Magnums

Hello....hello....anyone there? Yes, sorry. It's been ages, hasn't it? I wish I had a really good reason for not being more frequent with the posting, but the sad truth is that I just seem to have lost the ability to write stuff down. As a result, this might be really dull. If it is, sorry. Again.

I'm mostly fully recovered from my surgery in January, although I went to the doctor a few weeks ago as I was anxious that I was still very tired, and very sore.  She said "When did you have your operation?" I told her, early January.  She said "Well, yes, but don't forget that there's a good six-month recovery period, it's all perfectly normal."

Six months?  But the hospital literature (and the surgeon) told me a six to eight week recovery period, I said.

The doctor explained patiently that the six WEEK recovery period is from the effects of the general anaesthetic and the actual mechanics of the surgery, the six MONTH recovery period is from the total procedure. She also made the point that just because it was all done via keyhole surgery, and thus left me with several teeny little external scars, there's been a lot done internally, and I probably have hundreds of stitches which all need to heal up, and muscles which take ages to repair and so on. Pleuk.  I had some blood tests and am "perfectly normal" which is nice to know.

So. I'm pretty much ok, although I'm still unable to climb hills without it making me very sore and exhausted the next day.  It's fortunate that we live in the middle of a large area with plenty of dog-walking opportunities which don't involve strenuous hill-climbing. I have discovered a new skill in falling in the mud in the water-meadows as a result.  There are several beautiful water meadows nearby, and I love to take the dog down there, as long as there are no cows in the fields.  She gets to race around like a maniac, and I stroll through the flowery countryside, watching herons and egrets and buzzards, and sometimes having the shit scared out of me by almost treading on a partridge or a duck lurking in the undergrowth.

There is (as the name implies) quite a boggy basis to the water-meadows.  If you walk along the semi-defined paths it's mostly alright.  Sometimes it's a bit wet underfoot, but if you're wearing wellies there's no problem.  However, if (for example) you see a friend walking along a different path and decide to strike out across the middle of the meadows in order to catch up with them for a chat, there is a real risk that you will put your foot down on what seems to be solid ground, sink in to the top of your Wellington boot, fail to pull your booted foot out of the mud, and end up standing on a tussock in your socks, hauling at the stuck boot with both hands while your dog licks your face joyfully and your friend is beside herself with laughter.

That aside, it really is a lovely walk.

Other news: I have volunteered to be a helper at Stonehenge.  The new visitors centre is open, and the Neolithic houses that Mr WithaY was involved in building are due to be opened to the public very soon, and they want people to come and assist with the visitors.  So I sent in an application, was invited to a "this is what it's all about" morning, then a full training day, and I am planning to start in the next couple of weeks.

I get an English Heritage fleece and everything.

The new visitor centre is spectacular. I'd only seen it from the main road and had decided I disliked it, but once you get close to it, and see how it fits in with the wider landscape you appreciate how cleverly it's been designed.

People have been complaining about the increased admission prices, which I had wondered about too, but apparently Stonehenge almost solely supports the rest of English Heritage financially.  Also, I think a lot of people don't realise that the monument covers more than just the ring of stones.  If all you look at is that, as part of a rushed coach tour of the entire South of England in a day, then yes, you're going to feel short-changed. But if you come for the day, walk around all of the site, check out the Neolithic houses, go through all the exhibitions and galleries, and really get a feel for the sheer scale of the place, I think you'd feel like you'd had your money's worth.

Avebury is part of the same site, which I hadn't been aware of.  They've built a model of the area where you can see all the various barrows, the cursus, stone monuments and so on, all linked together over miles and miles of the countryside, and it is astonishing.

So. Go and take a look. And if you see me there, say hello.

