Nothing compares to Shamu

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...

Kissing the Saturday night Twin

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

Fishing, drinking and dressing up adventures

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.