Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.

It’s been almost a year since we lost our friend Hazey, he’s still the most prolific blogger on here, I think maybe we should stop when someone gets one behind him.

So we published his blogs as a book, we got together at the SOL in his memory, some of us (not me, obviously) did some athletic stuff in his name, and each of us carried on with our private thoughts, thoughts of how he may, or may not have changed us.

When we were talking about the book with Hazey, he told me about an email he’d had from a regular SMB poster who’d been so affected by his musings. I read the full email, and knowing who the poster is, formed a totally different opinion of him, it’s amazing how our board personas become what people know us by.

Someone else wrote to him last November and that person has agreed to let me quote the email in full here as a reminder of just what he meant to us and just what he contributed to our lives in those days last winter:

 Well, this is an interesting way to meet someone. I find it rather bizarre to say hello and, perhaps, goodbye all in one letter. I don’t even know what to say to you; I just know I must say something. Though it’s difficult, I’ll try to be on good behavior and use polite language, as I wouldn’t like to embarrass xxxxx  or for you to question his taste in women. ;-)

You know I read all of your posts, so I feel I’ve come to know you a bit. I really do look forward to my daily dose of shite and beauty, so eloquently intertwined within each blog. It’s a lovely amalgamation, Hazey. I was going to try to compliment the attitude that you’ve held through all of this and was thinking of describing it as graceful, but jeez…with the incessant talk of shite and c*nts, ummm….maybe grace doesn’t properly depict it. ;-) Just kidding, of course, as it is most difficult to offend me, especially as you curse with such creativity; it’s impressive, really. I will say, though, that your poetry is truly beautiful. I started copying and pasting it into a doc from the very first one. You are obviously an amazing man and you’re putting up an amazing fight; it’s very hard for me to believe that you might not actually win. If you don’t mind, I’m going to continue to refuse to believe that you won’t.

I know you told me not to cry. If you can’t stay, I can’t promise that I won’t cry for the dreadful loss of you, though I can promise some sincere tears of joy for you, too. Like you, I believe you’ll be going to a much, much better place. And you clearly deserve it.  

You know something that really strikes me, and I love this, is that you never have asked “why me?” I always hate when people do that. Why the f*ck not you? Not you, Hazey, but you know what I mean. Perhaps you’ve asked why so young, but never why not someone else instead of me. It’s wonderment to me, why someone such as yourself, who really “gets it”, should be denied a long and splendid life. You are a perfect example of one that deserves to remain, enjoying the magnificence of it all. It’s such a shame that so many people can’t appreciate life and the world and cannot see the vast gorgeousness before them. My pseudo theory on this one is that maybe that’s exactly why you; you get it. That’s it, you’re done here, you’ve got it all figured out so it’s time to leave this world to be with God. Seems as fair a guess as any, I suppose.  

I wish I knew you…. I do in a small way, but I mean really. You know something that is pretty sad, but true, is that I think maybe I know more about how you feel about life, love, nature and existence than most of the men I’ve known. I wonder why we (the men in my family and I) don’t know other each other better. That’s sad and scary and poses all sorts of serious questions to self. Have you always been open like this? Or was it instead once faced with your mortality you began to offer yourself up and bare it all? All the worthless self-consciousness and lame egotistical bullshit aside, here it is, like it or not. I should imagine that would be quite liberating; a totally honest and uninhibited life. Maybe I’ll take a lesson. 

Forgive me for saying it, but I cannot even begin to fathom how much your lovely Liz is going to miss you. I’m a stranger, and only know you through xxxxx  in this very small way and have for such a brief time, but I’ll miss you tremendously. The tears on my face at this moment are not at all tears of joy, but I’m selfish and I’m not ready for you to go. Nobody is, barring you. Xxxxx  and I want you and Liz to meet us in New Orleans for proper, face to face introductions and several large G & Ts!  

I know you say you’ve been a right c*nt many times and to many people in your life, but it seems to me that perhaps you’ve redeemed yourself in that you have given much to many during this time in your life. Lots of people say you’ve inspired them. I’ll agree that you’ve inspired me to kick my own ass and to quit being a whiny tit about much of the insignificant….all the small stuff that just isn’t worth the worry. I’ve always seen the world’s beauty; it’s in no way lost on me, but the pressures of life can really get to me sometimes. Quite the contrast when you compare it to no life at all, isn’t it? I’ve often been stupidly self-absorbed and caught up in the meaningless, so thanks for the kick in the head; it has certainly altered perspective for me. 

