Beancounting

From the depths of the pit

2009-01-25T13:42:00.002Z

Coming to you live from the orchestra pit at the Peacock Theatre... It's finally London show week for the panto, so a full day of delights is lined up. It began with the sound check (an enormously lengthy exercise where each instrument plays into its allocated mic for a couple of minutes while the sound man pretends to adjust the levels. I say pretend, because ultimately only the electric instruments can be heard in the final mix) at 11.30 this morning. We're now at 2pm and have reached song number two. It is likely to be a long day, enlivened only by the consumption of too many sweeties, the odd game of Scrabble (well, that's the french horn section anyway) and the reading out of snippets from Heat magzine (thanks, Dan).

The rest of the band has already done one weekend of the show a couple of weeks back in Glasgow, but I was doing concerts so couldn't make it. That was a shame, because the trip away is normally the sweetener for doing the London run. Not that the London run isn't fun, but combining it with attending credit meetings during the day is likely to be somewhat knackering. The fascination of spreadsheets and conference calls, fairly thin to begin with, dwindles entirely away when one is spending the evenings bopping along to Alphabeat..

Ok, I confess I'd never actually heard of Alphabeat. In fact, I reckon I've heard of about two-thirds of the songs this year (a pretty good ratio for me), but even so I know from experience that I'll find myself hearing some of them in shops and bars over the next few months and startling companions by going "aaaaaah! THAT's how this one goes!"

Right. I suppose I'd better go. Take That coming up...

Freebietastic

2009-01-24T09:09:00.006Z

Busy week this week - and can't stop now as I've got to get to the shops, find a chair from somewhere, visit my reed man, cook lots of food, put away the laundry and generally acquire a state of readiness and zen calm (either that or gin) for the arrival of hundreds of dinner guests...

But in the week I tested the Entertainment / Economy scale to the max, with freebie tickets to a tremendous and electrifying concert at the Barbican on Tuesday, and one free ticket for the theatre (musicians' comps, dahling! It was the play I recorded some music for) on Thursday. The play was great, and the music as a whole (which I had never heard more than the tiniest portion of) was amazing* with some incredible tabla playing, apparently done by 'a mate of Dave's who lives in North London'

You should go and see the play, particularly as it is on in a tiny low budget and very cute theatre for actors / directors / composers who are trying to build a CV. Support the arts! Put your money where your mouth is!

The Recognition of Sakuntala

Union Theatre, Union Street - nr. Southwark Tube.

*Even the bits I was playing. Although every time I could hear myself it did distract me from what was happening on stage... Oh, the vanity!

Fourth century sanskrit and Sleeping Beauty

2009-01-03T20:55:00.003Z

So I spent this morning recording music written by a friend of mine for a new adaptation of the fourth century Indian tale, The Recognition of Sakuntala, which is on at the Union Theatre at the end of the month.

What I heard of the music was fantastic, although it was only me there - the other instruments will be added later - so it's hard to get the full sense of what it will be like. Lots of cor anglais stuff, which would have been delicious in the hands of a more competent player... Although I believe with the wonders of modern technology they can move around the actual notes I played until they are in tune. Isn't that lovely?

Anyway, I am hoping to go along to see the play and will fight the urge to leap up and shout "That's me! That's me!" every time the music comes on. Of course, if it all sounds farty and horrible then I'll keep my head down.

From the sublime to the (intentionally) ridiculous, tomorrow: panto rehearsal. Which means I'll have that damn Take That song stuck in my head for the rest of the week. Aargh!

This year is Sleeping Beauty. Typical aggravating plot: the hero arrives to woo her because he's heard that she is beautiful; she gets to marry him because he's rich. That'll do a lot for the bloody celebrity-obsessed WAG-aspiring young girls in the audience, won't it?

I appreciate that it would be a little far-fetched for him to rock up for her engaging and intellectual conversation, but it wouldn't hurt if her reputation was for, say, kindness or generosity or something, would it? Bah! Still, despite him courting her with his unfeasibly gorgeous eyelashes and sweet rendition of aforementioned song, he's [shhhhhh!!] not really into princesses (beautiful or otherwise). So it will all end in tears when he dumps her for the next handsome prince that comes riding up... Don't tell the kiddies, though. It would break five hundred pre-pubescent hearts in a single stroke.

Elegant juxtaposition

2009-01-02T22:50:00.002Z

Well, hot on the heels of an evening of Brandenburgs, I spent new year's eve at Horse Meat Disco. Was there ever a finer juxtaposition of cultural events? I think not.

It was a great night, although I'm told that there were fisticuffs in the gents toilets over a missing pot of glitter. No such trouble in the ladies, although I did get complimented on my outfit by a drag queen while I was in there. I've yet to decide whether that is a good or bad thing.

The following night I went to August: Osage County at the National Theatre. Fantastic. It's sold out, but what with all the lurgies flying about there are a good smattering of returns to be had. I highly recommend it if you can get there before it closes in a couple of weeks. It's an epic 3h 20m long, but the time just flies by as you become completely engrossed in this crazy disfunctional family gathering. I absolutely loved it.

Tomorrow will be interesting: I'm recording some music for a play. Very exciting!

2008-12-27T22:30:00.000Z

I'm now ensconsed on the train home - slightly later than anticipated due to one of the solo violas spectacularly de-tuning in the middle of the piece, forcing a restart.

The second half comprised:

- the one with two flutes and a violin

- the violas

- the violin, flute, oboe and squeaky little trumpet one. Lots of fun, although in reality despite lots of earnest sawing from the violin and tootling away on the flute and oboe, all you can hear is that trumpet. Good job he was pretty sound. In the wrong hands I suspect one of those tiny trumpets could be a serious eardrum hazard.

Thought for the day, prompted by the multiple soloist scenario: how much artistic weaving about is too much? In the two flute piece, the first flute stood rooted to the floor, barely dipping at the crucial cadences. Whereas the second flute did the whole knee-bend (they were all standing) and weave about thing. Meaning that there was a disconnect between what you were seeing and hearing. Most troubling.

I'm not sure where I stand on all that artistic emoting. There was a clarinettist I was at university with who would peer over the top of her music stand at the audience in a most annoying manner, as if to say "I'm playing this for YOU... and YOU and YOU and... [Ba-ba-baaaaa! Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-baaaaa! Sorry. Carried away for a moment there]. Not that I prefer the cadaver look, mind you. It doesn't seem right for a tremendous sound to appear to emanate with zero input from the player. I have no idea what I do, either. I'd like to think it was a happy medium, but who knows? I daren't ask anyone in case they tell me.

2008-12-27T20:44:00.000Z

-Interval-

So far we've had:

- the one with the three comedy oboes. You know the one: it's also got a couple of french horns sounding like they've wandered in midway through a hunt, tantivvying across the rest of the music like they haven't worked out what's going on.

- the one with all the strings. Last time I heard this was at Prussia Cove with the KCO lot, where we had a glorious abundance of bass instruments. So it was done with a fairly regulation quota of fiddles and violas but about seven cellos, a bassoon and a bass. Of the two versions, I have to say I preferred the Prussia Cove one for its humour.

- the flute, violin and demented harpsichordist one. I don't know about two skeletons copulating in a cupboard. This one's more like a frenzied skeleton orgy.

Anyway, the five minute bell has gone, so I must tuck away the rest of my mince pie (nasty) and mulled wine (nice) and hie me to the balcony.

2008-12-27T19:23:00.000Z

I have treated myself to an evening of Brandenburgs tonight, at St Martin in the Fields. I only rarely go to cultural things by myself, but this was a last-minute decision with no time to book tickets. So since I was only buying for one, I find myself in something of a prime spot (the front corner of the balcony) making up the third in a box of three, and no doubt discombobulating the couple that were expecting to have it to themselves...

I haven't picked up a programme (damn!) So will be none the wiser as to which Brandenburg is which, since I know they are not playing them in order.

from the train

2008-12-24T16:53:00.000Z

A startlingly swift finish in the office (le grand fromage obligingly departed just after lunch) and quicker-than-expected packing means that I am already on the surprisingly empty train bound for Family Central.

Of course, now that I no longer commute, I've got out of the habit of always having a novel in my handbag. This means that I am bookless for the whole of the next hour and fifteen. Hmm. Plus my mobile phone decided to pack in this morning after several years of worthy service, so I am feeling slightly cut adrift. Well, apart from the two Blackberries, that is. And the pristine new phone sitting snug in its box in my suitcase. But apart from those things I'm practically in the dark ages. Nearly.

The charming parentals have formulated the plan-to-end-all-plans for Christmas day. More on that anon should it come to pass.

They are also picking me up from the station, which is helpful as I am burdened with many presents. And my oboe. And laptop. And a bunch of other unnecessary things. This is my first carless Christmas, which didn't occur to me at all when choosing presents. So I've managed to pick at least two that are spectacularly unsuitable for lugging around on trains, being variously heavy, large, fragile or a combination of these things.

Righto. I've successfully killed a proportion of the journey. Time for a bit of looking out of the window. Yay!

The Family Reunion

2008-12-23T21:51:00.002Z

In preparation for my own festive family reunion over the coming days, I went to see TS Eliot's The Family Reunion at the Donmar Warehouse on Monday with lovely Nick who buys lots of theatre tickets and sometimes invites me along. Now isn't that nice of him?

The cast was a fairly impressive who's who of British acting, including Sam West, Una Stubbs, Penelope Wilton and Sir William Lucas from the BBC Pride and Prejudice (kept expecting him to clap his hands and exclaim "Capital, capital!". But he did not.)

I wasn't really sure what to expect from it: it's written in verse of sorts, and has Greek Chorus sections - both of which facts I found slightly daunting. Nick had sent me a crib sheet in advance which was pretty useful for keeping track of all the various dusty uncles and aunts. But couldn't help much with the language.

However, the first half I found to be completely fabulous - the poetry of the words was glorious (I could mostly work out what people were getting at), and the atmosphere tremendous. Unfortunately it got more and more bizarre as time went on, with lots of talk along the lines of '..and the crosses shall be uncrossed... and the circle shall be broken...' or somesuch.

So when the matriarch started complaining about everyone leaving her alone in the house, it all became just a little too Cold Comfort Farm (something narsty in the woodshed!) and then slipped from tantalisingly ambiguous into slightly opaque. However, given the heavyweightitude of the cast, it was an exceedingly well-delivered opacity.

That's the end of culture vulturedom for now. Although I confess I am typing this while listening to myself on the (only slightly dodgy) EC4 Music recording of Mozart Mass in C Minor. But tomorrow will be subjecting myself to the hell that is South West Trains, armed with lots of Christmas presents that I haven't wrapped yet as I keep forgetting to buy tape. Ahem.

Oooh - I've just reached the Et Incarnatus Est. Big oboe bit! I'm sure someone cleverer than me would be able to post a snippet. But there you go, I'm not that smart at this technology lark. Imagine a tremendously fabulous sound and pretend that it's me... And not at all out of tune. No sir.

Ugly duckling

2008-12-19T16:38:00.004Z

I had dinner with the [Not] Sugar Daddy again the other night. He spent a reasonable amount of time scaring the waiting staff, then a bit more time accidentally wearing someone else's coat.

In between all this fun he found time to tell me that although I had been a pretty unfortunate-looking teenager, I was improving with age. I believe he was trying to console me about my single status (which does not, I have to say, trouble me unduly at the moment). I took the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended. Well, after I'd finished laughing.

2008-12-19T01:01:00.002Z

Last night was Santafest 08. There are already rather too many photos of the event lurking about for my liking, but I suppose if I will go galavanting about wearing a micro-mini santa outfit then I deserve whatever public humiliation comes my way. My mum thoughtfully sent me a text in advance to remind me to wrap up warm. I believe she may have been being sarcastic, for she has seen the outfit...

Anyway, I'm too sleepy to post more and have to go out again tomorrow night to take some bankers to watch Madness at the O2. Given that the tickets are free, it has to score highly on the Entertainment/Economy scale, although I'm not sure that I'm exactly looking forward to it as such. Particularly as they are threatening to do some of their "new material". Come on, lads - nobody wants to hear it. Just do Baggy Trousers again.

The greening of Christmas

2008-12-06T10:10:00.003Z

I cooked all my wrinkly apples into a pulp this morning to put on my porridge. This is good in two ways: firstly, it's tasty (and can I count it as one of my five-a-day? Can I?), and secondly it helps to alleviate the guilt of having left all those fine English apples to go wrinkly in the first place. Unfortunately I still have half a pan of pulp left now, so I'm going to have to come up with something else to do with it. There's only so much porridge a girl can eat.

Anyway, on to business. I am trying to put together my Christmas wish list of things to avoid excess effort and expenditure in my nearest and dearest*. So far, the list consists of:

- a sewing kit: I already have two needles, a bodkin and some scissors, so I'm thinking a tape measure, a couple of reels of thread etc. My level of requirement centres more around button replacement and hem repairs rather than anything more sophisticated. A tupperware box to put it all in would probably be handy too.

