” but a right bastard? Given the transient nature of Twitter and social networking in general it shouldn’t bother me. It should be something that I dismiss with a shrug of my virtual shoulders in the world of online friends, but I still find it sad and to be honest a little hurtful that I’m perceived as being a bad sort.

There’s nothing I can do about it though.

I know what I am and other people’s perceptions of me are beyond my control in real life and on social networking.


Everybody Needs A Little Place They Can Hide

Do you drink, alcohol I mean? I suppose most people that read probably do. Have you checked as to what the safe levels are for alcohol consumption or do you just whack the stuff away with little or no thought of the consequences? In the past that was me, I drank 5 or six pints of beer 5 or 6 times a week. I’m not going to even wander down the units of alcohol bit but you’d have to be a moron not to realize that is way too much. Of course there may be someone you know or it may even be you before you’ve started drink who is thinking “5 or 6 pints? What a wuss!” I really don’t care what you say or think, it is way too much.

An imperial pint of beer.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

These days, although I say I don’t drink I have to confess that I do. I have 2 or 3 pints once a week in my local pub when I have a crack at the pub quiz. To be honest even if I didn’t drink the beer or lager it wouldn’t make a huge difference to me as I don’t go there for the beer, I go there to do the quiz and see my friends. From time to time I may have a single bottle of something in the house, beer, lager or pear cider but that is rare. Yes I like a drop of beer, but it’s not the be all and end all of my life anymore. My life seemed to be centred around beer and the pub and that is so so sad.
A lot of people, if not everyone has some kind of emotional crutch that they lean on with varying degrees of dependence. It can be a hobby, a pastime, an interest, a narcotic or hiding in a bottle.

“Everybody needs a little place they can hide
Somewhere to call their own
Don’t let no one inside”


We all like to think that we are free spirited individuals and that we have our lives sorted out to provide us with maximum happiness. We all like to think that, but we can be wrong. After I stopped drinking (out of necessity ~ epilepsy) I threw myself headlong into writing this blog. As I mentioned in my last post the urge to write anything, and I mean anything, was almost out of control. I would become fixated on writing and writing about anything and that became my little place to hide.

However, because of the very introspective nature of what I was writing my little hiding place was turning into a prison from which I was finding it hard to break free. In loads of posts I’d told of ambitions and spoke of what I was going to do and did precisely none of them. Think about that for a minute. You make plans to do something just for yourself that may be fun and you don’t do it. All you do is make plans for the next adventure that deep down you know will never happen because you know exactly the sort of person that you are. That aspect of my personality was making me very sad about myself, especially a I’d announced on this blog that I was going to visit a naturist club for the day. That’s quite a step, a bit more than writing my “novel” or recording myself playing guitar.

Having told a few people of my intention I began to think that this was not a good idea. You know to go and take all of my clothes off and meet people, talk to people similarly attired. Jump into a swimming pool naked, with other naked people. 99% of people wouldn’t do it, 99% of people wouldn’t try it, 99% would think I was mental and think it was just something I was talking about and once again I’d come up with some half assed excuse for not going

I thought about this a lot. I’d always been the sort of braggart who would always be the “I can do that” without actually doing that. So, I was interested to see a naturist club, see how I felt, see what the people were like so I decided that this was the plan and promise to myself that I was going to keep. So I did and I went. There’s an account of my day here on this blog if you’re interested in reading it. The link is at the bottom of the page.

The experience has changed me. I feel a different kind of person. I really do. Now I know that’s sounds utter utter bollocks but it’s true. It’s lifted some weight that I feel I was carrying around on my back and just being there made me feel great. I haven’t turned into a full on naturist but should the opportunity present itself to repeat the experience then I will. I may even make that opportunity happen.

Who Knows?


This little post was inspired by this song by Cinderella. It’s called “Shelter Me.”


I’m Not Sure Anymore

I’ve written, written, written and written on this blog for 3 ½ years all manner of self opinionated twaddle. The thing with writing self opinionated twaddle is that it needs to be fuelled. In my case the fuel was anger, resentment, self pity, self loathing, boredom and all round depressive misery. I now have most, if not all of those things firmly under control and now I am finding it impossible to write something here for my blog. Okay, so I’m writing this, but that’s really not the point – the novel without words (Adrian Mole) and the blog post about nothing?

English: WordPress Logo

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The other thing has been that in the past I have been guilty of the heinous crime of writing for stats, hits, readers. You know the little fair haired blogger taking an apple to WordPress in return for a Gold Star and a massive plug. Now, for the first time, I could really not care whether you the person reading this is the only one that is doing so. That’s not what it’s about at all. A little WordPress blog is just a means of self expression. A place where I can say more or less what I want I want to say without contradiction as few people ever choose to comment apart from an ambiguous Tweet. No one takes me to task and I love the liberation that brings.

You see right now I have lost the drive and compulsion to pick up my laptop and spew out my opinions and feelings as I have done in the past. What does anyone care what I think? That’s not me being all *woe is me* it’s a fact. I read other people’s blogs and I find that without exception they are better than mine. Better written and with more interesting subject matter. For months and months this blog has been my life and now life has encroached on my blog. I’m busier, happier, more content than I’ve been in an age. So do I need to write stuff here with an almost religious fervour?

I’m not sure anymore

PT 2


So why am I thinking like this? I think the answer is a little more complex than first meets the eye. I think I’ve been a little too revealing in what I’ve written. I’ve sacrificed privacy for good copy so to speak. I’ve acted like a tabloid journalist and written things that really should not have been written, or at the very least published. I have toyed with the idea of going through each and every post and deciding whether they should remain visible to all or kept just for me. I am capable of going naked physically, I know that I can do that without shame, but there other things I’ve written that expose my psyche in a way that now I’m not happy with. However, these vignettes act as a record of my journey to where I am right now and perhaps should remain as signposts to show that I’ve travelled a road.

Yet for all of this, I am left with a huge problem. I’ve written almost vicious articles about American reality TV, expressed my opinions on UKIP, whinged about me and how I was feeling at the time, wrote a tongue in cheek piece about NASA, gave my opinions on the whole epilepsy experience and I have also written of body image and nudism/naturism.

Where now?

Well, I have resolved to become a more tolerant person less likely fly into a temper with little provocation which has meant that unfortunately for this blog that my righteous indignation levels have dropped. Now when I look at the stuff on The Daily Mail website, I don’t get angry or wound up anymore, I read or not and move on. That type of negative emotion towards a newspaper is pointless. They print any old rubbish, so I just assimilate the information and move on. Right now I feel no incentive to become a keyboard warrior screaming my frustration to a world that won’t listen.

I’m not the Messiah, just a very naughty boy.