Amateur Ramblings

Stag

Worthy of mention is my recent trip to Liverpool, for my old schoolfriend Woz's stag do.

Things didn't look good. Organisation by Andy, the best man, seemed a little patchy, causing a bitter tirade of emails between him and Dissa, one of my other friends. Also, a late announcement of an earlier start-time for carting on the Friday now meant that my long-booked train would result in there being a good chance of me being late. In the event, a little extra planning and a few minutes of patience from my friends ensured avoidance of disappointment.

As mentioned above, we carted on Friday. I was totally last, on account of being run of the track in the last race by Johnny Spoon. Although I'm pretty sure that, unlike my winning race at Dan's stag do in Oxford a few years back, I would have been last anyway. My Midlands friends are pretty much all still boy racers.

But it was good to catch up with everyone again. I've not seen some for years, on account of distance and time and general lameness. I think I'd better mention here that we're all still known to each other by our schoolboy monikers. These read like a list of Billy Bunter's chums, and include Dissa, Woz and Johnny Spoon, as well as Brit, Chalky, Cuts, Harry, and Lamby. I am known as Tommy, which I suppose is better then Ginge.

We went out drinking on Friday evening and ended up in some pretty awful bars around Matthew Street (see above for evidence). One the way back to the hotel, a couple of us called into McDonalds. I was served first, and decided to eat my fries while the others waited for their 'food'. I was surprised to find myself being ordered to stop eating by a member of staff, backed up by two burly security guards. When I asked for the reason, answer came there none. I commented that I was under the impression that this was a restaurant (of sorts), but I was confidently assured that it was not!

The next day, predictably, most of the others wanted to commence drinking during the day and combine this with watching some 'football'. As enjoyable as this would have been, Brit and I concocted a plan to head into town to visit some Beatles-related sites (Brit is very much into The Beatles). This became an extended traipse around Liverpool's music and antique shops, which led us to the Tate. Here we chanced upon an amazing pirate-themed wedding on board a ship in the Albert Dock.

We headed back to the hotel to meet the others (and incur their mock wrath for having a day of sober culture). We found Woz and the gang had come across a children's face painter, and had persuaded her to give the stag a new look.

He went out like this, attracting much attention and comment from the City of Liverpool. Actually, I'm surprised the make-up didn't melt off early in the evening, as the Italian restaurant we went to was insanely hot. The waiter explained that the air conditioning had been 'fitted by cowboys'. We stayed clear of Matthew Street this time and consequently went to some slightly better bars. 

The next morning, we said our goodbyes over the Premiere Inn all-you-can-eat-for-£8 'breakfast', as people drifted away to head south by car or rail. My train was not until half-one, so after checking out of my room with a view (see above) I thought up a plan to go to either the World Museum or the Walker Art Gallery, which I knew to be close to Lime Street. I plumped for art, and was rewarded with a free cloakroom in which to leave my bag and an amazing photography exhibition by Paul Trevor, documenting the city in the run-down 70s.

A Social Network

On the advice of Tom Betts, I set up an account with foursquare.

This is another of those newfangled social networking sites. The aim is to 'check in' to the places you visit. If you are the most frequent visitor you can become the 'mayor' of that location. You earn points by checking in, and depending various criteria including number or frequency of check-ins, you are awarded 'badges'.

 

Of course this is load of nonsense, but nevertheless it is (initially at least) highly addictive and fun. See how less than two weeks in and I am already mayor of five locations, including the prestigious B&M Bargains. The bus stop into town on York Road - consider yourself OWNED!

I'm sure that becoming the mayor of a proper location is a little more difficult, but there are actual rewards to be had. For example, there are 20% food and drink discounts available at most of the city centre Wetherspoons' pubs.

Liverpool One (Two (One-Two, One Two))

Our second visit of 2010 to Liverpool, again to stay with our friends Deb and Neil and there wonderful view across the River Mersey and towards the north Wales coast. The Davies' were also over. We travelled by train this time, partly in response to our experience the last time we were there at new year.

The main draw this weekend was that we were all going to see Midlake (minus Gemma, who claims the music of this band depresses' her - she opted to stay in with Olive and Scarlett).