- art materials: I have asked my mother to trawl my father's unused art supplies. People give him lots of stuff which he never gets round to using so it's a kind of recycling. Plus if I don't get round to doing anything with it myself then I don't need to feel too guilty as it wasn't bought specially for me. Yay!

- door stop: At the moment, I wedge my door open with a piece of folded paper, but it kinda spoils the look, yah?

- a folder into which I can put the recipes I tear out of the newspaper. I'm a bit of a magpie for these. I suppose one with clear plastic envelopes in it would be ideal - I'm not the tidiest of cooks. You can always find my favourite recipes in my cookbooks by looking for the most heavily splattered pages.

Lots of love,

Jane x

* of course, if you are one of my nearest and dearest and have already bought something that is NOT on this list, rest assured I will still be happy to receive it...

Night out with the Sugar Daddy

2008-11-11T22:54:00.002Z

I went out tonight with my official Sugar Daddy (an old friend of the family - same age as my dad, but without the unfortunate and eccentric beard that my father current sports. Or should that be sprouts?). He's a singer - well, he's actually a gold trader in the city, but in his spare time he's an excellent bass - so he found a choral concert at St Martin in the Fields for us to go to this evening.

The programme included the premier of a new commission. I can't tell you what it is as John took the programme home with him and I can't be bothered to look it up, but I do remember that it was a requiem. Although following the modern fashion it threw in a bit of poetry (Walt Whitman - good) and other writing (Native American wisdom - bad) alongside the traditional latin text.

I'm reserving judgement on the piece. There were some interesting bits, some charming bits, some familiar-sounding bits and some slightly odd bits. Including one section where most of the choir were repeating "Weep-weeeeee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-heep" underneath some other goings on. I'm not certain if the effect was supposed to sound like sobbing, but because they were using the "hee" sound, it was rather more like laughing. But then I suppose laughter and tears are very close at times... Well, that would be the composer's argument, anyway, I presume..?

The choir were pretty good, although there was one strident soprano who kind of steamrollered all before her, which was a bit of a shame.

But on balance, as with all these things, it is always better to go than not to go. Although it did mean that I missed the opportunity to dep for an orchestra rehearsal. And they're doing Sibelius 7 at the moment. Grrr.

A Culture Vulturess speaks

2008-10-22T20:11:00.004Z

I have been the lucky imbiber of much culture recently:

The Walworth Farce at the National Theatre. Go see! Go see! It's fabulous - clever, breakneck and funny, gradually unraveling into something more unsettling. I really enjoyed it. And then drank a medicinal whiskey or two in the bar at the BFI next door afterwards.

A concert by Kensington Symphony Orchestra at St John's, Smith Square. They played Ravel's Daphnis et Chloe - I thought the cascades of notes sounded great in that big washy acoustic, but I'm told it all nearly came apart at the seams. Although to what extent that comment was influenced by either false modesty or condescension (as in, "it may have been tolerable to a talentless mortal such as yourself, but a more discerning ear would have realised it was actually rubbish") on the part of the commenter, I cannot say*. Next up, the Britten variations on a theme of Frank Bridge, which has some exceedingly difficult corners in it, but they did make a lovely sound. Slightly too many variations, if you ask me, but then he was only a wee nipper when he wrote it, so you can't really blame him for a bit of youthful enthusiasm (plus I was a bit cold and tired so may have been lacking patience). Apparently he wanted to name the variations after aspects of Bridge's character. What a terrible idea. Anyway, they finished up with the full version of de Falla's Three-cornered hat, which was suitably entertaining. And then I went and shoehorned myself into a microscopic pub with the whole of the orchestra, in order to tuck away a little more medicinal whiskey.

Platform - a film by Chinese director Jia Zhang Ke. Described on the cover as an assured social satire. Described by me as... um... well... long, for one thing. It followed a performing arts group for about 15 years as they gradually westernised in the post-Mao world. To begin with they put on suitably approved productions before moving into pop music and spangly disco routines as time went on. And they copped off with each other a bit, as these performing arts types do. There was a trauma over an abortion, an illiterate cousin who signs all his rights away at the mine, a breakdown of the tour bus in the middle of nowhere. All fascinating little pieces in their own right, but without any particular narrative thread running through. I would have said that you could have put all these pieces in any order, except you definitely couldn't because of the sense of "progress" driving through in the background, which I suppose was the whole point - illustrating the passage of time without the need for giant labels on everything. It finished (well, petered out) with one of the old troupe dandling a baby over a gas stove. Not in a "set fire to the baby" way. Just in an "oh what fun look at the flame, baby" way. (Which given a small error of judgement could have been a set-fire-to-the-baby way after all, but didn't turn out to be, fortunately. ) No doubt my parents will now rush out to obtain this film, as they are drawn to films with subtitles, non-professional actors, no discernible storyline, etc etc. They took me to one once (I'm inclined to say it was Belgian although I really can't recall anything but the pervading sense of gloom it engendered) which followed a girl living a shitty life in a shitty trailer park who had a shitty job and couldn't even manage to successfully gas herself (the gas ran out just after she sat down waiting to die). The high spot of the film was watching her boil and eat a hard boiled egg in what I swear was real time.

* I could, but it would sound rude.

blackberrying

2008-10-16T22:07:00.000Z

Just seeing if this works from my Blackberry. Although typing on this diddy keyboard is a faff.

Conor came round for dinner tonight. We ate risotto and drank a nice bottle of wine and caught up on about four months of gossip. Very little of which is shareable.

He's working at the FSA at the moment. He described it as being in the eerily still place at the eye of the storm, watching the devastation wreaked around you. His office in Canary Wharf is entirely surrounded by the big name banks. It must be an amazing and bizarre time to be there.

Let that be a lesson

2008-10-15T17:28:00.002Z

I return, prompted by a faux pas.

A subject of one of my previous posts (hello Nick!) was obviously googling himself (the vanity...) and found the post I wrote about him on this blog many months ago (he's the artistically-haired cambridge conducting prodigy).

I saw him last night for the first time in maybe six months and he said, "I read your blog of the last concert we did together. Where you said the soloist looked like he needed to get laid." Eeek! He was smiling when he said it, but it was still one of those moments of abject horror...

So naturally I had to go back through the archives and see what libel I had committed. The worst thing is that I'm sure that Nick is friends with this soloist, so no doubt my comment was gleefully reported back.

I do hope the poor chap is not litigious.

Perhaps he's got laid by now and might feel less inclined to sue me. But if he hasn't (and is therefore feeling a little tetchy) I unreservedly apologise. Apart from that comment, the rest of the post was reasonably unlibellous, so that's nice.

Anyway, reading through the posts reminded me of how much I enjoy it, even when it gets me into trouble. I get to re-live all my exploits, frequently late at night in the deserted office when I should be finishing off my work. Ah, the tragic pleasures of the city life, eh?

So, what's been going on? Well, I've moved to a fabulous new flat RIGHT BY the office and for the first time in a long while am working pretty modest hours. Which means that I have had a lot more time over for the purposes of FUN! And boy, it has been.

I went to a music weekend earlier in the year and met hundreds of fabulous musical people, and as a result got invited along to play with some new orchestras and things, which is simply wonderful. I've made a new friend who goes to the theatre a lot, so I've managed to see a load of great things I am personally far too disorganised to get tickets for. I've started going to pilates and stopped running (lazy lazy lazy lady - the excuse is not having anywhere to run as I am bang smack city centre) and got rid of the TV. Well, not quite true - I can still watch dvds, so I've joined an impossibly cool dvd library on [london's fashionable] Brick Lane. Course, I look a tad out of place there as I am very far from impossibly cool. But I brazen it out.

Tonight I have an unusual gap in my social calendar. But that's no bad thing: I was out last night (Strauss oboe concerto / Rite of Spring / pub afterwards - hurrah!) and Sunday night (I was playing a concert - Beethoven 1 and whathaveyou / pub afterwards - hurrah!) so what with that and the collapse of capitalism, I'm pretty tired now.

On that note, I really should go home. And here's the best bit: it's 7.10pm now. I'll be unlocking my front door by 7.15pm. God I love Zone 1.

words cannot describe...

2008-02-25T20:39:00.003Z

...how tasty my perfect* post-run drink is:

Half a pint (or so) of milk (any fat level, or soya if you are my brother)
A banana (the riper the better)
Tablespoon of smooth peanut butter
Cocoa powder mixed with a couple of teaspoons of boiling water
Maybe some runny honey

Wuzz the ingredients together in a blender (or with a hand-held wuzzer). It will be sweet enough if the banana is good and ripe, or if you use that peanut butter with sugar in (skippy or sun-pat). If not, chuck in a squirt of runny honey.

This is a perfectly nutritionally balanced drink for after a long run. Well, maybe... I've not really looked into this fact, I just kind of base it upon some cockeyed notion that you are supposed to tuck away a bit of protein after you've been running. And I think there might be protein in peanuts and milk. Or maybe not. Please do not disabuse me of this idea, though, as I have no intention of giving up this wondrous nectar even if you tell me it is unhealthy.

*caveat: if you don't like peanut butter, or bananas, or milk for that matter, you may disagree with my definition of perfection. I like all of these things, though. And even more so when they are mixed together.

When you're tired of Derby, you're tired of....

2008-02-21T08:38:00.004Z

... late night misery (in my experience).

I'm staying in a serviced apartment at the moment. Last night, at 2am, the land line in the apartment rang.

It was a man shouting "you're a fookin' grass" in a strong local accent. I presume he had the wrong number (since I don't think I've grassed anyone up recently - well, certainly nobody northern at any rate. And in any event, who would know what my phone number is here? ), although given that he'd just woken me up, I lacked the presence of mind to ask him who he thought he had called.

This was most disconcerting, though. I unplugged the phone by my bed, only to then discover, when it started ringing, that there was another phone somewhere else in the flat (which I wasn't about to get out of bed and go looking for). Fortunately after three calls he gave up. Maybe he realised he'd dialled the wrong number. I bet he felt a bit stupid then. Yeah.

This is the second similar incident since I've been here (ok, so that's four months now, but even so it's a pretty high rate of late night disturbance). The first incident was someone repeatedly buzzing the intercom to the flat to be let in at 1am one night in December.

They're weird up here, you know.

Ouch

2008-02-18T18:08:00.002Z

GB rang me today especially to tell me about a man who jumped out of the bedroom window of an address he was visiting (possibly whilst stoned/drunk/both) and broke all the bones in both his heels.

The very thought of this made me curl up small in my chair and squirm.

Yoghurt fountain

2008-02-15T07:24:00.002Z

Hands up who likes Innocent(TM) Smoothies?

I left one of the yoghurt thickies on my desk at work yesterday, next to my computer. Which blew hot air over it all day from the cooling fan.

This answered a fascinating scientific question: how much pressure can the fermentation process generate in a sealed container?

Answer: Quite a lot - the (now rather smelly) yoghurt blew the lid off the bottle, fountained two foot into the air, liberally coated the underside of the shelf above my desk and sprayed down in an elegant and sticky display all over my laptop, PC, desk, phone, face, hair, chair and brand new coat. Which I was only wearing at my desk cos the room is perishing cold. Oh, the irony! (i.e. the fact that the only source of heat in the room caused the disaster that ruined the coat that was only being worn because the room was so cold - is that ironic? Or just a bummer? I've always been confused by the difference, ever since that song)

(Kids: this experiment was carried out by experts under strictly controlled conditions. Don't try this at home!)

Running and chips

2008-02-13T09:33:00.002Z

I went along to Long Eaton running club last night - one of the girls I am working with in Derby is a regular runner with them.

I arrived late and got changed in lightning quick time, but as I came out of the changing rooms they all took off like rabbits. I was left with no clue as to the route, in the dark, in an unfamiliar town. This meant that fear of getting lost motivated me to stick to the back markers of the running pack and thereby achieve my fastest ever 10k time, shaving a whole minute off my previous best.

Another point of note is that the running club is opposite a legendary (and award-winning) chippie. After this great sporting achievement, it would have been wrong to deny myself really, wouldn't it?

Surely a parody?

2008-01-20T18:19:00.000Z

I was listening to the radio in the car earlier when a song came on that I could have sworn was a Flight of the Conchords-style spoof... The opening lyric was:

"If I had eyes in the back of my head I'd have told you that you looked good as I walked away"

But no, apparently it is a genuine song by Jack Johnson. How did he manage to achieve something so close to parody? How does he sing it with a straight face???

(by-the-by: if you're not already into FotC, what have you been doing??)

Interesting chat up technique

2008-01-02T15:27:00.000Z

Him: Are you Canadian?
Me [surprised, looking at clothing for stray maple leaves]: Erm, no.
Him: Oh. I'm Alex, I'm from Portugal
Me: Hi Alex, nice to meet you
Him: Are you straight or gay?
Me: Um... straight
Him: I'm bisexual
Me: Ok. I'm not out on the pull tonight, though, just so you know
Him: Oh. Ok. Do you do drugs?