I've also picked up a part-time job in the garage/shop in the village.  It's rather nice, I see loads of people, hear all the gossip, and have learned a great deal about the buying habits of the sole business traveller.  Magnums, Red Bull and Haribo sweets.  That's what blokes travelling around for work seem to live on.  Farmers live on pasties, Lucozade and Mars bars.  Women buy wine.  Kids buy Caleppo ice lollies when they get home from school in the afternoon, but middle-aged blokes in company cars buy Magnums and Red Bull.

One of our neighbours came in and bought an ice lolly, and told me he planned to walk home via the river, where he would sit on the bridge while he ate it.  How charming.

Me:  That sounds idyllic!  I hope you enjoy it.

Him:  I will.  Mind you, the other day the wind caught my Magnum and blew it into the river.

Me: .......

Him:  I went in after it!

Apparently it was still in its wrapper, so he squelched home triumphant, soaked to the knees, enjoying his ice cream.

Stoned

Stonehenge!

Where the demons dwell.  And the banshees live.  And they do live well.*

Yes, last week I went to Stonehenge.  I know the Solstice celebrations aren't till the 21st but I like to be early.  Beat the traffic and all that.

Inevitably, I took a bazillion photos. Well, of course. It's a spectacular place, even more so on a glorious early morning in June.  We were fortunate to have been invited to go along as part of a small group by the English Heritage team with whom (posh grammar eh?) Mr WithaY has been working recently. So at 0730, bright and breezy, we rocked up in the car park and met the rest of the group.

It immediately became apparent that we had dressed over-optimistically for the trip, as a stiff wind was blowing, but being British we gritted our teeth and ignored it.  Take that, weather.

There are some semi-tame rooks living in the monument, some of which were interested enough to come and watch us.

This one is called Gerontius and is trained to peck out your eyes if you fail to return your audio tour.

We were given strict instruction not to touch the stones because the acids in our skin would damage the lichen, apparently.  Perhaps they had a bad experience with a visiting group of Geiger aliens.  We were also warned not to climb on the stones, deface them, lick them or try to push them over, or they'd set the rooks on us.

I've always thought Stonehenge was a tad unimpressive, to be honest. I know it's a world heritage site and all that jazz, but when viewed at 50mph from the A303, it seems underwhelming.  Even when I've paid to get in, and walked around the outside with the audio tour (which I was careful to return, for fear of Gerontius) it's felt a bit, well, commercial and dull.  Plus you're always surrounded by massive crowds of tourists, probably all feeling as disappointed as yourself.

Last week, though, it was very different.  The stones are HUGE.  Really, really big.  And when you stand next to them, you appreciate how incredibly hard it must have been to move them from where they were found, organise them into the correct alignment, and then stand them up.  And then, incredibly, somehow hoist the equally-massive lintels onto the tops of them.

The guide, bless him, tried to explain all about Stonehenge, but was hampered by the fact that he did not have answers to the burning questions we all wanted to ask, viz:

1)  What's it for?

2)  How was it built?

He gamely explained various theories, backed up by the archaeological evidence, but basically had to reply to many of our questions with a smiling "We're not sure..."

Here's one of the rooks, keeping a wary eye on the group:

We were there a few hours too late for sunrise, but it was still lovely to see the long shadows crossing the centre of the circle.

That's a view of the Heelstone between the central pillars, thankfully without any traffic passing by on the road behind it to ruin the atmosphere.

This is one of my favourite pictures which gives a sense of the circular-ness** of the monument from the inside.

And this is the view off to the north west, across Salisbury Plain.  Usually there would be a thick crowd of people in an unbroken line around the path, so it's gorgeous to just see the stones and the big sky.

When the new visitors centre is opened, it will be a very different experience, and I am looking forward to seeing the changes.

Mr WithaY and I amused ourselves as we walked around by quietly exchanging comments in the "Neolithic Accent" as seen on Armstrong and Miller's TV show.

One careers option I was made aware of that day, and never offered at school, is "Astro-archaeologist."  I demand to know why not.  Is it because it sounds like a load of made-up bollocks?  Or just that the people who write horoscopes AND have a keen interest in digging holes want to keep it secret from the rest of us?

