Tampilkan postingan dengan label Martin. Tampilkan semua postingan
Tampilkan postingan dengan label Martin. Tampilkan semua postingan
Selasa, 20 Desember 2011
Senin, 24 Oktober 2011
The mice will play
Are you a man or a mouse? That’s how the saying goes, is it not?
Well, while the cat’s away, the mice will play. So for those strange, odd, hard to come by, weekends when your other half decides to go an, apparently, relaxing weekend away with her girl pals, I’m definitely quite happy to be called the latter. Friday night was spent watching movies from the comfort of the living room couch, with a bag of Jalepeno Doritos and a couple of cans of coke. Saturday was spent in the pub with two of the other ‘mice’ and Chaz followed by a night of Xbox, and Sunday, lying in bed, vaguely hungover, watching more movies with a couple of mugs of tea and a healthy dose of toast and cheese.
How often do I get an opportunity like that? I’m never lazy like that. Surely, an opportunity not to be missed. How often do I get to laze around in such a fashion?, I asked myself defensively as I lay watching the high octane thrills of Robert De Niro and Jean Reno in 'Ronin'.
Ka was over in Ayr, supposedly for a relaxing weekend away. Eight females in a caravan, with wine, a Chinese takeaway and X Factor. Good luck to them (and they needed it by the sounds of things!). Iain, Martin or myself should have perhaps considered phoning up and warning the campsite at Craig Tara what they were in for. Maybe put the local police on standby and increased Ayr’s own personal current threat level to ‘Severe’.
While they were away enjoying themselves, Iain, Martin, Chaz and myself met up in the local Shenanigans for more than a few Saturday afternoon pints, followed by pizza, chips and more beer, back in the Dunn household, where the Xbox was switched on.
Before leaving the town we made a quick trip to Sainsburys and three of us chipped in and bought a second controller for the console, paying a tenner for the mere pleasure of taking part in a game of FIFA. Still, I can’t complain, it was cheaper than staying out all night and Martin turned out to be a fantastic host, immediately firing two pizzas into the oven upon our arrival home, swiftly followed by a mass of oven chips.
By the time 1am came round though I had managed to gain a horrendous headache and the drink was no longer going down. It could have been the prolonged exposure to alcohol, which my body seems no longer used to, or it could have been the constant staring at the subbuteo sized players running around the large screen tv, without my glasses on. Which is basically what FIFA is, a modernised, souped-up, 2D version of Subbuteo (how long till it’s 3D though?).
The headache could also have been the constant losing matches I was playing through, out matched and out classed by the games console aficionados I was socialising with on the night. Chaz, Martin and Iain’s conversations would often veer away into some kind of games language, using words and titles that are not even in my vocabulary. Discussing various button combinations, new game titles or the latest realistic depiction of a Ford Escort Cosworth’s dashboard.
I’ve never understood all that raving about games graphics. No matter how realistic a game’s graphics are supposed to be, I have never considered them so realistic that I have found them ‘as if your sitting right there, in the driver’s seat’. I’ve always hesitantly lied in agreement with other players, mentally shrugging and playing on, unable to shake the fact that I am not actually sitting at the wheel of a Porsche 911 but in a living room, on a couch, with a games console controller in both hands, two wee sticks and four coloured buttons to control the movement of my supposed vehicle.
I’ve never been a gamer though. The only reason I’ve got a PS3 is because Kenny gave me his before he went off, travelling to Oz. Maybe he’s trying to convert me.
I had a PS2 before that and that was only because it was off the back of a lorry. A woman in my Mum’s work sold it to me. The whole time I’ve had it I think I only owned a grand total of five games for it.
When the the fantastic FIFA graphics became a green blur with annoying dots and the headache became unbearable, even more so than the FIFA commentators, I had to call time at around half one and head home, collapsing into a wifeless bed at around 2am on Saturday morning. I didn’t even finish my first Amaretto. Chaz and I, had thought it a good idea to chip in for a bottle of the almond flavoured liqueur before heading back to Martin’s abode and after only half a glass of the sweet, almondy goodness, Chaz has whisked it away to the McKell household. I probably owe him that though considering the Morgan’s Spiced bottles he has previously left unattended at my flat and come back a few weeks later to discover it gone, the bottle long recycled by way of the brown wheelie bin downstairs.
It certainly moves faster than that Barcelona team I was trying to control on Saturday night anyway. Kenny would be ashamed.
Well, while the cat’s away, the mice will play. So for those strange, odd, hard to come by, weekends when your other half decides to go an, apparently, relaxing weekend away with her girl pals, I’m definitely quite happy to be called the latter. Friday night was spent watching movies from the comfort of the living room couch, with a bag of Jalepeno Doritos and a couple of cans of coke. Saturday was spent in the pub with two of the other ‘mice’ and Chaz followed by a night of Xbox, and Sunday, lying in bed, vaguely hungover, watching more movies with a couple of mugs of tea and a healthy dose of toast and cheese.
How often do I get an opportunity like that? I’m never lazy like that. Surely, an opportunity not to be missed. How often do I get to laze around in such a fashion?, I asked myself defensively as I lay watching the high octane thrills of Robert De Niro and Jean Reno in 'Ronin'.
