What to do, what to do....

Mr WithaY is off out for the day tomorrow, weather permitting. I am wondering what to do with myself, home alone all day. I could get up to all kinds of mischief.

I toyed with the idea of going to Bath on the train to gawp at the redevelopment of the city centre, but then I remembered I spend fucking HOURS on the train every week anyway, so rejected that idea.

I could drive there, but parking in Bath is like a punishment for transgressions in a former life. I bet even people on their 50th incarnation, one small step away from Nirvana, still struggle to find a decent parking space in Bath on a Saturday. Unless they get there at 7am. Which they probably do, smug Karmic bastards.

But. But. Bath has some great shops.

Long Tall Sally for one. I always find lovely things in there, and buy them in a sort of deprived-villager shopping frenzy, having learned from painful experience that they will NOT be there next time I pop in. There always seems to be a sale on, with stuff on the rails in my size (that I admired but didn't buy at full price) reduced to eight quid. Who could resist?

Not me, matey.

Also, Lush. Now I am having a moral dilemma about Lush at the moment. They have taken a stance on an issue which I think is wrong; they are, of course, entitled to their opinion.

They are donating a percentage of the profits of a particular product to the hunt saboteurs association. I don't hunt, nor do I think I know anyone who does, but I feel quite strongly that the hunt saboteurs' methods should not be encouraged.

So, do I stop buying Lush products completely, to make a point? Or, do I continue to buy their other products, not the one which they are donating the profit from, as I am completely in support of their organic, environmentally-friendly, non-animal-tested, minimal-packaging, fantastic products?

Does the good that they do in terms of enviromental impact outweigh what I consider to be a bad decision to offer financial support to a group which I think shouldn't be encouraged?

Tough call. So many italics.

There are also some fine jewellery shops, but I am not really able to afford to buy myself a pair of huge solitaire diamond earrings this month. So. Arse.

I expect I'll just pop out get the papers, maybe watch a dvd as there is seldom anything worth watching on TV, play my guitar for a bit, faff about on the Internets, and drink tea. It's not a bad way to spend a day, especially if it's peeing down with rain, as the forecast is promising.

What Would Captain Kirk Do*?







*Other than teach alien women how to love, and get his shirt artfully ripped in a fist fight.

Gunpowder, treason and plot

I was at the Houses of Parliament earlier this week, for a work-related thing.  I'd never been there before so it was all terribly exciting.

The instructions they sent me said "allow AT LEAST 45 minutes to get through security".  So I obediently got there an hour before my meeting was due to start, expecting to be queueing in the rain for ages.

No. 

There was no queue.

There was a helpful security lady dishing out lanyard clippy pass-holder things outside, so that once I got in there all I had to do was clip the newly-aquired photo pass to it and hang it round my neck. 

Through the security checks, into the main body of the building.  Pause to gawp at fabulous architecture like the potato-headed yokel that I am, then continue through to ask another security chap where the room that my meeting is in is.  Get given vague "down that way" directions.  Nod sagely. 

Ask if it's ok to take photos.

Yes it is, but only "down there".  I go "down there" and take a couple of pictures on my iPhone (it does everything.) 

After that point, no more photography, sadly. 

I found where I was supposed to be, and asked the stern security lady if I could go in, bearing in mind I was over 30 minutes early (security being so much more efficient than we had been led to believe.)

She said No.

Go and wait Over There.

I went Over There and waited, admiring the beautiful painted panels on the walls.  Gradually, more and more people arrived, walked through to the scary security lady, were told the same thing, and perched meekly on the leather benches to wait for the call.  A cheery looking chap opposite me caught my eye and smiled.  I smiled back.  He came and sat next to me and struck up an amusing conversation about what would happen if we all headed for the meeting room*.

He asked me if I was going to "this thing", waving vaguely in the direction of the meeting room.  I said yes, I was.  Well, it was true.

The crowd of people waiting had grown, so we headed into the lobby area to be sure to hear when we got the call to go into the meeting room. It was rather exciting**.

