A Stroll Is Vertically Relaxing

08-03-2014 Saturday

Saturday and, when it comes to the weather, what a lovely day it was. Mum, Dad, Cheddar and I went out for a stroll with no particular place to go. It’s not often we do these things, but when we do, we’re sure to enjoy it. Though Dad would have rather had that Cheddar stayed at home. I gave him this dagger look and Mum poked him in his ribs with her elbow, that’s when he gave in. I guess we had stronger arguments than him.
As soon as we had set foot outside the door Grandma showed up. She wanted to know if we wanted to go out for a stroll through the park. I suspect Mum of having called her up to tell her we were going out for a walk. Dad would have rather had that Grandma stayed at home. Mum gave him this dagger look and she poked him in the ribs. I was on Dad with this one, but Mum had stronger arguments than us.
So, Grandma and Cheddar both got to tag along. Kensington Park is where I normally go when I walk Cheddar, so we know the park pretty well, though today we took another route than I normally do. We first passed Kensington Palace where Grandma had keep on asking if this was where the Queen lived and if we could go for a cup of tea then. Mum tried to explain, Dad and I didn’t really bother. Either Grandma was pulling Mum’s leg or she was genuinely loopy. Either way, she would have gone on asking silly questions anyways.
Then we went to the flower walk where the squirrels are. Those animals are so adorable. Though you are not allowed to feed them, we did bring some nuts (at least Dad did, he came prepared). Grandma wanted to take one home with her in her handbag. She put it on the ground and kept throwing nuts in them. Mum kept on saying that Grandma was not allowed to have pets in her place. Grandma was having the time of her life, while Mum was getting fed up with the joke and by the time we reached the Albert Memorial, Mum was wishing she hadn’t called Grandma. Talking ‘bout just desserts.
I think the Albert Memorial was a waste of money. It must have cost a fortune and it will probably only gain in value over time. I say we sell the (nasty word) thing, and use that money on, I dunno, me? No, seriously, this monument, if sold, could easily solve the hobo problem we have here in London. We could give all of them a lovely home, some guidance, a counsellor and some good education. Instead we choose to keep it. I think it’s pretty selfish of the state.
If we keep it to honour this Albert, then why did we name the entire royal hall after him as well? If you’d ask me, London should choose between keeping that hideous statue that is only there for tourists and birds to do their business on or a lovely hall where people can enjoy music and such. I am trying to be as neutral here as possible. I don’t really mind which one of these two London decides to get rid off, as long as it’s not the Royal Albert Hall. It’s up to you London. Grandma agreed with me on this matter, but we were not able to convince Mum or Dad on this. Cheddar is still in two minds about it.
From the Royal Albert Hall along The Long Water onto the Italian Gardens. This is where I normally sit down with Cheddar when the weather permits. It’s so peaceful and often very quiet in the morning or in the evening. We all sat down together. This was actually a very peaceful moment. The other day a friend said something to me about enjoying the silence together and I think that’s what we all did. At least until Grandma let one go. That’s when we all stood up and left. The smell of it followed us all the way back to our place.
Mum thought Grandma had shat her pants so Mum let Grandma fresh up at our place. Although I though it was quite funny when Grandma let one go, I felt kind of sad as well. I am starting to think she is really losing it. Mum can’t really cope with it and Dad doesn’t seem to care. He just thinks she’s annoying old tart that should have been put into a home years ago. To some extend Dad is right, it’s just that he does not have a nice way of putting it. Maybe it would be best for Grandma if she was put in a home, but I don’t think Mum is going to go along with it. Thinking about this has kept me up half of the night. It’s now half past one and I should have been asleep already. I am going to give it another try now. Goodnight and see me tomorrow. Actually, it already is tomorrow. See me today.

