Swans, Sherbet and Coathangers

Blimey blimey blimey! Thrice blimey. Ain't life funny, with all its twistings and turnings.

So, I'm not a single man any more. Here endeth the dry patch.

I'm a bit excited really! This is all coming out in a rather ungainly and probably unintelligible lump of scribble.

What. Happened. WAS...

I took Fiona to the cinema last night for a bit of 'Bond, James Bond' action, and ended up being on the receiving end of an entirely different kind of action! Once I'd pulled up outside her house to drop her off, it all kicked off again, until someone pulled up behind us and started flashing (his lights...) for me to get out of the way. How deeply rude and inconsiderate! Could he not see we were busy?

I think I'll leave it there. No doubt in weeks to come this blog will fill up with the kind of saccharine drivel that would put most people off their tea. In the interests of trying to restore the sweet/sarky balance, I'd like to applaud the B&Q store in Stockport who recently put on a christmas CD for their shoppers, only to find it was actually a profanity-laiden 'South Park' album. Well done indeed! That'd fill me with festive cheer.

I have a Posterior Polymorphous Corneal Dystrophy! It sounds very exciting, but is basically a slightly wrinkly cornea.

Sorry...

There we go.

I spent a very jolly half hour in the hospital last night, having my eye filled with stinging drops, dyed, poked about with some kind of UV pen, and generally being examined to death. The upshot? I am now allowed to wear contact lenses, on a limited basis. Hurrah! The tests really screwed up my eyesight though, for a while. I couldn't read a thing, unless I held it at least a metre from my face.

Cardiff's Winter Wonderland is back, good as ever. It's so pretty! It hasn't been going for that long, but has quickly become a yearly institution. Nobody can remember a time when it wasn't there - like Bruce Forsyth. Christmas hasn't officially started until you've been for a tumble on the ice. I ventured down there with Fiona over the weekend, for my annual attempt at not falling on my butt, and it was a great success! As ever though, there remains something extrordinarily graceless about my skating.

On a slightly different note, I really need to sort out the alarm clock situation in my bedroom. I keep oversleeping. How about...

[Picture removed because of the threat of 'matters being taken further' if I didn't. The picture was of a polar bear being rudely awoken by a penguin clashing some cymbals.]

The purpose of last week's trip was to run a few seminars relating to work-life balance. That is, the subtle and mystical art of remembering to go home to your family (or cold, empty flat) at a reasonable hour and not work like a dog until you're burnt out.

So there we were, my colleague and I. We'd given up a week of our lives in order to go and work very long hours, in order to tell people not to... well, I think you can spot the irony there! It's always good for a laugh though. The routine is so different that for a little while you're prepared to tolerate any number of early starts or bizarre eating patterns.

Speaking of which, it's always my job to go out onto the dark and dangerous streets of wherever we happen to be, and hunt down an indian or chinese restaurant willing to stay open and feed us late at night (usually after midnight). There was one such establishment in the whole of Ballymena, and I found it - a little place called the Double Happiness (not just one serving of happiness, oh no!). They gave us a chinese meal of epic proportions. I've never seen anything like it. We could quite easily have dined off this food for a fortnight. So, if you're ever in that neck of the woods, I commend the Double Happiness to you.

I saw an excellent car bumper sticker while I was over there. It simply said, 'Who Would Jesus Bomb?'

Normal service will be resumed...

... now.

It's several hours into the day and my eyes have not yet opened. This must be the land of crazy-tired. Northern Ireland was great! It was a fantastic first trip to the emerald isle (at least I'm assuming it was emerald, but it was quite hard to tell under all that weather), the people were extremely welcoming, and I ate more Champ than can possibly be good for me.

The ferry crossing on the first day was a little rough...
"Good evening ladies (up) and gentlemen (Down), this is your (UP) captain speaking. (DOWN!!) We will be shortly departing from (UP!!!) Stranraer, and heading across to (UP, DOWN, UP!!!) Larne. Our crossing time is expected to be (DOOOOOOOOOOOOOWNN!!!!) two hours. Please listen (S-I-D-E-W-A-Y-S!) carefully to the following safety (*retch*) announcement."

