Amateur Ramblings

New flame

We took Olive to her first Bonfire last night.

The evening was damp and smoggy; the clientele were local and boisterous. We mainly ate junk, in the form of hot-dogs and do-nuts (doughnuts).

Olive was indifferent to the intense lights and sounds, and ended up telling us that she was tired; we left just as the fireworks were starting.

After we got back and put her to bed we watched the latest episode of Generation Kill. The experienced was strangely enhanced by the stereo explosions the were happening all around our house.

Undead

Halloween in the 21st century sees people more willing to get deaded-up. Here are a couple of Facebook-appropriated snaps of Deb and Sarah before they put on their outfits.

 

Ha ha ha, I jest. Of course these pictures are the after-make-up-pre-party (and in Sarah's case prize-winning) view from the thirty-something Halloween street.

Top Heavy

We had a lovely, low-key, halloween-tinged weekend. Saturday was the busiest day; Sunday was pretty lazy.

Preparations commenced on Thursday when I harvested our crop of butternut squashes from the garden. Both were looking mighty tasty...

...but size left a little to be desired, as evidenced when compared to an average-sized pumpkin:

No matter. The pumpkin and the ripe butternut went into the big pot, along with some onion, garlic, potatoes and red peppers. Left to simmer for a few hours, then blended, we had our soup for Saturday.

And like clockwork, Saturday came around. The day started with a visit to Baildon to see Dean and Rachel. Andrew and Michelle were also there, and both Olive and Scarlett were dressed appropriately for the time of year.

 

 

Whilst there we met the Viponds new daughter Isabella, who was mainly asleep and most definitely gorgeous.

Then we drove home, The three Davies' couldn't fit into our car so took the train to Leeds, and I went to pick them up. I was concerned enough about the demonstrations that were taking place in nearby City Square to take the back way to the station. There were lots of police around and a couple of helicopters, but no sign of either the English Defence League or the Unite Against Facism. On the way home I decided to go through town, and we were amazed at the number of police on the streets.

The rallies had now dispersed but the police were clearly taking no changes. Clusters of police stood about on every corner, and most of the roads around Greek Street were double-parked with police vans. We felt at once safe and apprehensive.

Back home, we ate soup, and then left Gemma's mum in charge of Olive and Scarlett. We four headed to Bradford to see Daniel Kitson. His current stand-up show is loosely about death and ran for an hour and a half. Of course it was absolutely funny. Wearing a relatively trimmed beard and shorter hair, he looked like a younger Bill Bryson.

Afterwards we had a little difficulty getting out of the multi-storey car park; something had caused a delay, and now there was a large queue of cars lined up at the single exit barrier. It was one of those car parks where you pay before getting into your car; you leave by surrendering your ticket at the barriers. To avoid mis-use, you have something like fifteen minutes from the time you pay to get to the barrier. But it was soon clear that the cars in the queue were taking longer than this to reach the front. Confusion reigned. Some bystanders loitered at the barrier, passengers got out of cars and waived tickets. But luckily nine police forces were not required in this instance, as some remote controller opened the barrier just as we reached the front.

Sunday was scrambled eggs on toast and sitting around chatting. Apart from taking the Davies' back to Wakefield at lunchtime, and popping into the shops for supplies, Sunday was a day for lounging with the family.

White Lights

After two-and-a-half years of procrastination, we have at last restored working lightage to our landing and our kitchen.

The former light popped when I turned it on around six months after we moved in. It wasn't the bulb, and I am sufficiently aware of my lack of home electrical knowledge not to attempt to check the wiring.

I was bold enough to change the light fitting in the kitchen soon after we had it refurbished, but despite copying the wiring of the previous 1980s-style spotlights it has never worked. Since then we have muddled by with the help of a small Ikea reading light.

Part of the reason for not attending to this matter sooner was because neither of us know of a reliable and trustworthy electrician. In fact we know no electricians in Leeds, good or bad. Neither, it seems, do Gemma's family or my work colleagues.

So last week I logged on to Rated People, where those in need of a tradesman add a few details and a short appeal and the next day you are bombarded with emails, texts and telephone calls. Initially I still had suspicions - how did I know these electricians were any good? But then I reaslised that they all came with recommendations, so I plumped for one at random to get a quote.

