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Thursday, December 29, 2005

It's mine and Lisa's 19 month anniversary today, and to celebrate she's given me a very special gift. Her cold. Although to be honest, I'm placing half the blame with her mother, a healthy pensioner with the constitution (and sheer brute strength) of an ox, who, having been germ-free for the past year, went to the doctor's for a flu jab two weeks ago, and has had flu ever since. I was forced to get up close and personal with the woman last night whilst attempting to hand over a horse racing calendar at arm's length, so frankly she's as much to blame as her daughter.

Yesterday was quite a momentous day, as after 19 months of sampling the limited range of drinks on offer at "the best pub in Brighton", I finally decided to try their food. Technically it's not the first time I've eaten there, as the last time we visited, there was a fly in my drink, but this is the first time I've paid for the privilege. I can't say I'll be doing it again, but I did manage to clear my plate. Shortly after burning myself on it.

From there I went to the bank, where I had the joy of queuing for 25 minutes for the right to get at my own money (Barclays clearly felt that three cashiers at the main city centre branch at lunchtime on the first day back after Christmas would be ample staffing), before heading for the calendar shop, where I was delighted to see a sign saying "Everything Half Price!", only to be slightly less delighted when I discovered they'd sold out of the only one I wanted. I'd ordered the 2006 Channel 4 Racing Calendar on the internet at the beginning of December, but due to unfortunate levels of incompetence on the part of the vendor, all they managed to send me was a letter telling me it was no longer available. Which naturally I didn't get until three days before Christmas.

So I bought an Eric the Penguin calendar for myself, before heading to WHSmiths, where by some minor miracle I actually found the racing calendar I wanted. As well as a mile-long queue I didn't want. But hey, what's another 25 minutes standing in a line? It's Christmas after all. So having watched my life pass me by for most of the afternoon, I walked the two miles back to Lisa's flat in the freezing cold, stole her festive wrapping paper, and finally succeeded in delivering her mother's Christmas present three days late. And what did I get for my trouble? A bout of flu. Well, that and a baked potato. And a handful of Christmas chocolates. Oh, and a mini pavlova. Come to think of it, it was almost worth it.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Just when I thought Christmas was over, there's suddenly snow on the ground and I'm writing a blog post in front of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. At this rate I'll be roasting chestnuts before the day's out. Possibly on an open fire. As it is, I've already made a great escape from Chelmsford, and am currently back down in Brighton, where Lisa is refusing to travel to work by sledge (despite it being mostly downhill), meaning I was forced to get out my Homer Simpson ice scraper at the crack of dawn this morning and shower her with frost from my car windscreen, just to make a point.

Anyhoo, the good news of the day is that I've just read an interesting and informative article in this morning's Sun (it was bound to happen sooner or later), which mentions blogs, and, for the benefit of people who have never heard of the things, refers to them as "internet opinion sites". So I'd just like to state for the record that 'Friends' is the most over-rated show on TV. But obviously that's only my opinion.

As for the past couple of days, well the good news is that Santa brought me everything I wanted, and I now have more CDs, videos and DVDs than I can shake a stick at. Unfortunately stick-shaking is about all I'm likely to manage as I'll never actually have time to watch any of them. Apart from the CDs. Christmas Day was spent eating, playing cards, and indulging in synchronised whistle-blowing with members of my family. Sadly we failed to play 'Ding Dong Merrily On High' on a set of eight differently pitched pipes, mainly because there were only seven of us and my niece preferred to conduct, but we did manage an almost-recognisable rendition of 'Jingle Bells'. If only Lisa had been there with her recorder.

On Boxing Day half my family disappeared to the sales, confirming my long held opinion that they all need psychiatric help, meaning I was able to stay in and win a whopping six pounds (read it and weep) (if you don't, I will) on the horse racing. I also played with my Dad's remote controlled UFO, and learnt my niece's technique for dealing with cats who won't get off the bed. I won't go into details, but it involves large amounts of water.

