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Tuesday, February 14, 2006

I bought this book last Tuesday for $2.99 from the bargain section of some bookshop in Mesquite. It's called 'How to Refuse to Make Yourself Miserable About Anything - Yes, Anything', by Dr Albert Ellis PhD, and promises to "annihilate your feelings of anxiety, despair & hostility" in less than 200 pages. It's a kind of 'Just Say No' book for the fed up.

Which is all very well of course, but Dr Ellis has clearly never been on a four-day cruise to Cozumel. Even Bert at his most cheery would have been slitting his wrists by the end of the first day.

Not that it started badly. We had a pleasant five hour drive to Galveston last Thusday morning, stopping in Dallas to pick up S, younger sister of J (they're a family of initials), who we met last Sunday. S had kindly agreed to share Big Sis's ocean-view cabin in return for doing most of the driving. Having arrived at the south Texas coast, we were greeted by the Royal Caribbean check-in desk staff, who had never seen a British passport before, and spent an enjoyable few minutes flicking through it and saying "Oooh, it's like a rainbow!", before asking if England comes under Ireland or the UK. Naturally we were holding up the line by this point, so taking a quick look at the long queue of impatient holidaymakers behind us, they immediately got out the wedding photos. Apparently I'm the spitting image of one of the women's sons, and she just had to prove it to me.

A leisurely flick through a stranger's family album, and we were eventually allowed to board the Splendour of the Seas, where we were handed small cups of blue liquid by a man in a Hawaiian shirt. I wasn't sure whether to drink it or swill it around my mouth and spit it overboard, but in the end I downed it in one and hoped for the best. I still have no idea what it was.

From there it was on to our cabin. Or the windowless broom cupboard it was clearly designed to be. Having discovered that the beds were basically two bits of hardboard with blankets, and that the cold tap only ever produced warm water, I looked for the kind of tea & coffee making facilities you find in all cheap B&Bs. This was a luxury all-you-can-eat cruise, so naturally there were none whatsoever, but in their place were two bottles of water and some cans of Coke on the dressing table. So I helped myself to one of those...

... only to be told that when they say you can eat and drink as much as you like, they're thinking more of the warm tap water and complimentary pretzels. Anything out of a bottle is extra. So I'd racked up a bill of $2 within minutes of boarding.

Things improved however, when I discovered the free frozen yoghurt machine on deck nine, so by 7pm I was feeling better (and fuller), and headed for the 'Welcome Aboard Show' featuring comedian David Orion, who in addition to being Jerry Seinfeld's warm-up man, is also apparently "one of the most sought after acts on the corporate and faith-based entertainment circuits". So he's big with businessmen and Christians. I may not be that religious, but I'm reasonably good with money, so I quite enjoyed it.

The highlight of the evening though, was undoubtedly the main meal in the King & I Dining Room. We'd been assigned to Table 39 for the week, and having been led through the dining room past tables for two, and numerous tables for four, we eventually arrived at our designated table - a table for ten. Where six Americans were already waiting for us.

Now, I love Americans as much as the next man, and I'm not unsociable by nature, but being stuck around a table with six strangers for two hours every night, being asked where I come from, what I do, and what I think of pastry swans, is pretty much my idea of a living hell.

Still, the waiters did their best to improve things by bringing us the wrong wine, then trying to charge us $38 for the privilege, then expecting a tip when they eventually got it right. The food meanwhile was quite posh. Well it came in small portions anyway. I basically received a slice of quiche, a small bit of cod, and some pieces of apple, while Lisa ordered the chocolate dessert, only to be presented with a pot of white chocolate... which she can't stand. The menu obviously felt it wasn't worth mentioning.

By the end I was considering launching one of the lifeboats and heading back to Texas, but hey, this was only the first day. Things could get a lot worse...

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be Janne Niinimaa.Ignore the smoke, and the badly dressed figure emerging from a giant star - it's not an episode of 'Stars in Their Eyes', this is actually a shot taken from last night's ice hockey game between the Dallas Stars and the Nashville Predators. Not a shot taken by me, obviously, because we were in the cheap seats about half a mile from the ice, with grandstand views of the tops of twelve men's heads, but I have it on good authority that this is none other than Janne Niinimaa, ice hockey player extraordinaire, and a man with more vowels than he knows what to do with.

