Brown wobble

So, it's been a while since I've really had time to sit down and do this. Let's put last weekend into perspective, shall we?

It was a beery one. Oh yes.

Friday night...kicked off with a jacket potato and tuna before I left the house; I'd love to say I was on some kind of health kick; the fact was that I'm running out of food and it was that or nothing. Only used half the tuna... the intention was to use it in some cunning low price dish later, but as it was the cat got an excellent supper. No, I have no resistance whatsoever to the small boy putting on the charm for the benefit of his belly. Then cycled off to the station for what I consider the height of sophistication and civilisation... beer by local branch line train. What a great idea. Doctor Beeching, what were you playing at?

Off this time to Stallingborough station whereupon met up with the locals, cabbed up to a pub and before battle commenced I took the time to phone my Gran who turned 81 that day, came back from my family duties and indulged in a couple of pints of the Shifty Abbot. Otherwise known as Abbot Ale; the Shifty Abbot is not to be trusted and will sneak around your back and do dreadful things at the slightest provocation. I grew up twenty miles down the road from his home and have made his acquaintance many times in my youth, I know of what I speak. Anyway, the pub in question was deemed to be pants because it didn't do bar food and we couldn't afford the new mortgage required for a restaurant meal so back into a cab it was to take us back to the pub right next to the station that we'd driven past half an hour earlier... c'est la money. Suitably lubricated, found a nice comfy bus shelter to spend the nig.... NO, to catch the last bus back to Cod Town and practised my quick reaction skills bus recognition skills as I realised with about five seconds to go that the big bunch of lights coming towards me wasn't a van but in fact something rather more important to my immediate future. Sometimes I can move pretty fast for a fat pissed bloke and the local bus company is to be commended for the quick braking reactions of their drivers. Whereafter it remained only to pop to the station, via the Wetherspoons next door to collect my bike, and to find a taxi big enough to put it in. Yes, healthy lifestyle goes only so far.

Saturday... an excellent notification from the excellent Miss J of County Durham of a short notice beer festival in that rather excellent area; unfortunately this was ruled out part by shortness of money, part by the fact that there was one already lined up just down the road. Next time, kiddo. Beer by train again is the order of the day, trundled down to the station which is rapidly becoming my favorite place and hopped on the local service to Lincoln with a bag full of cameras and a street map, which upon arrival I proved myself quite unable to use by navigating in the wrong direction for a valuable half hour of drinking time, and getting quite stressed by the apparent lack of cashpoints; although this was later explained by the fact that we were walking OUT of the business district. Navigation amended, quickly got sorted and found my way to the Drill Hall, which although a nondescript looking building now converted to art centre/venue use, as demonstrated by the enormous metal face on the side of it, and cleaned and refurbished; is just dripping with history and ghosts if you engage your brain for ten seconds and consider when and what it was actually built for, and the people that have passed through it in the past.




Clearly I was meant to be here, bought my commemorative glass to discover a rather groovy print of a Vulcan Bomber, an old favorite of mine... two Vulcan bases within spitting distance of Lincoln during the aircraft's service and it's fifty years since the first squadron of this gorgeous big Delta formed there. Wow. Watch this space. They're getting one in the air again next month.


Anyhoooo, struck it lucky with the first couple of beers, a couple of really tasty, easy on the mouth bitters. By the end of the afternoon, the tally was something like this....

Beartown "Bruin's Ruin" (5.0).... (Mikey's tasting note; YUM and a smiley face)

Beeston "On the Huh" (5.0)... MTN "Oooh! A boy's one! Dark, tastes of old mens pipes"

Hambleton "Hot to Trot" (4.0) ..... MTN, a smiley face. Must have liked that one.

Hook Norton "Cotswold Lion" (4.2)

Loddon "Bamboozle" (4.8)... MTN, a smiley face and "nectar. Almost cider" And it was.