Yesterday I took Big Sis to the swimming pool, bought some half price wine from Asda, then fled the snow of East Anglia and drove down to Lisa's flat, where I immediately escorted her sister and three nephews from the premises to make room for my bags. They didn't seem that keen to go, but hey, Christmas finished two days ago, and I agreed (well, insisted on) giving them a lift home, what more do they want? And besides, I'm only here til Friday. They can come back at the weekend. Lisa won't be here of course, but for some that's just a bonus.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY! And a ho-ho-ho to one and all. Which, if we were gangsta rappers, would mean something else entirely.

Anyhoo, it's Christmas Day and my sister's come out as a lesbian.

Well ok, she hasn't. But she was telling us last night about a book called 'Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps', which features a test designed to reveal whether you have a masculine or feminine brain. She'd apparently come out as more manly than any man she knows, though as my Mum pointed out, that's not necessarily a bad thing, and we're not too worried about her.

But the good news is I've tracked down the quiz online this morning, so in the absence of a stocking to open, I've answered 30 probing questions about my sexual leanings. I received a score of 115, which makes me the perfect blend of macho posturing and caring sensitivity. According to the website, "The lower the score for a woman, the more likely she will be to have lesbian tendencies", so I couldn't possibly tell you what my sister got. Though I can reveal she made it into double figures. Not that it means a thing. She just happens to be good at parking.

And on the bright side, her hair's looking very festive. She looks like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

It's Christmas Eve and my Mum's fridge looks like this. Which is just as well really, coz frankly I wouldn't be here unless I could pig out for three straight days. Oh, and in case you think there's a gap on the right hand side, that's only because I took out a pint of milk to make a cup of tea (it was a BIG cup of tea).

Anyhoo, things are going festively, and there's been plenty of entertainment, mainly from my sister, who's had a bad experience at the hairdresser and now looks like Garth out of Wayne's World. Though admittedly she wasn't very pleased when I told her that. Still, it made me laugh, which is what counts.

We've also had a visit from my 6-year-old niece, who demonstrated her ability to sing 'Is This the Way to Amarillo', before demanding to know if Lisa and I are getting married, and suggesting Christmas Day as a suitable date. When I told her it might not be the best time to get married, she went for Boxing Day instead. So I said we'd think about it. Frankly if she's not related to Lisa by the new year, she won't be happy.

In the evening we had a visit from Santa, who'd come all the way from the north pole local Round Table just to shower us with gifts. In the end he agreed to give us a penny chew in return for a donation of a pound. It may not have been a great deal, but it did leave a lasting impression on my niece. As the Christmas sleigh pulled off into the distance, and the traditional carol (by John Lennon) faded, she turned to me with a look of quiet contemplation on her face, and uttered the oh-so-moving words:

"Santa was wearing trainers."

And frankly his sleigh looked more like the back of a pick-up truck. I'm beginning to think he wasn't real at all.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Only HumanIt's the Human League! And it's only a week late. But hey, at least I took a photo this year, which is more than I did twelve months ago. Lisa did give me a camera last Christmas (whereas I gave her my heart, obviously), but unfortunately we saw the Human League on December 13th, which was clearly no good. I'd only had the camera a month and hadn't worked out how to use it yet.

Anyhoo, I may not have been around much (well, at all) lately, but it's ok - Brian Harvey hasn't tracked me down. Although I did come across a random stranger yesterday making the kind of comment I'm sure everyone can identify with. Well, the first part of it anyway. I'm also sorry to have missed Dave's one-year blog anniversary, Donna's tonsillitis, and Carol saying that I write like a girl. Which is obviously something I refute. Although when I told Lisa of the outrageous accusation last night, she responded with a simple "Well, you do". So that's the last time I ask for her support in a libel case.

As for the past week, well it's been a heady mix of exhaustion, stress, and Christmas shopping. Having been tempted on a daily basis by the Marks & Spencer advert for the turkey breast joint wrapped in parma ham and stuffed with... um... stuffing, Lisa and I got the bus into Brighton town centre on Monday morning with the sole aim of buying about half a dozen of the things and seeing how fat we can get before the new year. Unfortunately it turns out that they cost twenty quid each - something the advert conveniently fails to mention. So we headed for HMV instead and bought the 'Now That's What I Call Music Quiz' DVD. It was three pounds cheaper, considerably less fattening, and likely to last more than a day.

