Time gentlemen please?

November 30, 2005

Why can’t I say what time I published these posts? Blogger appear to have removed that capability.

I am posting in GMT, not fucking EST, CET, MST, PST or any other excuses for an American time-zone.


Also known as Universal Time.

Universal Time. The time by which the universe works.

God’s Time.


[Yup – drunk]

PS. There was nothing wrong with the damned car. I’ve never had such a reliable vehicle!

[edit – Found the new setting which tells Blogger which time zone I’m in… rant over. For now.]


I am off brunettes…

November 30, 2005

I am off brunettes… I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…

But other than that, Paul, Buz and I failed to win the Pub Quiz at the George. Still, we had a merry evening and played the machines too. I spent my time admiring the GORGEOUS Kelly. But, eh, see above.

Actually my day consisted of email-bugging Buz about his upcoming “special delivery” courtesy of Mrs Buz. He’s very excited and took on board my suggestions for names (Boy: Alf; Girl: Alfina). It’s all very thrilling.

Bought Grandma an Advent calendar. It was a Spiderman one. Not exactly, shall we say, Advent-y, but anything for her to have a bit of Adventness. We’ll see. It’s got chocolate in it too. I bought an extra one too, and dropped it round to the lovely Harry so he could share it with his Dad. Poor Harry’s mum has hurt herself bad through having an atrocious cough and has to have a sling to support her arm as the muscles are damaged in her side.

Bah. Now, if you’ve not worked it out:

I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…I am off brunettes…

Morning is Busted…

November 30, 2005

[Pic: Ipswich. 30th November. 7:45am.]

It was cold, oh-so-cold, this morning. I had to take the car to the mechanic (he’s good, mail me for his number) and get a lift into work with Kev.

Of course, it all went horribly wrong on the A12 – there was an accident (for fuck’s sake, it’s ICY) – so we ended up being an entire hour late for work, having sat very still whilst the police, ambulance and fire brigade swept up body parts with a dustpan and brush.

It’s Italian for "I’m driving"

November 30, 2005

All my troubles seemed to far a-weave
Now it looks as though they’re here to Steve
Oh I believe
In yestereve

Gah, this songwriting lark is a bloody sinch. Step away from the lawsuit Mister McCartney, the secret is out. You wrote a song where all the lines rhymed. The last time I did that, my Primary School teacher smacked me round the back of the knees with a ruler and said I couldn’t go out at play time.

Last night, being a Tuesday, is usually one of the evenings I pop in and see my forgetful Grandma. Bless her. However, yes indeed, last night there was a change to the scheduled programme and a bunch of us from work went out in to Colchester for drinks, then food, then more drinks. Except Kev ‘girled’ it.

Although it was a leaving do for two of our colleagues, Silke and Phil, it was good fun, and I got to meet yet more people I’ll never remember the names of. But I do know that I was sat next to Stu on one side and Phil, who paid for it all (but isn’t the Phil who’s leaving), on the other. Interestingly (if you like such things as this fact coming up next) Phil sounds almost exactly like Jeremy Hardy off the radio. He’s also on QI. Jeremy Hardy, that is, not Phil.

The night kicked off with drinks at the Ha!Ha! Bar (where I had my one pint of beer) and then moved to Prezzo’s in Culver Street. There I watched as gallons of wine was duly ordered, and so was my bottle of Diet Coke. Ha! These people with their wine – they don’t know they’re born (and actually by the end of the evening, most of them were nigh on dead). Some excellent food was served, and the wine proved too tempting not to have a small taste. The red was a rather smashing Sicillian Merlot with tones of raisin and Christmas (Oops, I appear to be up my own arse). Disappointingly the white turned out to be a totally dreary Chardonnay, though the nose was very honey. But then Chardonnary is totally over-rated.

In my opinion*.

I waded my way through water and more Diet Coke as well as a very tasty goats cheese and red onion tart followed by a mozzerella and pesto burger. It was good, but the pesto was not at the front of the taste sensation. Dessert (two esses like “pudding” has two dees) was the cheesecake. Now I consider myself a bit of a cheesecake expert, as previously discussed, Rob reckons he wants one off me for Christmas. So making cheesecake is something I can do. I understand the very soul of cheesecake: its essence weeps from my pores (Although don’t let that put you off eating it if ever I make you one).

This cheesecake was divine. Heavenly. Nigh-on-perfect. And the reason? It was made with marscapone. Oh yes. So creamy, yet oh-so-light. Beautiful. If you get to try one at a Prezzo, go for it.

