Weeks of walking through snow, having to don footwear that was practical as opposed to comfortable. The threat of one of the local youths thinking it would be fun to throw a snowball at my head and the slowing down of my driving style to cope with snow-induced drift.

I had been forced to leave the warmth of my house for two reasons.

Firstly, I needed to talk to my local mechanic about the inability of the car to start in the freezing weather. I anticipated that his answer would be that it was probably the starter motor. Which would be helpful.

Secondly, the sound of small children throwing themselves down an incline outside my window had got really annoying. It doesn’t matter how many times they flew down the slope in an inflatable tyre, the constant squealing was enough to drive me out of the house and into the snow.

This was what greeted me in our “downtown” area. I wasn’t a happy bunny.

I don’t like snow. Period.

Yesterday (Monday), I picked my wife up from Boston airport and we drove back to our New England town. As we passed banks of shovelled slush, she asked me if Cohasset – where we live – was slightly more “snowy”. I replied in the grim affirmative. She likes snow, as does our dog who had been cavorting in the three inches of white powder that covered our garden (more a patch of untended grass, but you get the picture).

Which is why today – Tuesday – the joy that I felt when I went down to make the first cup of coffee of the day, glanced out of the window and saw that all the snow had melted was only dampened by the realization that, like The Terminator, it would be back.

The sun may be shining, I can see the grass on the incline next door but I am not naive enough to believe that we have seen the last of  Winter. Climate change may be playing a factor, but there will be more days when snow will cover the streets and children will get the time off from school.

In the same way that I know that we haven’t seen the last of Herman Cain and Michelle Bachmann, I know that the snow will return.

As will the children and their inflatable rubber ring. But this time I will be ready. On both counts.

Until then, I will enjoy my coffee in the sun.

I don’t drink coffee I take tea my dear, I like my toast done on one side,
And you can hear it in my accent when I talk,I’m an Englishman in New York

See me walking down Fifth Avenue, A walking cane here at my side,
I take it everywhere I walk, I’m an Englishman in New York

I’m an alien I’m a legal alien, I’m an Englishman in New York.
I’m an alien I’m a legal alien, I’m an Englishman in New York

Confession time. I have been dying to write these lyrics on this blog.

But I live just south of Boston, come to the Big Apple on an infrequent basis and, when I do, sitting down with the laptop is frowned upon by she-who-I-obey.

So this is the first time in over two years that I find myself sitting alone in the city that never sleeps with the chance to write about being an Englishman in New York.

I don’t have a walking cane, I have no real feelings about toast, am not intending to walk down Fifth Avenue and I drink more coffee than tea these days.

But I am a legal alien.

And that is enough of a connection for me to write this short post. Before I head into Brooklyn to see a punk band from Boston.

Thank you, New York, you’ve been great!

And, yes I know, that is Sting – that is kind of the point.

As Ali once remarked (to probably an entire room of people, hanging on his every word) – “Old age is just a record of one’s whole life.“

Nuff said.

Others will just be looking at one person.

Tim Tebow, the Quarterback for the Denver Broncos whose team play the New England Patriots in a game of throwball that some people consider to be vaguely important and which could ruin the first holiday weekend of the year for most New Englanders.

And the reason for this scrutiny? Why do we care what Tim does?

Because young Tebow is a very high-profile Christian. Not in a head-of-the-church sort of way or even the possibility that he may be using his faith as some sort of branding exercise but because Tim has made damn sure that we all know it is an all-seeing being that is to take the credit for his “success”.

For anyone who doesn’t know (or care) who this bloke is, he is an American Footballer who was very good at college, got selected in the first round of the NFL draft in 2010 and now plays for the Denver Broncos.

When he does anything good – scores a touchdown, completes a pass (which apparently doesn’t happen that often) or opens a can of soda successfully – he drops to his knees and “tebows”; basically a public display of praying.

And there is nothing inherently wrong with that.

Religion is very popular in the USA, allegiance is pledged to “one nation under God.” Just look at the current bunch of nominees vying to be the next Republican presidential nominee – all religious, all convinced that God is sitting in their campaign office and producing their bumper stickers.

Tebow’s religious beliefs shouldn’t really be a cause for concern but it is very fashionable to thank the Lord for everything and to claim that it is all part of the Almighty’s plan. That every little thing that happens is down to the personal intervention of a merciful being who is following your progress like a kindly uncle (or aunt).

Michelle Bachmann believed that her entire life had been mapped out by God, numerous entertainment figures have included him/her in their acknowledgements of success and sports figures are always claiming that their talent is a “gift from God”. The latest series of Sweet Home Alabama – a TV show that attempts to match eligible Southern bachelors with an attractive Southern belle – started with the young lady concerned stating that “God has a plan for me to find love and this is the way that he wants me to do it.”

Which is obviously on a reality TV show with cameras following every move.

My problem is that with all this praying and thanking, God might get a bit overwhelmed. There are only so many hours in the day, even for an omnipotent being.

I have started to think that perhaps “God” is just some sort of religious call center. A collection of ethereal beings that deal with all the messages that come from this mortal coil, all sitting in white cubicles and dealing with requests as quickly as they can. A huge office that is split into various religions (based on popularity and community membership) and that is available 24/7 for all your divine needs. Based in Asgard.

“Thank you for calling the 24 Hour Theological Hotline – How May I Direct Your Call?”

But I could be wrong.

All I know for certain is that if Tim does well against the Patriots, his first action will be to Tebow. And everyone else will wonder why God didn’t return their calls.

After decrying the former Massachusetts governor for backing government-mandated healthcare, taxpayer-funded abortions and raising taxes, the ad delivers the coup de grace.