Well, Hazey, I know xxxxx  warned you that I would be tempted to write you a book, so you had to have been expecting this ramble. More simply put, I could have just said that I think the world is a better place with you in it so…. please don’t go.  

I found that very powerful. 

I don’t get across to the UK often so after the SOL get together, the next visit was in November, for a trade show and family get together. (And the Bolton game – less said about that the better) 

On the second day I was in London I decided to head out to Teynham on the train, catching the 9:40 from Victoria and settling down towards the back of the train in peace and quiet. After 90 minutes we arrived in Teynham and I started walking the couple of miles from the village towards the Deerton Natural Burial Ground where I figured I could carry on the conversations I’d started a year or so before. 

Upon arrival I had the overpowering need to take a shite and managed to make sure the door to the Portaloo in the field was held shut as I did what I needed to do, very quickly. 

Liz had provided me with a map of the field, a wonderfully tranquil place that will be so beautiful as the trees they’ve planted mature. 

As I crossed over to the far right hand corner of the field  I began to smile to myself, suddenly I could think of nothing to say. What on earth do I say to the man who’d brought so much laughter, and tears? 

So, as I walked up to Hazey’s grave, I said the only thing I could think of: “Hello Bonny Lad, sorry I’m late”

Some of the natives here have funny little ways. T & I and two friends were out for a meal at one of Houston’s “finest” (allegedly) restaurants last week. The restaurant was OK but the sommelier was particularly entertaining. A wee balding chap, he reminded me of Richard Gere’s lawyer in Pretty Woman, but very camp.

We ordered pre dinner drinks and I went for a G&T. The barman couldn’t understand my accent, or was deaf and asked me to repeat my order. I did and he looked confused. What’s a G? he asked. At this point, T translated for me and told him it’s Gin.

So he poured me a Gin and Tea!

 I was sent a meeting invite yesterday morning, the meeting title was “Fish Stories” I couldn’t resist accepting. When I arrived I realised straight away why the title. Most of the participants were colleagues from one of our other offices who had been evacuated from their homes. Yes, it’s hurricane time in New Orleans again.

Although most of their homes are without power, and our facility over there is closed, happily no one has been hurt and things seem to be generally intact.

I love that city, it has such a vibrant atmosphere and it’s just about back on it’s feet after Katrina (just about), so I was so sorry to see that 90% of residents were evacuated and a dusk to dawn curfew put into place.

Fingers crossed it will be back to normal very quickly.

And let’s hope Hurricane Ike stays out at sea.

Briefly, I'm in Frankfurt.

I endured a 9 hour flight from Houston overnight on Lufthansa, the food was good, and the seat folded down into a flat bed so when I say endured, I actually mean "slept through".

But now I'm in the business lounge of Terminal 1B at Frankfurt getting slowly pissed as I await my conection to Dubai. I can't understand why they booked my on this route as there's now a direct flight from Houston to Dubai with Emirates (great business class too) which is $1000 cheaper than they paid for this one.

Now normally, I'd make a week out of a visit to the UAE, visit friends etc. But not this time. My meeting was arranged at short notice and it's one of those I just can't get out of. So I'm staying less than 48 hours before another trek home to Houston.

Why? Simple. My daughter is currently in Charles De Gaulle terminal 2E on her way to Houston to stay with me for a couple of weeks. It's the first time she's flown by herself and I'm on the phone to her every 20 minutes making sure she knows where she's going and has everythig she needs in the way of boarding pass, pen, return ticket to show the awkward immigration occifer at IAH etc.

I'm worrying for nowt, probably, she seems to be having funspending my money, but I kow how CDG is and I don't envy her  that connection.

Happily, T will pick her up at the airport and they'll hang out together roud the pool for a couple of days until I get back.

I can't wait!

Greenfield Comprehensive in Newton Aycliffe is poorer from tonight.

About a week after I took her to Sugar Hill for her first day at school, my daughter has completed her GCSE’s and left school. She’ll go to QE 6^th Form in Darlington from September, but for now, she’s chilling.

