It's a difficult ride in this morning, very windy and seemingly against me all the way. It took ages to get to work which meant when I arrived I was well down the porridge queue. It's a bit like a scene from Oliver Twist in our office as the cyclists jostle for position with the gym bunnies to warm our gruel up in the microwave.
Derby Playhouse is back open, so someone's seen sense there.
It appears that the reputation of male driving instructors hasn't improved from what it was twenty years ago when I learnt to drive. One of their number has just been jailed for hiding a carrot in his trousers and using it to demonstrate his appreciation to female pupils who execute their manoeuvres to perfection. Well, I suppose twenty years ago they wouldn’t have felt the need to use a carrot, so things have improved a little. One thing it seems that hasn't changed is if you're female, and you're prepared to pull over into a lay-by, you can still get your tuition for free. Which although obviously not to everyone's liking, is handy if you're a poor student.
The wind doesn't seem to be as bad when I come to ride home or maybe it's just because it is now with me. I'm also very very pleased that I'm not in the car because Pride Park is more gridlocked than usual, the A52 is also static, and it's not until I am through Spondon that I can actually stop weaving between cars and actually get some momentum going. I don't notice the wind at all, that is until I have to do a left turn in Nottingham, when I almost get lifted off the ground. So the wind must have been with me after all, it's just a shame about all the hassle with the traffic, because that has surely cost me a wind assisted PB.
L says my blog the other day was very romantic but she assumes my motives are because I'm after my usual post-cycle warm down. I do look forward to my warm downs but tonight I have to swim first.
L is just leaving the gym as I arrive at the pool. She puts me on psycho alert, apparently she seen quite a few in the pool. Luckily by the time I get in its quite quiet, or perhaps I've scared them off... Nah. It gets better and after about five minutes I get a lane to myself. This enables me to practice my breathing on both sides without having to race anyone. I think I'm getting quite good at this now although I still feel inferior to L because she managed 32 lengths non-stop earlier whereas I have to keep stopping for a breather.
Back home, L takes a bit of persuading to help with my warm down, so my blog couldn't have been that romantic, but she cracks in the end.
We wander with Doggo up to the Plough. Legend 4.0% and two Supremes 5.2%.
Friday, 7 December 2007
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Being Chivalrous
I have to bike today despite the fact that's its squash because I haven't done any cycling so far this week. If I can do today and tomorrow then that will salvage the week. For December it isn't remotely cold, not even by L's standards and I get very hot feet in my waterproof bootees.
When I get to work there is an email from my opponent saying he's ill, so no squash. So it was a good call to cycle. I would have been well pissed off if I'd taken the bus and then found out he wasn't playing. Wish I’d brought my swimming stuff now because I also need to do a swim.
L is late emailing me; she says she forgot to check that I'm still alive. Hmmm, fancy forgetting about me. L reckons she's still deaf from the gig last night. I've not exactly got full hearing either.
Pub today, thankfully it's not my turn to drive because there isn't really room for us both on my bike. Steak pie and almost AF... but not quite. Hopefully low alcohol enough not to cause any wobbles on the way home.
Needn't have worried about having a drink, the rain on the way home is very sobering. As its still raining when I get home, I chivalrously collect L from work, which means the rain promptly stops. We decide to take Doggo for a run, which naturally kicks the rain off again.
Back home and dried off for a second time, L cooks a decent chilli and then she has an early night while I update this blog which has slipped well behind schedule. I manage to slot L in later on but although it's after her watershed, I don't think she notices.
When I get to work there is an email from my opponent saying he's ill, so no squash. So it was a good call to cycle. I would have been well pissed off if I'd taken the bus and then found out he wasn't playing. Wish I’d brought my swimming stuff now because I also need to do a swim.
L is late emailing me; she says she forgot to check that I'm still alive. Hmmm, fancy forgetting about me. L reckons she's still deaf from the gig last night. I've not exactly got full hearing either.
Pub today, thankfully it's not my turn to drive because there isn't really room for us both on my bike. Steak pie and almost AF... but not quite. Hopefully low alcohol enough not to cause any wobbles on the way home.
Needn't have worried about having a drink, the rain on the way home is very sobering. As its still raining when I get home, I chivalrously collect L from work, which means the rain promptly stops. We decide to take Doggo for a run, which naturally kicks the rain off again.
Back home and dried off for a second time, L cooks a decent chilli and then she has an early night while I update this blog which has slipped well behind schedule. I manage to slot L in later on but although it's after her watershed, I don't think she notices.
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
What Happens To Punks When They Get Old?
I wake up in the hotel with a double bed to myself. Sadly no L but also no collie either, which means I can stretch out a bit.
Our meeting and presentation goes well. Although we don't quite know how to take the Customer Liaison Manager who loves the system so much he tells everyone how much it is turning him on, graphically. I felt sorry for the two women in the meeting but they were obviously well used to it.
At 11am they thoughtfully arrange a fire drill. Everyone has to evacuate to the car park where it is bucketing it down with the rain. All the fire doors are locked so we can't even get our coats. Fire doors might stop a fire but I'm not sure they need to lock them; fire isn't that clever. All it's going to do is stop people escaping. I manage to shelter somewhere but my colleague is not so lucky and is declared the winner of the impromptu wet work shirt competition.
Its 6.30 when I get back home and I get a text from L saying she'll meet me between 7.30-7.45, which gives me enough time to entertain Doggo. Then I get another text saying 'see you at 7', so I rush down to her, only to notice when I get there, that the 7pm text pre-dates the 7.30 one. It's just that I didn't receive them in that order. Good old modern technology.