The truth will out.

In other news, the catering business is making slow but steady growth, and I am selling more of my home-made chutneys to people.  Mr WithaY has been carving some beautiful wooden bowls recently, and I am trying to persuade him to sell them online.

We've been making the most of the last week of fabulous weather to get stuff done outside and have  replaced the roof of the shed, planted more fruit bushes, cleared a huge (and I mean HUGE) amount of assorted shite out of the garden, and planted a lot of mixed wildflower seeds.  I have high hopes that in a few weeks we will have more flowers.

This of course, is a celestial cue for torrential rain until September.



*I still adore Spinal Tap.

**Yes, it's a word.  Shut up.

Something for the weekend

Aaah, Friday. Praise be. There were times this week when I thought I'd never see the end of it, but here we are.

Today has actually been rather good. Drove to work in horrific monsoon-stylee* weather for our big team planning session. One of the team, in a fit of enthusiasm had said he'd bring in cakes**.

He brought cakes, in a variety of flavours, doughnuts, cookies, and a large bunch of bananas.

Also sausage rolls and chicken pies.

Not quite sure why he thought we needed so much delicious baked food at 9.30 in the morning, but I didn't hear anyone complaining about it.

We ate our way through the mountain of comestibles and did our planning, and it was actually rather good. I suggested to the team that we stop at lunchtime to go to the pub. They liked this idea, which evolved into a "why don't we just work through till we finish this, then go to the pub and have an early finish?" Which we did.

I think that we have all put in enough additional hours over the last few weeks to merit an early end to the week on a pissy wet Friday afternoon.

If anyone wants to complain about it, by all means*** email me.

Drove home in yet more pissing rain, skilfully avoiding the massive tailback on the A303 at Stonehenge. Managed to get stuck behind a car of terrified Japanese tourists as I traversed Salisbury Plain. I knew it was a car full of tourists because it was brand new and driving painfully slowly along the white line in the middle of the road.

I think when foreign tourists see a 40 sign, they think it means kilometers per hour, not miles per hour. Anyway, this lot were doing about 25 mph and creating a huge grumpy tailback behind them.

I overtook at a safe bit of road, causing them to panic unnecessarily and swerve into (and then back out of) a tank crossing (not my fault, they were just crap at driving). When I looked in my rear view mirror I saw that the car was full of Japanese people, all scared witless. The driver looked like someone trying to pilot a light aircraft to a jungle airstrip in a hurricane, all white knuckles and huge eyes.

I expect they were heading to Bath, 30 miles away. Good luck with that, then. They're probably still negotiating the one-way system as I type this, six hours later.

My lovely guitar teacher turned up at 6 and we had a great lesson. My rendition of the Police's "Can't Stand Losing You" is almost passable now. Yay me.

Just as he was leaving, Bro-in-Law WithaY arrived, and we amused ourselves for the next hour or so by eating cupcakes and putting the world to rights. Mr WithaY then arrived home, having driven all the way back from Richmond in Yorksire in the rain. Poor bugger.

Plans for the weekend include visiting father-in-law WithaY in hospital tomorrow and then possibly going to the pictures to see Hancock, if we can be arsed. And sleeping. And maybe making some more cupcakes.

I will probably also spend at least some of the weekend staring out at the rain, grumbling.

I am in the mood to buy some stuff from Amazon. I have no money, but that seldom stops me. I fancy a few new cds and at least one book.

Heard Steve Wright in the afternoon talking about a book which supposedly allows you to analyse a person's personality by their stuff.

Hmm, let me think about this theory.

If you came to my house and it was full of, say, railway memorabilia, you would draw some conclusions. Perhaps that I was interested in railways? Had always dreamed of being a train driver? Lived on my own and quite possibly had a railwayman's uniform up in my bedroom?

