Monday, 30 April 2007
0930 district line
Loads of (well, two) women doing their make up on a train so bumpy that it's hard to type this. I applaud them for their skill and dexterity, yet gently chide them for looking a bit slack.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
travelog no.1
Travel log 1600/30/04/07
The journey begins poorly: the train is disrupted due to engineering, and terminates in whitham, rather than London, meaning I've got to take a coach, adding 45 minutes to the journey. The train carriage is populated with people whom normally wouldn't bother me, but having fallen back into a state of nicotine dependence, set me on edge. Wittering phone users, cooing couples and (admittedly muted) children who simply irritate me to look at.
Additionally, on the way back from a grubby toilet, I catch the cord to my spangly new headphones & rip the plug off. They're salvageable with the purchase of a new cord, but that's going to be hella irritating tomorrow morning... EDIT: a quick call to my brother establishes that he has such a cord at his residence, and that he will permit me to use it. Huzzah! Family connections finally pay off!
The point of all this strange, dry prose above is to mask my mild yet palpable nervousness. For some reason, I've a fear that I won't be accorded entry to the US: maybe it's got something to something to do with a recent episode of Boston Legal that I watched this week where the Shatner character mistakenly gets placed on the No-Fly List. Shatner has taught us many valuable lessons through the medium of television, and should be heeded.
1630
Now on a bus sparsely populated with fellow refugee travellers. I'm not saying it's like Darfur, but the fact remains that we are peoples displaced by the whims of those in power, i.e. whatever faceless bureaucrat that decides to carry out works on the track every Sunday.
The coach is driven by an ugly lady driver. How come, air stewardesses aside, one never sees attractive females working in the employ of public transport? There should be some kind of benchmark overseen by a committee made up of publicly appointed officials. Though thinking about it, they'd probably botch it as they have the railways. Mind you, I have sympathy for our half troll chauffeur, as she was accused of breaking the law by an irate motorist stuck behind the convoy of four coaches parked by the rail station. The confrontation was brief and relatively mild, but none the less contributed to my general sensation of unease. I am wearing my seat belt, and rapidly growing weary of the talkative Japanese couple seated near me. Today, hell is other people, and I miss my noise cancelling headphones more than ever...
The journey begins poorly: the train is disrupted due to engineering, and terminates in whitham, rather than London, meaning I've got to take a coach, adding 45 minutes to the journey. The train carriage is populated with people whom normally wouldn't bother me, but having fallen back into a state of nicotine dependence, set me on edge. Wittering phone users, cooing couples and (admittedly muted) children who simply irritate me to look at.
Additionally, on the way back from a grubby toilet, I catch the cord to my spangly new headphones & rip the plug off. They're salvageable with the purchase of a new cord, but that's going to be hella irritating tomorrow morning... EDIT: a quick call to my brother establishes that he has such a cord at his residence, and that he will permit me to use it. Huzzah! Family connections finally pay off!
The point of all this strange, dry prose above is to mask my mild yet palpable nervousness. For some reason, I've a fear that I won't be accorded entry to the US: maybe it's got something to something to do with a recent episode of Boston Legal that I watched this week where the Shatner character mistakenly gets placed on the No-Fly List. Shatner has taught us many valuable lessons through the medium of television, and should be heeded.
1630
Now on a bus sparsely populated with fellow refugee travellers. I'm not saying it's like Darfur, but the fact remains that we are peoples displaced by the whims of those in power, i.e. whatever faceless bureaucrat that decides to carry out works on the track every Sunday.
The coach is driven by an ugly lady driver. How come, air stewardesses aside, one never sees attractive females working in the employ of public transport? There should be some kind of benchmark overseen by a committee made up of publicly appointed officials. Though thinking about it, they'd probably botch it as they have the railways. Mind you, I have sympathy for our half troll chauffeur, as she was accused of breaking the law by an irate motorist stuck behind the convoy of four coaches parked by the rail station. The confrontation was brief and relatively mild, but none the less contributed to my general sensation of unease. I am wearing my seat belt, and rapidly growing weary of the talkative Japanese couple seated near me. Today, hell is other people, and I miss my noise cancelling headphones more than ever...
Sunday, 15 April 2007
Monday, 9 April 2007
Festival of Man: the recovery stage
worries about meat
Ah, bless the Easter weekend. The resurrection of the saviour allows for the masses to rock out over a govvy-ment sanctioned 4 day weekend. I started it respectable, going over to Hereford with Lou for my Mum's birthday and finished it off messy with the Festival of Man on Easter Sunday. A drunken odessey through primal fears, so it was, as was the Festival (ha!). Over the course of a few drinks at Mustard on Saturday, Next mornig, with a spring in my step, the plans for the festivities were set into motion. Grab 3 friends, 2 x disposable BBQ, a smattering of meats (though not the meats that we would hope for, as every other bugger had the same idea, and all was left was value mince for burgers and value pork chops for a gastro-gamble), some Stoli, Bombay Sapphire, Bourbon and variety of exciting mixers... Things progressed relatively smoothly, and think that is mostly down to purchase of 2 hefty sacks of ice. Any attempt to hold cocktails without it results in dog-ass nasty drinks, and a general downbeat demeanour throughout the crowd. BBQ went well, with minor squabbles over when to put meats on, etc. I had the unalloyed of trying to teach Ian how to make a burger. Despite his initial squeamishness, he grew a pair, and enjoy a tasty burger with shallots and capers; anything to hide the taste of cheap meat.
a cheeky chappy
We swilled down the food with a strong line up of spicy Bloody Marys, chilly Gin Martinis and twisty Jim Beams w/ginger ale... We then skipped into the city, dropping in to see Tiny Tommy Lyons at the 10 Bells (which I'm really warming too) and then my chum Lucien's chum Lizzy at Po Na Na's, who hooked us up with some cheeky Jaeger and lemonades... I got so drunk I went boss eyed and had a 36 hours hangover. ALL HAIL THE FESTIVAL OF MAN! we're going to do it all again next weekend, and this time maybe inform the Priory...
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