Lugna Vattan

Hello.

Still here. Will update soon, I promise. Things are busy as Sister and her kids are here from Down Under so the family are off and out doing stuff most of the time.

In the meantime the following clip has given me goosepimples.












Back soon

Had to post this. The more stuff I hear from Duffy the more impressed I am. The best crying video since Sinead O'Connor's Prince cover.

Oww, ouch, fuck and that.

I just fell down the stairs. Not only that, but in an attempt to recover my balance I staggered across the room and fell into an occasional table that used to have a plant on it.

Both knees and the big toe on my left foot REALLY, REALLY hurt.

I hate the shock more than the pain. However, I'm pleased to note that even as I staggered across the room I managed to put my brand new iPod down carefully.

But, OW! It really fucking hurts.

Hello.

As a tribute to her marriage to the really-quite-handsome Jamie Reddnapp celebrating its 10th year this month, this is a video to Louise’s cover version of ‘Let’s Go Round Again.’ It’s nice for a ’celebrity’ couple not to be particularly ‘celebrity-like’ I think. Some others could take lessons from the Rednapps. Mentioning no Beckhams. Anyway, Louise must be one of the most beautiful girls to have ever been on the British pop scene, bless her, and I have several of her Cds nestling on my shelves. Well, I would, wouldn’t I?

Well, apparently we did experience the Great English (and Welsh) Earthquake of 2008... only I only know one person who was aware of it. I may have surfaced groggily having been disturbed, but seeing as I surface groggily at least once on any given night I would have thought nothing of it. Judging by some of the local media coverage you might have been led to believe that Ipswich was the epicentre of the sort of earthquake that destroys whole countries, not gently nudged by a slight tremor. Actually, I’m a bit miffed that I missed it, if I’m honest, as it’s something of a novelty in these parts.

I suggested to Drew that Mabel (the guinea pig) may have been acting weirdly that evening because she could sense, as animals are supposed to do, the forthcoming quake but he pointed out that she’s always weird (eccentric I like to call it) so it would be impossible to tell. Our next door neighbours were disturbed but said that their dogs, who sleep in the bedroom with them, didn’t react at all.

Now the country is posed for ‘the worst storm this winter’ which should strike sometime in the early hours of Monday morning and is, I believe, the tail-end of a hurricane. The authorities are asking that people don’t travel to the coast no matter how spectacular the storm waves may be, so we’ll take heed of that and stay at home I think. In any case where we are, on the east coast, we won’t get the brunt of it, although it is supposed to affect eastern parts just as the morning rush hours gets going and disruption is warned. Other advice is to secure anything that may blow about in your garden, but the only thing we really need to do is lean a spare paving slab against the door of the shed which, after the windy night of last week, is hanging on by one hinge. There’s the matter of the fence, but as the wind tends to buffet about in all directions as it funnels down the gardens behind the houses in our street, it’s impossible to predict where it should be supported. All we can do is cross our fingers. Fortunately Monday is my day off in the coming week and there are plenty of domestic chores to be done, none of which involve venturing outside at all.

I can’t believe that it’s already over a fortnight since we got back from London and I haven’t written about it. We had such a good time there that coming home was quite a wrench and we both felt a bit flat afterwards. Now that the sadly-missed Prince Regent Hotel at Piccadilly has closed (and is still shrouded in scaffolding and vast plastic sheets with no trace of any work going on) our hotels of choice are the Travelodges which are dotted about all over London (and everywhere else.) This is because you can get some incredibly good rates if you book in advance (£19 instead of £105 anyone?) and because we don’t mind that the hotels are deliberately simple, with no frills. So far we’ve stayed at their Covent Garden, Farringdon (not really very close to Farringdon,) and King’s Cross Royal Scot hotels, all of which have been fine though the Covent Garden one being newer was the smartest of those. This last time we chose their newest hotel on City Road, about 10 or 15 minutes’ walk from Liverpool Street Station. Part of it is in what was once the headquarters for the Singer Sewing Machine company.

The building is listed and is rather striking, although dwarfed by some of the older buildings a little further down the road. While the exterior, here at the end at least, remains we saw only one remnant of the interior.

This door was at the end of the corridor our room was on and opened into what appeared to be a small conference room of some sort, and was adjacent to the door to our room which was on the right. Only on our first night there did I hear anyone else near our room, as they were leaving at about 4.30 in the morning, so I think we were the only people on that corridor for the rest of the time.

Just up the road from the hotel is Armoury House, the headquarters of the Honourable Artillery Company Detachment of Special Constabulary, attached to the City of London Police. It’s imposing, but not as old as it appears to be.

Next to that is Bunhill Fields burial ground, where we sat next to John Bunyan’s grave enjoying the calm and waiting until the time came for when we would be able to take the room at the hotel.

Across the road from there stand the house and chapel of John Wesley, who is himself buried behind the chapel.

This is one of the reasons that I love London; all this history exists side-by-side in a relatively tiny part of the city. You could visit the city time and time again and not see everything that it has to offer.

Anyway, that’ll do for now. More soon.

Hello.

In lieu of writing about our recent visit to London I'll write about my dream last night. In it I was going out with Amy Winehouse and she, it transpired, was taking part in the competition to represent the United Kingdom in the Eurovision Song Contest. Unlike the actual competition, which was televised, the dream one was in a rather shabby church hall and Amy had to go on stage and play a grand piano.

Sadly her song wasn't very good and her performance was wobbly. When she came back to sit down at our table (one of those formica, circular affairs from off of the Seventies) we air-kissed and she asked me, in a voice like Janet Street-Porters, if it had gone as badly as she thought. I lied and told her it was great.

Then, just as I was thinking to myself, 'Hang on a minute, there's a very good reason why I'm NOT going out with Amy,' another bloke, really smarmy and posh, started to try and chat her up. As she grabbed my arm and tried to avoid him I woke up.

While I'm on the subject of 'Amys' the one I work with told me that her name comes up as 'Cow' when people are using predictive text, so she gets lots of text messages that start 'Hi, Cow.' Hilarious.

Regarding work: I gotta get out, I just gotta. Things aren't improving and I've learned of certain injustices that have deeply angered me. I find it difficult to tolerate being there at times, which therefore makes it hard to get on with things. And it's been a long time since so many of my friends and colleagues were actively looking for alternative employment.

Lastly, will it snow or won't it? The local BBC weather woman seems convinced it will, while the BBC's national weather website isn't even forecasting rain.

Back soon.

Hello.

Well, it seems here in Suffolk we missed out on all the excitement of 'the biggest earthquake for 25 years' that has effected some parts of England and Wales. I'm not sure if I'm pleased or disappointed by that.

I'm back to work this week having had 10 days off through a combination of holiday days and days off. Going back to a place I don't really want to be anymore was quite hard, not least because I enjoyed spending time and doing stuff with Drew immensely. We spent the best part of three days in London at the end of last week, about which I'll write soon. Suffice to say for now that we had a great, if tiring, time.

At the beginning of last week we went to see 'Jumper' starring Hayden Christensen and Jamie Bell. Drew really enjoyed but I found it a little boring. In fact I haven't been that bored during a film since the second Matrix film, which was a massive disappointment after the first one. Back to 'Jumper' - I didn't have a problem with any of the performances, not even Christensen's (and I'm not being swayed by how pretty he is) or the basic storyline which uses a good, if hardly novel, device to hang a story on but I do think parts of the film could have been trimmed, specifically the beginning which sets up the premise of the whole 'jumping' thing, when 'David' first becomes aware of his talent as a bullied (yawn) teenager. Okay, these scenes set up the rest of the film but it could have been more succinctly done than it was. Then later there is a 'jumping' in a flash car segment which, while impressively effects-laden, is entirely pointless other than showing that Bell's character can jump in anything that moves. And what was up with Bell's accent? Apparently he was born in Stockton-On-Tees, but the accent he employed in the film was more watered-down Geordie than Teesside (and I lived there for 4 years so I should know) and seemed to go on a road trip of its own around the north of England. At least the script let him use proper British idioms and not an American scriptwriter's idea of how English people speak (hang your heads in shame writers on 'Friends' and 'Frasier.' The latter, especially, was a travesty.)

