Thursday, January 29, 2009
Anyone ever been to Sicily?
As I mentioned before, I bought flights to Palermo for J and me in July. What I didn't manage to do was organise accommodation or internal travel whilst there at the height of the summer season. It's all starting to look a bit pricey. I've registered with Trip Advisor but am a lazy bastard at heart and it's all a bit of effort to find what I'm looking for. So, anyone who's been - Palermo-Taormina-Stromboli-Palermo in a week with a bit of sunbathing on the beach thrown in? For as cheap as possible? I heard a horrible rumour today that not only are bonuses scrapped for this year (the 2nd time I've ever been entitled to one - cheers), but payrises are too. Was kind of relying on that to ease some of the pressure and save my and my girl trudging the hot dusty roads of Sicily for hours on end..... The worst laid plans, and all that.
Warm n fuzzy
I helped my first little old lady last night. Our lift is out of action at the moment, and on the way back from playing football (2nd week running - get me!) one of my neighbours from the floor below was on the landing. She asked if she could ask me a "mad question", and handed me her shopping list and purse, almost in tears as she explained she had run out of provisions and couldn't get up and down the stairs.
Of course I said I'd get them (raised well by me maw n all), and hobbled off to the corner shop with the very trusting lady's purse in my pocket. She was so grateful for the tiny tiny piece of help I'd given to her, she tried to make me "keep the change" - given that she had given me a £20 note to buy a litre of milk, some tea bags and 20 Mayfair lights, it took all my powers of persuasion to avoid leaving her with £13 for nothing in my pocket. I didn't think it was the best time to point out the possible link between the fags and the lack of stair climbing prowess.
I highly recommend doing a good turn for someone - I'm still feeling happy to have helped even now.
Of course I said I'd get them (raised well by me maw n all), and hobbled off to the corner shop with the very trusting lady's purse in my pocket. She was so grateful for the tiny tiny piece of help I'd given to her, she tried to make me "keep the change" - given that she had given me a £20 note to buy a litre of milk, some tea bags and 20 Mayfair lights, it took all my powers of persuasion to avoid leaving her with £13 for nothing in my pocket. I didn't think it was the best time to point out the possible link between the fags and the lack of stair climbing prowess.
I highly recommend doing a good turn for someone - I'm still feeling happy to have helped even now.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Ever wondered what would happen to your Christmas tree if you kept it?
Allow me to demonstrate....
Given that we bought quite an expensive live tree just before Christmas and were away for most of the holidays, we took the high ground this year and are keeping our little shrub for as long as we can instead of adding to the pathetic pile of withering cast offs outside our building. He (or she?) is named Chris - a devastatingly original moniker courtesy of my ever fertile imagination. Having dropped the festive theme, he's now just our pet evergreen, and sits happily alongside Brian the Ikea fern guarding the telly. He's a thirsty little bugger, needing water pretty much every day, but then I imagine being in our flat after a childhood spent in the wilds of Denmark must feel a bit like crash landing on Venus. I didn't expect much to happen save for an ever-increasing pile of needles on the floor as he gave up the ghost, so imagine our surprise when we spotted new green shoots springing out over the last few days. They look a bit minging to be honest, and I'm not sure if they're going to turn into cones or not. I had a dream last night where he grew to the height of our ceiling in the space of a few days, and I'm sure if he gets bigger we will eventually have to make the sad trip out into the country (or someone's back garden) to set him free, but for now I'm just going to look on at him proudly, day-dreaming about what he might become. Perhaps he could become the first green President of the USA? The sky's the limit. It's much like having a child, I imagine, but with the bonus that we can leave him sitting on his own whilst we head off to the pub, without fear that he'll find the matches. Bloody painful when he decides he wants to sleep in our bed though.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Ow
I hurt.
Feel good for having made the effort to go and play though. Even though I lasted 10 mins before being unable to run anymore, which didn't endear me to too many team mates. I realised they were on to me when they tried to trade me for the opposition's best player to "even things up". Prior to that I was swearing loudly each time each time I got skinned or let in a goal, just to let everyone know I'm normally much better at this football thing.