Ka was over in Ayr, supposedly for a relaxing weekend away. Eight females in a caravan, with wine, a Chinese takeaway and X Factor. Good luck to them (and they needed it by the sounds of things!). Iain, Martin or myself should have perhaps considered phoning up and warning the campsite at Craig Tara what they were in for. Maybe put the local police on standby and increased Ayr’s own personal current threat level to ‘Severe’.
While they were away enjoying themselves, Iain, Martin, Chaz and myself met up in the local Shenanigans for more than a few Saturday afternoon pints, followed by pizza, chips and more beer, back in the Dunn household, where the Xbox was switched on.
Before leaving the town we made a quick trip to Sainsburys and three of us chipped in and bought a second controller for the console, paying a tenner for the mere pleasure of taking part in a game of FIFA. Still, I can’t complain, it was cheaper than staying out all night and Martin turned out to be a fantastic host, immediately firing two pizzas into the oven upon our arrival home, swiftly followed by a mass of oven chips.
By the time 1am came round though I had managed to gain a horrendous headache and the drink was no longer going down. It could have been the prolonged exposure to alcohol, which my body seems no longer used to, or it could have been the constant staring at the subbuteo sized players running around the large screen tv, without my glasses on. Which is basically what FIFA is, a modernised, souped-up, 2D version of Subbuteo (how long till it’s 3D though?).
The headache could also have been the constant losing matches I was playing through, out matched and out classed by the games console aficionados I was socialising with on the night. Chaz, Martin and Iain’s conversations would often veer away into some kind of games language, using words and titles that are not even in my vocabulary. Discussing various button combinations, new game titles or the latest realistic depiction of a Ford Escort Cosworth’s dashboard.
I’ve never understood all that raving about games graphics. No matter how realistic a game’s graphics are supposed to be, I have never considered them so realistic that I have found them ‘as if your sitting right there, in the driver’s seat’. I’ve always hesitantly lied in agreement with other players, mentally shrugging and playing on, unable to shake the fact that I am not actually sitting at the wheel of a Porsche 911 but in a living room, on a couch, with a games console controller in both hands, two wee sticks and four coloured buttons to control the movement of my supposed vehicle.
I’ve never been a gamer though. The only reason I’ve got a PS3 is because Kenny gave me his before he went off, travelling to Oz. Maybe he’s trying to convert me.
I had a PS2 before that and that was only because it was off the back of a lorry. A woman in my Mum’s work sold it to me. The whole time I’ve had it I think I only owned a grand total of five games for it.
When the the fantastic FIFA graphics became a green blur with annoying dots and the headache became unbearable, even more so than the FIFA commentators, I had to call time at around half one and head home, collapsing into a wifeless bed at around 2am on Saturday morning. I didn’t even finish my first Amaretto. Chaz and I, had thought it a good idea to chip in for a bottle of the almond flavoured liqueur before heading back to Martin’s abode and after only half a glass of the sweet, almondy goodness, Chaz has whisked it away to the McKell household. I probably owe him that though considering the Morgan’s Spiced bottles he has previously left unattended at my flat and come back a few weeks later to discover it gone, the bottle long recycled by way of the brown wheelie bin downstairs.
It certainly moves faster than that Barcelona team I was trying to control on Saturday night anyway. Kenny would be ashamed.
Kamis, 17 Februari 2011
Cookies on call
Just back from Dunblane. Ka and myself stayed at the Doubletree Dunblane Hydro, a monster of a hotel perched on a large hill at the edge of Dunblane village. As Ka and myself drove up the winding road towards the front of the building we couldn't help but be impressed by the large Victorian structure with it's towering height standing over us like a traditional hollywood style haunted house or murder mystery setting. One of the best things was the greeting at reception.
Standing on the plush carpets before the tall wooden panelled reception desks we were greeted with, not only genuine friendly smiles and offers of help with luggage, but also, most importantly, a large, steaming hot chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven wrapped up in a thin paper envelope. The receptionist had just pulled them out from a small storage unit under her desk. No wonder she was all smiles. What a fantastic perk to the job. Chocolate cookies on call. As we waited on the elevator to take us up to the top floor, the beautiful stench of cookie filled the air. The need for tea grew within me as we waited with the cookie smell wafting around me. The champagne we'd brought for our overnight stay could wait. Tea had to be made immediately in order to accompany this smoking hot baby.
Of course, Ka opted for coffee, (that ain't right is it?) and after enjoying our 40 grams of fat in cookie form we thought we'd walk the dietary sin off by exploring Dunblane. A town we'd never visited before and were curious to have a walk around. We returned to our rooms an hour later, considering a trip to Stirling. From what we could see, Dunblane has a Cathedral, and a Tesco. Oh, and a Railway Station, presumably for escaping by, sorry commuting by. That's about it.
After our short walk we opted to stay in the hotel and take advantage of it's amenities enjoying a dip in the pool and a sweat in the steam room, all the while I mulled over the location of the Doubletree chocolate cookie factory. Could it have been in the Hydro's basement, with small serving lifts rising the cookies up into the receptionists desks, just in time to serve to the lucky arriving guests?
Could Celebrity tv chef, Nick Nairn have had a hand in creating the cookies?