It’s Just A Phase

07-03-2014 Friday

Things are getting a bit awkward with Mrs Williams. When she saw me today she put her hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was feeling better and all. Now, I think it is very nice of people to ask me how I am doing, but I was quite uncomfortable with that hand on my shoulder and her staring at me like that. Like what? Like that? I can’t explain it, but it didn’t look normal. First she gives me ‘the wink’ then she puts her hand on my shoulder, then that look, who knows what’s next. I don’t think I would want to find out. I don’t think I even answered her question.
On a slightly more positive note, I think Evelyn and I are making good progress. Today she slipped me a note during class. I wouldn’t have minded if Evelyn had put her hand on my shoulder. The note was really sweet. It said she had missed me at school and asked me how I was doing. She even drew a nice flower on it. I didn’t dare to send anything back, because I was too afraid Mrs Williams would intercept it and read out loud to the class. That would have been the death of me. Instead I just smiled at Evelyn and nodded a little shyly.

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During lunch I told her I was okay and asked her how she was doing. She said she was fine and we sat together at the same table. In silence of course, but at least we sat together. I think I even felt her hand touching mine at one point, but it could as well have been her lunch bag or something, because I wasn’t looking. When I felt it I turned my head round and stared straight into her big dark eyes. My stomach kept spinning round like a washing machine. I might have even turned red a little and I completely forgot to chew and swallow. I must have looked like a hamster. I’m just hoping Evelyn felt the same.
It is not easy for two socially awkward teenagers to have fallen in love with each other and I wonder if this could ever even work out. What would become of our children? They would probably never learn to talk. Maybe we should just adopt. Mum keeps saying,’ It’s just a phase, Arthur. This, too, shall pass.’ She said that about my social awkwardness, she said that about me wanting to go outside more often, and she’d probably say it about having fallen in love with Evelyn. If it’s just a phase, I’d like it to last forever.  

 See me tomorrow. 

06-03-2014 Thursday

Dear Friends,

Today no story about my life, but a word of thanks. My name is Arthur Didymus. But most of the times people at school (or out on the street, for that matter) just call me ‘Ey!’ I am a socially challenged 14-year old boy from Paddington, London. I live with my parents who might just love me, but have a weird way of showing it sometimes. My dog Cheddar is better at showing his love; wagging its tail as soon as I open my door. True, my parents don’t have a tail to wag, I’ll give them that.
I would like to thank you all for just being here (or there), reading my blogs, being my Facebook friend, talking to me and sometimes even complimenting me on my writings. Sometimes I am just lost for words and it takes me an hour to write a simple reply of just a couple of sentences. I don’t really know how what way to thank you other than dedicating this blog to you. You’ve been very kind, supportive and helpful.
When I started using Facebook and writing this blog on 01-01-2014 I never expected to have any readers at all, let alone people that would react to my writings or accept my friend requests on Facebook. It was Grandma’s idea of getting me to mingle in the crowd, practise some social skills and make new friends. Grandma does not even own a computer herself. This is also more or less a thank you note to her, even though she won’t be able to read it here. I will print a copy for her. Thanks Grandma.
Should I ever have the chance to thank you personally, you bet your life I’d do that. Until that day I hope you’ll accept these words of thanks and I hope that you know that by reading my blogs, by accepting my friend requests on Facebook or sending me one, by commenting on my blogs, you made a big difference in a young boy’s life and that boy wishes you all the best in return. Thank you very much.

Kindest of regards,

Arthur Didymus

They Are Out There

05-03-2014 Wednesday

Seriously, they should kill the guy who invented ‘the flu’. If he’s dead already, serves him right! This stupid flu has been keeping me in bed for two days now and I don’t see any improvement. It feels like things are getting worse. My throat is sore and my body thinks I’ve been lifting weights for every muscle in my body hurts like (bad word). Mum’s been feeding me aspirins and I’ve been eating them as if they were sweets. I’ve had better treats than that.
Lying in my bed being ill made me wonder. What if the human brain is nothing more than a highly developed computer? Our computers are getting smarter and smarter by the day, maybe even by the minute. It could well be that somewhere in the (near?) future we develop a computer much like the human brain, right? I know, I know, we don’t even have hooverboards yet, but we’ve got robots and we’ve got memory cards the size of a pea that carry tons of data. It shouldn’t be too long before we have found the missing link between brains and computers.
Most computer viruses, if not all, are written by man. Computers don’t write their own viruses and they also don’t just pop up from out of nowhere. Sometimes these viruses are written by the people who also have shares in anti-virus software, sometimes they even own the entire anti-virus software and thus they make big money on this by selling that software. I wish I were that smart.
What I am saying is that maybe we are just highly developed computers and ‘the flu’ is a virus written by our ‘creators’ to make money. Aliens out there are making big bucks on ‘the flu’. It is quite logical that we won’t ever find a cure for the flu because as soon as we would find a cure somebody out there, in that vast and ever expanding universe, a green bug-eyed monster is making big bucks over our backs. He’s just rewriting the ‘flu’ programme every now and then to be able to sell updates on his software.