If you sat down and closed your eyes, you could almost convince yourself you were on a rollercoaster.

We arrived in Ballymena rather late, tired, smelly and grumpy, and spent a spirited twenty minutes trying to gain access to the hotel. Eventually a night porter was roused, who came to the front window and mouthed "It's open!" at us. Yes, we had fallen foul of the classic 'Push Not Pull' strategy which some doors employ in order to confuse simple folk. Like I said, it was late.

More tomorrow...

Another week, another set of 'Anger At...' stories in the newspapers. It has been revealed over the weekend that the cost to the taxpayer of the war in Iraq (so far) is an estimated £5 billion. Bargain! Hands up who reckons that's money well spent, and generally all round excellent value?

Oh. Okay.

Er, so, the weekend then! I had a brilliant time at the parish weekend away, which is basically an excuse for sixty people to pile into a conference centre and indulge in plenty of socialising and silliness, with general mucking about late into the night.

As a small concession to physical activity, I went along to play badminton on Saturday afternoon, and after about two minutes smacked the shuttlecock up to the ceiling, where it became lodged under a beam. It was the only shuttlecock.

The undoubted highlight was the games evening, featuring all your party favourites and more. In order to divide ourselves into random teams we were each given a piece of paper with an animal written on it, and had to move around making appropriate noises until we'd found the rest of our group. It was worth going to the whole weekend just for the little old lady who repeatedly came up to me and whispered "Moo?" into my ear. Even after the game was over. The grand finale, a kind of 'charades race', was wet yourself funny. Simple old fashioned pleasures, yes, but pleasures nevertheless.

And now, I must depart. Where to, I cannot say. For how long, I do not know.
(Okay, it's Ireland, and I'll be back online this time next week. So there.)

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 0 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Hurrah hurrah hurrah! Nice to be unique isn't it.

I've finally got the blog open for a quick scribble. What a day. Not for me the usual lunchtime leisurely wafflings, oh no. And that's because my computer came under ATTACK! I was tag teamed by a couple of viruses that proved stubborn to shift. But shifted they have been, so everything has a happy ending.

Tonight is Children In Need night, so that means BBC1 will be chock full of cringeworthy guff, all evening. Thank goodness I'm away! C.I.N. seems to be suffering a bit of a backlash at the moment, on two sides. On the one hand, there are the people who object to it because they feel bullied into handing over their cash. And on the other hand, there are the young people who 'don't wish to be pitied like this, thanks very much'. I think that in the next few years the whole event will need to be re-packaged somehow, if it is going to survive.

This is entry number 50! I never thought I'd make it past ten. If I were on usual form, I would poke this blog as if it were some kind of exciting toy, maybe for a few weeks, and then discard it on the ever expanding pile of 'things I start but don't keep up', to go and play with something new and shinier.

So, I've finally seen the Borat film, or to give it it's full title, 'Borat: Cultural Learnings Of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Of Kazakhstan'. It does not disappoint. That is to say, if you're expecting a film that is as grossly inappropriate as it is funny, it does not disappoint!

You have to hand it to Sacha Baron Cohen. The set up is perfect. The makers of the film have arranged a number of highly plausible situations where a succession of incredibly patient Americans queue up to explain various aspects of their culture to Borat. Without fail, he grasps the wrong end of the stick, or even a completely different stick, and the resulting reactions and comments are priceless. Sometimes though, he actually says very little, sitting back and giving the participants just enough rope to hang themselves with. It's astounding, the amount of predjudice he manages to expose. It really is the kind of film you have to watch peering out from behind a cushion.

Favourite moments? The senator who is given some cheese "made from the milk of my sister". Borat appearing on a local news programme and completely ruining a weather report. Commuters on the subway being greeted with a kiss. The most disturbing bout of wrestling you will ever see. And many, many more.

I had an indian takeaway last night. I'm having a chinese takeaway tonight. Bring on the bloat!
Jagshemash!

Last night was a quick dash home, some rudimentary form of dinner involving frozen things and the oven, and then straight back out on the road, heading for Cardiff bay.