Ka and myself dined in the luxurious setting of The Kailyard, Nick Nairn's Restaurant, housed within the hotel. Beautiful meals of duck and tagliatelle served with a nice, crisp Pinot Grigio (crisp, hmm, I may become a wine connoisseaur yet). We then retired to our room where we danced to the final tunes from a dying iPod and ate strawberries with champagne.
The breakfast, this morning, was immense. Tables of cereal, freshly cut fruit, bacon, sausage, egg, scrambled and fried, potato scone, porridge and whisky, racks and racks of toast and baskets of chocolate chip muffins. Muffins, but no cookies. The cookies were disappointingly absent at breakfast.
After breakfast we went for another swim in the hotel's pool which was more of a challenge than yesterday, as it seemed far more difficult to keep myself afloat after my platefuls of food in the past 24 hours, not to mention champagne and wine.
All in all, not bad for a short Valentines break.
A Valentines all kicked off on Sunday night by a visit to Tricia and Tommy's.
Tricia was on a mission. Ka, Lynsey Ann and myself walked into her house only to be bombarded by a plethora or hearts. Tricia had transformed her living room into a Valentines wonderland with candles, confetti, balloons and paper hearts hanging from the ceiling in coloured, curving, twisting, acetate papers. Tricia had went to town with it all presumably just stopping short before she had painted it red. Christopher and Martin hummed in quiet but amused disapproval, well used to their Mum's fantastic enthusiasm. After dinner Tricia had organised a game of Mr & Mrs for the gathered couples. All two of them. Tricia and Tommy themselves and Ka and myself. Chris, Martin and Lynsey Ann opted out, thankful, for a change, that they were single.
After around twenty questions, with a possible 300 points up for grabs, Tommy and Tricia managed to win the game. Winning only by a mere five points I should add but with totals, which Chris quickly pointed out, that were not even a third of the possible total. A miserable performance by both parties. As a luxury item of clothing I thought Ka would have preferred a pair of her boots to underwear but hey, what do I know? Not enough, as it would turn out. It was the iMac on a desert island and the purple pants that tripped me up. How was I to know that particular desert island would have no electricity supply?
As a result of the Valentines games we all won a prize regardless of how bad our result was. The girls all got various items of smelly stuff and chocolates whilst I got a large, heavy wrapped box. Puzzled, I started unwrapping my present, nervously laughing upon revealing the Mr. Men Library.
A boxed collection of every Mr.Men title by the late, great Roger Hargreaves. The reason I was nervously laughing is because I immediately became slightly emotional as the Mr. Men Collection had been the one thing I had informed Ka would be the first purchase I would personnally make for Baby Reid's own library. Obviously I did not bring everyone down at the dinner table by mentioning this as Tricia started telling of how she always used to read the tale of Mr Tickle to me as a wee tyke.
Mr. Tickle had hands on enormous long arms, with which he could reach people from far off and give them a damn good tickle. Mr Tickle could also lie in his bed and reach downstairs, into his kitchen and get himself a cookie from the jar. He'd have loved the Dunblane Hydro!
Standing on the plush carpets before the tall wooden panelled reception desks we were greeted with, not only genuine friendly smiles and offers of help with luggage, but also, most importantly, a large, steaming hot chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven wrapped up in a thin paper envelope. The receptionist had just pulled them out from a small storage unit under her desk. No wonder she was all smiles. What a fantastic perk to the job. Chocolate cookies on call. As we waited on the elevator to take us up to the top floor, the beautiful stench of cookie filled the air. The need for tea grew within me as we waited with the cookie smell wafting around me. The champagne we'd brought for our overnight stay could wait. Tea had to be made immediately in order to accompany this smoking hot baby.
Of course, Ka opted for coffee, (that ain't right is it?) and after enjoying our 40 grams of fat in cookie form we thought we'd walk the dietary sin off by exploring Dunblane. A town we'd never visited before and were curious to have a walk around. We returned to our rooms an hour later, considering a trip to Stirling. From what we could see, Dunblane has a Cathedral, and a Tesco. Oh, and a Railway Station, presumably for escaping by, sorry commuting by. That's about it.
After our short walk we opted to stay in the hotel and take advantage of it's amenities enjoying a dip in the pool and a sweat in the steam room, all the while I mulled over the location of the Doubletree chocolate cookie factory. Could it have been in the Hydro's basement, with small serving lifts rising the cookies up into the receptionists desks, just in time to serve to the lucky arriving guests?
Could Celebrity tv chef, Nick Nairn have had a hand in creating the cookies?
Ka and myself dined in the luxurious setting of The Kailyard, Nick Nairn's Restaurant, housed within the hotel. Beautiful meals of duck and tagliatelle served with a nice, crisp Pinot Grigio (crisp, hmm, I may become a wine connoisseaur yet). We then retired to our room where we danced to the final tunes from a dying iPod and ate strawberries with champagne.
The breakfast, this morning, was immense. Tables of cereal, freshly cut fruit, bacon, sausage, egg, scrambled and fried, potato scone, porridge and whisky, racks and racks of toast and baskets of chocolate chip muffins. Muffins, but no cookies. The cookies were disappointingly absent at breakfast.
After breakfast we went for another swim in the hotel's pool which was more of a challenge than yesterday, as it seemed far more difficult to keep myself afloat after my platefuls of food in the past 24 hours, not to mention champagne and wine.
