Nothing (much) To Report

26th Monday:

7 January, 2006 at 4:07 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

Whilst everyone in the house was busying themselves getting ready for the planned overnight stay down in deepest, darkest Somerset, I was intensely debating with myself as to whether or not join them at all. The shower didn’t exactly help me make a decision but the moment I stepped into the throng of activity did: I wasn’t going, I was staying home alone. It turned out to be the best decision I’d made that day.

They disappeared and I set about getting myself into the loft. The primary reason was put away a bridesmaid dress that’s being knocked about since the beginning of September, but it also meant I had the opportunity to be very noisy and have a peek inside the two mysterious chests that my parents somehow shoved up there many, many moons ago, however many there have been in the last 27 years.

I discovered thick blankets which could have been useful during these recent cold snaps; ancient (ok, seventies) clothing; a couple of newspapers (the Express & Daily Mail) dated the 18th of December 1978; something which I presume was my mum’s wedding dress (I didn’t get it out and look properly), presumably spotlessly clean, folded carefully and fully wrapped in plastic, a fate which hasn’t befallen the previously mentioned bridesmaid frock; some old sleeping bags which I’ve never clocked before; and a badly torn, A4-sized photograph of a woman wearing a nurses uniform. I’ve not seen any pictures of my maternal grandmother, as I’m not aware of any existing, but I instantly guessed this was my mum’s mum. The size and shape of nose kinda gave it away.

With my curiosity fully satisfied, I clambered back down the ladder, shut up the attic, unplugged the lone light and set about making myself lunch: baked beans on toast, followed by a generous slice of day-old Christmas pudding and cream. Realising that not a single drop of alcohol had touch my lips yet I proceeded to make myself an afternoon’s supply of mulled wine. I slumped in front of the goggle-box and channel surfed whilst sipping slightly warm, sweet and spicy wine – hmmmm, could do with some more of that now. I soon realised that there was bugger all to watch and got very bored, if it hadn’t been for the regular refilling of my glass there could have been trouble. I even tried watched The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy on Filmflex, but it was far too annoying to stick with it. I was comparing it to the book too much to enjoy it as an individual piece of entertainment.

I fixed myself some tea, supped a little more wine, and generally enjoyed the peace and quiet. It would have been considerably quieter if the next door neighbours hadn’t returned and the kids, quite possibly fully of fat and sugar and who knows what else, ran around the house screaming their heads off. By early evening, I’d stopped caring that I was polluting my brain with crap tv and joyfully slugged away on bottles of Grolsch. This had a lot to do with the brief phone call that I answered, informing me that they where on their way home, mum’s had enough. Great! There goes all the interesting things I had planned for the evening’s entertainment. Instead I got squiffy and retired to bed rather late.

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Saturday 24th:

1 January, 2006 at 7:05 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

Another fairly early start, for me anyway. And another trip into town, but this time around proved a lot less fruitful and more annoying. I don’t think I actually bought any presents, mostly because I’d left the thinking part of my brain back in bed. But everything cheered up, except for the weather, when I met up with the other friend.

We wandered a little before taking up residence in my favourite pub. Sampling of ales commenced, and a little food; drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t a wise move, one that I should have learnt by now. Many interesting things were discussed including, but not limited to: whether fivesomes are better than threesomes (they are, it was decided – not that either of us know about those sorts of things!); my grand plan to become the world’s most annoying aunty/godparent, when those things happen; her homemade, and very precious gift to me, a Christmas soap – not to be used on sensitive areas like nipples due the high quantity of bits within the soap.

We moved on to other pub after a wee while, if only to stretch our legs. The streets were far less hazardous to negotiate by this time, we soon realised why upon entering The Fountain Inn, it seemed as though everyone was in here instead. A swift half each and we were out and on the move again. There then followed a dash to the next place as bladders were screaming that their needs hadn’t been looked after terribly well this afternoon.