In 2004, Republicans said then Democratic White House hopeful John Kerry “looks French”

“Massachusetts moderate Mitt Romney – he’ll say anything to win. Anything,” warns the narrator. “And just like John Kerry he speaks French, too.”

It is followed by a clip of Democratic Senator Kerry saying, “Laissez les bon temps rouler”, juxtaposed with another of Mr Romney saying, “Bonjour, je m’appelle Mitt Romney.”

Note to GOP: Republicans, aren’t you all on the same side? If you can’t decide which one of you is the best candidate for the job, why don’t you just play a friendly game of rock-paper-scissors-lizard-spock? It would be more dignified than this constant flood of negativity.

And just in case anyone reading thinks that this is me getting behind Mitt…I’m not. He isn’t my type.

Andrei Arshavin has all the grace, technique and shooting ability of a park gate. That guy couldn’t hit a billboard with a tennis ball last night! Regarding Arsenals striking options without RVP, it speaks volumes for me that the winner had to come from an old legend, shipped in for the MLS close season.

For the uninformed, this relates to a soccer game. This quote was taken from the BBC website and was written by a disgruntled supporter of the team that lost.

I love it.

One of them has invaded our lives on a regular basis and presents an array of preening, pointless objects who compete for our affection. The other one sits in the corner of the room and screams for attention but fails to offer any real satisfaction – unless you are watching the BBC.

Both are linked by blood but only one needs to have it to survive. The other one just likes to depict it’s use in slow-motion. Both annoy me in equal measure.

But away from the fictional worlds of rubbish creatures of the night, blood is needed on a constant basis. Putting it simply, if you got blood to spare, the Red Cross wants it. One pint at a time.

This month the American Red Cross has partnered up with Dunkin’ Donuts in their annual “Give A Pint, Get A Pound” drive for fresh blood in New England.

Turn up in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine, New York, Connecticut or Vermont to donate in January and you will get the chance to replace your essential fluids with a pound of Dunkin’s finest coffee – not at the same time, even Dunkin draw the line at pumping steaming hot caffeine directly into your blood stream.

Collecting blood is a full-time job for the Red Cross and they are always looking for more donors.

Unless you don’t qualify.

There are the usual stipulations about recent tattoos, drug use and sexual activity. You need to be over 17, taller than Snooki and healthy. You shouldn’t really be pregnant and turning up with the flu isn’t the best idea.

But as long as I live in the USA, I will never be able to donate – even if I wanted to.

It’s nothing to do with my phobia of needles and any previous lifestyle choices. I haven’t had a tattoo  since 2007 and I play sport on a regular basis. I am not short and I am unlikely to ever be with child.

But I did live in the United Kingdom. For quite some time.

According to the Red Cross (using Food & Drug Administration guidelines), You are not eligible to donate if:

From January 1, 1980, through December 31, 1996, you spent (visited or lived) a cumulative time of 3 months or more, in the United Kingdom (UK), or
From January 1, 1980, to present, you had a blood transfusion in any country(ies) in the (UK). The UK includes any of the countries listed below.

• Channel Islands, England, Falkland Islands, Gibraltar, Isle of Man, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales.

I have lost count of the amount of useless crap that I have been offered or even stuff that I might be interested in. Filtering takes time and I don’t have the inclination to click on every message that offers me concert tickets for bands I don’t like or for books that I will never read.

There should be some sort of central place that tells insurance companies that you already have cover – or at the very least list the renewal date of the policy so that nearer expiry I am more likely to want to investigate the lack of cover that they can offer me.

Same goes for retail establishments that I bought something from…once. If I haven’t come back to your site since, then your product was probably rubbish or I don’t need another one. Stop asking me if I want to buy another kayak or telling me about your attempts to clear your shelves of stuff that didn’t sell. If I want something, I will come to you…that is how retail used to work.

But this week I have been inundated with offers to buy my own XXX domain name.

Apparently, for only $130 I can protect myself against some adult performer buying davebolton.xxx and using it to distribute pornographic material on the Internet.

To which I say…thanks, but I am not that bothered about attaching XXX to my name. It actually has made me kind of sad that the Internet will now be able to identify the adult industry by the domain registration.

Where is the fun in searching for cheapboilers.com if the .xxx tells you that it is a porn site starring women of questionable morals? Stumbling upon a site that you assumed was selling rubber hoses for use in the garden and discovering the full versatility of an innocent object would never happen if there is .xxx at the end.

Even worse, the adult industry will now feel compelled to reveal themselves with full disclosure…just  having .xxx is a signpost to what is being offered. The unwary traveller will be able to negotiate the tricky minefield of suspicious sites without the fear of clogging up his search history with what he (or she) was secretly looking for.

So if anyone wants to attach my name to a .xxx site…feel free. I am certainly not going to pay for the privilege.

Bachmann had been hoping that her faith in the Almighty would be enough to guarantee her path to the White House but found that her Lord was not in the mood to piss around with candidates that were unlikely to win the nomination.

The odds were stacked heavily against Michelle from the start and despite being a leading contender for fifteen minutes in the middle of September 2011, her campaign had stumbled along like an athlete with a torn hamstring. The only plus in her favor was that she outlasted Herman Cain, whose own belief systems had taken a fearful battering when it was revealed that he got his inspiration not from a higher power but through the teachings of Pokemon.

Beaten but unrepetant, the Minnesota congresswoman was grateful for the chance to secure her spot as a commentator for Fox News and vowed that this would not be the last we would see of her as the race to challenge Obama finally starts to weed out the wheat from the chaff.

Bachmann has been  an illuminating presence on the campaign trail, her grasp of international politics and American history has been a shining example to all and her withdrawal from the race now means that Rick Perry can start planning his own path towards inevitable failure.

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Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 5,200 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.