there's a strange orange glow lighting up the sky from the direction of Clapham tonight. It's very specific - almost like something might be on fire. It could just be the fog which sems to be covering South West London this evening..........
..........
.........
yup, just stuck me head out the window. It's fog. Wrap up folks, winter's a comin...
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Root of all evil
Thought my filling was perhaps a bit dodgy recently, as I have a mild sharp pain from time to time. I've now been reliably informed that it might be the root and I may need a root canal...
I think I'll ignore it for a bit and hope it goes away. I hear that works.
I think I'll ignore it for a bit and hope it goes away. I hear that works.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Brighton mate....
I had an unexpected trip to Brighton at the weekend, a birthday surprise from the lovely J.... Bloody fantastic place - it's kind of unfair that one little city gets to be so great whilst the rest of us slum it in the real world. All I knew in the build up was that I was to keep Saturday 'evening' free and that I had to get up at 9am in the morning, so couldn't get drunk after work. I failed, of course, in this one simple task but felt better as I witnessed my guide for the weekend rolling back into the flat somewhat the worse for wear at 2am on Friday night.
I still didn't have a clue what was going on as we arrived at Victoria and it was only when we got to our coach that I saw where we were going. How cool - a day by the seaside! It was only when I asked what time we were coming back to London that J admitted "6 o'clock. Tomorrow evening". A whole flippin' weekend away?! What the hell?! Having checked into our hotel room - 3rd floor overlooking the beach and opposite the pier, naturally - we went out for a wander and pints. Dinner was booked, in a place that we knew little about but turned out to be perfect - I recommend you visit if you get the chance. It was a small Scandinavian bar called Northern Lights - booked because of my obsession with all things Norwegian and Swedish and, of course, of seeing the sky turn green in the Arctic Circle. It has the friendliest (and most authentically Scandinavian) staff in the world, and amazing food - although the reindeer steak was unfortunately finished for the day, my huge helping of Caselian casserole more than made up for it. The atmosphere was brilliant and had it not been for the fact that we were a bit knackered and wanted to see a few other places, we could quite happily have stayed longer. In hindsight it's probably better we left, as the dishevelled bar staff were still attempting to clear up after the party the night before when we returned for a drink the following day.
Sunday was spent walking the beach, strolling the lanes, checking out flat rental prices (usual day-dreaming), drinking far too much in the sunshine and stuffing ourselves on pub grub. It was magic.
The thing is, even before we went anywhere I was already overwhelmed that anyone would have gone to any effort to surprise me. But the thought that J had put into it just made me lost for words. I'm a lucky boy.
I still didn't have a clue what was going on as we arrived at Victoria and it was only when we got to our coach that I saw where we were going. How cool - a day by the seaside! It was only when I asked what time we were coming back to London that J admitted "6 o'clock. Tomorrow evening". A whole flippin' weekend away?! What the hell?! Having checked into our hotel room - 3rd floor overlooking the beach and opposite the pier, naturally - we went out for a wander and pints. Dinner was booked, in a place that we knew little about but turned out to be perfect - I recommend you visit if you get the chance. It was a small Scandinavian bar called Northern Lights - booked because of my obsession with all things Norwegian and Swedish and, of course, of seeing the sky turn green in the Arctic Circle. It has the friendliest (and most authentically Scandinavian) staff in the world, and amazing food - although the reindeer steak was unfortunately finished for the day, my huge helping of Caselian casserole more than made up for it. The atmosphere was brilliant and had it not been for the fact that we were a bit knackered and wanted to see a few other places, we could quite happily have stayed longer. In hindsight it's probably better we left, as the dishevelled bar staff were still attempting to clear up after the party the night before when we returned for a drink the following day.
Sunday was spent walking the beach, strolling the lanes, checking out flat rental prices (usual day-dreaming), drinking far too much in the sunshine and stuffing ourselves on pub grub. It was magic.
The thing is, even before we went anywhere I was already overwhelmed that anyone would have gone to any effort to surprise me. But the thought that J had put into it just made me lost for words. I'm a lucky boy.
Just watched 'Confetti'
the British film starring a host of well known faces about a wedding competition. Usual pleasant enough British rom com fare, but I'll never be able to watch Peep Show in the same way again, having just watched 90 minutes of Jez and Sophie romping around in the altogether.....
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
getting old
my 32nd year draws to a close, and I'm planning on hitting the sack in all of about 15 minutes. Still got it.
To be fair, was up at 4.30am this morning to fly back from Northern Ireland, making it two pre-5am starts in 3 days. I'm not quite the doddery old man who wakes up at 5am every day so I'm feeling the pace a bit. Had an amazing time back home with J and mum; can't remember the last time I laughed so much. Went for a walk on the beach; bought birthday presents for myself with mum's debit card (she was in the room at the time) and splashed out more of her money on a new PC and camera. Saturday evening, we hit 'Ellie Mays' across the road and chowed down on sumptuous venison and rib eye steak.... Am drooling just thinking about it.