Between shifts.

It really does seem like a few days since I took her to Sugar Hill school for her 1^st day, Between then and now her mother left, I spent 7 years as a single dad.

Happily, her mother and I are on good terms and when the time came, after being made redundant and having to move to Scotland to find work, the bairn was able to live with her mother and see me regularly and often.

So then I move to America.

I miss her terribly of course. From the day she walked from my house in Aycliffe to her Mam’s car, and every day since when we haven’t shared those father & daughter daft moments, I’ve missed her.

I get back 3 or 4 times a year and she comes across here when we can do it. She’s working at a local restaurant and saving. Saving for July, when I’m bringing her over here for the first time this year. Her and a pal.

2 sixteen year old girls living with us for 3 weeks, that’s going to be interesting.

The day before she arrives I have to be in Dubai for a meeting, so Tracey will enjoy finding gigs for the girls and talking bullshit.

I can’t wait to see her.

And now for more thunder………….

It’s been 7 weeks since it rained, that’s officially a drought, but this evening, just before dusk, it thundered, it poured, the plants came back to life.

We’d expected the weather,  it was in Oklahoma this morning when I watched the local news, heading south. They’ve had floods all along the course of the Mississippi, from the great lakes south,

So, in Houston this morning it's 100 degrees plus and we’re sweating.

After work, I hear a rumbling and I know we’re on our way. There’s a flash, a crack, and the heavens open.

As the storm grows, and my plants finally get their rainwater, the noise grows, it’s overhead.

The Bewick’s Wren that’s nesting in my hanging basket is spooked, he’s building his nest and flits about the garden, into the Pecan tree, which sheds a branch. The red bellied woodpecker is not pecking, he’s hiding in the tree. The squirrel, as usual, finds a bit of dry bark and holds tight.

Luna, who has always been frightened of thunder, heads for the wardrobe, I head outside into the rain. G & T in hand.

There’s a Robin, in the middle of the lawn, just soaking it up, he’s loving it.

After half an hour the thunder and lighting subsides, for a while, and my mood changes. I’m always slightly disappointed at the end of a thunderstorm, but we’re now bathed in the most wonderful golden light, The Magnolia tree in the front garden is in bloom and the flowers catch the sunlight and shimmer gold instead of white. The lawn suddenly comes to life and as I step into the golden sunset again, the temperature has dropped by about 20 degrees. There’s a warmth, a heaviness, in the air and I know another storm will be along later tonight.

For now, the Blue Jay catches the setting sun and glistens the brightest blue I’ve seen. Lu emerges from the wardrobe.

The storm has gone, for now. The light, the sound, the atmosphere, make me want to write, to pick up a camera or a paintbrush, and be creative.

I love storms, but T has just served up baked artichoke, and for now, my creativity is subdued, I must have dinner.

Even though I now live 6000 miles from home, I’m saddened, disgusted, angry, that we rolled over and let the black & whites outplay us in the 1^st half.

I still think we’ll be OK but we really should be beating teams like that. ;-)

My “N” key has come off my laptop so I have to hit the space where it used to be to get the letter n to appear, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t so if this reads stragely, you’ll kow why. I could, of course, retrospectively put all the ns in, but that would spoil the fun.

Colours, or colors, as I’m over here. That’s what I was wanting to talk about today.

My back garden (yard, as they say here) is lawned, with a pecan tree in the middle, but not much colour. Yesterday, I wet to the nursery and bought a couple of hudred dollars worth of plants. So, in preparation for the family arrivig on Thursday, my fence is lined with flowers, red, white, red, white, etc.

My pecan tree has finally got some leaves on it so is showing a bit of green, at last, I thought it was dying.

I bought a book yesterday, I fact I bought two, but I’ll come back to that.

Birds of Texas, a field guide, is the first I bought. I have a couple of grey birds in my garden, but whe the sun catches them they’re the most wonderful iridescent blue. They’ve intrigued me since I arrived had I had no idea what they were. Blue Jays it seems, beautiful.

But as I was sitting outside smarting over our defeat, I noticed something on the tree: a red bellied woodpecker going about its day.

Common grackles have a blue head and a gold/black body, depending on the light. They also fight a lot in my garden, it’s obviously mating season. The Norther Cardinal is bright red, and lives I my front garden.

