Thursday, December 29, 2005

And all was quiet

....

Gosh, how glad am I all the eating is over? Christmas day was a hoot - spent hours alternating between the kitchen and the lounge where I watched FG cuss and swear at his new game I bought him (evil grin). At around half one we sat down to a giant meal of a smidge of roast potatoes, roast parsnips coated with maple syrup glaze, garlic potato au grautin (the roast potatoes were more of a token, this year) , grilled peppers, lightly boiled broccoli and tiny canonballs smothered with fresh pepper and grated cheese, perfectly roast beef in a wine sauce and gammon wrapped in smoked bacon smothered with apricot jam, just for colour and extra flavouring. Holy heck - it was a lot of food - FG is still eating roast beef sarnies. But it was gorgeous! And thank heavens I only do it once a year.

FG made a scrumptious trifle which we nibbled at, I had also made a mouthwatering chocolate sunken souffle (so easy!) which we are still nibbling on as it is so incredibly moist...

It was good eating. I reiterate - thank heavens I only do it once a year!
Grin.

The rest of the holiday period was sitting around, reading, sleeping, eating, walks in the park, working on the old novel...good fun.

How droll that it has to stop.

Pout.

Here's hoping we win cazillions on the Euromillion...if we do, everyone gets to be invited to the Wolseley for cheesecake and champagne!

Friday, December 23, 2005

Tumbleweed...


I walked into the office this morning and thought I was walking through a lost memory belonging to that of the Mary Celeste! It was eerie. The silence, the deserted workstations, the drip-drip of the tap in the kitchen echoing louder than it should have…

I took a later train this morning, being wild and reckless. FG and Sparrow walked me to the station where about three people stood waiting for the shortened train. I felt forlorn as I waved them off, thinking longingly of my warm bed, comfy couch and delectable new books to read.

It was the proverbial “damn, I should have taken that half day’s holiday today”. But I didn’t. And here I sit. One boss in thus far. One rather miserable, hung over and depressingly quiet boss.

I feel like I am intruding in his personal space and eventhough I whipped around the office to see if there is anyone I can talk to…there is no one. Pout. I thought maybe I cheer him up with some Classic FM music but it turns out my media player isn’t an up to date version and it refuses to access the net.

I have two songs on my computer, both from Team America, neither of which I think he would appreciate as they are loud, raucous and full of swear words.

Here’s hoping the half day goes quickly.

Shuddering sigh of loneliness!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Kong Lives

The beast looked upon the face of beauty. Beauty stayed his hand, and from that moment he was as one dead.
We went to see King Kong – The Eight Wonder of the World – last night. I freely admit to having reservations. I mean, really, how exciting can a movie be with a CGI monster, shot against a blue background, even though it was directed by His Majesty Peter Jackson?

Well.

I freely admit to being smacked in the gob. I was very wrong. VERY wrong.

Kong is brilliant. The scenery, the minute detail, costumes and sets are meticulous, the acting is topnotch. I found myself really liking Jack Black’s character in the beginning and as the story evolved you realise exactly how manipulative and single minded he is in his hunt for glory and fame and money. And he corrupts almost everyone in the process to the extent where I was wishing Kong would tear him apart.

They have done amazing things with Kong – never once did I doubt him as a genuine 25ft monster capable of tearing a T-Rex apart with his bare hands. Or laugh at the vaudeville tricks Ann does to amuse him. Or shriek with terror at the things attacking them in the ravine. The “love” story between Kong and Ann is brilliantly portrayed – it is more one of genuine friendship and understanding, than anything else. I really sobbed my heart out at the emotions brought out by the characters and Kong himself – they did really well in that and I can only imagine how much study of big ape behaviour went into creating Kong.

The one thing I would say though – one criticism is that it is just that little bit too long. We went in at eight and came out at half past eleven. The first two hours flew by but then the old bum started getting uncomfortable on the threadbare Odeon seats. But, having said that, my attention never strayed from the movie and there were loads of people there, all adults, thankfully, and like me they oohed and aahed and shrieked (FG had to remove my nails from his thigh during some of the more anxious and suspenseful moments) and cried.

