Tuesday, May 30, 2006
The Old Monkey
FRIDAY: 26th
I had to get up at 5am as I had to attend a meeting in Solihull for half nine in the morning. I left at six and totally misjudged the traffic and adverse weather and was there for half seven. Nowhere was open and I was bursting for the jacks. So I took a walk around the centre of Solihull and it is rather plesant - I'd heard it was posh and it's upkeep was certainly in keeping with that. That didn't kill the two hours though, as everywhere was closed apart form the odd newsagent, so I least picked up a paper and was able to retreat from the elements back to the car and have a read.
The drive back to work in Manchester was a nightmare, two seperate accident on the M6 which brought everythign to a halt, left me with a mild, yet annoying headache.
I'd borrowed a pool car from work, and in a normal display of the company's effieceiency and organisation, as I went to return the car to it's place in the secure car park, it transpired that no one (well someone in particular) thoguht to mention that I needed a pass let alone to give me one. So as I went to go in a queue of beeping irate cars formed behind me. How thick are some people - I reversed two out of the avaliable three yards, normally an obvious signal for the blocking car to make room surely? Well apparently not.
After some words on both sides that were delivered with a serated edge, she made room so I could get out of the way. So she got her car into the car park, as the gate was then open I nipped in! BUt she took it personally and started screaming at me that I wasn't allowed - being agitated my self I retorted in a forceful baritone - no good, she lost it and continued going mad, as I almost was myself as I added choice expletives to my next retort.
She went and reported me to the building's operators for openly flouting the parking regualtions then it seems, as I walked back to the office, one of the guy's who worked there came up to me and asked if it was me, it was fine as they knew me and he was laughing as the woman was going crazy in reception and they'd sent the fellah out really just to placate her and not to incurr her wrath.
I went to return the keys to the person, who's sieve like attention to detail had meant that I'd got into the predicament in the first place. Now it turned out whenI eventually tracked him down that I was to make a note of the mileage despite that he was about to drive it home and I had to go back down the ten floors and back outside to write it down. Again as with the car park pass, INFORMATION THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE USEFUL TO ME YESTERDAY. TWAT!
It seems that that the root cause of this unprofessionalness, was that the pool car, if not needed was to be used indescriminately by this guy and he wanted it back for the weekend and resented that I'd had it the previous night. He treated it, nay, considered it his car. I stand by by my judgement as just mentioned - TWAT!
It had already been a long day and was set to be further extended as that night was the leaving do for both Ray Prescott and Mick Freeman. I needed to fit in a powernap, but was struggling to find a window in my schedule. I'd worked one out in theory but straight from work had to have a pint in the pub next door then walk home. It became two pints and on the walk home, bumped unexpectedly into Adam who was curb crawling or something down the back streets of Chorlton. I was already behind schedule then and only just had time to iron a shirt nad have a shower before I had to catch a bus into the city centre for the agreed time.
I was only a few minutes, but bar one other person, half an hour before everyone else! Damn them all! We met in a Whetherspoons (The Waterhouse) that came accross as surprisingly posh, the toilets, which I've learned since have won an award, had a fireplace in them, which I was tempted to try and put out. But I'll tell you what's really posh - having your servants flogged for insolence.
The rest turned up and many were much the worse for wear, none more so than Julle Garner (who Laughs like Sid James), who was absolutely out of it to the extent that she blew a raspberry on my stomach - in a distant second place (relatively speaking) was Mick who was eventually refused entrance to one establishment due to the extent of his inbtoxication. Or it could have been due to his shirt, not that I'm one to talk on that count!
We headed to another cheap pub - The Old Monkey, which I guessed seved it's purpose initally, but it wasn't long before people were wanting to head to somewhere where they could have a dance. Some peeps not connected to work came out and met us there, Jon, Vix & Sue - due to a diferential in drinking up time the group fractured but had as a whole the same destination in mind, some smaller fragments headed their own ways. Out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the work group I went after to them only to find they were not in the agreed venue (one of the number had been refused entry), Dyson & I were stuck wondering where they had gone along with the immoral Dawn. We had an inkling that they may have been in Brannigans across the road, We certainly weren't going to accompany DAwn so headed to Space, where Jon et al. were and were I'd been on the verge on going with them initally...
On a barely cryptic note: don't you remember how it was funny that after a half of playing into the wind, at the five minutes at half time the wind seemed to switch 180 degrees, to leave you up against it for the whole game. Not quite the same, but equally unlikely but yet happend is when a gentle tropical breeze of the Sargasso sea in a few minutes of turning your back becomes, a frigid icy northern blast from the depth of the Artic, as Dyson mention - painful to watch!
It's been a long day, and certainly not the best one ever - writing off my losses I headed home a few hours before many of the others - missing out on many of the subsequent goings on - but good news travells fast!
SATURDAY: 27th
I had a call from The Wong far too early in the morning - She had some juicy gossip to share from the previous night, most of which I won't mention (despite it being rather scandalous!) to protect those who might retaliate, but I will mention that a former employe who turned up and was my dumb blonde vestigal former assistant, Dawn, is in the habit of paying for sex. It goes to prove that what we oft repeat from Family Guy's Quagmire in work, "Fat Chicks need love too... BUT They Gotta PAY!" Mwhahaha!
Not all Big Issue sellers are homeless are they? I was in the middle of town and brought a copy from a vendor - I generally find the articles about pop culture boring and don't bother with them anymore, there is the odd cocial comment article, I often look at the adverts for voluntary work and wonder if I should do something like that - anyhow, it was the vendor's last copy and as I noticed I said in an off-hand fashion, 'oh it's your last one, you'll be able to knock off and sod off home then?', he'd just have to go and get some apparently but it wasn't until I was sat at the bus stop that I realised the comments could have been taken the wrong way if he'd been living in a cardboard box. Whoops. But I don't think the comment was mis-interpreted.
I went to the gym late in the day and the day flew buy far too quickly - I stayed in to save cash and watched a few borrowed DVD's. I'll mention now that the X-Men flicks are totally riduculous, it was a major effort to disengage my brain, and the Blade flims were okay but samey.
SUNDAY: 28th
I moved to the new flat today and spent all day packing - I was thankfull of help From 'Smutty' Steve Dyson, who earned himself a pint in the process.
MONDAY: 29th
Still unpacking - where am I going to put all this stuff? Made it to the gym though. Had a pint - James insisted, to mark moving in.
TUESDAY: 30th
Back at work & I eventually finished unpacking. Now where did I put the claw hammer, I need to put a picture up?
Things that make blokes proud of themselves :
1. OPENING JARS - She's struggling. You take it from her hands, open it
effortlessly and pretend she loosened it for you. She didn't. Jars
are men's work.
2. CALLING SOMEONE 'SON' - Especially policemen but even saying it to
kids makes you the man.
3. DOING A PROPER SPEAR TACKLE - TGR Davies side-steps - camp. A Scott
Gibbs tackle is the pinnacle of the game, simultaneously winning the
ball and crippling the man. Magic.
4. SHARPENING A PENCIL WITH A STANLEY KNIFE - Blunt, is it? Hand it
here, love. No, I don't need a sharpener, I've got a knife thanks!
5. GOING TO THE TIP - A manly act which combines driving, lifting and -
as you thrillingly drop your rubbish into another huge pile of other
rubbish - noisy destruction.
6. DRINKING UP - Specifically, rising from the table, slinging your
coat on and downing two thirds of a pint in one fluid movement. Then
nodding towards the door, saying, "Let's go" and striding out while
everyone else struggles to catch up with you. You're hard.
7. HAVING A THIN BIT OF WOOD - in the shed, solely to stir paint with.
8. HAVING A SCAR - Ideally it'll be a facial knife wound, but even an
iron burn on the wrist is good. "Ooh, did it hurt?" "Nah".
9. HAVING A HANGOVER AND THICK STUBBLE - When birds have been partying
they just whinge. You on the other hand have physical evidence of your
hardness, sprouting from your face. "Big night?" Grr, what does it look like?