On the way home I mentioned to Kev that I was probably the worst player on the team and his simple response was "yes. You were." In terms of things that didn't need to be said, it's almost up there with my workmate Martin telling me that he'd had to rush out and buy me a leaving card last Friday because no one else had bothered and he didn't want me to be upset.
Am off for a bath to ease my aching bits, followed by a can of Red Stripe or two to dull what remains of the pain.
PS - watching "one hit wonders" on music channel "The Vault". Remember Semisonic? I do now.
Feel good for having made the effort to go and play though. Even though I lasted 10 mins before being unable to run anymore, which didn't endear me to too many team mates. I realised they were on to me when they tried to trade me for the opposition's best player to "even things up". Prior to that I was swearing loudly each time each time I got skinned or let in a goal, just to let everyone know I'm normally much better at this football thing.
On the way home I mentioned to Kev that I was probably the worst player on the team and his simple response was "yes. You were." In terms of things that didn't need to be said, it's almost up there with my workmate Martin telling me that he'd had to rush out and buy me a leaving card last Friday because no one else had bothered and he didn't want me to be upset.
Am off for a bath to ease my aching bits, followed by a can of Red Stripe or two to dull what remains of the pain.
PS - watching "one hit wonders" on music channel "The Vault". Remember Semisonic? I do now.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
My sister had that dog!!!
Not the Andrex puppy, the wooden toy with the boingy tail at the very start of the clip....
And they say watching endless hours of tv isn't good for you. I got almost as excited as the first time I saw my company's corporate video and realised I have the same alarm clock as featured at the beginning of it. What next? My childhood pal "little Ted" starring in an salmon commercial? B&Q using my collection of hammer-modified cars to advertise their range of Bosch man-appliances? Ah, the memories......
Maybe it won't be a bad thing to get out of the house for a few hours tomorrow.
And they say watching endless hours of tv isn't good for you. I got almost as excited as the first time I saw my company's corporate video and realised I have the same alarm clock as featured at the beginning of it. What next? My childhood pal "little Ted" starring in an salmon commercial? B&Q using my collection of hammer-modified cars to advertise their range of Bosch man-appliances? Ah, the memories......
Maybe it won't be a bad thing to get out of the house for a few hours tomorrow.
Don't Mess with The ..Playing football tomorrow....
Figure if I don't start playing it at some point soon I'll not be able to anymore.
I've slowly begun to accept that my chances of playing rugby for Ireland are probably gone, given that I took a break from it 10 years ago and forgot to start again.
Witnessing Ryan Giggs puff and pant his way around the pitch in recent weeks, it's dawned on me that I have maybe 6 years left to play in the Premiership, so step one is tomorrow. Pretty confident it's only a fitness / lack of tactical awareness thing that's holding me back.
Am prepared for pain. And men shouting at me. Potentially even an injured netball player, if my one previous outing last summer is anything to go by.
I've slowly begun to accept that my chances of playing rugby for Ireland are probably gone, given that I took a break from it 10 years ago and forgot to start again.
Witnessing Ryan Giggs puff and pant his way around the pitch in recent weeks, it's dawned on me that I have maybe 6 years left to play in the Premiership, so step one is tomorrow. Pretty confident it's only a fitness / lack of tactical awareness thing that's holding me back.
Am prepared for pain. And men shouting at me. Potentially even an injured netball player, if my one previous outing last summer is anything to go by.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Thanks to SC Johnson
A family company.
Who have cheered me up just a little bit with the most ridiculous advert I have seen in a very long time.
I imagine it to be titled "poo at Paul's", or something similar. I can't believe that some advertising exec has managed to get it on the telly - it must be some kind of terrible industry in-joke that the rest of us don't know about, where there's a prize for the most embarrassing, gash advert of the year. Either that, or it's a piece of viral genius which has been created purely in the hope that people like me will fall into the trap of flashing it round the world. Doesn't explain how it made it on to Sky 1 in the middle of the Simpsons though....
Who have cheered me up just a little bit with the most ridiculous advert I have seen in a very long time.
I imagine it to be titled "poo at Paul's", or something similar. I can't believe that some advertising exec has managed to get it on the telly - it must be some kind of terrible industry in-joke that the rest of us don't know about, where there's a prize for the most embarrassing, gash advert of the year. Either that, or it's a piece of viral genius which has been created purely in the hope that people like me will fall into the trap of flashing it round the world. Doesn't explain how it made it on to Sky 1 in the middle of the Simpsons though....