Finally, FINALLY, with 2 minutes to go, we were told it was ok to go through to the meeting room. In the confusion I lost sight of my new buddy, but followed everyone else, hung my coat up in a v posh coat cupboard, and went into the meeting room.

Helloooooo?

What's this?

Lots of information about security systems? Posters for a variety of specialist Universities? Not a soul here I recognise? How odd.

But look....there are cakes! And tea! And nice friendly staff who want me to have some!

So I had a glass of fizzy water, and stood there like a lemon, hoping someone I knew would walk in. After a few minutes, it was clear that nobody I knew was going to walk in. In fact, I was the only woman in the room, which is unusual at meetings these days.

Hmm.

I was in the wrong meeting. I could have stuck around and enlarged my woefully thin knowledge of high-tech security systems, but I thought I might have been thrown in the Thames as spy, and decided I ought to leave.

Muttering "fuckfuckfuckfuck" to myself I slunk out, sweating at the thought of wandering the Houses of Parliament like a lost soul, bleating and panicking.

Fortunately, MY meeting was in the room next door, and it was a big, informal standy-uppy affair, so I could sidle in, grab a cup of tea and pretend I had been there all the time.

The walk back to Waterloo provided a couple of nice photo opportunities:

Please note the moon this time.

This is a profile view.

I thought it was rather nice to have been where Guy Fawkes was this week, all those years ago. Well, in the same approximate location, at least.

*We agreed that it would certainly end in a machine-gunning, and decided to stay put.

**I don't get out much

Slow on the uptake

I just discovered a handy feature on my iPhone. If you double tap the main button while you're listening to music, it brings up a mini iPod control panel on top of whatever else you're doing.

Playing Scrabble. Reading blogs. Checking Facebook. Following the progress of your train on-line rather than just waiting to see what the next station is.

Which is handy.

At least the train home is on time so far. Apparently this morning's delay was caused by "poor adhesion" which sounds like a modern way of saying "leaves on the line" to me.

Anyway, the problem was all West of Salisbury, so I look forward to that part of the trip. If I post from the train after 9pm, come and find me please. And bring gin.

Money well spent

My train was 15 minutes late this morning, leaving a crowd of shivering pale commuters huddling in their coats on the platform. We were all clearly thinking "I could still be in bed."

Once the train arrived, and we'd all settled into our seats it became apparent why the people already on the train looked so miserable. The carriage stinks like a festival toilet on a Sunday afternoon.

So. I got up before 6am to wait in the cold for a train that smells of shit. And I'm paying just under five grand a year to do it.

Fucking great.

Gold gold gold gold gold

You know all those adverts they are showing on TV at the moment where they are trying to persuade us to send in our gold that we no longer need?  The ones where they ask us to just pop our rings and chains into the pre-paid envelope, and send it off, and then wait for the fat cheque to arrive by return of post?

From companies like this and this and this

The TV adverts are full of testimonials from delighted customers who sent off their unwanted gold, or the wedding ring from their first marriage, or that huge chain their ex-girlfriend gave them, and look! They received £258 in return!  The adverts are full of shots of people waving fans of tenners, grinning widely at their financial savvy.

Some of the adverts also show pictures of the huge smelting plant where all this gold is melted down.  Soft-focus images of chains and rings being poured into a crucible, fat sparks spitting out as they are rendered down to make a river of purest molten gold, it's like a scene from Lord of the Rings. 

I assume that all these adverts are a sign of the recession, and that a lot of people are taking advantage of the convenient way to raise a few quid by selling off their "unwanted gold".  The little list at the bottom of the screen of the items they take was revealing:  chains, rings, bracelets, dental. 

Wait, what?

Dental?

TEETH?

Oh sweet lord, they are offering money for gold teeth. Is it just me, or is that an invitation for violence and theft on a grand scale?

Don't just steal their jewellery, knock out their teeth too! We'll take them! No questions asked!