However, when it was moving along at pace it was very enjoyable and if there's a sequel I'd seriously consider going to see it, particularly if Jamie Bell is back in it. The film certainly ended with an obvious opportunity for a sequel. In fact it was so clearly sign-posted that it might have been written by a child, who then underlined the whole thing loads of times with different coloured felt-tip pens, just to emphasise the point!

The best thing about the whole trip to the cinema? The long trailer for the new series of 'Doctor Who.' When did the BBC start advertising at the pictures? First of all there was a long and funny advert for the Chris Moyles show on Radio 1 (I thought it was funny because I like him) and THEN - pow - the Doctor Who one. I'm still not sure that Catherine Tate's character Donna isn't too similar to someone who could have appeared in her sketch show (she seems too mannered in her acting, unlike Billie Piper as Rose or Freema Agyman as Martha) but I'll reserve my judgement until the show's back on air. Anyway, the trailer began with her talking to Bernard Cribbens' character, who appeared in the Christmas -with-Kylie story) and sped-up into scenes from the forthcoming series, ending with those great whompy-thumps that only cinema sound systems can provide properly: whomp! there's Donna, whomp! there's Martha (getting all tingly now) and whomp! THERE'S ROSE!! Goosebumps time.

It made the whole cinema visit worthwhile.

Anyway, it's just coming up to 8 in the morning and I need to go and have a shower before work. More soon.

Hello.

So I’m (roughly) 43 years and 2 days old. Perhaps that explains why I get so stiff now if I sit in one position for too long - things begin to seize up if they’re not used often enough, it would seem.

Yup, it was my birthday on Tuesday and I had a very nice, relaxed day with presents and cards when I woke up (and I was very good with the cards; other than the one from people at work I hadn’t opened any beforehand,) breakfast made for me and a bit of a lay-in. Even going next door to let their puppies out into the garden for a play (and a wee) was a treat, because they’re both such adorable creatures who love company and Drew in particular. After that Drew asked me if I wanted to go anywhere, either into the countryside or to the sea and I chose the latter, more specifically Felixstowe Ferry. This was because it was where Mum and Dad had taken us for an evening meal a few weeks ago, to the Ferry Boat Inn, but because it had been dark (and cold) we hadn’t explored the area at all. I’d been taken there as a child, but I must have been very small indeed because I couldn’t remember anything about it at all. Also, considering how often I’ve been to Felixstowe in the last 43 years (i.e. since I was born) it’s amazing to think I haven’t been there more often, so all-in-all I decided that a daylight visit was a good choice.

We weren’t sure where we could park, but found a pay and display car park by the well-known Ferry Café, apparently the source of some of the best fish and chips in the area. It looks quite shabby on the outside, but as I’ve learnt over the years appearance is not necessarily something to judge somewhere by and if the large amount of people inside it is busy and popular even off-season. We walked first down to where the little ferry itself goes from, crossing as it does the River Deben to Bawdsey on the other side, and marvelled at how swiftly the river runs down to the sea at this point - there were many notices warning against swimming at this point due to the currents as the river meets the sea, and you could really see why here.

The water flowing over the submerged part of the ferry’s landing stage.

Fishermen’s huts.

As we rounded the fishermen’s huts and set off along the footpath that separates the land from the beach the full force of the wind coming off the sea became apparent, making me glad that at the last moment I’d grabbed my scarf from the coat pegs and wish that I hadn’t got my hair tied back because my left ear was suddenly very cold indeed. (I couldn’t have my hair loose - it was in dire need of a wash and I wasn’t going to expose that horror to anyone.) I think the words “extremely bracing” sum up the wind and the temperature perfectly. Lovely, just how I like it; give me bracing over hot any day. It would seem that lots of other people had the same idea as we passed by quite a few others, some dressed for long walks, others with their dogs having a brisk but brief stroll to clear the cobwebs. The golf course that now takes up the expanse between Felixstowe Ferry and the furthest reach of Felixstowe proper was quite busy, too, but I suspect the golfers, being at a lower level than the sea wall, were sheltered from the worst of the sea wind.

Mum had been surprised that we’d never noticed the Martello Tower at the Ferry but once we’d walked past it to the other one, which sits incongruously on the golf course, and looked back the way we’d come we could see how we’d missed it. Surrounded by other buildings it just blended in with them, the curvature of the walls not obvious at all and the chimneys on the top just serving to make it seem even less distinct.

The Martello Tower at the Ferry.

The two towers.

The golf course tower.

Spot the tower back at the Ferry.

We’ve only ever walked this far before, but from the other direction, so it was great to “complete” the route this time. Actually, the last time we’d been there we wouldn’t have been able to walk the whole route without taking a detour over the golf course, not advisable when it’s busy, because some extreme work was being done on the sea wall. Next time we’ll be able to do the whole thing, have a cuppa at the café and stroll back to the car. This time we took some photos across the river mouth towards Bawdsey Manor, which just at that moment was illuminated by some stray sunshine.

Bawdsey Manor.

We walked slowly back to the car, my right ear suffering from the effects of the wind this time, debating how many of the buildings there are permanently occupied and how many are holiday properties. Some of the houses, little more than large chalets really, appeared to be empty. Could it be somewhere to spend a few days sometime, seeing as it looks as though a trip to Wales is going to be out of the question this year? Hmmm.

We drove back along the road that bisects the golf course and into Felixstowe itself, parking on the sea front road where during the summer you don’t have a hope in hell of finding a space. A short walk here was in order, partly to have a look at what state the prom is in at the moment (fine, by the way) and partly because I really needed to have a wee and the toilet block was a little way along. I always find it slightly disorientating there since the café that was on very dangerous looking, improvised stilts was demolished due to safety concerns but this time my sense of displacement was compounded by the removal of the beach huts from their customary place beside the prom. The huts have always been vulnerable to damage by stormy seas but over the past few years even moreso, so finally they have been moved back from the sea front and now stand jammed close together on two different sites presumably waiting to be returned when the weather improves in the spring.

Luckily for us one of the sea front chippies was open, the one we usually go to, because we hadn’t had any lunch and were both feeling peckish. What is it about eating chips at the seaside which makes them so different? I mean you can have good chips and bad chips wherever you might be, and our local fish and chip shop does very good chips, but there must be something in that sea air that adds to the flavour.

Then, our appetites for fresh air and fried potato satiated, we drove back home to ostensibly to do things around the house and get ready to go out with Mum and Dad in the evening. In fact what happened was that we made a cup of tea, took our mugs upstairs and then promptly fell asleep for a couple of hours. Perhaps it was the fresh air, who knows. Anyway, we were up with enough time to shower and get ready to drive over to Mum and Dad’s for quarter past seven.

It was my choice to go to the marvellous Kwan Thai restaurant in St. Nicholas street. I’ve been there several times now and without fail it is excellent. We hadn’t booked a table, thinking that on a Tuesday night in February it wouldn’t be particularly busy and it seemed we were right in that assumption… at first. By 8.30 it was really very busy and by 9 they were turning large parties away. If anyone ever needed testimony that the place has a loyal following then it was personified in the two lads who waited for over an hour for a table for two to become free - not many places would command that sort of dedication when there are several alternatives in a short walking distance. And despite there only being three of them having to divide their time between all the tables the waitresses, two who were Thai and the British wife of the owner, were genuinely, happily polite and thorough throughout. At one point Mum said that they weren’t to worry about us because we weren’t in any hurry and were happy to pause between courses, and it was just right.

We had one of the mixed starters, for three rather than two, which was excellent. I can’t remember what the others had for their main course but I had pork Hong Kong style, of which there was a large amount, egg fried rice, and my favourite Mee Grob, (that’s one of the many spellings I found on the internet last night) the crispy noodles. I can’t go for a Thai meal without having those sweet, crispy noodles. Two bottles of South African red wine lubricated the whole affair.

Astonishingly we were there for over three hours! Just the right pace. We went back to Mum and Dad’s for a cup of tea and an hour or so’s chatting before Dad brought us home.

I can safely say that it was one of the best birthdays. Lovely. And, as I write, there are still 5 days to go of my holiday! More adventures to come?

Sorry it’s tailed off a bit there but I need to go and do stuff. More soon.

Hello.

Which of the following statements, plucked from Sunday newspapers last week (not this), refers to Heather Mills McCartney?

1) She could drink tea from a teacup and looked good for an ape.

2) She has a very unusual erogenous zone - her stump. I used to massage one particular sensitive area of it and give her an orgasm!

Answers later on. Betcha can’t wait, huh?

Firstly thanks for all the advice and comments on my last post. We’re going to peruse some advice-type websites and I’m going to research a new bank account, although having done so before I haven’t been with my current bank long enough to be accepted and prior to them I didn’t have a bank account of my own for 5 years and so can’t provide the relevant information. First Direct is an attractive prospect but I don’t bring home even their minimum acceptable amount for them to consider me, so they’re out of the picture.

Domestically we’ve embarked on a month-long experiment of turning off and completely unplugging everything we’re not using, using different lights and most of the time instead of having the nightstore heater on in the front room we’ve just been giving the room a 2 or 3 minute blast of the very effective fan heater Drew bought at Christmas time… and wearing more clothes about the place, too (although over the past very cold day or so the heater is back on.) This could have some good results. Hope so. More environmentally friendly, too.

To other matters, then. Since last I wrote we’ve been quite busy with one thing or another, hence the lack of writing even though I fully intended to keep more up-to-date (as usual.) The very last thing I wrote was that we were off to a friend’s stag do. I have to admit that I was a tad anxious about this because aside from the stag, a friend from my work and a lad that Drew used to work with before he was ill we knew no one who would be there. I don’t feel comfortable in all-male groups as a rule, not even all-gay all-male groups, you see, and not only that but we were due to play pool at one of the last vestiges of the way the docks used to be before it began to transform into the “marina” it is now, though I preferred this option to the original intention which had been to go bowling, something we weren’t able to do because the bowling alley wouldn’t let the group book any lanes without children under 14 being present. Not surprisingly, there were none. The last time I had been in a pool club was in the bar for a wedding reception rather than the pool part, so I’d never experienced the full-on pool effect and as their dodgy reputations are well-known (yes, I’m horribly middle class) I was a little nervous. Anyway, we met up with everyone at Isaac’s, the pub on the quayside and once everyone was assembled and had enjoyed a pint, or preferred equivalent, we trudged the short distance to the pool place.

I expect that it has its moments, as does anywhere with alcohol on sale, but I have to say that from the moment we walked into the bar of the pool place I relaxed. You couldn’t call it smart, but it was quite homely in its own way. The television was showing some rugby match or other, and other than our gang of about 16 there was barely anyone else there which I put down to the fact that Ipswich Town were playing at home, but even after the match it didn’t fill up much. The last time I had played pool must have been back in the early 9os, so I was quite surprised to be able to pot a few balls. However this success was short-lived as I followed my usual pattern of being rather stiff and nervous at first, becoming relaxed as the first couple of pints kicked in and consequently playing okay before further alcohol and complacency leads to rubbishness. But it was thoroughly enjoyable, that’s the main thing. I didn’t drink too much there because a) we had very little money between us and b) there was only lager and to me, after years of choosing real ale, it’s like drinking flavourless, over-fizzy pop. At least I was able to have a couple of decent (if expensive) beers when we returned to Isaac’s. We spent a little more time there before our money ran out, and left just as a stripper was being arranged…

(She didn’t turn up in the end, as it happens.)

In other news: last week I was mainly feeling ill; quite nastily ill in fact. I was fine over the weekend but woke up on Monday morning with that ‘hungover-for-no-reason’ feeling which immediately I dismissed as the symptoms of de-hydration. We went about our business as usual and in the afternoon, it being my day off and us being low on provisions, we set off to go shopping at Asda and Aldi. Asda was incredibly busy; perhaps everyone in the area had exhausted their larders over the weekend and needed to stock up and with it being the half-term holiday a high percentage of those shoppers had their children with them and the aisles were virtually jammed as people and their trolleys circled each other like so many mutated, geriatric Daleks milling around their metallic city on Skaro. It was while we were nudging our way around Asda like this that I remarked to Drew that I was experiencing sharp, stabbing pains in my gut, but that I put this down to being hungry more than anything. I winced every now and then, not that anyone would have noticed, and got on with the shopping. From Asda we drove to the Aldi store at that end of town (we usually go to the other one) for a few more things, and where we witnessed a living advert for why women with fat, very flabby and mottled arms shouldn’t wear sleeveless t-shirts and fake-fur gilets, and then returned home. By the time we got into the house I was ready for the loo.

Then 20 minutes later I was ready again…

Repeat regularly for many, many hours.

So, after a night with little sleep and so long spent in the bathroom that I contemplated sitting on the toilet and leaning on the towel rail just so I could doze, I didn’t go to work on either Tuesday or Wednesday. Not surprisingly I ate virtually nothing for 48 hours, until Drew made me two boiled eggs with toasty soldiers on Wednesday evening. By the time I went to work on Thursday morning I’d lost a quarter of a stone. The weight loss is quite nice, but I would rather have found another way of achieving it.

Even now, several days later, I can’t stomach (ha!) the thought of a great deal of food at once. If I’ve learnt to eat less, and I know I eat too much in one sitting, then that’s no bad thing. When my appetite returns properly, I must keep it under control.

I don’t read enough these days. There, I’ve admitted in print. There was a time when I would devour books, sometimes several a week, all subjects considered. Then I developed a social life and then, some years later, I got the internet. Reading real, on paper and in your hands stuff, dwindled away to little more than newspapers, Heat and the occasional history or factual book. I can’t have read more than 6 novels in 10 years, partly because I find that I can predict very early on exactly how the plot is going to develop and just how the book will end (I do check this, by the way) - the very same thing that stops me watching certain television series or films. Perhaps that’s why I prefer science-fiction as a genre, because it tends to stay away from the limited permutations that the “modern” novel has to offer. Similarly I have enjoyed classic novels such as “Northanger Abbey,” one of the funniest books I’ve ever read. A brilliant exception to the “modern novel” rule is “Something Might Happen” by Julie Myerson, the praises of which I have sung before. Myerson’s plot is not at all predictable although there was a stinging realisation of horror towards the very end of it when I guessed something tragic was going to happen, but this was at the end and not in the first chapter or two and that makes all the difference.

I’m currently re-reading Judith Flander’s “The Victorian House” in which she explores every aspect of life in every permutation of the household during that period. It’s a fascinating read; crammed with information but not in such a way as to make you feel you can’t absorb it all. The Victorian house builders, more than any other perhaps, have left an indelible mark on this country. Incredible amounts of people live, still, in Victorian houses thanks to the massive building plans of the 19th and early 20th century authorities. If you’re interested in such things then I highly recommend this book.

Drew recently answered the phone to a cold-caller who, although he beat around the bush before he got to his point, was selling subscriptions to the Daily Telegraph. It never occurred to me that newspapers employed this sort of tactic to boost sales, but there you go. Drew explained that we read it if we were at my parents (my Dad gets it daily, as well as the Sunday Telegraph) but that we read most of our newspapers online. I approach it like this: I have bookmarked The Guardian, The Independent, The Telegraph, The Daily Mail and (cue horror-film type music) The Sun (and their various Sunday versions, including The Observer which is basically The Sunday Guardian in everything but name.) I visit these every day, along with the BBC News website and on seeing a story I want to read further click on the link to open in a new “tab.” So I’ll read anything from concerns about the Pakistan election to Britney Spears having left a shop without paying for a top, as I have done today. Often I read the various papers’ take on the same story, which can be interesting as they’re all politically biased in one or another (even the Independent) no matter how subtly that might be. The tabloids can be a bit like being shouted at in a small room by some moron who thinks you’re an idiot but, hey, it can make a change from the sometimes sanctimonious broadsheets. Quite often I venture onto the website of Melbourne Age, partly to get the Australian slant on things and partly because I like to know what’s going on where my sister lives, and less frequently to the New York Times where I usually read their reports about things European/British because it’s interesting to get a distant point of view. Australian coverage of European and British news is much familiar, probably because of the massive ex-pat population - it’s clear from the articles that the author assumes the reader is already au fait with his or her subject, whereas the New York Times has often to define what it being referred to by “translating” it into something more familiar with an American reader.

