My copied DVDs from the Philippines don't work

More of that Swine Sods Law

2009-10-08T10:25:00.001Z

The marathon training was done – id flipped through my book of motivations while battling various emotions on a damp Tuesday evening and completed a 22 mile slog around the outskirts of Plymouth. My watch read 2:53:59 – the dream of a sub 3:30 was alive. The train was pulling into the station named Job Done when it got derailed by the smallest of pebbles on the track.

Turning a corner on my bike, the tyre met with some wet concrete and moved sideways instead forwards. I tumbled to the ground, my hands breaking most of my fall as they jarred through the gravel, my hip hitting hard into the cold ground while my legs still straddled the bike. In amongst the adrenaline I didn’t notice a cut in my ankle and failed to clean away the germ harbouring mud from the opening wound.
It got infected, as they do. My ankle is swollen up, the skin tight around the now all too obvious hole. I woke up the same night with flu symptoms as the bacteria swarmed in my blood exploring their new home. A few days later the Doc gave me some antibiotics and assurances that it should be fine in a week – three days before we line up on the course in Istanbul.

But there are more worries. My housemate, who is a constant sniffler at the best of times, thinks he has got swine flu. I have my doubts – I think it’s a very easy way to get a week off work; you log on the website, you tick the box saying you have a sudden cough and tick the box saying you have a fever and they load up a screen saying you might have swine flu stay at home. I don’t know what this flu is like – but my experience of having flu once put me in bed for 3 solid days. I wasn’t coughing and spluttering around the house in my pants watching TV all day. OK it’s a share house – it comes with the territory, but the timing is bad. Even worse is his annoying bird, Mute, who has stayed at the house 100% of the time with the intention of catching it herself. OK, great, if that’s what you want to do then go for it – but not in my house! Her having it at least doubles the chances of me catching it too – which would under normal service be very inconvenient, but with the marathon looming is bordering on making me quite angry. She’s got ‘it’ now of course – I went to get her Tamiflu for her from boots this morning. Ive got a cough, and feel weird now and again but I think and hope it’s related to the 4 grams of penicillin I’m popping every day. My housemate, of course suggests that ive probably got it too – to which I said Ive got a cold - If I had flu id be in bed not wanting to move. There is some tension; I think the house has run its course.

Maybe.

It will all be fine just so long as my ankle recovers and I don’t get swine flu, a cold or anything else right before I set off for Turkey. That would make me upset.

Marathon

2009-08-17T13:20:00.002Z

Some good friends and my good self have decided to enter the Istanbul marathon. It is on Sunday the 18th October. I still have 2 more triathlons to complete, as part of the South West Series, so it is difficult to find time to fit in all the training, and even more difficult to cut out all the drinking. My swimming, in particular, has been neglected for much of the summer, with only really the fortnightly open water sessions at the club to mention. Cycling, too, has been more infrequent than I would like, but I have busted out some good interval sessions on the gym Wattbikes.

Running has been a bit more consistent, with lots of good runs found on the coast paths and around Dartmoor. This weekend I did 10K of speed work on the Saturday, then a 14 mile run on Sunday. The 10K was up to Central park, 4x 500m sprints and then jog back. I wish id put on my heart rate monitor as I was 100% ruined at the end. The long run was up on the Plym Valley Cycleway – a route I have only just discovered after K took me on a bike ride up there. It follows the old train line up onto Dartmoor, so is a very gradual uphill for 7 miles until you reach the village of Clearbrook, then a small loop and back the same way. You don’t really notice the uphill until you turn around, but my return time was 6 mins better than the out. Both ways it includes the very dark Shaugh tunnel where you end up running very fast and pretending that youre being chased by an alien, a la Alien 3. Well, I did.

The marathon itself is marketed as the only in the world where you run on 2 continents – you start in Asia, and run across the bridge into Europe. Sounds good, hopefully my legs will stand up to the training.

The law of Sod

2009-06-12T12:11:00.001Z

I am taking a break from writing a presentation to write about the law of Sod. I spent about 4 hours yesterday afternoon stuck alone in my office as the summer sun baked the outside revellers to contentment. I was going through some graphs and putting asterisks and small font letters next to error bars to indicate which blocks of colour were ‘significantly’ different from others. I’d done the stats wrongly, of course, I don’t think you can ever do stats 100% correctly, but ive realised this morning that id done them badly enough to mean that I have to do them all again this morning. Oh great.

The presentation is for a conference im going to in Glasgow in a few weeks which is where the law of sod comes in. Back in the depths of winter, 5 friends convinced to come on a sailing holiday with them this summer. None of us really sail, but two of the six had recently been awarded their ‘day skipper’ or something licences, and so wanted to be skipper for a few days. We booked to go to Greece this coming Saturday for a week. All good. Then a few months ago my boss mentions a conference she wants us to talk at, and mentions the week after the holiday booking. All good again I think, a week in the sun, then a week up in Glasgow to continue the not working. A few weeks later the details start to emerge, and it becomes apparent that the conference actually starts on the Sunday. Really? I think, that’s a bit silly isn’t it? Still, the chances of my talk being put on the Sunday are quite small, especially with my boss’s influence on the organising panel. I check the flight times back from Greece and we arrive late Saturday night. Then I get my talk date through and its not only on the Sunday, but Sunday morning. This strikes me with a little bit of panic. I check the flight times to Glasgow. The latest flight out is 9.20pm. Not enough time. I check the morning flights, and again, not enough time. I check the night trains, and while one exists, you have to get off the train at Birmingham for 6 hours, so it isn’t really much of a night train and more of an evening and then morning train. My last hope before contemplating driving up through the night is the good old night bus. Great stuff, I think, as I book a £34 single from Heathrow to Glasgow. The best conference talk preparation I can imagine is sitting next to some Glaswegian Trainspotting impersonator for 9 hours as i try to sleep with one eye open. Then ive got 3 hours to get showered and changed and answer difficult questions on a difficult subject I don’t fully understand. Can’t wait.

But I don’t really care too much, as its holiday time next week.

Back to the graphs.

Blockbusters begin

2009-06-04T10:25:00.003Z

The sun, and summer blockbuster season has begun in anger. I sat watching Terminator Salvation last night with the warmth of some mild sunburn combating the over eager air-conditioning in screen nine of Vue Plymouth. That’s the biggest screen, which makes the films far more impressive if they’re the blowing things up after a chase or fight type of affair. The new Startrek was good in there, Terminator similar, Transformers Revenge of the Fallen hopefully too, but they’re all a bit too predictable - heavy on the effects and light on the subtleties. And it’s the little things that matter right? The Hollywood bods are trying to cater for everyone at 70%, which is great, but comes at the expense that no one is ever going to love it at a hundred. But it’s probably not as simple as that. Terminator suffered from the plot ‘twist’ being obvious from the first scene – the ‘Cyberdyne systems’ headed paper that Marcus signs makes it clear what his fate is if you’re any sort of a fan of the franchise. And with that removed, there’s not much of a story to get attached to. There was also some really annoying dialog where people stated what was happening on screen just to make it doubly clear what was happening on screen, which I had already got because I was in the cinema watching what was happening on screen. I also struggled with Bale’s voice, much like in Batman, which he seemed to over gruff to the point of sounding like a 40-a-day granddad in some scenes. It was good fun overall though. I enjoyed the nods to the previous films – ‘come with me if you want to live’ ‘ill be back’ and a really eighties looking Arnie were all thrown in, though why Arnie didn’t just crush John Connor’s head instead of throwing him around for five minutes was a bit troubling. There were a suite of new terminators to feast your eyes on, and the action scenes certainly made the most of the big screen. The packed out cinema too, was a testament to the quality of the previous films (T3 excluded, obviously) and luckily enough for the fans, the films seems to have the same traits as the terminators that they depict; just when you thought they were dead, they unexpectedly rise up and come back to get you again.

Dolphins

2009-04-21T15:29:00.004Z

More friends are leaving.

Waz’s exit of a few weeks ago was neutralised, if only fleetingly, by his unexpected return to the lunch group last Tuesday – his Japan start date was put back a week enabling him a brief return to the homeland and a chance to exchange some real life smiles. Not to mention another chance to beat him at Pitch and Putt. I have thought about giving him the blog address when he is away; he can be trusted.

To even further away.

Thoughts also echo from the first year after Uni. Everyone was working in jobs they hated wondering why their degrees seemed worthless. My two best friends at the time decided, for different reasons, to move to Hong Kong. It was tough. I’ve kept in touch, of course, but it’s not the same. I see them less often than the seasons. They’ve both married and had kids, our lives seem so different now, but I can’t talk to them to find out if it’s true.

A’s and Jen are emigrating to Tasmania. The final link in their chain to Australia is being forged as I type, but they will leave in September irrespective of their visas stating ‘Skilled Migration’ or ‘Tourist’. Their minds are made up, the legalities will follow. They said they want a change; they’re going to seek out their dream and try it on for size. I joke that they’ll be back but for now at least there is certainty in their eyes. They have come down to Plymouth to consolidate their Uni memories of the place, to tick things off their ‘To do’ list before they leave. We sit up on the Hoe and talk while my head gets an unhealthy dose of April UV. Then Jen sees the dolphins. A pod at least 50 strong, adults and young, are swimming through The Sound. I can’t quite believe my eyes. It’s a beautiful spectacle that gets missed by most of the land dwellers, they’re too busy to notice. Whatever their conversations include, it is not worth missing this moment. Their futures will be starved of this memory, their minds forever oblivious. Silently we gaze in amazement as the dolphins swim through in front of us, the occasional breach betraying their location; individuals seemingly moving faster than the group. They swim to the west, their dorsals soon smaller than flecks of the reflecting sun.

They are gone.

But not forgotten.

To my friends and the dolphins. Good luck.

Spring? (Goodbye)

2009-03-17T13:22:00.004Z

The final light of the day lingers behind the city. I look back across the water to Plymouth and marvel at the sight, both of the skyline back lit in orange, and of the promise of spring, delivered earlier in the day by the clear blue sky. The shorts and vest tops were out around campus. There was clean, crisp, morning air as I walked into work. Summer songs on my iPod unlocked previous memories of barbeques, sunburn and smiles. It a wonderful time of year; so much promise. So much to look forward to. But first I have to say goodbye.

It is the nature of studying, or working at a university. Friendships are strong; the randoms that you meet on your first day have similar interests to you. Your nerd factors match, you’re destined to get on. You share ideas on life, thoughts and fears of the future. You go on to share similar highs and lows.

But the turnover is great. Contracts are short; a year, possibly two. The overlap is all too often less than this. Waz is off to Japan at the end of the month for two years. He has been down here too long, and while I wish him the best, it is still a huge shame to say goodbye. He has been the main catalyst for me settling so well into Plymouth after a shaky start. Who is going to organise the next bowling league? Who will I beat at pitch and putt? Who will replace him in our office? Time will no doubt deliver a replacement, things will move on and we will all act like its OK. But we’ll all miss you mate.

Sayōnara.

Sir Prawn a lot and a missing mullet

2009-02-05T15:38:00.005Z

Back in the days of summer, when I was still in my twenties, we went to catch some prawns. My office mate needed some to use in his project looking at ocean acidification, so we waited for a sunny-ish afternoon and headed for the beach. We needed both species of prawn commonly found in this area, Palaemon serratus and elegans, and the bigger the better. We arrived, eat some ice cream and headed off into the rockpools. I began sweeping through the seaweed with my net willy nilly – occasionally getting a fairly large one, or something else interesting, but it quickly became unrewarding work. After a while we discovered it was more fun, and a lot more productive, to stalk the prawns (and no, im not talking about Facebook). Carefully moving a rock would uncover a whole gang of elegans which, by using the nets in a finely-tuned strike of upsettingly accurate co-ordination could be swept up for the bucket. Soon we had over a hundred and set off back for a sun burnt pint in the pub. Oh how I miss you summer days.

Soon afterwards we heard of a new prawn catching technique. We went to the harbour and tried it out – throwing a net on a rope into the deep water and suspending it at somewhere near middle depth. In the net was a mesh bag containing cat food which oozed out - like the shark-attracting ‘shit’ that Chief Brody shovelled over the side of The Orca in Jaws - attracting prawns from far around. The cat food did its job. Pulling in the net 20 mins later, we had caught some serratus that were approaching Jaws proportions.

In Tesco they would have been sold as King Tiger serratus. I’ve rarely been so happy.

During the first trip we had also brought back a few tiny fish fry that had been swimming in the rock pools. We put two of these into a tank in the aquarium and fed them a variety of the smallest things we could find. They soon began to grow and after some false hope that they might have been bass, we became fairly sure that they were baby mullet. Other things began to appear in the tank as well – starfish, limpets, anemones, prawns, a crab. They must have been tiny larvae in the water with the mullet, but we hadn’t noticed them until they had grown to eye-recognisable size. 6 months later, I was taking in some artemia to feed the now thriving mini ecosystem, but something was not right. Only one fish swam towards me in the search of food. The mullets were only one. I looked around the tank, then outside the tank, then the floor, but there was no sign. I emailed the technician who had spent the most time looking after them:

Will,
Bad news.
We are a mullet down.
No evidence of escape.
No body.
Not sure what to do.

Will had noticed the day before but didn’t want to tell me. I started to think about what might have happened and jumped to the conclusion that the crab was to blame. He had been getting bigger and bigger, and was now the size of a 1p piece. I thought if he could have got hold of the mullet, he probably could have eaten it. I checked the tank again for signs of the body but still nothing.

Dam that crab, he’s been getting too big for his boots for ages.

Before he could eat the other one I made the decision to take him out and put him in a tank on his own with some stock mussels.

Ha. You’re not smiling now are you? Mullet murderer!

Then this morning I was talking with Will about what to do with the remaining mullet and we suddenly saw the body. At the other end of the rack, a level below, the dried out shape of the missing mullet was suddenly all too obvious. Our eyes followed the path he must have taken; jumped up through the gap between the tank and the lid, flapped his way along the rack for a bit, then fallen through into the tank below.

I apologised to the crab as I returned him to his home tank.

Nothing compares to Shamu

2009-01-26T10:30:00.004Z

Things are changing so quickly I am finding it hard to keep up. I'm not sure I recognise myself completely anymore (Or maybe that's just the alcohol talking..). Even now, as I sit down in the dark peace of 1.35am to clear out my thoughts, the fire alarm has suddenly just sounded a harsh warning that the roof is leaking again and there is a stream of water running into the spare and Doug’s bedrooms.

Today at 3.30 pm I sat up in a strange bed and said,

‘I really should get going, It’s not fair on you to hang round here all day’

She says its fine and makes me tea and toast. I say ill call you and we’ll sort something out. I borrow a coat and get going. I walk up the road shivering, for many reasons, most not involving the cold, but I still cant help but smile. I can’t see anything – my contacts were lost somewhere last night and I didn’t bring spares – and my eyes are now only useful for showing me blurry shapes through their uncorrected –5.00. My t-shirt has the biggest tea stain on it you’ve ever seen. I smell rank. I realise that ive either lost my keys, or I left them at home last night, but in either case I am locked out. I call AnnE and DPsyc. Both go straight to answer phone. I laugh at the absurdity of the situation and try to call JP to talk about it. Straight to answer phone. I call El capitano, as I might have to go straight round his before the gig, but again, straight to answer phone. I think this is silly and call James, Dpsyc again and Marie. All go to answer phone. I feel like im involved in some sort of Truman show conspiracy.

The previous evening was tremendous. I went out dressed up as Shamu, the Killer Whale for the ‘under the sea’ themed fancy dress party. I bought an inflatable whale off Ebay and cut some holes in it, put it on in some sort of Silence of the Lambs-esque whale skin fetish and the stuffed it back to inflation with balloons. In fairness, it was a really good outfit for £10.

I had, earlier in the week, partially cleared the air with AnnE after a difficult, sober chat about what had happened between us. I was comfortable with how my feelings had developed, and happy with my arguments and sense. Overall though, I was hugely disappointed to have like her so much with the current hindsight in such clarity. I half expected, and was ready for another chat of the drunk variety last night but it didn’t emerge. Her, Dpsyc and DPsyc’s current love interest all went home early. That left me to get on the Gin and pull. I found myself having some good banter with K, a northern lass dressed as a pirate who, at 6’3’’ was taller than me. We went to a club and danced. I took of the whale and we jumped up and down on the balloons. Shamu’s limp lifeless body now littered a nightclub enclave and we giggled as we watched as the revellers walk past, double take, then pick it up in confusion. We get kicked out of the club at 5ish but there is a bar open across the road. We head over and she buys even more vodka. I lean in and we kiss, but the spirits have numbed my senses and memory. She takes me home and I spill the tea all over my white t-shirt. I take out my contacts and we go to bed but she says there is to be no sex. Fair enough. Then I find myself walking around her flat looking for the toilet. It’s late, or early, nothing is making sense. The Gin has ruined my logic. I find myself outside, and bursting, I take a piss down a drain next to her house. I’m only wearing my pants and its freezing. I walk back inside and don’t have the faintest idea which bedroom is hers. Think. I can’t even remember her name. I laugh but shake my head. I make it back to her room.

The next day we have some good hug time and laughs. She’s nice. I leave and make the calls that go to answer phones. AnnE eventually calls back and drives back to let me in. She says she’s been at the rugby with some of her work lot, but drives straight off again. Weird. I eventually walk over to El capitanos and we get the taxi to watch another Metal Fatigue gig. He tells me he also went to see the rubgy and that they bumped into AnnE who was there with Steve. Just the two of them. Steve is a mid forties guy who’s AnnE’s boss. El capitano says he thinks theyre an item. I cant quite, but also completely believe it. The thoughts of the past month have been making a solid Tetris block on one side of the screen, but something hasnt quite fitted. The Captains info finally delivered the missing piece, the long thin one, that moved over to the side and slotted perfectly down into the gap. The block of memorys flash for a second:

Oh my god.

Really?

He was part of the original crowd present when we had our first row. And she had had the nerve to tell me I was being jealous for no reason.

And then they dissapear.

My thoughts turn to the dark side for a few minutes.

At the gig I get drunk again and text K. She replies and says that her housemate apparently saw me having a piss in the back garden. Oh great. I tell her I’m sorry and will explain. She says its funny and not to worry. I say the gig is good but that nothing compares to Shamu. I hope she gets it, it’s the best text pun ive come up with in ages.

We sing in the taxi on the way home and play a game when you have to say a famous person, but substitute in a type of fish. I manage a few; Martin Luther Ling, Blenny Henry, Eel Morrisey, Jonathan Wrasse, but El capitano wins easily with Angelina Coley

There is a lot to think about...

Songs / Psychology

2009-01-16T11:01:00.005Z

I’m still in a sad, reflective mood. Its been harder to get over AnnE than I first hoped. We've still not spoken and she’s acting like nothing happened. I’m more upset now with myself for getting her so wrong.

There was an interesting, timely article on New Scientist this week that asked the question is it really bad to be sad? (it’s here, but I think you might need subscription, and seems to be based on this book). I’ve had a fairly sad few weeks, and I agreed with the guy that it’s not necessarily a bad thing. He suggests that people (not me, I hastily point out) are too quickly turning to antidepressants as a quick fix for a bout of sadness, and that in doing so we are depriving ourselves a valuable period of reflection;

"They fear that the increasing tendency to treat normal sadness as if it were a disease is playing fast and loose with a crucial part of our biology. Sadness, they argue, serves an evolutionary purpose - and if we lose it, we lose out."

But where do you draw the line? When does your sadness reach a level that is dangerous? Who decides? How do they decide? I guess it’s a question I could ask DPsyc about if he wasn’t going to bore my tits off with his answer.

I have, like last time, turned to music and running – my ankle, thank fuck, has been feeling slowly better and I'm going to try my 13 mile coast run this weekend. I’ve got a new Camelbak to try out and a new 2 Gb Shuffle, which seems to have a never ending stream of songs compared to my previous 256 Mb mp3 player. It’s nice to have some new songs to run to after 4 years of the same 40 or so, but I’ve kept most of the originals on the playlist as they’re absolute killers. I find it interesting how a change in mood can make you find different meaning in a song lyric – I've noticed a lot more songs that I like are obviously written after getting dumped, or through a break up, and have lines in them that id previously not understood, or just didnt hear.

Or maybe you just interpret things how you want to.

Who knows.

The Butterfly. Effects.

2009-01-03T16:14:00.005Z

It’s fair to say I’m quite bored of being at home. It has been good to spend some time with my parents, to see my sister and her family, and nice to see some old friends around the village. Unfortunately, my lack of things to do has now transported me to the point where I'm almost looking forward to getting back into the work cycle. I’ve spent my free time at home watching DVD box sets; The Wire – Season 1 - which was very realistic, so took some time to get into, but well worth it, and Peep Show, which I’m working my way through all 5 series of. Its very very funny – the two main characters narrate their real thoughts over the top of the actual dialoges, and its hard not to laugh at how true some of the situations are. Its reached the point where I’m now seeing a subtitle of what my actual thoughts are on each real life situation I find myself in. I’ve also played quite a bit with my infra-red controlled helicopter, which is surprisingly stable to fly, eat vast amounts of cheese and had 2 bouts of man flu.

The AnnE thing hasn’t moved on - ive not heard from her since an exceptionally bland Christmas Day text - and I’m still hopelessly unsure of what my best course of action is for when I return to the Plym on Sunday. I spent the first week or so hoping every text I got would be from her saying something about it all being a mistake and she wanted me back, but they always turned out to be someone else, or a service message from Orange - both of which, in their own way, said that I need to move on. I genuinely don’t know what to expect when I get back, which is at least slightly exciting, even if the majority of what it remains being is quite shit.

The time has quickly emerged during which I have to get back into real life. Early Jan is the time for planning what is going happen this year and I have been making some mental lists; I’m going to join the Uni gym, just so I can get my cycling up to some sort of decent standard before the spring-time triathlon training starts in anger. I’ve got a slight ankle injury, but after a good 3 weeks of rest I’m hoping I can start running regularly again next week. If I can then there are quite a few races in Jan and Feb that I might as well enter to keep myself motivated. Ill probably do the Bath Half again in March too. I think I’m going to join the Plymouth Tri Club, as then I can enter the south west race series, which will give me even more motivation.

I’m not sure what the girl situation is going to be like- the thought of AnnE bringing some cock back to flat still makes me think angry thoughts, but at some point one of us (and by one of us I mean her) is going to do that. The possi/proba -bility that there is/was someone else still makes me feel sick. I think that the statistically likely risk of getting dumped three times in a row is a bit too unpalatable and best combated by not getting together with anyone else. I’ve had a lot more sleepless nights this year than ever during my single years. Part of me is already thinking ahead to my end of contract and that perhaps it is best to be entirely unserious with girls this year, then I can save up some money and if there are no decent jobs about next March (when my current funding runs out) I should head off round the world for a bit. I can’t really see the downside of that at the moment. Despite that though, I seriously do need to put some hours in at work this year and at least get the first few papers out, if not a grant proposal which would be a lot more positive and make the potential job situation more probable. I have also possibly got some consultation work, which will be great if it comes off, and might involve some trips to Holland. Finally, there are at least 3 holidays being talked around the group at the moment, and already 2 good weekends for before Easter, so fingers crossed it will turn into a great year from a shit beginning.

The most strange and beautiful thing since being at home was a Peacock butterfly that was on the outside bin on New Years eve when I took out some rubbish. I still don’t really understand what has happened to make it hatch out in the current below zero temperatures, but it is a wonderful thing. I brought it inside and warmed it up on a lampshade and fed it some sugary water. It is still alive now, but is not flying around as much. I think my Monday morning job at work is to investigate what could have possibly happened…

Happy New year plans.

Being friends?

2008-12-22T20:26:00.013Z

Sorry, its boring I know, but another diary post has to be gotten off ones chest...

The big BDay night went well up until the final hour, which saw another argument between me and AnnE. She and DPSyc had come up to the Stol and we were all gunna stay on the floor around a friends house. D still didn’t know that we had been seeing each other – A had said previously that she didn’t want to tell him to avoid any house awkwardness. This was bothering me a bit as it meant we were still not open in the house- she would, for example, scurry out of my hug if she heard D coming down the stairs. Most of my better friends knew about us and I thought this weekend would be a good time for him to find out. Anyway, AnnE had arrived first. I made an effort to look after her, kept an eye out to make sure someone was with her and went over and talked to her if she was on her own. The drink flowed and eventually everyone seemed to be having a good time. I had gone up to the DJ to ask him to play The Killers' Mr Brightside at midnight as my Birthday came in, but at the last second decided to leave it to fate. 10 minutes later everyone is laughing at me as I do a fucked off dance to Maria Carey's version of All I Want For Christmas Is You. A and I suddenly find ourselves alone – D was off somewhere so I grab her and we have a really good kiss. I hug her and everything feels great.

Much like the young guy in the police drama, who is doing his last drugs bust before heading back to Law School to support his young family, it is all too predictable which way it is going to go.