I would give it…five out of six guitar strings.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Sore fingers...



First lesson today with Phil of Twangg Guitars up the road from us.

What a lovely chap. The hour flew by. My fingers hurt from being shown the cords. We tuned my Fender, we talked about music, he showed me more cords, I sucked my fingers. He showed me strumming, I sucked my fingers.

I came away with two sheets of music which incorporates the chords I had learned today - Green Day's Boulevard of Broken Dreams and Let it be by the Beatles. He also handed over a cd of the Greenday song and told me to listen to it as I practice as it will make life easier hearing it being played as I practice. I have been given two sheets of chords as well with handwritten notes what to practice, technique etc. I will practice till I can play these. We didn't make another appointment for the next lesson - that can be in the new year as the stuff I had been shown today will last me at least three weeks to master. He is optimistic, I am worried stiff that I might need to break my fingers to get them into the position his fingers can go. Grin.

But, we shall remain positive.

Lets do lunch, dahling!


Wow - it has been a strange old week. Monday night we celebrated FG getting offered his job. Needless to say we were out of our respective trees by half nine the evening. Staggered into work on Tuesday morning feeling like shyte - how do people drink and survive? I haven't had a hang over or felt that bad in over three odd years. It was horrible.

I survived Tuesday in a haze of just sitting at my desk smiling blearily at people. I was treated well as my team knows I don't do drink ever, so they were being nice.

Wednesday was much better. I was treated to a lunch at the Wolseley restaurant on Piccadilly, opposite/next to the Ritz. The one director in my team, M, (she heads her own mini-department within the larger one) took Richard (her 2IC) and me out as a thank you for looking after her this past year and for all our hard work. It was one of the nicest lunches - the food wasn't very pretensious eventhough I had to ask loads of questions as to what is what as I have zero French and can just about pronounce "frittes". But, having said that, I opted for dessert - just to be wild and daring - and chose to have the vanilla cheesecake. OMG. I think I would happily sell at least two of my books to learn how to make that. It was absolutely mouthwateringly moreish and gorgeous. I ended up sharing with my director, M - it was a substantial piece and eventhough it was lipsmacking nice, I knew that if I had to try finish it on my own, I would end up with a migraine in a nano-second.

After scooting off from the restaurant we made a beeline for Hamleys, bought a gift (700 experiment science kit) for a very lucky ten year old...after which R insisted we go to Mortons. He had recently become a member of the exclusive private club. And as M was feeling even more daring than me, off we went. At the back of my saddo mind I couldn't help but worry about my work that afternoon...but M insisted it would be all right. She left several messages for the Head of the Dept who eventually rang and said I shouldn't worry about getting back at all - it was Christmas afterall.

So, we ended up at Mortons which is at the top of Berkeley Square. A lovely old building beautifully renovated with spectactular views over the Square. We lounged about like IT-girls and boys, drank (non-)alcholic drinks, had nibbles. In the end I invited FG to join us at the end of the working day to celebrate his new job and M's boyfriend got invited too, to take her home as she professed to be too tipsy to figure out where she was.

All of us trooped off just before eight the evening feeling very posh indeed, even if a few of us were a bit unsteady on our feet.

It was a lovely day - I felt ontop of the world, yet desperately longed for my couch.

We are planning to return to the Wolseley just to go and have some cheesecake. Grin. Oh hell, why not, dahling!?

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Dazed and confused

I am confused.

More so than usual. Life is a mystery.

I keep being asked “Who is your favourite band? Are you going to get their songbook and play their music?”

And I think to myself…WTF? I am a bit slutty that way. I have no favourite bands. I love all of them equally. I have got 3 playlists set up on my Zen – Noise; Girly Music; Everything Else. The playlists make complete sense to me. On my Girly Music I have Marilyn Manson eventhough he is clearly Noise...but somehow some of his songs fit. As does Bruce Springsteen. I can see the hesitation in my two colleagues at work after I stared at them blankly after they asked the question about the song books.

