If...

Fellow blogger, Music Monkey, over at MIND body MUSIC soul, stole a mini survey from another fellow blogger on her blog and challenged us all to answer. The 'IF' survey I think it was called. One of these little surveys that tells everyone a little bit more about yourself like the ones you used to receive circulating on email, but this way you don't have it clogging up your inbox.
My answer to question 3 is actually quite apt today as it is the fourth anniversary of Ka and myself meeting for the first time. It was a Saturday night and I was meeting up with a long lost friend from Secondary school, named Paul, formerly known as Bungle. We had a few drinks and realised that if we were to stay out we'd better find a club to go to. Unfortunately for us we chose the truly awful Jumpin Jaks. I'd never been in before, but was aware of it's dodgy reputation. It was exactly as legend had foretold. A club filled with, seemingly, every middle aged Glaswegian drunk under one roof complete with a karaoke band on stage. Some parts of the crowd were a bit like watching a giant Nesbitt family reunion. Feeling completely out of place, Paul and myself decided to make the most of it and continued to have our catch up. We'd actually paid to get in so we weren't going to waste that money. It was then, just off the packed dancefloor, I spotted her. She was dancing with a guy that could only be described as a tall shrek. Seeing the one diamond in the rough was taken, I gave up any hope until her friend sauntered up to me a little later and told me, in the best Secondary School like way, that her pal fancied me! Before the lassie had even finished I lept out on to the dancefloor only to find the girl in question had scarpered. She'd run off to the toilets in embarrassment. When she eventually came out of hiding I talked her into a dance. As we were being chucked out at the end of the night I asked for her phone number to which she replied she did not have a phone. Seeing this as a brush off I almost shrugged and walked off. Even though I did not believe a word of it, I left her my number on her friend's phone, just in case, and left it up to her to call. Afterwards I learnt that her pal had actually tried to get rid of my number, her finger poised over the delete button on her phone, as I 'wasn't good enough'. (Not sure if mobile phones have a delete number these days...) Ka persisted, however, and managed to get the number off her. The next evening I was standing drawing a rather large naked woman when I received a surprise text. Taking my attention away from my easel in life drawing class for a brief moment I seen that it was from KA. The rest, as they say, is history.
If I hadn't bothered to contact Paul, the long lost secondary school buddy, Ka and myself would have never met. If I hadn't plucked up the courage to venture into Jumpin Jaks for that one night, we would never have met. If her horrid, so called, friend had pressed delete on her phone before Ka realised we would never have met. One of the most powerful words in the human language isn't it? If.
Happy Anniversary Ka. Love and best wishes. If your reading...

A skirtless multitasker

So Guy and Madonna are no more? Didn't see that one coming... That reminds me, I went to see Guy Ritchie's latest movie, 'RocknRolla' last week and quite enjoyed it. Energetic, sharp, enthusiastic and with great performances from the main players, I enjoyed it more than his previous efforts, with the exception of 'Lock, Stock', of course. Looks like there may be a sequel already planned too. Quite fancied the new Simon Pegg film but haven't got round to it yet. Ka's brother, Colin, claims the first half is great but it then turns into a run of the mill rom com halfway through so not so sure now. Waht I'm really looking forward to is the third in the Ice Cream trilogy. Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright's loose trilogy that includes the recent Hot Fuzz and the fantastic Shaun of the Dead. Come on guys, get yer skates on!
Infuriating day in work today. Now that I am trained in various departments within the one office I feel I'm being used and abused. Flung from one corner of the office to the other. There's being adaptable, helpful and easy going but there's also having the piss taken out of you. Certain female multitaskers, whom we shall not name, seem to flutter their eyelashes and get to work in various sectors whenever they wish and the rest of us skirtless multitaskers get moved around like pawns in an evil game by a corrupt totalitarian management. Or at least, that's what it feels sometimes. Certainly today. It just seems that some female employees take advantage with the so called managers at times. It's just not fair for us blokes. We don't have eyelashes... well, okay, we might have eyelashes, but we don't flutter them!

The ego of Ringo

Tired, worn out and exhausted. No, not the latest Coronation street plots. This was how I felt at work today. I suspect the weekend is catching up with me. No amount of tea was enough to waken me up. Reaching the end of the ad workflow I started reading the top news stories of the day. Alongside the news of the struggling Royal Bank, Lloyds TSB and HBOS I happened to find an article on a former Beatle. Ringo is no longer signing any autographs. Ringo Starr, announced on BBC news and on his website that if any fan mail arrives at his various homes dated after the 20th October it will all be binned. He claims he is too far busy to deal with fanmail and that it was a serious message to everyone watching on his fansite. He has even made sure he has made the news with this devastating announcement. What the hell are we all going to do?! Where will we all be without Ringo signing any autograph requests? Precisely where we all are right now, I'm guessing, and not giving a rat's arse. Why he still receives these 'massive piles' of fanmail I'll never know. A classic tale of blind luck and knowing the right people is what got him where he is now, which is thankfully usually in the South of France. He can't sing and he certainly cannot play drums. Ringo recently, more or less, insulted and disowned Liverpool, his own home town, in a dreadful interview with Jonathan Ross in which he came across as a complete knob. His hedge statue at the Liverpool's South Parkway Station was beheaded for his comments. You'd think he'd appreciate any mail he'd get for being a blagger and living off the success of McCartney, Lennon and Harrison. If he'd been a good drummer I could understand his ego, unfortunately the duracell rabbit proved itself to be a better drummer, probably with less tuition. There are one armed drummers better than him and drug addled women with beehive hair-dos who can sing better. Talking of bee-hived hair-dos, that reminds me of a Simpsons episode that detailed Marge Simpson's infactuation with ringo and told of how she used to send him fanmail. Come to think of it, this would mean Marge Simpson is about sixty?! That can't be right can it? I would of took her to be about fortyish. Maybe it's her that's still sending Ringo all his fanmail?