Or maybe this was just the fever talking. I’m going to get some sleep. See me later. Image

I Could Be Hip

04-03-2014 Tuesday evening

If flu is all the rage at the moment, I am one of the hip people. I’d probably be one of the coolest around, because I’m that ill. If it’s not, than I’m just the same old never-get-the-fad-right kind of guy. While I am lying here in my bed the world is just passing me by outside my window while I am thinking,’ I should not have slept so much.’ Some people never seem to run out of sleep, I think I have just run out of mine. It’s just that I don’t feel well enough to get out of bed and go for a nice little walk with the dog. The minute I get up my world starts spinning.
Mum has been great today. She really took care of me this time. She brought me tea and biscuits, practically the only food that my stomach agreed with. Mum took my temperature and she made a nice hot-water bottle for me to keep me warm when I was cold. At one point she even asked me if I wanted her to read me a story. That’s when I told her I wasn’t five anymore, but that I would be glad if she did. Just as long as she didn’t make a habit out of it. I think she really missed the little boy she once had. We kids grow up so quickly, don’t we!? Mum and Dad are vast asleep at the moment. I don’t think Mum would appreciate it if I woke them up so she could read me another story.
When Dad came home he checked up on me. Well, he stuck his head round the door to see if I was sleeping and that’s more or less it. Since he made those nasty remarks about Mr Bent our relationship has really hit rock-bottom and this might just be his way of starting to say he’s sorry. It’s hard for people to admit they were wrong and say sorry, Dad would sooner die than to say he’s sorry. Maybe it’s his line of business, although I have no idea what business that would be. It’s even very likely that Mum sent him upstairs to check up on me.
It’s amazing how humans have found ways to prevent or cure diseases like: the plague, consumption, jaundice, etc. but a simple thing like the flu is impossible to cure. The doctors just say,’ Take some aspirins, drink lots of water, stay in bed for a week, and if it’s not gone in two weeks, come and see me again.’ Then when you come back in two weeks, they give you some stronger medication and say the same thing again. How’s that for a cure!?
Let’s see if I can catch some sleep again. I’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night and lie awake for at least an hour. Guess Mum won’t be there to bring me a nice hot cup of tea and I guess she won’t appreciate it when I stumble down the stairs to make one myself. I can already see the look on her face. Well, see me – atchoo – tomorrow. 

Harlem Shaking Monsters

04-03-2014 Tuesday

 

Is the flu in season? Maybe it’s just my body’s reaction to a healthier diet. On the other hand, if it is healthier, why would it make me ill? It doesn’t make sense. Well, that’s just life, isn’t it? Life just doesn’t make sense sometimes. Some people write that ‘shit’ down in a bathroom stall, others – like me – write these things down on a piece of paper to try to make some sense out of it all.
Today I’m staying home because it feels like my head is about to burst open and give birth to a thousand tiny monsters that are currently doing the Harlem Shake in my head. It’s giving me a throbbing headache and the noise causes my ears to hurt like a place deep down below. I can’t say the name out loud at the moment, because Mum is here and she still is religious and does not want to hear anything about such a place for some reason.
Talking about Mum, she can be so sweet. She brought me tea and breakfast. I am not going to eat much, though, cause it might make it’s way back up again soon. Just a little bit, because Mum says that it will help the paracetamol kick in sooner, I think she is delusional. As if a pill will notice the presence of food and go like,’ Ah, food, it’s action time, gentlemen.’ I don’t think that’s the way these things work, but if Mum says so, you just accept it without arguing. I don’t want to be the snotty spotty teenager who thinks he knows better than adults and should thus be promoted president for the world would such a better place. Mum should feel lucky having me as a kid.
Maybe I’ll post some more things later as I might get bored. Have a nice day everybody. See me later. 