I left our local paper, The Evening Star, off my list. I visit the website daily, to glance over the headlines and click on the occasional story and to look at the vacancies, but I find it very weak indeed. Also there’s quite an unpleasant right-wing slant to it at times, which probably says more about its readership than anything else. It’s won several awards in the last 10 years, which doesn’t say much for the standards of other local papers I fear. Still, it serves it purpose. I’m just a snob, I suppose.

I’m nothing if not a creature of habit. So as I said I read the papers in the morning before I go to work, then, when I get home of an evening, I warm up the computer and go first to Perez Hilton, then to Go Fug Yourself, then all the blogs I read or contribute to, before popping over to the aforementioned Evening Star. After that it’s eBay, the Radio Times listings to see what’s on and from there on in anything goes. Lovely.

So I do still read quite a lot, just not so often from the printed page.

Well, I’m knackered so it’s time for the end of the Doctor Who story “Brain of Morbious” on flickery long-play, a cup of tea and then bed.

More soon. Ish.

Oh, P.S. - Heather MM was quote two, under the very “charming” headline, “Rumpy Stumpy.” Nice.

Hello.

Ah. Oh dear. Hmm. Money, or the lack of it, is suddenly about to go from being a bit of a worry to potentially being a major problem. Last night before I went to sleep I laid awake for a while pondering our finances and where we might be able to make a saving or two. This was sparked off by (finally opening and) reading post from my bank in which they explained that they no longer provide an agreed free overdraft facility and that any straying over the limit, without first arranging it which is a tad long-winded, will now accrue a charge.

Imagine my joy then when this morning, having had our electricity meter read last week, the bill from N-Power dropped through the letter box. It informs us that we owe them over £200 when we were under the impression that we paying enough through our monthly direct debit to just about cover it. Partly this is due to the controversial hike in power charges, but it doesn’t explain it all and we just don’t know what can be costing us so much nor where we can cut back.

Still to come will be the new, high Council Tax amount and the new water charges with a rent rise later in the year. This is all coming in the first of the four years in which I won’t get a pay rise thanks to the company’s restructuring of the pay bands at work, this being the company that made £6 million profit over the Christmas period without passing any of that on to the shop staff. It means that I really do face the prospect of having to cancel my pension payments completely just to match the bills despite all the dire warning people have given me regarding doing so. The trouble is that I need the money now and can’t afford to worry about the future. Ultimately we’d have to move somewhere cheaper (and smaller and grottier?) get rid of the phone, cancel the TV package and consider the future of the car, though the car remains vital for Drew to travel to his parent’s when he needs to.

I know we’re not alone in our financial concerns and this is one of those periods when I’m supremely grateful that we don’t have a mortgage, with interest rates being what they are. We might not want to move somewhere else but we can if we need to; an advantage of renting. But there’s an underclass, if you like, of poorly-paid people like us who earn just enough not to qualify for benefits of any sort but can’t afford things like dentists’ bills, glasses and so on without an immense struggle. My resentment is growing daily about that; I resent especially the company I work for who are essentially punishing me for having worked for them for a long time (and of course despite the “new broom” effect of creating one level of seniority amongst the booksellers in my shop the fact remains that the same core of people do the important things on a daily basis simply because there is no time for anyone else to be trained to do very much more than they do already.) Somewhere out there is that new job…

Okay, time to go shovel down a bacon sandwich and then shower before we go out for the stag do. An opportunity to not to worry for a while.

Hmm. Tonight's "Torchwood" managed to be good and badly messy at the same time. Good performances all round, as usual, and nice to see Rees move out from the shadow of "occasional supporting character" and into the forefront for an episode. However, the least said about the alien the better, I think. CGI doesn't always improve things, it seems.

A bit of a grim day at work; not personally but all around me. I heard more things that make me want to get out of the company as soon as possible and also was given some incredibly sad and worrying news about a friend. I'm glad I know about it, but know there's nothing I can do to aid them in any way which I find saddening and frustrating.

On a happier note my sister emailed some photos from Australia of my nephew in his school uniform, taken on a little while after Christmas when he was going in to the school for several 'try out days.' He looks SO grown up! And the uniform is brilliant - t-shirt, shorts, and big hat. No British child would recognise it as a uniform.

And I've got a long weekend coming up for the first time in ages, including on Saturday afternoon and evening the stag 'do' of a friend. This is going to involve playing pool which I've not done for well over ten days. Could be interesting. I'm not sure either of us will be up to the getting-home-in-the-wee-hours that has been mentioned, especially as the whole thing starts mid-afternoonish. I fear we may be heading home quite early compared to the young folk.

OK, time to go and play on my DS in bed for a while. Then sleep.

Hello.

Today being Shrove Tuesday we have had pancakes. Please click on the link to Wikipedia for an explanation about Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day as it’s also known. Years ago my Mum seemed able to churn out pancakes by the dozen for the 5 of us in the family but since then I’ve never been able to find anyone else that can do that. Drew, though, makes a damn near perfect one whilst mine tend to be a tad ragged round the edges.

Anyway we had a bit of a blip with our pancakes this year. As usual we both went into the kitchen together to share the pancake experience. Drew had prepared everything; the frying pan was ready; olive oil ready for the frying process; sugar to sprinkle; lemon in one of those Jif squeezy things and plates to eat off. He had bought one of those “cheating” packs from Aldi during the week, where you just add milk and shake it up until the mix is ready for the pan and then discovered that we had a (different sort of) pack where you add an egg and milk to the flour and mix it up prior to frying left over from last year.

Last year’s on the left, this year’s on the right.

We started off with this year’s pack. The picture on the back indicated that really we should have been attempting to make what we think of as American-style pancakes, but we had a go at getting the mix to make a British pancake. The result can be seen below.

In the pan.

On the plate.

What we didn’t realise then was that we hadn’t in fact got the mix shaken up properly, but I’ll come back to that. Luckily for us the packet that we’d had since last year was still in date, so Drew whipped up the mix and we cooked that instead. Very nice it was, too. He had his plain with a little sugar sprinkled on top and lemon juice squirted on to that, while I had Mum’s plum jam rolled up inside. Lovely.

The mixing.

The mix, ready to pour into the pan.

On the way…

Ready for the plate.

While Drew was cooking his last pancake I had another go at shaking up the original mix very thoroughly. It soon became obvious that it hadn’t been done properly before, because it thickened up immensely. We’d also been trying to cook it on a high heat and not the medium heat that the packet’s instructions asked for. So with the heat adjusted and the mixture ready we had another go.

Immediately it was obvious that there was a difference here. The “American” mix was thicker and “dolloped” into the pan in a mass that resembled emulsion paint when it comes out of the tin, whereas the British one pours and you swirl it into a thin, flat circle.

More successful on the second attempt.

Ready to eat.

These were much sweeter, almost cake-like in texture and although I didn’t think I’d be able to get one down after all the others I’d eaten it turned out to be quite light to eat. I still needed a cup of tea after all that, though. So I think all-in-all Pancake Day turned out to be a success!

Winding back now to the weekend: I woke up on Sunday morning thinking “Oh that’s bloody great.” Remember how, just before Christmas, I spent a weekend feeling the unmistakeable grip of The National Flu Virus taking over me? Well, it seemed to be happening again, albeit with a slight variation in that this time it was my nose and sinuses that were displaying signs of being affected, and not my throat (though I still have the tickly cough that started way back in December.) Happily it has all subsided and today only the permanent cough remains, as it seems to have done with all my friends who have had that virus.

Aside from that annoying nasal irritation it had been a good week. Mum and Dad took us out for a meal on Thursday night, picking me up from work and then Drew from the house so that he didn’t have to drive. Originally they had intended to take us out to Felixstowe but due to the bad weather and high winds the Port of Felixstowe was closed meaning that the roads approaching the town were partly being used for all the lorries that couldn’t enter the port to park on. Locally this process, “stacking” as it’s known, is very controversial because it creates such major problems with the traffic in the area. Dad was reluctant to get caught up in any tailbacks that there might be so instead we went to Martlesham where we had a very, very nice meal indeed.

Naturally I was pleased with my choice until I saw everyone else’s food arrive, then I wished I’d chosen one of those dishes. But you can’t eat everything on the menu, no matter how much a of a glutton you know you can be, and what I had chosen was very nice indeed. We were also entertained by the loud trio of people behind us who could have come from any sitcom sketch about people from Essex with no taste but with lots of money. In fact, of the three of them, one was silent and moody, while the other two were very vocal. I was annoyed at first that they were so snotty about so much to do with where we were, though typically they were sweetness itself to the waiters in a way that meant it was obvious that they weren’t happy, until it became clear that they had never been satisfied with anywhere they had ever been ever. At one point they managed to piss off the head waiter so much with their ingratiating and patronising manner that he entered the kitchen, which was close to where I was sitting, by kicking it open! As Mum commented (rather loudly, thanks to several glasses of wine) why did they bother going out if it was always such a problem for them? I had visions of a fight in the car park, but it didn’t happen.

This week we’re hopefully going to make it to Felixstowe as intended. It all depends on the weather and the traffic, though.

We also indulged our passion for “Classic” Doctor Who by watching some old Tom Baker episodes, mostly in chronological order, from his very first story, “Robot.” This pleasure has included two of my favourite episodes; “Terror of the Zygons” and “Planet of Evil.” This part of the Tom Baker era was possibly my favourite part of the history of the programme, the combination of Baker and Elisabeth Sladen as Sarah-Jane Smith being one of the best Doctor/companion combinations ever.

Sarah-Jane and the 4th Doctor.

Sarah-Jane and the 10th Doctor.

So it was a great pleasure for her to return last in 2006 and then again in her own series.

Now, I don’t want to sound as though all we ever do is watch television but having praised last week’s episode of “Torchwood” I’ve got to do the same again for the most recent episode of “Primeval” which was on last Saturday. I find this series to be a bit pedestrian in some ways, although I can’t say that it’s lacking in action. It’s just all on one note, though, and lacks the sort of depth I like in Doctor Who. That said, this weekend’s episode was a cracker with its future creatures and some brilliant acting from Hannah “S Club” Spearritt as Abby.

I’m not sure that I like the newly introduced “someone’s watching us” sub-plot, with the apparent ring leader of the “secret organisation” being the now extra-evil ex-wife Helen. She was always a bad’un, but this development seems to be a bit unnecessary even if it does give the actress some excellent opportunities to “do” baddiness. Oh, and the nasty, two-faced, in-it-for-the-money unlikely girlfriend of one of the characters just isn’t believable at all. (But futuristic, intelligent, mutant walruses are of course.)

We’re intending to go and see “Cloverfield” in the next week or so, probably when the crowds have died down a bit. Loathe though I am to admit it, the publicity surrounding it has been intriguing and now that the film has finally been released the word is out that it more than lives up to the hype. I also love the fact that it is rumoured that the sequel will cover exactly the same period in this first film but from another person’s point of view. You could even have another “sequel” made in the style of a normal blockbuster… what possibilities. The second “National Treasure” film is about to come out over here and that’s on our “must see” list. We both really enjoyed the first one, but I’m worried that this one might just be a little predictable having seen a couple of clips on television. However, I’m prepared to take the chance.

That’ll do for now. Bed beckons, and I can’t wait to relax a bit. Heavy rain in the night, combined with high wind, woke me up at just after 3a.m. and sounded like gravel being thrown at the windows. I then woke up again a little after 4, something that seems to have become an annoying habit. Consequently I’m rather tired and nearly fell asleep during my afternoon tea break! No rain tonight, I hope.

Hello.

It was “jobs day” in the local paper today so I bought a copy and took it into work; I even managed to read through it before fevered colleagues wrestled me for it. They were welcome to it as there was not one thing in it that I would even have considered applying for. Meh. I’m trying to keep things in perspective and am constantly having to remind myself that it’s only the end of January and I’ve given myself until the end of the year to be somewhere new. The trouble is that I really want to go as soon as I can.

Something else came along to piss me off at work . The Telegraph reported that our company had made so much of a profit that a large bonus is to be awarded to people at head office and in management. Nothing to the 'ground troops' of course. Fuckers.

Anyway…

On the good news front it’s now certain that my sister and her two children will be flying in from Australia this June. It’ll be great to see them and with this much notice I’ve been able to take a week off during their three week stay. My Dad will be 70 in April and although we’ll be celebrating that milestone on the day we’ll be having another celebration in the summer while the Australians are here.

So “Torchwood” is back on television. I had several criticisms of the last series, mainly the seemingly crowbarred-in swearing and crude dialogue (the sex I wasn’t bothered about) as did quite a lot of the viewers who otherwise liked it. Well, it seems as though the production team have taken note of the suggestions aimed at them and revised things a little. So far (third episode) there has been no swearing (although there was a warning about “strong language” prior to the second episode) and nothing more sexy than some full-on snogging including some rather nice man-on-man action involving the very attractive Gareth David-Lloyd (see below.)

This third episode that was on tonight was one of those involving contact between different time periods and was very good indeed. Terrific performances all round, with an especially measured but moving one from Noako Mori as Toshiko Sato whose heart was broken. Again. Viewers may recognise Ms. Mori as once playing one of Saffy’s geeky friends in “Absolutely Fabulous.”

Another member of the cast is the rather beautiful and wonderful Eve Myles as Gwen. It was through her character in the first series that we, the viewers, got to meet and understand the whole Torchwood set-up. This time round she’s a more confident person, quite capable of taking charge if need be. If this actress doesn’t go onto great things I’ll want to know the reason why.

Right, thassitfornow.

Hello.

The question of the week this week on comedic/bad-taste website b3ta, somewhere I visit regularly, is about bad experiences in hotels and the like. Perhaps it’s because staying in hotels is not something that I’ve ever really indulged in up until I met Drew (and only a few times since then) that I’ve not come across anything less than very adequate. Everywhere we’ve stayed, mainly at Travelodges and the much-missed Prince Regent Hotel just off Piccadilly Circus (which cost less than a shabby hostel that some of our friends once stayed in) has been warm and comfortable and, above all, convenient. Perhaps it’s because I have no particular desire for anything other than comfort - luxury you can keep when the price is reasonable and it’s only for a couple of nights. After all, it’s not the hotel that’s the most important part of the trip, is it? It’s now not long until we go to London during my birthday week, where we’ll be staying at London’s newest Travelodge, which is quite exciting. Hopefully we won’t have any problems there.

This afternoon we drove down to Virgin/Cineworld/whateveritscalledthisweek to see “I Am Legend.” Normally we go in the morning if we’re able because it’s much cheaper but they seem to have stopped showing films that early, perhaps because they make very little money that way. As it was there were only about 5 other people in the auditorium when we got there (one of whom appeared to be an elderly gent whose hardness of hearing meant he spoke very loudly every now and then including, right after that rather harrowing advert warning of the dangers of drinking too much where a lad who thinks he’s like Robocop slips off some scaffolding and lays twitching on the pavement, “Ooh, Sheila came round yesterday.” I’d love to know what his train of thought had been.) Now, I have to admit to some dubiousness about seeing this film, my doubts springing from two sources, namely variable (mostly negative) reviews and the fact that I think the book is one of the best examples of modern fiction that I’ve ever read. I need not have worried on either count because I thoroughly enjoyed it. Will Smith is an excellent actor in my opinion and laid to rest the ghost of “The Fresh Prince” long ago and was the major force behind the film’s success, for me anyway. One criticism I read was that it was slow and “boring” but I disagree entirely with that. It was necessary to show how relentlessly uneventful his life could be at times, with no one to interact with other than the dog (Samantha, who’ve guessed?) which of course contrasted tremendously with the, quite frankly, nerve-shredding action sequences. I didn’t see the final segment in the lab coming at all, which was pleasing because it could have been predictable, nor did I find the ending particularly twee as some reviewers claim to have done.

I do have a couple of criticisms, though. It was clear that the plague victims weren’t all the mindless killers that they were thought to be. How did the “alpha male” control the others and his vampiristic dogs, for instance? How did the woman and her son get to New York and have a car, etc, etc. How did he deal with the sudden and unexpected loss of his wife and child (which I could see coming but still found hard to deal with when it did?) Perhaps the eventual DVD will have deleted scenes and extra features to answer those questions. I hope so.

