Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Time gentlemen please?
Why can't I say what time I published these posts? Blogger appear to have removed that capability.
I am posting in GMT, not fucking EST, CET, MST, PST or any other excuses for an American time-zone.
GMT.
Also known as Universal Time.
Universal Time. The time by which the universe works.
God's Time.
Fuky'all.
[Yup - drunk]
PS. There was nothing wrong with the damned car. I've never had such a reliable vehicle!
[edit - Found the new setting which tells Blogger which time zone I'm in... rant over. For now.]
I am posting in GMT, not fucking EST, CET, MST, PST or any other excuses for an American time-zone.
GMT.
Also known as Universal Time.
Universal Time. The time by which the universe works.
God's Time.
Fuky'all.
[Yup - drunk]
PS. There was nothing wrong with the damned car. I've never had such a reliable vehicle!
[edit - Found the new setting which tells Blogger which time zone I'm in... rant over. For now.]
I am off brunettes...
I am off brunettes... I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...
But other than that, Paul, Buz and I failed to win the Pub Quiz at the George. Still, we had a merry evening and played the machines too. I spent my time admiring the GORGEOUS Kelly. But, eh, see above.
Actually my day consisted of email-bugging Buz about his upcoming "special delivery" courtesy of Mrs Buz. He's very excited and took on board my suggestions for names (Boy: Alf; Girl: Alfina). It's all very thrilling.
Bought Grandma an Advent calendar. It was a Spiderman one. Not exactly, shall we say, Advent-y, but anything for her to have a bit of Adventness. We'll see. It's got chocolate in it too. I bought an extra one too, and dropped it round to the lovely Harry so he could share it with his Dad. Poor Harry's mum has hurt herself bad through having an atrocious cough and has to have a sling to support her arm as the muscles are damaged in her side.
Bah. Now, if you've not worked it out:
I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...
But other than that, Paul, Buz and I failed to win the Pub Quiz at the George. Still, we had a merry evening and played the machines too. I spent my time admiring the GORGEOUS Kelly. But, eh, see above.
Actually my day consisted of email-bugging Buz about his upcoming "special delivery" courtesy of Mrs Buz. He's very excited and took on board my suggestions for names (Boy: Alf; Girl: Alfina). It's all very thrilling.
Bought Grandma an Advent calendar. It was a Spiderman one. Not exactly, shall we say, Advent-y, but anything for her to have a bit of Adventness. We'll see. It's got chocolate in it too. I bought an extra one too, and dropped it round to the lovely Harry so he could share it with his Dad. Poor Harry's mum has hurt herself bad through having an atrocious cough and has to have a sling to support her arm as the muscles are damaged in her side.
Bah. Now, if you've not worked it out:
I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...I am off brunettes...
Morning is Busted...
[Pic: Ipswich. 30th November. 7:45am.]
It was cold, oh-so-cold, this morning. I had to take the car to the mechanic (he's good, mail me for his number) and get a lift into work with Kev.
Of course, it all went horribly wrong on the A12 - there was an accident (for fuck's sake, it's ICY) - so we ended up being an entire hour late for work, having sat very still whilst the police, ambulance and fire brigade swept up body parts with a dustpan and brush.
It's Italian for "I'm driving"
All my troubles seemed to far a-weave
Now it looks as though they're here to Steve
Oh I believe
In yestereve
Last night, being a Tuesday, is usually one of the evenings I pop in and see my forgetful Grandma. Bless her. However, yes indeed, last night there was a change to the scheduled programme and a bunch of us from work went out in to Colchester for drinks, then food, then more drinks. Except Kev 'girled' it.
Although it was a leaving do for two of our colleagues, Silke and Phil, it was good fun, and I got to meet yet more people I'll never remember the names of. But I do know that I was sat next to Stu on one side and Phil, who paid for it all (but isn't the Phil who's leaving), on the other. Interestingly (if you like such things as this fact coming up next) Phil sounds almost exactly like Jeremy Hardy off the radio. He's also on QI. Jeremy Hardy, that is, not Phil.