Then of course we have a couple of birds that aren’t indigenous, but were introduced into Central Park by the British I the 1890s and now cover the whole of the USA. Starlings and Spuggies may not be glamourous but hey, they remind me of home so they’re welcome around here. It’s like the revenge of the Red Squirrel by proxy.

I’ve been sat on my patio for a couple of hours and have just twigged that there must be a queue at IAH, or George Bush International Airport. For the last hour there have bee some very big, very low flyig aircraft over here. It’s rare that we see any aircraft at all in this part of tow, but to be able to read the writing on the side is almost unknown.

The other book I bought was “The Audacity of Hope” by Barack Obama. Rarely has a politician intrigued me the way this guy does. If he means what he says I very much hope he gets to the White House. BUT, what a crap title, I suppose he has to be inspirational and that sort of thing will appeal to the American public, but I can’t help thinkig it’s just naff.

It did, however, encourage me to read another book. One I’ve read before and ejoyed immensely.

If someone is going to call a book “the xxxxx of xxxxx” they’ll have to go a long way to beat the title of the book I’m about to start: “The Salmon of Doubt”

How I miss Douglas Adams.

Can’t sleep.

It’s been a good day, on the whole.

The morning was spent at the Richmond Arms drinking Bloody Mary and watching the mighty red and whites demolish some team from the Midlands.

A very good result.

I spent the game with a chap by the name of Martin, a Sunderland supporter from Hertfordshire who’s working in Houston and had heard the Arms was the place to watch the footy. It was pretty quiet. There were the two of us, some Man City supporters watching their game against Bolton and a couple of Americans in Newcastle shirts trying to work out the rules of the game and commenting on what was clearly a different type of sport to the one we know.

There was a third Mag in the pub, a proper one, and we got talking at half time. He was commenting on what we should do if we stay up, and accepted in good humour, our comments about what they should do if they actually manage to survive.

Happily, when Chopra scored, we made a lot of noise and the Mag came across from his part of the pub to see what was going on. He waited a minute or two to see the replay of the goal and moved back to his spot.

Meaning he missed Owen’s goal.

Ho hum.

I bought a grill this week, a barbeque to you and I. Three gas burners on one side and another gas burner as a “side burner”. T’s God daughter came for dinner so we decided to grill something and christen it.

It turns out she’s a veggie so we ended up grilling veggie burgers. We spent the evening talking about angry cattle and farming of veal.

I’m very much more concerned about what I eat since I moved here, given the crappy farming methods and the additives the put in everything, not to mention the GM food.

So I’ve REALLY made an effort to ensure I eat only organic food and never touch the chicken. Organic food over here doesn’t have the following it does in Europe so it’s not easy to find. Thank heavens for Whole Foods – the only shop I can rely on to get me good food. The do great sausages too, most unusual for this country.

Tomorrow I’m decorating my bathroom, or at least T is decorating my bathroom and I’ll hold the paint, I’m crap at painting, unless of course it’s on canvas, more of which in the coming weeks. I’ve been asked to put paint to canvas and produce a 6ft square work based on one of my photographs. I need to interpret it in a way I see fit and express my artistry.

Not a clue where to start yet, but it’ll come.

It’s 3am and I’m snacking on corned beef and Branston pickle – yes you can get it here if you look hard enough, What was I saying about organic food? Oh, and a bottle or three of Speckled Hen, clearly I’ve gone native.

Thursday afternoon will see me jumping on a plane (well walking, I’d get chucked off if I jumped on it) and heading to the UK. I get to see my daughter for a couple of days, go to the game and get to the book launch, an evening I’m looking forward to immensely. Unfortunately T can’t make it, she organises a motor cycle club weekend every year and it falls on the same weekend, It’s a pity, she was immensely moved by Hazey’s ramblings and would love to meet his family. She even considered ducking out of the rally, handing the ropes to another committee member, and joining us, but it wasn’t to be. So I’ll say hello from her on Saturday.

When I arrive at Durham Tees Valley International Airport n Friday I’ll head up to Hamsterley to lunch with an old school friend. It’s good, as we approach 50, to know that we still can relate to the people we met at 11. Shaun, my friend has retired from the police and is contemplating either buying a canal boat or moving to France  and buying a cottage. Another friend of mine from school has retired from the police force and moved to France, there must be a pattern here. Shaun, if you’re reading this, remind me to tell you about Denise….

