Don't Let the Glasses Fool You. I Really am an Idiot.

...It's Time to Face, The Final Curtain

2010-03-13T06:46:00.002Z

It can't have escaped your notice that the blog entries are slowly drying up. They are getting further and further apart and the humour level is fading too. Perhaps it's time to draw a line under it.

The honest truth is I've lost the will to keep it running. It's evolved so much, and I feel I have to monitor everything I write, which I shouldn't have to. That sort of takes the fun out of updating it. I can't say my life is a barrel of laughs at the moment (for various reasons) but the online diary is no longer the best place for me to let off steam, or cry on an imaginary shoulder.

In true Acadamy Award style, I would like to thank all my loyal readers for sticking with it for so long. I'd like to thank everyone that has made an appearance within the diary too, and I'd like to thank everyone who has been part of my life during the past two years.

The blog won't close, it will still be here, it just won't have regular updates. I'm sure I"ll pop back to keep giving you all Magnificent Octopus updates but other than that, the doors of the 'idiot' blog are closing for the last time...

...last one out, don't forget to switch off the lights.

The Malteser Snickers

2010-02-28T14:17:00.002Z

Well I want to call it the Malta Marathon, but thanks to the bloody Yanks, we have to call it Snickers now!

The last Sunday of Feb every year is the date for the Malta Marathon. Not quite on the scale of the London version, but still a large part of the Maltese athletics calendar. Visitors flock to the island from all of the world to take part in this legendary race...

ok, I'm building this up far too much. Yes it's big on the Maltese calendar, and yes, people do come from around the world, but not surprisingly, they only tend to come to take part once. I was reading through an online forum set up after last years event, and almost every comment had the same points. Running half the race along a dual carriage way which hasn't been closed for traffic, running on roads that have bigger potholes than swimming pools, running through areas around the water stations that have turned into ice rinks when there is spilt water (refer to a previous blog entry for me to prove I can sympathise with this point). Basically, it's not a marathon, it's a 26 mile assault course.

The finish line is at the end of Sliema harbour front, and the final 2 miles is along the promenade. For this monumental section, one side of the road is actually cut off from traffic, so they can at least finish without the threat of having a speeding van overtaking them. I was lucky enough to have a 'ringside' seat about 100 yards from the finish line, and considering the temperature at midday was pushing 90 degrees, it just added to the enjoyment that the participants are a bunch of idiots.

One gentleman did actually collapse opposite the pub I was sat outside. I hadn't realised at first, I was too engrossed in my book, I only realised when I saw every other person sat around me stand up to have a nosey look at the scene. 100 yards from the finish and you fall over.....you can't help but laugh. I bet as he was ferried into the back of the ambulance on a gurney he was begging the driver to at least take him through the finish line before carting him off to the hospital.

Do I sound unsympathic? I hope so, because I am. What a joke of an event. Even funnier was participants were told to meet at the finish line at 6.30am this morning, where they would be taken by bus to the start (the bus trip costing them 3 Euros). When they finish, their personal belongings could be collected from the Waterfront Hotel (which they ran past about 2 miles before the finish). No one bothered to tell them they could get to the start on their own for 47c on public transport. I also like the fact that they were warned that 'the roads were not closed, but runners had the right of way, and marshalls would be on hand to control traffic'. What this actually meant was, traffic police treated the runners like cars, and stopped them running at junctions, to allow cars through, then held up the traffic to let runners through. I know I'm not a long distance runner, but I can imagine being held up half way round a marathon circuit would throw me off my routine to some extent!

I can imagine a marathon runner wanting to compete as part of a holiday, or because they are trying to take part in as many different marathons around the world, especially as the weather has been so nice recently, but if anyone came just to take part in this long distance run, I only have one response....

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Things That go Bump in the Night

2010-02-25T11:01:00.002Z

I had every intention of adding a new blog entry a few days ago, but a small incident has sort of prevented me from getting too much computer access. Allow me to explain.

I was heading to work for a 'late' shift last Sunday (late shift is 2pm until 10pm if you're interested). Everything was going to plan, at the bus stop for about 1:15 and a few minutes later a bus arrived. It was one of the coach style ones, so it should be easy for you to visualise the interior: two rows of standard double seats, a central aisle, and overhead luggage racks.

The bus was about half full, but the very front seat on the right side (the one that wasn't behind the driver) was empty, so I was going to sit there. One thing I've learnt about Maltese bus trips is always sit as close to the door as possible in case the bus fills up before you need to get off.

I swung round the bar that was in front of the seat, and....

...BANG

I heatbutted the end of the luggage rack. It ended just over this seat, and I went into it with full force, enough force in fact to actually knock me down (although I was knocked into the seat so it probably didn't look too odd). I didn't dare look round because I assume the whole bus was sniggering at me. No one bothered to check I was ok, but then again, I don't suppose I would have done anything if I'd seen another idiot do the same thing.

I got to work, but something didn't feel right. My head was starting to throb, and by the time I'd ridden up in the office lift I thought I was going to be sick. One of my colleagues could see the red patch above my left eye developing (I couldn't, we don't have a mirror) and the other co-worker that was just finishing his shift could also see I didn't look well. I eventually stuck it out for two hours, but had to go, I was truely scared I was going to faint.

It's three days later now. The red patch is still there, but the headache has finally subsided. I didn't throw up (thank goodness, because the light in my bathroom is broken, so there would be a good chance I'd miss the toilet bowl) but it did shake me for a while. That first night went by with no sleep at all, the throbbing head keeping me awake, so I'm still feeling groggy, but I can make up for that tonight.

So my advice to any visitors to Malta who plan on hopping on a bus...

...don't headbutt luggage racks.

"Frying Tonight!"

2010-02-19T17:12:00.002Z

Oh my, am I in pain. I'm not supposed to be, it was scheduled to be a 'pleasent' day, average temperature, low wind, broken cloud. The perfect day to sit outside the pub, have a few drinks finishing reading a book before I head off to work...

...but therin lies the problem. It wasn't a 'pleasent' day. It pushed 90 degrees in old money and I didn't realise. The first I knew about it was about an hour after I arrived in work when the back of my neck began to feel a bit tender as it rubbed against the collar of my t-shirt. Then it was my left arm that developed heat prickles. By the time I left at 10pm, my face was also begging to be dipped in liquid Nitrogen just to relieve the throbbing agony.

When I got home (after a few beers with my boss) I rubbed cream over every crimson extremity I could find and went to bed. I woke up this morning loooking like a typical Brit on holiday. White lines where my shirt was, and even worse, where my glasses were. It still hurts every time I turn my head, even if it's just by a few degrees.

Today's temperature was back to normal. Still quite warm, but overcast and a brisk wind blowing through. It didn't stop the holiday makers breaking out the shorts and sandals though, and the tour buses seemed to be doing a good trade. I'd moved onto an Agatha Christie book today, although I kept getting distracted, so didn't get far into it...

...the warm weather also brings out the female flesh :D

Back to Reality

2010-02-17T18:06:00.003Z

Oh wow, nearly a fortnight since my last entry. I do have a valid excuse though, I've hardly had computer access for that period of time, and when I have, it's not really been long enough to update my blog. Apologies though, I'll try to summerise what I've been up to.

In short, I've been back to the UK for 10 days. Firstly back to Manchester for a day out with my old friend Simon, then straight down to Bournemouth to see Jackie and my little star. Still as cute as ever, and now sporting a lovely ginger mullet. (Emily that is, not Jackie!) It was my first trip to the pier there too, the third I've visited in the past 12 months. Don't know whay I seem to be drawn to piers.

Back up to Manchester, then an early flight over to Shannon to see Tara and her family. It's been over 12 months since I've seen her, so a visit was long overdue. Her girls were so funny. They had been watching the quiz show regularly, trying to spot me, and I was treated to a 'happy penguin' dance when I first arrived. (Think you'll have to watch my 5 minutes of fame if you want a full explanation of that). I left them with a few card tricks to perfect, and I think that earned me a few brownie points. Remind me to learn a few more before I next go over.

When I returned from Shannon I had visitors from the Isle of Man waiting for me. Julie, Jonathan and their daughter Jasmine. There was also Julie's expanding belly too (she's expecting her second sometime in early June). I took Jonathan with Simon and my Dad to Belle Vue greyhound races on the Friday night, while Julie stayed in for a gossip. (no, I didn't make a profit, so don't even ask).

Next night, it was time for kareoke. My impression of The Big Bopper seemed to go down well, and to cap it all I won a tenner in the club draw...

...just a side note here. When I found out I had the winning ticket and I went up to try and 'open the box' I was introduced as 'The big guy from down South'. Probably because he still thought I lived in Southampton. That bit didn't bother me, but why 'Big Guy'? He knew my name was Geoff, but even if he temporarily forgot that, why highlight the fact I'm fat? Everyone in the room can see I am, so why announce it?

..anyway, back on track.

Sunday I said goodbye to the visitors and Dad found time to breakdown on the way back from Birkenhead, but other than that it was just time to relax. A few frames of snooker thrown in for good measure (which I won, 3-1 incidently) and then it was a red-eye flight back to Malta. Right now I'm sat in work, my first shift back after 1o days away from the office.

So there you have it, the explanation of my absence from these pages. Updates should be more frequent now, (hopefully) until my next trip away in late May. Before then I have another visit from my Mum and Dad and at some point I have to work out how to get up to the ceiling in my bathroom because the bulb seems to have gone while I was away. I can imagine that being a blog entry in itself.

Speak to you all soon.

P.S. Part 1. I used the blog title 'Back to Reality' because it's also the title of an episode of Red Dwarf, still my favourite sitcom of all time.

P.S. Part 2. While I was out in Manchester with Simon, we discovered a bar that was a converted public toilets. Between two streets there were stairs going down under the road, and where the urinals and stalls would have been was now a bar with a jukebox and several tables. I wish this was a wind up, but I kid you not.

Back to Square One (again)

2010-02-04T07:26:00.003Z

Why now? Why am I this low again, only days before I have time off work and leave Malta to visit friends and family? I really don't get it.

Every little thing seems to either annoy me or get me down at the moment. I just can't shake it off. Even hiding in bed for 12 hours doesn't calm me - the fitted bed sheet keeps 'popping off' at one corner which pisses me off too.

Hopefully things will right themselves when I hit the UK. A day/night out with Simon in Manchester, then 24 hours with Jackie and Emily. Jackie never fails to lift me. If however, she does fail this time (which I very much doubt) then I have nearly two full days in Shannon with Tara, and her success rate at cheering me is just as high as Jackie's. Of course the main issue is that I don't know what it is I need cheering for. I have no idea why I'm so depressed. Perhaps I'm lonely, but I turned down an offer for drinks with a mate yesterday afternoon, so I don't think it's that. I don't think it's money - all outgoings for the month covered and I still have spending money for my trip.

I know I'm constantly fighting inner demons, and there is no immediate cure for that, but why now? It's the timing of it all that's perplexing me the most.

..oh well, I"m sure it'll pass.

Faites cuire à 200 degrés de Celsius pendant 20 mins

2010-02-03T07:13:00.003Z

Another problem has emerged over the past few weeks (nothing to do with mini pillows this time, but in the same sort of time span.) It's largely due to the fact I've done my general food shopping at the 'other' supermarket.

Just for background, Sliema has two main supermarkets. The one nearest to my apartment is called 'Scotts' (which has cropped up in previous blogs on the odd occasion), and the other is called 'Tower'. Tower has the advantage of being bigger (3 floors) and not uphill from home, but the disadvantage of being further away. For the last two trips I've decided to make the effort to 'check-out' Scott's rival to see if it's more cost effective for me. (Check-out...geddit? Oh never mind!)

First visit and I had a small shopping list. Anything for the freezer that would make an emergency meal, margerine, breakfast cereal and a litre of milk. I was also planning on having a brief mooch around so I know exactly what they do and don't offer, and compare prices of items I already know the value of. Let's get that bit out of the way first. Tower is cheaper on a lot of items, especially fresh bread and at the butcher counter. Branded goods (Kellogg's Cornflakes, Bird's Eye Fish Fingers etc) seem about the same. Tower also has a much larger 'household section' (lightbulbs, kitchen gadgets etc.) Only thing that stood out as being a problem...cheap beer! (Just couldn't find any!)

So, I pick up my shopping items (the emergency freezer item was a three pack of Bolognese pizzas), and as I reach the till I pick up a large bag of crisps. They were only 60c and believe me, that is cheap over here. I've hardly eaten any since I got here, because of the silly prices some places charge for them. They were described as 'white crisps', so I had no idea what they were like, but for 60c it was worth experiementing. It was one of those 'sharing size' bags about 125g or something similar.

Ok, don't suppose you've worked out where this is leading yet have you?

Being on an island, a lot of goods are imported from other countries. Being in the centre of Europe also means that food comes in from many different sources. When I came to cook one of the pizzas I came across a major problem...

...the instructions were in French, and there were no English translations.

There were two pictures. One was a picture of the pizza, half out of it's box, an image of the oven with 200 written on it, and a clock showing 20 minutes. Instictively I thought that meant 'cook at 200 degrees for 20 minutes' (and the box bit means remove from all packaging.) But then there was a second picture. The pizza was now on a tray, and the clock said 13 minutes. No temperature guide this time, just the pizza and the clock. I ended up cooking it at 200 degrees on a tray for 15 minutes (seemed like a comprimise time). It tasted ok, and the centre was cooked right through, so I think I got away with it. I'll let you know if either of the other two fail.

But there's more. Remember those 'white crisps'? They tasted lovely, only lightly salted, and according to the label (this time in Spanish I think) they were very low in fat. On my second trip to Tower I decided to pick up a couple more bags to put in my emergency cupboard. There they were on the same rack, and the little ticket underneath still said 'white crisps: 60c'

When I got home, I tend to read through my receipt. I always like to see what looks like a bargain, and what feels like I've been ripped off. It was only a short list, but what struck me was their was nothing that cost 60c. There were also two items I didn't recognise, one for 43c and one for 49c. I unpacked my shopping, and there were the two bags of crisps....

....only now I noticed the picture looked different. The bag was the same colour as the first one I'd bought, all the writing was in the same place and the same font, but one of them had an image of popcorn on it, and the other, cheesy wotsit style crisps. I'd picked up two completely different snack bags. I blame the fact it was written in Spanish, and had clearly been stacked on the wrong shelf...

...Perhaps the shelf stacker couldn't read Spanish either!

♫ ♪ "When I am King, You Shall Be Queen..." ♫ ♪

2010-01-27T06:10:00.003Z

This is an ongoing problem I've encountered over the past few weeks.

For Christmas, in amongst the miriad of books I received as presents, I was also given a tiny cushion and a bottle of lavender oil. When I say 'tiny' I really do mean miniscule, no more than two inches square. It has the image of a sad teddy bear on one side, and plain red on the other. If it hadn't come with the bottle of aromatic oil, I would have assumed it was a pin cushion (and then I would have worried as to why my parents were buying me a pin cushion for Christmas!)

...but with the bottle, I assume I'm supposed to put a few drops onto the fabric and put it in bed with me to help me drop off to sleep. Makes sense, and about a week ago I tried it for the first time. It's not an unpleseant aroma, and if nothing else, it acts like a mini air freshener. But, dear reader, if that was the end of the tale, it wouldn't make much of a blog story would it?

Okay, so I've used it one night, and the next morning woken up and gone to work. When I get back, and preparing to go back to sleep, it would be nice to refresh the little cushion with fresh oil...

..but where is it?

At the moment I have two single duvets on my bed that I 'borrowed' from the spare room. There are also two blankets which I sometimes sleep on top of, and occasionally, underneath (depending on the night-time temperature). Somewhere in amongst the folds of all this bed linen is this petite pillow that I need to find so I can add a few more drops of lavender. I really can't find it anywhere.

By the end of the frantic search, I've stripped the bed, been down on my hands and knees with a torch, and still I can't find it. If this cushion was supposed to aid a restful sleep, it was doing a good job of getting me stressed. Then I did something that I could only do because there was no one there to witness it...

...I got up on the bed, on all fours, and started sniffing around like a pig hunting for truffles. I was following the faint scent of the floral oil, trying to determine where the aroma was strongest, in the vain hope it would lead me to the cushion. I snuffled around, my nose pressed into the mattress, my two teddy bear sleeping companions looking on in disbelief...

...but it worked. Somehow it had managed to work itself into the slipcase of one of the proper pillows. A few drops added, bed remade and I could try to drift off to the Land of Nod. There is an extra part to this tale though - the same thing happened three nights in a row, and each time the cushion appeared in a different place. The second night it had fallen out of bed and 'bounced' under my bedside table, the third night it was hiding underneath Cheeky Monkey....

...so much for helping relieve stress!

p.s. This could well be the most obscure blog title I have used to date. A big pat of the back if you understand the relevance of it.

My Magnificent Octopus Part IX

2010-01-21T11:51:00.004Z

I know I've updated you on the book a few days ago, but a lot has happened since then.

Firstly, I think I've got round the issue of the name spelling without too much hassle. It did involve changing the direction of the plot slightly, but seeing as it's already changed several hundred times since I originally started this, then once more won't make any difference.

Secondly, I've added nearly 4,000 words to it over these two days, and it's only lunchtime on Wednesday right now. As I'm not due back into work until 2pm on Thursday, there is still room for a lot more input yet. My fingers will have blisters on them, the speed they have been dancing over this laptop keyboard!

Thirdly, I got to a point where I could wrap the story up. By that I mean, a clue was revealed that is enough to fit all the other pieces together for DCI Morgen. I plan on winding it up in true Christie style with a gathering of characters and a revelation of the whole thing, (and that bit hasn't been written yet), but it does mean I'm coming to the end.

..and by end, I mean the story will have a beginning, middle and end completed. There will still be several thousand words to add to flesh out certain scenes, and add extra scenes to throw readers away from the real plot. Can't make it too easy for you now can I :D

I have learned a few things recently about writing that I wish I had known from day one. I should have kept a fake diary so I have a definite timeline of events in the story. It's amazing how often you want to write 'yesterday' or 'a few days ago' but I have to check that the events I'm talking about really were 'yesterday' or 'a few days ago'. The concept of time passing is really hard to keep track of.

The other difficult bit is one I know some TV detective shows have failed to spot. Which characters know what information. I've lost track of the amount of times I've seen Barnaby or Marple etc mention something in their big conclusion speech that they had no way of knowing. Yes, we the audience knew about it because we saw it in a flash-back or as an extra scene, but how did the detective find out? I can sympathise with the writers though, I keep finding myself writing a piece of speech for one person, then realising they can only have known if if they had been told by someone else. Again, if I'd kept a detailed notebook which cross-referenced the information it would have been easier...

...I'll know for next time :)

Just Call me Interflora

2010-01-18T18:54:00.003Z

I haven't told you all about my metro-sexual moment have I? I know I told my Mum on the phone, but I should share it with all of you guys too...a few days ago I came home with a bunch of flowers for my apartment.

Now we have to make a few things clear. Firstly I had been drinking. Drinking a lot. It was a day off and the sun was making an appearance. (I'm glad I made the most of it too, because the weather that followed was the worst I've experienced since I got here)

Secondly, I had just been reading a murder mystery book about teddy bears. Without reading it yourselves, you won't understand what I mean, but trust me, you will either bring your lunch back up, or have a warm, 'fuzzy' feeling inside you. (If I'm honest I was somewhere inbetween, but if it involves teddies, then the fuzzy feeling will usually win through)

Thirdly, I had 80c in loose change in my pocket, and loose change always burns a hole. If I don't need it for bus fare then it usually gets spent on something.

I was walking home from the bar, and as the road from the main seafront takes a sharp left turn phill, there was a guy with a box of flowers placed in front of him. Now I know I was under the influence, but I was perfectly aware he was some kind of tramp, which means the flowers were either stolen or weeds....and I walked past, mearly glancing at the box of blooms.

...but they did look pretty, and on the side of the box it said '25c' scribbled in dodgy handwriting.

This bit I couldn't believe. 25c for a bunch of flowers? even if they are weeds or stolen they can't surely be 25c a bundle? I had to ask...

...but they were...

...and so I bought three bundles, for 75c (actually the full 80c, I let him keep the 5c change!)

What were they? I still have no idea. A sort of cross between buttercups and daisies, but they were genuinely pretty, and had a very strong bouquet. I carried them home (getting a few funny looks from passing ladies who were probably wondering why I was carrying a handful of weeds) and went to the kitchen to find a make-shift vase. Only thing I could find were these pint glasses I have that are fluted, like a giant sherry glass. I placed the flowers into one of them, and realised three bundles were a bit too much for one tumbler. No matter, I'd just force them in one way or another. But then...

...I knocked it off the counter onto the tiled kitchen floor and in slow motion I watched the glass smash.

I put the flowers into another pint glass, placed the impromtu vase next to the TV and the aroma was almost instant, it made the apartment smell slightly less 'blokish'...

...but they are still weeds and they did cost me a pint glass!

p.s. They are now starting to wilt and turn a bit brown. I think it's been nearly a full week though, so for 80c can I really complain?

My Magnificent Octopus Part VIII

2010-01-18T18:06:00.003Z

I am determined to finish this bloody book if it kills me!

I moved from early to late shifts yesterday, but of course you can't program your body to adjust that quickly. Even without the alarm getting me up at 5.30am I was still awake in time to see the sunrise. I had over 6 hours to kill before I had to go for my bus, but financially I was stranded in my apartment. Time to dig out the memory stick and crack on with the novel.

...and I did, and it flowed, and it felt great. For the past week or so I have played out the rest of the novel in my head in various different ways, but it's amazing what happens when I start to type. As I finish one sentence, the entire plot can take a new twist, and I'm fighting to get it back on the original track. The story literally evolves as it is written. But there is a reason I am letting my dedicated blog readers know I have been back in front of the laptop...

...I've made a major mistake and it is ingrained right through the plot.

Without giving the plot away too much, I'll try to explain:

A key part of the story involves a historical event, one that is in no way famous or memorable (in reality, the very fact it is not a significant event is also part of the plot) but it is still a historical event. It involved real people who have real names and real professions (again, both of these facts are significant)

Ok, the big problem is their names play a key part of the story and from day one I've been spelling one of them wrong. Only one letter, but still it's incorrect. (Imagine spelling the surname Thompson without the 'P'. Still a real surname, but technically a completely different word.) Of course I can use the 'Find and Replace' function in Microsoft Word, but as I've already explained, the name is significant, including the spelling.

So, I have a dilemma. Do I carry on, pretend the original (real) person spelt their name the way I have been doing it and thus keep my plot intact, or do I go right back and change it all. No one that reads the book will EVER know who the original person was, and would never bother to check, but what if I got the book published? There will always be one clever sod out there who would pull me up on the mistake.

It really is annoying me now. It's such a small thing, and yet such a key element to the plot. It has also come at a time when I am really getting back into the writing too, which means it's holding me back in more ways than one.

..I'm sure I'll think of something!

p.s. Thompson/Thomson was just an example, that isn't the real spelling mistake I have made. I used that in tribute to the detectives in the Tintin stories who are always incorrectly referred to as the Thompson twins, despite the fact they are not related and have different surnames. Any true Tintin fan probably already knew that :D

€1.16 For a Bus?!? Where Does it Go? The Moon and Back?!?

2010-01-14T19:42:00.003Z

I've been here nearly 5 months and in that time I must have caught over 200 buses, but so far they have all cost 47¢. Yesterday I finally ventured out of my comfort zone, and went on a long distance journey.

Actually, 'out of my zone' is quite an apt phrase as the bus service over here is based on a zone system. By leaving Zone 1 for the first time since I landed on this rock, I was going to have to pay for the priviledge. I was off to Buggiba to have a few drinks with an old friend from the Isle of Man, someone I haven't seen since I moved. It happened to be his birthday too, so all the more reason that I should travel to him, rather than the other way round.

I was also meant to meet up with his partner, another old friend from my past life, but sadly she had tummy trouble. I'm sure I'll catch up with her soon though.

Ok, so I'm off to Buggiba. There were a few things working against me for this visit though. Firstly, it's out of season, and Buggiba is completely set up for the summer tourist crowd. Imagine what Blackpool seafront looks like in the middle of Winter and you get a pretty accurate picture. Bars with neon signs advertising nightly kareoke, cafes that have 'all day breakfasts', tacky tourist shops selling anything they can print a picture of a bus on, take-away restaurants offering a cardiac arrest in a plastic tray, all up to the usual standard you'd expect from a British seaside resort - and just like the UK, there was a gale blowing - and just like it's British cousins, everything was shut.

Well, not everything, but for every bar that was open, there were six or seven with the shutters down. With the driving rain pounding against the pavement it could easily pass as a ghost town. If it wasn't for the steady stream of buses arriving I'd assume I was Omega Man, the last human on earth.

I sound like I hated the place, that's not true - I just wish it had been open. I guess I would have preferred to first visit the town during the right season, so I could appreciate the reason for it's existance. It looked like the kind of place that catered for a good night out, without having to deal with the idiots in Paceville (the main night-club area of Malta).

..but the rain never let up. Wave after wave of heavy showers coupled with swirling wind. I met up with my friends (another person I knew from Isle of Man came along too) and we had a few drinks. It actually took three pubs before we found one that was open by the way (it was called The George in case you ever find yourself in the same position) and I left just before 8pm to catch the last bus home.

..oh yes, another problem, the frequency of the buses. Last bus out is before 8pm, even at weekends and during the summer, and being in zone 2 means a higher fare too. I was almost the only person travelling back to Sliema, there was just one other person who sat on the back seat of the bus listening to her ipod at an ear-piercing volume level.

I know I'll go back, after all, three of my friends live there, but I can't see me making an effort unless it was to meet them in the near furture. Next time I venture back without that excuse will have to be when the temperature is heading back up...

