Its Leap Year Day today, so L could propose to me this morning but instead I get a proposition of a different sort, which naturally I accept. It's more my sort of offer.
Of course Leap Year Day means that most of us work an extra day this year. The exceptions being teachers and schoolchildren of course. Where as we all get a fixed number of days holiday, they get a fixed number of days at work. Although this year the National Trust have joined them and have given their whole workforce the day off because they decided that as they're not getting paid for an extra day, why should their staff come in.
Daughter rather than being knackered after her night out was quite jovial this morning. I suppose she’s got a lot of bragging to do, having lost her mosh pit virginity last night. L says she wishes to be forever a mosh pit virgin but who knows, she seems to be getting more adventurous with every gig at the moment...
A few sniggers here as someone her has a mishap with a treadmill and comes in with a cracking bruise on their chin. Very embarrassing but it is kind of funny.
L asks whether she'll get wild or suave and sophisticated when I get home tonight. I think she's enquiring as to whether I finally managed to get the old barnet trimmed. I did but I'm not sure I could ever do suave. It's a shame I'm not on my bike today (I'm not, I'm tapering) because with the weather as it is, she'd have got wild anyway. There's also the fact that wet lycra never seems to fail. All the same I do my best to treat her to a spot of wild when I arrive home.
Friday night is dog-friendly pub night. So it's off for the usual Legends and Supremes. Later we have a bottle of Scottish 6% between us while we watch what is a poor selection of bands on Jools.
Friday, 29 February 2008
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Under My Bed
I'm on the bike today despite the fact I have squash tonight, I'm sure I'll regret this later. The plan is to give myself a couple of day off before we do the Doncaster Nine Mile Race on Sunday. This is just a training run you understand. The biggy is Clumber next week.
It's a glorious morning although a bit cold. L has the cheek to text me to point out just how glorious it is, because she assumes I won't have noticed. She'll be accusing me of not looking at the view next.
I have a bit of trouble on the bike. An old chap, he must have been about eighty, cuts me up on his shopper bike coming out of a side street in Wollaton. Then he's off down the road pedalling like the clappers, pushing a very big gear. It takes all my effort to stay with him. How embarrassing. It's not as if he even looks like a cyclist, no gear, no helmet, just a tweed jacket and a flat cap. I've no idea how he keeps the cap on his head, he must have it glued on.
Luckily the hill up to Balloon Wood slows him down and I go past him. The problem now is that I have to stay in front. Luckily he goes straight on at the lights when I turn left, which allows me to relax, free wheel and drink my Camp.
In the news today is a year old Government review, which reveals that of the 2.7 million people claiming incapacity benefit, only 700,000 need it (no surprise to most of us) and a dog doing silly tricks. Any connection?
After cycling home I have quick snack as I kick the blessed dog's ball again. We have no bread, so I have naan bread topped with cheese instead. Rather nice actually. Then I run a taxi service for Daughter and a couple of friends who are going to see Derek, sorry I mean Deryck, Whibley. That's Sum 41. Wonder why he misspelt his Christian name, you'd have thought he'd have wanted to disguise his surname. He's also know as Avril Lavigne's husband and judging by the ticket price he's saving up to buy her something nice. Perhaps a joint name change by deed poll?
L is stuck at work and is planning her alcohol units already. So hopefully it's early to bed with a whisky again. She says she's having a Leffe chaser first. So I offer to taxi the girl's home as well, I just hope she stays sober enough to thank me, in any case I might want to nip in and get a t-shirt.
L puts the mockers on that, not that I'm serious, by saying she'd never shag anyone in a Sum 41 t-shirt. I think this could put the purchase of other tour t-shirts in doubt. I don't know, some chaps hide their mucky magazine collection under the bed; I'd be hiding my Wombats t-shirt there.
Somehow, between dropping off and picking them up, I fit in my game of squash. As expected, I now have conclusive proof that cycling and squash don't mix. My legs are very heavy, not that it probably makes any difference. I don't do any worse than last week. I lose 4-0 but should have won the fourth game that in the end went to 19-17. We're in the middle of a close 5th when we get chucked off.
After a post match pint and a half from the latest in the Whippet range, the phone rings. It's Daughter, it's only ten o'clock, and they've finished already. I think she is carrying a few bruises after going down the front for the first time and moshing to Mr Whibley.
Back home, taxiing complete, I chill with an Isle of Skye Stout and L's Salmon curry. Then we both take a large whisky to bed and I valiantly save L from the Dark Kitkat, 67% cocoa not bad but not great, that she's bought. She says its the buying and not the eating that's therapeutic. Hmmm. We'll see what happens to the other one...
It's a glorious morning although a bit cold. L has the cheek to text me to point out just how glorious it is, because she assumes I won't have noticed. She'll be accusing me of not looking at the view next.
I have a bit of trouble on the bike. An old chap, he must have been about eighty, cuts me up on his shopper bike coming out of a side street in Wollaton. Then he's off down the road pedalling like the clappers, pushing a very big gear. It takes all my effort to stay with him. How embarrassing. It's not as if he even looks like a cyclist, no gear, no helmet, just a tweed jacket and a flat cap. I've no idea how he keeps the cap on his head, he must have it glued on.
Luckily the hill up to Balloon Wood slows him down and I go past him. The problem now is that I have to stay in front. Luckily he goes straight on at the lights when I turn left, which allows me to relax, free wheel and drink my Camp.
In the news today is a year old Government review, which reveals that of the 2.7 million people claiming incapacity benefit, only 700,000 need it (no surprise to most of us) and a dog doing silly tricks. Any connection?
After cycling home I have quick snack as I kick the blessed dog's ball again. We have no bread, so I have naan bread topped with cheese instead. Rather nice actually. Then I run a taxi service for Daughter and a couple of friends who are going to see Derek, sorry I mean Deryck, Whibley. That's Sum 41. Wonder why he misspelt his Christian name, you'd have thought he'd have wanted to disguise his surname. He's also know as Avril Lavigne's husband and judging by the ticket price he's saving up to buy her something nice. Perhaps a joint name change by deed poll?
L is stuck at work and is planning her alcohol units already. So hopefully it's early to bed with a whisky again. She says she's having a Leffe chaser first. So I offer to taxi the girl's home as well, I just hope she stays sober enough to thank me, in any case I might want to nip in and get a t-shirt.
L puts the mockers on that, not that I'm serious, by saying she'd never shag anyone in a Sum 41 t-shirt. I think this could put the purchase of other tour t-shirts in doubt. I don't know, some chaps hide their mucky magazine collection under the bed; I'd be hiding my Wombats t-shirt there.
Somehow, between dropping off and picking them up, I fit in my game of squash. As expected, I now have conclusive proof that cycling and squash don't mix. My legs are very heavy, not that it probably makes any difference. I don't do any worse than last week. I lose 4-0 but should have won the fourth game that in the end went to 19-17. We're in the middle of a close 5th when we get chucked off.
After a post match pint and a half from the latest in the Whippet range, the phone rings. It's Daughter, it's only ten o'clock, and they've finished already. I think she is carrying a few bruises after going down the front for the first time and moshing to Mr Whibley.
Back home, taxiing complete, I chill with an Isle of Skye Stout and L's Salmon curry. Then we both take a large whisky to bed and I valiantly save L from the Dark Kitkat, 67% cocoa not bad but not great, that she's bought. She says its the buying and not the eating that's therapeutic. Hmmm. We'll see what happens to the other one...
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Earthquake? What Earthquake?
It was certainly rocking round our way last night. At around 1am both L and I woke up with start, wondering what's going on. Probably just rowdy goings on outside. Then there's a crash from the other side of the house, as if something has fallen over. Perhaps something off a shelf in the kitchen or possibly upstairs in the 'lost world' known as the kid's bedrooms. I'm far too comatose to be bothered to investigate, so we both roll over and go back to sleep. Doggo doesn't even move and shrugs it off.
In the morning I have a look around but can't find anything broken. The important stuff, like my bike, are fine. The radio says we've had an earthquake of 5.3 magnitude, the biggest in the UK for almost 25 years. I would like to say that the whole family was awoken and running around the house in a mad panic, as some of the people leaving comments on the BBC website had allegedly done but nope we all just rolled over and went back to sleep, too tired to grasp the enormity of what, or rather wasn't happening. I would have posted some photos of the devastation, had I been able to find any. Doggo probably has it sussed, only an earthquake and nowhere near as terrifying as being hassled by double decker bus when you're trying to sniff an interesting lamppost. Neither of the kids noticed anything. If Son had noticed he would have ignored it, just as he would have done had his bedroom been on fire.
In fact L had even forgotten all about being awoken by the time she got to work. So she wasn't sure what they wanted her to own up to when they brought out the predicable 'did the earth move for you' comments.
L's in work at 8am today because for the first time ever she's taken the car into work and wanted to give herself an hour to drive to work and reverse into the car park. It's only a mile or so away... no comment.
She's got the car because at lunchtime she picks me up from my work and we have an unhappy appointment to go to. A funeral. I'm not sure it's the done thing to compliment your girl on the way to a funeral but I do anyway. She looks great in her work clothes, boots, and stockings; she really does spoil her work colleagues. I won't pass comment on the sombre affair itself but I do come out convinced that I don't want hymns at my funeral, they're always so forced, but then again they'll preferably be no church at my funeral either.
I drop L back at work for her evening clinic and spend the rest of the afternoon at home. I try and do a few improvements to my bike. This isn't easy with an annoying dog trying to knock my bike over with his ball. I have to take it off him so that I can concentrate. Even then I don't think it's any better. I switch the computer on and check my emails, which isn't easy with a dog nudging your arm all the time wanting you to go back outside and play ball. That is despite the fact that I've already kicked it 50 odd times. It's almost impossible to do anything that requires thought when you have a dog.
I still manage to fit in my usual Wednesday swim. This week I count 32 in the pool when I arrive. Hang on, there's two more, make that 34. The best option is the lane with only three in it, only problem is its lane one. They all look 'friendly' so I give it a go. The pace is ok until a few students arrive and stand at one end chatting and doing ‘quick ones’. They could almost be protégées of Mr SS (Mr Stop-Start). After my 20 minutes, I count time because I can’t count lengths; I get out and pass Mr SS on his way in. Whew, that was close. I count 28 in the pool as I leave.
I complete a busy day by taking the annoying football loving creature for half an hour of training, just to wipe the smile off his face. Then home to L, who takes a whisky to bed. I'm good and don't.
In the morning I have a look around but can't find anything broken. The important stuff, like my bike, are fine. The radio says we've had an earthquake of 5.3 magnitude, the biggest in the UK for almost 25 years. I would like to say that the whole family was awoken and running around the house in a mad panic, as some of the people leaving comments on the BBC website had allegedly done but nope we all just rolled over and went back to sleep, too tired to grasp the enormity of what, or rather wasn't happening. I would have posted some photos of the devastation, had I been able to find any. Doggo probably has it sussed, only an earthquake and nowhere near as terrifying as being hassled by double decker bus when you're trying to sniff an interesting lamppost. Neither of the kids noticed anything. If Son had noticed he would have ignored it, just as he would have done had his bedroom been on fire.
In fact L had even forgotten all about being awoken by the time she got to work. So she wasn't sure what they wanted her to own up to when they brought out the predicable 'did the earth move for you' comments.
L's in work at 8am today because for the first time ever she's taken the car into work and wanted to give herself an hour to drive to work and reverse into the car park. It's only a mile or so away... no comment.
She's got the car because at lunchtime she picks me up from my work and we have an unhappy appointment to go to. A funeral. I'm not sure it's the done thing to compliment your girl on the way to a funeral but I do anyway. She looks great in her work clothes, boots, and stockings; she really does spoil her work colleagues. I won't pass comment on the sombre affair itself but I do come out convinced that I don't want hymns at my funeral, they're always so forced, but then again they'll preferably be no church at my funeral either.
I drop L back at work for her evening clinic and spend the rest of the afternoon at home. I try and do a few improvements to my bike. This isn't easy with an annoying dog trying to knock my bike over with his ball. I have to take it off him so that I can concentrate. Even then I don't think it's any better. I switch the computer on and check my emails, which isn't easy with a dog nudging your arm all the time wanting you to go back outside and play ball. That is despite the fact that I've already kicked it 50 odd times. It's almost impossible to do anything that requires thought when you have a dog.
I still manage to fit in my usual Wednesday swim. This week I count 32 in the pool when I arrive. Hang on, there's two more, make that 34. The best option is the lane with only three in it, only problem is its lane one. They all look 'friendly' so I give it a go. The pace is ok until a few students arrive and stand at one end chatting and doing ‘quick ones’. They could almost be protégées of Mr SS (Mr Stop-Start). After my 20 minutes, I count time because I can’t count lengths; I get out and pass Mr SS on his way in. Whew, that was close. I count 28 in the pool as I leave.
I complete a busy day by taking the annoying football loving creature for half an hour of training, just to wipe the smile off his face. Then home to L, who takes a whisky to bed. I'm good and don't.
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Harnessing The Power Of Legs And Cogs
Ah cycling. The harnessing of the power of legs and cogs, making split second judgements and risking death or awful maiming just for the sheer pleasure of it. I stole that quote from the Times because it's just so... well I like it. I just hope that when L reads today's blog she skips over that bit.
L's latest book is Love in the Time of Cholera, she just can't resist such a catchy title. The films out soon so she's on a deadline reading it. Thankfully it's not as thick as War & Peace. The film's got the psycho from 'No Country For Old Men', Javier Bardem, in it. Should be a bundle of laughs then, Javier Bardem and Cholera.
The wind gets up to assist my ride home. Apart from a few sideways gusts, it's a blast, literally. I dip just under the 50 minutes, so a good time as well.