Of course, cheap seats didn't actually matter, because this game was played at the American Airlines Center in Dallas, which apparently has "more digital signs than any other sports and entertainment center". So we had a pretty good view of all the adverts.

Anyhoo, this was my first experience of American ice hockey, and naturally I couldn't be expected to know which team was likely to win. So before leaving, I went online and put five quid on the draw. I stood to win £17.50, which spookily enough was the price of my ticket, so I knew it was written in the (Dallas) stars that I'd come away victorious. Particularly when it was still 1-1 at the end of the second period. And I would have won too, were it not for some scandalous refereeing decisions. Frankly it should be illegal to award a goal to the home team with nine tenths of a second left on the clock. I nearly choked on my pizza.

But anyway, highlights of the evening included:

  • Having to tell my sister that the song being sung at the start of the game was the American national anthem. She's only lived in the country for three years. And to be honest, I still don't think she believed me when I told her it's called 'The Star Spangled Banner'.
  • Nearly jumping out of my skin when 30,000 people shouted "Stars!" every time the word 'star' cropped up in the national anthem.
  • Trying to alert Big Sis and Lisa to the fact that we were on the big screen in front of said 30,000 people, only to find them engrossed in my last blog post on Sis's handheld PC.
  • Being the only person in the arena who celebrated when Dallas had a goal disallowed.
  • Finding out that punch-ups between players are accompanied by jaunty music over the PA.
  • Sis using her handheld PC to look up the rules of ice hockey, and informing us halfway through the game that when the puck goes in the net, it's a goal.
  • Recouping £1 of my £5 loss by betting Lisa that there are only three periods in an ice hockey game. She was "one hundred per cent certain" there are four.
  • Getting a voucher for a free taco, only to be told by Sis that she wouldn't allow me to eat it in her car, her house, her pool, or basically within a hundred miles of her.

So all in all it was a good night out. A bit of music, some fisticuffs, two pizzas, some gambling, and three hours of ice skating, all accompanied by one constant question from my companions:

"What's going on?"

You can't ask for much more than that.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Howdy! (That's Texan for hello). Well we made it, and I'm out of the hot tub long enough to cobble together a blog post. We may have been here less than 48 hours, but I've already had my money's worth out of the £3 swimming shorts I bought at Asda on Friday night. They may be a hideous shade of green, but I'm hoping the chlorine in Big Sis's swimming pool will ruin the colour.

Anyhoo, despite talking to Lisa on the phone ten hours before we were due to meet at Gatwick and finding she hadn't packed yet, we successfully made our flight to Dallas on Saturday morning. I was sat next to a middle-aged woman who was fortunately less chatty than last year's example, though she did steal Lisa's headphones, put them on, and then call the stewardess to complain that there was no sound coming through. The stewardess, to her credit, failed to notice that the woman was wearing a set of headphones that weren't actually plugged in to anything, and immediately went and rebooted the plane's entire inflight entertainment system. Which is the kind of quality service you only get with British Airways.

Having watched 'North Country' (anti-man bilge), 'Wallace & Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit' (cute but slightly disappointing) and 'The Island' (like a live-action Roadrunner cartoon with Sean Bean as Wile E Coyote and Ewan McGregor going 'Beep Beep'), I awoke Lisa, who'd dropped off half way through 'North Country' and never really recovered, and we made our way through passport control and baggage reclaim, and into the welcoming arms of a waiting Big Sis.

Well, we would've done if she'd been there. Fortunately she was only half an hour late, and claimed it was because she'd been cleaning our room - a cunning ploy to stop us complaining. A forty minute drive and we were back at Sis's house - her third in three years, and the first to have a swimming pool. She still claims poverty, and insists her lifestyle doesn't stem from being rich, but is merely a result of the low cost of living in Texas, but when you've swum in a heated pool and then sipped white wine by moonlight in a 100 degree hot tub overlooking a lake, you do start to wonder if your sister has money. And if she's planning to remember you in her will.

So in an effort to get in with the one member of my family who's clearly going places (no offence to all the others), Lisa and I agreed to attend Big Sis's church on Sunday morning, where she was performing a flute solo to accompany the collection of money. Unfortunately we had reckoned without...