The night kicked off with drinks at the Ha!Ha! Bar (where I had my one pint of beer) and then moved to Prezzo's in Culver Street. There I watched as gallons of wine was duly ordered, and so was my bottle of Diet Coke. Ha! These people with their wine - they don't know they're born (and actually by the end of the evening, most of them were nigh on dead). Some excellent food was served, and the wine proved too tempting not to have a small taste. The red was a rather smashing Sicillian Merlot with tones of raisin and Christmas (Oops, I appear to be up my own arse). Disappointingly the white turned out to be a totally dreary Chardonnay, though the nose was very honey. But then Chardonnary is totally over-rated.
In my opinion*.
I waded my way through water and more Diet Coke as well as a very tasty goats cheese and red onion tart followed by a mozzerella and pesto burger. It was good, but the pesto was not at the front of the taste sensation. Dessert (two esses like "pudding" has two dees) was the cheesecake. Now I consider myself a bit of a cheesecake expert, as previously discussed, Rob reckons he wants one off me for Christmas. So making cheesecake is something I can do. I understand the very soul of cheesecake: its essence weeps from my pores (Although don't let that put you off eating it if ever I make you one).
This cheesecake was divine. Heavenly. Nigh-on-perfect. And the reason? It was made with marscapone. Oh yes. So creamy, yet oh-so-light. Beautiful. If you get to try one at a Prezzo, go for it.
After the meal was sorted, we headed on out to Edwards. Very loud, full of students and despite the cash-strapped crowds, rather pricey. Eye candy was at a premium and I spotted but three young ladies worthy of any attention. But like I said, I wasn't drinking so I had no intention of going anywhere near them (and besides, their baby-sitters would have got cross).
Dropped off some folks to save them having to get a taxi, and headed home. Night done by 12:30.
Slept incredibly badly. Not only was my electric blanket on, but so was the heating for some strange reason. This meant I kept waking in puddles of my own sweat. Annoying once, but after the third time, downright disgusting.
*Opinions expressed in this Blog are correct. Your opinions are wrong. Get used to it.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Wake up!
Hey that picture there... Yes that one. Check out the caption here: [Pic: It really really is the Everly Brothers]. I was trying to take the picture with "night mode" on the camera, but all of a sudden they shoved the ruddy house lights up, so it's all a blur.
Phil and Don hit the Ipswich Regent this evening on the last date of their UK tour. Dubbed the "Last Chance To See..." tour by those less caring than I*, the Bros have been tirelessly slogging it out around Britain, breaking only for Sanatogen fortified wine and Fybogel Orange.
To be honest I wasn't expecting much, I mean how many hits have they actually had? Answer: About 4 - maximum. Probably 3 if we're realistic. And I'd seen them twice when they toured with Simon and Garfunkel in the States and Europe. But it must be said that they did fantastically well (although once more Ipswich Regent proved itself unworthy of decent music acts as the sound was atrocious when the entire band was playing). The acoustic section in the second half was great though.
For old boys they've still got really good voices (when you could hear them through the feedback and overly loud band), so good on 'em.
Of course, I didn't opt to go - this was a belated birthday present for dear Mother, and she had a good time. So Job done - Result. And thanks have to go out to Trevor (who ignored me at the station last Wednesday) for sorting the tickets.
And so, with about two bars of "Kathy's Clown" circling around in my head, I'm going to try and get some sleepy-time. But I know damn well that the music in my head is too loud to let me do that...
* OK, it was me.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Dammit... my head
If you're reading this, please read it quietly.
Last night I took myself along to the Beer Festival at the Dove Street Inn. Yikes, what a night! What a selection of beers! What a selection of ciders! What a selection of hangover cures! Yes, there is someone in my head and they're trying to get out through my eyeballs. This minute. As I type. So forgive any spelling mistakes, I can barely make out the keyboard.
I think my downfall was a beer called Kriek. Having started nice and easily with a pint of my old favourite "Albert" (4.4%) from the Earl Soham brewery, I then had a half of a beer called "Plum pudding" (4%) (which is a curious brew that's for sure). Swiftly I followed this up with a pint of cider, "Ruby Tuesday" (6.3%), which is like drinking Quosh and is, as you'd expect, bright red. Finally, I happend upon Kriek.
Kriek is a fruit-based beer, which should be for the ladies, naturally. It's just the 6 per-cent and is available to you, sir, at £2 for a half-pint. It's dark, thick, reddy-brown and tastes fantastic. Not too sweet, not too bitter, full of fruit. A real pleasure to drink, which is why, I guess, I feel like this.