10. NODDING AT COPPERS - A moment's eye contact is all it takes for you
to share the unspoken bond. "We've not seen eye to eye in the past",
it says, "but someone's got to keep the little scrotes in line".
11. USING POWER TOOLS - Slightly more powerful than you need or can
safely handle. Pneumatic drilling while smoking a fag? Superb.
12. ARRIVING IN A PUB LATE - And everyone cheers you. It doesn't mean
you're popular, it just means your mates are pissed. However,the rest
of the pub doesn't know that.
13. NOT WATCHING YOUR WEIGHT - Fat is a feminist issue,apparently.
Brilliant. Pass the pork scratchings.
14. CARVING THE ROAST - And saying "are you a leg or breast man?" to
the blokes and "do you want stuffing?" to the women. Congratulations,
you are now your dad.
15. WINKING - Turns women to putty. Doesn't it?
16. TEST SWINGING HAMMERS - Ideally, B&Q would have little changing
rooms with mirrors so you could see how rugged you look with any DIY
item. Until then, we'll make do with the aisles.
17. TAKING OUT £200 FROM A CASHPOINT - Okay, so its for paying the
plumber later but with that much cash you feel like a mafia don. The
only thing better is peeling notes off the roll later.
18. PHONE CALLS THAT LAST LESS THAN A MINUTE - Unlike birds, we get
straight to the point. "Alright? Yep. Drink? Red lion? George,it is then.
Seven. See ya."
19. PARALLEL PARKING - Bosh, straight in. First time. Can Schumacher
do that? No (because his car's got no reverse gear which, technically,
makes you the worlds best driver).
20. HAVING EARNED THAT PINT - Since the dawn of time, men have toiled
in the fields in blistering heat. Why? So, when it's over we can
stand there in silence, surveying our work with one hand resting on the
beer gut while the other nurses a foaming jug of ale. Aaaah.
21. HAVING SOMETHING PROPERLY WRONG WITH YOU - Especially if you didn't
make a fuss. "Why was I off, nothing much, just a brain haemorrhage".
22. KNOWING WHICH SCREWDRIVER IS WHICH - "A Phillips? For that? Are
you mad, bint?"
I had to get up at 5am as I had to attend a meeting in Solihull for half nine in the morning. I left at six and totally misjudged the traffic and adverse weather and was there for half seven. Nowhere was open and I was bursting for the jacks. So I took a walk around the centre of Solihull and it is rather plesant - I'd heard it was posh and it's upkeep was certainly in keeping with that. That didn't kill the two hours though, as everywhere was closed apart form the odd newsagent, so I least picked up a paper and was able to retreat from the elements back to the car and have a read.
The drive back to work in Manchester was a nightmare, two seperate accident on the M6 which brought everythign to a halt, left me with a mild, yet annoying headache.
I'd borrowed a pool car from work, and in a normal display of the company's effieceiency and organisation, as I went to return the car to it's place in the secure car park, it transpired that no one (well someone in particular) thoguht to mention that I needed a pass let alone to give me one. So as I went to go in a queue of beeping irate cars formed behind me. How thick are some people - I reversed two out of the avaliable three yards, normally an obvious signal for the blocking car to make room surely? Well apparently not.
After some words on both sides that were delivered with a serated edge, she made room so I could get out of the way. So she got her car into the car park, as the gate was then open I nipped in! BUt she took it personally and started screaming at me that I wasn't allowed - being agitated my self I retorted in a forceful baritone - no good, she lost it and continued going mad, as I almost was myself as I added choice expletives to my next retort.
She went and reported me to the building's operators for openly flouting the parking regualtions then it seems, as I walked back to the office, one of the guy's who worked there came up to me and asked if it was me, it was fine as they knew me and he was laughing as the woman was going crazy in reception and they'd sent the fellah out really just to placate her and not to incurr her wrath.
I went to return the keys to the person, who's sieve like attention to detail had meant that I'd got into the predicament in the first place. Now it turned out whenI eventually tracked him down that I was to make a note of the mileage despite that he was about to drive it home and I had to go back down the ten floors and back outside to write it down. Again as with the car park pass, INFORMATION THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE USEFUL TO ME YESTERDAY. TWAT!
It seems that that the root cause of this unprofessionalness, was that the pool car, if not needed was to be used indescriminately by this guy and he wanted it back for the weekend and resented that I'd had it the previous night. He treated it, nay, considered it his car. I stand by by my judgement as just mentioned - TWAT!
It had already been a long day and was set to be further extended as that night was the leaving do for both Ray Prescott and Mick Freeman. I needed to fit in a powernap, but was struggling to find a window in my schedule. I'd worked one out in theory but straight from work had to have a pint in the pub next door then walk home. It became two pints and on the walk home, bumped unexpectedly into Adam who was curb crawling or something down the back streets of Chorlton. I was already behind schedule then and only just had time to iron a shirt nad have a shower before I had to catch a bus into the city centre for the agreed time.
I was only a few minutes, but bar one other person, half an hour before everyone else! Damn them all! We met in a Whetherspoons (The Waterhouse) that came accross as surprisingly posh, the toilets, which I've learned since have won an award, had a fireplace in them, which I was tempted to try and put out. But I'll tell you what's really posh - having your servants flogged for insolence.
The rest turned up and many were much the worse for wear, none more so than Julle Garner (who Laughs like Sid James), who was absolutely out of it to the extent that she blew a raspberry on my stomach - in a distant second place (relatively speaking) was Mick who was eventually refused entrance to one establishment due to the extent of his inbtoxication. Or it could have been due to his shirt, not that I'm one to talk on that count!
We headed to another cheap pub - The Old Monkey, which I guessed seved it's purpose initally, but it wasn't long before people were wanting to head to somewhere where they could have a dance. Some peeps not connected to work came out and met us there, Jon, Vix & Sue - due to a diferential in drinking up time the group fractured but had as a whole the same destination in mind, some smaller fragments headed their own ways. Out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the work group I went after to them only to find they were not in the agreed venue (one of the number had been refused entry), Dyson & I were stuck wondering where they had gone along with the immoral Dawn. We had an inkling that they may have been in Brannigans across the road, We certainly weren't going to accompany DAwn so headed to Space, where Jon et al. were and were I'd been on the verge on going with them initally...
On a barely cryptic note: don't you remember how it was funny that after a half of playing into the wind, at the five minutes at half time the wind seemed to switch 180 degrees, to leave you up against it for the whole game. Not quite the same, but equally unlikely but yet happend is when a gentle tropical breeze of the Sargasso sea in a few minutes of turning your back becomes, a frigid icy northern blast from the depth of the Artic, as Dyson mention - painful to watch!
It's been a long day, and certainly not the best one ever - writing off my losses I headed home a few hours before many of the others - missing out on many of the subsequent goings on - but good news travells fast!
SATURDAY: 27th
I had a call from The Wong far too early in the morning - She had some juicy gossip to share from the previous night, most of which I won't mention (despite it being rather scandalous!) to protect those who might retaliate, but I will mention that a former employe who turned up and was my dumb blonde vestigal former assistant, Dawn, is in the habit of paying for sex. It goes to prove that what we oft repeat from Family Guy's Quagmire in work, "Fat Chicks need love too... BUT They Gotta PAY!" Mwhahaha!
Not all Big Issue sellers are homeless are they? I was in the middle of town and brought a copy from a vendor - I generally find the articles about pop culture boring and don't bother with them anymore, there is the odd cocial comment article, I often look at the adverts for voluntary work and wonder if I should do something like that - anyhow, it was the vendor's last copy and as I noticed I said in an off-hand fashion, 'oh it's your last one, you'll be able to knock off and sod off home then?', he'd just have to go and get some apparently but it wasn't until I was sat at the bus stop that I realised the comments could have been taken the wrong way if he'd been living in a cardboard box. Whoops. But I don't think the comment was mis-interpreted.