Fruit flies

2007-12-20T20:26:00.000Z

We have baskets of free fruit at work. Which means that (inevitably) we also have fruit flies. There are two things I know about fruit flies:

(i) the annoyance of them is disproportionate to their size
(ii) they spring into existence at the slightest hint of iffy fruit, from no discernable source.

Oh, and you spend lots of time in biology discussing all the mutant ones that geneticists breed.

Not very Christmassy

2007-12-13T18:43:00.000Z

I'm not doing well at the whole Christmas experience this year. Being away, I've not managed cards, presents, decorations, festive drinkies, the office xmas party (no great loss, I'm sure). So I've decided, unusually for me, to take the whole week off between Christmas and new year.

Imagine my distress when I received the following mass distribution email from the office:

"Please can you answer the following by the end of tomorrow:

1. Is the holiday shown on the spreadsheet correct for you?
2. Is your holiday outside the UK?
3. Confirm your contact number over the Christmas season (mobile preferable) in case we should need to call you back into the office if we are struggling with resourcing any new assignments."

It's not so grim up north

2007-12-03T10:15:00.000Z

I'm in Derby at the moment. It was recently determined to be to the south of the north-south divide, despite Nottingham (just a few miles away) being to the north of it.

Nobody seems to have told the good people of Derby, mind, who call everyone "duck" and go about being friendly to everyone. And if that's not enough to put you on the north of the divide, I don't know what is.

Apparently, the line was determined on things like property prices, voting habits, life expectancy and education prospects. I suppose the fact that Nottingham seems to have turned into the gun crime capital of the UK must have influenced the decision to put the line between them. Not sure what the Nottinghamites are all fighting about - access to the lace market, perhaps?

Anyway, it's all rather nice up here. The weather has been sunny and I've taken a trip out into the peaks for walking and hearty pursuits. I've got a cute little serviced appartment which I could probably buy outright for the spare change down the back of my sofa (ok, ok, not quite, but you know what I mean), and the job seems to be going quite well. And on that note, I'd better get back to it...

Nostalgia

2007-11-05T18:20:00.000Z

For my birthday this year, my parents had all the tape recordings (!!) of my school concerts put onto CDs for me.

I listened to them at the weekend, and they made me cry. I cannot explain this at all. It wasn't sad crying. It wasn't even horror at the out-of-tuneness crying. It was just nostalgia crying. Surely I am not old enough to be crying over my schooldays??

Testing of Krispy Kreme Formula v.1.0

2007-10-26T12:45:00.000Z

Further to Rachel's refinement of the Krispy Kreme formula...

calories burned x injury coefficient x terrain coefficient

...I am undertaking testing based upon my two most recent outings:

(i) Test One - Mountain biking - 40km

Per my Garmin, calories burnt = 1,563
Injuries = none
Terrain = muddy track, slippery leaf-strewn paths for c. 70% of the route. Tarmac for the rest.

1,563 x 1 x (1.9 x 70% + 1.0 x 30%)

= 2,597 calories

= 13 regular glazed ring doughnuts or 7.4 filled doughnuts

(ii) Test Two - Orienteering - 12km

Calories burnt = 793
Injuries = gorse splinters, two large blisters (presumably I would be allowed to count both injury scores? That would be 1.5 for the blisters and 2.4 for the splinters)
Terrain = sandy paths, heath, woodland (I would equate this to tufty grass, 1.3)

793 x 3.9 x 1.3

= 4,021 calories

= 20 glazed ring or 11 filled

My initial thoughts are that these numbers are coming out a little high. I am also concerned about the efficacy of the Garmin for measuring calorific output. It felt like much harder work running 12k than it did cycling 40k. Perhaps further refinement is required...

scientific breakthrough

2007-10-21T12:57:00.000Z

Buoyed by the ongoing success and relevance of the Entertainment & Economy (TM) scale, evidenced almost daily, I am now hard at work on a new formula.

However, I am having trouble with a couple of details.

The formula is supposed to help me work out how many krispy kreme doughnuts (or equivalent measure of roast potatoes) I can consume during a typical week based upon the exercise I do at the weekend (that is, if I still want to fit in my clothes).

The draft version currently looks like this:

(Minutes of exercise + quantity of mud on garments (in grams) ) to the power of (25 minus the hour [24 hour clock] that the exercise commenced)

divided by

mean air temperature during the exercise

But there are a couple of problems at the moment:

Although the formula correctly factors in the increased KK potential of exercise commenced very early in the morning, it needs some kind of amendment for Night Orienteering (typical start time, 6 or 7 pm) - an event which (due to its combination of cold, confusion and a sprinkling of abject terror) punches above its weight in reward terms.
The temperature weighting helps to straighten out the difference between indoor and outdoor work. But what if I went running in the desert?

Also, I've not found a satisfactory way of factoring in injuries. Major injuries (twisted ankles, pulled muscles etc) which stop you from exercising should immediately wipe out any KK benefit otherwise you'd not fit in your work trousers any more by the end of the week. But small injuries which merely inconvenience (splinters, scratches, nettle stings, blisters etc) should be allowed to increase the KK factor, if only to offset the lack of sympathy you get for them (exhibit A: my legs which are filled with microscopic gorse splinters from last weekend's orienteering).

Generation Y

2007-10-01T20:35:00.000Z

I am off on a course next week. It's not aimed at me - I shall be merely an observer, as my department is thinking of running a similar course and wants to find out about it. The course is aimed at the people who are just about to qualify - i.e. they all left university about 3 years ago.

The organisers sent me a huge pack of briefing notes on the course objectives and so on. The most intriguing was an entire report dedicated to the fact that these young'uns, all born after 1980, are the "Millennial" generation, AKA "Generation Y", and therefore are significantly different in their wants and needs to the sluggish pre-millennials such as myself.

What I want to know is how they can all be so very different to me when so few years separate us? Indeed, once my official age manipulation* is in full swing, I shall very soon be YOUNGER than these people. And yet I remain very much not Generation Y. This is exemplified by the fact that after many months on Facebook I still only have a handful of "friends" as none of my actual flesh and blood friends are on it, whereas my little brother (materially closer to being yer actual Millennial) has about 7000 friends after his first week.

*removal of one year from my age at each birthday until I reach 28. Then stop until it is time to gracefully sweep on to 35.

Mud and hills

2007-09-30T19:24:00.000Z

I did my first Hash yesterday. For those not in the know, this involves following a trail of flour blobs around the countryside in a baying pack. This was done on mountain bikes (although I believe the norm is to go on foot), mostly on glorious (and very muddy) single track.

I am not a particularly natural mountain-biker. I am not desperately good at the uphill bits and unfortunately the downhill bits tend to scare me, which only leaves me with the flat. Also, within 3 minutes of setting off yesterday, I broke the cardinal rule of off-road riding: Look at the path you want to take AROUND the obstacle, not AT the obstacle. This is very sage advice. Your hands automatically guide the front wheel in the direction you are looking, so if you are staring at that tree stump in the middle of the path thinking "gosh, better steer clear of that", you can pretty much guarantee you will pedal straight into it. Which indeed I did. Thereby marking myself out as a dreadful amateur. Of course, they'd have guessed my amateur status anyway at the first hill, what with the whimpering.

Hashing is not a competitive sport. This is just as well.

Today's activity was orienteering in north London (this time on foot). The route started at Ally Pally, but also dropped in to Highgate Woods and Queens Woods as well. It was about 10km all told, with some fearsome hills. The second checkpoint took you from the car park down near the gates right up to just in front of the BBC mast at the top of the hill, which I think was somewhat sadistic on the part of the people setting the course.

This one was a competitive event, where I wowed the crowds by coming first out of all the girls who entered the event. Sorry, what was that? How many other girls were there? Um, I forget now...

o+

2007-09-09T00:28:00.000Z

I gave blood this morning. I only do it because they give out Tuc sandwich crackers at the end.
Apparently I am a particularly fine and swift bleeder, according to my nice friendly nurse, with a beautiful easy-access vein in my right arm. I produced my pint this morning in 3m59s. Am beginning to recognise unattractive competitive tendencies in myself - I really had to fight the urge to ask how quickly the other people were donating...

Pain. In every sense.

2007-08-08T15:59:00.000Z

Technology pain:
Well, it's been a good long time since I last posted. I've been out on site at a new client with only an old skool dial-up internet connection to sustain me rather than the high speed broadband to which I have become accustomed.

*Sigh* I remember when we used to wait ten minutes to load up Roland on the Ropes from a cassette tape, and even then it would fail 2 times in 3. And now here I am complaining about waiting 20 seconds for a web page to appear.

Cooking pain:
Anyway. Despite the passage of time, there is very little to report. I harvested 3lbs of plums from the tree in the back garden. It's as old as dirt, so having a crop at all must be entirely down to the truly heroic amount of rain this year. I have made not-quite-jam. In other words, I've done all the boiling, mashing and straining steps, but haven't yet done the scary sugar-related stage in which I inadvertantly turn it into a solid block of purple rubber.

I've also made a most unsuccessful cherry and almond cake. All the cherries sank to the bottom, despite Mary Berry's assurance that rinsing and drying them would prevent this from happening. So the cake is 90% chewing through tedious sponge followed by 10% cherry nirvana.

Leg pain:
Running exploits have been limited - I strained a calf muscle which has kept me largely out of action (apart from the odd 3-miler) for three or four weeks. I eventually took the poorly leg to a sports masseur, who diagnosed shinsplints and then gave me 30 minutes of absolute and exquisite agony. But it appears to have worked. I compared notes with GB, who went to the same place a couple of weeks ago for a back strain, and we did a bit of pain one-upmanship. Thus:

J - He warned me before he started that breaking down shinsplints was famously painful.
GB - My back was really painful to fix, too.
J - I was grimacing with pain at some points.
GB - That's nothing. Mine was so painful I literally couldn't speak.
J - Couldn't speak? I was biting my own hand!
GB - Yeah, but you're just weak and feeble. Mine was real pain.

I'm now allowed to run 5 minutes, followed by 5 minutes of stretching, repeated over the course of 2 or 3 miles. This is somewhat tedious. Not to mention itchy - you stand still for 5 minutes to stretch off and the evening mozzies descend with great enthusiasm.

Cham-pain!
(Do you see what I did there?) Just an excuse to mention an event next week at Vertigo, the champagne bar at the top of Tower 42 (the old NatWest tower). Makes up for all the other pain, eh?

busy sunday

2007-07-16T17:58:00.000Z

got up at 5am (finishing a report - gosh but i work so much more efficiently in the morning but there's always that spice of danger that you'll run out of time...), had eggy bread (mmm), did some washing, ironed my hair (useless - still looked stupid), emailed the report to bob, went to richmond for brunch with roland and tim, accidentally bought some silly jewelled sandals, had rubbish food (they could do a full breakfast that included mushrooms, but they couldn't do mushrooms on toast) followed by a very nice juice (carrot, beetroot, ginger, apple) in the rain, talked about jane austen, went for afternoon tea at the four seasons with very pregnant julia and treehorn my old desk buddy from work, sipped champagne, ate five ridiculous tiny sandwiches and a scone with mountains of clotted cream, drank a whole pot of lapsang souchong, caught a train, got stuck outside clapham (signals struck by lightning), ran round richmond park, bumped into someone from work (eek how embarrassing, red face, tight-fitting lycra), ran home from richmond (ooch ouch starting to hurt), collapsed like a dead thing, had a sleepy (hopefully he couldn't tell) chat with bob about the report, read two pages of my book (One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson*) and slept like a zombie.

*recommended, but read Case Histories first.

Your mission....

2007-07-11T11:36:00.001Z

... should you happen to live in Scotland (anyone? anyone?) is to visit the below-mentioned attraction (featured in an article entitled Top 10 eccentric British days out in today's Guardian) and review it for Entertainment / Economy purposes:

Sharmanka
Mechanically minded Russian sculptor Eduard Bersudsky has set about establishing a cast of clanking and spinning contraptions at Glasgow's Sharmanka Kinetic Theatre: a darkened room, stuffed to bursting with performing machines that meld Russian and Scottish folklore with an understated social and political commentary, all to the accompaniment of an eclectic musical soundtrack. It is as unusual as it is unnerving, a mysterious toymaker's midnight workshop. This is the unpredictable stuff of dreams, and not necessarily nice ones, the sort that keep you clutching the sheets, wide eyed, nervous of what sleep might bring.
14 King St (Second Floor), Glasgow, G1 5HD. Tel: +44 (0)141 5527080

I eagerly await the results.

2007-07-10T09:09:00.001Z

Did I mention that I booked myself a facial when I was in Edinburgh? The best bit was the massage chair - a huge padded recliner that inflated around you and then moved about like it was full of rats.

2007-07-09T09:32:00.000Z

Much fun was had at the weekend. The sleeper train was pretty good. Although I was disappointed that, unlike my mother in years gone by, I was not able to stick my feet out of the window at Crewe.