Oldershaw "Vulcan's Thunder" (5.0)... Festival special ale

Thwaites "Lancaster Bomber" (4.4)

York "Stonewall" (3.8)

Fugglestou "Hewitts Bitter" (4.0)

The latter a replica of an old Grimsby beer from the long dead Hewitts Brewery.... all I can say is it's a damned shame, that's a gorgeous drop and well worth hunting out. But all things must come to an end, even good things so back to the train it was. Because there was a party to go to. Does it ever stop??? Not if I can help it. Remember, this is Summer Rampage. One of the lads from work got hitched in the 'States a couple of weeks back, and was having a small bashette in a venue in town, local club sort of affair; you know the drill. Cheap beer but not really worth drinking, so a night on the spirits ensues. Oh dear. Spilled out at ungodly some hour of the night, onto a some ungodly late bar in Cleethorpes, whereupon decided that the late bar was a really bad idea, and back into another late cab back to Fortress Shadey.

Sunday.... a morning slobbing in front of Top Gear repeats. Yeaaah! Lots of coffee, and then... off to ASDA on a beer supply run before a barbeque beckoned. Yes, weatherwatchers, it was pissing down with rain all day. So the meat deal happened, erm somewhere, while we all got pissed indoors. You'll notice these reports are getting shorter? So are the memories. Yes, there was an amount of beerdrinking, shot drinking, certain amounts of dead animal got troughed, Scratch the dog had a very good afternoon and evening indeed although his afternoon walk (to the shops to buy more vodka) was spoiled by Drunkogirl the Dog Handler shouting "Don't crap, that's rottttttten!!!!!!" as the poor lad did what he had to do, to her embarrassment. Never mind. And then? More shot glasses and beer glasses, one lady had "Twat" writted on her forehead in big black magic marker, a huge waterfight ensued between the girls (hey, since when did I ever turn down a wet T-shirt contest) and as for mud wrestling, the closest they got was the hostess being pinned down and covered in brown sauce for no reason I could especially work out. Hey ho.

Oddly enough, my plan to spend all of Bank Holiday Monday in the pub came to nothing. I wonder why..... Beered out? Could be....

Bring on the beast

The Mile Eater that is. Freshly fettled, back wheel all lovely and refurbished, chain freshly cleaned and oiled, all levels where they should be, my god... even the tax disk bolted on. Went out for the first blat of the year last night, and all is well, all is groovy. A nice local run up to Barton, then back via the back roads. This will be a year of fettling; the front wheel needs treating to what the back wheel had; the front forks want repainting; the luggage rack needs restoring and if I can afford it, so does the suspension. But the engine's doing exactly what it should be and the beast is handling well; considering I've barely rode it for four months, and not much before that since last September, even the rider dropped into role pretty well.

Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Hulk

It's a funny kind of synchonicity, you know, location. For instance it's just struck me how well organised this town is... the hospital's just across the road from the cemetery and just down the hill from the crematorium. How's that for planning?

Anyway, I've just been jabbed in the arm by something giving off tons and tons of gamma radiation, so don't make me angry, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Etc'. Insert your own Incredible Hulk metaphor HERE if you don't like mine. But hmmmm, might be a good day to pay my enemies a visit, maybe...

"What Military Aircraft are YOU"

Online anorak quiz, folks

"You are an A-10 Warthog. You enjoy your friends and would do anything to protect them. When I comes to fighting, you are straight-forward and fair in your approach. You fly where they can see you, and go slow enough so that they can prepare for what's coming. But, when you do bring it, you bring it hard. People who piss you off wish they hadn't, your cannon can rip most any tank to shreds within seconds. On the other hand, you are loyal and true. People would be hard pressed to find a better friend.Take this quiz"

Sounds pretty Scorpio, eh?

Political News

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved."Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." Londoners have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to a "Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was during the great fire of 1666.

Also, the French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France are "Surrender" and "Collaborate." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability.And, it's not only the English and French that are on a heightened level of alert.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly andExcitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain:"Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish Navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Feline Smorgasbord

Been disturbed for the last few days by the sounds of avian activity around here, seems like Father Darwin is about catch up with some of the less bright Starlings in the neighbourhood... they don't call them bird brained for nothing. Yup, it's looking like they're nesting in the corner of my roof. With Gizmo living here. Ooooo-kay. That's clever. Is that the sound of a six shot .357 Evolver I hear being in the distance being cocked? Best not to tell my mother about this, she got upset enough last time she stayed in a farmhouse around here and had to watch the local cats methodically demolish the family of fieldmice she'd been watching for a week...