Is it necessary to have a favourite band? I still love Pavarotti and will sell my hair to go and see Roby Lakatos play his gypsy violin in Budapest. I can dance around the house like a maniac listening to Bond but I can also appreciate Diana Krul and her voice like velvet and treacle. I still put on the Doors when I am in a foul mood and when I feel homesick I listen to Harry Connick Jr. I save U2 for lazy days at home when no one else is around as it is music I love and am comfortable with.

I remember loving certain bands whilst growing up but I never had a fascination with them to the extent where I had all their albums and knew their music off by heart. Is this what they mean about favourite songs and bands? If it is, I think it is unhealthy - the whole range and scope of the music world is there to explore!

So no, I haven't bought any music books. I probably won't, not for a while yet. I will find out what my tutor knows and take it from there.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Songs to learn...


Right, tutor-person Phil (first class to be the 16th December) said I should make a list of songs I would like to learn, basically from some of my favourite artists...

So, I pondered the question of "what music and what bands...?" So far I have got The Man Who Sold the World (Nirvana) Summer of 69 (Brian Adams..."I bought my first real six string...") and I am stuck...what else?

I have recently fallen in love with Creed (pic above) and one of their songs really makes my breath catch. This is it:-

With Arms Wide Open

Well I just heard the news today
It seems my life is going to change
I closed my eyes, begin to pray
Then tears of joy stream down my face

With arms wide open
Under the sunlight
Welcome to this place
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open

Well I don't know if I'm ready
To be the man I have to be
I'll take a breath, take her by my side
We stand in awe, we've created life
With arms wide open

Under the sunlight
Welcome to this placeI'll show you everything
With arms wide open
Now everything has changed

I'll show you loveI'll show you everything
With arms wide open
If I had just one wish
Only one demandI hope he's not like me
I hope he understands
That he can take this life
And hold it by the hand
And he can greet the world
With arms wide open...

Written by Tremonti/Stapp Published by Tremonti/Stapp Music(Adm. by Dwight Frye Music, Inc.)/Dwight Frye Music, Inc. (BMI)Produced, Engineered & by John KurzwegMixed by Kirk Kelsey

I will ask to learn this too. It is nice as he pointed out that he does his lessons around what you want to learn, not what the tutor insists on having you learn. He obviously will be teaching technique and frets and chords and all the actual things, but he reckons that he finds people respond better to actually learning songs to play - it makes sense, doesn't it? Learning to play a song all the way through makes you feel accomplished and lo! inbetween you have learned chords, frets, posture etc. Cunning. We see how it goes though. I have to kiss my nails goodbye though but it is a matter I am happy to comply to.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Fender Dreadnaught



Isn't she gorgeous? Tones like liquid honey, and that says a lot as I can strum it with meaning, and she is being kind and sweet and hasn't made squawking noises at all!

We took a stroll around London today and after visiting a few shops, picking up various guitars (pronounced ghee-tarrs) and fiddling with them and trying to not look quite the novice, we chose this one.

She is a Fender Dreadnaught and her stats are as follows:-

TOP: Laminated BasswoodBACK

AND SIDES: Laminated Basswood

FINGERBOARD: Rosewood

NECK: Nato

BRIDGE: Black Stained Maple with Compensated Saddle

MACHINE HEADS: Chrome

Needless to say, at first this meant nothing to me but now I have a clue.

It is vastly exciting. What struck me was her sound - she had a deep body and fits comfortably on my lap and I can fit my arm around her nicely and grip the neck easily. The first shop we walked into we were offered an Aria. Which was pretty to look at but sounded like a honky-tonk gheetar. Thankfully we walked out and did some more shopping, listening intently as other people spoke about sound, comfort, etc.

Then, a tiny sign appeared which read "guitar sale" and we scooted off in there and in a shop no larger than my diningroom we found the Dreadnaught. The owner was strumming her, in demonstration. Another young girl was fingering one, looking as happy as a clam, listening to him. Then her older sister, mom, tutor or partner - who knows, there was a gaggle of them - took it over and the sounds she made on it, dropped my jaw. They decided to take one, I got handed the demo-instrument, was shown a chair and started strumming my little heart out, only to find that honey was pouring out of the instrument. I was enraptured.

The owner popped back as FG and I chatted, amazed at how beautiful she looked, her back and neck is this deep rich almost red-almost brown colour. And the fact that she was an affordable acoustic gheetar, and a Fender, sold us. (Snobbish??)

