Can anyone else hear that?

It was halfway through a lazy Friday afternoon as I trudged through the rain and entered the building.

It had been lightly spitting for over an hour but thankfully my journey was only a few hundred yards so my jacket had only a few spots of moisture by my shoulder.

Glancing around I spotted the old and the dejected and also in the air was a faint aroma of burned coffee beans.

A low, dull murmur escaped a few souls as they tried vainly to get seek help, before returning from whence they came.

Doing my best to avoid eye contact with any of them, I silently paced the wide expanse between the closing doorway and the thin zigzagged line of stooped figures next to a row of windowed booths.

As I made my way to the end of the line, I nervously began to fondle the paper in my pocket unobtrusively whilst I tried my best to look nonchalant and relaxed.

One by one the lines number dwindled until there were only a few more ahead of me.

My apprehension grew steadily as the clock on the far wall crept ever closer to closing time.

Despite the distance I believed that I could still hear its faint tick tick ticking, as if both a grim reminder of both my time hear and of life in general.

Just then I felt the presence of someone else come up behind me. Exactly what he was doing here I had no idea, but he was not like the other around me.

I failed to spot any sign of a suitcase of holdall from the corner of my eye and of course I dared not turn around or look squarely at him.

That was one of the many unwritten rules, to look at someone directly without necessity was asking for trouble, and all too often said trouble was only too happy to reply with dire consequences.

Thankfully the line in front of me had dwindled to only two, but the minutes had not passed slowly and the time was almost up. I could only hope that these next two would be hurriedly processed and free to continue on their way before it was too late for me to conclude my own business.

Up ahead of me there spilled out some commotion behind the windows and I could spot a number of uniformed men and women milling about nervously, all talking in hushed tones and glancing out now and again over our diminutive number.

A tiny bead of sweat manifested on my brow and I began to wish I was anywhere but here.

After no more than a minute, but what seemed to me like an eternity, most the uniforms all went back to what they were doing, except a handful who decided to leave via a obscured door in the rear of their room.

There were now as many of them as there was of us and I was in considerably doubt if I would be able to achieve my goal this visit or if I would be forced to return again another time.

Then from out of nowhere a sound began to enter my thoughts.
Faintly at first as if just to tease but as the seconds went by it grew and shifted form.

My heart started to race as the noise turned into steadily rising music and all at once I recognised dreaded it instantly.

It was a music that haunts my worst nightmares and in my youth would often wake me screaming amid sweat drenched sheets. More chilling and frantic than Dance Macabre and also instantly more imminently threatening.

This was not the sort of noise I could imagine anyone ever wanting to hear, and especially not when standing as open and exposed as I was now.

While the psychotic notes seeped deeper into my psyche and chilled my very bones what frightened me most was that it appeared no one else could hear it, yet to me it was becoming the loudest and most terrifying melody imaginable.

Louder and louder it became, until I felt almost unable to breathe as anticipation of a most horrific and gory conclusion to my very being overwhelmed me, when ... all at once ... it stopped.

"Er ullo Pete, whassup?".

It was not the sound of my own fate fast approaching or of a insane knife wielding psychopath about to slice me up a thousand times.
No, it was just the "innocent" new polyphonic ring tone that the guy behind me had set on his mobiles phones.

Getting my breathing back under control, I reminded myself that this isn't a Hollywood slasher movie but instead real life, and what was real was that I was standing here in a queue to cash a cheque, just about returning to work and replenish the petty cash tin.

Movie Review - Clerks 2

The Audience : Myself and my brother-in-law Leigh - who is a world leading authority of Star Wars ( no joke, he used to help RUN the conventions ... til he met and married my sister that is, ha ha ) and also a guy who in his youth watched more movies than you, I or anyone else you have ever met had hot dinners.

 

The Time : Friday 22nd at 6.40pm

 

The Location : Odeon Cinema on Tottenham Court Road ( via the pub across the road for a much needed spot of Friday pre-film lubrication )

 

The Price : £9.50 each ( wow that's a lot for a film these days ! )

 

The Cast : I'm guessing the same as in Clerks ( this being the follow-up to the original "Clerks" from 1994 ), but not having seen the original, all I instantly recognised was Jay and Silent Bob.

 

The Genre : Alternative Sit-Rom-Com with smut and homage to films galore.

 

The Plot : Two store clerks private take on life, the universe, sex and marriage whilst going through a few mini mid life crisis's.

 

The Verdict : This film will never be a classic, never be the top of any one's best ever films, never achieve the same level of cult status that "The Blues Brothers", "Friday" or "Dogma" did, but is never-the-less a film I enjoyed watching throughout, even if it does just heavily take the mick out of certain classic stereotypes.

 

- - -

 

Being a newly converted Radio 7 listener, I was able to catch a program where a bunch of well known and respected comedians were reviewing both this and the "US" vs "UK" style of comedy films.

 

Their main gripe about UK comedy is that we rely too heavily on one liners and trying to somehow get a big audience by saying its a "Great British Comedy", which more often than not means that it just isn't going to be any good.

 

Their mixed praise for US comedy was that they are much better at building characters and situations that you both can identify and empathise with, not just cardboard cut out actors with scripts.

 

Clerks 2 is a great example of this, as time and again it sacrifices a quick half hearted one liner to build up a much better fully rounded joke later on.

 

It's this fact that also makes the whole film more re-watchable as it is not just a "once-you-know-the-joke-its-not-funny-anymore" kind of flick, but a "did-they-really-do-that-and-why-didn't-anyone-twig-before" movie.

 

For me the two best bits were them paying homage to Silence of the Lambs and also the entire "Porch Monkeys is not racist" joke, especially as it is both true but ultimately flawed at the same time.

 

All I would say is that anyone of a nervous disposition, disliking of sexual references and images or a fanatical lover of Lord of the Rings that DOES NOT possess a sense of humour, then you should really not watch this film.

Nan Bread & Popadoms

Question : What do Garlic & Herb Nan bread rolls and mini Poppadoms both have in common ?

.
.
.

Answer : They both secrete a thick black oily stain and set all the nearby smoke detectors off if you leave them in a microwave on full power for more than 20 seconds.

Public heath and Safety Notice - DO NOT try this at home

{ it will stink out the entire house for days, the smoke will take ages to clear, the oily residue will stain and the whole thing will remain the temperature of molten lava for much longer than you think }

Amendum This will also destroy any edible qualities of them, as has been proved by leaving it out in my back garden where it was totaly ignored and left alone for days by any of the neighbours pet cats, the family of foxes that live in the wilderness at the end of my road, the entire local bird community and even a wandering rat!

When is enough enough

Sometimes in life you go through just about every variation on a theme and you feel you have done it all.

 

That is the time to stop.

 

Anything that you do after that will much more likely be dissapointment than any other result.

 

Too many times I have wondered why I allow myself to get talked into arrangements that I know are stupid.

 

Too many times I ignore sanity and reason and just go with the flow even though I know it is not what I want.

 

My own inner demon doesn't even need to try and whisper in my ear, he just suggests it and I go along like it was my own.

 

Part of me wished that I could lose it and get mad on a dime, but sadly it takes a lot to get me going.

 

Part of my wishes that I can grow up and become wise instead of just being clever and understanding after the even.

 

Alas I know myself and I know where I am heading and the tide is already flowing away.

The Purple Menace

It started off with a single purple man standing beside a single purple armchair where sat a single purple woman.

 

I was intrigued.

 

Then it became a smattering of purple deckchairs in popular busy park.

 

I could not help but take a second look.

 

When it escalated to dozens of purple men and women on every street corner between work and the train station, all desperate to shove a free newspaper down my throat I only felt disappointment.

 

London Lite was not what i was expecting, wanting or requiring.

The Human Races Stupidity Goes Ever Onward

Two very newsworthy stories that reached the headlines today are the bloodless coup in Bangkok, Thailand ( a country I have wanted to visit for a long time, and where my ex girlfriend is both from and was recently fearing she might be economically forced in returning to ) and a very bloody clash of protesters and officers in the Hungarian capital of Budapest ( where I have just come back from a few weeks back ).

 

http://www.iht.com/articles/2006/09/20/asia/web.0920thai.php

 

http://www.iht.com/articles/2006/09/20/news/web.0920hungary.php

 

What else made the news that continues to show the worlds misunderstanding of each other ... the Pope making a very public speech reciting a passage from an old christian text, on the prophet Mohammed, which contained words like "inhuman" and "evil".

 

To me, not only do the words "pot" and "kettle" spring to mind, but also i feel that to loudly voice it in public will only succeed in inciting further hatred between the two religions.

 

If humanity ever hopes to survive itself then it had better start to learn to go beyond the petty schoolyard antics of name calling and try to focus on the things we all have in common.

 

But if its a giant worldwide bloodbath that everybody really wants then fine, go ahead and don't mind me .... but oh, just let me take a short trip to the moon for a grandstand view with enough pizza, monster munch and cherry coke to keep me going from now til doomsday first, eh!

Quarter Days

Anyone who reads my blog, either regularly or sporadic, will notice that I hardly ever talk about my job. This is because it is neither clever, exciting, fun or interesting.

 

Often people ask me why don't I change my jobs, and the answer is that I am trying but breaking into creative writing is not as easy as it sounds and being a tour guide abroad / travel writer means you need to have travelled first and then had time to write it up.

 

Airlines, train fares and my mortgage don't come free so until I do make it big I am here to stay, but no I won't be breaking a fingernail to bother with spending the next 5 years of my evenings getting part qualified just to add a few letters after my name.

 

But as an example of how boring and idiotic my job can be the most exciting thing, work wise, that happened to me in the last few months is that I found the reason why the English quarter days are when they are.

 

To wit, the four English quarter days are :- March 25th, June 24th, September 29th and Christmas Day.

 

They are set out this way, not because of the number of days between them, but because it has to be at the end of each month and March has 5 letters ( 20 + 5) , while June has 4 letters ( 20 + 4 ) and September has 9 letters ( 20 + 9 ) - with Christmas day being obviously an almost unmistakable quarter end day.

 

These dates differ from Scotland which is much more simply :- 1st January, 1st April, 1st July and 1st October.

 

Tell me again that things are a lot simpler in England ! ! !

Some people are beyond stupid

Steve Irwin was a great ambassador for wildlife and dealing humanely with problem animals. It was a very sad day when news broke he had been killed while shooting a new series by a stingray that pierced his heart with its poisonous barbed tail.

 

This is very sad and very tragic.

 

But what is very pathetic and moronic is that now it would appear that people are going out and killing stingrays, either in revenge, panic or to deal with the loss in their own way.

 

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,3-2353742,00.html

 

These people sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo don't get it.

 

This is the very last thing in the world that Steve would ever have wanted and if he were here now I bet anything you like he would be one of the first to go into the water and stand between the killers and the rays himself.

 

A view I have often thought is that the sooner we find a way to kill ourselves off without destroying the rest of the planet the better, and one I believe has been echoed in many films and stories.

Country ciders most top secret ingredient

Psst

 

I overheard a story the other day from a very reliable source, mention no names, that the reason country cider is so potent is that it the lop a sheep in half and throw them in the vat.

 

Aparently it just floats at the top of the vat and helps to scim the sludge out while they pour it into barrels from the base.

 

Personally I believe they are just trying to hide the evidence of an illicit rendezvous, but that's another story altogether!

Wargame my foot

Now that Leigh is my lodger once more he has decided that we can play some multi-player war strategy games once again, and his favourite at the moment is called Hearts of Iron II - Doomsday edition.

 

I have never played it before, and there are plenty of different options and things to do to keep you occupied even before the actual fighting starts.

 

So he suggested that I play through a couple of the tutorials first and then try jumping into the full game against the computers to learn the ropes before I try and take on a couple of human players.

 

I agreed and my first full game was playing the Americans.

 

Harumph ... what a fiasco ... what rotten luck ... what a complete waste of time.

 

The game is set up with random events that "might of" happened, historical events that "really did happen" and giving each major country a level of AI that will let them alter their plans as they see what goes on in the rest of the world.

 

In my game so many things went differently it wasn't even a war game.

 

- Despite German and Italian assistance, Republican Spain defeated National Spain in just a few months.

- Japan got so badly beaten and repelled by the National Chinese that they were too weak to attack anyone else.

- Russia decided not to join the attack on Poland with Germany.

- France and England did not declare war on Germany when it annexed Poland.

- England decided to let Ireland be fully Independant.

- Germany failed to annex all of Czechoslovakia.

- Russia failed to get anywhere in Finland.

- Germany did not even attempt to invade, occupy or even influence any other European country.

- The Japanese did not attack Pearl Harbour.

- National China was so strong during the Japanese war that they began to invade other countries.

 

These are just the highlights, or rather lowlights, and by March 1944 there was still no actual war in Europe, or any fighting going on anywhere else either except with the Chinese who were gaining ground on all fronts.

 

So after about 18 hours of building up forces there was no war to fight and no enemies to battle or countries to liberate, at least not unless I wanted to become the aggressor and have the rest of the world turn on me as it did historically on the Nazi's!

 

When Leigh arrived home I showed him and all he could do was shake his head in amazement, say that it had never happened to him in 4 years of playing the game, and finally agree that I could either declare war just to learn more about the combat system or start all over again.

 

Pah, some war game ... didn't even get to fire a single shot, let alone drop a H bomb.

I have Dyscalculia

I have decided that it is time to own up and say even being an Accountant, I am poorly chosen for my career as I have a mild form of Dyscalculia. ( This could be one reason why I would prefer to be a writer as I do not have Dyslexia, which is spelling and letters ! )

 

My own form of Dyscalculia manifests when dealing with storing and sharing numbers in the short term.

 

When taking numbers from one spreadsheet, or page, to another I very frequently get the input them down in the wrong order.

 

This is especially noticeable when dealing with a long list of numbers that have simply to be added up, as I almost always screwed up when I just used a calculator.

 

Whenever I have a group of more than about 5 numbers I will always open up an excel spreadsheet as then when I type them in so when I do make several mistakes I do not have to start again, as I don't trust those <clear> and <clear all> buttons.

 

It is strange that I can verbalising a large number, of say phone number size ( even breaking it down into neat clusters of numbers ) but when I then write or type it elsewhere the problem occurs again.

 

It is good in a way that I often verbalise the numbers as I am transferring them as I often spot my own errors, but not always.

 

The other major way that I help myself is that I set up extra "redundant checks" that cross cast everything I do and have it flag up when things do not agree.

 

These flags are not displayed or printed out on the final copy, but I find them essential for ensuring that all my sums add up as I am working through a job.

 

The third way that I cope is to also round up or down and then take an estimate of what it should be and then look and see if the final figure agrees to my estimate.

Mad English Monks of Oslo

And my love of travelling had brought me many funny stories also, with this one being right from the mouth of my tour guide, who was actually from Sweden and not Norwegian at all.

 

Back in the days when monks were famed for their love of calligraphy and isolationism, and not being portrayed as the innocent stealing perverts of modern cinema and literature, there was a group of English monks who wanted to spread the word to the Vikings.

 

Now these monks were very law abiding and did not want to offend or break their sacred vows, so regardless of where they travelled they were determined to keep to the traditions as laid down from generations passed.

 

This worked perfectly up until they decided to travel northwards and attempt to convert the Norwegian folk near Oslo.

 

In their boats they came in early March, and seeing the idyllic countryside and abundance of fresh fish and prawns they settled on an stretch of wooden hillside cut off from the rest of the town by a stretch of water.

 

Things went well for a few months, and they considered themselves very lucky indeed to have found such a nice location and began to build a permanent place of worship. However very soon they all steadily got more and more tired during the days and lost the energy to do much except sit and pray.

 

Was is the food, was is the something in the water, was it being so far from home they began to lose their faith?

 

No, it was just that they did not know their geography very well as Oslo is famed for being the land of the midnight sun.

 

Why is this a problem?

 

Because the laws set down states that a monk must rise and begin work with the sun and can only rest and sleep when it sets. So in a land where during the summer it never sets this caused a problem.

 

Equally so when it came to winter time they found that the days were only a few hours during the middle of the day when they were allowed to rise and do anything before prayer and rest again.

 

In the end one of them sent message to the pope to ask for a special dispensation for them due to the exceptionally erratic cycle of the sun. The messenger went off and they waiting ... and they waited .... and they waited.

 

One can only imagine the humongous celebration and relief they must have felt when the answer finally came back "yes". It had only taken seven years to get the reply !!!

Fun of Geneology

I have decided to give you a bit of a taster of why I like history and travelling so much, as you can hear some really funny stories that can sometimes even bring a tear to your eye.

 

First off, is a bit of Geneology ( that's "Gene" and "-ology" together, meaning researching your family tree, for those like me who have never heard of it til now ).

 

Anyways, apparently according to diaries and newspaper clipping my great, great, grand father ( maybe I've missed a great or two, not quite sure ! ) on my mothers side had a very peculiar penchance for nature.

 

In particular he loved water and naturism, so much so in fact, that we rather fear he fancied the life of a frog over his own.

 

Why do we think say this? Well its due to the fact that at one time or another he was a rich landowner with a nice old mansion house, but instead of hosting the normal hum-drum of balls and music recitals, he would do his best to seal up the lower floors and flood them with water, before going swimming naked for hours at a time.

 

Luckily for us, with him being both male and rich he was never properly diagnosed or committed to an asylum, so thankfully us later generations can still say with a clear conscience that there is no clinical insanity in the family ... at least not yet!

 

What is a more scary is that in those same times if you were a single mother that was all the justification they wanted or needed to send you off to the asylum.

Asleep for ten hours

Having not got as much sleep as planned on Friday and none at all on Saturday, due to being stuck adrift in London, I knew I had to recoup some of the lost sleep. Thus it was that I sent myself to bed on strict instructions to be asleep by eight. I missed it by the narrowest of margins but was happy to say I was fast asleep in la-la-land before nine.

 

Waking up the next morning I didn't feel any different, but that didn't last long.

 

On the train into work I sat next to a guy with a PSP on his lap. Instead of playing any kind of game, he was watching the immortal Bill Hicks performing his "Revelations" live stage performance.

 

I never appreciated before how expressive he was or how different each of his gags are, but even with only the minutest of sound escaping from his tiny earphones I could tell exactly what joke or comment he was up to by how he was throwing himself around the stage like a Satan possessed puppet.

 

If he were here now I am sure that he would give a deep laugh with a glint of mischievous money eyes to know that his shows are still being updated onto all the latest mediums, getting his message across to a new generation.

 

Arriving at the tube stop I could not resist laughing when I heard the station staff who called out over the tanoy system "mind the doors, please, mind the doors... I said mind the doors, what are you fecking stupid of something?".

 

I was not so happy to realise for the first time that I had got into such a habit of arriving late and catching the later train to London Bridge that I knew exactly where to stand on the tube platform to be right opposite the entrance to the escalators.

 

Waiting for the tube I was surprised to spot the very subtle subliminal message from the Rizla company on an advert for the renovations to the underground station. It was not just the words used, but also the same font, colours and repeated thin rectangular images across the advert that to me today was a dead giveaway.

 

The only thing newsworthy thing in the Metro to me was the 300 surfers who were holding their own watery goodbye to Auzzie Steve Irwin, a.k.a. the Croc Doc. I never got to meet him personally but a good mate of mine on the net once helped him fix up a Tazzi devil whilst she was over there.

 

Leaving the tube I spotted a fairly attractive woman who totally ruined her look by including a pair of hideously large and fluffy white breast enhancer discs. The fact she was very flat chested before was made more apparent with the tops of both discs clearly visible above the dress line. What WAS she thinking ???

 

Arriving at work I felt that things must surely return to normal, however one of the girls at work offered to take me to lunch and pay, which is the first time she has ever felt the desire to dip her hand into her purse and pay the lions share of the bill in all the time I have worked here ... all four years, three months and counting.

 

By home time I was feeling more myself and I rationaled that the effects of the extra sleep must have worn off by now, but it certainly gave me a glimpse of a different universe for a few hours.

The After Party

Not being a big drinker it was just a case of bad timing that had meant I missed my sisters early evening barbecue earlier today, so with not much else to do on the boat but dance and drink I was not surprised when I was a bit pished by the end of the party.

 

I would have said that I was only half cut, however I distinctly remember staring at the gents door for a good few minutes trying to work out if vacant meant it was empty or not, which is a new first for me, so I guess that I was more gone than I felt.

 

Paula had arranged a couple of after party gatherings at a few clubs in the west end and as my last train home leaves at 12.04 and the boat was due to dock back at 12.15 I was always planning on tagging along with her.

 

I had also always planned on crashing at the Westminster University Hall of residence at a mere £11 per night right around the corner from the party, but they had not got back to me following my contact email so this had fallen through.

 

What I wasn't expecting was to try and recreate the old "how many students can you get in a mini" record breaking event. Ok, it wasn't a mini and it wasn't over the legal driving limit, but in a car with no rear doors and with Paula ending up half lying / half sitting on both me and her cousin it certainly felt like it.

 

Lady luck was still strangely amiss as despite having guest lists at a few clubs we could not actually find one that would let us in, due to them already being overcrowded. This was a double blow as this was where and when Paula had planned to meet up with the remaining guests who could not get onto the boat.

 

Our large procession of white clad figures slowly began to dwindle with each failed entry to a club after the first as guests slowly but surely lost the will to go clubbing after pounding the pavement for much longer and retired home.

 

After about club number four I told Paula that I would just go crash over at a hotel for the night, waved goodbye to one and all that was left and headed off into the night on my own.

 

However my own luck was even less than when I was part of the group. In my cleverness I had left most of my credit cards at home so that my wallet was nice and light in my pocket. This was a stroke of insanity as it turned out my one remaining card had reached its limit and the cash machines would not give out any more.

 

My next plan was to find a Soho strip bar as they remain open until about 5am, but I was too drunk to find my way there, a cruel fate as during my sober days I have many a time passed through there without even trying regardless of which was I had headed off from work.

 

At Buckingham Palace I paused and sat for a good long while, glad to let my feet get some rest and praising myself for my earlier cleverness of slipping my padded insoles into my trainers.

 

I then decided to try out my credit card one last time, especially as it was now very much Sunday morning so perhaps the limits had been reset for the day, and voila, success. However this success was cut short as the next four hotels around Victoria I tried were all full up.

 

At one of them a rather bland woman waited to get inside the main doors, and the younger woman just let her right in without any questions or even raising an eyebrow. It is my deduction that some gent staying in the hotel must have decided to get himself an escort, as not many women travel alone at 4am with no luggage and are sober as a judge. Or maybe I'm jumping to conclusions.

 

At the final hotel, I gave up on waling any further and just settled down to sit on the steps outside and here it is that I noticed shortly after a complete lacking of the milk of human kindness.

 

In the hour that I waited on the steps I noticed three guests depart with suitcases, bound for early morning flights no doubt. However when the hotel staff spotted me sitting on their step they gathered together and angrily demanded that I leave. I must say that at this point in the cool night just before the dawn, following hours or walking and no further consumption of any alcohol whatsoever, I was feeling decidedly sober.

 

In reply to their gruff demands I asked why they said the room was full. Because we have no free rooms. But what about that last couple that just left, surely I could have their room . No, it is not ready. But I don't need it to be ready, I just need a place to rest for a couple of hours until the first train home. No, I'm sorry, but hotel policy insists that after a guest leaves the room must be completely cleaned before allowing any new guests to enter. But I've already tried lots of other hotels in the area and they are all booked up . That's not our fault and rules are rules.

 

What a complete load of hogwash. They would rather leave me stranded in London and lose out on the cash than give a guy a decent break.

 

And like a bad nightmare it just kept getting worse.

Victoria train station did not open until after 5am.

Engineering works meant no trains were leaving from Victoria, instead they are all leaving from Blackheath.

The tubes don't start running on a Sunday until 7am.

The first train to leave for Kent was at 7.55am.

It was a slow stopping service to Swanley that then becomes a slow bus service to Gillingham.

The bus had no curtains and by now the early morning sun was beating down remorseless.

They had to wait at each station to let passengers who would normally be catching trains at that time board the bus.

The bus driver would not let anybody off at a normal bus stop that it passed, regardless of if it was closer to home that the actual train station for the passengers.

 

I arrived back home at about 10.30 on Sunday morning and I never want another night like that as long as I live.

Party - Main Event

So as you have read my previous blog entry you will no doubt already know the background to this next one ( and for those who don't ... tut tut tut, where have you been then eh ).

 

Paula's birthday boat party was a in her own words a banging n rocking do, so although had to leave with about a dozen guests still on the pier, the rest of the night went off well.

 

I can see both sides of the argument to letting on board any more guests that the specified maximum of 80, but I still swing to the side that with most of those invited being young, slim females and thus were very light and took up little room ( plus were damn easy on the eyes as did I mention that she had invited some of her model colleagues along, oops ;o) it would not have rocked the boat to let on the last few!

 

The music was not exactly to my taste, being a mix between club r'n'b, club soul and coloured regatton, most of which was in an accent too strange for this white guy to understand, and having been a dj's roady in the past I knew that he wasn't used to the boats setup at all, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

 

The cruise along the Thames was smooth and regardless of the other boats no one seemed to feel sea sick, at least I didn't notice anyone throw up or looking green around the gills.

 

The views out across he river were impressive, but not exactly break taking, and especially not when you compared them with the many awesome views I have seen from around the world. However I do agree with one onlooker who said it was a pity that we did not know what building we were looking at as that could have made them seem more important and thus worth while to look at. 

 

I think only Paula could get away with still coming off as a slightly innocent looking girl while holding onto her birthday cake shaped and decorated to mimic a huge erect penis at the same time.

 

Her more normal cake had the classic number of candles, one for each year, however one of her more drunk guests thought it would be funny to wave his helium filled balloon above the candles once they had been lit.

 

If anyone needs to know why this is a bad idea, I will just say a few words and see if you get the gist ... "compressed gas temporarily contained within a super-stretched thin rubber membrane whose surface is moved to within millimetres of a tightly clustered group of hot naked flames".

 

( And for those of you with little or no understanding of physics ... balloon gets hot, weakness forms on its surface, the helium gas that is constantly trying to escape builds up the pressure at these weaknesses, the pressure forced against the  weaknesses ensures at least one gives out instantly, the balloon goes pop and the escaping helium goes in all directions - in the process blowing  out all the candles )

 

What was funny though, was seeing Paula take round the cock cake and insisting that all the guests take a bit out, without cutting it or using their hands. Funny as even though you could see it was a cake for some reason many of the guys needed serious persuasion before they would actually do so, I guess as in they were considering that if anyone saw them they might think they were gay or something pathetic like that !?!

 

I did enjoy a bit of a dance, regardless of the fact that I was only one of two Caucasians guests on a boat filled with South Americans and Africans, and was glad to find that there are plenty of coloured guys who have no idea of how to move it on the dance floor either.

 

The cruise finished earlier than expected and after that we just went on to a spot of after party clubbing.

Boat Party - Forward Planning

I don't know when Paula initially thought up the idea of having her birthday party on a boat, but I first became involved with this about thirteen months ago.

At that time I felt that only four weeks was not enough time to properly organise such a large event, and so persuaded her not to attempt it for her last years birthday party, but only did so on the promise that on her following birthday, i.e. this year, I would help her out any way I could.

And, being the man of my word, I set myself a reminder with about three months notice to set about seeing if she still wanted one. Thus it was that back in about June time I asked her and when she said yes, I hunted out all the emails and websites that I could find for hosting a great bash.

Having seen the costs, I was glad that I had forward planned as it was close to £1,000 to hire a boat for four hours in the nighttime, and with only a few companies to chose from, the one we went with was about the only one that seemed to offer a large enough boat on the preferred dates.

Yet from that moment, all the events which transpired afterwards seemed to steadily more and more doom this effort, and now that it is all over I can sit down and fully question if persistence was such a wise course of action.

Such things which hinted at a possible calamity were that :-
the actual boat requested being changed twice by the hire company,
the person who was arranging the invitations to go AWOL right up until the last minute,
the hire company were unhappy with the cheques I sent as the deposit,
one of the two arranged dj's cancelled due to the boat hire actually being a cruise instead of remaining docked,
the stripper cancelling with only two days notice,
the pre-party craft inspection cancelled after we arrived to do it due to them thinking we could do it by torchlight,
the female hire companies organiser being a bitch whenever we needed to speak to her,
the loading dock to be half an hours walk from the nearest tube station,
the time of launch was delayed by half an hour after the invitations had been sent out,
the number of guests allowed on board was reduced after the invitations had been sent out,
Paula's hairdresser was overbooked and delayed for two hours on day,
the lack of any comfortable fitting white shoes in any of the London shops or over the internet,
a serious car accident involving her cousin and best friend occured the night before the party which caused them both minor injured but also ended up costing thousands to repair the vehicle,
the severe traffic problems and unavailability of getting any cabs on the night,
Paula's mobile phone battery dying an hour before launch but before any delays were announced,
the craft arriving an hour late before it even picked up the advanced party decorating guests.

And they are just the ones that I know about, not to mention all the other little pre-party jitters and disappointments that may have occurred which Paula has not chosen to tell me for whatever reason!

But determined not to let everyone down, and because as long as the boat floated, had music and alcohol, the party could still technically go ahead, we held our nerve and carried on regardless.

I AM COMEDY !!!

I feel that I should go into being a stand up comedian, as for months now I have been dutifully supporting my nearest comedy club, and every time we go it is the same shtick.

 

My sister insists that we sit at the very front, the compare can only see so far with the lights so asks the nearest audience for their names and jobs and when the truthful answers come out, the crowd begin to laugh and the night has truly started.

 

What follows is a few more digs by at least half of the oncoming acts and somehow they manage to extract a few more chortles from the crowd before the headline act comes out and then we all go home about half an hour later.

 

What pisses me off is that a) I allow my sister to seat us at the front, b) I still am not quick enough with the heckles or comebacks - and lets face it even without the microphone I have had plenty of months notice to prep myself, c) that the rest of the audience - mostly who are regular members also - still seem to laugh at the same tired old jokes month after month and d) why I have to pay an entrance fee when it seems that without me they do not have enough material to start off the show.

 

I am very strongly considering next time taking a sign board and as the compare steps up the the mike lifting it up. I even know exactly what it will say, which is...

 

"My name is Dickon.  This is old English for Richard.  King Richard III was nicknamed Dickon.  I am an accountant.  Yes it's dead boring but the pay is good and the pension and healthcare package kicks ass.  Being an accountant is only what I do and not who I am.  The woman sitting next to me is my sister not my wife nor my girlfriend.  Her name is Nancy.  No I am not single, no she is not here tonight and no she is not waiting for me at home.  None of these facts are even remotely funny but then again neither are you, so get off my back and instead why don't you try getting some decent fecking material rather than milking me for ever last laugh you can get you pathetic excuse for a human being !! !"

 

Admittedly it would be a large sign and the words would have to be small to all fit on? Or maybe it would be better to surprise them by bringing my own portable mike and drowning them out ?!?

A Meeting of Minds

This entry could also have had the questionable title of "Do you know where Timbuktu is?" or even worse "A day of comic beards and eyebrows" but that would have been misleading, as these were just minor incidents in what transpired yesterday, so the original title remains the most apt.

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I can still remember the first time I spent more than an hour with Dave, it was quite the most intense evening I have ever had.

We were meeting up town, began talking solidly almost before we actually got together and continued on the train journey home and right into the wee small hours.

Not even a break for light refreshments, a tour of the house or to put on some chilling background music.

After barely enough sleep to survive we picked up without missing a beat the following morning and continued until we were back in the city, much to the mixed amusement and annoyance of fellow commuters, many of whom were trying to get a last minute power nap.

Yesterday was in much the same vein, although we just loitered and sampled some of what London had to offer on a windy Sunday afternoon instead of heading down south.

What we talked about was not the point, although on hindsight me drinking cider on an empty stomach was not the brightest of ideas, yet somehow we managed to cover most of the usual bases and of course ended up talking writing.