All in all, not bad for a short Valentines break.
A Valentines all kicked off on Sunday night by a visit to Tricia and Tommy's.
Tricia was on a mission. Ka, Lynsey Ann and myself walked into her house only to be bombarded by a plethora or hearts. Tricia had transformed her living room into a Valentines wonderland with candles, confetti, balloons and paper hearts hanging from the ceiling in coloured, curving, twisting, acetate papers. Tricia had went to town with it all presumably just stopping short before she had painted it red. Christopher and Martin hummed in quiet but amused disapproval, well used to their Mum's fantastic enthusiasm. After dinner Tricia had organised a game of Mr & Mrs for the gathered couples. All two of them. Tricia and Tommy themselves and Ka and myself. Chris, Martin and Lynsey Ann opted out, thankful, for a change, that they were single.
After around twenty questions, with a possible 300 points up for grabs, Tommy and Tricia managed to win the game. Winning only by a mere five points I should add but with totals, which Chris quickly pointed out, that were not even a third of the possible total. A miserable performance by both parties. As a luxury item of clothing I thought Ka would have preferred a pair of her boots to underwear but hey, what do I know? Not enough, as it would turn out. It was the iMac on a desert island and the purple pants that tripped me up. How was I to know that particular desert island would have no electricity supply?
As a result of the Valentines games we all won a prize regardless of how bad our result was. The girls all got various items of smelly stuff and chocolates whilst I got a large, heavy wrapped box. Puzzled, I started unwrapping my present, nervously laughing upon revealing the Mr. Men Library.
A boxed collection of every Mr.Men title by the late, great Roger Hargreaves. The reason I was nervously laughing is because I immediately became slightly emotional as the Mr. Men Collection had been the one thing I had informed Ka would be the first purchase I would personnally make for Baby Reid's own library. Obviously I did not bring everyone down at the dinner table by mentioning this as Tricia started telling of how she always used to read the tale of Mr Tickle to me as a wee tyke.Mr. Tickle had hands on enormous long arms, with which he could reach people from far off and give them a damn good tickle. Mr Tickle could also lie in his bed and reach downstairs, into his kitchen and get himself a cookie from the jar. He'd have loved the Dunblane Hydro!
Senin, 14 September 2009
DJs and Jack Russells
Another Wedding with Jane and William getting hitched at the weekend in The Byre, East Kilbride's newest bar/restaurant. Jane is one of Ka's bosses and William is the brother of Claire, Ka's mate from the same work. In the short times William did talk to me he was calling me Scott Mills. Apparently I look like the Radio 1 DJ now. The last time I met William he was calling me Shakin' Stevens as I was wearing jeans and a denim shirt (I probably deserved that though). I'm not sure whether this name calling is because of some unfounded dislike for me or not but I suppose he could be calling me worse names though I'm not sure about the whole Scott Mills lookalike comment. I'm sure Scott Mills would be more than a little offended.
After the wedding celebrations Claire, Martin, William and Jane were all heading off to Ibiza with their kids to enjoy some sun, coincidentally on the same day that Scotland had it's sunniest day of the year. Saturday was roasting and we were all sitting in The Byre's beer garden, or rather beer decking, chatting in the good weather. As far as I can remember the best weather since May when we got a brief few weeks of great weather quickly replaced by the rain of the following months.
The women were not long in going off to their own table leaving us blokes to talk amongst ourselves. Conversations over the large beers ranged from the dire state of the property market, BMWs, jagermeister, encounters with strippers, saving people's lives whilst fishing and the rise in the price of drink. Apparently the latter two were closely connected with an instance Ian experienced on the edge of a cliff somewhere up north overhanging one of the larger rivers. After The Byre most folk ended up in Chris' house, another of Ka's work colleagues. Chris, along with her husband Jim, own possibly the biggest house I have ever been in that I have not had to pay an admission for. Doing the housework would take a week in that home. They also own a friendly Jack Russell. Something I'd never encountered - a friendly Jack Russell. I've had some quite bad experiences with various Jack Russells in the past, the majority of them involving this particular breed of dog wanting to bite my face off. In one particular instance, when I was around thirteen, and delivering papers a Jack Russell literally attacked me as I delivered it's owners newspaper and I literally had to fight it off with a paperback I had been reading at the time. The paperback, and my trousers, barely survived the vicous onslaught and gnashing incisors. Thankfully Chris and Jim's dog was surprisingly amiable though and no trousers or paperbacks suffered in the meeting. Perhaps Jack Russells have a liking for Scott Mills these days.
Chris ordered in pizzas and kept us all fuelled with alcohol until the end of the night when Ka, Sara, Margot and myself piled into Chaz's car leaving Carol singing to her Romeo from Chris' balcony. Chaz was the Romeo in question in this case, (well, as is usually the case), and he replied by quickly starting the engine. Not quite how Shakespeare would have intended things to happen...
After the wedding celebrations Claire, Martin, William and Jane were all heading off to Ibiza with their kids to enjoy some sun, coincidentally on the same day that Scotland had it's sunniest day of the year. Saturday was roasting and we were all sitting in The Byre's beer garden, or rather beer decking, chatting in the good weather. As far as I can remember the best weather since May when we got a brief few weeks of great weather quickly replaced by the rain of the following months.