We also came up with the entertaining idea that whoever lost the first game had to pay for the DVD. Something we were both happy to agree to, as Lisa knows a lot about pop music, and I was still on a confidence high after winning the BBC's Test the Nation Quiz the night before (54 out of 70 - borderline genius - I don't know how I do it). We opted for the 'Top Twenty' game, where you have to get a certain number of questions correct in a row, otherwise you go back to the start. Which looked like a bad decision when Lisa was still on square one after two hours, but after only another four or five hours of intensive play, and with the time approaching 11pm, a winner finally emerged.

I had no idea I knew so much about Girls Aloud. Lisa was gutted. Though I had to agree that "Which member of the Spice Girls likes Sugar Puffs?" is not really a music question.

Anyhoo, I've been back in Suffolk for 48 hours, which is just long enough to unpack two weeks worth of stuff and then pack it all up again for a trip to Chelmsford. My sister is flying in this morning from Chicago. Which makes very little sense as she lives in Dallas. I can only assume she was looking for Mexico. But whatever the reason, we're reuniting at my parents' house for a few days of fighting over the computer and eating cake. We're also holding a birthday tea for my Mum, a mere six days after her actual birthday. Fortunately she's already had my present though - I gave her my cat for the month of December.

So I'd better go. I still need to copy my entire CD collection onto the MP3 Player Lisa's given me for Christmas. Not that I've opened it yet, obviously. Well, only the wrapping paper and packaging. But hey, she's been wearing my gift since November, so she can't complain. And besides, her coat may be more stylish, more waterproof, and eminently more practical, but my MP3 Player has a chance of still fitting me in the new year...

Thursday, December 22, 2005

One of these days I might actually write a blog post.

But don't hold me to that, obviously.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

It's Thursday morning and I'm still in Brighton. Due to people flocking here over the festive period, there's not going to be any room for me at the inn, and sadly Lisa doesn't have a stable (though her flat's quite close to the racecourse), so the result is that we won't be seeing each other over Christmas. So I'm staying an extra week now, in the hope that we'll be so sick of one another by Tuesday that we won't want to meet up again til the new year.

The extra time together has already paid off though, with me learning all sorts of new and important things about the love of my life. This morning, for example, I've discovered that she dunks Jacobs Cheddars in tea. Which is just wrong, wrong, wrong. Chocolate Hob-Nobs maybe, but cheesy biscuits, no. The woman needs help.

And talking of such people, Lorraine (self-proclaimed mother of feline delinquents Timmy & Oscar) came round on Tuesday evening for a chat about the state of her love life, and whilst here happened to reveal that she knows everything there is to know about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. You see, she may look like a blonde bimbo with a cat obsession, but she's actually a highly intelligent people-manager who's been on more courses than Lester Piggot. I was quite impressed.

But on the subject of intimidating blondes, I'm a bit concerned about the deeply caring and sympathetic article I cobbled together yesterday about the life of Brian Harvey. Despite my best intentions I seem to be turning into a less cuddly version of Nina Myskow with PMT, and may not have come across quite as sympathetically as I'd planned. Which is a bit of a problem as I have to admit to finding Brian Harvey slightly scary. Even in a wheelchair. So it's only a matter of time before I add East 17 fans and enraged popstars to my catalogue of hate-mail correspondents.

But anyhoo, this time last year Lisa and I went to see the Human League in Ipswich. It was the perfect build-up to Christmas, but we're a year older now, and this time around we want to do something a bit different. So we're going to see them in Brighton. At least I think we are. According to Mystic Meg in today's Sun, who appears to be losing the plot at an alarming rate, "Luck is building, and you are ready and able to agree to a role on a TV quiz show". Which is possibly just a polite way of saying I'm the weakest link. But if anyone offers to swap my Human League tickets for the stage version of Millionaire, I'll be straight in there.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

I do love a grumpy charity shop worker. I've just returned from Age Concern (frankly I'd be more concerned about their staff) where I found a book I'll be giving to my brother for Christmas, along with the impression that I paid full price for it from Waterstones. Unfortunately the book didn't seem to be priced, and lacking the mind-reading skills of Derren Brown, I was therefore forced to take it to the lady on the till and politely ask how much it was.