I take Doggo out for a bit of man and pet bonding around the pond, running. L comes and bonds as well but she wants to extend it and do two laps of the pond. Both Doggo and I are horrified. L usually hates doing laps. This is because L has been tempted into joining me in the nine-mile race on Sunday. We don't want to be party poopers so we valiantly agree, well I do. In the end it's a bit dark on the pond to see where we're going so we do an extra loop on the road instead.
After all this biking and running I'm well knackered. I also didn't get much sleep last night. So after feasting on L's beans dish we have an early night. Well there are early nights and there are 'early nights' and this turns out to be the latter. By the time L has done with me, I'm feeling even more shagged out. Happily so.
L's latest book is Love in the Time of Cholera, she just can't resist such a catchy title. The films out soon so she's on a deadline reading it. Thankfully it's not as thick as War & Peace. The film's got the psycho from 'No Country For Old Men', Javier Bardem, in it. Should be a bundle of laughs then, Javier Bardem and Cholera.
The wind gets up to assist my ride home. Apart from a few sideways gusts, it's a blast, literally. I dip just under the 50 minutes, so a good time as well.
I take Doggo out for a bit of man and pet bonding around the pond, running. L comes and bonds as well but she wants to extend it and do two laps of the pond. Both Doggo and I are horrified. L usually hates doing laps. This is because L has been tempted into joining me in the nine-mile race on Sunday. We don't want to be party poopers so we valiantly agree, well I do. In the end it's a bit dark on the pond to see where we're going so we do an extra loop on the road instead.
After all this biking and running I'm well knackered. I also didn't get much sleep last night. So after feasting on L's beans dish we have an early night. Well there are early nights and there are 'early nights' and this turns out to be the latter. By the time L has done with me, I'm feeling even more shagged out. Happily so.
Monday, 25 February 2008
Eat Yourself Smarter
The Oscars don't really show up any surprises. I can't argue with 'No Country For Old Men' for taking all the big prizes. Not that we've seen all the films nominated, some of them are still to come here. Also good to see 'The Counterfeiters' get best foreign language film. I suppose the surprise (to me) was Juno getting best original screenplay, which puts me off seeing some of the films it beat such as 'Michael Clayton' and 'The Savages'. Also that blessed rat got best animated feature film.
L's back on email today although she's not got any explanation for why this is suddenly the case. Computers do like to toy with us. She tells me she's been into town because she's read an article which recommended Sushi, yoghurt and fruit as brain food. She doesn't say whether that's all one dish or whether you eat them separately. She suggests the teenage habit of smothering them in tomato sauce as well. I think she's joking. I can barely eat tomato sauce these days, it's so sweet, it's like putting sugar on your food. When I was a teen, it was salad cream that did it for me, on almost everything. Understandably I can't stand the stuff now.
L doesn't say whether she feels any smarter after her brain food but assures me that there are no keyboard imprints on her forehead which means she's stayed awake all afternoon, which is something but I'm not sure that's the effect she was after.
I too venture into town at lunch as I have the car today, to try and get a haircut but I don't manage it because I couldn’t be bothered to queue. I don't do queues. It's bizarre because the reason I go where I go is because there's there’s never anyone in there. I will have to go back another day. So at the moment I still have long flowing locks just like Son.
Back home after work, I collect Doggo, then as usual drive back over to Derby for dog class, which goes well.
Once home again L tells me that she hasn't been accepted into Crufts for the Cani-cross, as we suspected she wouldn't. So back to trying to do it the hard way via agility. The people running the event are now refusing to refund the fully refundable entry fee. That's what they think...
Daughter is out with friends tonight and that's all I'm allowed to say about it. I’m not allowed to say what she’s been up to in case people think she's sad for going to see a film twice, so I won't mention it.
L's back on email today although she's not got any explanation for why this is suddenly the case. Computers do like to toy with us. She tells me she's been into town because she's read an article which recommended Sushi, yoghurt and fruit as brain food. She doesn't say whether that's all one dish or whether you eat them separately. She suggests the teenage habit of smothering them in tomato sauce as well. I think she's joking. I can barely eat tomato sauce these days, it's so sweet, it's like putting sugar on your food. When I was a teen, it was salad cream that did it for me, on almost everything. Understandably I can't stand the stuff now.
L doesn't say whether she feels any smarter after her brain food but assures me that there are no keyboard imprints on her forehead which means she's stayed awake all afternoon, which is something but I'm not sure that's the effect she was after.
I too venture into town at lunch as I have the car today, to try and get a haircut but I don't manage it because I couldn’t be bothered to queue. I don't do queues. It's bizarre because the reason I go where I go is because there's there’s never anyone in there. I will have to go back another day. So at the moment I still have long flowing locks just like Son.
Back home after work, I collect Doggo, then as usual drive back over to Derby for dog class, which goes well.
Once home again L tells me that she hasn't been accepted into Crufts for the Cani-cross, as we suspected she wouldn't. So back to trying to do it the hard way via agility. The people running the event are now refusing to refund the fully refundable entry fee. That's what they think...
Daughter is out with friends tonight and that's all I'm allowed to say about it. I’m not allowed to say what she’s been up to in case people think she's sad for going to see a film twice, so I won't mention it.
Sunday, 24 February 2008
It All Started With Half An Hour Of Adverts
A shorter lie-in this morning followed by a timed 5k along the route used for the Nottingham Grand Prix race. In the 'heat' of the race I hadn't noticed how hilly it was. It's also windy today so this hopefully, combined with the lack of anyone to race against, explains a time of 22.19. After this I join L and Doggo and we run a few more miles. Doggo is appalled when we leave the park and don’t head home but to the pond instead. Still it’s not over and after the pond we finish off with another sojourn through the park.
In the afternoon I drop my skis off in town. I've finally found somewhere that service skis, although I'm not hopeful of seeing them again before our Austria trip but they do need doing, so it's worth the risk. In town there's nowhere to park unless you want to part with a lot of cash, so I look for a parking meter, 60p for 30 minutes will do me and no ever uses them so there should be loads free. That is, except for on a Sunday when they’re free to use, so everyone parks there. Takes me ages to find a free one and I still get a long walk.
L does Lasagne for tea. Excellent, almost as good as mine! We wash it down with pino colada, it's out of carton and without the rum but it's not bad for an AF night.
In the evening we're at the cinema. We're risking the Showcase because they’re not showing this one at Broadway and my last experience of the Savoy was not memorable. We arrive for the 7.10 showing but by 7.40 we are still waiting for the film to start. They subject us to advert after advert, even either side of five film previews. Someone even walks out during the adverts and I don’t see them return. So apologies to the Savoy, we’ll be back next time.
We're here to see the four-time Oscar nominated Juno. Nominated for best film, best original screenplay, best actress (Ellen Page who plays Juno) and best director (Jason Reitman, his second film, following ‘Thank You For Smoking’).
Juno MacGuff tells us ‘it all started with a chair’. This the chair that the sixteen year-old manoeuvred her best friend Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) on to. The chair where she had sex with him and ended up pregnant. To her credit she then refuses to become a victim of her circumstances and explores her options, although without seeking anyone else's advice. In the end, she bottles out of an abortion and instead finds adoptive parents in the local freebie ‘Penny Saver’ newspaper, which is a bit like ‘Loot’ I suppose.
I'm afraid this really isn’t my sort of film at all and I don't really want to criticise it but it's been 'nominated' so I feel I ought to. I find the first half a real drag and what makes it worse is that everyone talks in a pretentious American teenage slang which is extremely annoying and that’s just the adults. The jokes aren't very funny and the ticking off of an ultrasound engineer is just embarrassing.
Juno herself is portrayed as a cocky, clued up individual. A pretty smart one at that, which makes it a bit unbelievable that she was stupid enough to get herself knocked up in the first place, particularly as it was her who planned the seduction. A broken condom excuse would have been more believable and a better message to send out.
From this point onwards everything actually goes swimmingly for Juno. Her parents are supportive, she doesn't get kicked out of school, it's hinted that her classmates shun her but they don't really seem to, and her boyfriend doesn't disappear over the horizon. That's despite the fact that she treats him like dirt, which he doesn’t deserve because he clearly adores her. She's a selfish girl who really needs a good hard slap to knock some sense into her.
Luckily the film does settle down and the second half is better. The film even manages to deliver some more natural humour and emotion. This is mainly due to the focus switching to the couple who decide to adopt her baby. The wife, Vanessa is the desperate for a baby type. The husband, Mark is clearly not, he's a typical bloke, and he'd rather be a rock star. Juno and Mark find common ground in music and splatter movies. Although for no explained reason she's into 70's punk while his era is more the 80's. All the same they have more in common that Mark and his wife do. It seems at one point that they were destined to get it on together, despite the twenty odd years between them, but the film ducked that potential issue, which was a shame. He does eventually leave his wife and I almost stand up and cheer, because Vanessa is awful.
L says it was a nice romance but there wasn’t really any romance in it until the last ten minutes. Juno’s Dad, who is excellently played throughout, gives a good description of whom you should love and Juno decides that she does love her poor on-off boyfriend, who she's pretty much ignored throughout, after all. Her father should have told her this earlier, preferably right after he'd administered the previously mentioned 'good hard slap'. Had he done both early enough it might have saved her a lot of bother.
Now I think oh God she’s going to ruin it all and keep the blessed baby but thankfully she doesn’t. Juno and Paulie get all romantic while Vanessa goes it alone as a mother. So in the end, we end up more or less where we started with another single parent on the block.
It's an ok movie but nothing special and pretty lightweight. It's an ideal Sunday night sort of film. You just know everyone is going to live happily ever after and they do. Which for a film which raises a lot of ‘issues’ is odd but it just can't seem to be bothered to deal with them.
It's certainly not worthy of any awards. Please. Ellen Page is good in the role without being totally convincingly. The script is ok but is full of holes. Hardly in the same league as the Coen Brothers.
In the afternoon I drop my skis off in town. I've finally found somewhere that service skis, although I'm not hopeful of seeing them again before our Austria trip but they do need doing, so it's worth the risk. In town there's nowhere to park unless you want to part with a lot of cash, so I look for a parking meter, 60p for 30 minutes will do me and no ever uses them so there should be loads free. That is, except for on a Sunday when they’re free to use, so everyone parks there. Takes me ages to find a free one and I still get a long walk.
L does Lasagne for tea. Excellent, almost as good as mine! We wash it down with pino colada, it's out of carton and without the rum but it's not bad for an AF night.
In the evening we're at the cinema. We're risking the Showcase because they’re not showing this one at Broadway and my last experience of the Savoy was not memorable. We arrive for the 7.10 showing but by 7.40 we are still waiting for the film to start. They subject us to advert after advert, even either side of five film previews. Someone even walks out during the adverts and I don’t see them return. So apologies to the Savoy, we’ll be back next time.
We're here to see the four-time Oscar nominated Juno. Nominated for best film, best original screenplay, best actress (Ellen Page who plays Juno) and best director (Jason Reitman, his second film, following ‘Thank You For Smoking’).
Juno MacGuff tells us ‘it all started with a chair’. This the chair that the sixteen year-old manoeuvred her best friend Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) on to. The chair where she had sex with him and ended up pregnant. To her credit she then refuses to become a victim of her circumstances and explores her options, although without seeking anyone else's advice. In the end, she bottles out of an abortion and instead finds adoptive parents in the local freebie ‘Penny Saver’ newspaper, which is a bit like ‘Loot’ I suppose.
I'm afraid this really isn’t my sort of film at all and I don't really want to criticise it but it's been 'nominated' so I feel I ought to. I find the first half a real drag and what makes it worse is that everyone talks in a pretentious American teenage slang which is extremely annoying and that’s just the adults. The jokes aren't very funny and the ticking off of an ultrasound engineer is just embarrassing.
Juno herself is portrayed as a cocky, clued up individual. A pretty smart one at that, which makes it a bit unbelievable that she was stupid enough to get herself knocked up in the first place, particularly as it was her who planned the seduction. A broken condom excuse would have been more believable and a better message to send out.
From this point onwards everything actually goes swimmingly for Juno. Her parents are supportive, she doesn't get kicked out of school, it's hinted that her classmates shun her but they don't really seem to, and her boyfriend doesn't disappear over the horizon. That's despite the fact that she treats him like dirt, which he doesn’t deserve because he clearly adores her. She's a selfish girl who really needs a good hard slap to knock some sense into her.
Luckily the film does settle down and the second half is better. The film even manages to deliver some more natural humour and emotion. This is mainly due to the focus switching to the couple who decide to adopt her baby. The wife, Vanessa is the desperate for a baby type. The husband, Mark is clearly not, he's a typical bloke, and he'd rather be a rock star. Juno and Mark find common ground in music and splatter movies. Although for no explained reason she's into 70's punk while his era is more the 80's. All the same they have more in common that Mark and his wife do. It seems at one point that they were destined to get it on together, despite the twenty odd years between them, but the film ducked that potential issue, which was a shame. He does eventually leave his wife and I almost stand up and cheer, because Vanessa is awful.
L says it was a nice romance but there wasn’t really any romance in it until the last ten minutes. Juno’s Dad, who is excellently played throughout, gives a good description of whom you should love and Juno decides that she does love her poor on-off boyfriend, who she's pretty much ignored throughout, after all. Her father should have told her this earlier, preferably right after he'd administered the previously mentioned 'good hard slap'. Had he done both early enough it might have saved her a lot of bother.
Now I think oh God she’s going to ruin it all and keep the blessed baby but thankfully she doesn’t. Juno and Paulie get all romantic while Vanessa goes it alone as a mother. So in the end, we end up more or less where we started with another single parent on the block.
It's an ok movie but nothing special and pretty lightweight. It's an ideal Sunday night sort of film. You just know everyone is going to live happily ever after and they do. Which for a film which raises a lot of ‘issues’ is odd but it just can't seem to be bothered to deal with them.
It's certainly not worthy of any awards. Please. Ellen Page is good in the role without being totally convincingly. The script is ok but is full of holes. Hardly in the same league as the Coen Brothers.