We were packaged up with a free gig-bag with backpack straps, a handful of different picks and within seconds I was transformed from Mundane Liz into Almost Acoustic Fender Rock Chick.

I am planning to pop up there on Monday to get an electric tuner. I have been promised a few books on grips and chords, so I will wait until then before buying my own books.

FG has been really sweet about it - he was the recipient of constant hugs and kisses during the day, much to his joy.

So, all I have to now is limber up my hands who have not seen strings or a keyboard for about eighteen years. Yikes! But, I hold over hope. Maybe I even do guitar lessons locally - who knows? All very exciting!

Friday, December 02, 2005

From PA to Rock Star to Creative Genius!


The cat is out the bag.

To prevent any kind of disastrous present buying this Christmas FG and I have decided to swap present ideas.

His list is a lovely one of loads of little things to buy, so it looks promising. I will take a day off to go and do his shopping quite soon. We have decided not to spend loads this Christmas as the sales here are utterly insane and you pick everything up at half price afterwards, or even less.

My list though is a bit of a nightmare. I don’t want anything, really. I have got loads of books which I want to read, there are many more I want to get, but in reality there is no space in the house, I don’t need jewellery as I like the shinies but forget to actually wear them. There will be the invariable bits of smellies from the Body Shop which is always loved and appreciated. But as a present for myself, I didn’t have a clue. So I sat there, looking perplexed.

FG, however, is a considerate bean and knows my little heart and pays attention during the year when I make noises about some treasure or other and he has hit on the idea of buying me a guitar!!! I am so totally over the moon about this. I have roped in advice from everywhere. We are starting our hunt this coming Sunday. And the fantastic thing about the guitar is, I don’t have to spend £300 plus on one (unless I win the lottery this weekend and then the sky is the limit!)

Beaming.

Of course I have these delusions of picking up a guitar and winding it like Slash. Or Hendrix, belting out the Star Spangled Banner like he did that improv at Woodstock back in the day. In reality it will probably be more Phoebe's “Smelly Cat” from Friends. But it is a start. I am not generally a patient person but I can read music (back in my churchgoing days I used to sing in the choir and murder a recorder) so I am hoping that I can remember something at least and I am stubborn.

It is, in all honesty, shaping up to be a promising new year. I have decided to be more creative – not just with my writing but doing craft projects. I have the time, in the evenings and over weekends to do it, it is just the motivation that is lacking now and again.

This year I am planning to complete my novel I started a few months ago. Advice from an author friend in Australasia and Wordweaver ( a multi-talented lady who not only creates magical poetry , but is a singer-songwriter and a fantastic chef!) is to get the story out and on the screen and then worry about everything else after the fact. I think, as it has been shouted at me enough, I am happy to do this.

2006 is going to be a very creative year. So, beware of handmade presents, jams, chutneys, windchimes, bound journals, papier mache “stuff” – as Creative Liz is about to strike!

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Just a little crazy




Okay, so it is official.

I am losing my mind.

Here’s why….

It started innocently enough. Monday I toddled off to Waterstones. I bought two new books. I was really excited because the first book was the conclusion of a trilogy which we have been waiting for to come out here in the UK. The second book was one which I knew I owned previously but after a cursory glance (i.e. remove the first row of books to check out the second hidden row of books behind the first row) I concluded that I no longer owned this book and was quite happy to buy another copy.

I got home, clutching my treasures, crowing with joy. FG cast me a blank look after I showed off my shiny new books.

I quote the dialogue:-

Him: "Why did you buy that book?"
Me: "Cos I wanted to read it again."
Him: "But we have a copy."
Me: "No, we don't. I did look."
Him: "Yes we do."

He disappears around the corner corner into the lounge and appears instantly holding the older, grubbier version of my newly bought book. I shut my mouth and quietly put the new one back into the Waterstones packet.

Yesterday I go to return the book and snatch up the new Neil Gaiman book. Or so I thought. I got home and yet another blank look from FG.