A funny old day. Busy. Lots done, lots planned. And the bike's back from the MOT with a new rear tyre, a sparkly and lovely restored rear wheel, and the annoying bit.... they've insisted on stripping and refurbishing the brakes. Except I'm now going to have to get my mech in to undo whatever damage they've done to make the brakes Italian style, ie: made from wet pasta. Never mind, the big beast is back and tomorrow will be legal, so I shall be off making loud noises of the vroom variety very soon. But no breadmaking. That genius plan for this evening has gone to pot, courtesy of the fact that I've no marge in. Everything else. But going to ASDA to buy marge when I could, erm, buy bread at the same time seems just a little pointless....

ANYWAY... this post is delievered late due to the fact that I've needed to comfort the cat after inadvertantly sitting on him... black cat, black computer chair, you get the picture. Poor lad's had a hard enough day anyway.

Sunrise

One of the advantages of my way of life is that I get to see more sunrises than most folks, and for those that were sensibly tucked up under the duvet at 05:00 when I was driving back from the badlands; today's was an especially fine one. Took some pictures from the waggon of the refinery towers emerging on the horizon out of the peach fire of morning, but I bet the camera phone hasn't the definition to make a decent job of it. Sunrises.... I love 'em. Even when life's been darkest, the thought of one more sunrise and sunset to watch has kept me tickin'.

Except that today holds mental cruelty. Hozzy appointment at one. No food and drink and especially NO TEA !!!! Aren't "cruel and unusual punishments" against the human rights act?

In harms way

Again....

So there was I, nine o'clock last night, literally driving off into the sunset alone in a works van to do join a large number of similar herberts in doing nefarious things in a certain Northern town as part of my professional obligations for the night. The thought struck me, probably because I was travelling alone for once "what the HELL do I think I'm doing?". Running about in a place where they'll not like me one bit, trying to stop bad guys from running about and getting away; it's a bit bloody risky, this keeping your finger in the dyke. It's not even like the organisation is half organised; dying on it's arse as it is. How did I come to this?

The answer is as usual there within a moment. "Because I wanted to". "Because it's a bit of a laugh". "Because it beats the arse of nine to five for naff all money. But it's a wobbly moment. I don't think it's too heathy to regard this sort of stuff as too routine. I get the impression if I ever do, it'll bite. Frankly, every time I stop to think about it, it scares the crap out of me.

Speaking of which; another fresh kill on the mat from He who must be Adored. This time, Jack Sparrow's definately copped it. Good job they've just had the premier of the third film, eh. The boy seems to be on a roll at the moment.

I like it when they listen

I just happened to pass comment to Gizmo this afternoon that if he brought me one more mouse, that'd be ten for the year which would be far more tidy, stats wise. Then I sat down with a glass of wine and watched the motorcycle road racing from Northern Island and promptly fell asleep. Woke up to a fresh kill on the carpet, and of the right kind too. Sometimes I think we underestimate our pets !!!! Oh, speaking of such things, followers of the Pirates of the Caribbean films can breath easy, upon closer examination the corpse on the floor earlier in the week was less Jack Sparrow than Tit, either a Blue one or a Great one – it’s hard to tell. Thinking about it though, either option is bad news for those who like to preserve the memory of the late Anna Nichole Smith.

Took a stroll down to the seafront an evening or so back; had reason to spend some time in the arcades. Not my sort of place at all really, and not where you go to see the best of humanity. Apart from being one of the most blatant examples of "here's where you go to get completely ripped off, spend loads of money on no-chance gambling to win dick all and kid yourself it's a quality entertainment experience", here's a couple of things I really don’t like about people at the seaside:

I didn't much like the sight of the big eyed toddler girl stumbling about on her own watching other kids on the dancing game, while her drone like mum was on remote control, shoving money into the fruit machines oblivious to all.

And I didn't much like the eight year old playing with the point and shoot gun games, especially when the game in question was House of the Dead 4, which I know for a fact is an 18 in cartridge form. I'm as pro gun as the next Charlton Heston; I know damn well the pistol ban was nothing to do with public safety but all to do the lowest form of domestic British politics. However I don't like the military-industrial complex, and what suspiciously looks like the militarisation of society since the second world war. And I'm wondering what the agenda actually IS behind having gun games like this to influence children to believe that armed response is an acceptable response to a problem. Is it just entertainment? Or is it conditioning? ANYHOOOO! An eight year old standing there on his own, looking lost and slightly bored in a world of strangers with a plastic MiniUzi in his hand while his drone like parents shove money into the fruit.... ah there's a theme building here isn't there.... hypocritical as it seems for a self confessed Gun Bunny, bothers the hell out of me!!!

