Today’s “Basic Instructions” is entitled How To Deal With Trick Or Treaters. Panel three says:
> Don’t try to scare trick-or-treaters. You’ll either traumatise a child, or be made fun of by a child.
Boy, I wish I’d had that advice last year.
Category: About Me
Stuff that will give you a real insight into the enigma that is Pete Dot Nu.
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What I did on my holidays
*This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Karen’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time. We have not read each others entries before publishing, and have taken care not to discuss them.*
When I was a kid, I used to go on holiday with my family to places like the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District and Cornwall. Sometimes we’d go further afield, like Scotland or North Wales or Brittany. I think once we went to Edam. On the whole, we liked to stay in England, and usually for only a week (we tried a few fortnight-long holidays, but agreed that a fortnight was too long for a holiday). Sometimes I would go camping with my mum. I have a story about that.
In my first couple of years at secondary school, there were school-run trips to France which I went on. We got up to all sorts of mischief, I’m sure you can imagine.
During my University years (and the period immediately after) I went on a few holidays with friends. Matthew and I went to Dublin and Amsterdam (not in the same trip, I hasten to add) and I also went to Skegness with half a dozen friends. This was back when I was an appalling, and irresponsible, driver, and I was one of the two designated drivers on the trip. I didn’t crash into anything, but I did have a couple of near misses, and I am ashamed.
After I met Karen, I went on holiday more often, and much further afield. We’ve been to Dublin, Prague ([1] [2]), Venice, Budapest and New York. We’ve also been on holiday in England, to the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District.
Since Bernard was added to the family, we’ve been to Cornwall, and are soon to visit Center Parcs for the first time (I’ve borrowed a bike rack from Bob [1] [2]). Hopefully the three of us will visit plenty of fantastic places together.
At some point, I’d like to see Iceland and Scandinavia (perhaps as some sort of Northern Ocean cruise?) and various places in the Far East (inspired by a couple of friends). This all may have to wait for another 17 years, but then again, maybe not.
I’m the kind of guy who likes to have his diary on him during the day, so I have used a man bag for many years.
My first man bag.
My first man bag was bought for me by my sister on my 18th birthday. It’s a black Kangol bag, quite a simple affair with one main pocket and a zipped internal pocket. It was perfect for my University years – if memory serves correctly, I could fit my pens, diary, wallet and mobile phone (when I eventually got one) neatly into that zipped pocket. It lasted me for a good six years.
My second man bag.
Up until recently, I carried a grey bag from Next which was purchased back in late 2004, I think. Karen saw it in a catalogue or something, and so we bought it one day from the store on Oxford Street. I offered to carry it home for her, and she never really managed to get her hands on it after that.
As well as the main compartment (large enough for an A4 folder) it has similarly sized zipped pockets, located in front of and behind the main compartment. There’s also a zipped pocket inside the main compartment, same size again. The flap is held down with two large buckles, which come down on top of the two smaller pockets at the very front. There is also a small mobile phone pocket inside the main compartment.
Problems that I had with this bag were:
1. It’s made of canvas. Though it is light and foldable, this also means that it doesn’t really hold its own shape, and sometimes trying to extract an item from one of the larger pockets feels like you’re fighting through a sea of loose material.
2. The pocket sizes aren’t ideal. Apart from those two pockets at the front, all the pockets are large. Once those small pockets are full up, anything else has to go into one of the larger pockets, from which it can be hard to retrieve small items (see above).
3. The two front pockets don’t have a secure closing. This can be an advantage at times, because you can fish things out without having to undo anything, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that this is a potential risk when you are on public transport &c. The main pocket is also less than 100% secure, for the same reason.
The bag itself is also much larger than I need, and on the vast majority of days I would just fill up the two small front pockets, and put my Moleskine notebook and diary in the front zipped pocket.
My third man bag.
So I decided to look for something with the following criteria:
1. Smaller.
2. More variety in the pocket sizes.
3. No pockets that can be easily violated by a pickpocket.
4. Able to stand up by itself and hold its own shape.
Allow me to introduce my new man bag. I fear that I’m getting dangerously close to “handbag” territory, but I’m very much a form-over-function kind of person, so I’m not going to let that bother me.
This new bag fits all the criteria, and even though it is smaller, I have actually put more things in it (because it’s easier for me to get things out of it). In addition to the things that I used to carry before ((keys, wallet, phone, diary, notebook, pens, car stereo fascia)) I have put in some other useful items ((compact camera, mini-tripod, compact binoculars, USB pen drive, lip balm, mints)) and it is now looking quite full.
I’m keeping the old Kangol bag on reserve, in case I ever find myself in a situation where I need the extra capacity. But the grey bag has now returned to its rightful owner, Karen.
Today, I bought a mountain bike. It’s nothing special, just a very cheap, second-hand, lowest common denominator mountain bike. Never been ridden on the road, apparently. The guy that I bought it off had gone into hospital for a knee op soon after buying it, and was now unable to use it.
I was somewhat surprised that the rear gear dérailleur did not work at all, but figured that it was probably just a configuration issue, so didn’t let this stop me from forking out £30. When I got the bike home, I got my tools out and flipped the bike upside down. I was most impressed to discover that whoever had installed the kick stand had managed to trap the gear cable, and so the problem was easily fixed. There was also a lot of configuration required, but this enabled me to learn how bike gears work, and it was an educational experience.
I haven’t ridden a bike for about ten years, and I haven’t had much exercise for the last year, so you can imagine how exhausted I was after just a four mile round trip. I’m looking forward to getting my form back.
I also wore one of my brand new t-shirts.
This shirt, and many others like it, are available from Dr Pockless on Bountee. Truth be told, I’m not a huge fan of Bountee, but if you want Pockless on your chest, it must be endured.
