The future wasn’t predicted by Nostradamus, 

George Lucas warned what would harm us,

Attack of the Clones,

All I see is blonde hair, black jackets, fake tan andiPhones,

Cities infested with human manikins,

Destined for a darker future than Anakin,

Panic spending credit on plastic to look plastic,

Hoping to be told - ’You look fantastic!’

The overwhelming desire to be noticed, 

So we devour trends like a plague of locust,

The fear being that we won’t fit in, 

Yet it’s fitting,

We dress up to stand out but just fit in,

The tighter the clothes we try to fit in,

So make sure you stay fit,

Ingest nothing on your plate,

Remember - you have a billboard to recreate,

Food to throw up you just ate,

Teenagers losing their minds,

Trying to reach the thinnest line, 

Facebook’s lowered teen’s self-esteem,

To levels never before seen,

Self-taken camera phone snap on screen,

And the must-have comment telling the world you look like a beauty queen,

It’s insanity,

Humanity must be here for something more worthwhile than vanity,

If free choice was a blessing from Him,

Then why does everybody dress in H&M? 

My eyes don’t play tricks,

It really is 24/7 déjà vu in our matrix,

Fashion morphing us into the abyss,

Morpheus would say there must be a glitch,

Pity anybody who has bought Abercrombie + Fitch, 

Sold out clothes for sold out souls,

Looking pleased as if there is something they’ve actually achieved,

When all they’ve become is a symbol of the sheep from which their garment was weaved,

They can face the mirror but can’t face reality,

Designer labels can’t cover up cracks in personalities,

Of course everybody wants to look attractive,  

But we no longer even window shop - we’re just caught captive,

Checking our own reflection,

Perhaps a hair out of place could lead to rejection?

Narcissism has imprisoned our vision,

Don’t believe advertisement you see on television,

Don’t take everything at face value,

The lips on my face vow to place value on what really matters,

But it’s so hard not to get caught up in the meaningless,

Meaning less money to invest,

Meaning more money wasted on dress,

Could flip it to a homeless guy who’d waste it on booze,  

But I’d much rather waste it on a new pair of shoes,

Around every corner we face the temptation to be vain,

So many images imprinted on our brains,

I repeat it’s insane but who’s to blame?

Those who devise it?

Those who supply it?

Or those who buy it?

The clothing companies dressing teenage girls likewhores?

Enticing potential paedophiles to break laws,

The TV executives commissioning nonsense like Jersey Shore?

Making their audience stupider seems to be their cause, 

Or maybe the problem is pop music?

And of so much bullshit we can accuse it,

All you used to need was love,

But now kids know no better,

Singing along to repetitive repertoires,

About how they want want to be billionaires in St. Tropezwith their fast cars.

Never give a man too long to contemplate,

Because, more than likely he’ll be filled with hate

Feeling like it’s too little too late,

To which facet of life he should dedicate,

His time money and passion,

Because each one comes in a ration..

He’s 45, 2 kids and the wife,

Lives life on a day-to-day basis,

Can’t handle the strife,

His job is dog-eat-dog,

And his boss doesn’t settle for anything less,

Than him barking like a bulldog,

He spends so much time at work,

That his wife irons his shirt,

whilst it’s still on his back,

It’s yet another crack in their relationship,

No family vacations,

Just one long guilt trip..

Countless hours overtime and working on the weekend,

He can’t take much more he feels weak and depressed,

An empty hole that he tries to suppress,

But the Prozac pack doesn’t alter his act,

He does it all for his family,

But his wife says that he’s a self-centred dad,

Claims he has more flaws than the World Trade Centre had,

To the warning signs he hasn’t been reacting,

And now his whole world is collapsing,

Never gets violent but neighbours hear deafening howls,

Oh, how much easier said than done were their wedding vowels..

It’s a broken home

But everything is in one piece

It’s a broken home

But there never is any peace

So bit -by-bit his heart is ripping,

And now his daughter’s grades are slipping,

No longer does she have her face stuck in a book,

She spends all evening dreaming in her virtual world,

She doesn’t hear any screaming on Facebook,

He tried to teach her with all the expensive gifts that he bought her,

But the only thing he taught her was that his love doesn’t come for free,

He knows what his kids look like, but he doesn’t know what they’re like,

He relies on his wife to buy them birthday presents they’ll like,

He’s missed most of his son’s football matches and daughter’s ballet recitals,

There was always something at work that was just a bit more vital..

