Saturday, 26 February 2011


Sometimes it's worth slowing down just a tad and maybe even giving that space to the folk who seem to want it so badly.

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Friday, 25 February 2011


Been talking to a couple of different friends tonight and its started me thinking, at what point is it right and proper to hit the panic button. It seems this world is full of people keen to pass on advice. Maybe this is sometimes good advice, maybe sometimes it's just plain crap. Either way surely the time comes for each and every one of us to simply panic for a while. On the back of that I can't help wondering when I'll next reach for the big red button.

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Tuesday, 22 February 2011

My reply may offend

And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation -- some fact of my life -- unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.
Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God's world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely on life's terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.

The above is taken from the Big Book of alcoholics anonymous. It was written by a chap called Paul O who like me understood the raggedy road travelled but those of us who indulge a little more then we should.

I'm a lover of this acceptance is the answer thing, I've experienced it working and can happily report that when I'm accepting of things, life is generally quite good. However, this is sadly not always the case. Sometimes I'm not all that accepting, in fact sometimes I'm simply not having it so bollocks to the lot of ya. Now I know this isn't the best attitude to have and in fairness its not that often, but when I do have these odd days, please, please don't tell me acceptance is the answer. My reply may offend and that's the last thing I want to do.      

Monday, 21 February 2011

Just look for someone less fortunate

Is it me or do some days feel like it's uphill all the way. It's not that they come along all that often, but when they do it can make me want to spit.

So how do I deal with it I hear you ask. It's simple, I just look for someone less fortunate and hope they fall over. Almost without exception the misfortune of others will put a smile on my face.

I can't help wondering if this makes me a bad person. Obviously I derive no real pleasure from notable misfortune,  I just like to see people fall down open manholes and walk into trees, and If per chance they happen to slip on a little dog shit along the way I possibly piss myself. 

Sunday, 20 February 2011


At a certain point in the drinking of every alcoholic, he passes into a state where the most powerful desire to stop drinking is of absolutely no avail. This tragic situation has already arrived in practically every case long before it is suspected.

Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 24

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Friday, 18 February 2011

Keep Calm



So the Dobbo's are going on holiday for the first time since the boy came along. Nothing grand you understand, just a week away at one of them holiday parks you get cheep from the paper. Even so I have to admit I'm getting ever so slightly excited about the whole thing.

Of course it might turn out to be a national lampoons type of holiday possible with a hint of faulty towers, who knows, and to be honest who really cares. The point is we get a chance to get away for a few days and chill out, at least that's what I'm hoping.

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Sunday, 13 February 2011

If only it was this easy.

Life in the fastlane again.

On a rainy Sunday morning I find myself looking around the Dobbo house with a certain amount of pride and comfort. The boy has been sat watching old school Tom and Jerry for the last hour and the wife has been on a conference call for about the same time.

Me? Well I've been taking cups of tea to one and smiles to the other, all in a fluffy dressing gown and slippers. My plan of yet another no plan day seems to be going to plan. My life in the fast lane continues to trudge along slowly and I continue to be a happy chap most of the time.

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Saturday, 12 February 2011

I'm a big fan of the life I lead

So I set about today with only one plan, to have no plans. I'm a big fan of the life I lead and I'm very much in favour of making the most of the time I have, but I can so easily forget how nice it is once in a great while to just roll through the day and take things as they come.

Fellowship service, family, work, study, they all take time and need to be slotted into the day and for the most part I really am OK with that, in fact, I much prefer it. But today was different, today I just got up and put one foot in front of the other. Of course most of the afore mentioned stuff came up, if it hadn't I'd be worried, but it all felt much more relaxed, more natural. Today's be OK, it really has.

Friday, 11 February 2011

I Stand By The Door

I Stand By The Door
An Apologia for my Life (apologia means “a formal defence of opinions or conduct”)
By Sam Shoemaker (from the Oxford Group)

I stand by the door.
I neither go to far in, nor stay to far out.
The door is the most important door in the world -
It is the door through which men walk when they find God.
There is no use my going way inside and staying there,
When so many are still outside and they, as much as I,
Crave to know where the door is.
And all that so many ever find
Is only the wall where the door ought to be.
They creep along the wall like blind men,
With outstretched, groping hands,
Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,
Yet they never find it.
So I stand by the door.

The most tremendous thing in the world
Is for men to find that door - the door to God.
The most important thing that any man can do
Is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands
And put it on the latch - the latch that only clicks
And opens to the man's own touch.