So I think I’ll get back to my book, On Photography, by Susan Sontag. She’s discussing why we take photographs, the word voyeur was about word 21 of the book, but she argues that time eventually positions most photographs, even the most amateurish, at the level of art.

I bloody hope so, there may be hope for me yet!

I often wonder just how I got to be where I am, and where I’d be had I not made a series of (sometimes very bad) decisions in my life.

It’s the first weekend of Spring, Good Friday, and I’m off work. T has ridden to Galveston to hook up with her God Daughter who is enjoying her leave down there, and I’m doing…. Well, not very much really.

It’s late afternoon, I’m sat on the patio with a G&T and my book.

I have the Sound Dock outside so I can listen to some music – Andy Sheppard, Learning to wave, and I’m enjoying myself.

I’ve been watching the life in my garden.

I’ll set the scene. My “garden” or yard as they call it here is about 70ft square, with a Pecan tree in the middle, to the east side there’s an oak, maybe 20 years old. The rest is lawn, and pretty poor quality lawn at that. 50yds behind my fence is a bayou, meaning I get all sorts of wildlife, mainly mosquitoes as company.

There are two squirrels chasing each other around the pecan tree, they’ve been doing this on and off for an hour so I guess it’s a game.

A large black wasp has taken refuge from the hot sun under the large parasol that covers my patio furniture. He must be well over an inch long, I hope he’s harmless. There are two birds flittering around the oak, they’re pretty dull when they’re stationary, about the size of a small crow, with cream coloured breasts – but when they fly their backs are a bright, almost fluorescent blue. The squirrels have just fallen out of the tree and are now racing each other along the fence and the telephone wire that runs above it.

I’ve had a number of butterflies here this afternoon too, large yellow ones, a couple of black & blue ones but the pick has to be a huge bright red one.

Upon my thinking that it doesn’t get any better than this, I think of “home” and of the girl I left behind. Now that tired old cliché isn’t necessarily how it sounds. I miss my daughter. Happily I’m able to get to the UK pretty often, including next weekend, when I come across for the book launch, to see her. But I wish she were here with me.

The point is though, I made my choices. After having being made redundant for the 3^rd time in 2003, I gave up custody to my ex wife, with whom I was, by then, getting on very well, and moved to Scotland and to a secure job.

One thing led to another and I eventually found myself transferred over here. The bairn, who is now 16, gets over to see me every so often too, so I feel like I’m broadening her horizons a bit. But am I just fooling myself? How much have I missed over the four and a half years since I left. We speak every day, she’s with my family most weekends for at least some time, but how much of a scar will her dad moving away leave? I hope I can look back when she’s out in the big world and think that I did the right thing. If I can, then her mother has to take a lot of credit for that. From what I’ve seen so far, she’s turning into a well rounded individual, and that’s about all I can ask.

My Mother, her man, Lynn Jolly (of the Jolly Buses) and my sister are coming to stay next month, they’ll spend some time here before we all decamp to my favourite US city, New Orleans. But their coming has catalysed me into getting my house sorted out, finally. Part of this has been a section of the house dedicated to my photography, a small gallery if you will, put together by Tracey.

Even if it is only at home, it’s wonderful to see my pictures on display in some sort of collections, she brings the best out of me that woman, sees things in me others, including myself, don’t. She’s encouraged me to submit some of my shots to a gallery locally who show local artists, I’m hoping that they find enough merit in there to exhibit, it’ll just be a one week thing but it will help me a great deal as I try to move to letting the hobby become the profession.

Enough rambling for now. I’ve been out here on the patio for a couple of hours, I put the parasol up when I came out and I now see a huge spiders web stretching from the parasol to the house.

See you Saturday.

Until I switch the sound off.

I expected TV advertising over here to be clever, subtle, to appeal to the sophisticated Americans.

It isn’t.

Every commercial break consists of being shouted at, or told that if I’ve ever been within 50 feet of asbestos I should call this number and they’ll sue somebody for me.

What’s more, if I call within the next 10 minutes they’ll double my purchase for only $19.99 I get $75 dollars value ( I have to pay $80 shipping and handling of course) and

REMEMBER, THIS PRODUCT IS NOT AVAILABLE IN THE SHOPS.