... this man, who stood up at the beginning and announced that there were two visitors from overseas, before adding "See if you can find them!". You've never seen such a look of terror on two people's faces. We considered making a run for it, but when a 'two-minute meet & greet' turns into a fifteen-minute stampede to shake your hand and tell you how great your accent is, it's hard to slip out the back door. But anyway, it all turned out fine, and we were glad we went. Although Lisa did say that if there was an evening service as well, she might have to shoot herself.

Anyway, turning down an invitation to attend 'Pizza with the Pastor' next Sunday morning, we escaped to the Chandler's Landing Yacht Club for lunch with Big Sis and J, the piano-playing hymn-singing band-leading member of the church, whose job is still being advertised on their website. They obviously don't expect him to hang around.

The last time I visited the CLYC, they served Sis a vegetarian salad with bacon, but hey, that was two years ago, and things have clearly changed since then. This time they served J a turkey wrap with no turkey.

From there it was on to the Firewheel Town Center, which is America's idea of a quaint British high street. They only built it last year, and strangely all the doors open outwards, meaning that every time you leave a shop, you smack someone in the face as they're walking past. Bit of a design fault, that. But undeterred, Lisa and I began the holiday as we mean to go on, by heading straight for the Cold Stone Creamery and eating ice cream for half an hour.

We made our way back via Circuit City, pushed our way past the employees shouting at the Superbowl on TV, and watched Big Sis purchase her fourth iPod. Having repeatedly dropped her first one on the ground until it broke, and left her second one in a hotel room, she recently put her third one through the washing machine, meaning she's now onto number four. As she said herself, she's single-handedly funding Apple's research into MP3 players. They really ought to name the next model 'The Big Sis'. And preferably make it waterproof.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Right, I'm off to America. In the words of Lisa the other day, "We have tickets for Texas!". Of course, she was referring to a concert at the Brighton Centre in May, but the sentiment remains the same. We're leaving 15 hours apart because, well frankly I live further from the airport. My trip includes a one-night stopover in Chelmsford for refuelling (mostly trifle and J2O's), before the final leg of the journey via Gatwick tomorrow morning. So I need to get a move on.

It's the wrong time to be leaving though, because as I speak there's a giant Dutch removal van parked outside, and a young couple (possibly clog makers, Edam sellers, porn stars, or any other predictable stereotype I can think of) are moving in to one of the neighbouring flats. They obviously heard I was moving out, and knew property prices were bound to shoot up.

I can't say I like their hideous aubergine curtains (though I'm sure they go well with the scarlet sofa), but I do like the way my nosey neighbour in number 3 has been out there for a good half hour pretending to check the oil in his car, just so he can get a good look at them. He should be more like me, and simply pull a chair up to the window.

But on the bright side, the husband has an even bigger guitar amplifier than I do. On the downside, he has a goatee. Which he insists on stroking all the time. Frankly he looks like a Bond villain.

I should stop now, in case thay have internet access.

Right, I'd better be off. But before I go, breaking news of the unexpected kind: Blogger's 'Blogs of Note' is finally featuring a blog worth visiting. I know, I couldn't believe it either. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnhhhh.blogspot.com. Well it made me laugh anyway.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

I'm supposed to be packing my flip-flops, not writing pointless blog posts, but I was just listening to the radio, and heard an interview with one Susan Scott, of the Susan Scott Lookalike Agency, who was plugging her website, and repeatedly mentioning the fact that she has Celebrity Big Brother winner and Kandyfloss frontwoman, Chantelle, on her books as a Paris Hilton lookalike. Which is the kind of news it's impossible to ignore when you have an internet connection less than three feet away.

Anyway, Chantelle is indeed there, but far more entertaining are the other uncanny likenesses on display. I've just spent an enjoyable half hour browsing through mugshots of some of the most deluded people you're ever likely to meet.

So without further ado, I give you...

It's Pete Waterman!And David Baddiel!















... Pete Waterman and David Baddiel!

Marvellous.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

It's Wednesday, which of course means my weekly e-mail from the Advertising Standards Authority, outlining the pointless cases they've been wasting their time on important work they've been carrying out this week, so here we go with another in my occasional series entitled "Where Do People Find the Time?"...

