Personality Tests

Now I understand what happened to me when I joined the Labour Party in the early 1980’s. I was elected branch secretary not long after I joined, then was soon elected constituency secretary. I became exasperated with the shambles I constantly had to deal with, resigned after a fairly short period, and did not renew my membership.

I recently took several personality tests, which indicate that my lack of concern for the feelings of others, rationality and emotional stability make me a natural leader, despite the evidence to the contrary.

I will tend to forgive a colleague’s mistakes, but sack them for repeated mistakes. I could not sack the other Labour Party members, so sacked myself.

When I was young, my only ambitions were to have so much money that I did not have to work, and to understand the Universe. I have now achieved the former and have a much better grasp of the latter.

What now? Have a laugh.

If I were a famous politician, I would be Abraham Lincoln. If I were a classic film, I would be Easy Rider. If I were a superhero, I would be the Green Lantern, whoever he is.

I score low on all the tested personality disorders, except narcissism, which is moderate.

I am destined for the Sixth Circle of Hell, along with all the other atheists. Allegedly.

(Disclaimer: all the tests were self-administered on free websites, and might be total nonsense.)

Google Map Search

The Google Maps search gives some unexpected results. I searched for “prostitute” near my address in Blackpool and came up with the Grand Theatre and the Northern Echo.

The search was made purely out of curiosity, you understand, but I will probably be turning up at the Grand Theatre, clean and happy, with £50 in my pocket.

Drugs Not Bombs

How unlucky is that? Your cannabis plants are in need of fertilizer, so you pop along to the local fertilizer shop. Because you are growing cannabis on an industrial scale, an alert citizen thinks, “fertilizer bomb” and contacts the authorities. You find a whole lot of very well armed people suddenly wanting to talk to you. Several years in prison for drugs offences eventually ensue.

I cannot help finding the plight of the poor criminals exceedingly funny.

Dancing with The Drummer's Wife

Going teetotal has not affected my enjoyment of going to the pub as much as I expected.

Last week, I sang five karaoke songs completely sober without any sort of nerves. The results can be heard at:

http://www.bandeoke.com/audio%20files.html

My nom de chanson is “Rocking Rob”. I also sang the uncredited “Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick”.

Pictures taken during the performance can be seen here:

http://www.bandeoke.com/toms160507.html

I’m the fool in the white shirt and glasses.

Last night, I went to see a talented local group at a pub. We were sitting at the same table as the drummer’s wife, who fell into conversation with one of my female friends. Eventually, when the band was packing up and a DJ was playing “The Twist”, she asked me if I knew how to twist. When I didn’t take the hint, she asked me to dance with her.

I was up there, dancing away without self-consciousness or fear, even when the drummer glanced at us.

The only real difference being sober made was that after a few songs, while the drummer’s wife and I were holding hands as we danced, I experienced a physiological reaction that I would almost certainly not have experienced if I had had a few pints. Hurrah for me at my age.

After the band and the drummer’s wife had gone, I made some humorous, rather lewd (but not disparaging) remarks to my friends, which I would have previously excused by my drunkenness. Not any more. Now my excuse is that I was in “drunk socialising” mode.

So I’ve done all that on soda water, had as much fun, and saved myself some money as well.

I have celebrated by buying some adequate speakers for my computer.

A New Teetotaller

I Am Now Teetotal

I have joined the merry band of Methodists, Muslims, health fanatics and recovering alcoholics who do not drink. Fear was the spur.

When I was told I had Barrett’s Oesophagus, I received a list of ways to reduce the chances of it causing cancer.

I looked up the survival rate of cancer of the oesophagus, and discovered that it is less than 10% after five years. Oh, how very annoying.

Not smoking, eating fruit and veg and so on were no problem. I can afford to shrink by seven or eight inches before I need to lose weight. But I need to drink little or no alcohol.

Drinking is probably at the root of the problem. I was a binge drinker. I used to go all week without a drink, then go mad at weekends. At one stage, I used to drink so much in an evening and early morning that I lost count.

My drinking has been more modest recently, but still too much. I know that if I drink the odd pint, the number of pints will start to creep up.

So the choice I face is live teetotaller or dead drunk.

Mine’s a soda water.

I Am Dropping to Bits

I have high blood pressure. I’ve had both my retinas lasered to stop them becoming detached. Now I discover that I have Barrett’s Oesophagus and divesticular disease. Lovely.

The obvious question arises: How does Barrett cope? But how rock and roll is divesticular disease? Not rock and roll at all. No romantic condition like drug addiction for me, but a disease that is just plain disgusting. Someone like Kate Moss will go out with a junkie, but I can’t see her going out with someone who has divesticular disease.

Worse yet, one of the ways to reduce the chances of Barrett’s Oesophagus becoming cancerous is to drink little or no alcohol. My social life revolves around alcohol. When I tried for a non-drinking social life by taking up amateur dramatics, I ended up boozing with the other thespians.

My main consolation is that I can sing karaoke sober, and have done so on many occasions.

Anaemic Man

My last post was a bit irascible, perhaps overly harsh on the pudgy.

Part of the explanation, along with old man’s rage, is that I am anaemic. One of the symptoms of anaemia is irritability.

My anaemia comes from gastrointestinal bleeding. Next month, I will be put into a stupor and have cameras shoved places where no camera truly belongs.

I made the error of looking up my condition and the possible remedies on the Internet. It gave my hypochondria a considerable boost.

I once wrote a poem called “Don’t Let Me Watch Horizon”. I should write another one called, “Don’t Let Me Look Up My Medical Condition on the Internet”.