Except it is, of course, just without the shipping and handling costs. And if it weren't available in the shops, then why not? Surely it would sell more that way.

I’m not a big TV watcher, not even when I was in the UK, so I didn’t expect to miss UK TV and certainly didn’t expect to miss UK TV commercials.

I’m starting to build a collection of DVDs over here, I’ve bought Doctor Who (loads of it), Inspector Morse, Rebus, Cracker, even Coupling, which I thought was weak when I watched it in the UK but now I find I’m strangely attracted to. Actually I may be attracted to Kate Isitt but that’s another matter completely. But just about everything I buy is British. I watch House MD, too. That's American, but Hugh Laurie takes a great part.

Of course, the big night of the year for TV commercials here is Superbowl night. This is where the latest and greatest ads, and products, are launched.

Of all the ads in the breaks, timeouts, boring bits, there was only one that I thought was sophisticated in any way, and that was for Fed Ex.

At the end of it, as the voiceover delivered it’s final message, I found myself thinking : “I bet he drinks Carling Black Label”

Happy days.

* I hate Carling Black Label of course, but we don’t need to go into that do we?

Disaster for the Rockets

Yao Ming, the Rockets' talisman Chinese player, and probably the most famous Chinese sportsman on earth is probably going to miss the Olympic games after developing microscopic cracks in the tarsal navicular bone.

That’s a shame. He’ll have to concentrate on running his excellent Chinese restaurant for a while.

Last evening we watched the televised  Democratic candidates debate.

Firstly, I have to say that they got a VERY easy time from the host, and that someone like Paxman would be ideally suited to chair this.

The debate kicked off with some to-ing and fro-ing on health care, a subject very close to Clinton’s heart, she was responsible for it under Bill’s administration, and where the two candidates don’t differ much. That exchange lasted 16 minutes with Clinton making sure she made her point every time Obama made his. She did very well for the most part, but ended with a personal attack on Obabma which put her, IMHO, in a very poor light.

So after that, the debate moved on, with a question to Clinton. Her response: “Why do I always get the first question?”

As the debate went on, she was questioned about why she doesn’t make her tax returns public, and Obama was questioned about the support he’s been getting from the American Muslim Council, which, he pointed out, he’s denounced repeatedly. Hilary saw her chance and moved in for the kill, saying she’d previously rejected the support of the leader of the council and Obama hasn’t come out and said he does the same.

So Obama then rejected AND denounced it.

By this time Hilary looked very uncomfortable. She also comes across as defensive and even surly, almost as if she doesn’t want to make eye contact with her questioner.

Obama on the other hand has the air of someone who knows he’s going places. He seems confident, articulate, personable. He also seems to have very well thought out responses and policies. He was also being inclusive and complementing Hilary throughout, making it very noticeable when she made an attack on him.

I don’t have a vested interest in this, I don’t have any allegiance to either candidate, I don’t have a vote over here, so it’s interesting to look at this from the outside and try to be objective.

I have no idea whether this country is ready for either a woman or an African American president. Hilary makes a lot of being the woman candidate while Obama goes out of his way not to make his race an issue, I think he’s been very well advised on that.

So whoever the Democrats select may not end up as president, I noticed the Republican “candidate” John McCain spent most of yesterday reminding the American public that Obama’s “middle name is Hussein, did you hear that? Hussein” so he’s rattled too.

T says this is the most fascinating series of Primaries she’s known, and that the issues are actually being addressed, rather than the candidate throwing the most money at it winning. I have to say that the Democratic race is riveting. Fascinating stuff, however flawed the electoral process is over here.

On present showing, Obama will become president but, I have a friend from Scotland (actually the same guy who suggested I keep a journal of my travels) who came over here to watch the New Hampshire debates. He said after that, that Clinton came across very poorly, looked (and I paraphrase) surly and defensive whilst Obama looked collected and very competent.

Hilary won New Hampshire.

I think there’s a long way to go over the next few days, but after next Tuesday we’ll probably know who will be standing for election as president in November.

It promises to be a fascinating year.

I only have to come up with 10 for the year, and I’m stuck at 3.