I hate driving down to the bay. The route is plastered with traffic signals like this...

... and even though I've been travelling there for years, I remain unsure as to exactly where I'm going. (Head for the sea! The sea!) Anyway, the purpose of this little excursion was to see the Welsh musical I mentioned yesterday. It's called Amazing Grace, and is based on the true story of Evan Roberts and the rise and fall of the Welsh Revival, set against the backdrop of numerous Welsh coal mining fatalities. Cheerful times, they were. My initial fears appeared to be confirmed when the first song was indeed in Welsh, but fortunately they did lapse back into English, albeit with strong comedy accents.

It was quite enjoyable, all things considered. The music was great, and it was a fine choice of subject matter, but everything was dusted with a thick layer of fromage. There was a disturbing and entirely inappropriate use of jazz hands in the second half, and it all turned a bit 'Les Miserables' two thirds of the way through.

So in conclusion - good, but not fantastic. It was lacking a certain spark, that magic ingredient which transports a musical into the realms of greatness. Maybe it was the absence of visual spectacle. I must admit I do get a bit nerdy in the theatre. I love the lighting, and I love to see massive pieces of scenery whizzing around. That's why I can't wait to see Wicked at christmas. I gather that the music and story are nothing to write home about, but it does feature a mechanical fire-breathing dragon, and flying monkeys. Flying monkeys!!

It's just wonderful when certain kinds of people get jobs in a supermarket, isn't it. There must be an entire sub-species out there, who haven't placed any importance on learning to read or write (speaking English is also entirely optional), and in some cases may not even be quite sure how their opposable thumbs work. I don't often get impatient, but I would normally expect cashiers to be focussing their attention on the customer that they're currently serving. I don't expect to be stood there like a lemon, waving my debit card in the air and screaming "Hello? Customer! Hello?!" while the cashier chats up the male cashier behind her. I can't quite bring myself to repeat what they were saying. Let's just say it involved manoeuvres, and conquering. All rather military, really.

Okay, rant over.

I'm off to see a musical tonight. A Welsh musical! I don't think it's actually in Welsh, but you never know. This could be interesting.

The ultimate cure for the hiccups is... The Lord Of The Rings! As scientifically proven by myself. All weekend I'd been involuntarily spasming like some kind of sentient pogo stick, and nothing was working. I tried scaring myself (Daily Mail), making myself laugh (Daily Mirror), or putting myself to sleep (Countryfile). Even the tried and tested method of randomly slamming a body part in a kitchen drawer (don't ask me how I know this works, I just do ) failed on this occasion. However, the sight of a load of short/pointy-eared/beardy people runnning around New Zealand worked instantly. Doctors, take note.

I saw a new film this weekend too, in the form of Starter For Ten. I'd loved the book so expectations were very high, and naturally they were going to be dashed. My work colleague has written an eloquent and accurate review of the film here, and I don't feel that I need to add any more, except to say that the portrayal of university life was pretty spot on. Yes, I've lived in student houses like those, and I've definitely been to those parties! (Complete with nerds in the corner singing extracts from Gilbert and Sullivan. Oh the memories...)

Americans, I think it is fair to say, rather enjoy suing people. It doesn't take much for them to be on the hotline to their favourite lawyer, and normally I'd say this is one of the downsides of their culture. And then I read THIS... Sue away!

Mmmmmmm, yummy!

I am feeling a little peckish now, having just received an invite to Charlotte's birthday meal. I've done my usual thing, which is to go straight onto the restaurant website and start planning what I want to have. I shouldn't do this! It takes all the fun out of it, and I always change my mind at the last minute anyway, blurting out something random to the waitress, that inevitably arrives limp, insipid and diappointing. The person sitting next to me will have always ordered what I wanted in the first place, and it will look and smell amazing. When you're in a restaurant, do you ever try to order things that nobody else is having, just to be different? ("Ah yes, the avacado and kumquat pasta bake. Lovely.")