Being a cheerful and friendly member of the service industry, she naturally sighed, scowled, tutted, and looked at me like I'd just murdered her children, before replying "I was tired when I put those out, so I haven't priced them", as though that actually answered my question. Fortunately, having stood around for an eternity while she pondered how on earth to solve this seemingly impossible problem, I eventually offered her two quid, she acted like I was taking food from the mouths of pensioners all over Britain, and we struck a deal. Unless my brother's reading this, in which case I went down the road and paid £10.99 for it instead.

Fortunately though, it was all uphill from there on in, as five minutes later I found myself in 'Cardome', which really ought to sell automobiles, but actually sells cards, where I bought a festive notelet with the words "We All Like Figgy Pudding" in big print on the front. After which the man on the till handed me a voucher for a free leg tanning session next door at 'Tube Station Tanning'. I've looked them up on the internet, and was naturally thrilled to find they're listed on Gay Brighton & Hove under 'Saunas', just below Bristol Gardens, "a predominantly gay (discretion required) sauna for naturists".

Something tells me the word's getting around about my choice of carrier bags...

Monday, December 12, 2005

Breaking news from Mystic Meg for the twelfth of the population who share a midsummer birthday, as revealed exclusively in this morning's Sun: "The words you write or record could be step one on an exciting new life". So it's official - I really should write a blog post today.

As for the words I wrote yesterday, well they consisted mainly of a few pages of discussion on Herzberg's Two-Factor Theory, Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, and of course Vroom's Expectancy Theory. Which turned out to be less about giving birth in cars, and more about... well I couldn't tell you really. But I did successfully manage to complete Lisa's 104-page leadership workbook, in readiness for a one-day course her employers are insisting she attend. And what's more, it didn't take the predicted seven hours. I had it done and dusted in six and a half.

Not that I can take all the credit. It was very much a team effort, with me reading the workbook and answering the questions, and Lisa sighing, hiding under the duvet, and watching Strictly Come Dancing on video.

But with the work done, I attempted to get us both into a more festive mood by asking Lisa what her favourite Christmas carol is. She thought for a moment, considered her options, then went with 'Little Donkey'. An interesting choice. I was thinking more of 'Once in Royal David's City', but each to their own. Mind you, I was able to change her mind pretty quickly. I was only half way through the first verse before she stopped me with the words "I don't like it that much".

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Blimey, I've been away so long I almost forgot the address of this place. But it's Saturday night and Lisa's out with her work colleagues at a meal paid for from the winnings of their lottery syndicate over the past twelve months. So while she's eating soup at the Salvation Army hostel (the balls haven't dropped in her favour this year), I can get back to business. Blogging, it turns out, is a lot like walking the Pennine Way. Important, satisfying, and filled with a sense of achievement, but not always appreciated by others. Hence the three day week. Negotiations are ongoing, but for the time being I'm back on the trail and campaigning for the right to ramble.

Anyhoo, having made it down to Brighton on Wednesday, I got up at 6am on Thursday morning, dropped Lisa off at work, and attempted to write a pithy, sardonic critique of Space Cadets in the time it took my mother to drive around the M25 and down to Sussex. Needless to say I failed. But I did get to within one paragraph of the end before the text message arrived confirming that my Mum was passing the last service station on the M23 and hurtling towards Brighton at an alarming rate.

So leaving the spaced out cadets behind, I came back down to earth and headed for Telscombe Cliffs, where I successfully rendezvoused with my mother and toured the first of what would turn out to be ten flats, ranging in price from £110,000 (one bedroom, needs a lot of work) to £135,000 (2 bedrooms, no view). I think it was on our way to the ninth of those that the estate agent said she wouldn't recommend trying to see more than four properties in one day. But hey, we're nothing if not stupid. I also took my Mum round to the inlaws for a couple of hours, where I helped myself to tea and offered Lisa's Mum one of her own biscuits. She seemed quite grateful.