I have to put together 10 Critical Success Factors for my job for this year, things that are over and above hitting my targets, that stretch me – a bit like being in medieval times and put on a rack really. Is it any wonder I’d like to do something a bit more creative?

We had a bit of a motivation problem at our manufacturing in Harahan, just outside New Orleans, and the new gaffer there, an old pal of mine from Edinburgh, decided it would be nice to tear down all of the out of date product posters that adorn the walls and replace them with something far more interesting and, hopefully, motivational.

So he asked me to spend a few days in New Orleans (shame!!) taking photographs of the people working in the plant and taking team photographs of each department.

I did that in November and they called me today to tell me that they’ve selected 160 pictures of mine for the walls. I call that a result.

More than that though, the company now thinks it’s a good idea to repeat the exercise at some of our other locations.

So, Jebel Ali, Moscow, Beijing, Amsterdam, will be getting a visit from me, and my lovely assistant while we repeat the exercise. My lovely assistant is also one of our Marketing Managers and needs some product / people shots for brochures and our annual report.

Nice one T.

Maybe I can write some of my “official photographer” duties into my CSFs.

Last night saw us at the Toyota Centre in Houston watching the Houston Rockets beat the Chicago Bulls by 110 – 97. They’re on a winning streak of 12 games.

Now I’ve never been a big fan of Basketball – ever since Sunblest Sunderland packed up and went up the road I haven’t taken an interest. So last night, in our executive suite, we drank crap beer, crap wine, ate delicious food and watched the game. Or rather, watched a lot of time outs (times out?) and much cheerleading and being told to “make noise” when the Bulls had a free shot.

The atmosphere at American sports is strange, I can see the attraction of the “event” but the sport gets lost in the middle of it all.

I don’t think I’ll be giving it another go. T was ,most displeased when the Rockets got a team foul and I tried to start a chorus of “the referee’s a wanker” apparently it’s just not done.

Actually, that can be CSF number 4: Entertain X number of customers in the Executive Suite without being thrown out for unruly behaviour.

I downloaded the latest Popa Chubby album from iTunes, Deliveries After Dark it’s called. If you like Blues-Rock give him a go. T once flew from Houston to Chicago to catch one of his concerts as a birthday pressie to herself, he ended up singing Happy Birthday to her. J

Anyway, the reason I mention him is that he’s playing a couple of gigs in North Shields in May – he’s well worth checking out. The new album is a bit rockier than usual but well worth a listen.

Now talking of Chubby, I’ve put a few pounds on since I arrived here. Not that many, but it’s getting noticeable. I was never the slimmest person around but I am starting to feel a wee bit unhealthy. So my daughter is busy devising an exercise plan for me. I’ve no doubt it’ll involve dusting down the hardly used treadmill that T bought a while back and maybe even getting on my bike. T joined a gym last month and is already feeling the benefit.

Which reminds me, I must listen to Deceptive Bends again.

Last night we went to a party. A couple of our friends had just got married, she’s 60 and he’s 72. We were probably the youngest at the party but we had a great time catching up with some people we don’t see often.

There was one couple in particular, she’s a good friend of Tracey. I’ve only met her hubby once but he seemed an interesting chap.

So we got talking, he’s developed an interest in photography and although he’s an auditor for a major pipeline construction company, sees himself as an artist. Sound familiar?

Anyway, the upshot of the conversation was that he and I are going to meet up to visit some of Houston’s excellent art galleries. The girls will enjoy that – they decided to meet at the same time and check out some of Houston’s bars.

I used to love living in Edinburgh as the National Gallery of Scotland and Royal Scottish Academy were a great place to spend a wet weekend, I’ve missed that quite a bit since I came here so I’m looking forward to going.

Anyway, that’s an aside, the point of this particular blog is this:

There’s a huge spiders web underneath the eaves on my house. T & I were sitting out here this morning struggling to see straight whilst drinking our morning coffee and I mentioned to her that I really should get rid of that web, but I don’t want to.

Someone I got to know very well, without ever meeting, once wrote:

“See me in the gnarled old tree, see me in the timid fox, see me in the bird above, see me in the wandering butterfly, see me in the frantic moth, see me in the downhearted beggar, see me in the swaggering business man, see me in the crushed blade of grass, see me in the carefree blowing leaves and most of all, see me in that spiders web. I’ll be seeing back “

Which brings me to the book.