When he was young,

He used to imagine what his future would hold,

He’d learnt from his parents that family isn’t easy, 

But he never imagined it could be quite this cold,

He’s trapped and too much time has elapsed,

For him to be able to turn the clocks back,

Won’t be long till his wife chucks her finger rock back..

He’s frozen in time and needs melting,

But his wife’s cold stares aren’t helping,

They’re just cutting deeper into his broken heart,

They lay next to each other in bed but couldn’t befurther apart,

She pulls the duvet away and rolls over to her side,

She used to rest her head on his chest,

But now she couldn’t care less..

They look through each other, not at each other,

His wife has become little more than his children’s mother,

20 years ago they were different people,

Back when their paths crossed it was spectacular,

They couldn’t have been happier,

They only shared streets for a matter of weeks,

But it was long enough to persuade them that their love wouldn’t stop,

That their magical bubble wouldn’t pop..

But then they veered off in completely opposite directions,

And if there were any problems then they weren’t mentioned,

There was much less pain to live a lie than to say goodbye,

They thought babies would fix their issues,

But this was only temporary glue; soon again there were tears in tissues,

They would scream at each other till their mouths were dry,

Till no more tears were left to cry..

It’s a broken home

But everything is in one piece

It’s a broken home

But there never is any peace

She woke up that morning knowing it would be her last,

No longer could she go on living in the past,

Only one thing on her mind,

Today was the day she would leave it all behind,

Lust had turned to crazy love, both couldn’t get enough,

Back then when they’d laugh, the only proof now is thephotographs..

Been living the last few years on auto-pilot, like a matter of course,

And now she tells him that it’s time to divorce,

These words hit his stomach with such force that he nearly vomits,

This isn’t what her love letters promised,

She’d scribbled that they’d be together forever,

Whatever the weather,

But this hurricane is never-ending pain,

He blinks to clear the tears, to hide the panic,

This final scene is going down like Titanic,

But in their movie, Rose isn’t trying to save Jack, 

She doesn’t want him back..

He’s sinking quicker than he’s thinking,

No words left, No more chances to make amends,

Though she promises they’ll stay friends,

Even if he could speak, what would he say?

He knows deep down that this relationship has reached its final day,

He grabs on to her hand, telling her not to let go,

But his fingers are slipping - her touch is as cold as ice,

She calmly breathes the final breaths as his wife..

They say that time heals all broken hearts,

But his clock has stopped ticking,

So his heart will be forever splitting.

So there’s been something missing from your lives the past couple of months. 

That thing would be my life. 

There have been rumours that I’ve ran out of interesting things to say. 

That may be true, but if we take the adjective ’interesting’ out of the previous sentence then I really don’t have any expectations to live up to. 

The truth, however, is boring. I’ve just been too busy with life. Not that my life has become any less busy but I’ve missed sharing my musings.

From my perspective, it’s not what I write about, but more importantly how I write. Everything else can suck if the performance is top-drawer, just look at Gran Torino.

So, when better to start again than this beautiful day? With the mercury hitting the dizzying heights of 11c in Vienna, it feels like the start of spring, however I sense a false dawn and guess that the bitter winter will resume shortly.

I won’t talk too specifically about the Austrian weather, as I do realise that I have an international readership (Good morning, Your Royal Highness). 

So, weather in other parts of the world is looking like..

No, I won’t be talking about the weather. I know that I just said that themes are irrelevant, but sunshine sparkles solely, my elegant elocution of the English language would be a bit excessive.

Talking about readership, I’d like to personally thank the uncountable number of people who demanded the return of my blog. 

(‘Uncountable’ read: Homer Simpson would struggle using just one hand, but Homo-sapiens with one hand would be spot on.)

So what have I been doing? A bit too much, perhaps. Teaching what seems like the entirety of this city, and even publicly performing my poetry.