On Friday Lisa took the day off work for some serious Christmas shopping, which meant a five minute drive into town and a fifteen minute queue for the car park, followed by a 90 minute wait outside the shopping centre while Lisa selected my present. If I'd known I was so hard to buy for, I'd have taken my laptop and knocked out a few lines about Johnny Vaughan's furry hooded coat, but I'm never prepared for these things. The devil makes work for idle hands though, so I found myself in Barnardos buying a CD rack in the shape of a cat. No, I don't know why either.

On Friday night I had a date with Ben Elton at the Brighton Dome. He slagged off Sharon Osbourne, did a little bit of politics, and spent two hours complaining that everything's getting too big these days. Thus proving he hadn't been near the foyer, where I'd just bought the world's smallest tub of ice cream for £1.70.

As for today, well it's been a day of deja vu, spent touring most of the same flats I viewed on Thursday, only this time with my brother and sister-in-law. The highlight, apart from the owner of the first flat, who took one look at the estate agent and decided not to let us in, was the Rottingdean tea rooms where we ended up for afternoon... um... coffee. They had a signed photo of Blue on the wall, and an invitation to a royal garden party, which made for an interesting combination. Much like the peach and fig sponge cake.

Oooh, just had a message from the gruel squad. Pick-up is 11pm at Laura Ashley. I've heard of late-night opening, but this is ridiculous. I'd better be off.

Oh, and no, I never did finish that last paragraph.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

The Christmas cards are still coming in thick and fast. Another two today, one of which seemed strangely familiar (I'm sure I've seen it somewhere before), while the other one said "On His Majesty's Service" on the envelope, and looked like a court summons.

In return I wrote a grand total of seven, count them, SEVEN cards yesterday afternoon, which is surprising as I've threatened to cut so many people off my Christmas card list in the past year (usually for suggesting that I'm either fat or old) that I really should be down to zero by now.

I also have a slight problem, as Lisa informed me last night that she can't stand people who begin their cards with the word "To". Naturally she told me this three hours after I'd written her card. It turns out she prefers the less formal "Dear", which personally I feel is more suited to a letter. Especially to someone called John. But hey, if she thinks I'm steaming open that envelope and getting out the Tipp-ex, she's got another thing coming. She should just be grateful I didn't put "Best Wishes" at the end. Although I would have done if she hadn't already told me how much she hates it. Honestly, I should just let her dictate my cards to me in future.

Anyhoo, it's just as well the Christmas cards are written, as I seem to have a busy week ahead of me. Tomorrow it's back down to Brighton, Thursday it's flat-hunting with my mother (who's visiting the south coast for the first time to see where I've been spending my life for the past year and a half) (I'm sure she'll be impressed) (unless she gets a parking ticket), Friday I'll be carrying Lisa's bags around the town centre on a Christmas shopping expedition, Friday night I'm stalking Ben Elton, Saturday I'm flat-hunting with my brother, and Sunday I'm doing seven hours of paperwork for Lisa's employers. Er, I mean I'm watching while Lisa does it. Obviously it wouldn't be ethical for me to do it for her.

And all of that coincides with the reality TV event of the year (well, this month) (apart from I'm a Celebrity) - Space Cadets. Which frankly it'll be a miracle if I find time to watch, let alone write about.

I think I need a holiday.

Which is handy because my sister's booking tickets to Mexico as we speak. Assuming she can work out where it is...

Monday, December 05, 2005

Christmas CarolI've had two Christmas cards today! I almost feel popular. The first is from Carol, who deserted her (scout) post long enough to send me this quality handmade effort. A little small, yes, but I'm willing to overlook that. The fact is it's purple, which is my favourite colour, and she probably spent longer making it than it took me to walk to the till in a Brighton card shop with my cheap multi-pack of festive cardboard, so I can't really complain. My cat's already been attracted by the shiny star and managed to knock it off the coffee table.

So thanks Car (I know you like being called that).

Car Park ChristmasThe second is this one. Not the most colourful of cards, it's true. It's actually a photo of a bunch of people standing around at night in a church car park looking at a man in a bedsheet, and it's been posted through my letterbox by St Mary's Church, in honour of the fact that I live in Shotley, and therefore might be persuaded to turn up on Christmas day and give them some money. And let's face it, they need money - they've splashed out a fortune on these cards.