COMPLAINT:
"A TV ad for Gamestation promoted a game called "Ultimate Spider Man" as their "Steal of the Week". It showed a woman unable to recall the name of the game she had intended to buy. She said "Hiya, I'm looking for the man with the pointy ears." The assistant said "Oh right, do you mean Kevin?" and pointed towards the cashier. She said "No, no, he's a superhero. He's err climbing, I'm always climbing buildings me. Pshoo! Pshoo!" and stuck out her arms in a theatrical way. The assistant said "Oh, Ultimate Spider Man!" and took it down from the shelf. She said "Yeah! Thanks." The voiceover said "Get the right game this Christmas, send your mum to Gamestation."

A viewer complained that the ad was trying to persuade children to pressurise their parents into visiting Gamestation to buy their games."


And on the subject of adverts, I'm becoming increasingly irritated by the ad for Colgate Total Plus Whitening toothpaste, where "Paul Khanna, Screenwriter" insists on telling me about his yellowing teeth every twenty minutes throughout the day when I'm trying to enjoy Des & Mel (a futile task, I admit). I'm particularly irritated by the fact that I've never heard of this giant of British cinema, despite being someone who always takes note of the writer's name on every film I ever see.

So I've just looked up Mr Khanna on the IMDB. Naturally I was hoping he wouldn't be there, so that I could say "I Khanna find him" in a Scottish accent, but as it happens, Paul Khanna is a bona fide screenwriter.

He's written one film.

Which lasted four minutes.

Featured one actor.

And cost $10.

So it's no wonder he's looking for work in adverts.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

It's not until you clear out all your kitchen cupboards in preparation for moving, that you realise just how much food you have that was best before 2003. And to be honest, I'm sure I've used that nutmeg in the last six months, so I was a bit disappointed to find it expired in June 2001. But the real quandary has to be those four tins of baked beans that should have been used by last November. To me that's borderline. So I may still eat them.

But I've chucked out everything else, so my kitchen now looks like it's been hit by a famine. My gran had a better stocked larder at the height of rationing. I'm also trying to cut down to the barest essentials to enable me to move from a 10' by 11' kitchen to one the size of a phone box, so I'm spending a lot of time trying to decide whether I really need seven wooden spoons and three mixing bowls. My current thinking is yes, but I may have to change that.

I also read a quote the other day from the 19th century scientist Louis Agassiz, who apparently said "I cannot afford to waste my time making money". I feel that sums up my life quite well. Of course, Louis was probably thinking more along the lines of his scientific research being more important than any attempts to get rich, whereas I'd just rather go on holiday.

So with that in mind, I've spent the last couple of days discussing possible excursions with my Big Sis and Lisa. We leave for Texas on Saturday, but Sis has booked us onto a heavily discounted four-day all-you-can-eat cruise, which leaves a week on Thursday and sails to Cozumel in Mexico. Once there, you have the option of leaving behind the free food, disembarking, and handing over large amounts of cash for the chance to go on an overpriced excursion.

Current favourite is the 'Hideaway Beach Boat Adventure', where for just $94 per person you get to drive your own two-seater speedboat around the Cozumel coast to "a hidden [though hopefully not that hidden] lagoon and beach". Big Sis is keen to go snorkelling, and is packing the flippers as we speak, while I had just about managed to convince myself that taking the wheel of a speedboat after just a five-minute "safety orientation", is perfectly sensible and safe...

... at which point I sent a jokey e-mail to Lisa saying "Where was Kirsty McColl on holiday when she was hit by a speedboat?"

I chuckled at my own wit. Then decided to look up the answer on the internet.

Yup, it was Cozumel. And she was snorkelling at the time. Apparently plans to rename the 'Hideaway Beach Boat Adventure' as 'The Kirsty McColl Death Tour' were shelved at the last moment. Well ok, that last bit might not be strictly true. But it's good to know that in the wake (no pun intended) of a tragic accident, they're still willing to let idiots like me drive speedboats past scuba-diving siblings for $94. Money well spent in my opinion. Though I'd be quite disappointed if I killed my sister. I wouldn't get any more free holidays in America.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Things I'll Miss About Shotley Gate When I Move to Brighton, #1:

D'oh! A deer!Walking down the road at 7:50pm on a Saturday night and having a deer trot out of someone's front garden five yards away, and wander across the road right in front of you. I've met dogs that are less tame. Frankly I could've ridden the thing. And to be honest, I wish I had.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Sign of the times.It's a sign I tell you, a sign! No really, it is. And as of this morning it's standing outside the Brighton des-res which will be mine, all mine (well, my brother's - it's a small detail) in a matter of weeks. Which is what happens when your mother calls up the estate agents on the phone posing as a rival buyer to see if they're still showing people around. They obviously didn't want the likes of her ringing them up again, so they rushed straight down there with a placard.

Anyway, it's encouraging to know that Wyatt and his son can be trusted not to aid any local gazumpers. Or maybe it's just my Mum they don't want to talk to. But either way, it was good to see that sold sign when I drove Lisa to work this morning. Even if the excitement nearly made me hit a bus.

In other news, I had visual confirmation yesterday of the sterling work being done by local people to assist those unlucky enough to receive a parking ticket. Sitting on the wall outside Lisa's place of work at lunchtime, I chose to pass the time by looking at a nearby car with the numberplate P491 GRD, and trying to convince myself that if I squinted hard enough, I could make it say 'Phil Gardner'. I'm easily entertained. Anyhoo, the car was parked on double yellow lines, and had a parking ticket tucked under the windscreen wiper. At least it did for a little while...

As I sat there squinting, three teenage girls, one of whom was wearing a pink tracksuit top and looked suspiciously like Vicki Pollard, came strolling down the road, and as they passed the car with the personalised numberplate, the Pollard girl snatched up the parking ticket, read it as they walked down the hill, then screwed it up, put it in her pocket, and disappeared into the Jobcentre. Presumably to check for any vacancies at the local Chavs R Us.

Clearly the girl's intention was to save the car's owner from the stress and trauma of finding out he'd been fined. It's a form of community service (and let's face it, I'm sure she's no stranger to that). Of course, she was also saving him from the chance of getting a £30 reduction for paying promptly, but hey, ignorance is bliss, and besides, what's £30 compared to the joy of returning to your car and finding you've got away scot free with your illegal parking? It's a small price to pay for happiness, and I'm sure he'll thank her for it in the long run.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Well I'm back in Brighton, but sadly just for a long weekend. If only the British flat-buying process was as quick as the Thai legal system. To be honest I was lucky to get here alive, having driven across the Dartford Bridge on Friday afternoon with my eyes permanently on the river below, trying to do a bit of whale-watching at 50mph. Sadly I didn't see any large mammals thrashing about in the water, but it did remind me to ask Lisa if she's taking her bikini to America next month.

Having arrived safely, I spent Friday evening trying to conquer a castle with the help of a plastic dinosaur, only to be foiled by a two-year-old armed with a mole. I feel I would have done better if I hadn't listened to Nephew #1 who insisted I scale the ramparts in front of the mole's bedroom window, and try to breathe fire through the drawbridge. I don't think I'll play that game again.

On Saturday, Lisa and I made our way into town, where we successfully got a refund for my dead MP3 player, spent £30 on some visitor parking permits, and bought a suitcase for Lisa's bikini. We're due to head off to my Big Sis's house in Texas in just 12 days time, so we're naturally both keen to get into shape for our holiday, hence Lisa's purchase of Paul McKenna's mighty tome 'I Can Make You Thin'. It comes complete with a mind-altering CD, so having abandoned Lisa's mother in front of the snooker in the living room for half an hour, we settled down for some deep breathing and self-hypnosis. Personally I felt the subliminal weight loss messages were just beginning to get through to my subconcious mind, when Lisa's Mum shouted through the door "Phil, do you want a biscuit?". Which is perhaps not the best thing to ask in the middle of a mind-altering slimming CD. I've been craving custard creams ever since.

On the bright side however, I did find out on Saturday that the Brighton branch of Poundland have excelled themselves. Back in May I discovered that you can buy a pregnancy testing kit for a pound. Well no more. Now you can a twin pack of pregnancy testing kits for a pound. And they come complete with disposable plastic cups for you to collect your sample. So at 50p a go, and plastic cups included, they're clearly designed for people who don't have a pot to piss in. Naturally I bought one. You can't pass up a bargain like that.

I spent Sunday morning in bed with a bit of crumpet, which was very nice. Lisa had grilled it to within an inch of its life, but hey, if you find your bloke in bed with his lips around a greasy tart, you're going to ask a few questions. After that, we were invited out by Lisa's sister, brother-in-law and three nephews for an evening out in Newhaven at a pub/restaurant called The Drove. Naturally we went by car. Although apparently people are abandoning the place in... um... large numbers. Anyhoo, a nice time was had by all, and I was able to chat at length to Nephew #1 who was keen to fill me in on his day. It turned out he'd been to the video game shop to exchange his unwanted games, in particular 'Devil May Cry 2', which, he informed me, was rubbish, difficult to play, no fun at all, and a complete waste of money. So I asked him what he'd swapped it for. Answer: 'Devil May Cry 3'. I'm sure there's some kind of logic there.