I’d like to name the next pub we went to, as it’s a nice quietish place. (I like quietish public houses, restaurants, etc, not just because I’m rapidly turning into an old git, but because I’m deaf once the ambient noise of the place reaches a certain level. It’s quite a low level, sadly, which means I can’t join in with the conversation of my companions so I sit there not joining in, tempting being described as an unsociable old git.)

It’s about the only pub in Gloucester that has a pool table, which we didn’t get to use this time around. It’s also very old and historic (some connection to Oliver Cromwell, or something) and a proper freehouse Samuel Smith establishment. I’d gladly pass on the name of it, if I knew it. I’m not saying I’ve forgotten it in the drunken stupor that has been the last few days, as it’s not possible to forget something you never knew in the first place.

But, thank gawd for clear, sensible thinking and t’internet: I’ve found it! The Old Crown Inn. There’s no slightly interesting page to link to.

This Christmas Eve, it later transpired, was the best Christmas Eve I had in a long while, and somewhat better than the following day.

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Thank fuck that’s over

1 January, 2006 at 6:39 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

All done and dusted for another 12 months. I’m almost tempted to cheer.

I shall make the next few posts updates on the plans that had been made as stated in the previous post, due to the version I’ve typed in Word being too long for one article, particularly with this template, of which I intend to fiddle with. It’s also a desperate attempt to make up for the lack of anything recently.

Friday 23rd: The day didn’t get off to a great start as the geezer holding on to the old man’s wages hadn’t turned up at time he’d promised. By all accounts this ‘G’ is an almighty git; not a builder I’d want to employ, nor work for. Not that my father’s chosen course of action achieved much: sitting around, muttering to ones self has never really changed things or made people pay up.

After spending much of the day dashing around from one shop to another, my feet were about ready to drop off, or go on strike. They probably really hated me come the evening time, for I squeezed them into a pair of tippy-tappy heeled boots.

There was a cunning plan in where we were going to eat – drive around, popping in and asking if they had a spare table for 3 and then stopping there. This was potentially going to be a very interesting evening spent getting hungrier and hungrier, if it wasn’t for the fact that the friend wanted to test the new Italian in town, which turned out to a far better experience than the last Italian restaurant I stepped into, which I can’t name, not yet anyway.

Something near to authentic Italianate grub was served and enthusiastically consumed. There was nothing stronger than lemonade supped, but I’ve more than made up for that lack of alcohol that night since, sadly for my liver, brain and other slightly vital bits of me.

The truly exciting bit was the present unwrapping, which is nearly always the best bit. This time was possibly the most surprising gift I’ve ever received, and it also clarified a very puzzling and short phone conversation back in September:-

Her: “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Me: “No. It’s a load of tosh!”
Her: “But would you be willing to explore the possibility?”
Me: “Oh yeah, as a laugh at least.”

Thus I’ve been given the chance to do just that. A Ghost Hunting Experience, so it says on that Activity Superstore voucher. It’ll happen sometime before September 2006, as that’s when the voucher expires, so you have that to look forward to! Where it’ll take place is unknown to me yet, but there will be a psychic workshop, a ghost hunting kit demo, and ghost/history walk, vigils à la Most Haunted, and a post investigation discussion. There’ll also be a fair amount of hysterics – screams from others and (hopefully) nowt more than laughter from me. At least it’ll give me something to blog about.

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Clichés

14 September, 2005 at 4:01 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

• All terrorists are one dimensional characters, who scowl, or sneer at the good guys and any good intentions shown to them. Whilst the heroes have families and friends and truly grieve for their fallen comrades.
• Terrorists will carry their fancy, or not so fancy, bombs in canvas holdalls.
• And usually dress as some sort of workmen. Beware the boiler-suited men carrying large cloth-type bags!
• All bombs will have a timer, probably digital, thus allowing the audience to see how much peril the characters are in.
• And it will beep as each second passes. Although no one passing this bomb will hear the beeping.
• The timer will have a display so simple even the greatest technophobe could deal with it.
• The terrorists will conveniently leave their laptop, usually the device displaying the timer, near the explosives.
• If no code is needed (perhaps terrorists aren't that desperate yet) then all that needs to be done is to cut a wire or two.
• If the bomb requires a code to disarm it, it won't be a collection of random numbers and letters. Nor will you have to turn Caps Lock on or off during the input of the code. Terrorists are so slack on their security.
• The code will be cracked, if not alphanumeric gobbledygook (highly unlikely, see point above) by an expert, probably a professor, that the heroes have dragged into the case. This expert is likely to be helping against his or her will.
• The mole amongst the heroes will have been on screen within the first 5 (or so) minutes. You won't have paid any attention to them. But you may have suspected that the new maverick, or female or bossy -type character is the one leaking the vital information to the bad guys.