I have a Landlord in Cast then we head to the Rescue Rooms because tonight it's the Icicle Works. Our ticket numbers are 41 and 42, so we're expecting a nice cosy gig and we're not disappointed. L has said all along that she's aiming for the front row and she gets it. I warn her about crowd surfing, for a start she’ll make Daughter jealous but also there aren’t really enough people to surf along, it could be painful.
The support band are called Amsterdam but we only catch their last song, so it's difficult to comment but word has it they could be the next big thing. Although they would say that wouldn't they.
After being solo for something like 15 years, last year Ian McNabb surprised everybody by resurrecting the 'The Icicle Works' for a series of gigs. They obviously enjoyed it because they are back again this year. As it turns out though this isn't the original band, only Ian McNabb survives of the original line-up, although bass player Roy Corkill joined around 1990. Tonight he is joined by former Dodgy drummer Matthew Priest and keyboard player Richard Naiff, who apparently is fresh from touring with the Waterboys. He's quite a character is Richard, I can honestly say I've never seen anyone enjoy playing keyboards as much as he seemed to.
The first time I saw the Icicle Works back in the eighties, a friend had to talk me into going but I was impressed because they were a great live band and I subsequently went to see them several more times until they split up in the early nineties.
They start tonight with the 'When It All Comes Down', released when the band were at the height of their fame and it still sounds great. I think L immediately regrets being on the front row. You can't fault the view but they have the sound turned up very loud for such a small venue and every time Matthew Priest hits his bass drum the resulting throb and whoosh of air from the speaker parts the hair of the front three rows.
McNabb plays pretty much a 'favourites' set with the notable exception of 'Birds Fly' which is not played tonight but 'Evangeline', 'What She Did To My Mind', 'Seven Horses', 'Up Here In The North Of England' etc all are, along with some of the more sickly later stuff. McNabb also throws in one of this own solo tracks, which shows that he remains a very talented musician, although he still seems irked that people don't buy his solo albums but I think he's past caring now.
As we reach the end of the main set, I become aware of a chap with a Mohican dancing manically next to me. So if you ever wondered what happens to punks when they get too old to pogo to 'Pretty Vacant', well they go see Ian McNabb and freak out to 'Understanding Jane' instead. As for what happens to groupies when they get old, well I'm afraid they all get fat, hog the front row and step on my toes. Ouch.
The set list, which we can see from where we are, only lists one song as an encore, that being 'Hollow Horse' but after an enormously long time off stage they return to play three slightly more obscure album tracks instead. Presumably they needed the long break to discuss what they were going to play.
The crowd cheer them back for a second encore, quickly this time, to play the previously planned 'Hollow Horse'. One criticism of McNabb, and he is well know for this, is that there were too many karaoke moments tonight. On several songs McNabb stepped back from his mic during the chorus and cupped his ear encouraging the crowd to take over. Which they do but as it isn't a huge audience this isn't terribly effective. As he does this on 'Hollow Horse' I realise that this song isn't terribly easy to sing along to anyway, particularly when unaided by the vocalist. I hate it when bands do this sort of thing. It's one thing the audience joining in with the songs but it's another thing entirely if the singer takes a break and leaves them to it. We have, after all, paid our money to hear him sing.
They return for a third time to close with 'Love Is A Wonderful Colour', their one and only big hit. This is all very eighties, these days the trend is for no encores or grudgingly just the one. No one plays two these days, let alone three. I wondered if they might keep coming back on stage even if we all went home because it is clear that McNabb and his band are clearly having fun.
Top gig.
Our meeting and presentation goes well. Although we don't quite know how to take the Customer Liaison Manager who loves the system so much he tells everyone how much it is turning him on, graphically. I felt sorry for the two women in the meeting but they were obviously well used to it.
At 11am they thoughtfully arrange a fire drill. Everyone has to evacuate to the car park where it is bucketing it down with the rain. All the fire doors are locked so we can't even get our coats. Fire doors might stop a fire but I'm not sure they need to lock them; fire isn't that clever. All it's going to do is stop people escaping. I manage to shelter somewhere but my colleague is not so lucky and is declared the winner of the impromptu wet work shirt competition.
Its 6.30 when I get back home and I get a text from L saying she'll meet me between 7.30-7.45, which gives me enough time to entertain Doggo. Then I get another text saying 'see you at 7', so I rush down to her, only to notice when I get there, that the 7pm text pre-dates the 7.30 one. It's just that I didn't receive them in that order. Good old modern technology.
I have a Landlord in Cast then we head to the Rescue Rooms because tonight it's the Icicle Works. Our ticket numbers are 41 and 42, so we're expecting a nice cosy gig and we're not disappointed. L has said all along that she's aiming for the front row and she gets it. I warn her about crowd surfing, for a start she’ll make Daughter jealous but also there aren’t really enough people to surf along, it could be painful.
The support band are called Amsterdam but we only catch their last song, so it's difficult to comment but word has it they could be the next big thing. Although they would say that wouldn't they.
After being solo for something like 15 years, last year Ian McNabb surprised everybody by resurrecting the 'The Icicle Works' for a series of gigs. They obviously enjoyed it because they are back again this year. As it turns out though this isn't the original band, only Ian McNabb survives of the original line-up, although bass player Roy Corkill joined around 1990. Tonight he is joined by former Dodgy drummer Matthew Priest and keyboard player Richard Naiff, who apparently is fresh from touring with the Waterboys. He's quite a character is Richard, I can honestly say I've never seen anyone enjoy playing keyboards as much as he seemed to.
The first time I saw the Icicle Works back in the eighties, a friend had to talk me into going but I was impressed because they were a great live band and I subsequently went to see them several more times until they split up in the early nineties.