On the subject of other stuff, those Honda engines are tough little bastards, aren't they. The Hellbound Christine wsa still staggering along earlier, although I think she may finally have coughed her last. The radiator's let go, but it still won't drop. I may even have found in my heart a little admiration at the end of the game!

Tribute

"This is not the greatest blog entry in the world. This is just a tribute"

So, I'm paying my respects to Pam here at home after all. Seemed appropriate to light the lass a candle in memory while the doings were going on over in the other side of the country, so tracked down the town's catholic church and pointed the rapidly disintergrating Honda in it's direction with funny smells and lots of heat coming from under the bonnet. And my plans were neatly scotched by the residents surrounding the church of St Pious, as I discover the place neatly locked up against allcomers. So much for spiritual wellbeing. Of course, if I spent more time in places of worship I'd know about things like that. Or maybe it was someone's way of stopping an - at best - agnostic taking the juice? Who knows. It was a good idea anyway.

So back here, a quick clear of the mantlepiece, searched the house for the box of proper candles I know I've got somewhere - tealights won't do for this sort of thing; duly found, mounted and lit. A suprisingly long moment of reflection for a lass I didn't know well. Sorry hun, it was the best I could do, hope you don't mind. Would rather have wished you long life and happiness; wasn't to be. Sometimes life stinks.

Slow death of the bitch from hell

Christine the Hellmouth Honda, that is.... shortly to be given the last rites. Consuming oil faster than Esso can produce it, overheating like a porn star on crack cocaine, the gig is almost up. The replacement is sitting on the drive, waiting for the legalities to be sorted out before it can be taken on road and then it's over; new bits taken off for transplant surgery - my car carries a donor card - and then a one way trip to the can factory. Actually, speaking of such cards, I carry a doner card. I wish someone else to have my kebab after my death. NewMotor needs a couple of bits of tarting cosmetically, but other than that appears a sound waggon and will do for a year or so. And here's where I need a hand; need a name for a odd, gold'ish coloured (yes, the tradition of buying cars with weird colour scheme continues) Vectra, any of you creative folks got any ideas? A pint for the winner. To kick things off, Goldie Lookin' Motor (GLM)? "Oi man, your driver is a nutter"?

Unfortunately, the non running status of NewMotor, the terminal status of Christine and the non arrival back of the MileEater coupled with the extremely empty status of my bank balance has had an affect. Poverty strikes, boys and girls - damned be both unexpected, non standard utility bills, their evil originators and the finite nature of overdrafts - meaning that I'm sat here when I should be heading west to pay my respects to Pam, who's having her final hurrah today. Now there's going to be people there from netland I don't want to see, but let's get this clear - that's not an issue here - plus there's going to be people there I really DO want to see and the important core business of the day is paying respects to someone whom I remember as a damned nice lady, pure and simple. No scandalmonger, not a whiff of the taint of the usual netlife rubbish that goes on. Just a very pleasant woman I regret not making the time to get to know better. Not at all pleased about being stranded east of the A1 by empty wallet and lack of viable transport; but I've found somewhere to pay respects locally when the events are taking place... not the sort of place I'd normally frequent but it's totally appropriate.

Back in the world of the financially less annoyed; had a bit of joy at work which has had me running around like a busy busy person for the last few days. Yesterday was supposed to be my day off prior to the weekend, ended up working all of it clearing up things that had to be done. At this risk of sounding totally pretentious, I can't post details here - coz I really can't - but what started off as a bit of a mooch around for the team and a half hearted attempt at something mainly for practise turned very quickly into something really rather groovy, a four hour shift extension and a ruined rest day in that order. We are pleased, other folks are less so. But hell, it's kept us busy.

Oh and fans of the Pirates of the Caribbean series will be distressed to learn that part three is hereby cancelled. Judging from the small corpse at the foot of my bed, Jack Sparrow met Gizmo and a terrible fate in that order at some point in the small hours. Oh well, just have to wait for the next Harry Potter then...

Gluggage.

Glug one.