I went to the gym late in the day and the day flew buy far too quickly - I stayed in to save cash and watched a few borrowed DVD's. I'll mention now that the X-Men flicks are totally riduculous, it was a major effort to disengage my brain, and the Blade flims were okay but samey.
SUNDAY: 28th
I moved to the new flat today and spent all day packing - I was thankfull of help From 'Smutty' Steve Dyson, who earned himself a pint in the process.
MONDAY: 29th
Still unpacking - where am I going to put all this stuff? Made it to the gym though. Had a pint - James insisted, to mark moving in.
TUESDAY: 30th
Back at work & I eventually finished unpacking. Now where did I put the claw hammer, I need to put a picture up?
Things that make blokes proud of themselves :
1. OPENING JARS - She's struggling. You take it from her hands, open it
effortlessly and pretend she loosened it for you. She didn't. Jars
are men's work.
2. CALLING SOMEONE 'SON' - Especially policemen but even saying it to
kids makes you the man.
3. DOING A PROPER SPEAR TACKLE - TGR Davies side-steps - camp. A Scott
Gibbs tackle is the pinnacle of the game, simultaneously winning the
ball and crippling the man. Magic.
4. SHARPENING A PENCIL WITH A STANLEY KNIFE - Blunt, is it? Hand it
here, love. No, I don't need a sharpener, I've got a knife thanks!
5. GOING TO THE TIP - A manly act which combines driving, lifting and -
as you thrillingly drop your rubbish into another huge pile of other
rubbish - noisy destruction.
6. DRINKING UP - Specifically, rising from the table, slinging your
coat on and downing two thirds of a pint in one fluid movement. Then
nodding towards the door, saying, "Let's go" and striding out while
everyone else struggles to catch up with you. You're hard.
7. HAVING A THIN BIT OF WOOD - in the shed, solely to stir paint with.
8. HAVING A SCAR - Ideally it'll be a facial knife wound, but even an
iron burn on the wrist is good. "Ooh, did it hurt?" "Nah".
9. HAVING A HANGOVER AND THICK STUBBLE - When birds have been partying
they just whinge. You on the other hand have physical evidence of your
hardness, sprouting from your face. "Big night?" Grr, what does it look like?
10. NODDING AT COPPERS - A moment's eye contact is all it takes for you
to share the unspoken bond. "We've not seen eye to eye in the past",
it says, "but someone's got to keep the little scrotes in line".
11. USING POWER TOOLS - Slightly more powerful than you need or can
safely handle. Pneumatic drilling while smoking a fag? Superb.
12. ARRIVING IN A PUB LATE - And everyone cheers you. It doesn't mean
you're popular, it just means your mates are pissed. However,the rest
of the pub doesn't know that.
13. NOT WATCHING YOUR WEIGHT - Fat is a feminist issue,apparently.
Brilliant. Pass the pork scratchings.
14. CARVING THE ROAST - And saying "are you a leg or breast man?" to
the blokes and "do you want stuffing?" to the women. Congratulations,
you are now your dad.
15. WINKING - Turns women to putty. Doesn't it?
16. TEST SWINGING HAMMERS - Ideally, B&Q would have little changing
rooms with mirrors so you could see how rugged you look with any DIY
item. Until then, we'll make do with the aisles.
17. TAKING OUT £200 FROM A CASHPOINT - Okay, so its for paying the
plumber later but with that much cash you feel like a mafia don. The
only thing better is peeling notes off the roll later.
18. PHONE CALLS THAT LAST LESS THAN A MINUTE - Unlike birds, we get
straight to the point. "Alright? Yep. Drink? Red lion? George,it is then.
Seven. See ya."
19. PARALLEL PARKING - Bosh, straight in. First time. Can Schumacher
do that? No (because his car's got no reverse gear which, technically,
makes you the worlds best driver).
20. HAVING EARNED THAT PINT - Since the dawn of time, men have toiled
in the fields in blistering heat. Why? So, when it's over we can
stand there in silence, surveying our work with one hand resting on the
beer gut while the other nurses a foaming jug of ale. Aaaah.
21. HAVING SOMETHING PROPERLY WRONG WITH YOU - Especially if you didn't
make a fuss. "Why was I off, nothing much, just a brain haemorrhage".
22. KNOWING WHICH SCREWDRIVER IS WHICH - "A Phillips? For that? Are
you mad, bint?"
Thursday, May 25, 2006
BADGERS!
Not Much to Report Except for the Touch Rugby.
It was almost rained off again as it was particularly glum first thing in the morning. But it brightened up and stopped raining later in the morning, quite a pain as I didn't cycle to work based on the depth of grey hanging in the sky.
We had a new player, Leanne, handy as previously we’d had no subs for the women and they’d noticeably tired. The Oldham Rugby League Boys were missing as they were on a stag do to Magaluf (I assume it was there it was continually referred to as Megamuff!). Anyhow, we didn’t have a warm up game this week, but were straight in against a team called the Badgers.
It so happened, that I knew most of the Badgers team from the social touch rugby that was on Saturday mornings. So they should have known what they were doing, as it was we gave them a hammering, 8-1. We let in a sloppy try, and to be honest the tries we scored against them I’d have considered sloppy if they’d been scored against us on the whole.
I was slightly miffed as the ref miscounted the score at half time, 4-0 he reckoned but it should have been 5-0, with a hat-trick to myself as it was I had to settle for a brace, but didn’t add to it in the second half. I was feeling it a bit, due to our lack of substitutes I was the only team member not to be rolled off for a breather. This week I really needed the break, I’m not totally well, (just a shade ill – not man flu) and I didn’t feel full of running, lethargic!
I think I got a chill as well hanging around, it wasn't warm and I was outside with shorts and a t-shirt on for a good few hours and woke this morning with further enhanced flu symptoms. Not enough to get off work with however, and I’m not up to going to the gym tonight.
Hmmm... Steve(Black)'s Move...
It was almost rained off again as it was particularly glum first thing in the morning. But it brightened up and stopped raining later in the morning, quite a pain as I didn't cycle to work based on the depth of grey hanging in the sky.
We had a new player, Leanne, handy as previously we’d had no subs for the women and they’d noticeably tired. The Oldham Rugby League Boys were missing as they were on a stag do to Magaluf (I assume it was there it was continually referred to as Megamuff!). Anyhow, we didn’t have a warm up game this week, but were straight in against a team called the Badgers.
It so happened, that I knew most of the Badgers team from the social touch rugby that was on Saturday mornings. So they should have known what they were doing, as it was we gave them a hammering, 8-1. We let in a sloppy try, and to be honest the tries we scored against them I’d have considered sloppy if they’d been scored against us on the whole.
I was slightly miffed as the ref miscounted the score at half time, 4-0 he reckoned but it should have been 5-0, with a hat-trick to myself as it was I had to settle for a brace, but didn’t add to it in the second half. I was feeling it a bit, due to our lack of substitutes I was the only team member not to be rolled off for a breather. This week I really needed the break, I’m not totally well, (just a shade ill – not man flu) and I didn’t feel full of running, lethargic!
I think I got a chill as well hanging around, it wasn't warm and I was outside with shorts and a t-shirt on for a good few hours and woke this morning with further enhanced flu symptoms. Not enough to get off work with however, and I’m not up to going to the gym tonight.
Hmmm... Steve(Black)'s Move...
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
KNIGHT TO KING PRAWN
The lethargy of Sunday seeped into Monday, I fobbed off the gym again, and I narrowly avoided a snooze by going to the new flat to check some things out, which pretty much didn’t end up getting sorted out.I got back and in an instant of bored petulance had cut some of my hair, suddenly the gravity of the situation revealed itself, I’d have to cut all my hair to that length – to zero. It's not a good look it must be said.
There were comments, some of them even amusing - the best gag had to be from Mick, who anounced to anyone that'd listen that I had a sympathy hair cut... as my girlfriend and been shorn over the weekend... So back to the sheep jokes it was!
RED HOT PAWN, just joined this site and am taking on Steve, or Sasquatch90210 as he is on there!
Far away in the tropical waters of the Caribbean, two prawns were swimming around in the sea - one called Justin and the other called Christian.