Saturday, 23 February 2008
It's The Body That Grows Old, Not The Man
A morning spent taking on board the NHS's advice on how to get fit and look younger. We stay in bed. We do our exercises twice, just to be on the safe side.
The kids are out on their paper rounds, keeping the neighbourhood up to date on what's happening in the world or rather who's dumping who in the world of showbiz. Daughter pops home between her two rounds to let us know how it's going. I gather the verdict was 'not well'.
Then I drag my freshly re-energized bones and muscles on to the park with Doggo and his ball. No one remarks on my younger look.
We encounter a one-eared lion guarding the entrance to the hall. We wander over to have a look. It looks like a model of one of the lions in the Market Square. Doggo isn't fazed by it and would even have marked it as his territory had there not been a barrier around it.
After a quick trip into town with L, I settle down to listen to the lads up at Wigan, which proves to be a total waste of an afternoon. Even Paul Jewell seems to be losing his cool at the manner of the latest defeat.
I cook a curry which Daughter seems to suspect could be hot. She could be right, when I cook one for L and I it usually ends up mild but when I do one for all four of us it ends up evilly hot. She enquires whether we have any natural yoghurt to extinguish the fire with. We do but it's gone a bit mouldy, but I'm not cruel enough to serve her that. Luckily we have a fresh carton in the fridge. What I don't tell her is that the better bits of the mouldy one end up in the curry sauce. What do they call it? Friendly bacteria?
After tea we head down to the Social. Another gig and although tonight's was originally my suggestion, I was a bit lukewarm about but L seems very keen, so we give it a go. She's really into her gigs at the moment. This is the girl who used to prefer putting the CD on. Now she seems heavily into the whole live music experience. I’m not complaining.
We go nice and early because it’s supposed to have a 10pm curfew but this turns out to be incorrect information. So we’re in plenty of time to catch all three bands. They are a three piece called The Sugars. To me, they look and sound like a harder version of the Raveonettes. They also have quite an American sound, although they are actually from Leeds. As their set runs out of time they enquire as to whether they’ve got time for one more. In the end they cheekily slot in two back to back. Not bad.
Before the second band come on we grab a drink from the bar. I have a Newcastle Brown but L risks an Asahi, which doesn’t taste of much at all but what it does taste of, isn’t pleasant. We then reserve ourselves a good spot quite close to the front. I was a bit concerned that in such a small venue things could get a bit manic down the front but on the front row is an old chap with beard, a woolly hat, and walking stick. Perhaps it’s not going to get that manic after all.
Next up are Fight Like Apes from Dublin. They take so long setting up their kit that they only get to play twenty minutes. They’re a bit like another band I like, the SemiFinalists, that is if you crossed them with the Goodies. This is because the keyboard player reminds me of a young Bill Oddie. Oddie or ‘Pockets’ as he wishes to be known rushes around the stage in true Goodies style. He also had a head torch strapped to his forehead, performing a one-man light show.
The singer is girl known as McKay, who for reasons unknown brings a thermos flask on stage with her. She’s a bit of a screamer, rather frightening but also rather good at it. There’s also a drummer and a bass player, who shares a pair of rather un-fetching novelty sunglasses, equipped with flashing lights, with McKay.
Musically they’re actually rather good but the appreciative crowd doesn’t really know when to applaud because they don’t appear to be taking any breaks between songs. Either that or it’s all one long song. Eventually they do take a breather, cue applause. Our friend with the beard is totally loving it and getting on rather well with the lead singer. Can't see her inviting him back stage though.
Whatever happened to Detroit’s Von Bondies? They seemed about to hit it big but then they just disappeared into obscurity. Tonight, after a three-year break they’re most certainly back, or at least some of them are. Of the original four-piece only front man Jason Stollsteimer and drummer Don Blum remain. Both female members have departed to be replaced like for like. There's a new girlie on guitar and occasional keyboards, although she needn’t have bothered with that because it’s barely audible over the constant fuzz of the guitars. There's also a new female bass player, the fourth in an ever-changing stream of girls to have picked up the bass guitar. How does Jason get through so many female bassists? Both show they can play. There’s also the addition of a third guitarist. Quite why they need three is anyone’s guess.
They take the stage and promise to play some good old-fashioned rock n roll and they don’t disappoint. With little conversation but plenty of head shaking, by band and crowd alike, they get on with their set of no frills guitar rock. Our bearded friend is well into it, showing that it's the body that grows old, not the man.
Overall it’s quite an old crowd tonight. I’m obviously not the only one still harking after that unfashionable Ramones sound. The bands songs are almost all high powered two-minute guitar romps, simple but effective. Musically, it’s hardly ground breaking but I’m suitable impressed. Stollsteimer snarls at us, the guitars whine and the thundering bass and clockwork drumming pound at your skull. Excellent. They’re a lot rawer than on record. After about a dozen songs in I glance at my watch and see they’ve only been on stage for 25 minutes.
They give us a mix of tracks from the two albums they’re produced in seven years. Yep not exactly prolific. They tell us a third is finally on the way. It will be called 'Love, Hate and Then There's You' which is a great title.
The favourites are all played, although predictably ‘C'mon C'mon’ goes down the best. The girls take the vocals on ‘Not That Social’, a song about the anti-social non-drinking habits of the bass player but not this bass player, one of Jason's ex's. Perhaps Stollsteimer should use bass player Leann Banks’s vocals more often, she does an excellent duet with him on the bluesy ‘No Sugar Mama’.
They don’t say much but they do introduce a softer track ‘21st Birthday’ from their new ‘We Are Kamikazes’ EP and drummer Don Blum’s gets to sing for us on 'Rock n Roll Nurse'.
They close with a storming ‘Broken Man’ and go off stage after about 55 minutes. A short set just like the Hoosiers but in that time playing probably three times as many tracks. They’re close to curfew time but would have had time to come back for one more but nothing can pull them back to the stage. No encore tonight.
The old man is putting his hat and coat back on, picking up his walking stick and winding his scarf around his neck. With the set list in one hand and a poster in the other he wanders off into the night. I wonder if he’s off home to the wife or perhaps he’s off up to catch alternative night at Rock City. Youngsters eh?
We retire to the Ropewalk for several nightcaps. A couple of Robinsons and a couple of Leffe’s. L tries something very nice called Innis and Gunn but it’s also terribly expensive. We forget the time, that is until they start throwing people out at 1am. Oops, we’ve never been there that late before. A very good night out.
The kids are out on their paper rounds, keeping the neighbourhood up to date on what's happening in the world or rather who's dumping who in the world of showbiz. Daughter pops home between her two rounds to let us know how it's going. I gather the verdict was 'not well'.
Then I drag my freshly re-energized bones and muscles on to the park with Doggo and his ball. No one remarks on my younger look.
We encounter a one-eared lion guarding the entrance to the hall. We wander over to have a look. It looks like a model of one of the lions in the Market Square. Doggo isn't fazed by it and would even have marked it as his territory had there not been a barrier around it.
After a quick trip into town with L, I settle down to listen to the lads up at Wigan, which proves to be a total waste of an afternoon. Even Paul Jewell seems to be losing his cool at the manner of the latest defeat.
I cook a curry which Daughter seems to suspect could be hot. She could be right, when I cook one for L and I it usually ends up mild but when I do one for all four of us it ends up evilly hot. She enquires whether we have any natural yoghurt to extinguish the fire with. We do but it's gone a bit mouldy, but I'm not cruel enough to serve her that. Luckily we have a fresh carton in the fridge. What I don't tell her is that the better bits of the mouldy one end up in the curry sauce. What do they call it? Friendly bacteria?
After tea we head down to the Social. Another gig and although tonight's was originally my suggestion, I was a bit lukewarm about but L seems very keen, so we give it a go. She's really into her gigs at the moment. This is the girl who used to prefer putting the CD on. Now she seems heavily into the whole live music experience. I’m not complaining.
We go nice and early because it’s supposed to have a 10pm curfew but this turns out to be incorrect information. So we’re in plenty of time to catch all three bands. They are a three piece called The Sugars. To me, they look and sound like a harder version of the Raveonettes. They also have quite an American sound, although they are actually from Leeds. As their set runs out of time they enquire as to whether they’ve got time for one more. In the end they cheekily slot in two back to back. Not bad.
Before the second band come on we grab a drink from the bar. I have a Newcastle Brown but L risks an Asahi, which doesn’t taste of much at all but what it does taste of, isn’t pleasant. We then reserve ourselves a good spot quite close to the front. I was a bit concerned that in such a small venue things could get a bit manic down the front but on the front row is an old chap with beard, a woolly hat, and walking stick. Perhaps it’s not going to get that manic after all.
Next up are Fight Like Apes from Dublin. They take so long setting up their kit that they only get to play twenty minutes. They’re a bit like another band I like, the SemiFinalists, that is if you crossed them with the Goodies. This is because the keyboard player reminds me of a young Bill Oddie. Oddie or ‘Pockets’ as he wishes to be known rushes around the stage in true Goodies style. He also had a head torch strapped to his forehead, performing a one-man light show.
The singer is girl known as McKay, who for reasons unknown brings a thermos flask on stage with her. She’s a bit of a screamer, rather frightening but also rather good at it. There’s also a drummer and a bass player, who shares a pair of rather un-fetching novelty sunglasses, equipped with flashing lights, with McKay.
Musically they’re actually rather good but the appreciative crowd doesn’t really know when to applaud because they don’t appear to be taking any breaks between songs. Either that or it’s all one long song. Eventually they do take a breather, cue applause. Our friend with the beard is totally loving it and getting on rather well with the lead singer. Can't see her inviting him back stage though.
Whatever happened to Detroit’s Von Bondies? They seemed about to hit it big but then they just disappeared into obscurity. Tonight, after a three-year break they’re most certainly back, or at least some of them are. Of the original four-piece only front man Jason Stollsteimer and drummer Don Blum remain. Both female members have departed to be replaced like for like. There's a new girlie on guitar and occasional keyboards, although she needn’t have bothered with that because it’s barely audible over the constant fuzz of the guitars. There's also a new female bass player, the fourth in an ever-changing stream of girls to have picked up the bass guitar. How does Jason get through so many female bassists? Both show they can play. There’s also the addition of a third guitarist. Quite why they need three is anyone’s guess.
They take the stage and promise to play some good old-fashioned rock n roll and they don’t disappoint. With little conversation but plenty of head shaking, by band and crowd alike, they get on with their set of no frills guitar rock. Our bearded friend is well into it, showing that it's the body that grows old, not the man.
Overall it’s quite an old crowd tonight. I’m obviously not the only one still harking after that unfashionable Ramones sound. The bands songs are almost all high powered two-minute guitar romps, simple but effective. Musically, it’s hardly ground breaking but I’m suitable impressed. Stollsteimer snarls at us, the guitars whine and the thundering bass and clockwork drumming pound at your skull. Excellent. They’re a lot rawer than on record. After about a dozen songs in I glance at my watch and see they’ve only been on stage for 25 minutes.
They give us a mix of tracks from the two albums they’re produced in seven years. Yep not exactly prolific. They tell us a third is finally on the way. It will be called 'Love, Hate and Then There's You' which is a great title.
The favourites are all played, although predictably ‘C'mon C'mon’ goes down the best. The girls take the vocals on ‘Not That Social’, a song about the anti-social non-drinking habits of the bass player but not this bass player, one of Jason's ex's. Perhaps Stollsteimer should use bass player Leann Banks’s vocals more often, she does an excellent duet with him on the bluesy ‘No Sugar Mama’.
They don’t say much but they do introduce a softer track ‘21st Birthday’ from their new ‘We Are Kamikazes’ EP and drummer Don Blum’s gets to sing for us on 'Rock n Roll Nurse'.
They close with a storming ‘Broken Man’ and go off stage after about 55 minutes. A short set just like the Hoosiers but in that time playing probably three times as many tracks. They’re close to curfew time but would have had time to come back for one more but nothing can pull them back to the stage. No encore tonight.
The old man is putting his hat and coat back on, picking up his walking stick and winding his scarf around his neck. With the set list in one hand and a poster in the other he wanders off into the night. I wonder if he’s off home to the wife or perhaps he’s off up to catch alternative night at Rock City. Youngsters eh?
We retire to the Ropewalk for several nightcaps. A couple of Robinsons and a couple of Leffe’s. L tries something very nice called Innis and Gunn but it’s also terribly expensive. We forget the time, that is until they start throwing people out at 1am. Oops, we’ve never been there that late before. A very good night out.
Friday, 22 February 2008
What Else Goes With Pickled Walnuts?
It's hard work getting out of bed this morning, although we all seem to be having the same problem, L and Doggo too and particularly Daughter. I'm well knackered but I bike anyway and guess what? Just to make things worse it's windy too.
Nothing much to report during the day. L's email is down again but she does make contact by text over lunch, to tell me that's she in town looking for Torchwood and picked walnuts. How quaint.
I do spend a joyful afternoon working to the dulcet sounds of Scott Walker and his epic 'Clara', on which he used a slab of meat as a percussion instrument. The song is about Mussolini's mistress Clara Petacci, who was twenty-nine years younger than him. They both end up shot and then hanged upside down. Their bodies were heavily beaten by the people, hence his use of the meat. She was 33; he was 62.
It's possibly even windier on the way home but a least it's blowing my way. At the traffic lights in Bramcote, I pull up alongside a car and a young blonde girl smiles and waves at me. Being a polite sort of a chap I smile and wave back. She was probably only about two years old and in a child seat but you have to take all the smiles you can get.
The ride takes just over 50 minutes, which is good, not far off a PB but I don't get excited for anything over 50. At least not this week.
L's at home waiting for me, armed with pickled walnuts in port. I'm not sure if that sounds wonderful or disgusting.
We 'chill' in the bedroom for a bit and then head up to the Plough for the usual mix of Legends and too many Supremes. Then back home for Jools and a naughty glass of port but what else goes with pickled walnuts?
Nothing much to report during the day. L's email is down again but she does make contact by text over lunch, to tell me that's she in town looking for Torchwood and picked walnuts. How quaint.
I do spend a joyful afternoon working to the dulcet sounds of Scott Walker and his epic 'Clara', on which he used a slab of meat as a percussion instrument. The song is about Mussolini's mistress Clara Petacci, who was twenty-nine years younger than him. They both end up shot and then hanged upside down. Their bodies were heavily beaten by the people, hence his use of the meat. She was 33; he was 62.
It's possibly even windier on the way home but a least it's blowing my way. At the traffic lights in Bramcote, I pull up alongside a car and a young blonde girl smiles and waves at me. Being a polite sort of a chap I smile and wave back. She was probably only about two years old and in a child seat but you have to take all the smiles you can get.
The ride takes just over 50 minutes, which is good, not far off a PB but I don't get excited for anything over 50. At least not this week.
L's at home waiting for me, armed with pickled walnuts in port. I'm not sure if that sounds wonderful or disgusting.
We 'chill' in the bedroom for a bit and then head up to the Plough for the usual mix of Legends and too many Supremes. Then back home for Jools and a naughty glass of port but what else goes with pickled walnuts?
Thursday, 21 February 2008
So What Happened to The Curly Wurly?
I'm in the car today, due to it being my drive to the pub. Which goes to form, cottage pie and something nice and dark from Durham 4.0%. Very good.
L's day doesn't seem to be going so well. She tells me that if things get any tougher she'll shall have the Curly Wurly. The Curly Wurly? Where did that come from? Don’t do it girl. You’ll regret it.
I read an article that the island of Sark, the inhabitants of which will be holding its first democratic elections this year. Sark is apparently the last independent feudal state in the world and is run by a hereditary 'Seigneur'. In return for a fee of a mere £1.79 a year, which he pays to Britain, he theoretically gets to hold total power over his islanders. Not a bad deal, if you fancy being a dictator. One of his ancient legal rights as Seigneur allows him the privilege of deflowering the island's virgins if he so wishes, even if this involves sharing their beds on their wedding nights. It's a nice idea but probably unworkable. There's also no proof that he is actually been exercising this right, although that could just be because he's 79 years old.
Back home Daughter goes off to the newsagent looking for a magazine. She seems to be embarrassed at her magazine choice because she tells me I'm not allowed to blog what she went for or what she came back with instead when it wasn't in stock. If I do, I'm dead. It’s a wonder that I find anything to write about, judging by the amount of things I'm not allowed to blog. On the other hand it's also surprising that I'm still alive.
L informs me by text that she's lost the Curly Wurly. Hmmm.
Squash tonight, for the first time in ages and I'm very rusty. That's a polite way of saying I was crap. My positional play is rubbish. Unfortunately the rest seems to have done my opponent good. I lose 5-0. I console myself in the pub with a blonde from Oldershaws Brewery and a half.
Back at home, L's done me some pasta to boost my energy. She says it's for my cycling tomorrow but then she takes me to bed and proves otherwise. We also take a very posh 26-year-old whiskey to bed, that I got as freebie. It's good but not as good as L's method of burning off that pasta.
L's day doesn't seem to be going so well. She tells me that if things get any tougher she'll shall have the Curly Wurly. The Curly Wurly? Where did that come from? Don’t do it girl. You’ll regret it.
I read an article that the island of Sark, the inhabitants of which will be holding its first democratic elections this year. Sark is apparently the last independent feudal state in the world and is run by a hereditary 'Seigneur'. In return for a fee of a mere £1.79 a year, which he pays to Britain, he theoretically gets to hold total power over his islanders. Not a bad deal, if you fancy being a dictator. One of his ancient legal rights as Seigneur allows him the privilege of deflowering the island's virgins if he so wishes, even if this involves sharing their beds on their wedding nights. It's a nice idea but probably unworkable. There's also no proof that he is actually been exercising this right, although that could just be because he's 79 years old.
Back home Daughter goes off to the newsagent looking for a magazine. She seems to be embarrassed at her magazine choice because she tells me I'm not allowed to blog what she went for or what she came back with instead when it wasn't in stock. If I do, I'm dead. It’s a wonder that I find anything to write about, judging by the amount of things I'm not allowed to blog. On the other hand it's also surprising that I'm still alive.
L informs me by text that she's lost the Curly Wurly. Hmmm.
Squash tonight, for the first time in ages and I'm very rusty. That's a polite way of saying I was crap. My positional play is rubbish. Unfortunately the rest seems to have done my opponent good. I lose 5-0. I console myself in the pub with a blonde from Oldershaws Brewery and a half.
Back at home, L's done me some pasta to boost my energy. She says it's for my cycling tomorrow but then she takes me to bed and proves otherwise. We also take a very posh 26-year-old whiskey to bed, that I got as freebie. It's good but not as good as L's method of burning off that pasta.
Wednesday, 20 February 2008
Standing Room Only
Cycling again today. I only just avoid bumping into L and Doggo. I keep out of sight as they come bombing along the road, both looking very athletic. Doggo looks very determined, as if he was on the trail of something.
It's cold, so I take a coffee with me on my ride. Unfortunately I’m all out of the syrup stuff that I spice it up with, so I put a drop of Camp in it instead. It wasn’t as bad as I expected.
My bike is starting to show the strain of the 4000 miles I've done on it (impressive eh?) and some strange noises are coming from it. I must get it serviced, although I fear this could be almost as expensive as getting the car done. While I've slowed down to study these sounds, two chaps come flying past me. Not fair.
I see them both again on the way home, chatting in Spondon, obviously having just met up. I put the hammer down to make sure I get a good start on them. Hopefully they won't come past me. They don't.
Derby Tri club are organising a double-duathlon which sounds awesome to me. L says it sounds like a chocolate bar. It's run-bike-run-bike-run. Well it would be awesome if the runs were longer. They're only a mile each, which doesn't suit my strategy at all. My last duathlon had more than twice that amount of running split over just two runs.
I cycle to the pool and then stand at the side of it gob smacked at the amount of people in it. It's standing room only. I count 52 people either in the pool or trying to get in it. There are nine people alone in lane two. There's only six in lane three, but that's only because the Iceberg is in there. With a heavy heart I join that lane and I'm quickly on the wrong end of a forearm smash from said Iceberg. Perhaps it's nothing personal; I get several elbows in my face from other people too. Is this safe? Is this legal? Madness.
Some people aren't staying longer than a few minutes. I saw two girls who I don't think even got in the pool. It quickly becomes survival of the fitness and as people either wave the white flag and give up or perhaps become too injured to continue, spaces begin to appear. Somehow I manage do my lengths. Then battered and bruised, I ride home and then on to dog class.
I am welcomed home by Mexican Slag with eggs, that's what L calls her latest concoction in the kitchen and very nice it is too.
It's cold, so I take a coffee with me on my ride. Unfortunately I’m all out of the syrup stuff that I spice it up with, so I put a drop of Camp in it instead. It wasn’t as bad as I expected.
My bike is starting to show the strain of the 4000 miles I've done on it (impressive eh?) and some strange noises are coming from it. I must get it serviced, although I fear this could be almost as expensive as getting the car done. While I've slowed down to study these sounds, two chaps come flying past me. Not fair.
I see them both again on the way home, chatting in Spondon, obviously having just met up. I put the hammer down to make sure I get a good start on them. Hopefully they won't come past me. They don't.
Derby Tri club are organising a double-duathlon which sounds awesome to me. L says it sounds like a chocolate bar. It's run-bike-run-bike-run. Well it would be awesome if the runs were longer. They're only a mile each, which doesn't suit my strategy at all. My last duathlon had more than twice that amount of running split over just two runs.
I cycle to the pool and then stand at the side of it gob smacked at the amount of people in it. It's standing room only. I count 52 people either in the pool or trying to get in it. There are nine people alone in lane two. There's only six in lane three, but that's only because the Iceberg is in there. With a heavy heart I join that lane and I'm quickly on the wrong end of a forearm smash from said Iceberg. Perhaps it's nothing personal; I get several elbows in my face from other people too. Is this safe? Is this legal? Madness.
Some people aren't staying longer than a few minutes. I saw two girls who I don't think even got in the pool. It quickly becomes survival of the fitness and as people either wave the white flag and give up or perhaps become too injured to continue, spaces begin to appear. Somehow I manage do my lengths. Then battered and bruised, I ride home and then on to dog class.
I am welcomed home by Mexican Slag with eggs, that's what L calls her latest concoction in the kitchen and very nice it is too.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Bonding
My ride this morning was, well, cool or rather cold. My hands were fine but my feet were not. I might need to opt for a third pair of socks tomorrow. Some of the side roads were a bit interesting too, ice wise, I slither a bit, but its all part of the fun. My clothes and hair are white over with frost when I arrive.
The traffic though was hell, so it was an excellent call not to drive. I suspect something has happened on the A52 when I see the Red Arrow in Spondon, looking like it's just come through Ilkeston. It isn't even my usual bus but the earlier one to Chesterfield. It overtakes me but then gets stuck in traffic and I leave it for dead.
I arrive at work ages before anyone else; they're all stuck in the traffic. Ha. Definitely a good call.
On the way home I notice that the road surface through Spondon has been resurfaced. The pothole that punctured me a few weeks ago is gone. They've made a very good job of it. I almost email the council to express my gratitude.
L says she's in a quandary as to what to do tonight; gym or run. I’m in a quandary too. I have to run but the quandary is over whether to take ‘it’ with me or not. Suppose I ought to, although he won’t be keen and will drag his paws. He's so slow on the first bit along the grass verges that it makes me want to tear my hair out. Suppose we ought to bond though. L offers to come bond too. Sounds good, if we can tie the dog up somewhere. L points out that if I intend to drag my paws then I can't really complain at doggo dragging his.
I'm out on the pizza and the ale tonight. My mate says he's going to fatten me up. Three pints and a bottle of Stella. Lots of carbs.
Get home to a lively L. Time to bond.
The traffic though was hell, so it was an excellent call not to drive. I suspect something has happened on the A52 when I see the Red Arrow in Spondon, looking like it's just come through Ilkeston. It isn't even my usual bus but the earlier one to Chesterfield. It overtakes me but then gets stuck in traffic and I leave it for dead.
I arrive at work ages before anyone else; they're all stuck in the traffic. Ha. Definitely a good call.
On the way home I notice that the road surface through Spondon has been resurfaced. The pothole that punctured me a few weeks ago is gone. They've made a very good job of it. I almost email the council to express my gratitude.
L says she's in a quandary as to what to do tonight; gym or run. I’m in a quandary too. I have to run but the quandary is over whether to take ‘it’ with me or not. Suppose I ought to, although he won’t be keen and will drag his paws. He's so slow on the first bit along the grass verges that it makes me want to tear my hair out. Suppose we ought to bond though. L offers to come bond too. Sounds good, if we can tie the dog up somewhere. L points out that if I intend to drag my paws then I can't really complain at doggo dragging his.
I'm out on the pizza and the ale tonight. My mate says he's going to fatten me up. Three pints and a bottle of Stella. Lots of carbs.
Get home to a lively L. Time to bond.
Monday, 18 February 2008
Life Back At The Sharp End
Back to work on the day the NHS hands people another reason not to take any exercise. They say that if you're struggling to schedule a fitness routine into your daily life then don't bother and just stay in bed, where you can burn around 300 calories an hour, as long as you're 'working out' and not sleeping. So expect an increase in the number of sickies this week. Of course Mr and Mrs Blobby would do well to last for the meagre seven minutes that's described as 'normal', let alone any longer.
L's back in the swing of things. 'Good Morning - Not' as her first email says. Just a usual Monday morning.
So too Doggo, coping with life back at the sharp end in his usual way, dog style, by sleeping through it. In fact he's probably chilling on the sofa in the lounge right now, not that he's allowed to you understand and I always shut him in the kitchen when we go out. So either Doggo has learnt how to open doors or he has an accomplice who is opening them for him.
Over lunch I do the dirty deed and enter the Clumber Duathlon. L promises to get her cheerleader pom-poms out. That should cause a few wobbles in transition.
Back to school in the evening, dog class, where a lot of running about is required because it's bloody freezing in the barn where we train.
L's back in the swing of things. 'Good Morning - Not' as her first email says. Just a usual Monday morning.
So too Doggo, coping with life back at the sharp end in his usual way, dog style, by sleeping through it. In fact he's probably chilling on the sofa in the lounge right now, not that he's allowed to you understand and I always shut him in the kitchen when we go out. So either Doggo has learnt how to open doors or he has an accomplice who is opening them for him.
Over lunch I do the dirty deed and enter the Clumber Duathlon. L promises to get her cheerleader pom-poms out. That should cause a few wobbles in transition.
Back to school in the evening, dog class, where a lot of running about is required because it's bloody freezing in the barn where we train.
Sunday, 17 February 2008
Life Without The Internet
Back to normal. A lie in. Doggo on the park. Time to reflect on the holiday.
Seems a long time ago now but last Saturday, before first light, we snatched Son from the sanctuary of the virtual world, bundled him into the car and whisked him up to Scotland with us. The journey was good and we arrived to quite a welcome. The fire was already alight in our fireplace, a couple of beers waiting for us on the table and even the rugby on the TV. Alas, none of this was for us, our cottage was already occupied by someone else because the cottage owner had not been told by the rental people to expect us. Oops.
Luckily they had another place, albeit a bungalow in which we can stay for the first night. The next morning we transfer to our cottage, Son though is distraught because he’d managed to patch back into 'his' world via someone’s unprotected wifi and our new cottage is out of range. Once at the new place, Son decides to keep his head down, keep his nose clean, and serve his porridge alone in his cell. Nothing will tempt him out into the fabulous mountain air and the stunning views.
We do a bit of running. It became a kind of a morning, sorry lunchtime (we had lie-ins) ritual to go around the local lake and an evening ritual to run down to the legendary Clachaig Inn, which stocked a huge range of Scottish beers, nothing English, just the way it should be. Totally regional. I drank rather too much to even begin to count units this week. L measured the run and it was only 2.3 miles but it felt much further. We were supposed to be training for a nine miler. Never mind.
I kept looking closely at our lake because apparently they filmed Hagrid’s hut around here for the Harry Potter films but as I find out, when we get back, we were going round the wrong lake. The hut was built down by Clachaig Gully near the pub. We went there later in the week but didn’t realise.
One night Daughter was suicidal at the continual sounds of Son’s cellmate, Super Mario, so we took her down the pub, by car of course. It wasn’t a success and we had to spend the next few days blanking her because she demanded vodka. I think that was the situation anyway. Her alcohol dependency seems to be worse than ours.
We took Doggo up in the Gondola at Nevis Range for a bit of skiing on the thin strip of snow they have there. Daughter somehow lost sight of this strip of snow but then we realised she hadn’t got her glasses on. This was a blessing really because it affected her aim when she threw her skis at me. The poor chap will be out of hospital soon.
The next day at Glencoe was much better, white stuff wise, although it was very icy. Very hard work but very good practice. I was the only one brave enough to attempt it, although to be fair, someone has to entertain Doggo. Gondola's he can do but not chairlifts.
We did some good walks and finally made it up to the top of the Pap Of Glencoe after failing in the foul July weather a few years ago. It was a doddle in the sun of February.
On our last day, six days after the start of his incarceration, Son emerged blinking into the sunlight, err well no actually it was evening, so it was dark. We managed to persuade him to come down to the local restaurant for a meal. I can recommend the cherry pie with ice cream AND custard, just like your mother used to make.
The next day Son gets his parole and we take him home. Almost before we're got the car door open, he's breaking for cover, running, back to virtuality.
Today we watch a good old-fashioned family film, just L and I. Swallows and Amazons. Its jolly good fun and jolly quaint in a jolly sort of way. Very Enid Blyton but as L points out the Famous Five would have caught the villains. Here they just let them get away. Shame on you Arthur Ransome.
Seems a long time ago now but last Saturday, before first light, we snatched Son from the sanctuary of the virtual world, bundled him into the car and whisked him up to Scotland with us. The journey was good and we arrived to quite a welcome. The fire was already alight in our fireplace, a couple of beers waiting for us on the table and even the rugby on the TV. Alas, none of this was for us, our cottage was already occupied by someone else because the cottage owner had not been told by the rental people to expect us. Oops.
Luckily they had another place, albeit a bungalow in which we can stay for the first night. The next morning we transfer to our cottage, Son though is distraught because he’d managed to patch back into 'his' world via someone’s unprotected wifi and our new cottage is out of range. Once at the new place, Son decides to keep his head down, keep his nose clean, and serve his porridge alone in his cell. Nothing will tempt him out into the fabulous mountain air and the stunning views.
We do a bit of running. It became a kind of a morning, sorry lunchtime (we had lie-ins) ritual to go around the local lake and an evening ritual to run down to the legendary Clachaig Inn, which stocked a huge range of Scottish beers, nothing English, just the way it should be. Totally regional. I drank rather too much to even begin to count units this week. L measured the run and it was only 2.3 miles but it felt much further. We were supposed to be training for a nine miler. Never mind.
I kept looking closely at our lake because apparently they filmed Hagrid’s hut around here for the Harry Potter films but as I find out, when we get back, we were going round the wrong lake. The hut was built down by Clachaig Gully near the pub. We went there later in the week but didn’t realise.
One night Daughter was suicidal at the continual sounds of Son’s cellmate, Super Mario, so we took her down the pub, by car of course. It wasn’t a success and we had to spend the next few days blanking her because she demanded vodka. I think that was the situation anyway. Her alcohol dependency seems to be worse than ours.
We took Doggo up in the Gondola at Nevis Range for a bit of skiing on the thin strip of snow they have there. Daughter somehow lost sight of this strip of snow but then we realised she hadn’t got her glasses on. This was a blessing really because it affected her aim when she threw her skis at me. The poor chap will be out of hospital soon.
The next day at Glencoe was much better, white stuff wise, although it was very icy. Very hard work but very good practice. I was the only one brave enough to attempt it, although to be fair, someone has to entertain Doggo. Gondola's he can do but not chairlifts.
We did some good walks and finally made it up to the top of the Pap Of Glencoe after failing in the foul July weather a few years ago. It was a doddle in the sun of February.
On our last day, six days after the start of his incarceration, Son emerged blinking into the sunlight, err well no actually it was evening, so it was dark. We managed to persuade him to come down to the local restaurant for a meal. I can recommend the cherry pie with ice cream AND custard, just like your mother used to make.
The next day Son gets his parole and we take him home. Almost before we're got the car door open, he's breaking for cover, running, back to virtuality.
Today we watch a good old-fashioned family film, just L and I. Swallows and Amazons. Its jolly good fun and jolly quaint in a jolly sort of way. Very Enid Blyton but as L points out the Famous Five would have caught the villains. Here they just let them get away. Shame on you Arthur Ransome.
Saturday, 16 February 2008
Ben Stiller Meets Frodo Baggins
At 4.30am I get out of bed in Scotland, by 6am we're driving across Rannock Moor. By 2pm we are home. Just enough time to de-hair the car, Doggo has left it in quite a state, before we retrace our steps back down the A50 to Stoke. Tonight we are at Keele University Students’ Union to see the much-hyped Hoosiers.
On the way in Daughter gets her hand stamped with a big red cross as if she's diseased, carrying the plague, but no it just means she can’t partake at the bar. Naturally this doesn't stop her wanting to get us thrown out for buying her a WKD. We don't of course. She's probably not the only one because it’s a very young audience tonight which doesn’t bode well musically. It’s a wonder anyone is getting the over 18 stamp like L and I.
The band have encouraged their fans to come in fancy dress and quite a few have. There’s a motley array of fairies, nuns, even a Star Wars stormtrooper, along with the predictable 'Cops and Robbers'. Daughter catches a dummy that I assume someone has thrown out of their pram. L and I have come as ‘old people’, Daughter says she’s come as someone ‘who isn’t with us’.
The second of two support acts, we miss the first one, are a very polished trio from Dublin called ‘The Script’. Rather too polished if you ask me. I’ve not seen many bands dim the lights and do a triumphant entrance to their own backing track when you’re only playing six songs as the warm up act. In fact I haven't seen any. The reason for their polish becomes clearer when I look them up later and find out that all three band members are established producers who have spent many years producing for other artists in Los Angeles. They have all the gimmicks:- text us for a free download etc etc, they have an iTunes only release out now but their debut single ‘We Cry’ isn't out until March. I think they’re terribly dull. I’m sure they’ll be huge.
I like the venue, it's big and airy with lots of side rooms. A typical Uni setup. They also have a nice high stage which is good for the vertically challenged. The stage itself is adorned with a threesome of huge lampshades and there's some fetching 70’s wallpaper as a backdrop.
From the moment the Hoosiers arrive on the bedecked stage waving huge letters spelling out their name, you know that this gig isn't just going to be about the music. The three band members are accompanied by two skeletons, who turn out to be their backing band and the whole lot arrive on stage straight of the closet or is it a giant wardrobe. There's a superhero straight out of 'Mr A' on keyboards.
The band are fronted by the not so shy and aptly named, Irwin Sparkes. Whom I've heard described as Ben Stiller meets Frodo Baggins, which is spot on. He certainly seems to appeal to the folks down the front who appear to be mainly young girls whipping themselves into a frenzy.
Irwin doesn't have a monopoly on great names, the drummer is called Alfonso Sharland and the bobble hated Swedish bassist is called Martin Skarendahl.
Having opened with a lively 'Worst Case Scenario', things tail off a little as Irwin turns into Mika on ‘Run Rabbit Run’. With only the one album, ‘The Trick of Life’, to pull tracks from, the band treat us to all of it but when they play the slower songs the young crowd soon seem to get bored and our man Irwin is drowned out by the chatter of the crowd. He has a strong almost falsetto voice and he likes to show it off but it starts to grate after a while. They do play one new song which hints at their inner indie fighting to get out.
The band rely on their enthusiasm, of which they have plenty and a few gimmicks, cowbells and other odd musical asides, to make up for their lack of material. The band, and in particularly Irwin, are clearly having a ball, and this carries the gig but it has to because only occasionally when things start to flag can they lift the crowd with their music. Such as when they throw in their infectious ode to ELO and Supertramp 'Goodbye Mr A'.
Other times they rely on props, such as when three large balloons are thrown into the crowd. The highlight of the night is when one wipes out a crowdsurfer and fetches down a security guard at the same time. The balls play havoc with the equipment, regularly knocking down the microphone stands.
After only 50 minutes the band leave the stage after closing with the forthcoming single, the aforementioned, 'Cops and Robbers'. They return with Skarendahl dressed as if auditioning for a part in ‘Finding Nemo’ although Daughter assures me it's something to do with Torchwood.
After a solo number from Irwin the band play a highly ambitious cover of one of Billy Joel’s finer moments 'We Didn’t Start the Fire' because, they tell us, they have run out of their own songs. Err, well apart from a certain debut single, the name of which escapes me right now... Oh yes that’s the one. They break the golden rule of playing live and save their biggest song ‘Worried About Ray’ till last.
For a band with a lot of hype to live up to, they turn out to be rather ordinary. Energetic, jaunty and fun but ordinary. I can’t help thinking Fratellis syndrome. Where do they go from here? With not so jolly lyrics buried within their happy sound there might be hidden depths. They need to discover them.
Still in costume, L and I, do what 'old people' do and share a flask of coffee on the way home.
On the way in Daughter gets her hand stamped with a big red cross as if she's diseased, carrying the plague, but no it just means she can’t partake at the bar. Naturally this doesn't stop her wanting to get us thrown out for buying her a WKD. We don't of course. She's probably not the only one because it’s a very young audience tonight which doesn’t bode well musically. It’s a wonder anyone is getting the over 18 stamp like L and I.
The band have encouraged their fans to come in fancy dress and quite a few have. There’s a motley array of fairies, nuns, even a Star Wars stormtrooper, along with the predictable 'Cops and Robbers'. Daughter catches a dummy that I assume someone has thrown out of their pram. L and I have come as ‘old people’, Daughter says she’s come as someone ‘who isn’t with us’.
The second of two support acts, we miss the first one, are a very polished trio from Dublin called ‘The Script’. Rather too polished if you ask me. I’ve not seen many bands dim the lights and do a triumphant entrance to their own backing track when you’re only playing six songs as the warm up act. In fact I haven't seen any. The reason for their polish becomes clearer when I look them up later and find out that all three band members are established producers who have spent many years producing for other artists in Los Angeles. They have all the gimmicks:- text us for a free download etc etc, they have an iTunes only release out now but their debut single ‘We Cry’ isn't out until March. I think they’re terribly dull. I’m sure they’ll be huge.
I like the venue, it's big and airy with lots of side rooms. A typical Uni setup. They also have a nice high stage which is good for the vertically challenged. The stage itself is adorned with a threesome of huge lampshades and there's some fetching 70’s wallpaper as a backdrop.
From the moment the Hoosiers arrive on the bedecked stage waving huge letters spelling out their name, you know that this gig isn't just going to be about the music. The three band members are accompanied by two skeletons, who turn out to be their backing band and the whole lot arrive on stage straight of the closet or is it a giant wardrobe. There's a superhero straight out of 'Mr A' on keyboards.
The band are fronted by the not so shy and aptly named, Irwin Sparkes. Whom I've heard described as Ben Stiller meets Frodo Baggins, which is spot on. He certainly seems to appeal to the folks down the front who appear to be mainly young girls whipping themselves into a frenzy.
Irwin doesn't have a monopoly on great names, the drummer is called Alfonso Sharland and the bobble hated Swedish bassist is called Martin Skarendahl.
Having opened with a lively 'Worst Case Scenario', things tail off a little as Irwin turns into Mika on ‘Run Rabbit Run’. With only the one album, ‘The Trick of Life’, to pull tracks from, the band treat us to all of it but when they play the slower songs the young crowd soon seem to get bored and our man Irwin is drowned out by the chatter of the crowd. He has a strong almost falsetto voice and he likes to show it off but it starts to grate after a while. They do play one new song which hints at their inner indie fighting to get out.
The band rely on their enthusiasm, of which they have plenty and a few gimmicks, cowbells and other odd musical asides, to make up for their lack of material. The band, and in particularly Irwin, are clearly having a ball, and this carries the gig but it has to because only occasionally when things start to flag can they lift the crowd with their music. Such as when they throw in their infectious ode to ELO and Supertramp 'Goodbye Mr A'.
Other times they rely on props, such as when three large balloons are thrown into the crowd. The highlight of the night is when one wipes out a crowdsurfer and fetches down a security guard at the same time. The balls play havoc with the equipment, regularly knocking down the microphone stands.
After only 50 minutes the band leave the stage after closing with the forthcoming single, the aforementioned, 'Cops and Robbers'. They return with Skarendahl dressed as if auditioning for a part in ‘Finding Nemo’ although Daughter assures me it's something to do with Torchwood.
After a solo number from Irwin the band play a highly ambitious cover of one of Billy Joel’s finer moments 'We Didn’t Start the Fire' because, they tell us, they have run out of their own songs. Err, well apart from a certain debut single, the name of which escapes me right now... Oh yes that’s the one. They break the golden rule of playing live and save their biggest song ‘Worried About Ray’ till last.
For a band with a lot of hype to live up to, they turn out to be rather ordinary. Energetic, jaunty and fun but ordinary. I can’t help thinking Fratellis syndrome. Where do they go from here? With not so jolly lyrics buried within their happy sound there might be hidden depths. They need to discover them.
Still in costume, L and I, do what 'old people' do and share a flask of coffee on the way home.
