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.

GMT.

Also known as Universal Time.

Universal Time. The time by which the universe works.

God’s Time.

Fuky’all.

[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

Yestereve
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.

Honest.


Turkey

November 25, 2005

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