It is what is traditionally known as The Silly Season here in the UK. This means that, partly because Parliament is in recess, partly because most of the serious journos are on holiday, the newspapers are scrabbling around for things to fill their pages.
Today's winner is this. Apart from the fantastic headline - Paul-Daniels injured in Sooty pizza throwing accident - there are all the mental images it conjures up. Exactly what was on that pizza that was heavy enough to give him a black eye? Tinned anchovies? A whole coconut? Gravel?
Last week we had this. It's got all the elements you need for a good story. Again, a superb headline - Harry Potter dwarf spared jail over jugglers hat sex act - which immediately grabs the attention. Consider the composite elements of the headline, too:
Sex? Check. A dwarf? Check. A juggler's hat? Check. Harry Potter reference? Check. How could you not want to know more?
And, it all happened on a train. You can just see the made-for-TV-movie, can't you?
Other news: It's hot. Damn hot. Every day that I am able to sit in my garden, in the shade, reading a book, I am grateful for the fact that I am not stuffed into a stinking commuter train, heading for an office where the windows don't open, and if they did would just let in the traffic fumes from Victoria Street.
Yes, still enjoying the whole "not working" thing.
Developments with father in law WithaY are encouraging. We had a long talk this week with the owner of the nursing home. She was unaware of many of the issues we have been trying to resolve there over the last 2 years, and has taken personal charge of the situation. Things will improve, I think.
I've been scouring the house like a housewife in an Ealing Comedy over the last few days. Minus the curlers and headscarf, although I think I could rock that look if I tried.
I was sick and tired of the boxes everywhere, the endless detritus from someone else's house, so I moved a lot of it into the shed. At least it's out of sight, if not finally dealt with. I have piled up a heap of stuff in the hall to take to the charity shop in town, and have made executive decisions to throw away some things (a broken telephone, rolls of grubby wrapping paper, cracked crockery) which has made the place feel much better.
That leaves us with a few boxes in the kitchen, now consolidated in one place, and the ongoing Stygian hellhole that is Mr WithaY's study. Baby steps. Baby steps. We'll get the dumper truck and snowplough in there in time. One day, maybe one day soon, we'll see the floor again.
I'm still waiting for the builders to come back and repair the doorstep, which was the reason I called them in the first place. They fixed the hole in the roof - did a good job too - but obviously then got sidetracked and left the doorstep. I've phoned a couple of times, but they are "busy on another job" now, so I will have to wait. Gah.
Also, the keyword searches which have brought people here in the last few weeks include:
Big jugs porn - shame on you, filth seekers
Had to pee - shame on you, different filth seekers
He wore a monocle and looked at me - Hello monocle fans!
Recycling humour - Welcome, eco-conscious comedy seekers
Catholic who lives in the woods - If you're not following that with "firelighters" or "persecution" then hello
Basketry conservation - basket case, possibly
I like the thought that the readership of my blog consists of people looking for sleaze, people who are interested in conservation, and complete mentalists.
Welcome, one and all.
Showing posts with label too hot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label too hot. Show all posts
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Postcard number 5
The weather has cooled down to a brisk 88 degrees today, with a breeze from the sea, so it is much less stifling than it was. The local papers and tv news is all about the Heatwave of DEATH that is sweeping the north-east of the US, so we've had the enjoyable sense that we are in the middle of a climate-based disaster movie, possibly starring Jeff Goldblum or Will Smith, where stern men in hard hats glare at blueprints and yell into telephones. We've been fighting the Heatwave of DEATH by going to the beach and eating ice cream. Well, we all do what we can.
We all went up to Provincetown earlier in the week. That's the town right on the very tip of Cape Cod, poking out into the Atlantic a long way. Look on a map, British readers. It was incredibly, searingly hot. That was the day that the official temperature in Boston reached 100 degrees - a rarity, I understand - and it was not far off that in P-town, as we locals call it.
We were up there early as we had booked onto a whale-watching trip. Readers, we saw scads of the buggers. Humpback whales, of which I managed to take three photos, shadowy vague dark blots on the water. Mr WithaY took some fantastic photos which I will post on here if he lets me.
There is a huge marine reserve off the coast of New England, and because P-town is so far out it only takes an hour or so before you arrive at the prime whale watch area. We saw a mother and calf, rolling around on and just under the surface, the calf feeding from the mother as they both swam slowly past us. That was lovely. They're big, whales, aren't they?