There seems to be a lot of fuss at the moment surrounding Jon Snow and his refusal to wear a poppy live on air. Personally, I don't mind if he wears one or not. I don't believe for one moment that this means that he doesn't care about everyone who lost their lives in the war. After all, didn't they die to protect our freedoms, including whether or not we want to wear a poppy? Besides, I'm sure he gets sent enough coloured ribbons, badges and the like over the course of a year for him to be able to wear a different rememberance/awareness thing every night. If it's all or nothing with him, then obviously he's gone for nothing. It's fairly certain that he'll carry on wearing his unspeakably bright ties, though...

This morning, a shadow fell across my bedroom, and I looked up to see the largest seagull I have ever witnessed in my life, sat there and giving me the eye while I attempted to dress (which, so early in the day, is never easy even if nobody's watching). It was bigger than Vanessa Feltz. All I could think was, "Blimey, that would make an excellent Sunday roast".

The Ireland trip is half off! Disaster. The original plan was to travel up from the south to the north, running events and generally having a lovely time, all the while not quite being able to believe that we were actually being paid to see Ireland and drink Guinness. It turns out that there's one slight flaw in the plan - the good people of southern Ireland can't be bothered. Yes, they're all up for it in Northern Ireland. We've sold a healthy amount of tickets there. But down south, I think they'd rather be in the pub. And who can blame them, really. *sigh* Never mind. Bring on Ballymena.

Have you heard Gwen Stefani's new single? Have you?! It's called 'Wind It Up', and it's got yodelling in it! It samples The Sound Of Music, for goodness' sake!

Learn to yodel here.

I'm not one for complaining.
Yes I am.
Here we go then.

My bedroom is right above the utility room, wherein lurks the washing machine of Doom. Usually quite a docile creature, it becomes a wild and noisy beast if turned on late at night. This is why I always request, nicely, that my housemates refrain from purifying their garments after I've gone to bed. All I can say is that if they want to know why I object, then next time they're trying to get some sleep I shall stand outside their door and do an impression of a spin cycle!

Complaining over.

Or is it?

My journalist housemate Molly was saying last night that she's been asked by her editor to write a 400 word 'ranty' piece on Christmas. Could we think of anything original and interesting to complain about? Nope! After ten minutes we were forced to conclude that actually we quite like Christmas. So therefore all that's left are the traditional Christmas cliches:

1. Christmas has lost its true meaning.
Nonsense. Everybody know's about Santa's birth in the stable in Bethlehem. He then went on to do great things involving sacks and chimneys.
2. Christmas television specials are always disappointing.
What are DVDs for?
3. The festive season starts waaaay too early. And starts earlier every year.
Perhaps. But I'm more concerned about the Big Brother season getting longer every year.
4. Everybody has at least one alcoholic aunty who turns up on Christmas day, gets drunk, and ruins everything.
Drunk aunties are hilarious.
5. Company bosses who refer to Christmas as either the 'holiday season', or worse, 'Winterval', in order to remain as politically correct as possible, need to be shot.
Er... yes. Possibly. This is Britain, and here we have Christmas. Being offended by that is like being offended by the continuing career of Noel Edmonds. You may not be happy about it, but you must accept it as a fact of life, and 'deal' ( ) with it.

I'm sure there must be many more. Add your own, I dare you.

Some work colleagues of mine are on their way to the Isle of Man today, to run an event. You have to love any community of people who gives their towns names like 'Cronky Voddy'!

I don't quite understand. Mr. Saddam was sentenced to death yesterday. And this morning, he's straight back on trial! I can imagine that there are plenty of people out there in Iraq seeking justice for the many atrocities he inflicted upon his own people, but still. The man's a goner, so why have more trials?
"I sentence you to death... TWICE! No, three times. Wait, hang on..."

All better now. My stomach gymnastics seem to have cleared overnight, which means that my appetite has returned with a vengeance. Hurrah! Biscuits, give me biscuits now!! Last night I only managed a piffling four mouthfuls of my dinner.

And finally, the Christmas 2006 stamps from the Royal Mail are out. Will Santa be doing a number two down your chimney this year?

"Christmas = Buying things that nobody needs, with money you don't have, to give to people you don't like."
(Not sure who said this, but I don't think they're a big fan of Christmas.)