We dance some more and D comes back. I back off and get my drink. The songs pass and I get bored. I eventually ask her if it’s a good time to tell D about us, but she cant hear me. I grab her hand and take her to a corner, but she still cant hear. I take her outside, where she can hear, but doesn’t listen to me and thinks im being jealous like last week* and having a go at her for dancing with D. I explain I only want to be alone with her so we can kiss, but that I also think its time we told D so we wouldn’t have to be secret. Probably 5 or 10 minutes pass, but we are not progressing. The floor seems to shake a little as she says that its over between us.

I protest but shes sure. I ask for a reason. She says that people always split up. She doesn’t want to fight with me and that if we keep going out we will split up and it will be awful. I was so nice to her last week when she was ill that she realised she doesnt want to lose me. She only wants to be my friend as friends can last forever. I tell her that’s stupid and that people do stay together - that people definitely don’t stay together if they break up before they’ve had a chance of going out properly. Shes asks me to name 5 couples who have stayed together and I give her them without missing a beat, but it does no good.

People start leaving the club, walking past us as I try to talk her round. Toast walks past with some friends and gives me a knowing look as we low five goodbyes. D comes out with Meg and C-Unit. I say to them all that me and A have been going out, but that she has just dumped me. I count at lest 4 tumbleweeds blow past. I turn to D and say 'sorry I didn’t tell you sooner'. They suggest we go back to the flat. I go to get my coat and Anne comes too. She says she doesn’t want to lose me as a friend. This hits a nerve and I tell her to fuck off. We get back to the guys and I check my watch, its 2.35 – ten minutes until the last night bus back to my folks’ house. I say im going to get it, and that D and A should go back to Meg’s as planned. I walk off but A follows me. She doesn’t want to leave it like this. As the kebab queues diminish, and the last few drunks leave the street, it goes on and on. She doesn’t give a better reason than not wanting to lose our friendship when we break up further down the line, even when i suggest a few to her. We soon stop communicating. The layers of arguments become so thick that we are barely touching the cake.

Thinking about it now, she is probably right – we have argued or talked about arguing more than we’ve had fun over the last fortnight, and that isn’t really the foundation for a long term relationship. I can see that logically, but in my heart I still want to make things work out. If she really wants to be friends so much she shouldn’t have kept trying to pull me this year when she was drunk and I was seeing the Twin and LEA. Even when we talked soberly about getting together there was no mention of the friends-being-lost problem. Meg asked me the next day if she thought it might be the case that she was only interested when it was secret and exciting. I hadn’t ever thought that, and don’t really now, but the last paragraph, at least, paints that picture.

What is blindingly obvious is that there are other reasons that she is not saying. I would really like to know them, just so I can take them onboard – they might help me out in the future.

The next morning I wake and feel wholly rubbish. I look around my room and recognise my bedroom as the one at my parents house. The memories of the above flood in and I hope it’s a bad dream. I remember walking A back to the flat and then walking about a park in Clifton wondering where it had all gone wrong. Eventually I got a taxi home and had a good chat with the driver about what had gone on. The texts soon start rolling in from around the country from friends wishing me a happy 30th and hoping that I had a good night out. Among them is A saying shes ‘sorry very very sorry’. I pin some hope to this and over the next day and a half we exchange a few texts- me asking if we had really split, her replying that she was sorry. I eventually phone her to ask her if there is any future for us. I need to know. She says that there isn’t after what I said. I don’t remember what I said but she doesn’t want to go back over it.

So here we are again. Dumped twice in 3 months. I had made a resolution last year to make a greater effort with girls, to take more chances, and it has worked well. But its not a nice feeling to get dumped, especially for a shit reason. Everyone said it was a bad idea to go out with a friend and a housemate, and my current hesitation to head back to the flat serves as fairly conclusive proof that everyone was right again. Despite this, under the same circumstances, I think I’d have to do it again – You’ve got to try these things out for yourself.

There are, however, some positives. I only slept 3 hours on Sat night worrying about this. I managed 5 hours last night, and with the definitive closure gained in conversation today my head feels a lot less like a Spectrum trying to load up Vista, so I might well do the 8. I got over LEA – I certainly dont hate her anymore – and ill get over AnnE. I haven’t even cried this time. Maybe we can even be friends. Don’t get me wrong- I will miss the hugs, and id like a better reason off her when I see her, and I really hope she tries to pull me again at some point so I can tell her to fuck off - but it is obviously for the best if she doesn’t want it, so I will get my shit together and move on. I can plan holidays now, ive got some motivation to train hard and I will not have to worry about her or her problems so much. The biggest positive was realising my friends will be there for me. Meg and C unit took me out the next day even though I barely said a word and C was completely open and philosophical on his previous lost loves as I gave him a lift home. JB and Barbie were on the phone to me straight away and Pman made me laugh out loud for 5 minutes with this text (following on from a ‘cheers for coming, I got dumped at end’ - type effort from me);

We both had a brilliant time! Sorry about AnnE but my brief assessment was nice tits, bad attitude so I think you’re better off without. I hope you don’t somehow get back together and end up married now.

The blogTV show, ‘Living with my ex in the same flat’ will begin in the New Year.

Merry Xmas y’all.

*her dancing and flirting with some cocks last week were The Truth - star of the last post.

Errors and issues (featuring The Truth).

2008-12-15T10:37:00.005Z

For fuck’s sake.

I had a massive row with AnnE at the weekend. It was no fun whatsoever. It was preceded, predictably, by far too much drinking. At the time the issues seemed so huge that they dwarfed any chance we had of staying together. The truth was so big and scary that when it crawled out of its lair I was petrified and couldn’t look it in the eye. Every action I attempted to make it go away just seemed to feed it's strength. I talked about it with The Captain as it loomed large over both of us at 3am in a takeaway, but we failed to make it go away.

The Truth followed me home and featured heavily in the row, which i am not very experienced in, and have no desire to gain any more.

Then, in the cold light of a two day hangover the truth was pathetic. It had shrunk to the size of a spider I could crush without even realising. It still made me jump a little when I saw it (it was spider after all, what was it doing in here?) and it had a flicker of power to worry me about our future. But in comparison to the beast i had seen last night it was minuscule. Nights out can get silly – out of control before you realise what has happened.

We talked a bit about the way we remembered things going on but it was hard work for us both. I remain slightly concerned that she is not as serious as me about going out – she infers that she doesn’t want things to go wrong between us because of the house, where as in comparison to her I couldn’t really give a fuck about the house. In my darkest moments I worry she feels trapped ‘seeing’ me as dumping me would make the house awkward, but I hope she is stronger than letting such things drag out. In our warmest moments, which are (well, were) the vast majority, it still feels great and more than worthwhile. I am (well, was) falling for her.

I guess, like everyone else, we could go either way. Time has it in her hands.

The criminal’s address.

2008-12-09T10:23:00.003Z

Our first house party went quite well. The flat by the sea has been threatening to open its doors ever since we have moved in, but the summer came and went with nothing but clashing dates, and the idea’s momentum was burnt out. DPsyc turned it around when one of his course mates, Zil, had a birthday coming up and was reluctant to do anything for it. He stealthily Facebooked, emailed and called up her old and new housemates, some friends and coursemates, and we all stood together in the darkened lounge while Zil came up the stairs. Her illusion of a few quiet drinks round ours then out into town were shattered with the sharp sounds or party poppers and shrill voices of SURPRISE!

Then it was all over. I had felt more tense than I had hoped, and spent a fair bit of time in sight of some undergrads that I feared might be in danger of breaking, or puking on, some stuff if left unchecked. We played a good party game where you have to pick up a piece of card off the floor using only your mouth, and only your feet can touch the floor, but there were some bendy girls who were better at it than me. I chatted to a guy from the Wakeboarding club, who by chance was also one of Zil’s new housemates. The land of the Plym is a very small place. Then I left on my drive to A’s and Veggies for the Grim8 – a race I had entered at the last minute – and stayed at theirs for the rest of the weekend.

On my return late into Sunday, DPsyc told me that his car had been ‘done over’ sometime on the Friday night. He had called the police and they had informed him that he was one of 12 who had reported something missing or broken from their cars over the Friday/Saturday night. We were later to learn (through a variety of unreliable sources) that a ‘Druggie’ who was new to the area had been out stealing things that could be shifted quickly in exchange for his next hit. What a fucker. DPsyc’s side indicator bulbs were gone, his wing mirror glass removed, his lock destroyed with a screwdriver, but this unsuccessful entry attempt had led onto his back window glass being smashed – even though there was nothing in the car to steal.

Amazingly, the police called back to say that some of the items had been recovered. The guy had apparently been caught, and some of the items, including DPsyc’s side indicators were found. These were returned in a sealed evidence bag, which was obviously some sort of mistake, as it had the address of where they were recovered from, in fact they had the exact location, ‘On coffee table, front room’ of where they were recovered from. The address was about 20 houses down from ours. I once did 6 months work at the Crown Prosecution Service and remember they were incredibly paranoid about sending out witness statements to the defence, as each one had to meticulously checked for any hint of a location as to wear the Witness might be from. Each one had large bits blacked out, and were checked several times by different people before they were posted. The police here obviously didn’t care too much about giving out this guys address to the one of his victims. The guy himself is probably too smacked of his head to care about anything.

I was quite angry about the cars that got broken – thousands of pounds worth of damage – all for one individual who has gone wrong. I don’t know if I should feel sorry for him, or if it’s OK to feel like I do, that he should be put in jail for a long time. I understand that that isn’t really the solution, but I struggle to see what is. We half-to-quarter-joked about what we should send him in the post, or what we should put on his doorstep at 4 in the morning.

Im still not sure.

Pants

2008-11-18T13:03:00.005Z

I check my watch and its time to leave. I have to get showered, changed, parked and walk up to the quiz, all in 30 mins. Hopefully ill have a spare 5 minutes to get some dinner in on the way.

I am rushing as I enter the changing rooms and take off my faithful Senegalese football shirt. I hunt in my bag for some shower gel. I take off my shoes, socks and shorts and am just about to take of my pants and head for the showers when I recognise Tom Daley. Plymouth's golden boy (well, golden in the 8th, rather than 1st place in the Olympics sense) is also in the changing rooms. This fact confuses me slightly and I’m not sure what to do, but end up staring at him, my mind matching his real life face with TV memories from Beijing. He catches me looking at him so I feel compelled to combat the rapidly increasing awkwardness and say,

‘Oh Hiya!’

pointing at him with one hand and giving a thumbs up with the other. He is polite enough to reply and nod while I continue the crap conversation;

'So you're back into training now then...'

'Hope everything is going well..'

'Did you really fall out with the other synchro guy?..'

But something is wrong. Suddenly I'm very aware of my lack of clothing. His voice is saying the occasional word but his body language is saying ‘stop talking to me this is very uncomfortable.’ I imagined afterwards that the dialogue in his head was saying , ‘A sweaty man has rushed into the room, taken most of his clothes off and then has suddenly started talking to me. Get yourself out of this situation.’

So that was the day I spoke to Tom Daley in my pants.

Krypton Fish Amazon Factor

2008-11-11T10:41:00.003Z

By some mysterious, and numerous, quirks of fate, not to mention a series of unlikely events I find myself lying in bed with AnnE. We embrace as a hangover stamps noisily around my body and I dare to dream of contentment in between short dozes and long thoughts over investing and getting dumped. Once bitten twice shy, and all that.

The past few weeks have been messy. I’ve drunk more than I have in years, partly because there are no races to prepare for but mainly because there has been a busy social calendar and I feel like I may as well get involved. This time last year I was off to Brazil with work for 6 weeks, and had arranged my 3 week holiday straight afterwards, so I missed the current seasonal change to cold dark evenings with leaves on the ground. This year I seem to be busier at work than ever, and yet still find myself wondering what my next challenge should be. Common sense seems to indicate I should get the current one finished first.

I entered the new series of ITV’s 'Krypton Factor' on a whim, and got an interview, but couldn’t make it through work commitments. They phoned up on a Wednesday and were like, ‘Ooo, could you come up to Cardiff on Friday morning’ and I was like, ‘well maybe if you'd given me some warning, but I've got work on Friday.’ So they tried to re-arrange but it wasn’t to be. In a similar vein I am also writing an application for a BBC wildlife series, but suspect that this one will be slightly more competitive. I hope that tales of my trip to Brazil might count for something and I can get an expedition out to combine filming some fish, maybe giant freshwater stingrays, with doing some more fieldwork for the current work project. You’ve got to have a dream, right?

AnnE is lovely, but, I’m dont feel able to rush into anything this time. I’ve gone from living in different cities to the previous two girls I’ve ‘seen’ to living in the same house as AnnE. Its not that awkward par se, but sometimes on a bland Tuesday evening you just want to veg out and not have to make an effort. I think ill miss the excitement of dating, as I see her a lot at the house so the time is not that special. That said, we are having a ‘date’ tonight to see the new Bond flick, so we’ll soon figure out how we feel. Speaking to a few mates I don’t think housemates getting together is as uncommon as I first thought – I can now think of 3 at least – all of which went/are still going long term.

Time will tell.

Very apt...

2008-10-16T09:53:00.003Z

I've just had the craziest week,
Like a party bag of lies, booze and then deceit.
And I don't know why I want to voice this out loud,
It's therapeutic somehow.

So I'm moving to New York cos I've got problems with my sleep,
And we're not the same and I will wear that on my sleeve.
So I'm moving to New York cos I've got issues with my sleep,
Looks like Christmas came early, Christmas came early for me.

I put one foot forward and ended up thirty yards back,
Am I losing touch? Or am I just completely off the track?
And I don’t know why I want to voice this out loud,
It’s therapeutic somehow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTEN359V8pI

(...apart from the moving to New York bit)

Oh. (Dumped)

2008-09-30T08:15:00.004Z

Oh.

Still no news from LEA. No text. No message. I hate myself for doing so, but I check her Facebook. She is definitely back, its full of loads of shit updates. Whats going on?

I email her at lunchtime, ‘Hey! Are you back?’

She replies, ‘Yeah’

Nothing else. One word. Not even a full stop.

Oh.

This is not good.

I don’t reply.

The afternoon passes.

I walk home, and decide to go up round the Hoe. I pass a bench looking out over the sea and sit down to think. I look to my right and see another bench. I suddenly get a memory. That bench, this location, has some history. It’s the bench I sat on about 9 years ago, under what feels like similar circumstances, when I had just split with my Uni girlfriend. At this moment (well, lets not lie, about 1 minute after id set off again) I get the text.

'Blah blah blah are you free for a chat blah blah blah blah I'm finding more than friends weird and holiday made me realise that. Don’t want to loose you as a friend thou blah blah blah blah'

Oh.

So that’s it.

My mind whirrs. I'm gutted, but it’s some sort of relief to know at least. My brain kicks out these thoughts, in this order, over the next 5 minutes:

1. Does that mean she’s shacked up with some cunt on her holiday?
2. What am I going to do with the tickets I bought for us to go and see Tim Minchin on Sunday?
3. I cringe at the thought of sending her a FaceBook message while she was on holiday saying that I missed her loads.
4. What / How has (this) gone wrong in such a short space of time?
5. I don’t think I want to be friends with her. Ive seen a different side and cant go back.

I get home. I decide to run away from the problem. I run for 2 hours. I did 1¾ hours yesterday, so I’ve just set a new record for the most running I’ve ever done in 2 days – about 30 miles.

I feel more angry than distraught.

But I still cry a little bit.

My thoughts sway between two schools. The ageing 3-belt champion idea is to call her up and launch into her; tell her she shouldn’t be so fickle, shouldn’t fuck about with peoples feelings, and should have told me before she went on holiday. But this is not me. The undefeated young challenger idea is to try and rise above it – we were good friends once - we've got lots of mutual friends. Maybe, probably, in a week or two ill be grateful for doing so if I bite my lip now. I decide to not reply and let things set in for a day or two.

Then I get home and change my mind. I think I should send her a text or else she might call me and I don’t really want to speak to her. At first I write:

‘WTF?! Youre so weird. You shouldnt fuck about with peoples feelings’

But during typing it the predictive text only found ‘duck’ instead of ‘fuck’ and as I was trying to solve it the screen suddenly said ‘Sending Message.’

Panic!

I press every button on the phone 34 times in one second and thank fuck it cancelled the sending. Phew. I’m not sure what LEA would have made of ‘you shouldn’t duck’ Maybe she would have taken it as a threat – ‘don’t you fucking duck bitch when I shoot at you!’ - Or maybe not. I think back to when I finished with the Twin and got a blank text through; I guess she wasn’t quite so lucky with the cancelling.

Having read the text back it sounded a bit jovial, a bit matter of fact. I want her to know she has hurt, but I don’t want to write an essay. I change it to;

‘Oh. Understood. I am gutted. You shouldnt be so fickle with peoples hearts’

No Reply.

Good.

Now I'm in my room listening to Damien Rice and Arcade Fire, typing this. I made some freezer bolognaise but cant eat it. I try to phone my mum (she doesn’t know about LEA) as it would be nice to have a chat about nothing in particular, but she is engaged for three tries.

Oh.

Without wanting to sound too fickle myself, I’m looking forward to ‘Amazon’ tonight more than ever. Ive heard that they go to Manaus in one episode, the city I stayed in for 6 weeks last year.

I hope AnnE and DPsyc are not downstairs as Ill have to tell them and it will be rubbish.

Dumped.

Oh.

The Sport and The Girl(s)

2008-09-26T16:00:00.002Z

Rubbish. Ive left too long between posts again. My boss has come back from Oz so ive been busy catching up with the stuff I should have done while she was away but was watching YouTube for most of the day.

Bristol half marathon was a lovely day out. I ran with my friend J for a few miles, then he pulled away from me and I never saw him again until the end. He finished 1 minute in front of me with little training, which was ever so slightly annoying, but I did do my best time for Bristol by 1 second which cancelled out any disappointment. Another friend was 40 seconds in front of me, and his brother did under 1 hour 20 seconds, which is a ridiculous time. I enjoyed the day, and despite the even shitter than usual goody bag, it is a treat to run around the closed off city streets which have so many childhood memories.

I saw LEA on the Friday night before and had an OK time at the cinema. We watched Rocknrolla which was quite shit, and she was very tired throughout the evening. She then bailed on coming to the race, and then I couldn’t get in contact with her in the evening so had to head back without seeing her. I was, at the time, convinced something was up.

Last weekend I did a posh gym triathlon. It was very funny. DPsyc, my housemate, is a member there and noticed a flyer on the wall advertising a sprint triathlon. It turned out to be a 5k exercise bike, 3k outside run and finally 10 lengths of a 20m pool. I turned up and had a look about the place, which emerged to be incredibly nice. The huge aircon room full of machines and weights, the aircraft hanger of indoor tennis courts, the spa, the pools, the everything. But with hindsight, maybe it was too nice. I don’t think id be able to properly train in such nice surroundings- id be wanting to sit down and have a coffee rather than busting out some running. Anyway, I made my way to the ‘Conservatory’ where 8 exercise bikes were lined up. I’ve never really had a go on a proper exercise bike, so had a quick warm up while I was waiting to start. It doesn’t really bare any resemblance to road cycling but is quite good fun. The distance goes down faster by either increasing your pedalling speed or by increasing the resistance. I just got my cadence to about 100 and then dialled up the resistance to what I felt like I could keep going for 5k. I ended up doing it in 7 minutes something, which was in second place, about a minute behind some old guy who had gone out hard and looked like he was really struggling to stay upright as he negotiated down the steps to start his run. I caught him up on the run and was about 20 seconds behind him as he started his swim. I eventually overtook him on the last length of the swim and so won my heat by 4 seconds. I got an email with the results on the next day and it turned out that I had finished second overall. That’s my best result ever, by miles, which was truly exciting! And just shows that if you want to get fit, and nice comfy gym is not the place to do it.

LEA has been on holiday for the past week or so, which has left me lots of time to both reflect on what is happening between us and avoid kissing other girls when drunk. Two feats which I have achieved with some pride, but, it remains incredible how much more interest I am attracting having told people im now ‘seeing’ someone. Its like you are flagged up as an acceptable catch when you’re seeing someone else, while you get pased over as potentially dodgy when you’re single. I think I might write this up as a post, if I can just find some time to waste at work.

Good weekends to you all.

Written on Friday, posted on Monday...

2008-09-15T15:52:00.003Z

Hungover, I am, again, after Pub Thursday. There are no stories from the week so it will be a diary post today.

Wake boarding was cancelled last night due to it being too windy. We went down to the centre but the sea was really choppy and the two experienced guys both thought it would be rubbish, so we drove home and moaned about the weather. It has, apparently, been the wettest two consecutive summers ever in England. It feels like the summer has been stolen, but southern Europe has had better than average sunshine, so maybe not. It is made worse by not having a holiday to look forward to this year. There is no Brazil trip (though maybe next year…), and I haven’t booked another holiday as am really struggling with funds while trying to save up for a new car. I think once I get switched into winter mode ill quite enjoy it, but at the moment my body wants to lie in the sun, but the weather is so cold we have had to put the heating on.

This morning I have been reading a lot about the LHC and am quite interested in its results, despite not fully understanding the finer details of what is going to happen. It is by far the biggest and most exciting science experiment ever made. There is a really good science podcast on the BBC (here) the current episode of which is all about the LHC. If you have any science geek genes whatsoever you’ll probably enjoy it. I’ve just tried to put a clever status on my Facebook saying that the LHC was not as complicated as my HPLC (which is constantly going wrong) but it kept on crashing so I gave up.

This weekend brings the Bristol Half marathon, which is my last race of the season. I’ve lost a little bit of enthusiasm for training over the final few weeks, but am still hoping to run a PB, and will be gutted if I don’t get under 1h30m. My run training has been slightly different this year as ive done a lot more easy pace long runs (~20K) and occasional short sprints, as opposed to only running my usual 10K type distances. Ive also been playing 5-a-side footy once a week which I think is brilliant for speed training, but I guess we will see on Sunday.

Im back to the homeland tonight, so have got another date with LEA. Things are going ‘alright’, which is a step down from the first few weeks, but I think this is mainly because I haven’t seen her for 4 weeks. The reasons why, and the consequences of which can be analysed (and have been, by my head) for hours with few conclusive answers turning up.

What am I?

2008-09-05T11:51:00.004Z

The familiar sensations come back to me as I walk into work. My legs ache, like all the toxins from last night have migrated down into my calves. My mind whirs as I flick through the memories of last night. I turn on the radio in my phone and plug in the earphones. The music sounds different. It has stopped being background noise. The tunes kick down the door to my mood and overpower my senses. I smile and sing. The songs mean nothing to me but my eyes are welling up. I feel euphoric as a thunderstorm soaks me and rain and tears run down my face.

Weird.

I get a sausage bap, a coffee, and retire to my office. I write this post. My legs still ache.

I’m hungover.

Wakey Wakey!

2008-09-01T15:16:00.003Z

Yeah I went Wake boarding last night. Do you see what I’ve done with the title there?

A few of the guys from work go every week and there was a spare place on the boat so they asked me to come along. My only concern about doing it was getting injured as I’ve got the ‘Stol Half Marathon in 2 weeks, and I have seen quite a few of the first timers hobbling about the day after with a whiplash or crooked neck from a wipe out on their first go. I’ve always fancied giving it a try though so it seemed too go a chance to miss, and plenty of time to recover if it did all go wrong.

I’m really glad I decided to go too, it’s Fantastic Contraption-esque in how much fun it delivers and was a great evening. I think it was worth the £10 fee just to have a drive around Plym sound for a few hours, and we even had a hint of sunshine (which has been extremely rare this summer):

I got a lot of advice from the regulars on how to get standing up, which, apparently, is the most difficult part. Waz went first and zoomed around both sides of the wake and even pulled the ‘Michael Jackson’ pose, which as you might imagine involves your right hand grabbing your crotch and shouting something that sounds like ‘Shaaa-mon!’

It was soon my go and I sat in the water, legs bent, touching my arse with my heels as I’d been instructed. The boat pulled away, and as instructed I didn’t fight the rope, and tried to let the boat pull me up. After about 0.5 seconds I was in a desperate fight with the rope and boat didn’t seem to be pulling me anywhere but under the water. After about 1 second I was going head first, doing a quite convincing impression of a basking shark as gallons of water went into and swilled around my mouth, and then with no gills to escape from it all went down into my stomach. Not a good start, I thought, as I coughed it all back up again. My second go achieved a similar fate, and I was probably on about my tenth go before I eventually managed to get standing, then changing direction, and then crossing the wake before taking a dip. Looking back now I think I got too much advice at the start and did the best when I just pulled myself up on instinct rather than doing everything I had been told. On my last go the driver, Tam, gave me a ‘circle of death’ which is a first timers initiation involving him driving in a circle as fast as he can, everyone on the boat shouting ‘C-O-D!’ ‘C-O-D!’ as loud as they can, and me spinning wider and wider on the rope, going faster than I can, right up until doing my second impression of the evening, this time of a skimming stone that had been thrown by a professional stone skimmer, as I bounced over the water crooking my neck and giving myself whiplash.