“What?” I demand, irritated.
“You bought the wrong book,” he says, keeping calm, but grinning.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“No, seriously. This is American Gods. I thought you were buying Anansi Boys.”
And I go : “Oh shyte.”

I refuse to go back to Waterstones today. I am obviously mentally defunct this week.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Friday afternoon doldrums




OmG, how boring is this afternoon. Most of the team are in but there is little enough work to do (no one seems keen to do anything, either, big surprise there).

Maybe 80% of the people in the office are out – it is Friday, after all. I can barely keep my eyes open – the only reason I am not falling asleep is cos of my sore head.

I discovered that I have a soundcard attached to my computer. So, for about five minutes I was wild and reckless and listened to Virgin Radio turned just high enough in volume for a human to hear. Then I felt guilty and paranoid and turned it off again, for fear of prosecution by the dreaded IT Big Brother.

Woe.

Two hours to go.

Tick tock tick tock.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Pin-cushion


Yep. I have become one of the victims - I got stabbed with a needle today to be innoculated against the flu going around. Am I relieved? Was I worried about getting a cold? Not particularly but as I am one of the saddos who suffer from asthma and is therefore in the "risk" category, I got invited by my GP to join the paranoids, the OAP's and other "risk" catergoriests to be injected with a manmade cocktail of virulent flu anti-bodies.

Oh well.

I have to die of sumat!

Happy sub-zero tonight!

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Movie Magic



Tincan decided to post about Underworld over on his website and he was sallivating over Ms. Beckinsale. As I read it I wondered to myself "what movies impacted on me whilst growing up and even current day?" And I had to admit, thanks to loads of movies, I have many hangups...

a) Never bother to wonder what is that noise downstairs in the basement (thank you Texas Chainsaw Massacre).

b) Never think a scarecrow looks cool as it stands in the middle of a field (thank you Jeepers Creepers).

c) Never be tempted to go out camping in the Scottish Highlands (thank you Dog Soldiers).

d) Never pick a fight with the quiet Chinese guy in the corner (any Jet Li movie).

e) Always root for the opposition in Vampire movies (Underworld, Blade and Van Helsing).

f) Never eat cherries, ever again (thank you Witches of Eastwick)

g) Never stand infront of a mirror and say "Candyman" three times (Candyman).

h) Vin Diesel always wins the day (any Vin movie).

i) Milla Jovovich is indestructable and can beat up monsters five times bigger than her (Resident Evil 1 & 2) she is also the Fifth Element.

j) You can ride a shark to surface - after cutting yourself with a knife so that when he attacks you, you can punch it in the nose, grab its fin and have a free ride to to the surface(Tomb Raider 2)

k) Being on the Dark Side is cooler (Star Wars)

l) Being an idiot pilot savant will get you killed (Serenity)

m) Being a cop nets you good pay and a very cool apartment/boat/car (Witchblade/Miami Vice/Bad Boys)

n) All aliens are only ever interested in America and bad things only ever happen there(Independence Day/War of the Worlds/Twister/Core)

o. Cars always explode after they crash (any action movie)

p. Cops are rotten shots, which is why there are so many criminals as no one ever shoots one another dead/wounds anyone (any cop/cowboy movie)

q. Johnny Depp should be renamed Dorian Grey as he looks as spruce as he did back in Nightmare in Elm Street.

r. Never trust a hot chick if she shows interest in you (thank you Xmen and Species - from FG)

s. If you are ever on a spaceshuttle, never stop to investigate a distress signal from another "abandoned" space shuttle - blast it out of the sky and make sure you get far far away(thank you Alien and sequels).

t. If you are a cop, never take a new assignment when you know you are going to retire in a week (Lethal Weapon).

u. Always be a gobbypants baddie so that someone can overhear you and foil your plans (James Bond, Spy Kids, Johnny English etc.)

The list seems endless. Do feel free to add more.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Rhythmically Challenged



Friday night, in all our wisdom FG and I decided to go out with some colleagues from my work. We ended up at Tiger Tiger on Regent Street, upstairs at the bar.

It was a lovely evening - we had a few drinks, we laughed, we talked. And then we were amazed. Three chaps arrived, utterly assured of their prowess on the dance floor. We were, as I heard an Indian chappie say recently "smacked in the gob" by their antics on the dancefloor. We were amazed. Astounded. But not at all jealous.