We then plodded along a bit fiurther, leaving the mother and calf in peace, before encountering a group of five or six animals all feeding just under the surface. They were incredible, spouting and splashing and flapping their big tails out of the water. Lovely.
The boat is run by a company who are very keen on marine conservation, and they went to some lengths to make it clear that we might not see any animals close to, as there are strict laws about bothering whales (and other marine animals). We were very fortunate that the whales moved nearer to our boat when we stopped and watched them.
The same could not be said for some fuckwit in a small fishing boat. He and his scarlet, elephantine wife were gaily moving around right on top of the whales, at times starting their engines to get even closer. The captain of our boat was furious, and the on-board marine biologist filmed the whole thing. They reported it to the appropriate authorities over the radio (Coastguard? Navy? Department of Fisheries? Neptune? I was too excited by the whales to pay much attention) and told us that the fool driving that boat would be getting a visit from them in the near future, and there was anything up to a $100,000 fine for that kind of flagrant breach of the law.
As is traditional, on the way back to port I felt as though I was about to die. In my defence, I think it was probably mostly heat-related, as the sea was mirror-calm. To be fair, though, I could get seasick in the bath on a bad day.
Once back on land, we found a place to get lunch. It was air-conditioned to a mere 83 degrees, and we sat there for ages until we felt strong enough to go outside again.
We ducked in and out of shops but it was so incredibly hot and muggy that none of us had much energy for shopping. Something I now regret, as we found a place selling Big Lebowski t-shirts. I particularly liked the "You're entering a world of pain" one. We can always pop back to get some I suppose.
In the evening we had booked to go on a Dune Safari. There's a company called Art's Dune Tours, now run by the Son Of Art, where you all pile into large 4-wheel drive vehicles with most of the air let out of the tyres, and they drive you across the dunes to look at the wildlife, the artists' shacks and the incredible, freaky landscape.
Our driver and guide was a nice chap called John who works as a biology teacher in term time and a park ranger in the summer, moonlighting as a dune safari guide in his spare time. We told him we were disappointed he wasn't wearing his park ranger hat. Apparently they aren't allowed to unless they are working on official park ranger business.
I will post some pictures of the dunes when I get home. The climax of the trip was a stop at a beach to watch the sunset. I paddled in the water - crystal clear and beautifully refreshing after such a searingly hot day - where we had a large seal join us as the sun went down. He kept popping up closer and closer to the beach, which was a real bonus. I failed to get a photo, but I could probably draw a picture if anyone's interested.
A late-night sandwich from a cheeky man in a seafront sandwich shop, and we were home by 11.
Yesterday Mr WithaY went sea fishing, and returned home in triumph with bluefish and striped bass. No sunburn, and managed not to lose any fingers, toes or ears, so a triumphant day all round. We dined like kings on bluefish for supper. Nom nom nom.
I went out to Chatham and Orleans with our lovely hostess, where we explored the shops. There's a place on the seafront where you can get excellent lobster rolls, so we picked up some lunch from there and went to eat it sitting in the shade of a large maple tree in the old cemetary. Unusual, but pleasant.
I had to buy another memory card for my camera, as I have completely filled one already. Over 700 pictures. Hey family - bet you can't wait to sit through all those, can you?
Today it's much cooler, and we plan to do some domestic stuff with our hostess. Possibly there will be ice-cream.
We all went up to Provincetown earlier in the week. That's the town right on the very tip of Cape Cod, poking out into the Atlantic a long way. Look on a map, British readers. It was incredibly, searingly hot. That was the day that the official temperature in Boston reached 100 degrees - a rarity, I understand - and it was not far off that in P-town, as we locals call it.
We were up there early as we had booked onto a whale-watching trip. Readers, we saw scads of the buggers. Humpback whales, of which I managed to take three photos, shadowy vague dark blots on the water. Mr WithaY took some fantastic photos which I will post on here if he lets me.
There is a huge marine reserve off the coast of New England, and because P-town is so far out it only takes an hour or so before you arrive at the prime whale watch area. We saw a mother and calf, rolling around on and just under the surface, the calf feeding from the mother as they both swam slowly past us. That was lovely. They're big, whales, aren't they?