Today I’m having to do that thing when you have to turn your whole body to look a different way, which is quite annoying, but nothing a nice rest won’t fix. I'm now wondering if I'm cool enough to pull off describing myself as a 'Boarder.

Probably not.

Hello world.

2008-08-28T15:27:00.006Z

What with the Olympics and Fantastic Contraption, I have lost quite a bit of Blog momentum and not posted for a while. This leaves the frequently encountered problem of whether or not to back date a brief history of all that has happened (not a great deal) or write a post on one specific thing and loose any sense of continuity. I have decided to do neither, but to include this paragraph as some form of justification.

One thing that has been very slowly emerging as some form of success of late has been my project at work. We got the fish breeding relatively quickly, but it has taken an age to get them successfully raising their young, rather than deciding to have a kiddie midnight feast. I have spent hours and hours in the aquarium recording what is going on in terms of the parent-parent and parent-offspring interactions which is reasonably interesting, but leaves me with a lot of spare time. Cue my latest craze of photography and playing round with the settings to try and get a decent photo of the parents with their young. It has proved difficult, the biggest problems being the low light and shooting through the glass and into water. However, a high n value, rather than any great skill has served me well and I’ve had a few reasonably decent results. It’s just a shame that the colours darken up quite a bit during their parental stages:

Diary time

2008-08-08T14:23:00.003Z

So here we are again.

I called the Twin and felt quite sick as she answered in chirpy spirits and giggled down the phone to me. She was driving with The Other Twin so I said we needed to have a chat and asked when was a good time. She called back later and I said what I had rehearsed in my head – that I was enjoying seeing her, but that I didn’t see a long term future, so it was probably better to stop seeing each other. It was quite awkward and I didn’t enjoy it at all. I got a blank text from her about 10 minutes later which said ‘Nothing to display’ which I wondered if was her saying she had no emotion to display to me, but I later experimented and found out that it’s what gets displayed if you send a completely blank text. I thought about her debating whether or not to send me a text and then accidentally pressing send. Ive heard nothing since that text, so I hope she’s good and really wish her well.

The ‘split’ was the sum of a few parts. I’d had a chat to a friend, GR, while canoeing, who I know speaks to the other Twin. She was asking what was happening and I said – we saw each other every few weeks and it was going ok. GR asked if I wanted to be ‘with’ the Twin and I didn’t really know. She said that I should either get together properly or not see her at all – that we had passed the point where it was OK to casually see her. After thinking about this I agreed that she was right, maybe I was being a bit selfish. Another friend said I was ‘using’ her which I think sounds harsh, but there might be some truth in it. I think the bottom line is that I was happy casually seeing her and didn’t realise she was now needing more commitment.

I listened to ‘Everybodys Free (To Wear Sunscreen)' and took some life instructions from it: ‘Don’t be reckless with anybody’s heart’

The same weekend me and LEA got on really well. Over a bbq we drank some wine, chatted, flirted and later on had a bit of a cuddle before bed. I went back to my tent and wondered if I should have gone for more, but then woke up, thought ‘oh my head hurts’ and didn’t think much more about anything. On my way home I got a call from Barbie saying LEA had spoke to him, that she thought I had tried to kiss her goodnight and she had shied away and was now regretting it. Barbie said I should come back to Bris and take her out for a drink and chat. I was half way home and had to do 2 hours in the aquarium so said I couldn’t, but that I would call LEA later on. About 30 mins later a got a text from LEA saying she really liked me, was worried about breaking our friendship etc etc but would I like to go out.

I thought about this all the way home, usually with a big smile on my face. I called her and said I felt the same and arranged to go back to Bris the next weekend. She’s now coming down here tomorrow.

Things seem really good.

So far.

A Tradegy

2008-08-08T09:47:00.003Z

When I was at Uni up north I used to play 5-a-side football for a staff team. We were generally older, slower and less fit the whipper-snapper undergrad teams, but we partially compensated by having a greater experience of the game and better organisation. The team was quite an interesting mix. We had the local MP in goal who was excellent at debating with referees about their dodgy decisions. I used to play midfield with a chef from Barbados, right behind our striker ‘Fletch’. He was a particularly interesting character – a scouser, an ex-monk, and now a religious studies lecturer. He apparently used to be the monk with the thought of the day on the 90’s breakfast TV show ‘The Big Breakfast’, but I can’t find anything on Google to back this up. We had an average season, but not knowing many people in a new town I really enjoyed playing and having some banter with the guys. Fletch organised a Christmas meal, and everyone, particularly Fletch made me feel part of the team and we laughed and joked our way through that evening and the next season. Eventually work dictated that I move away and I rarely, then never, saw the team.

I got sent a link to a Facebook group I could check the latest season’s results, and I heard that promotion was on the cards and that Fletch had got married and just had a little girl. Then last week I heard that Fletch had been to Australia on a conference, and had died from a heart attack.

Time and distance apart had softened this blow to me, but it’s always a horrible shock when you hear of someone’s death, especially someone who was so young and had just started a family.

'A Tradegy' just doesnt seem to do it justice.

Sardines

2008-07-30T14:42:00.004Z

We had been driven up river, floated, paddled and swam down to the campsite, and everyone was now making severe dents into their BBQ, beer and wine supplies. Someone suggested a game of ‘Sardines’ which involves one person hiding in a set area and the others trying to find them. The twist is that when you do find the hider, you join them (ideally without anyone else seeing you) and this continues until the last person is walking around on their own. It can get quite scary in the dark on your own, particularly if you play it in a closed fairground, which we did. After the first game it was decided that everyone should pair up, as the dark and ghostly horse faces on the carousel were making everyone jump, giggle and then reach out for some nearby reassurance. In the second game, LEA (with whom there is some history) and I had to hide. We ran off into the dark as 12 other 25-30 year old adults got into a huddle and counted up to 60 out loud. We found a carriage on the carousel that was made to look like a pair of the ghostly horses were pulling it around. We managed to fit under the seats where we faced each other, both giving out prods and tickles in an attempt to make each other laugh out loud and give away our position.

That was when it turned slightly scary.

But funny.

The fairground owner, a gypsy, came over and told some of the hunters that ‘this area is closed’ and ‘you should all leave right away’ The hunters took him seriously, but didn’t want to abandon the game. The Gypsy came over to the carousel and stepped up onto it, about 5 metres from where we lay. The whole metal base lurched over slightly under his weight, then clunked back up to level. We heard his footsteps as he traced a path across the carousel, then it lunged down and bounced up again as he stepped off. We heard the hunters calling out our names and telling us the game was over as everyone had to leave the fairground. We then saw J come over and he spotted us, dived into the carriage and started giggling with us, all in about 5 seconds. We whispered in the dark about what we should do, and were about to get up, when we heard someone else coming over. A couple came and stood right by the edge of the carriage. They began kissing, and for a horrible moment I thought they might come and sit in the carriage, but instead the girl got up on the horse pulling our carriage and the guy took some photos of her. The really strange thing for them, when they have a closer look at the photos, will be the 3 pairs of legs and feet visible in the background of their secret fairground elope.

The Gypsy came over and moved them on, ‘its really not safe for you here’ the really sounding severely intimidating to me, but probably more than it was meant to. I suddenly had visions of him pretending to have not seen us and start the carousel up, turning the speed up more and more until we flew out of the carriage and exploded on the concrete.

But he didn’t. We heard him walk off again and then made our escape back to the tents, laughing like kids all the way.

There is plenty more to this story, particularly parts involving LEA which will be explained later. I need to speak to the Twin tonight and call time on our involvement, the thought of doing which has been occupying my head for 2 days and is making me feel sick. I am a coward.

The week that was

2008-07-25T13:19:00.003Z

Sunday was the Plymouth Olympic distance Triathlon. I did a new pb of 23 mins for the swim, which A's had bettered by only 4 seconds, though i didn't know this until i got to transition and he was still there, putting on his cycling shoes. Its amazing how much faster a wetsuit makes you swimming; 3, maybe even 4 minutes over 1500m compared to the pool. The bike was one hill after another so felt like I was only ever either flying down, or struggling up a gradient, and didn’t ever really settle onto my tribars and power out some speed. I caught up A’s at 18km and had a brief ‘Hey’ ‘Hows it going’ as I went past. The run was fine for about 3k, but then I began to feel the early onset of cramp in my quads after going up ‘Murder’ hill. This seemed to clear on the flat, then flare up again on any up hill sections, though it never stopped me completely. Mind games I think. I crossed the line in the sunshine some 11 minutes quicker than my time last year. I really feel that I'm making progress and I think if I train hard this year I could make it into the top 20 next year. Great day.

Monday, one day later than Craig David, I chilled.

Tuesday I had my MOT. Everything on the exhaust seems to have become completely knackered. They managed to weld the manifold, but I needed several new hose bits and a new catalytic converter, not because it was knackered itself, but the pipe next it was corroded beyond a weld-repair. With a few other bits and bobs and the labour it was £580. I debated whether or not it was worth paying this out, but my dad convinced me it was. I wasn’t so sure, but went with his judgement. I'm going to save £200 a month this year and buy a new car next year. At least that’s the plan. In the evening I went fishing and finally caught some fish - 4 mackerel to be precise and I eat them for dinner. I caught one on a pink sand eel lure, and then 3 on some feathers.

Wednesday night I went surfing after work with two friends from work. It was predicted as 3-4 stars on Magic Seaweed, but the blue sky and sunshine had larger stakes in my decision to go. We went to Polzeath, which is probably the nearest north coast break, and it was really clean surf, if a little busy. I got out after about 90 minutes and had a look around the rock pools while I waited for the others to get out.

Thursday night the housemates and I discovered yet another reason why the flat by the sea is the best in Plymouth. We have joined the local Tennis club, which cost the mind bogglingly pitiful sum of £15 for the year. The tennis court is grass, but a little bit rubbish, but out behind the court there is a bowling green, another big grass area and a BBQ. It overlooks the sea and is absolutely beautiful. I couldn’t believe there was no one there, and the groundsman later told me that it rarely got used, which seems ridiculous. It’s like having a massive garden for £15 a year.

Friday night (tonight) I'm off back to Bris for a BBQ with friends before we head out on a canoeing trip. We get driven upriver by the canoe company, paddle/float our way down river then camp for the night and then carry on the next day before getting picked up and driven back. Sounds simply wonderful to me.

2008-07-10T11:55:00.004Z

Have I been in the aquarium too long? How have I missed this sneaking up?

(and here)

Wheres the hype? Frenzy? (and ultimately dissapointment?)

Plus for all you Porno Pants fans, heres a rare glimpse of them in action...

PP: Episode 8

2008-07-08T14:15:00.001Z

Bournemouth Tri was a wash out. The swim got cancelled due to some waves which didn’t really compare to those we swam in at Bude. The wind was quite bad though, and both the Sprint and Olympic events got reduced to a 5k 20k 5k duathlon (run bike run). We had travelled over to Bournemouth on the Saturday, found our £23 B&B and guessed how long it had been since the rooms had been decorated; the latest estimate being 1985. At 5.15 the next morning my phone did its light up, vibrate, then beep alarm routine and we quickly showered, eat as many Weetabix as we dared and wheeled the bike down towards the seafront. The news of the swim cancellation came as no surprise and we racked our bikes and moaned about paying so much money out only for the race to be thwarted by a bit of wind. JC went off at 6.30, DC at 6.40 and A’s at 7. I had an hour to kill until my ‘veteran’ wave went off, which I spent cheering the others on as they came and left the transition area on their various legs, and warming my hands under a drier in the men’s toilets. I didn’t spend as long as I wanted to in there though for fear of the Porno Pants + Mens toilets + hanging around equalling some unwanted gay event that probably would have been worth blogging about. Both the run legs were the same out and back along the promenade and the bike was an undulating dual carriageway, all under the supervision of a relentless wind and rain. I hit 60km/h down one hill with the wind behind me, then struggled to average 20km/h on the way back with the wind and rain in my face. I must have sworn 20 times as rain dripped off my helmet and face and the puddles splashed up over my legs and filled my shoes. I sprinted the last 200 m and gritted my teeth as the wind sand-blasted my legs and I swore another 10 times.

Plymouth Olympic is in 2 weeks. I think if it rains then as well I am going to have to give some serious consideration to emigration.

Bude Shoreline Triathlon (Porno Pants: Episode 7)

2008-07-04T14:00:00.005Z

The water surface turns the suns light into visible rays, which penetrate to deep beds of kelp and rocks below. Both of my ears are water logged and there is little sound. I turn my head to breath and my right ear and eye break the surface. I see a flash of blue sky, some bubbling water and something of the dark shape that is the guy in a wetsuit next to me. The water in my ear clears and I suddenly hear a harsh churning of sound which just as quickly gets muffled again as my head turns back and ear goes under the water. This cycle of looking at the bottom, turning to breath, seeing some sky, ear clearing then blocking continues for about 5 minutes as I head out towards the buoy. The rocky bottom begins to get split up by lines of sand and eventually the dark aquamarines of the start have become completely saturated by the white sand. The water too becomes murky as the increasing waves pick up the sand and give it a smoothie-making blitz. By the time I arrive at the buoy the protection of a sea wall to my left has reduced to nothing and the full force of the surf is pounding us. Staying upright and breathing is becoming difficult, which I’m forced to give priority to above swimming for a few seconds. I manage to get to within 5 metres of the buoy and tread water for a bit, waiting for a space amongst the bodies to join in their migration around it and in towards the beach. A wave washes the buoy close to me, and for an instant I think I can make it around, only for the same wave to wash me backwards to from where I had just come. The wave passes and the buoy springs further back on its chain, now 20 metres away. I try again with similar results, and decide its best to just swim the long way round it than mess about playing dodge-buoy.

The swim at low tide- the buoy that caused all the trouble is just about visible

The rest of the race went well. I made it around the bike course with no crashes(!) and marvelled, and then checked out the two women who overtook me during the race - one on the bike and one on the run, after starting 5 minutes behind. The first was the eventual winner, Flora Duffy, who will be competing in the Beijing Olympics representing Bermuda, and was a proper little hottie with a very nice bike. The other was Helen Parkinson, who, it turns out was World Quadrathlon champion in 2006, and was a very tall hottie with a very nice behind. Both of them were going too fast to get a proper ogle at though.

***********************************************************************************

The summer of SMARTBuddy sport continues in 2 days with the Bournemouth Olympic distance tri. The only thing of note is my first progression to the world of being 30: The race is split up into age groups, and they take your age from the 31st December, which is after I will be 30. This means that I will have to start in the ‘old persons’ 30 years old and above group, and I have a ‘30’ in the age column next to my name in the start list, whihc is both untrue and unfair. Worse of all is that A’s is in the 18-29 group, and will start an hour before me so we won’t be able to race in ‘real time’ and will have to just compare times afterwards.

In summary, I’m upset about being nearly 30.

Half birthday

2008-06-24T10:22:00.003Z

My good friend A’s had his birthday at the weekend, which falls on the same day as my half birthday. For those not in the know, your half birthday is 6 months after your whole birthday. I only started celebrating my half birthday because it rained on A’s whole birthday parade, but its stuck, and once you start down the road of diving up the birthday year, various fractions of quarter, sixth and twelfth- birthday fragments are all available as excuses to get some cake in. It’s also nice to have a day in the summer – the longest day – to do some birthday type stuff, rather than having a day in the winter (the shortest day of the year – curse my luck!) when everyone’s already made plans for a Christmas party and can’t make it down the pub.

We had decided to do the Croyde Aquathlon, which is a Triathlon without the cycling bit, so I didn’t have any excuse to wear my new Porno pants and packed only ‘normal’ running shorts. We set off for the coast, put up our tents and watched in horror as the clouds swept in and began to rain on both of our various birthday fraction parades. The damp Saturday morning continued to keep any high spirits in check and we ate Weetabix in large units in the hope they would see us through the forthcoming efforts.

The sea was quite flat, the briefing anything but, and the enthusiasm of the race organiser made me smile. I struggled into my new swimming wetsuit and everyone pointed and laughed at my apparently strange shaped right knee. Ive never noticed this peculiarity before, and think it’s just an artifact of wearing the wetsuit. I wondered if I should put on my latest gadget - some mask-type goggles for the run to the sea, but feared they might steam up too quickly. I decided to hold them in my hand until getting into the water, and when the mini fog horn thing sounded, I set off in a crowd of rubber clad bodies down the beach. I went off to the left of the pack so as to get some clean water to swim into. I’ve been in the mix of the swim start before and once was definitely enough. The water felt quite warm on my head, and it was fine to get straight into the swimming rather than flail about doing breaststroke thinking ‘Ooooh it’s a tad chilly isn’t it?!’ We swam out to a big orange buoy, back in to a man on the beach then out and back around another buoy, making a big ‘M’ shape.

Check out my dodgy shaped knee!

A’s was just finishing getting changed when I arrived in transition and bid me farewell, shouting ‘take your time’ as he left for the run section. I wrestled my wetsuit off and trainers on, then followed him some 30 seconds later.

My back with A's in the distance and some very young looking race officials!

I remained this distance behind him for the whole race, never quite making any headway into the gap between us. I crossed the finish line and heard someone heaving, and looked over to see A’s puking up some of the extra Weetabix that hadn’t been required in beating me.

Well done mate.

Next stop in this summer of multi sport events is the Bude Sprint Triathlon on Sunday - and that will definitely be a porno pants outing!

Who my parents were

2008-06-10T13:18:00.001Z

I had a trip home the other weekend. I pulled the car up onto the drive and looked at the lounge window to see Mum and Dad waving me in, just as they always do, even when I arrive late. Mum had made some multi-grain bread and a fruit cake, as she has for the past 4 visits, all stemming from an off the cuff remark about quite liking them 5 months ago (my Nan did the exact same thing with Welsh cakes for a decade). Dad is eager to show me his new iPod and is grateful for me posting him the software to get it up and running on his computer. He hasn't quite grasped the magnitude of what 80GB is though, bless him, as he has only put 2 or 3 songs from each of his 16 albums as he 'doesn't want to fill it up with rubbish.'

I settle in with a cup of tea, and we have an hour or so of chatting about how I've been getting on at work and what the family have been up to. My parents both show smiles and flashes in their eyes as they talk about how much 'the boys' - my nephews - have grown up. Myles (my 5 year old nephew) had apparently seen me running the London marathon the previous week, which was a surprise, as I had been severely hungover in bed at the time it was on. He had seen a tall blonde guy (I later worked out to be the American Ryan Hall) and had decided that it must have been me. I'm happy with this, as have recently been compared to Peter Crouch (again) and Johnny Rotten (oh dear), both of which are a level down from America's premier distance runner.

Anyway, I digress.

Dad had made a new collage of photos in the study. He does this quite a lot. There are collages of my holiday photos, my sisters wedding, and old family photos scattered all around the house. He has made a photo area under the stairs, and there must be 50 pictures there, so tightly packed that its hard to take them all in. Dad once found a picture of his mum when she was in her 20s, taken just as she was about to tee off from the 18th hole of their local golf course in Bathampton. The next week he was up there pulling the same pose, on the same tee, but some 60 years later. The next Christmas all of his siblings got a framed version of both pictures, which dad just couldn't smile enough at as he gave out.

The study collage is a little more interesting though. It's old photos of my mum and dad. There are a few photos of their wedding which I've seen before, but some new ones of them camping, my dad surfing, and playing the guitar. In an age of waterproof digital cameras and several attempts, I've never got a photo of me surfing that is as good as this one. Maybe its the black and white, maybe i can, or would like to see shades of myself in my dads youth, but they're the most interesting photos I've ever seen.

In one, my mum and dad are sat having a BBQ by the sea, which is my favourite ever pastime. My dads car in the background with the boards on the roof is the coolest thing I've ever seen. There is one of dad in a garden, with his sister and his old 8ft Bilbo fibreglass long board that I can just remember being in the loft when i was a kid. I remember stories they have told me which are suddenly more real with these pictures to illustrate them. I start to see pathways through their life to mine; memories of being a kid, sitting on the work bench while my dad fixed the car and told me every step of what he was doing - he probably learnt those skills on the car in the picture. My mum is unrecognisable, with long brown hair, looking away from the camera, probably a bit shy. It reminds me of my group of friends camping, and some of the girls being shy of a camera - I wonder what my mum was like at this young age. The photos are long before me or my sister came along, long before there were the pressures of parenting and paying the mortgage. They're just a young couple on the beach, but the same young couple who went on to become my parents, who made me, who moulded my character, to who I owe everything that I am.

I think about these pictures a lot over the next few weeks. I think about how I'm much older now than they were at the time, and what, if anything this means. I think about how much older they are now - my dad is 60 next year - and try not to think about how frail and old they currently looked with a picture of their prime to compare to. Most of all I think about the fact that they wont be around to ask me about work, or bake me multi-grain bread forever and I vow to make more of an effort to make them happy and proud.

To Mum and Dad, I love you

Voilà la conversation dans le camping

2008-06-04T11:01:00.006Z

The memories of having a BBQ on the beach, with a sunset and friends stood around, nobody quite able to imagine quite how nice the moment is, will be the overriding memory of the trip.

There was lots of wine, of course, and several downpours that tested the smiling resolve, but certain hours in a holiday, and in your life just stand out from the rest.

The campsite was deserted, with maybe as few as 15 of the 200+ pitches taken, and 6 of those were filled by the tents we had just about managed to squeeze into our rucksacks. The beach was a 2 minute walk away, and unlike Le Grand Plage in Biarittz that we later visited, there were no other tourists around, so miles of golden sand in either direction was ours. We spent the days eating baguettes on the beach, trying out our school book French (much like Ant) that we remembered from Tricolore 1. We walked or bussed to a few different beaches and took in steaks and mussels, complete with miniature crabs, in some restaurants far too posh to be wearing sandy board shorts.

I also had my new compact camera, which when combined with my waterproof bag-type-thingy enabled me to get a few OK shots of some of the locals ripping the waves apart.

Then before long it was time to head back home to the inevitable post holiday blues, and sit in my room wondering if I should give up my job and go travelling. Writing this a few days later, I'm back in the groove and happy again, but it is slightly concerning how rapidly I flit between states of mind.

Similarly, the girl situation has become more complex. I had hoped that the Biarittz trip would consolidate or rule out things with The Twin, but neither has really happened, and for a variety of reasons I’m not sure where we stand, and if that place is even in the same country as to where we should be standing. I think my eyes have been opened to the fact that I’m probably not ready for a serious relationship – but I’m unsure as to whether that means its OK to keep seeing the Twin every two or three weeks, or if it would be a better thing to do to call time on it.

Anyway, this isn’t supposed to be a tribute blog to Adrian mole, so onwards we go. I’ve got the small matter of an Ironman-distance swim this Sunday which I feel hopelessly under prepared for, but am looking forward to seeing family and friends back in the homeland. June has arrived – not one minute shall I waste.

A Bientot.

Much like my Blog: crap name, good content.

2008-05-23T12:13:00.002Z

Off to see Them Is Me tonight. My cousin who used to sing in the band Reef has started writing again with the Bass player Jack. Theyve got the drummer from their final albumn, after the original guy left Reef and is now in Kubb. The guitarist has also played with lots of cool people, so heres hoping they can put some good tracks together.

Like this!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fIDbk8--js

Ill be singing this while im on Holiday next week!

Porno Pants: Episode 6

2008-05-19T13:42:00.005Z

I’ve just set off on the swim and my left goggle is filling up with water. I swear at the goggle for leaking and at myself for risking changing the lens before the start. I do a length with my eye shut and wonder if I can carry on like this- its only 12 more lengths to go. Then the goggle becomes completely full and looses all semblance of suction with my eye socket. They come off my face but are held onto my head by the grey swimming hat im wearing. Soon the drag of the goggles pulls my hat off and I have to grab them both with my right hand. I try to swim with them in a clenched fist, but it doesnt work so I have to try and open open a few fingers to get some grip on the passing water.

It is not going to be a good day.

About 18 mins later and, ive made it out onto the bike leg. I’ve been cornering well and have overtaken a few guys just by not breaking so much on the bends. I go down a steep hill and see a yellow ‘Caution Cyclists! Bend’ sign some way before the bottom. I slow down and easily make it around a modest corner, and curse the organisers for warning me, slowing me down, for a nonexistent danger. A few more K’s past and I am hooning it downhill again. A ‘Caution Cyclists! Bend’ sign flashes past, and I half heartedly apply a little pressure to the brake. Then, all of a sudden, there is a very sharp bend. I force the break-pads onto the front rim, and begin to slow down, but with every turn of the wheel I am getting closer and closer to the verge. When I reach the apex of the corner my brain has made some complex calculations based around the rate at which im approaching the verge, the curve of the corner and the rate at which I’m decelerating. It has come up with the conclusion that im fucked. I get an unfamiliar sense of resignation to my fate, and I close my eyes and brace for what is about to happen.