The genre spanner

How long it's been since I've bought something from the ice cream van. The ice cream van hits our street at least twice a day at the weekend and once every night during the week and I've never used it. Not until tonight. Ka had an ice cream and I bought myself a Dime bar, or a Daim bar, as they are now known (I'm a sucker for that sweet almondy taste). A late dessert. Today was a lazy day. Got off to a slow start with a headache from last night's beverage intake in Glasgow's West End and the rest of the day did not really pick up any pace. Skipped the usual Sunday worship for the first time in months - body worship in this case. Will just have to do double the workout at the gym on Wednesday. Watched some of The Mighty Boosh in the afternoon followed by some messing about on iTunes. For some reason I missed most of the adventures of Howard Moon and Vince Noir when originally aired so am watching them all on DVD now. Fantastically, brilliantly weird stuff. As evening approached, Ka made a beautiful chicken dinner with paprika, spices and chillis together with some salad and tatties and have now just sat and watched Bayona and Del Toro's 'The Orphanage'. A brilliant little spanish horror about a family losing a son in mysterious circumstances in a supposedly haunted orphanage. Last night's night out in town seems like ages ago already. Ka, Chaz and myself went out into the West End after laughing at the X factor following dinner. Hitting The Loft first and then moving on to Media, or is it The Venue? The club underneath Oran Mor anyway, with its overpriced entry fee, serving overpriced drinks and dark, crowded interior in which going to the bar is a major undertaking. A bit like one of Howard Moon's quests. We had a good laugh though, especially when Ka kept slipping on the dancefloor and subtly tried to blend it in to her natural dance moves. Naturally, she did not pull the wool over my eyes. No siree. Unlike afterwards when we were walking back up Byres Road, after a short needless walk, and some guy was singing something along the lines of 'Nice leather Jacket! You've got a nice leather jacket! Nice leather Jaaaaacket!' along to the tune of "There's only one 'football player's name inserted here'". Making a point of stopping and saying thank you very much, I then proceeded to tell him I'd got it as a Christmas present from my dearest Ka, not realising he had not actually stopped chanting at me. Ka pulled me away hurriedly tutting under her breath. There's nothing wrong with my leather jacket. It's the height of fashion! Just jealous, obviously...

Lights, camera, traction!

It took us around 2 and a half hours to buy washing powder today. Just one annoyance about living without a car. One small, half hour job now involves a good half hour walk, a walk which involves passing through three car showrooms (funnily enough), the usual stroll around the supermarket and then the walk back home. Whilst at the car showrooms we did stop to have a quick look around and were immediately set upon by one of the salesmen. Car salesmen always seem so desperate. He started off by showing us a Kia Ceed and started going on about CSI and Law and Order. When he discovered that neither Ka or myself watched it, he then went on to talk of the Olympics and how Kia had sponsored part of the games. Finding Ka and myself again unimpressed he then moved off trying desperately to find something in common with us. We proved a hard sell. I think I actually witnessed his little heart sink when we finally excused ourselves. Not wanting to look like a complete b**ta** I did ask for his card, just to provide him with a faint glimmer of hope for maybe sometime in the future. Can't seem to find it now... Overall it was a fairly pleasant walk however, with the autumnal colours all around in the sunlight from the clear blue sky. There was a fair bit of wind though and not only from the weather conditions.
Last night's beers from the Early Learning Unit Charity Race Night are to blame which Ka and myself attended alongside Chaz, Mum and Dad. The races involved sitting on a chair facing a wall at one end of a long floor with a horizontal stick in your hands attached by string to a small wooden horse ornament positioned at the opposite end of the floor behind you. On the blow of the whistle you then had to wind the string around the centre of the stick, pulling the string up from under your chair thusly pulling the horse ornament along the floor behind you. Good wrist exercise. On entering the hall I was volunteered for the first race along with Chaz and four other girls. Unfortunately Chaz managed to win the race but only just as I was a very close second. This win made Chaz part of the Champions Race at the end of the night when he turned out the be the close second. Ka won her race in the ELU nursery race against other representatives from the other rooms within her work making her the Champion Jockey winning her the coveted ELU Challenge Trophy presented to her by her lordship herself, Carol, the boss. For some reason Ka does not regard this as a big deal however and has strenuously forbid me to put it on the living room shelf, above the television, for all visitors to see. However, I do have a photo of her receiving her illustrious prize so I ''l have to get down to the printers. We were less lucky with our raffle tickets though, only winning a twenty pound voucher for Dominoes Pizza. Not a place we frequent.
Last night I also uploaded my very first youtube video! Yes, I know, I'm ridiculously behind the times but there you go. The film is from up the Eiffel Tower in Paris on New Years Day.