The venue was the interesting Williamson's's Tunnels, the Edge Hill labyrinth of unknown quantity built by the eccentric businessman Joseph Williamson from the start of the 19th century to 1840. It is said the venture was designed to keep men in work, although there is speculation about more sinister motives.. More reading here and here.

I think the space was a wonderful gig venue, in spite of it's cold, cramped conditions. Midlake was excellent, playing an equal mix of songs from The Trials Of Van Occupanther and their new record, The Courage Of Others. Does anyone who knows Neil think that he looks like Paul Alexander (the bass player of Midlake, above right, not Paul Alexander from out of Sarah and Paul)? 

We were joined at the gig by Steve and Helen, John and his brother Kevin, and Christina and Ade. Immediately prior to the snowy walk to the venue, we all (minus the latter coupling) attended a fine Italian restaurant where Olive enjoyed a pizza and I ridded myself of a tired headache.

We started our Saturday (hey, how come this is being written in reverse-chronological order?) by leaving Michelle, Deb, Christina and Ade at a vintage fashion fayre (where, coincidently, the afore mentioned Sarah and Paul were also in attendance), whilst we carried on to Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King. This modern space-ship of a building was built in the 1960s and is part of the Catholic church (we explored the near-by Anglican Cathedral  last year).

The appearance of this grade II listed building, which was built upon the site of the a former workhouse, is a little unconventional. I'm not wholly certain that I like the outside of it, although I admire it's awkwardness and uniqueness. But the inside is pretty spectacular, as I hope the follow few pictures show:
 
 

 

The last picture above shows Olive and Scarlett, who I am please to report appear to be firm friends. They are happy to play together for hours. They seem very happy to stay with Auntie Deb and Uncle Neil, in no small part due to Deb's collection of Pez's. The following snap shows the pair relaxing after an intensive session of Pez play:

On Sunday we ate lunch at Cafe Rogue, for which we had a 50% off style voucher. Before heading to Lime Street Station, I shot a little footage of the gang in a new, quiet shopping centre. The film is cut short at the end by Olive spying and attempting to escape down an up escalator located behind me.

Old Year New Year

I had to go into work on Tuesday and Wednesday after Christmas. I used my time to tie-up some bits and bobs. The cold weather loosened it's grip ever-so-slightly.

On New Year's Eve we packed the car high and traversed the Pennines, dipped under the Mersey, fetching up in New Brighton where our friends Steve and Helen (along with baby Euan) had invited us and others (the Davies', Deb and Neil, Dan and Camille, and Lee Tisdall T.I.S.) to their NYE party.

We had some lovely Helen prepared food and drink, and played a little magnetic darts, who am I? and charades (on which I was not too keen). As the new year came passed, we all went outside onto the icy decking to clink glasses. I turned in at around 3am, hoping that Olive would sleep reasonably well in the same room as us. Instead, she woke up at 6am, ready for the new day. Luckily for me, Gemma was on baby patrol this morning.

Later, fully revived by a Helen breakfast special, we chilled out (hey, I'm still down with the kids). We fitted in a walk to New Brighton front, but a biting wind that penetrated through all clothing was whipping down the mouth of the Mersey, and we retreated towards a cup of tea.

In the afternoon we drove across to Liverpool to spend a night in Deb and Neil's new flat. The Davies' came too. We did more chilling, ate a lovely curry (Lamb Sagwala, since you ask) and watched the Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2009. When we turned in around 1am, we found our host's air-bed featured a puncture, and we had to commandeer the cushions from the sofa. This minor disruption woke Olive, who cried for a couple of hours before dropping off.

Saturday saw us head into town to see if we could have more sale success than we did in Birmingham. And I managed to pick up a couple of things. Not quite enough, however, to cover the loss we were about to discover.

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.

50% Extra

The warm, (mostly) dry weather served up this bank holiday weekend has allowed us to had a packed three days.

On Saturday, Gemma's mum's partner cashed-in his 50th birthday present from last year. We went over to Elvington (near York) to watch him drive a few laps in four different high-performance cars. I have no interest at all in fast cars, but I was on photography patrol so I couldn't take leave to explore the disused air field at which the event was being staged. Elvington apparently has a three kilometer long runway, and was home to the Free French Air Force during the second world war. It stopped being used by the RAF in 1992, and was most recently newsworthy for the 2006 crash involving Richard Hammond and a jet-powered car.