I open my eyes and Im laying on my back, in a ditch, my head facing up the hill. I hear a groan while I wait for my senses to deliver a damage report. Nothing comes in. I stand up, see my bike lying in the road about 5 metres away, and suddenly panic that there will be other cyclists coming down the hill wanting to use the bit of road that my bike currently occupies. I walk out and get my bike, which seems, much like my legs, to be in good working order. I feel my left shoulder, which has a slight ache, and my hand returns with a few thin lines of blood on its palm, but nothing major. I decide to carry on, so clip into the pedals, wonder how they became unclipped in the crash, and pedal on up the road. Two cyclists overtake me, and I start removing bits of grass and mud from my brake levers, water bottle holder – my water bottle is missing – and front derailleur.

(My shoulder grazes this morning)

Another 10KM done now. I’m not hurt from the crash but my brain whirrs through the possibilities of what might have happened. The adrenaline in my system and gratefulness for another chance to race combine to give me extra momentum and I force the pedals round and round, zooming along the flat. The final hill looms large in front of me and I grit my teeth as I get out of the saddle to get it over and done with. Then disaster. A horrible "CRACK" and I look down to see my rear derailleur and chain having an untidy party where they shouldnt be in amongst my back wheel.

Fuck.

Fuck fucking fuck.

I get off and have a closer look. There is no hope - the rear mech has snapped in two.

(My rear mech this morning)

I try to push the bike, but it won’t even roll along because of the chain in the wheel. I can’t run in my cycling shoes, so take them off and clip them into the pedals. Then I put my bike on my shoulder and run up the hill. I get to the top and realise my bare feet are hurting from the tarmac, and I ask some spectators how far they think it is to the finish. The general consensus seems to be 5 miles, which I consider running with my bike, but my bare feet, and the state they’d be in for next weekend’s Half marathon make me realise my race is over. I swear again, not wanting to concede defeat and sit on a wall, deflated. A spectator offers me a lift back to the start and I gratefully accept – what a generous man – thank you. He drops me off at my car which I break into (my key is in the sports centre) and put the bike in.

That leaves a 200 m walk up the road to the race transition area. As I approach, the race stewards and two policemen come running over and ask me if im ok, and if ive been mugged for my bike. I explain that Im OK and have just crashed out. They ask me where I crashed and I say on a bend at the bottom of the hill with the Caution Cyclists – Bend sign, but they don’t really catch on to my irony. I walk back through the crowds in the race village and see people tapping their friends shoulders and point at me. I look down and see im bare footed, bleeding from my back and have red scratches and grazes on my left leg and arm. I go to the organising tent and tell them what happened, then get my stuff out of transition and buy some lunch.

‘Chalk it up to experience’ my dad says later that night. And I have.

What is right, wrong, complicated and simple?

2008-05-13T10:19:00.004Z

Its difficult to say sometimes. It feels like only a few weeks ago that everything was rosy with The Twin. I made a special trip into town to buy new pants and condoms- a trip that occurred rapidly after a

"Hey are you coming down this weekend?"

"Yeah ill come Sat night and stay..?..?" conversation.

Then a few weeks later and not much is happening. The holiday to Biarittz is looming and the novelty and spark remains present, but the distance our homes are apart often makes the spark difficult to see, or at worse, even notice it is there.

Plus, there was another girl incident.

I went to a BBQ with AnnE, the new housemate, which turned out to be a good laugh, a few too many beers and a lot of things to think about. I set out to only have a couple of drinks, but quickly found myself getting through 6 cans, and AnnE began supplying me some of her bottles. Then there were a few shots, and we set out into town. AnnE had touched my shoulder a few times early on, made some eye contact during the BBQ, but at the time I put it down to her being friendly; looking after me as I didn’t know anyone there. Then the contact got more often and more obvious, leaning on me in the hallway while we waited for the others, an arm through mine as we walked into town, grabbing my hand as we entered the club. I was reasonably drunk by now, AnnE had drunk a few, and the other girls were ‘Mortal’ as the Geordie among them so amusingly described. It soon became obvious, even to me, that AnnE was directing the touching and laughing to end in a kiss. A few times she put herself right in front of me and gave me the look, but I broke away, surprised, flattered, confused. She asked me about The Twin- is she my girlfriend? I replied that she wasn't - that I wasn't sure what she is, or was. With hindsight, I should have said that yes she was, as it probably would have made it a more straightforward evening. I didn’t, of course, and the looks carried on to the point where a few times I had to kiss her on the lips then make a point of it only being a peck, with no hanging round waiting for tongues. The dancing and flirting continued and reached a point where I thought I have to either kiss her or tell her not to do it anymore. I pulled her off the dance floor and said something along the lines of,

"I really like you, and part of me wants to go for it, but there are some reasons why me and you kissing here in Jesters (the nightclub- rough as a bag of spanners) tonight is not a good idea. I’d really like to kiss you now (pause, smile) but I don’t think it’s a good idea. We live together, and I’m not really sure where I stand with The Twin, or what’s right and wrong here."

(if only there was a transcript of what actually came out of my mouth so I could compare!)

She seemed fine with this, and although probably a bit embarrassed, a weight of expectation was lifted from us and left us to enjoy the night a bit more. We danced to The Killers, drank a few more, had some banter with the locals and watched from the sidelines as her friends got tagged by the young guns of Union Street. Then we were walking home, holding hands. Then she pulled my hand and arm up around her shoulder. At home we sat on the balcony for a bit and I threw a prowling cat some dog biscuits. There were plenty more opportunities for a kiss, we were close and comfortably so. The boundaries becoming blurred once again. I thought in my head that I still didn’t think anything should happen, so I stretched a bedtime yawn and headed upstairs. She came over for a last hug before bed, and I gave her another brief kiss on the lips, not letting anything more happen. It was goodnight, then the next thing I knew I was awake with a hangover that bent my spine.

My other housemate, DPsyc, and me were heading out at midday to watch the start of the Artemis Transat - a single handed sailing race from here to Boston. AnnE had been out playing squash, but joined us later and there was a slight awkwardness as she came over and sat down. I asked her if she had made it up for squash, even though I already knew that she had. She confirmed what I already knew, and said she wasn’t hung over, just tired. I’m not sure if she means to include the extra meaning included in this statement.

I decided not to tell DPsyc about the nights events, as I’m not entirely sure what he’ll make of them, and maybe AnnE would feel better without me gossiping. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything wrong - in fact I'm quite pleased with myself for both having a girl like AnnE throw herself at me, and for me doing the ‘right’, or if not, sensible thing of not sleeping with her. Later in the evening we sat down and watch Indiana Jones cheese it up in the Temple of Doom, but there is no mention of the previous evening's activities.

There has been complete radio silence with The Twin for 6 days, which does leave me with a lot to think about.

I think I did the right thing. But you never really know until hindsight has taken a good look, do you?

I went out looking for prawns and came home looking like a lobster

2008-05-08T15:08:00.003Z

So yeah, I did the classic British thing of losing the T-shirt at the slightest sign of sun and got roasted. Good fun day; catching prawns for my friend’s project, lunch on the beach and a quick snorkel. It was a shame the water was still a tad nippy for comfortable head holding under, but i did manage to see my first ever Greater Pipefish in the wild, which was a surprise as I thought they were a bit more tropical. They look like a seahorse that someone has straightened out:

I need aftersun.

Fun in the Sun

2008-05-06T15:54:00.002Z

I haven’t ridden my bike in anger since the Plymouth Triathlon all those months ago. The tyres still have a mud coating from that day which reminds me of the wind and rain that howled past my ears on that so-called summer day of July last year.
A late entry to the Taunton Triathlon in two weeks, and a few more race entries for June and July have pushed the motivation to train on my bike up higher than the level of continuing the Band of Brothers marathon I was enjoying 40 minutes ago. I pump up my tyres, fix a hand pump to the frame and throw a spare tube, some pound coins and a nutri-grain in my little bag that sits under my saddle. I take the front door key off my bunch and wrestle the bike down the stairs, through the doors and out onto the street.

I’ve never really been a natural on the bike. When I lived in Lancaster I once vowed to do a whole year of riding to work, and managed it, often swearing under my breath the whole way in as I battled the rain, snow and howling wind. That year of riding at least five times a week definitely made me feel stronger going up hills, but in races I’ve never felt confident I can compete as well on two wheels as I can in the swim and the run. On days like to today though those competitive thoughts get left behind, and I settle into the saddle, enjoy the sun and cool air and let the smiles take over I as eat up the concrete. I catch the ferry over to Cornwall and set off up a huge hill which doesn’t reach the top of the local land until 15Ks are showing on my computer. I pedal round this clifftop road for a bit and stop once or twice to take in the view of Whitsand Bay and Mount Edgecombe. My thighs ache with the new strain put on them, but I feel alive and enjoy the hurting. Eventually I feel the need for speed and head off in direction of the downhill. My destination, the sea and ferry is visible way out in front of me, all bathed in glorious May sunshine. I race downhill trying to push the numbers on the computer up above 60 km/h. On a steep open section, where I can see there are no cars or corners coming up, I get them up above 70km/h - genuinely exciting stuff - and I try not to think about what would happen if I fell off.

I get back on the flat and quickly after that back to the flat, put my bike in the dining room and wobble upstairs to change. I put on some running shorts and trainers and hobble downstairs and try to get into a jog. My legs are still in cycling mode, so it’s hard to get a long, straight stride going as my muscles still want to go round in crank sized circles. After a few Ks they’re just about being normal again and I head back home.

Really enjoyable day out in the sun. It feels like summer already. Tomorrow I’m making the most of my job and having a fieldwork day at the beach. Life is once again sweet!

Yey (4 weeks after) Easter

2008-03-26T12:35:00.010Z

So the Blog has been neglected of late. I got invited to write a bit for a book chapter at work, so have been making my head hurt by working long days and nights, trying to make sense of the piles of books and papers from the 1980s on my desk. It is just about done though now, so I'm back doing a Friday afternoon post. (The chapter title, just in case you're interested is dangerously specific and boring, but includes something about fish mucus and its role in osmoregulation. A friend quite accurately pointed out that its one thing I should never bring up at a speed dating night -should I ever go one one.

I have partially written two posts that will now never see the light of day. The only one of note was about the Easter trip (Easter!? yes it was that long ago!) where I made some comparisons between last years trip and this years, and further more about my life becoming a series of annually repeated events. I did take the time to upload some photos of the south Devon coast, which I may as well keep in...

A rainbow:

The bay from Start point:

Start point lighthouse:

...which were all very nice. Otherwise there has been entry to some good multi sport races, a lot of running, then a knee injury, then a lot of swimming and now a chlorine allergy.

Overall post report:
C- must do better

Better is on the way

Bird, Hand, Bush, etc

2008-03-17T15:31:00.004Z

I sprint through the car park rain and then laugh with the reception girl about how heavy the downpour has been. I scan the room and see the familiar faces are at the bar. On my way over I notice that everyone is wearing a suit and am glad I decided to dust off the Vietnamese silk and do the same. My friends see me coming and wait, expectantly. The recognition of their faces washes a recollection of my previous life over my senses. I get memories of previous laughs and achievements, and think back gratefully for fate giving me the chance to become friends with the faces I see before me now. Its fantastic. There are a few handshakes and a few nods, lots of smiles. The conversation begins a little formally but soon slips through the whats and whens of current work and finds its way into a pile of giggles and previous stories. Over the next 9 hours we have canapés, lunch and dinner, all washed down by drinks supplied by the free bar. I laugh so hard my eyes water, we make promises to arrange more meetings over the summer and take turns to talk our way down the paths our lives have taken since we all lived in that city up north.

At 9.30 its time for me to make my goodbyes. I’m sad to leave prematurely, but the group is beginning to fragment and sleep, alcohol, or both, has a strong grip on the remaining members. I drive off into the rain that has not relented all day, but my mind is not yet preparing for sleep. A random set of texts has made my destination a bar in town where LEA is out with some friends and has invited me to pop in to say hi on my way home. This is the first time I’ve seen her without the presence of our mutual friend, which adds an edge of trepidation as I park the car and run through the rain and shrieks of the city. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here, not sure what I want, or expect from this meeting, but my presence here is undeniable. I fear for a moment that the bouncer has not taken a shine to my overdressed attire, but a slight nod beckons me past a group who are in a vocal dispute with the cashier.

LEA is, as always, exceptionally friendly and seems glad to see me. We talk, flirt a bit, occasionally bordering into quite a lot, but my soberness remains in charge. After 2 drinks I say I’ve got to leave and I hug goodbyes to the group. LEA gets her farewell hug, but before I leave she says she is walking me to the door. Now we are on our own with another hug and a kiss on the cheek but the hug remains in place longer than it might. We have a brief conversation about the coming weekends Easter trip and another kiss. This one lands half on lips, half on cheek, and like the hug before it, also lingers for a moment longer than was originally scheduled. In my head I was going for the cheek again, but may have got drawn slightly off course by some gravity-laden eyes. This is dangerous ground. I pull away and pretend I hadn’t just read anything into what had happened.

Now i’m running in the rain for the third time today. I’ve got to get home and sleep before the Bath Half Marathon tomorrow but my mind runs a blur with what I could Vs should have done earlier on. At half midnightish I get a text that I expect to be from LEA, but turns out to be from the Twin saying shes drunk and is wishing me luck for the race.

Decisions.

I have finished...

2008-03-09T20:44:00.004Z

...downloading and watching Prison Break. Its worth a watch, but is no 24. I have become slightly frustrated by the fact that the writers’ strike in the US has stopped both Prison Break and Heroes in mid series. I always assumed (quite naively, admittedly) that the writers would write the scripts for the whole series before they started filming. The reality seems to be that they write it on the hoof, giving them the flexibility to kill off old, and bring in new characters as the ratings demand.

...all the hard training for the Bath Half Marathon this Sunday. Just a few sprint intervals to do this week and I’m good for another go at getting under the magic 1h30mins.

...giving my first lecture. 10 years ago I was an undergrad in the same lecture hall. Last Weds I was teaching at the front. A nice moment.

...a year of blogging. Probably a month or so more in truth, but I was definitely in Hong Kong this time last year and remember writing about it, so I’ve made it through a whole year. Go me.

...over analysing what is happening / going to happen with the Twin and am just trying to enjoy what does and does not happen. ‘Date’ #4 last weekend of a slowly developing, but at least partially promising ‘relationship’.

...hoping that I will get someone into my room before the end of the month. The flat by the sea has worked out, but at the cost of two weeks with both rents. Thinking back I seem to remember saying that id happily do this if we got to live there so I guess I will get over it. The room mate hunt worked well to get a very promising 'random' into the flat, but has so far been unsuccessful in getting someone to take over my room at H-Bombs.

...laughing at Bristol Rovers 5-1 defeat to West Brom in the FA Cup. Just.

...this post.

The flat by the sea...

2008-02-21T17:02:00.003Z

I had a 6 month changing moment last night. Psyc had another row with H-Bomb in the week which I overheard the end of as he shouted ‘well I think you probably should as well’ down the phone as I went for my shower at 7.45 am. Far too early to be talking, yet alone shouting. On the back of that he got motivated to flat hunt, with the plan being that he, one of his course mates and me will get a 3 bed flat/house and live without the wrath of the Bomb. He found one that sounded really good- three
double bedrooms, furnished, and was ready to move into as soon as- which was no small achievement in the Plym. Me and Psyc viewed it yesterday, with Helen, the Lettings person, at about 5.15.
The best thing about it is was its literally a stones through from the sea- the views are of gardens and the sea, and I stood on the seafront, as the sun was setting and marvelled at the possibilities of early morning swims, fishing, and balmy summer evening barbeques. Then we went in the flat and it got even better- the living area was 3 times the size of where I am now, and there will be half as many people. There was a decked terrace where my Brazil hammock would make afternoon chill out sessions a dream, and it had 2 power showers, a dishwasher, and a separate dining room with a roof beam to do pull ups on. There was also a single bedroom that I imagined we could either use as a study, or rent out cash-in-hand to some of the visiting PhDs we get at work for a few months a year- this would make it slightly cheaper than H-Bombs abode, with an order of magnitude more advantages. The only problem I could envisage would be deciding who got what rooms; there were two were large but normal doubles, and one that had its own floor, ensuite and separate mini roof terrace. I couldn’t stop smiling as thoughts of summer evening parties, making a herb garden, and renting a huge TV swirled in my head.

Psyc was just as keen. We are very different people, but get on well and have an understanding that I lack with the rest of my current housemates. He was sure that Aro, his Portuguese course mate would be equally thrilled, and set off to give her a lift to show her the area.

This morning Psyc comes down and shows me a text from Aro saying that after sleeping on it she’s not sure about the place, and whether we would like to go and look at a house in a different suburb.

So annoyed!

Shes not even been in there yet! My summer house dreams may be in tatters. Psyc has said he will try to convince her today, or else we could try and get a third person in. I’ve never done that before but it must be fairly easy? I’m so sure I want to live there I would happily pay the extra rent for a month or two until we found someone else.

On the drive home from our viewing I said to Psyc that it feels like something has to go wrong- we surely can’t be this lucky?

Well maybe it has. Aro, who are you and what are you doing?

Bomb Fallout V's Metal Fatigue

2008-02-15T11:35:00.009Z

So the H-Bomb, that bitch of a so-called landlady, has disconnected the house's Broadband and TV supply from Virgin. This partially explains my lack of posts over the last few weeks and fully explains my lack of watching Dave- the freeview channel that was excellent. You don’t miss these things until they’re gone.

I went to a gig in Liskard last night. A friend is an engineer, and he works with a load of old guys who have a band doing classic rock - occasionally bordering into metal - covers. Their name, Metal Fatigue, is quite simply brilliant on at least three levels. We got a minivan over to the next county and felt like minor celebrities as we talked with the band at the bar while the locals looked on at us whispering 'that’s the lot who've come over from Plymouth, that is'

I've always been one for trying to appreciate new music and bands, and dont own a lot of music that wasn’t released in my era. It’s not because I don’t like AC/DC, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin etc, but just because I don’t relate to the people singing it as well as I do to the more up to date bands. With all that said, there was a moment last night when I was stood in the bar, 5 pints of Tribute down and I was struck by what an absolutely brilliant song Wish You Were Here is by The Floyd. Maybe it was the beer, the setting, my emotions or soomething else, but I thought it was purely fantastic. I’ve listened to it about 6 times this morning already and although I've now got the hangover, rather than the enhancement, of fresh alcohol to interpret the words, it makes me think deeply about what they mean to the guy who wrote them, and especially what they mean to me.

The test of time is the hardest of all to overcome.

...which Metal Fatigue's valentine song (to the tune of Slade's 'So here it is Merry Christmas') probably won’t:

Good fun though.

The H-Bomb went off

2008-01-30T16:42:00.000Z

Looking back now, it feels like the argument was inevitable, but I’m still surprised at its severity. I don’t enjoy conflict with people - I try not to get wound up about anything - but sometimes you have to make a stand. Sometimes you’re forced into a corner by a cold hard bitch and you have to engage just to avoid being bullied.

As soon as we began talking the loose comments piggybacked their way on to the end of an otherwise civilised sentence. The replies contained their own munitions, sometimes hidden in a pause, sometimes on full display, but they all hit their target. Once you’ve set off on this path it’s a slippery slope. Your momentum carries you forward to places you don’t especially want to go. Voices get raised, people are talking over others and neither wants to back down. The noise conveys no meaning but defiance. Any fragment of reserve that was in place at the start has been washed away by the rushing blood and all that remains in its place is instinct. Instinct from ancestors that lived in a wild time, when they had to fight to survive. Soon the insults weren’t camouflaged. They were clear. Rude. Excessive.

A very slippery slope.

My housemate, Psyc, was involved to. He remained calmer than me, despite receiving some heavier flak. I was amazed at how annoying the H-Bomb, my landlady, could be when she went off but I’m still a bit surprised and disappointed in myself for getting so wound up. That said I don’t regret anything I said and think that she deserved it. Some things need to be said.

After 15 minutes, with no progress made, the H-Bomb said,

“Im terminating this meeting, and will be serving eviction notices on you two”

Her fingers were pointing at Psyc and me.

Evicted.

Bring back Norris McWhirter

2008-01-28T14:03:00.000Z

I went to Exeter on Saturday. I saw the Twin for a few hours then in the evening, in a different type of way, saw David Ford. I very much enjoyed the afternoon and evening. David Ford was/is a brilliant musician with a powerful, distinctive voice and a huge songwriting talent. He walked on and without a word began his song 'State of the Union' by playing and recording an instrument onto a loop which then continued playing as he sang and added in more and more instruments. It built up and up and up before he suddenly stopped the music and sang the last line unaccompanied. It was an amazing thing to witness live (not for the first time, YouTube has come to the rescue of my description).

Thinking about it afterwards I was in awe of his confidence at not mucking it up- it would really would have thrown a spanner in the works if he did as it would keep on playing over and over, and quickly become a whole set of spanners. This could easily have happened- during the gig he broke a string, the drum fell over, and his guitar strap came off - all of which would have caused a major problem with the recording bit.

Anyway, the gig was really good, but he is so intense, and the songs are so intensely downbeat that I found it quite draining. I'm not saying I think he shouldn't be intense, negative, and a bit miserable, but it really was an effort to get involved with each and every song as it consumed so much attention. After three or four songs I needed a few minutes relax and tell myself everything was going to be alright. In a 'normal' gig you can do this as you're stood up watching, dancing, or whatever and then you can go to the bar, have a joke with a friend or just throw some eye yarns round the room. In the venue he played, The Phoenix, everyone is sat down facing the stage and you're about 2 metres away from his guitar. It feels like it would be really rude to look away. You just have to sit there while he gives you both barrels and hope you dont black out.

Checking him out on YouTube I have seen a few really lighthearted, almost comedy covers ('My Heart Will Go On' and 'Stan' have lingered in my memory) either, or any other of which would have made some really good breaks in the intensity. He did cover Leonard Cohen, however, and he has a cover of The Smiths 'There Is A Light' on his myspace, so I guess he likes to cover dark songs as well as 'pop' ones, depending on his mood.

The support was Ruarri Joseph who was also highly enjoyable, and somewhat more optimistic in his words. I'm not sure if it was the lack of intensity, or something in the music, but I wasn't nearly as moved by his performance as David Ford's one. I'd quite like to be Ruarri Joseph's friend- but I didn't feel compelled to buy (Well, illegally download) his CD.

I also visited the narrowest street in the world (well nearly- see later)- which is only 64 cm wide at one end.

The wide (1.2m) end of the 2nd narrowest street in the world

However, after the narrowest street glory days of the 80's and 90's, the success was shook to its core in 2007 when a street in Germany successfully challenged Parliament and took its place in the Guinness Book of Records.

Have a look at the photo though. That's not a street! Its a gap between a building and a house- and a wooden house at that. Surely there must be some mistake. The standards of the Guinness World Records seem to have gone right off since Mcwhirter carked it. Theres no way he would have stood for this. Im seriously considering getting in there and sorting the world records team out before their own stock starts laughing at them.

I did wonder what criteria 'a street' actually has to have, but the Exeter one has at least got some doors to flats on it, so people live there. If the German ones allowed I may as well buy a bit of land, build two houses close together and then write to the council and say the 5 cm gap between them is a street. The Germans have missed the whole spirit of the narrowest street competition.

I think Exeter council should get some cement and reduce the gap slightly, just enough to get some of Mcwhirter's paduwans down with their ruler. I want to see Parliament Street back where it belongs as top of the narrow street pile.

HTML heavy; The Amazon

2008-01-22T22:13:00.000Z

We head out into the night. I think to myself that my view would make a fantastic Imax cinematic experience, but I tell myself to stop thinking too much about what would be good and just take it in what is great, amazing, Amazonian, right now. The Rio Negro is 3 or 4 miles wide at this point, and stretches to the horizon out in front. I’m in a long motorised canoe with my fisherman, Sentana, zooming along in triangle formation with Big J and fisherman BigHat to my right and Calveson, alone, on point. Huge lines of lighting in the distance give an erie sense of scale of the river and the occasional flash closer to us lights up the boats, showing us for a split second exactly where the others are. The perspective from the front of the boat, with the warm wind in my face and lightening show maxing out the amount of info my eyes can process, really is fantastic. I feel more like a special forces soldier on a secret Amazonian mission than the description of ‘semi-nerdy scientist on a jolly’ which a friend had recently made with uncomfortable accuracy. My favourite moments are the 2 or 3 minutes where there is no electrical light at all and I can let my mind drift and try to consolidate the memory of the journey to the first discus fishing trip.

Sentana and BigHat: smoking during a refuel!

We were lucky to get here. We hired our boat and crew yesterday lunch time, loaded up the boat with supplies and equipment and arranged to set off that evening. We could see the local river beach situated on an island a short ferry trip away, so headed off there to while away the afternoon. We checked out the Fio Dental on display, swam in the river, and A German guy who had tagged along with us took some cool photos of us chilling in the shallows. Check out the bearded scientist (right)

On our return to the mainland we discovered our boat had sank. It had filled up with fuel, driven off the pontoon and something caused one of the hull planks to give way. We’re still not sure if it was some sort of explosion, or if drive had just hit something in the water. Either way, the boat keeled over, the three people on board jumped off, and the boat sank to the bottom. Luckily for capitano the bottom was only a few metres away, so he was able to get a tow to the shore and the next day pump out most of the water and save his livelihood. The photo shows the hole that caused the floating issue (photographed the day after during repairs).