We then plodded along a bit fiurther, leaving the mother and calf in peace, before encountering a group of five or six animals all feeding just under the surface. They were incredible, spouting and splashing and flapping their big tails out of the water. Lovely.
The boat is run by a company who are very keen on marine conservation, and they went to some lengths to make it clear that we might not see any animals close to, as there are strict laws about bothering whales (and other marine animals). We were very fortunate that the whales moved nearer to our boat when we stopped and watched them.
The same could not be said for some fuckwit in a small fishing boat. He and his scarlet, elephantine wife were gaily moving around right on top of the whales, at times starting their engines to get even closer. The captain of our boat was furious, and the on-board marine biologist filmed the whole thing. They reported it to the appropriate authorities over the radio (Coastguard? Navy? Department of Fisheries? Neptune? I was too excited by the whales to pay much attention) and told us that the fool driving that boat would be getting a visit from them in the near future, and there was anything up to a $100,000 fine for that kind of flagrant breach of the law.
As is traditional, on the way back to port I felt as though I was about to die. In my defence, I think it was probably mostly heat-related, as the sea was mirror-calm. To be fair, though, I could get seasick in the bath on a bad day.
Once back on land, we found a place to get lunch. It was air-conditioned to a mere 83 degrees, and we sat there for ages until we felt strong enough to go outside again.
We ducked in and out of shops but it was so incredibly hot and muggy that none of us had much energy for shopping. Something I now regret, as we found a place selling Big Lebowski t-shirts. I particularly liked the "You're entering a world of pain" one. We can always pop back to get some I suppose.
In the evening we had booked to go on a Dune Safari. There's a company called Art's Dune Tours, now run by the Son Of Art, where you all pile into large 4-wheel drive vehicles with most of the air let out of the tyres, and they drive you across the dunes to look at the wildlife, the artists' shacks and the incredible, freaky landscape.
Our driver and guide was a nice chap called John who works as a biology teacher in term time and a park ranger in the summer, moonlighting as a dune safari guide in his spare time. We told him we were disappointed he wasn't wearing his park ranger hat. Apparently they aren't allowed to unless they are working on official park ranger business.
I will post some pictures of the dunes when I get home. The climax of the trip was a stop at a beach to watch the sunset. I paddled in the water - crystal clear and beautifully refreshing after such a searingly hot day - where we had a large seal join us as the sun went down. He kept popping up closer and closer to the beach, which was a real bonus. I failed to get a photo, but I could probably draw a picture if anyone's interested.
A late-night sandwich from a cheeky man in a seafront sandwich shop, and we were home by 11.
Yesterday Mr WithaY went sea fishing, and returned home in triumph with bluefish and striped bass. No sunburn, and managed not to lose any fingers, toes or ears, so a triumphant day all round. We dined like kings on bluefish for supper. Nom nom nom.
I went out to Chatham and Orleans with our lovely hostess, where we explored the shops. There's a place on the seafront where you can get excellent lobster rolls, so we picked up some lunch from there and went to eat it sitting in the shade of a large maple tree in the old cemetary. Unusual, but pleasant.
I had to buy another memory card for my camera, as I have completely filled one already. Over 700 pictures. Hey family - bet you can't wait to sit through all those, can you?
Today it's much cooler, and we plan to do some domestic stuff with our hostess. Possibly there will be ice-cream.
Sunday, 23 May 2010
Dog days
Hello! I'm still here, still alive and everything, just not been doing much that I thought was worth blogging about.
I know, I know, doesn't usually stop me.
Hot, though, isn't it? Blimey. 25 degrees centigrade in here, according to my little thermometer on the wall, and that's at 10pm. There's no point going to bed yet, I'll be far too hot, so I have been painting my toenails, ready to inflict their damask loveliness on all of London Town tomorrow.
I'm trying not to think about the train journeys. If the air conditioning works, it's ok. If it doesn't (a far more likely scenario) it will be two hours of sweaty muggy unpleasantness all the way to Waterloo. And home again, of course, when it will be many degrees warmer and probably a lot more crowded. Gah.
But that's enough about nasty, sweaty train travel. We all know I will be ranting about it afterwards, so why expend energy now anticipating it?
But, yes, sweaty stuff. I am currently trying out a new venture in armpit-wear. It is this and it works. Impressively so. After three hours in the garden everything was still perfectly dry and fragrant. I have no idea how it works, I expect I have far sweatier hands now or something, but hey, I can live with that.
