This evening...

has been quite honestly one of the most hilarious of my life thus-far. Death by choking on laughter nearly occurred. That is how amused I was. I am giggling at the mere memory of it.  Anna came over for a delayed Pub Therapy Sans Pub, and we had a great time being silly. Here are some quotes to illustrate:

"Milo is the son of Gelamen's sex-mayor."
*
"I am in shock, look I have a boner - I MEAN BLANKET."
*
"Ezra's voice gives me weird hand cramp..."
*
"Saving your Boo."
"If I was ghetto, I would say get off my woman."
"But we're not ghetto, we're fucking ETON."
*
"WHY WON'T IT LOAD?"
"OHHHH GOOOOOOD, I'M AAAAAAAAAAGING."
*
"Roland! You bastard! Stop putting your cock in that socket, my friend. You are in some serious trouble."

That is not half of it.

Londres, Mon Amour.

Went to London with the Padre yesterday; it was one of the best days I can remember. Bobbling along roads, sharing decent tunes, being harassed by Chinese Food Saleswomen at Camden Lock, winding up in a Cyber-age sex shop...


But let me explain. We were planning to go to the Tate Modern to see the Gauguin exhibition before it closes (which is next week, I believe), but the first time we could get in was 19:00. What better excuse could there be to make a day of it?

If you don't know Gauguin, he's a French post-impressionist artist from the late 19th Century and here is one of my favourites of his...

Now, we originally planned to hit The Globe and have a bit of a Shakespeare sesh, but inevitably the pull of Camden's beautiful markets got the better of us and what was meant to be a brief rummage turned into a Journey-To-The-Centre-Of-The-Earth Style foray into the bowels of the Locks and different markets around there. My favourite of these had to be the Horse Tunnel Market which was like something from Lord of the Rings crossed with Dickens. Here I found a rather dashing RAF rain-jacket and shamelessly broke my jacket embargo, and the Padre showed off his masterful haggling skills.



I also bought another hat (don't look like that, this one is spectacular!) I have wanted a cloche for ages, and I found the perfect one, so am vaaaaairy chuffed. HP bought some badminton shorts, too!

There were lots of stalls with people very eager to give us free food, and after a spot of mulled wine we were very grateful until they tried to force us to buy a whole pot of peppered chicken right after we'd had lunch. Not being hungry is, apparently, not an excuse. Our excuse earned us some abuse (rhyme intended).

Eventually it got dark, and as we wandered hither and thither (which Fry's English Delight tells me is the oldest cliché and was coined in 702) the atmosphere bloomed. Pretty lights, shadows and neon signs everywhere. There was also one of the most amazing and mind blowing shops in the world, which had a queue to get in and out called CyberDog; this was basically a giant, imposing, music-pumping cyber-fashion shop.

At first it looks (and sounds) like a club - but at 5pm this wasn't really likely. You go in and there are robotic bodies lining the walls and some shelves offering things like Astronaut Food and Stuffed Toy Microbes (Black Death was my favourite, but not worth £15). There are also people dancing like robots on balconies.


Then you descend into the abyss down an escalator into the main shop which is awash with neon and science-fiction inspired awesomeness, including bags made of floppy-disks, skin-tight clothes and cyborg shutter shades. People are also paid to walk around in various cyber gear looking like they are androids.


Naturally, we were having a great time, and ambled around, down some more steps, only to be confronted with BONDAGE TAPE! and a pole dancer and various electronic sexy things. Did NOT see that coming. Quite amusing though. Haha! (And thus, an anecdote was born.)


After this, we pottered about for a bit before deciding we ought to get a wiggle on and didn't want any more pepper chicken (until our later SFC on the way home) and we needed to traverse London to the good old Tate (or rather the good Modern Tate...) So we hopped back on the tube to Waterloo.

At this point (it being night and all) my sense of direction let us down and we went for a mile or so in the wrong direction down the Thames! We did, however, get some spectacular touristly views (see above.) This meant that, at 5 to 7 we had to make a mad dash of it to get to the gallery. Then commenced a conversation about Ai Wei Wei's Sunflower Seeds :


Me: Look over there - we discussed those at school.