 

I liked what I heard, and yesterday Jonathan arrived and had our lights working in around 40 minutes, and for what I consider a remarkably reasonable fee.

The restored lighting will take a few days of getting used to, as we are now accustomed to low-level lighting.

It's a gas

I learned last week that there remains a gas-powered street lamp in London.

 

The Tired of London, Tired of Life blog says:

The Webb Patent Sewer Gas Lamp was invented in the 19th century as a way to burn off smells from underground sewers. It is probably the only of London's remaining gas-powered lamps and operates all the time, day and night, as the cost of resources is no object.

The lamp was almost destroyed some time ago by a reversing lorry, but has since been restored and stands proudly beside the Savoy Hotel.

Photo credit: World of Badger.

Chat, Walk, Swing

Since before her birthday, Olive has had cold-like symptoms. But was it a cold, or was it teething? Well, it is probably a bit of both, but she has also been sick a couple of times (especially on Wednesday morning, when she pretty much kept us up from half-past three). Trips to the doctors in recent weeks have suggested a water infection might be at work, but the doctor who saw Olive yesterday diagnosed an ear infection. Antibiotics continue.

She hasn't let her ailments get her down though. Here's Olive enjoying a go on the swings in East End Park, on the afternoon of her birthday.

Speech news, and 'Dadda' and 'Mamma' are now being dropped irregularly into her conversational babblings. Also, 'Ay-o' (translation - hello) can be ofter heard, usually when she is playing with one of her toy telephones.

In terms of motion, I am pleased to exclusively reveal that Olive took four actual genuine steps yesterday. I was not in the room, and Gemma only caught site of the end of the effort, but Gemma's mum reports that 21st October 2009 was the date when my daughter took her first steps.

Picture Post

I promised you a post about the Green Man Festival, and by the power of greyskull I'm going to deliver you a post about the Green Man Festival.

Luckily, I didn't specify the length or depth to which my review would stretch. So I thought I'd see about getting away with confirming that I had a great time, and leaving you with a almost purely pictorial post.

You can see more photos, including those from past festivals, on my Green Man Flickr set, in the Green Man Festival pool.

Wheelspin

Apparently, this is what happens when a locomotive loses tractions and gets itself into an uncontrolled wheelspin. I certainly woudn't want to be aboard the next train to come along this way.

Photo credit: Navarzo2

Electricity Loves Company

During the blog-blackout, Deb and Neil visited. They, I, and Michelle went to the Brudenell Social Club to see some good music being played.

I love this venue, and so did the other. It punches above it's weight in terms of quality of band to size of venue ratio, and so it was tonight that we came along to see Jason Molina fronting his Magnolia Electric Co. For you, reader, I captured some rather fuzzy images images of all three bands on my aging mobile phone (well, aging as only modern technology can; I'm sure my phone is considered obsolete even though it is only 18 months old).

I'm sorry, I can't actually remember the name of the first band. It was something like My My, but spelt differently. Internet searches are only as good as your spelling. I recall them being pretty good but not massively memorable.

Not so The Bitter Tears, who's very entrance caused befuddlement in the room. All of a sudden, singer Greg Norman is on stage, in drag, lightly strumming his guitar and singing. Heads turn - is that women's clothing he is wearing? A strange person appears to be dancing to an unheard beat in the space between the stage and the seats. He is wearing dungarees and apparently nothing else. But this, it transpires, Michael McGinley, who suddenly steps up to his position as bass player. The three other members, also in drag, materialise from various hidden recesses around the room, and they are into their first number before the folks watching can digest what is going on.

The Bitter Tears play a kind of dark county music, which seemed entirely appropriate and very right. Different, then, to the more accessible music played to us by Magnolia Electric Co. To me, Jason's songs seem very natural, like you might have heard them on a Sunday afternoon local radio show. But that's not the half of it. I love the description 'nocturnal, atmospheric music with a distinctly rural-american tinge', and I urge you to stop reading immediately and go and check out some of the band's output.

Temple of Doom

Dean recently gained access to the abandoned and structually unsound Temple Works in Holbeck.

His pictures can be seen on Flickr.

And while I'm mentioning Dean, good luck to Rachel who is a few days away from having their second child.