The question of not being true to the book isn’t one that bothered me. It, the film, is a good enough story to stand on its own and it packed a powerful punch of its own that is very different from the novel. The ending from the novel, indeed the whole novel, would still make a tremendous film if only someone was brave enough to make it although that‘s unlikely now, I’d have thought. I’ve only once seen “The Omega Man” and can’t remember anything about it but from what I’ve read and be told about that film it’s clear that the current version is adapted from that and not the novel. Indeed, this is confirmed in the end titles.

So it gets an enthusiastic thumbs-up from me. One thing, though, it’ll be a long time before I’m able to walk into a darkened house again, though. And I wonder whether guinea pigs can catch the airborne virus…

So you can probably gather that Drew is back at home. We weren’t we were blasé about our relationship prior to his going by any means but his absence has made me appreciate how much I love him and how vital his presence in my life is to my well-being. I feel guilty that by being here with me Drew isn’t able to be with his parents and have even, on the longest, darkest night without him, entertained ideas of moving to Birmingham so that he could be near them. But then we wouldn’t be near my parents, so we can’t win whatever we do. Currently his mother’s prognosis isn’t too bad, so we’re all in a state of limbo until she returns for more tests in a couple of month’s time. I count my blessings that my parents are very healthy as they approach the end of their sixties.

On a much lighter note we went to my niece’s second birthday party yesterday afternoon. She is absolutely adorable, it has to be said, and never fails to beguile everyone around her. She took an interesting approach to her birthday presents, opening several until she abruptly decided that she had opened enough. Good for her, she’s spreading the pleasure over several days, although I doubt she views it like that. It may have been something to do with opening a present of Fuzzy Felt faces, which she immediately wanted to do. She must have played with those for over an hour, and even did a picture of me, albeit with a purple goatee. Perhaps she’d seen a picture of Billy Connolly with his!

The “do” was hosted by my Sister-in-law’s Mother and step-father and was well attended as their gatherings always are. As usual there was plenty of very, very good food for everyone and a seemingly endless supply of wine for those who were drinking. Mum and Dad gave us a lift there and back which meant Drew, for once, was able to have a drink or two himself.

When the party came to an end we went back to Mum and Dad’s for a cup of tea and to watch the second episode of “Lark Rise to Candleford” which was as good as the first. There is not a performance out of place in it. Again I must sing the praises of Julia Sawalha who is just brilliant in it. As one reviewer put it, it’s wonderful when you see a good actor become great when referring to her performance. Plus her character is called Dorcas and I think it’s a great name. The world would be a better place indeed if more people in it were called Dorcas.

Well, that’s enough for now. Time is getting late and I’m back at work tomorrow to begin what is probably going to be a very busy week, which I prefer to be honest.

Back soon.

Hello.

Just a quickie tonight. I’ve had a good day - finally got round to chucking out loads of rubbish, putting the festering veg/teabags/etc in the brown bin in the back garden (which is looking fine despite the weather) and sorting out some piles of books. Then late this afternoon I went over to Mum and Dad’s and was able to tell them that Drew is coming home, which they’re pleased about although they remain concerned about his Mum’s health.

Mum had cooked lasagne, which was rather wonderful. Even Dad had second helpings, which is quite a rarity. Then it was costume-fest time on BBC1 with the first episode of “Larkrise to Candleford” followed by the final episode of “Sense and Sensibility.” Both were tremendous, of course, because if there’s one thing that the BBC do well it is costume drama. “Larkrise” promises to be very good indeed and it’s nice to see Julia Sawalha in a lead role again. Some of the cast of “S & S” were actors I’d not come across before although, distractingly, at least two of the women were also in “Larkrise” while two of the cast of that, Ms. Sawalha included, recently appeared in “Cranford.” I was under the impression that the BBC were reluctant to screen anything with casts that overlap and wonder if scheduling problems brought about this situation. Or perhaps they wanted the two series to ride the positive wave created by “Cranford.” Whatever, it hardly mattered with productions so very good. While both programmes boasted brilliant actors I have to admit that one stood out for me from both and that was Hattie Morahan as Elinor. Her performance was perfect in conveying someone who suffers her own pain in silence whilst being concerned for and aiding those around her. She was understated without losing a single ounce of emotion, particularly in the scenes where she and her would-be-if-only love were together but were unable to say what they honestly felt due to the bonds of etiquette that forbade that they should do so. The ending of that final episode was just shy of being twee in an incredibly uplifting sort of way.

Then it was home again, where I’m listening to some early Kylie having been inspired to by a snippet of “I Should Be So Lucky” in the episode of “The Vicar of Dibley” that followed “Sense and Sensibility.” But I need to be up fairly early in the morning to get some washing and hoovering done before Mum and Dad pick me up to go out to lunch. Can’t have the house looking like too much of a tip before Drew gets back, can I?

So off to bed with Kylie still ringing in my ears.

Hello.

At last Drew’s Mum has had some communication from their local hospital. It came in the form of a very badly written letter, dated the 21st of December but not posted until the 10th of January and contains a mixture of what could be good news and worrying news. The good news is that the blood tests and so on that Drew’s mother had have come back negative, but that there remains the possibility that the growth detected is a tumour although there is no evidence of any spread elsewhere in her body but that x-rays have shown up two very small spots on her lungs. So no confusion there, then. Hmm.

The specialist at the hospital has requested that she goes back for more x-rays in three month’s time to see if those spots and/or the “tumour” have grown at all. This is all well and good (or not) but it doesn’t address the original concern of the weight loss that she has experienced, so on Monday they are going to contact her G.P. and see whether he might be able to find out more on her behalf.

Drew phoned to tell me this when I had returned to bed for an afternoon snooze. I was having a rather peculiar dream about buying a house from a very old man who was still living in it and would stay there until he died whether I bought it or not (and whose face was completely obscured by breathing apparatus which looked exactly like a George Forman grill)* and at the point when Drew phoned I was (in the dream) on the phone to a friend seeking her advice which led to much befuddled confusion from yours truly, not helped when the wireless phone wouldn’t connect straight away. (The damn thing has never liked connecting with calls made from a similarly wire-free handset at the other end and has become even more erratic since we installed the wireless internet connection.) Anyway after much button pressing and bellowing of “Hello” the two phones linked up and we were able to chat properly.

From my own point of view this is good news. Drew will return to Ipswich during the coming week, probably on Wednesday, rather than a week after that. This has been the longest period we’ve spent apart since he moved here and it has been very difficult for me to deal with, especially since he was never able to say for certain when he would be back until earlier this week when he was finally able to make an appointment with our doctor. Even then the plan was to be back just for a weekend and then return to his parents’ until the third week of February when it’s my birthday and we have a trip to London booked and paid for. Being ill with That Cold didn’t help because emotionally I was all over the place as the virus got hold of me, yet even now I’m over it there have been times when I’ve just wanted to go to bed and have a good cry. When I was a child I didn’t realise how often adults cried; in fact I didn’t think they cried at all outside TV programmes until I was about 9 and I found my Grandad in his kitchen crying about their dog being put down.

This kind of situation has always existed as a possibility and it’s one we’re not going to avoid. Neither of Drew’s parents are in the best of health and they’re both getting on in years. Before he moved here I imagine that the albeit unspoken expectation was that he would be there to deal with all the necessary problems of their failing health and so on. Now that he isn’t there it’s more of a problem, although his brother and sister-in-law are close by of course. From their point of view, ignorant as they are of us being a couple, there isn’t a very strong reason for him not to go back to stay with them for the duration of any problems. When I asked him if his Mum was okay with his returning this coming week he wasn’t able to say a definite yes, though being in the same room as her made it impossible for him to answer properly. So I feel bad that he won’t be there for her to rely on as she clearly takes a great deal of comfort from his presence and I sincerely hope I haven’t put pressure on him regarding my own unhappiness.