Blue Monday
God, I knew that this is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year, but I wasn't quite prepared for it to be quite so shitty.
I started my new job today - I had prepared myself to be underwhelmed, as always happens when you go from comfy, know-everyone, know-what-to-do job of two years to being the new kid at school. But it was utterly depressing. I still don't know what I'm doing, didn't really speak to anyone and spent the afternoon reading a document whilst trying not to fall asleep.
Add to this the awful weather, delays on the way to work (20 minutes late for my first day!), not sleeping much at all last night (got about 3 and a half hours between 2 and 5.30), a share price in free fall that made me wonder if I'd get to work tomorrow to find the doors locked, and - to cap it all - getting on the tube the wrong way on the way home and reaching Belsize Park before I realised (arriving home a full hour later) and it's not been the greatest day of my life to date.
But it's only one day. I know my thoughts about work are based on the usual insecurities of not knowing what I'm doing or having any mates in the office (plus the fact I don't yet have a desk or a working security pass to get into my office), and a decent night's sleep will make the whole thing seem much better. Honest. You can't see me, but I'm writing this through a slightly manic smile, which may or may not be mistaken for gritted teeth to the uninitiated.
Gotta turn my frown upside down, fight back the moistness in my eyes, pick myself up and head round to J's friend's house for a beer. Everything's better after beer. And even if it's not, it's not forever. The credit crunch will see to that.
I started my new job today - I had prepared myself to be underwhelmed, as always happens when you go from comfy, know-everyone, know-what-to-do job of two years to being the new kid at school. But it was utterly depressing. I still don't know what I'm doing, didn't really speak to anyone and spent the afternoon reading a document whilst trying not to fall asleep.
Add to this the awful weather, delays on the way to work (20 minutes late for my first day!), not sleeping much at all last night (got about 3 and a half hours between 2 and 5.30), a share price in free fall that made me wonder if I'd get to work tomorrow to find the doors locked, and - to cap it all - getting on the tube the wrong way on the way home and reaching Belsize Park before I realised (arriving home a full hour later) and it's not been the greatest day of my life to date.
But it's only one day. I know my thoughts about work are based on the usual insecurities of not knowing what I'm doing or having any mates in the office (plus the fact I don't yet have a desk or a working security pass to get into my office), and a decent night's sleep will make the whole thing seem much better. Honest. You can't see me, but I'm writing this through a slightly manic smile, which may or may not be mistaken for gritted teeth to the uninitiated.
Gotta turn my frown upside down, fight back the moistness in my eyes, pick myself up and head round to J's friend's house for a beer. Everything's better after beer. And even if it's not, it's not forever. The credit crunch will see to that.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Thinking about it....
......"Glasgow Underground" is yet another CD of mine that has gone missing over the past 3 years. Along with "Subculture". And Optimo 2001. And 2 Many Djs. And Mylo.
It's understandable, but why did some individual / collection of rapscallions have to nick all my best, most credible House CDs? In the future, my kids will look at my remaining detritus ("Jesus Jones", anyone?) and question why their dad couldn't be cool like their mates'. My protestations will no doubt be met with the same disbelief as I showed when querying my mum on the absence of Rolling Stones and Beatles records from her collection, receiving the excuse that "we did have loads, they must have all been nicked at parties or something". Given recent experience, I'm starting to think that might actually have been the truth.....
It's understandable, but why did some individual / collection of rapscallions have to nick all my best, most credible House CDs? In the future, my kids will look at my remaining detritus ("Jesus Jones", anyone?) and question why their dad couldn't be cool like their mates'. My protestations will no doubt be met with the same disbelief as I showed when querying my mum on the absence of Rolling Stones and Beatles records from her collection, receiving the excuse that "we did have loads, they must have all been nicked at parties or something". Given recent experience, I'm starting to think that might actually have been the truth.....
Right on
I've been playing about with widgets again - filthy habit, I really should stop before I go blind....
On the left hand side you may notice that there is now an iLike playlist, which seemed like the coolest thing in the world, except for the fact it only plays a few seconds of each song. Quite what the point is I'm not sure.
