I had a look at my hit counter this morning and over 1000 people have visited my blog. 1005, actually. Not all different people of course. But the 10 of you out there who check it out have done it 100 times or so, which is cool. And I suppose there's me as well. Compared to some of the big guys, that's nothing. They get like, 1000 hits an hour. But they spend most of their time making fun of George W Bush. And I think I've only done that twice at the most.
So for a non-political site run by someone whose friends aren't really the type to check blogs very often, 1000 hits isn't so bad. But I'm not going to let it go to my head. I'm going to chronicle the same drivel I always have. I'm not going to put a bunch of nonsensical political buzzwords in to attract google searches. No mention of cash for peerages, hurricane Katrina, the Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld-Rice 4-way bukake action (ew), supreme court justices, Islam, Iraq, Palestine, Israel, oil, cartoons, Christians, Intelligent Design (well, I have mentioned that, but only in exasperation BECAUSE IT'S SO FUCKING STUPID) or anything else like that to garner fresh interest.
I might mention Africa occasionally, because everyone else seems to forget about them.
And I might randomly mention loads of lesbian porn. Every once-in-awhile.
25 March 2006
24 March 2006
return of chat and hangovers
Hello.
I've not been posting very often, I know. I just haven't had much to say. You can only talk about leftovers for lunch so often. Bolognese today, as it happens. No spag though, just some nice, toasted, crusty bread. And lots of bolognese. And some innocent smoothie to wash it down and get some fruity goodness in the system.
So. Last night. It kind of crept up on me, like a Japanese Giant Salamander creeps upon a fish in high mountain rivers. Yes, I've been watching Planet Earth. I suggest you do too. It's brain candy. Like a box of assorted chocolates that doesn't have any of the rubbish flavours that you hate to get. And with everyone you eat, you get smarter. Now that's assorted chocolate. But it's not, on reflection, anything to do with last night.
Last night was assorted chocolate for the soul. Though perhaps beer festival for the soul would be more apt. The locale was The Dove, the participants were Marcus, Ru and Clair. Marcus was late but made up for it by getting very drunk. Fuller's Anniversary Ale played a crucial role insuring that Marcus was not the only one to get very drunk. That, and Clair's "small" glasses of wine and "small" vodka and tonics. Then, in one of the world's great injustices, the pub shut.
Lesser men (and women) would have been defeated, dejected and felt better this morning. But not us. This was an auspicious occasion, throwing caution and schedules to the wind - we were students again and no closing bar could defeat us. Displace us perhaps, but not defeat us. So we had a Belfry Party. That's right - we grabbed some wine and rocked out until the wee hours, dancing on beds, swigging rioja and boogying something chronic. There was sillyness, such as Marcus's insistence on emailing his boss to inform her of how wrecked he was, and the farce of arranging for morning medication. I'll save the rest of that for later.
So today's been a bit slow to the start. And I think I ate too much leftover bolognese. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. And I think I'm meant to have an important meeting today. But the person hasn't called yet. For that I am grateful.
I've not been posting very often, I know. I just haven't had much to say. You can only talk about leftovers for lunch so often. Bolognese today, as it happens. No spag though, just some nice, toasted, crusty bread. And lots of bolognese. And some innocent smoothie to wash it down and get some fruity goodness in the system.
So. Last night. It kind of crept up on me, like a Japanese Giant Salamander creeps upon a fish in high mountain rivers. Yes, I've been watching Planet Earth. I suggest you do too. It's brain candy. Like a box of assorted chocolates that doesn't have any of the rubbish flavours that you hate to get. And with everyone you eat, you get smarter. Now that's assorted chocolate. But it's not, on reflection, anything to do with last night.
Last night was assorted chocolate for the soul. Though perhaps beer festival for the soul would be more apt. The locale was The Dove, the participants were Marcus, Ru and Clair. Marcus was late but made up for it by getting very drunk. Fuller's Anniversary Ale played a crucial role insuring that Marcus was not the only one to get very drunk. That, and Clair's "small" glasses of wine and "small" vodka and tonics. Then, in one of the world's great injustices, the pub shut.