The women were not long in going off to their own table leaving us blokes to talk amongst ourselves. Conversations over the large beers ranged from the dire state of the property market, BMWs, jagermeister, encounters with strippers, saving people's lives whilst fishing and the rise in the price of drink. Apparently the latter two were closely connected with an instance Ian experienced on the edge of a cliff somewhere up north overhanging one of the larger rivers. After The Byre most folk ended up in Chris' house, another of Ka's work colleagues. Chris, along with her husband Jim, own possibly the biggest house I have ever been in that I have not had to pay an admission for. Doing the housework would take a week in that home. They also own a friendly Jack Russell. Something I'd never encountered - a friendly Jack Russell. I've had some quite bad experiences with various Jack Russells in the past, the majority of them involving this particular breed of dog wanting to bite my face off. In one particular instance, when I was around thirteen, and delivering papers a Jack Russell literally attacked me as I delivered it's owners newspaper and I literally had to fight it off with a paperback I had been reading at the time. The paperback, and my trousers, barely survived the vicous onslaught and gnashing incisors. Thankfully Chris and Jim's dog was surprisingly amiable though and no trousers or paperbacks suffered in the meeting. Perhaps Jack Russells have a liking for Scott Mills these days.
Chris ordered in pizzas and kept us all fuelled with alcohol until the end of the night when Ka, Sara, Margot and myself piled into Chaz's car leaving Carol singing to her Romeo from Chris' balcony. Chaz was the Romeo in question in this case, (well, as is usually the case), and he replied by quickly starting the engine. Not quite how Shakespeare would have intended things to happen...
Jumat, 31 Juli 2009
Photo update
Finally finished putting together and uploading some new photo pages for Reidnet. The new pages include a collection of photos from the Wedding kindly contributed by Uncle Tommy, Aunt Trish, Aunt Ann, Chris, Martin and last, but certainly not least, the wonderful Jillian. Thanks very much to all of them for supplying me with a good amount of photos - especially since I did not take any. The most important day of my life and I barely clicked a camera button!
The other new pages include photos from our holiday in Rome and Venice. Both of these collections having been heavily filtered as I think I went kinda camera crazy after taking none on the Wedding day. Hopefully both collections show, to some extent, how beautiful Rome and Venice are and what a great time Ka and myself had walking around the Italian streets.
Senin, 22 Desember 2008
The magic touch
Christmas is fast approaching, more so now after our weekend of excess involving much drink and food. Ka and myself hosted our now traditional Christmas Party on Saturday night and it was a enjoyable success. The first few hours were split with the blokes in the kitchen and the women in the living room. As the night went on, however, things relaxed as they always do, especially with a little help from my own Chrimbo quiz and Ka's Pass the parcel. Yep, pass the parcel. I controlled the music while the four oddly shaped parcels spun around the room behind me. Eileen seemed slightly disappointed after she excitedly unwrapped her big rude looking long present to find a large Scotland pen bought from the local pound shop. Claire won the musical Christmas mug, which had stopped being musical at the time of wrapping but somehow came back to life with Claire's magic touch. The jagermeister also made a long awaited return. Approximately five years ago I bought a bottle in America and have been trying to finish it ever since. It is now kept in a low kitchen cupboard among some other vials and potions. Iain was quite impressed when I produced the large green bottle from the low kitchen cupboard, blowing the dust from it's glass shell. Together with Martin and Steven we immediately drank to each others health. Apparently it's good for medicinial purposes - the digestive system and throat infections. It also has a tendency to get you drunk - fast. The Four Fandangoes team won the Quiz, storming ahead easily by at least ten points. Everyone did fail to answer the last question correctly. What christmas symbolic item is currently being investigated as a possible cure for cancer? Three imaginative answers came from each of the three teams for this one. Frankinsense, Myrrh and Tinsel. 
The three teams kidding on they were the three wise men. Well, two of them anyway... but then maybe the third wise man had taken gold tinsel to the stable, all those years ago, with the intention of decorating the manger or the stable? Trecking all that way from the Eastern lands with a pile of gold would have surely been pretty tiring. The three trekkers were also, obviously, astronomers as they followed the mysterious star. Either that or they were following a UFO. The same UFO on which the baby arrived. Perhaps from Krypton. Anyway, the correct answer was, of course, Mistletoe which, it turns out, is actually prescribed in Europe. Drunken quizzes are usually quite fun with all the weird and wonderful answers you get, but marking them whilst slightly inebriated yourself is pretty difficult, especially trying the read the drunken hieroglyphics scrawled down on paper. How Les Dawson managed all those years on Blankety Blank I'll never know. I doubt he'd been drinking jagermeister though.
The three teams kidding on they were the three wise men. Well, two of them anyway... but then maybe the third wise man had taken gold tinsel to the stable, all those years ago, with the intention of decorating the manger or the stable? Trecking all that way from the Eastern lands with a pile of gold would have surely been pretty tiring. The three trekkers were also, obviously, astronomers as they followed the mysterious star. Either that or they were following a UFO. The same UFO on which the baby arrived. Perhaps from Krypton. Anyway, the correct answer was, of course, Mistletoe which, it turns out, is actually prescribed in Europe. Drunken quizzes are usually quite fun with all the weird and wonderful answers you get, but marking them whilst slightly inebriated yourself is pretty difficult, especially trying the read the drunken hieroglyphics scrawled down on paper. How Les Dawson managed all those years on Blankety Blank I'll never know. I doubt he'd been drinking jagermeister though.