A few of us promised Hazey we’d make sure his blogs were published, and I’m happy to say that through the hard work of a small group of people the book is about to be released..

OK, I admit it, this blog is a shameless plug for My Dark Friend, by Graeme Kerton.

Graeme's book  has been sent of to the printers!

The team collating and editing the book has finished their work. Pictures have been collected, the grammar checked has been, spulling has been corrected - including verifying the official spelling of cagoule.

A front and back cover has been decided upon.  And now, now its in the hands of the printers.

We should have proofs by early March with the book in print a couple of weeks after. 

Graeme had stated that the proceeds of the book should go to Liz, his wife, as he wanted to help with the setting up of an animal sanctuary.

It will be available for purchase here.

I have to acknowledge the work done by Andrew, Detta, Hazel, Pete, Pete, Paul & Jamie. I had to take a back seat as the work progressed due to work commitments but these people have worked hard to make Hazey’s wishes come to fruition.

I’m a soft old sod and I still miss his musings and wonderful take on life. I now sit sometimes in the tree in my garden contemplating life, the universe and everything. I didn’t allow myself that luxury before.

T and I were reading the final draft of the book on Thursday just before it was sent to the printers,

Some words his wife Liz wrote in the introduction made us smile (as something flew into both our eyes).

The last words of the introduction: “He died a very happy man.”

I do, and I am.

I’ve made a very poor career choice. Actually that’s not strictly true, I’m good at what I do, and I’m well paid for it, so in that sense it’s not a bad choice. I’ve been several times around the world, met hundreds of interesting people, met my girlfriend, had a lot of fun.

But getting up in the morning to go to work just doesn’t “do” anything for me.

In short, at the age of 46 I finally know what I want to be when I grow up!

This has been niggling away at me since 2003. I was sitting in an hotel (I always write “an” hotel but I never say that – most odd) in Stavanger with a guy called Alan Faichney just chewing the fat about some of the places we’d been over the years, and he asked me whether I keep a journal of my travels, as he does.

It struck me that I’d been to (at the time) 40 or more countries and the only record I had of this was some fading memories, many clouded or distorted by whatever the local beverage may have been (Mao-tai is probably the worst, but what on earth is the attraction of Gammeldansk?).

Now, as loyal fans of this occasional blog know, I’m not a writer, if there’s a mot juste to be found, I will miss it. Articulate is something that trucks do.

So I mulled over what Alan and I had discussed, I thought about buying a wee notebook and jotting down my musings while sitting on a train trundling through Eastern Europe or the Indian subcontinent, a sort of Michael Palin character, who on his retirement would publish the travel journal and whose public would be enthralled.

But it’s not like that is it?

My travels invariably consisted of a few glasses of champagne in the KLM lounge at Schipol, followed by a few glasses of wine on some flight or other, fighting my way through some airport – half the time sans luggage, an hotel(!!) some meetings and, if I got the chance, a weekend of sightseeing. But more often than not, that chance would not materialise.

It would be a bloody short book!

So, and there’s a point to all this I promise, in April 2004 instead of the lounge when heading through Schipol on my way to China, I headed for duty free. I bought my first digital camera.

Now I’d never picked up a camera with manual controls in my life and knew nothing of f stops, shutter speeds, the rule of thirds, or anything like that, so I bought a mid range thing with a fully automatic setting that I could point and shoot. I thought that taking pictures to record my travels would force me to make sure that sight seeing opportunity happened.

So there I was, snapping away and putting the pictures on line so my daughter and other family could see where I was and where I’d been.

But people started commenting on my pictures, and eventually I realised that I had an “eye” for creative photography that I’d never had an inkling of. (... of which I'd never had an inkling?)

So here I am 4 years, and 3 cameras later. The photography thing is just about taking over my life, I have a portfolio of many different types of shot, I’m told that I’m a highly competent travel and people photographer, I’ve sold a number of pictures, and I’m interested in it.

I want to give up the day job to be a professional photographer.

So the career choice I made in 1979, and reinforced several times since when moving jobs, was in retrospect, not all that bad, it was the catalyst for all this, but I’m certain I could make a good living doing what I enjoy.

Now all I need is someone to pay me megabucks to travel the world and take pictures…………..