Author: pete
Categories
Those crazy Belgians
Two amusing aspects of this article, entitled “U-turn lorry stuck in cul-de-sac”…
> The foreign-registered lorry was carrying 23 tonnes of coke when it became trapped while manoeuvring in Whiterock Road in Wadebridge.
Do they mean coke? Or Coke®? Or perhaps a solid carbonaceous material derived from destructive distillation of low-ash, low-sulfur bituminous coal?
> Traffic was largely unaffected, but police urged motorists to find alternative routes after the accident, which occurred at about 0600 GMT on Friday.
Find alternative routes… it’s a cul-de-sac!
*(bangs head against desk repeatedly)*
In my opinion, the basis of a strong relationship is not sharing each chore out 50-50, but rather efficient division of labour. There are some tasks which I hate doing, so she generally takes charge of them, in return for which I am always willing to step in to do the hoovering and the grating of cheese.
I love grating cheese. Partly for the task itself, partly because I like having a handful of grated cheese at the end of it (sneaking a few delicious flakes for myself, of course), and partly because the aesthetic value of a half-grated brick of cheese is, quite frankly, so awesome that I’m going to have to invent a new word for it.
It’s incredibly vulva.
What? Whadya mean, that word’s already taken?
Shove off.
Categories
Global warming? S’now joke.
This morning I came to the realisation that Twitter has jumped the shark. I logged in to see about a dozen messages informing me that there had been some snow, apparently.
Categories
How many roads must a man drive down?
Today, everywhere you look is evidence of yesterday’s storm. As I drive to work, I pass men in high-visibility jackets feeding huge chunks of wood into chipping machines. I drive through the centres of magnificent trees, a matching stump on either side of the road. Just back from the edge of the road, I see hundreds of silver birches and pine trees that are leaning on their brethren like drunken hobos.
In a way, I feel like I, and millions of others, have cheated death this week. Across Europe, 33 people were in the wrong place at the wrong time and were killed by this storm. Like me, they probably didn’t think that they would lose their lives this way. Modern technology has come a long way, but the fact remains that when a tree is blown down in a 100mph wind, your mobile phone won’t catch it. Nothing will catch it. You forget how vulnerable you are.
I consider myself fortunate that my only loss has been two fence panels.
BBC “In pictures” here and here.
On another note, I feel that I can share one of my resolutions for 2007 with you:
*#10: When you see a blog entry that says “Click this link – it’s really cute!” then don’t bother. It’s just that fucking sneezing panda again.*
Categories
Taes of the evening
1. On the tube, it seems that a couple of Indian guys to my left were
in an argumetn with the guy across fromme, because he had been winking
at them and they didn’t like it? I caught his eye, and gave him a
wink. He turned to the Indians and made a noiser, which instantly
meant that I was now a part of this conflictg. “Are you taking th
piss?” they said. “No, no, nononon” we said. As I left the train, I
gave hima nod “Cheerio”
2. OPn the train home, a drunken girl onthe phone to maybe her best
friend, mnaybe her ex-borfyfiened. Seems that the two had formed an
item, and she was furious. F words flying left rihgtn and centre.
Tragic to listen to. Meanwhile, I was worried that I waso nthe wrong
train home, nbecause th stqation names sounded like I was heading for
Woking,. I was worried that Karen would have to come and pick me up in
the car at an ungodhly hour. It all turned outnicely.
3. OI wanted a wee so badly. Bladder full to the brim.At Twickenham,
we were delayed. The light was red, and until it went green we would
be stranded, so I lef the train and had a wee behindf a billboard. The
whilslet went, and I ran back to the cariiage. It helped for a while,
but soon enough it was full again. At Staine sor thereabouts, the
train stopped. I jumped ouat and aske dth econductor if I could wee.He
said yes so I did.,
Categories
(Occasional) Stay At Home Dad
Today was my initiation into the ranks of the (Occasional) Stay At Home Dads.
At 8am, Karen reluctantly left the house to head into her office, and I, faced with a very confused Bernard, was in charge. Armed with all my accumulated expertise, I am proud to say that I didn’t do a bad job at all. I know what he needs, I am reasonably competent at deciphering his signals, my only concern was that the absence of Karen for the first time in his life would leave him unable to keep his head together.