To say the least, our bags were somewhat damp. My rucksack, that I had so meticulously packed had weighed 22Kg a the airport. Now I could barely move it, yet alone pick it up. All our sterile equipment; sponges, tubes, syringes, pipettes, and, for that matter, all our other equipment had taken a really good dunking. We nervously laughed as we checked whether or not we could save anything. We spread it all out to dry- it looked a bit like a pile of recovered things from an aeroplane disaster.

A day later we had salvaged what we could, borrowed some items from others and set off in boat number two. A few hours up river and the absolute wilderness made us rediscover the jokes we had had the evening before, most following the ‘what the fuck would we have done if the hull had given way here’ line of reasoning.

'Drown' seemed the most likely answer.

Boat #2 at camp 2

Calveson setting fishing nets - he was a lot better at it than me

A rainstorm at camp 1 (ill be amased if this works...)

The trip was a wonderful adventure, and while extremely tiring at times, it lived up to all of my expectations. We fished at night- an hour of so driving from our various beach camps and then paddling around the small tributaries until the day began to break. We returned to the hammocks and slept like dead men for 5 or 6 hours but then woke as the heat became too much. The days were relaxed in the extreme. We swam, set nets for piranha, watch the river dolphins cruise around the main channel. Later on we eat piranha, chilled out in our hammocks, took pictures and read. I tried a different Amazonian fruit every day for two weeks, including cashew fruit (as in the nut - you can see it in the picture), which i didn't even know existed. My favourite thing of the whole trip was the routines of doing the same things every day, things that ill probably never do again. I didn’t miss the city life at all- telephones, computers, tv, prepared food, rushing to do things- all of these were forgotten in an instant. I adored the time spent on the river, it was a simple existence, but one that my mind and body cheered for every day.

The Girls of the SMARTBuddy Mansion

2008-01-22T14:26:00.000Z

Diary: I recently read some of my old posts and enjoyed remembering how I was thinking at the time, how perspectives have changed and so on, so I’m going to do another post for my own benefit in 6 months time...

The current crop from the mansion are:

Carrie from Christmas eve had, as she does, slipped from my mind until I just read my list of posts on my Blogger Dashboard. The day after I posted about her I was pointed in the direction of her FaceBook account by the C-Unit and messaged her, but have received nothing back. I wish I hadn’t been so clever in my message now. I can’t possibly send another. It’s probably for the best. She's called Carrie from Christmas Eve for a reason.

Girl A has moved to Australia. Oh well.

LEA is somewhat missing in action. We text a bit, but I think she’s more lonely than interested, but I’m not sure. She’s great, and we have ‘potential’, but I don’t think I’ll even see her until the spring or summer, by which time she will probably be married.

The Saturday night twin: The radio silence was unexpectedly broken soon after the last post and over the next week we sent the occasional flurry of texts which eventually set up a 'lunch date' for the coming Sunday. She had been to visit her mum in Cornwall and got off her train at Plym Station on her way home. Unfortunately for me that was the only getting off that the day was to see. I met her just outside the station. It was a little awkward. I drove us to the Barbican and since it was too early for lunch I suggested we go to the aquarium. This was probably a little selfish, but I saw it and immediately thought it would be a good place to walk around, have a chat, relax, and have something to look at during times when we had nothing to say. After thinking about it for another 20-30 seconds I thought it was a genius idea, but probably shouldn’t have told her so.

It was really good and I was enjoying it. They had a huge tank of UK fish like I saw snorkeling last year, and a tropical tank with loads of fish I saw in Sumatra. I think my favourite thing was a very large (football sized) octopus that I’ve never seen close up before, but who could probably have done with a bigger tank. The twin was easy to talk to, seemed quite relaxed and we had (well, I had) a good time. It was good to have her there without the other twin knocking about as unlike at New Year it was always really easy to tell who she was and who she wasn’t.

Then we went for lunch, which I was struggling with a bit on two fronts. I was mildly hungover and exceptionally full. I had been out the night before for 6 pints of Guinness, which is dinner in itself, but also had two normal dinners (I had dinner at home then got invited out by El Capitano with whom, after a few beers, I went for a curry with). Even after skipping brekkie in the morning I still felt like I’d just eaten my own liver, and a pub lunch with a pint didn’t really have its usual appeal. The food, thankfully, was good, and I managed to eat most of it in between feeling the early onset of obesity. The talk was fine. It was nice. It wasn’t amazingly good or bad, and continued over a cup of tea at my house and a lift back to the train station. I gave her a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek goodbye. I even broke out a wave as she walked off and looked back. That was it.

I guess my main thoughts are that it was fun, but not as much fun as meeting while drunk and kissing. I was being so measured and precise in everything I said- I’m sure she was as well. Pretty much everything I said got proof read before it came out to make sure there was nothing too strange in it. This, coupled with the fact that we didn’t really know each other led to lots of candy conversation about what we both did, what family we had, what we both did and what family we had. There was no blurting out of anything that would have given some real information about who we were, or who we were pretending to be (which would have been something at least). My sober brain was busy analysing what was being said, the behaviours we were displaying, the silences, the eye contact, but I didn’t really learn anything of note. Bring back getting ruined and drunk conversations any day. My previous few relationships have all evolved out of seeing someone out a few times, having a kiss or more over a series of drunken nights, from which we have, or have not, emerged a few months later as a couple.

I agree that that probably says more about me than her, but I’m not really thrilled or giddy, or whatever else I feel I should be about the prospect of two or three months of getting to know someone. It’s really not her- I wouldn’t want two or three months of sober conversations with Jessica Alba. I'm serious*. I want an instant hit. I want results. I just want to know. Maybe the Saturday night twin and I would be good together, but it’s going to take forever to even find out at this rate.
The main problem is that she lives in a different city. This means we’re trying to get to know each other without the benefit of being able to pop out for lunch, or a beer, or ten beers. This is no small thing. If it was the summer we could go camping or something. If one of us was really keen we could see each other on weeknights. If she lived up the street, we’d know in a few days if it’s going to be worth a go. They say long distance relationships are a struggle, but at least there is a relationship; this a long distance non relationship. I don’t know if it’s worth carrying on. So dont carry on, right?

The only other fact that has some bearing on the above is a holiday. Last week Barbie emails me to see if I want to go on a camping / surfing holiday to Biarittz at the end of May. I bite his electronic hand off as this sounds totally excellent. He buys flights, books the campsite and says, quite casually the next day,

‘Oh you know the Saturday night twin is going, don’t you?’

‘What? No. What?’

‘Yeah, shes going. Oh and LEA as well’

‘What? Nooo. Really?’

So now I'm going on holiday with the Saturday night twin in May. How awkward is that?! Ive got to explain to her how this happened without me knowing. How it really happened without me knowing, and not that I made it happen, which is how it looks. Plus now I’ve got this holiday hanging over my non-relationship like a smell that I can’t quite tell is good or bad. It could be good. Great even. It could be shit. It could be one of the smells that we keep in the fume cupboard that if you smell too much you die. It depends on what happens over the next few months. And LEA will be there to witness it all going off.

Good stuff Barbie.

*Well nearly.

January is rubbish

2008-01-22T12:42:00.000Z

I heard on the news yesterday that it was officially the most depressing day of the year.

It says, "GPs say exercise and reading up on depression are ways to beat the blues".

WTF? Its dark and cold outside, you've got no money and you're feeling a bit depressed. Whats the one thing thats not going to help that situation? - Going out to buy, then sitting down and reading a book on depression. That really is depressing.

Thank fuck its out of the way!

The Carrot Goldfish

2008-01-10T22:57:00.000Z

A long time ago, in a village far, far away me and my friend Gen played a trick on two of our friends. The trick wasn't great - more a bit of fun for a morning really - but due to a curious miss-identification it somehow managed to last for three years longer than it should have. Are you sitting comfortably?

Then ill begin:

Zil and The Caerphilly Mountain invited me, Gen and several others over to a house warming party in their newly purchased Cardiff abode. They had done some hard work renovating and decorating the place into a beautiful home and we gawped at the photos showing the carnage of just a few weeks before. The lounge, in particular, was decorated to perfection - all except one thing - a round, empty, fish tank that stood in the corner longing to be filled up with water and fish.

I don't recall the specifics of the party, but I know it was about 5 years ago, and so can, with some confidence, say that it involved a lot of beer, some non specific nibbles and a group of friends having 'a right laugh' as we called it back in them days.

In the morning, Zil and The Caerphilly Mountain had to get off to work, but were happy for Gen and me to make some brekkie before letting ourselves out. We did this, and upon noticing some rather splendidly fat carrots in the bottom of the fridge, Gen happened upon an idea: Lets make them some goldfish!

We spent the next hour converting the carrots into goldfish; we cut fins that plugged into the body, found some black peppercorns for eyes and carved a scale pattern onto both flanks. Gen's was amazing, mine even better. We filled up the tank and wedged its new inhabitants under some plants to stop them floating to the surface. The tank looked great and the light in the lid finished it off nicely, brightly illuminating the orange of the carrot goldfish.

I dont have any photos of the original, but google has offered me this effort, which is probably about similar to Gen's standard. Cute, but not realistic.

On the way home we texted Zil to say that 'We've bought you 2 housewarming presents and left them in the tank- you might want to get some food.' We giggled our way home, mock arguing over whose fish was the best.

Later that day Zil texted The Caerphilly Mountain saying she thought we had bought them some fish, so to get some fish food before going home. Zil herself was away with work for a couple of days so wouldn't be home to sort it out. The Caerphilly Mountain was also at work, but that evening bought some fish food on his way to the pub, where he proceeded to get absolutely battered. Staggering in, some hours later, he thought the new fish didn't look too well, and their lack of movement indicated to the inebriated Mountain that they were almost certainly dead. A removal of the plants, a pour down the toilet, and a flush, seemed to rapidly solve the problem, and The Mountain retired to his bed to restore the balance of power to the side of the sleep.

The morning saw a hungover Mountain reciting the previous evening events to Zil. The Mountain was sure the fish had died, probably because they were tropical fish in cold water, and that Gen and myself were a right couple of little tinkers for getting it wrong.

This news got transmitted to Gen a few days later by Zil via email. Gen forwarded it to me, and we both pondered what they were going on about. Could they really have mistaken our fakes for fish?..... Surely they're playing along?..... Yes, that's it, they were fucking with us. We decided to play along right back at them, replying, 'oh dear - we thought they were cold water fish, soooooo sorry :0('

The coming weeks saw The Mountain begin telling tales of his traumatic experience with the dead fish, really hamming it up, and relishing in the fact that I had bought tropical fish for a cold water tank. He found this fact particularly amusing because I was at the time studying to become a fish biologist. The Mountain had a good story and he was running with it. The emails 'Re: You Spakker' and texts began to come in.

Later that year Gen moved away to Hong Kong. For the good of the joke I was happy to take the abuse for a few years and I watched from the back rows as the story got passed around friends, elaborated on, and grew into something else. During the worse ribbing's I took solace in the knowledge that one day Gen would return with the truth. And return she did.

Zil couldn't believe it. The Caerphilly Mountain thought it was a joke. 'Noooooo. No way!' he said, the delight in my eyes slowly burning despair into his. Time had tricked him, consolidating a picture of two 'real' dead fish in his mind. It was a bitter pill to swallow but eventually Gen's sincerity convinced them and they accepted the truth - The Mountain had drunkenly mistaken our carrots to be dead tropical fish and given them a toilet bowl funeral.

Now I tell the story with a similar frequency that the Mountain used to, enjoying the fact that good things do come to those who wait.

(evil laugh) Ha Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha

Internet killed the live TV star

2008-01-09T14:33:00.000Z

TV is dead to me.

I remember a time when i would be excited about a new TV programme that was on. I would look forward, really look forward to the next episode and enjoy the routine of never missing a certain show, and feeling some achievement in being there to watch a series develop over the weeks and months.

For the past few years this has stopped happening all together. When a new, highly rated series begins, ill sit and watch the pilot episode, then if I enjoy it ill go and download the rest from the Internet. If, as happens very occasionally I cant find what I want online ill just buy the DVD from EBay. The thought of sitting down for an hour a week for months on end seems stupid when you can watch as much or as little as you want to in one go, and never miss an episode. Better still you don't have to deal with the adverts. I remember when I first downloaded an episode of Lost and thought something had gone wrong as the file was only 41 minutes long and its on TV for an hour. But no, sure enough, when that episode was shown on TV it was bulked out with 19 minutes of complete shit. ER is a similar length, and on the latest series they obviously thought that 19 minutes of adverts wasnt enough, so extended it to 1 hour 5 minutes in the shedule, giving more dead time to advertise dead products.

Normally in the later stages of a series (or season) you get a 'Previously, on ...' update for a couple of minutes at the start of the show, which can also be skipped, as you've not had to wait around for a week forgetting what had just happened. In the 41 minute shows on for 1 hour 5 minutes, they have a break straight after the Previously.. section, just to confirm that it is absolutely unwatchable.

If you haven't ever got your favourite TV show on DVD or as media files I cant recommend it enough. I watch a lot of TV, I think TV is brilliant, but only when its on your own terms. Once you've seen and lived a series in a few weeks, theres no going back to the advert infested crock that is on Channel 4.

Ever.

In some unrelated Movie news: I watched The Kite Runner in the cinema this week (I wonder how long it will take before someone tries to introduce advert breaks at the cinema...) and thought it was fantastic. I was dragged along by my housemate and feared it may be a bit too arty for my primarily Transformers based pallet, but I was hugely surprised, moved, and immensely glad to have gone. The book has now got 'I want' written all over it.

Kissing the Saturday night Twin

2008-01-05T00:27:00.000Z

New Years Eve.

I’m dressed in a Toast-inspired but not quite up to standard Robot costume made to satisfy the ‘first letter of your name’ fancy dress theme. (Me and Jesus, kicking it over a beer).

With one hour to go until 2008 becomes a reality we have broken the confines of the Clifton house party and ventured to a local bar. I’m really enjoying not having to queue at the bar, the medium to poor quality 'Ere mate, what are you, some sort of Robot' banter with the locals, and what can only be described as ‘flirting’ (go me!) with some of the party.

The Saturday night Twins are here, and I speak to both of them a few times (though I was never quite sure which was which). One of them seems up for it; tickling me, putting her arm round me, and hitting me with eye-yarns* from all over the bar. The only small problem is that there are two of them - they are twins after all - so I'm never really sure who I have, or haven't tickled back, or told that funny story to already. Several times over the next hour I feel uncomfortable talking to either or both of them as I’m not entirely sure where, or with which one, I stand anywhere with.

It very slowly dawns on me that they’re wearing different outfits, and it becomes easier (well very simple, I suppose, writing this now) to tell them apart, and it seems T2 is the interested twin (My least favourite from my original encounter) but I don't give fact this much thought. The next thing I realise is its 2008, and I’m at the bar, robot helmet removed, but outfit otherwise intact, kissing T2. I found out later that before we’d even finished, a picture message of the encounter was making its way from Barbie's phone to JB’s - a friend on holiday in New Zealand – which is in no other related to the story, but a surreal thought I thought worthy of a mention.

I enjoy myself for the rest of the evening, but get slightly concerned by some of the things T2 is coming out with. By 3 am, everyone is back at the house, the Singstar comp has been won and lost, and everyone is dropping off to sleep (including T2). I'd be quite up for sleeping with T2, but not in a body filled sleepover room at either this, or Barbies flat. I decide its time to bail, so make my goodbyes and walk back to Barbie’s flat wearing my robot legs (the rest was MIA) and carrying a borrowed dining chair. Unfortunately I was neither drunk, nor sober enough to make another random diary video at this point, as it probably would have been another beauty.

New Year’s morning brings a hangover, 4 cups of tea, a TV re-run of the year-ending Take That concert (described brilliantly here), and the steady emergence of friends from their first 2008 slumber. Most are sick (literally- one in the kitchen sink when the bathroom was occupied), some are bright eyed (but not many), and one is bushy tailed (the cat). An initial text exchange with T2 (when I gave out three kisses (‘xxx’) at the end of my message and immediately felt like a right little floozy) has, over the past few days, quickly developed into complete radio silence.

Nevertheless, best start to the year in years!

*Eye Yarns. A phrase from Big J in Brazil: ‘Chatting up’ is a Spinning a Yarn. ‘Giving the eye to’ is an Eye Yarn

Carrie from Christmas Eve

2008-01-03T17:44:00.000Z

Prologue: At the 1996 6th form party Carrie comes and sits on my lap, we talk and I’m reasonably sure I was too drunk to lay down any tangible memory of what unfolded next. This was back in the day when a party snog came more readily than a serious conversation - a trend which has been depressingly reversed in more recent times.

Christmas Eves:

Carrie is one of those people I only ever see on Christmas Eve. She’s there down the local in amongst the frequent knowing nods and occasional awkward conversation that the Christmas cheer - or maybe just the Stella - seems to make slightly more enjoyable than difficult. I’m not sure exactly when we were Christmas Eve reunited after the teenage encounter, but know for certain that ive spoken to her exclusively on Christmas eves for the past 5 years, and possibly a couple more previous to that. Given this fact, I think our relationship is going well. We’ve progressed through the, ‘Hey hows it going’ ...If you asked me now I’m not sure I really know who you are... of the awkward first conversation, through the years of familiar smiles and, ‘Oh Hiya – I only ever really see you on Christmas Eve!’ On to the, ‘See you next year’ and, a year later, ‘Oh Hi, hows it going?’

I've learnt she’s a dentist, and now seems to work for a few months and then goes travelling for the rest of the year. She does both surfing and snowboarding is virtually always the coolest person I meet up the pub on Christmas Eve. In short; I fancy her, but only once a year.

In the last two years we’ve gone on to another pub after the first one like we’ve known each other for years (we have, in a way) and most significantly this year (at least in my head), we did this alone.

I can’t say for her, of course, but in my head at least it was a case of get into another pub, have a beer or two and get a Christmas kiss in. The trouble was this year we couldn’t find a bastard pub that would let us in. After four pub refusals for a variety of not very Christmassy reasons, we made it to the Golden Lion where her brother was inside enjoying a lock in. The doorman was not in the slightest bit interested in a bit of Christmas banter and our available two options both seemed to involve fucking right off. Carrie was staying at her brothers in Downend – quite a hike away – so I found it strange that her brother was more worried about loosing his place in the lock in than helping his sister out. On any other night I would have offered her to stay at my parents and I could have given her a lift in the morning, but this was, after all Christmas Eve, so it didn’t really seem like an option. I couldn’t read whether Carrie wanted me to walk her home (I would have gladly) or wait with her until the pub chucked out, or just snog her face off in the car park*. After probably not enough thought I stood up to the doorman and told him he should let Carrie in as she was a girl on her own and needed to be safe inside with her brother. He agreed to this, which left me just a few seconds - with her brother and the doorman both staring me down - to make my move. Obviously I bailed, and just went for the kiss on the cheek, the ‘Happy Christmas’ and the hug (trying to leave it that micro second longer than I would of if I didn’t care).

Ten seconds later and I’m walking away with no phone number, no email or Facebook-stalking** details (I don’t even know her surname) and 364 days to think about what could have been.

* Two points-
1. This was more like my dream than a realistic option, but hey, this is my Blog.
2. Yes, I just said ‘snog her face off.’

** I don’t like the word stalk, but it is stalking; and don’t pretend you don’t do it. It may as well be called Stalkbook

Back without a bang

2008-01-03T11:04:00.000Z

Im back. Hooray!
The Amazon was an amazing place, and I had a wonderful time. Obviously there are a lot of funny and interesting posts in the making, but Ive not got the time to do them justice right now.

That said, here is a photo of our boat:

..and a sunset:

...and an Arowana:

....and a slain beast:

Which may or may not get explained in the coming weeks.

Happy New Year!

Moff

2007-10-15T21:42:00.000Z

Sorry for the slightly wayward nature of this post- there has been little time to write of late, but I felt like I should document the fact that I'm off for 2 months doing some work, sorry 'work' and having a holiday.

So after months of planning the Wednesday of the Brazil trip has very nearly arrived. Its been a hectic few weeks since JD did the deed on the sofa cushion, time which has seen me grow further apart from my housemates, and from which I am looking forward to the coming break. There have actually been a lot of interesting female interactions of late;

I had my first ex contact me through Facebook, and declare that we are 'friends', which is a bit rich seeing how we've had no contact for 6 years, and, had no more contact for about 2 weeks since we reestablished this 'friendship'.

A student in my office today seemed unnervingly attractive for a few minutes while we discussed her project, and the moment did its best not to pass.

Ive been having getting (and sending) a lot of texts and emails from my recently single friend, LEA, and have twice (though that's not including now, so three times really) considered what might have happened if my next trip was back to the homeland rather than to Manaus.

I have been finding my housemate, L-upstairs increasingly distant, annoying, and unjustifiably sexy in equal measure.

Nearly nine weeks away will hopefully be a multipurpose fire extinguisher for those flames, or at least stop them burning my mind while I'm away. The trip is 6 weeks in Brazil with work and then 3 weeks in Sumatra with my friend Barbie on holiday. I have left 5 hours between my return flight from Brazil gets in and my flight to Indonesia leaves.

That's plenty of time, right?

I hope so.

Ive been making a pile of stuff in my room to pack, and its quickly becoming a mountain with all the additional lab equipment I need to take. Things like 120 syringes in my bag might make a customs visit slightly interesting. That said, and already accepting a few more hassles and last minute problems tomorrow, there is going to be a point very soon when we board a boat to go on a research trip up the Amazon. I'm immensely looking forward to seeing the river and its wildlife up close. This is the type of trip that I got into science for, the type of trip that I dreamt of making as I watched fish swimming in the river Frome as a kid. There seems little doubt that it will be truly awesome- and that's before Ive even got on the plane to Sumatra. I just hope there's a pub in Manaus that will be showing England win the Rugby world cup on Saturday.

Until next time.

Oh no you didn't...

2007-10-05T13:40:00.001Z

Ive never met a normal cat, but nevertheless I feel obliged to start this post with the information that JD is a strange cat. For a few weeks after he arrived he didn't even emerge from Catwoman's room when anyone was in the lounge. He was so scared by a sneeze, or a reach forward to pick up your drink, or a laugh, that I was amazed that he hadn't died of some stress related meltdown. Once I set the smoke alarm off twice in one night and he avoided me for a week.

Then he began to accept us. He'd allow me to stroke his back, play fetch with his little cotton ball, and eventually he'd come out looking for attention from me. This was more like the behaviour I was expecting. Cats are fine to have around the house, but I don't like their attitude at all. They're like 'oh give me a stroke, give me some food, give me a stroke' and then they fuck off and have a sleep. The girls go, 'oh isn't he so cute (when he buggers off after you've been serving him on hand and foot for an hour) and I'm like 'he's such a freeloader'- he never gives anything back apart from the occasional unprovoked scratch.

This morning I was heading downstairs for brekkie and I passed Doug who was on his way back up- carrying his breakfast with him.

'Oh have you seen the little present JD has left us in the lounge?'

'No, what....(mind ticks over- I know what a present is)...no he hasn't!'

'Yeah right on the sofa cushion'

Doug had been eating breakfast, wondering what the smell was for 10 minutes before realising the irregular brown pile of stuff on the cushion over from him was a cat log of epic proportions. JD really had dropped the kids off, released a trilogy, laid a brick etc etc. It was a jaguar sized log, not really anywhere near the small house cat size it should have been. No longer scared of his own tail, the meek cat had turned into the sort of monster who can shit on your sofa and then come out with a 'give me a stroke will ya' meow.

I stood their looking for a while, laughing a bit, marvelling a the size, saying stuff like 'JD what have you done?!' when I began wondering why Doug (and presumably everyone before him) had left it there on the sofa in all its glory. Surely it remaining in the house was not a good way of getting the smell to clear? They really are muppets. I carefully picked up the cusion and got it outside. I tipped/poured most of the solid/semi-solid into the bin, unzipped the cushion cover and removed the inner. It was bright white on the outside but had a circular core of bright yellow, which went all the way through. It looked a bit like a giant sweet, but smelt like the death of a relative. I wasnt sure what the next step was in cat shit decontamiation (I dont really want to put anything with shit on in the washing machine, do I? so I left the evidence to dry outside.

It was quite funny as far as cat shit in the lounge can be, but Im remaining firm on my stance that cats are not a good pet.