Intriguingly however, with five days to go before the Trek to Bethlehem at Shotley Village Hall (tickets still available - book now), the photo above seems to be a shot from a similar, yet ever so slightly different event. The caption on the back of the card declares it to be a photo of...

Treck to Bethlehem
TRECK??? Is that an Old Testament word?

Still, if anyone else would like to order fine Christmas cards of this quality (and Carol won't take your order), here are the details you need:

Think ink. Forget spelling. Job done.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

As it turns out, neither Dave nor Nick is a dangerous lunatic. I know, I couldn't believe it either, but it's true. Although obviously you shouldn't judge people on the first meeting, so I'm not committing myself to that point of view.

But I successfully made it up to the north Norfolk coast yesterday, for the kind of gathering rarely seen outside of an episode of Parkinson. Knowing that Dave won't tolerate lateness, and combining that with the fact that Mapquest had told me the drive would take 3 hours, and that we'd arranged to meet at 1pm, I was naturally still eating my breakfast at 10am. But as luck would have it, Mapquest were lying, and I made it to Sheringham at 12:20pm, giving me just enough time to admire the seafront in the rain, before arriving at Dave's, surveying the spacious free car park next to his house, and parking in front of his garage.

Dave was naturally pleased to see me arrive ten minutes early, having already planned today's blog post around the certainty of me being late, but he let me in anyway, and within minutes Nick arrived, having phoned ahead to check which house it was. There's only actually one house in the whole street, and he was standing right outside it, but it pays to be sure. Nick, it turns out, is far taller than he appeared on Richard & Judy, which either demonstrates the misleading nature of television, or means he's had a growth spurt since May.

Introductions over, and Christmas cards exchanged, we headed to Dave's (no relation) Fish Bar for lunch, which gave Dave (the first one - are you following this?) a chance to tell us of his aspirations to move to a luxury pad in the yuppiest part of town. Aspirations which basically hinge on Tesco buying him a four bedroom house with two en suites and a hot tub. Which isn't quite as deluded as it sounds. Well, not the way Dave tells it. Although he did inform me that his church can't afford bells in the bell tower, so they play a tape-recording through loud speakers instead. It's a dead ringer apparently (and no, I'm not ashamed of that pun). Although I'm still not entirely sure he wasn't winding me up there, in the hope that I'd mention it on my blog and look a complete fool. Frankly I wouldn't trust a word that man says.

Anyhoo, despite discovering that neither of my hosts regard themselves as locals, and that Nick really ought to sound like Noddy Holder, we managed to find the Fish Bar, where Nick ordered scampi (giving me a chance to tell the story of the time my Dad was rushed to hospital in an ambulance after eating the little critters), and Dave ordered something which didn't appear to be on anyone else's menu. I then gave the pair an informative lecture on why I feel the need to write about rubbish TV, before testing Dave on his memory of February 23rd. Nick also stated that although he has a flat on Hampstead Heath, and a peacock feather on his door, we're not to infer anything from that.

Leaving the fish bar behind us, Dave attempted to show me the Beeston Bump (which isn't a disco dance), before leading us on a stroll along the seafront. Which would have been more pleasant had it not been pouring with rain. And let's face it, we can't all afford an £11 jacket from Primark. But it gave Nick a chance to tell us about his attempts to break into television by uniting the worlds of comedy and physical deformity, while Dave detailed his plans for a comic novel about a cricket-loving artist with a Russian stalker. Which sounds a bit far-fetched to me. The man needs to get a grip on reality.

Back at Dave's we examined the mini art gallery on his living room wall, before being shown the nerve-centre from which a year's worth of blog posts have sprung (a blue plaque is surely only a matter of time), and witnessing his journey from watercolours to acrylic. I couldn't possibly comment on the quality of Dave's artwork for fear of making him unbearably conceited, but you know you're doing something right when both your guests think your painting of a Formula 1 car is actually a photo.