Been out burgling? Send us the loot! All smelted down and untraceable in moments....hell, we'll send you cash back by return of post! C'mon! Don't be shy!

I don't see this ending well.

Unless, and I am not sure that this is likely, the police are screening everything as it is received, comparing the envelopes of golden trinkets to their database of stolen items. Easy to then pop round to the originating address...

*Knock knock*

"Who's there?"

"Someone with a huge wad of cash for you...open up! Can you hear it rustling out here?" (whispers) "Ready with that taser, lads..." (muffled giggles)

Yeah right. That seems rather too pro-active and organised, to be honest.

The other option is that it's all a front for something else. Who else would want to gather up as much gold as possible, even sending out cash in return?

Hmm, let me think...

Mysterious stranger

Hello Friend,   Ok, we've never met as far as I know, but already we are friends.  This bodes well. 

I am Mr.Yi Kwan, supervisor on investment in Standard Chartered Bank,Hong Kong.   *nods*  Nice to know.  A good, solid, responsible job, so you must be a responsible kind of man.  Again, bodes well.  I am feeling more excited about this as I read. 

I have a sensitive, confidential brief from Hong Kong and I am asking for your partnership in re- profiling funds ($18,500,000.00 USD).   Ooh!  "Reprofiling" - is that like "laundering"?  Because I kind of have a feeling that's illegal?  Isn't it?

What I require from you is your honest co-operation and I guarantee that this will be executed under a legitimate arrangement that will protect you and I from any breach of the law.   Aah, no, clearly it isn't illegal.  My mistake.  Thanks for making that clear, Mr Yi Kwan.  And thanks for being so careful to reassure me that I will be protected from any breach of the law.  We don't want to get into trouble, do we? 

Please accept my apologies, keep my confidence and disregard this email if you do not appreciate this proposition I have offered you.   Of course!  Again, thank you for being so courteous and thoughtful.  I am trusting you more and more with every word you write. 

All confirmable documents to back up this fund shall be made available to you, as soon as I receive your reply via: mryikwan09@yahoo.com I shall let you know what is required of you.  I will await your instructions.  Do I need to get a ski mask?  Or a speedboat?  Or some diamond-tipped drill bits that can cut through bank vault shielding?  Or anything?  Just let me know, I will be here, fake passport at the ready, money sacks poised to receive my re-profiled (but legitimate) huge piles of cash. 

I can't wait. 

Regards from,Yi Kwan

Mal de Dorset

This weekend I have done a lot of driving, most of it either in the dark, or in appalling low visibility due to heavy rain. It's been fun.

It took me over two hours yesterday morning to get to my lovely Mum's house. A combination of appalling rain, motorway spray and heavy traffic meant that I seldom managed to get much over 50mph, except for brief spurts on the motorway, in between the 40mph roadworks sections.

Ahhh travel in 21st Century Britain.

It was a shame that it was so dark and rainy, as otherwise it would have been a beautiful trip. What I did see of the trees in all their Autumn glory was lovely.

All that aside, once I got there, we had a relaxing comfortable day doing little more than chatting, doing the Saturday Telegraph crosswords, watching films* on TV, and eating a rather splendid Chinese takeaway.

It was excellent.

When I got home, Mr WithaY was collapsed full-length on the sofa, post-bath in his tracksuit bottoms and a huge sweatshirt, watching "Watchmen" on DVD. He was knackered, having got up early and spent the day tramping across the countryside, shooting. He brought some pheasants home, so I expect they will feature at a Dinner Party Near You** soon.

I watched the last 40 minutes or so of the film with him, and thoroughly enjoyed it, despite having seen it before, and missing the first two and a bit hours this time. If you haven't already seen it, you should. It's long (almost 3 hours) and there are some icky "look away" bits, but the story is great and I love the way it's filmed.