The prawns were constantly being harassed and threatened by sharks that inhabited the area. Finally one day Justin said to Christian, "I'm fed up with being a prawn, I wish I was a shark, then I wouldn't have any worries about being eaten."A large mysterious cod appeared and said, "Your wish is granted", and lo and behold, Justin turned into a shark.
Horrified, Christian immediately swam away, afraid of being eaten by his old mate.Time passed (as it invariably does) and Justin found life as a shark boring and lonely. All his old mates simply swam away whenever he came close to them. Justin didn't realise that his new menacing appearance was the cause of his sad plight.
While swimming alone one day he saw the mysterious cod again and he thought perhaps the mysterious fish could change him back into a prawn.He approached the cod and begged to be changed back, and, lo and behold, he found himself turned back into a prawn. With tears of joy in his tiny little eyes Justin swam back to his friends and bought them all a cocktail. (The punch line does not involve a prawn cocktail - it's much worse).
Looking around the gathering at the reef he realised he couldn't see his old pal. "Where's Christian?" he asked. "He's at home, still distraught that his best friend changed sides to the enemy and became a shark", came the reply.Eager to put things right again and end the mutual pain and torture, he set off to Christian's abode.
As he opened the coral gate memories came flooding back. He banged on the door and shouted, "It's me, Justin, your old friend, come out and see me again."Christian replied, "No way man, you'll eat me. You're now a shark, the enemy, and I'll not be tricked into being your dinner."Justin cried back "No, I'm not. That was the old me. I've changed."
Wait for it....
"I've found Cod. I'm a prawn again Christian"
There were comments, some of them even amusing - the best gag had to be from Mick, who anounced to anyone that'd listen that I had a sympathy hair cut... as my girlfriend and been shorn over the weekend... So back to the sheep jokes it was!
RED HOT PAWN, just joined this site and am taking on Steve, or Sasquatch90210 as he is on there!
Far away in the tropical waters of the Caribbean, two prawns were swimming around in the sea - one called Justin and the other called Christian.
The prawns were constantly being harassed and threatened by sharks that inhabited the area. Finally one day Justin said to Christian, "I'm fed up with being a prawn, I wish I was a shark, then I wouldn't have any worries about being eaten."A large mysterious cod appeared and said, "Your wish is granted", and lo and behold, Justin turned into a shark.
Horrified, Christian immediately swam away, afraid of being eaten by his old mate.Time passed (as it invariably does) and Justin found life as a shark boring and lonely. All his old mates simply swam away whenever he came close to them. Justin didn't realise that his new menacing appearance was the cause of his sad plight.
While swimming alone one day he saw the mysterious cod again and he thought perhaps the mysterious fish could change him back into a prawn.He approached the cod and begged to be changed back, and, lo and behold, he found himself turned back into a prawn. With tears of joy in his tiny little eyes Justin swam back to his friends and bought them all a cocktail. (The punch line does not involve a prawn cocktail - it's much worse).
Looking around the gathering at the reef he realised he couldn't see his old pal. "Where's Christian?" he asked. "He's at home, still distraught that his best friend changed sides to the enemy and became a shark", came the reply.Eager to put things right again and end the mutual pain and torture, he set off to Christian's abode.
As he opened the coral gate memories came flooding back. He banged on the door and shouted, "It's me, Justin, your old friend, come out and see me again."Christian replied, "No way man, you'll eat me. You're now a shark, the enemy, and I'll not be tricked into being your dinner."Justin cried back "No, I'm not. That was the old me. I've changed."
Wait for it....
"I've found Cod. I'm a prawn again Christian"
Sunday, May 21, 2006
DAZED AND CONFUSED
VIERNES - WHAT DO WE WANT?
I thought that I was going to see a film tonight, i must have got the wrong end of the stick, as thought it'd been sort of arranged with Spencer, but obviously not - lost intranslation. It must be me.
As it was I met Spencer out, he'd gone straight from work and was with a work mate, Alistair. After an introduction he asked, do you mind Welsh jokes?
I don't mind my friends making Welsh jokes, but from a stranger? You don't know if it's malicious or not, it's certainly not good form to chance your arm in such a fashion, besides I could tell that it was in fact antagonistic in nature.
I explained that I get the odd joke in work, and an organised campaign, usually manifested in a chant started by a Ringleader of the Tormentors:
ROTT: WHAT DO WE WANT?
ALL: WELSHIES OUT!
ROTT: WHEN DO WE WANT IT?
ALL: NOW!
I can live with that, it's the placards I find more worrying, reading, 'TAFFY GO HOME' and 'GO TO HELL VALLEYBOY' as they're obviously planned unlike the spontaniety of the chanting...
This guy didn't want to let it rest, and yes maybe he was a little drunk, and I shoudln't have risen to the bait, but we had a very loud argument in this pub about the 'UK' & Wales role in particular. Which started when he implied I was fascist. It was in fact his imperialistic delusions of grandeur, and will to impose for his ego's sake which swung alarmingly accross to the right of the political spectrum. He was desperate to cling to the remnants of empire, which seemed to directly influence his sense of well being. Tosser.
'Why do you want to split up this Great Country?' he asked. Great Country? Says who you fucking idiot!? A bit later I asked, 'So you wouldn't have been in favour of the independence of India at the end of the fourties?', he declined to answer that and wasn't able to answer or counter any statement and in fact brough nothing to the discussion, until he admitted that 'he took it personally' that certain places didn't want to be subject to rule from London.
Needless to say I won the discussion hands down, and he stood down.
After three pints the night was over, Spencer and I headed back to chorlton, where he talked me into a Fish Supper... You can take the boy out of North Manchester, but you can't take North Manchester out of the boy!
SABADO - ONLY HEINEKEN CAN DO THIS
It was going well initially! I poped out early and got a paper, then went to the gym. So far so good. I popped into Wing Yip's while I was in town to pick up a new wok and some Oolong tea. But on the way back as I approached home... BANG! The exhaust fell off, and the car sounded like a baritone tractor blowing a prolonged raspberry... I pulled over as soon as I could. It was raining, and as I had generous assistance from a young couple and a carpet shop owner I had to get on my back ina puddle under the car and remove the dragging rusted appendage. Not much like fun, oily, drenched & embarrased. I wasn't far from home and handily got the car home wihout further incident. This poses an interesting dilemma, car tax is due as is a new MOT, and the added cost of repairs and parts certainly could be done without, can I get by without it? My bike needs attention too though! The cogs on the rear wheel I think are worn and the gears there are playing up... It's all adding up. It never rains, but it pours! There's never a handy time though.
As I pondered that, I decided to watch the Heineken cup Final, I traked down a pub, Lloyds Hotel in Chorlton and as it was quiet found a decent seat to watch it from. They had a decent local IPA (Lees Greengate) which I stuck to for the duration of Munster V Biarritz. I was backing the Munster Men, and despite the try from Biaritz in the opening encounters, I didn't doubt that Munster would prevail. After twenty minutes of the game or so, a wedding party and decided to populate the otherwise deserted section of the pub in which I was sat. I ended on the edge of this party of people, except for what must have been judging by the accent the scouse off shoot of this family, they sat on my table... The teenage mum was appropriately dressed as were her parents, but who I gathered to be the father of the child has grubby trainers, tracksuit trousers and a hooded top. Nice. Two young scallywags with them also in tracksuits had a football which I heard someone else from the well to do side complain about it's presence in the ceremony itself. As soon as the game had finished, I headed straight home and had a power nap no doubt aided by a few pints and some hefty food intake.
I awoke as aranged by a call from Jon. I had to get ready to go out as I'd be able to get a lift with him from Vix(Vicky) into town. I managed it but It was a struggle and I didn't really wake up until half an hour or so after getting into town.