But what springs to mind immediately is running, yes, you heard me. Marathon training is in full flow and it will be my number one focus till April 17th when (God willin’) I’ll run in the Vienna City Marathon.

It was only a month ago that I was glugging Glühwein like a Fisch and scoffing every mince pie in sight. 

I tried to go for a run after 6 weeks of Festive gluttony and barely made it 10minutes. It was at that point that I pretty much sh*t myself, realising the marathon was only 3 1/2 months away. 

Typical training programs are 16 weeks, with the prerequisite that you can already run comfortably for an hour.

A big problem for runners, or any endurance sport athlete, is that after a few weeks out of the game it is very difficult to motivate yourself to get back into it, not only physically but moreover, psychologically. 

It feels like you’re starting from scratch, and it can be terribly daunting to think about how much effort it took you to get to the level you were at a couple of months ago.

Well, I could run uncomfortably for no more than 15 minutes, which was rather worrying, but not worrying enough to stop my Christmas binge. Instead of starting there and then, I ran (slowly) home to celebrate my fear with handfuls of Celebrations.

It wasn’t until I got back to Vienna on January 7th that reality finally hit my second home.

Over the past month, my improvement, has been rather rapid,  considering the snow-laden streets and minus degrees. 

From 2.5km on January 6th, to 25km on February 6th.

Wipe that dribble away from your mouth, I speak the God’s honest truth.

‘How have you been training?! I hear you scream...

All will be revealed in due course, but the main ingredient is damn hard work.

But if it was easy then I wouldn’t be doing it…

baycb.

Peace.

With a title like this, I’m going to do my best not to make this cheesy.

I decided to write this as December has just begun and cities are full of people looking and feeling colder than the temperatures. This is natural, winter is setting in, daylight is short and the freezing darkness is unavoidable. 

Of course, the weather affects your mood. But don’t let it turn you into a miserable ****!

Any time you feel like things couldn’t get any worse then remember a few things -

If you have the luxury of being at home with your family over the festive period, think about how lucky you are not to be Haitian, where thousands of children will be celebrating their first Christmas without their parents.

Whilst your decorating your Christmas tree, imagine you’re a citizen of North Korea where you would be put in a ‘re-education camp’ for trying to celebrate Christmas.

Whilst complaining that your train is delayed, think about one of the 6 people who die every minute in Sub-Saharan Africa due to HIV/AIDS. 

Whilst you’re unwrapping the latest iPhone or chomping down on a spectacularly lavish turkey dinner, spare a thought for the 1.4 billion inhabitants of our planet who don’t even have access to clean water.

But what do all of these people still have the ability to do?

Smile.

They smile because they have nothing left to lose. We spend so much time worrying because we have so much to lose.

Especially when we’re lucky to have any of it in the first place. Let us not envy those that have more than us, but let us appreciate that we have so much more than most of the world will ever have. 

Billions of starving people and we act like it’s the end of the world if we’ve put on a few extra pounds over the holidays.

This post isn’t about persuading you to give money to charity. It’s about realising what we already have and reminding us that we should give ourselves a kick up the ass when we start to feel sorry for ourselves over trivial problems.

So, whilst millions of volunteers are lending a helping hand and many more are giving to charity, let us do our part in our own worlds. Smile at someone who looks depressed; give a homeless man a piece of cake; stop wasting time worrying about frivolous issues. It is the season of goodwill after all.

Be completely in love with everything and everybody that you have.

We will truly never know how lucky we are - but we can snatch each negative moment and flip it into a positive one.

baycb.

Peace.

Layered deeper than a tiramisu, deceivingly desolate analogies miss you,

Purposefully misconstruing, like Memento this requires repeated viewing,

You can’t muzzle this stray’s puzzle, similes soar way over your steam-rolled skinned skull,

The Romans created straight roads but I’m constructing poetic crossroads,

Trying to dissect this will make heads moan, just like trying to unravel your headphones,

The end of every couplet sounds the same, like the end of every couple sounds the same,

Except there’s no awkward silence here, no broken hearts, read to the end then hit restart - memorise till you know this off by heart,

