I was thinking the other day about the reasons I had started my blog.
One reason was there was a particular story I wanted to tell. It's a rather odd story, but something I've always remembered. I haven't posted it on here though, mainly because it's a rather lengthy, rambling, unwieldy sort of tale. It didn't seem satisfactory to post it up here in its entirety, or chopped up into separate chunks.
So I've set up a page where it now resides, and I think I might use the same page for any further writings which are likely to take up a lot more space and time (then again I might not, but it's there all the same).
It's split up into chapters - not because it's intended as a short story (it's just an extended blog entry), but to make it a bit more manageable.
Apologies in advance, but here it is.
Saturday, 8 September 2007
Monday, 3 September 2007
Four pairs of trousers
Here's someone who took up residence on my bathroom windowsill some weeks ago. Let's call him Dave.*
Damn right he's pissed off - I just moved the cord which pulls the blinds, and trashed his web. I must have grown quite fond of his presence there, since I actually found myself saying sorry, before I realised how ridiculous that was. This had to be blogged about.
Update: Well he's finally done some rebuilding of his web, it's all rather half-hearted and slow going though. Reminds me of the opening (or was it closing?) sequence to The Rockford Files, or at least the arachnoid equivalent.
More news as it happens.
*name changed from Juan to protect his confidentiality
Saturday, 1 September 2007
Painkiller
September already.
On the first weekend in September last year I was up in the Yorkshire dales, amidst the kind of weather we've had for most of this summer - windy, rainy, generally unpleasant. I was on a mountain biking weekend with a mate of mine and, as we sat in the tent on the Saturday morning drinking tea, we thankfully found the nonstop rain to be a source of amusement.
It wasn't going to stop us cycling. We waited for a window of opportunity: in real terms this meant a reduction in the rainfall from "torrential" to merely "very heavy". When such conditions were met, off we went.
It was pretty liberating really - within minutes we were soaked through to the skin - but as long as we kept moving we kept warm. It also meant that when we got to what would normally be a small brook, but what was now at waist level, we just waded through and carried on since we wouldn't exactly be getting any wetter than we were already. It was good fun.
What was also good was that I was as fit as I'd ever been. My mate is one of those people who can sit and do nothing for weeks on end but still be fitter than you even if you've been training hard. So I was surprised that, on the Saturday, I was frequently having to wait for him. We were out for hours, much of it off-road and very rugged. It was great to get back and get warm, then head down to the local.
On the Sunday, the weather began much the same. Still we went out, and if anything it was even tougher: the sky went dark, it was much windier and colder. We spent what seemed like hours cycling through horizontal sheets of rain, and the wind was so strong we had to pedal hard even when going downhill. It was maddening and funny all at the same time.
Time went on and we were nearing the end of an enjoyable if heavy couple of days of cycling. We were heading down into less exposed territory and the wind and rain were finally easing off. Even the sun had decided to show itself - typical, when we only had about 20 minutes left of our route.
My mate seemed to have regained his form on this second day, and was just up ahead of me. I wondered whether a burst of energy might be in order, to try and catch him up (though we weren't in competition). Having been over goodness knows how many cattle grids over the course of the weekend, I wasn't about to give the one just ahead of me a second thought. I remember feeling the judder as I went over it.
Just as I had gone over most of this cattle grid, something weird happened. Thump. That being my backside hitting the road. Another Thump. That being the bike landing just ahead of me. I had only the vaguest sense of what had happened between the grid and the first thump, it was so quick.
Reflexes kicked in, and I stood up. Well that was fortunate, I could stand up. There was blood oozing out of my knee, also down my arm, and I had numerous aches and pains.
"Are you alright?" This was a woman in a white car who had just pulled up.
"I think so," I said, moving but wincing as I did so.
"It's a funny cattle grid that one, seems ever so slippy, lots of accidents happen . I live just round the corner. A couple of weeks ago a woman fell off her bike and bust her face open. Very nasty. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?"
I wasn't sure I appreciated all this information. By this time my mate had arrived back on the scene.
"No, I think I'd be better off carrying on thanks." I was bracing myself for pain to kick in and, possibly worse, to start feeling extremely cold. I suggested to my mate that we get back to the tent as quickly as possible. A further 15 minutes of cycling felt like a real hard slog, particularly the last uphill stretch, and I was perturbed by just how buckled the front wheel of the bike was. That must have been caused by the cattle grid, so thank fuck I'd been thrown over past the grid and onto the road or who knows what might have happened.