This afternoon we have been mostly Planting Things In The Garden. These things, among other things:
We've been to see our mates up in Gloucestershire this weekend, having a truly lovely weekend relaxing, eating, drinking and laughing a lot more than we have for a while. Mr WithaY and I both feel so much better for it.
They took us to the discount shopping centre at Gloucester Docks, where Mr WithaY bought new sandals.
*Yes, I know it's lovely. And I am really genuinely pleased that the weather is so fantastic. I am just doing the traditional British "Ooh, I don't like it when it's too hot" thing.
I know, I know, doesn't usually stop me.
Hot, though, isn't it? Blimey. 25 degrees centigrade in here, according to my little thermometer on the wall, and that's at 10pm. There's no point going to bed yet, I'll be far too hot, so I have been painting my toenails, ready to inflict their damask loveliness on all of London Town tomorrow.
I'm trying not to think about the train journeys. If the air conditioning works, it's ok. If it doesn't (a far more likely scenario) it will be two hours of sweaty muggy unpleasantness all the way to Waterloo. And home again, of course, when it will be many degrees warmer and probably a lot more crowded. Gah.
But that's enough about nasty, sweaty train travel. We all know I will be ranting about it afterwards, so why expend energy now anticipating it?
But, yes, sweaty stuff. I am currently trying out a new venture in armpit-wear. It is this and it works. Impressively so. After three hours in the garden everything was still perfectly dry and fragrant. I have no idea how it works, I expect I have far sweatier hands now or something, but hey, I can live with that.
This afternoon we have been mostly Planting Things In The Garden. These things, among other things:
Runner beans, marjoram, oregano, hyssop and creeping thyme. There were also two blueberry bushes, which I have high hopes for.
We've been to see our mates up in Gloucestershire this weekend, having a truly lovely weekend relaxing, eating, drinking and laughing a lot more than we have for a while. Mr WithaY and I both feel so much better for it.
They took us to the discount shopping centre at Gloucester Docks, where Mr WithaY bought new sandals.
He promises not to wear them with the socks. Well, not in public, at least.
Here they are au naturale (sp?):
I bought some very nice tops in the Per Una section of the Marks and Spencer there, hugely reduced, and even better, a size smaller than I usually buy. I tried on a very pretty skirt, but it was too big. Too BIG. I was thrilled. Hurrah for me.
We spent a lot of time fussing over the spaniels. Regular readers will recall that these same spaniels have committed dreadful atrocities in the WithaY garden when they have come visiting. The rosemary bush was never quite the same again.
There are actually three of them, but the buggers were never all in the same place at the same time to photograph.
Right. Toenail varnish is dry. I need to try and get some sleep despite the heat*, and then I can get up at 6 tomorrow without feeling as though it's some sort of hideous punishment.
Other news: Brother in Law seems to be improving slowly. Fingers crossed that his recovery is complete and rapid.
Saturday, 22 August 2009
Fighting talk
Saturday already. Another work week gone, and bugger all to show for it apart from the bags under my eyes and some Thornton's chocolate money I bought yesterday.
Thursday was a NIGHTMARE on the trains. We trundled into Waterloo almost 40 minutes late yesterday morning due to a breakdown in Hersham.
After the first twenty minutes of painfully slow progress I rather felt like having a breakdown myself.
Instead, I did that terribly British thing of looking at my watch in an obvious manner and making a face implying that the freedom of the Western world was at stake if I didn't get to my destination on time. When we finally got to Waterloo I decided that as it was already late, I might as well saunter to the office in the sunshine, enjoying the views, rather than trying to fight my way through the Tube system.
I met up with a former colleague from my old job for lunch, which was very pleasant. We had a sandwich in Pret a Manger on Victoria Street while we caught up on each other's news, and it was very cheering. My stroll back to the office took me past Thornton's, hence the chocolate coin impulse buy.
Thursday evening was glorious, so I decided to walk back to the station. Earlier in the week I took the Tube. Oh. My. God. What a mistake. It was hideous. Hot, smelly, windy, filthy and smelling of a mixture of chips, filth, tunnels and people who have been sweating all day long. Ugh.
So, I left work at the usual time, and strolled across Westminster to Waterloo, only having to fight down the urge to pound people into the pavement a couple of times, several fewer than usual. Progress. Fucking tourists though. Bastards.
