Sneaking back sociability

So what is this business of sneaking off for a pint, six hours before my night shift? Been years since I've been that suicidally sociable, desparately maintaining a social life in the face of everything the job can chuck at me. Those were the days, and a bit more blatant than these... Into the town centre for eight thirty, into the pubbo to see the chaps, two quick pints and then via the kebab shop before skittling into the fun factory for eight and a half hours of nocturnal purgatory. At least these days I'm a tad more sane, get it sorted during the afternoon, grab a couple more hours of sleep in the early evening. Far more sane. Nice to see I'm making the effort though.

Special Shirts

Must have been that time of year again. Guts thrown out of sync, brain generally confuddled, extra milage on the car, must have been the hometown beerfestival again.

Back now to night shifts, that wonderful nullness of feeling you get when you've managed to shut out the coalface completely for a while and they throw you in at the deep end while at the same time labouring you with five burdens at once that demand your time, whilst counteracting each other magnificently. The consequence of a boss with a self admitted "butterfly mind", hey ho. But away from here I have been; I have been wearing special shirts. Beer festival demands special shirts. Well, actually it doesn't but it's a fairly major item on my calendar so special shirts must be invested in. In this case, fifty quids worth. And most successful they were too. "Cool", "Hell man, that's vile" and "nope, that doesn't improve with a second look". We'll call that a hit then.

Beer got drunk, so did I, the usual poke around the pub scene (no, I do not approve of the Swan (circa 1700 being decorated with a dot com stylee modern sign) and the usual avoidance of the Saturday night music session. The Oompah band on Friday seemed to come more from Saxmundham than Saxony, but they were entertaining anyway. And I see how nazi'ism spilled from bierhalls origionally; it's only a small step from swinging your pint along to the music to right arm salutes and invading small countries. The joys of short notice hotel booking via booking services. Not only the same hotel I stayed in last time, but the same room too. Anyways up, a jolly time away. Not long enough of course and didn't achieve half the things I wanted to. Pleasant enough bimble back though, via the coast and a shingle beach which is nice.

Now, back to the grind. What's next?

White dog turds

Why don't we see them any more? Where did they come from in the first place? Apart from dog's arses of course. Was it simply due to higher calcium content in dog food in those days? Or was it something more sinister. Even Wikipedia drew a blank, and amusingly tried to direct me to an article listing South Park characters. Freudian slip? I think we should be told.

Been on construction detail on Northbank. Putting up sheds at the festive house of Biro. Trusting me, with that sort of thing? It's bound to fall down. Unfortunately didn't have time to put the roof felt on, but in the spirit of pure bloody mindedness, secured the roof on even though the light had gone for the day. Also, in the spirit of pure bloody mindedness I fear that Jule's excellent other half may well have crocked himself in the construction process in a "spirit willing/body knackered" sort of concept. Probably good for the soul though.

Hurrah !

LINKY!

Does this mean that my marketing nemisis, Howard "Bloody""Himmler in Negative" Brown is out of a job, pestering my telly screen?

Heh!

Pie satire!

World of strangeness

Well, the brown package from Amazon landed with a thump on the mat yesterday; three new albums from an old and worshipped band's back catalogue (Half Man Half Biscuit if you're interested - nobody told me when they reformed in 1990 and I've got about fifteen years worth of backlog to deal with). I've got the usual "new album" trauma, but three times over. Used to get this with the likes of Metallica before they learned to suck dead donkey's cock; Hetfield started wearing designer glasses and eating organic and Ulrich - well, he always WAS a hyperactive gobby little shite that I couldn't abide. I realllllly want to like this stuff. I barely dare play 'em! Times three.

And strange times here in Fortress Shadey. We have company, boys and girls. A lodger, no less. Over in Jobdodgertown, the dwelling of the Combat Hobbit has burned up to the ground; the lower burrows and Mathom chambers are alright but those areas nearest the surface are done for. Apparently a cart went "phut" while bringing in a new supply of white man's electricity, that's a bit freaky ju-ju over there, and the brown string under the floorboards didn't much like it. Whoomph. No major changes here, except I'm eating a bit better and drinking a bit more (real cider really is bad for you, boys and girls), but there were these dwarves and some tall bloke in a pointy hat who turned up the other night talking about a dragon, but I told 'em to foxtrot oscar. Can I fit any more Tolkien references in here? No!

Fart jokes are still funny

Indeed they are.

But explain to me this, or file it forever in the "nowt so queer as folk" section. WHY, on Saturday while walking to the pub, did I encounter a bloke with a carrier bag plonked beside him, apparently waiting for a lift by a street corner wearing a full gas mask*? The midland's first Islamic gas attack in the making? How bizarre.

* a Soviet era full head mask, if I'm any judge of these things.