They start tonight with the 'When It All Comes Down', released when the band were at the height of their fame and it still sounds great. I think L immediately regrets being on the front row. You can't fault the view but they have the sound turned up very loud for such a small venue and every time Matthew Priest hits his bass drum the resulting throb and whoosh of air from the speaker parts the hair of the front three rows.
McNabb plays pretty much a 'favourites' set with the notable exception of 'Birds Fly' which is not played tonight but 'Evangeline', 'What She Did To My Mind', 'Seven Horses', 'Up Here In The North Of England' etc all are, along with some of the more sickly later stuff. McNabb also throws in one of this own solo tracks, which shows that he remains a very talented musician, although he still seems irked that people don't buy his solo albums but I think he's past caring now.
As we reach the end of the main set, I become aware of a chap with a Mohican dancing manically next to me. So if you ever wondered what happens to punks when they get too old to pogo to 'Pretty Vacant', well they go see Ian McNabb and freak out to 'Understanding Jane' instead. As for what happens to groupies when they get old, well I'm afraid they all get fat, hog the front row and step on my toes. Ouch.
The set list, which we can see from where we are, only lists one song as an encore, that being 'Hollow Horse' but after an enormously long time off stage they return to play three slightly more obscure album tracks instead. Presumably they needed the long break to discuss what they were going to play.
The crowd cheer them back for a second encore, quickly this time, to play the previously planned 'Hollow Horse'. One criticism of McNabb, and he is well know for this, is that there were too many karaoke moments tonight. On several songs McNabb stepped back from his mic during the chorus and cupped his ear encouraging the crowd to take over. Which they do but as it isn't a huge audience this isn't terribly effective. As he does this on 'Hollow Horse' I realise that this song isn't terribly easy to sing along to anyway, particularly when unaided by the vocalist. I hate it when bands do this sort of thing. It's one thing the audience joining in with the songs but it's another thing entirely if the singer takes a break and leaves them to it. We have, after all, paid our money to hear him sing.
They return for a third time to close with 'Love Is A Wonderful Colour', their one and only big hit. This is all very eighties, these days the trend is for no encores or grudgingly just the one. No one plays two these days, let alone three. I wondered if they might keep coming back on stage even if we all went home because it is clear that McNabb and his band are clearly having fun.
Top gig.
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
Stella - She’s A Bit Misunderstood
In the car for the second day in a row because I’m going down to Sewage Central (Maidstone) again this evening.
It’s manic at work as we get ready for the presentation we have to do tomorrow. This isn’t helped much by the fact that we have three power cuts during the morning. Ah, the joys of living on a building site. The power cuts keep knocking out the email, the internet and the air conditioning, as well as crashing my PC. Luckily we’re preparing the presentation on a battery powered laptop.
When I get home, time is short so I help myself. Act now, ask questions later. L doesn’t seem to mind.
I get picked up by my work colleagues and we head down south. Last time I was in Maidstone I got a bit too friendly with Stella. She’s a bit misunderstood is Stella. She often gets mistaken for being French but she’s actually of Belgium heritage although she now lives in not so sophisticated Wales. She’s sometimes been described as ‘reassuringly expensive’ but the irony is that Stella is actually rather common and she’s anything but expensive. In fact, she’s always offering herself cheap in our local supermarket.
L quotes Jamie T to me ‘Sheila goes out with her mate Stella; it gets poured all over a fella’.
I decide to dump Stella and get my hands on a Boddingtons instead. Extra cold. Brrrr. Chilled to within an inch of its life, lack of taste guaranteed but it’s better than Stella.
My colleague is currently into the second half of the dating game (life is a game of football after all). The first half is played when you’re under 25 and everyone is pulling each other, playing the field. Well it never really worked out like that for me but that’s the theory. What I didn’t realise then but found out later and what he’s just discovering is that there’s a second half, a second field to play. This is when all the divorcees and single parents with kids come out to play. All who are now in either their dirty thirties or their filthy forties. The trick, of course, is not to fall in love with the first one you meet, which is where I went wrong (I mean right). He’s already on his second, good man but then again he’ll probably never have the good fortune to meet anyone as brilliant as L.
I wonder if there’s extra time when you get to 50?
It’s manic at work as we get ready for the presentation we have to do tomorrow. This isn’t helped much by the fact that we have three power cuts during the morning. Ah, the joys of living on a building site. The power cuts keep knocking out the email, the internet and the air conditioning, as well as crashing my PC. Luckily we’re preparing the presentation on a battery powered laptop.
When I get home, time is short so I help myself. Act now, ask questions later. L doesn’t seem to mind.
I get picked up by my work colleagues and we head down south. Last time I was in Maidstone I got a bit too friendly with Stella. She’s a bit misunderstood is Stella. She often gets mistaken for being French but she’s actually of Belgium heritage although she now lives in not so sophisticated Wales. She’s sometimes been described as ‘reassuringly expensive’ but the irony is that Stella is actually rather common and she’s anything but expensive. In fact, she’s always offering herself cheap in our local supermarket.
L quotes Jamie T to me ‘Sheila goes out with her mate Stella; it gets poured all over a fella’.
I decide to dump Stella and get my hands on a Boddingtons instead. Extra cold. Brrrr. Chilled to within an inch of its life, lack of taste guaranteed but it’s better than Stella.
My colleague is currently into the second half of the dating game (life is a game of football after all). The first half is played when you’re under 25 and everyone is pulling each other, playing the field. Well it never really worked out like that for me but that’s the theory. What I didn’t realise then but found out later and what he’s just discovering is that there’s a second half, a second field to play. This is when all the divorcees and single parents with kids come out to play. All who are now in either their dirty thirties or their filthy forties. The trick, of course, is not to fall in love with the first one you meet, which is where I went wrong (I mean right). He’s already on his second, good man but then again he’ll probably never have the good fortune to meet anyone as brilliant as L.
I wonder if there’s extra time when you get to 50?
Monday, 3 December 2007
'Tis The Season To Be Jolly (Not)
'Tis the season to be jolly (not). So goes the gospel according to L, who’s just bought her first Christmas present. This is very slack of her because I bought my first one yesterday. This means I’m about two weeks ahead of schedule, although I’m not sure where my next one is coming from.
Pacesetters events send me their fixture list of Triathlons for next season. Why are they sending this information to me?
It’s also not the season to be jolly in Derby. Derby Playhouse has been closed by its board because it’s losing money. Oddly this has been done just at the start of the profitable Christmas run which would have helped to reduce its debt. The Playhouse had already sold out many of its performances of Treasure Island.
The board even mistakenly put it in to Liquidation before realising that Administration was the correct option. Unfortunately they won’t sell it to a private owner who would undoubtedly turn it into a profitable business and many are interested. The council will say that private ownership would not benefit the good people of Derby where of course a shut theatre does!
This type of thing only happens in Derby. Well... or in Nottingham too I suppose, which is the city that takes 18 months to re-slab an area no bigger than a football pitch or perhaps it’s just anywhere a council is involved.
We have a good dogging session and then collect L from yoga as usual. I do a mean Salmon Curry. Which we follow with another episode of Bleak House and something a bit more jolly in the bedroom.
Pacesetters events send me their fixture list of Triathlons for next season. Why are they sending this information to me?
It’s also not the season to be jolly in Derby. Derby Playhouse has been closed by its board because it’s losing money. Oddly this has been done just at the start of the profitable Christmas run which would have helped to reduce its debt. The Playhouse had already sold out many of its performances of Treasure Island.
The board even mistakenly put it in to Liquidation before realising that Administration was the correct option. Unfortunately they won’t sell it to a private owner who would undoubtedly turn it into a profitable business and many are interested. The council will say that private ownership would not benefit the good people of Derby where of course a shut theatre does!
This type of thing only happens in Derby. Well... or in Nottingham too I suppose, which is the city that takes 18 months to re-slab an area no bigger than a football pitch or perhaps it’s just anywhere a council is involved.
We have a good dogging session and then collect L from yoga as usual. I do a mean Salmon Curry. Which we follow with another episode of Bleak House and something a bit more jolly in the bedroom.
Sunday, 2 December 2007
Don't Mess With The Chillies
Another lively lie-in and then I finally get some training in. I take Doggo for a run around pond and park. L joins us for most of the route. He drags his paws at certain points but generally he’s not too bad.
The afternoon is spent at the dog club AGM, dogs not invited. We win a prize, despite not trying to. It’s a team prize which we didn’t contribute to because we didn’t know a team prize was on offer, so we didn’t send our points in. Good job they weren’t depending on us. The buffet lunch is so dog club:- pastries, sausages, white bread and even chips. Doggo loves his prizes: - a fluffy ball, and a huge chewy bone. Keeps him ‘noisy’ for hours.
The FA Cup draw pairs us with Sheffield Weds, which means a return home for four of our former players and a meeting for Paul Jewell with one of his former clubs.
L cooks up roast beef for tea. Excellent.
Tonight we watch a film at home on DVD. The film is Mistress Of Spices. A story about a girl called Tilo, played by the Miss World of 1994, who is a member of a cult of some sort that worships spices. She turns up in America and runs a shop from where she helps people solve their problems by simply mixing the right spices together. Nice trick if you can do it and nobody seems to think that there's anything usual about this. She also has the power to see the future, so she can fix their problems before they happen, which is handy. This all sounds a bit familiar to me, isn't this Chocolat but with coriander instead?
When a chap called Doug happens to fall off his motorbike outside her store (well staged Doug, we know your game), she patches him up with a quick curry masala to his injured arm and voilà they are instantly hot as a Jalfrazi for each other. At which point her little spice empire starts to unravel as she breaks the three golden rules. Which are that she must never leave her shop; never touch the skin of another person (bit difficult when she wants to jump him) and finally she can never use the spices for her own gain.
She tries (half-heartedly) to reject Doug's advances, probably because the chillies disapprove and give her a right telling off but she ignores them and continues to fraternise with him. This makes the chillies really furious and all the spices gang up to punish her. This affects all the people she has helped by undoing the good she has done for them.
In the end she has to choose. Does she stick to her sad lonely life pummelling her spices with her pestle and mortar or does she get spicy with Doug and get him to do the pummelling instead. Well needless to say they get their night of passion, cue some erotic undressing, but the jealous chillies (green ones naturally) trash the shop. Luckily Saint Doug offers to rebuild her business. Ah, a happy ending.
The film is obviously very much a fantasy tale. It’s a light and fluffy Sunday night film, the antidote to Jessie James. A predictable but pleasant film. One thing though that really got to me was the voice-over of her inner thoughts. It reminded me of Tatiana, a very dubious film I once saw...
We’re on such a role, we encore with an episode of Bleak House.
Wait for it, drum roll... 25 units this week.
The afternoon is spent at the dog club AGM, dogs not invited. We win a prize, despite not trying to. It’s a team prize which we didn’t contribute to because we didn’t know a team prize was on offer, so we didn’t send our points in. Good job they weren’t depending on us. The buffet lunch is so dog club:- pastries, sausages, white bread and even chips. Doggo loves his prizes: - a fluffy ball, and a huge chewy bone. Keeps him ‘noisy’ for hours.
The FA Cup draw pairs us with Sheffield Weds, which means a return home for four of our former players and a meeting for Paul Jewell with one of his former clubs.
L cooks up roast beef for tea. Excellent.
Tonight we watch a film at home on DVD. The film is Mistress Of Spices. A story about a girl called Tilo, played by the Miss World of 1994, who is a member of a cult of some sort that worships spices. She turns up in America and runs a shop from where she helps people solve their problems by simply mixing the right spices together. Nice trick if you can do it and nobody seems to think that there's anything usual about this. She also has the power to see the future, so she can fix their problems before they happen, which is handy. This all sounds a bit familiar to me, isn't this Chocolat but with coriander instead?
When a chap called Doug happens to fall off his motorbike outside her store (well staged Doug, we know your game), she patches him up with a quick curry masala to his injured arm and voilà they are instantly hot as a Jalfrazi for each other. At which point her little spice empire starts to unravel as she breaks the three golden rules. Which are that she must never leave her shop; never touch the skin of another person (bit difficult when she wants to jump him) and finally she can never use the spices for her own gain.
She tries (half-heartedly) to reject Doug's advances, probably because the chillies disapprove and give her a right telling off but she ignores them and continues to fraternise with him. This makes the chillies really furious and all the spices gang up to punish her. This affects all the people she has helped by undoing the good she has done for them.
In the end she has to choose. Does she stick to her sad lonely life pummelling her spices with her pestle and mortar or does she get spicy with Doug and get him to do the pummelling instead. Well needless to say they get their night of passion, cue some erotic undressing, but the jealous chillies (green ones naturally) trash the shop. Luckily Saint Doug offers to rebuild her business. Ah, a happy ending.
The film is obviously very much a fantasy tale. It’s a light and fluffy Sunday night film, the antidote to Jessie James. A predictable but pleasant film. One thing though that really got to me was the voice-over of her inner thoughts. It reminded me of Tatiana, a very dubious film I once saw...
We’re on such a role, we encore with an episode of Bleak House.
Wait for it, drum roll... 25 units this week.
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Does What It Says On The Tin
After the usual lie in, I take Doggo on the park. I extend it, against Doggo’s wishes, by meeting L who has walked Daughter across the park to a friend’s house.
L goes off to the gym and into town while I settle in for the torment that will be Paul Jewell’s first game in charge. I hope he goes for it at Sunderland, as they did let in 7 last week. If we could go there and win, then possibly I could revise my maximum points estimate up to an impressive 31. I sat down with a friend the other week and worked out that with a lot of luck we could get 29 points by the end of the season. Don't knock it; it's almost twice Sunderland's record lowest score. It doesn’t say much for my confidence in the lads that before the season started I worked out how many points we'd get and I came up with 26 but according to my calculation we should have 11 now and we only have 6. So not promising.
The game is, as usual, a disappointment. Performance wise, we are a lot better and we play two up front. We have enough chances to win but realistically a draw is a fair result between two sides who both have ‘Championship’ written all over them, which looks like how it’s going to finish until they sneak the winner in the third minute of injury time.
At the end of the match I walk into town and meet L at Broadway. We have ‘bite’ but are appalled to find that they have upped their prices and not by a small amount either. I hope their new found fame isn’t going to their heads. I sensibly have a mango juice with it as I know we have a near three-hour marathon ahead of us and want to give myself a fair chance of not dozing off in it. Having eaten we still have an hour until the film is on, so be bravely nip out into the Lace Market, where usually get lost and find the Keanes head, where the Mordue Stout 4.7% is wonderful.
Tonight’s film is long in title and long in length ‘The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford’. Which actually 'does what is says on the tin' and gives away the plot in its title.
I think part of the idea of the film is to get us better acquainted with Jesse James. The legend suggests he was a Robin Hood type character targeting the rich banks and railroads. The film says otherwise and paints him more as a moody ruffian. The story opens with what proved to be his last train robbery at Blue Cut. After the robbery, he attempts to retire. James is sick of being on the run with his family, even his children don't know his real name, for fear of capture.
Most of James's usual gang are no longer with him, all either jailed or dead, so for this job he has recruited a new one. One of which is Robert Ford. Ford idolises James but is also in fear of him as he quickly learns that the murderous train-robbers are no Robin Hood's. After helping James move his family to their latest new safe location, Ford stays on as a house guest.
Meanwhile the rest of the gang grow restless waiting for word of their next job. James begins to fear them turning him in or killing him in exchange for their own safety and the reward money. So he decides to get rid of those that may be conspiring against him. Unfortunately the film doesn't quite let you a feel for who these characters are before they disappear. After a while he seems to give up and begins to act like a man who knows the end is coming but no longer has the will to try and avoid it.
When the Sheriff enlists Ford to help him get James, Ford assumes that this will lead to him becoming a hero. So Ford cowardly shoots James in the back. When it happens, it's all a bit of a surprise because after waiting so long for it to happen, it is all over so quickly.
Ford though is mistaken about becoming a hero instead he is met with disrespect and called the biggest coward in history whilst James's star just grows brighter. Then another man gets the idea that Robert had; to murder someone famous to be remembered and this second murder ends Robert Ford's life too.
I wasn't sure what to make of the film. The word ‘epic’ springs to mind. There's some unforgettable imagery, stunning shots of floating clouds, desolate landscapes, smoke, snow, rain. It’s more art than movie.
The story itself, is a complex tale of betrayal, paranoia, suspicion, and often-disturbing acts of violence. It works in that respect because you do get a sense of the fear that they all feel, knowing that around any corner they could get shot.
Then there are the intense performances, some superb acting. Brad Pitt is excellent as the brooding, tortured mess that is Jessie James. Casey Affleck too is good as Robert Ford.