On Saturday morning, we went and did the aerial assault course at a climbing centre built in an old quarry just outside Edinburgh. It was a delicious combination of fantastic fun and leg-trembling terror as you scaled cargo nets and swung on rope ladders suspended 100ft above the ground.

We also made a LOT of egg-based food, on the grounds that Rachel keeps three hens who are all impressively earning their keep. Well, all apart from fat Margot who didn't produce a single egg the entire time I was there... So we had scrambled eggs, quiche, pavlova and home-made mayonnaise. Impressive, non?

I also managed to fit in my running, with Rachel gamely tootling alongside on a bike. It's amazing: Scotland's full of hills!

Sleeping as the world goes by

2007-07-04T17:48:00.000Z

I am very excited. Tomorrow night I am catching the sleeper train to Edinburgh. I have never caught a sleeper train before.

It leaves at 11 o'clock at night and gets in at 7 o'clock in the morning. I have booked myself a whole compartment, which is a luxury indeed. But not really much more expensive than the price of a normal flight from a sensible airport.

Obviously it's a LOT more expensive than a Ryanair 1p special from nowhere near London to nowhere near Glasgow, but just think of the differences:

Sleeper: Catch the train after work on Thursday. I'm already in central London with a travelcard for the tube, so no additional cost or inconvenience. Get blasted on free cocktails at a work event (it's for new graduates - they'll all be respectful, keen and a bit arselicky until they figure out that I am in no way influential) before weaving my way to the station for a quick shower in the posh Virgin lounge.

Ryanair: Catch a distressingly early flight from "London" Stansted on Friday morning. This would have to involve finding somewhere to stay up in that neck of the woods, as I'd never be able to get there early enough by public transport from home. The later flights, are, inevitably, much more expensive. Stand in security queue for many hours. Sigh.

Sleeper: Wheel my suitcase into my cabin. Unpack my jim-jams. Brush my teeth. Curl up with a book.

Ryanair: Try, and fail, to squeeze suit, laptop, running kit and civvies into 10 kilo hand luggage and therefore pay EXTRA MONEY to check a suitcase into the hold. Probably have half the contents of my handbag confiscated at security.

Sleeper: Have a minion bring me free tea and snacks.

Ryanair: Get into a fistfight over who gets the window seat. Pay £2 for a bottle of water after mine is confiscated at security.

Sleeper: Wake refreshed (hmmm.... not so certain about this bit) and in central Edinburgh. Eat the free breakfast pack brought round by aforementioned minion.

Ryanair: Did you know that the website for Glasgow Prestwick airport doesn't even have a location map on it? This is presumably so you don't find out just how damn far from Glasgow it actually is. Either that or to stop terrorists finding it. What's that you say? Oh dear. Those wily terrorists.

2007-07-04T09:55:00.001Z

Oh dear. Apparently, according to French intellectuals, jogging is a right-wing activity. I shall have to hang up my shoes and switch to more appropriate activities like drinking red wine and having philosophical debates. Oh, hang on... I do that already!

Well, if you substitute the word "cake" for "philosophical debates", anyway.

Where do they keep all the pillow cases?

2007-06-29T10:49:00.000Z

Overheard by a friend of mine in the toilets at her office - a work experience girl chatting to a friend:

"We've got this great school trip coming up. But when we get back, everyone's got to stay the last night at school - I don't know why. It's such a pain. I mean, my parents' house can sleep forty, so I might just ask all the girls back to mine instead..."

Forty? What kind of house IS this????

Further running exploits

2007-06-27T16:59:00.000Z

I am very pleased with my latest running exploits. My 10k history now looks like this:

Nike 10k last October: 1hr 06 mins
Melbourne 10k in March: 59 mins and a bit
Staines 10k last month: under 59 mins (although the official time was 59:02 - swizz!)
Dysart Dash 10k on Sunday: 54 mins 47 secs (official time 55 mins dead)

My poor trainers.

Don't ask how I got in

2007-06-22T12:36:00.000Z

I managed to wangle a ticket for the 2007 Charity Awards last night. A significant majority of people going up to collect awards (chief execs, press officers, senior technicians etc) were female. I might be going out on a limb here, but I suspect the same would not be said of, say, the advertising industry or accountancy annual awards.

And just in case you were wondering (I definitely was before I arrived), most of the assembled do-gooders looked surprisingly elegant and well-coiffed (and I thought you people were above such frivolity??!!). Although there were some suitably bizarre ethno tie-die hand-woven hemp creations on display to ensure you didn't get the night confused with, say, a debutantes' ball.

This was my first ever big awards bash. And by big of course I mean not too big. Cos it's the charity sector and it would be a bit embarrassing to be troughing on champers and caviar and snorting coke whilst watching images of beaten wives, starving children or Alzheimer's patients.

The people handing out the prizes were a bizarre mix of minor celebs, some of whom were more obvious choices than others:

Neil Kinnock - ooh yes, all these guardian-reading leftie types will love this
Kate Adie - wow, brilliant female role model
Ade Adewhatsit - he's young! he's sexy! he's black! he's disabled! the Beeb has just wet its collective pants!
Some foreign football player (Gianfranco Zola? Gianluca Viali? "You are all weeners here tonight to me" Well said, Gianthingy!)
A few other people who I hadn't heard of

Anyway. I had a great night, apart from offending one of our guests. He'd just been telling me that he thought his daughter should apply to my firm because "she has the right school on her CV". "Excuse me?" I snorted, "Don't you mean that she has the right results?"

"Well, yes, but the right school counts for a lot, you know"

"Um... right," I said, "I went to my local comp."

And then the woman sat the other side of him (from the Arts Council) chipped in, "Me too!"

Hah! Pincer movement.

banana skills

2007-06-20T12:43:00.000Z

My friend Matkinson insists that the best way to peel a banana is as follows:

(i) turn it upside-down, so that the stem is at the bottom.
(ii) squeeze and roll the terminal end of the banana between your fingers until it splits
(iii) peel it down from the bottom to the top - the stem then acts as a handy handle with which to hold the banana:

Sunday night fun

2007-06-18T07:30:00.000Z

Last night I went with my friend Roland to see Aurora Orchestra do a concert of zany American music, including a premier of a music/animation collaboration called Life in the key of Aaaargh!

Before the concert, Roland was guessing that of the four pieces, two would be plinky plonky nonsense (Aaaargh itself, and Adjustable Wrench by Michael Torke - d'you see what he did there?) and the other two would be good (Copland's Appalachian Spring, John Adams' Chamber Symphony). Fortunately, he was mistaken on the plinky plonky nonsense bit, and both pieces were pretty enjoyable. And there was some fantastic ensemble playing from the orchestra. The Appalachian Spring was in the original version for 13 instruments (I only know the big symphonic version - it has oboes in it, which the smaller one doesn't) and, despite not having oboes in it (usually a bad sign), it was really beautiful.

All-in-all, I don't think I've actively enjoyed a concert so much for ages.

Ice Maiden

2007-06-15T14:28:00.001Z

I just had my professional portraits done for work. We all have to have one for use in presentations, marketing materials etc. If you don't have a professional one, they use the picture from your security pass. Which for me is relatively unfortunate (see pic). Not to mention somewhat out of date.

The whole process was not quite as bad as I remember it from school. Our school photographer always used to say, "Come on, Lady Di, give us a smile". Not to the boys, I suppose, though. I don't know what he would call them. Not "Prince Charles", that's for sure.

Anyway. I had to display full range of corporate emotion from "sober and trustworthy" to "slightly amused and trustworthy". I may share the most cripplingly embarrassing with you. But I'm not promising anything.

Guilty secret

2007-06-13T12:29:00.000Z

At the moment, I have to do about 20 minutes on the tube each day to get to the client site. On the way home, I've got into the habit of picking up one of the free London papers in the evening. If you've not seen one of these (London Lite, The London Paper - handed out by tabard-clad students/immigrants/out of work actors), they are effectively gossip mags for 20- and 30-somethings masquerading as newspapers.

Regular features

One-off articles penned by readers, with a "Should XXX write for us again? Text your vote!!" footer appended to them (strangely, the voting results are always in multiples of 10%, making me suspect that there are only ten people bothering to text. Or they just make it up.)
Readers' opinions of recent news items, submitted by text so as to render them as white-van-man-talk-radio meaningless as possible
A photo of Victoria Beckham and a quick update on her fly-on-the-wall documentary / trials of life in America / latest outrageous outfit
Centre spread of who was out on the town last night (i.e. WAGs falling out of cabs, Peaches Geldof - always with a reference to her upcoming A-levels thrown in for good measure - and some random celeb with their nipples / ladies bits on unintentional display.)

But I must now make a confession. Both the free papers have a column dedicated to messages between anonymous commuters. Along the lines of: "To the cute Brazilian guy in the sleeveless shirt on the District line at 6pm each night - you've got a great smile". And I can't help it, but I ALWAYS read them. Just in case one day I find... "Slightly tubby speccy girl with frightening hair on the Reading train - your scowling face makes my day"

The best things in life are free if you are exceptionally lucky

2007-06-11T08:45:00.000Z

Entertainment & Economy scale went into overdrive this weekend. Not least because the South Bank was having its celebratory opening so every time I walked past on the way to the station there were weird and wonderful free events going on. But this excitement aside, I was the lucky beneficiary of much E&E joy...

Friday night

Early evening drinks at the Fortnum & Mason wine bar. The immensely charming French staff let you buy food from the deli and bring it into the bar to nibble on. E&E rating: wine=fair, nibbles=good.
Royal Academy summer exhibition. My parents are Friends of the RA, so receive a pair of preview tickets, so I went with my dad. The exhibition is free anyway, but if you go to the preview you get the opportunity to buy Pimm's at £5 per glass. Hmmm. We resisted. Thanks to the pre-exhibition tippling, though, I was nearly tempted to shell out inappropriate amounts of money on artworks. Close shave, but ultimately achieves an E&E rating of Excellent for being both fun and FREE!

Saturday

Met up with friends for champagne and mini macaroons to celebrate Kristin's birthday. E&E rating: um... I think we'll evaluate the day as a whole... moving on to...
Stalls seats (row E, darlings!) at ENO's production of Benjamin Britten's Death in Venice, starring the sublime Ian Bostridge. And a glorious counter-tenor (Iestyn Davies, per the programme). E&E rating: oh, how smug am I? My friend at the Beeb procured press tickets so it was FREE FREE FREE FREE FREE and truly amazing, which puts it off the scale.

Sunday

Brunch in the sunshine.
Run in Richmond Park. The best things in life are indeed free.

By popular demand

2007-06-08T13:23:00.000Z

The anatomy of a TROLLEY

TROLLEY has three levels, as a proper trolley should.

Level 1
The top level holds the cash box, the two active flasks (hot water and coffee), tea bags (two sorts, if you are lucky), the paper cups and the naughty tray*.

*naughty tray: chocolate bars, Kitkats, flapjacks (commercial, not home-made, sadly) and little plastic tubs of mixed sweeties (jelly sweets, sours, jelly beans etc). Oh, and I think they do plastic tubs of health-giving seeds too, but who cares about that?

Level 2
The middle level, which requires you to stoop and guddle about to pick out a gem, is where the real treasure is to be found. Alongside the spare flasks and milk, you find a plate of individually wrapped jam doughnuts (these always look a little flat, like they may originally have been stacked in a very high pile), and the two CAKE PLATES.

The CAKE PLATES all carry the same style of cake: loaf-shaped cakes cut into nice rectangular slices. There are always about three slices of each type, so you have to be quick if you want to grab your fave. My well-researched comments are:

lemon drizzle - has little pockets of lemon curdiness in the sponge and a nice icing. Highly recommended
dundee-style - lots of raisins and big sugar crystals on top. The high fruit content makes this offering feel very virtuous (for a cake).
ginger - never bothered with this one since my own ginger cake triumph. Plus I like icing, of which this has none.
carrot - looks promising. I had a bit off someone else's the other day and it was nicely moist.
coconut - not had it myself. My friend Jo had it by accident when she was gunning for carrot cake. She did not complain.

You have to reach in and steal your own slice using your fingers and a serviette. Slice sizes vary wildly, so some judicious observation from the sidelines pays dividends unless you suspect that your favoured type is under threat from other gluttons. In which case, jump in quick.

Level 3
The bottom level is for dull things like cans of pop, bags of walkers etc. The true trolley connoisseur naturally shuns this snack machine style offering, but the boys go for it in a big way. And not in order to admire the ankles of the trolley lady. Unless they have specialist tastes.

I believe the trolley also harbours fruit of some description, but for some reason I can't immediately bring to mind which level this is located on... Anyway, have you seen the time???

Did I mention the Trolley?

2007-06-07T16:55:00.000Z

I can't remember if I've already mentioned that the office I'm working at has a 3pm tea trolley every day. The nice lady with a big voice pushes the trolley in the front door and hollers "Anyone for TROLLEY?!" and we all gather round for tea and cake.