I'm really not on top form today. Sleep was almost totally lacking last night due to bad stomach cramps. I must have dropped off at some point though, because I remember dreaming that I'd phoned in sick and gone back to bed. Fat chance! Going home may be a serious possibility later, but for now I could go face down on my keyboard at any moment.

It's a shame really, because the rest of the weekend was rather good. When you think of housewarming parties, you generally imagine a house stuffed to the rafters with beer-swilling party hounds, as the music pumps its way through the building (and often the neighbour's building too). It was a bit of a shame that Charlotte's party barely scraped double figures, particularly given the number of invites that went out, but never mind, in many ways it was still very entertaining. Alison (Charlotte's flatmate) got her dance mat out, and we took it in turns to flail around ineffectually in time to the music. Or not! I got so behind that I ended up leaping wildly in as many simultaneous directions as possible. My overall score was a little on the low side.

Saturday was fireworks night, set against the magnificent backdrop of Caerphilly Castle. A castle is definitely the ideal place to be watching excessively large amounts of gunpowder being detonated.

[LARGE PAUSE]

They sent me home! It's now later in the afternoon, and I've had a good sleep and am feeling a bit better.

So, are we all happy that Saddam will soon be swinging from the rafters?

I've just come back from 'doing toilet' (sorry. But we're all friends here...). Upon reaching for the air freshener, I was presented with the following reccommendation, writ large across the can:
33% extra free. GO NUTS!
Thanks very much. Don't mind if I do.

Anyway, in other news, tonight is Charlotte's extraordinarily long overdue housewarming party. She's only been in her new place for 5 months! And what a lovely flat it is too, down in the bay area of Cardiff, right on the water and swarming with spiders. Okay perhaps there are downsides to living there. The spiders that roam across the surface of her building are huge!

A work colleague has just come back from the sandwich shop, and has been profusely apologising, at length, because she was unable to obtain a jam doughnut for me. "I'm sorry Laurence, they only had the chocolate ones left." Oh no! Tragedy! I must go and take my own life at once.

Ireland trip soon...

Last night I had a cracking idea for a book. I might give the idea a bit of a prod to see whether it takes off, or if it bursts in a flatulent heap. Obviously I can't say precisely what the idea is, in case somebody  with a much better work ethic than me nicks it and gets the job done quicker!

Any idea what this is?

Yes, that's right! (Oh come on, you had no idea at all. Liar.) It's a molecule of Resveratrol. Scientists have been doing many a tubey-testy experiment with it, and the conclusions are overwhelmingly positive. It's anti-cancer. It's antiviral. It may even be anti-ageing, countering the effects of a fat rich diet. So naturally, you're going to want to get lots of this stuff inside you. And how can you do that?
Red wine!

You see, the French had it right all along.

My goodness it's all very bracing and fresh out there today. My car shivvered into action this morning, and I'm sure I heard it whisper "Buy me a garage!" when I turned they key. Well I'd like to, particularly if it comes attached to a nice starter home. Is anyone out there prepared to lend me £20,000 for a deposit? No? Thought not. I'm one modest lottery win away from being able to apply for a new Abbey 5 x salary mortgage, and then I can really financially screw myself!

Talking of being financially screwed, there's just been a feature on Radio 2 about one man and his ongoing battle with the email scammers. It cheered me no end. Most people would, sensibly, delete any unsolicited emails promising them untold riches if they will first pay a barristers fee, or some such upfront cost. This guy, however, actively engages with the scammers and sees what ridiculous lengths they will go to to get their hands on some money. You can read all about it on his site, 419eater.com. It's all very entertaining, and also quite suprising. For example, would you believe that a scammer would copy out 293 pages of Harry Potter in order to receive some money? Oh yes they would!

No problems with Haloween last night. Things got very busy between 6-7pm, but the door remained 'accidentally' unanswered. Luckily, no eggs were thrown, and apparently if I lived in a different area then that most certainly would not be the case. In fact there are parts of Cardiff where you can expect eggs on your windows and fireworks through the letterbox when it isn't Haloween!