Dee: It just looks like grit.


Me: Hey, it's conceptual. *ramble about society*


Dee: -also, the artists name is I wee-wee. Hehehe.


Me: *sigh*




The Gauguin exhibition was pretty good. I wasn't much of a fan of the work of his I had seen before, but it has always been Herr Padre's favourite, so it couldn't be missed. However, I found a lot of the stuff there useful and interesting, especially the sketchoodles which he would no doubt have abhorred anybody but himself seeing. Poor chap, died of syphillis.




Slightly let down that they had moved Bacon's Tryptich for the Base of a Crucifixion (above, one of my all-time Tate Modern faves) as that was one I was really looking forward to seeing again. They did, however, have a few others there instead, including the tryptich he did for his lover chap who committed suicide. Properly sad and emotive and excellent, his work is. And also proof that my taste in art is really morbid compared to Padre's enjoyment of quaint French villagers and rolling hills and Tahitian lounging women...



Finally, the bastards closed the gift shop before I could spend the remainder of my worldly cash. Being told no by an aristocratic sounding woman not good for your cultural street cred (especially when she is in 6-inch stillettos to your flat-heeled Dr Martens). Left brusquely in a bristling bustle of cloche, swishy coat and frilly brolly.



Being ostentatiously cultural this way is a real drain to one's alcohol reserves - and after this, what could possibly be more cultural than a visit to an excellent pub? Nothing, I hear you cry, with joy and apprehension as to whether we did or didn't manage this at about 11pm in Waterloo. (We did.)
We went to THIS charming little alery, The Hole In The Wall. The story goes that when my father and his school chums used to go on trips to London in Sixth Form, their teachers brought them to this very watering hole for a post-play pint; naturally, it was an unavoidable pilgrimmage. Situated as it is in a hole in the wall under a railway bridge, the bar was barrel-shaped, wood pannelled and rumbled occasionally with the noise of trains going over. They also served TEA BEER. Beer brewed with tea. It was gorgeous. Here is some modelled by a paternal relation of mine.

Overall the trip was astronomically good in all manner of ways, despite us arriving home at about 2am (dirty stop-outs) and my having to be up at an unearthly hour of the morning for a First Aid course. Jolly gosh darned spiffing and dashed good, it was!

Victory, skid-marks and mint-making...

This is a photo of the first recorded snow I could find in Milton - it's also very nearly the view from my house. (1962) Yes, I'm going to do that terribly English thing, where I make a great deal out of clouds bursting - tally ho!

***

So it's been tremendously snowy the past day or so and anyone who knows my feelings about weather properly know that snow is my favourite, followed by rain and then fog and then sunshine. It makes the world all shiny and light even at nighttime. Anyhow, I do have a point to make with this - this isn't simply small talk.

Yesterday, with a lovely blizzard outside, I decided to accompany my padre to the Moreton Pinkney auction to pick up the spoils of the day. This quickly turned into an adventure of epic proportions, with the snow-level gradually rising as we drove (that area had a lot the previous day, aussi) and hilarity (and DANGER!) around every corner.

Getting there was the easy part - ambling along listening to various good tunes and discussing my increasing level of hunger - but coming back took the biscuit.

One thing you should know about the Northampton area is that there are an absurd number of canal and railway bridges compressed into a relatively small place, with a number of little 'island' typed areas where you are, quite literally, trapped between bridges. Therein lies the problem. These canal bridges seem to pride themselves on being as tall and steep and twisty as possible, and even in a rather chunky car, if you throw in the added hazard of arctic conditions, things start to get crazy.

We arrived at this canal bridge near the Marina to find the debris from some earlier collision; bits of wall, tyre marks that made no sense to a linear journey, and the perfect image of a disaster waiting to happen. But we braved it, and skidded around and about for ages with all the vigour and vanity of a mouse trying to climb up the side of its glass vivarium. Eventually we gave up and tried (in a rather beautiful ARC of skidditude) to turn around and go the other way.