Likewise, if I came to your house and it was full of soft toys and pictures of unicorns, I would draw conclusions about you. Perhaps that you didn't get out much? Read too many sci-fantasy novels? Had issues around forming adult relationships?

I should write a book.

*The climate, not the chain store...it wasn't weather dressed in over-priced floppy dresses and teeny colourful cardigans.

**To help us think.

***And I will ignore you, you whinging bastards.

Aliens!

There's still digging going on at Stonehenge. Wonder if they've found anything yet.

I was doing some digging of my own (see what I did there?) and came across this little gem.*

I particularly like the wealth of detail that they include.

Examples:

"Our ceiling came alive with strange sounds." So..how else would a ceiling come alive? Does it normally do it differently? Perhaps by spinning plates? Or doing origami?

"A flock of pigeons was killed in flight when tangling with the Thing. They brushed into fatal contact with paralyzing sound beams in woods in Crockerton, near Warminster... Stiff-winged, they plummeted earthward..." Hmm, has someone been reading too much John Wyndham? I like the sound of The Thing though.

"Their pet... cat... was sick" Why the ellipses? Is it the way it was related, with many horrified pauses? Or was there even more detail that has been cruelly excised? What was the cat's name? What colour was it? Did it sick up anything interesting? We need to know.

"Then her own rooftop was besieged by the furious frolics of the Thing. Mrs Haines sat up in bed, face ashen, heart pounding swiftly until the deluge of the soundwaves swished to silence." Lord, sounds terrifying. Was the cat also ashen-faced, I wonder.

"'It was obviously huge but high up,' said ... Colin Hampton, so surprised he fell into the lake." Excellent. I have been surprised enough to do many things, but never to fall into a lake. I think we need a properly calibrated Scale Of Suprisedness to clarify the magnitude involved. Maybe start with Saying Gordon Bennet! and end with the climactic Falling In A Lake option.

"To my eyes it was the size of... a bedroom wall... " To your eyes, yes. What did your tape measure think? And how big a bedroom? A Harry Potter cupboard? A Donald Trump Mansion? Be more specific.

"[T]he attractive wife of a Royal Air Force pilot ... [was]... 'woken by a terrible droning sound. " Riiiight. It was probably just her husband telling her he was an RAF pilot. I love the inference that all the other RAF pilots have hideously unattractive wives.

Aaah, Wiltshire. It's completely mental.

*I'll link it properly later.**
**Done. Damn, I'm efficient.

Harbingers

Saw the first gypsies of Spring today. As I was driving to work, there was a traditional Romany wagon parked up by the side of the road with a couple of piebald horses, and an elderly gypsy couple cleaning them, or brushing them or whatever you do to tidy up a horse.

All most picturesque.

Other news: They are digging up Stonehenge. Went past this morning and there was a huge marquee in the car park with BBC Timewatch written all over it. When I went past again tonight, there were several film crews all filming each other, presumably because it was more interesting than filming a small hole in the ground.

How exciting.

Got a hectic week at work planned, a day in London and a ton of planning for various big meetings coming up. Still, the lighter evenings make it more bearable. Mr WithaY is off to a big conference for a few days Up North, so it will be very quiet here indeed.

So, turn the amp up to eleven and raise the goblet of rock, I reckon.

Monkey magic

Back. After an activity-crammed few days, too.

What have I been doing? Well, glad you asked...

Ok, Sunday I went to Mum's place in gorgeous West Sussex, and spent the majority of the day chatting, drinking tea and reading. Very indulgent. Nobody makes a roast dinner like my Mum.

Monday was another quiet day, lots of chatting, a bit of errand running, visited Youngest Sis and family, went to the Quiz with Mum and her friend and Eldest Nephew. We came third, winning £9.50 to share between the four of us.

Hah haaaaa. Take that University Challenge!

You don't see any of them winning a quarter share in £9.50, do you?

No.

Tuesday was slightly marred by an annoying trip to the hospital, for an appointment which had happened the day before. We went and got the makings of a picnic from Sainsbury's on the way home, then chilled out all afternoon, preparing for our visit to The Theatre.

