Blog Links Just some of the great blogs I keep stumbling on. Go for an explore, and if you see any really good ones, let me know...
- the hottest blogger I know. - I hate knitting. However, I love this blog. Who'd have thought? - If you ask me, it's perpetual brilliance! - 'nuff said. Inspired - inspiring.
- ...into light. Xenouveau - Her from Sadisticland. All Geek To Me - Fun from Scout Finch.
Elven Sarah - Witty and weird, a bit like me (but witty). Sedgefield - A nice blog, which may have died from meme deficiency... - A great lady had a great blog. Hopefully it returns...
superphase - A stick hero for the masses...
Sadly, we have been given the cold Shoulder. - a great blog from the continent, nice and warm there. - Not indulgent any more.
She Speaks - The star-crossed lover is now silent.
Organic Feminism - A tremendous blog. Even though she calls me Scoots *shudder*
You can no longer get your soup fix from souplover.
So much to tell you about this life-changing event, and I've forgotten it all...
My Dad hired a van for the day. This isn't totally true. My dad hired the largest van I have ever seen for the day. A transit could have parked in the back.
It was a beast. Not only was it vast, but it looked as though it had recently been squeezed through a gap about an inch smaller all round.
This was a blessing in disguise. Every junction, every passing place, this van had right of way, as drivers practically swerved off the road to give us more room.
I was working on the Friday; I moved on the Saturday. There was so much to move, and so little spare time, that I ended up moving stuff for most of Sunday too.
Spartacus stayed behind on Saturday night. I felt bad about leaving him in a (nearly) empty house, but we were taking most of my crap to my folks' to sling in the garage, and I thought it was best to let him stay in familiar surroundings until he could move permanently. He was fine on Sunday morning, enjoying the extra space for a game of Championship Crisp Packet Football...
It's always the last bits you forget to pack that take the longest to move...
I started to fall out with my dad. We were rushing round like maniacs, and there were a lot of things we had to lift jointly, such as the washing machine (now in my sister's shed), the fridge-freezer (now in my parents' shed), the wardrobe, the double mattress, and so on. Working as a team is fine with my pop provided he is in charge! Once we'd finished, everything went better.
I was feeling pretty down afterwards, having to pare my life down to one bedroom's worth of stuff. Spartacus was feeling pretty down, having to (temporarily) share the house with a dog.
I won't mention the lack of broadband, which left me twiddling my thumbs for two weeks, or the teary farewell between Kate and I, or even the events of a few days later when I had to go back to get the stuff I forgot, but things are much better now.
Well, I should really tell you all about my adventures over the last few weeks, the tribulations of moving and so on, but first, I'll tell you about my sister's new vacuum cleaner.
Dateline: The weekend before the move.
My sister is getting a little nervous about my impending move. It's not my scruffy presence that worries her, but that of Spartacus.
It's time to come clean. I live with a gladiator. Now forget the talk of snails and oysters, this is a fearsome warrior in feline form. He's 9 years old (that's "Up yours, human!" in cat years), and he spends his entire life indulging in one of theses activities:
Being scared by pieces of fluff
Being completely unfazed by earthquakes, plane crashes and the like.
Picking at his food
Demanding cat milk (lactose-free)
Demanding to be let out
Most of these are resolvable, and all part of the process of being a cat's slave...owner, but the shedding seems to be the one she has the most trouble with. Despite the fact that the house has only two carpets (master bedroom, landing/stairs), the threading of cat hairs through the carpet fibres can reduce her to a quivering wreck. Her current hoover (not a vac by hoover, just what we call 'em over here) is my old one, and sucks as hard as an asthmatic budgie.
So, we paid a visit to several different showrooms, looking for hoovers. She wanted a bagless one, but not an accursed Dyson.
High and low we searched, until finally we came across a nice hoover.
We got it home, and she proceeded to clean the house, declaring it a minor miracle.
Dateline: Wednesday night
I had a call from my sis, who's staying at the folks' this week. "Don't forget to hoover," she told me.
My mum called from Tenerife, a smalll island in the Atlantic, just off the coast of Africa. "Don't forget to hoover," she said.
I think my family considers me forgetful.
So, 11pm, having forgotten to do it earlier, I decided to tackle the vacuuming. Oh my goodness, what a beast! It's only small, but it has a voracious appetite. It gobbled up all the animal hairs, dust, and optimistically attempted the following:
A bin bag full of clothes
my jeans (worn)
I was drained at the end, it was stronger than me!
After the events of today I must write this letter. I am so incensed that my hands are shaking as I write, and setting it down is the best way to assuage my murderous feelings.
Firstly, I would like to make one thing crystal clear. If you are driving a car, you are not automatically granted right of way. Nor are you personally blessed as such by some divine figure.
I cannot stress this strongly enough.
Perhaps if you had learnt this lesson, my day might not have been ruined. I can only hope that you learn it soon, although I suspect it would take the crushing of your car by an articulated lorry to teach you.
It therefore follows that a cyclist turning right from a main road to a side road should not be forced to swerve by a car heading the same way from a side road.
Secondly, if you cause the cyclist to swerve by almost hitting him, and then honk your horn at him, don't be too surprised if he makes a less than courteous gesture by return.
Furthermore, it is highly inadvisible to let your passenger wind down his window and spit at the aggrieved cyclist as you drive past. This is deeply insulting at the best of times, and the sort of behaviour that undoubtedly leads to road rage murders.
Granted, the cyclist should probably not then make another disrespectful gesture, but again, acting in the manner described is not respect-generating.
If you follow this behaviour by slamming on your brakes in front of the cyclist, you truly are a cocksucker of the first order, and can look forward to a glittering career as every world leader will clamour for you to suck their cocks. I recommend that you take this profession up full time, as four men driving around in a car at a time of day normally reserved for working, you must be too stupid to do anything else for a living.