Today we went down to check on Father-in-Law WithaY's house (still standing, still full of all his stuff, still not for sale, gah) and then called in at Tesco in Shaftesbury on the way home. Unfortunately, I was overcome with what can only be described as sea-sickness on the way there, and spent much of the trip feeling myself getting paler, tremblier and cold-sweatier. As we drove through Shaftesbury I was having nighmarish visions of having to stick my head out of the window and vomit copiously all over the scenic streets and merry tourists.

I managed to not do that, but it was a close run thing.

Walking around the Tesco car park taking big breaths*** restored me to more or less normality, and we were able to get all the groceries AND another digital radio (£25! Bargain!) without any vomit being involved.

The radio I bought at Asda is now living in my study up here, as I can get Planet Rock on it. Hurrah. The one in the kitchen is currently tuned to BBC Asian music. Mr WithaY and I were dancing around to bhangra music as we put the shopping away.

Before I felt as though I was going to die, I took a couple of pictures out of the car window of a fabulous poppy field in full bloom.

You can't see just how big that field is.  It's HUGE.  Take my word for it.

*"A Passage to India", which I had read but never seen before, and then "What About Bob" which contains Richard Dreyfuss chewing up the scenery in a splendid manner.

**But only if you live round here. If not, get used to disappointment.

***Yeth, and I'm only thixthteen.

Perchance to dream

The endless rain and dull grey skies are making me tired. So very tired.

It might, of course, be partly due to the fact that I was still awake at 0400 this morning, seriously wondering if I ought to get up and do something constructive. I'm not sure what that "something" would have been, mind.

Ironing would have been noisy and steamy, thus disturbing to Mr WithaY, who was fast asleep. He is not a fan of noisy, steamy activities at 0400 unless he is an intrinsic part of them, and we are on holiday in a posh hotel, after an evening of fine wine and delicious food.

I could have read some work stuff, but I dismissed that idea as "too bloody dull." I could have read a book, but I couldn't be arsed to get up and find one that I wanted to read.

Baking a cake (despite my recent whinging about my fat arse) would have meant making delicious smells* through the house, also likely to wake up Mr WithaY. I suspect that even the most delicious of cherry madeira cakes would be insufficient to pacify him if I woke him in the wee small hours by baking one.

So, I lay there for a bit, then, too tired to get up and be useful, too awake to sleep, till I eventually dozed off. Then I had a great lucid dream episode, which was entertaining. No idea what it was all about now, but it was one of those dreams where you can control the action to some extent. I love those. You know you're asleep, but you also have enough of your brain still awake to be a film director in your head. Sometimes I dream that I have woken up, though, which is bizarre. Then when I really wake up, I am all confused.

My sisters used to sleepwalk when they were younger, possibly they still do. We all talked in our sleep, which I certainly still do. More unnervingly, I also laugh in my sleep. I once seriously freaked out my room-mate at college by laughing for over an hour whilst fast asleep. She said she just sat up in bed, wide-eyed and trembling, watching me in horror, expecting my head to rotate 360 degrees, or my entire body to levitate.

She once had to stop me climbing out of the window, having watched me open it and throw my boots into the garden. Again, no idea what caused that. I lost my alarm clock. She told me a few days later "You put it under your mattress, that night you threw your boots into the garden." Ah yes, of course I did...yes, here it is, safe and sound. Poor Clare. What a lot she had to put up with. No wonder she never kept in touch**.

Mr WithaY (and assorted mates who have had to put me up over the years) say that I have also woken them in the dead of night by screaming in my sleep. How nice for them! When they wake me up, terrified and distressed, I have no recollection of it, or indeed what made it happen. Not weird at all then. The perfect guest.

Speaking of which, time to go and prepare things for dinner. We have some mates coming round. Marvellous.




*Oddly, we both hate being woken by any kind of smell. Although a delicious one might be a nice change.

**To be fair, neither did I.

Damn

The Excellent Dagenham Dave seems to have deleted his blog. That's a bit of a shame, I liked it a lot.

Dave, if by any chance you read this, I'm sorry you left. Come back soon and keep your chin up.