Special mention goes to the idiot hot-dog vendor who positioned his vile reeking wagon of filthy slimy glistening oleaginous "sausages" at the top of the steps leading up to Westminster Bridge, thus guaranteeing a huge congestion pinch point. Bastard.
Ahem.
Anyway.
I caught the train in plenty of time, found a decent seat, arranged my goods and chattels and buried myself in my trashy historical romance* for the duration. All was tranquil. The air conditioning was working, a treat after the appalling rail-guided sauna I travelled home in on Tuesday. It was all going terribly well.
Until we got to Andover, where they announced that due to an unspecified "problem" with the front three coaches, everyone who planned to continue their journey beyond Salisbury had to move to the back three coaches. Joy.
There was a mad stampede down the train, with a lot of grumbling and muttering** as everyone tried to find seats and spaces for bags etc. Everyone ended up settled but disgruntled. I was lucky enough to be in a coach with a family of screaming children.
Nice and relaxing.
I turned up my music and thought happy thoughts about how soon I would be in my nice comfy air-conditioned car, leaving the railway station faaaaaar behind. That seemed to work until Salisbury.
Aah, Salisbury. Normally I have a lot of time for you, and your gorgeous if intermittently appropriate architecture. Today, however, I am looking at you with narrowed eyes and dark thoughts in my heart. Why? Because the world's most ignorant man lives there.
Sorry, but he has blighted our love. This is why.
He was sitting on the opposite side of the aisle to me, faffing about with his laptop and sweating unattractively***. As the train neared Salisbury station he packed all his stuff away into a big square shoulder bag thing. He stood up, put the bag over his shoulder, then swung it round wildly, not bothering to look first.
It hit me.
On the arm, hard. Hard enough to bruise it, in fact. Look, a bruise.
Normally, I try to be considerate and make allowances for very stupid people. On Thursday I didn't. Instead of simply ignoring it and turning the other cheek, I said "CHRIST!" in a very loud voice, making him, and the bloke opposite me jump visibly.
He looked round in horror, and muttered "Sorry" as he stood there waiting for the queue of people to move towards the door. I was not in the best of moods, one way and another, so rather than graciously accepting his somewhat grudging apology, I said "Twat" in an undervoice. Which he heard. His ears went red and he scurried away.
I was half hoping he'd try to make something of it so I could stand up, loom over him and use my extensive and varied vocabulary till he cried. I think I may need to take up yoga or something.
The bloke opposite me was laughing, trying not to, his shoulders shaking as he read the paper. Heh.
When the train finally stopped at my station I had to carefully step over the recumbent body of a small child which was sprawled in the aisle, exhausted after the 40-minute tantrum it had been throwing.
God it was good to get home.
Fucking South West Trains. Sort it out. Ban idiots and make everyone use deodorant before they get onto the train. And issue the guards with elephant tranquillizers in case any children start kicking off. How hard can it be, for heaven's sake? Cuh.
Other news: The tickets for the End of the Road festival have turned up! Hurrah! We're going to see (among others) Steve Earle and the Fleet Foxes. In a beautiful garden. With parrots. Can't wait.
Other, other news: Get well soon to my lovely Eldest Niece who is in hospital, having tried to break up a fight between a cat and a dog, and spent over two hours having surgery on her hands as a result. Poor soul. I'd have hit them both with a fucking shovel.
The animals, not my niece. She doesn't often warrant a shovelling.
*Georgette Heyer, my guilty pleasure
**mostly from me
***I notice these things
Thursday was a NIGHTMARE on the trains. We trundled into Waterloo almost 40 minutes late yesterday morning due to a breakdown in Hersham.
After the first twenty minutes of painfully slow progress I rather felt like having a breakdown myself.
Instead, I did that terribly British thing of looking at my watch in an obvious manner and making a face implying that the freedom of the Western world was at stake if I didn't get to my destination on time. When we finally got to Waterloo I decided that as it was already late, I might as well saunter to the office in the sunshine, enjoying the views, rather than trying to fight my way through the Tube system.
I met up with a former colleague from my old job for lunch, which was very pleasant. We had a sandwich in Pret a Manger on Victoria Street while we caught up on each other's news, and it was very cheering. My stroll back to the office took me past Thornton's, hence the chocolate coin impulse buy.