Lesser men (and women) would have been defeated, dejected and felt better this morning. But not us. This was an auspicious occasion, throwing caution and schedules to the wind - we were students again and no closing bar could defeat us. Displace us perhaps, but not defeat us. So we had a Belfry Party. That's right - we grabbed some wine and rocked out until the wee hours, dancing on beds, swigging rioja and boogying something chronic. There was sillyness, such as Marcus's insistence on emailing his boss to inform her of how wrecked he was, and the farce of arranging for morning medication. I'll save the rest of that for later.
Belfry Party!
So today's been a bit slow to the start. And I think I ate too much leftover bolognese. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. And I think I'm meant to have an important meeting today. But the person hasn't called yet. For that I am grateful.
20 March 2006
it's all a conspiracy
About a year ago I found myself kissing a young lady. This had been a rare occurance at the time and the situation surprised me. But moreso was her admission, post-smooch, that she couldn't take it any further as she and another friend had sworn never to sleep with me. The details of why this pact was ever agreed upon have never come to light.
They'd actually plotted against me.
It came as a shock. Having one's paranoia proved correct is crushing.
And I'm still convinced that the conspiracy extends beyond the two friends mentioned above.
So, without further ado, The Onion's own take on such things.
They'd actually plotted against me.
It came as a shock. Having one's paranoia proved correct is crushing.
And I'm still convinced that the conspiracy extends beyond the two friends mentioned above.
So, without further ado, The Onion's own take on such things.
the blogger's tale
16 March 2006
bit better
I'm feeling a bit better. I went out yesterday, ran errands, had an eye test - the stuff healthy people do. Still feel a bit rubbish so I haven't started exercising yet.
I have a weird thing on the retina of my left eye. Hypopigmentation. They thought it was a scar, which kind of creeped me out. Having a scar inside your eye? Ew. But no, it's just a spot where there's a bit less pigmentation than elsewhere and as such, if I understood properly, the humour doesn't stick to it properly (the humour being the jelly in the eye, not my sense of humour). The end result of which seems to be fuck all. But it has to go on my record anyway. Got a cool new pair of glasses though, so am feeling trendy and accepted in fashionable London. Or, I would if anyone noticed.
Some funny links:
For any Python fan, this is a must. Silly walks rock.
And this may be the most genius blog ever. For insight into a true cultural icon and master of the spoken word, please have a look (thanks to Capt Cook for that one).
I have a weird thing on the retina of my left eye. Hypopigmentation. They thought it was a scar, which kind of creeped me out. Having a scar inside your eye? Ew. But no, it's just a spot where there's a bit less pigmentation than elsewhere and as such, if I understood properly, the humour doesn't stick to it properly (the humour being the jelly in the eye, not my sense of humour). The end result of which seems to be fuck all. But it has to go on my record anyway. Got a cool new pair of glasses though, so am feeling trendy and accepted in fashionable London. Or, I would if anyone noticed.
Some funny links:
For any Python fan, this is a must. Silly walks rock.
And this may be the most genius blog ever. For insight into a true cultural icon and master of the spoken word, please have a look (thanks to Capt Cook for that one).
The joy of others' misfortune
Doubled over in illness, sometimes one forgets that there is happiness in the world. Sometimes it's cheesy happiness; the reuniting of loved ones, the twinkle and promise in the eye of a young child, an engagement ring received with a "yes". Sometimes it's earned happiness; the joy of hard work being recognised by a raise, the unequaled joy of completing a novel (not quite there yet) and then having it published (still a very long way). There's occasional drunken happiness too, But there's another happiness. One that stems from the very core of human nature; it's not pretty.
It's the happiness and joy when someone else, often someone you don't know, proves themselves so stupid that even if you've been throwing up for three days you feel fantastic about yourself. That even if you'd been knocked out of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire without a penny, you'd feel a genius, and intellectual giant in comparison to the person who'd exhibited such stupidity. Posh and Becks could look upon this person and comment "'e's a bit fick" with pride.
