Took bloody three hundred and fifty pages

to find a passage that I liked...

Gibreel Farishta floating on his cloud formed the opinion that the moral fuzziness of the English was meteorologically induced. 'When the day is not warmer than the night,' he reasoned, 'when the light is not brighter than the dark, when the land is not drier than the sea, then clearly a people will lose the power to make distinctions, and commence to see everything - from political parties to sexual partners to religious beliefs -as much-the same, nothing-to-choose, give-or-take. What folly! For truth is extreme, it is so and not thus, it is him and not her; a partisan matter, not a spectator sport. It is, in brief, heated. City', he cried, and his voice rolled over the metropolis like thunder, 'I am going to tropicalize you.'

boo

is truth.

I don't feel like writing when generally happy.

Just can't be helped. Why fight it? It results in rather awful pieces. Random disconnected rambling that I don't even feel like doing. Like somebody shoving a microphone in your hand and saying sing when you'd really rather be elsewhere.

I been having a wonderful time.

I can row! I can cook!(yum yum) Quite well too!

Is so cool.

It be nice yes yes. This interlude.

Oh and...I attended this. And this happened. Methinks I could be a journalist, cause that article doesn't quite capture how people felt in the hall. Or how a lone inquisitive Hindu with an unmarried Hindu partner (in a tight shirt and jeans, no less) would feel, especially in an atmosphere of scary looking thugs and women in corners with burqas.

My first experience of true nuttery. Was mildly shocked to find out later that these chaps have convicted terrorists among their number. Sheesh.

Little old me went there, dragging the girl along thinking it'd be a fun debate. We are NOT doing that again. Big Scary Men.

heehee

Just had to

Author of a Blog v Times Newspapers Ltd [2009] EWHC 1358; QBD (Eady J) June16 2009:
The information on an internet blog does not have the necessary quality ofconfidence, nor does it qualify as information in respect of which theblogger has a reasonable expectation of privacy under Article 8, essentiallybecause blogging is a public activity.

Trouble in paradise

The problem with waking up early and preparing a queen's breakfast for the love of your life still fast asleep, is that when you're done and she's scheduled to be up she might hit the snooze button.

And you're stuck at the foot of the bed holding the breakfast tray not knowing what to do. With the aforementioned queen's breakfast going cold.

And you see all the brownie points you hoped to rack up going up in smoke.

Boo.

Update: T.R.J. Nair is officially a chef with benefits. :D.

Perhaps...

the post below requires some explanation, even if it isn't something I haven't said before.

I'd spent a lovely day with the lady. And rounded it off with a rather special evening, lying in her lap on one of the benches by the river. Cherished moments of blubbering incoherence, with a person equally adept and willing to blubber right back at you.





So special that it was about three in the morning when we decided to head home.





At the bus stop (so she tells me, I was half asleep), this chap walked by and looked at her and smiled. Not sensing much, she smiled back. He then came and sat next to her, rather close. She didn't seem to sense anything because he tried to chat up a girl on his other side. They may have known each other. I was oblivious to anything but the need to get to a bed very very quickly.





Eventually the bus came by. An empty bus. N29, Trafalgar Square to Wood Green. We picked two of the seats in the front half of the bus. And I promptly nodded off.



About ten minutes later the girl poked me on the shoulder. "Wake up, we're almost there." I looked around annoyed. "No we're not". And went back to sleep.



"Wake up!" she said, about five minutes later. I looked at her intensely annoyed. She's the kind who'd show up for something an hour in advance just in case an earthquake happened to delay her.



"OK, could you stay awake, this guy opposite me has been eyeing me ever since we got on the bus."



There are some ways you can guarantee the boyfriend stays awake.



The guy had come down and sat right opposite us. Which was a little strange in a near empty bus, where people would usually just pick their spots, like we did. And he was looking at her. Up and down. With no attempt at camouflage of any kind. It didn't seem to matter that she could see it all.



And it got worse. He started licking his lips and sat with his legs apart, rearranging his crotch.