Tomorrow I'm working for the birthday in years; somehow by now it doesn't seem worth the waste of a holiday. Few pints arranged for tomorrow night, with the 'big surprise' to come on Saturday. Woohoo!!
To be fair, was up at 4.30am this morning to fly back from Northern Ireland, making it two pre-5am starts in 3 days. I'm not quite the doddery old man who wakes up at 5am every day so I'm feeling the pace a bit. Had an amazing time back home with J and mum; can't remember the last time I laughed so much. Went for a walk on the beach; bought birthday presents for myself with mum's debit card (she was in the room at the time) and splashed out more of her money on a new PC and camera. Saturday evening, we hit 'Ellie Mays' across the road and chowed down on sumptuous venison and rib eye steak.... Am drooling just thinking about it.
Tomorrow I'm working for the birthday in years; somehow by now it doesn't seem worth the waste of a holiday. Few pints arranged for tomorrow night, with the 'big surprise' to come on Saturday. Woohoo!!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
There's a certain irony
to the fact that an iconic image of a freedom fighter synonymous with the creation of a communist state is now being mass produced in an asian sweatshop for Primark.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Another qualification campaign draws to a close...
what price Northern Ireland reserves beating the Czech Republic away from home, whilst San Marino record their first victory since.... err...... ......28 April, 2004 - their only victory ever (against the might of Liechtenstein. In a friendly)? Against Slovenia, a team which beat them 5-0 two months ago?
Ah.
Bring on Euro 2012 then.
Ah.
Bring on Euro 2012 then.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
#Trafigura & #Carter-Ruck fail
Those who dismiss Twitter as a pointless waste of time and bandwith would do well to take notice of events last night and this morning. Within hours of the story breaking that the Guardian had had a court injunction served on behalf of libel lawyers to stop them reporting parliamentary question time, champions of free speech and those who follow them had bumped #Trafigura (responsible, allegedly, for using the Ivory Coast as a toxic waste dumping ground, the questioning of which by MP Paul Farrelly was the reason for the reporting ban) and #Carter-Ruck (the multi-national libel lawyers who temporarily successfully invoked press censorship of parliamentary proceedings to protect their client's interests) to the top of the 'trending' stats on Twitter.
This ensured people all over the world were drawn to find out exactly what was going on that was getting everyone so hot under the collar, links to 'traditional' news outlets' websites were flying about encouraging people to request they feature it on their websites and news programmes, and regular updates were bouncing around the world from the horses' mouths and person to person via the power of 'retweet'.
The result, early this afternoon, was that Carter-Ruck dropped the threat of court action against the Guardian for daring to report the news - spotting that not only was their reputation taking a battering, but the full facts of the story were already known by probably 99% more people around the world than would ever have read the report in the newspaper.
Twitter is one of the most recent symbols of the evolution of the internet and 'web 2.0'. What started as blogging and uploading pictures of last night down the pub (both still admirable uses of social web use) has become a powerful medium where multi-national behemoths, politicians and even entire governments (witness #Iran Election) can be questioned and held to account by the concerned majority. It's power to the people - the power of information, travelling at the speed of fibre optics from London to Baku to Buenos Aires and back again - and it is, in a small way at least, helping level the playing field just a little bit.
This ensured people all over the world were drawn to find out exactly what was going on that was getting everyone so hot under the collar, links to 'traditional' news outlets' websites were flying about encouraging people to request they feature it on their websites and news programmes, and regular updates were bouncing around the world from the horses' mouths and person to person via the power of 'retweet'.
The result, early this afternoon, was that Carter-Ruck dropped the threat of court action against the Guardian for daring to report the news - spotting that not only was their reputation taking a battering, but the full facts of the story were already known by probably 99% more people around the world than would ever have read the report in the newspaper.
Twitter is one of the most recent symbols of the evolution of the internet and 'web 2.0'. What started as blogging and uploading pictures of last night down the pub (both still admirable uses of social web use) has become a powerful medium where multi-national behemoths, politicians and even entire governments (witness #Iran Election) can be questioned and held to account by the concerned majority. It's power to the people - the power of information, travelling at the speed of fibre optics from London to Baku to Buenos Aires and back again - and it is, in a small way at least, helping level the playing field just a little bit.
car trouble
I got ripped off by a car wash the other day. Had just finished excitedly texting J from inside the fluffy wheels of fun (sadly, I love car washes) when the foam stopped mid-spurt, leaving the front half of the car covered in soap and the rest dry as a bone. I went back to try and get a refund from the guy in the shop, who was as intelligent, amenable, capable and fragrant as you would expect of a career petrol station employee. It may surprise you to learn I didn't get my money because he 'couldn't leave the shop to check I was telling the truth' (obviously, I may simply have bottled it 5 seconds into the washing cycle when the big scary twirly things started up and was trying to claim an undue refund).