I was glad that he was enjoying reading my blog, even if my writing style and content does vary drastically with my mood, but that is all just a part of me and I'd prefer to leave it in rather than take it out and be more mechanical.

As is customary with out infrequent rendezvous we found what we hoped would be a quiet little watering hole and settled down for some pub grub and liquid refreshments.

Sadly food was off the menu until later and when it finally did become available the pubs dodgy waiter, with possibly the worlds thickest, darkest and bushiest eyebrows, served the table next to us and took so long that it was almost as if he was being deliberately slow to earwig our conversation.

Moving on after that, and still with that huge eyebrow in the back of my mind, we found a small Spanish eatery and enjoyed a bit of nosh as I was in fear that the cider was beginning to seriously affect my ability to adequately uphold my side of the conversation.

I was glad that my Spanish pronunciation was up to ordering without having to point or dropping into English which I would not be able to accept as anything less than of lack of effort on my part, what with me being a Spanish student and all.

I can't help it sounding very clique when I say that I hate saying goodbye to David, but the truth is that I never know when the next time we will get to meet up will be, and invariably it turns out to be a good six months down the line from the last one, so we really do have to try and maximise our time in the same room.

I prefer to think that its the curse of the Blackadders, to wit "there's no coffee shop in England big enough for two Blackadders" - though of course you have to tweak that last word to make it work properly. And again that could have been yet another suitable titles for this entry.

On the train home I had to move once to escape the screaming babies and their doting parents in the seats next to me, ‘oh Bill Hicks, how right you were!’ and then with only a couple of stops from home a guy gets on and sits right opposite me looking like some cross between Rusputin, a Goth and someone with an unhealthy rubber S&M fetish.

If this guy is out there reading this, I mean no offence, honest, but you really did have such a mishmash of imagery that my cider induced imagination was on overdrive and couldn't help itself!

With a face that showed very few lines of age he had the largest, thickest and bushiest beard I have ever seen outside of a pirate movie, and it looked so out of place and unkempt that I had to restrain myself from reaching out and giving it a tug to see if it was a false one or not.

It beat Lords Melchit’s handlebar moustache into a cocked hat.

Having left the train station I only had a five minute walk home and avoiding the main high street I felt sure that I could get home without further incident, however fate conspired one more time to shove life in my face.

A group of chavs came up and asked me where Richmond Road was, and not wanting anything to do with them I replied in the negative and tried to subtly continue unimpeded.

At this point one of them decided to try and be very clever and as I was pleading ignorance he then flippantly asked "Do you know where Timbuktu is?

I doubt that he even knew how to spell it, let alone know anything about the place but I was in no mood to educate him with and so just totally ignored him and continued on.

For those who are now curious about this place, you can find out lots by following the link:-

http://www.history.com/classroom/unesco/timbuktu.html

and as a matter of interest my friend David is the only person I have ever known who has actually been there, so this was apt for today's events and why I knew it was in Africa.

Finally, just for completeness I knew where Richmond Road was as well, but I hate talking to chavs after dark!!!

A Wandering Fool (gee, what a good name for a future poem! )

Although it seems I can't get enough of travelling my bank manager would strongly hope otherwise and is advising that I remain in England for the foreseeable future.

 

Having amassed more debt than anyone that isn't married; has no children; has no car and has no gambling/drugs/alcohol addiction has a right to, I feel it is time to keep my feet firmly on terraferma for awhile at least.

 

The last couple of trips have renewed my faith in solo travelling, as long as I do it properly and don't give myself too much time alone in empty hotel rooms.

 

My advice for both myself and anyone else is to do your research properly before you even begin to book. That way you will know the right and wrong times of the year to visit, where to stay, what to see, where to sleep, what to eat, which areas to avoid and equally stuff about languages, religion and finances that will come in handy.

 

Practice a bit of exchange rate buying for a few days will get you in the habit of seeing how things are where you live in the foreign currency so that when you do see prices in your final destination you already know what you are used to paying for the same item back home - thus if you feel that you are getting a good price or not.

 

Haggling is a skill that I advise everyone to have at least a passing familiarity with and one tip I learned off an American air pilot, when you need a room for just one night, is to phone up hotels around 10pm local time to ask if they have rooms that have not yet been booked and are willing to accept a discount.

 

The logic is that by 10pm there is much less chance of the hotel filling any empty rooms left and thus any guest is better than no guest. This has saved him and his family up to 45% on many occasions.

 

I have a new / old lodger staying for awhile so I cannot accommodate any visiting friends for the time being, but this should not be a long term problem for people wanting to come to England and stay with me.

 

Finally I am going to have to get to grips with Spanish and soon as my very special friend Maribel will be coming over to stay with me for a month or so and her English is limited to barely a few words.