...and the rainy season has passed.

Such a Geek!

2010-01-07T18:16:00.002Z

This entry is going to make me sound like such a nerd, but hey, it's my blog and if I want to sound like I belong at a Star Trek convention I will do!

As the calendar flipped over to 2010, I was in a position to get a betting program set up for the forthcoming Football World Cup. Yes, it's not until June, but punters want to place early bets on it, and if you can be first in the market, you get the upper hand on your competitors. I took it upon myself to get the betting list up and running.

Are you familiar with sports betting? I know some of you will be, but just in case you're not, you have to imagine that people want to be able to bet on everything and anything. It's not just 'who will win the world cup?' it's things like 'who will be the tournament's leading goalscorer?', 'at what stage will Germany get knocked out of the tournament?', 'How many points will South Korea get in their three group games?'. You get the picture? If you can think of a legimate bet, someone out there will want odds for it.

Ok, Some of the odds are pretty straight forward to set. Tournament Winner etc., but others require a bit of careful planning, and here comes the geeky bit.

There are thirty-two teams in the event, and initially they are divided into eight leagues of four teams. Each team plays the other three teams in their league and the best two go through to the next phase. During this 'group phase' teams get three points for victory, one point for a draw and a big fat zero for losing. Doesn't take much mathematic reasoning to see that each team can score between zero and nine points (except for eight points which is impossible to obtain from three matches).

..and here comes the bet. Take any team, and bet on how many points they will get from their three opening games. Doesn't matter which team you support, you can bet on them. Perhaps you think France will beat all three of their opponents - so you can get a price for France to win nine points. Do you think England will easily win two of their fixtures, but might only manage a draw against USA? No problem, you can bet on England to finish the group games on seven points. Still with me?

Thirty-two teams, nine possible point outcomes (zero to nine excluding eight points). Two hundred and eighty-eight seperate bets. It can't be done by hand, you have to create a formula....and so I did.

Took a while and a lot of failed attempts, but then I finally hit upon the winning combination. The formula was written in Microsoft Excel, and could have rivalled the Encyclopedia Britannica if I printed it out, but there it was. I could enter the details of any team, and out popped a table of bettings odds for all the nine different point outcomes.

..The hard part now was the laboreous bit - typing it all into our computer system. The formula may generate the odds for me, but nothing is in place to help me export them all over to the other system. With a couple of breaks to work on other things, it took me just short of five hours to complete the typing.

..but there's more...the geeky bit :D

Up until a moment ago, I had nothing to compare my odds with. No other bookmaker I could find was offering these bets. That was until I found a leading British online bookmaker was offering it (but only for the England team). Tentatively I compared my odds to theirs. Chances are they had a super computer generating their odds, not a ream of scrap paper and one chap in front of a keyboard....

...and all nine odds were in the same ball-park! That is to say they agreed with my figures. (not exactly of course, would be a very boring industry if all our odds were identical, but they were all comparible). This meant two things. Firstly it meant I had the formula right, so I could trust the other two hundred and seventy nine odds, and secondly...

....it meant I am permitted to wear a smug face for a few days :)

December 31st 2009

2009-12-31T10:17:00.003Z

Just like my Christmas entry, I refuse to call today 'New Year's Eve' for the simple fact I'm in work today and tomorrow. It's simply December 31st followed by January 1st.

It's been a strange year. To save you the task of going back through this blog, here is a brief summary of what has happened to me in the past twelve months.

January: Started the New Year flying to Shannon for Tara's 30th birthday. I made my first visit to Malta at the end of the month, still unaware I was going to decide to move here on a more permanent basis.

February: Half of it I was still in Malta, and while there, I found out I was going for a quiz show audition in Bristol (an audition that might have got me a walk on part in Casualty too). The month ended with the news I was going to be living alone in Southampton (and paying double the rent). I also found a pair of ladies knickers on the train!

March: A strange month. Lots of depression, but also highs as I met up with Jackie in Bournemouth and was made a formal offer to move to Malta.

April: Busy bee time. Jackie came to visit me, I spent another week in Malta and then went off to London to film a weeks worth of quiz shows. Quite an important month as I met lots of new friends through the recordings, and ended up two thousand pound richer!

May: The month ended back in Malta again, this time I experienced something approaching the hot weather too. I returned to Wembley for a quiz show reunion and officially agreed to move to Malta full time.

June: My birthday month. Went to the cricket with Jackie, and horse racing with some friends from the Isle of Man. I also managed to pay my own visit to the rock, spending some quality time with old friends. Spending a day in Peel with Ali was an especially high point of the trip. I was supposed to be hosting Tara in Manchester at the end of June, but sadly plans fell apart at the 11th hour. I still went home and took my 2nd cousin to another race meeting in Pontefract.

July: Another strange month, only one month to go until I move away. I spent one weekend in Brighton at a quiz show reunion. A wonderful few days, and more importantly, the 'birth' of Bob the Duck.

August: The moving month. Also managed to fit in a race meeting in Haydock and a quiz show reunion in Norwich. By the end of August I was living and working in Malta.

September: I moved out of the staff flat into my own place in Sliema. This was a month of experiencing Malta common occurences, but for the first time. My first thunderstorm, first downpour, and a whole month of being eaten by mosquitoes. It was also the month I almost destroyed my insides by eating a whole jar of curry paste!

October: A quiet month for me really. Experienced my first full Malta power-cut, but of course October 2009 will be in my head as it maks the birth of Jackie Junior, little Emily, my star :) It was also the month I realised light-bulbs are not only rare over here, but bloody expensive! I also managed to make successful omelettes on a regular basis thanks to a new frying pan.

November: If my blog is to believed nothing happened in November! Mt parents visited and the quiz show finally got broadcast, but other than that, I did nothing!

December: I managed to get over to the UK for the first time since I moved here. Met up with friends in Derby for an ice-hockey game and travelled down to Bournemouth to meet Emily (and Jackie of course!) Christmas was spent in work and I've been there ever since...

...Happy December 31st/January 1st to you all and hope 2010 brings you everything you desire.

Big Air Dogs

2009-12-30T14:50:00.003Z

This is one of those stories that will shoot off at tangents while I try to explain things, and by the end of it you'll probably wonder why I bothered starting it. However, this is the story of what I got up to yesterday on my last day off before starting a run of 10 work shifts in a row.

Firstly, I had no intention of going out, or if I was going to venture outside, it was only to the shops. My plans were scuppered though when there was a knock on the door (a very rare occurence because that means the visitor has managed to get into the building, but come up 6 flights of stairs.) It was the maid asking if I wanted the apartment cleaning today, or should she come back another time.

I told her she was welcome to clean now (ok, it meant going out and leaving her to it, but if I sent her away the chances of her actually bothering to come back on a different day were close to zero. Couple this with the fact the flat was in need of a feminine touch. I was happy for her to make me change my plans)

Ok, so I'm going out, but what to do? I only have to be out for a couple of hours, then I can go back to a nice clean pad, and carry on doing the 'nothing' I was intending to do in the first place. It was just past 1.30pm (Malta time) so I decided to walk down to the harbour part of Sliema and have a few pints watching the darts which started at 2pm. I already knew Portside bar would have it on as I saw the advert for it the last time I passed. With me so far?

Ok, got to Portside, ordered a pitcher of local brew (cheaper than buying seperate pints) and settled down in front of three seperate TV sets. The left one seemed frozen on BBC sports from the previous night, the middle one was showing the 4th day of the cricket test and the end one had Eurosport, showing a live ice hockey game. I politely asked the lady behind the bar if I could have the darts on now, but apparently I would have to wait until the cricket ended as they only had one Sky Sports box. (ok, the excuse makes sense, but advertising the darts AND cricket seemed a bit naughty). Hey ho, nothing wrong with watching the cricket instead for a while, especially as England were on top.

..but on the third screen, the ice hockey game ended and Eurosport moved on to 'The Incredible Dogs Eastern USA Championships from Florida'. No, you didn't read that wrong, it's a tournament, divided into separate 'events' for talented dogs. The thing is, this wasn't a shock to me, I've watched it before, and here comes one of those tangents...

...Back in the Isle of Man, when I only worked for the casino at night, I often found myself in The Outback bar in the afternoon, sometimes with only the bar staff for company, or occasionally a few stray friends who also had the day off. On one of these quiet days there were only three or four of us in the place, but this 'Dog Championships' came on the TVs and we were mesmerised. One particular event involved a sort of long-jump competition, but instead of landing in a sandpit they landed in a giant pool of water. To make the scene even more bizarre, the event was called 'Big Air Dogs'. If you were sat in a pub with three or four other blokes, watching a 'legimate' sport but knowing nothing about it, what would you do? Correct. We started putting 50p bets on it!

..and word got around. The next day when we all agreed to meet up again there were eight or nine of us. Some of us were even trying to sound like we were now experts on the sport. There were other events too, the traditional 'agility course' (the one you see at Crufts where they go through tyres, over see-saws and through tunnels etc), a target frisbee catching event, and this time, they even had Jack Russell hurdling. You haven't lived until you've seen eight Jack Russells chasing after a stuffed rabbit, jumping over small plastic fences! I seem to remember that when the dog championships finally finished back in the Isle of Man we resorted to watching the lumberjack world finals instead. Plenty of betting opportunity there as well.

..so there I was in Portside in Sliema, watching dog championships and wishing I was back in the Isle of Man sharing the moment with some fellow dog-sport enthusiasts.

(highlight this time was 'Freestyle Flat Disc' where the owner throws frisbees in a variety of ways for the dog to catch. Both the owner and dog get scored on their performance. Award winning television)

...with all this going on I'd missed the fact that the cricket had ended early for bad light and the nice barlady had switched the channel over to the darts for me! I really have no idea how long I stayed there. I know I watched the end of the darts, I know the dog competition changed to another live ice hockey game, and I know I wasn't there when the Liverpool game kicked off later in the evening. I probably drank far too much (although thankfully you don't get hang-overs with the local beer) and I was starving hungry, but it turned out to be a lovely afternoon of reminiscing. On top of that I got back to find the flat in a lovely state (she'd even lined my teddy bears up on the bed and tucked their paws under the duvet). Basic pasta and sauce for tea, then an early night. Couldn't have asked for much more....

...except if it had been back in The Outback.

Bah Humbug

2009-12-25T09:09:00.002Z

Today is not Christmas Day. Today is December 25th.

I'm sat in the office now, about to start my work shift. There won't be a turkey dinner, roast potatoes, gravy, stuffing and carefully hiding sprouts on someone elses plate. For dinner I have a frozen Admiral's Fish Pie (with added Omega 3), a tomato cup-a-soup and some instant noodles if I still need something else.

I got a pleasant treat yesterday, a Christmas Card turned up in the post all the way from Ireland. It was a lovely surprise. Thank you Tara x x

I was surprised how many people were out and about this morning. The bus into work was standing room only, and the little pastry windows were open selling pizza slices and pies. There was also a giant teddy bear in a Santa suit waving at passers-by (unless I was halucinating at that point).

Last night, Christmas Eve (no, sorry, December 24th) I met up with a mate in the pub for a few 'sociable drinks'. About 5 hours later I was home with a spinning head and the urge to eat something bad for me.

I've no idea if places open up on December 25th, but whether they are or aren't I don't think I'll be going out tonight anyway. I've made the same mistake I did a few weeks ago, and forgotton to stock up my food cupboards, but I think I have just enough to make a meal of sorts. If nothing else, I have a ton of pasta and jars of sauce I can use up.

Hope everyone that reads this has (or had) a lovely December 25th. Hope to see you all soon in the New Year.

Definition of an Eejit Part XIV

2009-12-19T07:45:00.002Z

I've done something I thought I'd never do in my time here in Malta....I got on the wrong bus!

For the first two shifts back in the office after my UK break, I've left work at exactly 2pm, walked down to the bus stop, and on both occasions a number 62 bus has pulled up into the lay-by almost immediately. Both times it was busy, but with a few seats still free, and on both occasions I've walked in the front door of my apartment at 2.30pm. Was there any reason to doubt it would happen a third time?

Third shift, again I leave the office at exactly 2pm, again I walk down to the bus stop and as I arrive the number 62 pulls up, again it's busy but seats still available, so surely I'm destined to walk into my front door at 2.30pm for a third time? Well I would have been if it had been the 62...it turned out it was the number 42 and was going no where near my apartment!

Of course I didn't know it was the wrong bus as I took my seat near the front - in fact, for the first couple of miles it took the route I expected it to. It was at the roundabout just after the Exotic Pet Store that things turned for the worst. Instead of heading right towards Sliema, it carried straight on, and headed into the unknown.

How would you react? I wasn't going to ask a passenger 'what bus is this?' for two reasons. Firstly it makes me look stupid if I don't know what bus I'm riding on, and secondly, even if they tell me 'it's the 42' that doesn't help me work out where I'm heading!

So, when do I get off? Do I get off straight away, possibly still in walking distance of home? (although without a clue in which compass direction I'd need to head in to find Sliema) Do I wait to see if I recognise a landmark? (again unlikely, I haven't exactly explored much of the island, and as I know it's not heading in the direction I was hoping, I can't imagine something would seem fimilar. Do I stay on until the end of the journey and then just get a bus back in the opposite direction? (Dangerous as it could be a long way, and may enter a different fare zone, and then I'd be travelling on an invalid ticket)...

..What I chose to do was wait until the bus was fairly empty and then got off when a group of other people got off (rather than a stop where only one person got off). My logic seemed to say if lots of people want to alight here, it must be a popular place and easier to find my way back. That is logical isn't it?

Ok, so where was I? I had just passed a big Lidl supermarket, there was a dual carriageway next to me, and a nursey school with kids in the playground. Not much help so far. Across the road was another bus stop, so I dodged the traffic and stood in the shelter. After no more than 5 minutes a number 65 bus turned up, and with trepidation I held out a 50c coin to the driver and said 'Are you heading to Valetta?'

My head was telling me, 'get to Valetta and start again.' Yes it would mean two more buses but at least I wouldn't be lost anymore.

The driver replied: 'No, I don't go as far as Valetta, only to Sliema'.

You'd think I had just won the lottery by the broad grin plastered across my face. I think the driver was a little stunned I still wanted to ride on his bus, considering it wasn't going to Valetta, but little did he know he was actually going to take me home. 20 minutes later I was pulling up at the same stop I catch my morning bus from, arriving home in the opposite direction to the one I'm used to. Instead of 2.30pm, I was walking into the flat just after 3pm, but at least I was home.

There are a few curious things to consider about this adventure though...

1. Recently I've taken to only bringing my exact bus fare with me. two lots of 47c. Yesterday, however I had a few loose coins I'd forgotton to take out of my coat pocket after a night out, so I had enough for two more buses if I needed them.

2. I only discovered the extra coins while I was on the wrong bus. If I'd discovered them on the way to work, I probably would have bought a bottle of Pepsi or 7up with them (I'd been craving a cold drink all day).

3. According to the Malta Transport timetable I checked when I got home, the 65 bus should have cost 1.16 per ride (which I didn't have) but the driver only charged me the standard 47c. I still don't know why he did that.

...So perhaps the God were taking pity on me because I was being such an eejit.

Promises Promises

2009-12-17T06:05:00.001Z

There was me promising I wouldn't let my blog go quiet for more than a week again, and this is the first post of December! I do have my excuses though... good ones this time.

Main one of course is I've been off work and away in the UK for a week. Before that there was my parents visit and through all of that I had very little computer access. Ok, I'm sure I could have made an effort at some point to login and fill you all in, but therein lies the second excuse...I didn't have the urge to.

If I had kicked myself into life I could have written a separate entry for my trip to Derby to see Cat and Darrell (think that's the third different way I've spelt his name now, and I still don't know if I've got it right). It included a drive over to Coventry to see a live Ice Hockey game, and getting a personal mention on The Radio One Chart Show too! The important things you need to know is it was a fantastic trip, great to see them both and meet their respective partners, and to take Bob the Duck to a new destination.

Talking of new destinations for Bob, the next day I was off down to Bournemouth with him to see Jackie and meet Emily. It was quite strange being on the Cross Country train to the south coast again. As I passed through Southampton Airport Parkway station, I instinctively got my bag down from the rack and put my coat on. It was only getting a text off Jackie at that moment that stopped me getting off at Southampton Central station like I had done a million times before.

Meeting Emily was wonderful, and seeing Jackie as a 'mum' was also a treat. We spent the evening in, watching a bit of telly and eating pizza with her partner Mark - and the next day, went into Bournemouth centre for a bit of Christmas shopping and a mulled wine in the German market. I haven't pushed a baby around the shops since I was with Sarah and Caoimhe (I think I need to learn to be more agressive with shoppers who get in my way really.) Wish I could have stayed longer, or at least spent more time with them both, but there will be other times. Worth noting at this point that Jackie has about as much willpower for keeping presents wrapped up until the 25th as I have of passing a pub that's open without going in!

Next stop on the roller-coaster ride was Ellesmere Port to see my sister, have a couple of games of ten-pin bowling with the family, and use the opportunity to get my hair cut. For the record Bob the Duck won both games (which I think put my Dad's nose out of joint hee hee).

Before it felt like the trip had even got going, it was all over and I found myself back in Malta. No rest for the wicked though, 3 more days off before work started again, but a friend was coming over to visit. Had to make sure the flat is tidy, and the fridge is stripped of anything I left behind that now has it's own eco-system growing in it... and now it's back into the work routine.

..as I lay in bed last night, unable to sleep (for the second night in a row) I realised that these last two nights have been the first in three weeks where I have been alone. Either home or away I've not been in an empty house for 20 days. Not having to listen to see if the bathroom is available, not having to worry if I'm running low on milk, not having to 'tread on eggshells' if I move in the night for fear of disturbing someone, not having to explain to someone else what I'm doing or where I'm going. I've no idea if this is why I'm not sleeping (it seems unlikely) but something is keeping me awake.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I want to have someone around on a permanent basis, nor am I saying I don't want to share my home, just trying to make the point that there is a world of difference between the two, and in the past few weeks I've experienced both.

Oh well, Christmas looms ahead of us. Thankfully I managed to bring back a few winter clothes with me (the temperature is definitely dropping now). Sadly, my suitcase decided to attack a bottle of shower gel on the trip home, so Christmas presents and clothing got drenched in Imperial Leather 'Just for Men', but it all seems to have come clean in the wash. I won't promise to be in touch again soon, look what happened last time I did that...

..but I will try.

General Maltese Update II

2009-11-27T19:41:00.002Z

Can't believe it's been 8 days since my last entry. Apologies to any loyal readers who've been logging in waiting for an update. I suppose in my defence, there just hasn't been anything that has passed through my mind to warrant a blog entry...

..but that's not to say things haven't been going on.

Firstly, an old friend from IOM has relocated to Malta to work for an online gaming company. Hardy is the reason I got my last betting job on the rock, so indirectly he's the reason I'm here in Malta. (I could write a whole entry on cause and effect, and try to explain the real reason I'm in Malta, but I'll save you the boredom). We've already met up a few times for drinks, and I can imagine I'll see a lot more of him. We have always had a good rapport together and at the moment he is living very close to me. The company he works for is a lot larger than mine, so he's already involved in a lot of social activities - I'll see if I can use my James Bond stealth techniques and attach myself to a few of them :D

As I write this my parents are in Malta visiting me. We've spent a half day in Valletta together and yesterday we walked through to St Julians and Paceville and then back again (well obviously!) So far it's been ok. The flat isn't designed for three people, although we seem to be managing.

Still looking forward to next week. A trip to Derby to meet up with Cat and Darryl from the quiz show recordings. Can't wait to see them both (and also, I think it's my first visit to Derby. I know I've passed through it several times on the train, but never got out to look around before.) Straight after that it's down to Bournemouth to meet my little star. I've seen a few new piccies of her recently, and she's already got her Mum's cheeky grin (although that just might have been wind). It'll be great to see Jackie too. Seeing Hardy again recently has reminded me how much I miss my best friend. (We all worked together, so there is logic in my madness)

..and as I'm talking about Jackie, she is also responsible for me going out drinking last Tuesday. A close friend of hers was visiting Malta from Dublin (although he's from East Germany originally) so I arranged to meet him at the airport and take him on a pub crawl. He was a man from my own heart - happy to start even before he'd checked into his hotel. We crawled our way from Sliema to St Julians where he was staying and I left him with a kebab in one hand and a can of lager in the other.

Of course inbetween all this there has been work. Just received the December rota, and it doesn't look too bad. I'm in the office all over the main holiday period, but that will help take my mind off things. I haven't worked out where (if anywhere) opens on the 25th, but if there is a whiff of a drink available after I finish work I'm sure I'll find it. Don't think there will be a traditonal Christmas Dinner for me this year, but I'll try to make some kind of effort.

...hope that satisfies you for now. I'll try not to let a full week pass before I update you all again

♫ ♪ "I See a Red Door and I Want it Painted Black..." ♫ ♪

2009-11-19T05:36:00.006Z

Ever have one of this 'trigger points'. You hear or see something and it sends a whole past life back into your mind, something you might have long since put into your long term memory and forgotton? I had that yesterday when a song came onto my ipod, a song that triggered two seperate memories - one quite recent, the other way back in the dim and distant past...

...well, about 25 years ago really.

I must have been about 10, certainly not a teenager yet. My Dad was making a mix-tape for the car, lifting songs from a set of 'Best of the 60's' cassettes he'd borrowed off someone. It was the usual fodder, upbeat tunes about love, holding hands, getting married and settling down. Lots of 'do-wah-diddies' and 'shang-a-langing'. No song longer than three minutes, and absolutely no mention of sex. Don't get me wrong, that's not a criticism, thanks to the tapes my Dad played in the car on long journies I've become quite an expert on the music of the 60's. If you ask me now to name my favourite bands, after Pink Floyd, you'll find The Animals, The Hollies, The Doors and The Kinks nestled in my top ten.

..but this mix-tape threw up a surprise. After a Herman's Hermits track, a song came on I hadn't heard before. The opening few bars were a solitary electric guitar sound, followed by a thumping drum beat. Then the lyrics came along, no hint of romance, love, kissing on the back row etc. "I see a red door and I want it painted black. No colours anymore I want them to turn black."

I had to ask my Dad what it was. "The Rolling Stones" he replied. It was a new side to my Dad I hadn't seen before. Except for a few of the lighter pop ditties of the era, his musical taste was usually Klaus Wunderlich on his Hammond Keyboard playing the hits of Abba, or Eddie Calvert blowing his trumpet. On special occasions we got brass bands, or The Best of Fairground Organs. This Rolling Stones track was an inspiration. I hadn't heard anything like it before. If you'd asked me back then to name another Stones hit, I might have known 'Satisfaction', maybe even 'Jumping Jack Flash' (if the film of the same name was already out by then) but not this. I seem to remember having a conversation with him, and I assumed he would have prefered The Beatles over The Stones (I'd obviously heard about the rivalry the press put between the two groups). But it seems I'd underestimated him.

That could well have been the trigger for me to investigate other bands from around that time. Something certainly caused me to get into the alternative side of the decade. Early Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors etc. Whatever it was, whenever I hear 'Paint it Black' it reminds me of the first time I heard it, travelling in the family car, on a mix-tape made by my Dad.

The second memory the song triggers is far more recent.

You'll find a blog entry on August 16th relating m trip to Nrowich to meet my friend Ant. A great couple of days in Norwich and Great Yarmouth. There is one little tale I didn't tell you about though, so here it is.

After our round of mini golf we ventured into a few arcades. I played the '2p waterfall' type machines, picking up a few keyrings as prizes, and Ant played on a couple of arcade games. One of these was a big version of Guitar Hero

For those of you over 40, or who have lived in a cave for the past decade, Guitar Hero is a series of games for home consoles. You usually play it with a plastic imitation guitar in your hand which has four buttons on the neck. You follow the patterns on the screen and the more accurate you are, the better the song sounds and the higher your score. They are the next generation of games after the popular 'dance-mat' ones where you had to follow a rhythm on screen with your feet. Many big bands have lent their back catalogue of songs to versions of these games, making them very popular indeed.

..in one of the Great Yarmouth arcades there was a giant version of this. Ant popped in his pound coin, selected to play as 'Slash' from Guns 'n' Roses (that's the name of a person Mum) and then scrolled down the list of available songs. You can already guess which one he chose.

He did very well too, the look of concentration on his face was priceless. There is an extra part to this story though...

..as his song was coming to an end, another person had stood behind him. He was flanked by two girls, and he was stretching and flexing his fingers. You could instantly tell he was waiting for a turn, and thought himself to be the king of Guitar Hero. He watched Ant finish 'Paint it Black' and took a pace forward, ready to take over. What he didn't know was one pound gets you two turns, and Ant simply chose another song from the onscreen list and started again (completely unaware of the person behind him.)

The anger in the man's face was priceless. The expression 'if looks could kill' has never been more appropriate. I honestly thought Ant was about to get a plastic guitar wrapped around his head. My friend had done nothing wrong, but it was clear that this machine 'belonged' to the stranger and he took it as a personal insult that anyone else dared to use it. (I couldn't help laughing though! :D )

..two completely different memories, but both triggered by hearing the opening bars of one song.

Old Mother Hubbard...

2009-11-16T07:03:00.002Z

You remember the rest - she went to the cupboard to get a snack for her pet pooch, but found out she'd forgotton to buy him any. In reality, the chances are the dog attacked her and she ended up in casualty, but I think in the world of nursery rhymes he just put up with the rumbling stomach. The point of all this? I've emptied my cupbaords without realising.

Don't jump to conclusions and assume I've been gorging, because that's a million miles away from the truth. It just seems I've miss calculated when things would run out, and I haven't got used to the fact supermarkets don't stay open very late and never open their doors on Sundays. It was Saturday afternoon I realised I was low on the basic provisions - no milk, cereal, only a few slices of bread left, no cheese, only one bottle of water, no fruit juice, one apple etc. Everything was running out simultaneously and it was too late to do anything about it. By the time Sunday rolled around I was down to eating the last of the eggs and bacon washed down with a glass of orange cordial.

Truth be told, it wouldn't have been a disaster if I had to survive on basic rations for another 24 hours. I still have my emergency cupboard (noodles, a tin of beans, a tin of sausages and some pasta) and the local kiosk is open every days selling ready-made rolls and hot pies, but it was a bit of a shock that I hadn't seen it coming. Up until this point I had been very efficient with my shopping. Two trips a week, always one full basket of provisions each visit. That fits nicely into two carrier bags and my back-pack. (I've used the same two carrier bags 14 times now. I like to think it's for the sake of the environment, but really it's because they charge you 20c for a new one!)

..and so, all this is leading to me having to make two visits to Scotts, either both today, or today and tomorrow. I'm tempted to get it all done in one day - shop, take home, unpack then back out again....

...if nothing else it'll make the checkout girl think she's suffering from deja vu :)

The Show Must Go On Part IV

2009-11-13T11:21:00.002Z

Well, in fact it has gone on. My latest five minutes of fame has passed.

Remember that quiz show I recorded way back in the long lost days of Southampton? It began broadcasting this week, and already my one and only major appearance has been and gone. Technically, it was about the twentieth show 'in the can' but for what ever reason the powers that be have decided to show them out of order.

This has thrown up a few strange points though. Firstly I use the phrase "I'm 99.99% sure'. By the time I filmed this episode, that sentence had become a catchphrase of all the traders. We even had t-shirts made with it on! By broadcasting the shows out of order though, it looks like I created it. (I didn't)

That also explains the strange penguin dance I did at the end. One trader (real name Scott) looked exactly like a penguin (no, really, he did). He was selected to 'trade' several times early on, and always did the 'Happy Penguin' dance and once again it stuck as a sort of catchphrase. While they were resetting the cameras and I was stood at the front, I was hit by a barrage of shouts from my fellow contestants, reminding me to 'do the dance'. If the shows had gone out in chronological order, you would have seen a multitude of Happy Penguins, but now it again looks like I invented it (which I didn't).

There was also a text box that appeared stating I had 'driven across the USA'. It seems that my family see that as a lie (as it was my Dad that did all the driving) but how else would you phrase it? You can't write 'I was a passenger across America' can you? Whether you were in the driving seat, or just a navigator, you still 'drove across the country' didn't you?

I was a bit upset they said I was from Southampton. I remember they specifically asked me where I wanted to be said to be from and I chose The Isle of Man. I wouldn't want to be remembered as being from Hampshire - ever. But that's it, it's all over. I'll probably make a few more appearances in the crowd scenes, and there is one more show where I do a ten second 'pitch' on the subject of rugby union, but lose out to my good friend Darryl. It'll be a few years now before I can try to get on another show...

..but the bug is still there :)

Just One of Those Days

2009-11-08T06:12:00.002Z

I've been having one of those days...well one of those weeks really. Lots of contemplating, reminiscing, pondering. Not sure quite where it gets me though.

I was comparing the situation I'm in here in Malta to how I was in Southampton. On the face of it of course I'm better off, cheaper accomodation, higher wages, better weather. Ok, I'm living on a building site, but I was in the UK too. Ok, I have no long standing friends here, but I didn't in Hampshire either. But things are different...

I went up to Manchester on average about every 6 weeks. I nipped over to IOM 4 times in the 20 months I was living in Southampton. Friends came to visit me, Sarah and Caoimhe, Tara, 'The Boys'. There is little chance of any of that here. (especially the visits to IOM). Now I feel far more isolated than I ever did on the South Coast. Chatting to friends online actually feels like a necessity, rather than 'just for fun'. Perhaps this is why I've been having these bizarre dreams for the past few nights - dreaming about people I would never have thought would enter my subconscious. Perhaps I'm just missing friends in general.

It's funny that everyone I talk to tells me to 'get out and see the island'. Why? If I want to see what it looks like I can buy a cheap set of postcards. I don't remember anyone ever telling me to 'get out and see Southampton'. When I moved to IOM way back in 1996 I didn't 'go out and see the rock', I just ended up seeing it all by osmosis. In fact, I'm sure there are some areas in the middle of IOM I never did get to see, particularly as I spent the last few years over there without a car.

If I did spend time travelling around Malta, it would probably only serve to remind me I'm on my own. By locking myself away after work each day, I can make it feel like my life is no different than it's ever been. I have things to look forward to, but they are so far apart they feel like a lifetime away. I can't believe I've already booked to go back to IOM in May. MAY! 7 months away! Not 7 days, or 7 weeks, but 7 months!

Ok, be positive Geoff. You get to see some of your friends in Derby in a month, then meeting baby Emily for the first time a few days after that. Then it's Christmas....

...I wonder if they do microwave Christmas meals for one in the supermarket?...

To Sleep Perchance to Dream II

2009-11-02T10:47:00.002Z

Part one was over 18 months ago. Don't panic, you don't have to go back and read it to make sense of this one.

Well, I'll rephrase that. If you go back and read part one, it won't help you make sense of this entry.

For the last two nights I've experimented with not playing a movie on my laptop to help me sleep. It's a habit I've got into for years now, the so called 'white noise' effect. Perhaps it's coincience, but for these past two nights where I haven't had background influence, I've had bizarre dreams, both of which I can recall vividly.

On Saturday night I was on University Challenge with Jeremy Paxman asking the questions. The rest of my team were people I used to go to school with, people I probably haven't thought about for over 20 years (although one of them has just linked up with me on Facebook so perhaps that's why he featured). There was an opposing team there, but I couldn't see their faces. Mr Paxman seemed to ask every question directly to us, rather than to both teams, and I remember there was a big window behind him, overlooking a seafront - think it was similar to Dougals Bay in the IOM.

One question that sticks out is the 'music round'. He groaned as he asked us to 'name the composer of the following arias' but then he played the theme music from Mission Impossible.

Anyone want to psychoanaylse that?

Last night the people in my dream were all from my casino days in IOM. I still seemed to be working for a casino, but it was in Streford Arndale shopping centre near my home in Manchester (there isn't really a casino in there). The casino was also open fronted, no doors and I don't even remember there being any gaming tables either. It felt more like a bookmakers, with a counter towards the back. At one point I remember I was working my last shift before leaving the company but I was given a new uniform and sent home to try it on. I remember protesting that it was pointless as I was leaving, but I was sent home anyway. The new uniform had a bold Scottish tartan on the front, but with a lot of dark blue. I went back to 'work' in it, but seemed to be over 7 hours late, and no one cared...

...think I might stick to the white noise in future. It's less terrifying.

Auf Wiedersehen Pet

2009-11-01T20:02:00.002Z

Just thought I'd use a German phrase as I do work for a German company, but it's the TV show I'm referring to. More importantly, the fact it was set on building sites.

One of the first things you might notice when you arrive in Malta, and take any kind of journey in a vehicle is the amount of construction sites you'll see. Not necessarily with the roadworks that you associate with them in the UK, but construction workers erecting new blocks of flats where-ever there is a spare acre or two of land. The skyline at any given point will always contain a handful of cranes, and if you step outside during the hours of daylight, you won't fail to hear the sound of a drill or cement mixer. Perhaps you're wondering why I'm mentioning this...

Sliema (the area I live in) is seen as one of the main tourist magnets. It combines all the usual necessities for the tourist trade; bars, shops, restaurants, and the launching docks for almost all the tourist ferry trips. It also boasts at least 6 different construction sites that I can think of (just off the top of my head). There are two at the end of my street, and now one directly opposite me. Sitting out on my balcony is no longer the pleasurable experience it could have been as it is now accompanied by a crane towering over me and the lovely sound of hammers and drills. I thought I left this behind in Southampton!

To cap it all, I now find out my local pub has been reclaimed by the lease holder and all the staff have been given notice. The reason? The owner plans on turning it into luxury flats!

There is a strange edge to this though. Talking to a few locals, it seems Malta has over 50,000 empty flats right now. I seem to remember the Isle of Man going through a similar transistion, Douglas sea-front became awash with flats, but no one seemed to know who was expected to buy them.

What all this means for me is I am paying a premium on my rent for the 'location' I'm in and for the 'luxury penthouse' but when you step back and view it, I'm paying to live in the middle of a series of building sites, and to have a balcony that is only of use after normal working hours. I can guarentee, unless something dramatic happens in the next 10 months I won't be renewing my lease, and I'll move to a different area for half the rent...

...and I can bet my landlord will find himself with a flat he's unable to lease out. After all, would you choose a penthouse to live in if it was overlooked by a crane and had constant noise 12 hours a day?

Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part IV (Additional)

2009-10-30T15:28:00.002Z

Hurrah! Told you I could do it!

I got in from work last night at about 10.30pm. I knew the pancake mix needed to be used as soon as possible, but when I took the container out of the fridge and removed the lid, it was like looking at solid putty. I was torn between trying to rescue it, or give it up as a lost cause, but decided to head towards 'rescue'. After all, this was a learning experience, and if I could make it work with what was left, I knew what to do if I ever dared try it again in the future.

My big dilema was how to make it more liquified. I knew I'd already added more than the recommended 400ml of milk, but except for egg, that was the only liquid in it. I went for broke and chucked in another big splosh of the dairy juice, replaced the lid and shook vigourously. When I re-opened it, what I had was what I had dreamed of originally - a runny substance, that poured easily, and smelt like pancake mix.

First attempt with the new mixture. Tiny drop of oil in the non-stick pan, brought up to heat, mixture poured in.....and it moved around easily, a thin coating of pancake in seconds. a tiny pause then over it flips with a spatula. Another short pause and I can toss it over and over again to my hearts desire. Onto a plate, sprinkle of sugar and lemon juice, rolled up and on to the next.

Number 2. Exactly the same. Perfect colouring, even texture, we have a double success.

In total I made 4, each one rolled with sugar and lemon and then the ultimate test. Taste.

Nothing to worry about, they tasted exactly as they should. It was Shrove Tuesday all over again (although I think the last time I had pancakes on Shrove Tuesday would have been nearly 14 years ago).

So now I know. If I use that particular pancake mix again, I can follow the instructions if I want 'Scotch' style pancakes, but if I want 'Shrove Tuesday' pancakes.....

..add twice as much milk.

Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part IV

2009-10-29T13:31:00.002Z

Pancakes. You know, those things that everyone enjoys just before Easter. I've made them before, and very successfully,but this time I was going to have to do it in a foreign country...

It's true, I have made pancakes before when I was married, and they were all exactly as they should be. Thin, lightly cooked, easily tossed etc. I knew it wasn't a difficult task. This time however, I was going to have to try it with a 'ready mix' and guessing at the amount of milk required.

Despite the fact the kitchen I have is equipped with more pots and pans than the restaurant of the London Hilton, The one thing I was missing was any kind of measuring tool. No scales, no jug, nothing. When the ready pancake mix said 'add two eggs and 400ml of milk' I'm going to have to do my best to work out what 400ml of dairy juice actually looks like.

A bit of Mathematics helped me out though. Take a litre carton of milk and pour it into two pint glasses until they are both level (thus making them 500ml each). Take a gulp out of one of them and hey presto you have 400ml of milk!

It wasn't just a weighing scales my kitchen lacked though, I didn't have a mixing bowl. No matter, I can use a 'Tupperware' bowl with a sealable lid. (That bit wasn't a problem, it did prove to be a suitable mising vessle)

I added the mix, the two eggs, the '400ml' of milk and stirred and mixed until my arm felt like it was going to drop off. What was I left with? A mixture so thick I could stand my spoon up in it. I could even turn the container upside down without it falling out. So I added a bit more milk...

..then a bit more...

...then a bit more...

It still had the texture of treacle, but it was starting to thin out a bit, so I decided to try an experimental pancake. I heated the tiniest amount of oil in my frying pan, waited till it was hot enough, then poured in a measure of the pancake mix...

Well, I say 'pour', it was more of a 'gloop' really. It hit the pan in the middle and just stayed there. I tried moving it around to thin it out and make the pancake bigger, but it refused to move. Granted though, I turned it over and it was a lovely golden brown, and when the other side cooked, I did have quite a nice looking 'Scotch Pancake' (I hope you all know what I mean by that).

Ok, next attempt. No oil, less heat. More mixture poured in, and yes! it moves around a bit faster! But not fast enough. Now I have something that resembles a paint splodge on a piece of paper. Little rivers of pancake mix running away from a central hub. Then again, flip it over and cook the other side, and once again it tasted lovely.

Last attempt for the night. More milk added to thin out the mix. Less heat and hey presto we have a pancake! Pours easily to the edges, cooks, to a light golden brown, can be flipped or tossed and tastes perfect. Chances are though I've added nearly a litre of milk by now, more than twice the required '400ml' but hey, who cares! I'm making pancakes!

But then we come to the other side of pancake making. The mess. There are drips, blobs, globules, smears of solid pancake mix everywhere! It has the texture of wallpaper paste when it starts to set and I'm scared it's now blocking up my sink drain. I still have half a tub of mix stored for later, but drips down the side of the box mean I have blobs of paste in my fridge too. I can't get rid of it! Reminds me of a fairy tale from when I was a child...

...The magic porridge pot.

General Maltese Update

2009-10-22T16:10:00.002+01:00

Just thought I'd check in with you all, let you know what's happening and upcoming in the world of Geoff at the moment.

Well firstly the weather stil can't decide what to do. One day I'm going to work in shorts and t-shirt and finding myself still feeling decidely hot, but then 8 hours later when it's time to travel home again I'm wishing I'd packed my water-proofs and thermal undies. The worst weather always seems to be in the night though, which helps (but not with trying to get a good night's sleep of course)

Which brings us on to sleep - or lack of it. I've been on a string of late shifts recently, but my body clock is still waking me at 5 or 6am everyday. 5 days off in a row coming up though, so perhaps a chance to relax and catch up on a bit of napping.

I've taken up a new hobby too. It's free, but might get me arrested one day (or beaten up at the very least). It's photographing Maltese number plates. Yes I know that's sad, but it becomes quite addictive looking out for amusing ones. All plates over here are 3 letters and 3 digits, and it would seem most people get to choose the combination they want (assuming it isn't already registered). This of course leads to lots of 'names' and 'words' being used. If I get enough I might be able to turn them into a complete sentence! Snapping a pic of the front of parked cars though has caused a few heads to turn...one of these days the vehicle owner is probably going to catch me at it!

..and talking of cars, last night as I waited in the dark for my bus home, I heard a screech of brakes. Just in front of the stop is a pedestrian crossing and a young driver had overshot the white line as the lights turned to red. He needn't have worried, the pedestrian who had pressed the button had crossed long before the driver turned up anyway. For some reason though, he decided to reverse. Again for no reason, he decided to reverse in two stages. Just when you thought he'd gone back far enough, he shot back another three feet....

...right into the front of the police car waiting behind him. The distinct sound of breaking tail-light was quickly followed by the officer in the passenger seat leaping out of his car and dragging the young driver out of his. What followed was like a scene out of NYPD Blue - the driver spread over his own bonnet, the contents of his pockets emptied onto the roof. I had been warned before that police over here have no sense of humour and can be quite brutal - I can see what they mean.

Think that about wraps up my life as I know it. Still cooking (had a HUGE rib-eye steak for lunch yesterday with a bit of veg, salad and new potatoes. photo available if required). Having my first trial of Maltese post as I've ordered a cheap DVD to be delivered to the office address. I can see how long it takes, and if it seems safe before ordering any others. If it never arrives, it's a lesson learnt and it wasn't expensive anyway.

..oh and I finally tracked down some lightbulbs in a DIY shop near work. over 8 Euros each though! If I decide to change apartments after 12 months when this lease runs out...

....I'm taking my bulbs with me!

Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part III (Again)

2009-10-17T20:27:00.003+01:00

Look! I had to show you this! It's been two successes in a row, and this time it's captured on camera.

I think the main reason for the success has to be given to the non-stick frying pan. I guess in the past I've always relied on oil to stop the egg from sticking, but you can't beat proper non-stick for making it easy to lif the omellette out of the pan to fold it over.

This one is bacon and cheese. (I cooked the bacon whilst the oven chips were cooking, chopped it up and mixed the bits in with a small handful of grated cheese).

See, I can eat sensibly when I put my mind to it :D

p.s. The rest of the plate is carrot, swede and peas with a nob of Flora light (that hasn't melted yet) A bit of iceberg lettuce and a few rustic oven chips.

Agatha Christie: The Case of The Missing Lightbulbs...Again!

2009-10-17T20:12:00.002+01:00

Well in actual fact no lightbulbs have technically disappeared this time, so there is no need to call in Miss Marple to investigate...

...I just can't find a shop that sells them!

So far two bulbs have gone in the apartment. Both of them are in the small corridor between the lounge and bedrooms, so neither of them are particularly vital. When the second one blew though, I decided to add lightbulbs to my on going shopping list so that I could pick up a few spares in readiness for a third one dying on me. So far, I've been unable to buy one.

First port of call was obviously my regular supermarket, Scotts. I was up and down the aisles desperately looking for them. I tried the hardware section with the brooms and mops. Nothing. I tried the cleaning section with the Jay-cloths and sprays. Nothing. I tried the kitchen section with the frying pans and spatulas. Nothing. In the end I gave in and asked an assistant. With a smile and a spring in his step he led me to the furthest corner of the supermarket (in the fruit and veg section) and pointed to one shelf at the same height as my ankles. "there you are sir" he said cheerily, pointing at a small selection of bulbs.

Well yes, they were lightbulbs, and there were a mixture of bayonette and screw fittings, but they were all 'lamp' bulbs. The smaller sized lights. There were none that were the right size for my needs.

Next day, coming to work, I pass a small 'corner shop'. It's not actually on a corner, but you know what I mean. If we were in Doncaster right now it'd be called 'Awkrights' and there would be a stuttering man behind the counter giving his assistant a clip round the ear. This shops sells everything. Last thing I got from here was a triple pack of mosquito spray.....

...side note. The mosquito spray I use is called PIFF PAFF. The instructions for use on the back state: Directions for use: Shake well and spray on insect for 2-3 seconds for instant kill. For flying insects spray in the air for 3-4 seconds. Do they expect the mosquito to stay motionless while I'm spraying it for 2-3 seconds? In reality you end up using half a can just to eliminate one bug!

...back to the shop. They may sell fly spray, but once again, no lightbulbs. Has someone cornered the market in them? Is someone panic buying them all and is planning on selling them for a profit when the demand hits epidemic proportions?....

...I'll let you know if I ever find any. Hopefully before my flat is plunged into darkness forever.

Cookie Junior: A Star is Born

2009-10-15T12:08:00.007+01:00

Finally, after literally months of waiting (and an extra 10 days for good measure) Jackie has finally given birth to little Emily.

Weight: 7lb 10oz (That's the exact same weight as the largest Chub fish ever caught in the River Ribble. Well done to Martin James who landed the whopper back in 2005)

Labour time: 90 minutes (About the same running time as an episode of Midsomer Murders if you cut out the advert breaks)

Time of birth: 16:05 (the last time a full solar eclipse was visible on earth was back in Jan 2009 visible from several areas in Asia. The eclipse began at 4.05pm on that day).

Ok, I jest. I'm over the moon for her and Mark. The brief description I have is she's got her daddy's face but her mummy's hair, which means we have another red-head on the planet!

I was debating for a long time what I could get her as a present. Anyone who knows me would guess I would plump for a teddy bear, and of course, they'd be right - but that's the kind of thing I'd want to take with me when I visit. The present now, to celebrate the birth, would have to be ordered online, and delivered, so giving it a personal touch would be hard.

...and then it came to me.

On the 12th October 2009 a new star was born on the planet. On the same day, a star in the constellation of Andromeda, was offically renamed 'Emily Vardy'. It's something that will always be there. No matter where she is, little Emily can look up and know that one of those tiny specks of light is there just for her.

If you're wondering why I chose Andromeda, there were two reasons. (a) it's visible with the naked eye if you're in the Northern Hemisphere nearly all the year round and (b) Andromeda means 'princess' so I thought it was quite appropriate.

Welcome to the world Emily, I can't wait to meet you in December.
x x x

Pulling the Plug

2009-10-13T06:54:00.002+01:00

Don't panic, I'm not calling an end to the blog. I know you all couldn't function without it. Just writing an entry to let you know I've experienced my first Maltese power cut.

Apparently they can be quite common over here. I'm pretty sure I've had one before, at least I woke up one day to find my electronic alarm clock blinking at me, so something must have happened. This time is was the middle of the afternoon. I'd just got in from work, so it must be around 2.30pm. I needed to go out for a few essentials, but I remembered the old maxim of never going food shopping on an empty stomach. I made a toasted sandwich with what was left of the chicken I cooked a few days ago. I sat down to eat it and began watching an episode of the Victoria Wood sitcom Dinnerladies but as I took my first bite, the television turned itself off.

You must all have been in a power cut at some point. The first thing that happens is a moment of confusion. Is it just the TV? is it a fuse? You try a few lights. Then you try a few more lights to see if it's just the lounge that's gone. You try other appliances, still in a state of disbelief. Then you try waiting for a few minutes to see if it's just an accidental switch off by some trainee at the power station.

Not sure how long I waited, but in the end I decided to go shopping anyway, and hope it'd be back on by the time I returned. Picked up my rucksack, put some money in my wallet and stepped into the lift...

..which of course didn't work (thank God the power didn't go whilst I was inside it)

Ok, back-stairs. I'd never actually used these before. I can see why. Very narrow, very steep, and with a low handrail. Flat 4, two floors below me had covered their section of the stairwell with junk and old boxes which had to be negotiated too. Anyway, safely down, out the front door and off to the supermarket. Hotel down the street is in darkness and ATM on the corner is also off. (This is actually quite reassuring. Tells me it wasn't something I did in the flat. Believe me, that's good news from my perspective!)

Three quarters of the way there I have a moment of clarity. Is there any point going to the shops? Electric doors won't open. People stuck at the checkout waiting for the till to come back on. Aisles in darkness. As it happens the store was all lit up and operational, must be on a seperate circuit, or have their own generator.

Bought my essentials (milk, cereal, deodorent, juice, iceberg lettuce, margerine and Bold 2 in 1 liqui-tabs amongst other things) and trotted off home. Still no ATM, still a hotel in darkness. Oh dear....

...which also means 6 flights of steep, narrow stairs, now with two bags of shopping and a heavy back-pack. I really didn't think this one through before I set off. I arrived at my 'front' door looking like the creature from the swamp. Sweat dripping out of every pore, my fingers about to detach themselves from my hands because of the shopping bags - but I was home.

I put the shopping away and quickly checked what was the most likely to be ruined if the power was off for a while. This is where I had one of those stupid conversations with myself. (and don't deny it, you've all done it too during a blackout).

"Ok, frozen chicken is fine if it defrosts, I can cook that tomorrow, but that frozen pizza will have to be eaten. I'll have that for tea" - and cook it in an electric oven?

"In the meantime I'll just watch some more Dinnerladies until the power comes back on"

"Silly me I can't watch Dinnerladies on my DVD player! I know, I'll use my laptop and watch it on that. Just need to charge it first"

You get the general idea. Everything I thought of doing, and genuinely stood up to do, involved electricity of some kind. In the end I sat with a can of beer reading a book, until I heard the lift whirr back into life. Then the TV came back on and it was all back to normal. It was out for about ninety minutes in total....

...so I saved the pizza for another occasion

♫ La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha, Na Na Na Na Na Na.♫

2009-10-11T09:48:00.002+01:00

I hope your Spanish is good enough to know what the title means. If not, I'm sure the following tale will help you out.

I was working the late shift last night. I finished at 9.30pm and wandered down the hill to the bus stop. Catching the bus home on a Friday an Saturday night is not the most pleseant of experiences at the best of times - the route I need to take carries on to Paceville which I've explained before is the island's nightclub area. Every bus that comes past is packed with scantily clad females and boys with far too much hair gel and after-shave on.

I stood at the bus-stop for well over half an hour. The first few buses to go past weren't any use to me, they were 'party' buses that by-passed Sliema and went on to the clubs. The next two were ones I could have caught, but they were already over filled, and the driver wouldn't let any more on. I was five minutes away from giving up and walking home. I kept telling myself 'one more bus, and then I'm off'.

..of course if I'd just set off on foot straight from work I'd probably be walking in my front door at this point...

..anyway, I'm at the bus stop, around me are more party animals. Girls in skirts that were smaller than my belt, lads in brilliant white shirts, half open and more grease in there hair than the deep fat fryer in a Mcdonalds. Next to the lay-by is a food outlet window. It sells pies, pasties, pizza slices - the kind of thing that's quick and easy to eat and perfect for lining your stomach before a night in the bars. No, I didn't buy anything, but it might be related to what happens next.

At some point I looked down and saw a cockroach scurry past on the pavement ahead of me. It almost made me jump, the speed it was travelling. I looked around and saw another one disappear under the Coca Cola vending machine off to my left. I then looked down at my own feet....

....can you guess what's coming? If you think I'm about to say there was a cockroach on my shoe, I'm afraid you're only half right...

..there were TWO big cockroaches crawling across my left ankle, and over my shoe. Not just over it, from one side to the other, but crawling back and forth. A tough man would have just flicked them off, with a deft kick of his foot. A brave man would have reached down and lifted them off. Me? I went into a girlie dance waving my leg in the air (and both my arms for some reason) until they decided to let go of my footwear.

I'm guessing it wasn't the best way to impress the ladies, but I'd like to see what they would have done if they saw two cockroaches crawling on their foot heading north!

After a further 10 minutes (a full hour after I left work) a packed bus turned up that would let us on. Standing all the way home, squashed in like a baked bean, subconsiously rubbing my ankle with my other foot, just in case...

...I dread the day I spot one in my apartment.

"It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information"

2009-10-06T08:10:00.005+01:00

"Treat all disasters as if they were trivialities, but never treat a triviality as if it were a disaster"

"Why is it that our memory is good enough to retain the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not good enough to recollect how often we have told it to the same person?"

This entry perhaps will you give you another insight into how my brain works. On the other hand you might just realise how sad my life can be. You might also treat this entry as a complete waste of time and skip past it. Either way, here it is.

I was reading a funny, and quite inciteful book in the loo yesterday. I've read it before, but it's been gathering dust on my shelf since then so I decided to give it another go. It's called 'Brainmen' and it's a humerous insight into quizzes, expecially pub quizzes and the kind of people who take part in them. It also gives a brief summary of the origins of the 'very British' phenomenum, including that memorable Christmas of 1987 when every decorated tree in England had a box of Trivial Pursuits underneath it. (including ours if I remember correctly)

You all must know by now I love trivia. I've written more pub quizzes than I care to mention, hosted big events for whole companies in plush hotel suites, (including spoof versions of Millionaire and Weakest Link). Appeared on three TV shows (well the third one is yet to air, but we hold out hope for November now) In all this time, there is one thing that has never occured to me...

...Where does the word trivia come from?

Ok, at first glance it's a Latin word, and to most people that would be enough, but my brain didn't stop there. My Latin GCSE studies are a long time ago, but I still recognise the two parts of the word. Tri realing to the number 3 and via which relates to roads and passages. If that is correct then trivia really means three roads, or perhaps where three roads come together. What has that got to do with knowing the capital of Venezuela or who scored the winning goal in the 1985 FA Cup Final?...

...so I looked it up.

Here comes the explanation of the origin of the word. If you're already bored you can switch off now.

It is a Latin word and it does relate to an area where three roads come together. If it were four roads it would be a quadrivia etc. Still doesn't explain the current usage though does it.

Well now you have to jump forward to Medieval education. Teachings in the early part of a student's life would be concerned with three forms, Rhetoric, Grammar and Logic. After these were mastered, a pupil would move on to the next four stages of learning, Arithmetic, Astronomy, Geometry and Music.

They kept the Latin words too, the three ways of learning to begin with were the trivium or trivia and the four advanced pathways of learning became known as the quadrivium. By that token, trivia was seen as the things of little or no importance compared with the more important quadrivia.

....aren't you glad you know that now!

(p.s. The capital city is Caracas and Norman Whiteside scored the winning goal for Man Utd against Everton despite being down to ten men after Kevin Moran became the first person to be sent off in an FA Cup Final)

Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part III

2009-10-06T07:06:00.002+01:00

Actually, it's just another attempt by me to make an omelette, so in reality this is an extension of Holy Grail Part I...

I'd actually made the effort to buy a few different things for my fridge/freezer, rather than the same old frozen stuff and sliced meats. I had cheese (of course) but now I also had bacon, fresh frankfurters, onions, tomatoes, a cucumber, and eggs. I'm in the middle of a set of early shifts at work, so when I got in from the office I was halfway between what you'd call dinner-time and tea-time (or if you're of a higher class I was sandwiched between lunch and dinner)

I knew I was planning on an early night. I'd just got hold of 5 James Bond films in a sale and I was trying to watch one per night, in bed, all this week. I opened the fridge door to decide on what to make for my main meal of the day and plumped for another attempt at an omelette, accompanied by a few rustic oven chips. (What a stroke of genius by some marketing guy. Cut the chips into less even chunks, don't bother peeling them in the first place and you can call them 'rustic')

Now we have the first of several problems. My new apartment is stocked to the gills with kitchen paraphernalia, but it seems to be lacking a couple of essentials. There is no jug, nor is there a proper frying pan. There IS a round saucepan with very shallow sides that resembles a frying pan, but it comes with a lid (that has a steam hole in it). I think I've seen them use one of these on the telly, usually ends with them pouring half a bottle of red wine over some concoction and 'leaving to simmer'. For me this was going to have to become an omlette pan and a half pint glass was going to have to double as a mixing jug for my eggs.

Ok, chips cooking nicely in the oven, a bit of cheese grated on a plate in readiness (the Mexicana cheese I mentioned in a previous entry), half an onion chopped and lightly fried to soften, three eggs cracked into the glass and beaten with a little added salt and garlic pepper...here we go.

The 'pan' was warming with a small amount of oil. I wasn't convinced it was non-stick, it certainly didn't look it, hence the oil. I poured in the eggs and moved the liquid around. It began to cook instantly, I continued to move the liquid egg to the edges, keeping it as even as possible. Next problem. No proper spatula, having to make do with a wooden one. I lift the edges away all the time, and my first indication of a problem. It's not lifting nicely away. Despite the oil, it is beginning to stick to the pan. Ok, lets get it done ASAP before I'm left with a charred mess. Cheese and onion mix added to half of the 'omelette', wooden spatula forced under the opposite side and......fold!

...well of course it didn't work. What did you expect? The underneath was the right colour, and it was the right 'thickness' to have been able to lift up in one piece, but of course it just came up in bits. I did have one trick up my sleeve though...

The half of the omelette that I had put the fillings on hadn't beeen 'lifted' yet. When it came to serving it onto a plate, instead of sliding the mess out of the pan I decided to tip it right over, exposing the underside of the untouched half. This half was still perfectly intact and now it was on the plate it was on the top. It perfectly masked the crumpled bombsite that was now cowering underneath. The few chips served along side, half a tomato for decoration and it actually looked like a half decent meal. Only I knew the guilty secret that underneath was just a mass of egg, cheese and onion....

...and it tasted lovely.

p.s. The pan was a bugger to clean though!

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once"

2009-10-05T10:46:00.003+01:00

Quiz time again. Try and guess who is credited with the quotation I've used as the title of this entry. Answer at the bottom.

Thought I'd make an entry on the subject of time. Chances are it will go off at a tangent to tell you about an unusual bus journey I had this morning, but we'll see how things pan out.

I never really thought I'd get used to the time difference. I remember when I came to Malta for a three week stint near the start of the year I was constantly converting my watch back to UK time in my head. Time for sleep, time to get up, time to eat - everything was being done at the moment I would have done it in Southampton. Of course I was still on Hampshire time for work anyway so in many ways that made sense.

This time though, I seem to have adjusted to the difference relatively quickly. Ok, it's only a sixty minute switch and yes, there is no English office to work along side, but I don't find myself converting the hours anymore....

..well that's not strictly true. I do catch myself out on occasion. If I know there is soccer on the telly I always sit down to watch it an hour early by mistake. Saturday afternoon games are still 3pm to me, not 4 and my brain tells me the midweek European games start at 7.45pm, not 8.45.

Ok, I knew I'd get onto the bus journey story one way or another. For the past two weeks we've been experimenting with 6am starts, and in return the late finish is brought forward to 10pm from 11pm. Covering the office 7am til 11pm was a direct result of the UK office hours which were 6am until 10pm. (Are you following this?) So now it was time to go back to 6am until 10pm, but on Maltese time. Good God I'm confusing myself now!

Ok, so this morning was my first attempt at getting into the office for 6am. Remember that's actually 5am if you're on UK time. I knew there was one bus line that started it's service at 5.30am, came through Sliema and went past work, so it should just get me there ontime. I'm waiting at the stop at exactly 5.30am and after about 15 minutes of waiting the bus arrived. (not waiting in the cold as you might expect either. I had shorts and a light summer shirt on and that was perfect for the temperature)...

...here we take one of my usual sidesteps. The route the bus takes is to begin in an area called Paceville, through a baytown called St Julians, onto Sliema to pick me up, next it's Pieta (where I get off) before it heads onto the depot at Valletta. All you need to know about those places is Paceville is the main area for the whole of the island to go for a night out. It's a small place, but every building is either a bar or a night club (or both). IT's also packed with fast-food outlets and more neon than the Las Vegas Strip.

..Ok, so this bus has set off from Paceville at 5.30am, pulls up at my stop and I get on. For that time of morning the bus is surprisingly busy and the first thing I notice is an overpowering smell of stale alcohol. As I pay the driver and look down the bus, all I can see is a crowd of deshevelled men and women, slumped over chairs and each other, hair all over the place, make-up smeared, true 'party animals' who've partied a bit too hard over the weekend. Ah, but that makes sense of course, clubs and bars would finally kick out the stragglers at about 5am. Most of them probably not in a position to pay the extortionate cab fares, just hang around until the buses start up again. I was basically on what we'd call 'The Night Bus' in the UK. I sat next to an older lady on the front row. I don't care if I am supposed to give it up for the disabled and elderly, I wasn't going anywhere near the rabble at the back. I was getting drunk on their breath as it was!

But I arrived at work at exactly 6am, so as far as the experiement goes, it will be possible for us to run the office 6am until 10pm....

...but I dread my first 6am start on a Saturday or Sunday when the REAL party animals are dragging themselves home!

ANS: Albert Einstein

The Apartment

2009-09-28T20:50:00.002+01:00

No need for funny quips, here's Bob's tour of the apartment.

Work

2009-09-28T14:44:00.003+01:00

I refuse to block this blog from general access as that goes against the principal of me writing it. Now I know it is being read, and used for incorrect reasons, by a member of staff - work related entries will be kept to a minimum, and will only be light-hearted tales.

It seems a shame that I have to bite my tongue over certain issues, but I will find other sources to vent my spleen when necessary.

End of Entry.

My Magnificent Octopus Part VII

2009-09-28T13:47:00.003+01:00

I finally picked up the quill, the first time since I crossed the pond, and decided to get back into the writing game. It was quite a fun process.

Ok, as you read this, I'm just going to sound big headed. I apologise now, saves me doing it fifty times along the way. I know I'm not a published writer, I also know the chances of this book ever getting into print is roughly the same odds as winning the Saturday lottery the day after scooping the EuroMillions, so bear with me if I 'sound' cocky. I don't mean to.

As mentioned, I haven't picked up the novel for seveal weeks. If I'm honest, it could even be stretching towards more than two months. As regular readers will know I've had a lot on my plate of late, so getting my lame murder mystery finished was right at the bottom of my list of 'things to do'. It was Saturday that I slapped myself in the face and decided to pick up the memory stick. (The signs of a modern generation eh? Any other author would pick up a pen and the manuscript. I have to hunt out a memory stick!)...

...but where was I up to? I knew in my head roughly where the plot had got to, but I was also aware that my brain had the next few sections of the storyline drafted. As it was the first time back in front of the keyboard for quite a while I decided to read what was already written right from page one...

...and do you know what? I actually found it enjoyable. Yes of course I'm bias, but I'm also my own worse critic. Even though I knew the story off by heart, I still found myself smiling and laughing at certain phrases I'd used (phrases I didn't even remember coming up with). Not laughing 'at' it, but laughing 'with' it. It was a bloody good read.

Granted, I could instantly see where I had skimmed too fast over certain plot points, and where other sections needed more detail, but I have admitted that from day one. My initial aim is to get to the final page with a complete story written, and then go back to turn the story into a full blown novel. The two central characters almost feel 'real' too, something I was paranoid I'd find hard to do. I was always scared I'd make them too 'two-dimensional' but I've noticed it only takes a single sentence, or sometimes even just a few words to conjure up images in your head, and let the reader create their own back story.

I suppose it helps that DCI Morgen is basically me disguised as an ageing policeman, but his assistant, DS Krake is certainly not me, and I can't think off anyone off hand that he is directly based on.

Anyway, we're 120 pages in, three murders down, and Morgen has just held a press conference to reassure the general public that he's about to catch the killer. Of course this sets it all up nicely for the depression I've talked about previously. Little does Morgen know that murder number 4 has already happened whilst the press conference is in progress. A bit like Columbo though, the reader already knows this, and I'm trying to get across the idea that you (as an innocent reader) want to help Morgen. You want to be in that press conference telling him to shut up and stop making promises about 'no more deaths'....

...but you'll have to wait till it's finished to find out if he fights his way out of the depression or not! :)

"Thunderbolt & Lightening, Very Very Frightening..."

2009-09-24T12:04:00.002+01:00

Sorry that all these Maltese entries seem to revolve around shopping, insects and weather. Truth is, so far that's all my Maltese life has amounted to (except for bone-shaking bus rides and work). Sadly, this entry is not a jaunt away from the norm.

Last night I went to bed early. I have done for the past few nights in the vain hope of sleeping more. The night temperature hasn't been as crazy of late, so I've been able to get closer to five or six hours. Last night however the Gods were against me and did everything they could to keep me awake.

It must have started about one o'clock in the morning. I could hear a swirling wind beating against my balcony window. Thankfully the landlord had been round to fix the lock that day, so it wasn't accompanied by a loud rattle. Next sound to join the orchestra was beating rain, lashing against the window in my bedroom. The blinds were almost fully closed, but I could still see the droplets smashing against the glass, lit up by neighbouring apartments. The final addition to the ensemble was the storm. It was the lightening first. Not an occasional flash, followed seconds later by the rumble of the thunder, no, this was a barrage of light, one after another.

You know on the news when they are about to take you to a roving reporter at the red carpet of a film premiere and the newscaster says 'viewers should be aware that the following images contain flash photography'? It was just like that. It was as though Hugh Grant and George Clooney had just stepped out of a limo together holding hands and every journalist wanted the scoop.

Flash after flash after flash. Of course there was thunder too, but it was one, long constant drone. The kind of sound you can only make if you were inside an echo chamber with an eight foot kettle drum.

Time ran on. Two o'clock, three o'clock. My alarm was set for five. At this point I didn't care if I got back to sleep, but I was worried about how I would get to work without looking like a drowning man. Not only did I have the two minute walk to my bus stop, but there was the ten minute 'It's a knockout' adventure at the other end to look forward to. Then the weather Gods turned on their magic...

...as my alarm sprang into life at 5am, everything stopped. The lightening flashes stopped. The rumbling thunder rolled away. The swirling wind disappeared. The lashing rain subsided. All was calm. Perhaps it was just the eye of the storm, but I knew I had a window of opportunity to get to work and stay dry....

...and I did.

...but the journey wasn't without it's own adventure. I was on one of the older buses in the fleet, a real 1940's contraption. As we left Sliema you get to the foot of a hill, and begin a steady climb up. The hours of rain had of course flooded this valley area, and it was now at least 18 inches deep in places. Parked cars there had the water level completely obsuring their wheels, and partially up the doors. One car had 'floated' away blocking the road, but the bus in front of our 'nudged' it out of the way to give us both clear passage. Everyone seemed to go about their daily business as everything was normal.....

...but at least I knew how Noah felt now.

"There's Many a Long Night I've Dreamed of Cheese..."

2009-09-23T06:42:00.004+01:00

Go on clever clogs. Do you know what the title is a quotation from and who made it?...

(Answer at the end of the blog entry)

But it is an appropriate title. I adore cheese. There aren't many cheeses I don't like, but I certainly have my favourites. I could become the dairy equivalent of a wine expert - just without the bull-shit and fakeness that seems to go hand in hand with the lovers of the grape.

(Wine experts really get up my nose! "Oh I can smell tulips and a hint of buttercup. Autumnal rain and cosy log fires. There's an after taste of hospital bedsheets and badger. Reminds me of the '73 with a soupçon of the '75" Grrrrrr)

Anyway, back to the cheese. I was in my local supermarket last night (the proper one this time with the horrendously slow queues) and I knew I needed to stock up on cheese. I think I've mentioned before that one thing this store has, is an excellent cheese counter and for the first time I decided to order from it. The prices were steep for some of the imported and flavoured varieties, but the basics were a reasonable cost. I plumped for a medium sized portion of normal edam and then scanned around for a flavoured cheese for a bit of a change.

There in the front corner of the counter was a mild cheese with peppercorns. Ah, it took me straight back to the Isle of Man. Manx cheeses are right up there on my list as some of the best in the world and their flavoured ones are second to none. I knew any other peppercorn cheese would just be a disappointment to me so I glanced elsewhere in the cabinet for something else. Then another familiar flavour caught my eye. 'Mild with sweet chilli'. Another throw back to my yeras on the island. I even used to get the swet chilli one delivered to my door once a week with my milk. It was this variety though that made me do a comical double take. You know one of those moments where you look away but then instantly look back? The wrapper for the sweet chilli cheese carried the Three Legs of Man logo. Another look at the peppercorn and lo and behold there was the same ident. No matter where I go Manx cheeses will always be there for me. I felt quite proud (even though I had nothing to do with making the cheese or organising it's import to Malta).

Sadly the price was extortionate. Yes it'd be worth every cent, but when you know how much it costs at the source it's enough to make you weep. I settled for a Mexican hard cheese instead, but I might be tempted back if I feel the craving gets too much for me...

...now i wonder if they do Manx Queenies and kippers too...

p.s. There was a post script on an earlier entry where I bemoaned the prices in the supermarket. I've kept my last till receipt so thought I'd give you a few examples. I'm using Tesco as a comparison (and I've multiplied the UK price by 1.1 to covert it to Euros as that's the rough exchange rate at the moment)

1kg Kelloggs Cornflakes: - Tesco: 3.49 Scotts: 4.66
2ltrs Coke Zero: - Tesco: 1.37 Scotts: 1.45
Single Pepperami stick: - Tesco: 0.51 Scotts: 0.93
1ltr Energy drink (own brand): - Tesco 0.82 Scotts 1.75
ChicagoTown takeaway pizza: - Tesco 2.75 Scotts 5.10

Get the idea? I have found a few basics are cheaper here though. Milk for instance is 72c a litre (about 1 and 3/4 pints) and italian meats like chorizo and salami are a few cents lower. But I can't exactly live on a diet of pepperoni and milk can I?....

...or can I? hee hee

ANSWER: Ben Gunn in R.L. Stevenson's 'Treasure Island'

Feeding Time Part II

2009-09-20T09:44:00.002+01:00

It's really starting to get me down. I can't concentrate on anything else. I can't sleep. I can't relax. I'm at the end of a proverbial tether.

Whatever it is that thinks I look like a satisfying evening meal won't go away. I thought I had dealt with the vermin, after two days of bite-less nights, but it was just the eye of the storm. Not a night has passed now without getting up with a fresh scratch. A fresh area of my body to drive me insane for the next few days.

I'm sure at some point you've all had an insect bite. It's not the pain of the bite itself, it's the constant 24/7 reminder that it's there. Well now multiply that irritation by 17 (my current bite count). Now extend the period of suffering from 'a few days' to 'a few weeks'.

I've tried everything. I've sprayed the entire room half an hour before going to bed with industrial bug spray (then sealing the room completely until it's time to go to bed). I've tried drowning myself in insect repellent. I've been told they hate air-conditioning, so I've run that through the night (at great expense). I've lit joss-sticks. I'm running out of ideas and it's making me cry myself to sleep.

It doesn't help I can't get a comfortable temperature in the night either. I tend to have to sleep on top of the covers and this still doesn't prevent me waking up in a pool of sweat (and yes it is sweat, I checked!) Of course, flying critters love damp areas don't they. I must look like Valhalla to those winged warriors of the night. You see, that's the other irritation, the constant layer of sweat on my body. It's just no longer funny (not that it ever was). The weather is so humid. It has been breaking a lot recently, but it doesn't seem to help.

Two nights ago I ended up staying awake all night. The pain from the bites I already had was driving me crazy so much I just couldn't face going to bed and waking up with more. Last night I had to make an effort to sleep - I was facing the prospect of getitng run over crossing the road in a daze if I didn't. Of course, I woke up with two new bites on the inside of my left arm and one on my little finger. I cried again.

I really don't know what else I can do. When the public holiday is over here (they seem to have one every two weeks and everything shuts when they do) I'm going to see if I can find a plug-in electric bug repellant. It's the only hope I have left.

With this lack of sleep and constant skin irritation I am not a happy camper around anyone else. I've completely lost my patience and sense of humour. Everything bugs me (excuse the pun). I can't seem to get it through to anyone what I am going through. When I hear someone laugh at the situation I feel the urge to clentch my fist. I can't remember the last time I ever had proper violent tendancies. I am not the Geoff you once knew anymore...

...and it's the tiny bugs to blame.

Definition of an Eejit Part XIII

2009-09-15T07:40:00.005+01:00

Blimey, there must have been more than 13 times that I've proved myself to be a few Smarties short of a tube? Oh well, here's the story of number 13 anyway, and it's back to the kitchen...

It was late last night. I had wanted to go to bed a bit earlier to see if I could actually get some sleep for once, but the landlord was coming round to have a look at the lock on the balcony door. By the time he left (the lock still not fixed) it was past 10 o'clock, but it was only then I realised I hadn't eaten all day. I knew without looking that the food cupboards were almost bare, (well, except for about 9 litres of mineral water, 15 cans of imported Dutch beer and some Cheddar cheese) but I did have some pasta, pasta sauce and a tin of some kind of chilli paste...

...I have to break away here to relate the story of how I got the pasta, sauce and paste. Trust me, it is impotant.

I may have mentioned that I have a local supermarket nearby. That's fine if I'm doing a large amount of shopping, but it can be a bit of a chore if I just need one or two items. The walk there, the walk back, the mind-numbing slowness of the check-out queues, the pensioners blocking the aisles... not fun if all I need is some toilet roll. What I have done though is find smaller shops all around that can provide the items I need to buy on their own, so I don't need to make the journey to the larger store. I have somewhere I go to for my water, somewhere else I go to for beer. There is a chemist for toiletries and a kiosk if I want a hot pie or any other kind of quick snack. Get the idea? Of course I'm always on the look out for other shops in the local vicinity, it's amazing where some of them hide out.

On the road parrallel to mine, just round a slight bend I found a 'self service convenience store' (well that's what it said outside anyway). I popped my head in and it was exactly as I expected. A small store with one long aisle, divided into two sections by a central bank of shelves. Try to imagine Awkrights corner shop from 'Open all Hours' but on a bigger scale. The shelves were piled high with tins, packets, and jars seemingly in no sense of order. At the entrance to the store was the till, and behind that, a smiling woman, possibly of Middle Eastern origin. I smiled back and ventured in, not really knowing what I was looking for.

My intention was just to look around, work out what I could use this shop for on a regular basis, and then leave, but the way the shop was laid out meant as soon as I was in, I felt compelled to buy something. If I walked down the aisle, back up the other side and then just left I'd feel so guilty, soI searched frantically for something cheap but useful. Then I started to panic...

Every item, every jar, every tin had no english writing on it. I had wandered into a Halal supermarket. My eyes darted from one thing to the next, desperate to spot something I recognised, but I was having no luck. One tin had a cartoon cow on it, but did that mean it was processed meat, or tinned milk? I was stumped.

It was at this point that a young boy came running up to me, tugged on my shirt and thrust a basket into my hand. I thanked him, but that made me even more petrified that I had to buy something. How much worse would it be now if I walked past the till empty handed and passed the basket back to the shop owner? But my luck was about to change...

Right at the end of the shop was a spice rack. This I could work out. Garlic pepper, vindaloo curry powder, paprika - they are the same in any language. I'm sure I let out an audible sigh of relief. My luck kept improving. Next to the spices were a few dried good packets, one of which was tube shaped pasta. Who needs a label for pasta? I was on a roll. What's this next to the pasta? a row of jars with a red sauce inside and a picture of a plate of spaghetti on the front! It may not say Ragu on the side but I knew what this was too. Oh the joy! Could I find anything else? well look what we have here... a tiny tin with a ring pull on the top and pictures of chilli peppers on the side. chilli sauce perhaps? chopped chillies? who knows, but whatever it is it can be added to pasta sauce to give it a bit of zest. Selections made, goods bought, and home to put my prize purchases away for a rainy day.

(I haven't been back to that shop yet, and it's not really on my list, but I suppose if I need spices or pasta again it's as good a place as any. It was dirt cheap too!)

Back to last night. Landlord gone, I need something to eat but only thing I have is the pasta and sauce. (told you it was relevant!) Actually I'm lying there, I have a loaf in the freezer but I haven't found anywhere to buy more margarine yet. There is a chinese chicken stir-fry thing in there too. But tonight it was going to be a bowl of pasta and sauce for tea. Yes, I know having a plate of carbs just before going to bed is probably not the best thing if I'm looking for sleep, but since when did I do anything sensible?

Saucepan of water on, pasta in, starting to soften. All good so far. Pasta done, drained, sauce added, back on the heat to mix together (I had to phone my Dad about that bit. Please don't ask me why, but for some reason I just couldn't work out how to mix the sauce with the pasta. All I kept thinking was it wouldn't work because the saucepan was full of water. I really must have been in need of sleep!)

..and then I opened the tiny tin with the chillies on it. What was inside? a sort of red paste. Thicker than a sauce, reminded me a bit of poly-filler, just a different colour. I dipped my little finger in and tasted it. Hot, but yummy.... here comes the Eejit bit....

...because it was such a small can, I assumed it was a single portion serving. I added the entire contents of the tiny tin to the pasta/sauce mix, stirred a few times then dished up. Before I could take my mouthful, the small morsel I had tried moments before suddenly kicked in. My tongue was on fire and I hadn't even touched the pasta yet. I think the reason the tin was so small was because a little is meant to go a long long LONG way.

I drained half a litre of mineral water into my mouth and panted like a long-haired dog after a jog. I stared at the bowl of pasta and sauce I had just made and wondered if I should even chance it. Anyone who knows me well knows I like my heat. Jallapinos on every pizza, vindaloo curries if I dine out, West Indian red pepper sauce with my cheese on toast - you name it, I'll try it. This chilli paste though was something else....but I wasn't going to let it beat me.

....I ate the pasta. Granted it took me about 4 attempts, another two litres of water in total and a towel on stand-by to constantly wipe my forehead, but I finished it....

..and I'm going to be regretting it for the rest of today no doubt. But for eating an entire jar of chilli paste (and buying it in the first place when I couldn't read the serving instructions on the side) I am once again an eejit.

Jeux Sans Frontières

2009-09-13T09:43:00.002+01:00

All I needed was Stuart Hall laughing inanely into a microphone, and I would have been on an episode if It's a Knockout this morning. Let me explain.

The weather has really broken now in Malta. Heavy rain throughout the night that has lessened to a fine drizzle by the time I had to go to work. I decided I'd opt for jeans because of the lower temperature, but a thin t-shirt (quicker than a heavy shirt to dry when I'm sat in the office.) On my feet I chose a pair of (what I thought) were sturdy trainers. No socks, in case my feet got wet.

Two steps outside my front door and I knew I was in trouble. The trainers had no grip at all on the slippery pavements.

Have you visited Malta? I'll assume not so I'll explain what the pavements are like over here. Random and treacherous would be the best two words to sum them up. Each house or building has a different style of paving outside it, from shiny tiles to road tarmac. From rough concrete to cracked flagstones. Every two strides you change surface. Added to this, the slope of each section also appears to have no bearing to the road you are on. One second it's running level with the road, the next it's sloping dramatically towards it. Then sloping just as dramatically away from the road, then back to flat again. Imagine those funny paths that constantly move in Blackpool Funhouse and you'll get the general idea.

Now add in the water factor. Free flowing liquid on the top of all these bizarre walkways. Sometimes charging towards you as you climb a slope. Occasionally running with you as you head downhill. More often than not, running sideways, looking for the drains.

As I got off the bus I was faced with the gargantuan task of walking about a third of a mile, all uphill, to the office. To be honest, I should have been in a giant rabbit costume, clutching a huge inflatable carrot and having Mr Hall screaming 'Here come the Belgiums!' I even stopped at one point, holding onto a sort of makeshift railing and just laughed. I seriously contemplated getting down on my knees and crawling. Every step I made, my foot slid back underneath me. I tried a sort of skating motion, as though I was cross-country skiing, but that only worked on the shiny tiles surfaces. On the rougher areas it almost made me go arse over tip.

Eventually I got to the front door and into the lift - but there is still the journey home to consider at 6pm....

...anyone got a surfboard?

Got the Inglorious Basterd!

2009-09-11T16:30:00.003+01:00

No, it's not a reference to Tarantino's new epic Nazi kiling movie. The winged carrier of pain and sorrow is no more. I finally caught the mosquito that's been terrorising my nightly slumber.

Perhaps I'm harsh calling it names. After all it was a female and it was only doing what it felt came naturally, but there was no way I was going to let this critter live to see another dawn.

Round one. Feb this year. The mosquito won and I still have the scars on my lilly white legs to prove it.

Round two. April time. A new venue, a new mosquito, but still the flying ones got the upper hand.

Round three. A few days ago. My own apartment. Home turf, and yet still I awoke to find my body covered in red, itchy blotches. If this had been a real boxing match my trainer would have been over the ropes throwing a towel into the ring. I had nothing left to give. My fight was over.....

...but this wasn't an ordinary fight. This was like all the Rocky Balboa movies put together. I was bloodied, I was battered. I was a broken man, but from somewhere, god knows where, I found a final punch. One last blow. A do or die swing....

Round four. Mosquito spotted on the wall beneath my table. A barrel roll across the bed to grab the can of insect spray. A mist of poison fills the air as I push the button. She flies, she stutters in mid-air. She crashes to the floor. Still fighting for life but unable to muster the energy to get airborn. One last blast of aerosol and she is no more.

My legs and arms my never recover from the battle I have fought over the past few days, but tonight, I will (for the first time) sleep soundly. Safe in the knowledge my room is bug free....

...Unless this is like the Jaws movies and she's summond up her entire family to take revenge on me!

p.s. I apologise to any Buddhists, or naturalists who may take offence at the light-hearted way I have spoken of my exploits despatching the mosquito. I mean no offence. If you could share the pain and suffering I have been through (and am still going through on a 24 hour basis) I hope you'll understand.

On the Turn

2009-09-09T09:12:00.002+01:00

Not sure if it's a permenant thing, or just a temporary glitch, but the weather has definitely turned.

Sunday night I think I first noticed it. I was woken from my light slumber by a heavy bang. It sounded like an explosion coming from the spare room, but as I'm not currently storing any heavy explosives or pyrotechics, it couldn't have been that. I got out of bed and padded down the small hall. First thing I noticed was the plastic cover for the fuse box was lying on the tiles surface. Next thing I notice was the small balcony door in the guest bedroom was closed, despite the fact I remember leaving it open to allow air to circulate through the flat. Looks like there was a strong wind brewing outside (the force of the door slamming closed had made the fusebox lid jump off too).

I battened down the hatches. Brought in the washing I had left drying on the sun terrace, closed and locked the balcony doors and returned to bed. I lay there watching and listening to the howling wind getting stronger and stronger. I then watched in awe as a succession of semi-naked women appeared on the various balconies in the apartments opposite to retrieve their own washing. (one rather attractive lady was topless and probably assumed no one could see her!)

Next morning there wasn't a breath of wind in the air. Normality was restored. high temperatures again, it was as though nothing had happened.

Later the next night I was woken again. This time by the gentle patter of raindrops on the window. Not a major shower, but enough to wash away the dust that was starting to collect on the streets. Locals tell me it's not the end of the summer, just a passing weather front....

...we shall see.

p.s. Saw my first cockroach today. Thankfully not in the apartment, but out of the street. It shot out from between two rubbish bags that were left there to be collected. to me it was HUGE, but I suppose they can be bigger. In retrospect it was probably a very beautiful creature - it seemed to be two-toned, with shiny legs...

...but I'll die a happy man if I never see one again for the rest of my time here.

Feeding Time

2009-09-09T06:49:00.002+01:00

I cooked my first meal in the apartment last night, but I wasn't the only one who ate well...

I had made two seperate trips to the local supermarket during the day on Monday. Firstly, this was because I didn't want to carry too many bags at once, and secondly I realised I hadn't bought some essentials when I got home with the first batch. On the second trip out I came back with some nice marinated beef steaks from the Deli counter and some toilet rolls (that was the essential items I forgot in the first place).

I decided to freeze the steaks. Mainly because I didn't intend to eat them that night. On the Tuesday morning I took them out again to defrost, and by the early evening they were ready to cook. I had planned on having a few oven chips with them (but that went to pot when I realised how quickly the steaks cooked).

I'd been given one of those griddle pans by the landlord. You know, looks like a small, square frying pan, but has raised lines in the base. Perfect for cooking the meat on the hob. I like my hob. It's one of those touch screen flat things which heat up instantly and give off a sci-fi style red glow. Ten minutes later I had two perfectly cooked beef steaks, marinated in what I think was a mild curry dressing. Melt in the mouth meat, a delight to savour, especially as I could eat it on my balcony with a glass of iced orange juice.

But I wasn't the only one to eat well last night. I was attacked again by a winged critter. I think I caught him at it this time too. I woke myself up at about 2am, finding the big toe-nail on my left foot, instinctively scratching the back on my right calf. I tried to get back to sleep, but every, tiny movement on my body made me lash out. Most of the time it was probably just a bead of sweat moving around in my body hair, but it was enough to keep me awake. At about 3am I got up and fetched the bug spray from the kitchen. I emptied half the can in the bedroom, and all over the sheets, then tried to get back to sleep.

When I woke to my alarm, just before 6am I examined my body. Think I've found 4 seperate bites, one of which is on my middle finger and is very annoying. After work today I'm off to find some insect cream in the hope I can make the irritating pain go away....

....and the bedroom is getting sprayed every night from now on until they give up and try one of my neighbours instead.

p.s. on a related topic, it's apparant that the cost of living over here is decidedly higher than the UK. Trying to shop sensibly in the supermarket was not easy. Sometimes it's only a few cents over the price you'd expect to pay, but for other items the cost was nearly double. It doesn't help that many of the items have the english RRP in big, bold type on the front of the packet, but the price you pay over here is not even close (there is a lot of Iceland merchandise. You know those 'one pound' things they advertise on TV with the big yellow stickers on the boxes? They have those here, complete with sticker, but some of the items are actually upto 3 euros each.)

On any one item it's not worth worrying about, but when it's a basket of shopping, it all adds up.

Opening Malteser Adventures.

2009-09-05T14:34:00.002+01:00

Thought I'd bring you up to date on what's been happening in my first week of life in the bloody sun.

Well up until Thursday it's been work everyday, various shifts, followed by drinks in the local pub and either a meal out, or a small take-away. The heat has been getting to me from day one. I knew it would, despite a million and one people telling me I was lucky to be here. I certainly don't feel lucky.

I'm not sure people grasp how depressing it is to feel sweaty. To sit in a chair and feel your arms stick to the furniture. Getting out of bed just to go to the bathroom, but having to towel yourself down just to get back onto the mattress. Stepping into a shop off the street just for a bottle of coke and feeling the water pour off your forehead. This isn't just a one off. This is from 6am to 11pm everyday so far. It's relentless. I had similar issues in the UK, but no one took a blind bit of notice. I've lost count of the times I said I'm not going to enjoy the heat, only to hear the reply 'Oh count yourself lucky, you'll have better weather than us'. 10 days in total I've been here, and 10 days I've hated the weather.

I made it worse for myself on Thursday. I had finally moved into my new place (which took two days, because wheeling suitcases through tourist traffic, uphill in temps exceeding 95 degrees is not going to be done in one go). I decided to make use of my balcony and sat out on the lounger for a short while with an ice cold lager and lime and my book. Of course I covered the lounger in towels (see above for the reason) but after about 15 minutes the heat was getting to me, despite the fact I wasn't having to move, so I went back indoors. Over the next few hours I got redder and redder and redder. Not nice and evenly of course, that would be too much to ask, but in sections. My chest, upper arms and the right side of both legs were glowing red, and now I was in agony. This was after 15 minutes of sun. I walked (gingerly) to the local pharmacy (which happens to carry the Boots sign) and was shown to the 'after-sun' section by a nice young assistant. Cheapest bottle was 11 Euros. 11 Euros!!!! (That's exactly 10 quid at the moment). It was kind of soothing for a brief moment, but I didn't get any sleep that night. I think I had 6 showers that day, and ran the air-con all through the night, but I just couldn't drop off.

Next day the pain was still there (in fact it still is to some degree) but it was now bearable. This was my second day off, but I wasn't going anywhere near the outdoors during the height of the sun. I got in touch with an old friend from IOM who moved to Malta about 12 months ago and we arranged to meet for drinks that night. I had in the back of my head it was close to his birthday, in fact I'd got it spot on, his birthday was that night. It was great to meet up. We had a few drinks in Sliema, and chatted about the IOM, books, films, things we knew we always had in common. He actually seemed grateful to chat to someone he could hold an intelligent conversation with for the first time since he got there. He was meeting up with more frineds in Paceville (Malta's nightlife area) so we got a bus up in that direction. After a couple of drinks in a quiet bar, he went off to meet his friends and I caught a bus back to Sliema. I was more than welcome to join him, but it was approaching 11pm, and after that I would be in taxi territory. Taxis over here are notorious rip-offs and it's too early in the month for me to be throwing money away.

I caught a bus, along with about 30 other people and it set off. Straight away I thought something was wrong as it didn't follow the route I expected it to, and you could hear murmours from the rest of the passengers. The driver then came to a road (which was signposted to Sliema) but there was a barrier across it. "Ok, Sliema is closed. If you want Sliema get off now" Were his exact words. I knew for a fact Sliema wasn't closed, but clearly he had no intentions of going there, so I got off. In the middle of nowhere. No recognisable landmarks, just an unlit back street.

I walked for about 10 minutes in a straight line, hoping to catch a glimpse of civilisation, or a sight I could use as a beacon. Nothing. I carried on, at least another 5 minutes. I came across a dramatic looking church (wish I'd had my camera) and on top was a neon red cross. This I did know. I'd never been to it, but it used to domintate the skyline directly behind the staff flat. All I hoped was that there wasn't more than one church in Sliema with a neon red cross! I thought at last I had a point of reference. I carried on with more confidence, and after a further 5 minutes, found myself on the waterfront, halfway between my old and new apartments. 10 minutes later I was back indoors. A total of 30 minutes walking after a bus driver kicked us all off. This included a whole load of tourists, some of them of an elderly persuassion, dumped in the middle of nowhere.

So there you have it. I drink about 4 litres of mineral water a day, drink far to much alcohol to take away the pain of being here and I'm sick to death of my boss....

..oh and I've been bitten twice already.

Got More Rabbit Than Sainsbury's

2009-08-28T10:09:00.002+01:00

Three in a day? You don't deserve me, you really don't!

Forgot to tell you about my first venture into Maltese cuisine last night. I had been sat outside a bar, enjoying the passing sights when I decided to venture to the venue next door and have a meal. I had eaten there once before on my last visit, but didn't get any further than the pizza menu. This time I decided to try something I'd never tasted before....

...I plumped for Maltese Style rabbit.

A side note here. Rabbit is the national dish of Malta. I asked someone about it the first time I came over and it's simply for economic reasons. The weather and lack of space makes most cattle unfarmable but to breed rabbits for food, all you need is a hutch. Anyone with a small back yard can do it, and make a reasonable income. I've even seen adverts asking if you have a space that can be rented for the sole purpose of putting in a hutch.

..but they failed to mention that rabbit is not the most exciting of meats. Granted, there was nothing wrong with it, it flaked nicely off the bone, not too chewy, certainly not dry, but it was just another meat. I can't be the only one to think this, and that is why someone had the bright idea to make it more interesting....

Maltese Style rabbit was invented. The basis for the recipe is do whatever you can to disguise the meat. According to the menu it's cooked in a white wine sauce, then coated liberally with garlic and other powerfully flavoured herbs. Every bite you take you get a mouthful of the herb crust. Realy not unpleasent, but completely takes away any sense of what the meat tastes like, and I think that's the plan they had in mind all along. It was a very nice meal nontheless, and if it was offered to me again I wouldn't turn my nose up at it. It was interesting to see what a rabbit's carcass looks like too when I'd finished!....

....but if it's my own choice again next time, I think it'll be back to the pizza menu :)

Money! It's a Gas.

2009-08-28T07:43:00.002+01:00

Two posts in one day, you lucky people!

Not a very exciting one I'm afraid, just a note to say how pleased I am with the 'pay as you go' Euro credit card I ordered just before I left the UK.

Ok, there was a bit of a problem topping it up at first, mainly due to HSBC being a bunch of dillweeds, but once the money was on the card I realised I got a decent exchange rate AND cash withdrawls have a miniscule fee - a lot less than if I use my normal bank card at an ATM.

I found this out on the first day. I withdrew some funds using the bank card and when I checked my online statement the next day, I saw the rate they had given me was a full 2 points below my Euro card rate. They also decided to charge me 3.50 for the withdrawl, depite it being a HSBC card in a HSBC machine.

So all in all I'm a happy camper when it comes to moving funds around. My biggest concern at the moment though is how I am going to pay my rent each month (and any other expenses that need to come out regularly). I can't see it being possible to set up the usual standing orders for transfers to Maltese companies...

...but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

p.s. I have a small red spot on my right forearm. It looks like a bite, but doesn't 'feel' like one. No itching. Perhaps it's just a funny looking zit.

p.p.s. Face going a nice crimson colour again. Legs, despite being on show everyday, are still pasty and spotty.

Sleep? So What's That Then?

2009-08-28T07:17:00.002+01:00

First three nights in Malta are behind me - and I think I've slept a total of three hours...

...and that was last night because I decided to sleep on the sofa instead of the bed.

I knew it'd be hard. I knew I wasn't cut out for prolonged hot weather, but the first night I attempted to go to bed I lay there covered in sweat. Not just a small damp patch, it was an Olympic sized pool of water. No one can sleep in those conditions. The problem you see is that the lounge area is air-conditioned, as is the main bedroom, but I'm in the 'spare' room and the only way to get colder air in there is to sleep with the back door open. Even with that propped ajar there was no breeze to cause a cooling draft.

The second night was no better, but by now I was walking dead. My whole body ached for rest, my eyes permenantly closed. Thankfully with tinted glasses, no one could see I was moving around like a zombie. By the third night I'd had enough so I slept on the sofa with the air-con turned down to 24 degrees. (the temperature without it in the flat was 31, even past midnight). I managed a few hours, it was only the discomfort of the sofa itself that kept rousing me.

And as for work and other things away from the flat? Work is work. I'm still fighting a daily battle with the boss. He never stops. Now he has taken the duty of creating the work rota off me because he wasn't happy with some of the shifts I had alocated. Naturally the rest of the staff were fuming with this, but will they say that to his face? of course not. So I get the earache from them and he lives in ignorant bliss thinking everyone is happy.

I've received an email off him this morning. He's currently in Southampton sorting out the closure of the old office and he met up with the landlord of 'our' flat. The deposit on the flat was paid completely by him, so I had no issues with that, but they agreed between them there was damage in the kitchen and shook on a deal to accept 100 pounds less. He now expects me to pay him the 100 pounds and wants it next week when he gets here. Can you see how infuriating it is being around him? (He forgot to mention the new bread-bin, iron, ironing board, kettle, toaster and cutelry I left behind free of charge). Whilst I was there I sold two of the monitors for 50 pounds and spent it on leaving drinks for the two members of staff that were left there (besides me). He wants that money back too.

So that's it. I should be going to view my own apartment tonight all being well. Other than that it's been get up, bus, work, bus, few drinks, eat, try to sleep, drink several litres of water, get up....

...indefinitely.

The Eagle Has Landed

2009-08-26T12:44:00.002+01:00

Yes, it's finally happened. I've arrived in Malta, along with Bob the fluffy duck.

Have you ever tried putting your life into a suitcase and a few boxes? Not easy with the amount of junk I've accumilated over the years. But I"m ahead of myself here, before I packed I had the chance to meet up with a very old friend in Manchester City Centre for a few drinks.

When I say old, I don't mean grey haired and carrying a bus-pass, I mean old as in we've been friends for eons. Back to school days really, although Simon was a couple of years below me, I still knew him back then, and his elder sister. We met up near Deansgate station and moved around to a few watering-holes, enjoying the pleasent evening warmth and jogging each others memories of times gone by. We used to work in a bingo hall together, but it seems his memory of those days are infinitly better than mine! We eneded the evening in a seedy looking bar near Oxford Road station (in reality the Salisbury Arms is a lovely pub, it's just the impression you get when you view it from the outside). It was here that we got onto the subject of mathematics (don't ask me how) and by the end of the evening we'd re-written the book on probability. A great night.

...and then there was a family party at my cousin's house. A sort of 'bon voyage' for me and a 'congratulations' for my cousing for some recent good news. This time the weather wasn't so kind and it became a case of darting in and out of a make-shift gazebo every few minutes as the clouds kept bursting. It was nice to see everyone though before I headed off to pastures new.

Which brings us onto the packing and travel. Packing is stressful enough, but trying to fit your entire life into a small space is a Herculean task. I think I've managed it. We'll see when I get the boxes ferried over and I discover I've forgotton something vital. For the time being I'll be living out of a suitcase, so I hope I brought enough boxer-shorts!

The flight over was a red-eye from Manchester Airport. Easyjet maybe a no-frills airline, but I have absolutely no complaints about the journey at all. Took off on time, landed 10 minutes early and I had an empty seat next to me. Plenty of leg-room (more than Air Malta I think) and a plentiful supply of refreshments (albeit at a price). As I stepped off the plane I was hit by the wave of warm air. It hasn't stopped since. I'm currently typing this in the air-conditioned office, but I know that outside it's already tipping 100 degrees and cracking the flagstones.

I didn't sleep a wink last night. The extra room I'm in doesn't have air-con, but sleeping with the door open isn't an option because of the noise outside. It's likely to encourage insects in too, which I have no intention of doing! I was bathed in sweat from head to toe, it was literally dripping off me. Thank god I got my head shaved before I came out here!

I met up with the other lad that came over from Southampton for a quick drink during the day, and this morning I've been reunited with the other two members of staff I'll be working with on a daily basis....

..it's like I've never been away :)

And Now, The End is Near...

2009-08-21T08:25:00.002+01:00

On the walk to work this morning (the last time I'll be making that 15 minute journey in that direction incidently) I was contemplating all the things I've done (or about to do) 'for the last time...'

I've played my last pub quiz machine.

I've eaten my last Weatherspoons Farmhouse Breakfast.

Opened the door to Canute Chambers.

Waited on Platform 4 of Southampton Central Station.

Caught the bus to the airport.

Ordered a Dominos pizza.

Posted a DVD back to Lovefim at 6 o'clock in the morning.

Gone into the High Street Co-op to rummage through the 'reduced price' shelf for a bargain.

Ridden on a London Underground train.

Watched repeats of old sitcoms on UK Gold whilst sitting in work.

Gone to a cricket game at The Rosebowl, or a football game at St. Marys.

Walked along the dual-carriage way.

...and probably millions more.

Bob the Fluffy Duck on Tour - Part II

2009-08-16T16:59:00.004+01:00

Bob has been on his travels again - This time to Norwich and Great Yarmouth.

I was off for another reunion with a friend from the quiz show. Anthony this time, who had also been at the Brighton meeting a few weeks before. I didn't really need much of an excuse though, going to Norfolk is never a chore for me, it's still my favourite part of the British Isles.

The trip over was long - 5 trains long to be exact, but everything ran smoothly with Ant waiting to meet me at Norwich station. We met up with a couple of his American Football friends that night and had a few drinks. Well, 'few' is a bit of an understatement, particularly as Ant finished drinking a yard of lager to round off his evening.

Side note here. If you ever met Ant, the last sport you'd think he played would be American Football. He's not exactly built like a Gridiron player, but by all accounts he's very good at it. The bruises all over his arms confirm the rumours too :)

The next day, with Ant nursing a slightly sore head, we made our way to Great Yarmouth. Two reunions, two different seaside towns. It was lovely weather thankfully and there was a round of crazy golf thrown in. For the record I won by three strokes.

Another side note here. Hole 2. A fairly straightforward affair, straight line to the pin, but with an uneven playing surface inbetween. The fairway also narrows halfway down, flanked by two imitation stone pillars. My opening shot was a gentle putt down the centre, finishing a foot or so from the target, and a simple tap in for a score of 2. Ant's opening shot? It was as though he'd taken a 3-wood out of his bag. He drove the ball like he was Tiger Woods at St Andrews. If it hadn't been for one of the pillars getting in the way the ball would be halfway across the promenade by now. It ricocheted off the first column, onto the second column, back to the first column, then fell straight onto the fairway. The slight slope and camber of the surface made the ball trickle slowly towards the hole, and down it went. The most dramatic hole in one I have ever witnessed.

Next day we walked into Norwich city centre for a few drinks and a bit of shopping. We met up with one of his current flat mates and his future one. A nice bunch of people all round. Talking of walking though, I think I've racked up over 7 miles in just three days. (ok, that's not a lot ofr some people, but it is for me) My blisters are back and ready to burst, not forgetting the sharp stabbing pains in my shins. All good excerise I suppose :)

Walking back to the flat on the penultimate night, we came around a big sweeping corner just as a car came flying towards us. A typical boy racer, probably showing off to his girlfriend. As just a side comment I turned to Ant and said:

'I bet he hits something, driving like that'.

As the car passed by us, around the bend there was a screech of brakes, the sound of a car crossing onto the pavement, and the heavy crunch of a collision. We ran back to see what had happened, and it was no surprise to see the car at a slight angle, just ahead of a desimated fence. He drove off, not to escape, just to move the car off the road and the ear-piercing scream of a wheel rim scratching the tarmac echoed out. It was closely followed by a tyre bouncing across the road. Never a dull moment in Norwich!

On the Sunday morning Ant left me to go to a Football game, so I walked myself to the train station. I gave myself nearly an hour to get there, but it was only just enough. It was 3 long miles away!

A great trip, a great friend, but now there are no more before Malta...

...oh, and of course, Bob came too.

p.s. I've since looked up the distance to the station. 2.2 miles. I feel bad now for thinking it was over 3 :(

Sandie Shaw, Zola Budd, Joss Stone and Geoff Gibson

2009-08-09T12:25:00.004+01:00

Which is the odd one out? Well Sandie, Zola and Joss all famously perform in their respective fields barefooted. Geoff Gibson? Well he walked home from work last night carrying his trainers and it wasn't an unpleasent experience!

I suppose you need the full story. Yesterday I was in work from 2pm until late, and as I looked out of the window before setting off I could see Southampton was enjoying another balmy afternoon. Not the kind of day to be wearing heavy jeans and a coat. It was a perfect opportunity to give my legs an airing for the first time since 1980 in one of the pairs of 3/4 shorts I bought recently. I don't own any of those tiny sports socks, so I wore my new trainers sockless.

If it wasn't for the fact my legs were as white as a glacier and still spotted with mosquito bite scars, the overall outfit wasn't too abysmal. (If you want the full picture I had a thin navy polo shirt on too). As I set off, my transition lenses went jet black and I looked to all the world like a bona fide sun worshipper. (Well, again, ignoring the pasty, spotty legs)

Ok, so I got to work, and there was a tiny blister developing at the back of both heels. Really nothing painful (I had already worn the shoes all day at Haydock, so it wasn't like they needed breaking in), but enough for me to kick my trainers off as soon as I was sat at my desk. Barefooted for 9 hours as I tapped away at my keyboard. The whole office and communal areas are all carpeted, the only place that isn't is the toilet which is a sort of laminate. All very pleseant for someone flashing their toes to the world.

When it came to going home, I put my trainers back on, but by now my feet had swollen slightly, and the blisters had hardened over. Every step was agony. I got no more than 100 yards down the road when I realised I wasn't going to make it this way...

...so I undid the zelcro, picked up my footwear, and started again.

It's Saturday night remember, prime drunk time, and Southampton had drawn with Millwall at home earlier on. Thankfully I hardly met anyone, but even if I had, I don't think I looked that strange. The pavement from work to home has all recently been repaved (remember those roadworks I complained about for months? Finally I've found a benefit for all the sleepless nights!)

The only times I flinched was when I crossed a road and had to walk on proper tarmac. Tarmac wasn't designed for barefeet. I also had issues with those pink-coloured bobbled tiles you get at pedestrian crossings to help blind people. I'm sure the occular disabled find them a boon, but I was grumbling about them under my breath on several occasions.

But I got home, no problems, no more rubbing on my blisters, ten minutes less wear & tear on my trainers...

...all in all a successful experiement for once.

Bob The Fluffy Duck on Tour

2009-08-08T15:44:00.006+01:00

Can't believe it's a week since I last spoke to you. How have you all been? Keeping well? It's been quite a full 7 days for me.

It all really focuses around an overnight trip back up to Manchester for a race meeting with my Dad at Haydock. Glorious weather again (4 race meetings in a row now where I've burnt my face off). Difference this time is, it wasn't just the two of us....

...(well it wasn't anyway, we had a family friend with us too, but that's not what I meant)...

...We had Bob the Fluffy Duck with us.

Don't think I've introduced you to Bob have I? He's no relation to Bob the Triffid, despite the similar name, he's a fluffy duck I won on Brighton Pier during Reunion II (are you keeping up with all this, I know I lead a complicated life!). I suppose it's wrong for me to say I 'won' him. In actual fact he was a consolation prize for losing at hook-a-duck, but he's so cute he still semes like a victory prize to me.

I promised a few people at the reunion that I would take him wherever I go for the next few months, and I was true to my word as Bob rode on the train with me to Manchester, went shopping in Sainsbury's and then took a trip to Haydock to watch the horses.

Typically, Bob the Fluffy Duck got more winners than me, and as you can see from the piccy, the bookmaker was happy to pay him out. It was quite fun getitng other people involved int he pictures, and became quite a strange (but interesting) way to chat to women. Not sure that carrying a fluffy toy around to chat to girls is a good idea though....

....and next stop Norwich in less than a week :)

Three Weeks to Go. The Countdown is on.

2009-08-01T09:25:00.002+01:00

Welcome to August. In exactly 21 days I leave Southampton for the last time and go up to Manchester for a few days. From there, it's on to sunny Malta. 3 Weeks. So much to do, so little time...

...and so little enthusiasm.

That's not that I don't have enthusiasm for other things. Looking forward to a very quick break in the North-West for a race meeting. The Norwich quiz reunion is now official (well my train ticket is booked, so it's official as far as I'm concerned) and I might even be able to organise a mini-work night out to 'celebrate' the Southampton office closing and me setting off.

But what do I have on my list of things to do? Buy luggage is one thing. Get some cardboard boxes to pack into (there are some in the office, but I just keep 'forgetting' to take them home). I need to get a key cut for the flat. No, correct that I need to find out where I can get a key cut first, then get a key cut for the flat. Then of course there is the process of getting the flat tidy. Despite it's small size that will be a major operation. I should change my middle name to Procrastination.

Reality bites. I'm still a bit numb really, taking each day as it comes, rather than knuckling down and getting on with it all. Still have last bills to sort out for the electricity and council tax (I think) ...

...and don't even get me started on my lack of love life!

General Update

2009-07-28T20:20:00.003+01:00

It's one of those entries you all adore - a general update of the state of my life and the ongoing stories that run through this blog.

I'll begin with the Magnificent Octopus. I set myself a challenge last week to get 50 pages written within 7 days. Naturally I failed but I did manage about 20, which is more than I usually get typed up in a short session. Feels like I'm about halfway through the story, and I still haven't padded it out with red-herrings, side plots, background stories etc, so it's moving along nicely. I'm about to introduce a character called Simon Golding too, which satisfies two of the names I still needed to add :)

Malta. We're exactly 4 weeks from lift-off. My Southampton landlord knows I'm leaving (in fact his wife was almost in tears on the phone when I told her). TV licence people know, electricity direct debit is cancelled, change of addresses have been sent off. All that's left is to pack my life into as few boxes as possible, tidy the flat, throw out as much rubbish as I can and get the front door key copied (remember back to a previous blog about my other key being in the back of a cab somewhere).

That's the factual stuff about Malta. The emotional side still isn't settled. Really feels like I'm on an airport travelator, and I don't have the option to get off and turn back. I can walk backwards to slow the process down, but I'm still being carried forward. Good news is my own flat might be sorted already, so I can settle quite quickly after landing on the island.

Social calendar. It's drawing to a close, which puts even more pressure on me to get ready for Malta. I still have a quick visit to Manchester for a race meeting and to see Scrabble buddy again. I've got my fingers crossed for a mini SMTA reunion (that will be reunion III if it happens) in Norwich in mid August, but there is nothing else. That is it before I leave the UK...

...but then I hope to be arranging people visiting me in the land of the Maltesers :)

Reunion Part II

2009-07-27T13:35:00.007+01:00

Ah, the second reunion. Just over 30 of the quiz participants had said they would be making the trip down to Brighton to stay in an old converted Rectory....

...only about a dozen of us turned up.

(I'll start the main part of this blog by stating that the house was gorgeous, and David, the host and his girlfriend did us all proud. Not sure he'll ever read this, but I could thank you both a thousand times for what you did for us, and it still wouldn't be enough.)

Ok, so only 12 or so of us turned up. Did that make it a disaster? Far from it. By having only a small band of people, we all got on so well as a group. Drinking games out in a marquee, barrels of laughter, so many side-splitting comments from everyone. It really felt like we were all part of a family. No one was made to feel isolated, no one was left out in the cold - it couldn't have been more special.

On the Saturday we took a school outing to Brighton and spent the afternoon on and around the pier. The sun was scorching, so once again I ended up with a face that matched the toffee apples. When we finally dragged ourselves away and headed home, we had a few more quizzers in tow, and it was back to the marquee for nibbles, drinks and more merriment.

On the Sunday, I got a lift to the station, but I couldn't face going home straight away, so I caught the train from the local station to Brighton and walked back to the pier - alone. I stayed there for several hours. Had a drink in one of the bars to shelter for the rain and even sang Kareoke (They wouldn't let me sing Living Next Door to Alice because the doors were open and the audience might swear too loudly, so I sang Chantilly Lace instead).

When I finally got back to the station I managed to catch my train by the skin of my teeth, but when it came to changing at Fratton (an area of Portsmouth) I missed my connection by seconds. I managed to touch it as it pulled slowly away from the platform. One hour to wait for the next one, so I decided to see what delights Fratton has to offer a single man on a Sunday night....

...nothing. It's a dump. Please make every effort you can to avoid this area.

p.s. Colin and Sarah (from Reunion Part I) didn't make it to this meeting. 24 hours after I left them I got a phone call from Sarah saying they had split up! I wish to point out that this had nothing whatsoever to do with my visit...

..I hope.

Reunion Part 1 (Part II)

2009-07-27T13:24:00.002+01:00

Does the title make sense? I mean it's the follow-up to the first blog about the first of two reunions. Even I'm confused.

Met up with Colin and Sarah in a small town near Maidstone. It was so lovely to see them both and meet Sarh's little two-year old Charlie. We started the day off quite sedately at a car-boot sale. Great chance for me to pick up some cheap DVDs just in time for my trip to Malta.

The weekend was beautiful. Colin's rehab after his operation meant we didn't do much, but we didn't need to. A few drinks, some lovely food, beautiful company. I even bonded with the cat, Owen, which finally restored my faith in the feline species.

The journey home was a little sad. A long set of train journeys to get back to Southampton, but I knew I was due to see them both at the next reunion, only 7 days away....

...but things are not always as straightforward as they should be...

Blimey!, A Quarter of a Millennium!

2009-07-17T22:27:00.002+01:00

Normally, when I reach a landmark blog post I'd bore you to sleep with non-interesting facts about the number. I'm going to save you the job of skipping past. There will be no boring Mathematical statements, no stupid references to sports facts or film trivia.

Just wishing my blog a happy birthday, and here's to the next quarter millennium.

Reunion Part I

2009-07-17T22:16:00.003+01:00

It's late on Friday, I'm sat in the office, but technically I've finished work...

...The weekend starts here!

and what a weekend it should be. I'm off to Maidstone to meet up with two people I became good friends with from the Wembley quiz show recording. It's still a shame it looks like it's been canned, but nothing can replace the new chums I've made.

The original plan was for a weekend of debauchery and naughtiness, but Colin, one of the two friends, has recently had a serious operation. Sounds like he's well on the way to recovery, but anything more than dunking a Pringle into a sour cream dip is going to be a strain for him. It won't stop the three of us having a great time. I'll post again when I get back and let you know what we got up to.

The reason the post is called 'Reunion Part I' is the following weekend is a full quiz show get-together. 35 of us to be precise heading down to a village just outside Brighton. That one could get very messy, but it'll be nice to blow the cobwebs away with people I like.

In between the two, I have to phone the landlord. No more putting it off. I'm just dreading the fact he might want to come round straight away to check what needs fixing, replacing etc. The flat looks like a World War II doodlebug landed in the living room.

The big boss was over from Germany for the last couple of days too. I was expecting to have my ear chewed off, but surprisingly I seem to have his support at the moment. Makes a change. That's not to say he didn't have a few choice words to say about the rest of the staff, but I got away with a back handed compliment. Oh well, talk to you again after the weekend...

...assuming I survive :)

Definition of an Eejit Part XII

2009-07-14T10:52:00.002+01:00

Only a short one this time, but another case of proving I am a thoroughbred airhead.

I'm a bloke. I admit it. Washing up waits until I am forced to eat baked beans straight from the can. Vacuuming is only necessary when enough dust has collected to completely blanket the floor. Laundry is only necessary when you're resorting to wearing pyjama tops as an alternative shirt.

(ok, those are all made up, but you get my point)

...but it is true I tend to do all my laundry in one go. three or four loads once every two weeks just about serves me. My next washing session was long overdue so I knuckled down and got it done.

First load. Boxer shorts, two pairs of jeans and a shirt
Second load. More shirts, t-shirts and a towel.
Third load. Rest of the towels and a shirt I'd missed.

Excellent, now I have lovely clean clothes, fresh towels and I'm set for another fortnight...

...until the next day when I was getting ready for work in a hurry and realised my fatal mistake. No socks. All of them were sitting in the laundry basket in the bathroom, festering. (I only use the basket for socks now). I was forced to go to work sockless, bare feet inside my trainers. To make matters worse it had been raining and my right trainer has a small crack in the sole which lets in water whenever I step in a puddle.

It's not a wholey unpleasent experience being naked inside your shoes, but not one I want to repeat in a hurry...

...until perhaps I dare to wear sandals.

It's a Date

2009-07-14T10:27:00.002+01:00

Ok, I've set the ball rolling. I've come up with an official date for moving to Malta, and told my boss to get my flight booked.

Tuesday 25th August.

What this means in real terms is I can now set a calander of things that need to be taken care of before I move. Top priority is getting the flat straight (it's a disgrace) and telling the landlord I'm going. I have a weekend away in three days so as soon as I come back, I'll give him a call.

I also need to get a police report and track down my original birth certificate. Bit annoyed about this one really. I agreed to move to Malta a long time ago, and had to get a police report for the quiz show. Now he tells me I need one for working in Malta. If only I'd been told when I first agreed to move I could have saved myself a lot of hassle. Price of the certificate has gone up by an extra three pounds too. Grr

On a personal note, and this one can probably wait until August, I need to buy a whole new set of clothes and at least one pair of sandals. Last time I wore sandals I was probably six years old and small enough to fit in your pocket. I'll need a few pairs of shorts too, but I can guarentee they will be the combat style ones that come below the knee and cover as much of my strange legs as possible.

Then it's a case of being ruthless with my things and throwing out anything that is just gathering dust. It's amazing how much stuff I made the effort to bring from the Isle of Man to Southampton, but have still not been used. Anything that hasn't seen the light of day since I came to the south coast is going in the bin - and that will include a lot of clothes (although old jumpers and t-shirts do make good packing material, so they won't all disappear).

Had a bit of bad news about the move, but I was sort of expecting something like this to happen. When I originally agreed to move I was given a new salary. (quoted in Euros). This offer hasn't changed and it's still an attractive incentive (even though the pound is slowly getting stronger, making my new euro salary worth less and less). Sometime after the offer, the boss introduced a new policy wherin Sunday hours are paid double. I've been earning overtime for the past few months and it certainly helps a lot. When I move to Malta however, the double pay will stop. Not for everyone, just for me. I kind of knew he'd find someway of lowering my income, he often makes little comments about how much I get paid, but ther eis still a alrge cash benefit to moving, even without the overtime.

Think that's it for now. Time for people to start organising their Malta holidays to come and visit me....

...but let me find my own apartment first!

The Show Must Go On?

2009-07-05T13:27:00.002+01:00

Only a quick entry for you, and possibly not a happy one.

I was recently invited to a 'think tank' concerning the quiz show I filmed. They wanted to get former contestants and traders back to throw ideas around, play a few mock up games (for real money) and see if they could improve the format for future series. I couldn't make it as I was in Manchester at the time, and travel expenses weren't covered but I've been updated through a friend as to what went on.

..and the sad news is, the shows I was involved in have either been put back to the Autumn schedule or scrapped altogether. The people from Sky like the format, but might want it to be once a week with a quarter million jackpot, rather than every day with £25,000 at stake. I still received my winnings, and I still had my travel and accomodation paid for, so it has been a profitable experience. I am also still in touch with many of the people involved, and we have a reunion in three weeks time...

...but it's still a disappointment.

Baking Heat, Buses and Breaking By-Laws

2009-07-05T12:33:00.003+01:00

What a hectic, and off the wall 48 hours it's been. I can't tell you much about the first half, mainly to preserve someone else's privacy, but I can tell you all about the second day.

It began in baking heat, catching trains to get to Victoria station. Waiting on the platform for me was a tubby Jackie, her hair heading strangely towards blonde (although she claims it's the grey finally coming through). A quick drink in the pub opposite the station (called The Shakespeare if you happen to know London well), and then we nipped off to grab a mini picnic for lunch.

Victoria station has a quite spacious Marks and Spencer food hall, so posh sandwiches and crisps all round. A fresh fruit salad for Jackie, and two cans of Gin & Tonic for me. (yes, they do have Gordon's gin, ready mixed with Schweppes Tonic in a can now). We took them to a small area of grass opposite The Shakespeare. There is a good chance it's called Grosvenor Gardens (well that was then name of one of the roads that ran along side it). It was basically triangular in design, with busy roads on all three sides. A stones throw from the station, but once inside the fence the traffic noise becomes a background hum. Very tranquil considering.

We nibbled away on our tucker, putting the world to rights, discussed the merits of pigeons and how ugly the dog was sat opposite us, and I swigged readily at my can, feeling quite posh to be drinking a G&T. I also took pity on the flying vermin and threw my crusts to the hungry birds.

Jackie then spotted something behind us. A couple sat on the grass were approached by a uniformed police officer. After a brief discussion, he began writing a ticket and the girl of the pair packed away the bottle of wine they had been sharing. It seems it was illegal to drink in public. less than 10 yards away I was still clutching a half drunk can of Gordon's. Such a rebel (although I didn't feel like a rebel, I was petrified he'd already clocked me and I was next on his list of offenders).

Thankfully, after handing over the ticket he disappeared and I could continue my drink.

What followed was equally bizarre. A man in a tour guide uniform brought a group of people into the park and got them to form a circle around him. One by one they came into the circle to be questioned, and after a while smaller circles broke away with other tour operators asking questions. They were all clutching what looked like tourist maps and were frantically trying to memorise something. Eventually I asked one of the people in charge what was happening and got the response:

"It's for the tour company but I can't tell you exactly what. It's top secret I'm afraid". I still don't know what they were doing.

As we left to park to meet the two others who were coming to the concert with us we passed the 'rules and by-laws' board. In very small print there were a list of over 30 do's and don'ts, number 2 being 'Alcohol will not be consumed in this park'....

....number 3 was 'Do not feed the pigeons'.

p.s. The rest of the day would probably only interest you if you were a fan of The Cat Empire, and I'm guessing almost all of you reading this have no idea who they are. They are a group from Australia, who mix music styles from around the world to make very upbeat 'happy' songs and rely heavily on brass instruments for their sound. We caught a bus to the Shepherd's Bush Empire, myself and Jackie sat on the front row of the balcony, our two friends stood in 'the pit'. A late bus back to a flat in Maida Vale and the following morning a bus back to Victoria. Sadly, the last train, from Clapham to the South Coast was heaving. Even Jackie, 6 months pregnant, had to stand for a good proportion of the journey. The weather broke just as I arrived at Southampton too, putting an end to the two days of fun and frolics.

Pontefract - and not a Liquorice Sweet in Sight

2009-06-29T20:11:00.006+01:00

This weekend hasn't been a total disaster. Ok, the cat has given me two sleepless nights so far, and using Wii Fit has caused me to pull every single one of the muscles in my stomach, but today I have had a lovely day in Yorkshire with my second cousin.

It was sort of a spontaneous thing really. I debated the idea of going racing ot Uttoxeter on Sunday, but it's a track I know I've already been to, and going racing can be an expensive day out. Instead, I decided to save myself for today, and travel to Pontefract. I really wasn't sure if I had been there before, it certainly didn't ring any bells, but even if I had it was an easy drive to Leeds and an easy racecourse to find.

On the off chance I got in touch with my second cousin, Jess, to see if she was free. I knew she had never been horse racing before, and taking someone with you is always more fun than travelling alone. She was very keen, and just before lunch we set off on the one hour drive over The Pennines to West Yorkshire. One thing I should have left behind was the sat-nav. I think the only phrase she used was 'in 300 yards keep right. Keep right. At the next junction keep right. Keep right." I was very close to coming off the motorway early just so I could hear her say something different!

We arrived safely at the track just minutes before they opened the gates. From then on it was a perfect day. The sun shone (I burnt to a crisp. That's three race meetings in a row now I've been toasted). Sadly I couldn't pick a winner all day, but Jess managed to prove the old saying of 'beginner's luck', by being paid out three times. Biggest win for her was Hel's Angel (yes that is how it was spelt) in the second race. Winner at 13/2.

The drive home wasn't as pleasant. We left one race early (well it was an 8 race meeting which is very rare, and I wanted to see if I could get ahead of the traffic.) We got to the motorway ahead of the commuters, but a problem at one of the junctions ahead meant we crawled for over 15 miles. Not enough to dampen the day though, I even managed to tell Jess all about Myra Hindley as we crossed Sandleworth Moor.

I head back to Southampton tomorrow night. It certainly hasn't been the weekend I planned, and I can't say I'm still not disappointed that I haven't been able to spend time with Tara....

...but today helped.

p.s. As you enter Pontefract the sign at the side of the road reads:

Welcome to Pontefract, the home of Haribo.

Did you know that?

p.p.s. It's my Mum's birthday today, so happy birthday Mum. She's in Majorca at the mo, so this saves me buying a card :D

Always Say Hello to the Fairies

2009-06-26T16:48:00.003+01:00

You see, it serves me right. On my last visit to the Isle of Man, I know I said hello to the little people as I crossed Fairy Bridge, but I am also 100% sure I didn't say goodbye to them when I left. It was the Parish Walk at the time, and we were crawling in traffic. Not giving a greeting to the fairies is said to bring back luck...

...and June 26th 2009 the fairies hit back. Firstly, I had to walk to work through a monsoon. Not just a downpour, or a shower - this was a rainstorm of biblical proportions. It was still raging when I trudged home two hours later.

So I'm back at the flat, doing a passable impression of a drowned rat, and packing for my fantastic weekend in Manchester. Loads of things planned, having Tara on 'my turf' had been the highlight of my social calendar for weeks. Everything set, ready to head off to the bus that will take me to the first of 5 trains...

...and the fairies struck again. Tara sent a text, and after a phone call back, it was all off. Her husband's boss had called hm away to the UK (from Ireland) leaving no one to look after the kids if Tara left too. To say my heart sank is a huge under-estimation. But I had ninety pound train tickets to use, and perhaps I could come up with something else to do in the North-West. At least I was away from the office. I packed everything, even remembering my phone charger, ipod charger, and my portable DVD player for the train with several discs to choose from.

Bus ride went ok, first train to Waterloo was busy but it got me there. Tube ride north to Euston went without a hitch, even the third train to Piccadilly wasn't delayed or too over crowded....

...but the fairies had struck again. What I've failed to mention is that in my haste to catch the bus, I had forgotton to pack a couple of things. Firstly, I hadn't packed any reading material. No book, magazine - not even a pamphlet. No worries, Plan B, I can listen to music or watch a DVD. No I can't. I've forgotton my ipod, and with it, the headphones I'd need for the DVD player. For the first time in exisitance I remember the ipod charger, but go and leave the ipod behind. 5 train jounies with nothing to do but stare blankly out of the window, contemplating fate and nasty fairies.

All whimsy aside, I am truly devestated. I'm not sure it's quite hit home to me yet what all this means. In most circumstances I'd say I need to 'kick the cat', but the face he gave me when I walked through the door sort of implies he's not coming anywhere in kicking distance anyway. There is no one to blame (except the boss who called Tara's husband away, but he's just a faceless pen-pusher). This is just one of life's bitter ironies I suppose.

Well, I do actually blame myself though for turning small treats into monumental occasions. I think it stems from when I used to work two full-time jobs. Back then, a half day off became a holiday. A full day off was treated like I had won the pools. Small surprises were scaled upwards by a factor of twenty or more. I still do it now. My normal existance is so lonely, pointless and meaningless, when something comes along that sounds exciting it suddenly becomes the centre of the universe. I try to hide it (not very successfully, I know) but inside my body is leaping around like a Mexican jumping bean. I had that feeling when I thought I was going to see Tara.

Lets take stock. I'm in Manchester. I have three full days, (and most of Tuesday) to kill. Monday I'll try for a horse-race meeting (always quieter on a weekday). Tuesday I'm hoping to take my second cousin for a pub lunch. It's been planned already, except I think I said Monday to her, so I'll wait to see if she can switch. Weekend, I'm not so sure. A day in the Trafford Centre cinema is a possibility, but with it being the weekend it could get busy....

...I'll keep you all posted.

(p.s. although right now, all I feel like doing is polishing off the case of MGD in the garage and going to bed)

Tickled Pink Part II (The Geek Version)

2009-06-25T15:10:00.003+01:00

There was something else to relate to you about my visit to the cricket, but it's more of a geeky post, so I thought it deserved a seperate entry. Those of you who shiver at the thought of mathematics have my permission to skip past this.

Sat behind us were 4 older gentleman. Typical 'toffs' who obviously enjoyed cricket, but found the concept of Twenty20 a step too far. I'll recount a statistical conversation two of them had, named Toff 1 and Toff 2 for the sake of arguing. You have to imagine the upper class accents.

N.B. The sections of text in brackets are just me giving my thoughts as we go along. The sections in bold are the real mathematic theories behind what he was trying to say.

Toff 1: I met this statistical professor last night in the bar and he told me some fascinating mathematical facts.

(Yeah right! I've claimed to be a professor of mathematics in the pub before now, in the hope it'll get me a free drink)

Toff 2: Oh really? such as?

Toff 1: Well, take any two sports teams. Lets say Liverpool and Chelsea. How many times would you think they have to play each other before you could accurately say one is better than the other?

Toff 2: Oh, I don't know, three or four I suppose?

Toff 1. Twenty-three. Isn't that fascinating?

(I rolled my eyes at this point. I think I audibly groaned too. Toff 3 butted in, thankfully with a sensible response.)

Toff 3: But what if the first two or three games are all eight-nil to one side. After three big defeats you know one team is better.

Toff 1: Ah, but each individual game is a random element. They could all just be lucky wins.

(I groaned again. He carried on..)

Toff1: ...and if there is no clearly better team after twenty-three games, they'd need to play over two hundred more before you could claim one team was better than the other.

Ok, I don't know who got the wrong end of the stick, either Toff 1 himself, or the 'Professor' in the first place, but what he should have been talking about is a truely random 50/50 bet. Tossing a coin for instance. If you wanted to see if one side of the coin was bias, after about 20 tosses, if one side was at least eight or nine ahead, there would be an arguement for it being a bias coin. Anyone who remembers Normal Distribution from school should understand what I mean. There is absolutely no way you can apply this to two soccer teams. Toff 3 was spot on by saying the scale of the victories can determine a better side quite quickly. Would Manchester United really need to play Accrington Stanley twenty-three times before you knew which team was better?

(Toff 1, now proud of his new knowledge, had even more 'wisdom' to share with Toff 2)

Toff 1: ...and if those two teams play each other a few times, and one team gets four games ahead, what chance do you think that the other team can overtake them?

Toff 2: Oh, well it'll be harder for sure.

Toff 1: Statisically it would be almost impossible.

(I almost spat out my beer as I choked. He repeated it as though to hammer the point home.)

Toff 1: When a team gets ahead, it's almost statisically impossible to catch them.

(I couldn't see their faces but I assumed Toff 2 was frowning right now)

Ok, I think I know what he was on about, but either he, or the Professor had the wrong end of the stick again. Lets go back to the coin toss. If 'heads' gets three ahead in the race against 'tails' then 'tails' would need to get four in a row to overtake, which is a 1 in 16 chance. Certainly hard, but also certainly not impossible. I think that was the point he was trying to make, the further ahead one side of a random bet gets, the harder it is to catch up, but it's never impossible. Anyone who has ever watched a roulette wheel will testify they've seen 8 or 9 red numbers in a row several times a night. Lets take the University boat race as a sporting example. After the first ever 9 races, Cambridge were 5 victories ahead (7 wins to 2). After the next 17 races had finished, Oxford were 6 ahead (16 wins to 10). Should Oxford have given up after 9 races because 'it was statisically impossible for them to overtake'?