I realise as I write that you won't have the higher brain functions necessary to read this, as it uses big words, but it has been quite cathartic, and I feel much better.
(I wrote this yesterday on the train, and I had to post it. Thankfully, today is my last day using the bike, as I'll be moving to my sister's tomorrow and taking the bus from then on.)
I bought a hat. I decided I didn't look ridiculous enough, even with the bicycle clips, so I've attempted to rectify the situation. It was a cheap one, so I don't hold out much hope for it saving my life,but at least the brain damage should be reduced a little.
I am disappointed with myself. Virgin Trains have trounced me, and now have my custom in the afternoons. If I take the local service I can expect to get home an hour later than using the accursed Pendolinos!
At least I can be a subversive sometimes, by sitting in the first class section looking scruffy. I wish I was on one of those trains now. The Quiet Zone should not be shared with a wailing baby. It's worse when it's a wailing toddler...
I visited my friends on Saturday. I haven't seen them since the accident, and a visit was long overdue.
I wasn't expecting such a rapturous welcome. A hug, a card, perhaps a few cans. Certainly not a DVD and dinner out. I was overwhelmed, although I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised; they are such great people. So we ate at Frankie and Benny's, an "Italian American Diner" chain, similar to TGI Friday's. The food was excellent, and the staff were first rate. I was given a birthday balloon, and had candles in my dessert. Embarrassed joy!
Later, we played an impromptu game of "guess the theme tune", before they sneaked off to return with a birthday cake. I am now officially scared of self-lighting candles - the magnesium sparks were terrifying. The day was rounded off by a movie and a little surfing. All in all, it was a great day.
Sunday was largely good. I lazed around for a while, tinkered with their PC for them, and fathomed the mysteries of Blender, a 3D modelling program. I called my sister, and we all went out for another meal, also of very high quality. My sis dropped me off at home much later, replete and tired, and I did a little online chatting before bed. I had a little unpleasantness to deal with, but nothing that
This morning I came to work full of joy, one year older, but not one bit wiser. And the first thing I did was read something that wounded me.
A lot of it didn't even phase me. But some things hit far too close to home; I'm choking up just thinking about it. After a great weekend, I feel old and worthless, and just plain stupid.
I'm an old git now. 31 years old, and I feel like 51 some days.
Mind you, I said that last time I had a birthday. I suspect it may be the onset of senile dementia. Never mind.
I was a little depressed yesterday, trying to decide whether my life so far was a waste of time. I know it's not what I expected, and from a certain point of view I'm starting again from scratch this year. I thought about all the people I've hurt, all the mistakes I made.
I never considered the good things. I really should.
In the meantime, I'll be celebrating with friends, and copious quantities of alcohol will be consumed. Not too much though, I'm not as young as I was...
Guilt is one of my defining characteristics. Looking back I can attribute most of my actions to guilt, trying to assuage it or avoid it.
I tried to keep it contained once, but in the end my mind bulged and cracked like a metaphysical Tetsuo.
My whole marriage was one big guilt trip from one moment. As I stood there waiting for my family to get ready, I realised I was going to be late.
Since then I've learnt to recognise guilt when it strikes.
The sour twisting, the whisper in my ear; "You should be ashamed."
This week a "getting to know you" theme with an insane twist.
First, a warm up. in celebration of our fresh and "Spring"y layout, using the letters B-O-I-N-G reveal five things about yourself. You can use just one word or just chatter, chatter, chatter. Either way, just go crazy!
Now...we wouldn't leave you with just half a hump so here's the rest so you can have the hump, the whole hump and nothing but the hump! Let's hump, shall we?
01. If your blog were scratch and sniff, what would it smell like?
02. Which horror movie monster are you most like and why?
03. If you were being sold in a Walmart, which department would you be in and what exactly would you be? Would you be on sale?
04. Earth, Wind, Fire and Water. Which element would you be. What form of that element would you be and why?
05. What sitcom character (past or present) do you think you are most like and why?
B - Benefit of the doubt. I always end up giving people this.
O - Optimist. I believe that people are generally nice
I - Idiot. This is what the previous answers make me.
N - Nice. I'd like to be nice...
G - Growing up. Something I'm avoiding.
01 - Tour bus odour, just the thought of all those screwed up noses.hehehe.
02 - The vampire alien zombie from Plan 9 from Outer Space. Not very good at acting, played by different people. Likes drinking blood. Muahahaa!
03 - I'd be an umbrella. Always stumbled over, and impossible to find when needed. I'd also be in the sale section, half price.
04 - Water. A lake, calm on the surface, but dangerous to the unwary.
05 - Basil Fawlty. I can get quite het up.
I am whole again. After yesterday morning's journey through Hell, I am once again able to write.
It was raining, gargantuan sheets of water that stung my face and smashed down my body and legs, soaking my trousers and jacket through the waterproof.
I sat down to write about it, in some way purging myself of the memory, when I realised the true magnitude of the horror. I had forgotten my pen!!!
Me without a pen is like a samurai without his katana. Luckily I had a movie magazine to while some time with, or I would have gone insane for sure.
Coming back was infinitely better. I arrived at the station with 10 minutes to spare, to find out that the train I needed to make my connection was delayed by 20 minutes. I eventually missed the connection by 3 minutes, which meant I was looking at a 40 minute wait.
And then, halfway through my macaroon and latte, my phone rang.
All of my woes were forgotten for the rest of the day, and I arrived at home at 7:30, three hours after setting off, quite content, and still talking at length to the wonderful girl who was aware of the spiralling cost of the conversation, but reluctant to curtail it.
I love conversations like this, with pregnant pauses, when we're both too breathless to speak.
And those wistful moments of regret that we were born in the wrong place.