Eventually we went across to another, more passable bridge, but then quickly found ourselves trapped on one of these islands, between a bridge with an impassable one behind it, or a bloody ridiculous rail bridge. However, there was an incentive! Beyond this bridge, was a pub!

Alors, in order to get to the Walnut Tree for a pint, we braved the rail bridge for the best part of a rather hilarious half-hour going forwards, backwards, sideways, diagonal-wise etc and being looked at as though we were dicks by some cocky truck and 4x4 drivers with their smug-arse four-wheel drive. They didn't have the fun that we did.

After many millennia we escaped the island and trundled over to the Walnut Tree (whose steps I had shamefully redecorated with stomach fluid a full week before) and dived in for a quick one. Christmas beer, cider and 'sizzling prawn' crisps that were wank, considering.

From there things were easier and we returned to find our house had experienced a deluge of fallen clouds. What an adventure! :D

***

Incidentally, I've just managed to sell my Kindle (which I bought for £109 when it came out) for almost double its price - the joys of e-bay, Christmas, and people's failure to read websites that say that only the upgraded version is sold out. :) HURRAH!

Remember, Remember...

What a brilliant weekend.

On Friday were the annual fireworks at the Compass. For a few months beforehand the pub had a big jar on the bar for donations towards the fund, and the amount people were giving was amazing - there were more than a few notes in there - so, naturally, the display itself was excellent. Anna came along, which made it the best kind of ridiculous as we showed the village how loudly we could 'ooh' and 'ahhh' at even the tiniest little sparkles.

It was raining the sort of spit that meant you couldn't tell how wet you were until you went somewhere dry, and we faced the dilemma of trying to look into the sky, but being pelted in the eyes with water, leaving us both looking as though we had been crying ourselves into next week. (Thus lending a whole new level of literalism to the Flight of the Conchords: "I'm not crying - it's just been raining on my face...")

Afterwards, and after only one drink each, we came home because the pub was all kinds of crowded (not all of them the good kinds...) and somehow managed to go from philosophical conversation to drugless drug-style raving with improvised moves based on daily activities. We also jammed to a rousing rendition of the Joseph Megamix. I'm not sure I have ever laughed so much in my life; I headbutted a wall.

From the evening THIS plus a great number of ridiculous Facebook messages, including the Subliminal Penis Inclusion (when one attempts to penis include the word penis for male genetalia within sentences as one penis talks, with the aim of confusing the penis hell out of whoever's listening, additionally fun when typing, to draw attention to the penis best places for it to be placed.)

My favourite quote of the evening has to be: "So can you do that, just talk to me and put a little dick in?" Thanks Anna, and yes, yes I can.

***

Very few things epitomise ridiculous so perfectly as yesterday morning. There are days when one wakes up, full of the headaches of oversleeping and with all the honest intentions of ploughing out many and numerous Nobel Prize-winning essays and annotations of art work, only to have the opportunity snatched away from you on the cusp of personal fulfillment. Yesterday - Oh deplorable bastardery! - was one of those days.

Having woken up and found that I was in something resembling the 'working mood', I was promptly encumbered by the need to do admin. Most of the day was stolen by Santander's phone line and WH Smith's Customer Enquiry Services. If I ever get put on hold again, memories of yesterday will flood back to me, and the assistant will find me, when I am put through, weeping into my phone book.

Not a single sentence was written that morning, and the rest of the day was given over to watching Coupling and getting ready for the evening...

***

The evening. There was a bonfire the size of my house, a house the size of twelve of my houses, and a cabin with its own bar, a projector and a bloody sauna. But let me explain...

I met this chap Paul at the pub and, not knowing that he was practically God on the residential scale, greeted him with cheer and publy chatter while I was there. It later transpired that he had invited us out to his own bonfire party, which was held at his house - a gargantuan PALACE at the edge of the village. From personal observation, this dear chap Paul was not exactly the sort you would peg down as having a house the size of Toulouse.