On Saturday morning, Gemma had a text from our friend Sarah telling us she was currently in Leeds train station, heading to Hebden Bridge with her boyfriend Tom for a camping and cycling trip. And did we want to bob over to meet for lunch? Yes, we did actually. So Sunday saw us leaving the city for the winding up-and-down roads of the Pennines. I've never driven to Hebden Bridge before (I usually get their by train), and I didn't appreciate the potential difficulties in finding a parking space on a sunny bank holiday Sunday. Especially when one of the street signs directed drivers into a cul-de-sac, in which the car park has been taken over by a flea market.

Eventually we found suitable vehicle abandonment space in a small (possibly secret) car park behind some shops and met up with our friends. We ate a pleasant lunch in the shady back yard of a restaurant called Mooch whilst catching up with each other (mainly comparing holiday destinations, a subject in which Tom and Sarah usually trump us), before drifting the busy streets. Ice cream was taken prior to our farewells, and we left Sarah and Tom to cycle the uphill four miles to their camp site. I'm certain you'll soon be able to read an account of their weekend over on their blogs.

And bonus Monday saw us heading out of the house once again, this time south towards and through Wakefield and onwards to Nostell Priory. There, on the lawn in front of the house, we met Dean, Rachel and Nathanial, and Andrew, Michelle and Scarlett. Blankets and sandwiches were swiftly laid out, and we had ourselves a picnic.

 

Olive ate and seemed to enjoy her first sandwich (Marmite). We then had a stroll around the grounds, and stopped a couple of times at the adventure playground (mainly for the kids, you understand).

 

La musique fabuleuse de Yann Tiersen

Yesterday was the day to cash in Gemma's birthday present. With Neeley installed at the helm of the SS Babysitter, we hopped in the car and drove to York. After a tasty and reasonably priced Cantonese meal, a short stroll through the picturesque city centre, and a coffee at Cafe Rouge (to get us into the French mood), we headed over to the Duchess, located in one of the few ugly buildings in York (in my experience).

We nestled into a gap at the side of the stage in front of one of the speakers and watched support band Remember Remember stammer through their short set. They seemed nonplussed and a little nervous (or perhaps hungover?) and I found myself listing their influences rather too easily. The third song they played (The Swimming) sounded very much like a Yo la Tengo out-take. They were basically OK, but seemed to lack a little structure and confidence.

Anyway, we weren't here to see them. Yann Tiersen was headlining. We love his film scores; both Amélie (one of our favourite ever films) and Goodbye Lenin are on his CV and, whilst I was aware he tours with a band, I guess I assumed that he would put his multi-instrumentalism to good use by perhaps playing us a couple of tunes from each score.

How could you not be charmed by the above? I guess Yann wasn't in a charming mood, for although he did play a couple of recognisable songs, they were played in a kind of Gallic Space-Rock / Shoegazing style that coloured the whole performance. À la...

Which of course was still great from my point of view, but not for Gemma. Already suffering a little with toothache, she had soon heard enough to be able to declare the music to be rubbish (thus tainting her 28th birthday present forever).

Although I was disappointed that some of the delicate solo numbers were left out, I actually really enjoyed the gig. The one mistake I did make was to stay stood in my prized spot in front of the speaker for perhaps a little too long. My ears are literally still ringing now. This led me to amuse myself (and only myself) at work today by answering all questions with the phrase 'half-past two'.

I'll leave you with a shorter-haired Yann playing some amazing solo violin.

Birthday Barbecue

On Sunday, after the picnic, we transformed our humble yard into an enclosed barbecue pod, by the simple addition of some table and chairs, a sunbrella (is that not what they're called?) and the removal of our wheelie bins. And after all that, most people seemed content to cram into the kitchen and shovel a conveyor selection of meats (chicken, poshages,burgers, kebabs) into their faces.

I didn't take many pictures as for ages I couldn't find my camera (it turned up on top of the fridge), so here's a shot from later in the afternoon of Gemma attempting to force feed Jellybeans to Sarah, whilst Michelle fails to come to her assistance.