Watch metaphors metamorphosing in front of your very eyes,

Devoid of 50 Sense-less lyrics - nominate me for the No-Bull Piece Prize,

Luck won’t help you - bear-hug a giant redwood but it’s futile to touch wood,

Chomp more carats - but only I make darkness appear brighter than the Midas touch would,

Sending you in every direction like dos Santos Aveiro, Google that sh*t - I make fingers tremble like it’s sub-zero,

From worshipping Hercules and Zeus - Greek Gods, to Zuckerberg and Gates - Geek Gods,

As if Mary-Jane knitted their pant’s seam - worth so much that their pockets are forever green,

Never slept on evergreens - so resting on my laurels is a foreign concept,

Like democracy to the Republic’s Eternal President is a foreign concept,

The poorest of the poor remain eternally effervescent, how ironic that their polar opposite’s hopes are forever evanescent,

Don’t panic if I start to go off-topic - you should have realised by now every stanza is myopic,

Stirring up emotions like I’m commending a slave trader, everybody has a secret identity not just the Caped Crusader,

I’ll put a smile on your face as if you’d just been Dark Knighted, you’re not sure what to think like when OJ was first indicted,

Meanwhile your psyche is subdued as you’re reading to the last line - like a green mile psycho precludes his passing with a last line,

A broken fiend on his last line can’t see where his next fix is coming from, like a blind pimp who can’t see where his next hoe is coming from,

Humour’s darker than Mr. Obama - this rhyme is wholly black, 

Even with an ending, it’s infinite like space that is wholly black.

baycb.

Peace.

Let’s get this straight from the off. I’m using this photo to illustrate exactly what real-life saunas are NOT.

So what, there’s a hot girl with her breasticles out. Let’s be grown up about this, people.

Giggigidy.

So, yesterday evening, I decided to make use of my brand spanking new swim/sauna pass that I bought at the aforementioned swimming pool/nursing home that I joined on Monday.

Before going into the pool, I made my first foray into the sauna.

Split secondly forgetting that I no longer live within the politically correct confines of the United Kingdom.

Of course, everybody was stark-raving naked.

As soon as I entered, I could feel the heat. And I’m not talking about the sweltering 80°C temperate.

Allow me to set the scene. The sauna was jam-packed full of people. Mainly dudes, but there were 3 members of the fairer sex. Tall, blonde and slim. Fair targets, if only I’d been alive in the 1940’s when they still had their original hips.

Maybe it was just in my head, but from the moment I entered, I heard groans coming from the Opus Dei-esque steam-seeking faction. I’d broken one of their golden rules and they weren’t happy.

Need I really expose myself to them? I was still wearing my tight black Speedos, which hardly leave anything to the imagination as it is.

Think Kylie’s hot-pants, triple her body size, add hairy gorilla thighs and that’s me.

I wasn’t going to let this bother me though. Who did they think I was? Trying to get me naked. Like I was some kind of floozy. They hadn’t even bought me a drink.

So, trying to be as discreet as possible, I sat down in the corner and leaned back against…AH F*CK!

Forget newly made-men having to prick their fingers with a pin. The Mafiosi have missed a trick, not employing the ‘lean back’ manoeuvre on wooden sauna benches in their initiation ceremonies.

Letting out this scream, I was now no longer the only loin-clothed guy, I was also screeching like a girl. Their stares were definitely fixed upon me now.

I’d had enough, so I climbed down to the bottom, made sure they were all watching, and whipped off my shorts.

It’s hard enough to breath in a sauna as it is, but having your breath taken away by me dropping my pants is another thing entirely. Whether or not I’m boasting here, well, I’ll leave that up to your imagination.

Oh yes. That’ll show them. That felt empowering. 

Empowering up until the moment I looked up and saw that one of the women was actually the cashier at my local supermarket.

Brilliant. It’s not going to be at all uncomfortable the next time I buy pencils bananas from her.

After temporarily blinding half of the occupants, I decided it was time to leave. Even without the steam induced sweat-fest, my face would have still been redder than a female snow monkey’s butt.

However, giving up are two words that are just not in my dictionary. So after a swim I decided to go back to the sauna and face my demons.