It warrants capital letters, the Festival Theatre. We saw Hobson's Choice, which was excellent.

I think the average age of the audience was in the high 70s. I felt like a giddy young thing by comparison. Marvellous.

Wednesday was changeover day, when Mum and her lovely Spanish lodger came back to mine for a little holiday in Wiltshire. He is heading back to Spain next week and was keen to see Stonehenge, Bath and the animals at Longleat. He's been watching Animal Park on TV it seems.

So, on the way home, we called in at Stonehenge for the full Stand Near* the Stones Experience.

And you know what? It was pretty good.

I took some A1 top banana photos which I will share just as soon I get off my lazy backside and follow the instructions. It helped that the weather was glorious for almost the entire week. Gor blimey but it makes a difference.

To the village pub for lunch, then ho, to Longleat, to see the animals. We were all far more excited than was seemly, and thoroughly enjoyed the drive through the "not likely to kill you" bit, with giraffes, camels, zebra and some other big cattle type things. All very educational.

But what we really wanted to see were the MONKEYS! There are huge signs up all through the park warning that they will damage your car.

There are even pictures** of monkeys with spanners in hand, trashing vehicles.

There are big warnings up telling people not to enter the monkey arena if they have a soft-topped car.

It's pretty clear that you go in there at your own risk, and that the Longleat Estate takes no responsibility for any damage.

So what do we all do, all we happy £20 a ticket punters? We all go "Nah, it won't happen to me," and drive into the monkey arena, laughing merrily.

And guess what? Those hairy little fuckers trash car after car after car. They're really good at it.

It was UNBELIEVABLE.

They seemed to prefer LandRovers, especially the ones with roof bars and ladders, probably because they afford lots of handholds. Several such vehicles did the complete circuit with several monkeys on their roof, looking like a South American market bus, passengers shrieking out of the windows in fright, trying to see what their hitchers are up to.

But they also like new cars with plenty of nice black rubber trim, so they can pick one end out of the car body panels and then RIIIIIIIIIIP the whole lot off, flinging it onto the side of the road.

Longleat have a lost property office full of bits of car, apparently.

We watched in horror (mixed with glee, obviously) as a tiny baby monkey jumped onto the car in front of us, grabbed the aerial and bit the rubberised end off it, before carefully bending it double. Little bastard.

By the end of the circuit, my white-knuckled hands were ready to swerve the car out of the way of (and quite possibly straight over) any monkey who looked like he was planning to hop aboard.

We made it through unscathed, and cheered ourselves up by buying a cup of deer food and hand feeding the fallow deer in the next enclosure. Again, photos were taken.

I'm still in two minds as to whether it's a good thing to go straight into the lion enclosure when you're covered in deer lick, though. Still, the lions were all half asleep, as is traditional, and we enjoyed watching them yawn and roll about like lazy cats. Which I suppose they are, when you think about it.

The house is being renovated so we only got a truncated tour, but can go back later in the season for another look if we want, on the same ticket, which is fair enough.

Then back home for a little siesta (civilised habit), then my guitar lesson, then a fab tapas-themed dinner. And a dvd.

This is a hugely long post. I'll stop and continue later on.

Heh. Don't want anyone getting bored now...

*Not too near, obviously.

** drawings, sadly, rather than CCTV footage like on Crimewatch

I've seen the future...

...and it's piebald.

On my way to Bath yesterday I was stuck in a long queue of traffic. Not a huge shock, as Bath is always a complete nightmare to get across, especially in the afternoons. This hold-up however was on the A36, in the middle of nowhere. And what caused it?

A horse and cart.

Fair enough, I suppose. Glastonbury this weekend, Stonehenge about to get the annual hippy invasion, bound to be a few odd vehicles on the roads.

But no. This cart was not driven by hippies or druids or bloody star children.