Thursday evening was glorious, so I decided to walk back to the station. Earlier in the week I took the Tube. Oh. My. God. What a mistake. It was hideous. Hot, smelly, windy, filthy and smelling of a mixture of chips, filth, tunnels and people who have been sweating all day long. Ugh.
So, I left work at the usual time, and strolled across Westminster to Waterloo, only having to fight down the urge to pound people into the pavement a couple of times, several fewer than usual. Progress. Fucking tourists though. Bastards.
Special mention goes to the idiot hot-dog vendor who positioned his vile reeking wagon of filthy slimy glistening oleaginous "sausages" at the top of the steps leading up to Westminster Bridge, thus guaranteeing a huge congestion pinch point. Bastard.
Ahem.
Anyway.
I caught the train in plenty of time, found a decent seat, arranged my goods and chattels and buried myself in my trashy historical romance* for the duration. All was tranquil. The air conditioning was working, a treat after the appalling rail-guided sauna I travelled home in on Tuesday. It was all going terribly well.
Until we got to Andover, where they announced that due to an unspecified "problem" with the front three coaches, everyone who planned to continue their journey beyond Salisbury had to move to the back three coaches. Joy.
There was a mad stampede down the train, with a lot of grumbling and muttering** as everyone tried to find seats and spaces for bags etc. Everyone ended up settled but disgruntled. I was lucky enough to be in a coach with a family of screaming children.
Nice and relaxing.
I turned up my music and thought happy thoughts about how soon I would be in my nice comfy air-conditioned car, leaving the railway station faaaaaar behind. That seemed to work until Salisbury.
Aah, Salisbury. Normally I have a lot of time for you, and your gorgeous if intermittently appropriate architecture. Today, however, I am looking at you with narrowed eyes and dark thoughts in my heart. Why? Because the world's most ignorant man lives there.
Sorry, but he has blighted our love. This is why.
He was sitting on the opposite side of the aisle to me, faffing about with his laptop and sweating unattractively***. As the train neared Salisbury station he packed all his stuff away into a big square shoulder bag thing. He stood up, put the bag over his shoulder, then swung it round wildly, not bothering to look first.
It hit me.
On the arm, hard. Hard enough to bruise it, in fact. Look, a bruise.
Normally, I try to be considerate and make allowances for very stupid people. On Thursday I didn't. Instead of simply ignoring it and turning the other cheek, I said "CHRIST!" in a very loud voice, making him, and the bloke opposite me jump visibly.
He looked round in horror, and muttered "Sorry" as he stood there waiting for the queue of people to move towards the door. I was not in the best of moods, one way and another, so rather than graciously accepting his somewhat grudging apology, I said "Twat" in an undervoice. Which he heard. His ears went red and he scurried away.
I was half hoping he'd try to make something of it so I could stand up, loom over him and use my extensive and varied vocabulary till he cried. I think I may need to take up yoga or something.
The bloke opposite me was laughing, trying not to, his shoulders shaking as he read the paper. Heh.
When the train finally stopped at my station I had to carefully step over the recumbent body of a small child which was sprawled in the aisle, exhausted after the 40-minute tantrum it had been throwing.
God it was good to get home.
Fucking South West Trains. Sort it out. Ban idiots and make everyone use deodorant before they get onto the train. And issue the guards with elephant tranquillizers in case any children start kicking off. How hard can it be, for heaven's sake? Cuh.
Other news: The tickets for the End of the Road festival have turned up! Hurrah! We're going to see (among others) Steve Earle and the Fleet Foxes. In a beautiful garden. With parrots. Can't wait.
Other, other news: Get well soon to my lovely Eldest Niece who is in hospital, having tried to break up a fight between a cat and a dog, and spent over two hours having surgery on her hands as a result. Poor soul. I'd have hit them both with a fucking shovel.
The animals, not my niece. She doesn't often warrant a shovelling.
*Georgette Heyer, my guilty pleasure
**mostly from me
***I notice these things
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
The Crying Game
Gawd it's hot. I'm sitting here with a hand-held fan, trying to waft myself to some semblance of coolness in between typing. It's not working, surprisingly.
I was given this particular fan by a lovely mate when we went to her wedding in Gibraltar a couple of years ago, and found it again recently. It's one of those pretty ones with pictures of flamenco dancers on it, and it smells nice when I waft it, possibly of exotic unguents and oils from the East.