Some days, it’s obvious that a tidy desk is more conducive to creativity. It barely needs explaining, it’s so obvious – minimal distractions, no obstructions, better focus. So I will carefully take everything off the desktop that can be put away, and put it away, and everything that I might need imminently is arranged in neat, perpendicular piles.
Other days, I know for a fact that an untidy desk is the route to creativity. And who would question it – the creative mind is impulsive, it’s completely immersed in what it is doing, it has no time for such unnecessary divertissements and procrastinations. And on these days, I will do my best to ensure that not an inch of tabletop is visible underneath my pile of guff. Not in a forced, unnatural way, of course, because that would negate the positive powers of the mess. I just do my best to do my worst job of tidying up after myself.
Do you do this?
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Guest post, over there
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Good news, everyone!
I’ve been sitting on something incredibly exciting for a few weeks now, but it’s finally come to fruition and I am confident that it can be disclosed to the public, without fear of looking like a dickhead later.
I have at last joined the echelons of bloggers-with-book-deals! It initially came as a huge surprise – after all, it’s usually the bloggers with tales of tawdry sexual exploits, or those who have lost their jobs as a direct result of having a blog, who get the book deals. I never considered for a moment that people would want to pay actual real money to read what I write, but clearly such self-deprecation was unfounded.
I’m not going to be giving up the day job just yet, which will mean that finding time to fit everything in is going to be a bit of a challenge. Still, you have to give these things a go, eh?
The book is to be called *The Curse Of Heron Peninsula*, though obviously this is subject to change.
I love pens.
I’m pretty big on the whole paper thing too, but it’s the pens that really make me spooge my pants.
The pen thing really kicked into gear when I was at University. I developed a system from quite early on that I maintained throughout the entirety of my Maths degree, and I still have my notes to prove it.
I would purchase, from the University stationery shop, a small number of blue Pilot G-1 0.7mm gel pens, a small number of red Pilot G-1 0.7mm gel pens, and a large quantity of black Pilot G-1 0.5mm gel pens. I used the red pens to write headings. I used the blue pens to write statements of theorems, corollaries, lemmas &c. I used the black pens (with the finer tip) to write the proofs of the aforementioned, and any further miscellaneous notes.
The end result was sheer brilliance. The notes were about as beautiful as you could get without going the whole hog and typesetting them.
I still have, in my pencil pot, one blue Pilot G-1 0.7mm gel pen, one red Pilot G-1 0.7mm gel pen, and one Pilot G-1 0.5mm gel pen. These are the last pens that I ever wrote with at University, and have not been used since then. Maybe they don’t work any more, but there’s not much ink left in them so I don’t feel that I’ve been unforgiveably wasteful.
Since then? Well, I’ve tried numerous other pens, but I’ve kept coming back to the black Pilot G-1 0.5mm. I bought a box of 12 back in 2002, which is nearly empty (yes, 5 years is a long time, but I’ve been using other pens in the meantime as well, you fool). But there is a tragic twist to our tale – obtaining Pilot G-1 0.5mm gel pens is not as easy as it once was, and I am having to deal with the sad fact that once this box is finished, it may no longer be practical to buy more. I’ve already invested a lot of hours into trying to find these pens at a reasonable price, but to no avail, and I think it’s time to cut my losses.
What kind of person gets so worked up over a pen? Sad loser types like me, that’s what.
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My Teenage Years: 17
My final year at secondary school got off to a good start. I managed to get a handle on my obsession with Nicola, and my social circle widened a little further.
There was a very important day in September which is not recorded in the diary, as it did not seem important at the time ((CRUCIAL NOTE: as this event isn’t in the diary, it’s feasible that the exact date was actually a few months earlier, during the previous academic year. For the sake of a coherent story, I’ve gone with my hunch and put it here)). On the school bus one afternoon, I leaned over the back of the seat in front which was currently occupied by Craig. He was holding his copy of Different Class. “You have the version with the interchangeable covers,” I said, “I would kill you for that.” He looked up at my stony face, unaware whether to laugh or wet himself in terror.
By October, Craig and I were close friends. One of the Wednesday afternoon PE options was Squash, so we played together every week. We lived in the same village, just a ten minute walk away from eachother, so we would hang out, write songs about masturbation and Santa Claus, and watch Frasier together. On the 4th October I bought my first bass guitar, and in November Craig bought his first guitar. By the end of the year our band had a name, I had passed my driving test, attended a number of University open days, and I had also learned to accept that Nicola and I would never be an item, so was now pursuing a remarkable young lady called Carly. I was still close friends with Nicola, Nathan and Adam, and barely spoke to Tam, Vijay, and the two Martins. I no longer suffered from self-esteem issues. I had started going into the city again, though now it was not to play arcade machines, but to watch gigs.
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My Teenage Years: 16
I was now a sixth-former. Initially, Adam was still my only real friend, though I was on good terms with his friends, including the gorgeous Nicola and the oft-mentioned Nathan. Early on in the year I attempted to woo the new girl, Cheryl, only to be turned down promptly. Upon reading my journal, it’s clear that I had been watching too much Red Dwarf, as I apparently emulated Arnold Rimmer’s romantic technique down to a tee. I also continued to lech after her for a few weeks, which must have made her incredibly uncomfortable, and if I had any sense it should have made me uncomfortable too. By now I’m past my phase of ranking girls according to fanciability though, which is healthy. I would tend to pursue one girl for a fortnight or so ((notable instances being Kay and Ruth)), eventually plump up the courage to ask her out, and then get turned down. I’d be miserable for a while and then the cycle would repeat. Meanwhile, I’d periodically go to a party, get drunk, and then get off with some girl that I had never met before, so it wasn’t a world devoid of contrast.