The nice thing about living on the Thames is the view. Mostly. But there's also the chance to see people make terribly naive and stupid decisions, underestimating the power of a tidal river. Parking in a slipway during a spring tide while residents warn you to move your car and giving them the finger instead of listening to them, only to return to find that the tide had taken you your car 20 metres before it sank by the bow of a river barge. A teacher bringing a bunch of 5 & 6 year-olds over to see the tidal island at low tide and not checking when high tide was due, leaving them trapped and in need of rescue. Heh.
The most recent episode warms the heart more, because arrogance and pride as well as stupidity led to a young man taking his girlfriend for a bit of a joy ride. Wanting to impress the young lady and to show off his (or most probably his parents') brand new Range Rover Sport he decided to take it off road. Now, in spite of the vast numbers of so-called off-road vehicles in London, there are very few accessible off-road courses. Especially at midnight. However, it happened to be low tide and so our horny boy racer thought he'd take his lady and his motor onto the river bed, 'cuz that's off road and usually under water. Sadly, Range Rover Sports aren't really designed to go off road, and certainly not underwater. As this paragon of stupidity was to find out. So finding himself, his ladyfriend and his very expensive car stuck deep in the bank of the Thames, he calls the emergency services. Once they stop laughing they send several vehicles but all they can do is tie a buoy to the top of it so that no passing boats accidentally smack into it. They'd pick it up in the morning.
Which I got on camera for posterity. I was going to send them to the owner, as anyone so galactically stupid deserves to be reminded so that they never act so stupidly again. But then I thought that with salvage costs and of course, writing off a brand new Range Rover Sport, he (or most porbably his parents) would have paid enough. Then I figured I'd offer them to Range Rover, hoping to blackmail them with how badly their car performed in a real-life off-road situation. But then remembered that anyone requiring a car for a real-life off-road situation would have bought a Defender instead.
Please remember when having a look at these photos that the car is already dead - it has spent 6 hours several metres under water.
It's the happiness and joy when someone else, often someone you don't know, proves themselves so stupid that even if you've been throwing up for three days you feel fantastic about yourself. That even if you'd been knocked out of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire without a penny, you'd feel a genius, and intellectual giant in comparison to the person who'd exhibited such stupidity. Posh and Becks could look upon this person and comment "'e's a bit fick" with pride.
The nice thing about living on the Thames is the view. Mostly. But there's also the chance to see people make terribly naive and stupid decisions, underestimating the power of a tidal river. Parking in a slipway during a spring tide while residents warn you to move your car and giving them the finger instead of listening to them, only to return to find that the tide had taken you your car 20 metres before it sank by the bow of a river barge. A teacher bringing a bunch of 5 & 6 year-olds over to see the tidal island at low tide and not checking when high tide was due, leaving them trapped and in need of rescue. Heh.
The most recent episode warms the heart more, because arrogance and pride as well as stupidity led to a young man taking his girlfriend for a bit of a joy ride. Wanting to impress the young lady and to show off his (or most probably his parents') brand new Range Rover Sport he decided to take it off road. Now, in spite of the vast numbers of so-called off-road vehicles in London, there are very few accessible off-road courses. Especially at midnight. However, it happened to be low tide and so our horny boy racer thought he'd take his lady and his motor onto the river bed, 'cuz that's off road and usually under water. Sadly, Range Rover Sports aren't really designed to go off road, and certainly not underwater. As this paragon of stupidity was to find out. So finding himself, his ladyfriend and his very expensive car stuck deep in the bank of the Thames, he calls the emergency services. Once they stop laughing they send several vehicles but all they can do is tie a buoy to the top of it so that no passing boats accidentally smack into it. They'd pick it up in the morning.
Which I got on camera for posterity. I was going to send them to the owner, as anyone so galactically stupid deserves to be reminded so that they never act so stupidly again. But then I thought that with salvage costs and of course, writing off a brand new Range Rover Sport, he (or most porbably his parents) would have paid enough. Then I figured I'd offer them to Range Rover, hoping to blackmail them with how badly their car performed in a real-life off-road situation. But then remembered that anyone requiring a car for a real-life off-road situation would have bought a Defender instead.
