Spend, Spend, Spend... There's a Recession, You Know!

This month, I have mostly been spending... LOTS!

For the first week, I eBayed a load. I got a funky new Nigeria football shirt (I'll explain that one another time), some Battlestar Galactica stuff (lapel badge, which I collect, and a mousemat with hot cylons on for work), a leather jacket (because I've wanted one for ages) and some CDs (Rammstein, Guns 'n' Roses).

And I was excited by all of that! But today my excitement has hit a new level, thanks to this:


This is Xandra II.

Legend has it that I crash cars. Unfortunately, the legend is true. Xandra II would be my sixth car so far. One was old and had knackered suspension, two hit things, one wasn't in a fit state when I was given her and one survived!

One of the two dead ones, was the original Xandra. A dark metallic green Peugeot 406 Coupe SE, identical to the new one. And she was the love of my life (other than Sophie, of course!). Oh how I went into mourning for at least two months after smashing her into a pole, wiping out an entire villages electricity in the process! But the wait is over...


Xandra II is the same 2L model I had before. The 3L version would require me to take out a mortgage to feed her petrol habit! She has plenty of grunt, and a pretty big exhaust to scare small dogs with. For the £1,650 I paid for her, there are a few little dinks to iron out with a good t-cut and polish and a small crack in the front bumper (not my parking for once), but it was still a good price.

Little Tammy, the 1.2L Corsa, is on her way back to Devon soon to meet up with her new owner. It's shocking how the car sells for a grand less than I bought her last year! But it'll do nicely anyway.

I think my spending spree is pretty much over now though... the £60 to fill her up each time is going to clean me out real soon!!

Panic Attack.

My favourite song by my favourite (one of them) bands, Dream Theater, is Panic Attack. How ironic, then, would it be to actually start suffering from them?

Ironic, maybe, but pretty bloody annoying.


Some of you will know that I have always been a very up and down person. I've never been properly diagnosed with any type of depression, but do consider myself a sufferer of it. What started out in my teens as shyness, soon turned to random bouts of depression when I left school. This was coupled by an almost over-whelming fear of rejection.


For the majority of the time I was fine, just very quiet. I've often been described as laconic... I don't speak unless I have something to say (then I talk incessantly!!). But when I started going up to Hull to stay with Sophie, things got worse...

I would get claustrophobic in the kind of places I'd usually be fine. Being surrounded by hordes of people I didn't know scared the living crap out of me. At my first "social function" as Sophie's beau, I actually felt sick. I had to go to the toilet to cool myself down, and barely spoke to anyone. I stuck out like a sore thumb... and that made me incredibly self-conscious.

This continued to happen at random. Both in Hull, Farnham (Sophie's Uni) and even in Devon. I'd never had a problem with the age gap in our relationship, but maybe I was still worried what others thought...


But things got worse in January this year. My best mate, Gofer, another friend from school, Baz, and I set up a huge party to celebrate our 30th birthdays (belated for Gofer and I!). Eighty guests in total, about eighty percent of which I knew. I was to perform a DJ set of rock/metal music at some point that night.

I was nervy from the start, but managed to talk to a few friends and family members. But the closer to my set it got, the worse I became. Then, five minutes before my time, it struck: PANIC!

I mumbled at Gofer that I couldn't do it, and fled to the stairwell. Where I stayed for all but the last half hour of the night, when I'd been coaxed back down to sit with my family. For most of the night, the only contact I had was with Sophie and Matt Feld, drummer extra-ordinaire of Sanguine. Between them, they made sure it wasn't a complete waste of my time being at my own party (thanks guys)!


The straw that broke the camel's back came three days later. Back at work, I went to the toilet, feeling a little ill. When the upset stomach continued, and some came into the Gents and asked how I was, it struck again: PANIC!

Needless to say, I swiftly went home and stayed there for three days. I went to the doctor, who referred me for psychiatric treatment (still waiting!!) and put me on tranquilisers. These didn't work, as I had another attack trying to visit my Mum in London.


Since then I have been on Cipralex, an SSRI-inhibiter anti-depressant. Things are looking back up. After a further two weeks off work (whilst the Cipralex took effect), I began to feel better. Since then I have been at work and on course consistently, visited friends and family back in Devon and managed to play football again up here.

I have also joined a website for depression and anxiety disorders, No More Panic. They have been very helpful in my recovery and offer a lot of good advice. My bosses at Wettone Matthews, have been incredibly supportive, and that has been key to my recovery.



But I do not kid myself.
I am feeling better because I am drugged up (albeit it on a reasonably low dosage). I still get the twinges of thought... the feeling it could all go wrong. But they never appear, because they are masked by medication. I still have to work hard to overcome the crux of the problem... and the shrink will hopefully help me out here! But I'm still waiting for them...

It most likely boils down to my early childhood, where I was shipped about a bit. Parents divorcing is hard on any kid, and I'm the sort of person that bottles things up. Clearly, it's come to a head. Depression also is in the genes...


I must work hard to overcome my fears. I can beat this. I can do anything when I put my mind to it...

A Mini Rant!

What is the deal with new "Minis"? They are just so bloody common now!

Phee's friends at Uni all seem to be getting them, with three of her little circle of friends having "bought" them in the last year. They're just bloody everywhere! And the both the cars and their drivers annoy me.


First, let me start on the cars themselves. They are just not Minis! For a start, the inherently British icons of the motoring world are now German! And for a German car, they apparently have quite a few known faults. I mean, don't get me wrong, the Germans and Japanese make awesomely reliable cars on the whole!

And it's just not diddy enough. It's too big looking. It doesn't even have diddy wheels! This picture shows that the newer version is bigger. And just doesn't have the cute appeal:

And as for the drivers... well, they drive just like any other BMW driver: like a fucking wanker. No Mini EVER, will own the road. So why the drivers of them seem fit to try, I dunno! The tailgating bastard up my arse is now a BMW, 4x4 or a new "Mini" driver... basically, these silly cars are just BMWs for women!

And all these people go on about is how cute their car is. No it's not, it's bloody huge! And they normally have those ridiculous stripes now them. Or a silly roof!

If you want a Mini... get a REAL ONE!