Yey (4 weeks after) Easter

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

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...

...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...

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

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

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

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.