Birthday Picnic

I had a lovely birthday weekend. We worked hard on Friday evening to prepare, with me mainly tidying up and Gemma making food for the picnic. That's right, a reprise of the event-type held three years ago to mark my 30th birthday. This time, I decided to go to Temple Newsam, the city council-operated, Capability Brown landscaped stately home in East Leeds. I had no plan B, and merely trusted that the weather would stay fine (as advertised by the sometimes less than reliable BBC five-day forecast).

It did, and a fine time seemed to be had by all in attendance. Food was scoffed, drink was quaffed, hills were rolled down, and a short outbreak of baby cricket rounded off a lovely day.

 

 

 

 

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank al the folks who came, and to all everyone for their kind cards and thoughtful presents, especially to Gemma for the wormery, Gemma's mum for the barbecue, and my mum and dad for the table and chair set. These items complete our garden, and enabled the celebrations to continue the next day...

TW3

I didn't get much time to post this week, but I think I can snatch half an hour this evening. Things have run reasonable smoothly and sedately since last Sunday, with me heading into work early to get some overtime hours under my belt. Rumours continue to fly as to whether we will or will not get any kind of bonus or profit share. I maintain we won't (but I would love to be proven wrong). The subject reached national audiences this week.

A creakingly slow thaw is at last gaining momentum this weekend. Nearly all of the lying ice has now melted, and I am able once again to walk to work at a normal pace. If you thought we have seen severe weather here, then think again bub; the following images selected from a batch sent to me this week show that when it comes to snow and ice, we need to shut our mouths and be thankful we don't live elsewhere on the planet:

   

   

No  overtime on Friday; indeed, an early finish was on the cards. I met up with Dean, and we headed across the Pennines to Manchester. Here, Dylan Moran was performing his current show at the Opera House.

We were already running a little late, due to an upside-down car in lane three of the M62, just a mile before our junction. We were nearly at the venue when a policeman stepped out into the street and ushered me into a lay-by. I assumed this would be a routine check; there were quite a few police and other motorists stopped here, and it was actually a minute or two before one of the traffic cops came to speak to me. He explained that my car did not appear to be insured. Ah.

Working in insurance, I immediately envisaged my car being impounded at the cost of many pounds. But the policeman seemed to have an awareness that the car wasn't mine, asking if it was a company car. I explained it was a courtesy car, and that mine was in for accident repairs. He initially didn't seem satisfied that I could not prove this (my insurance documents were back in Leeds), but then very generously chose to give the benefit of the doubt and let me go on my way (he even gave us directions).

I can only assume that the police are aware of a kind of insurance back hole, whereby my courtesy car is insured under my current policy but does not appear on any database to confirm this, or indeed any documents (as I discovered when I checked upon getting home).

Dylan Moran was funny. A little late in starting, a little short in performing, a little more middle-aged in his subject matter, but funny, certainly. He talked of family life, children, relationships, health. He made us laugh; more so in the second half. We ate chocolate in lieu of the hoped-for sandwich, which was denied to us my crashes and the fuzz. He ate chocolate in lieu of a cigarette, which he can no longer enjoy indoors. Afterward the show, we retraced our route without incident.

Dean stopped over, and on Saturday Rachel and Nathaniel, and weekend regulars Andrew, Michelle and Scarlett, joined us for Gemma-made pizza. The former family then left, and the latter stopped and helped us watch Jesus is Magic. As much as I enjoyed Dylan Moran (which was very much indeed thank you), his comedy doesn't get close to the boundaries that Sarah Silverman relentlessly tests out. She has a rare edge, one in which the likes of Frankie Boyle, Stewart Lee and Richard Herring (tickets for whose Leeds show in March I finally managed to purchase tonight) revel. I find these days that I need regular exposure to this kind of comedy, and consequently the perceived 'main stream' set on my own personal comedy Venn diagram becomes larger.

Not having had the opportunity to spend time with Gemma and Olive so far this Valentine's weekend, we all went to Roundhay Park this afternoon. The paths were a strange mix of slushy ice and thick, watery mud. My inappropriate trainers and slightly-too-long trousers almost immediately succumbed to the ravages of nature, and provided almost no protection to my socks, and the ultimate prize, my feet, which were soon a bit cold and damp. I bravely soldiered on, strolling round both lakes and straight into The Fox, where we sat down next to one of their splendid open fires. My feet were warm and dry even before my Lamb Roast arrived. By way of an illustrative full stop, here's a couple of snaps from this afternoon: