Mr Weather and Mr Negative

The second May Bank Holiday is the weekend that signals the arrival of summer.

My friend’s mum has a timeshare chalet on a holiday park and everyone traditionally gets down there for a long weekend of relaxing good times. This, of course, can take many different forms for different people, so there is usually a nice range of ‘relaxing’ things to get involved in. Most of them however, rely heavily on being able to go outdoors.

The trouble this year was that Mr Weather got his weekends mixed up. He showed up on the first May Bank Hol, and turned it into a classic weekend (which, incidentally, has been blogged, recovered from and im now wearing the T-Shirt). This time, he decided to have a holiday of his own and disappeared completely. Saturday, he had probably just popped down the shops, or something, because it wasn’t horrible, just never really got going. Sunday, however, there was no sign of Mr Weather anywhere. My dad summed it up quite well when I called him to see how he was getting on with his camping trip with Mum, Sister, G, and the two boys;

'Hey Dad, is it a wash out?'

‘Son, it feels like the end of the world here’

Not that the rain spoiled everything- its just ten times easier to have a good time when there’s a warm blue sky as a backdrop. A warm blue sky and not having Mr Negative with you.

Ive known Mr Negative for a few years but this was the first time that I couldn’t find anything to like about him all weekend. He is one of the difficult friend-of-a-friend types that I wouldn’t choose to spend time with, but can’t really do anything about his occasional presence. It seemed that every moment he wasn’t moaning about being tired, or complaining about Mr Weather’s absence, he was being aggressive and rude to our mutual friend. What she sees in him ill honestly never know.

He is the thorn in the back of the weekend and a big thorn this year because of the small group size. The numbers probably peaked two years a go when 12 or so were in the chalet, 8 or so camped, and then another group which had a few overlapping friends were all down too, so at one point we had 30-odd playing Rounders on the beach. In the first year, 5 years ago, there were just 5 of us. I think the neat normal distribution of numbers agrees with the organiser in that this years trip should signify the end for this weekend- at least in its current form, and it will be replaced by a newer model next year.

On Monday, when it was almost too late, Mr Negative went home and Mr Weather turned up. I had an ice cream in the sun, went out on the Mackerel boat and drove home looking forward to the coming months. 4 Weddings and a Stag do make June and July a densely packed social affair, I just hope the Mr’s make the right decisions on when and where they should show up.

Stars in my eyes

This was sent by a friend, and is the reason i did no work today. If you get addicted to little puzzle games dont go to this page. Seriously, dont do it.

It is good though....

http://ece4co.vis.ne.jp/sw/2007/05/post_16.html


(Added Monday)..its not working this morning- too much traffic I expect! so its here for now... http://media.fizzlebot.com/hoshisaga.php

PornoPants, Episode 3

The best thing about wearing triathlon shorts in public is that you’re almost always too knackered to care how ridiculous you look. This was my third outing in the pants of power, and despite all my strings of social fibre straining to get some baggy boardshorts on, I made it round the course in a respectable 63rd place. Despite my perma-white upper thighs and lanky frame, I wasn’t the funniest looking specimen on display (though some may disagree!)- I saw at least 7 pairs of Speedos mincing around the course, some of which had a matching crop-top type vest to go with them. Seriously. What benefit can having a three quarter length vest top on give you? Does it stop your belly from over heating? While on the run, with my legs and lungs feeling like they were about to explode, I don’t recall thinking, ‘oh my stomach really is a bit sweaty’. As for cycling in Speedos, on a knife-like carbon saddle, there really is no need.