So, when we arrived, I spent a few moments attempting to get my head around the luxury of the somehow Upper-Middleclasses (Experience, Anna! Closer already!) and then bumped into a couple of people that we knew, and all was fine and gosh darned dandy. Now, I had told my parents expressly that last night was for socialising, and I expected to see them both talk to at least ONE stranger at some point. (I have installed myself as something of a Relationship Manager, as per IT Crowd, for my parentfolk, who are simply some of the least socially adventurous people I have ever met. Our house is a fort, so are their social preferences.)

So, there were many schnapps and satay things and general noms, but these all came after the excitement that was the bonfire. I haven't ever been to a bonfire where there was an actual Guy - I had passed these off as a slightly violent and human-sacrificial tradition that people these days could generally not be bothered with - but there was one, and he was magnificent. His death was like something out of the Wicker Man. If he wasn't already an unconscious pile of stuffed fabric through smoke inhalation, there are no worries that the fire didn't burn him to a cinder. Often when I talk about fire, I am simply getting a little bit excited about matches and the mutant candle I ruin play with in my bedroom, but this was something else entirely. The fireworks, too, were spectacular!

Later in the evening, somebody broke out the guitar hero and singstar. First off, I cannot begin to play guitar (or even the easy level of bass) without getting very frustrated and growling as the song progresses. I can, however, sing to an alright enough standard, so I tried as much as possible to stick to that. It was great fun - the best score, I think, being 99% of Evanescence's Bring Me To Life. Oh so reminiscent, that song. My Padre did a stonking rendition of Tokyo Girl by Deep Purple, and sabotaged my (third) attempt at King Crimson's 21st Century Schizoid Man - I literally rofl'd.

They also made me sing the Barbie part of Aqua's Barbie Girl at least five times. So many times.

We stumbled our way back, quite loudly, at half two, taking revenge for all the times people have unsubtly gone home from the The Compass outside my window.

It is now twenty-to-one, and I think my parents are STILL asleep.

History is too much fun...

These are some quotes which still kill me, from a conversation I had with Nat while we were reading up on Nazi generals one evening. All concern real people, and real facts - though Johan and Dicky are characters of ours. x)

"Kluge frequently rode in an airplane to inspect the divisions under his command and sometimes relieved his boredom during the flights by hunting foxes from the air—a decidedly non-traditional method." – “Decidedly non-traditional. I can imagine Dicky doing that” – “Waving a Winchester around”

“JOHAN alternative states "Women in uniforms are to be shot, unless they take them off."

“WHAT is this like CENTER OF FAIL NAMES or wtf is going on here -- Cäsar von Hofacker”

"As a leader who lectured his soldiers about the honor of dying for the German Fatherland, he was nicknamed "Der Sterber" (literally, "The Die-er")"

“this must be a piss take seriously BOCK also has: “He quickly earned the nickname “Holy Fire of Küstrin””

“Hofacker was later forced to betray him, under Gestapo torture, forcing Rommel to take his own life.” – “THAT HOFACKER” -- “Goodbye desertfox plz - Kluge would not join, despite Hofacker's exhortations. (Kluge later committed suicide, believing that he had been implicated). He's like a walking suicide machine. Also - he tried to kill Hitler, failed, and Hitler killed himself.” – “everyone around him kills themselves

"He possesses the Lance of Longinus (or "Holy Lance”) Johan possessed a Lance of Longinus too”

"Funk was held at Spandau Prison along with other senior Nazis. "

"Hitler is a dancing dervish. He must be shot down." – “dancing <__<>

“Stop, Hammerstein.”

“Because of the attack, he was removed from office and was reduced to his permanent two-star rank of rear admiral.”

Who you gonna call?!

Last night was The Compass' annual Ghost Hunt and it was spectacular. Apart from serving 'Venom' and 'B-positive' (green and red beer respectively) at the bar, there were masses of decoration, including a witch's grotto in the outhouse and much dressing-up revelry! And despite being one of the last teams to register, and therefore having to wait an hour and a half before leaving, we all had a bloody good time, pun intended.

The prize for dressing up goes to Georgie, who dressed up as a devil-blood-and-talcum-vampire creature (see the dashing and utterly terrifying photograph below)...