The total and utter state of devastation on the docks as it transpires that the downpours of the last few nights are very much more than the drainage system is designed for. Would have been more appropriate to take a boat over there rather than our Trannie' vans.... s'funny how a van can prefer wearing women's clothes and false boobs, I always thought of them as rather inanimate objects, just goes to prove how wrong you can be.

Night shifts came and went. Two nights watching places for no joy, then pulled back for a night working our arses off on the dock for no result, followed by a final repeat of night three but modified to allow for the fact that everybody was completely p*ssed off and had no morale left.

Glug two.

Found some more white wine in the house last night. And some red. Drank it with a friend. Oh meaty, joyous wine hangovers! So a fairly brief update today, no time for deep analysis of issues, which is a shame because there's been some; it's busy time. Baz the Bike is coming around with a car he needs to store offroad, so I'm hoping the weather's going to hold for an hour so I can get the mower over the lawn. Christine's leaking oil over my freshly cleaned drive again and I've got a pile of things to get in order, so I'm gonna.

Boogie Nights

Today I was wished a "funky weekend" by someone. Alas, I fear my weekend is going to be decidely un-funky. I fear the lack of funkyness may be entire. So unfunky in fact, that there is a compete lack of guitars without a '70's wah-wah pedal concept around here, and Isaac Hayes wouldn't go near my weekend with a fifteen foot glittery pole, even with chocolate salty balls impaled on the end. Coz I'm gonna be working nights through all of it.

Wah......

And again, I say Wah !

But no pedal.

Last night's was a twelve hour shift, it's rare that we actually program those into the line up as it were, rather than extend from an ordinary one but there you go, this time we did. And a vicious bugger it was too... quiet to the extreme, spent hiding in the dark waiting for something to happen that never did, which really pushes the boundaries of wakeiness; I refuse these days to have anything to do with the extreme caffene abuse that used to keep me going in these circumstances. Struggled through to the worst time, 3am. After that things pick up, but because of how the previous day had worked out, by the time I got home I'd been up for 25 hours, and it's difficult to reclaim that much sleep during daylight. True to form, up and awake by 12 mid-day.

The mile-eater is in the workshop. This is no big hassle, just means it's a few days until I can get out there and play again. The rear tyre needs replacing.... which means, because I'm true to my plans and ideas, that because the wheel's coming off that I have it stripped and repainted at the same time. There's ten years and five winters worth of salt damage to the origional finish and frankly it's looking a little tatty. Here goes the start of rebeautifying my bike. Spent Wednesday with a large bottle of parafin (HOW difficult is that stuff to find.... took three villages before I found any) a selelection of plastic and steel brushes, rags and a ton of elbow grease before my drive chain no longer resembled a dirty, corroding piece of crap, and in fact looked like the engineering marvel that it is. Yay! Been paying the oil spill on the drive the attention of a bottle of detergent and the power washer. So as well as the bike coming back on line, and I can't wait boys and girls... got a trip itinery already forming... backlogged jobs are getting done. Hmmm. This is all too organised. Something has to go wrong.

Domestic miscellany

Hmmm, the munching hangover and full recycling box tells the tale; last night I killed off the entire stock of white wine in this house, that's quite a few bottles. Oh well, when the mood takes you, it just does. Of course the problem is now that funds are short and I cannot afford to stock back up to the usual level of madness that's kept here, at least not THIS month. Deep joy. Of course, just to complent a hangover perfectly, I have a corpse to get rid of... no, not some barsteward who deeply deserves it, but a small flappy one that the cat thought he'd gift to me this morning. Ah well, if I will employ such an efficient pest controller... that's another one up on the tick list for stats.

A catering oddity this morning is that I've finally perfected the fried egg. Without trying or thinking, they've just started coming out right. For years I've overcooked, used too much oil, too hot... this time around I seem to have got it spot on, and am enjoying the experience. My doctor will be pleased. Not. Mind you, tasty free range eggs are one of my favorate things so nuts to my doctor.

And on the good news front, the Mile Eater is about to be positioned to the other side of town, it's MOT time. Which means tax disk, which means it's time for two wheeled fun up and down the country again. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

R.I.P.

Damn, bad news.