It contained what appeared to be a local famer and his mate. Loads of stuff in the back, looked like they'd been shopping, most likely at the nearby Mole Valley Farmers. Probably buying rat traps and enormous industrial-sized boxes of washing powder. Maybe some sheep ointment. And a new pair of odd-coloured corduroy trousers. I love that shop.

It was a refreshing little inclusion in a long and otherwise dull drive.

The presentation went very well, by the way. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have compared the current financial approvals process to an Arthurian Quest:

"Bring me the head of the Black Knight, and then, and only then, shall the first committee review your submission. If you please them, they will set you another mighty task. Succeed, and you may submit your second iteration for review. Fail, and you shall be cast into the outer darkness FOREVER. Mwahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

Apart from that, it was constructive and positive. Got loads more work to do as a result, but it will all help us get to where we want to be. And my boss was pleased, so that was good.

The trip home was a bloody nightmare. Left Bath at quarter past five, got home at quarter to seven. Dead Maids Hill was closed, I assume living up to its name, and so everyone got diverted off the main road.

I love it when that happens. The police block the road, stick a "Diversion" sign up to guide you into a maze of tiny lanes - cars, caravans, huge European articulated trucks with no clue about the fucking Highway Code - then effectively tell you to fuck off and find your own way home.

Do they only have the one "Diversion" sign in Wiltshire?

Aha, no. They have hundreds, but it seems they are all stacked at the side of the roads around Stonehenge (where the demons dwell) for tomorrow's big Solstice event.

Druids. Bastards.

Aaaanyway, reverting back to my original point...this morning as I was driving in I encountered another horse and cart. A different one, driven by an elegant elderly lady with a couple of long dogs running alongside. Obviously on her way to town, presumably to go shopping as she had a load of bags and baskets in there with her.

Makes sense I suppose. If you don't have far to go why use a car? Got a field? Stick a couple of horses in it and get a cart. Do they have to pay road tax? No fuel costs, just vet bills and horse food. If I had a shorter commute I might think about it. I could store it in the bicycle rack until hometime. Heh. If I didn't hate and fear all of horsekind.

Off to London tomorrow for a meeting. On the train. No fighting through the post-sunrise throng for me. And I am taking a day off on Friday because I have some stuff to do locally, and have no desire to join the long slow crocodile of Glastonbury-bound traffic that is bound to fill every road for miles around. I shall watch it on the local news and be smug that I am not involved.

The weather forecast is appalling. I have spent too many long, long weekends wallowing in mud on campsites to want to do it again anytime soon.

Mr WithaY is off shooting on Saturday. I, however, am going to sit with my nose pressed to the window, waiting for the windscreen repair guys to turn up.

Less grumpy...

But still unusually crabby, nonetheless. Ah well.

Work has been busy today. Met the new head of the team we're working with, who is very clever and knows loads about the area we're trying to write our plans around. Which, thinking about it, is probably why he got the job. Anyway, it's great to have someone around who I can run to saying "What are they TALKING about??" from time to time. And I had a very cheerful discussion with my boss this morning, which evolved into having lunch and chatting, which I enjoyed.

My lovely guitar teacher isn't coming over tonight, sadly. Band practice. Huh. They don't sound like they need much practice, but I suppose they ought to meet up sometimes and decide what they're going to play at their next gig. Still, I was very good last night and did an hour's playing which included lots of bloody barre chords. How is anyone supposed to play them properly? You need fingers of steel and hands like a mutant tree frog. Gah.

Ah well.

Oh yeah - I got gesticulated at this morning by a couple of (I assume) builders in a van. I was waiting for a gap in the traffic at Stonehenge (where the cats meow) and when I didn't pull out directly into the path of a huge high-speed juggernaut bearing down the A303 towards me, they made rude gestures at me from their van. I felt like getting out of the car and walking back to explain that I drive a fucking diesel 4x4, not a Maserati that does 0-60 in point something of a minute.

Bastards.