Unfortunately everything unfolds at a slow, methodical almost snails' pace in what is a very long film. Although apparently the directors original cut was near on four hours but the studio thankfully made him trim it a bit. It is a western without action. An oldish couple in front of us leave early although his wife clearly nagged him into it.
I am tired before we arrive and I rest my eyes a little during the adverts but yes I do doze off at some of the slower parts of the film.
Afterwards we pop into the Dragon but don’t stay. Instead we have a couple of Leffe’s at Ropewalk before heading home.
L goes off to the gym and into town while I settle in for the torment that will be Paul Jewell’s first game in charge. I hope he goes for it at Sunderland, as they did let in 7 last week. If we could go there and win, then possibly I could revise my maximum points estimate up to an impressive 31. I sat down with a friend the other week and worked out that with a lot of luck we could get 29 points by the end of the season. Don't knock it; it's almost twice Sunderland's record lowest score. It doesn’t say much for my confidence in the lads that before the season started I worked out how many points we'd get and I came up with 26 but according to my calculation we should have 11 now and we only have 6. So not promising.
The game is, as usual, a disappointment. Performance wise, we are a lot better and we play two up front. We have enough chances to win but realistically a draw is a fair result between two sides who both have ‘Championship’ written all over them, which looks like how it’s going to finish until they sneak the winner in the third minute of injury time.
At the end of the match I walk into town and meet L at Broadway. We have ‘bite’ but are appalled to find that they have upped their prices and not by a small amount either. I hope their new found fame isn’t going to their heads. I sensibly have a mango juice with it as I know we have a near three-hour marathon ahead of us and want to give myself a fair chance of not dozing off in it. Having eaten we still have an hour until the film is on, so be bravely nip out into the Lace Market, where usually get lost and find the Keanes head, where the Mordue Stout 4.7% is wonderful.
Tonight’s film is long in title and long in length ‘The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford’. Which actually 'does what is says on the tin' and gives away the plot in its title.
I think part of the idea of the film is to get us better acquainted with Jesse James. The legend suggests he was a Robin Hood type character targeting the rich banks and railroads. The film says otherwise and paints him more as a moody ruffian. The story opens with what proved to be his last train robbery at Blue Cut. After the robbery, he attempts to retire. James is sick of being on the run with his family, even his children don't know his real name, for fear of capture.
Most of James's usual gang are no longer with him, all either jailed or dead, so for this job he has recruited a new one. One of which is Robert Ford. Ford idolises James but is also in fear of him as he quickly learns that the murderous train-robbers are no Robin Hood's. After helping James move his family to their latest new safe location, Ford stays on as a house guest.
Meanwhile the rest of the gang grow restless waiting for word of their next job. James begins to fear them turning him in or killing him in exchange for their own safety and the reward money. So he decides to get rid of those that may be conspiring against him. Unfortunately the film doesn't quite let you a feel for who these characters are before they disappear. After a while he seems to give up and begins to act like a man who knows the end is coming but no longer has the will to try and avoid it.
When the Sheriff enlists Ford to help him get James, Ford assumes that this will lead to him becoming a hero. So Ford cowardly shoots James in the back. When it happens, it's all a bit of a surprise because after waiting so long for it to happen, it is all over so quickly.
Ford though is mistaken about becoming a hero instead he is met with disrespect and called the biggest coward in history whilst James's star just grows brighter. Then another man gets the idea that Robert had; to murder someone famous to be remembered and this second murder ends Robert Ford's life too.
I wasn't sure what to make of the film. The word ‘epic’ springs to mind. There's some unforgettable imagery, stunning shots of floating clouds, desolate landscapes, smoke, snow, rain. It’s more art than movie.
The story itself, is a complex tale of betrayal, paranoia, suspicion, and often-disturbing acts of violence. It works in that respect because you do get a sense of the fear that they all feel, knowing that around any corner they could get shot.
Then there are the intense performances, some superb acting. Brad Pitt is excellent as the brooding, tortured mess that is Jessie James. Casey Affleck too is good as Robert Ford.
Unfortunately everything unfolds at a slow, methodical almost snails' pace in what is a very long film. Although apparently the directors original cut was near on four hours but the studio thankfully made him trim it a bit. It is a western without action. An oldish couple in front of us leave early although his wife clearly nagged him into it.
I am tired before we arrive and I rest my eyes a little during the adverts but yes I do doze off at some of the slower parts of the film.
Afterwards we pop into the Dragon but don’t stay. Instead we have a couple of Leffe’s at Ropewalk before heading home.
Friday, 30 November 2007
Use It Or Lose It
Regrettably time is short, so I have to turn down L. 'Use it or lose it' L tells me, which makes me sound like the local telephone box. Later.
Bike. I try my new route again. It's a 1.5km longer but only takes about three minutes more because there's no Asda roundabout, no Raynesway roundabout and no bridge over the A52 but already I'm nostalgic for my old route. the new one’s not exactly pretty, it goes past a lot of factories, the road surface is really grimy, there’s lots of lorries and I had to stop at the railway crossing this morning.
I also used the heart rate monitor again with much more success, now that I know that, like a lot of good things, it works better when wet. 155 maximum, 137 average. Is that good? I've no idea.
No one overtook me today and no women to flash my lycra at but as usual plenty of drongos. I did have fun tailing a chap along the cycle path, he looked a serious cyclist but he’d got a huge saddle bag on one side of his bike, which seemed to make it lean quite alarmingly. Don’t how he managed to keep it all upright in the wind.
It's less fun on the way home because there are not one but two attempts on my life. Firstly coming through Spondon I suddenly spot a drongo on a MTB coming towards me at 90 degrees across the line of traffic. He lurches in front of me, I brake, skid but hold it together and avoid hitting him. He cycles off down the road, as if nothing had happened. Bobble hat, no helmet obviously and no lights either. I assume he also had headphones on but didn’t get chance to check. After I had regained my composure I catch him and overtake him. I think about berating him but decide not to, riding like that; he’ll be flattened before the years out in any case.