Of course, last night was my frist try-out of the UK's new "relaxed" licensing laws. So come 11pm, we were able to go buy more beer. The same is true of 11:15, 11:30 and 11:45. At midnight it was decided that enough was enough and we left (quietly) by the back door, which is what the landlord had asked us to do. I guess it's part of their late license deal with the neighbours.
So logically, the only people to blame for my headache and general feeling of can't be arsed-nes, are the Government. Bunch of bastards. I'd say "Let's rise up and over-frow dem, bruvvers", but I'd only get myself arrested for being a "radical". So I won't.
I also have a vague recollection of agreeing to make a cheesecake for Mr Turner. He was thinking of a "Topic" and brandy cheesecake. I'm sure it'll be fine.
Honest.
Last night I took myself along to the Beer Festival at the Dove Street Inn. Yikes, what a night! What a selection of beers! What a selection of ciders! What a selection of hangover cures! Yes, there is someone in my head and they're trying to get out through my eyeballs. This minute. As I type. So forgive any spelling mistakes, I can barely make out the keyboard.
I think my downfall was a beer called Kriek. Having started nice and easily with a pint of my old favourite "Albert" (4.4%) from the Earl Soham brewery, I then had a half of a beer called "Plum pudding" (4%) (which is a curious brew that's for sure). Swiftly I followed this up with a pint of cider, "Ruby Tuesday" (6.3%), which is like drinking Quosh and is, as you'd expect, bright red. Finally, I happend upon Kriek.
Kriek is a fruit-based beer, which should be for the ladies, naturally. It's just the 6 per-cent and is available to you, sir, at £2 for a half-pint. It's dark, thick, reddy-brown and tastes fantastic. Not too sweet, not too bitter, full of fruit. A real pleasure to drink, which is why, I guess, I feel like this.
Of course, last night was my frist try-out of the UK's new "relaxed" licensing laws. So come 11pm, we were able to go buy more beer. The same is true of 11:15, 11:30 and 11:45. At midnight it was decided that enough was enough and we left (quietly) by the back door, which is what the landlord had asked us to do. I guess it's part of their late license deal with the neighbours.
So logically, the only people to blame for my headache and general feeling of can't be arsed-nes, are the Government. Bunch of bastards. I'd say "Let's rise up and over-frow dem, bruvvers", but I'd only get myself arrested for being a "radical". So I won't.
I also have a vague recollection of agreeing to make a cheesecake for Mr Turner. He was thinking of a "Topic" and brandy cheesecake. I'm sure it'll be fine.
Honest.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Turkey
Oh yeah, Happy Thanksgiving to all our American readers (with a minute to spare).
London, England
Went to see my lovely pal Fiona last night in London. I've not seen her in probably 8 years (when I bumped into her in the meat aisle of Sainsburys in town), and not spent any length of time with her for possibly a decade.
Fi lives in Spain and sells houses out there to rich-wannabe-ex-pats. And more power to her, I say.
It would seem that this weekend is a big holiday homes exhibition in London's Docklands, so I hot-footed it back from work, dumped the car in Old Work's car park, and ran for a train to London to go see Fiona for dinner in Covent Garden. We had a great time, and where the four hours went, god only knows. But I got a couple of cool pictures of us taken at Liverpool Street Station. I include one here for the comedy value [Pic: Look into my eyes, only my eyes, not around the eyes, but into my eyes...].
The journey back was of no interest, apart from the snoring woman across the corridor, and at least they bothered to put the heating on in the train (something they didn't bother about on the way down to the City). On the way down, whilst stood at Ipswich Station I happend upon the following fine specimens of folk: work colleague Tom (now working for Royal & SunAlliance in London), Friday curry-night pals Simon and Shayne, BT employee of the year Trevor and occasional presenter of "Home Truths" Paul Heiney. Oh and Tim who used to teach Buz and I A-level computing at the Civic College.
Bought myself the now traditional copy of Private Eye for reading on the journey and enjoyed it mightily. Same old jokes but as I very rarely buy it these days there's a comfort in the humour and always a wry smile at their investigative journalism and the exposes of the shenanigans at the Houses of Parliament, in the press and other national institutions. Ah Britain, where is your Greatness these days?