I'm beginning to worry about my obsession with TrolleyTime.

I start thinking about it in the morning, which is when I consider whether or not I should have cake that day, based upon the relative healthfulness of the preceding 24 hours.

By midday, my lunch choices are strongly influenced whether I've committed to having cake in the afternoon. I also calculate the approximate time between finishing lunch and upcoming arrival of trolley

By ten to three, I'm busy clearing my diary/excusing myself from meetings/terminating conference calls/having a preparatory wee so that I'm not out of the room when trolley arrives.

By three pm I'm at my desk, poised. But the challenge now is not to look too desperate, so people do not realise the disturbing depth of my trolley fixation:

Look up, nonchalantly, as if to say "Is that the time? I hadn't realised."
Turn to colleagues and say, "Cup of tea - there's an idea. Can I get you one?"
Grab purse, run to trolley, push through crowds, lunge for cake

Damn, damn, damn!

things that make you go hmmm...

2007-06-05T16:27:00.000Z

Given that it was making the boss go Hmmm in a disapproving manner, I cannot disclose the precursor to this instant messenger exchange. But the question remains: is it me that's barking, or her?

Boss.... you know I want to hmmmmm
Me..... you are LOVING THE HMMM
Me..... don't spend it all at once
Boss.... there's an endless supply - that's the benefit of the hmmm - it's not a constrained resource
Me..... oh dear
Me..... and my credit at the bank of hmm appears to be limitless
Boss.... but could become devalued with overuse
Me..... true
Me..... the governor of the bank of hmm issued the following statement earlier:
Me..... HMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Boss.... but I AM the governor of the Global Bank of Hmm
Me..... oh

How do YOU do it?

2007-06-04T07:43:00.000Z

Gosh, but it was a nice weekend, wasn't it? I hope you managed to get the most out of it. I capitalised on the sunny blessing in three ways:

(i) bought an outdoor table and chair set. For £50 (bargainlicious). They're green (as in the colour, not the environmental impact - although they are steel rather than illegally logged teak, which might help the old green credentials. But then steel is somewhat high energy to produce. Sigh. I suppose the environmentally sound solution would have been to go and salvage something from a skip. Or sit on the floor.)

(ii) went for a nice 10 mile walk around Elstead and Thursley in Surrey. The walk took in Thursley bog (Site of Special Scientific Interest, because scientists are apparently specially interested in boggyness) and the Pride of the Valley pub, which celebrates some famous Welsh person (can't remember which one at this precise moment, only that it was not Dylan Thomas). It has been rather expensively done up (quite nicely too), but unfortunately the overall ambience was ruined by having the CD on loop for the same two songs the entire time we were there. Even if these had been decent songs, the repetition would have been a tad painful, but sadly they were not (I think they were Atomic Kitten and Darius from pop idol, but this is slightly outside my area of expertise). I remain somewhat scarred by the experience.

(iii) had sunday brunch with a friend I haven't seen for ages at the Bluebird Cafe on the Kings Road. This venue is one of the Conran empire (albeit the cafe part is at the cheaper end of the spectrum). It was a nice surprise to be able to get a table in the sunshine without a wait on such a lovely day. The service was unbelievably inept, so we kept our nice table for close on two hours, despite a queue forming outside.

The slightly bizarre service didn't trouble us - everything arrived very slowly, but we were in no rush, and the antics of the waiting staff (and one very irate couple) provided endless amusement. A nice but slightly perplexed-looking young man wiped down our table about 5 times during the course of our visit, and also attended occasionally to move the salt and pepper pots to a different location on the table. In addition to our own orders, they attempted to serve us a number of items destined for other tables, including portions of chips, entire main courses, extra water, and even two glasses of champagne that were meant as apologies to the irate couple. We could have eaten like kings if we had been more on the ball.

Apart from these fun things, I also had the boss round for dinner and ran round Richmond Park again.

queasy

2007-06-01T08:50:00.000Z

I am working from home this morning (as opposed to "working from home" - complete with finger moves to indicate inverted commas - which requires no actual work to be undertaken and doesn't even need you to be at home). This involved eating a bowl of muesli whilst reading the budget paper of a hospital trust.

This is not a recommended activity.

I was just lifting a nice milky spoonful of oaty and raisiny goodness to my lips when I read the phrase:

"Express procedures for rectal prolapse using mesh"

Strangely, the rest of the bowl no longer appeals.

cake and running

2007-05-29T09:11:00.000Z

Baked rather nice ginger cake. Needs more practice - I used a tin that was too big, so it ended up wider and thinner than it should have. But then you can't buy a new tin every time you make a cake. I'll just have to make more mix next time and create a GIANT CAKE.

I rallied the troops on Sunday night for a late evening run around Richmond Park. It was about an hour before dusk and raining a little, which meant that the park was relatively quiet. There were four of us, although within 20 minutes we'd all lost sight of each other (despite GB wearing his enormous luminous yellow waterproof that could be used to flag down the aeroplanes going into heathrow), so most of the hour was spent alone with just the deer for company. They're pretty used to luminous-clad runners in the park, so they will happily congregate close to the paths. At the moment, all the teenage lads in the deer world are sporting those mini-antlers covered in velvet. So beautiful.

more running joy

2007-05-26T20:12:00.000Z

At risk of sounding too smug, I did drag myself (and a hungover GB) out of bed for another Bushy Park Time Trial 5k this morning. I could claim that it was wanting to get out in the fresh air and stretch my legs, but in reality it was trying to undo the damage done by working this week at a client who has a 3pm tea trolley (complete with cake) every day.

I am very pleased to have beaten my PB this week. They haven't published any pictures yet, which is even better news. I have no doubt that I still look like a slightly agitated pensioner chasing down a bus.

On a different note, I feel that the conversations with my boss over instant messenger are starting to drift away from the purely functional. On Thursday we discussed what kind of cakes would appeal to fascists (conclusion: battenburg - regimented, controlled, uniform - but would Mussolini have agreed?). On Friday the conversation continued around the subject of whether heaven was like a doughnut:

Me... gosh - this is nearly as profound as the italian fascist battenburg
Boss... i worry that we are too obsessed by CAKE
Me... am also troubled by this
Me... particularly CAKES OF JUDGEMENT
Me... hell cake
Me... fascist cake
Boss... and holey cake
Me... true
Me... that redresses the balance
Boss... but still maybe shows a worrying tendency to relate all the problems of the world to CAKE
Boss... on the other hand it maybe healthy - maybe more people should do it - maybe if Hitler and Chamberlain had gotten out the battenburg and discussed nazism and CAKE world war two wouldn't have happened
Boss... or hitler would have died of overeating pink and yellow squares long before he shot himself
Me... plausible
Me... plus chamberlain might have been a bit more worried once he saw that terrifyingly regimented cake
Me... and softened hitler's world view through the judicious application of lemon drizzle cake
Me... or eton mess

How do calories work?

2007-05-23T09:17:00.000Z

Last night I went for a run with GB. According to my running watch, I burned 473 calories. According to HIS running watch, he burned 991 calories for the same run.

How is this fair? It's not like he weighs twice as much as me.

Further running adventures

2007-05-20T12:02:00.000Z

This morning I ran the Staines 10k. It was gloriously sunny, although that now seems to have passed and the sky has become largely grey, with odd scraps of blue. Slightly more than would be required for a pair of sailor's trousers, but by no means enough for a whole regiment (I'm not sure that sailors hang about in regiments, though. What IS the right word?)

This is a great shame. For as much as it was lovely to be strolling about and warming up in the sunshine, running in it doesn't really allow you to make the best of the weather, since you spend your time wiping sweat from your hairline and worrying about whether your mouth is developing that sticky white goo in the corners that old men get when talking enthusiastically.

Anyway. I used my groovy little sat-nav running watch (a prime example of spending money in lieu of actually getting off arse - equivalent to those people who purchase expensive gym membership in the hope that it is the amount of cash rather than effort expended that counts) to set a nice race pace. This helps with avoiding SUPER-KEEN-START: full of fresh-air, beautiful-morning, look-at-my-lycra enthusiasm, you set off at a cracking and leg-jellying pace before realising, ten minutes in, that you can't keep it up.

In reality, I've never been much of a one for super-keen-starts. Glenn always takes off like the bunny at the dog track before realising that he doesn't really fit in with that pack of elongated string-and-gristle types around the half-way mark. But it was still handy to have the "virtual runner" pacing alongside me (on the tiny screen, at least) showing me the way. Of course, the virtual runner doesn't get slowed down by hills, corners, bunching up of runners etc, so you have to stay a step or two ahead of him just to be sure of getting the desired time.

I am very pleased with this morning's effort because, despite having done almost no running since getting back from Australia, I beat the 10k time I set in Melbourne (59:13), by - ooh - 30 seconds or so. But this did mean that I broke 59 minutes for the first time. According to my own timing, I came in at 58:42, but I shall have to wait and view the official course time online later...

Right, Glenn's just woken up from his post-race nap, so it's time to go out and Make The Best of The Day.

Trussism

2007-05-16T21:29:00.000Z

Further to my Truss-esque rant of yesterday, I am now trying to work out if Lynn Truss (of Eats, Shoots & Leaves fame) is a Jolly Good Thing, or a Rather Smug And Irritating Person.

Given that I occasionally make corrections to posters on the noticeboards at work, you'd have thought she was my soul sister.

But I feel that, although motivated by the same urge (if not quite the same level of ability - I would never profess to remember more than about three grammattcal rules simultaneously, and my spelling is shocking), she and I may differ somewhat in style.

I tend to be a bit embarrassed about my compulsion to amend things (apart from reports I am proof-reading, which don't count), and have to furtively sneak about to do it when nobody is looking.

She (presumably for reasons of publicity) prefers this to be a bold and overt action. Good luck to her - she has, after all, to make a living. But it still represents a point towards "smug and irritating". But the most damning evidence is on her website. Apparently, she has a house in Brighton (and one in Bloomsbury, too, darling!) but hates being woken up by seagulls. Uh oh, Lynn... the evidence is all pointing towards.........

Make a cake. Feel happy.

2007-05-15T20:55:00.000Z

When I first met Glenn, he told me his favourite kind of cake was carrot cake, so I promised to make him one.

In the intervening years (many), I have made him three carrot cakes (few). Including one at the weekend. It was the perfect carrot cake, so kudos once again to my friend Charlotte who provided the recipe from her extensive collection.

Digression: I was going to extoll the virtues of cooking, but instead I will convey my love of learning new rules of grammar with which to terrorise the junior staff at work.

I only learned the difference between "less" and "fewer" recently. Isn't it shocking that I could have made it all the way through my (relatively extensive) education without picking it up?

I sense I am not entirely alone in my glorious ignorance, though. There appears to be a whole generation of us (well, us state school kids, anyway) who missed out on learning parts of speech (gerund, anyone?), rules of grammar, rudimentary spellings etc.

But the problem is that I'm happy as larry being a know-nothing until I learn a new rule. Once I've mastered it, though, I get tooth-grindingly annoyed with people making the very same mistake that I had previously been making. And I have a sneaking suspicion that correcting people's grammar when I'm reviewing their reports just makes me look irritating and smug (let's face it, that's how we all imagine Lynn Truss, isn't it?)

But she's got a point about "its" and "it's". I wrote that particular rule on a post-it note and stuck it on my junior's laptop after he got it wrong on every single page of a report. Does that constitute bullying on my part?

Jolly British fun

2007-05-13T21:19:00.000Z

We had fun today of the wholesome British sort that johnny foreigner (with his constant sunshine and laid-back personality) just doesn't quite understand: we went to a fete in the rain. At one point, there was thunder and lightning too. There were a surprising number of people sloshing about on the (rapidly churning) sward of Bushy Park in cagoules and luminous cycling gear, pretending that they were having fun.

The exhibits at the fete primarily consisted of marquees full of picture boards extolling the virtues of "health walks" in the park and the evils of litter etc. The park bee-keeper (?!?) was there with a mini glass bee house full of glum-looking bees. I felt a bit sorry for them, but my dad bought some of the honey so their misery was not entirely in vain. Well, I suppose that's not quite true for the bees, since they didn't look fussed whether we bought their honey or not.

Once we were all thoroughly soaked through, we gave up and came home.

Last night, we went to see English National Opera's production of On the Town (Bernstein) at the Coliseum. For lovers of musicals it is much less well-known than West Side Story, but for fans of Lenny's serious stuff may also be under the radar, being decidedly lighter than, say, the Chichester Psalms.

The biggest tune, which you might know if I whistled it to you, is "New York, New York" (no, not that one):

New York, New York!
A helluva town
The Bronx is up and the Battery's down
The people ride in a hole in the ground
New York, New York -
It's a helluva town!