Saturday, 9 February 2008
Friday, 8 February 2008
BOGOF
I'm feeling well knackered but I cycle in anyway. At least I have a week of recovery next week, sort of. L texts from the gym to check I've arrived. Ok so admittedly I'm a little slow replying but well inside the 9.30 limit, after which she would have called 999. She accuses me of holding off just to freak her out. As if I would do that.
One of the chaps at the gym has promised her that if she keeps going she'll soon have a body like his. That doesn't sound like a very inviting prospect. She assures me she's going to burn her gym membership card tonight.
There's mass hilarity on the internet as the Premier League announces that it intends to add an 'extra' game to the season and to play this game abroad. Everyone checks the calendar to see if it's April 1st but it appears that they are serious. It's all about money of course.
So some poor team has got to play a third match against the likes of Manchester United probably in the sweltering heat of somewhere like Cairo, the result of which could see them relegated. So going abroad to pocket perhaps a few hundred thousand quid could cost the team £40M when they go down. Hmmm. Well thought out this one. Not.
L's finally managed to blow her John Lewis voucher. She has researched her purchases well and even got a BOGOF. I'm so proud of her, it's what I would have done. She's got two new necklaces. I look forward to seeing her in them later, just them. Its enough to make me wobble on my bike.
When I get home, she's as good as her word as regards the first necklace anyway. Just waiting for my BOGOF now.
We're off to Scotland in the morning, for a week of, what looks like it will be, water skiing. Oh well. At least Doggo will get plenty of walks. So they'll be no blog for a week.
One of the chaps at the gym has promised her that if she keeps going she'll soon have a body like his. That doesn't sound like a very inviting prospect. She assures me she's going to burn her gym membership card tonight.
There's mass hilarity on the internet as the Premier League announces that it intends to add an 'extra' game to the season and to play this game abroad. Everyone checks the calendar to see if it's April 1st but it appears that they are serious. It's all about money of course.
So some poor team has got to play a third match against the likes of Manchester United probably in the sweltering heat of somewhere like Cairo, the result of which could see them relegated. So going abroad to pocket perhaps a few hundred thousand quid could cost the team £40M when they go down. Hmmm. Well thought out this one. Not.
L's finally managed to blow her John Lewis voucher. She has researched her purchases well and even got a BOGOF. I'm so proud of her, it's what I would have done. She's got two new necklaces. I look forward to seeing her in them later, just them. Its enough to make me wobble on my bike.
When I get home, she's as good as her word as regards the first necklace anyway. Just waiting for my BOGOF now.
We're off to Scotland in the morning, for a week of, what looks like it will be, water skiing. Oh well. At least Doggo will get plenty of walks. So they'll be no blog for a week.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
It Was The Butler Who Did It
Back dodging the potholes on the bike today. It seems particularly hard work after a day off.
It's in the news today about a 19-year-old lass from Darlington who paid £80 to have her boyfriend's nickname 'Roo' tattooed on her stomach as a sign of her undying love for him. Now casting aside the obvious question of why she would want to go out with someone who calls themselves 'Roo' in the first place, there are still two problems with this. Firstly teenage love isn't 'undying' and naturally they split up soon afterwards but also her local Chinese takeaway told her it actually spelled out 'supermarket'. Priceless, wonder what nicknames they call her now. I can think of a few...
I bike home and there's no welcoming party. So L must have been able to persuade the reluctant one to come out from under the kitchen table and go for a run with her.
It's been quite a week and there's no let up tonight. L and I head into town to the Social, sorry the Bodega Social as it's now known, to catch Brakes front man Eamon Hamilton play am acoustic solo set. We're not expecting a large crowd, for a start our tickets are number 1 and 2. We grab a drink and mingle with the dozen or so others.
First up is a chap called Rob from Stourbridge, who calls himself The Voluntary Butler Scheme and is very much a one-man band. Apparently he's used to be the drummer in a band called 'The School', who I haven't heard of, and also 'The Boy Least Likely To', who I fleetingly have. The main man, Eamon, is in the 'crowd' too.
First thing L says when he comes on stage is that he's a ringer for Son, same hair, same downward gaze, same mumbling articulations. Main difference is that he's a brilliant singer and talented multi-instrumentalist. Of course Son could be too and we just don't know it.
Rob plays some very catchy pop songs using a variety of instruments and all accompanied with some great lyrics. He's not so eloquent between songs, at one stage he appears to start to explain why he's called himself the Voluntary Butler Scheme but then appears to give up mid-sentence.
So impressed are we that afterwards we try and find the man himself to buy his CD but he's already legged it. We find out later that he does have an EP available for free, it's called 'The Vol-Au-Vent EP' and you can download it from his myspace page. It's very short, in total all four tracks last a little over three minutes. He describes it as a lunch break worth of ideas.
So to Eamon and the crowd has swelled to about 25 people, if you count the bar staff. Eamon doesn't look bothered about the small crowd; he just seems to love playing. Complete with his set list jotted down on back of his guitar he works his way through some of the Brakes lighter moments, along with a smattering of new tracks. He also plays a few of the quicker numbers such as ‘Porcupine or Pineapple’ and ‘Ring A Ding Ding’, which still come over well. It's a very friendly affair in front of us hardcore fans.
Near the end he announces he's going to do two more songs but then starts to take requests from the crowd, playing 'No Return' and 'Heard About Your Band' before returning to his set list. He closes the set with another request 'Comma Comma Comma Full Stop' and asks the requester to count him in.
He comes back to encore with 'Jackson' and a very brief new number before we all headed home to our collies.
It's in the news today about a 19-year-old lass from Darlington who paid £80 to have her boyfriend's nickname 'Roo' tattooed on her stomach as a sign of her undying love for him. Now casting aside the obvious question of why she would want to go out with someone who calls themselves 'Roo' in the first place, there are still two problems with this. Firstly teenage love isn't 'undying' and naturally they split up soon afterwards but also her local Chinese takeaway told her it actually spelled out 'supermarket'. Priceless, wonder what nicknames they call her now. I can think of a few...
I bike home and there's no welcoming party. So L must have been able to persuade the reluctant one to come out from under the kitchen table and go for a run with her.
It's been quite a week and there's no let up tonight. L and I head into town to the Social, sorry the Bodega Social as it's now known, to catch Brakes front man Eamon Hamilton play am acoustic solo set. We're not expecting a large crowd, for a start our tickets are number 1 and 2. We grab a drink and mingle with the dozen or so others.
First up is a chap called Rob from Stourbridge, who calls himself The Voluntary Butler Scheme and is very much a one-man band. Apparently he's used to be the drummer in a band called 'The School', who I haven't heard of, and also 'The Boy Least Likely To', who I fleetingly have. The main man, Eamon, is in the 'crowd' too.
First thing L says when he comes on stage is that he's a ringer for Son, same hair, same downward gaze, same mumbling articulations. Main difference is that he's a brilliant singer and talented multi-instrumentalist. Of course Son could be too and we just don't know it.
Rob plays some very catchy pop songs using a variety of instruments and all accompanied with some great lyrics. He's not so eloquent between songs, at one stage he appears to start to explain why he's called himself the Voluntary Butler Scheme but then appears to give up mid-sentence.
So impressed are we that afterwards we try and find the man himself to buy his CD but he's already legged it. We find out later that he does have an EP available for free, it's called 'The Vol-Au-Vent EP' and you can download it from his myspace page. It's very short, in total all four tracks last a little over three minutes. He describes it as a lunch break worth of ideas.
So to Eamon and the crowd has swelled to about 25 people, if you count the bar staff. Eamon doesn't look bothered about the small crowd; he just seems to love playing. Complete with his set list jotted down on back of his guitar he works his way through some of the Brakes lighter moments, along with a smattering of new tracks. He also plays a few of the quicker numbers such as ‘Porcupine or Pineapple’ and ‘Ring A Ding Ding’, which still come over well. It's a very friendly affair in front of us hardcore fans.
Near the end he announces he's going to do two more songs but then starts to take requests from the crowd, playing 'No Return' and 'Heard About Your Band' before returning to his set list. He closes the set with another request 'Comma Comma Comma Full Stop' and asks the requester to count him in.
He comes back to encore with 'Jackson' and a very brief new number before we all headed home to our collies.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Dallas Part Two
L leaves for work early and I'm left to placate Doggo. He's not happy at being left and tries to join me in the car. I return him to the house and try to cheer him up by telling him that the reason I'm in the car is so that I can be home nice and early for him tonight. He doesn't seem convinced. What I don't tell him is that this is so that we go out without him in the evening again.
I borrow a monitor from work but would you credit it, when I get it home, the old one starts working again.
I take Doggo out as promised. We do a run but my legs are still sore and I'm almost as slow as him.
Then we head off to part two of Dallas, sorry War And Peace, which opens with a hunting trip and a man pretending to be a dog. I guess they couldn't talk any of the female cast members in to taking on this role.
There's a lot of war tonight as Napoleon rampages through Russia. Oddly our 'hero' Pierre decides to go and spectate on the battlefield, as a Freemason he can't join in, which is convenient. The battle seems to end in a victory for the Russians but their General doesn't seem to realise this and retreats, enabling Napoleon to push on towards Moscow where everyone is getting ready to flee in anticipation of the French army arriving.
Elsewhere Andrei’s father is dieing but won't see the doctor because he is French and he hates all things French. That is apart from Madame Bourienne, his Daughter's, the miserable religious one, woman-in-waiting, who he wants to be his 'special friend'. When he finally dies, the religious one has problems with the local peasants but Nikolai turns up and saves her from them and from having to throw herself on the mercy of the French. I bet the French are relieved about that. Nikolai is obviously suffering from the traumas of war bacause he finds her attractive. Either that or he finds her inheritance money attractive. The only snag is he's promised himself to the 'scheming hussy', that his mother's pet name for Sonya.
Meanwhile the Rostova's are at the opera where they run into the rampant Helene and her brother Anatole. Anatole is the latest to take a liking to Natasha, you'll have to join the queue mate, but in his case he's another one who's probably more interested in the money. At least this money comes in a nice package unlike with the religious one. He ruthlessly queue jumps and attempts to seduce her. With Andrei still having his 'year out' Natasha goes all glassy-eyed and agrees to elope with him. Fortunately it all goes awry when Sonya finds one of his letters and puts a stop to their plan. Although, as it turns out, Anatole is already married to another girl, who he had abandoned.
All of this reflects badly on Natasha, who's now effectively classed as damaged goods. Her engagement with Andrei falls through and she poisons herself. She survives but is sure that no one will want her now. As if. Pierre for one disagrees; he tells her that he'd have her and all the men in the audience nod in agreement. He's suddenly realised he's in love with her. I think the rest of us worked this out in act one.
The fighting sees an end to Andrei. Anatole gets injured and they saw his leg off. Whether this is a necessity or just to stop him running off with another girl I'm not sure.
Pierre is gradually getting even more loopy and decides to assassinate Napoleon with what looks like a very small penknife. It's hardly surprising he fails and he ends up being captured but is later freed as the French having gone to all the trouble of taking Moscow, decide to withdraw.
Pierre's wife Helene dies. Hurray. Regrettably this isn't shown on stage, which is a shame, a long lingering death would have been most appropriate. This frees Pierre to go after Natasha. Go for it my Son. Regrettably no great seduction scene involving Kylie-esk poses in her nightdress atop the piano. They just get married. A bit of a let down this.
Nikolai marries the miserable one; they turn out to be well matched. Although he seems to keep Sonya on as well, as a friend. We know what his game is.
To be honest I though the story petered out towards the end and L had to nudge my eyes open a couple of times. It's been a long day.
Tolstoy left it open at the end, leaving hints that Pierre might be involved in the upcoming Decembrist Uprising. If he's working on a sequel, he's taking his time.
One downer this evening is when we order a red wine each for the interval they serve them to us in plastic half pints glasses. Very classy, not. Well what do you expect for only £3 a glass.
I borrow a monitor from work but would you credit it, when I get it home, the old one starts working again.
I take Doggo out as promised. We do a run but my legs are still sore and I'm almost as slow as him.
Then we head off to part two of Dallas, sorry War And Peace, which opens with a hunting trip and a man pretending to be a dog. I guess they couldn't talk any of the female cast members in to taking on this role.
There's a lot of war tonight as Napoleon rampages through Russia. Oddly our 'hero' Pierre decides to go and spectate on the battlefield, as a Freemason he can't join in, which is convenient. The battle seems to end in a victory for the Russians but their General doesn't seem to realise this and retreats, enabling Napoleon to push on towards Moscow where everyone is getting ready to flee in anticipation of the French army arriving.
Elsewhere Andrei’s father is dieing but won't see the doctor because he is French and he hates all things French. That is apart from Madame Bourienne, his Daughter's, the miserable religious one, woman-in-waiting, who he wants to be his 'special friend'. When he finally dies, the religious one has problems with the local peasants but Nikolai turns up and saves her from them and from having to throw herself on the mercy of the French. I bet the French are relieved about that. Nikolai is obviously suffering from the traumas of war bacause he finds her attractive. Either that or he finds her inheritance money attractive. The only snag is he's promised himself to the 'scheming hussy', that his mother's pet name for Sonya.
Meanwhile the Rostova's are at the opera where they run into the rampant Helene and her brother Anatole. Anatole is the latest to take a liking to Natasha, you'll have to join the queue mate, but in his case he's another one who's probably more interested in the money. At least this money comes in a nice package unlike with the religious one. He ruthlessly queue jumps and attempts to seduce her. With Andrei still having his 'year out' Natasha goes all glassy-eyed and agrees to elope with him. Fortunately it all goes awry when Sonya finds one of his letters and puts a stop to their plan. Although, as it turns out, Anatole is already married to another girl, who he had abandoned.
