Premature Ejokeulation

Ah yes. Drunken quizzing. Note to self, "don't insist that your own round is the correct one to play the joker on (double points), coz you really ain't that clever when you're beered, and quizmasters are evil incarnate". Yeah. Better remember that one.

Rumours....

.... of the demise of this correspondent and his associated Blogosphere ramblings are greatly exaggerated. As are many things, and often by me for my own arrogant reputation ; but this time it's just down to busyness. Is that actually a word? Well, it is now. When stuff happens, I'm too busy doing other stuff to sit down and think of what to write about it, and when I do have notes, there's another ten things to do first and you lose your thoughts and blah blah blah, yakkety schmackety, you get my drift. For instance, from where I'm sat I can see within two feet of me at least two really serious things that need to be sorted Pretty Damned Quick, and there's no way I'm going to be able to sort them until Thursday, due to Bank Holidays and meetings that are Three Line Whips (if you're American or under the age of thirty, this is a political thing, not an ice cream); there is a lot of this about at the moment.

For example, did I mention that I saw the Vulcan fly AGAIN the other week? Hundred and eleven foot wingspan bomber buzzing straight over my head? And this time it worked properly, no naughty malfunctioning wheel door this time. AND it was just down the road at my local field, CBY. You'd think that'd be newsworthy, wouldn't you? Oh yes, got the timing right this time; thought about my shooting location, the shot I wanted to get. Of course, what I didn't take into account was the fact that the thing is about two and a half tons lighter than it used to be, lightly loaded with fuel and has four brand spanking new engines that haven't even been anywhere NEAR full power yet, so when it shot up in the air, it did it about half a runway before I expected it too, and was over eight hundred feet and climbing by the time it got to me, and the light was totally in the wrong direction anyway. But it was fun, non the less. A couple of weeks ago now. And I forgot to post something like THESE? Well, not forgot. But you get the idea.... Yes, that IS a giant teddy bear in the bomb aimers window.

Anyway. I am just back from inpromptu sofa sleep, and before that I was at work, and immediately before that I was on the road for about five hours coming back from falling over and pulling muscles in my clutch leg, and prior to that being at a friends wedding which is always a funky place to be, even if you're a grouchy old relationship grouch like me (free booze), which I MAY relate added details at some point (apart from to confirm that that having the night porters alsation growl at your head while you twitch and breakdance on the ground trying to work out if your calf muscle is just battered and bruised, or indeed has popped a hamstring is an experience that is lacking in fun). And I may not, depending upon if I can stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time....

Scorchio

The berry brown chap in the corner with the hair starting to bleach?

That'll be me, then. The airshow season starteth. And for once, I'm partaking. Popped down south, for reasons that temporarilly escape me. That's the problem with playing Blogger catchup. Record the timestamp at the time, then try to remember what the bloody hell you wanted to say, later in the week. Ah yes, popped in to see a band. Hamsters. Rather good, they are. Been following them for years. Beer, bands and mates. A jolly night, that'll be then. Managed to do the family thing too. And then, as it was Duxford's first of the season, I thought I'd mooch that way too.

Used to go to this place three times a year, when my time was my own and I saw as much of daylight hours as the average citizen. These days, I don't get the time. So what's new? I don't get the time to do anything, really. There's always five more things backed up. This day, I had the geography, the need to be passing through this airspace on my way somewhere else, some new photographic toys that have never been worked out on the Duxford environment and why the hell not? So the DSLR once again proved itself to be a dust hoover.... I'm going to be working on those pictures for weeks. The weather was near enough perfect; although they were using the wrong runway for pictures and the place has a tendency to "Mildenhall sunshine" (if you never went to the Air Fete, you'll never know). But I got toasty, not soaked, managed to not spend all my money on nonsense, rattled off a thousand pictures (oh, digital!), didn't care a jot about the bloody Blue Peter presenters that the commentators would NOT shut the f*ck up about (yes, we knew who they were, you told us five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and five minutes before THAT, and a week later, I notice the blonde one has now quit, was it something I said) and I think that if I'm a little bit committed (hands up all those who think I SHOULD be......) it might actually be worth making something of the airshow season this year; and here's where I fill the thing up with pictures to save me writing anything more. If a picture's worth a thousand words, here's half my first novel.

No Vulcan - probably more of that subject later on - and the B-17's new outboard engine went pop on it's first test flight the week previously, so that's some disappointed people. And being the first serious show of the season, a lot of things aren't up and running yet. No Red Arrows. No sign of quite a few of the warbirds, yet. But that just means Duxford have to think about what they are putting up a bit harder, and they brought out a damned good selection. Of course, the Typhoon was there, carving out great lumps of sky. As was the Wokka. Just point your camera, hold the button down and watch the decent shots pour out. Unless you were sat where I was! So hurrah to the Duxford planners. Worked for me. As did the hometime pint :o)

Tie me to the altar of the apple and sacrifice me to Somerset

Ah, so, remind me where imbibing real cider for three nights on the bang is a GOOD idea for keeping a clear head for work?

Smells good

Down south again. The air smells different here. Upon rising from my pit at the artificially late hour of eight, I can smell it straight away. Not a bad different either, a familiar one. Back in home plate, I drive past my old school and the playing field grass has a distinctive whiff; a bit mossy but different to the grass in codland that just smells grassy, sprayed with weedkiller once too often. It's a home smell rather than just a smell. Teens running about half dressed with their mates, was that once me? Hope not, for the sake of the public taste in my home village. Poor bastards, don’t realize the shite they’ve got coming their way yet.

They’re cleaning the Cornhill while I wait; a couple of driven machines wash and brush the waste from the market away. The young guy with a brush is on his first day on the job by the look of things, boots and overalls conspicuously brand new. Already bored, he has a cigarette between his fingers as he grips his broom. The place is alive with strutting Turks, all testosterone, perfect dark hair and insecurity. The old thin bearded guy in a wheelchair trundles himself across the square; he looks like the type that STILL believes that god is good and loves him. The one man in town still with a dodgy black heavy metal mullet, spotless shiney leather jacket and Deep Purple t-shirt STILL hasn't prayed at the temple of the Fashion-Sensie - mate, from one man to another, you look like a tit. Well, the night is fun, holds concerns of it's own but I do like bimbling around hometown on a summers evening, although these days I do it with a camera like a tourist; you can bet nobody else is taking photo's of a row of derelicts that used to be shopping, and then the bulldozers are in and it's gone. That's maybe why I'm a shutterhead?