Despite it being an ENO production, a good proportion of the cast were of the west end persuasion (dancers who happened to be able to sing a bit, rather than the other way round). The only recording I've heard of it also goes in for a combination - of the five main leads, three were opera singers, two were broadway stars. The ENO version tipped the balance even further - only one of the five was an opera singer, and the production was (sadly) the worse for it. The main character, played by Super-creamy-double-whipped (TM) Thomas Hampson in my recording, has some of the most beautiful songs you've ever heard. Of course, comparing anyone with SCDW(TM) TH is a little unfair, given that he is probably the best baritone in the world. But even so, the sporting little fella up on the stage last night - although I admit he danced up a storm in his little white sailor suit - did not really have the voice for the part.

Not to say that I didn't enjoy the production. I'd go again if it wasn't so expensive. You can understand why these things cost so much to attend - at the final curtain there were 56 principals and chorus on the stage, and that's before you get on to orchestra, costume, lighting etc. Not forgetting also the person who makes the surtitles appear. I've met the man from the Royal Opera House who has that job (he's an amateur bassoonist: I met him playing chamber music). He really does sit through each performance pushing a button to make the next line appear at the appropriate moment. I'm not sure if I envy him the job or not.

And let's not get on to why you need surtitles at ENO, given that all the productions are in English.

groan

2007-05-08T08:49:00.000Z

Me: Isn't it great? My milkman has delivered me an organic salad box.

Dad: Fantastic. Now all you need is some organic salad to put in it.

Is it a boy thing?

2007-05-05T19:48:00.000Z

I had a very bad meeting at work on Thursday, where the people on the other side were quite mean and agressive. When I told my friend Sarah about it, she said, "I hate men. I bet if they were women they wouldn't have been like that"

She does have a point. There are a few scary women I know who do behave like that, but apart from those tiresomely "alpha female" examples, it is primarily a male technique.

The annoying thing is that you don't need to be belittling and agressive to get your point across. It's like when you're complaining about something in a shop. If you're nice and reasonable but firm, you get much further than if you get cross and shout at people. If the men in that meeting had been nicer to me, then I might have been able to give them all the answers rather than get flustered and shuffle papers about unconvincingly. But at least I didn't cry.

>>>

We had dinner at Blah Blah Blah (veggie restaurant in Shepherd's Bush) last night. It's BYO, so I had a glass or two of wine...

They have those paper table cloths that you can write on. I seem to recall explaining musical notation through a series of increasingly wobbly staves after a few glasses. How edifying that must have been for the rest of the table.

you'll have a little ice cream, sure you will...

2007-05-01T18:07:00.000Z

Managed to grab a quick sandwich on the balcony with Conor today - the first time I've seen him in six months.

True to form, he nipped into the kitchen after lunch...

"will we have a little ice cream? Sure we will now, won't we?"

"sure, I'll put some raspberries on it"

"ah go on now, I've got this Flake in the freezer. Will I crush it up and sprinkle it on top?"

"I'll just be finishing it with a bit of cream"

Dull, dull, dull and weddings

2007-04-30T20:33:00.000Z

Have been working lots (dull). But also went to a wedding at the weekend (hooray). It was in the Lake District, which let me tell you is an awful long way to go for a weekend. Luckily there was no traffic as everyone was in Kent looking at broken chimneypots. The lake district is always quite surprisingly beautiful. In that you kind of knew it was so, but it still takes your breath away.

I have a minor gripe, though. I know: what's new? But anyway. It was probably the most expensive wedding I have ever been to. (I mean expensive for the guest, not for the parents.)

It ended up costing around £700, once you'd factored in hotel, gift, petrol and alcohol (i.e. excluding hair. If you'd seen the state of my roots, you'd agree that this comes under "necessary expenditure". Oh, and excluding outfits, which were admittedly unecessary.)

But now I sound (a) a bit poncy "la la la I spent £700 on a weekend aren't I super-fancy" and (b) miserly-spend-money-on-wedding-grouch-begrudgement. Sigh. I am not looking for sympathy. But surely the price must have put the weekend beyond the financial reach of some would-be guests? I mean, £700 would not be a particularly tight budget for your average summer holiday, rather than just two days away.

Disposable proggler - the essential kit

2007-04-26T21:13:00.000Z

I am devoting this fascinating post to the proggling of splinters. Rach (and indeed her entire family as far as I can make out. Particularly Grace.) are very keen progglers*, and will while away merry hours on this pastime.

*and not just of splinters. Belly buttons, shoe cleats, gaps between the computer keys.

But I discovered the perfect splinter proggler while I was on holiday. I got a great set of five splinters in the palm of my hand whilst on walkabout (it may have had something to do with hugging trees), so gleefully approached the man at the YHA counter with a request for a needle in the anticipation of a happy half hour's entertainment.

He came back with a pre-packed sterilised Splinter Remover. Super-fancy. No messing about with gas flame / cotton wool / tcp etc. Ergonomic plastic grip so that you can really put some effort into it without cramping of the fingers. Sharp point PLUS bladed sides, like a mini-spear, so that you could poke and slash simultaneously. Oooooh.

The disadvantage of this supreme piece of kit was that it was a little too efficient. It only took five minutes to despatch all the splinters, which was somewhat disappointing. I was hoping Glenn might have had a few too, but no such luck.

Anyway, I brought it back home with me (I know, defeating the idea of the sterilisedness, but still, they're my bacteria) and was able to put it to good use in attacking the SPLINTER FROM HELL. Although I have to confess that what ultimately prevailed (after the groundwork had been laid by the tool of choice) was my BeneFit eyebrow-grooming tweezers (aka. the Best Tweezers In The World)

There's a tree in my shin

2007-04-23T20:34:00.000Z

Introduction:
I played a couple of concerts at the weekend with Herts Chamber Orchestra, where I play second oboe to my friend Janie. She's been in the orchestra since not long after it was founded (1966). As have many of the other players. My attendance reduces the average age by a reasonable chunk, and usually we have some conducting prodigy fresh out of Cambridge who brings the average down another decade or so.

This week was no exception. We had a nice Rattle-haired fellow called Nick Collon, who came with the kind of credentials that probably make his mother a little bit teary-eyed every time she thinks about him.

Digression #1: I wonder if he has some utterly talentless sibling? Wouldn't it be depressing? At least in a normal family you can have The Arty One and The Brainy One - but he's got all that sewn up. What does that leave? The Troubled One? Anyway, on with the story...

As is the fashion for these young conducting prodigies, he was cultivating that dishevelled thing of artistic hair and excessively layered clothing. But after several of these in a row, I begin to realise that that is what normal young people do nowadays, Ethel.

Digression #2: I obviously spend far too much time surrounded by unnaturally tidy people - the analyst on my current assignment, for example, is about 25 too, but is pinstriped and shiny-shoed in the manner of all the smart identikit professionals in the firm. I hadn't really noticed that most young people outside the world of professional services are, well, fashionable.

Of course, I am now to ruin this fine assertion by saying that the oboe soloist, who was doing the Richard Strauss oboe concerto (and if you don't know this piece, then I am inordinately jealous that you are yet to have the pleasure of discovering it. Do so now, without delay.), was impossibly young, neat and geeky-looking. I suppose a more generous spirit than mine would say that hearing him play was inspiring. But (natural grouch that I am) I found it everso slightly depressing to hear the oboe played so well and effortlessly. Although (as I debated with my mother in the interval), the poor chap does look (and indeed play) like he needs to get laid. As someone once said about somebody else. A pianist, I think.

Digression #3: My parents bumped into Alan Bennett in Petworth last weekend. As you do. They then had to ring their friends in North Carolina, who are (I kid you not) putting on a production of some of his Talking Heads this week, to tell them of this lovely coincidence (and to pass on Big Al's best wishes for the performance). All this probably only serves to confirm the American view of England as a village where we're all on nodding terms with the Queen and you can't served at the tea shop because Alan, Dame Judi and good old Bill Shakespeare are hogging the waitress. Apparently, when my parents were living out there, someone did indeed ask them if they had known Princess Diana. Well, a little - but not really to talk to, my dears!

I'm not even sure if this can count as a return to the story, because the concert story has sort of come to an end. I think the original direction was to do with my aches and pains. Playing concerts can have that effect, particularly when (like me) you don't do enough (i.e. ANY) practice. But the REAL reason for the aches and pains must be the orienteering on Saturday.

It was only a 4km course. Easy peasy, I thought. Be done in less than an hour, I thought. Home in time for a quick shower and dash off to the rehearsal, I thought. Sadly, I was wrong.

"Golly!" I said to the organiser as I downloaded my times at the end, "That was fun, but it was really hard work!"

"Oh yes," he said, breezily, "I tried to make it as physically demanding as possible. And the terrain round here's pretty challenging anyway, isn't it?"

It took me 95 minutes to complete. And just to be clear - I probably travelled a fair amount more than 4km in that time. And as I now discover from reading the notes on the website:

"The courses are planned to use the better bits of the area but by necessity the middle and long contain some rough underfoot conditions in places. On [the 3km and 4km courses] be prepared for at least one stiff climb"

And by "stiff climb", he means hacking up a long steep hillside completely covered in felled trees. At one point, I caught a broken branch on my shin and got the most spectacular splinter. It's about the size of a table leg (small exaggeration). It stayed with me for two whole days, despite the poking, probing and (Rach's word) proggling of various gleeful volunteers. In the end, it all got a bit juicy and pus-filled and I squeezed it out like a recalcitrant blemish. I'm wondering if I could possibly frame it.

Digression #4: What exactly is it that people love so much about extracting splinters? I have to admit, it's one of my favourite activities. Although this one was less fun, being inordinately deep and painful, and resistful of my proggling activity over many fruitless hours.

And the late news: My friend Victoria Sponge now has a regular slot at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. I am very proud of her. Hopefully I'll get to go and see her some time soon, even though her set doesn't start until 12.30 at night and I've normally turned into a pumpkin at that point. But perhaps I can make a pumpkin-related exception for one night...

And the late, late news: I came 7th out of 17 in the orienteering. Most respectable (if you choose to ignore that the winner did it in 54 minutes).

sigh

2007-04-17T15:32:00.000Z

Had a great time in Australia. Here's what I did:

adelaidefringecomedybbqwithrellieswinetastingwithpetewalkedcharliethedog
worldpoliceandfiregamesorienteeringinbelairparksawkoalasglennlost(booo)but
sarahwonsilver(hurrah)atelotsofnicefoodgotscaredbysuperfatpossumsinsunken
gardensdrovegreatoceanroadwalkedtheskywalkintherainforestworkedoutinthe
botanicalgardensopenaircinemasuperhotweatherjazzclubrainstorm10kfastesttime
dontforgettherathernicemassagehikedtowineglassbayandupmountmariasnakeseek
gotscaredbymorepushypossumsmountainbikeddownmountwellingtonkayaked
acrosshobartbaytooktheferryacrosssydneyharbourmanlybeachsurflessonhike
roundcoastdinnerinsuperfancyrestaurantwalkaboutwithaboringineinbluemountains
tigersnakeeekcockatoosnotsobadsteepestrailwayripoffbutkneesachingfrom900steps
threesistersdowntobeachhouselotsofwalksmorewinetastinglookedaftercharliebaby
missedflightoopssoflewtomelbournefordinnerhowposhtogetconnectionflightupgraded
tobusinessclassthenhome

But unfortunately I've been sent straight on to site on my very first day back in the office, so that's all from me for now.

The dangers of smug and muesliworld

2007-03-06T18:34:00.000Z

Have discovered the downside of all that running-based smugness:

I have eaten an absolute tonne of rubbish food over the last two days, including a whole clutch of Cadbury's Creme Eggs. Let's face it, there's only so much refuelling a girl needs to do after a run, and I'm pretty sure I passed that point quite some time ago.
All the lazy people are starting to hate me for my ludicrous wellspring of enthusiasm. Although not for my slender and toned bod, because it's.. well.. not.
All the active, fit people are totally unimpressed.

*sigh*

All-in-all, I think I may have to actually go out for another run rather than keep talking about the old one. This is a shame, because I don't really fancy it in all this rain.

And in Other News tonight...

I bought a very tasty fancy-pants uber-expensive muesli. Yes, cos I'm a fancy London type with my fancy London ways. Ha ha ha. Spends £5 on a pack of muesli from a posh deli. More money than sense etc etc etc. I know. But what I want to be able to do is reconstruct super-muesli from the basic ingredients in the comfort of my own kitchen, so I had to acquire some inspiration from somewhere.

Oats
If you just use normal porridge oats, then I reckon you'd be chewing the damn stuff for a week before you could get it down. And you'd end up missing your train. So presumably you have to toast them. But do you have to do this daily? Or could you do a whole bunch? Should you put honey on them first? Questions, questions...

Grains
Oats-only would be dull. What about the other stuff - other grain types, puffed amaranth (no, I don't know what this is either, but it's in my fancy-ass muesli and is like a miniature version of bean bag filling) etc. Does one purchase these separately, ready toasted, ready puffed? Or should I be out hand-toasting and hand-puffing? Sounds like awfully hard work.