Monday, January 16, 2006

I realise that the entertainment value of my blog has increased significantly since I stopped coming here, and the number of comments seems to have grown by a factor of three, but sadly all good things must come to an end. So I'm back. Hurrah! But only for the day. I wouldn't want it to become a habit.

Anyhoo, the exciting news of the week is that the schedule outlined in my last post is coming true before my very eyes, and as of this morning, my brother's insultingly low opening offer for the one-bedroom flat in Brighton has been accepted. Which either means the vendor recognises that we're a tough-talking, no-compromising flat-buying force to be reckoned with, and to even consider haggling over the price would be futile... or there's something dodgy about the flat and he's desperate to offload it. I'm sure it's the former.

But for now I'm just a survey and a solicitor away from filling this kitchen with Weight Watchers ready meals and tins of tuna. Yes, I know it's a little small, but it does come with its own fire extinguisher, and let's not forget that Lisa is fire extinguisher trained. So I might let her cook me some miracle weight loss lasagne.

On the downside, it doesn't have any windows, meaning I may have to bid farewell to my lovely cow-duck-and-chicken-festooned kitchen curtains. Which would clearly be a wrench.

It's a good time to be moving to Brighton though, as the local Bears are on the verge of getting a Celebrity Big Brother. Sadly it's not George Galloway, but even so, I wouldn't mind living next door to Dennis Rodman.

In other news, I had an interesting Friday the 13th, when I discovered this page on the BBC website at about 7pm, decided it was fate that I'd stumbled across an appeal for sketches from a comedy group I'd never have heard of were it not for the fact that Dave links to them, and due to the similar number of letters in 'Mulled Whines' and 'Bearded Ladies', we're side by side on his blog, and I'd found the page just five hours before the deadline date... and therefore decided to spend the entire evening typing out a sketch in radio format.

Unfortunately, being Friday the 13th, I naturally had a malfunction in the BBC's radio script template, resulting in the loss of half the sketch, a swift retype, a lot of crisp-eating, irritable muttering, and a final submission via e-mail at 11pm. At which point my MP3 player blew up. And to think some people say there's nothing in this superstition thing...

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

As it turned out, we didn't see 14 flats on Saturday. But only due to estate agents merrily cancelling appointments at the last minute, and another named Warren who failed to turn up altogether. I expect he was too busy rabbitting on the phone (you have time of think of puns like that when you're left standing outside a house for half an hour).

But having been shown around a two bedroom flat on four levels by the wrong estate agent, we did manage to return to the flat pictured in my last post, which, it turns out, my Mum and I weren't actually meant to see on Thursday. Apparently the appointment had been cancelled, but by a stroke of good fortune the message failed to get through and the estate agent was too polite to say anything, so we managed to force our way in after all. Which, if you ask me, is fate, because as we speak my brother is putting in an offer on that very flat, which will no doubt be accepted, the survey will reveal no problems, the tenant will move out within a week, and I'll be in by March. What could possibly go wrong? (Don't answer that).

Unfortunately it means blog posts will probably be thin on the ground for a while. In addition to packing up the contents of a two-bedroom flat and trying to make it fit into a one-bedroom flat half the size, I need to make sure I can afford to move to Brighton in the first place. Which means spending more time buying lottery tickets. So for the time being, blogging is on the back burner.

But I'll leave you with a link courtesy of my sister, who's meant to be on a work-related trip to Florida, but seems to be spending all her time watching 10-minute infomercials on TV. Which is how she discovered Doggy Steps. Of course, working on the principal that 'Sporty Spice' refers to Mel C, I was expecting 'Doggy Steps' to be a site about Lisa Scott-Lee. But apparently it's not. It does however feature a product (not available in stores) (I wonder why) which apparently "gives your pet freedom from the floor". A helicopter would have a similar effect of course, but you can't get one of those for $39.99.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Well the bad news is I'm £73.50 poorer, but on the plus side I now have two brand new tyres on my car... which is still parked outside Lisa's flat, making an appealing target for any returning stalkers and slashers. I also can't help feeling slightly suspicious that the replacement tyre centre turned out to be only a few hundred yards away. Frankly if the boss of ATS isn't sending out his staff to sabotage the tyres of nearby residents in an attempt to drum up business, then he should be.