Men die outside the door, as starving beggars die
On cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter.
Die for want of what is within their grasp.
They live on the other side of it - live because they have not found it.

Nothing else matters compared to helping them find it,
And open it, and walk in, and find Him.
So I stand by the door.

Go in great saints; go all the way in -
Go way down into the cavernous cellars,
And way up into the spacious attics.
It is a vast, roomy house, this house where God is.
Go into the deepest of hidden casements,
Of withdrawal, of silence, of sainthood.
Some must inhabit those inner rooms
And know the depths and heights of God,
And call outside to the rest of us how wonderful it is.
Sometimes I take a deeper look in.
Sometimes venture in a little farther,
But my place seems closer to the opening.
So I stand by the door.

There is another reason why I stand there.
Some people get part way in and become afraid
Lest God and the zeal of His house devour them;
For God is so very great and asks all of us.
And these people feel a cosmic claustrophobia
And want to get out. 'Let me out!' they cry.
And the people way inside only terrify them more.
Somebody must be by the door to tell them that they are spoiled.
For the old life, they have seen too much:
One taste of God and nothing but God will do any more.
Somebody must be watching for the frightened
Who seek to sneak out just where they came in,
To tell them how much better it is inside.
The people too far in do not see how near these are
To leaving - preoccupied with the wonder of it all.
Somebody must watch for those who have entered the door
But would like to run away. So for them too,
I stand by the door.

I admire the people who go way in.
But I wish they would not forget how it was
Before they got in. Then they would be able to help
The people who have not yet even found the door.
Or the people who want to run away again from God.
You can go in too deeply and stay in too long
And forget the people outside the door.
As for me, I shall take my old accustomed place,
Near enough to God to hear Him and know He is there,
But not so far from men as not to hear them,
And remember they are there too.

Where? Outside the door -
Thousands of them. Millions of them.
But - more important for me -
One of them, two of them, ten of them.
Whose hands I am intended to put on the latch.
So I shall stand by the door and wait
For those who seek it.

'I had rather be a door-keeper
So I stand by the door.

The Little Red Book

ED WEBSTER wrote The Little Red Book, which had a chapter explaining how to work each of the twelve steps. Dr. Bob thought it was the best description of how to work the steps that had ever been written. He sent copies of it all over the U.S. and Canada with his recommendation. Until Dr. Bob's death in 1950, he insisted that the New York A.A. office make copies of this book available for sale through their office.

I can remember the time when such a thing as this would full me with shock and terror, a replacement for the Big Book? Surely to God NO!!!
How could they?

Well they couldn't, nor did they try to. The little Red Book isn't supposed to be a replacement for the Big Book, its more of a companion. Although its total different, I guess you could draw a parallel with the Twelve and Twelve. One a view from Bob, one from Bill.

For me, I like the Little Red Book, or at least most of it, and that's the point. I don't need to like all of anything any more, I can make use of what's useful and leave the rest without the desperate desire to change it. That's why I eat a double decker the way I do....................... 

Wednesday, 9 February 2011


As a child growing up in the wild west country, the cotswolds to be more precise, I had heroes, people I looked up to and wanted to be like. This I believe was a total normal thing, as it is now. But my heroes have changes a tad since then. The days of Steve Austin the six million dollar man and the legendary Arthur Fonzarelli are sadly gone, but all hope is not.

As the years slipped by, many came in an effort to replace these mighty childhood heroes. Many came, and many pasted until on day the hero of all heroes came. 

We live in an age where illness and deformity are commonplace and yet, Ploppy, you are without a doubt the most repulsive individual I have ever met. I would shake your hand but I fear it would come off.  Edmund Blackadder can to our screens in June 1983. A fact based drama it told the historic tail of a once great man. As the years unfolded these fact based dramas followed the Blackadder family through the ages. Strangely enough  Edmund Blackadder was always called Edmund Blackadder, but I guess facts are facts and id much rather see and hear the truth.

So in a homage to this great historical giant, and personal hero to me, lets take some time to muse over some of his wise words.

Don't be absurd. Such activities are totally beyond my mother. My father only got anywhere with her because he told her it was a cure for diarrhoea.

I have erred and strayed like a lost ox... I have coveted my father's adultery... I have not always honoured my neighbours ass.

Am I jumping the gun, Baldrick, or are the words 'I have a cunning plan' marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this conversation?

They do say, Mrs. Miggins, that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain. They are, of course, wrong, as you will soon discover when I stick this toasting fork into your head.

Of course there are many many more words of wisdom, I'll leave you to find your own.