Too Smart to climb Everest Buddy

2007-10-01T11:46:00.000Z

I don't think Id ever climb Everest. At present I'm not rich enough, or have the necessary experience, but if, say, I won the lottery on Sat (I might have you know, Ive not checked yet) and had the time and money to spare, I still don't think Id risk it. The difference between a good sea level physical challenge and high altitude mountaineering is that you cant prepare for how your body will respond to the extreme altitude. You can train all you want, get to the fittest you've ever been, then train for another 5 years and feel superhuman. It wont matter a jot. Sure, your fitness might help you on the lower slopes, and it will certainly help you recover and make the climbing days easier, but in terms of altitude related sickness it wont help you in the slightest. The two main altitude sickness killers- HACE and HAPE (build up of fluid in the brain and lungs) are thought to be genetically based and currently impossible to test for or predict. Low oxygen in the air makes you breath faster, your vascular system swells and speeds up to get more oxygen round your body, this can lead to a leakage of fluid and very quickly to death. Survival isn't anything to do with your training and preparation, your fitness, age, or anything else, its about your genes, and what methods of dealing with low oxygen your body has hard wired into it.

The reason im sharing this is because I watched the BBC Horizon programme last night called 'Doctors in the Death Zone' where a group of doctors climbed up Everest and conducted experiments on the slopes into the body's response to a lack of oxygen. They took an exercise bike to camp 4 at 7950 m which was an incredible sight- I just wish they had shown it strapped to one of the Sherpas back. They recorded the lowest ever blood oxygen content in a human that was still alive when they took an arterial sample from one of the team at 400m from the summit. It suffered, like most Horizons, from an over the top narration which tried to add more drama and suspense than was necessary, but it was still an amazing piece of work. The photography alone was fantastic. The small screen of YouTube doesn't really do it justice, but the footage of the team reaching the summit was absolutely breathtaking and gave an amazing insight into the challenges facing the climbers. TV like this is brilliant. Look out for it.

Discus

2007-09-24T10:04:00.000Z

When I say to people that i study discus they give a strange look and wonder what Im talking about. I hope a few have had the thought that i study maximising the distance that discus are thrown by the British Olympic team- perhaps looking into discus aerodynamics or density or structure. I even tell some that I study discus reproductive biology. I really hope some of these people have had the doubt, if even for a moment, that the discus thrown by the British Olympic team might actually living things, things which are in need of breeding programme in order to get the best quality traits enhanced for the competition discus.

The truth is I am studying discus fish. When i tell people this they seem glad that the awkard moment when they didnt know what i was talking about has passed, and are so relieved that they dont actually give discus fish much thought.

It was a sad day last week when we had the fist death in the discus camp, and 'male #3', or 'ill-boy' as he was getting called increasingly frequently went off to the big chest freezer in the sky(lab).

A moments silence.

Jabba in the hut

2007-09-13T14:17:00.000Z

Ive got rabies.

Ive had it for 25 minutes. My arm aches, but I've not got the rage.

I went to see a nurse and she injected me with the virus. Its only a weakened form of course, so my body's immune system is gunna kick its ass out of town. If my immunization is the Rugby World Cup, then the rabies is Portugal and my immune system is New Zealand.

There is going to be a rout. Ive got to get two more hits of course, two more games in which I should become accustomed to the Portuguese play. They might get a few points on the board. My body will remember these games and face up to any conceded points. I will prepare methods to combat them if we ever play again in the future. That way, if while in the Amazon I get up for a leak in the middle of the night and get bitten by a rabid vampire bat,

my body will immediately recognise the Portuguese attack and call up the immune-players that are best suited to suppressing its well drilled, expansive backs play. The saved time in defence-selection should give me the chance to get to the local medical hut and get a booster. The extra momentum gained by bringing on this boosted up front row in a delicately balanced game should be enough to tip the result in my favour. The game will be hard fought. The cup will be life.

The Wrasse that time is going to forget

2007-09-05T13:05:00.000Z

Ive been in the water for an hour now and the cold is starting to take hold of my movements. My attempts to get the giant ragworm down next to the wreck are becoming more desperate and I curse the small weight on the line for not resisting the pull of the current. I notice a dark shape emerge from the wreck, but its difficult to see with the thousands of plankton blocking my view. A wave washes over my snorkel but i hold my breath as I'm sure the shape must be getting close to the ragworm and I don't want to have to look away...

Ive been doing quite a bit of snorkeling over the summer and starting to really take an interest in the sea life. A friend at work is doing a practical class this year that involves looking at the morphological adaptations of different marine fish skulls. To do this he needs a selection of fish with different feeding habits that he can dissolve the flesh away from in a Quint from Jaws type vat of acid leaving a clean skull.

Big J and I have seen a lot of humongous wrasse while snorkeling, and in a moment of Einstein like foresight I thought that it might be possible to catch them using hand line while in the water. This intuitively seemed like it might be an idea that would prove to be very difficult in practice, so i did a bit of investigation. Googleing "fishing while (snorkeling OR swimming)" gave one or two returns that referred to people having done it, so I felt like it was worth a go.

We went yesterday to Thurlestone, on a low tide, and managed to find the wreck of "The Louis Sheid" in 5 to 10 metres of water.

... Suddenly the shape darts away from the wreck, and i cant quite believe my luck as the line pulls tight and the fish is hooked. The prehistoric looking ragworm was too good an opportunity for Mr Dark Shape to pass by. I wind the line back in, amazed at how the fish's dull pulling of the spool is telling my hand a completely different story to the theatrics and dramatic lunges that my eyes see are going on under the water. The dark shape makes a brave fight of it, and is clearly not happy with the way his day is panning out, or, perhaps more seriously in the longer term of things, his skulls newly acquired destiny.

Back at the car and Mr Ballan Wrasse seems a lot smaller than he did in the sea, maybe 1 and a quarter pounds, but I'm still thrilled at the success of the first fishing-while-snorkeling trip and start thinking of the possibility of tying some mackerel feathers to my fins and going for a swim.

I get home late, put on the TV and am delighted to see its the fantastic 'Tribe' with Bruce Parry. The very next scene is a group of remote Pacific islanders doing some fishing while snorkeling for themselves and cant quite believe the coincidence.

Peaks at the end with the jumping tiger

2007-09-04T08:44:00.000Z

Sometimes I find it difficult to keep the blog up to date. I enjoy writing a post about a specific thing that has happened, but it often takes a lot of time to get my spelling mistakes just right. If I have a busy week at work (yes they're slowly starting to appear) or have to do jury service (one was guilty, one got off, I said they were both guilty but the judge accepted the 10-2 majority) I can suddenly find myself with three or four out of date post ideas but with nothing concrete to publish.

In a whistle stop tour of the last few weeks:

I have been training my ass off for the Bristol Half Marathon which is on Sunday. I achieved my lifetime aim of a sub-1 hour 30 mins two years ago, so this year my motivation is to beat the athletics legend Steve Cram, who is running as a race profile raiser. He has been out in Osaka covering the world championships for the past few weeks for the BBC, so hopefully he hasn't had time to train and wont be at his usual 1.26-8 standard. The world championships themselves were fantastic. I found myself glued to the TV for hours at a time- much like when i recently watched season 1 of Heroes. I occasionally found myself with tears in my eyes as athletes ran themselves into the ground, or in an instant of finely honed power and technique achieved what they had been training all year for. For me, being an athlete must be somewhere near the best job in the world. And how fit, in every sense of the word is is Kelly Sotherton?

In some breaking video clip news, I have been watching and listening to a lot of Mark Watson (for example click on me and try not to smile), and he is my new fave comedian. I also came across this video showing a tiger being so fantastically (and yet sickeningly) agile that I later realised I hadn't moved for a full minute after watching it:

Cool jumping Tiger

He would be in the elephant jumping event at the Tiger worlds.

If only that competition existed outside of my head.

Random jury thoughts...

2007-08-28T22:34:00.000Z

There are only a few days to go in the court. I have been on one case since last Wednesday morning and the worker there thinks that it is very unlikely for us to get put onto another one at the end of the week. I'm not supposed to talk about the case to anyone, in case they influence my decision on what conclusions I reach, which is a big crock as they wouldn't know the details. Anyway, if you are at all interested you can read about the case here

(Ssshhh, obviously)

I feel that they're both guilty, but it is obvious that there are at least some who would disagree with this in my fellow 11 jurors. I'm not sure if I care enough to argue with these strangers with whom i share nothing but random twist of fate.

Highligths have included the Judge, who has been both superior and entertaining in equal measure, and being locked in a room with 11 complete strangers which was both surreal and slightly uncomfortable in similar volumes.

I am most surprised at how difficult it is to say something is true, 'beyond reasonable doubt' and the more i think about it, the more ridiculous it becomes. I think that this is because of my work. I spend all day doing science things, basically trying to attain some level of, if not absolute certainty about the result of an experiment. In court, you don't do this, you just listen to some people go,

'he did it'

and some other people go,

'i didn't do it'

and then hopefully there is some evidence to give you some sort of better clue. Then you think about it and go,

'yeah, i 'think' beyond reasonable doubt that they did (or didn't) do it'

Some of the people on the jury are nice, but really stupid, and I think that beyond any doubt whatsoever their thinking about it is 100% comprised of what the person next to them has just said. I swear I am not exaggerating. It bollocks, but I haven't got a better system to suggest so I'm just going to revert to the original idea for this post which was random thoughts I had while waiting to go into court:

1. Was there a big blog bang at the beginning of the blogosphere?

2. Is it possible to die of boredom?

3. Has anyone else come up with The Antarctic Apes as a great name for an Arctic Monkeys tribute band?

Case is very nearly closed...

Send them down

2007-08-16T11:47:00.000Z

I have been summoned to perform jury service on Monday. The letter says it will last for at least two weeks.

This has brought about two unlikely coincidences. I was originally called to do it in the 'Stol, but since I have moved house, I was able to move it to down to the Scally-riddled Crown Court in Janner Land. I found out a few days after that if I had done it in the 'Stol, it would have been at the same time as my friend, or my now socially separated friend at least, JA4, would have been in court. This would have been at the very least extremely strange.

Even stranger is that I will also know someone in the dock down here. My ex housemate Andre the giant's ex boyfriend who I met about three times is going to court after he hit and killed two people on a motorbike whilst driving his car on the Moor at 3 am in June. I found this out when i saw is face on the front of the local paper, and thought, 'oh shit- this guy I made a cup of tea for is a murderer or something' and I might well have been right. Ive looked on the Internet and while the court date is there (31st Aug) there are no facts about what happened. I guess that this is what the trial is for.

I feel fairly sure that when I tell the court assistant the fact that I have met the guy before, ill be excused from the trial. Im sure thats how it works on American TV court dramas at least. Part of me wants to not say anything and see what happens. I suspect that being on the Jury may well not be as exciting as I currently hope, so it would be nice to have at least one serious case to ponder. I dont think id be influenced by the fact that I have met him before, but I suspect that there are rules about such things.

I only hope its not too boring after the novelty factor has worn off. I will at least enjoy getting some Chavs off the street (untill they legalise Chav hunting(!))

I feel slightly giddy with the power I have to significantly change the course of someones life.

Saying that ill probably get 10 persistent parking offenders.

We'll see.

A Rant

2007-08-09T21:39:00.000Z

Brrrrrr. I'm annoyed.
I'm not really into getting wound up about stuff that doesn't matter, but I have to vent some frustration on the 'Top Dives with Tanya Streeter' programme that was just on BBC2. I first heard about Mrs Streeter a few years ago when a friend said she had broken the mens' world free diving record- and that it was the only world record in which the female record was 'better' than the males. This was quite a cool fact, although Ive just checked and both her records (there were two- the 'Variable Ballast' and 'No Limit' categories) have since been bettered by men.

Anyway, Shes a world champion, and shes hot, so some bright spark decided to give her a presenting job. Unfortunately, for the spark, she is a most annoying person, and while she looks amazing, I found the things she was saying made me swear more than i have in a long time. She was, much like her silver diving suit, so far up her own ass it was painful to watch.

Her general chitchat always started with stuff like, 'when people ask me...' and then went into some self worshiping delusion like 'how I manage to hold my breath and stay calm for so long' or 'if I get scared when I dive so incredibly deep' or 'why I'm such an arrogant posh fucker' and she was grating me with her, 'is it me, or am I just so fucking wonderful' attitude.

Worse of all though she was just so stupid.

At one point they went looking for Whale sharks in the Maldives and while Tanya was looking for a 'pure' encounter, the only one available was with a juvenile (still probably 6-7 meters) that had 10-15 tourists in tow, snorkeling along thinking 'oh my god this is amazing'. They had, like Tanya, been waiting all day for their opportunity to swim with the biggest fish in the sea (I know - I've been on 3 whale shark snorkelling trips and never been lucky enough to see one), and Tanya was fucked off because she couldn't swim with it on her own. Then one of the tourists reached down and touched the sharks dorsal fin. Tanya was distraught. She said it was an 'invasion of space' and a 'crossing of the sacred boundaries between their world and ours'. She was also banging on about how the tourists were chasing the shark, scaring it, and 'not letting it escape'. The next scene she is crying at how fucked off and posh she is.
What a crock.

I agree that the guy shouldn't have touched the shark, but lets get some perspective here. Without the snorkeling tourists, a lot of the sharks would have been killed for their fins. Its because of the tourists and their money that the locals have a high incentive to look after the sharks and their environment. If the odd one gets touched in their conservation, OK, it probably shouldn't happen, but don't cry about it- be glad that this amazing species is still alive (unlike the Yangtze river dolphin, for example). Anyway, that isn't my point. In the next scene Tanya starts going on about how shes wants to 'study the sharks natural behaviour' and eventually they find one that she can swim around and look pretty with. In doing so she swims below and in front of the shark, at one point obviously forcing it towards the surface- something the tourists certainly didn't do. Then she narrates saying that she was careful to always allow the shark to retreat to deeper water, and that the interaction was on the shark's terms, not hers. This was, obviously not what had just been shown. She ends the scene talking about how wonderful she is for emulating the shark with her free diving.

In the end, the icing on her rimtard cake, she swims with sharks. We hear Tanya explaining how she is terrified of sharks, and very nervous about the encounter. With her tears after the whale shark touching incident still fresh in my mind, we see the reef sharks come to investigate her. She panics, freaks out and kicks them away with her fins.

Kicks them away!

Then she does it again! and again! I nearly exploded I was so angry with her. What a colossal idiot. On the boat she got off her high horse, and was like, 'oh i was so scared i just had to get them away from me'. Right, so its OK to lash out at animals, 'breaking the sacred bond', so long as you can justify it by being scared- of a reef shark that dont ever bite people. You could always get out after the first time you fucking airhead.

I hope she drowns.

Not really, obviously. I hope she doesnt make any more TV shows.

Not really, obviously. I hope she only makes TV shows with no sound.

The Spanish Bruce Willis

2007-08-07T09:16:00.000Z

We've lost a few housemates of late, in fact its only me and L upstairs who are left from when I first moved in only 4 months ago. That seems a very rapid turnover for such a nice house. I hope I don't smell.
Andre the giant left without a trace, and I couldn't be happier that ill never have to put up with that giant drama queen ever again. French T's room has a new girl in it, Vosam, while M and N downstairs have also just left, and been replaced by Catwoman. Catwoman was named, some say ingeniously, I say it just comes to me naturally, because shes a woman and she owns a cat. We have also got Spanish D, who is here for 3 months to do some work of his PhD studying aquatic beetles.

And so, with the intensely boring introduction done and dusted, I can finally reach the point of this so far, at least, disappointing post.

Spanish D and I are watching Unbreakable last night, a Bruce Willis film about a guy who part realises and part always knew that he never gets ill or injured, and that essentially, that makes him a superhero.

I couldn't work out if it was good or shit- bits I enjoyed, but a lot of it didn't quite sit together, but anyway. Spanish D explains that in Spain, all of the American movies are dubbed into Spanish, and that each English speaking actor gets assigned a Spanish voice over actor, who will, to aid continuity, dub all of this actors films through his career. I find this fascinating.

I wonder how the voice over actors get assigned. There must be huge competition to get Hollywood's next hot property, simply because you'll be quids in doing his movies for the next few years. I guess Bruce Willis must be a good actor to 'get' as you'll get loads of work, but then again there must be high demands on your time as they cant delay a film release because you're off on holiday. I wonder if they copy accents, or if there is no need to, as its being translated anyway. I wonder if they go to premieres, or what happens if they die before the actor? What do they do if their actor sings, and they cant? Is there an official governing body who control all the voice artists and who make sure Bruce Willis is always Bruce Willis. I wonder if they can get assigned two or more actors, and if so, whether a curious casting incident has ever led to an actor talking to himself offscreen, onscreen. Or, on the same lines, since most voice over people are actors, they might not be able to get real acting work in films that their English speaking stars are in.
D explains its funny hearing the real Bruce Willis's voice for the first time, and that his Spanish counterparts is completely different (in addition to it being Spanish, obviously).

Yeah, that's what I was thinking about last night.

Fishing, drinking and dressing up adventures

2007-08-02T12:10:00.002Z

It got dark and i retreated into my bivvy (den) to keep warm. My rods were ready, two baits in the margins and one about 30 yards in front, all single, sinking, caramel flavoured boilies. The bite alarms were waiting to alert me to a carp taking line. I was too on edge to sleep, so made a cup of tea, fidgeted, and eventually got out my phone. I randomly clicked my way through to the new recorded videos section. The dark screen shot of MOV00030 seemed unfamiliar, and said it was from 3.14am on Friday night. I clicked it twice to get it playing and saw an image of my (silver- I'm getting to this bit) face swing into semi-focus out of the blackness. The timer said it would go on for 2 minutes 12 seconds. I was walking back from the club, alone. The first ten seconds was me explaining, in a horribly drunk voice that I was doing a video diary of my thoughts as I was obviously not going to remember anything the following day. I was, evidently, right, as I had no memory of making this video, and became curious and slightly nervous as to what i might come out with.

I should explain a little background. There was a leaving party on Friday night with work and a Superhero theme for fancy dress had been called. I went as the Silver Surfer- I spray painted a rash vest and pair of boardies silver, got some face and body paint for my head and legs and then silver hair sprayed my hair. I also made a board out of a polystyrene sheet and wrapped it in tin foil. To be fair, it was a good costume. I got on the wine and quickly arrived at the village of Too Much Wine, which I decided looked like a rubbish place to stop for the night so carried onto the next town. I arrived at Far Too Much Wine quickly and then really started caning it, and then got on the beer and eventually spirits. By about 1 am, I had, as a friend once so insightfully described, 'gone to the other side'

I paused the video and got into my sleeping bag as the clear sky was making the air cool a lot faster than my jumper alone could warm it. MOV00030 continued and I squirmed with embarrassment and disbelief as I described my thoughts on:

1) The difficulty of walking in a straight line and how I kept stumbling to the left.
2) Girls at the party; I apparently 'fancied' Lara Croft and something about trying to dance with another.
3) The fact that I was worried about the lack of sleep aspect of getting up for the camping trip the next morning.
4) The fact that I was worried about whether or not I would remember to have a shower when I got in (I didn't, my quilt and pillow is now also silver).

At one point a car goes past and beeps at me and someone shouts something at me, but its hard to hear or see what happened as the video and sound gets blurred.

Of the 4 points above I vaguely remember half of point 2 (Lara was hot, if a little posh) but nothing about making the video. I told my workmates this story and they thought it was funny to record yourself when drunk. They also laughed at the thought of me walking up a road with silver surf board in one hand and phone in the other, filming myself talking to myself about myself.* I have to agree that is slightly unusual behaviour. They wanted to see the clip but I made an excuse as I didn't want them to hear the bit with about point 2.

I lie back and eventually relax. The black closes in and I'm asleep.

Zzz

Zzzz

Zzz

ZzBEEEEEE-EEEE-EEEEEEP BEEE-EEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEP and my middle rod has screamed off. I fall out of bed, out of the tent and eventually make it to the rod and strike into the fish. 15lbs 4oz, a mirror carp. Steveo also gets a run at 5 o'clock ish and it turns out to be a 26lb 4oz beast of a carp. Im chuffed for him, and immediately our yearly night fishing session is a success.

*It seems crazy, but at that point in the post a iwas talking about myself filming myself talking to myself about myself. The chances of this happening again seem very remote.

Den making

2007-07-25T12:58:00.000Z

When I was little I used to make a den with a blanket drapped over the back of the settee. When I was old enough to play outside I made dens at the end of the garden, using bits of wood and old carpet from the garage. I once planted a conker because I thought it might grow into tree big enough to hold the den holy grail- a tree house. Then, when I got a bit older, I started making dens in the woods and once spent a week making a den in the middle of a hollybush. The hollybush den was so big i decided to call it a base. On scout camp I made a den in the woodpile and shot people who couldnt see me with my waterpistol as they walked past.

Then I got older and forgot about making dens.

Then my sister got married, had two little boys and last christmas I spent most of boxing day making dens with my nephews. I started them off with the classic blanket over the back of the settee, and finished the afternoon with a very spacious blanket over the dining table. The delight in my nephews' faces was remarkable. It was nice to be back in the den making circle. I envied all the den making possibilites that their future holds.

Then yesterday I recieved my ebay-purchased overwrap that fits onto my giant fishing umbrella which will be used in my night fishing trip on Monday. I put it up in the garden to check it out. Separtely they didnt make much, but together, I was delighted to see, they made a den.

Dens rule.

Leaves on the line

2007-07-22T20:08:00.000Z

Its not quite gone off the rails, but progress in my new life down south has been frustratingly slow for the past month or so.

I wont blame the weather, and will try not to dwell on the wettest June for 95 years, or the severe flooding that has followed it in July. Things have just slowed to a near stop after a frantic first six weeks of meeting people, drinking, and then meeting people I would struggle to remember the next day.

I guess that things run in cycles, and there can't be solid back to back great times, if for no other reason than their regularity would, by definition, stop them being unusually great.

I'm amazed at how close I've got to my French housemate T. I'd had an irrational loathing of the stereotypical french ever since 'they' stole my football while I was inter-railing with friends as a carefree 21 year old. Both the already departed J, and the soon to depart T have been wonderful to live with, and I feel lucky to have met such a friendly and funny pair. Ive had great fun spending a whole evening getting drunk with T, saying 'un bon muff' and laughing whenever an attractive looking girl has come onto the TV. Sad, I know, but somehow it was brilliant. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when T leaves on Weds. Not in the mopping a tear with my hanky type way, but because his room is the first in a series of three that will quickly be emptied and refilled by a girl. A few years ago this would have filled me with excitement at the prospect of rolling round the lounge floor with a new arrived single housemate (happened once in 8 years!), but today I'm genuinely more worried about being in the middle of the winging / bitching / tension that is bound to happen when 5 twenty somethings with no Y chromosomes start interacting.

Still, the cycle will turn around again I'm sure, and it is interesting to imagine what the future holds down here. I hope I can get a neat circle of friends together and start doing some things on the weekends when the weddings and watching le tour de France have run their course.

This might well start next weekend, as camping and then a night fishing trip are all booked in.

3 Shreks, man

2007-07-15T20:50:00.000Z

Just saw Shrek the third.

I'd partially heard some rumblings that it wasn't very good, but I really enjoyed the first two so thought it was worth a go. Id give it 7 out of 10 for entertainment-generally a bit average, but looked amazing, and a few very funny moments. My favorite bit was when the Gingerbread man thought he was going to be killed and his life flashed before his eyes- his legs got pulled off by some kids and then they had clips of him training back to full health, then running through a field on his repaired legs with tears in his eyes.

Genius. (it is on Youtube, but really crappy quality so no link). There was also a Damien Rice song in there, which was a slightly strange choice, but a nice surprise.

Looking forward to the Simpsons movie- the whole Spider-Pig thing in the trailer probably got the biggest laugh of the night. Most of all though, I simply cant wait for Transformers (Check out the High Def trailer here- I haven't been so excited about a film since Starwars Episode 1.

For the first 10 mins, this post had no title

2007-07-12T22:15:00.000Z

I had my staff induction today, and it was absolute bollocks. I hoped I had left behind all the corporate rubbish in my last job, but it seems to also have a stronghold at the Uni training centre. If it wasn't for an amusing incident with a spider, I might well not have made it through the day.

It didn't start well, as I was hungover again after another trip to the Drum and Bass empire that is known as the White Rabbit (my dancing had not improved, BTW).

I got a coffee, sat down and introduced myself to my table. Within 1.5 seconds there were 3 middle aged women whinging at me about how shit their jobs were, and how under valued and under paid they felt at work. This was depressing, at best. I looked at the floor in the hope that they might stop, but only succeeded in noticing a spider (quite large, maybe a category 2) that had suddenly appeared (as they do, probably out of a His Dark Materials -type window from another world) and was bundling his legs towards me. I tried not to panic, got my feet up off the floor and followed his every move like a hawk. My behaviour attracted some attention and I felt that I had to say something. I interrupted the conversation of the women, which had continued (probably on auto-moaning pilot) in spite of my evasive actions,

'Sorry to butt in, but theres a spider down there' I pointed out, now trying to casually shuffle my chair out of his predicted path of terror. In a moment of genius I decided to move my bag too as I thought he might be trying to get to get under it as a shelter. He was, and I took a brief, but sweet moment of celebration as Spidey's plan was foiled, and he changed course towards the organiser’s bag, which upon reaching he promptly disappeared underneath.

Semi relief. *

'Sorry, I don't like spiders much' I said, and the women all gave me a look which suggested I had lost all of my credibility as someone who was worthy of having them whinge to.