In the event, it didn’t go too badly. There were a couple of occasions when he was clearly trying to communicate *”Oh for goodness’ sake, where’s mummy and her boob?”* but for the most part, he seemed to understand the situation. In fact, the most pleasant surprise of the day was his sudden acceptance of formula milk, which until now he has refused with the utmost of disgust.
After lunch, I took him into town in his pram. We wandered round a few shops, and somewhere around Woolworths he fell asleep. I took the long way home, picking up a bottle of ginger beer on the way. Which I think I shall now open, seeing as Karen has come home early and the three of us have retired to the office ((a vague term, but I hate the term “home office”, I’ve fallen out of love with “studyo” (is it a study? Is it a recording studio? It’s both!) and “Man Cave” is no longer strictly true. What should I call this room instead?)) together. I’m contemplating making a little laptop out of foam for Bernard to gnaw on, so that he doesn’t feel left out.
The prospect of doing this once a week doesn’t seem so bad. I accept the arrangement with relish.
Includes chicken, bacon, tomato, apple, celery, haricot beans, treacle, fennel, oregano, chilli peppers and red onions. It was absolutely delicious – the apple and treacle gave it a certain sweetness – it’s just a shame that I only got about three forkfuls before a crying baby drew my fire, and so I had to enjoy the rest of it at a sub-optimal temperature.
Categories
Widow of Warcraft
Karen and I met Bob and Kathy at an ante-natal class. The four of us sat in the back row and sniggered like a bunch of skoolkids throughout the class. Bob was possibly the first person who I had met in the last 3 years (with the exception of people who I have met through the Internet) who laughed at my jokes.
The following week, we bumped (no pun intended) into them on a tour of a nearby hospital. After the tour, as they were walking back to their car and us to ours, Karen and I quickly agreed that we should invite them for a coffee. I changed direction and offered them our invitation, which they accepted. We met up at a pub an hour later, and coffee became a few pints, which then became a curry, and before you knew it the day was over.
This was just the start of our friendship. After the children were born, I’d go to the pub with Bob once a week, where we’d devour pints of beer and talk about blokeish things.
The last such outing was a couple of months ago. Bob was telling me about their new laptop, and how he was going to get broadband so that he could play World of Warcraft, because he’d played it at his brother’s house and it was ace.
“Right, the thing is, Bob, ” I started “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but please heed my warning. WoW is addictive. Seriously, seriously addictive. It dangles the carrot of fake accomplishment in front of you, making you believe that you are actually achieving something, when in fact you are chasing a moving target. It’s fine as entertainment, but don’t let XP rule your life.”
Bob nodded, and seemed to understand. Conversation moved onto other matters.
In subsequent weeks, Bob and I struggled to find a mutually agreeable date for our weekly pow-wow. Each week, one of us would suggest a day, but the other would be unavailable, and such negotiations ended up with stalemate. The following week, discussions would be opened by the other party, which seemed like a nice arrangement which meant that neither of us was doing all the running.
Until I found myself doing all the opening for a few weeks in succession. My text messages were increasingly going unanswered. When I phoned up, if the machine didn’t pick up, then Bob would say that he was a bit busy right now and would call me back later. Deep down in my heart of hearts I knew what was going on, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. A month ago I invited him for a beer in no uncertain terms, to which I got the rib-tickling response “sorry beenreallybusy”. The omission of spaces had a positively comical effect.
I replied “Okay, drop me a line when things quieten down, or if you need an evening to get away from it all.” or words to that effect. Since that message, there has been nothing.
Today, Karen and Bernard went round to visit Kathy and her baby Martin, who is exactly the same age as Bernard (±2 days). The truth was revealed, and it’s exactly what the eagle-eyed reader has, by now, deduced.
Bob has been playing WoW to a worrying degree. Every evening, after Martin has been put to bed at 8pm, he plays. He plays at the weekends, leaving Kathy to feel like a single mother. He would rather play this game than enjoy an evening of sparkling conversation and fruity ales at a local tavern with me. With me! HE IS CLEARLY STARK-RAVING INSANE!
So what to do now? Should I do something? Should I help? Does he even need help? Is it selfish of me to do nothing? Gah.