Selasa, 25 November 2008
Special delivery
Today I came home, tired and worn out to find a package from America waiting on me. It was my copy of David Byrne and Brian Eno's "Everything That Happens Will Happen Today". Fantastic. Purchased and downloaded from the official website around two months ago, the hard copy, the good old fashioned CD, can now be purchased in the shops. Nice package and good music.
Congratulations should go to Martin and Claire who now have a little baby in the house. Olivia Danni Dunn is now home.
Richard Serra is the topic on tonight's Imagine, the BBC's art documentary series presented by Alan Yentob. Serra is a true giant in Art and Sculpture so this should be a good one! Off to watch it now...
Congratulations should go to Martin and Claire who now have a little baby in the house. Olivia Danni Dunn is now home.
Richard Serra is the topic on tonight's Imagine, the BBC's art documentary series presented by Alan Yentob. Serra is a true giant in Art and Sculpture so this should be a good one! Off to watch it now...
Minggu, 16 November 2008
Headaches and children
Another weekend almost over! They whizz by like a chettah on heelys. Wish they wouldn't do that as it always makes us smack into the brick wall of another Monday morning. A bit of a quiet one again this weekend with more painting yesterday afternoon and then a movie last night. Chaz appeared at the door at around half eight with two carriers full of crisps, chocolate and corona and joined Ka and myself in watching the brilliant 'Training Day'. This movie I've been meaning to watch for at least two years and with Ka and Chaz settled down to watch. Denzel Washington was indeed great in it and deserved the oscar he received for the role afterwards. Conversations ranged from Costco, Corona's need for a good bit of lime, the Wispa bar to relationships (that old chestnut!) and redundancies.
This morning I awoke to a neighbour piling some empty glass bottles into the bottle bin downstairs, each clatter and smash echoing through the close up through our letterbox, down our hallway, in to the bedroom and directly into my right ear, through a slightly diverted route in the channels of my brain and out my left ear, continuing from then to the nearest wall and bouncing back off the brick, making a disasterous u-turn hurling back towards my right ear again. Trying to ignore the signs lighting up in my head telling me it was time to get up I did manage to go back to sleep until Ka woke me with a glass of orange juice. My head was aching and I had not thought I'd had that much to drink last night. In fact I know I hadn't. Six bottles of beer. That was it. Is that what it takes to gain a hangover these days? That's got to be a sign of getting old. Forcing myself up though I went straight to the gym and forced the alcoholic blues straight out of me and after an hours workout, a quick swim and a short time in the sauna, felt brand new again. I say quick swim because everytime we go to the pool on a sunday, for some demented reason, we end up going in when it's 'family time'. Yes, family time in the pool is when young kids flock in with their mums, dads, grandparents or all of them, to jump about on giant planks of polystyrene that the kids themselves only take up a fraction of space on. They glide these straight across the surface of the blue water, giggling and laughing whilst aiming straight for the side of your head. If it's not one of those butting into your body parts, or at least into your swimming path, your sure to get a ball or hoop of some description slung at you from the other side of the pool while the parents just jump about not giving a hoot. Sorry, I didn't realise I was really intended in life to be part some kind of aquatic fairground attraction. I'm half expecting a loud alarm to go off and Derek the lifeguard to come out from his viewing point with a stupidly large cuddly toy the next time a plastic beach ball bounces off my head.
Talking of fairground attractions Ka was driving today. Only kidding. Ka is a great driver, not at all like a dodgem... or a roller coaster. It is amazing how many a**e's you get up your rear bumper whenever they twig there's a learner infront of them though. You'd think a learner plate is a license to distress and agitate the attached vehicle for some drivers out there. This, understandably, stresses Ka out a little but not only do they put the rear end of my new car at risk but they also put their own car at risk, not to mention the other drivers behind them. Ignoring that though, Ka will undoubtedly be passing her test shortly.
We were dropping a painting off to Angela and Steven's today. A belated engagement present/early wedding gift. The grey rose seen here.
We then went home to EK only to find the same Angela and Steven, with Morgan, in EK Sainsburys, suspiciously close to the alcohol aisle. After meeting our pal Martin, who is currently a security guard in the supermarket, and getting an update on the pregnant Claire, I managed to get myself a bottle of Jack Daniels for £13. I'll call it an early Christmas present to myself. Unfortunately there was a slight casualty in the trip as Morgan managed to fall flat on her face after I, yes me, told her to go and get her mum after she had spied her near the checkouts. She broke into a run on my words and ended up sliding down the floor of the CD aisle head first. She got up from the floor screaming and shooting blood from her mouth after puncturing her top lip in the fall. Needless to say I felt very guilty and will do for the rest of my mortal life no doubt. Hope your lip gets better Morgan. Martin told me determinedly that I would not be babysitting his child when it arrives. I nodded in agreement.