We headed to one of the less pretencious bars in the Northern Quarter, Cords, where after a bit we were joined by Luke (I stayed at his place with jon, Vix et al in North Wales (Caerwys nr. Rhyl) a month or so ago). Luke's a practicing vet, hence being a Manc in the land of the Gogs, he told a disturbing story about a farmer for whom he assisted in the birth of a calf, This farmer decided that he wasn't pulling the calf hard enough and decided to encourage him by saying, "Pull harder... imagine it's a nigger on your mother." What!? You can't say that!
As Vix was driving, we went along with her whim to go have a dance somewhere and unfortunately ended up in Jabez Clegg (Don't ask me why - I've been there before on a weekend and knew it woudl be pants). It got worse when we got in there, some really ropey clientelle, plus no decent beer. We'd all been having Guinness in Cords as the cask ale had just run dry. To ease the pain (we weren't about to leave as we'd had to cough up £5 to get in) we tried the Stella, which didn't taste quite right. It soon became apparent after a few pints that this would not be enough - Rather unwisely gin & vodka made an appearance and after another hour we'd all had enough and headed home. I didn't think I was that drunk.
DOMINGO - HOW THE WEST WAS WON
I awoke pretty damn ill - that's what you get for mixing cheap gin, ropey Stella's and a number of Guinnesses. I felt that I needed to be sick, I wandered to the bathroom in a reconaisance capacity... A dressing gown was stuffed in to the bowl of the toilet and was drenched...? What? Why? Is it somw sort of dirty protest? I could really be doing without such a vexing occurance. My head was banging, I couldn't entertain the consumption of any substance, liquid or solid so popped out to get a paper. I sat down to read it but lolled nearing fatigue induced delerium. I was supposed to be going to the gym, but it clearly wasn't going to happen thnat morning, in my mind I postponed the gym till the late afternoon, only to then cancel it of course totally.
I was quite dehyrated so decided to force down some water, it didn't make me feel better, it was worse, it gave bulk to what may have been in my stomach and despite the myterious disapearance of the dressing gown (retrieved rather than flushed I'd warrant) I opted for the likely greater privacy of the downstaitrs bathroom as I went to pry to the toilet god. puke plus interest, yuk! The worst thing was, I was going to be on driving duty the night before until the exhaust expired.
However that helped and by the early afternoon I was able to venture to the pub for a cup of tea with Dyson who was hanging around Chorlton. However I was lethargic for the rest of the day and a number of activities were totally scrubbed, in addition to the gym, the flicks and some general chores. I listened to a live Led Zepp album, 'How The West Was Won' and that was it... a bit crappy especially when you realise that the sooner you fall asleep the sooner tomorrow comes and as is the case normally with Sunday nights... the sooner you have to be in work!
I thought that I was going to see a film tonight, i must have got the wrong end of the stick, as thought it'd been sort of arranged with Spencer, but obviously not - lost intranslation. It must be me.
As it was I met Spencer out, he'd gone straight from work and was with a work mate, Alistair. After an introduction he asked, do you mind Welsh jokes?
I don't mind my friends making Welsh jokes, but from a stranger? You don't know if it's malicious or not, it's certainly not good form to chance your arm in such a fashion, besides I could tell that it was in fact antagonistic in nature.
I explained that I get the odd joke in work, and an organised campaign, usually manifested in a chant started by a Ringleader of the Tormentors:
ROTT: WHAT DO WE WANT?
ALL: WELSHIES OUT!
ROTT: WHEN DO WE WANT IT?
ALL: NOW!
I can live with that, it's the placards I find more worrying, reading, 'TAFFY GO HOME' and 'GO TO HELL VALLEYBOY' as they're obviously planned unlike the spontaniety of the chanting...
This guy didn't want to let it rest, and yes maybe he was a little drunk, and I shoudln't have risen to the bait, but we had a very loud argument in this pub about the 'UK' & Wales role in particular. Which started when he implied I was fascist. It was in fact his imperialistic delusions of grandeur, and will to impose for his ego's sake which swung alarmingly accross to the right of the political spectrum. He was desperate to cling to the remnants of empire, which seemed to directly influence his sense of well being. Tosser.
'Why do you want to split up this Great Country?' he asked. Great Country? Says who you fucking idiot!? A bit later I asked, 'So you wouldn't have been in favour of the independence of India at the end of the fourties?', he declined to answer that and wasn't able to answer or counter any statement and in fact brough nothing to the discussion, until he admitted that 'he took it personally' that certain places didn't want to be subject to rule from London.
Needless to say I won the discussion hands down, and he stood down.
After three pints the night was over, Spencer and I headed back to chorlton, where he talked me into a Fish Supper... You can take the boy out of North Manchester, but you can't take North Manchester out of the boy!
SABADO - ONLY HEINEKEN CAN DO THIS
It was going well initially! I poped out early and got a paper, then went to the gym. So far so good. I popped into Wing Yip's while I was in town to pick up a new wok and some Oolong tea. But on the way back as I approached home... BANG! The exhaust fell off, and the car sounded like a baritone tractor blowing a prolonged raspberry... I pulled over as soon as I could. It was raining, and as I had generous assistance from a young couple and a carpet shop owner I had to get on my back ina puddle under the car and remove the dragging rusted appendage. Not much like fun, oily, drenched & embarrased. I wasn't far from home and handily got the car home wihout further incident. This poses an interesting dilemma, car tax is due as is a new MOT, and the added cost of repairs and parts certainly could be done without, can I get by without it? My bike needs attention too though! The cogs on the rear wheel I think are worn and the gears there are playing up... It's all adding up. It never rains, but it pours! There's never a handy time though.
As I pondered that, I decided to watch the Heineken cup Final, I traked down a pub, Lloyds Hotel in Chorlton and as it was quiet found a decent seat to watch it from. They had a decent local IPA (Lees Greengate) which I stuck to for the duration of Munster V Biarritz. I was backing the Munster Men, and despite the try from Biaritz in the opening encounters, I didn't doubt that Munster would prevail. After twenty minutes of the game or so, a wedding party and decided to populate the otherwise deserted section of the pub in which I was sat. I ended on the edge of this party of people, except for what must have been judging by the accent the scouse off shoot of this family, they sat on my table... The teenage mum was appropriately dressed as were her parents, but who I gathered to be the father of the child has grubby trainers, tracksuit trousers and a hooded top. Nice. Two young scallywags with them also in tracksuits had a football which I heard someone else from the well to do side complain about it's presence in the ceremony itself. As soon as the game had finished, I headed straight home and had a power nap no doubt aided by a few pints and some hefty food intake.
I awoke as aranged by a call from Jon. I had to get ready to go out as I'd be able to get a lift with him from Vix(Vicky) into town. I managed it but It was a struggle and I didn't really wake up until half an hour or so after getting into town.
We headed to one of the less pretencious bars in the Northern Quarter, Cords, where after a bit we were joined by Luke (I stayed at his place with jon, Vix et al in North Wales (Caerwys nr. Rhyl) a month or so ago). Luke's a practicing vet, hence being a Manc in the land of the Gogs, he told a disturbing story about a farmer for whom he assisted in the birth of a calf, This farmer decided that he wasn't pulling the calf hard enough and decided to encourage him by saying, "Pull harder... imagine it's a nigger on your mother." What!? You can't say that!
As Vix was driving, we went along with her whim to go have a dance somewhere and unfortunately ended up in Jabez Clegg (Don't ask me why - I've been there before on a weekend and knew it woudl be pants). It got worse when we got in there, some really ropey clientelle, plus no decent beer. We'd all been having Guinness in Cords as the cask ale had just run dry. To ease the pain (we weren't about to leave as we'd had to cough up £5 to get in) we tried the Stella, which didn't taste quite right. It soon became apparent after a few pints that this would not be enough - Rather unwisely gin & vodka made an appearance and after another hour we'd all had enough and headed home. I didn't think I was that drunk.