After the meal was sorted, we headed on out to Edwards. Very loud, full of students and despite the cash-strapped crowds, rather pricey. Eye candy was at a premium and I spotted but three young ladies worthy of any attention. But like I said, I wasn’t drinking so I had no intention of going anywhere near them (and besides, their baby-sitters would have got cross).

Dropped off some folks to save them having to get a taxi, and headed home. Night done by 12:30.

Slept incredibly badly. Not only was my electric blanket on, but so was the heating for some strange reason. This meant I kept waking in puddles of my own sweat. Annoying once, but after the third time, downright disgusting.

*Opinions expressed in this Blog are correct. Your opinions are wrong. Get used to it.

Wake up!

November 29, 2005

Hey that picture there… Yes that one. Check out the caption here: [Pic: It really really is the Everly Brothers]. I was trying to take the picture with “night mode” on the camera, but all of a sudden they shoved the ruddy house lights up, so it’s all a blur.

Phil and Don hit the Ipswich Regent this evening on the last date of their UK tour. Dubbed the “Last Chance To See…” tour by those less caring than I*, the Bros have been tirelessly slogging it out around Britain, breaking only for Sanatogen fortified wine and Fybogel Orange.

To be honest I wasn’t expecting much, I mean how many hits have they actually had? Answer: About 4 – maximum. Probably 3 if we’re realistic. And I’d seen them twice when they toured with Simon and Garfunkel in the States and Europe. But it must be said that they did fantastically well (although once more Ipswich Regent proved itself unworthy of decent music acts as the sound was atrocious when the entire band was playing). The acoustic section in the second half was great though.

For old boys they’ve still got really good voices (when you could hear them through the feedback and overly loud band), so good on ’em.

Of course, I didn’t opt to go – this was a belated birthday present for dear Mother, and she had a good time. So Job done – Result. And thanks have to go out to Trevor (who ignored me at the station last Wednesday) for sorting the tickets.

And so, with about two bars of “Kathy’s Clown” circling around in my head, I’m going to try and get some sleepy-time. But I know damn well that the music in my head is too loud to let me do that…

* OK, it was me.

Dammit… my head

November 26, 2005

If you’re reading this, please read it quietly.

Last night I took myself along to the Beer Festival at the Dove Street Inn. Yikes, what a night! What a selection of beers! What a selection of ciders! What a selection of hangover cures! Yes, there is someone in my head and they’re trying to get out through my eyeballs. This minute. As I type. So forgive any spelling mistakes, I can barely make out the keyboard.

I think my downfall was a beer called Kriek. Having started nice and easily with a pint of my old favourite “Albert” (4.4%) from the Earl Soham brewery, I then had a half of a beer called “Plum pudding” (4%) (which is a curious brew that’s for sure). Swiftly I followed this up with a pint of cider, “Ruby Tuesday” (6.3%), which is like drinking Quosh and is, as you’d expect, bright red. Finally, I happend upon Kriek.

Kriek is a fruit-based beer, which should be for the ladies, naturally. It’s just the 6 per-cent and is available to you, sir, at £2 for a half-pint. It’s dark, thick, reddy-brown and tastes fantastic. Not too sweet, not too bitter, full of fruit. A real pleasure to drink, which is why, I guess, I feel like this.

Of course, last night was my frist try-out of the UK’s new “relaxed” licensing laws. So come 11pm, we were able to go buy more beer. The same is true of 11:15, 11:30 and 11:45. At midnight it was decided that enough was enough and we left (quietly) by the back door, which is what the landlord had asked us to do. I guess it’s part of their late license deal with the neighbours.

So logically, the only people to blame for my headache and general feeling of can’t be arsed-nes, are the Government. Bunch of bastards. I’d say “Let’s rise up and over-frow dem, bruvvers”, but I’d only get myself arrested for being a “radical”. So I won’t.

I also have a vague recollection of agreeing to make a cheesecake for Mr Turner. He was thinking of a “Topic” and brandy cheesecake. I’m sure it’ll be fine.



November 25, 2005

Oh yeah, Happy Thanksgiving to all our American readers (with a minute to spare).

London, England

November 25, 2005

Went to see my lovely pal Fiona last night in London. I’ve not seen her in probably 8 years (when I bumped into her in the meat aisle of Sainsburys in town), and not spent any length of time with her for possibly a decade.

Fi lives in Spain and sells houses out there to rich-wannabe-ex-pats. And more power to her, I say.