Short and sweet, not to mention a bit on the wobbly side, but there are some nice shots of The Eiffel Tower's structure in there and some nice dancing lights. Not bad for my wee 5 mega pixel camera. Hopefully the first of many (or at least a few).

All good things...

This morning I said goodbye to the finest, truest friend of the past 7 years. My wee red Renault Clio. It stood on the dim garage floor looking lost and desolate with no where to go for the first time in it's ten year old life. The echoes of some watery drip was the only noise to be heard as I stood looking over it's tired frame once more. Arriving at the garage in the early morning I had already cleared out the few remaining contents inside the car and was now handing the registration form over to the mechanics who seemed to nod sympathetically, almost like understanding Funeral Directors.
Pathetic isn't it. Getting this depressed over a car. I for one never thought a small red road vehicle could make my so glum but there you have it. What a fabulous little car it was. Bought from an ex boss for the not unreasonable amount of two grand approximately seven years ago, I started driving the Clio about in Birmingham and the West Midlands when I worked down there. Including more than a few trips to various towns, cities and trips back north to Scotland, the Clio could hardly be stopped and very rarely let me down, the only money spent on tyres, MOTs and the odd service here and there. A great, reliable wee runabout it has served me well and done me proud. Only now, with a good amount of mileage run up, has it been cruelly forced off the road by a burst timing belt. I will miss it. My thanks go to all the folk in the work for all their consoling, advice and their lifts in the past few days. Gordon in his brother's car, Creamy Chicken John and his hand brake turns at bus stops and Linda M who has been especially helpful, going out of her way on two mornings already, to give me a lift to work, juggling babies, kids and mothers (not whilst driving thankfully). My Dad also allowed me to talk him into extending his usual route twice this week to take me to the garage. Chaz is now on the look out for a replacement vehicle, however, I know I'll never have a true replacement. No matter where my motoring life takes me in the future I shall always remember my Clio. Maybe I should take heed to the words of Winston Churchill:
“This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
Or Tom Baker:
"It is the end, but the moment has been prepared for" (after which he was replaced by a far lesser model).

A matter of timing

Driving along the East Kilbride expressway yesterday at 65 miles an hour the wee clio started making a strange noise and then it's engine suddenly stopped working. Lights blinked up infront of me and the speed began to fall. I was certain this wasn't right. Fortunately we were just approaching the High Blantyre turn off so I managed to coast the car off the busy A725 all the way down the hill, straight through the T-junction and into the layby opposite. Being unused to these kind of engine malfunctions in my car but having seen plenty of them in acquaintance's old cars I had hald a dreaded suspicion of what had occured. Sure enough, when the toe truck turned up, the mechanic immediately identified the problem. A bust timing belt. Possibly the worst thing to go in an engine - so it looks like it's the bus for me this week and a possible fond farewell to the wee clio. You never know there may be some kind of miracle and the damage may not be that bad but timing belt malfunctions are not known for their kindness on the wallet and it may spell the end for the eleven year old clio. Will hopefully find out in the next few days...
So it was the bus, tonight, to take us to the McGarva household for a brilliant sunday dinner from Ka's mum where many questions were raised watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang such as should the Baroness not have died after her fall to the water from the height she was at after her dress was shot by the Baron? Or where did the Baron learn to shoot like that? Personally I reckon it was from his time under the persona of Goldfinger, but that's a different story. Also, how annoying were the kids in that film? No wonder they were caged up by that Child Catcher (Bet you that's what Russell Brand will look like in 40 years time). Relying on public transport again is a real pain though. We went out to get our bus home and the bus driver ignored us and our stop. Refusing to be ignored Ka and myself ran after him though and after he got a lucky red light we got him at the next stop. Arguing with bus drivers is my favourite past time (not really - but they make me do it) but tonight I just could not be bothered, flicking my ticket in his general direction and taking my seat. Bus drivers are generally very poor, certainly in this Glasgow area. They are always rude, grumpy, stupid (half of them don't know the areas they drive through) and give the impression they have a major gripe with the world and anyone that wishes to use their smelly, slow, creaking vehicle. You try to be polite to them, they growl back. You ask a question such as how much to... they growl back. You accuse them of missing the stop you'd just been standing at and the swear and shout at you. This has given me the impression that generally bus drivers are mostly unpleasant people but, unfortunately for me, they are my taxi service for, at least, the next few days. Unless I phone an actual taxi, but they're just silly money. Some of the folk in work may help me out (fingers crossed) - I may have to pull in a few favours! Please Clio, don't die! If only Caractacus Potts were here.