DOMINGO - HOW THE WEST WAS WON
I awoke pretty damn ill - that's what you get for mixing cheap gin, ropey Stella's and a number of Guinnesses. I felt that I needed to be sick, I wandered to the bathroom in a reconaisance capacity... A dressing gown was stuffed in to the bowl of the toilet and was drenched...? What? Why? Is it somw sort of dirty protest? I could really be doing without such a vexing occurance. My head was banging, I couldn't entertain the consumption of any substance, liquid or solid so popped out to get a paper. I sat down to read it but lolled nearing fatigue induced delerium. I was supposed to be going to the gym, but it clearly wasn't going to happen thnat morning, in my mind I postponed the gym till the late afternoon, only to then cancel it of course totally.
I was quite dehyrated so decided to force down some water, it didn't make me feel better, it was worse, it gave bulk to what may have been in my stomach and despite the myterious disapearance of the dressing gown (retrieved rather than flushed I'd warrant) I opted for the likely greater privacy of the downstaitrs bathroom as I went to pry to the toilet god. puke plus interest, yuk! The worst thing was, I was going to be on driving duty the night before until the exhaust expired.
However that helped and by the early afternoon I was able to venture to the pub for a cup of tea with Dyson who was hanging around Chorlton. However I was lethargic for the rest of the day and a number of activities were totally scrubbed, in addition to the gym, the flicks and some general chores. I listened to a live Led Zepp album, 'How The West Was Won' and that was it... a bit crappy especially when you realise that the sooner you fall asleep the sooner tomorrow comes and as is the case normally with Sunday nights... the sooner you have to be in work!
Thursday, May 18, 2006
ST. ELMO'S FIRE
MIERCOLES
Fire Alarm
Every Wednesday in work at 16:00 in the afternoon the building staff test the fire alarm. Nothing remarkable in that, but sometimes it'd be a short burst of noise and other times would just seem to go on and on. As the alarm pulses in approximately one second cycles it's easy to count, ranging from about twenty to seventy. What started as a bold prediction turned into a highly contested betting contest at 50p a bet, run by 'Smutty' Steve Dyson, whom it should also be said skims off the top as the jackpot is always a strangley rounded figure. You've more chance of drawing at random from a pack of cards the rules of international bridge, I rest my case! Anyhow, quite often no one wins and the jackpot rolls over maning we once had a bumper prize of £45.00 (How Much!? - That's right £45). This week the jackpot stood at £30.00 (exactly - see what I mean? As if!), my two bets were 34 & 46. Needless to say that despite the howls of protest, and lynch mob threats it was 34 and I pocketed the cash.
Rugby & Rain
The rain's a pain. In the mornings I tentatively gaze varying grey skies over Manchester, and often despite the odd drop of rain, risk the ride to work. Much like this Wednesday. On the way back I seem to get drenched more often, which is preferable to it happening on the way in - worse still the rain was that heavy that that evening's rugby was cancelled (last minute, i was suited and booted and just about to leave the house as soon as I'd finished my cup of tea), but maybe a blessing in disguise as in freindly for that night we were due to play a team of ex-professionals, but it's just put back for a week as it looks like we'll play them next week! Eek!
Lounge Bar
What to do instead then? People mentioned about watching Wendyball but I wasn't fussed so I had food read the paper and some of my book until it was over and then popped over the road to the Lounge Bar as we'd noticed that they had three bands on that night.
I remeber when I was a student I didn't feel that much affinity with many other 'studenty' students, this was generally shared by the lads from the Aman Valley and West Glamorgan, The feeling bordered on contempt. I felt the same feeling for the 'young-professionals' often habiting these bars in Chorlton, despite that they would seem to be my contemparies. I was complaing generally to Ray about this (He was in full agreement being 44 yrs old) and in particular at one prat wearing a stupid hat inside. He turned out to be the first act. It was an acoustic guitar set and he was undoubtedly talented, he played a number of self induldent barely melodious self compositions. Someone noted that it was like a suprising quick moving parapleigic, impressive speed yes, but ungainly to watch.
The second act was more like it, folk blues band or something or other, but still not one to write home about, I harly had any interest left for the last muffled sounding rock band who were quite forgettable.
JUVES
Tonight I met Adam for a drink and a chat, then headed to the new flat to sort some of it out - it's coming together and I should be able to move in at the end of the month as expected. Strangley Adam's off to Bristol on Friday, by plane from Manchester to Bristol Airports. What with check-ins and the normal hassle with airports I'm pretty certain it'd be quicker to drive, if you timed it right. I 'understand' that it can be driven in under two hours.
Fire Alarm
Every Wednesday in work at 16:00 in the afternoon the building staff test the fire alarm. Nothing remarkable in that, but sometimes it'd be a short burst of noise and other times would just seem to go on and on. As the alarm pulses in approximately one second cycles it's easy to count, ranging from about twenty to seventy. What started as a bold prediction turned into a highly contested betting contest at 50p a bet, run by 'Smutty' Steve Dyson, whom it should also be said skims off the top as the jackpot is always a strangley rounded figure. You've more chance of drawing at random from a pack of cards the rules of international bridge, I rest my case! Anyhow, quite often no one wins and the jackpot rolls over maning we once had a bumper prize of £45.00 (How Much!? - That's right £45). This week the jackpot stood at £30.00 (exactly - see what I mean? As if!), my two bets were 34 & 46. Needless to say that despite the howls of protest, and lynch mob threats it was 34 and I pocketed the cash.
Rugby & Rain
The rain's a pain. In the mornings I tentatively gaze varying grey skies over Manchester, and often despite the odd drop of rain, risk the ride to work. Much like this Wednesday. On the way back I seem to get drenched more often, which is preferable to it happening on the way in - worse still the rain was that heavy that that evening's rugby was cancelled (last minute, i was suited and booted and just about to leave the house as soon as I'd finished my cup of tea), but maybe a blessing in disguise as in freindly for that night we were due to play a team of ex-professionals, but it's just put back for a week as it looks like we'll play them next week! Eek!
Lounge Bar
What to do instead then? People mentioned about watching Wendyball but I wasn't fussed so I had food read the paper and some of my book until it was over and then popped over the road to the Lounge Bar as we'd noticed that they had three bands on that night.
I remeber when I was a student I didn't feel that much affinity with many other 'studenty' students, this was generally shared by the lads from the Aman Valley and West Glamorgan, The feeling bordered on contempt. I felt the same feeling for the 'young-professionals' often habiting these bars in Chorlton, despite that they would seem to be my contemparies. I was complaing generally to Ray about this (He was in full agreement being 44 yrs old) and in particular at one prat wearing a stupid hat inside. He turned out to be the first act. It was an acoustic guitar set and he was undoubtedly talented, he played a number of self induldent barely melodious self compositions. Someone noted that it was like a suprising quick moving parapleigic, impressive speed yes, but ungainly to watch.
The second act was more like it, folk blues band or something or other, but still not one to write home about, I harly had any interest left for the last muffled sounding rock band who were quite forgettable.
JUVES
Tonight I met Adam for a drink and a chat, then headed to the new flat to sort some of it out - it's coming together and I should be able to move in at the end of the month as expected. Strangley Adam's off to Bristol on Friday, by plane from Manchester to Bristol Airports. What with check-ins and the normal hassle with airports I'm pretty certain it'd be quicker to drive, if you timed it right. I 'understand' that it can be driven in under two hours.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
THE LAY OF THE LAND
A disection of the immediate past would be problematic, I'd miss things due to forgetfullness (real and supposed) and there's too much to unearth to do it even justice of adequate proportions. I'll leave it at that but try to provide a snapshot of the moment, which I'll break down in segments in an attempt to ease my comprehension of events...
Work.
I'm still working at the same place (here), and am still a temporary member of staff. But only just, I've been here an incredible (in the sense that - 'has it really been that long?') ten months. They've been threatening to make me permanent since last year but ongoing postponments mean that only last friday an hour before I left for the afternoon was I offered a permanent position. I envisage that I shall accept their proposal, there's more to it than that but that's be TMI here. There was a sense of doubt in the last month or so as opposed to the first few months of employment assurances as the nature of my role has changed and I find myself being taken on as a dogsbody troubleshooter. I've added the 'troubleshooter' moniker to make myself feel better, but I'm still a credit controller.