Three guesses as to what I watched last night. No prize will be awarded for the sucessful guesser.

Bowling tonight. How I manage to get into that, I don't know.
(I will write up about the bloomin' wedding soon. With piccies. I promise. Permission to flog me for failing to keep this promise is given………….now!)

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The Non-Rolling Stones

20 June, 2005 at 6:05 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

I quite like Megaliths. They tend to inspire a sense of awe and amazement in pagans or historians. Some folk see them as a bloody inconvenience in their field. Some think that standing atop them is fun; others would quite like to twat them for doing so.

I now present for your enjoyment, or as a very good reason to find something infinity more compelling to do, a story involving these ponderous lumps of rock. Note: I was big on the witchy thing back when these events took place, not that it matters to the story. Or to you. Or even to me now.

I think I've mentioned Moosh before. She's done some interesting things, considerably and frequently more so than I, and she really should have her own blog. Especially for all those Russian goings-on.

A couple of years back she invited me along to watch the sun rising on the summer solstice at Stonehenge, and then drive all the way to London to sort out her visa to get into Russia. Except I didn't quite gasp this. I understood the Stonehenge bit, but didn't take in the London bit. I thought was happening another day. In retrospect, not fully understanding the situation was probably for the best.

My memory hasn't held out too well on some of the finer points of this story, but I'll try to make as coherent as possible. In fact, this happened back in 2002, So I'm very surprised I've remembered as much as I have!

Off we toddled (oh, by we I mean: me, Moosh and Tossface™, as he shall be known, I refuse to utter his name; her boyf at the time) from somewhere around here, to Avebury first off. I seem to remember it being quite a long journey, for some reason. We may or may not have gotten lost, or I was a bit bored.

Having got to Avebury, we parked, stretched, collected our particulars including a sheet of blue tarpaulin (watch out for the tarp later!) and a large bottle of cider and a few cans of lager, which later become Snakebite in the bottle. The first – and most definitely the very last – time I've ever consumed that combination. Then we did some walking, to the stones. Walking or standing still features a lot in my memory with regards to this story.

On the walk up to the stones, one passes a pub. I would have loved to have gone in that pub, simply because I like going in pubs. In fact, Moosh and quaffing of alcoholic beverages is a nice little mental parcel for me. With the odd game of pool or darts (dodgy when drunk!) thrown in. But we didn’t do any of that. We walked on past. I wept, on the inside.

To say it was a slight anti-climax once we'd reached the site, would be downplaying the disappointment I felt at the time. If I'd been younger I would almost certainly sulked. I think in part I felt this because there is no immediate wow factor, unlike Stonehenge, which is probably why Avebury isn’t as famous or popular. It's a huge site, you only really notice how big when you walk around it, which we did, doing our best to avoid the masses of sheep poo. And trying not to break our ankles when descending the banks of the ditches. You also notice that it's hardly complete, thanks to the Christians of the 14^thC trying to eradicate the pesky pagan ways of the local population. I think it’s likely that landowners of the 17^th and 18^th centuries are also responsible for removing and breaking up stones, but don’t hit or sue me if I’m wrong.

After our wandering about we decided to park ourselves for a bit inside the circle. Which meant more avoidance of sheep crap, which was difficult as it was everywhere. We sat, and chilled, drank a bit more snakebite and not a lot else. The entire site wasn’t heaving with people, and everyone was quite relaxed. There was some poi action, which excited Moosh. I was ambivalent about poi at Avebury, at Stonehenge and at Ashton Court and I still am.