Bloody useless for cooling me down though.
I need a punkah wallah. But not like the one in "It Ain't Half Hot Mum". Google it and be astounded, American readers! You'll be glad you did....British television at its zenith. Or do I mean nadir?
Anyway.
Or, and I much prefer this idea, a huge semi-naked muscly oiled bloke with an ostrich feather fan to stand behind me and waft*.
I went out earlier to run a few errands and just walking across town** made me sweat like a really unattractive sweaty thing.
One of my errands involved popping into the library to use their 10p-a-go photocopier. As the sweet lady librarian struggled with the catastrophic paper jam which my 10p single copy caused, I stood by, idly looking around the rest of the library.
And what luck! The Town Crier was there, running an afternoon workshop, one presumes called: "Town Crying: It's Not Just Bellowing."
A small group of people were sitting attentively around a table, on which a selection of be-furred tricorn hats and large brass bells were set out. As I watched, one of the elderly attendees tentatively jingled a Town Crying Bell, then looked tremendously pleased with herself.
My photocopy was eventually rescued from the bowels of the machine, and as I walked out of the library I heard the Town Crier telling the group "Yes, I have all my hats custom-made." Excellent.
*Mr WithaY has already said no. Bah.
**Ha
I was given this particular fan by a lovely mate when we went to her wedding in Gibraltar a couple of years ago, and found it again recently. It's one of those pretty ones with pictures of flamenco dancers on it, and it smells nice when I waft it, possibly of exotic unguents and oils from the East.
Bloody useless for cooling me down though.
I need a punkah wallah. But not like the one in "It Ain't Half Hot Mum". Google it and be astounded, American readers! You'll be glad you did....British television at its zenith. Or do I mean nadir?
Anyway.
Or, and I much prefer this idea, a huge semi-naked muscly oiled bloke with an ostrich feather fan to stand behind me and waft*.
I went out earlier to run a few errands and just walking across town** made me sweat like a really unattractive sweaty thing.
One of my errands involved popping into the library to use their 10p-a-go photocopier. As the sweet lady librarian struggled with the catastrophic paper jam which my 10p single copy caused, I stood by, idly looking around the rest of the library.
And what luck! The Town Crier was there, running an afternoon workshop, one presumes called: "Town Crying: It's Not Just Bellowing."
A small group of people were sitting attentively around a table, on which a selection of be-furred tricorn hats and large brass bells were set out. As I watched, one of the elderly attendees tentatively jingled a Town Crying Bell, then looked tremendously pleased with herself.
My photocopy was eventually rescued from the bowels of the machine, and as I walked out of the library I heard the Town Crier telling the group "Yes, I have all my hats custom-made." Excellent.
*Mr WithaY has already said no. Bah.
**Ha
Monday, 28 July 2008
The flies...the heat....
Still too hot.
Never happy, me. Spent the morning trawling slowly through my emails and trying to tidy up loose ends. Just as well I don't have any meetings today, because my brain has turned into a heap of noodles from the heat.
I might take a load of reading home this afternoon and do it in the shade in the garden.
It's remarkably oppressive in here. I guess it's only about 25 degrees but because we can't keep the bloody windows open (the slightest gust of wind and they slam shut) the office is very stuffy. I have a fan on my desk* but if I have it facing me, it is too annoying, so I have it set up to blow air around without actually getting me in the face.
My brother-in-law is convinced our family has a vampire gene somewhere because Middle Sis and I keep out of the sun wherever possible.
He may be right. I do have remarkably sharp teeth.
*The electrical type, not someone telling me how great they think I am all day long. Maybe I should advertise that as a job.
Never happy, me. Spent the morning trawling slowly through my emails and trying to tidy up loose ends. Just as well I don't have any meetings today, because my brain has turned into a heap of noodles from the heat.
I might take a load of reading home this afternoon and do it in the shade in the garden.
It's remarkably oppressive in here. I guess it's only about 25 degrees but because we can't keep the bloody windows open (the slightest gust of wind and they slam shut) the office is very stuffy. I have a fan on my desk* but if I have it facing me, it is too annoying, so I have it set up to blow air around without actually getting me in the face.
My brother-in-law is convinced our family has a vampire gene somewhere because Middle Sis and I keep out of the sun wherever possible.