I don't know if you have seen the "No bad dancing with Bacardi" advert but these chaps must have been participants in this advert. I kept looking around me for hidden cameras, sure that this was a piss-take. But alas, no, it wasn't. It was some ancient mating ritual brought back to life from the deepest recesses of Cro-Magnon Man's inner soul, and it mixed with too much booze and their own machismo - they were sure all women there wanted them, right there, right then. They were girating, doing the splits, grabbing girls as they walked past, rubbing against them - it was mind-boggling to watch. I was waiting for David Attenborough's voice to appear over my right shoulder, in my ear and it would have gone sumat like this:

"Here we have the mating ritual of the Drunken Office Worker. Watch him display his obvious masculinity by flexing his muscles as the young females move past. He realises that the more exotic the moves he makes, the better his chances are for capturing one of these delectible (sic) birds of the West End. Just look at those moves - unconcerned about his own image he would do whatever it takes for that necessary brush-up against one of the females. It is astounding. He has no sense of shame (or dress-sense or personal hygiene), so assured is he that tonight is the night."

As my one colleague's husband said when he came back from the little boy's room "I haven't seen so many nobs in one place, in all my life." He turned to look at us as we stared at him, smacked in the gob. He gestured to the dancing loons and whispered. "There was no one in the mens toilets, I am talking about this lot."

We understood completely.

The Man Who Sold the World




I so love this song. It is my ringtone on my phone (shoesh, no comments about personalised ringtones!) and I can listen to it all day long. In all its incarnations, Davie Bowie but especially the Nirvana unplugged version. I don't know what it is about this song, just such sheer longing in Cobain's voice when singing it, or the actual melody/tune whatever, it really does just "fit".

So, here are the lyrics!

Words and music by David Bowie.

Lyrics

We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died along, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Commuter Hell


I sometimes wonder why day-trippers feel the need to travel into town on rush-hour trains. They invariably carry backpacks (not the blowing-up type, we hope), pushchairs and at least two howling kids, at the minimum. And then they tutt at rush-hour commuters who only have one goal in mind – get to the closest cafĂ© to buy the cappuccino so desperately needed to wake up and then get to the office to report for a day in hell.

Do these people not realise that they are a nuisance? That on rush-hour trains backpacks and pushchairs are not allowed? And nevermind the inconvenience of trying to climb over these things to an empty seat, you get to have Timmy and Byron or more poshly, Chardonay or little Britney trying to smear their dirty little paws on you, poop on you, spit and drool on you. Or howling for no reason at the top of their little lungs. Why, dear god, why are they allowed on the trains when all you want to do is either doze, read your book in peace or just relax before the chaos of a working day? Once in town, they get to push or carry or drag the howling demonettes around town for about three hours – shops only open at ten here, later on weekends. And by that time, (I don’t know about you, but my tolerance for going shopping is about an hour) these kids are even more upset cos its cold, its miserable and mommy just desperately needs to go and visit the stylish Lillywhites for that choice velour trackpants with the words – SAUCY – emblazoned in bright embroidery across the bum. Quality.

And then, in the evening, going home is sometimes, even worse. Not only do they disregard any kind of manners they might have dragged with them from their mud-holes, they expect to be treated as privileged citizens, as they struggle through the masses with their pushchairs, kids and numerous shopping bags.

I have, in anger, once confronted such a mom who needlessly barged along, pulling shrieking Timmy behind her and tugging her little trolley case behind her, physically knocking sideways and almost over, an elderly lady making her stately way to the platform. I saw this and reached out at the same time, to steady this old lady who was quite shaken by the encounter, dropping her bag, cane and travelcard in the process. I checked to make sure she was okay and ran after this stupid woman and when I confronted her and pointed out that if I didn’t catch this old lady she would no doubt have had to go to hospital, the careless mother glared at me and said “I don’t care. I need to get on the train. Everyone has been so rude to me today, I just don’t understand it.” To which I replied: “Maybe you should take the advice the LTA give out and not travel during peak hours with your bags and kids in tow. You should really be more careful how you treat others because one day you will be old and doddering and hopefully someone will knock you down.” She looked shocked at this and before she could say anything else, the elderly lady doddered up and took me by the arm and said “Thank you for being so kind – leave this stupid woman alone. She has no grace and was obviously brought up in a pigsty.” Even I was shocked at this statement and together the two of us walked away leaving the woman and her sniffling child at the doors of an open carriage. It was one of those really Hollywood moments where there just was no comeback from that at all.