It would seem that this weekend is a big holiday homes exhibition in London’s Docklands, so I hot-footed it back from work, dumped the car in Old Work’s car park, and ran for a train to London to go see Fiona for dinner in Covent Garden. We had a great time, and where the four hours went, god only knows. But I got a couple of cool pictures of us taken at Liverpool Street Station. I include one here for the comedy value [Pic: Look into my eyes, only my eyes, not around the eyes, but into my eyes…].

The journey back was of no interest, apart from the snoring woman across the corridor, and at least they bothered to put the heating on in the train (something they didn’t bother about on the way down to the City). On the way down, whilst stood at Ipswich Station I happend upon the following fine specimens of folk: work colleague Tom (now working for Royal & SunAlliance in London), Friday curry-night pals Simon and Shayne, BT employee of the year Trevor and occasional presenter of “Home Truths” Paul Heiney. Oh and Tim who used to teach Buz and I A-level computing at the Civic College.

Bought myself the now traditional copy of Private Eye for reading on the journey and enjoyed it mightily. Same old jokes but as I very rarely buy it these days there’s a comfort in the humour and always a wry smile at their investigative journalism and the exposes of the shenanigans at the Houses of Parliament, in the press and other national institutions. Ah Britain, where is your Greatness these days?

A Poet Laureate writes

November 25, 2005

Andrew Motion’s Latest Poem

So farewell then George Best
With your health worries
And your pint of Best (Er.. – Ed)
You won’t be long for this world
Perhaps it’s for the best (You’re fired – Ed)
You’ll soon be playing for “new Liver”-pool
In the sky league
And prove you’re the Best of the Best (Arrrrgh! – Ed)

A minute’s silence this weekend
For a drunk and wife beater
And later, a salute
With beer by the litre

(Not dead yet, not quite alive
Like that other George, Bush
This poem’s a pre-emptive strike)

(c) A Motion 2005, UEA Creative Writing Graduate (Third)

Heh. Now far be it from me to insult a fellow UEA Creative Writing dude, but Andrew Motion writes really rubbish poetry. And yet Radio 4 get him in at the drop of a hat to write some lines on this or that, just because I guess, he’s the Poet Laureate.

Last night on the BBC Six o’Clock News, a reporter stood in front of the hospital where George Best is currently refusing to acknowledge the Ultimate call of “last orders please”, mentioned that the atmosphere outside amongst the people gathered there was “very sober indeed”. Taking the piss? Hmmm.

No brainer

November 23, 2005

Tuesday. Evening of nothing. My chance to piss time away down the toilet of life. Fuky’all this is Me Time.

Still, went to see Grandma in her home for an hour after work, then to Sainsburys for some tea and cleaning products (mustn’t get those two mixed up) and finally – finally – this is me. With Nothing To Do Except Veg.

I did exceptionally well in not buying the “Doctor Who” Tardis-shaped DVD box set whilst at the superbmarket. And I managed to not buy “Batman Begins”, or three other DVDs in the 3-for-20 quid special offer. Or the “Alias” season 3 box set. But. But! I did fall foul of the wicked marketing scams involving Cadbury’s Jaffa Cakes (yes, Cadbury’s) and some sugar-free jelly sweets as recommended by friend Kev.

Let’s examine the schedule:
1. Pizza.
2. Wine.
3. Read emails.
4. Catch the end 10 minutes of “Top Gear”.
5. All new season 9 episode of “Stargate SG-1” (featuring “Farscape”‘s Ben Browder (and one of the future Mrs Boredofjams, Claudia Black, up until she got sucked into a black hole last week – damn those quantum singularities)).
6. Resident Evil 4 into the wee hours.

Now I’m a bit of a casual “Stargate” viewer, and I’m only really watching this series as it’s supposedly a “new start” with Crichton taking over as leader of the pack and Macguyver leaving to spend more time with his Grecian 2000.

But, how come:
* Teal’c has hair and gets more like Mr. Spock with every passing episode (right down to the raising of an eyebrow when a puny human suggests something ‘crazy’ and a big ceremonial cloak ‘a la’ “Search for Spock”)
* They can teleport now? Teleport? Jeez. I guess one kind of amazing instantaneous space-travel just ain’t enough for some on-going sci-fi series.
* Beau Bridges? The last time I saw this guy, he was in “The Fabulous Baker Boys”.

Still I suppose it will do while I wait for the second-half of the second series of the new “Battlestar Galactica” to air in the US and there ain’t going to be any more “Farscape” any time soon (if ever).

Beh, zombie killin’ time…