2 hours later and I was sitting through the 3rd talk that was presentation-rohypnol and decided that I had actually reached the point at which I had no further will to live. At this point the organiser guy, who was changing the PowerPoint slides for the speakers, decided for some reason that he wanted to have a fumble in his bag.

Aaarrrggghhhh..... not good.... My mind was desperately grabbing at anything that might have kept it awake, so I started thinking through the possibilities of what lay instore for the next 10 seconds.

If he fumbled too much, spidey might have got hurt, organiser guy might have seen spidey next to his hand and panicked, or worse still, and most likely, spidey might have run out from his hiding place and resumed his march of death towards me. I’m not sure if it was my hangover, or my brain craving for something to do, but I thought it would be a good idea to warn the guy. Since 'Equal Opportunities in the Workplace' lady was in mid-speech, I thought that maybe I should write down a warning. I got my pen, and scribbled down this on the back of my staff induction timetable:

and tried to catch bag fumblers eye as I tentatively put it on the floor with the arrow pointing towards where I had seen spidey disappear.

Bag fumbler wasn't expecting this, and I got my second strange look of the morning. After an uncomfortable 30 seconds of me trying to whisper an explanation that a spider had run under his bag earlier, and that this was not a good thing, organiser guy decided it was best to not talk to the weirdo who was whispering something about a giant spider and turned away to continue his slide swapping over.

Phew, that was close. I had almost looked a bit silly there.

50 more minutes and 'Volunteer Coordinator Widening Participation' woman had overrun into lunch by 17 minutes. She seemed awfully chirpy about this, which, needless to say, I was not. I began considering which of the things available on the tabletop I could have used to kill myself with quickest if she had carried on speaking for more than another minute. Finally she gave out a copy of her presentation in case we ever wanted to refer back to it (yeah, as if) and offered the critical words,

'So, has anyone got any questions?’

Surely not.

Please no.

'I wonder if you could just explain again about where I can find you on the intranet' says the woman who taught me what hate really is.

'Oh now let me see... if you go onto the intranet, I think we're under the 'volunteering' tab’ says chirpy. 'Now just let me check..'

Yeah, funny that, id have never looked for volunteering info under the volunteering tab.

Lunch was good. I didn't go back for the afternoon.

I need some sleep.

*No not that sort (honestly, your dirty minds), I meant I was partially relaxed.

Soz, but once again its all about me.

2007-07-09T13:12:00.000Z

Some facts about my weekend:

I got changed into a really posh hired suit in a campsite, while 8 old people cheered from their static caravans.

I got up to do my reading during the wedding and the church setting and powerful words reminded me of doing a reading at my nan's funeral last year. This was awkward and quickly uncomfortable as I went from quite casually reading it out to a struggle to maintain my composure. Afterwards, a lot of people said that they thought my reading was 'brilliant' or that they 'loved it,' so I'm not sure if they were being nice, or if the tension in my voice and face added something to some of the words. I hope that most of the drama was in my head.

JA4 was on bail for Affray and Actual Bodily Harm during 2007 and had a darker side that I didnt know about. He dumped LEA and has since been a nightmare towards her, such as hacking into her Facebook account and then demanding to know who her friends were. This is not the guy I knew. I'm confused as to what I should think about him. Even weirder is that I have been summoned to do jury service in the 'Stol for two weeks and it seems likely that this period would coincide with his trial. Obviously I wont be doing it, but I found myself imagining my confusion if id not found out, and gone to court and then JA4 walked up to the dock.

I sensed an unusual parental urge to look after my parents who came to the wedding reception, but didn't know many people. I kept looking to see if they were alright or on their own, which felt strange, but good*.

I felt a twinge of unexpected attraction toward one of my friends who was looking particularly hot*.

I came home to find out 3 of my housemates are moving out; French T I knew about, but Gay A (AKA Andre the giant....) and M & N downstairs are also leaving. I am gutted T is leaving as we get on really well but I am happy that the others are leaving.

*A large quantity of the local 'Summer Ale' was almost certainly responsible for exacerbating these emotions and dwelling on them more than would usually be deemed appropriate.

Socially separated friend

2007-07-04T22:07:00.000Z

During my lunch hour today I was organising and booking camping pitches for wedding #3, which is on Saturday. A few of us have decided to camp nearby rather than get a taxi home as there are no local hotels. I started a group email with about 15 people who are going to the wedding, and very quickly 'reply to all's began pinging into the inboxes up and down the country.

One couple not in the email list are LEA and JA4, two friends who I have got to know quite well over the past 3 years. LEA went to Uni with another friend Barbie, and through him, about 15 weekends away and several bottles of wine I have become really good friends with them both. They’ve recently bought a new house and I was emailing LEA last week about a possible night out in the homeland. She also confirmed that her and JA4 would take one of the camping pitches.

The next email is from Barbie saying that LEA and JA4 have split up.

I'm shocked. I have to read the words again to make sure I have understood correctly. There are no details, Barbie just says that he found out on Monday, and that LEA will still come to the wedding on her own.

I spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what has happened. I consider emailing one or both of them, but think better of it. I feel sad for them both. I am also sad that my friendship-through-a-friend with JA4 is effectively over. Although in theory it would be OK for me to speak to and hangout with him, in reality we became friends because of the fact that he was seeing (in fact practically married to) LEA who was good friends with Barbie. There is just not going to be the opportunity for us to hang out. Its really sad, but the chances are now that ill never see him again.

Ive got quite a lot of female friends, and thinking about it now I can recall at least 3 other guys from the past who I've got to know for years, grown to consider them as really good friends and then have them socially separated from me by a break up. This seems awfully unfair, especially when there are people like Mr Negative knocking about who I also spend time with because of their relationships with my friends, but who are complete dicks.

(Reading this back I guess I should be caring more about LEA feelings and what has happened rather than acting like its all about me.

Dam it.)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a separate note.

Do you ever jog up the stairs, get halfway up and then just loose all rhythm, get scared you might trip up, and then with your confidence in tatters have to hold the bannister and slowly start climbing again?

Oh, just me then.

PP Episode 4

2007-07-02T13:13:00.000Z

I did my first ever Olympic distance triathlon on Sunday morning. As I walked from the race briefing to the swim start I tried not to think about what the next few hours was going to bring.
The swim very hard for the first few minutes and several times the thought of stopping and getting out crossed my mind.

The cold knocked the breath out of me, peoples flailing arms knocked my goggles off and the crowded start knocked my confidence. But after a few minutes the bodies spread out a bit, my head stopped protesting when I put it under water and I really started to enjoy swimming without having to stop every 25 metres.

I got out in about 25th place, managed to get my wetsuit undone but took forever in transition and lost a lot of places before I even got on the bike. I did quite well on the ride though, and just about kept up with the people around me. The run was more like a hike, and the organisers thought it a good idea to include the steepest hill ive ever seen, yet alone thought about running up, about half way in. I got to the top (of the aptly named ‘Murder Hill’ I later learnt) and started to experience my first ever cramp in my quads. It felt like there was a tennis ball being forced between my skin and the muscle, and I could barely waddle along for about 2 Ks. I tried to stop and stretch it off, but this seemed to make it worse and I feared I might have to walk in the rest of the way. After a while though it seemed to work itself loose, and by the time the final mile approached I was enjoying both unrestricted running and the knowledge that I was going to succeed in making it round. Ive thought about doing a ‘proper’ triathlon for years, and now I have.

My legs are knackered, but the feeling is sweet.

Measure twice, cut once (and the crab that time forgot).

2007-06-27T07:58:00.000Z

Building an aquarium system this last week has had its ups and its downs. Sometimes I feel happy with my day’s practical work, and get a sense of satisfaction in creating something physical rather than just reading papers or playing in the lab. Other times it goes unbelievably wrong and I look very unprofessional when I find myself laughing at things that aren’t really very funny.

Yesterday morning we had to cut the main air feed into the aquarium, take out an unused junction, and reconnect it back up. We measured the diameter of the pipes (I’m using ‘we’ here to dilute the blame, obviously), got two straight connectors for either end, and cut a bit of pipe long enough to join up the two connectors. Easy.

I did get slightly nervous when I felt that there was so much pressure in the main air-line it was hot to the touch. Then the distant vibrations of the compressor transferring into my hand began to stir up further worries in the back of my mind. Unfortunately, these instincts were quelled by the ‘it’ll be fine’ thought that was currently on a hot streak of form in my frontal lobes, and kept putting a hat-trick past the doubts every time they got up to anywhere near actionable strength.

I took the trusty saw in hand and began to cut. Once the blade had breached the pipe interior the noise began and this soon rose up to the level the Killers attained when on the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury (Yes! back of the net for that topical reference! I thank you). The resonating woodwind-type whistle got lower as the saw cut deeper, but was regularly interrupted as the motion of cutting blocked then let through the escaping air. I was making air-line music, so loud it shook me to the bone. It reminded me of being at playschool as a child and blowing raspberries down a long cardboard tube, which amplified the noises I was making and led to about a year’s solid entertainment. This time, the tube was much longer and wider, and the mechanical blower had the power of hurricane Katrina.

I finally got all the way through, and with my stress response in full fling I frantically tried to push the connector onto the pipe.

It wouldn’t fit.

Oh total bollocks.

I madly cleaned away the rough bits of plastic left on the cut edges and tried again.

No. Too big.

Double total bollocks.

Cue ten seconds of doing that looking around in disbelief thing, hoping you’re about to wake up. This changed into some not fully committed laughing (which although inappropriate, was better than the other available option). We then managed to find some duct tape (crikey thanks for duct tape) and after wrapping three quarters of the roll around the cut managed to block off most of the escaping air. Then by a mighty stroke of luck, a random connector lying about in the ‘bits and pieces’ box fitted both the thicker and slightly thinner pipes, and our noisy fuck up was finally silenced for good.

While having a tidy up, we moved a long trough of rubbish away from our side of the room which had been there since the beginning of time. We uncovered a dead, mouldy mouse, and more interestingly the remains of a dead crab.

Despite his collapsed shell, it was still easy to see his classic crab pose, wedged backwards into a slight hole, with claws at the ready, saying, ‘im a crab, I dare you to disrespect my personal space.’ He must have got out and thought, ‘shit, its nice to be out of that tank, but it ain’t very wet out here, or salty, for that matter.' Then a few days later he must have thought, ‘oh shit, I appear to be dead’

Where he came from is a bit of a mystery- they’ve kept crabs in the aquarium before, but nothing as big as this guy, and none have gone missing (they have, by all accounts a crab register (imagine them waving their claws from the back of the class, ‘Here Miss!)). They do have some on the sixth floor, but how on earth would he reach the lift buttons?

4 Weddings and a Stag do (Anon)

2007-06-22T09:44:00.000Z

[I was writing the below post about weddings and for the first time had to stop and think the annoyomous bloggers worse thoughts;

What if this ever got out?

Id initially wanted to remain a completely anonymous blogger. The internet cloaking device of anonymity is a good one. Ive felt confident writing anything about anything, safe in the knowledge that the subject matter would never be able to put two of my posts together with two uncanny resemblances to themselves and make a very uncomfortable foursome. However, as it has gone on (and I’m still just beginning, to be fair) a few of my friends have found me out, usually because of a few, ‘I’m so blogging that’ comments (No, really) down the pub. This is fine; they know the score, plus Ive got nothing to write about my friends that I wouldn’t say to them anyway (well most of the time). I’m more worried (not sure if that’s the right word... yeah, worry it is) that ill reach the point where I cant write what I want to because there’s a chance the subject of the post might read it, and if so it would be unfair on them. It’s difficult, as if I have to hold back the point of it seems reduced.]

Anyway, back to the weddings

Wedding number 2 in the series of 5 this summer is on Saturday. I am only really a ‘oh we’ve got a space left, lets invite... oh what’s his name... you know, JP’s friend... the fish guy’ type of invite so am only going to the evening do. My friend actually suggested that I might only be invited as the bride would like to tell people shes friends with a (insert my distinguished sounding title) and that another friend who is a Lawyer was invited for the same reason. If that’s the case she’ll almost certainly be disappointed when I break out some knee slides and air guitar on the dance floor.

Im probably more looking forward to number 3, for which I’m an Usher, and doing a reading at the church. I decided that because of this reading responsibility I should be known as ‘head’ usher, and after much self proclamation this title has stuck, much to the annoyance of the (now known as) ‘inferior other’ usher.

Number 2 will be good though, don’t get me wrong. Weddings have a certain sheen about them that seems to make all the expense worthwhile, and observing the families raw emotion up close can be really moving. On top of this, having an entire group of friends together in one place is recipe enough for a magnificent evening. I wish the couple a wonderful rest of life.

Even the cake is in tiers.

Boom Boom.

Over analysis of a 4 second incident

2007-06-18T21:00:00.000Z

I take a sip of my drink and look over to see the Stag laughing and dancing his way around the dance floor. Five minutes earlier he had been told that two of the ladies in this bar were the ones we had danced with in the previous evenings karaoke club.

‘Hiya, we were in the same pub yesterday’ said the Stag, ‘I was wearing a dress.... do you remember?'

The lady looks back, questioningly. The eight of us not on the dance floor are grinning, then laughing, then struggling to not pass out laughing as the Stag realises that this isn’t the pair from last night.

Suddenly, I get kicked in the back. The short sharp pain makes me wince as I fall down the two steps of my vantage point at the bar. My mind races. Adrenaline flows. I look back behind me in search of an explanation...

Poland was a fantastic trip. I went expecting (naively) a bland European country, like Belgium or Holland and found it to be anything but. However, while I am again experiencing a low-after-the-high feeling of a weekend done well, the good times were due to the company, not the hosts. All of the laughs came in spite of, rather than because of the locals we encountered. I have never felt less welcomed as I have explored a city.

I guess id better get explaining.

The females were simply beautiful; very pretty, amazing bodies and always immaculately turned out. The few 'nice' locals we met were of the female variety- the two hostel receptionists, for example, were always chatty and helpful and interested in what we were up to.

The males were very, very dismissive, and probably 60-70% of them skin heads with an obvious devotion to pumping copious volumes of both iron and steroids in the gym. They were not friendly.

Back in the bar and I can see that the owner of the foot that has just dispatched me on a stair-surfing escapade belongs to one of these locals, who along with his friend stares coldly back at me, goading me into retaliation. I fight the urge to react instinctively and fight. The protagonist remains on his stool, I look around and recognise that only one friend has seen what has happened. He, like me seems unsure of what action should follow. In the next two seconds a tidal wave of thoughts crash through my head.

I decide that the best thing* to do is to ignore him. I turn back around and warn a few of the friends nearest to me, but don’t want to cause everyone to look around, which might be like waving a naked flame next to the barrel of petrol that sits behind me. A few minutes later and the two guys push past me, and then through the dance floor, knocking two local women over as they leave. I’m boiling like a kettle that has had the switch jammed on.

Later the same night another local guy nonchalantly pushed past a toilet queue and takes great offence at me when I ask him what he thinks he’s doing (I normally wouldn’t have cared, but was still upset from before). On the last night another three meatheads push through the group when we are outside, then walk around and do it again, just to be sure we weren’t up for a fight. Luckily the group were all sensible, really sound guys and we were finding the whole aggressive thing quite funny by then, calling it ‘Polish hospitality.’ We also experienced a lot of hostility from shop owners, waiters and the like, who either ignored us completely or asked us to leave before we’d even sat down. The public, especially at the airport, were also difficult and would queue jump, push and shove or just tut and do anything other than stand in line and wait. Being English, good queue etiquette is in my genes and I get really wound up with people who don’t respect it.

I guess that one explanation is the supply of brain dead Stag parties that come through the city, acting up and giving the Brits a bad name. This seems likely, but I don’t want to let Krakow off the hook that easily- other popular Stag destinations I’ve been to, such as Amsterdam, Prague, Cardiff and Barcelona have all managed to remain user friendly, despite probably getting far more groups than Krakow does.

*There is obviously a balance between letting a complete idiot kick you in the back and not reacting to it, and maintaining certain core principles of what is right and wrong, even if standing up for them means definitely getting into a fight. Ive thought a lot about this over the last few days. Ive only ever been in 3 fights and a few sport related skirmishes in my whole life, all of them stemming from similar situations where someone has stepped so far over the line that it found it impossible not to retaliate. However, I can see that if it had all kicked off in the bar (which it probably would have if the same guy had done the same thing in my local) the chances of me or someone else in the group getting hurt suddenly gets very high, which would obviously have spoiled the weekend. The very fact that I did find myself able to ignore him, suggests that I probably should have, and it all turned out alright in the end.

Andre the Giant....

2007-06-14T14:45:00.000Z

Oh dear, more negativity to deal with. Not Mr N this time, I havent seen him for a bit, but this time my housemate Andre the giant idiot. He really is such a tool.

Our house bills get paid by M downstairs who is happy for us to pay her back the cash. I think it’s a bit unfair on her, but seeing how she insists on it (she likes being in the centre of the involve tree) im happy to carry on. Anyway, Andre the giant fraudster owes M downstairs £105 from various bills, dating back about 4 months. Andre the giant liar claims to have no money, and always promises it at the end of the next month.

This is strange. Andre the giant swindler regularly comes home ‘bragging’ - im not sure who to exactly, but he’s talking to me - about getting £30 or £40 or £50 worth of tips from his waiting job. He is also always buying designer clothes, accessories wine, more wine and even more wine, which seems incredible when you consider how often he steals other peoples wine.

He used to be best friends (his assessment, not hers) with L upstairs, but now has fallen out with her because she won’t spend every waking hour massaging his ego. The other day he was being Andre the giant bitch and said, ‘Ooooo, you’ve got fat!- you’re mum must have been feeding you up’ when she returned from a week at home. This is a bit rude, obviously, but then L told me she was a bit upset, because she ‘used to have a bit of an eating disorder’ which Andre the giant nob head knew all about. What a complete prick.

Worse of all, he really likes horribly bad music, like Euro-soul-swing (that category Ive just made up), and plays it excessively loud when hes feeling 'so depressed’ or ‘just so happy’ which are the only two moods he’s ever in, usually at stupid o’clock in the morning.

Anyway, rather than dis him any more on the internet, which I was taught to do better than by my mama, much like Destiny’s Child, I’m going to try to talk to him. Ill probably have to talk to his hand, in the full knowledge that his face isn’t listening, but talk I will try.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh well, that’s the week done. Im off to Krakow for a 4 day stag do, so theres a fair possibility ill never be the same again.

I think the kids say;

‘Laters’

Bring in the lobster pots, Im coming home with crabs.

2007-06-11T13:40:00.000Z

I learnt to snorkel as a fish-loving child while on my family holiday in Minorca. I remember clinging onto my dad’s hand as I felt a strange sensation of vertigo while watching shoals of sea bream 40 metres below me in the crystal clear waters around Cala galdana. That holiday I went on to see a shark-shaped dogfish (Shock! Ahh Help! No, panic over he’s not coming to eat me), an octopus, and countless other beasties living in amongst the rocks of the shoreline.

Snorkelling has remained a great favourite of mine, but only on holidays in the tropics where the water is warm (and the DVDs are copied). Back in England I always assumed that the sea would be too cold, the water too cloudy, or that the standard of marine beasties on offer would not be up to scratch.

I was wrong.

On Thursday night I went to Wembury with Big J. We arrived, donned our neoprene, and swam out from the beach- our fins enabling thorpedo-like speed through the shallows. The cold on my head seemed severe at first, but then I started to see some fish and I soon forgot about it. Here I was in England, looking at brightly coloured wrasse, shoals of sandeel, gar fish, pollack, mackerel and at least 3 other species that I didn’t recognise. It was amazing.

Big J found a huge edible crab living under a ledge. I dived down and clung to the rocks, the air being the only part of my body wanting to get back to the surface. I watched the crab for a bit, then realised how peaceful it was under the water. Behind me a field of seaweed sloshed forwards and backwards as the waves passed overhead. The rhythm was hypnotic, there was so much seaweed moving together in perfect unison that it made the exposed rocks appear like they were the things moving. I enjoyed confusing my brain and I wished I could hold my breath forever, but quickly realised I couldn’t. We swam on and saw loads of spider crabs, which weren’t scary, despite their large size and likeness of giant spiders. They were so easy to catch that I wondered if they'd make good eating. An investigation of a Lobster Pot showed me my first English Lobster that wasn’t in a restaurant and I was tempted to free her, but didn’t.

We drove home and wondered at the possibilities.

The Drum and the Bass.

2007-06-07T14:40:00.000Z

[Having chosen this title, part of me wishes the post was about a fishing trip where I caught a Bass and perhaps saw a drum floating by in the sea. As will become obvious, this is not what has happened.]

J of the French couple fame is leaving the house. This is a shame. However it did mean a going away party. We had a BBQ* in the back garden and drank, in descending order of quantities, Stella, Wine, Pastis and Vodka. After the BBQ we went to a Drum and Bass club, as chosen by the departing J. We got back at 3 am, and I am, needless to say, feeling completely ruined today. I was singing to Fall Out Boy’s ‘thnks fr th mmrs’ embarrassingly loudly on my walk in. Oh the fun of alcohol lasting till the morning.

I’ve never been to a real drum and bass night before, and can report that I was pleasantly surprised. It was kind of like speeded up rock music. I found it hard to dance to as it’s so fast. Rock music is good, as the beat fits our anthropometrics (whey-hey! anyone having that?)- you can nod your head, jump up and down, tap your hand on the bar – and all these things seem to happen naturally and easily within the timeframe set out by the beat. For Drum and Bass, they’ve got 4 or sometimes 8 beats in the space that there’s one for Rock. If you nodded your head you’d look really silly, and probably strain your neck. Gravity isn’t strong enough to fit a jump into time with the drum, and hand tapping that fast just isn’t enjoyable.

Once I was drunk though, I started to get it. I tried to dance faster than normal and to get with every two beats. Occasionally I tried to get every beat, by moving alternative arms on each beat, or doing some small karate-chop type things I saw some of the regulars doing. Luckily, I couldn’t actually see myself, so (in my head at least) can only assume I was looking good.

The MC wasn’t what I had expected either. I thought he’d be just saying stuff up the front like, ‘Come on Plymouth’ ‘Yeah’ ‘Yeah’ ‘One love(!)’ etc, but he was almost singing - making a load of really fast noise over the music. My other French housemate T, who struggles with his English, was saying something over the noise,

‘I can’t understand what he says, its too fast’

and I was replying,

‘Mate, its not your English, I can’t him understand either’

My housemate L upstairs was really good at dancing, she was pulling all sorts of moves id never even seen before, and somehow she overcame the limits of speed my body was struggling with.

Im glad I went though, its good to understand what other people are into, even if its not your first choice. Plus, its not every night you go to a club in a Bus Station, and for that alone it was better than a night in the cheesy chart music type place.

*We have been trying out different makes of disposable BBQ, and last nights effort from Asda scored the lowest yet, despite being a relatively hefty £1.80. So far, the ranking in terms of maximum heat output and duration has been Sainsburys, Morrisons, Aldi, Trago Mills then Asda. The cheapest is Trago Mills at 89p each. That is a brilliant BBQ bargain.

Days of Wonder

2007-06-01T17:49:00.000Z

It is now 7 weeks since I moved, and overall would say that I am enjoying being back in Janner-land. I previously lived here for 3 years while doing my degree, which in September will be (quickly-check-the-calendar-oh-my-god-it-is) a decade ago. Its strange how you remember things when looking back so far. Certain aspects of what happened at Uni, like the way I acted, the things I said, and did, seem similar to today, but others appear completely foreign. I see myself in some of the memories and find it hard to recognise the guy there. Its me, of course, but much like a severed arm must look like to its owner when its on the floor, seeing things from such a starkly different perspective can make them hard to recognise. Other memories seem more familiar, and make me wish I could go back to that time. They’re as clear as Blu-Ray, and cast a picture into my brain that can still make me smile even ten years on.

Like yesterday, for example:

I was walking up some steps in the centre of campus. They have had an extra flight added since my first stint here, and I started wondering why I would notice such a strange detail. As I was about half way down, a memory flickered a few times, jammed on, then off, and then came through in a clear stream:

These were the Bread Crate steps.

And suddenly I'm back in 1997.

Upon leaving the Union on a Friday night, usually with an obscene amount of snakebite and black swirling in our stomachs, my housemates and I would be on the look out for something amusing to do before the takeaway – puking – sleep – hangover cycle of the weekend would kick in. Occasionally we would be late, and lucky, enough to be around these steps when the previous morning’s bread crates were stacked up outside awaiting collection. The crates were heavy duty red plastic, about two and half, by three feet long and their length meant that when placed longways on the steps, they were always in contact with at least 3 of the step corners. This facilitated a smooth(ish), continuous slide down the steps as if they were a solid 45 degree slope. However, the small area of step corner in contact with the crate meant that they’d slide down at some pace, and this pace was considerably increased if you sat in them.* They were the luge for the concrete generation.

Breadcrates?

Check.

Extremely drunk competitors? Check.