We got back, I cleaned myself up and got changed and warm. I can't be too bad, I thought, the shivering never kicked in, though I did feel very short of energy. At least, as well, this had happened right at the very end of the weekend. I was sure that a good rest and a good night's sleep would make me feel a lot better, and that I would be right as rain in a couple of weeks.
Not so. I was limping badly for days, pockmarked with magnificent, huge bruises, and had to get checked over to make sure I hadn't cracked any ribs or caused other such damage. What A and E didn't spot, when I showed them how far I could move my right arm (about an inch before the pain caused me to scream), was that a joint in my shoulder was about half an inch out of place. I was on co-codamol for weeks (having found out that I was allergic to Ibuprofen), had a course of physio, and it was about 4 months before I was able to start being physically active again.
One year on and, although more than manageable, I still feel the after effects especially in the shoulder joint. Really though, I was lucky, compared with what might have happened.
So what have I been up to so far this weekend? I've just been out on the bike for a couple of hours. Regardless of what I've described above, cycling (on top of enjoying it for its own sake) feels like a painkiller. You'll have noticed in a couple of recent posts that I've hinted how fucked off I've been lately. Going on a bike ride cuts right through that and brings back, however temporarily, a sense of contentment and calm self-assurance. Chances are I'll go out on the bike again tomorrow. I'm not worried about a repeat of what happened this time last year: it's worth the risk.
On the first weekend in September last year I was up in the Yorkshire dales, amidst the kind of weather we've had for most of this summer - windy, rainy, generally unpleasant. I was on a mountain biking weekend with a mate of mine and, as we sat in the tent on the Saturday morning drinking tea, we thankfully found the nonstop rain to be a source of amusement.
It wasn't going to stop us cycling. We waited for a window of opportunity: in real terms this meant a reduction in the rainfall from "torrential" to merely "very heavy". When such conditions were met, off we went.
It was pretty liberating really - within minutes we were soaked through to the skin - but as long as we kept moving we kept warm. It also meant that when we got to what would normally be a small brook, but what was now at waist level, we just waded through and carried on since we wouldn't exactly be getting any wetter than we were already. It was good fun.
What was also good was that I was as fit as I'd ever been. My mate is one of those people who can sit and do nothing for weeks on end but still be fitter than you even if you've been training hard. So I was surprised that, on the Saturday, I was frequently having to wait for him. We were out for hours, much of it off-road and very rugged. It was great to get back and get warm, then head down to the local.
On the Sunday, the weather began much the same. Still we went out, and if anything it was even tougher: the sky went dark, it was much windier and colder. We spent what seemed like hours cycling through horizontal sheets of rain, and the wind was so strong we had to pedal hard even when going downhill. It was maddening and funny all at the same time.
Time went on and we were nearing the end of an enjoyable if heavy couple of days of cycling. We were heading down into less exposed territory and the wind and rain were finally easing off. Even the sun had decided to show itself - typical, when we only had about 20 minutes left of our route.
My mate seemed to have regained his form on this second day, and was just up ahead of me. I wondered whether a burst of energy might be in order, to try and catch him up (though we weren't in competition). Having been over goodness knows how many cattle grids over the course of the weekend, I wasn't about to give the one just ahead of me a second thought. I remember feeling the judder as I went over it.
Just as I had gone over most of this cattle grid, something weird happened. Thump. That being my backside hitting the road. Another Thump. That being the bike landing just ahead of me. I had only the vaguest sense of what had happened between the grid and the first thump, it was so quick.
Reflexes kicked in, and I stood up. Well that was fortunate, I could stand up. There was blood oozing out of my knee, also down my arm, and I had numerous aches and pains.
"Are you alright?" This was a woman in a white car who had just pulled up.
"I think so," I said, moving but wincing as I did so.
"It's a funny cattle grid that one, seems ever so slippy, lots of accidents happen . I live just round the corner. A couple of weeks ago a woman fell off her bike and bust her face open. Very nasty. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?"
I wasn't sure I appreciated all this information. By this time my mate had arrived back on the scene.