After a while, I think it’s possible we were bored. So we left for Stonehenge. But one or two of us needed the loo and it was thought best to go now. Except we couldn’t find any toilets. And then we got lost around some barns. I don’t think anyone peed beside the one of the barns, it was still light and there were folk about, but I can’t remember how the problem was resolved.

The ‘Henge was a very different kettle of fish. Masses of people caused a rather long queue, just to park. We left Moosh’s little white Nova alone amongst the thousands of other cars, trying to memorise roughly where it’s position was, without the aid of GPS. Another little trek followed, but with an opportunity to purchase incense and other sundry items en route. Word filtered down through the casual ensemble that the local plod were checking how much alcohol peeps were planning on taking in to the enclosure, and that any glass items would be removed from your possession, which is entirely reasonable, on reflection. Some crusty looking souls were trying to manoeuvre wheelbarrows in; truly the least sensible and selfish idea they had had that day. It was at this point that Tossface™ got a little concerned. For he was carrying the probably tiny amount of pot that had been, *cough* somehow acquired. It was highly unlikely that the police would have been conducting full body searches on everyone there, but still Tossface™ felt it wise to hide the stash in the safest place he knew. His pants. Well, I would have never looked there. We were shooed through the police check point with no problems, the quantity of alcohol we were carrying was within acceptable limits.

I don’t think I’d ever been surrounded by that many of my fellow members of humanity before (I’ve lived a sheltered life, ok?). It was awash, brimming, chock-full, crammed, jam-packed, overflowing, stuffed, swarming, teeming, thronged, wall-to-wall with people. (Don’t you just love thesaurus.com?)

Surrounded by bodies as we were, we decided that the best course of action would be to circle the stones. I don’t think was directly because we wanted to piss large of numbers of people off, it was simply a consequence. The fact that we were carrying a rolled up hefty bit of tarp with us may not have helped in making any new friends. Although there was a tarp fight with someone, all very amicable. And a few heads were tapped lightly with said tarp. This activity become known as tarping and it was agreed (by Moosh and I, if no one else) that tarping was a good thing.

I believe it was during this walk around that Tossface™ quietly announced that he’d lost the pot. Remarkably, neither Moosh nor I lost the plot with him. He may have received a severe tarping, I can’t remember though.

For most of the night we were stood on one spot, there wasn’t a huge amount of choice in the matter. We’d somehow managed to position ourselves directly next to the Hare Krishnas. Boy, does that chanting get into your brain and cause you to think nasty, horrible, evil thoughts, or what?! Or is that just me?

As there wasn’t a huge amount to see or do overnight, after a while the tarp went down on the ground and we plonked ourselves down on it. This is where the tarp became very useful for the second time that night. The police and volunteers weren’t allowing any candles to be lit, which is sensible thinking back, but it would have been nice to have some heat. My, it was chilly, even amongst the throng. There were a few pillocks who thought climbing atop of the stones was a jolly good laugh, or maybe they thought they were getting in touch with they spiritual side. Who knows, I can say that I for one wasn’t impressed by their antics, and was a little concerned for the poor lichen.

The night seemed to, frankly, go on forever. That was possibly one of the longest nights I have ever known. Moosh and Tossface™ seemed to be snoozing at one point, right about the same time a couple were wandering near us selling special truffles. I would’ve bought one, if I had my money, but my cash was in a sleepy someone’s bag. I’m not one to deprive others of their slumber time.

Eventually, daylight started appearing. Oh, and it was cloudy. Yes, no one saw the sun rise that year, for it was overcast. How depressing. And then, just to add to the joyous nature of the event, it started raining. We had tarp though, and thus, it became extremely useful once again. Who needs an umbrella when you have tarp, a tarp that can attract many to shelter under it? We were, for a while, a blue human-caterpillar-type-thingy. Someone did try to get the crowd to join in with some singing, but the mood had been lost. I believe we did dance under the tarp.