Toilet Walls and Bathroom Stalls

03-03-2014 Monday


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Let’s start the week by telling you about our Arts teacher: Mrs Williams. I think she is everything a man could wish for when it comes to looks. Mind you, she is far from my type. She has this long, blonde hair that dances in the wind. Ruby red lips, a slim figure and she is way too feminine for me, if you know what I mean (and I hope you do, because that is all I am going to say about it).
I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I am going to do it anyways. Mrs Williams, as you’ll know, is married and has been for at least five or six years. It has been rumoured, though, that she was or has been seeing Mr Owen. Now Mr Owen is, as far as I know, a happy single – I couldn’t think of any girl who’d want to marry a man like him if I wanted to – and so he can do as he pleases. Mrs Owen on the other hand should know better. I hope they were, as I said, just rumours. I have never seen anything or heard anything first hand.
Besides the above, it’s also been rumoured that she likes to flirt with pupils a little bit. Of course, if that were true, my guess is those kids would never file a complaint about it. Most of the kids think Mrs Williams looks ‘hot’. I have another name for it, but I can’t use it, because Mum says it’s kind of a rude word. Why would a teacher want to flirt with a pupil? Has she got issues or anything? She needs a psychiatrist even more than I do.
From the looks of things, I think she is doing a terrible job as an arts teacher. Most drawings found on toilet doors and walls can hardly be called art and look nothing like any assignment Mrs Williams has ever given us. I am not saying I am the next Da Vinci, but these boys at school – I can’t say anything about the girls as I have never seen their toilet doors and walls – usually draw the same kinds of things and they are still extremely bad at it. What kind of girl would fall for a guy who makes those kinds of drawings? If they were to walk into the boys’ room, would they say something like,’ Oh, yes, I definitely like this one, gimme the guy who drew this, this is a true work of art and I must meet the maker!’ I dunno, they’re not, what you call, a genuine Banksy.  
Talking about drawings, I made my first more or less realistic drawing of myself today. It is far from perfect, but it was my first try and I guess it’s quite all right. If I won’t become a famous writer, I might always become a famous artist. I don’t know whether I should show Mrs Williams my drawing. What if she starts flirting with me, too? I wouldn’t know where to look, if you know what I mean. That’s it, I’m off. See me tomorrow. 