Got a heads up from Biro Jules late last week that a lady I knew off the net board I won't publicise had been diagnosed with cancer and things didn't look jolly; which was damnable as she was among the nicest people I knew from there. Got a text from a mutual friend yesterday evening... she's died. By all accounts, she went peacefully, drifting off to sleep giggling at wellwishers' messages in a card.

So a final headsup to Pam, "Salsalass". A genuinely nice woman who I didn't know well enough.

Hitchings

So onto this wedding thing.... Fernie Castle, about ten miles up the road. A stone towered manor house in wooded grounds, very nicely placed. More importantly, a subteranian bricked cellar bar, Seventy Shilling bitter with mood lighting, Jura and Highland Park malt whiskey for later. "Quality nice".

Lots of southern people milling around; it's as far as I can tell, it's two folks from dahn sarf having an "ethnic wedding". Me, I'm the bridesmaid's sisters mate, so I'm so far off the bottom of the food chain in wedding guest seniority that I'm barely visible and that's fine by me. Kaz's folks ask me to take some pics for them, so I'm pretty happy all afternoon, strolling around with the BossCam, doing my thing, now got a card full of pics to process for people which should keep me amused. Glad I wasn't the formal photagrapher though, strikes me that he's the loneliest guy at a wedding, constant looking at life through a lens, to quote an album title; other people's happiness; hell, I was only mooching taking pics of people I knew, and even I had to do a quick sidestep to avoid an episode with my mate the Black Dog... a small moment of "always the photographer, never the groom"; before I kicked myself in the arse and had another beer!

You know, it's true. The jocks will deep fry ANYTHING. Haggis samosa's for god's sake in the afternoon snacks. Oh well, that's different. Back to the hotel for a change of shirt, which converts the multipurpose black suit from "smart" to "smart casual" and it's off to the evening reception, for more of the same with a feast of full on haggis, neeps and tatties, whatever the hell that is. Whatever it is, it's very filling, very tasty and makes a change from a hundred trays of sandwiches and chicken bits on sticks; a few more beers and the thought strikes me that when you stand in the loo's and think "hey, those paper towells are exactly the same shade as our uniform shirts" it really is time to take a holiday. Oh, I have. Damn.

Scottish men, it's a skirt and you bloody well know it

With the benefit of hindsight, choosing the A68 for the journey home may have been a mistake. Within seconds of turning off the Edinburgh ring road, I hit bank holiday traffic, tractors, Sunday drivers, coach parties and long steep climbs - oh, and Christine the Hellbitch Honda started leaking oil like a sieve and seriously overheating, that car is seriously on Deathwatch. Having said that, milage hit 150 thousand during the trip north, and it was 350 'odd miles each way. Thus the anticipated five hour trip home was more like nine, with associated stops to pick up more oil, rest the engine, panic about coolant levels, and a couple of hours for a sanity break with my aforementioned tailweight, Miss J and her excellent other half (thanks for the eggs mate, as usual they're things of beauty, almost a shame to cook 'em!). Popped in on NB for a small bevvy on the way home, then off to my pit and a day of chores to come. And I'm not repeating the "what chores" gag, at least not today....

Mind you, the scenery was spectacular. Stopped to photograph a rather neat viaduct at one point, would have stopped to snap the moors at the English Border but I've a feeling they'd work well at sunset, and anyway, I'd only just overtaken a coach after a mile long hairpin steep climb, and was genuinely afeared for the survival of the remainder of my engine. Not the sort of road you want to be stranded on. I shall stroll back in summer with an empty datacard and a more reliable vehicle.

So.... the Scottish trip itself. Was invited up by my mate of many years standing Kaz, to keep her company at a family wedding, the hell that these things can be. So, loaded up the funbuggy; left a pile of catfood for he who must be brushed and loved who's to be left in the care of my nice neighbour for the weekend, and scuttled off in a northerly direction, whereupon soon enough it all went crashingly wrong. Driving past Ferrybridge power station, I notice there's a couple of great big chimneys going up up in a new construction... seems for years we've seen those going down, not up; old Fred Dibnah'd be a happy man, if it wasn't for the fact that they're not as nice as the old redbrick ones. Plan A was to pick Kaz up from the bosom of her family (everybody needs one as a pillow) in Gateshead where they were staying; head north to Glenrothes and drink beer with a mate of hers, this of course would have worked better if we'd have managed to get the right hotel details. Naturally, this didn't happen, so by the time contact was made, it was way too late to continute the journey, too late to head back to Aycliffe where I knew there was a friendly beer festival to enjoy, too late to make it to the coast to find a nice pub to enjoy and stay in, so I just parked the car up and bunked in the drivers seat overnight. Good job I packed the sleeping bag. Got my head down with a bit of a cob on to be honest, and in two minds as to whether I was going to bother with the rest of the trip.