But fortunately it takes more than a puncture to deflate me (not strictly true, but I'm trying to be resilient), so with a spring in my step and an AA card in my pocket, I succesfully bounced back (which is more than my slashed tyre did when I kicked it) and managed to keep all nine flat-viewing appointments I had yesterday. And the good news is, we may just have found the flat for me. Although obviously I'm saying that without consulting my brother, who's actually buying the thing. But give it a couple of months and I could be living here...

Who would live in a place like this?... well, round the back of here. It's a one bedroom flat with no separate kitchen, and costs £130,000. Which for Brighton is quite good. God, I'm depressed. But hey, it's not my money. I only have to find the rent. Anyhoo, it's conveniently situated directly opposite the school attended by Chris Eubank's children, meaning he can pop in for coffee every day when he parks outside in the Hummer, and is only 50 yards from a children's daycare centre. So when Lisa and I have kids, they can walk to nursery on their own. It's also close to Lisa's work, Lisa's mother, the town centre and the seafront. So frankly I could sell my car. Which is now worth at least £73.50.

Further down the list of potential abodes... a lot further down the list... was the property which the owners had cunningly billed as a two bedroom flat by describing the open area outside the kitchen as 'the living room' and the living room as 'the master bedroom', thus enabling them to get a second bedroom out of the cupboard at the end of the hall. Unfortunately there were three Indian tenants living there, one wouldn't let us into the bathroom, one wouldn't let us into the bedroom, and the whole place smelt of curry. So I don't think we'll be putting in an offer.

But having viewed nine flats in one afternoon with the assistance of my mother, and being more tired than Charles Kennedy since the start of 24-hour drinking, I'm due to hit the streets again tomorrow, this time with my brother and sister-in-law, for what's currently looking like 14 viewings in 6 hours. Which is one in the eye for the estate agent who said she wouldn't recommend seeing more than four in one day. Anyone would think I was keen to move down here...

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Nothing sets you up better for a day when you have appointments to view nine flats in the area, than waking up to find that someone's slashed your car tyres with a big knife. It's like saying "Welcome to Brighton. Move right in!". Frankly it was probably the Brighton & Hove Parking Department out for revenge. But all I can say is thank god for the AA. They're the fifth emergency service. After police, fire, ambulance, and pizza delivery man.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

It's 2006! Hurrah! Naturally I'm a couple of days late for the actual new year celebrations, but I've had important business to attend to. I've been busy lying in bed while Lisa plucks out my grey chest hairs. And I can tell you now - it's hard to write when you're in that much pain. Technically 2006 is my fifth year of blogging, which is a bit of an achievement, although needless to say I've long since deleted the few posts I wrote in April 2002 on the grounds that they were clearly rubbish and contained too many references to nuns.

So far, the new year has brought with it much exciting news, most importantly the naming of Lisa's third nephew. After only five weeks of life, and one quick phone call from the midwife to inform Lisa's sister and brother-in-law that legally speaking they can't just keep calling him 'the baby' for the rest of his life, they've fnally settled on a name. Unfortunately, seeing as I have a policy of not naming any members of Lisa's family on this blog, I can't tell you what it is. But his middle name suggests a liking for bacon. So it's either Kevin, Porky or Babe.

I'm also quite excited, because I've wrested The Sun from Lisa's mother this morning and read Mystic Meg's predictions for 2006, which feature this bit of news for Leos like myself...

"DATES WITH DESTINY: Meetings on the 5th and 14th of any month at a race track, a casino, during a job interview and taking part in a reality TV show."

So the year ahead not only includes a lot of gambling, but I'm going to be on Big Brother too. I can't ask for much more than that. Although the BB house might be a bit full with a twelfth of the population in there.

Anyhoo, as we speak I'm in Brighton, as I was when I last blogged on Thursday. But in between I escorted Lisa back to Shotley Gate for three days, where she plied me with drink and tackled the seven signs of aging with an assault on my chest. I also managed to win £1.37 on the horses and eat a lot of mince pies. So I've started the year as I mean to go on.