Then to cap it all when I’m descending into Risley, head down, battling the wind. I see a flash of yellow and look up just in time to see a runner in a yellow bib coming towards me in the cycle lane, again no lights, we even light our collie when we run. Again I swerve at the last minute and just miss him. Pillock, didn’t he think of getting out of my way, he must have seen my lights. His bib is only good when it’s got car lights to illuminate it.
Get home and have a freaky experience with L. She bites on some seed or something and a horrible blister appears inside her mouth. This takes the edge off my warm down but 'use it or lose it'...
Later, we walk to Beeston and I have four pints at Scottish night, as its St. Andrews Day today.
Bike. I try my new route again. It's a 1.5km longer but only takes about three minutes more because there's no Asda roundabout, no Raynesway roundabout and no bridge over the A52 but already I'm nostalgic for my old route. the new one’s not exactly pretty, it goes past a lot of factories, the road surface is really grimy, there’s lots of lorries and I had to stop at the railway crossing this morning.
I also used the heart rate monitor again with much more success, now that I know that, like a lot of good things, it works better when wet. 155 maximum, 137 average. Is that good? I've no idea.
No one overtook me today and no women to flash my lycra at but as usual plenty of drongos. I did have fun tailing a chap along the cycle path, he looked a serious cyclist but he’d got a huge saddle bag on one side of his bike, which seemed to make it lean quite alarmingly. Don’t how he managed to keep it all upright in the wind.
It's less fun on the way home because there are not one but two attempts on my life. Firstly coming through Spondon I suddenly spot a drongo on a MTB coming towards me at 90 degrees across the line of traffic. He lurches in front of me, I brake, skid but hold it together and avoid hitting him. He cycles off down the road, as if nothing had happened. Bobble hat, no helmet obviously and no lights either. I assume he also had headphones on but didn’t get chance to check. After I had regained my composure I catch him and overtake him. I think about berating him but decide not to, riding like that; he’ll be flattened before the years out in any case.
Then to cap it all when I’m descending into Risley, head down, battling the wind. I see a flash of yellow and look up just in time to see a runner in a yellow bib coming towards me in the cycle lane, again no lights, we even light our collie when we run. Again I swerve at the last minute and just miss him. Pillock, didn’t he think of getting out of my way, he must have seen my lights. His bib is only good when it’s got car lights to illuminate it.
Get home and have a freaky experience with L. She bites on some seed or something and a horrible blister appears inside her mouth. This takes the edge off my warm down but 'use it or lose it'...
Later, we walk to Beeston and I have four pints at Scottish night, as its St. Andrews Day today.
Thursday, 29 November 2007
Odd Morning
It's been an odd morning.
Odd happening number one. L offers to help Son with his paper round but it means he has to get up before (gulp) 7am. He accepts.
Odd happening number two. I shout Daughter to get up and she replies 'Thanks' and not 'Go to hell I'm having another half an hour' or words to that effect.
Odd happening number three. The bus driver gives me change and not in 5p coins, in notes.
They say that mobile phones may cause brain damage. Too late. Looking at the various specimens on the bus this morning with them jammed against their ears, it's already happened. Mobile phone girl is in full flow, recommending to her friend that she get herself a Wonderbra. Then after a pause, and this is major moment in everyone's lives on the bus today because she never pauses, she sheepishly say 'Oh. Didn't realise you always wear one. You look great in it, it really suits you.' Creep.
This week in the post I've had a renewal notice from Camra for our life membership that 'runs out' on 01/01/2008! So I ring them up in a rage, expecting to be told that life no longer means life and just like criminals you are ‘free’ after so many years but apparently no, it's their fault, a computer error.
Squash. So bad were my opponents blisters after his 'wrong shoes' moment last week that he reckons he's been wearing slippers all week, even in the supermarket.
I lose the first nine points without returning a decent ball. I finally get going or perhaps his arm just gets tired after so much serving and we split the rest of the points in that game, which obviously isn't enough to save it for me. Things are much better in the next which I win easily. I lose a close third but then win an epic fourth 16-14. He's not happy about that. The decider is close but I lose out. That does him in and he concedes the next game when I'm 12-5 up, he's never done that before. I assume he's saving himself for the last game which he duly wins. So I lose the match 3-2 and the night 4-3 but I'm pleased with that.
Another ale from the Cottage Brewery in the pub, very nice this week. One and a half pints. Home to L and a glass of red and some 'real' slag. L says I need the red wine to cut through the cholesterol in the Spanish Omelette and chips, healthy chips though.
Odd happening number one. L offers to help Son with his paper round but it means he has to get up before (gulp) 7am. He accepts.
Odd happening number two. I shout Daughter to get up and she replies 'Thanks' and not 'Go to hell I'm having another half an hour' or words to that effect.
Odd happening number three. The bus driver gives me change and not in 5p coins, in notes.
They say that mobile phones may cause brain damage. Too late. Looking at the various specimens on the bus this morning with them jammed against their ears, it's already happened. Mobile phone girl is in full flow, recommending to her friend that she get herself a Wonderbra. Then after a pause, and this is major moment in everyone's lives on the bus today because she never pauses, she sheepishly say 'Oh. Didn't realise you always wear one. You look great in it, it really suits you.' Creep.
This week in the post I've had a renewal notice from Camra for our life membership that 'runs out' on 01/01/2008! So I ring them up in a rage, expecting to be told that life no longer means life and just like criminals you are ‘free’ after so many years but apparently no, it's their fault, a computer error.
