Evening all. My 24th birthday has been a good one, complete with lovely gifts and warming messages from friends old and new. You can tell I'm coming of age - my eyes lit up at the sign of a new shaver (Jen), some new jumpers (Mum and Dad) and the complete, seven part map of Great Britain (Janis and Mike). Last night the Argos crew were out in good force to celebrate mine and Baz's birthdays at the Hollywood Bowl, to take part in what has become to me a forgotten past time. I hope everyone had a good time as I know I did. Thanks again for coming out in droves!
As you may know by now, especially if you read the South Wales Echo, I am a rubbish superhero. My working alias, Bagman (a bloke who wears a coat covered in plastic bags), was exposed to Glamorgan and beyond and with no hope of retaining my secret identity, my standing amongst mates has taken a bit of a knock. Understandably. But despite this dent to my social dignity, the publicity stunt has widened the scope of what I am doing at Sustainable Wales, with people taking more of an interest in the plastic bag free cause.
Sad thing is now, I feel like plastic is taking over my life. I seem to be humming Radiohead's classic, 'Fake Plastic Trees' wherever I go - and in everything i do, I analyse alternatives to everything plastic, not just plastic bags. When picking up a chinese for tea (food not person), I was trying to discuss with my mum the practicalities of using less plastic bags in chip shops and takeaways, stating that they should at least use more paper, but not too much. I had to stop when I realised I was actually inspecting the plastic bags used for the prawn crackers. This over- enthusiasm isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it is when you are the one who is driving.
Sometimes, I just wish I could stop thinking.
Feeling Haggard
I feel rough. I don't think it is down to being tired; in fact, I feel like my new sleeping regime is actually beginning to work. My body clock is in the process of being reprogrammed as it was one of my New Year's resolutions to try and get regular sleeping patterns. It will be the first time since going to Mexico last summer that I have tried to get some normality back into my sleeping schedule. So its not the lack of kip. And although I have started a full time job, I surely can't be so tired after such a break over the Crimbo period.
Maybe it is the fact that I have just played football and I continue to sit in my own sweat filled filth. But lets be fair, those who know me will know I don't play much of the game to even create a drop of sweat on my brow. To say that football has given me this lethargic aura would not do any justice to any of the other players who graced the pitch for twelve minutes plus compared to my pitiful five.
Maybe it is paranoia and pure fear which is draining my reserves. With some strange sightings of the odd housefly and field mouse in my house over the past week, my senses have been thrown into overdrive. I would be kind to myself if I said I didn't suffer from paranoia or freak worry; triple-checking the front door is locked when leaving the house will certainly prove that I'm prone to some petty OCD. When a mouse does find a way into the home it always causes minor panic for even the mightiest of men; in fact, it made a nearly-24 year old man scream his lungs out in fright last night (no names mentioned). For me however, the common housefly is an even greater nemesis. One thing I hate about the summer are the swarms of flies which to-and-fro and in-and-out of the house, flying around, buzzing, perching themselves on living room walls, rubbing their legs together with glee... you get the picture. For the record, I vehemently hate all flying things from gnats to locusts and if they were to disappear tomorrow and with it destroy food webs everywhere, it would be a sacrifice worth making. However with such a passionate hatred of these winged fiends, there exists a resounding fear of them which is just as strong. I find it hard to be in the same room as a fly not just because I hate them, it is because I am simply shit-scared of them. So when one, average sized bluebottle appeared out of the blue in my bedroom the other day on a January afternoon, my self-defence system went berserk. Normally emerging in April, this premature launch of my 'fly-radar' may have some effect on my overall energy levels. But let's face it, that can't be the reason for feeling this way - that's just plain stupid.
Maybe I have caught a stomach bug or some kind of winter cold/virus. If I had, I probably wouldn't be typing. I moan like a bitch when I'm ill (I'm sure Jen could vouch for that) and although I have a daily love affair with my PCs, my grumpy mood swings would deter me from having the patience to allow the computers to boot up.
I guess it is just must be the winter blues then. I'm sure the most miserable day of the year is soon approaching; calculated by scientists who combine all the aftermath woes of the Xmas period, the cold weather, lack of money, shorter days etc. and pinpoint it to one day a day in mid/late January which emphasises them most. If it's on my birthday this year, there will be hell to pay - I'm not optimistic as my b'day is on a Monday this year....
Maybe it is the fact that I have just played football and I continue to sit in my own sweat filled filth. But lets be fair, those who know me will know I don't play much of the game to even create a drop of sweat on my brow. To say that football has given me this lethargic aura would not do any justice to any of the other players who graced the pitch for twelve minutes plus compared to my pitiful five.
Maybe it is paranoia and pure fear which is draining my reserves. With some strange sightings of the odd housefly and field mouse in my house over the past week, my senses have been thrown into overdrive. I would be kind to myself if I said I didn't suffer from paranoia or freak worry; triple-checking the front door is locked when leaving the house will certainly prove that I'm prone to some petty OCD. When a mouse does find a way into the home it always causes minor panic for even the mightiest of men; in fact, it made a nearly-24 year old man scream his lungs out in fright last night (no names mentioned). For me however, the common housefly is an even greater nemesis. One thing I hate about the summer are the swarms of flies which to-and-fro and in-and-out of the house, flying around, buzzing, perching themselves on living room walls, rubbing their legs together with glee... you get the picture. For the record, I vehemently hate all flying things from gnats to locusts and if they were to disappear tomorrow and with it destroy food webs everywhere, it would be a sacrifice worth making. However with such a passionate hatred of these winged fiends, there exists a resounding fear of them which is just as strong. I find it hard to be in the same room as a fly not just because I hate them, it is because I am simply shit-scared of them. So when one, average sized bluebottle appeared out of the blue in my bedroom the other day on a January afternoon, my self-defence system went berserk. Normally emerging in April, this premature launch of my 'fly-radar' may have some effect on my overall energy levels. But let's face it, that can't be the reason for feeling this way - that's just plain stupid.
Maybe I have caught a stomach bug or some kind of winter cold/virus. If I had, I probably wouldn't be typing. I moan like a bitch when I'm ill (I'm sure Jen could vouch for that) and although I have a daily love affair with my PCs, my grumpy mood swings would deter me from having the patience to allow the computers to boot up.
I guess it is just must be the winter blues then. I'm sure the most miserable day of the year is soon approaching; calculated by scientists who combine all the aftermath woes of the Xmas period, the cold weather, lack of money, shorter days etc. and pinpoint it to one day a day in mid/late January which emphasises them most. If it's on my birthday this year, there will be hell to pay - I'm not optimistic as my b'day is on a Monday this year....