"No, I think I'd be better off carrying on thanks." I was bracing myself for pain to kick in and, possibly worse, to start feeling extremely cold. I suggested to my mate that we get back to the tent as quickly as possible. A further 15 minutes of cycling felt like a real hard slog, particularly the last uphill stretch, and I was perturbed by just how buckled the front wheel of the bike was. That must have been caused by the cattle grid, so thank fuck I'd been thrown over past the grid and onto the road or who knows what might have happened.
We got back, I cleaned myself up and got changed and warm. I can't be too bad, I thought, the shivering never kicked in, though I did feel very short of energy. At least, as well, this had happened right at the very end of the weekend. I was sure that a good rest and a good night's sleep would make me feel a lot better, and that I would be right as rain in a couple of weeks.
Not so. I was limping badly for days, pockmarked with magnificent, huge bruises, and had to get checked over to make sure I hadn't cracked any ribs or caused other such damage. What A and E didn't spot, when I showed them how far I could move my right arm (about an inch before the pain caused me to scream), was that a joint in my shoulder was about half an inch out of place. I was on co-codamol for weeks (having found out that I was allergic to Ibuprofen), had a course of physio, and it was about 4 months before I was able to start being physically active again.
One year on and, although more than manageable, I still feel the after effects especially in the shoulder joint. Really though, I was lucky, compared with what might have happened.
So what have I been up to so far this weekend? I've just been out on the bike for a couple of hours. Regardless of what I've described above, cycling (on top of enjoying it for its own sake) feels like a painkiller. You'll have noticed in a couple of recent posts that I've hinted how fucked off I've been lately. Going on a bike ride cuts right through that and brings back, however temporarily, a sense of contentment and calm self-assurance. Chances are I'll go out on the bike again tomorrow. I'm not worried about a repeat of what happened this time last year: it's worth the risk.
Friday, 31 August 2007
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
Project (1)
Or, to give its full title, Projects I Would Love To Do But Will Never Ever Get Round To (Probably). The first in an irregular series of posts which will be published as and when I think of equally stupid/pointless/unfeasible ideas.
So, having a drink with friends last night at a pub where a quiz was taking place (we weren't taking part), I suggested the following idea.
So, having a drink with friends last night at a pub where a quiz was taking place (we weren't taking part), I suggested the following idea.
- We form a quiz team, and we go to pub quizzes a minimum of three times a week.
- For every single answer in every single quiz, we write the same answer: Spartacus.
- We do this for a year, and then we tot up how many times Spartacus was the right answer.
- Er, that's it.
Monday, 27 August 2007
Swings and roundabouts
A lovely, sunny, extended weekend. Shame I've been in such a crap mood. I think it's partially (but not only) the aftermath of being under the weather for most of last week, such things take their toll. I went to see my mother for a couple of days up in Derbyshire and was so tired and preoccupied that I imagine she felt like she had a sullen, monosyllabic teenager staying in her house.
Still, as I was travelling back on Sunday, I decided to have a lunchtime pint at Derby train station. I went up to the bar and waited for a moment: the barman was facing in the other direction and gazing at nothing in particular until he noticed that I was there. He apologised, but I explained to him that I'd not been waiting for long.
"You looked as though you were miles away," I said to him.
"Yes, completely in my own world," he replied.
I nodded, thinking about my own searing introspection, telling him I knew that feeling pretty well. As he poured my pint, he said it had not been the best of weekends. His mate had been killed in a car crash.
Not the best of weekends - quite an understatement.
I raised my glass to him, and inwardly I thought, that pretty much puts my own mood into perspective doesn't it?
After getting back home I went out to a party which was being held at a nearby allotment, a really nice occasion thankfully. I took these photographs while I was there.
Still, as I was travelling back on Sunday, I decided to have a lunchtime pint at Derby train station. I went up to the bar and waited for a moment: the barman was facing in the other direction and gazing at nothing in particular until he noticed that I was there. He apologised, but I explained to him that I'd not been waiting for long.
"You looked as though you were miles away," I said to him.
"Yes, completely in my own world," he replied.
I nodded, thinking about my own searing introspection, telling him I knew that feeling pretty well. As he poured my pint, he said it had not been the best of weekends. His mate had been killed in a car crash.
Not the best of weekends - quite an understatement.
I raised my glass to him, and inwardly I thought, that pretty much puts my own mood into perspective doesn't it?
After getting back home I went out to a party which was being held at a nearby allotment, a really nice occasion thankfully. I took these photographs while I was there.
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
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