I stopped having any semblance of "cool" sometime around 2002, and as such my taste in and knowledge of recent music is embarrassing and sparse to say the least. So, as befits a man of my experience, I made an old school list which transported me back to the heady days in the Weedge at the turn of the century. I thought I might indulge myself a little and stick a few tracks in their entirety on the blog - starting with Silicone Soul's masterpiece, "Right on Right on". The video below is what you might call "minimalist" - in that it is just a photo of the record for 8 minutes - but it was the only "proper" version of the track I could find. The 'original' was called Right on 4 tha darkness - the slightly beefed up remix is what appears below and may or may not have been on a Glasgow Underground compilation when I heard it first. Or was it a Slam CD?
The song was part of my soundtrack to the summer 0f 2001 - a very happy time in my life indeed. My happiest memory of it is dancing with my friend Sanj, arms aloft, on the Renfrew Ferry, having called up my other friend Helen to play it to her down the phone in the hope she might feel like she was with us just a little bit.
Crank it up.
On the left hand side you may notice that there is now an iLike playlist, which seemed like the coolest thing in the world, except for the fact it only plays a few seconds of each song. Quite what the point is I'm not sure.
I stopped having any semblance of "cool" sometime around 2002, and as such my taste in and knowledge of recent music is embarrassing and sparse to say the least. So, as befits a man of my experience, I made an old school list which transported me back to the heady days in the Weedge at the turn of the century. I thought I might indulge myself a little and stick a few tracks in their entirety on the blog - starting with Silicone Soul's masterpiece, "Right on Right on". The video below is what you might call "minimalist" - in that it is just a photo of the record for 8 minutes - but it was the only "proper" version of the track I could find. The 'original' was called Right on 4 tha darkness - the slightly beefed up remix is what appears below and may or may not have been on a Glasgow Underground compilation when I heard it first. Or was it a Slam CD?
The song was part of my soundtrack to the summer 0f 2001 - a very happy time in my life indeed. My happiest memory of it is dancing with my friend Sanj, arms aloft, on the Renfrew Ferry, having called up my other friend Helen to play it to her down the phone in the hope she might feel like she was with us just a little bit.
Crank it up.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Super-Tattie
Yes, I am a superhero. I always suspected as much, but until this afternoon had not had the chance to prove it.
We were just getting ready to go shopping when an alarm went off somewhere in the building. We weren't sure what is what, so obviously ignored it. A few minutes later, we heard very loud banging coming from next to the flat and realised someone was stuck in the lift.
The guy could shout to us but the emergency intercom button wasn't working. It was obvious this was a job for Super Tattie. Remembering all my training (numerous viewings of Die Hard) I ran to the roof, finding the entrance to the lift shaft. I tore my t-shirt off and used it to protect my hands as I slid down the lift cables, landing quite heavily on the top of the lift and causing it to shake quite violently - cue much screaming and swearing. Opening the hatch, I found the man and his daughter dishevelled and cowering in the corner of the lift, a look of gratitude and admiration on their faces. "Come with me", I commanded gruffly, and with both of them clinging to my legs I hoisted us back up the three floors of cable to the roof and safety. Never one to blow my own trumpet, I ran off before they could ask who I was and had a quick wash before heading off to Superdrug for some cough mixture. Got a terrible tickly affliction at the moment. And so, I bide my time, waiting for the next time the Brixton sky is lit up with the symbol of the spud, safe in the knowledge that my actions had avoided near certain disaster, or at the very least some minor wasting of time.
Either that, or I called the fire brigade and left them to it once they arrived a few minutes later. Apparently you're supposed to call 999 in these events, just in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation. I still feel quite glad I helped though.
We were just getting ready to go shopping when an alarm went off somewhere in the building. We weren't sure what is what, so obviously ignored it. A few minutes later, we heard very loud banging coming from next to the flat and realised someone was stuck in the lift.