There's a good buch of people at work though, which as everyone who's worked in an office knows is a great help - but ultimately it's still office work and at times I'm unable to contain my subdued real nature - 'The Spirit Of Monkey Is Irrepressible!'
Abode.
To go back a bit, after my split I spent a month generosly put by Steve Dyson from work and his wife Mila in Whitefield in Northen Manchester. From where I moved to Chorlton in Southern Manchester. I had to wait for the propery to be ready but it has many advantages. I can cycle easily to work, it's close enough that I don't have to put in too much effort as there are no shower facilities. I coudl easily walk should there be a need.
The house is excepionally close to the centre of Chorlton, an 'up an coming' young proffessional area apparently, 'more raw than Didsbury and with less pretention' to paraphrase. Walking distance to 'trendy' bars and pubs (closest is less than 100m) and to shops in general including a supermarket.
There are plenty of buses to the city centre and Spencer lives a few roads away.
But... I have to move out! A bit of background first though. The house is rented accomodation and can have up to six bedrooms, as it was there were three of us in there. Ray from work and Jim, a local spark(electician). The landlord wasn't best pleased with a half full house and was making grumbling noises. But then Ray, decided he was off around the world at the end of the month and for the landlord the property became untenable as a group would only move en masse if they had a house to themselves.
To cut a long story short, the landlord had found alternative accomodation, above his kebab shop... Nice! There are a few advantages, Bigger kitchen, Bigger bedroom, rolling contract, And As I'm in first, I'll be able to set up the internet for myself. (there is internet where I am currently but due to politics, and boneheaded stupidity I'm unable to use it - even more so as I splashed out on a laptop). On the flip side, the location isn't quite as handy and extra five to ten minute walk and of course should I misbehave, (as if!) the landlord would be on hand to know immediatley about it!
Gym.
I've joined a gym! It's about time, since I've been up here two years. I was pondering where I should join: A council Gym close to Work, a different Council Gym In Chorlton, or maybe one in Town - Spencer is a member of the Virgin Active gym (in Town) and it'd be handy having a training partner for spotting and so on. So I joined there as it also turned out to be the cheapest.
As I trained there after joining I felt a bit perturbed, afterwards I mentioned to Spencer, "Fellah, um... isn't it a bit... well... Gay in here?" (ie - not proportional to the world outside or other gyms). Spencer agreed, "Yes there are a few Muscle Marys, pumping up for a night out on Canal Street." "Didn't you think to say anything?" But he had too embarrased to do so!
But further evidence piled up, A poster informing of a gym night out to meet eachother was meeting in canal street. There were two notices in the showers; 'NO CAMERA PHONES' and 'THE SHOWERS ARE FOR SHOWERING ONLY - ANYTHING ELSE IS FOR THE PRIVACY OF YOUR HOME', so obviously a problem there previously! There have been other intances too, but in comparison too insignificant to mention...Spencer, What have you done!?
Then wort of all, this one time after a work out Spencer got back from the showers to find (if you can find an absence) his boxer shorts gone (There it was, Gone!). He was sure some dodgy looking preening dude had been giving him the eye but couldn't prove it of course. As the girl on reception noted as he reported it on his way out, "That's very wrong".
Rugby.
Part of the gym rational is for a contact rugby comback in the style of a demented scrum helmeted Lazarus, but I'm hankering after league action as opposed to union due to the cliques, and fancy myself as a dummy half. I'm not sure what position I'd fit back into in union... Similary I fancy scrum half, but am a novice at that position of course.
I've been back playing touch rugby for a while and joined a team in the official league (which started last Wednesday) with a team rather mundanely called the 'Goonies' (The best team name in the league is 'Racing Mullets') with a bunch of League boys from Oldham (two are actually Tongan but live there).
I missed out on playing the friendlies the week previously due to a badly damaged big toe, and took painkillers the next week to ensure that I could play. We had our first league game last Wednesday against a team called 'Shell White Sox'. They had two very proficient New Zealanders on their side, a fellah and a slight girl (who we agreed afterwards was undoubtledly a screamer!) and had us on the back foot for much of the game. We generally held firm and leaked two tries, however we scored three, a well worked passing movment accross the pitch drawing and giving to put the winger away in the corner and two tries by yours truly!
Wales.
I popped back a few weeks ago to Cardiff, staying at Steve's via Brum getting a lift from Clare. We didn't go out, financial contraints an all, but it was certainly good to catch up even if the revelation from Po was that most things I did were annoying and only vaguely endearing after a lengthy period! You cut me deep man! Nah - good fun!
I think I mentioned before how I've been up here for a ges but only bumped into people who were tenusously Welsh qualified and Manchester resident, with the exception of Adam. However I've bumped into two recently who spoke a smattering of Welsh, A gym instructor from Rhuddlan in the north who worked at the gym, and a girl called Laura from Llanfair-ym-Muallt, whom I met in a bar. I didn't pick up on their accents, but they heard me speaking (loudly no doubt) and picked up on my accent so had a chat... she had a boyfriend it eventually turned out though! Why don't they say straight away? ;-) D'oh!
Social.
I'm probably popping out a little more often than I should currently, maybe it's adjusting to the lack of television and internet, and not forgetting my single status! I'm still catching flicks at the Cornerhouse, and have seen too many since last mentioned to go back over them... So same old, same old in a way!
Generally I'm tending to drink cask ales if I can, handily there are a few more places around than there used to be and Jon and Spencer are similary inclined. However there isn't the choice in many establishments, so I stump sometmies for a stout (Guinness, ain't seen any Murphy's recently in thinking about it actually) or a Lager, ho-hum.
Media.
I generally get The Independent, as I'm currently without internet and have forsaken television, it's the best source of information on the news stands and as the name suggests isn't as prone to slanted reporting. As you probably know there's a huge problem with the biased media interpreting and influencing in an underhand fashion. It's very much a current problem not that they want you to know that, In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king.
I'm currently reading 'The Great War For Civilisation: The Conquest Of the Middle East' by Robert Fisk, a correspondent of renown with the Independent and formerly the Times. It's grim reading at times but a well written eye-opener and toe curler - Some of the torture implements described are quite horrific, especially as it's unequivically certain that it still goes on. It's a hard slog at over one thousand pages but I think it shoudlbe read. I do have trouble with finding the time to crack on with it properly, what with my gereral activities, unfortunatley the activity I feel I could most do without is however essential - work. Damnitt!
A few months back I managed to get free tickets from the Independent for an audience with Robert Fisk at Manchester City Hall, one of only two dates in the UK as he lives now in Beirut. He was very well spoken and eloquent and didn't dodge the serious questions, no sitting on the fence, or pulling punches. Impressive stuff, he was very well recieved.
Wheels.
I getting around a lot on a push bike with a ropey rear cassette cogs which keep jumping if I pedal too hard. There's a banger of a car too an 'L' reg Ford Escort that goes - Jurassic Park!
Today.
Not too much going on today, Bono was guest editing the Independent, under the (Red) scheme, a union that doesn't seem to make that much sense but I guess the money's best in charities pockets than in big business' - I'm sure the tokenism does wonders for their PR. All the usual stuff too of course has been going on.
I stayed inafter work - it was raining and I was saving my energy for tomorrow's rugby. I did make a huge amount of Bolognaise sauce from scratch with tinned tomatoes. I'm pretty pleased with it on a taste level (I used some West Indian Hot Pepper Sauce for a bit of Zing) and that it'll last me a week, as at the moment I'm pretty lazy preparing food every night as it's just for me, if it's every few days I won't begrudge the effort so much.
Messages:
Thanks for the messages from the last post - Had I been that down they'd havve surely helped, but to be honest I was quite relieved. A load off!
Work.