Thank god for daylight, woke up in a better frame of mind. On the basis that it was further to go home than go forward, headed north at the crack of sparrow's fart a couple of hours before my mate's party were due to set off, thus building in some buffer time to play with, as I had a plan. Some very jolly fast roads in the border region; good wide bends and nice tarmac; heather, sunshine, with new lambs doing whatever new lambs do beside the roads which are roads cut through rocks - the Meat is Murder album loud on the stereo. Nice. Loverly drive, which is probably why it's so well seeded with the hated GATSO speed cameras. East Fortune air museum, to the east of Edinburgh. Very good establishment actually; a Mark 2 Lightning in super condition; not a huge amount of stuff but often rare and nicely looked after... a mark 1 development Harrier; the prototype Mark 14 Meteor in company markings; the first Tornado ADV in a museum; and most appropriate, the second Black Buck Vulcan in the month of the 25th anniversary of it's moment of fame over Port Stanley and Rio. Oh, and a British Airways Concorde, a very well put together exhibition for that item, including a few comments from Americans after the thing was taken out of service... “As one one who as lived under the flightpath of this hightly polluting dangerous monstrosity, all I can say is took twenty seven years to stop it but better late than never". American chauvinism. Suspect they'd have felt differently if the thing had have been built by Boeing. Anyways up; used up my time buffer there; headed over the Forth roadbridge through some godawful trafficjams and arrived at the hotel only a couple of minutes after the folks that had left two hours behind me.

So, scuttled off into Glenrothes which is a funny place... quite a lot of it's what you'd call traditional Scottish, in that it's a septic spot on the arse of civilisation. Went for bevvies in the bar, then was joined by Kaz and her mate Wendy who lives there and came over for the afternoon and evening; off to hers for dinner, met her fella Duncan who's a pretty unique creature in that he's a squaddie who I didn't dislike on sight for the crime of being a tosser. Nice bloke. Off to the McWetherspoons pub, full of drunken old scottish blokes... or they could just have been thirty, they seem to age fast up there... but I was able to get local real ale at least, Fyff Breweries Featherie, before finishing up on the Shifty Abbot; and then onto another bar clubby thing for Newcastle Brown and Sambucca. An unholy mix which means it's going to be a fun morning after.

'Appy Olliedays

May the second, always a small token taken for the King of the Hellraisers, lost in action on this day. It's a private joke between a mate of mine down south and I, and it's become a tradition. Tuesday, short of time but had quite a lot of beer on Monday night (oooh naughty, and working the following day too), and a lunchtime pint as well; I'm sure that counts as raising a glass towards the old monster.

And bugger me, I found the origional clip that sprang the joke in the first place....

"Just tell 'em you went drinking with Ollie Reed"

Everybody out !!!!

So while some Reg Varney lookalike was pinching the bums of the young lady AO's; the bloke that plays Smiler on Last of the Summer Wine was wandering up to me in an ill fitting uniform trenchcoat and out of issue peaked cap saying "Oooo I 'ate you Shadey" whereupon amongst the tea fumes, cometh the cheeky blonde one with a whistle, a blast of "peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep" and "Everybody out".

Actually, it didn't pan out that way.

My union's called another strike; last time I was a disgusting scabbing blackleg, mainly due to the futility of striking when my team were either non-union or scabbing to a man. This time I thought I'd better make up for it; the cause is a good one, and I would be spending the day reading the history's of Lenin, Marx and Engles as our good chairman would like of me. Ah cobblers, actually I spent it in the pub. The strike seemed much better supported than the last. Maybe union leaders should contact a reliable weather forecaster before they keep announcing these things! Sunshine is good for strike action.

Oh, and for the non-unionisti among you, I got hoisted by my own Petard, as the saying goes for my impertinence.

Phoned the DVLA for some paperwork queryduring the day... of course, "Our office is closed" answerphone message..... theres a strike on, dontcha know !!!

arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!