What would Jack Bauer do...on his day off?

Dear Diary,

It's me again. It's Saturday and I'm so bored.

I phoned in to CTU when I woke up this morning. There's no crisis. The intelligence on the terrorist cell in Santa Monica turned out be bogus. They're a scout troop apparently. They were working on a craftwork badge, not a dirty bomb. I offered to come in and handle the interrogations, but they don't want me to. Hmph...I could get them to talk.

I don't like being in the office any more. No-one will look me in the eye. It's as if they are trying to pretend that they don't see me. In retrospect, maybe murdering a guy in the conference room and cutting a his off with a hacksaw was wrong and created a lot of extra work for the underpaid contract cleaning staff.

Friday night turned into a mess. My suspicions were aroused when I noticed the guys at the office acting strangely as they edged silently towards the exits. I confronted them about their behaviour. Rather sheepishly they admitted that it was Jose's birthday and that they were going out for beer and pizza. I just hadn't received the e-mail that went to everyone in the office. I apologised to Jose for putting the loaded gun to his kneecap and particularly for punching him in the throat. I tried to pretend that I was kidding and that I knew it was his birthday all along. Jose really is a good sport.

I'll get IT to check the e-mail server on Monday.

After the first round everyone had to go somewhere else (even though I was buying). I tried to tell a funny story about when I voluntarily became a heroin addict to maintain my cover with Mexican drug dealers. I guess you just had to be there.

Kim never phones any more. She blames me for being kidnapped, trapped in a locked room during a nerve gas attack and the whole cougar thing. Children- you try to bring them up, you try to teach them right from wrong, you try to make sure that they leave town prior to a nuclear attack on the city, but they're never grateful.

Tonight I'm planning to go a speed-dating evening again. It's been hard for me to meet women, since Teri was murdered. By my ex-girlfriend who was a mole in CTU. And Audrey was tortured and left catatonic by the Chinese.

Speed dating is difficult. Dammit. You just don't have the time.

I should try to get to the pet store today. My terrapin died while I faked my own death to prevent my being betrayed by my own government. I miss Louie. He was a good pet, serene undemanding and loyal. I wish I could get a dog. I just can't chance it. I could be called into service at any time, have to work through a crisis which strangely seems to be resolved within 24 hours. Who would walk him? I will put a note in the office suggestion box on Monday that we have a pet creche in the office.

I have a nice meal planned for today. The Plan-a-meal for one book which Chloe gave me is working out really well. I like to cook. When I'm working I don't usually have time to eat. Duck a l'orange with Dauphinoise potatoes and steamed vegetables. It's a little elaborate, but it helps to pass the time.

Dammit...I have so much time.

My Nemesis

Nemesis.


It is defined as an opponent or rival whom a person cannot best or overcome.

My personal nemesis lives in my house. He sleeps under my roof. He eats food that I pay for. He takes up two thirds of my sofa every evening, snuggling up to my wife. He hates my family and acts up around them. He steals food off my plate when I'm eating. He wakes me up during the middle of the night. He consumes every resource I possess but never even says thank you.

He is my dog- Harpo.

Harpo is a German pointer dalmatian cross, which my wife and I rescued last year when he was just a puppy. At the time I thought to my myself that it was ok, I liked dogs. I didn't mind that he was going to need some training and a lot of exercise. That was part of it. And besides, I liked dogs.

8 month later, I discover that I like dogs. I just hate Harpo.

It probably isn't his fault. When I was a kid, we had a dog at home. He was a black labrador and he went everywhere with me. He even slept in my bed. And I didn't mind.

He was docile and friendly. He was a neighbour dog. Kids in the road played with him and he loved playing with them. He was my best friend.

Throughout that time my mother would periodically go ballistic when the dog did something wrong (bark, scratch the door, pee on the floor). She would rant and rave about him.

I had to have him put to sleep when I was 19 when he got really ill. I cried for days. The mere thought of the dog made me weep uncontrolably.

I didn't own a dog between that day and last July when we got Harpo. I'm a little older now. I own my own home. I realise where my mother was coming from. I find that my patience (what lilttle of it remains) is tried on a daily basis.

So yes, I hate him.

Some of the time.

Then there are other times -When he sits beside me when I'm sitting on the stairs making a phone call, licking my ears, or when he snuggles up to my wife when she's ill.

At the moment, he's lying beside me on the sofa, docile as a kitten and we're watching 3:10 to Yuma.

He likes Westerns. He can't be all bad.

Greetings Earthling

Ok. I know that my title is a little bit of a cliche. I hope that you don't hold that against me.

Welcome to my blog. This is the Backwards elephant.

The Backwards elephant is my attempt to dump my thoughts about things I like, things I don't like, things that make me furious, things that I find confusing, things that I find vaguely interesting and people that I admire.

I am Simon by the way. I am 33 years old, happily married (to Lucy), with a dog (a German pointer/Dalmatian cross called Harpo) and a nice little Yellow house in Celbridge (a little town in Ireland not too far from Dublin).

I decided to start the blog last weekend. I read the newspaper and there was really only one story- the recession. It was pretty depressing. According to the papers the apocalyse has already come...While this should have lead me to reassess my financial planning and redouble my efforts at work, it lead me to buy a lot of black leather, to refit my Skoda Fabia estate into an interceptor a la Mad Max 2 and plan how to fight off the marauding biker gangs.

I reckoned that I should try to remind myself about the things that I have, the things that I love and write about them, thus sharing the love (God I hate how new-agey I am sounding right now).

It will probably be only sporadically coherent. I can't always guarantee that I will be wearing trousers when I am posting. However this one of my fervent hopes.

At least in these troubled times I have something to aim for.

Good night and Happy Trails,
Simon