Malt
Mmmm.... everyone loves that malty flavour. I reckon it's mostly on the grains - malted wheat and whathaveyou. I have seen that you can purchase malt online. But I think it may be scary and brown and gooey. How do I turn that into ovaltinalicious flakes of tastiness?

Dried fruit
Actually, probably don't need advice on this one. Think I can manage it myself. Ditto nuts and seeds.

So there we have it. The full muesli quandry. I would be grateful for any hints, tips, suggestions. I'm also pretty sure that the adventure into muesliworld will necessitate the acquisition of lots of little storage containers and miniature scoops. For some reason, I am almost more excited about this prospect than the cereal.

Crazy hair

2007-03-05T10:45:00.000Z

Have had a very busy weekend. I was supposed to be going to Rachel's house in Scotland. But given that I wanted to go at times that did not necessitate the taking lots of annual leave, the airlines were all hoping to part me with really quite intercontinentally substantial sums of money. Plus I would have got in trouble for not being at home to do CHORES for the upcoming trip to Australia. Which starts on Friday. Eek! And I've not done anything in preparation. And I'm at work all week. Oh dear.

So I couldn't go to Rachel's house. This is very sad, as I would like to meet her chickens.

Instead, I...

bought holiday stuff at the shops (see CHORES, above). I hate the shops. Particularly in the rain.
went to Brentford v. Scunthorpe and watched the mighty Iron win by two goals. Ate a pie. Got rained on a bit.
ran 15 miles* (twice round Richmond Park). Got rained on when it finished, but not on the way round. Nobody wrapped me in tin foil at the finish, though. I feel hard done by.
went to the shops again to get more holiday stuff. Got comprehensively rained on.
attended a housewarming party, but only for 90 minutes as I was by this stage indescribably tired. And had hair like a crazy person.
went to bed at about 9pm.

Bizarrely, am not too achy today. Except for between my shoulder-blades. I wonder if the true hell is on its way tomorrow..?

*15 miles = 24 km = more than a half-marathon = indescribable feeling of smugness

Put it away!

2007-02-25T14:32:00.000Z

I have been in Birmingham this weekend, doing the panto thing again. It rained the entire time we were there, except for a spell on Saturday when I went out for a run and it obligingly stopped.

I am troubled by the apparent lack of moral fibre of the good people of Birmingham:

The theatre was next door to an adult shop (no particular problem with that) which had a sign advertising the availability of "private booths". Is it me, or is that a bit EEEUUUURRGH?
The hotel (a pretty smart one) was opposite a lap dancing club. In fact, a couple of lap dancing clubs. Perhaps we were in the seedy end of town? But no!...
I went out for a drink with a group of people from the Birmingham office on Friday night. One of the lads proudly boasted about being such a regular at lapdancing establishments in the town that he was known by name at them all (and in fact had platinum membership to the club near to the hotel). The others then chimed in and said that the team regularly went out to lapdancing clubs, and sometimes even the girls from the office came along too.

Therefore I must conclude that Birmingham is a city peopled by gyrating ladies and dribbling men. What a strange place.

the humble king of biscuits

2007-02-21T11:36:00.000Z

The garibaldi. I'm sure i've waxed lyrical about the simple charms of the squashed fly biscuit before. But for the first time in AAAAAAAAAGES I've actually been able to find some.

I haven't seen the 'baldis in the shops for the longest while, but since the recent office move (ah, how the mighty are fallen!) from (oh la la) Whitehall to (oh dear) Elephant & Castle we have discovered a source.

I am wondering if there is some kind of class or relative wealth factor at play here. Are garibaldis actually a barometer of social class? Here is my comprehensive social study:

The (admittedly tiny) Tescos in Parliament Square: no garibaldis. Luxury chocolate-dipped double chocolate cookies? Help yourself. Jaffa cakes? Indeed. Humble garibaldis? No ma'am, afraid not.
Tescos in the Elephant & Castle shopping centre: garibaldis a go-go.

Categorical, unrefutable proof that garibaldis are the people's biscuit. Up the workers!

Fish japes

2007-02-18T22:02:00.000Z

I made nice fishcakes today. I don't like fishcakes from the shops as they are always too salty. But (if I do say so myself), my fishcakes were rather tasty, and relatively salt-free.

The first sort, which looked all neat and tidy, were made with haddock.

The second sort, which were all sloppy and therefore ended up a bit splatty in the frying pan, were made with crab and chilli. Splatty appearance, but rather tasty.

The crab came from a frozen fish wholesalers which is on an industrial estate near my house. The fish place is pretty cool, in both senses. There is a big wall of glass-fronted freezers full of the usuals (prawns, scallops etc) and exotica such as soft shell crabs, razor clams and freaky giant prawns that look like they may have escaped from sellafield.

Then, if you're looking for something a bit bigger, there is a giant walk-in freezer... This is very exciting. It is lined with deep plastic trays, each full of big shiny ice-coated slabs of fish. And some big frozen salmon, that you could use as cricket bats. I picked one up and waved it about by the tail (as you do). Of course, when I went to pay, I realised that behind the counter they have a cctv screen showing what's going on inside the walk-in freezer. Ahem. They don't appear to have barred me for misuse of fishy products yet, though.

Beijing 2008

2007-02-17T19:19:00.000Z

It was a lovely day today, with a beautiful clear sky and low winter sunshine. Just the day for scampering 5k round Bushy Park, you might be thinking. And you'd be right. I am pleased to report that I knocked a tasty two minutes off my previous time.

I have calculated that, at this rate of improvement, I will have beaten the world record by the end of April. By mid summer, I would hope to be completing the race before I even start.

This should put me in excellent shape to challenge for medal contention at the Beijing olympics. Paula Radcliffe eat your heart out.

The Bushy Park time trial is quite a remarkable thing. It's a free event (free! scores very highly on the Entertainment & EconomyTM scale), and happens every week. You run 5k round the park, and they calculate your time and then publish it (plus the grim red-faced pictures, as previously mentioned) on their website. But the really remarkable things are:

Hundreds of people turn up each week. This week it was 280-odd. Last week it was peeing down with rain and there were still around 200 people. Don't forget, this is 9am on a Saturday. Most sane people are just falling out of bed and reaching for the kettle.
Everybody who runs it is really FAST. And I mean FAST. The best time for the course is 14 minutes dead. The world record for 5km is only around 13 minutes. There are regularly three or four runners each week coming in at under 17 minutes. My friend Mick (a pretty handy runner) came in at a fairly smart 21 minutes, and was 71st. Seventy-first!!!

Of course, the major disadvantage of the run being full of hundreds of very fast people is that it tends to inspire feelings of inadequacy in us lesser mortals. Particularly because from any given point on the route you can see most of the rest of the field stretched out ahead of you, in all their toned, bouncing, fresh-faced, lycra-clad glory.

I'm not publishing this week's picture. Partly because I'm using a different PC which doesn't allow me to post pictures. But mostly because I look like a huge running bosom on little stick legs. I'm thinking surgery.

Bushy Park

2007-02-14T11:43:00.000Z

A special feature of the Bushy Park Time Trial: photographers waiting in the bushes to capture you at your red-faced, stumbling best.

I'm particularly proud of this shot. If I hadn't told you, you would have assumed that this was some mad old bag dashing for a bus. See the gloves clasped in one hand, and the eccentric (and definitely non-streamlined) waterproof. All I need is a string bag, a dachshund on a lead and an OAP travel pass to complete the image.

Malt loaf

2007-02-14T11:24:00.000Z

A few weeks back, my team secretary brought in a couple of slices of malt loaf in her lunchbox. I happened to say what a good idea that was, and how nice malt loaf is with a cup of tea.

Ever since then, she has brought an extra slice each day for me.

Clarification

2007-02-13T17:13:00.000Z

Three League Boots are simply the ladies' version of Seven League Boots, as any fule kno.

Three League Boots

2007-02-11T15:14:00.000Z

Over the last few days, I have:

Eaten fish and chips at the fab chippy on Leather Lane. The waitress is quite scary and has big eyeliner.
Completed my first ever Bushy Park Time Trial 5k. I wasn't very fast. However, I did beat my personally imposed "shame-o-meter" by being less than twice as slow as the winner.
Went orienteering with my mum. Who claimed to be wearing Three League Boots.

All of these things, in their different ways, have been very excellent. I am happy.

Who ate all the pies?

2007-02-10T12:12:00.000Z

How neglectful of updating I have been. I blame the panto. Which was fun - or as Olivia/Kasatnasato would have it, FUN!!!! - but absolutely exhausting. I was one of the very first party poopers to leave the last night bash, and that was at about 3.30am. Zzzzz...

Glenn has also adopted a new theme song (or had it foisted upon him - I can't be sure), to coincide with his dramatic increase in running activity. All together now (to the tune of "Monster" by The Automatics):

>What's that coming over the hill,
> is it a GINSTER?
> is it a GINSTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRR?
> What's that coming over the hill,
> is it a GINSTER?

Plenty of nuttn'

2007-01-21T20:55:00.000Z

Of course, the plenty of nutt'n that I got is actually "stuff to talk about" rather than "worldly possessions", which is what I believe the original song referred to. Can't really claim to have nutt'n in the way of worldly possessions. Not that I'm flash, you understand. It's just that I only ever seem to talk about my shallow twivial existence involving buying stuff and consuming stuff. Which is a relatively depressing state of affairs when I stop to think about it.

So in a break from usual conspicuous consumption programming, I will tell you about how I went on a nice 5-mile run (the "nice" bit being the smug feeling when I think back to it, rather than the experience of slogging around it) and saw the moon looking like a little sliver of fingernail. And marvelled at how many bits of dead branch there were on the pavements from all that windy weather. Do you think the trees like it, in the way your hairdresser encourages you to regularly trim off all those nasty dead split ends?

And about how today I spent the morning at the Peacock Theatre in London doing the sound check for the PwC Panto (Puss in Boots), which kicks off on Tuesday. It seems to be looking quite good, from what I can see from down in the pit (i.e. nothing). And Puss him(her)self is certainly going to keep a good proportion of the audience happy as she slinks around in a skin-tight... erm... CATsuit and knee boots. Of course, this is probably a useful distraction, since the Miller's son (i.e. Principal Boy) is rather pregnant. Don't worry - the kids won't notice. They mostly can't tell that she's a girl, bump or no bump. Jack (of and the Beanstalk fame last year) has spectactularly ample busty substances (Pete & Dud), but none of the liddle chiddlers worried about that.

Skirt twizzle

2007-01-15T16:43:00.000Z

I have just bought a nice new skirt, but have discovered a major problem with it. It twizzles round as I walk along (not in a rapid, comedy-bow-tie way, though: just a slow but inexorable anti-clockwise twist).

This means that even over short distances, the front migrates firstly over to my left leg, then completely round to the back. I've not yet walked far enough to discover whether it will ultimately self-correct and get all the way back to the front.

I can't work out why it does this. In particular, why does it always turn anti-clockwise? I thought at first that it was because I was carrying a heavy bag on one shoulder. But even without the bag it does the same thing. Is there a solution? The skirt has a very obvious front and back, so ignoring it is not the answer.

The Great Gravy Mystery

2007-01-01T22:24:00.000Z

For weeks I have been tormented by a most embarrassing problem. It is almost too difficult to confess. I... er.. that is... um... my handbag smells of gravy. There it is. I've said it now. Mock if you dare.

For TWO WEEKS I have been carrying, in every sense, this great bisto-flavoured weight - terror striking my heart that someone would realise that the comforting aroma of oxo was emnating from my arm furniture.

But tonight, when I realised that even my credit cards were starting to get a slightly stocky whiff, I tracked down and sniffed out the source of the sauce. It was not, in case you are getting anxious, an unfortunate lunch spillage. It was a HUGE vitamin pill that I was given whilst suffering an epic hangover before Christmas. The hangover being of dimensions even greater than the pill, I had at the time been unable to consider swallowing it down, so tucked it into a tiny pocket in my bag for safekeeping. And forgot about it.

What jolly japes!

2006-12-22T08:09:00.000Z

And don't forget, folks - it was all for charidee.... (Great Ormond St Hospital: we got drunk for the sick children - feel free to donate too*)

That's me in my santa outfit**. And Jeremy (who is my line manager, but also my good friend - handy!) who plays the french horn.

*note 1: some people are describing this as "sponsorship". However, I feel that this is stretching credibility. To my mind, you get sponsored to do things that are challenging or unpleasant, not to get dressed up and go on the lash.

**note 2: the jacket was not for warmth (had giant overcoat for that), so much as modesty. That dress was really quite little.

Santafest 2006

2006-12-21T10:09:00.000Z

Last night I participated in Santafest 2006 - effectively a bar crawl for which you must make a donation to cheridee (which I would encourage you to do through the Santafest link above), AND be dressed as santa.

I was the only girl santa.

I think we may have been quite a sight to behold: twenty santas wandering around Smithfield market, and, ultimately, throwing some big santa shapes on the dancefloor at Vic Naylors.

Here's a (not terribly good) pic. The bloke in the mac looks like some kind of santa fetishist.

Upcoming concerts

2006-12-19T18:51:00.000Z

I always seem to forget to tell people about my upcoming concerts. So to rectify this I thought I would post the details...

Hertfordshire Chamber Orchestra:
Saturday 13th January 7.30pm
Church of St Peter and St Paul, Tring, Hertfordshire

Sunday 14th January 7.30pm
St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden. Tickets £10 on the door.

The programme for both concerts is:
Haydn Symphony no 101 ‘The Clock’
Beethoven Romance for violin and orchestra Op 50
Rossini Overture to ‘Il Signor Bruschino’
Mendelsohn Italian Symphony

The soloist and director is Paul Barritt, who has led the English Chamber Orchestra and Halle Orchestra (i.e. he really is rather good, yet charmingly self-effacing).

EC4 Music
Monday 5th February 7.30pm
Barbican Hall, London Tickets £10-35 available from the Barbican box office (020 7638 8891 - or use the link)

The programme is:
Rossini Overture: The Thieving Magpie
Rachmaninov Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, op 43
Karol Szymanowski Stabat Mater, op 53
Eric Whitacre Sleep
Vaughan Williams Three Shakespeare Songs
Vaughan Williams Five Mystical Songs

Soloists include Claire Seaton, whose voice ought to be bottled and distributed in disaster zones to remind people that heaven exists.

Imagination Gap

2006-12-18T16:38:00.000Z

I bought a really fab shirt at the weekend, from a little independent shop. The problem is that there is absolutely no way for me to describe it to you without it sounding like possibly the biggest crime against fashion that has ever existed:

Olive drab colour
Turned back cuffs lined in pink leopard print
Little gold blobs instead of buttons

See? Not doing it for you, is it? But given that I have already told you that it is fab, you will therefore appreciate that what you are currently experiencing is an Imagination Gap...

Wuthering frets

2006-12-11T19:28:00.000Z

Do my cultural adventures never cease? This Sunday - and a quick digression already: I have really bought into the idea of going out on Sunday nights. It takes away that "all downhill from here" feeling that sets in around Sunday lunchtime. But anyway, on with the story - I went to the Drill Hall (cool alternative venue off Tottenham Court Road) to see the unique and wonderful Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain.

I am assuming that you (just like me 12 months ago) are unfamiliar with this splendidly clever but totally ridiculous musical comedy ensemble. I first encountered them on an album of bizarre cover versions that I bought as a present for my sister, who is an appreciator of both the sublime and the ridiculous in equal measure. The album included such classics as Walk this way performed by Hayseed Dixie, Beat It by Senor Coconut, and the Ukelele Orchestra covering Miss Dynamiteeeee.

Following my enthusiasm for that particular track, which I guess I must have inflicted on people a bit too often, Mick then went and got me the Uke Orchestra's album The Secret of Life for my birthday. And then, to cap the globe, my parents spotted last night's gig and arranged some tickets.

The highlights for me were probably Smells like teen spirit, by Nirvana (complete with headbanging and plucking of strings with teeth) and the club-singer-style version of Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights. You can hear snippets of this last track on their website (linked above), and begin your own journey into the four-stringed world - which appears to be almost a religion to their fans.

Taxi jinx

2006-12-10T15:28:00.000Z

So we were out having a few drinks last night, and really struggled to get a cab. Eventually, we ordered one that said he would be there in 25 minutes (sounds familiar?), but didn't actually arrive for another one-and-a-half hours.

When he showed up, my friend Sarah went outside and said to the driver, "Where have you been?! We've been waiting since 12.30!"

Whereupon the taxi driver said, "Well, if that's how you feel, forget it." And drove off.

Despair sets in.

2006-12-08T09:19:00.000Z

Phone rings. It's 1.15am, and I'm getting rather grouchy at my desk in the Department of Health.

Me: Hello?
Taxi driver: Hello. I'm in Whitehall. Where is your building?
Me: It's the Department of Health. It's a big building set back from the road, opposite the cenotaph. Do you know the cenotaph?
TD: No. I'm at Studio.
Me: ???? I don't know Studio. The cenotaph is a big stone monument in the middle of the road on Whitehall. It's got wreaths of poppies and flags hanging off it. Can you see it?
TD: Monument? No. I'm at Studio.
Me: I don't know Studio. Which end of Whitehall are you at?
TD: Don't know.
Me: Can you get to the end that is nearest to Parliament Square?
TD: Parliament Street?
Me: Parliament Square - you know: where the Houses of Parliament are.
TD: I don't know Houses of Parliament.
Me: *eek!* Do you know Downing Street?
TD: No. I call you back when I find Parliament Street.
Me: Oh. Ok.

********

More travels

2006-12-08T00:54:00.000Z

I'm off to Sheffield in the morning. I have to catch a train at 5.56am in order to be at my meeting at 10.30am, so I'm guessing my contribution to said meeting will be somewhat less than enthusiastic.

Particuarly as it is already 1am and I STILL can't get a taxi home. I spoke to a minicab company at 12.15, who said they could do me a car in 25 minutes.

"Are you sure it will be 25, and not, say, 45 minutes?" I said.

"Ha ha ha. You funny girl. 25 minutes" said the lying little b*stard at the taxi company.

Day tripper

2006-12-05T18:30:00.000Z

So much time has passed, but I have so little to amuse you with. (Is there ever? Let's not discuss that one.)

I spent yesterday in Cornwall on a business trip. Very few people get to use a sentence like that one, I can tell you. I had to fly down on Sunday night, and back this morning (very early, hence the bags under my eyes and the slightly grouchy tone to my typing).

The plane was a cute little propeller one. It has 13 rows of seats (although the 13th row is numbered 14), with four in each row. I've never been in a prop plane before. Did you know that your seat vibrates when the engines get going? Unfortunately, this is in a "numb bum" rather than "massage chair" kind of way. Otherwise they could probably re-brand it and charge extra.

As you may have noticed, the conditions this morning were pretty much storm force. Even once the plane was on the stand, it was shaken about by the wind. It was like a rather nasty caravanning experience (Devon, mobile home, dad giving up smoking, Bo with tonsilitis and SHOCKING weather. Ah, the memories!).

Anyway, I digress. The poor little plane was all over the shop like a demented roller-coaster. Stuff was being flung down the aisle by the turbulence. I sort of enjoyed it (in an odd way) - it didn't feel dangerous (we had a lady pilot - I had total faith in her), but I did nearly heave my breakfast. Concentrating on not throwing up did put a bit of a damper on things.

Anyway, so that was my day. And now I'm very tired, and I haven't even told you about my quest to perfect the Classic Champagne Cocktail over the weekend... [answer: we came close, but there is still room for further practice]

Culture vulture

2006-11-27T12:20:00.000Z

Lucky duck that I am, I am awash with culture.

Event 1 (Saturday night)
Benjamin Britten's Peter Grimes at Sadlers Wells. We had excellent seats in the middle of the stalls, almost close enough to feel the spittle. I didn't know the work at all before this, but was completely caught up in it from the outset. We were so engrossed we forgot to eat the peppermint creams. Roland's friend Jeff was in the title role. He was very good.

Event 2 (Sunday afternoon)
"Darleengs" cafe. So called because the waitress calls you darleeeeng! all the time. Everyone in there (apart from one poor lost soul) was wearing a blue wrist band that gave them access to...

...Event 3 (Sunday pm)
The Dame Edna Experience at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Two explanations for the uninitiated (which included me, until last night):

The Royal Vauxhall Tavern: If you've ever driven round Vauxhall Cross in the early evening and seen a large gathering of heavy-set shaven-headed men, mostly with beards (and frequently shirtless), then you will have seen the overspill from the ludicrously popular venue that is the RVT.

The Dame Edna Experience: Is a weekly institution at RVT, apparently (and no, it's not Barry Humphries). No description of mine could do her credit. She is simply legendary.

I had a fantastic time. There was only a handful of other girls there (including some with very strong jawlines), but otherwise the place was absolutely jam-packed to the gunnels with these big strapping baldy beardy men. It made seeing the stage something of a challenge for a little short@rse like me, but apart from that disadvantage it was so much more friendly and relaxed than an equivalently packed straight venue. And pushing through the crowd was not quite so grubby and sordid as usual, since nobody was interested in copping a sneaky feel (of course, I don't know if GB had the same experience...)

Beards (again?)

2006-11-22T13:47:00.000Z

At the weekend, I went to an exhibition of the work of the the Royal Academician Anthony Green at a gallery on Richmond Hill. It was compered (can't think of the right word) by the most ludicrously enthusiastic woman with a cheerful, ringing voice.

On the way home, we stopped at the Real Ale shop and met a man who has dyed his hair and beard the most vibrant shade of magenta on behalf of a mental health charity. And I bought some cherry flavour beer.

What a successful weekend.

Important people need tidy toilets, apparently

2006-11-22T12:05:00.000Z

There's a notice in the toilets at the Department of Health. It says

"Please keep these cubicles tidy. May I remind you that senior visitors to the Department use these facilities"

Hmmm... I'm not saying that Patricia Hewitt doesn't deserve to lower her ministerial briefs in hygenic and tidy conditions. But surely the poor old cleaner warrants our best efforts at tidiness just as much as the important visitors?

Speed dating

2006-11-16T13:21:00.000Z

One of my colleagues (male, straight) is going speed dating. In order to attend, he has to fill out his occupation on the application form.

This gives him quite a quandry. Technically speaking, we are all Chartered Accountants - but he felt that this might not enhance his pulling potential (surely not?). But what alternative descriptions are there for what we do?

"Financial consultant" = I fancy myself a bit, and probably bray quite a bit
"Management consultant" = I fancy myself a whole lot, and am probably a tosser who brays even more [particularly if I work for Bain & Co, based upon my limited contact with this sub-species]
"Business Recovery Professional" = I haven't worked out that speed dating is not a marketing event
"Fireman" = I'm hoping we'll both end up naked quite soon

Hmmm...

She has a point there

2006-11-15T19:32:00.000Z

In case you're wondering, the tune my mother would like at her funeral (see comments to previous post) is also from On The Town...

Where has the time all gone to?
Haven't done half the things I want to -
Oh well!
We'll catch up
some other time.

Beats the shit out of Robbie Williams' Angels. And it's sung by fellas in sailor suits, so that should brighten up proceedings a little.

Gaby's coming

2006-11-11T20:07:00.000Z

Gaby's coming to town
He's on the town
With a day to burn
He's gonna turn
New York City up-side down
Gaby's coming to town.

Which is jolly good news. Just you take my word for it.

Rice pudding

2006-11-10T18:47:00.000Z

GB made rice pudding for tea the other night. It's amazing: rice, sugar, milk, nutmeg, oven, gobble gobble gobble all gone. How did that happen?

Big bruise

2006-11-08T19:41:00.000Z

At the risk of this turning into an unending blog of injuries, I have to tell you about GB's impressive new bruise.

He was delivering some personal safety training the other day to a group of enthusiastic people armed with riot batons. He was all kitted up in a "Mr Fist" suit (like that elegant gentleman in the picture) so the students could wallop him in the approved manner. Unfortunately, Mr Fist's padded butt slipped a bit and GB took a baton to the back of the thigh.

I would show you a picture of said bruise, but it is a bit close to the... er... cheekly area around the posterial zones so the image may prove traumatic to those of a sensitive disposition. So you will just have to take my word for it when I say that it is the most beautiful shade of maroon, with two yellow stripes across it.

By the way, in looking up the picture of the Fist suit, I discover that the manufacturers also sell...

Knife fighting training videos
Gun holsters and arrow quivers
General leather goods
Pool cue cases

Interesting assortment, eh?

Burn those catholics

2006-11-05T12:49:00.000Z

My parents have always had slight qualms about the catholic-burning celebration that is Guy Fawkes night. And to be honest, when you think about it like that, it would be a bit tricky to explain to foreigners why we are hoisting an effigy onto a bonfire. But I am happy to suspend these qualms temporarily (and the ones about scaring small animals and horses, and burning hedgehogs accidentally) in favour of having a bit of bonfiretastic fun.

Saturday night ticked all the right boxes:

Very cold weather
Toffee apples (home made!)
Lots of domestic mishaps (dropped wine glasses, broken lighters, catherine wheels that don't go round), just to add that sense of authenticity to the procedings
MUSHY PEAS
Some fantastic fireworks
Some disappointing ones. Including the biggest and most promising-looking one...

So we all had a very nice time.

And today it is equally crisp and sunny outside, so we are indulging in another traditional pastime: cycling to the pub.

Misleading

2006-11-02T09:03:00.000Z

The canteen at the Department of Health has been renamed "The Terrace".

I consider this to be a little misleading, given that it is in the basement.

The North

2006-11-02T08:44:00.000Z

Today I am going to Scunthorpe. Tomorrow I am going to Harrogate.

I have been asked not to refer to it as "the North" while I am there. I do not understand why.