A Poet Laureate writes
Andrew Motion's Latest Poem
So farewell then George Best
With your health worries
And your pint of Best (Er.. - Ed)
You won't be long for this world
Perhaps it's for the best (You're fired - Ed)
You'll soon be playing for "new Liver"-pool
In the sky league
And prove you're the Best of the Best (Arrrrgh! - Ed)
A minute's silence this weekend
For a drunk and wife beater
And later, a salute
With beer by the litre
(Not dead yet, not quite alive
Like that other George, Bush
This poem's a pre-emptive strike)
(c) A Motion 2005, UEA Creative Writing Graduate (Third)
Heh. Now far be it from me to insult a fellow UEA Creative Writing dude, but Andrew Motion writes really rubbish poetry. And yet Radio 4 get him in at the drop of a hat to write some lines on this or that, just because I guess, he's the Poet Laureate.
Edit: Last night on the BBC Six o'Clock News, a reporter stood in front of the hospital where George Best is currently refusing to acknowledge the Ultimate call of "last orders please", mentioned that the atmosphere outside amongst the people gathered there was "very sober indeed". Taking the piss? Hmmm.
So farewell then George Best
With your health worries
And your pint of Best (Er.. - Ed)
You won't be long for this world
Perhaps it's for the best (You're fired - Ed)
You'll soon be playing for "new Liver"-pool
In the sky league
And prove you're the Best of the Best (Arrrrgh! - Ed)
A minute's silence this weekend
For a drunk and wife beater
And later, a salute
With beer by the litre
(Not dead yet, not quite alive
Like that other George, Bush
This poem's a pre-emptive strike)
(c) A Motion 2005, UEA Creative Writing Graduate (Third)
Heh. Now far be it from me to insult a fellow UEA Creative Writing dude, but Andrew Motion writes really rubbish poetry. And yet Radio 4 get him in at the drop of a hat to write some lines on this or that, just because I guess, he's the Poet Laureate.
Edit: Last night on the BBC Six o'Clock News, a reporter stood in front of the hospital where George Best is currently refusing to acknowledge the Ultimate call of "last orders please", mentioned that the atmosphere outside amongst the people gathered there was "very sober indeed". Taking the piss? Hmmm.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
No brainer
Tuesday. Evening of nothing. My chance to piss time away down the toilet of life. Fuky'all this is Me Time.
Still, went to see Grandma in her home for an hour after work, then to Sainsburys for some tea and cleaning products (mustn't get those two mixed up) and finally - finally - this is me. With Nothing To Do Except Veg.
I did exceptionally well in not buying the "Doctor Who" Tardis-shaped DVD box set whilst at the superbmarket. And I managed to not buy "Batman Begins", or three other DVDs in the 3-for-20 quid special offer. Or the "Alias" season 3 box set. But. But! I did fall foul of the wicked marketing scams involving Cadbury's Jaffa Cakes (yes, Cadbury's) and some sugar-free jelly sweets as recommended by friend Kev.
Let's examine the schedule:
1. Pizza.
2. Wine.
3. Read emails.
4. Catch the end 10 minutes of "Top Gear".
5. All new season 9 episode of "Stargate SG-1" (featuring "Farscape"'s Ben Browder (and one of the future Mrs Boredofjams, Claudia Black, up until she got sucked into a black hole last week - damn those quantum singularities)).
6. Resident Evil 4 into the wee hours.
Now I'm a bit of a casual "Stargate" viewer, and I'm only really watching this series as it's supposedly a "new start" with Crichton taking over as leader of the pack and Macguyver leaving to spend more time with his Grecian 2000.
But, how come:
* Teal'c has hair and gets more like Mr. Spock with every passing episode (right down to the raising of an eyebrow when a puny human suggests something 'crazy' and a big ceremonial cloak 'a la' "Search for Spock")
* They can teleport now? Teleport? Jeez. I guess one kind of amazing instantaneous space-travel just ain't enough for some on-going sci-fi series.
* Beau Bridges? The last time I saw this guy, he was in "The Fabulous Baker Boys".
Still I suppose it will do while I wait for the second-half of the second series of the new "Battlestar Galactica" to air in the US and there ain't going to be any more "Farscape" any time soon (if ever).
Beh, zombie killin' time...
Still, went to see Grandma in her home for an hour after work, then to Sainsburys for some tea and cleaning products (mustn't get those two mixed up) and finally - finally - this is me. With Nothing To Do Except Veg.
I did exceptionally well in not buying the "Doctor Who" Tardis-shaped DVD box set whilst at the superbmarket. And I managed to not buy "Batman Begins", or three other DVDs in the 3-for-20 quid special offer. Or the "Alias" season 3 box set. But. But! I did fall foul of the wicked marketing scams involving Cadbury's Jaffa Cakes (yes, Cadbury's) and some sugar-free jelly sweets as recommended by friend Kev.
Let's examine the schedule:
1. Pizza.
2. Wine.
3. Read emails.
4. Catch the end 10 minutes of "Top Gear".
5. All new season 9 episode of "Stargate SG-1" (featuring "Farscape"'s Ben Browder (and one of the future Mrs Boredofjams, Claudia Black, up until she got sucked into a black hole last week - damn those quantum singularities)).
6. Resident Evil 4 into the wee hours.
Now I'm a bit of a casual "Stargate" viewer, and I'm only really watching this series as it's supposedly a "new start" with Crichton taking over as leader of the pack and Macguyver leaving to spend more time with his Grecian 2000.
But, how come:
* Teal'c has hair and gets more like Mr. Spock with every passing episode (right down to the raising of an eyebrow when a puny human suggests something 'crazy' and a big ceremonial cloak 'a la' "Search for Spock")
* They can teleport now? Teleport? Jeez. I guess one kind of amazing instantaneous space-travel just ain't enough for some on-going sci-fi series.
* Beau Bridges? The last time I saw this guy, he was in "The Fabulous Baker Boys".
Still I suppose it will do while I wait for the second-half of the second series of the new "Battlestar Galactica" to air in the US and there ain't going to be any more "Farscape" any time soon (if ever).
Beh, zombie killin' time...
Yikes! Pizza in the oven
And here was me going to type my little heart out!
Junk food calls!
Junk food calls!
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Dad at Burtons
Found out this very evening (before I got my stew and wine) that my top pal Buz (you'll have heard of him from previous episodes) and his excellent lady wife Clare are due a baby.
Hurrah!
Clare's 16 weeks in (they thought she was 12) and having counted back, it would seem that Buz was on a course when Clare conceived. Yikes. That's the sort of saucy email/text message that gets you kicked out of your job...
But yay! It's fab news. They're just coming up to their first wedding anniversary too. So, come next May there will be yet more pitter-pattering of tiny feet amongst my friends.
Again: Hurrah!
Hurrah!
Clare's 16 weeks in (they thought she was 12) and having counted back, it would seem that Buz was on a course when Clare conceived. Yikes. That's the sort of saucy email/text message that gets you kicked out of your job...
But yay! It's fab news. They're just coming up to their first wedding anniversary too. So, come next May there will be yet more pitter-pattering of tiny feet amongst my friends.
Again: Hurrah!
Hotels, bars, dictatorships
"Hello, I'd like a room for the night and my basic human rights taken away from me."
"Certainly sir."
[Pics: Ipswich Novotel Hates Democracy] + detail. Taken in traffic this evening.
Got the message?Monday, November 21, 2005
Build a bridge
Want a mention in my blog? Then just send me your details and your favourite phrase in a mail or a text and I'm your Blogwhore. Ho yessir indeedy. It'll not cost you a lot. Just your soul.
Ahahahahaha, only joking...*
And what's this, hot on the text messaging machine...? Why! It's a message from my little sister.
Turns out I have to mention that I (hold on, let me read this right) have an amazing sister.
Her phrase that she wanted including is the title for this entry, so mission accomplished. It's her birthday soon, too, so I'm going to pop down and see her (and the rest of my Dad's family) for the weekend. Which will be fab, cos I've not seen them for ages. But it also means I've got to do birthday and Christmas shopping right soon so I can take some presents down with me. Hurrah for the internet and secure shopping sites, eh?
* Joke only applicable to first 20 entrants.
Ahahahahaha, only joking...*
And what's this, hot on the text messaging machine...? Why! It's a message from my little sister.
Turns out I have to mention that I (hold on, let me read this right) have an amazing sister.
Her phrase that she wanted including is the title for this entry, so mission accomplished. It's her birthday soon, too, so I'm going to pop down and see her (and the rest of my Dad's family) for the weekend. Which will be fab, cos I've not seen them for ages. But it also means I've got to do birthday and Christmas shopping right soon so I can take some presents down with me. Hurrah for the internet and secure shopping sites, eh?
* Joke only applicable to first 20 entrants.
Little Shop of Auditions
My mate Clare asked me today if I'd audition for the part of Oren (the Dentist) in the musical "Little Shop of Horrors". She reckons they've not got anyone good enough to play the part and I'd just be ideal.
Bless her. As much as I'd be tempted to (and I've done the part previously - In My Dreams) I'm not sure I've got the time to devote to such a thing. You know, rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals. Where will I fit in everything else I have to do?
Still, I'll think about it. I promised her that.
Bless her. As much as I'd be tempted to (and I've done the part previously - In My Dreams) I'm not sure I've got the time to devote to such a thing. You know, rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals. Where will I fit in everything else I have to do?
Still, I'll think about it. I promised her that.
And on the seventh day...
Hot damn, I gotta join the queue for the Evangeline Lilly fan club. In fact, hell, despite the fact that I'm "off" brunettes for now, I'm pushing to the front.
But, in a "Lost" stylee, let's have a flashback shall we? (Before I hunt down and kill Jamie Oliver whose fat-tongued mug is hocking individual prawn cocktails for Sainsburys at the moment).
Today is officially a day of rest. This is what I'm sure I've heard many times before. So:
Got up, tidied my flat, went to church, came back. Made lunch for Mother (possibly made a mistake by telling her about blog), went to see Grandma (and handed over cash for the privelege (it's haircut day tomorrow and she needs a sub)), went to see my cool chum Harry (and his mum and Dad) where I played "Star Wars" with, like, real Star Wars figures, and ate some fantastic choccy biscuits (Co-Op Orange Chocolate Cookies, 92p a pack). Went back to church for a brilliant service organised by the young people in the church. Then to the pub for a couple of pintas of the now legendary Greene King IPA.
Obviously not as busy as it could have been (and I managed to con Mother into ironing my work shirts) but quite full, but quite the most excellent day.
So Harry is gorgeous. He's 4 (and a bit) and every bit his mum and dad's son. Especially his dad's son. Harry's dad is a big ol' comics/super heroes/sci-fi nut. And Harry, obviously, worships him, and knows more about such things than I'll ever be able to comprehend. Anyway, it was an honour to be invited round for a play session (even though I ain't nowhere near as good as his dad at being a baddie from Batman or Star Wars or Justice League. Or the Fantastic Four. Or anything.)
Work tomorrow (hurrah! I love my new job), and damn if I have completely failed to put any bloody petrol in the car. Hell, up early tomorrow otherwise I'll be stuck in the horrific morning traffic. Amused? Nah. No doubt there will be black ice on the roads and everyone will drive like idiots. They do it every other day, so I don't see why a bit of friction-free road surface should change their minds.
And so (as they used to say), to bed...
But, in a "Lost" stylee, let's have a flashback shall we? (Before I hunt down and kill Jamie Oliver whose fat-tongued mug is hocking individual prawn cocktails for Sainsburys at the moment).
Today is officially a day of rest. This is what I'm sure I've heard many times before. So:
Got up, tidied my flat, went to church, came back. Made lunch for Mother (possibly made a mistake by telling her about blog), went to see Grandma (and handed over cash for the privelege (it's haircut day tomorrow and she needs a sub)), went to see my cool chum Harry (and his mum and Dad) where I played "Star Wars" with, like, real Star Wars figures, and ate some fantastic choccy biscuits (Co-Op Orange Chocolate Cookies, 92p a pack). Went back to church for a brilliant service organised by the young people in the church. Then to the pub for a couple of pintas of the now legendary Greene King IPA.
Obviously not as busy as it could have been (and I managed to con Mother into ironing my work shirts) but quite full, but quite the most excellent day.
So Harry is gorgeous. He's 4 (and a bit) and every bit his mum and dad's son. Especially his dad's son. Harry's dad is a big ol' comics/super heroes/sci-fi nut. And Harry, obviously, worships him, and knows more about such things than I'll ever be able to comprehend. Anyway, it was an honour to be invited round for a play session (even though I ain't nowhere near as good as his dad at being a baddie from Batman or Star Wars or Justice League. Or the Fantastic Four. Or anything.)
Work tomorrow (hurrah! I love my new job), and damn if I have completely failed to put any bloody petrol in the car. Hell, up early tomorrow otherwise I'll be stuck in the horrific morning traffic. Amused? Nah. No doubt there will be black ice on the roads and everyone will drive like idiots. They do it every other day, so I don't see why a bit of friction-free road surface should change their minds.
And so (as they used to say), to bed...
Sunday, November 20, 2005
All for a good cause
Children in Need last night.
No great discussion about Telethons etc etc, just 7 minutes (or rather 3-and-a-half new minutes as well as "catch ups" of "The Parting of the Ways" and the theme tune) of the new Doctor Who in a specially written scene to bridge the gap between the the end of the last series and the beginning of the new one on Christmas Day 2005.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/pudsey/appealnight/doctor_who_special.shtml
Mmmm... time travellin' goodness.
No great discussion about Telethons etc etc, just 7 minutes (or rather 3-and-a-half new minutes as well as "catch ups" of "The Parting of the Ways" and the theme tune) of the new Doctor Who in a specially written scene to bridge the gap between the the end of the last series and the beginning of the new one on Christmas Day 2005.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/pudsey/appealnight/doctor_who_special.shtml
Mmmm... time travellin' goodness.
My Very Own Personal Ian McCaskill(tm)
It was just over a year ago I did a remarkably silly thing.
I took it upon myself to break my collar bone. Luckily it amused everyone around me at the time and no-one else was hurt (apart from Sturge who had the wind knocked out of him (so he claimed at the time, but thinking back on it I have a nasty feeling he was splitting his sides laughing, but hey)).
"Time heals all wounds," so says my old Gran. And, more worryingly, my doctor. Pity the poor people who have an emergency when he's on call.
"Doctor! Come quickly, it's my husband, he's cut an arm off in a terrible DIY amputation accident!"
"Tell me woman, have you kissed it better? And besides, your English grammar is despicable. One does not say 'cut an arm off', one says 'cut off an arm'. Dear God, no wonder he's trying to die."
"Doctor! My wife appears to be turning blue and having troubles breathing!"
"My good man, a cup of tea and an early night will soon soothe her troubles."
"Doctor! It's my son, he's screaming in pain and bleeding from his eyes!"
"Time heals all wounds, time heals all wounds."
As with a goodly number of clavicle injuries I now have a lovely bit of pokey bone out the front of my collar. It's an attractive addition and makes people feel physically ill. Ho hum. But - and here's the advantage of it - I now know when it's cold outside. Or when it might rain. Obviously I could look out of the window and judge this with mine own eyes. But what if I suddenly went blind. All of a sudden. You know, suddenly like. Then I'd not scoff.
So it's a blessing to me. And the sleepless nights filled with pain are but a small price to pay for such a useful weather-fortelling collarbone. I could maybe make some money out of it.
The point? Oh, it's cold out tonight. Ice everywhere. Brrrrr, eh? Brrr....
I took it upon myself to break my collar bone. Luckily it amused everyone around me at the time and no-one else was hurt (apart from Sturge who had the wind knocked out of him (so he claimed at the time, but thinking back on it I have a nasty feeling he was splitting his sides laughing, but hey)).
"Time heals all wounds," so says my old Gran. And, more worryingly, my doctor. Pity the poor people who have an emergency when he's on call.
"Doctor! Come quickly, it's my husband, he's cut an arm off in a terrible DIY amputation accident!"
"Tell me woman, have you kissed it better? And besides, your English grammar is despicable. One does not say 'cut an arm off', one says 'cut off an arm'. Dear God, no wonder he's trying to die."
"Doctor! My wife appears to be turning blue and having troubles breathing!"
"My good man, a cup of tea and an early night will soon soothe her troubles."
"Doctor! It's my son, he's screaming in pain and bleeding from his eyes!"
"Time heals all wounds, time heals all wounds."
As with a goodly number of clavicle injuries I now have a lovely bit of pokey bone out the front of my collar. It's an attractive addition and makes people feel physically ill. Ho hum. But - and here's the advantage of it - I now know when it's cold outside. Or when it might rain. Obviously I could look out of the window and judge this with mine own eyes. But what if I suddenly went blind. All of a sudden. You know, suddenly like. Then I'd not scoff.