Squash. So bad were my opponents blisters after his 'wrong shoes' moment last week that he reckons he's been wearing slippers all week, even in the supermarket.
I lose the first nine points without returning a decent ball. I finally get going or perhaps his arm just gets tired after so much serving and we split the rest of the points in that game, which obviously isn't enough to save it for me. Things are much better in the next which I win easily. I lose a close third but then win an epic fourth 16-14. He's not happy about that. The decider is close but I lose out. That does him in and he concedes the next game when I'm 12-5 up, he's never done that before. I assume he's saving himself for the last game which he duly wins. So I lose the match 3-2 and the night 4-3 but I'm pleased with that.
Another ale from the Cottage Brewery in the pub, very nice this week. One and a half pints. Home to L and a glass of red and some 'real' slag. L says I need the red wine to cut through the cholesterol in the Spanish Omelette and chips, healthy chips though.
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
Lists
I try an experiment today and borrow L's heart rate monitor to see how much effort I'm really putting into my cycling. It’s bloody annoying because I have to keep stopping because it keeps turning itself off. In the end I just give up on. Then a few miles into my ride I glance at it and see that's its working again. This time it stays working. I realise that it needs moisture to make the contacts to my chest and therefore once I got a sweat up it was fine.
One other thing I discover today is the point of 'child on board' stickers. Subject to what I thought, it's nothing to do with people saying 'look at me I've got my leg over and got someone pregnant'. Yeah, big deal. They are actually a warning to cyclists. This is because anyone with a child on board is liable, at any moment and without warning, to take their hands off the wheel to club an errant child, and therefore the vehicle is likely to veer into the curb and crush a cyclist. This I discover as I hop up onto the pavement to avoid a 4x4 full of the little people.
I also try a new route today, a detour via Spondon station, which kind of works but needs a few refinements.
I make it to work, alive, according to the heart rate monitor at least. The only data it gives is a total time, which is irrelevant, and an average, which was 138. It doesn’t store the maximum, which is what I really need, so I might have to mount it on my handlebars so that I can keep my eye on it.
L and Doggo run. Today's altercation on the park is with a cement mixer, they really are out to get him at the moment.
Paul Jewell is unveiled at Pride Park. Which sounds good to me, or it might if we can understand him, as it's a Scotsman out and a Scouser in, so we’ll still need an interpreter. He’s good at promotions, which is the main thing. How good he is at miracles remains to be seen but if he pulls one off he'll be a hero. Just like Billy... err wonder what happened to him. His first team selection will be interesting, Earnshaw anybody...
L says she's rather fond of Paul Jewell. He's on her legendary 'would go on a dinner date with but wouldn't shag' list. Which is quite a long list from what I can gather. This doesn't tally with the proven theory that men and women can't be just friends, so if L's not telling porkies then it'll only happen if PJ's hot for her. Doubt we'll ever find out the answer to that one.
I bike to the pool. Where the girlie in lane one is being far too nice to me, saying 'hello', 'after you' and other pleasantries. I know her game, she's trying to psyche me out. L reckons she probably fancies me. Hmmm. L needn't worry, the girlie's on my 'would swim with but wouldn't shag because she's better at front crawl than me' list.
I skip dog class and take Doggo on a brief run to guides, brief because we're running late. Not that we expect the guides to kick out on time. They don't, fifteen minutes late. Which means fifteen minutes of listening to the mindless gossip of the people waiting to collect their offspring.
Home for curry and a couple of glasses of red wine.
One other thing I discover today is the point of 'child on board' stickers. Subject to what I thought, it's nothing to do with people saying 'look at me I've got my leg over and got someone pregnant'. Yeah, big deal. They are actually a warning to cyclists. This is because anyone with a child on board is liable, at any moment and without warning, to take their hands off the wheel to club an errant child, and therefore the vehicle is likely to veer into the curb and crush a cyclist. This I discover as I hop up onto the pavement to avoid a 4x4 full of the little people.
I also try a new route today, a detour via Spondon station, which kind of works but needs a few refinements.
I make it to work, alive, according to the heart rate monitor at least. The only data it gives is a total time, which is irrelevant, and an average, which was 138. It doesn’t store the maximum, which is what I really need, so I might have to mount it on my handlebars so that I can keep my eye on it.
L and Doggo run. Today's altercation on the park is with a cement mixer, they really are out to get him at the moment.
Paul Jewell is unveiled at Pride Park. Which sounds good to me, or it might if we can understand him, as it's a Scotsman out and a Scouser in, so we’ll still need an interpreter. He’s good at promotions, which is the main thing. How good he is at miracles remains to be seen but if he pulls one off he'll be a hero. Just like Billy... err wonder what happened to him. His first team selection will be interesting, Earnshaw anybody...
L says she's rather fond of Paul Jewell. He's on her legendary 'would go on a dinner date with but wouldn't shag' list. Which is quite a long list from what I can gather. This doesn't tally with the proven theory that men and women can't be just friends, so if L's not telling porkies then it'll only happen if PJ's hot for her. Doubt we'll ever find out the answer to that one.
I bike to the pool. Where the girlie in lane one is being far too nice to me, saying 'hello', 'after you' and other pleasantries. I know her game, she's trying to psyche me out. L reckons she probably fancies me. Hmmm. L needn't worry, the girlie's on my 'would swim with but wouldn't shag because she's better at front crawl than me' list.
I skip dog class and take Doggo on a brief run to guides, brief because we're running late. Not that we expect the guides to kick out on time. They don't, fifteen minutes late. Which means fifteen minutes of listening to the mindless gossip of the people waiting to collect their offspring.
Home for curry and a couple of glasses of red wine.
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