This morning I awoke to a neighbour piling some empty glass bottles into the bottle bin downstairs, each clatter and smash echoing through the close up through our letterbox, down our hallway, in to the bedroom and directly into my right ear, through a slightly diverted route in the channels of my brain and out my left ear, continuing from then to the nearest wall and bouncing back off the brick, making a disasterous u-turn hurling back towards my right ear again. Trying to ignore the signs lighting up in my head telling me it was time to get up I did manage to go back to sleep until Ka woke me with a glass of orange juice. My head was aching and I had not thought I'd had that much to drink last night. In fact I know I hadn't. Six bottles of beer. That was it. Is that what it takes to gain a hangover these days? That's got to be a sign of getting old. Forcing myself up though I went straight to the gym and forced the alcoholic blues straight out of me and after an hours workout, a quick swim and a short time in the sauna, felt brand new again. I say quick swim because everytime we go to the pool on a sunday, for some demented reason, we end up going in when it's 'family time'. Yes, family time in the pool is when young kids flock in with their mums, dads, grandparents or all of them, to jump about on giant planks of polystyrene that the kids themselves only take up a fraction of space on. They glide these straight across the surface of the blue water, giggling and laughing whilst aiming straight for the side of your head. If it's not one of those butting into your body parts, or at least into your swimming path, your sure to get a ball or hoop of some description slung at you from the other side of the pool while the parents just jump about not giving a hoot. Sorry, I didn't realise I was really intended in life to be part some kind of aquatic fairground attraction. I'm half expecting a loud alarm to go off and Derek the lifeguard to come out from his viewing point with a stupidly large cuddly toy the next time a plastic beach ball bounces off my head.
Talking of fairground attractions Ka was driving today. Only kidding. Ka is a great driver, not at all like a dodgem... or a roller coaster. It is amazing how many a**e's you get up your rear bumper whenever they twig there's a learner infront of them though. You'd think a learner plate is a license to distress and agitate the attached vehicle for some drivers out there. This, understandably, stresses Ka out a little but not only do they put the rear end of my new car at risk but they also put their own car at risk, not to mention the other drivers behind them. Ignoring that though, Ka will undoubtedly be passing her test shortly.
We were dropping a painting off to Angela and Steven's today. A belated engagement present/early wedding gift. The grey rose seen here.
We then went home to EK only to find the same Angela and Steven, with Morgan, in EK Sainsburys, suspiciously close to the alcohol aisle. After meeting our pal Martin, who is currently a security guard in the supermarket, and getting an update on the pregnant Claire, I managed to get myself a bottle of Jack Daniels for £13. I'll call it an early Christmas present to myself. Unfortunately there was a slight casualty in the trip as Morgan managed to fall flat on her face after I, yes me, told her to go and get her mum after she had spied her near the checkouts. She broke into a run on my words and ended up sliding down the floor of the CD aisle head first. She got up from the floor screaming and shooting blood from her mouth after puncturing her top lip in the fall. Needless to say I felt very guilty and will do for the rest of my mortal life no doubt. Hope your lip gets better Morgan. Martin told me determinedly that I would not be babysitting his child when it arrives. I nodded in agreement.
Minggu, 31 Agustus 2008
The long way up
My legs are a little achey today as yesterday Harry and myself climbed Ben Arthur, or the Cobbler, as it's most popularly known. A good walk, 884m (2946 ft) in height and and 5.5 miles in all, though it seems longer. Harry is the expert when it comes to the hillwalking having completed all the Munros south of Fort William, as well as walks in New Zealand and Sri Lanka to name a few. Unfortunately I am a mere amateur. The last time I was on the hills was around three years ago on Ben Vorlich. Harry led us into Arrochar in the morning, the small town that sits on Loch Long, and from the small car park at the foot of the hill we set off. Unfortunately for us it was a very grey, misty day and the clouds hung low over the peaks around Loch Long but the rain held off and the temperature remained pretty warm, with only a slight smir of rain in the air, making it a pleasant climb up the front side of the hill.
We took the harder route up over the rocks and burn descending on its southern side. The mist held fast though and the views and skyline were still completely cloaked at the top of the mountain. The rocks were also quite slippy so, once at the top, we had to opt out of 'threading the needle' which is involves crawling through a hole in the summit rock formation from the north side and climbing up on to the very highest peak, a metre length rock standing over a 100 ft drop. The rocks were just too slippy for any foolhardy attempts.
We rested at the foot of the needle and had our lunch talking with some fellow walkers, who were taking a break from Fir Park. After our short break, Harry led the way down the northern side of the mountain, not hitting the proper path until around a quarter of the way down. We passed many a walker on the way down, all following the walkers code of pleasantly greeting one another as we stomped along on our various routes to and fro. I was even surprised to meet someone I knew from back in the Auldhouse days when I worked behind the bar. Alastair was sitting rolling a cigarette, having a break with his son, his camera tripod sitting at his side. He was going up the hill to try and get some photos. On the trek I managed to get a few shots on the hillside myself but it was just unfortunate the views from the peak were mere cloud. I'll probably revisit it at some point in the near future and try and get a decent view next time (I'll be putting the rest of the photos I did take on reidnet's photo album shortly). As we descended it looked as if the mist was clearing a one point only for it to quickly drift over again and submerge the top half of the hill once more. Even though the views from the top were poor there's nothing quite like a good walk in the hills. It's strange to think that these hills, and fantastic landscapes, sit just an hour outside the chaotic city scenes of Glasgow and home.