Steps with a central handrail separating the track into two identical racing lanes? Check.

Race-on? Ahhhhh-Ch-eeeeeeeeaaaaa-ck

The chanting would begin, ‘Bread-Crates! Bread-Crates! Bread-Crates!’
And before too long a crowd would form and take bets on who would win, fall out, or just kill themselves.

I remember once (though how much is snakebite memory im not sure) rotating around 180 degrees on the way down and doing the final flight of steps (at considerable speed, by now) backwards. Another time I spilled out of the cart and did the final flight on my head, then shoulders, and then back, as I rolled, long-ways down the track. Whatever happened, however horrendous the crash, or narrow the defeat I always found Bread Crate Racing a pure delight. If Id have broken my neck, I would still have been telling the doctor about how much fun it was when you reach the bottom and see how far you can skid out on the flat.

Back to 2007 and Ive reached the top of the steps. I get out my phone and text a fellow Bread Crate Racer from back in the day,

‘Mate they’ve extended the Bread Crate track by 10 steps’

To which, 10 minutes later, he replied:

‘You are to Bread Crate Racin’ what Ali was to Boxing. Youre a gent and a Scholar, and of course a complete cu nt. Do some work you old student wannabe’

Which I thought was a bit harsh, but probably fair.

Im already looking forward to when the next memory hits.

*Ive just checked, and of course you tube has come to help my poor explanation...click here (don't blink).

Mr Weather and Mr Negative

2007-05-29T10:48:00.000Z

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

2007-05-25T15:37:00.000Z

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

2007-05-22T18:34:00.000Z

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

2007-05-17T10:37:00.000Z

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

2007-05-14T14:33:00.000Z

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

2007-05-11T14:59:00.000Z

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*

2007-05-08T11:14:00.000Z

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

The Saturday night twins

2007-04-30T15:50:00.001Z

I arrived back in Bristol on Saturday morning and then set off to watch Gloucester clinch top spot in the Premiership with a win over Bristol at Ashton gate. After the game I get back to my folks’ house at about 6. I’m tired, and very hungry but happy after an enjoyable afternoon. I consider going up the local fish and chip shop, but then I decide that I can’t face the small but significant amount of effort it would take to put my shoes on and go outside.

A thirty minute power-nap later and Im searching in a giant chest freezer for something to eat. Im deep into the frozen products, maybe a foot and a half under the recently added top layer. This is nearly permafrost down here and I struggle to scrape the ice off each box and read what it is. I finally find something to go with the chips and peas found half way through this frozen transect, but the fish fingers look like they might be from the 1980’s. On the box Captain Birdseye looks like a fresh faced twenty-five year old.

Later on and I’m out in Bristol for a birthday celebration. We’re sat in the White Lion in Clifton village which has a beer garden (though they probably call it an outdoor terrace in these posh parts) that has a cool view of the Clifton Suspension Bridge. It’s a picture postcard scene, and with the garden heater warming my back I’m almost completely over the fact that it was £6.90 for a pint and a Corona.

A friend of a friend is out, along with her twin sister. I find it strange that I don’t find Twin 2 anywhere near as attractive as Twin 1. They’re identical, but there is just something about T1 that T2 the other hasn’t got. This interests me. Could it be the familiarity? (I’ve met T1 before, but not T2). Or fashion sense? (they’re not identically dressed and T1’s legs do look good in her leggins) Or smell? (Ive not consciously smelt either, but I bet somewhere in my brain I know what they both smell like). Maybe it’s this ‘chemistry’ thing people mention but never satisfactorily explain? Or perhaps my looks assessment is being affected by the fact that I thought T2 was a bit stupid after speaking to her.

Later on I meet T1’s boyfriend, who also seems a bit stupid and I wish he was with T2 instead. He doesn’t want to come to the club, but T2 is up for it. T1 eventually decides to accompany her sister to the regular Bristol nightclub, and leaves her boyfriend in a huff. For the time being T1 seems happier now she’s away from the boyfriend and we have a good chat. She insists I give her a piggyback across some cobbles on the way and as we enter the club my mind is racing. Then after being inside for about two and a half minutes they decide they’re leaving as someone (the boyfriend, I think, but not sure) is upset.

Another friend who is normally really composed looses the plot. She was chatting to her ex-boyfriend and she saw his female housemate getting upset while she was talking to him. Now my friend and the other girl are both crying and its time to get home. I don’t think ill ever understand female minds, and there’s no way Ill ever make sense of a female who has been drinking.

Good night though.

3 Spiders, man

2007-04-25T12:20:00.000Z

Not too looking forward to Spiderman 3 pleeeease.

I was playing on Facebook yesterday evening. Just as I thinking of something amusing to write on a friend’s wall, I saw a frantic movement rush out from behind my temporarily-placed cork board. I made an involuntary yelp (which was, lets be honest, a scream), stumbled backwards, tipping over my chair and desperately fought with the wicker and metal as I tried to escape the monstrosity that had invaded my relaxed calm. I partially composed myself and considered if I was brave enough to catch this wild savage in a pint glass and throw his eight-legged ass out of my room.

In the end, after some more nervous laughing and involuntary nosies, the spider - an easy category 2 – went out the window and crashed onto the driveway outside my room.

Not that I’m scared of spiders.

As part of my new job I'm off to the Amazon to collect samples from wild discus fish. I will fly with the PhD student to Manaus in Amazonia, Brazil, then get a 1 day boat trip up the Rio negro to a town called Barcelos. This is one of the main hubs from where discus fish are caught to be sent off to aquarium shops, and will be our base for about 6 weeks. Ive been writing the risk assessment for the trip and have had some fun in the dangerous animals section.

Basically, if you want to meet a nasty end at the hands (or mouth) of a wild animal, the sheer diversity of killers offered by the Amazon makes it the number 1 choice.

There are, of course anacondas:

and caimens (though the anacondas look a bigger threat):

But in amongst them are the real nasties, like vampire bats- which seem to be experiencing a rabies pandemic and (unusually) attacking humans (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/4398660.stm), toothpick fish- which detects the urea of your urine and swims up your urethra (thinking it’s a fish’s gill; http://www.damninteresting.com/?p=797) Brrrrrrrrrrr.

Not forgetting piranhas, electric eels, bullet ants, scorpions and spiders. The Amazonian forest is in fact home to the Goliath Bird-eating Spider- but he sounds like a right tiddler.

Still, its OK as I ain't scared of spiders.

These are my judgemental judgements.

2007-04-15T17:31:00.000Z

One week on from my black hole gripped mood on Sunday evening and things are smelling quite sweet again. I think that with the added perspective the past week has provided I’m able to see with grater clarity the pure form of enjoyment I experienced on a weekend that ended all too soon. The panic, then resignation that gripped my spirit as I ploughed off the edge of my emotional cliff was made even more unpalatable in a dangerous cocktail of sunstroke, fatigue and cuties wearing vest tops in my car.

They say nothing can escape a black hole once you’re in its downward spiral of gravity. But that’s bollocks as I'm feeling *king good. The weather has been warm all week and Ive been having good fun making rash judgements about my housemates.

There are 7 of us all together.

Couple F, should be eating frogs legs and saying ‘Hooonk-eeee-hoooonk’ all the time are actually very nice. I am in the process of rapidly changing my logic and assumptions about the F. He’s a car mechanic, good fun and came out for some beers on Friday night. She’s doing a business degree type thing that involves her doing stints of work abroad. Her current status in the house is testament to a successful English leg of one such contract.

Ive not met Gay A properly. Though he is clearly a super camp something, and that something is, by all accounts a waiter. He has, according to F man and L upstairs a wine-drinking problem. He is also, apparently, was a Slovakian TV presenter, having got his face known on a Big Brother type show. I think that’s more than enough supposition for now.

L upstairs is sound. When I first heard her described as a young religious education teacher I feared the worse, but there isn’t a cardigan or a guitar chorus of ‘I cant smile without you… I cant smile….’ in sight.

M downstairs is a late thirties semi rough bird and comes complete with N downstairs - a mid twenties guy who is, I’m reliably assured is her bit of stuff. This is funny for several reasons. She’s a (on first impressions, admittedly) bossy, controlling, not very attractive middle aged woman and he’s the sort of guy you’d arrange to see next Tuesday. In one of my attempts to get a conversation going with him, I said, while watching the Man U – Watford game,

‘Hey N downstairs, are you in to football at all?’

‘Nah, I'm more into my extreme sports’ he replied.

This is amusing. There is no way this guys ever done anything extreme in his life - apart, maybe, for being extremely *king average. I don’t want to make him look as stupid as he is, so I think about how to say, ‘oh yeah so what extreme sports do you do?’ without promting the inevitable reply of ‘oh no I don’t actually do any’

‘Oh cool. So, er, what sort of sports do you like?’

‘Oh, I like anything extreme really, like snowboarding’

Hmmm. ‘Have you got up that dry slope much then?’ I refer to a dry ski slope visible as you come into plymouth on the A38. Its got a well thought out decoration of differing dry slope colours that spells out 'SKI'

‘Nah. I think its spose to be better on the snow’

Oh. So you’ve never been then. It turns out he likes snowboarding on the TV. What a cock. This is similar to some other conversations Ive had with him which are right up there at the top of my all time crap conversation league.

Luckily, after a while he gets called away by his mum, sorry girlfriend, and I only say girlfriend as I don’t think oldwomanfriend is a real word.

I might contiune this as their characters emerge.

I wonder what they think of me…

Emotional Easter

2007-04-09T18:44:00.000Z

I'm really tired. I feel drained, worn out and I have so many things I need to think about. I think i feel worse as over the weekend Ive been on such a high. Its been another whirlwind fortnight and while I'm 'in' my new house in Plymouth, I feel like I'm starting off on a marathon of my new life having just got completely ruined the night before. For this moment at least i feel annoyed that i don't know anyone here, Ive uncovered some of the same insecurities i had when i first moved up to the lakes. Ill try to explain.

I got back from Kong and did the Bath half marathon. I did a 1.30.something so was quite pleased considering it was my first race for a year and my second best ever half marathon time. I had a week of messing about, viewed a few houses in Plym, but no great shakes really.

The next week I got a house sorted on Monday, drove back and forth to 'Stol a few times gathering my stuff and on Thursday I moved in, and got my first day at work out of the way - which I remember going quite well. Then Friday I got back into the car and drove down to meet some friends near Penzance, where we had hired a cottage for Fri-to-Mon of the Easter weekend.

The house was brilliant- a modern, super-comfortable 8 birth in a quiet little road just off the coast. It was a good mix of friends, 11 in all, most of which i knew well, some very well, some not so much. There were, inevitably a few cute girls, but most were what Id consider my 'friends' and pretty much off limits. I feel ridiculous trying to explain this a few paragraphs, but I had a great time, we did absolutely loads, including trips to St Ives, Praa sands, Portreath, Sennen, and the Minack Theatre, all of which have enough material for their own posts in the future. I felt surges of adrenaline when climbing down a cliff at Lands end to go fishing, a deep down chill to the bone after swimming for 15 minutes in the sea with no wetsuit and a moment of pure happiness coupled with intense brain activity analysing the significance of one of the aforementioned hotties resting their feet on my legs while we had a late night beer and film. This, in particular, I find amazing. Such a small, probably completely innocent, action on one persons part can lead to me thinking about it for days, and even writing it here.

Its ridiculous. Its incredible.

I woke up this morning with a slight cold and felt weak after too many days of too many beers and not enough sleep. I say 'too many' but id not swap the days for anything, i really wouldn't. Memories of sunny Easter weekends with friends are rare. Even now i find myself remembering the memories as some elite time in my life- but while they are happening they just seem to be happening. Good, but not as good as they are quickly recalled to be if that makes any sense. Maybe there is some built in human thing that stops us appreciating things as they happen - or maybe its just me that needs perspective to put things in the place they should be after the event.

Girl A, who seemed happy to be around me, and I had some good jokes with got a lift back to the train station with me, but there was no evidence of the possible previous flirting being born out. That said we were both tired and there was no previous opportunity, at least none big enough for me to take advantage of during the trip (no club visit with lots of alcohol, for example) so I guess ill never really know how she feels. Shes now back in the big smoke, 350 miles away (interestingly enough this was confirmed by text just as i wrote that...). I guess i should either enjoy the memory... or hope for a trip to London to present itself. Though I imagine that will sound somewhat stupid when i re-read this next week.

I had such a good time, I was enjoying myself so much, that i guess its inevitable for there to be a low now its over. Ive gone from a group of close friends to the 'new guy' in a share house- and I've done that so many times the novelty has worn off. But, that said, I feel better now than i did 40 minutes ago when starting this post. Though my brain is still ruined- I have 20 new faces to store in my head from work and Ive still got to meet (and hopefully like) some more housemates tomorrow - I have a feeling the new day will bring new hope.

Part 2 of 2. Fly high

2007-03-24T13:41:00.000Z

Part 2 - Kong

A week later and ive peaked again, geographically this time, as I reach the top of Lantau peak in Hong Kong. It’s a cool place Lantau, my friend has left the high rise and pollution of the main Island and now lives on the 52nd floor of a block of flats overlooking the sea and in the background, the airport. Twenty minutes walk from their flat and im in some serious jungle, this is not the image I get in my head when I think of Hong Kong, but easy to forget its not just an urban jungle. The other islands have some un-tourist-ed (maybe I could form this into a new word?) trails, beaches, eagles overhead, king cobras, and according to a newspaper report last year pythons that are big enough to eat dogs. The peak is one of several over 900 metres here, and unlike most of the similarly sized mountains in the UK I had to start the walk from sea level- infact its from sea-reclaimed land, so probably slightly below.

The flat is not actually the 52nd as the Chinese don’t like number 3, 13 or anything ending in 4. Its high enough though, and I feel weird if I look over for too long. I know it high for two reasons.

1. If you were to build a paper aeroplane and throw it off the balcony it would fly for 4 mins 35 seconds. Not that id do something like that.

2. On the night before I left my friend heard a very loud thud followed by hysterical screaming followed by an ambulance followed the next morning by the reception guard confirming that there was a jumping incident. Im glad I didn’t hear anything, that sort of noise would haunt me for months.

All too quickly I’m on the National Express back from Gatwick. I see a headline on the front of the Guardian about an incident at the Happy Valley race course in Hong Kong on Weds night.

‘That’s funny’ I think to myself while turning to page 23, that’s where I was on Weds night.

I was on a night out with my other friend who lives in Kong. We’d been to a bowling alley (I got a KingPin esque 154 Get in!) and were now figuring out how we go about putting some bets on. This is the other side of Kong. Super bright lights saturate the hustle and bustle of big money city attitude under a wall of skyscrapers. I buy a hot dog and San Migel from one of the young hotties selling in skimpy yellow outfits and we walk and talk around the venue. I live up to my tourist stereotype and win some money in a few races and then lose and lot more convincingly in several more.

Id left it as that- a happy memory of a night in a life of my old friend, but it seems there was more going on than we’d both realised. According to the Guardian report the groundsman had found a series of tubes in the ground near the start/finsh line which contained poisoned darts. Its thought that they could be fired remotely in order to slow down whichever horses were not doing what the dishonest betting ring wanted. I almost wish the plan would have gone ahead- it would have given me a great reason why my 'system' of picking the horses which had the funniest porno names didn’t work. Double Pleasure and One Eyed Dick both failed to place….. maybe they didn’t find all the darts.

Part 1 of 2. Swing low...

2007-03-24T13:26:00.000Z

Wow, two weeks have flown bye since I last got on here, its been an amazing time. These weeks will be ones I remember with a big smile when looking back on my late twenties.

Part 1.

My uncle got me a ticket for England France at Twickenham – my first time there – and I had a cool day on the M4, on trains, in a flat, a pub and in Twickenham. I met up with a friend in London, left the car at his, then got a train to Richmond where I was meeting my uncle, cousins and a gaggle of other hangers on for a beer and food before the off. The train was particularly exciting. Im always amazed in London at the quality of people watching on offer, and it was spiked up this time by the fact that there was, perhaps in prelude to the forcomming rugby, some good quality scrumaging requiredin order to get on the hideously over packed train.

This was an interesting social situation.

The first train arrived and was seriously full, a few people crammed on in front of me, but I didn’t have anywhere near the motivation required to brake the social rules of stranger touching, yet alone stranger pushing extremely hard that would be required to win myself an uncomfortable place on the train. By the time the second had arrived id finished my sandwich and was more up for it. I first had to make some attempt at holding back the cocks trying to push in front of me, together with whom we wrote off any chance that a few locals had who were trying to get off from somewhere back in the heart of the carriage. My time to push arrived sooner than id hoped. I put all inhibitions aside this time, and ignored the protests of the people who had quickly forgotten the fact that they had just done a ‘me’ and pushed on themselves, and uncomfortably forced myself inside the automatic doors just before they closed. I’m now stood inside with probably 5 people in the space that might under usual circumstances be called my own personal.

In the ground I was in the new stand, at the front of the top of three tiers. I caught up with my cousin who has just come back from a 6 month post-uni trip round the world. He’d had a great time, as did I, when we even unexpectedly beat the French in a thrilling second half.

Later on i quickly stopped at my friends for a tea, then started the trek back across the M4 - a trip made more frustrating knowing that id be comming the other way again the next morning on the way to Gatwick.

It’s a shame that we later lost to the Welsh, which I watched wearing a crappy Guinness hat in a bar in Wan Chai, Hong Kong.

This post peaks far too early

2007-03-10T16:51:00.000Z

So much hasn’t happened in the last few weeks I don’t really know where I shouldn’t start.

See, I know that that isn’t funny or clever, but apparently if I write a book in this style and call it ‘Catch 22’ it will be widely regarded (by ‘them’ in the know- I’m really starting to dislike them)) as an all time classic.

Anyway, book reading aside, it’s been a fantastic few weeks. I finished at my temp job and had two interviews, both at Biology departments. Slightly surprisingly I got offered both of these jobs and had a sheepish few days as I juggled the first not-quite-so-good job while waiting to hear from the second slightly-better-and-longer-contract position. The upshot is that Im heading back down to my old undergrad stomping ground in April. This leaves a good few weeks to kill, which led me to be online on Thursday evening searching for flights to Hong Kong.

I had a bit of luck here- it is probably one of those moments which balance out other incidents of bad luck (such as locking your keys in your car, for example…) but that get forgotten in the long run of things resulting in an apparently bad-luck skewed life imbalance. Having looked in the back of the Sunday Times Travel section at ther flights advert bits I was pointed towards the Money section, which had a section on ‘Getting Cheap Flights from the Internet’ This guy quoted a few search engines that compare several hundred travel agencies and flight couriers, and he had an example that got him a flight to Kong land through www.skyscanner.net for £269. In case you were falling asleep, or are not in the know, this is extremely, dare I say fucking cheap. I went onto this site, and it was true; a new company called OasisHongKong fly direct on a 747, and the only catch I could make out was there was no free alcohol. Having previously flown with Brunei Air, this is no big deal. Brunei is a ‘dry’ airline, which not only had no drink for sale but also advertised it was showing Oceans Eleven, which I got quite excited about until the original 60s version started, which somewhat dampened my spirits, which were subsequently fully extinguished when the only available sound was badly dubbed German. In flight entertainment aside, the main trouble with these Far East four-hundred-and-something pound flights (Qatar air, and Phuket Air are other examples of the same ilke Ive been on) is that you also have to endure a 4-8 hour stop over in the middle of nowhere.

My friends out in Kong who ill be staying with both said that the only bad thing they’d heard about Oasis was that there is very little leg room.* Maybe it’ll be so cheap you get a free DVT. Ill let you know how I get on.

*They obviously didn’t hear Be Here Now. Yes, that’s the best joke in this post.

What to do if business is disrupted

2007-02-16T11:26:00.000Z

Hey-Ho I'm back.
I'm not sure if its my lack of work to do at the moment, but I've been spending increasingly large amounts of time reading through some of the blogs on here, and man i like it. I can fly over to America and here about someones problems in New York, catch up on the gossip (from someone I don't know, about someone I don't care about) in Perth, and then come back closer to home and read some of my friends blogs without them ever knowing it.

Ive just read one such post (which seems awfully popular by the way- I wonder how long it takes to get an audience on this thing..) which was slating the whole corporate-phrase-culture that so inanely bounces out of managers' offices and inboxes around the country. I work (only for a few more more weeks though) at a government money wasting type place too, and in amongst the health and safety time wasting list, there are a few classic examples of complete and utter bollards. We are not, for example allowed to walk down the stairs without a hand on the hand rail- I kid you not. Nor is it allowed to use a fire extinguisher (even if you are locked in your office and ass has just caught fire, presumably) if you haven't attended the course on using fire extinguishers. The camel spiders back was however broken when told by my 'Manager' that I had to go on a 'hostile persons training' course, because I need it in my 'personal achievement folder' despite the fact that Ive been working all year without it, and will not be out of the office again before I finish work here.

Anyway, rant over. I point of this post was to put a light hearted spin on some of the management crap that goes on. We have lots of A4 sheets around the place, saying things like;

'Do you feel stressed? Follow these 5 easy tips'

'Take a 1 minute break from your desk every hour to make your day more productive'

Ive only just noticed the best one though. I went out to use the toilets, but they were busy, so i sneaked in the disabled one. Upon sitting down and preparing to drop, I noticed another sign on the back of the toilet;

'What to do if Business is disrupted'

You just couldnt teach it....

Can anyone break into my car?

2007-02-02T21:05:00.000Z

Suddenly, I become aware that I’m shivering. As the discovery is made, my mood drops to a new low, further down even, than when, 4 hours ago I realised my housemates were not in, and that locking my keys in the car at work was definitely the silliest thing Ive done today.

But no. This is not a tale of woe, I'm not a despondent ‘locked out of his house’ guy who is miserable for the sake of it. There is some stinking conspiracy unfolding tonight and I am right in the middle of it where the smell is thick. It hums. Since returning from the pub, Ive spent the past 22 minutes on my doorstep thinking about probabilities, so how about this:

Since getting my car 5 years ago, this is the second time that I have locked the keys in it. Lets say I drive, on average, every other day. That makes this key locked in incident a 1 in 450 probability. Normally it would be no problem, as id just go home and my housemates would be in. They’re not, I think I mentioned it earlier. For them not to be in after work is unusual, but nothing more than a 1 in 5 chance. For them still to be out now however, at 8:24pm, is remarkable, somewhere up nearer 1 in 150. Still, even if I lost my keys, and my housemates were out, Id still have my phone to give them a call. Well, no, I forgot that this morning too. I can count on one hand the number of times in the past 5 years that Ive not had one of the big three* at my disposal- and now there are two missing simultaneously. I feel sick.

In addition to this already remarkably unlikely list, I was on TV tonight (the 6.30 local news- I later found out it was only my hand, back and arm, but that’s not the point) and now Ive missed it. Being on TV is rare for me, maybe 4 times in my life, so missing it sucked, and also added a 1 in 2500 chance into the mix. Already, the chances of all these independent variables happening in one day are at something like 1 in 84 billion.

“You should go and buy yourself a lottery ticket” my mocking half-self thinks.

“You really should be quiet” I think back, and manage a grin.

Earlier, upon realising my predicament, I walked up to the Internet café and spent an hour learning from Google how to “break into car” because my “keys locked inside.” I then went for a walk around the block, went in the ‘rough’ local pub, which turned out to be not so, and am now stood in my porch, watching the world go by. Since no one can see me from where I am, I keep getting snippets from people’s conversations as they walk past. My favourite so far is from a young Asian couple,

GIRL: ‘….well how do you think it was for me without you here for a week. I had no one to cuddle at night’

BOY: Ooooooh, well it wasn’t really my fault, I didn't……..’

Ive also just seen a white transit with ‘RW Contractors’ on the side of it hit the wing-mirror off of my neighbours white transit, spraying splinters of mirror all over the road. I didn’t think that vans ‘did’ their own, I sense Ive just witnessed a rare taboo, like that time when some BBC wildlife team filmed a lioness eat her cub and couldn’t believe what their high definition monitors were showing them. I feel a little strange, which is better than cold at least. I go and tell my neighbour, but he seems more surprised to see me than bothered about the mirror. He is smaller than I thought he was, and after walking round the glass on the floor a few times he says, ‘oh bast@rds’ a few times and then returns to his house as quickly as he emerged.

The next thing I see is good. Just as I was creating some scenarios in my head that facilitated all of my housemates being out for the rest of time, ‘Tish returns to the house, and even better than that, she has her keys.

Joy o joys, I'm in the house, and suddenly everything smells sweet again.

*The big three are your wallet, keys and mobile. Their order of importance can vary significantly depending on what you may be up to at a given time. For example, if Ive just bought a new mobile on a 18 month contract with no insurance, then the mobile might creep up the rankings from its traditional third spot. Similarly, if I'm on a surfing weekend at Woolacombe and I cant find my keys, they suddenly become a Roger Federer-esque number 1, with nothing else even coming close.
(*While on holiday I have been known to promote my camera into the hastily renamed big four, but this has only ever been a temporary measure.