The drawback to his coming back? Now I’ve got to do all the housework that I’ve been putting off. There’s quite a lot to do…

So ITV’s answer to “Doctor Who” is back. Yep, “Primeval” has returned to our screens. Somehow, while I enjoy it to a degree as a good Saturday night run-around it just doesn’t do it for me at all. The performances are fine but as a whole it seems stilted and contrived in a way that “Who” never does. I’ll carry on watching it, though. On Wednesday the BBC brings back “Torchwood” which I hope is new and improved - the last series was mostly fine but it had some terrible aspects to it, namely the apparently crowbarred-in swearing and the heavily featured sex. There was quite a lot of criticism of both from fans who otherwise enjoyed the series, so hopefully the producers of the series will have taken those on board. An added bonus will be the introduction into the series of Martha, previously seen in the last series of “Doctor Who” and who will return to “Doctor Who” towards the end of that series later this year.

The Doctor of course, will be travelling with Catherine Tate, the success of whom remains to be seen. Obviously her own show has no bearing on the success of her time in the TARDIS, but her Christmas special was really very bad and not a patch on previous efforts. It seemed to be what I always think of as an off-cuts show; previously rejected sketches and scripts. The presence of the wondrous Kathy Burke didn’t help it one bit. What a shame, because it has been very funny indeed, and I say that having watched some repeats tonight.

Right, bed time. Tomorrow I must set to with the housework. Some of it, anyway.

* This is because the one our neighbours gave us is sitting out in the dining room waiting to find somewhere to live and I see it everyday.

New Year’s Day 2008. What better date to resume blogging? Assuming that I do it a bit more regularly than of late, of course.

I can’t say I’ve had the greatest of Christmases. On Sunday the 23rd I felt woke up feeling well below par and found that I felt progressively bad as the day wore on. Had the next day been any other day than Christmas Eve I would not have gone into work and I suppose that really I oughtn’t to have gone in regardless of that, but as it was Christmas Eve and I thought that my absence would have looked suspicious I trudged into town feeling rotten, though my trailing was brightened considerably by bumping into Mr. Curiousworld for the second morning running and in exactly the same place as the previous day! Clearly we are both creatures of habit when it comes to walking in to (and out of) town.

Once at the shop I eventually dragged myself on to the shopfloor which was, unsurprisingly, rather busy! But in the end, after an hour or so I went to see New Boss and explained to him that as speaking made me cough and coughing made me nearly throw up I wondered if I could be given something else to do. We decided that indeed there were other jobs I could be doing behind the scenes, so off I toddled. I can’t say that I was very quick at anything because by then I had barely any energy left and the constant coughing had pulled muscles in my back, making any movement painful.

I stuck it out though, almost in a trance in the end, so it was a relief to leave the shop just after 6. We’d closed at 5 and spent a frantic hour putting in stuff for the Boxing Day sale. There was a problem with setting the alarm, but we overcame it and went out separate ways. Dad was waiting in the car for me and we got back to mine very quickly, since there was barely any traffic. Pausing only to succumb to a coughing fit so intense that I was very nearly sick into the kitchen sink I thrust some food at an excitable Mabel, made sure everything was secure and grabbed my stuff ready to set off for Mum and Dad’s. My brother and his family were all there already and it was nice to walk in and be welcomed enthusiastically by the two older children. I can remember being excited at the thought of seeing relations when I was a little ’un so it’s nice to think that I’m perhaps viewed in the same way. My niece was confused for a moment or two, expecting Drew to walk in behind me, but she accepted his absence in the end.

It’s become a family traditional that on Christmas Eve we sit down to an Indian takeaway and I’d been looking forward to it on and off all day because the coughing meant that I hadn’t eaten very much and was by now hungry. I dealt with some of the starters okay, poppadum and onion bhaji slipped down without a problem but when we moved on to the main course I spooned pilau rice and chicken makoni onto my plate consumed just two mouthfuls and simply couldn’t eat anymore. The thought of it made me feel nauseous, in fact. So I excused myself from the table and went to slump in the front room where I was eventually joined by my nephew, H, who quizzed me in great detail about whether I believed in Father Christmas or not - in fact he gave Jeremy Paxman a run for his money as my initial answer of “Hmm, not sure,” wasn’t acceptable and I had to justify my response in great detail. H’s big test was to be whether or not the specially made biscuit that would be left out that night was gone or not in the morning, along with the tot of whisky to accompany it and an apple for Rudolph.

By 8 o’clock I was dropping off to sleep and feeling even worse, so I said that I would go up to bed for an hour or so and get up just before the kids went to bed. I was in that horrible state where I was terribly hot but could feel every little bit of cold, so I got into bed fully clothed and shivered under the duvet until I managed to warm up. Every movement seemed to allow cold air under the cover, setting off more shivering, but I couldn’t help but move because of the coughing. Not only that but my high temperature meant I was quite feverish, with thoughts and images rushing in and out of my head and the sense that bright lights were flashing on and off inside my eyelids. It wasn’t at all pleasant, as you may imagine.

Obviously I did manage some sleep, but not anything that was refreshing. I woke up thinking it must be close to getting up time only to check the time on my mobile and find that it was 3 minutes past midnight. The next time I woke up hoping against hope that it was now time to get up. It was 2 minutes past 1. And so it went on until I was woken up by the need to go to the loo at 6.15. It was such an effort to make myself sit up - everything ached, I could even feel the muscles in my hands and fingers protest at the effort. And of course there was that instantly feeling the cold thing that set me off shivering. To be honest I considered laying in bed and just pissing myself, that was how bad it was, but I didn’t. I got up and did my best to creep all the way downstairs and through the kitchen to the new shower-room (which has a loo, too) so that when I flushed it I didn’t wake anyone up.

In fact I needn’t have bothered worrying about making any noise, really. I didn’t want to go back to bed so I retraced my steps along the hallway but instead of going back up the stairs I went in to the sitting room and sat in the dark. And from upstairs came the distinct sound of the voices of children - they were awake and they were excited! Turned out later that nephew H had been awake several times through the night wanting to get up and see if Father Christmas had been! When he came down H was thrilled that the biscuit and whisky had gone and that there was just an apple core left - he went off to tell everyone still upstairs that Father Christmas had been.

By 7 everyone was downstairs in the front room with me. I love Christmas with the children there, specially now H and niece E (almost in her case) get what’s going on. E amused us with her frequent baritone renditions of “Me-e-e-r-r-y Christmas - Ho! Ho! Ho!” and singing “Happy Birthday Father Christmas” whilst H did his best to open everyone’s presents as well as his own. Great fun.

As usual my brother’s family collected their stuff together and left at about 11 and set off to visit Sister-in-law’s family, leaving me with Mum and Dad. I know that they worry that I get bored, but I simply don’t. It’s nice, relaxing and somehow different on Christmas Day than any other. Mum commented that it wouldn’t be very exciting with Dad and I asleep and then promptly dropped off herself, which was funny. I couldn’t help it myself, I just slept on and off all day (in fact that’s mostly what I’ve done all week.) I had recovered my appetite enough to eat the turkey roast dinner that Mum produced that evening - it was lovely. Doctor Who took my mind off it for a little while (and I thought it was great unlike some of the reviewers, or friends come to that.) I thought it was very sad and that Kylie was great in it.

So to round things up: I felt shit, but I still enjoyed myself. I was glad to get home to my own bed that night, though. Boxing Day I felt a bit better and was well enough by the evening to go out with Mum and Dad for a meal at the Martlesham Red Lion which they’d booked a while ago. The pub wasn’t particularly busy, but there was a good atmosphere and the food was very good. I brought home the mince pies that we could have had with our coffees at the end of the meal - we just couldn’t fit them in after the three preceding courses. I went back to theirs for a cuppa before coming home again. A very pleasant evening.

Back to work the next day, not sure again if I ought to have gone in. I was busy, though, so it went by quite quickly. Friday was the same, though I ended up working until almost 8 o’clock and being incredibly knackered when I got home. It was a relief to have the weekend off - with New Year’s Day (today) I’ve had four days off on the trot. And I still can’t shake this bloody cough.