Low and behold, I walked in and they had all disappeared. Perhaps they’d all been rushed to the hospital with heart problems after my earlier antics. Well, all disappeared except for...

Sat, open legged, right in front of the entrance, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in a sauna. Now, that isn’t saying much, but still.

I was astonished. I wanted to Adam and Eve her a leaf. 

After my previous disappointment, I had a point to prove. So, feeling cocky*, I decided to sit down opposite her and start a conversation.

*Used as an adjective. Not a verb.

Much to my suprise. She didn’t even squirm. Clearly a seasoned pro of dealing with guys making the most of the loaned confidence supplied by the dizzying heat she chatted away with me.

It was going quite well, we had been talking for a whole two minutes, right up until every sleaze-bags worst nightmare incarnate waltzed in.

The husband.

The less said about that, the better.

Even so, I won’t be perturbed. I paid for a 30-day sauna pass and I’m going to useit, come saggy genitals or vaporised water!

For more bare-skinned bulletins - stay tuned.

baycb.

Peace.

As part of my training program, I alternate daily between running and swimming.

It’s a good combination, the swimming helps to relax aching muscles and also improves my cardiovascular system no end. I’m also lucky enough to live about a 5 minutes walk from my nearest ‘Schwimmbad’.

Sounds too good to be true, right? Natürlich.

This morning at about 9am, I finally decided to buy a month’s pass at my local swimming pool. I actually thought I was getting a really good bargain - a pool + sauna pass for 27euros.

Well, that’s what it sounded like. When I came to pay, the kind lady alerted me that the price had suddenly risen to 57euros. Inflation is a bitch, huh.

But that’s the price I pay for only being able to speak kindergarten Deutsch.

I’d been to this swimming pool in the past but only in the evenings. I hadn’t yet fully enjoyed the pleasures of a morning swim mainly due to a lack of time.

But if Robert Langdon can do it and still fit in deciphering whether JC was really married to MM - then surely I can too.

So I went to the unisex changing rooms, undressed and put on my tight black Speedos. Nothing out of the ordinary up to this point.

On entering the actual swimming pool, I was dismayed to find it quite crowded. One third sectioned off for new-born babies and mothers, one third for the elderly and the final lane for the rest of the human race.

I tentatively jumped into the latter lane, it was all a bit bizarre, as if this swimming pool represented the very essence of a mid-life crisis. There on my left were the cute little sprogs and on my right a bunch of wrinklies half-way up the stairway to heaven.

And there was I, slap bang in the middle, nor young nor old, nor fresh nor bald.

This feeling of melancholy soon dispersed when I noticed drifting geriatrics in my lane. It’s a shame that pensioners have to take off their glasses to swim, causing them to blindly stray into the rest of humanity.

For some inconceivable reason, old people seem to think they have H₂O Carte blanche when it comes to day-time swimming. Doggy paddling along in any direction they see fit and kicking their legs out so close to your face that you can smell the brand of verruca cream they use.

I double-checked the sign on the lane to make sure. Yes, it still read ‘Schnell’. Now, the last time I looked in my Wörterbuch ’Schnell’ was not German for ‘float aimlessly around in the foetal position’.

No wonder the babies felt so comfortable in that pool, after just spending 9 months doing it themselves  - they were right at home with these oldies perfecting the art of regressing back into the womb.

The only solution, and I’m sure you’ll agree, was to beat them at their own game. If they swim slow, I’ll swim slow. If they can pretend that their mouths are blowholes and spew water back into the pool, so can I. If they can have wrinkly old backsides…OK, enough.

So I transformed into what old farts fear most.

The Swim Reaper.

Silently creeping up behind them, waiting to pounce, them BOOM! Splash past them at 100mph…

In hindsight, perhaps this is not the most friendly of ways for a sweet young man like myself to behave.I’m not sure of the demographics of the 5 of you who read this, but I’m pretty certain I haven’t offended any of you. But Grandad, if you’re reading, I’m sorry!

In truth, I love old people. No one has petitioned more vehemently than me for the Women’s Institute to make another ‘Calendar’.

My resolution? I’m going to let the old dudes chill in the pool in the day-time and I’ll go at 8pm. When they’re fast asleep.

baycb.

Peace