Eccentric Cambridge

02-03-2014 Sunday

Some people go to church on Sunday, we go to Cambridge to see an aunt I didn’t know I had. Maybe it’s because Mum is a Protestant and Dad is an atheist. I don’t know what that makes me, a pro-atheist? Luckily my aunt turned out to be very friendly. She said I could call her Auntie D. That is, as you’ve probably guessed, short for Didymus. She kind of reminded me of the female version of Mr Bent. She was definitely older than Dad and a lot wiser and friendlier. All the time we spent together I kept thinking how it was possible that this lovely lady was Dad’s sister. They looked (and still look) nothing alike. Wish I had her instead of Dad. Two Mums doesn’t sound so bad.
Cambridge is a wonderful town and you should really visit it if you haven’t. When I grow old I might want to move there. Compared to London it is quiet, homely and small, though with all the colleges there and students, it can get crowded. Auntie D. said to mind the three B’s: bikes, buses and bollards. (dear classmates, notice how buses is spelled with only one s, just saying). The students here are not allowed to drive cars, because it would be hell on earth if those thousands of students were to drive to college in a car. There is just no room for so many cars, there’s hardly enough room for all those students. That is why everybody cycles around here. Except for Auntie D. Auntie D. has got a bad hip and needs a cane to walk. She does have a tricycle, but she says that thing is not meant for people to ride on. ‘twould be the death of me,’ she said in a rather posh voice. Mind you, Auntie D. is far from posh. She is one of the most down to earth grown-ups I have ever met in my short little life.
First thing we did when we arrived was eat. Auntie D. had made some lovely lentil soup with lots of garlic in it. Also, she had baked her own bread to go with it. Then she showed us her house and I was happy to see she had so many books and a lovely white cat (not Ivor) that was asleep on top of some of the books. There were pictures of her friends and relatives on every wall. The kitchen was stuffed with kitchen-aids, cuttlery, pots, pans, spices, herbs, cans, jars, teas, cups, plates, mugs, and so, and so on. There was more stuff than the cupboards and shelves could hold and hide. This woman does not need a house; she needs a kitchen the size of a house.
Then she took us on a Cambridge tour. This woman is a walking encyclopaedia when it comes to knowing things about Cambridge. She has stories to tell about almost all the buildings and the famous people who lived in this town. It was too much for me to remember everything, but I had taken my camera with me, so I took some pictures and she gave me her email address. Plus, Mum bought a book for me called Eccentric Cambridge. Auntie D. advised me to get it and she said that I could email her if I wanted to know anything, especially if it was about ghost stories, because they were her favourite as well.
Exactly how eccentric is Cambridge? Very eccentric. Students pull a lot of pranks in Cambridge. You would have thought they’d be busy studying all day, but it seems they have enough time to come up with crazy pranks. They once put an entire car on top of one of the colleges and I believe they suspended one from a bridge, as well. Henry VIII’s sceptre has been replaced by numerous other objects: like an umbrella and the leg of a chair. They are tons of ghost stories and this was the famous Hobson’s hometown. Hobson is the guy from the saying Hobson’s Choice. Which means, no choice at all; either take it or leave it. They also named the smelliest passage in the whole of England after him, which is Hobson’s Passage. Poor Hobson; he was so rich and influential but is mostly remembered in non-flattering ways. There is however, also Hobson’s Conduit, which I found to be rather … dull.
There is absolutely, positively more to say on Cambridge and Auntie D., but I guess it will have to wait till another time. After we arrived home I was still wondering what happened to Dad that made him the sourpuss he is today and I think it will keep me up all night. His sister is such a wonderful lady. I will ask her in an email what happened to Dad. She’ll probably know. That is it for now. I’m putting up some pictures on Facebook a.s.a.p. See me tomorrow.

Is It Sunday Already?

01-03-2014 Saturday

What better way to end a week of slaving away at school than a nice visit of a retarded OAP who has lost her mind, her sense of time as well as control over her sphincter? I was actually kind of looking forward to a nice and peaceful evening on the couch with an apple and some carrots (part of my new diet) when Mum announced Grandma was coming over. At least this time Grandma phoned us before coming over instead of pretending to be lost on her way to the supermarket and emptying out our fridge.
Grandma said she was coming over after dinner. Which to me is at about 8. When the doorbell rang a 6 while Mum was about to put the food on the table, I answered the door. I had expected to see an encyclopaedia salesman or some other kind of door-to-door salesperson; instead I was greeted by the smell of flowers in decay mixed with filled baby diapers. My instincts kicked in and I immediately slammed the door. I’m sorry Grandma. When I realised what I had done, I waited a few seconds till she rang again, opened the door and acted very surprised. ‘Grandma! How lovely to see me. How am I doing? Great and how are you?’ Grandma was not pleased.
She walked in and demanded food. Luckily Mum tends to cook for an entire orphanage, so there was plenty of food to go ‘round and Grandma was even allowed a second helping. I wasn’t. This diet thing is actually some sort of torture I inflict upon myself. Looking at all the food, but not being allowed to eat as much as I would like or want. Mum is being kind of supportive though. Maybe supportive is not the correct word. It’s more of an obsession to her. When I said I wanted to mind my weight and maybe lose a little, she immediately started saying things like,’ No more candy for you, only fruit and veggies in between meals, no more second servings and you’d better not be buying any sweets at school or on your way to school, because I will find it and I will eat it myself!’ I don’t know if it’s supportive or something far worse. Mum informed Grandma about my diet, but Grandma did not really respond. I think she was still mad at me.
Those of you out there who have been reading my blog know that Grandma is a little bit deranged. Last time she thought our house was the supermarket and she keeps calling me Ivor (her dead cat). Yesterday she kept looking for things that were not really lost. Her glasses: on her head; her gloves: on her hands; her glass of drink: on the table; her handbag: under her seat; her dentures: in het mouth; and so on. And not just once, no, she kept asking,
’ Has anyone seen my dentures?’
And Mum kept responding,’ They’re in your mouth, Mum.’  
‘ Yes, I know, dear, I was just wondering whether you had seen them.’
I wish I hadn’t opened the door the second time she rang it.
At the moment we are preparing ourselves for a little trip tomorrow. We’re going to go to Cambridge. Apparently I have relatives living there. I believe an aunt lives there and we’re going to meet her and she is going to show us Cambridge. She’ll be cooking for us and afterwards we’ll head for home again. I have never been to Cambridge before so I am looking forward to that. I dunno about this relative yet. I know nothing about her and as she is related to Dad I don’t expect too much of it. I’ll let you know tomorrow evening. See me tomorrow. 

