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Broken lifts - gave me free exercise but thirteen flights of steps went a wee bit too far… Empty bottles, spilled liquids and much more in the lifts when they actually worked…. Extra rowdy football crowds - if only they actually won something….. Jehovah’s Witnesses proselytizing - oh and they offered to come back… Mr Landlord - who smoked in the house, once decided to remodel the bath on a Monday morning and was generally a pain in the nether regions…. Attempted murder just across the road and in broad daylight too… A notorious park within the neighborhood… Hate messages scrawled on freshly painted walls, and scratched on lift doors…. Raised eyebrows when I give my post code at the GP… Regular police fliers in the mail requesting information on crimes committed in the neighborhood…… Ten months after making the move up north - and opting to go the cheap route to stay in the vicinity of a council flat - I’m finally moving houses… Its good to be moving on…. If I can only get the heating and the internet to work.. ..

After a long running saga, Liverpool FC was finally sold to another set of Americans.. NESV principal and the new club owner , John W Henry, had this to say so us ’long suffering’ fans… All I can say at this point is we’re going to work as hard for you as we possibly can and there’s no doubt about it, you deserve it. You have supported this club through the worst of times now and we’re going to do everything in our power to make the supporters proud of their club and of us. It’s a big challenge but I think we’re up for that challenge. ...

In perhaps one of those quirks of timing - which make me wonder if indeed the world is ‘run’ by someone with an almost Machiavellian sense of mirth - Malcolm Gladwell’s New Yorker piece on social media hit the blogosphere a few days after twitter was leading the way in breaking news of bomb blasts during Nigeria’s 50th year anniversary celebrations. True to type, the response to his article has been immediate and extensive, but largely critical. I suspect that this is to be expected - most people who would write a blog, or tweet, or use foursquare would feel personally chastised by the words that Gladwell offered. ...

Sometimes even the best laid plains falter- tripped up by the most mundane of details which to the planner were irrelevant. What then can we do but stoically shrug, and move on to the next one…. When things unplanned lead to desired- yet unintended- consequences we must also hail our good fortune and take the chance proffered with both hands. It was Leonard Ravenhill who said: ’the opportunity of a lifetime must be harnessed in the lifetime of the opportunity’…. ...

Only the most deluded of persons would deny that summer is well and truly over. Not only does it feel quite chilly, the trees also think so. Hyde park, which by much squinting I can just see from my 13th floor window at MO Corp, is covered in a layer of browns, reds, golds and the odd green patch crafted by fallen leaves as the trees acknowledge autumn. The sun on the odd occasion it manages to peek from behind the dull clouds seems weak, tired and offers no real warmth. Moments like these are those which fill me with a misplaced sense of nostalgia. Mercifully, I have my fleece with me as I head off to lunch with the team from work. ...

Source Written in response to the prompt of the week at Writer’s Island…. Gin poured on earth - Salt water, five lobed kola nuts With palm wine. White loincloth over Bare skin, white cockerel held Over head spun- Seven times, Till faint. Water, waist high Dirty brown infused with oil – Coloured sheen. Orange plumes belch- ing black smoke; *Yemanja, the fish have fled; The mangrove swamps have become A deathbed. There is no fresh fish - Pepper soup, no cassava plants Left unshrivelled; No respite From the stench of putrefying life. ...

A wry smile plays on my lips as the ‘Angel of the North’- that behemoth that towers over the North East - comes into view. It is the one landmark that definitively asserts that I am back ‘home’. It is akin to a familiar tree ensconced at the junction of multiple roads whose stump - weather beaten, fire scarred, sometimes hacked for firewood - remains indelible, unmoved, an un-poured libation to the gods to whom we as restless travelers owe our protection. I consider this city a spiritual home of sorts for me - much like Bombay in Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaramis to his character. I came here at a time of great personal turmoil in several areas of my life - and I like to think the two great years I spent here set me on the path to redeeming my life. ...

Do misty eyes mean Pain festering deep Lean souls starved - Hope blithely crushed And purloined? Do memories mean Wounds left raw, rubbed sore, Chafed red - careless promises Blown away like ripples on a lake by a belligerent hurricane? Do clasped hands hide scars And wry smiles hide gloom

“If I have to see the insides of yet another heat exchanger, I just might quit”. So said I to Annie - the intern who assists me at MO Corp - mainly in jest, but with more than just a threat of burnout hovering just beneath the surface. It has been thirty-seven straight weeks of working without a break; thirty-seven weeks of mind numbing, brain frying, geek stuff. It hasn’t helped that I have been largely unable to unburden my mind by reading; unable to let myself loose to indulge in the art of imagination as prompted by others more accomplished than myself. ...

Stumbled on Heather Headley’s cover of a well known (at least to chaps from my age) Commissioned song.. Still love it! [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6DRkPGs8pc]