All of this reflects badly on Natasha, who's now effectively classed as damaged goods. Her engagement with Andrei falls through and she poisons herself. She survives but is sure that no one will want her now. As if. Pierre for one disagrees; he tells her that he'd have her and all the men in the audience nod in agreement. He's suddenly realised he's in love with her. I think the rest of us worked this out in act one.
The fighting sees an end to Andrei. Anatole gets injured and they saw his leg off. Whether this is a necessity or just to stop him running off with another girl I'm not sure.
Pierre is gradually getting even more loopy and decides to assassinate Napoleon with what looks like a very small penknife. It's hardly surprising he fails and he ends up being captured but is later freed as the French having gone to all the trouble of taking Moscow, decide to withdraw.
Pierre's wife Helene dies. Hurray. Regrettably this isn't shown on stage, which is a shame, a long lingering death would have been most appropriate. This frees Pierre to go after Natasha. Go for it my Son. Regrettably no great seduction scene involving Kylie-esk poses in her nightdress atop the piano. They just get married. A bit of a let down this.
Nikolai marries the miserable one; they turn out to be well matched. Although he seems to keep Sonya on as well, as a friend. We know what his game is.
To be honest I though the story petered out towards the end and L had to nudge my eyes open a couple of times. It's been a long day.
Tolstoy left it open at the end, leaving hints that Pierre might be involved in the upcoming Decembrist Uprising. If he's working on a sequel, he's taking his time.
One downer this evening is when we order a red wine each for the interval they serve them to us in plastic half pints glasses. Very classy, not. Well what do you expect for only £3 a glass.
Tuesday, 5 February 2008
At The Oscars
A good bike in, although it's windy again but after Sunday it just feels like a light breeze. It was still hard work because my legs are still very tired, although this could be more from the pasting last night rather than from Sunday.
Things are much better on the way home and unless my computer is deceiving me, I knocked two minutes off my PB. It's a bit hard to believe but who am I to argue with technology.
L's already home and she's gone out exercising the pet, Doggo that is. I have a quick snack, or as L so delicately puts it, 'some slag to stop me fainting'. This is because we're at the Oscars tonight, well kind of; we’re at the school for Son's GCSE presentation evening. This is a bit of a novelty to me because we didn't have such things when I was at school, you just helped yourself to your certificates out of a box in some darkened storeroom. Naturally anticipation is rife, that is with every one but the person being presented to. Even his father is there to witness the event.
As we arrive at the hall, a laptop is displaying lots of photos of the year group, taken at various school events, on a screen, all with a musical accompaniment. All very impressive, that is until the blue screen of death kicks in and somebody has to go find a technician to restart it.
Even more impressive is the way Son has managed to avoid being on any of the hundreds of photos, it's as if he's already airbrushed the school out of his life. Naturally he's very pleased about this.
The event kicks off with a few songs. A young lad from year 10 who clearly, from the way he dresses and his choice of music, wants to be Pete Doherty delivers a rendition of the Libertine’s ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’. With lines like I'll confess all of my sins after several large gins and all the memories of the pubs and the clubs, and the drugs and the tubs we shared together, I’m not sure it’s quite the things for a school event but we'll gloss over that. He is though rather good. There’s a couple of other less memorable warblings from a couple of current female pupils, the obligatory address from the headmistress and a couple of clearly scripted introductions and thank you's from current pupils.
The guest of honour is a former Deputy Head from the school. He delivers a lecture, sorry I mean address, on having aspirations and making something of yourself. I bet all the kids returning for their certificates thought they’d left school. Oddly he doesn't refer to our little year 10 singer, who was aspiring to a life of debauchery with illegal substances and Kate Moss.
The guest of honour, I’m afraid, goes on a bit. Those who are still awake at the end clap politely.
Eventually Son goes up for his moment of glory and even smiles for the camera. The crowd are on their feet, clapping, cheering and shouting 'speech speech', well not quite.
Then to round things off, a couple of the leavers do a spot of human beatboxing complete with their own witty lyrics, which is very good and then one of the Governors does a fairly moving speech to close the proceedings, that probably had L welling up.
Back at home our computer monitor fizzes and the screen goes black. Bugger, this is really going to disrupt my blogging. So forced into an early night, I find solace with the French Knickered one in the bedroom.
Things are much better on the way home and unless my computer is deceiving me, I knocked two minutes off my PB. It's a bit hard to believe but who am I to argue with technology.
L's already home and she's gone out exercising the pet, Doggo that is. I have a quick snack, or as L so delicately puts it, 'some slag to stop me fainting'. This is because we're at the Oscars tonight, well kind of; we’re at the school for Son's GCSE presentation evening. This is a bit of a novelty to me because we didn't have such things when I was at school, you just helped yourself to your certificates out of a box in some darkened storeroom. Naturally anticipation is rife, that is with every one but the person being presented to. Even his father is there to witness the event.
As we arrive at the hall, a laptop is displaying lots of photos of the year group, taken at various school events, on a screen, all with a musical accompaniment. All very impressive, that is until the blue screen of death kicks in and somebody has to go find a technician to restart it.
Even more impressive is the way Son has managed to avoid being on any of the hundreds of photos, it's as if he's already airbrushed the school out of his life. Naturally he's very pleased about this.
The event kicks off with a few songs. A young lad from year 10 who clearly, from the way he dresses and his choice of music, wants to be Pete Doherty delivers a rendition of the Libertine’s ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’. With lines like I'll confess all of my sins after several large gins and all the memories of the pubs and the clubs, and the drugs and the tubs we shared together, I’m not sure it’s quite the things for a school event but we'll gloss over that. He is though rather good. There’s a couple of other less memorable warblings from a couple of current female pupils, the obligatory address from the headmistress and a couple of clearly scripted introductions and thank you's from current pupils.
The guest of honour is a former Deputy Head from the school. He delivers a lecture, sorry I mean address, on having aspirations and making something of yourself. I bet all the kids returning for their certificates thought they’d left school. Oddly he doesn't refer to our little year 10 singer, who was aspiring to a life of debauchery with illegal substances and Kate Moss.
The guest of honour, I’m afraid, goes on a bit. Those who are still awake at the end clap politely.
Eventually Son goes up for his moment of glory and even smiles for the camera. The crowd are on their feet, clapping, cheering and shouting 'speech speech', well not quite.
Then to round things off, a couple of the leavers do a spot of human beatboxing complete with their own witty lyrics, which is very good and then one of the Governors does a fairly moving speech to close the proceedings, that probably had L welling up.
Back at home our computer monitor fizzes and the screen goes black. Bugger, this is really going to disrupt my blogging. So forced into an early night, I find solace with the French Knickered one in the bedroom.
Monday, 4 February 2008
Brass Monkey Primed And Ready
Today's a bit of a quiet day, or so it seems, after a pretty mad weekend. I have a 'pleasant' reminder of the weekend when I wake up with tried legs and a very sore left arm. I think this is from gripping the handle bars in the strong winds yesterday. L tells me this is a tactic she employs on the bike all the time, wind or not.
There's been more snow over the weekend in Scotland, in fact it's been positively Baltic up there. Sounds good, our brass monkey is primed, ready, and looking very scared. Although unfortunately warmer weather looks like it's on the way.
Doggo and I got to class in the evening and I make a point of practising tricky weave entries and still 'we' don't get it. Hmmm, someone needs extra training.
L text's to say that she's eaten early, so that she won't nod off later. This sounds promising and so it proves. After I pick her up from yoga, she lights the candles in the bedroom, slips into her PJs, and retires early. She left some tea for me, so I quickly stock up on my carbs and join her.
There's been more snow over the weekend in Scotland, in fact it's been positively Baltic up there. Sounds good, our brass monkey is primed, ready, and looking very scared. Although unfortunately warmer weather looks like it's on the way.
Doggo and I got to class in the evening and I make a point of practising tricky weave entries and still 'we' don't get it. Hmmm, someone needs extra training.
L text's to say that she's eaten early, so that she won't nod off later. This sounds promising and so it proves. After I pick her up from yoga, she lights the candles in the bedroom, slips into her PJs, and retires early. She left some tea for me, so I quickly stock up on my carbs and join her.
Sunday, 3 February 2008
The Battle Of Bosworth
I wake up having had a slightly disturbed sleep. I'm been having nightmares, not about today's duathlon but about yesterday's weave entry and whether I could have done it differently. Perhaps I'm taking these things too seriously. Today, I shall just enjoy the event...
The first thing I notice this morning is that its bloody cold and the second thing is that it's also bloody windy. We drive over to Market Bosworth where I’m doing the 1485 Duathlon. 1485 is the date of the Battle Of Bosworth, which probably means I'm in for a battle today. Seemingly the opposition is going to be more from the elements than the opposition. The wind may have been strong in Nottingham but it's bordering on hurricane force here.
Getting the kit right is going to be crucial. All the competitors are eyeing each other up trying to decide how far to go with the layers. No one wants to look a wimp by wearing too much but some foolhardy souls go too far and opt for the shorts option. Others seem to be ready to compete in fleeces or coats. I think I get the right mix. L’s lyrca leggings again, two lightweight tops and gloves. Gloves are very necessary today.
Let battle commence. First off a run around the lake, how scenic, not. The wind howls across the lake, what fun. This is followed by a pleasant jog up to the next village, this is a bit more sheltered and isn't so bad.
Most of the field seem to be taking it very easy but I've realised recently that the first run is my strong point, so I’m playing the joker on this bit. I move up the field and even consider trying to win this bit but I would probably regret that later. In the end I come in 6th out of 45, not bad eh?
I actually overtake someone in transition putting me briefly 5th but I expect them to soon come past me, the bike is where I’m prepared to lose places. There was also a chap just behind me coming into transition but oddly neither of them roar past me. In fact not one competitor passes me in the first 5k on the bike. I start thinking I’ve missed a turn and gone the wrong way. They have only one marshal on a scooter and he’s doing both bike and run. This is duathlon on the cheap but no complaints about that. As the chap who organised it keeps saying 'all this for a tenner'. Then I see an arrow and sigh with relief. Not long later someone does pass me, then a few more do, but mostly I manage to stay in touch with them.
The wind is horrible. Making the hills even harder and the downhills of no benefit as the wind just tries to blow you back up them. At times I'm struggling to hold the front wheel down on the ground in the strong wind. We do this for fun you know. It's a good job I did that training in the wind on Friday. I knew it was a cunning idea.
Luckily as the route is circular eventually the wind is behind me and propels me back to transition. By the end six people have passed me, ten was my limit, at which point I would have stopped at the roadside and cried. So I'm well pleased with just six.
I start the second run, which is a repeat of the first run, in 11th place and only just behind 10th. I have his card marked and keep him in my sights. I resolve to take him after the turnaround point. Unfortunately the old legs have not read the battle plan and are not cooperating. He also seems fresher than me, how dare he be. In the end I give up on him and concentrate on holding onto what I've got. Had he been female then there might have been more of an incentive to 'have him/her' but it wasn't to be.
So I cross the line in 11th with a time of 01:33:05 and feeling totally knackered. The grass is too wet to collapse onto so I get L to hold me up instead. Doggo is very pleased to see me, his vocal support was very welcome, kind of. The winner, who's older than me, beat me by fourteen minutes. Wow. Some girl came in 4th, seven minutes ahead of me, that's so out of my league. Also some of the competitors cycled there and cycled home, wind and all. Either they're also out of my league or just plain mad. I hope I beat them.
So, as L puts it, I got 11th today and the dog got 12th yesterday. So not a bad weekend, although obviously he should have done better but he doesn't look too bothered about it.
My father has been supporting me again and we take him for a couple of Cumberland's. Then home for a hot bath and a warm down with L.
In the evening we have a blow out on a takeaway curry and down a bottle of wine between us.
The first thing I notice this morning is that its bloody cold and the second thing is that it's also bloody windy. We drive over to Market Bosworth where I’m doing the 1485 Duathlon. 1485 is the date of the Battle Of Bosworth, which probably means I'm in for a battle today. Seemingly the opposition is going to be more from the elements than the opposition. The wind may have been strong in Nottingham but it's bordering on hurricane force here.
Getting the kit right is going to be crucial. All the competitors are eyeing each other up trying to decide how far to go with the layers. No one wants to look a wimp by wearing too much but some foolhardy souls go too far and opt for the shorts option. Others seem to be ready to compete in fleeces or coats. I think I get the right mix. L’s lyrca leggings again, two lightweight tops and gloves. Gloves are very necessary today.
Let battle commence. First off a run around the lake, how scenic, not. The wind howls across the lake, what fun. This is followed by a pleasant jog up to the next village, this is a bit more sheltered and isn't so bad.
Most of the field seem to be taking it very easy but I've realised recently that the first run is my strong point, so I’m playing the joker on this bit. I move up the field and even consider trying to win this bit but I would probably regret that later. In the end I come in 6th out of 45, not bad eh?
I actually overtake someone in transition putting me briefly 5th but I expect them to soon come past me, the bike is where I’m prepared to lose places. There was also a chap just behind me coming into transition but oddly neither of them roar past me. In fact not one competitor passes me in the first 5k on the bike. I start thinking I’ve missed a turn and gone the wrong way. They have only one marshal on a scooter and he’s doing both bike and run. This is duathlon on the cheap but no complaints about that. As the chap who organised it keeps saying 'all this for a tenner'. Then I see an arrow and sigh with relief. Not long later someone does pass me, then a few more do, but mostly I manage to stay in touch with them.
The wind is horrible. Making the hills even harder and the downhills of no benefit as the wind just tries to blow you back up them. At times I'm struggling to hold the front wheel down on the ground in the strong wind. We do this for fun you know. It's a good job I did that training in the wind on Friday. I knew it was a cunning idea.
Luckily as the route is circular eventually the wind is behind me and propels me back to transition. By the end six people have passed me, ten was my limit, at which point I would have stopped at the roadside and cried. So I'm well pleased with just six.