Hallo, ik ben Arthur

28-02-2014 – Friday

 Hallo, ik ben Arthur. Apparently this means ‘Hello, I’m Arthur.’ I do hope so, otherwise I am making a complete fool of myself. My new Dutch friend taught me this yesterday and I believe her. She is trying to teach me some Dutch words; it’s a weird language. I have no clue as to how to say the words, but I know how to write them.
I don’t know if all Dutch people are like her, but she is seriously funny and a great person to talk to. I haven’t formally introduced you to her, so let’s do that … now. Her name is Belle, she is 15 years old and she lives in Rotterdam. Everybody could use a ‘Belle’ in their live. She is understanding, funny, easy going and very relaxed. I hope Evelyn is not secretly reading this for she might get jealous. (Dear Evelyn, if you’re reading this, there is no need to get jealous. Belle and I are just friends.)
Talking about Belle and Evelyn, let me give you the 411 in the 202. Belle gave me some tips and hints on how to tell when a girl is into you. Since then I have been trying my best to see any of those signs. Every time I noticed she was looking at me I counted how long she would look. Most of the times it was between three to five seconds. Which, to me, seemed rather average. On the whole she spent more time staring at the teachers, so where does that put me?
I’ve been wanting to talk to Evelyn for days, but I can’t seem to come up with a good reason to say anything. Actually, I hardly ever see any reason for talking to somebody. I don’t have to ask how their day is going, as I am there almost every minute of it; I know how their day is going, because I’m having the same one. It’s as useless as talking about the weather. You hear people saying things to each other like,’ Nice weather we’re having, ey!?’ or ‘Terrible weather, ain’t it?’ And the other person is likely to agree and say something like,’ Yeah, lovely, just lovely.’ Or something  like,’Yeah, awful, just awful.’ And they call that a conversation.
Then, when they come home, somebody will ask,
’ How was your day?’
And they’ll go,’ Oh, great, I ran into so and so.’
‘Ohw, did he say anything?’
‘No, not really.’
And that’s another so-called ‘conversation’. I call it a waste of time, words and oxygen! If I want to know about the (nasty word) weather, I will look out my window or walk the dog. If I want to know about tomorrow’s weather, I’ll watch the weather forecast on ol’ Aunty Beeb. Please, don’t bore me with tedious talks about the weather we’re having. So you see, I need more than just the weather or how she’s doing. That’s just not working. I’ll talk to Belle this weekend (hopefully) maybe she’s got some good advice.
Other unrelated news. Today Mr Owen padded me on the back for no reason. At least I had no idea why he did it. Then he said that he thought it was right what I had done. Still, it didn’t ring a bell. Then he said,’ Yesterday, in the hall, with Tyrone.’ I asked him who Tyrone was, then he laughed (don’t ask me why) and he explained that Tyrone was the kid who fell on the floor because I forgot to pull in my leg. I thought his name was Tyson. Maybe I got confused with Dyson – you know, the hoovers. I dunno.
Mr Bent is recovering just fine. He’s alive and kicking. His results came in and everything’s just fine. I believe he’ll have to go to St Bart’s every now and again for some check-ups and that’s it. I’ll be seeing him tonight and he’ll probably fill me in on all the details, or not. It’s not that I understand any of the difficult words in those reports, but I just love to hear him talk. I’m off to walk Cheddar now and to check up on the weather. Have a nice evening and see me tomorrow.