We played a quite fail game of Uno, followed by a few very fun rounds of Articulate, with some very bizarre and hilarious answers and explanations emerging. (eg. "You eat it and it grows on trees..." "LEAVES!" "NUTS!" "BERRIES!" "CABBAGE!") After which, we returned to The Compass to begin the Ghost Hunting proper.

If you want an accurate image of the scene, think of a bunch of disastrously unsubtle, torch-wielding, fox-barking and slightly overenthusiastic female types wandering about down dark alleys and being jumped out at by randomers in ghostly garb. Apart from answering questions (which I think we managed quite well, considering) we also had to find various items on our travels, including a walnut, a bottle top, sweet wrappers etc. Excellent, as Anna and I had already compared the detritus in the bottom of our bags - pegs, lip gloss, pen lids - as essential ghost hunting equipment.

Afterwards we wandered back for drinks at the pub and to wait for the results. While we did not win - I think we won in terms of catching the ghosts before they caught us, and also a gold star for enthusiasm. :D It was at this point that my good chum Sunshine bought her first ROUND of adulthood which, as we know, is like being christened, just with more Southern Comfort and Cider than holy water.

Hurrah! :D

Universally Challenged...

This and the next few posts shall summarise the events of the past week.

On Wednesday was the Milton Malsor Quiz and Chips annual event shindig to raise money for the village scout troop. As none of my chums could come along, les parents and I decided to mosey down anyway and head our own team for what lolz it would bring. So we marched on down and settled ourselves at the table, at which point I noticed most of Clan Considine across the room at another table and said hello. :)

Now this whole business was something of an event as, prior to this, we had - all but for the weekly pootle down to The Compass - been mostly strangers to the social world of the Village, shut up in Fort Eames sans front doors and all. This was our (almost) first foray into this world and, without a team of people we knew beside us, it was all a little bit awkward at first. However, the chap who runs the historical society, John, came to join our team and, despite a few awkward moments, things went quite swimmingly.

The highlight, as far as straight questions went was that there was a question concerning a quote I had only read once, a few hours before; I got a bit excited over the coincidence. Also, the dingbats were ridiculous, but fun, although John was trying to work them out very literally, and so failed quite a bit, though we didn't have the heart to tell him.

So, when it came to chips, and they read out the half-way scores, things began to get heated! We were running joint-third with Chez Considine, partly because I had decided to completely forget anything Mr Lomax had ever told me about Native American tribes. D: The fish and chips were lovely (and well needed, after all this!) and we managed to win a couple of cranberry bath-bombs in the raffle. I have since used one, and found it wasn't as bad as the packaging would have us believe!

Many fraught and exciting questions later, it transpired that, far from sticking at third place, we had (somehow...God knows how...) managed to win the thing. :D I may have cheered a little too enthusiastically, and knocked over an almost-empty coke glass.

However, with victory comes great responsibility. We discovered after all the cheerful chocolate giving and things that we now have the job of preparing next years quiz questions. Should be interesting!

Afterwards, being by this time so used to the social situation that I was practically a village socialite, I approached Mike, the question-waller-cum-scout leader and asked if he needed any help organising and running the village cubs and scouts. To my delight, he said something about biting my hand off, and so my return to scouting is now in the works! Intensely excited about this, as I have missed doing it so much since leaving Luton and the slightly-pants Roade explorers. Hurrah, Hurrah!

WE HAVE NO INTELLIGENCE.

This is likely to be brief based on my current level of fatigue and desire to flop into bed for a (long awaited) nap once I am done.

Yesterday was Miss Anna's birthday and I found myself cheerfully invited to drinks and steak and various other adulthood-enjoying revels! It was quite smashing as, although I arrived early enough to observe the boys playing the dullest American Football game known to man, Anna quickly returned with shopping including (if I remember correctly) a butterknife and champagne - both of which she is now entirely legally allowed to buy! :D

Hayley and her boyfriend (Mike... Milo...no, wait, Martin?!) popped over to say hello and have a chat, which was lovely as I had not seen Hayles since I bumped into her at McDonalds many moons ago, though I think Martin quickly became very unsubtly bored at listening to girly chatting and the like.