That is all.

Lady who lunches

I took a lunch break in between my working at home stuff today, which felt like a real luxury.

Usually I just switch on the work laptop in the morning and get on with whatever I am doing till hunger strikes. Then I go downstairs, forage a meal/snack/pathetic cry for help from whatever I can find kicking around, come back up here and continue with the business of the day until either I get bored, go cross-eyed or Mr WithaY gets home.

Today, though, I thought I'd take an actual break. In between toasting, spreading with Marmite and eating a bagel I also:

a) Emptied, then refilled, the dishwasher

b) Tidied up all my shoes that were taking over the house

c) Went over the cooker hood underside with some Flash wipes (and they were a real discovery, let me tell you), horrifying myself with the layers of greasy fudgey filth that were removed. I did wash my hands before continuing to eat my bagel, in case you were worrying.

d) Put a load of washing into the washing machine.

I am good at multi-tasking. Sadly, my bagel was dull and unappealing, as they sometimes are, so lunch itself was a bit of a disappointment.

I am also time-limited in terms of working today as my gorgeous guitar teacher is due over soon, so I need to make sure the place is reasonably tidy. Those amps take up a lot of space.

When I staggered home last night, late and tired and train-dazed, Mr WithaY had made the World's Largest Lamb Biriani, with the remains of our Sunday roast lamb. By Swansea it was good. We're having it again tonight; there is still enough left to feed at least six people. I may then freeze any leftovers. Four days of lamb in a row is enough, I think.

Hopefully we are having some mates over for dinner* tomorrow night, all being well, but as I won't get home till 8 at least, Mr WithaY will have to manage the food. Which, to be fair, he is spectacularly good at.

I am the underchef in our kitchen. Maybe even just the kitchen porter. The one who peels potatoes and carrots, and tidies up as the Master Genius Creative Talent works his magic. I put stuff away as we go along, and keep the surfaces clear and check the timers on things. Sometimes, if I am feeling especially brave, I make a pudding, or bread, or maybe even a chilli. The arrangement seems to work.

One of my sisters pointed out the killer logic flaw in my "I am fed up being fat" whinge that I indulge in from time to time. She pointed out that I often bake.

And what do I bake? Bread. Cakes. Biscuits. Quiche. Pies. Chocolate torte. All the stuff I'm good at. Doesn't take the brains of an archbishop to work that particular cause and effect spiral out, does it?

Gah, that list reads like the "Never Eat These" elements of a nutritionist's chart.

So, today it's a bagel and then later on, some biriani. And I think salad. There's salad in the fridge, at the back, behind the cheese. Somewhere.



*We're not having lamb

Moon River

When I was out and about socialising with my mate Tall Richard on Thursday night, I took a few pictures of the Thames, as it was looking particularly scenic. Can't actually see the moon though. Sorry.

Look:

I like how the little bridge out to the boat is all lit up.  Very pretty.

And on the left, among the blurriness and poor light levels, you can make out St Paul's Cathedral.  Faaaar away in the distance.

The London Eye, all lit up and artfully bisected by a railway bridge.  I'm quite the photographer.

This is the north side of the river bank.  The Embankment, in fact.  Again rather blurry as I was using my phone to take the picture, and more of a concept than an actual picture of scenery.  The lights are pretty though. 

This weekend has been very pleasant.  Mr WithaY and I went over to the pub for dinner on Friday night, as he was home from his business trip rather later than anticpated, then we scooted home to watch the new Armstrong and Miller TV show, which we both found very funny.  Saturday was a constructive and enjoyable day, I did laundry, ironed, baked bread rolls, and in the evening we went out for dinner with some mates in the village.  Mmmmmm deicious dinner.

Today was a day of Sorting Stuff Out.  We cleared out rubbish and weedsfrom the flowerbeds, Mr WithaY mowed the lawn, I pruned the roses, and we pulled up all the stuff in the vegetable bed that had finished being productive.  Then, inspired by this diligence, we tidied out the garden shed and put the table and chairs away till next summer.

