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 :)
August 28, 2009
Money! It's a Gas.
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.
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?
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.
...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.
August 26, 2009
The Eagle Has Landed
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 :)
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 :)
August 21, 2009
And Now, The End is Near...
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.
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.
August 16, 2009
Bob the Fluffy Duck on Tour - Part II
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 :(
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 :(
August 09, 2009
Sandie Shaw, Zola Budd, Joss Stone and Geoff Gibson
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.
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.
August 08, 2009
Bob The Fluffy Duck on Tour
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 duc
k 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 :)
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 duc
k 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 :)
August 01, 2009
Three Weeks to Go. The Countdown is on.
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!
...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!
July 28, 2009
General Update
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 :)
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 :)
July 27, 2009
Reunion Part II
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)
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...
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...
July 17, 2009
Blimey!, A Quarter of a Millennium!
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.
Just wishing my blog a happy birthday, and here's to the next quarter millennium.
Reunion Part I
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 :)
...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 :)
July 14, 2009
Definition of an Eejit Part XII
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.
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
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!
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!
July 05, 2009
The Show Must Go On?
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.
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
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.
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.
June 29, 2009
Pontefract - and not a Liquorice Sweet in Sight
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
June 26, 2009
Always Say Hello to the Fairies
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)
...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)
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