After the race I noticed another slightly worrying tri-phenomenon. I was showering in the sports centre and three quarters of the guys in there were almost entirely hair free. It was quite unsettling. I appreciate there’s a fine line between noticing and staring when in a communal shower, but Ive never before been in the presence of so many hairless Back Sack and Cracks. Sure, it makes some sense to shave your legs if youre cycling every day (no that I do) but surely there’s a limit to the benefit that can be gained by having a hairless B, S and C? Perhaps its not a triathlon thing, and Ive just lost touch (whey-hey!) with the current culture of modern male cleanliness. It seems fairly common among some friends to trim ‘down there’ but this was more than a bit of national trust forest maintenace- this was complete amazionian deforestation. Some of the guys were completely hair free, as in ‘bald round the front’-? I’m not sure of the correct expression. This really was strange, and although I had the hair, I didn’t have the balls to ask the guy why.

Music to walk in by

Since moving and starting my new job I now a walking commuter (which takes between 17 and 19 min) and have been enjoying the free time I get to listen to music. My mp3 player is on my phone, and has only 512MB of space, so thus far (yes, I just said ‘thus’) Ive just been uploading my fave singles. Ive got some killer* play lists for running, which are quite upbeat* and some more chilled out walking-in type stuff.

*Yes I'm down(*) with the kids.

There’s a really good Saab advert on at the moment, and after a quick look I found that the song is called 'Release me' by a Swedish band called Oh Laura. You can download the mp3 for free from the Saab website (www.saab.co.uk). I am grateful to Saab, as I love this song and it’s unlikely I would have heard it otherwise. Similarly I am grateful to Sony for doing their bouncing balls Bravia add (www.bravia-advert.com/commercial/braviaextcommhigh.html) last year and introducing me to Jose Gonzalez. This got me thinking about where I first hear music.

I remember a few years ago watching an episode of Scrubs and loving one of their songs that played out over a funeral. After some searching I found out it was 'Winter' by Joshua Radin (www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2Z1Zk4zXNg) who is now one of my favourite artists, and I have still never even heard him mentioned over here. He is, in my humble opinion, of Damien Rice (who himself has had songs on Lost, and the movie Closer) quality; and that is praise indeed.

Putting your song on an advert or TV show always used to be considered a bit naff, or some sort of sell out by the artist. My cousin used to be in a band that had their second single on a Sony advert. At the time they got a load of stick over it from some of the music press, who said they had lost some credibility. I think the Internet (myspace, youtube etc) and music technology (file sharing, mp3s) have driven this attitude away. The exposure and availability of music nowadays makes it easy for someone like me to pick and choose from a much bigger range of music than I did 10 years ago- and hence (yes, I just said 'hence') hear stuff that I otherwise would have missed out on. For most artists, having an advert, or being available online is now essential, rather than an nice extra.

If I was in an up and coming band now Id cut my arm off to get on the next Sony or Saab advert- and use it to beat some sense into anyone who thought it was a bad idea.

Spring surf

The beeping signalled it was time. I cursed at the thought of leaving my warm lair, and reached into the darkness to find the button that would allow another 8 minutes of warm black sleep. Somewhere into my second snooze the Bed Balance of Power swung past the tipping point of awakeness, and the importance of getting up was suddenly an alarm in my head that I couldn’t switch off.

I didn’t bother with a shower, had a quick brekkie and set off to the north Cornwall coast. The weather was awful and several times I questioned my motivation for going. What was I doing out here on my own in the cold and wet? I reminded myself that the surf forecast was 4 stars, 4 STARS! (Magic seaweed), and it would be worth it. Solid bands of rain were keeping both the visibility and speed on the roads down, but eventually I arrived at the beach car park in Polzeath. It had taken 1 hour and 8 minutes.

When I came here at the end of last summer, the small stream that ran down the beach was a hive of activity with toddlers playing the ‘lets make a dam!’ game while their parents looked on over the top of their books and newspapers. On Sunday, the stream was a wild river. It was honking it through like an Amazonian tide on the push (well not quite, but I am getting Amazon-excited!) and I feared for my footing and safety as I gingerly crossed it on my way down to the shoreline.
The surf was as good as they had promised. I struggled a bit at the start as I re-familiarised myself with the weight balance of my short board, after hiring mini mals for the last few small-wave trips. I caught the first few waves too late and did some funny bouncing around and arm waving before succumbing to the inevitable violent dunking. It was so nice to be in the water with virtually no wind, and I marvelled at how the lake-like conditions between waves contrasted with the huge power of the walls of green water that were relentlessly coming towards me. The atmosphere was electric, with people whooping as the bigger sets rolled in and cheering as a few elite showed off their potent skills. For me, waves #4 and #6 were good and I got out after about 90 minutes with a bruised hip, aching arms, but a big old grin.