We retired to the drawing room (I'm not apologising for that pun either) for afternoon tea (Earl Gray for them, Ty-phoo for me), where I attempted to persuade Dave to get a chihuahua. Sadly he refused, feeling that it might detract from his image as a red-blooded heterosexual man about town. It's an image I share myself (there's nothing cissy about owning a Persian cat called Chloe), so I could understand Dave's fear of being tarred (and feathered) with the gay brush. Although he has written a book called 'Fruit From the Blossom', which doesn't help.

Nick eventually left to go to a Thanksgiving dinner (presumably to give thanks that he's not American), and after eating chocolate biscuits and doing my best to leave crumbs all over Dave's furniture, I finally departed at 5:15pm and made my way home (via Tescos, who sadly refused to buy me a house). It may have been my first visit to Sheringham, but I'm not too proud to admit that even as I turned my back on the north Norfolk coast, a small part of me remained forever there in that town.

It was my Christmas card from Dave. But he says he'll send it on to me.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

I do love a good conspiracy theory, and I've always liked the 9/11 no-Boeing-ever-hit-the-Pentagon one, ever since I first heard it three and a half years ago. But I came across a particularly good flash presentation yesterday evening, which frankly should win the Oscar for best short film. I've watched it five times already. Though mainly because I'm a slow reader, and I keep missing the captions before they disappear. But anyway, go to this little website and click one of the union jacks. It's well worth the 3MB download. I haven't been so excited since I discovered that Tony Blair's the son of JFK.

Anyhoo, being far too trusting for my own good, I'm off to Norfolk. Alone. And without the aid of a safety net. If you never hear from me again, send the police here and here, and if they claim I accidentally slipped and fell into the sea, don't believe a word of it. Oh, and if someone could look after my cat, that would be great. The key's under the mat.

Unfortunately I can't tell you where the mat is.

Friday, December 02, 2005

The current topic up for discussion on today's Trisha show, as decribed by the caption at the bottom of the screen, is "Did my boyfriend have sex with a stranger at a bus stop?". It's a question I'm sure every woman has asked herself. After all, what else is there to do while you're waiting for a bus, but make sweet love with the rest of the queue?

Anyhoo, Lisa and I are currently considering whether to go and visit my Big Sis in America at the beginning of February. As of last night, Sis has attempted to persuade us by offering to get tickets to an ice hockey game. Which would be more appealing were it not for the fact that the last time she tried to book a sporting event we ended up with tickets to a home game a thousand miles away.

So she's offered to take us to Mexico instead (possibly working on the principle that the ice hockey game she tries to book in Dallas will end up being in another country). I'd quite like to go to Mexico. And what better guide could we have than my Big Sis, a woman who once attempted to drive there, couldn't find it, and used her inability to locate an entire country as the basis for her Big Brother audition tape four years ago. Needless to say they immediately invited her to an audition (you just have to meet someone like that), but sadly she was pipped at the post by a woman who thought chick peas contained chicken.

In the meantime I'm preparing for an adventure of an altogether more dangerous nature. I'm planning to drive to north Norfolk tomorrow. Which is probably enough to get you straight through to the Big Brother house. I've checked two different online driving resources, one of which says it'll take me two and three quarter hours to do the journey of 81 miles. Which speaks volumes for the quality of Norfolk's roads. Fortunately the other site disagrees. It claims it'll take me three hours. Which makes an average speed of 27mph. I could cycle it quicker than that. If I was young and fit. And I had a bike.

I think I'll hire a tractor and go cross country.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

I don't really have anything to say today, and besides, I'm too busy opening the first door on my chocolate advent calendar, so instead I've visited the Instant Blog Post Generator, which has provided me with this entry for today:

I totally love my grandma Tamika. On weekends she is quite dumb, and then today she just fascinated me... I needed her advice watching a TV show about memory on the African subcontinent, and then she interrupted:

"Damn! If I hear another thing about the African subcontinent I'm going to shoot somebody!"

At first I screamed "NO WAY!" but this morning I just quieted down and began picking my nose. After all, she *is* my grandma and she wants what is best for me...

Link of the day: The Gay Quiz

It's seamless. I should be doing this every day.

And on the subject of that last link...

flooble said that I am
Not Gay
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

So there.