So where was Drew in all this you may ask? We always spend Christmas apart, it was something that we accepted we would have to do due to family circumstances. As a rule, though, he returns for New Year and on the day of his return we celebrate our own little Christmas and open the presents to each other. All very nice. But this year it’s different. He’s remaining at his parents until the hospital there comes up with something concrete to do with his mother’s recently discovered condition, although a necessary visit to our own doctor for him may mean he has to pop home for a couple of days towards the end of the month. His absence is difficult to cope with at the best of times, although it happens several times a year when he accompanies his parents on their two summer/autumn holidays and when there are birthdays and so on. We don’t like it, but we deal with it. This time, though, there is a major difference in that he can’t tell me when he’ll be home. For days before he was going I felt a ball of what I can only describe as grief building up in the pit of my belly and it was nigh-on unbearable. The day that he was leaving I had to go to work as usual and it was so, so hard to say goodbye.

Being ill hasn’t helped, I know, but I have felt more than usually vulnerable without him here. I’m not lonely at all, but coming home from work knowing that he’s not here to say hello is grim some nights. It’s possible to be alone without being lonely in my experience especially when we are, as he pointed out, only a phone call away - and there have been plenty of those - but there is a certain emptiness without his presence that makes me feel miserable. We spoke twice yesterday; well, once very early this morning in fact. And today, too. It’s not the same as his being here, but I’m glad we were able to chat.

Somehow the fact that I’ll be taking down the Christmas decorations, card and tree this coming weekend by myself is looming over me more than anything else. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t been here to share it with me.

Anyway, that’s enough self-pity for a while. Time to make a cup of tea and to check that the “Mighty Boosh” live will still be ‘on demand’ tomorrow - I was watching it tonight when the sound went off and I couldn’t be arsed to re-start it and I’m watching something different instead.

Better post this before my PC freezes again, a new habit it appears to have acquired since we installed our wi-fi connection. Any ideas why, peeps? It’s beginning to piss me off. Norton can’t find any viruses and I’m defragmenting, though I can’t see how that’ll help.

That cuppa won’t make itself…

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Hello.

I haven't been through and corrected any mistakes - couldn't be arsed, so just let them go...

Yet again it’s much longer since my last post than I meant it to be. Just didn’t feel like it, I’m afraid. The post-interview, no-new-job period turned out to be a tad more miserable than I thought it would be; not when I had my week off work and we spent two nights (and almost 3 days) in London but when I went back to work. Walking back into that place and knowing that I’m not leaving was much harder than I ever imagined it would be. I felt as though I was walking back into a prison of some sort and spent the first two days doing very little because I simply could not motivate myself at all. I gave the impression that I was getting things done, but I don’t think I managed even a fraction of what there was to be carried out. Since then it’s got better, but I walk in every day wishing I wasn’t there.

London, though, was great. As usual we managed to pack in a great deal of things over the almost-3-days that we were there, including getting soaked to the skin in incredibly rain. The main reason for our visit to the Big Smoke was to attend the recently opened Tutankahmun exhibition at the Millenium Dome… sorry, the 02. It was very, very good indeed. Aside from the spectacular exhibits, the whole thing was laid out in a very user-friendly manner with labels on all four sides of most of the display cases and at two levels; child-height and adult height. This meant that although it was very busy (and we clearly picked the right time to go because the queue was quickly dealt with, unlike the hoards that were queuing when we left) it was easy to see the antiquities that were there. It also helped that we elected not to use the aural guides (as narrated by Omar Sherif) - the people that were using them would collect in groups around one of the displays as directed by the narration whereas we used this to our advantage and navigated our way round by the artefacts with the least viewers.

One nice part was when we genuinely thought the exhibition was over, not least because one of the attendants whose grasp of English was pretty poor, stated this much to some other visitors as we followed them out into a corridor from one of the exhibition rooms. Commenting that it had been short, but very good, we trooped down a brightly-lit staircase that had large black and white photos of the original excavations positioned on the walls only to find at the bottom that there was a whole other section to go through, this one being the one that concentrated on the main tomb of Tut himself. It was worth waiting for, made even more delicious by the fact that we hadn’t been expecting it at all!

Beyond this final display of artefacts was a section of video clips about the mummy of the king itself, and the inevitable horrendously expensive gift shop. We didn’t buy anything. In fact we were rather excited that we’d spotted the man who had designed the whole exhibition and who we recognised from a documentary on television a couple of weeks before. He was mingling with the crowd and would have remained entirely anonymous had it not been for one blonde American tourist recognising him. Even then no one save us took an interest in their conversation - and she told him all the things that we would have done had we been a little braver; that it was a wonderful experience with its incredibly stylish and visitor-friendly layout etc, etc. We saw him again outside, when we sitting down for a packet of crisps and some water, phoning someone to wish them happy Thanksgiving (for it was that very day, something that goes unmarked here.)

So was it worth it - oh yes, no question about that at all. That means we’ve been to two major exhibitions this year, both worth the effort and expense but which could not be more removed from each other - namely this Tutankamun one and the Kylie one at the V&A way back in February. I don’t think we can complain, really.

And so to the present. I’m not going to moan about the shop being busy - it is, it’s a fact. All the people I’ve dealt with have been fine so far. Let’s hope it stays that way. Our Christmas ’do’ wasn’t Christmas themed but it was fab.

The one cloud on the horizon is that Drew’s mother has had a health scare which means that he’d going to his parents’ early and we’re not sure when he’ll be back. We’ve always had to spend Christmas separately, although coming to terms with it doesn’t make it any less difficult, but this year it’s not certain that he will back for New Year which, as a rule, we celebrate together.

The problem with Drew’s Mum could turn out not to be anything serious at all, but the medical people involved are concerned enough by the possibilities to have contacted her the day after she had her MRI scan. True to form she was worried firstly by how Drew’s Dad would cope if/when she has to go into hospital. He’s registered blind and isn’t capable of cooking or doing very much for himself, plus he’s got emphysema badly and so physically can’t do anything very strenuous. Hence Drew will need to be there for them both for as long as it takes to get sorted.

It strikes me as unfair that two people who worked very hard throughout their lives should suffer like this. Drew’s Mum is one of those incredible women who never stop, regardless of what is afflicting them. Like my Grandma on my mother’s side, she’s little and feisty and wouldn’t dream of taking it easy while there’s something to do. Doesn’t suffer fools, I imagine, but is generosity itself.

I’ve told Drew that if he needs me to be there then I’ll go, and when I’m back at work I’ll go and talk to Manager about the situation. Mum could get me there in a few hours if need be.

In the meantime we’ve got two days left together in which we’re going to put up and decorate our tree, we’re going to go to the cinema to see “The Golden Compass” and generally make sure we get as much out of the time we’ve got left as possible.

So that’s it for now. I imagine my posts in the near future will be as sparse as they have been in the last month or so. I expect it’ll improve in the New Year.

OK, time to go and unearth the Christmas tree.

Hello.

Ah well, it wasn’t to be. I didn’t get the job. Any rejection is a disappointment, obviously, and after an initial period of down-heartedness I re-examined the feedback that I got when the bloke who interviewed me phoned to break the bad news. I’m paraphrasing of course but the gist of this was that had the vacancy not been in the A&E department or had they not had such a high standard of applicants with previous experience then I would have been one of the successful candidates. As it was they spent most of Monday making a very difficult decision as I had scored very highly in 3 of the 4 major categories that they consider, the 4th being that old experience thing. He was very complimentary indeed so I kind of feel buoyed up about it all. The fact that after 18 years (14 in the same place) I can interview very well is an incredible confidence boost.

So here’s hoping something else comes along soon.

In the meantime thanks for all your best wishes.

Back soon.

Thanks everyone for  your messages  - they mean a lot.

It seemed to go very well - I made them laugh, and they nodded a lot when I was answering their questions. I also asked them some questions which I hope showed I had an interest in what's happening there. After the interview was over I was shown around where I would be working if I got the job and the nurse (a clue!) said, ''Oh, have you got the job then?" When I explained that I didn't know yet she said, "They don't usually show anyone round unless they've got it." Good omen, or perhaps she was just being nice.

I also met one of the people who I would be working with whose perspective of the job was quite different from the two who interviewed me in several ways. He was very nice and had incredible cornflower blue eyes.

So, now the wait for the result. Fingers crossed.