I'm still working at the same place (here), and am still a temporary member of staff. But only just, I've been here an incredible (in the sense that - 'has it really been that long?') ten months. They've been threatening to make me permanent since last year but ongoing postponments mean that only last friday an hour before I left for the afternoon was I offered a permanent position. I envisage that I shall accept their proposal, there's more to it than that but that's be TMI here. There was a sense of doubt in the last month or so as opposed to the first few months of employment assurances as the nature of my role has changed and I find myself being taken on as a dogsbody troubleshooter. I've added the 'troubleshooter' moniker to make myself feel better, but I'm still a credit controller.
There's a good buch of people at work though, which as everyone who's worked in an office knows is a great help - but ultimately it's still office work and at times I'm unable to contain my subdued real nature - 'The Spirit Of Monkey Is Irrepressible!'
Abode.
To go back a bit, after my split I spent a month generosly put by Steve Dyson from work and his wife Mila in Whitefield in Northen Manchester. From where I moved to Chorlton in Southern Manchester. I had to wait for the propery to be ready but it has many advantages. I can cycle easily to work, it's close enough that I don't have to put in too much effort as there are no shower facilities. I coudl easily walk should there be a need.
The house is excepionally close to the centre of Chorlton, an 'up an coming' young proffessional area apparently, 'more raw than Didsbury and with less pretention' to paraphrase. Walking distance to 'trendy' bars and pubs (closest is less than 100m) and to shops in general including a supermarket.
There are plenty of buses to the city centre and Spencer lives a few roads away.
But... I have to move out! A bit of background first though. The house is rented accomodation and can have up to six bedrooms, as it was there were three of us in there. Ray from work and Jim, a local spark(electician). The landlord wasn't best pleased with a half full house and was making grumbling noises. But then Ray, decided he was off around the world at the end of the month and for the landlord the property became untenable as a group would only move en masse if they had a house to themselves.
To cut a long story short, the landlord had found alternative accomodation, above his kebab shop... Nice! There are a few advantages, Bigger kitchen, Bigger bedroom, rolling contract, And As I'm in first, I'll be able to set up the internet for myself. (there is internet where I am currently but due to politics, and boneheaded stupidity I'm unable to use it - even more so as I splashed out on a laptop). On the flip side, the location isn't quite as handy and extra five to ten minute walk and of course should I misbehave, (as if!) the landlord would be on hand to know immediatley about it!
Gym.
I've joined a gym! It's about time, since I've been up here two years. I was pondering where I should join: A council Gym close to Work, a different Council Gym In Chorlton, or maybe one in Town - Spencer is a member of the Virgin Active gym (in Town) and it'd be handy having a training partner for spotting and so on. So I joined there as it also turned out to be the cheapest.
As I trained there after joining I felt a bit perturbed, afterwards I mentioned to Spencer, "Fellah, um... isn't it a bit... well... Gay in here?" (ie - not proportional to the world outside or other gyms). Spencer agreed, "Yes there are a few Muscle Marys, pumping up for a night out on Canal Street." "Didn't you think to say anything?" But he had too embarrased to do so!
But further evidence piled up, A poster informing of a gym night out to meet eachother was meeting in canal street. There were two notices in the showers; 'NO CAMERA PHONES' and 'THE SHOWERS ARE FOR SHOWERING ONLY - ANYTHING ELSE IS FOR THE PRIVACY OF YOUR HOME', so obviously a problem there previously! There have been other intances too, but in comparison too insignificant to mention...Spencer, What have you done!?
Then wort of all, this one time after a work out Spencer got back from the showers to find (if you can find an absence) his boxer shorts gone (There it was, Gone!). He was sure some dodgy looking preening dude had been giving him the eye but couldn't prove it of course. As the girl on reception noted as he reported it on his way out, "That's very wrong".
Rugby.
Part of the gym rational is for a contact rugby comback in the style of a demented scrum helmeted Lazarus, but I'm hankering after league action as opposed to union due to the cliques, and fancy myself as a dummy half. I'm not sure what position I'd fit back into in union... Similary I fancy scrum half, but am a novice at that position of course.
I've been back playing touch rugby for a while and joined a team in the official league (which started last Wednesday) with a team rather mundanely called the 'Goonies' (The best team name in the league is 'Racing Mullets') with a bunch of League boys from Oldham (two are actually Tongan but live there).
I missed out on playing the friendlies the week previously due to a badly damaged big toe, and took painkillers the next week to ensure that I could play. We had our first league game last Wednesday against a team called 'Shell White Sox'. They had two very proficient New Zealanders on their side, a fellah and a slight girl (who we agreed afterwards was undoubtledly a screamer!) and had us on the back foot for much of the game. We generally held firm and leaked two tries, however we scored three, a well worked passing movment accross the pitch drawing and giving to put the winger away in the corner and two tries by yours truly!
Wales.
I popped back a few weeks ago to Cardiff, staying at Steve's via Brum getting a lift from Clare. We didn't go out, financial contraints an all, but it was certainly good to catch up even if the revelation from Po was that most things I did were annoying and only vaguely endearing after a lengthy period! You cut me deep man! Nah - good fun!
I think I mentioned before how I've been up here for a ges but only bumped into people who were tenusously Welsh qualified and Manchester resident, with the exception of Adam. However I've bumped into two recently who spoke a smattering of Welsh, A gym instructor from Rhuddlan in the north who worked at the gym, and a girl called Laura from Llanfair-ym-Muallt, whom I met in a bar. I didn't pick up on their accents, but they heard me speaking (loudly no doubt) and picked up on my accent so had a chat... she had a boyfriend it eventually turned out though! Why don't they say straight away? ;-) D'oh!
Social.
I'm probably popping out a little more often than I should currently, maybe it's adjusting to the lack of television and internet, and not forgetting my single status! I'm still catching flicks at the Cornerhouse, and have seen too many since last mentioned to go back over them... So same old, same old in a way!
Generally I'm tending to drink cask ales if I can, handily there are a few more places around than there used to be and Jon and Spencer are similary inclined. However there isn't the choice in many establishments, so I stump sometmies for a stout (Guinness, ain't seen any Murphy's recently in thinking about it actually) or a Lager, ho-hum.
Media.
I generally get The Independent, as I'm currently without internet and have forsaken television, it's the best source of information on the news stands and as the name suggests isn't as prone to slanted reporting. As you probably know there's a huge problem with the biased media interpreting and influencing in an underhand fashion. It's very much a current problem not that they want you to know that, In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king.
I'm currently reading 'The Great War For Civilisation: The Conquest Of the Middle East' by Robert Fisk, a correspondent of renown with the Independent and formerly the Times. It's grim reading at times but a well written eye-opener and toe curler - Some of the torture implements described are quite horrific, especially as it's unequivically certain that it still goes on. It's a hard slog at over one thousand pages but I think it shoudlbe read. I do have trouble with finding the time to crack on with it properly, what with my gereral activities, unfortunatley the activity I feel I could most do without is however essential - work. Damnitt!
A few months back I managed to get free tickets from the Independent for an audience with Robert Fisk at Manchester City Hall, one of only two dates in the UK as he lives now in Beirut. He was very well spoken and eloquent and didn't dodge the serious questions, no sitting on the fence, or pulling punches. Impressive stuff, he was very well recieved.
Wheels.
I getting around a lot on a push bike with a ropey rear cassette cogs which keep jumping if I pedal too hard. There's a banger of a car too an 'L' reg Ford Escort that goes - Jurassic Park!
Today.
Not too much going on today, Bono was guest editing the Independent, under the (Red) scheme, a union that doesn't seem to make that much sense but I guess the money's best in charities pockets than in big business' - I'm sure the tokenism does wonders for their PR. All the usual stuff too of course has been going on.
I stayed inafter work - it was raining and I was saving my energy for tomorrow's rugby. I did make a huge amount of Bolognaise sauce from scratch with tinned tomatoes. I'm pretty pleased with it on a taste level (I used some West Indian Hot Pepper Sauce for a bit of Zing) and that it'll last me a week, as at the moment I'm pretty lazy preparing food every night as it's just for me, if it's every few days I won't begrudge the effort so much.
Messages:
Thanks for the messages from the last post - Had I been that down they'd havve surely helped, but to be honest I was quite relieved. A load off!