So please, jobless day trippers with howling demonettes in tow – travel at your own time, not ours. We get to work all day so that you can stay at home and breed more unsavoury children which you don’t have the money or inclination to look after.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Fun things to do on a Saturday


I created, Igor!

See here:-
Much to FG's amusement I sat and worked all day on a range of goodies for some of my other sires and then created this one as he suggested I do something dark and dreary. I even "wrote" the poem myself. I am quite chuffed with me!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Oh, hurrow!

I realised that things have been so hectic that there has been zero time for blogging. How sad? No more stories from the Hell Dimension, no interesting tales about fellow commuters as weird as the Trolls...or anything!
So, knowing that the world is out there, on the edge of a knife, just waiting for yet another amusing tale from my colourful life allow me to relate the tale of the FireDrill.
Yes, as sad as it is....I am a fire warden (one of maybe 6 on our floor; it is a large floor!) and on Monday we had to undergo a refresher course. And we had to give our teams names. Two teams; two names. What do you think we came up with? I was in Team B. Team A decided on the name "Firewall" - we did better than that. We were the "Bright Sparks". So, getting that under the belt and between wondering when the tea and cookies would be served and when would we be meeting any fit firemen (Mr. FG can stop giggling now, he is fascinated by Charlize, so I can be fascinated by firemen!) to watch them manhandle fire equipment, naturally, the refresher course continued. And, oh my god, it was so boring. What didn't help is that my team consisted of myself, ASAG (Another South African Girl) and a woman I think of as the Bag Lady, for the sake of this narrative.
ASAG, whilst being a sweet girl, was quite easy to annoy and she swiftly got irritated by Bag Lady being forward and answering all the questions. ASAG bided her time and eventually saw her chance and had to comment on how scary she found the sign for that little fire-alarm box that said "break glass" - she was worried about the glass cutting her finger. Yes. This was the intellectual heights of my team. I considered drowning myself in my cup of tea or choking to death on a digestive. But what stopped me is that I knew Bag Lady was also a first aider and if she had to come near me I would punch her lights out.
The refresher course only brought home the fact that - if there is fire, make a noise, get everyone out - I really shouldn't attend things like this. The sheer mindnumbing experience has stunted me personally. I had to alleviate this by watching Team America. Yet again. Only the best movie ever made.
******
Song quote from the movie, Team America:
I miss you more than Michael Bay missed the mark, When he made Pearl Harbor. / I miss you more than that movie missed the point, And that's an awful lot, girl. / And now, now you've gone away, And all I'm trying to say, is: Pearl Harbor sucked and I miss you. / I need you like Ben Affleck needs acting school, He was terrible in that film. / I need you like Cuba Gooding needed a bigger part, He's way better than Ben Affleck. / And now, all I can think about is your smile, and that shitty movie, too! Pearl Harbor sucked and I miss you. / Why does Michael Bay get to keep on making movies? / I guess Pearl Harbor sucked, just a little bit more than I miss you.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Paradise in the UK


I really had to giggle this morning when I listened to the news about this “cop” up North with his record amount of arrests. Over 300 “villains” under a year. But of course, this is here and he comes from a country where crime is rife because of – well, many reasons.

The reality of every day life in South Africa, from what I remember, was something like this:-

You don’t walk around on your own after dark, especially if you are female.

You don’t walk around, any time of the day, wearing jewellery, male or female.

You didn’t go and to the bank to draw money on your own.

You get taught how to shoot a gun by the time you hit your teens because no doubt your dad has a gun, so does your brother and your uncles and your neighbour.

You learn how to defend yourself, not because it is an “in” thing to do and a fun thing to keep fit, you do it because your life depends on it.