I would have posed no threat to a man like that. Nearly twice my size, and with a look about him that was more than a litte hooliganish. Eyeing my girlfriend from underneath his hood. The Bastard.



What does one do?



I thought of eyeballing the man, letting him know that what he was doing was not going unnoticed. But I didn't think it would matter to him. I also did not want to get into a fight with this man. I'm bigger than most Indian men. Definitely most South Indian men. It helps when home. In this country, I'm more the average.



Eyeballing might have antagonised him. God knows, he might have been looking for a fight. I'm not very good in fights anyway. Never have been. He could have been carrying a knife.



Yeah.



I don't give off the mean thug vibe. I don't look scary. (Yes, the irony)



I didn't know what to do. These buses don't have conductors. Just a driver and CCTV.



I've been in these situations before. Slapped around and shoved by people stronger than me. I could take it. My blood boiled, but I can take it and accept it as part of life. I'm generally more cavalier with my own health.



I've never been in a situation where somebody I cared about was threatened. The thought of anything happening to her was terrifying. More terrifying than anything I've ever felt before. And much more.



Sitting as close to her without betraying the fact that we felt obviously threatened, feigning nonchalance, and keeping an eye on how far his knees were from hers, there was this overwhelming feeling of...impotence. Not being able to protect the ones you love. Its hard. Watching him lay claim to the idea that he could do what he wanted, and my only option was to give him an excuse to escalate things, or not.



Sigh. So much for the perfect day. We reached our bus stop. Got up and left.



She's safe. I held her for so long. More for me than her.



She got over it quickly. Happens all the time. She's learned to live with it. What can you do, she says. She's learned to live with physical threats. I haven't. I don't know if I want to. She asks me what the solution is? To intimidate a man like that, I have to be a man like that.

Bleh. I don't feel like writing anymore. This post has been in the works for far too long, and the anger has faded. I've some cold rage left over but its not enough to write coherently. I wanted to say that I searched my feelings and found that the one thing I wanted, more than anything else was to keep the girl safe. I wanted to lock her away in a prison where I knew no one could get at her. The way she dresses won't matter, unless she and everybody else wears a burqa.

I was quite shocked with myself when I reached that conclusion. I'd explain further how I got there and why I got there but that's the gist of it. To be continued...or elaborated...if I feel like it.

To you...

You.This you.And this you. And more than a few others. You're littered all over here. It annoys me sometimes that I can't let go. That the injustice of it still burns, albeit a little less overwhelming with time. At other times, I approve. There are things I think were very wrong and I would detest myself if I bothered to censor myself in any way. I'd feel like a fool, especially considering you never gave me consideration of any sort.

There is a little part of me that also thinks of you. Its rather tiny. It goes awwww. I remember you.

I wanted to say I'm sorry. At all times, I knew the lengths to which I would go. I knew, that if push came to shove, I was not going to get violent, aggressive or anything of the sort. At the time I thought you would know that too. If I've ever been sure of anything, its that you knew me. I couldn't forgive you for judging me, as harshly as you did. Because of that. I found it abhorrent that a boy couldn't express anger. I was angry.

Perhaps you did not know me. I was wrong about that as I've been wrong about a great many things.

You found me frightening, threatening and intimidating. I'm so sorry. All I ever meant to do was convey anger. The impotent anger that plays its part in the wheels of friendship. Friendship. Silly word. My only wish was to touch that part of you, I imagined existed, that would look at what you were doing, and disapprove. What you did was not ... nice.

Rather pointless all of this. Once you're categorized a monster, you stay one. I feel like tagging a "Without hope or agenda" with this, like that man in that movie.

I can't write to you cause you've blocked me. It would be a rather silly letter anyway, after all this time. So this is here, lumped together with the rest of my nutjob regurgitations.

Perhaps someday you'd come by, and see this. Perhaps somebody will tell you, and you'll make your ill advised attempts to read here without me noticing. Perhaps you never will. Vitriol tends to travel faster.

Anyway, I'm off. I've a holiday to have. If you bump into me in the street, ummm...I dunno...I dunno...I've a holiday to have, as you probably do.