He may be right. I do have remarkably sharp teeth.
*The electrical type, not someone telling me how great they think I am all day long. Maybe I should advertise that as a job.
Sunday, 27 July 2008
Swordfish
Blimey it's hot.
It's been a real up and down week at work, and a blazing hot weekend. I am exhausted.
Work stuff has actually been rather encouraging. Had to go and brief a Very Senior Person Indeed on Thursday, which went quite well. Amusingly, he had to step out for 10 minutes to receive some exalted guests from overseas, and came back into the meeting wearing a rather jaunty scarf they gave him as a present.
The upshot of our meeting was that he agrees that my team is woefully understaffed, and we need help. So fingers crossed there for some more people to help out.
I met my new boss on Friday, who is lovely, so that was another high point. But best of all, I found out that I have been awarded a TOP BONUS this year. Yay me.
The pay system we have is complicated by the bonus system, which I won't bore you all with, but it turns out that this time I am one of the winners. So, I am trying not to think too hard about all the crap things about the system, and focus on the fact that I will get some extra cash at some point. When they sort out our pay. Which might be months away yet.
Other news: It's been a very hot few days. Weatherwise I mean. We had my Middle Sis and family here for the weekend and even managed to have a barbecue. Outdoors and everything, we even ate in the garden for (I think) the first time this summer.
We have eaten like kings all weekend, which has been fab.
Also. Took the family over to visit our mates in the village to admire their chickens. Most endearing*.
We seem to have spent the entire weekend sitting in the garden, which has been very relaxing indeed. Middle Sis and I even did some gardening on Saturday afternoon. We have cut the hedge at the end of the back garden in a swathe, because our extension cord doesn't reach all the way. Now it looks like someone has taken a bite out of it.
Went into Salisbury on Saturday and bought some strap locks for my guitar, then spent an entertaining 30 minutes today trying to fit them, based on what the bloke in the music shop had told me. He was talking bollocks, it turned out, and the whole process was in fact very simple indeed.
Hopefully when I play in public next weekend, at least I won't have to contend with my guitar crashing to the floor.
Middle Sis told me a brilliant joke:
Q: What is the name for a fear of passwords?
A: Friendorphobia
*The chickens, I mean. We already thought highly of our mates.
It's been a real up and down week at work, and a blazing hot weekend. I am exhausted.
Work stuff has actually been rather encouraging. Had to go and brief a Very Senior Person Indeed on Thursday, which went quite well. Amusingly, he had to step out for 10 minutes to receive some exalted guests from overseas, and came back into the meeting wearing a rather jaunty scarf they gave him as a present.
The upshot of our meeting was that he agrees that my team is woefully understaffed, and we need help. So fingers crossed there for some more people to help out.
I met my new boss on Friday, who is lovely, so that was another high point. But best of all, I found out that I have been awarded a TOP BONUS this year. Yay me.
The pay system we have is complicated by the bonus system, which I won't bore you all with, but it turns out that this time I am one of the winners. So, I am trying not to think too hard about all the crap things about the system, and focus on the fact that I will get some extra cash at some point. When they sort out our pay. Which might be months away yet.
Other news: It's been a very hot few days. Weatherwise I mean. We had my Middle Sis and family here for the weekend and even managed to have a barbecue. Outdoors and everything, we even ate in the garden for (I think) the first time this summer.
We have eaten like kings all weekend, which has been fab.
Also. Took the family over to visit our mates in the village to admire their chickens. Most endearing*.
We seem to have spent the entire weekend sitting in the garden, which has been very relaxing indeed. Middle Sis and I even did some gardening on Saturday afternoon. We have cut the hedge at the end of the back garden in a swathe, because our extension cord doesn't reach all the way. Now it looks like someone has taken a bite out of it.
Went into Salisbury on Saturday and bought some strap locks for my guitar, then spent an entertaining 30 minutes today trying to fit them, based on what the bloke in the music shop had told me. He was talking bollocks, it turned out, and the whole process was in fact very simple indeed.
Hopefully when I play in public next weekend, at least I won't have to contend with my guitar crashing to the floor.
Middle Sis told me a brilliant joke:
Q: What is the name for a fear of passwords?
A: Friendorphobia
*The chickens, I mean. We already thought highly of our mates.
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