The guy could shout to us but the emergency intercom button wasn't working. It was obvious this was a job for Super Tattie. Remembering all my training (numerous viewings of Die Hard) I ran to the roof, finding the entrance to the lift shaft. I tore my t-shirt off and used it to protect my hands as I slid down the lift cables, landing quite heavily on the top of the lift and causing it to shake quite violently - cue much screaming and swearing. Opening the hatch, I found the man and his daughter dishevelled and cowering in the corner of the lift, a look of gratitude and admiration on their faces. "Come with me", I commanded gruffly, and with both of them clinging to my legs I hoisted us back up the three floors of cable to the roof and safety. Never one to blow my own trumpet, I ran off before they could ask who I was and had a quick wash before heading off to Superdrug for some cough mixture. Got a terrible tickly affliction at the moment. And so, I bide my time, waiting for the next time the Brixton sky is lit up with the symbol of the spud, safe in the knowledge that my actions had avoided near certain disaster, or at the very least some minor wasting of time.
Either that, or I called the fire brigade and left them to it once they arrived a few minutes later. Apparently you're supposed to call 999 in these events, just in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation. I still feel quite glad I helped though.
Traditional fare now available on "the mainland"
Not sure whether to be happy or not, but at the checkout in Iceland (vive le crunch du credit!) this afternoon I spotted a couple of new products on offer from Kingsmill - potato bread, and pancakes. As in the thick small bread-y pancakes, not the sort you make on Shrove Tuesday. These are my two favourite Irish bread products (besides Veda) and it has been a source of some consternation that they have - until now - been hard to come by down in London town.
Obviously I'd be happier if Ormo or another local bakers was flogging the original produce over here, but in the meantime I'll make do with the overly-sugared mainstream version. Can't help but feel a bit protective towards it though. Whatever next - brown Lemonade on the shelves of Tesco?
Obviously I'd be happier if Ormo or another local bakers was flogging the original produce over here, but in the meantime I'll make do with the overly-sugared mainstream version. Can't help but feel a bit protective towards it though. Whatever next - brown Lemonade on the shelves of Tesco?
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Entry to NYC 09 doesn't open until mid-February
and it looks like my hopes of getting free flights to the Big Apple courtesy of some enthusiastic fund-raising are a bit optimistic. On top of that, the BUPA London 10K I said I'd do with my mate Helen is on Monday 25th May - the bank holiday. I really don't fancy giving up the best long weekend of the year for my "sport".
Perhaps my commitment is somewhat lacking when it comes to this jogging malarkey.
Perhaps my commitment is somewhat lacking when it comes to this jogging malarkey.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Like watching a car crash
Thanks to Mr Lee Goudie, for the most back handed compliment of the blog I've heard in some years. Apparently "you want to stop reading, but you can't help going back for another look".
I just hope that Mr Goudie is not the Belfast equivalent of James Spader in David Cronenberg's controversial movie. Whilst I am here to entertain and even, in an entirely innocent way, excite, the thought of him leering at these words with his tongue hanging out is not one I want in my head. Too late. Ick.
I just hope that Mr Goudie is not the Belfast equivalent of James Spader in David Cronenberg's controversial movie. Whilst I am here to entertain and even, in an entirely innocent way, excite, the thought of him leering at these words with his tongue hanging out is not one I want in my head. Too late. Ick.
How many Creative Writing courses does it take to fill a travel supplement?
Thirteen, if the Observer 'Escape' review of 2008 is anything to go by.
"Boss, can I have Christmas off?"
"Well, who will write the end of year review piece?"
"Simple! Our fist-gnawingly-pretentious readership of course!"
The result? Let's just say I never thought someone's account of a trip to Parliament Hill lido would not only make me want to out scratch my eyes, but also ram a pencil up my nose and into my frontal lobe. That's the part of the brain related to language processing by the way. The frontal lobe, not the nose. But if you're an Observer reader, I'm sure you knew that already.
Even now, thinking back to some of the utter, utter gash is making me well up with anger inside. Aargh!
"Boss, can I have Christmas off?"
"Well, who will write the end of year review piece?"
"Simple! Our fist-gnawingly-pretentious readership of course!"
The result? Let's just say I never thought someone's account of a trip to Parliament Hill lido would not only make me want to out scratch my eyes, but also ram a pencil up my nose and into my frontal lobe. That's the part of the brain related to language processing by the way. The frontal lobe, not the nose. But if you're an Observer reader, I'm sure you knew that already.
Even now, thinking back to some of the utter, utter gash is making me well up with anger inside. Aargh!
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