James, Louie and Jamesy were all planning to go out on the lash (as one might call it) in town - as naturlich it was James' birthday too! However, I think Louie - it's so hard not to spell that the French way, gosh! - went home because he wasn't feeling so fab, healthwise. ANYWAY - there were candles which spelled amazing words including "EEEGNITE" and German words that weren't, and glorious champagne in flutes that were not nose-friendly.

THEN we watched the wonderful TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE and laughed excessively at the croissant pavements, the man spray-painted bronze and the hilarious rollychair man. :D We also ate ADULT crisps, and put Toy Story peas (i.e. the cutest thing ever) on Boobie the cat (i.e. cutest situation ever) thereby exceeding any preconceived ideas we might have had about something being cute. :)

Following which, I became very sleepy (something that going to bed almost as soon as I got in doesn't seem to have cured).

It was absolutely smashing. :) In every way. Even if the millions of various DVD-playing technologies all rejected the DVD for ages.

Tip top! :D xxx

Domestic(ated) Goddess (+ Revel-ution)

I come to you fresh from doing housework (I know, I know, take a moment to get your head around this rarest and most inconceivable of concepts!) My bathroom, which had been growing increasingly grimy and shit, is now shimmering and sparkling like the porcelain palace it ought to be! Shelves now organised into nice, sensible compartments, toothpaste HQ free of congealed scum and dust evicted left-right-and-centre!

The only thing stopping the Queen taking up direct residence is the massive hole in the ceiling from the last time I tried to do something to make anywhere outside of my bedroom slightly organised. The bath remains a drop-trap for unwitting mice and spiders, but at least now they will be descending into somewhere more pleasant than the loft from whence they come!

Contrary to the impression I've already seared into this blog, scrubbing toilets has not been the most exciting part of my weekend so far. Last night was the fabulous birthday curry bash for my good chums Anna and Sunshine which involved (far too) much Indian food, peach schnapps with pineapple juice and good, old fashioned fun.

(In absolutely every photo I think I have ever been in, I look quite deranged, so I'll just try to justify this with the fact I'd just eaten something indistinguishable from vomit, am absolutely terrible at applying makeup, and lack sufficient melanin to give my eyes a camera-friendly colour... Also, that is Anna, who has eye-makeup skills which verge on godly and who despite having dashing blonde hair is queen of melanin. She is also capable of posing without looking like she is planning to kill the camera with fire...)

Highlight moments of the evening:

Ebony: Oh, but she's such a suck ass.

Georgie: (taking this quite, quite literally) ...SHE SUCKS ASS?

Anna and Emily's stirring rendition of a Flight of the Conchords Megamix (which quickly descended into 'Everything Comes Down To Poo') - actually, there was something of a turd theme. Georgie's chocolate "Vagina" pudding looked somewhat like a plop itself, and regardless what the conversation was, it always turned around to bottoms.

(Aforementioned pud - blame Anna and Emily's collective dirty mind.)

The Scary pervy men, and the banter with the waiting staff, who seemed to think that "Sterling, mate!" meant "Give me a glass, too, mate!" and who ate ALL the puddings.

My Korma was particularly grey and vomit-esque (especially with the addition of egg-fried rice) in all but flavour, the naan breads were gargantuan, and I think all of us came away feeling that we'd had enough curry to last at least four decades (possibly five).

Then, of course, going back to Sunny's mum's man's house (which he BUILT himself, something that STILL blows every braincell I have) and laughing at the ridiculousness that is 'Deep Blue' or something.

"We gave the sharks huge brains...we didn't expect them to GET SMART." "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU LET ME LOVE YOU."

And also the horrible yellow-dressed badger woman who only WISHED she could sing, as well as beautiful bacon rolls (what do you get if you push a pig down a hill? &c.) for breakfast in the morning. Excellente!

So, in conclusion, you might say that cleaning the bog was actually the LEAST interesting event of the weekend so far, but you know what they say about leaving the best till last, and letting the poo float to the top. (I told you, EVERYthing comes down to poo.)

To quote Miss Sunshine, "Absolutely Sterling!" :D