(and then the sensible one of the group finally speaks.....)

....Toff 4: Who's round is it?

Tickled Pink

2009-06-24T17:33:00.009+01:00

I feel a bit guilty writing this entry. I'm going to tell you all about the cricket I went to last night, and how much fun it was. Guilty? mainly because I didn't write about the previous occasion when I went with Jackie and Moritz. By the time I got to a PC to write that entry, I had been through hell with work and wasn't in the mood to unleash my personality onto the page. This time it was the opposite - I attended the cricket after a bad day at work, and so it acted as a pick-me-up. So, for the record, both days were just as enjoyable as each other, but here is the story of the most recent.

Ok, first day back in work after my time off. As suspected, a whole host of problems, errors, complaints, whinges and moans to deal with. I was so worried about what was in store I hadn't slept a wink the night before, so when it came to leave the office at 2pm, I was a click away from phoning Moritz and telling him he could take a friend to The Rosebowl instead of me. All I wanted to do was curl up in a small(ish) ball and hide...

...but as I reached for the phone I got a text of Moritz himself, telling me he was available right now if I wanted pre-match drinks in town first. He'd stolen my thunder with a counter offer. I accepted.
The early afternoon sun was fantastic. Sat outside a town centre pub watching the world go by with a quiet pint and a friend. I began to warm to the day and considered myself lucky I hadn't pulled the plug on the event. By half past five we were at the stadium and finding seats.

What followed was a really enjoyable game of Twenty20 cricket. Hampshire batted first, and their run-rate was steady but lower than average. They set a reasonable target of 183 for Middlesex to chase. A very tense game....

...and here comes the best bit of the day.

If you've never seen a Twenty20 game live, or even on television, you might not know that it is a bit of a razzamatazz affair. Load music pumping out of the tannoy system between overs and in the interval; crowds cheering like football fans; mexican waves; the players wearing different coloured shirts like soccer strips. Two and a half hours of sport mixed with entertainment. Each player for the home team (in this case Hampshire) have their own theme tune that they 'walk out' to when they go into bat. Usually something easily recognisable so it gets the crowd pumped. The away side (in this case Middlesex) have to put up with whatever the stadium DJ decides to play on their behalf. As the opening batsmen for Middlesex were introduced over the loudspeaker...

...side note. Hampshire play in stylish dark blue shirts with gold trim down the sides and around the collar. Middlesex play in pink shirts and pink caps. Just pink. They may be the defending Twenty20 champions, but it's still pink....

...the DJ switches on their entrance music and out blares...

...The Theme to the Pink Panther. Henry Mancini's beautifully orchestrated tune. Within the first three or four notes the entire 20,000+ crowd were 'Do Do'ing along and laughing their heads off. From that point on, everytime a batsmen was given out, 'Another One Bites The Dust' by Queen came on, but as the new batsmen stepped forward it was immediately switched back to Panther. They often say that the crowd helps the home side to victory, but in this case...

...hats off to the DJ and Mr Mancini for removing any dignity Middlesex ever hoped to have.

p.s. There is an extra story to regale you with here. If you ever find yourself at The Rosebowl and visit one of the trailer 'bars' that surround the ground, always check they've given you what you ordered. With many establishments like this, most of the pints are pre-poured to save time, and they just have one version of cider, lager and bitter available. First round: "Two lagers please". Back to the seats to discover one of them is actually bitter. (Worst thing about it is, it was my pint and it took me half of it to realise. I just kept blaming the bad taste on the fact it was pre-poured and in a plastic glass!)

Second round: "Two lagers please". Well they can't make the same mistake twice can they? Back to the seats I go. My pint is now cider. Ok, at least this time I recognised the taste the moment I took my first mouthful, and I don't actually mind cider, but two out of two orders wrong, and twice out of two it's me who ends up with the erroneous pint.

p.p.s. Just remembered another tale (told you it was a great night). Twenty20 cricket is a fast paced game and needs big hitters. Lots of 4's and 6's required if you want to win. During Middlesex's innings their big number 3 batsmen swung at a loose ball and it sailed high and long heading for the boundary. Heading my way. Straight towards me. Faster and faster. For a split second I went into a major panic attack. Do I stop it? duck? Dodge? Instinctively I lifted my pint up and turned my body sideways to protect it. As it reached I realised it was going slightly to my left, out of harms way.

I watched as the ball flew like a comet into the crowd no more than 5 feet from me. Would a fan be brave enough to catch it? Would it hit someone? No. It smashed into a full pint of bitter, shattering the plastic and sending the ale everywhere! A spectacular sight (especially as I was just out of the firing line). The fielder who had jogged over to retreive the missile couldn't stop giggling...

...neither could I.

"It's all gone quiet - too quiet", said Custard

2009-06-22T18:05:00.003+01:00

I've spent the vast majority of the last two days in bed. It was always planned that way, partially as I'd knew I'd need to recover from the excesses of Fraggle Rock, and partially because I needed to brace myself properly for the horrors that inevitably await me in my e-mail inbox tomorrow....

...but it's too quiet.

It's taken me a good while to realise that whilst I've been away, the road-works have gone from outside these apartments. Well, not exactly 'gone', just moved further down the road almost out of earshot. It makes a huge difference to afternoon naptime.

What is does mean now though is I can hear passing pedestrians perfectly. I can listen to blaring car stereos as they wait at the lights with their window rolled down, I can hear the drunken revellers heading back home from town and surprisingly of all I can hear every cruise ship sounding their hooter when they leave the docks on another voyage.

Funny thing is I don't know which is worse. I know the sound of road drilling and cement block cutting is on the high scale of annoyance, but at least they are constant. When it's conversations, music, horns etc. you become nosey and stay awake to hear what the next interruption might be.

I still use the technique of putting on a DVD at low volume, some film or TV series I know backwards. It's my version of the 'white noise' idea and it really does help. The disadvantage of that is when the show ends it returns to the menu screen and the background music repeats ad nauseam....

...and I wake up humming the theme tune to Midsomer Murders or Jonathan Creek

So Much to Tell, So Little Time

2009-06-21T11:21:00.009+01:00

Can't believe it's been 10 days since I last spoke to you all. Then again, if you've been keeping tabs on my busy social schedule, you'd know why.

So what has there been since your last blog update?

There has been a race meeting in glorious sunshine in Bath. All four of us returning to Southampton with crimson faces and empty wallets. We got to see a little of the city centre too, a beautiful place. Reminded me of Chester, only slightly posher and more expensive.

24 hours later it was another race meeting, more glorious weather, but this time in Salisbury. One of the clan sensibly went to Superdrug for a bottle of Factor 50 so at least the scarlet faces didn't get any redder. Such a pretty country course. I really can't figure out why I haven't visited it before considering the train ride was direct and less than 40 minutes long. Maybe it was because it was family day, or perhaps it was the heat, but the queue for the ice-cream van was always three times longer than the one to the bar.

24 hours later and it was time for all four of us to jet to the Isle of Man. From there it was 5 days of catching up with old friends, possibly for the last time. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to (sorry Simon and Laura) but I did manage to see some extra faces I never thought I'd have a chance to meet again. Highlights?

The full day with Ali in Peel. I can't say the double sambuka shots were a sensible idea, but that was a fantastic day nontheless.

Seing the other Ali for the first time in years. One of the people I first knew on the island.

Spending time with Sarah and Caoimhe. Losing at Super Scrabble however will not go down as a highlight!

Meeting baby Evie for the first time.

..oh the list could go on for ever, thank you to the island for making the trip one of the best.

So what now?

Well there is another cricket game on Tuesday for me to visit, then it's back up to Manchester to house-sit and meet up with Tara. That's going to be a lovely few days. Less than a week after that and it's off to London with lumpy Jackie for a music concert....

...and there's still more to come.

p.s. on a personal note, my deepest sympathy goes out to my brother-in-law and family.

Just call me Mystic Meg

2009-06-11T20:15:00.003+01:00

I refer you to a quote from my blog entry called "New Friends, New Horizons" from the end of April:

As for Malta, I am being drawn more and more towards it...I fear he's trying to close down the Southampton office. He'd never say as much, but give it 6 months and I'd wager it will be mentioned.

Do I need to explain what happened when I met up with the boss today at lunchtime?...

Good job no one took me up on the wager, otherwise they'd be out of pocket right now. The two staff who would be left have both been offered jobs in Malta (although guess who is lumbered with breaking the news to them). If they turn down the new role, they will officially be made redundant at the end of August when I move over.

So far I've been able to tell one of them in person, and to say he took it badly would be an understatement. He's just moved flat, and signed a 6 month lease - two weeks earlier and he might have given the offer serious consideration. From my point of view, I'm worried about his effort in the office now. What motivation has he got? Would you care about errors or work rate if you know the job ends in a couple of months?

I have the pleasure of telling my other colleague at 6am tomorrow morning. I think this time there is a slim chance he might consider the move. His parents live in Dubai, and he just shares a flat with his brother. He's a keen diver and one thing Malta has in abundance is clear blue, warm water....

...I'll keep you posted.

p.s. As for me, the office closure means nowt. It changes nothing about my move except I will be running the Malta office only - no remote managerial skills required. I also have lost my safety net. If Malta doesn't work out, I have to resign, there is no relocating back to the south coast.

Hey ho. A new challenge awaits us around every corner.

The Moon's a Balloon

2009-06-11T11:29:00.002+01:00

With me heading off to Fraggle Rock in a few days, it seemed pointless doing a 'big shop' or to get a Tesco delivery. Any fresh food wouldn't survive, so I'd only be buying frozen or tinned stuff, and that can wait 'til I get back...

..so what have I been eating for the past few days I hear you ask? Surely not take-aways again?

Well actually, no. I've been going through the cupboard eating all those packets and canned stuff I've bought in the past 'for emergencies' but never got round to opening. You know the kind I mean, tins of meatballs in gravy, Tesco value beef stew, some strange Japanese super noodles (I actually don't remember buying those, but I think they came from Lidl), Chunky Chicken in white sauce, steak and onion pies - even a tin of baked beans with sausages (trade description will be getting a snotty letter from me soon. Baked beans with sausages implies more than one sausage....and I only got one measly chipolata in my can!)

I have one and a half days left to go before I don't need to feed myself. I think tea tonight is a chunky vegetable soup with a thick slice or two of homemade bread accompanied by a glass of orange and passionfruit juice. Tomorrow lunch is the rest of the bread, turned into Welsh Rarebit using the last of the mature cheddar and sprinkled with oregano (ok, I know it should be paprika, but I've only got oregano in my cupboard). Please don't choose to pay me a surprise visit in the next two days....

....there is only enough for one!

p.s. On a completely different topic, (and the reason for the blog title) - if you ever see a loose balloon drifting round the floor I can guarantee everyone that passes it will kick it. Young, old, male, female, it can't be avoided. It's one of the fundamental laws of nature. There was one loose in the pub yesterday lunchtime, and it was lovely to watch it's journey round the carpet :o) Even the old dears who come in for the fish and chip special gave it a whollop.

Snap Out of It!!

2009-06-09T15:21:00.005+01:00

God I'm a depressive aren't I? I need to snap out of it. I have so much to look forward to at the mo.

It's only three days til the boys come over from the Isle of Man so we can do a double header of horse race meetings, Bath and Salisbury. Still haven't worked out how to pronounce 'Bath' properly. Is it 'Bath' to rhyme with 'wrath', or is it supposed to rhyme with 'hearth' with seventeen 'Rs' in the middle?

On Monday I fly back with the lads for one last visit to Fraggle Rock. I already have a busy schedule lined up, but I'm especially looking forward to the Wednesday where I get to spend a full day with Ali. She's not had the best of times recently either, so I think it will be a good chance for us to put the entire world to rights. Well, that's the plan at the beginning of the day - by the end we'll probably sound like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppets whinging at everyone and everything!

Less than a week after I fly back and it's up to Manchester to house-sit and spend a few days with Tara. Also a chance to see a mutual work-mate from 'the old days' in Stockport. I dread to think how long ago it is since I last saw Jacqui (yes, yet another Jacqui!). Makes me feel old to try and work it out.

You see, that's me being positive - looking forward to nice things. Do you honestly want to know what is really going through my head? It's the part I mentioned above '...less than a week after I fly back and it's up to Manchester...'. That's a week in work after being away from it. The very thought of what my email inbox will look like, or what 'he' will bombard me with as soon as I log on makes me shudder. But as the title says...

...Snap out of it Geoff!

Where Did I Go Wrong?

2009-06-08T15:41:00.002+01:00

Right now I should be blogging about my fantastic trip to the cricket with Jackie and Moritz. Right now I should be telling you witty anecdotes about the wierdos on the bus or the 'Lord' who managed to seduce two scantily dressed girls right in front of us... but I can't.

This time last year, I was writing blog entries almost every day, but right now all I can think about is how depressing work is becoming. My 'boss' has finally crossed over to become an official dictator and it's killed morale across the whole office. Problem is, I'm in the firing line in two directions.

He has at least a dozen things to say every day, and he has to direct them to me, for me to pass on to the rest of the team. Of the 12 things he wants to change, 11 of them are usually unexplainable and will upset at least one member of staff... so guess who gets it in the neck when my colleagues need someone to whinge to.

Worst scenario is when I have a day off. I come in to a barrage of emails from him, followed by a multitude of complaints from everyone else. It makes me dread coming into the office.

Latest trick is he demands to see the rota when I've set it before I send it out to everyone else. First time I did this, it was only for two weeks, but he still sent it back with 16 changes. Not 'suggestions', actual changes. When you suggest he does the rota himself, he claims he has 'too much on, and he's happy for me to do it.' (incidently, his version of the rota caused more complaints and bad morale than mine did)

...and morale is the key to this. Not a single member of staff, either in Southampton or Malta is happy right now. The only one who is smiling is the new German guy, but as he's got his tongue in a certain hole where sun can't access, I've given up worrying about him.

I know I'm going to Malta because I have no choice, but if things don't change soon, it could be a very depressing experience. I really do want to make the best of a bad job, and enjoy the experience, but right now, I have no inclination to do anything for this company....

...ok, be positive Geoff... there is a world of things to look forward to right now.

The Face That Lunched a Thousand Chips

2009-06-02T08:44:00.002+01:00

I've been told before I have an expressive face. It's not boastful, or big-headed - I just have the ability to show a range of emotions with just the flick of an eyebrow, or narrowing of my eyes. Sad, melancholy, cheeky, mischeaveous, excited, thrilled, nervous, petrified - you name it, I can pull it off...

...and yesterday, on the train from Euston to Manchester I think I proved it with an old lady.

I was on the train and in my seat early. Opposite me, an old lady got on with a younger woman who spoke in a gentle american accent. She fussed over her for a while, helping her with her bags, making sure she had the booklet she wanted and then said her goodbyes and got off the train. (How she did that I don't know. You can't get onto the platform at Euston without a valid ticket, and they don't sell platform tickets anymore..this isn't the 1950's after all!)

Back to the plot. The american lady has left, they've have waved their goodbyes through the window, and the train pulls out of the station....and then the old lady bursts into tears.

This wasn't a loud howling banshee wail, but it was a full sob. The kind of sob that makes your shoulders lift up and down and your head droop. She took out a tissue and turned her head towards the window to hide her embarrassment. If you've ever sat on a train, you'll know that windows act like mirrors when at speed, so her tear-stained face was still fully in view to me.

I looked across, stared straight into the eyes of her refelection and smiled. Not a cynical 'ha ha' smile, but a smile that said:

'I understand. You've just had a weekend in London in lovely weather visiting a relative. Perhaps a son or nephew you haven't seen for a long time. You've done so many things you never dreamed you'd do - visited Harrods and Hamleys, had a meal in a West End restaurant, perhaps even taken in a show. From the booklet I see you have on your lap you spent time at the Dicken's Museum and would have loved to spend even longer there. But now it's Monday. Your son has had to go to work, but his new wife has kindly brought you all the way to the station and made sure you are settled. But it's a sign it's all over. You are heading back alone to the North-West to what? A home? Your own home that feels cold and empty? Whatever it is, it's nothing compared to the three days you've just spent in London, and it's got to you. It's ok, I understand'.

Not a single word actually spoken outloud - just one smile.

Her reflection looked straight back at me and saw my face looking at her. She turned to face me for real and gave a single shrug and an embarrassed giggle. She wiped her eyes, but before returning to her booklet she smiled. Her smile said:

'Thank you, I know I'm being silly, but I could never afford to make this kind of trip until he kindly offered to pay for my train ticket. I've done so many things in such a short space of time, things I'd only dreamed of, or seen on TV. It was the first time I had met his wife too, but I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to meet her again, or their first child. Thank you for caring.'

...but again, not a word was spoken. We both just knew.

"Oh it's a Good Life on the Buses..."

2009-05-28T16:54:00.007+01:00

I think Maltese buses and their drivers have appeared before in this blog. Well now I've experienced another side to them, and it's not good.

This week, I am traveling to the office at lunchtime and returning late at night. It seems I have to plan to catch a bus at least an hour before I need to - a lot of the buses are full and won't stop.

It can be quite frustrating, just like in UK, there is the cliche you wait thirty minutes for a bus and three turn up at once. The same is true here, but you take your chances that any of them will actually respond when you stick your hand out. Today I set off in plenty of time, but watched in horror as bus after bus sailed past.

The other dilemma is getting home at night. The later it gets, the quieter the buses get, but also they become less frequent. I have no way of knowing if another one is coming if I stand at the bus stop nearest to the office, or whether the last one of the night has just whizzed by. I also run the risk that on one particular night the last bus happens to be popular so as soon as it's full it decides not to pick up any more passengers - me included.

Maltese bus drivers are grumpy at the best of times - but I bet they take great pleasure in watching you curse them and make rude hand gestures in their general direction...

...out of their rear view mirror as they drown you in exhaust fumes.

p.s. I didn't take the picture myself, but that is one of the more modern Maltese buses - and the 64 is actually one of the routes I take :)

Hot? You Don't Know the Meaning of the Word

2009-05-28T16:41:00.002+01:00

One of the things I had on my 'negative' list when I considered moving to Malta was the heat. Every time the island gets mentioned in a conversation, the response is 'ooh, it's hot there isn't it?' or 'how will you cope with the heat?' Well, my first day here and I've experienced temperatures in excess of 100 degrees, and it's still only May!

Ok, side track here, isn't it funny how we use the Fahrenheit scale for hot weather, but refer to Celsius for the cold. If it dips below freezing we say it's minus 2 degrees out there!' I suppose it sounds a bit more dramatic than 'ooh, it's dropped to 28 degrees already.' At the top end of the scale it feels hotter if you say 'it's approaching 100', rather than 'it's nearly 38 degrees.'

Anyway, I arrived at the airport and as we are coming into land the pilot casually announces that the weather in Malta is 'quite warm, 35 degrees with a light westerly breeze.' 35 degrees - quite warm! That's 95 in old money.

I've been told by various folk that Malta is also a humid environment. The only time I've experienced heat of this scale before is walking along the Las Vegas Strip at one o'clock in the afternoon - but that is desert heat. Malta, being an island, has a lot of moisture in the atmosphere. I envisioned myself stepping out of the apartment to go to work and being bathed in sweat even before I got to the end of the road. Fingers crossed, so far it hasn't been like that. I'm not saying there hasn't been perspiration, of course there has, but nothing uncontrollable, or unsightly. Hardest thing for me is if I get a sweaty face my glasses slip off the end of my nose!

I've not managed to pick up a tan, the hours I'm having to work don't allow me time outdoors during the hotter weather, but so far it's still been a pleasant enough experience living in the sun...

...although we haven't got to July and August yet.

Definition of an Eejit Part XI

2009-05-24T15:45:00.002+01:00

Seems a long time since I defined myself as a buffoon. Well, it's happened again.

I've just told you about one of my colleagues being made redundant. On Tuesday, I got the chance to got out with him for a few drinks, make sure he was ok, and let him know it wasn't anything personal. 'A few drinks' turned out to be an all day pub crawl, taking in about half a dozen venues and a selection of pub quiz machines.

Additional note here. Well worth having a German on your quiz team. He may have been young and had no idea about UK kids TV, but it was amazing how many European geography questions and German language questions came up.

Anyway, back to the pub crawl. As soon as I realised it was going to be a long one, I did the sensible thing of leaving my bunch of keys at home. How bad would it have been if I'd lost the office keys? I simply took out the key to the front door, loose, in my jeans pocket (mixed in with my loose change. Can you tell where this story is going?). Moritz returned his set of office keys to me that he no longer needed, so I was carrying a set of them anyway, despite trying to be so careful earlier on.

We stayed in the last pub for several drinks. It has a huge beer garden, and my friend is a smoker so it meant he could puff away to his heart's content. I taught him a few new card tricks, and we even put on a bit of a magic show for two girls who seemed impressed. (Well, I think they were more drunk than us, so any mistakes we made didn't register).

I caught a cab home, must have arrived at the flat about midnight, and reached into my pocket for my key...I had Moritz's old office keys and about sixteen pound in pound coins but no flat key. A frantic rummage through every orriface on my clothing turned up nothing (except for some reason a broken cigarette lighter!) and I was stuck outside my flat door, unable to gain entry.

Another side note here. You may be wondering how I managed to get into the block of flats in the first place. One of my neighbours was trying to shift a wardrobe out to a waiting van so the front door was propped open. Why you would want to move a wardrobe at midnight is anybody's guess.

Ok, so what to do. I could gain entry from my neighbours balcony but it's midnight. I could attempt to break the lock and pay for the damages (I actually tried putting my shoulder to the door and almost broke three bones, so I gave up on that idea.) I could phone the landlord and explain, but again it's midnight and he doesn't live locally....

...or I could do what I ended up doing and walk to the office. With Moritz's keys I let myself in and slept under my own desk. I woke at 6am and as 'luck' would have it I was the only one due into the Southampton office that day. I worked from 6am til 10pm and during the day got hold of the landlord and got him to deliver a spare to the office. (I made up a story about how I locked myself out. Didn't fancy telling him his key was probably on the back seat of a cab, or under a beer garden table).

By the time I finally gained access to the apartment I had been out of the place (and wearing the same clothes) for 36 hours....

...I told you I was an eejit.

Start Spreading the News Part II

2009-05-24T15:22:00.004+01:00

Remember the first part of this story? A local nightclub a few yards from my Southampton flat wanting to re-open? We have developments...

...and it's victory for the little people! (No, not the Munchkins in The Land of Oz, I mean victory for the local residents)

The application posted to the door of the disused club has 'Refused: 21st May 2009' scralled across it, and there is a notice in the local paper explaining it has been rejected due to 'unprecidented public opinion'.

So, despite the fact we live in a world where residents rarely know their own neighbour anymore and keep their doors double locked and bolted at all times, it seems if people band together they can make themselves heard. Ok, I admit I never got involved, and when I decided to move to Malta I did develop a 'it's someone elses problem' attitude - but I still feel some kind of pride that the club isn't going to reopen.

There is no news as to what happens next. Something needs to go there, and in the present climate it's unlikely to be more apartments, but whatever it is...

...it won't be New York, New York nightclub

Off on my Jollies Again

2009-05-24T12:46:00.004+01:00

At short notice I'm jetting off back to Malta in two days time. Just for a week to train a new member of staff.

Sorry for the lapse in blog entries, but to be honest, everything is sort of getting on top of me at the moment and keeping upto date on my blog is the least of my worries. A key member of staff here in Southampton has been made redundant, despite the fact we are taking on staff in Malta. The summer bonus we were promised has now been reduced by 50% because of 'lack of funds' apparently.

I have a whole list of social things coming up, almost something every week, but it doesn't help that the work in-between is a string of complaints and whinging from above. Maybe listing them in chronological order will cheer me up:

1. Meeting up with Sarah and Caoimhe for dinner in The Trafford Centre, then spending my birthday in Manchester
2. Twenty20 cricket game with Jackie (spectating, not playing!)
3. Two horse race meetings with the boys from IOM (Bath and Salisbury)
4. 5 days in the IOM
5. Tara coming over and spending three days with me in Manchester
6. Concert in London with Jackie
7. Meeting up with a friend form the quiz show in Maidstone for an overnight stop
8. Meeting up with a whole group of the quiz people for a reunion

Not bad eh?

I Feel The Need... The Need to Blog

2009-05-18T23:27:00.004+01:00

I'm actually writing this under pressure....

Ok, I admit, my blog updates have started to fall by the wayside. It's not that I don't enjoy writing entries, it's just that sometimes my life falls into a deep rut and I find it hard to get out of it. At the moment, I am definitely in a trench.

It's a stupid, viscious cycle I've found myself in. Almost all my shifts are 6am starts which means waking up by alarm at about 5.20am. Have you ever tried to rise yourself at that time? Even the dawn chorus of birds are still gargling the Listerine and tuning their instruments!

By the time I walk into the office I am already asleep, so I feel the need to drink something caffeine based. I can't get close to a mug of coffee, the smell makes me wretch, so I've come to rely on energy drinks...

And therein lies the problem. 6am, drink some American energy drinks, go home at 2pm, try to sleep... can't sleep, the second wave of caffeine has kicked in, but doze anyway. Wake up at about 11pm. Try to doze again, but can't. Eventually drop off at 3am - woken by alarm two hours later. Cycle continues.

I know the answer is not to drink the caffeine, but I also know what will happen if I try to function at work for 8 hours without a kick start....

...welcome to my world

My Magnificent Octopus Part VI

2009-05-14T13:24:00.005+01:00

Another update on the novel....and do people want to know where they appear? I'll do my best to give you a run down.

Ok, I took quite a break from writing. Partially due to other commitments, but mainly due to the fact I had passed on the later draft to a few people, and was waiting for feedback. I finally gave up waiting.

I don't know if that's a bad thing. Perhaps they tried to read it and found it heavy going, or boring, but I couldn't wait any longer, so I pressed on.

My issue at the moment is I have the next three or four plot points to get in, and in my usual heavy-handed way I'm finding it hard to spread them between chapters. I'm so keen to get them down on paper it's rushing the plot. In retrospect that's not a bad thing. I do actually want this section of the story to rush forward (it's the section where DCI Morgen works out the link between the murders) but I think I've done it far far FAR too quickly.

The idea is, in one swoop, he discovers the link between the first three killings, which leads him to discover the potential next victim, but is minutes away from saving him. This leads to the spiral into depression I was keen to write about last time I updated you all on the novel. I'm just finding it hard to make the discovery quick, but at the same time, not appear rushed (or fake) I think half the problem is I am desperate to get to the depression bit, but I'm not an experienced writer to compose the story out of order. I need to know what prose I have created that gets him into that state. Who knows about it, who he's upset, who he's rejected etc.

Ok, Character names (in chronological order - ish) I've included surnames if they are significant

Ali - barmaid in The Swan and possible girlfriend for DCI Morgen
Frank - landlord of The Swan
Jeni - Frank's wife
Ant Desmond - landlord of The Ferry Inn
Sarah-Jayne - Ant's wife
Graeme - landlord of The New Inn
Leah - Graeme's wife
Tara - wife of the first victim
Andrew McWade - workmate of the first victim
Tim Drummond - chief forensic expert
Neville - barman at The Ship
Mark - lover of Tara (see above)
Sleddon & Crellin - footballers playing for Norwich
Gribben, Chapple & Robinson - footballers playing for West Brom
Martin Douglas - friend of victim number three

Think that's it so far, but there is still a Jacqui, Linda and Simon to fit in somewhere :o)

Southampton: Happy to Say Goodbye Part II

2009-05-14T13:07:00.003+01:00

Last time I told you an extremely disturbing overheard conversation which almost made me weep for the future generations and the future of this city. Today, I was in the same quiz machine position, and this time the booth table housed two male students. Similar conversation to last time, but on this occasion I have to bow down to the audacity.

(NB: The **** bit is because I missed the name of the night club in question, and I'd hate to make it up in fear of being sued)

Guy 1: Any luck last night?
Guy 2: Yeah, copped off in **** she was fantastic. Shagged all night.
Guy 1: You pulled in ****? Thought Wednesday was gay night?
Guy 2: It is.
Guy 1: What the F*ck?
Guy 2: Not like that, it's packed with fit stuff, they think they're safe cos it's gay night.
Guy 1: But you pulled a bird?

(wait for it.....)

Guy 2: Yeah, I just took Gavin on the dance floor when it was quiet and snogged his face off. Slags thought we were both gay and hung off us all night. We were both tonguing them all night. Let 'em know later on you'd like to try having proper sex and they rip their knickers off. They think they are breaking in a gay bloke.
Guy 1: You snogged Gavin?
Guy 2: Yeah, but it was worth it. He took two slags home. Had a threeway.
Guy 1: Ha ha he beat you then!
Guy 2: Ha ha, yeah but my b*tch f*cked like a rabbit. Let me go bareback too cos she thought it was my first time. Stupid c**t

I still pity the city, but got to admit...

...it's an interesting technique.

We're All Off to Wem-ber-ley

2009-05-11T13:09:00.002+01:00

Ah, the return of the prodical son, only a week since my last visit there. Why was I going back? The best opportunity to see my new TV chums.

I arrived outside the studio at exactly 5pm. As luck would have it the crowd had just finished their last recording of the day as well. It was perfect timing. From that point it was drinks in the hotel bar, drinks in the local pub, kareoke, stupid drinking games (ok I admit, some of that was my fault) and finally crashing out on a friends hotel room floor.

Highlights? Possibly singing 'Living Next Door to Alice' and having the entire pub join in with the chorus - even people as far away as the pool room. It sends a tingle down your spine when moments like that crop up.

Saddest moment was the following morning. I walked back down to the studio with a few of my closer pals, but as we said our goodbyes and they ducked into the building, I had to carry on to Wembley Park Tube station to begin my journey home...alone. It didn't help my iPod had run out of battery either.

I'm still in touch with them all daily online, but nothing compares to face to face contact. Shaking hands, hugging, even the odd peck on the cheek. It all helps to warm the heart.

...Autumn reunion, here I come!

iPod Tales

2009-05-09T20:16:00.005+01:00

I've just returned from an overnight trip to Wembley. More of that in the next post, but I wanted to pass on two tales that happened on the journey down there that both involved my iPod Shuffle.

I recently changed the headphones on my little MP3 player. At first I thought I was going deaf - everytime I played a song I had to turn the volume up to maximum and even then I could hardly hear the music over the sound of passing traffic. I then tried changing the headphones and almost perforated my eardrum. Not sure if that's relevant, but you know I like to be thorough.

The first leg of my journey to London was a ride to Waterloo. I was half asleep after coming off the back of late shifts followed by a 6am start so as the train pulled out of the station I rested my head against the window pane and closed my eyes. The tunes in my ears were coming at me in random order - moving from 60's pop ditties to heavy rock via 70's psycadelica. Quite an eclectic mix. After about 20 minutes 'In the Army Now' by Status Quo came on. (Click below if you don't know the tune and want to hear what I was listening to)

In the Army Now

Pure 80's cheesiness from the kings of the 'we only know two chords' rockers. About halfway through there is a line 'The sargeant calls: STAND UP AND FIGHT!' with the second part of the lyric being shouted by a sargeant major type figure. With me so far?

I was half asleep on the train, listening to this tune, slightly aware that someone had sat next to me, and also slightly aware I was singing along to the music under my breath. As that lyric came along the person next to me - in perfect timing - said STAND UP AND FIGHT!. Ok, they didn't shout it, but it was certainly loud enough to jerk me awake and turn to them smiling. They were smiling back, almost laughing. I apologised to them in case my music had been too loud, but they explained they couldn't hear the music, only me singing along to it, and decided to join in. A lovely ice-breaker...

...shame it was a bloke really!

Ok story two takes place at Waterloo station itself. I'm sure you've all been to a major railway station at one time or another. Waterloo is one of the busiest in the world. About 20 mainline platforms and three seperate Tube lines coming together under one roof. At any one time there are over 5000 people in and around the station, all rushing to get where they need to get to. I was standing on the concourse, looking for a map of The Tube, trying to decide if I need the Jubilee or Northern Line when 'Adagio for Strings' came on my iPod (no need for a link this time. There is a version of it in the jukebox thing at the bottom of the blog and a video version in the old post entry about my funeral arrangements)

I turned the volume up to maximum, and with the new headphones (see, I knew it was important to mention them) all ouside noises were completely drowned away. Waterloo station suddenly became the most tranquil place on earth.

I was living in a scene from a movie. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion. The hoards of commuters began to walk in unison. The newpaper vendor seemed to be staring directly at me and waving the Evening Standard like a flag. As the middle section of the composition kicked in, the trains seemed to pull out of the station at the same time. The ride on the first escalator into The Underground seemed to go on for hours, taking me into a different realm. People were no longer faceless drones, they had personalities. Then the music faded out and it all went back to normal. Loud Tannoy anouncements about keeping hold of your luggage and minding the gap. Kids screaming, tourists chatting openly in incoherent foreign languages.

...so I skipped back to the start of the track again.

Southampton: Happy to say goodbye

2009-05-07T16:25:00.002+01:00

I'm not sure what kind of impression I gave when I first moved here, I suppose I looked at it through rose-tinted glasses, trying to find the good in the city, knowing I was forced to be here. An over-heared conversation this lunchtime sort of sums up the city I have come to know, and why I am happy to put it behind me.

I didn't start work today until 2pm, so I came in early to have a pub lunch next door to the office. As usual, after my feed I took up residence at the quiz machine, which is now tucked away in a back corner next to a 'booth' style table. Sat around it today were three females and one male, and judging by the ongoing conversations they were all students who were coming to the end of their academic year.

Two females were talking first. The gist of the conversation was as follows: (you have to imagine the fake southern accents they all seem to gain, plus the high pitched giggles and shrieks that each sentence is punctuated with).

(I also apologise if anyone finds this conversation offensive. Just trying to make a point about the state of the city)

Girl 1: Did you see Marcus last night?
Girl 2: Which Marcus?
Girl 1: You know...Marcus?
Girl 2: Oh you mean Marcus? Yeah, saw him in The Square. F**cked him in the bogs but that was about it.
Girl 1: Didn't you take him home this time then?
Girl 2: No, I had my eyes on that bloke at the bar in Flares.
Girl 1: Did you get him then?
Girl 2: Yeah, well F*cked him in the bogs as well, but didn't feel like taking him home.
Girl 1: I just got hold of James as usual. Gave him a BJ then took him home for a F*ck
Girl 2: F**k knows the name of the bloke I took home. He was pretty fit though. F**ked all night.

At this point, the bloke at the table got a phone call. Obviously I could only hear his side of it:

Boy 1: Hey w**ker, where are you, we're in the pub?.....What time?.....Ok....well might see you later then.

Girl 1: Is he coming down then?
Boy 1: Not right now, apparently he got the sh*t kicked out of him last night and he's still in hospital, but he might come down later.
Girl 1: Is he still up for Sunday though?
Boy 1: Forgot to ask.

As calm as that. Not once did I hear one of them ask what happened or if he was alright.

...I could weep.

Short Fat Hairy Legs

2009-05-06T06:49:00.002+01:00

I was ordering a couple of new shirts online and a pair of cheap trainers - so I took the opportunity to order a pair of shorts too. Not shorts you'd wear for sports, more the sort of casual fashion ones a surfer might wear on a day to day basis. God I've got ugly legs.

I tried them on at home (they are sort of navy blue if you want a full picture and I was wearing a plain, grey t-shirt at the time). They came to just below the knee (as they were supposed to) and I even remembered to take off my socks. Nothing worse than a pair of shorts with a couple of black socks lurking underneath.

I then took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't know whether to burst into tears or laughter. Sticking out of the bottom of the legwear were two tree stumps. Chunky all the way down until the ankles when they suddenly got thinner (I never knew I had skinny ankles). Pasty white as they had never seen the sun since 1984 and dotted with red spots. I never realised how many red marks my legs had until I thrust them into a pair of shorts.

On top of all this there is the remains of my mosquito bites from my last Malta trip. Large, dark scabs surrounded by regions of purple. The kind of thing you see when Patrick Moore is showing pictures of the surface of Mars on The Sky at Night.

....It's going to be a LONG time before I buy the sandals!

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes

2009-05-03T17:14:00.002+01:00

Less than a month to go and I turn 35. Not exactly a landmark age, but it may well be the last one I celebrate in the UK for a while.

This Friday I'm going back to Wembley. No, they haven't asked me back to film more episodes of the quiz (shame) but I'm taking the opportunity to meet up with the people who HAVE been called back so we can all go out for the night. It's only been a week since I saw them all, but already I miss them. I've had the offer of a hotel room floor to doze on afterwards, so everything is set.

Next on the agenda after that is my birthday. Ok, that doesn't exactly require any planning, but it might involve a beer or three. Two days after that I am off to a Twenty20 cricket game with two Germans. I hope to God neither of them ask me to explain the rules.

Mid June, I've booked a week off work and it's back to the sunny Isle of Man for a visit. Think it was last November that I set foot on the rock. I need to take the opportunity to say hello to people before I jet off to Malta, it might be my last chance. Hope I can get to see Caoimhe too. I've seen a few pics online and she's grown SO much. She turns 1 in a week or so. Time really does fly.

Then at the start of July it's back to London for a music concert with Jackie. Really looking forward to that, as long as Jackie Junior doesn't plan on making an appearence two months early. I'm hopeless in a medical crisis.

...and then it's Malta.

p.s. If anyone is reading this who would normally think about buying me a birthday present, can I remind you I'll be having to pack everything up a few months afterwards. The only thing I'll be buying a lot of before I go is DVDs because you can't buy them over there.

Mayday Mayday

2009-05-01T07:07:00.003+01:00

No, not a cry for help, just pointing out we are already a third of the way through the year already. Doesn't time fly.

This is sort of a follow on post from the previous one. Just letting my readers know I have confirmed to the powers that be that I will definitely move to Malta at the end of the summer.

In most respects I am actually looking forward to it. The day to day work routine will be very similar to Southampton, but with the added advantage that the evenings can be more fun and I might actually get used to the warm weather. It's only the little things that hang around in the back of the mind that hold me back. Friends getting further out of reach, the physical burden of actually packing and moving, sorting out banking and bills - you know what I mean.

I made a start yesterday though. I had an eye test at Boots (the first in about 6 years I think), got a new prescription and ordered a new pair of specs - with transition lenses. (They used to be called React-a-lites in my day, but tradenames and copyright changed all that). I even made the optician laugh out loud a few times too. I always knew I should have been a comic actor.

But the main debate about Malta still remains unanswered....

...Do I buy some shorts and sandals or not.

New Friends, New Horizons

2009-04-28T19:56:00.002+01:00

One thing I've learned from the past week is how special pals can be. Without much effort I now have a catalogue of new friends, friends I will make every effort to stay in touch with.

(I've also learned Henry VIII elder brother was called Arthur but that's not important right now).

But new horizons? Tommorrow morning, 6am, I'm going into the office for a chat with the boss. Mostly it is for me to fight on behalf of the rest of the staff about the change in working hours he sems to think he can implement, but we'll also discuss staff levels and any problems that have arisen recently. We will also discuss whether I'm moving to Malta or not in the summer. (I know I have no chance of winning the fight about working hours but he needs to be told that he can't do this to us over and over again)

As for Malta, I am being drawn more and more towards it. Partially for the money, but also I fear he's trying to close down the Southampton office. He'd never say as much, but give it 6 months and I'd wager it will be mentioned. By being one step ahead of the game I can avoid the same problems I had when I set sail away from Isle of Man.

If I do move, my whole intention is to enjoy myself, but at the same time get rid of my debts ASAP. As soon as I'm back in the black I have the freedom I've been searching for for the past few years. He won't be able to dictate to me after that, or make unfair demands. If I'm solvent I have the option to walk away....

...but not yet.

p.s. Blini pancakes are common in Russian cuisine.

No Really, I am Still Here

2009-04-28T07:07:00.002+01:00

Did you all think I had dropped off the face of the planet again?

A week in Malta with hardly a chance to breathe, let alone update this blog, and then a week in London filming the quiz show with no internet access at all. Sadly it's all back to reality again - back to headaches with work, fights with the boss and early starts.

I'm sure there are a million and one stories I should have told you by now but if I try to fit them all in, I'll just get disheartened at the amount of work involved and give up. With this in mind I am afraid there will be no updates of what has happened over the last two weeks. The blog continues from this point on.

I'm sure by osmosis little stories or tit-bits will leak out, so you won't be kept completely in the dark.

To summerise the two weeks though:

Malta is hot but nice.
The Quiz was tiring but profitable.

....and I've already bought a new laptop :)

Nothing Changes

2009-04-14T06:22:00.003+01:00

Just a few observations to compare this trip to the previous one.

Firstly, I've been eaten again! I have 3 bites, one on my left cheek, one on my left elbow and one on my right shin. I think they were waiting for me as I got off the plane.

I have now sampled traveling by bus. You know on an English bus there is a little sign that says 'press the bell once to alert the driver that you wish to alight. Remain seated until the vehicle comes to a complete rest'. In Malta that's compulsory. Not because it's the law, or a criminal offense, just because they drive like Stirling Moss and the roads are so uneven that if you try to stand whilst it's moving you will end up either through the roof or heading out of the windscreen. The second bus I got on was very busy, but there was one empty seat quite near the front. As soon as the bus pulled away I realised why it was empty. There was a huge hole in the roof just above me and the rain was pouring in. I was drenched by the time I got off. (but all journeys are only 47c so you can't really complain)

The smoking ban in Malta is completely ignored. Bar staff don't enforce it because it could drive away customers, and the customers themselves ignore it because it's hardly even followed up by the police. I was quite surprised when I saw a young couple lighting up, but as the barman explained, even if they are caught it's only a small fine. No worse than a parking ticket. Some people still go outside to smoke, but with the weather they've just had I don't blaming them for wanting to puff away indoors.

Back in the Med

2009-04-14T05:54:00.002+01:00

Hello all, I'm writing to you from Malta. Yes, I'm back on the island lapping up the sunshine and enjoying a glass or two of local beer.

Well, not exactly. It didn't stop raining for the first 24 hours. I'm back for a week to continue training the Maltese staff and also gauge whether I'd like this move to be permanent. At the moment my mind swings dramatically from one direction to the other.

After seeing the flat my boss rents (and where I'll be staying for the first 4 weeks if I did come over) I am amazed at what you can get for a lot less money than I am paying in the UK. Okay, the road is on is just a dirty back alley, reminiscent of war-torn Bazra, but once your inside it's beautiful (and spacious). This has two bedrooms as well, if I decide to go for a one-bedroomed flat I could save even more money.

But the accommodation aside, the area is half-way between where I stayed the first time and work. Right on the water-front with a selection of bars and cafes. 2 minutes walk away is the local shopping area. Am I starting to sound like a tourist board advertisement?

I have to debate what I give up if I move. Instant access to the UK by train, that means friends and family. No more internet shopping (apparently delivery to Malta is often blocked or comes at a heavy premium). Flights to and from Malta are not that cheap, so any extra money I get paid could end up just going towards transport costs.

....the debate goes on.

Blog update

2009-04-06T11:49:00.003+01:00

This doesn't really count as a blog entry. Just wanted to explain the changes on the right hand side.

You'll notice a Google search box first. This is exactly what it says it is, a Google search box! Use it as a normal search engine. The results will be brought up in a separate window, so it won't close my blog for you.

Secondly, if you scroll down you'll find some adverts. You also might notice the adverts are sort of appropriate to whatever my blog has been about recently. Aren't computer programmers clever people? If you feel you want to visit one of the adverts, feel free. They are official adverts and can be trusted. Again, it will open in a fresh window.

Why are these things here? Well if enough traffic goes through these links I get sent money. Simple as that. Sometimes it's just counting how many 'clicks' my adverts receive, but for some it's just counting how many people go on to make a purchase (depends on the company behind the advert). At no point does it cost me anything, or slow my blog down, so where's the harm?

... should I be ashamed that the first set of adverts lean heavily towards purchasing teddy bears?

My Social Calendar is Full

2009-04-06T09:44:00.003+01:00

You lucky people. Two blog entries in one day. You don't deserve me, you really don't.

Here is the run down of my social activities for the coming weeks. Not sure my diary has ever been this hectic.

Sat April 11th. Jackie coming to visit for the afternoon from Bournemouth on National Express. Note to self. Work out where the National Express bus depot is before Saturday.

Sun 12th April. Fly out to Malta from Gatwick. Note to self. Remember to book train to Gatwick before Sunday.

Mon 13th - Fri 17th April. Work in Malta. Note to self. Use public transport this time, do not hire a car and try to drive to work. There are only 5 working days so I can't afford to spend one of them motoring around the island looking for the right turning.

Sat 18th April. Fly back to Gatwick and catch train back to Southampton.

Sun 19th - Sat 25th April. Go to London, stay in luxury hotel next to Wembley and record numerous quiz shows.

Sun 26th April. Sleep for 24 hours to catch up.

Mon 27th April. Back to work at 6am

I'll Never Get Into Heaven Now

2009-04-06T08:44:00.003+01:00

Oh the shame of it all. The sense of guilt. The overwhelming surge of remorse....

I cheated in a pub quiz last night.

I don't know what came over me. Was it the red mist as I stared potential defeat in the face? Was it the alcohol infused with a lack of sleep? Or perhaps it was the incentive of taking home bottles of beer that caused me to push myself too far.

It's the quiz we've been going to as a group of workmates for a few weeks now. Sunday nights, a little pub about 15 minutes walk from home. Nice atmosphere and the quizmaster is quite funny (especially after his 8th or 9th gin & tonic).

Ok, let me explain how the quiz works, and especially the marking process and rules of the last round. The last round is called 'Wipeout'. 10 general knowledge questions worth 1 point each. If you get all 10 corect you score an extra 5 points...BUT... if you attempt a question and get it wrong you score nothing for the whole round. Understand? So if you want big points you have to take a few chances, but if you want to play safe you can just answer a few of them and pick up a handful of points.

The marking is quite clever. The sheets you write on have a carbon copy underneath which you can seperate at the end of the whole quiz and hand in. You then mark the main paper yourself and then take that up too. The idea is, you can't change answers or cross things out because the quizmaster has the carbon copy to prove what you originally submitted.

Are you with me so far?

So, last night we hadn't had the best of early rounds, but the pub was quiet so there was a good chance of us winning anyway (or at least being in with a shout). The Wipeout round was going ok. We had left a couple out, so we weren't going for the 5 bonus, but 7 or 8 correct would be a nice points haul.

"Question 9. In which TV pub would you find beers brewed by Luxford & Copley?"

I had with me a 21 year old who doesn't watch soaps and a 22 year old German who didn't understand the question. My logic went as follows:

"Well for the pub to be famous it must be from a soap opera, and it can't be Coronation Street because that's Newton & Ridley. It can't be Eastenders because I've seen the logo for that brewery and it's like the opening credits. I think it's just called Thames brewery. Which just leaves us with The Woolpack from Emmerdale"

Not only was I forgetting other soaps and dramas such as Hollyoaks, Heartbeat, The Bill etc, but I was so convincing in my arguement that not one of us disagreed with my logic. We went with The Woolpack.

Skip forward to the marking:

"Question 9 is The Queen Vic. Question 10..."

Oops. a whole round of points wiped out. Luxford & Copley IS the ficticious brewery with the river Thames as a logo. We're doomed and it's all my fault. But the quizmaster is also onto his 9th gin of the night. Hmmm, an idea is forming in my devious mind.

We pretended we hadn't noticed we'd got it wrong. We didn't change the paper, we didn't cross it out or make any other marks, we just gave ourselves points for the other correct answers in the round and kept our fingers crossed.

...and he never checked our paper. Of course if he had we would have just apologised and pleaded drunken marking was going on, but there was no need. We had won. We had cheated our way to 7 points we didn't deserve. We left with a crate of beer and sheepish smiles. Our winning margin?....

2 points.

Start Spreading the News

2009-04-05T11:47:00.003+01:00

Just outside my block of flats is an abandoned night club which was called New York, New York. It's been closed and boarded up ever since I moved here. There is also a large bar attached to it (but for the moment I forget it's name). The reason for telling you this....

...someone has applied for a licence to reopen them both.

Is this news worthy of a blog entry? Well yes it is. At the moment Friday and Saturday nights are a nightmare to try to sleep. Right through until 4am there is constant shouting, screaming, banging of bins, fighting, the demolition of the roadworks, and the wonderful sound of vomitting every so often. The application would include a 24 hour liquor licence and opening times until 5am at the weekend.

The positioning of the night club and bar would mean revellers walking through the middle of my block of flats and the neighbouring ones. They already walk past my window on the outside of the block, but now they will be walking on the other side of the building too.

Noise aside, would you like to walk to work at 5.30am in the dark dodging pools of piss, vomit and discarded take-away wrappers?

Not only that, would you like to walk to work at 5.30am in the dark going against crowds of drunks staggering home?

My apartment block has started a campaign to get the licence application refused. As I walked past one of the other, larger, blocks this morning I spotted similar posters all over their windows too.

Do I sound like an old misery killjoy? I hope not. Walking to work at this time of the morning is already scary enough, without having to pass drunks. The violent crime rate round here, especially at the weekend, is terrifying...

...I'm tempted to add my name to the campaign.

The Show Must Go On Part III

2009-04-04T09:51:00.003+01:00

Apparently I'm not supposed to tell anyone about this TV quiz show... so if anyone asks, I wasn't here - right?

Yesterday I received another phone call and a huge envelope of information. The phone call was to check on transport details (my nearest station, where in London the train is likely to get into etc). What is more interesting is the envelope.

It was packed. Not only is there enough reading material to see me through til Christmas, a lot of it is written like a set of court papers. You need a first-class degree in law before you can even begin to tackle it. Not only that, but they needed a lot of it signed and returned by the 7th (which given the fact we are at a weekend means it has to be in the postbox today).

Trimming away the complicated bits leaves me with the basic format of the show, instructions of what to bring, where to go, what the production company pays for (and what they don't) and a daily schedule for filming.

After running through the things I'm not allowed to wear on camera, I came to the horrible conclusion my only option is to appear topless. My entire wardrobe is ruled out for one reason or another:

No visible logos, no plain white or cream, no complicated patterns, no stripes, no green or blue anywhere (because some of the filming is done on green screen), no images that are recognisable (the examples they gave were Mickey Mouse and Marilyn Monroe).

I'm sure I'll sort something out. I get B&B paid for and £5 per day for an evening meal. Lunch is provided at the studio along with refreshments throughout the day. I plan on having a big breakfast and stuff myself on the lunch, so I don't need to have a proper evening meal. (This is in London after all. What am I going to be able to get for £5!?!)

I do have a small issue with some of the rules of the show. I have yet to find an incentive for the 'trader' (me) to give the contestant a correct answer. I have found several reasons why it would be beneficial to lie to them and give them a deliberate wrong answer. I'm sure I'll get a chance to air my query when I get there.

Oh well, 15 days until I travel (with a week in Malta inbetween)...

...Fingers crossed I make at least one appearance as a trader and earn a few quid.