I drove home in the sunshine and thought about how glad I was that I had made the effort to go.

Photos are not me, but taken at Polzeath about 1 hour after I was in. I did a lot of the first, and not a lot of the second.

Spiderman 3

Spiderman 3 was good. It was 2 hours 10 mins of solid entertainment, and that’s what I paid my money for. Yes, there was a weird 20 minutes when he became a member of My Chemical Romance and minced around a bit in his Emo eyeliner and outfits. Yes, there were a few unbelievably miss-placed scenes, like the flag and the news reporter, but there were as many funny (the posh French restaurant manager) heart warming (the Stan Lee cameo) and breathtaking (the Sandman effects) moments to more than compensate. Sure, the comic purists I went with weren’t that happy, but they never are.

Plus, did you see the Transformers trailer? Oh my.

Hey lady, there aint nothing wrong with me*

I’ve decided I don’t like occupational health nurses.

In the past year Ive been three times for various work related checks. It works like this: I go in, feeling super healthy and carefree. I come out angry with some health worries I could do without. The first time, I had an ‘irregular heart beat’ which I later got checked with a doctor and he said was normal and nothing to worry about. For my new job I've got to go 4 times in my first year and have my lung function tested. This involves blowing down a tube with a little windmill type thing on the end that spins in the air you blow through it. Apparently it measures various aspects of you lung capacity and power.

Ive done this before and I sucked. Not literally, obviously, that would be silly (though possibly more successful) I just couldn’t blow out anywhere near what I should be doing. The nurse had all these graphs and my jaggley little line of puff was always under the smooth dark line of normality. The whole thing blows (sorry, couldn’t resist). The nurse is saying stuff like,

‘Oh that’s not very good’
‘Come on now, really blow!’
‘No. That's poor again. You should probably do some more exercise’

and I'm getting wound up more than the spring in the little windmill thing.

The nurse is hardly Carolina Kluft herself. I go running or cycling or swimming every day. I feel great. I dont, in all honesty believe that there is anything wrong with my lungs. I feel like asking her flabby ass for a race. While I was on holiday last year I held my breath (as you do…in an impromptu competition on a boring boat journey) for 2 minutes 21. I’m a regular in the top three of the annual Beach Olympics competition that me and my friends have. Without wanting to sound like a dick (too late, I know), I'm not happy taking any aerobic advice from anyone who looks like they take the lift up two floors.

This time the machine wouldn’t even work, so Ive got to go back next week.

‘Its OK though’ says the nurse, ‘we can check your glucose problem while you’re here’

Hang on a minute. A glucose ‘Problem?’ Five minutes ago I went into the toilets and struggled to, but eventually successfully urinated into this little pot. The nurse took it away and came back with a little dip stick thing that said I had glucose in my urine, and that this might be an indicator of type 2 diabetes.

Now shes saying I shouldn’t eat so much sugar as it ‘might be using up all my insulin’

To be fair, I have been enjoying the two-for-one offer on ‘Rocky’ chocolate bars (just the right balance of chocolate and biscuit; well worth a go) currently available in my local Sainsburys, and I did step it up to 3 sugars in tea and coffee this year, but a glucose problem?

Im thinking its best to wait for the second test. When I go in this time everything in my pee is gunna be diluted out of sight in 2 litres of Evian before I go in. My supervisor always used to say that all chemical problems can be diluted. We'll see.

Off to see Spiderman 3 tonight; I guess I should lay off the sugary confectionery products.

*Mike Strutter, 1998