Please remember when having a look at these photos that the car is already dead - it has spent 6 hours several metres under water.
Having been abandoned overnight, with only a buoy for company, and truly buggered as the tide line is about 4 metres over the roof.
Help arrives - yes, so trecherous is Thames mud and so heavy is the car that salvage has to be via the water.
The winching begins
The boats for one car - overkill perhaps?
The tide's coming up again - how's that little barge going to get that big fucking car out of the water?
Uh, that's how I guess. Cool.
And off home they go, to the great big Range Rover Sport graveyard. Heh.
Oh - and all photos ©NCM Productions.
And off home they go, to the great big Range Rover Sport graveyard. Heh.
Oh - and all photos ©NCM Productions.14 March 2006
13 March 2006
11 March 2006
party tales & foodie heaven
Yesterday, more was a accomplished than ever should be with a hangover. Because Thursday night was stupidly drunken (no food + booze of various nature = drunk). It needed to be stupidly drunken because I was at a party that I shouldn't have been. You see, it was a friend's girlfriend's birthday party. But 2 months after the actual birthday. Upon arrival at a bar filled mostly with strangers, I spotted my mate and joined him at the bar. Where he told me that he and his lady had parted company 2 weeks ago. So my reason for being at the party really, really didn't want to be at a party. Here comes an oddity of human behaviour; when you're at a party you don't want to be at, instead of leaving you just drink more. So many a champagne cocktail, whisky and beer (Asahi - pure evil) later, I was really rather drunk. And my friend had left. And I was speaking at length to a divorcee from Kentucky. Then another friend showed up, kind of rescuing me from the divorcee (who was nice, but had a monopolistic tendency when it came to chat). The other friend simply shouldn't have been there but for the fact that it is indeed a small world, and he's mates with the now-ex-girlfriend of my friend's brother-in-law, married to the now-ex-girlfriend's twin sister. Whose non-birthday party it was too. And a welcome-home party to boot as she and her husband (friend of my friend) had just moved back to London from New York.
Are you confused? Good. Now drink a bathtub's worth of booze and try to work it out.
So then an old uni friend of mine turned up, who was at school with the now-ex-girlfriend. I knew this was going to happen. In fact, it was the one expected event of the evening. However, I was delighted to find how lovely it was to see her. As she's really rather lovely. I passed the mobile number on of a mutual friend and they met up the next day. I was sort of chuffed that I'd played a part in a small reunion. Not at the time, at the time I was quite drunk and needed to go home. It wasn't until yesterday that I had any feelings of chuffed-ness.
The tube and walk home were a blur. I think I played Neil Diamond REALLY LOUD when I got back home.
Yesterday I edited the nonsense I'd written in both the book and the blog (erased forever, thank goodness) when I returned home. Not sure how Faulkner managed to write The Bear inebriated. I have trouble with my name.
After editing I went to the Van Riusdael exhibit at the Royal Academy and the Americans in Paris exhibit at the National Gallery. Both were cool, and I found myself quite surprised at some of the unifying themes of the latter. Especially as the individual artists had quite varied styles. Lots of pretty colours too.
Today was awesome. My folks, myself and a family friend went to Borough Market in Southwark to food geek out. I cannot believe it's taken me this long to get to this incredible mecca of London food. The very best veg, meat, cheese, fish, bread - everything. It was almost dizzying. I think I went through about 30 or 40 meals in my head as I walked around. Mountains of fresh-baked chocolate brownies, small wine merchants with obscure parcels of rustic French wine. Butter - oh, the wonders of proper French farmhouse butter in varying shapes and sizes. Basket upon basket of wild mushroom. We bought a lot of food. And most of this afternoon has been spent prepping it. I've got venison shanks marinating for pot roast tomorrow while there's pork belly slow-roasting in the oven for tonight's meal. And there's a lot of amazing bread. Proper, hand-kneaded bread that tastes particularly good with lashings of proper French butter. Spanish ham, salt cod, veg that looks natural - not waxed an polished but ripe and smelling incredible. Fuck supermarkets, this was the real deal and even if it is an hour of tube journey far better than going to bloody Sainsbury's or Tesco.