I start the second run, which is a repeat of the first run, in 11th place and only just behind 10th. I have his card marked and keep him in my sights. I resolve to take him after the turnaround point. Unfortunately the old legs have not read the battle plan and are not cooperating. He also seems fresher than me, how dare he be. In the end I give up on him and concentrate on holding onto what I've got. Had he been female then there might have been more of an incentive to 'have him/her' but it wasn't to be.
So I cross the line in 11th with a time of 01:33:05 and feeling totally knackered. The grass is too wet to collapse onto so I get L to hold me up instead. Doggo is very pleased to see me, his vocal support was very welcome, kind of. The winner, who's older than me, beat me by fourteen minutes. Wow. Some girl came in 4th, seven minutes ahead of me, that's so out of my league. Also some of the competitors cycled there and cycled home, wind and all. Either they're also out of my league or just plain mad. I hope I beat them.
So, as L puts it, I got 11th today and the dog got 12th yesterday. So not a bad weekend, although obviously he should have done better but he doesn't look too bothered about it.
My father has been supporting me again and we take him for a couple of Cumberland's. Then home for a hot bath and a warm down with L.
In the evening we have a blow out on a takeaway curry and down a bottle of wine between us.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
Dallas With Russians, Snow And Napoleon
I'm up early for a dog show this morning, we have a millimetre of snow on the drive but there isn't any anywhere else.
It doesn’t go terribly well, firstly we have a pole down in the absurd 'Time Gamblers' event where you have to guess your own finish time. Now what is the point of that? We miss the weaves in the agility and although Doggo is reassuringly quick in the 'Helter Skelter', he is too quick coming up my blind side and I send him in the wrong tunnel entrance.
Our best event is on the mega difficult jumping course. Having negotiated the tricky first part we are caught out by a horrendously difficult weave entry. Even so we finish 12th even with five faults and only just over a second behind the winner. Which basically means that had ‘we’ got the weaves right first time I reckon we would have won.
I hope I'm not being premature but Derby seem to be improving a touch. We've signed a new goalkeeper and a youngster called Alan Stubbs. Yes he is still alive; our club doctor says anyone with a slight pulse is a shoe-in for our defence, so he's in for his debut today. Consequently our defending is slightly less Maginot Line like, although we still let one goal in. This time though, the team come from behind to snatch a draw with our new Argentine striker’s first goal.
In the evening, and you don't get any more cultural that this, we do a bit of Tolstoy and go see War And Peace at the Playhouse. I say only a bit because the story is so long that it's in two parts. Part two is on Wednesday that is if I can survive part one.
L has been summarising the plot for me as she's been reading the book. Unfortunately her summaries make it sound a bit like an episode of Dallas but with Russians, snow and Napoleon.
First though we are a bit confused because when we sit down a chap with his knitting sits down on the stage, this is before the house lights even go down. Then a chap with a cycling jacket walks on stage, you expect to see a collie jump on stage and chase him to his bike. I feel that there's a possibility we’re in the wrong place but no, this is a modern start to the story. Soon other actors appear dressed in British Sea Power type trousers, we go back in time (oh no it's backwards) and then we're off...
My simplistic view of the plot goes something like this. Although there is an American Football team sized cast, Pierre appears to be the main character. He is the illegitimate son of the wealthy Count Kiril who soon dies of a stroke. During the death scene, Pierre pays his last respects to a piano, although they may have just been reusing props and unexpectedly finds out that he gets all the inheritance. Which presumably pisses the rest of the family off.
Pierre is, I suppose, the early equivalent of a drongo student who has won the lottery; he certainly doesn't blend in very well with the rest of the upper class St Petersburg society. His claim to fame is that he once tied a bear cub back-to-back to a policeman and pushed them both into the river. It was one of my favourites bits of L's summary and I'm glad they left it in the play.
Pierre is then tricked into marriage by the shagaholic Helene and her family. Clearly after his money, she seduces him by sprawling Kylie like atop a piano and flashing her rather fetching 'over the knee' socks at him. How could a man resist and obviously he doesn't. L points out that it didn't quite happen like that in the book.
Helene is very free with it, that is with everyone but Pierre and he naturally gets a bit miffed about this. When one of her lovers, a chap called Dolokhov, raises a toast to 'pretty women and their lovers', Pierre challenges him to a duel and surprisingly wins, leaving him seriously wounded. So depressing is all this to Pierre that he joins the Freemasons.
Then there's the Rostovas and their vivacious young daughter, Natasha. She's kind of in love with a young soldier called Boris but as her husband baiting tactics appear to consist of spending the majority of the play in what looks like a nightdress, she could have anyone she wants. They also have a son, Nikolai who his mother wants to marry a rich girl but he wants to marry his cousin Sonya. She too is saving herself for him. Bless.
Then there's Andrei, who's bored of life with his pregnant wife Lise, so he leaves her with his miserable father and devoutly religious sister and buggers off to fight in the war. However at the Battle of Austerlitz Andrei nearly dies but is rescued by his hero, Napoleon but even this disillusions him. When he eventually returns home he finds his wife dying in childbirth, at which point he realises that she wasn't quite so bad after all. Total depressed by it all he disappears from life until Pierre talks him around. Then when he gets persuaded to dance with the young Natasha at her first ball, he's up and running again. Life, it is true, has more meaning when there's a youngster to get your leg over or so you would think until he announces his father doesn't approve and he going to disappear off for a year before marrying her.
To be continued, as they say. Oh and so far it's better than Dallas.
I'm almost on the wagon tonight with only a half of Burton Ale. I’m being good you see, race tomorrow. L has a whopping great glass of red wine. Although we both hit the coffees at interval.
It doesn’t go terribly well, firstly we have a pole down in the absurd 'Time Gamblers' event where you have to guess your own finish time. Now what is the point of that? We miss the weaves in the agility and although Doggo is reassuringly quick in the 'Helter Skelter', he is too quick coming up my blind side and I send him in the wrong tunnel entrance.
Our best event is on the mega difficult jumping course. Having negotiated the tricky first part we are caught out by a horrendously difficult weave entry. Even so we finish 12th even with five faults and only just over a second behind the winner. Which basically means that had ‘we’ got the weaves right first time I reckon we would have won.
I hope I'm not being premature but Derby seem to be improving a touch. We've signed a new goalkeeper and a youngster called Alan Stubbs. Yes he is still alive; our club doctor says anyone with a slight pulse is a shoe-in for our defence, so he's in for his debut today. Consequently our defending is slightly less Maginot Line like, although we still let one goal in. This time though, the team come from behind to snatch a draw with our new Argentine striker’s first goal.
In the evening, and you don't get any more cultural that this, we do a bit of Tolstoy and go see War And Peace at the Playhouse. I say only a bit because the story is so long that it's in two parts. Part two is on Wednesday that is if I can survive part one.
L has been summarising the plot for me as she's been reading the book. Unfortunately her summaries make it sound a bit like an episode of Dallas but with Russians, snow and Napoleon.
First though we are a bit confused because when we sit down a chap with his knitting sits down on the stage, this is before the house lights even go down. Then a chap with a cycling jacket walks on stage, you expect to see a collie jump on stage and chase him to his bike. I feel that there's a possibility we’re in the wrong place but no, this is a modern start to the story. Soon other actors appear dressed in British Sea Power type trousers, we go back in time (oh no it's backwards) and then we're off...
My simplistic view of the plot goes something like this. Although there is an American Football team sized cast, Pierre appears to be the main character. He is the illegitimate son of the wealthy Count Kiril who soon dies of a stroke. During the death scene, Pierre pays his last respects to a piano, although they may have just been reusing props and unexpectedly finds out that he gets all the inheritance. Which presumably pisses the rest of the family off.
Pierre is, I suppose, the early equivalent of a drongo student who has won the lottery; he certainly doesn't blend in very well with the rest of the upper class St Petersburg society. His claim to fame is that he once tied a bear cub back-to-back to a policeman and pushed them both into the river. It was one of my favourites bits of L's summary and I'm glad they left it in the play.
Pierre is then tricked into marriage by the shagaholic Helene and her family. Clearly after his money, she seduces him by sprawling Kylie like atop a piano and flashing her rather fetching 'over the knee' socks at him. How could a man resist and obviously he doesn't. L points out that it didn't quite happen like that in the book.
Helene is very free with it, that is with everyone but Pierre and he naturally gets a bit miffed about this. When one of her lovers, a chap called Dolokhov, raises a toast to 'pretty women and their lovers', Pierre challenges him to a duel and surprisingly wins, leaving him seriously wounded. So depressing is all this to Pierre that he joins the Freemasons.
Then there's the Rostovas and their vivacious young daughter, Natasha. She's kind of in love with a young soldier called Boris but as her husband baiting tactics appear to consist of spending the majority of the play in what looks like a nightdress, she could have anyone she wants. They also have a son, Nikolai who his mother wants to marry a rich girl but he wants to marry his cousin Sonya. She too is saving herself for him. Bless.
Then there's Andrei, who's bored of life with his pregnant wife Lise, so he leaves her with his miserable father and devoutly religious sister and buggers off to fight in the war. However at the Battle of Austerlitz Andrei nearly dies but is rescued by his hero, Napoleon but even this disillusions him. When he eventually returns home he finds his wife dying in childbirth, at which point he realises that she wasn't quite so bad after all. Total depressed by it all he disappears from life until Pierre talks him around. Then when he gets persuaded to dance with the young Natasha at her first ball, he's up and running again. Life, it is true, has more meaning when there's a youngster to get your leg over or so you would think until he announces his father doesn't approve and he going to disappear off for a year before marrying her.
To be continued, as they say. Oh and so far it's better than Dallas.
I'm almost on the wagon tonight with only a half of Burton Ale. I’m being good you see, race tomorrow. L has a whopping great glass of red wine. Although we both hit the coffees at interval.
Friday, 1 February 2008
Think Undies
Yesterday was supposed to be a training day for my duathlon and today a rest or tapering day. Well I didn't get any training done yesterday due to the wind so I've had to switch my days around. So basically I did my tapering yesterday and today I have to train. Unconventional but clever, don't you think. I reckon I could sell my revolutionary training ideas for a bob or two.
One problem is that snow is forecast but I don't believe them. I wonder how many schools are closed today, just in case but as I tell L, if it does snows and all the potholes fill with snow then it should actually reduce the risk of punctures. So it could actually make it safer. She doesn't seem convinced.
One place there is plenty of snow, is up in Scotland, where all the roads to the mountains are closed, which sounds promising for our holiday up there next week, if we can dig our way through.
Another inconvenience is that it is still very windy and gusting too but it was the 10-minute sleet shower that was the choker. I had to find somewhere to stop and take lots of warm layers off, then put loads of waterproof layers on instead, which took me ages. I also got some strange looks while I was stripping off.
L tells me she's going to 'bury her stress' in the undies section of M&S at lunchtime, followed by a very expensive de-stressing M&S salmon salad. Sounds great, heavenly even, for later. The undies that is not the salmon, although I have nothing against salmon. With all that de-stressing she won’t need alcohol tonight. I tell her to enjoy it and to 'think undies'. I am.
As it gets close to cycling home time, L tells me they're having a mega snowstorm in Nottingham. I'm sure she's having me on, the suns out here, everyone’s in shirtsleeves. Although it is fairly usual for all the black clouds to hover over Nottingham at this time of day. The rain/snow/sleet/hail etc tends to drop out of the sky when Daughter walks home from school or does her evening paper round. The upside is that she will have finished her paper round by 5pm, so it should be fine for when I cycle home.
L seems to be relishing a storm, I think she's hoping for an excuse to crack open the mulled wine. L's also clearly not thinking undies, she's thinking lycra instead because she's hoping the storm will leave me defrosting in front of the fire with my ever-loving collie at my feet. He'll be licking and defrosting them, L can do the rest. She's bought some new PJs, so she's obviously got something in mind. We might not get to the pub.
The bike home is in the end very uneventful. We do get a bit of rain but regrettably no snow.
Unnecessary but welcome defrosting done, we consider staying in but we have promised the dog, so we stroll down the local for two Supremes and a Legend.
One problem is that snow is forecast but I don't believe them. I wonder how many schools are closed today, just in case but as I tell L, if it does snows and all the potholes fill with snow then it should actually reduce the risk of punctures. So it could actually make it safer. She doesn't seem convinced.
One place there is plenty of snow, is up in Scotland, where all the roads to the mountains are closed, which sounds promising for our holiday up there next week, if we can dig our way through.
Another inconvenience is that it is still very windy and gusting too but it was the 10-minute sleet shower that was the choker. I had to find somewhere to stop and take lots of warm layers off, then put loads of waterproof layers on instead, which took me ages. I also got some strange looks while I was stripping off.
L tells me she's going to 'bury her stress' in the undies section of M&S at lunchtime, followed by a very expensive de-stressing M&S salmon salad. Sounds great, heavenly even, for later. The undies that is not the salmon, although I have nothing against salmon. With all that de-stressing she won’t need alcohol tonight. I tell her to enjoy it and to 'think undies'. I am.
As it gets close to cycling home time, L tells me they're having a mega snowstorm in Nottingham. I'm sure she's having me on, the suns out here, everyone’s in shirtsleeves. Although it is fairly usual for all the black clouds to hover over Nottingham at this time of day. The rain/snow/sleet/hail etc tends to drop out of the sky when Daughter walks home from school or does her evening paper round. The upside is that she will have finished her paper round by 5pm, so it should be fine for when I cycle home.
L seems to be relishing a storm, I think she's hoping for an excuse to crack open the mulled wine. L's also clearly not thinking undies, she's thinking lycra instead because she's hoping the storm will leave me defrosting in front of the fire with my ever-loving collie at my feet. He'll be licking and defrosting them, L can do the rest. She's bought some new PJs, so she's obviously got something in mind. We might not get to the pub.
The bike home is in the end very uneventful. We do get a bit of rain but regrettably no snow.
Unnecessary but welcome defrosting done, we consider staying in but we have promised the dog, so we stroll down the local for two Supremes and a Legend.
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