In the evening Ka and myself headed to the Shawfield Stadium, for the first time, to the dog racing, and to meet up with Claire and Martin and the rest of the mad squad to celebrate Claire turning the big 3 - 0 . There was also the hope of maybe winning some money at the same time. Claire's brother, William, had hired her a wee surprise. After we arrived and hooked up with Cheryl, Roslyn and Aaron inside, Claire, Martin and some of the others turned up after a few glasses of champagne on the Scooby Doo Bus! All drinking champagne except the birthday girl, herself, of course, who is preggers. Scooby snacks have certainly changed since I last watched the cartoon. Needless to say some fun was had, but alas, Ka and myself were unlucky with all our bets and didn't win anything. Claire's Dad managed to win over fifty quid, Jane managed to win a good thirty pounds but our dogs were pipped at the post (or finishing line in this case) everytime. Can't win 'em all. We all had a good time though and enjoyed the night.
Senin, 11 Agustus 2008
It's a cracker
Went in to work to the expected questions about the car this morning. Mary and Margaret having another heckle from their box. I explained that it'll be fine. No great emergency. They looked a bit disappointed. Finally returned Lost Ian's DVDs this morning. He gave me the whole series of 'Cracker' to watch around two months ago and I managed to finally finish it at the weekend. What a great series that was. Definately Coltrane's finest hour - why aren't they still making it?! Brilliant telly with so much depth put into the characters through the brilliant storytelling of Jimmy McGovern. Great. By the way, the reason he's called 'Lost' Ian is because that's the name he's given in the flat. Ka has never met him so he goes by the name of Lost Ian as, like us, he is a big Lost fan and records it for us every week as we no longer have Sky (after Sky decided they would no longer sell their channel to Virgin Cable back in '07). The same goes for Creamy Chicken John. John gave me a brilliant Aussie recipe for pasta last year, involving herbs, cream cheese etc which Ka has used on more than one occasion and as a result he is now called Creamy Chicken John. There are other names which I'm sure I'll write later but just can't think of at the moment or which I daren't mention!
Came home after work to find Claire (Montgomery) and Jane in with Ellie relaxing after a plate of Ka's meatballs and spaghetti. Nice. Fortunately there was some left, which I'll keep for myself till a later date. Had a bit of Ka's gorgeous lasagne in work for dinner, straight from the microwave. Have never been sure of microwaves. Work is the only place I use them, except from the occasional hot chocolate. Sometimes it's like Radioactive city in that work kitchen with all the microwaves droaning away at the same time probably damaging our brain cells with their cooking power.
Also watched the excellent 'The Matador' starring Pierce Brosnan and Greg Kinnear at the weekend. Very enjoyable movie again with great characters. Brosnan played a blinder. A hired aging hitman stressed out with age, anxiety and maybe even guilt alongside Kinnear's straight guy salesman. I wasn't solely just sitting watching tv all weekend by the way. It just sounds like it... but the fact I have to drive whilst holding the door at my right shut is a definate hindrance.
I was hoping to get out on to the Scottish hills this weekend but it looks like work is going to get in the way of that now! It may have to wait till next week. Harry said he's going to pick an easy hill for us to climb. 'Easy'? Why easy? Does he think I'm not up to it? It must be about three years since my last Munro walk mind you... Ben Vorlich. 3232 ft high. That was a great day but tiring. Towards the end of the walk I think I was actually tumbling down the hill rather than walking.
Off work for a week next week though so hope to see some of the fringe in Edinburgh. There'll be plenty of walking then.
Claire's just left with a piece of lasagne for Martin. Hope you enjoy it mate, that was my dinner for tomorrow!
Came home after work to find Claire (Montgomery) and Jane in with Ellie relaxing after a plate of Ka's meatballs and spaghetti. Nice. Fortunately there was some left, which I'll keep for myself till a later date. Had a bit of Ka's gorgeous lasagne in work for dinner, straight from the microwave. Have never been sure of microwaves. Work is the only place I use them, except from the occasional hot chocolate. Sometimes it's like Radioactive city in that work kitchen with all the microwaves droaning away at the same time probably damaging our brain cells with their cooking power.
Also watched the excellent 'The Matador' starring Pierce Brosnan and Greg Kinnear at the weekend. Very enjoyable movie again with great characters. Brosnan played a blinder. A hired aging hitman stressed out with age, anxiety and maybe even guilt alongside Kinnear's straight guy salesman. I wasn't solely just sitting watching tv all weekend by the way. It just sounds like it... but the fact I have to drive whilst holding the door at my right shut is a definate hindrance.
I was hoping to get out on to the Scottish hills this weekend but it looks like work is going to get in the way of that now! It may have to wait till next week. Harry said he's going to pick an easy hill for us to climb. 'Easy'? Why easy? Does he think I'm not up to it? It must be about three years since my last Munro walk mind you... Ben Vorlich. 3232 ft high. That was a great day but tiring. Towards the end of the walk I think I was actually tumbling down the hill rather than walking.
Off work for a week next week though so hope to see some of the fringe in Edinburgh. There'll be plenty of walking then.
Claire's just left with a piece of lasagne for Martin. Hope you enjoy it mate, that was my dinner for tomorrow!
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