On Saturday, I followed up this piece of automotive misfortune by paying for, and failing to get, my parking permit renewed. Printer broke, y'see? Told to come back to the council 'any day before 5.30' to pick up the permit - this I duly did, having left work early this afternoon, to find that what they forgot to add was 'oh, except Tuesday. We close at 3 on a Tuesday'. So, permit expired as of today, and my poor, defenceless wee car despatched to the nearest permit-free street to my flat - on the perimeter of one of the area's rougher estates. I fear for it's safety. I'm sure my sleep tonight will be wracked with the distant, mournful parp of a '99 Clio horn, whispering 'why hast thou forsaken me' as local ne'er do wells make off with the wheels and wiper blades.
Not enjoying the car ownership experience at the moment. Involves far too much interaction with idiotic jobsworths who wouldn't know customer service if it knocked them over at high speed before reversing back repeatedly over them.
On Saturday, I followed up this piece of automotive misfortune by paying for, and failing to get, my parking permit renewed. Printer broke, y'see? Told to come back to the council 'any day before 5.30' to pick up the permit - this I duly did, having left work early this afternoon, to find that what they forgot to add was 'oh, except Tuesday. We close at 3 on a Tuesday'. So, permit expired as of today, and my poor, defenceless wee car despatched to the nearest permit-free street to my flat - on the perimeter of one of the area's rougher estates. I fear for it's safety. I'm sure my sleep tonight will be wracked with the distant, mournful parp of a '99 Clio horn, whispering 'why hast thou forsaken me' as local ne'er do wells make off with the wheels and wiper blades.
Not enjoying the car ownership experience at the moment. Involves far too much interaction with idiotic jobsworths who wouldn't know customer service if it knocked them over at high speed before reversing back repeatedly over them.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
happy anniversary to me
this time 3 years ago, I was inebriated and basking in the glory of having just completed my first ever 10K run....
Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday. The culmination of the long, hot, summer of 2006: the training, the fund raising, the regular blogging..... How we all wish for those days again, especially given I was still a relative whippersnapper at the time.Still, I now have the half marathon to look forward to (widely accepted as the sexier, cooler, younger brother of long, boring, actual marathon running). Apparently it'll take me 10 weeks to get in shape to do a 1:50, meaning I can kick back and relax until mid-January. Happy days.
I think you can agree, the 3 years haven't aged me, err, one bit...... Certainly haven't improved my post-race poses anyway...
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Who needs blisters anyway?
Got a beautifully crafted email this morning from Dave Bedford, erstwhile moustachioed middle-distance Olympian and current race director of the London Marathon. It gently broke the news to me that I will not be joining the 39,999 other participants pounding the streets of our nation's capital next April, as follows:
"Commiserations
By now you should have received the news that your application to run in the 2010 Virgin London Marathon was unsuccessful. This news was contained in our Marathon News “Rejected” magazine which should have been delivered to you by post along with your Virgin London Marathon Rain Jacket. Thank you for donating your entry fee!"
The news was contained in what?
The 'Marathon News "Rejected" magazine'?
Rejected magazine?
A magazine, especially for those of us who have been considered to be part of one of the world's greatest sporting events, duly assessed, and rejected?
What are the articles about? The top 100 parties you'll never be invited to? How to cope with being mocked by hoodies? Reasons why she filed that restaining order? How to deal with the fact you're going to die alone, unloved and smelling of piss in your council flat?
The last time I checked, the London Marathon selection process was a ballot. The last time I checked a dictionary, a ballot by this definition involved putting all the entries into a hat and drawing lots - i.e. picking out people at random. Surely this makes me 'unlucky' at worst? Being told I've been rejected from a sporting event makes me regress to the lanky kid I once was, waiting in vain to be picked for football in PE.
I didn't wanna run anyway. Running's stupid and for girls. Anyway, I have a shiny red rain jacket now, which is more than the 'accepted' folk do. So nerr. If, of course, my copy of Rejected magazine ever turns up. Which it hasn't yet. The postie's probably using it to wipe his arse, just to show me how much of a loser I am.
"Commiserations
By now you should have received the news that your application to run in the 2010 Virgin London Marathon was unsuccessful. This news was contained in our Marathon News “Rejected” magazine which should have been delivered to you by post along with your Virgin London Marathon Rain Jacket. Thank you for donating your entry fee!"
The news was contained in what?
The 'Marathon News "Rejected" magazine'?
Rejected magazine?
A magazine, especially for those of us who have been considered to be part of one of the world's greatest sporting events, duly assessed, and rejected?
What are the articles about? The top 100 parties you'll never be invited to? How to cope with being mocked by hoodies? Reasons why she filed that restaining order? How to deal with the fact you're going to die alone, unloved and smelling of piss in your council flat?
The last time I checked, the London Marathon selection process was a ballot. The last time I checked a dictionary, a ballot by this definition involved putting all the entries into a hat and drawing lots - i.e. picking out people at random. Surely this makes me 'unlucky' at worst? Being told I've been rejected from a sporting event makes me regress to the lanky kid I once was, waiting in vain to be picked for football in PE.
I didn't wanna run anyway. Running's stupid and for girls. Anyway, I have a shiny red rain jacket now, which is more than the 'accepted' folk do. So nerr. If, of course, my copy of Rejected magazine ever turns up. Which it hasn't yet. The postie's probably using it to wipe his arse, just to show me how much of a loser I am.
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