Are you confused? Good. Now drink a bathtub's worth of booze and try to work it out.
So then an old uni friend of mine turned up, who was at school with the now-ex-girlfriend. I knew this was going to happen. In fact, it was the one expected event of the evening. However, I was delighted to find how lovely it was to see her. As she's really rather lovely. I passed the mobile number on of a mutual friend and they met up the next day. I was sort of chuffed that I'd played a part in a small reunion. Not at the time, at the time I was quite drunk and needed to go home. It wasn't until yesterday that I had any feelings of chuffed-ness.
The tube and walk home were a blur. I think I played Neil Diamond REALLY LOUD when I got back home.
Yesterday I edited the nonsense I'd written in both the book and the blog (erased forever, thank goodness) when I returned home. Not sure how Faulkner managed to write The Bear inebriated. I have trouble with my name.
After editing I went to the Van Riusdael exhibit at the Royal Academy and the Americans in Paris exhibit at the National Gallery. Both were cool, and I found myself quite surprised at some of the unifying themes of the latter. Especially as the individual artists had quite varied styles. Lots of pretty colours too.
Today was awesome. My folks, myself and a family friend went to Borough Market in Southwark to food geek out. I cannot believe it's taken me this long to get to this incredible mecca of London food. The very best veg, meat, cheese, fish, bread - everything. It was almost dizzying. I think I went through about 30 or 40 meals in my head as I walked around. Mountains of fresh-baked chocolate brownies, small wine merchants with obscure parcels of rustic French wine. Butter - oh, the wonders of proper French farmhouse butter in varying shapes and sizes. Basket upon basket of wild mushroom. We bought a lot of food. And most of this afternoon has been spent prepping it. I've got venison shanks marinating for pot roast tomorrow while there's pork belly slow-roasting in the oven for tonight's meal. And there's a lot of amazing bread. Proper, hand-kneaded bread that tastes particularly good with lashings of proper French butter. Spanish ham, salt cod, veg that looks natural - not waxed an polished but ripe and smelling incredible. Fuck supermarkets, this was the real deal and even if it is an hour of tube journey far better than going to bloody Sainsbury's or Tesco.
Southwark Cathedral rising over the market. 
My Dad in his Sherlock Holmes hat at one of the market entrances
My Dad in his Sherlock Holmes hat at one of the market entrances
Wright Brothers Oyster & Porter Bar - lunch was awesome. Ate oysters and drank porter.
One of the big fish stalls in the market - some truly cracking fish, but we were in carnivore form.
09 March 2006
tactile
How do you respond to the realisation that you're broke? Some people budget, strictly allocating funds to only the essentials for life; some people cry into a glass of wine, wondering where they went wrong; some people seek new and more bountiful employment to ensure their income catches up with their expenditure. I went to Fopp and bought four cds. And I really enjoyed it. I hadn't actually bought cds from a shop in ages. Amazon and iTunes (and possibly LimeWire, though not if the bastards at the RIAA are reading) have been the cornerstones of my music purchases of late, mostly iTunes. And I'd forgotten how brilliant some shops are. Especially Fopp. If you have a Fopp nearby, you should shop there, because it's wicked. Their selection is brilliant, the staff is helpful and LOVE music and you feel kind of cool being a customer. I felt young and, dare I say, hip. And this is the other thing. I've been enjoying fishing out cds and listening to them instead of playing my iPod through my stereo or listening to my computer. Don't know why. There is a tactile quality to holding the cd and taking it out of its case that isn't there with an mp3 file. Weird.
In other news, old ladies aren't allowed to wear hats and an ex-teacher in France has seen too many bad movies.
In other news, old ladies aren't allowed to wear hats and an ex-teacher in France has seen too many bad movies.
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