So it's a blessing to me. And the sleepless nights filled with pain are but a small price to pay for such a useful weather-fortelling collarbone. I could maybe make some money out of it.
The point? Oh, it's cold out tonight. Ice everywhere. Brrrrr, eh? Brrr....
ROTFL on Saturday
No one cares what's in these damned things, but - hey - I'm gonna go at this one for a week (and see the weight come off, as one advert used to put it before they banned in-the-home do-it-yourself amputations).
So let's see. What did I do today? Well, it's a Saturday so naturally I got up nice and early (to the sounds of the Today Programme on Radio 4) and put some washing in. Oh yes, Mr Domesticated, you watch, next I'll be doing the ironing.
Then I went round to the church hall where Shane had cooked up a full English brekkie. Indeed. It was great. Get to chat to some friends, eat fried food and drink church-hall style cups of tea (thick and orange preferably, although I got there waaay too early and ended up with some thin, beige cup of milky piss. Which was a bit of a let down.)
After that I popped a film into Colin's house (stopping to let some ducks cross the road, no joke, they took five minutes pissing about in front of my car... and all that time I was thinking "sunday roast" [see pic: This Goose Thinks You're Gay And What Are You Going To Do About It?]), noting on the way that the lovely Emily is in town this weekend.
Oh for a weekend in Emily. But enough now, enough.
After that, let me see... um... popped to town.
And - AND - that is the LAST time I'm ever going into town. The place sucks and it's full of complete idiots at the weekend. No-one around here appears to have any manners, or the slightest bit of courtesy. Ok, I know that Christmas is on its way and so the spend-a-thon must begin, but these people are just brainless fucks. What is it with society? It depresses me that it appears to be going to the wall.
*cough*
Anyway, after struggling round some shops and giving up any hope of being able to actually purchase what I want (and not a box with a mug, some socks and a small packet of low-quality chocolates (which brainiac came up with that cute marketable combo?)) I came back home, loving the weather (cos it was beautiful and crisp today).
I've just watched "Serenity", the much acclaimed Joss Whedon film which continues the tedious adventures of the rag-tag bunch of space cowboys that got the orginal "Firefly" cancelled. Now I'm not one for watching films*. Or sci-fi**. I mean, heh, I thought "Alien Resurrection" was just fabulous***. But I'm afraid it would appear I am the one, single, dissenting voice on this - "Serenity" sucks goats. Having watched almost an enitre episode of "Firefly" about three years ago, I knew pretty much what to expect - cowboys and space ships.
I like cowboy films. I like space ship films.
So what has Whedon done with this clever amalgamation of the two genres? Well, hem, he's given his main character the name Malcolm. Don't get me wrong. I know a lot of Malcolms (not as many as I do Colins though) and they're all really great. All of them are quite the most bless things out there without cute little sockies on. But. They're not SpaceCowboyHeroes. Nor, do I imagine, would they want to be. And if one of them did, I'd like to think that he'd have the common sense to change his name. Let me, for one moment, digress.
Imagine the scene:
"Howdy pardner."
"Oh hello, dear boy!"
"You sure have a curious way of talkin'. You new to these parts?"
"Why yes, now you ask. I've just flown in on my space ship. It's quite the jolliest thing!"
"I see. My name's Bill "The Killer" Wesson. I mainly go by juss "Killer" though. By what name do they call you, stranger?"
"Well, er, "Killer", they call me, er, Malcolm."
"Well, hecky if that ain't the time, I'll be movin' along now. So long..."
Malcolm ain't cutting it. Oh no sir. Also, don't be getting the wrong idea that all the Malcolms I know have middle-class English accents. They don't. But I wish they did. One occasionally needs an easy target when drunk and lookin' to pick on someone.
For now, Buz will remain that target.
Anyway, "Serenity" was rubbish. Apart from the first 9 minutes and a bit near the end when stuff actually happend that I could give two damns about. The sparkling dialogue that has been the highlight of all the reviews I've read (which then prompted me to watch the dratted thing) appears twice. And they're both in the trailer.
The Browncoats will flame me no doubt.
So this evening, having been mainly disappointed by the things I've actually done (but enjoyed the bits in between) I've got a youth group to look after somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
But first, I'm going to play a bit of "Tomb Raider 3" (ahh, no-quite-so-retro action).
* Sarcasm
** So's that
*** Oh, and that bit.