Overall, my memories of that night are, in no particular order: tarp, rain, cloud, cramped, freezing bloody cold, no loo roll, trying not to sit in piss (the portaloos) and poo (sheep), disappointment, tiredness. And this man. For more photo's, the type of a far higher quality than I've shared, see this. (I don't remember it being that green!)

I may have probably moaned like a good ‘un. I quite good at moaning, ask anyone who knows me. But I had even greater reason to moan later….

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Jealously is a terrible thing

17 June, 2005 at 5:50 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

I’m not the kind of girl to get jealous of other taller, thinner, more beautiful women with higher intelligence, greater common sense, style and class¹, but I am the sort of person who regularly encounters the green eyed monster, with horrifying consequences. Mostly inflicted upon my bank account.

I’m all-to-often possessed with thoughts of malice towards those who have understanding of the world of Information Technology and Gadgetry.
But it's more probable that I'd stomp off, declaring it to be "not fair!" before dropping into a corner someplace, arms crossed and with a frown on my face.

PCs, laptops, pocket pcs, PDAs, ipods, (or other portable digital music players) digital cameras, Sky+, flat screen tvs, LCD monitors, wireless networking, mobiles that can do more than make phone calls, anything to do with the inner working of computers, HTML, CSS, XML, Technorati, Python, or any code, computer games, ad infinitum.

To name a tiny number of things that are highly mysterious to me or completely out of my financial reach.

For a number of years I was the geekiest member of my family, being the only one who could successfully operate the video recorder. But it seems I was simply brought up in a house that didn't read the instruction manual. Now, thanks to the internet, I'm, once again, a dunce.

My leisurely enjoyment of reading other peeps blogs and websites is marred by my near constant muttering of "what's that?" or "Eh??" This does require regular C & P'ing of words and/or phrases into Google or some such. Which means I could spend the entire day lurking around sites I would have never have gone to, or searching eBay to find if I could, for once, get one of those.

Now, I'm going to look for something that will explain quantum theory to me it terms I can understand.

¹Could well be one big fat lie.

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Pub Review

3 June, 2005 at 1:58 pm (Imported from Old Blog, Organised Thoughts, Personal Favourites)

Café Rene

Near to the old Greyfriars Friary, off Southgate Street, next door to a church.
This pub (& restaurant) used to be known as Greyfriars, a few years back. One of my more gothy friends frequented it back then. She wasn’t disappointed when we wandered into there a couple of summers back, despite it being different.
I never paid the place any visits back in those days mostly because I never knew it existed.

Today, it’s a great pub to while away the hours. It’s very dark inside, which could mean you walk in a bit blind if it’s a particularly sunny day, I have on a few occasions. But there is the option to sit outside during the nicer days in a courtyard area, and sup your ale. Although it’s not a courtyard, it’s an alley way, but nevermind.

The establishment is next to a graveyard, long disused. Don’t let that put you off though. It’s a nicely cool place amongst the trees in hot weather, when that happens. (Where is the summer this year?)

They serve real ales, decent ciders (as well as the dreaded Strongbow), there’s a wine list that isn’t all Blossom Hill or Jacob’s Creek. The friendly, helpful staff could probably mix any cocktail that took your fancy, although I haven’t tested them.

Oh, the food! It’s fantastic. Tasty, interesting and homemade, what more could ask for? Oh, free as well. Ah well, sorry. But lunch or dinner here won’t break the bank. The last meal I had there was a cheese and ham ploughman’s – nice crusty rolls, granary and white, homemade dressing to go on the salad, the customer gets to dress their own salad. My friend, being a vegetarian had the just cheese ploughman’s, brie, cheddar and a blue. I really must try one of their burgers some day.

You can play games there, no not darts or Shove Ha'penny (sadly), but Connect 4! There are a small stack of board games in one corner. As I was on my own when I spied this, I didn’t investigate fully. I’m a terrible reporter, I know.

On the whole, Café Rene is chilled, not too trendy or trying too hard nor filled with chav types. Just my kind of pub. I should spend far more time and money there. Would anyone care to join me?

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