05 April 2006


Maximo Park - Acrobat. What a genius song. Been listening to it a great deal. It resonates much in context as much as Simple Minds' Don't You Forget About Me resonates with The Breakfast Club.

The thing is, I don't know what the context is. Is it the context of my brain? Or is it just the way things are at the moment? I think it may just create its own context. I may be talking rubbish though - it's been known to happen. Frequently, in fact.

Go listen to it.

on assignment

I've moved out of the Belfry temporarily. Just for the rest of April. My folks have gone to Key West and they want me to stay in the main house lest a horde of hottentots attempt to raid from the river. For real. This will still be The Belfry Chronicles though, because the spirit of the Belfry lives on, always. The luxury of the main house (natural light in my bedroom) will not spoil me. To paraphrase J-Lo, I'm still Richie from the Belfry. Let us all hope I never paraphrase J-Lo again. It could have been stranger, I could've taken the Crowded House route and said, Everywhere I go, I Always Take the Belfry with Me. I think I'll stop there. It's been an odd day or two.

boat race

Well, that was fun. The boat race party is rarely about what team wins. In fact, the race is almost superfluous. I spend 2 minutes shouting "Cambridge" at the top of my lungs as they go past the house and that's about it for me. I support Cambridge because a friend of mine used to row for them. And it's a prettier town than Oxford.

But anyway; I think this was our 21st boat race party. Maybe 20th. And it's never been about the race, it's about the start of the season. And it's about old friends meeting up and having fun. Friends I've known since I was born, friends I've only known a couple of years but in that time have become special, friends of friends who, in turn, become my friends; all that friendship shit. Which is good shit. The very best, in fact.

Of course, it's not easy; a week's worth of preparation, running around making sure the someone's answering the door, remembering to eat some of the tons of food you've helped prepare, making sure everyone gets a drink, making sure you get a drink, making sure nothing gets broken, making sure mom doesn't notice when something gets broken, making sure you thank the people who pitch in and help (squids) and making sure you finish the barrel of London Pride before you go to the pub. It was brilliant fun, knackering, and finishing the evening with a bowl of chili and a chat about life with Miss Tennant was groovy. Some pics with commentary follow.

Kirsty, Sam and Jo - all of whom I met in Fife, two of whom travelled many miles to be there. Gems the lot of them.

Adam B with my padré - Adam and I were at uni together, and aside from a few grey hairs, he hasn't aged at all. Git.

The evil twin and the lovely Julie. Well, Bill isn't really evil. No moreso than his twin brother Rob, anyway.

Every few years, someone thinks they can beat the tide. This guy tried to drive at full throttle through the river. What a moron. Flooded his engine. I think the boat crew came round just to laugh at him.

Pedro holding court. I think this is a great pic of everyone in it, actually. Even Pete.

An actual picture of the boat race. See? River and boats. I'm telling you, it's not that big of a deal. Slightly above the "24 hours later than yesterday" excuse for a party.

On our way to the pub: your truly, Pips and Lord Rendall giving a thumbs up with a can of ESB. Pips is wrecked, by the way. Isn't it great how people drunker than you make you feel more sober?
The furthest distances travelled for the party? Well, Jo flew from Dallas and Bill from Tulsa. Those are vast distances to get wrecked and watch boats. But as I said before, it's not about the race. It's about the good shit; the best shit.

Fucking Cambridge lost though. Gits.

03 April 2006

more later

Have loads of pics to post and stuff like that but am a bit busy at the moment. I have, however, put a few new tasting notes up on my wine rant blog. Be warned; they're tasting notes for obscure fine wines. You may not like that. In fact, it will probably bore you senseless.