You never keep to the speed limit when driving. You never stop at traffic lights when its dark but slow down a bit, look left and right, and then just put your foot down and drive for fear of being hi-jacked.

There is a reason that the South African Police has such a reputation for being “hard” – as it is stated in this article, they get shot at everyday, threatened with horrible things and work in really harsh conditions.

My nephew-in-law is a member of the “Flying Squad” in Johannesburg – the Flying Squad are the people who get called in when things are really bad, basically the SWAT guys and they get to go into things like hostage situations, homicides and kidnappings. It terrifies me because he is married to my niece and they have a young family to look after, but he is never oblivious of the danger – because it is something that you grow up with and become used to, you just carry on with your piece and hope to make a difference.

Every single police station in SA has a barricade infront of it – huge sandbags to prevent thrown explosives. There are metal detectors when you enter their offices. They are basically a group of people under siege, that thin red line between crime that is becoming worse every day.

No wonder this chap, Mr. Coetzee is having such a blast up North. What is termed hard here is a bit farcical compared to the horrors he must have seen back in the day in Johannesburg.

By ANDREW PARKER – from the Sun newspaper


A FORMER South African policeman has smashed the British record for arrests — nabbing more than 300 villains in under a year.


Diederik Coetzee used to carry TWO guns and wear a bullet-proof vest on the streets of apartheid-era Johannesburg in his homeland.


Now he is bringing justice to the rundown Ladybrook estate at Mansfield, Notts, armed with CS gas, a baton and a mountain bike.
PC Coetzee, 48, crushed the previous Nottinghamshire best of 242 arrests in only seven months.
He is now on 309, having passed the old UK record of 305 with two months in hand.
Now he aims to top 380 collars by the end of this year and make it 400 in 2006.


The PC said: “It’s a joy getting up each morning for work. For me it really is a way of life.
“In South Africa I wore a bullet-proof vest and carried a shotgun and sidearm. I was shot at by car thieves and burglars on an almost daily basis. At least that doesn’t happen here. All I carry is a CS gas canister and a baton. So from a policing point of view it’s something like paradise.”


PC Coetzee spent 24 years as an explosives and dog handler in Johannesburg before emigrating eight years ago.


The married dad of two had to spend two years as a resident before he could return to policing.
Five years into his role as beat manager for Ladybrook, he has been hailed “Supercop” by delighted residents.


The superfit officer added: “I’ve got to know the criminals and they all know me. But they don’t try to run now, because they know I’ll catch them.


“The people tell me Ladybrook was a dump before I came here. It used to be a hotspot for drugs and car crime. But then I got down to work.”

Paradise, indeed! And people still ask us why we moved here...if that isn't proof, then I don't know what is!

Monday, October 31, 2005

Shhh, don't tell a soul...



But FG and I had the most decadent weekend we have had in ages!
On Saturday we didn't have to rush around to get the house ready to be invaded by smelly creatures (otherwise known as rpg gamers). I didn't have to cook for them or pretend to be interested in yet more chaotic stories of their strange lives and once again tell them off for making so much noise and interrupting as FG valiantly tries to push the story onward whilst they carry on at their own regard.
Instead, we got up, packed Sparrow in the back of the car and drove off to the lovely village of Eynsford, for all intents and purposes to go see an ancient ruin, walk around some foresty bits and come home. Well, as usual, we couldn't find the ancient ruin, but we did find a stunning park with a gorgeous forest and golf course. The walk was wonderful, really steep in some parts, muddy with a few other people out for some air. Och, what a day - the mists came in and wandering around this forest was like being in a different world. We were mesmerised and have fallen in love with the general area. Eventually though, hunger forced us onward, and we left, muddy, sated with the beauty of where we live and desperate to get home for some tea.
We headed home and I ran into Sainsburys to get sumat for dinner and the cleaner was very upset with me as I clumped mud everywhere from my boots as well as the legs of my jeans.
Sunday was a day of sheer indulgence. Slept late, lazed about, read the newspapers, slept some more - it was bliss. I really miss having weekends like these where you are free to do whatever you like, as much as you want to, or nothing at all.
Here's to two weeks' time when it happens again!