Very satisfying. My legs ache like hell now though. Time for a shower and getting stuff ready for my absurdly early start tomorrow.

Oh, and I can now play "She's Not There" by the Zombies. Which is one of my all-time favourite songs, so I am mighty pleased about that.

Angry

It's not that often that I read something on the news that makes me shake with fury. This, however, has made me incredibly, incredibly angry

Whatever one's views on the current conflicts, how cowardly and stupid do you have to be to mock someone who has been maimed horribly?

I can only assume that those cruel, spiteful, stupid boys gave no thought to what they were saying.  Not that that is an excuse.  Fucking scum of the earth, all of them.

Wordplay

I often while away my long train journey to and from London by playing Scrabble on my iPhone. I usually win, even though it's set on the Difficult setting, which makes me feel very smug. Ooh get me, defeating a computer. One day it will of course turn on me and fire me out of the side of the train into to cold bleak emptiness of deep space. Well, maybe Basingstoke.

Anyway.

Tonight I began a game of Scrabble, or "Scrab" as we officionadoes (sp?) call it, and I noticed that my letters spelled ARRSENE.

Marvellous. If I ever get a job marketing rectal remedies, expect to see that name on an ointment tube near you.

Starstruck

Back up in London today, after what feels like years, what with my time off work and the recent trips to Bristol.  It was tiring, but no more so than I expected, and I felt far more able to deal with work stuff than  I have for a long time.  I even managed to consider some knotty work problems without deciding I ought to write a letter of resignation.  So, progress.

And, as a bonus, when I left the house this morning, there was a glorious bright moon, and a sky full of stars.  Lovely. 

Which brings me neatly to what I wanted to tell you about:  an iPhones application called Planets.  It shows you which planets in our solar system are visible at night - if you look at it during the day it just shows the Sun.  The two bright stars I saw low in the sky this morning were Jupiter and Venus, I learned. 

If you look at the Globe option, it shows you the Earth as it looks at that moment - right now it is dark over Europe and you can see all the lights on the continents.  The Americas are currently in daylight.  It's fascinating, and I love it.  You can also see photos (from giant space telescopes, I assume) of the planets, and rotate them around with your fingertip to see how they look from all angles.  It's hugely pleasing. 

Other, sad news.  Youngest Sis's lovely little dog Charlie passed away unexpectedly yesterday.  He was a charmer, and will be missed.

The Big Bhangra

I am downloading bhangra music from iTunes. Tonight we are having a Curry Extravaganza, with people coming round, and naan bread and mango chutney and everything. I decided that something more appropriate than AC/DC, Chris and Thomas or Lynyrd Skynyrd from my iPod, or Pink Floyd, depressing Gregorian chant or 1950s do-wop music from Mr WithaY's would be nice.

I know nothing about bhangra, other than that when we have visited our lovely Indian friends, or been up to Southall to go shopping with them, I have enjoyed listening to it. So I more or less randomly downloaded a few albums, after typing "bhangra" into the iTunes shop seach box.

I am still toying with the idea of downloading "Bhangra Bloody Bhangra", a tribute to Black Sabbath. It has a certain appeal.

Other news:  We decided to put off going to the Wood Fair till Sunday, which means it will probably be raining when we go, but we have wellies and raincoats. I assumed we were putting off today's trip becasue of the upcoming Curry Extravaganza, but no, it is apparently because tomorrow is the day they are running didgeridoo workshops. Thankfully Mr WithaY is not planning to take his along, but I am sure it will require more than my mere mortal strength to stop him joining in when he finds the workshop.

Also, I have successfully uploaded a couple of sound files of Mr WithaY playing his didgeridoo. Well, one is of him playing it "properly" and the other is him trying to impersonate wild animals of the Bush. I leave you to decide if he is successful.

I think I need to add them as a special stand alone linky thingy though, as I can only upload pictures or weblinks here.  Gah.